Between Contention and Consensus: Punk,(Welfare-State) Anarchism,and Autonomous Social Centers in 1980s Sweden

Abstract

The 1980s witnessed the rise of new protest movements across Europe, often influenced by punk and anarchism. While activism often ended in violent confrontations, contentious resistance was less prevalent in Sweden, where activists established and operated social centers through legally binding contracts and formalized associations, shaped by Sweden’s historical tradition of skötsamhet (i.e., respectability and accountability). This article examines two associations in two urban areas in Sweden: Ultrahuset in Stockholm and Vinterpalatset in Malmö. Through the framework of “welfare-state anarchism,” we highlight the dilemma in autonomous activism within a social democratic context: the tension between sustaining autonomy and preserving institutional legitimacy. While both groups were embedded in broader anarchist and punk milieus, they adopted different strategies in response to the local authorities. When evictions loomed, tensions with municipal actors escalated. Vinterpalatset preserved its cooperative stance, relocated, and continued its work; Ultrahuset chose confrontation, ultimately occupying and setting fire to the building.

Introduction

The 1980s witnessed the rise of new social movements across Europe, including the squatting, peace, and environmental movements. Among these, the squatting movement gained particular prominence. Inspired by anarchism, punk, and ideals of direct action and DIY culture, activists occupied empty buildings to protest housing policies and to create spaces that embodied their vision of society – an example of what is often called “prefigurative politics.” ¹ Other activists operated in rented houses, social centers, self-managed by activists. These centers became key nodes in transnational networks of urban activism, linking punks and anarchists across European cities. ² In many places, such as Amsterdam, Copenhagen, Zurich, London, and West Berlin, these movements frequently clashed violently with police. ³

In Sweden, a number of social centers emerged during the late 1970s and 1980s, often known as “allaktivitetshus” (multi-activity houses). These centers gathered punks, anarchists, and other activists engaged in a mix of political activism and cultural activities, strongly influenced by punk, anarchism, and DIY ideals. While activists generally sought autonomy and independence from state and municipal control, violent confrontations with authorities were initially rare in Sweden. Instead, activism was often characterized by forms of everyday resistance that challenged dominant norms through everyday practices.

This form of activism can be understood within the context of Sweden’s social democratic hegemony and its strong tradition of popular movements. Ideals such as respectability, conscientiousness, temperance, and self-cultivation, rooted in the historical labor movement, shaped the activists’ modes of engagement. ⁴ We conceptualize this as a form of “welfare state anarchism” (or folkhemsanarkism), a term coined by sociologist Håkan Thörn, where radical activism unfolds within a social democratic framework emphasizing negotiation, consensus, and cooperation with authorities. ⁵ This framework shaped how activists balanced desires for autonomy with pragmatic relations to the state and municipalities.

This article builds on research on Swedish social centers and focuses on two key case studies: In the early 1980s, the cultural association Ultra, got a demolition contract for a house in Haninge, south of Stockholm. The house, named Ultrahuset (“the Ultra House”), emerged as a self-managed cultural center rooted in the punk and alternative scene. In 1987, the municipality decided to redevelop the area, and following protests and a brief occupation, the building was burned down on August 20, 1988, the night before a planned police raid. ⁶

In mid-1980s southern Sweden, anarchists organized a traveling festival that strengthened regional cooperation and laid the groundwork for Vinterpalatset (“the Winter Palace”), founded 1987 in Malmö’s harbor area. The association operated under a legal demolition contract, maintaining positive relations with the city. In 1989, when the contract was terminated, activists chose not to occupy the building and reportedly received a financial settlement to leave peacefully. ⁷

We study how these two associations navigated between ideals of contention and consensus by analyzing their events and ideas with the concept of welfare-state anarchism. Both centers hosted a broad range of cultural and political activities, blending punk and anarchist ideals with the enduring influence of Swedish social democratic consensus cultures. At the same time, it is interesting to discuss them in relation to each other, as they used slightly different strategies to maintain their operations and also chose different paths in the face of the threat of termination.

We focus on the associations’ relations with local authorities, exploring how these relationships evolved over the decade and what strategies activists used to sustain their activities. This raises the key questions: How did these social centers negotiate their autonomy while operating within a political landscape dominated by social democratic welfare state ideals? What tensions and dilemmas emerged from their simultaneous desire for independence and need to engage with municipal authorities? And how did these dynamics shift as activism moved between more conciliatory, everyday resistance and more confrontational, contentious forms?

