Iceland Review - October/Novermber 2018

Svala – A Realer Her

The pop star is carving out her own path in music

Faces of the Earth

Ragnar Axelsson’s view of Iceland’s disappearing glaciers

Tongue Twister Learning Icelandic shouldn’t be difficult

FEATURES

News in Brief 7

SMALL TOWN ECONOMIES

Ask Iceland Review 8-9

IN FOCUS

Whose Land Is It Anyway?

10-13

Up in the Air

14-16

LOOKING BACK

The Situation 100-106

In 1940, Iceland was occupied by armed forces. The host of foreign soldiers arriving to the country was perceived as a threat to young women and, by extension, the future of the nation.

HELGI GUNNLAUGSSON SVALA BJÖRGVINS

Fishing for Power

18-24

In rural Iceland, there is a particular nostalgia for the fishing industry of the past. This sentimentality could be hindering innovation in small towns.

Empty Jails and Unlocked Doors

32-38

Is Iceland heading into an age of crime?

Criminologist Helgi Gunnlaugsson, Iceland’s foremost expert on crime, murder and ankle monitors, answers the question.

FICTION

The Chandelier 74-78

A short story by Fríða Ísberg. Maintaining good family relations while dealing with Reykjavík’s rough housing market is not always easy.

STEINUNN KRISTJÁNSDÓTTIR RAGNAR AXELSSON

The People’s History

50-56

Archaeologist Steinunn Kristjánsdóttir is uncovering the history of Iceland’s executions – and the social injustice it has concealed for centuries.

Svala: A Realer Her 66-73

Svala Björgvins has been famous her whole life, and every period of her career has moulded her into the artist she is today.

Faces of the Earth 80-93

Ragnar Axelsson first saw a glacier from the window of a plane when he was seven years old. For the future photographer, it was the beginning of a lifelong love affair.

LEARNING ICELANDIC

The Science of Sleep 26-31

A Vanishing Act 40-49

A Castle in the Air 58-64

HEALTHCARE

Tongue Twister 94-98

People who are learning Icelandic face unique challenges. Their success is important for them, but also for the nation as a whole – and even the language itself.

The Flight of the Nurses

108-114

The strain on the underfunded Icelandic healthcare system and dissatisfaction with wages has led an increasing number of nurses to seek greener pastures or, more specifically, bluer skies.

FROM THE EDITOR

There are few things that are both as fragile and as durable as national identity. In times of crisis, it provides a common interest that nations can rally around – something bigger than any one individual and more enduring than a single human life. At the same time, a national identity is little more than a sweeping generalisation about a diverse group of people, often with conflicting interests. It’s fragile because its ideals can never be fully realised and because its definitiveness is easily threatened.

Though Iceland has a long history, the Republic is young: only a little over 70 years old. As part of the struggle for independence, Icelanders recreated their national identity. They mined their history, traditions, communities and the land they lived on for anything that made them who they were. The result was an image of the Icelander as a fiercely independent, egalitarian, and well-read individual, with strong ties to their ancestral history and to the land they grew up on.

Many Icelanders can identify with some or even many aspects of this image. It might be a case of self-fulfilling prophecy, but in many ways, it is accurate. It could never be fully accurate, however. The utilisation of this national identity for political purposes has often been fruitful, especially in 1944, when it was instrumental in securing independence for the fledgling nation, but it can become exclusionary, even damaging when its inaccuracies can’t be accepted. It can also become a hindrance by reinforcing an

image that needs to be fluid and have room to change with evolving times.

In this issue of Iceland Review, we explore Icelandic national identity and the threats it faces. We explore the Icelandic language and its accessibility to the island’s newest residents, as well as Iceland’s image as a crime-free country and if it’s really under siege as some claim. We take a look back at the nation’s history to ask ourselves if executions in Iceland were classist, and if Icelandic women were unjustly surveilled, shamed and infantilized for cavorting with foreign soldiers during World War II. We also explore Icelanders’ connection to the land and the parts of it that are disappearing. Iceland’s majestic glaciers have always held powerful sway over the country’s residents, but we’ve lost one already, and the ones we have left are receding quickly. Finally, a particularly revealing portrait of the problems with identity is the exploration of small-town economies and how nostalgia for a time when the fishing industry was a lot more labour-heavy could be impeding progress and job evolution today.

Icelandic national identity is not inherently a bad thing. It can be a great comfort in times of trouble and a source of pride in times of prosperity. But to adhere to it religiously is to hinder progress and even to exclude vital parts of the community. To paraphrase musician Svala Björgvins, we are all made of our experiences. As our country evolves, so must the image of the Icelander.

Gréta Sigríður Einarsdóttir Editor,

Iceland Review

Cover Photo: Ragnar Axelsson

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Editor

Gréta Sigríður Einarsdóttir

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Proofreaders

Mariska Moerland

Jelena Ćirić

Writers

Anna Marsibil Clausen

Fríða Ísberg

Gunnar Jónsson

Jelena Ćirić

Jóhann Páll Ástvaldsson

KT Browne

Mariska Moerland

Tinna Eiríksdóttir

Translators

Larissa Kyzer

Illustrators

Elín Elísabet Einarsdóttir

Helga Páley Friðþjófsdóttir

Photographers

Golli

Ragnar Axelsson Saga Sig

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Daily News from Iceland icelandreview.com Print Prentmiðlun / Lettland

NEWS IN BRIEF

After the landslide, the river was diverted and a new lake was formed. On the right is a fish ladder, now on dry land.

Troubled Waters

This summer has seen an unusual number of beached whales around Iceland, particularly in the country’s east. Three beached whales were reported within a single week in the region in August. Whale watching guides in Reykjavík took on the role of rescuers later that month when they spotted two bottlenose whales beached on Engey island, just off the Reykjavík coast. While one of the whales unfortunately died, rescuers managed to keep the other alive until it could swim away in the rising tide.

Whale specialist Gísli Víkingsson says it is difficult to guess at the cause of the phenomenon, though whales, which use echolocation to navigate, can become disoriented by noise pollution. Biologist Edda Elísabet Magnúsdóttir from the University of Iceland believes the incidents may be connected to submarine tracking exercises performed by NATO in the North Atlantic this summer. “If the whales hear noise pulses while deep-sea diving, they have been known to surface too quickly, and contract decompression sickness, so this can, simply put, be life-threatening for them,” she stated.

Going Downhill

Locals’ moods are not the only thing that was affected by an unusually wet and grey summer in West Iceland. The endless rain also caused a landslide in early July on Fagraskógarfjall mountain. The landslide is believed to be the biggest in Icelandic recorded history and managed to alter the course of Hítará river and form a brand-new lake.

The area’s residents have been invited to submit their suggestions for a name for the new body of water, though the local Municipal Council of Borgarbyggð and the Icelandic Place Name Committee will have the final say.

A large fissure has since formed above the landslide, separating a section of land measuring 50-150,000m2 from the mountain. The section is currently unstable and is expected to eventually fall on the original landslide site. Travellers are advised to avoid the area for the time being.

Bill of Health

The parliamentary budget bill was presented in early September. The proposal prioritises healthcare, setting aside ISK 7.2 billion ($62.3m/€54.7m) toward the construction of the new national hospital and ISK 12.6 billion ($111m/€95.7m) for other healthcare-related expenditures. The country will also enjoy increased funding for social support programs, housing, and child benefits, as well as increased contributions toward combatting climate change.

Police will receive an additional ISK 410 million ($3.6m/€3.1m) to respond to the increased burden associated with a growth in tourism. The contribution will support increased road traffic monitoring, particularly in the Central Highlands, which have been the site of many off-road driving incidents this summer.

“The treasury’s position has not been stronger for many years and GDP has risen sharply,” stated Minister of Finance Bjarni Benediktsson at a press conference presenting the budget, adding that Iceland is emerging from a period of strong economic growth which is set to slow in the near future.

Words by Jelena Ćirić Photography by Golli

ASK ICELAND REVIEW

Words by Mariska Moerland Photography by Golli

Iceland had a very poor summer this year, with low temperatures and wet weather. Has this weather had an impact on hay production and will your horses have enough feed for the coming winter?

Even though in Reykjavík, this year’s summer was characterised by rainy, cloudy and cold days, weather in other parts of the country was notably better. Because of this favourable weather, hay production was good, especially in North and Northeast Iceland. As last year’s harvest was also bountiful, Icelandic farmers have never had so much surplus hay. There was even too much for Icelandic livestock.

Contrary to Iceland, a lot of European countries experienced drought this summer, resulting in poor hay harvests. In Norway, a shortage of hay posed a huge threat to sheep farmers, who were forced to send part of their livestock to slaughterhouses. Sweden, Denmark and Finland, countries that usually supply Norway with hay in times of need, were also plagued by drought. Iceland’s surplus of hay was therefore extra useful this year, as the country will be exporting around 50,000 bales of hay to Norway this fall.

So, not only will Icelandic horses have enough feed this winter, their Norwegian cousins will also be able to enjoy Icelandic hay in the

There are seven higher education institutions in Iceland accredited as háskólar (universities). It’s difficult to recommend one university over the other, as all cater to different needs. Icelandic institutions consider applications sent by qualified students from anywhere in the world, and although many courses are only available in Icelandic, several universities offer programmes in English or other languages as well.

In total, about 18,000 students are enrolled in Icelandic university programmes, of which roughly 5% are international students. Applicants apply directly to the university of their choice. Application deadlines differ between universities and depend, among other things, on if a student is from the European

The Culture House Hverfisgata 15 101 Reykjavík

Economic Area (EEA) or Switzerland, or from outside the region. Tuition and registration fees also differ between universities.

For undergraduate degrees, applicants need to have passed a matriculation exam or equivalent. Applicants without this diploma may be accepted if they are believed to have a comparable level, but additional entry requirements or entrance exams, like TOEFL or IELTS tests, might be enforced. For postgraduate education, you need proof of a bachelor’s degree in a subject that corresponds to the master’s programme being applied for. You can read more about specific

The exhibition, and shop are open daily 10 - 17

entry requirements on the universities’ websites.

Additionally, all students from outside of the EEA or Switzerland need a student residence permit if they plan to study in Iceland for more than three months. Only full-time students who can provide for themselves during their stay and have valid insurance are taken into consideration. A complete application must be received by the Icelandic Directorate of Immigration before studies commence, and students are recommended to allow a minimum of three months for this process.

Closed on Mondays 16/9 – 30/4

What are the requirements for an international student to study in Iceland and what universities would you recommend?

IN FOCUS

In Fljótin, six conjoining estates have been bought by companies that ultimately belong to Americans Chad and Ellen Blake Pike. Pictured is Deplar Farm, where the couple run a luxury hotel.

Words by Gréta Sigríður Einarsdóttir

Photography by Golli

In 2011, a Chinese businessman named Huang Nubo tried to buy one of the largest farmlands in Iceland, Grímsstaðir á Fjöllum. Since Nubo was neither an Icelandic citizen nor a resident of the European Economic Area (EEA), he was required to apply for an exemption from Iceland’s Ministry of the Interior in order to purchase the land. While his application was being processed, the case became a hot topic among politicians, the media, and the public. Many were uneasy about the idea of a foreign citizen owning such a large part of the country.

Whose Land Is It Anyway?

Nubo’s application was denied, but a few years later, Jim Ratcliffe, an EEA resident, bought the property, no exemption required. Though public discussion around Nubo’s purchase of Grímsstaðir was heavily tinged with xenophobia and nationalism, it raised some legitimate concerns that have once again come to the forefront. Should just anyone be able to buy land in Iceland and do with it what they please?

Why are we talking about this?

The discourse on land purchases has never managed to shake that touch of xenophobia, but the fact remains that laws and conditions for buying land in Iceland are laxer than in neighbouring countries –both when it comes to the purchaser’s na-

tionality and their intentions. In the past few years, several valuable estates have been bought by wealthy individuals, both Icelandic and foreign, with no intention of living on the land or farming it. Some of the estates, continually farmed since Iceland’s settlement, are now falling into disuse. In some places, large swathes of land consisting of several estates – even whole valleys – have been bought by the same party. This can be unsettling for residents and those with historical and emotional ties to an area, because it affects the makeup of farming communities, who in many cases are already fighting against depopulation.

When individuals purchase property through a corporation, as is often the case, its true owner can be difficult to trace. When Iceland’s national broadcaster RÚV

requested information from Registers Iceland about what proportion of Icelandic land was owned by foreign nationals, they were told it was impossible to assess, because around 30% of land was owned by companies of which they had no way of knowing the true owner.

How did we get here?

When Nubo’s case was in the news, it became clear that land ownership is a hugely emotional issue for Icelanders. Iceland has only been an independent state for a little over 70 years and the nation has an intense cultural connection to the land they inhabit, and an immense pride in their independence. One of the main reasons Iceland isn’t in the European Union is that it is perceived as a threat to the nation’s independence. The same argument was made against joining the EEA. Other EEA members, such as Norway and Denmark,

set up conditions for foreign nationals who want to buy land. If the hopeful real estate buyer hasn’t lived or worked in the country for five years, they must apply for special permission for the purchase from the Ministry of Justice. When Iceland became part of the EEA in 1993, it put no such restrictions in place.

What’s at stake?

Another reason locals are afraid of large swathes of land falling into foreign hands, is the resources that come with it. In Iceland, a landowner’s property may come with (salmon) fishing rights, a potentially lucrative business. Grímsstaðir owner Ratcliffe, for example, owns several estates with fishing rights in different parts of the country.

Perhaps no less important, considering Iceland’s popularity as a tourist destination, is land containing natural wonders.

Many of Iceland’s most popular tourist sites, such as Fjaðrárgljúfur canyon and Hraunfossar waterfalls, are on or near privately-owned land. This summer, the issue resurfaced yet again when Hótel Katla was sold to Keahótel Ltd., 75% of which is owned by American investors. Hótel Katla is part of the Höfðabrekka estate, which comes with 40,700ha of land, fishing rights, and an airport.

Even questions of water rights or the right to harness natural resources by, for example, building a power plant, are not crystal clear in Icelandic law, which lacks a clear definition of what counts as a natural resource. Without clearer legislation, it could be difficult for the government to oppose the exploitation of natural resources on private land.

Proposed amendments to the constitution would guarantee the Icelandic government the power over natural resources,

but constitutional reform is a hot-button issue in Icelandic politics and may even prove too difficult to accomplish. When you consider the enormous value of what’s at stake, it becomes clear there is a need to reconsider land purchase legislation. The issue is much more than a case of xenophobia: it’s in fact vital for everyone who calls Iceland their home. As the custodians of one of the largest untouched landscapes in Europe, Icelanders have a responsibility to regulate what is done with the land.

What is being done?

