PROPRIA CURES - 6 May 2021

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Below you will find the translated text of the Dutch special edition of the magazine Propria Cures. This special edition is about the freedom of speech and pedophilia.


Is Mark Rutte a pedophile? - Marthijn Uittenbogaard (p. 1)

The Supreme Court - Marthijn Uittenbogaard (p. 2)

Eijsbouts is a familiar face - Interview Marthijn Uittenbogaard door Michiel Eijsbouts (p. 3)

Coming out - Laurel (p. 3 & 6)

Arnon Grunberg in conservation with Marthijn Uittenbogaard (p. 4 & 5)

Pedogenloos - Pascal van Hees (p. 5)

The gardener and the five-year-old child - Delphine Lecompte (p. 6)

The wonder bum of Annechien - A.H.J. Dautzenberg (p. 7)

Pedo hunters - Meindert Fennema (p. 8)

Through eugenics to Übermensch - Lesley Uittenbogaard (p. 9)

Letter to my daughter - Marthijn Uittenbogaard (p. 9)

The gallery of honor - Gert Hekma (p. 10)

Epistula ex ponto - Nelson Maatman (p. 11)

Epodemia - Aron Groot (p. 11)

There is not one so mean as a pedophile - AS (p. 12)

As pdf-file (Dutch text): Propria_Cures_6_mei_2021.pdf

source: Proprira Cures (students magazine affiliated with the University of Amsterdam (UvA);; Translation by 'For_Liberation_'; 6 May 2021

[For_Liberation_:] On May 6th, the Dutch magazine "Propria Cures," latin for "Mind Your Own Business," published an issue in their newspaper on free speech, specifically in relation to pedophilia. The chief guest editor for this edition was none other than activist Marthijn Uittenbogaard. Though I took longer than needed, I've finally finished translating this edition so we can all enjoy seeing this important piece of news. I have linked in the description with this upload a PDF of the translation, alongside copy and pasting the whole of the article here in case you're too iffy or anxious to download the PDF. The title of every article is numbered and listed in all caps. The writer of every article is written at the very end. I hope y'all enjoy.


There is a lot of speculation in our country about the sexual orientation of our Prime Minister Mark Rutte. Many people think that Mark is a gay man in the closet. The reason people think this is the lack of a girlfriend in Mark's life. He has never married, and he has been single as long as we have known him. When Mark Rutte is asked about his personal relationships, he continues to say that he is heterosexual, but that he has not yet run into the right one. He never says, "I'd like to stay single, I think it's just fine the way it is."

Is it difficult to find a partner? It depends. If you are very ugly it is obviously much more difficult. Mark Rutte is not very ugly, so I should mention that he is not my type. When you're in a leadership position, like Mark is as prime minister, it's much easier to hook up with a partner. If that attraction is so strong, why has he never found a partner?

In 2016, Mark was interviewed on television. He said for the umpteenth time that he was not a homosexual. He also told people about a concert he once went to. This was a concert featuring music by Bach. Mark was still a growing student at the time. The interviewer said a little teasingly, "In my student days, I used to chase girls." Rutte quickly responded, 'Yes, I did too, after the concert.' He gave no further information about that. Where he went; how exactly he tried to pick up a girl. It came across to me as a quick way out of a difficult situation.

So why doesn't he have a girlfriend yet? Is he too shy to talk to girls? No, that's not it. Does he have a micropenis and is embarrassed about it? Something like that is possible, but not very likely. Would it be a problem if he came out of the closet as a homosexual? No, his family is not ultra-conservative and his party (the VVD) is also not at all against homosexuality. However, if he were attracted to children, it would be a totally different story. The VVD was in favor of a ban on the Society Martijn. Mark Rutte once said that pedosexuals do not deserve any rights. He wouldn't be the first person to openly rage against pedosexuals and later turn out to be a hypocrite. I believe it is quite possible that Mark Rutte is a pedophile.

Is the sex life of a politician important to the public? Yes, because the personal life says a lot about the politician. How Donald Trump treats women is important because you get to know the man better. The lying, under oath, of Bill Clinton ("I did not have sexual relations with that woman") is also very important. Bill is a liar, even under oath. When someone's foundation is a lie, it is easier to lie every time and live a life that is a big lie.

Marthijn Uittenbogaard
opinion maker

#2 REDACTIONAL (this was a redacted section by the editors of the original publication "Propria Cures")

Propria Cures may be 131 years old, but it loves young talent. When Hella Haasse published her debut novel at the age of 29, the magazine had already lost all interest in her - Hels best time was up. And where Gabriel Matzneff and André Hazes are cancelled, PC still quietly and openly continues today to suck up to naive boys and girls who look up to her so very much. Not that they themselves are so innocent: every other week they pump the old magazine full of their filth. This brings us to PC's second great love: social unrest.

In 1975 the bunch of editors who were active at the time tried to print a drawing by Aat Veldhoen in which prime minister Joop den Uyl hung it on Queen Juliana. The printer was deeply shocked and refused to print the drawing. It's another nice story for the magazine's Wikipedia page, but let's be honest: even if the drawing had featured two bourgeois people getting laid, the printer would have been too upset. Yes, the editors had it easy then. How different is it now? Nothing is sacred anymore. No matter how many cocks and cunts we print in hd, no one cares. The last time there was a commotion was when Dyab Abou Jahjah would join in for a few songs - it led to a news report on AT5.

PC could learn a lot from the man who unites the two loves of the magazine: Marthijn Uittenbogaard. After Marthijn had written one piece for PC earlier this year, we received the message that the Public Prosecution Service is prosecuting him in connection with the continuation of the pedophile club Martijn. Included in the criminal file: his piece for PC. It comes down to the fact that the prosecution, by framing him as an organization, tries to destroy the private person, as if the rest of the foaming Dutch had not already taken up this task. If the OM really tried to silence him by taking his site offline, for example, we wrote to Marthijn, we would gladly offer him a guest editorship for five issues - a handsome clerk who would cycle all over town to get all the issues out of the UvA bins.

A child's hand is easily filled, but not so Marthijn's. He came up with the counter-proposal to make one whole issue about free speech, specifically about pedophilia. This week the editorial staff therefore makes room for contacts from Marthijn's rotadex, including writers Delphine Lecompte, Arnon Grunberg and Anton Dautzenberg, emeritus academics Gert Hekma and Meindert Fennema, his own partner Lesley and the Nelson Maatman in hiding. Our reporter on duty Michiel Eijsbouts wrote a report about his trip to Hengelo, the home town of our guest editor-in-chief, who himself supplements the magazine with old and new material for the OM. You can read about our own insanity again next week, when that Wikipedia page is completed.

the editors (of Propria Cures)


In 2014, the Supreme Court banned the Association Martijn. The reason for this ban was that the views and facts that this association propagated could lead to people being more likely to violate the moral laws. This is despite the fact that the association repeatedly stated that everyone should obey the law. That Marthijn's views gave rise to law-breaking behavior has never been proven. There has not even been an attempt to substantiate it.

So it means that if people want to change a law, they can never advocate this because standing up for sex workers' rights or for drug legalization can always be interpreted as 'condoning', 'glorifying' and 'inciting'. The Supreme Court found that the fundamental right to association clashed with another right: children had to be protected. But nowhere did it show that children were endangered by the views of the Vereniging Martijn. You have to remember that moral laws change over the years. Sometimes women had to be 'protected', so adultery was punishable and prostitution and also all pornography. Under sixteen or even eighteen, young people have few rights when it comes to sexuality.

The Supreme Court has demolished our rule of law and its members should be legally tried for that. Now the Public Prosecutor's Office is already going so far as to prosecute individuals for supposedly continuing the activity of a banned association. They want to silence all truth on the subject of pedosexuality, so that they can hunt for new scapegoats without being bothered by a bad conscience. Because that is what the moral police have always been about. Hunting and thereby feeling better themselves. Projection of all the negative onto others. Hitler has become big with it.

Marthijn Uittenbogaard


What do you wear for a home visit to the most prominent pedophile in the Netherlands? Or should it be: what do you wear? These are questions that I ask myself on a gray April morning, standing in front of the closet in my spacious bedroom in Amsterdam East, which for the time being is mainly used by adults. My appointment that afternoon is in the far east of our country, where I, as the editors' postillon d'amour, will deliver a copy of PC to inaugurate the one-time guest editor of this splendid periodical.

The choice is a pair of sturdy, navy blue cotton pants of the appropriately named Chaps brand, completed with a brown leather belt and a lumberjack shirt in earth tones. Underneath, I wear a dove gray singlet and a pineapple print boxer that is still often slightly tight-fitting, especially in the morning. I haven't shaved or shaved my face for a couple of days so as not to put the cart before the horse, and after pulling up my knee socks again I cheerfully board the international train to Berlin Gesundbrunnen.

