Hyper Island

Hyper Island, Doors and that Elevator

On Monday we had to leave the hotel at 8 O’clock in the morning take the metro and go to Hyper Island. I am terrible with geography in general and directions in particular. And I often leave a bit later than the group as I spend my lovely mornings replying to work emails.

Diala Chehade was still in the lobby. She was my Saviour on couple of ocasions, not only with directions but with other things as well. We went together to Hyper Island. In Sweden something that strikes you is the way that the infrastructure has been adapted to the needs of the disabled.

Doors, elevators, metro stations, hotels, restaurants, toilets, streets and traffic lights, everything is designed and well thought out. It is striking. Standing there, I felt how seriously damaged both I and my country are.

A Lebanese female friend was married to a Paraguayan man. He died, she came back home to Lebanon with three children. Two of them had physical disabilities. Samar my friend, could not grant her children Lebanese nationality. Women cannot grant their children their homeland nationality, even if the children were born on Lebanese soil. We claim to be a very progressive country. We are in comparison to the misery surrounding us nevertheless that does not mean ours is not a progressive misery.

It is a fact that Lebanon regularly suffers from electricity shortages, small wars from time to time, a big war every couple of years, in addition to political assassinations, financial crises, and traffic jams but hey it is our country. It is not a pair of old shoes. You cannot throw it away or replace it. It is our homeland. And Samar is a Lebanese citizen who has three children for whom she has to pay their yearly residence fees. They have no right to free medical care in the same way that other Lebanese citizens with special needs have. She has to pay for expensive long term treatments and rehabilitation. If she had a penis the children would have been Lebanese citizens. But she does not have a penis and here I am standing at a traffic light that is prepared with sound equipment for the visually impaired. I can only wish Samar had a penis, or different laws. If only she had the choice.

I arrived at a building where on the fourth floor is situated a progressive academy called Hyper Island. I had previously visited their website and I knew that the building was a former jail. So I expected a poorly renovated structure. But it was not. The main entrance door, the elevator, the fourth floor door to Hyper Island, the toilets and everything else were quipped for the disabled.

Hyper Island staff included black, disabled, Muslims, gays and immigrants among other minorities. And they all snack on fruit, this is too much. I am panicked, I wanted to catch the first flight and go back to “normal” to Lebanon, Darfur or Damascus anywhere but not here. I thought to myself this could not be true. Javerria has planned this. The Swedish Institute is throwing a perfect image in my face. It has to be a conspiracy; Abou Walid is right after all.

Happily I did not catch a plane. Javerria was innocent. The Swedish Institute was innocent. This is, in fact, the real Sweden, and they are real people.
Do not be fooled by the name itself. The name Hyper Island in itself defies definition. Its central point is to challenge orthodox educational systems. Its guiding focus is challenging it in a spirit of fun, entertainment and enquiry towards a final goal of personal growth.

Hyperlove - The Story Behind The Wall from Johan Blomborg on Vimeo.

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Hyper Island is a fascinating learning-teaching experience. The whole structure, the staff, the programs and the students are breathtaking. The percentage of HI graduates who find employment is ninety five percent. They even have hyper babies as I was told.

They are thinking in opening up in Beirut or maybe in Dubai. Beirut is the right place; it remains being the cultural and educational capital for the Arab world. The biggest target group for Hyper Island is in Beirut. Sure, they have big number of potential students in Dubai. Those will come to Beirut but not vice versa.

My last day on Hyper Island was on 12th of June 2009. It was a long day as we were preparing the presentations for our projects. I left the facility around 10 O’clock in the evening. My team work was interrupted by outside smoking breaks.

Going out for a smoke, and while in the elevator a 23 year old Swedish guy asked for a light. We stood outside smoking a cigarette, discussing briefly some life issues. We ended up, later that night, having some whisky and I started to see Sweden from a different standpoint. That night I made a lifelong friend with whom I will be working in Lebanon on an image project about the country through Swedish Eyes next week.

Later on tonight I will say more about the friend, the project and Sweden through his eyes.

(By the way the metaphor about countries not being like an old pair of shoes, is not necessarily a comment on the fact that Mark walks around barefoot. Similarly it carries no implications regarding his complex relationship with Ireland his “homeland”!)

