killed him, but the man continued hitting him to be sure. As if he wanted to erase any impressions and experiences that were stored in Anders’ brain, to flatten his entire existence. The man didn’t stop until the hammer got caught in the skull bone.
He left it there, glanced hastily around and then walked away from the steps and jumped into the waiting car. The woman pulled out from the pavement.
‘Was it difficult?’ she asked.
‘Not at all,’ the man said.
2
Good morning, my name is Gosta Lundin and I’m a professor emeritus of psychiatry and the author of
No need to put up your hands. But thank you, thank you. I appreciate it.
Before I start, how many of you are policemen? Now you can raise your hands.
Okay, and social workers?
About fifty-fifty. Good, I just like to get an idea. The question is actually irrelevant, as I don’t tailor the content of my talks to whichever professional group I’m addressing. I guess I’m just curious. Maybe I would stand with my feet further apart if there were only policemen, sceptical policemen with their arms folded. It’s possible, I don’t know.
But what does it matter anyway? The theme for today is: How is it possible?
It’s a question we often ask ourselves. How is it possible? Why don’t they react? Why don’t they run away?
Very similar to the questions children ask when they first hear about the Holocaust. How was it possible? Why didn’t anyone do anything? Why didn’t they escape?
So let’s start there. With Adolf Hitler.
As you all know, the moustachioed Austrian is no longer simply a historical figure, he has also taken on mythical proportions. Today Hitler is a yardstick, he is the very symbol of pure evil.
Adolf Hitler’s polar opposite in this country goes by the name of Astrid Lindgren.
Astrid Lindgren symbolises all that is good in life. The wise and moderate humanist who cultivates and believes in the good in people.
A whole host of edifying stories and phrases have been attributed to Astrid Lindgren. One of the most famous quotes being that sometimes we have to do things even if they are dangerous. Because otherwise we’re not human beings, just pieces of dirt.
Adolf and Astrid, black and white, evil and good.
This naive approach to right and wrong is seductive and appeals to us. We want to be one of the good guys, to do the right thing.
Having spent years interviewing both victims and perpetrators – who are also victims, something we often like to forget – I know that the majority here in this room, myself included, could be persuaded one way or the other.
We all have an Adolf and an Astrid inside. It would be foolish to claim otherwise.
But enough philosophising. I’m here to talk about how it works in practice.
The methods used by perpetrators to subjugate their victims are the same the world over and as old as the hills. Bosses use the same techniques as dictators, for the simple reason that there are only two ways of ruling, the carrot or the stick. There might be more of one and less of the other, but all methods are variants of these two.
Unfortunately, I’m not paid to stand here and talk about difficult things in simple language. I’m an academic, after all, and as such have considerable experience in arguing my point and making myself look intelligent and profound.
Which is precisely why PowerPoint presentations were invented.
Removal, social isolation
Breaking-in violence
Starvation
Violence / threat of violence
Deprecation
Debt
Friendliness, privileges
Denial of the self
Future with no hope
Can everyone see? Good. So let’s start with the first point …
3
Jorgen Petersson waited while the shop assistant rang up a poster of Homer Simpson, a present for his youngest son, whose birthday was coming up soon. Jorgen looked around the shop and a picture by Lasse Aberg caught his eye. For once the motif wasn’t Mickey Mouse. The picture was of an old class photo, where half the faces had started to blur and fade. Only a few were still intact. A bit too clear perhaps, but the simplicity of it appealed to Jorgen. He hadn’t thought of wasting his days at auctions at Bukowskis in search of suitable work by some overrated ABC artist.
He really didn’t understand rich people’s fascination with art. What was it, other than a futile attempt to buy themselves free? A way of distancing themselves from those who had neither the money nor the opportunity.
Jorgen could easily fill the walls of his house with the three masters. Anders Zorn was bearable, but Bruno Liljefors’ wildlife paintings and Carl Larsson’s happy homes he could do without, thank you very much.
And he already had a Zorn. A poster from the museum in Mora adorned the outside toilet at his cabin. Jorgen looked at it while he was having a shit. Pragmatism and pleasure in gracious harmony. Neither his wife nor his children understood the charm; they would never dream of using the privy when they could sit comfortably indoors with underfloor heating. Jorgen’s wife had even suggested they should pull the old thunderbox down.
Jorgen had piped up then, though he normally didn’t interfere with decisions made in or about the home. But there were limits. A three-acre property, nearly four hundred metres of beach and he wasn’t allowed to have a dump in peace on his own lavvy? In the forgiving company of a half-solved crossword in some bleached old magazine.
It had been a good move on Jorgen’s part, to put his foot down. His wife respected him more as a result and it had consolidated the image of him as eccentric and obstinate, not bad qualities for a rich man.
He studied the Aberg picture for a while and wondered what his own class photos would look like.
Who had he forgotten? Who could he remember?
And who could remember him?
It was possible that they’d read about him. Quite a bit had been written in the financial press and obviously there was a lot of chat about money and progress, but not to the extent that people reacted when he got on the
