What would a Swedish mine be without a party? On metals, minerals, and love during the “green” transition: Climate propaganda in The Swedish Mine advertising campaign

Despite the crucial role mining plays in the green transition and in Sweden’s ambition to become the first fossil-free welfare state and to aid the Global South with the help of green technologies (Arora-Jonsson, 2019), political and economic motivations for meeting climate targets often differ from socio-environmental concerns and public perceptions (Crowley-Vigneau et al., 2022). Achieving greater mining acceptance in society demands both popular approval and a positive relationship with communities in extractive zones, known as a “social license to operate” (European Environmental Bureau, 2021; Lesser, 2021; Poelzer et al., 2020; Tarras-Wahlberg, 2014). In Sweden, social movements of mining resistance by environmental activists, independent journalists, and Sámi Indigenous populations are a recent and growing phenomenon, with conflicts likely to increase (Beland Lindahl et al., 2018; Global Environmental Justice Atlas, n.d.; Gruvfritt JokkMokk, n.d.; Norrlandsparadoxen, n.d.; Suopajärvi et al., 2016; Zachrisson & Beland Lindahl, 2019). Issues like environmental justice, land and human rights, corruption and clientelism (Lawrence & Moritz, 2019), and terms like greenwashing and green colonialism are often raised in protests, denouncing land and people dispossession (Everljung, 2021a, 2021b).

Mining resistance underscores inextricable links between identity politics, minority rights, and mining expansion in increasingly contested socio-legal spaces (Raitio et al., 2020) sometimes referred to as “green extractive sacrifice zones” (Zografos & Robbins, 2020; Össbo, 2023). Moreover, there is concern that market pressures override concerns about environmental degradation and a sentiment that governments are complicit in corporate takeovers in breaking new mines (Everljung, 2021a, 2021b). It is also uncertain whether new working models and automation in mines yield added fiscal benefits for communities in mining localities (Tarras-Wahlberg, 2023), and frontline populations therefore often view corporate and government promises of work opportunities and improved welfare as false (The Swedish Mine Myth, 2022). In addition, recent controversial decisions regarding new mines such as Gállok in Northern Sweden have reached global audiences due to wide media coverage (Andersen, 2018; Dahlberg-Grundberg & Örestig, 2017). This includes a former industry minister’s infamous claim, “I love mines!” (SVT Norrbotten, 2021, 2022) and mining executives’ racial attacks on reporters (Röstlund, 2022), which escalated mining resistance in Sweden while The Swedish Mine campaign was active in 2021, prior to the Gállok mine approval in early 2022.

Less scholarly attention has been paid to mining resistance among metropolitan publics. Some industry publications claim environmental protesters mislead more generally environmentally conscious urban audiences into negative perceptions about mining (Bitz Magasin, 2020). Moreover, recent surveys linking consumer habits to environmental sustainability show that awareness of climate change differs significantly by gender, age, and political preference in Sweden. For instance, climate awareness and anxiety are higher among young urban women with high cultural capital who are more likely to adopt sustainable lifestyles and identify more with sustainable brands and products (World Wildlife Fund & Kantar-Sifo, 2021). Also, this group is politically more progressive and more likely to engage in climate action in civil society organisations and on social media (Fritz et al., 2021: 884–885).

The same younger audiences, influenced by identity politics and anti-racist movements, demand more diverse cultural, racial, and gender representations in media, and to mitigate representation issues, intersectional approaches have been recommended (Sveriges Kommunikationsbyråer & Geena Davis Institute, 2021). In response, commercial actors have increased racial and ethnic diversity in advertising to reflect Sweden’s rapidly changing sociocultural demographics. A study suggests, however, that people of colour appear mostly in the background or play minor roles, which is known as tokenism. It uses minority discourses and othered identities to fill representation gaps, leading to a structurally ineffective multiculturalism (Osanami Törngren & Ulver, 2020; Ulver, 2021). Kanai and Gill (2020) have included tokenism as part of “woke capitalism” in a critique of neoliberal exploitation of radical politics they define as a “dramatically intensifying” trend by power elites of featuring historically marginalised groups in advertisements in order to convey progressive values to socially conscious audiences.

