Monuments to Peace
Yuri Veerman
Artist and designer Yuri Veerman read a short text during the opening of Monuments for Peace about his grandfather who smuggled people during World War II.
Trees, earth, bath and bread
(A short essay by Yuri Veerman)
Watching the news recently, I see a live report of how, 70 years ago, on 19 April 1945, Kamp Amersfoort was liberated when the Nazis handed it over to the Red Cross. There are images of those present, of the former camp, and of the memorial 'Prisoner Before Firing Squad', now known as 'The Stone Man'.
Then the artist Armando reads a poem. He speaks of the trees that were standing here even during the horrors and thus witnessed all the suffering. 'Those trees are still standing, on the same spot. They haven't moved anywhere else.' 'I look at the trees,' says Armando, 'and something strange happens. They are beautiful. I find them beautiful.'
These are rare sentences in our world, sentences about guilty landscapes, about trees that decide not to relocate. Armando can talk about it during a commemoration service and I may repeat it in this treasury of monuments for peace, and cotton with false promises.
If I were to draw up a political wish list, my number one would be for a Prime Minister who can imagine himself being a tree, earth, clay or stone. Bed, bath or bread. Who identify with the seabed between Libya and Lampedusa. Who sings softly for want of words, and then moves onto the day's agenda.
(Breathing space)
When I was ten years old I was allowed to lay a wreath at the memorial on Dam Square during the Remembrance Day ceremony. Both of my grandparents worked for the Dutch Resistance. My grandfather played a key role with the resistance during the war by smuggling people to Switzerland via the so-called Dutch-Paris line. At home we still have his fake identity papers bearing the name Paul Valmont, instead of Paul Veerman. His profession was listed as 'dentist'. He spoke his languages fluently, only giving himself away when a German soldier asked about his wisdom teeth.
Years later I watch the footage of myself carrying the wreath, together with someone the same age. As I walked the few steps to the memorial, I glanced at my watch. I wanted to know the time.
In ten days it will be May 5, and all of us will celebrate 70 successive years of liberty within the borders of the territory we call the Netherlands. 70 years of freedom is a lot, almost a lifetime. Enough time to build cities, memorials, monuments, pension plans, prosperous districts, traffic islands, airports, smart roads, border controls, detention centres, world expos, institutes made up of other institutes.
And every now and then we meet up and tell stories, between soft-coloured pedestals.