Televisual diplomacy: I am the Ambassador and Danish nation branding at home and abroad

Introduction

Diplomacy, like reality television, is a blend of reality and illusion wherein the ‘actors’ are constrained by a complex formula that dictates how they are expected to perform. In everyday practice, diplomacy thus functions as a form of ‘spectacle’ (Hüttler, 2017) informed by a particular ‘set of aesthetics’ (Neumann, 2013: 143). Accepting this premise, mass-mediating diplomacy via a television series presents a valuable object of analysis that can help International Relations (IR) scholars to interrogate what we mean by the ‘diplomatic community’ in the 21st century (see Constantinou, 2016). Focusing on the televisualisation of diplomatic acts, systems, and sites (including the body of the diplomat), this article investigates the political interposition of the Danish Broadcasting Corporation (DR) via reality-TV, one of the current era’s most prominent forms of popular culture. We do this through a close reading of the DR’s series I am the Ambassador/Jeg er ambassadøren fra Amerika (2014–2016) (hereafter Ambassador), starring the sitting US ambassador to Denmark. As a state-funded entity with an explicit mission to create content that serves the cultural and social needs of the national population, we argue that DR – via Ambassador – serves as an agent on Danish nation branding at home and abroad. Beyond a holistic treatment of the series, we detail the spaces and places where ‘public diplomacy’ manifests, and how transmitting such staged acts via television expands and amplifies certain types of messaging that engages IR at multiple scales.

In our analysis, we attempt to extend the maxim that all ‘politics is performance’ (Brady, 2012: xii) by demonstrating how diplomacy qua popular culture serves the Danish state in the current globalised milieu. Consequently, we treat Ambassador as a screened geopolitical intervention (see Carter and McCormack, 2006), and one that exemplifies what Clerc and Glover (2015: 18) call ‘nation branding à la nordique’. This article argues that the series also functions as an inventive form of public diplomacy advancing ‘continuous dialogue and community’ (Mordhorst, 2015: 253), while also building Denmark’s ‘brand’. On one hand, Ambassador enables the US State Department’s (public) diplomacy in Denmark via the personalised outreach of Gifford, and, on the other, (nation) brands Denmark to the Danes through a symbolic differentiation from the ‘bad America’. Our focus is on the ways in which the series is ‘scripted’ (not via text, but instead through spatio-political framing) to present a commendatory picture of Denmark to Danes through the everyday diplomatic duties and personal life of the American ambassador. We aim to situate Ambassador within the evolving field of ‘new diplomacy’ through an evaluation of how the showrunners and Gifford represent everyday sites of IR via mass-mediation, linking this process to the postmodern form of statecraft labelled ‘nation branding’ (cf. Aronczyk, 2013; Kaneva, 2011; Volčič and Andrejevic, 2015). We argue that the use of another country’s diplomatic representative (i.e. US Ambassador Rufus Gifford, who served from 13 September 2013 until 20 January 2017) to burnish its own national image represents a leap forward in the evolution of the ‘brand state’ (Van Ham, 2001). Here, we are influenced by Acuto’s (2014: 346) assemblage thinking to reconsider the ‘relationship between the international contexts of IR and the commonplace realities we all partake in our own homes’. Using Ambassador as a case study, our aim is to illustrate how diplomacy is rapidly changing in an environment where new media has become an indispensable element of foreign affairs, thus laying the groundwork for future studies (particularly those related to ministries of foreign affairs’ usage of social media to achieve their mandate).

We begin with a recursive historiography of diplomacy as a form of theatre, situating our analysis within an interdisciplinary framework that synthesises approaches drawn from diplomatic history, critical IR, and popular geopolitics. This lays the groundwork for exploring the impact of popular culture on world politics, and especially the evolving role that (reality) television plays in public/cultural diplomacy. We then provide a close reading of Ambassador as a text, interrogating the series’ impact beyond the small screen. In the conclusion, our focus turns to contemporary Danish television’s role as an agent of state branding beyond the country’s shores, contextualising Ambassador as a geopolitical intervention.

