The response to my diaries on Denmark has been overwhelming. Many of you have commented on the nation’s homogeneity and argued with me and one another over its importance for democratic socialism. Where does it come from, you ask, and how will immigration affect it? I think December is a good time to offer an explanation since Danish Christmas manifests much of the culture that supports its homogeneity. Here’s a crash course.
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Christmas in Denmark is not a holiday but a season. It marks the darkest time of the year and mixes a Christian pageant with pagan traditions.
It casually starts on December 1 or in late November, which is always disconcerting to us American expats because we haven’t celebrated Thanksgiving yet. We know it’s Christmas time when we see the exterior of major department stores wrapped in white lights; when large sections of supermarkets are devoted to thousands of ornaments and other Scandinavian tchotchkes; and - most importantly - when the dates for scheduled Christmas lunches are put on calendars.
The Julefrokost – literally, Christmas lunch - is a perfect example of what creates Danish homogeneity. It is a celebration of exclusivity and a manifestation of the “insider”/”outsider” mentality that marks so much of the culture. A paradox? Yes.
It must be said that these “lunches” are neither lunch nor any other type of mid-day meal. The event starts late in the afternoon after dark and lasts until 2 or 3 in the morning. They feature a traditional menu with (lots of) snaps and beer imbibed with a common ritual, which everybody knows and to which everybody conforms. Specifically, if during the course of the meal, someone – anyone - raises his glass and says “skål,” then everybody else must stop eating and talking, raise their glasses, look at the person across the table and say: “skål.”
If you attend a Christmas lunch, you can expect to be there for seven to eight hours, basking in the warmth of human familiarity. During a typical Christmas season, the average Dane will probably attend no less than two, but maybe as many as four or five Julefrokosts. The reason for this is the social structure of Danish society, the very foundation of their homogeneity.
Danes love to “belong” and the average Dane will be affiliated with at least two, maybe three, hobby organizations/extracurricular activities. They might be members of a choir; a horticultural club; a tango/salsa or line dancing group; a non-fiction reading society; a club for riding Icelandic horses; a kayak/canoe club; a yoga/tai chi class; a gourmet cooking club; a Thai/Korean/Chinese cooking class; a tennis or badminton team; an association for playing bridge or chess; or maybe a senior citizen current affairs discussion group. Parallel to these clubs are one’s professional associations: the workplace, the various Boards you might sit on and an organization one volunteers for.
Every workplace, organization or club will probably have a Christmas lunch. And here’s the cardinal rule: “Outsiders” are never invited. Never.
Whenever we ask ethnic Danes about this principle of exclusivity, we hear: “Sådan er det!” “That’s just the way we do things.” What they’re not saying is that this is the way they groom and protect their welfare state.
And that’s the paradox.
Ironically, homogeneity results from this peculiar kind of exclusivity. Why? Because all Danes know how it feels to “belong” and how it feels to have confidence in others. Please understand this: Danish homogeneity is not the consequence of Viking Scandinavian heritage. Denmark has assimilated many other ethnic groups into its society since the Napoleonic Wars.
Danish homogeneity is the result of a shared mentality.
Cliques Lead to Bonding
A welfare state is founded on mutual trust. And people can only trust people they know. Therefore, social bonding is critical; a form of interpersonal glue that builds social capital. In Denmark, it starts in elementary school when assignments are done in groups and not individually. Later, in high school there is always a field trip – called study tours – not to a local museum but to distant cities. (Florence, Italy and Prague are favorite destinations.) When my daughter participated in these, I expected her to come home with observations about Italian art or Czech music. Hardly. What these trips are about is building bonds and creating shared experiences. And then again, when the young adults enter university or some other form of higher education, the first thing they do is a rustur: a local excursion on large buses; a going away together for one or two overnights, far from everyday life so they can get to know one another. They organize meals and cook together. Later, they clean up and then sit up … until dawn … talking and talking and talking.
What results are “in group” social units. Some might call them institutionalized cliques. Danes (Norwegians, Swedes) are obsessed with this because bonding and bridging is a Scandinavian institutional welfare state concept. So when you join and participate in one of the many “hobby” activities (as listed above), you become bonded with others. To have “outsiders” at a Christmas lunch would be totally inappropriate because they wouldn’t be “bonded” to the others in that particular group. But then – and this is very important - you wouldn’t be bonded to the “outsiders’ ’” groups either. Everybody is bonded some place.
The Julefrokost in the Danish workplace has always raised eyebrows for Americans because – unlike the annual Christmas party in the US – spouses/partners are not invited. Why should they be? They don’t know the others on a day-to-day basis. They are “outsiders.”
