Am I calling you at a bad time? (2024). Director: Martta Tuomaala, Finland
All the Light That Remains (2025). Diector: Moona Pennanen, Finland
Spirits / Vuoiŋŋat (2025). Directors: Marja Viitahuhta, Ánnámáret, Turkka Inkilä, Ilkka Heinonen, Finland

DocPoint Helsinki Documentary Film Festival turns twenty-five this year, and the anniversary edition lands in Helsinki from 3rd to 8^th of February 2026. Across more than a hundred films, the program combines Finnish premieres from the international selection with domestic films, organized across international, national, and short film competitions.

Out of this year’s submissions, I had the chance to review three significant but very different works, each circling questions of voice, history, and what the camera can and cannot responsibly claim. Taken together, they make a strong case for catching the festival beyond the headline picks. Enough of the setting, now for the calls, the ruins, and the ghosts.

Am I calling you at a bad time? (2025)

Image: Still from Am I calling you at a bad time? (2025) /DocPoint

I first saw Martta Tuomaala’s work last year in a Helsinki gallery, in a tiny dark room that smelled faintly like the offices the unnamed narrator remembers from the 90s. Later, over coffee, a friend asked what it was about. I said it was about a voice learning how to behave. That reductive description feels more accurate after re-watching the work.

Am I calling you at a bad time? [En kai huonoon aikaan soittele?] is a creative documentary that follows a brief stretch of an unnamed narrator’s early working life, an unlikely coming of age story where adulthood arrives with a headset. Our accidental protagonist begins as a telemarketer at the age of 15, then moves through phone sex work, telephone surveys, and ends up in sales.

Though the roles change, “the phone” stubbornly stays put in her story. In terms of form, the work is not a documentary in the strict sense so much as a performed non-fiction or a stylized staging of reality, but let us keep the familiar term, documentary, in this text.

The weight of the work is mainly carried by a playful voice actor, who also happens to be the director and writer, and who wrestles with the Finnish language itself, stretching its rhythms and intonations until it becomes spirited rather than flat. The frisky voice-over often comes to the work’s rescue, as the piece relies heavily on archival images and amateur footage that can at times feel irrelevant or distracting.

The consistent color grading and the decision to keep the narrator faceless sit comfortably with the narrative and with the lived experience of the narrator, let us call her X. We are deliberately kept at a certain distance from X, as the work feels autobiographical without ever becoming self-examining or confessional. Still, its most affecting moments arrive when the work turns inward, such as when X reflects on the effects of her job on her psyche and admits that working as a phone sex operator made her suspicious of her male friends, wondering whether they belonged to the same group of creeps.

Between the jesting lines of voice narration, Tuomaala delivers sharp commentary on mental health, loneliness, and the narrow range of opportunities available to women in Finland’s industry-driven economy of the 80s and 90s.

Between the jesting lines of voice narration, Tuomaala delivers sharp commentary on mental health, loneliness, and the narrow range of opportunities available to women in Finland’s industry-driven economy of the 80s and 90s.

The work is at its most pointed when it turns to everyday gender dynamics. This comes through when X recalls being asked to soften (feminize) her deep voice to increase sales, being told off in a job interview for not wearing make-up or dressing like the other women in the office, or when she deliberately mispronounces the name of a tractor brand in order to keep massaging the masculine ego of the customer on the other end of the phone. X’s experiences belong to the 90s only on paper. In practice, they extend easily into 2026. So yes, now is exactly the kind of time this call should happen.

Thinking back to that first viewing in that small gallery, it feels fitting that the work resists a clean ending. Like a phone call that ends without a clear goodbye, it cuts off mid rhythm, leaving the line oddly open. X’s phone sex chapter brings to mind Judy in Spike Lee’s Girl 6 (1996), especially when Judy is coached to sound more like a stereotypical white woman. The difference is that Tuomaala, quite understandably, never makes you feel for X in the same way.

Although the ending is slightly awkward, the original music that closes the piece helps absorb that jolt. The work, overall, invites speculation about what it chooses not to pursue. There is room to wonder how it might have evolved more creatively through bolder formal decisions, particularly in its dealing with archival material and the supplementary shots that feel more utilitarian than considered.

Yet these limitations somehow settle into the work’s internal logic and allow it to function as a cohesive whole with its own peculiar style rather than a loosely stitched pastiche of the 90s. Yes, the call may at times feel awkward, but the voice behind the call knows what it is doing after all.

All The Light That Remains (2025)

Image: Still from All The Light That Remains (2025) / DocPoint

There is always something austere about films that begin from the idea of what remains. Moona Pennanen’s All The Light That Remains [Kaikki jäljelle jäävä valo] holds onto that formally restrained space early on, and asks the viewer to stay with the aftermath instead of chasing explanations. For a young filmmaker, that is an ambitious way to claim a voice. What sticks around after the 25-minute runtime is the mood the film generates, and much of that effect comes from Jesse Jalonen’s eye-catching cinematography and Pennanen’s consistent pacing. Taken as a whole, the film points to a personal style of working that does feel well thought-out, and it is a pleasant surprise to see that kind of clarity for such an early work.

