Netherlands, old millennium: hospitality was always the first civil duty here.
Photo: Image/PIEMAGS
Because there was a certain routine over time when filling, laid -out actions happened. So in later years it happened that Maarten had no time for a certain home line -up. However, Maarten was an important part of every occupation process because he always took on the role of the phone. He could not handle the crowbar so well, but he was not afraid to make calls with the police. Most people were again uncomfortable. The police and state organs were a strange, hostile world for many. Maarten had therefore become something like my fixed phone caller when we occupied houses together, and we actually always occupied together. We also occupied for other people.
That day we penetrated the Annastraat on a small floor, but Maarten absolutely had to do something that can be done at the university. At the time, I wondered whether there was anything more important than filling a house at all, but since it could not be changed, we had to find a different solution. After all, about ten people had already registered for the line -up. After a short superiority, Maarten proposed to simply call the police from a telephone booth at the university. We just would have to coordinate in time. We wanted to start breaking at eight and he would go to the listener at five after eight.
I didn’t think the idea was wrong. We were very well recorded. It was just a question of the right timing. So it happened that that morning this tiresome door in the Annastraat did not want to open. The crowded iron could be pushed into the door gap immediately without the help of the hammer, but the door behaved like rubber, it gave in, but was too flexible, no solid wood that could be breaked out of the castle. A co -occupied stuck small metal wedges in the gap that I had opened so that I could start with the crowbar from there. But the castle didn’t break through.
We took our time. The road was very quiet because it mainly consisted of shops. In the Annastraat we were only a small group of young men. Nobody stood lubricated, but everyone took care of this stubborn door. We tested techniques, discussed a lack of tools. We were nerds.
They took a break in the police car to discuss the legal situation. Then the siren went on.
After half an hour, an impatient colleague climbed up the facade to strike the window on the first floor and open the door from the inside. However, when he dangled halfway on the rain gutter, a patrol car turned into the Annastraat west. Then I remembered Maarten how he had no idea on the university campus in a telephone cabin. The two police officers in the car also seemed to be surprised that we were not at all in the house, but were still busy with crowbar on the door. You broke the car. Then they seemed to have taken a break to discuss the legal situation. After several seconds the blue light and then the siren went on. Then they hurriedly drove in our direction. For us this was the reason to run our lives.
At the first line -up of Springweg 23 However, everything went smoothly. We went to the jumping path on an ice -cold Janu carbide, even before dawn dawned, to open the doors at house number 23. We were about fifteen people. We parked the bicycles at a safe distance, I stuck a shelter and crowbar under the jacket and step towards the door. She could be opened like pizza box. After I broke the doors, a certain Alex, with whom I formed the modest crowd troop, immediately assembled a thick sliding lock on the inside of the door. The rest of our people, equipped with thermos and blankets, stood lubricated at different corners. On Alex ‘whistle everyone started at the same time and penetrated into the house. The phone caller who was waiting for Haverstraat at the corner got a sign, then the bar was approaching: Gekraakt! Occupied. Everything went very efficiently.
The neighbors became aware of us pretty quickly. Because it was so dark inside because of the tidy windows, many of us spent time on the street in front of the house. The neighbors were hesitant at first, but they were interested and asked us what was going on. Above all, they were older people who probably had a lot of day free time. After a while, an elderly lady came across us with coffee and Krokelingen. Krokelings are sweet, small cookies that are administered in the form of pretzels. She said: »Here, scrabels. Because yours Squatters be. «Krakers. The Dutch word for home occupiers. She grinned. Another man said that Krakers like us hadn’t seen any more in the jumping path, the last time it was eight years ago when number 90 was occupied.
We had also heard of the occupation of number 90. The campaign only lasted briefly. The owner appeared on the day of the line -up with two large boys and a pistol. With the pistol he shot into the door lock and thus gained access to the inside of the house. The handful of occupied did not hesitate and fled over the roofs of the neighboring houses. The house was then never occupied again. The circumstances are not compatible with general ideas of living pleasure. There were well -occupied groups who knew how to defend themselves against violent and mafia -based owners, but these were larger houses with a few dozen residents. Most of the time there were only in Amsterdam, and in Amsterdam the movement was also much militant. In Utrecht we lived in these little two -story houses, so you are always outnumbered.
Some of the gathered neighbors did not miss the opportunity to remember the number 90. That was probably a big story at the time. An older gentleman formed a pistol by hand and said “Pengpeng”. He laughed. I did not assume malice, the neighbors were gathered in a certain amount of cheerfulness. You probably have to make such jokes.
A murder was also mentioned that should have taken place in our house. Although I only lived in the Netherlands for a month and a half, I was able to understand a lot. I only had a hard time speaking. In any case, I grabbed words how Murder and Death On, I would have to have it explained later, I didn’t want to ask at this point, because the topic seemed to make a slight upset and was quickly dropped.
The text is a preliminary print from the refreshing novel »Springweg Burnen« (Edition Schelf). The autofiction blogger Markus Pfeifer (mequito.org) tells light -footed of the occupation of an old haunted house in the Utrecht of the 90s.