In the late 19^th and early 20^th century, one woman broke multiple social barriers to become the leading designer of haute couture: Lucy Duff Gordon (1863-1935). While her name is virtually unknown today, Duff Gordon’s was the first international couture brand, and she was responsible for many innovations in the fashion world that are still recognizable in 2016: the fashion catwalk, low and revealing necklines, and playfully sexy lingerie.

In this guest edition of , James Blake Wiener speaks to Randy Bryan Bigham, author of��Lucile, Her Life by Design: Sex, Style and the Fusion of Theatre and Couture, about the life and legacy of history’s forgotten pioneer in fashion.��

James Blake Wiener: Why isn’t Lady Duff Gordon better known aside from her survival of the��Titanic��disaster in 1912?

Randy Bryan Bigham:��Because the��Titanic��is such a tangible subject, I guess. Anything and everyone connected with it is somehow more appealing. Don’t get me wrong—I’m interested in the��Titanic, and it sparked my own fascination with Lucile and the history of that era.

Her impact on culture and fashion was very crucial, however, and not just as a woman who ran a global, million-dollar business. Lucile actually redefined the fashion industry through some extraordinary presentation and marketing feats—like the runway or catwalk show—and by extending the appeal of her exclusive couture brand to prêt-à-porter merchandising and endorsement deals. Luxury labels now are almost entirely sustained by mass-market diffusion lines of clothing, perfume and accessories, as well as through the commercial licensing of various “lifestyle” products. Lucile was doing that before anybody else.

Lucile was the designer most responsible for legitimizing the expression of sexuality in sheer lingerie and through other items of intimate, see-through apparel. Filmy tea-gowns are a case in point: They were made to be worn without corsets, making men’s tea-time seduction of their mistresses a lot more convenient. That’s where Lucile’s naughty reputation came in. We’ve all heard the saying “love in the afternoon.” Well, in Edwardian England, Lucile tea-gowns played an elegant role in facilitating that!

Wiener:��In learning more about Lucile’s life, one cannot help but be impressed by her recognition of the importance of public relations. A master of self-promotion, she was a businesswoman during a time in which many women didn’t have a bank account in their own name. What was her recipe for success in the organization and presentation of her designs?

Bigham:��I’d say Lucile’s instinct for publicity stemmed from her high-energy personality, and her understanding of how to present or “package” herself as well as her fashion house. Her whole business was an expression of her personality. Being a lady of title, she knew how the upper crust lived and behaved, so her magnificent salons in London, Paris and New York replicated the manor houses her clients were equally familiar with. Her love of dancing and of performing in society tableaux taught her gracefulness, which she imparted to the statuesque models she trained to display her gowns.

Although related to nobility (the Duke of Sutherland was a cousin), Lucile had a middle-class background. She was raised on a Canadian farm and was a contented tomboy until around the age of 10 when she bloomed into a girly-girl, sewing dresses for her collection of dolls. In the��Titanic��films that have cameoed Lucile, she’s often portrayed as a snob. It’s true she could be haughty and temperamental, but she was also a charmer. She was a flirt, loved to chit chat and enjoyed teasing people. Friends and family members recalled her wit and outspokenness, and the media stressed this, too, in the colorful interviews she used to grant reporters over tea or lunch.

Her own clothes were dashing, and what she wore to this party or that were commented on in the daily papers. Lucile was petite, with a pale complexion, and had red hair. She was considered a beautiful woman in her day, and she played up her flamboyance by wearing Russian boots, carrying a tall Bo-Peep walking stick and choosing hats with streaming veils that made her look like she was on safari. Her sense of the dramatic may also have come from her childhood adoration of the glamorous Lillie Langtry whom she later befriended and dressed on stage and off.

Wiener:��Would it be fair to say that Lucile was the first fashion media celebrity in her own right?

Bigham:��Probably. Lucile was certainly the designer with the highest profile in the United States, where she spent a number of years building up her New York branch. In America during World War I, she was constantly in the public eye, throwing charity balls and dressing Broadway extravaganzas like the��Ziegfeld Follies. She also wrote a weekly dress advice column for the Hearst newspapers and a monthly one for��Harper’s Bazaar. And she made a huge mark on the early film industry, styling silent stars Mary Pickford and Pearl White, among others. Lucile even appeared in her own fashion newsreel and toured vaudeville with a benefit style show, accompanied by her regal Chow.

In London, where the court dressmaking community was comparatively discreet, there was no one to rival Lucile as a couturier-personality. But her celebrity may have hurt her in England. For instance, it likely prevented her from being appointed dressmaker to Queen Mary. As princess of Wales, the queen had frequently bought frocks from Lucile, but she chose the more conservative Reville and Rossiter as her official couturier when she came to the throne in 1911. But I’ve found that Queen Mary still occasionally ordered gowns from Lucile, and at least once dropped by the shop in disguise.

Only in Paris were there other top designers who were also media personalities. Certainly Paul Poiret was a tremendous rival there, as were, to a slightly lesser extent, Jeanne Paquin and Louise Chéruit. Yet none of these designers maintained the same forceful presence in London or New York as they did in Paris, whereas Lucile regularly traveled between her international salons and participated in the social round in each of those cities. Most of the leading Paris designers never visited England or America.

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Wiener:��What was it about Lucile that attracted such a diverse group to her atelier and mannequin parades? Was it her unusual background and innate talent as designer and woman? She seems to have cast a veritable spell wherever she went.

Bigham:��It was her vivacity and a refreshing directness that endeared her, especially to the racy bohemian set she was a part of. Lucile knew all the fashionables in London because they were her clients, but she didn’t usually socialize with them. She thought the royals and other society types were bores—and some were cheap, expecting their dress bills to be reduced if she accepted invitations to their parties. But there were exceptions. She was close friends with the queen of Spain (the former English Princess Victoria Eugenie of Battenberg) and when she and King Alfonso visited London, they sometimes lodged with Lucile and Sir Cosmo at their home in Lennox Gardens, instead of staying at Buckingham Palace.