All the Light That Remains is a hybrid documentary set in the abandoned mining village of Mätäsvaara, where the present collides with an uneasy past. The film opens with a group of young Ukrainians arriving by van. It never clearly spells out who they are or why they are there. At first they could pass for a group on a field trip, but through small visual cues and narrative detours, the film allows the viewer to infer that they are seasonal workers brought in for reforestation.

When the main character Oleksander enters the communal building where they are staying and finds an empty room, he meets another newcomer, Mykyta. The two form a loose duo, wandering around the village and picking up fragments of its history along the way. As they move through the village, they cross paths with a couple of Finnish geologists surveying the mine for a possible reopening, as rising molybdenum prices have brought new attention to the site.

Before going further, some context for Politiikasta readers can be useful. Mätäsvaara is located in Lieksa, North Karelia, on the eastern side of Lake Pielinen near the border with Nurmes. It was built rapidly during the wartime period as a purpose-made mining community, with housing and basic services organized around the mine itself.

The question is rather how far a work presented as “documentary” can go in bending historical specificity for emotional effect, and where that line begins to matter?

Today, the Finnish Heritage Agency lists Mätäsvaara as a nationally significant built cultural environment, mainly because its town plan was designed by Alvar Aalto. The mine operated as a molybdenum sulfide site and played a role in the German wartime industry. Molybdenum is used in alloy steels, including those required for arms production. A Lieksa city guide also marks the location of an “old prison camp” and notes that prisoners of war were brought to the mine as labor. During the Continuation War, Finland held roughly 64,000 Soviet soldiers as prisoners of war, along with about 5,700 taken during the earlier Winter War.

What matters for the film, however, is how this history is recorded. In official Finnish and international sources, these prisoners are not listed by modern national identities. They are consistently described as “Soviet prisoners of war”. In Finnish archives they appear as neuvostosotavangit or neuvostoliittolaiset sotavangit. In some cataloguing practices, the label “Russian” is used as a practical shorthand, even though broader historical accounts continue to frame them as Soviet prisoners.

Even an older MTV3 feature on a musical set in Mätäsvaara, for example, refers to “Russian prisoners of war” working at the mine in the summer of 1944. Against this background, Pennanen’s decision to foreground a specifically Ukrainian identity in the film for these prisoners appears to be deliberate. It intensifies the emotional weight of the setting and strategically taps into the current resonance of Ukrainian identity in Europe (without this adjustment the film’s structure falls apart). Is this a flaw? Not necessarily.

Cinema has always depended on dramatization, on bending and compressing reality in order to make it felt. The question is rather how far a work presented as “documentary” can go in bending historical specificity for emotional effect, and where that line begins to matter?

The film invites real questions, and only a work that aims high enough ever does that.

The film seems caught between two impulses that pull in opposite directions and they end up cancelling each other out, undermining the film’s overall coherence. As noted earlier, much of the film’s weight is carried by its beautiful cinematography, evident, for example, in the camera movement in the forest, wide shots at the beginning and the atmospheric cutaway shots toward the end. In its technical approach, these moments recall another film with “light” in its title, All We Imagine as Light, awarded the Grand Jury Prize at Cannes in 2024.

The other pull comes from the script, which fails to rise to the level of the visual work and instead drags the film down. Rather than trusting the images, the script clings to them as a way to force its themes through. Its ideas about time, space, and inherited suffering are pushed so insistently through bland over-explanation that the visual language begins to suffocate under the weight. Artificial staging and poorly ordered dialogue only add to the problem. As cinematography reaches for subtext, the script uncreatively spoon feeds the audience with meaning (for example by long verbal padding about “grains”), and the two never stylistically align.

The clunky editing only amplifies the script’s weaknesses. The two geologists are poorly integrated into the narration, appearing like summoned ghosts who surface now and then to recite background information. Rather than enriching the film, they interrupt its visual logic. The opening quote from The Man Without Qualities does important work, grounding the film in an idea of time piling up beneath us while we pretend to stand on something stable. Yet it is hard to ignore that the real men without qualities here are the people on screen themselves, reduced to particles by a romanticized gaze. The world around them remains intact with its traumas, continuing to reproduce hierarchical ways of seeing, while even nature is stripped of specificity and turned into a symbolic pressure placed on the characters.

If this review runs longer than the others, it is because the film invites real questions, and only a work that aims high enough ever does that. For all its tensions, the film leaves a clear impression and makes Pennanen a filmmaker worth paying attention to right now.

Vuoiŋŋat (2025)

Image: Vuoiŋŋat (2025) / Docpoint

Marja Viitahuhta’s Vuoiŋŋat reminds us of a dark chapter in European history, particularly in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, when a documented movement now known as “scientific racism” used pseudo-scientific authority to justify imperialism, colonial domination, and ideas of white superiority, while legitimizing discrimination, the collection of human bodies, and state policy.

Germany became an early center for this thinking, with the founding of the German Society for Racial Hygiene in 1905 by Alfred Ploetz, promoting concepts of “racial health” and “purity” that later intensified across Europe in the 1930s. In the Nordics, a key milestone was the establishment of the State Institute for Racial Biology in Sweden’s Uppsala in 1922, led by Herman Lundborg, one of the most influential race scientists of the period. In this period, the Sámi population was systematically targeted by racial biology research through physical measurements and the removal of human remains.

