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Mark has recently returned from Copenhagen from a stint as visiting professor in Australian studies.
Unlike many European cities, Copenhagen appears largely monocultural. Only 6 per cent of the population of Denmark is foreign- born. Immigrants from the Middle East, those from Turkey and Iran comprising the largest ethnic groups, are a small minority of the population. Anti-immigration sentiment in the society is high, evidenced by the fact that the Danish People’s Party attracts the support of about 15 per cent of voters. A sizeable minority of Danes (including certain politicians and newspaper editors) is determined to assert the values of Christianity and the enlightenment as being more superior and more modern than those of Islam.
During the recent controversy over the decision of Jyllands-Posten, a ‘tabloid’ Danish broadsheet, to publish cartoons satirising Mohammed, much of the public discussion betrayed a breathtaking fear and misunderstanding of Muslim cultures. ‘Freedom of speech’ became the rallying principle that obscured the deep- seated prejudice that fanned much of the debate. The Danish Prime Minister, Anders Fogh Rasmussen, initially refused to apologise, to meet Middle East leaders, or to distance himself from the cartoons. Only when Danish embassies in Damascus, Beirut and Tehran were in flames did he begin to make conciliatory gestures. In the media, much of the discussion tended to focus on the need for immigrants to ‘assimilate’ into mainstream Danish culture. In parliament, some MPs spoke of Islam as ‘mediaeval’ and primitive, and of ‘resettling’ guest workers from Turkey and Iran. The rhetoric only fed the simplistic ‘clash of civilisations’ scenario that terrorists seek to inflame. Riding Copenhagen’s Metro during this time proved unsettling. One morning, a man of distinctly ‘Middle Eastern appearance’ entered the train wearing a large, thickly padded jacket. I could feel my own eyes and those of everyone else in the carriage turn instinctively towards him. Aware that he was being watched - the beads of sweat began to glisten on his brow as his discomfort grew. We are all policemen now.
Unlike France, Holland, Britain or Australia, Denmark has not had to deal with large-scale immigration and cultural difference. It is a locked-liberal society. And getting the keys is not easy. Immigration laws are restrictive. My own experience testifies to that. Although I came here for a fixed period of six months as a visiting professor in Australian studies, my wife (who holds a British passport) and our two daughters were refused residency permits. After the protests and embarrassed pleas of my university colleagues, their visas were finally granted - almost three months after our arrival.
In many ways, the country is a perfect example of an old-world European society with deeply rooted traditions, fearful of the mass migration brought on by the forces of globalisation. Tiny Denmark has big anxieties. The Danish government has tried to shore up traditional identity by producing a ‘cultural canon’, a list of key Danish works in architecture, literature, film and the arts with which all Danes should be familiar, ‘Utzon’s Opera House’ included. In a proposal that would make John Howard envious, there is even talk of a ‘history canon’, a list of key historical events, that would be drummed into all Danish school students. The conservative government appears keen to nail the national creed to the door as a means of reasserting traditional Danish identity and ‘assimilating’ the immigrant population.
As an Australian, I feel fortunate to have experienced daily life in this country. Australia is little heard of in the Danish media yet people do know where to find us. The most frequent mentions, of course, come in connection with Princess Mary. But unlike the British monarchy, (can anything be like them?) the Danish monarchy seems more natural, down-to-earth and at one with its people, enjoying the support of more than 90 per cent of the populace. The Danes I have met possess an effortless grace, intelligence and warmth. Despite the close monitoring of its citizens (identity-card numbers begin with your date of birth) and the oft- quoted impression of social conformity, typical of Scandinavian social democracies, Denmark is one of the most vibrant countries in Europe. More than the usual dusty cultural signposts - writers Karen Blixen and Hans Christian Andersen or the philosopher Soren Kierkegaard - the modern architecture of Copenhagen best captures the spirit of Danish culture.
The new Danish Opera House, for example, is even more ‘majestic’ than the royal palace, which sits directly across Inderhavn, Copenhagen’s main harbour. Atop a multi-level square of glass soars the magnificent roof - an enormous, wide, thin sheet of steel. Looking at the building from the palace side of the harbour, it seems as if the opera house is in a permanent state of readiness for flight. Perhaps this impression is exaggerated by the white wind turbines turning furiously in the background, which across the country provide the nation with about 20 per cent of its electricity. Further along Inderhavn lies the new Royal Library - ‘The Black Diamond’ - a building which gives the impression of being in a constant process of movement - standing up, reshaping, reforming. The glass facade allows light to stream in as you ride the escalators up to the main reading room, the black waters of the harbour still visible below. Sunlight fills the entrance foyer and hall of the building, creating a wonderfully open feeling about the prospect of exploring the library’s collections. The more customary cloistered darkness of many older libraries is vanquished. And it is true - the light in Scandinavia is unique, less harsh and somehow more luminous, it has the capacity to transform the mood of the entire city.
For now, spring has finally arrived in Copenhagen. Since ql April, it has seemed that the whole city has been willing winter to end - summer clothes in shop windows, tables and chairs placed outside cafes and bars (some with blankets provided!) and scores of young people strolling through parks and gardens with beer bottle in hand. Even the bicycle parade dresses up for the occasion. The women’s bicycle baskets are now adorned with garlands of flowers.
When I think of the generations of Australian writers and artists who felt it necessary to leave their homeland and reside in England or Europe, I can’t help but be aware how quickly that urge has dissipated. Now we come to Europe more easily and more often, and Europeans come more willingly to us, yet we also see the virtues and advantages of our own country when compared to those in Europe. Sometimes those advantages are as simple as space, warmth and light, and other times they seem more difficult to explain or articulate. From Denmark, the multicultural fabric of Australian society seems one of our greatest assets. And while to us the close proximity of so many nations with rich cultural traditions in Europe is always a drawcard, Australia is free of the burden of tradition, especially of the singular national variety. Despite our deep anxieties over cultural difference, and our brazen materialism, we still have the privilege to live in a society that is constantly engaged in the process of self-creation. The sense of possibility somehow seems greater. I, for one, could never imagine not wanting to return home.