Positioning our analysis against the ample literature that has problematised the boundaries between ‘celebrity’ and ‘politician’ (cf. Marsh et al., 2010; Street, 2004; Wood et al., 2016), our contribution challenges historical interpretations of the protocols of diplomacy, or what it means to be a diplomat, by examining a panoply of sites where contemporary diplomacy actually takes place (cf. Clerc and Glover, 2015; Neumann, 2013; and Constantinou, 2016). We do this by interrogating Gifford’s role as an international public figure with the support of his own government and, via DR, that of the Danish state. Second, this article presents a holistic account of the ways in which diplomacy encompasses a wide field of action with results that go far beyond those traditionally ascribed to the practice. In our examination of more ‘nuanced understandings’ of diplomacy as a process based on ‘transformation, emergence, and becoming’ (McConnell, 2016: 142), we hope to add to the ways in which ‘everyday IR’ (Acuto, 2014) is conceived and studied. Third, drawing on recent work that queers IR (cf. Bradley, 2015; Duggan, 2003; Puar, 2017), this article provides a critique of the assumed heteronormativity of diplomacy by excavating the flamboyant, even ‘gay’ nature of the practice over time. Finally, this contribution provides an empirical analysis of a popular culture artefact as a geopolitical intervention, interrogating the ways in which reality-TV can re-imagine the nation-state (Livio, 2011) and produce ‘life worlds’ that influence political culture at home and abroad (see Kraidy and Sender, 2011).

History of diplomacy as a ‘show’

Diplomacy is primarily concerned with achieving the national interest by motivating other states to take certain actions or pursue particular policies. Key results of such ‘work’ include the expansion of military alliances, trade relations, or other forms of state-to-state engagement while avoiding negative outcomes. However, there is a less-studied aspect of diplomacy, and one which is particularly relevant to small European states such as Denmark. Here we speak of the political capital that comes from diplomatic recognition, which flows from the presence of a great power’s diplomat within the domestic power structure of a given state. Neumann (2013: 2), whose work focuses on Europe as the ‘originary site of diplomacy’, calls this the ‘privileged frame’ of the ambassador (Neumann, 2013: 38). During Europe’s Early Modern Period (1453–1789), placing an ambassador in a foreign land – or receiving one – produced tangible domestic political dividends. Unlike the contemporary realm where, for example, the United States maintains diplomatic representation in nearly every sovereign state in the world, this earlier era was quite uneven in terms of bilateral relations.

Marsden et al. (2016: 3) define diplomacy as ‘speaking for’ the state that one represents, as well as the ‘techniques and skills deployed’ by such personnel to achieve the ‘interests’ of the international entity that has sent them abroad. However, as these authors argue, the very concept of the ‘diplomat’ is a fluid one, given that such envoys must master a wide suite of social skills in order to ‘get their way’, from utilising personal charm to operationalising ‘cultural forms and practices’ to create attraction and prompt emulation (Marsden et al., 2016: 12). Focusing on the Early Modern Period, a recent symposium on diplomacy framed the theatricality of diplomacy as such:

Diplomacy is a performance. The stage is set on the streets and palaces that centre upon the spaces of political power. The audience is made up of the prince and the court, the pope and the curia, the emperor and the diet, the doge and the senate, the sultan and his viziers. The cast is composed of the diplomats, each grasping for attention, each vying to out-do the other. They follow a plot formed of ceremony and etiquette that defines the spheres of interaction and elevates the smallest issues in precedence and protocol to the status of grave insults and greater rivalries. (Hüttler, 2017, emphasis added)

As we argue below, Ambassador can be viewed as a digitally-mediated outcome of such a historical trajectory, and one which highlights an intersection between diplomacy as theatre and the theatre of diplomacy. In the former, we refer to diplomats engaging in symbolic acts, carefully choreographing interactions with their audience to produce desired responses. ¹ In the latter, we highlight the assemblage of spaces, places, actors, narratives, and rules of international representation which – like a ‘theatre of war’ – involve countless independent and interdependent variables.

Diplomatic historians Hamilton and Langhorne (2011: 39) argue that the greatest expansion of ambassadorial representation took place in the wake of the Peace of Lodi (1454), establishing what they deem the ‘diplomatic machine’ within the structure of European IR. With the Peace of Westphalia (1648), the need for embassies moved from an optional to a requisite component of statecraft, with permanent ambassadorial representation becoming the norm by the early 18th century. However, the shift from monarchical to nation-based structures of power did not necessarily trigger a major change in which (large) states could demand that ambassadors be welcomed, nor one in which (small) states could always attract appropriate and effective representation from the great powers. Consequently, a cultural system developed wherein certain states strove to establish conditions where the major players in foreign affairs would seek to place their representatives in their capitals. This often involved creating opportunities, spaces, and structures that were conducive to the very individuals who would be sent to open and then maintain avenues of diplomatic communication (Constantinou, 2016). Winning such recognition, that is, the placement of an ambassador, thus came to serve a badge of honour, particularly for smaller states. Therefore, it is not surprising that the history of European diplomacy is peppered with ostentatious displays of elephants, fireworks, and operas, intended to impress not only the ambassador or their counterparts in the host government, but also the domestic polity. Constantinou (2016) argues that it was during this formative period that spectacle became permanently interlinked with the praxis of diplomacy, while Hüttler (2017) argues that the ambassador moved from a simple ‘conduit of exchange’ to being a transformative agent of culture through the ‘process of mediation’.

