A Capsule History of the Dutch Provos

By Teun Voeten provos

It's no secret that Holland has the most liberal drug laws in the world,
especially when it comes to cannabis. What you may not realize, however,
is that these laws were enacted thanks to the efforts of the Dutch Provos.
The Provos set the stage for the creation of the Merry Pranksters,
Diggers, and Yippies. They were the first to combine non-violence and
absurd humor to create social change. They created the first "Happenings"
and "Be-Ins." They were also the first to actively campaign against
marijuana prohibition. Even so, they remain relatively unknown outside of
Holland. Now, for the first time, their true story is told.It all started with the Nozems. Born out of the postwar economic boom, the
Nozems were disaffected Dutch teens armed with consumer spending power.
Part mods, part '50s juvenile delinquents, they spent most of their time
cruising the streets on mopeds, bored stiff and not knowing what to do.
Their favorite past-time? Raising trouble and provoking the police.

"Provo" was actually first coined by Dutch sociologist Buikhuizen in a
condescending description of the Nozems. Roel Van Duyn. a philosophy
student at the University of Amsterdam, was the first to recognize the
Nozems' slumbering potential. "It is our task to turn their aggression
into revolutionary consciousness," he wrote in 1965.

Inspired by anarchism, Dadaism, German philosopher (and counter-culture
guru-to-be) Herbert Marcuse, and the Marquis de Sade. Van Duyn, a timid,
introverted intellectual, soon became the major force behind Provo
magazine. But while Van Duyn presided over the Provos' theoretical wing,
another, more important element was provided even earlier by its other
co-founder, Robert Jasper Grootveld, a former window cleaner and the
original clown prince of popular culture.

More interested in magic than Marx, Grootveld was an extroverted
performance artist with a gift for theatrical gesture. During the early
'60s, he attracted massive crowds in Amsterdam with exhibitionistic
"Happenings." At the core of Grootveld's philosophy was the belief that
the masses had been brainwashed into becoming a herd of addicted
consumers, the "despicable plastic people." According to Grootveld, new
rituals were needed to awaken these complacent consumers. While the
writings of Van Duyn greatly appealed to the educated crowd, Grootveld
found his followers among street punks.

The Provo phenomenon was an outgrowth of the alienation and absurdity of
life hi the early '60s. It was irresistably attractive to Dutch youth and
seemed like it would travel around the world. However, in only a few short
years it disappeared, choked on its own successes.

"Every weekend in 1962, I paid a visit to a police officer named
Houweling," explains Grootveld. "During these visits, I often dressed like
an American Indian. We always had very friendly chats about marijuana.
Houweling didn't know anything about it, so I could tell him anything I
wanted."

Thus began the "Marihuettegame," a disinformation game played by Grootveld
and his friends. The idea was to demonstrate the establishment's complete
ignorance on the subject of cannabis. The players were supposed to have
fun, fool the police and, of course, smoke pot. Other than that. there
were no rules. Anything that looked remotely like pot was called "marihu":
tea, hay, catfood, spices and herbs included. Bonus points were collected
when a smoker got busted for consuming a legal substance. The players
often called the police on themselves. A raid by blue-uniformed nicotine
addicts, looking for something that didn't exist, was considered the
ultimate jackpot.

"One day a whole group of us went by bus to Belgium," says Grootveld. "Of
course I had informed my friend Houweling that some elements might take
some pot along. At the border, the cops and customs were waiting for us.
Followed by the press, we were taken away for a thorough search. The poor
cops . . . all they could find was dogfood and some legal herbs.
'Marijuana is dogfood,' joked the papers the next day. After that, the
cops decided to refrain from hassling us in the future, afraid of more
blunders."

The following year, Grootveld arid artist Fred Wessels opened the
"Afrikaanse Druk Stoor," where they sold both real and fake pot.

The marihuette game became the model for future Provo tactics.
Surprisingly, games proved to be an effective way of shattering the smug
self-righteousness of the authorities. The police would usually overreact,
making themselves seem ridiculous in the process. There was, however, a
seriousness underlying the method. The ultimate aim was to change society
for the better.

