Ode to Jessica de Abreu | Ode to Jessica de Abreu

This text was translated using AI and may contain errors. If you have suggestions or comments, please contact us at info.ode@amsterdammuseum.nl.

Dear Jessy, 

In 2017, we spent several weeks together in the United States, also with your partner Mitchell Esajas and Samora Bergtop of Wellmade Productions. We did not know each for very long, but it already felt familiar. Actually, our first acquaintance, in late 2016, was somewhat awkward. I heard from someone about the interesting history of Otto and Hermine Huiswoud. They came to Amsterdam from Suriname and British Guiana via the United States in the early 20th century and became part of an intellectual, international and anti-colonial Black movement here. I had just started as a curator at the Amsterdam Museum and was eager to make this story part of the exhibition Black Amsterdam (2016).

With that intention, I visited 'Vereniging Ons Suriname' on Zeeburgerdijk. The newly founded initiative The Black Archives - of which you are a co-founder - had just moved into the Association's building, including the archives of the Huiswouds. My request was immediately rejected. You in particular absolutely did not want it. The story of the Huiswouds had to be told first in a historically relevant place, fitting in with the story of Black emancipation. Not in a museum, a white institution.

That wish came true. I am still grateful that I could be part of the team that made the very first exhibition at The Black Archives: Black and Revolutionary: The Story of Hermine and Otto Huiswoud (2017), in the building of the 'Vereniging Ons Suriname'. It was a wonderful project, largely funded by a crowdfunding campaign where the target amount was raised within 3 days. I learned from it how large and powerful is the community that feels involved in highlighting marginalized stories, in this case an Amsterdam story of Black resistance to exclusion and European colonialism into the 20th century.

Within this story of the Huiswouds, you made sure Hermine's role was seen and appreciated. Not as Otto's wife, but, among other things, as a crucial player in forming international networks. Hermine also archived correspondence, photographs and books. This is why we still have access to these archives today. She was in contact by mail with resistance fighters, philosophers and poets such as the American Langston Hughes.

The latter took us to the United States in 2017. As is often the case with archived correspondence, Hughes' letters to you are preserved in Amsterdam and your letters to him are in New York. At the Special Collections of New York University are the Huiswoud Papers. They spent a period in New York in the 1930s, during the Harlem Renaissance. We dug through the archives and found materials that no one had ever requested before. With enthusiasm, we sought out special pieces for the exhibition in Amsterdam.

As an anthropologist and feminist, you consciously emphasize the role of women. In your career as a researcher, but also in your own life. In doing so, you always know how to find the balance between knowledge and feeling. I see a fine example of this in your recent essay “Archiving the Superpowers of Black Sex Workers” in Open Archive, Artistic Reuse of Archives (2024). You analyze an underexposed history of Black Surinamese womxn in the Bijlmer. In the same piece, you write candidly about missing your mother right after her death, and how you had to reshape your relationship with her. I like this paragraph about your mother the most:

“I can write that this essay is about the politics of social and spatial segregation and how the colonial legacy in the Bijlmer was inextricably linked to her choice to become a sex worker, but also how she built the resilience to exploit and entertain a classist, racist, and colonial system that was meant to overpower and keep colonized communities in their subordinate place. But the truth is – I miss my mom. And part of that intellectual stuff is true. However, for the most part I want to take you into my own personal journey of grief and honor as we go through her archives to understand the deeper meaning of why I interviewed her for “The New Plantation” in the first place.” (p102)

Your essay feels like a heartfelt story of a smart and wise woman going through a great evolution. You bravely share your thoughts and feelings during the grieving process, even if sometimes you don't fully understand them yet. It is as if you subtitle your story with necessary but underexposed context of daily life and challenges of Black womxn in Amsterdam in the 90s and 00s. With that approach, an intergenerational story comes together, of grandmothers, mothers and daughters trying to make space for each other. You analyze sex work in the context of entrepreneurship, poverty, colonialism, security and motherhood. It forms an important narrative to better understand your mother, as well as many other Black womxn, and our city.

It touched me, because that's also how I know you as an activist. For example, while preparing Kick Out Zwarte Piet demonstrations. So much happens behind the scenes: sending photos around, fact-checking information, monitoring the situation on the streets and on the routes to demonstration sites. While there were many male spokesperson, you were directing everyone's safety every time. You thought about training and courses to stay mentally strong in intense times full of racism, there was aftercare for participants in demonstrations, and you were an example for many. Especially in the period when you had to take a step back and shared an important message over and over again: it is okay to protect yourself, to take the necessary rest and to have enough self-love. You also recently mentioned the latter in our podcast Women of Amsterdam - an ode.

In addition to this letter, I hope more people will pay tribute to you. It makes your important work, and you yourself - an inspiration to many - always remembered and can motivate people in their struggles. Even when they take a breather, because as you always say, to struggle is sometimes to demonstrate, to suffer and to remember, but it also includes celebrating and appreciating what is, enjoying and taking good care of yourself and others around you.

Love, Imara