dinsdag 25 januari 2011

Blog the barrel - Tweet the desert

Last night, while devouring a well-prepared pasta dish, a friend called Harry hooked us up on a trip to Dakar. A charity barrel drive to Senegal, that is.
With his mouth half full, too excited to wait for the food to reach his stomach, Harry explained about the Amsterdam-Dakar Challenge.

You need a car. A car that costs no more than € 500,-. If you want to pimp it, better stick to what’s necessary, because you can’t spend more than € 250,- on the upgrading. This car is going to take you and your friend from Amsterdam to Dakar (at least that is what you hope for)

Fuel, overnights, entrance fee of € 480,- a person all these things need to be paid for by sponsors. Your job is to find sponsors (their names can be stickered on your barrel) and of course to make the three week trip. After arrival in Dakar, we move on to Gambia and there the cars will be up for auction. Revenues are for Gambian NGO’s.

‘We’re in’, we said. And now we are in. Still a bit dizzy trying to figure out what precisely we stuck our foot in. But if you are a friend, or a benevolent reader, a passer by, or a company-owner with social responsibility, a lottery winner or the bakery around the corner, Beware! We’ll be looking for sponsors soon to drive their wishes for a better world from Europe to Africa.

Driving is not all we are planning to do: We are writers, bloggers, journalists and we’ll blog the barrel, write the journey, tweet the desert and literate the challenge.

Our team is called nonfiXe. And we don’t have anything but words yet. Departure will be November 5th this year.

Do you want to know more? Consider sponsoring, or… signing up as well? Look at Amsterdam–Dakar Challenge or contact us @nonfixe (caro@nonfixe.nl - frank@nonfixe.nl)

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Welklinkende namen in een concertzaal


Zoveel clichés in de aankondiging: ‘Met hart en ziel’, ‘Met hoofd en hart’, als dat maar goed gaat. Gelukkig zijn het musici die dit bedenken. En musici moeten uitblinken in tonen, niet in woorden.

De namen van de artiesten daarentegen klinken als exotische vakantiebestemmingen: Pekka Kuusisto, Lavinia Meijer, Nico Muhly, Marko Ylönen en ja oké, Bart van de Roer. De laatste, pianist, had voor de gelegenheid wel een pseudoniem aan mogen trekken; een naam met zingende klinkers, of een lekker onuitspreekbaar anagram als Dravan Btroree. Maakt niet uit, zoiets.

Ze spelen samen met Wouter, Marc en Bart (ja, het is dezelfde) die zich Storioni Trio noemen, naar de Laurentius Storioni viool uit Cremona, 1794. En naar wie het tiendaagse kamermuziekfestival genoemd is dat deze week verspreid over Den Bosch, Eindhoven, Tilburg, Breda en Helmond (zeg maar Brabant) de snaren beroert.

Snaren van piano, viool, harp, cello, contrabas, die reliëf krijgen door blazers als hoorn, saxofoon en trompet.

Nu ben ik niet zo van de klassieke muziek, vooral uit onwetendheid, en ik zou niet op het idee gekomen zijn om een avondje in een Eindhovense concertzaal door te brengen, als een vriend me er niet op gewezen had, met aanhouding.

Dus vanavond gaan we en terwijl ik het programma bestudeer, strekken mijn oren zich in toenemende opwinding. Het concert eindigt met een jamsessie van de Finse violist Pekka Kuusisto en de jonge Amerikaanse componist Nico Muhly op piano. Dat moet klinken, toch?

Morgen meer over stokken en snaren, bolle wangen en koperpoets en welklinkende namen in een concertzaal.

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vrijdag 14 januari 2011

Water where corn was

Snitsel & Addis on flooded meadow



The forest of estate Maurick is in between floods, due to rainfall. Snitsel and Addis play in the water where normally corn is growing or sheep are grazing.

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maandag 3 januari 2011

De Gewone Man moet niet zeuren


Bas Heijne schrijft in de NRC van 31 december over de sleetsheid van begrippen uit de Verlichting zoals tolerantie, gelijkheid en rechtvaardigheid. Abstracte begrippen die hun glans zijn verloren en waarmee de opkomst van populisten zoals Sarah Palin en Geert Wilders valt te verklaren. De Gewone Man zou genoeg hebben van progressieve hypocrisie, betweterige praatjes van een linkse elite die eigen kinderen naar witte scholen stuurt.