In order to appease the brand new editor, it seems wise to me to take along, besides the most recent edition of the magazine, something that will be of use to him. Unfortunately, the local candy store doesn't have any KinderSurprise give-aways in stock, but with a large-format lollipop and a box of rum beans I still walk out of the store whistling when I realize that I also need a fresh SD card for my sound recording device. Yes really, Bob, it is called an sd-card and 'sd' seems to stand simply for 'secure digital', not everything has to do with the Second World War, old corpse-picker.

After laying a wreath at the monument to pedosexual victims of the Holocaust, I get sound advice at Foto Hoffman about a suitable memory card for recording any unlawful talk. The 16 gigabyte rocker from San-disk offers me no less than 138 hours of recording time, more than enough for a well-informed conversation from pedo (non-practicing) to hetero (ditto) and the recording of any additional evidence and setnoise in the local playgrounds.

A brisk walk through the congenial fortress-less town brings me to the child-rich residential street where the monster seems to be lurking. Due to a small inattention in my administration I do not have the correct house number at hand, as a result of which a next issue of PC will probably appear under the guest editorship of an elderly Syrian lady, but I am saved from the negotiations about the environmental label of the accompanying lease car by an enthusiastic waving gentleman further down the street. This man introduces himself as Lesley, looks youthful but not too youthful, has ample facial hair and has been Marthijn's roommate and lover for about a decade. In the ever sensationalist media he is better known as Lesley L., after having to spend much of 2020 in pre-trial detention on suspicion of 'preparation for abuse'. Later that afternoon he will show me some more albums printed on high-gloss paper with self-shot photographic material of all kinds of youthful friends, which for me as a layman have no direct sexual connotation but are shown by him with the look of Jan Six on a still life with round fruit. L. makes a move to shake my hand, and I accept somewhat hesitantly, even though the clammy sweat immediately breaks out when I try to think where that hand could have been all these past days and nights. Anyway, I washed it just before peeing in the train, and if Lesley doesn't mind, then neither do I.

The duo turns out to reside in a simple yet functional 1930s two-bedroom, with scratch and sidewalk tile resistant polycarbonate for the windows and a front door with ten-way locking. The comparatively cozy living room is decorated with cozy figurines of a Buddha head and angel figures, evergreen leaf wallpaper and a giant tree full of lifelike cherry blossoms. It is clear that we are dealing with nature lovers here, if I had not already deduced this from the sticker of the Party for the Animals on their wheelie bin.

And there I find him, sitting in his oh-so-beloved armchair, the man who for years has been publicly vilified, persecuted, disrupted, stoned and chased with a fillet knife by tout Nederland, but also the man who will ensure that the name of PC is on everyone's lips again, sales figures reach Charlie Hebdo-style heights and, in the process, his own broad ideas become completely bon ton again. He chooses the rum beans. Outwardly he looks a bit like radio producer Ruud de Wild, but with healthier intestines, and without much delay he treats me to a historical exposé on the genesis and inevitable decline of the Martijn Association, the loosely affiliated PNVD, arrest teams, searches, restrictions, his former and/or current lawyer Sidney Smeets, the hierarchy of pedophiles among themselves, freedom of speech, the fascist cancer Nazis in The Hague, and just about the time I have put my device in position and found the button to start the recording, I realize that this man is probably less disturbed than three quarters of the PC editors I have had the pleasure of meeting in my still early life.

Congratulations on your guest chief editorship.
Thank you


I'm a childlover, or in layman's terms, a pedophile. Even once I began to accept my love as beautiful I felt isolated. Not only was I barred from knowing anyone like me but I was living a facade. It felt like a bone-shattering weight on my chest. I knew, sooner or later,it'd crush me. So I resolved to toss that weight off. In a flurry of emotion I came out publicly. It was put on social media for all to see. I wanted to skip the pain of coming out to everyone individually. I couldn't have cared less about who saw!

I was shaking worse than I had in years but I didn't care to try and turn the tides. So what if my family grows to hate me, friends abandon me, and I'm bullied at school? I just didn't want to lie anymore. I didn't want to feel half-dead anymore — I wanted to feel alive.

In quite the stroke of luck I kept most of my friends. Apparently the pros surpassed the cons to them. Yet I couldn't help but feel dissatisfied. They still disliked a part of who I was. I've never shaken off that realization.

It turned out that my child love was too much for some friends. So, they left. One went as far as to say they'd attack me if they saw me in public. I simply couldn't understand that vitriol — I hadn't done a thing to hurt them!

A friendship of nearly 5 years went down the drain in an instant. After that things died down. I got put into DHS (Department of Human Services) custody, due to unrelated family matters, and put in the care of close family members.

I knew they had heard about me but we didn't say anything about it. It felt as if we'd all taken a vow of silence. So long as no one mentioned it there was no problem.

Then I came out to a little kid I was close to. It turned out someone had been eavesdropping. I could've sworn my heart stopped when I saw them come in. I didn't
know what to do — I hadn't anticipated this!

I hid out on the roof outside my window to avoid talking to them. I knew it was useless but I couldn't bear the thought of confrontation. My mind's fuzzy on the details of the argument now. All I know is that I didn't lie for one moment about what I believed, even when they pressed me on it.

A day or two passed and I was taken up to my DHS-appointed therapist for a family talk. The real reason was to take me to a mental hospital for a week. They simply wanted to talk to me about my coming out before I was whisked away in a literal ambulance. How polite of them to explain…

After arrival I quickly came to a few realizations. There was a strange sense of camaraderie, for one. Even when most of my unit learned I loved children I still had their sympathy. Everyone seemed to understand there was something wrong with the fact that we were forced here.

It was also apparent that many were in here for the oh-so-horrid crime of having a dysfunctional family life with oppressive parents. Some were in here for "sexually actingout", which just meant having sex the parents disapproved of.

Even more astonishing was that half the people in there were queer like me. It was palpably obvious that this wasn't a happenstance. It would've been incredibly unlikely given what I had learned about everyone else here. We were being punished for the crime of disobedience — of upsetting adults.

This newfound view would be reinforced when I was taken aside by a staff member. They talked to me about my coming out, about my attractions. It turns out they had decided to send me to a long-term facility for at least 3 months because of this.

"What the hell? How could that possibly be fair to them," I thought. I went to talk to my newfound comrades the moment I could. They warned me that they'd likely keep me there for 6 months. They warned me not to talk about why I was there, or else I would get jumped (aka attacked.)

There was nothing I could do about it. So I finished my week, awaiting inevitable isolation, constantly on the verge of falling asleep. It was never confirmed, but I highly suspect that was because of the medication they gave me.

I arrived home. Nothing happened for some time. Then I got the news that I wasn’t going to be sent away. I was filled with an almost euphoric relief.

The euphoria didn't last forever, obviously. DHS soon decided that I'd have "intensive therapy”, which was their term for pedophile conversion therapy. They also decided to take all my devices away, presumably for fear of me looking at child porn.

Thankfully I no longer have that therapist but I’ll likely have a similar one sooner or later. I also have my devices back after 3 months of essentially having no support network. I could barely contact my friends or get any outside emotional support. Despite the improvements, I still have to be wary. I'm not allowed around children alone. I can't even walk around my town because of this, let alone head to a park by myself. It's not any sort of State-imposed rule, but rather a family-imposed one. I worry about what would happen if I broke that rule. After all, my family was given the numbers of mental and behavioral facilities by my DHS caseworker.

My experience isn't out of the norm for those who come out publicly. In fact, it's mild compared to many. Many would lose their job, their entire support network, be kicked out of their house, etc. Worse yet, some are outed via incarceration and subjected to the brutalities of prison.

Under the guise of protecting youth, a society in which youth, youthlovers, and those who are both, suffer in agonizing silence has been created. I can only hope that this has given those reading insight into our world, and caused some to rethink their own hatred and prejudices.

Sincerely, Laurel.

(Marthijn Uittenbogaard's speech is labeled MU, and Arnon Grunberg's is labeled AG)

MU: Giving an interview to me today is already a courageous act. I use this interview to "whitewash" my public existence. I am, in fact, a cancelled person, who nonetheless believes that he is expressing important opinions to the people. You are one of the few defenders of freedom of speech. A human right that is central to this Propria Cures.

AG: I once wrote a report about you and the party you were part of at the time, as far as the word goes. I talk to everyone and have repeatedly spoken out against all forms of what I'll just call witch hunts.

MU: But first: your childhood. Were you a happy child?

AG: I believe I had a fairly happy childhood. I liked to play alone with LEGO or with Playmobil. I loved to read. We didn't have a TV, we got it much later when I was an adolescent. TV was something exotic to me. That did mean that I missed out on some cultural references as a child. But you can compensate for that.

MU: In February, you saw Abraham. Fifty years old. Do you agree with the saying, "Yesterday, when I was young? That time flies.

AG: As you get older you have more past you can look back on. I still feel like I have more of a future than a past. In doing so, I cling to a saying I've quoted many times. A saint needs a past. A sinner future.

