Jeroen Olthof
Jeroen Olthof — Deputy Province of North Holland
The man responsible for oversight of the largest industrial site in the Netherlands sits upright in his chair, back straight, hands folded. A man with a position. A man accustomed to explaining things. When it comes to Tata Steel, he already has his story.
“Tata Steel can remain,” he says, articulating carefully. “But it must become green and clean. Otherwise, there is no future for the company.”
The sentence sounds rehearsed. He has delivered it many times — at conferences, in front of cameras, in committee meetings of the Provincial Council. It is a position that sounds firm, yet widely shared. Tata Steel itself says the same.
He speaks about the formal notice the province issued at the end of 2024 — a final warning regarding the controversial Coke Plant 2. Tata Steel was given twelve months to address violations.
“This is not a toothless tiger,” he says.
“We mean it. If they do not comply, the permit can be revoked.”
He says it with conviction — but it remains a possibility, not a promise.
It is within that margin that administrative doubt repeatedly enters. In the same breath, he speaks about the economic importance of the plant: thousands of jobs, education, an entire region dependent on steel.
“We also believe Tata Steel should remain. It is a major employer, deeply embedded in the IJmond.”
Then, almost apologetically:
“But it must be clean.”
Since taking office in 2020, in the midst of the pandemic, Olthof has been navigating between enforcement and cooperation. He speaks with residents concerned about their health — parents told by the RIVM that their children face the highest risks — and with workers afraid of losing their livelihoods.
“From one side you hear: this must stop. From the other: this must not be lost. And in between, I have to hold my line.”
He says it without hesitation, but something in his tone suggests fatigue — or perhaps routine. His predecessor stumbled over this dossier. That will not happen to him.
On enforcement, he says: “We have imposed fines, up to millions. And if that does not work, the next step follows.”
Yet it sounds less forceful than it appears. Tata Steel and Harsco successfully challenged nearly half a million euros in fines over graphite emissions at the Council of State.
Olthof signed that letter of intent on behalf of the province.
Officially an enforcer, but also a negotiator — part of the same process that determines whether and how Tata Steel can continue to exist.
“We must ensure that rules are enforced,” he said earlier, “but also that the transition proceeds. That requires cooperation.”
He emphasises his independence.
“Enforcement is not a political choice. It lies with the environmental agency.”
Yet that agency falls under provincial responsibility — his responsibility.
When it failed, he temporarily withdrew its authority.
And while he speaks of “transparency” and “consistent policy”, reports and investigations suggest otherwise: environmental measurements are largely conducted by the company itself, independent checks often reveal higher values, and reports are only made public under pressure.
Olthof calls himself no engineer.
“I am not a technician,” he says, “but I do understand that there are limits.”
There is a certain awe in his words. Filters “as large as this building”, pipes that “would not fit in this room”.
“When I started, I thought: how difficult can a filter be? Now I know: it is complex.”
But complexity can also serve as a shield.
His words move fluidly between responsibility and limitation.
“I don’t mind losing cases in court,” he says. “At least then you know you are testing the boundaries.”
It sounds bold — and yet something lingers.
When the conversation turns to trust, he says:
“The local baker must follow the rules. Tata Steel no less.”
He smiles briefly.
As the interview ends, he stands up. Neatly dressed, but with his shoelaces still untied — as if he, too, is in the middle of a process that hasn’t quite been tied together yet.