Dec 28, 2014

The final julotta

Thinking about it in beforehand I have felt sad. Knowing it would be the last. The last one in modern time. And the last one forever. But, at my place on the front row singing the familiar hymns, surrounded by my four generation extended family, my heart was happy and I felt pride more than anything else. We have done this well.
I am the seventh generation on my mother’s side in my village, my sons the eighth. That’s as far as the family tree takes us. Once the little white wooden church was a bride. Born and built in the late twenties by my grandfather Carl and the farmers of the village, dressed by their women. Every Sunday they greeted her. But the early morning Christmas Day service, the “julotta”, was the most cherished celebration of the year.

Carl, a very driven man with a beautiful barytone, died 1945 and so did the julotta. In the middle of 1990, Margareta, another granddaughter of the men and women who created the village temple, and I, started fantasizing about arranging a julotta. The wooden church was still there, mostly quiet and and empty, what if we could wake it up from it’s involuntary inhibernation? What if we could fill it once again with warmth, music, words and people? What if? 

And so we did. 1998 was the first year. The room warm from the electrical stove. The light shut down, replaced by flickering candles. People gathered in the pews, shaking hands, nodding, smiling, scooting after to let everybody have a seat. My village has been known for being musical, and it sounds like we still are. The Christmas hymns filling the room, lifting to the ceiling.

The agreement was only one julotta. And see how we felt about another one the year after. So, in October there was the phone call. How do we feel? Are we on?

The question was first put to Trouble & Trouble and their cousin Johannes. I was in charge of the music, and the boys were crucial in that sense, so if they were on, I was on. And if we were on, my cousin Torbjörn who is a pastor, was on. And if we were all on, the village was on. Margareta was Christmas dressing the church, some were baking for the after service coffee, my second cousin Roland was in charge of the marketing, my mother’s cousin Bertil, then 77 years old, played the organ. Everyone who wanted to be a part took on an assignment, and together we made it one more time.

And one more. And one more. In October, the call. At Christmas Day the julotta. For every year there were more people coming. No matter if it was a rainy or a white Christmas. We had created a tradition that people didn’t want to be without. Little did we know, Margareta and I, that the mid 1990 fantasy of our’s would be a 16 year long tradition, even outnumbering the Christmas morning services our grandfathers arranged 1930-45!

But everything must come to an end. At least most things are. Since some years the white wooden church is owned and taken care of by another village grand daughter, Christina. And Trouble & Trouble and Johannes are grown men starting their own family traditions. So, a year ago, we decided that 2014 would be our final julotta.

I am sitting at the front row. It’s -6°F (-21°C) outside and the trees are covered in snow. It’s freezing, yet 162 people have defied the early morning and the cold to come celebrate the last julotta. The little white wooden church is for the final time filled to the brim with a congregation, powerfully singing the holiday hymns. It’s a Christmas card Christmas and once again I get to celebrate it with my loved once and my friends in the village.

I am thinking, what if they can hear us? Grandfather Carl and grandmother Signe, all the other farmers who are the ancestors of this congregation. What if they could see us? Bertil, now 93, one of the children, still with us. Torbjörn, my sister and me, Margareta, Roland, Christina: the grand children. Trouble & Trouble, their cousins and second cousins: the great grand children. And baby Maia, only 3 months old, her first and last julotta, Carl and Signe’s great great grand child.

The mind boggles. Those perspectives.

I feel like I am in the middle of a time line. We have been building arches between now and then. Two new generations have been a part of the traditions our grandparents once created. My sons were 10 and 12 their first julotta and will not remember anything else than getting up way too early on Christmas morning, but still wanting to do it.

In 1945 no one new it would be that generation’s last julotta. Carl died summer after, too early, only 57. And the julotta died as well. For 53 years the Christmas mornings were dark and silence in my village. 16 years now, they have been again light, warm, filled with music, joy community and coffee. But this is the final one. We are finishing up. And we are doing it with respect and dignity.

I am feeling unexpectedly happy at my front row. Happy and very proud. Being a part of this story. Having been blessed creating a part of this story. We did well. Maybe. Maybe, this is the meaning of my life.

Dec 22, 2014

In the arms of an angel choir

Coming to life looking in to familiar friendly faces. One checking my pulse. One lifting my legs to get the pressure up. Silence. Realizing the concert is put on hold by me falling.
It was in a way a magical experience. During my choir’s Christmas concert. I didn’t feel well. Kind of sick. And a bit dizzy. And the next thing I knew I woke up surrounded by all these faces. And arms. They caught me. Like I was in the arms of a down comforter.
So, I didn’t get to sing the concert, other than the first third of it. But I got to listen. They put me in a pew and covered me with blankets. It didn’t help. I had the most terrible chills. But I got to listen to a wonderful concert. An angel choir.
Lying there I was mostly worried about what would come afterwards. In the church I was safe. Surrounded by people. But at home by myself.
Then a different angel sat at my side. Linda is a sound engineer who is on my film crew. And she happened to be there. She sat down with me and told me she could stay with me over the night if I wanted. Thank you Linda, thank you.
Back home, finally, it turned out I was running a fever at 102° (39°). That’s extreme to be me. No wonder I was freezing into my bones. I am so terribly grateful to Linda taking care of me, and she will be until tomorrow morning. My pressure is dropping just by sitting up, so the most basic things are dangerous to perform, even with support.
And if I would give you one little piece of advise at Christmas time: when you are about to faint, do it in the arms of an angel choir.

Dec 14, 2014

A year as Capital of Culture - from the corner of my eye.

A thin white layer is covering the ground, finally lightning up this very dark fall. Temperatures have mostly been around freezing point or warmer making it impossible for winter to make it’s entrance. I am not complaining. The later it’s arriving, the shorter winter. Works fine for me. Although even I love a white Christmas so I hope it stays now.
And I am sure it made last night even more festive. Wrapping up this very special year. 
Umeå, the European Capital of Culture 2014. We have lived with that epithet for a very long time now. First through the protracted application process, then winning the title and years of preparing. And so, finally, realizing it. In retrospect I would say it’s amazing how a small city like Umeå could pull this off. It is quite an accomplishment.
Umeå is, by nature and tradition a city of culture. There is so much going on here in every art form there is no way you can take part of everything even a regular year. But Umeå 2014 has been crazy. From the inauguration on the frozen Umeå River late January until the closing bash last night at Rådhustorget (the City Hall Square) in downtown Umeå.
There have been numerous WOWs and of course a lot of skepticism and criticism among the inhabitants of Umeå regarding the year that just passed. I think though, and hope, that we, as a city, have gained self confidence and self esteem lasting for a long time.
As for myself, I have followed Umeå being the Capital of Culture through media, Facebook and friends. Missing the inauguration on the river was a big disappointment to me, although everyone telling me how cold it was, how crowded and how they hardly saw or heard anything, I must admit was comforting. A couple of weeks ago I thought it would be possible for me to attend the closing ceremony instead, but I turned acute last week, so that was out of the question.
Being physically challenged for many years now, I have adapted to not being a part of the cultural life in Umeå the way I would wish. I feel like I am watching it from the corner of my eye. I know it’s out there but I am in here. And that’s how it is. Therefore I am so grateful for the two things I had sat my eyes on and actually could be a part of.
The amazing outdoor opera Elektra from Richard Strauss performed by Norrlandsoperan (the Umeå opera house) was a show and an experience so overwhelming it took focus from my pain for a couple of hours. Thanks to my friend Agneta and a garden chair in which I could half lie half sit, I got to be a part of a collective Umeå memory that will last for at least two generations
And then there was the choir festival. The idea which I had been carrying since the late eighties, this summer realized by Kammarkören Sångkraft (the Sångkraft Chamber Choir. A Choral Midsummer Light’s Dream - Umeå International Choir Festival, taking place during the Midsummer week, was a huge success even though the rain was poring down and the nights were at freezing point.
There was no way for me, of course, to be a part of the festival the way I had pictured through the years leading up to this. But thanks to extreme will power and many helping hands I could do the assignment I had taken on, to be the MC of the main evening concerts. Together with Agneta and my sister Kia I announced vocal ensembles from nine countries during the White Night Concerts. I don’t think anyone in the audience could tell that one of the ladies in the spot light at the front of the stage, between every set staggered back stage and collapsed on a foldable bed.
Last night Umeå said goodbye to being the European Capital of Culture. From what I can see from the pictures it looks like a grand closure celebration. The former City Hall was lit up in a spectacular light show I would have loved to see. But things are what they are. And I am happy that Umeå the European Capital of Culture on the whole has been a huge success. We have all done a good job. Even I! 

