I had promised myself that the first blog of 2025 would be more optimistic. And it will be — truly. But sometimes reality catches up with you and keeps you awake at night. Not because of geopolitics or an unpredictable American president. No, this time it hit much closer to home. I’ll end with hope — I promise.
It happens far too often now — but it will never feel normal. In recent weeks, three young people on the waiting list who were due to begin at Yes We Can ended their lives before they ever made it through our doors. The first question we always ask ourselves is: could we have done more? Should we have scaled up faster, so we could have helped sooner? That’s not an easy task in a country like the Netherlands. Often, there’s no clear way it could have been prevented. But sometimes — and far too often — the reason is painfully clear.
An example: one family whose child didn’t make it last year was told by their municipality that their son couldn’t access care: the budget had run out. They were told to try again the next year or look for a local, outpatient solution. Even the local provider strongly recommended Yes We Can, because of the complexity involved. But the response didn’t change: no budget. Read that sentence again: The budget had run out. Come back next year. As if this family hadn’t already been through hell.
To all our valued colleagues at insurers, government bodies and municipalities who support us year after year: please don’t get me wrong — this is not about you. This is about a Dutch healthcare system that clings to bureaucracy like it’s oxygen — while people suffocate waiting. We are a country that loves to lecture others about human rights or civil society. But in our own bubble of prosperity — where 18 million people have grown up in freedom — we’ve allowed ourselves to become so tangled in bureaucracy and rules of our own making that it now costs lives.
So after a week in which yet again young people didn’t make it, I ask:
In what other sector is “the budget is exhausted” a legitimate reason to deny access to something life-critical? This isn’t about lack of funding. It’s about the wrong choices.
By the time parents and young adults seek help — when they realise they truly can’t go it alone — that’s when the real fight begins. That’s how parents have described it to us: a fight.
What makes the Dutch system so fragile is that you must battle through a maze of bureaucracy — facing opponents fully equipped to tell you what can’t be done, but rarely able to say what can. And you have to fight this battle at your most vulnerable. Parents told us they had to learn about procurement, care regions, neighbourhood teams, mediators — and all the other desks and tables that get to decide over their child’s wellbeing. All the while, they had already made their choice. They had already seen the path they wanted to follow, read the stories, listened to people they trust. They weren’t asking for a discussion. They were asking for help.
Eventually, these parents found their way. And we’re grateful we could play a part. But the parents of the boy who didn’t make it? They fought, too. But they lost — not to his illness, but to the system.
A senior official at the Dutch Ministry of Health once called our healthcare reform “the largest operation ever” — one that would “make care more affordable and patients healthier”. In hindsight, the claim feels almost Trumpian.
Twenty years on, the rules have only grown more complex. No one dares to speak the real problem out loud: We are trapped in a bureaucratic creation of our own making. And too few people truly care — because they don’t have to face it themselves. Policy too often revolves around the system, rather than a father, mother, son or daughter in need of help.
There’s a brilliant (and exceptionally stubborn) healthcare professional I haven’t seen in years: his name is Wim. Sometimes, the paths of people who once thought alike quietly drift apart — without any clear reason. He once summed the government policy up in a single sentence: “Operation Succeeded, Patient Died”.
It does. Because — just as darkness is overcome by light — there is so much hope in what is already happening in the Netherlands:
That’s why we keep fighting. Because every fellow who heals proves this fight matters. Because hope is always stronger than despair.
This isn’t just about "healthcare". This is about how we — as a society — choose to deal with vulnerability. Because we will all face it someday.
The question is: do we value systems more than people? Change takes courage in The Hague — but just as much bravery from all of us. And we can change it — if we choose to. Because, as always: Yes We Can.
As long as there are parents who keep fighting, young people who dare to hope, and people who continue to help one another — waiting time will never be the end of the story.
The problem isn’t a lack of funding — it’s a lack of courage. As long as policy is driven by control and fear instead of trust, bureaucracy will continue to occupy the very spaces where help was meant to be.
