For what might be the only time in her life, Mette Frederiksen does not want to make decisions. “Just tell me what to do,” she jokes during British Vogue’s photo shoot at her official residence. As Denmark’s prime minister of six years, she is used to having her picture taken, but not like this. The backdrop is Marienborg, a grand summer house built by a Danish colonial figure almost three centuries ago. Its hilltop perch offers occasional glimpses of rowing boats and paddleboards drifting by on the surrounding lake, a reminder of the quality of life for which Denmark is famous.
Frederiksen’s bronde hair, twisted into a sturdy French knot, is immune to the gusts of Nordic summer wind sweeping the hillside. And so is she. The 47-year-old shuns the flats she has on standby in favour of croc-textured red heels, “just to give me a lift,” she says smilingly. Then, she turns her face easily to the camera, showing her high cheekbones, disarming blue eyes, and straight posture, which invite immediate respect.
Watching the shoot, leaning against a solid old tree among the faded statues, I note that Frederiksen doesn’t seem to have a favorite side. The idea seems absurd to her. “How I look is not the main point,” she tells me. “It’s just a way of getting the message across.”
Ever since Frederiksen took office in Denmark in 2019, the second woman and youngest person ever to become prime minister in the country, she has been known for having a message.
Lately, that message has reached an unprecedented global audience, as the country finds itself under an intense spotlight. The kingdom of Denmark, one of the smallest countries in Europe yet also one of the richest, includes the autonomous territory of Greenland. Ever since Greenland became the subject of repeated threats from Donald Trump, warning that America might take control of the island—even using military force if necessary—all eyes have been on how the Danes would react. And in particular, whether Frederiksen would stand up for her country.
Frederiksen did not disappoint, taking to social media in an English language post that was directly addressed to the American people. “When we are met by pressure and by threats from our closest ally,” she wrote on her Facebook in April, “We don’t give in.”
Frederiksen’s directness has only intensified in the months since. “I have to say that from the beginning of this discussion, I think that President Trump is serious. They want Greenland,” Frederiksen tells me. “But we are serious as well. And we will not step down.”
Frederiksen and I now sit facing each other at a long dining table, beneath a minimalist, yet show-stealing, crystal chandelier by modernist architect Vilhelm Lauritzen. I recall images of her at this same table with world leaders such as India’s Narendra Modi and Egypt’s Abdul Fattah al-Sisi. It feels like the kind of space in which allyships are forged. And until recently, one of Denmark’s closest allyships was the US, making the Greenland standoff especially painful.
“It’s difficult for us as Danes to hear these words coming from the US,” Frederiksen admits. “Globally we are seen in many parts of the world as a very reliable partner, because there is a very close link between what we say and what we do. And when it comes to the US, we have been one of its closest allies since the end of the Second World War. So when Vice President Vance says Denmark is a ‘bad ally’,” she continues, “you say: ‘What? Are you saying that about us?’”
There has perhaps never been a more high-stakes moment for Frederiksen. Yet she seems almost tailor-made for the challenge.
Growing up in northern Denmark, politics is in her blood. “My background is ordinary working class, quite similar to the majority of Danes in my generation,” she says of her childhood in Jutland, the peninsula that forms the northernmost part of the country.
“I come from a very political family. My dad was a very active member of the trade unions—so was my grandfather and my great grandfather… it’s how I was raised.”
As a 12-year-old, Frederiksen not only felt supportive of Nelson Mandela—then imprisoned on Robben Island for opposing racism in South Africa—she also joined the international youth wing of the African National Congress, the political party that ultimately brought down apartheid. “It was quite common then in Denmark to support Mandela,” she reflects. “But if there was another 12-year-old in northern Jutland who was a youth member of the ANC at that time, I would be quite surprised.”
This sparked a longer-term interest in the African continent. “I have always been very interested in Africa,” she says. “At 18, I went to Kenya on my own and lived there in a very rural area for a year.” She is still, she says, friends with the family she stayed with.
Returning from her time abroad, Frederiksen started her degree but soon landed a job for the Danish Confederation of Trade Unions, and then won her first election to the national parliament in 2001, aged 24. “So I quit university,” she says. “But we had quite a tough female politician in my party, and one day she asked me, ‘Are you totally out of your mind? You don’t have a degree in anything! You have to finish up.’” Frederiksen already had one young child at the time with her first husband. Despite that, and the responsibility of an elected seat at such a young age, she went back to university to do a master’s in African studies, while pregnant with her second.
Yet many in Denmark have struggled to reconcile this principled and open-minded background to her stance on migration, which critics say has swung drastically to the right. Under Frederiksen’s leadership, Denmark’s immigration policies have become so strict that the country last year granted only 860 asylum requests, one of its lowest numbers on record. Her party, the Social Democrats, has called for a cap on “non-Western immigrants,” for “repatriation” instead of integration, and for all immigrants to be forced to work 37 hours a week in exchange for benefits.
Frederiksen is unapologetic. “It’s quite obvious that the price of mass migration is definitely being paid more by people living in difficult circumstances already,” she says. Does this, and the focus on “non-Western immigrants,” put Frederiksen dangerously close to the far right? “There is nothing about me that is aligned with [the far right],” she insists. “Protecting ordinary people’s lives is one of my primary goals. At least in a Danish frame, that can’t coexist with the problems that are caused by migration, that’s the starting point.
“But,” she adds, “I don’t think you can find anywhere I’m not talking decently about other people. I always say people don’t flee without a reason. There are so many conflicts and so many refugees worldwide—and all of them need protection. We have to protect them, and we need to ensure them a better life, but we can’t help all of them within our own societies.”