As the state reached its structural apex in the 20th century, becoming particularly ‘hard’ in relation to its relationships with other states, it is ironic – though not necessarily surprising – that cultural diplomacy emerged as a tool for achieving ends that could not otherwise be obtained. Interestingly this trend originated in America, which at the time was grappling with its new role in world politics, often being seen as untutored in the ways of diplomacy proper, that is, a ‘cowboy’ in a world of ‘sophisticates’. While the United States is viewed as the first and greatest operator in the field of cultural diplomacy, which also includes the application of so-called ‘soft power’ (Nye, 2004), other states have adapted to demands of postmodern diplomacy. This is especially true of the European Union (EU), which Khanna famously defined as the ‘metrosexual superpower’ in a 2004 Foreign Policy essay. While not going as far as to frame EU diplomats as ‘gay’, he claimed that their style (in opposition to their US counterparts) demonstrates a ‘suave muscularity’ that is ‘confident yet image-conscious, assertive yet clearly in touch with [one’s] feminine side’ (Khanna, 2004: 66). This being stated, we argue that the performative nature of politics – and especially diplomacy – requires an adoption of a variety of masks that are intended to dissimulate actual intentions, be it the representation of coercive, straight-talking ‘man-speak’ or seductive, coquettish ‘diplo-speak’. ² Our analysis suggests that Rufus Gifford’s ‘Danish’ reality-TV series walks a fine line between these strands, effectively queering the heteronormativity of US diplomacy while simultaneously manifesting a neoliberal-friendly form of homonationalism for Danish consumption (see Schotten, 2016).

Reflecting the continuing neoliberal shift in foreign policy and mediatisation of diplomacy, there has been an increasing ‘need’ to brand the nation, a process which a number of scholars have purposefully conflated with cultural diplomacy (see, for instance, Hurn and Barry, 2013; Melissen, 2005). For Nordic Europe, television series have lately emerged as tools for burnishing the national image and attracting greater attention from polities around the world. ³ From Bron|Broen (2011–2018) to Skam (2015–2017), Nordic Europe’s TV programmes are increasingly imbricated in how these countries are viewed abroad, effectively becoming a plank in their individual and collective nation-branding strategies and contributing to Norden’s soft power (see Vatsikopoulos, 2013).

The geopolitics of (hyper)mediatisation and reality-TV’s place in the new world order

Over four decades ago, it was suggested that media had become ‘the cultural air we breathe’ (Hoggart, 1976: iv). In the current globalised milieu, it is difficult to argue otherwise. Our every waking moment is suffused with the cacophony of an increasingly networked realm, thus leading to the claim that we live in a world defined by Fremdbebilderung, that is, the state of being ‘totally engulfed by foreign images’ (Saunders, 2017: 1). So broad and penetrative has this situation become that many have argued that the media-scape (Appadurai, 1996) has itself become the mediator of social and cultural understanding (Deibert, 1997). Combined with the sweeping changes in political structures around the globe after the Cold War, the growing influence of deterritorialised information and communications technologies has produced a convergence which has been described as a ‘new media-dominated governing system’ (Gilboa, 1998: 211). A number of screen scholars have gone further, arguing that we are now entering an era defined by ‘hypermediatisation’ (Eichner and Waade, 2015), in which the real is often superseded or at least prefigured by popular-cultural representation, effectively blurring the lines between the political and the popular. This has acute ramifications for geopolitics and IR. Given Takacs’ (2015) argument that popular culture is the ‘battlefield’ upon which some of the world’s most pressing foreign policy issues play out and Rowley and Weldes (2012) affirmation that ‘popular culture is the “real world”, providing us with meanings, including about world politics’, we argue that understanding television’s role in this process is vital.

The advent of ‘Television 2.0’ (Spigel and Olsson, 2004) and the global popularity of geopolitically-inflected series like The West Wing (1999–2006) and Borgen (2010–2013) has led Drezner (2016) to claim that we live in a ‘Golden Age of international relations programming on television’. IR scholars are increasingly attentive to the power of television, including reality-TV, to promote national cultures, influence foreign affairs, and explain how the world really works. From the US’ use of reality-TV to burnish its image in the Arab world to RT’s capacity to reframe Russia’s role in global affairs to Chinese television’s enhancement of Beijing’s influence in Africa, television is emerging as a vital component of many states’ diplomatic outreach. A fast-evolving platform, television is now challenging film and other pop-culture platforms for global influence, while also tapping into ‘emergent digital media culture’ and facilitating ‘new modes of audience and fan connectivity and interactivity’ (Glynn and Cupples, 2015: 275). Once bound by the physical, temporal, and ideological limits of over-the-air broadcasting, TV series are now literally ‘out of the box’, bringing about what we might call ‘Television 3.0’.

