The striking photograph of a lone Black woman, fist raised, standing before a sea of uniformed neo‑Nazis in Borlänge in May 2016 became a global symbol of defiance. A decade later, that same woman, Tess Asplund, watches Sweden tilt toward a far‑right politics she once thought impossible. As the country prepares for a general election on 13 September, polls show the centre‑left opposition leading, yet the Sweden Democrats – a party rooted in neo‑Nazi ideology – are projected to capture the second‑largest share of the vote, cementing their role in government and normalising a discourse that many fear is turning the nation’s heart against migrants, Muslims and anyone who challenges the new orthodoxy.
The Day the Image Shocked the World
On 1 May 2016, Asplund travelled to the central Swedish city of Borlänge to protest a planned march by the Nordic Resistance Movement, one of the country’s largest neo‑Nazi groups. She found herself facing roughly three hundred uniformed extremists, a scene that photographer David Lagerlöf of Expo, the anti‑racism foundation, captured in a single, powerful frame. The image quickly went viral, drawing comparisons to a 1985 photograph of a woman brandishing a handbag at a skinhead in Växjö. Swedish media hailed it as a modern emblem of resistance, and Asplund became an overnight symbol for those fighting the far‑right tide.
A Decade of Normalization and Fear
Now, ten years on, Asplund’s reflections paint a stark picture of change. “Ten years ago, people would say, ‘Oh we dislike the far right, the Sweden Democrats, we despise Nazis,’” she said in a recent interview at a Stockholm café. “And now, they’ve become normalised. It’s like, what happened?” Her words echo a broader societal shift. Where once the far right was a pariah, it now sits in the corridors of power, wielding influence over migration policy and public discourse.
The party’s rise has been accompanied by a surge in hostility toward minorities. In 2023, a study noted that the presence of both the Nordic Resistance Movement – designated a terror group by the United States in 2024 – and the Sweden Democrats, which share militant anti‑immigration roots, has kept immigration and integration firmly on the political agenda, often in the most restrictive terms.
Asplund’s own experience after the 2016 rally illustrates the personal cost of that shift. She was thanked by strangers on the streets, yet also subjected to a barrage of online harassment and death threats. “I’m sad, afraid and ashamed of Swedish citizens,” she admitted. “It’s pure racism.” Her anguish is compounded by policies that now deport young people who have lived their entire lives in Sweden because they fail to meet heightened earnings thresholds. “Thirty years ago, we would be on the street fighting against this. Now it’s like, ‘That’s sad for him or her.’ It’s a shift that really scares me,” she said.
The Political Landscape Ahead of September’s Vote
The upcoming election pits the centre‑left opposition against the ruling right‑wing coalition, with the Sweden Democrats expected to secure the second‑largest vote share. In the 2022 elections, the party came in second, enabling it to play a supporting role in a minority‑run government. Its leader, Jimmie Åkesson, has leveraged that position to push ultra‑restrictive migration policies and a narrative that routinely disparages the millions of people who have made Sweden their home.
Prime Minister Ulf Kristersson, whose four‑party coalition may need the Sweden Democrats’ backing, hinted earlier this year that a far‑right entry into government could be a “watershed moment” for Swedish politics. This prospect stands in stark contrast to the Sweden Asplund defended in 2016, a nation once celebrated for its robust welfare system and pro‑refugee stance under the legacy of Olof Palme, the assassinated Social Democratic leader. “If Olof Palme were alive today, he would turn over in his grave,” Asplund lamented.
The far‑right’s growing legitimacy is not only reflected in electoral numbers but also in the emboldened rhetoric of extremist groups. Mohammad Aluaudt Allah, a Syrian refugee who was kicked unconscious in Stockholm last year, summed up the climate: “The politicians who blame immigrants for all of the country’s issues have ‘created a sense of impunity for violent Nazi groups.’” Asplund echoed that sentiment, noting that the Nordic Resistance Movement may be small now, but “they don’t have to be big because Sweden Democrats are big, so they’ve got people doing their work in the government. The Nazis are in the shadows.”
Voices from the Streets: Fear, Anger and Resistance
While the political tide appears to be turning, Asplund insists that not all Swedes have accepted this new reality. “We are many, many people here fighting for human rights and against racism,” she said. Grassroots activism persists, with community groups organising counter‑marches and advocacy campaigns. In Borlänge, local residents still gather to remember the 2016 confrontation, using the anniversary as a platform to re‑affirm their commitment to an inclusive Sweden.
The contrast between the triumphant image of 2016 and the somber mood of 2026 underscores a deeper narrative about the fragility of progress. The photograph once symbolised a moment when a single individual could stand up to hatred and win a moral victory. Today, that victory feels more like a cautionary tale, a reminder that victories against extremism can be eroded when societies become complacent.
Why it Matters
The rise of the Sweden Democrats and the accompanying normalisation of xenophobic rhetoric signal a profound shift in Swedish identity, one that challenges the nation’s long‑standing reputation as a beacon of social justice and humanitarian values. The political mainstream’s willingness to accommodate a party with neo‑Nazi roots not only legitimises hate but also threatens the very fabric of a society built on tolerance and welfare. Asplund’s story, from a defiant stand in Borlänge to a voice of warning in contemporary Stockholm, serves as a litmus test for whether Sweden will reclaim its progressive legacy or drift further into the shadows of intolerance. The outcome of the September election will determine whether the country doubles down on its historic commitments to human rights or succumbs to the emboldened far‑right that now occupies a central place in its political arena.
