Reykjavík Grapevine - 23.07.2004, Blaðsíða 16

“I think there’s a positive aspect to having only two gay bars in Reykjavík,”
Björgvin Gunnarsson tells me over the fuzzy music blaring throughout
Prikið. I laugh, thinking he’s being sarcastic. “Because you have all types
of people together,” he continues. “If you had more bars, everything would
be segregated…a drag bar, a lesbian bar….” Björgvin is in town to visit his
mother for a while, but lives in Norway. He’s keen to talk about the gay
scene in Reykjavík.
“In reality, that kind of mixture isn’t really happening,” his friend responds.
He is Kristof Magnússon, a German/Icelander who was raised in Germany
but has spent the past couple of years in Reykjavík. “A lot of gay people just
go to the straight places.”
I drag them over to Jón Forseti. When we arrive, the bar isn’t packed with
people but it’s still an energetic environment with a more cozy, welcom-
ing vibe than most places downtown. The idea of having only two bars (or
two-and-a-half bars, some say) as the only place to meet people is a daunting
idea. I thought there might be some other options, perhaps someplace other
than a bar. “I think there is a mentality that if Reykjavík is a cosmopolitan
metropolis, we need a cruising area,” Kristof says. “But I don’t know if there
really is one.” A few people at the table begin to discuss what they’ve heard,
but it seems unfeasible, as though if you actually drove around those spots,
you might possibly pass by someone once an hour. “I don’t think anyone really
goes there,” Kristof concludes.
Far better than other cities in Europe
But Reykjavík is “far better than other cities in Europe,” Björgvin tells me,
and everyone I speak to agrees that a recent Gallup poll, which cited that 87%
of Icelanders support gay marriage, is accurate.
Kristof cites Gay Pride as a perfect example. “When I went with my dad six
or seven years ago, parents were holding up their kids to see the drag queens.
I realized then that Iceland had completely accepted homosexuality as just a
part of life.”
Of course Iceland’s gay community, like in any other nation, has its problems.
There have been some incidents of discrimination in recent years, including
a somewhat publicized case of a man who was asked about his homosexual-
ity during the job interview, not hired because of it, and then won a lawsuit
against the employer.
The size of the community can be a social impediment and a cause of griev-
ance. In Jón Forseti, a young man who grew up in Reykjavík tells me, “You
try really hard to have a good time here, but it’s just pretty boring.” People sit
in small groups and although everyone is certainly gracious, it does seem that
it would be difficult to meet many new people here.
Jean Francois Tessier has lived in Reykjavík for several years and finds the gay
scene here a better alternative to the one in his native Montreal. “In a big city
you never get to know anyone. You can meet someone one night and then
never see them again. It’s wrong in a way… you have to get to know people,
isn’t that what we’re here for?”
For many, the benefits of being in a small community obviously outweigh the
drawbacks. “You do see the same people over and over again,” Jean Francois
says, “but there are always people who come over from abroad, or someone
from the countryside will suddenly arrive. People always complain, but then
they go home and miss what they had in Reykjavík. They can live here in a
way they can’t live at home because they would get shot or stabbed.”
Made in the image of God
Later in my evening at Jón Forseti, I see a man sitting alone at a small table.
He appears so calm and comfortable to be sitting alone that I almost don’t
want to disturb him. His name is Flosi Magnússon and he answers my ques-
tions straightforwardly and without restraint.
“This is the first time I’ve come here,” he tells me. “This is obviously a place
for a younger crowd. But I don’t mind just being here, just watching. I’m a
quiet person.”
When he speaks he looks me in the eye and seems much more relaxed in con-
versation than most. This makes a bit of sense when I find out that he was a
pastor and a dean of the church, although he left that position four years ago.
But he didn’t leave because he’s gay.
“My sexuality is of no issue. It is not an issue for my family, for my daughters.
That’s why I can’t complain.”
But what about the church? Are there two irreconcilable, two opposing out-
looks that cannot co-exist?
“I go to church on Sundays. I take part in the Holy Communion and I am
new every week. But I don’t believe that two men should marry in the church.
That is my faith.”
My eyes widen at this statement, but Flosi shows in his expression that there
is no need for me to be shocked at the discrepancy. It is natural for someone
to hold onto the beliefs they have developed in their lifetime, just as it is
natural for things to grow and progress in future generations. His reluctance
to accept gay marriage as part of the church is simply a component of his
faith, inextricable from him.
“But my daughters will believe that it’s okay for gay people to marry in the
church. Things will change, adoption will become possible for gay cou-
ples….”
