The discovery of a leather-bound booklet, tucked away in the remnants of an estate, offers a compelling glimpse into a complex and often overlooked chapter of Swedish history during World War II. Inscribed in meticulous German script, the booklet contains a heartfelt expression of gratitude from 83 refugees, thanking Professor Gunnar Dahlberg for his tireless support. Among the signatories are names that resonate with historical significance: Max Hodann, a prominent sex educator and physician who served in the Spanish Civil War, and Annie Spitz, a Czech physician immortalized in a portrait by Lotte Laserstein. The booklet, dated 1943, serves as a poignant reminder of Dahlberg’s often contradictory role: a prominent figure in Swedish racial biology who simultaneously championed the cause of refugees fleeing Nazi persecution.
The juxtaposition of Dahlberg’s leadership at the State Institute for Racial Biology from 1936 to 1956 with his active involvement in aiding refugees presents a seeming paradox. However, this duality becomes less puzzling when examined within the context of the era. In 1933, a ”Committee for Refugee Intellectuals” was established in Sweden, with Dahlberg serving first as secretary and later as chairman. This committee, spearheaded by influential figures like Mia Leche-Löfgren, Selma Lagerlöf, and Östen Undén, launched a public appeal for support for refugees fleeing Nazi Germany. This appeal, dubbed the ”Scandal Appeal” by right-wing factions, sparked intense debate and laid bare the deep divisions within Swedish society regarding the acceptance of refugees.
Dahlberg’s journey to this pivotal role began in the 1920s at the newly established Institute for Racial Biology in Uppsala. Working alongside his wife, Stina Dahlberg, under the controversial Herman Lundborg, Dahlberg’s early research focused on twin births, devoid of any racial implications. However, likely due to conflicts with Lundborg, the Dahlbergs departed the institute. Interestingly, Dahlberg emerged as a vocal critic of racism and Nazism in the early 1930s, publicly challenging the notion of a superior ”Nordic race.” His staunch opposition to these ideologies even led to a physical altercation with Nazi sympathizers during a lecture. Dahlberg belonged to a younger generation of geneticists who leaned left politically and rejected the concept of racial hierarchies, viewing Lundborg’s theories on ”racial mixing” as dangerous nonsense. While not entirely dismissing the concept of race, they vehemently denied its connection to inherent qualities or human worth.
The transition of leadership at the institute upon Lundborg’s retirement in 1935 became a battleground of scientific and ideological conflict. The government, aiming to steer the institute away from Lundborg’s racially charged research towards a focus on heredity, favored Dahlberg. However, the institute’s board, with members sympathetic to Nazi Germany, supported Torsten Sjögren, a psychiatrist with ties to international racial biology networks. The board’s appointment of prominent racial biologists with Nazi affiliations as expert advisors seemed to seal Dahlberg’s fate. However, through a political maneuver orchestrated by Gunnar Myrdal and Herbert Tingsten, with the apparent backing of Östen Undén, Dahlberg was unexpectedly appointed as the new director in 1936. This intervention, though ethically questionable by today’s standards, effectively blocked Nazi influence over the institute.
Dahlberg’s commitment to aiding refugees intensified during his tenure as director. In 1938, he proposed inviting ten Jewish medical experts, barred from practicing in Germany, to Sweden. While initially supported by the National Board of Health, the proposal faced fierce opposition from right-wing doctors and media, culminating in a contentious public meeting. Despite the resistance, Dahlberg and the Committee managed to assist numerous refugees, with some finding employment as archivists at the institute itself. This may explain the meticulous organization of the institute’s archives at the Carolina Rediviva library.
While Dahlberg actively combated Nazism and antisemitism, his continued use of the term ”race” raises questions. This may have been a strategic decision to dismantle the concept from within, or perhaps a reflection of the limitations of the scientific vocabulary of the time. Even UNESCO struggled to find a suitable replacement for the term in 1951. As historian Martin Ericsson argues, Dahlberg’s actions were not despite his being a racial biologist but because he was a particular type of racial biologist, one who actively challenged the prevailing racist ideologies. The term ”race” persisted in Swedish textbooks until the 1970s, highlighting the slow pace of scientific paradigm shifts.
The rediscovered booklet and Dahlberg’s preserved archive serve as tangible reminders of a complex historical narrative, one that underscores the bravery and resilience of refugees and the often unsung efforts of individuals like Dahlberg who fought against the tide of prejudice and hatred. Their stories, largely absent from mainstream historical accounts, deserve to be unearthed and understood within the broader context of the struggle against Nazism and the fight for human dignity. This narrative also serves as a cautionary tale about the insidious nature of racist ideologies and the importance of critical engagement with scientific discourse, even within seemingly objective fields like biology. The booklet’s inscription, a testament to Dahlberg’s humanitarian efforts, stands in stark contrast to the darker aspects of his professional life, underscoring the complexities and contradictions inherent in human nature, especially in times of crisis.
