A Belgian Divorce
Will the country’s French and Flemish-speaking regions, like my parents, inevitably split?
M y father and my mother met in Brussels when they were twenty-six years old. My mother was living with her best friend, Laurence, who happened to be a close friend of my dad’s. One day, my mother greeted him barefoot at their apartment. My dad said she had the most beautiful feet he’d ever seen and fell head over heels then and there.
After he fell in love with her feet, my dad eventually fell in love with the rest of my mom. And my mom fell just as hard. Seven months later, they were living together in Paris and, a year and a half later, they were engaged. Being the romantic guy he is, my dad proposed to her under the Bridge of Sighs in Venice. They had their civil wedding in Paris, in the fifteenth arrondissement, and their religious wedding in Belgium. From the onset of their marriage, my mom was unconventional. She wanted a small wedding and a yellow dress, to the great dismay of my father’s parents. And she was not afraid to speak her mind, which my dad found amusing at first. She did not get the small wedding she wanted, but she got the dress.
My parents came from different parts of Belgium. My mother was a French speaker from Brussels; my father a Fleming from Kortrijk. He spoke both Flemish and French. When they got together, it was against the backdrop of increasing tensions between Flemings and Walloons (French speakers), and their marriage was an exception to the rule — around the time they got married, in 1992, only 7.4 percent of men in Flanders had a marriage partner from another region.
“There were real fights, people took to the streets, they beat each other up,” my father remembered. This was especially common in the language border municipalities, areas along the linguistic border where there are significant populations of one language group in a region predominantly speaking the other language. When debates over language legislation surfaced in the 1980s, they became the battleground for broader regional conflicts. Clashes between pro-Francophone and pro-Flemish groups were common, and injuries occasional. More broadly, my father knew that he had to be careful of the language he spoke in certain areas — there was such a thing as speaking the “wrong” one.
The Flemish groups were more outspoken. They felt they were not given their due in the Belgian body politic. But my father’s family wasn’t like that. His parents spoke French at home; it was the language of the educated elites at the time, including in Flanders. When my mother first met my paternal grandfather, Papou, she remembers him reassuring her that, despite everything that was going on between the two regions, they were on her, meaning the French, “side.”
Their first few months in Brussels were not unclouded, however. My father remembers how difficult it was, having always lived in either Flemish or bilingual environments, to find himself in an exclusively French-speaking environment, where, he says, there was a certain snobbery towards Flemings. Flanders was considered backward and rural, and Flemish (Dutch, basically) a less sophisticated language. Many Flemings learned French; few Walloons learned Flemish.
My parents soon moved to France, then New York, and then England for my father’s job (he worked in private equity) and thus spared themselves, perhaps, from tensions that could have emanated from their different regional backgrounds. Nevertheless, these moves did not spare them from all tensions, and their marriage eventually succumbed to the familiar marital squabbles.
My mother gave birth to my sister, Sasha, in New York, and to me, four years later, in London. She was extremely unhappy in London. She felt like she was raising two kids on her own, having given up her career and living in an environment she did not like. Meanwhile, my father was exhausted, working and traveling like crazy for his new job. She was resentful, and he was in flight.
Understanding that she needed to work again to feel fulfilled, my mom decided to move back to Brussels to start a business. My father perceived this decision as an abandonment.
My parents were never great at communicating with one another. My mom tells me that the plan was for my father to move back to Brussels with us (they had already bought a house there together), while my father says that that was never the plan, with him having a job in London at the time.
Nevertheless, Brussels became the nail in the coffin of their marriage. My parents divorced a few months after we finished unpacking our moving boxes in our new house at Rue Faider.
O ften dubbed the “Heart of Europe,” Belgium was essentially created as a buffer zone between France and Germany — to keep them from invading one another — following the Napoleonic Wars. Initially part of the Netherlands, it gained independence in 1831 following the Belgian Revolution, which took root in Brussels.
