Federal Judiciary

Up in Norway, Part III -- By: Jay Nordlinger

Thanks for joining me for the third round of these notes from Oslo -- for the first two rounds, go here and here. Where were we? Can?t remember, so I?ll just wade in: wade back in.

Speaking of wading: In the ponds on the grounds of the royal palace, people actually wade. They wade in the water (to quote an old spiritual). No one comes out to arrest them. And isn?t it remarkable that you can be on the grounds of the royal palace at all?

What?s more, you can practically walk up to the front door and say, ?Hello, King.? No one stops you. The place appears barely guarded. The White House used to be like this, generations ago. (I know that for sure: I?m from an old Washington family.) I imagine Buckingham Palace used to be like this too, once upon a time.

I find that Norway has an amazing informality: This may be a socialist state, but it is possibly less a nanny state than ours back home -- back in the good ol? U.S. of A. What do I mean? Well, let me give you an example: I?m walking along some cliffs, not far from the center of Oslo, and the drop-offs are severe. I mean, you?d be a goner, if someone pushed you or if a strong wind came up. I?m thinking, ?They actually let you walk here? Where is the protection? There are no rails, no barriers, no signs -- ?Hey, Be Careful!? Nothing.?

You know what I mean? I felt kind of queasy, frankly. Guess modern America has wussified me (or I was born that way).

Remember: We live in a country where, if you buy a product that comes in a plastic bag, the plastic bag says, ?Don?t Put Over Head, You Could Suffocate.? America is embarrassing, in some regards. It comes from our litigiousness: from our lawsuit culture. Someone else must always be to blame, for everything.

While in this capital, I ask to see certain things: offices, rooms -- places that are not really open to the public. At home, I might have to submit a request weeks in advance, on official letterhead, and follow that up with phone calls, forms, fingerprints, blood -- you know the routine. In Oslo, everything seems easy. ?Excuse me, sir, I?m going to be here until the end of the week. Do you think I could make a request to see [this or that]??

Norwegian: ?Um, anything wrong with right now?? Me: ?Well, um -- no, actually.? And I?m a rights-less foreigner.

In Impromptus and elsewhere, I have griped and griped about a certain inhospitableness in America. You may remember this tale: One day, I went to the Sears Tower, to meet a friend of mine. We were going to go out -- go back to his place, actually. He worked in the building, and I wanted to meet him in the lobby. I had been traveling for a long time -- I think from the Middle East, for some reason. I was tired.

In the vast lobby, there were no chairs, no benches -- no places to sit at all. Where I had just come from, they might kill you, but you would have a place to sit, and they would likely offer you a cup of tea and a cake. In the Sears Tower lobby, I went to sit on my suitcase -- a suitcase that had gone through security screening. The guards forbade it. You could not sit on your own suitcase in the lobby. And they offered you no place to sit.

I went outside, muttering, ?Is this the most inhospitable, rules-insane country on the planet, or what?? I know, I know: They don?t want bums camping out in the lobby. But they don?t have the nerve, because of political correctness, to keep the bums out and let others sit.

With Norwegian friends, I bring up this general subject: of ease and informality versus difficulty and rules, etc. They love the Anglo world, and they hesitate to criticize: but they tell me that, when they?ve traveled in Britain and the U.S., they?ve been amazed at the red tape. All the red tape to untangle, all the hoops to jump through.

And the Continent is supposed to be the place where you?re regulated to death!

I?m interested to see that many of the houses and buildings in Oslo are a yellow: a gold yellow, a pale yellow, a darkish yellow. The royal palace, for instance. The Nobel Institute, for another instance.

?Solidarity? is the name of the game here in Norway: We?re all in this together. It is a society that stresses egalitarianism, unity, collectivism, consensus, blah, blah, blah. One fact, I find astonishing: They publish your tax returns on the Internet. There is no privacy at all. Everyone knows what you make, you know what everyone else makes. ?And you hate anyone who makes one crown more than you,? someone tells me.

Another person says, ?They publish everyone?s tax return on the Internet, but they won?t publish how the schools are doing -- how students at individual schools are faring on tests and so on. That?s Norway.?

That stinks.

Near City Hall, I see a shop called Stetson Hats. Not a stetson among the hats in the window, however.

Also near City Hall, and near Stetson Hats, is the Nobel Peace Center. The building is an old train station -- beautiful structure, and yellow. At the gates, there is a large neon sign: It says ?LAUGHTER,? pretty much. But to the left of the ?L? is another letter, ?S? -- it flickers occasionally, giving you ?SLAUGHTER.?

?What?s that?? I ask a friend of mine. ?Is the ?S? supposed to flicker? Or is there a technical problem? Is this modern art, political art?? My friend, a shrewd, frank Norwegian, says, ?It?s crap. That?s what it is: crap.? He further says that ?crap? has been dumped in the fjord, opposite the new opera house: some pile of modern art that blights the natural setting.

That, I will see later . . .

The Peace Center has a special exhibition on, celebrating the South African peace laureates: Albert John Lutuli (a genuinely great man, and a Christian leader, among other things); Bishop Tutu (later Archbishop Tutu); and Mandela and de Klerk. They won their prizes in 1960, 1984, and 1993. (Mandela and de Klerk won together.)

There are videos starring Tutu and Mandela, and they are made out to be rock stars. Kind of interesting. The younger Winnie appears in the videos: I wonder whether anyone?s embarrassed, now. She is not exactly a poster child for human rights -- rather the opposite. Ask Stompie Moeketsi (if he were alive to take questions).

I reflect on a curious fact about the Nobel Peace Prize: In the long history of the anti-Soviet struggle -- all those decades, all those captive nations, all those prisoners of conscience -- two men involved in that struggle won the prize: Sakharov (1975) and Walesa (1983). The anti-apartheid struggle in South Africa was honored three times.

That says something, particularly about the priorities of social-democratic elites (such as those who determine the peace prize).

At the Peace Center, there is another exhibit, featuring Obama, the 2009 laureate. It resembles a shrine. There are posters of the president that remind me of Che T-shirts -- ?iconic? posters. They contain the words ?A Call to Action.?

I?m guessing that the Nobel Committee and its allies are feeling a little defensive about the ?09 prize. Why? Because this exhibit is an attempt to link the terms of Alfred Nobel?s will to the selection of Obama. The exhibit is telling you, ?This is why Obama?s prize was right, traditional, and deserved.? You could call it an explication or defense; you could also call it spin.

The gift shop features a mascot: Fred the Giraffe. Why ?Fred?? Random name? Doubtful: ?Fred? means ?peace? in Norwegian.

Sitting on a sidewalk, elsewhere in Oslo, there is a man from South Asia, playing the accordion, and singing. What?s that tune? ?When the Saints Go Marching In.? New Orleans music has gone all around the world, and back again, and around again. Who can resist it? The accordionist-singer is good, too. He has earned the crowns in his cup.

Feel like one more installment? Okay, tomorrow, then I think I?ll call it quits.

Full post as published by Bench Memos - National Review Online on May 27, 2010 (boomark / email).