KARIN KVIST
One of the many things which create interest in an epoch of history may be the silence which surrounds it. It is easy to be suspicious about such a silence, particularly if one suspects that some sort of silent agreement exists between interested parties. Individual or institutional attitudes about past events might also explain an apparent lack of curiosity in something which appears significant. The silence which sparked my interest concerned some questions raised when considering Sweden’s connection with and response to the Holocaust. Of course, some episodes and individuals are well known, such as Raoul Wallenberg’s heroic actions in Budapest and the ‘White Buses’ of the Swedish Red Cross led by Count Folke Bernadotte. Discussions of Swedish neutrality are plentiful but scholarly studies of Sweden and the Holocaust remain limited. What explains this silence among Swedish historians?
One aspect of Sweden’s response was its reception and handling of those few refugees allowed into the country before and during the Second World War. This essay will explore some aspects of Sweden’s refugee policy by looking at the activities of the Utläänningsbyraån (Foreigners’ Bureau). This Bureau was one of the primary governmental decision-making bodies regarding the granting and/or refusal of visas and residence permits for refugees. And, while looking at this governmental authority, one central question to be asked is to what degree, if any, the Bureau’s decisions were influenced by antisemitism, and — to return to my initial question — whether some continuation of these attitudes has contributed to the silence which has shrouded this aspect of Sweden’s response to the Holocaust.1
Though the Bureau itself has not been subjected to scholarly investigation, Swedish refugee policy has been examined by a handful of scholars, with two basic interpretations prevailing. Because of its importance in determining Sweden’s response to Jews seeking refuge, a closer examination of attitudes prevailing within the Utlänningsbyrån should help to answer the question of how important antisemitic attitudes were in determining the nation’s response both to the ‘refugee crises’ of the late 1930s and to information about the increasing persecution and subsequent mass murder of Jews in Germany and elsewhere in Nazi-occupied Europe.
The first relevant study is Svensk flyktingpolitik under internationellt tryck, 1936–1941 (Swedish Refugee Policy under International Pressure, 1936–1941), Hans Lindberg’s doctoral thesis published in 1973. Lindberg argued that Sweden’s highly restrictive policy towards Jews fleeing the Third Reich was the result more of fears about the country’s labour market, including increased unemployment, than a manifestation of antisemitism.2 He concluded that expressions of Swedish antisemitism and xenophobia were the consequence of the unemployment of the early 1930s, and that not only Jews but all foreigners were seen as a threat to the labour market.3 Yet this conclusion was surely influenced by the fact that Lindberg’s study ends in 1941. Studies by Steven Koblik, Paul A. Levine and Ingrid Lomfors dispute Lindberg’s findings, arguing that antisemitic attitudes were more important than reasoning based on the protection of labour markets.4 Koblik writes that if protecting the labour market was the primary motive for the construction of the restrictive refugee policy, the debate would have been very different.5 Levine and Lomfors go even further, arguing that at least until 1942 antisemitism was fundamental to the country’s refugee policy6
Lindberg rightly noted that decision-making regarding the admission of refugees was divided between the Foreign Office (Utrikesdepartementet, hereafter UD), spread throughout that institution’s legations, consulates, domestic passport offices and Länsstyrelser (local governing boards). Domestically, the Utlänningsbyrån, which administratively remained within the powerful Socialstyrelsen (Social Welfare Board), had the primary responsibility for decisions regarding entry visas and work permits — both of which were, of course, decisive for individual refugees and their families. It is these cases — decisions regarding the granting of work and residence permits handled by the Utlänningsbyrån — which form the basis of the current study. Additionally, in some special cases even the Parliament (Riksdagen) became involved in the decision-making.