In those early days, Belgium’s linguistic landscape reflected its history as part of the Netherlands: Flemish speakers formed the majority, with French spoken in urban centers and the southern regions. However, the elites of the new state primarily spoke French, and they made the state thoroughly Francophone. French was the sole official language for the whole country, and Flemish was not permitted in administration, politics, schools, and universities. One of Belgium’s co-founders, Alexandre Gendebien, dubbed Flemings “one of the more inferior races on Earth.” Another co-founder, Charles Rogier, explained that it was “necessary that all civil and military functions are entrusted to Walloons and Luxembourgers” to ensure that “the Flemish, temporarily deprived of the advantages of these offices, would be constrained to learn French.”
The dominance of French-speaking elites fueled the emergence of the Flemish movement in the mid-nineteenth century, which sought recognition for Flemish as an official language. It started as an intellectual movement, with writers, lawyers, and poets such as Jan Frans Willems and Prudens van Duyse advocating for linguistic equality and promoting Dutch-language education. Over time, it became more ambitious: a broader pursuit of Flemish cultural and political recognition within Belgium. Despite achieving milestones like the official recognition of Flemish in the 1930s, a certain snobbery remained, with French maintaining its status as the language of privilege and prestige.
These power dynamics began changing with the shift in economic fortune between Belgium’s regions, starting in the 1960s. Wallonia, once an industrial powerhouse driven by sectors like coal and steel, faced decline and economic stagnation. Flanders, meanwhile, transitioned from agriculture to a knowledge-based economy, experiencing growth and prosperity. These shifts had profound implications for Belgium’s political landscape. Regional disparities widened, and tensions between Flanders and Wallonia intensified. While the Port of Antwerp was bustling with ships arriving and departing from around the world, Charleroi, once the center of industrial activity in the country, saw its mines and factories close one after the other. You can now book an urban safari tour in its crumbling industrial heritage, the city dubbed the ugliest in the world. Flemish politicians advocated for greater regional autonomy, since they believed Flanders’ economic success was being hindered by Wallonia’s reliance on federal subsidies. Currently, Flanders transfers eight billion euros yearly to Brussels and Wallonia by redistributing tax revenues.
To answer growing calls for Flemish autonomy and address Belgium’s regional divides, the federal government reorganized the country through a series of constitutional reforms. A permanent language border was implemented in 1963, carving up the territory into three monolingual areas: the Flemish Community, the French Community, and the (tiny) German-speaking Community. Brussels was granted bilingual (French and Flemish) status. Subsequent constitutional reforms in the 1970s and 1980s further decentralized power, transferring more authority to the regions and communities. These changes culminated in Belgium becoming a fully-fledged federal state in 1993.
However, Belgium’s federal structure paradoxically exacerbated ethnic divisions within the country. With traditional national political parties separating alongside the linguistic regions in the 1970s, a two-party system emerged for Wallonia and Flanders. Flemings can only vote for Flemish parties, and Walloons for Walloon parties — the only exception being Brussels inhabitants, who can vote for political parties from either side. This has resulted in the virtual non-existence of a Belgian political class. Media coverage and political debates often exclude representatives from other linguistic communities, and because they have to answer the needs of their respective regions, politicians have no incentive to push for unity and consider the concerns of the country’s regional populations.
In 2010, a pivotal moment put the question of Belgian separation at the forefront of the political debate: Bart de Wever of the New Flemish Alliance (N-VA) had a triumphant victory in the federal elections, his party emerging as the largest in Flanders. De Wever hails from a family deeply involved in the Flemish separatist movement: his father was a sympathizer of the Flemish National Union. This authoritarian Flemish separatist party collaborated with the German occupation forces during the Second World War. He registered De Wever as a member of the Flemish nationalistic Volksunie (People’s Union) party as soon as he was born.
A master of provocative rhetoric, de Wever’s public persona often ignited controversy. He had a penchant for holding press conferences at chip stalls, with a side of French fries and mayonnaise, which became emblematic of his unapologetic style. He typified his confrontational approach with inflammatory anti-Belgium statements like marking it as the “most unsuccessful country in the world,” comparing the Socialist Party (PS) to parasites, and dismissing the existence of a Belgian identity except in the realm of football.
