Ten Years in Sweden

Sweden is a nanny state. Some people there don't like to hear that. It's a humorous, sometimes slightly mocking term for a social system in which the state plays an overly caring or patronizing role. Imagine an overprotective nanny constantly following behind you to ensure you're wearing your scarf so you don't catch a cold or constantly looking over your shoulder to ensure you're eating your vegetables. Now, scale that image to the size of an entire country and its society. In a nanny state, someone else always looks after aspects of life, often with the best intention of protecting health, safety, and well-being. In such a nanny state, profound psychological effects arise. This constant availability of support and the expectation that a solution exists for almost everything subtly shapes people's self-image and worldview. In such an environment, individuals often find it difficult to take matters into their own hands, as I have often seen in Sweden. Then, in o

Milva, our steadfast protagonist of dubious management decisions, was more in control than ever and pulled her strings in the background. Her latest coup? A revolution in beverages that was more like a drainage. Her decisions acted like additional waves in an already stormy sea during turbulence and uncertainty. The tsunami of problems that had already built up due to the management's decision to relocate our operations to Sweden had already caused significant problems. Unrest that was either overlooked or - as I suspect - deliberately ignored at the higher levels. Because in the Swedish corporate culture, I had known over the years, everything had to be sold as a success. Milva's recent decisions seemed inappropriate in this context and downright counterproductive. They came up against a workforce already struggling with the challenges of restructuring and adapting to new ways of working. In this already tense atmosphere, their "Revolutions" are not like innovative i

There was one episode in my Swedish work adventure that I particularly remember. It involved a significant project I was managing, which, as is often the case in the adult world, didn't quite go according to plan. The story begins with a classic scenario: an impending deadline and a project progressing slowly. I realized that we wouldn't meet the deadline. So I did what any sensible person would do: I tried to convince my superiors Thomasson and Olsson to inform operations management about the impending delay. More than three times on different days, I tried to persuade both gentlemen to tell the truth. Each time, I was fobbed off with a smile and a "we're still waiting" as if I were suggesting that we all go to the moon together. The situation escalated unexpectedly and with an intensity that I would not have thought possible in the otherwise calm Swedish work culture. Operations management found out about the delay - not through the usual channels, Thomasson

So behind the glossy façade of the company that shone in glossy brochures and on the website was a world where conflict was very much pushed aside, much like a toddler persistently pushing vegetables around the edge of a plate. The culture was subtly but profoundly different, and I felt like an anthropologist who had discovered an unknown tribe. The longer I worked in this corporate culture, the more I realized that this seemingly perfect working world had little secrets. Secrets that were as closely guarded as my grandmother's apple pie recipe. Much remained unspoken, shrouded in an invisible taboo. Criticism? Not a thing. Contradictions? Not in this universe. Every new suggestion dipped into the black hole of the email distribution list, where it was constantly circulating. It was an endless digital ping-pong game in which everyone kept the ball rolling with an approving "Great!" or a "Good idea" comment, but no one dared to take the decisive shot. The m

In Sweden, summer vacation is a cultural phenomenon deeply rooted in the nation's soul. It is a time when the whole country enters a collective summer break, an annual escape from reality that puts Swedish society into a state of summer trance. This extended vacation, spanning weeks to an entire month, is a sign of the appreciation of work-life balance, closeness to nature, and family time and a prime example of the quirky idiosyncrasies of Swedish working life. When the summer vacation begins in Sweden, the office becomes a haunted house. Many Swedish colleagues leave, and "oh-so-important" projects are suddenly put on hold. The first year you experience this, you ask yourself: is this possible? In the second and third years, a typical (or often seen) Swedish shrug of the shoulders sets in. From the fourth year onwards, you are glad that this summer vacation exists because it is a time of deep relaxation, no or hardly any emails, no meetings, no nagging from offices that

The conflicts that arose from the different work views became increasingly apparent and stressful. Our Swedish colleagues placed enormous value on "wellbeing" and personal wellbeing. As positive as it may sound, this attitude had far-reaching consequences in practice. Comfort and avoiding any discomfort in the working day was a top priority. As a result, they were reluctant to take on challenges or tasks outside their comfort zone. Instead, they offloaded such tasks onto others - their foreign coworkers. This tendency manifested itself particularly clearly in labor-intensive and dirty tasks, such as the upcoming maintenance of machines. These tasks required not only technical know-how but also the willingness to get your hands dirty. But time and again, we observed how some of our Swedish colleagues shirked these tasks, delayed them, or ignored them altogether, hoping that someone else would take them on. The consequences of this attitude were manifold. On the one hand, i

One of the most striking and noticeable characteristics of some of the new colleagues was their pronounced tendency towards dissatisfaction and associated complaints. This tendency was disturbing in its regularity and intensity. What was particularly striking, however, was how these complaints were expressed - or instead were not expressed. Instead of openly and directly addressing their concerns or dissatisfaction openly and directly, they chose an indirect route, bypassing their divisional managers and me as the higher-level manager. These people were all amiable and polite. They were always smiling and cooperative, but behind this friendly face was a world of dissatisfaction and criticism. You could sometimes have good, short conversations with them and think that everything had been said or that they would directly address what was on their minds without hesitation. But to my great surprise, that's precisely what they didn't do. I knew from my previous years that Swedish co

It was a balmy August evening in Sweden when I immersed myself in the world of the Swedish Kräftskiva for the first time, once again, at the end of a meeting. I had heard of this traditional crayfish festival, but nothing could have prepared me for what awaited me. When I arrived at the festival venue in Gothenburg, it seemed as if someone had ransacked a decoration store and hung everything in red and white. There were paper lanterns and little crab figures everywhere. I felt like I had entered a surreal world where crabs were kings and dill was their green of choice. The guests wore funny cardboard hats resembling a cross between a birthday hat and a Viking helmet. I got one, too, and although I felt silly at first, I soon blended in perfectly with the crowd. Everyone also wore a bib, and I thought, "How bad can it get?" My bib time was a long time ago, when I was a baby. Now, it continued here. Then came the crabs. By the bucketful. Cooked in a broth that smelled so strong

"He's my friend." I heard this sentence a lot. Dealing with the term I was particularly struck by the word "friend" because it seemed to have a different meaning in this Swedish company than I had previously known. "Wow, so many friendships in one place," I thought when I saw the groups of colleagues engaged in casual conversations in the break rooms and along the corridors. A certain informal ease characterized the atmosphere. Friendly greetings were exchanged everywhere, and it almost seemed like the whole country was one giant friendship club. The boundaries between professional and personal relationships were seemingly fluid, and I wondered if these connections were as deep as they appeared at first glance. In this environment, I observed how Swedish colleagues interacted with each other. Often, the communication seemed rather superficial, characterized by short, committal conversations. There was constant whispering and laughter, but the conversat