They wore a paperclip. And they won.

How Norwegians used the world's most boring office supply to defeat Nazi occupation.

Oct 07, 2025

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A single metal paperclip pinned to dark fabric, symbolizing Norwegian resistance in 1940

TL;DR

In 1940, Norwegian students started wearing paperclips to resist Nazi occupation. When 12,000 teachers refused to teach Nazi propaganda, they were sent to concentration camps. They stayed strong. The paperclips became a symbol of unity that helped defeat fascism in Norway.

Oslo, autumn 1940.

There are German soldiers on your streets. Your king fled to London and your country is occupied.

Wearing your nation’s flag? That could land you in prison.
Speaking out? That could get you killed.

So what do you do?

You wear a paperclip.

The students found a loophole

When Nazi Germany invaded Norway in April 1940, they wanted more than just the land. They also wanted Norwegian minds and Norwegian identity.

The puppet government led by Vidkun Quisling (whose name became a synonym for “traitor”) moved fast. All symbols of Norwegian nationalism? Banned. No flags. No visible resistance. Only compliance.

Oslo University students started attaching paperclips to their lapels on their coats and jackets. Just… paperclips. Teachers noticed. Then factory workers. Then grandmothers. Before long, you couldn’t walk through Oslo without seeing them pinned to jackets, made into bracelets, worn openly despite the risk.

The symbolism was beautiful: Just like a paperclip binds papers together, these little pieces of bent wire bound Norwegian people together.

And it drove the Nazis absolutely insane.

The perfect symbol for the power of belief

A lot of Norwegians believed the paperclip was invented by Johan Vaaler, a Norwegian inventor who patented a design in 1901. Now, Vaaler didn’t actually invent the “Gem” paperclip we all use today, that design was older. But the belief that it was Norwegian? That’s what mattered.

There is poetry in that!

The Nazis tried to erase Norwegian identity. The people responded by wearing what they believed was a Norwegian invention on their chests.

Right out in the open.

The Nazis eventually caught on.

Wearing a paperclip became illegal. People got arrested. Interrogated. Some disappeared into the system and never came back.

But the resistance grew stronger.

2026 Growing Paperclip Resistance group: learn about it by clicking here.

When 12,000 teachers stood up

By 1942, Quisling thought he had a winning move. He ordered Norway’s 14,000 teachers to join a Nazi-led union and teach fascist propaganda to children.

The teachers had a choice to make.

Over 12,000 of them refused.

Educators who just wanted to teach kids to read and do math and think for themselves and the government’s response was brutal:

Every school in the country was to be shut down
Teacher salaries cut off completely
1,100 male teachers arrested
642 of them shipped to concentration camps in the Arctic

Historical black and white photograph of Norwegian teachers from 1942 who resisted Nazi occupation

They were people who taught grammar and history and science. And they were crammed into freezing cattle cars. Denied food. Forced to crawl through snow during forced marches. Beaten. Subjected to hard labor designed to break them.

Subtle resistance can be powerful

Paperclips are subtle and quiet, but that was all it took to gradually grow their resistance.

Letters flooding government offices in protest.

Teachers giving lessons from their living rooms while their paychecks never came.

Citizens lining railroad tracks, singing to imprisoned educators as the trains passed, slipping food through the windows.

Students who turned their backs on German soldiers. Who broke into patriotic songs when Nazi inspectors showed up. Who refused to join the Hitler Youth even when they got beaten for it.

The resistance was everywhere.

Eventually, the Nazis gave up.

The teachers’ union mandate? Repealed.
Schools? Reopened.
Prisoners? Released.

Historians later called it “an unconditional ideological defeat upon Nazism in Norway.”

Wear and share paperclips as a statement.
As a symbol that we understand what the Norwegians understood in 1940:

When people bind together, they become unbreakable.

Bring Paperclips to Protests

If you’re organizing an event:

Buy boxes of paperclips (the colored ones stand out)
Hand them out at your rally
Tell people this story
Let them choose to wear this symbol

If you’re attending a protest:

Wear a paperclip on your jacket, your shirt, your hat
Make a paperclip bracelet
When people ask what it means, tell them about the Norwegian teachers
Share this story on your socials before the event

Students wearing paperclips declared their identity couldn’t be legislated away.

The Norwegians didn’t have social media. They didn’t have email lists or text chains or group chats. They had paperclips and word of mouth and determination.
We have more tools than they did. Let’s use them.

QUICK LINKS:

You don’t need permission to stand for what’s right

The Oslo students saw what needed doing and did it.

Small symbols can carry enormous weight.

Something as simple as the most mundane object imaginable. And yet it communicated everything they needed at the time: We see you. We resist you.

Unity is our greatest strength and weapon.

One teacher could be silenced. 12,000 couldn’t be touched.

We can change history.

Refuse to let fascism win.

Quote: You can occupy land. You can’t occupy spirit.

The smallest acts of defiance can defeat armies

When everything looked hopeless and when the king was gone, soldiers filled the streets, the machinery of fascism seemed unstoppable! Norwegians proved something we need to remember:

You can occupy land. You can’t occupy spirit.

The smallest acts of defiance, multiplied across thousands of people, can defeat armies. Just because they could occupy public spaces and buildings, didn’t mean they could occupy the minds inside them.

What Would You Have Done?

You’re doom scrolling at 2am and suddenly your teaching license is on the line because you refused to teach something you knew was a lie.

Your Venmo balance is $47.83. Rent is $1,800. Your student loans laugh at you monthly. Your mom keeps asking when you’re going to “get a real job” even though teaching IS a real job, Mom.

The email sits in your inbox: “Sign this loyalty pledge by Friday or clean out your desk.”

Your coworker Jessica signs it. She’s got twins. You get it.

Your department head signs it. He’s five years from retirement. You get it.

The group chat goes silent. Everyone’s waiting to see who says something first.

Norwegian teachers had hushed conversations in empty classrooms, notes passed between market stalls, the terrible weight of deciding alone in their kitchens at night whether their principles were worth their children going hungry.

They didn’t have Substack to see who else was resisting or Instagram stories showing solidarity. There was no viral TikTok’s explaining their rights. They had the uncertainty of not knowing if they were the only ones saying no.

And still, 12,000 of them refused! That is not a small number!

They were exhausted then like we’re exhausted now. They had bills and sick parents and leaky roofs and had disasters that make life feel impossible like many of us do today.

They said no because they couldn’t look at their students and pretend yes.

They said no because some part of them understood that when you teach a child that lies are truth, you break something that is unfixable.

Here we are, in 2026. Your inbox is full of things to be outraged about. Your nervous system is shot from years of unprecedented times. You’re supposed to care about everything while affording nothing.

And now someone’s asking you to wear a paperclip.

I know. I know how tired you are.

But maybe that’s exactly why it matters.

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