Introduction

In 2013, the Swedish media erupted in outrage over Russia’s “gay propaganda” lawFootnote 1 and stories of harassment of Russian LGBTQI people by a state that had embraced “traditional values” (Wilkinson, 2014). In doing so, Russia had adopted the role of protector of “traditional sexual relationships” to mark itself as an alternative to Western values as part of its conservative turn since 2012 (Laruelle, 2013). In contrast, in Sweden, a self-defined feminist government was formed in 2014 and a feminist foreign policy was adopted (Aggestam & Bergman-Rosamond, 2020). Both nations have thus positioned themselves in relation to gender and sexuality. Moreover, Russia, in spearheading the promotion of traditional values, has been portrayed in the Swedish discourse as a security threat, in opposition to Sweden’s “gender exceptionalism” (Agius & Edenborg, 2019, p. 58). The mobilization of the histories of gender equality, feminism, and homotolerance to construct representations of Sweden can be explained as expressions of femonationalism (Farris, 2017; Martinsson et al., 2016) and homonationalism (Puar, 2007, 2013a, 2013b) in reaction to Russia’s political homophobia (Edenborg, 2018).

But what happens if we look beyond the immediacy of the “gay propaganda” law? When views regarding gender and sexuality were reshaped in Russia, especially after the collapse of the Soviet Union (Gradskova et al., 2020), prompting some foreign observers to talk of “the fluidity of Russian sexual identity” (Essig, 1999, p. 57),Footnote 2 how did Sweden react to and interpret these changes? Was Sweden “homonational” even in the 1990s?

The scholarly discussion about homonationalism in the Swedish context has so far been limited to the recent period of the 2010s, with analyses of Pride Järva organized in a segregated, Muslim-majority suburb by members of the right-wing party, the Sweden Democrats (Kehl, 2018; Sörberg, 2017); Swedish Armed Forces ad campaigns (Strand & Kehl, 2019), and Swedish media reports on Africa in 2012–2013 (Jungar & Peltonen, 2017). In this article, I add to studies of homonationalism in the Swedish context by focusing on sexual exceptionalism as an individual component of homonationalism. Sexual exceptionalism is more suitable for a Swedish–Russian case-study because it does not presuppose a binary division between homophobic and homotolerant countries. Rather, it is more effective in exploring the role of sexuality as part of a history of national exceptionalism. By focusing on a Northern European context and exploring whether the image of Russia in Swedish media looked different before the passing of the “gay propaganda” law in 2013, I argue that the mobilization of gender and sexuality for constructing the national image can be traced beyond the temporality of the “very recent phenomenon” of homonationalism (Serykh, 2017) by elucidating its links to earlier discursive formations.

This study contributes to existing studies of homonationalism in two primarily empirical ways. Firstly, it adds to studies of sexual exceptionalism in the USA and Western Europe by expanding their geographical and temporal scope. Dean Cooper-Cunningham’s (2021) study shows how visual representations of Russian homophobia in the global media around 2013–2014 repeatedly reassert Western sexual exceptionalism; Katharina Wiedlack (2017, 2018), drawing upon similar material, highlights the role of images of vulnerable bodies in upholding the divide between “The East” and “The West.” Ann Travers and Mary Shearman (2017) have shown how reports on the 2014 Sochi Winter Olympics created notions of the USA and Canada as safe havens for LGBTQI people. Secondly, instead of focusing on the Muslim Other (Kehl, 2020) or Africa (Jungar & Peltonen, 2017) as targets of homonationalist discourse in Sweden, the study shifts the focus to Russia. In doing so, I draw upon existing literature examining what Hadley Zaun Renkin (2016, p. 169) has called “postsocialist neo-orientalisms,” i.e. discourses that have divided post-Cold-War Europe into the “civilized” West and a “backward,” “uncivilized” East, and (re)established Western Europe as a place of moral superiority, specifically highlighting the role of sexuality in these discourses, which attribute homophobia to postsocialist Europe.

To study the development of the image of Russia and LGBTQI people in the Swedish context, I conduct a discourse analysis, inspired by Laclau and Mouffe’s discourse theory (Laclau & Mouffe, 2001), based on a thematic analysis of around 500 articles published between 1991 and 2019 in the five largest Swedish newspapers. I argue that these media representations of the image of Russia constructed in Sweden in relation to LGBTQI people reflect the Swedish national self-image and feed into discourses of Sweden’s exceptionalism. In my analysis, I suggest focusing on sexual exceptionalism, a component of homonationalism, by tracing how Swedish sexual exceptionalism is connected to both historical understandings of Russia in Sweden and histories of Swedish national exceptionalism.

I focus on the Swedish context for two reasons. Firstly, because Sweden and Russia have a long history of mutual image construction. Concerning gender and sexuality, Russia as a protector of “traditional values” and Sweden as a “feminist” state can appear to represent two “opposing but consistent positions” (Agius & Edenborg, 2019, p. 57). Secondly, the countries are geographically close to one another, and Russia has been central to the image construction of Sweden. Yet Sweden and Russia have neither metropole–colony relations, nor the kind of relations that exist among “great powers” (Kan, 1996, p. 10).

I argue that the discourse of Swedish sexual exceptionalism, which is a specific example of a host of homonationalist discourses found around the world, relies on constructions of Russia that posit both its temporal and affective difference and its geographical proximity and similarity. The discursive representations of Russia in the Swedish media include both Swedish (cultural) journalists’ and Russian activists’ and LGBTQI individuals’ voices; yet, despite this polyphony and the multiple sites of analysis, including discos, pride demonstrations, and mega-events, to name just a few, the Russian image is remarkably similar across the time period under consideration. My analysis in this article attempts to explain this persistence using the concept of sexual exceptionalism.

The Role of Sexuality and Time in Constructions of the National Image

National image is a guiding concept in my analysis. In line with Robert A. Saunders (2016, p. 14), I understand national image as a socially constructed view of a nation that exists at both the domestic and foreign levels in a range of forms, and functions as “a synecdoche for vast, complex, and ultimately unknowable (yet still imaginable) congeries of places, things, peoples, experiences, and ideas” (p. 15).

