April fools! They wrote the joke that is on them!

This is how the rest of this post reads, and why.

Every section below is a chapter of my life. Each one is a personal narrative — what happened to me, in my own words, with dates and case numbers. Each one is backed by the law they broke, the EU precedent that proves they knew better, and the data that shows I'm not the only one. And each one ends with a conservative estimate of what they owe — not me personally, but everyone they did this to.

The ETHOS report is my ammunition. 11,352 homeless adults. 1,718 homeless children. In the Amsterdam region alone. The law is my cannon. Dutch law. EU law. The European Convention on Human Rights. The UN Convention on the Rights of the Child. Every single one of them broken, documented, and timestamped.

I'm not writing this because I need sympathy. I'm writing this because I'm an engineer, and when systems fail, I document the failure, trace the root cause, and build something better. That's what I did at 17 in Slovenia. That's what I'm doing now at 44 in the Netherlands.

More empty homes than homeless people. And the government's own target for converting vacant buildings into homes — 15,000 per year — was missed. Only 8,675 were completed in 2025. These numbers are almost certainly an undercount. The ETHOS Light methodology the Netherlands uses misses people in cars, on boats, couch-surfing, or rotating between shelters. Adult men who've given up on the system don't show up. I know. I was one of them.

1999: the first time I did this

This was not my first ride.

When I was 17 years old, in Slovenia, I did exactly what I'm doing now. I exposed the systematic failure of the Slovenian state on behalf of the UN Convention on the Rights of the Child — the same convention they had just celebrated ratifying, right in front of my own eyes. I watched them clap. I watched them smile. And then I went home to a system that did nothing for kids like me.

I ended up on national television. Live. And then a documentary. I met with President Kučan. Slovenian UNICEF should still have their records from that time. I still have some old VHS tapes to prove it. I was a kid standing in front of a country telling them: you signed this thing, now actually do it.

Slovenia learned some lessons from that. I remember.

Today, 27 years later, I bring my life, my skills, all my memories, and everything I've built since then to do the same thing I once did at home — remind the public, the governments, and those held accountable that the same system they designed to be used against the people is now designed by me to be used for the people.

2020–2021: the housing chain that broke everything

I was living at [redacted address] in Amstelveen. Good house, high rent, paid for it with a good salary. Then burnout hit — 25 years of broadcast engineering, coordinating teams across time zones, working through the night. COVID on top. One week after I couldn't pay the rent, my landlord S.v.B-L. sent a fat lawyer instead of picking up the phone.

One week. No compromise attempted. No payment plan. No conversation. Just a lawyer's letter to a family with two children and a third on the way.

My own lawyer, E.v.d.L., lost the case — case number [redacted]. She lost it so badly that I later filed a complaint with the Orde van Advocaten, and they upheld it. The Bar Association agreed she failed me. S.'s own lawyer called me after winning to tell me I was right and should have fought it alone. Let that sink in: the winning side's lawyer told the losing side's client he would have won without his own representation.

Then S. sold the house for €640,000 without disclosing the foundation defects I'd warned her about. I'd cleaned almost a ton of moss and mud from her gutters by hand. Identified the foundation lean. She pocketed the money and the buyer got a house with problems she knew about. That's a BW 7:17 conformity violation and potential fraud.

After the eviction, I told Gemeente Amstelveen: wait for the birth of our third child. As a family of five, we'd qualify for proper social housing. H.H. at the Social Team knew this. H.v.d.P. at the housing department knew this. They refused. Locked the priority for 2-3 children, apartments only. We couldn't even add the third child to the Woningnet system because of how they locked the priority.

They pushed us into a small flat at [redacted address] — an EigenHaard social housing unit directly under one of the busiest Schiphol cargo landing strips. Not the passenger terminal. The cargo side. Heavy freight aircraft landing day and night. Metal fences rattling in the wind. Children who couldn't sleep. An environment hostile to recovery, to family life, to any kind of stability.

After we moved in, I discovered that we would have been first choice for a proper family house if they'd waited those few weeks. A house with space, with quiet, with a garden. They didn't wait. And that decision set the trajectory for everything that followed.

