Prof. dr. Marjan Schwegman The Forces of the Resistance Amsterdam 18 February 2016 Prof. dr. Marjan Schwegman The Forces of the Resistance Violence, nonviolence and gender in the fight against oppression and persecution uuu Farewell address as director NIOD Institute for War, Holocaust and Genocide Studies and as Professor Politics and Culture in the long Twentieth century at Utrecht University Amsterdam 18 February 2016 The only thing that makes and keeps you strong is fighting. Therefore, always fight for something, even if it might be a lost cause. TAKEN FROM THE SCRAPBOOK OF JACOBA VAN TONGEREN, LEADER OF GROEP 2000. the forces of the resistance excellencies, friends, relatives and colleagues, ladies and gentlemen, T wo months before the end of the German Occupation of the Netherlands, Henk van Randwijk, leader of underground newspaper Vrij Nederland (VN), launched a radical reorganisation. He put an end to all horizontal contacts and connections be- tween Vrij Nederland’s various units. For security reasons, from now on they were to only liaise with the Central Leadership in Amsterdam. This centralisation was not met with enthusiasm. One proposal, the creation of a centralised courier service, even led to a full-blown internal uprising. Until then, the female couriers had received their instructions for courier assignments directly from their contacts. From now on, they were expected to report several times a day, according to a detailed schedule, to a single central location, dubbed ‘the nest’ by Van Randwijk.1 Apart from the crude and commanding tone of his written instructions, Van Randwijk’s plans also met with resistance because movement to and from a central address was perceived as risky. Especially, as it was almost impossible to escape from the building in question in case of danger. So the female couriers boycotted ‘the nest’, because, as Nel Huetinck told me: “We did not like central places.” 2 “I thought it was ridiculous and dangerous”, was also Tuuk Buijtenhuijs’ conclusion.3 Nel Huetinck laconically remarked: “Well, they could forget about it, I was biding my time, I wasn’t convinced. I said: guys, you know where my office is, you can come and bring it to me.”4 Van Randwijk’s biography, by Gerard Mulder and Paul Koedijk, reveals that there was so much opposition against Van 1 Gerard Mulder and Paul Koedijk, H.M. van Randwijk. Een biografie. (Amsterdam: Nijgh & Van Ditmar 1988) pp.424 – 429. 2 Interview with Nel Huetinck, 15/2/1978, quoted in: Marjan Schwegman, Het stille verzet. Vrouwen in illegale organisaties. Nederland 1940-1945. (Amsterdam: SUA 1980) p. 52. 3 Mulder and Koedijk, Van Randwijk, p. 426. 4 Schwegman, Het stille verzet, p. 52. 3 4 the forces of the resistance Tuuk Buijtenhuijs during a liberation celebration in Amsterdam From: Mulder en Koedijk, Van Randwijk the forces of the resistance Randwijk’s measures that during VN’s liberation party one of the women spent hours pestering him with all the internal grievances about his authoritarian behaviour.5 W hy am I telling you about this rebellion of female couriers? Because, even though I did read about it during my study of the po- sition of women in Dutch resistance organisations, at the time, in the late 1970s, I failed to understand its significance. No resistance network was able to operate without these female couriers. Van Randwijk’s measures suggested he underestimated the value of their work. ‘Accepting orders without grumbling’ was the rule in the resistance, even if you disagreed . So the fact that an order of this scale was sabotaged with a sort of ironic and superior attitude, says a lot about the self-awareness of these female couriers. It is this obvious independence which struck me most when rereading my interviews from the late 1970s with several couriers. Their stories brim with moments in which they were forced to take decisions on their own which could have big consequences, such as whether to ring the doorbell of an address they did not fully trust or not. When transporting heavy materials, such as weapons and lead letters, any wrong movement could be fatal. For example, when a man politely offered his seat to a woman who was unable to sit down, due to the rigid lead in her step-in.6 The interviews give a sense of a narrowly-disguised pride about the expertise developed by the women through trial and error. If this expertise was ignored or exploited, they rebelled. Like Tuuk Buijtenhuijs, who was shot at by allied aircraft during an assignment, by bike, from Amsterdam to Utrecht. After narrowly escaping death she wanted to know what Van Randwijk’s life-risking assignment was. So she opened the envelope: it 5 The woman in question was Eja Rutten. Mulder and Koedijk, Van Randwijk, p. 455. 6 Ada van Randwijk-Henstra gave me this example in our interview on 1 July 1978. 5 6 the forces of the resistance only contained a short verse. She returned furiously, unable to explain to Van Randwijk why she was so angry. 