Material and Method

The study employs a qualitative, multi-source approach to investigate the relationship between autonomous social centers and local authorities in 1980s Sweden. By combining archival research, interviews, and media analysis, we aim to capture a comprehensive and nuanced understanding of the associations’ activities and interactions with municipalities.

The material studied in this article consists of a diverse combination of sources produced by the associations themselves, interviews with former activists, as well as reports from newspapers and magazines. For Ultrahuset, we have analyzed posters, letters addressed to the municipality and media, various texts, and cartoons produced during the occupation of the house. In addition, recordings of a municipal official in Haninge (available on YouTube) have been studied, along with activity reports and grant applications held in the Haninge municipal archives.

Regarding Vinterpalatset, we have conducted three in-depth interviews with former members, providing firsthand insights into the association’s internal dynamics and relations with local authorities. We have also made extensive use of the association’s archival material, which includes activity reports, meeting minutes, applications for police permits related to demonstrations, concerts, alcohol sales, radio broadcasts, and more. Of particular importance is the association’s self-published monthly magazine, along with flyers and event programs, which offer valuable perspectives on their activities and self-representation.

Although the material is somewhat scattered and varied in form, this multi-source approach has allowed us to capture different perspectives on the interactions between the associations and the municipalities. In our analysis, particular attention has been given to how activists, municipal officials, and politicians describe and perceive each other, as well as how the associations complied with – or resisted – the authorities’ demands concerning accounting, grant applications, permits, and other administrative requirements.

Everyday Resistance and Welfare-State Anarchism

In studies of activism and resistance, the focus has traditionally been on outward-oriented forms of contentious politics. However, resistance can also be enacted through mundane and routine practices – what scholars refer to as everyday resistance. This form of resistance involves actions embedded in daily life that have the potential to subvert or challenge dominant orders. According to Vinthagen and Johansson, everyday resistance consists of speech and practices that may contest hegemonic discourses or power structures. ⁸ They stress that both place and context play a crucial role in shaping how such resistance emerges and transforms over time. It is not uncommon for everyday resistance to evolve into more overt and confrontational forms of contention in response to external pressure or shifting circumstances. Importantly, everyday resistance is not in opposition to contentious politics; rather, the two often coexist and manifest differently depending on the situation. ⁹

In his study of activism in the squatted neighborhood of Haga in Gothenburg, Sweden’s second largest city, during the 1970s and 1980s, Håkan Thörn compares the local movement to the Danish squatting movement BZ, which was primarily active in Copenhagen. ¹⁰ While the Haga activists shared certain ideological affinities with BZ, the Danish scene was characterized by frequent and often violent confrontations with the police, as well as a general unwillingness to negotiate with authorities – traits largely absent in the Gothenburg context. Instead, the Haga activists employed humor and self-irony, which, according to Thörn, represented a conscious effort to distance themselves from the confrontational practices of their Danish counterparts. The tensions between a more militant or contentious form of activism and a simultaneous desire to act respectably and maintain constructive relations with local authorities are what Thörn has termed “welfare-state anarchism” (folkhemsanarkister). ¹¹

The concept draws on the hegemonic position Swedish popular movements – especially the labor movement – had established over the course of the twentieth century, culminating in the long-standing dominance of the Social Democratic Party, which held uninterrupted governmental power from 1932 to 1976, and again from 1982 to 1991. Thörn introduces the notion of welfare-state anarchism to highlight how activists navigated the seemingly contradictory ideals of anarchism and respectability, and the dilemmas that emerged from this balancing act. However, he does not fully develop the concept analytically. ¹²

In this article, we understand welfare-state anarchism as a position that combines contentious ideals – such as autonomy, resistance, and a willingness to bypass the law, when necessary, inspired by punk and anarchism – with values rooted in respectability, including law abidance, cooperation with municipal politicians, and a commitment to societal stability. Negotiation and representation are central components of this concept. We examine the relationship between activists and local authorities in the cases of Vinterpalatset and Ultrahuset, focusing on the dilemmas activists encountered and the strategies they employed. Through this analysis, we aim to shed light on the complex interplay between activists and the municipal authorities, and on how the associations navigated between overlapping and at times contradictory ideals.