Maar wie, in Nederland, is die Gewone Man, die kennelijk niet voor zichzelf kan denken en oneliners herkauwt alsof hij net als de koe twee magen heeft?

Eenderde van de Nederlandse beroepsbevolking heeft een HBO of universitair diploma op zak. De laagst opgeleiden zijn de VMBO’ers, ook eenderde. Het gemiddelde opleidingsniveau stijgt nog ieder jaar. Met een beroepsbevolking die in z’n geheel de middelbare school heeft afgerond, mag je toch verwachten dat het merendeel van de bevolking zelfstandig na kan denken en de verantwoordelijkheid neemt voor de inrichting van de samenleving. Zelfstandige, verantwoordelijke mensen lopen niet in de kudde achter een politicus aan, die voeden die politicus en eisen goed bestuur.
Daar komt bij dat in de grote steden, waar de zogenaamde problematiek met bijvoorbeeld immigranten het grootst is, met name de hoogopgeleiden wonen. Ja, ook in Den Haag. In het Noordoosten en de Kop van Noord Holland wonen de meeste mensen met VMBO (Mavo, VBO).

Maar wat zien we gebeuren? Onder het mom van veiligheid worden burgerrechten in toenemende mate beperkt, tot en met de legitimatieplicht van kinderen en het afgeven van je vingerafdruk wanneer je een nieuw paspoort nodig hebt. Die Gewone Man, die dus jarenlang onderwijs heeft genoten en van wie verwacht mag worden dat hij de waarden van een democratie op z’n minst in eigen belang niet verkwanselt, die laat zijn eigen vrijheden vrijwillig afpakken, omdat De Ander dan tenminste ook niet vrij is. De Gewone Man ratelt stompzinnigheden en wordt daarbij niet gecorrigeerd, maar begripvol bejegend.

Politiek links laat zich in de hoek drukken van elitaire professoren die een andere taal spreken en praat zichzelf een bijna religieus gefundeerd schuldgevoel aan. In plaats van de Gewone Man met badinerende empathie te bejegenen, moeten we hem een schop onder z’n kont geven: ook de Gewone Man heeft de plicht om verantwoordelijkheid te nemen voor zijn woorden, daden en stemgedrag.
Het woord vrijheid is gekaapt door populisten die er een hek omheen hebben gezet. Een isolatiecel, geluidsdicht en zonder licht. De Nederlandse Gewone Man is een oude zeur die bang is voor verandering en alle kansen die hem geboden zijn en worden, laat liggen, ondertussen mopperend: ‘Dat moet mij weer overkomen’.
De Gewone Man is de engste en gevaarlijkste diersoort op deze aarde. Er is geen excuus voor zijn vrekkerige karakter en onverzadigbare twee magen.

Want mensenrechten, dat is geen linkse hobby. Democratie is geen overbodige luxe. Persvrijheid, vrijheid van beweging, religie en kleding zijn eerste levensbehoeften voor ieder mens. Het is als brood en water. Ik ben een geboren en getogen Nederlander. En nee, ik ben er niet trots op. Juist vanwege die zogenaamde Gewone Man die zich mijn landgenoot noemt en mijn sociaal culturele erfenis te grabbel gooit.

En wat betreft die ‘witte scholen’, symbool voor mooie praatjes, maar zelf niet meedoen: Mijn kinderen zijn geboren en getogen in een multiculturele omgeving, met immigranten (met én zonder papieren), met kunstenaars, met managers, met homo’s en hetero’s, met Nederlanders, Belgen, Fransen, met talen en gebaren. Ze hebben geleerd te kijken naar een mens: de een wordt je vriend en de ander mag je niet, klaar. Ze hebben geleerd waartoe een democratie dient en hoe waardevol vrijheid van meningsuiting is.
Een groeiend aantal progressieve mensen (links, rechts, liberaal) neemt wel verantwoordelijkheid en verdedigt mensenrechten, vrijheid en tolerantie, persoonlijk. Ze richten stichtingen op voor een beter milieu, tegen armoede, ze zorgen voor buren, organiseren evenementen, schrijven pamfletten, blogs en websites, vangen kinderen op waarvan de ouders in een crisis zitten, bieden onderdak aan uitgeprocedeerde asielzoekers. Deze wassende groep citizens is het progressieve antwoord op de gedoogde meerderheid van de Gewone Man want die stemt op zijn onderbuik, kijkt naar geestdodende tv-programma’s en is het denken verleerd, voelt zich bedreigd, verschanst zich achter zogenaamde valse Nederlandse waarden en is daar trots op.

