There is a certain audacity in writing a memoir — the presumption that one’s own life might be worth the reader’s time.
The world, after all, is full of lives — billions of them — most of which unfold quietly without the consideration that they would ever be written about.
They move through the world with little ceremony, leaving behind only the faintest trace of the mark they left in their time—a scattering of photographs, a few fading stories, and perhaps a box of letters and memorabilia that usually get boxed up and stored away for a reminicient rainy day that never comes.
What begins as a simple recollection of childhood streets and familiar faces can quickly develop into something larger — a tapestry of characters, improbable events, sudden reversals of fortune, and stories that grow stranger the longer one lives with them. Such was the case with myself and my family.
This chronicle exists because too much of what happened was just going to disappear.
What follows is a first-person record of personal and family history, intrigue, property loss, institutional failure, public corruption, betrayal and the attempts—subtle and overt—to silence uncomfortable truths. Some chapters are deeply personal. Others are of the public domain. All are rooted in lived experience, documents, and memory.
What is often missed in accounts like this is that there was also joy—real joy. There were years of good times, epic family memories and moments when life felt expansive and filled with potential. Those moments mattered. They are part of the body of this chronicle.
The purpose of this work is not to attack or solicit sympathy. It is to preserve my family’s and my true story — its light and its darkness — so it can be a resource for others now and later.
As the author. I lived these stories. I reaped their joy and I paid their cost.
I hope you find the following accounts interesting and worth your time.
— Tom Van Lokeren