6. Executives Branch Unusual though they are, most Swiss political institutions can be readily categorized. Many laws are made using a device employed elsewhere only occasionally: direct democracy. The army, with few exceptions, has universal male service. The courts are businesslike; the society, if we may use a much-abused term, multicultural; the press, low-key; and the businesses are even more businesslike than the courts. The Swiss executive is equally distinctive, but harder to characterize. It is corporate in nature. Most executive decisions are rendered by an executive council of seven members. There is a president, who chairs the meetings of the council and acts on its behalf in certain cases where a single authority may be needed. Yet a visiting king or queen is normally met at a reception by all seven members of the council. The president serves only a one-year term, elected by the others but normally in an informal (but not mandatory) rotation with the others. Even as such, he or she takes practically no actions, at least of a policy nature, as president. Rather, the seven- member board acts as one body. The votes are confidential and each member, regardless of his vote, is expected to stand by and indeed energetically defend the decision of the group. At any meeting of the council, then - about once a week in modern times - the president is looking at a group of former and future presidents, and they look at him as a former and future energy minister, secretary of state, or other officer in one of "their" administrations. Conveniently, there are precisely seven ministries, each one filled by one member of the council: The president and vice- president continue to run one of the ministries during their term. When asked recently what would happen if the Swiss decided they needed eight cabinet agencies or, say, ten council members, a Swiss diplomat smiled at me and said, "Right now, we have seven councilors and seven ministries, so it works rather well." Thus, the cabinet reshufflings are among the most frequent in the modern world, rivaling Italyor Russia. But they take place on a schedule, every December, and with many of the changes preordained. The Swiss executive branch is a little bit chaos, a little bit minuet. One might say that "the Swiss have no chief executive," as political scientist Oswald Sigg has written. At the least, one is reminded of the scene in Monty Python's "Holy Grail" in which the peasant Dennis attempts to explain the workings of his "anarcho-syndicalist commune," with its quaint aroma of nineteenth-century socialism. King Arthur, befuddled and increasingly impatient, keeps asking, "But where is your lord?" Members of the executive council are not chosen directly by the people - here the Swiss system departs from its usual populism - but by the two houses of parliament meeting in joint session. The parliament may choose anyone it likes under the constitution for the executive council and thus, as a future president. In practice, though, the matter is more complicated. Under an unwritten arrangement going back many decades, the "magic formula," a series of guidelines for selection that work somewhat like a quota - and somewhat not like a quota. For instance, it is thought desirable to have at least one person on the seven-member council to represent one of the three national languages: Italian, French, and Swiss. As well, each of the three largest cantons - Zürich, Berne, and Vaud - normally receives a representative. On the other hand, no canton is to enjoy two residents on the Federal Council - again by practice and tradition, but not by legal requirement. Furthermore, each of the four largest parties customarily has an assigned number of seats: two seats for the Radical Democrats (which is actually a centrist or center-left party), two for the Christian Democrats, two for the Social Democrats, and one for Swiss People's Party. None of this is a matter of constitutional or even legal formula, though. Most of this web of understandings is not even written down, except in the sense that it has been discussed much since evolving - parts of the agreement, such as the need for a balance of languages, going back to 1848. The formula for the parties has inhered since 1959, despite the ebb and flow of certain parties since. At the start, it probably underrepresented the Christian Democrats and Radical Democrats; it may now over-represent them. During the replacement of two federal councilors in 1999, which it was my privilege to attend by invitation of the parliament, there was much speculation in the galleries about the possibility that the Radicals (the equivalent of the Christian Democrats in Europe, the Tories in England, or the Republicans in the U.S.) might lose one of their traditional seats. Ultimately the party held onto its seats, in part by the device of nominating two young women to fill the two posts. The Swiss are no less eager than others to advance qualified women to such posts, given their desire to be and to appear to be fair on questions of gender. The Swiss, indeed, may be more keen to do so, as women were only given the vote in national elections in 1971. In any case, the magic formula was clearly under stress, but this time, it held. It is a measure of the discipline of the Swiss voters and their politicians that such an arrangement could long endure even were it a binding, legal contract. Here, we are talking only about a handshake, a verbal promise, that has been honored by dozens of politicians over four decades. Not only the composition of the Federal Council, but also its workings, are remarkable. The members meet in a "respectful, even collegial manner," according to Kurt Furgler, a distinguished former Federal Council member and the former president of Switzerland. "I cannot tell you we did not disagree, or that the disagreements were not, on rare occasions, highly unpleasant. But they were no worse, and probably better, than the other political bodies and meetings I have been a part of." We must remember that this particular arrangement would seem to be a highly combustible one. This "cabinet" does not consist of members of a single party nor does it have such a party or even unified philosophy at the core. The cabinet members were not appointed by the president; there is no person or even unified office to whom they owe their loyalty. Instead we find members of four competing parties, covering a wide portion of the ideological spectrum - with linguistic, religious, and other differences thrown in for good measure. It would seem, on the surface, to be as much a very exclusive senate, or council of lords, as an executive. After reaching its decisions and voting (in private) on the results, the members of the Federal Council join in supporting and explaining the policy to the public as one body. They do not take sides against one another regarding a decision thus made. Naturally nuances of difference may emerge when discussing ongoing issues and problems, but even these are rare and are carried on in a constructive, not a bitterly partisan, tone. There would be little to gain from this, since the next election will not cause a revolution in the composition of the executive, and there is little need for it, since policies that are not in line with the popular will are inevitably overturned or adjusted anyway. Only a few times have the voting results from a national council meeting leaked out in the press - generally close decisions on a 4-3 vote, on highly sensitive issues such as genetic research, abortion, and welfare reform. The editors of the major Swiss papers who met with me said that they have never spiked a story with such information out of sheer patriotism, but neither do they press their reporters to come up with such stories. "We respect the government's right to have a confidential conversation," as Konrad Stamm, the editor of Der Bund, one of the oldest and most distinguished papers, put it, "as they respect our right to have a confidential conversation here. And it is after all our government, the government of Switzerland." This spirit on the part of the Swiss press - which is more vigorous than the press in America or Britain with respect to discussing policy issues, but far less interested in reporting on political conflict and personal scandal - is one of many special factors that make the executive-by-committee system workable for Switzerland, but arguably not for the United States, at least under present conditions. It is hard to imagine such a convention being respected in the U.S. media, particularly for the executive branch, though something like it is extended to other institutions, such as the Supreme Court. One obvious danger comes in time of crisis. Without a unified executive, who is to rally the country? The proverbial horse designed in committee is known for its unworkability; but it might be added that such a horse may also take forever to be produced. This was the Swiss experience during the French Revolution, when the hapless Vorort1 proved unable to mount even a serious resistance to the French invasion. The weakness of such structures is also historically evident from the experience of the United States during its Revolutionary War and the Articles of Confederation. A review of the system in times of need provides only ambiguous evidence regarding the institution's functionality, since many factors other than the executive itself are at work at such times. From this review, however, we can derive some general principles regarding the dangers and advantages of this "non-chief executive." Switzerland has had few domestic crises since the Sonderbund War, itself suggestive, perhaps, that public order and democracy at least can be reconciled without a powerful, unitary chief of state. Even so, some episodes of national turmoil suggest themselves for review. Among the notable domestic crises are the national strike (Switzerland's last) of 1918, the coming of the Great Depression in 1929, the Jura uprisings of 1960-1978, and the cantonal and city fiscal crisis (Geneva, Zürich, Lausanne) of the 1990s. Episodes of a foreign or military nature include the dispute with Prussia over Neuchatel in 1856-1857, World War II, and the government's handling of accusations that Swiss banks or political institutions are tainted by an association with the Nazi Holocaust. Switzerland's national strike involved elements of both a domestic crisis and a foreign intervention. Domestic factors were foremost. Though not a combatant, Switzerland suffered economically during the war like most countries, and by 1918, shortages were becoming acute. Also like the combatants, Switzerland had been forced to adopt a "war economy." Switzerland was neutral, but an occupation by Germany or even the Allies was possible. Hence the Swiss had to maintain states of readiness and training, diverting resources to the prevention of war even as others were doing to fight it. The end of war, however, did not bring a return to "normalcy," as U.S. presidential candidate Warren G. Harding complained in 1920. Wartime tax rates remained in place, and partial rationing schemes were in effect. At the same time the strike was not a matter of spontaneous combustion. It was supported and encouraged by Communist Russia. Having just left Switzerland in April of 1917 and taken power in the November revolution, Lenin was interested in weakening the position of capitalist countries abroad, if for Executives no other reason than to give him a respite to consolidate his new regime in Russia. Despite the falling out between Lenin and some of the leading Swiss Communists, whom Lenin deemed too bourgeois, the Russian Comintern did its best to encourage the movement in Switzerland, as in Germany and other European countries after the war. This could have been, arguably was, a crisis d'etat. As in Kerensky's Russia, Switzerland's institutions seemed hapless and decentralized. There was - in a sense, never is - a strong national political leader. It is hard to see, given the absence of a president with the powers usually accorded one, who could persuade radicals to temper their demands, and elites to grant some - let alone have the clout to make such a solution stick with both sides grumbling. What the council did was to work with the natural forces of decentralization and consensus building within the labor movement and a country as a whole. Another way of saying this was, it divided and conquered. On the first day of the strike - November 11, 1918 - members of the federal council met with several of the leading labor representatives to listen to their demands. This meeting included the radicals, but was aimed more at the moderates, some of whom - such as the Action Committee in Olten - had already issued a proclamation stating their demands. Most were unexceptionable, and none of the demands by the moderates involved circumventing the democratic process. Among the chief demands of the moderates was establishment of a forty-eight-hour work week; the retirement of the national debt by a tax on capital; introduction of labor conscription; passage of a public works program; and the reformulation of the National Council by a proportional system. At the same time, some forces in the labor movement - Fritz Brupbacker, co-editor of the Revoluzzer - were more frankly extreme and insisted that only a takeover of the government by dictatorship of the proletariat would suffice. Having shown that it would listen to all sides and collaborate with the nonextremists, the council, on the afternoon of November 11th, also called out the police and the militia. The council members issued a stern statement indicating that no violence would be tolerated. Members of the Soviet legation in Bern, which had been collaborating with the most extreme pockets of discontent, were escorted out of the country under heavy guard. Leading members of the parliament commenting in the press indicated a willingness to legislate many of the demands in the nine-point statement issued by the moderates, but not while under the implicit threat of mass disorder and even violence. On the morning of November 12th, some labor leaders began to split off from the more radical elements. The radicals, nervously sensing the defections, pushed for more aggressive action in the street. But by now the partial military mobilization was complete; in Bern and Zürich, the streets filled with uniforms. Small incidents took place