Reykjavík Grapevine - 01.07.2016, Blaðsíða 8

Reykjavík Grapevine - 01.07.2016, Blaðsíða 8
The villain of the issue this issue is de- mocracy. The whole world watched in stunned disbelief as Brexit came to pass. The Leave campaign, which man- aged to squeak in a win, hinged their entire campaign on half-truths and out- right lies about the EU in general and immigrants in particular. They played up to a pitchfork-wielding mob men- tality to run all the outlanders off their precious emerald isle. By appealing to people’s worst fears, regardless of how detached from reality they were, Leave managed to convince people that ma- jority rule was more important than human rights. Pretty much everything about it spat in the face of the concept of the Informed Voter, undermining the entire process. This was so easily done that it’s downright shameful, and it’s for this reason that democracy is this is- sue’s villain of the issue. The hero of the issue this issue is de- mocracy. As this is written, Iceland is embracing their new President Guðni Th. Jóhannesson with considerable ju- bilation (with the possible exception of the other candidates and their support- ers). The candidates were interviewed or set upon each other in debates so many times that Icelanders actually started complaining about seeing too much of them and hearing their platforms, leav- ing little room for griping about a poorly informed electorate. We witnessed the regional ballot counting live on tele- vision, and by night’s end, the largest share of votes had clearly and transpar- ently gone to a single candidate. While there is still a dispute over one round of offsite voting ballots, by and large the Icelandic presidential elections were informed, fair and transparent, and it’s for this reason that democracy is this is- sue’s hero of the issue. HERO OF THE ISSUE VILLAIN OF THE ISSUEDemocracy Democracy Financial TimesArt Bicnick STRANGE BREW My Own Private Brexit An English Euro 2016 Defector Speaks As an Englishman who decamped to Iceland permanently several years ago, the question of “but… why?” has been a fixture in almost every first-meeting conversation I’ve had in that time. I’ve developed a stock answer, accordingly: “You know what? I just really like the place. It makes me happy.” Rarely has this answer proved satis- factory. People prod for a better one, ask- ing whether there was some romantic interest involved, or whether I’d found work here. Sometimes, I’ll do an explor- atory ramble, trying to satisfy them by talking about the warm and welcoming artistic community, walking out of the front door in the morning and being amongst the mountains and sea, the fresh air, the clean water, the pools, the people, the nightlife, the sense of space that individuals are afforded, the low crime, the lack of oppressive policing, or advertising, and the “clean”-feeling psychological environment. The answer is never tidy. It cannot be put simply—I have never successfully crystallised it, even to myself. Howay the lads But never has my motivation for moving here and my odd, instinctual, deeply felt allegiance to the place come under such scrutiny as during Euro 2016. This foot- ball tournament—and, specifically, the flashpoint of England vs. Iceland—cre- ated a national identity friction point that seemed to demand an answer. Because football, for better or worse, runs in English blood. I’ve supported England since boyhood, and, as some- one with a Geordie family, idolised play- ers like Peter Beardsley, Paul Gascoigne and Alan Shearer (who I would, ironi- cally, end up arguing with via the Grape- vine’s Twitter account after the game). I watched England crash out of the Italia 1990 semi-finals with my heart in my mouth, and shed tears again when they lost in the semi-finals of Euro ’96. But back then, the English game was different. The players didn’t seem like a privileged millionaire elite—they felt like “our lads.” They fought, they bled, they won and lost, they celebrated and cried alongside the supporters, and we knew as we watched in the living room, the pub, or on an outdoor screen, that they were with us, and we were with them. Playing for the people That’s no longer the case. For a complex menu of reasons, there’s a national iden- tity crisis taking place in England. It's been a long time coming. We don’t feel represented by our politicians, leading to both apathy and bitter internal divi- sion. We’re not sure of our place in the world—as illustrated by Brexit 1—and we live within the pervasive legacy of a heavily stratified class system culmi- nating in an egregious North/South wealth divide. Unlike France, or many former English colonies, we never had a revolution or “declared independence” from our own objectionably hyper-priv- ileged monarchy. And we sure as hell don’t feel represented by our sportsmen, who, for the most part, live the kind of showboating, blinging lifestyles that invites either jealousy or derision, de- pending on your point of view. As some- one who never really “felt English” in the first place, it’s enough to finalise my personal Brexit. So when the whistle blew for the be- ginning of Iceland vs Portugal, I knew right away where my heart lay. The spirit, togetherness, and ability of Ice- landic team has been spectacular. They play international football how it should be played. They play for the people of Iceland, because they are the people of Iceland. And even as an English immi- grant, I’m very proud to cheer them on. “Never has my motivation for moving here [...] come under such scrutiny as during Euro 2016” INTERVIEW The Reykjavík Grapevine Issue 9 — 2016 8 Words JOHN ROGERS Photo ART BICNICK Share this article: GPV.IS/BRX
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