Mothers’ Groups

A little caveat before we dive in. Loads of my foreign friends in Denmark have liked their mothers’ group after they had a baby. It’s the luck of the draw.

In my kommune, the health visitors set you up with a group of local women who have given birth within a few weeks of each other. They leave you to it after that. My health visitor asked if I wanted to be part of one and although I was hesitant, I thought it might be nice to meet some of the local families with babies of a similar age to mine.

Usually, they try to match up first time mums and have second (or more) timers in their own groups but that didn’t happen with ours, so half of us were first timers. This changed the dynamic a bit. There was never any “omg, I don’t know how to make baby work!” for example.

My expectations versus the reality were probably what did for me. I expected that we would meet up, go to the couch and have one drink and one cakey/pastry snack whilst chatting for about an hour and then go home.

How long have I lived here?

The reality was this: we met, went to the dining table and then had Danish breakfast for three or four hours. Of course we did.

On the very first meeting, we were having the suggested group discussion of our birth stories and stuff about our families. When it was my turn to talk about the birth, half of the mums walked away to change their babies/prepare a feed. I tried waiting until they got back, that did not fly at all.

During the second hour, I went into a panic. I could never have them at my house. There was no way I could lay on a spread like the first mum had done. Danish breakfast consists of bread rolls (several types), cheeses, hams, jams, juices, hot drinks etc. I might have half of that in the house at any one time and I don’t drive so I could never just pop to the bakery and pick it all up. I would need to do it in advance and at that stage of newborn life, I was barely doing things on time let alone before I needed to.

Her house was immaculate. All of their houses were immaculate. My house was far from a disaster zone but getting it up to spec would have taken several hours. When would I find the time? My front windows looked like we had used privacy film on them. Our back garden looked unkempt and unloved.

Plus, I have a clingy dog. If I had any chance of keeping her from howling the place down if kept separate from the new guests, I would need to tire her out before they came. When would that happen? I was breastfeeding all the damn time. The baby took unpredictable cat naps.

Where would they put their prams? There was nowhere to put them! I didn’t really use ours and certainly not for outdoor naps like they would expect to do. Where would they put their carrycots inside?

I explained to the group that I would not be able to host but could we instead meet in town? Have a coffee? See a movie at the babybio? There was a mixed reception to the idea but in the end, I swapped “my” day with the mother with the youngest baby who was not feeling up to it which was totally understandable. But then they acted like it was never my turn and we would always meet up at their houses. I was starting to go invisible.

I skipped a few meetings here and there too. I had just had a baby, a baby who woke up several times in the night but slept in sometimes until 10am. They always met at 10am. Obviously, I would be using my second language. On no sleep. Although they were all in my village, it was a good 30 minute walk to any of their houses each time. And I’m foreign, so I cannot just jump in with a witty interjection, I have to really weigh up my words and think about what I want to say for ages which means I do not do a lot of talking at all because the conversation moves on. A group of six is too much for me, even in English sometimes.

One mum was super kind and sweet, and texted me to say I should not feel like I could not come because I could not host and I was always welcome at hers. That meant a lot to me.

But whenever I came, I would just end up talking to my baby. If they were showing photos on their phones, it never got passed to me. If my baby was trying to interact, it was only ever two of the mums who would reply to her. The cloak of invisibility was extending to her too, and I did not like that one bit.

The final straw was after coming one week, they decided to take the group photo of all the babies the next week when we were not there. It is such a little thing. Trivial. But it stung and the message was received and understood. She was not part of the group. Because of me. Again, the super kind and sweet mum texted me to say she was sorry I was not coming back. She is a good egg. And that’s not to say that the other mums in the group were not. They were fine. They just did not know how to be inclusive. They did not know how to deal with diversity.

It seems to me that Danish mother’s groups inadvertently enforce certain standards of being Danish. If your house does not fit, if your face does not fit, if you are not using the “right” brands (they all had the same baby monitor, for example and no one was surprised), if you don’t do the same things with your baby (within a set tolerance range of acceptable practices), then you can start to become unwelcome.

In contrast, my international mother group is still kicking along. We meet in cafes and library playrooms and the cinema and bars. We meet semi-regularly and no one is on the outs if they cannot make a meet up or three.  Everyone has their own way of doing things and inasmuch as we discuss it,  it’s basically to get inspiration material. For example, did you know, you can cut your child’s fingernails more easily if you put a pre-schooler show on the tv? Did you know you can make porridge fingers with oats and bananas if your baby does not enjoy eating porridge from a spoon?

My Danish mothers’ group were not openly judgemental about me but they also had nothing to talk to me about because I was so different. I did not even tell them that I had been putting the baby on the potty when I thought she needed to go, with great results. We were already too different, you know? They were probably all going to start weaning at four months, and I was going to wait until the NHS recommended six months. These tiny differences that make my international mothers’ group so enjoyable, were massive chasms that separated me from the Danish mothers.

And that’s just my impression of it. I am sure they have their own impressions of me and why it did not work out.

Breastfeeding

There was a “class” about breastfeeding in the birth prep they offer you. They told us this: newborns have tiny stomachs, very very few mothers can’t make enough milk, trust your instincts.

The baby came out and after a brief consultation with a doctor was put at my breast. It stung a little bit but it was manageable. It seemed to be okay if a bit ouchy.