Regarding increasing environmental awareness and a more complex digital media landscape reaching younger global audiences, the mining sector faces reputation risk due to the industry’s potential to cause environmental damage (European Environmental Bureau, 2021: 3). Mining companies are therefore increasing their focus on ethical and environmental issues, and as a result, branding and advocacy campaigns have become critical to changing public perceptions about the mining sector (Lo, 2018; Skoldeberg et al., 2013). In this context, campaigns are often designed as a precautionary measure to influence public discourses and prevent negative consequences. Some critics, however, claim that mining companies’ communication materials do not reflect actual mining practices and conceal realities in extractive zones (Lo, 2018), resulting in accusations of greenwashing that could backfire on expensive communication campaigns.

According to Marshall Soules (2015: 10), what distinguishes propaganda from advertising and advocacy is the aim of propaganda to achieve “moral takeover”, which includes “the construction of an ‘organized myth’ acting as an anchoring belief” through mechanisms of “performative persuasion”. To succeed, propaganda campaigns must have a clear intention to manipulate public opinion; a broad scope to dominate messaging in mainstream media; the financial and reputational power of its sponsors to conduct effective campaigns; and the high stakes in producing effects resulting in significant action (or inaction) based on changed attitudes or values. The timeliness of campaigns is also important to activate actions and attitudes in response to specific events (Soules, 2015: 15).

But how does propaganda play out in relation to climate debates and the “green” transition more specifically? Staal (2020) has examined the complex relationship between climate change discourse and the power dynamics embedded within it, arguing that while the urgency to address climate change is essential, the dominant narratives and strategies employed in climate communication often reinforce existing power structures and fail to bring about meaningful change. To distinguish between anthropocentric cultural narratives and narratives where planetary concerns have become central, Staal (2020) reframes “propaganda struggles” within climate debates as climate propagandas which are reproduced across a broad political spectrum.

On the conservative ideological spectrum, neoliberal and libertarian climate propagandas generally see climate catastrophes and climate change as another market resource to extract surplus values, whereas neoconservative, extreme-right, conspiracist, and eco-fascist climate propagandas use climate denialism and fear messaging to legitimise national or racial oppression régimes and justify new forms of surveillance. Liberal climate propagandas tend to centre on market-based solutions as a means to address climate challenges, where individual consumption is more often blamed for ecological collapse than the practices of extractive corporations or capitalism per se. In addition to deflecting corporate responsibility to individuals, corporate advertising and brand-building strategies aim to appropriate public sentiments of climate awareness to provide techno-optimistic “solutions” for climate mitigation, failing to recognise that those may be part of the problem. However, the overreliance on the belief that technological innovations will sufficiently address climate challenges often overlooks the social and political dimensions of the issue. This form of climate propaganda becomes susceptible to corporate co-option, where companies engage in greenwashing – using environmental messaging to enhance their reputation without genuinely committing to sustainable practices. In addition, liberal politicians also boast about their benevolence to “act sustainably” but are criticised by oppositional publics for not acting quickly enough.

Transformative forms of climate propaganda tend to emphasise systemic, holistic, eco-social, and Earth-driven approaches to climate change. They challenge the dominant economic and political systems that contribute to climate change, highlighting the need for a redistribution of power and resources. They are often aligned with progressive political ideologies in developing egalitarian approaches to global governance in various forms of “green deals”. Social and environmental movements tend to adopt anti-capitalist, decolonial, and ecofeminist approaches that assess power asymmetries and consider racial and gender minorities in vulnerable zones to be disproportionately impacted by climate change, often connected to land dispossession by corporations and government complicity or inaction. Lastly, “outsider” environmental movements are voicing these concerns in transformative climate propagandas through collective actions, alternative media, cultural resistance, and demonstrations, among other tactics and strategies, seeking to address the root causes of environmental degradation and advocate for holistic solutions (Staal, 2020).

