The Netherlands is an increasingly gloomy country on paper. Multi-annual studies by the Social and Cultural Planning Office into the state of mind in the Netherlands have been showing the same thing for some time: declining optimism about how things are going and declining political confidence. “Regular readers,” the SCP researchers write in a report published last month edition, “many will recognize: the mood about the country, the economy and politics remained gloomy and the main reason for this was the same as before. Citizens are concerned about the accumulation of problems and the inability of politicians to solve them.”
In figures: 56 percent thought the Netherlands was going in the wrong direction at the beginning of this year, when the survey was conducted. Confidence in the House of Representatives and the government had fallen further, to just over 40 percent.
When the SCP took the measurements, the Rutte IV cabinet had not yet fallen and political key players such as Prime Minister Mark Rutte (VVD) and deputy prime ministers Sigrid Kaag (D66) and Wopke Hoekstra (CDA) had not yet announced their departure. For the time being, this does not seem to have changed much in the Dutch mood. “From research we conducted last month, we see that the mood remains negative and confidence in politics is low,” says SCP researcher Josje den Ridder.
Yet both the cabinet fall and the announced departures in The Hague are interpreted by politicians as a new page. The November elections were supposed to be about change. Is this noticeable among voters? Does gloom give way to hope?
“Heap? I have no hope for this country,” says Frank van Nieuwkerk on a terrace in Slochteren, Groningen. “The Dutch politics make me desperate.”
“They are more concerned with each other than with the country,” says his wife Ilona Dankaart. “I have that feeling.”
“I think that a new wind can now blow,” says Maria Yuste van Vlissingen in her office in Castricum. “But from which side and whether it will be good? I find it difficult to determine who to vote for.”
“I think it’s a game,” says Charlot Truitman in her farm in Ambt Delden, Twente, “more and more. How they address each other in debates. Just talk to each other normally, you have a role model. If you do it this way, the rest of the Netherlands will think: this is the norm, this is apparently normal.”
„Same old, same old, it remains the same pastry egg. Ultimately, as a citizen you are screwed and you have to save yourself. That is the sentiment that prevails now,” says Jurrian Mol on a bench by the water in Dordrecht, South Holland.
“I have lived here for seven years now, I have Dutch nationality, so I can vote,” says Ahmad Hama while loading his groceries in Middelburg, Zeeland. “But I’m not going to vote. We did that in Syria for years and that country is now fucked. I don’t talk about politics and religion anymore.”
“I haven’t voted for years,” says Ramona Prins in a parking lot in Wolvega, Friesland, “I see it as a corrupt affair. Now that Mark Rutte is leaving, I want to try again.”
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Insecurity
Drive criss-cross through the Netherlands – from Middelburg to Central Groningen, from Cuijk to Castricum, make a stop in Dordrecht and drive through Twente, to Zwolle and further north to Wolvega and the word that sounds in The Hague from the throats of politicians who want it now going to try – “hope” – is rarely heard. Well: an indefinable feeling, uncertainty. Powerlessness and carelessness. Sometimes anger. What is also striking: the dissatisfaction that was expressed in flags on the heads along the highways before the Provincial Council elections in March is still present – but no longer visible – the tricolor is hanging almost everywhere again or has disappeared. And: the dissatisfaction is not directed at each other, at society, but at the government. It does too little, or else it does the wrong thing.
For a change, first the exception. Jos Tax (70) is walking in a patch of grass next to the Beersebaan in Cuijk on a warm evening in a sports shirt, shoes and jeans. An almost full garbage bag in one hand, a trash grabber in the other. He can be found there regularly: about an hour every other week, preferably when the weather is good. Day after day, Tax cycles the bike path on this route and the mess in the grass was starting to irritate him, he says. The call he made to the municipality was not to ask if the waste service could come by more often. He asked for materials to do it himself. He hopes that people who see him will be less likely to throw their rubbish on the street – “even if it is only one or two.”
He believes, says Tax, that people are asking for help from the government too quickly. “The responsibility lies first with yourself. Only if it doesn’t work should you be able to appeal to the government.” Moreover, he believes, it is asking unreasonably much of it. “For example with poverty. It is said: it must be fast, cheap and generous. That can never happen together. If it has to be done quickly, it won’t be possible cheaply. If it has to be cheaper, it won’t be possible quickly or for everyone.” Tax, who has chosen the PvdA since he was allowed to vote, says he has confidence in politics. “BBB is not my party, but the way they treat others is respectful. I think it can open the eyes of other politicians that people are tired of polarization.” Then, with a laugh: “I’m more optimistic about it than most people. I know that for sure.”
That statement is correct.
