Sweden remains on guard after country’s NATO membership

In the middle of a pine forest, a cloud of dust announces uncertain times for the Swedish island of Gotland. Two tanks emerge from the woods, crushing the dead branches littering the arid ground plowed by the military. Boom! A dummy target is shot down on the hill opposite. A kilometer away, the impact shakes the buildings of an ecovillage established since 2008. “Sometimes, as a joke, we tell each other that they are fireworks,” says Inès with a grin.

The joke ends there. Knowing that the army is so close to her haven of peace dotted with makeshift camps does not make the young woman smile, having worked for four years on these lands dedicated to permaculture. Since the army uses the surrounding forest for its exercises, the ecovillage is now forbidden from expanding. The new neighbors are proving somewhat invasive: here are the farmers surrounded by the military since the immense 19th century manor adjoining their land was transformed into barracks last year.

Even before becoming a new member of NATO on March 7, Sweden has been rearming for several years. Three decades after the fall of the USSR, the shadow of the Russian threat is once again hanging over this small island, a third the size of Corsica, with a sparse population. “We know that Gotland is still a target for Russia,” confides Lars Thomsson, MP from 2018 to 2022. “When I was on the Defense Committee, in all our invasion scenarios, it was the first territory targeted.” The former elected official, who sports a pin in the colors of Ukraine and Sweden on his checked jacket, is pleased to see his island with turquoise waters protected again. If the first cohorts of volunteers who came to develop the ecovillage did not experience any military presence in the surrounding area, the arrival of a regiment in 2018 is just a return to normal for the oldest Gotlanders.

During the Cold War, this little piece of Sweden was already of strategic importance given its location. Situated in the centre of the Baltic Sea, the island is only 300 km from the Russian enclave of Kaliningrad, wedged between Lithuania and Poland. The end of the Soviet threat had prompted the Swedish state to lower its guard. The islanders thought they were saying goodbye to the military, who left in 2005. More than a decade later, here they are back. A drawing on the wall of the ecovillage, established nine kilometres south of Visby, the island’s largest city, proves that not everyone is happy about this return to the past. It reads: “Making gardens, not wars.”

With Gotland, an entire country is becoming militarized. Since 1814, the kingdom had cultivated non-alignment and an image of neutrality. In reality, the state took part in certain external operations. “Sweden was already a reliable partner for us,” recalls aviator colonel Frédéric Givron, on the sidelines of a visit to the island bringing together several senior NATO officers. “It has already accompanied us in the past to Afghanistan and the Balkans.”

The return of military service

Joining NATO on 7 March represents, in the eyes of this head of the Belgian air force, a logical next step. This has not always been the case for the Swedish Social Democrats, who were in power for a long time and opposed this prospect. Russia’s invasion of Ukraine changed everything, in the ranks of the party and within the public, which had long been reserved about the idea of ​​joining the Atlantic Alliance. Today, according to polls, 60% of Swedes say they are in favour. Like a country known for its trust in its institutions, Meit Fohlin, Social Democrat mayor of Gotland, shows her loyalty, even if she has not really changed her mind: “Like my local group, I was against this membership. At the national level, the party ultimately supported the measure. In terms of defence, I do not have access to all the information, so I trust those who made this decision.”

From her office in the old brick barracks, the elected official runs the Visby city hall and the region, united in a single entity responsible for education, transport and health. This jovial 52-year-old blonde has trouble hiding her concern. The motley coalition in power in Stockholm, bringing together conservatives, Christian Democrats, liberals and the extreme right, is not likely to reassure her. More importantly, Meit Fohlin says she lacks the means to ensure the security of her constituents in the event of conflict. “The state is not giving us more money, while asking us to be as independent as possible to be ready in case we are one day cut off from the continent,” notes the island’s elected official bitterly. On the soldiers’ side, on the other hand, money is pouring in. The defense budget was increased to 2.1% of GDP this year, just above the target set by NATO for its members.

Since the reintroduction of military service in 2017, just seven years after it was abolished, the number of conscripts has also increased. At the age of 18, every Swede is asked to fill out a form about their health and interests. After various tests, a handful of them are called up. “Military service is compulsory, although of course young people can fill out these forms to avoid being selected,” admits the regiment’s captain, Anna Bredin, with a tight smile.

Echo of Ukraine

On this chilly day, she supervises the exercise, which takes place not far from the ecovillage. The conscripts emptying their magazines in the forest are all particularly motivated by the idea of ​​serving. “I saw it as a fun experience and a good opportunity to challenge myself,” says Adela, reloading her rifle. This young brunette does not feel oppressed in this largely male environment, which she describes as respectful. Her comrade Bo regains his strength around a fire of dry pine wood. This Stockholmer, enthusiastic about military service, is thinking of joining the professional army after his mission. “When I think about a possible conflict, I am afraid, but I am ready to defend my country,” says the conscript in charge of the radio link.

