Authors: Anne Holt
‘They build the foundations for actions based on hatred, they refuse to condemn such actions when they occur, and afterwards they wash their hands of the whole thing because they didn’t come straight out and say “kill them”.’
‘Exactly,’ said Karen, nodding. ‘And when a priest proclaims into the ether that homosexuals are wallowing in sin and will die an agonizing death, they will burn in hell, they will … Well, he can simply say he was referring to the word and the will of God. If one of God’s children took him literally, that’s not his problem. And as you’re well aware, religious freedom and the freedom of speech are …’
‘The very basis of America’s existence,’ Johanne concluded.
‘More coffee?’
The waiter must have had a first-class degree in patience. They had been the only customers in the restaurant for more than half an hour. The staff were just waiting for them to finish. And yet the waiter took the time to top up their coffee cups and fetch more hot milk.
‘None of this is good news,’ said Karen when he’d gone. ‘And apart from these extreme church groups, we have more established organizations in several parts of the US. Like the American Family Association. Of course, they don’t incite murder either, but they make a hell of a lot of noise, and constantly create a bad atmosphere when it
comes to public debate. A little while ago they started a boycott of McDonald’s, of all things.’
‘Actually, that sounds quite sensible,’ said Johanne with a smile. ‘But why?’
‘Because the chain had bought advertising space at one of the Gay Pride festivals.’
‘And how did it go?’
‘The whole thing failed, of course. On that occasion. But some of these groups are powerful and influential; they have plenty of money, and they don’t care what methods they use. They certainly express hatred, but you can’t call them criminal. But the most frightening thing of all is that …’
She raised her glass in a silent toast.
‘Recently we’ve seen signs of a more systematic persecution. Six murders of gay men during the past year are still unsolved: three in New York, one in Seattle and two in Dallas. Each case was thoroughly investigated over a long period by the local police. The murders were all carried out using different methods, and other circumstances varied. However, our investigators gradually discovered that two of the victims were cousins; the third had been a school friend of the first; the fourth had travelled around Europe by train with the second; and the last two had had brief relationships with the fourth two years apart. The FBI has taken over the cases. Not that they’ve got any closer to finding the perpetrator. But our department isn’t going to let this go until it’s solved.’
‘Bloody hell,’ Johanne mumbled. ‘What theories do you have?’
‘Plenty.’
The noise from the kitchen had increased in volume. Whisks and ladles crashed down on metal worktops, and they could clearly hear the dishwasher. Johanne looked at her watch.
‘I think we ought to make a move,’ she said, hesitating briefly before she added: ‘Do you still enjoy walking, Karen?’
‘Me? I walk all the time!’
Johanne asked for the bill. It had been ready for a long time, and Karen grabbed it before Johanne had even realized the waiter was there.
‘My treat.’
Johanne didn’t have the energy to argue.
‘Shall we walk back to my place and have a nightcap?’ she asked as Karen got out her credit card. ‘It’s only about twenty minutes from here. Maybe a bit more in this weather.’
‘Fantastic,’ said Karen delightedly. She showered the waiter with compliments, picked up her coat and headed for the door.
‘Oslo is a really quiet city,’ she said in surprise when they got outside.
The traffic lights at the junction between Hans Nielsen Hauges Vei and Sandakerveien changed from amber to red with not a car in sight. The dirt and fumes from the day’s traffic were concealed beneath a thin layer of fresh snow. There was hardly a footprint to be seen on the pavement. The clouds hung low over the city, and towards the southwest a pale yellow glow shone from the street lamps in the centre.
‘This is mainly a residential area,’ said Johanne. ‘And in any case people don’t go out much at night after Christmas. Norwegians party themselves to a standstill in December. January is the month of good intentions.’
They passed the video shop on the corner and set off along Sandakerveien.
‘Where were we?’ said Karen.
‘Your theories,’ Johanne reminded her. ‘About those six murders.’
‘Ah yes.’
Karen knotted her scarf more tightly as they walked. Johanne had forgotten how tall and long-legged her friend was; she had to hurry to keep up with Karen.
