In this contribution, Arjan Sterken considers the usage of food in representing immigrant communities in the Openluchtmuseum, a folkloric museum in Arnhem, the Netherlands.
Food and identity are intimately interconnected. Harry West, writing about the 18th century, states that ‘the diets of people around the world reflected profound connections … to the cultural traditions into which they were born. Foodways [how people treat food and associated behaviour within a specific culture] were as distinctive as the dialects and accents with which people spoke.’ [1] On of the most visceral ways in which we can engage with other cultures is by partaking in their food, making it become a part of us. Immigrants are often framed by their food, either as wonderful or as disgusting (or as not being ‘real’ food at all). [2] David Carrasco reminisces that, for all the flack that Mexican culture gets from the United States, only their cuisine is received enthusiastically.[3] In other instances, there is a lot of negative folklore about food: for years there have been circulating rumours concerning Turkish cooks ejaculating in the garlic sauce which they serve to their native Dutch customers in döner restaurants. Such stories betray a lot about the anxieties of native Dutch regarding their fellow Turkish citizens and contamination of good food, but most of all it tells us absolutely nothing about Turkish cuisine. [4]
We could call these meetings of foodways contact zones, following Mary Pratt’s conceptualization: a contact zone is a space where colonial relations are established between different parties, often under problematic power dynamics. [5] Museums are also contact zones. [6] Both of these contact zones come together in the Openluchtmuseum in Arnhem, the Netherlands, in several exhibitions portraying the lived world of immigrants in the Netherlands. In this essay, I will examine this folkloric museum as a place of national narrative-building, focusing on elements of inclusion and exclusion. I will examine the kind of narrative the Openluchtmuseum started with, and how it developed over time. The focus of this blog centres on some of the later additions to the museum grounds which pertain to immigration history within the Netherlands: a Chinese-Indonesian restaurant, an Italian ice cream saloon, an Indonesian courtyard, and Mollucan barracks.
The Openluchtmuseum as a Marker for Dutch Nationality
In her book Civilizing Rituals, Carol Duncan explores the role of art museums in communicating values through sublime experiences of art. [7] She discusses how these museums legitimize ruling classes, presenting them as beautiful and natural, [8] while simultaneously creating a narrative of preserving the official cultural memory. [9] In this sense, the art museum functions both as an affirmation of cultural ownership by the ruling classes of a given society, while excluding Others from an active role in this narrative. [10]
While the narratives displayed in art museums tend to gravitate towards the ruling classes and tourists,[11] the folkloric or folk-life museums are established to create a sense of national identity which can be shared by different segments of society. [12] Participation and representation in museums reflect who is included in a national narrative, and who is excluded,[13] and subsequently minorities are often omitted or marginalized in museums. [14] In the Netherlands, their marginalisation stems from a distinction that was fabricated between ‘beautiful’ or ‘legitimate’ art (the Rijksmuseum) and ‘practical’ or ‘artisan’ folklore (the Openluchtmuseum). [15] Next to that, within the system of those folkloric museums, an additional distinction was created between the native folklore of the European homeland (the Openluchtmuseum) and that of the colonies (the Tropenmuseum). [16] The Dutch were not the only ones to make a distinction along these lines. Art was often considered to be exclusively derived from the West; all other cultures merely produced artifacts, which are more akin to nature than to culture. [17] Such ‘natural’ colonial artifacts could therefore also be presented together with wild animals at zoos. [18]
The concept of the open-air or folkloric museum was modelled after displays of rural building styles and behaviours, which were displayed at World Fairs in Europe. [19] Countries with colonies would, at first, mainly present items derived from their colonial conquests as items of fascination, showcasing the success of the controlling empire.[20] Countries without colonies started displaying their own native ‘peasant’ artifacts at World Fairs as examples of native primitivity, which other countries soon mimicked. [21] The buildings and artifacts on display originated from the countryside: a place that was considered to be static and therefore represented the supposedly age-old national culture better than the dynamic and ever-evolving city. Open-air museums continued this trend: the countryside became the focus of national identity, [22] often in a highly idealized manner. [23]
Dutch museal policies assented to these distinctions: the opposition of the developed city versus the countryside of ‘living fossils’. And, similarly, the opposition between urbanity and rurality was mapped onto the distinction between the unified native Dutch people (civilized, fully developed, etc.) and the colonial subjects (barbaric, primitive etc.). [24] In this sense, even though non-dominant segments of society were represented, the narrative was still devised by dominant segments in society, who alone determined the identities of lower classes and subalterns. [25] The subordinate classes (the countryside peasants, immigrant minorities) are represented through bourgeoise biases, and not in their true nature and complexity. [26] Their hyperreal bourgeoise presentation comes to stand in for the reality and nuances of countryside life.