By situating The Swedish Mine campaign and its reactions within the ideological spectrum of climate propagandas outlined by Staal (2020), the main questions I respond to are: What are the key means and elements of performative persuasion and their ideological underpinnings in the campaign? Which myths about social, cultural, and national values are being reified by these devices? What are the implications of the use of these strategies and rhetorical devices in the context of mining acceptance and mining resistance during the “green” transition? To do this, I will look at how the campaign leverages the chosen mediums and uses specific symbols and meanings, and what forms of mining resistance look like in response.

My analytic perspective for looking at the campaign materials is to treat the billboards as “tableaux”, a genre of paintings or photographs in which characters appear absorbed and unaware of the existence of viewers while arranged in a “setting” or “stage” for picturesque or dramatic effect, frozen in the middle of the action (Tate Gallery, n.d.). They act as “bounding frames” – a ritual setting, a stage with props – that define the performance space, where anything can happen (Soules, 2015: xi). Each tableau in The Swedish Mine campaign shows a diversity of characters engaged in typically Swedish everyday situations, such as partying with friends (see Figure 1), spending time with family during “cozy Friday” (see Figure 2) or snuggling inside a camping tent in front of a lake (see Figure 3). In each tableau, the mise-en-scène – or the arrangement of the scenery and props on the stage of a theatrical production – is overlaid with tags showing elements of the periodic table on several objects to signify the ubiquity and indispensability of metals and minerals in modern life.

Compositionally, the labels with elements from the periodic table dominate the visual appeal. Rather than the people themselves, the labels are intended to be the real subjects of the scenes. Unaware of our gaze, the people in the scenes become objectified. As viewers, we are positioned outside the scene, as uninvited guests at a social gathering (see Figures 1 & 2) or as voyeurs peeping into intimate scenes (see Figure 3).

This intrusive gaze causes estrangement but also elicits a libidinal curiosity to keep looking. However, the colour scheme in warm yellows and reds aims to quickly avert discomfort by stimulating feelings of happiness, optimism, and excitement – feelings that are also expressed in the emotional range of the characters. By connecting with our own sense of comfort and happiness, we begin to identify psychologically with the advertisement. As a result, it reinforces the message that metals and minerals are not only useful but can also be sexy and fun and “at the heart” of modern life.

The billboards also reveal a careful orchestration of situations, social types, and stereotypes that seem to follow current trends of inclusion and diversity in Swedish media and advertising. Swedish audiences are familiar with this kind of presentation, for instance, in IKEA advertisements, which have used the tableau genre extensively to highlight furniture with names and price labels, and with similar multicultural character orchestrations to create an image of cozy and practical “Swedishness” (Garvey, 2017). At first glance, The Swedish Mine campaign seems to literally imitate this style, which signals the campaigners’ strategic creative choice to use familiar styles used by well-established retail and commercial brands for similar target audiences but reinscribing them into a “green” or climate brand (Doyle et al., 2020).

Let’s explore the cast of characters and actions in each tableau. The “Party” (see Figure 1) tableau depicts a group of Black and mixed-race women putting on make-up and dancing in what looks like a house party. In the “Cozy Friday” tableau (see Figure 2), an interracial family is depicted, with a “fun dad”, wearing bunny ears, and his child dancing in front of a large projection screen in a well-furnished living room, watched by the blonde assumedly wife and mother who sits on the couch with a dog and a second child holding an iPad. The “Engagement ring” tableau (see Figure 3) shows a snuggly inter-racial lesbian couple admiring their engagement ring – indicated by the element “Au” (gold) – while camping in front of a lake. Next, the “Car” tableau (see Figure 4) shows a man with a presumably Middle Eastern background eating a hot dog, talking on the phone, and fumbling with party balloons, while charging an electric car in a parking lot. The “Backyard” tableau (see Figure 5) shows a grandfather pushing a lawnmower while his grandson plays with a remote-controlled toy car – both characters are white. Finally, the “Office” tableau (see Figure 7) is set in an engineering or architectural office with a Black man holding a cup of coffee in the foreground, while the remaining three white or mixed-race female colleagues examine an architectural model.

