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Descendant of the first generation of Chinese who settled in Katendrecht (Rotterdam), David Zee (61) wrote Chinese Kees, a book about his family history. In the 1930s, Katendrecht was Europe’s biggest Chinatown, a past now only visible through the survival of some Chinese named street signs.
“It came fairly naturally to me. I started collecting stories from my family when I was 16, especially about the Chinese communities in the Netherlands. I was writing everything down in a notebook. When I turned 18, I already knew that one day I would turn it into a book. Because I give tours on Katendrecht twice a week, I often share stories about the Chinese communities. When my daughter got older, I felt it was a good time to introduce her to our family history too. That became my driving force. She turns 18 in April.”
“She doesn’t speak much about personal matters, but she does find it interesting. She appreciates learning more about the history of the Chinese side of the family. Since she didn’t grow up in Katendrecht and never knew her grandfather and great-grandfather, she has a less strong connection to it. However, she does love Chinese food and I often make it for her when she’s with me.”
“My Dutch ex-wife found it strange that I was writing a book about my family history and had no interest in it at all. I was also in a long relationship with a Moluccan-Chinese woman, and she actually found it very fascinating.”
David grew up in Katendrecht, a peninsula and neighbourhood in Rotterdam, known for its rich history and cultural diversity. In the past, the area used to have many Chinese restaurants, gambling houses, and a vibrant street life. But over the years, gentrification transformed Katendrecht from a rough, poverty-stricken neighbourhood into a now trendy residential area.
“I witnessed Katendrecht’s transformation first-hand. In the 90s and 2000s, it was a really rough neighbourhood: people would get robbed and it was almost unlivable. Nowadays, it’s a beautiful area, but there are hardly any remnants of its Chinese history, except for a few Chinese name signs like Lee, Siou, Choo, and Tsang. I still know people who live there, but there’s nothing else that reminds me of how it used to be. In the past, when you walked through the streets, you could smell Chinese food everywhere. And in some places, you could hear the sound of mahjong tiles. That I do miss. It’s a shame that atmosphere is gone.”
“Old Katendrechters often came from working- class backgrounds, people with rough lives, a lot of poverty, and a great diversity of migrant backgrounds. It was the first migrant neighbourhood in the Netherlands. In elementary school, children of all sorts of backgrounds sat together: Surinamese, Yugoslavians, Spaniards, Portuguese, and many more. There was a truly strong bond between these different groups.
My dad, for instance, often played cards with people of different backgrounds. They were constantly joking and teasing each other, but it was never mean-spirited. Everyone looked out for each other. If someone had to go to the hospital or didn’t have money, there was always help. There was no conflict between us; the community felt united. I grew up in a three-room apartment with nine people, without warm water. To get warm water, we had to go to a shop. There was only one heater in the living room. In the winter, when I woke up, I could see my breath, and the windows were often frozen over.”
“I didn’t really belong anywhere. When we kids got into arguments, I was often called names like ‘pinda’(peanut) or ‘slit-eye’. Even by the Chinese kids, I was called ‘ghost child’ (鬼仔, gwai zai). Our family experienced racism from both sides.”
“I still visit Katendrecht often and see people from the second and third generation of Chinese families with whom I still keep in touch. Recently, I ran into a childhood friend, a Chinese man that I hadn’t seen in a while. He had moved away but is now back in Katendrecht. It was someone I hadn’t spoken to in 30 years, and now I see him every now and then. He’s the son of Chong Kok Low’s chef. As children, we often played together and would visit each other’s homes regularly.
I still see many people from my youth, although, sadly, some have passed away. Nevertheless, there remains a sense of community in Katendrecht. Every last Friday of the month, there’s the ‘Kaapse Tafel’ at Verhalenhuis Belvédère, where old Ketendrachters can have lunch for free. Families like the Middelman family, and the Yee and Lee families, of the second and third generations still live in Katendrecht. Like me, they are both Chinese and Dutch. These people know exactly what I am talking about; we share a lot with each other.”
“Everything: the food, the holidays, the customs, burning incense, Buddhism, and the language. I really grew up in two cultures. My father worked for many years in the first Chinese restaurant in the Netherlands, Chong Kok Low. The owner, Mr. Yuen Wah, was in a relationship with my grand-aunt for more than 40 years. As a child, I often visited the restaurant, the Chinese gambling house and Chinese friends. At my grandfather’s and Aunt Jo’s place, people were always coming over, especially women who made Wan Tan soup together. For me, it was very normal to grow up with Chinese culture.
It wasn’t until I started writing this book that I truly began to realise the impact of those experiences. I still feel a strong connection to Chinese communities. Recently, I was in a Chinese store with a Dutch friend who had no idea what most of the products on the shelves were. I explained to him what certain vegetables and spices were used for, things he didn’t know. That’s when you really notice the difference in upbringing. Even snacks I used to eat, like dried squid you can pull apart as a snack, I now buy for my daughter.”
“Without realising it, you pass on certain things simply because they feel natural to you. Values and norms, for example, are unconsciously passed on to your children. For example, I will always be respectful towards elders, and that’s deeply ingrained in my upbringing. I notice that Dutch children often don’t learn this; they can sometimes come across as rude. When I was younger and riding public transport my father would always tell me, ‘Stand up for the elderly; they need the seat more than you do.’ You hardly see that anymore these days. Dutch people, in my opinion, can come across a bit blunt, while Chinese people tend to be more cautious in their interactions.”