Overlapping this sea change is the increasing popularity and influence of the genre known as reality television. Adapted from earlier forms of unscripted, televised programming and achieving a critical mass around 2000 (Ouellette, 2010), reality-TV was pioneered by European-based companies, particularly Endemol considered to be the ‘most prolific producer of global TV formats’ and the world leader in reality-TV (McMurria, 2009: 180). ⁴ From its humble beginnings with shows like Nummer 28 (1991), which influenced MTV’s The Real World (1992–2013), reality-TV has increasingly manifested an anthropological gaze, examining the inner workings of the human psyche in real time (though often via artificially manipulated interactions, or ‘soft-scripting’ of the ‘stars’). Such fare proved to be readily contoured for international audiences, with the Dutch series Big Brother (1999-) adapted in 54 countries worldwide serving as an exemplar. With a strong commitment to bettering society through TV and recognising the international success of Borgen, it is not surprising that Denmark – a country known for its talent in linking the state, landscapes, and socio-cultural commentary (Toft Hansen and Waade, 2017) – opted to produce the world’s first reality-TV diplomacy programme. Consequently, DR effectively shifted foreign policy-themed television from representation-as-metaphor (Borgen) to representation-as-reality (Ambassador). With its focus on workaday diplomacy, Ambassador exemplifies Ouelette’s (2010: 68) notion that reality-TV helps to ‘constitute powerful truths concerning appropriate forms civic conduct and problem-solving’, although in ways quite different from those she discusses in game-based programming like The Apprentice.

The once and future Ambassador: A close reading of the series

Marketed by Netflix as a ‘documentary series that follows Rufus Gifford, the U.S. ambassador to Denmark and an advocate for LGBT rights, in his personal and professional life’, Ambassador is the first reality television series to document the day-to-day activities of a foreign diplomat (see Figure 1). The series showcases the work of Gifford, a former Hollywood executive–turned–Democratic Party fundraiser, via his experiences as one of several openly homosexual US ambassadors serving under Obama. ⁵ Gifford has been insistent that his intent with the show was to use it as a ‘vehicle through which you learn a little about the U.S., a little about Denmark, a little about diplomacy and the unique bond between peoples and nations’ (qtd. in Leveille, 2016). To that end, the show features the affable ambassador, his fiancé/husband Stephen DeVincent, DVM, and their golden retriever Argos in a seemingly endless array of visible acts of public diplomacy. In the premiere, Gifford ‘admits’ that he has trouble saying ‘no’ when he is invited somewhere as he views almost any event as an opportunity to introduce someone new to an ‘open’ America, while demonstrating that the United States is engaged with the world at a quotidian and intimate level. Moreover, he manifests the ‘magnetic allure’ that characterises European-style diplomacy in the new millennium (Khanna, 2004: 67), rather than the brutish idealism of the Bush years, the technocratic pragmatism of the Obama administration, or the chaotic confrontationalism of the Trump era. In its essence, Ambassador is about producing an ‘aesthetic regime’ (Rancière, 2004) that centres on the exemplary image of the diplomat, whom the viewer inevitably learns, is also a real person who genuinely loves Denmark.

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Figure 1.

Promotional image for I Am the Ambassador, Season 2. US market, author’s Netflix account. October 2017.

In Series 1, Rufus (as he is known to Danes) attends parties and parades, hosts visiting dignitaries, trains with Special Forces, and studies Danish. In the abbreviated final series, the ambassador plans his wedding, mourns a family member, immerses himself in Danish politics, tours Greenland/Kalaallit Nunaat where he sees climate change firsthand, and finally undertakes his nuptials at Copenhagen City Hall (see Table 1). As evidenced by his admission to taking part in ‘hundreds of selfies’ with Danish citizens on his farewell tour to Jutland as documented in real time via the DR news series Adgang med Abdel (Mahmoud, 2017), Rufus was a ‘rock star’ during his diplomatic tenure (Weiss-Meyer, 2016). ⁶ Gifford’s performance was well-received in Denmark, winning him the Big Character award at the 2015 TV-Prisen, the country’s premier television awards show. It also garnered good ratings, particularly the finale which featured Gifford’s wedding (Liebman, 2015). Produced by Erik Struve Hansen and directed by Niels Krogsgård, the DR series made headlines around the globe, particularly after its premiere on Netflix, an event which prompted Gifford to tweet: ‘I am incredibly nervous about the show be aired all over the world – especially my own country’, but that he ‘believed in it with all his heart’ (qtd. in Skiles, 2016). Gifford agreed to the documentary because of what he described as the ‘hit’ that the American brand had taken overseas, hoping to reach out to young Danes sceptical of US foreign policy (Liebman, 2015). While Ambassador seems to have achieved its main goal of making the Danish people feel more connected to the United States (via its stationed diplomat), the series was criticised by some as bordering on ‘reality-show salaciousness’ in its tendency to take ‘viewers into deeply personal territory and vulnerable situations’ (Robinson, 2015).

