By Arnold Jansen op de Haar

During World War II, there were ‘Engelandvaarders’, people fleeing to England, and who used small boats to cross the Channel. Alternatively, they travelled through Belgium, France and Spain to Portugal or Gibraltar, and then on to England. They were made very welcome.

In any case, they could join an army to fight back. For people who were born too recently to have heard stories about WWII: in those days you helped refugees and cut off the enemy at their roots.

In the Dutch parliament, MP Geert Wilders referred to single male refugees as ‘testosterone bombs’. It made me think of His Royal Highness. Prince Bernhard sent his wife and children off to Canada. He remained in London and had a wonderful time. There was no one who enjoyed WWII as much as this prince. But, during WWII, there was also no one in England who called the prince a ‘testosterone bomb’. And yet, if one could have called anyone a testosterone bomb, it would have been the prince.

There are quite a lot of rumours about Prince Bernhard. Well, not that when he was a young man he put his private part into a pig’s mouth. That’s something reserved for the British PM, according to one member of his party. For the moment, they had better not put pork on the menu at the next EU summit.

If you want to condemn the British PM’s behaviour, you’d better think about the most stupid thing you did in your youth. It probably didn’t involve a pig, but it’s likely to be pretty embarrassing.

However, you can rebuke Cameron for not doing enough for migrants, because if one thing is clear from the past few decades, it’s that immigration is a blessing for British society. There isn’t a hospital which can function without immigrants. The building I live in wouldn’t have any porters. Portobello Market would shrink to half its size and the supermarket around the corner would be without checkout personnel.

Suddenly, this made me think of ‘Bambi’, the tiny, fragile checkout girl with big eyes who looks as if she has walked straight out of a Bollywood film.

Recently, I travelled back from the Netherlands to London by train. In Calais the train came to a halt. ‘People on the track,’ it was announced through the intercom. ‘There will be more information in twenty minutes’ time.’ It took an hour and a half.

My travel companion said: ‘If by chance an asylum seeker knocks on the window, I’ll open the door,’ and, with a friendly smile, she raised a glass to two heavily armoured soldiers on the Calais-Fréthun platform. So I could, if necessary, open the doors on the other side.

To me, the best option seems to be to accommodate asylum seekers who are already on their way through Europe, shelter the ones who are still in the region, and try to sort out the situation in Syria and Iraq. But try telling this, as a hopelessly divided Europe, to the winner of the Nobel Peace Prize in the White House.

Not that long ago, ‘I am Charlie’ was a popular saying. ‘I’m an asylum seeker’ becomes less so day by day, and they’re building fences. It’s getting cold in Europe.

© Arnold Jansen op de Haar
© Translation Holland Park Press