And his actions spoke as loudly as his words. In 2005, he made headlines by dumping thirteen billion counterfeit fifty-euro bills at the doorstep of a Walloon factory, symbolizing his denunciation of fiscal transfers from Flanders to Wallonia.
Thankfully, De Wever was unable to build a coalition with other parties, and Flemish nationalistic rhetoric was dramatically toned down. Belgium escaped the worst and remained a federal constitutional monarchy. Elio Di Rupo from the PS, often dubbed the “Little Macaroni,” ended up becoming prime minister in 2010, forming a new government with six parties. In the process, the country beat the world record for the longest period without a government, 541 days. (Belgium itself would beat this world record again in 2020, with 592 days without an elected government.)
Di Rupo, most often seen sporting jet-black dyed hair and an iconic bow tie, rose from humble origins as the child of Italian immigrants who arrived in Wallonia to toil in its coal mines. When he won the election, he shattered barriers by becoming the first openly gay prime minister.
Today, the country has a complex structure that reflects its diversity. It is a constitutional monarchy, with King Philippe as head of state and no true executive power. The three regions, Flanders, Wallonia, and Brussels-Capital, each have authority over specific policy areas, including education, culture, and transportation. The federal government retains powers over defense, justice, social security, and foreign affairs. It is headed by a prime minister appointed by the monarch, who leads the federal cabinet, which consists of ministers from both linguistic communities.
On top of that, we also have community governments divided along the three official national languages: the Dutch-language community, the French-language community, and the German-language community, who are all responsible for cultural and educational matters. If you are having a hard time following, it is normal. Despite having lived in this country for twenty years, I still don’t understand how this political system works. It is pretty funny that such a small country, with 11.6 million inhabitants, has so many layers of governance. It makes for absurd situations, such as having nine health ministers during the COVID-19 pandemic.
In this polarized landscape, Flanders is increasingly leaning towards right and extreme right-wing politics. Parties advocating for the country’s separation, like the N-VA and Vlaams Belang, are ahead in the polls of the June federal elections. Both run on a platform rejecting interregional solidarity and vehemently criticize transfers from the North to the South and the redistributive policies of the federal state. The Vlaams Belang, particularly, runs on a staunch Flemish independence, anti-immigrant, and anti-Islam platform, advocating for stricter immigration controls and the preservation of Flemish culture. They have opposed the productive Flemish middle class to the “lazy Walloons” who purportedly parasitize the economic value produced by the former, further polarizing the issue.
Meanwhile, Wallonia continues to shift towards left-wing ideologies, like the PS and the Marxist and socialist Workers’ Party of Belgium (PTB). Both parties advocate for national solidarity, emphasizing the importance of unity and cooperation between regions, which makes sense, considering Wallonia’s reliance on transfers from Flanders to provide social security to its constituents. Some of the sweeping statements these parties have made, such as promises of a four-day work week with an unchanged salary, have riled up Flemish politicians, who say this is further proof of the two regions’ inability to govern together and that Walloon parties do not take their grievances seriously.
This ideological divergence, a direct result of the regions’ very different socio-economic situations, further widens the gap between the two linguistic communities, complicating efforts towards national unity.
Amidst this turmoil, Brussels emerges as both a source of discord and a vital link between the regions. As Belgium’s sole bilingual region, Brussels embodies a paradox: it fuels conflict yet serves as the connecting hub. Which region gets sole custody if there is a separation of the country? Many experts say that if Brussels were not a subject for debate, Belgium would already be divided into two separate countries. But staying together for the sake of one’s children doesn’t often work out too well.
I t’s funny how memory works. After the move to Brussels, my sister, mother, and I found ourselves living in a house meant for a family of four, but inhabited by just the three of us. While the chaos of the divorce is blurry, small details stick. I can perfectly remember my big, empty room. It had white curtains with pink roses and a blue horse on wheels. The walls were blank white, and there was a towering brown cupboard that my six-year-old self despised.
But I also remember the black and white tiles of our kitchen, which were so cold under our feet during winter that my sister and I would sprint across to avoid them, only to reach a chair and laugh. I also remember the colored plastic stools from which my sister and I often fell off.
It’s funny, too, how distorted our memory becomes with time.
