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
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