Boston Blatte

So we moved our protest march to Kolmården, the Nordic’s largest animal park. May 1 is their official annual opening day. It’s incredible that they open their gates to such a political manifestation.

The parades of people started promptly at 10 am as the gates swung open. People were dedicated to their steady procession, trudging patiently up the hill, pushing prams and dragging carts filled with coolers, picnic baskets and children.  The devotion to the long haul was inspirational.

Unfortunately the political affiliations were entirely unclear.  Not a political party was officially represented. I wouldn’t dare to speculate which parties were represented. And the political messages were far too subtle. No protest signs, no “We shall overcome” chants, though I’d venture to guess that a handful of people might have John Lennon’s “Give Peace a Chance.” in mp3 format on an iPod.

The incredible weather must have tempered the protesters. The lack of organization took its toll on the processions. They eventually disbanded as participants got distracted by Savannah animals or a quest to see baby gorilla, Enzo.

However, around closing, organizers seemed to finally regroup the marchers and the worn-torn die-hards trudged in unity out of the park to their vehicles.

Perhaps next year we’ll have to again test out their May Day protests. However, we’re always up for alternative venues for our political demonstrations.

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I’ve been out of Sweden for 10 days back in the embrace of my hometown, family, childhood friends (you know the ones who have the dirt on you from when you were a kid–and literally have photo evidence that when you were 6 you picked your nose) and native culture.

After two decades of living abroad (and across a big ole pond) each trip takes longer and longer to revive old habits and customs. This time the re-transformation is only kicking in now that I’m packing up for my return flight. And I’m melancholic to try to hang on to some of me that I’ll be packing away once I arrive at Arlanda and Moder Svea.

I’ve got more attitude in my native land (and most Swedes would find me pretty brazen in my adapted mode) and with age I’m even more no-nonsense. Actually, I think the Swedish pragmatism helps in that category. I don’t have the patience to be all wordy in my pleasantries like I should be.

At the playground today I witnessed the budding of this sassy personality when three 5-year olds ganged up on an almost 5-year old (a half-Swedish offspring–yes, mine.) He partially deserved it since he had lashed out first due to his own perceived injustice of usurped ball. Instead of the girl victim passively tattling to a parent and pointing at my guilty son, her two girl-friends *snap* came up brazenly and demanded:

–Why did you hit my friend?

This gave the victim courage to reiterate the demand on her own part:

–Why did you hit me?

The poor boy was cornered and outnumbered and I could only feel sorry for his shock and insecurity.

I reflected on the cultural differences in growing up between the US and Sweden. While this was an extreme case of girl-power, I can’t imagine this ever happening on a Swedish playground.

Some of that which gave those young girls strength is instilled in me and I’m glad I got it. It has resurfaced in the past day or two. Check back in a few days and see if I have it left in me, or if I put in in storage with the luggage.

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Swedes mean well. And then they also fear and flee conflict.

Add those up and  you’ll get the occasional effective tactic. However, under the right circumstances you may very well expose an easily abused Achilles heel for the average Svensson..

It’s sad to say but you can nearly always trip up a Swede by pulling the prejudice card. All it takes is a mere suggestion that their intentions are less than noble and you can frazzle the unsuspecting Swede. In that state of self-defense and confusion the poor Swede is vulnerable. That’s when the opportunist stikes.

A real life event occurred when confronting a prowler in an apartment building. The uninvited trespasser confronts me attempting to scare me off and says:

-Hey,  do you have a problem with me because I’m an immigrant?

Oooh, it felt so good to pull at my nearly black hair and inform them that I was also an immigrant. So hah. Of course it didn’t prevent the prowlers from casing and ultimately attempting to burgle our building. But boy were they expecting that this mean bull-dog would lose his bite. Sorry folks, wrong random “guard.”

Recently at Erikdahlsbadet in central Stockholm some unruly young adults harmlessly disrespected the safety rules for the water slide. Without any critical looks aimed from my diretion they decided to depoly a pre-emptive strike to neutralize any passibe rage boiling under the 08-surface.

They tried achieve this by turn to me shaking their head in disgust of their own poor non-Swedish behavior and aim to garner sympathy with:

-You know. Immigrants.

It was so obvious that in both cases they chose  the statements to be used to diffuse passive aggression from the stoic, kind-hearted, conflict avoiding TK.

If they intend it to work they need to remember that next time they should offer it to a non-black-headed, non-Swede.

Come to think of it, I ought to learn from these tactics. After all, I’m a black-haired immigrant like the best of them.

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