SHARE
COPY LINK

OPINION AND ANALYSIS

OPINION: ‘The pandemic isn’t over until every last one of us is safe’

What happens when part of the population no longer follows Sweden's voluntary coronavirus rules? Nothing, apart from more people falling ill, writes Lisa Bjurwald in this opinion piece. But the pandemic isn't over, she writes – not for hospitals, not for risk groups, and not for you.

Skiers queuing in the snow in Sälen, central Sweden
A ski resort in Sälen, central Sweden, in early March. Photo: Ulf Palm/TT

The first outdoor fad of the Swedish corona winter of 2021 was sledding on cemeteries. Now, pandemic after-skis are all the rage, causing a lot of outrage, too. For as a large part of the capital’s moneyed middle class head to resorts such as Åre and Sälen during this week’s winter sports break, the rest of Stockholm’s families are left paying the price, with schools closed physically for 13-18-year-olds the following week to prevent further spread of Covid-19. This on the orders of the county’s medical officer for communicable diseases (inducing much anxiety for those with children under that particular age).

Sweden may still uphold the ideal of equality, but in reality, there are huge gaps between the haves and the have-nots, between inner city elites and multicultural suburbs, between those forced to work in unsafe milieus such as taxis and metros during a pandemic and the self-employed middle class who can easily work from home and avoid falling ill. As a Swedish cartoonist captured it this week: “There won’t be any skiing as usual this year,” a family in a posh suburban villa laments. “As usual, there won’t be any skiing this year,” counters the family in a high-rise across the tracks.

The price of a winter holiday in Sweden tells you what a small percentage of the population can actually afford it. A ski pass in fashionable Åre is 2,640 kronor (approximately $314) per adult per week, 2,110 kronor per child (age 7-17). Add at least 10,000 kronor for a four-bed cabin or similar (prices run much higher if you book late) and the total for a family of four would be at least 20,000 kronor – add to that the cost of fuel, food, skiing gear, possible car hire and so on.

Not that it’s the price that should turn people off this year. Sweden holds the tragic Nordic record of Covid deaths, our 13,000 lost lives far exceeding that of neighbouring Finland, Norway and Denmark put together. A third wave is on its way (or already here, depending on who you ask), and as the media is increasingly reporting, a debilitating post-Covid disease – long-haul Covid – is affecting at least tens of thousands of Swedes (statistics are lacking in many respects), including the young and previously healthy. No one yet knows for how long.

Sweden’s pandemic response is built on individual responsibility in exchange for less Covid restrictions than the rest of the world, with cafés, shopping malls and so on staying open throughout the crisis, which many understandably confused readers have questioned in The Local’s articles. In essence: Keep your distance, and you get to keep your freedom.

But what happens when a part of the population no longer adheres to these rules, despite infections running rampant? In reality, nothing at all – apart, of course, from a greater risk of people getting sick. Prime Minister Stefan Löfven et al can wave their fingers all they want, using a grave rhetoric about “shared responsibilities” and “staying strong, hanging in there” (håll i och håll ut). But there are no fines or other consequences for throwing crammed after-ski parties or failing to wear a face mask on local transport. If you want to live your life as if the pandemic is over, there’s little stopping you from doing so.

But it’s not over for our exhausted health care workers, who on Tuesday reported that the pressure is increasing on the country’s emergency wards, with an increase too in the amount of younger patients taken seriously ill.

It’s not over for our isolated elderly, who – in their hundreds of thousands – are waiting patiently for their vaccine ticket back to a normal life, bypassed in the official queue by everyone from vaccine-stealing managers and their families to non-essential health care workers, even teenagers (!).

And, speaking of individual responsibilities, it’s not over for you, either. Not until every last one of us is safe.

Lisa Bjurwald is a Swedish journalist and author covering current affairs, culture and politics since the mid-1990s. Her latest work BB-krisen, on the Swedish maternity care crisis, was dubbed Best reportage book of 2019 by Aftonbladet daily newspaper. She is also an external columnist for The Local – read her columns here.

Member comments

  1. Thank you for this column dear Lisa Bjurwald! This pandemic has revealed the problematic downside of the very distributed responsibilities in Sweden that work so well in ‘peaceful’ times: nobody is responsible right now, and there is no clear direction, creating space for rampant incompetence, arrogance (hey WHO, look how good we ski without masks) and a lot of fear and insecurity when faced with the minutiae of this pandemic. I am experiencing this as a rapid erosion of compassion and an infantile and an entitled and ridiculous wish for a return to normal (or in fact, a refusal to even leave ‘normal’ in the first place in order to show solidarity towards other members of society).
    I hope Sweden and the Swedes reclaim their hearts and brains before this is over.

  2. Lisa that is a thoughtful, balanced piece. Thoughtfulness and balance today are as rare as successful Covid strategies are.

    Lisa, you wrote this paragraph: “Sweden’s pandemic response is built on individual responsibility in exchange for less Covid restrictions than the rest of the world, with cafés, shopping malls and so on staying open throughout the crisis, which many understandably confused readers have questioned in The Local’s articles. In essence: Keep your distance, and you get to keep your freedom.”

