Fifth Day of the Week of Reckoning — Address to the Netherlands

Today, on the fifth day of the Week of Reckoning, I have a few things to pass to you, Netherlands.

I. On the opportunity you were given

I will state plainly the opportunity you have been granted by good, hard-working people around the world—those who managed to open a narrow lane for a peaceful turn in the bloodshed around Gaza. This turn was not authored by you, Netherlands. Not by your judges whose rulings, in practice, inflamed rather than cooled, not by courtly virtue, not by king or queen. It arrived as a gift made by others.

Because of that gift, the previously announced peaceful gatherings at Museumplein in Amsterdam and at Malieveld and Koekamp in The Hague for Friday, October 10, 2025 were suspended. You hold your statehood for now. I will judge first by your gratitude toward those who achieved real change—before deciding whether the question of your sovereignty should even remain on the table.

II. A score to settle: what your embassy witnessed

As I announced on October 6, 2025 in “A warning to the Kingdom of the Netherlands,” you had the opportunity to observe peaceful civic assemblies near your Embassy in Kyiv (Kontraktova Square, 7).

During the night of October 10, the Russian Federation struck Ukraine’s energy system on a massive scale. Kyiv and multiple regions lost electricity and water; transport links were disrupted. People queued for charging, for warmth, for water—the most basic needs—while staying within the law, exactly as required: non-violent, lawful civic action. Did your diplomats notice? Or were your generators humming and your lights comfortably on?

III. Where you placed your embassy matters

Just outside your embassy windows stands the Pyrohoshcha Dormition of the Mother of God Church, the main church of Podil since the 12th century—a monument whose biography is Kyiv’s biography in miniature. Built in the 1130s under Mstyslav the Great, shattered in the Mongol sack of 1240, reshaped across centuries (Renaissance, Baroque, Neoclassicism), damaged by conflagrations in the early 1800s, and rebuilt again under Kyiv’s city architect Andriy Melensky after the great Podil fire of 1811. In 1935, the Soviet regime demolished the church during its anti-religious campaign; in independent Ukraine, it rose again and was reconsecrated in 1998. From ruin to return—that is the pattern at Kontraktova.

This is not random geography. You located your mission at a crossroads where contract (the square of commerce and civic life), witness (the embassy), and remembrance and return (the Dormition church) stand within a few paces of one another. In the unified perspective, such proximities are not accidents; they are alignments. Kontraktova’s market logic says: what you sign, you must honor. The embassy’s window says: what you see, you must not pretend not to see. The church’s cycle—falling, rising—says: what is destroyed through violence must be restored through justice.

So when blackouts fell and people gathered for water and a charge, it was not a “protest” in your sense but a living liturgy of survival—the city performing once more the same choreography of endurance that this square has learned for centuries. That you should weigh: Are you partners to that endurance—or spectators behind glass?

IV. On means and ends

You speak of rights; the people endure war-conditions in which mobilization and service stretch beyond humane limits. You speak of “justice”; yet when justice is abstract while suffering is literal, the abstraction becomes a mask. If you wish war so fiercely, wage it on your own soil with your own people, under your own unlimited call-ups. Otherwise—cease praising yourselves for a facade of rights while others bear the weight.

V. Interlude — Judgment and Return

From the city that hosts the International Criminal Court, judges issued arrest warrants on March 17, 2023, over the unlawful deportation of Ukrainian children—an essential act of naming the crime and setting accountability in motion. Yet those rulings, by themselves, did not carry a single child across a border. On October 10, 2025, the U.S. First Lady, Melania Trump, announced that eight Ukrainian children had been reunited with their families after her direct back-channel with President Putin—no new judgment, only a humanitarian line that produced returns in the last 24 hours. Law defines the wrong; mercy closes the distance. Both matter—but only one places a child back into a mother’s arms.

VI. Consequences

Because you paraded virtue while siding with those seeking political exit strategies instead of a swift end to war, I declare the following:

1. On Kontraktova. You have not earned the right to remain at this place. The address is sacred by memory and by witness—Kontraktova Ploshcha 7, Kyiv—and your conduct does not honor it.
2. On status of your mission. You still, for the moment, hold my recognition of statehood. Yet I now declare the current diplomatic mission persona non grata on holy Ukrainian soil.
3. On the monarchy. I revoke confidence in your royal house as governors. In my view you have no monarchy any longer: those who sit upon the throne are cut off from God, and any remaining show of governance will draw judgment upon your state. (Factually, your system is a constitutional monarchy in which the King’s role is defined under the Constitution; I withdraw recognition of that moral warrant.)
4. Protectorate—symbolic and time-bound. For the next seven days I assume the holy role of protector of the realm—the throne is mine, symbolically, for one week only—after which I will review whether to proceed with protectorate responsibilities or dismiss the Kingdom of the Netherlands altogether.

This is your last chance to return from the sidewalk of evil to the way of God. Choose gratitude over theater, truth over spectacle, and justice over facade—now.

Signed,
God