(THIS ARTICLE IS MACHINE TRANSLATED by Google from Norwegian)
On the screen to the right I see where the planes come from: Copenhagen, Stockholm, Malaga, London, Moscow and New York. Luggage is on the belt. People come out, right in front of me, from customs. Inside is a uniformed guard. He looks stiffly at us behind the simple lock. But he doesn't see what I'm doing. Those who work here do not see it. Those who are traveling see it. They have an open gaze that sweeps greedily over the surroundings and takes things into consideration. So when I stand here holding an A4 sheet in front of me, they can't help but read what it says: Edward Snowden. Those who work here have read so many thousands of names printed on A4 sheets that they have stopped looking. They rather look for other things. Their reader reflex is damaged. That's why I can stand here for a long time, usually. Once, after three hours, some travelers had reported, and I was told to leave, otherwise they would contact the police. They can threaten it and actually do it because it is a private airport. They decide here: If Justin Bieber comes, it's okay to stand here with a poster with his name on, even if you haven't come to fetch him. But you are not allowed to stand here with Edward Snowden's name.
Wait Strike. Our eyes meet. Then they automatically look down at the sheet I am holding in front of me. Some look away and rush on. Many look up at me again and smile. Some nod, lifting their eyebrows questioningly, whispering to each other, turning and pointing. Others come away and want to take a picture, talk and ask. One shouts loudly: "I'd love that!"
"Do you have any fun on the poster?" The driver asks next. My A4 sheet gives better response than his. He senses it quickly – the direct and subtle communication with the arrivals. It is a study in simple instruments. The passersby understand what I mean. Many people think the same and give direct feedback. Then we have common desires and know that we are more. It happens in seconds, quite minimalist.
One year ago, when Edward Snowden was awarded the Bjørnson Prize, a lady quietly sailed up behind me, in dark clothes, greeted briefly, maybe she patted me lightly on the shoulder, I don't quite remember. Then the "rush" came even stronger and the knees would bend. If it happens again next time, that I get thrown out, what do I do?
I do not want to argue, as I did last time. It does not matter what I say. Maybe I should just nod quietly and go. Turn me around and be completely inaccessible, a bit like a grumpy teenager. Or something more dignified, look the person in the eye and say OK, pack things neatly together and take long, calm steps towards the air train, like a regular traveler. I think the idea of staying, just standing there – insisting on staying there until Edward Snowden arrives, like a waiting strike. To just let the police come, carry me out and fine me. Is there anything I should do? I'm a mother, can I do that? Or should I do it just because I am a mother? My child will grow up in a surveillance society where we pose to the best of our ability for the cameras and do not care about consequences: “It's okay. All right for me. Look at me."
Join. According to the plan, Edward Snowden was to come to Oslo to receive the Ossietzky Prize on 18 November. But he's not coming. He is awaiting legal guarantees that he will not be extradited to the United States. The case is now before the Supreme Court, and the award ceremony has thus been postponed until 7 June 2017.
On January 3, 2014, people at 70 airports around the world stood with A4 sheets with Edward Snowden's name on them in the campaign "Waiting for Ed". Imagine if someone else could also stand there if I am asked to leave Gardermoen airport now on 18 November? And if they are expelled, then there are even more who are constantly waiting? From 11 o'clock onwards?
Steinvik is an artist.
post@siriharrsteinvik.com