The Openluchtmuseum, founded in 1912, initially utilized a classical definition of Dutch identity: an awkward alliance of the three Germanic tribes of Saxons, Frisians, and Franks. [27] To an extent, this is an invented tradition, based on an imagined community of imagined ethnicities. The dividing line between present-day Frisians, Saxons, and Franks is a linguistic one, but has been culturalized and even ethnicized in nationalist discourse. This trend started in the Netherlands with the Hindelooper kamer, the fancy living room of Frisian seafaring merchants, which was presented during World Fairs. The Hindelooper kamer rapidly turned from an internally Frisian emblem into a marker of Dutch nationality, both internally within the Netherlands, as well as abroad. [28] These types of rooms can still be admired in the Openluchtmuseum and the Fries Museum to this day. Later on, the buildings in the Openluchtmuseum were presented along lines of unity and diversity within different regions and provinces in the Netherlands, [29] but only those found on the mainland.
Food and the Openluchtmuseum
Rural culture was presented as emblematic of Dutch national culture in the Openluchtmuseum for a long time. City-scapes were only incorporated starting from 1938 onwards, with the incorporation of the Zaanse Buurt. [30] Only far later was immigration history represented in the Openluchtmuseum. The Moluccan barrack was placed in 2003; an Indonesian courtyard was built in 2004; a recreation of a Chinese-Indonesian restaurant was constructed in the Zaanse Buurt in 2010; the tea pavilion from Meppel, erected in 1949, became repurposed as a storytelling venue for Anansi stories in 2016 (this will not be discussed in this essay, since it has been essentially inoperational due to the pandemic); and in 2021 an operating Italian ice cream saloon also opened in the Zaanse Buurt. All these places cater towards expanding the understanding of the native Dutch visitor about the lived situation of immigrants in the Netherlands. The civilizing rituals therefore have a clear primary target: the native Dutch population.
Migrants often report feeling a stronger sense of control and ease in their new situations when they are able to share their food with the host society as food vendors,[31] which is exactly what is represented in the two venues in the Zaanse Buurt. The Chinese-Indonesian restaurant is a common presence in the Netherlands since the 1920s, and rose to popularity in the 1950s with the native Dutch audience. The plaque outside of this venue recounts how Dutch people enjoyed these meals, especially its bulk and affordability. Of course, the food has been adapted to the Dutch palate,[32] essentially limiting its range of flavour and spiciness. Recently (perhaps due to the pandemic), access to the restaurant has been barred, and not much more than the 1960s interior design can be examined. Inside the restaurant another plaque is found, which is the only one containing text in Han Chinese side by side with Dutch, English, and German translations.
While the Chinese-Indonesian restaurant remains inoperational in the museum setting, it is quite busy across the street. The Italian ice cream store Venezia opened on June 11, 2021. I was able to visit in early August; it was quite warm and sunny, so many people enjoyed the traditional flavours. This reconstruction of an old Italian ice cream saloon from the 1970s includes original neon lights, and poster-like video screens showing documentary clips featuring past owners and employees. I wonder, however, to what extent these features grab the attention of a wider public, who seem to queue up merely for ice cream. There are no plaques present within the restaurant, and apparently no Italian texts are necessary for providing extra context.