7 The woman who coordinated VN’s distribution in Utrecht, Marie Anne Tellegen, also complained about VN's, in her view, excessively ‘male’ and ‘dictatorial’ culture, which referred to female couriers as ‘children’ or ‘tikjuffies’ (typists).8 S o how does this contempt and undervaluation relate to the iconic image of the ‘female courier’ which formed after the war? Strikingly, in the very first post-war images and stories the female couriers are an autonomous element of the resistance. An exhibition at De Bijenkorf, which opened in August 1945, described the female courier as ‘the Amazon of our time’. ‘She put her life on the line and the lives of many others depended on her courage’, the caption read.9 At some point, however, there is a subtle, but crucial change in the representation which deserves further study. By describing their activities in terms like ‘helping’ and ‘cooperating’ the work of female couriers is presented as ‘supporting’ the things that really mattered: writing articles for the illegal press, spying, engaging in acts of sabotage and carrying out armed attacks. The thus emerging image fits in nicely with post-war conceptions about desirable female behaviour; and with conceptions about desirable male behaviour. This change in representation, which we are not yet able to put an accurate date on, hence implicitly creates a hermetic hierarchy: what really mattered in the resistance ranks higher than what was derived of that. The reality of being a female courier was, however, complex: in his biography of VN courier Marie Anne Tellegen, Weenink describes how she played a leading role, as Dr. Max, in a widespread Utrecht-based resis- 7 Mulder and Koedijk, Van Randwijk, p. 435. 8 W.H. Weenink, Vrouw achter de troon. Marie Anne Tellegen 1893-1976. (Amsterdam: Boom 2014) p. 103 en p. 161. 9 Picture by Marius Meijboom, NIOD Collection Image Bank WW2, image number 95347. the forces of the resistance tance network. Many people only found out after the war that Dr. Max was actually a woman. And not just any woman: after the war she became the first female director of the Queen’s Cabinet.10 Another famous woman, Marga Klompé, the first female minister in the Netherlands, had also been a courier during the war: under the gender-neutral pseudonym Dr. Meerbergen she cycled all over the place for Utrecht’s Archbishop De Jong. In her case, too, the term ‘female courier’ is tricky. Gerard Mostert’s biography reveals, for example, that she was one of the driving forces behind the activities of the banned Union of Women Volunteers.11 My own interviews also show that female couriers did a lot more than transporting dangerous material. They hid pilots, organised and prepared hiding addresses for Jewish friends and did many other things. Due to the almost casual way they talked about these things, you would almost overlook them. The successful internal courier uprising at VN suggests, however, that they, too, had a yearning for recognition and appreciation. I n my view, these types of clashes should not be dismissed as mere clashes between hounded people. That's because during those last months of the war nearly everybody in West-Holland was hounded and stressed out. At stake were the different opinions about what the resistance was about. As early as 1946 both Marie Anne Tellegen and Marga Klompé criticised the idea that the resistance mainly revolved around spectacular captivating actions by men like, as Klompé puts it: “walking around with a pistol, executing enemies, blowing up rail tracks, or raiding distribution centres”.12 Klompé stresses that less captivating tasks, such as the tasks she herself had carried out as a courier, also had to be done. As usual, 10 Weenink, Vrouw achter de troon, pp. 81-167. 11 Gerard Mostert, Marga Klompé 1912-1986. Een biografie. (Amsterdam: Boom 2011) pp. 69-106. 12 Ibidem, pp. 78-79. 7 8 the forces of the resistance Klompé presented herself here as a woman who stayed within the boundaries imposed on women in general. By doing so she contributed to the image of female couriers as ‘men’s assistants’. However, her life also allows for a completely different interpretation, as Mieke Aerts has shown in her book about Klompé.13 The same is true, I would say, for the lives of other women who were active in resistance networks. And for the lives of men in the resistance. After all, divisions distinguishing between the spectacular work of men and the invisible support work of women, at the same time, put men in a predefined gender role. What about, for instance, men who rejected the use of violence? We know these men existed, for example, from Ton Klumper's 1981 interview with H. Douqué, one of the leaders of the National Organisation for Helping People in Hiding (the LO) in Amsterdam. Klumper worked as a researcher at the Department of Sociological and Psychological Study of the Royal Military Academy. In the interview, Douqué mentions that he was only interested in, what he called, ‘care work’, not in armed activities, of which he steered clear. The phrasing of the questions reveals how the interviewer keeps trying to fit Douqué in the distinction he has adopted for his research, a distinction between organised and non-organised resistance. It is clear that Klumper values the latter type of resistance less highly than the former. During the interview, Douqué repeatedly opposes this classification. He describes how, as a resident of the Keizerstraat in Amsterdam, he was a very early witness of the humiliating treatment of the Jews. He tried, for better or worse, to help people go into hiding, but only sporadically succeeded, because there was no resistance infrastructure yet. Nothing points to him considering this early development stage of the resistance less important than the later stage. But the interview does emanate his big, still-tangi- 13 Mieke Aerts, De politiek van de katholieke vrouwenemancipatie. Van Marga Klompé tot Jacqueline Hillen. (Amsterdam: SUA 1994). the forces of the resistance ble frustration about the fact that he felt unable to do enough to avert the danger for the Jews.14 H ierarchical classifications like Klumper's can be found in the lion's share of post-war historiography about the resistance, definitely