but the perpetrators were detained immediately. Meanwhile, the Federal Council had convened an extraordinary session of the parliament, with both chambers convened as one body. Parliament stood firmly behind the Federal Council, repeating its willingness in a near-unanimous resolution to enact much of the labor agenda, but only once had the strike been called off. That evening, the leaders of the radical wing of the strike organizers, including the executive secretariat of the Social Democratic Party, surrendered themselves at the Federal Council. The next day they capitulated to the council's demand that they call off the strike. In a sense, their action was irrelevant; the strike was dissolving anyway as the rank-and-file workers and peasants read in their newspapers that many of their demands would be met, and that more extreme leaders were under arrest. By the afternoon of November 13, parliament was debating some of the action items. As E. Bonjour, H.S. Offler, and G.R. Potter wrote in A Short History of Switzerland, "… the most serious constitutional crisis of the war had been overcome. Work was resumed immediately almost everywhere. Proceedings against the strike leaders led to sentences of imprisonment varying from four weeks to six months. But reforms were carried out which the Socialist minority had demanded in vain both before and during the war." Naturally the crisis had its particular heroes and antagonists. The most active member of the National Council during the national strike was Felix Calonder, who, appropriately enough, was serving his (only) term as president in 1918. Calonder was a popular, no-nonsense politician from Graubünden - hearty, Alpine country. He was an advocate of some of the things the socialists and the unions were demanding, having for many years advocated expansion of highway and railway systems for the southeast. He was also a thoughtful student of politics who wrote a university thesis on Swiss neutrality and the challenges to it. Among those he saw, ironically, were troubles arising out of Switzerland's status as a refugee haven - a practice that brought angry intervention from Metternich and the right in the nineteenth century. An army major, he had no qualms about crushing the strike, if need be. It was Calonder who devised the somewhat curious order for the strikers to disband. The terse ultimatum carried little by way of legal justification nor, really, any explanation of what would happen if the order was disobeyed. It was, however, effective, especially coming from and in the name of the Bundesrat. Troops marched through the streets of Bern and Zürich in horseback and on foot with mobile artillery in tow. All the while parliament was in session, glancing approvingly at the government's carrot and stick. Fortunately for Switzerland, the strategy worked, and so Calonder can go the way of the other great Swiss presidents - remembered with a few pages in specialty biographies. Calonder also made the wise tactical decision, in his opening speech to the special session of parliament, to separate the methods of the strikers from the economic policies they sought. Many of the latter could be discussed, he suggested; a sentiment in line with the members. But the "Swiss democracy" was not negotiable and it was not going to overturn itself. After the strike had wound down, Calonder went back to parliament, informing his colleagues and the country that the "free and proud" Swiss could now come together because "their democracy" stood tall. It is tempting to dramatize Calonder's role, to present him as the man who rose to the occasion and dominated events. To do this, however, would be to misunderstand what he did and what the office allowed him to do - the nature of the Swiss presidency. Calonder took advantage of the opportunities available, yes, and in that sense deserves much credit. But he could have done little or none of this without the backing of his fellow executives and most of parliament, including some who simply wanted the strike crushed and others whose sympathies were more leftist. It was the fact of a rough consensus by those groups that made his actions so powerful. Was the Swiss presidency responsible for producing this consensus? One could hardly say it was the sole or primary cause. At the very least, though, the corporate executive did not prevent such a consensus from forming. Calonder had enough tools to spur the system, particularly because he wisely mobilized the other arms of the government - parliament and the council. The seven-member council is one of a number of republican features that cause a broad array of politicians, private institutions, and citizens to instinctively rally at such times of crisis. Today this phenomenon is called a "culture of political consensus." It results, in a positive sense, from the referendum process, from decentralized decision-making, and other such practices. But in a negative way, the capacity is nourished by the lack of men or women of great charisma and sweeping powers. When the people rally behind such a government at such times, it is all the more powerful, for there is less manipulation and Caeserism than with other democracies, and more of spontaneous and broad-based popular initiative. Switzerland recovered faster, and more solidly, from the war - without the Versailles hangover that was to vex Germany and weaken France and Britain over the next generation. In Southern Germany, for example, the post-war strikes were one of a number of grievances against the economic dislocations aided and in some cases caused by Versailles. Thousands of young men, returning from the war to find the jobs all taken and their sacrifices in vain, took to political and paramilitary agitation as the logical solution - burning with hatred for the conspiracy of Bolshevists, intellectuals, and Jews. One of the young men was a corporal and former Austrian living in Munich: Adolph Hitler. In Switzerland, no such passions developed because the labor movement was confronted in an orderly, reasonable fashion - and parts of its economic program adopted. As in 1848, the revolution seemed to come early to Switzerland, but was also dealt with more swiftly and more effectively. In the long term, the council's handling of the national strike was the basis for a kind of concordat between labor and capital and management that has brought more than eighty years of harmony. Although there were signal advances in this harmony in 1947 and again in 1959, the national strike of 1918 and the reform legislation that followed were the starting point. From 1918 through 1998, Switzerland suffered a total of less than 800 strikes with a total of 1.2 million man hours lost. On a per capita basis, this is less than one-fifth the average of the United States or Germany, and still smaller compared to Italy and Great Britain. Yet industrial wages - whether in spite of or because of this labor harmony - are the highest in the developed world. The Depression speaks less clearly to the ability of Switzerland's executives to handle a crisis, but it is by no means entirely unfavorable. Every government in the world did something to try to combat the joblessness and lowered volume of production that seemed to afflict, at least in part, every developed economy in the world. Switzerland was no exception, with public works programs and a program of expanded training for workers in the trades. The Swiss effort was small potatoes - the total of special public works and increases in transfer payments was less than one percent of gross national product - compared to the ambitious New Deal in America, the socialist program in France, and the aggressive industrial subsidies in Italy and Nazi Germany. Officials also devalued the franc to put prices for Switzerland's key exports back on a par with international competitors. Thanks to a combination of labor discipline and skill in calculating the initial magnitude of the devaluation, the device seemed to work: Inflation blipped up by a few percentage points, but was acceptable, and employment remained strong. At the height of the Depression, while Franklin Roosevelt was speaking of a nation "one third" in economic distress, the Swiss suffered a maximum unemployment rate of 4.2 percent. This compares favorably to rates of 20 percent and more common in the industrial countries. Swiss output was flat for four years, but this compared to plunges of 10 percent per year or more in England, Germany, and the United States. "Switzerland," as one economist observed, "never had the New Deal." If we remember that the New Deal was advanced as a practical stopgap measure, a way to "do something" rather than merely mouthing platitudes about supply and demand, then the relative Swiss torpidity can be seen as excusable, as the crisis never reached the dimensions it did elsewhere. Free-market economists would argue that the decision not to launch vast spending programs actually aided the country's economic recovery. At the worst, one can say that Executives during economic crises in both 1918 and 1929-1933, Switzerland's diffused executive in no way hampered the government from taking steps that produced one of the most dynamic economies in the world during the pre-war 1930s. "The first thought of a Swiss," as President Furgler commented, "is not, Met us go to the federal government for this,' but rather, 'let's bring it up at the town council.' And even when you are at the national level, it is not, 'what can the president do about it?' but rather, 'what do we need to do about it?' The 'we' includes the president, but does not orbit about him in the way it does in the U.S. system." This is certainly visible in the domestic-economic crises that the institution has had to deal with. Crises of a foreign or military nature offer perhaps more of an acid test of the executive's ability. In the case for the U.S. Constitution made in The Federalist, much effort goes into defending the power of the federal government and of the presidency in particular. Most of the arguments over the president's authority have to do with the necessity of having a unified command for dealing with foreign antagonists swiftly and, at times, secretly. Switzerland lacks America's size and its oceanic buffer from the European powers. Hence its need for such a president would appear even more acute. Switzerland has not had its neutrality tested by full-scale war on its soil since the French occupation. At least several times, however, it faced imminent and substantial danger of an assault from the German army. These took place during the Franco-Prussian War, World War I, and World War II. In addition, Switzerland faced challenges to its territory or opportunities to regain territories that were taken from it wrongfully. These disputes centered on Neuchatel, the Valtellina, and the Savoy. Switzerland's record of achieving what might be called its objective in these crises, as Table 6.1 (on the next page) suggests, is mixed. Switzerland's inability to regain territory it long held, and valued defensively, in Valtellina - on the southern approaches to the Gotthard - is not a light failing. Had the Swiss simply sent in a few troops, as they might have in 1813 as well, there would have been little European resistance. Switzerland had never ceded the justice of the area's seizure after the war against Napoleon; it had only prudently declined to start a war over the matter. The people of the district wished overwhelmingly to be reaffiliated with Switzerland. Imagine that a critical piece of Ohio or New York - say, the Hudson River approach to New York City or the railroads East of Chicago - had been seized by a foreign power or proclaimed itself an independent kingdom. If after some years events forced the interloper to abandon his ridiculous claim and withdraw his forces, the U.S. would be expected to gather itself and reclaim what had always been rightfully its own. If it could not it would stand indicted for at least a certain lack of alertness. This may sound petty or even jingoistic, but we should consider that the U.S. Civil War was begun by just Table 6.1 Military Crises and the Swiss Executive Crisis Outcome and Assessment Neuchatel 1856-57 Neuchatel canton declares itself independent of its ancient ties to Prussia. The German states mobilize an estimated 125,000 troops and prepare for war. The Swiss Federal Council remains unyielding toward Prussia despite the daunting military force arrayed against them. Neuchatel remains an independent Swiss canton as Prussia backs down. Assessment: It is unlikely a U.S.-style presidency could have handled the affair better. Franco-Prussian War 1870-71 Bismarck's Germany crushes the French army; Napoleon III abdicates; 100,000 French troops flee to Switzerland. Swiss mobilize promptly against both the threat of a French escape in force and a German attack against the French troops. The Swiss allow the French sanctuary as internees but only after they completely disarm. They also spurn German pressure to turn the French armies over to them as prisoners. Assessment: Probably no advantage or disadvantage to Switzerland's executive structure. World War I 1914-18 Assessment: Executive structure weakened Swiss war-fighting capability marginally. Note though, that a stronger executive might have led Switzerland to enter the war on behalf of Germany in 1914, or of France thereafter. The stubborn slowness of executive by committee works against prompt change and foreign intrigue for both good and ill. World War II 1939-45 Virtually alone among the countries of Europe, Switzerland stands free and democratic against the Fascist domination of Europe. Assessment: Executive structure works marginally to Switzerland's advantage in rallying the country for a long resistance to the Nazis (see discussions in Chaps. 