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vrijdag 24 december 2010

Guest blog: Snitsel on Human Behaviour



December 24th 2010.

Prins Snitsel, our undercabinet reporter, is researching human behaviour since November 26th 2009, the day he was born. Today Snitsel writes on the importance of indoor trees, breaking balls and puppets. This article is also published @nonfiXe blog.
By Snitsel Addison (Prins)

Tomorrow is Christmas day; people have been talking about it for weeks. They carry trees inside the house and decorate them with balls. Looks very funny, a tree with shiny glimmering red and gold balls in it. I wish there were trees growing like this in the woods. What a play!

When I checked one of the balls really close up I saw my distorted eye staring back at me. This frightened me, made me jump uncontrollably backwards in a swirl, much similar to the one I’ve been practising for quite a while now without success, but here today, doing it subconsciously, it turned out to be just the kind of swirl I wanted to be able to perform. I did not reckon that, besides the indoor tree, there was something else new that is usually not there. They had put up a tiny hutlike home – wooden with a straw canopy - with puppets inside. The puppets resembled people, most men in dresses, and a baby. One of the men wore bird wings. He bungled on the straw roof, smelling like the attic and dusty. There were some animals inside the cabin too, a sheep, a camel and a mule. Apparently the puppets were fragile, for, in my swirl, I hit the winged person first and he fell down breaking one of his wings on the head of the camel. That collapsed on its hoofs, fell aside on the crib of the baby and took one of the dressed men in his fall.

The noise scared me even more than the strange small unmoveable people. I turned quickly and by accident touched a golden ball. It fell on the stone floor in high tones and scattered all over the place. One of the pieces pierced my foot. Ouch. Never before I saw a ball as aggressive as this one. While trying to swing the stinging pieces of the ball out of my foot I did not pay attention to the indoor tree. It started to shake like a cocktail on a party before I noticed I had kicked it with my hurting toes. The tree swung to and fro three times and then decided to obey gravity, tumbling a little more to the left, losing balance and with an enormous blow it smacked against the floor amidst the scattered ball and broken puppets.

At that same moment my human ran into the room excited and shouting: Snitsel!! I sought refuge underneath the Chinese cabinet and lay there shaking. Can’t think of anything I did wrong, but boy, is he angry with me. Without giving me one more look, my human started to sweep the broken balls and puppets, erected the tree and shouted at his wife when she entered the room quite bewildered asking what ‘for heavens’ sake’ was happening.

Now I have been studying human behaviour for more than a year – since the day I was born - and I know that whenever they use the words ‘for heavens’ sake’, they mean serious business; then something is really really wrong, and usually the dog did it, or the kid, or something else outside themselves and smaller. So I stayed down under the cabinet and watched them clean up.

The shiny balls were all broken. He asked her: ‘What do we decorate this tree with? The whole family will be here in half an hour and we have a bare tree.’ She sighed (human behaviour when not knowing the solution to an apparent problem) Then she brightened up. ‘Wait. I have an idea.’ She started to run around the house picking up my toys, taking all of them into the kitchen (my favourite place). I heard the tap run. Blushed from activity she re-entered the room; ‘I washed them all. He – she pointed at me and I started to shiver even more fiercely for I know what humans are capable off – likes this tree. Why don’t we make it a doggy Christmas tree and put his stuff into it?’
From beneath the cabinet I watched them decorate the tree with my toys. They hung my favourite, a fluffy rabbit, in the top. No way I can ever reach it without the tree falling (strange, normal trees don’t fall when you piss on them or jump against their timber)

Just after they finished decorating the doorbell rang. A bunch of people and children entered. They laughed and seemed happy. The kids wanted to play with me and while I was having fun I heard my human tell the guests that I ruined their tree, but amidst his peers he laughed about it.

Evening fell, they ate, they drank, they talked until midnight. When the clock stroke twelve, all people in the room stood up from their chairs, toasted with glasses held high and repeated the same words: ‘Merry Christmas’.