After Nubo’s case in 2011, then-Minister of the Interior Ögmundur Jónasson put some rules in place concerning purchase of land by foreign nationals, but these rules were abolished a few months later after the objection of EEA authorities, who claimed they violated Iceland’s EEA contract. Since then, the issue has been discussed

by almost every government, including the last one current Prime Minister Katrín Jakobsdóttir was part of.

According to Katrín, this time the government intends to follow through on the matter, but what exactly will be done remains to be seen. In an interview with RÚV last July, Katrín stated that landowners’ nationality is not the issue at stake, but rather clarifying landowners’ responsibilities to the government and the community. She mused that some possible changes to law included limiting the number of estates or the total area of land any individual could own, or tackling the issue through zoning regulations. Meanwhile, Minister of Justice Sigríður Á. Andersen has stated that forbidding foreign parties from purchasing land, whether from inside or outside the EEA, is not the solution. She told RÚV, “Even though Iceland had a law forbidding foreign citizens to buy real

estate, it’s obvious that they could simply buy Icelandic companies, and acquire the land through them.” She wants to increase transparency in company ownership of land and plans to introduce a bill to parliament this term which tightens regulations governing purchase of land by foreign nationals.

The importance of land, especially untouched nature, can hardly be overstated. While forbidding people to buy land simply based on their place of birth is hugely problematic, increased clarity and transparency in land ownership and rules about land usage can be nothing but a step forward. There’s pressure on the government to act on the matter sooner rather than later, as more and more land is being bought up by wealthy individuals with no intention of farming or being part of the community. As of the time of writing, however, it’s still stuck in political purgatory.

The world of Icelandic aviation has been showing signs of tremors recently. Even though the number of travellers in Iceland is at a high point, the two companies responsible for transporting them to the North Atlantic are floundering. Airlines Icelandair and WOW air, albeit vastly different, face similar threats to their business. Icelandair is the pillar on which Icelandic air travel was built – but the CEO recently quit following dismal financial results in the past year. Meanwhile, low-fare WOW air, which has grown leaps and bounds since 2011, has been floundering recently. The Icelandic government has held repeated meetings headed by Prime Minister Katrín Jakobsdóttir to discuss the situation, which could have far-reaching impacts on the country. But why are Iceland’s two international airlines so important for its economy?

Words by Jóhann Páll Ástvaldsson

Up in the Air

Travel-based economy

Travellers have been showing up in Iceland in the masses, so one would assume the companies which bring between 80-85% of travellers to the country would be flourishing. The number of travellers that arrived in Iceland jumped from 565,000 in 2011 to 2,224,000 in 2017. The two airlines are vital to an economy that has largely rebuilt itself on the shoulders of the travel industry, following the banking collapse of 2008. Government-owned Landsbankinn bank, however, recently issued a report raising concerns that the Icelandic economy relies too heavily on the two airlines. Authorities have since kept a watchful eye on the companies’ proceedings, as the airlines faltering could have disastrous results for the Icelandic economy.

est domestic airline beginnings in the -

lines, offering a cheaper way to transport American youngsters across the Atlantic to Europe. Icelandair had a long-running monopoly on flights to and from the country, and the company grew steadily, focusing on connecting flights. The company now finds itself stagnating as its value has nosedived from ISK 189 billion ($1.7b/€1.4b) in 2016 to ISK 42 billion ($373m/€320m) today. Following a dismal year for the airline, Björgólfur Jóhannsson took responsibility for the downturn and resigned as CEO.

Icelandair has expanded to new destinations in the United States, while North

-

Photography by Golli

WOW air

Icelandair

Employees 1,600 2,550 45th of 72 72nd of 72

Passengers (2017) 4,048,000 2,800,000 *assesses airlines based on punctuality, quality of service and claim processing.

AirHelp ranking*

American airlines have begun edging in on the company’s dominance in the North Atlantic. The company has had to fight competitors tooth and nail for customers in recent years, while also dealing with ever-increasing fuel costs. This has led to heavy losses, to the tune of ISK 6.4 billion ($56.9m/€48.8m) in a single quarter this year. The good news for Icelandair is that the airline has a healthy amount of capital to fight its financial woes and is now in the process of selling off the Icelandair Hotels branch of the company to that purpose. The bad tidings for passengers are, however, that Icelandair is expected to raise its fares heavily to alleviate costs. The Icelandic government, as well as the Icelandic populace, watches Icelandair’s every move as the airline has long been one of Iceland’s flagship companies. Let’s not forget that the majority of Icelandair is owned by Icelandic pension funds.

Low fare, low cash

The fresh-faced newcomer to the scene, upstart low-fare WOW air has split opinions since its arrival. Seen as a welcome addition by many, WOW air has forced Icelandair to lower its prices since 2012. Founder and CEO Skúli Mogensen has been billed as a miracle man of sorts, steering the astonishing growth of the airline. In its inaugural year, 110,000 passengers flew with WOW air, with that number increasing to 415,000 in 2013. That number had quadrupled in 2016, as the company transported 1,669,000 passengers – but the biggest jump had yet to appear. Between 2016 and 2017, WOW air increased its passenger number by 69% to 2,800,000 passengers. It was inevitable that such rapid growth would have some repercussions.

Alarm bells rang as WOW air announced a loss of ISK 4.8 billion ($42.7m/€36.6m) in the 12-month period between July 2017 and July 2018. Yet more alarming is that the company’s coffers appear to be completely empty. WOW air’s equity ratio amounts to only 10.9%, leaving the company without the necessary tools to rise to its current challenge. Finding itself in dire straits, WOW Air needed to raise funds in the form of a bond issue up to ISK 12 billion ($113m/€96m) to steer the ship in the right direction. Skúli stepped up to the challenge and has already secured ISK 6.5 billion ($59m/€50m) in a short time span. The company plans to push even further, as Skúli has announced WOW Air intends to go public within the next 12-18 months. It’s a step in the right direction but for Skúli’s gamble to pay off, he has to make sure the company turns a profit next year.

Turbulent times call for a different course

The current situation might appear peculiar to a layman. How do two airlines manage to find themselves between a rock and a hard place during a time when Iceland is a go-to destination for travellers? The problem is multifaceted, as other airlines have begun heeding travellers’ craving for Icelandic waters. This, coupled with the fact that oil prices in aviation have risen 40-50% in the span of a year, has many an airline floundering, while the strengthening of the Icelandic króna has contributed to putting the two Icelandic airlines in a tight spot. The recent downfall of Air Berlin shows that airlines are not immune to a financial crash landing. The importance of Icelandair and WOW air to the Icelandic economy cannot be overstated, so here’s hoping that the two manage to make a safe landing

FISHING FOR POWER

Words by KT Browne Photography by Golli

FISHING FOR POWER

How

changes within the fishing industry are prompting new strategies for rural development

Driving through Skagaströnd, it’s not difficult to get the feeling that you’re driving through some kind of wilderness – a beautiful one – but a wilderness all the same. The iconic, yellow sign that indicates the beginning of the town shudders in the wind. An empty parking lot sits alongside a sleepy grocery store and a bank. Buildings whose paint has succumbed to the unforgiving toll of weather rest quietly along the smaller streets, vacant against the sea.

Skagaströnd is a small, coastal town in Northwest Iceland whose population today numbers at just under 500. That number is steadily declining, however, due to a lack of land-based jobs. This hasn’t always been the case. As a coastal town, Skagaströnd once thrived as a fishing hub. Before fishing quota became freely transferable in 1991, the town was home to a number of facilities including herring, demersal fish, and shrimp processing plants. These operations formed a company and provided jobs in the town, the promise of steady work, and a sense of communal pride and identity.

in Iceland – that shut down the processing factories due to financial hardship. Today, Skagaströnd largely relies on the income generated via FISK to function. The company owns a trawler, Arnar, that has been landing its catch in Skagaströnd’s harbour since 2004 – an operation that has proven crucial to the town’s struggling economy.

SK-2 is FISK’s newest trawler. New equipment and technologies in fishing are consistently making the industry less labour-heavy.

Towns and fishing companies alike need to ask themselves what kind of communities they want to build.

“There have been a lot of mergers and acquisitions in the fishing industry,” explains Laufey Kristín Skúladóttir, the marketing and sales manager for FISK. “Ten to fifteen years ago, there were many shrimp companies all along the coast of Iceland. Now there are four left. It’s all part of a bigger transition, something that’s going on in the rural development here.”

In 2005, the company was sold to a third party, and eventually acquired by FISK Seafood – the fourth largest fishing and fish processing company

On the surface, this development can be seen as a shift from having many small, privately-owned fishing companies throughout Iceland to fewer and larger ones. On a deeper level, this shift involves a transfer of power and a loss of independence on the part of small municipalities. This small-town-versus-large-corporation dynamic is not unique to Iceland. It’s a narrative that has become commonplace around the world due to globalisation and the growing pains of changing societies. Nonetheless, it

Drangey

FISK.

presents a number of complicated issues for locals and local businesses alike. There’s no easy solution in sight, but the way forward arguably requires an ideological shift, as well as practical measures.

In rural Iceland, there is a particular nostalgia for the fishing industry of the past; and since this industry is so deeply tied to a sense of collective identity, communities often pine over its heyday, longing to make it like it was. Though indicative of a strong communal spirit, this sentimentality could be hindering innovation in towns like Skagaströnd, where the economy continues to stagnate, and the job opportunities provided by FISK remain the town’s main income generator. The fact remains that without a broadening of economic strategy on a local level, Skagaströnd’s success or failure will remain largely at the mercy of the corporation.

shut down the factory as a result of long-term financial struggles within the business. In August, 19 of the factory’s 21 employees were laid off. While that figure may not seem high, Grundarfjörður is an isolated community with a population of just 870 people, so 19 jobs represent a sizeable proportion of the local workforce.

Do they want the cultural centre of Iceland to be in Reykjavík and the rest of the country segregated by type of work?

Where to go from here?

Grundarfjörður is another small, coastal town, situated in the north of the Snæfellsnes peninsula. Since 1940, the town has been home to a shrimp processing factory and since 1995, that factory has been owned by FISK. In July, FISK made the decision to

“The shrimp business has been facing a lot of difficulty in recent years and we’ve been running the company at a loss for a while. We just don’t see any way to make it profitable. Instead of taking monetary hits each year, it’s better to just close it, even though it’s really painful and not the most desirable way out,” Laufey explains. Some of the shrimp factory’s employees will move to another company – a saltfish company in another town that has also been acquired by FISK. This is a difficult pill to swallow for all parties involved. The loss of those jobs will uproot a number of families which means the town’s already small population will decrease even more, yet if FISK doesn’t run their company efficiently, those jobs (and possibly more) are at risk anyway.

“FISK is competing on international levels, so we need to try to keep the costs as low as possible so we

Laufey Kristín

Skúladóttir is the marketing and sales manager for

For Halldór Gunnar Ólafsson, a private boat owner, some limitations and regulations are more acutely felt than by the larger corporations.

Fish is still unloaded at Skagaströnd, an operation that has proven crucial to the town’s struggling economy.

don’t get buried by the competition,” says Laufey. “Of course, there are many drawbacks [to merging]. Because of this competition, we’re always trying to grow and evolve but this means that sometimes communities lose jobs. I think it’s really important that everyone is able to coexist. The smaller companies are crucial for the larger ones as well. Diversity is always the best solution. Of course, there are always going to be some strong companies with lots of volume and many employees, but I think it’s equally as important that the smaller ones manage to survive.”

For Halldór Gunnar Ólafsson, a private boat owner in Skagaströnd and the manager of BioPol –a marine biotechnology research centre whose goal is to develop patentable products that support innovation in the industry – surviving as a small company isn’t so simple. A lot of the limitations that he faces aren’t necessarily felt in the same way by larger companies due to governmental regulations. “In Iceland, there is a 12% limit on how much quota one company can have. One company cannot have more than 12% of the quota in Iceland, but there is no law that states a company cannot own another company and then, of course, their quota,” he explains.

Because of this regulation, large companies like FISK have the ability to continue growing and acquiring additional quota through acquisitions, while smaller companies and private boat owners remain tied to their smaller quota while simultaneously being subject to the same taxes. “The government is trying to make it a fair system for everyone, but of course it’s always going to hit smaller companies when they double the taxes. So that’s quite unfair,” admits Laufey.

Just this summer, the decision was made to reduce the opening hours of Skagaströnd’s bank and post office. This is yet another indication that something needs to change fast if the town is going to survive. But is the change that is needed necessarily the responsibility of the government alone?

Paving new paths forward

Given the nature of the shifts within the fishing industry, it is absolutely essential for places like Skagaströnd and Grundarfjörður to restrategise how they operate in order to harness their power as a self-sufficient community whose survival is not dependent on a single entity. However, it is not always easy to come up with solutions for small towns to become economically viable.

We have been fighting [population] decline since those factory closures,” admits Halldór. “The fishing industry is such a major part of this society, and I can more or less directly link the population decline over the years to it. There have been some efforts

made to turn this trend around by creating new jobs in other industries, though, for example with BioPol and Nes Artist Residency.”

Investing in knowledge-based industries is one method that has been used to counteract population decline, and Skagaströnd has taken advantage of this sector to some degree. Nes Artist Residency and BioPol, for example, have provided the town with additional income streams and the valuable asset of increased visibility. But endeavours like these have only somewhat stimulated the town’s economy and cannot achieve long-term sustainability without a sense of continued initiative on a local level. An attitude shift might be needed within small communities.

“The power [to strengthen the economy] must come from the local communities,” says Laufey. “What do they want? What do they see as opportunities in the area that could provide them with jobs? People need to help each other. You can’t only rely on the government. You need to come to the table with initiative.”

For small towns whose economy has for so long run in one particular way, change can be difficult to come by – but not necessarily because there is a lack of resources. Organisations like the Icelandic Regional Development Institute and The Association of Municipalities in the Northwestern Region (SSNV) have funds specifically set aside for new incentives and economic development that might benefit the community and provide new jobs. The goal of these funds, however, is to facilitate the initial development of these incentives and promote eventual self-sufficiency, which can become a problem if they’re relied on for too long.

For a town like Skagaströnd, whose history is so deeply steeped in the fishing industry, the lessening of its influence conjures a collective nostalgia alongside a mounting fear of change. It is within this communal wistfulness, a sort of homesickness for another time, that a reluctance to develop anew might lie. In this sense, changing the town’s economy could possibly be perceived as a threat to its culture and identity.

Moving beyond memory

Remembering the way Skagaströnd was in its heyday might be a slippery slope for the town. The desire to make things the way they were, or at least preserve the memory of the town’s past so that it isn’t overshadowed by new development attempts, can hinder the very development that now seems necessary for it to survive.

Still, failure to adjust to society’s development and to optimise strategies for continued growth is equally risky for the town’s milieu. A challenge for

small towns throughout Iceland lies within how to deal with these changes – how to work with a large fishing company while simultaneously opening up to new opportunities for strengthening other industries in order to reclaim independence. And of course, a challenge for companies like FISK continues to be how to stay afloat in a competitive international market while minimising damage to the very communities that help them function.

