Strife

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Dutch tolerance: reality, myth, or something in between?

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Dutch police forces preparing for more riots. Photo by Ben Koorengevel on Unsplash

If you ask Dutch secondary school students to describe the Netherlands in one word, they will probably answer: tolerant. The principle of tolerance – or rather being tolerant – is deeply embedded in Dutch history and culture. It finds its origin in the 80 years’ war (1568-1648) and the Dutch ‘Golden Age’ (17th century). After years of bloodshed between Protestants and Catholics, tolerance became the norm in the Republic of the United Netherlands. According to school books, tolerance allowed the Dutch to become leaders in world trade and attract enlightened thinkers from all over the world, such as René Descartes and Baruch Spinoza. Dutch tolerance has evolved over the centuries. The Netherlands was the first country to allow gay marriage and has highly liberal views on contentious topics such as prostitution and soft drugs. Tolerance is also reflected in the way the Dutch run their daily lives and national politics. In decision-making processes, tolerance is embodied in the so-called ‘poldermodel:’ a system of negotiation that focusses on consensus instead of confrontation. ‘Polderen’ is present in all layers of Dutch society and requires people to compromise and cooperate, all while tolerating opposing views.

The precious national value of tolerance, however, is not invincible. The country is no utopia; racism, sexism, and homophobia are, unfortunately, systemic issues many Dutch face daily. Furthermore, recently the Dutch ‘poldermodel’ has faced serious challenges, too. The aggressive riots that followed the introduction of the national curfew, ‘De Avondklokrellen’ (curfew riots, 23-26 January 2021), stand in stark contrast to the Dutch culture of consensus and compromise. This article investigates how these riots came to be and whether they should be considered an outlier or a severe crack in the Dutch idea of tolerance.

The Curfew Riots of January 2021

One might argue that the curfew riots are merely a product of the unique situation we find ourselves in, a global pandemic, and the resultant measures that have had to be implemented. Historically, many claim that riots are a common if not normal reaction to government-enforced quarantines. Riots, for instance, broke out in England and Russia during the 19th-century cholera pandemic. Last year, protests against governments’ COVID-19 measures were widespread and occurred in states like the US and Germany. Moreover, 2020 saw a general surge of protest movements challenging racism, sexism, and government corruption. This atmosphere of protest combined with the widespread use of social media on an (inter)national level by those involved might have led to a diffusion of these protests.

The Netherlands, however, has never before experienced such massive riots in reaction to global pandemics. Furthermore, during other crises, like the Second World War, there were few significant acts of public protest in the Netherlands. Additionally, there is also plenty of evidence to suggest that people will not necessarily react angrily or panicked during a crisis but will try to be cooperative and supportive of one another. So although these riots might be part of an international wave of protest, it is questionable whether it would be justified to name the pandemic the sole cause of the riots. Therefore, it remains unclear why so many Dutch recently took to the streets and whether this is ‘un-Dutch’ like many historians and criminologists claim.

It would be wrong to pretend the Dutch are the best students in the class. Indeed, they do not have a legacy of public protest like the French, but despite the poldermodel, protests occur in the Netherlands. This is not to say that all acts of Dutch public protest oppose the poldermodel. On the contrary, many public demonstrations are often used as starting point for new negotiations. Symbolic was, for instance, the meeting of Prime Minister Mark Rutte with the so-called ‘yellow vests’ protesters, which according to one of the attendees, led to ‘a little bit of hope.’ By focussing on conversation, not conflict, protests can thus be de-escalated. Still, famous Dutch historian and terrorism expert Beatrice de Graaf rejects the view that riots and mass protests are uncharacteristic of Dutch culture and society. Instead she argues that the Dutch have a long history of public protests that escalate into riots. Famous is the ‘eel riot’ (palingoproer) that occurred in Amsterdam in 1886. After a group of people played the forbidden game of ‘eel pulling’ as an act of protest (palingtrekken, a game in which people had to pull an eel from a rope while in a boat), the police intervened. This escalated into a riot during which twenty-five people died. There are even cases in which public protest does not proceed the riot. The Project X riots in Haren, 2012 are such an example. These riots started after a sixteen-year-old girl’s Facebook birthday invitation was accidentally shared with thousands of people. In response, many flocked to the small town, intending to cause significant damage. These examples show that the Curfew Riots might not be so ‘un-Dutch’ as some claim.

