Gnarr (12 page)

I’m often asked if being mayor has changed me in any way. Whether this position has made me a different person. The answer is a plain and simple no. It’s really not changed me at all. Of course, I’ve become more mature, have learned on the job, and understand a few things better than before. But as far as my character goes, that’s not changed in the slightest. I’m neither frustrated nor offended nor bitter, and don’t bear
anyone any grudges. Not even those who have made my life difficult.

What most distinguishes the office of mayor, more than anything else, is fatigue. I’ve never been so tired in my life. And I already got tired quite frequently. My youngest son was very ill in his early years, and during that time I was in a state of constant worry and never got much sleep. But never before have I experienced such abysmal, leaden fatigue as in this job. A weariness that pervades the whole body. That spreads everywhere, in the toes, in the heart and brain, in the arms, in the dick. Fatigue in the ears, in the eyes. In the skin.

After a few months in office, I had the spontaneous idea of having the coat of arms of the city of Reykjavík tattooed on my underarm—as visible proof that I took my job seriously and identified completely with my city. But apparently I had been a little remiss in terms of hygiene, with the result that the tattoo promptly got infected. For a while I gritted my teeth, pretended there was nothing wrong, and hoped it would heal up by itself. But then, at a conference in Sweden, I collapsed with severe pain and a high temperature and ended up in a Stockholm hospital with blood poisoning and a harsh infection. I flew home, where I was admitted to the state hospital and put on a drip, with antibiotics being fed directly into the vein. The doctor spoke of acute stress, and said something like that could easily cripple the entire immune system.

Of course, being mayor also has a very direct
impact on my private and family life. As these jobs always do. My working day usually lasts from eight to five, in the evening emails have to be answered, reports read, and the weekends are given up to receptions and various other commitments. Apparently, there are politicians who like to show up in public with their children. I myself try to limit this to an absolute minimum. I take my youngest son with me if it’s something really fun and exciting, or if he asks specifically. But here in the city administration, for example, there’s nothing of interest for him.

Sometimes I am overcome by boundless sadness and despair, and then, much to the displeasure of my staff, I give in to my unrestrained self-pity. My head feels like it’s just about to burst, and I have the feeling I’ve gotten myself into something that I will never understand, not even partly. Then I long for my old life. It’s far from easy to retain your optimism and sense of humor.

I’ve already set up all kinds of things in my life—I’ve invented, written, and concocted plays, skits, TV series, and books—but I think the Best Party is just about the most brilliant thing I’ve managed to do so far. I have shown courage, inventiveness, and creativity. Where this energy comes from, I don’t exactly know. I’m always happy when my person or the city of Reykjavík get good press in foreign media, because then I feel that what I’m doing here has a deeper meaning. I
do not believe in God or an afterlife. But I’m a damn tough representative of our species. If I were an animal I’d probably be a polar bear. Perhaps I am directly descended from the Neanderthals. Maybe I just have a Neanderthal gene that keeps me moving.

Iceland is a peaceful country. It has no army and no armed police. We have instead a centuries-old tradition of solving conflicts not with weapons, but with words. We have relied on it from day one—if only to survive on this island.

I wish you could simply extirpate violence and war from the world, abolish all the armed forces, and destroy all the bombs. But this is probably not very realistic. Ultimately, everyone has to start with themselves. Many want to be active somewhere else, at best in a country where they don’t currently live. But what’s the point, if there is no peace in your own life? So be at peace with yourself. And how? Through peaceful dealings with others. Start by ensuring peace at home before you go out into the world. Or work for peace in both spheres. You can’t be working for a peace camp in the Middle East during the day and then in the evening have a quarrel with your family over the phone.

Of course we must start somewhere, geographically, if we wish to commit ourselves to peace. In my view, Reykjavík is ideally suited as a starting point for this work. When Reagan and Gorbachev shook hands here in 1986, thus sealing the end of the Cold War and
the grotesque arms race between the superpowers, Reykjavík was catapulted into the focus of world attention. Every year, thousands of tourists dedicated to peace come here as pilgrims to visit the site of that historic handshake, the venerable urban reception villa of Höfði.

