Jacob de Boer
He grew up with the factory in view. Born in IJmuiden, with a father and brother working for a painting company on the site. The stories about the plant were part of his childhood.
“I knew what a rolling mill was,” he says.
As a boy, he sat fishing with his father along the canal, counting the colours of the plumes: white, yellow, beige, reddish-brown, purple, black — ten shades of pollution. Today, he mostly sees white steam.
“It’s much cleaner than it used to be,” he says.
“And yet we are now exceeding limits we agreed upon together.”
In the 1970s, he entered the laboratory school in IJmuiden. The plant did not attract him.
“I thought: whatever happens, I’m not going to work there.”
An internship led him to the National Institute for Fisheries Research at the harbour. There he found his subject: the environment — a word that, in 1974, was still new.
He stayed, later obtained a PhD at Vrije Universiteit Amsterdam in analytical chemistry, and built a research group around persistent substances: PCBs, dioxins, flame retardants, chlorinated paraffins, and now PFAS. Substances that do not disappear but are passed on — through breast milk, soil, and water — from generation to generation.
“That’s what I’ve spent my life working on.”
After his retirement, he paradoxically became more involved with the factory of his youth. The minister asked him to join the Expert Group on Health in the IJmond — not to decide, but to advise.
“We worked ourselves to the bone,” he says.
Much of the data comes from the company itself. Too often, figures proved incomplete or later adjusted.
“If you say for ten years that emissions of substance X are at a certain level, and it turns out to be ten times higher, you have a problem called trust.”
The conclusion kept returning: greening is possible, but all harmful emissions must be significantly reduced — not only in the future, but also now, in the existing installations.
The factory still operates under outdated standards.
“That’s absurd.
You don’t have to meet the best available techniques of today, but those of thirty years ago.”
They argued for a health impact assessment alongside the environmental report. Lead received particular attention. For years, large quantities were emitted into the air. Filters reduced emissions, but the legacy remains in soils and neighbourhoods.
“We removed lead from petrol and pipes nationwide, but here we allowed it to settle for decades. How is that possible?”
He is not an activist, but he speaks clearly. About the works council he is critical: health was “not an issue”.
“At that, we were deeply disappointed.”
At the same time, he maintains his position: it is both-and. The company must remain — and it must become cleaner. Not negotiable.
He calls “black snow” a turning point. Those visible deposits woke the region up.
“Until then, much was tolerated. After that, the feeling was: enough.”
Trust, once lost, is difficult to regain.
On steel slag, he is pragmatic. Useful as a building material, if applied correctly. Problems that arose — dust, open applications — he attributes to failing oversight.
“You have to do it properly.”
Closer to home, things remain uneasy. The advisory group has broad political support, but decisions are delayed. Coke plants that were supposed to close “tomorrow” remain open. Old installations are patched, leaks repaired, emissions monitored — sometimes incorrectly, sometimes too late.
“A lot has improved,” he says, “but we’re not there yet.”
Working in a coke plant, he calls “slow suicide” — prolonged exposure, dangerous conditions.
He makes the comparison bluntly: thousands of deaths annually in the Netherlands due to chemical exposure, compared to hundreds in traffic.
“We rightly worry about the latter. Far too little about the former.”
And yet, he remains an optimist.
“I do believe it will get better,” he says.
But he knows: the economy often prevails — unless limits are set and enforced.