Social Movements in Welfare State Sweden

Sweden has often been depicted as a country where change has primarily occurred through consensus and mutual agreements, with few violent conflicts. This has fostered discussions of a Swedish “exceptionalism.” ¹³ Recent research, however, has problematized this narrative, demonstrating that Sweden has experienced a range of protests and conflicts. For instance, tensions have for a long time arisen between social movements and the state. van der Steen contends that the differences between Sweden and other European countries such as Germany, Denmark, and the Netherlands should not be overstated and that the differences are more about differences between large and small cities. Even in many European cities, protest movements oscillated between ideals of negotiation and more militant resistance. ¹⁴

During the 1980s, the predominant form of activism and resistance in Sweden seem, however, to have been everyday resistance, where hegemonic norms and power relations were challenged mainly through everyday practices or more peaceful protests and with few contentious confrontations between social movements and the state. In the early 1980s, Swedish authorities typically viewed social centers as beneficial for young people who needed something constructive to do in their spare time. ¹⁵ Combined with a well-developed infrastructure system, this led to an explosion of social centers, especially in many of Sweden’s urban areas, and here many activists conducted activism as a form of everyday resistance.

However, during the 1980s, contentious conflicts between social movements and the state became more and more frequent also in Sweden, with an increasing number of incidents involving violent clashes between the police and squatters. Polanska has, for example, shown how the police began adopting more hardline strategies following the 1986 occupation of Skaraborgsvägen in Stockholm. ¹⁶ Previously, there had been a greater willingness to engage with occupiers, and Thörn describes how squatters in Haga were even invited to discuss housing policy on national television in the 1980s. Former squatters in Haga have said that they made an effort to behave appropriately, securing home insurance and legal electricity contracts while occupying apartments. By the end of the decade, anarchist groups in some of Sweden’s larger cities, such as Malmö, Stockholm, and Gothenburg, had become more militantly influenced. ¹⁷

Even though a more militant form of resistance increased in Sweden, especially in the bigger cities, the ideals of respectability seem to have prolonged, and activism oscillated between militant resistance and everyday respectability, revealing a complex and sometimes contradictory negotiation between autonomy, dissent, and dependence on local authorities. Many punks and anarchist activists seem to have maintained relatively good relationships with municipal authorities even amid conflicts, highlighting the ambiguous nature of their activism. ¹⁸ Activists often balanced conflict with cooperation, drawing on a shared cultural heritage of “folkhemmet” (the people’s home) and social movement traditions rooted in collective responsibility and dialogue. This ideal has a long tradition in Swedish society, rooted in the popular movements’ ideal of skötsamhet (respectability and accountability). Through public education, such as folk high schools (folkhögskolor ¹⁹ ) and study circles, the working class was expected to uplift itself. This also led to the development of a well-established infrastructure for associations. The habit of founding associations and applying for grants made it relatively easy to establish not only various social centers but also networks for music distribution, among other things. Combined with the anarchist punk wave of the 1980s, where DIY (do-it-yourself) was a fundamental ideal, this created a climate in which founding and running associations – whether they were critical of the state or not – were highly favorable. This, in turn, laid the groundwork for what we term welfare-state anarchism. This duality shaped how activists related to municipal authorities and influenced their strategies for maintaining autonomous spaces. So far, there is a lack of research on urban activism in social centers in Sweden during the period in question and how activists navigated between these contradictory ideals.

The Beginning: The Activism of Ultrahuset and Vinterpalatset

The 1980s saw the rise of a distinct “music house movement” in Sweden, driven largely by the influence of punk. Growing numbers of bands and underground cultural activities created pressure for rehearsal and gathering spaces outside traditional venues. Inspired by international trends, local punks pushed for multi-purpose cultural centers. ²⁰ The resulting explosion of bands and an alternative music scene operating outside traditional channels created new pressures on local infrastructure. At the same time, the idea of multi-purpose cultural centers was gaining traction internationally, further shaping the demands for a new type of cultural space. During the decade, anarchist groups also became increasingly prominent. Lundström describes how the meeting between anarchism and punk revitalized both movements. ²¹ It was within this socio-political culture that Ultrahuset och Vinterpalatset emerged.

In the early 1980s, the association Ultra got a demolition contract for the house that would become known as Ultrahuset. Located in Haninge, a municipality in the greater Stockholm area, the association operated there from 1980 to 1988. Ultrahuset soon became a vibrant hub for cultural activities, attracting young punks, anarchists, and other activists from all the entire Stockholm region. Ultra’s primary focus was organizing concerts; however, its daily operations also included acts of everyday resistance and political actions, such as demonstrations. Over the next eight years, Ultrahuset hosted hundreds of concerts, planned demonstrations, and organized a wide range of cultural and political activities. Ultra became known for their homemade cinnamon buns, which were baked and sold at cost price before each concert. Admission was free for those who could not afford it and all bands who wanted could play. ²²

