Poop smell

In Þjóðleikhússins's production of Óþelló, the Moor was covered in shit after having to hide in a latrine. Theatre critic Jón Viðar saw no value in this buffoonery, but I thought I caught a glimpse of a hidden message. The Moor was jealous and paranoid, and nothing is as repulsive in a person's demeanor as desperation and pettiness. Something primitive and physical pulls one in the opposite direction.

A person is similarly conditioned by their self-preservation instinct to avoid the smell of poop. Where there is nothing but pure mud, a person with common sense has no business going, whether it's a sewer pipe or a quagmire. The latter is what a newspaper from München called our political system, but the former is a more accurate analogy. We live with a strong stench of excrement.

A smell that stings our nostrils so much that we gag and cannot stand it is the only thing that can bring down a government. Take Bjarni Benediktsson as an example. The man had a secret offshore account. Secret! Offshore account! Did he resign when that came to light? Did the other parties refuse to work with him? Did his party's support collapse? No, no, and no. Why on earth not? Because there was no poop smell from him. His emanation was odorless and tasteless, causing drowsiness and sluggishness. It was carbon monoxide. Sigmundur Davíð was another story...

Let's cast our minds back to a Sunday evening that Icelanders have done their best to forget. We see our Framsóknar Prime Minister hyperventilating upon hearing the word Wintris and losing his self-respect as the camera pulls back from the close-up and his body language becomes apparent. He places his hands on his thighs as if to keep himself upright and fumbles his English. It wasn't Sigmundur's offshore account that brought him down. It was the desperation emanating from him in that interview. It was the poop smell.

Can we phrase it such that Sigmundur Davíð suffered for knowing how to be ashamed? Maybe. Maybe not. But the fall of the Engey Prince is even worse in this regard. Sigmundur's desperation, pettiness, and chronic defensiveness pale in comparison to when the poop smell reached Bjarni. Financial misconduct is ill-regarded, but it took a party-affiliated child abuser to make it impossible for Bjartri Framtíð to remain in the toilet with the Prime Minister.

Is this how it's supposed to be? Are we supposed to watch the father of the nation's highest official write a recommendation for a notorious murderer and the party rush to cover it up so that the situation becomes unbearable for us? Unfortunately, it seems so. And what's worse; when the humiliation of international coverage of this matter hits us, some of us react by shooting the messenger. "Píratar slander land and nation!" they shout at the TV. He who smells it, dealt it! Huh, me?! No, you!

Well, at least now we are rid of this utterly corrupt party once and for all. The poop smell made sure of that.

Isn't that right?

Anyone...?

Símon Vestarr