Sweden's Alcohol Politics – Shame on You!

Praised or reviled by Swedes and visitors to Sweden, Systembolaget is our state sponsored alcohol monopoly. Over the years it's nestled its way into our hearts—for some as a beloved social institution, for others as a source of hypertension. Like all casual shoppers of alcohol, all casual discussions about alcohol politics must go by Systembolaget.

This mighty institution dictates Sweden's official moral line on alcohol. As such many Swedes have erroneously believed Systembolaget's political line was in fact their own. Although when you sometimes walk into or past Systembolaget in the company of those who scoff at its very existence, you hear reassuring, yet mumbled, remarks about the EU's alcohol regulations and the nearing end of Systembolaget. The EU's alcohol policies, it's optimistically believed, will within the next decade or so, absolve Systembolaget of its purpose and power.

Discussing this is tricky. The debate often leads to heated, foul-mouthed invectives against the system. Another common way of discussing it is in that collected Swedish way—calmly finding positive things to justify Systembolaget, because after all, nothing can be all bad. Or you might hear ”we grew up with it” or ”at least you have self-service now. When I was younger you had to write down what you wanted and they fetched it from the stockroom.” Then there's the wildcard (used by Swedes who want to be diplomatic) that defends Systembolaget. It goes ”well, they have a much more extensive selection than the liqour stores in other countries.”

I admit, up here in the vodka belt where excessive drinking is the easiest, and often only way to meet new people, I'm sure Systembolaget has helped build a more abstinent nation. But does growing up with Systembolaget justify its existence? Does growing up with it make you immune to Systembolaget's dehumanizing atmosphere?

And me? I hate Systembolaget. Especially today, because I went there to get a some wheat beer as well as wine just in case the weather is good this Easter weekend and a group of friends want to go out for a picknick.

I arrived at Systembolaget late in the afternoon and the place was packed with sweaty, recently out of work, and recently stuck in traffic customers. The lines were long. I knew I should've gone in the morning.

I could discuss the typical pros and cons about Systembolaget with you. I've sometimes been in a tolerant enough mood to do this for extended periods at parties. But that's all idle chat spawned by shoddy reasoning picked up from newspapers.

See, for me, and I'm a philosopher and scientist so take my word for it, it's all very simple.

Systembolaget's just gotta go.

Anyone who defends it, regardless of their superior and rational arguments, is simply an enabler, a tool.

But before I continue with how it was inside Systembolaget today I want to point out how it was and usually is outside. The location I went to looks like a metal barrack. There are a few tiny, barred windows to the personell room. In front there are sliding glass doors. The rest of the building is covered in grey metal sheets.

Clearly the architect spent a lot of time on this one—really putting his effort into utilizing architecture to change attitudes towards alcohol.

I think such a garrison of booze must intentionally be designed to encourage Swedes to see alcohol as something shameful, handled under utmost protection. I think Systembolaget wanted, at this location, and all others I've been too, to accentuate time- and cost effectivity. The intention is to give the impression that under such conditions you are buying alcohol that gets you pissed as quickly and efficiently as possible, clearly entrenching the shame factor and Swedish binge drinking habits.



The location I was at was designed to be a horrid gash in the landscape and to dehumanize anyone who comes near it. At the same time, the barrack analogy isn't at all wrong. Many locations have been broken into at night. Late at night people drive right into the doors with trucks, loot and leave. They say it's because there's something wrong with these people. I say it's because there's something wrong with the system. Maybe if they were open all night people wouldn't need to ram their trucks through the front windows of Systembolaget just to get some Kaluha at four in the morning. Thus the locations should not only prevent burglary, but also be fireproof, sledgehammer-proof, truck-proof and bomb-proof.

Outside of Systemet (it's called systemet for short, which in itself is peculiar because ”systemet” means ”the system” so going there is really becoming part of the system) there is always a man selling Faktum (part of the International Network of Street Papers). This afternoon he had company. Next to him was someone selling tulips and next to him was a hot dog stand. They probably expected to cash in on the booze rush before Systemet closes down for the holiday. (Systemet's opening hours are by the way another point of intense aggravation for many, as I mentioned above.) I thank the three men standing outside, not for providing services, but for introducing the element of humanity into this horrid landscape.

Outside systemet there is a perfect circle of life. The men and women who often were homeless drunkards, some still being that, selling magazines for a mere 40 crowns to those who have homes, relatively much wealth and who can drink nearly as much as they like. This is a test of will. Or maybe it's torture. This circularity of society's institutions reminds me of a similar loop found in Sweden's state-sponsored gambling (Svenska spel) and the state-sponsored gambling recovery programs.

Inside Systemet people were rude, more rude than usual. In fact, I noticed three women unknown to each other frowned at me and others. In stores in Sweden, especially at Systemet, you avoid eye contact. You pretend like you don't see others, but you do see them and you do move out of the way when they approach. For many foreigners Swedes seem to have a sixth sense for this. This is the Swedish way, and I've seen it lead to nearly disastrous consequences. Once I saw a woman almost get run over by a semitruck and walk away, keeping her eyes focused on bench covered in bird droppings, pretending like it was meant to happen. No one honks. No one yells. No one comes to help. Maybe someone gasps ”Herrejösses” and goes on.