But Lucile mainly liked artists, musicians, actors, writers. A favorite was Isadora Duncan. Isadora once danced naked in the garden of Lucile’s villa at Versailles. Other good friends were Cecile Sorel of the Comedie Francaise and decorator Elsie de Wolfe. Lucile knew the painters Roger Fry and William Orpen, art critic Bernard Berenson, and she openly embraced the emerging gay community. Several of her assistant designers were gay—Edward Molyneux, Howard Greer—as was a hanger-on named Maury Paul, the later gossip writer “Cholly Knickerbocker.” Still, another gay protégé was actor Clifton Webb who, oddly enough, would later mention her in a scene in the 1953 film��Titanic, in which he starred with Barbara Stanwyk.

Wiener:��Fashions changed in the 1920s when flappers in North America and Europe saw the excess that characterized the Gilded Age as passé and lacking modern��é������. Unwisely, Lucile ignored the revolutionary trends emanating from Paris, including the sleek designs and��garçonne��look of Gabrielle Chanel. Why was she so resistant to the changes in fashion attitudes during the Jazz Age?

Bigham:��She resisted the boyish look because, to her mind, it had no subtlety or grace. But Lucile never strictly followed fashion. She adhered to the general line only, though she sometimes opposed the prevailing mode outright. Her own look was delicate and faery-like, using pastel colors, layered chiffon and ribbon trimming that set her apart from the brightly-hued eastern styles of Poiret and his imitators. That’s not to say she wasn’t inspired by Orientalism; every designer then was affected by it. But Lucile’s overall style was young and light, exuding a dainty sexuality, a sort of cross between ingénue and coquette.

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Lanvin exploited a youthful mood, but her girlish gowns were never sexy. Lucile dresses, on the other hand, had a flirtatious, boudoir air—a fluffy, transparent skirt revealing legs to the calves, a slinky dress with a side slit, exposing an ankle as the wearer moved.

It wasn’t until the early 1920s, when simpler-cut clothes became more general, that Lucile’s ultra-femininity and the exotica of Poiret began to lose their appeal.

But Lucile didn’t disappear. An ill-advised merger with a wholesale house and a string of disagreements led to her withdrawal from the company in 1922. Yet there was still a market for her snaky tea-gowns and peekaboo undies, and over the next decade she was involved in a series of couture and retail enterprises in London and New York.

Wiener:��It’s worth noting that Lucile’s younger sister, Elinor Glyn, lived a life full of creativity and excitement too. A novelist and scriptwriter, she exerted a profound influence on Hollywood filmmakers and budding stars like Rudolph Valentino, Gloria Swanson and Clara Bow. In the 1920s, Elinor’s career in Hollywood blossomed just as Lucile’s fortunes in the fashion world waned. Could you compare and contrast these two sisters, describing their rivalry?

Bigham:��Lucile and Elinor never really got on, at least not during the years of their great successes. The notoriety they received created a gulf between them. They jockeyed for press attention and resented each other’s fame. There was a lot of fussing between them in private, and their competitiveness sometimes spilled over in public. The only known photo of them during their respective careers was taken on the terrace of the Ritz in Paris in 1921. It’s a group snapshot, and not surprisingly the women are posed at opposite ends—Lucile smiling at the camera, Elinor eyeing her sister.

Lucile’s influence on the film industry preceded Elinor’s. She was the designer of choice for Lillian Gish and Marion Davies, and her floaty dresses were really the first Hollywood look. She worked with all the big directors—Cecil B. de Mille, D.W. Griffith—supplying costumes for major films like��The Perils of Pauline��and��Way Down East. All this, and Lucile never stepped foot in Hollywood! Moviemaking was centered on the East Coast until the late 1910s, but even then, stars like Mary Pickford or Norma Talmadge would travel by train from Los Angeles to New York to consult Lucile for their screen wardrobes.

Lady Duff Gordon

Later, when Elinor went to Hollywood to write scripts for Paramount, Lucile was hardly withering away in London. She had her own natural color newsreel spot, wrote columns for The��Daily Express, once hosted a charity show with Noel Coward and Ivor Novello, held modeling contests and gave lectures attended by hundreds at a time. At one department store appearance she made in 1924, Lucile was mobbed by women trying to get her autograph, and at a 1930 press conference, to discuss what the new skirt length was going to be, she jumped up on a table to model it herself. So she stayed extremely active into her 70s and kept an optimistic attitude until the end.

Wiener:��In your own words, how should we characterize Lucile’s imprint on fashion and her role within fashion history? What is her enduring legacy?

Bigham:��Lucile brought theatricality to the marketing of fashion—that’s her greatest legacy. The crazy catwalk spectacles of today grew out of the refined tea-time style shows she staged over 110 years ago in London’s Hanover Square, a place still associated with fashion through Vogue House, headquarters for British��Vogue. And the beautiful models we take for granted today, stomping down runways all over the world? They owe their careers to Lucile, who trained the first professional “mannequins,” sending them parading around her salon, balancing books on their heads.

Lucile’s legacy is also felt in the sexuality inherent in modern fashion, whether through the lingerie line her great-great granddaughter Camilla Blois has revived, or in the slit skirts and chiffon gowns that seem a perennial statement of femininity and liberation.

The views expressed in this article are the author’s own and do not necessarily reflect 51�Թ�’s editorial policy.

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is based upon the rich and eccentric private documents of the Chikhachev family — gentry landowners who lived in provincial — and offers a fascinating take on 19^th-century Russian history and culture. The microhistory probes the family’s various activities as well as their reactions to the major ideas sweeping across Tsarist��Russia, such as domesticity, sentimentalism and Romanticism.

