“In Öresund,” Christian told me with a smile when I asked where he lived. We were crossing Öresund Bridge when the long wait at the passport control in Hyllie, a municipality in South Sweden, got us into a conversation. Christian’s was a smart but deceptive answer, for the Öresund region comprises the eastern part of Denmark (Zealand mostly) and the southern part of Sweden (Skåne), and is signified by the Copenhagen-Malmö axis. Until 1658, the Skåne region of Sweden was under Danish rule, when following a heavy defeat in the second Northern War, Denmark had to concede it to Sweden. Living in Öresund could technically mean living either in Denmark or in Sweden. But the absoluteness of border lines between the two countries has faded since the opening of Öresund Bridge in July 2000. The bridge replaced what had previously been a slow ferry route.
I cross Öresund Bridge every day to work. Just like Christian, I am an Öresund citizen, living in Sweden and working in Denmark. One day in May last year, when the air still carried enough bite so that you needed at least two layers of warm clothing, a group of five young refugees walked from Denmark to Sweden across the bridge in the high wind wearing only thin jackets. That day I was on the train, and it was halted indefinitely ahead of the bridge. We waited several hours while the Swedish police scrambled to locate the refugees. Öresund Bridge is fitted with a number of alarms that go off if people try to walk through the tunnel leading to the bridge, and refugees walking over it triggered the alarms. Walking on Öresund Bridge is risking your life to fast-moving traffic. But for the refugees, the risk of coming under a train is a minor inconvenience for the promise of a better life.
The 7.8 km long Öresund Bridge connects the southern tip of Sweden to east Denmark. The decision to build it took a lifetime, and building it another eight years. Eventually, in the 1990s, the two governments decided to lay the foundation, and so far, environmentally, it has turned out well. Recently conducted studies show that marine life has actually improved in the shallow waters between Sweden and Denmark. The concrete pillars over which the bridge stands have turned into artificial reefs, thus merging with the natural habitat.
The bridge is partially under water on the Danish side — the inflexion taking place at the artificial island of Pebeholm. Displaying an atypical sense of humour, the Danes named it ‘Pepper Island’ to complement the island of Saltholm or ‘Salt Island’ to its north. The bridge marries the complementary slivers of two nations: Sweden’s workforce with Denmark’s jobs. The Öresund region now contributes to 25-27% of Denmark’s and Sweden’s GDP. Economics has shaped this concrete and steel form, which has now created ‘Öresund citizens’ from the people of the two nations. “Though I am a Dane, I live in Sweden and work in Denmark,” said Christian, as Swedish Customs officers sieved the train with sniffer dogs in tow. “It’s much cheaper and easier to get housing in Sweden. The bridge makes travel time a non-issue, but for these recently-implemented passport checks...”, Christian left the sentence hanging with an irate sigh. Passport control between Sweden and Denmark is a new experience.
Öresund Bridge marries the complementary slivers of two nations: Sweden’s workforce with Denmark’s jobs.
In January 2016, for the first time in half a century, Sweden started demanding photo identification for all travellers from Denmark. Scandinavian countries were the first to have open borders; it began only a decade after World War II, preceding the Schengen Agreement by nearly four decades. The demand for passport checks now is aimed at keeping out undocumented refugees from Sweden, a country which has taken in more asylum seekers per capita than any other European nation. However, Sweden can no longer cope with the flow.
At the height of the refugee crisis, Sweden, a country of less than 10 million, was receiving 40,000 refugees a day. The influx puts a strain on its economy, and Sweden is expected to have spent as much as 1% of its GDP on asylum seekers in 2016. Over the years, a far-right party, the Swedish Democrats, has gained strength. Given a growing shift in popular opinion, Sweden introduced tougher rules at the start of 2016, designed to deter asylum seekers. Border controls was one such step. And it has transformed Öresund Bridge, once called the ‘bridge of reconciliation’, into a mute spectator, watching refugees attempting to cross it and the police seeking them out.
I met Sayid on the train one day. Sayid ran away from Syria to come to Sweden. Why Sweden, I asked. “For refugees, there are only two real options — Germany or Sweden,” he answered. “I wanted to come to Sweden as people are more accepting here.” I asked Sayid about the day he entered Sweden. Sweden was the ninth border he crossed after a ferry brought him to Greece from Syria. When he reached Denmark, there was no passport control, and if one made it to Denmark, it was remarkably easy to board the train to Sweden. “Öresund Bridge was literally the bridge of transformation for me,” Sayid said, “It was a clear day. The buildings on the Swedish side gleamed in the sun, I remember. I wanted to see the train cross the entire length of the bridge with eyes open, despite the exhaustion. Not just see, I wanted to feel the crossing with the whole of myself.”
“They call us love refugees in Denmark,”said Lars when I asked him what it meant to cross the bridge everyday. Lars is a Dane who lives in Sweden’s south Malmö with his wife, a Pakistani. ‘Love refugee’ was an interesting word. Was it inspired by a Bob Marley song, I wondered. It turned out that Lars’ wife was not given a residence permit in Denmark. Refusing to leave either his country or his wife, Lars shifted to the other side of the bridge but continues to work in his motherland, a ‘love refugee’. The Danish government makes it very hard for a Dane marrying anyone from outside the EU, especially from a developing country. No surprisingly, Malmö has become a nest for thousands of such ‘love refugees’. Invariably, Öresund Bridge plays a consequential character in all these love stories.
I thought about my own life and how Öresund Bridge has impacted it. I have no stories of despair but only of hope. I have been living in the Nordics for more than eight years now, and have crossed the bridge more than 2,500 times. After being on it so many times, I miss the days when I don’t look out of the train window and see the wind farm in the middle of Öresund Strait. These wind turbines source energy from the natural wind tunnel between the land masses. They seem to move perpetually, in sync with nature, as if creating and not just harnessing clean energy. In the middle, Öresund Bridge rises like a mythical creature. But now, I look inside the train as much as I look outside.
Nitin Chaudhary, an adrenaline rush-seeking travel writer who lives in Malmo, Sweden, hopes to travel the world in a boat.
