Christiania's Endangered Hippies
http://www.tonic.com/article/freetown-christiania-social-experiment/
By Darragh Worland
December 5, 2009
If you've ever wondered what the world might look like if the hippies
of the 1960s and '70s hadn't all morphed into yuppies trading their
Volkswagon Bugs for SUVs, then behold Christiania while you still can.
Also known as "Freetown," the self-governed village in the heart of
Denmark's capital city of Copenhagen is a living monument to the
Woodstock era a social experiment in communal living, itself
teetering on the edge of extinction. With all eyes on Copenhagen
ahead of the United Nations Climate Change Conference in December,
now's a good time to take a look at an alternate universe where the
environment, once discovered, never took a backseat. In Christiania,
for all intents and purposes, it's still the summer of love.
Established by squatters in 1971, Christiania is now home to about
900 residents (650 adults and about 250 youth under the age of 18)
who live independent of the city laws. In fact, an archway at one
entrance to the village says "Christiania" as you enter and "You are
now entering the EU" as you exit and it's not entirely
tongue-in-cheek. The area has its own socialist-sounding mission
statement, which states in part: "to create a self-governing society
whereby each and every individual holds themselves responsible over
the well-being of the entire community."
Formerly an abandoned military barracks, the 85-acre area was settled
as a response to a lack of affordable housing and no doubt fueled by
the global counter-culture movement of the late '60s. The area and
its unique form of self-government has endured for 38 years, and yet
the Christianians' claim to the land has been in dispute ever since
the first residents planted their flag (three yellow dots on a red
background.) Many fear its reign could be coming to an end. The
village is in the midst of a Supreme Court battle with the city over
the now-valuable real estate and its use.
Tourists seek out Christiania every year on visits to Copenhagen.
According to Christiania's Web site, one million people visit the
commune every year and I can believe it. When I was there on a
recent Sunday afternoon, tourists were visible everywhere (they stood
out because they weren't dressed like hippies.) For 35 Danish Kroner
(about $7), you can join an hour and a half long group tour conducted
by a Christianian in Danish and English past cafes, restaurants,
music venues, the marketplace and the town's main street, Pusher
Street, so named for the drug trade that has been at the heart of
Freetown since its inception.
As I entered the village, I asked a woman passing through the arched
entryway what she thought. "Ridiculous," she replied in what sounded
like a German accent, with a shake of her head.
And from the outside, it does look a bit ridiculous. Scrappy-looking,
pot-smoking, dread-headed men and women loaf about in the more public
areas of the village, strum guitars, smoke joints, and sneer at the
tourists in a not-so-free-loving way. One cyclist barked at me as I
meandered into his path much like a hardened New Yorker might snap at
a tourist in Midtown. As an outsider, I didn't feel particularly
welcome. The tour itself, while informative, did make the place seem
a bit like those pioneer villages we used to visit on fields trips in
grade school: blacksmith to the right, apothecary down the road, the
one rudimentary doctor's office. It's like taking a trip back in time.
With almost four decades to establish themselves, the Christianians
have their society finely tuned. A giant workshop and garage houses
equipment, lumber and tools for maintaining of the area. Skilled
workers help maintain the village's servers, water supply, electric
cables, buildings and roads. Each family pays 1,900 K (about $380)
toward the 500,000 K (about $120,000) monthly user fee to the state
for utilities, taxes and fees. A gardening group is responsible for
the areas minimal landscaping, a garbage collection group gathers
trash for sorting at a reuse station. A free medical clinic is
available for on-site medical care, but of course Copenhagen's
hospitals are also accessible. The Children's House contains a
nursery and kindergarten. There are no schools in Christiania, but
children need only cross the street to attend one of the city's public schools.
Christinians practice a form of consensus democracy in which
decisions are made collectively in the absence of voting. Our guide
told us that, as one can imagine, sometimes the process can take
quite a bit of time and many meetings. Monthly meetings are held in
the Gray Hall, the former home of military drills. The area is
divided up into 14 districts, some having as few as 10 residents,
while the largest has 80. Our guide told us the area has no problems
with violence, gangs, theft, weapons or hard drugs.