Both venues, the Italian ice cream saloon as well as the Chinese-Indonesian restaurant, showcase how immigrants in the Netherlands have monetized the Otherness of their food, often to great success. However, in both cases the immigrants are not much more than the role they fulfill in native Dutch lives: food vendors. The immigrants are unable to escape the significance they have for the native Dutch population, and are reinforced into their roles of servitude. This civilizing ritual maintains the unequal and unquestioned relationship between consumer (the native Dutch) and provider (the immigrant), and the consumer does not learn much more.
Things can be quite different, however. There are two places in the Openluchtmuseum concerning Indonesian identities which are highly relevant to the discussion of food and migrants. The Indonesian courtyard gives a representation of the kitchen, living room, and luscious gardens that were constructed by native Dutch people who used to live in Indonesia, often called Indo’s. They came to European Dutch territories after Indonesia gained independence from the Netherlands. While these people had native Dutch genealogies, they often were enriched by Indonesian cultural attitudes and ideas, which was expressed through material means by these cottages. This property, just like the Moluccan barrack to be discussed later, is found near the outer border of the museum. An acute parallel is visible here: just as colonial identities are seen as peripheral to Dutch identity, so the colonial quarters are relegated to the periphery of the museum. Indeed, it is true that some other migrant ventures have been placed more centrally within the park, like the Chinese-Indonesian restaurant or the Italian ice cream shop. However, these venues have been placed inside pre-existing buildings of the Zaanse Buurt, while the Indonesian courtyard and Moluccan barrack received their own unique buildings, for which there was only an available space in the peripheries of the property in 2003 and 2004. In short: this hermeneutic of suspicion does not serve us here. However, while not intentional, the attentive visitor might note this coincidental marginalisation and how it accidentally reproduces the centre/periphery dynamic.
Most people visiting the Indonesian courtyard admire the verdant flora flourishing on the property. In the midst of this tamed forest, in front of the reconstructed cottage, the visitor probably finds someone preparing Indonesian food. The smell and ingredients often attract curious visitors who enquire about their nature. In my observations, most of the ingredients and dishes first seem alien to the enquirers, but upon closer inspection, or when the Dutch name of the spice or its utilization in Dutch cuisine is clarified, recognition is attained, and the outlandishness of the dishes is diminished. Different foodways might divide us, but discussing what is familiar might bridge this distance considerably, just as how Indo’s embody a bridge between native Dutch and Indonesian cultures.
In terms of food, the Moluccan barrack is perhaps the most relevant site. When Indonesia fought for independence against the Netherlands, the Moluccans allied with the Dutch military to suppress the liberatory anti-colonial forces. Afterwards, when the Federation of Indonesia was established, the Moluccans claimed their own free republic, which the Dutch government refused to recognize. Moluccan militia not living on the Moluccan Islands were not relocated to their islands of nationality, but ‘temporarily’ brought to the Netherlands; an impermanent placement which has lasted for about seventy years now. The Moluccan ex-militia and their families were housed in barracks, which often had been part of internment camps during the German occupation in the Second World War. Most of the time, these buildings were in quite poor condition, lacking many facilities. The barrack found in the Openluchtmuseum is one of the better-equipped exemplars, as it was the kitchen facility of the encampment Lage Mierde. It has been expanded to incorporate more exhibition space, now also including the living quarters of the camp overseer as well as those for one Moluccan family. The extensive plaques also include text in Maluku, one of the main languages used in the Moluccan Islands.
The presentation of the barrack is far removed from the 19th-century displays at World Fairs. There, colonial powers presented their colonial populations in a way which suggested their peaceability and contentment under the colonial regime. Complete villages were displayed, where the focus did not lie on the exploitative nature of colonial labour, but instead instilled a sense of the wondrous and exotic in the Fair-goers. It was to be a display which showcased the greatness of the colonial powers in taming the once barbaric local population. [33] In the Openluchtmuseum, the presentation is quite different: the kitchen barrack has been utilized to portray the tragic history of the Moluccan immigrants in the Netherlands, and to what extent the living conditions between the camp overseer and the Moluccans differed.