In 1982, punk groups in Malmö staged actions to pressure the municipality, which eventually repurposed an old restaurant, Stadt Hamburg, opening it in 1984 as a café and concert venue managed jointly by the city and youth associations. Despite this, many activists sought broader support for youth culture. ²³ Stadt Hamburg became a hub for left-wing activists, including syndicalists. ²⁴ In 1986, a core group formalized their association with statutes declaring their purpose as a cultural support organization for the anarchist movement, focusing on cultural events as their primary activity. ²⁵

A central moment in the anarchist milieu in Sweden, and especially Vinterpalatset, occurred in 1986–1987. During the summer of 1986, a group of anarchists from across southern Sweden came together to organize a traveling festival called Glädjetåget (The Joy-Train). This initiative was facilitated by the recently formed anarchist network, the so-called A-network, which sought to strengthen connections between anarchist groups and associations in the region. Members from Ultrahuset also participated in the organizing and planning of Glädjetåget, when it came to Stockholm. An unofficial leadership role within this network was held by Stockholm’s anarchist association and café Svarta Månen (Black Moon), which also served as the editorial base for the long-standing anarchist magazine Brand (Fire), first published in 1898. The primary aim of Glädjetåget was to spread the anarchist message, but it also featured concerts, theater performances, and happenings to draw in a broader audience. ²⁶ The festival proved instrumental in building and reinforcing networks.

While Malmö had previously lacked a clearly defined anarchist group, the experiences and connections formed during the tour of Glädjetåget, catalyzed the emergence of one, and several anarchist activists from both Stockholm and other cities moved to Malmö afterwards and a new scene started to take shape in Malmö. ²⁷ And activists from Malmö, other southern cities, and Stockholm, including those linked to Stadt Hamburg, formed the core of what became Vinterpalatset. ²⁸ In March 1987, a contract was signed for a vacant former stevedoring company building on Vintergatan (Winter Street) in Malmö’s harbor, an area then rundown and marked for demolition. ²⁹ The 350-square-meter space, soon branded as Vinterpalatset after the street, was largely empty and needed renovation. Initial investments equipped a print shop, and later additions included a darkroom, workshop, and café/pub with a stage, reflecting the multi-purpose cultural center model. Unlike other southern Swedish music houses, ³⁰ Vinterpalatset hosted concerts, lectures, film screenings, radio broadcasts, fanzine publishing, and vehicle repairs. While the goal was to create a regional hub for anarchist activism, the center became best known for its cultural events and large parties. Political activities were harder to document but included collaboration with networks nationally and internationally, solidarity actions for occupied houses in Norway and Denmark, and several notable local initiatives.

The Relationship with the City and Various Authorities

What kind of relationship did Ultrahuset och Vinterpalatset have with the local authorities and others, and how did the municipalities view them? In both cases, the relationships appear to have been relatively positive in the beginning. Both Vinterpalatset and Ultrahuset valued their independence and sought to operate autonomously from the authorities. Nonetheless, neither association occupied their premises illegally ³¹ ; both held legal contracts for their respective houses. Their approaches to financial support, however, differed.

Ultrahuset applied for and received basic grants to support their activities, regularly seeking additional funding as well. Each year, the municipality approved a base grant for the association, and on one occasion, even increased Ultra’s requested amount from 15,000 SEK to 20,000 SEK. ³² At times, however, Ultrahuset submitted funding requests that might have been seen as overly ambitious by both the association and the authorities. For instance, in one year, in addition to their basic grant of 28,000 SEK, they applied for an additional 100,000 SEK, which was rejected. ³³ The following year, the year after Ultrahuset had burned down, the association submitted a request for 2.4 million SEK to build a new house – a sum that was also denied. ³⁴

Vinterpalatset, however, refused to accept financial assistance from the municipality. The legal contract with the city set an annual rent of approximately 60,000 SEK, which the organization struggled to pay during its two years of operation. ³⁵ Despite these challenges, they maintained detailed meeting minutes and annual reports and appeared to keep their paperwork well-organized. “Organized chaos” was a slogan the activists themselves used in contemporary newspaper articles. Their overall approach to dealings with the authorities was cooperative, perhaps as a strategy to avoid unwanted attention. While there is no evidence that Ultrahuset explicitly used the term “organized chaos,” the phrase could equally describe Ultrahuset’s activities. Ultra submitted their annual reports on time and attached minutes from annual meetings to the municipality, which made the municipality highlight them as an exemplary organization. At the same time, they resisted other ways of running an association, for example, everyone who entered the building automatically became a member but there was no membership fee and entrance to concerts were voluntary. They did not have any chairman in the association except for one time when a child was appointed as the association’s chairman. ³⁶

