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