In Denmark, first-timers are offered a couple of nights in the “patient hotel” as a couple (free for mum, a few hundred kroner a night for dad/co-mum), but we had planned a homebirth and made our peace with the idea we would not have the chance to stay. We compromised and stayed for one night.

The first night, the baby wanted cuddles and to feed the whole time. The nipple pain was much more by then and every time she indicated she was hungry (which was a lot), I would cringe. I had a lot of adrenaline but I did need at least some sleep. I think I dozed off in the nursing chair with her in my arms and maybe caught some zz’s in the patient bed as well with her in the cot beside me.

To get discharged, the nurse had to come see her feed. She fed for one nurse, then another. They were satisfied but kept trying to flip her top lip out like a fish with her pinky finger and called it a “bad habit” that her top lip was not curling. No one checked her for lip tie. They kept going on about “hamburgers”. I could not get the hang of anything they were saying.

We went home. I fed on demand.  My nipples hurt like billy-o. She was voracious. It was full on. But she had a tiny tummy and almost everyone could do it. So I thought it was going okay.

On day 3, we had to make a special trip into the hospital to have us both checked out.

She had lost nearly 10% of her birth weight and was extra sleepy. Even the heel prick test was barely annoying for her and it took ages to get all the blood out. The midwife checked my breastfeeding and said “she’s not drinking”. “Does she always fall asleep so quickly?” Apparently you can tell by the sounds they make and see swallowing behind their ears. No one had told me that. And by telling me that they had small tummies, I had expected her to fall asleep super quickly, I didn’t realise I needed to keep her awake for a full feed. I thought that was it. We asked about her snake tongue, shaped like a heart. An obvious sign of a tongue tie. The midwife rummaged around the mouth and said she was fine because it was only a slight tongue tie.

In the evening, the midwife called to check on me and based on what I was saying about nappies and how sleepy she was, recommended topping her off with formula.

I had been told this was the death of breastfeeding. I had been told that I would lose my supply. She would get nipple confusion. Everything was over before it started.

The midwife called a nurse to double check her advice and rang back. I gave the phone to my husband. He was sent on a mission and he came back from the all night pharmacy with hypoallergenic formula, “medicine shot glasses” and a hospital grade pump. We had nothing to sterilise anything, so we ended up sterilising a teaspoon and a glass coffee cup in our biggest saucepan. We made her some formula and I felt like a complete failure.

My husband gave her it drop by drop from the shotglass while I pumped. It was still colostrum at this stage, so basically nothing was coming out of me and that was normal. But we had strict instructions to pump as much as we put in, so I was there for ages. And no one told us that you didn’t need to turn the pump up to the highest setting to get the most out. My nipples bled and spoiled a batch. I cried and cried.

I had to sit down on my stitches to pump. I had no back support. I could not sleep while the baby slept. All the time, I tried to get her onto my breast but she was refusing. Hungry and crying but not latching on.

The health visitor came and I cried again.My milk was starting to come in, so I was extra emotional.  She was so kind and gentle. She could see that my husband had had enough of the shotglasses, so she gave us a recommendation for bottles that would not be too confusing for the baby. She recommended using a nipple shield. And that is how we had to do it. The baby could suddenly latch and get milk out of me. But we were afraid it wasn’t enough, so she had a couple of bottles of formula every day. I pumped and pumped to try to encourage more production. We gave her that milk too.

There was no nipple confusion. She loved bottles and she loved boobs.

I read all the internet sites about breastfeeding, over and over while I pumped. And at the time it felt like the most important thing in the world. I felt like a total failure because I was still supplementing. The “supportive” websites that I was consulting for help with latching were telling me that formula was literally poison and that I was hurting her by feeding her.

 

And then I hit my stride. I fed her with the shields. She catnapped. I pumped. Over and over all day and all night. Sleep when the baby sleeps! Like hell. One evening feed, I could hand over to my husband because I had banked enough milk. It got easier. One day at 6 weeks, I tried giving her the boob without a shield after pumping and she took it. Another time, a few days later, it worked again and I could ditch the shields for good. I stopped pumping.

Occasionally, I would get this feeling of intense creepy crawly itchy unease when my milk let down. Thank god that didn’t last very long. It would be several minutes of just wanting to run away. I couldn’t stand my own clothes against my skin and had to peel my socks off so I could feed. No one tells you that about breastfeeding.

Now breastfeeding is the easiest thing. I was walking back with shopping yesterday with the baby in the carrier. She let me know she was hungry, I pulled over, did some adjustments and then I could carry on walking to the bus stop whilst feeding her. I can get her back to sleep at night without much effort. But those first few weeks were a nightmare and I don’t understand why organisations set up to promote breastfeeding need to make mothers feel guilty about using formula. It’s just food.

If I had decided that it wasn’t worth it and I would prefer to feed my baby with formula, in some ways my life would be less convenient and in others it would be more so. I don’t think her health would have been affected much in either direction. I also realised that the midwives and health visitors here give just as bad advice about breastfeeding as they do back home.

The most important takeaway from the whole experience was that things seem life and death close up but almost inconsequential even a few weeks later. It was also a masterclass in motherhood. You get a lot of contradictory advice. You get a lot of bad tips mixed in with the useful stuff. You get told to NEVER EVER by one person and ALWAYS EVERY TIME by another. And you have to make your peace with making it up as you go along. You cannot follow all the advice. You cannot align what you do (or want to do), with your identity. You have to go with the flow. You have to mix and match. You have to find the compromises you can live with. That is how you get through it.

