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- having desirable or positive qualities especially those suitable for a thing specified; "good news from the hospital"; "a good report card"; "when she was good she was very very good"; "a good knife is one good for cutting"; "this stump will make a good picnic table"; "a good check"; "a good
- well: (often used as a combining form) in a good or proper or satisfactory manner or to a high standard (`good' is a nonstandard dialectal variant for `well'); "the children behaved well"; "a task well done"; "the party went well"; "he slept well"; "a well-argued thesis"; "a well-seasoned dish";
Me during the AT5 news during the remembrance of the February Strike
I feel it is my honour but also my duty to be present at the February Strike memorial every year in Amsterdam.
I look a bit tired and upset because I was.
Worked trough the night and when I got there I realised once more that some of the resistance heroes I have come to know very well were not there this year and it made me worried about their health.
I am wearing 3 WW2 coins as people during the war and my red tulips (red for socialism, tulips for Holland) are wrapped in a 1930s newspaper.
I wanted to use a WW2 newspaper first but didn't feel comfortable leaving one at the monument as all the newspapers were of course pro nazi.
I thought about using a underground newspaper but didn't feel comfortable with using one of those to wrap flowers in.
History of the February Strike;
In February 1941 anti-Jewish riots were provoked in Amsterdam by Dutch Nazi sympathisers, protected by the German authorities. This started the first - and only - massive protest against the anti-Jewish measures in any occupied country during the war.
On feb 9th jewis artists were performing in the Alcazar Cabaret on the Thorbecke-Plein. Members of the WA ("Weer Afdeling" a uniformed and lightly armed section of the Dutch Nazi Party, NSB) threw bicycles through the windows of the building, smashed the interior to smithereens and harassed people inside.
It is often forgotten that the Dutch police tried to stop this but was pushed aside and then stopped from intervening by German soldiers who soon joined the horrible behaviour of the WA.
The thugs then moved into the nearby Jewish quarter (mostly referred to as the “Jodenhoek” (Jews Corner)), molested people and rifled their houses. Heavy fighting occurred on the Waterloo-Plein, the centre of the Jodenhoek. Because no protection was provided by the police against these WA gangs, the Jews in the Jodenhoek initiated the formation of fighting squads to protect themselves. In addition, non-Jewish neighbours and workers from the nearby neighbourhoods of Kattenburg and the Jordaan participated in these squads.
On the evening of 11 February 1941, WA men again entered the Jodenhoek. New fighting in the streets occurred. A WA man Hendrik Koot, was severely injured. He died three days later from his wounds. The Germans and the NSB used this dramatic event for propaganda purposes, for did it not prove how dangerous these Jewish terrorists were? In the NSB newspaper Het Nationale Dagblad (The National Daily) a picture was shown of three of these “terrorists”, armed with canes and axes. In fact these were just arbitrarily arrested boys, who were posed for the photographer with the weapons in their hands.
On 12 February 1941, using fences and barbed wire, the Jodenhoek was cut off by the Orpo. The well known signs "Judenviertel / Joodsche Wijk" were fixed in place. Jewish houses were searched for weapons. That same day a diamond dealer, Abraham Asscher, was ordered to form a "Joodsche Raad voor Amsterdam" (Jewish Council for Amsterdam), to help restore peace in the city.
This council soon became a very powerful Nazi weapon, trying to help their own people and avoid more trouble, the jews in this council helped the Germans round up and export the Dutch jews without much hinder.
Two days later another violent incident occurred. A unit of the "Grune Polizei" (Green Police) patrolled in the Van Woustraat and entered an ice cream shop named Koco.
The shop was frequented and used by a small group of people who resisted the Germans.
Some of the patrons of this shop had decided that the shop had to be protected against the WA and had installed a device that could shoot ammonia gas at the door entrance.
When members of the Grune Polizei raided the place this happened and several people were arrested.
One of the owners of Koco, Ernst Cahn, was tortured but refused to tell who installed the ammonia faucet and was then executed.
The first person to be killed by the Germans for acts of resistance.
This incident made a great impression on the German occupiers. Rauter wrote a report to Himmler about the incidents in the Jodenhoek in the most vivid terms.
An "adequate" answer was given to these "provocations" on 22 and 23 February 1941. A massive round up, the first of its kind in Holland, was held at the Jonas Daniel Meijerplein and the surrounding streets. 600 men of the Orpo, armed with machine guns, humiliated Jews and beat them up. Eventually 389 men were arrested, transported to the police camp (Internierungslager) in Schoorl, 50 km north of Amsterdam, and a few days later were sent from there to KZ Buchenwald, where many of them died. After 4 months the survivors were deported from Buchenwald to KZ Mauthausen. There all but one of them died from torture and exhaustion.
