16 November 2004
2 November - Death of a filmmaker
by Charles Hugo, Tue 16 Nov 2004 2:04 am » News
It could have been a scene from one of the filmmaker’s own movies.It was 8:45 am on an autumn Tuesday morning in East Amsterdam. A pleasant, “multicultural” part of town. Amsterdammers are making their way to work and school like they do on any other Tuesday morning.
But on this particular Tuesday morning a man is waiting. His name is Mohammed Bouyeri. His heart is cold and filled with hate. He expects to die this pale November morning. For this occasion, he is dressed in a traditional Moroccan djelaba. He has chosen to die as a Moroccan, not as a Dutchman, although he was born and has spent his entire life in Amsterdam. Actually, he would rather be waiting for the Somali woman Ayaan Hirsi Ali, member of the Dutch parliament and blasphemer against the prophet (may peace be upon Him). But the police are hiding her in a safe house somewhere, so he is waiting for her filmmaker instead. Pretty girls and children cycle by, but he has no eye for them. He is intent on death.
The filmmaker himself is cycling along the bicycle path on the side of the broad Linaeusstraat. He is heading from his home in Watergraafsmeer into the center of Amsterdam. He has no reason to expect this Tuesday to be any different from any other Tuesday. Amsterdam is his city and home. A big, friendly, tolerant village, where you can get anywhere by bicycle.
In movies, murders are usually committed for human failings such as greed or jealousy, sometimes for sheer perversity. Killing to protect oneself or others is not murder. In movies, the death of the evil one is usually cause for celebration – allowing us to sleep safely because the human beast has been killed once again. This morning, reality doesn’t fit neatly into 90 minute movie formats. The motive is more complicated, part of a bigger whole the filmmaker has unknowingly become a part of. He has no connection with the attacker waiting for him.
The cyclist has almost reached the Oosterpark, just opposite the Borough Council offices when he encounters the other protagonist in this scene. As if stepping out of another world of stony mountains and desert sands, a land where his people walked with pride, the man in the Moroccan robe steps forward. He draws an automatic pistol and fires several times at the cyclist. He is not a good shot. The cyclist is wounded but manages to cross the street, perhaps trying to reach the safety of the official building. Passers by and other cyclists, some of them with small children scatter and seek refuge in the side streets. The attacker follows his victim and fires more shots. The filmmaker falls on the pavement, wounded or dying. More shots into the prostrate figure. Perhaps the attacker wants to make sure his victim is dead before he proceeds with the next step in his plan. He draws a large knife from his robe and slits the filmmaker’s throat. Then he takes a smaller knife and, implanting it in the chest, uses it to pin a letter to the now lifeless body. He walks calmly away from the scene.
Theo van Gogh lies dead on the side of the street. The filmmaker is dead.
The police soon arrive from the nearby police station. Mohammed Bouyeri is followed into the nearby park and after a brief exchange of gunfire is wounded in his leg and apprehended.
Mohammed Bouyeri is still alive. He is not a martyr as he had planned, he will spend his life in prison instead.
The police find a suicide note in his pocket. It reads:
BAPTIZED IN BLOOD
So these are my last words…
riddled with bullets…
baptized in blood…
as I had hoped.
I am leaving a message…
for you… the fighter…
the Tawheed tree is waiting…
yearning for your blood…
enter the bargain…
and Allah opens the way…
He gives you a garden…
instead of the Earthly rubble.
To the enemy I say…
You will surely die…
Wherever in the world you go…
Death is waiting for you…
Chased by the knights of DEATH…
who paint the streets with Red.
For the hypocrites I have one final word…
Wish DEATH or hold your tongue… and sit.
Dear Brothers and Sisters, my end is nigh…
But this does not end the story.