Fleur Pierets: “You only have one life. Are you going to let fear control it?”

Fleur Pierets has had a busy stretch. The film *Julian* took cinemas, festivals, and hearts by storm; her new book, *Als alles goed gaat*, was launched a few months ago; she just happened to win the Jos Brink Prize in the Netherlands; and she performed her one-woman show to a sold-out crowd at the Arenbergschouwburg. In between all that, she finds time to collaborate on “Pride in Town” with Dutch comedian Kirsten van Teijn, with whom she co-organizes “A Queer Night.” At the moment we manage to squeeze into her busy schedule, that program is still a surprise.

“I’m an impatient person. As soon as I finish something, I’m already diving headfirst into the next thing. While I’m working on a performance, I start on a documentary. And then something like the Jos Brink Prize happens (a queer emancipation award for people who advocate for acceptance, named after the Dutch TV host and actor Jos Brink, who was also popular here in the 1980s—Ed.), and it feels almost surreal. As if you’ve been plucked out of thin air. Because you’re so deeply immersed in your own thoughts, you sometimes forget that what you create also has an impact on the outside world. And when that’s recognized, it’s special. But it doesn’t change that urge to keep moving forward—and that’s never far enough.”

Fearless and Hope

“I literally had the word ‘fearless’ tattooed on the back of my neck in Morse code. So I carry that word with me every day. And yet, the answer to the question of whether we should all be more fearless isn’t as simple as yes or no.”

“My work and my activism can never be viewed separately. Everything I create is steeped in what’s happening in the world. And what’s happening today is driven very strongly by fear. That’s no surprise, but the intensity of it is. That fear runs deep, and it’s palpable almost everywhere.”

“At the same time, I don’t believe that fear helps us move forward. Fear paralyzes us. If you’re just afraid, you’ll crawl back into bed and nothing will change. But that fear isn’t entirely unfounded either. We’re seeing a clear setback. It feels as though we’ve made progress toward equality, and now those gains are being undone. Sometimes I read things that make me think: How can this still exist? It feels like we’re back in the 1950s.”

“And it’s not just about politics. It gets personal. When you see statistics about how young people feel about women or violence against queer people, it really hits home. It’s no longer an abstract debate. It’s a direct threat.”

“What concerns me is the role that language plays in this. Politicians bear a responsibility that they often underestimate. The way they speak seeps into society. When they use polarizing or dehumanizing language, it legitimizes such behavior among ordinary people. And that creates a climate in which fear and scarcity take center stage.”

“Because that’s what happens: people are led to believe that there isn’t enough. That’s a myth. There’s enough for everyone. But as soon as you make people believe in scarcity, fear sets in. And out of that fear, people start clinging to what they have. They look for scapegoats. And those are almost always the same groups: women, queer people, people of color. That mechanism is old and predictable. But that doesn’t make it any less dangerous.”

“And yet—and this is important—there is also hope. For me, that hope lies in young people. I see how people in their twenties are reorganizing themselves. How they’re turning back to grassroots movements. How they’re reaching out to one another, uniting, and realizing that individualism gets them nowhere. That we have to do this together.”

Listening Without Judgment

“I recently spoke with young people who are engaged in deep canvassing. They literally go door to door to talk with people who disagree with them—not to convince them with slogans, but to listen and build empathy. I find that incredibly hopeful. Because that’s where change begins: with human connection.”

“A study was once conducted that showed that if someone knows just one queer person—whoever that may be, a neighbor, a coworker—that person is significantly more likely to support queer rights. Simply because a face, a story, a real person is associated with it. That insight is so powerful. And yet we don’t make enough of it.”

“For me, being fearless isn’t about grand gestures or heroic deeds. It’s in the little things. In conversations. In daring to speak up about what’s going wrong. In sharing information, because we all live in our own bubbles, guided by algorithms. The world you see isn’t the same as your neighbor’s. So talk. Keep each other informed. Listen—really listen—without judgment. That might just be the most radical form of being fearless today.”

“But I also realize that not everyone has the same freedom to be fearless. A single mother with three children who works herself to the bone just to make ends meet doesn’t have the mental bandwidth to be an activist. Privilege plays a major role in this. Who you are, where you stand, and who’s around you—that determines how much freedom you have to speak your mind. So no, we don’t all have to be fearless in the same way. But we do need to think about what we do with the life we’ve been given.”

“That, to me, is the essence of it. You have one life. What are you going to do with it? Are you going to let fear dictate it? Or are you going to try, within your means, to make a difference? It doesn’t have to be anything grand. But it does have to be something. Because, in the end, doing nothing is also a choice, and silence always sides with the perpetrator.”