In the late '50s. Grootveld was already well-known as a kind of
performance artist. His inspiration, he claimed, derived from a pilgrimage
to Africa, where he'd purchased a mysterious medicine kit formerly owned
by a shaman. Somehow, the kit helped Grootveld formulate a critique of
Western society, which, he came to believe, was dominated by unhealthy
addictions A short hospital stay soon convinced Grootveld that the worst
of these was cigarette smoking "All those grown-up patients, begging and
praying for a cigarette was a disgusting sight," he recalls. (Even after
this realization, however, Grootveld remained a chain-smoker.)

Smoking, according to Grootveld, was an irrational cult, a pointless
ritual forced upon society by the tobacco industry for the sole purpose of
making profits. The bosses of the "Nico-Mafia" were the high priests of a
"cigarette-cult"; advertisements arid commercials were their totems. Ad
agencies were powerful wizards, casting magic spells over a hypnotized
public. At the bottom of the heap lay the addicted consumers, giving their
lives through cancer to the great. "NicoLord."

Grootveld began a one-man attack on the tobacco industry. First, he
scrawled the word "cancer" in black tar over every cigarette billboard in
town. For this, he was arrested and put in jail.

After his release, Grootveld began going into tobacco shops armed with a
rag soaked in chloroform. "I spread that terrible hospital odor all
around," he says. "I asked if I could make a call and spent hours on the
phone, gasping, coughing and panting, talking about hospitals and cancer
arid scaring all the customers.

A rich, eccentric restaurant owner named Klaas Kroese decided to support
Grootveld's anti-smoking crusade. He provided him with a studio, which
Grootveld dubbed the "Anti-Smoking Temple." Declaring himself 'The First
Anti-Smoke Sorcerer," Grootveld started holding weekly black masses with
guest performances by poet Johnny the Selfkicker, writer Simon Vinkenoog
[see HIGH TIMES, June '86], and other local underground artists.

But Grootveld was soon disappointed by the small media coverage these
performances received, blaming it all on the Nico-Mafia who controlled the
press. He decided to do something really sensational. After a passionate
speech and the singing of the "Ugge Ugge" song, the official anti-smoking
jingle, Grootveld set the Anti-Smoking Temple on fire, in front of a
bewildered group of bohemians, artists, and journalists. At first everyone
thought it was a joke, but when Grootveld started spraying gasoline around
the room, the audience fled to safety. Grootveld himself came perilously
close to frying, saved only by the efforts of the police who came to
rescue him. Although the crusade had only begun, the fire cost him the
support of Kroese, his first patron.

In 1964, Grootveld moved his black masses, now known as "Happenings," to
nearby Spui Square. At the center of the square was a small statue of a
child, "Het Lievertje." By coincidence, the statue had been commissioned
by a major tobacco firm. For Grootveld, this bit of evidence proved the
insidious infiltration of the nico-dope syndicates. Every Saturday, at
exactly midnight, Grootveld began appearing in the square, wearing a
strange outfit and performing for a steadily growing crowd of Nozems,
intellectuals, curious bypassers and police.

Writer Harry Mulisch described it this way: "While their parents, sitting
on their refrigerators and dishwashers, were watching with their left eye
the TV, with their right eye the auto in front of the house, in one hand
the kitchen mixer, in the other De Telegraaf, their kids went at Saturday
night to the Spui Square . . . And when the clock struck twelve, the high
Priest appeared, all dressed up, from some alley and started to walk Magic
Circles around the nicotinistic demon, while his disciples cheered.
applauded and sang the Ugge Ugge song."

One night in May 1965, Van Duyn appeared at one of the Happenings and
began distributing leaflets announcing the birth of the Provo movement.
"Provo's choice is between desperate resistance or apathetic perishing,"
wrote Van Duyn. "Provo realizes eventually it will be the loser, but won't
let that last chance slip away to annoy and provoke this society to its
depths . . ."

