Text: Marjolein de Jong | Photo: David Meulenbeld | April 4, 2022
You studied economics at VU University Amsterdam in the 1980s. What kind of student were you?
“Because of my professional squash career, I wasn’t your typical student. I chose the university mainly because of its location. There were two large squash clubs just a few hundred meters away, and the Amsterdamse Bos was right around the corner—everything my competitive athlete’s heart desired. I trained before and after class. Though I did plenty of typical student activities on the side, too. I actually enjoyed the program so much that I took ten years to complete it.'
Did you have a specific goal in mind when you started the program?
“I didn’t really know what I wanted to do. It was a pragmatic choice. It wasn’t until I was in the program that I discovered literature and gradually developed a romantic desire to become a writer. The final project of my studies was a paper on economic history. The professor to whom I submitted the paper called me a worthless writer. I thought my experience in elite sports had steeled me against criticism, but that comment left me reeling for three days. I thought: What on earth am I supposed to do now?”
“Especially in the early days at Quote, I portrayed people ruthlessly”
A job at an internet company turned out to be your next stop, where you stayed only briefly. Not your thing?
"The transition from the solitary existence of a top athlete and the wild life I led on the side to the straitjacket of corporate life was hard for me. A three-piece suit became the symbol of the straitjacket that my job had become. Suddenly I had to do things, and on top of that, I found it complicated to deal with a business model that didn’t resonate with me at all.'
And then you ended up as a writer on the editorial staff of the business magazine *Quote*, where you later became deputy editor-in-chief. A dream come true?
“I didn’t know the magazine. I applied and, to my surprise, was invited by Jort (Kelder, ed.) for an interview. He thought it was funny that I came from an entrepreneurial family and had been a top athlete. It wasn’t until years later that I learned I would have simply been kicked out if I couldn’t write. I wrote my first pieces while crying at the computer. With longer articles, I’d get stuck; I was insecure. I could tell stories—sharing anecdotes at the bar about my squash adventures abroad—but writing was something else entirely. I dragged myself through it.’
In the run-up to this interview, I spoke with mutual acquaintances in the industry. Among other things, they described you as a pit bull. Do you ever bite too hard?
“Especially in the beginning at Quote, I portrayed people ruthlessly. I came from the world of sports; I wanted to win, and there’s something aggressive about that. That combative spirit went hand in hand with a growing sense of commitment. Those pieces weren’t unwarranted, but when I reread some of them, I think: gosh, that was harsh.’
“When it comes to people who commit a crime with premeditation, I start to growl.”
What brings out your fangs?
“The greater the social impact of injustice, the angrier I get. Look, some perpetrators gradually slipped into that world. Take the bankers who applied for jobs at ABN Amro in the 1990s and developed complex and shady products like derivatives. If you don’t reflect too much on your own work, you can end up on a slippery slope. It’s still stupid, but it can happen, I suppose. But when it comes to people who commit a crime with premeditation, that’s when I really start to growl.
In that context, I often think back to my education and am still amazed by how limited the discourse was at the university back then. We learned how things worked, but not the “why” behind them. Ethical or philosophical issues were hardly ever discussed. It’s asking for trouble when students who later become bankers or accountants don’t grapple with that aspect. Economics is, par excellence, a moral science. Everything I do has to do with morality. As a journalist, you’re also a preacher.’
I can imagine that some cases involve a lot of work, yet little or nothing changes as a result. Does that frustrate you?
“Sometimes it does, although some cases do end up becoming relevant later on. Take Russia, for example. Last year, we published a major article about the law firm Houthoff, which is also known as the ‘Kremlin of the Zuidas.’ With the war in Ukraine, that investigation has suddenly become relevant after all. The partners at that firm have actively chosen to serve that segment of the clientele. In principle, you can seriously question that. After all, you know that regime has been propped up by theft and corruption for twenty years and is increasingly becoming a dictatorship. The people in those firms know that all too well.’
“For me, it’s really about the quest. How did someone pull it off this time?”
You founded FTM twelve years ago now. Are you ever still surprised by anything?
“Humanwickedness neverceases to amaze me. That’s why I’m still curious, and that’s one of the most important prerequisites in journalism. For me, it’s all about the quest. How did someone manage to do that again? It’s always a challenge to see if I can figure it out. I’ve been playing games my whole life. This is an intellectual game.”
One of the cornerstones of your career is the biography you wrote about businesswoman Nina Brink, now Nina Storms. What drew you to her?
'It was the first time I’d come across a woman with questionable morals. On top of that, she gave the toughest guys in town a run for their money. That fascinated me immensely. She was more aggressive than any of the men in the business world I’d ever pursued. Before I knew it, I had a lawyer on my tail. At the time, I saw that only as encouragement. I’ve since come to see things differently.
For years afterward, I was locked in a battle with her. Two years before the book was published, I was already up to my ears in lawsuits. My career, my fortune, a seizure of assets—everything was on the line. I don’t regret it. It was tough, though. There was so much negative energy. I wouldn’t recommend it to anyone.
It didn’t turn out to be a victory for journalism. I have to admit that you can be completely ruined by litigation in the Netherlands. It taught me that as a journalist, you’re very vulnerable. In fact, you’re silenced. It’s important to be legally resilient. That’s why we’ve built up a solid buffer at FTM. Our investigative journalists need to know that we’ll defend them tooth and nail.'