Prins Snitsel undercabinet reporter on human behaviour for Doggy Review, in the series ‘On People’, today is guest blogger for nonfiXe. You can reach him through his twitter account: prinssnitsel, leave a comment here or contact nonfiXe.

donderdag 23 december 2010

Blood Euro


HRW lately issued ‘Development without freedom’, report on how the Ethiopian government spends aid money [1]. The 111 pages lead to one conclusion only: $ 3 billion Western aid dollars annually donated are used to suppress the Ethiopian people and to keep the ruling party in power. No freedom of expression, censured press, arbitrarily detentions without charge or trial, suppressive laws that severely limit nongovernmental organisations (NGO’s), flawed elections et cetera.
The donors (i.e. US, UK, the Netherlands, Canada, EU, Worldbank) know how aid is translated in politics, and keep on paying.

Some people manage to escape from the Meles regime, like the members of Youth circus Addis Ababa, aged 14 to 25 year at that time. They came to the Netherlands asking for one thing only: Freedom.
Although they all tell the same stories of abuse and renowned human right organisations write reports that affirm the credibility of their statements, the Dutch Immigration Service was not inclined to believe the youngsters. Now they find themselves in a deadlock, forced on them by one of Ethiopia’s large sponsors, the Dutch government. Waiting for the European Court of Human Rights to decide over their fate. This waiting can take years.

An example of what life was for the youngsters in Ethiopia:
A day before court, one of the boys asks his lawyer if he can speak to the judge in private. There is still something he did not talk about. The advocate gives him little chance. ‘You cannot bring new facts to the court and the judge probably will not give you the opportunity to speak in private. This is a public court.’
He wants to tell what happened to him one day at the office of the circus, not long before they went to the Netherlands. ‘Normally people walk in and out of the room. Not this time. I was completely unprepared. Someone hit me on my head, from behind. I still wear the scars. Then they put a cloth over my mouth. There was something on it that drugged me. I don’t know what happened. When I woke up, I felt this pain in my but. “You will not get pregnant. We used condoms.” They told me.’
While telling this story- it is the first time he confides in somebody - he turns his head away. Then he kneels down on the ground. His head bungles between his knees. He feels ashamed and dirty. He did not even tell his own mother.


So many stories they can tell, but nobody listens. The system is not designed to listen, it is designed to guard procedures, not to protect people.

More on the circus group on nonfiXe, category Afrisinia

1.Ethiopia is the second large sponsored developing country in the world, after Indonesia. The country is ruled by a dictatorial regime and human rights deteriorate while the amount of aid money increases. Aid money, according to Human Right Watch, which is used to strengthen the governments’ grip on the citizens even more. And the donors are aware of this.
Ethiopians who manage to escape their abusive government and ask for asylum abroad, have a hard time to get the refuge they need, if they get it at all. The West turns a blind eye twice; by funding a dictator with billions of dollars and refusing to safe harbour his victims, amongst whom sixteen youngsters craving for freedom. From: The blind eye of the West, part 1, Fundraising Ethiopia, www.nonfixe.nl

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dinsdag 7 december 2010

Wikileaks & Freedom of Press

The recent developments on Wikileaks show the uneasiness of global leaders, citizens as well as the press itself, with ‘Freedom of Press’.

Now let’s stay away from the person of Julian Assange, the hunted founder of Wikileaks. Whether he did or did not sexually assault women, we cannot possibly know. We do know however, that no rapist has ever been hunted down so severally by authorities of different nations. Not even woman traffickers are chased after with such a force.
If Asssange did rape these women, he should account for it.

The force international governments use on this single man, proves they have a different, more probing motive to catch him. This motive is self-centred. Governments are genuinely afraid of Assange and his Wikileaks.

Wikileaks exposes the lies politicians use to manipulate the public. Lies that are usually covered under the blanket of the bed, where a great lot of the institutional press sleeps alongside the powerful.

Just how democratic is the democratic West? How free are we really? That is the question raised by Wikileaks.

The Guardian, Le Monde, El Pais, Der Spiegel and the New York Times seem to understand the importance.

So instead of focussing on the person Assange, or get carried away by fear that Al Qaida will bomb ‘vital locations’ (I for one think that every self respecting terrorist already knows where to find these locations), let us discuss Democracy, the accountability and transparency of governments and their officials and defend the Freedom of Press and Speech.

There will be more and different Wikileaks. We need them. To protect our freedom. That is one thing we can thank Julian Assange and his friends for.

Image: detail painting on newspaper, Joost Sicking, 1965

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