All this is totally alien to Americans because our social capital is built on “the more the merrier.” We hate exclusivity. And we respect sentimentality. The idea of someone being alone on Thanksgiving is intolerable to most Americans. Yet if you ask a Dane (married to an American) if you can bring a stranger home for turkey and pumpkin pie, be prepared for a horrified reaction. An “outsider” at the table? No way!
Why this concern with “outsiders?” The answer is hygge, a concept that is a noun, a verb, an adjective, an adverb and arguably the most important word in the Danish language.
A frequent English translation of hygge is “cozy,” but this shallow interpretation says very little about its essence. Hygge is a mentality and it means to feel relaxed and accepted; to feel emotionally safe. In short, to trust and be trusted. A hyggelig social occasion means that conversation is affable and generous. And since you are likely to find this atmosphere among people with whom you are bonded through shared experiences, “outsiders” would interfere with hygge.
I am using Christmas as my case study here but the same principles apply for other major social events such as a Silver/Golden Wedding Anniversary or a round birthday (30, 40, 50, 60 etc.). Once again, Danes have strict boundaries around categories of “insiders” and “outsiders.”
Think of concentric circles. The bull’s eye at the center represents an individual’s biological family (familien). The first circle coming out from the center represents one’s closest - very closest - friends and colleagues (nærmeste). The next circle represents ordinary friends (venner). The next to last circle represents ordinary acquaintances (bekendte). The very last circle represents strangers. In order to assure hygge, these events will start with familien and the nærmeste and then, depending on the size and purpose of the event, several venner. But seldom bekendte. And strangers? Never.
Think of it this way: “Inger” is “Anna’s” very best friend (nærmeste) while she is merely an acquaintance (bekendte) of “Lone” who is someone’s big sister (familien) but also one of “Lars’ ” very good friends (venner). The circles intersect at points and everybody has a place and knows their place. Bekendter, for example, never expect to be invited to a 50th birthday or to someone’s wedding.
In contrast with American “the more the merrier,” Danish friendships are exclusive, deep and well established. This explains why many Americans find Danes emotionally distant and why it’s generally difficult making friends with them. Until you get into one of the inner circles, you are literally a stranger and an “outsider.” It is also one explanation for the famous suicide statistics in Scandinavia. To be an “outsider” is intolerably lonely.
The Main Event
After the round of Christmas lunches, comes the principal holiday, not one day but five: December 23 is Little Christmas Evening (Lille Juleaften); December 24 is the main event: Juleaften; December 25 is Christmas Day (1. Juledag); December 26 is Second Christmas Day (2. Juledag).
And now Danes exercise exclusivity once again: Christmas Eve (the 24th) is not to be celebrated with friends or colleagues, but with family only, i.e. the “nuclear family” plus grandparents; maybe an aunt or uncle and a few cousins. But never “outsiders.” It is assumed that all non-family “significant others” are elsewhere with their own families. If you want to celebrate Christmas with your closest friends - many of whom you might actually prefer to your biological family – then you must wait until 1. Juledag or 2. Juledag when you’ll share (another) Christmas lunch.
Christmas Eve begins with lighting candles on the tree and singing songs, both secular and religious. My favorite is Et Barn er Født i Betlehem. Another, more secular one is Nu Er Det Jul Igen, when everybody literally runs through the house, room to room, in order to spread Christmas spirit. The food is traditional and it is fair to say that 99.9% of Danes eat the same things on December 24: roast duck or pork with red cabbage and sugar browned potatoes. Christmas dessert is ris a la mande, made with rice and fresh cream, dribbled with cherry sauce. Everyone eats this very carefully, searching with their tongues for a whole almond in their individual portion. The winner wins a prize called a mandelgave.
Nisser
You’re not alone while all this is going on. Up in the rafters of your home are little elf-like creatures, wearing redcaps and wooden shoes, visible only at Christmas. You have to be nice to them or else they’ll cast a spell on you so that you lose your car keys or reading glasses whenever you need them. They play a big part in Danish Christmas when they appear in plays and Christmas TV shows and the most popular song is a tribute to risengrød, the porridge that you leave out to placate them. Every Dane knows this song by heart.
Denmark is nominally Lutheran with Islam as the nation’s second largest religion. So how do Muslims, cope with Danish Christmas? First generation immigrants are likely to ignore it. Many second generation Muslims, however, find it easy to experience a Danish Christmas through their various affiliations. If you’re a doctor at a hospital, you’ll be invited to your department’s Christmas lunch. If you play soccer, you’ll be invited to your club’s Christmas lunch. If you’re a member of a Danish-as-a-second-language course, you’ll be a part of their Christmas celebration. Apple cider replaces snaps and beer. And it’s easy to avoid pork.
A foreigner’s adaptation to Danish life is the subject of another diary. But at Christmas, it’s fair to say that the lights cut through the darkness for everyone.
Enough now. Glædelig Jul!