    But Lisa, who decided that this approach was a better one to follow than say Norway or Finland? The real truth is that in Sweden a small secret bunch of people in FHM thought it would be good to play a game, the game of testing whether (for the first time in medical history) you can engineer “immunity” by selective control of a contagious agent. They assumed the agent was “the flu”. Unfortunately for them, and for 100,000s of Swedes, it is not at all like the ‘flu. While many warned them of this dangerous delusional policy, the Swedish constitution of 1974 allowed them to pursue it anyhow. The politicians notionally in charge were absent – not competent enough, and not brave enough to put the welfare of the people of the country they serve above their own, narrow, political interests.

    My faith in Sweden as a place of sagacity, togetherness and common-sense has been permanently shattered. As have the lives of 13,000+ who have died, and over 100,000 with longer-term issues, which your FHM does not even acknowledge (because if it did, it would have to take responsibility). In a country with a unique relationship between the individual, the family, and the state (arising from the Folkhemmet ideals of the 1930s, 1940s and Per Albin Hanssen and Tage Erlander), it is a dangerous game to rely on the individual. In Sweden, no-one takes any individual responsibility, which is why it is rich in both tragedy and irony that the supposed pandemic response is dependent on individual decisions. It is pretty clear it has not gone well. The biggest tragedy of all, will be the cover up and denial, for about say 20-30 years, when admissions and apologies will finally be made (once those responsible have passed on). The decision to reject face masks was criminal, as a single example. Criminal. Unsupported by science, just arrogant assertion. Much like the forced sterilisations of the mentally ill and poor in Swedish towns and institutions from 1934 to 1976.

    A people that do not learn from their mistakes continue to make them, ad nauseam. This is said in deep sadness, not schadenfreude.

Log in here to leave a comment.
Become a Member to leave a comment.

FOOD AND DRINK

OPINION: Are tips in Sweden becoming the norm?

Should you tip in Sweden? Habits are changing fast thanks to new technology and a hard-pressed restaurant trade, writes James Savage.

OPINION: Are tips in Sweden becoming the norm?

The Local’s guide to tipping in Sweden is clear: tip for good service if you want to, but don’t feel the pressure: where servers in the US, for instance, rely on tips to live, waiters in Sweden have collectively bargained salaries with long vacations and generous benefits. 

But there are signs that this is changing, and the change is being accelerated by card machines. Now, many machines offer three preset gratuity percentages, usually starting with five percent and going up to fifteen or twenty. Previously they just asked the customer to fill in the total amount they wanted to pay.

This subtle change to a user interface sends a not-so-subtle message to customers: that tipping is expected and that most people are probably doing it. The button for not tipping is either a large-lettered ‘No Tip’ or a more subtle ‘Fortsätt’ or ‘Continue’ (it turns out you can continue without selecting a tip amount, but it’s not immediately clear to the user). 

I’ll confess, when I was first presented with this I was mildly irked: I usually tip if I’ve had table service, but waiting staff are treated as professionals and paid properly, guaranteed by deals with unions; menu prices are correspondingly high. The tip was a genuine token of appreciation.

But when I tweeted something to this effect (a tweet that went strangely viral), the responses I got made me think. Many people pointed out that the restaurant trade in Sweden is under enormous pressure, with rising costs, the after-effects of Covid and difficulties recruiting. And as Sweden has become more cosmopolitain, adding ten percent to the bill comes naturally to many.

Boulebar, a restaurant and bar chain with branches around Sweden and Denmark, had a longstanding policy of not accepting tips at all, reasoning that they were outdated and put diners in an uncomfortable position. But in 2021 CEO Henrik Kruse decided to change tack:

“It was a purely financial decision. We were under pressure due to Covid, and we had to keep wages down, so bringing back tips was the solution,” he said, adding that he has a collective agreement and staff also get a union bargained salary, before tips.

Yet for Kruse the new machines, with their pre-set tipping percentages, take things too far:

“We don’t use it, because it makes it even clearer that you’re asking for money. The guest should feel free not to tip. It’s more important for us that the guest feels free to tell people they’re satisfied.”

But for those restaurants that have adopted the new interfaces, the effect has been dramatic. Card processing company Kassacentralen, which was one of the first to launch this feature in Sweden, told Svenska Dagbladet this week that the feature had led to tips for the average establishment doubling, with some places seeing them rise six-fold.

Even unions are relaxed about tipping these days, perhaps understanding that they’re a significant extra income for their members. Union representatives have often in the past spoken out against tipping, arguing that the practice is demeaning to staff and that tips were spread unevenly, with staff in cafés or fast food joints getting nothing at all. But when I called the Swedish Hotel and Restaurant Union (HRF), a spokesman said that the union had no view on the practice, and it was a matter for staff, business owners and customers to decide.

So is tipping now expected in Sweden? The old advice probably still stands; waiters are still not as reliant on tips as staff in many other countries, so a lavish tip is not necessary. But as Swedes start to tip more generously, you might stick out if you leave nothing at all.

SHOW COMMENTS