Finland's progressive mask is slipping | Analyst News
Imagine a nation celebrated globally for its happiness, innovative prisons, and trailblazing female leadership, only to discover it's grappling with hidden currents of racism and exclusion that shatter its idyllic facade. This is the stark reality of Finland today, where the veneer of progressivism is cracking under the weight of bigotry and cultural insularity. But here's where it gets controversial: What if the issues run deeper than just a recent political shift, challenging our assumptions about Nordic equality?
You might be familiar with Finland from its reputation as the "world's happiest country," its "humane" prison system that focuses on rehabilitation rather than punishment, or perhaps from the HBO documentary series spotlighting the all-women cabinet led by Sanna Marin until not too long ago. To outsiders, Finns often appear as a warm, approachable people. This Nordic nation of about 5.5 million inhabitants has long portrayed itself as forward-thinking and rational. Yet, beneath this polished exterior, Finland seems to be descending into a state of cultural withdrawal, prejudice, and eerie quietude. A troubling underbelly of racial discrimination and inward-looking attitudes, once obscured by the glossy marketing of saunas, coffee breaks, and widespread contentment, is now bubbling to the surface. And this is the part most people miss: You probably haven't heard much about it in mainstream news.
Take, for instance, the chilling incident in June of last year when Rakibul Hasan Ridoy, a Bangladeshi restaurant worker, was stabbed in the Finnish city of Oulu. According to reports, the assailant had reportedly expressed a desire to harm someone with dark skin. Ridoy hasn't been able to go back to his job, and now, Finnish immigration authorities are contemplating revoking his work visa, leaving him in limbo.
Incidents of racism are popping up everywhere, like unwelcome weeds in a garden. On live television, a minister likened immigrants to transforming Finland into "a developing nation, a filthy mess, and a bloodbath," and treated the "great replacement" conspiracy theory—which falsely claims elites are replacing native populations with immigrants—as undeniable truth. Just the previous day, Riikka Purra, the deputy prime minister and finance minister, echoed the same unfounded idea. Purra, affiliated with the nationalist and anti-immigration Finns Party that came in second in the 2023 elections, has kept her job despite revelations of numerous violent, racist, and anti-immigrant posts linked to her. One such post read, "Does anyone want to spit on beggars and attack Black children today in Helsinki?" Another vented, "I'm overflowing with hatred and raw fury... What is Islam doing to my mind?"
As Finland accelerates its tilt toward the right politically, internal commentators point fingers at the right-wing coalition government. Indeed, hostility and exclusion have become commonplace. New regulations now bar unemployed individuals or those relying on government aid from obtaining Finnish citizenship, effectively punishing vulnerability over merit.
But even Finland's supposedly progressive media experts overlook the entrenched racism woven into the nation's social fabric. This foundation of prioritizing whiteness predates the current administration and even the previous progressive, women-led government. A 2023 European Union report highlights Finland as one of the top three EU nations for anti-Black racial discrimination, trailing only Germany and Austria. Moreover, Finland ranks high in Europe for workplace discrimination, where people of color face barriers in hiring that others don't.
Here's the twist that many overlook: The Nordic concept of equality is inherently flawed. It emphasizes uniformity rather than genuine equity that embraces diversity and differing viewpoints. To clarify for beginners, think of it like this—true equality isn't about everyone fitting into the same mold but celebrating differences, much like how a vibrant ecosystem thrives on varied species, not clones.
Whiteness, in this context, is profoundly ingrained. It's a specific worldview, often tied to colonial legacies that persist even after formal independence, influencing power structures and fostering exclusionary attitudes. Many Finns might bristle at comparisons to colonialism, given their country's history of occupation under external powers. They might argue that whiteness is a concept limited to American or Western European post-colonial societies. But this blind spot in Nordic equality is exactly the problem—it prioritizes homogeneity over authentic inclusion that values dissent and diversity.
This lens of whiteness also explains Finland's muted reaction to Israel's actions in Gaza, described by some as genocide against Palestinians. Along with its Baltic neighbors Estonia, Latvia, and Lithuania, Finland is one of the last holdouts in the world that hasn't recognized Palestine as a state. This silence contrasts sharply with its robust support for Ukraine after Russia's 2022 invasion, including advocacy for military aid.
Finland operates under a doctrine of "political practicality," a principle with a paradoxical nature. On one hand, it champions weapons for Ukraine, driven by shared historical traumas from Russian dominance that create a sense of kinship. On the other, it has enabled Israel's operations against Palestinians, as noted in a October U.N. report identifying Finland among nations indirectly supplying arms components to Israel. In 2023, President Alexander Stubb justified continuing purchases of Israeli weapons as "pragmatism." As 2024 gave way to 2025, Finland resisted recognizing Palestine, insisting it would only follow suit if key allies did—despite shifts by countries like the U.K., France, Canada, Spain, Norway, and Ireland. In retrospect, this reluctance reveals a long-standing realpolitik approach, with Finland historically acquiring weapons tested on Palestinians well before joining NATO.
Finland's arms policy underscores its participation in colonialism, prioritizing self-interest over the well-being of people of color. This perpetuates a racial hierarchy where "security" is reserved for those aligned with European norms, undermining Finland's recent efforts to position itself as a reliable partner in international cooperation within the Global South.
Critics often blame the conservative-far-right coalition for these stances. And there's truth to that—the leadership has been sluggish. But they're not alone in this.