De Graaf, however, argues that the recent curfew riots can be separated from previous riots because they had a strong political motive. This is unique since the last significant riots (partially) driven by a political reason were the squatters’ riots (krakersrellen) in the 70s and 80s. However, whilst these past riots were predominantly supported by the political left, the recent curfew riots of the 2020s saw support from the (extreme) right. The leader of the right-wing populist party Forum voor Democratie, Thierry Baudet, called upon the people to ‘resist’ the curfew. Although he disapproved of the violence, many politicians and scholars claimed that he was guilty of sedition. Some went as far as to compare Baudet’s statements to the speech Donald Trump held before the storming of the Capitol. According to many, Baudet’s words showed no intention of de-escalating the violence. The political motive of the attacks can also be derived from the targets of the rioters. Although many rioters looted local supermarkets and tobacco stores, hospitals and train stations were also attacked. In the town of Urk, protesters went as far as to burn a COVID-19 test location to the ground. According to Dutch sociologists, attacking these governmental institutions symbolises a direct and violent attack against the Dutch government.

The question arises then, do these political riots represent the beginning of the end for the Dutch culture of tolerance and compromise? Is the ‘poldermodel’ on its way out? Any answer cannot realistically be garnered from one act of deviancy, as it would be wrong to dismiss years of faith in these norms and values. However, it might be time for the Dutch to look in the mirror and recognise that the perception of Dutch tolerance does not match reality. In short, the Dutch are not as tolerant as they always claim to be.

The Dutch can prevent their precious value of tolerance from going downhill. To do so, the deeper sociological causes of the riots must be comprehended. Shortly after the riots occurred, Dutch Prime Minister Mark Rutte referred to the rioters as ‘scum’ that need to be locked away, preferring to contain the problem rather than discuss the causes of it. Of course, those who committed crimes need to face justice. However, according to sociological experts, Covid-19 only acted as the catalyst of the riots. They believe a research committee should investigate the real motivations, which are likely to be much more complex, systemic, and diverse. Neglecting the underlying causes of the rioters’ behaviour will not help to prevent future riots. Therefore, the Dutch need to continue ‘poldering’ with those they disagree with to prevent people from abandoning dialogue and resorting to violent forms of protest. The poldermodel, just like the polders themselves, is essential to Dutch society. Without polders, the country would not exist.

For Latin America, Enough is Enough

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by Leah Grace

Protesters in Plaza Baquedano, Santiago, Chile on 22 October 2019. (Photo Credit: Carlos Figueroa)

A wave of anti-government protests is sweeping across the globe. From Hong Kong to Lebanon, France to Iraq, Pakistan to Haiti, people have taken to the streets en masse to express a wide array of frustrations and demands. Nowhere, perhaps, has this discontent been more acute than in Latin America where, over the past six months, mass demonstrations have erupted throughout the region, leaving political chaos, social upheaval and countless human casualties in their wake.

These dramatic outbursts have garnered international attention, with many struggling to comprehend, for example, how a four percent rise in metro fare in Chile could spark months of protest with millions of participants. Yet, what we are witnessing today is not new. Rather, it is the boiling over of economic, political and social discontent that has been bubbling furiously beneath the surface for many years.

The final straw

The initial causes of protests in Haiti, Honduras, Chile, Ecuador, Bolivia and Colombia are remarkably varied. They include the removal of fuel subsidies, minor increases to transport costs, corruption scandals, alleged electoral fraud, and inadequate labour rights. These issues served to push societies already on the brink over the edge. The subsequent social explosions shattered the veneer of many apparently functioning and stable countries, revealing deeply polarised and unequal societies.