2020–2022: the institutional spiral

In 2020, Veilig Thuis was called — by neighbours, not by me, during a domestic argument where I was defending myself. I was given a 10-day stay-away order despite being the one who had called Veilig Thuis myself at least twice before, crying, begging for help, because I could see things falling apart and I couldn't manage it alone.

I called them. Twice. Crying. Begging. They wrote it down. Then they used it against me.

My past DV record from 2015 in the Netherlands — one incident, I was drunk — became my permanent identity in their system. I owned that the day it happened and I've owned it every day since. I stopped drinking. I went to therapy. I changed. But the record doesn't change. The record follows you. The record IS you, forever, in their system. So when I call for help, what they hear is: the perpetrator is calling. Nobody asks what actually happened today.

I stopped calling after that.

Throughout 2020 to 2022, I was in active therapy at De Waag — first with A., then T.P. joined. I was making progress. Reduced drinking to almost nothing, cut smoking by 70%, meditating daily, working on self-regulation skills that don't come easily to someone with my childhood. The professionals could see it.

What I got instead of support was a system that treated every request for help as evidence of dysfunction, and every honest disclosure as ammunition for the next report.

2020–2023: the therapist who became his own judge

We went to therapy as a couple. That's what responsible people do when a relationship is breaking.

The therapist diagnosed me with PTSD from childhood trauma. Wrote it down. Official diagnosis. I have the paper.

Then, without telling me, the same therapist sent reports to child protection services saying I have "undiagnosed mental health issues" and "delusional and paranoid tendencies." But it wasn't just paperwork. During a couples session where I was the one breaking up the relationship — where I was confronting the manipulation and abuse she fuelled along with the social workers and the team that was supposed to protect the kids — I. stormed out. And T.P. told her these things directly. Face to face. Behind my back.

Read that again.

The man who diagnosed my PTSD — who understood exactly where my reactions come from — told a government agency and my ex-partner that I'm delusional. The same diagnosis, reframed to make me a danger instead of a patient. He broke WGBO patient confidentiality. He contaminated the RVDK process with contradictory professional opinion. He weaponised the therapeutic relationship. And when I found out and filed a complaint, guess who handles complaints at that institution?

The same therapist. He is the complaints officer for complaints about himself.

His email to me after I confronted him: "The process failed." Not "I failed." Not "I violated your trust." The process. As if the process is a person and he's just an observer. In January 2026, he admitted in writing: "the whole therapy process was a failure." That email is dated. It's signed. And when the time comes, it will be evidence.

13 May 2023, 02:03 — the email that changed everything

On May 13, 2023, at 2:03 in the morning, I wrote the most important email of my life. It went to the social team lead, CC'd the De Waag therapists and the Altra caseworker. It was titled "Setting the whole story straight once and for all."

I laid out everything. The full history. Where I went wrong. Where the system went wrong. What I needed. I was honest about my mistakes — the drinking, the conflicts, the moments where I lost control. I didn't hide anything. I also documented what was done to me — the false narratives, the ignored calls for help, the professional failures that led directly to my homelessness.

"I want my life restored to the point that I deserved it. I need a home, I need support so I can recover physically and mentally, and be a stable, healthy father."

I told them I was beyond the edge. That my firstborn and my three younger children were the only reason I was still alive. That by Tuesday I would be on the streets if I didn't get help.

"I have already contributed a lot as a taxpayer and I intend to keep it that way only if I am proven that it was actually worth it. And I think my life is worth much more than the money itself."

What happened: the social worker who received it wrote a request to child protection to investigate me. Based on the email I sent asking for fairness. My honesty became their evidence.

I became homeless. February 2023 onwards. Sleeping in hostels, on streets, in my car. My possessions scattered or stolen. A €7,000 custom-built e-bike — gone. Laptops — broken or stolen. Everything I had worked for — dismantled by a system that had the power and the legal obligation to prevent exactly this outcome.

2024: the document they falsified

On May 14, 2024, J.v.d.H. and M.v.d.H. at Sociaal Team Amstelveen filed a VTO — a verzoek tot onderzoek, a request to the Raad voor de Kinderbescherming to investigate my family. That document contained a kidnapping allegation: "Mother is afraid that father will take the children to Slovenia." It contained a suicidal label I was asked to sign without a translator present. It contained 15 negative characterizations of me as a father and zero of the mother. It omitted my 3 formal complaints, my calls to Veilig Thuis begging for help, my PTSD diagnosis. It presented hearsay as fact.

