At genkende et sted
Recognising a place
FOR FORTÆLLING
Rasmus er opvokset på Nørrebro, forankret i Mjølnerparken både i sit professionelle- og privatliv. Hans refleksioner giver et sjældent og vigtigt perspektiv på kvarterets udvikling: et, der forbinder historie, erfaring og social forandring.
Hans fortælling kredser om tilknytning, retfærdighed og det uerstattelige i at have et sted, man hører til. Gennem hans fortælling bliver det tydeligt, hvordan ry og fordomme kan hænge ved fra fortiden og forme både et sted og dets beboere. Det er en kærlig påmindelse om, at bag myterne om Mjølnerparken findes mennesker, bånd og minder, der ikke kan rives ned
PREFACE
Rasmus grew up in Nørrebro, with roots in Mjølnerparken both personally and professionally. His reflections offer a rare and important perspective on the neighborhood’s development; one that weaves together history, lived experience, and social change.
His story revolves around belonging, justice, and the irreplaceable value of having a place to call home. Through his words, it becomes clear how reputation and prejudice can linger from the past, shaping both a place and the people who live there. It stands as a gentle reminder that behind the myths about Mjølnerparken lie people, relationships, and memories that cannot be torn down.
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Dansk
Rasmus, vil du fortælle om dit perspektiv på Mjølnerparken – både fra din barndom i området og gennem vores samarbejde og dit møde med de unge der er vokset op i Mjølnerparken?
Ja, altså… Nu er jeg jo gammel– jeg er næsten 40 år. Så det er jo mange år siden, at jeg voksede op i Nordvest og Mjølnerparken. Dengang var det et meget mere lukket område. København generelt var meget anderledes. Der var slet ikke lige så mange busser, der kørte rundt, og der var ikke nogen metro, så der var rigtig mange områder, der var lidt mere ‘dødt land’. Der var meget industri herude i Nordvest og på Nørrebro, i udkanten, så om aftenen lukkede alt ned. Mjølnerparken var på en eller anden måde sådan en blok, der lå lige på hjørnet ned til togskinnerne, og det var et afskåret område. Og dengang var der en masse rødder, der kom derinde og boede derinde, og der var et lidt hårdere miljø dengang, fordi politiet kunne slet ikke komme derind rigtigt. Når der så var et eller andet, der blev lavet, så var det der, hvor folk – ligesom ved Blågårds og alle mulige andre steder, – så søgte folk tilflugt derinde og kørte ind på de små stier. Og jeg kan huske, da jeg var lille, når man mødte nogen, der kom fra Mjølnerparken, så var der bare en chance for, at de var lidt mere vant til ballade, end vi andre, kan man sige.
Men efter byfornyelsen kom, sammen med metroen, for mange, mange år siden – over 20 år siden – så åbnede hele byen op. Nørrebro blev meget mere et familie-centralt punkt, hvor der var masser af transport hver dag. Mjølnerparken lå ned til sporet, hvor der også blev lavet parker, og Mimersparken kom, som også var en kæmpe ændring for Mjølnerparken, til at starte med. Og efter det, fandt jeg ud af, at det slet ikke var lige så hårdt, det miljø, der rodfæstede sig. De hårde miljøer rykkede også ud til forstæderne, og alt muligt andet, i takt med byfornyelsen. Så Mjølnerparken blev et stille og roligt sted, hvor man bare voksede op, og som var normalt, og som var en blok.
Og så fandt man jo ud af, at siden de har haft den lange historie, så har der også været et kæmpe tæt tilknytningsforhold mellem folk. Alle familierne har kendt hinanden. Siden har vi begyndte at arbejde dernede– De er jo også nogle generationer yngre end mig, de unge, vi arbejder med. Så man kan godt se, hvad der skete i de 20 år. Hvad der skete med stedet og mentaliteten, unge på arbejdsmarkedet, og… Jeg blev rigtig overrasket over, hvor store tilknytninger folk havde til det sted, og hvor mange familier, der boede der og kendte hinanden gennem rigtig mange år, flere generationer, og hvor hyggeligt det var.
