""Democratic Republic of Congo, 1995. An ebola outbreak has just been declared. Anders Tegnell, a Swedish epidemiologist, is sent to Kinshasa to help with the response. Panic is widespread, the relief operation is a mess, people are dying. No one knows what they’re meant to do, and competing directives from different agencies have added to the confusion. Sound familiar?
The outbreak was suppressed and Tegnell went home to resume his very ordinary, office-based life in Stockholm, forming Sweden’s public health policy. But he had learnt an important lesson: when crisis strikes, people die if officials do not communicate properly.
Twenty-five years later, Tegnell is a key figure in another pandemic. At 64, he is directing a response to the coronavirus in Sweden that has earned him devotion and rancour across the world. This is because, unlike just about everywhere else, Sweden has held back from enforcing a full lockdown, instead relying on people to observe social distancing and stay home if they’re sick. Schools have remained open for under-16s, while colleges and universities have been closed. Gatherings of more than 50 people are banned, but many restaurants and bars are open — albeit with social-distancing measures in place (you can be served at a table, but not at the bar).
This approach, Tegnell believes, will allow the virus to spread slowly through the healthy population — I am Swedish and experienced this first-hand when I caught corona at a punk gig in Malmo. This should cause immunity to rise, thereby protecting Sweden from a second, potentially more lethal, wave of infection.
It has not been quite that simple. Almost 4,000 people have died in Sweden, far more than in neighbouring countries (both in total and on a per capita basis). During one week in May, deaths per capita overtook every other country in Europe, according to Our World in Data, an online research site based in Oxford. By the end of April, only 7.3% of people in Stockholm had developed antibodies needed to fight the disease, but Swedish health officials argue that this number reflects the situation from several weeks ago, inferring that the level has now risen. They believe that their approach will work in the long run. As transmission rates fall, a return to something like normality might be in sight. The death rate is declining and, overall, Sweden has had fewer deaths per capita than the UK, Italy and France, all of which enforced lockdowns. For other countries, they suggest, the worst may be yet to come. Should those countries have acted like Sweden?
“I don’t know,” Tegnell says. “They did the necessary things at the stage where they were, when they saw things coming apart. But maybe they should have had a bit more of, what we say in Swedish, ice in their stomach.”
In these weird, uncertain times, having ice in your stomach can put you on a fine line between being bold and heartless. Yet as politicians falter in the face of a wildly complicated and deadly challenge, scientists have become celebrities: their love lives make front-page news, they spark adoration and hate, and their feuds are closely examined. Tegnell himself has been fetishised by large chunks of the Swedish population. A few weeks ago at a dinner party in Stockholm I witnessed a debate rage over whether Tegnell, or his 46-year-old deputy — also called Anders — was hotter (almost everyone said Tegnell). On his birthday there were toasts to him around the country.
Part 2 to follow.