Taking a cue from Homi K. Bhabha that the nation is “a form of cultural elaboration” (Bhabha, 1990, p. 4), that unfolds over time, I build on an understanding of “exceptionalism as a form of nation narration” (Jensen & Loftsdóttir, 2022, p. 5; Bhabha, 1990) and on Fabian’s (2002) understanding of temporality as a mechanism of othering, seen here as the articulation of national images, by positioning them on a timeline from “barbarity” to “progress.” Considering sexual exceptionalism as a manifestation of national exceptionalism, I draw upon postcolonial and queer theory research on temporalities (Edelman, 2004; Halberstam, 2005; Love, 2009; Puar, 2007), which suggests that the organization of time is central to power relations and processes of normalization. In the case of Sweden, Lena Martinsson (2021, p. 84) argues that “Swedish exceptionalism, in particular, is built on an understanding of time as linear, making the world’s most modern, developed, gender-equal, secular nation a role model for other countries to follow, the one that has found the way to the future.” Another significant role of temporality in expressing geographical difference can be observed in the case of Central and Eastern (postsocialist) Europe (CEE). LGBT (and feminist) activisms in CEE are positioned by Western Europe as “lagging behind” and needing to “catch up” with the West. This constructs the “Western present” as a “future” to be achieved by CEE (Koobak, 2013; Mizielińska & Kulpa, 2011, pp. 16–18).

This article focuses on how attitudes to homosexuality contribute to national images. I start with Jasbir Puar’s (2007) interrogation of the intersection between nationalism and constructions of normative homosexuality (Duggan, 2002). Homonationalism describes the processes by which mainstream political parties advocate the inclusion of queer subjects into the self-image of the state and its disciplining apparatus as “worthy of protection,” in contrast to earlier depictions of them as deviations, abnormalities, or threats to public health. According to Puar (2007, p. 2), homonationalism manifests itself in three related ways: “sexual exceptionalism,” expressing itself in the representation of the USA as exceptionally tolerant toward sexual diversity and incorporating LGBTQI into nationalism; “queer as regulatory,” placing queerness within a secular framework, whereby gay men can “enact forms of national, racial, or other belongings by contributing to the collective vilification of Muslims” (2007, p. 21); and “the ascendancy of whiteness,” whereby the state and the market extend national belonging to some multicultural heteronormative subjects (middle class and straight), while continuing to pursue homophobic/xenophobic practices (2007, p. 26).

C. Heike Schotten shows that homonationalism (Puar, 2013a, 2013b) becomes a globalized version of US sexual exceptionalism. Neither specific to the USA nor any longer a descriptor of LGBTQI people, policies, or organizations, it turns into “a broad diagnostic of the international scene” (Schotten, 2016, p. 11). My use of sexual exceptionalism builds upon and develops work on homonationalism. I propose a focus on sexual exceptionalism, connected to Swedish national exceptionalism more broadly, rather than the overarching notion of homonationalism, in order to sketch the contours of a critique of Swedish LGBTQI politics entangled with its national project. Firstly, I am cautious about equating Orthodox Christianity in Russia with Islam or the “fractured whiteness” (Lönn, 2018) of Russian LGBTQI individuals with the “non-Whiteness” of Muslim queers. Secondly, a focus on exceptionalism allows me to embed the discourse of sexual exceptionalism within a history of Swedish nation-building and nation-branding, indicating the sustained relevance of Russia (and its attitudes to LGBTQI people) for constructions of the Swedish Self in mainstream media. These constructions are not primarily enacted by politicians, but by journalists and columnists; temporally they are not tied to the Russian “gay propaganda” law or the American 9/11, which, according to Puar (2007, p. xviii), “reflects particular spatial and temporal narratives and also produces spatializing and temporalizing discourses.” My argument is, rather, that the temporalities in my case study are connected to the progressiveness of Swedish exceptionalism and the backwardness of postsocialist Europe.

Material and Method

To generate my material, I looked for articles containing the keywords “Russia” and homo*/LGBT*/gay* (Swedish: homo* / HBT* / gay*)Footnote 3 in the five largest Swedish newspapers: the evening tabloids Aftonbladet (independent social-democratic) and Expressen (independent liberal), the morning newspapers Dagens Nyheter (independent liberal), Svenska Dagbladet (liberal conservative), and the regional Göteborgs-Posten (liberal). This resulted in a total of 483 articles: 11 in 1991–2003, 52 in 2006–2012, 172 in 2013, 99 in 2014, and 149 in the period 2015–2019.

I then coded and analyzed my material using constructionist reflexive thematic analysis in line with Braun and Clarke’s (2006) six-step process for analyzing repeated patterns within data. This article draws on a subset of the material deemed to contain emblematic examples representative of the thematic patterns identified. Importantly, some articles feature not only the journalists’ voices, but are also punctuated by the voices of Russians, selected, edited, and presented by Swedish journalists working for these newspapers. I present the Russian voices separately and analyze their role as part of the Swedish media discourse on Russia.

The further analysis is theoretically inspired by the discourse-theoretical approach developed by Laclau and Mouffe (2001), and their understanding of articulation, discourse, and nodal points. I understand discourse as the “structured totality” emerging as a result of articulation, the process that establishes a relation among signs (Laclau & Mouffe, 2001, p. 105). Discourse is formed by the partial fixation of meaning around nodal points (Laclau & Mouffe, 2001, p. 112). A nodal point is a privileged sign around which the other signs in the discourse are ordered. These other signs, in turn, acquire their meaning from their relationship to the nodal point. I consider “the homosexual” to be such a nodal point, around which the meanings of Russia and Sweden are constructed in the Swedish discourse. Viewed analytically as also being a figuration,Footnote 4the homosexual is not necessarily a cis man, as can be seen in the examples from my material, since the discourse also features lesbians and trans* people.

The Image of Russia in Sweden

Studies of perceptions of Russia in Sweden have revolved around politics, particularly its foreign/military and moral dimensions. Tarkiainen (1974) writes that the “Russian menace” (rysskräck) has played a significant role in the perception of Russia since the end of the 1500 s, intensifying during the late 1600 s (Tarkiainen, 1974, p. 59). Burgman (2001) demonstrates that this belief has endured for centuries in a variety of forms. From the beginning of the seventeenth century, increasing importance was attached to Russia’s cultural image and “pagan” (Tarkiainen, 1974, p. 26) was replaced by “barbaric,” in a move that stressed Sweden’s belonging to and Russia’s exclusion from “civilized Europe.” Russians’ proclivity for drinking, infidelity, and homosexuality was emphasized (p. 27). In a sense, this article exemplifies the ways in which ideas about sexuality in relation to the “Orient” have been reversed. The “West” has historically portrayed the “Orient” as sexually corrupt and backward owing to forms of sexuality beyond the European family ideal (McClintock, 1995); the same “Orient” is now viewed by the West as being sexually corrupt due to its heteronormativity.

