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Sweden Has Committed Suicide - A Letter From Stockholm

One young man's trip to Stockholm left him stunned and shocked at how god awful the city and people were. Is the nuclear option the only sensible policy choice with Sweden at this point?

This post first appeared on Russia Insider

I decided to take a trip to Sweden with a friend and see if the rumors and memes about the country were true.

To those who haven’t heard, Sweden is the butt of just about every joke on the internet. Swedish men are mocked for their effeminacy and the country’s “tolerant” attitude towards migrants astounds many people. It is hard to believe some of the news stories about rapings, gropings and cultural marxist insanity that come out of Sweden on a weekly basis.

<figcaption>The most accurate depiction of Sweden I was able to find to date.</figcaption>
The most accurate depiction of Sweden I was able to find to date.

I assumed much of this was hyperbole, but I was so painfully, agonizingly, and completely DEAD WRONG.

What I saw shocked me. So much so that I now affectionately refer to the country as Swe-malia.

I spent most of my time in Stockholm, the capital, and Malmo, which is the 3rd largest city in Sweden.  Malmo is the cultural and economic capital of southwestern Sweden, and is a short 1 hour drive from neighboring Copenhagen, the capital of Denmark.

In this piece I will write about Stockholm, with a follow-up on Malmo next time.

While I was there, I noticed that there was a sharp contrast between the nice parts of Stockholm and the parts that resembled Mogadishu. I spent some time in the ghetto of Husby near Stockholm, as well as spending time on Stora Essingen, an idyllic little island 20 minutes away from the downtown.

In the nice parts, bikes are left unlocked and kids walk around unsupervised with their friends.

The veneer of a First World nation is still evident in most of the nice, rich, white parts of the city, but cracks were starting to appear everywhere else.

Downtown begins to resemble an open-air zoo on Friday nights, and a trip down into the metro system was like leaving the world of Eloi’s and entering the realm of the Morlochs. Gangs of black youths pimp-roll around the station platform and near the turnstile- they speak a foreign language amongst themselves and glare at you through yellow bloodshot eyes.

Swedish girls on their way home or to go out partying at Stureplan bustle around them, making themselves as small as possible, and holding their bags tighter to their plump hips.

Everything smells like piss.

Outside there are large groups of Arab men in shiny leather jackets, expensive basketball shoes and perfectly coiffed hair standing around on street corners and chattering in, I assume, Arabic.

A very high Swede came up to me one night and started offering me to buy cocaine. As I tried to make sense of what he was saying, his Eritrean handler came out of the shadows and zero-ed in on me.

“You want the cocaine?” He asked.

I shook my head vigorously.

“Amphetamines?” He suggested.

I smiled and excused myself.

They made an interesting duo, and I don’t think I’ll forget them anytime soon. The Swede looked crazy, and the Eritrean looked like a gremlin, short, with yellow teeth, long nails and bloodshot eyes…

But it's not all bad, Stockholm remains a very tolerant and progressive city.

True to stereotype, there are plenty of homosexuals wandering around in Stockholm’s downtown. They hold hands and look...well gay.

I was told to not immediately assume a Swede was gay based on their appearance because many Swedish men put a lot of effort into their appearance. I did my best to be discriminating, but couldn’t help but notice the incredibly high density of gay men in the city. I say this as a long-time resident of Washington, DC, so I feel that I know what I’m talking about.

My little island had an old historic Lutheran church. When I went inside, I noticed they had painted a rainbow across the main arch. The two lesbians sitting in the pew told me it was done to make the church more inclusive.

I asked them if they were priests.

They said that they weren’t sure how to answer that question. I gathered they meant that we’re all priests of God or something new-age like that. They clearly had some sort of vestments on, so I didn’t press the issue.

In general, the Swedes I tried to talk to were very stand-offish. Many were flat-out snobby and rude, others simply more quiet and reserved. All except for this one guy sitting in the local McDonald's with his family.

He was well-dressed and surprisingly open and gregarious. I joked to him that he stood out quite a bit from the behavior of the rest of his countrymen. He looked at me with a twinkle in his eye and roared out, “it's cuz I’m fucking drunk!”

I took a sniff and realized he was indeed drunk... on a Thursday a McDonalds…with his family. Still, we had a good laugh at that, and I wondered how I didn’t notice earlier.

Maybe it's because Swedes like to get incredibly drunk, but their behavior doesn’t change- if anything, they get even more quiet and reserved. The ride back home after a night of partying is eerie. The quiet hybrid buses crawl at ridiculously slow speed limits as empty liquor bottles roll back and forth along the floor of the bus- breaking the complete silence. It smells like booze, and everyone is wasted, silently collapsed in their seat.

Even in my own less than sober state, it unnerved me.

But I was interrupted from my rumination by the man again, he started talking about how he considered Stockholm an unsafe cesspool. He said he was leaving soon, saving to get out of the country.

“Where will you go?” I asked him.

“Australia, maybe.” He said, rather uncertainly.

He leaned in and warned me to be careful, not to go into Husby- a Muslim and Black ghetto.

I replied that I had already gone out of curiosity.

He shook his head in amazement, shook my hand, gathered his family and went on his way…

Of the Swedes I managed to talk to during the trip, mostly at bars and clubs, where they relaxed a little, none of them had anything good to say about Russia.

I would introduce myself as either an American or a Russian depending on my mood, and bring up the topic of Russia.

I knew from my gay Swedish classmate that there was some serious Swedish fear about Russia trying to conquer some island in the Baltic or something. And it turns out he was right.

The anti-Russian feeling is there in spades. I got to listen to them unload on Russia for being an Orwellian state many times.

It made me shake my head in amazement. In Sweden you can't utter a peep about what is happening in the country, the mass rapes, the attacks- none of it is up for discussion. But sure, Russia's the Orwellian country here.

I met up with a local patriot who explained that Swedes are naturally conformist and believe in the state media.

I asked if there was any rising resistance to the mass immigration, or against the establishment narrative.

“Not in Stockholm,” he replied...

The superiority complex of the Stockholmer never ceased to absolutely astound me. Their entire country is “changing” right before their very eyes, and not only are they proud of it, but they condemn other countries that refuse to go along with it. We refer to this as "the POZ" in some dissident circles. The term- pozzing- refers to a sexual fetish of gay men wherein they intentionally go out and get infected by HIV. This perverted self-harm instinct was apparent on a society-wide scale in Sweden.


I saw a lot of it in Husby- the ghetto the drunk Swede mentioned. There’s this big poster welcoming you at the metro station: "Welcome to Husby"- it says, and shows the area’s councilmen and women.

A picture says a thousand words- I mean just look at it! Cat ladies and homosexuals. The chubby-cheeked nu-male men sit in this effeminate little tight-legged position, afraid to even spread their legs- lest they be fined probably. 

And people wonder why Sweden looks like it does.

Husby was OK for a ghetto. It looked well-put together and I was told that this all used to be working-class Swedish subsidized housing. Now it's there’s. There are no White people in Husby, they’ve all left- White Flight on a massive scale…

What else is there to say about the place? It was expensive as hell, the hospitality was non-existent and you felt like you were in some sort of waking dystopia, not a real country.

But... I guess the shopping is good. And, isn’t that what really matters?

Stockholm was just an appetizer, I was about to be subjected to a whole Brave New Third World when I headed south to Malmo, which I will write about in my next article.

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