I am astounded at his belief, his ability to exist securely within the world
of Christianity and his acceptance of his own homosexuality. But he says it
surely, just as a fact of life, and I sense that his poise is complete and uncom-
plicated. “The next generation will put forward new laws and regulations for
the church. I have faith in that,” he says softly. A moment later he finds the
perfect words for what he wants to express and leans over to make sure I hear
over the rough music and crowd noise: “The next generation will find a new
theological perspective.”
During his time as a pastor, some came to him as they were coming to grips
with their own homosexuality. “I just prayed that my knowledge and experi-
ence would do something positive for them,” Flosi says, “and I told them
that they are sexual creatures with sexual feelings. I myself am the judge of
my own love, to know if the love I feel is a real love or not. I am made in the
image of God, and so my love is made in the image of God, no matter what
the gender. Love is love.”
Until the 1970s, lesbians and gay men were practically invisible in Icelandic
society, which surrounded them with contempt and massive silence. Their
reaction was either to hide their sexual identity completely, finding an oc-
casional escape from the oppression while touring abroad, or to move to the
metropolitan cities of continental Europe and Northern America. Many of
those people never turned back, being later properly termed as sexual political
refugees. The silence was first broken in 1975 when the first gay man revealed
his sexual identity publicly in the media, influenced by the international lib-
eration movement, and in 1978 Samtökin ´78, The Lesbian and Gay Organi-
sation of Iceland, was founded by some twenty people. It is now, twenty five
years later, the most powerful force in the gay liberation movement of Iceland
with a little less than 400 members, working with financial support from the
Icelandic state and the city of Reykjavík.
To describe the prejudice and hostility which met the little group on its
way to visibility in these years, one recalls a discotheque in Reykjavík which
in 1983 sought its popularity by advertising in newspapers: “Everyone is
welcome - except gays and lesbians.” Another example from the same year
took place in the Nursing School of Iceland which forbade its students to call
for a meeting with the educational group of Samtökin ´78, a visit which the
students themselves had organised after a gay student found himself forced to
leave the school due to group mobbing.
Nevertheless, the few who had the courage to stand up and speak for their
cause saw a remarkable progress in the eighties. They rejected, for instance,
the oppression of the Icelandic language, that stern ruler of thoughts and
emotions, by protesting people´s use of the common word “kynvilla” (sexual
aberration) for homosexuality, a term analogous to the older word “trúvilla”
(religious aberration) for heresy. They fought for a decade with the Icelandic
State Radio against being labelled in such a derogatory manner, and sug-
gested their own popular words, “lesbía” and “hommi” for themselves, and
“samkynhneigð”, a compound of same, sex and orientation, for homosexual-
ity. And finally they won.
Since then, educational and legislative work has characterised the gay activ-
ism in Iceland with positive results, and recently several other gay associations
have appeared, such as FSS, the Association of Lesbian, Gay and Bisexual
University Students, founded in 1999. In 1983, a new political party, The
Social Democratic Alliance, was the first one of its kind to place gay human
rights on its agenda. In 1985, a resolution was presented in the parliament,
Althingi, by four political parties demanding action to abolish discrimination
against lesbians and gay men. It was never passed, and it was not until 1992
that a similar resolution was reworked by five political parties and passed by
the Althingi.
As a result of the research work ordered by this resolution, a law on regis-
tered partnership for same-sex couples was passed by the Althingi in 1996,
though denying same-sex couples any right to adopt children and seek in-
semination in an official clinic. However, by this law, Iceland became the first
country in the world to legalise joint custody of children brought into same-
sex partnerships. Furthermore, the Protestant Lutheran state church did not
formally approve of a blessing ceremony, as the gay movement demanded,
causing friction and open fighting with the church, which still is unresolved.
In 2000, the Althing revised the law on registered partnership, giving same-
sex couples the right to adopt stepchildren brought into such partnerships.
Furthermore, in 1996 the Althingi passed an anti-discrimination law. It is
worth noting that the parliamentary opposition in the debate preceding these
legislative improvements has been minimal compared to the parliamentary
opposition in other Nordic countries, and to give a clear example of an organ-
ised opposition, one has to go as far as to Christian fundamentalist congrega-
tions, functioning outside the state church of Iceland.
Opinion polls show a surprising change of values in society and express, in
fact, more respect and tolerance towards gay men and lesbians than in most
other western societies. The change is generally affirmed by what lesbians
and gay men experience in their everyday life. In a surprisingly short period
of time, the Icelandic society has left its homophobic attitude of the past and
opened up for new visions and ideas, as the annual Gay Pride events clearly
reflect in Reykjavík.
Iceland: Fragments of Lesbian and Gay History
Love is love
Thorvaldur Kristinsson
Marcie Hume