MU: Do you think it's a good thing when people of different ages mix more in our society?

AG: I find that difficult to say in general. In other societies, it is more common and more accepted for three generations to live in one house. That has advantages and disadvantages. I don't believe most Dutch people are willing to take care of their elderly parents themselves. My mother often felt discriminated against as an elderly woman. She absolutely did not want to go to an old people's home. I can well imagine that. But does that mean we have to close them down? It's possible that other elderly people are very happy there.

MU: What do you think of the proposition that when a subject has been declared taboo in the mass media for years, it can directly or indirectly bring fascism back into our society.

AG: I think we often use the word fascism frivolously. We need to be more careful about that. The anti-democratic is not automatically the fascist. When there are taboo subjects in the mass media and when politicians mainly stand up for the multinationals, people may be more susceptible to conspiracy theories.

MU: Many of these conspiracies contain not only nonsense about satanic ritual abuse also contain anti-Semitic elements. Does this worry you?

AG: You can find all sorts of things about multinationals but I don't believe that's where the conspiracy theories come from. People are susceptible to all sorts of beliefs, have trouble dealing with uncertainty and would like to have seen the light for themselves. Anti-Semitism is never far away where the real conspiracy theory pops up. For a society that wants to be free and open, such theories are not beneficial. At the same time, a free and open society means that people have the space to practice their own faith openly even if I find that faith perverse and objectionable, that doesn't matter. Banning a political party is different from banning an association or making it difficult for someone to speak in some other way. I think you could ban a political party rather than an association. Although, by the way, I did not agree with the banning of your party. The PNVD party was not banned but the Vereniging Martijn] That was a political decision disguised as a legal decision, that happens more often, but the justification seemed shaky to me. The FvD is more dangerous for society than your party could ever have been.

MU: At one time I had the idea of starting a foundation for freedom of speech. Do you think such an organization will be useful?

AG: That depends on what that foundation will do. There are many misunderstandings about freedom of speech. It starts with the state not prosecuting you for things you say. Freedom of speech is about a contract between citizen and state. Freedom is not a right to see your opinion printed in a newspaper. How to deal with conglomerates like Twitter and FB that can silence users forever is a complicated issue. I considered Trump an enemy, but his removal from Twitter happened at a time when he himself was already tipsy. Courageous was not the decision at all. The policies of Twitter and FB are opaque and potentially dangerous. Fortunately, there are alternatives to these conglomerates but their near-monopoly position means that their policies need extra scrutiny.

MU: You had a column called the human doctor, in which you answered people's questions. For example, if a gay man wants to have his sex organs changed, for sexual pleasure, that is-that he wants to have his cock (and balls) replaced with a vagina-should that be legal?

AG: I believe that sex change is legal. One has a fair amount of autonomy over one's own body. Which medical procedures doctors should participate in and which ones should not is a complicated question. I don't know if a doctor should help someone who wants to have their legs cut off for no medical reason.

MU: You have a column in the magazine Wordt vervolgd, the organ of Amnesty International Netherlands. Last year I cancelled my membership in Amnesty because they do not speak out - after repeatedly being mailed about it - against discrimination and fundamental rights violations regarding people with a pedosexual preference. The fact that I and others are being persecuted because of our activism is partly due to their silence. You spoke out with others in a petition against the fact that the Justice Department wanted to ban Vereniging Martijn. Amnesty remained silent, as it is doing again now. What do you think of that?

AG: Hunting down pedosexuals, people who feel attracted to children, is a disgrace, often initiated by people with extreme right-wing and neo-Nazi sympathies. At the same time, no one can deny that pedophilia has become a huge taboo. Amnesty is not exactly courageous. But I also understand that Amnesty is saying, there are laws, we are not going to consider the violators of laws that are more or less reasonable as political prisoners. I don't think sex between adults and children should be legal. I do think you can have a discussion about what legal line should be drawn. Is it 16, 17 or 15 et cetera. I also think you should have no problem saying, I'm attracted to children. I know it is not allowed, but there is little I can do about my desire. Expressing a desire is not necessarily breaking the law, nor does it mean glorifying that desire. In general, we are indeed living in very chaste times but this comes in waves, after the chaste times come less chaste times.

MU: Do you think the silencing of politician Hans Janmaat (Center Democrats) backfired? And were you in favor of banning the '86 Center Party?

AG: A political party can be banned in a democracy, there are good reasons to ban a political party rather than an association. That such a ban gives the supporters of that party the opportunity to go through life as martyrs is true. Just as we too easily put the word fascist in our mouths, we also put the word gag a bit easily in our mouths. Which does not alter the fact that Janmaat's ideas have in part become mainstream. So society has changed enormously in a few years.

MU: Noam Chomsky is a famous American. Yet this critical thinker is barely interviewed in the mass media. What does that say about journalism?

AG: You are making assumptions that are not substantiated. In 2017 I just saw that Chomsky wrote another piece in the NYT, together with George Yancy, that seems better than an interview. I think few linguists have received as much attention as he has. I don't go along with your insinuation, no doubt based on a famous book by Chomsky, that journalism is part of the problem. That is a far-right and Trumpian idea. Fake media. There is highly biased and dangerous journalism. There is also excellent journalism within the realm of so-called mass media.

MU: With students from the UvA, you created a video game. Has this game been released and is it playable?

AG: That was an urban game. True, there was an app attached to it, but it was actually a performance, where the players themselves were performers in addition to my students who were also used as performers. I was very satisfied with the urban game. But the organization was so intensive that it was not played afterwards.

MU: In the film Tirza, (based on a book of the same name by Grunberg) the main character tells a poor girl in a poor country, living on the street, that no one would miss her if she were killed. When you don't have parents or teachers looking out for you you have a much greater degree of freedom. Western children grow up under almost constant adult supervision. Unfortunately, at the same time, children in poor countries become victims of abuse: forced labor in poor working conditions, etc. How can we give children more freedom and at the same time protect them sufficiently from the danger of abuse in the broadest sense of the word?

AG: I don't know. Children are more vulnerable than adults and deserve loving parents, educators. That they don't always get that by a long shot is tragic. But there is no ready-made solution here. It would help if we were less spastic about migration, and fighting poverty often benefits children as well. Because children are often one of the first victims of poverty.

MU: Will books like Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov, Le Necrophile by Gabrielle Wittkop, or books by De Sade still become punishable in the Netherlands this century?

AG: I hope not. And I don't expect that either. The cultural barbarian has no idea who Nabokov was and he doesn't care.

MU: In 2006, when we started the PNVD, we received a lot of death threats. We received a lot of death threats. A board member of our party made an appointment by phone to report this to a police station. When he arrived there he was confronted by two men in smart suits who couldn't say who they were - they said they weren't from the police - but they did say that we shouldn't continue with the party and that otherwise there would be far-reaching consequences for us. Later I noticed that I couldn't open bank accounts with all the big banks. What does this say about our democracy?

AG: Death threats are punishable by law. The state has a duty to protect its residents. That the banks refuse you as a client is, in my opinion, reprehensible. And short-sighted. And hypocritical. I believe that an overly controlling government is at odds with an open and liberal society. That is why the tendency to control should be monitored critically and curbed where possible. We know that secret services partially or completely evade democratic rules. The main thing is to protect our own citizens against this. Perhaps this will happen, for example, as a result of revelations in the NRC newspaper. Perhaps. It's a long road and not a very popular one to think about the dangers of an overly powerful state that is so good at control, also thanks to technology.

MU: When you are very mentally confused you can get tbs in the Netherlands: you are then not held responsible for your actions. Think of someone who kills because the voices in his head tell him to. Pedosexuals are usually completely open to reason and still often end up in tbs. Do you think the tbs system is abused for this?

AG: The tbs system is a complicated system. Because it can indeed amount to life imprisonment without a judge having pronounced life imprisonment in so many words. I am a reluctant abolitionist. I am skeptical about the usefulness of punishment. I do understand that a society wishes to protect itself from people who are expected to go back to the wayside. But who decides? And can you lock people up for a long time on the basis of such an expectation? On the other hand, what would be the realistic alternative?

MU: In the U.S., many people are imprisoned under terrible and hopeless conditions, for decades or even for life. What do you think about that?

AG: I hope the delusion of stricter sentencing has peaked.

MU: In 2016, in the Democratic Party primaries, New York State residents voted for Hillary Clinton and not Bernie Sanders. Is that because there are a lot of rich people living in New York who owe their wealth to Wall Street?

AG: That's too simplistic a view. But the influence of business on politics is great, through donations and lobbying groups, and in all likelihood that influence is too great. By the way, I am not of the opinion that big business is necessarily an enemy of the citizen. But where too much power is gathered, concentrated, a problem begins. Checks and balances. In politics and in capitalism. The free market doesn't always do that by itself. No.

