Ode to Trijntje Pieters | Long live Love!

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Ode to Trijntje Pieters

It is extraordinary, really, that someone about whom you know little can play a very special role in your life. That you can put them on a pedestal, assign them a heroine's role. So much so that you want to pay tribute to her. To make her story a symbol for all the women who followed her.

I don't know much about Trijntje Pieters; indeed, if she were sitting across the table from me, I would pour her a cup of tea and shower her with questions. About her life, about her marriage. 'Trijntje,' I would say, as I would slide a piece of home-baked carrot cake her way, 'How did you meet your husband? As an Amsterdam woman, what was it like to marry an African man? How did people react to your marriage?' One question after another would cross the table. 

All over the world, people of different ethnicities, colors, faiths and classes married each other. But if you look historically, you will also see that it was often forbidden. That not everyone everywhere was allowed to marry whoever they wanted. In fact, marriage between black and white was forbidden until recently in certain parts of the world, like Australia, parts of Asia, South Africa and in many of the former colonies of European countries. Even in my own family, part African-American, marriage between black and white was not in all the states of the U.S. allowed until 1967, and it was necessary to go to Mexico to be allowed to marry someone of a different color. 

In 1593, Trijntje Pieters married a man she loved. That man was Bastiaan Pietersz of “Maniconge in Afryken,” who came from the kingdom of Congo. At that time, a small community of Africans were living in Amsterdam, and thanks to the research of historian Mark Ponte[1], we know that this was probably the first marriage of an African in Amsterdam. From this marriage a daughter was born.

[1] See https://voetnoot.org/2018/03/15/een-afro-amsterdamse-gemeenschap-in-zeventiende-eeuws-amsterdam/

When I first heard about Trijntje and Bastiaan's marriage, I was immediately reminded of the American couple Loving. The story of Mildred and Richard Loving begins when they were arrested in 1958 for being married and living in Virginia as a so-called “interracial” couple. Their case, Loving v. Virginia reached the U.S. Supreme Court. Their lawyers argued that laws against marriages between black and white stemmed from abolished slavery laws, and eventually they won their lawsuit on June 12, 1967, and the ban on mixed marriages was lifted in all U.S. states. Since then, Loving Day has been celebrated every year on June 12.

And as I imaginatively sit at the table with Trijntje, Elisabeth Samson would join me. She was born in Paramaribo in 1715. As a free black woman during slavery, Elisabeth was able to develop herself into a very successful businesswoman. In 1764 she wanted to marry a white man but the wedding was forbidden and she traveled to The Hague to challenge the decision with the States General. Three years later she finally received permission, but by then the man in question had died. She eventually married another white man after all. I would ask Elisabeth where she got the strength and patience to fight for that marriage all those years. And I imagine she would answer me along the lines of: lobida basi. Love is the boss.

I would have to add another chair because I would also ask the mother of South African comedian and presenter Trevor Noah, to take a seat and tell her story. In his autobiography I recently read that his black mother and white father's relationship was illegal under the apartheid regime. It even got to the point where his mother was imprisoned because of their relationship. The autobiography is aptly titled: Born a Crime.

Even for my own white mother, having a relationship with my black father in the Netherlands in the 1960s and 1970s was not always easy. For example, they were quite often refused in certain places.

I can only guess what it must have been like for Trijntje to marry outside your own color in those days. But she did it. And so this ode is dedicated to her. And to all those women in Amsterdam, in other parts of the world, who had to fight to be allowed to marry whom they wanted. To be allowed to love who they want. To have children with whom they want. And still fight, because we are far from being free to marry whom we love. But love knows no color, as all these women make  very clear. 

Long live love!