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Remembering terror, remobilizing whiteness : Norwegian discourses of nationhood after July 22 Hakvåg, Hedda 2015

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REMEMBERING TERROR, REMOBILIZING WHITENESS:  NORWEGIAN DISCOURSES OF NATIONHOOD AFTER JULY 22  by  Hedda Hakvåg  B.A., The University of Alberta, 2010  A THESIS SUBMITTED IN PARTIAL FULFILLMENT OF THE REQUIREMENTS FOR THE DEGREE OF  MASTER OF ARTS in THE FACULTY OF GRADUATE AND POSTDOCTORAL STUDIES (Gender, Race, Sexuality and Social Justice)  THE UNIVERSITY OF BRITISH COLUMBIA (Vancouver)   July 2015  © Hedda Hakvåg, 2015 ii  Abstract  On July 22, 2011, a right-wing terrorist killed 77 people in a double terrorist attack in Norway. Presenting a critical discourse analysis of the annual memorial speeches and coverage from 2012 to 2014, this thesis examines how visions of national identity are produced in and through the remembrance of the terrorist attacks. Situated within the framework of feminist intersectionality, the analysis pays particular attention to discourses of racialized, gendered, and religious belonging.   While the terrorist’s identity as a white, Christian, Norwegian man seemingly provided a counterpoint to the dominant Western narrative in which terrorism is associated with racialized, Muslim men, the July 22 remembrance largely fails to explore the intersections between the terrorist’s ideology and more common forms of racism, Islamophobia, and gender essentialism. Instead, the attack is decontextualized, and the subtle use of racialized and ethno-nationalist rhetoric reframes terror as a threat posed by dangerous Muslim outsiders to an innocent, white national community. By emphasizing collectivity and assuming a consensus on values, politicians and media erase differences within the nation and construct sameness, ethnic kinship, and Lutheranism as the criteria for inclusion in the imagined community. These gendered, racialized, and religious ideas of citizenship in turn inform public responses to a heightened sense of vulnerability, legitimizing a securitization of state and increased policing of racialized groups despite the rhetorical calls for more openness and more democracy.   iii  In investigating the July 22 memorial claims about Norwegianness against the lived diversity of present-day Norway and its histories of violence, this thesis asks us to consider the human costs of positioning sameness as the criterion for belonging. It presents a case study of the complexity of whiteness and its intersections with gender and religion in a smaller European country, thereby adding to an underexplored area of critical whiteness studies.  iv  Preface  This thesis is an original intellectual product of the author, Hedda Hakvåg.   Parts of the analysis presented in Chapter 4, primarily in section 4.1, have been published. Hakvåg, H. (2015). The terror of self: Political remembrance in Norway after the 2011 terrorist attack. In A. Jule (Ed.), Shifting visions: Gender and discourses (pp. 120-137). Newcastle upon Tyne, UK: Cambridge Scholars Publishing. v  Table of Contents  Abstract .......................................................................................................................................... ii Preface ........................................................................................................................................... iv Table of Contents ...........................................................................................................................v List of Tables ............................................................................................................................... vii Glossary ...................................................................................................................................... viii Acknowledgements ........................................................................................................................x Chapter 1: Introduction ................................................................................................................1 1.1 Making Meaning out of Tragedy .................................................................................... 1 1.2 The July 22 Terrorist Attacks ......................................................................................... 3 1.3 The Identity of the Terrorist ............................................................................................ 4 1.4 The Struggle for Meaning ............................................................................................... 7 1.5 “The Story of the Telling of the Story” .......................................................................... 9 1.6 Research Questions and Overview ............................................................................... 11 Chapter 2: Theoretical Framework ...........................................................................................14 2.1 Feminist Intersectionality.............................................................................................. 14 2.2 The Nation as Imagined Community ............................................................................ 17 2.2.1 Imagined Sameness and Ethnic Kinship ................................................................... 18 2.2.2 The Politics of Difference ......................................................................................... 20 2.3 Racism and Discourse ................................................................................................... 22 2.3.1 Critical Whiteness Studies ........................................................................................ 25 2.4 Collective Memory and Public Remembrance ............................................................. 27 vi  2.4.1 The Politics of Grief and Mourning .......................................................................... 28 Chapter 3: Methodology..............................................................................................................31 3.1 Critical Discourse Analysis........................................................................................... 31 3.2 Data Collection ............................................................................................................. 33 3.3 Methodological Assumptions ....................................................................................... 36 3.4 Method of Analysis ....................................................................................................... 39 Chapter 4: Framing the Collective Narrative ...........................................................................45 4.1 Collectivity and the Imagined Consensus on Values .................................................... 45 4.2 “Some Were Walking down a Street:” July 22 and Racial Mobility ............................ 59 Chapter 5: Constructing and Contesting National Values ......................................................67 5.1 The Battle Ground of Values ........................................................................................ 67 5.2 Gendering the Nation .................................................................................................... 71 5.3 Humanity and Solidarity in “the People’s Church” ...................................................... 79 5.4 Democracy, Tolerance, and Diversity: Whose Freedom of Speech? ........................... 86 5.5 Vulnerability and Exceptionalism: Policing the Community ....................................... 98 Chapter 6: Conclusions .............................................................................................................106 6.1 Summary of the Research ........................................................................................... 106 6.2 Implications and Limitations ...................................................................................... 109 Bibliography ...............................................................................................................................119    vii  List of Tables  Table 1 List of memorial speeches ............................................................................................ 34 Table 2 Number of news articles according to year and source ................................................ 34 Table 3 Summary of major themes ............................................................................................ 42 Table 4 Summary of subthemes ................................................................................................. 43  viii  Glossary  Aftenposten – Norway’s largest daily newspaper, literally called “The Evening Mail.”   Antirasistisk senter – The Norwegian Centre against Racism, a non-governmental organization.  Arbeiderpartiet (Ap) – The Labour Party or the Social Democrats, in government with SV and  Sp 2005-2013.  AUF (Arbeidernes ungdomsfylking) – The Workers’ Youth League, the youth organization of  the Labour Party. Dagbladet – The Daily Magazine, a tabloid. Norway’s third largest newspaper.  Fremskrittspartiet (FrP) – The Progress Party, in government with Høyre since 2013.  Fremskrittspartiet Ungdom (FpU) – The Progress Party’s youth organization. Høyre – The Conservative Party, literally “The Right.” In government with FrP since 2013. LO (Landsorganisasjonen in Norge) – The Norwegian Confederation of Trade Unions, Norway’s  largest and most influential union.  NRK (Norsk Rikskringkastning) – The Norwegian Broadcasting Corporation, a government- owned radio and television broadcasting company and Norway’s largest media house. Politiets sikkerhetstjeneste (PST) – The Norwegian Police Security Service, the national  intelligence bureau. Rosetoget – The Rose March, the popular name of the memorial marches that took place in Oslo  and other places in Norway in July 2011 after the terrorist attacks. Rød Ungdom – Red Youth, the youth organization of the Red Party. Senterpartiet (Sp) – The Centre Party, in government with Ap and SV 2005-2013. Sosialistisk Venstreparti (SV) – The Socialist Left Party, in government with Ap and Sp 2005- ix  2013. VG (Verdens Gang) – Tabloid, literally named “The Passage of the World.” Norway’s second  largest newspaper.   x  Acknowledgements  First, my deepest gratitude to the Musqueam people, on whose traditional, ancestral, and unceded territory I have written and studied for the past two years.  This thesis would never have been completed without the support and advice of Dr. Gillian Creese, who has been a formidable supervisor: generous, practical, and thoughtful in her critique. My second reader, Dr. Handel Wright, shares Gillian’s commitment to student learning, and I appreciate his in-depth feedback and encouragement. Thirdly, thank you to Dr. Sunera Thobani, whose work has been an inspiration to me, for joining the final committee.  The material and economic conditions of our work matter tremendously, and my research and study at UBC were made possible by the Theodore E. Arnold Fellowship, the Walter C. Koerner Fellowship, and the Ann and William Messenger Graduate Fellowship. Thank you to each and every donor for funding me.      My research questions were first articulated in Dr. Sneja Gunew’s excellent class on feminist postcolonial theory, and I am sincerely grateful to Sneja and my fellow GRSJ students for stimulating my thinking on this subject. Since then, countless people have provided encouragement for my study in one way or another. Special thanks to Carmen Radut and Wynn Archibald for practical help and company during long hours at the office; Dr. Patricia Vertinsky and Dr. Deena Ryhms for furthering my thoughts on whiteness and spatiality; the IGALA 2014 organizers and participants for welcoming an early analysis of the memorial speeches; Dr. xi  Allyson Jule for her work editing Shifting visions; and Dr. Handel Wright and the organizers of the West-Coast CIESC conference for giving me the opportunity to speak about freedom of expression as part of their plenary panel. I am also deeply grateful to my wonderful work colleagues, CJ Rowe and Peter Wanyenya in particular, for providing me with spaces for praxis and for continually inspiring and challenging me to rethink relationships and rework my own practices of critique.   Last, but certainly not least: A huge tack to Anna for unconditional (and at times unwarranted) enthusiasm, love, and support.  1  Chapter 1: Introduction  1.1 Making Meaning out of Tragedy In the hours and days after July 22 last year, we were one nation.  United-  . . . .  The bomb and the shots were meant to change Norway.   The Norwegian people responded by embracing our values.    The perpetrator failed.  The people won. (Stoltenberg, 2012a).   So begins the former Prime Minister and Labour Party leader Jens Stoltenberg’s account of how the Norwegian people responded to the terrorist attacks on July 22, 2011, that killed 77 people and injured many more. Stoltenberg’s speech, given at the first anniversary of the attacks in 2012, is surely more than an account, however. Like other accounts, it is an act of remembering, and through its public circulation it performs a particular form of public remembrance, or commemoration, of the event. It becomes a prescriptive narrative of how the nation should remember and understand the terrorist attacks. The double terrorist attack on July 22, 2011 was an act of violence unprecedented in Norway since the Second World War. My research project is concerned with how the attacks are publically remembered by the government, the Labour Party, and the Norwegian mainstream media. Above all, I am interested in how these elite actors construct meaning out of the events of July 22, and how these stories of meaning are told through the figure of the nation and, in turn, 2  refigure the imagined Norwegian community.1 As time passes, which aspects of the events of July 22 are emphasized and which are left unsaid, perhaps intentionally silenced? How do discourses of Norwegian national identity emerge in and through memorial narratives?  Butler (2004) has proposed that [a] frame for understanding violence emerges in tandem with the experience, and . . . the frame works both to preclude certain kinds of questions, certain kinds of historical inquiries, and to function as a moral justification for retaliation. It seems crucial to attend to this frame, since it decides, in a forceful way, what we can hear, whether a view will be taken as explanation or as exoneration, whether we can hear the difference, and abide by it. (p. 4-5). Examining the narrative framing and silences of the July 22 remembrance, I hope to demonstrate that the memorial speech does not so much constitute an account of a struggle that played out in the past as it constitutes an ongoing struggle over values and, in this particular case, national identity. While elite actors like Stoltenberg, who was quoted above, might desire to advance a singular meaning to the events of July 22, 2011, prescriptive declarations of unity and collectivity fail to acknowledge the ongoing tensions in the public debate. In this introductory chapter, I provide an overview of the events of July 22 and outline some of the key themes of the public debate. I then summarize the major critical insights of the initial academic responses to July 22, arguing that there has been insufficient attention paid to the dominant narrative framing of the event. Finally, I give an account of my own relationship to the topic of my research before                                                  1 The concept of imagined community is borrowed from Anderson (1991). Anderson’s work will be discussed in Chapter 2.  3  concluding with a presentation of my research questions and an overview of the chapters of my thesis.   1.2 The July 22 Terrorist Attacks In order to discuss the public remembrance of the 2011 terrorist attacks, an overview of the events of the attacks and their immediate aftermath is in order. Certainly, this is not an inconsequential speech act, as in re-telling the event I am already alerting the reader’s attention to certain aspects of the event and thereby inevitably framing it. Facts, Trouillot (1995) reminds us, are never meaningless, and their production inevitably creates silences as well. This then, is my telling of the event, a telling that is already informed by the research questions that I want to ask. My project here is two-fold: I am trying to give a brief, chronological summary of what happened during and immediately after the attacks, but I am also setting the context for the ensuing discussion, thus highlighting the details that I believe are important for this purpose. Around 15:25pm on Friday, July 22, 20112, a bomb explodes outside the executive government quarters in downtown Oslo. The explosion can be felt miles away, and many of the nearby shops and restaurants have their windows blown out by the pressure. Eight people are killed instantly, six of them employees at work inside the building and two of them pedestrians walking by. Ten people receive serious to critical injuries. News about the explosion spreads fast, and while there is little to no information available about the cause of the explosion or its impact at this stage, the common assumption is that this was a planned terrorist attack. There will later be reports that in the hours following the explosion, several Muslim and racialized                                                  2 My description of the events is based on the details given in numerous news sources and reports, including articles from the major Norwegian newspapers Aftenposten, VG, and Dagbladet.  4  Norwegians were violently attacked and harassed by fellow citizens who blamed them for the attack. However, as it turns out, the terrorist attack is not over yet. After having parked the van containing the homemade bomb outside the government quarters, the terrorist leaves Oslo, heading for the neighbouring province Buskerud where the annual summer camp of the Labour Party’s youth organization, AUF, is taking place on the island Utøya. Dressed as a police officer and armed with guns, the terrorist takes the ferry out to the island where he continues his deadly mission. For almost an hour, he chases the youth and the adults present at the camp around the island, shooting at everyone he gets in sight. Some people are able to escape by swimming ashore, a distance of roughly 550 meters; some are shot in the water while trying to flee; others are killed on the shore, in the forest, or inside the camp buildings. It takes approximately one hour from the first report of shootings until the police arrive on the island, at which point the police are able to arrest the suspected killer almost immediately. When the bodies are counted, it is discovered that of the 564 people present at Utøya during the attack, 69 had been killed. At least thirty-three more were severely physically injured. Of the people killed, 33 of them were under the age of 18, and the average age was 20. In the evening, the police reveal the identity of the apprehended person: the terrorist is a white, Christian, Norwegian, 32-year old man named Anders Behring Breivik who claims his actions constitute a crusade against an Islamic takeover of Europe and what he calls a “cultural Marxist” Norwegian government which has enabled the feminist emasculation of white men.    1.3 The Identity of the Terrorist I propose that we cannot make meaning of the events of July 22 without considering the identity and political motivations of the terrorist. In my own writing, I try to use the name of the terrorist 5  as little as possible, in an attempt to counter the widespread attention given to his person. Focusing on Breivik as a person not only feeds the narcissistic leanings of the terrorist, it also supports a dominant narrative that positions violence as exceptional and individualizes responsibility. While the terrorist attack on July 22 undoubtedly was the act of one individual, the ideology behind it clearly has its roots in broader societal discourses. Therefore, I put my emphasis on the terrorist’s ideological motivations and his subject position as a white, Christian, Norwegian man, as these two aspects need to be named and analyzed to a far greater extent than they have been to date.    The identity of the terrorist is significant because the July 22 attacks occurred at a point in time where terrorism in Western discourse was, and still is, primarily associated with fundamentalist Islam. After the 9/11 terrorist attack and the subsequent “War on Terror” started by the United States, there has been an intensification of Islamophobic rhetoric that renders Islam per se suspect and construes all Muslims, and Muslim men in particular, as potential terrorists (Jiwani, 2011; Razack, 2008; Thobani, 2003, 2007a) . This violent rhetoric has in many Western countries been accompanied by increased harassment of and violence against Muslim citizens and residents and in some cases the reduction of civil rights (Jiwani, 2011; Razack, 2008). The magnitude and brutality of the July 22 attacks, including the assassination of so many children and youth, enacted by a lone, right-wing, white, Norwegian, Christian terrorist provided a counter-story to the powerful narrative of the Muslim terrorist. In particular, the terrorist’s explicit Islamophobic motivations had the potential to call into questioning the treatment of Muslims in Western societies, including the harassment of (assumed) Muslims in Oslo after the first attack on the government quarters. 6   Much attention has been paid to the terrorist’s identity in both media and academia, but often in ways that serve to individualize and pathologize Breivik as a person rather than locating him in relation to social identity formations and discourses in Norwegian society (Auestad, 2014; Eriksen, 2014; Wiggen, 2012). In-depth, critical engagement with the terrorist’s political motivations and social identity has been hard to come by. One notable exception came in the form of a 2012 special issue of NORA, the Nordic Journal of Feminist and Gender Research, in which the editors and the contributors argued against an exceptionalist framing of the terrorist attacks, attempting instead to situate the events of July 22 in a broader Nordic context of commonplace racism, sexism, and homophobia (Åsberg, Rönnblom, & Koobak, 2012). Highlighting the racism in the terrorist’s agenda and the blaming of Muslims in the media’s initial response to the attacks, Mulinari and Neergaard (2012) proposed that we see the attacks as intimately linked to everyday right-wing politics and the increased popular support for culturally racist parties in the Scandinavian countries. Walton (2012) and Jegerstedt (2012), on the other hand, foregrounded the misogynist thinking exhibited in the terrorist’s writing. Breivik not only feared an Islamization of Europe, he also believed that feminism and increased formal gender equality were to blame for the supposed weakening of Western nation states (Walton, 2012) and the feminization of white men (Jegerstedt, 2012). Part of his proposed solution for rebuilding a white, Christian hegemonic order was to institute stricter sexual and reproductive control over women. Walton’s and Jegerstedt’s analyses of the terrorist’s writings enable us to see that the July 22 terrorist attacks were a distinctly gendered form of violence (Hakvåg, 2015). Finally, Juergensmeyer (2011) has highlighted the religious motivations of the terrorist, insisting that the July 22 attacks must be understood as a form of religious extremism. Failing to do so, 7  Juergensmeyer argues, only lends strength to Islamophobic rhetoric constructing religious extremism and terrorism as a distinctly Muslim problem.   From the above critical responses to July 22, it is clear that we should see the terrorist attacks as situated within larger societal discourses and power structures of race, gender, and religion. What is so far lacking in the July 22 literature, however, is an understanding of these discourses as intersecting3. In these otherwise insightful critiques, racism, misogyny, and Islamophobia are understood primarily as separate problems and not addressed as intersecting ideologies that gain power and expression through each other. Another dimension that has been left largely unexplored is the way in which the terrorist’s social identity in many ways resembles the image of the typical Norwegian (McIntosh, 2014). As I will argue in this thesis, it is therefore necessary to examine the possible intersections between the terrorist’s ideological convictions and commonplace discourses of Norwegian national identity.  1.4 The Struggle for Meaning After the attacks, there were some attempts made by politicians, media, and citizens to practice self-reflection and examine links between everyday political and news discourse and the terrorist’s ideology. The 2011 Prime Minister, Jens Stoltenberg, called for challenging the use of xenophobic rhetoric in immigration debates, and politicians across the board welcomed this call (Wiggen, 2012). However, at the same time, the political parties arrived at a consensus that no party should be assigned blame for the attacks, a consensus that in praxis served to silence critical debate of party values and rhetoric (Auestad, 2014; Wiggen, 2012). Interestingly, the                                                  3 Jegerstedt’s (2012) analysis is a possible exception to this tendency.  8  campaigning for the September 2011 municipal and provincial election was also scaled down, and the usual public school debates were cancelled (Konstad, 2013). Furthermore, Auestad (2014) has argued that the political call for “more openness” and democracy in fact created more public room for the voices of those who share ideological viewpoints with the terrorist. An analysis of the media coverage in the first 100 days after the terrorist attacks lends support to this claim; Eide, Kjølstad, and Naper (2013) suggested that freedom of expression has taken on dogmatic proportions as a value, making racist statements more acceptable than previously. The authors further identified a clear divide in news debates and other media coverage between what they labelled the responsibility discourse, voiced by people positive to multiculturalism who believe hateful rhetoric was at least in part responsible for the terrorist attacks, and the pressure cooker discourse, an anti-immigration stance that holds that the alleged censorship promoted by “politically correct” elites is the cause of extremism (Eide, Kjølstad, & Naper, 2013). In his discourse analysis of July 22 blaming narratives, Eriksen (2014) found a similar ideological divide and argued that this is indicative of a larger ideological division in Norwegian society. Eriksen suggested that “the diversity of modes of blaming reveals a lack of a shared understanding of the nature of contemporary Norwegian society” (p. 276). These research findings clearly challenge Stoltenberg’s claim that the Norwegian people were unified in their response to the July 22 attacks.  The conflicting short-term responses to the event suggest that the legacy of the July 22 terrorist attacks has yet to be decided. Indeed, it is a premise of my research that the legacy will continue to change as the collective memory of the event changes, as the event is remembered and re-membered. As Trouillot (1995) proposed, “historical relevance does not proceed directly from the original impact of an event, or its mode of inscription, or even the continuity of that 9  inscription” (p. 19). Instead, legacies are created in the ambiguous overlap between socio-historical processes and the construction of narratives about these processes (Trouillot, 1995). The public commemoration of the event, including the memorial speeches, is thus an important and hitherto unexamined aspect of the July 22 terrorist attacks.  1.5 “The Story of the Telling of the Story”  Before presenting the research questions and discussing the theoretical framework, it is worth explicating my own relation to the texts studied and to the events of July 22, 2011. Like all other research projects, this thesis is also a personal venture. In conducting my study, I write as both an insider and an outsider (Liamputtong, 2010), with all the balancing acts this positioning demands. I also write from a lack of knowledge, formed by my own structural locations and my current physical distance from Norwegian everyday life. I am including some reflections on my own position here in order to foreground the terms of my engagement and to include part of “the story of the telling of the story” (Simon, Rosenberg, & Eppert, 2000, p. 7).  Born in Oslo to white Norwegian parents and growing up in a smaller middle-class town a 20-minute train ride from the capital, I took my Norwegian national identity for granted. My phenotypical and cultural whiteness, my Norwegian ancestry, and my native knowledge of the Norwegian language all combined to render me in place – and making me feel sure of that place. Looking back on my childhood and youth, I can recall many moments in which I unconsciously asserted my privilege through questioning the belonging of others. It was only later, during my eight years living, working, and studying abroad in Canada and Ireland, that the power exercised through nationalist practices of Othering became perceptible to me: The burden of always having to explain oneself and account for one’s heritage, even in the most mundane and everyday 10  situations like buying groceries or a movie ticket. The challenge of networking and exchanging knowledge at a professional conference when the only question posed back to you is “Where are you from?” Through those personal experiences of repeatedly being rendered a foreigner and an outsider in spaces where I had lived for years and had started to feel at home, I became more aware of my own racist and ethnocentric practices and I came to question the meaning of Norwegianness and national belonging.  