Why the myth of unity between Denmark, Greenland and the Faroe Islands conceals a deep and uneasy divide
In Eftertryk, Dánial Magnusson Haraldsen unravels the contradictions at the heart of what Denmark calls the “rigsfællesskabet” – the “commonwealth” that supposedly binds Denmark, Greenland and the Faroe Islands into one harmonious political family. It’s a concept now resurgent in Danish public life, especially after the US’s renewed interest in acquiring Greenland and growing independence sentiment in the North Atlantic.
But as Haraldsen shows, this “commonwealth” is less a legal or constitutional entity than an act of political imagination: a myth of tripartite equality masking profound asymmetries of power, history and belonging.
The term rigsfællesskabet, he reminds us, is not found in the Danish Constitution, nor does it carry any binding legal meaning. It is a political invention, fluid, interpretive and often used for convenience more than clarity. Its origins date only to the late-20th century, gaining traction after jurist Frederik Harhoff’s influential 1993 dissertation reframed the Danish realm as a “community” of three distinct yet united territories. Before that, lawyers and politicians preferred “rigsenhed” (“unity of the realm”), a term rooted in the constitutional logic of Denmark’s sovereignty. The shift from “unity” to “community” seemed to promise a softer, more equal relationship. Yet, as Haraldsen argues, it remains a rhetorical sleight of hand alluding to a moral vocabulary that conceals a hierarchical reality.
That hierarchy, forged through colonial history, is still evident in the cultural and educational projects Denmark launches in the name of unity. In January 2025, the Danish government announced 12 new initiatives to address discrimination against Greenlanders. Among them was a plan for “compulsory education about the realm”, with the intention of teaching Danish students more about Greenland and the Faroe Islands. Yet, as Haraldsen points out, the belatedness of this curiosity is not mutual. Faroese and Greenlandic students have long studied Danish language, history and culture. Danish students, meanwhile, have learned almost nothing about the societies their kingdom encompasses.
Even new museum exhibitions like the National Museum’s children’s show about Greenland, complete with snow goggles and ice floes, tend to reproduce colonial clichés, turning the Arctic into a picturesque backdrop for Danish national identity. What is presented as inclusion, Haraldsen suggests, is often a subtle exercise in soft power: a way of keeping Greenland and the Faroes within Denmark’s orbit at a time when both are reconsidering their ties.
The author frames this tension through the lens of political theorist Benedict Anderson’s notion of “imagined communities”. Just as nations are “imagined” through shared symbols and stories, so too is the Danish commonwealth. But this imagination is not, in fact, collective. While many Danes may believe in a shared community stretching from Copenhagen to Nuuk and Tórshavn, most Greenlanders and Faroese experience it differently, as a relationship defined by dependency rather than equality. If the sense of common purpose exists only on one side, Haraldsen asks, can there truly be a community at all?
In the Faroe Islands, that question is no longer academic. Former Faroese foreign minister Høgni Hoydal has denounced rigsfællesskabet as “a damn word” that perpetuates a myth of parity. His party, Tjóðveldi, continues to push for full independence, arguing that existing home rule and self-government have not delivered genuine sovereignty. Yet even the traditionally pro-union Sambandsflokkurin has begun to question the existing arrangement, calling for a reformed “Commonwealth 2.0” that reflects real political equality. Across the spectrum, Faroese politicians agree on one thing: the status quo cannot hold.
Their frustration is legal as much as political. The Faroe Islands’ and Greenland’s powers, Haraldsen notes, ultimately rest on Danish goodwill rather than entrenched constitutional rights. True autonomy would require a new legal framework, perhaps looking at the model which applied in Iceland from 1918 to when the country declared full independence in 1944, in which a nominal union preserves symbolic ties while granting full sovereignty. But such a reform would mean acknowledging that the “commonwealth” as it exists today is not a community of equals, and that Denmark’s control remains the bedrock of the realm.
In the end, Haraldsen concludes, the Danish commonwealth is a house built on imagined togetherness. Its moral architecture depends on a belief that all three nations share a common destiny, yet this belief is held most fervently by the one partner with the power to define it. The myth of community has preserved Denmark’s realm for decades. But myths, once questioned, lose their magic.
Original article ‘Det forestillede rigsfællesskab er fyldt med splid’ by Dánial Magnusson Haraldsen was published in Danish on 11 August 2025.
It’s available here.
Eftertryk is a Danish digital magazine founded in 2017 by Uffe Kaels Auring and Poya Pakzad. It publishes essays and commentary on politics, literature and culture, combining sharp interventions with longer reflective analyses.
Summary by ZN