Dec 7, 2014

Swedish governing in historic limbo/part 4

So, the worst case scenario is happening. This week Sverigedemokraterna brought the Swedish government down on it’s knees. We have a government crisis.
In September the Swedish people voted in a way that put governing in a historic limbo, and the outcome was a weak minority government. A very unstable situation.
There are eight parties in the Swedish parliament: Moderaterna (the party most to the right), Folkpartiet, Kristdemokraterna (the Christian Democrats) and Centerpartiet, those are what we call the middle parties. There are also of course Socialdemokraterna (the Social Democrats), Miljöpartiet (the Swedish green party), Vänsterpartiet (the Left party), and Sverigedemokraterna (a nationalistic, social conservative and no doubt about it racist party).
For eight years Moderaterna and the middle parties formed a government under the name The Alliance. In September though, the result of the Swedish vote was the Social Democrats and the Green Party governing together. I was happy, although the minority situation made governing unstable. What was most scary though was Sverigedemokraterna having 13% (a totally unreal and terrifying number) of the vote and therefore becoming the power of balance in the 2014 Swedish government.
The main issue for Sverigedemokraterna is to put a stop to immigration. And their message this fall has been them voting for the budget that would be “the least harmful to Sweden” in that sense.
This week the government did present their budget. And the Alliance presented a different one. Sverigedemokraterna voted nay to the government budget. And yes to the Alliance. Not that the Alliance one was very different on the subject immigration. No, the purpose was to make the government fall.
“As we will vote nay to any budget!”. Was their message. Their assignment is to create political chaos. They can put any government down on any budget every six month.
So, on Wednesday our Prime Minister called for a new election on March 22. There hasn’t been an extra election in Sweden since 1958. And the current Social Democrat/Green Party government will have to govern on the Alliance budget up until the election. How messed up is that?
There are too many angles to this situation being so horrible I have a hard time finding words for them, even in Swedish.
87% of the Swedish people (who voted in September, which was 86% of the inhabitants), want Sweden to be a place of diversity welcoming people from other countries, weather they are Swedes moving back from abroad, professionals sponsored by companies, or refugees leaving their homelands in misery, fear and despair. 13% of the vote is for some reason terrified on this subject and they are now in power! Divide and rule.
“We are looking forward to the March election, it will be the referendum on immigration!”. It was when I heard those words I realized that this had been their agenda. This had been their goal all along. And all the other parties were behind in the dark. I felt sick.
So what are the other parties doing in this extreme situation? The established parties, most of them having been there forever, some (like the Christian Democrats and the Green Party) making their entrance in my life time.
You would expect them to be sensible and simply come together in this terrifying case, finding a solution where a majority could run the country together. Nope.
Stefan Lövén, the leader of the Social Democrats and the Swedish Prime Minister met with the Alliance leaders on Tuesday night asking them for collaboration. The response was no. Not even a maybe. There was not the tiniest crack for negotiations. Instead they chose to let a nationalistic, social conservative and no doubt about it racist party have the victory.
Watching it I feel like they are all in their Terrible Twos. I am right and you are wrong! This is mine! I don’t want to play with you! I feel ashamed for them.
Sverigedemokraterna in the parliament are mostly angry young men who in four years (that’s how long they have been there) have become insidious strategists, a scary troop in expensive suites having a vote about our country. But the established parties should have more sense then acting like aggrieved teenagers. This isn’t just a political quarrel, this is a party starting a war within our own country. How can it not be that seven experienced parties see that and put a stop to it together?
The Swedish people had a vote in September. Are we to blame? Do we get the politicians we deserve? No. 87% voted for levelheaded men and women we had confidence in. We put Sweden in their hands. And they are handing it over to 13% dangerous dark powers. I feel betrayed.

Nov 30, 2014

This is the case. My case/part 4

It was surreal. And it didn’t end well. 
To be in a room where people are talking about you. Evaluating and judging you. Above your head. And in my case literary, as I was lying on my portable sun bed during the hearing.
Exposing myself and my most private matters before my opponents the City officials and a stone faced judge and the jurors. Being as vulnerable as someone can be, in my effort to get through that concrete wall up on the podium. To reach them. I failed.
I have never been in a court room before. I entered led by my lawyer. The judge, three jurors and the notary were in their seats at a podium. My lawyer and I on the right side of the room, three City officials on the left. My nephew Johannes and Audrey’s mother Maria were my support team, as well as a friend from my village who happens to work at the court house. They were seated behind me, down by the door. It felt good.
The two officials who are handling my case for the City and the ones who decided on not giving me the assistance that I need (and that’s why we are in the court room in the first place) dislike me. The two women in their early thirties really dislike me. And we are in court. The judge and the jurors are a concrete wall. Not unfriendly, but a concrete wall, as they must be. And that’s the situation in the room where I am lying on my sun bed listening to them talking about me. And when I am speaking, I am naked.
I am thinking, how could I have done this alone? I am so terribly grateful to this sweet lawyer who was by my side through this process and put in I am sure three times as much work as he charged me for.
Afterwords, as I don’t have any references, I couldn’t tell how things had gone. My lawyer felt good about the situation though. And I think we all did a good job. Awara, one of the Civil Care owners (my home care company) and Trouble 2 being witnesses. And the lawyer and me.
The verdict came a week earlier then expected. And it turned out things hadn’t gone well at all. My appeal was entirely rejected.
This I was prepared for, of course. It was my worst case scenario. My appeal was divided in two parts though. We knew one of them would be difficult, as an acclaim would have been precidential, so the chances were not that good.  But we were hoping for the other one. It was a minor adjustment in the assistance I have already been approved of. It’s so minor I would like to explain it, to make an effort giving you a picture of how City officials on assignment helping people in need, are operating.
A week before the hearing I was suddenly approved help getting out of and into bed and out of and into my couch, to get to the bathroom. This was originally in my appeal as I had been denied help moving from lying to the bathroom and back to lying again earlier on. But, just days before the court they changed their mind. So we thought. It turned out the approval was only rising and sitting down on bed, toilet and couch. Not the few steps from my bed to the bathroom. Not the few meters from the bathroom to my couch. Now, if that is only steps and meters, can’t I do that myself? No, at my worst, there is not a chance for me to do any of this myself.
This City official procedure made so little sense we actually laughed when we got to know. Are they serious? Someone is going to help me out of bed, then leave me, come back when I have reached the bathroom, help me sit down, leave, return to help me up, leave and return when I am at the couch to help me lie down. So, what are the Civil Care staff supposed to do while I am struggling between bed and bathroom? Drive back to Umeå? Go for a walk? To be back the next minute to help me lie down? Seriously?
The procedure made so little sense we thought the judge and the jurors would see what we saw. We were wrong.
What was the other part, the difficult one? Well, it’s more complicated so it will be a separate blog subject, but it’s a vital issue and it’s crucial for me to get assistance in that matter.
It was this Tuesday when the verdict came. A week early, so I wasn’t prepared. My heart raised. I had to take care of some job issues and some urgent things on my to do list. I knew I would be a mess after opening the document. And I took many deep breaths before.
I read. And was crushed.
The judge and the jurors didn’t only appear as a concrete wall. They were. I had stood (lied) before them exposed, naked and vulnerable. I had told them about my situation,  in a court room matter-of-fact way complemented with, before the lawyer’s closing, a more from my heart (but still controlled) testimony. But they didn’t hear me.
My profession is to bring a message through. To tell a story so it touches the heart. I can trust myself on this. It’s pretty much the only thing about myself that I can trust. Until now. I should have been able to find the word that poked a tiny little whole in that concrete wall. The sentence that made the concrete crack. But I didn’t. I failed on the one thing I can do, at the most important message bringing in my life. About my life.
So what now? Well not only did I loose in court what I needed to win, but the two early thirties City officials who don’t like me, deciding about my life, won. Which means they will feel very safe denying me anything I need in the future. 

