Swedes say: Thank you for a good meeting

A significant Swedish company specializing in import and export (not the globally known yellow and blue brand) emerged as a key player, intending to acquire vital parts of the company I worked for. The sale process involved several potential buyers, laden with exhaustive meetings and negotiations that spanned months. During this uncertain phase, employee briefings were conducted, featuring personal appearances by the CEO of the Swedish company. He articulated a compelling vision for embracing this new chapter in these large gatherings, often resembling a hall filled with hundreds of employees. "Please join us," he implored, indicating a readiness to welcome us into the new organizational fold. Though many colleagues were visibly disheartened by the significant changes, there was also a sense of solace in being included in the new setup. At that time, I was receptive to new opportunities. Despite my comfort with the old company, the reputation of the Swedish firm spearheading the acquisition was influential. I persuaded myself that this change might herald a better future and agreed to the transition. For some colleagues, there was no alternative but to follow suit. Those reluctant to join the new venture opted for severance packages, a choice made by many. I soon found myself at the head of a part of the company that had retained its continental European roots despite being part of the Swedish company. In our case, "being largely continental European" meant that English was the predominant language, that elements of non-Scandinavian cultures determined our everyday working life, and that Swedish colleagues were a rarity. However, as the head of this department, I was in constant contact with the predominantly Swedish management - a connection that integrated me much more deeply into the Swedish system than the rest of my team would ever experience. A man called Mats was my new boss. This fact manifested itself, among other things, in the high number of gatherings and meetings that took place predominantly in Sweden. Until then, I was hardly familiar with the culture of such meetings; although meetings were the order of the day in the companies I had previously worked for, they were fundamentally different from the Swedish ones. The previous meetings were characterized by directness and efficiency, whereas the Swedish ones were less formal but more focused on promoting consensus and collegiality. The change presented new challenges and taught me that every culture has its way of doing business. These gatherings were ceremonial acts that focused on well-being and communal togetherness. Eating, especially dinner, was celebrated as a food intake and a social ritual. The tables were richly laid, and the careful selection and presentation of the food emphasized the company's philosophy. However, this also included that they were usually told what to eat. There was rarely a choice. The "big brother" knew better what to eat. And so the food was served, regardless of whether the individual liked it. After a few years, however, people started to ask whether someone had an allergy. And even later, whether someone wanted to avoid animal-based foods. The meetings often began with long introductory words with little of the familiar directness I was used to. Mats led these meetings with selected department employees who gave presentations. These presentations often seemed more like compulsory exercises where the content was secondary. It was more about giving everyone their five minutes on stage than conveying relevant information or decisions. A lot of things were also repeated over and over again - a fact that surprised me at first. Later, the procedure was changed, and we were asked to give presentations on predetermined topics. That could have gone better with us foreigners. We were surprised that we were treated as if we were schoolchildren. If it had been about giving reports on our areas of the company, we would have understood, but this just seemed to be a job to fill the time at these meetings. Another characteristic element of these meetings was the afternoon activities. Whether it was a sporting activity or a cultural event, emphasis was placed on all participants experiencing something together. This practice strengthened team spirit and promoted a certain looseness. For us foreigners in particular - there were always between four and eight of us - these activities initially seemed rather strange. Mats' suspicious view of us, the group of foreign employees, could not be overlooked. He often expressed his fears about the "foreign mafia," an expression he used sarcastically to describe our supposed tendency to form groups. It was almost as if he was trying various tactics to nip any form of clique formation among us non-Swedes in the bud. This concern stood in strange contrast to the naturalness with which such group formations took place among our Swedish colleagues. They were part of the everyday picture and blended seamlessly into the corporate culture. For me, this was the first sign that parts of the Swedish working world had a hard time with foreigners. A particular nationalism emerged, which I don't mean the numerous Swedish flags hanging here and there. But when it came to procuring company cars (they had to be Volvos) or products and services, we were to look more at the Swedish market. Ironically, such groupings, sweetened with coffee and cake, were particularly evident during the short breaks. The Scandinavian staff, for example, naturally gathered together and engaged in conversation. However, this natural tendency to