Caliban – Opinion and Righteous Anger

Theo van Gogh, Dutch film maker, television interviewer and writer, is dead, shot and stabbed as he cycled along a street in the east of Amsterdam. Not content with shooting Theo off his bike, his killer followed him as he staggered to the other side of the street, pumped several more bullets into him, then pulled out a piece of paper on which was scrawled Islamic text and stabbed it onto Theo’s lifeless body.

Theo’s killer, a Muslim extremist, was later shot in the leg by the police, apprehended and taken to hospital.

What the fuck is happening to The Netherlands? First Pim Fortuyn; now Theo van Gogh. This is the country I hold up as an example to others of how sane and civilised society can be; where people consider each political issue calmly and rationally; where practicality and pragmatism win the day, and reasoning clouded and confused by sexual repression, religious dogma and elitism is driven to the sidelines.

It seems that Theo, like Pim, was killed for his strong views on multicultural society and Islam. He certainly didn’t mince words; that much is true.

Theo once called Dyab Abou Jah Jah, leader of the Arab European League, the prophet’s pimp. He referred to the events of 11th September as initiating the rise of the 5th Column of Goat Fuckers, although it’s unclear who exactly he meant here. Theo’s latest book (and now his last, barring any posthumous works), published in November 2003, is called Allah Knows Best, after the poem. Our Theo had strong beliefs and expressed them with powerful language.

The obvious conclusion here is that the spectre of religious fundamentalism is rearing its head in the normally sober Netherlands. Young men, angered by US and (US sponsored) Israeli aggression towards Muslims in the Middle East and Afghanistan, are vulnerable to recruitment by radical factions. It’s the same story all over the western world and we’re all biting our nails over it.

There’s a selfish angle to my concern, however, that stretches beyond my sadness for the loss of a great writer and film maker: it could have been I who got shot off my bike. Why? Because, like Theo, I won’t shut my mouth for anyone.

I don’t have a political agenda; I simply speak my mind on any subject that takes my fancy. I don’t set out to piss people off, but if I do offend people, I take it in my stride, however sad it may make me.

Let’s say I move back to The Netherlands next year with Sarah. Let’s say we have a baby together and I take up writing for a living, eventually getting my own column in a local newspaper. Not that likely, perhaps, but not altogether unthinkable, either, right?

So then, as usual, I expound on my beliefs and opinions, as I do here in my blog; only now, my musings are reaching a wider audience via a more prestigious medium: a respected household newspaper.

Suddenly, I’m someone’s enemy. Perhaps it’s something insignificant, like an irate corporation, pissed off that I’ve exposed their plans to buy up cheap housing, so that they can demolish the buildings and erect luxury flats for rich pricks. So, a bunch of people get pissed off, but life goes on, right?

Or perhaps my name makes it onto a US government watch list, because I’m openly and unabashedly critical of the government there and go so far as to call George Bush a criminal and terrorist. So, I get some hate mail from some gun-toting loonies on the far right, offering to “kick my ass” and informing me that I’d be speaking German now if it weren’t for good old Uncle Sam, and why the fuck aren’t I eternally grateful, yellow-toothed European that I am? It’s all sound and fury.

Next time, I turn to organised religion, especially fundamentalism, and place the blame for many of society’s current ills squarely at its feet. Perhaps my views are taken to refer to some religions more than others. So, one day I’m riding my bike through the east of Amsterdam when suddenly, bang! I’m shot from the saddle. As I lie there in the gutter, choking on my own blood, I realise what has happened and fight to overcome my astonishment, so that I may resign myself to the fact that I am going to die. I hastily fill my mind with my last futile thoughts, picturing my wife and baby who I will never see again.

Scary stuff. I don’t want to die; I have too much left to do. Life is precious and worth protecting. I also don’t want my family to be deprived of me, arrogant wanker that I am. I don’t want my future children to grow up as orphans, nor my wife to have to raise them on her own.

The thought that something similar could happen to me is powerful, because I am just one person with some opinions. My only weapon is the pen. I am a pacifist.

On the other hand, I cannot live my life in fear. A life spent cowering is a pretty miserable life, no matter what distractions one affords oneself in order to construct the illusion of contentment.

Fear is all around us. People are petrified of the consequences of their words and actions.

People are afraid to criticise their government, out of fear of being branded unpatriotic or disrespectful of their nation’s troops abroad. No-one likes to be a pariah.

People are afraid to go to lunch with ex-colleagues who have an ongoing dispute with the company, afraid their employer will find out, disapprove and mete out retribution, resulting in financial loss. Financial gain wins over friendship, thanks to fear and cowardice.

European governments are afraid to stand up to American demands for cooperation and military lip service, out of fear for the economic repercussions.

People of all backgrounds are generally afraid to put their financial security and personal safety on the line. People will make endless compromises with themselves to ensure these things, unaware or uncaring of the extent to which they are subjugated and reduced to manipulable, compliant drones over which those in power can wield control.

I’m digressing wildly. Back to Theo. Is there anything positive to be observed about The Netherlands in all of this?

Well, in which other country would people assemble on the main square of the nation’s capital the very same evening to vent their anger and frustration at the senseless murder of one of their own? Job Cohen, the mayor of Amsterdam, arranged the assembly and thousands of Amsterdammers took to the streets to express their outrage, sympathy, disbelief, confusion and astonishment.

Rather than observe a couple of minutes of silence, people were encouraged to scream, sound air horns, bang dustbin lids and generally create as much noise as is humanly possible. Even the drivers of Dutch trains sounded their horns at the same time. Why? Because Theo van Gogh made a lot of noise and didn’t go out with a whimper. It was more appropriate to his memory to actively express one’s feelings than it would have been to passively ruminate on the sadness of it all.

Several people spoke in memory of Theo; some were Dutch politicians. No-one agreed with everything Theo had stood for, but everyone defended his right to believe it and express it in print.

It’s heartwarming that so much protest and public unity could be organised so quickly, even involving Dutch ministers. I don’t think that would happen anywhere else and that makes me still feel good about returning home next year.

You have to stand up for what you believe in this life. If you don’t, you may live a long life and accrue vast wealth in the process, but at what cost? Every compromise you make in life encourages those who hold sway over you to further marginalise you and others like you.

I’ll continue to open my big mouth, even if it gets me killed. The alternative is even worse.