Margriet van Dijken
Margriet van Dijken is a freelance investigative journalist examining how global economic interests undermine the livability and autonomy of local communities. Her work addresses issues such as mass tourism, marine and coastal exploitation, and mining. Her reporting has appeared in Vrij Nederland, Dagblad van het Noorden, and Donau magazine.
Alongside her journalistic work, she wrote the nonfiction novel “Tiemen, Milkman of ’t Hogeland”, an account of her father’s life and work as a rural milkman in northern Groningen. The book documents his daily routines, his role within the local community, and the impact of his fatal accident. Through a combination of personal recollection and regional history, she preserves the story of a profession and a way of life that has largely disappeared.
Expertise
Conflicting interests between corporations, government and local communities | Narrative nonfiction rooted in regional history | Neocolonial power structures | Social Domain: youth care, homelessness issues, and mental health services (GGZ) | Mining and extractive industries (gas and salt extraction) | History and geopolitics of Indonesia, the Balkans, Russia and the Southern Caucasus
Recent publications
https://www.vn.nl/parasiteren-op-het-paradijs
Featured article
The Indonesian island of Sumba has become the latest frontier for foreign entrepreneurs seeking to build digital‑nomad enclaves in the Global South. Inspired by Bali’s transformation into a remote‑work hub, the Spanish startup Eco Beach City markets Sumba as “the new Bali,” offering investors a plot of land for under ten thousand euros and promising to open the world’s largest digital‑nomad city by 2025. The project targets Europeans with modest savings who are priced out of their own housing markets, selling not just property but an aspirational lifestyle in a tropical paradise. Yet for many locals, this vision feels less like opportunity and more like a new form of imperialism.
Local guide Yuliana calls the influx of foreign investors “new imperialism,” stressing that land on Sumba is traditionally passed down through families. Rising land prices push communities to sell ancestral land for short‑term gain, a dynamic captured in a local saying: “Javanese sell meatballs to buy land; Sumbanese sell land to buy meatballs.” Her concerns echo broader anxieties across Indonesia, where the government encourages tourism beyond overcrowded Bali, despite the environmental and social pressures mass tourism has already created there.
As Bali’s land prices soar, developers turn to “hidden pearls” like Sumba. Much of the island’s coastline is already in foreign hands, though construction remains limited. Land acquisition is further complicated by adat, Sumba’s traditional legal system, which assigns land ownership to communities rather than individuals. This, combined with a rigid class hierarchy and frequent land scams, has led to disputes and even violence.
Experts warn that tourism often reinforces power imbalances: profits flow abroad while locals are left with low‑paid jobs and disrupted communities.
Meanwhile, doubts are growing about whether Eco Beach City will ever materialize. If the project collapses, many small‑scale investors—drawn in by the promise of passive income in paradise—risk losing their savings. Beneath the language of sustainability and community lies a familiar pattern: wealthy outsiders reshape local landscapes while those who live there bear the consequences.