Reykjavík Grapevine - 13.07.2018, Síða 25

“The silence, and
the nature. It grips
you, and touches
you deeply. People
come up here and are
changed by it. Espe-
cially people from
distant, crowded
cities, where you
can't find that. And
it's getting ever
harder to find that.”
need the electricity. We can't develop if
we don't get more electricity than we
have now," she says. When asked why
the national government simply doesn’t
build more lines connecting the region
to the national power grid, Eva, who has
lived in Árneshreppur for over 30 years
now, says: “Yeah, why haven't they? They
should have, a long time ago. If they have
ever put us higher up on the list than
they do. We are too few to be bothered
with," again echoing the Us vs. Them
sentiments that have dominated so
much of the discussion about Hvalár-
virkjun.
Eva firmly believes that the plant is
really the only option to save the region.
Shutting down a site of heavy industry,
such as an aluminium smelter, some-
where else in the country? That would
kill jobs. Build more and stronger lines
to the national power grid? That would
take too long. The urgency she places on
the need for the project is palpable.
"We are isolated here for months in
the winter,” she says. “Roads are closed
from January 5 to March 20. We know,
and hope, this will be better once they
start building a power plant up here."
Hvalárvirkjun is also a matter of self-
preservation for Eva.
"Why shouldn't people live here?,”
she says. “People living in Reykjavík,
they really don't understand it. If we all
move away from here, it will surely, in a
few years, hit us back. There are so many
things that would go down the drain if
everyone moved away from here and it
was only occupied in the summertime."
“They just want
to be against
something.”
Pétur Guðmundsson owns a large tract
of land in Ófeigsfjörður, where some of
the construction for Hvalárvirkun will
take place. Despite being a part-time
farmer on this land, he is one of the
plant’s staunchest supporters.
Pétur received national attention
when he parked one of his tractors
across a stretch of road going into the
region, as an act of defiance against
plant opponents.
"I did this to draw attention to the
issue,” he told us. “I'm not blocking
access for regular tourists. Not at all. I'm
just sending out the message that people
who come here and behave like fools that
they're not welcome in the north, to put
it bluntly. But regular tourists are all
welcome."
Opponents of the plant are a sore spot
with him, as he sees the opposition as
coming from a small monolith of people.
"This has gone through endless
delays, both from government offices
and from people who don't want a single
rock moved in the countryside,” he says.
“This is the same group of people who
were against the Kárahnjúkar dam proj-
ect. These people are talking nonsense,
and don't know what they're talking
about. They just want to be against
something."
He concedes the point that there are
people who oppose the plant who actu-
ally do live in the region, but he has
his own vested interest in the project
getting off the ground — namely, money
he will be paid by VesturVerk for use of
his land. While admitting this is the
case, he downplays the importance of
the pay-out.
"I'm just getting a percentage,” he
says. “It would be strange if I wasn't paid
anything. And I intend to put the money
to good use. But I haven't sold anything.
I'm renting out the land, for 60 years.
It's not a really large amount. That's
the big misunderstanding about this,
with people talking about my getting
100 million per year. It's not going to be
that much."
Old church,
new church
When it comes to hearing the opinions
of those who oppose the plant, people
were often a little less than forthcom-
ing. Granted, a total stranger knock-
ing on a farmer’s door, claiming to be
a reporter and asking for their opinion
on a hot button issue is not likely to get
a straight answer, but even a few people
who had previously gone on the record
with Icelandic-language media told us
“no comment.”
One great example of why this is
would be the village of Árnes.
Árnes is a smattering of farms that
is home to two churches: one an old
fashioned Icelandic church, and the
other a more modern building, each just
across the lonely two-lane road from the
other. At one time, there was just the
old church, but then a group of people
began pushing for a new, more modern
church. The issue sharply divided
the community; it became a struggle
between preserving what they have, and
developing something new. Ultimately, a
compromise was reached in having both
churches, but it remains a hot issue to
this day.
As a number of people told us, the
situation is comparable to what’s
happening now regarding Hvalár-
virkjun. Although public opinion on the
project is more or less an even split, it
was the plant supporters who ended up
winning all five seats on the municipal
council last spring. There are winners
and losers. The winners are quite eager
to share their points of view, but the
losers, who still have to work, shop and
socialise with the winners every day, are
decidedly more reticent.
We were, however, still able to find
plant opponents — or perhaps, plant
skeptics — who were willing to go on
the record.
The roads of Árneshreppur are often unpaved Sif Konráðadóttir of Norðurfjörður
One of two families at Eyri.