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Table 1.

Ambassador Episodes, Filming Locations and Political Content.

Series/Episode	Netflix Episode Description	Filming Locations/Spaces of Engagement	(Geo)Political Themes
1.1	The embassy hosts a barbecue for the ambassador’s birthday, and Rufus and Stephen throw a party. Rufus and the Danish defence minister talk terrorism.	Rydhave (US Residence), Copenhagen Fashion Week, Forsvars Ministeriet (Danish Ministry of Defence)	Performativity of public diplomacy; cultural product as state metonymy; terrorism
1.2	Rufus takes classes in the Danish language, baby-sits his three visiting nieces and prepares for the upcoming LGBT Pride Parade in Copenhagen.	Rydhave, Tønder Festival, Pan Games Copenhagen, Pride Parade Copenhagen	Growth of LGBT issues as human rights; culture products as statecraft
1.3	Rufus hosts a reception for a US governor and attends a military conference before speaking to students and preparing to run a half-marathon.	Rydhave, Thule Air Base and Mestersvig Outpost (Greenland), Egmont Petersens Kollegium, Nyborg	Youth engagement; climate change; trade policy; military cooperation
1.4	Rufus visits his childhood home with Stephen while back in the United States for his parents’ wedding anniversary and an emotional reunion with family.	Boston, Manchester by the Sea (USA)	Sport as diplomacy; personal experience as political fundament
1.5	After a reception in Washington, DC, Rufus returns to Denmark, where he comments on the midterms, visits a kids’ sports group and meets Mitt Romney.	Washington, DC, Rydhave, Copenhagen Games	Radicalisation, US politics (midterm elections); sport as social and political integration
1.6	Rufus goes from a training session with the elite Danish Frogman Corps to hosting a kids’ Halloween party, then honours fallen soldiers on Flag Day.	Kongsøre Torpedo Station, Rydhave, Forsvars Ministeriet, Georg Stage Naval Training Ship	Military cooperation; holiday traditions as local diplomacy; EU politics/populism
2.1	As elections approach in Denmark, Rufus attends a unique event and visits the different political parties, while planning his wedding to Stephen.	Tivoli Gardens, Københavns Rådhus (Townhall), Bornholm Island	Parliamentary politics; respect for diversity; rise of anti-immigrant sentiment in Europe
2.2	Busy schedules make grieving a death in the family difficult, even as Rufus and Stephen celebrate the legalisation of gay marriage in the United States.	Rydhave, Tvprisen Awards Show, Rådhuspladsen	Popular culture as public diplomacy; United States as example on gay rights
2.3	Rufus visits Greenland to educate himself on climate change, then debates Danes at town hall meetings and attends a speech by the prime minister.	Nuuk, Kapisillit, and Summit Station (Greenland); Aarhus	Climate change; 9/11; national stereotypes; radicalisation; Europe’s refugee crisis
2.4	It’s a rush of activity as Rufus’s and Stephen’s families arrive in Denmark for their wedding at City Hall, presided over by Copenhagen’s mayor.	Rådhuspladsen, Rydhave, Papirøen (Paper Island)	Denmark’s as the ‘land of fairy tales’ and global contribution to LGBT rights

LGBT = lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgender; EU = European Union.

While the conflation of reality-TV and diplomacy may seem unorthodox, even provocative to some IR scholars, we contend that this is a predictable outcome of current trends in ‘new diplomacy’, which bring together soft power projection, nation branding, and cultural outreach (Melissen, 2005). Reprising our discussion of diplomacy as theatre, this can also be viewed as a historical return to form, especially with regards to the smaller states of northern Europe which are constantly seeking to be recognised in a positive way (see Clerc and Glover, 2015). By most accounts, this reality television-based extension of public diplomacy seemed to bear fruit if one accepts the high-ratings of the show and general regard for Rufus as evidence of such. When asked about the series’ appeal, many Danes remarked that Gifford reminded them of the ‘America’ they like and appreciate: intelligent, articulate, well-intentioned, empathetic, and multicultural – purposefully urbane rather than wilfully ignorant. Indeed, some have suggested that it is the quiet moments of Gifford at home in the ambassadorial residence Rydhave with his partner and their dog that they appreciate the most – an image of tranquil domesticity that serves as an antidote to the brash, sabre-rattling, action-oriented depiction of ‘Merica that is far more often the norm (Schwartz, 2016). Even in the singular instance where a bit of nervous drama entered the show – an outdoor screening of the TV series Homeland accompanied by a helicopter landing that inadvertently injured an attendee – the ‘crisis’ was generally laughed off. The series producer Hansen noted that this was an example of the Ambassador ‘being “a bit too American””’ (Schwartz, 2016), a subtle reference to what The Economist has labelled the Nordic countries ‘love-hate relationship with America’ (Woolridge, 2013: 10).

