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May 14, 2002

A Dutch Radical's Message to Europe

By FOLKERT JENSMA ROTTERDAM, the Netherlands — The death of Pim Fortuyn, assassinated last week as he campaigned for prime minister, leaves the Netherlands — in fact, all of Europe — with many uncomfortable questions. The most serious, of course, is how someone could be killed for his political beliefs; the Netherlands had long thought itself beyond such violence. Other questions, however, are more easily answered. Mr. Fortuyn himself, a former sociology professor who campaigned as a populist and said he hoped tomorrow's elections would make him the nation's first gay prime minister, had little patience for the notion that his popularity was another sign that "right-wing extremism" is on the rise throughout Europe. Do Jean-Marie Le Pen's success in France, Jörg Haider's in Austria and Silvio Berlusconi's in Italy signal a trend? Not entirely. Mr. Fortuyn's popularity was undeniable; he won the local elections in Rotterdam, the second-largest city in the Netherlands, two months ago, and before his death his party was expected to win up to 20 percent of the vote tomorrow. But his appeal was particularly Dutch, and his politics were not easily categorized. Mr. Fortuyn's views were a curious mixture of right, center and left. Most famously, he said the Netherlands was "full up" and should not accept any more immigrants. Yet he favored the reform of the country's social-service bureaucracy and electoral system, and he was a vocal champion of women's rights. He was also a strong supporter of Israel. Mr. Fortuyn managed to express all these views in a clear and convincing manner. He had a gift for American-style sound-bite politics and combined charisma with personal charm; if his views were contradictory, as they quite often were, he simply evaded the critics by instantly moderating or clarifying his statements. He had a talent for rhetoric and looked great on television. In short, Mr. Fortuyn was everything Dutch politicians are not famous for. He was not dull, he didn't use jargon and he was openly ambitious. Dutch politicians are generally moderate, in style and substance, working to build coalitions. Every opponent is considered a future partner and thus not to be insulted. The political jargon produced by this system encourages a growing number of voters to tune out. Prime Minister Wim Kok further anesthetized Dutch political debate in 1994 by bringing the left-wing Social Democrats and right-wing Conservatives together in a grand coalition that lasted eight years. Mr. Kok's policies were built on the assumption that political differences could be put on hold. It was a sign of the times: Communism had evaporated, Europe was unifying and liberalization was on everyone's mind. National politicians slowly but inevitably became traveling negotiators with Brussels (home of the European Union), Frankfurt (home of the European Central Bank), New York (home of the United Nations) and Washington. Mr. Fortuyn single-handedly energized — and frequently inflamed — this polite debate. He pronounced his opinions on just about any subject, carefully enlisting every concern and worry of the electorate. He captured the public's anxiety about problems from traffic jams to hospital waiting lists to crowded schools — all in a relaxed and pleasant manner. He thought Islamic culture "backward" and directly linked the high proportion of immigrants in the big cities to "all our problems in health care, law and order, and education." This was not true, of course — but not entirely false either, as everyone in this country has come to realize. He was sharply criticized by other politicians but drew support from those in the population who felt, as he did, that many of the issues he raised were unaddressed by the political establishment. There he did have a point. Mr. Fortuyn managed to mobilize large groups in the electorate who usually stayed home during elections but now recognized their own voice in his. These were the low-income voters in densely populated neighborhoods that had changed the most because of immigration. Typical Fortuyn voters no longer feel at home in their own towns: the most popular name for baby boys in Amsterdam these days is Muhammed. (It used to be Jan.) Catering to this audience, Mr. Fortuyn favored policies like obligatory language courses and national laws against Islamic fundamentalists who discriminated against women and gays. Few politicians dared to disagree openly with Mr. Fortuyn on these issues — in fact, some felt their agenda was being hijacked. They just wished that Mr. Fortuyn had mentioned that illegal immigration is a European problem that requires a European solution — which means more traveling and negotiating, not less. Although some of his wilder statements would have pleased Mr. Le Pen, Mr. Fortuyn was not considered a "right-wing extremist" by most Dutch voters. He saw himself as a reformer who worked to change his nation's politics from within, in the mold of former President Bill Clinton. His party, the List Pim Fortuyn, recruited people from business, government, journalism and medicine to serve as parliamentary candidates. Now these candidates face an uncertain future. They have decided to defer naming a new leader of the party until after the elections. They presented this decision as a tribute to Mr. Fortuyn, but it also masks an uncomfortable truth: Without Pim Fortuyn, there is no List Pim Fortuyn. Can his party survive without him? The most recent polls project the party winning 28 of 150 seats in tomorrow's elections, up from 26 in a poll taken before Mr. Fortuyn's death. But no one really knows. Some feel that voters will have second thoughts about casting their ballots in favor of a party whose leader is unknown. Nevertheless, some voters will undoubtedly support a leaderless party in the hopes that it will continue Mr. Fortuyn's agenda. His assassination has enlarged the shadow he cast over the Dutch political landscape. It is not yet clear whether his political message will find a home in other parts of Europe as well.

Folkert Jensma is editor in chief of NRC-Handelsblad, the Dutch newspaper.