17 and 18). -- such a dispute, and over a smaller piece of property than the Valtellina: Fort Sumter. On the other hand, this is the extent of the flaw: That in this case the diffuse executive branch of the Swiss government was unable to move promptly in response to a legitimate opportunity. In the behavior of nations and their institutions, there are worse possible tendencies. Prussia's threats over Neuchatel (1856-1857) and Bismarck's demand for the surrender of French troops (1870) are interesting because they predated a constitutional change in which the federal government consolidated more control over the Swiss military. One of the arguments in the constitutional debate of 1874 in favor of slightly increasing the power of the central government, and greatly consolidating the military, was the need to counteract the growing German threat to the North. Yet even before these fixes, the Swiss were able to resist German pressure. Swiss institutions may have played a role. It may help to note that the Swiss have a time-honored method of preparing for war, one used more in anticipation of German aggression than for any other country: the election of a general-in-chief to command the armed forces. This is done for the simple practical reason that once war threatens there is a need to organize the Swiss military, consisting normally of some 200 to 300 officers, for a different sort of activity, and to rally the country behind a strong commander. Military efficiency too requires someone to make the decisions. The Swiss, always suspicious of concentrations of power, prefer not to have such a commanding figure during peacetime. Hence there is no general-in-chief, indeed normally no Swiss general, except in time of war, and one must be chosen to meet the crisis. Naturally, the Swiss method of appointing such a person is to hold an election; in this case, before parliament. The point is not that this method necessarily produces the best military mind, or fails to. The important thing to notice is the drama of the event - a kind of public sacrament in which the state, this most democratic of states, prepares for the ultimate act of statehood: the defense of the homeland. This ceremony, and the political act it represents, has an important impact on the ability of the Swiss to prepare for war with a ferocity that goes against some conceptions of neutrality. In the Franco-Prussian War, the man chosen was Johannes Herzog of Aarau, the capital city of the canton of Aargau. Herzog was a participant in the Sonderbund War and a trusted associate of the victorious General Dufour, who would later head the Red Cross. It was Herzog, of course, who had to prepare the army to repulse first a French incursion (or simply a disorganized retreat) while being ready, possibly within a few hours, to deal with the pursuing Germans. Herzog set the tough terms that probably helped save the French from the tender mercies of Bismarck. No one who saw the thorough disarmament of the French could claim that Switzerland had violated its neutrality. And the British, not to mention the French and the Russians, were watching with concern to make sure the rising power of unified Germany did not get out of hand. 'The head of the Swiss army in wartime is a very powerful man," a former Swiss official who engaged in economic planning during the 1940s comments. Henri Guisan, the Swiss commander-in-chief during World War II, "had only to ask for materials and he had them." This was not because Guisan could legally compel compliance. Rather, the emergency itself provided the man in such a position with the authority he needs. In effect, in time of war the Swiss elect a commander-in-chief, something closer to the American or European conception of a head of state, though still subordinate of course to the civil authorities. The man holding this position enjoys a tremendous prestige and, by virtue not of enumerated functions but of moral suasion, tremendous powers. As one of only four Swiss generals ever to serve, this commander immediately becomes a figure of history. His role and his function are precisely tailored to the emergency. He assumes his office on the day of his election, and he ceases to occupy it as soon as the crisis is over. Without intending to - at least, there is no evidence of this intention either from the 1848 or 1874 constitutional debates - the Swiss effectively created a way to have something like a presidential system, but only in times of need. To the extent that this device works, it enables the Swiss to enjoy the best of both worlds - in times of peace, a weak executive, incapable of becoming a tyrant; in time of need, a strong leader. The Swiss defensive efforts in World War II are discussed in a separate chapter in Switzerland's role in that war, which became the source of controversy in the late 1990s. For our discussion of the workability of the executive, it is enough to note that Switzerland's exertions were remarkable, and suggest no weakness of institutional capability. Well before most other countries had begun to act, Switzerland began a series of what are probably the most extensive series of hidden fortifications in the world. More important, perhaps, Guisan understood the need of military men, especially Swiss, to have a true sense of idealism about their duties. One of his first acts after his election was to gather his top officers on the Rütli to repeat the oath of 1291. At his urging, the federal council more than once issued a declaration of neutrality that was so tenacious one could easily mistake them for a declaration of war. The declarations proclaimed that Switzerland would never surrender its neutrality to "any" attacker - there was only one real possibility - and go to some length to assure the people that, even if Switzerland was attacked and they heard that a surrender had taken place, it could not be true. By foreclosing any surrender option, Guisan not only encouraged the Swiss public and soldiers to prepare for fierce battle; he also signaled the Germans that any attack would cost many lives and would never lead to the kind of easy capitulation seen in France, Czechoslovakia, and other victims of Nazism. Guisan thereby raised the cost the Germans perceived they would have to pay to occupy Switzerland - and thus helped persuade even the mighty Wehrmacht that this was one country not worth attacking. If the Swiss executive is highly flexible, of course, this is due not only to its own design but to other factors and institutions in the political culture. One is the nature of the army. Being a citizens' army, it reaches deep into the roots of the populace. Every third Swiss maintains a firearm at home, ready for duty in case of attack - usually within twenty-four hours. This type of army is extremely tenacious and ready; as Machiavelli observed, the Swiss fight "like no army since that of the Roman Republic" when defending their home. Yet, it is instinctively defensive; hence, the Swiss response to opportunities in the mid-nineteenth century. Until the great engine for the defense of the country is engaged, Switzerland moves at the deliberate pace to which its republican institutions are suited. Similar factors are at play with the Swiss presidency during peacetime. It might not be too much to say that the Swiss presidency could never function were it not for the support of a whole battery of other institutions, and popular habits of mind, that enable this counter-intuitive executive by committee to function. Among these are the weakness of the other branches of government and of government as a whole. Members of the parliament and the judiciary, as we will see, are not highly paid, have tiny staffs, and, while certainly respected, are without the semiroyal privileges that one sees for a United States Senator or Supreme Court Justice. Hence the Swiss executive, while seeming trivial compared to chief executives in America, France, or even Germany or Britain, is not nearly so overshadowed compared to Switzerland's people's parliament and its efficient but simple justices. Likewise, the decentralized nature of authority - Switzerland's federalism - means that a less potent executive is less necessary. Switzerland has no great bureaucracy to buck and kick against the policies desired by the government. On the negative side, there is less potential for nuisance to attract the vain and the ambitious. "We do not have enough spoils," as a member of the Swiss civil service told me, "to have a 'spoils system. '" As well, of course, since the executive branch is always headed by seven persons from four very different parties, the opportunities for favoritism are even smaller. A more positive way of viewing the interaction of Swiss federalism with its minimalist executive is to understand that in Switzerland federalism does not merely mean a division of power in which cantons or even communities enjoy significant sovereignty and responsibility. Swiss federalism stretches down to the individual who sits on the school board, or helps run the library - largely volunteer activities in all but the largest Swiss communities. If we view the body politic as an actual body, this means that the muscles and the capillaries and the lungs of the Swiss system are constantly exercising and invigorating themselves. The Swiss executive draws on a more united, energetic body than other executives, whose people are less informed. The Swiss vote more, volunteer more - in short, they govern more. Hence they are more fitted and ready to unite behind their chief executive, divided though it is politically, whenever the times demand. And since the greatest strength of modern democratic chief executives is to thus channel the people's vitality - "to focus attention and set the agenda," as Doris Kearns Goodwin puts it - the Swiss executive, in this sense, is one of the strongest in the world. When the executive - or the parliament or the courts - propose to act in accord with the popular wisdom, they automatically marshal an army of true citizens to their side, and can overwhelm any other branch that might oppose. (All the branches of the Swiss government are habituated to following the people's wisdom.) Thus a more proper understanding of Swiss federalism lies in comparing not just the relative powers of the branches and levels of government in the abstract, but their capacity for action with popular support, popular indifference, and against popular opposition. With popular support, any branch of the Swiss government can accomplish nearly anything, for at every level there is the recourse to the ballot box. With popular opposition, almost nothing can be done. Only in the middle band, in the cases where the people are relatively indifferent, do the powers as such come very far into play, and in these cases by their very nature there is little need for a strong executive. This combination has the additional benefit of rendering the Swiss relatively difficult to sway with sudden arguments, demagogic appeals, and slanted versions of the facts. Having never had a king or queen, they refuse to have a pseudo-king or Caesar to attempt to seduce or bully them. "Switzerland," as Lenin grumbled after living in the country for many years, "is the worst ground for the revolution." Today, Switzerland faces no crises comparable to the Great Depression or World Wars. Paradoxically, however, many Swiss wonder if the institution of the corporate presidency may require mending. The controversy over Switzerland's relations with Nazi Germany during World War II, for example, hit the Swiss hard. The Swiss were not prepared for the kind of international opprobrium heaped on them. Many Swiss still remember the sacrifices made during the war to keep Hitler out. When international press, and even the U.S. government, began focusing attention on dormant banking accounts, the Swiss wondered why no one mentioned the considerable resources they spent, and the dangers they accepted, in harboring more than 50,000 allied internees and nearly as many civilian refugees - many of them Jews or resistance leaders - from Germany, France, Poland, and elsewhere. The Swiss wondered why their own government could not be more vigorous, in a double sense. First, why hadn't the authorities simply forced the Swiss banks to resolve the issue of the dormant accounts years ago? And second, why did its leaders seem powerless now to place Switzerland's sins of omission in context with her great humanitarian exertions? Naturally, much of this frustration found its object in the executive, particularly Flavio Cotti, now retired from the federal council, who served as president and foreign minister during the critical year of 1998. In many ways, the Swiss had an easier time opposing Hitler than they do dealing with the Holocaust issue. Moral and physical threats cannot cow them; but confronting a complex series of factual issues, wrapped up in the bitterness and rage sewn by the Hitler genocide, are hard to come to grips with, let alone combat. This is a job for a national leader and communicator with both toughness and sensitivity, in the mold of a Ronald Reagan or Bill Clinton, and the Swiss model does not place politicians of this nature in the council. Traveling in Switzerland in 1998 and 1999, an American was often engaged in discussions about the U.S. president. The Swiss were not much interested in Clinton's amours and other behavior per se; much less so than Americans and most Europeans. They were intrigued by the response of our political institutions in launching the country's second impeachment trial in its history. And if they understood the idea of a free people having a king-like president in the abstract, they certainly had a hard time "feeling it in their bones." This was brought home to me during a visit to the Ticino in early 1999, during the Senate impeachment debate. My train stopped at Bellinzona, where a beautiful castle, Castelgrande, nestled between the river and the grassy slopes and ridges along the southern Alps, virtually compelled me to stop. Some men at a cafe up the street were drinking a delicious type of "Russian hot chocolate" with liquor in it and, being unusually expansive for Swiss, invited me to join. We quickly came to discuss my reason for being in the Ticino, and thence, politics. The eldest of the three men, clearly the sort of leader of the group and not by chance the best German speaker, held forth on various issues from the World War II controversy to the recent appearance of Herr Blocher, a parliamentarian who is, roughly, Switzerland's Pat Buchanan in ideological terms, though a more powerful figure for having been elected to office many times and having led successful efforts on a number of referenda. Eventually, here in the heart of the world's oldest democracy, our discussion of the great issues moved to the Lewinsky affair. The other two men brightened considerably at the shift of the conversation, either because there were some proper nouns they recognized - "Monica" was all one had to say in even the most remote village of Switzerland - or