This has been translated from Swedish to english through "Google Translate" on request from my Sister-in-law. Sorry for some incorrect words and wrong spelling.

Those of you who have taken the time to read this post is probably either immigrants of any kind and curious to compare experiences, or maybe "full Swedes" and curious about a different kind of experience, but it could also be some who want to see if they can "pierce" on my experience and may want to see how much self-pity and me trying to get sympathy from you.

Forget that! There is no self-pity or any cry for sympathy from my direction. I am happy, always have been, but still want to tell you something.

I don't know, but since you still have read this far you might as well continue for a while and see if you can get another aspect of mine and many others perspective growing up in Sweden who formed us in different ways. My own intention with this long post (which I already now notice to be quiet long!) , is that I want to enlighten all who do not know, that racism and generalizations are much more widespread than people think in Sweden, and that it affects and push us in different directions depending on how we respond as different individuals.

Let me just paint a background on who I am;

I'm Swedish. Born in Sweden by a Swedish father (blond and blue-eyed) and a mother with Yugoslavian, Polish, Jewish origin. I'm not very religious, not practicing Protestant, Serbian Orthodox, Catholic or Jewish faith.

I have a beautiful wife who was born in Congo, but who has lived in Sweden since she was about 3 years old, two children, one of which is with my wife and one child from a previous relationship. His mother was born in Rio de Janeiro, but my son is quite light in both skin and hair. My youngest son is, however, significantly darker. I have throughout my childhood only spoken Swedish in the home and still do ... I have two sisters, of whom the youngest is black, several cousins whom the youngest is adopted from China. We are all entitled mixed in appearance.

When I was one year old, my parents moved to Askim just outside Gothenburg. This was to me and my 2 year younger sister (my youngest sister was born much later) ,to have a safe and free upbringing in a privileged area. Our large villa was situated on the border of Hovås, and why I mention this is to explain, for anyone who does not know the Gothenburg area, these areas are seen as relatively affluent areas. There were, however, during my childhood, extremely few who have a migrant background. I was somewhat aware of this when I started going to "play school", the year before the first class. On "play school" it was just me who had black hair and at this time I was much darker skinned than I am today. I still remember how two blonde girls came up, giggled grabbed my hair and felt it, while one of them asked me if was "painted"? I am fully convinced that they did not mean anything bad, but I knew somewhere somewhere that I looked different compared to the others in my class. I also remembered that the main Manager at very clearly explained to the whole "class" on the first collection that I was not from Sweden (?) and therefore looked different! In a single day turned my world inside out. From being "Riki", I was suddenly "different". It was not my personality treated but how I looked! And no one meant anything bad of course ... I really don't think so.

My mom, who read medicine in Yugoslavia for a year, eventually got work in a factory when she came to Sweden, and the most important thing for her and her family was at the time to quickly assimilate into Swedish society. This meant learning the language at once, adapt life style and mannerisms, learn new traditions and so on. She later became entitled "Swedish" to that. This did not help completely, because I often noticed that the mother was sad when she for instance had been in town and gone into different stores. The reason could be that it constantly and invariably always as a shop assistant followed her and shaded her throughout her stay in the stores. Often more than one person in addition. Especially in the "finer" stores. She did not think it was because they wanted to assist her with help. But perhaps she was wrong? However, it did not seem like that other customers with a more "Swedish" appearance were given the same attention and definitely not my father. He was on the other hand a man, so ....

Well, I did, however, quite soon hear a word shouted after me, which was to continue throughout my childhood up until high school about: SVARTSKALLE! (Almost like wetback!)

I remember the first time there was a bunch of kids and adults, where some kids yelled "wetback" to me when I was going home, and the adults (who I assume was the parents) stood and giggled at their naughty children. I realized that perhaps it was not a very positive thing thry shouted to me.

I went home that day and asked my dad what they really meant? He said it was nothing to worry about.

However it happened more and more frequently, and at last there wasn't one day without one or more said the same thing again. Sometimes alternated it with 'your damn foreigners "as well. When I finally told me again to my father, what was called, he promised to come along to talk to them. I did not agree to that of course, but he came along anyway. He confronted none, but that particular day, of course, no one said anything.