Ultimately, it is a collective impetus that determines the economic viability of a place; an acceptance of new strategies, ideas, and viewpoints. But as towns continue to reduce their services, it isn’t hard to envision many of them ceasing to exist altogether. “Skagaströnd is not the only place where

this is happening,” explains Halldór. “More or less every small town around the coast is experiencing something similar. The whole country is changing how they’re doing things and it’s difficult to say what it’s going to look like when it’s all said and done.”

Towns and fishing companies alike need to ask themselves what kind of communities they want to build. And further, what kind of country? Do they want the cultural centre of Iceland to be in Reykjavík and the rest of the country segregated by type of work? Or do they want a more integrated society? The answers to these questions lie within the meeting rooms of town councils, companies, and governmental offices – forces that have yet to acknowledge that it is high time to respond to society’s rapid growth.

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Sleep. Vital to our health, yet troublesome for so many of us. For Nox Medical, a Reykjavík-based company specialising in sleep diagnostics, their mission is simple – to provide sleep for all. Nox Medical has grown exponentially in a short time, building from strength to strength with the aid of groundbreaking technology. The company’s enthusiastic CEO Pétur Már Halldórsson greets me after a good night’s rest on a rare, sunny September morning. We meet in the company’s swanky Höfðatorg headquarters, overlooking the glistening Reykjavík harbour, to discuss how little Nox wound up as one of the forerunners of the specialised market of sleep diagnostics.

Words by Jóhann Páll Ástvaldsson

The Science of Sleep

Photography by Golli

Sleepless nights

It was only a few decades ago that sleep started appearing on healthcare’s radar. Sleep had long been considered a simple on/off function. Today, companies like Nox are pushing the envelope to expand the field of sleep diagnostics, in order to figure out how different sleep patterns affect our overall health. Nox focuses on building medical devices that are used for diagnosing sleep disorders such as sleep apnoea to make sure that individuals with sleeping problems get the help they need. “People are waking up to the fact that sleep disturbances and disrupted sleep affect our health. We may lie on the pillow for a whole night and feel like we’re asleep, but there are underlying health problems that disturb and disrupt sleep,” Pétur states. “Sleep-disordered breathing interrupts our sleep and we wake up tired. The question is how that interrupted sleep will affect us. Will we start to develop other illnesses, or can disrupted sleep increase the likelihood of an individual developing chronic conditions such as type II diabetes, stroke or congestive heart failure? This is Nox’s main drive – to diagnose the problem so people can find a solution and treatment for their health issues.”

Forwards to the future

The field of sleep diagnostics took off in the 1980s, but the analogue technology used then is considered archaic today. Patients’ sleep was monitored in hospitals, where they were connected to an endless array of tubes and wires, unable to move comfortably in a foreign environment. Even going to the lavatory proved a troublesome act. After an uncomfortable sleep away from home, doctors would inspect a seismographic printout of 800 pages to identify the patient’s problems. Nox has since revolutionised the method of sleep diagnostics. The Nox T3 sleep monitor, a simplified device that focuses on breathing, allows doctors to assess patients’ sleep in the comfort of their homes. Nox has taken a once scary field, entangled with wires, and managed to make it accessible to everyone. “Technological improvements have allowed us to make the devices smaller and neater. It has to be more natural, comfortable, and logical for everyone, as well as more economic, to assess sleep at patients’ homes,” Pétur stated.

“The difference between the past and present is like going from a CRT to a 4K HD TV. We are seeing a much clearer picture nowadays. We can more

accurately predict the problem and then assess the proper treatment for patients.” There are still challenges, however, as many treatments go awry. There are over 80 different forms of sleep disturbances and patients might be affected by numerous types at the same time. “The biggest challenge when solving sleep problems is that treatments doesn’t always work in the same way for everyone. Too often, the patient ends up giving up on finding the correct solution. One method does not fit for all, but the opportunities for improvements lie in the diagnostics.”

Children first

According to Pétur, the sleep diagnostics industry had not catered to serious sleep disturbances in children until 10-15 years ago. The industry had largely assumed that children’s sleep was regulated automatically by the body. Nox decided to cater to this hitherto ignored part of the market. “It’s not only overweight, middle-aged men who deal with sleep disturbances. It’s also children, seniors, women, teenagers. Sleep, and not least children’s sleep, matters to us all. Children need quality sleep when they are developing and maturing, building up their nervous system and moulding themselves as individuals.”

Deep sleep

Sleep specialists assert that we have to diagnose sleeping disorders in order to prevent serious health problems. Untreated sleep disorders influence how the body behaves. Individuals dealing with sleep apnoea have a restricted oxygen flow in the state of sleep, which puts a heavier workload on the heart. The body regularly gasps for air throughout the night, which leads to an unfulfilling, restless sleep. “You don’t need to be a doctor to understand this can’t be healthy,” Pétur states matter-of-factly.

How does diagnosing sleep patterns improve people’s health? To begin with, recent publications have shown that 72% of those who have type II diabetes are affected by sleep apnoea, as well as 77% of those who are obese. Sleep disturbances have risen alongside rates of obesity. “Which came first – the hen or the egg? Sleep disorders are often connected to being overweight but it’s not always clear what is the cause and what is the symptom. Is it possible that untreated sleep disorders increase an individual’s chances of being obese, or is it a side effect of being overweight?”

Succeeding where others failed

Nox’s existence is connected to a company called Flaga, founded in the early 1990s by entrepreneurial psychiatrist Helgi Kristbjarnarson. Helgi believed that technology was the future of healthcare improvements, and Flaga’s revolutionary technology caught the attention of investors. In 2005, Flaga’s US management saw the company’s future everywhere but Iceland. Flaga was eventually acquired by Natus after the operation had been closed down in Iceland. Flaga’s ex-employees refused to give in, however, as they believed the job was only half done. Nox Medical was founded in 2006, and has succeeded where Flaga failed. What’s more, many of Flaga’s original staff currently lead key sectors of Nox in their drive towards better sleep.

Nox received substantial grants in their incubation years, focusing strictly on product development at first. Since rolling their first products onto the market in 2009, the company has always turned a healthy profit. The company is now closing in on 20,000 medical devices sold, all used by healthcare professionals, and their sleep diagnostic technology is estimated to have affected millions of lives. The company’s compound annual growth rate is 72% over the last six years. In 2017, it made the Financial Times ’ list of Europe’s fastest growing companies. Business is booming for Nox and their 50 employees, and with new markets opening up in Asia, as well as growing global awareness of the importance of healthy sleep, the future is still brighter.

A hard Nox life

This may seem like a fairy tale, but like all good stories, this one has a twist. Nox recently discovered that Natus, that had previously acquired Flaga, had copied Nox’s intellectual property and started manufacturing knock off Nox products. A hard-fought legal battle between Nox and Natus has taken place in recent years, with Nox coming out on top. It’s a case of David versus Goliath: Natus’ turnover is upwards of ISK 55 billion ($500m/€430m), while Nox sits at around ISK 2.2 billion ($20m/€17m). The larger company attempted to use their size and resources to conquer the smaller one. According to Pétur, Nox had no choice but to pursue their rights. “It’s not in our nature to put up with our technology and intellectual properties being utilised or stolen by our competi-

Nox Medical’s diagnostic equipment is small and light, eliminating the need for sleep diagnosis being performed in hospitals, in an unnatural sleeping environment.

The Nox T3 Sleep Monitor surveys patients’ breathing patterns.

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All the diagnostic equipment is tested at Nox’s Reykjavík headquarters.

tors. Technology that we designed, developed, manufactured, and is protected by patents. What choice did we have? The cost for a company of our size is, under normal circumstances, too large to undertake. But either we put up with the fact that our innovation and knowledge is ripped off, or we defend ourselves.”

As with all fairy tales, this one has a happy ending. Nox has so far won a complete legal victory over Natus, with the latter being ordered to pay Nox compensation for lost profits and have been found guilty of wilful infringement of Nox’s intellectual property on the sleep diagnostic technology.

New age of sleep

When asked if society at large should take more notice of sleep disorders and sleep, Pétur is not short of answers. “Think about it this way – if I’m not receiving a good night’s sleep, am I able to live my best life?

We’ve started talking about the change to children’s sleeping patterns. Increased computer and smart-

phone use, along with television screens are affecting us as humans. These changes to our external environment can affect our sleep. It’s clear that the population is becoming ever more conscious of the importance of sleep and importance of quality of sleep. We should respect the importance of healthy sleep, we sleep because of a reason and if we don’t regard sleep as such it will impact our health to the worse.”

But should sleep diagnostics be a more prominent part of the healthcare routine? “Let’s say you’re not sleeping well enough, that you’re not fully rested. Shouldn’t you get checked? We get preventive scans for different types of cancer and other life-threatening diseases. These are preventive measures for something that’s either life-threatening or fatal. Would it not be sensible to check if I’m dealing with sleep disorders I don’t know of?” We might be on the threshold of the new age of sleep. Nox Medical is certainly doing their part, and it looks like they won’t be sleeping on the job.

by Golli

Words by Jóhann Páll Ástvaldsson

The myth of the crime-free paradise

EMPTY JAILS AND UNLOCKED DOORS

Photography

Iceland witnessed four murders in total in 2017 – one of them the harrowing murder of 20-year-old Birna Brjánsdóttir. Birna’s murder shook Icelanders to the core, a deep blow to the nation’s psyche that somehow felt like an attack on the nation as a whole. A fisherman from Greenland named Thomas Møller Olsen was sentenced to 19 years in prison for Birna’s murder, the heaviest sentence given in 23 years. But the event was still disquieting to many – how could this be happening in Iceland? How did we let this happen?

Birna’s murder was the first of four murders in 2017, a doubling of the average of 1.8 murders per year since the millennium. In many ways it felt like the young nation was at a turning point, could Iceland be heading into a new age of crime? Only four years had passed since the police had shot a person for the first time, and Icelandic media spread news of supposed crime waves in neighbourhoods and towns around the country. But is Iceland heading into tumultuous times of crime and thuggery – or can we safely say that the country is still a tranquil backwater of yesteryear?

Murder was the case

Sociologist Helgi Gunnlaugsson is Iceland’s foremost criminological expert. A professor at the University of Iceland, Helgi has spent much of his working life being very careful with his words. When asked of the murderous year of 2017, Helgi once again finds himself quelling a fire set by the media. “It’s necessary to look at statistics over decades rather than a single year, especially in a small country like Iceland with few murders which fluctuate year by year. The media were in a furore last year, as we had four murders, and everybody kept asking me ‘What is going on?’ The truth is that there can be years where there are four murders, but there have also been years recently with zero murders, such as 2008 and 2006, while in 2000 there were five! Iceland is on the lower end of the spectrum when it comes to yearly per capita murders, with 0.6 murders per 100,000 people. There are a lot of nations around with a per capita murder rate between 0.9 and 1.5, and of course North America is a totally different story with 4.9.” There’s no cause for alarm just yet, according to Helgi. “It’s natural for murders to cause unease, as happened in 2017. If we had this amount of murders every year, we’d find ourselves in a different environment. We’ve had one murder so far this year, and there’s nothing that points to an incoming murder wave. But anything can happen, of course.”

No rose without a thorn

Iceland has long been perceived as a “safe” country. Many inhabitants, especially in rural areas, swear by keeping car doors and front doors alike unlocked, convinced that break-ins are rare. “The outward perception of crime in Iceland is somewhat true, there are many indicators that Iceland in fact has a lower crime rate than

similar countries,” Helgi cautiously comments. Across the board, Iceland ranks relatively low in a number of different crime categories, such as robbery, drug use, serious assaults and youth crime, along with the aforementioned murder rate. But the situation isn’t perfect, according to Helgi. “It’s not all rosy here, either. Iceland ranks similar to other countries, if not higher, when it comes to sex crimes and domestic abuse. We have to ask ourselves ‘What is going on?’” Helgi doesn’t have the answer, but he has a possible theory. “Authorities including the police have taken a stricter stance on these crimes, which naturally raises the number of recorded instances. Domestic abuse definitely exists in Icelandic society, just like every other place, unfortunately. The statistics can possibly be interpreted in a way that it is more widespread in Iceland than in other places, but I think that our awareness of the issue is more profound than in other countries. The feminist movement is stronger here than in many places, which has led to domestic abuse, as well as sex crimes, being less of a taboo and therefore more frequently reported. That’s one possible explanation for why we rank high in these categories.”

History of non-violence

Helgi preaches that Iceland’s history of peace can go a long way toward explaining the current crime statistics, or lack thereof. With the exception of 2010, the Global Peace Index has ranked Iceland as the world’s most peaceful nation every year from 2008 to 2018. With no standing army and having never declared war on another country, the nation has a history of resolving conflicts peacefully. “The idea of an enemy which we have to defend ourselves against is exotic to Icelanders,” he states. Case in point: the hard-fought independence battle with Denmark, culminating in the country’s independence in 1944. Not a single drop of blood was shed, as the battle involved lawyers rather than rebel leaders. Social protests in Iceland are largely civil, focusing more on words and arguments than fists and batons. All of these factors have fostered a culture of non-violence, Helgi’s findings state.

A reason oft-cited for Iceland’s perceived innocence is that it is a relatively egalitarian country with a homogenous, small population. A small population isn’t everything when it comes to fighting crime, however, as we can see with our closest neighbours to the west. “The small population definitely helps. But then we have Greenland with 60,000 people. The murder rate is high, as well as the rate of assaults and sex crimes. It’s a dire situation. A small population makes it easier to decrease crime, but it doesn’t ensure a low crime rate,” Helgi states.

No guns blazing

For such a peaceful country, Iceland has astoundingly high levels of gun ownership. It is estimated that there are just under 100,000 firearms in Iceland, an incredi-

73% of prisoners spend less than a year incarcerated.

bly high number for a population of 353,000. However, almost no one is using those firearms to shoot other people, instead most are used for hunting. In 2013, there was some cause for alarm, when Icelandic police fatally shot a person for the first time. A year later, police received a shipment of 150 machine guns from Norway. Cafeteria conversations would have you believe that shoot-outs were impending on every street corner. According to Helgi, that’s still no great reason for concern. “To point a gun towards another person is a foreign thought to Icelanders. We haven’t learned these practices as Iceland doesn’t have a history of an army, or a draft for that matter. There isn’t a tradition for having a gun to protect oneself, and ordinary police and prison guards carry no guns,” Helgi states. “It is hammered into our culture that firearms are only used on certain occasions. They are not to protect your family, or to shoot other people.

Rifles are used to hunt birds or game, or to shoot clay disks. It’s difficult to acquire pistols, as they are heavily regulated. Hunters also have to undergo substantial training to acquire a firearm.”