In an interview with James Blake Wiener, author Katherine Antonova talks about the everyday lives of the gentry, how it differed from the western model, and how surprisingly modern the relationships between men and women were at the time.

James Blake Wiener: At the heart of��An Ordinary Marriage��is an argument that the western cult of domesticity did not pervade��the gentry class in late imperial Russia. The family’s patriarch, Andrei Chikhachev (1798-c. 1875), was the primary educator of his two children, while his wife, Natalia Chikhachev (1799-1866), oversaw the management of the estate, serfs and family finances. In your own words, why is it important for scholars to consider and study the activities of Russian gentry families?

Katherine Antonova: Well, it’s actually nothing new to say that not everyone lived according to the cliché of the cult of domesticity (with the wife as an “angel of the house” and the husband out in the world making a living). Historians have known for decades that people didn’t really live that way even in Victorian , at the point of origin for that myth. If you think about any prevailing cultural myth that gets a lot of media attention today — for example, the idea of a “millennial” generation that is narcissistic, plugged-in to technology, tuned-out socially — does it really apply to you or people you know who technically fit the category? No, usually it doesn’t, or only partially. Such cultural clichés are partly generalizations, partly myths that serve the creators and consumers of media to help us talk through controversies and fears that mean a lot to us, even if we do it through sort of stick-figure stand-ins to represent real people and real concerns.

So, it’s not really anything exciting to show that Russian families, too, just like , or families of that era, lived in a variety of ways that suited their personal circumstances, influenced by, but not enslaved to, prevalent cultural attitudes about men’s and women’s places at home and in the world. What��is��significant and interesting about what I’m showing is��how��this Russian case differed from the model of domesticity, and��why. Which circumstances caused them to behave in given ways, and what did they think about it? Did it work for them? How much, or how little, were they like their neighbors and other peers? In general, these are the kinds of questions historians are interested in: how and why — cause and effect.

In the context of what historians know about Russian history today, one of the things my book also contributes is a really in-depth look into ordinary life for a slice of the population that has been really hard to pin down. The group I’m talking about were in some ways incredibly privileged — the Chikhachevs had hereditary legal nobility, which came with the exclusive right to own land with serfs, and various other legal privileges.

But, while only about 3% of the Russian population in the 19^th century had hereditary nobility, only 3% of��them��were the super-rich aristocrats we recognize from Tolstoy’s novels. The vast majority of the nobility had rather middling income or less — many, in fact, were poor and lived essentially as peasants or anonymous townspeople. We know quite a lot about that most elite group of aristocrats. Many of them were prominent in government, their letters and diaries were preserved, often their writings were published in their lifetimes. And we know something about how their estates worked, because they usually had paid estate managers who would correspond with and keep records for the owners. Those people owned the majority of serfs in Russia. Yet the majority of serf��owners��were people like the Chikhachevs, who were not prominent, whose names have never been famous, whose papers were usually not preserved.

Andrei was mostly involved in bringing up their children, but he categorized this — explicitly — as intellectual and moral leadership, and therefore a masculine role.��

The “long” 19^th century (roughly from the death of Catherine the Great in 1796 to the revolution in 1917) saw Russia go from, arguably, its peak of power and status, through decades of tremendous social upheaval, to the collapse of a 300-year-old regime and the socialist revolution. One of the central mysteries for historians has been why Russia did not have what we saw develop in western Europe and the US during that same period: a growing, prospering, increasingly vocal, property-owning middle social group that demanded progress and change, and fought off both the overwhelming power of old-regime privileged castes and outright revolution from the working classes. My book is part of a growing body of scholarship that is trying, bit by bit, to trace those people, what they were doing, what they thought and what roles they played — and didn’t play — in the social upheavals of the long 19^th century.

Wiener: Could you perhaps offer a comment on why gendered marital roles differed in Russia from those found in Great Britain, France or the United States?

Antonova: The cult of domesticity was born out of incredibly unusual circumstances in��Britain,�� and the��, which offered propertied men unprecedented opportunities in what we have come to call a “public sphere.” Gradually or suddenly, at different times and in different degrees, such men started to vote, to be elected to office even without inherited rank; to make extraordinary profits in new commercial ventures; to participate independently in professional organizations, political parties and other institutions; and to become educated in specialized fields like law and medicine that brought social status and steady income. The theory goes that it was this drawing out of western middling-status men into economic and social activities separate from the family that forms part of the basis of domestic ideology. Tensions about the effects of these massive changes made people worry about the place — and purity — of home and family. So an image was created of the wife and mother as preserver of these values. Meanwhile, in real life, of course, many men continued to work from home, or be involved fathers, or to simply not be bothered by these concerns. Women went to work both inside and outside the home in this period. Real conditions varied from region to region, family to family. But the rhetoric was there, and rhetoric can color people’s attitudes and expectations, even where practical circumstances vary widely.

Russia in the middle of the 19^th century was — like almost every other country on earth — still largely rural, did not have representative government, and had very limited nongovernmental institutions. Propertied Russian men didn’t get any kind of meaningful vote until much later (if ever!), and real influence in government was largely restricted to an elite few. Commercial activity was deliberately restricted by Tsar Nicholas I, who feared social upheaval if too much of the peasantry moved to towns and cities to become workers. Similarly, Nicholas restricted most forms of independent organization (he came to power in the midst of a coup intended to dethrone him, which had been organized through secret societies). So, one of the primary preconditions for the western model of domesticity was simply absent.

Then, what Russian propertied men��were��expected to do was perform state service, which is to say that they served as officers in the military, or mid-level bureaucrats, for at least a few years. This took them physically away from their estates. Those who weren’t rich enough to employ an outside manager and still depended on their income came from those estates, so noblewomen of this middling group generally needed to at least be capable of stepping in to take over management temporarily. Some, like Natalia Chikhacheva, did it for most of their active adulthood, even when husbands were at home. In Natalia’s case, she did it because she was good at it, Andrei was not, and they were deeply indebted. She eventually succeeded in paying off their debts with two decades of hard-work.

