In kitchens and pantries across Sweden, a quiet but determined movement is gaining momentum. Swedes, long known for their calm pragmatism, are now stocking up on food, blankets, and emergency cooking gear—not because of a passing fad, but in response to mounting fears of war in Europe. Recent government warnings and a renewed national defense strategy have prompted citizens to prepare for the unthinkable, blending practical survival with a dash of nostalgia and comfort.
At a bustling civil preparedness fair in south-west Stockholm, 71-year-old Sirkka Petrykowska summed up the mood. “I have bought a camping stove. I have taken a course on preservation in an old-fashioned way, where you can preserve vegetables, meat, and fruit that lasts for 30 years without a refrigerator,” she told AFP. “I’ve set aside blankets for warmth, I bought a gas burner for heating. I’ve also stocked up at my countryside home.” Her story is far from unique. Across the country, shelves are filling with canned goods, powdered milk, and even chocolate—items chosen as much for morale as for nutrition.
The Swedish Civil Contingencies Agency (MSB) has taken a leading role in encouraging this wave of preparedness. Their official advice is clear: every household should keep at least a seven-day supply of food and water, enough to bridge the gap until help can reach the most vulnerable, like the elderly or the sick, in the event of a major disruption. The MSB’s list of recommended foods reads almost like a survivalist’s shopping list: pesto, dried meat or fish, jam, chocolate, mashed potatoes, powdered milk, and biscuits. These items are chosen for their high fat and protein content, ease of storage, and long shelf life.
But it’s not just about calories. As Martin Svennberg, a business developer from Stockholm, explained to AFP, the psychological impact of familiar foods is just as important. “Stocking up on food that you like and that you eat in normal life, I think that is really important,” he said. “I mean when you go to your mum’s place or dad’s place and you get the food that they made for you as a kid, you get that sense of relief and nostalgia. The same thing goes for food in a crisis.” Svennberg has taken the advice to heart, stashing away 100 kilograms of flour, dozens of cans, and enough freeze-dried meals to last his family three months.
This surge in preparedness isn’t happening in a vacuum. Sweden’s heightened alert comes as European security concerns intensify, particularly after Russia’s annexation of Crimea in 2014 and its full-scale invasion of Ukraine. The Swedish government revived its “total defence” strategy in 2015, aiming to mobilize every sector of society—authorities, businesses, and ordinary citizens—to collectively resist armed aggression while keeping essential services running. The appointment of a Minister for Civil Defence and the annual Preparedness Week, held most recently in late September 2025, are just two examples of this all-hands-on-deck approach.
“Preparedness is not about fear,” a government spokesperson was quoted as saying. “It’s about resilience.” Still, the psychological toll is real. The MSB has twice mailed nationwide booklets explaining how to act in a crisis, first in 2018 and again in 2024. The latest edition triggered mixed emotions: a recent survey found that 39% of Swedes reported feeling “anxious” or “worried” upon receiving it, up from 24% in 2018. Yet officials argue that rising anxiety is a sign of growing awareness—a necessary step toward a more resilient society.
The numbers back up the sense of civic duty. According to a recent MSB survey of 2,000 people, 86% of Swedes believe their country is worth defending in the event of a military attack, and 76% said they would be willing to participate in the national civil defense system. These figures suggest a population not just bracing for hardship, but ready to play an active role in their nation’s defense.
Of course, practical challenges loom large. Sweden’s geography—its vast size and sparse northern population—means that most food production and imports are concentrated in the south. “A large part of food production is concentrated in the south... and the majority of imports also primarily arrive in these regions,” Oskar Qvarfort, an emergency planning officer at the Swedish Food Agency, told AFP. Transporting food to remote northern communities could become “a real challenge” if conflict disrupts normal supply chains, he warned. The government is now studying emergency distribution routes and backup logistics to prevent shortages during crises. Qvarfort drew a sobering parallel: “Ukraine is currently facing the same issue.”
Sweden’s approach to preparedness is rooted in individual responsibility, but it’s also deeply collective. The Swedish Food Agency’s website makes it clear: by ensuring their own families can survive independently for at least a week, individuals free up resources so that authorities can prioritize the most vulnerable first. “Meanwhile, society has time re-adjust so that everyone can get help,” the agency notes. This ethos—look after yourself so others can be helped—has resonated with many Swedes, who see it as both a civic duty and a practical necessity.
Preparedness Week, held each September, is a chance for authorities to drive home these messages. Workshops, public demonstrations, and even emergency cooking contests (where onlookers watch workers whip up meals using only non-perishable ingredients and camping stoves) are all part of the effort to make readiness feel accessible, not overwhelming. The events also remind Swedes that, in a crisis, physical needs change: “In a war scenario, people will be more physically active than under normal circumstances,” Qvarfort explained, noting that the average person would need about 100 extra calories a day.
The government’s call for readiness has not gone unanswered, but it has sparked debate. Some Swedes worry that constant reminders of looming threats only stoke anxiety, while others argue that honest communication is essential in a volatile world. What’s clear is that, as tensions simmer along NATO’s eastern borders, Sweden is determined not to be caught off guard—whether that means filling the pantry or learning to preserve food the old-fashioned way.
For now, the sound of tin cans being stacked in basements and the hum of new camping stoves are the quiet signals of a society on alert, determined to face uncertain times with as much resilience—and maybe even a little comfort food—as possible.