‘As far as the anti-gay movement goes, we’ve seen some strange new alliances. Jews and Christians, Muslims and even extreme right-wing groups haven’t been able to live in peace for hundreds and hundreds of years, but now they’ve found a common enemy: the gay community. We’ve just registered a group who call themselves “The 25’ers”. The curious thing about them is that they work very quietly.’
‘Quietly? Isn’t the whole point of groups like that to make as much noise as possible?’
‘As a rule. But these people are different. We think they originate from more traditional fundamentalist environments on both the Muslim and the Christian side. It’s as if they think everything is moving too slowly. That it’s time to do something radical. It’s the same people as before, but
in a different combination, so to speak. They have the same goals, but are planning to use completely different methods to achieve them.’
They walked on for a while in silence. The conversation had taken an unpleasant turn, and Johanne wasn’t sure she wanted to follow it to its conclusion.
‘What methods?’ she asked anyway as they reached the point where Sandakerveien levels out and curves towards the north-west.
Karen stopped so abruptly that Johanne had gone a couple of metres before she realized.
‘Oslo isn’t exactly a beautiful city,’ said Karen, looking around.
Johanne smiled.
‘I think the point where we’re standing right now is the ugliest, most depressing place in the entire city,’ she said. ‘Not that I think our city is particularly beautiful, but don’t judge it by what you see here.’
On the right-hand side lay several box-shaped warehouses, trying to hide beneath the snow as if out of sheer embarrassment. In front of them – where Nycoveien takes a couple of hundred metres to reach a desolate roundabout – half the wall of Storosentret had been torn down because the complex was being extended. The vast, patched-up shopping centre looked more like a ruin than a building site. From the roof a gigantic red O flashed in the darkness, an inflamed Cyclops eye. Between the two streets an office block with vertical turquoise stripes cast garish reflections on the snow. On the left-hand side stood a handful of yellow brick buildings at an angle. For some reason the architect had thought it a good idea to put all the pipes on the outside; it looked like the backdrop to a cheap sci-fi film.
‘It’ll be better when we get up to Nydalen,’ said Johanne. ‘Come on.’
They set off again, trudging along in the middle of the road.
‘So far we don’t know nearly enough about The 25’ers,’ said Karen as they picked up speed. ‘But we have reason to believe that an unholy alliance – to put it mildly – has been formed between fundamentalist Muslims and fundamentalist Christians. We have a theory that the name comes from the digit sum of the numbers 19, 24 and 27, the first number relating to the Koran and the other two referring to the Bible – St Paul’s Epistle to the Romans. All very complicated. Of course we’re not talking about some kind of church community here. Nor a political group.’
‘So what are they?’
‘A militant group. A paramilitary force. We think we’ve identified at least three of the members: two ultra-conservative Christians and one Muslim. All three have a military background. One was actually a Navy Seal. The problem is they know that we know who they are, and they’ve gone quiet. All they’re doing at the moment is behaving perfectly normally. Unfortunately, we have reason to believe the group is quite large. Large and extremely well run. The FBI are banging their heads against a brick wall, and there’s not much the APLC can do under the circumstances. But we’re trying, of course. We’re trying as hard as we can.’
‘But what is it these people actually do?’
‘They murder homosexuals and lesbians,’ said Karen. ‘The 25’ers is an organization for the discontented. Those who want action, not words.’
She paused as they moved to the side of the road to avoid an oncoming car.
‘Fortunately, we make do with shouting at each other in Norway, thank God,’ said Johanne.
Karen gave a wry smile as she stopped at the next roundabout. ‘That’s how it starts. That’s exactly how it starts.’
There were no cars in sight, and they crossed the road.
‘Is the anti-gay movement in Norway mainly religious?’ asked Karen.
‘To a certain extent. I’d say the element that can be defined as a movement is characterized by the Christian conservatives. Some individuals are trying to construct a more morally philosophical platform for their homophobic arguments. But when you examine their reasoning, you discover they all have a deep faith in God as their starting point.’ She took a deep breath and sighed heavily. ‘And then there’s the constant whining from the caravans.’
