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. 

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.