Uit het partijprogramma van de PVV

(in hun eigen woorden) ‘Oplossingen’ in de categorie Veiligheid:

• Preventief fouilleren in het hele land • Heropvoedingskampen (Waar hebben we dat eerder gehoord?) • Etnische registratie van iedereen. Inclusief vermelding ‘Antilliaan’ (Oh ja, daar! Da’s toch ouderwets, dat deden ze in de jaren ’40 ook al.) • Falende leden van zittende en staande magistratuur weg (Geert neemt het niet zo nauw met de ‘trias politica’. Gek, want da’s toch een belangrijk onderdeel van ons aller geliefde Judeo-Christelijke democratie, nietwaar?) • Niet-Nederlanders die een misdrijf plegen direct uit Nederland verwijderen

‘Oplossingen’ in de categorie Islam (aka Buitenlanders):

• De islam is vooral een politieke ideologie en kan dus op geen enkele manier aanspraak maken op de voorrechten van een godsdienst (Interessante herdefiniëring, Geert. Is dat nou moeilijk, de Christen-fundies te vriend houden als alles wat je over de islam zegt ook op het Christendom van toepassing is, inclusief de passages over vrouwen-ongelijkheid enzo?) • Geen hoofddoekjes in de zorg, het onderwijs, het gemeentehuis of waar dan ook bij de overheid, en evenmin bij welke gesubsidieerde organisatie dan ook (Hoe zat dat ook alweer, Geert, met die mensen die vrouwen onderdrukken en voor hen bepalen wat ze wel en niet mogen dragen doen?) • Verbied de boerka en de koran, belast hoofddoekjes (Selectieve vrijheid van meningsuiting en drukpers! Typisch zo’n voorbeeld van de rijkdom van het Judeo-Christelijk gedachtegoed.) • Assimilatiecontracten. Niet tekenen of niet naleven = het land uit (Allemaal aan de waterstofperoxide, op straffe van deportatie!) • Voor vreemdelingen geldt: werken of wegwezen. Geen baan = geen plaats in Nederland (De ware betekenis van ‘arbeidsvoorwaarden’ wordt mij ineens duidelijk...) • Weg met procedurestapelen. Afgewezen = meteen weg (De IND is immers onfeilbaar, of niet dan?) • Inburgeringsexamen in het land van herkomst, tot het zover is: inburgeringscursus in Nederland niet gehaald, dan het land weer uit (Heb je het nou alweer over die waterstofperoxide, Geert? Oh, je gaat exporteren! Goed idee! Ongetwijfeld een lukratief handeltje.) • En vooral: volledige immigratiestop voor mensen uit islamitische landen Definitie van een islamitisch land volgens de Nederlandse regering: een land waarin meer dan 50% van de bevolking als moslim geregistreerd staat. Dus: Dag lieve Walid! Het was leuk getrouwd met je te zijn, maar nu mag het niet meer van Ome Geert. Sorry.

Heel veel meer heb ik er niet over te zeggen, al gaat die waanzin nog 45 pagina’s door. Kijk zelf maar, als je het aankunt...

A Perfect Multicultural Encounter

The other day I was in the HEMA (a very Dutch store) to print some pictures. As I walked towards one of the two machines, I saw that the other one was occupied by what I call a typical Islamic Fundie. You probably know the type: dress, high-water pants, sandals even when it’s freezing, a fluffy brushed-out beard and a traditional cap on the head. It’s the type that usually looks at me as if I’m a despicable cockroach when I pass on my bike. There are quite a few of them in the neighborhood, and they don’t usually answer my hellos or return my smiles. I stared intentionally at the picture-printing-machine, trying not to accidentally look him in the eye. Unfortunately, just as I was about to put my USB-stick in the slot, my eyes wandered and crossed his. He smiled. Confused, I looked at his face. He was still smiling. ‘Excuse me’, he said, ‘do you know if the standard size for pictures is 9x13 or 10x15cms?’ ‘Uh, 10x15, I think.’ ‘Ok. Thank you!’ Glad to see my own prejudice blown to pieces, I set out to print my pictures.