Finally, one sphere that was open to Russian men of middling status, education and income like Andrei Chikhachev was cultural and intellectual activity, so long as they kept themselves within the accepted bounds approved by government censors. So one of the main ways Russian men could assert or improve their status, and also simply take some part in social life beyond their homes, was what Andrei did: read and write and, to whatever degree their talents allowed them, take part in a public intellectual sphere through the written word. This is what Andrei considered a proper masculine role, because he understood it as both existing “beyond the home” (metaphorically in his case) and involving intellectual and moral leadership. In contrast, he saw the terrific skill Natalia applied to estate management as merely “practical,” therefore lesser, and appropriate to women. In terms of hours spent, Andrei was mostly involved in bringing up their children, but he categorized this — explicitly — as intellectual and moral leadership, and therefore, a masculine role. Later he wrote articles for newspapers, and made a modest local reputation for himself.

Wiener: I am curious to know what specific challenges you faced when researching��An Ordinary Marriage? Did you enjoy working in the Russian archives?

Antonova: If such a cache of primary sources were preserved in the US or Britain, there would be several books written about it already. Part of the reason the Chikhachev papers have been relatively obscure until now is that they were preserved in a regional archive and, as it happens, in a city that didn’t even exist in the Chikhachevs’ time. So it’s not a place any researcher would think of first when looking for 19^th-century documents — the papers ended up there more or less by chance. Then, until the 1990s, Western researchers couldn’t go to that archive at all — there’s an important military base nearby and the area was restricted. Finally, the topics that these papers are most revealing of — gender, women’s lives, provincial nobility, everyday life — were not considered very important for Soviet researchers.

Any good social history should teach us a really important lesson: to unsettle our stereotypes, and remember instead the endless variety of ways in which people respond to their circumstances.��

By the time I got there in 2004, travel and research in a provincial archive was not nearly so difficult, but it did have its challenges. When these archives were founded, their purpose was largely to control who could access historical documents — to restrict access rather than facilitate it. That principle has arguably been less of a defining force in the operation of Russian archives since the collapse of the Soviet Union, but change is slow and uneven. When I was there, any form of reproduction of documents was strictly controlled (and expensive), so I copied almost the entire Chikhachev archive by hand over the course of ten months. But, partly because such papers have never really been considered very important, I was able to access everything, albeit slowly, a few documents at a time.

Wiener:��An Ordinary Marriage��is a work of microhistory. It is built upon intimate and unusual primary source documents, namely, the Chikhachev family’s notebooks, letters, diaries, periodicals, journalistic essays and academic journals. Which surprised you the most and why?

Antonova: The most surprising thing of all is just that all these documents were preserved together: an ordinary woman’s diary of the mid-19^th century, extending to many pages over several years, is an extraordinary find anywhere, but to also have her husband’s, son’s and brother’s diaries from the same time? I know of no other example of anything like it for a family of that time that wasn’t prominent, or professional writers. And there are also letters and legal documents and even maps and drawings!

Of all the types of documents preserved, there is one that represents a totally unexpected and revealing genre. They called it a “notebook correspondence”: It’s a series of books that were kept by the Chikhachevs and Natalia’s brother (and Andrei’s best friend), Yakov Chernavin, who lived on a neighboring estate. Each “side” kept a notebook, and wrote down messages or thoughts as they occurred to them; then every so often a messenger would exchange the notebooks. They would comment on each other’s writings in the margins, and add replies. It’s the closest thing I’ve ever seen to a recording of everyday conversation from the 19^th century. This is amazing, because ordinary letters at that time tended to be very formal, closely following formulae that mostly left out the everyday activities that historians care about, but that were taken for granted by writers at the time. It was only really talented writers that tended to write rich, interesting letters. But here we have ordinary people interacting informally, almost in real time.

Wiener: What lessons can we draw from��the experiences of the��Chikhachev household and the activities of the Russian gentry class as a whole? Do you believe that any are applicable to present-day Russia? Could they perhaps allow us to better understand the evolution of Russian norms and culture?

Antonova: Any good social history should teach us a really important lesson: to unsettle our stereotypes, and remember instead the endless variety of ways in which people respond to their circumstances. One of the “trends” the media picks up on lately is a supposedly new phenomenon of “stay-at-home-dads,” but we see here that Andrei Chikhachev was doing that in Russia in the 1830s and nobody found it strange, let alone emasculating. We tend to think of domestic ideology both as “how it was” and perhaps how it��always��was, but history tells us that’s not true. The Chikhachev story broadens our view of the incredible degree to which people could be living very differently from that model, without even considering themselves, or being considered, remarkable, right at the height of the public rhetoric about it. Families have always arranged themselves in different ways; there is no “normal.” And change is constant: The Chikhachevs’ arrangement was completely unsettled in the next generation because the economic basis of it — serfdom — was abolished. The next generation of Chikhachevs suddenly look astonishingly modern: Natalia and Andrei’s son moved to a city, worked for the railroad and became separated from his wife, who had an advanced education in mathematics.

Broadening our understanding of ordinary Russians, specifically, is not only important for scholars trying to revise or expand on our narrative of the development of major events like the collapse of the Romanov dynasty and the 1917 revolution. It’s important for everyone as a corrective to the ways media and political narratives can color our ideas about the world. For example, we know so little about middling groups in the 19^th century because, first, in the late-19^th century, forward-looking intellectuals were motivated to paint everything they wanted to change about their world as archaic, backward, destructive.

