Squatting Amsterdam Episode 3: the Maffia Strikes Back

2022 Amsterdam squat; not our place

In the previous episode (2) I squatted my first flat with Lena and the help of KSU Oost, the local squatting community in Amsterdam. In this instalment we settle into our new apartment and have our first encounter with the bad guys.

Some questions were raised by @k00b on yesterday's live show regarding utilities. Once we moved into the apartment we had to do some of the administrative work as in informing the gas and light company. The Squatting Manual had already informed us on how to do this. I remember the utility section of this clandestine booklet had shattered some of my worldviews. In order to get your flat connected with electricity and gas you simply ring your utility company and announce you live there and going to pay the bill, and that's it. They are not going to disconnect your service. Because why would they? They are very happy somebody is paying the bill, whether your are squatter or a normal renter. They don't give a shit. Halleluja for capitalism. Rent we obviously didn't pay. We'd live in Amsterdam for about 150 bucks a month, 75 euro per person.

Lena's boyfriend was a squatter living in another town and he was a carpenter. He often visited her and helped us out with some of the work that needed to be done on the kitchen. Since the whole apartment had been stripped we had to cook on bottled gas. A shower we didn't have, so we washed ourselves in a giant plastic cement bucket we found in the flat. The toilet was separated from the rest of flat by hanging up curtains from the ceiling (the oddest toilet you've ever did a poopoo on). Walls we created form wooden pallets and boards we found on the street. Same for the rest of our furniture. Amsterdam is quite an easy place to find secondhand stuff, because people just put it outside their homes for pickup. We found a fridge, sofa, chairs, lamps, everything we desired by simply scavenging the streets.

The Nazis A couple of days after we had settled it, the door bell rang. We never opened doors without checking through the balcony first. Standing in front of our house was the old neighbor who had been shouting and freaking out from his balcony on Sunday when we broke into the building. I went downstairs and had a brief talk with him. He told me his name was Gerard and in his hand we was holding a DVD, saying: “Dutch TV has interviewed me about my remarkable life story. Here's the recording for you.” The old man was very friendly. He was apparently 80 years old but looked like he was 60.

Later that night we inserted the disc and checked the documentary about our man. Gerard was Jewish and born into the flat next to us. During the nazi occupation the Germans held a razzia in 1943 and his family was arrested in their house on the Ruyschstraat. Gerard only 15 at the time hid in a closet and saw his parents and siblings being deported. They all died in Auschwitz. He himself got captured later but survived 3 camps, to finally returned to Amsterdam undercover in a hitler jugend attire to live in his parents place, the house next door. This is why he had a traumatic experience that Sunday when we arrived with 30 people with crowbars. In order to cope with his history, Gerard started pumping iron from the age of 57 at the gym and proudly held the title of oldest bodybuilder of the Netherlands. The local tv station also interviewed him, check it out here (Dutch).

The Maffia After the summer holidays ended I enrolled at college (hoge school) which was situated right around the corner of our squat. The main introduction period included a disco boat tour on the canal with multiple decks. I got drunk and kissed another first year girl against the railing of the boat. I must have gotten home around 4'o clock in the morning or something and crawled into my bed.

Next morning (Monday) 08:00 the bell rang, hurting my aching head. To my utter annoyance, I flipped open the sheets and resentfully walked to my french balcony doors, opened them, and had a rude awakening. Outside an SUV was parked carrying a large metal rubble bin for demolition work. A team of 7 men in jumpsuits looked up at me, a bald guy with glasses and trenchcoat standing behind them. The leading construction worker with Amsterdam accent, large posture and bald had pointed at me, and shouted, “Boy! If you don't open up the front door immediately, we are going to kick it in.” My hangover was instantly healed. Heart pounding I ran to my housemate Lena who was still sleeping with her boyfriend next to her. He immediately understood the situation and went to the front to keep the worker crew occupied by talking, whilst Lena and I dialed the number of the squatting headquarters.

The KSU had handed us a call tree (phone pyramid) system that we had hung up on our wall. It contained all the phone numbers of the nearby squats. In an emergency you call the top address (the headquarters) and they'll call the next two below in the hierarchy and so on. This piece of paper is a major liability and needs to be burned or eaten when it's at risk of falling into the wrong hands.

To our surprise, within 10 minutes, about 12 squatters had cycled to our location and had taken up position between the front door and working crew. Momo, my personal Morpheus, had talked the guys into leaving after we had rallied a greater army. It was a heartwarming experience to receive so much protection from your fellow squatters. The community has a miraculous affinity for military style organization and coordination. Gotta love it.

We had known beforehand by our research that the real estate was owned by criminals. And that the transactions on our plot had been used for money laundering. So, it wasn't a major surprise we had this encounter. We were somewhat prepared for it, as much as one can be prepared for such a thing.

Debriefing and Exit After the working crew and owner had left, we had a debriefing in our house to discuss what's next and discussed how to deal with developing situation. One of the main points of argument was to also squat the empty space downstairs. This apartment hadn't been empty for over a year, so Lena and I had decided, in order to prevent judicial problems, not to occupy this level as we were such noobs still. We therefore also declined doing this on the KSU's advice. Over the coming two months we figured out the error we had made. Because the working crews started stripping the level below us and one day even broke through our floor. Not that they attempted entry, but it was to scare us.

At this point also our lawyer said the place was not holdable anymore, and if I can recall properly a renovation permit had been granted by the city hall to work on the apartment which would most likely lead to an eviction any time soon.

Lena and I decided that it was probably best to abandon this squat and look for the next. She already had her eyes on a pharmacy on the other side of town in Amsterdam-West. It was a huge place and empty for over 2 years, no permits granted. The place was also modern and had more amenities.

And so our Ruyschstraat 32 adventure ended already after about 3 months. We moved in with friends while we prepared our next break in from there.

That's it folks. If you still enjoy this, I can continue my adventure story of our next squat, how we opened up a give-away shop in that place and occupied this pharmacy for 5 years until we were confronted with the eventual squatting ban enforced in 2011.

@Signal312 @02d769cb73 @BITC0IN @Artilektt @optimism @Scoresby