How Immigrants Become Part of Sweden

Luna Tian

When we talk about “integration,” we inevitably tend to think of it as a one-way street—an individual striving alone to become part of a society. But it should actually be bidirectional. Institutions and programs provide entry points, while immigrants bring new stories, experiences, and energy. When these two meet, culture can truly demonstrate its resilient power.

1. Cultural Kaleidoscope

Of all Swedish cities, my favorite is actually Malmö, where 56% of the population has an immigrant background.

Friends often laugh and remind me to stay safe when they see me constantly going to Malmö to eat, drink, and explore. To them, it seems like a somewhat chaotic place—occasionally I see news reports about security issues there. But nothing can stop my love for Malmö. Walking through its streets, I feel alive with energy. From schools to youth centers to public libraries, you can easily hear all kinds of languages. Someone quietly speaks Arabic on the phone, children naturally switch between Swedish and English, and I’ve seen people silently reading books they brought from their homeland at corner tables.

For me as an outsider, this is an enormous source of security. The diversity of languages proves we’ve become part of this society, part of its daily fabric. I love the variety of restaurants here—I can eat my beloved African cuisine and Japanese food, and buy all kinds of fruits and vegetables. This city doesn’t hide its complexity. Sometimes I feel it’s like a bustling kaleidoscope, where various colors echo one another, making it vibrant and full of life.

In the small city where I now live, there’s a place that gives me a similar feeling: the self-study hall at SFI (Swedish for Immigrants). I’ve made many friends there, exchanged stories, and built friendships. Before class, I meet a few friends in the hall to study together, chat about work and learning, correct each other’s pronunciation, talk about what’s happening back home, what foods we love, recent news, and occasionally gossip about whether certain classmates might have feelings for each other, then burst into laughter. That’s our little utopia—for me, the cold word “immigrant” became soft and real here.

This spring, a piece of news made me extremely sad—the school shooting in Örebro. The attacked school had SFI courses. Police emphasized this wasn’t specifically targeted at immigrants or adult education, but the appearance of “SFI” in the news gave me a jolt. It made me feel that the small and precious living space we’ve been building here, the place we cherish, had been violated.

According to statistics, nearly 20% of Sweden’s population now has an immigrant background. Try to imagine: one-third of nurses and nursing assistants in hospitals come from abroad; immigrants support public transportation and the restaurant industry. A particularly kind bus driver who always greets me is from Pakistan. In journalism, which I’m familiar with, there are more and more reporters with immigrant backgrounds. A senior of mine from Georgia works for Swedish Television. Many journalist friends who’ve shared their experiences with me carry different languages and experiences from various countries—I imagine that in a few years, they’ll all have established themselves in Swedish newsrooms, bringing new stories while reporting on society.

When people hear the word “immigrant,” many might think these people are outsiders, marginal, a source of vulnerability. But I see something else. Immigrants in Sweden have now become part of the social fabric. I see how this society creates opportunities and platforms for people from different countries to participate and contribute as much as possible. Sometimes it’s institutions, job training, language courses, and mentorship programs; sometimes it’s trust built among classmates, colleagues, and neighbors.

But I also clearly see people trying to turn “immigrants” into a problem, a label, even a threat. Such rhetoric contrasts sharply with the real stories I’ve experienced. All of this made me want to write this piece—though I don’t know how many people will seriously read it, I want to use my observations to try to break down such prejudices. As someone who has been accepted, I want to use my own way to talk about the society I see and love.

2. Pouring New Water into the River

I think Sweden is a country full of rich colors.

I’m someone who loves tasting various foods, so let me start from the dining table. In today’s Sweden, kebab pizza, falafel, and sushi are no longer “foreign foods” but regulars on weekend dining lists. When people ask what I love to eat in Sweden, my first thought is the stacked spices in Asian supermarkets, baklava from bakeries, fried plantains from Latin American restaurants, and even the fika dessert counter features pastries from distant lands. I think these are also part of Sweden’s taste memory.

As for language, when I chat with friends in Swedish, we sometimes throw in a few Turkish words. We laugh and call some rascal a “hayvan” (meaning animal in Turkish and Arabic), and they’ll respond with “åsna,” which means donkey in Swedish. We laugh out loud—children might learn new languages faster. I’ve seen kids fluent in three or four languages. I envy their flexible thinking ability, which will surely bring new creativity.

I heard Meira Omar sing “Hush Hush” on the Melodifestivalen stage—it’s my favorite song this year, energetic and beautiful. I always dance along to the music. When I watched Young Royals, I saw another Omar, Omar Rudberg—a Swedish youth from Venezuela—playing the core character Simon. Good performances can transcend language and culture, naturally convincing me that immigrant faces can become part of mainstream narratives. Shows like Flykten till Östermalm begin to present the contradictions and collisions between immigrants and Swedish society on screen. When they mention the Swedish Migration Agency and Tax Agency, I always smile knowingly.