I have set myself the goal of supporting the culture of peace in Reykjavík and advancing its development as the “City of Peace.” I dream that the name Reykjavík will one day be associated with peace throughout the world, that our city will, in peace building and human rights, eventually lead the world and serve as a model for other cities. A few foundations have already been laid.

Even now, the city of Reykjavík is associated with various peace and human rights projects—for example “Mayors for Peace,” a global network that was founded in 1982 on the initiative of the mayors of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, and with the support of the United Nations. The member cities are committed to humanitarian tasks such as refugee protection and the fight against hunger and poverty in the world, but first and foremost they pursue the abolition of all nuclear weapons by the year 2020. This may be considered naive, but in my opinion such a goal is worth every attempt.

In addition, Reykjavík has for some years been a member of ICORN, the International Cities of Refuge Network, which offers politically persecuted writers and poets asylum, shelter, and a protected space for
writing. In this framework, in autumn 2011 we were able to welcome our first guest, the Palestinian poet Mazen Maarouf. In summer 2012, Reykjavík was the venue for an extraordinary conference that, under the title “The Spirit of Humanity Forum,” drew people from all over the world to Iceland to exchange their ideas for a better and more peaceful future. We as planners and initiators would like to continue to grow this annual forum and hope that the event—like the World Economic Forum in Davos—will gradually become a become an established event.

On the island of Viðey in the bay of Reykjavík stands the Imagine Peace Tower, Yoko Ono’s “peace column.” This impressive light installation is lit up annually on October 9, the birthday of John Lennon. It emits its gigantic beam of light into the sky until December 8, the day of his assassination. Yoko Ono usually travels to this event in person. The pillar of light has now become an integral part of cultural life in Reykjavík. Every other year, within the same framework, the international peace prize known as the Lennon/Ono Grant for Peace is awarded—a ceremony that I have already been able to attend twice. Give Peace a Chance.

The residents of Reykjavík are very well aware of the special position of our city in an international context. But the image of the picturesque colorful toy town is no longer enough. Now it’s time to get down to business. We should start by marketing Reykjavík as a city of peace, as an international center for
conferences, forums, and everything else that has to do with peace and human rights work.

Those who want peace must open their mouths wider than others. Peace is a basic human right, and as long as wars are still being waged around the world, we cannot in good conscience count ourselves to be worthy members of the highly civilized species Homo sapiens. We should set ourselves the goal of establishing specific peace zones, and expanding and extending them over the whole world. Peace must not just be the privilege of a few nations: it is the right of every individual. And if we want to enforce this right, it depends on every individual. On all of us. Silence is not enough. What matters now is that all sorts of people—those in public life, celebrities, people in leadership positions, mayors, presidents, politicians, and everyone else—take the initiative.

I have been an active member of Amnesty International for many years. When I became mayor, it would have been the obvious decision to take a break from this commitment while in office. Everyone would have understood that. But instead, I decided to commit myself even more and use my position in a very specific way. I am always happy to make the fact known in public, to take part in petitions and rallies, and I’m always there when Amnesty organizes any protests. In talks with foreign guests, I speak out clearly against human rights violations in their respective countries, especially when it comes to capital punishment or nuclear
proliferation—of course, I always make my points in a polite manner. Most people lend a surprisingly sympathetic ear.

Recently, the City Council of Moscow passed a law making Gay Pride parades in public a punishable offense. Thereupon, I addressed a letter to the mayor of Moscow—which was, after all, one of our partner cities!—protesting against this decision. I asked him to lift this unjust and completely absurd ban and instead use the influence of his position to support lesbians and gays in their struggle for a decent life.

