Mike Boorsma had enough last week: he kept his children at home on Purple Friday. “I have more interest in Good Friday,” he says on the schoolyard of the public Professor Casimir School in Kollum, Frisian. It is raining, but Boorsma (32) is happy to explain why he is against it. “Just let children be children. Don’t impose gender, diversity and all those things on them like that.” He shakes his head, his dark cap now somewhat limp from the rainwater. His “bonus son” also did not go to his secondary school in Dokkum on Purple Friday, says Boorsma. “It doesn’t bother him.”
After the management of the Kollum primary school (240 students) previously replaced Zwarte Piet with a soot sweeper Pete and a rainbow bench was placed next to the school by the municipality until fierce resistance led in the village, the fuss surrounding Purple Friday is the temporary conclusion of what some parents call “randstad practices”: unwanted craziness.
Discord on the schoolyard is not only in Kollum. Schools across the country celebrated Purple Friday a week ago, in solidarity with the LGBTQ community. Schools are free to decide how they pay attention to this. According to organizer COC, 80 percent of all secondary schools participate and a quarter of primary schools. That number increases every year – directly proportional to the social division on the subject. Take the results of the elections: the winner PVV profiled itself partly by attacking “gender terror” in education. “Please let our children be children,” is Wilders’ statement, which was widely shared on social media during election times.
What was noticeable about this increasing discussion at participating primary and secondary schools this year?
For several parents on the schoolyard in Kollum, it is not necessary, such a special day about diversity. “Children are being brainwashed,” says Ilona de L’or (42), mother of two. “Wearing a purple sweater is voluntary, but you know exactly how it goes: ‘He wasn’t wearing a purple sweater!’” She sighs. “To get rid of that, I also put one on my child.”
Yet Kim van Soest, who is in her fourth year as director of the Casimir School, has not received any complaints from parents. Being able to show respect for others is what Purple Friday stands for, according to her. “Students often only come into contact with children who are different from themselves at primary school.” This concerns culture, religion, family composition and sexual orientation. “Purple Friday is about much more than LGBTIQ.” She proudly shows a photo of the dozens of children and teachers dressed in purple on the stairs in the school hall. “It was a beautiful day.”
Increasing discussion
The experiences at other schools through which NRC took a tour, vary widely. Director Koen van der Ende heard no discord at his primary school in Middelharnis, while a Utrecht primary school teacher – who does not want to be named – missed ten children from her class on Friday.
The St. Nicolaaslyceum in Amsterdam welcomed students (havo and pre-university education) on Friday morning with a rainbow candy and a purple bracelet. A small number of students refused the bracelets. The enthusiasm among students to organize the theme day was less than in other years, saw department leader Renske Dahlhaus. “Students find it more exciting to profile themselves on this theme.” That’s why the teachers had to organize the day themselves this year. “The topic is generating more discussion than before,” says Dahlhaus. “Students say: everything is fine, ma’am, but I don’t support this. That is new.”
That development is exactly how Nasira (40) from Schiedam likes to see it. Last week she was pleased to find that her 15-year-old son and daughter had refused the purple cake that was handed out in class. “The only thing that was annoying,” says Nasira, “is that the teacher asked them why they didn’t want that purple cake.” Fortunately, her children are now “resilient enough” to explain that. “We are convinced Muslims,” she says. “We don’t feel at home with the LGBTIQ thing.” The fact that they want to wear purple at school and make a party of it is their choice, she says. “But we don’t want anything to do with it.”
Nasira does see a changing attitude at the school. “Last year there was more pushing,” she says. Popcorn was handed out in her son’s class – only to the children who wore purple. “Because of that pressure, my son had to explain in class why he didn’t like it,” she says. “He said, ‘I just think it’s gross.’ The teacher got angry about that,” says Nasira. “But why? My son is allowed to have his opinion too, right?”
Purple Friday was also celebrated “smaller” than normal this year at Wolfert Dalton in Rotterdam (mavo, havo, vwo), according to students who cycled home from school on Wednesday afternoon. “That’s because of last year,” says 17-year-old pre-university student Tibbe.
“Then we went to watch a movie,” says Janne, also 17.
Tibbe: “I will never forget that.”
The film is about a 15-year-old who wants to be a ballerina and is going through transition.
Tibbe: “That was quite intense.” Students who did not want to see it were allowed to leave the classroom, he says. “Half the school was in the auditorium.”
That is why Purple Friday was celebrated modestly this year: during mentoring hours, rainbow sweets for the students and the rainbow flag on the facade. A small portion of the students came to school wearing purple. Janne was not among them. “But that’s because I don’t have purple clothes. I think it’s an ugly color.”
Society of extremes
Health scientist Arjet Borger sees increasing polarization on the theme. Her organization Take care of sexuality developed a teaching method that is used at eighty Christian and public primary schools – schools that often do not participate in the annual theme day. “Purple Friday is about being yourself and accepting multiple sexual identities,” says Borger. Not all teachers, parents and students think the same about this, she knows. “That is why you must take the time to discuss carefully with each other.” Sometimes differences are motivated by religious values, but not always, says Borger. “There are plenty of non-religious parents who think that their child is too young for these types of lessons, for example.”
Such as Monique, a 48-year-old management consultant from Kennemerland in North Holland who wants to remain anonymous due to her daughter’s privacy. Last week she asked her 13-year-old daughter’s secondary school how they would organize Purple Friday this year. That didn’t go well last year. “Then they went with the class to a theater show about the gender story.” The children then had to raise their hands to be asked whether they felt like a girl or a boy, she says. “Sexual moves were made on stage.” Several parents filed a complaint afterwards, says Monique, after which the school apologized. “Rightly so, because these children are much too young for this.”
She fears that these types of lessons can make adolescents think about a transition. “They can get carried away and changing your body is often irreversible. Suppose they regret it, then someone’s whole life is ruined.”
She believes that the government is imposing initiatives such as Purple Friday. “This pits people against each other.” According to her, you also see this in other subjects. “Are you for or against the farmers? For or against the climate? For or against vaccination? It has become a society of extremes.”
Growing pains
The increasing tension around Purple Friday does not go unnoticed by director Kim van Soest in Kollum. Yet she does not doubt its importance for a second. “Self-esteem, self-love and being able to respect others is what good education is primarily about,” she says. “And we are building a stage for that on Purple Friday.”
That was previously placed by the municipality rainbow bench next to the school was defaced (“Fuck off! Poison your own children”) she sees as part of “the discussion about inclusivity” that has only just begun. “These are growing pains. We have to get through this together.”
Reading list