The Swedish Participants

“The Swedish Participants”

We headed back to Stockholm in a Bus. We checked in at Morington Hotel again. Since we arrived to Sweden four human beings, names; Rami Abed Al Rahman, Hanna Larsson, Nadia Jebril and Olof Jonsoon joined us in the program. We referred to them and they referred to themselves as “The Swedish Participants”.

Nadia Jebril was born and brought up in Sweden by a Palestinian family. Nadia’s family comes from the small town of Bietixa near Jerusalem. She is a 26 year old Journalist who speaks Swedish as her native language, and Arabic in a 100 years old Palestinian accent. The accent that dominates Nadia’s Arabic is of a countryside area in her home land Palestine. An accent that now a day very few old Palestinian men and women talk with.

She must have picked that from her parents. When you lose a house, you work hard to build another one. When you lose a child you drink your sadness with your daily water and you learn how to love other children. When you lose your homeland, your home, your neighbors, your physical memories, you wonder on earth and you reproduce. You preserve your language and traditions in an ongoing nostalgia, you keep your homeland in your heart and you pronounce it with every uttered syllable from your mouth.

Nadia you are the worst fear for lot of people in this planet. You are not damaged by hatred, anger or blood. You neither are irrational nor rigid. You are neither schizophrenic nor violent. And above all of that you are Palestinian. And you are proudly Swedish. You are a cosmopolitan creature who breaths Bietixa the town near Jerusalem in Palestine every day. In the eyes of Nadia the journalist who is one of the Swedish Participants I saw the future, I saw the State of Palestine.

A very Swedish guy is Olof Jonsoon, he does not smoke, tries to keep fit when he is not working. Takes notes from lectures, smiles to everyone and makes the sweetest remarks even when he is critical.

Olof Jonsoon seemed to have no story behind him. A Journalist who wanted to be published in morning news papers while working on the Foreign Desk of a news agency. He seemed just another 30 year old journalist who is starting his career.

On the third night in Grisselhamn I talked to Olof a bit beyond the lectures and social media. On that night he had just received some emails about an article he published about Darfur, we talked about the article and the visit he made to the Middle East.

Olof had a story behind, and it is not an ordinary one. He is in love. He is a human whose tears I saw when he said “We know what is going on back there, we really know.” Between his tears I saw the many stories he will relate in the morning papers and web pages. I want to read what Olof knows. Believe me what Olof knows is not 30 years old.

Hanna Larson is just a year younger than me. I thought I was the oldest one in the group until I met Mark. He is really old. He has lot of stories to tell, but he is too proud. Until he tells me the stories he will be damned by being old.

Hanna is 33, a journalist and a human rights activist. A lady whom you feel she comes from a consensus culture. A Librarian interested in developing the Multilingual Library at her work. Hanna has been to Afghanistan and Palestine, worked on asylum cases, and volunteers her time for women’s rights. Hanna’s silence about her work made me feel a small person.

Rami Abed Al Rahman, the guy we all used “- in the good sense of the word if any-“even before meeting him. Rami the Jordanian- Swede whose age is not relevant. Rami hasn’t decided yet when he will start counting it.

Rami the journalist, lecturer, blogger and musician oozes life as someone who has just swallowed a huge amount of painful loss. He did not digest it all yet, but he is in the process. He breathes freely now, but he seems in need of more oxygen. I know why he reminded me a lot by Sami Matouk a Syrian human rights activist whose age I only got to know the day he was killed, shortly after helping in gathering information about Saidanaia Prison. The fact that I know does not mean I am sharing the knowledge.

The four Swedish participants left the hotel and headed back to their homes and jobs. A few days after that and as a part of my study visit I’ve visited Swedish Think Tanks and other opinion and policy making institutions. In the meetings I was told about Sweden political parties, social system and the well fare sate establishment.

Sweden at that time was three weeks away from the European Union Presidency. In the Think Tanks they had no real interest, knowledge or studies about The Middle East. They are so much focusing on Sweden. They have managed to do that as political institutions for a long time. And they have done an amazing job but they cannot do that anymore while they are part of the EU political structure and defiantly not when they are in the presidency.

I met parliamentarians from different political parties as well. Three of them sit on various committees including EU and foreign affairs. Those meetings were more productive and sort of relief. Nevertheless while visiting the Foreign Office Press center; a lady from the MENA desk answered angrily some of my boisterous questions stating basically that Sweden does not have a Foreign Policy when it comes to the Middle East. She said they will follow the EU.

I do not think that is destined. And on that matter I will be having more to say but not here. This is neither the place nor the time.