Vinterpalatset applied for permits when needed – for selling beer, organizing demonstrations, broadcasting local radio, and similar activities. The operation was defined by a strong drive for independence; they wanted to be left alone to create a free cultural zone. This commitment to autonomy was so central that it was explicitly included in the association’s statutes. As a result, they refused to apply for cultural or financial support from the municipality, even though they likely would have qualified. For them, maintaining independence was more important than compromising. However, this decision meant they had to fund rent and operations through other means. With limits on how much they could charge for membership fees, they became heavily reliant on hosting support parties and running bars. In hindsight, some activists have reflected critically on this approach, acknowledging that relying so heavily on beer sales may have been a mistake. ³⁷

Ultra, on the other hand, maintained its financial dependence on the municipality by applying for and receiving grants and were thus able to continue their activities without charging members or financing the activities in other ways. Despite financial grants, the municipality pretty much left them alone – at least for the first seven years or so – as long as they submitted their annual reports. For many years, Ultra operated without complaints or criticism from Haninge Municipality. On the contrary, municipal politicians and officials often spoke highly of the association, describing it in the media as a “lively organization with a fantastic range of activities.” ³⁸ Ultra was even held up as a model for other associations, especially for consistently submitting its annual reports on time. ³⁹ Officials also proudly noted that the association had brought recognition to Haninge “far beyond Sweden’s borders.” ⁴⁰

Vinterpalatset apparently tried to uphold positive relations with the authorities, even with the police with whom they maintained regular contact, largely due to threats from neo-Nazi groups. Street fights frequently erupted outside the building on Vintergatan, while shattered windows and spray-painted swastikas became recurring issues. On one occasion, someone even fired a gun into the house. Activists recalled instances when the police expressed support for them, even reminding them of their right to self-defense when under attack. A certain policeman, who shared sympathy for some of their causes, even visited as a lecturer or guest at several events. ⁴¹ Former members of Ultrahuset have recounted similar stories of good relations to the police, for example, stories about a police officer who would regularly stop by for coffee and conversations. ⁴²

At the same time, as activists in Vinterpalatset upheld the good relations with the municipality, certain groups from Vinterpalatset were involved in more contentious political activities. These included hiding refugees, assisting BZ activists with illegal occupations in Copenhagen, and other similar actions. Ultrahuset, also, conducted more contentious actions in parallel to upholding the good relations to the municipality. For example, they were not hesitant to criticize the municipality in connection with their grant applications. Among the documents submitted to the municipality, including annual reports, minutes from meetings, and funding applications, there were also flyers with statements like: “You who decide, tear down your own houses and you will feel how it feels,” or “To build for profit is to rape people and the land.” ⁴³ These slogans were aimed at criticizing the authorities’ plans to build housing on Ultrahuset’s site. Ultrahuset also employed humor and sarcasm in their interactions with the municipality. For example, in a 1984 activity report, they noted that unforeseen expenses might arise and added, “put away about 120,000 SEK for us,” while listing “lipstick” as part of their expense breakdown. ⁴⁴

Both Vinterpalatset and Ultrahuset can thus be seen as navigating a balance between a desire to break norms and operate independently of state interference and following a tradition of diligence and understanding of how an association could, or should, be run. They can thus be seen as strongly influenced by an ideal of respectability where good relations with local authorities are maintained. At the same time, their activities can be understood as a form of everyday resistance, where everyday actions and statements that potentially challenged norms and power relations were carried out in parallel. By combining respectability, everyday resistance with more pronounced anarchism, the activism can be understood as a form of welfare-state anarchy.

The End: The Fall of the Houses and Changing Repertoires

After operating for several years in their premises under demolition contracts, both Vinterpalatset and Ultrahuset eventually had their agreements terminated. Relations with the municipalities deteriorated, and in Ultrahuset’s case, significant conflicts arose between the association and the local government in Haninge municipality. As mentioned, Vinterpalatset had a contract allowing for occupancy with an annual rent of about 60,000 SEK. ⁴⁵ However, an additional agreement stipulated that the tenants acknowledged the building would soon be “sanitized” and that they could not demand alternative premises afterward. ⁴⁶ When an eviction notice arrived in early 1989, they faced a difficult choice: to leave quietly or to occupy the building, as several of their affiliated groups had done in other cities.