MU: If many people immigrate to the Netherlands from cultures in which people are much more likely on average to be anti-Semitic and homophobic, then you create a society where gays no longer dare to walk down the street hand in hand and Jews no longer dare to walk with a kippa on. At the same time, the extreme right often misuses this argument because they need scapegoats. What is the best solution?

AG: Migration is part of being human and people are changeable. Over 100 years ago in America, Italians were not considered white, they were considered dangerous. People are partly determined by culture but emigration in practice almost always implies a mixture of cultures. No one is determined. From your question, there is a deterministic thinking that is not mine.

MU: Life is suffering. To stop suffering forever we can destroy all life in one fell swoop. Would you support an organization whose goal is to destroy all of our planet in a split second?

AG: No. It is not for me to make the suffering of others impossible. I should not actively make you suffer, but I cannot say, I am destroying you out of pity. I destroy you because I am against suffering. No.

Marthijn Uittenbogaard

(Translation: Pedogeneless. The translation seems to be nonsense.)

I was eleven and sitting on the toilet. My glans, I had decided after a careful exploration, was a kind of marble, held by the foreskin like a ball by the slouching trunk of a circus elephant. If I stroked those folds of skin backwards, the marble would land - plop - in the pot. As more of a swapper than a player, I didn't know if that was a good thing, and the fear of losing my pink cat eye weighed too heavily for further investigation. It saved me hairy palms. Puberty only came knocking on the door in full force later, followed by my parents, if I again occupied the bathroom for too long.

Pedos get as much pity from me as straight women. No one chooses to fall for people who understand so little about sex. Whoever should have fucked my nodding self should have taught me not only that a cock is just a cock, but also that little happens with lying on top of each other yet, that the one finger doesn't change that much, even if it means "fuck you" and not "get cancer" as Jordy insisted for breaks, and that you'd rather not use your teeth (though that lesson could have been unnecessary if changing was easy). No wonder most child molesters are not strangers but older relatives. If your patience has not been strengthened already by teaching such a brat how to hold a fork or how to put on a belt, then you will stop at the prospect of enjoying the act only after an hour of wiples.

I liked the idea of such a lesson, and I'm sure I was not the only one. In the large schoolyard, the chorus of passionate but distant supervisors chanted, "If only I had someone to fuck / Two soft labia around my dick. Admittedly, like Danny de Munk, we had simply learned our lines bravely, without needing to know exactly what it meant. But someone who doesn't know what's coming out of his mouth doesn't know what to do when you put something in there either. And if there was anything cooler than knowing dirty words, it was knowing what they meant in practice.

A pederasty practicum never materialized. Brought to a halt. Fortunately, even back then there was such a thing as homeschooling. One morning I waited until my mother had greased my peanut butter sandwiches and sang in the meantime, "The Teletubbies are coming / They're shooting with condoms / And Laa-Laa can't wait / To rape Dipsy. My mother put down her knife and a few moments later asked if I could explain what I had just sung. Even though you sing with the purest childlike innocence, when asked such a question, dirt appears in the air like a winter day in Shanghai. I mumbled something about rattling guns and that Laa-Laa was coming for reinforcements. After the relief that I just thought I was singing about war, my mother sat down at the table to explain that sometimes flowers and bees don't get along so harmoniously. I listened with lowered eyes, attentively, and memorized the entire theory lesson so I could rub it under Jordy's nose.

It didn't do much to improve my position on the monkey rock, which wasn't high anyway. In terms of popularity, the songs were no match for the evergreen 'Grab your teddy bear / Knock your grandma down'. Of course, the bawdy lyrics prove as much that a child would enjoy a spit roast with Ernst and Bobbie as the twisting of Sesame Street betrays desire to turn a retirement home into a slaughterhouse. The fascination is there, the taboo, the self-development, all pointing to what is out of reach, but a child who gets it can burn his toes more ugly than a Niki Lauda without sunburn. Anyone who thinks they can prevent this because they know themselves to be a caring human being loses my pity, but perhaps not the innocent interest of the child. There is therefore only one answer, shouts a young person from the schoolyard: 'I feel so damn... horny'. Leave alone. Otherwise you're in trouble.

Pascal van Hees
A potential new editor at Propria Cures

#8 The gardener and the five-year-old child

As a five-year-old child, I was courted by my grandparents' sturdy weathered half-Bretan gardener. But actually I seduced him.

I was in love with his crooked gnarled hands and fascinated by his efficient musical box cutters, and by the cruel unwieldy spades that decapitated earthworms and woodlice, and by all those other dull chrome implements with frivolous turquoise handles whose names I did not know.

I stroked the gardener's stiff apron and asked him to show me around his world.

The gardener chased me away grimly. He didn't like children.

Gardening was a hobby and a sideline; his real job was policeman or jailer. Maybe both.

I didn't like policemen and jailers, but I adored gardeners because they rooted in the earth and thus knew the secrets of insects and the underworld.

My grandparents' gardener came to work in their garden every Friday afternoon. My grandparents were still working then and I had to go to school, but it was always sewing class Friday afternoon and so I played hooky.

I didn't have a key to the house, which was convenient for me. I did have to sit in the garden and bother the gardener. He couldn't say, "Go in and do a puzzle, you annoying wench!

The gardener always carried a pathetic yellowish cracked thermos and thin rye sandwiches with cheese spread wrapped in aluminum foil. And a mountain of waffles made by his imbecile sister with whom he lived. And according to some villagers, they slept in the same bed. So what?

I knew I couldn't seduce the gardener with words, but maybe the swing would do the trick.

If I rocked very high he could see my panties, but he never looked at me, the rocking child. Let alone the panties. His back was always proudly and stubbornly turned to the swing.

Nevertheless, every Friday I wore my tightest cutest panties in the hope that the gardener would ever glance at them. After six months, I gave up.

I needed to be bolder. I devised a plan: on Thursday night, I would sneak down to my grandparents' basement to disguise a bottle of gin and a goblet of apricots in syrup, and I would then gobble up this rich, irresistible feast with the gardener the next day.

I hid the bottle and the apricots in the hobby barracks of Klaus, the German neighbor and ex-SS officer who only came to his second residence in De Panne during the Easter vacations.

I couldn't sleep anymore, I was eagerly looking forward to Friday afternoon.

First there was the boring morning with sister Simone with the kind eyes and the sympathetic mustache: the wedding at Cana, the unbelieving Thomas, Jacob and the ladder, the wolf and the seven goats, a small half-hearted attempt to teach the children the alphabet ...

And then the bell rang!

I rushed outside and ran through the dunes to my grandparents' big white house on Tourists' Avenue.

I could just see my grandfather drunkenly driving away with his crooked Stetson to the courthouse where he would give murderers and poachers and pyromaniacs and rapists the mildest possible sentences.

Not because he thought sin and depravity were fantastic and wanted to encourage it, but because he thought incarceration was hellish, horrible, inhumane, reprehensible, and barbaric. So did I!

My grandmother always left half an hour early on her bicycle (she taught French at the Immaculata municipal school), because every afternoon at 1 p.m. she made tearful, hysterical phone calls to her lover, a proudly poetic Portuguese salami seller who would have liked to become a ballet dan-ser and a cheesemaker but his family had forbidden him to do so and he was week and listened to his drifting sexist verses narrow-minded relatives

The garden was at the back of the house.

At first I watched the gardener like a horny sneaky voyeur: I gaped unabashedly at the sagging pants and at the sweaty slit leading to the anus.

I wanted so badly to stick my finger in that anus and fall asleep in the sun in the grass.

The gardener turned around and caught me. But he was not annoyed, rather amused.

He called me to him, patted my crown and told me I could tip out the wheelbarrow full of weeds in that corner over there.

But the wheelbarrow was too heavy and the gardener came up behind me and put his hands on my hands and pressed his blissfully hard midsection against my back, and I thought I was going to cum.

Fortunately, a siren sounded and the magic was broken: we became a forbidden adult and a truant child again.

I offered the gin and apricots; the gardener was silently grateful. He shoved edible flowers in my mouth and then he stood up abruptly and said that he had to leave earlier today because he was going to pick up a wheelchair and a stair elevator for his sick sister from a farmer's house in Vladslo.

I cried bitter disappointed tears and I drank from the gin that made me sleepy. And anxious and deathly ill the next day. My grandfather thought it was hilarious that I had stolen gin and drunk it so rapaciously, so uninhibitedly, so moderately. There was a note of admiration in his voice; of course he didn't know that the gardener had chugged most of the gin.

The next Friday was the day: without swing, without gin, and without apricots I went to my goal.

I said to the gardener, 'Caress me in the bushes, I need it. I've been waiting so long.'

The gardener seemed moved, and he obeyed, thank God.

He tenderly laid me on a tarp between two conifers. He carefully removed my clothes and groped my small limbs with his dirty warm fingers. It was delicious! He built it up heavenly slowly and I almost didn't last, but finally he reached my vagina.

He said, "Just like a newborn mole."