Jeg er helt enig i Københavns beslutning om, at det sted skulle åbnes lidt mere op. Det er fantastisk, at der er kommet en park på hver side, fordi det er blevet meget mindre indelukket, og meget mere steder, du går rundt og hygger, og basketbanerne og alle de her ting. Det er virkelig fantastisk. At man slussede folk så hårdt ud og gjorde så stort et problem ud af det, var svært. Fordi det miljø, man havde derinde, var virkelig specielt. Så det har været fantastisk at lære alle de her unger at kende, og se hvad i gør det til i dag, og hvordan i sådan hjælper folk med at huske den gamle kultur, der har været, og hjælper folk med at lave en ny kultur, og sørge for, at der er muligheder for de unge, og man kan komme tilbage til det sted, hvor man voksede op, og stadig have en tilknytning, og være en del af et miljø. Det synes jeg bare er skønt og meget, ja, ‘wholesome’. Hvad kan man kalde det på dansk? [Griner.] Ja.
Da du nu begyndte at høre nogle af de her historier – fra de unge, eller fra nogle andre, som bor i Mjølnerparken – er der så nogle af dem, som du særligt kan huske, eller gjorde indtryk på dig?
Den kedelige del var noget, der gjorde størst indtryk på mig. Det er jo tit nogle negative ting, desværre. Og det var, at da drengene skulle søge arbejde, så havde de svært ved at sige, at de kom fra Mjølnerparken. Så sagde de tit, at de kom fra et andet sted. Og det der, det gjorde mig ked af det. Fordi at, ja, det kan da godt være, at du kommer fra et sted, hvor der var nogle rødder. Men vi ved jo alle sammen godt, at det altid kun er 5% af en gruppe, der er nogle rigtige rødder. Resten er jo stille og rolige. Så det var bare forfærdeligt at høre, at de havde fået så dårligt et rygte ude i byen, og at racismen havde spredt sig til det punkt, hvor de faktisk ikke måtte sige, hvor de kom fra. Det synes jeg var lamslåede, fordi at de her drenge er nogle virkelig gode drenge. Hvis du kommer fra Brøndby, så kender du altså også nogle rødder. Jeg kommer fra Nordvestkvarteret – jeg kender altså også nogle rødder. Det er bare for at sige, der er jo rødder alle steder. Så at de skulle være så hårdt udsat for det, bare fordi de kom fra et sted, som faktisk er et rigtig hyggeligt sted, det gjorde stort indtryk på mig. Så ville man bare hjælpe dem ekstra meget, fordi det skal i fandme ikke leve med det der. Det er sindssygt uretfærdigt. Og det er ikke okay fra Danmarks side af, at give folk sådan et rygte, på et sted, du er født og du ikke kan gøre for. Det er helt underligt.
Men jeg vil sige, bare det at høre deres kreative drømme, og høre dem snakke om, hvordan det også var at miste sit fødested, det er jo enormt…– Hvis man skal se på Danmark, så er der rigtig mange, der snakker om den debat lige nu, med vindmøller og solceller, og det at miste sit tilhørssted. Og jeg kan godt forstå grundpsykologisk, hvor hårdt det er. Man skal bare vide, at man udsætter rigtig mange mennesker for det her, i rigtig mange lag. Og det tror jeg også gør, at de her unge følte så meget for det sted. Fordi man har tit tænkt, ‘åh, det er et skod socialt byggeri’. Men uanset hvor du vokser op, så er det skod socialt byggeri, dit skod socialt byggeri. Jeg voksede op ude i Kantorparken. Når jeg er derhjemme, så føler jeg mig tryg. I de der skod blokke, hvor narkomanerne plejede at bo, og der var vold og råb, og bla bla bla. Men det var også bare der, hvor vi boede, og havde et community, der hvor jeg kommer fra. Så jeg kender jo alle lydene, jeg kender alle hjørnerne, jeg kender alle statuerne. Jeg kender alt. Og jeg føler mig helt tryg der. Og det er jo en sindssygt vigtig tanke at have med, og det, at i har gjort så meget ud af at fortælle omkring de her steder. Det har virkelig rørt mig dybt.
Du har snakket lidt omkring fællesskab, men da du mødte de her unge første gang, kunne du mærke det fællesskab, de havde?
