It turns out that the elusive and much sought antidote to political cynicism can be found on a small island somewhere east of Sweden and north of Poland.

I travelled to Bornholm, the legendary Danish island this week to attend the fourth annual Folkemodet and observe what may become Denmark’s most interesting political phenomenon since Borgen.

But instead of providing a lesson in backroom deals, crisis management and the punch-counterpunch of Scandinavian politics, Folkemodet offers something different: a momentary, even beautiful example of what a healthy and vibrant democracy can look like.

Walking along the sun-drenched seaside laneways of Allinge, taking in the long stretches of small white tents hosting every conceivable cause and citizen concern, is to feel like a modern day de Tocqueville discovering the promise of democracy in nineteenth century America.  

Make no mistake: What’s happening on Bornholm is precious and important. It may contain the seeds to democratic renewal not only in Denmark, but across the many other tired democracies that are losing their spirit and the confidence of their citizens.

Of course the seeds for Folkemodet’s success are also contained within Denmark’s unique political culture. As Zakia Elvang, one member of a new generation of Danes focussed on political innovation explained, for every good cause and patch of grass in Denmark, you can still find at least two citizen committees taking careful minutes of their meetings. 

This tendency reminds us that it has always been the readiness of citizens to self-organize and self-govern that underpins a society’s democratic vitality. In this sense, Folkemodet is a showcase demonstrating how associative and representative democracy should not only co-exist, but how their fortunes are inextricably linked.

Of course, if all Folkemodet offered was politics, it would neither be as fun nor as popular, attracting only those with peculiar tastes and hardened stomachs. The secret here is the mix of politics and culture. It’s a place where you can share a beer with the same journalists you watch on TV, talk with youth activists you would otherwise never meet, and find yourself dancing near the mainstage alongside MPs. Open to all and without exclusive invitations, admission fees or heavy security, Bornholm is the anti-Davos: a sincere expression of the best, most simple pleasures of democratic citizenship.

No wonder Danes love it with attendance passing 60,000 this year.

But Folkemodet may also serve as an important check against the kind of populism that periodically takes hold wherever the social contract is weak. 

It’s hard to imagine demagoguery doing much else but shrivel under the hot sun and sustained scrutiny of Folkemodet’s many debates and open meetings. Whether among the left or the right, a Danish Berlusconi or Fortuyn would find few friends on Bornholm.

This is the quiet genius of Folkemodet: it trades in basic decency. It is all too open to be anything but collegial. It forces opponents and strangers alike together to find common ground, and to disagree without being disagreeable.

At the same time Folkemodet does a service by democratizing the rarified business of political commentary. With some 200 events each day, there is simply too much bandwidth and variety to rely on the same old talking heads. Instead everyone gets in on the act: participation and proximity are what make Folkemodet magic.

This year Folkemodet was also the site for the launch of Denmark’s newest political party: Alternativet. Like Folkemodet itself, the Alternativet is attracting a wholly new breed of voters and supporters, largely drawn by the distinctiveness of its values and the openness of its appeal. 

Over the coming years, these twin forces have the potential to rejuvenate Danish politics, and breathe new life into its institutions. And while debates on Bornholm don’t immediately solve real world political problems, in time I suspect they will make solving political problems easier and possibly more congenial. 

The achievement of a peculiar new political tradition in a seaside town may be easy to overlook or diminish. But whatever Folkemodet costs in time and treasure to produce, it is a powerful investment in the health of Danish society, and a triumph for a gentler, more convivial kind of politics.

Peter MacLeod is based in Toronto where he runs the public engagement firm MASS LBP, and co-chairs the Wagemark Foundation.