In retrospect, these were nasty discussions between my father and me.
I said, “How stupid! You wanted to fight to the death for the Netherlands!”
“Yes, I wanted that!” said my father.
“Well, stupid,” I replied.
My mother sat at the dining room table next to my father. I looked at her and asked: “And you understood that?”
“Well, if I had a gun or a rifle and I ran into a Jap, I would have shot him right away,” she said.
I might not believe my ears.
“You are kidding me.”
“I mean it,” said my mother.
I got angry.
“You made me go to Sunday school, I had to pray when I was with Uncle Rudi and Uncle Herbert, and then you say you wanted to die for the country in battle and Mamma even wants to shoot all the Japs!”
“That’s right,” my mother said firmly.
“Well honey, don’t exaggerate,” said my father, who was also somewhat shocked by my mother’s firm language.
“Ah, you don’t dare,” my mother said angrily to him, “you don’t even dare to go to the neighbor and tell him not to slam the outside door like that!”
But my father meant it. He considered it an honor to die for the fatherland. As an Indian man. The hierarchy was: God, fatherland and Orange. I found that three curse words; the reason why I became an atheist, pacifist and republican.
The tragedy was that at that time every government official in the Indies knew that our army was nothing compared to the Japanese. We counted, in vain, on England.
When my wife was pregnant and we didn’t know whether we were going to have a son or a daughter, I vowed to give my son a pacifistic upbringing: no toy guns, no Wilhelmus, no flashing the red-white-blue. But it became a daughter. My grandchildren don’t get guns now either, but they do play computer games that sometimes make me swallow.
But honour, fatherland, God, king: you must never want to die for that.
Although. I’m terrified when I imagine that the Chinese are going to be in charge here. That I have to give up freedom. Then I am willing to sacrifice myself if I can influence it. I understand the Ukrainians.
Ah, give us some illusions and we’re ready to die for them.
Give us some illusions and we’re ready to kill.
Theodor Holman (1953) is a columnist, writer, television and radio producer. Every day, except Sunday, you can read his column here. Read all his columns in the archive.
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