Formed in January 1938 as a special division within the Socialstyrelsen, which combined elements of the former’s Första byrå (First Bureau, which handled the activities of foreigners in the country) and the Statens polisbyrd (State Police Bureau), the Utlanningsbyrån became the highest domestic authority for granting permission to remain in the country. It could also issue refusals for entry (avvisningar) and order the expulsion of persons already in the country (förpassningar), which would then be implemented by the police. With the beginning of the war in September 1939, the Bureau’s tasks increased considerably. While retaining its original brief, it became responsible for such duties as surveillance, granting residence and work permits, and issuing alien passports and identification certificates. It was also responsible for taking foreigners into custody, sometimes placing them in sealed, cordoned-off areas.
As with all other countries compelled to respond to the ‘refugee crises’ created by Germany’s anti-Jewish policies, Sweden’s response passed through several phases. From 1933 to 1938 the number of Jews seeking entry for either residence or transit was limited. As elsewhere in 1938, after the Anschluss and Kristallnacht, the number of Jews appealing for refuge or transit increased dramatically. As analysed elsewhere, Sweden’s general response to the plight of the Jews changed only in the autumn of 1942, when the ‘Final Solution’ struck Norway.7 It is in the period between 1938 and 1942, when Jews could still flee and when the need was greatest, that the Utllänningsbyrån had its greatest bureaucratic influence.
The government’s response during these years was, it seems, based on a number of different, even ambivalent factors. There seems little doubt that throughout the 1930s antisemitic attitudes informed the decisions of some officials. Documentation makes clear that immediately before the Anschluss, the Byrå based its reasoning on the necessity of ‘protecting the country against an abnormal increase [of pressure] against the labour market’.8 This reasoning resulted in a restrictive policy towards Jewish refugees, yet the prospect of workers from neighbouring Nordic countries supplanting Swedish workers — a sort of limited population movement that was traditionally part of the region’s social and diplomatic relations — raised no such concern. Scandinavian workers were thought acceptable to the Swedish population; potential Jewish workers were deemed the opposite. For example, Stockholm’s Central Committee for Aid to Refugee proposed to the government that quotas, or groups of refugees (kontingent), be granted asylum in Sweden. As seen in the Socialstyrelsen’s written response, Sweden had a right to refuse asylum rather than the contrary, that refugees had a right to asylum. In fact, rather than granting admission on the basis of previously agreed quotas, which officials feared would lead to an influx of refugees which might threaten the country’s ability to feed itself, they preferred a slow trickle of refugees to ‘a torrent’ of ever larger groups. This attitude was supported not only by labour groups seeking to protect jobs, but also by the country’s Jewish community, which feared that admitting more Jews into the country would result in increased antisemitism 9
In Sweden, policy is often implemented at the end of a bureaucratic procedure in which potential or recommended policy (Remiss) is passed on by the initiating authority to various departments, governing offices and other authorities, which are then given the chance to comment. Comments, complaints and concurrences (remissvar) often play a key role in the formulation of government policy. Importantly, the issue of refugee quotas called for by the above-mentioned Central Committee was returned just days before Kristallnacht, and Utlänningsbyraån officials raised several objections to the quota idea. Even though Byrå officials were well informed of the daily persecution of the Reich’s Jewish population, they maintained that Jews were not being compelled to leave and thus could not be classified as ‘political refugees’. Reference must be made, they noted, to refugee policy adopted by other countries, to humanitarian considerations, and to the expected pressure of increased requests for entry. The desired restrictive policy towards Jews fleeing Nazi Germany would be harder to maintain if they were labelled ‘political refugees’ because of previous rulings that ‘political refugees’ were to be allowed in. In other words, Jews labelled ‘political refugees’ could not be turned away. On the other hand, Jews persecuted on the basis of their ethnic background were not eligible for the more favourable classification. The Byrå’s reasoning was the following:
Sweden would in practice be a door through which Germany’s so-called ‘non-Aryans’ would seek to flee. But when some states are even less inclined than Sweden to accept German refugees, who have already succeeded in entering another country, the consequence would be that our country would be forced to accept and keep not only those refugees who for different reasons have some connection here, or for other reasons sought to come to our country, but also those looking to use Sweden as a passage to other countries. Such a development would scarcely favour the refugees themselves.10
This reasoning reveals several attitudes. Among the most important of these is support for a restrictive policy which the Socialstyrelsen sought by referring to the equally restrictive policies of other countries — thus lending credibility to the restrictions. According to this argument, not even those Jews (who in some cases were Zionist pioneers in transit to Palestine) would be helped by temporary refugee. Actually, the Byrå feared that even those in transit would stay, defeating their efforts to maintain a restrictive policy. More evidence of the prevailing restrictive policy can be seen in the following months, even after the outrages of Kristallnacht, which as elsewhere resulted in increased pressure on Sweden’s restrictive policy.11
Even for those admitted to Sweden, things were not made easy. The number of refugees in the country began for the first time to be carefully counted, an element of control which was increased with the authorities observing virtually every step taken by the newcomers.12
Lindberg argues that the primary reason for Sweden’s restrictive refugee policy was a culturally traditional and more general xenophobia rather than specific antisemitism. In fact, the documents of the Utlänningsbyraån provide a different picture, and in them we can see the attitudes which underlay the very restrictive refugee policy which characterised Sweden’s response to the plight of persecuted Jews in 1938–42.
In an official Byrå letter to the government in December 1938, it was asserted that it was now necessary to count foreigners ‘for practical reasons’ and because of ‘strong political worries in the world’, by which of course was meant the prevailing tensions in Europe. Although some form of counting had taken place before, race now played a prominent role: ‘Ultimately, the foreigner must state if he is of Jewish birth (if both or one of the parents is Jewish) and, if not, if he sees himself as a political refugee’.13 Now it was important to be able to define Jews by ‘race’ in order to stop them from entering Sweden, rather than defining them as political refugees, which would increase their chances of admission.
Here we begin to see, whether it was unconscious or not, the adoption by Swedish officials of Nazi terminology and categories. We see evidence of this in the document already referred to regarding kontingenterna (quotas or groups). Where before potential refugees were referred to as ‘Jews’, later in the same document they are labelled ‘non-Aryans’, terminology borrowed directly from Nazi authorities.14 The document indicates a clear understanding of the general situation in Germany and Austria. Distinctions made in the Nuremburg Laws of September 1935 are noted and it seems clear that the aim of the German racial laws is to rid the Third Reich of all its Jews.
A further example of this strengthening of antisemitic attitudes can be seen in an undated memo, probably from late 1938 or 1939, in which the Byrå argues against a proposed law which seeks to liberalise the definition of a political refugee. Noting that on account of Sweden’s geographic location and other circumstances, Swedes are unused to numerous foreigners in their midst and are inclined to be disturbed by them (although hardly those from other Nordic countries), the Byrå argues against the proposed liberalisation. The document concludes that ‘concerning Jews and other so-called nonAryans, refugee status does not arise on grounds only of economic difficulties in the country of origin or because of the Nuremburg Laws’.15
Thus, in 1938–39, during the months when the need for refuge was greatest, the Byrå tightened its definitions of those eligible for political asylum, trying ever harder to keep Jews out while allowing others in. Even in its public reports, the Byrå produced statistics showing how few Jews were actually in the country — numbers which hardly constituted the fear ‘epidemic’.
