Presentator, Journalist
The Kolping neighborhood in my hometown of Nijmegen had long held a poor reputation. Begun in the 1950s as an affordable working-class district—an answer to the post-war housing crisis in the city—it eventually developed into a troubled area.
The Kolping is typical of hundreds of such neighborhoods in the Netherlands: located near the railway tracks, small houses, narrow streets. The district borders the beautiful contrast of the Goffertpark, a green oasis in the city and home to top-division football club NEC.
Over time, the area became something of a “drain” on the housing market. A steady influx of socially vulnerable residents began—former homeless people, caravan dwellers, migrant workers, the unemployed, and addicts. This led to tensions, aggression, and—much to the sadness of many long-time residents—a deeply negative image. There are times when, during disturbances, certain individuals or families wield more influence than the local police.
When housing association Talis decided to embark on a social restructuring and renovation of the neighborhood, it gave my colleague Jan Olaf Boorsma and me the impetus to develop a series for NPO 1 about the neighborhood’s metamorphosis. We felt inspired by Talis’ traditional ideal of social uplift.
Rents would hardly increase, and new tenants would have to meet certain criteria—such as having a steady job and no criminal record. It was a rescue plan—mentally, socially, and physically. Homes were to be demolished or renovated. A massive operation. Many residents, often elderly and deeply attached to their homes, had to temporarily relocate. A tight schedule. Much discomfort. Or worse.
As producers of the six-part series, we at Panda Media acted as remote coaches throughout the production. It was a major undertaking, nearly a full year. With great social intuition, director Hester van Dijk managed—despite tough conditions—to gain and keep the trust of the people of Kolping.
But shaping the series was monastic work. The sequence of events, the chronology of renovations, the joys and struggles of the residents, the sudden disappearance of storylines, the unexpected turns—it was a puzzle that demanded the utmost during both filming and editing. Yet it became a compelling series, filled with striking scenes and touching protagonists.
NEC supporter Loetje, the hero of the series, rough on the outside but pure of heart. Amid demolition and discomfort, always cheerful and optimistic. Joop and Bets, who long refuse to move simply because their lace curtains won’t fit the new windows. The ever-so-caring neighborhood manager Bert from Talis, who always leads with his heart and rarely says no to residents. Even helping—amid a parade of garden hoses and trash bins—to transport a pond full of koi carp to a new spot in the neighborhood.
Then there’s Elly, the housing advisor from Talis, firm on the rules and unafraid to push back against difficult tenants. The emotion surrounding a long-deceased little dog, dug up from a backyard to be secretly reburied a bit farther on in Goffertpark. Elderly Rinus and Ietje, weathering the stress. Gentle Cor, living with his mother, and knowing she will not live to see the move. A heartwarming mosaic.
I recently went back. Quality of life in the Kolping neighborhood has clearly improved. It looks spotless. A place to be proud of again. Although, of course, you never quite know what became of the “real troublemakers” of the past—excluded from the redevelopment. That problem must have shifted elsewhere: the classic waterbed effect.
But there’s no denying that the housing corporation has succeeded in giving many people a new, better future—in a neighborhood they’ve always loved, despite everything. In many ways, it’s an inspiring story.
The series also had an unexpected epilogue. The regional newspaper De Gelderlander asked readers to vote on the question: who is the most “Nijmegen-ish” Nijmegen resident? By an overwhelming majority, the answer was: “Loetje from the Kolping.”