Historically, Russia has been imagined in Sweden as a “foreign Other” and “the closest metaphysical threat,” but also as a future utopia (framtidsland) (Gerner, 2000, p. 34). Håkanson (2012, p. 36) suggests that the construction of Russia as a threat was undertaken in Sweden, not to assert the Swedish elites’ influence over the Russian Other, but rather because notions of Russia have been useful in internal political battles. Thus, the exercise of power has been directed inward, not outward. Åselius (1994) has argued that, during the late nineteenth century, the image of the external enemy, Russia, was molded after the image of the internal threat to the Swedish ruling elites (p. 417). With the defeat of the Russian empire in 1905, Russia no longer posed a military threat to “a modern, highly developed industrial country like Sweden” (Blomqvist, 2002b, p. 22), but rather an ideological one. From the perspective of economic history, Swedish immigration to and economic activity within the Russian empire from the mid-nineteenth century until the October Revolution of 1917 was understood as a civilizing mission undertaken through economic expansion into new markets and cultural development, exporting “moral capital” (Carlbäck, 2014, p. 59). In the 1920s, the nascent Soviet Union was dubbed an “Asian menace” by social-democratic politicians (Blomqvist, 2002a). The Bolshevist ideology, with its violence, dictatorship, civil war, and misery, became a point of comparison for visions of Sweden with its peaceful social-democratic practices, democratic struggle, and success (Blomqvist, 2002b, p. 33). Nevertheless, certain developments, such as gender equality in the interwar Soviet Union, were considered examples for the Swedish labor movement to follow (Carlbäck, 2002).

Russia has also been presented as a “student” of Sweden throughout history, from Peter the Great to Yeltsin’s Russia (Gerner, 2000, p. 34). In the early 1990s, in Swedish cooperation on cultural and gender-equality initiatives, Russia was presented as needing to catch up with its more skillful Nordic partners, which dismissed the history of gender-equality work in the Soviet Union (Gradskova, 2017, pp. 261–262). Since the collapse of the Soviet Union, Russia has continued to be considered a “significant other” in Swedish political discourse (Rodin, 2010).

Sweden’s Sexual Exceptionalism Within its National Exceptionalism

The importance of sexuality in Swedish discourse on Russia has been somewhat overlooked, with some studies turning to portrayals of Russian women in Swedish media (Sarsenov & Leontieva, 2003) and film, such as Lilya-4-ever (Stenport, 2014; Suchland, 2013). Both types of representation centered on Russian/post-Soviet women as prostitutes, and thus threats to established Swedish morality. Research has also shown that Russian femininity has been constructed as hierarchically inferior to Swedish in everyday life due to its perceived excessiveness (Lönn, 2018). Don Kulick (2003) highlights how Sweden’s stance on gender rights intersected with its moral position in international relations, particularly in relation to Russia and the “East,” during debates on the Sex Purchase Law in 1998. The Swedish discourse exemplifies how a moral panic about sexuality, expressed as a potential “influx of Russian and Estonian women” (2003, p. 206) as prostitutes, became a site for imagining and negotiating European boundaries. The Swedish position, which drew upon a history of neutrality, internationalism, and moral righteousness (pp. 209–210), assumed that other, “less enlightened” EU member countries would consider Sweden a role model, helping to strengthen its international standing. How has this national exceptionalism affected Sweden’s image of Russia in relation to LGBTQI rights? An overview of Sweden’s multifaceted national exceptionalism will help us to trace the connections between gender and sexual exceptionalism and other aspects of Swedish national exceptionalism.

Swedish national exceptionalism, also termed “the Swedish model” by both researchers and laypeople, encompasses the particularities of the Swedish welfare state, its gender politics, its migration regime, and its international politics (Dahlstedt & Neergaard, 2015, p. 250; Dahl, 2006; Trägårdh, 2018). The idea of Swedish exceptionalism builds on an understanding of Sweden as “the epitome of excellency [sic] and modernity” and can be traced back to the 1930s (Musiał, 1998, p. 22). Musiał shows how the circulation of stereotypes, intended for both domestic and foreign audiences, constructed Sweden as the embodiment of progress, both domestically and internationally. Marquis Childs’ Sweden, the Middle Way, published in 1936, solidified the image of Sweden as having found a compromise between the market economy and socialism, positing that “the Swedish model” was a successful “socialist” policy with a growing cooperative sector (Brundenius, 2020). Post WWII, this external image, linked to an image of speedy modernization, led directly to the branding of Sweden as an “avant-garde” nation and a model to be followed (Musiał, 1998, pp. 30–31). The idea of the welfare state in Sweden, along with the other Nordic countries, was consolidated after WWII and legitimated by a national discourse of unity (Gullestad, 2006). Carl Marklund (2017) highlights Sweden’s pivotal role in defining the Nordic welfare state, which was often referred to internationally as “the Swedish model” due to the perceived success of the Swedish economy.

A crucial facet of the exceptionalism discourse, owing to Sweden’s international image being centered on its exceptionally activist foreign policy, is the concept of Swedish moral exceptionalism. The idea of Sweden as a “moral superpower,” reflecting its politics from the mid-1960s to the late 1980s (Dahl, 2006, p. 896), was born out of this, as was the Swedish government’s social-democratic policy in pursuit of a “third way,” between the capitalist democracy in the USA and the communist dictatorship in the USSR (p. 908). Nonaligned Sweden has represented itself as an actor with a moral obligation to advocate for the plight of “weak” actors and “small” states (Nilsson, 1991). Its self-proclaimed moral superiority has been closely tied to its foreign aid practices (Lumsdaine, 1993). Not simply a passive “model,” Sweden has understood itself as having the duty to assist other nations in emulating aspects of its political and economic system (Kronsell & Svedberg, 2001, cited in Towns, 2002, p. 162). In addition to its nonalignment, the persistent image of the Nordic countries as untainted by Europe’s colonial past has given the Nordics an opportunity to present themselves as well-suited to be mediators in political debates about global inequalities, and champions of minority rights (Ipsen & Fur, 2009, p. 10). The idea of Nordic exceptionalism as disconnected from European colonialism has enabled Sweden, as one of these countries, to associate itself with peace, rationality, and progress (Jensen & Loftsdóttir, 2022, p. 84). This led the Swedish journalist Arne Ruth, in the 1980s, to note the specificity of Swedish nationalism. As a consequence of Sweden’s historical decline as a major regional power since the early eighteenth century, the country lacked the sense of traditional heritage or national romanticizing that underpinned many other nationalisms. This decline has caused Sweden to depict itself as “humanitarian” rather than “heroic,” and its internationalism thus functioned as a form of “ersatz patriotism” (Ruth, 1984, p. 68).

Gender exceptionalism is another central aspect of Swedish exceptionalism. In the 1970s and early 1980s, gender equality became a distinct policy area. Equality efforts were related to labor-market issues and the establishment of a ministerial post and equality agencies. In 1994, the strategy of gender mainstreaming (jämställdhetsintegrering) was adopted, which states that the national goals for gender equality are the collective responsibility of the Swedish government, with each minister responsible for equality in their respective area (Bergqvist et al., 2007, pp. 227–231). Internationally, gender equality was incorporated into previous Swedish representations of itself as a “model” state with “moral obligations” to the international community and a “modern” state (Towns, 2002, p. 162). Since the mid-1990s, international improvements in gender equality have routinely been referred to “as a considerable success for Sweden” in state publications, and gender equality has been represented as a “Swedish question” (Towns, 2002, p. 162). This label as the champion of gender equality has been used in particular to propel the country’s self-image since Sweden was given an award as the most gender-equal state at the 1995 Conference on Women in Beijing (Towns, 2002, p. 163).