Interestingly, within the Byrå during the period from 1938 to 1942 there remained a somewhat uncertain, ambiguous attitude towards allowing more Jews to enter the country, something which might be called a ‘third attitude’. There is no evidence of a shift in policy during this period, but rather in the practical handling of the increasing numbers of applications for work and residence permits. The increase in the workload handled by individual officials led to a certain laxness in the application of regulations. The practical outcome of this situation was a certain easing of bureaucratic demands that applicants needed to meet. For instance, whereas previously all applicants had to submit their passports when applying for work and/or residence permits, some officials now wondered if this stipulation might be eased. This was a clear advantage for refugees who did not have passports. It is impossible from the documentation to know which officials sought this easing, but it is clear that their primary motive was to make their own jobs easier.16
That the entry door to Sweden might become a little more ajar during this period as a result of the ambivalence within the Byraå can be seen in two versions of a bulletin which the Byrå sent to the country’s most important information outlet, the Tidningarnas TelegramByrdn (TT), and state radio announcing the requirement for all refugees to register for the desired ‘foreigners’ census’. Surprisingly, an earlier draft contained not only a more precise explanation justifying the need for this census, explaining that the requested count was not, as might be feared by some, a foreshadowing of anti-Jewish laws (none of which existed in Sweden at the time or after for that matter), but for the first time mentioned Swedish Jews in the same context as foreign refugees. This is of particular interest because Swedish Jews (many of them citizens for decades) ostensibly had nothing to fear from the state. However, in the second draft sent to TT and the radio, this vague guarantee is replaced by the wording ‘meanwhile it should be noted that the raising of this question [the foreigners’ census] in these circumstances does not imply that the government will abandon the fundamental principles which have to date been followed regarding policy towards foreigners.’17 The difference in the drafts indicates not only a discussion within the Byrå about the desirability of tightening restrictions both for entry and for work and residence permits, but, as noted, brings for the first time Swedish Jews into a discussion which before dealt only with foreign Jews. The actual significance of this remains unclear, but its mere presence perhaps indicates among some officials a shift in attitudes towards Jews perceptible in several countries in Europe in the years before the war. Thus, immediately prior to the outbreak of the war, there were those within the Byrå who sought an easing of restrictions due to the increased work load, while some officials seemed to move towards even greater restrictions, possibly even upon native Swedish Jews.
With regard to his review of Swedish policy during the pre-war period, it seems less likely to be the case that Lindberg’s interpretation that restrictions were the result only of a wish ‘to protect the Nordic Race and the Swedish labour market’. Rather, I believe that Koblik’s argument that antisemitism influenced refugee policy is justified. There seems little doubt that antisemitic attitudes characterised Utlänningsbyraån policy and practice. Lomfors goes so far as to argue that refugee policy was influenced directly by Nazi racial policy:
Swedish refugee policy was antisemitic because it differentiated Jews, generally in a disadvantageous manner; Jewish refugees were refused political asylum, their passports were marked with the ‘J’ stamp, they were halted at the border, they were allowed in only in limited quotas and their ‘racial’ background was registered by Swedish authorities on several occasions.18
The evidence points to some ambivalence within the Byrå, yet in cooperation with refugee policy adopted by the UD, the overall direction of Sweden’s response to the increasingly difficult situation of the Jews is clear. Refugees in general, and especially Jewish ones, were to be kept out of Sweden. Sweden’s doors were to remain closed.
As Koblik and Levine have demonstrated, Sweden’s response to Nazi Germany’s anti-Jewish policies took a dramatic turn in the autumn of 1942. With the onset of the ‘Final Solution’ in neighbouring Norway, Sweden could no longer remain indifferent to the plight of the Jews and keep its borders hermetically sealed. The Germans struck in Norway at the end of November, deporting some 800 Norwegian and stateless Jews to their deaths in the gas chambers of Auschwitz—Birkenau. But then and in the following months, approximately 1,000 Jews managed to flee to Sweden.
Significantly, their presence in Sweden — an almost 50 per cent increase in the number of Jewish refugees in Sweden — is scarcely noted in the Byrå’s archive. This relative silence is hard to explain since, as we know, the Byrå’s tasks were directly connected to the presence of refugees. Perhaps this is because the Jews came in small groups, or perhaps because they were Scandinavians. Yet the reason for the virtual absence of documentation concerning the Jewish refugees from Norway is unknown. Records regarding individual cases exist, but there is no evidence of a general policy within the Byrå towards this relatively large group of refugees.19 The few records remaining which do contain evidence of the prevailing general policy do not specifically mention Jews. For instance, because so many men were serving in the military, there was a shortage of agricultural labourers. The Byrå asked the Justice Ministry to waive the requirement that foreign labourers obtain permission to work in bringing in the year’s harvest, but there is no specific reference to Jews being an issue.