Grootveld read the first Provo manifesto and decided to cooperate with the
publishers. "When I read the word anarchism in that first pamphlet, I
realized that this outdated, 19th century ideology would become the
hottest thing in the '60s," he recalls.

The leaflets were followed by more elaborate pamphlets announcing the
creation of the White Plans. Constant Nieuwenhuis, another artist, was
instrumental in shaping the White Philosophy, which considered work
(especially mundane factory labor) obsolete. Provo's renunciation of work
appealed to the Nozems - and marked an important ideological split with
capitalism, communism and socialism, all of which cherished work as a
value in itself. Provo, however, sympathized more with Marx' anarchist
son-in-law Paul Lafargue, author of "The Right to Laziness."

The. most famous of all white plans was the White Bike Plan, envisioned as
the ultimate solution to the "traffic terrorism of a motorized minority."
The brain-child of Industrial designer Luud. Schimmelpenninck, the White
Bike Plan proposed the banning of. environmentally noxious cars from the
inner city, to be replaced by bicycles. Of course, the bikes were to be
provided free by the city. They would be painted white and permanently
unlocked, to secure their public availability. Schimmelpenninck calculated
that,. even from a strictly economic point of view, the plan would provide
great benefits to Amsterdam.

The Provos decided to put the plan into action by providing the first 50
bicycles. But the police immediately confiscated them, claiming they
created an invitation to theft. Provo retaliated by stealing a few police
bikes.

The White Victim Plan stated that Anyone causing a fatal car accident
should be forced to paint the outline of their victim's body on the
pavement at the site of the accident. That way, no one could ignore the
fatalities caused by automobiles.

Other White Plans included the White Chimney Plan (put a heavy tax on
polluters and paint their chimneys white), the White Kids Plan (free
daycare centers), the White Housing Plan (stop real estate speculation)
and the White Wife Plan (free medical care for women).

Some White Plans were elaborate, others were just flashes of inspiration.
"It seemed that proposing a White Plan was almost a necessary exam to
becoming a Provo," says Grootveld. The most hilarious of all was the White
Chicken Plan proposed by a Provo subcommittee called Friends of the
Police. After the police began responding to Provo demonstrations with
increased violence. the Provos attempted to alter the image of the police,
who were known as "blue chickens." The new white chickens would be
disarmed, ride around on white bicycles, and distribute first aid, fried
chicken, and free contraceptives.

The police failed to appreciate this proposal. At one demonstration they
seized a dozen white chickens which had been brought along for symbolic
effect.

Van Duyn's theories of modem life were quite similar to Grootveld's: labor
and the ruling class had merged into one big, gray middle-class. This
boring bourgeoisie was living in a catatonic state, its creativity burnt
out by TV. "It is impossible to have the slightest confidence in that
dependent, servile bunch of roaches and lice," concluded Van Duyn.

The only solution to this problem lay with the Nozems, artists, dropouts,
streetkids and beatniks, all of whom shared a non-involvement with
capitalist society. It was Provo's task to awaken their latent instincts
for subversion. to turn them on to anarchist action.

As later became clear, Provo didn't really enlighten the street crowd,
although they did offer an opportunity to intellectuals and punks alike to
express their feelings of frustration and rage.

Van Duyn's writings combined an equal mixture of pessimism and idealism.
Too much a realist to expect total revolution, he tended to follow a more
pragmatic and reformist strategy. Eventually he advocated participating in
Amsterdam council elections. Other Provos denounced this as an outrageous
betrayal of anarchist ideals.

One Provo leaflet hit the newsstands folded between the pages of De
Telegraaf, Amsterdam's biggest newspaper. The perpetrator was immediately
fired from the airport newsstand where he worked. No big deal for a Provo.
It was important to demonstrate a disdain for careerism in general.

