I recently travelled through Oslo S - the central train station in Norway's capital city. It was a particularly busy day since it coincided with peak tourism season, and summer holiday was still in effect for many working Norwegians. The station was full of holidaymakers, as well as school groups on outings, newly returned to school.
I had a considerable chunk of waiting time ahead of my train's departure. And so while waiting, I found a cafe to sit in and proceeded with an activity I have always thoroughly enjoyed; namely, people-watching.
Because my cafe was situated upstairs on a balcony, I had full view of the main floor below. I could see everyone who came in the main entrance, the droves arriving or leaving on the various platforms, people pausing to look at the giant timetable screen, and a host of the shops and food courts both upstairs and downstairs.
And here's what I saw... but also, what I didn't see.
I didn't see a single Keffiyeh. Not one. I didn't seen one "Free Palestine" t-shirt. Not one watermelon logo. Not a single hoodie coloured by the Palestinian flag. There were no placards, no signs, no wristbands. Nothing.
Here's what I did see.
Starbucks was full. I sat in full view of this reprehensible company's establishment. The influx of customers never stopped in the 2 hours I was seated. Hundreds of customers passed in and left with green cups in their hands. Norwegians occupied every available table, frappuccino in hand, laptops open.
Downstairs, Burger King was equally busy. The waiting line didn't stop replenishing with fresh bodies, the seats and benches all over the train station were peopled by customers gripping a Burger King burger. A man had ketchup dripping down his chin. All I could see was blood.
Right across from me in the cafe where I sat, a wholesome, rosy-cheeked, middle-age couple perched in deep, wicker chairs. They had come to visit their daughter and were catching some last moments with her before their train was to return them home. The parents asked how her studies in Oslo were going, and whether or not she missed home in Moss. They informed her that their dog, Luna, searched the house for her every day. I could tell they were proud of her as they looked at their child with deep affection. They looked at their daughter while both nursing glass bottles of CocaCola Classic in their hands. Between questions, laughter, and smiles, they'd shoot back another mouthful of the black liquid.
I looked around. Nearly every table in my cafe was coloured by bottles with that red, familiar, retro logo.
And I thought about all those parents who were standing, at that exact same moment, looking at their daughter - at her corpse, in one of the alleys of Gaza concentration camp. I thought about the parents who were, eyes wide with horror, holding their beheaded baby. How they would give anything to stare affectionately into her eyes again. I thought about the giant, monopolising company of CocaCola, which is directly and brazenly funding the extermination camps and the genocide of Palestinians. I thought of how CocaCola made sure to place a bottle of their product in the hands of newly released Israeli hostages and their parents during their first public appearance - when pictures would be taken by the press. Never miss a product placement opportunity. All publicity is good publicity.
And suddenly that black liquid sliding down the throat of these wholesome, rosy-cheeked, mild-mannered, gentle-voiced Norwegian parents resembles dark poison.
These are the things I saw and didn't see at that busy hub in the nation's capital. Both the things absent, and present, speak volumes.
I am Norwegian myself. I was born in Hønefoss. I went to Norwegian schools, had Norwegian friends, love lompe and brunost. I have marched in 17. Mai tog, been russ, and have gått langrenn. I am not looking from the outside in, wrongly judging Norwegian society from a place of ignorance or misunderstanding. (Even though sometimes the clearest vision of things comes from the outside.)
The point is, I know, firsthand, how deeply privileged Norwegians are, how profoundly blind they are to much of the world (though they don't think they are), how entitled and sheltered, how misguided and resistant to change they are. Nostalgia, nationalism, tradition, and a hyper romanticising of their own culture and country sits deep in Norwegian society.
But the worst part is, they don't think they possess any of these faults. In fact, they don't even view them as faults at all.
Norwegians typically, albeit at times subconsciously, see themselves as morally upright, bastions of peace, and examples to the world. There's a self-perception of enlightened progressiveness, leading to much smugness and arrogance, without the uncomfortable fiery preachiness of Americans. They see themselves as clean, organised, efficient, decent, orderly, conscientious. They are like Germans, but "with heart" - less scary and more charming; softened and proven to be ethically and morally superior by their love of nature, their aversion to conflict, their hosting of the Nobel Peace Prize, their altruism, and charity-forwardness. They just have their comfy little lives in their comfy little corner with their comfy little hytter and their comfy little friend groups.... and the rest of the world being on fire is, although regrettable, not exactly their responsibility.
On the one hand, it is true that Oslo and others Norwegian cities have seen massive Free Palestine marches (mostly completely uncovered by their news stations). It is true that I have never before seen such a surge of protest, public engagement, or public discourse and conscience from Norwegians as I have in 2023/24. That has been pleasantly surprising, and much thanks to a younger, wiser generation.
On the other hand, I am also very aware that most of the Norwegians I know do not protest. They don't speak up at all. And many don't care. They still drink CocaCola products. And despite having a population of 5 million, consume 9% of the world's Pepsi Max. They still love their Volvos, and eat MacDonalds, and their government still funds weapons sent to the Israeli occupation.
I realise that boycotting is a privilege.
Being able to cut out or swap out products and consumption is a privilege. It's not possible for everyone. It's not affordable for everyone. Many people who are divesting and boycotting the list of companies funding the Palestinian genocide are able to do so because they have options, they can afford it, they don't live in food deserts, etc. Additionally, some of these companies are Mega Companies that completely dominate a market and own hundreds of sub-companies, making finding substitutes more difficult for some.
