Europe’s Raw-Material Needs Push Thousands Out Of Home In Sweden
JustinTanja Mattila and her husband had just splashed out about $300,000 on a new home on the outskirts of Kiruna in Northern Sweden when a letter arrived from the state-owned mining firm LKAB.
Tanja Mattila and her husband had just splashed out about $300,000 on a new home on the outskirts of Kiruna in Northern Sweden when a letter arrived from the state-owned mining firm LKAB.The wood-clad house is in an area that's likely to become unsafe because of movement underground, and they'll have to move. The couple had just relocated from a flat that's also due to be destroyed within a few years."It was a shock. We planned to stay here at least until we retire," said 54-year-old Mattila, who teaches Finnish and Meankieli, a minority language. "A lot of people are unsure about their future."
Europe has long been dependent on other parts of the world for raw materials, but increased geopolitical tensions and trade disputes mean old supply chains and relationships have frayed, creating a push to develop more supplies at home. The town of Kiruna, sitting on iron ore and, crucially, rare earth minerals, is feeling the brunt of that shift.
The question is how far are governments willing to go to access commodities and what price will local communities pay?
Iron, for example, is key for strategically important steel, used not only in cars and construction but in the military equipment Europe is racing to produce. LKAB plans to boost volumes by up to 50% in the next decade. That's also in the company's interest; Iron ore costs just over $100 a ton, so huge amounts are needed to turn a profit.But the jewel in the crown at Kiruna is Per Geijer, just north of the town. It's one of Europe's biggest deposits of rare earths, vital for products like electric cars and smartphones. The European Union, in its push for critical raw materials, has designated the find a strategic project. The deposit is still being investigated and it may take another decade to start mining.
Right now, China dominates the rare earths market, and it's using that as leverage against the US, threatening curbs on exports, with implications for European industry."If you want self-reliance, you need to mine," said EU Industry Commissioner Stephane Sejourne, who visited the town last month. "Kiruna sits at the heart of Europe's strategy for economic sovereignty and competitiveness."Modern Kiruna, far above the Arctic Circle, was founded around the turn of the last century, but there have been Sami and Finnish-speaking settlements in the area for far longer.
In August, the town was in the spotlight when its delicate wooden church was slowly moved 5 kilometers (3 miles) to a new home, away from the seismic rumblings of the world's biggest underground iron ore mine.The move — a massive feat of engineering — was streamed on the internet, clips viewed millions of times. On the route, locals cheered and Eurovision winner Carola sang from a nearby stage.Just over a week later, the feel-good vibe was cut short when the letters started arriving. At a town gathering, LKAB said 6,000 more residents would have to move. The company is paying for the relocation and says it's working to ensure a strong community.
LKAB is small in global terms, but it accounts for almost 80% of Europe's iron ore production. Its ore is shipped as pellets and is considered among the highest quality. According to CRU Group in London, demand may increase in the coming years as steel makers try to reduce emissions by using pellets instead of dirtier products.The Kiruna mine is vast, with the main level almost 1.4 kilometers underground. At the start of the exploration tunnel to Per Geijer, a sign in Swedish reads the "The mine of the future."A lot of the traditional dirty and heavy work has been automated. In one room, operators control machinery with joysticks and Xbox controllers. But there's still a need for old-fashioned blasting, and every night, vast amounts of rock are obliterated.
In 2004, LKAB announced a multi-decade project to demolish part of the town and move businesses and an initial 6,000 residents into new buildings.For Fredrik Spett, who owns a local grocery store, the worries really began one morning when his front door was sticking on floor tiles that had risen because of mine work.On a recent weekday, he pointed out where a brick door frame had cracked. Having watched the wrecking ball come for many of his customers' homes, the grocer has to accept that his beloved shop is next.
"If you live in Kiruna, you know what living over a mine means," Spett said. "Still, I never thought the impact would be this much."Across the road, in the Arctic Eden Hotel, owner Jan Gronberg has also struggled to keep his spirits up."When this happened, it was just like everything went pitch black," he said. "It's hard to find the motivation."
Gronberg, like others, has moved before, when the demolition crews came for his previous business closer to the mine. The hotelier is trying to find out from LKAB what they can offer him now."No one is going to be left on their own," Ebba Busch, minister of energy and enterprise, said after a recent visit. "It is a matter of survival for Kiruna, but also a matter of sovereignty as a country and as a union as well."The face of the town's official response to the Aug. 28 announcement is Mats Taaveniku, a former management consultant turned Social Democrat.
In the town hall — the first major building in the new town center in 2018 — Taaveniku points to a red ribbon running across a scale model. It shows the previous limit for demolition.He hasn't threaded the new line yet, but suggests it should be "black… for mourning."Taaveniku said he got barely a heads up from LKAB, and that it was a shock for everyone coming so soon after the church move.
LKAB knew about the new impact line for some time, but says communication could only happen after it had assessed issues like costs.Across a roundabout from the Arctic Eden, the destruction of Kiruna's old center creeps forward. On a recent morning, a digger scraped at the concrete shell of the Ferrum hotel, sending dust and a metallic whine into the air.Opposite, some graffiti read: "Is this what happens to a town no one cares about?"