While the barrack is aesthetically unimpressive, one’s senses are immediately intrigued by the fragrant kitchen. The immediacy of this experience is the very first thing stated in the memoirs of Gerard Beltman, a retired volunteer of the Openluchtmuseum, regarding the Moluccan barrack,[34] and is the very first thing mentioned on the web page for the barrack. A volunteer told me that spice mixes called bumbu are prepared in the kitchen area with the aim of enrich the sensory experience of the visitors: transporting them to a different world, unfamiliar to the native Dutch population, with new and alien smells.
The difference between the native Dutch and the Moluccans, stimulated by smell, is also provoked by food. In the beginning, the Moluccans were not allowed to prepare their own meals, and were served typically Dutch dishes. One of the mannequins resembling a Moluccan immigrant is armed with a motion detector, and an audio recording starts playing whenever someone comes near about ‘his’ experiences in the. He describes the living circumstances in the camp. Near the end, he states the following:
“And that food, cauliflower, Brussels sprouts, and potatoes. Dutch cuisine! We were not used to those things. But I have arranged something for that! From the grocer Kroomans from Tilburg: spices to increase the spiciness of the dishes. Spruitjes dengan sambal, [laughter], Brussels sprouts with sambal spices! [laughter intensifies]”
Sometimes in contemporary restaurant contexts, immigrant dishes need to be adapted to available ingredients. [35] Here, however, special ingredients were needed in order to make Dutch cuisine edible. Ex-volunteer Beltman recounts how another volunteer tells a group of visitors that the Moluccans could not stand eating certain Dutch dishes like hutspot. [36] Others did like these meals, like the camp overseer and his wife, who were natively Dutch. The latter, also frozen in time as a mannequin, says the following about it:
“[Clock chimes four times] Ah, is it that time already? The children will arrive home soon. Well, then I’ll have to start preparing dinner in the kitchen. Potatoes and Brussels sprouts with a piece of meat and gravy. My husband loves that! Back to work it is!”
What native Dutch people find an acceptable, or even delicious meal, is quite boring and even inedible to other people, who might feel the need to amend it using spices – a product that Dutch people used to trade heavily in during early modernity, but were too frightened to actually apply to dishes themselves. This disgust went both ways: later on, when the Moluccans were allowed to prepare their own food, neighbours would complain about the stench. [37]
Moving from preparation to consumption, as multiple scholars have pointed out, eating together promotes inclusion, while eating apart generates exclusion. [38] The different foodways presented in this part of the museum seem to manifest a distinction that was very apparent at the time to which it refers. Nowadays, however, things are somewhat different. Beltman reminisces about another volunteer telling visitors about the different foods and eating habits of the Moluccans, and how their food was not appreciated by the native Dutch population. But right after that, this volunteer exclaims “But now we have started to like Indonesian food, haven’t we?” And when prompted, everybody claims to like nasi (a spiced rice dish, often including vegetables, meat, egg, and a peanut-based sauce). [39] Eating the same foods together fosters inclusion,[40] and native Dutch people have started partaking of Indonesian dishes, albeit in altered (read: less spicy) forms, showcasing that the Dutch colonial history has become a part of the greater Dutch cultural landscape as well.
Here, the treatment of the colonial population is different than in the Chinese-Indonesian restaurant and Italian ice cream saloon. The food is more embedded in a living situation, showing the living situations of the immigrants. In a sense, the food is an open invitation to partake in their lives. It is not a full submersion, but the Indonesians become hosts instead of suppliers, and therefore on more equal footing. The venues promote a more immersed understanding for the native Dutch population, being therefore more successful civilizing rituals.
Conclusion
Museums are often accused of preserving and romanticizing the history of colonialism instead of challenging it. Their collections, rather than a neutral presentation, actually symbolize the exploitative power relations which are still ongoing. [41] Museums are present in the centre of colonial empires, and from that standpoint salvage, care for, and interpret the peripheries of the territory, both in the mainland as well as the colonies. [42] The Dutch Openluchtmuseum has been trying to abandon this role, by focusing on immigrant experiences. Presenting immigrants through their foodways seems to have been a core strategy, which at least seems to be monetarily successful considering the popularity of the Italian ice cream saloon Venezia.
