For Derek Myers, a study tour of Denmark, organised by the Leadership Centre, showed a far more gentle approach to local democracy We went to Denmark in February – when it was cold and dark – for fear of taxpayers thinking we might be enjoying ourselves. During a busy three days, we were invited to compare Danish and UK local government practice, particularly the bits labelled ‘community engagement'. Denmark has startling levels of electoral turnout, generous public services – funded by a surprising consensus in favour of nose-bleed levels of tax, and dinky little councils, with a population of just 80,000 residents. For those afflicted by county-district wars, there was also the curiosity of a recently-completed, whole-nation reorganisation of local councils, whereby the central government had obliged tiddler councils – some previously governing only 10,000 residents – to marry up with a neighbour, to form a bigger progeny. Although accounts of why this happened differed, those we met in the new councils seemed to think this had gone rather well – but then, history is usually written by the winners. As experienced social scientists, well assisted by the wisdom of one English and two Danish academics, it did not take us long to become fluent in sweeping generalisations about the Danish model. Some of us went to Denmark with a sketchy knowledge, expecting to find a nirvana of civilisation, like a land before both Thatcherism and Blairism. I thought it might make me feel very sad for all that British public services had become. And, certainly, differences in attitude were soon apparent. Good local projects presented with innocence and enthusiasm by varieties of Danish colleagues were subjected to a gruelling interrogation by us as to their outputs and outcomes, their evidence base and PIs. So used, were we, to having to justify anything new, and so habituated to business cases and rigorous pilots that we had some difficulty readjusting to the idea of activities which appeared to be plain game attempts to do good. The political system is different. Thirteen political parties are regularly represented in councils, all elected through a party list system, so there are no wards. Administrations are always coalitions, and leaders – called mayors, but only indirectly elected – seem content to get colleagues and political opponents allocated to committee chairmanships and then relax. No stress from hysterical whipping and no executive and scrutiny system, so there appears to be a much gentler sense of collaboration and genuine space to listen. Politicians, freed from the need to advocate on behalf of their micro-patch, seem to revel in the chance to go out and meet residents drawn from all quarters of their area. Danish politicians had the usual complaints about officers drowning them in paper, but there seemed to be much less emphasis on tying everything down in plans and so, for example, a spare bit of land was the occasion for much fruitful debate with residents about desirable development options rather than in the UK, where any fun has been drained out by prior planning and mayoral/regional/government targets. So, much to ponder. The Danes themselves are mostly prosperous, socially conservative and anxious about difference. Immigration and a skills shortage worry them, but the few we met were all brimfull of self-esteem and had an admirable belief in their social model. Professionals in Denmark are allowed, perhaps encouraged, to be professionals. Educationalists speak the romantic, sentimental idealism that their peers in the UK have had kicked out of them by years of managerialism. Corporate management has either yet to arrive or been abandoned in favour of bosses inspiring self-management and learning networks. Not all of us were convinced by this different model. We couldn't quite set aside our concerns about value for money, or the tolerance of an anti-authority ambience that allowed community staff to avoid working with the police or, indeed, colleagues from other agencies. To some of us, our respect for the tax pound and a constant drive to improve productivity felt virtuous, and not mistaken. But the lack of tension – so common in English local government – between the Government and councils, between councillors of different stripes and between layers of management did seem seductive. Maybe it was the candles – not just in restaurants but in meeting rooms, in offices and even in school rooms – which best represents the differences between Danish and British local government. In England, the Health and Safety men would go apoplectic. But then Denmark and the UK are different. Do go and look for yourself. n Derek Myers is chief executive of Kensington & Chelsea LBC
