Step into a world of color

So many people have memories of the early days of the lesbian camp; gay emancipation. Gaykrant welcomes these valuable recollections. Marja Ruijterman, born in 1955, trainer, coach, and columnist since 1993, gladly shares her adventures with us. Marja has been writing down her experiences for years. Back in the 1980s, she was one of the squatters of the feminist group in the squatted Handelsblad building in Amsterdam (just behind the Dam, now a jumble of luxury and hospitality). This is part 2 for Gaykrant: “My First Steps into a World Full of Color.”

Text: Marja Ruijterman

The very first time I rang the doorbell at the COC dancing in Amsterdam’s Korte Leidsedwarsstraat, next to the Oyster Bar, I was terribly afraid. Where would I end up? Did all the women have mustaches? I had no idea what awaited me. Trembling, my index finger pressed the bell. From that moment on, a new life full of color began.

I danced every night until four in the morning to wonderful Motown and 70s music. I met kind people who warmly embraced me. I wasn’t used to that and enjoyed it immensely. At four o’clock we were thrown out while Rudi Carrell sang about a last beer before being kicked out of the pub. The next morning I went to work early again, sleeping off my hangover there. At first, I still lived with my parents, who of course worried every single night. The house was silent and dark. I tiptoed inside, hoping they were asleep. Suddenly the light went on: “Where are you coming from?” Ouch. I tried to keep my composure but was immediately caught out. My poor parents really had their hands full with me.

In no time, I was doing volunteer work at the COC. We organized afternoons for new members, and later I supervised a girls’ group as part of my training. One day they asked if I wanted to go on the radio for an interview. I did, and they handed me a phone. Who was on the line? Robert Long! Already an icon at the time, and we were thrilled. His songs did a great deal for gay emancipation. Apparently, I said something silly on the radio—something I won’t repeat here—but everyone was angry with me when I came back. “How on earth could you say that?” Well…

On the dance floor, a group of men and women danced, and when they did, light seemed to surround them. I watched in admiration until one of them asked me to dance. From then on, I was part of the group, and it felt so good. We handed out candy on the tram and roller-skated through the Vondelpark. A kind of belated hippies. I’m still in touch with some of them today. Now all gray-haired older ladies and gentlemen. Always lovely to see them again.

Last week, after many years, I went dancing again at the Oranjekerk in Amsterdam. A new initiative by Danspaleis. I entered with back pain, a thick winter coat, and the heavy battery of my e-bike in my arms. Before I knew it, I was dancing—with battery, winter coat, and all—because the wonderful 70s music erased both the back pain and the years.