In his embrace of the possibilities attendant to any celebrity politician, Gifford – through his performance as a diplomat – navigates the ‘paradox of the democratic leader’, that is, the need to ‘appear above us … while also appearing “like us”’ (Wood et al., 2016: 581–582). In doing so, he extends the capacity of mediatisation to enhance soft power, public diplomacy, and nation branding in explicit ways, and in real time. Yet Ambassador’s slickly amateurish production values and open source-style messaging do not necessarily make for an enduring model of public diplomacy. Hans Mouritzen of the Danish Institute for International Studies critiques the scope of the series as a simplistic exercise in self-promotion, one which fails to attenuate the negative feelings of many Danes towards US foreign policy. Similarly, he dismisses Gifford’s ‘fresh approach’ as limited in scale because it would not work in Eastern Europe or Sub-Saharan Africa where ‘they don’t like gay people’ (qtd. in Brabant, 2015), obliquely implying that the ‘show’ is a potentially-counterproductive attempt at ‘pinkwashing’ US foreign policy (see Schotten, 2016). However, in the circumscribed Nordic context, Gifford is the perfect choice as a 21st-century envoy that works to undue the United States’ global embrace of religious fundamentalism as a foreign policy tactic dating back to the early 1980s. As a mass-mediated version of the ambassador as homo globalis and a corporeal manifestation of ‘transnational homophilic perspectives’ (Bradley, 2015), Gifford demonstrates the ‘secular dilettantism’, localised cosmopolitanism, and theatrical qualities required of the ‘new diplomat’ (see Constantinou, 2016: 29), while at the same time (literally) embodying Kelley’s (2010: 288) argument that the age of diplomacy as an ‘institution’ has given way to diplomacy as ‘behaviour’.

That being stated, Ambassador was not simply an outgrowth of US public diplomacy intended just for Denmark. Instead, the series should be viewed as an effective example of reflexive branding on the part of the Danes themselves. Our reading of the series as an artefact suggests Gifford and his Danish producers were equally engaged in presenting diplomatic performance as popular culture, although with different end-goals. For the showrunners, this performance was meant to engender positive feelings at home about the strength of Danish society and quality of their values; for Gifford, his performance was intended to produce a tangible form of impact, one he could proudly report to the State Department. Here we should quickly consider the role of public television in the Danish popular-political sphere. As a taxpayer-funded, national resource, public television in Denmark must serve the common public good, and this role is one that the Danish people willingly accept, value, and engage with (Aurø, 2016). Among EU countries, Denmark ranks first among viewers who list a public channel as their preferred vehicle for television consumption as they trust it for quality production values, informative entertainment, and unbiased reporting (Holtz-Bachal and Norris, 2000). Moreover, in the current milieu, it is increasingly common for states to employ resources such as television, film, and Internet content as tools of national identity building and maintenance. Consequently, the ways in which DR structured Ambassador presents as an innovative form of (self-directed) nation branding, but one which has been loosed from its originally delimitated boundaries (i.e. Denmark).

