Forty years ago, squatters in Copenhagen set up the “free zone” of Christiania inside an old military base. The main drag is now a drug market called Pusher Street. But against all odds, and with a little help from the establishment, Christiania is doing just fine.
Last June the British lifestyle magazine Monocle called
Copenhagen “the World’s Most Livable City.” It cited Copenhagen’s “world
class design, gastronomy, culture, innovative city planning, and green
sustainable lifestyle.” There is not much rotten in Denmark these days,
and it’s hard not to love Copenhagen. Bicycles and pedestrians rule the
streets, and the human beings mostly look as if they stepped out of a
fashion magazine.
But there is another city within Copenhagen—the infamous “free town” of Christiania—and I couldn’t help but wonder how it might rate by Monocle’s high-minded, modernist criteria. Christiania is the 84-acre anarchic enclave founded in 1971 when a brigade of young squatters and artists took over an abandoned military base on the edge of town and proclaimed it a “free zone” beyond the reach of Danish law. They christened it Christiania (it’s in the borough called Christianshaven). Christiania is still in full swing with about 900 residents, some of them third generation, and it’s perhaps the largest and longest-lasting commune in history. To enter it you pass under a sign that reads, “You Are Now Leaving the European Union.” The people of Christiania fly their own flag and use their own currency.
I first went to Copenhagen in 1972. The youth movement was in full bloom. Even the soldiers had long hair. When I heard about Christiania, a neighborhood that had just been “liberated” and was now a commune where you could squat for free and do almost anything you liked, I headed right over.
There was a bit of East Village to it all, but the
attitude was more determined. Thousands of young Danes—artists,
feminists, hippies, anarchists—were turning their back on straight
society and had actually conquered a part of town, were holding it, and
were living there for free beyond the law. This was heady stuff back
then. Christiania even had a mission statement: “to be a self-governing
society . . . self-sustaining . . . and aspiring to avert psychological
and physical destitution.” The possession of private property was
thought to be immoral.
Back then, a walk through Christiania (no cars, of course) was mesmerizing. Everyone was young. There was a lot of hair. I’d seen American hippies, but the ones here were a bit more stylish—chic even—especially the girls, barefoot in their face paint and peasant dresses. People set up stands to sell macrobiotic food and Third World jewelry and beads, but the main attraction was the hashish. If people were not selling it or smoking it, they were bent over busily crumbling it into small pieces, mixing it with tobacco, and rolling joints. Its sweet smell was everywhere.
The free town seemed more a festival to me than a society. I could not imagine it lasting. People would flock there for a while, I knew, but criminal elements, motorcycle gangs, and party people, the usual potpourri of miscreants, would surely soon outnumber the idealists. The locusts would come, as they did in Haight-Ashbury. Inevitably, the government would forcibly close it down. Obviously I didn’t know the Danes.
I went back to Copenhagen for a visit this summer. I was curious about Christiania. It was 42 years old now. What had it become? The long, beautiful summer days made it the perfect time to find out.
But there is another city within Copenhagen—the infamous “free town” of Christiania—and I couldn’t help but wonder how it might rate by Monocle’s high-minded, modernist criteria. Christiania is the 84-acre anarchic enclave founded in 1971 when a brigade of young squatters and artists took over an abandoned military base on the edge of town and proclaimed it a “free zone” beyond the reach of Danish law. They christened it Christiania (it’s in the borough called Christianshaven). Christiania is still in full swing with about 900 residents, some of them third generation, and it’s perhaps the largest and longest-lasting commune in history. To enter it you pass under a sign that reads, “You Are Now Leaving the European Union.” The people of Christiania fly their own flag and use their own currency.
I first went to Copenhagen in 1972. The youth movement was in full bloom. Even the soldiers had long hair. When I heard about Christiania, a neighborhood that had just been “liberated” and was now a commune where you could squat for free and do almost anything you liked, I headed right over.
