The Far-Right on the Island of Peace: 'The Shields of Iceland'

The Far-Right on the Island of Peace: 'The Shields of Iceland'

“The Iceland Shields’ claims that they ‘steer clear of racism, Nazism, and nationalism’ are sharply contrasted by the words of writer Valur Gunnarsson: ‘Nazis are also pretty funny the first time you see them, until you see them over and over again.’”

A group, clad in distinct, uniform-like attire, made headlines last month after “patrolling” the streets of the capital on a cool Reykjavík night. Dubbing themselves “Skjöldur Íslands,” or “The Shields of Iceland,” the group’s stated purpose was clear: to “protect Icelandic culture and traditions.” Yet, who and what this ‘protective’ shield targeted has been evident from the outset.

This is not, however, the first such formation Iceland has witnessed. “Soldiers of Odin” (Hermenn Óðins), active between 2016 and 2017, also emerged as a local reflection of the rising anti-immigrant tide in Finland and Norway but faded without gaining significant public traction. The key difference between the two groups is that while the Soldiers of Odin preferred anonymity, members of The Shield of Iceland have openly revealed their identities since day one.

So, what fuels the re-emergence of such groups in one of the world's most peaceful nations? For The Shield of Iceland, the answer lies in the latest data from Statistics Iceland. More than 20% of the country’s approximately 410,000 residents—over 80,000 people—are of immigrant origin. Stated differently, one in every five people on the island was not born there. For a relatively isolated nation that built its social code on values like trust, equality, and unity with nature, this represents a stark demographic shift. The most visible players in this new population equation are Poles, exceeding 20,000, Ukrainian refugees arriving due to the Russia-Ukraine war, and Palestinians, who occupy a sensitive position in Icelandic politics. The increasing presence of these groups has become central to the country's social debates.

Refugee Costs and the Source of Tensions

Among the group’s most potent arguments are the claims that welfare state resources are being fully extended to asylum seekers, forcing native Icelanders to be deprived of them. These claims peaked particularly after the surge of asylum seekers following the war in Ukraine in 2022. At the time, total spending on asylum seekers was estimated to be around 26 billion Icelandic Króna (approximately $180 million) annually. However, this figure is projected to drop to about 6 billion ISK (roughly $44 million USD) for 2025. This decrease is attributed to recent changes in the government's immigration policy, such as the cancellation of the automatic approval mechanism for Venezuelans' applications.

The narratives voiced publicly by The Shield of Iceland, such as the claim that “our children can no longer walk safely in Iceland as they used to,” are often linked to the increased visibility of Muslim asylum seekers in the city. The most significant reason for these narratives resonating with a segment of the public points to alleged incidents involving some immigrants. Claims of fraud and harassment by unauthorized taxi drivers in the city keep this issue hot on social media. A Facebook page titled “Taxý Hunter” records and shares videos of such irregularities, and the severe criticisms in the comments section targeting alleged fraud and harassment by Muslim immigrant taxi drivers are striking. The group’s rhetoric points to the majority of Muslim asylum seekers as the target and the cause of social tension, asserting that they clash with the country’s history and life culture and refuse to adapt.

Threats, Violence, and Controversial Symbols

The Shield of Iceland’s reaction to this perceived new equation is reflected sharply in their rhetoric. While their social media following is currently under two thousand, their sphere of influence extends well beyond that number. Their T-shirts, with designs that have been altered following controversy, sell out instantly, and the symbols they use carry deep, historical significance.

The initial cross symbol in the group’s emblem, associated with the 12th-century Knights Templar, provided the first clues to their ideological stance. Even more concerning, as reported by the Icelandic press, was the presence of the iron cross in their emblem, a symbol that also appeared on the cover of the manifesto of neo-Nazi terrorist Anders Behring Breivik, who killed 77 people. Furthermore, it has been revealed that some group members have prior prison sentences for violent crimes, adding another layer to the criticism the group faces.

The group’s insistence that they “steer clear of racism, Nazism, and nationalism” is put into stark relief by the quote from Valur Gunnarsson, a writer for the respected English-language publication Reykjavík Grapevine:

“Nazis are also pretty funny the first time you see them, until you see them over and over again.”

This quote encapsulates the shared fear of those who watch the Kalkanlar’s (Shields') rise with apprehension, yet remain hopeful that Iceland’s inclusive spirit will weather this challenge, too.

Parliament Protest and the Sum of the Figures

On August 16, a crowd of 300-400 people, mostly young, gathered in front of the Icelandic Parliament (Alþingi), a remarkable turnout by Icelandic standards. The speakers at the group’s first major demonstration echoed far-right talking points heard across Europe: “Those seeking international protection are destroying our society, infrastructure, and culture. Muslims, in particular, challenge the cultures of every nation they settle in, defacing their history and turning it into a war.” The fervent applause this rhetoric received from the crowd did not go unnoticed.

The most notable detail at the protest site was the ideological diversity of the participants. On one side stood demonstrators wearing Trump's "MAGA" hats, while on the other, individuals wore the Keffiyeh, a symbol of the Palestinian struggle. This is a vivid testament to Iceland's robust democracy and freedom of expression. The country's ability to allow individuals with differing views on the most sensitive topics to assemble and make their voices heard proves the strength of its fundamental values. The fact that such protests, albeit small in number, can take place is the clearest sign that Iceland still draws strength from its peaceful and inclusive past. I should also add that in my conversations with long-term immigrants in Iceland, the belief that this movement will spread to the general public is notably weak.

But what do the data fueling this anger truly say? Recent reports from the Icelandic Directorate of Immigration paint a starkly different picture. Asylum applications to the country have been cut by more than half in the last two years, dropping from 4,168 to 1,944. Out of 629 applications made in the first half of 2024, only 87 were granted international protection status. The majority of applicants were Ukrainian war victims, Palestinians, and Venezuelans.

This deep chasm between the reality shown by the figures and the “perceived threat” voiced on the street suggests that Iceland is facing not only an immigration crisis but also a “crisis of meaning.” This is evidence that Iceland is shedding its old fairytale narrative and confronting the same realities that the rest of the world faces on its own soil.

For now, the seeds of what is a small but noteworthy movement may be taking root on the streets of Reykjavík.