Reykjavík Grapevine - 28.08.2015, Síða 18

However, such changes do not come easi-
ly. This was demonstrated late last month,
when grassroots forces clashed with the
proud denizens of the Westman Islands
in a fierce debate. A few days before the
commencement of the islanders’ beloved
Merchant’s Weekend festival, Þjóðhátíð
í Eyjum (which annually attracts thou-
sands of party hearty Icelanders), local
police commissioner Páley Borgþórsdót-
tir sent a memo to the festival’s respond-
ers, ordering a media embargo on all in-
stances of sexual assault. She reminded
the responders that they were bound to
secrecy on matters concerning criminal
investigations, noting that the media had
in the past focused overly on incidents of
sexual violence at Þjóðhátíð.
Páley further reasoned that the police
would not be informing the media about
reported instances of sexual assault over
the weekend for the sake of victims—who
were particularly vulnerable so soon af-
ter the trauma—and to protect investiga-
tive interests.
They would, however, continue dis-
closing on a daily basis the number of
narcotic and violent crime arrests at the
festival.
Sexual assault crisis centre Stígamót’s
annual reports showed that from 2004-
2014, 87 people came to the organisation
seeking counselling after being assaulted
at the festival. The centre’s spokesper-
son, Guðrún Jónsdóttir, told us over the
phone that while she didn’t think Páley’s
intentions were bad, her approach was
wrong. “I agree that media attention can
be difficult for victims,” Guðrún said,
“but it is also difficult and disrespectful
when there’s no coverage—reporting on
the matter is saying that what happens to
them is so serious that it is newsworthy.”
Opinions split
by postcode
Páley’s memo was inevitably leaked to
the media, spurring a heated discus-
sion that begat numerous articles and
op-eds. Many stepped forth to con-
demn the embargo, including both of
Iceland’s journalist unions (who said
it was anti-democratic and only served
the interests of abusers), and numer-
ous SlutWalk organisers (who said,
amongst other things, that it was a step
in the wrong direction for rape survi-
vors),
Furthermore, clinical psychologist
and sexual assault treatment specialist
Sjöfn Evertsdóttir told state broadcast-
er RÚV that she viewed careful disclo-
sure of such information as justified,
a possible deterrent against further
crimes.
Two rape survivors from previ-
ous Þjóðhátíð festivals came forward
during the debate. Brynhildur Yrsa
Guðmundsdóttir, who was gang raped
at Þjóðhátíð eighteen years ago, told
newspaper DV that Páley wasn’t doing
rape victims any favours, that she was
in effect silencing and shaming them.
Counter to that, Marta Möller, who was
raped at Þjóðhátíð in 2006, stated in a
Facebook post that she had found all
the media attention her case received
overwhelming—she felt Páley was do-
ing the right thing, protecting victims
from further harm.
Others that came to Páley’s de-
fence are all either former or current
residents of the Westman Islands. This
includes mayor Elliði Vignisson (who
blamed sensationalist media for pur-
posefully misleading the debate); Hjalti
Jónsson, head of Þjóðhátíð’s response
team (who said that untimely reports
on some cases had caused undue harm
to rape survivors); and former Nation-
al Broadcasting Director Páll Mag-
nússon (who condemned the “media
circus” that ensued from the leaked
memo, calling it the worst he’d ever
witnessed). “Calling [the memo] an at-
tempt to silence the debate,” Páll wrote,
“is sophistry, and an abuse of the term.”
Straight from the com-
missioner
Despite the controversy (and no short-
age of attacks on her character), Páley did
not reverse her orders, and it wasn’t un-
til August 4—two days after the festival
concluded—that the sexual assault ward
of Landspítalinn hospital in Reykjavík
broke the news that they had tended to
three female Þjóðhátíð attendees that
weekend. Soon thereafter, the Westman
Islands police issued a press release about
the festival, including details about two
sexual assault charges. The statement
contained information about when the
alleged rapes took place, and how in one
case a suspect had been hunted down and
apprehended on the festival grounds.
We reached out to Páley, who has a
history representing sexual assault vic-
tims as a lawyer. When asked, she told us
that she was a feminist. “I’m not in Ice-
land’s Feminist Association, but I believe
women should enjoy the same liberties as
men,” she said.
She said the point of the gag order had
been to give victims the space to heal, in-
stead of plastering their stories onto the
front pages of newspapers. “You have to
give people space to deal with things one
day at a time,” she said, “and then give
them the opportunity to decide for them-
selves whether to publicise their trauma
or not.”