also in Loe de Jong’s work. But also my own research from the 1970s into the role of women in the resistance stays within the borders of the division between supportive resistance work and the things that really mattered. This becomes clear, for example, from my fascination with women who, you could say, played a ‘male’ role: women like Reina Prinsen Geerligs and Truus van Lier who were actively involved in armed acts of resistance and who were executed in 1943. That fascination received a new impulse through my study of patriotic women in 19th-century Italy and their counterparts, the women who rose up against the movement that transformed Italy into a modern unified state. Therefore, heeding Carlo Ginzburg’s inspiring call to take detours serious in historical research, we will make a brief detour via Italy.15 Violent revolutions, wars and persecution are abundant sources of imagery. After all, in these situations there are no impartial witnesses and no balanced news reporting, so rumours, fantasy and propaganda can flourish. Through sophisticated machinations fear of terror and violence is deliberately instigated. This is continuously reiterated by terrorism expert Beatrice de Graaf. Framing is a weapon that is equally important as the use of material weapons. Framing is also used immediately following violent upheavals to legitimise new balances of power or restore old ones. By studying imagery, framing and machinations of 14 Transcript interview Klumper with H.A. Douqué on 21 May 1981. With thanks to Bernard Douqué, who made the transcript available to me. Klumper conducted this interview for his PhD thesis: A.A. Klumper, Sociale verdediging en Nederlands verzet ’40-’45: ideeël concept ‘getoetst’ aan historische werkelijkheid. (Tilburg: Gianotten 1983). 15 Carlo Ginzburg, Miti Emblemi Spie. Morfologia e storia. (Torino: Einaudi 1986). 9 10 the forces of the resistance violence the Humanities are well-placed to offer reflection and to counter propaganda. Take Italy for example. It’s interesting to see how the country visualised the history preceding the birth of the modern Italian nation state via paintings, statues, stories, street names and architecture. In this visualisation, the military violence leading to Italy's political unification in 1861 plays a central role. Giuseppe Garibaldi embodies this violence. When you visit Italy it is impossible to avoid a confrontation with the leader of the legendary unit of 1,000 Red Shirt volunteers who, in 1860, sailed from Genoa to Marsala, Sicily. From there, they headed north to conquer Italy and pave the way for what would become, against Garibaldi’s republican ideals, a monarchy based on Piedmont's model.16 The fighter Garibaldi has been visualised numerous times. So often, in fact, that I initially failed to notice that there is a woman, Anita, behind, or rather, next to Garibaldi. As the historian Els Kloek has shown, far into the 19th century the Netherlands proudly had an important female symbol of courage and combativeness: Kenau Simonsdr. Hasselaer.17 Kenau was for the Netherlands, what Anita was for Italy: she is often represented as a weapon-brandishing Amazon on a galloping or rampant horse. Garibaldi himself is the only source for Anita’s short life: in 1850 he writes his memories of her on a ship to New York, one of the numerous episodes of exile in his life. That crossing to America follows on a miraculous escape from Italy, after the failure of a revolutionary experiment in Rome. During Garibaldi’s journey from Rome to Ravenna Anita succumbs to malaria, so only Giuseppe boards the ship to New York, looking back in sadness on his life. In his biographical sketch of Anita he describes how he 16 In her masterly study on Garibaldi Lucy Riall combines biographical analysis, representation and political events: Garibaldi. The Invention of a Hero. (New Haven and London: Yale University Press 2007). 17 Els Kloek, Kenau & Magdalena. Vrouwen in de Tachtigjarige oorlog. (Nijmegen: Vantilt 2014). the forces of the resistance had met her, as the 18-year-old Ana Maria de Jesus Ribeiro da Silva, on the Brazilian coast in 1839, immediately making her his. And how they then fought together, for Freedom and the Republic, across South America until the 1848 revolutions drew the couple to Europe. I have shown in several publications how crucial Anita’s role has been for the image of Garibaldi as Hero of Two Worlds as constructed after the unification of Italy.18 In this image, Garibaldi’s conquest of Anita symbolises Italy’s conquest of a backward continent, South America. By making her his and converting her to the enlightened European principles of Freedom and the Republic, Garibaldi shows the superiority of his culture and sex. This representation is a nice example of the concept of foundational fiction, coined by Doris Sommer: a love story which visualises and legitimises the birth of a nation state, in this case the Italian nation state.19 As is the case with the post-war representation of the resistance in the Netherlands, here too I am interested in the cracks in this story. There are many, but for my speech of today one element is especially important: the conflicting ways in which Anita is depicted as a fighting woman. In images from the 1840s and 1850s she looks like a bandit, wearing, for example, the typical bandit hat. She is a woman in men’s clothes, who rides a horse like a man, with her legs spread, and firing a pistol. In fantasy stories, she literally and figuratively wears the trousers with Garibaldi succumbing to her. This type of representation strongly contrasts later representations. A good example of this can be seen on the Janiculum in Rome. This statue, unveiled by Mussolini in 1932 and whose pedestal contains Anita’s ashes rest, 18 See, among other publications, my ‘Amazons for Garibaldi: Women Warriors and the Making of the Hero of Two Worlds’, Modern Italy 15,4 (2010) pp. 417-433. 