An older woman, looking like she had never touched anything non-Dutch in her life, approached the not-Fundie. ‘Excuse me’, she said, ‘do you know if these candies are halal? I’m trying to find out if I can give them to my grandchildren.’ ‘They contain gelatin, so they might be halal but maybe not.’ ‘So what shall I do?’ ‘It’s up to you, but I always say, when in doubt, don’t do it.’ ‘Ok. Thank you!’ Glad to see all prejudice blown to pieces, I went home.

>>

And with that, we’re off to Iran! Will be back end of May… might have some prejudice-related stories to share then!

When Missing the Middle East...

... all I have to do is go to the Javastraat around the corner. There will always be an old man, walking slowly with his hands on his back, moving the worry-beads around. Makes me feel right at home.

Let’s meet!

I’ve been back in the Netherlands for quite some time now, and it’s been nice. Nice to know how things work, nice to know how to get things done, and nice to not to be laughed at for strange habits that don’t fit with how other people do things. But today, today I realized I’m still not back to my full Dutch self. I ran into two friends who said how’s the new house? Welcome to the neighborhood! And we should meet up sometimes!

To which I thought, but luckily didn’t say out loud, yes, some night next week would be good.

Because what they said was we’re having a barbecue on the 19th of May, want to join?

The nineteenth of May. That’s more than a month away. And they already know what time and place. My surprise made me realize I’ll probably never get back to my full Dutch self.

The Other Half

I know a lot of people get married because they feel they have met ‘the one’, their ‘soul mate’, or even ‘their other half’. I’m not one of those people. Walid and I love each other, but our marriage is mainly a practical affair: staying together when you are from different countries requires a lot of paperwork – an amount that can be significantly reduced by getting married. That one marriage certificate replaces a whole lot of other paperwork. Unfortunately, it seems to also replace half of who I am. Cases in point:

In the Netherlands, we have compulsory health insurance, with an accompanying system of financial assistance from the government for those (like me) whose income is too low to pay for coverage. Walid, due to the type of residence permit he has, is not obliged to have this health insurance, nor does he qualify for the financial assistance. So I apply for it on my own, in my own name, for myself, mentioning Walid only as my legal partner.

A few weeks later the application is approved and I get the money in my account. Surprisingly, it has Walid’s last name on it. I call the Belastingdienst (Tax Offices) to ask what happened. Well, says the lady on the phone, it’s your husband’s name, so he probably applied for it. I’m pretty sure he didn’t, I answer, since he doesn’t even speak or write Dutch, nor does he have insurance or qualify for financial assistance. In fact, I remember very well filling out the form MYSELF, under MY name, to get MY money. The lady fails to see the problem. But he’s your husband! She says again, what does it matter? It matters because I am not my husband, I say, I am ME.

The only way to change this, according to the lady of the Belastingdienst, is to write a letter to their offices requesting a ‘name change’. See that? Not a correction of my name, a name change. To get them to address me by my own name.

**

Last week we moved to our new house, and yesterday we went to the offices of the municipality to register our new address. For the sake of efficiency, as all of this is in Dutch, I do the talking; I answer the questions, I ask what other steps need to be taken, etc. Basically, Walid is just standing there because he has to be there in person for the registration.

After all necessary information has been noted and the required copies have been made, the lady behind the counter prints out a form and says I put the registration in his name, since you’re married anyway, and he has to sign here. So then I have to translate the form for him and tell him where to sign. Suddenly I became the attachment.

**

Yesterday I received a standardized answer to my letter to the Belastingdienst: That they automatically assign the financial assistance to the husband, and there is nothing I can do about that.

I wonder if I will have to divorce in order to be seen as full person again. I may have gotten married, but I did not become half a person. And definitely not someone else’s other half.