Laura ten Brink



It was a bright day in late August, in front of the provincial government building in Haarlem.
The sun fell across the square where around forty people stood with banners, cardboard signs and drums.
The message: Stop Tata.
Among them stood Laura ten Brink — calm, attentive, speaking with passersby who paused to listen. “We’re not against the people at Tata,” she says. “We don’t want them to lose their jobs or end up in hardship. But sometimes a factory simply can’t continue to exist.”



Laura is active with Kappen met Kolen and Extinction Rebellion. She describes the attitude of politics and government as “head-in-the-sand politics.”
“Everyone knows this model isn’t sustainable,” she says. “And yet we keep acting as if there’s still time. As if it will somehow resolve itself. I find that difficult — it feels like no one truly wants to face the seriousness of it.” I tell her about a former Tata worker, a true IJmuiden local who knows the company from the inside.

He described Tata as “a foolish company” — not because the people are foolish, but because of its closed culture.
Laura nods. “Yes, exactly that. That closed-off nature, that inward-looking culture — it’s what makes change so difficult. The entire region is intertwined with it.”
She understands that loyalty.
“Tata used to be everything: your pension, your sports club, your holidays — your entire life. People could buy cheap food, received benefits, had security.
That creates a bond. And I understand that.” “That’s why we keep saying: we’re not against you, but against the pollution.
But the longer it continues, the harder it becomes to separate those two.”
In her view, the idea of mass unemployment after closure is outdated.
“There’s research by Intelligence Group. There’s a huge demand for technical workers in the energy transition. All those people can find work elsewhere — and in a clean sector.”

She points to another misconception.
“We always talk about ‘Dutch workers’, but a large part of the workforce comes from countries like Poland or Turkey. They deserve a good life too. But do they really have that here?”
“Outside Tata, wages are often lower, contracts worse. And at the same time, the company regularly lays people off. 
How loyal can you remain under those conditions?”

She is sceptical about the plans for green steel.
“It keeps being pushed back. First it was supposed to start in 2025, now it’s 2030. And each time we hear the same promise: if we get funding, we’ll go green.”
“But the massive offshore wind farms Tata depends on aren’t even being realised. So how realistic is that? If you don’t intervene now, you’re not taking the climate crisis seriously.”

Tattoo Steel
Her group’s demand is clear: revoke the permits for the coke plants.
“We’ve been saying this for three years,” she says. “Without those permits, there is no business case for coal-based steel. Then the pollution finally stops.”
She sighs.
“Politicians say: it’s legally complicated. But that’s fear. And I understand that too — it takes courage to confront powerful companies.”
“But if you don’t have that courage, why be in office at all?”
Political support is fragile.
“Groenlinks party supports us, but together with the Labour Party it becomes diluted.
Even the Socialist Party hesitates, because they say they stand with workers.”
“But who stands with their health?”
Encounters with workers can be tense.
“We’ve been shouted at, even driven at during actions,” she says.
“But I prefer to talk. If someone from Tata emails me, I engage. We want to understand how they see it.” 
“We’re not fighting against them, but for health — theirs included.”

Ishan, Ali and Maurice at Blast Furnace 6, Tata Steel IJmuiden.
“Sometimes it feels like we’re talking to a wall,” she says.
“But if we stay silent, nothing will change at all. So we keep speaking out. Even if it takes years.”
She looks up, toward the sun behind the trees.
“There is no other choice.”

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