19 Doris Sommer, Foundational Fictions. The National Romances of Latin America. (Berkeley etc.: University of California Press 1991). 11 12 the forces of the resistance Statue Anita Garibaldi, Gianicolo, Rome the forces of the resistance shows her sitting on a rampant horse in the Amazon position. Although she has a pistol in her hand, she is holding a baby in her other arm. What is remarkable is that the feminisation of the militant Anita already starts around 1860, right at the time when photographs of women like Maria Oliverio start to emerge. These women from Southern Italy dressed like men and, together with the men from their region, put up violent resistance against the fledgling Italian army from Northern Italy that tried to restore order in, for that army, completely unknown territory.20 The war against brigandage, as this period of Italian history is still referred to, lasted from 1860 to 1870 and left more people dead than all previous wars, aimed at creating an Italian unitary state, combined.21 The fight in Southern Italy bore all the hallmarks of a guerrilla war, the type of battle par excellence in which both sides use frightening images of the enemy as a weapon. In his classical work Bandits the historian Eric Hobsbawm refers to the violent decolonisation war in Indonesia, to show that the Dutch used the word ‘bandit’ to negatively frame the nationalists.22 Something similar happened in Southern Italy: while the insurgents wore uniforms and other military paraphernalia to show that they were serious warriors, the Italian army did everything it could to unmask them as a bunch of criminals. G ender played an important constituting role in this framing.23 For instance, the Italian army tried very hard to paint the male insur- gents as ‘feminine’ in the sense of shrewd, elusive and physically weak. 20 For my research on the ‘banditesse’ see my ‘Horrific Heroines: Female Brigandage, Honour and Violence in Post-Unification Italy, 1860-1870’, in: Katherine Mitchell and Helena Sanson (ed.), Women and Gender in Post-Unification Italy. Between Private and Public Spheres. (Oxford etc.: Peter Lang 2013) pp 111-133. 21 John Dickie, Darkest Italy: the Nation and Stereotypes of the Mezzogiorno, 1860-1900. (New York: St. Martin’s Press 1999). 22 Eric Hobsbawm, Bandits. (London: Penguin 1969) p. 99. 23 See my ‘Horrific Heroines’. 13 14 the forces of the resistance Three ‘banditesses’ photographed after their arrest, circa 1866 the forces of the resistance It is remarkable that fantasy stories about extremely violent women circulated in both camps. The difference, however, was that they had a positive meaning in the culture of the insurgents, but had not in those of the Italian army. In the army’s view, women like Maria Oliverio were the ultimate deviation of what was seen as the norm for women. In the culture of the insurgents Maria Oliverio was given a heroic status as ‘bandit queen’, because she actively and violently avenged the violation of her honour. In letters from Italian army soldiers we can read how shocking the confrontations with women like her were.24 As part of the military ethos of the new national army soldiers were repeatedly told the opposite: women were completely different creatures than men. They were soft, sweet and, reportedly, unable to use violence strategically due to their capricious emotions. That is why men, as soldiers, had to defend the country and not women. It is remarkable how, after being arrested, the banditesse were dressed in women’s clothes by army photographers and photographed against gentle backgrounds. As if this was a way to restore the desired symbolic order. Something similar happened with Anita: a manly bandit-like Anita did not fit in well with the perception of the army as the male monopoly holder of legitimate violence. That probably explains the strong focus on the motherly aspect in the Anitas who started to populate Italy’s symbolic universe from 1860 onwards. With that metamorphosis came another change: while Garibaldi honours Anita in his memoires as one of a number of fallen ‘brothers in arms’, in 1860 he decides to not admit the female volunteers who had signed up to the legion with which he would sail to Sicily. I suspect that this is related to Garibaldi’s efforts to have his disorganised small army of volunteers accepted by the national Italian army in the making.25 He probably feared that the presence of women 24 John Dickie, ‘A World at War: The Italian Army and Brigandage, 1860-1870’, History Workshop Journal 33 (1992) pp. 1 – 25. 25 For this ambition see: Riall, Garibaldi, p. 315. 