It’s Christmas Eve in Iceland. Snow is gently falling. The tree is up, the table is set, and the family gathers together. But there’s one event that truly marks the arrival of Christmas in households across the country: the ringing of church bells on the radio.
“Right before the bells ring at 6.00 pm, there’s always a moment of silence,” Haukur Ingvarsson tells me, with a gleam in his eye. “It’s almost as if the ghost of Christmas floats into the living room.” Haukur is an author and literary scholar who spent many years as a host and programmer at Iceland’s national radio, RÚV.
While in other countries, the radio may have been relegated to gyms and elevators, in Iceland, it still enjoys a privileged place in people’s homes and hearts. When you look at its history, it’s easy to see why – radio gave Iceland’s small, dispersed population a way to connect, to each other and to the world, playing a crucial role in the country’s development as a nation in the 20th century.
Connection and education
When a new technology known as radio broadcasting was reported on in Icelandic papers early in the 20th century, local scholars quickly saw what it could mean for the country. While its practical uses, such as broadcasting weather forecasts to fishermen at sea, were quickly recognised, it was also seen as a medium that could make the highest education accessible to all Icelanders – no matter how remote their homes.
Ottó B. Arnar, a telecommunications specialist, wrote enthusiastically about the medium in Morgunblaðið newspaper in the summer of 1925. “Transport is bad here, and therefore news propagation is very limited. It’s difficult for scholars to travel around, and relatively little of the population can benefit from their knowledge. Then the nation strays from the healthiest and noblest of entertainment, singing and music, and those who have the greatest desire for the word of God and need comfort and courage rarely hear it,” Ottó asserted. “The radio solves all of this.”
“When the radio was being established, there was a group of scholars that had a lot of influence on the programming,” Haukur tells me, “and they believed the radio should be a sort of university for people in the countryside. Iceland is, of course, very big and there are few people who live here. And transportation was even more difficult than now. So, it really was a revolution for people who, for example, lived on an isolated farm.”
With the arrival of radio, those who rarely received news from beyond their doorstep could suddenly listen to orchestral music in their living room or learn about the latest discoveries in science. A sheep farmer in the Westfjords and a merchant in Reykjavík now had access to the same entertainment and education, and perhaps for the first time, felt like part of a single nation. Guðmundur Finnbogason, a prominent scholar at the time, touted the radio as “the world’s best home improvement device. It makes the whole country one debate chamber, concert hall, church, university.”
Language and culture
Though radio was a brand-new technology, in Iceland, it was seen as a continuation of an ancient tradition known as the baðstofa. “The baðstofa was a warm place where people came together in the evenings to do some kind of handiwork,” Haukur tells me. “And it often was the case that whoever knew how to read well would read for the others while they were working.” Now the whole country was a single baðstofa, and the farm’s best reader was replaced by learned scholars and musicians trained in Europe’s conservatories.
From the radio’s first days in Iceland, university professors were contracted to lecture on their area of expertise, and emphasis was placed on making the information accessible to all Icelanders. “One thing the radio did was it taught people about new concepts and taught them new words for these concepts,” Haukur says. “In that way, it had a lot of influence in disseminating new words.”
Ragnheiður Ásta Pétursdóttir was a radio announcer at RÚV for 44 years. Both of her parents and her husband also worked as announcers on the national radio. “The radio was invaluable for Icelandic culture,” she tells me. Her father, Pétur Pétursson, hosted a popular variety show featuring music and other entertainment. “Everyone listened. There was no other station.” Although the programming often featured local musicians, RÚV also introduced Icelandic listeners to the newest music from abroad. In fact, it was Ragnheiður’s husband Jón Múli Árnason who introduced jazz to Iceland through a regular program he hosted on RÚV.
An impartial medium
Not only did the radio ensure news could travel quickly around Iceland, it was the first media source that aimed to be politically neutral. In early 20th-century Iceland, all newspapers were backed by political parties. Their purpose was propaganda first, then information. Yet when Parliament first laid down some guidelines for the establishment of a national radio service, politicians of all stripes agreed the medium should be impartial. The radio thus became a platform for discussing social issues instead of pushing political views.