because there was an opening to talk about sex; probably both. After soliciting my prediction on the impeachment question - which was that Clinton would not be thrown out of office - the two men settled down into a discussion of their likes and dislikes for various American presidents. Kennedy, Reagan, and Carter were the popular figures. During this part of the conversation, the older man seemed not to be listening. He was frowning and deliberating, as if thinking through something he wanted to say just right, or working out a math problem. Finally he looked up and raised his thick, Brezhnevian eyebrows and announced his findings: "Such a thing just would not be possible in Switzerland - not even a part of it." His companions looked at one another and me, a little confused. One of them took a drink from his mug and smiled, confident that there would be some punch line. The other one crossed himself - it seemed to be a gently mocking indication that his older friend, the conclusion- drawer, was a fairly orthodox Catholic and was making a point about the state of morals. That was my thought, too - especially from the earlier parts of the conversation, on the American television programming and its excesses, and from my rusty German, it seemed to me that he was trying to make a point about the sexual intrigue. It was either that "such a thing" wasn't possible because the Swiss had higher standards for their public officials, or that "such a thing" wasn't possible because there just wouldn't be such a fuss about consensual relationships. Not sure what he was trying to say but not wanting to appear dense, the fellow next to me asked "why?" in Italian. The older gentleman smiled with satisfaction, as if having foreseen the query and, speaking to me in German, said "because so much power" could never be concentrated in one man. The Clinton-Lewinsky affair wasn't possible not only because a Swiss would probably not suffer from such hubris, but because the Swiss republic wouldn't place a man in a position to be so tempted by power. Nor would it have brought a young woman like Monica Lewinsky into the kind of hero worship that is made possible by such concentrations of power in one personality - this was my thought, but it was in the spirit of what the old man was saying. He nodded. "Not even a part of it." One of the colleagues joined in. "This castle," he said, gesturing at the massive and largely undisturbed Castelgrande, "is not the rule but the exception." And he was right, both in the narrow and the broader sense. The Swiss probably have sacked more castles in their country, and tolerated fewer lords, than any other country of Europe. Where men and women are citizens, there cannot be lords and tyrants. "Not even a part of it," the old man smiled, and leaned back. Indeed, from the time of President Clinton's 1998 denial (January) to admission (August) and impeachment vote in House (December) was virtually one year. That is a full term in office for the Swiss president. The Swiss constitution makes no provision for impeachment procedures. It was not thought necessary. This is not because Swiss human nature is better than others, or that the Swiss vainly imagine it to be so. It is because the nature of the office is different - less given to abuse in the first place, and more easily corrected when there is abuse. It is difficult to picture this institution of a mixed presidency functioning in almost any place other than Switzerland. Therein may lie one index of just how successful its institutions are. Note The Vorort was a precursor to the Swiss corporate presidency from 1848 to the present. The Vorort moved from city to city as the site of the Diet meetings, and hence the "capitol" of Switzerland itself moved. The Vorort was little more than a kind of secretariat to the Diet, though from time to time its members were able to distinguish themselves in diplomatic assignments. Among these was Charles Pictet de Rochemond, who helped negotiate European recognition of the value of Swiss neutrality at the Congress of Vienna. 7. Judiciary "The judiciary in Switzerland," writes James Bryce, "is a less important part of the machinery of federal government than it is in the United States or in the Australian Commonwealth, and may therefore be briefly dealt with." (1) This is certainly true in literal terms. The Swiss constitution grants the judiciary few powers, and these have not been expanded - neither by chance nor by legal cunning. Yet the same initial observation might be made about the federal judiciary in Germany, France, or the United States. Their stated powers are few; their constitutional role, limited; their dependence upon the other branches of government, almost total. In these other cases, however, the role of judges and of the federal judges in particular have grown substantially since the foundation of those republics. In Switzerland, by contrast, some combination of causes has rendered the judiciary restrained not only on paper, but in practice; the Swiss high court is limited not only in de jure, but in de facto terms. It is therefore worth some attention in its own right, and a useful tool for understanding the "machinery of government." Housed in a comfortable but nonpalatial set of offices in Lausanne - the Swiss emphasis on keeping the government divided and diversified - the Swiss Supreme Court operates like few other federal appeals courts in the world. The Swiss allowed me to visit during public hours and even use the law library for research. There was the usual lack of fuss, fanfare, and bureaucracy: No metal detectors, no demand for i.d. papers. Both the chief of staff for the president of the court and two of the justices came through the library or cafeteria during my afternoon in Lausanne, and were happy to strike up a conversation about comparative legal systems. This air of informality in the halls of government is all the more striking in Switzerland because of the greater formality of the Swiss in general compared to Americans and even, in recent years, many Britons. The justices come and go with no formal robes and do not even appear to wear them in many Swiss courts, although there was no opportunity for me to see the federal court in session. At a lounge up the street with a TV set, several Swiss lawyers - they did not seem to be professional staff or justices from the court, but in Switzerland, it is hard to tell - occasionally would gather to watch portions of the U.S. impeachment hearings. During one of the down times, a commentator began to discuss the elaborate robe tailored for the occasion for Justice Rhenquist. The Swiss thought it was mildly ridiculous but, perhaps out of deference to the obvious American nearby, did not go on about it for very long. The Swiss federal court matches this spirit in its operations. There are thirty-nine justices on the federal court, another thirty-nine alternates and extraordinary alternates, and eighteen justices and alternates at the federal insurance court. The federal court is further broken down into nine divisions with particular specialties: there is a court for hearing criminal appeals, a court for disputes between the cantons, and others. The court as a whole handles about 4, 000 cases per year. Justices are not given to long speeches or written opinions. "The parliament and ultimately the people write the laws and the constitution," a staff member who works with justice Nordmann- Zimmerman told me, "which frees our justices to decide particular cases. There is not a need for detailed instructions from our court on constitutional issues; Switzerland is a democracy." By way of an overview, Table 7.1 compares some of the salient features of the Swiss judiciary with those of several other countries. The combination of a large number of justices and the division of cases by type, as well as the limited powers of the court, have the effect of rendering it far less ambitious than many other federal courts. There is no striving upward, little calculation as to how to make great pronouncements or innovations in the law. The Swiss federal court is about deciding cases. This, in turn, has an impact on what sort of person seeks nomination to the federal court. It is certainly not coveted by the most brilliant attorneys as a kind of cap to their careers or an opportunity to make history. Some of the persons nominated to the court, in fact, are not even attorneys but members of parliament, businessmen, and other professionals. It is not that these nonlawyers predominate; they constitute normally six to ten of the thirty-five to thirty-nine justices (much of the time, several seats are vacant). Their presence, however, has a leavening effect on the court, and the mere fact that there are some is a reminder to the attorneys who predominate that the law is meant to serve people from different walks of life. Ideas and concepts from outside the legal profession are able to make a regular entry, and thus help a little bit to prevent the high court from becoming an aloof oligarchy trapped in certain legal orthodoxies. The sheer number of justices, as well, helps reinforce the idea of public service and, if you will, judicial humility. A body of some sixty persons, with Table 7.1 Supreme Courts Compared Switzerland, France, Germany, U.S. Number of justices - 54*, 11, 11, 9 Justices nominated by - legislature, president, prime minister, president) Justices approved by - legislature, legislature, legislature, 2/3 of Senate Length of term - six years, life, life, life Percent of judges who are attorneys(+) - less than 80%, more than 90%, more than 90%, 100% Power to declare local laws void - yes**, yes, yes, yes Power to declare federal laws void*** - no, (yes), (yes), yes Source: Alexis de Tocqueville Institution, "Supreme courts compared," Research Memorandum, 1999, copyright AdTI, all rights reserved. Notes: * - Thirty-nine justices on the federal court and members of the federal insurance court. Does not include thirty-nine "extraordinary" alternate justices for the main court or nine for the insurance court, which would bring the total to 92. ** - This power is used more sparingly in Switzerland than in the other countries; see chapter 13. + - From last fifty justices for U.S. and Switzerland; current members of German and French courts. *** - French and German justices have rights of judicial review but it is more recent and less sweeping than the American use of the principle. --- more frequent turnover, does not develop into the same sort of cozy clique as a body of a dozen or so persons typically serving thirty years or more on the bench. (Although it is rare for the justices to be rejected in seeking a reappointment, it does happen. As well, it happens frequently that a justice will stand down after two or three terms. The position does not carry the almost lord-like prestige of a position in other supreme courts, and the pay is at the same low level the Swiss extend to all public servants.) The spirit of this supreme court was summed up for me by a Swiss attorney, Dr. iur. Wilhelm Boner, who studied comparative law at Tulane University in the U.S. before returning to his native canton of Aargau to practice law. Asked to review some of the more famous or important Swiss supreme court decisions, Boner said, "It is possible to name some, but it would be misleading if you mean 'great cases' in the sense of Marbury vs. Madison or Dred Scott. Our federal court does not exist to produce those sort of rulings, but to settle individual cases." Likewise, the Swiss judges are denied the lifetime tenure that is accorded supreme court justices in most other developed democracies. They are not, however, subject to frequent partisan campaigns or bitter denunciation. In fact, by virtue of the number of court members, and the fact that they are not nominated for life, the nomination debates tend to be far more civilized than those commonly seen in the United States or Great Britain. Nor are the justices "lobbied" or pressured during their early years as they pursue reelection. Reelection is more or less assumed for good behavior; it is extremely likely. It is not, however, automatic. More than 95 percent of the justices who seek reappointment after six years receive it. But that 5 percent possibility is all that is needed to concentrate the mind of the justices. And the fact that most justices receive reelection does not alter the fact that they must periodically receive it. The result is a judiciary much more attuned to the attitudes and wisdom, but also the whims, of the people. In other countries this might have proven a dangerous mix. In Switzerland it has not, both because of the limited powers of the judiciary and the relative conservatism - in the sense of having an aversion to radical innovations - of the Swiss people. The most important difference between the Swiss high court and others, however, is its want of the power, common in Western countries, to void federal laws on constitutional grounds. As Bryce writes, The Swiss Tribunal cannot declare any Federal law or part of a law to be invalid as infringing some provision of the Federal Constitution... .This principle does not commend itself to American lawyers. This power has evolved in some countries, such as the U.S., where it was not specifically enumerated in the constitution. More recent constitutions have often tended to grant the authority explicitly, and some (such as Russia) even provide for a kind of judiciary veto - the opportunity to pass on the constitutionality of statues before there is an actual case in controversy, or even before the laws have taken effect. Why is it that in Switzerland the justices of the federal court have been so restrained? Swiss federalism is a partial answer, but not satisfactory. Other countries enjoy various degrees of federalism, but regardless, have found irresistible the march of legal authorities to judicial constitutional review. Federalism can cut both ways, moreover. In the United States, judicial review was established in Marbury in what on the surface was an act of judicial restraint. The Dred Scott decision enforcing slave-holder rights even in nonslave states was put forward - whether fairly or not - as a matter of states' rights. The culture of republicanism - the ethic of keeping powers small, ambitions in check - likewise is a part of the answer, but seems unsatisfying. Chance or necessity normally puts someone in a position to