Humbling Moment For Community Journalism

I received a phone call just before 9 AM from a local newspaperman, an experienced reporter doing his job. He’d heard that the Grapevine had laid off our staff writers, and he wanted my opinion on the shakeup.

For those familiar with our podcasts or YouTube videos, I don’t have the most emotive voice. And at 9 AM, after only my third cup of coffee, it was likely less so. The reporter asked me, specifically, how am I going to put out a paper without any writers.

At which point I had to ask how well he knew The Reykjavík Grapevine, and he acknowledged he had never read our paper.

Our motto, 23 years ago, was as follows: We aren’t paid enough to write poorly. Of course, times changed. Eventually, we got salaries. We got full-time employees paid union scale. But winter is always difficult for us, a magazine located in the world’s northernmost capital, generating a large portion of our revenue from tourism advertising. And this year, we cut back staff in the winter, as has happened before at the paper.

The difference this year is that we decided to ask for help. We will forever be grateful for the response we received from our local readers, and from the community abroad who use our service to stay in touch with the city of Reykjavík, and with Iceland. Local writers also came forward.

In this issue, you’ll see writing from some of the journalists who helped establish this magazine. Haukur Már Helgason is now a best-selling author, but he dropped everything to help us cover the demise of someone we used to think of as our nemesis: the former mayor, prime minister, and editor of Morgunblaðið, Davíð Oddsson.

Davíð was the embodiment of the neo-liberal modernisation of Iceland. When I was editor in the 2000s, I described him as a gangsta rapper, a comparison former mayor Jón Gnarr also made. An actor and writer turned politician, Davíð embodied commercialisation, ego, and, strangely, swag, a penchant for Machiavelli in ways that brought Tupac and Biggie Smalls to mind. Our company group chat, upon noting Davíð’s passing, immediately rang out with “Ding, dong! The witch is dead!” Mercifully, Haukur Már has been less crude in describing this man who redefined the nation.

This issue also features writing from Shruthi Basappa, whom long-time readers will know as the author of our yearly food round-ups, and a key reviewer for Best of Reykjavík. Shruthi is the embodiment of our old ethic — she writes with the knowledge and passion that can’t be bought.

Finally, it is likely these are the last few issues with our staff writers, Iryna, Ish and Jói as full-time staff writers. While it is my hope that we’ll see them in these pages when our coffers are replenished, the work they’ve done here is commendable and stands on its own. Our current publisher left the magazine and returned, as did I, as so many of our contributors have done in the 24 years this magazine has been in existence. We aren’t like other publications.