The Birth

I was sure I was going to give birth a bit earlier than my due date. This is because I had a lot of Braxton Hicks (practice contractions), and some mild real contractions. Every so often, in the evening, I would throw up or have a massive tummy clearout from the other end. And every time I would think “whelp, here it comes!”

Nothing doing.

I wanted a homebirth and they don’t recommend that after 42 weeks. In fact, just before 42 weeks, they recommend an induction. This is because births after 42 weeks have poorer outcomes and inductions don’t always work straight away.

We weighed it all up and decided to wait to see if she would come by herself before the magic cutoff date. Nope.

So, on 42+0 we went back to our home-away-from-home, Skejby Hospital. Once you get to a certain point, they want to see you every day and do an hour or so of fetal monitoring but you’re not exactly an emergency so there is a lot of waiting around if you get bumped by women in genuine need of the midwives/facilities available. We had spent a lot of time in the waiting room downstairs and read all the Scientific Americans cover to cover.

They gave me pills with a hormone called prostaglandins in them and sent me on home. Finally the contractions started to get regular and settle into a pattern around dinner time. Finally it was happening. And I thought, yeah these are painful but women are crazy for going on about the agony of childbirth if this is it. Maybe it’s all the hypnobirthing I had been doing. Or because my labour started essentially a month ago, maybe the pain was all spread out over the weeks.

We called the midwife when the contractions got to the magic 3-5 minutes apart. She told us to keep taking the pills and call in 2 hours. We did and she had (we found out later), called in sick after talking to us, and we spent about 45 minutes trying to figure out what to do next with the on-call midwife who obviously didn’t know anything about me or my notes.

The contractions were regular and frequent. The on-call midwife said it was up to us whether we wanted to come in but we would probably be sent back. I did not feel safe in case I was one of those who barely feel childbirth and I ended up having an unassisted birth. We went in and my contractions dried the fuck up. When they came, they were painful but they were no longer regular. And my cervix was closed up and I almost cried with frustration. My cervix had surgery on it a few years ago, and several midwives had said that the chances were nothing would happen with dilation for ages and then POP all at once. I was so sick of bringing it up to new midwives, so I did not say anything.

We went home and I got really angry. If I wasn’t allowed in when my contractions were 3 mins apart, lasting 1 minute, then did they want an unintended unassisted? PEOPLE OF THE WORLD!?

We tried to get some sleep, as recommended but with contractions of a minute every few minutes only one of us was successful at that. I was dozing between contractions and I felt a little pop. Went to the bathroom fully expecting my waters to have gone but instead it was my bloody show/mucus plug thing.

Then shit got real. The contractions went up a serious number of notches. The pain was excruciating and it was mostly in my thighs. None of the birth prep exercises I had done allowed for thigh pain and I was completely lost.

Two hours from being sent home, we were on our way back to Skejby. We left the bags in the car because I assumed I was going to be sent home again.

Get examined. 100% effaced but not even 1cm dilated. But the midwife said (and I’ll love her forever for this) “you’re obviously in active labour, so I’m not going to send you home”

Four hours later, I was at 10cm. I had tried a bath, gas and air, kneeling up, the birthing ball and an epidural. None of it did much. The epidural took the edge off, I guess but I was also in transition once it was placed and maybe I was always going to have a quiet, spacey time.

When the pushing phase started, I thought it would be a matter of a couple of hours, if that. In the event, it was almost the same length as the “opening” stage. She wasn’t in the right position so they were getting me to labour down and pant instead of push, only I hadn’t bloody realised that was their plan and was sort of pushing at the same time as panting. Not consciously but I wasn’t holding back either. We tried all sorts of positions but my pelvis and thighs were so sore, I ended up on my back.

I also “needed” a catheter which was incredibly painful and had to be abandoned. This suggests to me that the epidural did not bloody work at all. I went to the loo but the fetal heart rate went scary with all the pushing so they got me out of there.

These signs of fetal distress on the monitor meant we had to test the baby’s blood pH every 20 minutes. This meant, every 20 minutes a team of a doctor, a senior midwife and a SOSU would show up to take the measurements and I’d have to get on my back to help. It’s all a bit of a blur 5 months on. I do remember the SOSU trying to help by moving my leg into a stirrup and I screamed in pain (I had SPD, which is where your pelvis takes the relaxin hormone a little too seriously and basically detaches from itself).

They really wanted the catheter in. I think they thought a full bladder was the only thing between me and getting the baby out? I only consented if the midwife went and got some local anaesthetic. She seemed surprised that this was even a thing but went and got something from some cupboard. She remarked to the student that it was only a couple of drops after all that (thankfully, I didn’t hear this, and heard about it afterwards from my husband)

My “birth wishes” had that I was not interested in ventouse or forceps and if docs were worried about either of us, just get us into theatre and c-section me. The doctor was talking to me about that just before the very last contraction. Did I really mean it? She wouldn’t use forceps, she wouldn’t need to cut anything and it’d be as invasive as these 20 minute checks had been (annoying but not painful). So, I said I changed my mind. This conversation was apparently enough for me to get the baby out without use of forceps or ventouse.