Taking no prisoners

The number of prisoners in Iceland was a paltry 151 in

2016, as Iceland has one of the lowest incarceration rates in the world. 73% of prisoners spend less than a year incarcerated, as authorities prioritise reinstating inmates back into society as quickly as possible. Recently, prisoners-to-be have had to wait for their incarceration as the prison waiting list tallies close to 450 people. It’s a queue no one wants to find themselves in, and authorities are trying to shorten the waiting time. Helgi believes that they are tackling the queue with the right methods. “Authorities are offering community service in place of incarceration and electronic monitoring to allow an earlier prison release date. The results are positive, as these methods have not led to perpetrators reoffending. Furthermore, these methods have eased the strain on the system.”

There are five prisons in the country, with two of them so-called open prisons for inmates who pose a low security threat. Iceland’s rough nature has long proven a natural deterrent to prisoners fleeing. A harsh prison cell appears comforting in contrast to the bleak fields surrounding the prisons. “Prisoners escaping has never been a large problem here, but when it’s happened there’s been total chaos. A couple of prisoners escaped in the early 1990s, one of them a ‘professional criminal’

In 2016, Iceland had 151 prisoners.

from the United States. After that an enormous fence was raised around one of the largest prisons, and they built a tower – which they have no idea what to do with today,” Helgi quipped.

Blame the foreigners?

A rapid population increase, coupled with rising immigration rates, is changing the fabric of Icelandic society. As a result, fearmongering, anti-immigration discourse has reared its ugly head. The population tripled in the 20th century, from 85,000 in 1910 to 280,000 in 1999, and today is over 353,000. Meanwhile, the percentage of immigrants in the population rose from 2.4% in 1999 to 10.8% in 2018, about 40% of whom are from Poland. While only seven foreign inmates were incarcerated during the whole of 2000, that number rose to 89 in late 2011 – 25% of the total inmate population that year. That percentage has slowly dwindled in recent years, fluctuating between 15-20% in 2018. Dissenting voices believe that foreign influences have led to an increased crime rate, blaming a rise in break-ins around the country on everyone but Icelanders.

Helgi gives little heed to these thoughts, however. “The discourse about foreigners and prisons is often ill-informed. Half of incarcerated foreigners do not re -

side in Iceland. These are foreigners who have come to Iceland explicitly to commit crime. Around 10-12% of the current inmates are immigrants that moved to Iceland, which is similar to the ratio in the population. But if we take a closer look, we see that the largest part of immigrants in Iceland are young males between 25-35 years old. That is the group which is most likely to commit crimes, so it shouldn’t be surprising that there is a group in prison. There’s nothing striking about that.”

A crime-free future?

Is it possible to create a crime-free society? It’s not an impossible task, as Helgi views it. “Crime is largely a social phenomenon – not natural, innate, or inevitable. We can create a nonviolent society or a society with less violence. If there is political will and a social agenda –dealing with both personal characteristics and social environment.”

For now though, it looks like Iceland is doing pretty well, even if there is always room for improvement. It seems that Iceland is neither the idyllic crimeless society it’s often made out to be – nor is it plagued by waves of criminals and heading towards a murderous future. The truth lies somewhere in between.

450 people are on a waiting list for prison stay.

A VANISHING ACT

Words by Gunnar Jónsson Photography by Golli

It’s a spectacularly beautiful August day and I’m standing on Sólheimajökull glacier. With me is Ryan, a glacier guide and one of the founders of the tour operator Hidden Iceland. Ryan, who was born in Scotland, has been living in Iceland for two and a half years. He exudes the sort of gentle enthusiasm that makes you think that if people could love anything as much as he loves glaciers, humanity would be saved.

Our subject today, Sólheimajökull, is an outlet glacier of Mýrdalsjökull, jökull meaning glacier in Icelandic. Since its majestic beauty can be found a mere 158km from Reykjavík, it’s an ideal tourist attraction – for now. “This glacier is what we could call unhealthy,” Ryan offers, with a tinge of sadness in his voice. “In the last 15 years or so it has melted more than it did in the preceding 150 years.” Indeed, as we approached the rough glacier cap, I saw a sign which marked where its edge was located in 2010. It was hundreds of metres back from where we ascended now, ice axes in hand and crampons firmly attached to our feet.

The relationship Icelanders have to glaciers is a complex one. It has evolved from the fear and distrust of early settlers to the fascination we see exemplified by the modern tourist industry. Today, I’m attempting to conquer Sólheimajökull alongside dozens of travellers, and although Ryan is pointing out its weaknesses, the glacier still exudes a strength that is quite humbling. Its slopes are otherworldly, and its constant state of flux serves as a reminder and a warning to humans. A grounding experience if there ever was one.

Tricks on ice

Despite Sólheimajökull’s problems, it’s still a living thing. Huge swaths of its surface are covered in ash from the infamous volcanic eruption of its neighbour Eyjafjallajökull in 2010, with the black carpet giving way to the luminous blue and white hues of the glacier itself. And although it’s imperceptible to me, it is constantly moving. “Every time I come back, the landscape has changed,” Ryan says. He then points to a pool of water that has gathered between peaks of black-clad ice. “We should keep an eye out for this pool when we walk back later, by then it might have been emptied out by tunnels in the ice.”

By human standards, the glacier is hostile terrain, and to mount it demands every bit of one’s attention and respect. Its shape is constantly shifting, and new crevasses and water tunnels are formed every day. If it weren’t for Ryan’s watchful eye and the crampons (an assortment of metal knives attached to my shoes), I can picture myself losing my footing and sliding into a crevasse or tunnel, forever vanishing into the blue abyss of the glacier. Indeed, there are

many such stories. In the 1950s, a couple of British hikers disappeared on an Icelandic glacier, their tattered gear only appearing at its base in 2006, with no trace of their bodies.

The death of Okjökull

Glaciers are arguably one of the defining features of Iceland’s nature, luring many people to these shores every year with their majesty. Glacier tours are a big draw for travellers, and the enigmatic and gorgeous Jökulsárlón glacier lagoon, with its floating icebergs, has become a must-see for those interested in Iceland’s geographical splendour. As our planet is heating up, however, the glaciers are receding at an ever-increasing rate. Indeed, scientist suggest that all bets are off on whether they’ll still be around by the year 2200.

The first ever glacier in Iceland’s history to be demoted from a glacier to a pile of snow is Okjökull, which once proudly sat atop the mountain Ok, situated west of Langjökull. The former glacier suffered this humiliation in 2014 after scientists deemed its ice cap to have become too thin to satisfy the requirements of a true glacier: namely, that it is thick enough to move under its own weight, becoming like a living thing in the process.

The glacier’s shape is constantly shifting, and new crevasses and water tunnels are formed every day.

Okjökull was a relatively small glacier to begin with, and as such it was no match for the earth’s rising temperatures. But its lack of size also meant that few people in Iceland knew that it existed. Therefore, its death, despite marking the beginning of an important transformational phase in Iceland’s history and geography, went largely unnoticed.

Not OK

Anthropologists Cymene Howe and Dominic Boyer recently premiered their documentary Not OK, where they shed light on Okjökull’s fate and the impact of climate change. The film deals with the different relationships people have with glaciers, ranging from the detached and often clueless view of Reykjavík’s inhabitants and tourists to the more tunedin dwellers of the countryside, who live and work in close proximity to the icy giants.

Glaciers cover about 11,400km² of Iceland, about 11.1% of the country’s total area.

Iceland’s biggest glacier by far is Vatnajökull, covering an area of 8,300km². It’s Europe’s largest glacier by volume.

Glaciers often appear blue to the human eye. This is because the ice forming them is extremely dense, absorbing all colours except those with the shortest wavelengths: blue, indigo, and violet.

As many Icelandic glaciers sit on top of active volcanoes, glacial outburst floods are regular occurrences in the country. In 1996, a volcano under Vatnajökull erupted, resulting in a flood with a flow rate of 50,000m3 per second.

Jökulsárlón glacier lagoon is relatively new. It started forming between 1934 and 1935 as Vatnajökull glacier started receding. The lagoon, where icebergs float in a mixture of sea and freshwater, is well-loved by frolicking seals.

One scene shows a woman proudly describing how she uses the glacier to accurately predict the weather, another features artist Páll Guðmundsson whose creations are so thoroughly indebted to the wild forces of Iceland he might as well be made of moss and ice himself. Juxtapose that with the interviews taken with people in the city who struggle to name the glaciers, and you start to appreciate how easily modern man can lose touch with their surroundings. According to comedian and former Reykjavík Mayor Jón Gnarr, who voices the anthropomorphised Ok in the documentary, “we Icelanders tend to take things for granted. But one day there will be no glaciers in Iceland.”

Man vs. nature

It could be argued that being detached from nature is both the luxury and curse of modern city dwellers. Our lifestyle might be comfortable compared to the early settlers of Iceland, but it’s unmistakably lacking in what Cymene calls “conversations with the earth.”

In fact, Icelandic scholars didn’t start seriously studying the country’s glaciers until the 15th and 16th century. Before that time, superstition largely caused people to shy away from entering the highlands fearing encounters with ghosts and monsters. Glaciers were rightly considered dangerous, capable of causing snow blindness, with deep crevasses that could swallow people whole. Add to this the looming dangers of geothermal eruptions under the ice caps, which regularly cause flooding, and you might start to appreciate why early Icelanders’ intimate relationship with glaciers was one of fearful respect.

Keep it glacial

Back on Sólheimajökull, the talk turns to the health of glaciers, which Ryan says is of the utmost importance to civilisation. “They are the air-conditioning units of the world, and they bind and release freshwater on all continents. If we lose them that could lead to all sorts of disruptions, mass migration and so on.”

In that sense the future is very much determined by how aware we’ll become of our carbon footprint in the 21st century, something Ryan and company are keenly aware of. In fact, Hidden Iceland makes sure to offset its own carbon footprint by donating money to various environmental projects.

“There is a certain short-sightedness that characterises Icelanders in terms of climate change,” glacier specialist Helgi Björnsson tells me. “We sometimes hear the question ‘Who cares if Iceland heats up a little bit?’ But no man is an island in the world anymore. This concerns everyone.” He adds that even a slight disruption of the Gulf Stream as a result of melting glaciers could affect Iceland’s temperatures, disrupting life on the island and beyond. One thing’s certain: the earth’s climate is pretty much everyone’s business!

Guilt trips

Now, modern Icelanders find themselves in a characteristically modern bind: our appreciation and understanding of the country’s glaciers means that their imminent disappearance is troubling, yet like in the rest of the world there is a certain addiction to business as usual. Science confirms that the burning of fossil fuels is feeding global warming and yet the momentum of our way of life makes it hard to relinquish modern luxuries. Indeed, much like glaciers themselves, civilisation is a chaotic system humans don’t seem to be fully in control of. This has caused more than a little guilt amongst regular Icelanders as our country’s growing popularity as a tourist destination is based on a certain purity we sometimes seem incapable of sustaining.

“One day, there will be no glaciers in Iceland.”

Whatever happens, now is the time to witness the grandeur of Icelandic glaciers. “Sólheimajökull is my happy place,” Ryan tells me with a smile as we descend its magnificent slopes. “Hiking here and discussing glaciers and climate change is my favourite thing in the whole world, so I’ve had a great time today.” The feeling is mutual.

“Look,” Ryan says suddenly, pointing to the pool of water we walked past earlier. “It wasn’t sucked into an ice tunnel, in fact it’s grown considerably.” He points to what is now the far side of the growing pool. “That’s where we were walking earlier. It can be very difficult to predict the behaviour of the glacier.” We’re going to have to improvise another route to safety.

Icelanders’ relationship with glaciers has evolved from fear into fascination.

Words by Jelena Ćirić Photography by Golli

Archaeologist Steinunn Kristjánsdóttir is uncovering the history of Iceland’s executions – and the social injustice they have concealed for centuries.

THE PEOPLE’S HISTORY

An inscription on a monument by Þrístapar reads, “In this location, the last execution in Iceland was carried out January 12, 1830.”

January 12, 1830. A crowd of 150 is gathered at Þrístapar, three modest hillocks in a barren field in North Iceland. The group, mostly local farmers and labourers, have been summoned to witness the execution of Agnes Magnúsdóttir and Friðrik Sigurðsson, sentenced to death for the murder of Natan Ketilsson and Pétur Jónsson. Attendance is mandatory. The crowd watches as the couple is beheaded, their heads put on stakes to serve as a warning for passersby. It was the last execution ever to take place in the country.

Agnes and Friðrik’s story is famous in Iceland, but it is only one chapter in an era few Icelanders know about – a period of some 250 years when over 200 individuals were executed for crimes ranging from stealing to incest. “It is so strange how this history is hidden. If you look in Icelandic history books, it isn’t talked about, except for Agnes and Friðrik,” Archaeologist Steinunn Kristjánsdóttir tells me. “But that’s only one of 236 cases, and we’re still finding more.”

Steinunn began extensively researching executions in Iceland last May. She hopes to not only shed light on a dark chapter of Iceland’s history, but also its victims, who were often lower class, poor, and female. Though the subject is hardly light, Steinunn hopes it can give us a more truthful picture of an unequal society which often punished those with the least power.

#MeToo, a mix-up and Mikladalsá

“In history, we’ve looked so much at the aristocracy and men, and the public is now more open to hearing about common people,” Steinunn notes. She tells me the #MeToo movement was part of what pushed her to begin researching the subject. “Those executed were often women who were the victims of injustice. The #MeToo movement seemed to make the public more receptive to examining that. I think there is more understanding now of power imbalance.”

Once her research began, more and more cases came out of the woodwork. “A man from Patreksfjörður came to me, with a human bone. ‘I found

this by Mikladalsá river, and I think it’s the bone of Guðrún Valdadóttir, who was drowned here,’ he told me. When I went to research her, I got mixed up and I looked up another Guðrún – Skaftadóttir – executed in a nearby district. I thought ‘How many of these cases are there?’”

Crime and punishment

Though the cases may be numerous, the executions took place during a relatively short period. Capital punishment was not adopted in Iceland until the middle of the 16th century. At the time, Iceland was a territory ruled by Denmark-Norway and Lutheranism became the dominant religion. “In the Catholic Church you could be absolved of your sins by confessing, paying a fine, or participating in monastery activities or all kinds of social work,” Steinunn explains.

When Danish King Christian III imposed Lutheranism on Icelanders in 1551, the Church lost the right to punishment. Icelanders were made to adopt the Danish legal code, which doled out the death sentence for crimes such as murder and infanticide, but also stealing, sorcery, and bearing children out of wedlock. “It was something of a revolution,” Steinunn tells me. “Suddenly it was possible to punish for all kinds of transgressions. It must have made people really fearful at the time, to know that they could be executed.”