Ambassador as a novel diplomatic site/sight

To borrow a phrase from the maven of nation branding Simon Anholt (2007), Denmark has long been viewed as a country that ‘punches above its weight’ in terms of its international reputation, wielding significant influence around the globe despite its small size and population. Even among the other Nordic states, which are collectively viewed as ‘exceptional’ in terms of their international brands (Browning, 2007), Denmark stands out. The country’s many attributes include the strength of its society, a relentless commitment to innovation, its ‘happiness index’, Danish design and ‘new’ cuisine, and dense associations with companies such as Lego, Bang and Olufsen, and Carlsberg, all of which serve to positively situate the country within a lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, and queer (LGBTQ) friendly zone of ‘consumer capitalism and consumer citizenship in an age of both nationalism and globalisation’ (Bradley, 2015: 44). However, Denmark – as much as any EU state – is struggling with its identity against the stark rise in anti-immigrant sentiment associated with the ongoing Syrian refugee crisis. Politicians have capitalised on this, espousing a form of neonationalist, discriminatory, and isolationist populist politics. Moreover, the tiny, homogeneous country is still reeling from effects of the 2005–2006 Muhammed Cartoons Affair, which did significant damage to the idea of Denmark around the world, prompting Copenhagen to fund a massive re-branding campaign known as the ‘Action Plan’. Stemming from its association with the conservative daily Jyllands-Posten’s printing of the inflammatory depictions of Islam’s founder, Denmark is today viewed by many as an ‘arrogant country living in its own fairy tale’ (Mordhorst, 2015: 245) ⁷ that remains a ‘target’ for extremists. Despite such problems, Denmark commands increasing levels of interest around the globe, with its sleek television series serving as a key vehicle for cultural diplomacy and soft power (Stougaard-Nielsen, 2016; Vatsikopoulos, 2013), therein achieving the government’s goals of ‘activating’ and ‘upscaling’ Denmark’s visible cultural diplomacy after the Cartoons (Mordhorst, 2015: 243). Consequently, Ambassador provided a unique opportunity to bring together nation branding and Danish television as ‘sites of power’ that operate across multiple terrains, from political discourse to ‘pop culture’ to subjective acts (Bradley, 2015: 49), all while (conveniently) making it seem as if it was the ‘Americans’ behind the spectacle.

With Gifford running from event to event (even running in events like the Copenhagen Half-Marathon), it is made manifest that the public-political values, lifestyle opportunities, and choices he is valorising are not simply ‘American’. Instead, they are Danish, and are fostered by his presence in and engagement with Denmark. This televisual framing evokes the assertion that diplomacy is an ‘aspect of social life’ and must always be ‘on display’ (Neumann, 2013: 3). After all, when the ambassador marched with his partner in the Copenhagen Gay Pride parade (see Figure 2) or swam the canals with wounded Danish veterans, or trained with the Sirius Patrol in Greenland, what is on display are the progressive values and outsized capacities of the Scandinavian nation. As Neumann (2008) has demonstrated, the gendered body of the diplomat is an important site/sight of power, and the series unsubtly focuses on Gifford’s form, physique, and physicality, serving up the image of a handsome, fit, and impeccably-dressed gay man who is extremely comfortable in the various environs of Denmark. Gifford is a reliable diplomatic ‘corpus’, perfectly mirroring Neumann’s (2008: 682) prescription for the diplomat à la nordique: ‘The bodily comportment should be relaxedly authoritative, hair should be short and slightly pomaded, the shirt should be white and rich in cotton, to be worn with a tie or a bow-tie, the shoes should be black and shining, the suit should be dark, with optional pin-stripes’. And he does it all while being openly gay.

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Figure 2.

A linking of Gifford’s values to those of the ‘progressive’ Danish state. Source: @rufusgifford, 19 August 2015. Used with permission.

As Weber (2016: 33) argues, such performativity upends the accepted notions of ‘statecraft as mancraft’, while also shoring up the neoliberal thrust of contemporary US foreign policy which privileges LGBTQ rights around the globe (Bradley, 2015). The consummation of this trend occurred in the series finale, which showcased Gifford’s wedding to his partner at Copenhagen City Hall – an event attended by Crown Prince Frederik and Crown Princess Mary of Denmark, as well as nearly a dozen other US ambassadors. This episode made explicit reference to Denmark’s history as the first country to legalise same-sex civil unions in 1989 (following more than six decades of legal same-sex relations). This fitting coda served as a reminder that the nation of less than six million souls is happy to market its role as world leader in matters of LGBTQ inclusivity, despite being one of the first countries to fall under the Nazis’ ‘pink triangle’ regime of that repressed, castrated, and even executed gay men.

When the series came to end, Gifford kept on with ‘Rufus Show’ for the rest of his tenure through other means, ensuring that the ‘humanisation’ (Wood et al., 2016: 585) of the ambassador remained intact. On 16 January 2017, Queen Margrethe II bestowed him with the Grand Cross of the Order of the Dannebrog for his meritorious service to the kingdom (see Figure 3). A few days later, the Crown’s recognition of Rufus’ contributions to Denmark were echoed via the popular DR news programme Adgang med Abdel in its special episode highlighting Gifford’s relationship with the Danish people and his attitudes towards the incoming US president, Trump. However, in keeping with the formula established in Ambassador, Gifford – on the whole – showed himself more interested in Danes than Americans. He used a speaking engagement at an Aarhus gymnasium to counsel young people against a slide into identitarianism:

When I see the politics of the day and I see that there are so many political factors that are coming and trying to make every country in the world pull back from the world stage, and not aggressively export their values, I think that it would be such a shame if Denmark pulled back. I think what you have given to the world over and over again is profound and I want to see that continue. (qtd. in Mahmoud, 2017)

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Figure 3.

