Reykjavík Grapevine - 23.09.2016, Síða 8

The villain of the issue this issue is the
Icelandic autumn, also known as “six
weeks of wind and rain.” The only good
thing about autumn in Iceland is that
the quality of the sunlight takes on a
pretty, dusky hue. Apart from that, it’s a
centrifuge of shit. It starts to rain more
frequently and in greater volumes,
temperatures begin to drop, and what
little foliage there may be cannot be ap-
preciated for very long, as winds tear
the leaves off of trees before you get a
chance to enjoy the changing colours.
Autumn might mean hay rides, cider
and pumpkin spice lattés in other parts
of the world, but in Iceland, it means
having all traces of summer cruelly
ripped from your flailing grasp, as you
plunge headlong into a cold, windy,
rainy gauntlet of suck. It’s a season that
actually makes you look forward to the
relative comfort of winter, and it’s for
this reason that the Icelandic autumn
is the villain of the issue.
The hero of the issue this issue is the
polar bear. Contrary to what you might
think, given the preponderance of large
stuffed polar bears in front of tourist
shops, there are no polar bears in Ice-
land. When they do arrive on our fair
shores, we shoot them and kill them,
and then let biologists do who-knows-
what to their corpses. The practice is
baffling to many folks, Icelanders in-
cluded, as many communities elsewhere
in the world who live even closer to po-
lar bears more often than not just shoot
them with tranquiliser darts, and then
airlift them to a more agreeable setting.
And given how polar bears are officially
classified as “vulnerable,” with a habi-
tat that continues to shrink thanks to
climate change, who can really blame
them for swimming to Iceland in search
of a better life? Polar bears deserve a lot
better than Icelanders give them, and
it’s for this reason that the polar bear is
the hero of the issue.
Polar
Bears
The Icelandic
Autumn
Lóa Hjálmtýsdóttir
“So, Where
Are You
From?”
Most of us will recognise the common
conversation opener, often used as a
handy ice-breaker in awkward situa-
tions, or even as to express genuine
interest into another’s background:
“So, where are you from?” However,
for me, as a mixed-race Icelander with
darker skin than most and thick curly
hair, I find that the question “Where
are you from?” is weighted heavy with
certain expectations, prejudices and
preconceived ideas of my cultural
background. Most of all, people who
ask me where I’m from, rarely expect
the answer “I’m from Iceland.”
The black sheep of the
family
When asked by friends from abroad to
describe what a typical Icelander looks
like, I usually say blonde beautiful
women and tall bearded men; at least,
that’s the stereotype. But mixed into
the herd you’ll find the black sheep:
mixed-ethnicity Icelanders, the chil-
dren of immigrants. However, this is
not to say that these individuals can’t
consider themselves Icelandic solely
because their appearance doesn’t tick
the many boxes associated with the
Icelandic stereotype. As one of these
individuals myself, with an Icelandic
father and a British Jamaican moth-
er, I find that my appearance often
sparks several questions—even about
my belonging.
I’ve lived in Iceland for the majority
of my life, and my connection with my
Icelandic nationality is much deeper
than my connection with any other
cultural background I can claim. I’m
fluent in Icelandic, I attended primary
school in Reykjavík and I completed
my exams at Kvennaskólinn í Reykja-
vík. I thoroughly enjoy camping dur-
ing the summer and taking a dip in
the thermal pools during the winter.
I sit outside on the balcony soaking
in the sun even though it’s only 12°,
because as every Icelander will know,
that is what we call summer. And of
course, my heart was full of pride and
joy when the national men’s football
team achieved amazing success dur-
ing this summer’s European Champi-
onships. However, it seems as though
my sense of Icelandic identity isn’t
quite enough, as I am questioned by
fellow Icelanders about my cultural
heritage on a weekly basis, sometimes
even daily.
No, really, I’m from
Iceland
It is safe to say that the answer people
are looking for is not “I’m Icelandic.”
But it is the correct answer. I am from
Iceland. I may be from elsewhere as
well, but my sense of Icelandic nation-
ality is a defining part of my charac-
ter. Why should my dual heritage or
different appearance dilute my Icelan-
dic identity? “Yes, but where are you
from?”, people continue, as though my
answer hadn’t met their prejudiced
expectations. Assumptions of my for-
eign background override my claim
to be Icelandic, and I find myself try-
ing to justify my Icelandic nationality
by explaining my family’s heritage.
Yes, it is correct that my Icelandic
heritage only extends through one of
my parents. However, I identify the
most with my Icelandic cultural back-
ground, and I am proud to call Iceland
my home.
Maybe I should be thankful, for the
curiosity of the strangers who ask me
this question. Maybe I should consider
it a compliment that my appearance is
so intriguing. I understand that this
question doesn’t come with bad inten-
tions—well, not always. Yet no Ice-
lander would ask me this question if
they considered me to be as Icelandic
as they are. It is as though my pres-
ence is too confusing; the colour of
my skin says foreign, but the accuracy
of my Icelandic says native. Therefore,
people feel the need to categorise me,
to pinpoint where I belong.
In a sense, asking me where I’m
from is like asking a zebra if it is black
or white. My answer will never satisfy
those who have preconceived ideas
about my cultural heritage. However,
despite the good and bad intentions of
those who ask me where I’m from, the
question has made me question my
own identity on a daily basis, and it
has made me more aware and sure of
who I am as a person. As the Icelandic
community grows and becomes in-
creasingly international and diverse,
the concept of Icelandic nationality
is also changing. I put forward that
we consider ourselves and others as
Icelandic not by physical appearance,
but by culture. After all, what does it
matter where I’m from anyway?
“Why should
my dual heritage
or the difference
of my appearance
dilute my Icelandic
identity?”
ANALYSIS
The Reykjavík Grapevine
Issue 15 — 2016
8
Words
CHANEL
BJÖRK
Photo
DANIEL
CLAUS
REUTER
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