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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