Looking back on those three years, I remember them fondly. I hated the physical space but loved the company. It was just the three of us, huddled together night after night, all together in my mother’s bed, watching Disney classics for hours on end: Spirit, Lilo & Stitch, Monsters, Inc. To me, those years were full of laughs, but my mom said she had to sleep with us, because if we were left alone, we would start crying incessantly.
We left Rue Faider in 2004 when my mom met my stepfather, Fred. We moved into a cottage-like house where my mother was expecting my little sister, Lucie.
And then, my father moved back to Belgium with my new stepmom, Patsy. Unlike my mom, Patsy was Flemish and proud of it. She had jet-black curly hair, colorful clothes, and spoke French with a Flemish accent, though she would sometimes lapse into Flemish. “Amaï Zeg” (“Oh my!”), she would often exclaim. She had a daughter, Julia, two and a half years older than me, from a previous marriage, and three cats.
My father must have wanted to make up for lost time. He rushed us all into a situation — joint custody, one week on, one week off — we did not want to be in. My sister and I, nine and five years old at the time, suddenly found ourselves alternating between my mother’s house and his, propelled into a new family. He wasn’t there much because he had to travel often for work. I remember sitting at the dinner table, the four of us, Patsy, Julia, Sasha, and me. They would talk between themselves in Flemish, and Sasha and I wouldn’t understand a thing.
It must not have been easy for my stepmother, either, who suddenly found herself having to take care of two kids who evidently only wanted one thing: to stay with their mother.
I felt caught in the middle, stuck between my two parents, who had both rebuilt their lives with their respective partners and children. I felt as though Sasha and I were passed from one side to the other, kind of left behind, never fully integrated. On one side, my dad and Patsy and Julia in Flanders (just outside of Brussels), who would speak in Flemish and had been living just the three of them together for the past three years. On the other side, my mother, Fred, and Lucie, who was just born, in Francophone Brussels. And there was tension, especially between my mother and my stepmother. The custody arrangement was not to anyone’s liking. The adults tried their best to shield us from it, but inevitably a comment would slip through, or we would hear fights. We found ourselves feeling the tug of divided loyalties.
One of my clearest childhood memories is of my sister and me sitting at our psychologist’s office to work out some logistics following my dad’s return to Belgium. I was six years old, fidgeting uncomfortably on the big leather sofa. I was building up the courage to finally say, “I want to live with my mom.”
The words hung heavy in the air, and my psychologist silently nodded. I felt as if a weight had been lifted off my shoulders.
For a while, I remained at my mother’s house, but it didn’t last long. As the years passed, I grew closer to Patsy and Julia, and I desired more time with my dad. I ended up shuttling back between my parents’ houses again. It was a bi-weekly shuffle that mirrored the larger societal shifts in Belgium.
L ike over half of the world this year, Belgians will be taking to the polls in June to vote for the federal and European elections. The country stands at a critical juncture; these elections could likely end in a stalemate and potentially trigger a seventh state reform.
Gerolf Annemans, a member of the European Parliament for the Vlaams Belang, believes that these elections will be a turning point for the country, that 2024 “will be a momentum to relaunch what has actually been an evolution since the creation of the Belgian state, a Flemish independence.”
In Flanders, we will likely face a Black Sunday, with the Vlaams Belang set to win the most seats, and the N-VA not far behind, underscoring the growing appeal of Flemish nationalism. While both parties ostensibly advocate for economic reform and a tougher stance on immigration, their underlying ambition is to dismantle Belgium in favor of greater autonomy for Flanders. But their approach to the question of Flemish independence differs: the N-VA generally adopts a more moderate and pragmatic approach, stopping short of advocating for full autonomy, while the Vlaams Belang tends to take a more radical and confrontational stance, prioritizing immediate and complete independence for Flanders.
As noted by political analyst Bertrand Joris, however, “the ultimate goal for both parties is to split our country.”
But what would this mean for the whole of Europe? Separatist movements on the continent are common and have been resolved both peacefully, as in Czechoslovakia, and violently, as in Yugoslavia.