While I have gained a more critical perspective on discourses and practices of national belonging from being away from my native country, there are also methodological and ethical challenges associated with the geographical distance. National communities, including the discourses these communities produce about themselves, are in constant flux (Anderson, 1991; Gullestad, 2002), and this necessarily applies to the Norwegian society as well. Since I no longer live the dynamics of Norwegian everyday life, except vicariously through anecdotes from family and friends, it follows that my analysis may at times miss aspects of current debate that a home-based sociologist might have picked up on. Furthermore, as feminist researchers have long argued, all societal knowledge is situated knowledges affected by our particular positioning within that society (Haraway, 1988; Narayan, 1997; Rich, 1984). Paraphrasing the work of anthropologist M.N. Srinivas, Narayan (1997) wrote: “Even for a purported insider, it is clearly impossible to be omniscient: one knows about a society from particular locations within it” (p. 295). I know Norway from a location of white privilege and long Norwegian ancestry, as well as through my identification as a woman and as an urban resident with higher education.  Writing about a tragedy that took so many lives and caused profound suffering clearly also raises ethical questions. The terrorist attacks of July 22 have become somewhat of an industry for writers and researchers, with countless articles and books produced in a short 11  amount of time. I am hesitant about participating in this production and conscious of my own physical, and to some extent emotional, distance from the event: I was not living in Norway when the attacks took place, and I know no one who was directly impacted by it. Then, I must ask, why does the political remembrance of July 22 matter so deeply to me? What motivates me to write about this particular event and its aftermath despite my apparent distance to the events?  My need to write about July 22 grew from my concern over increasing racism, misogyny, and Islamophobia in Norwegian society prior to the 2011 terrorist attack; from the horror and grief I felt in response to the attack; and from my hope that the remembrance of the attack could become a site for challenging these ideologies and practices that cause such unfathomable harm.  In short, I write from a position of care, a wish for a more livable, equitable, and humane Norwegian society. One of the things that struck me the most about the early memorialization of the attacks was the repeated emphasis, as seen in the introductory excerpt from Stoltenberg’s speech, on values as fixed and non-negotiable, in the face of the most violent evidence of contrary opinion. As a researcher and as a Norwegian citizen, I wonder what these claimed values are and why they are assumed to be self-evident and commonly shared. In other words, I question whose interests the rhetorical insistence upon a consensus serve and what discourses of national identity this consensus enables. I wonder too if we are capable of producing different discourses. With that in mind, I now present the research questions for my study.    1.6 Research Questions and Overview As discussed in the previous sections, the current literature on July 22 lacks an intersectional framework and has paid insufficient attention to the dominant narrative framings of the event. The official remembrance of the attacks remains largely unstudied, the exception being 12  Vettenranta’s (2012) study of the 2011 memorials, a work discussed in Chapter 4. A more long-term perspective on the remembrance is missing, and I am therefore conducting a critical discourse analysis of the official speeches given at the annual memorials for the attacks, as well as the media coverage of the memorial events. My discourse analysis examines how the attacks are publically remembered by the government, the Labour Party, and the Norwegian mainstream media, and how this particular remembrance relates to broader discourses of nationhood. Specifically, I consider the following questions: How are idea(l)s of race, gender, and religion articulated and produced in remembrance texts to create specific images of Norway as nation and community? Secondly, how do these images in turn work to define who belongs to, and who is excluded from, the imagined Norwegian community? Lastly, how might these discourses have shifted over time and with the political context? In my discourse analysis, I study the oral and written texts of memorial speeches and newspaper articles, but also the context in which these texts are produced and appear. The research material consists of texts from the July 22 anniversaries in 2012, 2013, and 2014. While the generic context of these texts are the same, that is they form part of a memorial practice, they are produced by different actors in different moments in time, Therefore, I also examine how the remembrance discourses shift over time and according to the social and political context.   In the next chapter, Chapter 2, I introduce the theoretical framework that supports my research, a framework informed by feminist theory on intersectionality, as well as scholarship from the fields of cultural studies, critical race studies, and memory studies. After having discussed my theoretical framework, I turn to a discussion of methodology in Chapter 3. Here, I specify my textual archives and outline the data collection process, and I present my method of analysis and the key themes arising from the coding of the texts. I then move on to discuss the 13  findings of my discourse analysis in Chapter 4 and 5. In Chapter 4, I present the dominant narrative produced by the July 22 remembrance texts, while in Chapter 5 I discuss in more depth the discourses of race, gender, and religion that this narrative draws upon and helps constructs. Finally, in Chapter 6, I provide the conclusion to my study, summarizing the key research findings and reflecting on the significance and limitations of my research.   14  Chapter 2: Theoretical Framework  In this second chapter, I discuss the critical theory that supports my analysis of the July 22 remembrance texts. My theoretical framework draws from the fields of feminist intersectionality, cultural studies, critical race studies, and memory studies. I start by discussing feminist theory on intersectionality, as an intersectional approach to national identity and community formations is foundational to my analysis. Thereafter, I introduce Anderson’s (1991) concept of the nation as an imagined community, and I outline the main arguments of the key theorist on the Norwegian imagined community, Marianne Gullestad (2002, 2006). I then discuss how cultural studies scholars like Ahmed (2000) and Ang (2001) have challenged the dominant logics of community and problematized notions of sameness and difference. Highlighting the role of language in maintaining and producing social inequality, I use the work of critical race studies scholars to discuss how racism operates in part through discourse. Given that Norway is a white majority country, I give particular emphasis to the subfield of critical whiteness studies and discussions of the discursive construction of whiteness. Finally, in recognition that my research concerns the remembrance of a violent and painful event, I conclude with a synopsis of some important memory studies’ work on the role that remembrance plays in producing imagined national communities and on the politics of grief.   2.1 Feminist Intersectionality As discussed in the introduction, the existing scholarly literature on July 22 lacks an intersectional understanding of social identity and relations. The concept of intersectionality is usually accredited to the feminist legal scholar Kimberlé Crenshaw (1989), but can be seen as 15  emerging from a larger critique of white feminist essentialism by African-American, Chicana, and Indigenous scholars and activists (see hooks, 1984; Moraga and Anzaldúa, 1983; Collins, 1991). Writing from a Black feminist perspective, Crenshaw (1989) argued against employing racism and sexism as mutually exclusive analytical categories. Crenshaw’s concept of intersectionality highlighted the multidimensionality of African-American women’s experiences, arguing that this experience is not reducible to race or gender, nor is it a simple additive of the two. Instead, race and gender are constructed through each other, making racism sexualized and gender racialized.  Over the years, the concept of intersectionality has been used to analyze multiple forms of social difference beyond race and gender, leading to what Cho, Crenshaw, and McCall (2013) half-jokingly termed “the eponymous ‘et cetera’ problem” (p. 787).  Writing against critics who have argued that intersectionality essentializes and fragmentizes difference, Cho, Crenshaw, and McCall (2013) posited that  intersectionality is “a way of thinking about the problem of sameness and difference and its relation to power” (p. 795). What is foregrounded are not specific subjects, but the social relations that configure these subjects. Yuval-Davis (2006) has similarly argued that intersectionality is a methodological tool  that can be used to “analyse the differential ways in which different social divisions are concretely enmeshed and constructed by each other and how they relate to political and subjective constructions of identities” (p. 205). It is important to note that there are “different kinds of difference” (p. 199); not all differences reflect oppressive social relations or power imbalances. Neither can it be assumed that similar social identities yield the same effect in each spatio-temporal context; while we can speak of structural systems of oppression, particular identities do not translate to particular, pre-ascribed positions in hierarchies of power (Carbado, 2013).  16  It should be noted that while my research focuses on how power operates through intersecting ideas of race, gender, and religion, there are, as we shall see, other differentiating processes at play, especially related to sexuality and class. In focusing on discursive constructions of race, gender, and religion, I am particularly interested in the usually unarticulated intersectional imperatives (Carbado, 2013) of whiteness, masculinity, and Christianity. Carbado (2013) has argued that intersectional theory has privileged the study of disadvantaged subject formations, resulting in “gender-blind” and “colorblind” intersectionality that has engaged little with the social constitution of masculinity and whiteness (p. 817). The consequences of this inattention to the normative intersections are, Carbado argued, immense: Framing whiteness outside intersectionality legitimizes a broader epistemic universe in which the racial presence, racial difference, and racial particularity of white people travel invisibly and undisturbed as race-neutral phenomena over and against the racial presence, racial difference, and racial particularity of people of color. (2013, p. 823-824).  In my analysis, I therefore pay particular attention to how whiteness intersects with other modalities of identity to create specific subject positions. The intersectional framework helps me develop a more nuanced and complex analysis of how the imagined community is constituted. Importantly, to conceptualize social differences as relational is also to insist that our relationships become the primary site for social change (Collins, 2010). The intersectional framework that I use thus carries a political dimension; as scholars or activists, we attempt to understand intersectional relations partly in order to transform them (Cho, Crenshaw, & McCall, 2013).  Within the context of my research, understanding the intersectional aspects of Norwegian national identity is an important step towards imagining community otherwise.   17  2.2 The Nation as Imagined Community  Anderson (1991) famously defined the nation as an imagined political community - imagined in the sense that it is established amongst people who will never meet or know the great majority of their fellow members and a community because it is imagined “as a deep, horizontal comradeship” even in the face of existing inequality and oppression (p. 7). The nation presupposes a common past, but its constitution - as nation rather than its historical formation as nation state - is above all in the present (Renan, 1882). We can therefore think of the imagined community as a form of consensus-building project. It would be wrong to assume, however, that all members of the nation have an equal say in this project.  The imagined community is, as Anderson (1991) reminds us, limited. The nation’s boundaries are finite, if also at times porous, and changing over time. It follows that the nation is not only a site of belonging; it is also a dynamic of exclusion, or unbelonging. Butler (2007) powerfully expanded on this idea:  If the state is what ‘binds,’ it is also clearly what can and does unbind. And if the state binds in the name of the nation, conjuring a certain version of the nation forcibly, if not powerfully, then it also unbinds, releases, expels, banishes. (Butler & Spivak, 2007, p. 4-5).   Here, Butler referred specifically to the problem of statelessness, but I would like to extend her point to other processes of national exclusion and division. It is worth noting the distinction made between nation and state. The state is conceptualized as governing structures, including but absolutely not limited to the government, while the nation is conceived as a political idea, an imagined community. According to Butler, the two have an ambivalent, uneasy relationship; the hyphen may cobble them together, as in the term nation-state, but it is unclear what precisely this 18  relationship signifies. In the above quote, the state appears as the productive power; it is what excludes and it is also what “conjure[s] up a certain version of the nation” (p. 4).  Two important points can be made in this regard to set the premise for my research. First, discourses of national identity and belonging can, even when seemingly benign, have a material force: they can be, and indeed are, used for governance, such as informing policies, with dramatic material effects, including the potential of banishment. Second, I would like to propose that the relationship between nation and state is more complicated than the above quote suggests, as Butler’s statement indicates that the state somehow controls the nation and consciously produces policies. I see the imagined community of the nation as a productive dynamic that already excludes and includes in ways that inform what the state can even think of as possible. Furthermore, the state may be an abstract structure, but its everyday operations are executed by concrete persons, persons who are members of the imagined community and thereby both implicated in and products of its construction. In the July 22 remembrance, discourses of imagined community are articulated and produced by members of the Norwegian community, in particular by people in prominent societal positions such as politicians and journalists. These discourses, as we will see in Chapter 5, in turn inform state policies and actions, as well as everyday encounters in the public sphere.  2.2.1 Imagined Sameness and Ethnic Kinship  The perhaps most influential scholar studying the dynamics of the Norwegian imagined community is the late cultural anthropologist Marianne Gullestad, who wrote extensively about the Norwegian national order and the politics of belonging. One of her central arguments was that the imagined community, as a discourse figuring in both elite and everyday majority speech, 19  has not yet caught up with the lived realities of contemporary Norwegian society, including its increasing diversity and situational multiculturalism (Gullestad, 2002). Gullestad (2002) coined the concept of imagined sameness which refers to a prevailing social idea that in order to be treated equally social actors must also be similar - or at the very least recognize similarities between each other. Gullestad posited that imagined sameness is one of the guiding principles of Norwegian social life, and this has led to a consensus culture in which similarities are emphasized and differences avoided (Gullestad, 2002, 2006). Building on Gullestad’s work, Auestad (2014) proposed that the logic of imagined sameness leads to an idealization of sameness, a narcissistic love that only can accommodate differences that are quantifiable. This idealized sameness has accommodated a dominant understanding of Norwegian national identity as dependent on ethnic kinship and ancestry (Auestad, 2014; Gullestad, 2002, 2006). The emphasis on imagined sameness and the understanding of national identity as ethnic belonging conflict with the actual heterogeneity of the Norwegian community, both in the past and in the present. Historically, Norway has been a country with significant regional differences, and the modern-day nation state and Norwegian national identity have been shaped in and by interaction with the Indigenous Sami and other ethnic minority groups such as the Roma and the Finns. Northern Norway, in particular, has long been a place of ethnic plurality, with multi-ethnicity being recognized as “an evident component in North Norwegian identity” (Olsen, 2005, p. 286).  Today, the multi-ethnicity of Norwegian society is further increasing with the arrival of labour immigrants and refugees. In 2014, Norway’s 5.1 million population included 669,400 first-generation immigrants and 135,600 children of immigrants, with these two groups making up 15.6% of the total population. While the majority of first-generation immigrants to Norway are labour immigrants from Poland, Sweden, and Lithuania who do not necessarily seek permanent 20  residence, the majority of the latter group are born to parents who immigrated from Pakistan, Somalia, and Iraq. Norwegian-born children of immigrants currently account for almost 20% of children born in Norway, thus the racial and ethnic diversity of Norway is likely to increase substantially over the coming decades. This diversity is however unevenly distributed, with the majority of immigrants residing in Oslo, making up 32% of the capital’s total population and more than 50% in some city districts. The increasing heterogeneity of Norway’s population clearly indicates the need to articulate discourses of national belonging that are not predicated on imagined sameness. This includes rethinking terms like “Norwegian” and “immigrant,” as the latter term frequently is applied in daily usage as a code word for racialized residents (Gullestad, 2002, 2006). As the statistics above indicates, however, actual immigrants to Norway are far more likely to be white, while the so-called immigrants often are national citizens born and raised in Norway. In looking at discourses of race, gender, and religion in the July 22 remembrance, I seek to investigate whether imagined sameness is still the prevailing logic of the Norwegian community or if this remembrance, in response to a terrorist attack perpetrated by someone who did indeed desire sameness, is capable of accommodating and engaging with difference in equitable ways.    2.2.2 The Politics of Difference Politics of difference emerged as a concept in critical theory as part of a recognition that there are multiple interests in emancipation and that there is no subjectivity or social movement that can stand in for or represent all these different interests (Yeatman, 1993). According to Yeatman (1993), a politics of difference necessitates a shift in ethical orientation towards a politics of voice and representation, as opposed to a mere practical move towards inclusion. In my research, 21  I draw upon the work of Cultural Studies scholars because they have been at the forefront in analyzing and critiquing how Western nations engage with increasing cultural diversity, including racial, ethnic, and religious difference.   Ahmed (2000) has argued for understanding national identity as a process of everyday negotiations: “the work of ‘the nation’ is done as much through the everyday encounters in public life, as it is done through the political machinery of the nation-state” (p. 98). These everyday encounters are however framed by dominant discourse, including discourses of the imagined community which are acted out in physical encounters (Ahmed, 2000). While the diversity within national communities is increasingly acknowledged, as in multiculturalist and interculturalist rhetoric, we need to be wary about the ways in which difference is discussed and produced in public discourse. Writing about the Australian context, Ahmed (2000) argues that multiculturalism “reinvents ‘the nation’ over the bodies of strangers” (p. 95) within the physical borders of the nation. Difference is commodified and consumed by the implicitly white nation, who in turn boosts its ability to survive through the “in-place-ness” of the stranger (Ahmed, 2000, p. 97). What is erased in this commodification of difference is any understanding of specific differences as being products of structural and social inequalities (Ang, 2001; Bannerji, 2000; hooks, 1992). The essentialization of difference also fails to engage with the constantly changing nature of national, global, and local identities and the modalities of difference within any given community (Ang, 2001; Brah, 1996; Hall, 1993, 1999, 2000). What is at stake in discourses about the nation is the power to define national culture, as opposed to merely being included (Bannerji, 2000). Ang (2001) has proposed that national culture needs to be re-articulated through the ideal of living together-in-difference, that is “recognizing the inescapable impurity of all cultures and the porousness of all cultural boundaries in an irrevocably 22  globalized, interconnected and interdependent world” (p. 194). Living together-in-difference entails accepting the inherent impurity of identity (Ang, 2001; Gilroy, 2000) and recognizing that dominant culture never was as homogenous as it imagined itself to be (Hall, 1999). Importantly, however, uncritical celebrations of hybridity and difference will not do (Ang, 2001; Brah, 1996; Hall, 2000). Instead, living together-in-difference entails constantly questioning and undermining the power structures that often produce difference (Ang, 2001). Notions of community, sameness, and difference cannot be taken for granted; rather, we must interrogate whose interests the discursive we serves (Brah, 1996). This critical approach to the discursive construction of community guides my analytical approach to the July 22 remembrance texts. In my study, I seek to continually question under what conditions and from what perspective the we is possible.   2.3 Racism and Discourse While my research focusses on discourses of gender and religion as well as race, I have chosen to draw extensively from the area of critical race studies and its subfield of critical whiteness studies. This is because race and racism are neglected topics in both Norwegian public debate and Norwegian scholarship. With the racial and ethnic diversity of Norway increasing, the urgency of addressing racism and the role of whiteness in the Norwegian public imaginary only grows. From this point of view, my research also makes an important addition to the currently marginal field of Norwegian critical whiteness studies.  Race as we know it is a social construct, but processes of racialization nevertheless produce real social, economic, material, and psychological effects. Thus, race is an element of social structure that shapes both identities and institutions (Omi & Winant, 1994). Racialization or, as Omi & Winant (1994) term it, racial formation refers to “the sociohistorical process[es] by 23  which racial categories are created, inhabited, transformed, and destroyed” (p. 55). Different racial categories are however not created equal, and in order to foreground the negative impacts of racialization and its relation to racism, I will in this thesis employ Jiwani’s (2006) definition of racialization as processes imbuing the concept of race with negative “valuations that are designed to Other, inferiorize, and marginalize groups and individuals who are different from the ideal type or norm” (p. xviii). Racism, Goldberg (1993) argued, “is not a singular transhistorical expression but transforms in relation to significant changes in the field of discourse” (p. 42). Analytically, we might distinguish between many different forms of racism, including biological racism, structural and institutional racism, cultural racism, everyday racism, and common sense racism, but in praxis they intersect and support each other. Barker (1981) and other cultural studies scholars in the United Kingdom in the 1980s argued that cultural racism has replaced biological racism, shifting the focus from race articulated as an essential, biological difference to race as ethnic and cultural difference. This shift was accompanied by a shift in terminology from race to ethnicity. Hall (2000) argued, however, that biological racism and cultural racism are only two different logics of racism and that each one continues to be articulated through the other. It follows that “the biological referent is therefore never wholly absent from discourses of ethnicity . . . but displaced through kinship and intermarriage” (p. 223). In this thesis, I will use race and ethnicity as separate analytical categories, but this should not be taken to mean that I do not see them as interlinked. Rather, I use them to highlight different aspects of racialization, with race referring to processes of pheneticizing, that is assigning biological classifications of race based on outwards appearance (Compton, 2010), and ethnicity as racialization based on perceived differences in culture and/or national origin. In accordance with my emphasis on racialization as a process, I use the term racialized people throughout the analysis, only 24  occasionally using the terms people of colour or non-white people when seeking to highlight the contrast to whiteness.  The concept of race has largely been discarded in Norwegian public life, as the concept is associated with biological racism. Gullestad (2005) identified skin colour (hudfarge) as the key term used in Norwegian racial discourse, with “dark skin colour” being used as a metonym for a perceived un-Norwegian appearance (p. 32). Skin colour in this way functions as a mechanism of Othering: a seemingly objective description employed by white majority Norwegians to name difference without implicating the speaker in racist ideology. This of course radically contrasts the colour-blind approach to race that is so predominant in the North American context, in which references to skin colour are usually avoided as a means to advance the white liberal assumption of racial equality. Other forms of talking about racial difference in the Norwegian context include references to ethnicity and, more commonly, nationality. Notably, ethnicity is the preferred way of identifying the white majority population, the common term being etnisk norsk, meaning “ethnic Norwegian.” In my own analysis, I have substituted this term for white Norwegian, to highlight the racial ideology at play and the structural privilege afforded by whiteness.  The absence of the concept of race (but surely not racialized discourse) in academic and everyday discourse in praxis disables productive engagement with and challenges to racism (Svendsen, 2014; Thun, 2012). A strong popular adherence to the view that race is a social construction and that the term race is obsolete after the presumed end of biological racism works to produce racism as a phantasm of the past (Svendsen, 2014). This is problematic because in public discourse, racism often operates precisely through denial, thereby exonerating the speaker and granting racist rhetoric legitimacy (Van Dijk, 1992, 1993).  Through the pretense that racism 25  is something exceptional of which only a few members of the community are guilty, racist discourse is in fact normalized and routinized (Van Dijk, 1992, 1993). In the Norwegian case, this has led to a failure to confront institutional and structural racism, as well as the more insidious workings of everyday racism and common sense racism. Essed (1991) coined the concept of everyday racism to refer to “systematic, recurrent, familiar practices” through which racism is expressed and produced in everyday life (p. 3). These everyday practices support structural racism, but are normally not perceived as racist by the persons enacting them. A similar, but more subtle and deeper-seated form of racism can be found in the concept of common sense racism, employed by Bannerji (1995) to refer to  “diffused normalized sets of assumptions, knowledge, and so-called cultural practices” that hold a daily currency (p. 45). This conceptualization of racism allows us to address not only what is said and done, but what is not said or done, what questions are not being asked. Any critical examination of Norwegian national identity needs to take seriously the complex workings of racism in present-day discourse, not the least the understated role of whiteness in the social imagination. In my discourse analysis, I seek to foreground how normalized assumptions about community can reproduce racist ideology and consolidate whiteness as the silent norm.   2.3.1 Critical Whiteness Studies In a pioneering work of critical whiteness studies, Frankenberg (1993) outlined three interlinked dimensions to whiteness: whiteness as a structural position; whiteness as an epistemic location or “standpoint;” and whiteness as a set of cultural practices. In all three forms, whiteness largely appears as unnamed and unmarked to the white bodies that inhabit and perform it; from the position of whiteness, race is the property of non-white others (Frankenberg, 1993; Dyer, 1997). 