LET ME BEGIN this informal survey of reactions in Scandinavia to the Trump presidency with salient developments relevant to this region’s LGBT people. The return of Donald Trump to the White House has been accompanied by a litany of executive actions that have changed the course of world politics. In his first few months, the administration has withheld funds appropriated by Congress for foreign aid, which in turn risks hiv/aids prevention efforts in several countries, according to the World Health Organization. This includes Ukraine, a country plagued by war since Russia began its war of aggression there in 2022. President Zelensky visited the Oval Office in February, seeking to secure continued military assistance from the U.S. Instead, he was treated to a public admonishment by Trump and his advisors that seemed more like a setup.
Walking back commitments to allies can only unnerve European allies, who warily eye Putin’s attempts to create a Greater Russia by influencing and invading its neighbors. Of course, doing so would be a setback for LGBT people in occupied lands, as Putin has demonstrated his dictatorship is fully capable of scapegoating those who identify as queer. The absence of democratic government exposes those who experience same-sex attraction to potential violence and death. The recent shift in affinity on the part of the U.S. toward Russia is a feature of the extreme polarization of Republicans and Democrats, which results in abrupt policy shifts when control of the government changes hands. Under Trump, this tendency has gone global, as the chaos is now exported to allies and enemies alike. LGBT people around the world are increasingly likely to be caught in the crossfire.
Earlier this year, I traveled to Scandinavia to investigate how these developments were impacting the queer community. As a gay man and a political scientist, my purpose in speaking to people that I encountered in Sweden and Denmark was threefold. First, I wanted to understand how increasing polarization impacted Sweden as it warily eyes an aggressive and expansionist Russia. I was also curious how Danes dealt with Trump’s imperialist overtures to absorb Greenland, currently a territory of Denmark. Finally, I wanted to observe how foreign policy shifts emanating from the U.S. affected LGBT people residing in these countries. What I found was an undeniable sense of solidarity in the LGBT community. Americans were still welcome everywhere I visited, even as our politics wreak havoc around the world.
My partner and I arrived via redeye flight to Stockholm in early spring. We had the privilege of staying with our American friends who had expatriated there a couple of years before. We were fortunate enough to experience what they would normally do over a long weekend: attend a concert, visit favorite hangouts, go to a gallery opening, shop at the market, and meet up with friends.
Bleary-eyed and jetlagged, after dropping off our bags and wandering the city, we popped into Pub Anchor. This was described to me as a metal bar, but I felt at home in what Americans would refer to as a nicer dive bar with friendly service, dim lighting, and plenty of beers on tap. We sat at a table shaped like a ship’s wheel and admired the other sailing accouterments, including a chandelier made out of (I hope) fake spines with skulls attached. A trio of young bar patrons in the corner asked if we knew how to play Egyptian Ratscrew, and they agreed to interviews in exchange for playing cards with them.
Regarding the most recent election, David Lundell, 23, told me both Harris and Trump were bad candidates. “Having two parties to vote for, either Democrats or Republicans, for me is weird because here in Sweden we have many parties.” Elliot Svanberg, a 24-year-old accounting assistant and a reserve member of the Swedish Armed Forces, explained that Russia invading Ukraine scared many in his country. In the Baltic Sea, east of mainland Sweden lies Gotland, a strategic location for Russia to seize if it wanted to invade Estonia, Latvia, or Lithuania next. “Swedes are very scared that [Putin] would try to take it like Crimea.” He assured me this specific point unites Swedes across the political spectrum. He confessed he had never met a Trump supporter or visited the States. I asked how his fellow residents felt about Americans, and he replied, “the common consensus is a lot of Swedes say Americans are crazy. They have strong opinions and are very radical. Swedes and Europeans are a little more open-minded.”
Taya Boonchaisri, a 21-year-old marketing and communications student who moved to Sweden from Thailand with her mother when she was ten, told me that throughout her life she has had to contend with comments about her race. She explained that Sweden is “a very open country by law, but not as a people.” All three were Moderate Party voters. (This is a center-right party that has been in a governing coalition with Sweden Democrats, Christian Democrats, and the Liberal People’s Party after elections in September 2022.) Regarding Trump, Taya said: “I hate him personally. Because of his controversial thoughts and actions. The wall to Mexico I think was pretty unnecessary and discriminating and financially stupid.” Even if they didn’t understand why Americans re-elected Trump, they assured me Americans were still welcome in Sweden, where they make a distinction between the people and their political leaders.
The next day, I met a friend for coffee in Gamla Stan, the old city center. Jeremiah Lee, a 41-year-old software developer, emigrated with his husband for work from the Bay Area eight years ago and both recently became Swedish citizens. I asked him how LGBT people were treated here versus back in the U.S. “People in Sverige [the native name for Sweden]don’t treat my marriage as anything special. They are delightfully indifferent. To me, this is what marriage equality should feel like.” While he feels safer here than he ever did back in San Francisco, he also pointed out that the experience was likely different for others. “The problems arise when a queer person is an immigrant or a Muslim. Sverige is a generally tolerant society, but not a multicultural society.” As we departed, my friends told me I broke the one rule for survival in Stockholm: don’t talk to strangers, especially about politics.
The train ride from Sweden to Denmark was long but pleasant. While Copenhagen felt just as safe as Stockholm, the vibe was more bustling and cosmopolitan. Bicycles were everywhere, the people appeared more diverse, and the gay population was larger, as demonstrated by the concentration of several gay bars in the city center.
We visited one such establishment that Tuesday. At Masken, a few regulars gathered around the bar, ribbing each other expectantly as they took turns drawing numbers; the loser paid for the next round of shots. Upon learning we were from New York, the oldest gentleman at the bar asked. “Why would you come to Copenhagen?” This quickly segued into a series of questions before I could answer: Why would Americans vote for Trump? Why is he trying to take Greenland? Michael, a retired police officer, observed: “We pay a hell of a lot of money to them,” referring to Greenland.
Across the street was Centre Stage CPH, a newer establishment that opened the previous summer after Cozy Bar closed, its gay precursor at the same location since 1948. My partner and I decided to stay for the drag show that night, a Broadway-themed performance hosted by Evita Kedavra, a transplant from Lebanon fierce enough to give any good New York City queen a run for her money. Upon finding out I was American as she worked the crowd between lip syncs, she immediately asked if I voted for Trump, to which I recoiled. After some friendly banter she confessed in front of the crowd: “You Americans deserve it though; you have bases all over the world.” The implication was that this country’s imperialist past is finally catching up to us.
Again and again I was told on my travels that fellow Americans were welcome as tourists. Even if they avoided politics, the people I spoke with were eager to practice English with a native speaker. Unlike the more reserved Swedes I encountered, the Danes I spoke with readily shared their views on Americans and their politics. As my partner later pointed out, there was an insinuation in many of these conversations that only liberals would receive such a warm welcome. In both countries, people couldn’t understand how Trump was re-elected and were dismayed that there was widespread support for his views. One widely held view was summarized by a bar patron when he asked us: “Are you the good Americans or the bad Americans?” Polarization has truly gone global—or at least the world’s awareness of the state of American politics has done so.
Adam M. McMahon, an assistant professor of political science at Rider University in Lawrenceville, NJ, teaches courses on American politics, including LGBTQ+ issues.