On this island of 60,000 inhabitants, NATO membership is rather reassuring: to rub shoulders with Gotland would now be to attack an alliance of 32 countries. Enough to convince many islanders. “It doesn’t say anything good about the state of the world, but we had to join NATO,” admits Sofia Hoas, 53. “I changed my mind. I thought we lived in a friendly world, without conflict in the future. But as long as there are heads of state like Putin, we will need weapons.”

The Gotland Museum project manager is all the more attentive to Russian ambitions because her daughter is a soldier. With a twinkle in her eye, she proudly takes out her phone to show photos of herself in front of a tank. The granddaughter of a Soviet soldier born in Ukraine, Sofia Hoas is wary of Russia. She prefers to see her daughter and her country prepare for the worst, even though the risks of a conflict are slim.

This possibility particularly affects her because, as far away as Ukraine is, the country shares a bit of history with Gotland. “At the end of the 18th century, Swedes were expelled from the Estonian island of Hiiumaa by Catherine II of Russia,” she explains. “They nevertheless obtained permission to settle in Ukraine and founded the village of Gammalsvenskby there. Because of Stalin’s rise to power in the 1920s, part of the village moved to Gotland.” This connection is not only in the past: the island is home to twelve Ukrainian refugees. At the head of a friendly association between Ukraine and Gotland, Sofia also tries to help those who remained behind by sending clothes and sharing their daily lives on social networks.

All citizens concerned

The country’s peace associations are, unsurprisingly, less reassured by Sweden’s membership of NATO. This discontent is also fuelled by the lack of transparency in the process. “This decision was taken in haste,” regrets Gabriella Irsten, an employee of Svenska Freds, one of the most influential peace organisations. “We were asking, given the importance of such a choice, for a referendum to be held.” As the army’s budget increases, many associations see their support decrease. Eighteen organisations have lost a total of 1.7 million euros in public aid in 2023. Gabriella Irsten, who has come to inaugurate a new local branch of Svenska Freds in Visby, is clinging to one source of satisfaction: “We have gone from 5,000 to 16,000 members in five months. As everything happened so quickly, the general public had little information when the government announced that it wanted to join NATO. Little by little, we feel that things are starting to change.” The fact remains that the vagueness is not likely to reassure the activist. What if Gotland were to turn into an aircraft carrier in the middle of the Baltic?

For its defense, Sweden does not only rely on its professional army and conscripts. The government wants the whole society to invest. Since 2018, all citizens have received a red and orange booklet entitled In case of crisis or war. It recommends that Swedes have means of communicating with the outside world, means of heating, food and drink for several days.

Deeply affected by the conflict in Ukraine, Sofia says she feels prepared. Petter too. This carpenter has planned everything to ensure the safety of his home: “We have enough to listen to the radio, charge my phone and eat in case of conflict.” This father of three children admits that most of his relatives do not do the same. It even seems excessive to some of them. “Unlike mainland Sweden, here, there is nowhere to run,” explains this thirty-something with blue eyes and a red moustache. Petter would not stay cloistered at home if something happened because, more than just a carpenter, he is also a reservist: “Five years ago, a colleague advised me to take a training course,” he says, tapping on his box of snus, a chewing tobacco very popular with the Swedes. “I was immediately hooked. Since then, I have continued to train several weekends a year.” Only the salary, which the head of a shooting unit considers too low, prevents him from becoming a full-time soldier.

Bases for Americans

The volunteer is not afraid of seeing his country under American influence and protection. However, the latest step in the country’s militarization process signals a radical change in strategy. On June 18, the Swedish Parliament approved a defense cooperation treaty with the United States. Known as the DCA, this agreement allows American troops to access seventeen military bases in the kingdom if necessary, including the one on Gotland. A similar partnership has also been established with Finland.

Knut, for his part, is afraid of this new partnership. The Gotlander has launched a petition gathering 628 signatures from islanders, an insufficient number to weigh in on the debates. Their fear: that the United States is above Swedish law. “A US soldier who commits a crime here could be judged in his own country,” warns this whistleblower. This graphic designer, whose studio overlooks the port of Visby and its ferries that connect Gotland to the continent, also wonders whether this spiral will not lead his region to host nuclear weapons, or even NATO air and naval forces. The calm that reigns on this island with its fine sandy beaches could be short-lived.