Then, after the revolution, the Soviet leadership aggressively worked to overturn cultural attitudes about who were the “heroes” and “enemies” of Russian history, and serf owners like the Chikhachevs were reviled or ignored. During the��,��American historians suddenly became very interested in everything about Russia. And for our own reasons we, too, bought into various stereotypes about an “absent” or “passive” Russian middle-class, and drew overly broad conclusions about what that meant about the nature of Russia itself. Some of us read too many novels and populate the historical Russia of our imagination with fictional characters.

Today, with the crisis in��, there’s a lot of very dangerous rhetoric on all sides that paints huge, diverse populations with broad ideological brushes. I think looking back very deeply at ordinary families like the Chikhachevs, and reading social history in general, can serve as a corrective to all this, forcing us to destabilize such easy stereotypes.

The views expressed��in this article are the author’s own and do not necessarily reflect��51�Թ�’s��editorial policy.

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Smaller and less well-known than neighboring Norway and Sweden, Denmark is something of an enigma to the wider world. However, Danish contributions to science, engineering, exploration, seafaring, literature, philosophy, music, architecture and many other fields are substantial and enduring.

In this interview, James Blake Wiener, communications director at Ancient History Encyclopedia, speaks to Dr. Norman Berdichevsky, author of , which explores the remarkable history and sociocultural characteristics of this Scandinavian nation.

James Blake Wiener: In��An Introduction to Danish Culture, you introduce readers to the greats of Danish history: Tycho Brahe, Hans Christian Andersen, Søren Kierkegaard, Niels Bohr and Karen Blixen. One is hard-pressed not to find a Danish contribution to the fields of science, art, literature and design. What initially attracted you to Danish culture?

Norman Berdichevsky:��As a 16 year old, I saw two films that made a very strong impression on me. They were Dreyer’s��Ordet����(The Word), based on Pastor Kaj Munk’s play, and Martin Andersen Nexø’s novel,��Ditte Menneskebarn��(Ditte, Child of Man), which was based on the book by the great proletarian writer, Martin Andersen Nexø. They intrigued me. How did these writers — much like Hans Christian Andersen — use the tiny canvas of their small country and “minor language” to paint such a great universal work? How could it be that they were able to paint such great works, similar to the Bible in their universality?

My answer is that they, like the ancient Hebrew prophets working in a small language, reached a universal audience through the themes they dealt with: the relations between parents and children, poverty, love, envy, social climbing, snobbery, faith, patriotism, loyalty and grief. Proof of this can be seen in the museum in Odense to the works of Andersen, the most translated author in history (after the Bible).

Wiener: Dr. Berdichevsky, can one say with affirmation that there are “core Danish values”? If so, how did they emerge and what would differentiate them from those of Denmark’s Nordic neighbors (Sweden, Norway, Iceland and Finland)?

Berdichevsky:��In contrast to the many similarities, all three are constitutional monarchies; all have a state-affiliated Lutheran Church; they have similarities in language (Danish and Norwegian are mutually intelligible and both Danes and Norwegians can read Swedish without major problems); and they hold a long history of political unions between all three kingdoms. Nevertheless, Denmark stands apart: first, due to��its proximity to the continent and major European cultural influences from France, Germany and Great Britain. In terms of actual “values,” I would cite an inbred modesty, a reluctance to embrace grandiose ideas and schemes, practicality, getting by and making due, and a distaste for snobbery.

Denmark was once a major power until the 17^th century when it ruled much of the North Atlantic, controlled the Baltic straits, Norway, southern Sweden, Greenland and Iceland, reaching to the Danish West Indies (Virgin Islands). However, school students prefer to cherish the modest part of their history — one that sings of the country’s diminished size, mild landscape and its mother tongue.

There are some Danes, just as among every people, who have prejudices against others because of their origin, religion, skin color, race, sex, language and political views. But Denmark has given its Muslim population the same safeguards and protection of other citizens.

Denmark’s last military conflict was its brave defense against a combined Prussian and Austrian invasion of the country in 1864 over the disputed Duchies of Schleswig and Holstein.��The experience of fighting alone against overwhelming odds, the resultant defeat, fatalities, enormous territorial loss and devastation caused by a war against two “super powers,” left behind a profound distrust in diplomacy based on alliances with other nations and the ability of the military to defend the country.

Hygge (roughly translated as “coziness”) is an arch-Danish concept that embraces the idyll of warm, snug, comfortable and stress-free — an antidote to the long, glum winter. It is often called the reason that Danes are the world’s happiest people (claimed by many polls) — if only that were so. However, these studies use statistics that are essentially based on economic and social well-being, which is not the same as happiness. The suicide rate in Denmark is approximately the same as in the United States.

Wiener: For many years, Denmark has had one of the highest levels of economic equality in the world. Why has this remained a political and social priority for the Danes?

Berdichevsky:��We easily forget that all of Scandinavia was a peripheral and impoverished part of Europe for most of its history. In proportion to its population, migration in the middle of the 19^th century was pronounced from all three countries to the US and Canada.��Denmark has the smallest area and the fewest natural resources — even more in the modern industrial age, when Sweden and Norway could build on an industrial base of iron and oil. Danes were taught at an early age by their parents to be frugal. Naturally, this also inculcated a hostile attitude toward affectation and any conspicuous consumption by a wealthy elite. Many of the short stories of Hans Christian Andersen revolved around this theme.

Denmark’s most beloved church figure, N.F.S. Grundtvig, argued that Christianity was not a theory to be derived from the Bible and elaborated by scholars, who would quibbled over obscure translations from the original Hebrew and Greek. He questioned their right to elaborate on the Bible for daily life. He felt the Latin-based classical education of an aristocratic elite was out of touch with the common people, who would form the basis of a new democracy.

He believed in the value of a basic education for all adults, an idea which set in motion the popular folk-school tradition. He supported the democratic ideal of a popularly elected assembly, schools and a constitution. He opposed all compulsion as deadening to the human spirit and proved to be one of the most influential persons in Danish history, as his philosophy led to a new form of nationalism combined with the promotion of wisdom, active citizenship, compassion and greater equality.

