Denmark and Belgium: Two Roads

Episode Narrative

Denmark and Belgium: Two Roads

The year was 1914. The world stood on the brink of chaos, a storm brewing in the heart of Europe. The First World War would redraw borders and topple dynasties, a cataclysm that would forever alter nations and their destinies. Yet amidst this upheaval, two neighboring countries — Denmark and Belgium — took different paths. Both were constitutional monarchies, yet their fates diverged in striking ways. Denmark would remain neutral, a bastion of calm among the tempest, while Belgium found itself invaded and occupied by Germany, setting the stage for contrasting royal strategies in the next great conflict.

The echoes of 1914 haunted Europe as World War II loomed on the horizon in 1939. Denmark opted once again for neutrality, hoping to avoid the devastation it had witnessed years before. Belgium, however, was still scarred by its previous occupation. It sought to maintain neutrality, yet its fate would take a dark turn as Germany launched its invasion in May 1940. This time, Belgium could not sit idle. It was drawn into the maelstrom once more.

On April 9, 1940, Germany made its move against Denmark in a flash. The invasion unfolded in mere hours, and the Danish government faced a grim reality. King Christian X, sensing the futility of resistance, ordered the Danish army to stand down. It was a calculated decision, one aimed at preserving lives and the very fabric of the nation — its infrastructure and spirit. Yet this choice sparked fierce debate. Was it an act of wisdom or a blow to national honor?

Across the border, the situation in Belgium developed quite differently. On May 10, 1940, the German forces advanced, swiftly overwhelming Belgian defenses. King Leopold III, the nation’s commander-in-chief, faced a momentous decision on May 28. In a move that would fracture Belgium’s societal cohesion and challenge the legitimacy of the monarchy, he surrendered the Belgian army without consulting his own government, which fled to London. The impact was profound. Society splintered, and the legitimacy of the monarchy hung in balance.

From 1940 to 1943, Denmark navigated the treacherous waters of occupation under German control. Remarkably, the Danish government and monarchy managed to maintain a semblance of stability, pursuing a policy known as “negotiated coexistence.” King Christian X became a familiar figure, his daily horseback rides through Copenhagen a quiet manifestation of national resilience and subtle defiance. In his steadfast presence, Danes found a sense of continuity amid the difficulties of occupation.

In stark contrast, King Leopold III remained in Belgium under house arrest, refusing to join the government-in-exile. His situation became a flashpoint of controversy and division. To some, he appeared a collaborator, a symbol of betrayal; to others, he stood as a hostage, a potential unifying figure against the horrors of occupation. The debate over his role reflected the greater struggles of Belgian identity, a society grappling with its own divided loyalties.

The year 1943 brought a turning point — one of courage and collective action — from an unexpected corner. As the Nazis prepared to deport Denmark’s Jewish population, a wave of resistance surged through Danish society. Civil officials, royal officials, and ordinary citizens united in a remarkable act of bravery, orchestrating a mass rescue operation that smuggled nearly 7,000 Jews to neutral Sweden by boat in just weeks. This unique act of solidarity, tacitly supported by the monarchy, highlighted the power of community amidst despair.

Meanwhile, Belgium was losing its sense of coherence under occupation. Resistance networks emerged, fighting back against German rule, yet collaborationist factions also arose, exacerbating societal divides. The royal question loomed large: Should Leopold III return as king? This became a proxy for the broader debates swirling around collaboration and resistance, identity and loyalty. The future of the monarchy had become inseparable from the very essence of what it meant to be Belgian.

The tides began to turn in 1944. Allied forces liberated Belgium, bringing a hope that had long been buried, but King Leopold III remained constrained, transferred from one location to another — Germany to Austria, then to Switzerland. Meanwhile, a regency was established, deepening the political crisis surrounding his monarchy and its future.

The liberation of Denmark soon followed. On May 5, 1945, British forces entered, and King Christian X emerged, having weathered the storm of occupation with his reputation largely intact. He resumed his role, a symbol of national unity for a people who had defied the odds together. Denmark had survived, its society a tapestry of resilience and shared identity.

In the aftermath of liberation, Belgium found itself fractured. The legacy of Leopold III’s wartime conduct was scrutinized, plunging the crown into a deeper crisis. Public sentiment erupted, leading to a referendum in 1950 that culminated in his abdication in favor of his son, Baudouin. This act not only marked a profound rupture in the Belgian royal family’s relationship with the nation but also redefined the monarchy in the minds of the people.

Daily life under occupation painted two vastly different pictures. In Denmark, although rationing and censorship imposed burdens, the functioning government and royal presence allowed for a semblance of normalcy. Conversations thrived, and community kept the fabric of society intact. In Belgium, the German rule grew harsher, forcing labor conscription and sparking violence and disruption. The land felt the weight of division, with memories of occupation seared into the collective consciousness.

Royal symbolism became crucial in these tumultuous times. The story of King Christian X refusing to wear the yellow star — a widely circulated belief, though likely apocryphal — contrasted sharply with Leopold III’s isolation and ambiguity. While one king became a visible symbol of resistance during the darkest days, the other became a target of scrutiny. The impact of their actions would resonate long into the future, shaping the legacies each monarchy would inherit.

The stark quantitative differences in the fate of Jewish populations in both nations highlighted these royal and societal responses. Fewer than 100 Danish Jews were deported, largely thanks to the rescue efforts that manifested a unified front. In Belgium, however, the contrast was painful and stark: over 25,000 Jews were deported to Auschwitz, with only about 1,200 managing to survive. This tragic divergence paints a macabre picture of how society’s and royal decisions would shape human fates under dire circumstances.

As time passed, cultural memory began to form along different lines in Denmark and Belgium. The Danish narrative emphasized solidarity and collective achievement in the rescue of Jews, a proud national memory. In contrast, Belgium wrestled with a fractured collective memory, an ongoing struggle over the legacies of collaboration and resistance, amplified by debates concerning the monarchy’s role in these dark times.

In Denmark, the operation that rescued Jews relied on civilian boats and covert networks. This underscores the power of ordinary people to mobilize and achieve remarkable outcomes, even against the backdrop of occupation. In contrast, the same region found an elderly population, those who were children during the war, recalling moments of invasion and liberation as “flashbulb memories.” Their vivid recollections, with accuracy peaking for those aged eight or older during the events, remind us of the war’s lasting impact across generations.

The postwar years would see different trajectories for the two monarchies. The Danish royal family emerged strengthened in public esteem, embraced for its resilience and unity. In contrast, Belgium faced the need for reinvention. The monarchy had become a symbol of division and discord, struggling to reconcile the past as it moved toward a new future.

Finally, the long-term effects of war on childhood health tell a stark tale of intergenerational impact. Studies reveal that those who experienced these conflicts as children, including many in Denmark and Belgium, face higher risks of poor health later in life. This haunting legacy of war reverberates through families and communities, a reminder that the storms of the past leave behind lasting scars.

Denmark and Belgium, two roads diverged in a time of war. Each nation navigated its path through turmoil and tragedy, shaped not solely by military might but profoundly by the choices of its people and leaders. The stories of their monarchies reflect the complexities of identity, the echoes of history reverberating through generations. What lessons do we draw from these roads taken, and what might they reveal about the moral responsibilities of leadership in times of great peril? As we ponder these questions, we hold the destinies of nations in our hearts, mindful of their journeys and their enduring legacies.