expand the powers of an office or institution, and human nature being what it is, some occupant eventually embraces the opportunity. As well, this consideration too often makes it necessary for the judiciary to exert power on its own, in order to block a greater accumulation or abuse of power by another. If the Supreme Court of the United States has acted with a heavy hand in matters such as Dred Scott, it has also blocked abuses of powers by Presidents Richard Nixon, William Clinton, and others, and been a bulwark for defending individual rights of all sorts against federal intrusions. Another partial explanation can be seen if we look at the Swiss legal system from the bottom up. It is essentially a cantonal affair - recall that the twenty-three cantons each set their own rules for both civil and criminal procedure. Although there is increasing harmonization, there are limits to this, and the legal culture is still based on law firms doing the bulk of their business by canton or on a canton-by-canton basis. As well, Switzerland has a number of provisions that discourage professionals from thinking of legal practice as a way to amass great wealth or fame. There is a loser-pays provision for lawsuits: If Smith brings an action against Jones, and Smith loses the case, he not only does not receive judgment, but must pay Jones's reasonable attorney's fees. This discourages attorneys from rolling the dice and filing numerous lawsuits for large amounts on the hopes of cashing in on one or two big awards. It also toughens the attitude of defendants in such lawsuits; they know that if they can persuade the judge they have committed no grave harm to the opposing party, their costs in having to prove this will be partially covered. As well, the Swiss mindset of Willensnation, its position as a potential gatekeeper, plays a role. The Swiss know that their position depends on providing the services of an honest broker if they are to be a trading, transportation, and communications hub. If its Swiss legal system were a capricious thing, given to change at the whim of judges or manipulation by highly skilled attorneys, Switzerland would be like a vending machine center which can't reliably offer change. Angry customers would turn away, or even kick the machines, and business would decline. All nations, of course, pay these costs when their legal system is unwieldy or their currency unstable, or any of several other vagaries. The Swiss, however, being so small, so strategically located, and so dependent on foreign trade, are acutely aware of these tradeoffs. This has helped restrain them in all manner of behavior. To understand why the federal courts have almost no authority to void federal law and only limited authority to void cantonal statutes, it is helpful to remember who may: the people. This right to review laws, and change the constitution itself, is in use continuously throughout Switzerland. Thus the concept that a particular body would be necessary to protect the constitution is somewhat alien. To do so would be to protect the people from the people, the constitution from its authors. Of course, Swiss professionals engaged in international business, especially those familiar with the United States, understand the concept of judicial review as practiced here and in some European countries. Even for them, though, the notion is regarded as somewhat confused - and troublesome. For working-class Swiss, one must explain the doctrine many times to get it across, and even then one has the feeling that the concept is regarded as somewhat antidemocratic. In the United States, there is much debate among legal scholars about what the "original intent of the framers" was regarding this or that clause - or even, whether this matter has relevance. In Switzerland, to a much greater extent, the "framers" are still alive and they are not a particular group of men, but all the citizens. There is no need to perform highly speculative debates about what they meant; and if an error is made, it is easily corrected by those same authors themselves. A more positive way of putting this is to say that Switzerland has a Supreme Court for constitutional review - but it is the voters. Note 1. This chapter is concerned wholly with the Swiss federal court, its functioning, and especially its constitutional role. For a related discussion of the Swiss legal system at the cantonal and local levels, for civil and criminal law, see Chap. 13. 8. Parliament At a glance, the Swiss parliament appears ill suited to govern any country, let alone one with the administrative, linguistic, and economic complexities of Switzerland. Its members are numerous, and therefore, less remarkable as a group. For every million Swiss citizens, there are about forty members of the lower house of parliament; for every one million Americans, two members of Congress. This tends to reduce the prestige surrounding a citizen's holding seat in the legislature in Bern and also, by sheer rules of arithmetic, reduces the level of erudition of the group that is able to secure election closer to the societal mean. Most of the members are not particularly smooth in either appearance or speech. "The debates," as Bryce noted in the 1920s, "are practical but not particularly distinguished." During a dozen or so sessions in the fall of 1998 and spring of 1999, one observed perhaps a quarter of the male members in well-cut suits of wool or some other natural material; about half in synthetics and knits with bad ties and shoes; and perhaps a quarter in blue jeans, corduroy-jacket combinations, sweaters, and the like. It's common to talk with a Swiss for more than an hour - and in my case, most conversations quickly reached the subject of the political economy and culture - only to happen upon the fact that one's counterpart was a member of the national or cantonal legislature. In two long luncheon meetings, Franz Muheim never mentioned that he had been a member of the Swiss Senate from Uri. The "Who's Who" of Switzerland lists only a fraction of the current members of the two chambers; in America or Europe, only a tiny number of members (or even former members) would be so omitted. Asked to name a single important bill from Swiss history, such as "the Jackson Amendment," "Glass- Steagal," or "Kemp Roth," most Swiss, even the well read, cannot do so. Switzerland's legislature meets four times a year for a period of three weeks, so the individual and collective expertise of its members on any issue are highly limited. Debates in the chamber are competent and businesslike, but seldom stirring or memorable, or even particularly clever or media grabbing like those in the U.S. Congress or House of Commons. The deliberations of the two chambers bear a faint resemblance to the pace and logistics of a meeting of the United Nations General Assembly. Although most members have some competence in two or more of the country's four official languages, some do not, and by law, individuals at such proceedings have a right to speak in any of the country's three official tongues. As a whole, the body is respected, even revered. The Swiss make occasional jokes about their parliament, particularly the lack of special qualification or expertise by some of its members, or the presence of "so many lawyers," though in fact there are fewer attorneys than in most democratic assemblies. But the comments are of a "gentle wit," as Beatrice puts it in Shakespeare's Much Ado About Nothing, "stimulating without harming." Toward the individual members, in general, there is a tremendous affection. Visiting with a parliamentarian in his or her home town, one generally observes that they are known and liked. It is not the power worship or respect that would be given to a British MP, still less to a United States Senator. There is, however, a familial affection. "We have to like the parliament, in a sense," as a newspaper editor told me, "because our parliament is us." It reflects, more than any other parliament, the people who elect it, and it enacts - especially given the many popular checks on it - laws that are closer to the heart and spirit of its people than in any other nation. For an individual, achieving a seat in the lower or even upper chamber is not on the level of distinction of other Western democracies. Members and former members make no fuss about their titles, and normally are not addressed as such. A Swiss who was a member of parliament and has a Ph.D. is nearly always referred to as "Doctor" - not "Congressman" or "Senator." When one Swiss person describes the achievements of another who spent some years in the legislature, it is not uncommon for them to completely omit the fact of their having served there - not by way of demeaning the body or the person's service there, but simply because it is not necessarily considered as important as their achievements in their business, their community, and their family. The reciprocal result, however, is that the Swiss feel perhaps less alienated from their politicians than the voters of any other country. The election rules that produce these parliaments are also a mass of seeming contradictions. There are no federal term limits (at least one canton has a ten-year cap), and members enjoy a very high rate of reelection. Yet they generally step down after a period of ten or so years, being taken up with other pursuits. In many Western countries, the pattern is the opposite: Many politicians loudly proclaim the virtues of limited terms, yet decline to step down themselves after years in office. The Swiss spend little on campaigns. For a seat in the national legislature, they consider any amount over $50,000 spent by one candidate to be excessive, and this invisible ceiling is punctured only rarely. For the cantonal legislatures, $5,000 or less per candidate is the norm. This compares to races in the millions for the U.S. Congress and state legislatures. Yet Switzerland has no limits on how much a candidate can spend, and none either on how much an individual can give to a candidate. Despite the seeming opportunities offered for even a small amount of money to influence the political system, the Swiss are plagued by few of the scandals and corruption that plague Washington, London, or Tokyo. In the early 1980s, a member of the federal counsel, the Swiss executive, was caught up in a financial scandal. She had alerted her husband to a pending investigation of a company on whose board he sat. The call in which she did so was leaked to the press. She resigned quietly in a manner of days. "It is free," James Bryce wrote in Modern Democracies, "from even the suspicion of being used for private gain." The statement remains true today. Yet there are few checks of the type that in more corrupt states are deemed essential merely to restrain marginally the force of legislative malfeasance. Swiss members of the Congress fill out no forms disclosing their income and holdings, and release no tax records. Even their campaign spending is a private affair. Candidates normally (as a practice, not a legal requirement) report totals to the party but not the public. Nor are such figures leaked to journalists. "There would not be a great need for those types of ethics laws here," as Hugo Bütler, the editor of the Neue Zürcher Zeitung commented, "because any question of corruption could immediately be remedied by the people," a reference to the referendum system, "and because there is a general respect for the parliament and its members as honest and just. For the Swiss, the parliament is us, a reflection of the people themselves." For that reason, it is difficult to quantify certain activities for comparison to other countries. The Swiss have no federal term-limits on legislative seats, and although the turnover rate in the legislature is relatively low, they have few complaints about the difficulty of removing an occasional member who does not perform. "Our members of parliament tend to get reelected because they do a good job," as Christian Kuoni, a leading businessman, put it. "If they were not liked, people would not vote for them." Who are the legislators, and how do they work? More than one-fifth are women: forty-four of 200 members in the lower chamber in 1998, and eight out of forty-six in the upper chamber. The most common profession among these members is lawyers, but this is true of only about one-third of the members, as opposed to half or more in a typical Western congress or parliament. A number of business executives serve, more than 15 percent in fact. This is down from perhaps more than a third in, say, the 1960s, owing both to the increasing demands of parliament and of business. A number of union leaders, teachers, doctors, and housewives also serve. This diversity of professions has a number of important impacts. Naturally, the debates and discussion of the Swiss assembly are less precise and correct legally than one might expect among the more specialized legislatures of other developed countries. This renders the whole tone and art of governing somewhat rougher, less precise, and less bureaucratic - with advantages and disadvantages. Combined with the fact that there are six or seven parties represented, as well as the fact that Swiss's highly federalist structure refers many issues down to the cantonal and even communal level, the result is that a meeting of the Swiss assembly often has the feel of a city council. The discussions on the floor and in the chamber have the flavor, not of a separate society of persons all expert in the business of lawmaking, but of professionals and workers from different fields, all with different kinds of expertise. There is here more than any other legislature the sense less of a separate clique or society, and more of a chance assemblage of different persons, and a slice of the broader society at large. During one session, the presiding officer of the Senate happened to notice an acquaintance up in the galleries. Without any great disruption in the proceedings, he called for one of his colleagues, a woman, to please take the chair, walked out the back of the room, and within a few seconds was up in the visitor's gallery to deliver a little briefing to his friends. Just as seamlessly, when the debate suddenly neared completion and it was time for a vote on a series of amendments, he got up and left. The proceedings that day, by the way, were not some trivial vote on a nonbinding resolution or the like. (There are