Used Furniture And Small Things
When we call somewhere a ghetto, we expect those who live there to be embarrassed, but we are the ones who should be ashamed
The Barber Of Nørrebrogade
My beard was getting out of hand and the closest barber to the hotel was looking for €50 to trim it, so I texted Andreas.
“Get on the metro and go to Nørrebros Runddel, 100 barbers on Nørrebrogade.
You’ll get a haircut for 100/150 kr.
But only cash :)”
100 Danish crowns is about 13 Euros. Sold.
Nørrebrogade is one of those places that people that have never been to like to call a ghetto. “Ghetto” is a code word that means “a place where poor brown people that we don’t want live.”
The streets are full of the kind of shops that are frequented by people with little disposable income - fresh fruit and vegetables, barbers, second-hand stores, cheap clothes and electronics.
One doesn’t have a name. It just has a simple sign over the door - “Used Furniture And Small Things”. It’s next to a Red Cross store. They both seemed to be busy enough.
The first barber would have been delighted to take my money but my Covid test was more than 72 hours old.
I went off to renew it, but on the way back I passed by a barber shop with two empty chairs and a lonesome-looking barber looking glumly out the window, so I went in.
Written Danish and Swedish are very similar, and the more time I spend here the more I understand Danes when they speak, but spoken Swedish is - literally - like a foreign language to them.
I spoke to the barber in English and asked him to trim my beard, and the conversation that everyone that comes from somewhere else has when we meet began.
He asked me where I was from, I did the same.
He was a Kurd from northern Iraq, 22 years in Denmark. He liked it here, except for the winter.
“You go to job, home, job, home. No sunshine. No heat.”
I told him I lived in Sweden and that my friend Haidar is also Kurdish.
He tested the waters.
“Sweden is better, no?”
“How do you mean?”
“For people …”
I waited.
“For people like us.”
He had the same lonesome look as when he was looking out the window.
Over the last 10 or 15 years people like the Barber of Nørrebrogade have become a political football. The nastier you can be about them, the more political capital you can make.
Laws have been passed where refugees can have their belongings seized and sold in return for the shelter and protection that is a fundamental human right.
In 2018 a decision was taken to house foreigners who have been convicted of crimes but that cannot be deported on an island normally used for researching contagious animal disease.
“They are unwanted in Denmark,” the country’s immigration minister Inger Stojberg said when the decision was announced, “and they will feel that.”
Recently, they went one step further, passing a law that will keep refugees outside of Denmark altogether as they go through the process.
Once a social democratic paradise, Denmark’s slide into everyday racism has been quick and painful.
There’s no need for it, of course. This is one of the richest countries in the world. A couple of stops away Danish fans have been spending their days drinking beer in the sunshine.
The outpouring of compassion for their playmaker Christian Eriksen, who collapsed and died while playing against Finland only to be brought back to life by medics, indicates that they do have a heart after all.
But the social democracy that thrived after the Second World War is now but a memory. Our later wars have been staged elsewhere, far from our borders, with our money and our participation, but with the blood of Kurds and Hazara and Rohingya.
What do you say to a man working hard every single day in a country that he knows, deep down, doesn’t want him?
“Yes,” I said. “Sweden is a little better.”
But not much.
I gave him whatever Danish cash I had and left.
As I went back towards the station there was a stream of people coming towards me wearing the uniforms of those who keep society running while trying to remain invisible. Cleaners, transport workers, food delivery couriers, healthcare workers.
They were returning to their homes after a long day of keeping the wheels of a country that doesn’t want them turning. One that would grind to a halt without them.
An honest day’s work done, they have nothing to be ashamed of.
The Podcast
… this week was a weird one. I should have made it earlier, but I chickened out.
It’s an attempt to recall and explain what happened when Christian Eriksen collapsed, what it was like to be there and my attempt to deal with the emotions of it afterwards - emotions that surprised me a lot and that I found hard to deal with.
So far only one person has been in touch to tell me they’ve listened to it, and as I never check statistics I don’t know how many have had it in their headphones. I’d doubt it will be the most popular one I’ll ever make, but it struck me the other day that it might be interesting to listen back to in 10 years time, when hopefully Christian Eriksen is an old man.
The Week Ahead
One more game in Copenhagen, then back to Stockholm. Feels strange to be away for so long after being stuck in Sweden during the pandemic, but I’ll make the most of it while it lasts.
Have a great week, wherever you are in the world.