When the next leaflet, Provokaatsie #3, was published, it aroused
indignation all over the Netherlands by alluding to the Nazi past of some
members of the Royal House, a sacred institution in Dutch society. Provos
threw the leaflet into the royal barge as it toured the canals of
Amsterdam. Provokaatsie #3 was the first in a series of publications that
were immediately confiscated by police. The official excuse was that Provo
had used some illustrations without permission. A lawsuit followed and Van
Duyn was held responsible. But instead of showing up in court, Van Duyn
sent a note stating it was ". . . simply impossible to hold one single
individual responsible. Provo is the product of an everchanging, anonymous
gang of subversive elements . . . . Provo doesn't recognize copyright, as
it is just another form of private property which is renounced by Provo .
. . . We suspect that this is an indirect form of censorship while the
State is too cowardly to sue us straight for lese majeste [an offense
violating the dignity of the ruler]. . . . By the way, our hearts are
filled with a general contempt for authorities and for anyone who submits
himself to them. . . ."

In July 1965, the first issue of Provo magazine appeared. "It was very
shocking to the establishment," recalls Grootveld. "They realized we were
not mere dopey scum but were quite capable of some sort of organization."

The first issue contained out-of-date, 19th century recipes for bombs,
explosives and boobytraps. Firecrackers included with the magazine
provided an excuse for the police to confiscate the issue. Arrested on
charges of inciting violence, editors Van Duyn, Stoop, Hans Metz and Jaap
Berk were released a few days later.

Actually, Provo had an ambivalent attitude toward the police, viewing them
as essential non-creative elements for a successful Happening. Grootveld
called them "co-happeners." "Of course, it is obvious that the cops are
our best pals," wrote Van Duyn. "The greater their number, the more rude
and fascist their performance, the better for us. The police, just like we
do, are provoking the masses . . . . They are causing resentment. We are
trying to turn that resentment into revolt."

By July 1965, Provo had become the national media's top story, mostly due
to overreaction by the city administration, who treated the movement as a
serious crisis. Even though only a handful of Provos actually existed, due
to Provo media manipulation it seemed as though thousands of them were
roaming the streets. "We were like Atlas, carrying an image that was blown
up to huge proportions," recalls Van Duyn.

At the early Spui Square Happenings, the police usually responded by
arresting Grootveld, which was no big deal. Grootveld was considered a
harmless eccentric and always treated with respect. Privately, he got
along quite well with the police. "They gave me coffee and showed me
pictures of their kids," he says. And Grootveld remained grateful to the
police for rescuing him from his burning temple.

However, trouble started at the end of July. A few days before, the White
Bike Plan had been announced to the press. The police were present, but
hadn't interfered. At an anti-auto happening the next Saturday, however,
the police showed up in great numbers. As soon as some skirmishing began,
the police tried to break up the crowd.

The following week, after sensational press coverage, a huge crowd
gathered at Spui Square. Again the police tried to disperse the crowd, but
this time serious fighting broke out, resulting in seven arrests. The next
day De Telegraaf's headlines screamed, "The Provos are attacking!"
Suddenly, the Provos were a national calamity.

In August 1965, some Provos met with the police to discuss the violent
interventions in the Happenings. "Since Amsterdam is the Magic Center, it
is of great cultural importance that the Happenings will not be
disturbed," declared the Provos in a letter to the commander of police.
Unfortunately, the talks produced no results. "We stared at each other in
disbelief like we were exotic animals," says Van Duyn.

The same night, the police surrounded the little statue in Spui Square,
Rob Stolk recalls, "like it was made out of diamonds and Dr. No or James
Bond wanted to steal it."

About 2,000 spectators were present, all waiting for something to happen.
At exactly twelve o'clock, not Grootveld, but two other Provos showed up.
As they tried to lay flowers at the Het Lievertje statue, the crowd
cheered. The police arrested them on the spot, after which a riot broke
out. Thirteen were arrested, four of whom had nothing to do with Prove,
but just happened to be hanging around the square. They all ended up
serving between one and two months in jail.

In September 1965, Provo focused their actions on another statue, the Van
Heutz monument.. Although Van Heutz is considered by most Dutch to be a
great hero of their colonial past, Provo branded him an imperialistic
scavenger and war criminal. The following month the first anti-Vietnam war
rallies were organized by leftist students who were slowly joining Provo.
"Our protests against the Vietnam war were from a humanistic point of
view," recalls Stolk. "We criticized the cruel massacres, but didn't
identify with the Vietcong like Jane Fonda. That's why later on we didn't
wind up on aerobics videos."