He inserted two fingers into my newborn mole. And later his tongue and the smooth wooden handle of a weed rake.

We experienced two years of fun, nay ecstasy. I spoiled him too, his penis in my mouth. Tricky it was not, on the contrary.

Even the penetration was much less painful than expected. It happened in the winter, behind the hobby barracks of nazimonster Klaus. I bled on the snow and the gardener whispered calling it "a Christmas miracle. Though perhaps that was mockery.

We were never caught, never booed, never stoned.

But one day his sister died and the gardener was able to get a better job: detective in Newport.

In my poems I regularly introduce the gardener as a character. I then invariably call him "the pedophile gardener," but that's not right. We were a couple, a vulgar blind foolish happy in love innocent couple.

It was beautiful and it was not perverse. Or if there was perversion involved it came from me.

Delphine Lecompte


Wips with sweet little nipples can absolutely charm me, but I especially love buttocks. A naughty woman's bottom, to be precise. I lovingly caress the white buttocks of Marieke Lucas Rijneveld, with great admiration and respect. Gradually I descend very carefully between her delicious mounds, up to the point where it gets wet. That's enough. Annechien Steenhuis sits on me upside down, so that I can follow every movement of her wonderful bum. With Katja Schuurman and Abbey Hoes I go completely wild, and so do they. I help Carola Schouten discover and use her ass. In short, I can manage in the lonely hours.

How innocent it can be, masturbating. Everyone does or did it. But how do pedophiles actually handle it, projection-wise? Do they watch Nickelodeon with longing or the toddlers playing on Sesame Street? I have no idea. If someone on Op1 were to proclaim with great bravado that paedophiles jerk off en masse while watching Ome Aart and co, it would probably lead to questions in Parliament. And most probably the popular program would then be taken off the air. After all, we have to protect our children.

Pedophiles are not allowed to have masturbation fantasies. At least not if it is up to the Public Prosecutor's Office. The core of the "burden of proof" that the Public Prosecutor keeps bringing forward in order to be able to arrest and imprison the former members of Vereniging Martijn is the glorification of sex with children. For those who had forgotten: Martijn was banned by the Supreme Court in 2014 on civil law grounds; there were no criminal offenses, so something else had to be made up. The problem was and is glorification. That is not allowed.

I suppose it's just me, but isn't it logical that pedophiles long for sex with children? It is their fucking nature, the fate that nature has assigned to them. I have proclaimed on several occasions that we cannot take away pedophiles' dreams, fantasies and desires, because they have nothing else. They must obey the law, even if it completely contradicts their orientation. Admirable that most manage to do this.

The vast majority of child abuse takes place within families, by so-called occasional pedosexuals, heterosexuals who can no longer handle their frustrations and have sex with their own children. A mitigating circumstance: they do not glorify sex with children, and certainly not publicly. What also goes for them is that they passionately support pedo hunters, for reasons that matter to them. That is probably why the Public Prosecution Service does not make abuse in the domestic circle a priority, and thus leaves thousands of children to their fate every year.

Back to that glorification. Lonely heterosexuals can gasp at the Internet every hour of the day. Bukake parties are immensely popular: a group of corpulent men with a well-stocked pudding gun gathers around a kneeling lady who waits with open mouth for what is to come; sometimes she holds a bowl under her chin, which she greedily empties afterwards. The glory hole, the famous hole in the wall, is sought after by men and women alike - throbbing cocks and seed-demanding cunts à volonté. Close-up shots of anal penetration, with the intestinal flora proudly displayed as the ultimate trophy, are also in demand. Similar amusement parks are available for LGBTQ people, and not only online either. And thankfully so.

A sharp contrast with pedophiles, who, if it is up to the Public Prosecution Service and the virtuous crowd, are not even allowed to have sexual fantasies, let alone talk or mail about them (with each other). The trump card that the Public Prosecution draws just a bit too triumphantly, and that is taken like a cake by the morally righteous masses: childporno. If a paedophile is found with a brochure from a nudist camp or a portrait photo made by Erwin Olaf in the eighties of a half-naked boy in swimming trunks, then the Public Prosecution has found 'childporno' with the 'suspect'. Then they proclaim this 'find' with due pride in an effective press release, which is leaked in advance to De Telegraaf and RTL, and every subsequent action is legitimized.

If that same portrait by Erwin Olaf hangs on the wall of the National Museum of Photography, then the artist has managed to capture the burgeoning sexuality of a vulnerable adolescent in a fragile image. Beautiful, moving. In both the petition and the indictment with which the Public Prosecution Service (successfully) pleaded for the prohibition of the Martijn Association, this kind of sham evidence abounds. The Public Prosecution collected, for instance, poems that were placed on the site of Martijn by readers and in which "the love for little boys is glorified. It's quite something. (For more examples, see my 2013 pamphlet Rafelranden van de moraal, published by Atlas Contact Publishers.) This raises the question: isn't it precisely the judiciary that produces 'child pornography' in this way?

Pedophiles are constantly negatively framed, because they have become the symbol of everything we as a society do not want (to see). They represent the ultimate evil and that must of course be destroyed, in all its rotten depravity. To (try to) show understanding for pedophiles quickly means to stand up for child rapists. And so then you must die, just like all those perverted perverts, those vermin.

The dehumanization of pedophiles is a collective delusion that says a lot about our vulnerability. The past, and sadly the present, shows that as a human race we are willing to sacrifice entire populations for beliefs based on fear, hatred and resentment, but coined as humane, righteous and responsible. The legislative, executive and judicial branches all participate in this. A blind spot that frightens me.

I have repeatedly called Marthijn Uittenbogaard, the figurehead of pedophile Holland, a freedom fighter. He defends the freedom of speech and the freedom of association to the full, and we should cherish that, not despise it. Moreover, he abides by the law, although he questions it at the same time. That is his right.

I have come to know Marthijn as an honest, reliable man who is open to dialogue. I therefore wholeheartedly support his struggle. Dreams, fantasies and desires should never be punishable. And people have the right to bear witness to them and to talk or email about them with each other. A dream is not an act (although I suspect that some farmers, in the early morning, the time when the dew starts to glisten invitingly, are actually fondling a pig, chicken or goat). But I suppose that's just my prejudice).

A.H.J. Dautzenberg


Not long ago I was invited by Geerten Waling to discuss politics at his former high school. After both of our talks, a question came from the audience from a mother who remarked that her 15-year-old son was already very interested in politics. What did I think of the idea of lowering the voting age?

I had to think about it for a while and finally answered with a counter-question. I told her that my 15-year-old daughter was already very interested in sex: "What do you think of the idea of lowering the age for the right to have sex with adults?

A chilling silence. The mother had red spots on her neck and stammered that one had nothing to do with the other. About pedophilia, she didn't want to talk about that....

I kindly replied that by making this comparison I had only meant to say that every age limit in this matter is arbitrary and that the question was whether you should allow someone who you think is not yet capable of deciding for himself whether she wants to have sex with someone of 30 to decide about war and peace. But the mother had closed the shutters and the debate didn't get going that night.

The next morning, at the Heemstede-Aerdenhout train station, I was shot at by another mother who laughingly told me how she had internally laughed at my intervention at this Catholic high school. 'Hahaha, you got them right, hahaha.'

I liked that, but at the same time I realized that this mother apparently did not feel free to enter into the debate in the Aula of the school, College Hageveld in Heemstede, about the extent to which sex with minors is permissible. Children have been completely desexualized in the public debate. Anyone who questions this should be isolated, criminalized and locked up.

In 2006, the Amsterdam student association Machiavelli wanted to organize a meeting in the Oudemanhuispoort with the then chairman of the Party for Charity, Marthijn Uittenbogaard, who argued that sex with children older than 12 should no longer be punishable, on the obvious condition that the child would also desire such sex. The meeting did not go ahead because the University of Amsterdam could not guarantee security; rather, the UvA had withdrawn its security guards from the building after threats were made. The Oudemanhuispoort, which used to be a sanctuary for the most bizarre groups (such as Maoists who defended the Pol Pot regime), is no longer that. By the way, this is not because of the Machiavelli administration, but because of the UvA administration. {}

My colleague professor at the UvA Gert Hekma received a warning from the Board of Trustees some 15 years ago when he stated on television that he was not necessarily against sexual relations between adults and children. {}

As private pornofication advances, public prudery increases. And that prudery leads to popular outcry, led by Thierry Baudet and Henk Bres. The pedo hunters of Henk Bres impose their morality with a heavy hand. The Public Prosecution Service gladly joined in, at the time with the prosecution of the pedo association Martijn and now again with the prosecution of the former chairman of that now banned association. He is not sure of his life anymore. {}

About 20 years ago my wife and I were staying in New Orleans with a colleague who had just divorced and was living with her two children in an extremely narrow shotgun house. We used the children's room, which meant the children had to sleep in their mother's bed. My wife felt that we were testing my colleague's hospitality, but he reassured her. She loved sleeping in the same bed with her children, but when she was alone, she couldn't do that: her neighbors would report her on suspicion of pedophilia...