In terms of homosexual equality, Iceland is probably a world leader. The citizens of Reykjavík are immensely proud of Reykjavík Pride, the Hinsegin dagar, now the largest city and street party of the year. I myself have been actively involved in it almost every year, and since I’ve been mayor (and I am particularly proud of this) I have even made it my trademark to wave down to the crowd from garishly decorated floats, dressed in changing drag costumes.

The year before last I had planned to get dolled up as Princess Leia. Everything was ready: costume, wig, and props. But less than two hours before the start of the parade, I had the spontaneous idea instead of pulling on a Pussy Riot mask to express my solidarity with the Russian punk rock band.

As mayor, I’d like to remain true to myself. I’m trying to do my job as well as my conscience will allow. I take the trouble to go into the nitty-gritty of complicated situations, even if I find them basically dead boring. At all costs, I want to avoid inflicting any damage on our city through negligence, thoughtlessness, or sloth. On the other hand, it’s vital for me to have fun, and if I think of something hysterically funny, then I try to implement it. For example, appearing at official occasions in weird clothing or posting oblique comments on Facebook.

Politicians abroad are not generally aware of me. I know, for example, that Obama has been informed about the Best Party, but obviously this news has not made him fall off his chair. Certainly, Iceland is a small country, sparsely populated and far away, which is probably why foreign politicians tend to overlook or dismiss me as a naive buffoon.

My protest letter to the Mayor of Moscow, in which I criticized the ban on Gay Pride parades, was formulated with exquisite politeness. I have yet to receive an answer. I’ve also written to Obama, describing my ideas about Reykjavík as the “City of Peace” and asking him to keep us in mind as a locale for international
peace gatherings. This letter I wrote to him as the most powerful man in the world, but also as a winner of the Nobel Peace Prize. I got no reaction from the White House either.

In my role as Mayor of Reykjavík, I regularly deal with Scandinavian politicians. These contacts are always nice and friendly, without them showing me or the Best Party any appreciable interest or seeking to have any personal conversation with me. The only political groups who wanted to know more about me were the Greens in Austria and the German Pirate Party. Maybe I spook foreign politicians a bit. They can’t anticipate what new crazy idea I’m going to come up with next and are scared that my antics might encourage people in their own countries to mimic me.

The only prominent intellectual who seems to have a genuine interest in me is the linguist and political maven Noam Chomsky. Chomsky makes no secret of the fact that he thinks I’m the best mayor ever—which of course is a great honor to me. When he was in Reykjavík as a guest, we met here at City Hall for a fruitful exchange of ideas, and since then we’ve stayed in touch.

At international conferences people generally place me with the Left, more or less. That said, I’m not inevitably invited to the compulsory dinner receptions, and when I am, it’s mainly thanks to representatives of grassroots movements who want to meet me. This has often led, both in Europe and in the States, to thrilling
encounters, such as with people from the inner circles of the Occupy Wall Street movement. These contacts were, for whatever reason, never permanent, but I am neither bitter nor eaten up with resentment.

My contacts with representatives of other countries such as China, Russia, and the United States were always pleasant and uncomplicated. All of these ambassadors and consuls general have shown me respect and friendship. I had a particularly good rapport with the U.S. Ambassador, Mr. Luis Arreaga, who took up his post here at about the same time I took office—a really nice guy.

After the parliamentary elections in Italy in 2013, when the party of Beppe Grillo was able to win its legendary success, a few Italian politicians got in touch with me. Beppe Grillo himself and, not least, the people in his immediate circle had announced that I’d always been a driving force and a kind of role model for them and their party.

But of course I’m not a politician. I just got involved in politics. Now you might well say that as soon as you stand in a democratic election and get elected you’re a politician. I don’t know if I would agree with that. All in all, I’m probably something a bit like the Mars rover
Curiosity
. A reconnaissance vehicle on a distant planet. Is
Curiosity
a Martian? Did he become a Martian when he landed on Mars? How long do you have to spend on Mars before you can count as a Martian? These are good questions.