IS EVERYTHING BLACK AND WHITE?
WEEK 17/2025
Every so often the little boy in me wonders, where do I truly come from and where do I belong?
As cabin crew for a major international airline, I’ve visited so many great cities and countries around the world, perks of the job, I guess. Going to Suriname is always a bit more special, though. A former colony of the Netherlands at the top of Latin America. When I mention this country, most people outside the Netherlands don't actually know anything of this paradise. It is a stunning country with its capital on the Unesco world heritage list, incredibly diverse culture, covered by 80% of amazon forest making it the one of the world's most forested countries in the world but it has more than a few deep dark pages in its history.
Growing up I never really realized that my mum had a different skin tone then me, but others pointed this out to me. Mum was mum, for me there was no colour difference. It was not till later that I started asking questions and having conversations about racism and discrimination. The things my mum told me left me gobsmacked. She was asked why, as a black lady, she walked around with a white baby or was refused entry to a club whilst her entire (white) friend group was allowed in. It left a feeling of shame, anger and sadness deep within me.
This also left me wondering, where are we from, who are my ancestors? And are we linked to slaves? Or am I just a white boy with a misplaced feeling of guilt on how my countrymen have robbed a country of its natural sources, traded in human beings, killed and abused them? My hunger for information is great. My grandparents have passed away, which makes my fact finding mission a little harder.
A few months ago one of my cousins ordered one of those DNA tests, where you swap the inside of your mouth and send it off to a lab. It actually confirmed what I was already expecting. We have bloodlines leading back to east and central africa. So we actually are descendants of slaves. This in itself sparked an inner battle. I am a white male living in the Netherlands. I can't really say that I had many struggles in life like so many black people, like my mum, still do. I do feel partially part of the black community but presenting as white.
So who am I?
A few days before leaving for Suriname one of my colleagues reached out to see if there was any interest in doing a guided tour over the Surinam river and to visit some plantations along the way. I thought it a good idea to actually visit a place where my ancestors were put to work, abused and killed. When I got off the boat at this first plantation, this uneasy feeling rushed through my veins, I felt connected to this place.
The weird thing is, the place was stunning, beautiful green fields with palm trees, colonial houses and a swimming pool to relax with a cocktail in hand served by people living in the area. They revamped the plantation into a historical hotel for tourists. Weird huh? More than a decade ago it was a place of cruelty where human beings used other human beings as a simple worktool.
During lunch our tour guide asked us if we had any idea if our ancestors were slave owners. I wanted to tell him that it was actually the slaves I was connected to, but I didn't dare. Why? I’m not sure, maybe it's fear of people thinking, who does this privileged white boy think he is? Maybe it's because I'm so conflicted?
What I do know is that I need to start investigating, I want to know more. Ao the question remains, Who am I? And does it matter where I come from? Should we carry the shame of the past through generations, or is there ever a time it is okay to let go? History is a great learning tool, and perhaps we shouldnt.
We should, however, always remember.
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