very few such resolutions in the Swiss parliament, by the way. "We have too much work to do in the time we have," as a member explained to me matter- of-factly in the outer chamber.) In fact, the Swiss were in the midst of a fiscal crisis. "All we have to do is cut a few billion francs," Carlo Schmid, a respected Senator from Appenzell, explained. Then again, this amounted to about 5 percent of the Swiss budget. Amounts of that sort have been sufficient to bring down parliamentary governments in other Western democracies and, at the very least, to produce a great outcry in the United States, with bitter discussions lasting until the wee hours of December 30. The Swiss, who in ten days were about to choose two new federal council members - in effect, two future presidents, and one-third of their executive branch - wrapped the whole discussion up in a few days, voted, and closed the budget gap with little fuss or fanfare. The Swiss chambers thus operate in an atmosphere of relaxed seriousness. They form a true popular assembly, a people's parliament, which reflects and embodies the basic character of the nation itself. Much of this, as has been observed, flows from the broader political system that empowers popular wisdom. But there are particular rules and policies that play their role as well, operating themselves consistent with the broader political structure. It would be wrong to think that merely by copying these minor provisions, one would achieve the same spirit; but it would be equally wrong to ignore the democratic-republican spirit that pervades the Swiss legislature. Approaching the Bundeshaus, a building of worn stones in the Georgian style that backs to a view of the River Aare, one sees indications almost immediately that this is a special kind of legislature. A public parking lot, no more than fifty feet from the main entrance, bustles with the cars of citizens. Up a simple set of stairs is a set of huge, beautiful double doors. Members of parliament come and go, leaving an outsider to wonder where the entrance is for "visitors" or the "general public." But here there is no great sociological gulf between the people and their representatives. "The entrance," explains a somewhat bemused woman in French, "is here," pointing to the obvious door a few feet in front of us. Entering the parliament one sometimes encounters not a single guard (there are guards, but they often sit unobtrusively in one of two entry chambers to the side). There are no metal detectors or briefcase scanners. A group of two or three nice ladies, approximately forty to sixty years of age, generally approve your pass for the day. Usually, if one is going in to visit with a member of parliament, the parliamentary member will come down to meet the visitor. Up two broad flights of stairs - no special elevators for members - and one passes through a long, old-fashioned-type communal press room with big wooden tables and ample seating, but no special desks belonging to individual reporters. Behind the press room was a wide, semicircular hallway, perhaps thirty feet wide and 200 long. Every fifteen feet or so on the inner side of the arc was a door feeding into one of the two legislative chambers. This archway served as a kind of grand lobby for members to hold meetings, make telephone calls (usually on a cell phone), and conduct other business. It was also, however, the office for most of the members. The typical parliamentarian has only a shared desk in this outer commons area, or at best, a cubbyhole at his party's office nearby. There are no paid staff, no special barber shops for members. Members generally eat in a cafeteria along with other members, visitors, and employees from the library and other government offices housed at the Bundeshaus. As we sat in the cafeteria one morning, two members nominated for the federal council (the seven-member presidency) walked in. They were treated with respect, and a certain notoriety, but there was nothing out of the ordinary. In fact, they addressed several nonmembers of parliament by name, and carried on a conversation with them about the issue being debated that morning in the Senate. As in Swiss courts, in the great Swiss corporations, or on a Swiss sidewalk, there is a low- key absence of officiousness, and a constant emphasis on building a popular consensus. This absence of pomp is not merely symbolic, and does not merely effect chance conversations or relationships in a cafeteria. The nature of the system helps promote this relaxed atmosphere among legislators. After all, there is little chance of sneaking any important measure into Swiss law by dint of a clever evasion or a raw- power parliamentary maneuver. There are too many checks. Policies are changed by people, elections are constant. Senator Pat Moynihan once described the error of many Americans in thinking its legislators work by the "consent of the governed." In fact, as Moynihan aptly noted, they operate as they wish unless the people object. The same theme is woven through the memoirs of the late Tip O'Neill, Man of the House. The distinction is critical. As elections take place once every two years for the House, and every six for the Senate, there are few opportunities to object. And these are diluted by the fact that each member will have cast hundreds of votes. The voters, then, consent not directly to the thousands of small acts a government will commit, but to an amalgamated track record, a great average, for their own representative. Among the Swiss parliamentarians, there is a kind of despair about the utility or possibility of manipulating other elites for political gain: What would be the point? That "despair," of course, is another way of saying, healthy respect for and orientation toward the people. Politics, then, is less tactical, more substantive. There are, interestingly, fewer appeals to "the people," and still less to opinion polls, than in a typical Western democratic assembly. In these, the regular citation of the people shows in a certain way that the people are taken into account, but also, that their voice will not automatically be heard. For many votes and issues, the people will never have a direct voice; hence their voice must be leveraged, inferred, or "brought into the discussion." In the Swiss assembly, there is a constant, pervasive knowledge that on anything controversial, the people will, willy-nilly, have the final say anyway. They are no more cited or appealed to than the air we breathe; they are simply there. As for opinion polls in particular, there are remarkably few of them, and the Swiss of all walks of life hold them in contempt. "Polls reflect what men and women think when they are telephoned late at night and asked to spout off an opinion about something they may have no influence over," as one parliamentarian put it. "It is not the same as when you ask citizens to decide what the country will do: Then there is an informed choice, made in a serious and deliberative manner." The parliamentary bodies also appear - based on attending some eight to ten sessions, over a period of several months, and reviewing press accounts of the proceedings going back a century - to be significantly less partisan. Debates are no less lively as to the ideas and principles involved, but less rancorous and accusative regarding alleged matters of personal or party bias. This probably has less to do with any of the particular legislators, or even the rules directly affecting the chamber, than with the general "spirit of the laws" which results from the Swiss system of direct democracy and culture of consensus. In many democracies, the way one changes policies - often, the only way for major changes - is to win an election and with it a "mandate." The losing party is thus expelled from office, and begins its effort as the minority to defeat its opponent. Even where the individuals in this system are highly public spirited - as they usually are - the system itself brings them into constant conflict. There are many gains to be had by enmeshing this opponent in a scandal, or finding a way to neutralize that opponent with a clever parliamentary device. And, such change by realignment, with winner-take-all implications, tends to take place only periodically. To "lose the Congress," as the Republicans did in 1954 or the Democrats in 1994 in the United States, typically means at least five to ten years in the wilderness, and usually longer. In the Swiss system, with so many controversial issues being referred to the people, there are many ways to achieve change without a single office holder losing his or her seat. The gains of defeating another party, particularly if it is by dint of some merely clever device of communications or investigative skill, are correspondingly minor. The popular orientation does not eliminate the competition over ideas; indeed, it heightens it. It tends to make party and personality a smaller factor, however. In the Swiss system, to gain such a minor advantage, even in the short run, would be roughly as important as winning the right to speak first or last in a debate or to sit on the right or left side of the room in the legislature. Such matters may matter, but in a world of finite time and resources, they are not what a prudent statesman spends his energy on. Respect is obvious when listening to the Swiss people talk about their legislature, particularly as part of the broader system of government. Even more noticeable, however, is the respect of the lawmakers for the Swiss people. A Western politician who is defeated at the polls or who simply cannot get a particular message he desires passed into law will instinctively blame some flaw in the system, the people, or even the press - drawing any conclusion, almost, except the one that their initial idea itself was flawed. "We didn't do a good job of communicating what we wanted to do with this bill," is a common explanation. "Our message didn't get out," usually because of the "special interests." Sometimes the low opinion of the voters is stated straightforwardly, as in Senator Jack Danforth's 1984 proclamation that "the problem with this congress is that it is too responsive to the will of the people." Normally it is couched in more indirect terms, but the underlying assumption that the voters cannot sort out the demagogic appeals of others remains. Swiss politicians take aim more often not at the messenger or their opponents, but at themselves. Andreas Gross is a well-known member of parliament and an author. He came to prominence by sponsoring an initiative to abolish the Swiss militia system of near-universal male service. If anything, one would expect an articulate and cosmopolitan member of parliament like Gross to have a certain stubbornness about admitting a mistake, and a great facility to explain how his ideas had only been thwarted by the Rich, the Military, the Press, or some other cadre. Instead, when asked what he thought of the initiative system given its rejection of his proposal some years ago, Gross said simply, "It is a good system - the best anyone has found. The people rejected our initiative, and therefore, it was wrong." When this happens, Gross continued, "you have to look at your own proposal again, see where you may have gone wrong." Parliament's special character and reputation are partly the results of social factors and mores that can only be created through indirect measures over much time. Others, however, are the result of policy. These are not necessarily deliberate: The constitutional debates of 1848 and 1874, for example, give little evidence that the Swiss framers were setting out to produce these effects. They are, nevertheless, real results traceable of the acts of statesmen - not merely volcanoes or lightning bolts or other natural accidents. One such effect is the result of the pay for members of the Swiss parliament, which is low compared to the rest of the developed world - as Table 8.1 indicates. The austere salaries are mirrored, or even exceeded, by the lean staff and perk structure. In the United States, even a junior member of Congress typically enjoys staff, office, and other privileges in the amount of $800,000 and up. This does not count the huge resources available to him directly through the ability to compel work by dozens of congressional agencies. Even in France and Germany, where the measurable legislative structure is more lean due to the parliamentary nature of the government, staff budgets dwarf those of the Swiss. The government provides no separate office to speak of, and no personal staff. The typical Swiss parliamentarian shares an Table 8.1 Salaries for Legislators (ECU per month) Switzerland 2800 UK 5400 Netherlands 5200 Greece 5000 France 5450 Denmark 4950 Belgium 5600 Austria 8500 Germany 6300 United States 7250 Source: Alexis de Tocqueville Institution, from OECD data, 1998. --- office, if that, at the party office within the capital. His cubbyhole resembles that of a congressional staffer in the United States. One obvious impact of this low pay, in combination with the related factors mentioned, is that the Swiss regard service in that body as a real sacrifice. It is not as though the pay is so high in other legislatures that the money involved becomes a powerful magnet, drawing the most talented and ambitious to compete for the money involved. But neither, in combination with all the power and perks that attend to a position in the French or British parliament, or the American house or senate, can anyone pretend that membership there is anything but a boon to most of the members. The impacts of this policy, or tendency, toward low pay for the members of parliament are not merely a matter of avoiding certain ills (e.g., reducing the lust to hold such office among the merely ambitious). It has positive effects as well. The notion that service in parliament is an act of citizenship has created a tolerant attitude among most employers toward the service of their members in that body. This, also combined with other factors - such as the campaign financing restraint - enables the Swiss parliament to achieve a much broader cross section of professional, racial, and cultural representation. It is important to note that Switzerland has moved somewhat in the direction of a more professional parliament and other functions of government in the last twenty-five years, a change some bemoan as insufficient, and some as having gone too far already. A mild