Reykjavík Grapevine - 07.01.2006, Blaðsíða 17
he concert and political movement of January
7th probably won’t be remembered by the date
alone, as we have suggested on our cover, but it will
be a key moment in Icelandic history. With 5,500 guests,
the concert brought in a higher percentage of the popula-
tion of Iceland than Woodstock did Americans, and while
the concert ran roughly seven hours as opposed to Wood-
stock’s three days, when contemporary attention spans and
schedules are taken into consideration, the accomplishment
seems roughly equivalent. Jokes aside, it was a long time
coming for protest to work its way fully into Iceland’s popu-
lar culture. But now, in a country that is at a crucial point
economically and culturally—standing as it does on the
brink of full-scale smart economy, and well-played globali-
sation—the rock stars of Iceland might shape their country
as much as the punk rockers of Prague shaped the history of
Czechoslovakia.
The land at stake is remarkable. While there are
hundreds of descriptions of the landscape that will soon
be destroyed, if nothing intervenes, the description from
self-proclaimed “urban” local musician KK, (pronounced
Cow Cow), seemed to me to get to the heart of the matter.
Explaining his one visit to the highlands that would be
destroyed by the Kárahnjúkar dam project, he said “It’s like
being closer to God. Experiencing the highlands is like
listening to good music; you forget yourself.”
Coming from a man who lives for music, this was a high
compliment. Assuming by my silence that I might be an
atheist, he clarified: “Did you see Antony and the John-
sons? When you hear these kinds of things, you become
overwhelmed and you cry. You become overwhelmed with
beauty, a non-egoistic thing. You get closer to god, without
religion or anything.”
Just before he went up to perform in front of 5,500 protes-
tors—an enormous audience by Icelandic standards—Mu-
gison explained to me that he didn’t really care about na-
ture. “When I have to take people to Geyser and Gullfoss, I
just hang out in the coffee shops,” he told me. “But as I see
it, where I’m from in Ísafjörður, the people are kind of the
environment. The people make the place. And this dam is
taking the people away from Ísafjörður to go work at this
giant project. So it’s destroying the environment I love.”
This hinted at the overall meaning of the concert—the
reason 5,500 people could get together under the sugges-
tion of an environmental concert in a country in which gas
guzzling jeeps are the dominant mode of transportation,
and on average the city’s busses contain no more than ten
Icelanders at a time. Beautiful as the countryside they are
losing is, Icelanders got together on January 7th not to
preserve the environment, but, it seemed to this observer, to
put a stop to the abuse of power by the current government.
The most popular shirts and slogans, including a
chant sung by Einar Örn of the band Ghostigital, called out
the current Prime Minister, Halldór Ásgrímsson. When
pink-footed geese appeared on a screen, the majority of
the public looked disinterested. But when an image of
former Minister of the Environment Siv Friðleifsdóttir was
displayed, the crowd went somewhat rabid.
The youth and the artists of Iceland are profoundly
disappointed with their leadership, and for good reason: it
was remarkable to discover that no MP or political figure
was willing to lend a voice to a movement that was trying
to stop the destruction of wildlife, even after ticket sales
and public discussion should have clearly indicated that a
pro-environmental stance would be a popular move. When
I interviewed the artists before their show, not one artist
named a single political figure in Iceland who they felt had
acted responsibly in recent years. Not one single figure, in a
country with one of the highest rates of voter turnout in the
world.
In the days after the concert, our local readers have
told me that they are sure Iceland is changing, that there
will be a new outlook on the environment and on preserva-
tion in the country. Judging by the sheer amount of energy
in the crowd on the night of the concert, and judging by
their animosity towards the current members of Alþingi
(Iceland’s parliament), I think that the change will not be
limited to environmental policies. It is likely this is the
beginning of what we might call the Moss Revolution. The
symbol and turning point looks to be twofold: a massive
concert of protest held this week, followed by a refusal to
acknowledge dissent from the current government and
a continuation of policies the youth of this country find
impossible to stomach. If general feedback from our local
readership, 40% of whom have claimed in the past to be
supporters of the Independence Party, is any indication, the
Kárahnjúkar dam will be completed. It will permanently
scar the landscape of the highlands. But with the comple-
tion of the dam, the members of the Independence and
Progressive political parties will have sealed their fates:
not one MP whose name is connected to this dam will be
elected again. Icelandic voters are famous for their short
attention span, but provided with a massive monument to
politicians acting against their own interest in the heart of
their country; it is unlikely they will forget this time.
By Bart Cameron
T
07|01|2006