Although the Happenings at the Spui Square were still going on, the
Vietnam demonstrations became the big story of 1965. Hundreds were
arrested every week. Meanwhile, the Provo virus was spreading throughout
Holland. Every respectable provincial town boasted its local brand of
Provos, all with their own magazines and statues around which Happenings
were staged.

At the end of the year, the administration changed tactics. Instead of
violent police interventions, they tried to manage the Provos. Obsolete
laws were uncovered and turned against Provo. But when a demonstration
permit was refused on this basis, the Provos showed up with blank banners
and handed out blank leaflets. They still got arrested. Provo Koosje
Koster was arrested for handing out raisins at a Spui Happening. The
official reason? Bringing the public order and safety into serious
jeopardy.

Public opinion on the Provos began to get more polarized. Although many
were in favor of even harsher measures against the rabble-rousers, a
growing segment of the public sympathized with the Provos and began having
serious doubts about police overreaction.

The monarchy became the ultimate establishment symbol for the Provos to
attack. Royal ceremonies offered ample opportunities for satire. During
"Princess Day," when an annual ceremonial speech was delivered by the
queen. Provo made up a fake speech, in which Queen Juliana declared she'd
become an anarchist and was negotiating a transition of power with Provo.
Provo Hans Tuynman invited the Queen to hold an intimate conversation in
front of the palace. where he and some other Provos had assembled some
comfortable chairs. Although the Queen did not show, the police did,
quickly breaking up the Happening.

The climax of this anti-royal activity came in March 1966, when Princess
Beatrix married a German, Claus von Amsberg, a former member of
Hitlerjugend, the Nazi youth organization. Coincidentally, Grootveld had
been doing performances based on "the coming of Klaas," a mythical
messiah. Sinterklaas, the Dutch version of Santa Claus, and Klaas Kroese,
Grootveld's former sponsor, served as the inspirations for these
performances. But by March, Proyos identified the coming of Klaas with the
arrival of Von Amsberg.

"Grootveld objected to this corruption of his symbolic Klaas mythology,"
recalls Jef Lambrecht. "He wanted to keep KIaas pure and undefinable, but
the link was soon established."

The Provos spent months preparing for the March wedding. A bank account
was opened to collect donations for an anti-wedding present. The White
Rumor Plan was put into action. Wild and ridiculous rumors were spread
through Amsterdam. It became widely believed that the Provos were
preparing to dump LSD in the city water supply, that they were building a
giant paint-gun to attack the wedding procession, that they were
collecting manure to spread along the parade route, and that the royal
horses were going to be drugged. Although Provo was actually planning
nothing more than a few smoke bombs, the police expected the worst acts of
terrorism imaginable. Foreign magazines offered big money to Provos if
they would disclose their secret plans before the wedding, plans that
didn't exist.

A few days before the wedding, all the Provos mysteriously disappeared.
They did this simply to avoid being arrested before the big day.
Meanwhile, the authorities requested 25,000 troops to help guard the
parade route.

On the day of the wedding, Amsterdam -- the most anti-German and
anti-monarchist city in the country -- was not in the mood for grand
festivities. Half the City Council snubbed the official wedding reception.
A foreign journalist put it this way: "The absence of any decorated
window, of any festive ornament, is just another expression of the
indifference of the public."

Miraculously, by dressing up like respectable citizens, the Provos managed
to sneak their smoke bombs past the police and army guards. "The night
before, the cops made a terrible blooper by violently searching an
innocent old man who was carrying a suspicious leather bag. So the fools
gave orders not to search leather bags any more, fearing dirty Provo
tricks!" says Appie Pruis, a photographer. The first bombs went off just
behind the palace as the procession started. Although the bombs were not
really dangerous (they were made from sugar and nitrate). they put out
tremendous clouds of smoke, which were viewed on television worldwide. "It
was a crazy accumulation of insane mistakes. Most of the police had been
brought in from the countryside, and so were totally unable to identify
the Provos." A violent police overreaction ensued, witnessed by foreign
journalists, many of whom were clubbed and beaten in the confusion. The
wedding turned into a public relations disaster. "Demonstrations of Provo
are Amsterdam's bitter answer to monarchist folklorism," commented a
Spanish newspaper.

