Culture

'Today, we are all Norwegian'

Reflections on political terror and the Scandinavian experience in the Northwest.

'Today, we are all Norwegian'
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Peter Jackson

Reflections on political terror and the Scandinavian experience in the Northwest.

A Facebook post has become an anthem of the chin-scratching class from Beijing to Ballard: I dag er vi alle Norske. "Today, we are all Norwegian."

The scale of Anders Behring Breivik's political terror is extraordinary. Even among Lutheran existentialists, violence is not  suppose to be visited upon the innocent, and God is never so jarringly  absent.

For Norwegian Americans, expressions of solidarity kindle feelings of  both grief and ethnic hubris. Really, we are all Norwegian? We all rank  first on the Human Development Index and produce above-average  children? Oh, you wish you were Norwegian.

Scandinavian immigrants changed the cultural landscape of the  Northwest, transplanting a tradition of political progressivism, fair  play, and trade unionism. There might even be a link, however tenuous,  between Norse immigrants and the Northwest's appetite for clean,  ponderous, process-heavy government. For a time, along with Swedes and  Germans, Norwegians were the vanguard of Washington's post-colonial  settlers. The Norse were weaned and influenced by the Jante Law,  a sense not that everyone is equal per se, just that no one is better  than anyone else. Suck it up. Don't be a braggart and accept life on  life's terms.

My paternal grandparents were part of the great Norwegian diaspora  which, unlike other ethnic dispersals, never quite made sense. There was no  political or economic disaster to flee. My grandparents received the  promotional brochures brandishing the American West, and they bit. They  discovered a near-identical climate and a land that blended nature with  labor. After a time, they happened upon Our Savior's Lutheran Church in  Everett and the stolid Rev. Karl Norgaard, who conducted his sermons in  Norwegian. For them, the Pacific Northwest was Norway, only more so.

Like the Irish, the Chinese, the Italians, and other immigrant  communities, Norwegian-Americans have an emotive link to their ancestral  home. That's why the ripples from Anders Behring Breivik's terror  radiate with such force.

As a child I devoured Claire Sterling's book, The Terror Network. Sterling was able to document the vast organizational web that knit  together the IRA, the PLO, Germany's Baader-Meinhof gang, Italy's Red  Brigades, and other disparate 1970s-era radical groups. Commandos  trained together and learned the fundamentals of asymmetrical warfare.  Here's how to manufacture a car bomb. Here's how to hijack a commercial  airliner.

In the aftermath of 9/11, Sterling's book reminded me of the  difference between mass political violence — of violence with an  ideological agenda, which 9/11 was — and the violence of a lone,  apolitical actor. It's one of the reasons why the expression "The War on  Terror" makes as little sense as "The War on Fertilizer Bombs."

In brief, Anders Behring Breivik's mass shooting and bombing  represent xenophobic political violence. Breivik had a strategic and  instrumental purpose: To foster panic and to murder future leaders of  Norway's Labor party. Period. The "madman" explanation is a cop out.

Books such as Ian Buruma's Murder in Amsterdam regarding  Theo van Gogh's killing illustrate how Scandinavia and Northern Europe  are riven by ethnic and sectarian tensions. Breivik stands on the  unsteady shoulders of Pim Fortuyn, Vidkun Quisling, and other  master-race reactionaries. If there's an American analog to Breivik it's Nidal Malik Hasan, the Fort Hood shooter. So forget the riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma version. Political violence is what it is: it has the power to inflame, diminish, or unite a people.

Here's the takeaway: Breivik does not appear  to be a mentally ill rebel without a cause. He is a political actor with  a political agenda committed to mass political violence. It's a horror  narrative that would have repelled Sweden's Igmar Bergman, who in his  films explored God's silence and the mystery of death. No, this is Costa-Gavras territory, an admixture of violence and politics and  society.

Americans understand both narratives. Today, we are all Norwegian. We always were.

There will be a vigil, starting at 6 pm, this Tuesday night at the Nordic Heritage Museum, with honorary Norwegian counsul Kim Nesselquist attending.

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Peter Jackson

By Peter Jackson

Peter Jackson is the former editorial-page editor of the Everett Herald. Follow him on Twitter @phardinjackson