Belonging

I’m a citizen of two countries, but I’ve never had to apply for naturalization. I acquired US citizenship when I was born and Swiss citizenship in 1988 when I married a Swiss. Becoming a Swiss isn’t normally so easy. In fact, even people who were born in Switzerland don’t get citizenship unless at least one of their parents is already a Swiss.

In both the US and the UK, five years of residency is sufficient for applying to become a citizen; in Switzerland, the requirement is ten. Still, would-be citizens of all three countries face some of the same hurdles. The road to citizenship requires them to fill out forms, demonstrate their good character, buy and submit official documents proving they are who they say they are, and pay a substantial fee. In addition, they have to read, write, and speak the local language (in Switzerland, that will be one of four) and know something about the country’s history and government. Plus, in the US, the UK, and Switzerland, applicants are interviewed—an official looks them over in person and make sure they pass muster.

People who want to become citizens of the United States are given a list of one hundred questions they have to know the answers to, such as “What is one important thing Abraham Lincoln did during his presidency?”, “How many US Senators are there?”, “Name one state that borders Mexico,” and “How many constitutional amendments are there?” In their interview, an official will ask them ten of these questions, and they have to answer six correctly. (I confess I didn’t know there were 27 amendments, which shows I should study the hundred questions myself.) As far as local knowledge goes, applicants should be able to name their Senators and their House representative and may be asked their state’s capital. Anyone who submits the proper papers, pays the fee (usually around $800), gets through the interview, and takes an oath of allegiance becomes an American.

I recently learned about becoming a Swiss citizen from a British friend who has worked fulltime in the canton of Bern for over thirty years. (This is important, since people who’ve received social welfare payments sometime during the previous ten years probably can’t get citizenship in the canton of Bern.) My friend’s workplace is in the city of Bern, and she’s lived in the same nearby village for twenty years. Her German is excellent, and she’s interested in Swiss politics and follows the news. I’d assume she’d be a be a shoo-in—possibly after a review of basic Swiss history.

I’d forgotten that, in Switzerland, you have to become a citizen of your local community (the Gemeinde) first. Next there’s your canton. Only after you’ve been accepted at the local and regional levels are you permitted to become a citizen of the nation. Each Gemeinde (there are 2,148) and each canton (26 of them) has its own rules about naturalization, like how long you have to have lived there to apply and what you have to know and do to show that (in the words of the federal government) you are “successfully integrated” into your community.

The canton of Bern, for example, requires a 90-minute written multiple-choice test about the history, geography, culture, and government of both Switzerland and Bern; 60% of the answers must be correct. It includes questions about typical Bernese food, the average cost of health insurance, and what sea Bern’s largest river flows into. (Since that river, the Aare, flows into the Rhine, and only the Rhine flows into the North Sea—after all, Switzerland is landlocked—this strikes me as a rather tricky question.)

Bern’s test only covers the canton, not my friend’s village and the surrounding municipality. So what does she have to know about them? Possibly quite a lot, it turns out. Luckily, she was forewarned by a fellow Brit who’d passed his interview with his local council by the skin of his teeth. You should know about the town’s main industries in the nineteenth century, he urged her; be familiar with the geography, too—not just of the village but the whole area. Check out statues in the middle of squares and memorize the names and biographies of local worthies.

My friend’s quest for citizenship has been going on since April 2020.  She’s filled out numerous forms, passed both a language test and the canton of Bern’s integration test (the one with the tricky question about the river), and submitted a total of thirteen different original documents proving, among other things, that she isn’t in debt, is gainfully employed, and hasn’t committed any crimes in Switzerland or abroad. She recently had an official interview: forty minutes of conversation with the head and deputy head of her local police force. To her surprise, the two women didn’t ask a single question about the history of the municipality or the canton. Instead, they wanted to know more about where she was born, where her family members live, and where she feels most at home. They asked about her work and what she does in her spare time. It would have been a pleasant chat, if it hadn’t had an underlying purpose. And that was only her first interview.

After the policewomen have written their report, there will be a second interview, this one with the local committee in charge of granting citizenship. Perhaps that’s where my friend will be expected to know the size of the municipality in square kilometers or its most recent population. In any case, the women who conducted the first interview told her it would require at least another year of local, cantonal, and federal processing for her to become a citizen—assuming she makes it.

So far, it looks like her total cost is going to be around $2,500. Considering that Switzerland is both the richest and most expensive country in the world, should that be considered too high a price? Probably not.

The photo of the Berner Platte is from the Swissmilk website, and the Bubenberg statue is taken from Wicki Commons.