In general, after the Norwegian episode the Byraå seems to have worked for an easing of internal restrictions both to lessen the burden on itself — by seeking to extend the length of time visas were valid — and to make it easier for refugees to work in agriculture and other labour-intensive industries such as timber.20
Nonetheless, there were those within the Byrå who maintained their suspicions of foreigners. This is apparent in a document dated from August 1943 in which Byrå officials commented on a proposed reform of the law regulating the facilities in which some foreigners were detained. The Justice Ministry proposal implied a strengthening of legal protections granted to refugees. Byrå officials responded with almost petty suspicion, writing that foreigners had no need to be informed of why they were housed in certain facilities and should not be permitted to have radios, because ‘it was even more probable that foreigners would argue, more than Swedes would, about the channel listened to. This would cause quarrels between the internees.’21 It is clear that in some cases the presence of foreigners in Sweden still troubled Byrå officials.
The Byrå’s reaction to the rescue of Denmark’s Jews in Sweden in October 1943 is less ambiguous. After that date, Jewish and stateless refugees are no longer differentiated in Byråå documents and arguments are no longer made as to whether refugees should be rescued and aided but rather how they could be helped. Indeed, for the first time Byraå officials acknowledge the specific persecution of Jews. In the wake of the arrival of almost 8,000 new refugees, proposals are again made to ease the ‘red tape’ imposed on refugees — making life easier both for the Byrå and the new arrivals.22
Interestingly, the increased work load which accompanied the much larger numbers of refugees — Jewish and others — and the change in the manner in which their presence was perceived led to the dissolution of the Utlänningsbyrån. At the beginning of July 1944 the Byraå ceased to exist and was replaced by the Utlänningskommissionen (Foreigners’ Commission) which was, importantly, no longer part of the Socialstyrelsen but an independent commission which answered directly to Parliament.23 The reasons given for this apparent change was, according to the newly appointed head of the Utlänningskommissionen, Ernst Bexelius, the ever-increasing number of cases which required attention and the change in the nature of the cases. No longer did they deal with issues connected with the labour market but more with domestic security matters involving the police.24
It is clear that by 1944 attitudes towards the reception and treatment of Jews had changed for the better. Swedish officials recognised the special dangers faced by Jews in German-occupied territories. In fact, about six months before the Byrå was dissolved, officials commented on a proposed law forbidding what in Swedish is called rashets, or incitement to ethnic or racial hatred. This document indicates a genuine shift in attitudes, one which unfortunately was not always mirrored in the Byraå’s own policy and actions:
The proposed legislation in the first case should make it possible to act against antisemitic propaganda. In our country such propaganda has not reached the same intensity and scope as in certain other parts of the world. Yet such virulent tendencies are neither unknown nor missing [in our society]. We have been faced by an international epidemic of a threatening character … It would have been better if a law of this kind had been proposed several years ago … antisemitism is a phenomena with a long history which has sometimes been latent and has sometimes flared up. One cannot ignore the fact that a particular attitude towards a certain group of people … has unfortunately appeared rather natural for some social groups even in our country. A law against racial hatred should be an eye-opener for many, who do not believe themselves evil but have adapted their behaviour and speech on the basis of negative role models.25
Remarkably, this document even calls for legal protection for other threatened peoples such as Zigenare och tattare (Roma and ‘vagrants’ or ‘travellers’). Yet, as this essay has shown, in the years under consideration the Byrå often did not take its own advice, and often dealt with Jews in a manner characterised by xenophobia and antisemitism. Unfortunately, knowledge of widespread persecution did not change their attitudes. For Swedish officials in the Utlanningsbyrån, it took evidence of genocide to change their attitudes.
