How is Holland?
column Wednesday 15 September 2004 An American mail friend asked if I would write an essay on The Netherlands for a newsletter. “How is Holland?”, she asks me with interest and I let my thoughts wander.How is Holland? When I think of Holland I often think of money or, rather, the lack thereof. In all honesty, I think we live in a poor country. Take our neighbourhood: A fun, lively, and beloved section of town with lots of kids, but this summer the abundance of weeds almost literally was a thorn in the eye to many. Sure, one day the exterminators arrived with an environmentally friendly substance, but they didn’t remove it all and after they finished their job the weeds again shot up like a rocket.
Unfortunately, the park maintenance employees who “took care” of
the weeds for years most likely have been budgeted out. Just like our community
janitor. Oh, how I miss that man! It was his job to make sure that the neighbourhood
stayed neat, but the part of the township budget covering his pay ran out and
we noticed immediately. And recently I read in the paper that our famous statue
Ús Mem (Frysian for “Our Mother”) only remains sure of her regular
cleanings because a real estate broker and a cleaning company have taken on the
cost. How poor! Isn’t it a shame that the town cannot even afford a bucket of
suds for its statues! Budget cut backs all around and the most serious ones are
those in health care. The bitter irony is that at the same time, due to the
wrong decisions, so much money is wasted. Take the “billions eater”, de Betuwelijn
(a railroad section in the middle of The Netherlands). How it is possible that
so many policy makers can be so dumb and make such gigantic computing mistakes
is beyond me. If these people at one time in their lives ever had been smart
housewives on limited incomes they would have had better knowledge of money
management and policy making than was the case here, I’m sure.
Holland, the
land of tolerance, or so I always thought. These days racism is rearing its
ugly head again with increasing frequency. Last month, it was frightening to
see and hear a demonstration by the “National Alliance”. The gesture that one
of the participants made to a girl from an obviously mixed ethnic background,
running the fingers slowly across the throat, makes me scared and sad. There
were young children there, too, twelve, thirteen years old, and full of hate
against all and everyone that remotely looked “foreign”. Later, there was a
counter demonstration by liberal groups. “Stop the hate!” they called out, and
that was good. Hate is not an answer to anything. Even the hooligans who
attacked the counter demonstrators should not be hated. That surely is not a
solution. Talking, getting to know one another, getting involved with each
other, perhaps that would promote tolerance. But how does one talk to
people who call for a new Hitler? Can one carry on a serious discussion with
boys who challenge police dogs and batons to attack the “liberals”? I was
flabbergasted and devastated when I saw the hate in the eyes of those boys. That
afternoon I learned that fascism and racism can not be banned, not even in our Netherlands.
Fortunately, there are many people who call out “no” against that evil and who
make a personal effort to achieve a tolerant society. A small village that
worked hard together to keep a family of refugees from deportation… that is
something that gives goose bumps. And that, too, is Holland.
“Thinking of Holland
I see the wide rivers slowly winding through endless lowlands.” Who doesn’t
know that poem by Hendrik Marsman. Holland
is water - the rivers, the lakes, the sea. What is more beautiful than to stand
on a dune by the sea, watching the ships go by, and the sun sink into the
water? The farms, the windmills, the fields of flower bulbs, the
heather-covered moors, the forests, the cloudy skies, the cows in the meadows,
that is Holland.
The traffic jams, the busy Randstad (the most densely populated,
horseshoe shaped section in the western part of the country), the coffee shops
(where soft drugs can be legally bought and consumed), the projects,
criminality, the busy roads, that is also Holland.
“Thinking of Holland
I see financial documents quickly move through greedy fingers.” That is the
first line of the poem “The Inner Ring of Holland” by Gerrit Komrij. That brings
us back to money, golden handshakes, top executives’ salaries, and expensive
pet projects. There is a lot money in The Netherlands in spite of the deeply
cut budgets - especially the cut backs in health care and education are a shame
for our country. Holland: “The sky hangs low and the sun gets smothered slowly
in the grey, multi-coloured fumes, and in all parts of the country the voice of
the water with its eternal disasters is feared and heard”, writes Hendrik
Marsman. And Gerrit Komrij answers: “The sky hangs low and the spirit gets
smothered slowly in parliamentary fumes, and on all terrains the voice of the
merchant with his ethic cramps is heard the most.” “How is Holland?” asks my American friend. Thinking
of Holland I don’t know what to think of Holland.
September 2004 Text: Dini Commandeur, Translation: Maria O’Neill