Although the casting choices seem to convey Sweden as a multicultural and diverse nation, each tableau reinforces the link between recognisable social rituals and racial and gender stereotypes. They depict women dancing (see Figure 1), women with engagement rings (see Figure 3), men with cars and machines (see Figures 4 & 5), boys with toys (see Figure 5), as well as heteronormative stereotypes of the nuclear family (see Figure 2). Moreover, we see racial stereotypes sometimes combined with gender stereotypes, such as Black women putting on make-up and dancing (see Figure 1), and white males tinkering in a backyard (see Figure 5).

In the specific case of the “Party” tableau (see Figure 1), the representation of Black women reminds us of the historical exotification and objectification in media representations of Black subjects, which has been extensively critiqued by eminent Afro-feminist critical race theorists (e.g., hooks, 1992). Fetishising, objectifying, and denying agency to Black female bodies has historical underpinnings rooted in imperialist narratives and colonial legacies of dispossession, often linked with extractivism, which validates the “legal and societal sexual exploitation and debasement of Black women in the modern era”, as Holmes (2016: 7) has pointed out. In my view, the depiction of a Black woman putting on make-up at a party is indeed an aptly ironic metaphor for how power elites capture anti-racist and decolonial discourses (Fanon, 1967/2008; Táíwò, 2022) to create a façade for their political and cultural dominance.

Moreover, this is made even more evident through the voyeuristic gaze where Black women, or even the lesbian couple, become sexualised objects that satisfy a male gaze and are objectified for the “visual pleasure” of the viewer, which, in Laura Mulvey’s (1975) psychoanalytic approach to cinematic representation of women, is considered a scopophilic practice of looking. Here, the viewer (usually assumed to be male) is an active observer and the female characters become passive objects to be visually consumed. In a critical response to Mulvey, Ariella Azoulay (2008) has questioned this passive act of visual consumption related to viewing photographs. In defiance of a normative passivity in the act of looking, she proposes an active viewership that requires us to relinquish our gaze as consumers that validates a market logic of seeing. To reject the act of being consumed by images, she proposed that we enter a “civic visual contract” with photographs that circulate in the world. This includes addressing images humanely to break the frames of representation, whereby she invites us to consider all images as political artefacts.

If we consider the tableaux as political images, it opens up for interpretations of ideology, especially regarding what kind of ideals, values, and myths of Swedish society are being typified by this form of presentation. In this case, I observe that the racialised characters, who are the most expressive and overtly “happy” in each mise-en-scène, are presented more like caricatures embedded in a mythical Swedish everydayness. Furthermore, the cultural myths of “coziness” and social comfort, performed exaggeratedly in the “Cozy Friday” tableau (see Figure 2), are suggested as synonymous with the country’s high living standard and social welfare that has created an affluent middle class. These social benefits, in turn, have indeed been historically powered by revenues from the mining industry, and they connect to the foundational myth of Swedish society itself. On the one hand, when used intentionally for comic effect, exaggerated moods may express a self-distanced irony, which may, on the one hand, lead to more empathy with the campaign’s message. On the other hand, when unsuccessful, they may turn into gratuitous pastiche, alienating the viewer and opening for criticism and counter-campaigns (Hobbs & Swiatek, 2019: 7). The Swedish Mine campaign also rolled out on several social media platforms – Instagram, Facebook, and Twitter – using short ten-second videos of the same mise-en-scène in slow motion, where all the caricatural features appear augmented.

By casting seemingly assimilated multiethnic characters, the appearance of racial or gender equality, social inclusiveness, and sexual diversity shows the idealised image of a post-racial and fundamentally integrationist society – indicating that the mining sector wishes to be associated with a modern, tolerant, and multiethnic Sweden. However, this appearance of multiculturality can also signal what Swedish critical race scholars have termed “structural color-blindness” (Hübinette, 2013), or a “whiteness which may be believed to be more enlightened, more democratic and more tolerant than in the rest of the world” (Habel, 2008: 42). But according to Kanai and Gill (2020), after the turbulent 2010s marked by the rise of right-wing nationalism and a global pandemic, this type of “woke advertising” is also emblematic of post-race, post-feminist, and post-queer discourses, and that affirmative advertising operates through an aestheticisation of difference, where “nondominant people are recast as visible neoliberal subjects of potential value, their historical histories of oppression intertwined with an associated generalized send of positivity, possibility and belief in capitalist futurity” (Kanai & Gill, 2020: 24). Furthermore, the billboards being placed mostly in affluent city centres – and less so in multi-ethnic suburbs of Stockholm, Gothenburg, and Malmö – show how the strategic placement of the billboards themselves contrasts with stark social realities increasingly defined by class and race inequalities in Sweden’s largest cities (Löfgren, 2020).

