Citizens, Divided

We call ourselves ‘Öresund’s Citizens’. We are spread over two countries divided by the Öresund Straight, a sea channel which is more than 100 kilometres long and that separates the Skåne region of Sweden from the Zealand region of Denmark (which includes the capital, Copenhagen). We became Öresund’s Citizens in the year 2000, thanks to a 12-kilometre-long, half underwater motor bridge called Öresundsbron, which connects the Danish capital Copenhagen to the Swedish city of Malmö. This was supposed to be good for the economy, for we could live in one country and work in another. And, many of us chose to do so. For instance, I live in Malmö but used to travel daily to Denmark to work there, and no I didn’t even have to carry my passport for there were no checks. It seemed to work out fine, till the first cracks began to appear.

The first dent in the dream of connecting two different peoples for the common economic good came with the refugee crisis following the war in Syria. The refugees entering Denmark took the bridge to Sweden, and Sweden, despite its open policy towards migrants, struggled to handle the unexpected influx. Border controls were put for the first time; trains were stopped, and everyone was asked to show identification. The delays lasted more than 30 minutes sometimes, and ultimately resulted in some people giving up the dream of connected workforce spread across two countries.

The border controls eventually eased, but the Öresund region is now battling with another crisis — the coronavirus. By the time this story was written, Denmark had already seen more than 800 cases of coronavirus infection and three deaths, and more than 1120 people have been infected in Sweden, with at least seven dead. Both Danes and Swedes love to ski in the Italian Alps; some of them got infected while on the skiing vacation, and that’s how the virus spread in the two countries.

Now, Denmark is struggling to control the spread, and as a result it has closed its borders, including the bridge. If you are a tourist from Sweden coming to Denmark, then expect to be rejected at the Danish border. If you are working in one country and living in another, the clear recommendation from employers is to stay put at home. Moreover, many of us in southern Sweden rely on the Copenhagen airport to travel across Europe (Stockholm is 600 kilometres away from Malmö). However, per latest direction, people based in Sweden will no longer be able to use the Copenhagen airport, unless they have a credible reason to travel.

The move to shut its borders to most foreign visitors should help Denmark contain the spread of virus. However, the adverse impact on tourism is already visible. “The business is under extreme pressure – many of the hotels and restaurants are facing a very tough year,” says Mr. Martin Bender, CEO of Destination Sydkystdanmark (agency responsible for tourism development in the southern coast of Denmark).  Normally, spring is the beginning of tourist season in Denmark. However, according to Mr. Bender most hotels have seen cancelled bookings and the impact is much bigger than anything anyone has ever seen before. The very tangible fear prevailing in the tourism functions in both the countries is that this crisis will cost many jobs and the economies should prepare for quite a few companies supported by tourism to go bankrupt.

While sitting at home in Malmö one evening, out of boredom and craving a sweet pastry, I decided to venture out to the nearest coffee shop for a semla (a Swedish pastry wheat flour bun, topped with thick cream flavoured with cardamom and filled with almond paste eaten as the last celebratory feast before the Christian fasting period of Lent). The popular walking street of Malmö, Storgatan, always cheerful and brimming with tourists, wore a deserted look. The equally popular coffee shop, where on a normal day it’s difficult to score a table, had just one more person occupying a corner table. I sat in a corner digging into my semla while the only attendant looked far out with a bored look. I chatted up with her about the business. “It’s so slow now, no one comes!” she said. I asked her how she feels servicing strangers who may unwittingly be virus carriers. She shrugged her shoulders — a job is a job and it needs to be done.

I got one pastry packed for who knows when will I step out again. While walking back home, the once busy street almost looked the safest place to be at. There was no one around me, and I could walk untouched, uninterrupted for hours. The only little crowd that I saw was at the supermarket. A few people were stocking up on the groceries.

Then I noticed her: a beggar, wrapped in a blanket, she usually sits outside this supermarket. She was still there, braving the cold, and hoping for the others to leave her some food, or better still some money. Did she care about the virus, I wondered. For sure, she must know what has happened in the world. And it must have impacted her, for she relies on their daily gathering for survival. She probably has no place to hide from the virus, and no option but to show up outside the supermarket every day. Though I had passed by, my thoughts remained with her. I turned back and handed her the packed semla.

I got back home to notice our 60-year-old neighbour walking her dog outside. She is usually a cheerful lady and we got talking about the situation. She felt worried about doing her groceries every few days. I offered to help order some groceries for her online and teach her how to do it. In the process of identifying new companies that had started home delivery of groceries – since all the established ones were already serving full to capacity – I came across a Facebook group of young and healthy people who were offering to help the elderly and risk groups with their grocery shopping. That’s when I realized that once again, that one can learn a lot about social responsibility from the Swedes. The government hasn’t really imposed a lock down, but the people have self-imposed this upon themselves. Talking to my Swedish colleagues, I do not sense fear, but a sense of ownership to handle this crisis collectively. Everyone acts out of a sense of responsibility to protect the elderly, the risk groups, and lower the burden on the hospitals. I slept in peace that evening, knowing that I am surrounded by responsible, caring individuals and that this too shall pass.  

A version of this story appeared in The National Geographic Traveller India