Though the Reformation occurred in 1551, the first known execution by official laws was not carried out until 1582, suggesting that Icelanders were reluctant to adopt the harsh new laws. “The Danish King wrote to Icelanders a few times saying that they had to start following the new laws, but they kept delaying it,” Steinunn explains. She believes Iceland’s small population was a factor. “It was very difficult to get executioners. I think the proximity here was too great: everyone knew everyone else.” Steinunn’s team recently uncovered a detail that seems to back up that theory: Iceland’s first execution was not of an Icelander, but a German man, Hinrich Kulers.

Guðrún Valdadóttir was sentenced to drowning for incest, but always maintained her innocence. As part of her punishment, she was made to sew the sack she was drowned in. When the fateful day arrived, Guðrún claimed she wasn’t afraid – she knew she would end up with God. When she was thrown into the river Guðrún didn’t sink until her executioners added heavy stones to her sack. It was believed that the innocent would float.

When young Sunneva became pregnant, she claimed the local priest was the father of the child. She was tortured until she shifted the blame to her brother Jón. While in custody, Sunneva became pregnant again. Though it was impossible her brother was the father, the siblings were sentenced on two counts of incest. Some stories say Sunneva was drowned for her crime, others that she died in custody. Jón’s fate is also unknown, though he is said to have died at the nearby Skriðaklaustur monastery or to have fled by ship to Finnmark in northern Norway.

Cruel and unusual

Hinrich was not the only outsider executed in Iceland. Steinunn’s research has shown most other victims of capital punishment were also on the fringes of society. The law assigned brutal execution methods, with seemingly no regard for the plight of the sentenced. Homeless men and women were beheaded for stealing food to eat, while women were drowned for infanticide, even in cases where the child was the product of rape. “It doesn’t seem like there was any lightening of the sentence when women were victims of rape,” Steinunn adds.

In other cases, a crime was fabricated to protect someone in power. Such is the story of Sunneva from Borgarfjörður eystri, who became pregnant out of wedlock. “Sunneva claimed the local priest was the father of the child but was tortured so she would say it was her brother. Then while she was in custody, she had a second child. It was impossible that her brother was the father, yet they still both received a double death sentence for incest. It was very unjust.”

Perhaps the most chilling cases are those where a mother killed her own child. “I have a certain sympathy for them, though of course it’s never right to kill a child,” Steinunn reflects, pointing out that such cases also indicate a power imbalance in society. “What were they supposed to do, farm labourers who suddenly had a child? They would be fired from their jobs and outcast from society. I think it was sort of a desperate measure.”

Seeing the light

It is difficult to put ourselves in the shoes of those who lived in such different times. Some unlikely sources, however, can give us an idea of how they perceived such dramatic events. Steinunn says folktales and even ghost stories from the period can offer insight into how the common people reacted to crimes and their punishments, which were often public spectacles. “It was a superstition, for exam -

ple, that women who were sentenced to drowning wouldn’t sink if they were innocent.” That meant, of course, that all women who drowned were truly guilty – making their death easier to accept.

Evidence suggests some officials found capital punishment hard to swallow as well. “There is a story of a magistrate who drowned himself due to guilt over the death sentences he had given. Then there is another from the Westfjords who wrote often to the King to ask him to pardon the accused.” Such attitudes seem to have become more popular over time.

“After 1790, executions started to decrease dramatically. When Steinunn and Bjarni from Sjöundá were sentenced to death in 1805, no executioner could be found. Bjarni was taken to Norway and executed there, and Steinunn died in custody. Then it’s just Agnes and Friðrik in 1830,” Steinunn recounts. “It’s often speculated that the Enlightenment had an effect on people, that they began to believe capital punishment wasn’t right – magistrates as well – and stopped it. It happened in Denmark, too.”

Balanced books

Though Steinunn’s research is just beginning, she plans to eventually publish a book on the topic. For the time being, however, she simply hopes to create a more complete picture of Iceland’s past. “I don’t want to have a false history, full of nothing but glossy pictures. History isn’t always beautiful, and I think it’s important to bring up the dark sides of it as well. It doesn’t necessarily make us worse.”

Examining the past critically, Steinunn says, can help us build a better future. “I think the most important thing is to be able to learn from this research. It’s important to ask ourselves why it has been in the shadows, whether it’s because it was largely lower-class people who were executed, or because we just don’t want to face this sad history. But this is the history of the people.”

For women, the punishment for leaving an unwanted baby out to die or committing incest was execution by drowning. Many of the executions were performed at Þingvellir, now a national park, in a pool known as Drekkingarhylur (Drowning Pool).

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A CASTLE IN

Photography by Golli

Words by Gréta Sigríður Einarsdóttir

THE AIR

The base was only accessible by a three-hour boat ride from Ísafjörður and there was no company but a handful of your fellow soldiers to get you through Iceland’s dark winters.

Getting around Hornstrandir isn’t easy. This oncepopulated region in the Westfjords was abandoned by settlers before roads were commonplace everywhere in Iceland. As a result, it’s one of the most isolated places in the country and now a nature reserve. After a boat ride from the nearest inhabited area, you have to hike over muddy cliffs and grassy moors, populated only by a plethora of birds and wild arctic foxes. If you brave the journey and trek to the northernmost tip of the peninsula, you’ll reach Straumnesfjall mountain. At its often foggy peak, facing nothing but the open water, stand the ruins of a US radar site, abandoned more than half a century ago.

After World War II, the US occupied several bases around Iceland, including four radar sites. This was during the Cold War: if the Russians had taken the north route around Iceland to cross the Atlantic, the Hornstrandir site would have been ideally located to detect the threat. But they never came. For close to ten years, group after group of American soldiers was sent to this desolate corner of the world to stand guard against a threat that never arrived.

While most of these men, around 400 in total, were probably used to a warmer and friendlier climate, the worst part must have been the isolation. The base was only accessible by a three-hour boat ride from Ísafjörður and there was no company but a handful of your fellow soldiers to get you through Iceland’s dark winters. During summer, the area must have been beautiful, if desolate, but during winters, the storms were so bad that roofed passageways were built between the structures. It must have been a relief to not have to go out in the storm but on the other hand, with Iceland’s dark winters, it probably meant that

you hardly ever saw the sun. According to stories, most of the soldiers stationed at Straumnesfjall had a rough time in what must have felt like an icy prison. It’s even rumoured that several of the soldiers could not stand to live another day there, throwing themselves off the windbeaten mountain.

Aside from the rumoured human cost, the monetary cost of running a radar site on the remote cliff was enormous. Walking around the ruins, the scale of this radar site in the middle of nowhere seems almost impossible. This is an area of Iceland where, both before and since, there were no roads at all. And yet, more than a dozen of buildings were built, including a gym. All material for the buildings had to be brought by the aforementioned three-hour boat ride, loaded onto a pram, towed ashore and then taken on trucks up the mountainside. Finally, the base was abandoned in 1961.

But the buildings weren’t torn down. A recent parliamentary inquiry found the ownership of the buildings was unclear, as some were sold to private parties around 1970. In 1991, the area was cleared of toxic waste and assorted bric-a-brac, a combined effort of Icelandic authorities and the US army, but the cost of tearing down the buildings was considered too great. Nearly three decades later, the structures have deteriorated, and authorities are concerned they might pose a threat to visiting tourists. The future of the ruins is uncertain, especially since no owners have stepped forward to take responsibility for the area, but in the midst of its deterioration, Iceland Review’s photographer Golli has managed to capture the unique atmosphere of this deserted castle in the air.

Walking around the ruins, the scale of this radar site in the middle of nowhere seems almost impossible.

This is an area of Iceland where, both before and since, there were no roads at all.

It’s even rumoured that several of the soldiers could not stand to live another day there, throwing themselves off the windbeaten mountain.

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Words by Gréta Sigríður Einarsdóttir

Photography by Saga Sig

SVALA AREALER HER

tomakemusicwhenIgrewup,I’d

“HealwaystoldmethatifIwanted

do it on my own terms. I wouldn’t walk in his footsteps or use his connectionsbutdomyownthing.

You work for your own success.”

Svala Björgvins has been famous her whole life. She’s at times run from it or embraced it, but she’s always worked hard to make music on her own terms. At a festival in downtown Reykjavík this August, Svala performed solo, under her own name, something she hasn’t been doing for more than a decade. When Svala took the stage, rolling through past hits and new material alike, she had the crowd in the palm of her hand. The audience was mostly made up of people who had grown up with Svala and seen several incarnations of her career, where she’s been everything from the next Britney Spears to a bewigged alter ego, even competing in the Eurovision Song Contest. Somehow, this time it felt a lot more like the real her.

Her father’s daughter

You wouldn’t know it by looking at her, but Svala has been in the music business since the 1980s. She made her debut as a child star, singing Christmas songs with her father Björgvin Halldórsson, one of Iceland’s most popular musicians. Svala makes it clear that she wasn’t pushed into joining the family business. “My dad didn’t push me in this direction, on the contrary. I actually had to beg him to let me do it, I was not supposed to go into the music business like he did.” Her father was adamant that she focus on her education instead of a music career but growing up in a musical home surrounded by musicians and artists, Svala knew what she wanted to do from an early age. “I was raised listening to a lot of music, of all genres. Everything from opera and rock to country and film scores.” Music was in her blood and everywhere around her. “I was surrounded by

it, visiting my dad at the studio or going backstage at his concerts. It felt normal because I didn’t know that it wasn’t. It shaped me in many ways.”

Her father may not have wanted her to become a musician like him but when it was clear where Svala was headed, he wanted her to do it on her own. “He always told me that if I wanted to make music when I grew up, I’d do it on my own terms. I wouldn’t walk in his footsteps or use his connections but do my own thing. You work for your own success.” Both Svala and her brother, Krummi, ended up having a career in music, despite their father’s wishes. They did listen to their father’s advice however, when it came to independence. “We have always been very independent, me and my brother. When it came to music, we went our own separate ways. Our dad was always very supportive but he was never a part of my music or my career.” Svala does admit that she has learned a lot from her father, whose successful career spans several decades. “I learned so much from my dad when it comes to discipline and professionalism, to do good work and work hard. I’ve had to work for everything I’ve accomplished, maybe more than I would have if I wasn’t his daughter. I have to prove myself even more because people assume I’m nothing more than the daughter of Björgvin Halldórsson. There are no free passes.”

“The Real Me”

Svala signed a record deal in 2000 with EMI and Priority Records where she released her first two solo albums, The Real Me and Bird of Freedom . It should have been a great time for her, but not everything was as it seemed. “I had this huge record deal, worth

a great deal of money, and was having this adventure. For me, this was a huge opportunity, but I experienced a lot of negativity, more negativity than support. It was blown way out of proportion in the Icelandic media as well. People were saying things like ‘Oh, she’s never going to make it.’” As she progressed in her career, Svala felt the tides turn and, in some ways, she accredits it to making more sincere art. “Later, when I played with Steed Lord, I felt much more support. Maybe people felt that I was more sincere in my work. When I first went abroad, my music was very heavily produced. I entered this machine of an industry and they tried to make me into something I’m not and that I never wanted to be.” Svala had a difficult time during that period and felt suffocated by an industry focused on churning out pop stars. “There’s 30 people at the label who want to control your every move. I was just a kid so I let myself be controlled.” Svala doesn’t regret her time at the label however, saying, “I was there for five years and learned a lot during my time there, mostly what I didn’t want to do. It made me a better artist. Today, I take no bullshit. I know what I want and I think I could teach a class on the dos and don’ts of the music industry. I’ve been through it all.”

Dealing with anxiety

Another problem Svala faced at the time was struggling with anxiety. “I’ve been battling an anxiety disorder ever since I was around 16-17, that’s when it starts. While I was in school and in my very early twenties, I was very sick. The anxiety controlled my life, despite the fact that at this point, I was regularly travelling abroad to make and record music.” She struggled with her anxiety without even really knowing what it was she was dealing with. “I had panic attacks almost every day but white-knuckled it through the worst.” It wasn’t until Svala was in her late twenties that she started dealing with her anxiety head on. “I started taking antianxiety medication at around 28 and that helped me so much. It’s also around that time that I started working on myself and opening up about my anxiety.”

A part of dealing with her struggles was admitting to herself and the people around her what she was struggling with. “When I was in school, I felt ashamed and only a handful of people knew what was going on. Today, I talk openly about it, without shame.” Svala’s candid expression of her struggles has made her someone that people feel they can reach out to. “I try to help people, especially young girls who contact me through social media. I talk to them and I’m there for them. When you’re in that anxious state, you get this feeling of loneliness, you feel so alone, or at least I did. It’s so important to have someone you can talk to.”

Sharing her struggles and opening up may, in the end, have even saved her life. “It can be so hard, sometimes it even looks like there’s no way out. I’ve been there, even thinking ‘Shouldn’t I just end it all, this is too hard.’ But I realised that I had my family and my friends that I could reach out to and that’s when it gets better.” For Svala, her music is a creative outlet and a way to communicate openly with her audience. Her original song Paper, which she wrote and performed for the Eurovision Song Contest, dealt with her own struggles with anxiety. “That’s what Paper was about, that we’re all dealing with something, if it’s alcoholism, depression or just something else. We’re all human and no one’s perfect. When you’re open and you don’t feel ashamed, and you embrace others with all their problems, you know, life’s just so much better and more beautiful.”

Artistic frustration and outlets

After her experience making The Real Me and Bird of Freedom , feeling boxed in by a label trying to control her every move, Svala felt a need to unleash her creativity. For her work with Steed Lord, an electronic house band consisting of Svala, her husband Einar, and his brother Eðvarð, Svala created an alter ego, Kali, as an outlet. “I was coming out of a huge record deal where I was completely controlled, I didn’t get to run my own career. I had no power as an artist. When I started playing with Steed Lord, I felt so much freedom, I decided to create that character and just go crazy. It’s an insanely flamboyant and theatrical character with costumes and wigs.” A big part of Svala’s art is the visual component of musical performance, and with Steed Lord she got the chance to explore that part of her art fully. “I’m a very visual person and I think it’s so fun to play with the visual side of my music. It’s all connected.”

Making music with Steed Lord was liberating in more ways than one. Not only was Svala free to express her creativity, she was also free from her image as, as she herself puts it, “Svala Björgvins, former child star, who’d done The Real Me, had a record contract, and been slated to be the next Britney Spears.” She makes it clear that that was never her mission, but an image the Icelandic media would portray. As part of Steed Lord, she “toured the world, always making music, always performing live. That shaped me as an artist, and as a songwriter. It was a hugely important time.” With Steed Lord, Svala didn’t have agents choreographing her every move. In fact, the band did almost everything on their own. “We were so creative, we made our own videos, we did everything on our own. We were a record company really, releasing our own music, just doing everything we could.”

“Iamawomanmadebymy experiences, and I want to portraythat.”