We are all starting to look like Henk Bres.

Seven years ago, together with Anton Dautzenberg, Arnon Grunberg, Gert Hekma and Bart Zwier, I wrote an open letter against the attempts of the Public Prosecution Service to forbid the paedophile association Martijn. That piece was co-signed by some forty other writers, scientists and journalists and appeared in the Volkskrant. {}

In response to that piece, I received a call from the editors of Pauw and Witteman asking if I would like to come and defend that open letter on television. I said yes, but I did so with a heavy heart and not before asking my wife's permission. As a precaution, I took the paperback edition of Vladimir Nabokov's novel Lolita off my bookshelf and inspected the shutters of our home. I was expecting unwanted visitors that night.

To my great relief, a few hours before the broadcast I received a call from the same editor saying that he had been unable to find anyone to debate with me. I was as relieved as I was stunned. Huh, nobody?" I exclaimed, "not even Henk Bres? No, not even Henk Bres. I hurried to tell my wife the good news.

At eleven o'clock I was called by a friend. I had to go and watch Pauw en Witteman. There sat Madeleine van Toorenbrug on behalf of the CDA defending a ban on the association Martijn. Apparently she had made it a condition of her appearance that she would not be contradicted. That happened anyway, not only by Jeroen Pauw and Paul Witteman, but also by Thierry Baudet who happened to be a table guest and attacked Van Toorenburg strongly. Baudet asked if Van Toorenburg was also in favor of banning the novel Lolita, in which a pedophile is the main character.

Ms. Van Toorenburg did not answer Baudet's question, possibly because she had never heard of Vladimir Nabokov. {}

Thierry Baudet now thinks, seven years later, that the children's program Gewoon Bloot should not have been broadcast. The public broadcaster is now working against the promotion of pedophilia. Sexualization of children. Pencil peddling. Criminal.'

Developments are moving at lightning speed in the Netherlands. Soon Lolita will be removed from public libraries, and then Jan Hanlo and Gerard Reve will follow.

Meindert Fennema
professor emeritus of political theory


You hear it sometimes: white hair, blue eyes - the Aryan race that would be better than any other. The right compares blacks to monkeys. And the left is a race denier.

I'm a lefty. Not left-handed by the way. I'm not that diabolical. But politically I am left-wing, so left-wing in fact that I would say to Silvana Simons of BIJ1, move a little to the left please. But I am not a race denier. And whether one race is better than another may be obvious. And I don't say that because I happen to be among the best. Facts are just facts. Even if those facts don't go well with how you would actually like to see it. But the white man won't have the upper hand for long. Because there will be a new race, better than all the other races. And that race will not drive us apart but rather connect us.

You know the story about the flowers and the bees. Where the bee gets its knot sharp sting in the blossom kitten of the flower and hums violently. If people do it similarly then it sometimes happens that a fruit comes out of it. The genes of the male and the genes of the female go to battle together to determine which are the strongest. Usually the smartest and the best genes are the strongest and prevail. This is why humans are smarter and healthier than the people of a thousand or thousands of years ago. Sometimes bad genes spread because by chance the others are better or smarter in many ways, but just not stronger.

For generations, people have mainly fucked around where they grew up. That is why you can sometimes already tell by looking at someone's head where they come from. People from Somalia are the easiest to recognize. Long forehead, eyes like E.T. Everyone from the Ivory Coast has a bicycle rack, and by that I mean a gap between the front teeth that is far too large. Ryanne van Dorst - nice girl by the way - is also from the Ivory Coast but has albinism. Do you know people from Cu-raçao? Why does it seem like all those people are on horseback riding? That country is full of blacks, but if you google 'Curacao running' you will only see pictures of whites. That's because there's something wrong with their legs. They all have Olegs and it's hard to get rid of them. To make people in Curaçao even angrier, here is a piece of history. The slave ship from Africa arrived at Klein Curaçao, an island next to Curaçao, where the slaves were selected. Good saleable slaves went in transit. The sick ones were killed. And what was in between went to the plantations on Curaçao. So there has been an unhealthy gene pool there for hundreds of years and they couldn't change it themselves because between them and healthy genes was a big rough sea. The second problem of Curaçao and other small islands is that if you wiggle around a bit you soon fuck your own cousin. Curaçao is an incest mecca.

A problem of fucking around is also that gene pools are so similar that many genes are not really better than the others and so there can be little improvement from that.

Now about the better race, that race is not white, that is not black, but Duo Penotti. Yes, so-called half-breeds are the improvement. When you take a European and an African and they create an offspring together, there is such a diverse gene pool that improvements can be made in all areas. Of course a worse gene sometimes wins over a better gene, but in general the better genes prevail.

Half-breeds are better. And I can already hear people shouting. 'I know one of those half Papuans and she's bang on'. Indeed, that can happen. But on average mengras [or mixed race] people are smarter and healthier. In the Netherlands, it is mainly the underclass that mixes, because they appear to be less afraid of being looked at crookedly. Screwing up on the right of inheritance is not so important there. What is strange is that it is precisely the underclass that is also cancerously racist. While the school grades of the underclassmen are low on average, we also see that it is precisely from this group that the mengras children keep up very well with the children from the middle class.

This is also reflected in playing. While most children from the lower classes just play with each other in the street in front of their homes, you see that mengras children often have to cycle a bit to make friends. Because they live in a greener and more civilized part of the city. A higher average IQ, a healthier and stronger body ensure that mengras children can outgrow the scum of the underclass.

Since this magazine is about freedom of speech, I am expressing my opinion on how I think things should proceed. I think anyone with an IQ below 120 should not be allowed to make babies. They should be castrated or sterilized.

However, I do think that everyone should have the right to have a child. Because children give our lives color and meaning. Therefore, all women with an IQ over 120 who are physically healthy and in whom there are no communicable defects in the past generations should turn in their ovaries. Or something along those lines. With men's sperm, that's much easier. And that's why only men with an IQ of 130 or higher participate.

There will be a database of eggs and seeds. There will then be a constant search to see how the genetic diversity can be improved. Since genes are only a factor in creating smarter and healthier people, it is also important to improve the parenting factor. Every adult is entitled to one child, but must undergo training for it, say Pabo but without the language and math test.

But until that time, you yourself can help the human race by not only raising your own children, but also by doing so. Bring humanity forward by not using a rubber only with people whose ancestors people whose ancestors live at least at least 500 kilometers from yours. Or even better, since there are already enough people living on this planet, just become a foster parent or something.

Lesley Uittenbogaard
Partner Marthijn Uittenbogaard


You are my daughter and what I say now I am not even allowed to think, let alone write, because the thought police and child protection are watching. When you were a girl - I mean really little, say three, four, five years old - I used to take you on my lap. I would stroke your curls and then close my eyes for a moment, and think what daddies shouldn't think.

But then... you were so innocent, it brings tears to my eyes. But also, honesty dictates, I feel how uncomfortably close my hard-on is. Daddies may not get a big dick with their little girl, but I don't know a daddy who hasn't dreamed for at least one nightmare long about what his little darling might not take in her mouth. Flat, right?

We humans seem to distinguish ourselves from the Bonobo monkey among other things in that we don't do it with our little ones. At the Bonobo, where the woman is the boss and conflicts are solved by the Eternal Movement, they don't make a big deal out of it; little son, little daughter, hooah! And the depraved thought creeps up on me that this is also why the extinct monkey is a miracle of civilization compared to homo sapiens. Yes, I think the world would be better off if daddies no longer had to be ashamed of the desire they feel, especially for their daughter.

The witch hunt for pedophiles has something of the washing away of one's own sinful temptation that passes through hearts like a wildfire. I know that thousands of women's lives have been destroyed thanks to rape by impotent fathers, but I'm not talking about that here. I'm talking about the Bonobo's tender flea-flinging, followed by a brief but passionate seesaw. If we conveniently leave out your and my lapping, but not my hard-on and not the lust in your eyes, am I still guilty, your honor?

That you aroused me as a toddler, should I have to spend the rest of my life in a cage?

In the sixties and seventies Edward Brongersma slowly but surely gained a foothold. After the invention of the pill, there was the liberation of sex. Homosex was accepted, and why then - under the strict condition that the child wants it and that it is not forced - should pedosex not be allowed? This enlightened position has since been abandoned and, under the influence of the goons, the child has been portrayed as entirely free of sexual desire, at least toward adults.

We are far away from the understanding that Brongersma tried to cultivate, incidentally to our own detriment, because everything that can be discussed is in principle also controllable, you should think!

By the way, this is not my text. The first part was written by Theo van Gogh (who had no daughter) and the second part by Pim Fortuyn. Like me, they both stood up for free speech. Both are revered by many, even today. Honored by many, including many hypocrites, because others who write and claim similar things should be silenced by them, or worse.