Sweden’s exceptionalism continues to thrive in the form of the “Progressive Sweden” brand, incorporating “gender equality” (Jezierska & Towns, 2018; Larsen et al., 2021) and LGBTQI exceptionalism, the latter sometimes presented on a “timeline of achievement.”Footnote 5 Björklund and Lindqvist (2016, p. xiii) highlight that the legislative progress on LGBTQI issues has enforced the imaginaries of a progressive Sweden, not least owing to the well-integrated homosexual couple, “a symbol for the majority’s tolerance” (Rydström, 2011, p. 21) worthy of protection by, for example, the Swedish Armed Forces (Strand & Kehl, 2019).

Significantly, however, the narrative of Sweden as a “secular, gender-equal and LGBTQI-tolerant nation, […] often considered a political role model for the rest of the world” (Alm et al., 2021, p. 2) is based on persisting discrimination against and exclusion of ethnic Others (Alm et al., 2021; Kehl, 2020), and silences about certain aspects of the national past (Björkman & Widmalm, 2010; Warburton, 2016). Although (the idea of) Swedish exceptionalism has been challenged (Alm et al., 2021; Dahlstedt & Neergaard, 2015; Martinsson et al., 2016), the image of Sweden as a model has retained its political relevance (Andersson, 2009). Hence, both domestically and internationally, the discourses of nation-building and nation-branding, which took the forms of welfare, moral, gender, and, finally, sexual exceptionalism, imply a teleological temporality that invests the nation with a special mission and destiny.

Constructing Russia

Absence of a Future

On 10 November 1991, a month before the dissolution of the Soviet Union, the Swedish newspaper Expressen published a report entitled: “She is a he. As a transvestite (transvestit) in the Soviet Union, he risks imprisonment” (Expressen, 1991-11-10).Footnote 6 The interview with “Sergey, 20 years old and transvestite”at one of St. Petersburg’s discos is followed by a discussion of the situation of homosexuals (homosexuella) in the Soviet Union. The report begins with the journalist exhibiting confusion about (mis)gendering Sergey on the dance floor. Sergey, however, seems used to this and has a female name to hand—Linda. Yet the reporter, apart from in the title and the sentence quoted above, talks about Sergey using the pronoun “he,” which Sergey/Linda also does when talking about himself, and uses Sergey’s life as an example of “life as a homosexual” (“liv som homosexuell”) in the Soviet Union.Footnote 7

Nilsson writes that many other homosexuals (homosexuella) in the Soviet Union “lose faith in life and become apathetic in their tragic loneliness” and quotes Sergey as saying: “There is no future for people like me in the Soviet Union. To live a normal life as a homosexual here is impossible … the risk of being beaten up or harassed is always great.” These details contribute to an image of the Soviet Union as a place where the future for homosexuals is hopeless and life is unlivable.

In Expressen’s interview with Sergey/Linda, the journalist also presents an explicit construction of Sweden by using Sergey’s words to highlight how Sweden is different from the Soviet Union. According to the journalist, Sergey imagines his life exclusively outside of the Soviet Union and his dream is to go abroad:

For four years he has, as he says, “just hung around and hoped for a chance to go abroad.” His dream is to become an artist, to sing in a [drag] show, like [the Swedish] After Dark. […]

“Of course I also want to have a job I enjoy, to live a normal life like all other people. But when I don’t even get a chance to work with what I want, when I don’t get to live the way I want, how can I believe in the future, in life?”

Furthermore, Sergey/Linda has managed to undergo makeshift breast augmentation but makes the comparison: “[o]f course, here [in the Soviet Union] there are no such plastic surgeons as you have [in Sweden? in ‘Europe’?].” Based on Sergey’s image of standards for gender-nonconforming people outside the Soviet Union, exemplified by the existence of a commercial drag show like After DarkFootnote 8 or better surgeons, Sweden is thus constructed by the journalist as a more progressive place than the Soviet Union. The image of Sweden is constructed in a complex process enabled by the Swedish journalist’s selection, editing, and citation of the Russian voices. In this, rather unusual, explicit comparison between Sweden and Russia, an image of Sweden is forged as a country of acceptance and opportunity, in opposition to the Soviet Russian image of loneliness and danger. As we will see later, it is more common for the image of Sweden to be constructed implicitly around a comparison with an image of Russia as Other.

Sergey/Linda’s story is an example of a specific genre of articles that presents a background story of homophobia in Russia and zooms in on homosexual asylum seekers, aiding them to make their case. The article also recounts a story of a Russian (sic) homosexual man (“en rysk homosexuell man”) who applied for asylum in Sweden and had his application rejected on the reasoning that “returning [to the Soviet Union] did not constitute a risk.” Having described the rejection of Sergey/Linda’s asylum case, the journalist expresses a desire for a change in the Swedish asylum requirements:

Life as a homosexual in the Soviet Union involves a constant risk of being caught and arrested, constant hiding of emotions and relationships—in short, a life without human rights…

The change in the political climate in the Soviet Union may mean a future change in legislation. Even if this happens, it will take a long time before a safe existence for homosexuals can be established. (Expressen, 1991-11-10, emphasis mine)

The article thus constructs the lack of a “liveable” life for the Soviet homosexual, suggesting “there is no future” there, and, implicitly, that there might be a future in Sweden. Furthermore, it portrays the Soviet Union as “underdeveloped,” to use Cynthia Weber’s (2016, p. 47) term, positioning the country at the beginning of a temporal axis. This is because:

Many of these [patriarchal traditions and family patterns] still live on today in the countryside and to a large extent also in the cities—many police are recruited from the country, by the way—which means that the understanding of homosexuals is practically zero. (Expressen, 1991-11-10)

These two quotes suggest that legal change is not enough. The hints about the homophobia of the Russian people, especially the police, further contrasts the Soviet Union against Sweden.

