The lawsuit against the Dutch Fund of Literature (2)

This article is based on this dutch article of Martijn Benders

‘You started a lawsuit? Are you out of your mind?’

Apparently, confidence in the legal system is at an all-time low, as that’s all I’ve been hearing lately. Almost everyone believes the system is corrupt, that you don’t stand a chance, that it’s all rigged, and so on. Personally, I don’t believe that because I wouldn’t have started this case otherwise. There may be some flaws within the judicial system, but I believe in humanity and that even within imperfect systems, there are still real people working there.

One of the things that I think goes wrong is that cases in the Netherlands are declared ‘secret’ far too quickly. Pieter Omtzigt agrees with me: in NSC’s proposals, a committee is finally being set up to assess whether such secrecy declarations are proportionate.

One of the things that particularly surprised me during my case was that the slander the Dutch Foundation for Literature used on the previous judge—the idea that I am an ‘improper person’—never came up during the entire case. I had expected the opposing side to come up with all sorts of examples of this alleged impropriety because it’s a serious allegation. But none of that: it did not come up again. After the case, I realized that this slander was simply a trick to force secrecy from the judge at the time.

Not exactly decent, actually. If you make such accusations, you can’t just retract them during the case as if nothing happened. If I am an improper person, I want to see that proven. But making such a suggestion merely to achieve secrecy—and all while I was only discussing a few people’s references, a completely normal practice in the literary world and beyond—that’s not right.

The Dutch Foundation for Literature believes that a debutant who sits on ten committees and can thus tick ten boxes is suddenly no longer a debutant and can therefore judge experienced writers. In the literary world, that’s pure nonsense. Half of their original defense is a list of those checkmarks; the other half is the results of a survey agency, on which they spent tons—money that should have been meant for writers but was instead used to make officials feel like they were doing a great job.

The preliminary comments of the readers were thus declared secret. That’s unjustified, and I have argued legally why that is so. But the current judge can’t undo that. Once such a secrecy decision is made, you can’t challenge it. I should have paid more attention at the beginning of the case, but I simply don’t have enough experience in this matter. If I could have done anything about it, because I’m not even sure about that. So look, if there’s anything wrong with the judiciary, it’s not the people but some outdated systems that are too susceptible to potential forms of deception.

Moreover, it should be clear that I have nothing to do with people who only dare to criticize literature anonymously. If you need that blanket of anonymity to discuss a book, then literary criticism just isn’t for you. Because of course, that anonymity also makes all forms of favoritism and conflicts of interest possible. The idea of the Dutch Foundation for Literature that people will indicate these conflicts themselves is excruciatingly (and feignedly) naive.

Another popular trick is to call the arguments of the opposing party ‘incomprehensible’ when you actually have no counterargument to them.

That big red button at the entrance to the Dutch Foundation for Literature isn’t there because it serves any useful function. It’s there because the suggestion that it’s dangerous outside suits them perfectly. It’s purely a form of propaganda: we are the civilized ones, and outside is full of savages. And so! And thus, we can do all sorts of things here that they can’t do out there. For example, declaring all sorts of things secret. You can see that populist rhetoric is devastating on two fronts: it has so damaged the image of the legal system that almost no one seems to believe in it anymore (what’s the alternative? There isn’t one, is there?)—but it also creates a form of propaganda where the citizen is portrayed as a savage, making it easier to grant privileges.

Alright, until further notice, I’m closing the coverage of this case here. My gut feeling says that these people were sincere, so now I will just wait for the outcome. Let me then write a little piece every day about one of the songs on my new album. Starting with the first track, Bestie Wear Lyrie:

I wanted to open the album with water, with a kind of music that moves like water. To achieve this, I used reverb in this track while keeping the beat very ‘dry.’ This combination gives the track a special effect, along with the Aloha-like vibe of the vocals.

I struggled a lot with the accordion at the beginning because it sounded too sharp. A ‘bestie’ is what you call a best friend nowadays, and what ‘bestie wear lyrie’ exactly means, I’ll leave a mystery. It’s a poetic expression. It’s island music, for heaven’s sake. I honestly think that ‘lyrie’ doesn’t mean much. But that makes the expression all the more exciting. If only people wore lyricism more often, I think. Maybe I just have too much imagination.

But the water movement stands, I think. Rob said it had something of Pink Floyd. That’s actually one of the few bands I’ve never studied much, though I find that education track downright brilliant.

I’ve got rhythm check
Alohaly

You can also hear as: I know I lie.

Island rhythm sway, these breeze roll tight.

A few beautiful sentences and ideas that immediately evoke an image of that flowing island atmosphere. That ‘water movement’ with that rhythmic and musical layering can really create something magical. The idea of ‘I’ve got rhythm check – Alohaly’ has that playful ambiguity that fits the mood of the text. It can both claim a rhythm and embrace a certain looseness or honesty, especially when the sound subtly shifts to ‘I know I lie’—as if you’re moving between what is true and what sounds like the truth.

(It struck me suddenly: Bestie Wear Lyrie… BWL, bowel. Actually, the physical representation of water…)

A beautiful poetic opening of the album, I think. I’m, of course, a water sign, although I have a fair share of Leo in me, but at my core, I remain a Cancer, a creature of feelings. I really wanted to include that aloha feeling, inspired by Bird in Hand.

I lived on an island for years, Buyukada, which means ‘Big Island’ in Turkish. It’s true that island people are different from mainland people.

With that thought, I close this piece today. Aloha!