Dad explained that I would think about how all Swedes that went down to Spain to sunbathe and darken to become even better looking, why it then sounded like something that was good. He also said that they were just jealous.

Although I was a bit skeptical about what dad said, I stretched my posture a little more on the next day.

It did not end, but I tried not to bother and endured. I would surely soon begin to 1st grade and then it surely would be a little better.

I got to know great people in my first class. People that I still have contact with. Among other things, Pierre, who today is my best friend, Lena, Lasse etc etc. There were even two girls in the class who was a bit dark. A girl who was adopted from Korea and a girl who had a mother who from Japan. However, no guy was dark like me, and that I found out rather quickly ...

The difference now was that they always made sure of, was that I was alone and that they were more when the comments came. I am aware that many of my friends still is unaware of what was going on back in those years. Mostly because it happened when school ended and I was on my way to my "daycare-nanny" (my mother and father worked after all and I was too young to go home myself!). As they often waited somewhere along the way to express how they felt about me. Since I did not want to worry my mother, I went again to my father and asked what I would do. My father, who was a pacifist, said I would not do anything! Just walk away.

I felt that it was extremely humiliating, and I really just wanted to get back at them, so I struggled with myself immensely. But I did what dad said, and it only resulted in even more jeers and when I went went away they just followed.

One day someone said (actually!) The following: "You fucking negro go home to Africa!" (?). Odd, because I do not look African! When I told my father, he took out all of our jazz, soul and funk records and put them on the floor in front of us. It was the album covers of Ray Charles, James Brown, Aretha Franklin, Diana Ross, Stevie Wonder, Thelonious Monk, Miles Davis, etc. He asked me what I thought of these artists. Since it was the type of music we both listened to and played my answer was thus "good". He then went and picked up three books - One about Ghandi, one of Martin Luther King and Malcolm X, and asked what I thought about them? "Good," I replied again. My father had educated us about these people already, and they all were the role models for Dad. "Well", Dad said, "then you know that if they say so again, you may instead be proud!"

It was still hard to take this, and it was not just in school this happened. I played soccer for a club called Hovås IF, and at my first game, I put a guy down with a hard tackle, whereby he shouted "Fucking svartskalle (Wetback) !!" The referee, who was standing right next to us, did not say a word, but gave me a yellow card!

In half as the boy stood with his father and pointed at me and repeated what he had said earlier, in which his father replied "fuck it son! They're all like that!". I was boiling inside!

I was now in 3rd, and had had enough of my father's Ghandi, Martin Luther King graces, that is to constantly turn the other side/cheek. I was more preferring the early version of Malcolm X, I today understand (Malcolm X stood at the beginning of his career for a more brutal side. He said that the black man had the right to defend themselves hard if he was subjected to threats and violence! His attitude softened considerably during the later part of his adult life after his pilgrimage to Mecca).

Me and my dad used to sit and jam together at the piano (he was a jazz musician earlier in life and I had already been playing the piano for 4 years). One evening he noticed that I was not at all eager to play, and we started talking. I'll never forget my father's face when I told him: His cheeks changed color, he clenched his jaws so that the cheekbones pulsed briefly, his mouth turned into a narrow streaks and so he said: "If it happens again, you will hit them hard on the nose! If there is a gang, get the biggest guy or what you perceive as the leader of the gang! It felt like a stone released from my chest.

A short time later, when I was on my way to Bamba (school canteen in Swedish), and went over the football field, when a student came up to me. He went into 6th grade and were consequently three years older. He put his arm around me and started talking friendly (can not remember what he said), but all of a sudden he yanked my sideburn hard and said "you little fucking wetback!". Without thinking, I hit him the hardest I could, right on the nose. The guy fell down and was bleeding down the asphalt on the football field and cried. Suddenly his buddies stormed at me, who apparently had been standing a bit away, toward me and yelled "What the hell are you doing?". They remained, however, well away from me ... Then I understood what mattered. They were scared!

They became the rescue! The guy I had hit went a long way around me the rest of the term, and never said anything more to me. His buddy said either nothing more. However, it was my first meeting with the headmaster (my class teacher Carina was also there). I had it explained to me that you do not fight, and when I tried to explain why, the headmaster replied that it did not matter. "You just don't fight!"

