What we can learn from Norway’s feminist success

Why professional mothers can have it all.

When the speeding fine for 6,500 kroner (£650) dropped on to the doormat last Thursday, I did not immediately reflect on Stavanger's enviable record on road safety.

But as I discussed the fine with Norwegian friends and the explosion of incredulity I had expected at the harshness of the punishment never materialised, I took pause to reflect on the question they were all asking instead: "Why on earth do you imagine it was OK to break the speed limit in the first place?"

That conundrum is at the root of Norway's ability to achieve socially desirable outcomes, and its determination to pursue social-democratic goals – not least, gender equality.

Norwegians are proud of their country and its reputation. Most would agree that it is desirable to have a gender balance in business and politics; the idea of losing vast numbers of talented women from the workforce just because they become pregnant is anathema. But that social cohesion is underpinned by the government's willingness to legislate robustly against those who do not instinctively share the majority's goals.

The result is that the country has just topped Save the Children's Mother's Index for the second year in a row. The UK failed to beat Norway on any one of the 11 criteria that comprise the index. But it is the factors that make up female economic, and political, status which prove particularly instructive about why it is so much easier to be a professional and a mother in Norway.

Quotable quotas

Tellingly, Norway's women earn, on average, 77 per cent as much as men (the highest ratio in the world), and represent 40 per cent of the legislature. In both cases, the government, or individual political parties, have intervened with quotas to help guarantee these figures.

Britain has toyed with the idea of imposing quotas for women in business and parliament – most recently in February, when Mervyn Davies, in his report for the government, rejected boardroom quotas in favour of voluntary targets. A similar approach was attempted in Norway at the end of the 20th century. But, by 2003, when it had become clear that listed firms were failing to promote enough women, the government legislated instead.

The quota is 40 per cent. Boardrooms are now 42 per cent female. Mimi Berdal, a self-confessed beneficiary of the legislation, and perhaps Norway's most prominent female businesswoman, with a CV boasting 90 board directorships, believes that within five years the quota will have become unnecessary. It is a classic example of top-down policy shaping social mores.

The latest example is a tweaking of the maternity and paternity laws which will increase entitlement, while also forcing fathers to take on more of the childrearing obligations. At the moment, the government covers 100 per cent of salary for 46 weeks, or 80 per cent for 56 weeks. Of that time, nine weeks are reserved for mothers and ten weeks for the father, with the rest of the time transferable between partners.

Carrot? Or stick?

The idea, says Kirsti Bergstø, the 31-year-old deputy minister for children, equality and social inclusion is to ensure that fathers have the option of contributing more to childrearing. As of 1 July, the government will intervene again to ensure they do: an extra week will be made available to parents. But the non-transferable paternity element will increase from ten to 12 weeks.

"They either use it or lose it," says Bergstø.

It is legitimate to argue that it is easier to effect such carrot-and-stick politics in an ethnically homogeneous country of just five million people than it would be in a complex polity more than ten times the size.

Yet Bergstø argues that other countries could learn from Norway's preparedness to legislate in pursuit of social democratic goals. Even a challenge as difficult as integrating asylum-seekers and encouraging female refugees into the Norwegian labour market is easily tackled with Norwegian-style compassionate-but-tough legislation, she says.

It starts with the obligations for new entrants to the country to take language classes. "Learning Norwegian is important for the women for integration," says Bergstø. "If they are going to join the labour market it is essential."

The corollary is that their children get free access to one of Norway's first-class state nurseries. Norwegian parents also have access to these nurseries, so professional mothers can avoid the expense of UK-style childcare.

And while those from Stavanger drive their children there in the morning, they might also reflect that there has been not a single death in an accident on the roads since 2008.

Mark Lewis is a freelance journalist based in Norway.

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Rarely has it mattered so little if Manchester United won; rarely has it been so special they did

Team's Europa League victory offers chance for sorely needed celebration of a city's spirit.

Carlo Ancelotti, the Bayern Munich manager, memorably once said that football is “the most important of the least important things”, but he was only partly right. While it is absolutely the case that a bunch of people chasing around a field is insignificant, a bunch of people chasing around a field is not really what football is about.

At a football match can you set aside the strictures that govern real life and freely scream, shout and cuddle strangers. Football tracks life with such unfailing omnipresence, garnishing the mundane with regular doses of drama and suspense; football is amazing, and even when it isn’t there’s always the possibility that it’s about to be.

Football bestows primal paroxysms of intense, transcendent ecstasy, shared both with people who mean everything and people who mean nothing. Football carves out time for people it's important to see and delivers people it becomes important to see. Football is a structure with folklore, mythology, language and symbols; being part of football is being part of something big, special, and eternal. Football is the best thing in the world when things go well, and still the best thing in the world when they don’t. There is nothing remotely like it. Nothing.

Football is about community and identity, friends and family; football is about expression and abandon, laughter and song; football is about love and pride. Football is about all the beauty in the world.

And the world is a beautiful place, even though it doesn’t always seem that way – now especially. But in the horror of terror we’ve seen amazing kindness, uplifting unity and awesome dignity which is the absolute point of everything.

In Stockholm last night, 50,000 or so people gathered for a football match, trying to find a way of celebrating all of these things. Around town before the game the atmosphere was not as boisterous as usual, but in the ground the old conviction gradually returned. The PA played Bob Marley’s Three Little Birds, an Ajax staple with lyrics not entirely appropriate: there is plenty about which to worry, and for some every little thing is never going to be alright.

But somehow the sentiment felt right and the Mancunian contingent joined in with gusto, following it up with “We’ll never die,” – a song of defiance born from the ashes of the Munich air disaster and generally aired at the end of games, often when defeat is imminent. Last night it was needed from the outset, though this time its final line – “we’ll keep the red flag flying high, coz Man United will never die" – was not about a football team but a city, a spirit, and a way of life. 

Over the course of the night, every burst of song and even the minute's silence chorused with that theme: “Manchester, Manchester, Manchester”; “Manchester la la la”; “Oh Manchester is wonderful”. Sparse and simple words, layered and complex meanings.

The match itself was a curious affair. Rarely has it mattered so little whether or not United won; rarely has it been so special that they did. Manchester United do not represent or appeal to everyone in Manchester but they epitomise a similar brilliance to Manchester, brilliance which they take to the world. Brilliance like youthfulness, toughness, swagger and zest; brilliance which has been to the fore these last three days, despite it all.

Last night they drew upon their most prosaic aspects, outfighting and outrunning a willing but callow opponent to win the only trophy to have eluded them. They did not make things better, but they did bring happiness and positivity at a time when happiness and positivity needed to be brought; football is not “the most important of the least important things,” it is the least important of the most important things.

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