The next contraction came and as was usual I greeted it with “oh no, not NOW” because as was usual someone was doing something to my vagina at the time. The midwife told me it was PERFECT timing and just to go for it. I did scream at the crowning and was duly told not to “waste energy” which was a damned cheek considering that I tore actual muscle. But then the pain/ring of fire subsided because oxygen was cut off to the perineum, isn’t evolution great?

Last contraction and I got her out. They put her on my chest and she weed all over me. “Oh, nice to meet you TOO” I said. She also had pooped inside me and was coughing a bit, so they got my husband to cut the cord and whisked her away for a check.

The midwife checked in with me to see if I was ok. “Oh yes, I’ve had her inside me for nine and a half months, time for someone else to have a go, frankly” The SOSU said “See, no pain now!” And I noticed that it was all gone “Oh my, even the pelvis pain. The second she came out!”

The paediatrician came to check over the baby and then brought her over to me to nurse. She was fine but she might feel a bit sick because she swallowed some of the meconium that was in the amniotic fluid. The paediatrician was the only medical health professional that spoke to me in English.

There wasn’t exactly a rush of love, I felt a bit confused and dazed for all that. But I did feel something, a big whoosh of something. But also a bit blank, like “insert emotion here” I asked if I needed to push to get the placenta out but I didn’t need to, it just plopped out. I asked to see it and they said they would as soon as they knew it was all out. They showed it to me later while I was nursing my baby and I replied “ew, gross, lovely, thanks”. I called my mum who asked who the baby looked like. The baby looked like a chimp/alien crossbreed experiment but I could hardly say that so I replied “she looks like a white person, I guess” which made the midwife laugh.

They told me that I had tore around my urethra (I had NO idea this was possible), and the muscles of my perineum. “Will it heal by itself?” I asked hopefully. Nope, stitches times.

And I felt great. They wheeled me down to the mother and baby unit because the patient hotel was full. I was full of adrenaline and barely slept at all. I felt great about the birth, they had kept me in high spirits and I felt listened to and respected. It wasn’t until a few days later that disappointment crept in. My baby’s birth was exactly like the births on One Born Every Minute that I hated. I was coached to push. I had to HOLD MY BREATH to push. There had been a cascade of interventions. I had been on my back for fuck’s sake. And there was guilt. The baby was very sleepy for the first few days and I felt like I did that to her. All the breastfeeding books that I turned to for help with latching on were very much anti-epidural. I felt like I had done something awful to my infant daughter in trying to get through a medical induction. She had been in distress. There had been meconium in the water. And I had so wanted a homebirth and I felt like all the people who had told me how dangerous homebirths are would be smug as fuck that I’d been in hospital and taken all the meds.

Five months on and I don’t give a fuck anymore. It was eight hours of my life almost half a year ago. My baby is fine. More than fine, she is in the rudest of health. I did what I had to do and everyone got out alive. My vagina has definitely seen better days but it too is on the mend. Maybe I could have done things differently and had the same outcome or a different outcome or a worse or a better one. But I didn’t. I did what I needed to and we all got through it. Maybe I would have enjoyed a homebirth more but I don’t think we were remotely prepared for all the mess! We had got all the waterproof sheets and towels, sure, but jesus. Humans didn’t get the idea of a ‘blood sacrifice’ from the depths of our imaginations. I remember asking the SOSU “is there usually this much blood?” and she said “Oh yes, don’t worry, it’s all yours though, not hers”

The memories are fading and I cannot remember what the pain was like anymore. I could for ages but it’s receding like the tide. The first pics of the baby in the delivery room don’t make me feel sad or regretful anymore. I feel proud and nostalgic for the experience. I guess that’s how people manage to have more than one baby.

 

Birth Prep Danish Style

As a first time mother, I was invited to three birth prep modules which were run by my team of midwives.

The first module was about the mechanics of birth. The second was about the first few days. The third was about my relationship with the baby’s father and mental health following birth.

The mechanics of birth module was Just The Facts, Son. They went through the different stages of labour and discussed what could be expected. There was a tour of the labour ward and a rundown of all the pain relief options. They also gave out enemas to women that were planning homebirths and wanted to use them before the midwife got there.

Mostly, what I took away from the module was that they didn’t want the dads to feel useless. Indeed, much of the discussion centred around “remember! you’re playing an important role, dads! Mums say they couldn’t have done it without you afterwards”

Have to admit, it sort of grated on me. Can’t a guy go for a few hours not being the centre of things without needing his ego plushed up like a flat cushion? Seriously.

The second module was really about breastfeeding. I found it interesting that all the other mums were up for trying breastfeeding from the get go. In my country, there are plenty of women who already know breastfeeding is not for them. Or maybe it is the same in Denmark but they know better than to voice this in public? There was a little bit about how bonding takes place and the different types of poos to be expected in the first few months.

The third module was basically a plea from the Danish state (which planned the module and made the resources), to the parents “not to keep score” about who was having the least sleep or doing the most work. (There was also some stuff about spotting post-natal depression)

I am going to go out on a limb here and say that there are three ways that a relationship can divide labour with a newborn: equally and unequally at the expense of one of the partners. As most women in Denmark appear to be up for breastfeeding in at least the first few weeks/months, I am going to surmise that either the lion’s share of the childcare is performed by the mother or the couple manage to balance the duties out fairly. Cases where the father is doing so much more than the mother that he wants to start a fight about it are going to be very rare.

