The Prime Minister of Sweden jolted awake.
“We're here.”
He collected himself. Had it all been a dream? For a moment it had felt like it had all been but a dream. A fraction of a second, nothing more, but what a sweet fraction of a second that had been. The sensation of it being a possibility that it had all been a long nightmare and he had finally woken up. Alas, the memories because vivid and clear. Too vivid and clear for a dream. And he, once again, was confronted with the dire reality of his situation.
“Prime Minister? We're here.” the driver said nervously.
Prime Minister. Yes, he still was Prime Minister of Sweden. Despite everything, he still held that title, that office. They couldn't take that away from him. At least not yet. Steady now, he thought to himself, suppressed the pain and put on the best smile he could. He was not a man with a face for smiling. If anything, he had the face of a man who looked permanently unhappy, and every smile he ever attempted inevitably ended up looking nervous. As if there was a worry at the back of his head that he could never forget.
“Yes, thank you!”
The Prime Minister exited the car, and looked around. Out of other cars stepped the other representatives of his party. His smile suddenly seemed out of order completely. None of his party comrades were smiling. Some looked downfallen, others bitter. He immediately felt like a clown for smiling. He dropped his smile and met with the eyes of the Party Secretary.
“Well then, this is it.”
As they entered the building and begun walking to the room of the meeting, the Prime Minister's resolve to suppress it all failed. As in that annoying song that could once be heard in every Swedish bar and restaurant and café and on every damned radio station all those years ago, all the feelings came at once.
He remembered his election as party leader, which already seemed like a lifetime ago. He had been held up as the one man who could save his party and bring them back into government again after the abysmal, almost embarrassing, disappointment of his predecessor. Everything had seemed possible back then. And yet now...
The once eminently achievable hope of winning the most votes of all the parties had been impossible for the last year, that was certain. Possibly even longer than that if the pollsters were to be trusted. But still, second place should have been guaranteed, shouldn't it? The indignity of third party status! How could this have happened?!
The Sweden Democrats. Oh, they were to blame, of course. He should probably have been worried last time around, but he had not noticed then. It wasn't even as if he had elected not to notice. His lack of fear for them overtaking him had been completely sincere. Sure, they had done better than he had expected, but surely this was the maximum vote share they could ever get? There couldn't be that many racists in Sweden, surely?
Racist. No, he shouldn't use that word. Many people from his own party had abandoned him to vote for the Sweden Democrats, and he'd be doing them a disfavour if he thought of them as that. He could sympathize with their fears. And, of course, he was entirely aware that many people in his own party still felt that levels of immigration were too high.
If the Sweden Democrats had not existed, would he have been willing to push for more restrictive immigration policies? Quite possibly so. His party was hardly known for historically welcoming immigrants to Sweden. Indeed, there had been that awkward incident just a decade ago, when... Well, they could not blame the party leadership for that! So, what if there had been no Sweden Democrats? No risk of any opposition party screaming that he was adopting SD-policies to win votes? No accusation of closet racism? Who knows? Maybe he would have pushed for more restrictive immigration.
The thought strangely made him happy. Had the Sweden Democrats, entirely by virtue of their rise, ensured that liberal immigration policy became a Swedish political article of faith? That was a welcome irony, if true.
Alas, he had felt forced to take the moral high ground, and to defend the liberal immigration policies. To argue as passionately as he could, no matter how much he privately had begun to doubt it, that it was indeed in Sweden's interest to be open and welcoming to the tired, the poor, the huddling masses yearning to breathe free.
And this was where it had all led him.
Third place.
Hopefully, history would rectify him.
His decision would be seen as principled, as a noble sacrifice.
And yet.
Third place.
“We're here.”
The Prime Minister was at once brought down to Earth from his thoughts.
“All right, then.” He nodded to the people. “Here goes...”
He entered the office of the Prime Minister designate, who was seated behind a desk, not even deigning to look him in the eyes. A power play, no doubt. A motion, a gesture was made for the door to be closed. Apparently someone had thought it might be best for this conversation to take place entirely in private.
“I-... Erm... I congratulate you on your party's victory last night, and-...”
“Oh, no need to say that. As everyone on your side have already said in every interview given since, we only went up by a single percentage point. Eight short years ago we got several percentage points more in the polls and far more seats than this. This is hardly a triumphant return to power. To say that this is a victory is... just being smug to annoy your partisans.”
The Prime Minister tried to smile as if appreciating this honest admission. Alas, it did not make him feel a bit better. He looked down into the floor.
“The parliamentary situation is quite problematic. And that is what I've asked you to come here for us to discuss. I will admit, had anything else been possible, I would not have asked you to come here. But it isn't. Unless either or us would be willing to let Jimmie dictate Swedish immigration policy, no government can have a workable majority in the Riksdag. However, together...”
The Prime Minister looked up. Surely, it wasn't being suggested that-...? No, not that!
“...together, we would have one hundred and ninety-four seats, allowing for a vigorous government capable of far reaching reforms... Sweden needs a fresh new start. It is time to put bloc politics aside and go for more creative constellations... And after all, as you've said repeatedly in this election campaign, you would never, ever give SD influence, would you? You wouldn't wish to sabotage Sweden's welfare just to benefit your party's fortunes, now would you? Now, I am sure many members of your party will protest, big names, old timers, true believers, but I am also sure you will admit that this is the best decision for Sweden. Now, we must be prepared to take responsibility! So what do you say, Stefan?”
Anna Kinberg Batra smiled poisonously and said the thing that Prime Minister Stefan Löfven had been dreading she might say:
“What do you say to a German-style Grand Coalition?”
