When the ballots had been counted, the Prime Minister of Iceland declared the result a "shock"
The same sense of shock was felt by almost everyone. The old guard, because it had lost. And the new party, because it had won.
There had never been such a result – not in Iceland or anywhere else. Reykjavik had long been a bastion of the conservatives. That was now history. With 34.7% of the vote, the city had voted a new party into power: the anarcho-surrealists.
The leading candidate, Jón Gnarr, a comedian by profession, entered the riotous hall full of drunken anarchists looking rather circumspect. Almost shyly, he raised his fist and said: 'Welcome to the revolution!' And: "Hurray for all kinds of things!"
Gnarr was now the mayor of Reykjavik. After the Prime Minister, he held the second-most important office in the land. A third of all Icelanders live in the capital and another third commute to work there. The city is the country’s largest employer and its mayor the boss of some 8,000 civil servants.
No wonder the result was such a shock. Reykjavik was beset by crises: the crash of the banking system had also brought everything else to the verge of bankruptcy – the country, the city, companies and inhabitants. And the anarcho-surrealist party – the self-appointed Best Party – was composed largely of rock stars, mainly former punks. Not one of them had ever been part of any political body. Their slogan for overcoming the crisis was simple: "More punk, less hell!"
What were the conservative voters of Reykjavik thinking? On May 27, 2010, they did something that people usually only talk about: they took power out of the hands of politicians and gave it to amateurs.
And so began a unique political experiment. How would the anti-politicians govern? Like punks? Like anarchists? In the midst of a crisis?
"It was group sex"
A glance at the most important campaign promises of the Best Party is more than enough to highlight the audacity of Reykjavik’s voters. They were promised free towels at swimming pools, a polar bear for the zoo, the import of Jews, "so that someone who understands something about economics finally comes to Iceland", a drug-free parliament by 2020, inaction ("we’ve worked hard all our lives and want to take a well-paid four-year break now"), Disneyland with free weekly passes for the unemployed ("where they can have themselves photographed with Goofy"), greater understanding for the rural population ("every Icelandic farmer should be able to take a sheep to a hotel for free"), free bus tickets. And all this with the caveat: "We can promise more than any other party because we will break every campaign promise."
by Constantin Seibt, Tages Anzeiger | Read more:
Image: Halldor Kolbeins
The same sense of shock was felt by almost everyone. The old guard, because it had lost. And the new party, because it had won.
There had never been such a result – not in Iceland or anywhere else. Reykjavik had long been a bastion of the conservatives. That was now history. With 34.7% of the vote, the city had voted a new party into power: the anarcho-surrealists.The leading candidate, Jón Gnarr, a comedian by profession, entered the riotous hall full of drunken anarchists looking rather circumspect. Almost shyly, he raised his fist and said: 'Welcome to the revolution!' And: "Hurray for all kinds of things!"
Gnarr was now the mayor of Reykjavik. After the Prime Minister, he held the second-most important office in the land. A third of all Icelanders live in the capital and another third commute to work there. The city is the country’s largest employer and its mayor the boss of some 8,000 civil servants.
No wonder the result was such a shock. Reykjavik was beset by crises: the crash of the banking system had also brought everything else to the verge of bankruptcy – the country, the city, companies and inhabitants. And the anarcho-surrealist party – the self-appointed Best Party – was composed largely of rock stars, mainly former punks. Not one of them had ever been part of any political body. Their slogan for overcoming the crisis was simple: "More punk, less hell!"
What were the conservative voters of Reykjavik thinking? On May 27, 2010, they did something that people usually only talk about: they took power out of the hands of politicians and gave it to amateurs.
And so began a unique political experiment. How would the anti-politicians govern? Like punks? Like anarchists? In the midst of a crisis?
"It was group sex"
A glance at the most important campaign promises of the Best Party is more than enough to highlight the audacity of Reykjavik’s voters. They were promised free towels at swimming pools, a polar bear for the zoo, the import of Jews, "so that someone who understands something about economics finally comes to Iceland", a drug-free parliament by 2020, inaction ("we’ve worked hard all our lives and want to take a well-paid four-year break now"), Disneyland with free weekly passes for the unemployed ("where they can have themselves photographed with Goofy"), greater understanding for the rural population ("every Icelandic farmer should be able to take a sheep to a hotel for free"), free bus tickets. And all this with the caveat: "We can promise more than any other party because we will break every campaign promise."
by Constantin Seibt, Tages Anzeiger | Read more:
Image: Halldor Kolbeins