In other examples of articles centering on the asylum system, various Russian voices, selected and represented by Swedish reporters, relay a similarly hopeless message about the future of the Russian homosexual. In “Johan Hilton: Sweden must ease the asylum requirements for Russian LGBTQ people” (Dagens Nyheter, 2014–06-18), Hilton cites a Russian activist:

[Chair of the Russian LGBTQ organization Rakurs Tatana] Vinnichenko herself has no hope for the future of the Russian LGBTQ population... (Dagens Nyheter, 2014-06-18)

In another piece, an interview with activist turned Russian expert Masha Gessen in Dagens Nyheter (2016-02-09), the references to the worsened situation in Russia are paralleled by the implicit image of Sweden, unwilling to accept refugees, as having responsibility:

If Sweden were more open to LGBTQ people, it would be a lifeline (livlina) for many, [Gessen] says. (Dagens Nyheter, 2016-02-09)

These asylum stories, purporting to represent Russian voices through direct quotation, revolve around the lack of a viable future. In comparison to another article from 2013, considered in the next section, there is no focus on violence, but rather a comparison in terms of temporality. Importantly, it is the quoted Russian voices that compare Sweden and Russia, and thus circulate domestic and international discourses of Swedish homonationalism, or, more precisely, sexual exceptionalism. These stories also implicitly underline Sweden’s responsibility, with both Swedish reporters and Russian voices urging Sweden to act (Gessen in the last example). As can be seen from the material, which spans almost 25 years, there has been no improvement in the processing of asylum claims; Sweden does not easily grant asylum to Russian LGBTQ people. Nevertheless, despite the gap between image and practice, Sweden is still constructed as a place where the homosexual might have a future. This is evident, for instance, in the metaphor of the “lifeline.” I return to articulations of “responsibility” and the moral aspect of the Swedish image in the section Constructing Sweden.

Lack of Development

t.A.T.u, a Russian pop duo consisting of two school-age girls famous for their (faux-)lesbian performances and aesthetics, represented Russia in the 2003 Eurovision Song Contest in Riga. Despite domestic controversies, pop music researcher Dana Heller notes that t.A.T.u. “appeared to win official cultural validation” (Heller, 2007, p. 197) in Russia.

The reception of t.A.T.u. by the Russian domestic public appeared to be the focus for Swedish media in 2003. In an article discussing the removal of homosexuality from the Russian Ministry of Defense’s list of mental illnesses, Winiarski (2003-03-16, Dagens Nyheter, p. 11) wonders how discrimination against homosexuals in the military continues, while t.A.T.u is embraced by Russia. In “Tatu break all taboos” published in Aftonbladet on May 24, 2003, Hermann Scholz writes:

In Russia, t.A.T.u was not uncontested. Homosexuality is an absolute taboo in the country. Pedophilia is not talked about. t.A.T.u take a hammer to this prudery. […] To the Russian public, t.A.T.u’s public presentation of homosexual love was a shock. (Aftonbladet, 2003-05-24)

Russians are placed in a double bind, simultaneously constructed as too naïve, shocked at this performance that featured same-sex love, and too barbaric, rejoicing in the act of pedophilia. The positioning of Russia within an imagined geography evokes the lagging Other to create an advanced, politically aware Self. The ways in which the Swedish media described the reception of t.A.T.u. by Russians in 2003 provide an example of constructions of the Russian people where a specific way of embracing LGBTQI rights is at stake. Russians who are unfamiliar with the standard of Western political correctness signify Russia’s deviation from the pathway of linear progress.

Discussions around the 2007 Moscow Pride provided another fruitful source for creating images of Russia, prompted by Moscow’s mayor, Yuri Luzhkov, calling it “satanic” (e.g. Göteborgs-Posten, 2007-01-30). The Moscow Pride parade of 2006 was framed as a “local” event in Moscow and therefore did not appear in the sources for my material that used the keyword Russia.Footnote 9 Moscow Pride 2006 was not yet covered as a Russian event, despite marking the boundaries of acceptable and desirable national visibility (cf. Renkin, 2009), with participants appearing in places of symbolic importance for the Russian nation, such as Red Square. Yet, by 2008, Strage (Dagens Nyheter, 2008-11-25) was already using the comparison: “[a] Russian pride parade is quite different from a Western one. Instead of disco dancing through the city, the participants are chased and beaten by Christian fascists,” to suggest that Russia has failed the test of belonging to the West. The temporal aspect of the reports on reactions to the 2007 Moscow Pride builds on the tactic of omitting the history of Russian LGBTQI organizing from the Swedish discourse.Footnote 10 Moscow Pride was perhaps the first event to have attracted nationwide attention, but it was certainly not the first ever pride parade in Russia (Neufeld, 2018, pp. 84–88).Footnote 11 The Swedish media limits the discourse on Russian LGBTQI people to articulations of danger and lack of development and offers LGBT activists only the subject position of victim.

In addition to the situation worsening in Russia, with the deterioration of human rights (e.g. Göteborgs-Posten, 2014-01-06; Dagens Nyheter, 2014-01-09), it is crucial to note that Russia is continuously held to an ever-increasing standard. This is especially evident in a series of 2015 materials on the difficulties that trans* people face during the process of obtaining drivers’ licenses. For instance, in “Transgender people are prohibited from driving,” published on January 25, 2015 by Anna-Lena Laurén in Svenska Dagbladet, the nodal point “the homosexual” is broadened to include trans* people, to exemplify the ways in which human rights in Russia “continue to worsen.”

Geographical Closeness

Karin Boye’s tragic narrative is used in Anna Larsson’s article “The rainbow flag can boost Carl Bildt” published in Svenska Dagbladet on June 1, 2007, to add a comparative angle to the story of unfolding homophobia in Russia. Karin Boye was a bisexual Swedish poet who committed suicide in 1941, at a time when same-sex relations were still forbidden by law in Sweden, just three years before the decriminalization. The article mentions that Boye’s life was characterized by the ban on homosexual relations in Sweden and “the calls against … sexual deviants” she heard during her time in Germany in 1941, which were very like those one could hear in 2007 in Moscow. This temporal comparison presents the past of Western Europe as Russia’s present.Footnote 12 Yet the article also stresses the spatial aspect of Sweden’s construction of Russia, by calling on the Swedish government to react to the “brutal and frightening events [right-wing extremists’ violence] that are being played out just 50 min by air from Stockholm.” The journalist bemoans the lack of direct communication with Russia from both then-Swedish Prime Minister Carl Bildt and the Minister for Integration and Gender Equality, Nyamko Sabuni, to whom “[dealing with] Russia’s homophobia seems to be delegated.” Russia’s closeness, “just 50 min by air from Stockholm” further highlights the usefulness of Russian homophobia for Sweden’s self-image, despite the lack of action from politicians. Additionally, I suggest that this explicit comparison between Sweden and Russia is an example of a construction of the Swedish and European past that foregrounds present-day Swedish and European tolerance. The article assumes that calls for violence belong squarely in the discriminatory past and never to the tolerant present of Sweden, where homosexuality has been decriminalized since 1944.