Arguably this stance has taken the wind out of Denmark’s populist far-right movements, making Frederiksen’s Social Democrats one of the only center-left parties to survive the surge in rightwing populism in Europe.
It’s one of many reasons why there is intense interest in how Frederiksen will fare as she assumes the presidency of the European Union’s rotating Council, leading the group at a time when Ukraine’s war with Russia threatens the whole continent.
“I’m really glad that it’s right now we have the presidency because it’s really a defining moment for Europe,” she says. “I say this to my party all the time and my government: ‘Hey, what a privilege it is to carry out the responsibility for our continent.’
“The focus is of course on the war in Ukraine, re-arming Europe. Europe has to defend itself and we have to be willing to do it. If we are not willing to stand up for ourselves, how should we expect someone else to do it?”
Frederiksen is adamant that Europe’s ability to stand up for itself is more than just theory. “There is no credibility to Putin’s calls for peace—he talks all day and drops bombs at night. If Ukraine loses the war, there is a looming risk that he will move on to the next country,” she says.
Despite its wealth, Denmark’s economic position is not without precarity. The US imports more than $5 billion worth of pharmaceutical products from the country each year, including the semiglutide drug Ozempic, manufactured by Danish giant Novo Nordisk. Trump has explicitly named the drug in threats to slap high tariffs on trade if other demands are not met. Frederiksen says those threats would backfire, hurting American consumers too. “We oppose any form of trade conflict. The consequences impact not only our businesses but also those in the United States,” she says. “We have no intention of being divided. In Europe, tariffs are determined collectively. However, it is clear that we possess various means of defending our interests.”
An obvious means is military spending. Frederiksen has nevertheless been one of Ukraine’s most unequivocal allies, committing to triple the amount Denmark invests in defense. And, having met with British Prime Minister Keir Starmer earlier this year, she believes the mutual threats of a trade war with Trump and a military threat from Russia will bring Britain and the EU closer together.
“[Starmer] and I haven’t known each other for a long time, but he’s very easy to work with. At the same time, especially when it comes to Ukraine, it’s been quite powerful. I get the feeling he respects Brexit, but he is bringing the UK closer to the rest of Europe. And it’s totally necessary in this situation.”
As we speak, Frederiksen is focused, not even pausing to sip water, though she is attentive and asks more than once whether I’d like more water, a soft drink, a coffee? I can’t help but wonder whether someone without children or caring responsibilities would be so aware. When something is especially important, she leans forward across the table, her whole body emphatic. And there is perhaps nothing more important to Frederiksen than the way she holds herself to account. She describes it as “being in government and opposition at the same time.”
“Whenever we are taking a decision about something, we have to come back all the time and ask, ‘Is this the way we want it to work?’ I evaluate everything when I come home. And I’m very hard on myself.”
Being a woman in political leadership still carries, she tells me, an additional layer of scrutiny, even though Denmark’s first female leader, Helle Thorning-Schmidt, who was prime minister from 2011 to 2015, took the initial knocks. “Thorning-Schmidt was hit on the gender issue simply because she was the first one. So we have a lot to thank her for. I’m very much aware that because I’m not the first one, things have been easier for me,” Frederiksen says, thoughtfully. “But [misogyny] is still there. We see it when something is toxic in Denmark. If you look at the words that are used about me when people are criticizing me, especially during COVID-19—and COVID-19 was toxic—there was a gender aspect to that. I was accused of being ‘too powerful,’ ‘too strong.’ And I have to say, that would not have happened for a man.”
What about on the world stage, where there are even fewer women leaders? “I have a good relationship with my primarily male colleagues, other world leaders,” Frederiksen insists. “Of course there have been some strange situations. But I will share those when I’m no longer in office,” she says with a laugh.
Even while very much still in office, Frederiksen does have a life outside work, and personal projects which also sound daunting. “My husband and I, with some very good friends, have bought an old farm. It’s an old dream, and it’s a big project!” she says, laughing. “And a lot of work to be done. I have been living in Copenhagen for quite a number of years, but I have to admit, I’m better off close to nature.” She pauses. “There’s this small tractor. It’s my favorite.”
Frederiksen’s husband, the noted cinematographer Bo Tengberg, also keeps her plugged in on the TV scene. Denmark continues to punch above its weight with popular Nordic noir dramas, many of which Tengberg has worked on; most recently Reservatet, or Secrets We Keep. “Have you watched?” Frederiksen asks. “I’m still at the beginning.”
I haven’t seen Reservatet yet, but I do admit that in preparation for meeting her, I rewatched Borgen, the decade-old Danish series that imagines the drama unfolding around the country’s young, female, centrist prime minister as she contends with the populist right. Does it bear any resemblance to reality? “Not really.” Frederiksen shakes her head. “Politics is a bit more boring than people realize. Except in the last couple of years,” she adds.
“One of the best things about being a politician in Denmark is that we still live more like the rest of society than other countries,” she says. “I live on an ordinary residential street, where people are walking by. My family lives a normal life. I do the shopping myself. I go to a public gym in the morning.”
And yet the pressure mounts. As the United States—the greatest military power in the world—continues its uneasy foreign policy maneuvers, she is under no illusions about the scale of the threat she faces. If this feels daunting, Frederiksen doesn’t show it. “Because it’s not only a question about Greenland,” she declares emphatically. “If we accept that the big power can bully other countries, then it’s game over for all democracies.
“This is one of these moments,” Frederiksen says, finally. “There is one in every generation, where you have to choose between right and wrong.”