Week 1: Tolerance, Colonialism, and the Myth of Dutch Liberalism

When most people think of the Netherlands, they picture weed, red lights, and a wildly progressive sex education curriculum. But 6 days in and I’ve learned that Dutch liberalism is far more complicated and conditional than its global branding lets on.

In our first guest lecture, Chantal talked about how the Dutch pride themselves on being “tolerant,” especially when it comes to issues like sexuality and gender. But the deeper we went, the more it became clear that this “tolerance” often operates more like a lack of restriction rather than true acceptance. It’s strategic, not principled. As Mijnhardt (2003) explains, historical moments of Dutch tolerance (i.e. during the Golden Age) were less about moral commitment and more about managing instability. In a deeply fragmented political and religious climate, compromise became a survival skill. Religious freedom was allowed, but not celebrated. People were tolerated because enforcing conformity was impossible - not because diversity was actually valued.

Sophie Rose’s lecture and research on colonial sex laws made this painfully clear. In Dutch colonies like Suriname, Curaçao, and Indonesia, sex wasn’t just personal - it was political, racialized, and legally policed. Enslaved and colonized women were subject to violent double standards: white men’s abuse went unpunished, while women could be fined, banished, or even sentenced to death for the same acts -especially if their partners were non-white men (Rose & Heijmans, 2021). These laws weren’t about morality; they were about power. The manipulation of women's sexuality and bodies was reminiscent of what I'd learned in feminist philosophy last year. Angela Davis (1981) argues that during slavery, the reproductive labor of Black women was both exploited and pathologized, thus establishing a perspective of women’s bodies as both threats and tools for maintaining white patriarchal control. C. Riley Snorton (2017) builds on this, showing how the "flesh" of people of colour was cast as “ungendered” - outside the white Western sex-gender binary -  and thus open to use, violence, and categorization however the state saw fit. That’s what makes the legacy of colonization so chilling: bodies weren’t people. They were symbols of disorder or tools of control. And while the Netherlands has only recently begun to acknowledge its role in colonialism, these logics didn’t end with legal emancipation - they still echo in who gets criminalized, who gets protected, and whose pain is rendered invisible.

The Netherlands’ liberal self-image tends to erase this history. And yet, that history shapes who is still granted permission to be visible, desirable, and safe in Dutch society. This tension between the image and the infrastructure of tolerance reminds me a lot of what happens across the Western world, especially in conversations about queer rights or sex ed. Surface-level progress can both mask and reinforce deep-rooted inequality, leading those in marginal communities to never feel truly protected. Growing up in an environment as socially conservative as the US, it’s tempting to romanticize countries that claim to be sexually “free.” But if I've learned anything, it's that nothing is that simple. Who gets that freedom? Who is left out? And how do we tell the difference between actual liberation and tolerance that’s just convenient?

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References

Davis, Angela Y. “The Legacy of Slavery: Standards for a New Womanhood.” Women, Race & Class, Vintage Books, 2020, pp. 3–29.

Mijnhardt, W. (2003). A tradition of tolerance. In E. Lucassen (Ed.), *Discovering the Dutch: On culture and society of the Netherlands* (pp. 190–204). Amsterdam University Press.

Rose, S., & Heijmans, J. (2021). Sexual violence and the law in Dutch colonial Indonesia. *Gender & History, 33*(2), 377–396. https://doi.org/10.1111/1468-0424.12512

Snorton, C. R. (2017). Anatomically speaking: Ungendered flesh and the science of sex. In *Black on both sides: A racial history of trans identity* (pp. 17–54). University of Minnesota Press.

T-10 Days: Packing with Room for the Unfamiliar

I’ve always loved a good packing list, complete with checklists, tiny travel bottles, color-coded packing cubes, but no one tells you how much heavier the baggage of cultural expectations is to fold. That’s kind of what this pre-departure process has felt like: realizing that preparing for a trip like this isn’t just about what I’m bringing to Amsterdam, but what I’ve been carrying around already.

Soooooo... who am I, and how do I fit my perspective into the cultural environment of Amsterdam? As an eternally curious, first generation Indian-American navigating the once-taboo territory of sexuality, I've spent the past year figuring out what it means to live ethically, joyfully, and on purpose. I'm an unapologetic 'try-hard' and 'feminist killjoy' who's falling in love with life. I'm someone who notices how people speak to each other in public - and especially how they disagree. I value open-mindedness, life-long learning (shoutout to ZTA for that one), and questioning everything, especially the stuff we were told not to question. I'm also so over the shame in the US - about sex, about bodies, about being seen - and beyond excited to see the sociopolitical potential of a cultural free of that shame.

What I want from this trip, other than the in-curriculum drag show, is clarity. And not the kind that comes from a perfect itinerary or Google Translate. I want to see what it’s like to live in a place where sexuality isn’t immediately coded as distasteful or other. I want to learn how culture shapes comfort, how people talk about desire without panic. I want to feel what it’s like to be in spaces where bodies are just bodies, not battlegrounds. That feels like a big ask, but most certainly one that's overdue.

According to Shelley Story, this trip is a chance to meet a “new me” I haven’t met yet. I've never been immersed in a culture I didn't have a personal connection to, and as someone who prefers to know everything, that both thrills and terrifies me. I’m hoping to find more of my voice, especially in conversations about power and identity. I also know I tend to be the Sponge Traveler (with a dash of Schedule-Master chaos), so my goal is to soak in as much of the everyday life as I can, even if that means saying no to a couple nights out. I want this experience to feel lived, not just documented.

In regards to studying abroad, my boundaries are mostly internal. I know that when I get overwhelmed, I tend to shut down or go full people-pleaser mode. So I’m setting the intention now to ask myself “What do I actually want right now?” at least once a day. I also know I won’t be compromising on my safety or curiosity just to avoid being “the buzzkill.” There’s no version of this trip that’s worth abandoning myself.

My biggest fear? Missing the moment. Retreating out of habit, checking out to avoid discomfort, slowly starting to become a recluse, or sticking with the familiar and only the familiar. I know how easy it is to default to American friends, American snacks, American customs, but I want to push myself to fully immerse myself in the experience of living abroad for a month. This means not only surviving, but making an effort to thrive, too.

T-10 days, and I'm ready to unpack my values alongside my passport. So here’s to weird museum exhibits, hard conversations, and finding pieces of myself in unfamiliar places.