‘Caravans?’
‘It’s just an expression. I mean the masses. Not particularly Christian and most definitely not philosophical. They just don’t like gays.’
They had reached the Congress Centre, and Karen stopped in front of one of G-sports windows. It obviously wasn’t the January sales display of ski equipment she was interested in, because she was looking at the reflection of Johanne’s face in the glass.
‘I’ve always thought you were so far ahead when it came to equality. Anti-racism. Gay rights.’
She suddenly leaned closer to the window, mumbling something that sounded like a calculation.
‘A thousand dollars? For those skis? I’ve got exactly the same ones, and they cost 450. I’m beginning to understand why the average wage is so high in this country.’
‘Something happened here when gays started having children,’ Johanne said thoughtfully, as if she’d suddenly been struck by a fresh insight. ‘Before that, most things were running fairly smoothly. But this business with children has caused a real backlash.’
The cloud cover had broken up. Over Grefsenkollen three stars appeared on a strip of black. The wind had increased since they left the restaurant, and the temperature must have fallen. Johanne put her hands together and blew warm air into her woollen gloves. The wind carried with it a damp chill, and she pushed her hands in her pockets with her gloves on.
‘More and more lesbians are having children,’ she went on. ‘At the beginning of this year a new gender-neutral law on marriage was brought in, guaranteeing the same rights to IVF as heterosexuals. In recent years gay men have also started on the same route, travelling to the US and using egg donors and surrogate mothers. All of which has led to …’
They set off again.
‘Do you know what they call those children?’ she said angrily. ‘Half-manufactured. Constructed children!’
Karen shrugged her shoulders.
‘History repeats itself,’ she said wearily. ‘There’s nothing new under the sun. When the first marriages between blacks and whites took place, some people claimed it went against God’s commandments. That it was against the will of God and nature and customs and against everything we were used to. Their children were also given a nickname: half-castes. Which sounds quite a lot like your half-manufactured.’
She took a deep breath.
‘It will pass, Johanne. In a few days a “half-caste” president will be inaugurated back home. Six years ago no one – but no one – would have thought that we would have a woman president, and now an
African-American. It’s a pity about Helen Bentley, by the way. I was sorry she didn’t want to stand for a further term. I’ve nothing but praise for Obama, but deep down …’
It was half past eleven. A bus came chugging towards them. The driver was yawning as it passed, but he gave a start when a cat suddenly ran into the road, causing him to slam on the brakes.
‘Deep down I think it was an even greater victory to get a woman president in the White House,’ Karen said quietly, as if entrusting Johanne with a dangerous secret. ‘And when the most powerful leader in the world says she’s throwing in the towel for the sake of her family after only four years, I reserve the right not to believe her.’
Johanne tried to suppress a smile. She didn’t often feel the need to share the story of the dramatic events that took place in May 2005. The twenty-four hours she had spent with Helen Bentley in an apartment in Frogner, while the whole world assumed the American president was dead, had over the years become a locked-in memory which she rarely opened in order to examine it more closely. She had been instructed to keep quiet in the interests of the security of both Norway and the United States, and had kept all the pledges she had signed. Now, for the first time, she was tempted to break her word.
‘I’ve never heard of The 25’ers,’ she said instead. ‘Tell me more.’
They had reached Gullhaug Torg.
Karen moved her bag to the other shoulder. She opened her mouth a couple of times without saying anything, as if she didn’t really know what words to choose.
‘Rage,’ she said eventually. ‘While the rest of the hate groups grow strong on frenzy, prejudice and misdirected religious fervour, organizations like The 25’ers are built on holy rage. That’s something different. Something much more dangerous.’
They stopped on the bridge over the Akerselva and leaned against the railing. The water level was low, and beautiful ice sculptures had formed along the edges.
‘How … how do all these organizations finance their activities?’ asked Johanne.
‘It varies,’ Karen replied. ‘When it comes to the extreme church groups, they finance themselves just like any other faith community. Rich members and generous donations. And they’re not that expensive
to run. The more militant groups also collect money from their members. But we think some of them are partly funded through serious crime.’