For anyone who has dealt with foreigners in Scandinavia, it has become a common pattern. Nevertheless, it is shocking every time. Immigrants and refugees are welcome to contribute to society by paying taxes. However, when it is time to use the welfare goods these taxes fund, the situation changes completely.
Denmark, Sweden, and Finland are unique among EU countries. The payout of largely tax-financed unemployment benefits in these countries depends on prior registration for a voluntary unemployment insurance. Payments to this insurance are as low as 10 Euros/month. Labor unions have long argued against abolishing this system. However, the consequence is that it shuts out most recent immigrants who have not somehow stumbled upon this rule.
A second aspect is that people without national registration numbers are treated as only half-human. Access to these numbers is unnecessarily restrictive. While one can have the right to live and work in Scandinavia under certain circumstances, having a national registration number is crucial. Given the digitalized state of everything, life is not easy without this number. For a Norwegian, Swede or Dane, obtaining a national registration number is straightforward. They simply walk into a population registration office in one of the other two countries. This is done when registering a new site of residence. For other EU citizens it can be slightly more complex as they need to prove employment. For all others, it can turn out to be impossible.
A third problem for this family is their place of origin: Ukraine. Our Scandinavian governments have decided they want to help the war effort in Ukraine. And somehow, this has led to treating families from Ukraine unfairly. It seems as though they do not have a need for a peaceful life like everyone else. At the start of the way, it was acceptable for an SVT reporter to question a Ukrainian father’s decision not to join the war. Now our institutions make life impossible for Ukrainian families with kids. They seem to hope that some Ukrainian fathers will return to Ukraine. If these fathers actually do that, there is a likelihood that he will end up in the meat grinder that the war has turned into. Consequently, the children may grow up without a father. No-one would ever expect this level of sacrifice from a Scandinavian family.
Norwegians and Danes are known for their inflated egos in relation to others. Relatively well-working social services and high income levels seem to give some the idea that it is OK to treat others as unworthy of normal humane treatment. Sweden, with slightly lower income levels, is not as known for this, but as the interview below shows, also Swedish migration authorities can have the audacity to ask for payments of large sums of money without any prior announcement or contract.
In Scandinavia, we often highlight the immorality of the US charging taxes or social security payments from “illegal” immigrants. These immigrants, in turn, are never able to receive anything back. In reality, examples like that of Yevhenii Verkhovych illustrate that our institutions are acting similarly. Social services are only something national citizens can truly rely on. This is true even if all tax payers finance them.
Interview with Yevhenii Verkhovych
Yevhenii Verkhovych (42) is a father of four currently living in the village of Sveg, Jämtland county (pop 2547). Verkhovych has shared a large number of document his story.
Q: Who exactly is your family?
A: We are a Ukrainian refugee family of seven — myself, my wife Valeriia, our four children, and my elderly mother. Our children are Mariia (16), Oksana (8), Yaroslav (3), and Lev — our youngest — who was born in Sweden in February 2025. My father passed away a few years ago.
I was born and raised in Kyiv. My wife Valeriia is from Pokrovsk, in Donetsk region — a city that has now been almost entirely destroyed by the war.
At the time the full-scale invasion began, we were living just outside Brest, in Belarus. I had been working there on a temporary contract. We do not hold Belarusian citizenship — we were there only for work. But after the war started, the atmosphere changed rapidly. The area became heavily militarized, with large movements of Russian troops and military vehicles. Pressure from local authorities increased as well.
We couldn’t go back to Ukraine. Our apartment is in a building that was severely damaged during the first wave of attacks. A missile hit the neighboring block, and the explosion blew out all our windows and doors. It wasn’t safe — especially with small children.
We didn’t want to stay in Belarus either. Personally, I could not justify paying taxes to a country that was actively supporting the invasion of Ukraine. So we made the decision to leave — first through Poland, and then to Sweden. I had a few former colleagues here, and Sweden felt far enough from the frontlines to give our children a chance at safety and normal life.
That’s who we are: a regular family trying to protect our kids from war, seeking safety — and doing our best to rebuild a peaceful life from scratch.
Q: When did you come to Sweden and why did you end up in the village of Sveg?
A: We arrived in Sweden on March 15, 2022, shortly after fleeing through Poland.
At first, the Migration Agency placed us in a closed facility in Lidingö, near Stockholm — a former preschool that had been converted into temporary housing. The conditions there were basic but acceptable. Later, we were moved to another facility in Kista, also in Stockholm, where the situation was much worse. Our entire family was placed in a single small room, with no privacy or space for the children. The conditions were chaotic and deeply stressful, especially for a family with young kids.
