The Freetown folk: Christiania's legacy

Photography by Cerys Mason

In these unprecedented times, Cerys Mason takes the opportunity to look back and reflect on her trip to Freetown Christiania, Copenhagen.

Hello and welcome to my quarantine delusion diaries! While the world descends into chaos much like the beginning of a dystopian thriller (my favourite genre, but perhaps a bit too topical for comfort at present), I revisit a recent trip to Copenhagen and the strikingly unique commune of Freetown Christiania. Inspired by the hippie movement and rejection of all violence, this “social experiment” sparked a lot of interest in my then-free-to-go-outside self.

In 1971, after being abandoned by soldiers, the ex-military barracks and ramparts in the capital’s borough of Christianshavn were taken over by neighbouring creatives, misfits and pioneers, all looking for a fresh new world to live in. Thus, the Freetown was born: the objective was to build a new society including its own governance, resources and electricity. Jacob Ludvigsen, a journalist leading the movement, coined it “The Forbidden City of the Military”; the new inhabitants’ insistence on peace and refusal of any weapons played the ultimate irony on its former purpose.

A set of rules has since maintained the essence of the Freetown, including no hard drugs, no running, no cars, no biker colours and no weapons. While some of these seemed strange to me, the turbulent past of Christiania explains the reasons behind them: tales of biker gang riots, police raids and overdoses hide behind those beautifully vibrant murals covering the town.

Photography by Cerys Mason

Perhaps the dominant trait of its difficult past is the tolerance of cannabis that has persisted in Christiania. The well-known Pusher Street is the main hub of the Freetown, where hash and skunk stalls display their quality range of options, attracting many locals in and outside Christiania. An open drug trade has operated throughout the commune since the early 1970s. Although tolerated by the Danish government, neighbouring countries have protested against it, putting pressure on officials to control the sale of cannabis.

Starting in 2004, police conducted raids in Christiania in an attempt to crack down on Pusher Street and other illegal activities, yet they have been unsuccessful in permanently closing the drug trade, which was alive and thriving during my visit. Tension between the locals and the Danish government is therefore clearly visible, however, compromises keep their relationship on a teetering equilibrium.

Photography by Cerys Mason

What really surprised me when visiting was their acceptance and encouragement of tourists. Throughout the Freetown’s history the allowance of visitors has been disputed several times. Yet they keep their doors open with only a few limitations in place: for example, the murals on Pusher Street are adorned with painted cameras with red lines through them, indicating that no photos should be taken to respect the inhabitants and their trade.

Wandering around the commune, after having read about angry locals and tons of drugs, I must admit I was expecting to feel much more intimidated (especially since we were a group of four women). But I couldn’t have been more wrong. Following the typical Scandinavian trend, the friendliness of the residents was unparalleled, with smiles greeting us everywhere and people happy to give recommendations so that we could get the best out of the Freetown. We ventured into a bustling café, and time simply slipped through our fingers – drinking ciders in the middle of the day was no longer mildly scandalous but an embrace of this alternate, eternally happy dimension.

Photography by Cerys Mason

You can read every single source of information about Freetown Christiania and still have so many questions. This is what I found when, upon observation, I noticed a lack in presence of women and children. Are children raised here? I wondered to myself. Do you choose to move here? What’s it like to live here? Are there schools? So many questions. My only consolation was the knowledge of how inexplicably peaceful this place was, and how the rejection of conventional society really can work in wonderful ways.

There were massive warehouses filled to the brim with wood, building materials and paint for people to create their own architecture. Galleries housed unique artisanal artwork, and the streets outside exploded with colour, lined with flags and plant pots of all shapes and sizes. Cafes sported their own furniture, teacups and Danish appetisers which were on display. Nothing had even a single label on it. No barcodes. No massive monster brands. Everything and everyone was truly their own, and that in itself is a different kind of freedom. 

Photography by Cerys Mason

Of course, it’s easy from the outside to judge Christiania as a muddled mess of rundown streets and abandoned buildings, whose origins are squatters calling themselves autonomous to make a political statement. And it’s easy to disdain the drug trade as a magnet for violence, and a downward spiral for the inhabitants to slip into while they waste away their days in a hippie commune. On some level, I suppose some of this is true.

But there is a purpose to Freetown Christiania. It proves to the rest of the world that defiance is not always pretty and almost never simple, but when that defiance creates this much joy and freedom, it is always worth it. The residents’ anthem is inspired by a 1970s protest song, and I will leave the title here as a parting inspiration: You cannot kill us.