Amsterdam, City of strangers?

Amsterdam, City of Strangers?

An essay about migration, feeling at home and alienation

Feeling at home and "the other"

Amsterdam likes to present itself as a city of strangers. A city where countless diasporas coexist and where stories of departure, arrival, and new roots intersect, according to the film program Diaspora Diaries by LAB111. It describes Amsterdam as one of the most multicultural cities in the world, shaped by generations of people leaving their homeland and building a new life elsewhere. In those stories, the same questions keep recurring: where do I belong? Who am I among different cultures? And can a home be more than a place on the map? (LAB111, 2026).

These questions are more relevant than ever. While migration is increasing worldwide, the fear of the stranger is also growing in Europe. The debate usually revolves around numbers, borders, and policy, but beneath this lies a more existential question: what does it mean to feel at home?

Exile: temporary or forever?

In her book Nation of Strangers, Turkish writer Ece Temelkuran (2026) describes what it is like to live in exile. Exile differs from ordinary migration. The exile does not leave voluntarily, but because staying has become impossible or dangerous. Often, there is the idea that the departure will be temporary: as soon as the danger has passed, you return.

Yet this temporality often turns out to be an illusion. How long does an exile last? For Armenians in Paris, Moluccans in the Netherlands, or Ukrainians in Amsterdam, a temporary situation can unknowingly become a permanent existence. This is often accompanied by a sense of guilt towards those left behind. From their new place of residence, they often continue to dedicate themselves to their country of origin, thereby partially maintaining the bond with their lost home.

Moreover, Temelkuran (2026) points out a distinction between the exile and the refugee. The exile is often seen as an interesting intellectual, someone who is allowed to tell his story on stages. The refugee, on the other hand, must prove his story to the immigration service. Where the exile receives recognition, the refugee receives mainly distrust.

Therefore, Temelkuran (2026) proposes that we view ourselves all as strangers. Not because everyone is literally displaced, but because no one fully coincides with their environment and identity. According to her, precisely this awareness can form a basis for solidarity (Temelkuran, 2026).

Are we all strangers?

Yet that thought raises questions. For many people do not feel like strangers at all. They feel at home in their village, town, or country. They know the surroundings, speak the same language as their neighbors, and recognize themselves in the culture around them. To them, the stranger is precisely the other.

This aligns with a classic philosophical idea. Jean-Paul Sartre wrote: “L'enfer, c'est les autres” – hell is other people. Man exists as an individual, but is constantly confronted with the gaze of others. As a result, we feel judged, limited, or forced to conform (Sartre, 1943). But the same idea can also be interpreted differently. Perhaps we become human precisely through our relationship with others. Without the other, we would not learn a language, develop an identity, or enter into meaningful relationships. The other is then not hell, but a condition for our existence.

Stranger in own land

A significant part of the contemporary migration debate is not about the migrant, but about the feelings of the receiving society. Many people experience their environment changing rapidly. They see different languages on the street, different customs, different religions, and a different composition of neighborhoods and cities. Many familiar amenities have disappeared. As a result, some get the feeling that they themselves are becoming strangers in their own environment.

That feeling should not simply be dismissed as nonsense or racism. For many people, it touches upon a fundamental need for familiarity and continuity. People want to feel safe in the place where they live. At the same time, a problem arises when that feeling is translated into the idea that some groups are not “real” Dutch people. Then a sense of loss turns into the exclusion of others.

Temelkuran’s (2026) statement that “we are all strangers” falls short here. Many people precisely do not want to be strangers. They long for a place where they feel at home. The challenge, therefore, lies not in denying differences, but in acknowledging them without deriving hierarchies from them.

The construction of the other

Writer Karin Amatmoekrim (2026) shows how the boundary between “the Dutch person” and “the other” is becoming increasingly blurred. Precisely at the moment when people with different backgrounds are becoming more and more part of the same society, the fear of difference seems to be increasing.

According to Amatmoekrim (2026), “the other” is not merely an existing category, but also a construct. Throughout history, the other has often been portrayed as fundamentally different, strange, or inferior. This was done, for example, to justify colonialism and slavery. The other was presented as someone who did not fully belong to civilization.

That logic still persists. A problem such as the housing shortage creates uncertainty and is often attributed to migrants. Various politicians reinforce this view by portraying migration as the cause of virtually all societal problems.

It is striking that the debate focuses primarily on asylum seekers and refugees, even though they constitute only a small part of total migration. Much less is said about labor migrants, international students, and expats, despite their visible influence on the housing market, labor market, and urban development. The emotional charge centers mainly around the refugee as a symbol of the stranger (Amatmoekrim & Endedijk, 2026).

The loss of home

However, migration has another side. For the person leaving, migration often means the loss of a familiar world. The migrant or exile finds themselves in an environment where language, customs, and social codes are unknown. You do not know exactly what to say, how to present yourself, or how others perceive you. That sense of displacement can deeply affect a person's dignity (Temelkuran, 2026).

Temelkuran (2026) warns that many Europeans, too, may lose their sense of home in the future if far-right movements gain strength. In her view, people who have already become displaced are a possible harbinger of what awaits others. Therefore, she advocates for a new definition of home. This quest does not begin with denying differences, but with the question of how people with different backgrounds can share a home together.

What Temelkuran (2026) fails to mention is the sense of displacement and alienation of another part of the European population that actually forms part of the core of the rise of the far right.