26  Indeed, one could say that white privilege works partly through its invisibility to the people who benefit from it (McIntosh, 1988). Whiteness also works through the power to define and name others (Gabriel, 1998), including assigning national, ethnic, and racial categories to others with which they might not identify (Ang, 2001; Gunew, 2004).   Critical whiteness scholars have often focused on the discursive construction of whiteness. More recently, this privileging of discourse has come under critique for its inattentiveness to the materialism of race (Saldanha, 2007). Saldanha (2007) has emphasized that race is an embodied difference: “Racial difference emerges as many bodies in the real world align and comport themselves in certain ways, in certain places” (p. ix). Saldanha related whiteness to the concept of viscosity, which “pertains to two dimensions of a collective of bodies: its sticking together, and its relative impermeability” (p. 5). From this perspective, whiteness exercises its power in part through its ability to repel difference without explicitly rejecting it. Social spaces that claim to be antiracist or inclusive can stay predominantly white, as white bodies gravitate to each other, creating a net effect or tendency of whiteness, which is supported by broader sociopolitical structures and economic inequality. While my research indeed focuses on discourse, I will attempt to incorporate a materialist perspective on discourse analysis by considering how notions of space is constructed in the studied texts and how the Norwegian community is (re)presented visually in the media coverage.   In Norwegian society, whiteness goes largely unnamed, but is almost always assumed (Gullestad, 2002, 2006). Disproportionate white representation in politics and journalism means that the national “we” is usually articulated from the standpoint of the white Norwegians (Gullestad, 2002, 2006). Whiteness is also an understudied subject in Norwegian scholarship, including critical feminist research (Thun, 2012). Nordic colleagues are however starting to 27  advance critical whiteness scholarship, including examinations of whiteness’ intersections with hegemonic masculinity in right-wing politics (Keskinen, 2013) and its relation to discourses of national community (Loftsdóttir & Jensen, 2012). I seek to advance this work by providing a critique of how whiteness is overrepresented but unnamed in the July 22 remembrance texts and how this impacts dominant understandings of national community.    2.4 Collective Memory and Public Remembrance Anderson (1991) argues that nationalism today is read genealogically, envisioning or using history in particular ways to imagine continuity. The imagined community in this way includes both the living and the dead; the present we have “learned to speak ‘for’ dead people” (Anderson, 1991, p. 198). Thus, there is an already established connection between discourses of national identity and remembrance practices; the national “we” figure in and through the dead.  To further explore this relationship, I am drawing on literature from the field of memory studies, in particular works concerned with public remembrance.   The concept of collective memory is attributed to the philosopher and sociologist Halbwachs (1952), who argued that there is no such thing as a pure individual memory; all memory is social and produced in interaction with others. Connerton (1989) has further argued that collective memory is performative, transmitted and produced through ritualistic performances, amongst which commemoration ceremonies are particularly significant. Although public commemoration often is associated with celebratory events such as national centennials (Spillman, 1997), the remembrance of death and tragic events is also a significant part of the public life of the nation. Indeed, Renan (1882) suggested, perhaps sardonically, that “suffering in 28  common unifies more than joy does. Where national memories are concerned, griefs are of more value than triumphs, for they impose duties, and require a common effort” (section 3, para. 2). Public remembrance practices, Rosenberg (2003) wrote, are pedagogical practices of teaching and learning as well as  communicative practices that intend, however obliquely, to bequeath a memorial legacy to those they address. As a memorial address, a public remembrance practice can be understood as attempting to bind the living in particular relation – not only to the dead, but also to each other. (p. 10).  The public remembrance of the July 22 terrorist attacks, then, can be seen as a key site for the production of the Norwegian imagined community. We need to critically examine the discourses that emerge from this public remembrance because, as Simon, Rosenberg, and Eppert (2000) have suggested, public memorial practices often take the form of strategic remembrance. Strategic remembrance deploys memorial pedagogies to serve present-day, sociopolitical interests, often to the benefit of dominant groups who have better access to the institutional production of public remembrance (Simon, Rosenberg, & Eppert, 2000). In studying the speeches and event coverage produced by mainly elite actors, I am trying to foreground the power differentials at play in producing public remembrance discourse. My thesis seeks to question on whose terms the collective memory of July 22 is produced.   2.4.1 The Politics of Grief and Mourning  When it comes to public remembrance, what is forgotten is often just as important as what is remembered (Rosenberg, 1996; Ricoeur, 2004). Whereas strategic remembrance insists upon an almost compulsive retelling that promises redemption through the telling (Simon, Rosenberg, & 29  Eppert, 2000), my research questions whether the act of remembering alone can produce societal transformation. In my analysis, I am interested in the official memorial narratives advanced, but also in the silences produced by what is said. Such silences are not created equal (Trouillot, 1995); they reflect different relations to power and can tell us a lot about the politics of belonging in the present-day national community.   Writing about the politics of public mourning, Butler (2004) has asked us to consider what subjects are viable as the objects of loss and what forms of mourning are thinkable in the public sphere. It may be that the massive public remembrance of the July 22 terrorist attacks idealizes a certain national subject at the cost of rendering other national subjects “ungrievable” or indeed constituting them as outside of the nation. Butler (2004) further warned against quick resolution to suffering and encouraged the public practice of critique and dissent. The Norwegian public should not prematurely decide upon, and thereby “resolve,” the questions of what July 22 meant, how it has changed the national community, and what “we” have become. Instead, we should work towards a more critical pedagogy of remembrance that attempts to attend to and hold on to remembrance of the past without foreclosing the possibility that this attempt to remember will rupture the adequacy of the very terms on which a memory is being held (Simon, Rosenberg, & Eppert, 2000, p. 6). This critical remembrance practice might very well include the reworking of the imagined community and the imagining of new relationships.  The events of July 22 evidently form a site of contestation that carries different meaning for different individuals and groups of people. My introduction started with a quote from Stoltenberg in which the then Prime Minister highlighted how the tragedy brought people together. It is true that more than 150,000 people came together in the streets of Oslo three days 30  after the attacks, carrying roses in a display of public grief that became known as rosetoget (the Rose March) – an event which is in turn being redefined as a proud moment in Norwegian history (Sæby, 2014) and a sign that “the perpetrator failed” (Stoltenberg, 2012a). It is equally true that several people reported vicious physical and verbal attacks against Muslims and racialized people in Oslo in the hours between the explosion and the revelation of the perpetrator’s identity (Haarr & Partapuoli, 2012). None of the victims of this violence reported the harassment or physical attacks to the police; many of them felt it would be inappropriate to “‘burden’ the police with their issues on a day on which many lost their lives and several were severely injured” (Haarr & Partapuoli, 2012, p. 5). The juxtaposition of these two separate, yet related, events raises questions of whose tragedy is to be remembered, whose fear and grief has the right to the public space, and whose stories of July 22 can be publically heard and seen. In other words, under what conditions is the collective memory produced, and what do these conditions tell us about (un)belonging in the Norwegian imagined community?   31  Chapter 3: Methodology  My analysis of the July 22 remembrance is based on a critical discourse analysis of a total of 140 texts: 133 news articles and seven memorial speeches. This chapter discusses the method and methodology of my research, starting by providing a brief introduction to critical discourse analysis and a definition of key terms. I thereafter outline the data collection process and provide a detailed breakdown of the data sources. Finally, I discuss the methodological underpinnings of my analysis before concluding with a description of the process of data analysis and an overview of the themes that emerged from this analysis, thereby preparing the reader for the in-depth discussion of my findings in Chapter 4 and 5.   3.1 Critical Discourse Analysis In order to analyze the discourses of nationhood communicated and produced through the July 22 memorial speeches and media coverage, I employed the method of critical discourse analysis (CDA). Critical discourse analysis is, as Weiss and Wodak (2003) argued, a method for exploring “the ways in which language mediates ideology in a variety of social institutions” (p. 14). Unlike other forms of discourse analysis, CDA privileges the study of political issues and social problems, and it moves beyond mere description of textual structures to situate and explain the social structures and conditions of discourse (Van Dijk, 2008). By employing critical discourse analysis, I sought to critically engage with the discursive production of nationhood in the July 22 memorial texts, as well as the conditions under which this imagined community is produced.  32  While the primary objective of critical discourse analysis is to examine power relations in a society, the method has been applied in very different ways. Indeed, it is often said that critical discourse analysis is more a perspective of analysis than a method or a discipline (Jørgensen & Phillips, 2002; Van Dijk, 2008). Building on Fairclough and Wodak’s (1997) work, Jørgensen and Phillips (2002) proposed that there are five common assumptions to critical discourse analysis: 1) Social and cultural processes and structures have a linguistic-discursive dimension; 2) discourse is constitutive of the social world as well as constituted by it; 3) texts need to be analyzed in relation to their broader social context; 4) discourse produces ideological effects; and 5) critical discourse analysis does not claim to be politically neutral, but seeks to effect social change (p. 60-64). All of the above features apply to my analysis, as will become evident when I further discuss my methodological assumptions in section 3.3.  My definition of the key terms discourse and text are informed by the above-listed features. By discourse, I am referring to the production of social knowledges and memories. My definition of discourse is consistent with that used by Fairclough and Wodak (1997), who stated that discourse is “socially constitutive as well as socially shaped: it constitutes situations, objects of knowledge, and the social identities of and relationships between people and groups of people” (p. 258). At times, I also employ the term discourse to refer to particular “way[s] of speaking which giv[e] meaning to experiences from a particular perspective” (Jørgensen & Phillips, 2002, p. 67), such as a neoliberal discourse or an ethno-nationalist discourse. Text, on the other hand, I take to be the concrete expressions or mediations of such discursive knowledges, whether in written or verbal form. The texts in my analysis are the political speeches and newspaper articles from the July 22 memorials.  33  3.2 Data Collection Since my interest lies in the dominant discourses and official memorialization of the terrorist attack, I collected my data from official archives. I chose to look specifically at the anniversaries of the attack, because as time passes these annual memorial events become the key public site of remembrance for the attacks. My research data comprises two different text genres: memorial speeches given by leading politicians and the online media coverage of the memorial events. The complete list of primary texts on which my analysis is based totals 140 texts and can be found in the bibliography at the end.  The memorial speeches studied are the speeches given by the Norwegian Prime Minister at the wreath-laying in front of the government quarters and the speech given by the Labour Party leader at the annual commemoration for AUF-members on Utøya. For the first year, I also included the speech given by Prime Minister Stoltenberg at the evening memorial concert, an event which did not take place in 2013 and 2014. The total number of memorial speeches analyzed is therefore seven. I have listed the speeches according to year, location, and speaker in Table 1.  The media coverage was collected from the online news sites of Norway’s three largest newspapers - VG, Dagbladet, and Aftenposten - as well as articles from the online pages of NRK, the state-sponsored national TV channel. The articles include coverage of the memorials, as well as relevant interviews with politicians and survivors published in relation with the July 22 anniversary. I also included op-eds and political commentaries, allowing for a plurality of voices. When selecting my archive, I delineated my search to articles that were published either on the day of July 22 or up to two days before or after the event. For the analysis, I thus looked at all articles related to the July 22 memorial published on these four news sites in the five-day period 34  of July 20 to July 24 each year, as well as a few articles that fell outside of this time period but were of particular relevance. This yielded a total of 133 articles for analysis, with a breakdown of 81 for 2012, 26 for 2013, and 26 for 2014. As would be expected, the number of articles covering the memorials decreased after 2012, as the terrorist attack lost its immediacy and the public memorials were downscaled. Table 2 shows the full breakdown of analyzed articles according to news site and year.  Table 1 List of memorial speeches  Year Memorial Location Speaker  2012 Government quarters, Oslo Jens Stoltenberg , Prime Minister (Labour Party) Utøya, Buskerud Jens Stoltenberg, Labour Party leader Memorial concert, Oslo Jens Stoltenberg , Prime Minister (Labour Party)  2013 Government quarters, Oslo Jens Stoltenberg , Prime Minister (Labour Party) Utøya, Buskerud Jens Stoltenberg, Labour Party leader  2014 Government quarters, Oslo Erna Solberg, Prime Minister (Conservatives) Utøya, Buskerud Jonas Gahr Støre, Labour Party leader   Table 2 Number of news articles according to year and source Year VG Dagbladet Aftenposten NRK Total 2012 27 29 13 12 81 2013 8 7 3 8 26 2014 3 7 5 11 26 In total 38 43 21 31 133  35   I chose to analyze online media instead of print media as this media form is the most accessible – to the general public as well as me as a researcher. Dagbladet, VG, and NRK all have free online access, while Aftenposten operates with a tiered subscription system in which ten articles can be accessed for free per week. I included Aftenposten in the material because it is Norway’s largest newspaper, while Dagbladet and VG are the two largest tabloid newspapers. NRK is Norway’s largest media house, and as a government-owned radio and television broadcasting company it is particularly invested in a national framework. Norwegians are avid media consumers, with 75% of the population reading news on an average day (Statistisk sentralbyrå, 2015). It can therefore be assumed that the majority of people would have accessed at least some of the memorial coverage in one way or another. Statistics also show that as of 2014 Norwegians are accessing online news slightly more often than print news (Statistisk sentralbyrå, 2015).   My choice of text genres to study is directly related to my research questions regarding the construction of the imagined Norwegian community. Anderson (1991) posited that modern nation-building was facilitated by the mass-production and dissemination of media and literature enabled by print technology. While the role of print might have been overstated (Gunew, 2004), print media did play a significant role in enabling the imagining of the national community and importantly continues to do so in both print and online form (Thobani, 2007a). Jiwani (2006) has argued that media is central to societal knowledge production through informing public opinion, justifying and supporting state policy, and socializing citizens. Furthermore, “how race is represented in the dominant media is indicative of the place accorded to racialized groups in the symbolic landscape of the nation” (Jiwani, 2006, p. xx). In the specific case of terrorism, modern terrorist attacks can be seen as a media event in which media plays a central role in creating 36  national identification and mediating the terror (Nossek 2008; Thobani, 2007a). The political commemoration speech is also a highly mediated practice in that it is broadcasted to a much larger audience than the audience physically present at the time of the speech and is likely to be recontextualized by the media (Achugar, 2008). Commemoration speeches are therefore designed to be open enough to address multiple audiences located in different places; they seek to bind a larger community through evaluating a situation and (re)confirming the state of things (Achugar, 2008). We can therefore expect that the July 22 memorial speeches and their coverage will provide insight into how the Norwegian community is imagined by elite actors such as politicians and mainstream journalists.    3.3 Methodological Assumptions The assumption that discourse both constitutes and is constituted by social relations is foundational to my analysis. It follows from the productive power of discourse that texts never univocally mirror or reflect dominant interests; instead, texts become sites of struggle over power and meaning (Foucault, 1972). The notion that texts are struggles over meaning is particularly relevant to my research, because public remembrance practices too are contests over meaning that “can be understood as attempting to bind the living in particular relation – not only to the dead, but also to each other” (Rosenberg, 2003, p. 10). The media and political remembrance of the July 22 terrorist attack is likely to change depending on the structural position and political interests of the people who participate in the memorial production. The meaning of any event is never given or finalized, but is being constructed over time and through contestation. Through analyzing the memorial speeches and coverage over the course of three years, I thus seek to trace shifts in discourse over time and with changes in political context. If texts are sites of struggle 37  over discourse and power, comparing texts produced in different temporal moments may enable us to see how the imagined national community is a specific spatio-temporal construct. While three years admittedly is a short period of time, the July 22 memorials have been produced in very different political moments. The 2013 anniversary, for example, took place just one and a half month before the national elections and after the sitting government had received heavy criticism for their lack of emergency preparedness before and after the attack. The 2014 anniversary, on the other hand, took place under a right-wing coalition government that includes Fremskrittspartiet, the party with which the terrorist was formerly associated. Centring these changes in political context may further our understanding of “which cultural sensibilities prevail that allow for such a text at this specific point in time” (Fürsich, 2009, p. 247).   Situating public remembrance discourses in the specific time and place in which they are produced is an important part of my analysis. It is worth stressing that in analyzing the relationship between text and context, I am not suggesting that discourse is relative, only that it is situated. Building on Foucault’s work on discursive practices, Hook (2001) wrote that “to realize that truth is a function of discourse is to realize that the conditions of truth are precisely rather than relatively contingent on current forms of discourse” (p. 525). In other words, the discursive archives that we share as a community limit what can be understood as truth, albeit never in a finite or absolute sense (Foucault, 1972). Foucault’s theorization of discourse guides my approach to discourse analysis in two important ways.  Firstly, it follows from the concept of the discursive archive that texts will exceed the intentions of their individual authors; texts are products of the discipline in which they were written and bear traces of texts that have come before (Foucault, 1972; Weiss & Wodak, 2003). In conducting my discourse analysis, I am therefore not exclusively concerned with what ostensibly is said or expressed in the texts. A 38  major part of my focus is to examine the a priori assumptions and knowledges that inform the spoken or written word and give it meaning (Young, 2001). While considering linguistics and rhetoric is an important part of the work, I believe a mere linguistic analysis would prove insufficient for grasping the underlying context, including historical background and present power structures, of discourse. As Rosenberg (1996) suggested, in memorial practices what is forgotten if often just as important as what is remembered. My analysis of the text is therefore guided by the following questions: Where are the silences in the text and what do they imply?  One of my methodological assumptions is that silence produces, as well as contains (Foucault, 1972; Trouillot, 1995). When the historical and social context is erased or obscured from texts, we – the readers, the audience, and co-authors of the texts – turn to cultural narratives, that is, social discourses, to ‘fill in the blanks’ and  make meaning. Through silence then, dominant discourses are often reinforced, while others are suppressed or obscured. This dynamics speaks to what Foucault (1972) called the restrictive function of discourse and supports Hook’s (2001) argument that discourse analysis should also concern itself “with a search for the scarcity of meaning, with what cannot be said” (p. 527). This is not to imply a great underlying truth or assume the power to give voice to silenced realities, but to acknowledge and seek to understand the power relations that produce such silences.  The attention to underlying power structures is the second way in which Foucaldian theory influences my analysis. As mentioned, critical discourse analysis is commonly used to analyze power relations and its practitioners often express a strong commitment to social justice (Fairclough & Wodak, 1997; Jørgensen & Phillips, 2002; Van Dijk, 2008; Weiss & Wodak, 2003). However, as Hook (2001) has argued, more effort needs to be expended “on demonstrating the bases of power that underpin, motivate and benefit from the truth-claims of 39  the discourse in question” (p. 525, emphasis in original). These “material conditions of possibility” (Hook, 2001, p. 526) are a central concern in my analysis. Simply tracing the shifts or conjunctions in discourse is not enough; a thorough analysis of the underlying thought structures and epistemologies is necessary. Foucault (1972) warned that “we are not to burrow to the hidden core of discourse. . . . instead, . . . we should look for it external conditions of existence” (p. 229). In my critical discourse, I seek to understand how present discourse around the imagined Norwegian community have formed - and in conjunction with what material realities. In order to destabilize the discourses that construct Others, it is necessary to start by examining the we. As Brah (1996) has argued, the we of communal discourse too often works to conceal the differences within a community, including unequal power relations based on race, gender, class, and religion. The imagined we therefore needs to be analysed in the context it appears in order to understand who benefits from its construction and who do not (Brah, 1996). In my research, I try to consider the materiality of the effects produced through discourse, its extra-discursive consequences, as well as the discursive images constructed. This requires going beyond a narrow reading of any singular text.    3.4 Method of Analysis Having described the data collection process and established the methodological assumptions that guide my analysis, I will now describe the process of analysis. I started my discourse analysis by examining the memorial speeches, as these are the foundational texts of my study and are frequently mediated through the news coverage. Reading and re-reading the texts, I considered the following questions: What was being said about the Norwegian community and its response to the attacks? What, if anything, was being said about the terrorist and the 40  intentions behind the attack? In addition to these questions, I looked for any references to race, gender, and religion. Based on several close readings, I identified a series of possible themes that I later used to guide my coding of the news coverage. As part of my analysis, I also translated the memorial speeches from the original Norwegian into English. This concomitant process of translation helped deepen my analysis, since translation requires careful reflection on the multiple meanings and association of words. Due to the quantity of news texts, I did not undertake the same translation process for each news article, but simply translated all in-text quotes from the source material into English. Translation, it should be noted, is not an insignificant task as language is a central way of organizing reality, and different languages structure our experience of being in the world in different ways (Cottrelle, 1995; hooks, 1994; Liamputtong, 2010; Maracle, 1992). For example, race and ethnicity are rarely talked about in Norway in explicit terms, but do as Gullestad (2006) argued figure implicitly in the language of culture. A literal translation of words was therefore not always sufficient. Instead, I have incorporated important Norwegian words into the English texts and made use of longer explanations in lieu of translation where I considered it appropriate.  After having analyzed and translated the memorial speeches, I turned to an analysis of the news coverage. I analyzed the news coverage year by year, starting with the 2012 coverage and ending with the 2014 coverage in order to better trace changes in discourse. I read and manually coded each article, categorizing all articles according to its genre (event coverage; interview; news commentary; op-ed), primary focus (memorial event(s); perspectives on July 22), and the primary speaking subjects of the article (politicians or people in positions of formal power; celebrities; survivors; bereaved family and friends; bystanders; members of the general public). Like with the memorial speeches, I looked for references to the community, the terrorist, and the 41  meaning of the attack, and I searched for representations of and linguistic references to race, gender, and religion. I also noted down key words that stood out to me in the articles. Finally, I analyzed the accompanying image(s), defining the image object and looking for indications of race and gender and any visible religious symbols. Once the initial coding was done and I had determined a set of preliminary themes, I re-read all articles and updated the coding where necessary. From the initial coding emerged an overarching, intertextual theme of national collectivity and a presumed consensus on values. This theme in turn drew upon and combined different, pre-existing discourses on terror and the Norwegian community. My initial coding showed that the July 22 memorial texts constitute the imagined Norwegian community both in relation to the terrorist and to broader discourses of terrorism. Discussing the representations of terror is therefore crucial to understanding how the national community is imagined. In Table 3 below, I provide an outline of the major analytical themes and their definitions. As we will see in Chapter 4, however, these themes do not appear in the texts as separate entities, but more as a constellation of intersecting and mutually constitutive discourses. In my in-depth analysis, I therefore discuss them all together, rather than as separate thematic sections.       