Nov 23, 2014

A new port at the Umeå River!

To watch the developer and the architect on Friday, harbor and express their happiness after years of work was amazing. Ladies and gentlemen, I am giving you Väven!
Ten years ago I produced a film for Balticgruppen, a developing company based in Umeå. Six architects on a parallell assignment were coming up with six different visions for redesigning the Umeå waterfront facing the Umeå River. Bold, brave, beautiful and surprising. The Oslo firm Snöhetta vision was the one advocated before the City, but for reasons later discussed and debated in Umeå the vision never came true. As I documented the whole process on film, being present when it happened and later watching 16 hours of footage, I have a pretty clear opinion about the circumstances, but I will save that one for my memoirs.
Umeå has been divided on the waterfront design subject, as we should. Imagine a city agreeing on a big change! Some were relieved that first vision didn’t come true, some were disappointed. I was among the latter part. Disappointed and sad. So was Balticgruppen, Snöhetta I am sure, and parts of the City Hall.
The idea of redesigning the waterfront turned into a Sleeping Beauty for quite some time, but what the City could agree on was that something needed to be done. For the same reasons as the redesigning of the Seattle waterfront: turning the city towards the water and making something ugly and deserted into a welcoming and beautiful spot for people to relax, meet and have fun. Building a new front porch.
Somewhere along the line the City and Balticgruppen started looking at an option for a main attraction on the 9 block stretch between Gamla bron (the Old Bridge) and Kyrkbron (the Church Bridge), called Staden mellan broarna (the City Between the Bridges). To make a long story very short they agreed on a building for cultural arts and invited Snöhetta as the architect along with the local White office.
Through the ten years passing since the six visions being like a love story between the City, Balticgruppen and the leading architect firms within the Nordic countries, there has been a lot of grief and frustration, even feelings of hopelessness. Therefor, the opening of the building for cultural arts Väven this weekend is an amazing milestone some of us, at times, never thought we would reach.
Väven (The Weave), where various forms of cultural expression will be woven together, harbors a new city library, the Women’s history museum, a black box, two movie theaters and much more, coffee shops, restaurant, a conference floor and two hotels within the Väven block.
The black and white glass exterior of Väven is inspired by the graphics of the birch stem, an Umeå signature. So, if you like the new building you say it’s woven into Umeå. If you utterly dislike it, your opinion is that the building looks like a cruise ship, is totally out of proportion and ruins the familiar Umeå character.
Myself, I have loved every minute of watching an ugly parking lot, an eye sore, facing the Umeå river change into a bold and beautiful building. Then, of course, I am emotionally attached to the project since my documentary ten years ago. And the fact that I am now producing a different film, where Väven is one of the main characters, makes me very grateful.
At 1PM Friday, Väven was officially opened. The vision which the Balticgruppen developer and owner Krister Olsson and Kjetil Thorsen, founding partner of Snöhetta had been carrying for years was now for real. During the weekend the people of Umeå has taken possession of the two men’s dreams, drawings, renderings, models and fantasy about a weave of arts and people at the shore of the Umeå River. The way it was a weave of people and cultures when the river was deep and the very same place was a vibrant ship port.
For me to watch the two men meet and happily hug in the middle of the Friday crowd, only minutes after the doors opened in the building they created, was a big moment. Through my films I have been allowed being an eye on the inside of this ten year process. I can’t say how grateful I am being there the historic day of the opening.

Nov 16, 2014

This is the case. My case/part 3

It’s tomorrow. It’s the day before The Day. And I am terrified.
I have spent many weeks preparing and today I am in on the home stretch. My lawyer and I have been through all the questions he is going to ask me and I have worked hard to get the answers right, not leaving anything important out. Formulating myself is my arena so I should feel somewhat safe. Now, I might if I was allowed a script or at least key words. But I am not. 
So, what do I do? I am spending the day memorizing. And it’s a lot. Don’t I trust my lawyer on doing his job. I do.
The thing is, this is about me. I will be in court tomorrow and the verdict will decide my future. My lawyer won’t be better than I have prepared him to be. I am the one giving him the information about my situation and a win or loose can depend on details I have given him or blanked out on.
It’s funny, I feel a lot as when I was a reporter at Swedish National Television briefing the host of the investigating consumers show before going live. God, make me not forget something really important!
The other thing is, in whatever situation I have been in in my life I am the one having the overview. I am the one seeing the whole picture. And outside the picture. Around the corners. And people around me trust me (for good or worse) to fix whatever it is. Now, I have never been in a court room before. I don’t see any picture what so ever. Which of course scares me like shit. So I am trying desperately to make me a picture.
The third thing is, in my life I have no experience of anyone speaking up for me. Correction, it has happened once (just a few years ago), and it was a strange, highly unexpected and wonderful treat. I was stunned. Not even in Swedish can I express the depth on an emotional level of that experience.
The past few weeks a nice young man have put in a lot more hours than he will be payed for in understanding my situation and making it a case. Trying to solve a very difficult situation for me. And tomorrow he will speak up for me in the court room. I can’t really wrap my head around it.
So, now I will spend the last hours on this home stretch memorizing as much as I can possibly do. And trust my lawyer to get me on track if I get lost. Or blanks. Or, my worst nightmare, if I pass the Fight and Flight system and go into Freeze Mode.
For now I need to stay away from the emotional part of me and keep my head clear and my body calm. And I am asking everyone out there to send good thoughts, light and love to northern Sweden Monday afternoon starting 1PM. Gosh Seattle, that’s 4AM! Okay, from you I am asking for nice dreams for me or maybe set your alarm on a powerful meditation before the sun rises. Thank you!