In 1987 the municipality, who wanted to build housing on the land where Ultrahuset stood, decided to terminate the demolition contract that allowed Ultra to use the house. Negotiations began between the municipality and Ultra, which attempted to convince the authorities to let them remain. While the municipality offered several alternative locations, Ultra deemed these unsuitable for their activities, and no agreement was reached. By the spring of 1988, Ultra was informed that it would need to vacate the house by September of that year. ⁴⁷ Ultimately, the association decided to occupy Ultrahuset and two smaller adjacent buildings. Although Ultrahuset was occupied on June 10, and the contract was valid until September, ⁴⁸ the police and authorities did not initially treat it as an unlawful occupation – except in the case of the two additional buildings. The police stated publicly that they would not take action as long as the original contract remained in effect. ⁴⁹ Negotiations with the municipality about new premises continued during the occupation but failed to produce a solution. The initially good relations between Ultra and the municipality now grew tense.

As tensions escalated, Ultras rhetoric became harsher. They described municipal representatives as liars, profit-driven and capitalistic in comic strips and statements. ⁵⁰ At the same time, inspired by the European protest and squatting movements, Ultra’s members began adopting more confrontational tactics, including wearing balaclavas, stockpiling paving stones, and constructing barricades from timber and barbed wire. ⁵¹ The municipality also adopted a harsher tone. In the media, politicians and bureaucrats now strongly criticized the association. They argued that the municipality had done everything possible to meet Ultra’s demands, but that the association’s expectations were unrealistic. However, there appear to have been disagreements within the municipality itself and various parties took sides for and against Ultra’s preservation or for Ultra to get access for a new house. ⁵² The municipality’s politicians were interviewed by the local newspaper about their views on the conflict with Ultrahuset, the answers were divergent from the Left Party’s (VPK), who expressed that “our hope is that all cultural associations will be given maximum opportunities to flourish,” ⁵³ to the Moderates (M) who were the harshest in their criticism, distancing themselves entirely from Ultra and declared that “Ultra should not have any premises,” adding, “The occupation is a disgrace, and we probably should have thrown them out earlier.” ⁵⁴ The Social Democratic Party (S), which governed the municipality and had previously maintained a good relationship with Ultra, often praising them in the media, now directed harsh critic against Ultra and argued that the association had been offered several equivalent alternatives to Ultrahuset, all of which had been rejected. ⁵⁵

After a two-month-long occupation of Ultrahuset and under the threat of a police raid, the squatters finally vacated the house. Rather than surrender, they moved to occupy another building, reportedly a former nursing school, and which the municipality earlier had offered Ultra to take over. Shortly after they left Ultrahuset, someone set the house on fire, and it burned to the ground. The following day, the police arrived at the location to which the activists had moved and arrested 103 squatters without encountering active resistance from the occupants. ⁵⁶ The occupation thereby ended more contentious than earlier, with occupation and a burnt-down house; however, Ultra’s contentious repertoire remained largely symbolic and no violent resistance against the police were conducted, and the paving stones were never used. After the house was burnt down, the association was split into two parts. Some activists continued their work by continuing arranging concerts in a new location, named Hunddagis in Haninge, and others at Café 44 in central Stockholm. However, the era of Ultrahuset was over.

In 1989, Vinterpalatset had been operating under its demolition contract for two years. During this period, the extensive house occupations in Copenhagen had gained significant attention, even in Sweden, particularly in Malmö. It was reasonable to assume that the city’s authorities were concerned about the possibility of similar actions taking place there. The contract explicitly stated that the association could not demand either an alternative location or financial compensation from the municipality when asked to vacate. As we have seen, Vinterpalatset was part of a broader European wave of house occupations, and several of its members had either participated in or visited occupied houses in cities like Copenhagen and Amsterdam. They also maintained close ties with the occupiers in Gothenburg and had organized actions in support of the Blitz house occupation in Oslo. ⁵⁷ The question of a potential occupation was most probably on the agenda in Malmö as well. In a spring 1989 interview with Karin, one of the leading activists, the topic was raised: “Occupation then, have you ever considered it?” Sure, she said, we’ve certainly discussed occupation as a method to highlight issues related to housing and urban planning, which is an important issue. However, she continued, despite its potential effectiveness, recent attempts in Sweden have often been short-lived. We don’t believe it’s a sustainable long-term solution, and therefore, we want to focus on more sustainable alternatives going forward. And that’s exactly what we want to focus on right now – the long term. ⁵⁸

