For much of humanity’s existence, our traditional worldview or cosmos was based on sacred, reciprocal relationships with the land and governed by natural seasons and localised community rhythms. What we are currently seeing, however, is an accelerated shift from a physical universe rooted in seasons and community to a virtual one mediated by screens and platforms.
In this new world order, human experience is mediated by mobile apps and predictive algorithms that convert human actions into data points. At the same time, spontaneous ‘messy’ human interaction is engineered away in favour of a sterile, predictable environment. This system encloses both urban and rural life, replacing the sacred and reciprocal relationships between humans and the land with a computational universe where creativity is harnessed to serve corporate extraction.
Change is inevitable. But how much change occurs and who drives the changes in society is another question. Take the Amsterdam of the 1970s and 80s, for instance. It was a bit seedier, rawer, more unpolished and more spontaneous. It seems much less so today. Cash has been pushed to the periphery, with most transactions now monitored. Mass tourism has led to a more sanitised environment. And a previous spirit of spontaneity on the street appears dampened.
The transformation of Amsterdam from the gritty, countercultural epicentre of the 1970s and 80s to the polished, hyper-managed city of today is a case study in the tension between radical social experimentation and the pressures of global capitalism. The decline of the raw Amsterdam and the rise of the current sanitised version is the result of a deliberate shift in urban governance and economic strategy.
The late 60s—notably the Provo movement, a shortened form ofprovoceren(to provoke) —bequeathed to Amsterdam a culture of dissent and anti-authoritarianism. This spirit fuelled the squatting movement (kraakbeweging) of the 70s and 80s. Squatting was a political project. By occupying derelict buildings, squatters created autonomous zones that bypassed the market. These spaces, like Vondelpark or the many legalised squats, acted as incubators for the art, music and social spontaneity that defined the city’s unpolished character.
The state eventually viewed these autonomous zones as threats to public order and private property. The late 70s and early 80s were marked by intense, often violent, clashes between police and squatters (thekroningsoproerorCoronation Riotsof 1980 are a prime example).
The authorities gradually shifted from a hands-off approach to one of rigorous legal containment. New laws, culminating in the criminalisation of squatting, effectively dismantled the physical infrastructure that allowed ‘raw’ countercultural life to thrive.
While the heroin crisis of the 70s and 80s hit Amsterdam hard, it also provided the state with the necessary justification to ramp up policing and surveillance. ‘Unpolished’ street life became synonymous in the public imagination with danger and decay. The subsequent ‘cleanup’ of the city centre was the beginning of the end for spontaneous street culture.
In the earlier decades, the city’s cultural energy was organic and self-generated. It wasn’t planned by urban developers, but it emerged from the spaces the authorities had either lost control of or ignored.
Aside from residences, squats were DIY art galleries, experimental theatres and underground venues. The legacy of the 60s meant that being an artist often meant being an activist. There was an inherent link between the raw state of the city and the raw art it produced. Because rent was low or non-existent in the margins, artists could afford to take risks and experiment without needing commercial viability.
Source: Global Research
