The gap with the Randstad can no longer be closed
As a correspondent for the Northern Netherlands, Ana van Es saw Groningen, Drenthe and Friesland drifting away from the rest of the country in recent years. And the worse the relationship became, the louder the call for money.
Here, on the far edge of the Netherlands, an entire village was sacrificed for it. By demolishing the houses and the church, it was believed, prosperity would come. Factories, employers, large investors: they would descend en masse on the vacant land. At last the North would be able to compete with the rest of the Netherlands.
On the seawall east of Delfzijl, only the cemetery remains. That is all that is left of Oterdum, the village that had to make way for progress in the 1970s. The gravestones form a gray mosaic on the green dike. Looking at the weathered gravestones I think: at least you can't say that they didn't try in this region.
The polder behind the dike shows the contours of demolished farms, shadows in a landscape that has now been left fallow for forty years. Because Oterdum was demolished for nothing. The industry that was so hoped for here never materialized.
Do the three northern provinces still matter? As a correspondent for the Northern Netherlands I have often asked myself that in recent years. I saw the gap between the North and the Randstad. On both sides of that gap the hope falters that the North will ever be on an equal footing with the rest of the country. Both parts of the country threaten to give up on each other. More and more, the guilt over that broken relationship is being bought off.
The government in The Hague increasingly openly no longer believes in a future for the North. Just listen to Coen Teulings, at that time still director of the Central Planning Bureau (CPB), when he gives a lecture in Leeuwarden in May 2012. As one of the country's most influential government advisors, he wants to say this: in the knowledge economy of the future, the North will be partly left behind. For Friesland it makes "no sense to try to compete with the Randstad. Friesland, with Leeuwarden in the lead, says the CPB figurehead, that is 'lagging behind'.
Also in the North itself, doubts about the future are growing. A cocktail of earthquakes, population decline, unemployment, investments that keep failing and The Hague that increasingly turns its back is undermining the confidence in Groningen, Friesland and Drenthe that something will ever change for the better. This feeling: the Northern Netherlands as the dumbest boy in the class, a second-rate part of the country, subordinate to the rest of the Netherlands.
Relations between the North and the rest of the Netherlands have been strained over the past two years by the earthquakes in the Groningen gas field. There has always been discontent about gas production here: the capital under the Groningen clay is flowing away to The Hague without the province getting much in return.
The gas, the exploitation, Groningen as the doormat of the rest of the Netherlands', writes Frank Westerman in De Graanrepubliek (The Grain Republic), his chronicle of the loss of rural life in the Oldambt. After a quake with a magnitude of 3.6 on the Richter scale near the hamlet of Huizinge, on 16 August 2012, there is no longer any denying that Groningen has indeed become a profit center.
Poverty
Fortunately, there is the solution that has often averted a crisis between the North and the Randstad: a bag of money from The Hague. I listened to northern administrators pleading for a compensation fund to make up for half a century of gas production and then heard the minister announce an amount with nine zeros, as if it were domestic development aid.
They don't understand each other, the North and the Randstad. Just before I started as a correspondent here in 2011, a regional campaign was launched to tempt highly educated Randstad residents to move to the North. In commercials you see people who have already made the move, as pioneers in a newly developed part of the country.
In front of the camera a young woman tells how she had to swallow when she heard that her new place of employment was not an exciting foreign country, but Assen, in Drenthe. That Assen is not hip. That she cycled 20 kilometers to work, in a long line of colleagues, as if she were a high school student.
Next shot: a bicycle path in the rain, as if this were not an advertisement, but a tragic feature film. This is how the Northern Netherlands sells itself.
Well, I come from here - mother from Groningen, father from Friesland, grew up in a village in Drenthe - so I do understand. Too much self-esteem is a social mortal sin in this region, so by local standards this commercial is quite appealing. But in the rest of the Netherlands, with the prospect of cycling 20 kilometers in the rain, nobody thinks: gosh, let's move.
Wall of prejudice
Mutual relationships are barricaded with a wall of prejudice anyway. "Do you know if there are any stores in Assen?" a first-year Media and Culture student at the University of Amsterdam asked me on the train the other day. She wanted cigarettes, but didn't know if they are for sale in these parts. Outside, strange stations flashed by. Mappel. Oh no, Mèppel. Hoogeveen. Beilen. 'I didn't know people lived here.'
