Interviewer: If there is something you want to complain about, do you dare to do so?
Yes, I think so, absolutely, but then you always get these shitty answers, politicians’ answers, like: “We’ll look into it,” or “Yes, we know we have to do something about this,” and then nothing happens. ... We have a noticeboard on which you can write a note with a suggestion, and then they collect them and read them, but nothing ever happens with our suggestions. It feels like a way for them to avoid us complaining directly to them; instead, we have to write it down on a note, and then we’re supposed to be satisfied.
The problem, according to many nurses, was that no one listened to them. A central theme is the gap between nurses and managers, in terms of both means and goals. Nurses often emphasised that managers lack the knowledge required to organise daily work in an organisation for which the primary task is to provide care. According to many interviewees, this poses a direct threat to both patients and staff. Our material shows that healthcare staff rarely participate in the key decisions made by managers. Instead, they are forced to participate in meaningless activities that diminish their competence.
Allow social care to be visible and take time
In the opening quote, one of the interviewed nurses makes it clear that they do not produce anything, and that the first mistake made when talking about healthcare is to view it as a production unit rather than a place where people are provided care and treatment. When managers prioritise finances over care, nurses feel that they lack the time resources needed to provide care. One of the nurses highlighted how these priorities shape everyday working life:
The biggest problem is resources. For example, in our department, we are only allowed to spend ten per cent of our time meeting with patients who have been discharged, which means that we cannot do proper follow-ups... we cannot do what is actually important for patients. We are expected to live up to something that does not exist. There are no resources to allow us to live up to the goals that management sets for us. I think people think differently the higher up you go. Maybe they think about money: money is what’s important, it’s what controls everything. It’s about the budget. We get new managers and new demands, new demands for cutbacks, new budgets, and they refer to them all the time. They say: “we really appreciate what you’ve done, but we don’t have the resources for it”. It’s all about money. And I’m so tired of it, everything being about money. Healthcare is about healthcare, not about saving money. Healthcare should be about providing care, but instead they are cutting back on healthcare and on healthcare workers’ salaries. The whole idea is wrong.
As we have already described, austerity measures in the Nordic countries are not a temporary phenomenon. Permanent austerity means that much of the work that is part of nurses’ everyday lives becomes invisible – because it cannot be measured. What nurses themselves identify as important thus becomes unimportant to the organisation, forcing them to either do the work anyway (increasing their exploitation) or refrain from doing it (increasing feelings of ethical stress and reducing pride in their work).
When does a crisis become a crisis?
For many workers in medical care and nursing, the crisis is already an everyday reality. Not only because they encounter people in moments of crisis in their lives, but also because their own working conditions are characterised by what Nancy Fraser has called ‘a permanent crisis of care’ – a crisis that is highly gendered (2016). It is mainly women who perform social care work, both paid and unpaid, and it is their time that is being exhausted. The crisis is therefore already here – and it is deepening. To build a resilient healthcare system, gender equality work needs to be strengthened. This means, among other things, seriously rethinking how working hours are organised. Today, a lack of time is wearing down staff, both physically and emotionally. That is why the issue of crisis and resilience is also a gender equality issue. A society where women’s work continues to be undervalued, underpaid and, at the same time, time-consuming will find it more difficult to cope with crises. At the same time, the responsibility for managing the crisis is placed on these very women – who often cannot manage their own lives. Temporal justice can offer a path towards more sustainable welfare. It is about taking the ongoing crisis seriously – as the workers themselves express it. They are not just calling for resources, but pointing to something deeper: the need for time to do their work, time to recover and the resources to provide care with the compassion and professionalism required. Fundamentally, their testimonies raise a bigger question: Who should decide the content of work and the time it requires? What rationales should govern?
There is a tendency to view a crisis as something that will happen in the future – a state of emergency for which we can prepare. But in healthcare, crisis is already part of everyday life. It is not always visible in the headlines, but it is noticeable in the fact that staff do not have time to do their work as they would like, that patients do not receive the care they need and that relatives are having to take on increasing responsibility. We must start thinking of crises not just as sudden events but as protracted conditions. This applies, of course, to the climate crisis, but also to the care crisis. Workers are already carrying the resilience of the healthcare system on their shoulders – at the expense of their bodies, relationships and dreams for the future. If we are serious about building a sustainable healthcare system, we must listen to them. Applause does not create resilience. What is needed is time, resources and influence – giving greater control over one’s own life. This is crucial not only for gender equality, but also for maintaining a healthcare system that is not based on women’s unpaid overtime but on collective social responsibility.
In Michael Ende’s novel Momo (1980), the grey time thieves hunt people’s time. The grey gentlemen justify their constant theft of time with promises of increased efficiency and wealth. People are expected to gain more time by saving it – but ‘time is life,’ writes Ende, and the more you save, the less you have left and the poorer you become. Ende’s book about the girl Momo and her companion, the high-tech but slow turtle Cassiopeia, was published in 1973 and can be read as an early critique of the dehumanising nature of capitalism. It shows how increased demands for efficiency and productivity crowd out everything that is not considered paid labour, relegating other activities to meaninglessness – because they ‘only’ take time. Momo ends happily, when the four friends finally defeat the grey gentlemen, Ende writes:
"And the doctors had time to devote themselves to each patient in peace and quiet. The workers could work at a calm pace with love [...] Everyone could take exactly as much time for everything as they needed or wanted, because now there was once again plenty of it to go around."
(Ende 2003: 308)
The question is: What would we see if working hours in healthcare were actually changed?
What synergies would then become possible? In many ways, inequality is such a normalised crisis that it is rarely referred to as such. But for healthcare workers – and for all of us who at some point require care – the care crisis is a reality that is paid for with time and lives. At a time when resources are diminishing and needs are growing, the workload for staff and responsibility for relatives are increasing. It is an everyday crisis that must be taken more seriously. Otherwise, we risk continuing to place the responsibility for resilience on individuals – instead of building systems that actually support people in crisis and make it possible to meet them together.