15 16 the forces of the resistance would put that inclusion into serious jeopardy. It means that the initially bandit-style Garibaldi also conforms himself to the guiding principle that the national army consisted only of men. W here does this Italian detour lead to? To the next insight: the separation between the military and civil society is part of an order that is inextricably connected with the modern nation. It is, however, an order which does not align with the complex reality of a modern war. As my colleague Peter Romijn rightly stated recently: in which anybody can be a target.26 The Dutch post-World War II fight to stop the independence of Indonesia is an excellent example. Recent studies by, among others, René Kok, Erik Somers, Louis Zweers and Gert Oostindie show that civilians were deliberately targeted during Dutch military actions.27 The deployment of several hundred uniformed and armed Dutch civil servants also points to this blurring between soldiers and civilians. Together with the soldiers they were to restore colonial power. The letters from the civil servant Siebe Lijftogt, stationed on Lombok and Bali, and referred to by the investigative journalist Anne-Lot Hoek in NRC, are interesting. During the German occupation Lijftogt was active in Utrecht’s resistance movement preferring ‘civil resistance’ to the use of violence. On Bali, he got increasingly worried about the mentality of his colleagues who, in his view, behaved like the German occupier by condoning or inciting violence against the insurgents. In December 1947 he wrote to his former resistance partner Marie Anne Tellegen that he, just like in the German-occupied Netherlands, was opposing a situation in which “we kill, torture and capture the spes patriae of another people by the 26 ‘Iedereen kan doelwit zijn’, interview with Peter Romijn in NRC Next (24 december 2014). 27 René Kok, Erik Somers and Louis Zweers, Koloniale Oorlog 1945 – 1949. (Amsterdam: Carrera 2015); Gert Oostindie, Soldaat in Indonesië. 1945 – 1950. Getuigenissen van een oorlog aan de verkeerde kant van de geschiedenis. (Amsterdam: Prometheus/Bert Bakker 2015). the forces of the resistance hundreds”. 28 Lijftogt’s letters underline the destabilising effect of war and violence. That destabilisation also concerned, not least, the division between the military and civil society. The post-war recovery of the desired relations came with a restoration of that order, which is why, afterwards, some things were, literally, taken out of sight. I see the same thing happening in the post-war representation of the resistance, which bears strong hallmarks of an order that was already being prepared during the war after the September 1944 order, given from London, to merge the armed resistance in the Binnenlandse Strijdkrachten (BS). This merger sanctioned a division which had not existed as such within the resistance networks, namely a strict distinction between the armed and the civilian resistance with a preference for the armed resistance by transforming it into a national army in the making, with Prince Bernhard as its commander-in-chief. H ere, too, I am interested in the cracks in this apparently clear order. In his latest book about Knokploegen the historian Coen Hilbrink nicely illustrates how the creation of the BS disrupted organically formed connections.29 Initially, armed actions, like attacks on distribution centres, were carried out in function of the need for ration cards, i.e. in function of the care work by Douqué and other men and women. If possible, without using violence. Don't forget, for example, that not a single shot was fired during the famous attack on Amsterdam's population registry in March 1943. The imposed merger under a BS banner promoted armed resistance as a goal in itself, committed by, I quote a member of the KP (Fighting groups): ”young men roaming the streets at night with stens and heavy Remington pistols: with kilos of explosives in the pockets of 28 I have taken these quotes from an article by Anne-Lot Hoek, ‘Wij gaan het hier nog heel moeilijk krijgen’, in: NRC Weekend (9-10 januari 2016) pp.22-23. 29 Coen Hilbrink, Knokploegen. Religie en gewapend verzet 1943 – 1944. (Amsterdam: Boom 2015). 17 18 the forces of the resistance their trousers and a handful of detonators casually in the pockets of their coats.”30 Hilbrink does not explicitly raise the question, but I will here: where were the women in this new constellation? The women who, as also emerges from Hilbrink’s book, had been an inextricable part of the work of the Knokploegen (Fighting groups)? The answer to that question requires new research into the creation of the BS. A recent study of the resistance in the Zaanstreek, by Erik Schaap, shows that in May 1945 female couriers also wore the BS uniform, because they, here we go again, had ‘helped’ the BS.31 But while in May 1945 women in the Zaanstreek apparently still had a visible position in the BS, we don’t see them afterwards during commemorations such as the one on the Waalsdorpervlakte. T he fact that, right from the liberation, it was not a matter of course that women participated in the coming out of the resistance can be seen from the experiences of Jacoba van Tongeren. Although she was the leader of Verzetsgroep 2000, United Resistance (Verenigd Verzet), for example, did not allow her to join wreath layings. This was the result of her refusal to join the larger resistance group created by Van Randwijk via Vrij Nederland, during the last months of the war. Her group is a good example of an organically organised network in which men were just as active as the women in the care work. Furthermore, the group was led by a woman. The only recently published memoires of Jacoba van Tonge- 30 Ibidem, p. 197. 31 Erik Schaap, Vrouwenverzet in de Zaanstreek en Waterland (1940 – 1945). (Z.p.: Contactgroep Verzetsgepensioneerden 1940 – 1945 Zaanstreek-Waterland en Zaans verzet. 