The gap between the North and the Randstad, that is in fact the gap between countryside and city. Just look at the map: the Northern Netherlands is one large area with a relatively large amount of contiguous countryside. The city is almost always far away here, the contrast between emptiness and construction still great.
It is no coincidence that Geert Mak chose the Frisian village of Jorwerd as the setting for his book on the disappearance of the last Dutch countryside. In Hoe God verdween uit Jorwerd (How God disappeared from Jorwerd) he writes about the disdain with which city-dwellers view the countryside: 'In their eyes, the countryside is only something negative: it is not a city and nothing else.
The relationship between the North and the rest of the country, that is not infrequently also the distinction between relative poverty and prosperity. The samples from the Central Bureau of Statistics show: no matter how different the three provinces are, what binds the North of the Netherlands is that much is not going well. It is too easy to lump the North together: a university city like Groningen, for example, turns in fine figures compared to the rest of the Netherlands. But in large parts of the region, incomes, education levels, employment and house prices dangle at the bottom of the statistics. On the 2014 CBS list of poorest municipalities, the North is the front runner: the top 3 consists of Groningen's Pekela and Stadskanaal, followed by Achtkarspelen in Friesland.
Nowhere is the distance between the North and the rest of the Netherlands as great as in The Hague. "Did you leave last night?" a spokesman at a ministry once asked me when I joined him there at ten in the morning.
Abandoned
For decades, the national government actively tried to push the North up the ladder. The Den Uyl government began to relocate government services from The Hague to the edges of the Netherlands. Thus, the headquarters of the PTT - now KPN - came to the city of Groningen.
Although PTT personnel resisted the exile all the way to the company doctor (in the North they would go under psychologically), the head office in Groningen has been holding out for a quarter of a century now: a striking building behind the main railway station. Alongside the university from 1614, the hospitals and the Gasunie, it has become one of the pillars of regional employment.
Meanwhile, the course of the government has changed dramatically. A recent pile of official reports breathes a new tenor: bleeding the region dry in favor of big cities. Where the government previously sought the periphery, it is now regrouping in the Randstad. The cutbacks in government offices nowhere hit harder than in the North. In Friesland almost a quarter of the civil servants are threatened with unemployment, in Drenthe even almost half.
Pasture' locations for working and living are no longer in keeping with the times, according to the most recent report by the Netherlands Environmental Assessment Agency, which was published two weeks ago. The future of the Netherlands lies in the city. The North, with all that countryside, is left behind as a desolate outpost.
Ruins
The landscape is marked by dashed hopes. The most famous example is Blauwestad: a huge, newly dug lake in the middle of the old Grain Republic. Here, in 2004, land was turned into water in an ultimate attempt to attract affluent Randstad residents to East Groningen.
Ten years after its completion, the lake sloshes in the autumn sun. The banks are virtually empty. Of the 1,480 lots that were to be built here, about 1,200 remained unsold. The rich Amsterdammers who were supposed to settle here never came. An investment of over half a billion euros in air and empty banks.
In Sneek, Friesland, there is a similar failure, but there the lake already existed, so it is less conspicuous.
I drive back to the Groninger coast, where not only Oterdum but also the villages of Weiwerd and Heveskes were largely flattened in the 1970s for industry that turned out to be an illusion. The 13th century church of Heveskes, the only one to survive the sledge hammer, looks out onto the Aldel aluminum factory, which with hundreds of jobs was the engine of the economy here for decades. Now the furnaces lie rusting away. The aluminum smelter, once called "a draught horse for the North" by Joop den Uyl, went bankrupt in early 2014.
Where has the hope gone? Even when something goes right here - in September the American company Google settled in Eemshaven - resignation shines through. In the party tent that rose in the Groningen clay in honor of the Internet giant's arrival, a PvdA deputy says he is doing everything he can to make things right for his residents. I want them to say: it's a big mess, but we're being looked after very well.
'n Dikke schietboudel' is Gronings for: a lot of misery.
The distance to the rest of the Netherlands is particularly noticeable on the train. The new railroad line to the North makes a strange hook above Lelystad. Not straight ahead through Southwest Friesland, as the highway does, but with a slow turn to the east, toward Zwolle, and from there to boom along the 1870s railroad route. The result: the journey from the Randstad to Leeuwarden and Groningen takes half an hour longer by public transport than by car, and often more.
