From empty to alive: The last weeks of a squat in Marga Minco’s former house

In 1966, Dutch novelist and Holocaust survivor Marga Minco (1920-2023) wrote a book titled An Empty  House (Een Leeg Huis). Set during World War 2, it narrates three days in the life of a Dutch Jewish woman living in Amsterdam who has spent years hiding from the Nazis, and follows her as she grapples with survivor-guilt and trauma after the Liberation. As suggested by the title, the empty house is a particularly powerful and recurring motif throughout the novel, symbol of the irreparable void left by genocide, permanent absence and community destruction. The empty houses left behind by those who were taken to their deaths stand in the book as tired witnesses to the unfolding of history: rooms full of ghosts rather than people, gardens growing weeds rather than roses.

An Empty House No More
In 2023, when Marga Minco died at the age of 103, her house in Tweede Oosterparkstraat was also left empty. Bought by a private owner who largely neglected any maintenance work, the house was left to gradual deterioration and abandonment. Until July 12th, 2025, when a group of young Dutch students and workers who call themselves “The Panthers” squatted it in protest to negligence, market speculation, and the lack of accessible housing in Amsterdam. 

A house must be used and lived in. Otherwise, it is just an empty building left to waste

Three months later, however, the Panthers are being evicted, faced with mounting pressure from the owner who has summoned them to court on September 8th. During their last two weeks in “Marga’s house” – they refer to her by her first name, as if she were a beloved friend – I had the pleasure of visiting them in their space. I stepped not into an empty house, but one where the walls once again speak of resistance and community, and where the garden roses have once again begun to bloom.  The Panthers’ established squat is immediately recognizable from the outside: a red banner, soaked by the rain and tossed by the wind, hangs from the first floor balcony with the white words: Beter dan leegstad, Het Panterpand (Better than Empty, the Panther Building). Next to it, a New Progress Pride flag also waves proudly. After two brief encounters with a few members of the community – interrupted by lack of time and the hectic reality of the imminent eviction – I joined one of the anti-fascist poetry nights they regularly host, where I talked to them amid short stand-up comedies, spontaneousimprovisations, and personal storytelling.

The Panthers 
“When we first squatted the building last July” – tells me a young member of the community during one of the breaks – “the house was visibly collapsing. It was empty and any sort of maintenance work was neglected, to say the least”. Another member joins the conversation, sharing how heartbreaking it felt to see such a beautiful place wasted: “You see this across the whole of Amsterdam”, they explain, “where so many buildings stand abandoned while the demand for housing is growing immensely”. They find the situation absurd, especially since so many young students and workers like themselves struggle to find affordable accommodation in Amsterdam. “This is why we came here” – they tell me – “to reclaim a space that, like many others in the city, was left to collapse at the hands of careless businessmen”. Looking around the home they have created and that are now forced to abandon, they candidly explain: “A house must be used and lived in. Otherwise, it is just an empty building left to waste”.

When we squatted the building last July, everything was deteriorating. However, there were some roses in the garden that, unlike the rest, were flourishing. We like to think that Marga was there, somehow, and she has stayed with us ever since.

Community and values 
When I ask them who they are as a community, some of them smile. “We are not as scary as people think” – another young Dutch student tells me while eating some popcorn. “We are truly like a family who wants to take care of each other. We are close and deeply care about everyone’s wellbeing”. They explain to me that they have created a drug-free and largely alcohol-free squat where everyone feels safe, understood and free to express themselves. “In contrast to how the media often portrays squats”, they add,  “we want to create a close community that also allows us to do other things and have our own life outside. Most of us still study, for instance, or have jobs that we want to keep”. I ask them how many members of the community there are. They explain that, when they initially squatted the building in July, there were only six of them, all students and workers from the Netherlands. “However” – they add – “we always received much support, especially from other squats in Amsterdam, and slowly expanded. Now, we have built a really close relationship with one another and we are like family”. 

Neighbors and Marga 
As we continue talking, an older lady comes through the door, smiling and waving at everyone in the room. Their faces light up at the sight of her. “She is our neighbor. She was a very close friend of Marga’s” – a member of the Panthers explains – “and she joins our events quite often”. They explain, in fact, that in contrast to what people assume, they have a very close relationship to their neighbors, and interact regularly with them. They tell me that the lady that just came in even gave them an electric heater when they first squatted the building. They add: “Of course, there was some tension at the very beginning, but after openly communicating to everyone in the neighborhood, we built a very nice connection with them.” Looking at the ring bell next to the main door, where ‘M. Minco’ is still written, I am curious to know how the Panthers relate to the memory of the Dutch novelist. When I ask, they shared an anecdote: “When we squatted the building last July, everything was deteriorating. However, there were some roses in the garden that, unlike the rest, were flourishing. We like to think that Marga was there, somehow, and she has stayed with us ever since”. I ask them what they think Marga would say if she knew about them. They smile and, looking at the neighbor in the room, they tell me: “She had known Marga for fifty years. When we asked her the same question, she told us: Marga would have loved this”. 

Amsterdam is full of empty houses and, even if we have to leave this one, we will keep fighting for what we believe in. We have much support.

Eviction 
Two months after the squatting, the Panthers have been asked to leave the building by the first week of October. They explain, in fact, that the owner wants to carry some massive renovation projects. “He says he wants to move here” – they add – “but we are not sure we believe him”. I ask whether they plan on resisting. “We went to court on September, 8th, but it was practically impossible to win. We will leave” – they tell me – “but this is not the end”. I ask them what they mean. Smiling at each other, they say something in Dutch I don’t understand. At this point, they take a small piece of paper and write down in big characters: Kraken Gaat Door (Squatting Goes On). “Make sure to write this in your article” – they say as they hand me the paper – “Amsterdam is full of empty houses and, even if we have to leave this one, we will keep fighting for what we believe in. We have much support.” 

Our conversation gets interrupted by someone announcing it is time to re-start the night. A young man from Sudan takes up the stage with a stand-up routine about a wild adventure he once had in Italy. As everyone in the room laughs, I put the Kraken Gaat Door paper in my pocket, and look around. What I see is not an empty house, but a lively home. I see a space in which, unlike the houses in Marga’s novel, absence has been replaced by community, silence by poetry, and neglect by care. To know this space will soon fall into the grip of the market is heartbreaking. Even in the face of imminent eviction, however, its spirit persists: empty houses will keep being reclaimed, filled and lived in. Kraken Gaat Door.