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Posts tagged as “Negerfjellet”

Briefs from Svalbardposten for the week of Aug. 4, 2015

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Read Time:1 Minute, 35 Second

There will be a discussion about ‘neger’ names, after all
Now that it’s gotten worldwide attention, a discussion about whether Svalbard has three locations with racist names is planned this fall by the Norwegian Polar Institute’s naming committee.

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Mark Sabbatini

I'm a professional transient living on a tiny Norwegian island next door to the North Pole, where once a week (or thereabouts) I pollute our extreme and pristine environment with paper fishwrappers decorated with seemingly random letters that would cause a thousand monkeys with a thousand typewriters to die of humiliation. Such is the wisdom one acquires after more than 25 years in the world's second-least-respected occupation, much of it roaming the seven continents in search of jazz, unrecognizable street food and escorts I f****d with by insisting they give me the platonic tours of their cities promised in their ads. But it turns out this tiny group of islands known as Svalbard is my True Love and, generous contributions from you willing, I'll keep littering until they dig my body out when my climate-change-deformed apartment collapses or they exile my penniless ass because I'm not even worthy of washing your dirty dishes.
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A niggardly debate? Suggestion Svalbard has places with racist names doesn’t go over well with pale-faced locals

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Read Time:2 Minute, 48 Second

The suggestion Svalbard has racist terrain is certainly stirring up a colorful debate, even if the opinions and the people giving them are pretty much all of a single hue.

Svalbardposten reported last week that three locations in the southern part of the archipelago have names that start with the Norwegian equivalent of “negro” (or the even more pejorative “n” word, according to some).

About Post Author

Mark Sabbatini

I'm a professional transient living on a tiny Norwegian island next door to the North Pole, where once a week (or thereabouts) I pollute our extreme and pristine environment with paper fishwrappers decorated with seemingly random letters that would cause a thousand monkeys with a thousand typewriters to die of humiliation. Such is the wisdom one acquires after more than 25 years in the world's second-least-respected occupation, much of it roaming the seven continents in search of jazz, unrecognizable street food and escorts I f****d with by insisting they give me the platonic tours of their cities promised in their ads. But it turns out this tiny group of islands known as Svalbard is my True Love and, generous contributions from you willing, I'll keep littering until they dig my body out when my climate-change-deformed apartment collapses or they exile my penniless ass because I'm not even worthy of washing your dirty dishes.
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