There were some fights in middle school (or rather after school), but also some quarter breaks, then the elderly from the other side of the school sometimes came to hustle me and some other younger students. But after beating some of the worst on the nose, it became more and more rare ...

Unfortunately, it happened things in a different forum. I remember it like yesterday, when there was some kind of meeting in school, I remember that my mother was stalked by another female parent, which constantly hissed, "you black witch" to mom. My mom tried to detach herself and go away from there, but the woman just did not stop. The worst thing was that no one else, neither parents or teacher, said something. How embarrassing it must have been for my mother, when everyone became silent and just stared. Both students, teachers and parents! I was 11 and saw my mom and my heart broke.

I remember that sometimes I could wish that instead live and go to school in areas Bergsjön Angered, etc., where there were more immigrants. Then I wouldn't be alone! Never mind that they had a difficult time in other ways, atleast I wasn't alone!

My sister got away. Maybe because she was a girl and maybe because she was beautiful. I do not know?

I had many Swedish friends, but it was always the case that if we were at someones house, I was sent home when it was food getting comments like "You  probably don't eat this kind of food anyway, right?". If we were more kids, they stayed to eat, but I never did!

One time we would have a table tennis tournament at the home of a friend. However, we would pass by one of the guys houses. When we got there, all of the kids rushed into the house and were going up to his room to fetch balls and rackets. His mom came straight up to me and said I had to wait at the front door! When the others asked why, she replied with "Well, cause I know not you!". My buddy Mats then said that she did not know him either, but then she hushed him up! I stood at the door and waited for my friends to come back. Mats waited However with me. If I ever see him again and I will tell this to him and explain how much it meant to me at that moment.

I now began in high school in Hovås-skolan and still got some comments from people. Sometimes on the way to school, sometimes on the way home from school, sometimes at Askim Square when I would buy candy for my pocket money, sometimes down at Askimsbadet, sometimes when I would play soccer or field hockey etc etc. The difference now was that many knew I wouldn't just stand still if I heard something, why they usually came in the bunch and when I was all alone. However, I noticed that it eluded comments from some adults now more than ever. Among other things, had not my crafts teacher, Wood-Pete called, he thought that I didn't work enough with the sandpaper, but that it was probably because I was "burned" in the head - "Just look at your black hair"! (A similar comment actually came from my lieutenant when I did my military service. Yes quite a lot actually when I think about it ...)

I was constantly reminded at home, by my parents, who said that to compete against "real swedes" under the same conditions, I had to be twice as good! On everything! I was also aware that I would never get anything for free, and it was on me and no one else! My father would often say "shame on those who put their goals so low that he can reach them!" I picked out a few things that I felt I wanted to be the best at; Music and Athletics. It was not long before I was fastest at school at 100m, 60m and 400m. The comments from one of gymnastics teachers were not late; "Yes it takes well to be quick when you are forced to outrun the cops, ha ha!". However, I got highest grade in sports! The feeling of revenge is underrated!

All this made me more and more touchy, I understand now. I remember, and have even talked to my good friend Pierre about it, he came up and said that I had hairy legs. My lightning quick reply was "Yes it will also get once you become an adult !!" I guess I was tired of being different, but above all to constantly hear it. I know today that Pierre did not mean anything bad, but I took it that way. Surely there are more occasions when I have things on the "wrong" way ?! But I had learned, empirically, that attack is the best defense. I was not choosing to alienate myself! It had been done by others from the start by showing and telling that I was not like them!

I became more and more a "southern european in my own eyes, and I remember that I was insane when IFK Goteborg won the UEFA Cup in soccer in 1982. I wanted to be a Yugoslavian or Italian team would win to avoid having to hear how damn fantastic Sweden was all the time. I noticed that I quickly felt sympathy with other immigrants. I understand why many black guys greet each other without knowing each other and call each other "brother!" te x.