42  Table 3 Summary of major themes Topic Theme Definition of Theme Overall Collectivity The nation is unified and responded to terror in the same way  Consensus There is a consensus on what constitutes Norwegian values July 22 Value attack July 22 is an attack on the collective values of the nation Terrorist Absent No references to the terrorist   Exceptional The terrorist’s viewpoints are exceptional  Outsider The terrorist is contrasted to a unified Norwegian people Terrorism Abstract Terror is an abstract and transitive force tied to no one in particular  Blind hatred Terrorism is irrational and/or about hate   Islam References to Islam or Muslims    Right-wing References to the far political right, Nazism, or Fascism Community Innocence  Hate and prejudice come from outside the community   Imagined sameness Similarities are emphasized  Ethnic kinship Images of family and closeness are employed  The major themes of Norwegian exceptionalism, imagined sameness, and national innocence; the framing of the terrorist as an outsider to the national community; and the framing of terror as either an abstract phenomenon or associated with fundamentalist Islam clearly provided a partial answer to the question of how the July 22 remembrance texts communicate and construct particular images of Norway as a nation and community. I did not find, however, that these themes adequately addressed my specific research question of how idea(l)s of race, gender, and religion are articulated and produced in relation to this community. Since the initial 43  analysis revealed that value talk was central to the imagining of community, I decided to approach questions of race, gender, and religion through the discourse of values. In my re-coding, I paid particular attention to how representations of community adhered to or contradicted with the proclaimed values of openness, trust, solidarity, humanity, democracy, tolerance, and diversity. It became clear that the actual representations of community in the memorial speeches and news coverage frequently contradicted the professed communal values. When closely examining representations of community in relation to discourses of race, gender, and religion, I found the following subthemes: closure and militarization of language; gender essentialism and heteronormativity; naturalization of Christianity; a narrow understanding of freedom of expression; overrepresentation of whiteness; erasure of racial and ethnic diversity; and a narrative of vulnerability (see Table 4). In Chapter 5, I discuss these themes in relation to the proclaimed national values.   Table 4 Summary of subthemes Value Juxtaposed Subtheme Trust and openness Closure Militarized language and references Gender equity (silent value) Gender essentialism Heteronormativity Solidarity and humanity Christianity as naturalized part of culture Lack of religious diversity Democracy, tolerance, and diversity Narrow freedom of expression Whiteness overrepresented Erasure of racial and ethnic diversity Security Increased (white) vulnerability   44  After the re-coding, I started the in-depth analysis of the themes found in the memorial speeches and media coverage. Because there was significant consistency between the discourses produced by the speeches and the discourses produced by the news articles, I ultimately chose to synthesize the findings instead of presenting them separately according to genre. Within the context of my research, the significance of text genres emerged as secondary to the narratives constructed in the texts. As I will discuss in the next two chapters, there was also a high degree of narrative continuity from year to year. My data chapters are therefore structured according to theme rather than year or text genre. Chapter 4 presents the overall framing of the July 22 remembrance through a discussion of the major themes listed in Table 3, while Chapter 5 provides a more detailed consideration of national discourses of race, gender, and religion through a discussion of the proclaimed values of the Norwegian community.    45  Chapter 4: Framing the Collective Narrative  I started the introductory chapter with a quote from one of the memorial speeches given at the first year anniversary. In the 2012 wreath-laying speech, then Prime Minister and Labour Party leader Jens Stoltenberg spoke about how the July 22 terrorist attacks brought the Norwegian people together, “united” as “one nation” (Stoltenberg, 2012a). The framing of July 22 as a national event that strengthened the Norwegian sense of collectivity pervades the memorial speeches and coverage. In this chapter, I examine how the discursive emphasis on collectivity constructs an imagined consensus on national values that works to alienate the terrorist from the national community and obscure internal community differences, including unequal power relations based on race, gender, and religion.  4.1 Collectivity and the Imagined Consensus on Values In the memorials and media coverage, July 22 is understood as a unifying event because the terrorist attacks are framed as an attack on the nation and commonly shared national values. In the 2012 speech given at the wreath laying outside the government quarters, Stoltenberg pronounced: “The bomb and the shots were meant to change Norway. The Norwegian people responded by embracing our values. The perpetrator failed. The people won” (2012a). Thus, Stoltenberg proposed a simple and singular answer to the larger questions of community that were raised in the aftermath of July 22. According to this simplistic narrative, the terrorist attacks united the people who responded by strengthening their commitment to already shared values. The attacks were meant to change the national community, but the terrorist failed. Statements supporting this narrative abound in the 2012 media coverage. The then Minister of Foreign 46  Affairs, Espen Barth Eide (Ap), was quoted by Dagbladet as saying “the perpetrator’s wish was to destroy that by which we unite (står sammen om). This he has not succeeded in” (Flåthe & Landsend, 2012). In an interview after the wreath-laying speech, Stoltenberg reiterated that July 22 was an attack on the Norwegian community’s shared values: “It was also our fundamental values that were attacked; as a nation it is important that we gird [slår ring om] these values” (as cited in Marthinsen & Prestegård, 2012). In Chapter 5, I discuss in further detail what values are heralded as Norwegian values in the memorial speeches and the media coverage. For now, it suffices to say that the initial emphasis of both the speeches and the interviews is on the assumption of shared values rather than an explication of what values this might be. What this framing fails to acknowledge is the possibility that the terrorist attack could reflect a larger national conflict over values, that the attacks might be an extreme manifestation of more commonplace dissent. It is striking that nowhere in the memorial coverage is it mentioned that the terrorist was a long-time member of Norway’s third largest party, Fremskrittspartiet. Breivik was at one point the deputy leader of a local chapter of the party’s youth section, Fremskrittspartiets Ungdom (FpU), and he was a registered member of the mother party for seven years. While he later disassociated from the party, he continued to see it as the only acceptable party in Norwegian politics (Wiggen, 2012).   Elsewhere, I have argued for the importance of remembering that the July 22 attacks targeted a particular political vision of Norway, not the nation state per se (Hakvåg, 2015). The terrorist did not indiscriminately attack fellow members of the Norwegian nation. Instead, he carefully and purposefully selected his victims from a specific political segment of the nation: He attacked the headquarters of a coalition government led by Arbeiderpartiet, and he shot and killed members of AUF, Arbeiderpartiet’s youth section. From the terrorist’s point of view, it 47  was an attack for the nation, a crusade to save Norway from “cultural Marxists,” feminists, and Muslims. The repeated framing of July 22 as an attack on national values obscures the specificity of the attack (Hakvåg, 2015). As a result, party-political ideology is rendered largely irrelevant to the attack and difficult questions about individual parties’ role in contributing to the ideological fundament of the terrorist remain unvoiced.   In the July 22 remembrance, the attachment to the idea of July 22 as an attack on fundamental Norwegian values extends well beyond the Labour Party leadership and their allies. This particular narrative is repeated by diverse politicians and journalists throughout the three years of memorial coverage that I have examined. In a 2013 commentary, Aftenposten journalist Narum wrote that “every year we will both remember the atrocity that happened and unite around our inalienable values that the terrorist failed so profoundly to attack” (Narum, 2013). Even after the change of government in the fall of 2013, when the right-oriented parties Høyre and Fremskrittspartiet came into power, this framing of the terrorist attacks persists. In her 2014 speech at the wreath laying in the government quarters, current Prime Minister Erna Solberg (H) underlined that “the memory of July 22 obliges us all. We shall continue to stand up for our fundamental values” (Solberg, 2014). In an Aftenposten news commentary the same day, Olsen (2014) opined that Solberg’s speech is evidence that “the multicultural Norway is more or less a cross-partisan project.” The collective memorialization of July 22 thus privileges a narrative that insists upon a national consensus on values.     On the one hand, the emphasis on collectivity and unity can be seen as a public effort to restore order and alleviate fear after a large-scale terrorist attack. Analyzing Israeli media responses to terrorist attacks, Nossek (2008) argued that media sets aside professionalism in response to national terrorist attacks; the media deliberately mobilizes patriotic narratives in 48  order to rewrite the meaning of the event and build public solidarity. In the context of Norway’s July 22, Vettenranta (2012) argued that the emphasis on shared values and traditions in the first months after the terrorist attacks was a deliberate effort by Norwegian politicians, media, and the royal family to re-establish what Giddens (1991) termed ontological safety. In the immediate aftermath of July 22, criticism and partisan politics were put aside and elections preparations stalled, enabling narratives of collectivity to take centre place (Vettenranta, 2012). As Lundby (2012) wrote: “paradoxically enough, it was the rose marches and the collectivity that the terror produced that became media events” (p. 229). The narrative of collectivity performs important symbolic repair work (Rothenbuhler as cited in Lundby, 2012) designed to reinstate trust after a crisis. In a high-trust society like Norway where terror is perceived as exceptional, the focus on continuity can be perceived as reassuring (Vettenranta, 2012).    I propose, however, that the emphasis on collectivity after July 22 might reflect a deeper attachment to consensus in Norwegian society. In her work on imagined sameness, Gullestad (2002, 2006) argued that the Norwegian logic of sameness manifests itself in everyday practices that privileges similarities and marginalizes, or altogether avoids, differences in behaviour and opinion. The positive valuation of sameness problematizes difference so that difference is often perceived as lack or inadequacy (Gullestad, 2002, p. 83). Gullestad further proposed that Norwegians actively employ strategies of sameness against (perceived) immigrants, thereby  contributing to constitute the majority, maintain its ‘imagined community’ and legitimize its power. While the dividing lines between different social classes have become more indistinct, the dividing lines between ‘us’ and the ‘immigrants’ have become more distinct and determined on a conceptual level. (Gullestad, 2002, p. 84). 49  Building on Gullestad’s theory, we might see the post-July 22 consensus imperative as a strategy of whiteness that consolidates power through the discursive maintenance of innocence. In effect, the consensus narrative does more than establish terror as exceptional; it also constructs the terrorist and his ideology as exceptional. In an early response to the terrorist attack, Mulinari and Neergaard (2012) warned against an exceptionalist framing of July 22, pointing to the increased popular support for right-wing parties in the Scandinavian countries. Mulinari and Neergaard (2012) argued for the need to examine the intersections between the terrorist’s ideology and everyday racism. In the memorial events and coverage, we see that this call is not heeded: politicians, journalists, and survivors alike repeatedly depict the Norwegian terrorist as an outsider to the imagined community.   Whenever the terrorist is mentioned, it is almost always in opposition to us or the people,4 thereby repeating the logic of Stoltenberg’s (2012a) statement that “the perpetrator failed. The people won.” One 2012 Dagbladet article wrote that “the Prime Minister believes that we as a society can get back to normal - because the perpetrator did not manage to destroy the foundational in [our] society” (Marthinsen & Prestegård, 2012, emphasis added). Another 2012 article was devoted to describing how the terrorist would be watching the memorial alone from his single cell while “the nation on Sunday is gathering for the commemoration” (Holmlund, 2012, July 20, emphasis added). The article featured a picture of “the many hundred thousand” gathered in the 2011 Rose March, and it was further speculated that “up to a 100,000 people” would be present at the Sunday evening memorial concert - a gross overestimate as the final turnout was around 50,000 people. This article was only one of many concerned with the 2012                                                  4 This binary logic has also been uncritically echoed in some of the scholarly responses to the terrorist attacks, see for example Lundby (2012).  50  memorial concert attendance; of the 81 articles surveyed for that year, 29 dealt with some aspect of the memorial concert. The heavy coverage of this concert, complete with attendance numbers and pictures of the crowds who “defied the drizzle and the umbrella ban” (Steen, 2012, emphasis added), suggests an urgent symbolic importance to mass displays of mourning and remembrance after the July 22 terrorist attacks. As Stoltenberg put it in his memorial concert speech: “Hundred thousands have experienced the power in standing together, in girding our values. In this way, we have created more democracy and more openness” (Stoltenberg, 2012c). The public attendance of July 22 memorials is interpreted as disassociation not only from the terrorist’s actions, but his thinking and ideology, and the people attending are seen to stand in for the imagined community as a whole. Research done by the Norwegian research institute KIFO5 shows that this is not an accurate depiction; the attendance of the July 22 memorials was unevenly distributed along modalities of gender, age, class, and geography (as cited in Nipen, 2013). Women, youth, urban populations, and people with lower income and less education were the social groups with the largest representation. Coincidentally, people voting for Fremskrittspartiet, the terrorist’s former party, were among those least likely to attend. The construction of memorial attendees as stand-ins for the imagined community erases the experiences of social and material inequality that might have motivated certain groups to attend the memorials in the first place. Furthermore, the imposed binary between the terrorist and the nation works to sever any possible ideological intersections between the terrorist and other Norwegians, both the substantial proportion that did not attend as well as those that did.                                                   5 Institutt for kirke-, religions- og livssynsforskning  (Institute for Church, Religion, and Worldview Research), a private foundation.  51    Overall, there is little focus on the terrorist, as the genre of the memorial is victim-centred and conventionally gives minimal attention to the perpetrator. None of the memorial speeches and only a few of the newspaper articles mention Breivik by name, and there are only occasional references to the terrorist or the perpetrator. Direct references to the terrorist are replaced by more abstract terminology like the tragedy and the terror. Like the construction of July 22 as an attack on the whole nation, the abstraction of the terrorist decontextualizes the attacks. There is also a subtle shift in terminology over the course of time. In the 2012 speeches, Stoltenberg referred to “evil’s hours last year” (2012b), “the tragedy” (2012a), and “violence” (2012b, 2012c). The year after, when the perpetrator had officially been convicted of terrorism, Stoltenberg’s language shifted to “terror” (2012a), “the acts of violence” (2012a), and “extremism6” (2012a, 2012b), while Solberg in her 2014 speech spoke of “the terror that struck us,” “the July 22 tragedy,” and “violent extremism.” The only politician to make repeated references to “right-wing extremism” in a memorial speech is the current Arbeiderpartiet leader Jonas Gahr Støre in his speech to AUF at Utøya in 2014. One might speculate that as a newly-elected leader who is preparing his party, now in opposition, for the 2015 regional and municipal elections, Støre was mobilizing a critique of the right-wing for electoral gain. As I will discuss shortly, however, Støre was not consistent in his critique of the right-wing.   In the memorial speeches, the concept of terror largely functions as a floating signifier, a dark force of evil connected to no particular individual, group, or practice. This discursive framing decontextualizes the July 22 terrorist attacks and prevents an examination of the                                                  6 Interestingly, this shift in rhetoric inverts the shift that occurred in the earliest media coverage of the terrorist attacks. Grydeland (2012) analyzed the first 24 hours of coverage by NRK and Dagsavisen (another major Norwegian newspaper) and found that the two news sites substituted the terror frame for a crime frame once the terrorist’s identity was known (as cited in Ottosen & Bull, 2012). The words terror and terrorist were replaced by tragedy, catastrophe, and killer (Grydeland as cited in Ottosen & Bull, 2012). 52  intersections between everyday Norwegian practices and the ideology of the terrorist. Stoltenberg (2012b, 2013a) made references to “hateful speech,” but did not supply any information about who is doing the speaking. Hateful speech, like terror, is an ambiguous concept that simply circulates: “hateful speech is spread” (Stoltenberg, 2013a). Presumably, the imagined community does not partake in its spreading; at the very best, they may occasionally be called upon to challenge it. Solberg (2014) quite explicitly exonerated the Norwegian community when she stated that “the responsibility for the July 22 tragedy lies with the perpetrator alone.” The responsibility of the Norwegian people, according to Solberg, is only to “se[e] more of those who feel invisible” (2014). Extremism and terror are here reduced to attention-seeking behaviour,7 disconnected from political motivations. The question of who “those who feel invisible” might be and who and what are making them feel invisible in the first place is not addressed. Through political exonerations of the Norwegian community, a powerful national myth of Norwegian innocence is invoked and reproduced.     Gullestad (2002, 2006) argued that the idea of national innocence is central to Norwegian self-understanding. Norway is commonly believed to have been an innocent bystander in the history of slavery and colonization and is indeed often understood to have been a victim of colonization at the hands of the neighbouring country Denmark (Gullestad, 2002, 2006). In the present day, the myth of innocence is perpetuated in Norwegian development aid policies (Engh, 2009) and so-called peace-keeping operations (Von der Lippe, 2012) as well as through unwillingness to address naturalized racist language and thinking (Gullestad, 2002, 2005, 2006).  This self-image belies Norwegian participation in the Atlantic slave trade and in the colonial                                                  7 A “self-complacent/attention-seeking phoney” was the third most prevalent framing of the terrorist in Ottosen and Bull’s (2012) analysis of early media representations of the terrorist.  53  industry and image production, both through individual Norwegian actors and as a part of the Danish monarchy (Eidsvik, 2012; Gullestad, 2002, 2006; Simonsen, 2010). Not the least, it erases the assimilationist practices employed by the Norwegian state against the Indigenous Sami, Finns, Roma, and other minority people within the national borders (Minde, 2005; Gullestad, 2002).        In this regard, it is not coincidental that many of the July 22 memorial speeches and coverage make reference to World War II. As I noted in the introductory chapter, the 2011 double terrorist attack was the largest act of violence in Norway since the end of World War II. This has been a much-circulated statement after the attacks (see Stormark, 2014), and while it is undoubtedly accurate, the statement also connects the two events by linguistic proximity. The German invasion and subsequent occupation of Norway from 1940 to 1945 has been incorporated into the narrative of national innocence, further supporting a self-image of victimhood combined with heroic resistance to oppression. In the July 22 memorial speeches, subtle references to the Second World War strengthens the imagined divide between the terrorist and the people by asserting the Norwegian commitment to justice. Støre, for example, utilized this rhetoric extensively in his 2014 speech to AUF: History tells us that extremism cannot be silenced to death. Regardless of colour, it has to be fought. The Norwegian community has done this previously, at other crossroads. Now we have to do it again . . . Our history is about the fight against both [sic] fascism, Nazism, and communism. (Støre, 2014).     Such appeals to a shared heroic past rewrite the past so that contradictory stories and events are silenced and ostensibly forgotten (Trouillot, 1995). Lost in this narrative are the Norwegian government’s choice to remain neutral when Poland was invaded; the police participation in the 54  mass deportations of Norwegian Jews; and the numerous citizens who did in fact register as members of the Nazi party. The established analogy between the past and the present also rewrites the present, constructing Breivik and his ideology as foreign to the nation, outside the Norwegian community.    In the methodology section, I discussed how a priori social discourses inform texts and produces meaning even in its silences. The myth of national Norwegian innocence is one of these discourses; another is the myth of the fanatic Muslim terrorist. In Western nations, the U.S. led “War on Terror” has advanced and strengthened Orientalist enemy images, in which terror is associated with the patriarchal and savage Muslim Other (Jiwani, 2006, 2011; Razack, 2008; Thobani, 2003, 2007a). Norway has not been exempt from the reproduction of this gendered and racialized terror discourse; the participation in “security” operations in Afghanistan justified by a quasi-feminist rhetoric of liberating Afghani women from a presumed religiously oppressive and patriarchal society is only one example (Von der Lippe, 2012). Despite the highly racialized and gendered nature of the dominant Western discourse on terror, the discourse gains currency through its purported lack of specificity (Ahmed, 2004; Jiwani, 2011; Thobani, 2007a). It is the omnipresent generic threat of terror that justifies a curtailing of civil liberties that in praxis targets quite specific groups (Thobani, 2007a).   The abstract notion of terror that figures so prominently in the July 22 memorial speeches and coverage allows for a conflation of the Norwegian terrorist’s ideology with the ideology of Muslim terrorists. The actions perpetrated by Breivik, a white, Christian, right-wing terrorist, is subsumed under a globalized, U.S. led discourse of terror in which the terrorist is more likely to 55  be a Muslim, racialized man8 (Hakvåg, 2015). One particularly poignant example is from Stoltenberg’s 2013 wreath laying speech,9 in which the then Prime Minister stated: In Europe, populist right parties are growing. At the same time, extreme Islamists are wielding their threats over and over again. This we have to stand up against. No extremism – regardless of colour, regardless of religion – has the right to transcend the law. No extremist shall scare us from moving freely, thinking freely, and speaking freely. (Stoltenberg, 2013a).  There are a number of curious moments in this passage. To begin, we may note that the growth of populist right parties is said to be happening “in Europe,” thus drawing attention away from the significant Norwegian support for the right-wing party Fremskrittspartiet, a party that the terrorist himself was a member of for seven years. The discursive framing of right-wing ideology as happening “elsewhere” dominate the July 22 memorial texts, and it should be seen as a strategy for the denial of racism (Van Dijk, 1992, 1993). The rhetorical separation of Norway from Europe clearly furthers the myth of national innocence. What is the most striking, however, is the symbolic difference between the image of populist right parties and the image of extreme Islamists (Hakvåg, 2015). When describing the populist right, Stoltenberg is employing a passive sentence construction in which the parties are simply growing, rather than bringing attention to the electorate that is causing the parties to grow by supporting them or focusing specifically on the actions of the populist right politicians. Furthermore, focusing on right-wing politics, as opposed to right-wing extremism or even right-wing discourse more broadly, grants a formal                                                  8 One could argue that the common reference to the attacks as “July 22,” of which I too am guilty, furthers this discourse by creating a vague association between the events of the Norwegian terrorist attack and “September 11” or “9/11” in the States.    9 The following discussion is based on my article previously published in A. Jule (Ed.), Shifting visions: Gender and discourses (pp. 120-137). Newcastle upon Tyne, UK: Cambridge Scholars Publishing. 56  legitimacy to right-wing ideology. Stoltenberg does after all go on to say that “the answer to violence is more openness, more democracy” (2013a). While the populist right is implicitly positioned as a threat, it is depicted as a very different kind of danger than the so-called Islamists. The Islamists are “extreme,” they are actively “wielding their threats,” and they are doing so “over and over again,” suggesting an irrational frenzy far removed from democratic practices. Stoltenberg’s speech thereby reproduces the dominant terror discourse that exalts Western nationals as “possessing superior civilizational values” (Thobani, 2007a, p. 221); in Europe, even the far right is committed to democracy. The Muslim extremists, on the other hand, are constructed as Others to Europe and to democracy, driven by an irrational hatred that threatens the existence of the exalted Western subject (Thobani, 2007a). As Thobani (2007a) has emphasized, this depiction draws upon the Orientalist stereotype of the savage and dehumanizes the people associated with (or assumed to be associated with) Islamic extremism. In the War on Terror, such discursive constructions have sanctioned human rights violations, including the use of torture and indefinite detention, against Muslims and Arabs accused of, or often merely suspected of, terrorism (Butler, 2004; Jiwani, 2011; Razack, 2008; Thobani 2007a). By invoking and reproducing this powerful terror discourse, Stoltenberg repositions extremist Muslims as the most prominent threat despite the violent evidence to the contrary posed by Breivik and the July 22 terrorist attacks.   The Stoltenberg (2013a) speech is not exceptional in this regard; there are several examples of July 22 memorial speeches and news coverage implicitly or explicitly invoking this dominant Western terror discourse. Even Støre’s (2014) speech to AUF on Utøya, which explicitly situates July 22 as a right-wing terrorist attack and which is the only one of the memorial speeches to call for an examination of right-wing extremist beliefs in Norway, 57  reproduces this discourse to some extent. After having spoken in length about the need to “pus[h] right-wing extremism back before it once again explodes in violence,” Støre called for us to “direct an equally sharp eye at the attitudes that lead to young Norwegian Muslims becoming radicalized” (2014, emphasis added). He praised the sitting Prime Minister Solberg for her initiative to prevent radicalization among youth, an initiative which efforts are by and large directed at Muslim youth. While the suggestion that “we” should be equally attentive to all forms of extremism appears a just proposition, it fails to address the ways in which certain forms of extremism, namely Islamic extremism, are already constructed as more prevalent. By bringing references to Muslim radicalization into a memorial speech for the victims and survivors of a large-scale right-wing terrorist attack, Støre is, intentionally or not, reproducing Islamophobic rhetoric. Other rhetorical choices made in the speech support this argument. While Breivik is described as having “killed to achieve his political goals,” Støre refers to “young Islamists” as being willing to “kill for their extreme ideas” (2014, emphasis added). The difference in rhetoric here may be more subtle than in Stoltenberg’s (2013a) wreath-laying speech, but again we see an association of right-wing extremism with political motivations and Islamic extremism with fanaticism. Then, after talking about how the “young Islamists. . .  