The Dutch village at risk of being demolished

Nestled along a sprawling estuary in the southern region of the Netherlands, the village of Moerdijk—home to approximately 1,100 residents—faces the possibility of being erased from existence. Located 34km (21 miles) south of Rotterdam, this once-thriving fishing community is now at the center of a national debate over green energy expansion. The Dutch government has identified the area as a strategic site for high-voltage substations, which would serve as critical links for transmitting power from offshore wind farms to the mainland grid. Yet, the land is scarce, and the decision to site these facilities here has sparked fierce resistance from locals.

Moerdijk’s position on the Hollands Diep estuary, adjacent to major ports, highways, and existing power lines, makes it an ideal candidate for such infrastructure. However, this proximity also means that the village’s character—its narrow streets, weathered buildings, and centuries-old fishing traditions—is under threat. Residents, like third-generation fishmonger Jaco Koman, fear their homes and way of life may be swept away within a decade.

“We are being brought to the slaughter house,” says Jaco Koman, who has spent his life in the trade. From his office, overlooking the shimmering waterway, he gestures toward the horizon. His family has fished these waters since 1918, and his company continues to raise live eels for smoking—a practice rooted in Dutch heritage—and supply them to elite restaurants nationwide. He laughs as he warns me to be cautious around the wriggling fish, their dark, slender bodies filling massive tanks in the warehouse behind him.

Koman acknowledges the country’s push for clean energy but questions the choice of Moerdijk. “Why here?” he asks, echoing the sentiment of many villagers. They argue that converter stations for offshore wind projects could be placed further out at sea, avoiding the disruption of established communities. Still, the plan moves forward, leaving residents in a state of uncertainty.

The village’s streets now reflect this anxiety. For sale signs dot gravel paths, yet few buyers dare commit to a place that might vanish. A somber atmosphere hangs over the community, with flags drooping at half mast—a gesture of mourning for a village that technically still exists. At the local grocery shop, owner Andrea shares the emotional weight of the situation. “My husband built this home with his own hands,” she says. “All three of our children were born here. I’m scared I’ll lose everything.”

“There’s so much life here. But in 10 years, it may be nothing,” Andrea adds, her voice trembling. The loss of her family’s home is compounded by concerns over the village cemetery, where her grandparents and in-laws rest. “What happens to the graves?” she wonders, highlighting the personal stakes in the broader energy transition.

Moerdijk’s struggle mirrors a national challenge. The Netherlands, one of the world’s most densely populated countries, must balance competing needs on limited land—housing, farming, nature, transport, and now renewable energy infrastructure. In some areas, the electricity grid is already overwhelmed, forcing projects to wait years for connections. Yet, the government remains resolute, prioritizing large-scale offshore wind development. Geerten Boogaard, a professor at Leiden University, notes that Moerdijk exemplifies the centralized control of political power in the Dutch system.

“When the national government declares something a vital interest,” Boogaard explains, “it has the tools to push through.” While local councils and residents can object, the central government’s legal authority often prevails. This dynamic, Boogaard says, underscores the tension between progress and preservation in a nation racing to meet its climate goals.