June 9, 2007 at 19:45:39

Rocking the G8 Tour 2007

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By by David Rovics, Posted by Larry Sakin (about the submitter) Page 5 of 8 page(s)

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Not only was it roughly the anniversary of the hunger strike in downtown Oslo, but it was also the one-year anniversary of the killing of a young immigrant from Nigeria by a Trondheim cop. It was a classic story, repeated ad nauseum in the US. It was almost identical to a story I had heard just weeks before in Sonoma County, California. The young man from Nigeria had low blood pressure and had gone too long without eating. In front of the social welfare office he was feeling delusional and apparently acting out. If he were a white Norwegian, of course, the cop probably would have recognized the situation for what it was and sought medical help for him. Being black, however, he instead strangled him to death.

Over a thousand people there in downtown Trondheim, and over a thousand at the same time in Oslo, wanted to let the authorities know that this kind of racism is not OK in Norway.

There also at the rally were many of the Afghans I had met in Oslo a year earlier. They had chosen that day to embark on a long march from Trondheim to Oslo to highlight their plight and that of other asylum-seekers who are daily being deported back to war zones like Afghanistan. I sang for them as they began their walk. As I write this, they are about three-fourths of the way to Oslo. Many people were concerned about how they'd do in the very sparsely-populated, snow-covered mountainous regions that they had to walk through to get to Oslo, but they assured everyone that they had had lots of experience walking through snowy mountain ranges escaping their homeland and getting to Europe. They all made it through those mountains just fine.

That night after the rally in Trondheim I was to play at UFFA's annual three-day music festival. Before the festival I was talking with one of the organizers, Bjorn-Hugo, about the differences between the activist scene in Norway as opposed to other European countries. "It's hard to be very militant when they keep giving you what you ask for," he explained. For example, when the old UFFA center burned down by accident, the anarchists demanded that the government give them another building. The government did. It's a bit further from the center of town, but it has a bigger backyard than the last one, and everybody's happy with it.

But the folks at UFFA still have a lot to be mad about. Although the society is prosperous and nobody's going hungry, Norway is an oil-rich nation that encourages fossil fuel dependency and global warming. It's a big arms exporter. Its troops are occupying Afghanistan. And a member of the Trondheim police force strangled an African immigrant to death last year, to name a few concerns.

It's summer, and in Scandinavia in general, and northern Norway in particular, the sun never really sets. It always feels eerily like it's about 5 pm. Long shadows, a dusky light, but never dark. For maybe a half hour at about 2 am it almost got dark, but then it started getting lighter again. When the festival was over, at 4 am, several dozen fairly intoxicated anarchists � they had been drinking a northern Norwegian specialty called Kolshk, a mix of moonshine and coffee � marched towards the social welfare office where the Nigerian was killed. It was only a few blocks from UFFA.

Along with the march, in a shopping cart, they brought with them a toy wooden police wagon, about a meter tall and a meter wide, big enough for a child to sit in and pretend to drive. "It's Trondheim. We don't burn real police cars here," someone explained. They wheeled the toy police wagon up to the social office, doused it with moonshine and set it on fire.

In the early dawn light, beneath the cloudy sky, the bright red fire and black smoke was beautiful, and far more dramatic than I had imagined burning a toy police car might be. A couple of real police cars circled us but didn't do anything provocative like get out of their cars or anything... The fire department responded with impressive speed, looking like they had just gotten out of bed and thrown their gear on, and were not happy to be awoken so early for no good reason. They dutifully put out the fire, turning the black smoke white, leaving a smoldering toy police wagon still sitting in the shopping cart.

Without missing a beat, folks bid the social office adieu and wheeled the cart back to UFFA. Some of them climbed onto the roof and planted the partly-burned, still-smoldering toy police wagon on top of the chimney for all passersby to see. I suspect the partly-blackened police car atop UFFA will be staying there for quite some time.

"From dreaming comes knowledge." Armand was quoting an ancient Arab writer. I was in the Netherlands, starting the Holland leg of my tour. Armand and I were backstage at the ACU club in downtown Utrecht, smoking big spliffs.

"What kind of weed do you recommend I get at the coffeeshop down the street?" I asked. He looked at me skeptically. "I don't touch the stuff from the coffeeshops. I only smoke outdoor organic."

The Netherlands is now the only country in Europe where you can buy pot and hash over the counter in coffeeshops (since the Danish police put an end to Pusher Street in Christiania). It hasn't always been that way in Holland, though, and Armand remembers those days well. When he was a young man in the late 1950's he first smoked cannabis with some folks from the Caribbean he met at the harbor in Belgium, and he's been a proponent ever since.

In the 60's Armand became a household name in Holland and Belgium (the Dutch-speaking world, you could say). As in Denmark, the US, and much of the world, it was a time when leftwing hippies like Armand could become rock stars, and he did. He had many hits, and was known as the Dutch Bob Dylan. Stylistically there is certainly a resemblance, though his lyrics, from what I'm told (they're almost all in Dutch), focus largely on cannabis, with peace and love and other nice ideas thrown in for good measure.

At age 61, with a full mane of long, bright red, dyed hair, and very multicolored clothing, he can enthrall an audience for hours. He used to pack stadiums. Now he packs smaller venues, though with significantly larger audiences than I'd normally get most places, so doing several gigs in Holland with him was a pleasure for various reasons.

Armand and I were first playing at a G8 informational event, encouraging folks to go to the protests, talking about what was going to be happening there, before the music started. The fear tactics of the German authorities seemed to be crossing borders, since just the week before a hundred bicyclists were mass-arrested for having an unpermitted Critical Mass bike ride there in Utrecht. The general consensus was that the Dutch authorities were looking for names of people who might be going to the G8 protests in nearby Germany, to pass their information on to the German authorities, since mass-arrests of bicyclists is not the norm in this otherwise very bicycle-friendly nation.

That night I slept in a large squatted building only a couple hundred meters from City Hall, in the center of downtown Utrecht. There had been a big fire in the building fifteen years ago and the building was abandoned. Taking advantage of Dutch laws which say that buildings left abandoned for a certain amount of time can legally be squatted, it was squatted and fixed up at least to the point where people could safely live in it.

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