When looking at a 1969 site plan of Hammarkullen—part of Sweden’s Million Programme—it’s easy to draw comparisons to Eastern Bloc military barracks. The straight lines, repetitive modular structures and massive concrete volumes give off an impression of gray functionalism rather than comfort. Many ask: Was Sweden inspired by the Eastern Bloc? Was this architecture a response to communist ideals? Or are there other explanations?

The Million Programme was launched in 1965 with the goal of building one million homes in ten years. This came at a time when Sweden was undergoing rapid urbanization, with fast-growing city populations and large-scale internal migration from rural to urban areas. The housing shortage was severe. The aim was to create modern, functional housing for a broad population, with amenities such as indoor toilets, elevators, district heating, good lighting conditions and access to green spaces.

The architecture of the Million Programme was heavily influenced by modernist ideals, themselves shaped by figures like Le Corbusier and the Bauhaus movement in Germany. Function came before form. Cities and homes were to be built rationally, maximizing light, separating traffic from pedestrians, and ensuring everyone had access to green areas. Housing was viewed as a social right, not a privilege for the few.

This is where the resemblance to Eastern Bloc buildings emerges. Countries like East Germany, Poland, Czechoslovakia and the Soviet Union also built large concrete housing complexes, often in modular styles, using mass-produced components. This wasn’t because Sweden was copying the East—but because both sides of the Iron Curtain were addressing the same problems using the same technical solutions: rapid urbanization, acute housing shortages, and industrialized construction methods.

Despite the visual similarities, there were crucial differences. Sweden had a democratically decided housing policy, while the Eastern states followed top-down political directives. The standard of housing in Sweden was often higher, with better insulation, more natural light, and more amenities. Swedish housing areas were designed for social mixing, even if that ideal didn’t always materialize in practice.

In both East and West, there was a strong belief that society could be designed and improved through planning. Architects weren’t just designers; they were social engineers. In Hammarkullen, for instance, a clear town center was constructed, as well as schools, daycare facilities, central public transport via the subway station, and separated pedestrian and vehicle paths. These weren’t just housing blocks—they were blueprints for communities.

To meet the target of one million homes, construction employed prefabricated elements, modular building techniques, and standardized floor plans. These efficient methods saved time and money—but led to monotonous, uniform buildings, where only slight variations in color and height distinguished one from the next. It’s this uniformity that led many to compare them to barracks.

During the Cold War, the cultural divide between East and West was pronounced. Comparing Swedish suburbs to Eastern Bloc environments was sometimes a political statement—a way to critique Sweden’s social democratic policies and large-scale state-led projects. However, a closer look shows that similar housing projects existed in Paris (banlieues), London (high-rises and council estates), and Berlin (West Berlin also built prefab housing). It wasn’t East vs. West—it was a global trend in post-war urban development between 1950 and 1980.

The Million Programme faced harsh criticism even in the 1970s. The housing areas were perceived as soulless and isolated, maintenance was neglected, socioeconomic segregation emerged, and rising unemployment, immigration, and lack of local services worsened the image. But much of this stemmed from social and political issues more than from architectural flaws.

For someone moving from an outhouse in the countryside into a two-room flat with heating, a bathroom, and an elevator, this was a revolution in quality of life. Architects sought to provide light and space, walking distance to schools and shops, green play areas for children, and traffic separation for safety. In theory, it was a brilliant social experiment. What failed was often governance, maintenance, and broader societal shifts.

Today, there is something of a rehabilitation for the Million Programme. These areas are being revitalized with public art, new facades, and sometimes even a new identity. There is a growing appreciation for the architects’ original vision, their social ambitions, and the technical expertise that made these large-scale projects possible. But perhaps the most important lessons are these: people need variety, beauty, and identity. Architecture is not just about function—it’s about emotion. Social planning needs to be continuously followed up over time.

Calling Hammarkullen and other Million Programme areas “Eastern Bloc barracks” is a simplistic narrative. Yes, they share visual features with housing in the East, but they were built in a different ideological context, with different technical standards, and driven by a belief in welfare and the Swedish “people’s home.” Hammarkullen was never a Soviet replica—it was Sweden’s own experiment in building better, faster, and more affordably. And today, with the right investments in renovation, culture, and community, these neighborhoods have every chance to flourish again.

And perhaps what we see now is not a barracks—but a monument to a nation’s will to build a more just society.