Reykjavík Grapevine - 20.10.2017, Blaðsíða 14

Doorman In
Memoriam
Jonas Helgason is a former policeman turned
doorman who is working to raise awareness of
youth suicide

Words: John Rogers Photo: Art Bicnick
On October 20, 2016—a year ago
today from this issue’s publication
date—Finnbogi Fannar Jónasson
Kjeld, a much-loved member of the
staff at downtown nightlife insti-
tution Kaffibarinn, took his own
life. It was a tragic event that sent
shockwaves through the lives of his
family and friends, and the bar’s
close-knit community.
After Finnbogi’s memorial ser-
vice, Kaffibarinn held a party in his
honour. His father—former police-
man and airport security worker Jó-
nas Helgason—was in attendance.
“The staff and regulars all chipped
in to help,” Jónas says, fondly. “It
was very fitting, I thought. People
would come over and tell me stories
about Finnbogi. It was like a win-
dow into his life. It’s stayed with
me. There was an amazing feeling
of love and care.”
In the weeks and months that
followed, Jónas became something
of a regular, often dropping by for
coffee and conversation. “Kaffibar-
inn became a place of remembrance
for me,” he says. “It was maybe an
attempt to capture Finnbogi’s spir-
it, which was looming large there at
the time. It was an enormous help.
No parent should have to bury their
child, and for me personally, I know
that something broke inside me
that day. But certainly part of the
healing process was going to Kaffi-
barinn. I’ve formed friendships out
of tragedy, and I can’t thank those
people enough for how they held
the memory of my son aloft, and
opened their arms to me and my
family.”
Melting pot
A few months after Finnbogi’s
death, Jónas was talking to the bar’s
manager, Guðný Jónsdóttir, and it
came up that she was seeking new
doormen. “I said, ‘I could do that’,”
Jónas recalls. “I’d worked previously
as a doorman way back in 1982—it
was my first gig. Guðný took me up
on it. Then, there I was one Friday
night wearing a
Kaffibarinn door-
man jacket and
welcoming people
inside. And the
rest is history.”
Jónas has been
a friendly and
reassuring pres-
ence on the door
of Kaffibarinn
ever since. He’s
grown fond of the
community sur-
rounding the bar.
“My three favou-
rite things about this place are the
staff, the regulars and the DJs,” he
says. “It’s a melting pot of people,
sounds and laughter. The music is
excellent. I’m happy that even as
the resident old codger I’ve had the
opportunity to appreciate new mu-
sic.”
Breaking the taboo
Jónas has also taken up raising
awareness of issues surrounding
suicide, and the flaws in the health
system regarding mental illness.
“If I do nothing else in the rest
of my life but raise awareness of
young male suicides, it would be
time well spent,” he explains. “I’m
doing my very best. I think Iceland
is rich in resources, and we should,
as a whole, do a lot more to take
care of those who need help. Men-
tal illness has been taboo, and it
shouldn’t be.”
“There’s an average of 52 sui-
cides a year in Iceland,” Jónas
continues, “and there’s hardly any
money spent on preventative coun-
selling. The psychiatric ward closes
at five o’clock, so if you need help
outside of business hours, you’re
in trouble. And the emergency
room is not somewhere you go if
you’re suffering from anxiety or de-
pression. If only they’d change the
opening hours.”
Action not rhetoric
Despite the recent rise in the polls
for left wing parties that tradition-
ally prioritise health care funding
more than those on the right, Jónas
doesn’t have high hopes for a politi-
cal solution. “We need action,” he
says. “We need doers, not rhetoric.
Icelanders are tired of being told
we’re rich, we’re intelligent, well-
educated, or whatever. Let’s get a
proper infrastructure, let’s have
proper health-
care, and make
sure that every-
one is taken care
of. It’s the rea-
son I joined the
police force, and
the reason I work
as a doorman—I
care about people.
When the prover-
bial shit hits the
fan, I tend to run
towards it and do
my best to avoid
more danger.”
Jónas hopes that the recent con-
troversial suicides that occurred
inside hospitals will draw atten-
tion to the need for change. “That
should never happen,” he says. “It
should be a safe environment. I’m
hoping that any number of politi-
cians will take this to heart. We’re
losing 52 individuals a year, and
that’s not right. It shouldn’t be ac-
ceptable. There’s something wrong
with a society that says that it is.”
In the meantime, Jónas is en-
joying his work as a doorman, and
rarely encounters any trouble from
customers. His other son works at
Kaffibarinn as a DJ, and there are
portraits of Finnbogi in pride of
place in the bar. “A perk of the job
is that when I welcome someone
to Kaffibarinn, I take those two
steps up and open the door, and
see Finnbogi’s smiling and happy
face there,” finishes Jónas. “It’s as
heartwarming now as it was then.
I have a lot of time and a lot of love
for this place.”
If you are suffering from depression or
experiencing suicidal thoughts, you
can call the Red Cross helpline for
confidential advice, 24 hours a day,
telephone number 1717.
14 The Reykjavík Grapevine
Issue 19 — 2017
Jónas Helgason with a stencil mural of his son
“If I do nothing
else in the rest
of my life but
raise awareness
of young male
suicides, it
would be time
well spent.”
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