What she referred to as the long term at that time was the new space they had secured to continue their work. After initially ignoring the eviction notice for a while, someone from the group eventually went to speak with the local officials. According to several interviewees, the group was offered a substantial amount of money by the city in exchange for leaving peacefully and not attempting to occupy the building. The sum mentioned by many was 70,000 SEK, though figures as high as 200,000 have also been suggested. ⁵⁹ While the details are hard to confirm, it’s clear that funds suddenly became available. As a result, Café Svarta Katten (The Black Cat) opened in the spring of 1989 on Bergsgatan, close to Möllevångstorget, long known as a hub for the radical movement in Malmö. They moved the printing press and photo lab they had established at Vinterpalatset to this new location, setting up again in the basement. The café was intended to serve as a café, information center, and lecture venue.

The activities at Svarta Katten were more limited and less extensive due to the smaller size of the premises and the fact that alcohol was not served. Nevertheless, the printing press – now operated by the association Frontmedia, which had been founded by Vinterpalatset – was fully functional, and the vegetarian restaurant in the café attracted people from well beyond the anarchist scene. As before, they organized concerts, albeit on a smaller scale, and lectures. They also ran a South Africa solidarity group and organized a study circle on “women’s cultural history,” among other activities. These operations continued until the spring of 1991. By that time, a more militant, so-called “autonomous” group had carried out a major action that attracted national attention. A large apartment building near Värnhemstorget in the northern part of the city, slated for demolition, was occupied between May and November 1990 in protest against housing policies. Here activists used a much more violent strategy, wearing balaclavas, building fences, refusing to negotiate with authorities and threatening with violence. After seven months of occupation, the Swedish National Task Force finally raided the house early one morning, removing the squatters. ⁶⁰ The dynamics had clearly shifted, and Malmö was now part of a broader international trend of protest and direct action.

Earlier though, the activists at Vinterpalatset, which had refused subsidies in order to continue to be autonomous, moved from its house without protest and started its operations in a new place. And so, the good relations continued with Svarta Katten. Ultra chose a different path. From being seen as a role model by the authorities, the relationship became very strained and harsh words were spoken from both sides. The house was occupied, and several conflicts and militant resistance repertoires were used, such as black masks, barbed wire, and the collection of paving stones, although there were no contentious clashes. There was also a rift within Ultrahuset between those who wanted to continue with passive resistance and those who wanted to make harder resistance. The ideal of respectability was questioned and challenged, in both Haninge in 1988 and in Malmö in 1990, by young squatters, who were influenced by European anarchist ideals and a more hardline approach to left-wing politics, but they do not seem to have been in majority in either the Ultra or Vinterpalatset associations.

While the activists aimed to create autonomous spaces independent of governmental control, they also navigated a system that provided them with access to resources such as grants, buildings, and legal support. The tension between these two aims – pursuing autonomy while benefiting from the welfare state – reveals much about the compromises inherent in their activism, and about the contradictions that arose as the activists sought to challenge the state while simultaneously relying on it for survival and legitimacy. The activists faced a dilemma between maintaining the positive relations with local authorities – thereby gaining access to grants and buildings – and striving to create an autonomous, free space, independent of governmental interference. In the end, it was the more passive resistance that won.

Although a more militant resistance also developed in Sweden during the decade and especially in urban areas, we can see how ideals of contention and respectability are mixed and blurred and how the associations oscillate between anarchist and punk-influenced contentious resistance repertoires and ideals of respectability where compliance with the law and a good relationship with the municipality’s politicians and officials are included. This tension appears to have been common among Swedish activists during the 1980s and we see it in both Ultrahuset and Vinterpalatset. Vinterpalatset took the offer of a new premises and started a café while Ultrahuset tried to occupy their house, but finally left for another building and there were never any violent clashes between the police and the occupiers, although the house was burned down to the ground. Even if the associations choose different strategies, and contention increased between them and the municipalities, the primarily good relationship between them seems to have been maintained. In the end, both associations got new buildings to continue their operations in. On the other hand, we can see that different groups within the associations advocated a more contentious activism related to more violent ideals of resistance.

Discussion: Autonomy/Collaboration/Dependence

How can we understand that the Swedish anarchist and autonomous movements, influenced by militant European protest movements, were simultaneously able to maintain good relations with the city authorities, write protocols, regularly submit activity reports, and even be praised by local politicians in the media? Both associations and their activities can partly be understood as part of a longer historical tradition in Sweden, rooted in the values of the labor movement, where ideals of respectability, popular education, self-cultivation, and the Social Democratic Party’s long period in government significantly influenced the development of the welfare state.