Going solo – again

After a period of freeing creativity under the guise of an alter ego, Svala felt like it was time to make music under her own name again. Svala had come a long way since (the in hindsight oddly named) The Real Me. It’s been a journey for her to find her way back to performing her own music on her own, but according to Svala, every part of her career has been a step on the journey to learn more about herself as an artist. “I’ve been in this industry for so long, making music for so long that I’ve reached a place where I feel comfortable.”

One of the projects that helped her feel more at ease was her stint as a coach on Iceland’s edition of The Voice. “Before I did that, I didn’t feel comfortable with public speaking and the public persona of Svala Björgvins didn’t make sense to me.” During that process, she gained acceptance of her own image. “I am Svala Björgvins, I have been singing since I was seven, I have fans ranging from older people to young kids because I’ve been doing this for so long, and I can feel good about myself. As an artist, as a human being, as the person that I am.” After she reconciled with her own celebrity, the step that

convinced her to make another go of it was her participation in the Eurovision Song Contest. “I wasn’t planning on going solo, because I love playing in bands. When I did Eurovision, I felt so much positivity. People wanted to hear more from me, Svala. I decided to just do it.”

For Svala, going solo felt personal. “My solo stuff, it feels like me. It feels like Svala. It’s very personal, both the lyrics and the music, it feels like the core of me.” For people that feel like they’ve known her their whole life, accepting a different image of Svala has in some cases proved difficult. “When the video for For the Night came out, some people would raise their eyebrows, saying ‘Oh, is Svala being sexy now?’ But I am a sexual being, by nature. I am an adult woman in touch with my sexuality and I wanted to show that side of me.”

These days, as Svala takes the stage under her own name, she’s not a little girl, not trying to be the next Britney, and she is no one but herself. But every period in her life has taught her some lessons, shaped her, and moulded her into the artist she is today. As Svala herself puts it, “I am a woman made by my experiences, and I want to portray that.”

Story by Fríða Ísberg Translation by Larissa Kyzer FICTION

Illustrations by Helga Páley Friðþjófsdóttir

By publishing new short stories by Icelandic authors, Iceland Review hopes to bring readers a taste of the vibrant literary community of Iceland. While the novel has long been the dominant form of fiction among the country’s authors, the short story has become increasingly popular. For tourists, residents of Iceland, and armchair travellers alike, these stories can serve as entertainment as well as a bite-sized introduction to the country’s rich literary tradition.

The Chandelier

We can’t say anything, of course – we just have to wait. The rental market’s awful, and we’re agreed about getting him through these years without him making any financial commitments. Anyway, we’re not concerned about him. He isn’t the problem, wonderful as he is. He picks up after himself and cleans unprompted. Does the shopping and cooks twice a week – last time it was stuffed eggplant with caramelised onions, lemon, and cherry tomatoes. It’s she who is the problem. She puts on a friendly voice when she talks to us, but we’ve heard her through the walls, how her tongue is forked like a viper’s, how she denigrates and imitates and laughs at us.

And then there’s all the damned racket. The thumping. The moaning. Our son has had girlfriends before, but we’ve never heard a peep until now – it’s like he’s grunting in solidarity with her, all things considered, the sounds are coming from him, too. There’s a small bathroom between our bedrooms with wood-panelled walls and floorboards that creak when they’re stepped on, and their lumpen box spring squeaks when they lie down on it. We try to go to bed before them, so we don’t have to read or sleep with that going on. Sometimes it works, sometimes not. Below their bedroom is the dining room – the brightest room in the house – two of its walls covered with books, a big window with southern exposure that looks out over the sea. It’s nice to start the day there with a cup of coffee and the morning paper, as we’ve done for going on 30 years. Unless they get going again. Then the white ceramic chandelier starts to sway ever-so-slightly back and forth. It’s a very expensive piece that we received as a gift from the designer, who was a good friend of ours before she unexpectedly passed away, bless her heart.

You can’t hear the thumps or the moans from downstairs, but the swaying is enough to disturb the peace. It’s difficult to drink your coffee in quiet tranquility with your spouse when the chandelier is swaying like that above you, back and forth, back and forth, when we know full well that it’s not supposed to sway like that. We look from the light to each other and say nothing. Try not to picture them – our son’s butt cheeks or her face on the pillows, eyes closed, mouth open, something self-centered and narcissistic about her expression – we would never normally think these thoughts, but it was she who put them in our heads, she who started talking about clits and masturbation and pussies.

The first onslaught came like a crack of thunder from a cloudless sky, this was before she moved in, and the four of us were sitting at the dining room table – we’d prepared a little feast because they’d just gotten home from a long trip. Everyone still friends. She looked like a French actress in a beautiful linen dress with buttons down the front, her thick hair tied up in a bun, her collarbone prominent, her neck long and fragile, like the stem of a bluebell. Our son was sun-browned and beautiful, his hair longer than usual, parted in the middle, and casually combed behind his ears – not exactly what we’d been used to, but that’s not to say it didn’t suit him.

We’re on our third bottle of wine, are done with dessert, and they’re eager to make fancy cocktails with their purchases from the Duty Free. They make us a sour whiskey drink, we laugh, take turns reminiscing about the past – they how they met, we how we met – and comparing the two eras. But then all of a sudden, she’s started to tell us about things we don’t care to hear about, about how she had to take our son to task be -

cause he didn’t continue to pleasure her after he was… finished. Laughing, she told us how she’d just laid there afterwards, like a bump on a log. Had tried to give him physical hints – rubbed up on him, kept on kissing him – but when it didn’t work, she’d had to ask: “Are you just going to sleep now?”

We didn’t know what we were supposed to do with this information and were a bit dumbfounded – understandably? Do any parents want to hear something like that about their child? – which our son noticed, of course, and then he started to criticise us for having never talked to him about sex, for all the misconceptions he’d had as a teen, for the kind of porn he’d watched to satisfy his curiosity, for how his porno fantasies would fade away every night and he’d constantly had to find something more hardcore, something raunchier. How that had been reflected in how he’d treated girls during sex before he’d met her, but that he’d seen the error of his ways and called his former lovers, apologised in case he’d ever performed badly, just to be on the safe side, if he’d ever made his partners feel like bumps on logs, it was just because he didn’t know better. Then he looked at his girlfriend tenderly, like a good little boy, and she rubbed his back and smiled at him like a proud nanny.

We tried, of course, to hang on by our fingernails, explained that times had changed and that this hadn’t been talked about in our homes, ei ther; they had to realise that when we were their age, there wasn’t as much a demand for expressiveness; it was neither customary nor required that parents told their kids that they loved them – it said itself, it was self-evident! When Angantýr was a teenager, the discussion still hadn’t reached this stage, and yes, we were probably sleeping on the job where the Internet was concerned, but the Internet was also so new at the time – can you really be asleep on the job if you were never awake!? How were we to know that you could access those sites so easily?

We can hardly have a drink anymore without the conversation spiralling out into the same kind of accusations. Sometimes she starts, going on and on with no context whatsoever about her parents and the disinterestedness in her home; sometimes he starts; sometimes they both start. The topics of conversation span far and wide: female masturbation and other sex ed subjects, global warming, how one should grapple with trauma, the difference in how boys and girls are raised, refugees, the pollution of the agricultural industry, the consumption patterns of Icelanders. It’s as if they want to punish us for all their mistakes, take everything they learned too late and smear it in our faces; their ignorance is our ignorance and their misapprehensions stem from the

failures of their upbringings – no, negligence, on our parts.

We are left out of the conversation. All doors are slammed the moment they are opened. They don’t have any patience for talking about things like normal people, hearing what we have to say and building up the conversation objectively; now, it’s just interruptions – scold, that’s racist, scold, that’s chauvinist, scold, “Don’t either of you recognise your own privilege?”

One thing’s for sure. It has never been as difficult to live with our son. As wonderful as he’s always been. Does the laundry once a week, we never have to ask. Vacuums the house and mows the lawn. It’s she who’s the author of all this. It’s she who keeps picking at scabs so they get worse and worse. We say good morning, and she says good morning, we make a point of saying something nice about something she did online, or her clothes, her hair, shoes, her cooking. She says thank you and says something nice to us in return – we all try to strike a light note, but the strings are so tightly strung that they betray themselves, always tuned too loud, off-key. Because we know that sooner or later, everything will be turned on its head, we’ve heard it through the walls, how she psychoanalyses us, traces our behaviour back to traumas of the past – a miscarriage, yes, we lost a child; alcoholism, sure, well and good, there was alcoholism in both of our families – and so what? Every family has its own history. That’s life. Can you judge us out of hand because we haven’t spent thousands upon thousands of krónur on a therapist? Because we aren’t writing long posts about our traumas on Facebook?

To think that this could be the mother of our future

They planned to find an apartment after their trek around South America, but first, they needed to work for two, three months to save up their pennies. The choice was between moving into our place or moving in with her parents, who live out in Kópavogur, so of course, they moved in here – we’re only a 12-minute walk from the university and Angantýr’s bedroom window looks out over the seaside walking path along Ægissíða and there’s a hot tub in the backyard.

They were grateful, she was grateful, they worked a lot before school started in the fall and took night and weekend shifts once the academic year began. We heard them every now and then in the evenings and mornings. Sometimes we talked about it: “Do they not realise that they don’t live alone? That they live in our house? We’re talking about the bare minimum of courtesy...” But even so, it wasn’t that hard for us to pretend that nothing was amiss. This was just a temporary situation. They’d be

leaving soon. They obviously didn’t realise how much sound carried between our rooms.

By New Year’s, they’d put enough aside that they could pay their rent and living expenses while they were completing their master’s studies and they’d started looking around, put the word out on Facebook with a nice picture that had been taken of them in the garden on a late summer evening, got over 30 shares, and were offered a number of places – a room in another couple’s apartment that they didn’t like well enough, a few apartments of varying levels of appeal in downtown, east side, or west side Reykjavík, which should have suited or sufficed. Except that the rent was outrageous, the absolute cheapest was 170,000 and a basement hovel on Hverfisgata. Her grandmother wanted to put them up in the eastern suburbs, but then they figured they could just as well stay here at our place a little longer.

That was a year ago. It’s looking like it will be at least another year on top of that. They aren’t on their way out, they’ve stopped looking, stopped letting us know where they are on the waitlist for student housing at the university. She’s not going to manage to finish her master’s project in the spring and now it’s come to light that she needs to take another course over the fall term, and then they’re talking about going abroad for doctoral studies the fall after that. If they’re aiming for doctoral studies in a year and a half, they’ll be here while they save up.

They’re 26 and 27 – not children anymore – they ought to know better. When we were their age, we’d entered the job market and had two children and an apartment by Hlemmur. It isn’t comparable. What can you call this variant, these adult adolescents? Quasi-people? Adulescents? It’s gotten to the point that everything we do gets on her nerves and everything she does gets on ours. We’re horribly backwards because we still eat meat and fish – we, who usually make the best of it when they make vegan food for us, even though sometimes, it’s simply a whole lot of nothing. Rice, ginger, and carrots fried in a pan! We get hungry again after an hour! The other day, we snuck out of the house, giggling like teenagers on the way to a school dance, but instead we walked down to the

gas station to buy ourselves hot dogs. If we’d gone to the fridge, she’d have taken it as ingratitude or some kind of meat fixation.

We have far fewer quarrels now – we’ve learned to keep the peace by avoiding various topics of conversation, we don’t want that anymore, but there’s never enough space to regain our composure. The wound tears open with every moan, every thump, every morning we spend under the swaying chandelier. If they had any respect for us, this thought would have fluttered through their heads – that they don’t live alone, but with other people. That sounds could conceivably be carrying through the walls. The lack of respect is total. There’s no gratitude.

We have a lovely summerhouse about an hour and 40 minutes northwest of Reykjavík, not too far from Borgarnes. Before, we maybe went once every two months, but now we drive there almost every weekend: we go straight after work on Friday and then drive straight from there to work on Monday morning. We don’t want to budge, we were born and raised here on the west side of Reykjavík, but sometimes, when we’re up at the summerhouse, we open a bottle of wine and start daydreaming about living somewhere else, without them, what we would cook without having to hear their contemptuous silence – steak with red wine and herbs from the windowsill. Then, completely by accident, we stumble upon a real estate website online, imagine that if we could maybe find a pretty, corrugated iron house in Hafnarfjörður or near the sea in Kársnes, or even across the bay out in Álftanes, then maybe they’d be compelled to start saving for a down payment, or to rent themselves. Then we take a look at more centrally located two-bedroom apartments (they regularly talk about all the other parents who buy a little apartment that their kids pay off), but then we see the sale price, get angry at them for their entitlement, turn stubborn, and refuse to be bigger enablers than we already are. We ex out the real estate page, close our laptop in a pique, and one of us sighs, “We just have to wait,” to which the other answers, “I suppose.”

Author Fríða Ísberg (1992-) is a writer and poet, born and raised in Reykjavík. She studied Philosophy and Creative Writing at the University of Iceland and has written for The Times Literary Supplement. Her book Slitförin (Stretch Marks) was one of the most popular poetry books in Iceland in 2017. She is a member of poetry collective Svikaskáld (Impostor Poets), a group of six women who’ve published two poetry collections, Ég er ekki að rétta upp hönd (I Am Not Raising My Hand ) in 2017 and Ég er fagnaðarsöngur (I Am Applause) in 2018. Her short story collection Kláði (Itch) is due to be published in October 2018.

Words by Kjartan Þorbjörnsson

Translation

by Gréta Sigríður Einarsdóttir

Ragnar Axelsson is on a mission. The best-known photographer in Iceland has for decades pointed his camera at disappearing culture and documented the life of the people of the Arctic. His earlier books have revolved around people living in close proximity to nature. This time, he’s doing something different – a book on glaciers, nearly devoid of people.

“Glaciers are this incredibly amazing phenomenon,” Ragnar says as he reminisces about how glaciers first got ahold of him. He was only seven years old when he was sent to stay for the summer on a farm in Öræfi, one of the most isolated regions in the country, situated below Vatnajökull glacier and surrounded by fastflowing rivers, glacier-capped mountains, and the sea. At the time, the rivers weren’t bridged and the only way to get there was to fly. On a bright day in spring, he flew across the country and sat speechless in his seat. “When I watched the glaciers through that window of the plane, something happened in my heart. It was such an incredible sight that you couldn’t help but fall in love.”

The young Ragnar spent most of his summers in Öræfi. He knows the area well – the glaciers, the rivers, and the mountains – and has carefully watched how the landscape is changing. “I’m filled with great sadness to see the glaciers recede so much and so quickly over the past decades,” says Ragnar with a serious look. “The glaciers are disappearing and if this pace continues, it will only take 150-200 years. My work is only one step in the great project that is photographing and documenting what is changing and disappearing in the Arctic. I feel like it’s sort of a book of poetry in photographs. It’s an ode to the glaciers. I want the reader to experience that feeling that consumed me when I saw them for the first time when I was a child.”