In Finland, a major racial research program operated during the 1920s and 1930s under Professor Yrjö Kajava, during which approximately 37 percent of the Finnish Sámi population, totaling 795 individuals, were subjected to anthropometric measurement between 1926 and 1934. Within this context, grave disturbances are documented, including a 1934 anthropological expedition that exhumed seventy skeletons from the old cemetery island in Inari for study at the University of Helsinki. These remains later became the subject of long repatriation efforts, with ninety-five Sámi remains returned in 1995 and a further 172 repatriated in 2001 to the Sámi Museum Siida.

Although Vuoiŋŋat will not speak to everyone, what the work achieves through form deserves recognition.

In August 2022, Sámi human remains removed from burial grounds during the era of European racial science were reburied in Inari, Utsjoki, and Nellim in ceremonies led by Sámi communities in collaboration with church and state representatives. Viitahuhta dedicates her work to the Sámi ancestors whose remains were taken from their graves in the name of racial research.

Viitahuhta’s piece is a five-minute cameraless video built from animated digital auroras and a luohti performed by Sámi musician Ánnámáret, where the yoik gives voice to spirits that have been left without a place to rest. The title Vuoiŋŋat comes from the Northern Sámi word for spirits or life force, a term connected to the verb meaning “to breathe” and is used in Sámi cultural contexts to refer to ancestral or collective spirit. The Sámi political slogan ČSV includes the phrase Čájet Sámi Vuoiŋŋa! which is translated as “Show Sámi Spirit” where vuoiŋŋa is interpreted as “Sámi spirit” showing the word’s use to express presence or collective soul.

If you allow yourself to get lost into Viitahuhta’s experiment with form, the digitized images start to pull you in. Hold your gaze long enough and pareidolia kicks in. Shapes appear, and suddenly you wonder if the spirits are there on the screen, if they are watching you back, if one of them just waved at you.

Ánnámáret’s wordless vocalization carries the experience forward and holds it together. When her vocal register drops near the end into a deeper, grounded sound, it feels like another presence stepping in, as if a spirit is finally speaking plainly and letting its grief surface. Although Vuoiŋŋat will not speak to everyone, what the work achieves through form deserves recognition.

Rather than following a normative Western approach to her material, Viitahuhta’s work opens toward another way of thinking, one that the Japanese philosopher Kitarō Nishida helps put into words. As Nishida explained it, Western thought tends to treat form as being itself and formal completion as a measure of value, while East Asian thought allows for seeing the form of the formless and hearing the sound of the soundless. Without this kind of experimentation and had Viitahuhta adhered to a fixed Western ideal of form, the work would not reach the emotional force it carries.

Erfan Fatehi is a doctoral researcher in sociology at the university of Helsinki.

National Short Film Competition 1: The Verge of New, 2: Side by Side, and 3: Flashbacks are screened at DocPoint-festival between 3.–8.2.2026. Check the screening programme for showtimes.

Article images: DocPoint Helsinki

Read all Politiikasta DocPoint 2026 reviews in english here.
All Politiikasta DocPoint 2026 reviews in Finnish here.

Update 27.2.2026: Film names and link to screening schedule added

Julkaisu DocPoint 2026: From Calls to Spirits: Three New Finnish Films ilmestyi ensimmäisenä Politiikasta.

Film is a powerful medium for expressing cultural and social meanings, discussing political ideas and values, and driving economic growth. Since its foundation, the European Union (EU) has recognised and sought to exploit the potential of European film for such purposes. The EU also regards European film as a cultural heritage to be preserved and passed on to the future.

EU cultural policy is based on intertwined cultural, political, and economic interests. Since 1991, the EU has been supporting the European film industry through the Creative Europe MEDIA programme to encourage the development, distribution, and promotion of European audiovisual works.

The main challenges for the European film industry have been the low circulation of European films outside their countries of production and its low competitiveness compared to the US film industry.

The challenge is real and difficult to address. For example, in the EU Strategy on European Film in the Digital Era, the European Commission noted that 63% of all films released in the EU in 2012 were European, but only 33% of admissions were to European films. Meanwhile, US productions accounted for 20% of releases and 65% of admissions. Over the past decade, there hasn’t been much change in the productivity and circulation of European films, despite EU support. The market share of US productions in the EU was 58% in 2021 and 63% in 2022.

To increase the competitiveness of the European film industry, the European Commission is funding research projects to provide a comprehensive understanding of the industry and different perspectives on its challenges. The REBOOT project seeks to identify the strengths and gaps in the competitiveness of the European film industry and to explore emerging audiences.

The heritage meanings can inspire audiences and thus be used to promote European films. However, there are several challenges involved.

Multiple objectives of EU film policy

The EU approaches and regulates the European film industry from different and sometimes contradictory perspectives. The first decade of EU audiovisual policy focused on the integration of the European film market on the one hand, and the celebration of cinematic art by emphasising its cultural and linguistic diversity on the other. This balancing act between commerce and art, as described by Anna Herold, Head of the European Commission’s Audiovisual and Media Services Policy Unit, has recently been extended to other policy objectives.

