| What are we doing?
April 28th, 2000  Today, my mother received a knighthood. She was made a Member of the Order of Orange-Nassau for the work she does with refugees. She's the instigator of a project in the borough I grew up in. It provides refugees with a place to meet, to discuss their problems in, and to help eachother in. She started this work a few years ago and ever since, her phone has not stopped ringing. And so I found my old room being used to put up strangers from places like Ethiopia, Somalia, Iran and Iraq. Normally, this should have infuriated me. After all, this was my room. But I have been raised by the principles that govern my mother's work, so no. In fact, it fills me with great pride and it's the bloody least I could do to assist.
It was a good thing my mother was told she would receive the knighthood two days in advance. She would otherwise most certainly have refused it on the spot, and told the officials to give it to a refugee or stick it where the sun don't shine. As matters stand, however, she gracefully accepted the medal, out of the hands of Haarlem's mayor, the honourable Mr. Pop, on behalf of all the people she works with. She's right in this, of course. But to me, more than just a recognition of the invaluable work she does, this knighthood is a vindication of the four principles she has always taught me to live by: believe in yourself, never give up on the things you believe to be just and right, always be honest and above all - do not assume things about others. This world is more colourful than anyone could possibly comprehend. And so, today brought back the memory of that crazy moment, not all too long ago. I had worked through the night, it was early morning, and I was in a subway carriage in Amsterdam, moving in the direction of Haarlem. In the corner of it, a negro lay slumped over a seat, obviously asleep. Beside him, three unnaturally tanned and goldladen Amsterdam women proceeded to loudly insult him. 'He must be a junkie, otherwise he wouldn't lie there like that.' 'They're all the same, they take our jobs, they should go back to their own country.' That kinda stuff. The thing is, I know the negro. I had met him on a train, days before. He's a coordinator in a home for Dutchmen with behavioural problems and works 90+ hrs a week. The guy was therefore not recovering from a heroin buzz, but trying to get home without a heart attack. He pays their fucking taxes! As it was, this made me so angry I decided not to react at all. If I had, it would have been jail for me, and a shallow grave for the ladies. Assumption is the mother of all fuckups. I can't say it often enough. But Mama, dear Mama, this is what it's all about. This is what you've taught me, and no matter how difficult this society makes it for me, I hope to always live by those four principles. No matter what evil befalls us in the future, know that I will always be proud to be your son. Mama, congratulations. Thank you for being, and thank you for teaching me this. And to my Queen, who after all decided to bestow this honour on my family: thank you very much for this. I will never forget it. As an orangist and staunch monarchist, this knighthood to me is a beautiful thing. In a world where the powers that be overwhelmingly concentrate on murder and money, it is good to know that there still is a power that can do things like this. I makes me proud to be a Dutchman, and very proud to be your loyal subject. Here's hoping your life will yet be long and fruitful, and that the house of Orange will reign over the Netherlands for centuries to come. Reign o'er me: Leve De Koningin. |