For years, Rizwan worked non-stop to make a success of his business selling South Asian and Middle Eastern products in the Swedish city of Malmo.
Originally from Pakistan, he settled in the country he now calls home about a decade ago and his hope has long been that he will become a Swedish citizen and secure his ties here.
But thanks to tighter laws coming into effect this weekend, Rizwan’s dream suddenly seems unattainable and he worries for his future in Malmo, a multicultural centre that has long been viewed as a case study for Sweden’s shifting stance on immigration.
Under restrictions taking effect on June 6, which is Sweden’s National Day, aspiring naturalised citizens face new restrictions and delays. They must show they are earning at least $2,200 a month before tax and pass tests demonstrating a broad knowledge of Swedish society. Swedish language tests are also being introduced.
“They need me to show I was working for five years, and I am doing that to support my family,” Rizwan, whose real name is not being used in this story, told The National. “But how am I going to learn Swedish when I have to work all the time for my family?”
An estimated 100,000 people in Sweden are facing an uncertain future as the new rules are introduced. These are migrants, many of them Muslim, who have lived for years in the Scandinavian country, but whose citizenship applications will not have been approved in time for Saturday’s deadline.
Many have already been in the naturalisation queue for years and now face having their applications rejected despite a lengthy presence in Sweden. Some could even face deportation. For thousands of people, the likeliest outcome is a continuation of a protracted limbo and a gut-wrenching wait to reapply at some point in the future.
It’s “going to make it much more difficult to become a naturalised Swedish citizen", Christian Fernandez, an associate professor and senior lecturer at Malmo University and a researcher at its Institute for Studies of Migration, told The National.
Migrant labour
The new rules mark a turn from Sweden’s prior, more welcoming stance to migrants, successive waves of whom helped to plug labour shortages as the country transformed its economy after the Second World War.
Swedish firms such as Volvo and Scania relied on immigrants during periods of rapid expansion, with thousands coming from Yugoslavia, Turkey and other European nations.
Sweden later started to welcome refugees too, including from the wars in Iraq, Afghanistan and the civil war in Syria. Today, about 20 per cent of Sweden's population is foreign born.
Malmo, a post-industrial port city on Sweden's southern tip, has been affected by migration perhaps more than anywhere else in the country. About one third of the population is Muslim, and parts of the city, such as Rosengard, can feel more Middle Eastern than Scandinavian.
At the Rosengard Centrum shopping centre, the vast majority of shops are Muslim and a large mosque is in the heart of the complex. Middle Eastern stores sell spices and Palestine Cola, groups of older men sit chatting at tables in the food hall, and Palestinian and Lebanese flags are displayed in several locations.
2015 refugee crisis
Sweden's historical welcoming attitude to refugees stood in stark contrast to neighbouring Denmark, which has long had much tougher rules.
But that attitude started to change during the refugee migrant crisis of 2015, when an estimated 1.3 million people, mainly from the Middle East and Afghanistan, sought safety in Europe.
“Denmark used to be like a sort of deterrent example of an inhumane migration policy, and now it's become like a source of inspiration, to at least the current government,” Mr Fernandez said.
One case in point is Britain, where the Labour government is seeking to mimic Denmark's hardline approach. Under the changes, refugees in the UK will become temporary residents and subjected to regular reviews. They would be removed from the country as soon as their home countries are considered to be safe, with the wait for permanent settlement quadrupled to 20 years.
During the peak of the refugee crisis, about 10,000 asylum seekers were coming to Sweden each week. It was one of Europe's biggest per capita inflows in a short time frame, in a country of fewer than 10 million people at the time.
“I would pass through the central [train] station every morning on my way to work and it was just like a big refugee camp,” recalled Mr Fernandez.
Throughout the early 2000s, Sweden had been one of Europe's most pro-immigrant countries but the influx of refugees strained the country's schools, houses and welfare programmes.
Overseas, conservative outlets such as Fox News ran a host of stories accusing migrants of driving crime waves and fuelling gang violence, although critics said these were exaggerated.
Sweden Democrats, a far-right populist party, surged in popularity. While it is not in the Swedish government, it is now the country's second largest party and holds enormous sway over the immigration debate, not unlike Britain's Reform party, and its influence is seen as a key factor in pushing Stockholm's centre-right government to introduce the citizenship reforms.
Meanwhile, a sense of precariousness is taking a toll on people hoping to stay in Sweden. Many are trapped in a bureaucratic loop and are unable to leave the country to visit family overseas because the government keeps applicants' passports while they apply for citizenship.
Maria Imtiaz, a dentist, came to Sweden years ago and first applied for citizenship in 2019.
“I have reached the required professional level in the Swedish language and am preparing for the complementary education needed to practise here. My husband and our three children are already citizens. Sweden is our home – yet my own status remains unresolved,” she told Sweden's The Local.
“I entered the process with the expectation that it would be handled responsibly and within a reasonable time frame. Instead, I have spent nearly seven years in a state of uncertainty.”