EU film policy has increasingly emphasised the twin goals of strengthening the competitiveness of the European film industry and using European film as a tool in the EU’s external relations.

Over the past decade, EU film policy has increasingly emphasised the twin goals of strengthening the competitiveness of the European film industry in Europe and beyond and using European film as a tool in the EU’s external relations. This emphasis has expanded the EU’s film policy balancing act to include new components, global competitiveness and public diplomacy.

In addition, identity policy goals have from the very beginning encompassed EU film policy, as well as EU cultural policy in general. Such policies seek to promote the idea of Europe as a cultural and value-based space. The Creative Europe programme, for example, states in its first two sentences that “cultural and creative sectors are part of European identity” and that their expressions manifest, among other things, common values.

Film as Europe’s cultural heritage

EU policy considers film as an important European cultural heritage that manifests the cultural diversity of Europeans and allows to learn about the continent’s past. Therefore, the EU has developed policies to protect this heritage.

As early as 2004, the European Commission stated in its communication on the legal aspects of cinematographic and other audiovisual works: “In order to ensure that the European film heritage is passed down to future generations, it has to be systematically collected, catalogued, preserved and restored.” In this regard, the Commission recommended the establishment in each Member State of special institutes for the preservation and promotion of film heritage at national level.

The EU’s interest in preserving Europe’s film heritage has been closely linked to the goal of increasing access to audiovisual content through digitisation.

The EU’s interest in preserving Europe’s film heritage has been closely linked to the goal of increasing access to audiovisual content through digitisation. Throughout the 2000s, the EU has sought to remove various technical and legal barriers to digitised cultural content and to increase access to cultural heritage through digital technologies and shared platforms. The first of these platforms, Europeana, was launched in 2008.

The EU’s latest attempt to share digital cultural heritage, including film, builds on the Commission’s 2021 recommendation for a common European data space for cultural heritage.

Researchers Tuuli Lähdesmäki, Sigrid Kaasik-Krogerus and Katja Mäkinen have noted that EU policy on audiovisual heritage is about the interplay between medium and content. When the policy focuses on the medium, films, television, and radio programmes are considered a heritage in themselves. When the policy focuses on content, film, television, and radio are treated as audiovisual tools for conveying content, such as events and sites, regarded as cultural heritage.

In some EU initiatives, such as A Season of Classic Films organised since 2019, these heritage meanings are inseparable. In this initiative, classic European films have been screened at historic venues and major film festivals across Member States, showcasing the restoration of old films and the European history, traditions, and heritage they convey.

Films convey personal cultural heritage

Although EU policy acknowledges film as a cultural heritage, it has not yet recognised the more intimate heritage meanings that film can have for individuals. These meanings were revealed while researching European Film Festivals, also known as EU Film Festivals, organised by EU delegations with the embassies and cultural attachés of EU Member States and local film organisations in third countries. Such festivals have been organised without explicit funding since 1985, but in 2018 the European Commission launched a special support instrument to better coordinate their implementation.

European Film Festivals screen recent films from EU countries and organise various film-related side events for film professionals and audiences. For the EU, the main objective of these festivals is to strengthen public diplomacy, dialogue, and cooperation between the EU and third countries and their various stakeholders within and outside the film industry.

The festivals also aim to contribute to a more positive image of the EU and to promote European ideas and values. Through the screening of recent films and the organisation of side events, festivals also contribute to the promotion of European film outside Europe.

European ex-patriates and migrants and citizens with a European background and their families form an important audience for festivals in multicultural metropolises.

REBOOT project researchers Tuuli Lähdesmäki, Mafalda Dâmaso, Kaisa Hiltunen, Ruken Doğu Erdede, Elif Akçalı, and Melis Behlil examined the organisation of European Film Festivals through grey literature and interviews with EU delegations and festival organisers in eight non-EU countries, namely Argentina, Canada, Chile, Indonesia, South Africa, Türkiye, the United Kingdom, and Vietnam. The data from two of these countries, the UK and Canada, differed slightly from the others.

Tuuli Lähdesmäki’s analysis of the data from the UK and Canada showed that European films have a specific heritage meaning that is not addressed in the EU film policy. This meaning is based on film as a transmission of personal cultural heritage, including historical, cultural and family related elements that shape one’s identity and sense of belonging to a cultural group.

The UK and Canada include populations and/or large numbers of migrants and ex-patriates with heritage and cultural roots in (continental) Europe. According to interviews with festival organisers, European ex-patriates and migrants and citizens with a European background and their families form an important audience for festivals in multicultural metropolises, such as London, Toronto, Ottawa, and Vancouver. Such audiences are eager to see European films from their (or their parents’, grandparents’ or relatives’) home countries, to experience their culture, cultural roots, and cultural environment, and to hear their native language. For them, watching European films is motivated by the films’ ability to convey personal cultural heritage.

Heritage meanings in audience development

EU cultural policy discourses have identified film as a cultural heritage and have initiated policies to promote and safeguard film as such. Film as heritage is also mentioned in the guidelines for European Film Festival organisers.