Nov 9, 2014

A Washington Initiative for change

The experience was surreal. A sleepy Sunday on a Seattle Downtown escalator, surrounded by people wearing NRA badges. Related to what’s happened in Washington State these past weeks, the memory comes back.
On October 24 a teenage boy shot five other teenagers and then himself in the Marysville-Pilchuck Highschool cafeteria in Snohomish County about an hour north of Seattle. Today five of the children are dead, only one survived. No, they weren’t young men or women, they were 14 and 15 year old children, three girls and two boys. Now dead by a gun. The reason for the deeply tragic shooting including relatives and members of the Tulalip Tribe will probably never be clarified. Funerals and memorial services so far have gathered thousands. 
The U.S. Mid Term Elections were held November 4. As always in a U.S election the different states are also going to the ballots about state initiatives. Which means, you give your vote pro or con a proposition which only affects your state. For example, Washington and Colorado earlier voted for legalization of marijuana for recreational use. Oregon followed in this election.
Now, on November 4 the people of Washington State were offered to vote on five ballot measures, one of them was Initiative 594, concerning background checks for firearm sales and transfers. The initiative makes sure anyone buying a gun in Washington State passes the same background check, no matter where they buy the gun and no matter whom they buy it from.
So, what about the experience on the Seattle Downtown escalator?
Well, it was a Sunday, I think in 1997. I had left my family in our Boyer Avenue home and took the car to Convention Center which I did three times a week to get my workout at Gold’s Gym. I would guess Trouble & Trouble were sitting at the dining room table drawing or playing with their next door friends Carel and Nick. 
I parked in the Convention Center garage and took, as always, the escalator to the gym floor. Although the Convention Center is a very public place, it is often surprisingly quiet. Not this Sunday though. A lot of people, a lot of badges. A lot of pins. I glanced at the messages. And remembered. This was the weekend for the National Rifle Association convention. I was surrounded by people who’s opinion was owning guns is more or less a human right.
Sensing the situation now I feel like I wanted to make myself as little as possible. Invisible. I was scared. I was surrounded by a culture so foreign to me I felt like I had landed on a different planet with evil aliens. Or being an extra in the escalator scene of a violent thriller.
What made the scene even more unreal was the fact there weren’t only men on the set. There were women. There were families. There were children. Children the same age as Trouble & Trouble momentary drawing at the dining room table on a slow Sunday afternoon. Children wearing pins saying “Don’t touch my gun”. It was surreal.
I feel now like that scene was in slow motion. I was at my step of the escalator standing as still as possible. Looking straight forward, glancing at the pins from the corner of my eye. Like, as if I didn’t move I wouldn’t stir the situation up and make it explosive.
Now, on November 4 Washington State voted yes on Initiative 594 and became the first state in the U.S. to close the background checks loophole by popular vote. 594 extends the currently used criminal and public safety background checks by licensed dealers to cover all firearm sales and transfers, including gun show and online sales, with reasonable exceptions. This is something to celebrate!
Some say this won’t change anything. If you want a gun you will get yourself a gun. And I’m sure that’s true. But it’s a start. It won’t bring Andrew, Nate, Zoe, Gia, Shaylee and Jaylen in Marysville back to life. And there will be more shootings, in schools, and elsewhere. But the people of Washington has made a strong mark. As the first state in the U.S. they want a change for the future.

Nov 2, 2014

This is the case. My case/part 2

November 17. That’s the date for my case in the court hearing (Förvaltningsrätten). I was summoned the other day.
Right now I feel a little bit better about the situation. I have a strong and clear attestation (is that a word that works here?) from my doctor. Another one from a nurse specialized in pain who have seen me for several years. A third describing every situation throughout the day and the help I need in each one of them. And Awara who is one of the owners of Civil Care (my home care company), Josephine (who works for them and also is my neighbor) and Trouble 2 are approved and summoned as witnesses.
But the reason to why I Friday afternoon felt like a glass of champagne is that I got myself a lawyer!
Very few lawyers are specialized in this field. There isn’t a lot of money to make on poor, sick, disabled and vulnerable people. And the cases don’t make head lines in the news papers. A bit like why pain is not an interesting research field, it won’t give you a Nobel Prize.
In Umeå there is only one law firm with some knowledge in these matters. I called them a while ago and talked to a vey nice young man who couldn’t take me on because of time issues.
- If I can’t put love into a case I have to say no.
A lawyer talking in terms of love! Although my disappointment I was smiling at my end of the line, saying, at least I know you are the right person for me.
Now, my hearing was postponed and the nice young man agreed on meeting me. Which happened Friday late afternoon. When most everyone was preparing for Halloween parties or lit candles on their loved ones graves on All Saints Eve, he drove all the way to the end of the road in my little village and sat with me for two hours listening to my long and sad story.
He listened. He took it all in. He questioned everything I questioned in the City decision denying me the help I need. He read the different attestations telling about my physical conditions and my situation and he said:
- We’ve got a case.
Oh how I had dreamt of those words!
We have no clue of course. A court is a court. And even if we should win, the City might very well appeal to a higher court (Kammarrätten) and I would have to continue my fight. Fight, fight, fight.
It’s interesting. I am discovering something I didn’t know about myself. A court is a court. It’s square. Strict with sharp corners. Steel and concrete. That’s the nature of it and that is how it must be. As a pretty articulate (in my mother tongue) person, communicative and with some talent in connecting to people, I am suddenly realizing the world around me being bendable. I’ve never thought about it that way. Plastic. Ductile. Moldable. The world around me, to some degree, is shaped depending on how well I am doing making contact with people and formulating myself. It sounds manipulative, breaking it down like this, I hope it isn’t though.
But here I am, on my way to court, in a matter about life, and the talents that I trust (without being aware of it) are insignificant. No good. Or even to my disadvantage. I need to really watch myself. Make myself a bit square. Not to come across as a manipulator. And ruin things for myself.
So. It’s Friday evening. The sweet lawyer is petting my kitten who hasn’t left his side during the two hours. He is telling me that he will be with me during the hearing and bring my claim in court. And from now on, he will be the one doing the job.
I can’t express the relief and gratitude I am feeling. The whole thing is still extremely scary. This is serious. But I am not alone anymore. We have a case.