By that time, I had already found employment. We wanted our children to live in safe and humane conditions, so we made the decision to move out as soon as possible. I didn’t yet know the housing market well, but after a quick search, we found an apartment in Sveg that matched our needs in terms of price and space.
We have always liked small towns, and with everything happening so fast, we didn’t hesitate. We relocated to Sveg on 15 June 2022 and have been here ever since.
Q. What is the current legal status of your family?
A: All members of our family are currently under temporary protection status in Sweden, based on the EU’s Temporary Protection Directive (2001/55/EC).
None of us applied for this status. We had initially submitted asylum applications in March 2022 and remained in that process for over two years. Then, in February 2024, we were reassigned to temporary protection without our consent or any signed request.
Later, in August 2024, the Swedish Migration Agency formally refused to examine our asylum claims — stating that we were already under temporary protection.
When our fourth child, Lev, was born in Sweden in February 2025, we were told we had to submit a request for temporary protection on his behalf — because no other option was available. But as of today, he still has not been issued any valid ID or registration number.
That is our current legal position.
Q. You worked in Sweden for some time. What was that about and did you pay taxes other fees differently from other people at your job?
A: Yes, I worked full-time in Sweden from May 2022 until February 2025. I was employed first by Capgemini, and then by Tietoevry, as a Senior Software Engineer on digital infrastructure projects for Region Stockholm. My main role was backend development, mostly in Java and Spring.
I paid full taxes (about 640.000 kr for three years) and fees like any other employee in Sweden. I received no special tax treatment or public support during that time — we lived entirely self-sufficiently and rented housing on the private market.
Q. During that time, did employer, labor union representative, or anyone else in the system tell you that you should sign up for an A-kassa or similar in order to be socially insured?
A: No, unfortunately no one ever explained the A-kassa system to me at the time. I asked my employer about it once, but never received a clear answer, and since I was working full-time, I didn’t give it much thought. I assumed it might be handled automatically or included through payroll.
In the summer of 2024, I finally realized how it worked and signed up. I’ve been paying into the system since then. But from what I understand, I likely won’t qualify for any unemployment benefits, because I didn’t meet the contribution time requirement before losing my job.
Also, I do not have a Swedish personal identity number (personnummer), so even if the timing had been perfect, access to such benefits would probably have been blocked anyway — as it often is for those without personnummer.
So unfortunately, that path is closed for us.
Q. How do you survive now?
A: After my last salary in March 2025, we relied on what was left — some small savings, help from a few friends, and selling off personal items where possible. The birth of our fourth child came with many expenses, and the apartment we were placed in was completely empty. We had to buy everything ourselves — even basics like lamps and kitchen items.
Right now, we are doing our best to get through each month. I am actively looking for work, but it’s a difficult period. Our newborn son needs constant care, and we also have a three-year-old who is not yet independent. We are not eligible for proper preschool access, only a few hours a week at best — and even that is not guaranteed when both parents are technically “unemployed”.
My wife needs support with the children, especially in these early months, and I also take care of my elderly mother, who sometimes needs help due to her health.
In addition, I’ve had to spend much of my time dealing with legal and administrative matters — appeals, letters. That takes time and energy as well.
The job market in IT has become more difficult in Sweden, especially for remote roles. We live far from major cities, so relocation would also require support — which we currently do not have.
So we manage — but it’s not sustainable for long…
Q. What do you think the Swedish Migrationsverket is trying to get you to do without money? Have they communicated anything? Has any other Swedish institution said anything?
A: We honestly don’t know what the Swedish Migration Agency is trying to achieve — but from how it looks on our side, it feels like they want to pressure us into leaving voluntarily. Not through deportation, but by slowly cutting off all support and then introducing pressure points.
To be accurate — the only financial assistance we ever received was a small monthly amount paid to my wife in 2023 and early 2024, because she was not working and caring for the children. It was about 1,800 SEK per month.
But in the summer of 2024, these payments were suddenly stopped. The Migration Agency said that, under the Swedish Family Code, the husband is responsible for supporting his wife — because I was employed at the time. We appealed the decision, explaining that she had no independent income and that caring for multiple children, including a toddler, made employment impossible. But the appeal was rejected, and the payments were never resumed.
Since then, we have received nothing — not even for our children.
In the spring of 2024, knowing that I might lose my job — our only source of income — I wrote to the Migration Agency and asked if they could provide housing, just in case. It was a preventive step to avoid being homeless with children if I became unemployed. They gave us an apartment — completely empty, without lamps, curtains, or furniture.