PS: The fifth Swedish participant was born and brought up in Sweden. Nevertheless in the eyes of the writer she is the result of a regionally approved and internationally blessed legal utopian marriage of convenience. The participant is the product of the fathers and the mother of most Lebanese. The rest of The Lebanese are still is sperm stage. Therefore she will be mentioned with the Lebanese participants.

The fathers are : Hassan Nasroulah[i], Al Mufti Kabani[ii], Patriarch Sufaier[iii], Ahmadinejad [iv] . The mother is : Nawal Al Sadawi[v].

[i] Hassan Nasroulah is the religious, political and military leader of Hezbollah, Lebanon. Hobbies: Assassinations, small and big wars, terrifying people, shouting and screaming, praying in public and playing the big hero.

[ii] Al Mufti Kabani is the Muslim Suni highest authority in Lebanon known as Mufti. Hobbies: Praying in public, speaking nicely about the Saudi Royal family, preventing equality legislations from happening.

[iii] Patriarch Sufaier is the Christians Maronite highest authority in Lebanon. Hobbies: Praying in public, preventing equality legislations from happening, appearing on every news channel in the country.

[iv] Ahmadinejad is the lunatic homophobe who stated that there are no homosexuals in Iran. He managed as well to cheat in the last Iranian elections and still proclaims himself the Mullah’s spoilt president. Hobbies: has plenty ranks on top hanging Iranians whom he considers perverts.

[v] Nawal Al Sadawi, a physician, highly reputable feminist activist and writer, who is constantly criticized and threatened by Islamists. Hobbies: No time for leisure activities. The four keeps her very busy and she is Egyptian as well so she has Mubarak and the Muslim Brothers to entertain herself.

The Dark World Of Seduction

The Developed v the Underdeveloped Countries, Human failure, Totalitarianism, Intercultural relations and Human Rights

What connects us as human? Are we equal? Are we as individuals and nations “compassionate”?

The priorities for the children of Darfur, Palestine, Iraq and Uganda, range between, food, physical survival, shelter and safety. Lots of them have to deal with death, suffering, and insecurity from the first days of their lives.

Priorities for the children of Sweden, USA, Canada and Japan range between eating healthy, getting into good schools, have good marks perhaps. Most of them feel safe, satisfied and may be happy.

We all know that. We all watch TV, surf the internet and get lot of news. Most of us in both parts developed and under developed do not care. We are selfish, we want more things, bigger cars or better shoes, bigger houses, lot of males want bigger sexual organs, and lot of women wants bigger breasts. We always want more.

Governments in democratic developed countries focus on the country itself. They want to provide better services for their citizens, more prosperity, and more stability. Governments do not necessarily want bigger organs, they want to be reelected. That is good.

Governments in Undemocratic underdeveloped countries want more weapons, more battles, more oppression and the most important element is to continue governing. No Elections, organ size and permanent erection are of extreme importance, they call it “governance forever”. That is where I come from. That is not good.

So why should Sweden spend money on thirty three young “leaders” from the underdeveloped undemocratic Middle East and North Africa? What interest does it have? And why?
In reality it’s not only Sweden, but most developed democratic countries are running programs related to social change. What do they want?

Do they want to destroy/change and/or conspire against Islam? Do they want to change us? Do they want to democratize us? If so why? They are still doing business as usual, trade is going on, Oil is flowing, what the hell do they want?

I have asked, I truly did, the people I met gave simple answers and they have the best intentions. Public diplomacy, intercultural exchange, building bridges etc… that is not clear enough. No?

I think the answer is a bit wider, it ranges between immigration, integration, exported Islamic terrorism (Madrid, London, USA) and the need to understand each other better and of course trade, business and tourism.

An additional important element is the “voters”; the people of these countries occasionally ask their governments what they are doing to improve the situation in the MENA. Media is powerful and people do not like to see children and women slaughtered too frequently.

Focusing on this program in particular “Young Leaders Visitors Program hosted and organized by the Swedish Institute” I think I have a good valid answer.

Since the Euro-Mediterranean partnership initiative started, EU as an entity and individual states started to be more active in MENA focusing on civil society, development, media, legislations, human rights and of course trade.

Europe has realized that their neighbors “US” could be part of the solution for so many problems. Partnership with the Middle East cannot be built only with the regimes it has also to reach the civil society and the society in large. Whether it works or not that is another matter.