NOTES
1. This essay is based on the author’s Master of Arts thesis, ‘Svensk flyktingpolitik under andra världskriget: En undersökning av Utlänningsbyråns respons på Förintelsen’, 1938–1944 (Swedish Refugee Policy during the Second World War: A Study of the Response of the ‘Foreigners’ Bureau’ to the Holocaust, 1938–1944), unpublished MA thesis (Stockholm University: Department of History, 1999).
2. H. Lindberg, Svensk fyktingpolitik under internationellt tryck, 1936–1941 (Stockholm, 1973).
3. Ibid., pp.199–201.
4. See the studies by S. Koblik, Tbe Stones Cry Out: Sweden’s Response to the Persecution of the Jews, 1933–1945 (New York, Holocaust Library, 1988), P. A. Levine, From Indifference to Activism: Swedish Diplomacy and the Holocaust, 1938–1944, 2nd revised edition (Uppsala: Studia Historica Upsaliensia 178, 1998), and I. Lomfors, Förlorad barndom — återvunnit liv: De judiska flyktingbarnen från Nazityskland (Uddevalla: Goteborgs universitet, 1996).
5. Koblik, The Stones Cry Out, pp.53–6.
6. Levine, From Indifference to Activism, p.92; Lomfors, Förlorad barndom, pp.48,77.
7. For a detailed study of the switch in Swedish policy, see Levine, From Indifference to Activism, esp. chaps.7 and 8.
8. Socialstyrelsen till Riksdagens först kammares första tillfälliga utskott, Ärende VI: 99, 9 March 1938, Riksarkivet (RA), Socialstyrelsens arkiv (Socstyr.), Utlanningsbyråån (Utl.byr.), B 1:1.
9. Socialstyrelsen till Statsrådet och chefen för Socialdepartementet, VI:274, 28 June 1938, RA, SocStyr., Utl.byr., B1:1.
10. SocStyr. to Minister of Social Department, VI: 398, 7 Nov. 1938, RA, Socstyr., Utl.byr., B 1:1.
11. See, for example, SocStyr. to Kungl.Maj:t (Riksdagen), VI:429, 8 Dec. 1938, B 1:1.
12. Letter from SocStyr. to Ministry of Defence, VI:417, 3 Dec. 1938, RA, Socstyr., Utl.byr., B 1:1.
13. SocStyr. to KungI.Maj:t (Riksdagen), Ibid.
14. See note 10.
15. Internal memorandum, undated. RA. SocStyr.. Utl.byr., B 2:1.
16. SocStyr, to Kungl.Maj:t, VI:332, 7 Sept. 1938, RA, SocStyr., Utl.byr., B 1:1.
17. Kommuniké till IT och radio, 10 Jan. 1939, RA, SocStyr., Utl.byr., B 2:1.
18. omfors Förlorad barndom p 77
19. The number of individual case records in the Byrå’s archive is approximately 250 for the whole of 1943. But these deal exclusively with such mundane matters as applications for various permissions such as buying property, student issues or requests for exceptions to various rules and laws.
20. SocStyr. to Ministry of Justice, VI: 182, 12 March 1943, RA, SocStyr., Utl.byr. B 1:2.
21. SocStyr. to Ministry of Justice, VI: 575 1/2, 31 Aug. 1943, RA, SocStr., Utl byr., B 1:2.
22. Internal minutes, SocStyr, 18 Oct. 1943, RA, SocStyr., Utl.byr., B 2:1.
23. Sociala meddelanden, #6, 1944, p.487.
24. Ibid, p.557,
25. SocStyr. to Ministry of Justice, 15 Dec. 1943, RA, SocStyr., Utl.byr, B 1:2.