On June 10, 2024, I. — the mother of my children, my ex-partner — corrected the record herself. In J.v.d.H.'s own email, I.'s corrections are listed. About the kidnapping: "Moeder zegt niet bang te zijn dat vader de kinderen wil meenemen naar Slovenië. Zij herkent zich niet in deze uitspraak." Mother says she is NOT afraid. She doesn't recognise this statement. It was fabricated.

About the locked door during an April 2024 incident: it was NOT locked. About the films: the child asked to watch them. About the diaper incident: it was a joke, father apologised. About the problems: "De problemen er zijn in de relatie tussen haar en vader, niet tussen vader en de kinderen." The problems are between parents, not between father and children.

The version of the VTO on my disk — dated June 4, 2024 — does NOT contain I.'s corrections. The kidnapping allegation remains. If the version sent to RVDK also doesn't contain them, that is suppression of exculpatory evidence, falsification of an official child protection document, and potential criminal liability under Article 225 Sr — valsheid in geschrifte.

The lead social worker on this case never met my children. Not once. Not in nine months. They made decisions about a family they had never observed together, never sat in a room with, never looked in the eyes.

2023–2024: three formal complaints, zero accountability

Three formal complaints across 2023 and 2024. Each one documented specific, provable failures. Each one was met with silence, deflection, or implicit threats. The case was closed. No accountability. No compensation. No housing. No admission of error. The case was transferred to Gemeente Amsterdam. Amstelveen passed the problem. Passed the person. Washed their hands.

But they didn't just hear from me three times. They heard from me across 13 complaint addresses, in 60+ formal emails, over 3 years. Gemeente Amstelveen, Mayor P. directly, Veilig Thuis, GGD Amsterdam, Jeugdbescherming, the external complaints commission, Ombudsman Metropool Amsterdam, BPSW, Orde van Advocaten, Raad van Discipline. Every single channel the system offers. I exhausted them all.

2023–2026: three rifles and a helicopter

Before November 22, 2023, a Polish addict attacked me on my boat. Swung a heavy steel garden table frame at my head — missed by one inch. Hit me in the chest and knee. Twenty-plus heavy punches to the side of my head while being choked. I screamed for help. He ran when he saw I couldn't be killed easily.

I sent photos to the police. The wounds, the weapon, the swollen face. I begged them to put me on high alert. They refused. I begged them to keep the case open — the attacker was threatening to come back. They refused. He came back twice more. Officer P.R. closed the case in roughly five days, writing "no evidence" — despite having a photo of the attacker and a physical description.

So I bought a fake gun. A thing that shoots harmless rubber balls. Stupid? Yes. I know that now. I didn't know a real model exists that looks almost identical. I just wanted to feel safe on my own boat because the people whose job it is to keep me safe weren't doing their job.

On November 22, 2023 — the same day GEA Family was going public — C.R.S. attacked me on the boat. What followed was the most disproportionate police response I have ever witnessed or experienced. They sent a SWAT team. Three men with real rifles aimed at my head, metres away. Two sides of the canal near Zuid station blocked off. A helicopter circling above. Dozens of police. For me. For a man with a rubber-ball gun on a boat.

One officer — I'll never forget his face — looked at me and said: "In the Netherlands, everyone burns. Even for honest mistakes."

In the police car, another told me I'd get four to five years. He was almost laughing when I started crying.

In the cell: no working TV. They gave me Evangelical books to read. Nobody asked what I believe. Nobody asked if I was okay. Nobody asked about the man who tried to kill me and why the police never arrested him. I kept ringing the bell every hour asking where my lawyer was. Calm, but annoying AF.

They remember me.

After release, I went to my lawyer B.S.'s office. He refused to shake my hand. This is the same lawyer the Orde van Advocaten later upheld complaints against — case [redacted], decision July 22, 2024. The DA — the prosecution — was more compassionate than my own defense lawyer. Let that speak for itself.

