A Decolonial View

By Alina Weig

Two years ago, I moved to Sweden – a white cis woman born and raised in Germany. Today, I want to reflect on my white experience as a migrant in Sweden.

To be clear from the beginning, this blog post aims to address readers with white privilege. To all BIPOC readers (Black, Indigenous, and people of color): I know you have better things to do than waste your time reading how a white person fails to understand their privilege (unless you want to be amused by the attempt). Most importantly, the upcoming lines should not be read as information on what white privilege means (as a white person, I am certainly not an expert on that), but rather as a personal reflection as part of my learning process. With this, I follow the call from many BIPOC voices, as articulated by Ijeoma Oluo [i] : “White people: I don’t want you to understand me better; I want you to understand yourselves. Your survival has never depended on your knowledge of white culture. In fact, it’s required your ignorance.” And sadly, but true, representing one central aspect of this privilege: I can talk about racism without being seen as hypersensitive or self-interested.

First, my identity as a German woman in Sweden was never challenged or seen as something inconsistent that had yet to make sense. My proclaimed reason for being here – to study – was never questioned. I am never under any pressure to disclose anything personal about myself to either justify my identity or my presence in this country. In situations where I prefer not to stand out, I can simply choose not to speak and blend in as a Swede.

I do not speak Swedish. Yet, I have never faced criticism or heard discussions about my “poor integration”. Even my admission that I am not making any effort to learn the language has not unsettled the “a priori integrated” label assigned to me. Additionally, most of my friends here are German, and our gatherings are not seen as a “parallel society” discussed as a challenge that needs to be solved.

Even if I don’t comply with all the ostensible norms of Swedish society, I am not perceived as a threat to Swedish identity. I am simply seen as an individual. For example, openly rejecting monogamy in my personal romantic relationship is sometimes even perceived as cool and revolutionary. In contrast, racialized people making the same decision are often discriminated against and judged for not complying with the values of Sweden as their “host country”. They also contend with the fear of unintentionally reinforcing racist stereotypes. Unlike them, I don’t have to be burdened with the responsibility of representing an entire group of people. When I forgot to update my address after moving or was confronted about speaking too loudly in public, it is seen as a personal oversight rather than a reflection of my German culture or all white people.

Alice Hasters [ii] made me aware of the absence of certain unsettling thoughts when faced with perceived rejection. She writes about her experience of wondering whether the seat next to her on the bus is empty because of her being black or simply by chance. Contrastingly, when I was refused in my attempt to open a bank account in Sweden, I didn’t have to ask myself, “Did I not get the account because I am white?”

I was never confronted in the university about paying tuition fee, and it is not just my German passport privilege that saves me from discrimination but also the intersection with my skin color since I am not expected of having to pay fees. Overall, I am just not marked as different. I understand why white people do not see themselves as migrants. Because our experience is informed by a prior belonging and the entitlement to inhabit foreign places.

I am aware that this is just a small part of what it means to be a white migrant in Sweden. However, the only thing I have certainly understood so far is that I will never get this right. And therefore, I am committed to be receptive and embrace any feedback I get from BIPOC regarding my unaware aspects of white privilege and any racist behavior – in this blog-post and beyond. Knowing that they are putting themselves at risk and insecurity, while the worst that happens to me is discomfort – so please, Alina – resist your white fragility! [iii] I try to remind myself of Layla Saad’s words “No matter how bad it feels to wake up to the pain, shame, and guilt of your racism, those feelings will never come anywhere close to the pain BIPOC experience as a result of your racism” [iv]. The least I can do is not stopping to think of myself in racial terms and pointing out my own and other white people racism, because BIPOC do not get a break from (my) white supremacy either – since they would even have to deal with us idiots complaining about reverse racism when they want to breathe by creating or joining BIPOC-only-spaces or wish to get a BIPOC teacher.

I’m a little worried of reading this blog post five years from now and feeling ashamed of how limited my understanding was back then. But honestly, I also wish that’s exactly what will happen, because then I’ll have moved on.

… and for all white people who are not yet comfortable with these lines looking critically at themselves, Mohamed Amjahid [v] has a fitting and somewhat ironic answer: “I can speak from my own experience: you get used to being studied and described”.

[i] Ijeoma Oluo (2018) So You Want to Talk About Race. Seal Press.

[ii] Alice Hasters (2019) Was weiße Menschen nicht über Rassismus
hören wollen: aber wissen sollten. Hanserblau.

[iii] Robin DiAngelo (2018) White Fragility: Why It’s So Hard for White
People to Talk About Racism. Beacon Press.

[iv] Layla Saad (2022) Me and White Supremacy: How to Recognize
Your Privilege, Combat Racism and Change the World. Hachette
UK Distribution – Iwuk.

[v] Mohamed Amjahid (2021) Der weiße Fleck: Eine Anleitung zu
antirassistischem Denken. Piper. [my translation from German to
English]