A plea to those who nourished the killer
By Petter Nome
It is only natural to ask what kind of mental and moral disorder could lead a young man to attempt to eradicate the heart of political life in a normally peaceful nation, and also massacre 76 people in a youth camp. Yet making this a mental issue alone risks a dangerous dead end.
In recent days it has become clear that Anders Behring Breivik had been planning his acts, and writing his 1,500-page political manifesto, for the past nine years. For at least part of that time he was enrolled in the populist rightwing Norwegian Progressive party, and served as head of the board in a local party branch. Elsewhere, he has been a member of the Freemasons, and admitted to admiring the Knights Templar and crusaders. He also identifies with Christian fundamentalism. In all of this he seems like an intelligent man, with an intellectual, if obviously deeply disturbed, mind.
His “philosophy” is extreme and pervaded with hate, but we must admit that many of his views and arguments are not obscure nonsense in the mind of a freak. Instead, they are arguments sometimes found in everyday conversations in many of Europe’s streets and pubs – and also from time to time in mainstream politics.
First of all, there are his anti-Muslim views, and fear of what he calls “multiculturalisation”. However, Mr Breivik has other proposals: increasing the use of the death penalty for repeat criminal convictions, for example, or the forced use of residential camps to treat drug addicts. Some of his ideas – such as increasing the birth rate in western countries by banning abortion, and giving more cultural power to the church – are also not unheard of among the far right in Europe.
Populist parties and movements in most western countries embrace at least some of these ideas, which, in democratic societies, they are free to do. My accusation is not that they use freedom of speech to support marginal ideas. Instead, it is that many of these movements breed and build their influence by fostering suspicion towards peoples and groups that they hardly know. They nourish the smouldering fear and uncertainty in parts of the population, thus making it possible for such feelings suddenly to transform into hate and violence.
The Progress party is the second-biggest party in Norway, holding 41 out of 169 seats in parliament. Its leader, Siv Jensen, said she was shocked when Mr Breivik turned out to be a former member. There is no reason not to believe her.
Even so, her party’s slogans about “Islamisation” and “Christian” values have never been a force for the building of bridges between people and cultures. Of course, Ms Jensen is not a supporter of violence. Neither are most of her colleagues in Europe’s populist and rightwing parties. But they do carry profound responsibility for creating a climate in which hate and violence are options for their impatient followers.
At this moment, Norway is united in grief and sorrow. Normal political controversies are now swept away. Government buildings still look like a war zone, even as a mountain of flowers and candles grows outside Oslo’s cathedral. There is no visible anger, no loud cries for revenge, just silent despair and proud moments of dignity. As one of the Utoya survivors, a teenage girl, said: “If one man can show so much hate, imagine how much love we all can show together.”
The government has made clear that these attacks will not alter the freedom and openness of Norwegian society. “The Norway of tomorrow will look the same,” says secretary of state Jonas Gahr Store. I hope he is right. However, the time must also come to answer the vital questions of responsibility and lessons learnt. That day should dawn, not only in Norway, but in all European countries, so that fear and hate are no longer methods or goals in our everyday politics.
The writer has contributed journalism to various Norwegian newspapers, radio and television stations for the past 30 years
