I was young and lived in an insubstantial village in the Netherlands, near Utrecht. Of course, I knew nothing about the black struggle. It was the 1970s early 1980s. What did I know at all? But oh the music of Bob Marley. I felt he was singing something big and important, that was about human dignity and about what he had experienced, felt. As an insecure adolescent, it also seemed to be a little bit about me. I also thought Peter Tosh was great, though a little angrier. As far as I could, before the age of the Internet, I looked up what Rastafari meant and where the music came from. I even held a speaking engagement about it. Maybe his message was universal and also valid for an insecure Dutch boy of 14 who played his records. Records he bought in a record store eight kilometers away, after a bike ride through the flat Dutch landscape.