A Rose March Without Roses

The editorial team had heard about a demonstration in Lillehammer. The tip came from a fairly anonymous Facebook group. The event was described as a rose march in support of the rule of law in Norway.

Since I happened to be in Lillehammer on another assignment anyway, we agreed that I should follow up the lead.

So I found myself sitting beside the River Mesna with a lukewarm soft drink in my hand while a man in a cowboy hat played country music on a steel guitar through a portable speaker. I was early, as I usually am. Experience suggests it generally pays off.

It had rained for most of the morning. It was the sort of weather that doesn't exactly make you look forward to attending a rose march for anything.

"Tonight the sky is full of stars," the musician suddenly bellowed.

It turned out he had a few Norwegian songs in his repertoire as well.

There were still twenty minutes until the demonstration was due to begin. I used the time to visit a public toilet and cast a glance up at the sky, which still looked determined to give the event a rather wet welcome.

The meeting point was Lilletorget, the town square. From here, the march was due to make its way to Søndre Park, passing through most of Lillehammer's pedestrian shopping street. The square is also home to the Mesna Bridge, a 7-Eleven, and a statue of the merchant Ludvig Wiese, who died in 1853.

I was curious to see how many people would turn up.

While I waited, young fathers pushed prams past me. Street vendors selling Klassekampen newspapers wheeled their trolleys home. Most people seemed finished with the day. The town was quietly changing into Saturday evening.

It occurred to me that perhaps the timing wasn't ideal.

Five minutes before the scheduled start, I still hadn't seen a single demonstrator.

Six o'clock arrived.

A few heavy raindrops began to fall.

Lillehammer, it seemed, had other plans.

Then two people appeared.

A woman with white tape across her mouth. Written on it, in large letters, was the word "SILENCE." Beside her stood a man carrying a document case.

That was all.

They waited for a few minutes.

Nobody else arrived.

Apart from the rain.

Then they started walking.

I followed behind them down the pedestrian street, effectively becoming the third—and perhaps the most confused—participant in the march.

The silent demonstration attracted limited attention. People walked past. A few glanced over. Most didn't even do that.

In Søndre Park, the third participant was waiting.

The woman with the tape over her mouth was called Line.

The man with the document case was Riccardo.

And the one waiting in the park was Ingar.

As it turned out, this was where the demonstration really began.

The three of them set up mobile phones and started recording video appeals.

This was about the rule of law.

About children telling stories they felt were not being taken seriously.

About people who speak out, only to find that it is the whistleblower who ends up being punished.

About a system they believed was protecting itself.

Line gave her speech first. She tore the tape from her mouth and asked what had happened to the rule of law. As a prop, she held a small Pippi Longstocking doll. Her message was simple:

The law should be the same for everyone.

Riccardo then read out a message of thanks, followed by an appeal to all those they had hoped would turn up.

Finally, it was Ingar's turn.

"What exactly is going on in this little country of ours?" he began. "I've been wondering that for a long time."

He questioned how some young people could accumulate long lists of criminal offences without the support services stepping in.

He wondered how Norway's child welfare services prioritise their resources.

He listed case after case that, in his view, illustrated failures in both the justice system and the public administration.

One thing there was certainly no shortage of was commitment.

Line lives in Lillehammer.

The other two travel the country in a motorhome and are planning similar events elsewhere in Norway.

The videos are uploaded online for anyone who wants to watch them.

Ingar spoke for a long time.

Longer than there's room for in this article.

But one quotation stayed with me.

He once found himself in a courtroom and noticed the words displayed behind the judge:

"With law shall the land be built, and not with lawlessness laid waste."

For him, that was what the whole issue came down to.

Eventually, the speeches came to an end.

Then another issue presented itself.

Hunger.

Riccardo fancied ordering pizza from a pizzeria.

But there had to be limits.

Ingar pointed out that they had an oven in the motorhome, and it ought to be put to use.

Line, being the local, offered her kitchen.

With that, the matter was settled.

They would buy pizza.

And bake it at her place.

In a way, it seemed like the most successful vote of the day.

I was invited along.

As the three demonstrators walked off towards their touring vehicle, the mood was noticeably lighter.

The sun had broken through the clouds again.

The speeches had been delivered.

Some of the pressure had been released.

I stayed behind on the bench.

With an invitation to pizza an hour later.

And with the feeling that I still hadn't quite grasped what I'd just witnessed.

I had no trouble seeing the commitment.

I understood that they wanted a justice system that worked as it was intended to work.

I understood that they believed the child welfare services were failing in serious cases.

I understood that they felt speaking out could have consequences for the whistleblower.

But I also understood that the distance between commitment and making an impact can be enormous.

Three people had turned up to protest what they see as serious systemic failures in the Kingdom of Norway.

Three people.

And now they were on their way to eat pizza.

I looked around for the roses that had given the event its name.

I still hadn't seen a single one.