In Belgium, even though the Vlaams Belang is insistent on obtaining Flemish independence in the near future, Annemans assured that it would never be obtained violently, but through negotiations within an international framework.
Taking the metaphor of a marriage between Flanders and Wallonia, Annemans spoke of an orderly divorce, where the regions would exist as good neighbors rather than stay a family who fights all the time.
For many experts advocating for Flemish independence, the gradual dissolution of the country from a unitary to a federal state shows that dissolution is inevitable.
But a 2020 poll found that the vast majority of Flemings, eighty-four percent, don’t want the country’s separation. Even more so, within the N-VA and the Vlaams Belang electors, twelve percent and twenty-two percent respectively, want to return to a more centralized state. So why are these parties gaining so much traction?
According to Benjamin Biard, a Belgian political scientist, Flemish voters’ main concern is immigration, which explains the success of these parties. Similarly to the formation of Jean-Marie le Pen in France and Jörgen Haider in Austria, the Vlaams Belang has successfully positioned itself as the firmest supporter of this issue.
The 2016 Brussels terrorist attacks — which killed thirty-two people and injured three hundred and forty — as well as the more recent shooting in the city center — which killed two — both claimed by ISIS, have played well in the Islamophobic discourse of the Vlaams Belang. Far-right, anti-immigration political figures worldwide wasted no time either to use these tragedies to push their agenda. In 2016, President Trump famously described the capital as a “hellhole,” and in 2023, Marine Le Pen used the city center shooting to push for greater border control and the expulsion of immigrants she deemed “human bombs.”
Biard explained that the far-right, both in Belgium and abroad, has understood very well that fear is the biggest motivational force to rally behind a political party: “titillating the population’s primal instincts is a recipe for success, because it has the capacity, by playing on affect, to gather votes around a program, not always coherent, but in any case, to which part of the population can be sensitive.”
The meteoric rise of the Vlaams Belang is also indicative of broader societal trends. Biard said that it is more so a form of protest voting — the party has managed to capture the anti-establishment attitude of many Belgians, disappointed with the way democracy works at present. Similarly to the meteoric rise of Donald Trump and his centering as an anti-establishment figure, this erosion of trust in the political establishment has created fertile ground for the Vlaams Belang to exploit populist rhetoric and advocate for separatism.
Could the upcoming elections result in a separation of the country despite most Belgians not wanting it? As with many issues in Belgium, the answer is not straightforward.
A cordon sanitaire, which Annemans describes as a prison, was put in place in the 1990s in response to the rising popularity of the Vlaams Belang’s predecessor, the Vlaams Blok. It refers to a coalition of mainstream parties agreeing not to collaborate with the Vlaams Belang, guaranteeing that it would be isolated nationally. Whether this is democratic or not, it has ensured that contrary to neighboring European countries, Belgium has never been led by a far-right party.
But the Vlaams Belang might very well lead the Flemish Parliament and could declare unilateral sovereignty, forcing the rest of the country to enter negotiations for a secession of the region.
However, according to Biard, Flemish independence is neither a short or medium-term option because of Brussels: “Brussels is the crux of the matter. Flanders wants independence, but with Brussels, and of course, the French-speaking people of Brussels would never let it go.” Politicians on all sides of the spectrum have come to refer to Brussels as the child of divorced parents, with Wallonia and Flanders having to come together to co-parent it. Sounds familiar.
B oth my parents rebuilt their lives after the divorce on the two sides of the Belgian divide. My mother remained a steadfast Brussels city girl while my father re-embraced his Flemish identity. His friends are now Flemish, he speaks more Flemish at home, and he is proud of the region. I wouldn’t go as far as saying he has a disdain for Wallonia, but I very much believe that he thinks that Flanders has much more to offer culturally and economically.
“When I married Patsy, I became much more attached to my Flemish identity,” he told me recently. “Because the center of gravity moved out of French-speaking Brussels, more towards Knokke, Antwerp. I could never have had Antwerp friends with your mom.”
But my mom says his friends changed when he got with Patsy. At my parents’ marriage, there were no Flemings, she told me.
