Just as I am starting my last reporter’s column, a ‘most average’ place in the Netherlands has once again been designated: Westervoort, near Arnhem. Bureau Louter in Delft, for research into ‘spatial-economic developments’, reports that.
You’ll lose count. I have seen the following ‘average’ places and neighborhoods in recent years: Apeldoorn, Alphen aan den Rijn, Woerden, Dongen in Brabant. The Tuinzigt district in Breda was electorally average, just like De Leyens in Zoetermeer, Meppel was in the top ten, Culemborg, and so on.
Why are the Dutch so persistent in looking for the average Netherlands? What does that say? Even while the Netherlands is polarizing, the hunger for averages persists.
Each average is a snapshot. I myself preferred to immerse myself in what people have to say individually. Just as short-lived, but at least you get to know each other a little. In the average Netherlands, for example, few gaps can be seen: how gaping an abyss can nevertheless be, you only see when you arrive at the edge. Both true.
‘Average Netherlands’ is as capricious as the Dutch themselves. I went to the ‘average’ Apeldoorn twice for this section prior to the elections, to see where the results were going. In 2017 it was all fraternization next to the chip shop of snack bar Marco. The owner (D66) and a listening window cleaner (PVV) together sang the praises of ‘our multi-party system’. Four years later, the same snack bar was called Marjon, the new owner did not want to be featured in the newspaper and regular customer Rebecca explained to me why her sympathy, like that of her Ghanaian friend by the way, lay with Forum for Democracy and Willem Engel.
Post-lockdown not only farmers make a tense to explosive impression. Too many people have spoken too little in person in recent years. You can’t look at each other through zoom: I believe this matters a lot. We are still coming to terms with that.
The hundreds of Dutch people who wanted to talk to me here almost all remained nice, even if we sometimes completely disagreed. Nasty people turned out to be counted on one hand. Or maybe two, but certainly no more.
Seen up close, everything becomes manageable, that also keeps the courage in it. Not nearly as cleared up as after a visit to the stubborn quarantine couple Saskia and Serge. Or to Niels and Lara, who rigorously but cheerfully turn off their stove against Putin, ‘just fun’. Even cold times turn out to be with a little good will. Tomorrow everything could be different and today we have to keep each other on our feet.
So how is the Netherlands doing in Westervoort, this month’s most average place? I get out of the car at the church. The carillon plays. A huge rainbow flag hangs from the spire. Chinese Indian Restaurant the Great Wall is ‘also open for tapas’. And in the heart of a small shopping center is the Promenade lunchroom. The owner has been Ibo Pusmaz, born in Turkey for fifteen years. When he arrived in Westervoort as a child, there was still an orchard here.
Young people now prefer to drive to Zevenaar or Arnhem, the lunchroom relies on regular customers over the age of 70, says Ibo, ‘and we are very happy with that’. Sometimes one ends up in hospital with a heart attack, ‘he then calls me to explain why he is not there’. They are like family.
On the terrace I find Henny Jansen, who turns out to live in the middle of the most average neighborhood of Westervoort.
And? How is it over there?
‘Fantastic!’
Why? ‘A lot of foreign people live there and that works great.’ A happy summary follows: Surinamese! Iraqi! Iranian! Moroccan! Turkish! Indonesian!’
I laugh. Schelle populists call this politically correct. But I can’t help it, I just drive to the Netherlands called ‘average’.
Henny certainly knows how things can go wrong elsewhere, ‘it is important that it is a bit mixed’. They all came close to her at the same time, it was just finished then. Everyone wanted to meet others. ‘Find your neighbors first and then your house,’ says Henny. “You know that expression?”
A Moroccan proverb.
This column returns at the end of August. This is Margriet Oostveen’s last reporter’s column.