In Chile and Ecuador, anger over relatively minor increases in transport and fuel costs became a catalyst for wider protests regarding social and economic inequalities and indigenous rights. In Colombia, a planned strike by labour unions ballooned into a much wider movement against the right-wing government of President Iván Duque. Among other complaints, protesters denounced the indifference, and in some cases alleged complicity, of the state regarding the murders of 727 social leaders and 173 demobilised fighters in the past three years.

In Bolivia, long-standing tensions finally reached breaking point this October. The fourteen-year rule of socialist leader Evo Morales, the country’s first indigenous president, came to a bitter and violent end when the president claimed victory in highly dubious elections to maintain power for a fourth term. The ensuing clashes between Morales supporters and opponents revealed a highly fragmented Bolivian society. Morales supporters condemn his removal as a coup and fear the reversal of his social policies that benefited the poor and indigenous. His opponents celebrate the same events as the restoration of democracy. With both sides resisting compromise, divisions are likely to deepen, and the immediate future of Bolivia seems highly uncertain and volatile.

Us against them

Repressive official responses to the social unrest have fuelled further protests and exacerbated public anger across Latin America. Chilean president Sebastián Piñera announced that “we are at war against a powerful enemy” after the first day of protests in Santiago. As in Ecuador and Colombia, the government deployed the army to the streets and imposed curfews in major cities. The use of excessive force to contain protests demonstrates the failure of governments to engage with their populations to address the underlying causes of social unrest.

Human Rights Watch found compelling evidence that police in Chile committed serious human rights violations in response to protests. At least 26 people have died since the outbreak of protests on 18 October 2019, including three protesters allegedly fatally shot by military forces using live ammunition. A call for police reforms has been added to the list of protestors’ demands. In Colombia, an eighteen-year-old student died after being shot in the head by a police projectile whilst participating in a peaceful protest. This sparked calls for the dismantling of the country’s riot police and widespread condemnation of state-sanctioned violence.

With protests persisting in both countries, heavy-handed tactics and superficial solutions will only exacerbate problems in the long-term. Initial government responses have served only to heighten the perceived division between the political elite and the rest of society. Like many countries in the region, both Chile and Colombia have troubled and violent histories. Governments must do their utmost to build more trusting and constructive relationships with citizens instead of invoking legacies of repressive authoritarian rule and brutal armed conflict. State security crackdowns seem to be a knee jerk response to popular unrest, but they are only adding fuel to the fire of Latin American discontent.

What’s next?

The recent social unrest comes at a high cost. Thousands of people have been injured and hundreds have died across the region. The destruction of infrastructure and disruption to business have severely damaged already fragile economies. People’s daily lives are on hold as schools close, workers go on strike, and streets clog with marchers. But these mobilisations also offer the prospect of dialogue and real change. Despite the diverse reasons for global protest movements, there is a powerful sense of solidarity amongst demonstrators across countries, facilitated by the mass diffusion of images and interviews on social media. People have felt ignored by politicians for too long. On the streets, at last, they are beginning to regain their voices.

The longer-term outcomes of these social movements are uncertain. Protestors’ demands will not be satisfied overnight, but it is also unlikely that they will simply give up in frustration. The scale and persistence of the mobilisations require engaged and committed responses from those in power. The global protest movement may be explained in part as a chain reaction, with one country after another toppling over into mass social unrest. However, this should not obscure the specific demands of protesters in each country, and thus the different pathways to regain stability.

In Bolivia, perhaps the most volatile situation, measured responses and compromise from both sides are crucial if further violence is to be avoided. The interim government’s priority must be the facilitation of credible and inclusive elections within the next three months. In Ecuador, the government should work with social and indigenous leaders, not against them, to reduce discontent. In Chile and Colombia, political leaders must take seriously the demands of their people and implement significant political, economic and social reforms. The immediate future remains uncertain for Latin American countries, but if governments opt for superficial, short-term solutions to paper over discontent, or resort to repressive force, we will undoubtedly see renewed and intensified social explosions in the not-so-distant future.