Wiener: What are the negative consequences of Danish egalitarianism, if any, in your opinion?����

Berdichevsky:��A considerable number of Americans, who were attracted by what they perceived from afar as the Danish welfare state, came to settle in Denmark over the past 50 years — I was one of them. The great majority were looking for an “antidote” to the extreme materialism, rat-race mentality of competition, and ever-present danger of violent crime in the US. After some years, many either returned to the US or realized that the advantages of living in Denmark with its high degree of social solidarity came at the price of a stifling conformity.

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In January 1981, the Danish left-wing weekly,��Politiken, ran a series of articles on “Americans in Denmark: Who Are They? And Why Have They Come?” Those who found permanent jobs and even mastered Danish were critical of the lack of initiative, and all cited examples of being warned by Danish colleagues not to excel.

Individualism and diligence are not tolerated. I can verify this on a personal level.��My son is a physiotherapist and his wife is a chiropractor. They successfully run their own clinic, which is forced to charge fees about a third more than older cooperative firms��that receive a government subsidy, thereby enabling them to charge lower prices. My son worked for one of these firms but was told he could not use qualifications — earned through special training courses — that are symbolized by various initials after his name because “this would reflect badly on his colleagues.”

Wiener: While many still believe that Denmark is a veritable model of tolerance, liberalism and good-living, in recent years, Denmark has faced its fair share of criticism: the��Prophet��Muhammad cartoons controversy and Denmark’s tough new rules on immigration immediately come to mind. Has Denmark become a victim of its own self-image?

Berdichevsky:��There are some Danes, just as among every people, who have prejudices against others because of their origin, religion, skin color, race, sex, language and political views. But Denmark has given its Muslim population the same safeguards and protection of other citizens, including immigrants from other parts of the world who have chosen to try and integrate, and accept the values of Danish society.

It has supported Muslim institutions and schools, and instituted costly programs designed to ease their integration into Danish society by making allowances for Muslim customs such as dietary restrictions. A Palestinian-born Muslim, Naser Khader, was elected to the Folketing (Danish parliament) from the moderate-centrist party that supported Danish policy in Iraq. But, like other Danes, he was shocked and outraged by the provocation of several Muslim religious leaders (who have control of the state-supported Islamic Religious Council), who purposely defamed the country and spread false stories about the cartoons.

Denmark cannot tolerate, and rightly so, the mistreatment of women or segregated facilities — for example, Muslim groups demanding that physical education classes in public schools, which include swimming pools, be segregated by gender. This is fundamental to Danes of all political persuasions. The “tough” new rules are meant to prevent abuse and fraud.

Having emerged from the First World War as a beneficiary of territory that had been under German rule, the Danish government bent over backward to placate German nationalism and the demand for revenge by giving the German minority every cultural right to organize and cultivate their language and traditions — just as it has done with immigrant Muslims today. Denmark can still be justifiably proud of its record in dealing fairly with minorities who wish to assimilate.

The views expressed in this article are the author’s own and do not necessarily reflect 51�Թ�’s editorial policy.

/����/��

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Regions Apart: The Four Societies of Canada and the United States, by Dr. Edward Grabb, professor emeritus of sociology at Western University and the late Dr. James Curtis of the University of Waterloo, redefined and reoriented the field of Canadian sociology in 2005, overturning prevalent nationalist myths and cultural stereotypes in its wake.

James Blake Wiener, communications director of Ancient History Encyclopedia, speaks to Grabb about similarities and differences between Canada and America, postmodernism and cultural stereotypes.

James Blake Wiener: In��Regions Apart, you use statistical data to argue the United States and Canada can be understood as four distinct regional societies, each with their own set of values and cultural attitudes: Québec; English Canada; the American North; and the American South. Given the geographical expanse and complexity of the modern-day US and Canada, can the four-regions model accurately reflect the sociocultural attitudes?

Edward Grabb:��Our research, covering almost 30 years of contemporary and historical analysis, shows the four-regions model fits the evidence much better than a simple two-nations model, in which Canada and the US in general are portrayed as very different. There certainly are other internal differences that could be considered, like those between the US west coast and New England, or between British Columbia and Canada’s Atlantic region.

However, we found clear and consistent evidence that the strongest lines of demarcation separate Québec and the rest of Canada, on the one hand, and the American South and non-South, on the other, with national differences usually far less prominent.

In��Regions Apart, and in other studies that we and others have conducted,��Québec is clearly the most left-liberal region of North America on topics like gay rights, same-sex marriage, common-law marriage, adolescent sexuality, capital punishment, taxation, government spending, unionization, military intervention and so on. The US South is the most conservative or traditional on these same issues. The rest of Canada and the US are usually quite similar on these and other cultural, social, political and economic questions. ����

Wiener: Of the four regional societies, Québec’s politically and culturally leftist-liberal mores stand out when juxtaposed with those of their Anglophone neighbors in Canada and the United States. Would it be fair to characterize contemporary Québecois society as “postmodern”?

Grabb:��“Postmodernism” is one of those terms that has been so widely used that, as some argue, it can now mean pretty much anything you want it to mean, making it not very useful as a concept.

My understanding is that postmodernism originally referred to a philosophy in which ideas like “statism” and “nationalism” are replaced by ideas emphasizing diversity and flexibility of thought.�� As mentioned already, Québecers do show greater flexibility or liberality than other North Americans on matters like gay rights.

However, as Jim Curtis and I showed in��Regions Apart, Québec is both the��most��statist and the��least��ethnically or culturally diverse society of the four that we compared. Québecers are also the��most��nationalist population of all; and by “nationalist” here I mean Québecers’ strong identity with the Québec “nation” and not with Canada as a whole. ��

Therefore, Québec does not really fit the criteria that I would associate with postmodernism. I suggest instead that Québec is the most “social democratic” or “European” society of North America in terms of its social, cultural and economic realities. �� ��

Wiener: English Canada and the American North hold similar attitudes to health care, government and conceptions of individual liberty, due in part to their common British origin. However, internal struggles — Québec vs. English Canada and the American North vs. the American South — typically slant opinions to the left in Canada and slightly to the right in the United States. Collectively speaking, on which issues do Americans and Canadians converge and diverge the most?