No conspiracy involved. No destruction, no hidden intentions, they are starving to build real bridges with the real people. They want mutual understanding and comprehension. They want to do some good. Whether they achieve it or not that is also another matter.

Sweden in particular has excellent intentions when it comes to Human Rights. They want to positively contribute. And the YLVP is a small contribution from lots of other programs they are funding and supporting in the region.

Governments and public institutions are run by individuals. The Swedish Institute and in particular the YLVP program personnel happen to be exceptional. Now whether the programs and the exceptional people manage to make a difference that is also another issue.

The real issue here is “US”. And on that matter I will be having more to say.

Grisselhamn, Javerria Rizsvi Kabani, Asa Silfverberg, Roger Sjogren,
Mark Comerford, phobia, drama and success

Grisselhamn is a piece of “heaven” as described in The Quran. Green forests, tulips, water, rivers, peace and seduction. So much beauty can only be considered a crime.

The Swedish Institute has among their staff first and second generation immigrants. They are Swedish by nationality and cosmopolitan by culture. Staying in Sweden for three weeks makes one realize that most people in the country are like this. Sweden even does not have a serious integration program for immigrants and government officials argue that preserving the cultural identity of immigrants is a wealth element for the country.

YLVP Program’s director Javerria Kabani, a lady who is highly motivated by the cause of human rights and radiates positive energy. She seems to be happy, satisfied, good-hearted and passionate about what she does. Javerria made me wonder about her pain.

Asa Silfverberg tends to use the three terms “Hush”, “silence” and “now listen to me” frequently. She is charming when she laughs. She knows a lot about team building, very task and goal oriented. Asa is someone whom you can dangerously fall in love with.

She reminded me of the famous Lucy phrase “How dare you Hush me, do not Hush me!”

Roger Sjogren is the standing man. I rarely saw him sitting during the three weeks I spent in Sweden. Even while the YLVP participants were making their project presentations he was standing up biting his nails. He is a good dancer and feelings oriented.

Mark Comerford is still living in the era of rationing. In Mark’s case he rations his words. The man generated debates in the group when he first opened his mouth. He is Irish. That means he swears a lot and he defiantly has an Irish story behind him. In three weeks I failed to know the details of the story, but I know it is a story of a good man. The Irish have a reputation of having a way with words, Mark exemplifies that tradition.

Asa, Javerria, Roger and Mark are the four facilitators who worked on our group dynamics, social media comprehension, conflict creation and solution. I like them; I enjoyed my time and felt that I learnt new things.

The lecture by Fredrik Haren was for lack of a better phrase “exceptionally stimulating”. Let me say, it was as intellectually solid as the content of his book, a series of pages as blank as his ideas about creativity.

I think arrogance sometimes accompany successful sellers. His book the “The Idea Book” is defiantly over rated. The activity following the lecture was much longer than it should. But hey I felt as if I were back to primary school. The feeling was good. The boxed meal that day contributed to the feeling, I really enjoyed that. Was it Fredrik’s idea?!

The hotel was surrounded by forests, water, birds, seagulls, and love was starting to flourish between us, lot of love.

The sun shyly sets around midnight. It was never seriously dark while I was in Grisselhamn. It is a better version of heaven than the one described in The Quran and way better than the one described in the old and new testaments.

In that hotel I had a night mare. I felt I was possessed by another being, a complex one.

Suddenly in that reincarnated body I was Bacchus the Roman God of physical intoxication, I was desired and wanted by most women and men in Grisselhamn. One of those men almost achieved his vicious and evil desires.

The night mare became more horrific as I saw Mars the god of war son of Juno and Jupiter invading the hotel bar, spreading his ears and eyes inside our rooms trying to capture our souls and sacrifice them on the cold stones alters. While the souls moaned “Wissam, Wissam, Wissam.”

The nightmare became unbearably horrific when I woke up to the realization that I have to face one more drama session. In Sweden they call them Reflection sessions.

In Grisselhamn blindfolded we succeeded in making a square, swallow a nightmare, form teams, act as a group, understand more than impose and compromise rather than dictate. But we did not find consensus.

A Swedish Summer

A Swedish summer

Love

Sunday 14th of June 2009 12:50

Sitting in the back seat of a Taxi on the way to Arlanda Airport, I cried. It has been a long time since I cried saying goodbye to someone or to a city. I remembered 1990, first time I left Beirut to Paraguay, I cried back then when I kissed my mum goodbye. On that occasion, I carried her smell with me, a smell that held me tight through the lonely nights between different cities and cold hotel beds.