2015) pp. 9, 34 and 38. This booklet has only been distributed among a small number of people. On 22 December 2015 part of the booklet has been published online by Erik Schaap on his blog: DE ZAANSTREEK IN DE TWEEDE WERELDOORLOG. ZAANSE VERHALEN OVER DE PERIODE 1940-1945, available: https://zaanstreek4045.wordpress.com (consulted on 10-01-2016) with more photos of women in a in BS-uniform. the forces of the resistance ren show that it was precisely during the last months of the war that her leadership was questioned by men like Van Randwijk. That was on the grounds of the assumption that in situations requiring decisions about the use of violence, women would be unable to lead a resistance group. Nevertheless, after the liberation, Van Tongeren had herself portrayed in an outfit which seems to refer to the BS uniform: her blue dress reminds us of the blue overalls of the BS. The same goes for her orange bracelet, although it contains a different symbolism than the BS one. Even though Jacoba’s portrait has remained invisible for a long time, it is, in my view, a nice example of counter framing. 32 It was precisely the women, as said, who maintained the connections. The fact that they became invisible after the war or were, at best, reduced to ‘helpers’ of the resistance can be described as almost ironical. New research should not consider the division between civilian and armed resistance as a given, but look at how this division came about and what the role of gender was. This is one of the premises of new NIOD research into ‘the resistance’ launched last year.33 This NIOD project, directed by Ismee Tames, is stimulated and made possible by the stream of new publications about the more low-profile resistance work of women, and also men. It looks like the time has come for a perspective on resistance which does justice to the complexity of war and violence. It will bring the resistance of the past closer to today's reality. I n order to strengthen my appeal for such a new perspective, I offer a final dash of 19th-century Italy. This dash comes from my home town Alkmaar, where the author Truitje Bosboom-Touissaint was born in 1812. 32 Paul van Tongeren and Trudy Admiraal, Jacoba van Tongeren en de onbekende verzetshelden van Groep 2000 (1940-1945). (4th renewed print; Soesterberg: Aspekt 2016). The portrait is on the cover. 33 HEEL GEWOON OF JUIST BIJZONDER? NIEUWE VISIES OP MENSEN IN VERZET TIJDENS DE DUITSE BEZETTING VAN NEDERLAND 1940 – 1945, available on: http://www.niod.knaw.nl/nl/projecten/heel-gewoon- of-juist-bijzonder (consulted on 10-01-2016). 19 20 the forces of the resistance Jacoba van Tongeren after the liberation in 1945 portrayed by Max Nauta the forces of the resistance Although, at first sight, she appears to have been a conservative woman, her model behaviour hides a strong rebelliousness.34 I discovered that by chance when I studied the Dutch supporters of Giuseppe Garibaldi.35 There were more of them than you would think. Some of them lived in Alkmaar, with Truitje as one of the hubs of a Garibaldi network. She was befriended with one of Garibaldi’s brothers in arms, named Candido Vecchi, who was one of the 1,000 Red Shirts to have travelled to Sicily with Garibaldi. Vecchi’s stories are one of the sources for an admiring portrait of Garibaldi published by Truitje in 1864. Although the portrait describes Garibaldi as a warrior, this does not refer to his actions on the battlefield. A central position is occupied by a visit by Garibaldi to a hospital, with wounded soldiers. In a description which strongly brings to mind the descriptions of the famous army nurse Florence Nightingale, Truitje depicts a scene in which Garibaldi gives his sword to a seriously injured man, so that he can die with the sword in his arms. In this compassion lies Garibaldi’s greatness. He reminds her of the Virgin of Orleans, she writes.36 This reference to Jeanne d’Arc is, I think, remarkable. Remarkable, because for Bosboom-Toussaint it was, apparently, completely normal to use the symbol of militant female heroism to refer to such a manly man like Garibaldi. That Garibaldi's manliness could also include peacefulness is the angle of a promotional initiative by Vecchi. In 1861 the latter published a Dutch brochure about Garibaldi’s life on the island Caprera near 34 For the rebelliousness of Toussaint's storytelling strategies see Annemarie Doornbos’ stimulating study Traditionele verhalen en revolutionaire vertellingen. Tegendraadse elementen in het werk van Geertruida Toussaint. (Hilversum: Verloren 2013). 35 Marjan Schwegman, ‘”Garibaldisten” in Nederland. Over mediterrane hartstocht, huiselijkheid en heroïek in een land van kleine gebaren’, in: Ido de Haan e.a. (ed.), Het eenzame gelijk. Hervormers tussen droom en daad 1850 – 1950. (Amsterdam: Boom 2009) pp. 235-249. 36 A.L.G. Bosboom-Toussaint, ‘Eene Garibaldi-studie. Een Duitsch auteur nageschetst’, De Christelijke Huisvriend (1864) pp. 33-71. 21 22 the forces of the resistance Sardinia.37 This is where Garibaldi lived right up until his death in 1882, when he wasn’t fighting, which was most of the time. Together with his family and friends from all over the world he formed a so-called humanitarian commune pursuing a sober life, with respect for animals and people of any persuasion. According to this version of his life, Garibaldi was a peaceful man, for whom battles and violence were only a necessary evil. Vecchi’s brochure, which was quickly translated into French and other languages, marks the beginning of this new, influential representation of Garibaldi. It is the last example to encourage you throw overboard binary oppositions between armed and civil resistance, men and women, and opt for an image of – unexpected – connections. An inspiring image for our own time. L adies and gentlemen, I recently found out that the house where I live has been designed and built by a Garibaldi supporter from Alkmaar. You will understand that