Ja! Jeg kunne klart mærke deres fællesskab. De er jo en meget fasttømret gruppe, og man kan se, at – fordi man alle sammen kan kigge ned i den samme gård, og man har haft så stor omgang nede i gården, og det er et miljø, der har været tæt på hinanden, familiært, med de forskellige familier, man har kendt hinanden. Så de drenge og piger, der går derned, de kender hinanden ind og ud. Det er ligesom en stor folkeskole, nærmest, i gården. Vi har ikke selv bestemt det, men i ni år, går vi bare op ad hinanden, og alle generationer går og kigger på hinanden. Så de små drenge går og kigger på de store drenge, og de små piger går og kigger på de store piger. Så alle ved, hvem alle er, i en eller anden forstand. Og det kan selvfølgelig være lidt stress. Nu kommer jeg ikke selv fra en lille landsby, hvor det var sådan – men der er også en enorm tryghed. Nu har jeg boet på Christiania, og det der med, at man hilser på hinanden, og faktisk ved, hvem hinanden er, når man går forbi hinanden på gaden, det gør jo, at det er et sted, jeg søger tilbage til, fordi det er på en eller anden måde min anden familie. Når min egen familie svigter, så har jeg et andet netværk, som kender mig igennem 25 år. Og det betyder noget, i en dag, hvor sociale medier, og overflade, fylder mere og mere. Så de her ægte relationer, og ægte følelser, det kan vi jo ikke slippe fra. Vi er jo nogle dyr, lige meget hvor kloge vi bliver. Så vi har nogle instinkter og nogle behov.
Jeg har ikke stødt på så fasttømret og kærligt et miljø mange steder i Danmark– slet ikke i Danmark, faktisk. Det var ret inspirerende at møde, og se hvordan de holder hinanden oppe, og stadig er venner og kender hinanden. Der kommer færre konfrontationer, på en eller anden måde også, fordi man har hele tiden hinanden, eller man kender hinandens mor. Så der er jo ikke nogen, der får bank nede i en parkeringskælder. Tværtimod får du at vide, at ‘hey, hvis du ikke tager dig sammen, så siger vi til din mor, at du er ude og skide’. [Griner.] Så der er rigtig mange fordele, at man gør det sådan her.
Jeg mødte det lidt over i Aarhus også, i Jylland – der er det også mere lokalt, end det er her i København. Så det var sjovt at møde det lokale miljø i København – så fasttømret. Og virkelig en smuk ting. Jeg kan godt forstå folk, der ikke har det, bliver skræmt af det, eller bliver misundelige i en eller anden grad. Fordi det er virkelig nogle stærke bånd, man knytter, som ikke bare lige kan brydes. Fordi vi er fra det samme sted, vi er fra den samme tribe, vi har haft den samme konflikt. Vi kender hinanden. Vi kan ikke slås indbyrdes. Ja. Det er stærkt.
Er der noget andet, du synes, at folk udefra burde kende til omkring livet i Mjølnerparken?
Ja– Nu startede jeg med at fortælle noget fra den negative del, og man kan sige, jeg tror, at manges forestilling om Mjølnerparken er, at der måske bor nogen, som udnytter nogen andre. Det er jo tit sådan, med kriminelle i et område, der sælger hash – det gør noget ved et miljø. Og mange folk har en forestilling om, at det var sådan i Mjølnerparken for 25 år siden, og det var det jo også lidt. Men i de 25 år, er der sket så meget. Og de mennesker, der er her nu, er på ingen måde skadende for deres miljø. Tværtimod, der er jo enormt mange grillaftener. [Griner.] Der er enormt meget sammenhold, at være hjemme hos hinanden, og hvis den ene familie ikke kan, så hjælper de andre med at passe børnene her, og bla bla bla. Det var sådan et miljø, der i virkeligheden var, som man finder ud af.
Så man kan sige, jeg tror, at den vigtigste fortælling fra Mjølnerparken er, at engang var det lidt hårdere, men det er godt nok lang tid siden. Og de generationer, der kom efter, havde virkelig et stort behov for også at ændre deres kultur, fra den kultur, der var engang, fordi de blev mega stigmatiserede af det. Og så endte det med at blive et vildt fedt gårdmiljø, der betød sindssygt meget for mange.