While the voyeuristic aspect is made clear by each mise-en-scène, erotisation and fetishisation can also be applied to some of the props in the scenes. For instance, in the “Engagement ring” tableau (see Figure 3), metals and minerals are presented in a similarly eroticising way, with the label “Au” (gold) placed near the engagement rings on the couple’s hands connoting the symbolic importance that binds precious metals to social rituals. In this case, it celebrates the future union of a gay couple, presumably to appeal to LGBTQIA+ and allied audiences. Furthermore, in the “Car” tableau (see Figure 4), a fashionable man appearing to be of Middle Eastern origin charges an electric car in the foreground while fumbling with a hot dog and a mobile phone and clumsily holding birthday balloons. Aside from the phallic connotations attached to eating hot dogs in an advertising photograph, smartphones and electric cars are also being fetishised as battery-powered, “green” consumer goods. Here, I am reminded of Marshall McLuhan’s (1951/2008) observation of the car being turned into an erotic object in 1950s advertising, highlighting the relationship between technology and gender. McLuhan considered the car a “hot medium” of progress and mobility associated with what we today call “fossil-fuel” capitalism, which exemplifies the messianic zeal with which modern societies continuously embrace autonomous technologies. The worship of the electric car illustrates how twentieth-century fetishisms, and their advertising tropes, are seamlessly repurposed into the twenty-first century.

In the second phase of the campaign, the electric car becomes the main character. During the Stockholm +50 environmental summit in May 2022, Svemin unveiled a new series of billboards featuring an electric car prototype called “Mine”, to be made exclusively from minerals sourced in Sweden. The ads encourage the viewer to sign up for a test drive in 2035 – when national climate targets are supposed to have been met. On the billboard (see Figure 6), the genre changes from lifestyle to aspirational advertising, using a climate futuristic visual style where “Mine” is placed centre-stage at the bottom of a snowy open-pit mine that is reminiscent of a lunar landscape. In this mise-en-scène, the copper-coloured car contrasts with the cool hues of the scenery. The car is flanked by two models dressed in futuristic winter clothing, reminiscent of car advertising clichés featuring cars and women that McLuhan (1951/2008) once analysed, and not unlike how cars are displayed alongside beautiful women in trade shows. This also confirms modernist stereotypes of women and cars as male accessories (Berger, 1972) – where the objectifying male gaze completes the setup once again.

Unlike the other tableaux, the characters are not engaged in a specific action, and the models, though immobile, confront us, ready to seduce us into their world. Further, instead of the winding texts praising Swedish mining’s “climate-smartness”, as seen in Figure 1, the slogan in large type is now unambiguous and even patronising: “No mines. No electric cars.” – period. Moreover, the slogan adds to the double erotism and fetishism of the car and the women and invites a third element of fetishisation: the mine itself. Just like its fossil-fuel ancestor, the electric car is presented as the main symbol of a new industrial era: the new consumer dream powered by the Swedish mine. In addition, this illustrates the endorsement of liberal and neoliberal ideological emphasis on individual consumption as a key factor for climate mitigation to the detriment of more systemic, collective, or anti-capitalist approaches (Staal, 2020).