Oct 26, 2014

Passing on valuable knowledge/saved by helping hands

It’s been poring down. The winds at gale force and gutsy. The last couple of days have been like a Seattle winter. And I can hear the sturdy wind chimes playing at my front porch, the one I bought down at Pioneer Square on my first stay in Seattle 21 years ago. It was on the very end of the stay, 22 $ we couldn’t afford, but yet couldn’t leave behind.
Entering the dark and cold season isn’t my cup of tea. The combination of closing the front door to keep the cold out for nine months / all the things that didn’t get done at my place this summer. Not this summer either. Doesn’t make me happy.
Saving the roof of the Big Barn. Lifting up the front of the wood shed/coach house. Painting the carport roof trusses. Fixing the leaking gutter. Burning the huge stack of twigs topped with discarded wooden furniture. Cleaning out the coach house which has become a black hole of recycling. What to do about the baker’s cottage, it looks like the ants are ruining our summer cabin? Taking care of all the windfall birches surrounding my house. To mention a few of the tiny things on my never ending to do list.
The art of focusing on the things that actually got done and can be (temporarily) crossed out from that list is, unfortunately, something I am not mastering very well. But I am remembering now how Trouble 2 made a heroic effort cleaning out the wood shed which had turned into a giant garbage storage, not to mention him carrying down most everything from the bakers cottage attic, which, among other things, is the extended family furniture storage. Hurray for Trouble 2, that was an amazing job he did!
To keep a place like mine, with a house, a summer baker’s cottage, a wood shed/coach house, an old hay barn, carport, out house, a sweet play house and a big yard and forest property, you need knowledge, tools, a strong physical body, interest and time. I have a lot of interest, a bit of knowledge and some time. My sons have strong bodies, some interest and no time. We have been lacking pieces of knowledge and all the tools. The equation is a hard one to figure out.
So, what to do? Well, you ask Mats for help.
Mats is a dear friend who builds baroque flutes and lifts an out house which is sinking down into the ground with equal enthusiasm. Mats also loves sharing his knowledge about most everything, holding lectures which can be terribly annoying, but sometimes a lecture is exactly what you need.
So, at the end of this summer Trouble & Trouble, Mats and I got together for a work day. To start with, Mats taught my sons how to build a tool to lift the heavy branches of my grandfather’s apple tree, something that needs to be done every summer. Mats is an extremely thorough person and the apple tree has never looked this good after the yearly face lift before!
Then on to the main mission for the day, saving the out house from tipping over. Why do I need an outhouse? I usually don’t but it’s there because it’s always been there, and it’s an unusually stylish out house built by my dad. And this summer when I needed to dig up the sewer system I actually used it for a couple of days, and hey, was I happy it was still there! But as the front is tipping forward you could hardly open the door, and that was needed to be taken care of.
I loved watching Mats and my sons together. Trouble & Trouble were soaking Mats’ knowledge and skills like dry sponges, and the way Mats showed them how to do, he made sure they could do it themselves next time. And that’s how a really good teacher does it. I was moved, a little bit sad, and deeply grateful.
So how come I don’t have tools? At a place like mine you got to have tools! Well, I do have tools, but none working. The lawn mower was quite all summer, the trimmer has been sitting in a dark corner for as long as I can remember, the chain saw died years ago and the clearing saw who I own in shared custody with my ex brother in law Kjell, hasn’t come my way since I don’t know when. So, even if my sons had the time they don’t have the tools. And I can’t help them out since I can’t transport any of those things to get them repaired.
Then, out of the blue Kjell called and asked me what I needed to have cleared out! I had made some comment on Facebook that led him to the question. The next thing I knew he was in the grove across the road and I had free sight down to the fields east of it! And then he searched all my sheds for non working machinery, filled his trunk, brought everything to the Husqvarna repair shop and then back here when it all was up and running again!
At that point I was close to crying out of gratitude. But Kjell wasn’t done. On top of that he met up with Trouble 2 for a lesson in how to run a clearing saw. And a long list of what we need to purchase to make power sawing of all kind safe. This is serious stuff.
Kjell lost his father when he was eight years old. He didn’t have a dad passing on his knowledge to his son and had to learn everything by error. Or, as he told me, what he later learned, was from my dad, his father in law. Kjell has three sons who are accordingly well educated in practical matters, and now he willingly is ready to take on an uncle mission with my sons. And Trouble & Trouble and I are equally grateful and relieved to receive this unexpected support.
Now, a note from a feministic perspective. It so happens there are no girls in the generation after me. My sister and I have altogether five sons. If there had been daughters I can assure you they would have been educated in how to keep an old homestead. My father taught me everything from changing tires to lifting the corner of a house in need  (which means I have the theoretical knowledge of  how to lift a house, but I can’t be there with my hands). The only thing he kept from me was the chainsaw. Which I found annoying.
This Sunday Trouble & Trouble, Audrey and I are making fall at Stoltergården - Mats’ name of my place here at the end of the road. The rain is taking a break today, but the wind is still at gale force and gutsy. We are putting in the winter windows, ironing the fall curtains, turning off the summer water and preparing for the Christmas lights in the garden. The leaking gutter is temporally taken care of, and the damned and huge stack of twigs and discarded wooden furniture is burning! It took my sons quite some time to get the fire going, and when it finally did the wind turned the situation a bit risky for a while, but now that stack is gone, hallelujah!
And for next summer, Mats’ plan is to teach my sons how to take care of my grandfather’s wooden windows. And Kjell will be holding a class on the subject safe power sawing. Trouble & Trouble are lucky to have such enthusiastic teachers. And I am lucky having such great friends. 

Oct 19, 2014

The ramps to nowhere - the story of a legendary citizen uprising

I drove through Arboretum most every day. It was my afternoon treat when picking up Trouble & Trouble at Valley School in Madison Valley on the edge of Central District. Being embraced by the greenery on the winding Lake Washington Boulevard on my way down there, then one more time on my way back. I loved it, I just loved it. And knowing there might have been a freeway instead of the Japanese Garden, made the drive even more precious.
First time I saw them was 1993 when we stayed in Juanita, Kirkland, east of Lake Washington for three months. Passing the lake on the 520 bridge they are on your right side driving from Seattle. The Seattle ramps to nowhere. It was our friend Harold, Trouble & Trouble’s American grandpa telling us the story.
In the 1960s there were far advanced plans for a north-south freeway, the four-lane R.H. Thomson Expressway to parallel I-5. It would have run through the Arboretum, mostly destroying it, and then south along what is now Martin Luther King Jr. Way. But the legendary citizen uprising in the late 60s and early 70s ruined those plans and that’s why Arboretum is still one of Seattle’s green lungs!
Although, there is the ramps.
The freeway project was so far gone some parts of it was already built. Like parts of the ramps leading from the 520 bridge over the water and into the Arboretum in the Montlake neighborhood. But right in the middle of those ramps, the R.H. Thomson Expressway was killed off in a 71 percent vote of the city after a 10-year battle. And since then the cut off ramps over the water nature preserve has been a ruin telling the story of  the power of citizen uprising.
Until now. Because this week the work taking down those ramps started. So is everyone happy now? Of course not!
In unofficial Seattle, there’s more sadness than joy. In fact there has been a drive to try to save the ramps — pushed by some of the same activists who fought them being built more than 50 years ago!
- “I still can’t quite believe they’re coming down,” says Anna Rudd, 74, who was in her 20s when she  helped make sure the ramps would never lead anywhere. 
When Rudd went to community groups to drum up support for saving the ramps, she was amazed how almost everyone had a ramp-jumping story. There’s a whole secret society in Seattle Anna Rudd found out. Generations of kids would ride their bikes down to the ramps to jump off, then not tell their parents about it until they became adults. Countless UW students jumped. The whole Garfield football team used to jump. It turns out it’s a Seattle rite of passage. Also popular was sunbathing, stargazing and frat-hazing rituals. The homeless used the ramps for shelter, lovers to canoe beneath.
But the ramps are coming down. The new 520 bridge over Lake Washington is wider, now in process and progress, and the Arboretum folks want their preserve back. The activists who blocked the expressway now quixotically hope to save pieces of the ramps for a monument.
- These aren’t just ramps, Anna Rudd said. “They’re literally a concrete example of how citizens can gather together and choose their own destiny. 51 years ago, they were an embarrassing mistake. Yet over time they became a real place, wriggling into the life of the city until they turned into the most unlikely objects of Seattle pride".
The cut off road on giant concrete pillars are symbols of hubris. Or maybe the ramps show that you can beat City Hall. Either way it was on those ramps that the ethic of progress at all costs gave way to the everyone-gets-a-say process that so defines Seattle politics today.
I am trying to think of a similar example in Umeå. As the Umeå politics is defined by the same everyone-gets-a-say process I’m sure there is one but from the top of my head I can’t come up with an example. 
I am thinking though about the new public indoor pool that’s under construction in Downtown Umeå. I haven’t heard of one single person who wants it there. We need a new great public indoor pool, yes, but there are several other spots to place it than right in the middle of the city center. This was the only spot the Umeå politicians could agree on though. What had happened if the Umeå citizens would have had a vote on it? If we would vote now, in the middle of the construction? It’s an interesting thought.
Trouble & Trouble and I used to watch the 520 bridge through the panorama window in our home on Boyer Avenue. I still love driving through Arboretum, and since my chiropractor and dear friend Randi has her office on Madison in the valley I have had many reasons to take that route and enjoy the winding greenery. Will I miss the ramps? Well I don’t have a personal connection to them other than they being a part of the Seattle history. And in that sense they are important. Even to me.