However, neither the policies nor the guidelines recognise the intimate heritage meanings that European films can have. Such a heritage meaning is important for a specific audience segment, which could be better recognised as a potential market niche for European films.

However, the promotion of European films for audiences with European cultural roots in third countries is not without risks and challenges due to Europe’s colonialist and imperialist past. In countries with colonial histories, the promotion of European films for audiences with European cultural roots is problematic, especially in the context of the European Film Festivals, which aim to strengthen international cultural relations and intercultural dialogue. The challenges of promoting European films and Europe through the EU-initiated festival were acknowledged in our South African data.

Heritage meanings of European films are important for a specific audience segment, which could be better recognised as a potential market niche for European films.

In general, niche marketing of European films for specific audiences faces practical challenges, since the resources used for the promotion of the European films are modest compared to more competitive industries, such as the US film industry and Hollywood productions.

Audiences have different reasons for watching films. Personal heritage meanings are one of them. Such meanings could be better recognised in the development of audiences for European films. However, such niche marketing must avoid the risk of underlining European colonial legacies in third countries.

PhD, DSocSc Tuuli Lähdesmäki is an associate professor of art history at the University of Jyväskylä and the PI of the consortium partnership in the REBOOT project.

Article image: Aneta Pawlik / Unsplash

Julkaisu Heritage meanings of European film and their potential for audience development ilmestyi ensimmäisenä Politiikasta.

In August 2023, Helsinki Regional Transport (HSL) launched an anti-fraud campaign featuring social media personalities Iba and Keinaan, who were chosen to promote the risks of using fake transit tickets. However, the campaign sparked significant controversy and public debate, as critics argued, that using two Black men in this context risked reinforcing negative stereotypes around race and criminality.

While some defended the campaign as a step toward greater visibility for underrepresented groups and dismissed the criticisms as overblown “woke” reactions that had turned an innocuous issue into another topic for the culture wars, others saw it as racially insensitive. In response, HSL initially pulled the campaign but later reinstated it. The transport authority believed that clarifying Iba and Keinaan’s roles as influencers would address the backlash and emphasize the campaign’s intent.

The controversy, though, revealed deeper issues with representation of minorities in Finnish society, institutional responsibility, and the social consequences of public messaging choices. Social media platforms became a major space for discussion, with people from various backgrounds sharing their concerns about the campaign. Many argued that HSL should have anticipated backlash, as a quick scan of HSL’s Facebook and Instagram pages shows few — if any — Black individuals in past positive messaging campaigns.

Finnish audiences are generally not accustomed to seeing Black individuals represented in HSL’s campaigns, which makes this casting choice a noticeable departure from its not-so-strong track record of diversity. The choice of lesser-known personalities over more recognizable Black influencers active in Finland, likely to save costs for HSL, added to the controversy, as most people saw Iba and Keinaan as mere campaign models.

Iba and Keinaan themselves expressed disappointment after the initial removal of the campaign from digital screens. In an interview with Iltalehti, they explained that they found it unfair for those outside the minority community to speak on their behalf, adding that, regardless of their involvement, they felt open to public scrutiny either way.

The Specter and Spectacle of Race

The real question is not about branding the campaign as racist or not; it is more about unpacking the sociopolitical implications and understanding the context from which it emerged. It is no coincidence that two Black individuals were chosen for an anti-fraud campaign in the Finnish context.

Unlike Sweden’s social-democratic roots, Finnish welfare policy has historically leaned toward protectionist and nationalistic orientations. In his doctoral dissertation, university researcher Niko Pyrhönen explains how a widely shared concern across the Finnish political spectrum about the welfare state’s future in a globalized era enabled neo-populists, such as the Perussuomalaiset (Finns Party), to frame immigration as a threat to welfare structures. Far-right political ideologies constructed a collective identity centered around “welfare nationalism”.

This so-called “blue-and-white solidarity” has crafted an exclusionary narrative that positions native Finns as the “real” beneficiaries of the welfare state, while casting “racial aliens” (a term used by the far-right in Finland for African and MENA immigrants) as outsiders from whom the welfare state must be “saved”. In other words, “the other” is located as both “traumatic” and “excessive”.

The real question is not about branding the campaign as racist or not; it is more about unpacking the sociopolitical implications and understanding the context from which it emerged.

This image of immigrants and their relationship with welfare structures has permeated mainstream Finnish discourse, surfacing almost daily in the public sphere. Immigrants are often accused of clogging public health service lines or are labeled “sossupummi” (a derogatory term for a perceived welfare client) on social media. To better understand this, we can turn to university Professor Li-Chun Hsiao’s distinction between the “specter” and “spectacle” of race. The “specter” of race refers to pervasive, often unspoken racial anxieties or biases that linger beneath society’s surface.

In contrast, the “spectacle” of race is race made visible and performative, often through exaggerated or symbolic representations in media and public campaigns. According to Hsiao, every spectacle is shadowed and haunted by the specter of race. In this context, the “spectacle” of two Black individuals featured in a campaign aimed at “saving” welfare structures from fraud reflects the deeper “specter” of race in the contemporary Finnish context.

