Hurray for Swedish dissatisfaction

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 colleagues shied away from conflict, but the fact that it was as blatant as here was new to me, namely avoiding confrontation, no matter how small. They never brought their complaints directly to me or their department heads. Instead, we learned of their displeasure indirectly, usually through phone calls from Olsson or the HR department in Gothenburg.

Their constant and persistent "behind the back" communication led to an atmosphere of insecurity and mistrust. If anything, their complaints were expressed in a hidden and veiled way. They used roundabout ways to express their dissatisfaction, often leading to misunderstanding and confusion, but could not be direct even once. This tendency not to express complaints directly was a feature of their communication style and seemed deeply ingrained in their work culture. It was as if they followed some unwritten rule that confrontation and open discussion should be avoided at all costs. This avoidance of direct communication resulted in a whispered message in which the actual message was often lost or distorted.

The dissatisfactions expressed by some of the new employees often seemed trivial and exaggerated to me, especially given that working conditions were generally excellent. These complaints mainly revolved around working comfort and "well-being," with some examples standing out in particular.

In addition to the complaint about the chairs in the meeting room being too hard and the slow coffee machine, there were several other, similarly minor concerns. For example, one employee complained that the temperature was too cold or too hot, making it difficult to concentrate on work. Another expressed displeasure that the color of the walls in the break room was too dull and created a "depressive mood."

One particularly curious case was a complaint about the positioning of a printer. The printer was allegedly too far from some workstations, so employees had to take extra steps to get their printouts.

The quality of the free fruit provided in the office was once the subject of a complaint. One employee felt the selection was not varied enough and suggested offering more exotic fruits.

Another example was the complaint about the volume of the air conditioning system. Some employees found the noise of the air conditioning system annoying and distracting, and there were suggestions to invest in "quieter and more modern models."

These and similar complaints often seemed disproportionate to the actual working conditions and amenities provided. It was as if the search for perfection in the work environment had become an obsession. There seemed to be no end to the endless string of complaints. It was as if we were caught in a constant cycle: No sooner had we resolved one complaint to their satisfaction - or instead, had to resolve it - than another one promptly appeared. It was as if the bar was raised with every resolved complaint. The resolution of one problem seemed only to serve as an invitation for further, often even more petty concerns. These efforts were hardly recognized even when we tried to improve the work environment. Instead, they were taken for granted, and attention quickly turned to the next, often marginal, problem. This constant stream of complaints and the need to respond to every little detail was a distraction from more critical tasks.

The situation was frustrating for me. As a manager, it was my job to create a compelling and harmonious working environment. Still, this constant bypassing of direct communication made it almost impossible for me to fulfill my role. It was as if I and the area managers were being denied the authority and ability to solve problems and be there for our team.

And this from people who had hardly been with us for more than three months, who neither really knew us nor ever tried to get out of their snail shell of the "Swedish way of life," which didn't apply to all of us because we were neither Swedish nor grew up in this system.

Whenever I heard about a new complaint brought to HR behind my back, I felt ignored and devalued. It was as if my competence and commitment to the team was being questioned. Conflict avoidance and lack of direct communication created a gap between me and the Swedish employees that was difficult to bridge. Those complaining employees were only ever concerned with their happiness - they didn't care about the happiness or well-being of those who had to deliver their happiness.

I also found it humiliating that such matters, which often seemed trivial, were not discussed directly with me. This indirect way of Communicating problems often made me feel helpless and isolated, as if I was not part of the team but merely a foreign, worthless piece in an all-Swedish game where I was not recognized simply because of my heritage.

The challenges of Swedish top-down decision-making

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 ideas but rather like salt in the wounds of an already strained team.

The lack of empathy for our challenges on the part of the Swedish management was particularly noticeable during this phase of upheaval. It seemed as if the upper echelons were living in a bubble of detachment, insulated from the real difficulties we faced daily. Our efforts to maintain daily operations while adapting to the new structures and processes were not recognized or appreciated.

This ignorance of our working conditions and the associated challenges led to a growing divide between management and employees. It was as if two worlds were colliding - one characterized by strategic decisions and abstract goals, the other, grounded in the day-to-day reality of work, struggling with the practical implications of those decisions. This discrepancy created a working environment in which frustration and alienation grew.

First, Milva dismantled the previous range of drinks and drinking water vending machines supplied from pipes with constant chlorine content. Just imagine: Every sip of coffee, tea party, and refreshing water now felt like a swimming pool experience.

The employees were anything but enthusiastic. Protests ranged from indignant cries of "chlorine gate" to clandestine water smuggling operations.

But the management wasn't finished yet. Strictly speaking, it was never finished but was constantly churning out decisions and ideas that were developed on the office floors in Gothenburg and installed without further consultation with those affected, which was rather atypical for Sweden and, in retrospect, shows how much the company's values, which were held very high, were treated. The next ingenious idea was the creation of an employee pool. Sounds like a fun water party? Far from it! It was a staff of employees who were deployed so dynamically that you hardly knew who would be sitting at the desk next door or in maintenance this week.

New faces, new inductions, and a constant coming and going created an atmosphere reminiscent of a train station than an office. The frustration of the employees grew immeasurably and erupted in further conflicts that spread throughout the entire department, as from then on, it was a constant occurrence that inexperienced (or untrained) employees met experienced employees. The increasing impatience of the experienced employees, who now had to train new colleagues every two to three weeks, scared these newcomers off and, in some cases, caused them to flee, creating a vicious circle.

Once a place of cooperation and peaceful coexistence, our workplace turned into an arena of unrest. Every day was a new adventure in this world of chlorinated drinks and a volatile workforce. The older employees longed for the good old days when water was just water, and you knew your colleagues for over a week. The new employees also longed for their old days and saw all the evil they were now confronted with in our part of the company. They could not see the bigger picture, as I had been able to do. They didn't realize that their enemy wasn't us.

My working life was increasingly becoming a bizarre labyrinth in which expectations were as veiled as fog over a Swedish morning forest. I was in a world where the game's rules and instructions were invisible. Everyday life consisted of tasks and expectations that were never clearly stated. Concrete conversations about my role or requirements? It's as rare as a sunny day in November in Sweden.

Training courses to learn the new software programs? It is a fairy tale that never became a reality, even though the Swedish side had made many promises about this during the transition. Regular feedback on my work performance? A curt "Good work" from Olsson, as illuminating as a candle in a midsummer twilight. I had long suspected that my work was no longer particularly appreciated because all the problems at our company were gradually falling on the shoulders of various people at headquarters. Opportunistic, as some of them - by no means just a Swedish attribute - this soon meant gathering storm clouds.

To make matters worse, despite years of assurances that English was the working language, some emails mutated into an incomprehensible sea of Swedish. As if someone had flipped the language switch, I searched for a translation boat in an ocean of Scandinavian words. Luckily, I had picked up some Swedish.

At the management meetings in Sweden, I felt like the last of the Mohicans. "We only speak English because of you," I heard often enough in a typically Swedish-friendly manner, a reminder that I was a foreign body in this Scandinavian world.

As if that wasn't enough, all day-to-day communication was increasingly taking place via my Swedish department heads, who were now here. Although I was supposed to hold the reins as the operating unit manager, I became a marginal figure in my own drama. Important processes? Were increasingly taking place without me or were presented to me as side notes by Olsson. If I raised my voice, I was either ignored, or it was as if I had been "accidentally" forgotten.

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