Oct 12, 2014

This is the case. My case.

For close to 29 years now I have had severe back problems. They have escalated, attacking more of my body every year passing, and two years ago I needed to ask the Swedish society for help, my sons and friends weren’t enough any more. It was a huge and horrifying step letting strangers into my home, but I was hoping for it to be temporary. I was wrong.
It is the City that evaluates how much help I am entitled to. Then it’s my choice if I want the City services to help me out or one of the private companies which also provides that kind of service. In the latter case, the City pays the private company to do the job. My choice was a small local private company, Civil Care, which literally rescued me in a time of unbearable pain and despair. They have been with me for two years now, wonderful people, and become a part of my family.
October 2013 I had to ask the City for more help. My problems continued to get worse, and the hours approved earlier on wasn’t enough, I needed even more care. The City declined my request. Civil Care though, never once considered leaving me in the lurch. They expanded their hours with me without getting compensated by the City, and has been loosing money on me for a year now, never complaining.
This is, of course, an unsustainable situation. When Civil Care took me on, they, as well as I, thought it would be a temporary thing. Well, it turned chronic for the both of us. And who knows, I might live for another 30 years and they will be stuck with me!
So, what I did when the City declined covering my needs was an appeal, which I am entitled to do. I have no knowledge about legal processes what so ever, have never been even in the fringe outskirts of anything in that neighborhood, and here I am right in the center of it. It would be an interesting experience if it wasn’t for the petrifying fact that my future life is depending on the outcome of it.
I am terrified. Nothing but terrified. But I can’t lose myself being petrified. Because I need to be the project leader of the case. My case.
I wrote the appeal in July. I have spent most of the summer and fall working myself forward learning the drill as I go. It’s terribly scary. I don’t sleep. I start my days crying in the arms of the Civil Care people. I am in total limbo. I feel like I just want to give in and run away. That’s not what I do, I am not a quitter, I am a fighter. In this case though I feel like I just want to lay down flat on my back and let the City officials run over me. But I don’t have the choice of giving in. Not this time, when I want it the most. I need to stay and fight.
I am feeling a lot as when I was diagnosed with cancer. Being terribly weak, needing to stay extremely strong, fighting something I don’t know how to fight, and not knowing the outcome of it. In both cases it’s fighting for my life.
Fighting for my life, isn’t that being dramatic? No, it isn’t. If Civil Care would only do the hours approved by the City, I wouldn’t even get out of bed in the morning since the official handling my matter with the City has decided I can do it myself although I can’t. I would lie in my bed and pee all over me, that’s the naked truth. I won’t embarrass you with more explicit graphics, but this is the place I am in.
Civil Care can’t go on loosing money on me forever. They are pushing themselves, stretching and bending to help me out in the best way possible, but they simply can’t do it forever. And I feel awful, a parasite, knowing they don’t get payed for all the work they are putting in with me. And somewhere there is a breaking point. I have a sense it’s not that far away.
So, I need to fight. In a week or two I will be summoned to a hearing. I have never been in a courtroom before. I will speak up in a foreign country where a different language is spoken. I am terrified. Because I have to win this case. My case. Although I think the chances are minimal. And if I don't? I have no idea. I have absolutely no idea.

Oct 5, 2014

Swedish governing in historic limbo/Part 3

- The new government is a feministic government.

Those words are Stefan Löfven’s, the new Swedish Prime Minister. Expressed in the Statement of Government Policy. Is the new Swedish government the first official feministic government in the world?

Three weeks after the election Sweden has a new government! The exclamation mark might be an overstatement, because it’s a minority and in reality a very weak government, but it’s a government expressing the same values as I have, and it’s like a heavy rock is lifted from my chest.

The new government is formed by the Social Democrats and the Green Party (Miljöpartiet), 24 cabinet ministers: 12 women and 12 men. The actual change of government took place on October 3 at a Council of State at the Royal Palace. Earlier the same day, Stefan Löfven presented the Statement of Government Policy.
I was lying on my couch, doing only that. Not checking emails, not being on the phone, not working on some text, not scrolling Facebook, mind not wondering around. No, being totally focused and present in the fact that Sweden is presented a new government and a new Statement of Government Policy.
For eight years we have been living under a right wing yoke. In the Swedish political history of social democratic values we have never been governed by right wing rhetoric for such a long period before. I was terrified they had been so successful drumming their message in (eight years is, as you Americans know, a long time, a first time voter becomes a grown up during a double government term) there was no way back and Sweden would be forever a country lost in the cold where only strong people contributing to GDP (BNP) are included as human beings.
So, I was focused. I was present. It was a historic moment hearing the word solidarity from a Prime Minister again. I am a bit embarrassed here, but I had tears on my cheek while listening to the declaration. A giant rock was lifted from my compressed chest. I wasn’t even aware it had been there. You can get used to almost everything. Political abuse, in words and in practice too. Every system can turn into a normality.
The giant rock was gone and I could breath again. That’s why the tears.
Now, I am not naive. And I am not stupid. I know this new government is historically weak and I know every ideology and value has a rhetoric vocabulary. But there are intentions. Very different from the last eight years that was forced on me.
I agree on most things in the Statement of Government Policy of October 3. I know though that it will be extremely difficult for this government to make the declaration a reality. We might very well have a situation similar to the one in the U.S where only a few bills actually are passing. But even if it will be only a few, it’s still better than living in a country where most every bill passing feels like a violation on a nation.
So, is the new Swedish government a feministic government? Well, it’s up to the evidence. 50/50 when it comes to cabinet ministers doesn't prove anything although it looks a lot better then 80/20. And words are just words. But the Ministry of Foreign Affairs is led by four women, fronted by Margot Wallström as the Minister of Foreign Affairs. So that’s a start.
I could shortlist the Statement of Government Policy to tell what this new Swedish government wants for change, but instead I will quote one sentence from Prime Minister Stefan Löfven:
- We will work for a global order of capital and labor that secures an international economy that benefits all and subjugate no one. 