There was a bit of East Village to it all, but the
attitude was more determined. Thousands of young Danes—artists,
feminists, hippies, anarchists—were turning their back on straight
society and had actually conquered a part of town, were holding it, and
were living there for free beyond the law. This was heady stuff back
then. Christiania even had a mission statement: “to be a self-governing
society . . . self-sustaining . . . and aspiring to avert psychological
and physical destitution.” The possession of private property was
thought to be immoral.Back then, a walk through Christiania (no cars, of course) was mesmerizing. Everyone was young. There was a lot of hair. I’d seen American hippies, but the ones here were a bit more stylish—chic even—especially the girls, barefoot in their face paint and peasant dresses. People set up stands to sell macrobiotic food and Third World jewelry and beads, but the main attraction was the hashish. If people were not selling it or smoking it, they were bent over busily crumbling it into small pieces, mixing it with tobacco, and rolling joints. Its sweet smell was everywhere.
The free town seemed more a festival to me than a society. I could not imagine it lasting. People would flock there for a while, I knew, but criminal elements, motorcycle gangs, and party people, the usual potpourri of miscreants, would surely soon outnumber the idealists. The locusts would come, as they did in Haight-Ashbury. Inevitably, the government would forcibly close it down. Obviously I didn’t know the Danes.
I went back to Copenhagen for a visit this summer. I was curious about Christiania. It was 42 years old now. What had it become? The long, beautiful summer days made it the perfect time to find out.
Christiania has grown up to be a cool, verdant little village in a
corner of Copenhagen. I had underestimated the work ethic and the
diligence of the Danes. They have built an entire settlement of spare,
humble, Hobbit-like homes that surrounds a lake and runs along gravel
paths and cobblestone roads that wind through woods to the seaside.
Older buildings have been restored and are often covered in murals.
There are bars, cafés, grocery shops, a huge building-supply store, a
museum, art galleries, a concert hall, a skateboard park, a recycling
center, even a recording studio (inside a shipping container). I noticed
electric hand dryers in a café bathroom. Buildings had satellite
dishes. Children rode around on multicolored bikes and groups of young
tourists wandered the streets in short pants, sandals, and black
hoodies.
Christiania is now the second most popular tourist site in Copenhagen, right after nearby Tivoli Gardens, with up to a million visitors a year. Even elementary-school groups come see it. The main drag is “Pusher Street,” the biggest hash market on the planet. Some 40 shops there run 24/7, selling 30 to 40 different brands of hashish. No doctor’s prescription needed.
Cannabis is officially illegal in Denmark but has been tolerated and sold openly in Christiania all along. Police estimate that sales amount to around $150 million a year. Pusher Street overwhelms whatever else you might see in Christiania. Imagine a quaint small town with a strip mall of 40 liquor stores at its center. Cannabis runs deep in the Christiania DNA, but it has been at a price. Gone are the hippie dealers with flowers in their hair. Now it’s skinheads with pit bulls. Folks like the Hells Angels (always a hippie buzz kill) control the business now. This has all led to crackdowns, violence, calls for eviction, and a generalized sense of intimidation in the neighborhood.
Christiania is now the second most popular tourist site in Copenhagen, right after nearby Tivoli Gardens, with up to a million visitors a year. Even elementary-school groups come see it. The main drag is “Pusher Street,” the biggest hash market on the planet. Some 40 shops there run 24/7, selling 30 to 40 different brands of hashish. No doctor’s prescription needed.
Cannabis is officially illegal in Denmark but has been tolerated and sold openly in Christiania all along. Police estimate that sales amount to around $150 million a year. Pusher Street overwhelms whatever else you might see in Christiania. Imagine a quaint small town with a strip mall of 40 liquor stores at its center. Cannabis runs deep in the Christiania DNA, but it has been at a price. Gone are the hippie dealers with flowers in their hair. Now it’s skinheads with pit bulls. Folks like the Hells Angels (always a hippie buzz kill) control the business now. This has all led to crackdowns, violence, calls for eviction, and a generalized sense of intimidation in the neighborhood.
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