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Nationalism
5 min read

Geert Wilders: heir apparent to an anxious nation

The election of a populist has shocked The Netherlands. Wim Houtman unpacks the result and explores anxious attitudes among electors, particularly Christians.

Wim Houtman is a senior editor with Nederlands Dagblad, a Christian daily newspaper in the Netherlands.

A politician in a suit stands amid a scrum of reporters holding microphones
Geert Wilders is at the centre of media attention in The Netherlands.

Much has been made in recent years of the similarity in appearance - their hair dos especially - between Donald Trump, Boris Johnson and Geert Wilders. All three sport this striking blond head of hair, invariably cut in the same style - be it with loosely non-conformist locks or carefully eccentric waves. 

It’s their trademark, it sets them apart - instantly recognizable. And it sends a message: Here is a leader who stands out, who doesn’t care what is ‘normal’ or ‘accepted’ or what others may think; he knows what he wants, he knows what you want and he will go for it. 

Until a fortnight ago, Dutch politician Geert Wilders was the leader of a relatively minor party on the far right, with a strong anti-Islam, anti-immigration agenda. His populist Partij voor de Vrijheid (PVV, Party for Freedom) had been around since 2006, hovering between 6 and 16 per cent of the vote. But suddenly, on November 22nd, he scored a whopping 24 per cent, becoming the largest party with 37 seats in the Lower House of the Dutch parliament, way ahead of the runner-up, the left-wing alliance of social democrats and greens at 25 seats. 

In the Dutch electoral system, this automatically gives Geert Wilders the lead in forming a new government. And here the problem starts. 

Now he wants to cash in on his victory to finally and decisively put his stamp on the country’s policies. At 60 years old, it may well be his last chance. 

So far, his party has been a wallflower in the political arena. Other parties have found his standpoints too extreme to bring on board. Today, however, looks very different. As the leader of the largest political party, Geert Wilders seems destined to become Prime Minister - at least he himself claims so. It would seem like going against the will of the people to stand in his way. But still, most other parties are reluctant to work with him.  

In its leader comment the morning after, the Dutch Christian daily newspaper Nederlands Dagblad recalled what kind of party and what kind of leader the country had just elected to be its next PM: 

‘Geert Wilders, who for years on end has branded democratically elected colleagues traitors to their country and a fake parliament. Who called the rule of law ‘corrupted’, after he had been persecuted and fined for collective insult. Who for years on end has hatefully offended entire sections of the population, because of their faith (Muslims) or their origin (Moroccan, Eastern European etc). Who wants to abolish religious freedom, leave the European Union, do away with the euro, end the military support to Ukraine, post soldiers along the nation’s borders, ban headscarves, disband climate policy and energy transition. Who wants to revert the apologies the King made last July for the nation’s slavery record. And so on, and so on.’ 

In the run-up to these latest elections, Mr Wilders ran a brilliant campaign in which he presented himself in a more moderate way, and pledged if he won, to be ‘the Prime Minister of all Dutch people’ - leaving aside the question what a person needs to qualify for being ‘Dutch’. Now he wants to cash in on his victory to finally and decisively put his stamp on the country’s policies. At 60 years old, it may well be his last chance. 

But if he is to lead the next government, and be successful at it, he will need to go through no less than a ‘deradicalisation programme’, the Nederlands Dagblad commentator wrote: ‘That’s the kind of test you can pass, but also fail.’ 

From Dutch Christians, you might say, the response to the first election victory of a populist party came in stages. 

At first, many of them were shocked, dismayed, and anxious. Their faith prompted them to strive for a government that will reach out to the poor, respect minority rights, care for the environment and welcome refugees. They had always known that Mr Wilders and his party had totally opposite ideas. But they had never expected him to gain any real political influence. Now, it felt as if they had woken up in a different country. 

But once some of the dust had settled down, there came room for other considerations, too. Surely not all 2.4 million PVV voters could be classified as extremists. The size of its electorate puts it rather in the range of a mainstream conservative party. Many people had voted for Mr Wilders out of disillusionment with the established parties who had governed the country for decades - and rightly so. 

It is one thing to say we must welcome asylum seekers, but it is another when you can’t find a place to live, because there is a shortage of affordable housing and refugees seem to get priority. It is one thing to say the government is there to support people who need help, but it is another when you experience you’re immediately suspected of fraud when you apply for a benefit. 

So Christian voters, like the general public, seem divided: some are shocked by the election result, others feel that their concerns have finally been heard. 

Up until 1967 Christian political parties had a majority in the Dutch parliament. Their support has shrunk steadily, but at this election it fell from 15 per cent in 2021 to no more than 7 per cent. And yes, some of their voters defected to the populist PVV.  

‘We have loved the stranger more than ourselves’, explained one of them in the Nederlands Dagblad newspaper. ‘It is better to begin at yourself; from there you can help the world. That’s what Mr Wilders stands for’.  

