Gnarr

Theories are clever things. In politics there are a lot of theories that make perfect sense: socialism, with its classless society, equality, and fraternity; or liberalism, which wants to give everyone enough leeway to work freely. Even in education and culture, there are smart ideas. And in the different religions. But unfortunately there is something to which no theory is immune: human weakness. Immaturity is one weakness. Selfishness another. Greed. No matter what ideology you hold to, sooner or later greed and selfishness get in the way, especially when it comes to human encounters.

In partnerships and families, at school or at work. Wherever people are trying to build something up, a single individual can bring everything crashing down. We know this from apartment buildings. You only need one person to step out of line and things get out of hand. In an apartment building, there are usually a few regulations about the use of laundry rooms and detergents. As long as everyone follows the rules, it all works beautifully. But there’s always someone who doesn’t seem able to do so. We’ve all met these people: the neighbors who leave their laundry hanging in the laundry room for days on end or use all of your
detergent without asking. That’s the kind of thing that undermines the whole system. If we all try just a little bit to keep that from happening, I think we might not need any rules.

I’ve always divided people into two categories. There are the givers, the big-hearted people who assume responsibility and don’t leave any litter, in either the everyday or the more spiritual sense. And then there are the others, the people who don’t yield an inch because for some reason they can’t or won’t, perhaps because they think everyone else owes them something. They’re always quick to accept the help of others, but the idea of actually offering help themselves never seems to occur to them. These people are spiritual bloodsuckers.

I’ve been dragging this problem around with me my whole life, and I’m pretty used to dividing people into “givers” and “takers.” I feel good when I’m dealing with people who give me something, especially when it’s joy they give me. I’m particularly grateful for people who surprise me—those who have something beautiful, funny, or perplexing up their sleeves and conjure it up without expecting anything definite in return. And also those who simply give me a present—whereupon, I try to do the same.

In 2008, Iceland experienced the terrible consequences of the economic crisis. The country’s banks crashed in a catastrophic way, and we soon learned that the government had practiced no oversight of our
banks whatsoever, with cronyism and incompetence at work at the highest legislative levels. The forces that brought about the economic collapse were selfishness and greed: the bankers made risky investments, enriched themselves, they bought big houses and fancy cars, and then all of the economic miracles of the Icelandic banking economy were exposed as fiction. The rest of the country suffered. Huge protests, directed at the government and the banks, soon followed.

As I detail in these pages, my response to the crisis was somewhat different: in 2009, I founded a political party with my friends: The Best Party.

In 2010, the party ran in the Reykjavík city council election. We won six of the fifteen seats, which meant that—after we formed a coalition government—I became mayor of Reykjavík, the capital of Iceland and the only big city in the country, home to most of Iceland’s citizens, as well as its government, banks, and thriving arts community.

When I entered politics I freely called myself an anarchist. But does that mean I seriously think that the dream of an ideal society in which everyone takes care of everyone else and everyone respects the rights of others can actually come true? A society in which you don’t need any rules, because everyone is so kind and mature and intelligent? No, I don’t think so.

When it came to democracy and politics, I had tended up until then to go for a comfy, rather passive attitude. The Best Party was my first attempt at getting
involved. When I created the Best Party, I made a point of bringing in as many generous, intelligent, and sincere people as I could identify. Most of these people had, like so many others of the same ilk, ended up following the route of passivity in politics. With the Best Party I wanted to address precisely these people and get them to join in. I encouraged them to get involved in a positive way—even though the gibe that “the anarchist is one who criticizes society from the comfort of his armchair” also applies, unfortunately, to myself.

Leo Tolstoy once said, “Everyone wants to change the world, but no one wants to change himself.” But I feel that I have changed myself. I’ve done my homework. And next I want to try—just try, mind you!—to change the world. In a positive way. This essentially means leading by example. The Best Party wants to be a good example. We strive for honesty. We are against violence. And where others see problems, we provide solutions. All this is extremely tiring, but it’s what we’ve tried to do.

This book is an attempt to tell the story of my own political evolution and how I came to form the Best Party.

