It was suddenly cool when I stepped into the abbey church. A thick smell of flowers—the smell of a flower shop—engulfed me. The altar was covered in artistic floral arrangements, as was the setting for the Communion service table, with vases full of wildflowers, pumpkins, squashes, and Chinese lanterns spread out.
The service was in full swing. I stifled a little disappointment: I had come too early. It was not the Sunday service that interested me, but the abbey’s flower show, which had been advertised through pretty mailbox flyers in my neighborhood. I like flowers. Wildflowers and bougainvillea especially—so much so that they featured in some of my song titles. Some other flower admirers were already wandering about. It was Open House, and I was relieved to find I had not disturbed the parishioners.
Nonetheless, I was startled by the earnest, sad faces of the people in the pews. It seems that, even after living in Switzerland for over seventeen years, I still cannot get used to people’s profound hostility to positive facial feedback in public. The congregants bore an expression I have noticed regularly: on public transport, in the doctor’s waiting room, in the supermarket, even on funfairs with children and rides and stalls. People seem unhappy, weighed down: as though kept from a release they didn’t know existed. The abbey PR had advertised a happy event— it was subtitled “Enjoying the Fullness of Life!”—and yet the people going to that event or to the Sunday service looked anything but aware of life’s fullness. This phenomenon is far from unusual. It is also independent of social standing, age, or the rural/urban divide. It is typical, I would even say, representative of the German-speaking part of Switzerland.
People seem unhappy, weighed down: as though kept from a release they didn’t know existed.
The absence of smiles or the faintest acknowledgement, in the presence of a new, strange face, even one making direct eye contact with an added smile, has always struck me as specifically Swiss. For a long time, I ignored it. That was the best I could do. But when friends from outside of Switzerland came for a visit, they noticed the same pattern. Some asked me if they had come at a bad time, a moment of national mourning, perhaps. Another friend just stated: “They have such dumb looks on their faces!” I couldn’t have said it better.
The abbey churchgoers were mainly townsfolk you would find in the Swiss version of a Dickens novel. When the service was over, they registered me with slight apprehension, annoyance perhaps. I walked around the premises to enjoy the beautiful fall flower creations and started to ponder how exactly the unhappiness of the Swiss manifests itself—something I have witnessed for what is by now the larger part of my adult life.
Most obviously, the Swiss have a deep suspicion of exuberance, joviality or high-spirited behavior. I have hardly partied in Switzerland as I did in other countries: there is a resistance to letting go. Restraint is practiced even in the most carefree and boisterous situations, like rock concerts or private house parties where rather ridiculous amounts of hard alcohol are being served. Fun is a medicinal bath, as Adorno said, but unlike Adorno, who himself was not averse to the occasional martini and a pretty female’s charms, the Swiss really mean it. Their idea of exuberance is always within limits—which rather contradicts the idea of exuberance. Mostly, they hate noise, someone being too loud in their voice or expression. Classic English banter would be unthinkable in a Swiss bar (“think of the other guests!”) If you pass by a McPaddy’s Irish pub in Zurich and hear banter, you can be sure it’s British, Irish, and Aussie ex-pats working for Google who are looking to escape the grim vibe of their Swiss colleagues.
The Swiss have a deep suspicion of exuberance, joviality, or high-spirited behavior.
At no point do traits of a people’s national character become clearer than when they are contrasted with other peoples. My view of the German people is a double-edged sword, but then I must admit it’s difficult to view oneself objectively. Germans are subservient to the point of self-denial. In my hometown of Hamburg, the woke middle classes, which journalist Ulf Poschardt rightfully calls the Shitbürgertum (The Shit Bourgeoisie), have stifled any culturally rebellious impulse the city was once known for. They bleat like sheep in their collective “fight against the right”. Every cultural event must register for this noble project if it wants funding. Hamburg has become manifestly ugly, predictable and boring.
In Germany, the woke middle classes, which journalist Ulf Poschardt rightfully calls the Shitbürgertum (The Shit Bourgeoisie), have stifled any culturally rebellious impulse the city was once known for.
What I also know for sure, however, is the brutality with which the Germans know how to PARTY. That is when suddenly all “accepted opinions” and behaviors go out the window. Think the Oktoberfest in the south, a certain Berlin techno club, or the bars on the North Friesian Island of Sylt. (The Swiss would not be caught dead on video indulging in transgressive banter).
Observations About the Swiss National Character in Everyday Situations
With the Swiss anti-fun attitude in everyday life, the significance of “deep and meaningful” expression increases. Even the most mundane or banal observations cannot be stated among a group of Swiss people (male or female) without evoking a moment of stunned, awe-filled silence. “A cup of coffee tastes better when you drink it slowly”, or “well, everyone has their own reality” have shut up conversations before they even began, and provoked, rather than feedback, devout, contemplative, and, yes, sad gazes into the distance.
With the reverence for inspirational quotes, there comes a great deal of respect and gravity towards “important people”. The Swiss revere “important people” and are not ashamed to admit it. They even praise themselves for having met this or that TV presenter or beauty contest winner or social media content creator. When you admit apologetically that you have never heard of the person, they are floored. The mood can be lifted, however, if you let it transpire that you have a PhD. Or that you come from a family of influential businessmen, lawyers, or politicians: best if already featured in the Schweizer Familie magazine, or the Swiss edition of Gala. But then again, awe might set in, and they will not talk to you for the rest of the evening.
With the reverence for inspirational quotes, there comes a great deal of respect and gravity towards “important people”.
Not that they care about the specifics. I have never seen Swiss people asking new acquaintances about what they do for a living—at least not on the first date! Nothing, it seems, kindles their curiosity about you. On the contrary: asking personal questions is viewed as an infringement on privacy, when it is pretty much the only way of getting to know a person more deeply. Having lived here for so long, I have come to believe that curiosity is either systematically suppressed or that the Swiss must be the single most uninterested and genuinely incurious people in the world.
By that, they suppress the natural human urge of asking their interlocutor anything personal, or rather: they want to be talking about what they are doing all the time, but never about what they are thinking. “Where are you going for the holidays?” is an extremely popular question. So is talking about one's holiday activities in the blandest manner: “Oh, we went to a beach resort in the South of France, then we went hiking in Provence, and then we went to Spain …” Uncontroversial enough for a conversation between strangers—a response to such activity lists is never expected —this goes on for hours. But don’t dare asking your Swiss interlocutor what they think on any topic. Getting one’s opinion rejected is the Swiss person’s greatest fear – even death seems preferable.