Although Swedish does have a word for ”excuse me” (”ursäkta”) it is rarely used. And in many cases it's almost an insult to use it. As I said, normally people step aside without anyone making a sound. ”Ursäkta” on the other hand is answered with an exaggerated step to the side and a glance that says ”you talkin' to me? Sayin' I didn't know you were silently coming around the corner and up behind me? I didn't do nothin' wrong, I knew all along. And who are you ? Your royal highness who thinks he deserves so much space, more than the rest of us? And I didn't do nothin' wrong, so why you speakin' to me?”

So, instead of saying ”excuse me” you divert your eye contact on something that wouldn't interest you and glide to the side. However today, at Systemet, several fellow citizens shoved, hipchecked and elbowed me in a way that reminded me of moshpits at death metal concerts I went to when I was a teenager. I guess its the spirit of Easter.

Swedes are notorious throughout Northern Europe for their drinking habits. Towns along the North Sea and the Baltic that harbor Swedish ferries know this first hand. In these places people watch in awe as thousands of frenetic Swedes roll their suitcases off the boats and into duty-free liquor stores where they like their viking ancestors loot all they can.

Many Swedes try to buy alcohol abroad. Some take a monthly trip with the ferry to Germany, Denmark or Finland to pick up some tax free alcohol. I know, people do this elsewhere. I grew up outside of Buffalo, New York and everyone there would drive up to the Canadian border and buy liquor at ”duty free”. Some Swedes though, choose to buy no alcohol from the state controlled monopoly and buy everything online from other EU countries, which until recently was illegal, but often overlooked. Then Swedish law has had to relax to adjust to EU's trade agreements.

Then there are those who live in the countryside or away from the coasts and can't jump on a ferry and be in Denmark in a few hours. In the countryside you have an alternative. You have space, perhaps a shed, and you have a family recipe. Out there, you make moonshine and there's a big market for it among all ages.

Systembolaget's employees have cheaply made, green and beige uniforms. The uniforms, in combination with the warehouse atmosphere and the simple color schemes remind you are reminiscient of fast food chains. The sounds inside Systemet: clink, clink, hrm, hrm, Hej, har du leg?, klink, klink, klink, plastic bags rustling, scanners beeping, feet shuffling, clink, clink, beep, rustle, clink...

Some of the poor souls who work at Systemet are actually quite knowledgeable about wine and spirits. At many locations the employees are in fact educated viticulturists. Unfortunately their passion requires that they work in this aesthetically challenged and mechanically regimented work environment, an environment that's unthinkable in most wine shops on the European continent.

Another reason to pity the employees is this. Every day they must put up with pilsner guzzling customers who come with their barbaric questions about cheap beer crates and marked-down schnapps. Without Systemet's monopoly, these employees could have their own sovereignity. They could open their own wine shops, make more money outside the corporate pyramid scheme. They could strike up friendly conversation (they would after all have very clear economic incentive to do so) and they could build up relationships with customers who would come to appreciate their skill and speciality knowledge.

Is it unthinkable that we could keep Systemet but also have less miserable locations? Couldn't we have locations and talk with the employees and pay for their skill and tales about the wine? Is it impossible that we could buy alcohol in a civil environment, where subsistence business would be valued over the monopoly's gloomy beer-stocked storehalls where you purchase a box of wine, get elbowed by closet alcoholics and get stared at by aggressive security guards?

Systembolaget is the embodiment of a terribly senseless, shameful and inhumane drive that has propelled the technophilic mind to create many of its ignoble social institutions. For a country that prides itself on its humanist concerns about people in other nations, you think it would care about humanity here.

A few years ago I met an exchange student who quickly realized what Systemet is all about. ”Look at these bags” he said. ”Everyone has the same one. They're all the same color. Everyone knows what you were doing. It's all about shame.”

”I know, it's like the scarlet letter” I said.

In a country where drinking is shameful, yet most people do it anyhow (like adultery) we sure make sure to mark the ones who are drinking.

My friend said ”these bags, they're bags of shame! Bags of shame!” he cried and pointed to a young woman who was walking by with two beer-filled bags.



What I most like about the bag I took home with me today is that I bought an issue of Faktum and stuffed it inside next to the bag-in-box shiraz. Indeed this bag was a cuvée with the complex, yet balanced bouquet of so many palates of shame.

If Systembolaget is dismantled in the next few years I do not want to see it become the kind of drive-thru liquor store you have in Florida. You know the kind where if you buy two twelve packs they throw in a mixed drink for the road.

Both Sweden's and Florida's relationships to alcohol have a lot of maturing to do. But in Sweden, without the proper touch of humanity and the right aesthetics, the sale of alcohol will remain an ugly, impersonal and totalitarian affair.