300

(Column published in De Standaard*)
By Dyab Abou Jahjah
Wednesday evening, around 6:30 PM. It’s a bit cold on the Grote Markt in Antwerp, but the predicted rain holds off.
Brabo was the first to arrive. He was even allowed to throw a severed hand—without any intervention from the imposing police force present.
But when Jan Hertogen, a retired sociologist and activist from Movement X, unfurled a Berber Amazigh flag and started chanting anti-racist slogans, the police charged.
The 70-year-old man from Mechelen was pushed to the ground and dragged into a police van.

Jan is the grandfather of two Berber grandchildren—you know, those closed-off people who are supposedly impossible to reach or understand. The Berbers, who have their own schools, hospitals, and labor market, who supposedly live in a parallel society.
Well, those Berbers are Jan’s family, his flesh and blood—just as they are mine. So closed are the Berbers that Jan and I consider them family, just like thousands of other Belgians do.
For Jan and me, Wednesday was personal: De Wever was talking about Jan’s grandchildren and my children.
Among the approximately 300 people gathered that evening—members of Movement X, allied organizations, and political parties who showed up in solidarity—there were not just Berbers but a diverse crowd from different backgrounds. Arabs, Black people, white people, and yes, even Asians, all stood together on the Grote Markt. They were ordinary citizens who refused to accept that a mayor of a diverse city would stigmatize people based on their ethnicity.
We were 300 open-minded people—not closed, but rather enclosed by the police, on the orders of a politician who himself is ideologically trapped in a corner and clearly feels suffocated there. So suffocated that he turns cynicism and frustration into policy.
Three hundred people—not a lot, some would say. Of course, I could point out that a few hundred more stood just outside the police barricades, unable to join us in time. But that’s beside the point, because 300 is a perfect number.
Ever heard of the Battle of Thermopylae?
A week or two ago, Pegida demonstrators shouted, "We are the people!"—and yet, they all looked the same, shared the same culture, and belonged to the same ideological current.
But in our 300, the whole world was present. Not some mythical, monocultural volk that no longer exists. All colors, many cultures, many ideologies, many contradictions—but one single truth, one single will: to live together.
We were the people.
We came in peace to protest against hatred and racism, and 210 of us were arrested, by force. Someone was clearly more provoked by our message of unity and equality than by Pegida’s message of segregation and hate.
At that Pegida demonstration—which was also officially banned—only six people were detained. The rest were allowed to go home.
Yesterday, I saw young people dancing and singing to the rhythm of Berber music, hand in hand. I know, so cliché, so soft. It’s not really my thing, and yet, I couldn’t help but join in.
Apparently, that was provocative.
The police charged and arrested Yassine—simply because he was the one playing the music.
Meanwhile, the Pegida boys, shaved heads, combat boots, some masked, were chanting war slogans.
They were allowed to walk free.
There is no lack of clarity—only a lack of consistency.
The master of 't Schoon Verdiep discriminates in both words and actions. You could almost respect the consistency of it.
Three hundred people, coming together out of conviction and solidarity, despite intimidation and risk, can work wonders. This is not an end. It is a beginning.
Jan, the proud grandfather of Berber children, kept giving speeches even in his prison cell.
He said: "Abdelkrim El Khattabi will show us the path to victory."
Abdelkrim was a Berber freedom fighter against colonialism in Morocco’s Rif region. He was ultimately defeated by a Franco-Spanish alliance—primarily through the use of chemical weapons. One of the Spanish generals who led the war against Abdelkrim was none other than Francisco Franco.
On Wednesday in Antwerp, the spirit of Abdelkrim was with us.
But unfortunately, so was the spirit of Franco.