Grabb:��This is difficult to answer definitively because both countries do change over time, making our areas of convergence and divergence different, depending on the historical period. Generally, though, I maintain that the two countries remain similar or convergent in their founding principles, most of which are traceable to their common roots as former British colonies.

What Jim and I called the four “deep structural” principles of the two nations are still intact, though more as ideals to strive for, and not as perfectly achieved realities in either country. These include��liberty, individual freedom to pursue one’s goals, while also accepting the rights of others to pursue their goals;��equality, the same rights and opportunities for all citizens, though not necessarily the same life outcomes;��popular sovereignty, government of the people, by the people and for the people, as Abraham Lincoln so eloquently put it; and��pluralism, the belief that all individuals have the fundamental right to be different, even if other people don’t always like or agree with their differences.

As for divergences, I think we have long been divergent in the area of criminal justice, where we see consistently much higher US incarceration and homicide rates, for example. However, even here some differences are exaggerated, for, as shown in��Regions Apart, Canada actually has somewhat higher rates for some non-violent crimes, like auto thefts and break-and-entry.

Another area of substantial difference or divergence over the years concerns our roles in the world. The US is far more powerful politically, economically and culturally than Canada, and such differences inevitably give rise to occasionally different views about how to address some of the world’s problems. But we have also been close political allies and economic partners for many decades, so even here our divergent positions can be overstated in many instances, and can regularly change toward more convergence again at a later time.

Wiener:��In the future, do you believe that regional struggles will become even more deep-seated and heated? Although the Québec sovereignty movement was defeated in a 1995 referendum, Québec became a “nation within a nation” in 2006, precipitating sharp divisions in Canadian public opinion. In the United States, the divisions between “red states” and “blue states” seem entrenched despite President Barack Obama’s reelection in 2012.

Grabb:��I think these regional divisions, most of which stem from historical events occurring centuries ago — the Seven Years’ War, American Revolution, American Civil War and so on — are likely to remain crucial for some time.�� The “French fact” in Québec is so deeply entrenched by historical, linguistic, religious and cultural forces that it is probably understandable that Québec received quasi-official recognition as a “nation within a nation” by Prime Minister Stephen Harper. And, even though the Civil War is now a century and a half behind us,��I find it remarkable, speaking as a foreigner, that the “North-South” and related “red-blue” divides are still so telling today. The legacy of “states’ rights” and, sadly, slavery remain to some degree.

So, these divisions fit very well with our research findings over the years. I have some optimism that the stark racial divide in the US may eventually reduce, as the country adds more Hispanic, Asian and other immigrants. This process could complicate but also blur the ethnic lines within America.

Canada has its ethno-racial divides and injustices too, of course, but we may have blurred the lines a little sooner and a little more successfully to this point. As I mentioned previously, Québec remains very homogeneous, especially outside of Montreal, but here too I have some hope that, at least on ethnic issues, the differences between Québec and English Canada will abate to some degree.

Wiener: Economics, demographics, culture and a history of shared values have inextricably linked Canada and the United States for more than two centuries. Nevertheless, politicians and sociologists alike have routinely emphasized the differences between these two nations in discourse and dialogue. How have distorted cultural stereotypes and broad generalizations become so commonplace on both sides of the world’s largest undefended border?

Grabb:��This is another intriguing question requiring a long answer to be complete, but I can point to a couple of related things. Most of all, I think some academics, journalists and political figures lean toward drawing exaggerated contrasts between the countries, because these people think stark patterns make the story more compelling, and more likely to be read or noticed by those whom they would wish to impress or influence. I also think some simply don’t do their homework, relying instead on their knowledge of existing stereotypes and unfounded assumptions to generate simplistic views of Canada, the US and the world in general.

These stereotypes and assumptions gain a prominence or currency that is difficult to dispel, because most people don’t have the motivation to look beyond the obvious or commonly accepted viewpoints and do the hard work of finding out what is actually true. Opinion leaders abound but, if they are ill-informed or have ulterior motives, then all of us are poorly served by what they tell us.

I am grateful to you and��51�Թ���for giving me the opportunity to talk about how Jim Curtis and I have sought to overcome such misconceptions and misinformation when trying to understand the special relationship between our two great countries.

The views expressed in this article are the author’s own and do not necessarily reflect 51�Թ�’s editorial policy.

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James Blake Wiener, Communications Director of the Ancient History Encyclopedia and independent writer, speaks to , the award-winning author of about what makes modern Switzerland tick.

James Blake Wiener: In Swiss Watching, you dispel many widely held stereotypes of Switzerland, offering instead an impression of a contradictory nation that functions extremely well. Having analyzed Switzerland and its inhabitants for many years, what intrigues you the most about this enigmatic country?

Diccon Bewes: That it actually functions!��Switzerland��is a country that shouldn’t exist as it defies most of the norms for a modern state. Whereas other countries came into being through a common language, political beliefs, wars of independence or imperial designs, none of those applies to Switzerland. It is a country in spite of its geographical, linguistic, political, historic and religious divisions, many of which have defined it for centuries, but never yet succeeded in destroying it.

These fault lines still shape the country today. Protestant vs Catholic, conservative vs liberal, town vs country, French vs German; all of these internal divisions are what make Switzerland the way it is, but each is kept in check by the political system.

As for stereotypes, Switzerland has more than its fair share, from banks and skis to francs and cheese. The fascinating thing is that many of these clichés are true: the trains (and people) do run on time; there is virtually no unemployment; the chocolate is divine; and the streets are clean. But not all the cheese has holes, cuckoo clocks were originally German, and the Swiss do have a sense of humor.