There are many people who can't boycott. Or those who can't boycott all the companies, and have to engage in what we call "selective" or "targeted" boycotting - picking one or two companies off the list to avoid. There must be room for people like this: who care deeply about freeing Palestine, but who can't boycott "perfectly". Selective boycotting also counts. It still withholds our money from the slaughter machine. It's not about perfection, it's about action and movement where possible. It's about casting your vote to tip the balance in one direction or the other. No one individual can break the beast of Capitalism and Imperialism. But everyone who can vote with their wallet should.
So, yes, boycotting is a privilege. And.... Norwegians are immensely privileged.
Financially, socially, politically, geographically, Norwegians are unbelievably privileged. Not all Norwegians may be able to afford or implement a boycott of every company on the list. But most can boycott some, most, or even all. Easily.
Most can afford not to down CocaCola. Most can afford not to visit Starbucks. Most can afford to forgo MacDonalds, Burger King, Disney +, Pizza Hut, KFC, Nike, Addidas, Garnier, Airbnb. They can swap these things out with a truck load of other options, without so much as missing a beat.
Boycotting is an effective, non-violent method of protest, which sends a message to genocide-funding companies in a language they understand; in the only language they care about - money.
Well done to all the Norwegians who are waking up. Who are boycotting. Who are peeling back the soothing self-delusion of Norwegian moral superiority in the world, and who know that there is no peace without justice. Well done to those Norwegians who are learning about White colonialism, White Supremacy, racism, micro and macro aggressions, the evil of White Feminism, Islamophobia, xenophobia, Imperialism. Who are educating themselves, reading the right books, listening to victims, silencing the "White Saviour" voice inside. Who are unlearning an ocean of propaganda and misinformation they've been fed by their parents, politicians, at school - but which has been oh-so-carefully wrapped in a velvety layer of tolerance and self-absolving pacifism. Well done to all the Norwegians who are wearing their keffiyehs wherever they go, who are shouting in front of Stortinget, who are attending rallies and raising awareness online, among friends and family. Well done. Keep going. You're breaking cycles. I know it can be hard. Don't stop.
But I should not be able to sit in Oslo S train station for 3 hours and not see a single keffiyeh.
I should not be able to see a busy Burger King or Starbucks. I should not be able to spend a day in Oslo and not see a single "Free Palestine" t-shirt. Nor should CocaCola's bottles stand as horrific death monuments on the tables of lounging, relaxed Norwegians, who could just have easily bought a water, coffee, Solo, or Mozell.
Israeli occupational soldiers post droves of pictures online of them eating McDonalds as they drive off to slaughter children. McDonalds have, and continue to, donate thousands of free meals to IDF soldiers and financially fund the genocide.
Protest and boycotting brings change. These changes need to not speckle but saturate our society. They need to be normalised, visible, constant, everywhere, pervasive.
For far too long genocide, White colonialism, apartheid, and genocide have been the norm. Anything else has seemed fringe, extreme, threatening, or "other". And Norwegians certainly hate otherness.
We must find a new normal. In whatever big and small ways we can. If you have privilege, use it. (And trust me, if you're reading this, you do.) If you have freedom, use it. We need to make it so that protest is the new normal, and silence is the perversion. Neutrality or supporting Israel must be painted as horrendous a crime as complicity to murder - not for hyperbolic effect, but because it is. It literally is.
There are so many difficult, exhausting, and taxing parts of fighting against the Palestinian genocide. But how much effort does it really take to throw your keffiyeh on before you go out the front door? How much effort does it take to walk to the next cafe? How much trouble is it really to swap out your weekly soda for another? Palestinians are desperately trying to dig out their family from under rubble as their own hands shape from starvation; I think you can manage to throw a piece of cloth over your shoulders.
Norwegians, change starts at home. You speak of how free you are, how lucky you are to live in beloved Norway... Ja, vi elsker.... Ja, men hva elsker dere? Elsker dere virkelig tradisjon mere enn folke liv? Elsker dere deres Pepsi mer enn mennesker? Deres komfort mer enn spedbarn? Deres rutiner mer enn alt som er rett og godt i verden?
With great privilege comes great responsibility. And silence is complicity. Your. silence. is. complicity.
I hope that the next time I sit in a cafe in Oslo S, the floor below me is a sea of keffiyehs. I hope that Burger King stands woefully empty, and the Starbucks has been closed down due to low business, and tables have Palestine Cola on them instead.
I hope liberation comes to us all - that Palestinians are liberated from the illegal occupation of their land, and Norwegians are liberated from their deluded belief that they can simply carry on, business as usual, without any dire consequences or a complete loss of their souls.
An Israeli hostage, released less than an hour before this picture was taken, sits smiling broadly with her father in her first appearance to the press. As cameras flash around them, they proudly hold up bottles of CocaCola, placed in their hands by an out-of-sight CocaCola representative.
This is only Episode 1 of a series of blogs called "Palestine Stories".
Over the next weeks, I will be publishing more such stories. Their purpose is to share how the fight for Palestinian freedom is playing out in real, everyday ways. To show how it affects relationships, professional and personal engagements, the shocking and surprising revelations the path to liberation brings.
It is disturbingly easy to view racists, Islamophobes, and Zionists as these faceless, distant monsters. We picture Neo-Nazis and bikers and domestic terrorists and insanity.
But they are very much all around us. They are often nice, polite, neat, civilised, tax-paying, tattooless people. And they wear the faces of our friends, family, teachers, pastors, and leaders. Only once we shatter the mythologising of their existence, and understand the slippery slopes which led them to hold the horrible beliefs they do, can we identify dangerous patterns in our own beliefs, and start to challenge them internally and externally.
Stay tuned for more.
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