The same black taxi arrived in front of Morington Hotel, Stockholm at 12:50. I was standing outside the hotel main entrance smoking a cigarette; I smiled to the driver and asked if he’d come to pick Wissam Tarif. He said “Yes, but I am early, so take your time”.

Amahl Khouri, Rami Abed Al Rahman and Diala Chehade were standing in the lobby while I went inside to pick up my luggage. They walked me outside. Rami was chatting with Diala – he missed seeing a tear coming out of a betraying eye.

Amahl, who does not miss a thing, had her eyes full of tears. She bent over, and the taxi driver opened the back window as I felt a cold breeze coming in while I said “Good bye”.

Almost nineteen years had passed since I’d last cried saying goodbye.

I unwrapped the Swedish Institute gift, a book about “Consensus”, a photo book about Sweden in the eyes of young photographers and a wooden Trojan horse. Three items, which prompted me to start this blog, a yard where I can freely bleed. No restrictions, a lung that might save me from the repetitive political analysis and human rights violations reports I had stuck to for the last seven years.

A silent driver behind the wheel, and a half hour trip to the Arlanda airport gave me time to send thank you text messages to a few Swedish friends. I took a last deep breath of Swedish oxygen heading inside the airport to a Barcelona’s Span Air flight. Stepping inside the plane made it clear and definitive, my Swedish Summer had ended.

Bipolar Manic Depressive Disordered state

Before coming to Sweden I was on a work trip to my homeland Lebanon. I’d been on an Election monitoring consultancy job for a European organization. My point of focus was west Bekaa, an area famous for relatively peace during the fifteen years of the last Lebanese civil war. During three weeks I and some diplomats met Lebanese politicians, election campaigners and experts trying to have a sense of what was going on in the country.

Iranians, Saudis, Americans, Europeans, Syrians and the whole planet seemed interested in the Lebanese elections. Lebanese politicians know exactly what every regional and International player want. What they fail to know deliberately is what the Lebanese and Lebanon itself want.

Our hosts quickly answered questions regarding human rights, the new legislation that was needed, and infrastructure as though to tell us that we should get to the point. In Lebanon, a parliamentarian will happily talk about the Israeli –Arab conflict, and regional and international intersections of power. They all like to appear smart, talk smart and fill the gaps in the picture of Lebanon as an arena for international and regional conflicts.

Health services, education, poverty, development, public transportation, jobs (the real concerns of Lebanese citizens) are not even used as campaigning slogans. For Lebanese politicians those are unreasonable and untimely demands. According to them, it is the strategic issues, the face of Lebanon, the identity of Lebanon which figure.

It has always been the case. Though I think we do have a face, not a perfect one but still, it is our face our identity.

Historically Lebanese aristocrats (for which read: “thieves”) , Lebanese political party leaders (read: “war lords”), and religious sect leaders (“hypocrites and vampires”) played always the role of the Savior, the mother, the compassionate land lord who took care of the less fortunate. They do not want health care so they themselves could provide it and earn money from it. No good State services so they could service us and replace the state. No strong economy so they could feed us and no stable real peace so they could constantly tell us how essential they are for our existence.

Now, once again, our politicians continue to play the same old game – but they’re getting smarter in performance.

I felt disgusted, irritated and ashamed. Our main exportation is “US” the young people of the country. We export our youth to the rest of the world. We work outside, send money home, and we keep financing the misery we find when we come back on vacation or work trips. Most parliamentarians and candidates we met bragged about the long history of Lebanese emigration and some hallucinated about US, as Phoenicians, still exploring the big wide world.

I remembered my grandmother saying “Damn the land that does not hold its sons and daughters.” We are damned indeed.

On the night of the 22nd I finished polishing my report about the Lebanese elections. I failed to say what I wanted and wrote what I saw, heard and found to be facts. Being objective does not mean you are saying the truth: sometimes it means you just quote huge amount of rubbish in the most logical way possible.

In so doing, I have here summarized my objectivity.

In the first hours of the 23rd of May, Abou Walid my loyal Taxi driver, who always picks me up or drops me off at Rafik Hariri airport, arrived with his old 1982 white Mercedes, a car that should have been thrown away years ago. He does not keep it as a classic, as most taxi drivers in the country. He just cannot afford a better one. On our way to the airport he asked “Where to this time?”

