Aléatoires, futiles et biaisées

Dear Sweden,

We have come a long way together. Almost three and a half years have passed since we first met. Since then, I have since grown a little older and gained some weight. But further than that, I started to get to know you better.

I practically knew nothing about you before I decided to move. There were those talks within my human-rights circles on how much you are doing a great job with equality and humanitarian work in the world. Your aura is a common subject of discussion back where I come from, whereas we tend to mix the Scandinavian countries not only with the similar flags, but also when it comes to achievements. People would praise the Swedish educational system or health care system as it was similar to the Finnish one, because in the end we don’t actually know much about it, other that we think that it works well. Boy, little did I know! Seeing what I see now, you disappoint me in several regards. Did I have too high expectations? Perhaps. Yet, instead of beating around the bush most of the time on politicaly correct issues, I invite you to have a good, fresh look, at yourself.

My Swedish teacher once asked me to stay after class. She was this Estonian-born gorgeous forthy-something years old lady, tall, with beautiful traits, always dressed with great taste. She was curious to know more about me, to understand why I decided to come to you, Sweden. She wanted to know my motivations. My answer revolved around my admiration for the Swedish state and passion for ice hockey. I also expressed my feeling of indebtedness towards you. Back home, there is constant talks about the cost of education, frequent strikes from student unions against rising tuition fees. I just couldn’t really understand how (and why) you would give me a Master’s degree (and later a Phd, hopefully), for free. I am not from here, Sweden. Not even remotely European. I felt that I owed you something, that I was wishing to be able to repay my duty to you, after providing me with so much. Down the road, I am hoping that my tiny contribution as a teacher and researcher might help to pay you back, but in the very end, I will leave you.

My first years were spent at the nexus of Swedish socialism, for which you hardly fought after WWII. I was living in those aligned buildings, as Andrew Brown described them: arranged in low concrete blocks of dog turds color on a glacial plain. Just like him, I was struck by the absurdity and the loneliness of those surroundings. How in the world could you think that it was the right thing to do, to build one million new flats when your population is 8 million people, regardless if anybody wanted to live there? Cities and neighborhoods tend to flourish organically, not really in the A-B-C model that you decided upon. You planned everything, executed the plans meticulously and hoped that people would like to live an equalitarian life down to the carefully studied height of kitchen counters and number of trees around each building. I am all for equality – I mean so many people in this world are born with so little and start their life with a lifetime mortgage, but does it has to come at the price of planned grayness and lonely life? Carlos Rojas wrote a great piece on the immigrants that inherited those neighborhoods, supposed to be the next-big-thing in terms of urbanism. He expresses a shared feeling of mine, that there is now a blatant segregation between pure-breed Swedes and the rest. For instance, I have a friend of Serbian origin, born here and with this thick Gothenburg accent. Whether my friend needs to apply for housing or employment, my friend is not considered as a “real” Swede, gets almost systematicaly sidelined. Like the thousands of educated (hence more mobile) Swedes with foreign roots and myself, those people are bound to leave you, hoping for a happier and more fulfilling life abroad.

Another cliché that still thrives about you, Sweden, is that blond long-haired free love, sort of commitment with nature that transpires humanism and kindness. I came to understand that this image has both its roots in reality and in imagination. Imagination, mostly from my parents’ generation, where Swedish softcore porn made a furor in the whole world. Swedish erotika, as it came to be known. Reality as well, from this strong connection people hold with fitness in nature, from Allemansrätten, from a strong identity and a silent feeling of pride. My understanding is that you are reminiscent of the golden sixties. Even if World War II is a topic thoroughly taught in schools around the world, surprisingly little people know where you have been hiding while Europe was in flames. You did not go to war, other than cooperating with Hitler, in order to protect your own interest, while your brothers of Norway, Finland and Denmark were being assailed by Stalin and Hitler. You stood there, in your hypocritical numbness, pretending to be neutral in order to forge a rational behind your gamble: rebuild Europe when everything is over. You became so strong after the war, you had won your gamble! You looked with disdain at Finland, where the Finns had sacrificed so much to fight for their survival. Did you know that the Finns were asked to send their valuable jewelry (including their wedding rings: they were then given iron rings as replacement) to help the country finance the war effort? What did you do during that time? Very little to build a better world, that is. I once read that poker was popularized in Sweden during WWII, because your soldiers had nothing else to do in their caserns. This is just absurd, Sweden. And rather inconsistent. As a matter of fact, your very social net is woven out of the thread of inconsistency.

Inconsistent, I say. What lies at the heart of my bitterness in face of you Sweden is that I got to know you, but I don’t understand you. As the Titanic orchestra, you keep on playing while the ship is sinking. You pass laws that are cleverly crafted, you raise great awareness on a rare, local and, after all, harmless fox disease or go completely bananas about the sight of wolves close to human inhabited areas, but you fail miserably at addressing pressing social issues that might eventually lead to your perdition. Falling quality in health care and education, growing rescent from (and as a matter of fact, towards) immigrants or non-Swedish looking/sounding individuals: all of this needs to take a bigger place in the social debate than say, scandals over Sahlin’s Toblerone or the King’s hooker sprees. I call you inconsistent because of your behavior, Sweden. Your behavior that still fundamentally mesmerizes me. How in the world can people forgo more than half of their income in taxes in order to fund social services and the grand state of Svea, and yet on the interpersonal level show an almost pathological angst towards others? I tried to to smile to you, hold you doors, be courteous, but I received mostly a hash rebuke in the form of fleeing eyes or plain ghost-like indifference. I would expect such reactions from people in a state where the social contract is rickety, where people would need to fight for their safety. But not from you! A clip from the Swedish sketch group Hipp Hipp embodies what Swedes portrait as something laughable, but I couldn’t laugh when I saw it. Is it funny, as in some humours quirk, to be afraid of your neighbors per se? The clip shows a Swedish teacher who attempts to train immigrants how to behave as Swedes. The teacher shows how one should first look in the bull-eye before leaving home, as to make sure that no neighbor is in the hallway in order to avoid any conversation.

A last cliché on which I would like to talk about with you: fashion. The whole world now praises H&M for bringing budget fashion to the customers. Our very own Xavier Dolan imported his “dead-bird” haircut straight from Sweden. Swedes have traditionally been at the forefront of urban and alternative fashion trends in Europe and most the rich countries. Fashion has become part of the Swedish identity and unconscious, and more global, “how to be”. It has evolved to such a level of refinement and care that it is rather hard to keep track of it. What fascinates me is the willingness to be unique, rebel and trendy by adopting a certain style, and yet, this quest for uniqueness is crowned by the deepest expression of mainstreamness. You will tell me that this is not unique to Sweden- just look at the cool kids in NYC for instance, and I will agree. Although, I have never felt that, sadly too frequent, feeling of judgement from others, for not giving a damn about fashion. This mainstreamness is then propulsed to other spheres: walking around with a clinging bag, revealing the potential presence of alcoholic beverages in the said bag, is seen as shameful and ungracious. Sweden, you make me feel like I need to be like everybody else to be accepted. Mainstream, wearing that fashionable little tuque, those leather boots and a subtle little turn-up to my skinny jeans. What if I don’t want/care? You need to get your act together…

I wish to be the one I am, not the one you want me to be. This is why I will (soon enough) walk away and not look back. This is sad, I thought we could be great friends. I thought that we shared a fundamental view on the universality of human rights and the faith in good people. Sadly, I discovered your dark side: snobish, shallow and utterly naive.

All the best,

JP