I see this as an indication for the future. Whatever that will look like, I think you have noticed that I haven't finished talking and thinking about gender, violence and resistance. But these were, however, my last words as NIOD director. Although officially I am not even that anymore, because Wichert ten Have has been ad interim NIOD director since 1 February. At the time, he was the supervisor of my thesis about the role of women in the Dutch resistance. So it was with even greater pleasure that I handed my directorship to him. He will guard it until Frank van Vree will take over as NIOD director in September. Y ou have noticed that I have reached my words of thanks. As my entire career basically consists of detours, these words may take some time, so I ask you for some more patience. First of all: my love for history stems from my love for stories and the 37 C. Aug. Vecchj, Garibaldi en Caprera. (Utrecht 1861). the forces of the resistance art of storytelling. To me, the power of persuasion in the writing of history lies in its narrative character. Imagination has always played an important role in my life, but it was given an additional boost at the Murmellius Gymnasium in Alkmaar. That was because of the intensity and passion with which the 1960s manifested themselves at that school. With the artist village Bergen around the corner, there was an unprecedentedly rich outburst of artistic and intellectual energy going in all directions. I will never forget teachers like Piet de Haan (history) and Toon Opstelten (classical languages). Nor will I forget the parties with the bands of Thé Lau and other classmates. Precious, still ongoing friendships were forged then. After Alkmaar, Amsterdam was the big world, where, as a student of History at UvA I had awesome professors like Maarten Brands. My interest soon moved towards Italy and women’s history. A contributing factor to this was also the strong Mediterranean focus of Cultural Anthropology as lectured back then by the likes of Jeremy Boissevain and Anton Blok. Cultural Anthropology became an important elective, together with Italian Literature. Pieter de Meijer’s lectures were an eye-opener, not least because of his impressive voice. He would become my highly esteemed doctoral supervisor. M y studies were followed by a varied career. My PhD student Niek Pas wrote a profile about me when I became NIOD director in which he described me as a job hopper. In that light, it is certainly remarkable that I worked at NIOD for almost nine years. The only position I held longer, for 10 years, was at the department of Dutch History at Leiden University. In 1980 the department appointed me as lecturer of women’s history, an absolute novelty which was accepted remarkably easily in the liberal culture of LU. People like Ivo Schöffer, Jan de Jongste and Nicolette Mout had also taught me that eccentricity can be a virtue. In 1990 I moved to UvA’s Department of Modern and Theoretical His- 23 24 the forces of the resistance tory, where I shared an office with fellow postdoc Frank van Vree. So I know who NIOD is taking in, a driven historian who works through the nights without a flinch. It was an adventurous period, with room for my actual specialism, the history of modern Italy. Colleagues like Willem Melching, Niek van Sas and Rob van der Laarse have left a mark on me with their quirky approach to the profession. The students I got to know then continued to play a role in my life, such as PhD student Hinke Piersma, today a versatile NIOD researcher. I had worked at UvA before, for a short period, on women studies at the Faculty of Arts. That is when I met the linguist Ingrid van Alphen, who has been providing surprising observations since, also with regard to female resistance members. My relationship with PhD student Mieke Aerts also dates back to that period and she is still my sparring partner for all things gender and fighting. A fter an intermezzo in Maastricht, which, among other things, provided me the lasting inspiration of PhD students Amanda Kluveld and Alexandra Paffen, I joined the Department of History of Utrecht University, which had already appointed me as endowed professor of women’s history. In Utrecht I was struck by Ed Jonker’s ruthless irony. His sharpness was tempered by his colourful ties and the friendliness of his ‘brother in arms’ Leen Dorsman. Then there was the jittery, contagious energy of Els Kloek and the unreserved team spirit of Piet van Hees, Frans Willem Lantink and Floribert Baudet. Since then that type of team spirit has become the norm for me. In Utrecht I was Hans Righart’s right-hand woman. His far too early demise in 2001 created a void in which I was suddenly surprised by the opportunity to become director of the Dutch Institute in Rome. I thank the Executive Board of Utrecht University for the opportunity to be able work several years in Rome via a secondment. By giving me an unpaid zero-hour contract as ordinary professor after the expiry of my endowed the forces of the resistance professorship, Utrecht University has also enabled me to fulfil the directorate of NIOD with the authority of a professor. I am particularly grateful to the former dean of the Faculty of the Humanities, Wiljan van den Akker, and the Executive Board. My move to Rome in 2003 has given my life a decisive wending: I discovered that I enjoyed running an institute. Setting up and implementing an interdisciplinary study programme was an unforgettable experience as I was able to do this with Hans Cools, Nathalie de Haan and Bert Treffers. Thanks to the intensive, heart-warming