Another article, “Russian police stop gay protest” by Joakim Goksör in Göteborgs-Posten (2007-05-28), makes a geographical generalization: “The entire Baltic Sea region is a big problem. […] In Russia, there is strong discrimination against the LGBT group.” In 2013, the article “Violence and oppression commonplace for the world’s LGBT people,” published in Expressen, similarly remarked: “It is enough to look across the Baltic Sea to find places where it is life-threatening to be gay, bisexual or a transgender person” (Expressen, 2013-07-28, emphasis mine). In these articulations, a spatial construction of Russia is formed, defining Russia as part of the Baltic Sea region, an area of East–West confrontation and ideological competition during the Cold War, and again recently (Agius & Edenborg, 2019; Bengtsson, 2016). Russia’s closeness to Sweden explains why Sweden should be concerned about LGBTQI rights in Russia, which justified the moral exceptionalism centered around sexual rights, described in the section “Constructing Sweden,” below. Sweden’s image of Russia can be seen as an example of a more generalized discourse featuring Western Europe’s descriptions of postsocialist Europe’s homophobia (Kulpa, 2014; Kulpa & Mizielińska, 2011).

Loneliness, Homophobia, and Danger

Three affective themes characterize the hopeless image of Russia in relation to the homosexual. Firstly, in addition to the story of Sergey/Linda, the theme of Russian homosexuals’ loneliness features in Disa Håstad’s three articles in Dagens Nyheter, published during the period 1993–1997, which mention the famous Russian director Roman Viktyuk’s staging of The Catapult, a play by Nikolay Kolyada, in, among other places, Stockholm. The plot revolves around the story of a man who is wheelchair-bound after the Afghan war and a young student, who fall in love. In “‘Light blue [ljusblå]Footnote 13 must be included’: Nikolay Kolyada, a modest representative for Russian homosexuals,” published on March 12, 1995 in Dagens Nyheter, Kolyada comments on his lack of desire to be an activist:

I do not see myself as a writer whose specialty is homosexual problems, even if people in Germany want to make me a militant campaigner. I write about loneliness. And that is universal. (Håstad, 1995-03-12, Dagens Nyheter)

This constructs the Russian homosexual as lonely and beyond the reach of activists. While this aestheticizing understanding of homosexuality (Essig, 1999, p. 98ff) has liberatory potential, this is never explored. This way of representing queer lives echoes the lack of other representations of LGBTQI activism in the Swedish media context.

Secondly, several articles focus on the events of summer 2007, drawing conclusions about the homosexual in Russia (and not just Moscow) suffering from homophobia:

This year marks 14 years since homosexuality was decriminalized in Russia. Despite this, Pride festivals are banned, and homophobia is rife (homofobin är stor) in Russian society. [… Russia is] a pretty scary (otäckt) country if you’re gay. (Kling, 2007-05-28, Aftonbladet, p. 29)

Sometimes, very grim pictures of homophobia among ordinary Russians are drawn, such as when Dagens Nyheter compares statistics:

Four percent of the Russian population believe that homosexuals should be exterminated. LGBT people are also said to make up at least four percent of the people. This means that each gay person has their own potential executioner. (Bjurwald, 2011-01-12, Dagens Nyheter, p. 4)

An article entitled “Gayfree cinemas” by Lindeen, published in Expressen on November 24, 2011, claims that “Russia is the most homophobic country in Europe.” Russia is represented as privileged among other countries where LGBTQI rights are abused precisely due to its conditional inclusion in the European community. In Russia, beneath the surface, old [homophobic] attitudes have survived (Dagens Nyheter, 2012-03-14). In line with reporting on Moscow Pride, this establishes equivalence between cases of violence and the presumed innate and unchangeable homophobia of the Russian population.

Thirdly, as well as appearing in the story of Sergey/Linda analyzed in the previous section, the theme of danger has been regularly featured in the discourse. A host of columns appeared annually during the period 2007–2011 around the time of the pride parades in Moscow and St. Petersburg focusing exclusively on police and bystander violence against protestors. “The gay parade in Moscow was violently dispersed” by Anna-Lena Laurén in Göteborgs-Posten on May 17, 2009: “The Russian authorities do not care about bad PR—about fifty activists were arrested, on the same day as the final of the Eurovision Song Contest [in Moscow].” “Police crackdown on LGBTQ protests” (Dagens Nyheter, 2010-06-27; Göteborgs-Posten, 2011-11-25). In these short pieces, the homosexual is only afforded the subject position of victim, and never set within the larger context of the Russian LGBTQI community’s activities.

Similarly, an article entitled “I would not have lived if I had stayed” by Kenan Habul (Aftonbladet, 2013-07-30), tells the asylum story of Laetitia, who “was born a boy in Russia [and] now she hopes for a new life in Sweden.” The same article cites the Swedish Minister for EU Affairs, Birgitta Ohlsson, who notes that “Sweden is one of the most demanding EU countries to put pressure on Russia on LGBT issues.” In addition to earlier examples, which featured loneliness or generalized homophobia, the construction of Swedish responsibility is here presented against a background of increased visibility of gay people in Russia, which has led to crimes against them. The problematic nature of visibility as a strategy for LGBTQI emancipation (Edenborg, 2020) is never questioned by the Swedish media. Even when, as in 2017, the visibility of the homosexual became a justification for the torture of gay men in Chechnya (Brock & Edenborg, 2020), this only served to fix the position of the homosexual in Chechnya as a victim.

Constructing Sweden

Temporal, spatial, and affective themes are used to construct an image of a Russia which has undergone little change during the period 1991–2019. Apart from the “Russian voices” sometimes present in the discourse, who are explicit about the images of Sweden, Sweden is generally implicitly constructed in opposition to Russia by means of the themes of development in relation to LGBTQI rights, and Swedish responsibility to help the Russian homosexual by advocating for LGBTQI rights in the international arena.

Development

Sporting events and Eurovision have become the sites where the Swedish Self is most frequently constructed, by hinting at Russia’s and Sweden’s belonging to the international community as, respectively, homophobic and sexually exceptional. In an article by Torbjörn Ek, entitled “Malena on homophobia: Tragic” published in Aftonbladet on May 15, 2009, Malena Ernman, whose song represented Sweden in Moscow in 2009, says that she is “upset about the intolerance” and “would love to do something to show support.” Ernman is also presented as lacking a political stance with her operatic song in Baas and Hansson’s “Schlager shows a divided Europe” published in Expressen (p. 28) on May 15, 2009. Ek’s on-site report from Eurovision also features a gay couple from Sweden, who became engaged in Red Square just before the interview and consider it a shame that “homosexuality is so poorly accepted in Russia.” They evoke a developmental narrative by pointing out that “these are human right that haven’t yet been achieved here [in Russia].” Sweden’s self-image is implicitly constructed by this couple and by Ernman as an “us” for whom homosexuality is accepted and pride parades are allowed.