“I think politics is a crooked affair, there is nothing wrong with it,” says Patrick Noorder (31) in a shopping center in Hoogezand. He is standing in front of a baker, with his son. Noorder no longer votes. “The most recent thing I received is that they are raising money for Morocco after the earthquake, while there is also plenty going on here in Groningen. Not meant in a racist way, but our own people first.” The first time he was allowed to vote he voted for the PVV. He now calls Geert Wilders “a first-class racist”.
Noorder lives in a rented house that is built earthquake-resistant. “But in Overschild, further away, entire neighborhoods have been torn apart. Yes, they say they are going to stop extracting gas. I do not trust it. I have the feeling that it is a bit of an overkill. That they have a certain vision and ideas and that they act on them, regardless of what comes out of elections. That not much happens to my voice.”
He works at the municipal waste collection, his partner Iris (26), who joins us, is a nurse in elderly care. She does vote, varyingly. They are just barely making ends meet, she says. “We have to pay more and more attention, it comes at the expense of the fun things. Less and less of that remains.”
Forty crates at the food bank
Castricum is doing well, on paper. People earn well and are relatively satisfied with their lives. In the regional monitor broad prosperity, which it CBS keeps track, this municipality is doing the best. In the parish house, volunteer at the IJmond-Noord Food Bank Eline van IJsseldijk (64) sees those who are left out. One by one, sometimes as a family, they come to collect their crate from the food bank. Before the energy crisis there were nine crates every week, now there are between thirty and forty. There is less meat this Friday, so more vegetables are allowed. Many of the people who come in are in debt restructuring. They divorced, lost their business. There are also those who work and still earn too little to make ends meet.
Does she trust that politicians will pay attention to the groups that depend on what is in the crates she hands to them every week? “There is so much happening there that we don’t know about. I don’t like those back rooms. Then I think: I can make my contribution here, then I’m sure something will happen. I’m not sure what they’re doing there.”
What is striking: Mark Rutte’s departure is received with approval by everyone. No one says it is a shame that he is leaving, not even VVD members who praise him. “It is time for new energy,” says Anne-Marie ten Heggelen (30), at a cultural street festival in Delden. She is just barely drowned out by the local music association playing in the background. “I think people will still miss him.”
Ten Heggelen always votes VVD. Her partner, Iris Nicolaas (31), voted for the PVV in the last national elections. “The fact that I voted for it partly has to do with the refugee crisis. I’m afraid this is getting out of hand, you have to draw the line somewhere. I have also voted FVD before, but that was just that one time.” The people of Twente do not start talking about Pieter Omtzigt on their own. Ten Heggelen: “Our fathers are fans of him.” Nicolaas: “I wouldn’t know what he wants, what his plans are.”
The same thing is said a little further away with Henk Janssen (62), active in municipal politics for the VVD for many years. He resigned his party membership three years ago. “They are caught up in the issues of the day.” But it is actually, he also says, still his party. At the Provincial Council elections last March, he voted BBB. Laughing, looking away: “It was a protest vote!” He does not see BBB as a government party. And now there is Omtzigt, Janssen is reading his book. “He is a go-getter, but politics doesn’t work that way. He’s not going to get his way everywhere. Can he give and take? He brings out the problems and he does that well. But what is he going to do to make it better?” If there are elections in November, he says, “I think it will be the VVD again.”
It will be the first time for Mohamed (40) to vote, as he has not been a Dutch national for long. He is doing some shopping with his wife Lojein, at the greengrocer in Zwolle. The couple fled Syria and do not want their surnames in the newspaper. “I have a Dutch friend who helps me learn the language,” says Mohamed. “He will also help me with this. He will explain what the parties want.” He wants to vote for a party that wants to do something about climate change. And he will pay attention to what the plans are for refugees. “How they deal with people who need help, how they want to guide them with language and looking for work. I think voting is important. Maybe our vote will help.”
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On the bench by the water in Dordrecht, Jurrian Mol (27) says that he finds it “politically quite turbulent at the moment”, “a chaos”. “People don’t really know what to expect. There are so many new faces.” His work is often about politics, he is a graphic designer in Sliedrecht. “Near Chemours. There are people who say: we are being poisoned and nothing is being done. They have known for decades that it is so harmful to the population and yet someone has given a permit. That doesn’t increase trust either. Then as a citizen you have the idea: aren’t they there for us, to protect us? And not to line their friends’ wallets? I understand that feeling.” After the conversation he picks up the book he was reading: Lord of the Rings. “From this,” he says with a laugh, “we know how it will end.”
A version of this article also appeared in the September 19, 2023 newspaper.