A key dilemma for both associations was how to conduct their activities while simultaneously engaging in political resistance, and without becoming dependent on the authorities. Both associations favored continuing dialogue and cooperation with the municipality, despite their anarchist and autonomous political ideals. However, the associations chose different strategies. Ultrahuset received state subsidies, which allowed them to offer low-cost or free admission to their concerts and provide opportunities for anyone to perform, something that was seen as important for their political ideological positions. This meant that they had a great deal of freedom to organize their activities. In contrast, Vinterpalatset rejected subsidies and, since most other sources of income were uncertain, relied instead on selling beer and organizing parties. While this approach felt somewhat at odds with their principles, it allowed them to remain independent from the authorities. Thus, the associations found different solutions to this dilemma, enabling both to continue their operations and maintain autonomy, at least for a while.

When studying the relations between the associations and the authorities, it becomes clear that the associations were not as autonomous as they often claimed or wished to be. In fact, they were highly dependent on the decisions and goodwill of local authorities. In order to keep their buildings, they had to send in the annual reports to the municipalities and follow directions from the municipality. This dependency became particularly evident when their contracts were terminated. The associations again took different approaches. While Vinterpalatset accepted the termination and relocated, Ultra at first refused to give up their space. The building itself held a significant meaning for the members who had operated the association there for eight years, during which time they had covered the walls with graffiti and writing, and Ultra chose to fight for the building through occupation, demonstrations, festivals, and petitions. The relationship between the associations and the authorities became increasingly strained, particularly at Ultrahuset, where criticism of politicians and bureaucrats intensified during the occupation of Ultra. Groups within both associations began to adopt more violent repertoires of contention, influenced by European protest movements. However, everyday resistance continued to be the most common form of opposition and violent resistance was never realized. Although resistance and protest in Sweden rarely escalated to violence, more protests became increasingly aggressive over time.

When analyzing Ultrahuset and Vinterpalatset through the concept of welfare-state anarchism, we have illuminated the dual nature of their activism. By operating as autonomous social centers, they sought to demonstrate how a different society could function, one based on self-management, cooperation, and resistance to state control. Ultrahuset, with its free concerts and open space for performers, embodied this ideal by creating a participatory culture that rejected the commodification of art and culture. Vinterpalatset, despite its rejection of subsidies, tried to build a space where anarchist principles could be realized, even if those principles were sometimes compromised by the need to sell alcohol for survival.

In this respect, it resembles many of the European protest movements that emerged in the 1980s and which influenced both Ultrahuset and Vinterpalatset. In these protest movements, prefigurative politics, punk, and DIY were strong ideals, and protests were often carried out through everyday resistance. The distinction between contention and negotiation were often blurry and complex. Even the most contentious and militant protest movements sought to achieve its objectives primarily through negotiations with authorities, and negotiation and consensus were often mixed with more contentious repertoires. ⁶¹

The concept of welfare-state anarchism provides a critical lens for understanding the tension between the autonomy these associations sought and their reliance on state resources. Both Ultrahuset and Vinterpalatset were enmeshed in the Swedish welfare state, which offered grants, legal protection, and infrastructure support. While the associations maintained their anti-authoritarian stance, they couldn’t – or didn’t want to – escape the benefits provided by the welfare system. Ultrahuset’s acceptance of state subsidies and Vinterpalatset’s reliance on the infrastructure provided by local authorities illustrate how their autonomy was constrained by the very system they sought to challenge. This paradox is central to welfare-state anarchism: it highlights the way in which activists attempt to create spaces of resistance and autonomy while simultaneously participating in and benefiting from the state mechanisms they critique. By integrating these perspectives, this study illuminates the complex and often contradictory nature of urban activism in 1980s Sweden. It shows how activists engaged simultaneously in contentious politics and everyday negotiation, continuously redefining the boundaries of autonomy, dissent, and cooperation in a welfare state context. This approach not only enriches our understanding of punk and anarchist activism but also contributes to broader debates about social movements operating within hegemonic welfare regimes. Both Ultrahuset and Vinterpalatset illustrate this contradiction, where their political goals were shaped by the need to navigate the welfare state, making their activism a complex negotiation between autonomy, resistance, and dependence. What is perhaps most characteristic of the Swedish examples discussed here is the tradition of working in associations with minutes being taken and activity reports submitted, coupled with anarchist political ideals. It was not until the later 1980s that more violent protests became more common.