So, if there are heated discussions amongst hetero couples about this topic, it is almost always going to be the mother asking the father to do more. And the Danish state thinks this is such a bad avenue of conversation that it needs its very own module in childbirth prep class to serve as a warning against.

Fine, keeping score is a rotten way to run a relationship but it is not like the Danish state, via my midwives, offered an alternative schema. Just a blanket injunction against arguments about a lack of cooperation.

Anyway, the end of the session came and they asked if there were any questions. A course mate raised her hand

“I know this is off-topic but I was just wondering, how many hours a day/night should my baby sleep on her belly so she doesn’t get a flat head?”

The midwives reacted with shock

“Goodness, no, babies should never sleep on their bellies! It is associated with sudden infant death syndrome!”

“Alright, on her side then.”

“No! They have to lie on their backs! Their backs!”

“Really?”

“Yes!”

And it highlighted for me how strange it is that the UK’s sleep advice for newborns is completely at odds with the Danish.

One big difference is that the UK recommend babies do not sleep separately from adults (even for naps in the day) for the first 6 months, where Danish families happily pop their babies outside alone in all weathers for naps.

Another is that the UK recommend that newborn babies do not have duvets (overheating risk). Danish hospitals actually put baby duvets on the the “hospital bag” list for expectant parents.

Meanwhile, we get a whole session on avoiding conflict with partners in the first few months but only get told to put the baby on its back to sleep if we specifically ask?

 

Snak- a review

Last night, I went and saw Sanne Søndergaard perform her new show Snak at the comedy festival in Aarhus.

I really enjoyed myself. It was the first time I have seen stand-up in Danish and by the end of it, I don’t mind admitting I was exhausted!

She is really good. She has a good mix of silly jokes, toilet humour and biting political satire. There’s not much more you can ask for.

I find it really exciting to hear Danish voices talk about the state of feminism and anti-racism here. I feel a lot less of an outsider when insiders have come to the same conclusions.

If you like fun, and I am sure you do, you should try to get tickets to see her or download her show Mandehader.

We need humour to get through the next few years of this joker in charge again:

Pretty much…

Transcript for non-Danish speakers

“What happened Danes? What’s wrong? We thought you liked us or something. And then that happened in the election. It was bloody weird. The second biggest party… and how can it be the third biggest party is the one that gets to be prime minister? It’s bloody weird. It ought to have been the first biggest party… Oh bro, I just had a thought! Listen, bro. It’s going to be alright for Denmark. Stay calm, it’s going to be alright! Where we come from if some [..](didn’t get that word) comes into power, the Americans come and get rid of him. They say ‘you’re a [..] and get rid of him. So, soon the Americans are definitely coming to remove him. It’s going to be good. It’s okay, we can walk on the streets, whatever. I’m going out, bye!”

Election Season: Godwin’s Law Edition

This is an advert from the centre-right in Denmark.

K-kampagne mod naziislamisme i modvind (- Netavisen Pio) 

So, someone thought this would be a great idea to put on billboards. Let’s look at how they have written this poster. Instead of the long, stupid word “Naziislamisme” which I believe they stupidly coined just now, they have taken a line for each part of the word.

Stop Nazi. Okay so far. Let’s stop those Nazis. Those dicks. Going around being fuckheads to Jews and brown people (not to mention: trade unionists, gays, homeless people, political opponents). Stop them for SURE. How are we going to stop them? By persuading them that racism is bad? By banning their meetings? By keeping them away from certain roles? Wait. What do you mean that it’s legal to be a Nazi in Denmark and have any job you want, including guarding the queen? Oh well, I guess we’ll get around to stopping them any day soon.

Let’s read on. Islam. What. How did we get from there to here? What’s the next bit? Did they just want to put Nazi next to Islam?

Isme. Stop Nazi! Islamisme! Stop! Nazi Islam. Isme?? Stop, Nazi. Islamisme. Stop, Nazi. Islam. Isme?

How will we stop Naziislamism when we cannot even stop Nazism? Nazism! Everyone knows the Nazis were dicks with no redeeming qualities. And yet, plenty of people sign up to it. And they are allowed to do it. It is their right in Denmark. What methods will we use to stop Naziislamism. Besides. What is Naziislamism? I don’t get it.

  • Nazi = a National Socialist ➜ Nazism = National Socialism
  • Nationalism = a feeling of patriotism that extends to feeling superior to other countries
  • Socialism = a political and economic theory of social organization that advocates that the means of production, distribution, and exchange should be owned or regulated by the community as a whole
  • Islam = derived from a word basically meaning ‘peace’. A religion.
  • Islamism = any political application of the Islamic religion

Islam is neither socialist nor conservative politically. Islamism, if anything, is pretty conservative.

Islam is definitely not nationalistic. Islamism is probably not nationalistic. Maybe if you count all the countries run along Islamic lines as one ‘nation’. Maybe.