In another article, detailing the participation of Victoria, Crown Princess of Sweden, at the QX Gaygala,Footnote 14 featuring a picture of her holding a rainbow flag with the cautious caption “This photo is a montage” (Expressen, 2013-02-06) (hinting that a photo of Victoria with a real rainbow flag is hard to come by?), the connection is made between the “past” of the current Swedish King Carl XVI Gustaf, who, despite his royal motto, is “out of sync” with the nation, and Victoria, “a much-needed forward-looking leader.”

In the run-up to the 2013 World Athletics Championships, Emma Green Tregaro, a Swedish high jumper, protested against Russia’s “anti-gay propaganda law” by painting her nails in the colors of the rainbow. This was widely welcomed by journalists from all newspapers, and the image of Emma’s hand appeared 28 times in my material in individual articles. For instance, Mona Masri (Dagens Nyheter, 2013-08-17) wrote that: “Sweden is full of heroes who have refused to step back an inch from the demand for democracy.” A well-known Swedish publicist, Alex Schulman, also supported this action, saying “I was so proud to be Swedish, to be of the same nationality as Emma Green Tregaro. She showed with a simple gesture that she thinks it is wrong that Russian LGBTQI people have to wait a hundred years to be allowed to be open about their orientation” (Aftonbladet, 2013-08-18). Tregaro’s case illustrates the ease with which the Swedish discourse becomes a banal and everyday expression (Billig, 1995) of the moral righteousness of Swedes, here expressed in daring to partake in LGBTQI visibility in a country which, unlike Russia, does not place people’s rights “on hold.”

The article “Protection against submarines—or a waterproof personal ad?” describes how, in 2015, Svenska Freds, an NGO committed to disarmament, responded to Russian submarine activity in the Swedish archipelago in 2014 with a neon sign of a shirtless male sailor with the text (in Russian and English): “Welcome to Sweden. Gay since 1944” (referring to the decriminalization of male homosexual relations in Sweden), and by sending out underwater Morse signals saying: “This way if you’re gay” (Dagens Nyheter, 2015-05-14). This again simply asserted the fact that Sweden is “gay” and, in a tongue-in-cheek move, used sexuality to stave off a security threat, implying that the “homophobic” Russian submarines would be frightened off. This is underlined in Svenska Dagbladet (2015-07-26), which points out that “According to the ILGA (International Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Trans and Intersex Association), Sweden is Europe’s fourth best LGBTQ country.”

The image of Sweden in the media material has not been as uniform as that of Russia. Often, Sweden is said to have a distance to go before “full equality” is achieved:

Oppression of homosexuals is increasing in Russia, and in other parts of the world it is even worse. […] In Sweden, there is also a lot left to do before LGBTQ people are treated with the same obvious respect as others. (Göteborgs-Posten, 2012-07-09)

One recurring example is articles about homophobia in Swedish sports, e.g. hockey and football. Magnus Nyström, in an article in Expressen (2016-08-02) discussing the situation in Sweden, writes:

Of course there are world stars in hockey who are gay, but they choose a secret private life when we live in this world. This [for someone to come out as gay] is the next important step for a more tolerant hockey and sports world. (Expressen, 2016-08-02)

Football player turned LGBTQI activist Hedvig Lindahl says: “If a change is to be made [in Sweden], it is important that we show that here [in Sweden], in our sport, it is okay to be who you are” (Expressen, 2013-07-31). Similarly, the title of a Svenska Dagbladet (2013-08-21) article addressing heteronormativity in Swedish football reads: “Do not assume that everyone is straight.” In it, a researcher is quoted as saying: “society has moved on, but sport is quite conservative in general,” and the journalist notes: “no Swedish AllsvenskanFootnote 15 player has publicly come out.” In these examples, homophobia is never generalized to the national level but is rather seen in terms of individual cases. The sparing of explicit articulations of Swedish achievement might be attributed to this understanding being naturalized in the discourse of the Swedish Self. At the same time, there is a future temporality in the cautious formulations of Swedish development quoted above. These, viewed against a sounding board of the Russian homosexual having no future, provide the Swedish Self with a sense of purpose in the future-to-come.

Responsibility

The image of Sweden regarding the development of LGBTQI rights underpins an attitude toward Russia that has been continually articulated in terms of responsibility. Appearing briefly in a 1991 article, development and responsibility became linked around 2012. For instance, “A long way to go before equal rights” published on June 9, 2012 in Göteborgs-Posten formulates Swedish responsibility: “Sweden must continue to put the rights of LGBTQ people on the agenda […] in development aid, in diplomacy and through the EU” to combat “increasing oppression of homosexuals in Russia.”

Peter Rimsby, head of Stockholm Pride in 2013, welcomes the Foreign Minister Carl Bildt’s Twitter declarationFootnote 16 criticizing the “gay-propaganda law.” Rimsby says: “we [the organizers of Stockholm Pride] find the events in Russia outrageous” (Expressen, 2013-07-30). In another debate article (Dagens Nyheter, 2013-08-03), Rimsby further expresses the need to help Russia (which is singled out in the article due to Bildt’s reaction) and other countries:

Pride means pride, and we should be proud of what we in Sweden have achieved together. Now is the time to continue the fight for the human rights of LGBTQ people in other countries. Our representatives in politics, religion, and sports must take a stand and act for LGBTQ people living under oppression.

Thanks to the struggle that has been waged [in Sweden] for decades, this year we can celebrate Pride in Sweden for the sixteenth year in a row and feel that we have the support of large parts of Swedish society. But the fight is not over. We have a responsibility. We are needed. Setbacks replace progress. Now is the time for us to continue the fight for the rights of LGBTQ people. Our responsibility is greatest for people in other countries who are still living under oppression. (Dagens Nyheter, 2013-08-03, emphasis mine)

Here, Rimsby constructs the image of Sweden around the entwined elements of achievement and responsibility. Both are framed explicitly in temporal terms: because of what Sweden “has” already achieved, “the future” should be characterized by helping others. Although Russia is not singled out, comparisons with both Sweden of the past and the more homophobic outside, such as “Africa,” whose homophobia is “far away” (Jungar & Peltonen, 2017) are made in the search for a solution for Russia’s LGBTQI individuals, who are implicitly constructed in terms of closeness. Rimsby then positions Sweden as having recognized LGBTQI people’s “right to love fully” and cites the reception of Jonas Gardell’s drama series Never Wipe Tears Without Gloves (Torka aldrig tårar utan handskar), for which the Crown Princess awarded him a QX Gaygala prize, as an indicator of how far Sweden has progressed.Footnote 17

In the run-up to the 2013 World Athletics Championships, the responsibility to act vis-à-vis Russia is allocated, variously, to Swedish politicians and the UN (Johansson, Expressen, 2013); individual actions by sports people (Kjöller, 2013, Dagens Nyheter); the Swedish Olympic team (Forssberg, 2013-07-26, Expressen); the Swedish embassy, which was hesitating to raise the rainbow flag in Moscow (Paulsson, 2013, Aftonbladet); 350 Swedish companies in Russia, which were also recommended to display the rainbow flag during their operations (Ericson, 2013, Aftonbladet); and the prince of Sweden (Johansson, 2013, Expressen). A similar discussion unfolded regarding the need to demonstrate in Sochi and Moscow, instead of boycotting the 2014 Sochi Winter Olympics (e.g., Expressen, 2013-07-31; Göteborgs-Posten, 2014-01-18) and in the run-up to the 2018 FIFA World Cup.

