“Must be Santa, must be Santa, must be Santa, Santa Claus”, sang Bob Dylan, our newest Nobel Laureate in Literature. But just who is Santa? Well, Dylan offers us a few clues: a beard that’s long and white, he comes around on a special night. Santa is also said to wear a suit of red and a long cap on his head. It’s a pretty picture. But it doesn’t quite get to the man beneath the beard. What does he do for the rest of the year when he’s not out delivering presents? What is Santa’s net worth, and what is the state of labour relations with his elven workforce?
These are a few of the questions I set out to answer. Having finally received my visa, I flew via Oslo to Svalbard, a group of desolate islands north of the Norwegian mainland. There, I transferred onto a flight operated by the state-owned Jingle Bells Airways, which took me to the North Pole, powered by eight ageing reindeer. I was met off the sleigh by my elf “guide”, Wigglebottom, whom I asked if I might speak to Santa. Wigglebottom looked at me aghast, and twiddled his little thumbs. He said he would see what he could do.
Let’s start with what we know about Santa. Familiar to us in Britain as Father Christmas, Santa Claus (the name is said to come from the Dutch, Sinterklass) rules over a vast territory usually denoted as – but not limited to – the North Pole. For decades, the Finnish in Lapland have enthroned their own Santa loyal to the government in Helsinki, yet this “other” Santa is not generally recognised by the millions of children around the world.
The North Pole sits in the Arctic, which at 5.5 million square miles, is vast. It’s also fabulously rich in oil and gas. Up to 22% of the world’s undiscovered oil and gas deposits lie beneath the ice, the US Energy Information Administration has estimated. And as technology advances, it will become easier and cheaper to extract it – great news for Santa, but that hasn’t gone unnoticed by the countries that border the region: the so-called Arctic Eight, comprising of Canada, America, Denmark (Greenland), Norway, Iceland, Finland, Sweden, and Russia. Each has their eyes on Santa’s territory. In 2007, Russia even planted its flag on the seabed beneath Santa’s Grotto, leading to simmering tensions in the region.
Fortunately, Santa has become a master of geopolitics. He was the ninth world leader to speak to Donald Trump following the president-elect’s surprise victory last month – just ahead of Theresa May. For his part, Santa assured Trump that although he had said some very naughty things during the US election, he would be spared the indignity of receiving a lump of coal in his stocking. Trump thanked Santa and replied that he wouldn’t mind a few barrels of oil instead. As for the stocking, one of Mrs Claus’ would do just fine.
Among the elves, however, it was Britain’s referendum over its membership of the European Union that caught the popular imagination this year. It’s no secret that Santa is a dyed-in-the-wool Brexiteer. The elves are more evenly divided. Some of those with sympathies for the Leave camp cited immigration in the Arctic as the main reason for their scepticism, blaming immigrant elves from the Arctic Eight for driving down wages in Santa’s Workshop. “It’s seasonal work, see”, as one elf put it to me in the street. “And when foreign elves aren’t stealing jobs during the festive season, they’re on benefits.”
A passing elf branded the first elf “an ignoramus”. Toy-making, he pointed out, was indeed seasonal work and therefore dependent on immigrant labour. Who would make all the toys if not the elves from abroad? It was fine when children wanted wooden train sets, dolls and teddy bears. But in a sophisticated globalised economy, children are demanding smartphones and tablets. If Santa’s Workshop is to stay relevant in the 21st century, he argued, skilled labour must be sought from abroad.
The pair then engaged in a bout of fisticuffs until two toddlers on a pilgrimage to Santa’s Grotto grew weary of the hour-long pugilistic display, and pulled the two elves apart. Neither elf was seriously hurt in the fray, but it does go to underline the depth of feeling in this deeply divided land.
In reality, it doesn’t really matter what the elves think. Santa has led the ruling Workers’ Party for centuries, despite elections every hundred years that are neither free nor fair. The North Pole operates under a command economy, with toy-making accounting for 98.7% of GDP. Efforts to diversify the economy have largely failed.
Many elves work long hours for little pay and workers’ rights are non-existent in the North Pole, which, admittedly, boasts 113% employment – although most economists agree official data is unreliable. Indeed, conditions are so bad that many elves grumble under their breath that working for Santa is not much better than working for Amazon. One elf I spoke to, Sarah – not her real name – bemoaned the fact she had to walk the equivalent of 18 miles a night in the Workshop’s distribution centre with just one 15-minute break. Those caught napping face the sack.
Due to the remoteness of Santa’s Workshop, nearly all of the elves live in “official accommodation”. The rent is set high to foster dependency, and taken directly from the elves’ wages. After deductions, elves are left with practically nothing, and effectively work in the state-owned Workshop as slaves. A bigger contrast with Santa’s lifestyle could scarcely be imagined.
Just this summer, pictures of Santa holidaying in the British Virgin Islands were splashed across the front pages of the world’s tabloids. The leaked Panama Papers revealed that revenues from the Workshop are directed to an off-shore account in the Caribbean, along with profits from selling his image rights to Christmas card companies. While the exact amount from this second revenue stream is unclear, it is estimated to run to the hundreds of millions. Filings also show that Santa has paid next to no tax since 1807, and has been suspected of sheltering money in dodgy film schemes behind the financing of yet another Christmas film starring Tim Allen. There is no suggestion of any wrong doing.
Needless to say, Santa has amassed a vast fortune. In 2002, Santa topped a list of his peers, with Forbes putting his net worth at an “infinite” amount of dollars – a notion that seems to have guided the Federal Reserve’s loose monetary policy. Yet, the veil of secrecy surrounding Santa’s finances led to Forbes giving up on trying to narrow down “infinite”. Santa has since been removed from the rankings, now topped by Scrooge McDuck, whose net worth in 2013 was estimated at a more tangible $65.4bn. Smaug from The Lord of the Rings, and a well-known gold bug, followed in second place with $54.1bn to his name.
I was starting to despair of ever de-bearding the real St Nick when Wigglebottom, my elf guide, came to tell me my interview with Santa had been arranged. I must confess, it was with some trepidation that I approached Santa’s Grotto. I stopped at the entrance and looked back over my shoulder. Wigglebottom nodded his head. I pulled back the curtain and stepped inside. As my eyes adjusted to the dark, there I beheld Santa sat on his throne flanked by two beefy elves. Santa motioned for me to come closer…
• Part two – Santa: the world’s oldest multinational