reaction against this trend has set in. It is possible that the 1990s were a high-water mark of the professional politician, just as it is possible the trend will continue. The citizen system has also probably played a role in the facility with which women have been able to move so quickly into the political structure in Switzerland. (Their presence is all the more remarkable if we recall that women did not even win the vote until a 1971 referendum.) "As a housewife on a farm, I have hardly enough time for the responsibilities in the legislature," as a member of the St. Gallen cantonal legislature told me. (The legislature meets ten weeks a year, about the same as the national parliament in Bern, but there are committee meetings and mountains of reading.) The vast majority of parliamentarians keep their regular jobs, whether as homemaker or wage earner, at least to some extent, during the forty weeks of the year they are not in session. The result would be a conflict-of-interest nightmare under the extensive ethics-protection law common in other democracies. This disadvantage is compensated, however, by the culture of no-nonsense work that results. The Swiss parliament consists of citizens who live not with separate members' pension and health plans, special entrances and parking places and other perks, but will in fact be back at their workplace living under the laws they have created within a few weeks. The Swiss system of government literally "by the people," from the community volunteers up to the national parliament, has not proven immune to erosion. The lament of François Loeb, a member of parliament who owns a prosperous department store chain, is typical: "I am able to maintain my business and take an active part in the assembly because my business is in good enough shape for me to be absent from time to time, and to delegate work to a competent staff. Not all the members are in that position, which means that their work in the parliament or their business must suffer, or both." Loeb worries that service in the parliament may become affordable only to the privileged in the future. So far, however, the Swiss penchant for moderation in campaign expenditures has helped prevent the legislature from becoming an aristocracy. The sons of former presidents and congressmen have fared better in the American electoral system with its spending and contribution limits than they have in Switzerland with its relatively lax rules, but public austerity. Anywhere the threat of a concentration of power raises its head, especially a political one, the Swiss instinctively react to bring matters under control. There is a cost to the Swiss practice of giving scant economic support to its lawmakers. This was visible during visits to parliament in 1998 and 1999, as several of the more impressive members felt compelled to return to their private profession or business. The result is to deprive the Swiss people of the experience and intelligence of some of its more capable public servants. This turnover, on the other hand, has positive aspects. It enlivens the two chambers with periodic infusions of new energy. The impact, in combination with other factors, is to simulate something of the results sought by the device of term limits in some countries but without the imposition of a direct elite veto upon the man or woman who would otherwise be selected by the people. Nearly as important as the parliament's lean budget is its limited calendar, which works in combination with these other matters to preserve the deliberate amateur quality of the legislature. Meeting only ten to twelve weeks a year, the legislators have little excuse to avoid centering their lives in their home district and, lacking the resources for the most part, only a few of them are able to become full-time socialites in Bern. Likewise, the sheer numerousness of the representatives, in relative terms, helps keep the body from degenerating into arrogance. At 240 members with seven million people, the Swiss ratio of representation is the equivalent of a U.S. Congress expanded from its present membership of 535 to some 18,000. This is not a trivial effect. It renders the entire system more accessible, and thus reinforces the objective of maintaining a people's government that so many other Swiss institutions also strive to preserve. By diffusing power, it renders the legislature less vulnerable to manipulation, whether by wealth, particular interests in the press, or by other pressures. "There is almost no lobbying," Bryce wrote, and this remains largely true today. One strives to find listings of firms even resembling lobbyists in the Bern telephone directory. Associations of employers and labor unions, industries, environmentalists, and other groups exist but bear little resemblance to their counterparts in Washington, D.C. Many of these offices did not even employ a single full-time lobbyist, where their U.S. or European counterpart would typically have a whole battery of them. The sheer size of Switzerland, to be sure, plays a role in this, as does its relatively small federal government. Wary of the dangers of power and privilege, Jean-Jaques Rousseau, the French philosopher who proudly signed most of his manuscripts "a citizen of Geneva," once suggested that republics move their capital periodically - disrupting the cozy inertia and special relationships that tend to build up in any governing city. The combined policies of the Swiss toward their legislature have some of the impact of that, at less cost. Underlying all these effects, of course, is the system of initiative and referendum that affects the Swiss political economy, and in a sense the whole culture, so broadly. This system is often described, even by the Swiss, as a kind of negative check upon the other political institutions. It is certainly that. It is, however, more than that. It creates a spiritual bond, and a sense of responsibility by the people - turning them all, in effect, into part-time legislators since in their many votes each year they wind up functioning in precisely that manner. In the Swiss parliament, the influence of direct democracy can be seen by a whole sociology of popular orientation. Each member of the assembly thinks of himself as a teacher, and a teacher of the whole nation of citizens. No teacher who holds his pupils in contempt will succeed, or even stay long on the job; hence the pedagogical impulse, healthy and strong to begin with, is reinforced. As well, a teacher with any wisdom soon realizes he has much to learn from his pupils. The instruction is no longer one way - particularly when the classroom is an intelligent one like the Swiss people, and the teacher a humble, part-time instructor who thinks himself a citizen, not a sovereign. Thus, to attempt to transplant merely the policies that directly govern "parliament" itself, such as campaign finance or pay and staff provisions, to other democracies, might produce disappointing results if done without establishing some kind of initiative and referendum system, or other arrangements that would emulate its effects. One can make an excellent case for reforming the U.S. or the European legislatures even if only by means of some of those narrower measures. They would not, however, work in exactly the same way as in Switzerland, for there, every political relationship is subtly changed by the system of direct democracy. It may be that the other democracies, given how far their institutions are from this populist faith in the wisdom of the electorate, must limit themselves to cruder measures. Or that to reach a state of refinement as great as the Swiss model, that they would have to pass through intermediary stages in which the faculty of popular voting and control could be built up gradually. In a sense, the roots go deeper even than the practice of national and cantonal referendum. The Swiss institution of direct democracy, after all, stretches back over time, and at the same time is brought forward in the continuation of the ancient popular assemblies. Carlo Schmid-Sutter, who has served in the national senate, has a grasp on the Swiss conception when he describes the Landsgemeinde as "the incarnation of the state, the place where all the citizens come together to act as a community." No representative assembly, however virtuous, can ever exactly capture that sensation. The Swiss, though, have achieved an unusually close approximation, in their parliament of citizens. 9. Referendum "You don't believe in direct democracy unless you believe in it when you don't like the results." - Andreas Gross Referenda came into widespread use during the French Revolution. These are not the most auspicious roots for a political device.(1) The French held votes on taxes, church-run schools, and other issues in the 1790s, and these spread to Switzerland and other occupied territories in a sporadic fashion in the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries. In fact, the French conducted a referendum on a proposed Swiss constitution in 1802. After it was voted down, Napoleon, who understood something of the special Swiss temperament, wisely drafted a substantially different "mediation" constitution of 1803, consulting personally with a number of Swiss to ensure its plausibility. In the plebescites in Revolutionary France, votes often resembled those 98 to 1 or better affairs known in the North Korean legislature or the Cuban vote on Fidel Castro's newest five-year plan. Taken in the spur of the moment, with little real debate or presentation of alternatives, these plebescites revealed scarcely any of the deliberate sense of the people. They had all the seriousness and thoughtfulness of an opinion poll taken over the telephone, and gave to "plebiscitory democracy" the bad name it still has for many today. In Switzerland, by contrast, even during the French occupation, matters were different. Though the French constitution was rejected, for example, the margin was not huge. This was an indication that to the voters, the constitution itself was not that bad. There was bound to be a certain rejection of anything French at that point; the interesting fact is that it was so small. Debate on issues in the characteristically incisive Swiss press was in many ways more lively than that tolerated within France itself. Not surprisingly the constitution, when imposed, did much better than the previous French efforts, largely by returning a measure of the country's customary decentralization. Once ensconsed in the Swiss mind, the referendum proved a difficult habit to shake. It is a tool of government very much in the spirit of the country's tradition. Switzerland has always had referendum and initiative of a sort. Its community democracies allowed citizens to meet and make laws directly. Only the form of the referendum, which allowed voters over a wide area to participate by casting a ballot, was different than the ancient Lands gemeinde. And the referendum was, in many ways, an improvement. Popular assemblies require the transportation of a number of people for an entire day; they are becoming logistically difficult to hold once a year even for the small cantons. A referendum ballot can be cast in a few minutes at polling places dispersed throughout the district for convenience. This becomes an important advantage if one needs to hold follow up votes or discussions, say if one method of dealing with a problem is rejected, but the people wish to consider others. Because of this advantage in holding discussions seriatim, separated by an interval of weeks or months, the referendum is more amenable to a deliberative process. Popular assemblies, by contrast, must be carefully managed to avoid becoming a chaotic shouting match. And if they are managed too carefully, they may stifle the very process of give and take by the people they are meant to spur. The long occupation by France, followed by the imposition of the constitution of 1815 by Austria, Russia, and the other powers, had given the Swiss a bellyful of foreign influence. But there were benign, even positive aspects of the French influx as well. It spurred a desire for equality among the people - and in Switzerland, with its traditions of self-reliance and economic opportunity, the emphasis was on legal and political equality, more than equality of economic result. Naturally the two intertwined and interrelated. The French occupation, and even its hated constitution, had proclaimed Switzerland "one Helvetic Republic." This had been the dream of classic liberal thinkers in Switzerland for some time. When the occupation ended, its imposition by the French did too, but the desire for a true Swiss nation did not. When pressures such as these cannot be satisfied as to their direct object, they tend to move into secondary or "next-best" reforms. Like steam, they seek some crack through which to escape. In Switzerland in the 1820s, there was little hope of a Swiss nation, let alone a national political reform that would give the people direct and equal access to the law-making authority. At this time, the unicameral Diet still was merely a congress of cantons. Any ideas, any national reforms, had to pass through the sometimes undemocratic structures of the individual cantons to become law; and even then they would have only whatever force each canton decided to give them. Naturally the reform forces turned, then, to the cantons. Some cantons were under no pressure, because the laws were already made directly by the people in assembly, such as Appenzell, Uri, Unterwalden, Glarus, and of course the ancient democracy of Schwyz. Others, though - notably Bern, Zürich, Basel, and even Luzern - had no such tradition, and their representative democracy still had a substantially feudal character, with a large number of seats on the ruling council passing down by family. In Zürich, for example, the people were represented, but through the ancient labor guilds, who had their quota of seats among the old families. Bern resisted democratization in the sixteenth century, acceded somewhat in the seventeenth, and attempted to revert in the eighteenth century, as did the independent state, now a canton, of Geneva. In 1830, events across Europe gave the democracy movement in Switzerland an assist. Poland, Spain, and southern Germany were in turmoil, a foreshadowing perhaps of the deeper unrest to occur in 1848. In Zürich, Bern, Thurgau, Fribourg, Luzern, Ticino, and Vaud, popular gatherings demanded greater voting rights. In general the demonstrations were not violent. They were called Landsgemeinde and modeled after them - political reformers cleverly simply convening these meetings to pass statutes that perhaps had no legal force, but had moral authority, and suggested the need for popular inclusion. Coinciding with the rewriting of many cantonal constitutions, the meetings had an impact. St. Gallen established a right for citizens to review and reject all laws in 1831. Zürich and Bern both not only opened up their council elections, but enacted a series of legal and political reforms that were approved in consultative referenda from 1832 to 1834. Every canton but Fribourg had established some type of direct popular legislative review by 1845, at which point the onset of deep divisions over the religious question put such secular concerns on temporary hold. As the procedure spread, it produced forebodings of doom among some. "We are governed no better and now no differently than the hill people," a Zürich patriarch moaned in 1836. James Fennimore Cooper visited Switzerland during this transition to cantonal, referendum and reported on a heated discussion of the referendum's spread that took place in a Brienz pub: "An Englishman at a nearby table began to cry out against the growing democracy of the cantons ... 