fesip : in memoriam, Tata

Old and Wise ... In living memory of Tata

the Alan Parsons Project

I learned Thursday evening, a few hours after publishing about Sinéad O'Connor, that Tata, my aunt, died at the age of 59.


Although my children may not remember you, “remember that you were a friend of mine” strikes all the cords to me.


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While my children were kidnapped, sexually abused and alienated from their roots and family, you kept on asking how they were, wondering how you could help, motivating me in the face of adversity and criminality by the Swiss state to “never give up”.

You had your intimately personal motives to do so.


You yourself victim of sexual violence by a family member as a child were never recognised, were misunderstood, and ostracised, by family and societal “shame”.

While there is no right way to express one's distress as victim of abuse, throughout your in other's opinion wrongly addressed cries for help, you had progressively been given up on by most.

Your as victim to others inappropriately worded distress of the sexual and other abuse suffered as a child, and its mental health consequences, were the main grounds for you to be ostracised.

Since no recognition of your not understood cries for help could come from your closest relatives, your siblings and parents, the circle of violence bled onto the following generation, your kids.

The vicious circle went from bad to worse; the more dismissed, the sharper the knife of distress. Distress which itself had to be hidden, for self preservation in a world incapable of recognising the root of it all.

It fuelled your projecting of mirror shatter sharp, harming words and deeds towards others, who'd not accept. It discredited and ostracised you even more in return. What inferno's are made of...

Most of our family chose to never believe you because of who the abuse, and the denial of recognition of abuse, had shaped you into.


Will the exemplary omerta by authorities, societies and families the world over, and their stigmatisating of those who dare speak up, ever be acknowledged for its consequences?

In the face of society not recognising and not dealing openly or adequately with child sexual violence, the vicious circle can not be broken. You of all people knew and understood from your personal experience that's also what my children go through with their maternal family in Switzerland.


Due to their young age when they were kidnapped and alienated, my children may not remember you. But you remember(ed) them, and stood by me standing up for them while most in the family dismissed out of ego, just like they did with you.

My own close ones are known to have said that my daring to speak up and denounce the abuse against my children is to blame for nephews and nieces now being at risk of shame and stigmatisation in society for life, as being family of child sexually abused.

Some do all they can to spread disbelief, and smother the child sexual abuse of my children into oblivion. Recordings, documents and medical evidence does not matter. The “wir haben ess night gewusst” syndrome.

Both our experiences show children only matter in as much as they uplift the status of adults and authorities. All else, particularly child sexual abuse, needs to be rendered inexistent by all means.


Not knowing where or how my children are now as a consequence of daring to speak up, I can't even share your departure to them, as would be normal to do. One day I am sure, when my children will start their life-long healing process, confiding them your full story will help their healing of theirs.

Before their kidnapping and alienation, my daughter showed talent in the arts of the hands, and my son much younger showed courage to speak up. Both sexually abused and psychologically abused. Both alienated, dismissed, discredited, even when at the hospital ER with lesions to the sexual organs coming back from the perpetrator and expressing what had happened. Moved away from their budding talents, and their experience silenced.

All in the name of Swiss superiority, needing to omerta the recordings and documents attesting to Swiss authorities structural wrongdoing to many families across Europe.

Know I'll never give up, and when the day comes, know that unlike the life-long dismissal by your closest ones, and despite its repetition today, I'll keep recognising the violence, and never turn my back on the reality of what victims of various child abuse went and go through.


Your passing could not have been more symbolic.

Found on Thursday July 27th 2023, a few days (?) after your death, alone, on the floor, behind your front door, your cherished whippets howling near, sounding the overdue alarm for you to be found.

You had for the Xth time in your life decided to turn the page into a new path, for a new life, which you said you were looking forward to. You were waiting for your house to be sold to move into a new place you said you had signed for. You had started the quest over a year ago.

On Tuesday last, a realestate agent allegedly came by for a sales appointment, only to find a closed door. Which sane person would imagine someone's remains could be behind it?

Rejected and abandoned by most, you died alone, symbolically behind your front door ready to go out of your past, ready to move into a new path you had chosen to walk into for yourself.


“Never give up!”


I'll cherish your artistry. You could write and paint. You shocked people with the darkness of some of your work; but, few ever noticed the sparkles of Flemish luminism and beauty of the other works.

Have it be, to me it is a miracle you captured the beauty and light despite the darkness. Isn't life most fertile on the edge?

You had humbling talent beyond compare, and yet, were mostly ashamed and dismissive of your work, going as far as refusing to sign it. I can't count the amount of times I tried to move you to sign and recognise your luminous work whilst you endeavoured to promote and discuss the dark ones.


You were born on December 28th, the emblematic “onnozele kinderkesdag”, the “feast of the holy innocents”, commemorating the massacre of the innocents. Whether true events or religious instrument, as claimed atheist you could in only a true artist's capability both cherish, ridicule and curse the date's symbolism. Your whit was incomparable, yet so dramatically symbolising your childhood.


Your father had passed away when you were only 16, and in the emotional adversity for this loss, over the following years, you were summoned to babysit my sister and me. You've lovingly shared your fond memories of that duty which back then appeared to allow you to escape the rough and painful world.


Tata, like your father you've departed this world too soon. I hope, wish, many of those who despised and ostracised you may reconcile with themselves as to their reasons, and that your children may receive memory of the positive of your life from all who knew you. If only so your children may find pieces of the puzzle which have been kept from them, and heal their by you alienated image of you, their mom.


Sadly, because of the Swiss persecution against my daring to speak up, and the automatic European collaboration, I can not be there on your parting day or visit your place of rest. I know through our many conversations you know and understand I can only be there in spirit, and never give up.


“as the final curtain fell before your eyes”, your cries, dismissed as they were, may they have found peace.

Thank you for your wisdom and your artistry you shared with me.

“as far as my eyes can see”, in fond memory of “old and wise”,


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