Iceland review - 2006, Page 52

50 ICELAND REVIEW
WORK
Picture a gigantic wall of gray ice – 198 meters high and 700 meters
wide – wedged between a high slope of black sand and a bare, black
mountain. Men, out of breath and wrapped in bright, thick thermal
red-orange gear, climb a nearly vertical, 500-step staircase up the
wall.
From afar, these men look like little red dots, ants in the immensity
and emptiness of this wall of ice. If you look closer, you’ll see it’s not
ice that these men are climbing, but a slope paved with enormous
“tiles,” 20-by-70 meter rectangles of reinforced concrete. And if you
look closer still, you aren’t likely to find an Icelander among them.
Mostly from China, Portugal, Pakistan and Italy, these are contract
workers hired from all over the world to help build an immense
hydroelectric dam in northeastern Iceland. They live in the temporary
work camp next door to the site. The cluster of buildings that the men
and women call home is Iceland’s fifth-largest population center.
They are part of the biggest industrial project in the history of
Iceland, a USD 1.4 billion endeavor in a nation whose 2006 proposed
government expenditure budget is about USD 4.3 million. They will
build Europe’s highest dam – the fourth highest in the world.
The project, known as Kárahnjúkar after twin mountains on one side
of the main dam, is a system of nine dams and 73 kilometers of tunnels
being built by Iceland’s national power company, Landsvirkjun. The
main dam – the biggest ever built in Europe – will harness water
from a glacial river, f looding a canyon and highland, and creating a
57-square-kilometer reservoir. The water will be diverted from the
reservoir through the tunnel system and converted into power for an
aluminum smelter being built and run by Alcoa (Aluminum Company
of America), a multinational Massachusetts-based corporation.
The agreement between Landsvirkjun and Alcoa – that the company
will build a hydroelectric power plant and sell the energy it produces
to Alcoa for 40 years – was made in 2002. Impregilo, an Italian
construction company and one of more than 30 contractors building
the power plant, signed onto the project on March 18, 2003.
Though Impregilo is certainly not alone out there, its two contracts
make up 55 percent of the entire enterprise’s work and a large
percentage of its workforce. (Impregilo also recently won the contest
for the construction of the 3.6 km Messina bridge connecting Sicily to
Italy’s mainland, which would be the longest suspension bridge in the
world. The project was approved under Berlusconi’s mandate, but has
been “on hold” for years, raising controversies about the risks for the
environment, the profitability, the high costs and the “demagogic”
political goals that seem to lie underneath.)
The dam-smelter project has been grabbing headlines since it was first
proposed in 2000. One camp of the loud domestic and international
opposition to the hydroelectric plant has been environmental: once
completed, part of a wild canyon will disappear under a lagoon created
by the main dam, and the Jökulsá á Dal River will be significantly
reduced. People are also worried about the long-term pollution
impact of the smelter being built in the fjord close to the dam.
Concerns over Kárahnjúkar have also had a human side, raising
questions about how the twin projects are shaping labor standards in
Iceland. Ninety-five percent of the current Impregilo jobs are held by
laborers brought to Iceland by Impregilo: 41 percent from China, 29
percent from Portugal, 7 percent from Pakistan, 9 percent from Italy
and 8 percent from Iceland, though not necessarily Icelandic. Disputes
over unequal wages and working conditions between Icelandic and
foreign workers at the camp have raised the question: is Iceland ready
for a large international labor market, especially in remote areas like
Kárahnjúkar?
THE RIDE
It’s a short f light from Reykjavík to Egilsstadir, the closest town to
the construction. From the tiny window of a small plane, crossing
the country from west to east, I watched the most beautiful, wide and
colorful northern landscape I’ve ever seen: green grass-covered lava
fields, red and black rocky mountains, frozen lakes, glaciers and even
a yellow-brown forest of trees – the only trees I saw in a country that
is mainly deserted and blown by the wind.
I was going to the camp to get a firsthand view of life in Iceland’s fifth-
largest “metropolis,” after a summer of national debate between the
nation’s environmentalists, labor unions, local farmers, the Icelandic
government and Impregilo. Despite the enormity of the project, I
would be the first Italian reporter to visit what many Icelanders see
as an un-transparent, unpopular work camp. As I arrived, a kind,
zealous Italian manager from Impregilo handed me a pair of oversized
thermal coveralls and large anti-slip snow boots. For two days and
one night, I would be “embedded” in the Kárahnjúkar camp.
I hoped my citizenship would help me gain insight in an enclosed clan.
On the other hand, I was concerned about keeping my professional
distance as a journalist, being a “guest” invited into their home and
the only outsider in a community with no access to the public.
When I spotted the person waiting at the airport to take me to
camp, both my hopes and fears were confirmed. “Finally someone is
interested in us and our work camp, and not only in the environment,”
said Gianni Porta, welcoming me with a friendly smile.
Porta, 54, is a civil engineer. The son of an Italian truck driver who
migrated to Africa, he was born in Ethiopia, and has spent his life
working with Impregilo in far reaches of the world. He has worked on
dams, highways and tunnels in Turkey, Romania, Poland, Mongolia,
Thailand, Lesotho and Russia.
Now, Porta is project manager for both arms of Impregilo’s work
on the hydroelectric plant: the enormous dam that will gather water
from the glacial river Jökulsá á Dal, and the tunnels that will bring the
water to the hydroelectric plant providing power for the aluminum
smelter. With a round affable face, a witty and ironic expression
behind big, round old-fashioned metal-framed glasses, loose jeans
and heavy trekking sneakers, he looked casual and sporty, and is not
the first person I would have expected to be running such a huge
project.
From Egilsstadir’s small strip of tarmac, it’s about a two-hour drive on
a road that winds through a high, f lat plateau of sub-arctic desert to