“We're here.”
He collected himself. Had it all been a dream? For a moment it had felt like it had all been but a dream. A fraction of a second, nothing more, but what a sweet fraction of a second that had been. The sensation of it being a possibility that it had all been a long nightmare and he had finally woken up. Alas, the memories because vivid and clear. Too vivid and clear for a dream. And he, once again, was confronted with the dire reality of his situation.
“Prime Minister? We're here.” the driver said nervously.
Prime Minister. Yes, he still was Prime Minister of Sweden. Despite everything, he still held that title, that office. They couldn't take that away from him. At least not yet. Steady now, he thought to himself, suppressed the pain and put on the best smile he could. He was not a man with a face for smiling. If anything, he had the face of a man who looked permanently unhappy, and every smile he ever attempted inevitably ended up looking nervous. As if there was a worry at the back of his head that he could never forget.
“Yes, thank you!”
The Prime Minister exited the car, and looked around. Out of other cars stepped the other representatives of his party. His smile suddenly seemed out of order completely. None of his party comrades were smiling. Some looked downfallen, others bitter. He immediately felt like a clown for smiling. He dropped his smile and met with the eyes of the Party Secretary.
“Well then, this is it.”
As they entered the building and begun walking to the room of the meeting, the Prime Minister's resolve to suppress it all failed. As in that annoying song that could once be heard in every Swedish bar and restaurant and café and on every damned radio station all those years ago, all the feelings came at once.
He remembered his election as party leader, which already seemed like a lifetime ago. He had been held up as the one man who could save his party and bring them back into government again after the abysmal, almost embarrassing, disappointment of his predecessor. Everything had seemed possible back then. And yet now...
The once eminently achievable hope of winning the most votes of all the parties had been impossible for the last year, that was certain. Possibly even longer than that if the pollsters were to be trusted. But still, second place should have been guaranteed, shouldn't it? The indignity of third party status! How could this have happened?!
The Sweden Democrats. Oh, they were to blame, of course. He should probably have been worried last time around, but he had not noticed then. It wasn't even as if he had elected not to notice. His lack of fear for them overtaking him had been completely sincere. Sure, they had done better than he had expected, but surely this was the maximum vote share they could ever get? There couldn't be that many racists in Sweden, surely?
Racist. No, he shouldn't use that word. Many people from his own party had abandoned him to vote for the Sweden Democrats, and he'd be doing them a disfavour if he thought of them as that. He could sympathize with their fears. And, of course, he was entirely aware that many people in his own party still felt that levels of immigration were too high.
If the Sweden Democrats had not existed, would he have been willing to push for more restrictive immigration policies? Quite possibly so. His party was hardly known for historically welcoming immigrants to Sweden. Indeed, there had been that awkward incident just a decade ago, when... Well, they could not blame the party leadership for that! So, what if there had been no Sweden Democrats? No risk of any opposition party screaming that he was adopting SD-policies to win votes? No accusation of closet racism? Who knows? Maybe he would have pushed for more restrictive immigration.
The thought strangely made him happy. Had the Sweden Democrats, entirely by virtue of their rise, ensured that liberal immigration policy became a Swedish political article of faith? That was a welcome irony, if true.
Alas, he had felt forced to take the moral high ground, and to defend the liberal immigration policies. To argue as passionately as he could, no matter how much he privately had begun to doubt it, that it was indeed in Sweden's interest to be open and welcoming to the tired, the poor, the huddling masses yearning to breathe free.
And this was where it had all led him.
Third place.
Hopefully, history would rectify him.
His decision would be seen as principled, as a noble sacrifice.
And yet.
Third place.
“We're here.”
The Prime Minister was at once brought down to Earth from his thoughts.
“All right, then.” He nodded to the people. “Here goes...”
He entered the office of the Prime Minister designate, who was seated behind a desk, not even deigning to look him in the eyes. A power play, no doubt. A motion, a gesture was made for the door to be closed. Apparently someone had thought it might be best for this conversation to take place entirely in private.
“I-... Erm... I congratulate you on your party's victory last night, and-...”
“Oh, no need to say that. As everyone on your side have already said in every interview given since, we only went up by a single percentage point. Eight short years ago we got several percentage points more in the polls and far more seats than this. This is hardly a triumphant return to power. To say that this is a victory is... just being smug to annoy your partisans.”
The Prime Minister tried to smile as if appreciating this honest admission. Alas, it did not make him feel a bit better. He looked down into the floor.
“The parliamentary situation is quite problematic. And that is what I've asked you to come here for us to discuss. I will admit, had anything else been possible, I would not have asked you to come here. But it isn't. Unless either or us would be willing to let Jimmie dictate Swedish immigration policy, no government can have a workable majority in the Riksdag. However, together...”
The Prime Minister looked up. Surely, it wasn't being suggested that-...? No, not that!
“...together, we would have one hundred and ninety-four seats, allowing for a vigorous government capable of far reaching reforms... Sweden needs a fresh new start. It is time to put bloc politics aside and go for more creative constellations... And after all, as you've said repeatedly in this election campaign, you would never, ever give SD influence, would you? You wouldn't wish to sabotage Sweden's welfare just to benefit your party's fortunes, now would you? Now, I am sure many members of your party will protest, big names, old timers, true believers, but I am also sure you will admit that this is the best decision for Sweden. Now, we must be prepared to take responsibility! So what do you say, Stefan?”
Anna Kinberg Batra smiled poisonously and said the thing that Prime Minister Stefan Löfven had been dreading she might say:
“What do you say to a German-style Grand Coalition?”
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