Finland's inertia on Palestine is epitomized by its former prime minister Sanna Marin, the world's youngest at the time, who captivated global audiences with her eloquent style (and is now promoting her memoir). Yet, she's been strikingly quiet on the Gaza situation. Over two years, Marin hasn't released any public statement condemning the events. Her most notable gestures? Two fleeting Instagram Stories: one featuring the viral AI image "All Eyes on Rafah," and another of "Free Palestine" graffiti she encountered while traveling. These vanish after 24 hours, much like her advocacy on this issue.
In the meantime, Marin has made repeated visits to Ukraine, even after stepping down from office post-2023 elections. How can someone passionately oppose occupation in one region but remain silent on another? Whiteness persists.
Her association with Tony Blair's institute further illustrates Finland's blend of progressive image and colonial undertones. The Tony Blair Institute, involved in postwar plans for Gaza like turning it into a "Trump Riviera" and an Elon Musk-named zone, operates as a tool of colonial influence. Marin's discretion here reflects pragmatic calculation, as does Finland's reluctance to upset its powerful U.S. ally. This passivity is deeply rooted.
Finland's Social Democrats have stayed mum on why they didn't recognize Palestine during their tenure. Under Marin's leadership in 2021, the country started concealing details of arms export licenses, starting with shipments to Israel.
Through figures like Marin, we witness how colonial attitudes and whiteness—akin to Western "neutrality" and "realism"—are embedded in Finnish society.
This so-called neutrality shows up in media debates, such as endless conversations about Muslim women's attire, which seems odd for a nation where nearly everyone bundles up head-to-toe for nine months to battle the freezing cold. Finland is now debating a ban on burqas and niqabs, disregarding the autonomy of women who choose to wear them.
Mainstream outlets, founded on "neutrality," rarely promote true pluralism. A recent piece in Helsingin Sanomat, a respected newspaper, interviewed two Helsinki women: one who wears a hijab, the other who doesn't. It seems like a thoughtful exploration of personal choice. But delve deeper, and it reveals an implicit power imbalance: The woman choosing the hijab is only featured in contrast to one rejecting it, implying minority choices must be validated against the dominant standard. The Muslim interviewee exists solely in relation to her non-hijab-wearing peer.
Upon closer inspection, this "neutral" reporting is just another way to preserve whiteness.
None of this shocks, considering Finland's relative youth in multiculturalism. Its handling of stories about Islam or multicultural identities often feels awkward and clumsy, like a novice painter with broad strokes.
Still, a subtle transformation offers optimism. Politicians like Li Andersson, who served in Marin's pandemic-era coalition and now represents Finland in the European Parliament, stand out for their resolve. As a former head of the Left Alliance, Andersson has consistently challenged Finland's apathy toward Palestine, communicated policy in accessible ways, and criticized the previous left-wing government for shortcomings. She's blunt, labeling the current administration "Thatcherism laced with racism." Her European Parliament win defied the rightward surge across Europe and could inspire cross-party alliances elsewhere.
Finland's progressives have plenty of room for growth. They might draw lessons from Zohran Mamdani's successful mayoral run in New York City, emphasizing inclusive community-building. This would mean adopting communication that defies Finland's rigid cultural and political norms.
Fortunately, Finland boasts enduring strengths. Trade union participation is robust, though less common among immigrants. Socialist-leaning state policies form a solid foundation. Mamdani himself drew inspiration from Finland's free baby boxes for new mothers as part of his vision. Now, Finland needs to blend these traditions with fresh multicultural approaches.
The most significant changes are grassroots-driven. Finland isn't famous for radical activism, often stifled by a cultural reluctance to stand out. But a younger generation is flexing new muscles, pushing for Palestinian justice and ending foreign policy hypocrisy.
Several Finnish activists joined the Global Sumud Flotilla in October to deliver aid to Gaza, though they claim Greek officials facilitated their return, not their own government. (Notably, Greta Thunberg, the climate activist from another Nordic nation, was also involved.) Israel's actions in Gaza have ignited student protests at three universities in Helsinki over the past two years. Multiple Finnish institutions now advocate excluding Israel from a major EU research partnership, extending beyond mere boycotts to broader institutional changes. These youth-led actions might signal a cultural awakening through demonstrations of opposition.
Amid the backlash against Finland's budding multiculturalism, hope persists. Racial violence often coincides with societal evolution, especially as a confident second generation emerges. This mirrors my ancestors' experiences in the U.K. during the 1970s and 1980s, when hate crimes surged alongside a broader, more welcoming notion of British identity. Thanks to the resistance and activism of immigrant descendants who refused silence, I proudly identify as British-Bangladeshi today.
Of course, my perspective is shaped by my own background, writing from London—a metropolis with double Finland's population, rapid idea exchanges, and over 140 languages in my neighborhood alone, fostering a comfort with debate that Nordic cultures often avoid.
Yet, it's evident that despite the rightward drift, a refreshed Finnish identity is quietly taking shape among the youth, viewing multicultural roots as a societal asset. This identity is more vocal, daring, adaptable, and quintessentially Finnish. In this evolving landscape, someone like Ridoy could embrace a Finnish-Bangladeshi identity, provided the political and cultural space allows.
But here's the controversial angle: Is Finland's so-called progressive past merely a mask for deeper colonial and racist underpinnings, or is it genuinely evolving? And what about you—do you see parallels in your own country, or do you disagree that 'whiteness' plays a role in global policies? Share your thoughts in the comments; I'd love to hear differing views and spark a conversation!