Since Swedishness, lifestyle, and consumption appear to be intimately connected in the various tableaux, this begs a question: What kind of sustainable consumption is Svemin advocating? When looking at the overall décor and props in the scenes (see Figures 1–5), one realises that they do not actually reflect what is commonly assumed as sustainable consumption, which can be characterised as frugal, conscious, and waste reducing. There is a lot of “stuff” in each mise-en-scène, reflecting the current high consumption habits of Swedish middle-class urban and suburban lifestyles. Even though high consumption and resource-intensive standards of living in developed countries such as Sweden are known to be a contributing factor to the global climate crisis (Svenfelt et al., 2022: 5), the billboards depict Sweden’s high standard of living and materialistic way of life as a desirable goal for all people. Therefore, depicting high-consumption lifestyles reveals both a classist and nationalist claim that Sweden, as a “green” welfare state, represents the ideal for all modern societies. Apart from changed perceptions of the mining sector, which could influence voting patterns for political ideologies supportive of the intensification of mining in the long-term, there is no real claim for changing lifestyles from what they currently are. Indeed, as John Berger (1972: 114) famously claimed, “publicity is effective precisely because it feeds upon the real”. Therefore, even though the campaign wants to be innovative in terms of presentation, the values it advocates seem rather conservative. It seems like the brand is telling us: “We will take care of the green transition, so you don’t have to. No need for climate anxiety – keep dancing and carry on”.

In fact, the only indication of something “green” in the tableaux is in the smaller texts at the bottom corners, when words like “sustainable” and “climate-smart” are sometimes used. Without these words, we are left with disparate visual connections between the compositional elements – the mise-en-scène, the labels with mineral elements, and the logo – which help to establish the climate brand, but which may not necessarily fill a knowledge gap about mining. Paradoxically, this dissociation between visual and textual elements may lead the viewer to linger in the image long enough to access the informational campaign website, but it is not evident that all viewers move on to this next step.

In contrast to the lively and performative visuals in the tableaux, the official campaign website presents a corporate, business-as-usual visuality, mainly to promote the mining consortium’s “green” mining innovations. The website’s opening image changed seasonally to reflect the most current version of the campaign. In the first phase of the campaign in 2021, the website opened with the last image in the series of tableaux, “Office” (see Figure 7).

In this mise-en-scène, the multiracial approach continues in the setting of the architectural office associated with convivial Swedish working cultures. As we scroll down the page, our emotional attachment to the tableau is dispelled by generic panorama photographs of wind farms, snowy mining landscapes, or cityscapes that illustrate short blocks of informative text.

The tonality on The Swedish Mine website is mostly personable as in the billboards, with the frequent use of the pronoun “we”, used as multiple personas to suggest yet another play with (self-)identities. “We” is used as The Swedish Mine consortium is used interchangeably with “we”, as in Sweden, which lays claims for green mining as the Swedish solution to climate change. A short text explaining the 2021 campaign reads:

With our ads, we want to show and remind you how important metals and minerals are to us. We also want to spread knowledge about how we in Sweden develop the world’s most climate-smart mining industry, which the whole world can benefit from [emphasis added]”. (Den Svenska Gruvan, 2021)

The rest of The Swedish Mine website contains several short texts and a page with Questions & Answers (Q&A) that reveal further evidence regarding the underlying ideologies and the mining sector’s geopolitical positioning about ownership, regulations, sustainability, and Indigenous rights. Here, sustainability is largely understood as part of industrial and technological innovation, providing the material foundation for society, employees, and communities through jobs, infrastructure, and welfare. In some texts, there are suggestions directed at policy-makers to review environmental regulations and to remove obstacles in granting new mining concessions in order to minimise dependency on imports – which we understand as a form of lobbying. Moreover, in a small section, “Indigenous people and mining”, the national interests of mining are addressed with great caution in relation to the national interest of reindeer husbandry and Indigenous governance regarding mining activity in northern Sweden. Here, Svemin suggested greater “mutual understanding” between mining companies and reindeer herders and made an appeal to the media and to society to help in reducing conflict in mining zones – but without suggesting how this could be done concretely. The Sámi are never mentioned by name, only referred to obliquely by the term “reindeer husbandry” in the text, thus focusing on economic activities rather than communities themselves. This indicates a more formal need to include this item rather than expressing an actual concern for the matter.

