White privilege
Coming into Switzerland, only two foreigners were checked in the entire compartment of my delayed intercity train. They were sitting on the other side of the isle, right next to me, two Lebanese living in Germany, on their way to Lucerne. Since both men spoke some German, the two hulky Swiss border policemen relented. The Lebanese were worried about missing their connecting train, and I couldn’t convince them they were allowed to take the next one instead. “Switzerland is very strict,” said the man sitting closest to me, “we better buy a new ticket.” Fortunately, the Swiss conductor came on board and was able to help. Shocked at how sure I was of my rights, whereas the two foreigners preferred to cower right away, I got off. Once again, I was shamefully aware that I need not fear the authorities, the police, or anyone else, that I belong as a matter of course and can make myself heard any time. I don’t need to tread softly, to walk on my inner tippytoes, to pull myself together as soon as I enter the public sphere. The scruples of my friends who live here as secondos (2nd generation migrants) are unknown to me. As a natural born citizen, I’m not indebted to my country, and I do not feel pressured into doing more than my share. I don’t have to keep a low profile. Most immigrants prefer not to sign petitions or other neighborhood initiatives, showing how urgently we need to give them an official voice at the communal level. At my grandchildren’s school parties, which take place in Zurich’s multicultural 4th District, where forty-five percent of the population are immigrants, we eat delicious dishes that parents from thirty nations have cooked for us. Separate yet together, we sit by ethnicity, in a friendly and neighborly way, at long tables. We Swiss know that we can knock on our neighbors’ doors at any time if we need something, a cup of flour, an egg, to make a phone call. Unfortunately, for “the others”, it is not so easy. I am much looking forward to the next party, to be held soon, after a long break. I will talk with strangers and with my neighbors again for sure, no matter where they come from. They have a harder life than we do.
With urban greetings to the country,
Susanne G. Seiler
Resolution
There’s the thing I shouldn’t do
and yet, and now I have
the rest of the day to
make up for, not
undo, that can’t be done
but next time,
think more calmly,
breathe, say here’s a new
morning, morning,
morning,
(though why would that
work, it isn’t even
hidden, hear it in there,
more, more,
more?)
Lia Purpura