Leah Grace is an MA student in Conflict, Security and Development at the King’s War Studies Department. Her main research interests include war-to-peace transitions, local participation in peace processes, and urban violence. She primarily works on conflict-affected countries in Latin America and Central Africa. Prior to joining King’s, she worked as a research assistant at the Agency for Reincorporation and Normalisation in Colombia where she worked on projects relating to the reintegration of former combatants and the impacts of stigmatisation on this process. She also coordinated several community projects with a local NGO focused on violence prevention and the promotion of human rights. Leah Grace holds a BA in French and Spanish from the University of Cambridge.

 

 

 

Poland’s troubled Independence Day – a stumbling block to democratisation?

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by Mateusz Zatoński

Polish Independence Day celebrations
(photo by Patryk Matyjaszczyk)

 

Each nation celebrates key dates in history its own way. On the Fourth of July, Americans gather at hot-dog eating contests and firework displays. Britain’s Remembrance Day is a more solemn affair, with the omnipresent poppy, and parades of war veterans applauded by crowds of tourists. Other countries opt for body paint, historical re-enactments, and countless other ways of celebrating national unity and pride.

Meanwhile, the Poles seem to have developed a habit of celebrating November 11th, their Independence Day, with a free-for-all rampage on the streets of Warsaw. Over the last three years images of burned cars, riot police in full gear, and pervasive neo-fascist symbols dominate the media coverage of the proceedings. This article lays out the history of the commemorations of the Polish Independence Day, and suggests a number of explanations for why in the last years they have become increasingly appropriated by the radical right.

The Polish Independence Day commemorates the re-establishment of independent Poland in 1918, after 123 years of oppressive rule by Prussia, Russia and Austria-Hungary. For 50 years following World War II, honouring Polish Independence Day was forbidden by the Polish governments steered from Moscow. Communist authorities saw the anniversary as a nationalist legacy that Marxism sought to supersede. After the collapse of the Communist regime in 1989 the Independence Day was restored as a national holiday. However, the state’s commemorations were often poorly organised and widely viewed as support rallies for whichever political party was in power at the time. The Polish nationalists, for decades denied an opportunity to celebrate their ideology, were not satisfied with what the successive governments offered.

And then came the Independence March.

The March first attracted public attention in 2008. Organised by the National Radical Camp (ONR), an organisation openly invoking the heritage of a pre-WWII anti-Semitic political organisation, it attracted a few hundred people who did not attempt to hide their extreme views, and a similar number who came to oppose them. Most mainstream media were quick to condemn the marchers, but treated the event as a minor episode, a desperate attempt of the dying breed of Polish right-wing extremists to draw the public’s attention.

The journalists were wrong. In the next years it became clear that the Independence March has become a fixed part of the political calendar of the country. The numbers of nationalists from around Poland rallying for the March increased every year, from hundreds to tens of thousands. The small-scale brawls characterising the first editions of the March turned into skirmishes involving hundreds of people. In 2011, the nationalists were opposed by an ad hoc collective of left-wing organisations who attempted to block the marchers. The tally of the day was nearly 70 injured, 210 arrests, burning cars, and a devastated historic square in the city centre . In 2012, in a gesture of supra-national solidarity not normally characteristic to those fiercely anti-EU groups, the marchers were joined by nationalists from Hungary, Italy, Serbia, and Ukraine. The outnumbered left-wingers avoided confrontation and this time it was the policemen securing the march who bore the brunt of the violence.

This year the police decided to step back as well, leaving the organisers to field their own security personnel. This did not prevent violent outbreaks. First, several hundred hooligans engaged in a pitched battle with the residents of a squat located nearby to the route of the demonstration. Later, a giant rainbow-coloured flower display in the centre of Warsaw, accused by right-wing politicians of promoting homosexuality, was burnt down. Finally, some of the marchers launched flares at the Russian embassy, attempted to climb its fence, and burnt a guard booth outside its gates. This promptly sparked a brief diplomatic crisis with Russia, and culminated a few days later when Russian nationalists reciprocated and launched flares against the Polish embassy in Moscow.

What surprises Western commentators is that those recurring, blatant manifestations of radicalism are occurring in a country that is widely viewed as one of Europe’s success stories. Poland weathered the economic crisis better than most EU member-states. Euro-enthusiasm still remains the norm rather than the exception among Poles. Most importantly, the country enjoys a stable government and a Parliament that, while significantly slanted to the right, has been free of extremist and populist political parties since the 2007 election. Where do the Marches fit in this picture?