surround oneself with fellow citizens was viewed critically by us continental Europeans. This duplicity struck me and made me wonder about the subtle dynamics within the company that seemed to apply different standards to different nationalities. After the meetings, we, the non-Swedish faction, often asked ourselves what made Mats call us a "foreign mafia." The performance of our acquired departments was impressive. Our figures and internal comparative studies regularly showed that we were far superior to the Swedish-managed parts of the company in many aspects. Informally, this was sometimes admitted by Swedish colleagues. However, this fact was never openly addressed, which sometimes surprised me. It seemed as if the company's official line wanted to avoid recognizing our achievements. Whether this was due to a certain discomfort caused by our successes or whether there were other reasons remained unclear. A recurring element that united all meetings, even the smaller ones, without exception, was gratitude expressed by the Swedish side. It was a constant gesture of courtesy to thank you for the "good meeting." This was particularly evident when controversial topics were on the agenda and one of us foreigners suggested simple solutions that did not require far-reaching decisions from the Swedish side. You could almost feel a wave of relief go through the room. Some of the thanks were expressed euphorically. "Thank you for the meeting," was the response. Sometimes, even "for a good meeting." These phrases seemed more than pleasantries - they were part of a culture that valued recognition and the preservation of harmonious coexistence, even if no real progress was being made behind the scenes. It was a dance of diplomacy, where words were carefully chosen to preserve the positive feeling of each meeting. The first meeting, to mark the start of our integration into the Swedish company, took place in an almost fairytale location in rural southern Sweden. The old castle was nestled in the magnificent landscape of Skåne, known for its picturesque fields, rolling hills, and the harmonious interplay of space and water. Skåne, rich in natural beauty, provided a backdrop that transported the spirit out of the hustle and bustle of everyday life. The castle, a testimony to days long past, stood majestically on a narrow spit of land between two clear lakes. Its thick walls and high ceilings, which also bore witness to a former monastery complex, stood in contrast to the modern world we were leaving behind for these days. Surrounded by a park that, with its spring-like greenery and interplay of light and shade, invited us to pause for a moment, our group found itself in an almost timeless but typically Swedish setting. The department of Mats, consisting of about 120 people, was spread around the premises, housed in smaller houses that had once housed the staff and servants. Although each room was its little kingdom, we shared communal bathrooms and toilets, creating intimacy among us colleagues rarely found in business life. In the magnificent hall of the castle, which impressed us with its ancient aura, we sat through numerous presentations whose dry content and monotonous presentation style stretched out the time. The boredom was palpable, and every glance at the clock only seemed to make the minutes drag on. The afternoon activity, organized by a company specializing in costly corporate events, was a strange contrast to the morning's business presentations. There, we were preached the importance of thrift and efficiency; suddenly, money didn't seem to matter. A discrepancy between words and deeds, which I was to encounter repeatedly in Sweden, became apparent. Groups were formed, and meticulous care was taken to ensure that we foreigners did not remain among ourselves but were distributed among the Swedish teams. What started in English quickly became Swedish chatter, and I felt increasingly isolated. Building soapboxes from the materials provided was unexpected, and I needed to prepare. The Swedes swapped their business attire for something more practical while we foreigners stayed in our suits and clumsily got to work. We had yet to hear beforehand that different clothes were appropriate for the afternoon. While the others hammered and drilled, I stood a little apart, watching the hustle and bustle and the clear blue sky over the green park. The laughter of the Swedes, the children's games they were so engrossed in, and the generous beer was alien to me and not to my taste. The dinner, at which we were served whatever the "big Swedish brother" wanted, and the exuberant celebration that followed, which lasted well into the night, completed the picture. I discreetly withdrew from the situation, just like my foreign colleagues. We wondered what strange movie we had ended up in. The following day, which was to begin at 8 a.m. with more presentations, the traces of the party were still clearly visible among some of my Swedish colleagues. This meeting, bizarre as it seemed, was a far cry from the professional environment I had known. I later learned that some of my Swedish colleagues always started such meetings the day before us, indulging in alcohol well into the early morning and beyond. I remember scenes when Swedish colleagues came into the conference room with bleeding head wounds because they had fallen down the stairs drunk. The fact that I later witnessed them singing drinking songs made me doubt the company guidelines, which clearly stated no alcohol. On certain (undefined) occasions, this seemed to have been lifted.

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