"Protest against the awful persecution of Jews!!!" was the title of a pamphlet, issued on 25 February 1941, in which workers of all kinds of enterprises were enco
If my failing memory serves me correctly, the Windstar Debacle unfolded as follows:
My family and I went to St. Martin for our good friend’s graduation on Saba Island. The boys (Kamran, Nadeem, Gavin) and LB and I had arrived earlier than the girls (Huma and Nadia), so we had already taken a tour of the town (all 15 minutes of it) and the beach. By the time the girls arrived with their parents, it was already evening. After dinner, the boys went their way (probably to get into some nonsense) and we girls went our own. LB wanted to show the girls the beach that was about a ten minute walk from our hotel. Despite the sun having long set, she boldly navigated the minivan we had rented, a Ford Windstar, along the road that led to the beach. Unbeknownst to her and not clearly visible in the dark, the road softly ended and just sort of merged and blurred into the sand.
We all got out of the van and enjoyed hearing the waves crashing and seeing the dark outline of the volcanic landscape under the moonlit sky. Since the girls had just come straight from the long flight from the US to dinner, they were tired and so we decided to head back. We piled into the van, LB turned the ignition and put the van into reverse and we sat there listening to the tires spin. And spin. And spin. LB stopped, put the van into drive, and we sat there listening to the tires spin. And spin. And spin. We all got back out and stood in a line looking at the van with the tires nestled snuggly in the soft, slippery sand.
Attempt #1: LB got back in and tried to rock the van gently. No luck.
Attempt #2: LB revved the engine while the three of us pushed. The only victory this time was that we learned how freaking heavy a Ford Windstar could be.
Attempt #3: We scoured the dark beach for driftwood, cardboard, anything to wedge under the tires to provide some traction. I think at one point someone even tried a few rocks. All we earned from that try was some scratched up skin and a few broken nails.
By now, it was nearly midnight. Out of ideas and fearful of KK’s fury with our treatment of the van (when I say he is a car lover, I mean HE IS A CAR LOVER), we opted not to call the boys to rescue us. Instead, we took the girls’ luggage out of the trunk and hiked across the street, the meadow, and a horde of blood-sucking insects to get to the hotel. Huma was exhausted and went straight to bed. Nadia had somehow acquired a huge gash on her face and was bleeding in a rather unladlylike manner. LB and I approached the desk clerk and with great chagrin asked him if he had any suggestions on how to unstick the van. With a bemused expression on his face, he said that he did not. “What?” I asked, not sure I was hearing correctly. “I don’t know what you could do other than what you have already done,” he responded. “Are you telling me that we are the first people ever to get a vehicle stuck on the beach?” He just sighed, shrugged his islandy shoulders, and suggested we wait until morning and then call the tow company.
That night, we girls got little sleep. LB was grinding her teeth all night and I had my internal alarm clock set to wake me up the moment the sun came up so I could call the tow truck over. When morning finally broke, we raced back to the van to await the tow truck. Typical Carribean time later, they finally showed up. They hooked the van to the back of the crane, revved up, and went nowhere. Yep. The tow truck got stuck on the beach too.
Activity on the beach started to pick up as the day progressed and a few lookee loos glanced over but offered no help. The local towers were at a loss at what to do. They were on their phones spitting out orders back to the homebase to send another rescue truck when one big, burly, beefy American and one skinny, denim-short-wearing American came by with their wives. They took one look at the scene, discussed the situation amongst themselves, and announced that they decided to take charge. Somehow, through a combination of brute force and something else which, for the life of me I cannot remember but it may have had something to do with deflating the tires a bit so that there was more surface contact between the tires and the sand, they did it. It turns out that they were farmers from Pennsylvania who were familiar with getting large farm equipment mired in the mud during the rainy seasons. So they put their all-American know-how to the test and succeeded in getting both the van and the tow truck out of the sand trap. YEE HAW!!! *cue “Proud to be an American” anthem*
Suffice it to say, we have never let LB forget the saga. Even now, whenever we are tooling along on the highway and see a Windstar chug alongside us, I’ll slide my eyes over to LB, LB will narrow her eyes into “DON’T TALK ABOUT IT” slits, and we will continue on our merry way.
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