In many cultures, it is considered to be the duty of the hospitable host to feed their guests. [43] And even though migrants are often thought of as guests in the Netherlands, they seem to become hosts in the Openluchtmuseum by offering food (albeit sometimes requiring payment). According to Bloch, this generates a certain power dynamic: the guests have to trust the host to not poison them. [44] This fear is often more pertinent when it concerns food that is labelled as ‘ethnic’ by the host society, [45] as can be seen in the döner rumours referenced at the beginning of this post. In other cases, however, it is related to how much we have come to appreciate migratory dishes, and how they have been assimilated into the Dutch identity. Still, how these dishes are presented shows a vantage point from a distinctly native Dutch culture: the dishes are exotic, and we need to be familiarized with them by seeing how the same ingredients are used in Dutch cuisine (as found in the Indonesian courtyard); or how they have become part of native Dutch food repertoire (as found in the Moluccan barrack). In that sense, the civilizing and educational function is targeted towards the native Dutch audience. From that perspective, it makes sense that the immigrant histories are told in relation to the dominating native Dutch culture, but at least with a means to immigrant empowerment.
Arjan Sterken is a lecturer and PhD candidate at the Radboud University in Nijmegen, the Netherlands, at the department of Comparative Religion of the faculty of Philosophy, Theology, and Religious Studies. His current research focuses on the ambiguity and reception of supernatural entities in early Indian and early Gnostic mythological sources. His teaching duties cover World Religions, New Religious Movements, and contact between Europe and Asia. Next to that, Arjan Sterken did an internship at the Meertens Institute on Dutch folktales. He periodically publishes on Dutch folklore in the section Vertelcultuur at the blog Neerlandistiek, and maintains a blog on Saxon folklore at Saxon Sagas.
Notes
[1] Harry West, ‘We Are Who We Eat with: Food, Distinction and Commensality’, in Politics of Food, ed. Dani Burrows and Aaron Cezar (London: Delfina Foundation, 2019), 135.
[2] Anne Kershen, ‘Introduction: Food in the Migrant Experience’, in Food in the Migrant Experience, ed. Anne Kershen (London: Routledge, 2002), 2.
[3] David Carrasco, Religions of Mesoamerica, Second Edition (Long Grove, IL: Waveland Press, 2014), 76.
[4] Theo Meder, ‘They Are among Us and They Are against Us: Contemporary Horror Stories about Muslims and Immigrants in the Netherlands’, Western Folklore 68, no. 2/3 (2009): 257–258.
[5] Mary Louise Pratt, Imperial Eyes: Travel Writing and Transculturation (London: Routledge, 1992), 6-7.
[6] James Clifford, Routes: Travel and Translation in the Late Twentieth Century (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1997), 192.
[7] Carol Duncan, Civilizing Rituals: Inside Public Art Museums (London: Routledge, 1995), 2.
[8] Duncan, Civilizing Rituals, 6.
[9] Duncan, Civilizing Rituals, 8.
[10] Pierre Bourdieu and Alain Darbel, L’Amour de l’art: Les Musées d’art Européens et Leur Public (Paris: Editions de minuit, 1969), 165; in Duncan, Civilizing Rituals, 4.
[11] Duncan, Civilizing Rituals, 3, 6.
[12] Ad De Jong, De Dirigenten van de Herinnering: Musealisering En Nationalisering van de Volkscultuur in Nederland 1815-1940 (Nijmegen: SUN Uitgeverij, 2001), 163; Anne Dymond, ‘Displaying the Arlésienne: Museums, Folklife and Regional Identity in France’, in Folklore and Nationalism in Europe During the Long Nineteenth Century, ed. Timothy Baycroft and David Hopkin (Leiden: Brill, 2012), 137.
[13] Nancy Fraser, ‘Reframing Justice in a Globalizing World’, New Left Review 36 (2005): 73.
[14] Sophia Labadi, Museums, Immigrants, and Social Justice (London: Routledge, 2018), 40.
[15] De Jong, De Dirigenten van de Herinnering, 342, 380, 429.
[16] De Jong, De Dirigenten van de Herinnering, 392, 435.
[17] Duncan, Civilizing Rituals, 5.