My mom says they had similar aspirations when they were together, but life circumstances must have resulted in them evolving differently because their political identities differ widely today. Both are Nordic-looking: dark blond hair, slender, and tall. My father works in real estate private equity investment, while my mother is a family mediator and coach for women’s empowerment.
My father says that their identity differences stem from the culture they inherited at home. My mother inherited from her parents a sort of anti-capitalism. And my father says that as Flanders got richer, her lack of interest in money became a bit of a rejection of Flemish culture.
My mother disagrees: “What annoys me is this Flemish arrogance that comes with new money. An arrogance that Francophones had at the time.”
Their work ethics are very different, too. I remember that, at school, my father would always find it more important that I get good grades, while my mother felt it was more important that I get along with my teachers and behave myself. Unfortunately, I wasn’t very good at either.
Whether it be the culture they inherited at home, their economic standing, or the countless intersectional feminist books my mother read, her political ideology now aligns more with the left while my dad the right.
Today, when I ask them how they identify themselves, my father considers himself Flemish first, then Belgian. My mother considers herself from Brussels first, then Europe, and finally Belgium. I consider myself from Brussels first, too.
I don’t remember my father before he met Patsy, so I can’t tell how much his sense of identity has been influenced by being with someone who shares his Flemish heritage. However, according to my mother, Patsy has undeniably played a significant role, acting as a catalyst that, combined with shifts in his surroundings, deepened his attachment to his Flemish identity.
As my father contemplates his vote in the upcoming Belgian federal elections, I can’t help but wonder if there’s a possibility he’ll vote for the N-VA.
I visited my childhood house at Rue Faider recently and was shocked to see that it was a light gray, luminous house and not the black, sinister manor I thought I remembered so distinctly. It made me wonder about what else from my childhood memories was distorted by the breakdown of my parents’ relationship.
Until now, I’ve never really put much thought into their divorce. It has been a part of my life since I was less than two. I felt no need to dwell on it.
These past weeks were the first time I’ve asked my parents directly about it — how they met, reasons for their divorce, what they wish they had done differently. With these conversations came a wave of emotions I thought I had dealt with a long time ago: resentment, sadness, and a sense of abandonment.
Don’t get me wrong; looking back, I have very happy memories of my childhood. Out of their divorce, I got two sisters, Lucie and Julia, and two bonus parents, Patsy and Fred. I see how fulfilled my mom seems to be, both professionally and personally. And going through this whole ordeal together with Sasha created a bond I don’t think we would have had. Plus, who would say no to twice as many Christmases and birthdays?
I just wish the aftermath of the divorce could have been handled differently, and I have some pent-up anger about it. Mainly because, to this day, my parents and stepparents aren’t completely honest about how the whole bi-weekly shuffles went down and what they did wrong.
But I’m coming to terms with the fact that that won’t happen, and holding onto these grudges is tiring and will only do me a disservice.
“How can you make peace with your past, with the mistakes of the past? What you see on an individual level, from you to your family, you see it on a macro level, too. It’s the same thing,” my mom said.
Reflecting on the situation in Belgium, I see that the same dynamics are indeed at play. Miscommunications, historical grievances, and politicians adding fuel to the fire echo my family’s struggles. Because beneath the surface, a shared cultural ethos permeates Belgian society. Defined by a penchant for compromise and an aversion to confrontation, Belgians possess a remarkable ability to navigate through complexities with pragmatism and humor. This cultural trait, honed perhaps by a history marked by external conflicts and occupations, underscores the nation’s resilience in the face of adversity.
Whether in the aftermath of the Brussels 2016 terrorist attacks, the collective outcry following the arrest of serial killer Marc Dutroux, or simply in moments of communal celebration, we find solace and solidarity in each other’s company. I have never felt a greater sense of national pride than when watching the Red Devils at the World Cup, or a greater sense of shared identity than when meeting fellow Belgians here in New York, poking fun at politicians, Walloons, and Flemings over a beer. It’s like we’re all part of this big, dysfunctional family, but we wouldn’t have it any other way.
As I prepare for my upcoming graduation, my parents, my stepmother, and my older sister are coming to New York to celebrate with me. We’ll be having dinner, just the five of us, after it, and I can’t wait.