“They themselves accepted it, so it’s fine!”

A common cliché used to dismiss controversies like this is the argument, “they accepted it, so it’s fine”. This flawed—and ideologically skewed! —understanding of agency deliberately ignores the power dynamics at play, shifting focus away from broader structural issues and reducing a systemic problem to individual preference. In this case, it refers to Iba and Keinaan’s interview comments about not perceiving the campaign as racist. This reasoning is as problematic as suggesting Donald Trump is not a racist politician because some Muslim leaders and Imams in Michigan endorsed him, or insisting Non-Black people must shut up about slavery because one of the largest slave-owners in U.S. history, John Carruthers Stanly, was Black.

This argument rests on the notion that participation by individuals from marginalized backgrounds inherently validates those structures as non-discriminatory or fair. Such thinking fails to consider the complex survival strategies, constrained choices, and internalized norms marginalized groups have to deal with within systems that remain biased.

Another naive argument often thrown around in cases like this is, “What problem do you have with the representation and inclusion of Black individuals in the public sphere?” Although this rather common question builds on the dynamics discussed in the previous paragraph and reduces the complexities of inclusion to a binary of presence versus absence, it deserves attention because it reflects a prevailing issue between symbolic representation and genuine inclusion—a challenge faced by many Western societies today.

Not every representation is a sign of inclusion, and we must be cautious when inclusion is tokenized and used as a shield against criticism.

To be more clear, I will provide an example.  Indigenous culture is often celebrated through traditional clothing, dance, or festivals, which are romanticized and consumed by the majority for aesthetic value. Yet, when Indigenous groups advocate for land rights, resist environmental degradation, or oppose corporate interests, they often face hostility, which reveals the limits of the “love” that exists only for aesthetic or symbolic purposes. The same holds true for celebrating black individuals in roles such as athletes, musicians, or entertainers, and Asian Americans as hardworking and non-confrontational.

Here, we see a phenomenon where members of marginalized or racialized groups are selectively embraced or celebrated when they conform to certain roles, behaviors, or stereotypes that are beneficial or non-threatening to the dominant group. To explain this phenomenon, American authors Frank Chin and Jeffrey Paul Chan coined the term “racist love” in 1972. In essence, racist love is a conditional love that creates an illusion of acceptance or inclusion as long as marginalized groups conform to stereotypes or roles that align with the dominant group’s expectations or interests. Therefore, not every representation is a sign of inclusion, and we must be cautious when inclusion is tokenized and used as a shield against criticism.

The Path to Authentic Inclusion

Reflecting on the controversy surrounding this campaign, one thing becomes clear: representation is a complex, layered issue, especially when it intersects with race and public messaging. The lingering influence of welfare nationalism, which emerged starkly in Finland’s recent general elections, and Finland’s repeated selection as the “happiest country in the world” should not lead to a fetishization of Finnish public institutions and services, stripping them of accountability and closing off avenues for public critique.

Rather than focusing solely on whether this campaign was “right” or “wrong” this incident points to the need for deeper discussions around inclusion and the responsibilities of public institutions in shaping public perceptions.

Rather than focusing solely on whether this campaign was “right” or “wrong” this incident points to the need for deeper discussions around inclusion and the responsibilities of public institutions in shaping public perceptions.

As political polarization is ravaging liberal democracies, it is becoming increasingly challenging to speak about racism and the different brands it comes in. As British journalist and author Reni Eddo-Lodge explains in her influential piece titled Why I’m No Longer Talking to White People About Race, Euro-ethnic populations historically never had to think about what it means, in power terms, to be white, so the majority believe that their life experiences, shaped by skin color, can and should be universalized.

This has turned racial discussions into a burden for people of color, as they are expected to educate others on the subject and prioritize white feelings in understanding structural racism. This is why we need a dialectical reversal in understanding racism and, for a first step, must challenge the neoliberal idea of diversity and multiculturalism, which is based on the commandment of thou shalt tolerate the other yet keep thy distance from ‘em…! The path forward is not arm’s-length tolerance and tokenism but understanding the otherness of the other.

Erfan Fatehi is a doctoral researcher in sociology at the University of Helsinki.

Article image: Jori Samonen / Pixabay

Julkaisu Racist Love? A Note on HSL’s Fake Ticket Campaign  ilmestyi ensimmäisenä Politiikasta.

A recent theme in western media involves the casting of younger generations negatively in contrast to older generations using clickbait news titles and surface level discussions. News headlines conveying that younger generations are having a hard time ‘adulting’, or that younger people simply like living at home, have become commonplace to the point of being parodied.

These stories often lack the nuance or detail that goes beyond simplistic narratives to accurately explain the behavior or views of younger individuals. News stories about the relationship between younger people and politics is equally susceptible to simplistic generalizations about their behavior. In Finland, this phenomenon has recently manifested itself in narratives about young people’s greater support for one of the country’s far right parties – the Finns party.