Jeg tror, at folks fordomme kommer til at falde enormt hurtigt. Hvis de tager ned på Café 30 i dag, og snakker med de unge dernede, og ser hvordan det er, og jeres fotoudstilling, der kommer op nu, når de ser den, og får hørt, hvad for et fantastisk område det er , så tror jeg , det hjælper med at fortælle den historie, som burde have blevet fortalt meget mere. At det var familier, der hjalp hinanden, og kendte hinanden, og som havde det godt sammen.
English
Rasmus, would you tell us about your perspective on Mjølnerparken – both from your childhood in the area, and through our collaboration and your encounters with the young people who grew up there?
Yeah, well… I’m old now – almost forty. So it’s many years ago that I grew up in Nordvest and around Mjølnerparken. Back then, it was a much more closed-off area. Copenhagen in general was very different. There weren’t nearly as many buses, and there was no metro, so a lot of areas were sort of ‘dead zones’. There was a lot of industry out here in Nordvest and on the outskirts of Nørrebro, so in the evenings everything just shut down. Mjølnerparken, in a way, was this block sitting right by the train tracks, a bit cut off from the rest. At the time, a lot of rough guys lived there, and it was a tougher environment back then because the police couldn’t really get in there properly. So when something happened – like in Blågårds or other similar areas – people would take refuge there and drive down the small paths. I remember when I was little, when you met someone who was from Mjølnerparken, there was just this sense that they were a bit more used to trouble than the rest of us.
But after urban renewal came, which came along with the metro, many, many years ago – over twenty years now – the whole city opened up. Nørrebro became much more family-centered, with transport running all the time, every day. Mjølnerparken sat right by the tracks, which is also where they built the new parks, like Mimersparken which was a huge change for the area at the beginning. After that, I realized it wasn’t nearly as rough a place anymore. The tougher environments moved out toward the suburbs as the city was redeveloped. So Mjølnerparken became a calm, ordinary place to grow up; just another block.
And then, over time, we came to understand that the area had its long history, so the people who had lived there also had very strong attachments to each other. All the families have known each other for generations. When we started working there– They are also a few generations younger than me, the youth we work with. You could really see what had changed in those twenty years. What had happened to the place, to people’s mindsets, to young people entering the job market, and… I was honestly surprised by how deep people’s attachment to the place was, and by how many families had lived there and known each for so many years, across several generations, and by how warm and welcoming it felt.
I completely agree with the city’s decision to open the area up more. It’s wonderful that there’s now a park on each side, because it feels so much less closed off, much more open and inviting. The basketball courts, the green spaces, all those things, they’re really fantastic to walk around and enjoy. But the way people were forced out, and the scale of the problem they made it into – that was hard. Because the community that existed there was really something special. It’s been amazing to get to know all these young people, to see what you’re doing with it today, and how you’re helping people remember the old culture that once was, while also building a new one. Making sure there are opportunities for young people, and that you can come back to the place you grew up and still feel connected, still be part of that community. I think that’s wonderful, and very, well, wholesome.
When you started hearing some of the stories – from the young people or others living in Mjølnerparken – are there any that you particularly remember, or that especially stuck with you?
The sad part was really what made the biggest impression on me. And that was that when the boys had to apply for jobs, they found it hard to say that they were from Mjølnerparken. So they often said they were from somewhere else. And that made me sad. Because sure, maybe you come from a place where there’ve been some rough types. But we all know it’s only ever about 5% who genuinely cause trouble. The rest are just normal, peaceful people. So it was awful to hear that they had gotten such a bad reputation in town – that the racism had spread to the point where they couldn’t disclose where they came from anymore. That utterly stunned me, because those guys are some really good kids. If you’re from Brøndby, you know some rough types too. I’m from Nordvest – I know some rough types myself. The point is: there are rough people everywhere. So that they had to be so harshly judged just because they came from a place that’s actually a really nice place. That left a big impression on me. It’s insanely unfair. And it’s not okay on Denmark’s part to give people that kind of reputation for a place you were born into, that you can’t do anything about. I haven’t come across such a close-knit and loving community in many places in Denmark. Not anywhere in Denmark, actually. It was really inspiring to meet them and see how they lift each
But I’d also say, hearing about their creative dreams, and hearing them talk about how it felt to lose their birthplace… – that’s powerful. It’s very human. Just looking at Denmark, there are a lot of debates right now about wind turbines and solar farms, and what it means to lose your place of belonging. I completely get it, on a psychological level. It’s hard. But people need to realize that this displacement of community is something we already expose a lot of people to, across a lot of different layers. I think that’s why these young people feel so strongly about Mjølnerparken. Because people have always thought, ‘Oh, it’s just a crappy social housing project’. But no matter where you grow up, that crappy social housing project is your crappy social housing project. I grew up out in Kantorparken. When I’m there, I feel safe. In those run-down blocks where there used to be addicts and shouting and violence, etc.. But we also lived there; it was our home, and we had a community. Its where I come from. So I know every sound, every corner, every little statue. I know it all in and out. And I feel completely safe there. And that’s a seriously important thing to understand. And the fact that you’ve done so much to tell these stories, that really moves me.
