Stieg Larsson, My Friend

Stieg would sometimes amuse himself by presenting us with various quotations, challenging us to identify the sources. For him it was all a sort of game.

“‘Nature,’” he would say, looking mischievous, “‘has landed women with broad hips and a large bottom – and hence has obviously indicated that women should sit around and look after the house.’”

“No idea. Maybe some mullah or other in Iran?”

“Wrong. Martin Luther.”

It was obvious how pleased he was when our guesses were so wide of the mark. It was as if that proved the thesis he was putting forward.

“How about this one, then? ‘The fundamental fault of the female character is that it has no sense of justice.’”

“Arthur Schopenhauer.”

To my great surprise I was sometimes able to guess correctly. That would earn me a nod of acknowledgement.

But on this occasion, I couldn’t resist turning the heat up a bit. I said, “You like to quote white European men. But surely you’re not suggesting that women outside Europe have a better time of it than European women? According to Muslim sharia law, a woman may inherit only half of what a man can inherit. The evidence of two women is the equivalent of that of one man, and in many parts of the world women are not allowed to choose their own partners, or have control of their own bodies. There must be different levels in hell, surely?”

I had the impression that Stieg’s thoughts had shot off somewhere else. He liked to be opposed, but at the same time disliked it. Stieg the snorting warhorse had been aroused. The quotation game was fun, but this was something completely different. This inspired his fighting spirit. He enjoyed arguments and liked to be provoked, provided it was at the right level and on the right day.

“O.K.,” he said, “what conclusions can we draw? Women are oppressed globally. Every day, all over the world, women are mutilated, murdered, ill-treated, circumcised, by men rich and poor. It might happen in South Africa, Saudi Arabia, Norway, Mexico, Tibet or Iran. But the fact is that there’s no such thing as soft or hard oppression of women: men want to own women, they want to control women, they are afraid of women. Men hate women. The oppression of women has nothing to do with religion or ethnicity.”

He was obviously agitated. It was as if he had listened to his own words and was furious about the way things were in the world. That very day I had also been attacked in several polemical articles on honour killings. Expressen’s leader page was particularly scathing about me. Obviously, Stieg was aware of this. He had read every word, and I knew that he wished me well. But now he had gone into his characteristic fighting mode, and had no intention of mincing his words in order to spare me.

At first I thought he was just a bit annoyed with me, but I soon realized that in fact he was really upset and disappointed.

“I get so angry with you,” he said, staring hard at me. “Just like all the rest of the polemicists, you never mention both Fadime’s first and family names when you write about her. That’s unacceptable. You can’t afford not to give a murdered woman’s full name. You especially can’t afford that.”

“You never get the questions you want to answer in an interview or a debate,” I said. “You have to answer the questions the media put to you.”

He didn’t want to listen to excuses like that, and brushed the argument aside with a snort.

“The relative status of the sexes is all too obvious in what journalists write about criminal cases. Male victims are always given their full names in the newspapers. How names are used is related to a person’s position and status in society. That’s what I want you to understand. You must always use Fadime’s first and family names in future.”

I promised to do so, but he was far from finished with me. He had got into his stride and I could tell that he was about to launch into a lecture. It was impossible to stop him.

“I’ll tell you why this debate is being buggered up,” he said, gesticulating wildly.

“Please do.”

“Some of the people taking part are adherents of a traditional pattern of explanation. According to them, Fadime Sahindal was killed for sexist reasons. In other words, her murderer’s ethnicity and religion are completely irrelevant.”

He leaned forward and continued.

“Then there are those who are completely wrong. Those are the ones who look for explanations in cultural anthropology. In their eyes Fadime Sahindal was killed because her murderer is a Kurd who grew up in a Muslim environment. They are defenders of ethnocentric cultural relativism. According to them there are different kinds of oppression of women. The cultural anthropological explanation only informs us about the form the oppression takes, not about the cause. Assaults on women on Saturday nights in Sweden, honour killings in Italy, the burning of women in India and the stoning of women in Iran in fact tell us the same thing: men in patriarchal societies oppress women.”

“What about the media?” I asked. “They want to devote themselves to comparative studies of female oppression. Which continent is the worst for women? In which culture or religion do women have the most freedom? The media try to simplify answers to provide headlines. Complicated explanations or answers don’t sell copies, do they?”

Stieg was able to go along with the suggestion that everybody, not least the pair of us, was trapped by the media’s constant search for striking headlines and simplified explanations. Nevertheless he dismissed that argument and continued his lecture, more het up than ever.

“The problem is that all this results in our falling into the right-wing extremists’ trap. As if ethnicity and cultural background decide a human being’s value. They thrive on racist concepts and national stereotypes. Racists maintain that European culture is superior to all others. That’s why they always talk about ‘us’ and ‘them’. According to them, immigrants don’t have an enlightened view of women, but Swedes do.”

It had become pitch black outside the window of our basement room. Another ice-cold January day was drawing to a close. I think we both knew that basically we were in agreement. But there was something in the situation that made Stieg want to continue plugging away at his argument. The only difference between hundreds of other discussions and this one was that his irritation was now directed at me.

“The fact is that only men oppress women,” he said. “Everything else is a lot of crap. You are letting the cultural chauvinists railroad the debate. The consequence will be that the Sweden Democrats will get even more votes and win more seats on the local councils. The debate about the murder of Fadime Sahindal can have terrible consequences. Feminism and anti-racism go together. That’s what you must make people understand. On no account must you accept that there is a special kind of oppression of women peculiar to Kurds. When immigrant men kill, they say it’s due to their foreign culture and failed integration policies. When Swedish men kill it’s because they’ve been drinking too much strong booze.”

“You’re right there,” I said. “If we were to follow the cultural anthropological argument we could just as well say that the murder of the police officer in Malexander was caused by the inherent evil of Swedish Christianity.”

“Exactly. Do you know what the best thing you’ve said in this debate is?”

“I didn’t realize that I’d said anything reasonable at all,” I said with a wry smile.

“It was when you said that Kurds didn’t have a monopoly on the oppression of women. That is correct, and illuminating. And I realize that you will have some trouble with Kurdish exile groups in Sweden. They are bound to ask you to tone down the debate on the oppression of women and honour killings.”

I nodded. He was absolutely right; I knew I was going to get into hot water. Even worse than usual.

Perhaps he noticed that, because he said, “I don’t envy you. Immigrants, Swedes and Kurds will all question your loyalty. They will force you to take sides. In order to regard themselves as good, some people pick out others and call them bad. You must keep a cool head and not fall into the cultural trap. We need to win this debate.”

“I don’t know if we can win this debate.”

He was on the point of saying something, but for once it was me who interrupted him.

“More and more Kurdish girls feel that it’s the Kurdish or Muslim culture that is behind horrific incidents such as honour killings. That’s not entirely irrelevant.”

I got up to fetch the latest edition of Expressen. Without our noticing, the whole office had become completely dark. Outside the window was a solitary street lamp. I felt I had been attacked by