When we pointed out how police
press releases generally don’t include
identifying information about victims
of crimes, Páley responded that it didn’t
matter, because in such a small society it’s
easy to find out who’s in the emergency
room or locked up in a cell. When asked
if her post-festival press release had been
too specific and difficult for the victims
so soon after their trauma, she agreed it
had been released sooner than she would
have liked, but argued that her hand had
been forced by Landspítalinn’s untimely
announcement.
Elephants are never
forgotten
Jóhanna Ýr Jónsdóttir, who was born in
the Westman Islands, founded Bleiki Fíl-
linn (“The Pink Elephant”), a prevention
group, in 2013. She explained over the
phone that she felt the festival had grown
too big. “When you have that many peo-
ple in one place, they become difficult to
police,” she said. Jóhanna emphasised
how much Þjóðhátíð means to the West-
man Islanders, and how sensitive they
are to any kind of criticism of it. Having
moved to the mainland, she said she now
understands some of the criticism levied
against the festival, which she believes is
in some ways deserved, while noting that
she feels Páley’s memo was taken out of
context.
Bleiki Fíllinn focuses on promoting
consent education, which Jóhanna says
is absolutely vital when so many people
get together and so much alcohol is con-
sumed. Due to logistical difficulties, the
group wasn’t at Þjóðhátíð in full force this
year, Jóhanna said, adding that the recent
debate underlines the need for their pres-
ence. “We have to be present in 2016,” she
continues. “I feel like the locals want us
to there to show we’re not just hiding our
heads in the sand. Nobody wants rapes to
accompany festivities and drinking.”
--
It is worth noting that at present, the differ-
ent police precincts have complete autono-
my over whether they publish details about
sexual assaults in their daily reports or not.
Páley’s superior, the Minister of the Inte-
rior, has remained quiet about the whole
affair, and there has been no indication of
policy change.
Words by Gabríel Benjamin
Photo by Hörður Sveinsson
Icelanders have by and large turned their back on the once-
prevalent notion that women are responsible for ensur-
ing that they do not get raped (such as by refraining from
dressing a certain way, or drinking too much). Activist and
civic feminist movements, like those that spurred on vari-
ous social media outbursts and protest marches such as the
annual SlutWalk, have played a large part in achieving this,
making terms like “slut shaming,” “victim blaming,” and
“rape culture”—formerly only heard in activist circles—a
firm part of the modern mainstream vocabulary.
The Route To The
Westman Islands Is
Paved With Good
Intentions
Politics | Bright?Party ng | Collateral damage
18 The Reykjavík GrapevineIssue 13 — 2015
Social
Control
We reached out to Guðbjörg Linda Rafns-
dóttir, a professor of sociology at the Uni-
versity of Iceland. When asked, Guðbjörg
said that she had indeed noticed a devout
loyalty among Westman Islanders, who
all seem to want to defend Páley’s actions.
“It looks like a case of social control,” she
said, “which is a form of enforced con-
formity that’s not uncommon in a small
town environment.”
Guðbjörg said that judging by the
recent debate, the festival is obviously
very important to the islanders’ iden-
tity, which resulted in their attempts to
disassociate it from discussion of sexual
violence, and taking any form of critique
as an attack. “I’m sure everyone meant to
do the right thing,” she said, “but they all
ended up reaching the same conclusion
because their society formed a policy in
response to the criticism—and the indi-
viduals all conformed to it.”
Þjóðhátíð í
Eyjum
The Merchants’ Weekend is celebrated
during the first weekend of August, and
its largest outing, Þjóðhátíð í Eyjum,
takes place in the Westman Islands’
Herjólfsdalur valley. The bash was first
thrown in 1874, and has been held annu-
ally (with a few breaks) since 1920. Festi-
val officials tell us that 10-14,000 people
have attended each year since 2010.
Þjóðhátíð is the pride of the commu-
nity, with much of the local population
involved in setting it up, manning booths,
and selling fried puffin and hot dogs—
even the children join in, helping clean
the site after each day. White tents pop up
all around the valley, and a massive stage
is erected on which Iceland’s most popu-
lar bands perform. The fest concludes
with the lighting of flares, a communal
brekkusöngur (“slope singalong”), a bon-
fire, and fireworks.
In recent years, Þjóðhátíð has gained
a reputation as being a hotbed of de-
bauchery, violence and sexual assaults.
Concurrently, the festival’s organisers
and town officials have been criticised
for being reportedly unreceptive and de-
fensive towards any kind of criticism and
attempt to mend the situation.