too express that they can put themselves above the law,” Støre added: “We will not let ourselves be besieged by such enemies” (2014). The siege in this instance is likely intended as another reference to the German occupation of Norway during the Second World War, but it also problematically echoes common right-wing discourse on immigration in which non-white immigrants (and often Muslims and racialized people more broadly) are depicted as a mass influx of culturally deviant others that threatens the capacity of the Western welfare state (Ahmed, 2004; Bannerji, 2000; Jiwani, 2006). Fremskrittspartiet has been the leading proponent of this rhetoric in the Norwegian immigration 58  debate (Hagelund, 2003, 2005), but it has also been echoed by Norwegian politicians more broadly (Razack, 2008; Wiggen, 2012). Importantly, the fear of a Muslim siege of Norway figured prominently in the terrorist’s worldview. The resonances with right-wing rhetoric that can be found in both Stoltenberg and Støre’s memorial speeches problematize the premature assumption that the terrorist’s ideology is miles away from everyday Norwegian discourse. Indeed, the post-2012 rhetorical shift towards the language of extremism and terror may facilitate such racialized discourses of terror.  Not only then is the Norwegian terrorist construed as an outsider to the Norwegian national community; through the use of abstract notions of terror coupled with explicit or implicit references to Islamic extremism, Muslims are refigured as the “real threat” to Norwegian society. In a sense, the white, Christian terrorist is subsumed by the dominant discourse on terror (Hakvåg, 2015) and thereby used to support an ongoing Western War on Terror that is mainly centred on the racialized, Muslim terrorist. The July 22 memorials’ imagined consensus on values and the emphasis on collectivity further bolster this terror discourse by reproducing the Norwegian imagined community as innocent of racism and violence. While it may be comforting to remember the public displays of collectivity that took place after the terrorist attacks, not all Norwegians responded to the terror in the same way. By privileging accounts of collectivity, counter-histories of violence are suppressed or forgotten. In the next section, I examine a particular instance of the differential impact of and conflicting responses to the terrorist attacks on July 22.  59  4.2 “Some Were Walking down a Street:” July 22 and Racial Mobility Those who died on July 22 last year did not seek out danger. On the contrary: They lived like we want to live in Norway. Some were walking down a street. Others were at work. Many participated in a youth camp.   Death struck suddenly and without mercy. (Stoltenberg, 2012a).  In The cultural politics of emotions, Ahmed (2004) argued that fear realigns bodies, thereby working to secure existing social and economic relationships. Post 9-11, the Western fear of terror has been mobilized to strengthen the spatial and symbolic mobility of white bodies, simultaneously restricting the mobility of racialized people (Ahmed, 2004). In this section, I revisit a specific event that took place in response to the July 22 terrorist attacks and examine this event as a counter-story to the discourse of collectivity that figure in the official memorial speeches and coverage. I suggest that the discursive framing of the July 22 remembrance as a site of collectivity and trust, particularly evident in the 2012 texts, consolidates hegemonic whiteness through specific racialized and gendered constructions of space and mobility. Once more the key is not what is said, but what is left out and what is forgotten in the official commemoration of the terrorist attacks.  In the speech given at the evening memorial concert on July 22, 2012, Stoltenberg started by congratulating the people present for once again “filling the streets. With trust in each other and our open society” (2012c). He proceeded: “We had a choice. We could have shut ourselves in behind fear’s door. Erected fences of mistrust. Instead we opened up and built bridges of trust” (Stoltenberg, 2012c). These “bridges of trust,” Stoltenberg claimed, were the Norwegian people’s “spontaneous response to violence” (2012c). However, a report compiled by the Norwegian Centre against Racism (Antirasistisk senter) indicates that people’s spontaneous response to violence included actions that starkly deviate from Stoltenberg’s account. The report 60  documented several physical and verbal attacks on Muslims and racialized Norwegians in Oslo in the hours after the bombing of the government quarters (Haarr & Partapuoli, 2012). In the case of some white, non-Muslim Norwegians, the immediate reaction to the first attack was to go “to the city centre and taste Muslim-blood” (interviewee as cited in Haarr & Partapuoli, 2012, p. 9). For many Muslim and non-white Norwegians and residents, on the other hand, the immediate response was to get away from the city or stay inside their homes. The Minhaj-ul-Quran mosque in Oslo, the second largest mosque in Norway, in fact called an emergency meeting in which it advised its members to be careful and keep their children indoors until further notice. While the Oslo police advised all citizens to stay away from the city centre due to the risk of a second attack, the mosque’s preoccupation was with the risk of Islamophobic and racist violence. For many Muslims living in Oslo, literally shutting themselves in behind “fear’s door” (Stoltenberg, 2012c) felt like their best option. In contrast, some members of the white and non-Muslim majority channelled fear and distrust into violence, physically and verbally attacking racialized others (Haarr & Partapuoli, 2012). These conflicting immediate responses to the first July 22 attack suggest an uneven distribution of spatial mobility in Norwegian society, a distribution that takes place along the lines of race, religion, and gender.   One might of course argue that the eventual revelation of the terrorist’s identity as a white, Christian Norwegian changed social dynamics and enabled a new form of collectiveness. This is at least a sentiment echoed in the memorial coverage, and a 2012 report found that in the short term people’s sense of collectivity increased and perceptions of ethnic conflict decreased (Wollebæk et al., 2012). Certainly, it is true that both Muslim and non-Muslim Norwegians participated in the memorial ceremonies, and I do not wish to dispute that these ceremonies in many instances fostered a genuine sense of community. Haarr and Partapuoli (2012) reported 61  that their Muslim and non-white informants talked extensively about positive experiences with white non-Muslims post-July 22, and many suggested that Norwegian societal relations had indeed improved after the terrorist attacks. As will be discussed in Chapter 5, racialized Norwegians interviewed in the memorial coverage give some support to this view as well. What I would like to suggest, however, is that this experience of collectivity comes at substantially different costs. Haarr and Partapuoli found that many of the victims of harassment were hesitant to talk about their experiences lest they rekindle “the negative debate” (2012, p. 12), and they were uncomfortable with or downright afraid of reporting their experiences of violence to the police. Some of the interviewees had suffered past abuse at the hands of Norwegian police and were therefore hesitant to report violence any day, let alone in the aftermath of July 22 (Haarr & Partapuoli, 2012). The interviewees’ barriers to accessing the police suggest something about their general mobility in Norwegian society. Their mobility starkly contrasts with that of the terrorist, whose very status as a white-skinned man and fluent Norwegian speaker enabled him to escape the first crime scene and then dress as a police officer to gain access to his second group of victims. Their mobility also differ from that of the idealized Norwegian subject imagined in the introductory Stoltenberg quote: the free and trusting neoliberal subject who walks the streets and, importantly, contributes to society through employment and political involvement (Stoltenberg, 2012a). The notion that “death struck suddenly” (Stoltenberg, 2012a), an idea repeated in the memorial coverage and speeches, depicts violence as a neutral force that affects people equally regardless of gender, race, religion, class, or sexuality. Terror and violence become exceptional, as it only can be from the vantage point of the white, male, Norwegian subject, a point I will return to in section 5.4. 62   The discursive we that Stoltenberg constructed in his 2012 memorial speeches is not a we that includes everyone. In choosing to recall the memory of people coming together with roses and tears, he privileged a particular part of the story of July 22, with the effect of constructing Norwegians as a caring and inclusive people. This narrative is taken up and reproduced over and over again in the July 22 remembrance, with Solberg (2014) stating in her speech that “July 22 put us to the test. We responded with collectivity. We responded by caring for each other.”  The circulation of this narrative, in the face of harsh evidence to the contrary, can be seen as part of a broader Norwegian denial of racism, in which denial works as a socio-political management of difference (Van  Dijk, 1992, 1993) that reproduces racism by making oppositional work more difficult (Essed, 1991). Elite denial of racism, such as that enacted by politicians, is particularly serious because it prevents public debate and change in systems of power (Van Dijk, 1992). As part of societal power groups, Norwegian politicians and media benefit from narratives of collectivity that reproduce this denial of racism. If Stoltenberg had chosen to recall that some Norwegians responded quite differently to July 22, it would expose the imagined community as a contingent and situated construct. Furthermore, it would call into question the envisioned division between the terrorist and the people, by acknowledging the complicity of at least some Norwegians in perpetrating Islamophobia and racist violence. By emphasizing the rejection of fear, rather than the deeply-seated fear of racist and religious violence experienced by many Muslims (or even the fear of Islam that is clearly felt by many non-Muslims), Stoltenberg sought to realign the Norwegian community in the present.  Fear, Ahmed (2004) argued, is an affective politics that open up past histories of association, thereby producing material, physical, and emotional effects in the present. Feelings of fear and vulnerability were of course a natural response to the bombing of the government 63  quarters that exceeded modalities of race, religion, and gender. But white Norwegians’ initial assumptions about the cause of the attack and the responsible perpetrator(s) were based on pre-existing societal fears. The report from the Centre against Racism (Haarr & Partapuoli, 2012) stated that in Oslo during the first hours after the bombing “it was evident that the fear in many cases impacted immigrants and Muslims. It seems like it was visible Muslims in particular, such as women with hijab and people with African background, that were vulnerable” (p. 4). In the described incidents, racist, Islamophobic, and sexualized violence clearly intersect, with Muslim and racialized women being targeted more often and in gendered and sexualized ways. White Norwegians pulled at hijabs, tore out braids, and threatened a young woman with rape. This form of violence is indicative of the ways in which racism and sexism are mutually constituted (Collins, 1991; Crenshaw, 1989; Razack, 2002). Interviewees also reported being told by white Norwegians things like “Look what you have done to our country” and “We should never [sic] have given them a place to live, food, money, and this is what they give back” (Haarr & Partapuoli, 2012, p. 9). Such statements communicate a white sense of entitlement to space; the idea that Norway is a white country and should continue to be so. The attackers drew upon a dominant societal discourse that positions racialized Norwegians as perpetual immigrants, regardless of their actual citizen status (Gullestad, 2002, 2006). Within the logic of this discourse, immigrants are constructed as ungrateful guests to a benevolent white host (Razack, 2008).  While physical attacks on Muslims and people of colour after the 2011 bombing might have been relatively rare, the accounts from Haarr and Partapuoli’s (2012) report suggest that verbal and online harassment was widespread. Journalists, too, perpetuated racist and Islamophobic rhetoric through publishing speculations about the causes of the terrorist attacks 64  before facts were known. In its print editorial on July 23, Aftenposten went far in suggesting that the perpetrator could be a Muslim, even though the police had already revealed Breivik’s identity at the time (Ottosen & Bull, 2012). A later interview with one of the newspaper’s leading journalist reveals the logic behind this decision: I feel it would be a bit exaggerated to believe that it was national terrorism and that it was completely wrong to think foreign based on for example PST’s [the Norwegian Intelligence Bureau] risk assessment [. . .]. When witnesses had seen a blonde-haired, tall, Norwegian man shooting on Utøya, we didn’t really think that could be right, so we did not make a fuss about it. We just put it far at the bottom of one piece and assumed there had been a mistake. (Skjervold as cited in Ottosen & Bull, 2012, p. 255).   The Aftenposten journalist’s statement provides a striking example of how past histories of association “stick” (Ahmed, 2004) to particular bodies. In a moment of fear and crisis, the dominant discourse of terror circulating in the Norwegian public and perpetuated by major actors such as the PST took precedence over witness statements to the contrary. Clearly, existing stereotypes determine who can be “recognized” as a potential terrorist (Ahmed, 2004, p.75). Writing in the context of the post-9/11 “War on Terror,” Ahmed (2004) proposed that “the narrative which justifies the expansion of powers to detain others within the nation and the potentially endless expansion of the war itself to other nations relies on the structural possibility that the terrorist ‘could be’ anyone and anywhere” (p. 79). In the Norwegian case, the structural possibility that the terrorist could be anyone was realized through the brutal double terrorist attack enacted by Behring Breivik, a man that in most ways conformed to the image of the Norwegian “everyman” (De Certeau, 1984) - the unmarked, ordinary citizen. Yet, in spite of the events of July 22, the suspicion that a terrorist is more likely to be a particular “someone” 65  continues to haunt the Norwegian public imagination, as seen in Stoltenberg’s and Støre’s speeches discussed in the previous section. In fact, the very need to assert that “no extremism – regardless of colour, regardless of religion – has the right to transcend the law” (Stoltenberg, 2013a) suggests a structural proclivity to believe the opposite. Regardless here works as a disclaimer to block inferences about racism from being made (Van Dijk, 1992); it indicates that the word extremist sticks to certain (racialized and gendered) bodies and slides into other words, becoming metonymic with words like “Muslim” or “asylum seeker” (Ahmed, 2004). These same histories of association result in an unequal distribution of mobility and safety in Norwegian society.   Fear, Ahmed (2004) states, is differentially organized, with differing impact(s) on different subjects’ spatial mobility; “In other words, fear works to restrict some bodies through the movement or expansion of others” (p. 69). The Norwegian call for more openness and more trust, issued in response to the terrorist attack, can also be interpreted as an expression of entitlement to space. In the accounts of Muslim and racialized Norwegians who were attacked on July 22, we saw that white entitlement to space was used to marginalize and violate others, to define who belongs and who does not. Through mobilizing in response to fear, white, non-Muslim bodies come to take up more space, “filling the streets,” as Stoltenberg (2012c) said. As Saldanha (2007) has argued, whiteness works in part through its viscosity: white bodies have a tendency towards sticking together and in doing so they create a field of relative impermeability for non-white bodies. The construction of the victims as idealized citizens going about their everyday life also positions them as familiar to the white community, thereby reproducing sameness as the measurement for citizenship and inclusion in the imagined community. Histories of  Norwegian innocence and resistance to oppression, including references to World War II,  66  furthers this idea(l) of sameness, by insisting upon ethnic kinship and lineage - a point that will be further discussed in the next chapter. In response to 9/11, Butler (2004) asked: “At what cost do I establish the familiar as the criterion by which a human life is grievable?” (p. 38). The jarring contrast between the massive collective remembrance of the terrorist’s July 22 victims and the collective forgetting of the other July 22 victims, they too victims of racist violence and terror, asks us to reconsider the collectivity of the Norwegian community. In the next chapter I attempt exactly this, by analyzing how value speech perpetuates discourses of gender, race, and religion in the July 22 memorial texts.     67  Chapter 5: Constructing and Contesting National Values  July 22 is a day for remembering and a day for marking.  We remember those who were affected, and we mark our fundamental values and diversity and community. (Stoltenberg, 2013a).  The memory of July 22 obliges us all.   We shall continue to stand up for our fundamental values.  We shall fight for openness, tolerance, and diversity. We shall work every day to defend, strengthen, and develop the Norwegian democracy. (Solberg, 2014).   5.1 The Battle Ground of Values In the introductory chapter, I proposed that the public remembrance of the July 22 terrorist attacks constitutes a site for the contestation of values. As discussed in Chapter 4, many of the memorial speeches and news articles attempt to construe this struggle as resolved and the values of the Norwegian community as affirmed and strengthened by the public response to the terrorist attacks. Yet, there are internal dissonances and counter-narratives that challenge the image of collectivity. In this chapter, I examine the conflicting discourses of values that are (re)produced through the memorial texts. I discuss the imagined Norwegian values of openness, trust, solidarity, humanity, democracy, tolerance, and diversity, and I analyze how the discourse on values constructs a Norwegian national subject that is white, Christian, and heteronormatively gendered. Through the emphasis on collectivity and commonality in values, power differentials and inequality within the nation are erased and exclusionary lines of belonging are redrawn.   In both memorial speeches and news coverage, trust and openness are heralded as Norwegian values. Solberg (2014), for example, stated that “the trust that we have towards each other in Norway is our biggest strength. It is a prerequisite for Norway being an open and inclusive society also in the future.” The values of trust and openness are depicted as having 68  been proved and affirmed by the people’s and the government’s response to the terrorist attacks. As we saw in the previous chapter, mass displays of collective grief in the memorial concert and the Rose March are interpreted as evidence that Norway is indeed a trusting and open community. A research project conducted in 2012, lends some support to this claim, as it found that trust levels have not decreased after the terrorist attacks in 2011 (Wollebæk et al., 2012). Yet, as the violent racist attacks in the immediate aftermath of the first terrorist attack remind us, Norwegian trust is not evenly distributed across the population; trust in many cases depend on the recognition of sameness.   Despite the expressed commitment to trust and openness, the memorial speeches and news articles are saturated with a subtext of guardedness and closure. The Norwegian expression slå ring om is repeated over and over again in relation to values, the same with words like marking and guarding. In the speeches, I translated slå ring om as girding, but its literal meaning is to encircle. The emphasis on safe-guarding and protecting values is contradictory to the discourse of openness, as well as other claimed values like tolerance and the need for public debate. It suggests that “our” fundamental values are non-negotiable; openness does not include willingness to change. Rather than a mode of thinking and being in the world, values are referred to as a weapon and a shield.   What we see in the speeches and coverage is the presence of militarized language and images that configure the battle to protect national values as a civic duty. In his 2012 memorial speech to AUF, Stoltenberg evoked the horrors that took place at Utøya in the afternoon of July 22, then turned to the youth-political response to what happened: “AUF rose. Youth across the whole country joined the ranks. They did not accept that involvement should breed death. And [they] reported for duty to democracy” (2012b). The militaristic connotations of joining ranks 69  and reporting for duty build a vision of a national guard consisting of ordinary citizen soldiers. We might see Stoltenberg’s speech as echoing a broader War on Terror rhetoric in which wars are now (allegedly) fought in the name of democracy rather than national gain such as land or money (Butler, 2004). The militarized language is clearly at odds with the proclaimed value of openness and the myth of Norwegian innocence. Because of the long-standing association between militarism and masculinity (Rudie, 1999), it also adds a gendered aspect to the battle for values. While the Norwegian mandatory military service was extended to women in 2015, Norwegian military history has been associated with men and the military references therefore subtly enforce a gendered form of citizenship. In section 5.2, I will look more closely at how gender essentialism is perpetuated in the memorial coverage’s descriptions of July 22 heroes.   The many textual references to World War II, discussed in Chapter 4, strengthen the war-like imagery. Furthermore, they promote an idea of Norwegian citizenship that is based on kinship and lineage. Consider the following excerpt from a 2014 Aftenposten editorial, in which the journalist made several references to WWII and then quoted extensively from a memorial speech given by Stoltenberg in 2011: “It shows that Nordahl Grieg was right: ‘We are so few in this country; each fallen person is a brother and friend,” Stoltenberg cited before adding: “We shall take this with us when we start the work of shaping Norway after July 22, 2011. Our fathers and mothers promised each other ‘never again April 9.’ We say: Never again July 22.” (Stormark, 2014).   In this speech excerpt, first given by Stoltenberg and then reprinted by the journalist three years later, several references are made to a shared Norwegian history. April 9 marks the date of the 1940 German invasion of Norway, and Nordahl Grieg, a Norwegian writer and activist, became 70  one of Norway’s war heroes after serving as a war correspondent and observer for the exiled Norwegian Armed Forces, a role for which he was killed in 194310. Grieg’s famous poem-turned-song, “Til Ungdommen” [For the Youth] has been performed at all the July 22 memorials at Utøya. The references to Grieg and April 9 do more than allude to Norway’s past, however; they establish a direct line from the past to the present community. It is not just any past generation of Norwegians that promised themselves “Never again April 9,” but quite specifically “our fathers and mothers” (Stoltenberg as cited in Stormark, 2014, emphasis added). Similarly, the fallen are imagined as brothers, thereby supporting a narrative of community based on kinship. Gullestad (2006) referred to this narrative as a Norwegian form of ethno-nationalism, that is   a close-knit set of specific understandings about geography, history, culture, religion, perceptions about skin color and descent, and that this close-knit set of ideas has recently been reinvented, as it were. In this imaginative geography, ‘foreign’ appearance and family name work as markers of cultural difference and social distance. In other words, genealogy in time is interpreted as spatial distance within an imaginary geographical space. (Gullestad, 2006, p. 302, emphasis added). The imaginary Norwegian geography is thus built by references to lineage, kinship, and the construction of a small, physical space - the idea that “we are so few” (Stormark, 2014). It is worth mentioning that another staple song at the memorials alongside Grieg’s “For the Youth” has been “Mitt lille land,” literally meaning “my little country.” The conceptualization of Norway as a small place suggests enclosure, thus simultaneously furthering the myth of                                                  10 The post-war heroization of Grieg is somewhat ironic given that he was a prominent figure in the Norwegian Communist Party and therefore considered a political dissident before the war. As might be recalled, Støre glorified Norway’s past struggle against Communism in his 2014 Utøya speech.  71  exceptionalism and challenging the idea of openness. Inclusion in the Norwegian community becomes predicated on sameness, the ability to claim descent from the fathers and the mothers and kinship to the brothers. Thus, collectivity is not just based on a consensus in values, but the ability to be the same, raising questions of whether racialized citizens ever can be fully included in this particular imagined community. If trust, as Solberg suggested in her 2014 speech, is a prerequisite for inclusion, and trust develops from the recognition of sameness, the imagined white “we” may end up policing the national borders in order to safeguard their vision of community. The ideal of sameness also have implications for other kinds of difference, including gender and sexuality. As we saw in the Nordahl Grieg reference above (Stormark, 2014), the imagined Norwegian geography is distinctly gendered and sexualized, with implicitly heterosexual fathers and mothers and heroism being a quality reserved for white men. In the following section, I turn to a discussion of gendered discourse in the July 22 remembrance, including its intersections with race, sexuality, and nationhood.   5.2 Gendering the Nation Ideas of family and kinship are central to discourses of Norwegian nationhood, as articulated by Gullestad’s (2006) description of Norwegian ethno-nationalism. The family, as feminist and critical race scholars have demonstrated, is not a neutral discursive entity, but a highly gendered, racialized, sexualized, and classed concept (Bannerji, 2000; Collins, 1991; Kline, 2005; Lawrence, 1982). In the July 22 remembrance, discourses of gender and sexuality are produced through and in conjunction with images of family. We saw references to the symbolic Norwegian family in the previous section. Here, I turn to more concrete representations of 72  Norwegian family life in the memorial speeches and coverage. I also discuss the gendered narratives of July 22 heroism promoted by the media.  In the July 22 memorial speeches, several politicians use references to family when speaking about the victims, including survivors and the bereaved, of the terrorist attacks. Acknowledging the loss and injury that July 22 caused to so many families is an important part of the remembrance of the terrorist attacks. The textual representations of family, however, are at times conspicuously gendered. Stoltenberg’s (2012a) wreath-laying speech is a case in point: For one year, children have walked the heavy road to the grave to mourn their mother or father. Fathers and mothers have cried over their beloved son or daughter by the empty bedside. And thousands of others – siblings, grandparents, friends, and colleagues – have felt loss and despair. (Stoltenberg, 2012a).  Of the 77 people killed in the double terrorist attack, 55 were teenagers. It is therefore odd that Stoltenberg starts the talk about the bereaved with an emphasis on the children who lost their parents as opposed to the parents who lost their children. The repeated use of the gendered nouns fathers and mothers instead of the gender-neutral parents suggests a particular importance to this image. The lost fathers and mothers in the speech appear to stand in for the founding fathers and mothers of the nation, thereby repeating the idea that July 22 was an attack on the nation Norway. The fathers, mothers, sons, and daughters come to represent the close-knit (and implicitly white) national community, and in this process the victims of July 22 become idealized citizens. While the actual victims of July 22 included racialized and white Norwegians alike, the image of the national family casts the victims as implicitly white. It is strange and disconcerting that the diversity of the victims of July 22, who manifested the racial and ethnic 73  plurality of modern Norway and exemplified the building of community alliances across lines of race, should be erased through images of implicitly white nationhood.   The gendered image of family used by Stoltenberg (2012a) also erases sexual difference and gender non-conformity. The neatly formed categories of fathers, mothers, sons, and daughter suppress the lived reality of those transgender people who do not identify with the gender binary of male and female. It also obscures the structural oppression of trans people who do identify within this gender binary. At present, Norwegian state practice requires that transgender people fulfill numerous medical requirements, including the surgical removal of reproductive organs, in order to have their legal gender changed11. For many trans people, this has meant choosing between being formally recognized as their lived gender and having biological children (see Amnesty International, 2014). This form of state violence enacted through family policies is obscured by the image of the cis-gendered nuclear family.  