In a development that has sent shockwaves of smugness through the corridors of Brexiteer power, Swiss voters have spectacularly rejected a proposal to cap their population at 10 million. The news was met in London with the sort of triumphant self-regard usually reserved for winning a darts match against a one-armed opponent. The cap, which would have triggered automatic deportations and border curbs, was seen as a direct threat to the Swiss tradition of politely welcoming everyone while quietly hoarding gold. But the Swiss, in their wisdom, decided that a nation built on cheese, chocolate, and banking secrecy could survive a few more tax-avoiding expats.
Naturally, the British government has seized upon this as 'vindication' for their own sovereign border strategy. With a straight face that would crack a mirror, Home Office spokespersons have declared that the Swiss decision proves that 'the British approach of open arms and closed minds is working.' One can almost hear the champagne corks popping in the Chequers cellar, where ministers are no doubt toasting their own genius at constructing a border system that is simultaneously 'world-leading' and 'utterly incomprehensible.'
But let us cast a gimlet eye upon this supposed vindication. The Swiss cap was a blunt instrument, a sledgehammer to crack a nut of perceived overcrowding. That they rejected it is not an endorsement of Britain's chaotic, post-Brexit points-based shambles. It is a reminder that even in a land of alphorns and efficiency, people occasionally recognise a daft idea when they see one. The Swiss have not declared Britain their guiding light; they have simply decided against turning their nation into a fortress of bureaucrats and barbed wire. The idea that this is a 'model' for anything other than how to alienate your neighbours and lower your stock of fondue is pure, unadulterated fantasy.
Meanwhile, back in Blighty, the government's own border policy is a triumphant farce. We have a points system that no one understands, a Rwanda deportation scheme that is stuck in legal limbo, and a Channel migrant crisis that grows more absurd by the day. The Swiss, by contrast, have a functioning democracy where they occasionally vote on things, and then, if they don't like the result, they vote again. It is a system that has produced peace, prosperity, and the best pocket knives in the world. Britain's system has produced a shortage of HGV drivers and a revolving door for Home Secretaries.
But of course, the Brexiteer brain is a strange and wonderful organ. It can take any event, no matter how contradictory, and weave it into a tapestry of validation. A Swiss vote against a cap? 'Clearly a sign that open borders are a disaster.' A Swiss vote for a cap? 'Equally a sign that nations must control their own destiny.' It is the kind of mental gymnastics that would make an Olympic gymnast weep with envy. The truth is banal and boring: the Swiss did what the Swiss do, and the British will continue to do what the British do, which is to argue about the meaning of it all while the country slowly turns into a theme park of itself.
And so I raise a glass of indifferent Swiss gin (for the irony) to the English Channel, that narrow strip of water that separates two nations with very different ideas about what it means to be European. The Swiss reject a cap. The British embrace a fiction. And somewhere, a Brussels bureaucrat is laughing into their coffee. Vindication? The only thing vindicated here is the timeless truth that no one understands British border policy, least of all the British themselves.
