It’s all fun and games until you’re stuck being Santa’s special friend, writes Samantha Joseph
He had a broad face, and a little round belly
That shook when he laugh’d, like a bowl full of jelly
He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
And I laugh’d when I saw him in spite of myself
In the classic 1823 poem, A Visit From St Nicholas (or ‘Twas the Night Before Christmas), the definitive version of Santa is described by American writer Clement Clarke Moore — sleigh, reindeer, sack of toys, chubby cheeks, plump tummy, twinkling eyes — and elvishness.
That’s right, he’s called a “jolly old elf” and apparently this line has caused some debate as to Santa’s humanity in Christmas-themed spheres. Sadly we cannot demand to see his birth certificate to assure ourselves that he was harmlessly born in Hawaii.
Is Santa Claus really an elf? He seems to like associating with them, at least according to popular literature. Modern day films like Santa Claus, Rise Of The Guardians and Elf establish the existence of a veritable army of pointy-capped, green-costumed workers, usually male, who helped crank out presents that are gift wrapped (by the elves) and sent to the children on the “Nice” list (also shortlisted by elves) by Santa Claus. It sounds more like a factory of indentured servants rather than jolly North Pole and brings to mind another set of Santa’s helpers, this time formed by the cold, white seasons of the Netherlands: Zwarte Piet.
THE MYTH
Zwarte Piet or Black Pete, is described as six to eight black men who accompany the Dutch Santa Claus, Sinterklaas, on his rounds. By accompany, I mean that the Petes were historically slaves brought over by Sinterklaas, who comes over in a boat from (inexplicably) Spain and then disembarks onto a white horse to prance the streets of Amsterdam.
Holland was one of the last few slave-trade countries to put an end to the practice in 1873, almost 40 years after the British Empire did so, which may (or may not) explain the normalisation and endurance of the Zwarte Piet myth in spite of the uncomfortable imagery.
The Petes don’t seem to carry out the wrapping-gifts function of the Americanised elves. Instead they pass out ginger biscuits to good children and beat the daylights out of bad children, with Sinter’s help of course.
“Listen, you might want to pack a few of your things together before you go to bed. The former bishop from Turkey will be coming along with six to eight black men. They might put some candy in your shoes, they might stuff you in a sack and take you to Spain, or they might just pretend to kick you. We don’t know for sure, but we want you to be prepared,” so goes author David Sedaris’ take on the Zwarte Piet/Sinterklaas myth in his non fiction short Six To Eight Black Men.
Surprisingly (or maybe not), Zwarte Piet’s story took root much around the same time that jolly old St Nick and his elfin helpers did —all in the 1800s. Although the Petes were probably floating around in community consciousness before that, they were not put to paper till teacher Jan Schenkman’s St Nicholas And His Servant in 1850.
The less-racist, but still whitewashed, toy-crafting helpers of Santa is either laid at the feet of enterprising Scandinavian writers in the 1800s, who tried to bring Germanic pagan elves into the then-Christian modern times, or a long poem in the Dec 26, 1857 edition of Harper’s Weekly, titled The Wonders Of Santa Claus.
In his house upon the top of a hill,
And almost out of sight,
He keeps a great many elves at work,
All working with all their might
The poem, appearing in three quite thorough chapters, goes on to list the many, many incredible things that “was making there”, so for someone in the 21st Century, it starts to sound less like the wonders of Santa Claus and more like the sweatshop of Santa Claus. Although it looks like elves and their position in the North pole hierarchy could easily point to slavery, and hence, a shared history with the Petes, it doesn’t seem to be case.
YULE LADS
The overlap between the Scandinavian Christmas elves and the nominally American ones is furthered through the naming of the elves. Icelandic folklore has entities called the Yule Lads, 13 mischievous trolls who carry out a combination of Santa’s work and generally stealing things left lying around (according to Wikipedia, including leftovers, pots, pans and sausages). They have names like Stekkjarstaur, Giljagaur, Askasleikir and Skyrgamur, and were popularised in a 1932 poem by Johannes ur Kotlum, Jolasveinarnir.
Each of the Yule Lads has a specific role to fill, like their relatively newer American elven counterparts Alabaster Snowball, Bushy Evergreen, Pepper Minstix, Shinny Upatree, Sugarplum Mary and Wunorse Openslae, who may have resulted from a mashup of Icelandic lore and the evolving local Santa mythos.
So is Santa really an elf? Moore’s work is the only one to reference him as such. In traditional Christmas myth, Santa Claus is derived from St Nicholas, the Bishop of Myra. Myra is situated in modern-day Turkey, hence the association of Sinterklaas as a member of the Turkish ecclesiastical ranks having to come to Amsterdam on a boat. Dutch migrants to North America brought their myths along with them, and it grew independently and eventually became the commercially recognisable Santa Claus of today.
Moore’s line describing Santa as an elf sounds like nothing more than a man trying to carry on a consistent rhyme involving “myself”.
According to National Geographic’s investigation into the matter of Santa Claus, Moore wrote the poem as private entertainment for his six children.
Eventually it was published in New York and was unexpectedly taken as a defining version of Santa’s description. So no, Santa is not an elf but it does sound like he’s American.