Finnish media, younger people, and Finns party support

The Finnish media has published several news stories highlighting a link between younger people and support for the Finns party. For example, a recent press release from a research organization highlighted by the media indicates that TikTok impacts the voting behavior of younger people, and that the effect is especially strong for voting for the Finns Party. Yle News published a related story where they indicated that one-third of young people who use TikTok would vote for the Finns party.

The article was mostly framed around how the Finns party has been able to attract youth support through the app. The article dedicated considerable attention to the strategies of the party’s posts. The narrative is that younger people on the platform are particularly receptive to the types of content that the Finns party disseminates. The story did not ask the obvious question – is it that the Finns party is using TikTok to attract young voters’ support or that the party has created a ‘meeting place’ for the young supporters they already acquired?

The story leaves us to posit why Finns party support is so strong among younger voters and whether TikTok is the cause? What these stories lack are nuanced explanations and systematic comparisons to other age groups and the support of competitor parties.

A more nuanced analysis of the relationship between TikTok and Finns party support was published in Helsingin Sanomat. This story highlighted that the Finns party is the most popular party among the youth, which has been discussed in additional news stories. However, the story pointed out that according to a recent study younger voters do not support the policies of the party. The story leaves us to posit why Finns party support is so strong among younger voters and whether TikTok is the cause? What these stories lack are nuanced explanations and systematic comparisons to other age groups and the support of competitor parties.

Additionally, the news has recently emphasized the results from the democracy education event (Nuorten vaalit). The “the youth elections” event is used as an educational tool where youth participants under the age of 18 vote for a candidate running in the Finnish presidential election. The result of the event was that Finns party candidate Jussi Halla-aho finished second in the voting and missed first place by just over 600 votes (out of 94,000 cast). The result has led some to ponder over whether the Finns party is especially attractive to young people.

What does the democracy education event results tell us?

The democracy education event results convey only some information to researchers. However, that information is unlikely to be the attractiveness of the Finns party to younger people. Instead, the results more likely indicate quite a bit about some of these younger peoples’ families.

Since the 1960s political scientists have uncovered that the family is one of the strongest ‘agents of socialization’ in democracies. Agents of socialization are those entities that impact an individual’s political attitudes through the socialization process, which includes family, social groups, school, religion, etc. Studies confirm that there is a strong connection between parental partisanship/vote choice and that of their children. The relationship is especially strong when individuals are younger.

A study in Finland by Gidengil, Wass, and Valaste in 2016 showed that the likelihood a young person even votes can be directly tied to their parents’ political behavior. The results from the democracy education event are more likely reflective of parental attitudes rather than an informed selection of a candidate based on their own ideological commitments. As the Helsingin Sanomat article mentioned above highlighted, there is an incongruence between younger Finns party supporters’ policy preferences and those of the party.

Since the 1960s political scientists have uncovered that the family is one of the strongest ‘agents of socialization’ in democracies. Agents of socialization are those entities that impact an individual’s political attitudes through the socialization process.

Alternatively, the democracy education event might convey little to no information about younger people. First, the participants are casting a vote in an event that has no real-world stakes. The purpose of the event is that it is an educational tool. There are no consequences for their vote choice, which is not the case for actual voters. Therefore, the incentive to be an informed participant is missing from the activity.

Second, and related, as previous participants are aware, the seriousness that individuals approach this type of event does not match that of a real election. There is always a handful of participants that cast their votes in a joking manner. Finally, the younger participants lack a cohesive ideological profile. It takes time to develop an individual’s comprehensive set of political orientations towards society. Therefore, the choices might not be based on policy preferences, but rather other non-political considerations such as a candidate’s appearance or media reporting.

Analysis shows the relationship is over-emphasized

To calculate the precise impact of age on vote choice, I conducted an analysis from a survey of around 3,000 Finnish respondents just prior to the parliamentary election. My analysis controls for a range of demographic variables, as well as attitudinal positions (views on the economy, environmental issues, LGBTQI+ rights, and immigration). When I plot the impact of age on vote choice in the figure, we see that age only has a small impact on vote choice for the Finns party.

Figure: The impact of age on vote choice

The first aspect of the figure to notice is that the probability of vote choice is never greater than 25 percent for any party for younger people. In fact, the difference in the probability of voting for the parties that came first through fifth in the 2023 parliamentary election is on average only a four percentage point difference for 20 year old respondents. The result indicates a lot of fragmentation in the youth vote – no dominant party among the youth.

The result is not surprising given that younger people have not developed partisan attachments. Again, the lack of partisanship is due to an unformed ideological profile. In addition, youth voters are not a monolithic group that has a dominant issue to rally around, such as older voters and an issue like pensions. Thus, we would expect the youth vote to be divided between several parties as these young people navigate through the early years of political socialization.

Youth voters are not a monolithic group that has a dominant issue to rally around, such as older voters and an issue like pensions.

Comparing younger people to older people, the figure points to only small age related differences in vote choice for the Finns party. An individual that is 20 years old is only on average 3.8 percent more likely to report vote choice for the Finns party when compared to a 50 year old. When comparing a 20-year-old to an 80-year-old the difference is around 10 percent. The differences are small but could still be meaningful. Does this mean the Finns party is more attractive to younger people? Not necessarily, in fact, the results point to another narrative.