Those words, I find beautiful.

Sep 28, 2014

Loosing Alida

I have dreaded this day. And now it’s here.
I wanted to walk over there today, but my body wasn’t allowing me. I wanted to sit with her at her kitchen table one last time, but I can’t. And maybe she is too tired to sit with me today, she might be.
The storm that swept over here for the last two days has eased out. It’s sunny and kind of nice, and we might even have been sitting outside. The corner west of her front porch is leeward and could be warm even today, late September. That’s where we sat June 2008 when she had called, telling me Värner had died. Värner had just turned 98 and was her husband. He had been fragile for many years, living in a nursing home, and now it was time. Someone called her on the phone asking her if she was alone. No, she said, “I have a friend her.” Or more accurate “I have a pal here”. She is now 97 and I am 58. We are friends and pals.
Alida is my next door neighbor and has been here all my life. All my sons’ lives. All my mother’s life. And a great part of my grandmothers life. Alida is carrying every generation in her body, even the ones before my grandmother. And through the stories she will be carried in generations yet to come. Alida is my anchor. My anchor here at the end of the road. When she for some reason isn’t at the house, I feel like my backbone is gone. And now she will be moving. The time for a nursing home has come. And I don’t know what to do with myself.
There were good reasons believing this would be Alida’s last summer in her home, and my plan was to sit with her in her leeward corner every day. Enjoying her company. Take the few steps to her house, as I have since I was a little girl. Walk our mutual dirt road in the woods. Our road.
Alida’s body is brittle though, and this last year she fell over badly a number of times ending up at the hospital. Every time we were convinced this was the end, she wouldn’t be back, and maybe I wouldn’t see her again. But time after time she has amazed us with rising from the hospital bed, grabbing her stroller, and there she was again, taking her short walk between our houses. Time after time she has made me so happy. Coming back. My delicate anchor.
But a lot of this summer Alida spent in the hospital. And the times in between I have only had a few days when I could do the walk over there. And even when I could do the walk, I couldn’t sit. Only for a few minutes, and a few minutes isn’t enough for 97 and 58-year old pals. 
So there has been a few times in Alida’s leeward corner where I have been standing next to her, leaning on my Nordic Walking sticks. Touching her fine hair. Caressing her soft and tanned cheek. I can’t bend over to give her a hug. But I can hold her close to me. 
- Maria, what would you do if you weren’t in pain, she asked me at one of those occasions. She startled me. I took a deep breath, my eyes teared. They twirled, searching for a fix point.
- Live, I said. I would live. She nodded. I felt dizzy and staggered back home.  
Alida was 91 first time my back crashed really bad. She picked up the mail for me and she came over to visit when I couldn’t. But mostly we have been sitting at her kitchen table having tea and biscuits in the dark winter afternoons going through her obituary collection, talking about life and death. She was a lonely widow and most of her friends long gone, I was grieving my family life. Although she has been my anchor, I know she has felt safe knowing I have been in the house next door.
This last year though, Alida hasn’t been lonely. Last fall her grand daughter Josephine moved in with her baby daughter and two horses. Suddenly there was a lot of life at my next door neighbors again! Josephine has been taking care of Alida in the best way possible and I know Alida has been enjoying every minute of it, feeling very fortunate and loved. But although Josephine would have wanted for Alida to not ever have to move, it finally came to a breaking point where she needs constant attention. And that’s where we are now. At the breaking point.
I have this thing. I need closure, no matter what it is. Weirdly, even bad things. I guess it is a severe form of separation anxiety. And now I have to part from Alida.
Being friends with people in their nineties, you know it can happen any day. All the years I was commuting between Seattle and my Swedish village I was happy every time I got back, finding Värner and Alida still being here. I have a beautiful B&W photo portray of Värner which I shot knowing it needed to be done, I would never have forgiven myself if I hadn’t. 
Summer 2011 I took out my old Rolleiflex and seated Alida in the late evening light for the same purpose. Then of course I have never been able to go in to the dark room for developing those pictures, the film roll is still in my fridge, but I think it is safe there. And the year after I placed Alida in front of my video camera and asked her to tell her story. The story of her life. 
2012 was a crappy summer weather wise. Documenting Alida was my mission, but weeks and months passed, rainy and windy. Finally there was one evening, nice, and the light perfect. Alida and I dressed her in a white blouse and that beautiful red sweater of hers. Her hair was curly from a new perm, and she was tanned as always, her dark complexion, so easily enhanced by the sun. 
She started telling her story, and her eyes, shaded from glaucoma, came to life. Alida has been, and is still a very beautiful woman, glittering from the inside whenever she finds a reason for it. And here was a reason. I am so happy I found that evening. I am so happy her story will be here even when she is not.
Alida will be moving away from her home this week. She will be moving away from my everyday life this week. And I can’t wrap my head around it. I didn’t get to sit with her today, but maybe I will have one more chance before she leaves. I need to be present in the moment. Maybe having a last cup of tea together. I need my closure. We need our closure. The day so long dreaded is here, and I can’t wrap my head around it. My beloved Alida won’t be in the house next to mine anymore, and I don’t know what to do with myself.

Sep 21, 2014

Swedish governing in historic limbo/ part 2

No, I didn’t wake up Monday after the 2014 election breathing more easily. I did not.

It's raining tonight and the wind is picking up, they say a storm i coming. After weeks of late summer sun and summer temperatures the evening is suddenly darker and fall is arriving this very moment. It seems appropriate, considering.
Politically this last week has been the most chaotic and unpredictable one in Swedish history for about 40 years. I won’t, and can’t (who knows what’s going on behind the curtains of the political stage?) outline the details, but here is a general overview.
So, we went to bed late Sunday night thinking we would wake up with a red/green minority government. Not ideal. Now, personally I am red/green, so as far as that I was happy, but the idea of the social conservative racist party Sverigedemokraterna as the balance of power was horrifying to anyone in Sweden except for the 13% (!) who voted for them. 
Monday came though with a very unexpected turn as Stefan Lövén, the leader of the Social Democrats (about 30% of the Swedish vote) immediately shut the door to govern with the Left Party! Miljöpartiet, the Swedish green party, was invited for discussions, but the Left Party was left in the cold.
Instead he wanted to talk to the middle parties Centerpartiet and Folkpartiet for support. His idea for governing is the Social Democrats and the green party as a minority government with support from the middle parties. But as the middle parties up until Sunday (actually still as the new government is far from all set yet) have governed with the right and the christian democrats in The Alliance, they aren’t interested talking to Stefan Lövén. At least this was the situation on Thursday.
And in the middle of all this Sverigedemokraterna who as the third (!) biggest party now will hold the second vice Speaker post in the parliament, and who no one wants to talk to.
And would there be the possibility of the Social Democrats in bed with the right wing???!
I am confused, concerned and deeply worried.
I was hoping for a clear red/green government bringing back Sweden to being the country where we take care of each other. Bringing back the foundation of the strongest Swedish brand. I sure can understand the left party feeling deceived: them, the green party and the Social Democrats standing side by side all through the election campaign, against The Alliance. Even I feel betrayed! 
A couple of days before the election Trouble 2 posted on Facebook: I wish the election was over, I can’t take much more. I want so badly everything changing for the better. I want so badly Sweden to be okay.
I couldn’t agree more.
Better meaning a country where there is room and life for everyone, ethnicity, unemployed, religion, sick, gender, unfortunate, young and old, strong and fragile. That’s what we were hoping for. That’s what we were wishing for Sunday evening a week ago.
No one could have predicted that nothing would be okay the morning after. And that nationalistic, social conservative and no doubt about it racist values are spreading like malignant cancer across our country. No, Sweden is not okay.

