In Denmark, the Rarest of Sights: Classrooms Full of Students


LOGUMKLOSTER, Denmark — The cluster of red brick buildings in a remote part of southern Denmark looks unremarkable from the outside, but this week, its classrooms housed some of the rarest people during the pandemic in today’s Europe.

Schoolchildren.

On Wednesday, 350 pupils returned to classes at the Logumkloster District School for the first time in a month, as Denmark became the first country in the Western world to reopen its elementary schools since the start of the coronavirus pandemic. It has turned the Danish education system into a laboratory for whether and how schools can function in an age of contagion.

“It is a new world,” said Tanja Linnet, the school’s head teacher, as pupils arrived early on Thursday morning. “We used to make plans for if there was a terrorist attack here — but never this kind of attack.”

But by allowing hundreds of children to congregate once again at thousands of schools across Denmark, the government has taken the boldest step toward something resembling normal life, in a measure that will be watched carefully around the world.

“That’s the dilemma of the whole world,” said Finn Christensen, the school’s deputy head. “When to open up?”

Denmark’s approach contrasts with that of Spain, where most children have not been outside in five weeks. With more coronavirus infections than any other country in Europe, Spain forbids children to even take a short walk on the street or exercise near their homes.

For the children at the Logumkloster District School, their return was often simply an exciting experience, after a month cooped up at home.

“It is so nice to see my best friend again!” said Maja Petersen, a 7-year-old first grader coloring the red bits of the Danish flag.

But things were also a bit bewildering.

To stop the spread of infection, parents weren’t allowed inside. Teachers couldn’t gather in the staff room. The children each now had their own desks, marooned two yards away from their nearest neighbor. During recess, they could play only in small groups. And by the time the school shut again at 2 p.m., they had all washed their hands at least once an hour for the past six hours.

“We usually jump and hug and fight and give each other high fives,” said Zakarias Al-Tibi, 10, pointing dolefully at his best friend, Jannik. “But we can’t do that any more.”

From an economic perspective, the argument for reopening schools is straightforward. It allows parents who are employed to focus more on their work, said Carl-Johan Dalsgaard, a professor of economics who is one of the four leaders of an independent body that provides economic advice to Danish policymakers.

“You are dramatically less efficient when you have to home-school your children and take care of them every day,” Professor Dalsgaard said.

But the medical reasoning is more contested.

The World Health Organization has cautioned countries like Denmark against reopening their societies too quickly for fear of reviving the pandemic before it is properly stamped out. The number of active cases in Denmark has dipped in recent days (it has recorded more than 6,870, with 321 deaths), but the country of 5.8 million has still reported a death rate of about two-thirds that of the United States, one far higher than in Japan, Singapore and other areas in Asia that faced earlier outbreaks.

Elsewhere in Denmark, these concerns led some parents to create Facebook groups protesting the reopening of schools, fearing their children were being sacrificed to save the Danish economy.

In the village of Logumkloster, where there have been no known victims of the virus, only a few parents decided against sending their children back to school. But several were conflicted about it.

“Our first reaction was: Isn’t it too early?” said Cynthia Paulsen, a cleaner whose 14-year-old son, Arthur, was among those requested to return this week. “Is this the right thing?”

Jesper Bendig initially opted against returning his 7-year-old, Noah. Mr. Bendig had no work to return to, having lost his job as a recovery driver at the start of the crisis. What if Noah passed the virus to his younger brother, who has kidney problems?

But by and large, parents at Logumkloster have been won over by the careful way that Ms. Linnet, the head teacher, and her staff have refitted the school at just a few frantic days’ notice.

The school’s floors have been covered with new markings, showing pupils how far apart they have to stand. Hand-washing has become a part of the school routine — the first stop for all pupils at the start of every day, and then on the hour thereafter. Tea ladies have the new task of touring the school with disinfectant, cleaning each door handle at least twice during school hours.

These changes have been guided by the government, but the government’s instructions have sometimes changed on an hourly basis. “Sometimes, we get an order at 9, and then at 10 we get a new one,” said Mr. Christensen, the deputy head.

And it’s unclear how long these emergency measures will last. “Is it for a week or two, or a month or two?” Ms. Linnet asked. “We don’t know.”

For now, the library has been closed. Teachers aim to do as much teaching as possible outdoors. And instead of arriving through a single entrance, pupils must enter through several side doors, depending on the location of their classroom.

The only time on Thursday that the students gathered was to sing “Happy Birthday” to the Danish queen, Margrethe II, who turned 80. But even then they were all outside, standing at two-yard intervals on the grass.

One of them was Noah Bendig. After keeping him home on Wednesday, Mr. Bendig decided to take his son to school on Thursday, reassured by how smoothly the opening day had gone.

“I think the school has control over everything,” he said.

For some parents, the most comforting change has been the division of the school’s population into small, independent silos. Classes have been divided into two or three subgroups, with each new grouping given its own room and designated teacher.

Those teachers now work with only one small group throughout the day, rather than several bigger ones, and their students play only with children from their own class.

For Maja Petersen, the first grader, that makes the return to school bittersweet. On the one hand, Maja can see her best friend, Melanie, again. But they can really only do just that — see each other. They’ve barely been able to chat, since they were divided into separate classes.

“It’s a new situation in a known environment,” said Maja’s teacher, Lene Thorup. “Comforting but also a challenge.”

That applies as much to the teachers as it does the children.

The increase in the number of classes means teachers have more to do and fewer assistants to help them do it. If they need a brief break, they can call on a small three-person team to mind their classrooms for a few minutes. But they can no longer rely on a teaching assistant to shoulder their burden for longer periods, since the assistants are often now teaching their own classes.

“We’ve been told to have as few teachers per pupil as possible,” said Mr. Christensen.

Stressful though these measures are for the teachers, they have won over wavering parents.

Despite her earlier misgivings, Ms. Paulsen sent Arthur to school on Wednesday, after being persuaded by a phone call from Arthur’s teacher and a conversation with Arthur himself.

“He’s happy to be back,” she said. “We’re happy he’s back.”

“Things have to start somewhere,” she added. “And we have to trust in the government and the school.”



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