Social responsibility and generational history are not abstract ideas to me.
They are part of my family’s story and the society we grew up in.
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👉 Samhällsansvar och generationshistoria – från folkhem till nu
This is a text about social responsibility and generational history, seen through my own family.
When I look back at my family’s history, I do not see isolated life stories.
I see social structures repeating themselves, generation after generation.
It is a story that began long before me.
And in many ways continues through me.
And perhaps that is exactly why it worries me today.
From orphanages and poor relief to an individualistic present
My grandparents – the beginning of a generational story
My grandmother was born in 1912.
Early in life she carried the experience of standing outside society. She had her first child outside marriage – something that at the time was not merely a private matter, but a social judgment.
My grandfather was a child from an orphanage.
He grew up without an obvious sense of belonging, in a system where care was often conditional and closely monitored.
Once his foster parents gave him a suit.
The poor relief authorities thought it was generous of them.
My grandfather simply said:
“But I am only allowed to wear it when you come to visit.”
That says something about the time.
And about how early a child can understand the difference between being given something – and being allowed to belong.
My grandfather was politically interested.
He followed society closely, thought about it, had opinions.
As a young man he worked as a rock blaster – a heavy and dangerous job.
Later in life he delivered newspapers. His working life did not end in status, but in whatever work was available.
At times they received help from social services.
Not as a failure – but as a part of life for people who never had security with them from the beginning.
My grandfather was around thirty years older than my grandmother.
She was young. He was already worn by life.
You can see it in the photographs: his closed expression, her youth.
My grandfather died the year I was born, in 1965.
I never had the chance to know him myself.
But my mother always said the same thing about him:
He was kind, but fair.
Strict – yet gentle at the same time.
My grandfather was a child from an orphanage.
Read more about my grandfather’s story here:
👉Democracy and voting
My mother’s time – a housewife in the shadow of the welfare state
My mother was born in 1945.
The war had ended. The Swedish welfare state was taking shape. There was talk about security, the future and opportunity.
But security came with conditions.
The welfare model was built on the man as the breadwinner and the woman responsible for home and children.
Becoming a housewife was not seen as a choice – it was simply expected.
My mother became a mother at nineteen.
How do you become a mother at that age?
Are you mature enough? Ready?
I do not think it was about maturity.
I think it was about responsibility arriving before personal development.
She lived with a man who drank alcohol.
When he did not come home on time she became worried.
Not angry first – but afraid.
Had something happened?
Was he drunk?
Would he come home at all?
That worry settled in the body.
Like a constant state of alertness.
She often felt shame for my father’s drinking.
And looking back now I see it so clearly:
It was not her shame.
It was his.
But she carried it.
Money, dependence and invisible work
My mother did not take space.
Not in society.
Not in the economy.
Not in decision-making.
She got her driver’s license late.
She cooked with what we had.
She baked bread and buns.
And when evening came there was always hot chocolate ready for us – that was our evening meal.
She was a housewife, like so many other women at the time.
Cooking. Cleaning. Drinking coffee with other wives.
But she was also constantly reminded of her place.
The money belonged to my father.
“If you don’t work, you don’t eat first.”
Those words came from my grandmother – who herself had also been a housewife.
My mother was always the poor one in her family and in her surroundings.
Not necessarily because there was no money in the household –
but because the money was never hers.
When society changed – but too late
It took a long time before the systems began to change.
In 1971 Sweden introduced individual taxation for married couples.
Before that, spouses were taxed together, which made it economically pointless for many women to work.
That explains why my mother did not start working until I was a teenager.
Not because she did not want to –
but because the system kept her there.
In 1974 parental insurance was introduced, with the intention of sharing responsibility between parents.
But even that came too late for her.
It benefited the next generation.
The welfare state carried many people – but not everyone, and not always in time.
My mother was one of those who carried the transition without ever truly resting in the security it promised.
Women carrying each other – a form of social responsibility
My mother lived separated from my father at times.
But she returned.
Again and again.
And it was fortunate that she had her own mother.
My grandmother.
You can also read more about my grandmother’s life here:
👉 Grandmother and Welfare State
She was always there – in good times and bad.
Often it was women who carried each other.
Not the systems.
Not the state.
But another woman who stayed.
Poverty then – and now
Before the Second World War poverty was visible.
There had been bread riots.
Food was taken from cupboards.
Children were sent away so they could eat.
Out of those experiences grew the promise of the welfare state:
Never again should children go hungry in a rich country.
Today poverty looks different – but it is just as real.
Children come to school hungry after weekends.
Parents chase rising food prices.
We learn new words: inflation, shrinkflation, unemployment.
Inflation may fall on paper.
But poverty remains.
The gaps in society have widened.
A new “us” and “them” has appeared again.
Scapegoats – then and now
When societies become insecure something familiar happens.
People start looking for someone to blame.
In earlier times, when poverty increased and power refused responsibility, scapegoats were created.
The Jewish people were blamed.
Not for what they had done – but because they were easy to point at.
It was never the truth.
But it was convenient.
Today I see similar patterns again.
Social differences grow.
Security weakens.
And once again attention turns downward.
Today immigrants are often pointed out.
People talk about welfare benefits.
Cultural differences.
That they cost too much or take too much space.
But if we stop and look carefully –
Who actually carries society today?
Who works in elderly care at inconvenient hours for low wages?
Who keeps the elderly alive when systems are stretched thin?
Who cleans, drives buses, works in healthcare, in care services, in the physically demanding jobs?
Often it is people with immigrant backgrounds.
They take the shifts others do not want.
They keep everyday life functioning.
And yet they are the ones blamed when something does not work.
It is a pattern I recognize from my own family’s history.
When resources were scarce women carried the shame.
When children did not fit in, they carried the blame.
When poverty increased, someone was always pointed out.
It has never really been about which people exist in a society.
It has always been about how power chooses to distribute responsibility.
Scapegoating does not arise by accident.
It arises when those with power do not want – or dare – to take responsibility upward.
Every time we accept that shift of blame,
every time responsibility moves from systems to individuals,
we move one step further away from the society that was once built so no one would be left outside.
My place in this story
I write this as an adult.
As a social worker.
As a foster parent.
As someone with a secure life.
And perhaps that is exactly why I see the patterns so clearly.
How responsibility has moved from society to individuals.
How shame often ends up in the wrong place.
How children still adapt when the adult world does not hold.
For me, this is what social responsibility and generational history look like in practice.
Reflection
This is a tragic story.
Not because it lacks love –
but because it shows how fragile security can be.
We have moved forward.
But when society hardens, when responsibility becomes individualised and solidarity weakens,
we can quickly return to familiar ground.
Perhaps that is why stories about social responsibility and generational history must be told again and again.
Between the lines – my voice
I do not judge those who lived before me.
They did the best they could in their time.
But I refuse to forget the conditions.
Because a society is not tested by its success,
but by how it carries those who have the least power.
And that responsibility
is always decided here and now.
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Live today, right now.
What was carried before us rests in history,
and what comes next will be shaped by the responsibility we take – here and now.
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👉 Samhällsansvar och generationshistoria – från folkhem till nu
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