A recent addition to The Swedish Mine website in February 2023 showed how affective registers are being mobilised more explicitly in temporary campaigns. For Valentine’s Day, a heart in the form a gemstone, on a red background and engraved with the phrase “I also love mines!”² invited users to download a love letter from the mine addressed to audience and to decision-makers (see Figure 9). Here, the mine was personified as a misunderstood lover trying to reconquer its love object – presumably mining-sceptical audiences – after a break-up, or to create a lobbying stint to romance politicians (Svemin, 2023; Tidningen Näringslivet, 2023). The campaign’s intention is reaffirmed as feelings, and mining ideology is reframed using the literary archetype of unrequitted love. It also makes explicit what Hobbes and Swiatek (2019: 7) wrote about how “ambivalent” publics are to be conquered by lobbying and propaganda. In a comic play ranging from self-delusion to complete insecurity, the “lover” tries to convince the reader that mines are worth loving, just as mining executives do. Some passages read: “Don’t let appearances fool you, I’m greener than you think, perhaps greenest in the world”; “You think I’m the solution to your problems, you’re right. I am”; “Sure, I have […] a bad reputation. But […] see me for the person I am investing so much to become”; “I want to build the phone you call me with!”; and “I promise you not only gold, but also green forests, maybe a family” (Retrieved February 14, 2023, from densvenskagruven.se). In my view, this love letter is a continuation of the “Engagement Ring” tableau (see Figure 3), which taps into the myths of romantic love and the social symbols of gold to create a romantic connection with the viewer which plays on self-sacrifice and objectification to “conquer” the heart of the beloved.

Contrary to the considerable investments in urban advertising, The Swedish Mine campaign’s integrated social media strategy seems to have received far less attention. After observing the campaign on Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter for more than a year, I noticed infrequent postings, low user engagement, and comments being removed successively. Today, the Instagram profile @densvenskagruvan has been completely suspended. Nonetheless, Twitter posts with campaign images still appear in Svemin’s profile, @svemin, and in reposts by other companies in the mining sector, all searchable with the hashtag #densvenskagruvan. Nearly two years after the campaign’s first roll-out, it is possible to see how some visual elements of the billboards – such as the tags with periodic table elements and even the gemstone hearts with “I also love mines!” (as seen in Figure 9) – have been incorporated into Svemin’s events and merchandise. Speakers at Svemin’s events can be seen dressed in satin red suits to create this emotional connection among peers, showing that the campaign has indeed succeeded in creating a strong brand identity within business and industrial communities.

However, a hashtag search with #densvenskagruvan also shows tweets with criticism that seem to have energised movements of mining resistance. For instance, environmental defenders, such as Friends of the Earth, nominated the campaign in the 2021 Greenwashing Prize, winning second place (Jordens Vänner, 2021). Criticism of the campaign also appeared in oppositional publics on Facebook groups (Gruvfritt Jokkmokk, n.d.; Norrlandsparadoxen, n.d.), where news and opinions about conflict-ridden dilemmas between communities in extractive zones and mining companies are shared.

The most scathing reaction from movements of mining resistance came from the activist group The Bedrock Group [Urbergsgruppen] (www.urbergsgruppen.se) with the website The Swedish Mine Myth. Using the situationist practice of détournement (Debord, 1967/1977), it offered an example of counter-visuality (Mirzoeff, 2011, 2016) and activated a defiant, oppositional gaze (hooks, 1992) to expose hegemonic “green” ideologies presented in campaign.

The activists mimicked The Swedish Mine website layout and subverted all content with new textual and visual material articulated from a civic positionality, as suggested by Azoulay (2008, 2015). Generic images of industrial landscapes were replaced with images of untouched nature from contested mining zones in Northern Sweden (see Figure 10), and the friendly tone from the The Swedish Mine campaign was replaced with an earnest, confrontational tone. The [translated] text on the activist home page read:

Resources are necessary for people to live their lives. We get resources from agricultural products, minerals, metals, and water. We need those to lead our modern lives. In Sweden and elsewhere in the world, we need to help each other to make a transition for more sustainable living. But did you know that the mining industry and mining companies in Sweden are doing campaigns and putting pressure to change legislation and make it worse? Here you can read more about The Swedish Mine Myth! (Den Svenska Gruvmyten, n.d.)