The slogan does not work on these levels. You could maybe get it to work by saying some Islamists are fascists. Nazism is strongly associated with this authoritarian/nationalistic form of government. While no Islamists are Nazis, some Islamists are reminiscent of fascists. So, then why doesn’t the poster say:-

STOP FASC ISLAM ISME

? Well because… Nazis are worse than Fascists? Nazi looks better on the poster? Nazis are well known shitheads but no one’s sure what the fascists did apart from bossing people around? Fasc doesn’t mean anything on its own? The word is ‘Islamofascists’, it already exists and it has been criticised as being simplistic, historically inaccurate and “a familiar juxtaposition that eliminates exotic complexity and confusion”? Who knows.

Islamists are a big group. They’re not a united bloc by any means.

  • You have your countries run on Islamic and democratic lines like Tunisia and Pakistan etc.
  • You have your Islamist terror groups like Hezbollah and Hamas who use both force and democracy.
  • Then you have your Islamists who use force and no democracy, like our sworn enemies IS and our dear allies the Saudi regime.

Big range. But that’s not what the poster is commenting on. It’s just a way of playing on the latent Islamophobia in the Danish population. It’s just a way of cashing in on how a lot of ignorant people think that Islam is the next Nazism. And it will have three knock on effects:-

  1. Islamophobic people will get at least 20% more Islamophobic (by my estimation)
  2. Muslim people who identify as Islamists will feel pissed off to be conflated with Nazis
  3. Muslim people who do not even identify as Islamists may feel similarly put out

I took a look at the Conservative People’s Party’s manifesto promise on this made-up word they are going to stop. “We see today an outbreak of totalitarian antisemitism in the Arabic world and in extreme Islamist groups in the west. An antisemitism with clear links to previous Nazism and fascism. Both in Paris and Copenhagen, the Jewish community was an independent target for Islamic terrorism. Naziislamism exists too in Denmark, where extreme preachers directly encourage or incite young people, often from gang areas or poor housing estates, to violence, murder and participation in weaponed conflict. Is this fair? No, right? So stop it. With us.”

“Clear links” is over-selling it a bit. Just because two groups of fuckheads kill Jewish people, doesn’t mean they are aligned in any other way. ‘The semites’ are a group that includes Arabs as well as Jews, after all. These governments and terror cells the Conservatives reference aren’t anti-semitic, they are anti-zionist.

Nazis were pretty zionist, when it suited them. There is no clear link between any Islamism and Nazism, except for the use of violence against one particular group.

And while we are at drawing links, young people from gang areas and poor housing estates are incited into violence, murder and participation in armed conflict by more than extreme preachers. The Hell’s Angels do it. The Neo-nazis do it. Hell, the Danish military does it. We don’t get our undies in a bunch about any of these groups.

Notice, no actual solutions to the problem of Naziislamism. Just general disapproval that it is going on. Whatever it is. In conclusion, this is a shit poster and I hope they read the many, varied criticisms coming their way over the next few weeks. It is lazy, it is jingoistic and it is empty propaganda. I expected better from this party. I had got used to Venstre being as  lazy as the Danish People’s Party. I did not expect the Conservatives to follow suit.

Election Season

For some reason both the UK and Denmark are having their elections at around about the same time. This means that whether I read the news in Danish or English, I have to read about immigration.

What else are mainstream politicians going to talk about during an election? They cannot talk about making large multinationals pay their way, they can’t talk about reversing the trend of reducing public services so state debt is effectively transferred into the credit card balances of citizens, they can’t talk about changing the structure of major institutions because ‘the markets’ will stop them. They cannot talk about anything substantive. They have to pick on special groups to get people nice and distracted.

So what’s left? Education, crime, immigration.

Education is an easy target because no one is 100% satisfied with either their school days or what their kid is learning in class. It is ridiculously easy to mobilise a population to resent teachers.

Crime is even easier because criminals are outlaws by definition. They broke the rules. Who cares what happens next?

Immigration is a favourite because making people suspicious of outsiders is like shooting fish in a barrel.

All the parties say slight variations of the same thing. (This is partly because this what the electorate ‘wants’ and partly because they have not got the authority to suggest bigger changes because the IMF and WTO have ways of shutting that shit down.)

Let’s look at the current left wing party adverts in Denmark.

“40 000 new jobs in 4 years and we need to continue” “Historically short waiting lists and we need to continue” “Strict asylum rules and more demands on immigrants” “If you come to Denmark, you have to work”

I think what gets to me the most is the way the target audience is not going figure out they are being manipulated.

There is no possible justification for strict asylum rules outside of ‘vindictiveness’. You just need ‘rules’. And the rule should be ‘people who need asylum should get it’ and that is because Denmark signed treaties saying they would offer asylum to people who need it. Making the rules ‘strict’ implies that people who did not need asylum were getting it. I don’t think that’s the case at all. If there are more refugees it is because there are more conflicts and similar disasters. Making rules ‘strict’ fails the people who need somewhere to live because otherwise they will die.

Similarly, there is something about the word ‘krav’ that winds me up. Demands. As in a point system. As in an arbitrary set of hoops to jump through. Why would ‘more’ be an election promise? Surely the demands currently in operation are sufficient. What extra ones could they bring in at this stage? And how could ‘more demands’ be anything else than punitive?

How DARE immigrants come here, work a certain number of hours, get to a certain prescribed level in Danish, spend a prescribed number of hours volunteering, live in a certain sized home, for a certain length of rental contract, give a large security deposit to the state and prevent their Danish partner from receiving state assistance. Who do they think they are? We need more demands on them to show them what is what.