You’ve talked a bit about community, but when you met these young people for the first time, could you feel that sense of togetherness?
Yeah! Absolutely. They’re a really tight-knit group. And you can see why. Everyone can look down into the same courtyard. People have spent so much time together down there. It’s a close, family-like environment. Everyone knows everyone. Those boys and girls down there, they know each other inside out. It’s basically like one big elementary school in the courtyard; We might not have decided this for ourselves, but for the past nine years, we’ve grown up, side by side, watching each other. The little boys follow around and look up to the older boys, the little girls follow around and look up to the older girls. Everyone knows who everyone is, in some way. And sure, that can be intense sometimes. I didn’t grow up in a small village, but I can see how that same feeling of closeness creates real safety. I lived on Christiania for a while, and it’s the same kind of thing there – you greet people, you know who they are when you pass them. That makes it a place you want to return to. It’s like a second family. When your own family lets you down, you still have another network, of people who’ve known you for 25 years. And that matters, especially in a time where social media and surface-level connections dominate. These real relationships and real emotions – we can’t escape those. We’re still animals, no matter how clever we think we are. We have instincts, and needs.
I haven’t come across such a close-knit and loving community in many places in Denmark. Not anywhere in Denmark, actually. It was really inspiring to meet them and see how they lift each other up and are still friends, and still connected. There’s less confrontation that way too, because everyone knows everyone. Or they know each other’s moms! So no one’s getting beaten up in a parking basement. Instead, it’s “Hey, if you don’t get your act together, we’ll tell your mom you’re out messing around.” [Laughs.] So there are a lot of upsides to that kind of community.
I’ve seen a bit of it in Aarhus too, in Jutland – it’s more local there as well. But it was special to see that same kind of local spirit here in Copenhagen – so strong, so rooted. It’s a beautiful thing. And I can understand why people who don’t have that might be intimidated by it, or even a bit jealous. Because those are real, powerful bonds that can’t easily be broken. You’re from the same place, the same tribe. You know each other. You can’t fight each other. Yeah. It’s powerful.
Is there anything else you think outsiders should know about life in Mjølnerparken?
Well, I started out by talking about some of the negatives. And I think that’s part of what shapes most people’s ideas of Mjølnerparken – this old notion that people there were just taking advantage of others. You know, the whole ‘criminals selling hash’ thing. That kind of reputation affects a place. And sure, maybe 25 years ago, it was a bit like that. But that’s so long ago. Since then, so much has changed. The people living there now are in no way harmful to their environment. On the contrary, they are all about BBQ evenings. [Laughs.] It’s all about solidarity. It’s about families visiting each other and helping each other out; like if one family’s busy, others look after the kids, and all that. That’s the reality of the place – the reality you’ll find here.
So I think the most important story about Mjølnerparken is this: once upon a time, it was a littel rougher, but that is a long time ago. The generations that came after had a real need to redefine their culture, to distance themselves from what had been, because they were incredibly stigmatised by all of that. And what came out of that was this amazing courtyard community that means so much to so many.
I think people’s prejudices will fade quickly if they just come down to Café 30 today, talk to the young guys there, and see what it’s actually like. And with your photo exhibition coming up – when people see it, and hear these stories, I think it’ll help tell the story that should’ve been told long ago:
That Mjølnerparken was full of families who cared for each other, knew each other well, and thrived together.