Just like he did that first time, Ragnar will often fly over the glaciers, but these days, he does so in his very own two-seat Super Cub plane, photographing the majestic sights he sees along the way. Though he may not spot a single person, Ragnar sees faces and figures everywhere. “It’s not easy to fly a plane and take photos at the same time, so I usually try to have a friend along

to hold the yoke steady. A flight like this is the best thing they can imagine so they fight over who gets to come with me,” Ragnar says with a smile and adds that it’s a great feeling to wake up bright and early, take off at 5.00am and fly towards the glaciers. “You feel like this country is yours and yours alone. The sun’s just coming up and no one else is awake.”

Ragnar has been taking photos for this book for the past decade and a half. He has gone on countless flights but has also mounted the glaciers by car or on foot. “Me and two of my buddies recently founded Qerndu Publishing in order to publish books about the Arctic and life in the Arctic. My book is the first of the group. There aren’t a lot of people in the book but there are plenty of faces: different, abstract. A good friend of mine who saw the photos for the book told me that these were the faces of the earth and I think that was a beautiful way to put it. But at the same time, it’s also connected to my other books on the disappearing cultures of the Arctic. People might look at it from the outside and imagine some sort of dream life but there’s nothing easy about life in the Arctic. Living as a nomad in Siberia with your herd of reindeer isn’t easy, living in a tent all year round and chasing reindeer around the tundra. It looks good in an animated movie but it’s a hard life to live. We need to get photos of it before it disappears.”

It’s not just the Arctic culture that’s in danger of disappearing. “The glaciers are disappearing. What’s breaking off them now and melting is snow that fell centuries ago. It contains so much history. When I fly over a glacier or go into ice caves, I look around and search for the stories they can tell. I think of the glaciers as living beings. They’re trying to talk to us but no one’s listening. With my book, I want to let people look with me and discover all the faces of the glacier,” says Ragnar. Even though he’s travelled all around the Arctic, all the photos in the book are taken in Iceland. “Icelandic nature is an endless source of good feelings,” Ragnar says with a faraway look in his eyes. “For photographers who come here, it feels like falling into a cave full of diamonds. This country of ours is sublimely beautiful.”

Photography by Ragnar Axelsson

Portrait by Golli

THE EARTH

Previous spread

Melting — No. 15

This page Runes — No. 09

Next page Runes — No. 10

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Crevasses — No. 03

This page Runes — No. 19

Next page Terminus — No. 03

Next spread Crevasses — No. 08

Following spread The Sea — No. 01

by Jelena Ćirić

Illustrations by Helga Páley Friðþjófsdóttir

Tongue Twister

Ah, the Icelandic language. It’s the ancient tongue of Vikings, filled with beautiful yet frightening words like ferðaáætlun (how many different a’s can there be?), þátttakandi (three t’s in a row? Is that legal?) and tunglsljós (do they even have room for all those consonants on an island?). Icelandic is often portrayed as an impossible language to learn. I can tell you it’s not: because I did it. Or more accurately, I am doing it –you never really finish learning a language. Although it is certainly a myth that Icelandic is impossible to learn, we who put ourselves to the task, face unique challenges. Yet our success is not only important for our own survival on this rock in the North Atlantic, but also for the nation as a whole – and even the Icelandic language itself.

Loaded language

Though many immigrants have disproven the myth that Icelandic is impossible to learn, it’s still perceived as more difficult than other languages. “The complexity of the grammar is often the characteristic of Icelandic which most frightens people – when they see the charts – declinations, conjugations,” says Ana Stanicevic, who teaches Icelandic as a Second Language at the University of Iceland and is herself an immigrant to the country. This complexity was the very aspect that attracted Ana to the language: like its four cases which mean there can be up to 16 ways to spell and say each noun. “On the other hand, Serbian has seven cases, and no one talks about how impossible it is to learn,” Ana says of her mother tongue.

“Another thing that adds to the difficulty is that the vocabulary is so foreign. The words for telephone

and computer, for example, are similar in most European languages, and easily recognisable.” In Iceland, however, a new word is coined for each new phenomenon. The Icelandic word for computer, tölva, was formed by combining the words tala (number), and völva (prophetess). Ana says this characteristic of the language is as much an advantage as a disadvantage. “Even if it isn’t transparent in that it doesn’t have many international words, Icelandic is so descriptive. You can understand any word if you can break it down into its parts.”

“My teaching style is to show that Icelandic isn’t difficult, it’s different,” Ana asserts. “And you can overcome that, with a bit of will. When I stand in front of my students, as someone who doesn’t speak Icelandic as a mother tongue, I am proof of that.”

Strictly speaking

Many foreigners, however, still struggle with Icelandic for years without noting much progress. One obstacle seems to be the lack of resources that cater to their needs. “We haven’t done enough to develop good teaching materials and good courses.” Eiríkur Rögnvaldsson, professor emeritus in Icelandic Language and Linguistics at the University of Iceland, tells me. “Iceland was for a long time a homogenous society, then suddenly it’s flooded by people who can’t speak Icelandic, and we don’t know how to react.” The change certainly was sudden. In the last two decades, foreigners have multiplied nearly fivefold, from 2% of the population to nearly 10% today. Recognising and providing for the needs of this new demographic has been a game of catch-up for the country.

Words

Why many foreigners struggle to learn Icelandic – and why Icelanders should care

Icelanders as individuals are also struggling to adapt to the growing diversity of their neighbours. Many are unused to hearing their native language spoken with an accent or grammatical errors, and their reactions are not always helpful. While immigrants I spoke to experienced judgement for not speaking Icelandic, their attempts to practice were often ill-received by native speakers. “When some foreigner shows up who is learning the language and doesn’t speak perfect Icelandic, we lose patience and either start correcting them, which leads them to stop trying, or we just switch over to English, so people don’t get any practice,” Eiríkur says. “We are raised with the idea of speaking ‘proper’ Icelandic,” he tells me by way of explanation. If Icelanders want the language to prosper, it’s clear that they will have to open their ears to all its forms – imperfect or otherwise. Behind each accent and error is a person with much to contribute to a rapidly changing country.

Good as their word

Changing Icelanders’ attitude toward their language, however, is no easy task. “In some ways the language is the only cultural inheritance that Iceland has, and it truly is precious. It’s a big part of Icelanders’ identity and a huge source of pride,” Ana says, referring to the 1,000-year-old sagas, chronicles written in Old Norse, yet still largely intelligible to speakers of modern Icelandic.

Immigrants challenge the very idea of what it means to be an Icelander. “For a long time, it was true that if you were an Icelander, you spoke Icelandic. Or you speak Icelandic, therefore you’re an Icelander,” Ana tells me. “A good example is the sign you see at Keflavík Airport when you land. In English it reads ‘Welcome to Iceland,’ but in Icelandic it reads ‘Welcome home.’ It’s assumed that if you understand Icelandic, you call Iceland home. It’s still hard for people to accept that today, there are people who are not Icelandic but speak the language fluently.”

Whys and wherefores

Many students of Icelandic I spoke to point to an-

other factor as their main obstacle in learning Icelandic: motivation. “You don’t need Icelandic, if I’m being honest,” Chus Munguía, who moved to Iceland 11 years ago, tells me. “On a daily basis, I don’t use it at all. That’s the main barrier. Most of my friends are foreigners, and my Icelandic friends have no problem at all with speaking English. You can live a full life in Iceland without speaking Icelandic.”

Mariska Moerland, who moved to Iceland almost five years ago, says her lack of proficiency in the language often makes her feel left out. Fitting Icelandic lessons into a busy life, however, is a challenge. “I’ve followed several evening courses. You work during the day and follow a language course after work. You have to do your homework for the class, too, so you’re pretty busy when you’re doing that.” She would like to see more workplaces offering Icelandic during work hours. “That would be a huge motivation. Then you’re not tired after the work day and you can focus.”

Though there is a wealth of jobs, entertainment, and social activities in Iceland that don’t require any knowledge of Icelandic, some aspects of the society are nevertheless closed to those who don’t speak it. Keeping up with local news or politics, as well as legal processes like buying a house can be more of a challenge for those who don’t speak the language. “Everything that is written is just a wall for you,” says Antonio Mitag, who moved to Iceland in 2016. “Whenever you need information you can’t get it. You have to specifically ask someone who speaks the language to translate each and every time.” Many foreigners I spoke to felt their lack of language was also a barrier to making Icelandic friends. In addition, the majority of Icelandic literature, television shows, and live events are not translated, making them inaccessible for those who don’t speak the language.

It bears pointing out that immigrants must learn Icelandic at their own expense, as the Icelandic government does not ensure free language education for new residents. While most workers’ unions will reimburse as much as 75% of the cost of courses,

di is Icelandic for sanitary towel.

The language’s descriptive words can sometimes lead new speakers astray. Dömubin-

many immigrants will have built up a social network in English or their mother tongue and may feel even less motivated to learn Icelandic. Immigrants who are not working union members, such as freelancers or new parents on leave, are left paying for courses entirely out of pocket.

Such obstacles were pointed out ten years ago in a report published by the Ministry of Education on language policy. “There is a need for good and inexpensive Icelandic education and a lot of encouragement in order for people to undertake the task of learning Icelandic,” the report reads. “Unfortunately, the obstacles along the way are too numerous.” Ten years later, the same rings true, and the stakes are even higher.

A language in danger?

At the same time as a record number of foreigners are taking on Icelandic, its usage among native speakers may be changing dramatically. “Icelandic has faced more pressure from the outside in recent years than ever before. This is due to both social changes and technological changes,” Eiríkur tells me. Due to increasing numbers of immigrants and a desire to cater to a growing number of tourists, Eiríkur says, the areas in which Icelandic is used are shrinking. Smart devices and home technology systems are becoming more prevalent in Icelandic homes, and with them, the use of English. “You go to the store and see kids maybe one year old in a cart with a smartphone or tablet. Most often what they’re watching is not in Icelandic.”

The changes seem most marked in younger generations, who are not only using more English, but see themselves as global citizens. “I think young people’s connection to the country and the language is weaker than it was before. They want to travel, study abroad, and so on. And they know that

Icelandic is not very useful abroad.” In many ways a complex, ancient language understood by relatively few is the very antithesis of the sped-up global society which craves fast results and universal appeal.

“If people know they can’t use Icelandic outside of Iceland, and if they know they can’t even use Icelandic everywhere in Iceland, and if they can’t even use Icelandic everywhere in the home, then you ask yourself – why should we continue to use this language which isn’t useful to us except in a very limited way?” Indeed, what is the “usefulness” of culture or identity in a society focused on quick profit and global relevance? It’s easy to see how young Icelanders’ weakening connection to their own language could become yet another obstacle immigrants face in learning Icelandic.

Opening doors

For the moment, however, it’s clear that the Icelandic language is an integral part of Icelandic culture. The Ministry of Education agrees. “In order to be able to participate fully in Icelandic society and to take full advantage of the quality of life it offers, it is necessary to have a grasp of the language,” its aforementioned report reads.

Yet making Icelandic learning more accessible for immigrants doesn’t only benefit the learners, but Icelandic society as whole. “Very few Icelanders know about this whole world of international residents who exist in Iceland with so much to offer this country, who know the language, and are making and effort to learn,” Ana tells me enthusiastically. “It’s incredible to walk into a classroom of students who are all educated doctors, teachers, accountants, programmers – who speak many languages. It’s a treasure. I’d love to see free courses for everyone who moves to Iceland to live and work. It’s a dream that is possible to realise and all benefit from it, especially the country.”

We take the good old traditional recipes and the best icelandic ingredients to create fun and tasty food. Let tradition surprise you!

IMMORALITY AND INDIGNATION IN WARTIME ICELAND

Words by Tinna Eiríksdóttir

Photographs from The National Museum of Iceland

THE SITUATION

The Situation committee was formed on behalf of the government. There were three men in the committee: Benedikt Tómasson, a physician; Dr. Broddi Jóhannesson, a psychologist; and Sigurbjörn Einarsson, a reverend and later Bishop of Iceland. Their report stated that 2,500 women between the ages of 12 and 61 had “close relations” with the occupational forces and that this number was probably way higher because the Committee only had information about a portion of the women.

Imagine you live on an island in the middle of nowhere. Everyone kind of looks the same, at least not that different from you, and you take pride in being able to trace your ancestry back hundreds of years. Recently, a great depression left hundreds of families homeless and the hardship has taken its toll. It really doesn’t matter though: you take pride in who you are, your nationality, and your survival instinct. You know there’s a war happening in Europe but so far it hasn’t affected you in a palpable way.

Then, one morning, you wake up to the buzzing of airplanes and battleships in the harbour. Hundreds of soldiers emerge from the ships, almost a thousand on this first day (the total population in the capital is just under 40,000 people). Within a week there are almost 4,000 foreign soldiers in your country. This is what happened in Iceland in 1940, when the country was occupied, first by British and later American forces. Before the occupation, it was very rare to see a foreigner, no less thousands of them at once, and many Icelanders, especially young ones, were intrigued.

The war was an economic and cultural turning point for Icelanders. The unfamiliar soldiers, wearing fancy uniforms, brought with them chewing gum, rock music and television. They also built an airport and roads where there previously were none. But not everyone was excited. For many in this small island nation, then fighting for independence from the Danish crown, the thousands of uniform-clad Brits who entered the country in May of 1940 felt like a threat. Not a threat of violence, since the occupation was peaceful, but a threat to a fragile national identity. Many of the older generation believed that the nation’s youth would be corrupted by the foreigners and were afraid for the future of the country. Mostly, they feared that young Icelandic women, mothers of future generations, would fall under the influence of foreign powers.

The Situation explained

This threat became known simply as “The Situation.” It’s a well-known term to this day and to many, it has a negative connotation. Originally, the phrase referred to the occupation of Iceland during times of war. Icelandic authorities would say things like “while this situation lasts,” referring to the occupation. In time, however, the term came to refer to Icelandic women and girls who associated with soldiers. Girls who were caught up in The Situation were branded as sluts who brought shame upon their families. Many of them got the not-so-subtle label of kanamella (Yankee-whore) and by falling in love with, or even just talking to, a soldier they might as well have pinned a scarlet letter to their chest.

Protecting our women!

In the eyes of protective nationalists, Icelandic women and girls needed protection from soldiers and their negative influences. Those concerned believed that the soldiers had only one thing on their minds and that their immorality would spoil the girls. At this point, Icelandic nationalists were heavily involved in myth building connected to their fight for independence. Their slippery slope argument prophesised that with all Icelandic women reduced to sluts having bastards with the Brits and Americans, the nation would be forever ruined.

Sources from the period show that underlying their concerns for the “well-being” of the women, was the fear that the otherwise “pure” gene pool of Iceland would be contaminated by foreigners. Unfortunately, in their mind, the worst possible sources of contamination were soldiers of colour. That is why the government officially requested that only “outstanding” soldiers would be sent to Iceland during the occupation. And yes: by outstanding, they meant white.

