May 12 marks an important annual milestone: the celebration of women in mathematics, honoring the legacy of Maryam Mirzakhani. It’s both a moment of recognition and a chance to reflect on the progress, and the gaps in building a more inclusive, supportive, and dynamic academic culture.

This year, I took part in a conference at KTH Royal Institute of Technology, one of many international scientific gatherings held around May 12. These are not just symbolic events, they are serious academic forums that also provide space for examining structural barriers and identifying ways forward.

Diversity in academia is not only a matter of fairness, it’s a driver of better research. Studies show that ethnically diverse teams produce more innovative, higher-impact work and are less susceptible to groupthink (Freeman & Huang, Nature, 2014). Inclusive environments lead to stronger science.

Mobility is key to sustaining that diversity. International collaboration and academic exchange bring in new ideas, approaches, and connections. But access to mobility remains uneven. According to the Swedish Foundation for International Cooperation in Research and Higher Education (STINT), internationally mobile researchers in Sweden are generally more productive and more cited, yet women are still significantly underrepresented among them (STINT, 2020).

Family responsibilities, financial constraints, and institutional structures often limit mobility for researchers of all genders, especially those with caregiving duties. To help address these barriers, the School of Engineering Sciences at KTH is launching a new sabbatical program that covers not only travel costs but also family-related expenses, such as school fees for children: SCI Sabbatical Program. While remote work has eased professional continuity for some partners, the logistics and costs of moving a family remain a major hurdle, particularly for early-career researchers.

Broader national data from the Swedish Higher Education Authority (UKÄ) reinforces this picture. Academic mobility in Sweden is growing, but still faces systemic bottlenecks related to funding, gender, and career stage (UKÄ, 2023).

If we want to unlock the full potential of academic talent, these are the friction points we must address.

The aim of initiatives like the KTH-SCI sabbatical program isn’t to tick a diversity box, it’s to build a more sustainable, equitable, and globally connected research environment. That’s the academic culture we should be working toward.

This Friday, the Göran Gustafsson Foundation hosts its annual prize ceremony, an event I’m proud to attend. These prizes, awarded to outstanding young researchers (under 37) from KTH and Uppsala University, are among Sweden’s most respected recognitions of early-career scientific achievement.

What sets the Göran Gustafsson Foundation apart is not just its financial support, but the vision behind it. Göran Gustafsson (1919–2003), a self-made entrepreneur from humble beginnings in northern Sweden, created two major research foundations to give back to society and advance knowledge that improves people’s lives and the world around them. From cutting birchwood at age twelve with a small loan backed by his mother, to building one of Sweden’s largest real estate portfolios, Gustafsson never lost sight of his belief that individuals have a responsibility to care for their environment and make thoughtful, lasting contributions.

Since its founding in 1986 with a SEK 135 million donation to KTH and Uppsala University, followed by SEK 270 million in 1989 for national prizes,  the Göran Gustafsson Foundation has supported hundreds of scientists in physics, chemistry, molecular biology, mathematics, and medicine. This year, SEK 21.25 million will be distributed through the KTH and Uppsala prizes. Beyond the monetary support, these prizes represent a strong vote of confidence and an invitation for young researchers to pursue bold, ambitious work. More information about this year’s prize recipients and their research is available on their website.

But why should this matter beyond the individuals receiving the awards?

Because the larger system is under strain. Across Sweden and Europe, young researchers face fierce competition for shrinking public funds, often tied to narrow, short-term targets. Time for creative exploration is becoming scarce, while administrative demands grow. Without support mechanisms like the Göran Gustafsson Foundation, or nationally, the Knut and Alice Wallenberg Foundation, which has invested over SEK 47 billion in Swedish research, many promising talents risk being lost before they can reach their full potential.

This prompts a larger question: Are we doing enough to secure the future of Swedish science? Because research is not only about solving today’s problems, it’s about asking tomorrow’s questions. Are we giving young researchers the freedom, resources, and stability they need to focus on what matters, asking hard questions, exploring new paths, and laying the groundwork for future breakthroughs?

In this context, it’s worth noting how Sweden’s philanthropic landscape compares internationally, and how it has evolved. Earlier European-wide data (Fondation de France, 2015) reported that Swedish foundations contributed about 14% of the national research budget, with nearly half of their philanthropic budgets going specifically to science and higher education. More recent data (OECD, 2023) shows that foundations and non-profits now provide around 26.9% of the research grant income to Swedish universities, while government agencies contribute about 47.6% and EU sources about 9.9%. This marks a notable growth in the role of private foundations over the past decade, reflecting how Swedish philanthropy has become an increasingly important complement to public funding.

The Göran Gustafsson Foundation’s long-term commitment has made a meaningful difference to Swedish science, especially for young researchers. At the same time, the future of research cannot rest on philanthropy alone. If Sweden wants to stay a strong research nation, we must keep considering how to offer young researchers not only funding, but also the time, space, and trust they need to do meaningful work.

Academic mobility is a hot topic right now. Scholars often move in search of better conditions for conducting serious, meaningful work. Today, perhaps more than ever, talent retention and attraction are crucial issues. Countries are responding in various ways: some invest heavily to attract talent, while others focus on visibility and scale. What I believe is sometimes overlooked is the immense value of environments where research is still treated as something worth protecting.

