All Tar No Feathers

I tried to get a specific and clear appraisal of the roof problem from the plumber-turned-roof repairman still lingering in the doorway before he bolted down the stairs and vanished. I say ‘bolt’ because of his surname, which translates into English as “Rabbit,” and I imagined him, reluctant as he had been to use the ladder leading to the skylight roof access, applying equal strength of feeling to the moment of departure. We had climbed up onto the flat roof shared by adjoining buildings, hoping to see an obvious explanation of the new leakage once again leaving a delta of dark stains on my ceiling. There was in fact nothing at all ‘rabbity’ about the man, a lanky Dutchman with a broad, confident smile, unless one considers his enjoyment of conversation in a negative light. I did not. I was surprised, in several ways (mainly because he had initially politely turned down the customary offer of coffee/tea after descending from the roof and then suddenly said ‘Well let’s have that cup of tea’ when I persisted in my efforts to extract some meaning from this excursion to the roof, part of a long drawn-out sequence of viewings, assessments, e-mails, conversations and shoveling of roof debris into garbage bags), but my surprise diminished with the subsequent observation that his eagerness to converse found quite coherent expression.
The subject matter, it must be said, was changed almost immediately, from the roof dilemma to intercommunal frictions in the Netherlands. He asked for my opinion of an anti-immigration/anti-Islam Dutch Parliamentarian who attracts considerable attention with his inflammatory remarks about not only Muslims in general and their Holy Book in particular, but about most of his left-of-center colleagues and Her Majesty the Queen as well, remarks which have considerable following in the Netherlands, as demonstrated by his emphatic victory at the polls. In reply, I acknowledged that the Parliamentarian was successful in occupying the limelight but in the end must be seen as mostly destructive, prescribing more sanctions against those he did not like than solutions for problems facing us all. “Mr. Rabbit” revealed that he is a loyal Christian Democrat at election time, but one who is not indifferent to the persuasive arguments of the right-wing rabble-rouser, the only person addressing his anxieties experienced on the street where he lives when surrounded by roughly-hewn individuals of North African descent, most of whom do not appear to like him. Some of whom get away with very bad behaviour, when what is needed is severe punishment for their crimes, as demonstrated by the outbreak of extreme violence in Iraq following the defeat of the dictator Saddam Hussein. These people, he said, without wishing to offend anybody, clearly need to have the lid kept on tight, and if things do get a bit out of hand, force should be used to maintain order.
The conversation had shifted considerably from the moment in the doorway when I was intent upon gleaning something, anything, useful in thinking further about the roof. I tried in vain to return to the subject of repair, talking about the more recent efforts on the roof next to ours. I offered to show him the video I had made of the East European workers loading up the rubbish container under the supervision of a Dutch team leader, who became nervous when I popped up through the skylight and began documenting their labors which involved, with our permission, use of our roof space for their supplies.

The plumber didn’t want to see the video, so I tried to get him back on the topic of the disposal of roof rubble, which, in our case, had been left in our hands. The City Waste Collection Service, I had been told, will not retrieve roof debris containing dirt and vegetation as it could hold toxic waste. We had a dozen or so bags needing transport to a different kind of disposal lot, where the license plates of approaching cars are computer-checked as the driver approaches the entrance gate to verify the address of the owner and confirm eligibility for that particular dumping site. We never got that far, because someone bribed the city garbage collectors that same morning and they removed the whole lot. I don’t blame them for a minute. The garbage collectors receive little thanks for what they do, and the ultimate sham was perpetrated by the City itself, when a series of posters were printed in expression of gratitude towards these people. The words (in translation) “Thanks Joe!” (or other names, depending on the picture) accompanied images of smiling, handsome street cleaners and rubbish collectors - later exposed as male models! The workmen themselves weren't good enough? Some thanks. I had hoped to engage the plumber on these and other issues, but a pot of tea only goes so far.