Visit to Longyearbyen, Autumn 2023: Cherry Jackson

Far out in the heavily charted waters of the icy Arctic Sea lies a much regarded archipelago called Svalbard, and there, on the largest island Spitzbergen, is a town called Longyearbyen. Much regarded, that is, by international eyes seeking a foothold in the Arctic as ice and snow melt away with climate change, 'opening up' the once mystical Northwest Passage to allow for trading and further extraction of fossil fuels, the use of which continues to be a major contributor to climate change. Consequently, Norway is seeking to maintain its presence on the archipelago as even more eyes turn northwards.

There is much fanfare regarding Longyearbyen's "remoteness," and yet it is host to numerous festivals, including the northernmost Blues music festival, Dark Season Blues, and is regarded as home to a whole host of people from various different corners of the globe; in fact, there are over fifty different nationalities registered in Longyearbyen. It was the Blues festival that I attended, in fact. It was the end of the tourist season, and the beginning of perpetual night. Whilst I was there, the speed of light seemed to obey its own laws in Longyearbyen. An etheral blue that is as dark as ink suddenly brightens, and as quickly as it shines, it sinks once more into the darkest blue.

The coming of nighttime and winter apparently harked Blues music, a music that arose from African-American communities that continues to speak about their experiences. Blues music is intended to help people shake off their blues, that is, their worries, fears, and hardships endured. Yet, the vast majority of the musicians were white and Norwegian, living on the mainland, and many of the attendees to the festival were old, white Norwegians who had flown in from the mainland to attend the event specifically. Many had been coming for years—it was the festival's twentieth anniversary—and seemingly enjoyed themselves, although most seemed to need copious quantities of alcohol in order to dance. The music was not even that Bluesy most of the time. Many times the performer would call, in Norwegian, "Blues or Rock and Roll?" and the crowd would answer "Rock and Roll!" (Rock and Roll also originates in African-American culture.)

It was extremely uncomfortable to sit within this, given the context of the music's origin and the political climate of Longyearbyen. Longyearbyen has for a number of years now been subject to a process that has been dubbed "Norwegianisation." The Norwegian government wants Longyearbyen, and Svalbard in general, to be "more Norwegian." And by that, it is meant that the government wants more Norwegian nationals residing there permanently. At the same time, the Norwegian government is transitioning the economy of the archipelago away from its tradition of coal mining to the supposedly more environmentally friendly sectors of tourism and science. Yet, there is great diversity within the residents of Longyearbyen—over fifty nationalities are represented there—and many of the jobs in Longyearbyen are not those that appeal to the vast majority of Norwegians, such as cleaning and catering. In short, music from a marginalised group of (non-Norwegian) people was used to attract tourists to Longyearbyen, a place that is currently discriminating against non-Norwegian nationals. This is all in the attempt of maintain Svalbard as a Norwegian territory.

You may be wondering just what my research entails from this description and analysis. I am  happy looking at the GitHub Archive Program, which is partly—and mainly—in Svalbard, on the outskirts of Longyearbyen in a former coal mine, which has been turned into a museum of sorts, and the wider context in which it is situated, philosophically and literally; this is why I went to Longyearbyen. What I hope to achieve is a rich and deep understanding of the prevailing attitudes as to why such a programme has been instigated, all the while comparing to the social and political landscape it is done in.

To end, there appears to be a great deal of cognitive dissonance occurring in Longyearbyen. The Norwegian government is concerned about maintaining its hold on the islands, yet wishes to move away from coal mining as its legitimate reason for its occupation of Svalbard towards the ebb and flow of tourism and academia, portraying them as "green" solutions, whilst being worried about just who its residents are. I plan to return to Longyearbyen to conduct more fieldwork in January 2024, and hopefully will be able to explore these aspects more as they relate to my research. Returning is important in that being within the landscape, talking to people, building connexions and trust is vital to the production of anthropological work, so as create a rich(er) understanding of the precarity of Longyearbyen as it contrasts to the preservation of the archival programme for seemingly intangible, easily deleted code.