For me, that place was Sweden.

I first came to Sweden as a postdoc at the Mittag-Leffler Institute, one of the world’s most respected research centers in mathematics, a place where ideas breathe and fundamental, long-term research isn’t just allowed, it’s expected. From there, I spent a year in Germany and a couple of years in the U.S. Then I returned to Sweden as faculty at KTH.

Not because of the salary—that’s not Sweden’s selling point. But what I found here was something that, to me, mattered more: a research culture with room to grow, a school system I (mostly) trust, and a social structure that makes academic life compatible with family life.

At KTH, I found something else, too: a truly international academic environment. Many of my colleagues come from outside Sweden. Diversity isn’t just a statistic—it shapes how we work, teach, and think. Even as someone who didn’t grow up in this system, I’ve been able to find my place—and eventually became dean of the school. That says something about how open the environment can be.

For those of us already at KTH, this is a reminder that what we create together, through mentorship, collegiality, and the way we conduct research and education, matters deeply. A welcoming and intellectually rich environment doesn’t happen automatically. It’s something we build, choice by choice, and it is one of our greatest assets in a global academic landscape.

And beyond the institution, Sweden’s approach to research is, so far, serious and steady. This is the country of the Nobel Prize, yes—but also of long-term investment in science. Programs like those from the Swedish Research Council (Vetenskapsrådet) or the Wallenberg foundations offer stable, long-term research support, aiming also to attract talent from other countries.

So, is it perfect? Of course not. But maybe that’s not the point. For me, the real question was: what kind of academic life do we want to build?

Sweden might not be on everyone’s radar. But maybe it should be.

We live in a chaotic and uncertain time. The world feels unstable, economically, socially, and politically, and the effects of global developments are already reaching us. International policy changes and shifting discussions have tangible impacts, especially concerning funding, research priorities, and attitudes to academic freedom and equality.

At times like these, it’s understandable to feel uneasy or cautious. But moments like these also invite reflection. What kind of university do we want to be in a world that is rapidly changing around us?

Yes, there are reasons to feel concerned, but there are also reasons to be hopeful. In Sweden, political support for research remains strong. Recent government initiatives promise increased investment and emphasize protecting research freedom. This provides a valuable foundation, something we should not take for granted but should continue to build on thoughtfully.

A university is where the next generation takes shape. In uncertain times, students look to us, not expecting all the answers, but searching for guidance, intellectual honesty, and the courage to face complexity. Our responsibility is to provide rigorous, open, and inspiring environment where knowledge matters and where it is acceptable to not yet have all the answers.

Meanwhile, new technologies are reshaping entire research fields. Artificial intelligence and quantum technology are not just abstract ideas. They are already transforming research in life sciences, energy, and materials, while raising entirely new fundamental questions. Young researchers are often at the forefront of these fields. The potential is huge, but realizing it requires ongoing investment, long-term vision, and trust in the scientific process.

We may not control the global winds, but we can choose how we respond. This means remaining open to the world while being clear about our own values. It means making room for deep, long-term thinking, even when pressures push us in other directions. It also means holding onto the curiosity, creativity, and dialogue that are at the heart of academic life.

Difficult times can help us clarify what’s truly important. They remind us why universities exist in the first place.

As we prepare to open nominations for the 2025 Borelius Medal, it is timely to pause and reflect on the life and legacy of the man whose name the medal proudly bears – Professor Gudmund Borelius (1889–1985).

Professor Borelius was a physicist whose influence at KTH and within Swedish science remains deeply felt. After completing his doctorate at Lund University in 1915, he was appointed professor of physics at KTH in 1922 – a position he held until 1955.

During this time, he not only led important research in solid-state physics and the properties of metals, but also shaped the very foundations of how we educate future physicists and engineers in Sweden.

One of his most enduring contributions was the establishment of the civilingenjör program in Engineering Physics (Teknisk Fysik) in 1932 – a bold and visionary initiative that brought a deeper theoretical grounding to engineering education.

This program has since become a flagship of Swedish technical education, producing generations of graduates who combine scientific rigor with engineering excellence.

In the early decades of Teknisk Fysik, the educational path was relatively streamlined. Students followed a shared, rigorous curriculum rooted in mathematics, physics, and fundamental engineering principles.

Specialization came late,  if at all. Today, by contrast, a student in Teknisk Fysik can choose among more than a dozen master’s programs, spanning areas as diverse as quantum technology, machine learning, medical physics, financial mathematics, and more.

This diversity reflects a remarkable success story: the foundational training is so robust that it opens doors to many advanced fields.

Yet it also invites reflection. What do we gain from this breadth? What might we lose? How do we maintain a shared identity and depth of knowledge when the paths forward have multiplied so significantly?

Professor Borelius understood that depth and breadth are not opposites, but partners. He believed in the power of foundational knowledge – not as an end in itself, but as a platform for innovation, flexibility, and lifelong learning. As the landscape of engineering and physics continues to evolve, his legacy offers both inspiration and a timely reminder: strong foundations are not constraints, but enablers.

The Borelius Medal commemorates this legacy and recognizes those who, in their own way, have made outstanding contributions to the development and success of Engineering Sciences at KTH.