“If you come to Denmark, you have to work” is another empty election promise. Obviously. That has been true for a long time. The fine print on their website claims that it’s not just the ‘being able to support yourself’ part that is important, but how you get to learn Danish through having a job in Denmark.

Unless, of course, you are a spouse of a luksus immigrant. Then, whatever, who cares. Start a food blog.

Unless, of course, you are the spouse of a Dane who can support you or you work internationally. Then keep on keeping on, Stephen Kinnock.

All this poster does is make Danish people think that immigrants are NOT working.  And what sort of monster wants to create that impression? And why? Looking at the statistics, which are a matter of public record, the biggest group of officially unemployed foreigners (as in, not students or stay at home spouses or retired), are Asians and the next biggest group is Europeans.

Unemployment of working age Asians in Denmark is around 5 to 6%. (I do wonder how much of the Asian unemployment rate is due to the Green Card shit show.) Non-Danish European unemployment in Denmark is less than 2% of the population of Europeans. Danish unemployment in Denmark is just over 3% of Danes of working age.

If you slice it a different way and just look at how the numbers of unemployed people compare:-

79% of unemployed people in Denmark come from Denmark and around 6% come from elsewhere in Europe and 7% from Asia.

So, the biggest group by number of unemployed… are Danish people.

Which brings me neatly to the other two adverts. 40 000 new jobs in Denmark. Shorter waiting times. Both of these things are intimately related to why immigration is a good thing. You got shorter waiting times because of all those foreign doctors and nurses (not depicted in the election poster). You got some of those new jobs because of foreign firms starting up, investing or expanding.

They want it both ways. We are free loading jerks who need to be punished on one hand but our contribution to the success of the country is waved away.

They could have been brave. They could have smacked down the right’s rhetoric about immigrants easily, a hundred times over. Denmark is a better place to be because of the immigrants who live here. Immigration has improved Denmark. There is proof. Instead they stole the right’s ideas and ran with them.

Easier to sow distrust and righteous indignation.

Let’s look at some crowdsourced adverts in the UK to raise the tone of the ‘debate’ (though how it can be called a debate when all the parties agree with the centre-right, I don’t know) around immigration over there. While the last thing we need is a campaign to remind voters that good immigrants exist, I think the idea that immigrants do give back and immigrants do contribute is critical.

Not that mainstream parties have any interest in spreading that particular message. Why make like complicated for yourself? Why not play the shell game, so while voters are distracted by the Other, they don’t see what is really going on.

So, who ever wins this election, the immigrants are definitely going to lose.

Who is leaving all the dog crap on the street?

I have been a dog owner for about six months now and I have managed to collect all her poop on walks. I have been able to do this because I take bags out with me, I watch what she’s doing when she pulls over and I just deal with it when it comes out.

Collecting poop in a little bag and throwing it away: not rocket science.

And yet, so many people in Denmark can’t figure it out.

There is one group of dog owner that just lets their dog shit on grass verges. It’s ‘natural’, you see. There is poop in nature. Grass is nature. Combine the two: extra nature. What is irrelevant is that people might want to walk on grass verges, maybe even have their children walk around there. If they wanted to walk in a poo free environment, they should have stuck to the pavements.

Another group of dog owner lets their dog shit wherever it pleases. I have left the house to find poop on my doorstep. This has happened in more than one house here. I am not taking it personally, I have seen it on other doorsteps too. Some dogs get to poop in other people’s gardens. In playgrounds. Pavements.

And yet another group of dog owner actually stoop over, pick up the poo in a bag, tie the bag and then.. throw the bag into a hedge. This last step is baffling. If you wanted the poop to continue to pollute the environment, why go to all the trouble to pick it up? Just leave it, guys. Just leave it.

I have always wondered. Who are these people leaving this crap lying around? Are they all people who just forgot to bring bags because their dog never poops on walks and then it does? Are they people with severe arthritis who lack the physical ability to collect the leavings? Are they daydreaming and just don’t notice their dog has answered the call of nature? Do they mistake it for a wee? Are they all foreigners who simply do not understand that THIS IS DENMARK and IN DENMARK we clean up after our dogs? I have my suspicions of who these people are and what they are about.

Today, I was walking with my students back from the Queen’s birthday parade and I saw a dog crapping on a bit of grass next to a playing field. I watched the owner watch her dog shit. I watched the owner walk away.

I caught up to her and pressed a brand new poop bag into her hand. She took it and then threw it to the ground without a word.

Having met one of these elusive misanthropes, I can confirm she is everything I expected. She was white, Danish, older, looked reasonably well off and had no answer for me about why she was not going to take responsibility for her dog.

In a way, it reminds me of a video of a French person demonstrating that Danish people do not hold doors open for the person after them. He confronts a couple of them “Why did you let the door slam on me?”

“I didn’t see you,” they lie unconvincingly.

They did see him. They just did not give a fuck about him. I’ve heard it explained as “Danes see each other as family and holding a door open is just a little too courtly” except when I checked with a couple of Danish people “would you hold a door open for a family member?” they all said “obviously”. It is the opposite, they don’t see the need because the person is not family. As in, nothing to them, so who cares what happens to them?