I asked the local housing contact from the municipality several times whether we would need to pay anything or sign a contract. They said they didn’t know yet — “it will be decided later.” There was no contract, no agreement, and no stated amount. So I assumed that nothing was expected until something formal was arranged.
Then, after I officially informed the authorities that I had lost my job and that our fourth child had just been born, the Agency sent us a retroactive invoice — demanding 67,410 SEK for the previous 11 months. It came out of nowhere.
To this day, no contract has ever been presented to us. The timing — immediately after we reported the birth and our loss of income — made it feel like a deliberate form of pressure, not an administrative oversight.
So in the end, we’re left to interpret the silence. And what it suggests is simple: “There’s no place for you here.”
Q. The Ukrainian government has been negotiating with the EU for the EU to send back men that the Ukrainian government believes have left the country “illegally”—in order to fight in this current war. Could this be an option in the case of your family? How would going back to Ukraine impact your family?
A: We left Ukraine legally, with proper documents, and entered the EU legally. All of this is on file with the Swedish authorities.
Under Ukrainian law, men with three or more children are generally not subject to military draft. I meet that condition. However, I have still received several draft notices at my registered address in Kyiv — and neighbors have confirmed that officials continue to search for men, even those with legal exemptions.
In any case, I would not return to Ukraine to take part in the war. This is not about fear — it is about personal conviction. I cannot accept the idea of killing another person. My family and I are vegetarian for ethical reasons, and that belief extends to all forms of violence. For me, taking up arms would mean betraying everything I believe in. I would rather risk my own life than take someone else’s.
Our only goal is to keep our children safe and away from conflict.
My wife’s family home in Pokrovsk (Donetsk region) has been destroyed — the building is no longer habitable. My childhood home in Kyiv was damaged in the early days of the war. So even in practical terms, there is nowhere to return to.
Frankly, I find the question difficult. We are a family with four children, including a newborn. Returning to a country under daily missile attacks, where civilians continue to die — that is not a real “option.” It would be irresponsible and dangerous for our children, and against everything we came here to protect them from.
Q. Have you heard of other Ukrainians being in a similar situation?
A: Yes, we’ve heard of several similar cases — both through personal contact and through the media.
One of our neighbors, also a Ukrainian woman with a child, arrived in Sweden in an old Skoda Octavia (from 2000) — it was barely functional, covered in rust. She received no financial support for nearly six months. The authorities demanded that she sell the car before being eligible for assistance — even though the car was registered in Ukraine and had almost no resale value. In the meantime, she relied on help from volunteers and neighbors, including us. Eventually, after several months, the Migration Agency relented and paid her the support retroactively, admitting no fault but quietly correcting the issue.
We’ve also heard of other Ukrainian families who were denied support at first but later received payments — sometimes after periods of employment or after contesting a decision. I don’t have detailed records of these cases, as they were mostly shared through informal networks, but such stories are common and circulate widely in the Ukrainian community.
As for retroactive housing invoices — there is at least one documented case from the Swedish magazine Hem & Hyra, where refugees were charged for housing retroactively, but only for two months. Public backlash followed, and the authorities quickly admitted that it was a mistake. In our case, however, the Migration Agency issued a retroactive bill for eleven months — without any signed contract — and has not backed down, despite our repeated objections.
So while similar situations exist, ours has escalated far beyond what others seem to have faced — and with no correction or explanation so far.
We’ve filed multiple formal appeals and administrative complaints — to courts, authorities, and ombudsmen. Most of them have been rejected or ignored. I can share documents if useful.
Before fleeing Ukraine, I worked in legal and operational support roles related to ICT (information and communications technology) in international organizations — including the United Nations and the International Committee of the Red Cross. My responsibilities included establishing new field offices in conflict-affected areas of Ukraine, which is also where I met my wife. While I was not a human rights specialist, working in such environments inevitably gives you a sense of what humanitarian protection is supposed to mean — and what people under international protection can reasonably expect.
But despite that experience, our current situation in Sweden has been overwhelming. I do not speak Swedish and rely entirely on translation tools. We have no access to free legal assistance. With four children — including a newborn and a toddler — and my wife unable to work, I am under constant pressure to navigate this legal and bureaucratic maze alone while trying to find employment. These circumstances are simply incompatible with rebuilding our lives right now. We need some degree of stability first — only then can we reintegrate and contribute.
I am not looking for special treatment. We only want what any family in our situation should be able to expect: protection, dignity, and a fair chance to rebuild our lives.