Sweden's Lost Empathy: A Reflection on a Nation's Values
The festive season has passed in Sweden, leaving behind a sense of unease and uncertainty. As 2025 drew to a close, the country was grappling with increasing levels of racism, anti-Semitism, and Islamophobia. The right-wing Sweden Democrats continued to dominate the political discourse, while climate activist Greta Thunberg faced criticism for her activism.
Just as the holidays were coming to an end, a disturbing incident occurred at Stockholm's Central Mosque: a Quran adorned with bullet holes was hung on its fence. Meanwhile, an Iranian couple – both healthcare workers who had spent over a decade in Swedish hospitals – and their children were set for deportation to Tehran.
The upcoming election will likely be marked by toxic rhetoric about expelling those deemed "unbehaveable." The outcome is deeply concerning.
As someone who has lived in both Bosnia and Sweden, the author reflects on what these countries mean to them. They want both nations to excel, using their unique strengths to create a better world. For the author, this means embracing empathy – a quality that once defined Sweden's values but seems increasingly rare today.
The author recalls a time when Sweden welcomed thousands of Bosnian refugees during its economic crisis. Swedish citizens became integral members of society, integrating seamlessly into life in Sweden. The story is one of love and acceptance.
Fast-forward to the present, and this sense of unity has vanished. Instead, resistance to empathy has become widespread. When someone attempts to make a positive difference, they are often seen as an oddball or even a threat.
The author remembers a Swedish priest who risked his life to deliver aid during the Bosnian War. Such acts of kindness seem almost mythical now.
Today's Sweden is a different place – one where countries shy away from defending refugees and instead help perpetrators. The narrative has shifted, and it's harder to find people willing to take risks for others.
The author's personal story serves as a poignant reminder of Sweden's lost empathy. As a young refugee in the 1990s, they were initially met with confusion and suspicion but eventually found acceptance through small acts of kindness – like being offered hot mulled wine by a store owner.
That initial taste of Swedish hospitality sparked a lifelong appreciation for the country's unique culture. The author trained judo during their stay and forged strong bonds with fellow refugees. They also learned to appreciate Sweden's culinary traditions, particularly glogg and semlor.
However, as time went on, these warm memories began to fade. Companies became more cautious about hiring immigrants, and anti-immigrant sentiment increased. Even the once-warm welcome at IKEA – a tradition that brought families together – slowly lost its appeal as the restaurant adapted to changing consumer tastes.
The author still longs for those moments of Swedish warmth but acknowledges the passage of time. Perhaps by the time they have grandchildren, Sweden will rediscover its capacity for empathy and kindness. Until then, they hold onto memories of a nation that truly cared about its neighbors – both foreign and domestic.
The festive season has passed in Sweden, leaving behind a sense of unease and uncertainty. As 2025 drew to a close, the country was grappling with increasing levels of racism, anti-Semitism, and Islamophobia. The right-wing Sweden Democrats continued to dominate the political discourse, while climate activist Greta Thunberg faced criticism for her activism.
Just as the holidays were coming to an end, a disturbing incident occurred at Stockholm's Central Mosque: a Quran adorned with bullet holes was hung on its fence. Meanwhile, an Iranian couple – both healthcare workers who had spent over a decade in Swedish hospitals – and their children were set for deportation to Tehran.
The upcoming election will likely be marked by toxic rhetoric about expelling those deemed "unbehaveable." The outcome is deeply concerning.
As someone who has lived in both Bosnia and Sweden, the author reflects on what these countries mean to them. They want both nations to excel, using their unique strengths to create a better world. For the author, this means embracing empathy – a quality that once defined Sweden's values but seems increasingly rare today.
The author recalls a time when Sweden welcomed thousands of Bosnian refugees during its economic crisis. Swedish citizens became integral members of society, integrating seamlessly into life in Sweden. The story is one of love and acceptance.
Fast-forward to the present, and this sense of unity has vanished. Instead, resistance to empathy has become widespread. When someone attempts to make a positive difference, they are often seen as an oddball or even a threat.
The author remembers a Swedish priest who risked his life to deliver aid during the Bosnian War. Such acts of kindness seem almost mythical now.
Today's Sweden is a different place – one where countries shy away from defending refugees and instead help perpetrators. The narrative has shifted, and it's harder to find people willing to take risks for others.
The author's personal story serves as a poignant reminder of Sweden's lost empathy. As a young refugee in the 1990s, they were initially met with confusion and suspicion but eventually found acceptance through small acts of kindness – like being offered hot mulled wine by a store owner.
That initial taste of Swedish hospitality sparked a lifelong appreciation for the country's unique culture. The author trained judo during their stay and forged strong bonds with fellow refugees. They also learned to appreciate Sweden's culinary traditions, particularly glogg and semlor.
However, as time went on, these warm memories began to fade. Companies became more cautious about hiring immigrants, and anti-immigrant sentiment increased. Even the once-warm welcome at IKEA – a tradition that brought families together – slowly lost its appeal as the restaurant adapted to changing consumer tastes.
The author still longs for those moments of Swedish warmth but acknowledges the passage of time. Perhaps by the time they have grandchildren, Sweden will rediscover its capacity for empathy and kindness. Until then, they hold onto memories of a nation that truly cared about its neighbors – both foreign and domestic.