“The Chinese communities had very few rights; they weren’t allowed to travel freely. When my grandfather and grandmother wanted to get married, they were denied permission. The Ministry of Justice in the Netherlands didn’t think it was a good idea for our Dutch women to marry Chinese men and other ‘Asian vermin’. They fought for two years to get married. Even when their child was born, they weren’t allowed to give him a Chinese name, because that was prohibited by the government. They fought hard for their rights, and I’m incredibly proud of their perseverance.
Other Chinese communities in the Netherlands also fought tirelessly to build a life for their families. Eventually my grandparents were allowed to marry after two years, but this had major consequences: my grandmother lost her Dutch nationality and became Chinese.
Peter Yin was a Chinese-Dutch boy who was disappointed that in the 1960s, he couldn’t go on holiday to Spain with his friends. He decided to apply for military service, hoping to obtain Dutch citizenship that way. Unfortunately, he was rejected. Another boy of the same age, also Chinese-Dutch, did get called up for military service. My eldest brother went through the same process and automatically received Dutch citizenship. It was hard to understand why it worked for one person and not for another; I still don’t know the reason.”
“By 1975, my mother had reached her limit. My father had to renew his residence and work permit every year, which also cost a lot of money. At the time, there was a lot of migration from the Mediterranean region to the Netherlands, and migrants from Spain, Morocco, and Turkey were given the same rights as Dutch citizens. However, the Chinese communities received nothing. We didn’t get child benefits, no subsidies, and even going on holiday wasn’t possible. My mother thought it was unfair that others received those benefits, while she, born in the Netherlands, had no rights simply because she was married to a Chinese man.
Eventually, she decided to reclaim her Dutch nationality. It was possible, but it had to be bought, and it cost 3,500 guilders. After paying, she regained her Dutch nationality, and with that, her children also became Dutch citizens. Now, I am Dutch, Chinese, and Taiwanese, but this still causes complications. In 2012, I became seriously ill and was hospitalised. When I applied for benefits, I was told that I didn’t ‘meet the requirements,’ without any further explanation. It took more than two years before I finally received the benefits. To my suprise, I also had to attend an interview to prove that I could read and write in Dutch.
The Chinese community was only officially recognised as a minority group in the Netherlands in 2008, even though they were the first major migrant group in the country. Since we couldn’t rely on government support, we solved it within our communities by helping each other with food and financial support.”
“On Katendrecht, there were several gambling houses, the first of which, Hap Ji, opened in 1915. People often contributed money, which led to a communal fund. This pot was used to help anyone who couldn’t pay their rent, needed clothes, or was short on pocket money. If someone’s car broke down, the money was lent or given as a loan.
My father had a decent job, so our family didn’t rely on it, but in my childhood, there was an elderly man with pure white hair, whom we called the ‘snowman’. He was a first-generation seaman, but his health was poor. He was well taken care of and didn’t have to worry about anything. He lived in a small room and spent every day at Hap Ji. Everyone would chat with him, and he received food and drinks; everything was paid for, including his pocket money.
I often visited the gambling houses where the Chinese knew me. Sometimes, new Chinese residents didn’t recognise me and wanted to send me away. They were told that I come from a Chinese family and that my grandfather was an important man in the community. There was even a sign at the gambling house strictly forbidding Dutch people from entering—only Chinese were allowed. It was ironic, because I’m both Chinese and Dutch.”
“My grandfather received a lot of respect within the Chinese communities because he was one of the few who had married a Dutch woman and owned a business. He had one of the first Chinese restaurants and was later the first Chinese entrepreneur with a Western-style business.
A few years ago, I was approached by someone of Chinese descent who was involved with the Chinese communities. He was concerned about potential conflicts and came to me because we are an important family within those communities. This was something I only recently realised.
My aunt Jo spoke Cantonese and Shanghainese as early as the 1920s. She had a special gift for connecting with Chinese men and acted as a sort of social worker, long before that was a common role. For 70 years, she helped the Chinese communities in the Netherlands, Germany, Belgium, and England, where she was known as Jokoe because of her helpfulness. My grandfather and one of my brothers, who has sadly passed away, also had a big impact. My brother spoke four different dialects and was incredibly good at reading and writing. Men often asked him to write letters for them. He was even approached by Heineken to work as a manager in Hong Kong, but he wasn’t interested. The status of my family members within the communities has been significant, and it leaves a lasting impression.”
“It doesn’t matter who you are or where you come from; if you’re determined and pursue your goal, you can achieve it.”
“I wrote this book because I’ve been giving tours for a long time and often hear that people know very little about the Chinese communities in the Netherlands. They might know the racist phrase ‘pinda pinda lekka lekka’, but not the misery and challenges that these communities have faced. The story remains unknown to many, but fortunately more people are discovering, through my book, how the Chinese community came to the Netherlands and what obstacles they had to overcome.
During my research, I spoke with second and third-generation Chinese people who know little about their Chinese fathers and ancestors. I also noticed that many young people from China, with whom I’ve come into contact over the years, don’t even know that Rotterdam once had the largest Chinatown on the European mainland. That’s why my book is also being published in China. My grandfather is from Ningbo, and many people there have no idea about the stories I’m telling. While many books are academic in nature, personal stories are unfamiliar territory for them. They find it incredibly interesting. We are also working on a museum in Ningbo, where these photos and stories will be showcased.”
The Chinese translation of David Zee’s book is expected to be released next year, and he hopes that it will raise more awareness about the obstacles that the Chinese communities have overcome both within and outside the Netherlands.
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