The gendered identities in Stoltenberg’s speech are of course also relational constructs. While there is nothing in Stoltenberg’s speech that explicitly posits that the fathers are joined with the mothers in a heterosexual relation, past histories of association, combined with the emphasis on gender, nevertheless suggest that Stoltenberg is talking about a heterosexual nuclear family. The Norwegian government only recently (2007) legalized same-sex marriage and introduced equal access to fertility treatments and adoption for same-sex couples. The implicit heteronormative construction of family in Stoltenberg (2012a) and some of the other memorial speeches is further entrenched by the memorial coverage, in which non-heterosexual relations are remarkably absent. The images of coupledom, both in pictures and written texts, are                                                  11 In April 2015, an expert panel established by the Norwegian Directorate of Health recommended that the government change this policy and remove the requirement of sterilization. The government has yet to act on the recommendation.  74  exclusively heterosexual, from the Royal Family (the King and the Queen, the Crown Prince and the Crown Princess) and the prime ministers accompanied by their opposite-sex spouses to the interviewed survivors, bereaved, and witnesses. From this we can deduce that the legal recognition of same-sex relations does not translate to social recognition and representation in the public sphere.   Gendered, heteronormative, racialized, and classed ideals of the family figure strongly in the memorial news coverage. A poignant example is a longer feature published in Aftenposten on July 22, 2012, dedicated to “The lives that moved on” (Nipen, 2012). The journalist interviewed people who were not directly impacted by the terrorist attack and people who were involved in the rescue efforts in different ways, and the article is interspersed with statistics purporting to say something about everyday life in Norway in the first year after the attack. It is, however, not the everyday life of just anyone. The interview subjects were white, middle-class families enjoying a lazy summer on the coast with their cabins and boats, and “head-over-heels-in-love brides who for the first time are going to try out how the dream of a white wedding dress fits them” (Nipen, 2012). The journalist shared statistics that show how the total Norwegian income and consumption increased in the year 2011-2012, suggesting boats, cabins, and a long summer holiday is the lifestyle of the average Norwegian family. In this account, nothing is said about how spending power, earnings, and consumption are divided along lines of class, race, and gender. The interview subjects are, like the journalist, white and middle-class. They are home-owners and cabin-owners, the woman who got proposed to on the top of the Arc de Triomphe in Paris, and the woman who got “sick of the time bind and a career full of traveling, and bought herself a bridal salon, almost on an impulse” (Nipen, 2012, emphasis added). Furthermore, the Aftenposten article is steeped in visions of privileged heterosexuality and gender essentialism: 75  engagements, white wedding dresses, shopping-crazy women, boating men, and motherhood. With heterosexuality and conservative, middle-class family relations taking centre place, and whiteness being the unquestioned norm, there is little suggestion in the article of the actual diversity of Norwegian everyday life in 2012. Instead, the reader is presented with an image of idealized sameness that erases inequality within the national community by privileging the voices of the privileged.   The gender essentialism evident in the Nipen (2012) article also figures elsewhere in the July 22 memorial coverage, most prominently in the handful of articles remembering the rescue efforts during the shootings at Utøya. Norwegian police and the other emergency services have received massive criticism for their handling of the terrorist attacks, in particular their late response to the massacre that took place at Utøya. The independent commission that was established to evaluate the emergency preparedness and rescue efforts concluded that the police was unprepared. As the police delayed intervention, several civilians from the camping site on Utvika, the mainland facing Utøya, intervened by using their boats to bring fleeing AUF-members to safety and caring for the survivors as they arrived on the mainland. A few of these civilians later received the King’s Medal of Honour for their efforts. In the memorial coverage, the people involved in rescue efforts at Utøya and in the government quarters are depicted as heroes, thereby becoming a form of exalted everyday subject. This heroism, however, takes gendered and racialized forms.     Posed against the failure of the Norwegian police, the heroes of July 22 were the ordinary people who “were there when it counted” and “did what they had to do” (Kluge and Aasheim, 2012). In the news coverage, these ordinary Norwegians, all white, are depicted as performing stereotypically gendered roles: the men jumped into the boat, while the women waited with hugs 76  and blankets at the beach (Kluge and Aasheim, 2012; Nipen, 2012). Among the interviewed people are the man who overcame his own fear of water to collect swimming youth from the water; the male Utøya survivor who swam with two helpless female friends on his back; and the male attorney who entered the bombed government quarters to look for survivors: “When everyone else runs away or are passive, someone has to go in” (as cited in Kluge & Aasheim, 2012). In the interview with the male attorney, all the bleeding and injured victims in the story are depicted as women. The stereotypical gender representations of the active, male hero and the passive, female victim begs the question of whether this is an accurate depiction of the July 22 rescue efforts or a fault line in the journalists’ framing. Are the journalists returning to a gendered master narrative that determines who can we see as heroes? In her research on U.S. media representations of the September 11 terrorist attack, Faludi (2008) found that the media exaggerated and invented stories of male heroism while consistently depicting women as victims even though the majority of people killed and injured in the attack were men. Faludi argued that this gender essentialism represented a return to the American founding myth of the white male settler, brought about by the experience of collective crisis. I refer to Faludi with some caution, as in the Norwegian case, the celebrations of male heroism are certainly less pronounced, both in amount of coverage and content. Importantly, the idealization is also contested by some of the proclaimed heroes themselves. One man who received the Medal of Honour explicitly refuted the label of hero and stated that he thought the medal should have been given to all civilians involved in the rescue efforts, including the neighbours who looked after his children while he went out in the boat (Kluge & Aasheim, 2012). The positioning of care work as equally important and heroic as pulling people from the water represents a powerful intervention into the myth of the male hero. Yet, despite the occasional contestation, the regressive depiction of 77  gender roles by the media is marked enough that one might wonder if it is indeed a sign of what Faludi (2008) and Nossek (2008) have argued is a return to master narratives in response to terrorist attacks.   The most disturbing aspect of the gender essentialism found in the July 22 remembrance is its resonance with the gendered ideology of the terrorist. As Walton (2012) and Jegerstedt (2012) showed in their analyses of Breivik’s writings, part of the Norwegian terrorist’s political project was a return to a patriarchal order in which women would lose many of the civil and legal rights earned by feminism and other social movements. In the terrorist’s future vision of Norway and Europe, women would have little to no control over their own bodies and sexual reproduction. Abortion would be banned and contraception restricted in order to raise the fertility rate, and anti-promiscuity would be promoted through media and school indoctrination. The July 22 media representations of women as passive victims and caretakers stem from the same gender essentialism that undergirds the terrorist’s political vision for the nation state Norway, and the terrorist’s social order is premised upon the same heteronormative family unit that Stoltenberg relied upon in his memorial speech. This suggests that the ideal of gender equality that is said to underpin Norwegian society is more fragile than one might think.  In a previous publication (Hakvåg, 2015), I argued for recognizing the July 22 terrorist attacks as a gendered form of violence. While the terrorist did not specifically target women in the execution of the attacks, his writings clearly show that he was fuelled by misogyny and an obsession with controlling women’s bodies (Auestad, 2014; Jegerstedt, 2012; Walton, 2012). A failed part of his planned attack was to behead the retired politician Gro Harlem Brundtland (Ap), Norway’s first female Prime Minister who is often referred to as the “Mother of the Nation” (landsmoderen), as well as to assassinate Marte Michelet, a prominent female journalist 78  who has been particularly outspoken on issues of immigration. Furthermore, he believed that all feminists should be executed as traitors to the nation, while Muslims notably would be pardoned if they converted to Christianity. The male terrorist’s excessive fantasies of violence against women genders the terrorist attack, asking us to consider it in relation to other forms of gendered violence in Norwegian society.  The July 22 remembrance’s representation of violence as exceptional and firmly related to extremism, discussed in the previous chapter, renders everyday gendered violence, like everyday racism, imperceptible. The terrorist’s misogynist and highly gendered ideology is connected to a larger social problem of violence against women, and the collective forgetting of the gendered aspect of July 22 adds to the systemic erasure of this problem. Through the telling of other stories like the naturalization of the heterosexual family and the repetition of stereotypical, binary gender roles, the memorial speeches and coverage reproduce the very ideological foundations that make gendered violence possible. Norway has received repeated critique from Amnesty International (Amnesty International, 2008; Amnesty International Norway, 2005, 2008) for its unwillingness to put violence against women on the political agenda, including the failure to protect women who are trying to escape from abuse and the failure to prosecute sexual assault cases. Violence is condoned both on a state level, through insufficient commitment to change, and on the cultural level, with research finding that every second Norwegian man believes women who flirt are completely or partially responsible for being sexual assaulted (Amnesty International Norway & Reform, 2007). The July 22 remembrance narrative of the male hero, attached to the body of the ordinary, white, male Norwegian, obscures the equally as plausible narrative of the male abuser. The heroization of 79  white men is also part of a social narrative in which racialized and Muslim men are more likely to be cast as abusers (Razack 2002, 2008), a discourse I explore further in the next three sections.   5.3 Humanity and Solidarity in “the People’s Church” The highly gendered nature of the terrorist’s ideology is but one underexplored aspect of July 22. Another largely erased dimension of the terrorist’s ideology is his identification as a Christian. After the attacks, religious scholars were quick with dismantling suggestions that the Norwegian terrorist might be a Christian fundamentalist and any opposing voices were vilified (Asprem, 2011). However, as Asprem (2011) pointed out, the terrorist’s writings are saturated with Christian symbols and visions of reform of Christianity: “From the very start of Breivik’s text, Christianity, military action, and the defense of Europe are tied together” (p. 18). Despite this, Asprem argued that the July 22 terrorist attacks should not be seen as an act of Christian fundamentalism, because the terrorist prioritized nationalist identity politics and Christianity mainly operated as a “cultural marker” (Asprem, 2011, p. 23). This downplaying of religious motivations is clearly an ideological intervention shaped by the dominant discourse of terror. As Juergensmeyer (2011) stated:  It is true that Breivik was much more concerned about politics and history than about scripture and religious belief. But much the same can be said about Osama bin Laden, Ayman al-Zawahiri and other Muslim terrorists. . . . So if bin Laden was a Muslim terrorist, Breivik is a Christian terrorist. (Juergensmeyer, 2011).12                                                   12 Juergensmeyer’s article and this particular quote were brought to my attention by Asprem (2011). 80  The would-be erasure of the terrorist’s Christian ideology is thus indicative of the dominant terror narrative that conflates Islam with terrorism and interprets Muslim terrorists as only driven by religious reasons or pure fanaticism rather than political goals (Thobani, 2007a). We have already seen this discourse at play in the July 22 memorial speeches, through the rhetorical distinctions made between right-wing extremism and Islamic extremism.   Rather than arguing for the importance of seeing July 22 as an act of Christian fundamentalism, however, I think it is more fruitful to explore the conceptualization of Christianity as a cultural marker. What enables this understanding of Christianity as “just” culture, hidden in the cloak of secularism? Until as recently as 2012, Norway had an Evangelical Lutheran state church, and it was mandated that a majority of the government ministers were registered members of the Church. A 2012 constitutional reform redefined the Evangelical Lutheran church as a “people’s church,” and the state no longer has direct oversight over the Church. The Church is however still financed by the state, the King is obliged to be a member of the Church, and Christianity and humanism is formally enshrined as the value foundation of the Norwegian constitution. Far from being a benign cultural marker, Christianity is thus at the very core of Norwegian political and legal culture and procedures. Yet, the construction of Norway as a secular country discourages the white majority from examining how Christian traditions inform majority culture today. Like whiteness, Christianity in Protestant Norway operates its power through the ability to define without being defined. In the July 22 remembrance, the Christian foundations of the imagined community are visible in the naturalized construction of the church as a collective space for mourning and in the repeated references to solidarity and humanity as Norwegian values.    81   Through the media coverage of the July 22 memorial, Christianity is re-centered as the national community norm. The public “sea of roses” (Ellefsen, 2013), imagined as a place where anyone can put down flowers as a sign of mourning, was strategically placed right outside Oslo Cathedral. Each year, a major memorial service has been held in Oslo Cathedral and smaller services in churches across the country. The memorial service in Oslo Cathedral has been well-attended by the major political leaders and the Royal Family and has received substantial coverage in the media all three years. In addition to the coverage of the service itself, bishops, priests, and other representatives of the Church are interviewed and quoted extensively in other July 22 news articles too.   The default framing of the Lutheran Church as a natural sanctuary and its members as given spokespersons on a national day of mourning naturalizes Christianity as a part of Norwegian culture. As one priest stated: “It is important to come together in the shared values. I think the Church gives room to meet each other inside-out” (Kvarstad as cited in Ørvik & Vigsnæs, 2013a). Christianity is here imagined as a shared value and the Lutheran Church as a place where meaningful relationships are built between fellow Norwegians. The role of the Church in the mourning work after July 22 is heralded in the coverage through interviewee statements like “priests and other church employees were probably among the best prepared professions for what happened” (Bishop Riksaasen Dahl in Andersen, 2012b). Tellingly, there is no acknowledgment that the formal representatives of other religious and faith communities likely were just as well-prepared. Only in Stoltenberg’s (2012c) memorial concert speech is there a brief reference to the “priests [and] imams” who have “contributed during a difficult year” (2012c). Overall, the church is repeatedly portrayed as the natural and healthy solution to grief: “This is good folk medicine. To let people attend church, light candles and put down flowers 82  give meaning” (Dean Hauge as cited in Skarvøy & Johannessen, 2012). Through references to folk medicine and meaning, Christianity becomes associated with Norwegian common sense.   The official participation of government representatives and the Royal Family in church rituals furthers the naturalization of Christianity, while also making explicit the association between the church and the state. The media coverage shows politicians and royals speaking in the church and quotes from speeches in which there are made references to Bible verses. One Dagbladet article even reprinted the whole of Matthew 5.1-10 under the subheading “this was what the Crown Prince said” (Andersen, 2012a). This heavy coverage and official support for Christian rituals is accompanied by a lack of attention to other religious commemorations of July 22. As one rare, critical Dagbladet article noted, there was only one religious memorial event outside the Norwegian Church that was attended by the government in 2012; this was a ceremony in a Hindu temple attended by the Minister of Development (Sørenes, 2012). According to the government, this was the only other religious event they were invited to (Sørenes, 2012). Commemorations were however hosted by different faith-based organizations, including the Oslo Catholic Church, the Jewish Community of Norway, and the Norwegian Humanist Association, without any of these events being covered by mainstream media.   The heavy coverage of church memorials, complete with elite participation and numerous interviews with priests and other church representatives, is the most obvious part of the societal naturalization of Christianity. A more subtle, but equally impactful dimension is the way in which Christian elements and ideas seep into memorial activities outside the physical space of the church. Examples of this is the use of a Christian song at the wreath laying in the government quarters (Marthinsen & Prestegård, 2012) and, most importantly, the incorporation of values like solidarity, humanity, and charity in memorial speeches. While solidarity and humanity certainly 83  are not exclusively Christian values, their use in the Norwegian context is strongly influenced by Lutheran traditions. Norway has a long history of missionary activity in the Global South, a missionary activity often performed under the formal pretence of medical aid and educational work (Engh, 2009). Norwegian missionary activity formed the precedent for the state development aid efforts that began in the 1950s, and while efforts were made to separate this aid from religious aid, religious organization has continued to receive substantial financial support (Engh, 2009). Solidarity and ideas of a shared humanity have been one of the major public justifications for contributing to development aid, yet in praxis the ideal of solidarity has not uncommonly led to problematic export of Norwegian family values and policies, as well as unintentional support for authoritarian regimes (Engh, 2009). Taken together with the previously discussed myth of innocence, solidarity too often becomes an expression of superiority, in which the Norwegian state gets to play the role of the white saviour. Furthermore, the naturalization of Christianity conceals the lived religious diversity in the present-day Norwegian community, including the diversity of religious beliefs amongst the July 22 survivors and bereaved. While these naturalizing discourses figure extensively in the media coverage, they have occasionally been contested. The Equity Ombud’s User Committee presented a strong critique of what they called the automatization of a Christian approach in the grief work in the first year after the terrorist attacks (Sørenes, 2012). Similarly, a 2012 op-ed by a religious historian directed sharp critique at the inability of the Norwegian Church to be a gathering place for diverse populations after July 22:  After the constitutional reform, we are left with an official people’s church that shows that its primary purpose is not to reach everyone, but to promote a Christian message – even on a day when the country really should stand together. (Endsjø, 2012).  84  Endsjø (2012) thus refuted the idea that the constitutional reform has lessened the power and privilege of the Church in Norwegian society. He also questioned whether actual collectivity is possible as long as the Church and media promote a Christian agenda in the name of diversity.  Despite these two early critiques, however, Christianity continues to be uncritically reproduced as the norm in the memorial coverage for 2013 and 2014, and few attempts are made by media or politicians to bring attention to the religious diversity of modern Norway. The sole exception is AUF-leader Eskil Pedersen (himself a Christian and also a speaker at the Cathedral service), who in July 2012 made a point of speaking at the Islamic Cultural Centre mosque in Oslo. Pedersen stated to Dagbladet that many of those affected by July 22, many of those who were at the island, and some of those were killed had a multicultural background and belonged to for example Islam, and thus I think it is important that we do not erase this from the story of July 22. (as cited in Sørenes, 2012). Here, Pedersen acknowledged that public remembrance is a form of storytelling, in which dominant societal voices often collude in erasing the participation of minority actors in key events.  While the Utøya survivors and bereaved families interviewed in relation with the July 22 memorials have been predominantly white (see section 5.4), Pedersen reminded the (implicitly white) public and media that this is not an accurate depiction. However, his attempt to highlight the religious and ethnic diversity of Norway did not receive support from other major public actors. Even the journalistic framing of the event tacitly subverted Pedersen’s message by sensationalizing the white politician’s visit to the mosque. The Dagbladet subtitle “this is why AUF-leader Eskil Pedersen visited a mosque for the first time” (Sørenes, 2012) and the VG heading “Eskil Pedersen spoke in mosque” (Eskil, 2012) both focused on the exceptionalism of a 85  white politician visiting a mosque, and the use of the indefinite article, “a mosque” as opposed to the church, indicates the marginal status of the mosque in Norwegian public life. Far from centring Muslims, Dagbladet’s accompanying picture represented Muslims as an anonymous and indistinguishable mass. The image zoomed in on the white, light-haired, and clean-shaved speaker (Pedersen) standing above a blurred sea of crouching, black-haired, and brown-skinned men (see Sørenes, 2012). The worm’s-eye view served to exalt the white speaker, once again bringing to mind the missionary and colonial image of the white Christian saviour. In the July 22 remembrance, the Muslim story, as well as other stories of religious diversity, is erased. Christianity is privileged as a Norwegian value by media and politicians, and the Lutheran-Evangelical Church is repositioned as the natural site of collectivity in a time of national mourning. While appeals are made to solidarity and humanity as universal values, these values are also Christian concepts that historically have been used as part of a religious agenda both within the national borders and in missionary activities and development aid practices in the Global South. The language of solidarity and humanity figures in the Norwegian self-image as a way of feeling good about oneself, thereby perpetuating colonial fantasies of the white, Christian saviour. This self-image of the white, Christian saviour corresponds to the terrorist’s self-image, and this necessitates a reexamination of Christianity’s function as a silent cultural marker in Norwegian society today. The presumed secular nature of Norwegian society conceals the ways in which Christianity continues to play an organizing function, allowing secularism to serve as a governmentality that manages religious difference through Othering and erasure (Razack, 2008). The erasure of diversity is discussed further in the next section, together with the professed Norwegian values of democracy and tolerance.   86  5.4 Democracy, Tolerance, and Diversity: Whose Freedom of Speech?   The final values celebrated in the memorial speeches and coverage are democracy, tolerance, and diversity. I have already touched upon Stoltenberg’s and others’ call for more democracy in response to the terror. Democracy is conceptualized in the July 22 remembrance as relating to participation, either in party politics or in volunteerism, and to public debate. This conceptualization of democracy has led to renewed interest in freedom of expression, and in the memorial texts the value of democracy is thus intimately tied to the values of tolerance and diversity. In this section, I discuss the memorial production of these three values, arguing that the uncritical celebration of democracy and tolerance by white majority speakers in effect sanctions the marginalization of Muslim and racialized Norwegians, thereby creating a hostile environment for lived diversity within the nation.   The rhetorical defense of democracy is in many ways appropriate since the terrorist attacks can rightly be seen as anti-democratic, given that the terrorist attacked a government that obtained the majority of votes in a democratic national election. Yet, like the other values, the value of democracy is uncritically assumed as a grand truth about the Norwegian national community, without any deeper consideration of what one might mean by democracy in praxis.  In the memorial speeches and coverage, there are plenty of unsubstantiated claims that Norway has become more democratic after July 22. Stoltenberg for example, made this claim in his 2012 memorial speech, stating that “thousands have reported for duty to the community in voluntary organizations and political parties. And several are speaking up against hateful speech” (2012c). While it is true that there was a slight surge in party registration immediately after July 22, party membership does not necessarily mean active participation. Furthermore, Wollebæk et al. (2012) found no significant long-term changes in Norwegian interest, participation, or membership in 87  political parties or voluntary organizations from April 2011 to August 2012. The notion that Norway has become more democratic after the terrorist attacks is therefore a myth if we measure democracy by the extent of formal community involvement and political participation.   How precisely Norwegians have used democratic practices after July 22 is a question begging to be asked. Sweeping statements like “we have used democracy as a tool against intolerance and violence” (Stoltenberg as cited in Sørenes & Prestegård, 2012) do little to explain how it is that the Norwegian people voted Fremskrittspartiet into government only two years after one of its former members killed 77 people in a double terrorist attack. Nor does it invite a discussion about the underrepresentation of people of colour in Norwegian politics. Instead, what we see in many of the July 22 news articles is a conflation between democracy and tolerance, in which unconditional tolerance for the opinions of others, regardless of what these opinions might be, is seen as a sign of a healthy and working democracy.  Auestad (2014) argued that the emphasis on more openness and democracy has in fact given more public space to racist and Islamophobic speech after July 22. A notable case is the 2013 awarding of a major publication grant, distributed by The Freedom of Expression Foundation (Fritt Ord), to the Islamophobic blogger Peder Are Nøstvold Jensen by whom the terrorist was heavily influenced. Media research conducted by Eide, Kjølstad, & Naper (2014) after the attacks found both an overall normalization of racist discourse post-July 22 and an emergence of strong anti-immigration voices that claim censorship and so-called political correctness cause extremism. In the July 22 remembrance, explicitly racist or anti-immigration speech is absent, but the idea that political correctness could lead to increased extremist violence is present even amongst people who celebrate the values of diversity and multiculturalism.  88  Overall, freedom of speech is a central issue in the media coverage of the July 22 memorials. Most often, diversity of opinion is portrayed as a positive thing, regardless of content. In a 2012 Aftenposten interview with Stoltenberg, the journalist asked the then Prime Minister whether he thought the public debate had taken a turn for better or worse in the first year after the terrorist attacks (Åmås, 2012). Stoltenberg replied:  I want to be cautious, precisely as the Prime Minister, about having an opinion about which direction this is heading. The whole point is that we disagree. I’m happy about that - that there is much debate, and that many participate. People are not afraid to express their opinions. Several have perhaps also become more daring after July 22. And that is a good thing. (as cited in Åmås, 2012, emphasis added).  