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The New Danes: Who are they?

Data visualization of a world map, showing the countries that New Danes came from (key insights explained in article text)
Source: statbank.dk/DKSTAT, data visualisation by author



Images: Kelly Draper Rasmussen


Danish citizenship is one of the hardest in Europe to earn. Every year, thousands of hopeful residents, refugees and expats make it through the maze of politics, requirements and persistence and emerge as “New Danes,” but who are they? And what does their journey say about how Denmark decides who truly belongs?


Growing numbers and tightening restrictions

In the late 1970s, only a few thousand people a year became Danish citizens. Then came the millennium boom: over 19,000 new Danes in the year 2000 alone. The largest groups were Turks, Bosnians and stateless people, many fleeing war or upheaval. Eight of the top ten nationalities that year came from countries scarred by conflict.


By 2015, when Denmark introduced dual citizenship, another small wave followed. Once again, eight of the ten top groups came from conflict zones: some from entirely new wars that had broken out in the intervening years.


Since the 1990s, Denmark has amended its citizenship laws more than ten times, almost always to make them tougher. In the late 90s, minor offences like small fines were no obstacle. By 2017, even a speeding ticket could block an application, forcing people to wait another four and a half years before trying again.


That same year, Inger Støjberg, the Danish Minister for integration, immigration and housing, brought a cake to work to celebrate her department passing 50 laws tightening the rules around immigration. This controversial move sparked polarised discussion across Denmark and even within her own party, highlighting just how demanding the path to Danish citizenship has become.


The Class of 2024

So, who managed to thread the needle last year? The 2024 cohort of new Danes was led by Britons. In fact, more Brits have become Danish citizens in the past five years than in the previous three decades combined, with only Pakistanis having near as many successful applications.


The rest of the top five included Germany, India and Ukraine. Demographically, most Pakistanis gaining citizenship were under 20, while most Brits and Germans were adults. For Ukrainians and Indians, the split was almost perfectly even between under and over 20s.


Overall, the gender balance was fifty-fifty. The biggest age group was those in their 40s followed by children under nine, a reminder that many families are putting down long-term roots.


The Danish passport: a badge of honour – and bureaucracy

Many Danish politicians boast of how difficult it is to get a Danish passport, pointing to countries where you just need to find a distant relative or pay a fee as cautionary tales. The list of requirements is formidable: long-term residence, a solid work record, proven Danish language skills, a clean criminal record, no debts to the state and a signed declaration of support for democracy, capped off with a literal handshake from a mayor, without gloves.


Applicants who meet all of this must still wait for Parliament to vote them in. Until recently, such votes happened twice a year, but not this year.


The politics of belonging

In recent years, a few would-be citizens found themselves questioned over old social media posts, ensuring their opinions weren’t “too extreme”. Although the individuals passed, the government is now considering making such interviews mandatory, suggesting it might be a “fairer” way to assess character than scanning people’s online histories if they have names that sound foreign.


Prime Minister Mette Frederiksen’s government has openly stated that immigration — particularly from the Middle East and North Africa — “has not worked.” A list of 16 non-EU countries whose citizens are thought to “integrate more easily” includes the UK and Ukraine. Interestingly, only those two, along with three EU nations, appeared in last year’s top ten citizenship list.


It raises an uncomfortable question: are Denmark’s famously strict rules so demanding that even those from so-called “favoured” countries are discouraged, while others - often from more precarious situations - find a way through sheer persistence?


Behind every number is a story: a British family making their post-Brexit home permanent, a Pakistani teenager growing up Danish, a Ukrainian mother starting again after war. The statistics may show how few succeed, but the human stories reveal something else: that despite the hurdles, many still see a Danish passport as a promise of safety, belonging and a future worth fighting for.


Sources


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