Zuiderzeelijn
The plan to extend the railroad line along the highway - the Zuiderzeelijn - was called off in 2007. The new vision of the national government was already visible here: the North is empty and will remain so. However, there was a bag of consolation money: 2.15 billion euros to support the northern economy.
A year later, the first millions from the Wadden fund came pouring in: some 30 million per year, most of which went to the northern provinces. At the beginning of this year, after intensive lobbying under the leadership of the Groningen Commissioner of the King Max van den Berg (PvdA), the newest gem among the northern support funds was brought in: a fund against the consequences of gas extraction in Groningen. There is now 1.2 billion euros in it.
Rightly paid, in itself. Near Bedum, a Groningen village with a church tower more crooked than that of Pisa, I discovered a country road full of ruins: one farmhouse demolished because of quake damage, the walls of the second one are torn through, the neighbors have a collapsed roof and a little further on a house is being propped up after the umpteenth quake. The scene is that of a street at war.
One earthquake, a sober northerner can get over. Ten earthquakes do something to your psyche. In the North of Groningen the ground already trembled more than a thousand times.
For years the party responsible, the Nederlandse Aardolie Maatschappij (NAM), called the quakes an 'event', as if they were something fun. I spoke to inhabitants who fell out of bed at night because of an earthquake, lie awake waiting for the next blow, don't talk about it during the day because you just don't talk about it in these parts and see only one way out: moving. But they can't, because their house is unsaleable. Seen in this light, the billion in compensation is a pittance.
But just as development money in West Africa does not always end up in the right place, the same is unfortunately true in Westeremden and its surroundings. In Groningen the kick-off was recently given for the construction of a new ring road. With a public garden on top. And space for 'perhaps an open air concert'.
No, this is not a joke. Financed by hundreds of millions from the Zuiderzee Fund, brought together by taxpayers from all over the Netherlands. In a province where trains detour and houses are in ruins.
The earthquake fund serves a clear purpose: to strengthen houses, repair damage, and prevent Groningen from sinking further into the periphery. Yet a tombola is already forming about how the money will be spent, at a meeting institute called the Dialogue Table. While administrators, interest groups and the NAM management pull each other across that table, the money is gathering dust in the vault.
Fact of life
The Netherlands is too small to maintain a periphery, was an argument used at the time to compensate for the cancellation of the Zuiderzeelijn. But money does not address the essential problem: two parts of the country that do not know how to proceed.
Minister Kamp (Economic Affairs, VVD) reportedly had reservations about paying Groningen a billion euros for half a century of gas production. But for a region where open communication is sometimes so awkward, the quiet diplomacy towards The Hague is sometimes remarkably well-oiled. The minister gave in. At the end of last month it became clear that Kamp had not made a crazy deal.
On September 30 an earthquake occurred that was different from the thousand previous ones. This time the epicenter (2.8 on the Richter scale) was not in the sparsely populated rural area, but close to the city of Groningen.
This time, the damage calls and frightening stories came not from abandoned farms, but from the old city center, the city hall and the University Medical Center, which draws patients from all over the Netherlands. State Supervision of Mines had already warned that tremors in this densely populated city were a major safety risk.
Advice: turn off the gas tap further.
But what does Kamp say after the earthquake in Groningen city? They are a fact of life', the quakes. Now that he has transferred over a billion euros, the minister can afford to shrug his shoulders. Later he explains that the words escaped him. In the province, they know better. As Ede Staal, the Groningen folk singer, sang:
It seems so beautiful,
That land with all its colors,
They are in blue: lilac, pink and white,
As the skies on an autumn day
become blacker,
Then all that matters is what's underneath.
But Kamps nonchalance comes too soon. When the quake subsides, something bordering on administrative euphoria arises in the North. After all, the harder the blow, the more visible the consequences, the greater the chance of more compensation. Two billion, suggests Max van den Berg. The new ring road in Groningen, the one with the park on it, must now be made quake-proof. In Drenthe, there are calls for the area to be included in the risk zone. Friesland had already come forward: earthquakes do not stop at the provincial border.
The three provinces will be asking for money, a lot of money. As long as the gap with the rest of the Netherlands cannot be closed, that is the only thing they can hope for in the North.