The week after the wedding, a photo exhibition was held documenting the
police violence. The guests at the exhibition were attacked by the police
and severely beaten. Public indignation against the police reached new
peaks. Many well-known writers and intellectuals began requesting an
independent investigation of police behavior.

In June, after a man was killed in a labor dispute, it seemed as if a.
civil war was ready to erupt. According to De Telegraaf, the victim was
killed not by the police, but by a co-worker, an outrageous lie. A furious
crowd stormed the offices of the paper. For the first time, the
proletariat and Provo were fighting on the same side.

By the middle of 1966, repression was out of control. Hundreds of people
were arrested every week at Happenings and anti-Vietnam rallies. A ban on
demonstrations caused them to grow even bigger. Hans Tuynman was turned
into a martyr after being sentenced to three months in jail for murmuring
the word "image" at a Happening. Yet around the time, a Dutch Nazi
collaborator, a war criminal responsible for deporting Jews, had been
released from prison and a student fraternity member received only a small
fine for manslaughter.

Finally, in August 1966, a congressional committee was established to
investigate the crisis. The committee's findings resulted in the Police
Commissioner's firing. In May 1967, the mayor of Amsterdam, Van Hall, was
"honorably" given the boot, after the committee condemned his policies.
Strangely enough, Provo, which had demanded the mayor's resignation for
over a year, liquidated within a week of his dismissal.

The reason for Provo's demise, which was totally unexpected by outsiders,
was its increasing acceptance by moderate elements, and growing turmoil
within its ranks. As soon as Provo began participating in the City Council
elections, a transformation occurred. A Provo Politburo emerged,
consisting of VIP Provos who began devoting most of themselves to
political careers. Provos toured the country, giving lectures and
interviews. When the VIP Provos were out of town attending a Provo
congress, Stolk staged a fake palace coup by announcing that a new
Revolutionary Terrorist Council had taken power. Van Duyn reacted
furiously, not realizing it was a provocation against Provo itself. When
the Van Heutz monument was damaged by bombs, Provo declared that "although
they felt sympathy for the cause, they deeply deplored the use of
violence." The division between the street Provos and the reformist VIPs
began growing wider. Some Provos returned to their studies,. others went
hippie and withdrew from the movement.

Provo was a big hit as long as it was considered outside of society. But
as soon as the establishment began embracing it, the end was near.
Moderate liberals began publicly defending It and social scientists began
studying the movement. The former Secretary. of Transportation joined
forces with Provo. "As a real supporter, he should have proposed a
crackdown on Provo," Van Duyn said later.

Provo's proposal to establish a playground for children was now greeted by
the City Council with great enthusiasm. The real sign of Provo's
institutionalization, however, was the installation of a "speakers-corner"
in the park.

Van Duyn encouraged this development, but Stolk saw it as a form of
repressive tolerance -- the Provos were now free, free to be ignored.
"Understanding politicians, well-intentioned Provologists and pampering
reverends, they were forming a counter-magic circle around us to take away
our magic power," says Stolk. So Stolk and Grootveld decided to liquidate
Provo. "The power and spirit had vanished," says Grootveld. "Provo had
turned into a dogmatic crew. Provo had degenerated into a legal stamp of
approval."

At the liquidation meeting, Stolk said: "Provo has to disappear because
all the Great Men that made us big have gone," a reference to Provo's two
arch-enemies, the mayor and commissioner of police.

Provo held one last stunt. A white rumor was spread, that American.
universities wanted to buy the Provo archives, documents that actually
didn't exist. Amsterdam University, fearing that the sociological treasure
might disappear overseas, quickly made an offer the Provos couldn't
refuse.