In the above statement, Stoltenberg promoted a relativist idea that reduces freedom of speech and public debate to a question of participation. According to this perspective, it matters not what is said or what kind of thinking or ideology takes centre space in the debate, as long as there is debate and differing opinion. This difference in opinion is then taken to stand in for a pluralistic diversity, without examining who is doing the speaking. The highly subjective perception that “many participate” do not tell us who are the participating actors and whether actors from diverse social groups and positions are represented. Significantly, Stoltenberg also rejected any responsibility for the content and the tone of the debate. He (re)conceptualized his political office as prime minister as being a mere moderator of the public debate, as opposed to a participant and indeed a leading voice in it.   The reduction of the value of freedom of expression to a matter of difference in opinions is disturbing because this logic neutralizes and normalizes racist, sexist, and Islamophobic speech and thinking. Noteworthy, it is almost exclusively white Norwegians who are 89  interviewed. In a 2012 Aftenposten interview, a white, male survivor from Utøya stated: “We have gotten slightly less taboos. And a greater diversity of opinions. We have become a little less afraid of stepping on abscesses like freedom of speech” (as cited in Lundgaard, 2012). It is interesting to note the simile of abscess. Freedom of speech is portrayed by the survivor as something indelicate and a bit gross. This begs the question: Indelicate to whom? The survivor paints an account of a past society in which the problem was that people did not speak up in fear of insulting someone or stepping on their toes, not a society in which people’s toes were getting crushed in the first place. This rhetoric is, as van Dijk (1992, 1993, 2008) has shown, commonly used in Western public discourse to deny racism and indeed reverse accusations of intolerance towards anti-racists who are then seen as blaming and aggressively policing well-meaning citizens. The survivor thus articulated the “we” as a white subject position, supported by other statements like “We have to tolerate almost everything. Be liberal and unafraid,” and “To get hatred into the light is not dangerous; after all, they won’t get me!” (as cited in Lundgaard, 2012).  Through this language, the survivor positioned violence as an exception; as a society, we should tolerate racist and other discriminatory statements because they will not hurt us, only make us more aware. Despite his experiences of physical violence at Utøya, the young man felt confident that he would not be targeted by physical violence again: “they won’t get me.” I interpret the survivor’s statements as an expression of structural safety, based on his social identity as a young white man. He can afford to see violence as an exception, because in his own experience it is exceptional. Returning to Ahmed’s (2004) theorization of fear, we might ask who will bear the emotional and physical brunt of this realignment of white power that takes place 90  when we “get hatred into the light”13? As the young, white man said, “They won’t get me;” the question is, will they get somebody else?   Freedom of speech and diversity of opinion are not exclusively portrayed as positive developments in the memorial coverage, however; there are also dissenting voices. As discussed previously, several of the memorial speeches warn against hateful speech, particularly in online form. A VG article published on the three-year anniversary in 2014 brought special attention to this issue, with the subheading stating that “Three years after the terror on July 22, 2011, the hate messages towards Social Democrats in general, and Arbeiderpartiet especially, are flourishing on the web” (Johnsen, Haugan, & Hvidsten, 2014). VG interviewed Prime Minister Erna Solberg and a number of leading Labour politicians on the topic, and several of the politicians point out how this harassment is gendered and racialized, with particular consequences for women and politicians of colour. Solberg said:  After all, I know from my meetings with women, in particular, who participate in the political debate that some of these opinions, and especially the harassment, are experienced as difficult, and that this has also made some withdraw from the political debate. (as cited in Johnsen, Haugan, & Hvidsten, 2014).  AUF-leader Eskil Pedersen and Gerd Kristiansen, the leader of the major Norwegian trade union LO, both supported Solberg’s analysis by stating that hate speech primarily take the form of attacks on gender equality and racial and ethnic diversity.                                                   13 The idea of getting hatred into the light also invokes Biblical language, once more questioning on whose terms the debate is raised. John 3:19-21 reads: “This is the judgment, that the Light has come into the world, and men loved the darkness rather than the Light, for their deeds were evil. For everyone who does evil hates the Light, and does not come to the Light for fear that his deeds will be exposed. But he who practices the truth comes to the Light, so that his deeds may be manifested as having been wrought in God” (emphasis added).  91   Yet, even as several of the interviewed politicians acknowledged an unequal distribution of experiences of violence in Norwegian society, both they and other interviewees erased the structural, social, and economic power differences that enable and reproduce such violence. Similar to the construction of terror discussed in Chapter 4, racist and misogynist ideas are understood only in its most extreme manifestations, as irrational hatred and extremism. LO-leader Kristiansen referred to “extreme environments out there” and Pedersen talked about “hate,” “conspiracy theories,” and “anger” (as cited in Johnsen, Haugan, & Hvidsten, 2014). Solberg was even more explicit in her decontextualization of violence:  It’s important to differentiate between two things: that which is a lack of common decency (folkeskikk), and that which is dangerous. And what is dangerous is when one puts conspiracy theories in system, become radicalized, and it’s important that we fight against this, whether it’s Islamists, the extreme right, or as was the case in the 70s, the extreme left.”  (as cited in Johnsen, Haugan, & Hvidsten, 2014). Solberg’s rhetoric exonerates everyday racism and sexist thinking by classifying it as lack of common decency, or what in Norwegian is called folkeskikk, quite literally “people’s manners.” What is lacking in Solberg’s statement above is an understanding of how common decency and its close friend, common sense, can be informed by racist and misogynist ideas. Common sense, Hall and O’Shea (2013) argued, “tends to be socially conservative” (p. 9) and it draws from past histories and knowledges, while simultaneously being a site of continual change and contestation. According to Bannerji (1995), common sense is how “racism becomes an everyday life and ‘normal’ way of seeing” (p. 45). The habitual nature of common sense allows for a white person to be a professed anti-racist and yet simultaneously practice “a passively racist aesthetic” in which one mainly associates with other people and routinely dismisses the knowledge of 92  racialized people (Bannerji, 1995, p. 45). Important for my discussion of national community, Lawrence (1982) highlighted how common sense racist imagery is intricately linked with common sense images of the family and thus at the very core of cultural reproduction within society.   A debate about common sense racism, or even the use of xenophobic rhetoric in everyday political debate, is by and large absent from the official remembrance of July 22. While some politicians and survivors, AUF-leader Pedersen in particular, have made repeated calls for a public confrontation with racism, the word racism is used almost exclusively in the context of right-wing extremism. As one Utøya survivor put it, “the concept of racism disappeared from the Norwegian debate after July 22, perhaps because people got scared of putting their opponents in the same box as the most horrendous actions” (as cited in Konstad, 2013). The July 22 terrorist attacks can therefore be seen to have exaggerated and solidified a prior Norwegian tendency to reserve the word racism for more extreme forms of racism, such as eugenics and apartheid (Gullestad, 2002, 2005; Svendsen, 2014). The rare and vocal exception to this trend is an op-ed by the political commentator and Utøya-survivor Ali Esbati published in Dagbladet on the two-year anniversary in 2013. Under the heading “Norway has not learnt anything from Utøya,” Esbati wrote about freedom of speech and the 2013 awarding of a publication grant to the Islamophobic blogger Nøstvold: The debate around the grant has revolved around freedom of expression. As if this freedom is threatened every time a blogger with a mass audience does not get their book projects sponsored. This is not a weird exception. Rather, it is symptomatic of how the Norwegian public sphere has developed after the acts of terror. There is a system error here, and it has to do with the chattering classes’ understanding of self. Those who 93  belong to this layer occupy positions from which the public debate can be treated as a piquant parlour game instead of an arena in which actual living conditions are at stake; an arena in which there is an eternal tug of war about where the limits of decency shall be drawn – not juridically, but socially. (Esbati, 2013, emphasis added).   In this opinion piece, Esbati challenged the presumed “mile-long distinction between the cozy, smouldering racism of everyday public life and Breivik’s mass murder” (Esbati, 2013). He introduced a power analysis to the debate, by shifting the focus away from what is being said to who is doing the speaking. Freedom of speech, Esbati argued, is not only about whether right-wing extremists are being silenced or whether they should or should not receive grants to get published; it also concerns the larger structural question of who gets to debate and decide upon these issues in the first place. The “chattering classes” are, as my analysis of the July 22 memorial coverage reveals, by and large white Norwegians. Their overwhelming presence, in politics, journalism, and as interview subjects, frame the discussion of diversity and other proclaimed national values from the perspective of the white Norwegian subject.   Leading white politicians can afford to separate everyday racism from radicalization and focus their efforts on the latter because their structural and societal privilege protects them from feeling the full impact of the former. When asked in the 2014 VG interview whether they personally felt threatened by online hate speech, Prime Minister Solberg and Arbeiderpartiet-leader Støre both replied that they felt safe (Johnsen, Haugan, & Hvidsten, 2014). Considering that the VG article framed Arbeiderpartiet as a major target of hate speech, it is rather telling that its white, male leader still is able to feel so certain of his own safety. Solberg, on the other hand, indicated that as a female politician her personal safety is slightly more precarious and conditional: “Well, when you’re the Prime Minister of Norway and a 50 year old woman, there is 94  slightly less of that type of harassment than that which targets perhaps especially younger women and minority representatives” (as cited in Johnsen, Haugan, & Hvidsten, 2014). Solberg’s words serve as a reminder of the importance of utilizing an intersectional approach to studies of power relations. White privilege exist as both a structural and individual privilege, but in both cases it is modified by other modalities, including age, gender, religion, and sexuality. Whiteness as such is experienced differently by different members of the white majority group. We see this in the verbal abuse directed at white, female politicians, in the harassment of white Muslims after July 22, and in the substantial criticism and abuse targeting Eskil Pedersen after July 22 (see for example Grøttum, 2013; Johnsen, Haugan, & Grøttum, 2013). In the case of Pedersen, it is worth speculating if his status as a scapegoat was linked to his position as the only openly gay leader of a Norwegian political party (see also Esbati, 2013). While Pedersen never stated in the VG interview that he personally felt unsafe, he was quoted on the following: “I don’t read comments sections anymore; there’s too much ugliness there. Previously I dismissed it and thought it is a few lunatics that I did not take seriously” (in Johnsen, Haugan, & Hvidsten, 2014).  Pedersen thus suggested that the Norwegian public debate has become more violent after July 22, posing safety concerns for some participants. However, his previous perception of hateful speech as coming from “a few lunatics” bolsters the idea that racism, misogyny, and Islamophobia are exceptional elements in the Norwegian public sphere. The persistent link between violence and insanity discourages majority members from examining their own everyday discursive and material practices, including their complicity in the marginalization of minority groups.   In the July 22 remembrance, the representations of the Norwegian national community are lacking in diversity. The majority of the interview subjects, as well as the leading politicians 95  and journalists are white Norwegians, and frequently also Christian, heterosexual, and middle class. This creates a dynamic of speaking for others that is reproduced even when the explicit topic is diversity or inclusion. In the memorial coverage, diversity is one of the proclaimed Norwegian values. Despite the fact that many of the speakers conceptualize the terrorist attacks as an attack on multiculturalism and diversity, there is little media or political focus on how diversity actually manifests in Norwegian society. Diversity of course is a notoriously contested concept, often operating as a short-hand for racial and ethnic difference but sometimes referring to a wider spectre of differences. In the Norwegian context, diversity gains it political usefulness precisely through this ambiguity of meaning, by allowing political parties to represent themselves as non-racist through the celebration of diversity while the diversity in question might just as likely reference regional Norwegian differences (Hakvåg, 2014). In the July 22 remembrance, diversity is more clearly associated with racial and ethnic difference, but the concept is rarely discussed beyond its celebration as an abstract value. One of the exceptions is a VG article from 2013 that interviewed numerous public figures on their perception of the status quo of diversity and inclusion in Norway two years after the attacks. The article is framed from the perspective of an 18-year old, white, female Utøya survivor, who is photographed at summer camp under the heading “Easier to be included” (Johansen et al., 2013). The survivor opined:  When it comes to collectivity and community, there is much that has changed. I think it is easier to become included in Norway today. The sense of community is stronger than what it was, and the Norwegian collectiveness is more visible. (as cited in Johansen et al., 2013). On what basis the survivor made these claims, the article said nothing about. The journalistic framing reinstates the white subject as an expert and the appropriate judge for assessing the level 96  of ethnic and racial inclusion in a white-dominated society. The sentiment that Norway has become more inclusive is repeated by other white interviewees. Aage Borchgrevink, author of the book July 22: A Norwegian Tragedy, claimed: “July 22 will perhaps be remembered as the day when the national ‘We’ also included Norwegians with immigrant background. So the consequences of the massacre became the opposite of the intention” (as cited in Johansen et al., 2013). Of course, what Borchgrevink omitted to say is that the national “we” have long included Norwegians with immigrant background, with the Royal Family being the most prominent example. Olav V, the father of Norway’s current king, Harald V, was born in the United Kingdom to a Danish father and English mother, and in turn married a Swedish princess who mothered the present monarch. Therefore, what Borchgrevink in all likelihood implied by his statement was that July 22 enabled the national “we” to include racialized people. Immigrant, Gullestad (2002, 2006) reminded us, is a racially coded word that constructs racialized Norwegians as outside the nation in a way that white Norwegians of immigrant background are not. One might thus question whether July 22 has in fact improved white Norwegians’ ability to self-reflect. The premature conclusion that the terrorist attacks made Norway more open, democratic, and inclusive is nevertheless accepted as part of common sense knowledge. Employed as a political strategy, the assertion of agreement seeks to produce agreement as an effect (Hall & O’Shea, 2013, p. 8).   While underrepresented as interview subjects in the memorial coverage, racialized Norwegians or residents are among the very few interview subjects who challenge the dominant narrative of increased diversity and tolerance after July 22. Mohamed Ali Fadlabi, who performed together with the hip hop duo Karpe Diem at the 2012 memorial concert, said in an interview after the concert: “I feel like things are in the process of being improved, but I find it 97  strange when we talk so much about charity, while we still have so much phobia” (as cited in Bjørnstad, 2012). The journalist wrote that Fadlabi then “referred to last week’s events regarding the Roma” (Bjørnstad, 2012), but it is not explicated further what was said. Even as Fadlabi questions the dominant public memorial narrative of collectivity and increased charity, parts of the critique are silenced and cut from the published interview. The frame of collectivity in response to grief thus limits what can be said (Butler, 2004),14 making it harder for oppositional voices to break through.  A similar process of critique and subsequent silencing took place in a 2013 Dagbladet interview with youth politicians, in which the leader of Rød Ungdom, Seher Aydar, was attributed with the following statement: “I wish we were more united against racism after having experienced what we experienced. The people’s tone towards immigrants have changed, but the politicians lag behind” (as cited in Konstad, 2013). In contrast to the narratives of leading white politicians, Aydar located racism as part of everyday discourse; racism has to with the way the people and the politicians, both of them implicitly white, think and speak about and to immigrants. While Aydar said that she perceived a change in people’s attitude after July 22, she expressed disappointment in how racism remains unexamined in political discourse. Like in the interview with Fadlabi (Bjørnstad, 2012), however, the critique of everyday racism was quickly glossed over. After supplying Aydar’s quote, the journalist shifted the focus onto a white AUF-politician and Utøya survivor who “nods, but is glad that she recognizes her country. ‘It is nice that two years afterwards we’re not sitting in a completely different country. Because the new country would probably not have been as good to live in’” (Konstad, 2013). The discursive shift                                                  14 We may note that Fadlabi also chose to present his critique wrapped in a compliment - that is, the vague suggestion that things might be improving – a strategy that inverts the common elite denial strategy of positive self-representation coupled with negative Othering (Van Dijk, 1993). 98  from a call to mobilize against racist rhetoric to an expression of gratitude that Norway has not changed too much is interesting, to say the least. Anti-racist work is suddenly reframed as something un-Norwegian, something that would threaten “our” quality of living. This is perhaps why another Utøya survivor referred to freedom of speech as an abscess (Lundgaard, 2012): thinking about and discussing racism is uncomfortable to white Norwegians because it threatens to reorder our position in the world - or at least, in the imagined community of Norway. Thinking critically about racism would reveal our own structural and personal complicities and demand us to take responsibility and change our way of thinking and being. Unconditional freedom of expression might have to be re-conceptualized in terms of responsibility for speech.  And the white we might be required to actively listen to the knowledges of racialized and Muslim Norwegians and centre their voices in the public debate.   The memorial framing of July 22 as a site of collectivity marginalizes racialized Norwegians and feeds the imagined sameness so deeply rooted in the national self-image of White Norwegians. The illusion of sameness in turn produces complacency and resistance to change. Based on my analysis of the July 22 remembrance, the only area in which this complacency has changed is in regards to safety. While the myth of exceptionalism is still reproduced, there is also a focus on increased national vulnerability. Given the post-July 22 realignment of whiteness and Christianity, discussed in the previous sections, this idea of vulnerability has grave consequences for minoritized members of the Norwegian community.    5.5 Vulnerability and Exceptionalism: Policing the Community As discussed in Chapter 4, the July 22 remembrance texts reproduce a myth of Norwegian exceptionalism in which experiences of violence and intimate terror are seen as external to the 99  nation and always “elsewhere.” To the extent that racism and Islamophobia is named and challenged within the national community, it is conceptualized as a form of extremism that is perpetuated by right-wing groups and isolated online bloggers. Other forms of oppression, like gender violence and homophobia, are rarely mentioned at all, despite the misogynist and highly sexualized worldview of the July 22 terrorist. The exceptionalist framing of violence, strengthened by the narrative of a collective nation standing united against one lone terrorist, obscures the reality of unequal power relations in the Norwegian community, including racial, gendered, and religious inequality.    The discourse of exceptionalism and collectivity is reproduced in all three years of memorial texts studied. One subtle, but noticeable shift in discourse occurs, however, in the course of the three years. Alongside the narrative of exceptionalism comes another narrative: a narrative of increased national vulnerability. This narrative starts forming in 2013, after the July 22 Commission found that the government and the police had failed in ensuring adequate levels of safety and preparedness. In the memorial speeches for 2013 and 2014, there is a stronger emphasis on safety and prevention measures. As mentioned in Chapter 4, there is in this time period also a change in the terminology used to speak about July 22, with more talk about terror and extremism. In effect, this language often advances a dominant discourse on terror in which the terrorist is assumed to be a racialized, Muslim man. It is in this context of increased focus on safety measures and more abstract references to terror that the narrative of increased national vulnerability must be situated. Importantly, the narrative gains prominence in a period when a far-right government comes to power and the public memorials for July 22 are downsized in accordance with the wishes of many of the bereaved.  100    The narrative of vulnerability should not be seen as a counter-narrative to the myth of exceptionalism. Rather, the narrative of increased national vulnerability works in tandem with, and feeds on, the narrative of exceptionalism. For the remainder of this chapter, I discuss how notions of vulnerability and safety are articulated in the July 22 memorial texts and its symbiotic relationship with pre-existing national ideas of exceptionalism and innocence. I argue that the gendered, racialized, and religious ideas of citizenship discussed in this chapter inform the public responses to perceptions of national vulnerability, which, as we shall see, result in increased policing of Norwegian Muslims and young racialized men. Rather than more openness and democracy, the present legacy of July 22, still subject to change, is a re-articulation of racial lines of belonging that legitimize increased surveillance and militarization.    At the 2012 memorial concert, musician Bjørn Eidsvåg stated: “Our innocence was lost and will never return” (Peters et al., 2012). The notion of lost innocence invokes an image of a good and pious nation, an undeserving victim of violence. In the 2013 memorial coverage, however, the word innocence is replaced by naivety, suggesting a more careless victim, a victim that did not take the proper precautions. The leader of the July 22 support group for survivors and the bereaved, Trond Blattman, said in a VG interview: “The naivety has in many ways disappeared. The ‘it won’t happen to us’ mentality is not as strong. We have got more focus on preparedness” (as cited in Johansen et al, 2013). This sentiment was echoed by the Police Director who stated: “July 22 has strengthened us as a nation. An important change is that we no longer take safety for granted” (Humlegård as cited in Johansen et al, 2013).  The idea that Norwegians are naïve is not a new idea in everyday discourse; naivety has long figured in the Norwegian self-image as the more self-deprecating sibling of innocence (Gullestad, 2006). Because Norwegians are believed to have stood outside major global events 101  like colonialism, Norwegians are believed to be a little too innocent, thus naïve. In recent years, naivety has come to be employed as a rhetorical concept in the immigration debate, used by for example FrP politicians to argue against what they call “special treatment” for immigrants (Hagelund, 2003). The anthropologist Unni Wikan (2002) famously advanced the argument that Norwegian politicians are practising snillisme, meaning kindness to the point of stupidity, in their integration policies and thereby sanctioning violence against immigrant women and youth in their own communities. The word naivety thus has a history of being used to advance neo-racist arguments portraying non-white immigrants as parasites on the welfare state and violent paternalists, and its re-emergence in the July 22 remembrance should ring a cautionary bell.     In the 2013 memorial texts, there is an increased focus on safety and learning from the terrorist attacks. While naivety is depicted as a result of the belief in exceptionalism, exceptionalism co-exists with the new emphasis on safety measures. As a 2013 article put it: “Norway is still a safe country, Stoltenberg said. He also said that the preparedness has been incredibly strengthened after July 22, 2011” (Ørvik, 2013).  It seems to be believed that as long as the national community takes precautions, “we” can remain safe and innocent. Indeed, as the Police Director articulated above, the loss of naivety has made the Norwegian community even better, a stronger nation (Johansen et al, 2013). Norwegians are “less gullible” (Hestnes as cited in Slettholm, 2013), “more alert” (Faremo as cited in Vigsnæs, 2013), and “more aware of our own vulnerability” (Erna, 2014).    In Precarious Life, Butler (2004) proposed that mourning has a productive power. Through the white subject’s experience of own vulnerability in the event of a terrorist attack, the lives of previously dehumanized others can become valuable and grievable too (Butler, 2004). Such an experience of interconnectedness and shared vulnerability can be detected in the 102  accounts of some of the Utøya survivors interviewed as part of the memorial coverage. One young survivor stated “I notice that things affect me more now than previously, like for example when I read about bombs in Iraq” (Ørvik & Vigsnæs, 2013). Another said: “I think I have gotten more understanding for others after July 22” (Ørvik & Vigsnæs, 2013).  The intense experience of violence and terror in a place that was previously a place of collectivity and safety can thus be seen to have enabled a relational epistemology for some of the survivors. Yet, it is important to remember that the seductiveness of the narrative of shared vulnerability can come to erase the differential power relations under which violence occurs (Thobani, 2007b). In the Norwegian case, many of the memorial references to vulnerability also advance the myth of exceptionalism by re-positioning violence as primarily happening elsewhere, thereby preventing reflection on everyday structural and social violence in Norway or Norway’s participation in the global power structures that provide the foundations of violence in the Global South. While for some survivors the experience of terror has increased self-reflection in regards to own actions and speech (Ørvik & Vigsnæs, 2013), the admission of vulnerability can also be used to police others in self-defence.  On July 24, 2014, only two days after the three-year anniversary of the terrorist attacks, the Norwegian intelligence bureau, PST, announced that they had received concrete information about an imminent terrorist attack planned against a Norwegian target. PST stated that the terror threat was linked to “an extreme Islamist group recruited in Syria” (Johansen et al., 2014), but provided no further details about where, when, or what. They did, however, ask citizens to “be alert” and call the police if they viewed “something suspicious” (Johansen et al., 2014). This public announcement of a national threat was the first of its kind in Norway since 1973 (Konstad et al., 2014). While the threat never actually materialized, national security levels were raised, 103  and armed police subsequently filled streets and airports. The police in fact was not much wiser than the public about the nature of the imminent attack; like the public they only knew that the threat was linked to the “extreme Islamist group.” The minimal information provided by the PST gave people little to work with, but all the more to fear. As we have already seen from the violence against Muslim and racialized Norwegians on July 22, 2011 and the abstraction of terror in the memorial speeches, a priori societal discourses construct some people as more likely terrorists than others. PST’s public announcement of an imminent terror attack thereby served to intensify a pre-existing racial order, creating an environment in which white Norwegians and the police collaborated in racial profiling targeting young men in particular.  