Many Christianians practice a trade of some sort at places like the
women's ironworks or the bicycle factory. The residents claim to have
invented those three-wheeled bikes seen all over the world the ones
withthe storage area on the front, large enough for a child to ride
(pictured above). No cars are allowed in Chrsitiania, so residents
divised the bikes to transport groceries and other items. The Weekly
Mirror delivers local Danish-language news from an on-site press and
printer. There's even an 18-horse stable and corral.
Diversions also abound. An area known as "Wonderland" is available
for rollerskating and skateboarding. A concert hall hosts some of the
world's biggest rock stars: Bob Dylan has performed there, as have
Metallica, among others. There's a rustic (and not inviting) bath
house and open-air marketplace selling t-shirts, souvenirs, jewelry
and other tsotckes. A theater, galleries, restaurants, bakeries, bars
and cafés including one called Woodstock Café round out life,
much as they would in any village, town, or city. Away from Pusher
Street, the more residential areas are quiet and peaceful. Children
play in the buff along the picturesque waterfront as parents chat in
groups nearby.
Many tourists, of course, head to Christiania to sample the wares on
Pusher Street. Lined up on either side of the dirt path, dealers or
perhaps one could call them merchants display their varieties of
hash and pre-rolled joints from tented tables in the kind of display
cases and using the kinds of scales you might see in an apothecary.
The area banned hard drugs in 1979.
Unlike in Holland, hash dealing is against the law in Denmark. For
years Copenhagen police turned a blind eye to the goings-on on Pusher
Street. But ever since a more conservative government was elected in
2004 and as the battle for Christiania's increasingly valuable real
estate heats up, police have paid more attention. In January 2004,
police stormed the area and rounded up dozens of sellers. Our guide,
who had us put away our cameras before we entered Pusher Street, told
us that guards are now positioned at each of the village's four
entrances to warn the sellers of any police activity so they pack up
their wares and scatter. Most recently, however, police have been
wrapped up with gang and drug activity in north Copenhagen.
But as Denmark's most well-known city evolves into one of
Scandinavia's most sophisticated urban centers, Christiania has been
increasingly targeted by a Parliament tilting to the right. Despite
an order to vacate the area by April 1, 1976, the residents have been
largely tolerated until recently. In 2004, the center-right
government nullified a 1989 law allowing the colony to continue. The
scruffy-looking and overgrown village is nestled along prime
waterfront real estate within the upscale neighborhood of Christhavn
with its renovated warehouses and condominium-lined canals. The
Financial Times estimates that Christianians are sitting on $70
million plus in potential real estate revenue. The country's current
prime minister wants to legalize the region and bring it under
Copenhagen law. The state is hoping to raze a portion of the
post-1971 structures some of which are award-winning, such as the
Banana House, so-named for its shape (pictured right) and restore
the military ramparts to their 17th century condition and sell the
land for development.
Christianians, meanwhile, are trying to establish a common-law right
to the land by possession after 20 years of occupancy. Their hands
have been increasingly tied. Since 1989, residents have needed a city
permit to build in Christiania and ever since the land passed from
the jurisdiction of the Minister of Defense to the Minister of
Finance, no more permits have been issued. What this means is that in
order to become a resident of the village, someone has to leave or
die, since the village is at capacity. This year, Christiania lost a
mid-level court battle to establish rights to the land. The case is
now headed for Supreme Court.
As Christiania's future hangs in the balance, her residents are
hoping for a change of government. Our guide tells us the residents
would prefer to see the more left-leaning Social Democratic
government in Parliament rather than the center-right Liberal
Democratic one that has been in power for the past five years. That
way, they could at least hope to come to some kind of agreement on
their future with a more sympathetic audience. In the meantime,
visitors can still see this social experiment in action, taking a
step back in time as the rest of the world rockets into the future.
For the locals' perspective, watch the video below.
[See URL for video.]
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