collaboration with them I will always see Rome through their eyes. A loro e agli altri amici di Roma, in particolare Janet Mente, Mirjam Hinrichs, Angelo Coccarelli e Luuk Arens, dico una cosa sola: Ora e Sempre. A nd then NIOD. NIOD is a KNAW institute and so it has many academic partners. In the Netherlands for example, NIOD collaborates with, among others, UvA, UL, UU and Erasmus University. I thank all these partners for the confidence they have given me and NIOD. Working at NIOD means leaving the proverbial ivory tower. That’s because the reality of NIOD’s studies is present everyday in the news, emails, letters, phone calls and visits. NIOD is embedded in a fine meshed national and international network of people who, one way or the other, deal or have dealt with war and persecution. It is this network that gives NIOD its raison d’être. The fact that so many of them are present today, illustrates this, as does the very much appreciated presence of dignitaries from the Netherlands and abroad. Collaborating with this societal field was new for me and it has enormously enriched and spiced up my life. This also includes experiences such as my membership of the Davids Commission, which studied the Dutch involvement in the invasion of Iraq. NIOD’s embedding in society means that the distance undeniably required for an academic approach is never absolute at NIOD. We are strongly aware of the fact that everything we do, or don’t do, has or could have 25 26 the forces of the resistance an effect on real people. Maybe that's the reason why NIOD insists on its independence. NIOD is service oriented and stubborn: it looks at questions from society and academia, but wants to be able to provide answers in full freedom, even when those answers are uncomfortable. Everyone present here knows that the relationship between NIOD and Koninklijke Nederlandse Akademie voor Wetenschappen (Royal Netherlands Academy of Arts and Sciences) has been strained. There has been a long crisis which raised the question of whether NIOD actually had a future within KNAW. It is with great pleasure to be able to say today that the answer to this question is ‘yes’. KNAW has clearly expressed that it’s proud of NIOD. And even though not all problems have been solved yet, a new foundation has now been laid which makes it possible to look for solutions together. I thank José van Dijck, Mieke Zaanen and Theo Mulder for their efforts to improve relations between KNAW and NIOD. For their wisdom and constant support in these and other matters I also thank Maria Grever, chair of Science Committee NIOD-KNAW, and Job Cohen, Victor Halberstadt and Jan Veldhuis, members of the Public Advisory Committee. I also thank my closest KNAW partner, Gert Oostindie, director of the Royal Netherlands Institute of Southeast Asian and Caribbean Studies. W hat makes NIOD special is not only its fields of research, but also the people who work there. As I will say goodbye to my NIOD col- leagues on a separate occasion, I will keep this short. When I was about to accept the appointment as director of NIOD, someone asked me if I knew what I was doing: NIOD was a jungle, a zoo filled with untameable wild animals. Well, he was right, NIOD is a jungle. But never in my life have I felt safer than in this jungle. Two souls reside in my chest: one wants to work quietly and invisibly, the other wants a grand and vivacious life. At NIOD the two finally found each other and everything fell into place. I thank my predecessor, Hans Blom, for the NIOD as it was the forces of the resistance handed over to me. And for everything he has since done for NIOD. Above all, I thank all my colleagues and former colleagues because thanks to them I have experienced that working at NIOD is not a job, but a way of life. Therefore, NIOD will always be a part of me. F inally, my family and friends also had to live with NIOD. They did that with verve. They stood by my side, but also kept me on my toes. My daughter Claar and my daughter-in-law Joanne, for example, always show me that it is possible to turn life into a holiday, regardless of how hard you have to work. My grandson Fosse was born when I heard that I was going to be NIOD director. Fosse, thanks for all the boats, airplanes and dragon’s castles you have taken me to since. My greatest thanks go to Jaap, who has been by my side since I was 21. I am naturally inclined to enthusiasm, but also to hotheadedness with the accompanying restriction of consciousness. Jaap’s love allows me to break out of tunnel visions and always provides oxygen and light. I have spoken. 27 This issue is translated by Luuk Arens W hat is the link between the armed actions by 19th-century Italian female bandits and the actions by the men who, during the German occupation of the Netherlands, did all they could to help people in hiding survive? The stories about both groups defy the standard representation of resistance against ‘the system’: women play a caring, assisting role, men risk their lives in spectacular armed actions. In her farewell speech, Marjan Schwegman calls for a revision of this standard picture using various examples. She also looks back on her own academic career, which started in 1979 with a study on ‘women in the resistance’ and involved an Italian detour. And it is this detour which laid the basis for a new perspective on violence and nonviolence in the Dutch resistance during World War II. Publication by The NIOD Institute for War, Holocaust and Genocide Studies is part of the Royal Netherlands Academy of Arts and Sciences
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