The right to feel home for everyone

Perhaps the solution lies not in the notion that everyone is the same, but rather in the realization that no one needs to be exactly the same to be equal. Migration has profoundly shaped Dutch society, economy, and culture. Much of what is considered typically Dutch today is the result of centuries of exchange of people, ideas, products, and traditions. Dutch identity has never been a static given.

That does not mean that feelings of loss or alienation do not exist. They certainly do. But they do not have to lead to hostility towards the other. Ultimately, both the established resident and the newcomer long for the same thing: recognition, security, and a place where they can feel at home. The question, therefore, is not whether we can make differences disappear. We will never be able to do that. The question is whether we can build a society in which differences do not automatically lead to mistrust.

Perhaps that is the real challenge of a city like Amsterdam: not to become a city without strangers, but a city where no one is made a stranger. Everyone has a right to a sense of home. No one should be condemned to remain the other forever.

The familiar stranger

The sense of being at home can be created on multiple levels. Forming deep connections creates a social network; you build a network of acquaintances and friends that makes you feel more at home. Another essential layer that fosters a sense of being at home in a city lies between the stranger and the acquaintance: the 'familiar stranger'. The faces you recognize on the street or in the supermarket. There is no deep bond, often the name is even unknown, but it is familiar enough to recognize and greet each other. Appreciation for these slightly familiar individuals also creates a sense of home, of familiarity. This forms a basis for pleasant coexistence with strangers in a city (Kok, 2017).

Architect Arna Mačkić (2026) examines where architecture facilitates encounters between different spheres of life. Where everyday life unfolds, but also where there is room for unexpected interactions. These are places where the familiar stranger meets. In doing so, architects bear a responsibility in the design of the physical living environment, both buildings and public space, to take this into account, so that living worlds continue to intersect and these encounters continue to take place, thereby breaking down the separation between people (Mačkić, 2026).

Positive side: the city as a source of new energy

In public debate, migration is often discussed in negative terms of problems, pressure, or loss. However, migration is also often a source of energy, creativity, and innovation. Moving your life from one place to another, often in an unfamiliar language and culture, requires perseverance, flexibility, and adaptability. It is precisely these qualities that have always helped cities develop. Historically, major cities are places where newcomers seek opportunities, start businesses, and introduce new ideas.

Moreover, a multicultural city brings together a wide variety of experiences, traditions, and perspectives. In cities like New York, this diversity is explicitly celebrated. In 2022, the city had some 7,300 small supermarkets run by immigrants that serve as meeting places where communities emerge and develop. Annual festivals and parades make visible that the city's identity is shaped precisely by its diverse population groups (Soudagar, 2026).

In Amsterdam, too, shops, market stalls, and restaurants can be found that are connected to various migration histories. They make it easier for newcomers to build a community and, at the same time, shape urban life as a whole. In doing so, migrant groups demonstrate that they not only live in the city but also make it their own and feel at home here.

However, the appreciation for this diversity in Amsterdam often proves to be contradictory. Cultural diversity is praised as an enrichment, while policymakers simultaneously view neighborhoods with suspicion where a single population group is dominant. Concentrations of migrants are then seen as a sign of inadequate integration or as a risk to social cohesion (Soudagar, 2026). This raises a question: when is a community a valuable expression of connectedness, and when is it seen as a problem?

Sorting Machine

The discussion about feeling at home is also strongly linked to temporality. Amsterdam is increasingly functioning as a sorting machine: a place where people arrive, stay temporarily, and then disappear again. For example, some international students and expats build a life here, develop friendships, become familiar with the surroundings, and feel at home. But precisely at the moment they begin to put down roots, many must (or want to) leave again. The temporary nature of their stay in Amsterdam means that temporary migrants are less able to put down roots, resulting in their contribution to the city remaining minimal.

Temporariness makes it difficult to build lasting bonds with a place. People invest less in a neighborhood when they know their stay is short-lived. At the same time, many experience their time in the city as valuable and meaningful. They feel at home, even though they know that home is temporary.

The experience of displacement affects not only newcomers. Many Amsterdammers who were born and raised in the city also find that they have fewer and fewer opportunities to continue living there. Due to rising housing prices and scarcity, they are being pushed to the outskirts of the city or even beyond. Just like migrants, they are losing a place with which they feel connected.

Here, two forms of displacement intersect. The migrant who has left their homeland and the Amsterdammer who must leave their own city share a similar experience: the feeling that a place that once felt like home is no longer readily available. The debate about feeling at home is therefore ultimately not only about migration, but also about the question of who in the city is given the opportunity to put down roots and build a future.

June 23, 2026

Sources:

Amatmoekrim, K., & Endedijk, B. (2026, 27 mei). Hoe migratie de Nederlandse identiteit allang heeft veranderd. NRC Vandaag.

Kok, A. (2017). Binding genoeg: De stad en het geheim van aangenaam samenleven. stadsessays trancity*valiz.

LAB111. (2026, 30 maart). Diaspora diaries: Stories about movement, memory & belonging. https://www.lab111.nl/diaspora/

Mačkić, A. (2026). Vertrouwde vreemden. Essay Dag van de Architectuur 2026. Stichting CoLA.

Sartre, J. P. (1943). Huis clos: suivi de Les Mouches.

Soudagar, R. (2026, 2 juni). Geliefde stop in stad die nooit stilstaat. Het Parool.

Temelkuran, E. (2026). Nation of Strangers: Bouwen aan een nieuw thuis in de 21ste eeuw. Uitgeverij Pluim.