I feel foreign in Denmark, even more than 100%. When the government constantly tightens legislation on immigration instead of making
legislation which will facilitate integration, it is hard to feel at home.

My middle name Mzee means “wise man” in Swahili. My father had a dream about me becoming a great man of the world. I was 16 when he died. I might easily have ended up in the street, but I was lucky to get into university. In Denmark my case worker told me that foreign education does not count here, and that there is no shortage of welleducated people in Denmark, only of people for unskilled jobs. This must be some sort of legalized form of discrimination, and it hit me hard, because my father always claimed that his only purpose in life was my education. My surname Murhula means “peace”, but it wasn’t until I met my Danish mother, Else Marie, that I found a bit of peace
in Denmark. From 2005 to 2007 she served as my private integration minister. She paid for the qualifying course for RUC and the deposit for a room at the dormitory. Today I have a master’s degree, but it is still hard to find work. I have been a member of the liberal party Venstre for many years, but they only used me so that they could
appear as diverse, and I was never accepted as a candidate.

The Danish parliament is just like the South African national rugby team before apartheid. Us new Danes born south of Sahara are not part of it, and as a result we don’t feel like we are part of society either. I have now enrolled with the party Alternativet, so let us see what will happen.

Julien Kalimira Mzee Murhul / 42 years / male / in a relationship / children / M.Sc. in administration /
self-employed / Copenhagen N / from DR Congo / came to Denmark
as a quota refugee in 2002

The first time I returned to China I didn’t recognise Shanghai, my hometown. Everything had changed during the years I had been away. All I recognised was my own reflection. This was where I found
out that Odense is my real hometown. I grew up in Odense. Even though many Danes think I am a tourist, I feel Danish.

In my opinion freedom of expression must be inviolable, but it is aesthetically repulsive when you use it to bully others, which is what I think the Danes did with the caricature crisis regarding the Muhammad drawings. Instead it should be used to criticise our system of power and the inequality we see in the society.

The reason why I fled China back in the days was because I refused to be oppressed. As an underground poet I used my poems to question
the injustice and the societal structures that were used to deny the people the opportunity to express themselves freely. Here in Denmark I use my plays to express my thoughts and attitudes. I actually think that art is a better way to deliver criticism than politics that often carry an unpleasant tone. For example it is wrong to use freedom of
speech as an excuse to step on others. The agenda of DF, the Danish People’s Party, makes me sad because it undermines the tolerance and humanism in the country, but so do the young immigrants’ crimes, because they show the same lack of tolerance and humanism. I think that DF and the young criminal immigrants reinforce each other. It is a tragic development and I fear for the end result.

Jung Feng / 52 years / male / in a relationship / artist / Copenhagen / from China / came to Denmark in 1992 / residence permit same year

I feel good in Denmark and I don’t feel foreign. I miss my brothers and sisters, though, and the way things used to be when we were still together in Somalia. We would tease each other, have fun, and just be close. Gradually I have made some friends here in Denmark, who are here for me, and I am happy that they will be part of my son’s
life.

I am a strong-minded woman, and I hate it when others try to take decisions on my behalf as to what I should do. This I suppose is the reason why I am in Denmark. I lived in Somalia with my father and
my brothers and sisters, I went to school and I played basket. But in Somalia, being a female basket player can easily create problems.

The skirts we play in do not cover the ankles, and this offends some groups of the population, who consider it haram, sinful, that women even engage in sport. My father became worried and asked me to stop, but I wouldn’t listen.

I have a large scar on my leg. I got it because I carried on with basket. I was detained by Al-Shabaab, who poured boiling water on my leg as
punishment for what they define as a sinful behaviour. The doctors at the hospital thought that the leg had to be amputated at first, but I was really lucky. However, this incident convinced my father to send me out of the country. It was too dangerous for me to stay there. I managed to get to Ethiopia where my uncle lives, and he helped me to travel to Denmark. Here I play basket in Falkon. You
have to look after yourself, but you shouldn’t be so careful that you let others dictate to you how to live your life.

Elhan Risaan Abdulahi / 26 years / female / single / child / language school student / Frederiksberg / from Somalia / came to Denmark in 2012 / residence permit in 2013

In my daily life I don’t feel foreign. My name and my appearance give people a natural curiosity in trying to find out who I am. It doesn’t really affect me so much, but I do get affected when the politicians talk about refugees and immigrants in such negative terms, because this means that they are also talking about me.

Injustice makes me angry. When I was a child, I was told by my teacher at every single parent consultation that I should stop playing
the policeman. But I could not stop interfering if I thought that a conflict situation was being resolved badly. As an adult, I have become more diplomatic, but I still feel outraged and feel like screaming when I come across social imbalances. For example, seeing how some families might run into difficulties just because of the new curb on
benefits.

I don’t believe that people choose to say: let us take this money and then stay at home rather than get up and go to work. When people do this, it is
because they have no other options.

I also don’t believe that the majority of people become more stimulated and energised by receiving less money. It may work that way for
some, but not for the vast majority. If it were up to me, one should treat people differently and decide each individual case based on the person’s situation. This would require more resources, but the results would be more fair.