I’m often asked what I am particularly proud of in my party’s work. Of course, we’ve achieved a lot. Since my election as mayor of Reykjavík, we’ve created cycle paths, organized funding for social projects, redesigned urban areas, and supported new works of art for public spaces. But what I’m really proud of, to be honest, is
just the fact that we still exist. I’m proud that a group of people from outside the political class has come together to try and change things, and has stuck with this ambitious project. We’re still here, and still with the original cast. We’ve also encouraged many young people to open their mouths and intervene wherever something strikes them as unjust, wrong, or pointless. I can well imagine, at least I hope, that our actions and methods will provide a lesson.

A manifesto by Jón Gnarr, posted January 12, 2010, on the website of the Best Party
.

Recently I was traveling abroad and suddenly felt the urge to pop into a swimming pool. I headed off to a kind of spa resort where I expected to find a pool, but—zilch. Instead, there were only a couple of hot tubs, and they weren’t even particularly hot. Still, there was a Jacuzzi bubbling away, so I gave it a try. Apart from me there was only one other bather present, an old man. I gave him a brief nod as I stepped into the water, then I closed my eyes and let the air bubbles rinse all the stress from my body. Suddenly the old man spoke to me.

“What do you think the future holds for Iceland?” he asked.

I was speechless. “I
am
from Iceland,” I finally replied. He didn’t reply and let his eyelids droop again. Did he know that I was an Icelander? And if so,
how
could he know? Only when we said goodbye in the parking lot did I notice that he had a special issue of the local paper—in which I had been profiled—in his sports bag.

The man was Knut Finkelstein, a futurologist from Frankfurt, Germany, who’d been fascinated by my interview in the paper and, like many other readers in Frankfurt at the time, apparently, was really worried about the future of Iceland.

On my foreign trips I often chat with children and teenagers. They too all seem to take a passionate interest in Iceland; many have read interviews and want to find out everything they can about the Best Party. I’m always very touched when I have a crowd of these young people around me, as they really seem to be deeply affected, blown away really, by all the things happening around them.

In Iceland, I recently visited a small village out in the country. There I met a tourist who told me proudly how he’d once eaten Icelandic lamb on a vacation through the United States. I was delighted to hear it, of course. Coincidentally, I had a big bottle of cocktail sauce in my bag, and I pressed it into his hand when we said goodbye. “Next time you have Icelandic lamb, dip it in this!”

Eventually the only cars around will be electric ones. And there’ll be batteries that last much longer than today. And Christmas tree ornaments that light up all by themselves. The people in power never think that far ahead. This is not good. They drift helplessly forward, bobbing along like someone clinging on to a weather balloon he’s lost control of. These are the people who call the shots in our country. When it comes
to planning for the future, the authorities have failed to adopt a clear course that everyone can live with. Basically, they don’t give a damn about the future, as they think it’s completely irrelevant. So far, not a single member of Parliament in Iceland has had the courage to openly and honestly address the important questions about the future. No other party considers a programmatic look into the future as one of its values.

We do! We could certainly look forward to a rosy future—if people would only vote for us. If not, I’m afraid the outlook is dark. Everyone’s heart will sink down into his boots. Everything will be privatized, while the state nonetheless keeps it all under its thumb. Beer will be illegal again, just like being gay or driving a car. The EU will swallow us entirely and force us to give up everything we hold dear—such as fermented mutton testicles and smoked lamb. There’s no way to resist. If we put up a fight, Brussels will send troops to Iceland to shoot on sight anyone who violates EU rules. They’ll haul people out of their houses and shoot them down in the middle of the street—just because they’ve put too much salt on their food perhaps, or taken a pinch of snuff. Neoliberalism in all its pomp and splendor will make its triumphant entry, and sooner or later everything will be up for sale: we’ll have a society that lies somewhere between economic liberalism and the nanny state. Eventually, people will even sell off their own organs just to afford a bit of luxury. What can you really call your own when you have to sell a kidney in
order to celebrate your birthday? Nothing. And everyone’s wearing the same clothes.