Since I still had jet black hair and through my father's more Swedish traits, so I was usually referred to as Italians or "guinea" and so on. In particular, when the brothers Ingrosso (Pernilla Wahlgren's dancers) became popular with many Swedish girls. It was a little boost:-) However, you had to hear it at clubs; "Do not think that you can get girls just because you look like Emilio, damn slimy guinea!" That particular comment actually came in Hastings in England when I was on Study Abroad and entered into the STS-disco in sunglasses and a cool (I thought!) white suit. I was even told by some friends that it waited five guys from Borlange outside the disco and would make up for the thought that "I thought I was it!"  The whole thing was hampered by the fact that two of my room mates (Andrea and Aldo from Italy) with the family I was staying with, as well as two dark girls from Stockholm (Anna who was adopted from Pakistan and Gloria who was of African origin), promised to make mincemeat of the Borlange guys if they ever dared to look at me again. It felt the sudden right good not to be alone.

It was now time for high school and here something happened. I never heard anyone call me anything else but my name more. Maybe because Schillerska (the school) was a true mixed school, where there was room for different people, personalities and nationalities? I had fun, curious, different types of classmates who felt genuine. All I could hear was that I was "a bit arrogant and too cool for school," but it was not as tough. Why? Well, because it was more about personality and not my looks. I could actually do something about that (besides, I was probably a little arrogant from time to time ...!). Another factor may also be that I disappeared into the crowd. There were now more migrants in Sweden and many who were much darker than I am. The fact that I spoke fluent Swedish and had brightened somewhat in the skin may also was crucial. However, I could still hear comments like "fucking greaseball" from some, but often it was followed by "Yes, but not you! You're not the same way!". You who have the same upbringing as I've probably also heard just that, right?

Today I experience xenophobia or racism is a little different. Today, they don't hide it as much. The ones who know me, probably don't have a clue of what i now write about?! Although we may even attended the same class. I know that my closest friends heard some of the things, but certainly not all. In fact, I fear that my mother when she reads this, will feel heartbroken. The only man I shared this with my father. I did not want my mother to worry and get more "grist to her mill" given the racism that she, as a woman AND immigrants suffered.

Much of what I have told above are things I remembered during this writing process. Things I actually even had forgotten for a time. However, you should know that this is just a fraction of what I experienced. One can say that these experiences pushed me to become a form of "outsider". It has shaped me and my view of how to treat people.

Today, I am allergic to "Bully's" of all of its forms. I myself am not flawless, but I have constantly exam brighten out there.

Now when I hear a man calls my wife "negro" when she is at the mall with our youngest son, or that Marvin (especially) for hearing the same thing from others, so I will be beside myself with both sadness and anger. I do not want my family to experience the same thing again.

When I also hear people claim that this racism or xenophobia did not exist before in Sweden, but come through the so-called "European right winds" I become dejected and sad. They have been around ALL the time! There is nothing new!

It is therefore important that as many people as possible know this. If we are to combat and eliminate racism, so it does not help to cut a branch! You have to get to the roots! If you do not see the root, then a new branch will allways grow out!

Sweden has roots in a racist mourn. This is where we must begin. I do not know how many millions I paid in taxes through my adult working life? I know I'm only in year paid about SEK 300 000 in taxes. What's more, I brought Sweden, despite the fact that I am a second generation immigrant, I do not know, but let's focus a bit on it instead of talking about the costs and problems of immigration created!

To bundle all people and generalize, as many do today, is just stupid and uneducated. Imagine if we all said that all Swedish military is that Mattias Flink, ie potential mass murderers !!?

I really don't know ...!

You can even hear the debate today. It begins with talk of Islamization, and then act on asylum and integration policy and its costs. More and more talks one immigration in general today. One can say that it has lifted the lid on. It makes me embarrassed and hence my commitment!

I'm Swedish. Born in Sweden by a Swedish father (blond and blue-eyed) and a mother with Yugoslavian, Polish, Jewish origin. I'm not very religious, not practicing Protestant, Serbian Orthodox, Catholic or Jewish faith.

This is part of my upbringing. I'd love to hear more about your vision and your experience whether you are "Swedish", immigrants or second generation immigrants ...

Sincerely Riki

Från
    Kom ihåg mig
URL

Säkerhetskod
     

Kommentar

Ni som tagit er tid att läsa detta inlägg är förmodligen antingen själva invandrare av något slag och nyfikna på att jämföra erfarenheter, eller så är ni "helsvenskar" och nyfikna på en annan typ av erfarenheter, men det kan också vara några som vill...

Hej!  Nu skall jag försöka blogga för första gången.  Återkommer med mer   mvh Riki ...