What I would tell Jimmie Åkesson if he asked if a Swede could become Afghan

In a recent political display, the governing Tidö coalition invited all Swedish municipalities to a dialogue on the repatriation grant, which from January 1st, will increase the payment for voluntary return migration from 25,000 SEK to 350,000 SEK per adult. 

Several of Sweden’s largest municipalities – including Stockholm, Gothenburg, and Vaxholm, where I work as an engineer – have declined the invitation. 

This is exactly the kind of distraction Jimmie Åkesson depends on – turning politics from substance to spectacle, from policy to provocation.

Instead of investing billions to integrate newcomers, strengthen schools and healthcare, or rebuild the country’s crumbling infrastructure, Sweden’s leaders are choosing to pay people to leave. It is a politics of avoidance disguised as action.

Migration has become a convenient diversion that every party draws upon when real answers run out. Every debate – on television panels, in newspaper columns, at public squares, in cafés, and even in the lunchroom of the office where I work – circles back to migration.

One issue, amplified by one megaphone, has come to dominate an entire nation’s political life, the convenient substitute for the far more difficult debates Sweden needs to have about its economy, welfare, infrastructure, and future.

A striking example of how the national conversation loses direction took place on TV4’s Malou Efter Tio back in 2017. On stage sat Jimmie Åkesson (Sweden Democrats), Anders Ygeman (Social Democrats), and Amineh Kakabaveh (Left Party).

The subject was the industrialist Leif Östling and his now-famous outburst – “What the hell do I get for my money?” – his criticism of Sweden’s tax system after moving his wealth to offshore accounts.

The discussion should have been about tax justice, economic responsibility, and the future of the welfare state. Instead, Åkesson steered the conversation toward his familiar territory: migration and national identity. 

When Åkesson asked Kakabaveh if she was Kurdish – and then whether he himself could “become a Kurd” – the shift was complete. Economic inequality had been replaced by cultural symbolism. The cracks in Sweden’s welfare system were reframed as questions of language, religion, and ethnicity, while those with economic power quietly slipped from scrutiny.

This was no coincidence. For fifteen years, Åkesson has built his political success on one formula: no matter the topic, bring it back to migration. It is a strategy that shifts blame from capital to culture, from economics to ethnicity.

Sometimes I wish he had asked me, “Do you think I could become Afghan?”

My answer would have been this:

“Jimmie, today is not the day to talk about who can or cannot become Afghan. You are doing once again what you always do – changing the subject. We were meant to discuss tax evasion, about the companies that move profits abroad yet still expect Sweden’s welfare system to be there when they need it. Instead, you turn the conversation to migration –as you always do when you want to shift focus away from those in power and onto those without a voice.

And if you truly wish to talk about my ‘Afghanness,’ or your curiosity about becoming Afghan, come to my home. We’ll discuss it over a cup of Afghan tea.”

That is what every person, every politician, every columnist in this country should do – steer the sinking boat back on course, return the dialogue to where it belongs.

And if Jimmie had accepted my invitation – which I doubt he would – I would have told him this:

“I hope you never have to leave Sweden and flee. Afghanistan is not a country anyone should have to escape to. It is poor, war-torn, and institutionally broken. I am nearly fifty and have never known peace there. For decades, Afghan politics has burned its energy defining us and them, finding scapegoats instead of solutions – exactly as you do now, turning away from substance in exchange for cheap political points.”

"But even if Afghanistan were peaceful, I would not wish you that experience. Even in a stable country, you would face something you cannot grasp from a television studio: the slow, silent struggle of not belonging. You would wrestle with language, norms, food, smells, humour, and silences. You would feel alone when holidays are celebrated. And even if, against all odds, you found a friend, you would still have to start from the beginning – learning how to speak, to laugh, to participate. And when you came home, exhausted after yet another day of adjustment, you would long for Blekinge – the wind, the water, the scents, and the people who once were your world. You would not have much time left to wonder whether you were accepted.”

I work as an engineer within a publicly funded organization, and I see daily what truly challenges Sweden. The population is aging, the welfare system is under strain, and those with the most resources find ever-smarter ways to contribute less while taking more. That is where the discussion about responsibility must begin.

Migration, by contrast, is a complex reality – but it is not the root of all evil, nor a reasonable excuse to avoid serious debate. Open borders without proper controls, inadequate integration, and growing social unrest are indeed real problems. Yet the solutions offered are either naive, self-defeating, or repressive.

Sweden is bound by international agreements such as the Geneva Convention – commitments the nation has voluntarily chosen to honor. If those principles no longer reflect Sweden’s will, the country could withdraw from them. But as a Swedish proverb goes: you cannot have the cake and eat it too.

Åkesson wants both – to remain party to these conventions while making life so difficult for those covered by them that they leave voluntarily. That is not consistent policy – it is moral double bookkeeping.

So finally, I would tell Jimmie this:

“I am here because I had to be here. I fled Afghanistan while bombs fell from the sky. But my children were born here. They grew up here. Their friends are Swedish. From preschool to university, they have woven themselves into the fabric of this society. They are part of its fibre.
I will never uproot them. I will never make them relive the loneliness of migration – the struggle to learn a new language, to grasp invisible social codes, to sit alone beneath a foreign roof while others celebrate their holidays.

"So we are here. We are all Swedes now, Jimmie. So stop talking about becoming an Afghan or a Kurd, or questioning my Swedishness. Let’s instead talk about reality – about what we are today: Swedes, a nation in crisis. A real crisis, where the welfare system is breaking, infrastructure is aging, and faith in the future is eroding.

Let’s talk about Leif Östling and how he moves his capital to tax havens. Let’s talk about how we can build a Sweden where he no longer feels the need to do that – a robust country equipped for today’s realities. Let’s talk about strengthening our infrastructure to meet the very real climate challenges, about increasing our resilience against a powerful neighbor who would not hesitate to test it through war. And let’s talk about how to restore Sweden’s place as a country where innovation, justice, and integrity once again mean something.

Let’s talk about upgrading our Sweden – so that it truly belongs to our time, instead of pretending that our only problem is us versus them. I know where that road leads. I have fled from a country that fractured itself along lines of us and them. Let’s not let Sweden follow."

Faisal Khan has written a book, "What You See Is Not What’s Happening", which covers the twenty years of American occupation in Afghanistan, beginning with the fall of the Taliban in 2001 and continuing until their return to power, with flashbacks to earlier times. He is currently looking for a publisher.