In these articles, the motivation to help is undergirded by Sweden’s achievement but the help itself is often lacking. Frequently, as in Jonas Gardell’s “Putin’s triumph is our responsibility,” published in Expressen (2014-02-09), the stress on development obscures the link with why responsibility is necessary:

In our lifetime, homosexuals (homosexuella) in Sweden and parts of the Western world have experienced changes that no one could have dreamed of. […] We must react. We must act. Why? Because we can!

Rasmus Törnblom, chair of the Swedish Young Conservatives, in “M[oderates] should take the initiative for a Russian doctrine” published in Expressen on February 24, 2015, writes:

Sweden must be the leading voice against an aggressive, powerful, and undemocratic actor in our immediate area [Russia, which] violates both neighboring countries and people’s rights. […] Swedish values of freedom, openness, and respect for differences are defended even when it is inconvenient.

This example highlights how the image of the developed Self and responsibility reinforce each other; it shows how notions of geographical closeness (our immediate area), are woven together with Swedish responsibility. This is done by combining the notions of military threat, following the annexation of Crimea by Russia in 2014, and threats to the homosexual. Overall, these examples show how the Swedish Self is explicitly articulated in terms of responsibility because it serves as an example of values “worth defending.”

Reports from 2019 on the murder of the Russian LGBTQI activist Yelena Grigoryeva fit the established discursive pattern that “threats against homosexuals have become systematic” (Georgieva, Svenska Dagbladet, 2019-07-29, p. 23). This murder also provided an opportunity to make a comparison with Sweden in the lead article, entitled: “The homophobes here are at least ashamed” (Aftonbladet, 2019-07-30):

In Sweden, most politicians walk in the Pride Parade, and ministers and party leaders appear on the Pride Stage during the week. But even though we are ahead of many other countries on paper, it does not make everyday life as a queer easy—homosexuals are still discriminated against, bisexuals are made invisible, trans people are harassed.

Complicating the image of Sweden as a stronghold of tolerance, this journalist writes: “In Sweden, homophobia is not sanctioned by the state, and those who run homophobic policies at least try to hide it” (Aftonbladet, 2019-07-30).

Conclusion

In this article, I have shown that the construction of the image of Russia and the nodal point “homosexual” in Russia during the period 1991–2019 has drawn upon a set of interconnected temporal (absence of a future, lack of development), spatial (geographical closeness), and affective (loneliness, danger, homophobia) themes. The image of Sweden is most clearly underpinned by the temporal theme of achievement and the affective theme of responsibility. Constructions of temporal and affective difference shifted in my material, in intensity but not in kind, from ambiguous images of a Russia with a homosexual culture that cannot be easily explained in Western identitarian terms that have a clear place on the scale of progress, during the period until 2006, to increasingly fixing it in the position of a laggard, where LGBTQI rights, and human rights more generally, are worsening. Furthermore, the discursive representations of Russia analyzed in this article systemically overlook positive developments regarding the LGBTQI community in Russia and privilege suspicious interpretations of the Russian context. The twofold character of Russia’s image, constructed in terms of temporal difference and geographical closeness, reveals that, in Sweden’s sexually exceptional national imaginary, Russia is seen not only as a distant, backward, and homophobic Other (such as Africa, in Jungar & Peltonen, 2017), but also as a state in close geographical proximity, a part, along with several other postsocialist countries, of the Baltic region, toward which Sweden has a responsibility because of its achievements concerning LGBTQI rights and visibility.

My analysis in this article sheds light on the particular ways in which global and localized discourses of LGBTQI rights, homonationalism, and homophobia mutually construct each other and intersect in specific nation-state contexts. My analysis has shown that, since 1991, Sweden’s image of its own sexual exceptionalism and progressiveness has depended on the contrasting image of a non-tolerant and sexually backward Russia.

The focus on sexual exceptionalism in this article, rather than a broad notion of homonationalism, has highlighted the role of temporality in constructions of homophobia and homotolerance. The discourse of Swedish exceptionalism, which since the 1930s has revolved around Sweden’s national image as progressive, has privileged Russia as its Other, seen as lagging behind since the disintegration of the Soviet Union. The emergent discourse on Swedish sexual exceptionalism can already be seen at the beginning of the material in 1991, and in the debate on the Sex Purchase Law (1998). The need to position itself morally on the international stage meant that Swedish discourse could not accommodate alternative visions of sexuality that would belie the neo-abolitionist policy on prostitution or assimilationist tendencies regarding LGBTQ rights. Thus, any discursive visions of Russia as a utopia, which were present in the Swedish discourse during the early twentieth century, could not be applied to Russia’s 1990s or early 2000s. I have tentatively attempted to trace the contours of a transformation, in current homonationalist times, of the concept of Swedish exceptionalism that has historically taken the shape of a welfare, moral, and gender exceptionalism, showing how sexual politics is at the center of the Swedish international moral mission and its image of the Swedish Self.

Adding to studies of homonationalism as a “recent” phenomenon connected to geotemporal arrangements fomented by 9/11 in the American (and global) context (Kehl, 2018; Puar, 2007; Sörberg, 2017), this article has shown that the themes that have contributed to this discursive othering existed before the Russian “gay propaganda” law of 2013 and the American 9/11. Instrumentalization of the Other’s (Russian) homophobia and homonationalism of the Self are not unique to Sweden. Yet, as I have shown, the notion of sexual exceptionalism sensitizes us, from a temporal perspective specific to North/Western/Eastern Europe, firstly, to Sweden’s exceptionalism and especially its position as a morally and internationally superior nation and, secondly, runs parallel to the sexual othering of postsocialist Europe by Western Europe (Mizielińska & Kulpa, 2011; Renkin, 2009, 2016). Both of these processes situate countries along the lines of being morally superior/inferior, progressive/backward, homotolerant/homophobic. The discursive conditions of Sweden’s internationalism and progressiveness (as forms of nationalism) and parallel discourses of postsocialist homophobia have not allowed any articulations that would unmoor Russia from an image of sexual backwardness to emerge.