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COMMENTARY:
It had begun to appear that the pandemic was over in Sweden, that we would prevent the resurgence of the infection in other parts of Europe.
Then on Tuesday, a slight increase in cases and the prospect of specific local restrictions were an unwelcome reminder. That and being kicked out of the cafe off the coast of Skåne where he was working last Saturday.
“Do you have a cold?” Asked the man behind the counter. “Because the family that was here said you were coughing.” I offered to leave, hoping it wasn’t necessary. But it was. “Sorry, crown times, but yeah, it would be for the best.”
For me, this was significant mainly because of how unusual it was. Since the pandemic broke out in mid-March, Sweden has been so calm and its restrictions so light that it has often felt like a crisis elsewhere. Looking at the elevated temperament, guilt, hysteria and sense of panic in the UK, the calm here has felt surreal and something to be thankful for.
The episode also added to my first-hand evidence that Swedes continue to largely abide by the public health agency’s recommendations: keep your distance, maintain good hygiene, and stay home when you’re sick (I guess you could add, although it is not a recommendation, please report other clients who do not).
Even as Swedish state epidemiologist Anders Tegnell on Tuesday and Thursday outlined his agency’s new highly targeted local restrictions strategy to quickly end outbreaks, he reiterated the importance of establishing national-level restrictions that are sufficient but light enough to stay in place for the duration.
At the end of April, I remember bringing my children home from the bustling playgrounds of Malmö’s Folkets Park to make a video call back home and discovering something that I had not yet understood: their English cousins had not left the grounds. from your home. for six weeks.
Then I realized how lucky we have been, with school, sleepovers, and weekend birthday parties continuing more or less as usual. Aside from outdoor gym classes and more hand washing, the biggest change for my kids has been the emergence of a new version of the label, called, of course, coronavirus.
Not that Sweden has been less affected. When we made the call, the weekly per capita death rate would soon surpass that of the UK. That month, 2,544 people in Sweden died from or with the virus, roughly five times as many Swedes who died during the Asian tsunami or the MS Estonia ferry disaster. The death count is now approaching 6000.
But while those disasters look like national tragedies, the coronavirus pandemic doesn’t feel that way.
At the end of May, when Sweden briefly had the highest death rate in the world, the autonomous collective where I work held its summer party at one of its houses in the country.
In early June, when the death rate was still stubbornly high, I spent my mornings working by an outdoor swimming pool in the Skåne countryside while my children took swimming lessons and my wife launched her new project, building a house for summer in a forest plot.
Perhaps the parents by the pool sat a little further away from each other. One of the bride and groom with a nearby summer house isolated himself so that the husband’s diabetic father could visit them. Our building supervisor initially held online meetings when she was in her 70s. But otherwise, we and our friends had a barbecue, swam and went out as usual. And none of our contractors seemed affected at all. As in the UK, the local beaches and swimming spots were, if anything, unusually crowded.
The hardest thing has been not being able to see grandparents. We had to cancel our summer visit to the UK. And my wife’s father and mother, like most people over 70, have been very careful, in April and May they even got others to buy them. The biggest scare came in June, when a neighbor my wife’s mother had included in his social bubble tested positive. They were both good. It was only this month that he traveled by car to see his grandchildren.
When international commentators judge Sweden’s decision to keep primary and secondary schools open, to keep bars, restaurants, sports clubs and shopping centers open, they tend to point to things that can be measured, the death rate versus the death rate. economy.
But this misses an intangible but important benefit, the surprisingly upbeat mood of the public. I’m not sure it’s correct, or even possible, to weigh the greater calm of 10 million against the first deaths of almost 6,000, but I think it’s worth it.
When I crossed the bridge into Denmark this month and wore a mask for the first time, I was surprised by the psychological impact. I felt threatened, Copenhagen under siege. I suspect it must have been the same in other places with stay-at-home orders, curfews, closed shops and bars.
Looking at Sweden’s relatively high death rate, you might think there would have been a sense of panic, but there never was.
While in the UK many are angry and distrustful of their leaders, most people here are glad that the politicians stepped away and let the rational and reassuring state epidemiologist Anders Tegnell set the strategy.
Sweden has drawn attention for not blocking, but few notice the extent to which it has maintained the light restrictions imposed at the end of March. Denmark and Norway, previously blocked in the summer, allowed events for up to 100 people (200 in Norway’s case) and opened amusement parks. Denmark even allowed the crowd to return to the soccer stands. Sweden did none of this.
Only 6 percent of people wear face masks, but people still keep their distance in supermarkets and on public transportation. My Swedish wife and I isolated ourselves when we fell ill with probable coronavirus in mid-March (I had two antibody tests, one positive and one negative). When the country was hit by a wave of back-to-school colds earlier this month, my wife, like most Swedish parents, kept my son at home, although I complained that she barely caught a cold.
While people in the UK are now prepared for the new restrictions to come, Sweden’s track record shows that anything arriving in Sweden will be light enough or short enough to withstand it.
– The Telegraph