Years ago, I started writing about moving to Switzerland. My articles were surprisingly wildly popular, not just with the local expat community but with people back home who were interested in experiencing such a dramatic change in life vicariously from the comfort of their cozy homes.
Twelve years went by in the blink of an eye, (ok there was a long moment there in the middle while I dealt with getting maried, having a baby, moving twice and dealing with other major life-shaking events), but in any case, there I was, still in Switzerland.
Twelve years is the “magic number” here. It is at this point that the Powers That Be have determined I might be able to actually qualify for Swiss citizenship.
Oh don’t go jumping to conclusions and buying me a decorative cow bell or fondue pot yet! The 12 year residency rule is just the beginning of the many hoops I have to jump through in my quest to… become Swiss!
On a bright Tuesday morning in October 2013 I set out for the “Administration communale” – the local city hall for my small town. It was exactly 12 years and one day since I had stumbled off the plane in Geneva with my two kids, one black cat and small mountain of suitcases. I entered the room marked “office de la population” and waited.
A woman came over and I correctly said “Bonjour” before explaining my reasons for being there. I felt I was clearly qualified to be Swiss, having mastered the subtle bonjour/bon après midi/bonsoir rules of social etiquette as well as having the correct number of years of residence (plus a day).
She checked my C permit and then searched in the nearby file cabinet for the right paperwork, then happily handed me some sheets. I left the building a short while later clutching the forms which would pave the way for me to Become Swiss.
And then, it almost seemed too easy. I quickly filled in the various forms and mailed them in with a copy of my passport and work permit. And then I waited.
Perhaps, I considered, the true test of Swissness is patience. I would show them I was up to the task.
Six months went by. And then, lo and behold! A letter in the mail! An explanation that my request to request Swiss citizenship had been approved. Yes, you read that right, my request to request it. I now had a letter stating that I was qualified to make the request. And a long form to fill out…
This one was not so easy. The Swiss really want to know everything I’ve done since I was born. Everything. Every address I ever had, every school I ever went to, every job I ever held. E-ver-y-thing…
It took me a while to fill it in. For one thing, I have lived in 20 homes, went to 11 schools and have held 10 jobs if you count the time I was an elf. (I actually worried about that one as it might be seen as weird. Should I specify that it was only during the christmas holidays, so that they wouldn’t think I had a closet full of weird green clothes and long felt shoes with curled toes and a hat with bells? Speaking of which, what if they come to inspect my home? How will I ever get it clean enough?)
In any case, I also had to provide a variety of documents certifying I really was who I claimed to be and then also certifying that this person I claimed to be had no criminal records or bad credit ratings (both very, very bad things if you want to be Swiss).
It took me almost six months to get all the documents together and I mailed the whole package in victoriously.
About a year went by, and then one day the police called me. Now, if you’re like me, as soon as the phone rings and the person says they are the police, you immediately: 1- hope your kids are alive, and 2 – hope your kids have not done anything that makes you want to kill them. Not always in that order.
But in this case, it was ME they were after! I was being summoned for an interview to discuss my Swissness request . (By the way, they don’t actually use the word Swissness here, that’s my invention. I hope it doesn’t cause me problems. I’m already probably on thin ice with the elf thing.)
A couple weeks later I arrived for my appointment at the precinct. I made sure to park in a blue zone spot and put my timer-turny-thingy in the window (there may actually be a name for the thing, but anyone in Switzerland knows what I’m talking about. It basically marks how long you have been parked in a limited time zone.) Then I worried that I would run out of time and have to interrupt the meeting to come out and move my car. That would be rude, wouldn’t it? Oh but maybe that’s the test! To see if I abide by the laws enough to be willing to put my Swissness request in jeopardy by running outside during an important meeting?
In any case, the police escorted me into a small room where I sat under a hot bright light and they drilled questions at me, hoping I would crack .
Ok it wasn’t really like that. We sat around a table on mostly comfortable chairs and they did ask me lots of questions, but nothing too intense. Mostly, they seemed to be trying to determine whether or not I adhered to the Swiss way of life and Swiss values. They asked several questions which I answered as best as I could, and then they actually just came right out and asked it, the one key question, the most important element:
“What is your opinion about democracy?”
They stared directly into my eyes in an unbroken gaze, the two of them, which made it hard for me to gaze back because I wasn’t sure who I should stare back at to prove my unflinching dedication.
Believe it or not, that’s actually a hard question to answer descriptively. What do I think about democracy? Well, I’ve never known anything else, so it’s something I’ve always just taken for granted. I scrambled for an appropriate answer, something that would convey my decidedly certain absolute positivety about being resolutely in favour of the democratic way. What I actually said was probably something resembling, “Uh… I’m for it?”
I thought quickly, stumbling over unsatisfying words to add to this answer in order to assure them that I was not here to overthrow the peaceful and fair system of government in order to rule the land and change it’s name to Nicoledom. (To be fair, who wouldn’t want to live in Nicoledom? Free ice cream guys.)
I basically did manage to convice them that my political views were acceptable in a typically Canadian way, that is, I didn’t have any extreme views about politics as long as there were no crazies in charge.
55 minutes later (just in time for the parking spot! Coincidence? I think not!) I was released into the general population. Apparently, I had passed.
I was well on my way to true certifiable Swissness! I almost felt like breaking out the chocolate to celebrate.
Little did I know, more tests, challenges and chocolate were to come…