Marthijn Uittenbogaard


Poetry lovers of boys came from all walks of life. Inspired by German August von Platen, eighties poet Willem Kloos (1859-1938) wrote early on about boys in Knaben Klagen. Louis Couperus (1863-1923) wrote poems about boys like Emperor Heliogabalus who married a man and a woman, prostituted himself and died at 18 (1905-6, see also Hafkamp 1979, 17-9).

Then the Jewish Jacob Israel de Haan (1881-1924) especially famous for his early gay/SM novels Pijpelijntjes (1904) and Pathologies (1908). On the Homomonument there is a quotation from him, "To friendship such an immoderate longing," from a poem about a young fisherman. See also his quatrains for his struggle with Jewish faith and boyish love (Fontijn 2015). Next a Reformed Christian poet Willem de Mérode from Groningen pseudonym of Willem Eduard Keuning (1887-1939) famous for his boyhood poems such as Ganymede (1924). A kindred spirit of his was Ernst Groenevelt (1887-1955), also reformed, steward of Nijenrode, man of letters, journalist and editor of Het Getij. His Amsterdam home was a gay meeting place. Then another Jewish poet Jacob Hiegentlich (1907-1940) who committed suicide after the German invasion and left behind poems, stories, essays and a play such as:


Thou sawest him with his friends
how brown Tadzio on slender legs quickly,
repressed in the exciting game of tennis
That the racket might hit the right spot.

He never missed the small, wild ball.
Who would dare to praise his irrepressible beauty?
O gracious game, which will not last,
How unstable is the state of earthly affairs.

For he who sat before him in the evening, gazing silently on the high terrace,
Saw how a despondent boy alone,
leaning forward in the surf.
As if blind, Tadzio walked from the empty beach
Deep into the waves' horrible fire.

(see Ypes 1949, 37)

From the same 1930s, the educator and leftist poet Jac. van Hattum (1900-1981) wrote stories and poems of boyish love (Oegema van der Wal 1969). My preference is the story The Ketchupcancer (1965) and a poem like The Amulet:

He wears his Savior around the boy's neck, Very meticulously driven of purest gold, 's gift given him by the sweetest hand;the last evening it was, before his departure.

In vain, in vain, the precious amulet, tenderly hung around his neck,
Could not dampen the wild desire for another friend and another friend in the bed.

A strange boy's hand plays with the cross
and now tries to wring it from the sleeper;
Is not gold more than thirty pieces of silver?
One day the sinner returns home without a Savior.

(see Hafkamp 1979, 46-8)

The very Catholic Jan Hanlo (1912-1969) wrote an iconic poem 'Oote Oote Boe' and another about boy love 'Jossie' (Hanlo 2018: 79, 73). After his death, Go to the mosk. Letters from Morocco (1971) about his love for the ca 12-year-old boy Mohamed with whom he maintained an intimate relationship, the boy more active than Hanlo who took him to the Netherlands. He fought against his desires but Mohamed persuaded him to express them. Because he was not allowed to associate with boys here, Hanlo made every effort to legalize his lover who was in danger of being deported from the country as a foreigner and always visited the relevant institutions. On his way to the court in Maastricht he died after a motorcycle accident. Earlier, like de Mérode and Groenevelt, he had been convicted of sex with boys; Hanlo for groping a naked boy's chest.

Jaap Harten (1930-2017) from a wealthy background was a writer and poet. He wrote in Operation Montycoat (1964) how a Canadian soldier who liberated the Netherlands fell in love with him as a 15-year-old and taught him about gay life in post-war Paris. In his poems, it was often the opposite world and about his own loves. The same experienced 11-12 by Rudi van Dantzig with an American soldier after the hunger winter when he was in Friesland. The choreographer longed for his sex and attention, see his novel For a Lost Soldier (1986) and the film.

There were many more poets and writers who wrote about boys such as the leftist Jef Last (Wester 2021), the Catholic Gerard Reve with 'A new Easter song', 'Leve onze marine' and 'Graf te Blauwhuis' (2001: 47, 55 and 59) or the paean of Karel van Reym (pseud. of E.B. de Bruyn) on the urinal. Gerrit Komrij wrote poems about male and boy love mainly in history and in essays like 'Van de verkante keer 1 & 2' in Averechts (Synopsis 1980; see also Hafkamp 1979, 101-3). Hans Warren did it in his diaries and poems (Hafkamp 1979, 73-6) and Boudewijn Büch sang boys (Hekma 1980, 55). Arnold Spauwen (1947-2013, pseud Sylvester Owen) again a Catholic poet sang of the love of his brothers and friends at Rolduc boarding school in poetry and prose: incestuous and pedophile (Hafkamp 1979, 104-5). Frits Bernard even had a special publishing house Enclave where work by boy lovers appeared such as novels by himself, Coos Huisman and Jef Last alongside serious essays by Edward Brongersma.

What is striking is how boy love is such a strong part of gay poetry: from Kloos to Reve, from de Haan, van Hattem and Harten to Komrij and Warren. Hafkamp's collection contains even more examples of such poetry. No doubt the grammar school example of Greek pedagogical eros plays a role in this interest. We can think of the Dutch work of Johannes Kneppelhout (1814-1895) who wrote the booklet Opvoeding door vriendschap (1980) in Frans, had such relationships himself and had learned that at élite-kostschool Noorthey in Voorschoten. Other boys, hé and ho, were the first lovers of gays and found inspiration in loves with boys and men. Another background is that the West did have words like sodomy for anal sex and pederasty for boy love with a pedagogical ideal but only vague terms for adult male loves, like friendship and in English male love with French, German and Dutch variations socratic vice and Florentiner with a reference to the city where they were common. By the way, there were always terms that referred to both a sexual preference for men and boys. In addition to variations that worked with sin, evil, counter-nature. The word homosexual dates back to 1869, it did not exist before that to denote a preference or identity. Just as people continue to waver between the option for hey or ho, norm or deviation, it was earlier between pedo and homo. Sexologists of the time around 1900 like Richard von Krafft-Ebing, Magnus Hirschfeld, and Albert Moll wrote about that choice in nieces, and the French Georges Hérelle even thought they were all of the boy side in their erotic preference. That we think in terms of gay men is thus a recent development. By placing boy love outside of history we do injustice to men and boys who could not be gay, loved their boyfriends and did not necessarily abuse them.

Gert Hekma
former professor of gay studies


Before I left the Netherlands, the person who looked after my last hiding place asked me if I wasn't afraid to leave the Netherlands. I had no idea yet where I would go and what life would be like there. Nevertheless, I replied, "Don't worry about me. I'm just going to have an adventure."

Never before had I been outside of Europe, and not even outside of the Netherlands for over ten years. I regularly visited from Dokkum to Maastricht, but never further than that. Despite that, last fall I landed in a sun-drenched land of palm trees and cocktails.

When I told others where I was they were shocked and said: "You are in the most dangerous place on earth". However, I ended up in a paradise, in one of the oases of liberal thought in the conservative world. Where gays can walk down the street hand in hand, where people love their neighbors, and where they respect that others are different and they don't interfere with personal choices.

It seems like a nice dream, but it is the result of a nightmare. Soon after my arrival, I applied for humanitarian asylum. I fled the Netherlands. I had to flee illegal persecution and life-threatening violence.

The last straw was when the probation service, accompanied by the police, illegally entered my home and confiscated items because of a video of a twenty-year-old satisfying herself. The police had no warrant and no permission to be present. Up to four times I ordered them to leave my residence. After they refused, I spoke to them about their mental shortcomings and expressed out loud that I wished they would exchange the temporary for the eternal before the day ended.

Less than ten minutes after they finally left my home, I locked the door of my home. Not knowing that I would never set foot inside again.

A day later, the police stormed into my home with an arrest warrant they had obtained because of a video of a professional porn actor in his twenties. It was later acknowledged that this was unjustified, but the warrant has still not been revoked. After all, I had behaved inappropriately towards the people who were trespassing.

By now I am inviolable and feel liberated. Here I find lust in the latrine of the society of gentlemanly love. However, I long for boyish love and here young people may also be loved. It is true that open expressions of intergenerational intimacy are not accepted here, but they are tolerated in secret. One also finds prostitution of the progeny here. This is illegal, but everyone knows that and where it takes place.

However, I still feel bound by Dutch law and by the conditions that the Rotterdam District Court attached to my release. To date I have not violated those. At least, begging children get money from me, and hungry children can join me in the restaurant. After all, doing good is also helping another regardless of the personal consequences.

However, should I still abide by laws and rules that do not apply where they are supposed to protect me and are even disavowed for persecuting me? Does the law apply where I, and my supporters, are excluded from the democratic process? Perhaps I will soon conclude not, and that too would liberate me.

But I do not want to be in this paradise. As is expected to be the aspiration of every refugee, my goal is also to stand for my country, my home and my people. I want to return to my home, I want to return to Holland. I want to build the paradise that is mine and not flee to the paradise that someone else has already built.