This country is becoming younger and more vibrant, also more youthful and resilient. New experiences and languages, new food, images, music—everything new. This is why I believe Swedish society still has great development potential. Culture is no longer a static monument but a flowing river. We newcomers pour continuously fresh water into this river, keeping the entire country alive.

More importantly, it’s the “resilience” immigrants bring to society.

I believe people with diverse backgrounds can find more solutions when a society faces crises. During the pandemic, many immigrant communities spontaneously established mutual aid networks, transmitting information in different languages and distributing food, filling gaps in the official system. If one day war or geopolitical shocks disrupt supply chains, experiences and connections from different countries might become resources for society to find alternatives. Diversity is sometimes insurance against modern crises.

3. Invisible Support Networks

How society helps newcomers establish their lives is actually a complex question. I think the reason all this flow can continue in Sweden isn’t just because people bring these things, but also because society has built certain frameworks behind the scenes to prevent this flow from breaking.

In the SFI hall, I often chat with everyone about similar things. One friend told me he has to continue to an internship at the hospital after class, while another friend who used to work in accounting told me her teacher suggested she apply for a “fast-track” program, hoping to restart her professional career in Sweden. In language school, we seem to not only learn language but also actively seek keys to another kind of life. Institutions are always described as cold and impersonal, but in daily life, I always feel warmth from teachers patiently correcting pronunciation. The school’s career advisor says “give it a try” when I doubt myself. My interviewers say they enjoyed talking with me and hope I’ll do better and better. My friends always remember the smiles from colleagues during their internships. All these small kindnesses make policies touchable.

This year, I also enrolled in a training program for new journalists. I’m still not sure if I can become part of this program, but I’ve seen posts from other journalists with immigrant backgrounds who got jobs through similar programs, and I feel so fortunate. I imagine that one day I might no longer be a “guest” voice, but equally become a professional who discusses headlines with colleagues in daily meetings, debates word choices, and decides what stories deserve to be reported. I think about possibilities, opportunities to exist and develop. A friend told me there are also small documentary workshops specifically cultivating immigrant or minority creators. The stories they film aren’t glamorous, but they’re straightforward and real—in those stories we can see how a family finds its footing in a new city, how a teenager makes friends on the soccer field. These images often appear at community screenings or film festivals. When audiences laugh and cry in resonance with those stories, we probably realize this is the deepest meaning of “integration”—we’re not just learning languages to understand each other, but seeing each other through stories.

No one can exist independently from community. So I think all of this actually constitutes an invisible support network. With its existence, people here have more opportunities to establish themselves and become contributors to this society. Without these, many people would likely be stranded at the margins, unable to build new lives or make their voices heard. With the help of these support systems, many originally scattered experiences can converge into strength, becoming the country’s new breath.

Of course, this should also serve as a reminder.

When we talk about “integration,” we inevitably tend to think of it as a one-way street—an individual striving alone to become part of a society. But it should actually be bidirectional. Institutions and programs provide entry points, while immigrants bring new stories, experiences, and energy. When these two meet, culture can demonstrate its resilient power.

4. I Can Also Be We

Recently, I’ve been constantly thinking about what the word “we” really means. Perhaps not just recently—this question has actually accompanied me for a very long time. I always wonder, where will I find my home? Which society will I become part of? Can I do what I’m supposed to do well? What can I bring to a society?

Some people think “we” refers to a community formed by blood, borders, and language. But for me, it’s more like a choice—choosing to live on the same land, rely on each other, and bear responsibility.

I was once asked a somewhat offensive question: “When will you truly integrate into this society?” But I can actually understand the questioner’s intent a bit. For them, such a question carries an assumption that “we” is an already closed set, and outsiders can only try to imitate until one day they earn qualification—permanent residency, citizenship, passing some certification exam. But what I want to say is another truth: Haven’t I integrated into this society? Or rather, haven’t we integrated into this society? We’re already together—in library halls, in hospital wards, on TV screens, in corner restaurants. People of various backgrounds are composing this picture.

So I wonder, in 2025 rather than 1925, can we redefine “we,” no longer understanding it as a form of exclusion, but as a form of symbiosis? I can also be part of “we.” And this “we” is not a single identity, but a community that is changing, flowing, and continuously being rewritten.

Perhaps this is the true power immigrants bring: reminding a society that it can constantly renew itself. Reminding us that the word “we” always has new possibilities.