These dog owners let their dog shit without cleaning it up because they do not see the need to do anything for anyone else.  Who cares what happens to the poop? Who cares who steps in it or which kid swallows it? Those people are not important.

Denmark isn’t a community, it’s a collection of solipsists.

One from the Vaults: Integrated

I am totally integrated now though this is probably not what the Danish authorities meant.
Søren “effing” Pind would probably shake his comedy head and say with his comedy voice “No, I did not mean like that… but… she’s white, right? Ahh, doesn’t matter then. She can do what she wants, ikke også?”

Reception Indvandrer Kvindecentret
Send more spice

If integration is about paying tax and going to work, I have been integrated since my first paycheque 1006 days ago.
If integration is about speaking Danish, I have done that since the very beginning even when I bloody couldn’t. And now even on days when my Danish is crap, people still understand me. GO FIGURE.
If integration is about giving money and time to Danish charities, then tick me off.
If integration is about sitting on a hard dining table chair for eight hours, talking Danish. TICK.
If integration is about getting so drunk that your memories are in black and white the next day. CHECK.
If integration is about signing up to evening classes, been there done that.
If integration is about saying “Almonds… or tonsils” or “Pedestrian zone” without having to think, when a Dane flails in English. Then yeah, I do that.
If integration is about following a recipe in Danish, about Danish ingredients, to make some Danish delicacy. Yep. Done it. I even know the difference between oprør and omrør. Which is important when you make Bearnaise sauce.
If integration is about knowing your rights and fighting for them, I have totally made a fuss about stuff. I went through my union for heaven’s sake.
If integration is about reaching out to Danes in different scenarios like at knitting clubs or similar, I have done that and got the scars to prove it.
If integration is about speaking Danish to a nurse before you have an operation on your *whistles* even though you are bricking it and then being tolerant of their bad English before they put you under anaesthetic, I have totally done that.
If integration is about doing a Dane regularly, I have been doing that for *time* (A lady never runs that calculation through a calculator).

I will tell you, as an integrated citizen, what integration is not.

Integration is not making excuses for horrible Danes (on the grounds that our hosts can do no wrong/we misunderstood their intention).
Integration is not beating yourself up when you find adjustment difficult or unpleasant.
Integration is not beating others up when they say they find something difficult.
Integration is not ignoring your judgement or your feelings that something is not quite right.
Integration is not abandoning all critical thought and going along with the consensus.
Integration is not blindly trusting the authorities.
Integration is not an instruction to give up your cultural identity and embody the host culture entirely.
Integration is not having to do all the running to fit into a culture.
Integration is not eating Danish food.
Integration is not riding a bloody bicycle.
Integration is not calling yourself a “guest”.

Denmark. Denmark. Denmark.
You invited me here, Denmark. You wanted my expertise. You want the expertise of others like me.

You want them to come and study in your universities. You want them to do certain jobs. You want them to teach you English. You want them! So stop pretending that they want you. It is the other way around. We would have been happy working anywhere exotic. Belgium… Finland… Switzerland… We could have made our lives there equally easily so stop acting like you are doing us a bloody favour by giving us work permits.

You want the others to be integrated like me, believe it or not. This is what real integration looks like and this is definitely what you want. You want happy little soldiers who drive around places like Mols saying “OMG! It is so beautiful!” and “Haha, another cream based festival, eh?” and “Really? You are allowed to rape animals here?!”

You want people who snark and moan and clap with delight. You want the range of experiences. The depth. The breadth.

You do not want people who feel inhibited, who feel guilty for finding fault, who feel like they have to “Stepford Wives” their way through their Denmark Experience. You do not want to police their thoughts. You do not want to steer them into thinking a certain way. This is not PTSD they are experiencing, guys, they are just going through an adjustment period.
You will break them if you do them this way. They will reach a breaking point and snap.

Telling them to suck it up and think only good thoughts is what you say to people who just found out they have hepatitis, not to someone embarking on a new life in a foreign country.

You WANT people to feel at home here, to feel comfortable. You WANT people to stop feeling like guests.

We might even be able to help you out. Maybe you could learn something from us. We can suggest things like

“If your shops were open when people were not at work, they can buy more stuff.”
and
“If you write to us in Danish, we get overwhelmed and put all our correspondence in a shoebox. If you use English (or another widely spoken language, whatever), we will read it and respond.”

To make integration happen, you need to stop being so controlly and preachy. Stop giving them the “ONE TRUE WAY” of “HOW TO INTEGRATE” powerpoint presentations. You need to introduce them to each other, introduce them to some nice Danes and then step back and LEAVE THEM ALONE. Stop threatening to withdraw medical treatment, stop threatening them full stop. Stop with your dirty-foreigner national news agenda. Stop telling them that it is all their fault if they suffer. Stop telling them “it would be different if you met other Danes”. Stop telling them everything is candy floss and ponies as soon as you can speak fluent Danish. Stop telling them off when they say they find something cultural distasteful or immature. STOP bloody telling them to join a sports team, for heaven’s sake!

Integration looks different for everyone…. You know… Like being Danish looks different for everyone.

Calm down, take a deep breath and leave us alone. We want the best for Denmark… because Denmark is our home.

Here’s a bit from the Tao Te Ching.

Governing an expat community
is like frying a small fish.
You spoil it with too much poking.

He was ahead of his time, wasn’t he, that Lao Tzu?