Norrmalmstorgssyndromet.

THE SEYSHANK REDEMPTION - DAY #10 AND #11

In 1973 a guy called Jan-Erik Olsson, who was a convict on parole, tried to rob the Kreditbanken in Stockholm. The robbery went wrong. Stuck in the bank and surrounded by armed police, Jan-Erik took four bank employees hostage and held them in one of the bank’s vaults. He then negotiated the release of his friend Clark Olofsson from prison, to give him some help!

Jan-Erik and Clark held the hostages for six days. Finally, the siege ended and it soon become clear that none of the hostages were prepared to give evidence against their captors. Instead, they raised money for their defence!

The hostages were held for six days in the bank's vault. Photo: Jan Antonin Kolar.

This is of course is the famous ‘Stockholm syndrome’. (Apparently, there are fifteen movies about this story - I didn’t know that.)

“Stockholm syndrome has been defined as a condition in which hostages develop a psychological alliance with their captors during captivity. Emotional bonds may be formed between captor and captives, during intimate time together, but these are generally considered irrational in light of the danger or risk endured by the victims.” - Wikipedia

It was Nils Bejerot, a Swedish criminologist and psychiatrist who studied the victims and came up with the term ‘Norrmalmstorgssyndromet.’ 

Now, like me, I know you are wondering what that means. (Unless you are Swedish.) Well, readers, through the wonders of Google I have discovered that it means ‘Norrmalmstorg syndrome’. You see, the bank was based in Norrmalmstorg Square in Stockholm. Given this is not a particularly catchy name, it quickly became known as ‘Stockholm syndrome’. (I challenge you to try and say 'Norrmalmstorgssyndromet' after even just two light lagers.)

Now I’m not trying to tell you that due to my obligatory incarceration (which I hasten to add I don’t object to) I am developing Stockholm syndrome.

But what I will say is that I can see how such a condition arises. You see at the outset here my guards and nurses were quite formal with me. Each day they come to our rooms, morning and evening, to take our temperature. They come three times a day to deliver our meals. Also to ask if we have rubbish, or to give us fresh towels. At the start, they were quite stand-offish.

However, as the days have gone by, we’ve developed a connection. Even though we lack the body language a human visage gives us (due to our masks), we have built a relationship.

Most of the guards/nurses are from Kenya. As it happens, I was born in Kenya and lived in East Africa for my first 20 years. A big chunk of my identity lies in my love of East Africa, and Kenya in particular. A happy childhood in Africa does that to you. (Those who, like me, spent their early years overseas will know what I mean.)

So, as you can imagine, I have fertile territory with which to connect with my captors.

I speak a few words of Swahili - so I banter with them in Swahili. (The meals are always the same choice - chicken or fish - but they now ask me kuku au samaki.) I play them my favourite Swahili music; I even gave them a rendition of the Kenyan national anthem. (We sang it at assembly every day at school.) I ask them if I can get a Tusker beer or some pombe.

Then we laugh together. They are no doubt a bit flummoxed by me, but at least we have that common ground, we understand many of the same things; and there is now a relationship between us. We are not guards and inmates; we are fellow human beings who just happen to be thrown together in an odd situation at a very odd time. 

"Maybe it was a Patty Hearst thing. Stockholm syndrome or whatever it's called when you are being held against your will but then you become sucked in and fall in love. Or if not exactly love, you fall into something you can't see out of. 'I can't shoot a machine gun' becomes 'Hey, this hardly has any kick-back!'" - Augusten Burroughs.

LOL.

So, when I get out of here folks - one thing's for sure - I’m not turning state’s evidence.

It’s the end of day eleven. I have only four more days. Well, three really, as I get out on the morning of day fourteen. Homestretch. A nice cold G and T with a slice of lime beckons.

I’ll be back tomorrow.

Note: For the first 69 working days of lockdown, I sent an all-staff 'Good morning' email to my 90 Union colleagues. I then paused. This is an edited version of a 'good morning' message whilst I was in quarantine in the Seychelles. I have published other emails on Linkedin, should you be interested.