My stay in my home country was mainly to reacquaint myself with my living relatives and friends. But right from the beginning of my visit, I kept noticing this intriguing big poster that looked like a large blackboard with yellow lines, with three handwritten words in its right hand corner. This poster showed up everywhere--in shopping centers and on railway stations. The three words written in white chalk on the right hand corner were "IK BEN WOEDEND," which means "I AM FURIOUS." "What does it mean?" I asked my best friend. "Why are the Dutch furious?" I was told that millions of Dutch people had protested against the recent burning of innocent Turkish women and children by the Neo-Nazi's in Germany. The poster was a reminder of their feelings...that they simply would not tolerate it happening again.

It was then that I began to think about my Uncle Herman. His full name was Herman Jan Meinardi. He was born in Vledderveen, a small village in the province of Drente in 1913. His father, my grandfather, was a school principal and his mother, my grandmother, a school teacher. In their village, they were considered wealthy in contrast to the many people in Drente, who in those early days of the century, lived in subhuman conditions in cold huts without heat, water, or toilets. Death from tuberculosis, the Spanish flu, or alcoholism were frequent events. ¨My uncle grew up with the ideals of the early Socialist Party. My grandfather spoke out in public at party meetings and gave lectures open to all people. He wrote in the newspapers to try to raise the consciousness of the people to bring about much needed social reform. My Uncle Herman was an intelligent and very compassionate man, who like his parents, tried to stand up for the injustice done to the poor and downtrodden.`

It was my mother, who warned my uncle that he should be careful when the Germans overtook our country in May, 1940. She knew my uncle would make a sure stand against the injustice of Hitler's Third Reich. My uncle and 12 friends became involved in one of the most well known illegal newspapers called, "HET PAROOL." (Parool means the word of truth.) This newspaper contained news from Queen Willamina heading our government while in exile in London and was often broadcasted by the BBC. This radio channel was called Radio Oranje (Orange), named after the royal family, the House of Oranje. Radios were confiscated by the Germans and thus listening to Radio Oranje was strictly forbidden. It was the "underground" that helped spread the latest news from Radio Oranje in the illegal newspapers. So, it was the only news to the Dutch.

My Uncle Herman would travel to big cities where he would distribute "HET PAROOL" by going into large crowds and quickly handing out a few newspapers and then immediately disappearing before anyone could notice who had handed out the paper. The underground hoped that recipients of this newspaper would pass it on to trusted friends and realtives, kindling the flame of the resistance movement against the German tyranny.

My uncle and his friends were betrayed by an infiltrator in 1941. They were sent to a prison in Ultrecht and later to a concentration camp in Amersfoort. They went through months of interrogation and torture. Thanks to their endurance, no additional names of men and women in the resistance movement were released to the S.S. The first Parool trial was held in December, 1942 before the "Feldgericht," a military tribunal. It was a secret trial. Officers and attorneys had to swear that none of what was heard during this trial was ever allowed to be known by anyone on the outside. We know, however, about this trial through Frans Goethart, who was present, but later miraculously he was able to escape.

Uncle Herman and his friends had been in a concentration camp for one and a half years. The accused were too weak to speak out on their behalf. Their minds could not concentrate on the questions that were being asked. It was pretty much a mock trial and when the judge spoke the sentence, it was 13 times "ZUM TODE"--TO DEATH.

Then the prisoners were being transported to the concentration camp in Vught. It was Christmas, 1942. Uncle Herman tried to obtain pardon from his death sentence by requesting to marry his fiancee, Plip, while in the concentration camp. Surprisingly, the wedding was granted, but the pardon rejected. A short wedding ceremony took place four days before the execution. It was the last time my uncle was seen by his new wife, very close relatives, and a few friends. On the eve of February 4, 1943, an order came from the "Kommandent" that the prisoners who had been sentenced to death must put on civilian clothes. My uncle and his friends had to stay up all night and were brought together in a guarded barrack. "That night was unforgettable," said the only survivor, Frans Goethart, when interviewed after the war. There was no doubt in anybody's mind that it was very soon going to be execution time. No one spoke about it...Everybody was entertaining the fantastic illusion that they might be transported to Germany to work with explosives. "Could that be true?" asked a 17 year old prisoner, his eyes wide with hope. "It is possible," they said to help him. "But with the Germans, one can never be sure because they do the craziest things!"

My Uncle Herman and his friends were not transported to Germany. At dawn, a bus with ten heavily armed S.S. troops drove up. The prisoners had to step in. They were driven to the heatherfields in the area of Soesterberg. Then the President of the "Feldgericht" spoke. "None of you are criminals, but the the Reich has an interest not to tolerate any opposition. Those who resist have to pay for it with their lives." My uncle was 29 years old.

I AM FURIOUS, the Durch said in 1993, furious when the injustice of burning Turkish women and children took place in neighbor country, Germany.

Will you... and you...and you...no all of you, be FURIOUS, too and speak out against the evils of Neo-Nazism?!Where is this enemy, one may ask?

Let each of us look, not outside...not over there...but inside...to be sure that our thoughts, our words, and our actions will never, never be hateful. Only then can we stop being FURIOUS and only then did not my uncle die in vain.