It didn’t matter, though, what the government preferred. The soldiers wanted to meet women (and in some cases men), and the young people of Iceland found the newcomers exciting. More and more young girls fell into the “trap” of being seduced by soldiers. The Surgeon General at the time, Vilmundur Jónsson, was worried that young girls as young as 12 years of age were engaged in prostitution. He wrote a letter to the Ministry of Justice and demanded that something be done. The result was the formation of the Committee on the Situation of Morality (the Situation Committee for short). They investigated the issue for about a month, then submitted a report. The results were staggering: according to their findings, Icelandic women were up to their elbows in The Situation and the committee was sure that they didn’t even know the half of it. Thousands of women were involved. This had to be stopped.

Miss Knudsen: the self-appointed Morality Police of Iceland

The authorities responded by dealing with what they saw as the root of the problem: the wayward women. The individual chosen by the Icelandic government to bring The Situation to an end was a nurse named Jóhanna Knudsen. She was Iceland’s first female police officer, but her infamy overshadows her accomplishments. Ms. Knudsen took her role very seriously. Too seriously, in fact: after a few years she was fired for overstepping her responsibilities. It wasn’t until recently that it became clear how far she believed her moral authority reached.

Ms. Knudsen was appointed Junior Citizens Detec -

By falling in love with, or even just talking to a soldier, they might as well have pinned a scarlet letter to their chest.

tive. She was responsible for observing the morality of the young people of Iceland, both boys and girls. For some reason, she focused her attention solely on young women, who in her opinion were behaving immorally. Ms. Knudsen believed that it was in her hands to stop the depraved women involved in The Situation by any means necessary. She surveilled all Reykjavík girls and women she suspected of mingling with soldiers, noting their behaviour and actions. Due to the fact that the public wasn’t allowed to view the files related to the investigation of The Situation for 50 years, it wasn’t discovered until recently how unjust and fanatical her actions were. Her perseverance was so great and her monitoring so extreme that it has been called the largest subjective espionage in the history of Iceland.

One of Ms. Knudsen’s, more subtle suggestions towards counteracting The Situation was to forbid all women to work for the occupational forces. Many women washed and mended the soldiers’ clothes or sold them meals, relying on the wages they earned from such labour to make a living. Another suggestion provided by Ms. Knudsen was to close all hangouts that were popular among the soldiers and ban all foreigners from Hotel Borg, Reykjavík’s most popular dance hall at the time. One of her more extreme suggestions was to import prostitutes for the soldiers to fulfill their sexual needs, although she considered it imperative that Icelandic men would be forbidden from “using” them.

Ms. Knudsen did more than make suggestions: she actively sought to expose girls that had any relations

with members of the armed forces. She was assisted by policemen and various informants, including taxi drivers, who helped her identify the subjects of her investigations. It was usually enough for a girl to have a bad reputation (even when it had nothing do to with the occupational forces) for her to be called in for questioning.

Ms. Knudsen’s interrogations were extremely militant. She and her associates would crack the girls with their relentlessness, making them confess to all sorts of offences related to The Situation, whether true or not. One of Ms. Knudsen’s tactics even included getting a doctor to inspect the girls’ hymens. Today, we know that checking the hymen is an invalid way to assess virginity, but in those days it was considered irrefutable evidence. In some cases, interrogations would lead to girls admitting to have been sexually assaulted by soldiers. Rather than sympathetic, the aftermath would be punitive. So rape victims, girls in committed relationships with soldiers, and girls who just wanted to have some fun while they were young all got the same judgement from Ms. Knudsen and, in turn, the community – official and unofficial judgement for promiscuity and inappropriate relations.

What happened to the girls?

Of the more than 100 girls who were investigated by Ms. Knudsen and her goons, dozens were sentenced to hard labour and either sent to farms in the countryside or, for the unlucky ones, sent to the Kleppjárnsreykir institution. Ms. Knudsen thought this sort of punishment would scare other girls from giving into temptation and

Ms. Knudsen actively sought to expose girls who had any relations with members of the armed forces.

falling into a life of dissolution. As a matter of fact, Ms. Knudsen thought that The Situation was an epidemic that could only be stopped using drastic measures such as the threat of harsh punishments and shaming.

In Kleppjárnsreykir, life was hard. Originally established by the government as a home for the mentally challenged, it is located in Borgarfjörður in West Iceland. During World War II it was a state-run farm where girls, aged 13-16, were sent as punishment for associating with the occupational forces. The conditions were bad. The girls weren’t allowed visitors, their letters were read, and their telephone calls monitored. If they misbehaved they were locked in a dark room in the cellar, sometimes for days at a time. The girls were eventually released, but were never given an opportunity to clear their name. Some never got over the shame that came with being affiliated with The Situation.

After the occupation ended, the girls’ lives were never the same. In a small community where everybody knew everyone else, a bad reputation was a terrible fate – one that would be hard to escape. As for the hundreds of children conceived during this period in Icelandic history, many of them had to grow up in a prejudiced society that judged them, by proxy, for their mothers’ actions. Some of them received the surname Hermannsson or -dóttir (literally: son or daughter of a soldier), making them easy to identify. Many were ruthlessly bullied, by other children as well as adults. In addition to their difficulties

in life, these children never got to know their families in Britain and the United States. Many spent years trying to find and contact their families. Some got lucky, found their fathers and siblings, and were welcomed into their long-lost families with open arms. Others found their families abroad just to realise that they wanted nothing to do with an illegitimate sibling (often conceived while the father was already married and had a family), ignoring their letters and telephone calls. Many of them, despite several attempts, never found their relatives at all.

Women often play an important role in wartime propaganda. They are the guardians of the home and often the embodiment of the nation (such as Iceland’s Lady of the Mountain or the Russian Mother Russia) and therefore the foreign soldiers canoodling with Icelandic women might have been experienced as a violation of national boundaries. The occupation wasn’t just an occupation of geographic space but also the occupation of the Icelandic women. The unfortunate result was that during The Situation, the women of Iceland were effectively under attack by their own country, disguised as protection. Infantilised and thought unfit to decide for themselves who they associated with, hundreds of girls had their lives meddled with and many never recovered. Lives were lived in the shadow of shame and some women even ended theirs prematurely, unable to live with the disgrace and stigma of being one of the girls caught up in

Situation.

The

Some never got over the shame of being affiliated with the Situation.

Ever-growing strain on the Icelandic healthcare system and dissatisfaction with wages lead an increasing number of Icelandic nurses to seek greener pastures or, more specifically, bluer skies.

Words by Anna Marsibil Clausen

THE FLIGHT OF

Photography by Golli

THE NURSES

Her workday always started at home, technically speaking, as the job calls for special preparations. She applied the standard makeup – dark lashes, pink lips, rosy cheeks – folded her long, blonde hair into a neat bun, and made sure her nails were properly polished. Then, before heading out the door to the flight shuttle, she slipped on the bright purple uniform.

Hildur Ýr Hvanndal was used to uniforms. She wore one regularly throughout her student years when, as a part of her nursing education, she worked in the pulmonary ward at the National University Hospital of Iceland. Upon graduating in the summer of 2016, however, Hildur chose a formfitting stewardess skirt and heels over loose scrubs and Birkenstocks. At least 12 out of her 70 classmates did the same, she says.

“There are fewer hours and higher wages when the daily allowance is factored in,” Hildur says, referring to the extra pay flight crews receive during a stopover. “Working in the hospital also comes with so much pressure. Whereas the plane doesn’t take off without a full crew, the hospital is often understaffed and that is extremely difficult and exhausting.”

Iceland has a shortage of about 570 nurses according to a 2017 report by the Icelandic National Audit Office.

“Nurses who become flight attendants report overall higher wages, less work for the same money, more flexible hours, and better perks.”

In 2016, 9% of registered nurses were living abroad and 10% were believed to be working outside the field. The Icelandic Nurses’ Association points to two major events as the cause of the brain drain the profession has seen over the last decade. First, the banking collapse of 2008 caused hundreds of nurses to seek employment in Norway. Then, following the rise of tourism, nurses took to the skies.

A healthcare system up in the air

The latter trend was first officially documented in 2014, when a survey found that a fifth of nursing students planned on becoming flight attendants following graduation. While neither Icelandair nor WOW air responded to Iceland Review ’s requests for the number of registered nurses within their ranks, healthcare administrators, doctors, nurses and flight attendants have repeatedly noted the trend in the media over the last few years – with growing concern.

“Nurses who become flight attendants report overall higher wages, less work for the same money, more flexible hours, and better perks,” says Birna G. Flygenring, assistant professor at the University of Iceland’s Faculty of Nursing, who has conducted research on the subject. She says the first two years are a crucial time for new nursing graduates, who describe the job as both physically and psychologically demanding. This increased stress can lead to fast burnout. “They are always running around, don’t get enough time to adjust,

and are afraid of making mistakes,” she says. “They often have to take on more responsibility than they can handle this early on.”

Reports of brain drain, underfunding, broken medical equipment, and even mould in hospital rooms have been prevalent in the Icelandic media for a few years. The nursing shortage, however, is a worldwide phenomenon and something of a vicious cycle. Fewer nurses lead to bigger problems within healthcare which in turn leads to tougher conditions for the remaining nurses, who are then more likely to quit or crack under the pressure.

Eva H. Ólafsdóttir, the Nurses’ Association’s advisor for wages, terms, and rights says exhaustion is a mounting concern. “It’s expensive when people burn out on the job,” she says. “You lose them to other jobs or even to illness which is costly for society and it’s becoming increasingly common.”

From hospital floor to airplane aisle

It seems obvious that nurses make good flight attendants. They are used to caring for all sorts of people and are trained to keep a cool head in emergency situations. Hildur’s education has come in handy on more than one occasion; in fact, she feels like she is expected to take control when a passenger falls ill. “I think others on the crew feel safer when there is a nurse on board,” she says. “Even though everyone has first aid training, the [nursing] education is a big advantage.”

Thankfully, none of the emergencies Hildur has dealt with on board proved life-threatening, though she says chest pain, hypoglycaemia, and fainting are common. She had frequently faced more difficult situations at the hospital, where the work environment served to prepare her for her job as a flight attendant in unexpected ways. “People are familiar with how little space there is on airplanes – often it’s no better when you are trying to take care of patients in hospital rooms that are too small, filled with all kinds of pumps and monitors, and maybe you are even trying to get past it all to do an electrocardiogram,” she says. “I’ve totally had to crawl on the floor.”

Hildur is currently on maternity leave. She quit flying at week 17 of her pregnancy, as regulations require, and went back to the pulmonary ward where she will work until her baby is born. Of course, she wants to put her education to use and grow as a nurse – she really enjoys the work despite its pressures. Even so, she imagines she might return to the skies, purely for the higher wages.

“Even if it’s rewarding and you feel like your work is worth more as a nurse than a flight attendant, the pay is just so important – at least for me,” she says, adding that idealism isn’t worth the substantial pay cut. “You want your wages to be in line with your education, and there are very few of us who feel that’s the case.”

In 2014, a survey found that a fifth of nursing students planned on becoming flight attendants following graduation.

A generational shift

One of the arguments used to justify lower wages on the public versus the private job market is that government workers receive better benefits, especially when it comes to retirement. Large portions of flight attendants’ earnings, such as daily allowances and transportation reimbursements, aren’t factored in when it comes to calculating parental leave or illness and pension benefits. In Iceland, around 95% of nurses work in the public sector. While job benefits make a difference, Eva believes individuals tend to focus on their pockets now rather than on the future. “People under 40 aren’t all that concerned with their pensions,” she says.

Young people today are also less likely to commit to one career track or workplace than previous generations. In fact, nurses aren’t the only ones finding relief from demanding jobs in the air. Iceland Review’s sources note a high number of police officers and teachers joining the industry as well, especially during the summer months. According to Birna, it’s normal for young people to jump from one job to another “like an artic tern between rocks.”

Most Icelanders under 40 grew up as lyklabörn (latchkey kids). Since both of their parents worked outside of the home, they were left to fend for themselves between school and the end of the work day. Birna says these younger generations crave a better balance between work and family life. “Young people aren’t ready to sacrifice it all for their jobs,” she says. “This doesn’t mean that they aren’t hard workers, they just have other values.”

Women make up 98% of registered nurses in Iceland. Those who choose airlines over hospitals are mostly young women, often with young children.

Helping the sick, dying, and elderly means working nights, weekends, and holidays – a tall order for those with young families, though the same is true for serving passengers aboard a plane.

As Eva points out, however, the airlines still offer a better deal, with fewer hours for more money. “A full-time nurse may work 20 days a month while flight attendants work ten and obviously, it’s easier to get a sitter for ten days than 20.”

Putting on the oxygen mask

While no one expects 100% of nursing graduates to end up working in the Icelandic healthcare system, the National Audit Office’s report describes the current situation as dire. Not only is the present lack of nurses of great concern, but a fifth of working nurses will reach legal retirement age in the next three years. Additionally, the report says, higher rates of lifestyle-related diseases and an aging population will likely place even more strain on the system.

Hildur and Eva agree that healthcare administrators are doing what they can given the current situation, but that it can’t be rectified without greater financial support from the government. The Nurses’ Association has suggested a reorganisation to make room for more nursing students. Eva says there also needs to be a greater reward for working night shifts and holidays, a demand which is sure to come into play when the association starts renegotiating the nurses’ contract early next year. It’s not enough to educate more nurses, Eva says: they also need a reason to stay.

“We want to do everything we can to get people back, but everyone needs to make their own choices,” Eva says. “Much like on a flight, before we can help others we must take care of ourselves.”

EARLY BIRD CATCHES

After her time in Iceland, Naomi arrives early at the airport so she can enjoy her last hours there before continuing her journey.

GIVE YOURSELF MORE TIME TO SHOP

Arrive early at Keflavík Airport and we will greet you with open arms. Check in up to 2 ½ hours before your flight so you can enjoy your last moments in Iceland. We offer unlimited free Wi-Fi, many charging stations and a range of shops and restaurants, so you can embrace the last drops of Icelandic taste and feel — and of course Tax and Duty Free.

MORE TIME FOR SHOPPING

To remember her time in Iceland, she brings back home unique souvenirs that she bought at the airport.

In the north, the autumnal colours of nature quickly give way to the icy blues and whites of winter.

Photography by Golli

COD LIVER OIL WITH MINT AND LEMON FLAVOUR

A FRESH TASTE AND FULL OF GOODNESS

Cod liver oil mint and lemon flavor is a new product from Lýsi.

Cod liver oil contains the omega-3 fatty acids EPA and DHA and is rich in vitamins A, D and E. All those are important nutrients that positively affect the immune system, eyesight, teeth and bones