That wasn’t always an easy task for its employees, including Ragnheiður. Coming from a family of activists, she grew up taking part in International Workers’ Day marches on May 1. Although she took her responsibility to be impartial seriously, she occasionally allowed herself a little wiggle room. “When there were marches on May 1, I would maybe play some songs that were connected to the labour struggle. Some people thought that was political. And maybe it was,” she says with a smile.
Despite the occasional musical choice, RÚV’s employees took their task of neutrality seriously. Even advertisements, which were read by announcers, had to adhere to strict rules about wording, and announcers had to be careful not to show a preference for one over another with their tone of voice.
Nation among nations
Radio gave Icelanders a chance to imagine the kind of nation they wanted to be and served as a platform for creating it. “Among the scholars that helped establish the radio in 1930, there ruled a feeling that Iceland should be a nation among nations,” Haukur says. “There were two points of view. That Icelanders needed to safeguard their culture, but also that Iceland should be a modern nation.”
Haukur’s own show Víðsjá, one of RÚV’s longest-running, discusses both low and high culture, preparing shows on the newest literature, art, or music. Though it is an important platform for Icelandic artists to introduce their work to the public, it also explores international culture.
RÚV’s mandate of promoting the Icelandic language was never seen as contradictory to educating Icelanders about the outside world. A long-standing feature of Icelandic radio programming (and later television) was instruction in foreign languages. Ragnheiður tells me that Jón Hnefill Aðalsteinsson, a prominent scholar and folklorist, learned English from the radio while living in a remote part of North Iceland. “He sent Björn Bjarnason, the teacher, a letter in English. And Björn said it didn’t have a single mistake.”
Reaching for the moon
The establishment of a national television station in 1966 did not upset radio’s role in Icelandic society. This was partially because Icelandic television did not have the technology to broadcast live until 1971. “The radio continued to be immediate,” Haukur says. “It could be live. It could report on events right away. Television was always a step behind.”
Indeed, until 1983, the Icelandic television station took a month-long summer vacation in July, and until 1987, it broadcast only six days a week (when programming on Thursdays was finally introduced). Though an older medium, radio was cutting edge in comparison. “In 1969, there were special notices published in the papers explaining that Icelanders didn’t have the technology to broadcast live television so that they couldn’t show the moon landing. And the TV station was also on summer break, so the recordings weren’t even broadcast until the TV started up again. But there was a really fantastic and ambitious radio broadcast of the moon landing.”
Safe space
From 1930 to 1983, RÚV operated a single channel. After much demand from the public, a second channel was launched in 1983. RÚV only recently launched its third channel, RÚV núll (RÚV Zero) with programming largely targeted to a young audience.
Sunna Axels and Elín Elísabet Einarsdóttir host a feminist talk show on the channel called Smá pláss (A Little Space). They invite specialists to discuss various topics related to feminism in an informal setting. “We wanted it to be relaxed and cosy as if you were just listening in on a conversation between friends who are interested in the same topics, and not necessarily an interview,” Elín tells me.
The two say radio has many advantages as a medium for difficult topics like abuse and discrimination. “Having it on the radio, there’s a lot less pressure,” says Sunna. “You can focus on what you’re saying instead of how you look or your body language. Sometimes I even forget we’re recording, especially when talking about personal experiences.”
“Since we’re talking about sensitive and personal topics, I think it’s a lot more comfortable when our faces aren’t immediately attached to them. Because we’re sharing so much, we can be a little bit behind the curtain,” Elín adds. “After some episodes, I’m totally drained. But I imagine there are women out there who are listening and hear us talk about something they have experienced and feel validated. I have experienced that myself, and if we can do that for other women, that’s the dream.”
A common thread
Icelanders are now more plugged in than ever, and many consume more media from abroad than from their home country, including when it comes to podcasts and radio. This means the national radio has more competition than ever. While keeping listeners interested will require continued effort, for the moment, RÚV still serves as a unifying thread among Icelanders. “I think there’s a certain kind of togetherness in the radio,” Elín reflects. “Because it’s accessible no matter where you are. It’s something you can have in common with anyone else in Iceland, no matter where they are or where they’re from. It’s a part of some kind of basic national spirit. Like on Christmas Eve. My mom always puts on Channel 1 to hear the bells ring in Christmas.”