First, while the sea of right-wing symbolism makes for spectacular TV coverage, it is important to understand that in societal terms the March is little more than a side-effect of the democratisation process of a post-Communist state. The March provides a once-a-year opportunity for fringe nationalist youth leaders and politicians whose star has faded to show their faces in the media. One characteristic that unites the March’s organisers, a motley crew ranging from monarchists, through republicans, to neo-fascists, is that they have been unable to obtain any meaningful electoral results in any of the country’s recent elections. The movements they lead have a minuscule membership base, but their highly ideological and organised nature allowed them to be noticed by the media.

The stellar rise of the March could be seen as a political miscalculation of the Polish conservative opposition, the Law and Justice (PiS) party. After the lost elections in 2007 PiS attempted to hijack the March from the extremists and turn it into a vehicle of protest against the ruling liberals of the Civic Platform (PO). The conservative press chose to overlook the radical legacy of its organisers and praised the March as a beacon of healthy patriotism in an increasingly post-ideological world. This was above all an attempt to spite the mainstream liberal media outlets that condemned the March. It quickly became clear that the radicals do not want anything in common with PiS, who they saw as part of the system they were trying to dismantle. Nonetheless, the damage was done. The March became associated with PiS and, even though the party was never involved in its organisation, the subsequent events were bloated by its supporters. Thousands of conservative families with children, often blissfully unaware of the extremist nature of the March’s organisers, helped build its legitimacy. Despite the attempt of PiS leadership to distance themselves from the March after the violent incidents, much of the conservative grassroots has already become emotionally bound to the initiative. Every year they accuse the media of overstating the levels of violence that accompany the March and blame the government for employing the police forces in a way that provokes incidents.

While the participation of conservative families provides a social license for the initiative, and the radical right constitute its brains, the core of the participants is comprised of football hooligans from across Poland. These are simply ‘adventure-seekers’ for whom the March provides the group anonymity needed to cause trouble with impunity. With its football chants and club banners the March could be confused with a rowdy crowd heading for a game. The hooligans have a bone to pick with the ruling Civic Platform who in the run-up to last year’s European Football Championship co-organised by Poland cracked down on organised hooligan groups and introduced a series of security restrictions on football fans. While undoubtedly xenophobic and anti-systemic, there is little evidence that this group could be attributed with a conscious understanding of, not to mention an engagement with, the complex, and often contradictory extremist ideologies of the political movements organising the March.

Many other variables helped facilitate the growth of tension accompanying the March. One is the proliferation of conspiracy theories and intensification of Russo-phobia after the crash of the Polish Presidential airplane in Russia in 2010. Another is the cultural liberalisation that followed Poland’s EU accession in 2004. In traditionally Catholic Poland large groups are vehemently opposing any change that could bring about same-sex marriage, or the marginalisation of the Church, polarising society over those issues. Finally, the growing gap between the country’s wealthy and poor is also of growing concern, especially that it is occurring in a post-Communist country in which modern capitalism is a brand-new phenomenon.

The lack of viable solutions to the annual bouts of violence in the Polish capital lies in the political tensions between the country’s two dominating parties, the Civic Platform and PiS. Both sides of the conflict blame each other for inciting the aggression, while at the same time distancing themselves from the acts of violence, leaving no one to answer (or pay) for the riots. The Polish political elite effectively leaves the country without answers for why this phenomenon is recurring every year, and how to avoid a similar scenario playing out again in the future. As the events in neighbouring Ukraine have so poignantly demonstrated, such by-products of party politics are a small price to pay for Poland’s successful democratisation and integration with Europe.

 

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Mateusz Zatoński is a postgraduate student of Public Health at the London School of Hygiene and Tropical Medicine, and a Research Assistant in Polish History at King’s College London. His interests range from ethn0-nationalism in the inter-war period, to health policy in modern Europe. He is currently researching the role of Communist regimes in covering up evidence of tobacco harm in Eastern Europe.