The narrative does not involve the Finns party’s oversized attraction to younger people, but instead the extremely large amount of support for the Social Democrats among older people. The results show that the probability of vote choice for the Social Democratic Party increases drastically with age. An individual that is between 70–80 years old is between 35–40 percent more likely to vote for the Social Democrats when compared to a 20-year-old voter.

The small age-related gaps in Finns party vote are likely a product of older voters’ very strong attachment to the Social Democratic Party. The finding aligns with narratives that older people have a much stronger partisan attachment to the Social Democrats in the Nordic countries. The question the media should be asking is why are the Social Democrats failing to appeal to young people? Therefore, the real puzzle is explaining gaps in Social Democratic party appeal.

Media and a bandwagon effect: A warning

Several studies show a bandwagon effect related to elections where citizens cast a vote for a candidate that they perceive, through the publishing of favorable news stories or opinion polls, as popular. The people that are most susceptible to this type of bandwagon effect are individuals that are low information voters or pay less attention to politics, which tends to be younger voters.

Given the disproportionate amount of attention the link between younger voters and Finns party support has received in the media, there is the potential that the relationship becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy. In other words, younger votes may express support for the Finns Party in the future because they believe their peers also support the party due to the media’s incomplete reporting.

Therefore, the perpetuation of the narrative that the Finns party has an oversized appeal among young people could have implications for actual election results. That outcome would be unfortunate because the reality is that there is no party that dominates support from younger people in Finland. Instead, it is the case that younger people are dividing their support among several parties. We could call this process “finding a partisan home.” In addition, there is not a large difference between younger and older people in support for the Finns party. In all, news stories attributing Finns party success to younger people are not providing a complete picture.

Ph.D. Michael A. Hansen is an Associate Professor of Political Science at the University of Turku.

Article image: Elizeu Dias / Unsplash

Article updated 30.1.2024 at 15.05: Some minor typos corrected.

Julkaisu Young people’s support for the Finns Party: An incomplete story ilmestyi ensimmäisenä Politiikasta.

In this video essay Apply generously Illusia Juvani examines the phenomenon of decaying funding of arts through their own experience: how insecurity affects artist’s work and life. The question of grant funding and economic insecurity touches also other groups such as researchers and civil society.

Illusia Juvani is an award-winning artist-activist who studies difficult and painful societal issues in their video, photography, sound, object and text works.

This work is on display in Art from Politics Series 27.11.2023–28.1.2024.

My well-being is always just temporary. A brief moment in between hopelessness. Art is such a heavily underfunded field, therefore when I manage to score a grant occasionally I am so relieved. The two year working grant I received from Kone Foundation has given me so much security. I have been able to live with my traumas. I’ve been feeling so much better because of it. It has been that much easier to live when an occasional taxi drive to emergency care clinic doesn’t fuck up your budget by driving your personal economy into a long term deficit.

I’ve had enough money to go swimming regularly. Eat out sometimes. I’ve been able to buy a trampoline that can stand my weight. I’ve bought a dishwasher. I’ve had enough money to afford dental care. I’ve been able to buy well balanced food that has helped me to have enough energy to work and live. I have paid off some of my student loan, I’ve gotten a small loan to buy a really good bed that doesn’t destroy my back. I invested in a bicycle. I have been able to rent a bigger apartment where there’s actually enough space to move around and to create. I’ve danced more than ever.

I have been able to start new hobbies, like planting a small garden on my balcony. The first summer was completely fruitless, but I didn’t mind. I have zero regrets about the money I’ve spent on plants, seeds and soil. It has been Totally worth it. Unnecessary? Yes, for sure, but has it given me so much happiness? Absolutely.

Having enough resources has made it possible to buy so many different “non-essential” purchases that have made the quality of my life so much better. When you have enough money, not even your mistakes are so devastating. It helps to see the future and picture you in it. It has enabled all my potential to flourish and grow. It has not been drained by the constant worry that is living in poverty. The oasis I have created for me and my cats is a testament to that.

I am not ashamed of my poverty anymore. I have had enough peace of mind and time to ponder thoroughly what it actually means in this current capitalistic system. I understand now that none of it is my fault. The fault lies in the power structure that has been designed to do so. It is a power structure where my well-being is not seen as valuable.

What cruel people don’t understand is that poverty hurts. It is violent and isolating. It drives you into desperation and desperation doesn’t make anyone a better person or a better worker for that matter. It doesn’t encourage you to participate in anything. It destroys your self-esteem. If your voice seems worthless you are more likely not going to use it. How can anyone assume that you can make the best choices for your life when you only have the means to barely survive.

The lack of prospects describes the situation accurately. Does that sound like a position that makes you feel safe, secure or well? When you add on any other challenges you might have on top of that, the odds are even less in your favour. Your capacity goes into energy saving mode and all your aspirations fade away. Fear takes up more space and you can’t afford to hope, dream or trust.

The work is supported by Kone Foundation.

Article image: Illusia Juvani : Apply Generously (2023)

Julkaisu Art From Politics: Illusia Juvani: Apply generously (2023) ilmestyi ensimmäisenä Politiikasta.