Holland despises me, but my love for my country is unconditional. I will continue to love my country no matter how much it curses me, but if the poison is too deep I will never be able to save Holland and will have to learn to love another. I will fight until my last breath. Love until my heart can't beat anymore.

My sweetheart and I already see each other. We often look into each other's eyes. I want to tell him how much I like him and how incredibly beautiful he is. It's a shame I'm not allowed to say that. Every moment that I cannot express to him what I feel is a deep humiliation.

That's why I express my love by continuing to fight for him, continuing to fight for us. I can't do otherwise and I won't stop until I can publicly hug and kiss my sweetheart. Until it no longer needs to be a secret that we love each other.

Nelson Maatman
boylover and exile


In my opinion, there are two kinds of pedophiles. Pedophiles who like to do it with girls, and pedophiles who like to do it with boys. Now you are asking yourself: why would you make such a narrow-minded distinction anno 2021? You decided a long time ago to raise your children in a gender-neutral way and you don't care what kind of pedophile abuses your Daantje.

But there is a difference. The boy pedophile, that is the pedophile Lange Frans is so terribly afraid of. Despite the fact that the Oracle of Delphi South has public opinion a bit against it, there is a lot of truth in his prophecies. For example, his call to shoot Mark Rutte now, a few months and a few constitutional incidents later, sounds a lot less absurd. And that they don't drink the satanic rejuvenation elixir at D66 is only because such a thing looks a bit strange on the declaration form. He was quite right about the pedophiles; men who get it on with little boys have had the wind in their sails for years. In ancient Athens, every prepubescent boy was subjected to either the "Socratic method" or a teleological approach of at least 25 centimeters. The Catholic Church, as you know, brought no redemption, but rather institutionalized boyhood pedophilia. No one minded that - that's just the way it was. And even when that church is gone again, great minds continue to do it with little boys. Michel Foucault, it seems, even used a cemetery as a backdrop (after all, man was dead). If you think that things have changed in the 21st century, you are wrong: Paul de Leeuw still presents Op1.

The girl pedophile, on the other hand, has always been opposed. Getting attached to little boys, come on, a kind of out-of-control
homosexuality, but don't touch our virgins! In fact, the earliest Rome was nearly reduced to ashes because King Romulus had taken a liking to a pair of precocious Sabines. The Prophet Muhammad (subhanahu wa ta'ala) was also not exactly thanked for getting it on at a good time with the six-year-old halal sweetheart of the week. Today, this pedophile sub-orientation is represented by very dirty men like Humbert Humbert, Marc Dutroux and Benno L. Whether they have a record or not, whether they exist or not, they are threatened and attacked by both PVV'ers and Muslims, who have recently even joined forces as pedo hunters.

Skirmishes in the underclass, you may say. Surely people with a university degree think in much more nuanced terms about such matters? No, the fear of girl pedophiles is a driving force behind all kinds of subsidies and information campaigns. If you went to an elementary school between 2000 and 2015, you undoubtedly remember the loverboy. This was a well-dressed Negro or Moroccan young man who targeted girls 14 or younger. He would seduce such a girl with expensive gifts, then make her feel guilty about said gifts, and finally urge her to have sex with "his friends.

Someone with a little sense understands that this loverboy never existed at all. These are just pimps and they only run around in Amsterdam-Zuidoost. Yet all my female classmates at the Protestant-Christian elementary school in Leusden-Zuid were scared of the loverboy. This was because at the end of the 1990s a few insecure girls had fallen in love with a tough guy from Kanaleneiland who turned out to be a pimp. This led to a lawsuit, the court reporter from RTV Utrecht had coined the term 'lover-boy' and a new spectre was born. After all, there is only one thing worse than a pedophile, and that is a Ma-rokkan pedophile. From Bovenkarspel to Breda, prevention projects with Brainpower-like names like 'Beware of Loverboys' and 'Dangerous Love' shot up from the ground. Although, unlike many people, I never did an internship at Follow The Money, I estimate that this irrational pedophile phobia has cost the state tens of millions.

Now, that money would have otherwise gone to a Vogelaar neighborhood, so it's not all that incredibly wasteful. What is bad is that this propaganda program has had quite an impact on the fine arts. Every middle-aged lesbian who had ever written about a related topic such as chatting, bullying or menstruation received an enormous subsidy from the Chamber of Culture to write a preventive reading book about loverboys in a few months. Helen Vreeswijk, Carry Slee, Caja Cazemier, they all wrote a children's book about a girl and a lover-boy. The only difference was the name of the lover-boy: with Helen Vreeswijk he was called Mo, with Caja Cazemier Mohammed. The fact that the generation then at school now has the highest rate of borrowing in Western Europe seems to me to be a testament to good taste. In Carry Slee's loverboy book, Lover or Loser, you can even make your own choices as a reader. Depending on your choices, the book ends well (lover) or badly (loser). A little child abuse is nothing compared to this kind of practice.

Aron Groot
A potential new editor at Propria Cures


You can't live your life thematically, but sometimes it seems that you have to deal with recurring elements all the time. I translated the novel Snow (just published in Dutch as Sneeuw) by John Banville, a dark novel in many ways, which revolves around child abuse in the Catholic Church, something that eventually culminates in murder. Banville, among all his other merits, is also considered a writer who is a kind of imitator of Vladimir Nabokov. Nabokov, of course, wrote the famous pedo novel Lolita. I decided to reread that book when I finished the Banville translation. And then I saw on social media a post by writer Jamal Ouariachi, who was highlighting the Jenny Minton Quigley edited book Lolita in the Afterlife. At about the same time, I heard that one of the editors of Propria Cures wanted to do a pedophile issue. You could say that by now I was in over my head.

Let me start by saying that with the dropping of the names Banville, Nabokov and Ouariachi, it is clear that not only second-rate writers are concerned with this subject, an impression that might have been created by the names of the hopefully from now on not returning contributors you have encountered on the preceding pages of this issue of Propria Cures. Ouariachi - like Nabokov - has also written a novel about a pedophile, A Hunger, in which he lets a person interested in sex with children speak. He tells us this, for example: 'Where does a child learn that it is not only nice to get your own way, but that there is also joy in pleasing another? From whom does a child learn that it is smart to say what you like in bed? These are uncomfortable questions, and they also make you laugh a little. They completely ignore what a child is, what a human being is, and how a human being is put together. And that is exactly, I assume, Ouariachi's intention. A Hunger, like Lolita and Snowdat are, is a novel with voices and countervoices, however monomaniacally in each case whole sections of the novels seem to be told. There is ultimately no truth when it comes to such issues, or at least no truth that we already know. That is not entirely true, but there is one truth: as an adult you always stay away from the child if you have sexual intentions with it.

A human being, and therefore also a child, has the right to be locked up in his or her own head. That is what goes wrong in a pedo-relationship: the child does not get the chance to be locked up in its own head. It always loses out to the adult. No matter how manipulative a child can be - and there really are rotten children, I know - it will always lose out to adults. An adult has spent his life becoming as mean as he is; as a child you are powerless against such a person. The novels of Banville and Nabokov show very strongly how the adult can bend things to his will, and how he can build reasonings that always turn out in his favor. The child cries
meanwhile cries in the dark (something that happens in both Snow and Lolita).

Obviously I have not read all the novels of the twentieth century, but I think there are few that are as witty, as evocative, as sensual, as atmospheric, in short, as well written as Lolita. In that respect, it is truly an astonishing book. In Lolita in the Afterlife, which is full of all sorts of stories and essays by different writers, you see that it is precisely this that is being wrestled with: how can a book that is so well written convey such a negative message? This is progress, because not so long ago Lolita was considered by many to be the love novel of the twentieth century. It is not, of course. The novel has little to do with love, if we even know what love is, and if there is such a thing as love. Love is only a concept. What exists, or should be given the chance to exist, is the individual. One of the clever things about the novel Lolita is that through all the fuss you get a picture of the indi-vidual that is the girl Lolita. One of the shocking things about the novel Lolita is that Humbert Humbert uses every means to belittle that individual. Lolita is one of the cruelest novels of the twentieth century.

I keep pondering the questions posed in A Hunger by Jamal Ouariachi, because they are quite to the point. If the word "learns" or the word "education" is mentioned, then you know something is wrong, especially when it is associated with sexuality. The idea that a child can learn something essential from an adult is based on a misunderstanding. The idea that there can be an erotic relationship between an adult and a child that will benefit the child for the rest of his life is absurd. You never have anything to gain from an older person. The only advantage of dealing with an older person is that they usually die before you do. That's very reassuring. That's how it should be, that's how it should always be, but unfortunately it's not always like that. Actually, adults should keep their mouths shut about children - they have nothing to do with them. But adults never manage to keep quiet about children. If the adult is a pedophile, he is even less capable of not interfering with children. That is a pity and even harmful.