Hokus pokus, danskerne i fokus!

by stilhedfoerstorm

Hvis der er noget vi mennesker elsker, så er det, når tingene handler om os. Det må ligge i vores gener, at opmærksomhed vendt vores vej, er lig med øget chance for overlevelse. Det betyder at man er væsentlig. At nogen kærer sig om ens eksistens. At man er noget værd. Når noget er noget værd, har vi interesse i at bibeholde dets plads i verden…. som regel da i hvert fald.

Hvis der er noget vi danskere elsker, så er det at høre andre ikke-danskeres beskrivelse af os. Som et folkefærd med en kronisk ironisk tilgang til livet og os selv (tak til Majken for lån af ord), kan vi oven i købet godt tåle, at beskrivelsen ikke altid er flatterende. Altså flatterende som fx den artikel jeg engang læste, der beskrev os som “Nordens latinoer”. Øøøh. All right, if you insist, chica!

Jeg faldt over Emily Harents blogindlæg, om hvordan man pisser en dansker af. Sjov og præcis skildring af hvordan danskere kan være. Om vores insisteren på stram urban lovgivning på cykelstien skriver hun eksempelvis: “Fail to signal and you will trigger a chain reaction of last-minute breaking and a string of surprisingly violent hisses from passing bikers. They work 37-hour weeks for free healthcare and childcare. Minimum wage is over $20 and the government pays for their college education. Your failure to signal is probably the worst thing that’s happened to them in years“.

Hun har en pointe – vi har det så godt, så der skal paradoksalt nok ikke meget til at pisse os af.  Man kan måske i den forbindelse overveje, om ikke vi skulle bløde lidt op….Altså man kan blive lidt flov på sit lands vegne, når en formentlig sød engelsk studine er bange for at bestille en kop kaffe på dansk af frygt for at blive gjort til grin eller smile sødt til vores børn i bussen, med forvirrede og mistænksomme blikke til følge. Forhåbentlig er vi ikke helt så tilknappede og reserverede som hun har oplevet os (gulp!), og i så fald synes jeg da vi har lidt arbejde at lave med den danske folkesjæl.

Men hun har fat i noget, har hun. Om os danskere. I hendes indlæg “lessons gleaned from a Danish window” beskriver hun sjældent fint, hvordan vi mere eller mindre bevidst suges mod solens sjældne kig frem, fra dens reserverede og tilknappede vinterhi bag nedbørstunge skyer (ja, selv solen retter ind, når den kommer op på vores breddegrader!).

Et uddrag (det er lidt langt, men gør dig selv den tjeneste at læs det alligevel):

The Danish sun is a flagrant tease, even at the height of summer. But in the dead of winter, when it rises at eight and begins its descent before four, concealed by cloud cover the entire day, a ray of sunlight is a moment of fascination equal to the pleasure reaped after building a masterful pillow-fort at the age of 7. The oppressive darkness is so normalized that no one notices what they’re missing until a glimmer of natural brightness sneaks through. I’ve seen grown men in three piece suits kick their legs out on their bikes like a 1950’s soda commercial. I’ve seen bundled children holding their mother’s hand stop cold on crowded sidewalks to declare, “Solen skinner, mor.”

During the week, I sat in the center of the city in a dimly lit conference room. If a momentary ray snuck past the clouds, I could watch from the back row as a room full of heads leaned subconsciously toward the sunshine-flooded window like human plants seeking nourishment. Our professor often came across the room to stand in the patch of sunlight that fell across the floor, not missing a beat of her lecture. The businessman sitting at his computer in the office across the street would stand in front of his window. He gazed upward, perplexed but grateful. And if you were lucky enough to be out on the street at this miraculous moment, the squares would be suddenly overcrowded with a population of mysteriously numerous Danes, motionless with faces tilted skyward, as if the mothership were descending over the city.

This particular morning on the windowsill, I had my eye on a Dane—a woman who had been headed somewhere, dressed well, riding her bike up Sønder Boulevard with a plan. But as the elusive rays shone through the clouds, she kicked her leg over the seat, her feet hit the pavement, and she slowed her pace to walk her bike in a spontaneous mid-morning love affair with the sunshine. The sun was behind me, and shone intensely against the face of the adjacent buildings. She crossed the street, her pace slowing to a standstill as she crossed over into the light. Leaning her bike against a nearby tree, she turned her back to the red brick wall of the building and, leaning on it for support, stood motionless with her eyes closed.

She fidgeted from time to time, adjusting her scarf, her glasses, shifting her hands from her pockets to her sides. But her feet were planted for ten minutes under another Dane’s red brick windowsill, the owner of which was probably worshiping the same sun somewhere else in the city”.

Læs resten af det rørende fine indlæg her.

Advertisements