[18] Ian Fairweather, ‘Colonialism and the Museum’, in The International Encyclopedia of Anthropology, ed. Hilary Callan (New York, NY: John Wiley & Sons, 2018), 2.
[19] De Jong, De Dirigenten van de Herinnering, 233; Angela Schwarz, ‘The Regional and the Global: Folk Culture at World’s Fairs and the Reinvention of the Nation’, in Folklore and Nationalism in Europe During the Long Nineteenth Century, ed. Timothy Baycroft and David Hopkin (Leiden: Brill, 2012), 104-108.
[20] Fairweather, ‘Colonialism and the Museum’, 1; see also Tony Bennett, The Birth of the Museum: History, Theory, Politics (London: Routledge, 1995), and De Jong, De Dirigenten van de Herinnering,257-259.
[21] Daniel DeGroff, ‘Ethnographic Display and Political Narrative: The Salle de France of the Musée d’Ethnographie Du Trocadéro’, in Folklore and Nationalism in Europe During the Long Nineteenth Century, ed. Timothy Baycroft and David Hopkin (Leiden: Brill, 2012), 113.
[22] De Jong, De Dirigenten van de Herinnering, 13, 272.
[23] Timothy Baycroft, ‘Introduction’, in Folklore and Nationalism in Europe During the Long Nineteenth Century, ed. Timothy Baycroft and David Hopkin (Leiden: Brill, 2012), 1; Simon Knell, ‘National Museums and the National Imagination’, in National Museums: New Studies from Around the World, ed. Peter Aronsson et al. (London: Routledge, 2011), 11.
[24] See, for a more general description, Bennett, The Birth of the Museum, 77.
[25] Baycroft, ‘Introduction’, 3; Bennett, The Birth of the Museum, 111; Fairweather, ‘Colonialism and the Museum’, 1.
[26] Bennett, The Birth of the Museum, 109-110; De Jong, De Dirigenten van de Herinnering, 121, 146, 276.
[27] De Jong, De Dirigenten van de Herinnering, 158, 325.
[28] De Jong, De Dirigenten van de Herinnering, 122.
[29] De Jong, De Dirigenten van de Herinnering, 328-330.
[30] De Jong, De Dirigenten van de Herinnering, 433.
[31] Fabio Parasecoli, ‘Food, Identity, and Cultural Reproduction in Immigrant Communities’, Social Research 81, no. 2 (2014): 430.
[32] Kershen, ‘Introduction’, 7; Parasecoli, ‘Food, Identity, and Cultural Reproduction in Immigrant Communities’: 420.
[33] Schwarz, ‘The Regional and the Global’, 100-101.
[34] Gerard Beltman, Een Rondleider Vertelt: Nog Meer Verhalen En Anekdotes Uit Het Nederlands Openluchtmuseum (Velp: Jansen & de Feijter, 2018), 10, 50.
[35] Kershen, ‘Introduction’, 7; Parasecoli, ‘Food, Identity, and Cultural Reproduction in Immigrant Communities’: 420.
[36] Beltman, Een Rondleider Vertelt, 50.
[37] Beltman, Een Rondleider Vertelt, 50.
[38] Maurice Bloch, ‘Commensality and Poisoning’, Social Research 66, no. 1 (1999): 133, 138; Parasecoli, ‘Food, Identity, and Cultural Reproduction in Immigrant Communities’: 424-425; West, ‘We Are Who We Eat With’, 136-138.
[39] Beltman, Een Rondleider Vertelt, 50.
[40] West, ‘We Are Who We Eat With’, 137-138.
[41] Arjun Appadurai, ‘The Museum, the Colony, and the Planet: Territories of the Imperial Imagination’, Public Culture 33, no. 1 (2021): 122-123; Fairweather, ‘Colonialism and the Museum’, 3.
[42] Clifford, Routes, 193.
[43] West, ‘We Are Who We Eat With’, 136.
[44] Bloch, ‘Commensality and Poisoning’, 145.
[45] Kershen, ‘Introduction’, 7; Parasecoli, ‘Food, Identity, and Cultural Reproduction in Immigrant Communities’: 419.
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Museums as Ritual Sites 