Rufus’ tweet after being awarded the Grand Cross of the Order of the Dannebrog. Source: @rufusgifford, 16 January 2017. Used with permission.

While he tactfully avoided openly berating the incoming US president on foreign soil, Gifford had harsh words for the Danish People’s Party (Dansk Folkeparti), calling out the right-wing politicians Marie Krarup and Søren Espersen by name for their ‘Trump-like’ policies. ⁸ In showcasing the departing US envoy’s condemnation of Denmark’s turn to the folkish right, DR’s Adgang med Abdel deftly picks up where Ambassador left off, continuing to sculpt an open, liberal Denmark (even as the reality darkens).

Contextualisation, in lieu of a conclusion

Writing in the late 1990s, Gilboa (1998: 211) stated, ‘Interrelated revolutionary changes in politics, international relations, and mass communication have immensely expanded the media’s roles in diplomacy’. Today, this trend is laid bare in the nexus of factors that led DR to greenlight a ‘documentary’ that followed a serving US ambassador’s every move. On the home front, Ambassador simultaneously shores up the Danish Selbstbild (self-image) via a semi-choreographed depiction of the ‘good American’ whose values are presented as ‘very Danish’; as a result, Rufus Gifford’s screened ‘Scandimania’ ultimately says more about Denmark than the United States. The series’ ramifications beyond Denmark’s shores are a bit murkier; however, the fact that the show prompted so many headlines in the United States signifies its reach, as well as a recognition of the challenges that globalisation and the compression of time and space pose to traditional diplomacy (see Neumann, 2013). In DR’s televisual scripting of Ambassador, the viewer is witness to the Anglophone’s world’s ‘nation-crush’ on Denmark being played out in the field of diplomacy. Like other forms of Danish programming, Ambassador is careful to present a ‘neatly packaged’ and ‘recognisable’ televisual idyll of Denmark (Stougaard-Nielsen, 2016: 6), where performances of hygge, pro-LGBTQ sentiment, and cool Nordicness are cast against impeccable aesthetics, dramatic landscapes, and iconic architecture. Moreover, in DR’s representation of Gifford as Scandinavian-smitten homo globalis and a body that evinces ‘encounter between sexuality and diplomatic history’ (Bradley, 2015: 61), there is a connived example of what Strukov (2018) terms ‘geopolitical scotoma’ at work, ⁹ wherein Danes are gazing at a ‘good American’ that both likes them and is like them. Moreover, as a gay man that embraces all the trappings of the ‘good life’ within the context of ‘sanitised homosexuality’, Gifford manifests both a form of homonationalism that privileges the ‘upward distribution of wealth’ (Schotten, 2016: 354) and the Obama administration’s promotion of LGBTQ ‘normalcy’ within a construct of ‘universal human rights’ (Weber, 2016: 21). In its attempt to profit from this display of diplomacy, Denmark’s national broadcaster DR even goes so far as to realise Kraidy’s (2011: 210) rather presumptuous assertion that ‘nationalism mediates neoliberalism’.

Ambassador issues a salvo that challenges IR scholars to expand their gaze beyond ships, missiles, and armies to a wider array of tools of statecraft, including those that present themselves on the small screen. As we have argued, Ambassador supports Ouellette’s (2010: 69) claim that the ‘line between consumerism and public politics’ continues to collapse. Gifford’s November 2017 decision to run for an open Congressional seat in the US state of Massachusetts was closely tied to his ‘success’ as a reality-TV star, therein reflecting the increasing meaningfulness of the celebritisation of politics in the contemporary era (he ultimately failed to win the nomination of his party in the hotly-contested primary). Moreover, Gifford’s continued use of social media(tion) as a vehicle of public engagement demonstrates that the skills of ‘everyday diplomacy’ can also be re-tooled for domestic politics. In the reality-televisualisation of Gifford’s ambassadorship, DR’s series provides a permanent artefact that gives form to Clerc and Glover’s (2015: 3) claim that ‘new’ diplomacy is the ‘practice of imaging communities’. In many ways, Gifford’s televisual and ‘hashtag’ diplomacy functions as a mirror image to the ‘twitplomacy’ of Trump; whereas the US president parlayed his skill with ‘managing’ the media (print, TV, and Internet) to build a political brand rooted in fear-mongering, political insults, and conspiracy, Gifford sought to master media’s (and specifically reality-TV’s) capacity for bringing people together, facilitating greater openness, and promoting engagement across national borders. Considering the fact that a sitting American president has triggered dozens of international crises with his televised statements (and 280-character Twitter discharges), it is imperative that IR does a better job of examining the role of media platforms in shaping world politics.