Court outcome: acquitted on public threats and vulgar language. Conditional sentence for the fake gun: therapy and 2 years probation. The man who attacked me? Never charged. Case [redacted].

And that's not all. Seven police incidents across three jurisdictions — Amstelveen, Amsterdam-Zuid, Amsterdam. Spanish squatters attacked me with a phone recording as evidence: police refused to arrest. A woman attacked me in Amstelveen: the officer tried to physically intimidate me, refused to file my complaint. A lawyer's son — a self-alleged Hell's Angels biker gang member, high on cocaine — kicked me in the face. Nine officers responded, tried to twist my arm, I reversed the grip, demanded they articulate a crime before I'd cooperate. Released within the hour. They even offered me a ride home. Since then I've been receiving strange invites from seemingly fake HA profiles and texts from unknown numbers — one of which had particular knowledge about my legal cases in the Netherlands.

Three jurisdictions. Seven incidents. I was the victim every time. Zero protection. Zero justice.

On March 14, 2026, Amstelveen police called me. SubZero was witness. They told me my documented, formal, evidence-based complaints were "accusations against their behaviour" and that "all officers say the same things about me." That was their answer to three years of filing.

2026: Amstelveen is still breaking the law

As of April 2026, Gemeente Amstelveen's own website — amstelveen.nl/briefadres-aanvragen — still publishes briefadres requirements that directly contradict national law.

The 2022 amendment to the Wet BRP is clear: if a person cannot find a private briefadresgever, the gemeente must provide one. Not "may." Not "in exceptional cases." Must. The word used by the Rijksoverheid is verplicht — obligatory.

Amstelveen's website requires written consent of a briefadresgever, ID copies of both parties, both appearing in person. Only buried at the bottom does it mention the gemeente may provide one "in bijzondere gevallen" — exceptional cases. A national legal obligation converted into a discretionary favour.

A municipality that still contradicts national law four years after that law was enacted is not making a bureaucratic error. It is making a policy choice. And that choice has consequences measured in human lives. Mine was one of them. There are 11,352 more in this region alone.

The child safety paradox

While Amstelveen's social services had the resources, budget, and institutional energy to investigate me, compile reports based on hearsay, hold meetings I wasn't properly informed about, and produce documentation containing false allegations — they did not have the capacity to do the one thing that would have actually helped my children: provide their father with a stable home.

The system created the instability. Then it investigated me for being unstable. Then it used that instability as evidence that I was unfit.

This is not a failure. This is a design. The machinery of surveillance runs smoothly. The machinery of care is permanently broken.

My son has a prosthetic leg. He's been treated by the best team in Europe, in Utrecht. They know him. They know his body. They know how he grows and how the prosthesis needs to adapt. His mother wanted to transfer him to Amsterdam — different team, worse outcomes by every measure. I fought this. Not for custody. Not for control. For his leg. For the team that knows how to keep him walking. And a court that has a file on me built from contaminated evidence has to decide.

Finland proved it can be done

Finland's Housing First model starts from a simple premise: give people a home first. Don't make sobriety a prerequisite. Don't make employment a condition. Give them the home. Then help with everything else. The Y-Foundation operates 18,000 apartments across 57 cities. Rent is legally capped at cost. Social workers are paid by the state.

The Netherlands has the money. Has the buildings. Has the legal framework. What it does not have is the political will to treat its own citizens the way Finland treats theirs.

What they owe — conservative estimate

The costs of my homelessness since February 2023 are documented. Every category below is based on documented evidence, formal complaint records, and established Dutch legal precedent. These are conservative figures.

And that's before criminal prosecution costs, ECHR damages (separate, additional), or a potential class action if other families experienced the same patterns. Before the property fraud claim where I'm a paid expert witness. Before the public exposure that forces settlement premiums.

€3.5 million is not fantasy. It's math. Under Article 6:162 BW, if a government body acts unlawfully — including by failing to act when legally required — and this causes damage, the affected person can claim compensation. No lawyer is required at any stage of Dutch administrative proceedings.

Your rights — for everyone reading this

"I told them karma gets everyone!"

They tried to accuse me of threatening them.
This is the karma. I warned them.