Stieg Larsson, My Friend - Kurdo Baksi [26]
I immediately joined the awkward squad.
“I’m fed up with telephoning journalists. But the idea of setting up a centre is good – very good.”
“We need to get something in the newspapers.”
“How about writing a polemical article and asking the editors of the biggest dailies – Dagens Nyheter, Svenska Dagbladet, Expressen and Aftonbladet – to sign it and publish it the same day?”
“That sounds like a terrific idea.”
“And as you have no intention of signing it,” I said with a grin, “as a punishment you can write it.”
He roared with laughter.
“Well, I’ll be damned! Do you think they’ll play along?”
“It’s worth trying, don’t you think?”
I saw him eyeing the new computer my secretary, Luciana, had bought the previous day.
“If you can get all the editors-in-chief on board,” he said, rising to his feet, “I’ll provide you with the best text I’ve ever written.”
The very next minute I heard him tapping away at the keyboard as if his life depended on it.
Even if Stieg was always most upset when somebody else had been threatened, there is no getting away from the fact that he himself was more vulnerable than anyone. The worst thing from his point of view was not how he was affected, but what effect his being affected had on his partner, Eva. When we heard that a woman with clear neo-Nazi links and her 23-year-old son had collected passport photographs of him, Eva and me, the situation became even more serious. The same people had acquired passport photographs of Peter and his partner, Katarina, before they had been car-bombed.
We realized that we needed to take measures to increase our security. The problem for Stieg was that he had an ambivalent relationship with the police, which was not difficult to understand. He was forced to ask them for help, but at the same time he was always criticizing the way they carried out their duties.
In all the conversations we had about the threats we received, he stressed that it was Eva he was concerned about. She was his lifeline, and he insisted that he would never forgive himself if she was affected by something that could be traced back to his anti-racist activities.
I often suggested that they should go away for a holiday when things became too strained, but every time he just shook his head.
I have a particular memory of our countless discussions about the threats we faced. We had been talking for an unusually long time and eventually came round to the same old conclusion: I had proposed that we should lie low for a while, and suggested yet again that he and Eva should go away for a week or two. This time he actually said that he would talk to her about the situation. He didn’t fancy it himself, but perhaps it would be good for her to get away.
When we said goodbye on the stone steps down to the front door, Stieg turned to me and said, “If only you knew the danger you and I are in.”
That was all. We nodded to each other and he vanished into the dark street.
Two days later Stieg was guilty of professional misconduct at T.T. He wrote about the neo-Nazi threats aimed at himself and three colleagues at Expo.
Obviously, Stieg knew all the rules governing news journalism like the back of his hand. Even so, his text lacked the neutrality, impartiality and relevance required of a professional journalist. He actually went so far as to interview his own editor at Expo. He was aware, of course, that it was wrong of him to write about threats aimed at himself and his colleagues.
I was extremely upset. Obviously I knew the pressure he was under – he had just resigned from T.T., and would soon receive two years’ salary. Moreover, nobody else had noticed his violation of the rules. But that is what it was and I thought it unworthy of him.
I wept over my friend’s error.
6
The infiltrator
Parties and party leaders can and should disagree about most factual matters in this world of ours. This is one of the rules of the game where democracy is concerned. Politics