Does Anyone Win in the Dutch Election?

Tomorrow’s Dutch election is shaping up to be a contest between two parties, the incumbent right-wing, elitist-loving conservative party and the white-skinned anger goblins of the alt-right party.

That’s not entirely fair to the 28 other parties we don’t hear about running for seats in the election. These aren’t the crackpot fringe parties of Canadian elections either – the Marijuana Party of Canada really should’ve named itself the Pot Party – seventeen of them have seats in the Dutch House of Representatives.

There are socialist, liberal, and conservative parties. There’s an animal rights’ party. The 50+ Party for seniors. There are parties for Christians and Calvinists. A party based on astrology, called the Party for Human and Spirit. There’s an anti-racist party, which has no seats yet. There is a Pirate Party too.

They all have a shot at winning or keeping seats with Holland’s system of proportional representation. Think of it! All those voices. All those politicians with different platforms, ideas, policies, and agendas working together.

So why is it that the only politician we hear about is the leader of the alt-right anger goblin party? Why is the only election issue we hear of is about staying in the European Union or addressing some imagined Muslim problem?

Forcing the non-issues

The Netherlands is wrestling with an ageing population, a falling birthrate, and a corporate tax system that invites fraud – just to name a few election issues. Now I’m only getting a taste of the election coverage as an English-speaker, I hope Dutch news coverage is more comprehensive. 

If every lead international news story is some racist politician somewhere saying something racist, over time the only narrative for the election in voters' minds is about that politician. Then two choices emerge in the voter’s mind: the ruling party, which is news because it dictates policy and the most grabbing attention opposition politicians.

There are two principles in advertising at work here. One is that familiarity with a brand potentially leads to loyalty to a brand. So when you’re about to buy deodorant you gravitate towards the deodorant you’ve heard about – hearing enough about something implies legitimacy.

The other is people post-rationalize their emotional decisions. You hear this in clothing stores where people offer sensible reasons for the thing they impulsive bought. You say you need that really cool sweater that's on sale because it’s cold outside sometimes, glossing over the fact you already own 12 sweaters.

Put those two principles together and you have a situation where voters gravitate towards politicians they are more familiar with – through the nightly news, newspapers, or social media – and they rationalize those politicians’ emotional appeals into something, well, less irrational.

Reflect before you elect

That’s how an idea as farcical as Brexit became a part of the UK’s political conversation, and how half the voters turned the emotional message of political sovereignty into an irrational idea of economic prosperity.

There’s very little we can do about the media, it covers the outrageous no matter what. As voters, we need to see we’re being manipulated. We must understand we’re emotional beings – not as smart as we think we are, but definitely smarter than the populists give us credit for.

We need to look a little harder at our own political thoughts and actions. Where do they come from? Why do I like what that politician is saying? How are my problems being addressed? We need to be a little more rational about ourselves.

Otherwise the anger goblins of the world might end up running things. 

How Rotterdam got its Architecture

Rotterdam's strangely stunning train station.

Rotterdam's market hall. The windows on the sides and the top are flats.

Architecture is a city’s body language. It say the things that cities want to say, but it also conveys things a city might not want to reveal about itself.

Do the glittering glass condo buildings along Toronto’s lakefront demonstrate that it’s a modern, densely-populated international city? Or does it show that developers have so much influence that they can build cheap glass buildings in a wintery city and cram in as many small apartments as they want?

European cities and the people that ruled them had a lot to say after World War II. Their cities had their own architectural body language.

The Soviets erected grand monuments to show off the glorious socialist dream. But also built massive, identical apartment blocks to house workers like tools on a shelf.

West German cities rebuilt their old towns from the ruins, as if to get something back from before the war. Beyond the old towns, low-rise buildings with the same flat plaster facade were built – functional, unostentatious, unromantic, German efficiency. 

Then there’s crazy, eccentric Rotterdam. Whose old downtown was obliterated by the Germans in 1940 and faced a choice to rebuild its old commercial centre as it once was or try something else.

Rotterdam commissioned some of the most loopiest, high concept designs it could find. Skyscrapers in odd shapes or don’t even look like skyscrapers. Windows not shaped like windows. Glass, brick, and concrete jutting out in odd directions.

So, what exactly is the city trying to say?

What does a train station that looks an inverted check mark convey to people arriving? Or a market hall with a barn-like, sloping roof made of apartments? Or houses shaped like cubes?

I have a guess, but in order to get to it, I couldn’t look at Rotterdam’s architecture in its totality. You have to look a little closer at specific buildings, like the Cube Houses.

House of Cubes.

As the name suggests, they are houses shaped like cubes. They’re set atop brick pylons and hover over a concrete courtyard. The idea was to open up land below for community use by raising people’s living space above the it.

It’s a cool solution to a serious urban problem. The design is striking, and divisive. Some find it ugly. Others like it. But since it was unprecedented, there were flaws.

