el holandaman i i After all those years in the Netherlands, it turned out to be impossible for us to be 100% loyal, 100% Dutch. We were under the command of a god many of us didn’t even know. Time and again, we were implicitly forced to condemn events in the Netherlands and abroad, and had our tolerance tested. Who we were was clear and no longer something we ourselves had any control over. But what was actually the basic issue? Were they really afraid their homes and their country would be taken over by those oddballs on their knees? Was it a religious conflict? Or didn’t they want to share? Were they afraid of forfeiting their privileges? Or was I imagining too much racism all around me? Not that my opinion counted. One thing was clear though. The Netherlands did not see itself as an immigration country, and our chances were decreasing by the day. Everything had to stay exactly as it was in the Netherlands, but I wanted to move forward. The prospect of integrating even further did not appeal to me. I had already given up more than I wanted to, and adjusted to the role of second-class citizen. There was talk of having people scrub the stadiums with tooth brushes, of taking the Dutch nationality away from criminals with a dual nationality. Were we supposed to only be in the Netherlands for a while? We felt more and more like displaced person in our own country, tired of the pattern of expectations we were supposed to meet. In the end, our anger subsided and only resignation was left. We left Holland as an object with the label Moslem pasted to it, and emigrated to a country where Immigrant Day is a holiday. In the beginning, the Argentineans didn’t know what to call us, Pan Latinos, Post Europeos, Argentárabes, Holandamanes? I really could not care less what they call us, I am enjoying life here in Argentina, I can be myself, it is much easier for me to be Dutch here. i i i thanks el holandaman