‘What decided it for me was the insight that this country needs real change’, commented another. ‘Not just some minor adjustments, but a firm pull to the right: a stronger policy on law and order, critical on the growing influence from Europe, battling poverty in our own country.’ Several Christians mentioned they had voted PVV because Mr Wilders is a keen supporter of Israel; they were worried about the anti-semitic tones in some quite noisy pro-Palestinian demonstrations because of the war in Gaza. 

So Christian voters, like the general public, seem divided: some are shocked by the election result, others feel that their concerns have finally been heard. 

The surprising election result seems to leave the country - and Christians in particular - with a couple of nagging questions. 

How to avoid stigmatizing PVV voters, and recognize that their problems are real and deserve solutions that are real? 

How to convince them that a party that has some anti-democratic tendencies and lives in denial of the big international and environmental crises cannot be the solution? And that care for the environment, refugees and the poor are authentic components of the Christian story, and not just after all of our own personal needs have been met? 

Article
Creed
Identity
Nationalism
4 min read

Born in Wales, made for more

Does where we are born matter?

Rachel is a reader and writer, a coach, and an educator. 

A boat rests on a mud bank of a river, hills are in the background.
River Loughor, near Llanelli, Wales.
Sean Alabaster on Unsplash.

I know someone who drove his labouring wife several hours, in the middle of the night, to cross the English border so that their child would be born in Wales.  

Though my passport states that I am British, people (especially my sister) tell me that I am unequivocally Welsh. I was indeed born and raised in Wales, a gentle but obvious accent remains as testament, but I have lived in Oxford for almost 30 years compared with only 18 lived in Llanelli.  

What does this mean? Is my identity staunchly based on where I was born? I’m not so sure. 

The same sister is angered by my disinterest in rugby as a Welsh mother of two English sons. One of her first gifts to my newborns was a pint-sized Welsh rugby jersey followed by larger unused versions as they have grown. Whilst watching a match she will unfailingly urge them to participate by sending photos of her two dogs in their Welsh rugby jerseys.  

My sons prefer rowing, climbing and swimming – I am an apparent disgrace!  

It’s not that I am not proud to be Welsh; I am entirely neutral on the matter. I love many things about Wales as well as I love many things about England. In all honesty, I love significantly more about Norway than either of these, even though I have no reason to live there or claim it as part of my identity. If a place were an accurate reflection of a person, Norway would be much closer to the mark for so many reasons.  

There are many things that are particularly special about my birthplace – the countryside is beautiful, without doubt. I cannot tell you how much I miss mountains and hillsides from where you can sit and enjoy all the twinkling lights of a town of an evening. Oxford has its beauty, but mountains are not part of it.  

Wales is truly a place of music and song. Everybody sings and the songs come from deep inside your bones. It’s a very pure and primal sound as mellifluous and unadulterated as honey straight from the comb.  

And then there is the language which is funny and complicated in equal measure. Where else will you find both golff and Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch? 

This brings me to the inspiration for these particular ramblings, which is the word, ‘hiraeth’ (pronounced hee-rye-th).  

It is one of those special words almost impossible to translate. It expresses a particular longing or yearning for a time and place that can never be returned to fully. It includes, but is insufficient, to think about nostalgia. It is a soul word: transcendental.  

Though my childhood was far from easy, there are things for which I feel intense hiraeth – moments with important people; the encouragement of my music teacher; the shovel-sized hands of my grandfather and the belly rock of his silent chuckles; days out cycling with my friend, Paul, and picking out the millions of bones from my mouth as I ate countless impromptu dinners offered by his lovely, generous mother made from the trout that his father had invariably caught a few days earlier.  

Those days will forever be feelings fully alive in me but invisible to others until I share them like this. I wish I could replay them on old cinefilm for others to understand but, you just had to be there to know.  

I have the same hiraeth for so many days shared with my husband and sons, not least the precious days surrounding their births. They’re not tied to places; they’re all bound with love.  

Love has nothing whatsoever to do with my passport because there is no official stamp that says, ‘Child of God’ and yet, if it did how might we each identify? Would nationality matter? Would where we were born be of any consequence at all ? I hope not.  

Sometimes, perhaps often, my hiraeth is for a time gone - before the internet, smartphones and AI, a world without guns and nuclear weapons, where, like William Morris, we had nothing in our homes that were not either useful or beautiful, an era where we ate seasonally and lived in harmony with nature… 

I wish that my children could experience that existence but, despite my longings, I must accept they are made for a different time and place. 

In his writings, C.S. Lewis uses the German word ‘sehnsucht’ to express a similar sense of longing. As ever, I find that his words explain things to me in a way that provides great comfort and challenge as I ponder:  

“If I find in myself desires which nothing in this world can satisfy, the only logical explanation is that I was made for another world.”  

So, perhaps, the best I can say is that I was born in Wales, matured in England, but made for something more.  

How about you? 

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