“You have to break down in order to build up,” Siggi the Punk sometimes said.
I thought about it. Was that right? And what was it you had to break down? And how? Was violence the only way? Rebellions and revolutions were usually violent. Screaming people with guns and flags, on a rampage, smashing in windows and setting fire to cars. That couldn’t be the only way. The system is like the Morons: it’s always stronger, and if it uses force on you and you respond with violence, then it simply applies yet more violence.
The cops were the biggest enemy for my peers. They saw everything about the police as bad. To them, the police were fascists, malicious people who enjoyed power and picking fights with others and so became cops. But I knew better. I was brought up around cops. Cops were just people like everyone else. Most of Dad’s friends were all right. Dad had joined the cops because at the time it was the only job he could get. For me, the police was only an extension of the mentality of society. What the police did was not their issue but the whole community’s. It was pointless to fight the cops. It was only fighting windmills. Most people are good and wish others well, but in all groups there are morons, and unfortunately they often seem to draw more attention than others, and so people judge whole groups based on the Morons. This also applies to us kids. If some punk broke in somewhere or did something wrong, then there would be news about it in the papers and even a picture. People who read the news would then condemn all punks based on that. But we were not all alike, and most of us never did anything wrong. Most punks were good kids. I think that’s true everywhere, in politics, religion, the workplace, everywhere where people are grouped together. It’s not advisable to take only those who draw attention because they’re troublesome or evil and then judge the entire group from those people. That’s akin to trying to cure cancer by killing all cancer patients. To eliminate the problem, you have to go to the root, and the root lies deep in the mysterious minds of people. That was where I wanted to get to, I wanted to reach them. I wanted more openness and tolerance. I wanted people to be more varied and less alike. I wanted people to be nicer to each other, too. But not like hippies. They were just jerks and losers who beat their kids but protected flies.
I really felt for my friends at Hlemmur. Some were poor or had parents who treated them badly. Others were mentally handicapped or disabled in some way that affects people: dyslexia, autism, neurosis, crippling anxiety. Everywhere they were treated harshly. Everyone was ready to give up on them without ever having given them a chance. They’d been judged. The children of their parents. Future winos, junkies, and criminals. The community was like a military force that didn’t want the wretched in its ranks. It had washed its hands and looked away, but these kids were still sitting there, wounded. Many of them were utterly disconsolate.
I remember one boy who hung out with me at Hlemmur around that time. His father was mentally ill, his mother was an invalid, and his sister was mentally handicapped. His home situation was so bad that he didn’t want to stay there, he was treated so badly. He did poorly in school and was treated horribly there, too. He had difficulty concentrating and was teased because he stuttered. So he came to Hlemmur. No one ever came looking for him, no one was concerned about him or wondered how he felt. It seemed no one loved him, that everyone didn’t care. But he found refuge among us. He wasn’t teased at Hlemmur. There, it was cool to stutter. At Hlemmur he had a unique standing and was treated with a respect he had never experienced before. He came to Hlemmur to take a rest from the world. He never did anything to anyone. He was an amusing kid with friendly brown eyes, a sparkling glance, and great curiosity. He was looking for love, friendship, and acceptance.
During the winter, his sister died. He came to Hlemmur. It was the only place where he could grieve. He cried in front of us. One girl went over to him and hugged him. They sat on the bus bench outside Hlemmur, and he wept in her arms, and tears fell down her black leather jacket. I didn’t really know what I was supposed to do, so I just stood at a distance and watched them. No one was interested in them; in general, people just walked past without paying attention to punks, even when they were crying. One day he stopped coming to Hlemmur. I didn’t know why. I saw him sometimes on the bus and we talked. Then the social welfare agencies sent him out to the country somewhere, and I lost contact with him. I heard nothing more until a year later, when I heard he was dead. I don’t know how he died. Maybe it was an accident. There was nothing about it in the papers. None of us went to the funeral. We didn’t imagine we’d be welcome.
The punks at Hlemmur have now mostly become grown adults. Some have done all right and even found happiness in life, like myself. But many of these kids are dead. One good friend of mine died from drug abuse in a foreign city. Another leapt into the sea and drowned in a drug-fueled haze. Another was killed. In my memory, they are still only thirteen years old, small and confused, baby-faced and in leather jackets.
That love exists at all in this world is a miracle because if everything had gone according to plan, the brutal world would have long since killed it off.
ANARCHIST LAND
I would like to live in a country where no one has permission to rule over anyone else.
The Icelandic word for anarchism, stjórnleysi, really means leaderlessness. It’s a poor translation. Leaderlessness is basically chaos. Leaderlessness is freedom without responsibility. Anarchism is freedom with responsibility. Anarchism is not leaderlessness. It’s not chaos. Anarchism is perfection. There are schools in Anarchist Land. Not just a single school based on a system everyone must undergo. No, in Anarchist Land there are many different schools. And no one needs to attend more often than he wants to. People can learn what they want and can do what they want. If people want to learn at night and sleep during the day, that’s okay.
In Anarchist Land everyone is equal and considerate and understands that not everyone is alike. But people are not utterly selfish. There are some selfish people who think anarchism is selfish. For example, it does not formally appoint people to help others. But there are people who think that’s fun. People who understand that when you help others you are mostly helping yourself — not everyone understands that.
Anarchism is as varied as people are. In Anarchist Land, people can be the way they are without someone always telling them they’re wrong. In Anarchist Land you can be gay or punk or a lawyer. Male lawyers can wear nail varnish if they want. You might have three wives or four. You can do whatever you want as long as you don’t hurt others. You can dress how you like. You can show up naked for work, and there’s no one who can forbid that. The only thing that’s prohibited is being evil towards others. Everyone has something to give. Everyone needs to find out what they have to give and give it as much as they can.
In Anarchist Land I’m allowed to build my own house and make it the way I want. I can have lizards in my room and go to school on a horse. I can light a campfire in the garden. I can speak the language I want and say what I want but always without being annoying to others.
In Anarchist Land there’s no money and no bank. All time is equally important. People exchange time. The doctor’s time is just as important as the cleaning lady’s. Women and men are equal.