A 24-year old Norwegian experienced being hauled off an airplane by five uniformed and armed police officers as the plane was prepared for take-off (Berglund, Aspaas, & Tommelstad, 2014). He was interrogated and searched, all on the basis of a fellow passenger reacting to his skin colour and visible tattoos. The police confirmed that the only concrete information they had before boarding the plane was that “a woman had gotten a panic attack on the plane because she perceived a fellow passenger as suspicious” and “the KLM-crew supported her partially” (Berglund, Aspaas, & Tommelstad, 2014). Another racialized Norwegian experienced being suddenly jammed up against a wall by two police officers while he was casually jogging past Oslo Central Station on his way to the beach. VG journalists witnessed several more stop and searches of racialized men, to which the Head of Staff in Oslo Police District replied: “Since very much is relatively vague, we have to do some things based on experience and from imagined scenarios. We try to do this without stigmatizing anyone” (Fredriksen as cited in Berglund, Aspaas, & Tommelstad, 2014). The imagined scenarios that the police and collaborating civilians draw upon are of course racialized scenarios, in which racial difference 104  from the imagined white sameness of the Norwegian community is what makes someone appear suspicious. Yet, the racialized basis of this thinking is denied through mitigation (van Dijk, 2008); the police implicitly admit to selecting people based on racial appearance, but emphasize that it is not meant as stigmatization.   Racial profiling and other racialized violence is of course not a new development in Norway, as the attacks against Muslims and racialized people in Oslo on July 22, 2011, are a painful reminder. I propose, however, that the 2011 terrorist attacks have provided a new official legitimization of state and civilian violence against racialized people and Muslims. In the case of July 2014, the contra-terror unit that “discovered” the never-materializing terror threat was a new centre established after the terrorist attacks in 2011 (Rasch & Roshauw, 2014), and the Head of the PST specifically attributed the public announcement of the terror threat to the call for more openness after July 22 (“PST-Head,” 2014). By going public with the terror threat, the PST and the government knowingly put racialized and Muslim Norwegians at risk of violence, including racial profiling and invasive searches in public spaces that served to restrict their spatial mobility. The events of July 2014 are however only one part of a larger pattern. Since the terrorist attacks in 2011, a number of safety measures have been introduced that have led to increased surveillance and militarization. The Norwegian police, for example, who was previously unarmed, have now been carrying weapons since November 2014 (Senel & Elster, 2015). These security measures go hand in hand with proposed changes to citizenship laws and laws regulating the families of immigrants (Hakvåg, 2014). The Norwegian government is currently reviewing the possibility of revoking Norwegian citizenship in the case of citizens who participate in terror actions or in foreign military groups. While the proposed reform in theory could be applied to any Norwegian, including white Norwegians, the proposed case-by-case 105  approach, tried by a largely white justice system, would likely result in an uneven distribution of  citizenship revocations. Dominant discourses of who belong and who do not belong in the Norwegian community, like the ones discussed in this chapter, indicate that racialized and Muslim men and women would be at higher risk of being rendered stateless.  Despite calls for more openness and more democracy, Norway thus seems to be moving in quite the opposite direction. The militarized language of the memorial speeches identified in section 5.1 is materializing into a more militarized society and stronger policing of national borders. This physical and legal policing of borders are more likely than not to reproduce the existing discourses of community and national belonging that I have discussed in this chapter, putting racialized people at further risk of experiencing violence.106  Chapter 6: Conclusions  We are never as steeped in history as when we pretend not to be, but if we stop pretending we may gain in understanding what we lose in false innocence. Naiveté is often an excuse for those who exercise power. For those upon whom that power is exercised, naiveté is always a mistake. (Trouillot, 1995, p. xix).  6.1 Summary of the Research This thesis has been concerned with investigating how Norwegian discourses of nationhood are produced and re-assembled in response to the experience of terror. I have analyzed how the public commemoration of the July 22, 2011, terrorist attacks constructs both the official meaning of the attacks and an imagined national community. Through my analysis, I have shown that the dominant narrative framing of July 22 as a site of collectivity and sameness discourages critical questions about the imagined composition of the Norwegian community and the lived experiences of difference and violence within this community. As discussed in Chapter 4, the official remembrance of the terror has reinforced master narratives of community in which belonging depends on ethnic kinship and idealized sameness. In Chapter 5, I examined further how these narratives are communicated through value speech, demonstrating that the July 22 remembrance texts implicitly and explicitly produce whiteness, Christianity, heteronormativity, and gender-conformity as the ideal characteristics of the Norwegian citizen. These racialized, gendered, and religious discourses in turn render the calls for more openness and more democracy precarious since the precondition for participating in the public sphere and being heard becomes predicated on the ability to perform sameness.   Importantly, the performative sameness in Norwegian public discourse does not necessitate an absolute consensus in opinion. The post-July 22 debate about freedom of expression, discussed in section 5.4, shows that dissent and critique are tolerated under certain 107  conditions and to the extent that the speaker can be perceived by other public actors as familiar. On the surface, the Norwegian public response to July 22 might thus appear as a very different response to grief and injury than the one enacted by the U.S. government and public sphere after the 9/11 terrorist attack. Indeed, the political call for “more openness, more democracy” (Stoltenberg, 2013a) seems to be just the kind of response that Butler (2004) called for in asking for more public debate and cultivation of critique after 9/11. However, as my research shows, the particular ways in which national collectivity is framed in the remembrance texts absorb the positive potential of the response, pre-empting sustained and critical dialogue in the very call for more democracy. In the Norwegian case, the response to terror is not self-reflection, but a narcissistic, self-loving reflection: The fact that “we,” and here the composition of that we clearly needs to be questioned, responded with calls for openness is taken as evidence that the national community is already open. Furthermore, openness and democracy become measured by the national community’s ability to “take” and tolerate racism, misogyny, and religious prejudice and discrimination rather than actively challenge it, as seen in my discussion in section 5.4.  Such a conceptualization of openness and democracy has disconcerting implications for minoritized people’s ability to belong in the Norwegian community.   Despite the passage of time and the 2013 change in government, there is no significant shift in rhetoric in the July 22 remembrance texts from 2012 to 2014. The emphasis on national innocence and imagined sameness is reproduced over all three years analyzed, and the same values are heralded by the Conservatives as by the Labour Party. Indeed, since the change in government from a socialist coalition to a conservative coalition does not produce a significant rhetorical shift, the rhetorical continuity is taken as evidence of the collectivity and sameness of the Norwegian community. This subsequently reinforces the myth of Norwegian innocence, by 108  disconnecting violence and racism from the political system and political debate. The only noticeable shift in discourse occurs in July 2013, thus predating the change in government, and concerns an increased emphasis on safety, security, and the threat of radicalization, the latter which is repeatedly associated with Islam and particularly Muslim youth. This framing of Muslims as the primary terrorist threat is accompanied by a convenient decontextualization of the July 22 terrorist attack that was enacted by a white, Christian, Norwegian man.   In the July 22 remembrance, violence is constructed as exceptional, thereby reproducing a myth of national innocence in which Norway is construed as outside of global histories of violence like colonialism and slavery. Violence is understood only in its most extreme forms, and some forms of violence, like gendered violence, are barely acknowledged at all. This denial of violence is of course, as Jiwani (2006) notes, a form of discursive violence in itself that normalizes violence through its erasure. While occasionally warning against racism and religious prejudice, the July 22 memorial speeches and coverage produce and rely upon a rhetorical framework in which racism can only be comprehended and recognized in the context of right-wing extremism. The failure to confront other forms of racism, like everyday racism (Essed, 1991) and common sense racism (Bannerji, 1995), results in a reproduction of racialized thinking and speech that fuels the dominant terror narrative such that the greatest threat of violence comes from fundamentalist Islamic groups. This in turn reinforces structural modes of racism, as the trope of the Muslim terrorist is used to legitimatize a securitization of state that proceeds in highly racialized ways. As Razack (2008) succinctly phrased it: “When race thinking unites with bureaucracy, when, in other words, it is systematized and attached to a project of accumulation, it loses its standing as a prejudice and becomes instead an organizing principle” (p. 9). This 109  organizing principle does not require racist individuals because racialization is normalized, thus allowing the racial order of Norwegian society to go largely unrecognized by white citizens.   6.2 Implications and Limitations My research findings have several implications for Norwegian public debate, politics, research, and everyday life. First, while the rise of right-wing extremist parties and organizing in Norway and Europe is an urgent challenge deserving of our time and attention, the threat of right-wing extremism cannot be challenged without simultaneously acknowledging and confronting more common modes of racism. Focusing on right-wing extremism alone only reproduces the myth of exceptionalism which allows institutional racism and common sense racism to go unchallenged. Instead, we need to analyze and challenge racism in all its incarnations, including the racialization of religion, most evident in Islamophobic discourse, and racism’s intersections with gender violence, the latter which is increasingly conceptualized as a problem of the racialized Other, rather than a shared problem requiring our common effort. The constant separation of racist and sexist violence in everyday discourse, Jiwani (2006) proposes, serves strategic purposes by reducing the comprehensiveness of our analysis of the problem and thereby also limiting possible solutions to the problem, including the potential for coalition building (p. xi). In the Norwegian context, the neglect of the issue of gender violence in response to July 22, made worse by the gender essentialism and heterosexism in the media coverage, might further racism by constituting gender equality as a taken-for-granted property of white Norwegians. In contrast, gender inequality is frequently a topic when discussing so-called immigrant or Muslim communities in Norway (Razack, 2008; Thun, 2012), thereby naturalizing gender inequality as a problem of the Other. The strategic separation of racism and sexism obscures the ways in which 110  the two frequently intersect, painfully attested to by the harassment of hijab-wearing and racialized women after the July 22 government bombing, a sexualized racist violence which included hair-pulling and threats of rape.   Secondly, the construction of Norwegian national identity in the July 22 remembrance points to the necessity of utilizing an intersectional framework in analysis of violence, as well as analysis of discourses of nationhood and community. My analysis of the official commemoration of the 2011 terrorist attack shows how race, gender, and religion, together with other social modalities of difference like class, sexuality, and age, intersect to produce safety and national belonging for some at the cost of others. In paying close attention to the usually unmarked modalities of whiteness and Christianity, my discourse analysis contributes to the study of unarticulated intersectional imperatives (Carbado, 2013) and particularly the field of critical whiteness studies.  As noted in the introduction, whiteness has been an understudied topic in the Nordic countries, and my research thus makes an important contribution to understanding how whiteness operates in the Norwegian national context. In the July 22 remembrance texts, whiteness is produced as a core feature of the Norwegian national subject through ethno-nationalist rhetoric and a surplus of white subjects in the memorial production and coverage. As might be deduced from the complete lack of discussion of whiteness, however, white power and privilege goes largely unnoticed by white Norwegians. Whiteness is seen as insignificant, because Norway is believed to stand outside global histories of colonialism, slave trade, and apartheid. Ethno-nationalist rhetoric works to strengthen the pervasive myth that multiculturalism and ethnic diversity are new phenomena in a historically homogenous Norway, when ethnic diversity has been a fact of Norwegian life for hundreds of years, particularly in the 111  North (Olsen, 2005). Yet, even as white Norwegians start to conceive of present-day Norway as a multicultural, multiracial society, the effects of whiteness as a structural position of power and privilege are routinely dismissed. White privilege goes unchallenged, in part because of the distance between the average white Norwegian and racialized people in Norway. As several researchers have noted, for white Norwegians media is one of the key sources of information about so-called immigrants (Gullestad, 2002, 2006; Thun, 2012). The lack of direct interaction, combined with the whiteness of the media in regards to both content and actors, creates a ripe atmosphere for myth production and racialization.    Thus, the third contribution of my research is that it reveals a disjunction in the Norwegian self-image: The Norwegian community is imagined as a community committed to the values of diversity, democracy, openness, and solidarity, yet sameness continues to be positioned as the criterion for participation and belonging. Racialized Norwegians are underrepresented in the media coverage and official remembrance, thereby reproducing a broader racist logic in which the knowledge of racialized people are systemically dismissed and devaluated. The second aspect of this logic, Essed (1991) reminds us, entails constructing white people as the natural arbiters of knowledge. We see this process repeatedly at play in the July 22 remembrance texts; white Norwegians are constructed as the experts and obvious go-to-persons in all matters related to July 22, including broader questions of Norwegianness, everyday life in Norway, and even matters of social inclusion and diversity. The delegitimization of non-white knowledge poses a barrier to belonging for racialized Norwegians, who may obtain a symbolical inclusion in the imagined community through value speech celebrating diversity but are repeatedly denied the power to grant inclusion. In the July 22 remembrance, racialized Norwegians are not constituted as stakeholders in the imagined community with power to define and contest the community’s 112  values and borders. The racializing discourses operating in the July 22 remembrance speeches, discourses which in turn influence policy-making and produce material effects, point to the urgent necessity of constantly paying attention to discourses of sameness and difference and their effects. The problem clearly is “not just one of inclusion into an already existing idea of the nation, but one of equality, without which the ‘we’ is not speakable” (Butler in Butler & Spivak, 2007, p. 60). This “double demand for equality and difference,” Hall (2000, p. 232) noted, requires us to constantly challenge existing political vocabularies and imagine communities otherwise.  The work of redefining community is fraught with difficulties and risk, and on that note it is appropriate to address some of the limitations of my own study. First, it might be that my emphasis on national community naturalizes the nation-state as a unit of analysis, a conceptual problem which Beck and Sznaider (2006) have referred to as methodological nationalism. One of the challenges to redefining national community is to avoid taking the national as a given and to carefully examine its relation to the global, the local, and the regional, while at the same time “tak[ing] up the national seriously” (Wright, 2012, p. 104). As my interest in this study was to look at discourses of nationhood, I may have paid insufficient attention to how these discourses are constructed in relation to the global, local, and regional. Future studies might benefit from examining these transnational and sub-national processes more closely.  My study is also limited in that it only looks at the remembrance of July 22 during the anniversary period for each of the years studied. It is likely that the ritualistic frame of the official memorial limits what can be said, restricting in-depth societal critique out of respect for the survivors and bereaved on a difficult day. Looking at the coverage of July 22-related topics over the course of the full year might have yielded slightly different results, including stronger 113  contestations of the narrative of collectivity and sameness. I nevertheless believe that my decision to limit the study to the annual memorial ceremonies is justified because these are the most highly publicized events and therefore more powerful in terms of knowledge production. On this basis, I believe my study provides a representative account of the official remembrance narrative of July 22.    The third limitation to my research is that the study of social texts does not yield any definite answers as to how people in general make meaning of these texts. Without combining discourse analysis with interactive methods such as interviews or focus groups, I as the researcher risk constituting myself as “the primary arbiter of meaning” (McIntosh & Cuklanz, 2014, p. 287). While I have attempted to counter this effect by writing an analysis that highlights processes of subject-community formation and encourages the questioning of dominant knowledges rather than making claims to a singular truth about July 22 and Norwegian national identity, I have not altogether avoided reproducing epistemic power imbalances. As a white Norwegian researcher analyzing discourses of racialization, I too participate in an(other) anthropological “conversation of ‘us’ with ‘us’ about ‘them’” (Minh-ha, 1989, p. 65) in which ‘they’ are silenced. The lack of non-white voices and actors in the July 22 remembrance poses a significant limitation to my research, because even in my critical analysis it is white Norwegian voices that take centre place. In this sense, my research might reproduce white Norwegians as the primary stakeholders in defining national community, even though the intent of my analysis is to destabilize this very notion. Similarly, my critique of the white majority subject’s construction of terror and violence as exceptional may unintentionally reproduce racialized people as victims, a fault line in much critical theory (Gilroy, 2000). Yet, in order to change discourses of national community, we do need to analyze and discuss the subject positions 114  articulated through and made possible by discourse. As Alcoff (1994) posited, speaking for others is fraught with dangers and ethical concerns, but retreating from doing so does not erase the effects of one’s speech on others; it merely erases accountability. Further research on the Norwegian imagined community should however seek to forefront the knowledges of racialized Norwegians and migrants, including how racialized people experience and negotiate belonging in the Norwegian community in everyday life. Another urgent area of research is the effect of the proposed new security policies and the intensified securitization discourse on Norwegian Muslims and other racialized citizens. As the Solberg government proceeds with its new radicalization prevention program, how will racialized youth and their families be impacted?   The major implications of my study for the Norwegian context are, as discussed, the need to address racism and violence in all its forms and intersections; the importance of analyzing and challenging whiteness as a structural and cultural privilege; and the urgency of the overarching project of redefining community in a way that centers difference while insisting upon equality. The implications of my study for other national contexts are harder to predict, as the value of my research findings lies precisely in their specificity. This is the local-global conundrum of cultural studies: universalist claims fail to capture the nuances and complexity of power structures and experience, while the knowledge produced by situated analysis may not apply outside its local context (Ang, 2001). I will suggest, however, that my Norwegian case study poses a modest intervention to the broader field of critical whiteness studies, as this field has been dominated by U.S. and U.K. scholars (Hewitt, 2007), leaving a lack of understanding of how whiteness might operate in other contexts, such as smaller, more ethnically homogenous countries and countries that have had less of a leading role in imperialist projects. In the case of Norway, this more peripheral position has allowed the construction of a myth of national innocence that denies 115  knowledge of the country’s symbolic, discursive, and economic complicity in colonialism and other imperialist ventures (Vuorela, 2009). As my research shows, this presumed innocence works to produce ignorance about the persistence of colonial images of self and Other, including its contemporary revival in the War on Terror discourse that constructs racialized people, and Muslim men in particular, as threats to the white nation, as barbaric and irrational Others removed from Western democracy and reason. The emergence of this racialized discourse in the commemoration of a right-wing terrorist attack executed by a white, Christian Norwegian clearly attests to the power and insidiousness of these neocolonial narratives.  Importantly, however, my study also hints at national and local differences in the operations of whiteness in the West. One of the major claims advanced in U.S. critical whiteness studies has been that white majority culture goes unnamed and undefined, constructing culture as the property of racialized others. Frankenberg (1993), for example, found in her interviews with white American women that many of them struggled with identifying a clear substance to white culture. This finding does not quite hold in the Norwegian context. While whiteness as a racial concept and structural position of power is very much a silent signifier in Norwegian everyday speech and writing, arguably more so than in the U.S., white Norwegian culture is not. Indeed, Norway’s presumed peripheral status in the world order, articulated through references to a small geographical space and a close-knitted, trusting family, has led to an obsessive preoccupation with national culture. The ethno-nationalist rhetoric operating in the memorial texts is indicative of the embrasure of Norwegian as an ethnic category, also shown by the term “ethnic Norwegian” which is commonly applied to white Norwegians. This construction of Norwegian as an ethnicity seems to propose that Norwegianness is about culture, not about race. At the same time, since cultural differentiation is racism’s second logic (Hall, 2000) in which social ideas of 116  ethnicity and race are interlinked and frequently conflated, the language of ethnicity continues to invoke eugenicist discourses of racial superiority and inferiority. As Hall (2000) elaborated: The more “ethnicity” matters, the more its characteristics are represented as relatively fixed, inherent within a group, transmitted from generation to generation, not just by culture and education, but by biological inheritance, stabilized above all by kinship and endogamous marriage rules that ensure that the ethnic group remains genetically, and therefore culturally, “pure.” (p. 223).   Norwegian ethno-nationalist rhetoric strategically distances Norwegianness from biological race discourse, while simultaneously preparing the ground for an uncritical exaltation of Norwegian culture that indirectly feeds racial ideology.  The complexity of Norwegian whiteness does however exceed what my study of the July 22 remembrance texts can hope to conceptualize, and my research clearly shows the importance of more analysis on how whiteness operates in the Norwegian context, including the implications of ethno-nationalism for biracial Norwegians and the racialization of white migrants based on economic status or national origin. What my case study does demonstrate, however, is the role of white fear in driving racism and racist policies. As Ware (2007) stated:  The solipsism that locates fear and terror in the breasts of the majority population threatens to obscure the effect of the racism-as-usual that continues to poison social and political life. The phenomenon of white fear helps to identify a connection between these two currents: the reaction to real and imagined threats coming from outside the country, and the undertow of white supremacism that determines a predictable response to all manner of insecurity. (p. 51).  117  The undertow of white supremacism is clearly at play in the securitization measures and rhetoric emerging in the aftermath of July 22. Yet, the racial order underpinning this securitization process is concealed by white actors’ articulation of national fear and vulnerability after a brutal terrorist attack executed by a white right-wing terrorist. Confronting this white fear is a necessary aspect of anti-racist politics (Ware, 2007), and so is confronting the structural and cultural privilege that positions racial profiling as a viable solution to white fear.  My research findings testify to the pervasiveness of the dominant Western War on Terror rhetoric and how it can be reproduced in response to very different attacks. This also shows that national identities are collaborative constructs forged in dialogue with and comparison to other countries. The construction of Norway and the other Nordic countries as innocent, peaceful, gender-equal welfare states is an image that international media, scholars, and politicians, predominantly in the West, have contributed to. In the July 22 remembrance, references to international media coverage of the memorials function as a meta-commentary confirming Norwegian innocence and morality, diverting attention from the covert implementation of the same type of securitization processes that has previously been documented in countries like the U.S., Canada, France, and the U.K. (Jiwani, 2011; Razack, 2008; Thobani, 2003, 2007a; Ware, 2007). This calls upon us all to continue analyzing, highlighting, and challenging all processes of racialization, including its intersections with gender, religion, and other modalities of difference.  My research on the national remembrance of the 2011 Norwegian terrorist attacks points to the need to understand how violence, both discursive and material, has shaped our understanding of self historically and continues to do so in the present. Only through this realization can we start to effectively challenge practices of violence and seek to actively imagine and build communities otherwise. More openness and more democracy are clearly needed as part of this process, but the 118  uncritical celebration of values expressed through the official July 22 remembrance sadly does little to ensure their implementation in everyday life.          119  Bibliography  Primary sources Aanstad, K. H. (2012, July 22). Knausgård: “Livet som dagen før hadde lyst i øynene, var slutt for alltid.” [Knausgård: “The life that the day before had shone in their eyes was gone forever”]. VG. Retrieved from  Aanstad, K. H., & Kvitrud, M. K. (2012, July 22). “The Boss” hedret 22. juli ofrene. 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