Sep 14, 2014

Swedish governing in historic limbo

My eyes teared while Marianne read my name and Margareta slipped the three envelopes in the boxes at my neighborhood polling station in the village next to mine. I don’t think I have ever been moved while voting, but the election 2014 feels more important than anyone before in my life. September 14 2014, en election to look forward to and dare.
I will try to explain. Let’s start with a brief, general and imprecise information about the Swedish parliament and government: 
There are eight parties in the parliament: Moderaterna (the party most to the right), Folkpartiet, Kristdemokraterna (the Christian Democrats) and Centerpartiet, those are what we call the middle parties. There are also of course Socialdemokraterna (the Social Democrats), Miljöpartiet (the Swedish green party), Vänsterpartiet (the Left party), and Sverigedemokraterna (a nationalistic, social conservative and no doubt about it racist party).
Historically Sweden hasn’t been a country of block politics. But for the election 2006 Moderaterna and the three middle parties formed an alliance and won the election. They managed to stay in government even after 2010, (first time ever without the Social Democrats outside government for eight years) and the political scene in Sweden may now be cemented in two blocks, The Alliance and The Red/Green. It feels a bit like the U.S, and I don’t think it’s serving us well.
The election 2010 became a watershed in Swedish politics. Most of the Swedish people were in some kind of shock when Sverigedemokraterna managed to get 5,7% of the Swedish vote passing the 4% limit for entrance to the parliament. All our Nordic neighbors as well as most of Europe were already dealing with nationalistic and racist parties, Sweden was pretty much the last stronghold when it came to these issues, and we never thought it would come to this. But it did. We did. As if The Alliance governing wasn’t a problem big enough.
Sweden is a tiny little country in the world. Asking foreigners what they know about Sweden the answer is usually ABBA and IKEA. It used to be Volvo too, and even SAAB, but those days are gone. And Björn Borg is more or less forgotten. But there is one more brand, and it seems to be the strongest one: Sweden is the country where we are taking care of each other. Well, I have news for you: not so much anymore.
These last eight years The Alliance has decreased the taxes in Sweden more than we can see anywhere in the western world. What pays healthcare, schools, sick leave, unemployment periods, parental leave and infra structure? All those things people around the world envy us and look up to us for? Surprise surprise: taxes!! Actually there is one more thing Sweden is known for, our high taxes, but I can tell you there aren’t as high anymore (especially not for those with high income), and a lot of us have been proud to pay those taxes because we have been proud of living in a country where solidarity is the key word to a good society.
Solidarity? It’s eight years since anyone mentioned that word in Swedish government. Eight years of disassembling and dismantling our strongest brand. And transforming everyone with any kind of flaw or bad luck which makes it not possible to be a strong worker contributing to the GDP (BNP) to parasites in political terms. And it’s even worse. Because you aren’t even allowed to be a parasite. When you have hit the bottom you get kicked out of the state security systems (health care and unemployment insurances) without a penny and you find out there is one more bottom. 
The Swedish finances are good, in fact they are great! Our Minister of Treasury Anders Borg has numerous times been picked as the most successful financial politician internationally, but the number of people on welfare in Sweden is constantly increasing and the powerlessness and impotency among them who aren’t as strong as The Alliance requires is a wet blanket chilling shivering souls trapped in grey misty fog.
Sweden has become a country which I don’t recognize. And what’s most scary is the increasing popularity of Sverigedemokraterna. The last polls show they will get about 9,5% of the Swedish vote today, which is horrifying numbers. Sverigedemokraterna might be the third biggest party in Sweden which until now has been unthinkable.
There is one more player in the game in the 2014 election though. Feministiskt initiativ (the feminist party) sailed up for the EU election in May and managed to take a seat within the Union. They have done a strong campaign this summer and fall, so will they take a seat even in the Swedish parliament? We will soon know.

It’s 7.57 PM. In 3 minutes Swedish National Television will announce the first numbers from the election today, the poll station analysis, pointing out the direction for the next four years. I am so nervous I feel sick. If we don’t have a new government tomorrow I don’t know what I will do with myself.
And there it is! It is giving me mixed feelings. Really. For now it looks like there will be a change of government and Feministiskt initiativ is right on the verge of making it! But Sverigedemokraterna has 10,5% of the Swedish vote and will be the third biggest party in parliament and my stomach is cramping of discomfort.
I have always voted with my heart, never played safe or strategically. Up until today. My heart would have gone with the feminist party. But I am one of those who are not strong enough for The Alliance. I will be kicked out of the health care insurance next summer. To me a change of government was the most important mission and I gave my vote to Miljöpartiet, the green party, hoping to help them be third biggest party. They would have needed many many more votes though. And playing safe isn’t my true nature. But. It looks like we will have a new government tomorrow!
9.57 PM. The first prognosis is announced. Yes, still a new government, but the feminist party is below 4% and the populistic racist Sverigedeomkraterna 13%. This is not good. This is so bad. A populistic racist party having 13% of the Swedish vote. This is horrifying.
Socialdemokraterna, the green and the left party won’t have a majority. The social conservative racist party Sverigedemokraterna will have the balance of power. It won’t be an easy task to govern the country known in the world for ABBA, IKEA and taking care of each other.
10.43 PM. Jimmie Åkesson, the leader of Sverigedekokraterna makes his speech. The party has hijacked the blue and yellow Swedish flag, waving it, making it filthy. I am feeling a heavy weight over my chest, the trace of panic.
00.00 Stefan Lövén, the leader of the Social Democrats finally makes his entrance, declaring that he will take on the assignment of forming the new government, reaching out to every party except the right party and Sverigedemokraterna, and making it very clear that he will have nothing what so ever with the latter to do. And for the first time since 2006 I hear the word solidarity. Thank you!!
It was Trouble 1 and Fay who picked me up for going to our poll station facing the little lake at the village next to mine this beautiful sunny warm afternoon. We barely found parking and it was a line to the voting booths. I was greeted by Trouble 2’s friend from primary school Rickard working in the election. Marianne and Margareta taking my vote are sisters from my village, they didn’t need to see my ID. The room was full of people who I know or recognize from my life here. I was taken by the moment. By everyone doing the drive, showing up, believing their vote being important, wanting to have a say in how their country being governed the next four years. At least 86% of the Swedish people made their voice heard in the 2014 election.
I was dreaming of being able to wake up tomorrow morning breathing more easily. I am relieved that The Alliance is done governing. And I am so happy and grateful to find solidarity in the governing vocabulary again. But I am not breathing easily. I am not.