I said “Sweden”

He said: “I’ve been to Norway, I lived there for three years, and my sister lives there. She married a Norwegian man who was serving in the United Nations Interim Force in Lebanon. I think she’s happy. You should go there. It’s a nice country. Do the Swedish participate in the Peace keeping force in Lebanon?”

I replied,”I don’t know, I’m not sure, I don’t think so.”

Abou Walid assumes that I know everything! He told me a lot about Norway, and plenty about his several months stay in Stockholm. He talked about Stockholm as a passionate lover, he told me about a Swedish girl whom he fell in love with, and places he visited, but mostly about his affair.

He told me how he eventually came back to his wife and 4 kids, who grew up, and live abroad now. He’s got two more kids since he came back, a boy and a girl. He wants the small girl to become a successful doctor, and the boy’s destiny is to join his brothers in Latin America to make money.

Realizing that we were approaching the airport, he immediately changed the topic to elections. He wanted me to tell him who would win. I said “The one who people will vote more for.” He looked at me suspiciously, perhaps thinking that I knew but preferred not to tell him, or maybe just could not for some reason. Lots of people (including the majority of the Arab population and so-called ‘brilliant’ politicians and some analysts) are still fascinated by conspiracy theories, and Abou Walid ranks high on the top of the list.

He talks and complains a lot, but he always briefs me upon arrival and departure of all the small rumors he’s heard from passengers, his wife, neighbors, kids, and of what he’s heard on the radio. He throws the whole country all at once in my face every time I sit in his cab.

Shaking his hand goodbye, I was still questioning my decision of being away from the city on such another “historic” election; I hesitated while taking my bag from the car, and remembered that each election we’ve ever had in the country, someone always labeled it “historic”. I shook his hand again, went inside the airport and headed to Sweden.

Orgasms

Since EU directives started to regulate European affairs, airports started to look more alike. Except, of course, Madrid airport, where smokers can still enjoy small filthy rooms (Gas Chambers) where they are entitled to kill themselves pleasurably. I had a connecting flight at the country struggling to join the EU – in other words, at Istanbul airport. There I was destined to wait for several hours. And I was miserably surprised: no smoking areas! Viva Madrid!

In Arlanda airport I met other participants joining the Young Leaders Visitors Program, which was hosted and organized by the Swedish Institute. The taxis were waiting for us; and by the time we arrived at the Non Smoking Morington Hotel in Stockholm it was early afternoon. I checked in, dropped the luggage off and went outside for the first cigarette and real cup of coffee for some time. With the first puff of the cigarette I reached plateau phase, characterized by an intense sensation of pleasure and satisfaction.

The real orgasm took place at the lunch table: salmon as appetizer and butter fish in Swedish herbs as the main dish. The wine was almost as good as the Lebanese Chardonnay Ksara, and the company of Amahl Khouri was the beginning of a hope, love and admiration journey.

The Palestinian participants from Gaza and Ramallah started to arrive while we were having lunch. The presence of Palestinian participants after the Gaza massacres, in addition to the inevitable difficulties they would have had in both crossing the border, and the Egyptian detention areas for Palestinian transit passengers, and all that this signified for us as Arabs in terms of the Palestinian cultural heritage, made their arrival an exceptional event.

After lunch we went for a walk: tulips in the park, lots of tulips, too many tulips, too much love, too many mothers and babies in that park. A wedding, two guys kissing on the seat in front of me , a girl is hugging her lover, a man sitting there reading a book, children playing everywhere, black , Asian, blond, Caucasian and tulips too many tulips , all in that same park.

Back to my hotel room, smoking is “not allowed”. That is an intrusion of my privacy. If I want to smoke in my private space I should be allowed to. I am not causing harm to others; I am killing only myself with my cigarettes. This hotel management does not have the right to prevent me.
However, I found the solution to this dilemma: it was in Chapter two, Fundamental Rights and Freedom, Articles 22 and 23 of the Swedish Constitution. The room is considered my private residence. I printed out a copy of the Constitution, highlighted the relevant articles, gave it to the receptionist and informed her that their order of not smoking in my private space is unconstitutional. I emphasized that, based on this, I would be more than happy to argue that in a court of law. I smoked in my room 601 and later on in 617 at Morington Hotel, Stockholm. Neither the receptionist nor anyone else complained.