In 1993 I completed my PhD research on the writings of Siegfried Sassoon (1886-1967), which was later published in an British and American trade edition: Siegfried Sassoon: Scorched Glory (Macmillan/St Martin’s Press, 1997). In true Sassoon-fashion I had ‘stumbled’ (‘stumbling’ and ‘blundering’ are recurring words in Sassoon’s war writings) across his Sherston-trilogy in my first year at Amsterdam University. It led me to his war poetry, to other war poets, and to that whole historical & socio-cultural phenomenon: the Great War and its impact on British society.
It made me wonder what had happened in my own native country, the Netherlands, at the time. I knew it had remained neutral, but at school we had never been told anything about the period, and it seemed to me that in a country that was so near the battlefields of the Western Front and so close to two of the main warring nations, Britain and Germany, the war could hardly have passed unnoticed.
De Sterke Arm
Don't shoot me, I am only the piano player , stamelde Dutchbatcommandant Karremans in 1995.
Dan liever de lucht in! riep Van Speijk nog heldhaftig in 1830. Honderdvijftig jaar na de Tiendaagse Veldtocht heeft Nederland structureel moeite met de gedachte dat zijn soldaten zich bezighouden met levensbedreigende activiteiten. Het Nederlands leger is een curieus fenomeen.
Paul Moeyes stelt zich in De sterke arm, de zachte hand de vraag wat de plaats is van een leger in een niet-martiale cultuur als de onze en komt in een epiloog over Srebrenica tot de conclusie dat Nederland na honderd jaar gewapende neutraliteit en zestig jaar VN de oorlog nog altijd niet begrijpt.