The houses themselves are cramped and there’s a lot of lost space from the slanting walls and ceilings. The interior design is clearly what people in the 1970s thought the future would look like.

The Cube Houses say, “We’re going to try something new. We might get some of it wrong, but why not give it a shot?”

And that is what Rotterdam is trying to say: “Why not?” It’s the busiest port in Europe. Holland’s business centre. It was never a big draw for tourists. Yet, the city has enough civic courage in itself to say “Why not?” to ideas that would make other cities pause. And it has enough civic confidence not to give a shit if anyone else doesn’t like it.

Maybe other cities can learn from that mentality. Maybe we all can.

Inside the House of Cubes.

If you go:
There are two reasons to make the trek out to the Delfshaven, Rotterdam's old harbour. One is the old church where the pilgrims prayed before setting off on the dangerous trip to the New World. The other is the Pelgrim Brouwerji, where the pilgrims might have gone for one last drink before setting off. We spent a sunny afternoon outside, sipping all their fine brews on the quiet street.

One reason I enjoy Holland -- it isn't just my Dutch heritage -- is the cosy bars. Holland can be a windy, rainy place and it's nice to get indoors, drink a strong beer, and nibble on a plate of snacks (also a great Dutch thing). We really liked Sijf and its neighbour across the street, Thuis Bij Schell.

Almost every meal we ate in Rotterdam was great, so Bagel and Beans, Picknick, and Nieuw Rotterams Cafe all deserve honourable mentions. In conclusion, go to Rotterdam and eat in Rotterdam.

Hockey Night in the Dorf

Good seats for the face-off

You experience a strange feeling of familiarity when you go to a hockey game in Europe. On one hand, you know this place, the hockey arena, with its smells, sounds, and light chill in the air is comforting for a Canadian.

On the other hand, you’re in Europe. Everything is in German. Fans sing soccer-esque chants you don't know. And there is mulled wine and several varieties of sausage served at the concession.

These two sensations competed with each other when we watched the Dusseldorf EG host the Iserlohn Roosters. 

The old school hockey fans in Canada might cry foul about the Europeans game and its lack of fights and blood and missing teeth. Do not be deterred, the game here is great to watch. 

While Canadians like to think that hockey is their game, and that they play it the best, there is good hockey elsewhere too. In Germany, it’s fast and exciting: The final score was 5-4 for the Dorf. 

The league’s players are career players – some have played in the NHL or one of the other minor leagues, so they bring just enough skill to make the game look good but are able to make the odd error that can turn around a play and make your pulse race. 

It’s also not as nearly as physical as the North American game – even if both teams have a healthy contingent of Canadian players on their rosters. The game is fast, focusing on skating and passing, with few stoppages and plenty of back and forth hockey.

Germany might be a soccer country, but a country of 80 million people also has its niche sports, like hockey, whose fans will not sit silently in its niche. 

And this is the beauty of going to niche sporting event: the fans. There are not a lot of German hockey fans, but the ones that show up are serious. They’re wrapped in their team scarves, wearing jerseys and toques, and bejewelled with countless pins. 

We had seats just a row over from the Roosters’ booster section, which was full of blue-and-white-clad fans who made the drive to the Dorf from Iserlohn. They were on their feet most of the game, singing, chanting, and cheering. 

Those rowdy Rooster fans.

The hockey fandom in Germany seems to be at the grassroots. Most of the boxes in the arena were empty. Hockey here is truly relies on the fans, and not big money or cTV contract dollars or corporate sponsorships. Soccer teams in Dortmund or Cologne attract the big money here, but of course with that comes the casual fans. 

In this way a German hockey game feels more like a minor league game. 

The NHL hockey game is great, awe-inspiring, featuring the best players in the world. It's also remote, distant, and, in cities like Toronto, dispassionate. The cost is also high, so most fans like me watch it from the couch at home.

The minor league hockey game is different. Sure, it doesn't have the monumentality of a pro game, but it's intimate and accessible. This was the hockey I grew up watching live  like my hometown's London Knights and later my university's team, and later, in Toronto, the Marlies. 

These smaller arenas were full of families, students, fans, and people who don’t leave at the second intermission to beat traffic. And while the passion that draws Canadians to watch every level of competitive hockey seems unique to us, it's not – that hockey passion is in other places as well (for example, I worked with a Hungarian hockey fan in Budapest).

In Germany, you go to a Dusseldorf EG because you love the team or the sport, so the enthusiasm is electric in a place like this. That passion is also likely more powerful because you're a hockey fan in a soccer country, so you might as be passionate and a little eccentric.

There’s not a lot of things I miss from home, mostly stuff that can't be bought: Family, friends, the comfort of familiar surroundings. But there are some small comforts that help assuage the homesickness for a little while. Hockey, as niche as it might be in Germany or Hungary or anywhere, is one of those things.

Mulled wine and hockey. Mmmmmmm....