Wiener: While Switzerland is more widely known for its chocolate and watches, it comes as a surprise that the Swiss invented several items of everyday life: aluminum foil, the electric toothbrush, and Velcro. Ironically, Switzerland also exports more weapons abroad (per capita) than the USA or UK. What accounts for this Alpine resourcefulness, and why are the Swiss manufacturing weapons after nearly 500-years of official neutrality?

Bewes: Switzerland has had to be resourceful because it has no natural resources, other than water and wood. No coal or iron, not enough farmland and never any colonies. It has always had to rely on its position at the center of Europe to make a living from import-export, and in Swiss terms that meant importing raw materials and exporting high quality goods. And part of that is a canny knack for innovation, from the Swatch watch to the toilet duck.

Behind this inventiveness lie two sources of creative impetus: material gain and a stable society. Switzerland has produced 25 Nobel prizewinners (more per head than any other country) but much of the innovation comes in less cerebral areas, ones which have an immediate material benefit. Making money is a strong motivator for many Swiss. And having a currency and society that are strong and stable provides the necessary background for long-lasting creativity.

When it comes to weapons, material gain is also the main motive. Switzerland is famously neutral but that doesn’t mean it is pacifist. You see armed soldiers in the streets and defense consumes eight percent of the national budget – all in a country that in theory doesn’t have a single enemy. The Swiss are like boy scouts, always prepared, and in this case that means being armed to the teeth at all times.

The dark side of this show of force is the arms trade, with Switzerland exporting weapons to over 70 countries. Morality vs money is an age-old dilemma, but while the Swiss often claim the former as mediators, they also collect the latter as exporters. They merely overcome the neutrality question by selling arms to both sides.

Wiener: You describe Switzerland as Europe’s “landlocked island,” analyzing its reluctance to join the European Union. Switzerland is, however, a member of the European Free Trade Association (EFTA) and took part in negotiating the European Economic Area (EEA) agreement. What do you think the future holds with regard to Swiss-EU relations?

Bewes: Switzerland may be a member of EFTA but it’s almost the last man standing. Everyone else has either joined the EU or signed up to the EEA, both of which the Swiss have rejected. It really is an island at the heart of Europe, not sure of how to behave with its overbearing and all-encompassing neighbor. Economically it has little choice, but emotionally it doesn’t want to join the party. And the Swiss hate being told what to do by anyone. In that respect, Brussels is just the latest in a long line of opponents from the Habsburgs and Napoleon, to the Nazis and the US Senate. It’s telling that the Swiss president, Ueli Maurer, recently used the story of David and Goliath to illustrate Switzerland’s position in the world.

Instead, the Swiss negotiated a series of bilateral agreements with the EU, covering areas such as free trade and free movement of people. Cherry-picking the best bits is the normal criticism from the EU, although Switzerland has paid millions to Brussels to help the euro and the new members in Eastern Europe. But it looks like those days are over. Tax avoidance, bank secrecy, and not conforming to EU rules have strained relations, and the Swiss will soon have to decide where their future lies: simply in Europe or actually a part of it.

Wiener: Rising xenophobia has affected many parts of Europe, and Switzerland is no exception. From the recent scandal involving in Zürich to the controversy over the , Switzerland has faced its share of criticism too. How well does Switzerland assimilate and manage its foreign-born population, which numbers over 20 percent?

Bewes: Firstly, many of Switzerland’s foreigners are not actually foreign-born. They are second or third generation, born in Switzerland but without automatic nationality rights (unlike in the USA). So while still technically foreign, they are largely well integrated, having grown up here and speaking the local dialects.

Secondly, Switzerland has a long history of taking in refugees from conflicts, be they Tibetans, Sri Lankans or Kosovars. It’s this humanitarian instinct that is being pitted against the rising xenophobia, fuelled by the largest (and richest) political party pursuing an anti-immigrant agenda. The long-term issue is integration in a country that historically had no empire, no slavery, and so no experience of a multi-ethnic society.

Thirdly, the Swiss are often wary of people even from the other side of the country, let alone from another country. Until the railway age, many towns were cut off from each other by the landscape, fostering a climate of only trusting local people. Strangers were potential enemies, and some might say they still are.

As for Oprah, I think that was more a case of typically brusque Swiss service rather than racism. For an American especially, service here can be distinctly unfriendly and cold.

Wiener: Switzerland is exceptional as it is a blend of cultures, languages, and many distinctive regions. Unlike their neighbors, the Swiss like to think of themselves as the Willensnation – a nation formed by popular consensus. What are the virtues of direct democracy, and what can the rest of the world learn from the Swiss federalist tradition?

Bewes: Forget North Korea, if any country deserves to be called the People’s Republic, it is Switzerland. Citizens vote every three months in referenda on anything and everything,��from joining the UN to shop opening hours, and important laws cannot be passed without a popular majority. Direct democracy means that no one party or person is ever in control as the people can always have the final say.

Consensus – not confrontation – typifies Swiss politics, although there are of course deep divisions between the five or six main parties. But the ever-present threat of a referendum means that the parties must find a solution acceptable to the majority, not simply to their own narrow interests. That has two benefits: no one can ever claim “not in my name,” as every Swiss citizen has a chance to have a say. And it builds a long-term sense of community, taking decisions that benefit the many rather than the few, for example, voting against six weeks’ holiday as the legal minimum.

The downside is that the system is slow (women didn’t get the vote until 1971 because the men kept voting against reform) and can be hijacked by well-organized single-interest groups, as the minaret ban showed. But it works, and usually works well because everyone is, or can be, involved. It is grown-up politics.

The views expressed in this article are the author’s own and do not necessarily reflect 51�Թ�’s editorial policy.

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