Kajaledchumy Sabanathan Holmsberg / 32 years / female / in a relationship / psychologist / Copenhagen NV / from Sri Lanka / from came to Denmark via family reunification in 1989

I don’t really count myself as a refugee any more. Maybe I am still 5% foreign. No, not even that. I have lived here for a long time and done my utmost in order not to feel like a foreigner. If you behave
properly, abide by the rules, etc., then people will not point at you because of the colour of your skin.

I was 15 when I left Afghanistan. I am the eldest of the siblings, and I had to leave my family so as not to be forced into Taliban. I ended up in Denmark, made friends, found a girlfriend and a circle of people who eventually became a sort of family for me.

I have become an adult in Denmark. This is where I belong, this is where my future lies. But when I am on my own, I sometimes listen to music from
my country of origin. It brings back memories of my life in Afghanistan and of who I once
was. Although I am a bit out of practice with my mother tongue, there is still something strangely recognisable when I listen to it and sing along to the songs. I would like to hold onto the language so
that one day I may be able to pass it on to my children. It is a part of me, and even if I must search for words and phrases, it is as if there
is something in the language and the music that I understand 100%.

Khalil Nazari / 30 years / male / in a relationship / building engineer / project manager / Copenhagen N / from Afghanistan / came to Denmark in 2001 / residence permit same year

I can reply to the question about feeling foreign, but not in a national context. For me being foreign is something existential. There is so much absurdity in the world. Mass migration of refugees on the Danish roads defies logic. You are confronted with the absurdity of world, and it evokes a kind of existential alienation.

There is something absurd in the way one perceives “hygge” as a unique Danish phenomenon which cannot be translated. As if no one else feels quite as well as us. A British journalist nails it when he
points out that “hygge” is equal to consensus.
You sit around the dinner table and talk about some TV show or something else completely and utterly harmless, but if somebody dares to bring out something substantial, like someone starting a discussion about Denmark as a belligerent nation, all the “hygge” vanishes.

I need space to be different, think alternatively and talk about matters which are not necessarily in consensus. Otherwise it becomes uninteresting. I am a social person, but also a restless one. The social must make sense. There is something valuable about experiencing some kind of spiritual intimacy with people you do not know. Integration
depends on human interaction. When I came to Denmark in the early ‘90s, I met a friendly state but a hostile population. Today it is the other way around. The voluntary work – the fact that people meet and  care about each other – ensures that the country does not collapse.

Misha Zand / 37 years / female / single / MA. in Intercultural Studies / self-employed / Copenhagen N / from Iran / came to Denmark in 1989 / applied for asylum in 1991 / residence permit in 1992

I have never felt foreign. We quickly settled down in Denmark and I have lots of friends. They loved visiting us because my mother was very hospitable, and we always had lots of food. It wasn’t always like
that at my friends’ places, because they had had a more traditional Danish upbringing.

I am a single mother, and my son’s father is no longer part of our lives, so all the responsibility rests on my shoulders. My mother was a good role model for me. She fled Iran with just my brother and me, so she became a mother and a father to us. She is a very strong and independent woman, so in that respect we resemble each other a lot. When I was young I always had goals to pursue, but when I completed my education, I became restless and
needed some challenges. I also felt a wanderlust so I decided to travel the world.

I stayed many places on my journeys, including six months in New York, where I had a fantastic time. I ended up on Zanzibar, where I spent a year of my life. I worked and I had huge plans to start my own
business. But as a woman it is hard to get a break through there, so in the end it all became too much, and I returned to Denmark. Now I am a social worker. I help young criminals find the right path. I love my job, but I feel that many social projects are unable to connect with the youth. They let go of them too early, often resulting in their reverting to their old ways. It is such a shame for the youngsters, and also a waste of public resources.

Laleh Yazdane / 38 years / female / single / child / social worker / Copenhagen Ø / from Iran / came to Denmark in 1992 / residence permit same year

In a sense I have been foreign since I was 18, which is when I left Iraq, but I have never felt foreign. Feeling foreign is something that comes from within.

I am influenced by how today you look at human beings without actually seeing human beings. The tolerance, which used to characterise Denmark,
is hard to find today.

I think that the media carry a big responsibility for that development. They are too one-sided and do not go into details because the news must be communicated so fast. You can now get news by text message, and so the subtlety disappears. I wish that the media had more people in the Middle East, and that there were more reports documenting
the life of the people who are otherwise not heard of. In the West we tend to forget that the majority of the victims of the Islamic State are in fact Muslims. For many years I have worked with blind torture victims. I have also been a victim of torture, and I really want to help others back to life. The people I meet through my work change me.
They fight and want a life despite their blindness and torture, and this inspires me and gives me belief in life. I like classical music. It gives me a feeling of something original, of a lower speed. The music suspends the common sense for a while, and it appeals to my senses and makes me dance or cry. It speaks to me like a human being and makes me complete. I am not a religious person, but like in Sufism I believe that body and soul can unite via slow music.

Majid Kanan / 54 years / male / in a relationship / family and occupant counselor / Tårnby / from Iraq / came to Denmark in 1991 / residence permit
same year