I make the world the way I like it

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 mere recognition of an idea seemed enough, almost as if you were content to nod your head at a concert instead of dancing.

This hesitant communication turned communication between some departments into a kind of literary Bermuda Triangle, in which good suggestions disappeared without a trace. Some of these ideas had the potential to make a difference, but instead, they found their quiet end in the depths of corporate bureaucracy. It was a sad fate, almost as dramatic as the end of an unrequited romance, captured in the lines of a dusty letter.

I once witnessed a little drama. My colleague Ragnar accidentally deleted a critical report. Instead of addressing the problem openly, he tried to solve it independently, like a secret agent on a mission. Surprisingly, as the deadline approached and the mistake came to light, the team reacted like a mother comforting her child after it broke a window. Instead of discussing the consequences, they praised him for his hard work and offered their help without addressing the actual problem. Of course, there was talk and mockery of him behind closed doors, but always with deliberate caution so that he was unaware of it. Ultimately, everything was characterized by the unwavering desire to defend and maintain the almost kitschy, harmonious Pippi Longstocking world at all costs.

The company's environmental policy was a prime example of "whitewashing par excellence." A classic case of the reality of the past clashing with the illusions of the future. The company, which once drew its wealth from fossil fuels, now found itself in a time when the green image was becoming the new gold standard. In this field of tension, a change manager emerged whose role was to transform the company from the legacy image of a fossil fuel giant into the shining light of an environmentally friendly pioneer.

His conflict was palpable in meetings when he stood on stage and massaged us with his endless PowerPoint presentations. He seemed like a circus performer balancing on a thin tightrope between the glorious fossil past and the green future. Every word he chose was like a step on that tightrope, carefully weighed so as not to fall into the abyss of contradictions. But the conflicts were unavoidable.

On the one hand, he praised the company's new green initiatives to the skies, painted pictures of a sustainable future, and spoke of responsibility towards the planet. On the other hand, he had to acknowledge that the company's core business was still deeply rooted in the world of fossil fuels. His attempts to reconcile both worlds resembled verbal acrobatics that often raised more questions than answers.

There were moments when his mask of conviction crumbled. You could see the inner turmoil when he was asked direct questions (almost exclusively by non-Scandinavians) about the environmental compatibility of the company's practices. His answers were rambling, often interrupted by short pauses in which he searched for the right words. These moments of uncertainty revealed the deep inner conflict of a man trying to sell a reality that he hardly seemed to believe.

The dilemma of this change manager was characteristic of the entire company. It was a balancing act between holding on to profitable traditions that were harmful to the environment from the point of view of political correctness and the prevailing narrative and the urge to present itself as a pioneer of a green turnaround. This internal conflict was like an unspoken elephant in the room, making its heavy presence felt at every meeting and every discussion on environmental issues.

And so, amid these contradictory worlds, the change manager continued to juggle words and promises, true to the motto: "I make the world the way I like it," whereby reality was often an unpleasant, disruptive factor in his artfully constructed worldview.

This mentality permeated the entire company. Facts were twisted and turned until the end, resulting in an environmentally friendly picture that was as green as the lawn in summer. The irony was that the people in the paintings immortalized owners owed their fortune to cheap and readily available oil, which they now deny as if it were an unloved relative at a family party.

The meetings were also a highlight in this respect. Some never really ended but went around in circles, like a merry-go-round that won't stop. Conflicts were avoided as if they were streams of lava. Everyone involved tried to change the subject or defuse the situation with humor. The result was endless meetings, like a long-winded novel that never got to the point.

These experiences showed me that the façade of the need for harmony in the company was inefficient and emotionally draining. The constant avoidance of conflict led to a culture of inaction and indecision. It was as if the fear of disrupting the harmonious picture paralyzed the ability to communicate honestly and act effectively like a bird with wings but had forgotten how to fly.

There were moments here, too, when I wondered whether I was the only one who saw the absurdity of this situation. Was everyone else just better at playing illusions? Or had they become so accustomed to this culture of non-confrontation that they no longer knew anything else? It was this mixture of passivity and fake activity that increasingly frustrated me. On the one hand, there was a constant hustle and bustle; on the other, there was a profound lack of movement, like a river that flows fast on the surface but stands still in the depths.

"That can't be true!" was a phrase I often heard when I told my family and friends about it. But, as improbable as it seemed, it was my reality in this Pippi Longstocking company, where many people bent the world to their liking.

If you're intrigued by my entertaining account of spending a decade in Sweden and want to delve deeper into my experiences, please click the link to discover more about my book.

Book "Ten Years in Sweden"