'instead of one tyrant, they will now have many.' " Some of the shrewder members of the political class in the aristocratic cantons, however, saw the referendum as a co-opting device. Like some capitalists over Roosevelt's New Deal in economics, they may have calculated that a prudent concession to popular opinion was better than a revolution. Still others, of course, were staunch believers in the new creed. There was the peasant leader Joseph Leu of Luzern. An orthodox Catholic, Leu fought to have the Jesuits reinstated in the Luzern schools. But he also opposed the ruling families on political reform issues, and was a major force for the cantonal referendum. Cantonal adoption of referendum was not enough to put to rest the feelings of religious enmity; no mere political device was enough for that. It was, however, available as soon as the Sonderbund War ended - as both a healing device and a means of establishing the legitimacy (or lack of it, if it failed) of the new constitution. Although there had been little experience with the device per se on a cantonal level, there was a consensus among the men writing the constitution in 1847 and 1848 that the referendum would prove a highly useful device for legitimizing their new structure of government - and therefore, warranted to be retained as a permanent part of the design. Evidently, the people had little objection to being consulted about the constitution initially, or about its provision by which they would be consulted periodically. On September 12, 1848, the Swiss voted on the new constitution with its referendum provision, 145,584 in favor, 54,320 against. It was, fittingly, the first national referendum as such by a sovereign Switzerland. As the referendum was working its way through the cantons and up to the federal constitution, a related but separate concept began to take hold - one perhaps even more important in its effects. This was the process of "initiative," by which citizens could bring their own proposals for new laws or constitutional provisions to a direct vote of the people. In canton Vaud (1845), any citizen obtaining 8,000 signatures on his proposal could put the matter to a referendum. From 1848 to 1860, the cantons of Geneva and Zürich added initiative. While the referendum offers the people an important veto on the acts of the legislature, the initiative allows them to force issues or ideas onto the agenda that their political elites might prefer to ignore. The one is a check and a brake; the other, a safety valve or a guarantee of access. Although this right was not in the federal constitution of 1848, the provisions for referendum were expanded in the new constitution of 1874. (This second vote followed rejection of a draft proposed in 1872 by foes of initiative and referendum.) Finally in 1891, the right of initiative for changes to the federal constitution was approved by 60 percent of the voters and eighteen of the twenty-two (full) cantons. As a check against caprice, the constitutional referendum has always required approval by both the majority of the voters and a majority of the cantons. At the federal level, there are three basic types of direct voting by the Swiss. This chapter does not label each one as such each time it discusses one or the other, but it is important to know that they exist and are distinct. As Wolf Linder defines these in Swiss Democracy: First, all proposals for constitutional amendments and important international treaties are subject to an obligatory referendum. This requires a double majority of the Swiss people and the cantons.... Second, most parliamentary acts are subject to an optional referendum. In such cases a parliamentary decision becomes law unless 50,000 citizens, within 90 days, demand the holding of popular vote. [In this case] a simple majority of the people decides whether the bill is approved or rejected.... Since the obligatory referendum refers to constitutional amendments and the optional referendum to ordinary legislation, the two instruments are often distinguished as the "constitutional" referendum and the "legislative" referendum.... The popular initiative: 100,000 citizens can, by signing a formal proposition, demand a constitutional amendment as well as propose the alteration or removal of an existing provision. .. As with constitutional changes, acceptance requires majorities of both individual voters and the cantons.(Italics added.) Table 9.1 lists some of the more important uses of the referendum power by the Swiss over the last century and a half. This need hardly be reviewed line by line by the casual reader. It is worth skimming, however, for items of interest. The text that follows will refer back to items in the table and to other Swiss referendum votes. Looking at this 150-year history, the most important characteristic is probably something one does not see. There does not appear to have been a single crise de regime caused by the initiative or referendum policy. This is saying a great deal, because one can certainly point to cases where the device helped defuse or prevent a crisis. That there are sometimes advantages in the most democratic approach is clear from the very premises of democracy itself. The case against this has always been based on the idea that, as a practical matter, it would lead to disaster or, over the long term, decay. Yet in Switzerland, there seem to be no gross errors, no irresponsible flights into the risky or the insane. Opponents of the process, such as the great Swiss statesman Alfred Escher, had predicted a proliferation of ill-advised schemes that seemed likely to help the common people, but that ultimately were based on fad, envy, or greed. Perhaps even worse, Escher feared that the system would be corruptive - the process would become a cycle of passionate, demagogic appeals, fueling political extremism, and feeding back into still more extreme leadership. In these fears, Escher was solidly in line with the thinking of the Western political tradition, which from Plato to Rousseau feared democracy would end in envy by the poor, rule by the worst, and, ultimately, despotism. That pub Englishman who complained about Switzerland falling under "many dictators" anticipated by almost a half century an 1872 editorial in the Neue Zürcher Zeiting predicting a "tyranny of the many" or "dictatorship of the majority." This was exactly the possibility that American statesmen worked hard to prevent in setting up the U.S. Constitution of 1787. As a result, they carefully filtered any influence of public opinion through representatives and intermediary institutions, slowing it and making it more "deliberative" through the restraints of the constitution. Perhaps the largest disruption of elite expectations through the referendum process took place in recent years when the Swiss rejected full political and economic integration into the European Union. One can argue the merits of this case either way. Even many proponents have the expectation, as investor and respected trade negotiator David de Pury put it, that "in the end, the referendum process will probably improve the terms on which Switzerland Table 9.1 Direct Democracy in Switzerland Proposal or initiative and thumbnail description or background. Popular vote yes-no (percent) Canton vote yes-no (absolute #) (Where no cantonal vote total is given, the measure had already passed the parliament and therefore needed only popular approval. Where popular vote conflicts with canton vote, results are underlined) Constitutional revision (1848 - yes) 73-27, 15.5-6.5 See discussion in Chap. 5. Jewish immigration (1866 - yes) 53-47, 12.5-9.5 Provided for establishment of Jewish immigrants with political rights and religious freedom. One of the only such laws in Europe prior to 1945. Constitutional revision (1872 - no) 49-51, 9-13 This draft would have virtually eliminated referendum and was narrowly defeated. Constitutional revision (1874 - yes) 63-37, 14.5-7.5 New draft includes referendum, consolidates federal military and foreign policy. Bank note monopoly for the state (1880 - no) 31-69, 4-18 Ultimately approved in 1891 after several rewrites. Popular initiative (1891 - yes) 60-40, 18-4 No longer limited to opposing laws they do not want, Swiss citizens could now propose constitutional laws they do want. "Aufnahme des Schächtverbotes " (1893 - yes) 60-40, 11.5-10.5 The first "initiative," regarding the butchering of animals. Establish Bundesbank (1897 - no) 44-56 One of many proposals on central bank establishment and management rejected by the Swiss voters. Right to work (1894 - no) 18-82, 0-22 Legislation limiting ability of trade unions to compel membership. Proportional voting for Nationalrat (1910 - no) 48-52, 12-10 Later approved (1918). Also a rare case of the cantons supporting an initiative, the popular vote having been against. Proportional voting for Nationalrat (1918 - yes) 67-33, 19.5-2.5 One of the demands of workers in the national strike - see Chap. 6, "Executives Branch." Join League of Nations (1919 - yes) A tentative step from pure neutrality - regretted when the Swiss see the weak reaction to Italy's 1935 war on Ethiopia. Expansion of employee rights (1920 - no) 49-51 Measure passed by parliament after the national strike, overturned by the voters. Elements of the proposal were later (1950s) adopted in legislation that was not challenged. New customs duties (1923 - no) 27-63, .5-21.5 Postwar yearnings for a "return to normalcy." Military training, building program (1935 - yes) 54-46 Principally to counter the Nazi threat. Note the year: At this time, Britain, France, and the United States all were rapidly reducing their defense establishments. Establish Romansch as a national language (1938 - yes) 92-8, 22-0 One of several 1930s measures designed in part to solidify Swiss identity as separate from Germany. "Our diversity of people and language is a strength," a member of the national council said in advocating the measure - a pointed allusion to Nazi theories of racial and linguistic "purity." Reduce "facultative" referendum (1938 - no) 15-85, 0-22 As war neared, Swiss leaders felt hampered by the possibility needed laws would be overturned. Several national leaders organized an initiative to temporarily undo this string. Swiss voters strongly rejected this notion. This may have been one factor (among many) in stiffening the resistance of Swiss elites to the Nazis. Some historians argue this deprived Swiss leaders (if they ever had such inclinations) of the possibility of yielding to Hitlerian threats as others did. Overturn military training law (1940 - no) 44-56 Attempt to block wartime training measures, increased drilling levels that had been approved by parliament. Increase power, discretion of national bank (1949 - no) 38-62, 11.5-20.5 Helped force a resolution of the Swiss financial crisis in 1950 that put the country in postwar recovery - see next item. Finance package for 1951-1954 (1950 - yes) 69-31, 20-2 Followed the rejection of the government's austerity-minded budget and monetary plans of 1948-49. Coinciding with the start of the Marshall Plan and monetary reform in Switzerland and most of Europe (Germany 1948, Britain 1951), this helped launch the postwar Wirtschaftswunder. Consumer protection law (1955 - no) 50-49, 7-15 Would have been one of the earliest such statutes in the world. Also a rare case of popular support for an initiative (albeit narrow) being overturned by the canton vote. 44-hour work week (1958 - yes) 60-40, 20.5-1.5 1976 effort to reduce the work week further was defeated. Voting rights for women (1959 - no) 38-62, 0-22 Passed in 1971. Raise daily stipend for Nationalrat (1962 - no) 32-68 Swiss officials continue to be among the lowest paid in the world in absolute terms, and are still lower measured against per capita income. Forbid atomic weaponry to Swiss army (1962 - no) 21-79, 4-18 Supporters tried again with a more limited restriction in 1963, but failed (see next item). Right of referendum before any decision to equip the army with atomic weapons (1963 - no) 38-62, 4.5-17.5 The Swiss do not necessarily want nuclear weapons in their armed forces, but neither do they want to hamstring their leaders in a time of national emergency. One of many cases in which the referendum power declined to expand itself. Liquor tax, other measures to fund efforts to combat alcoholism (1966 - no) 23-77, n.a. A rare case of tax or regulatory increase proposal coming from the initiative process. Tobacco tax (1968 - no) 48-52 Many of the parliamentary decisions overturned by "facultative" referendum have involved tax increases. Voting rights for women (1971 - yes) 66-34, 15.5-6.5 See discussions in text. Agreement with European Common Market (1972 - yes) 73-27, 22-0 Regarded by some observers as relentlessly isolationist regarding international organizations, the Swiss voter in fact has a mixed, eclectic record. New convents, Jesuits allowed (1973 - yes) 55-45, 16.5-5.5 The vote ends a century and a half of official anti-Catholicism in the federal constitution. Against "over-foreignization" (1974 - no) 35-65, 0-22 Second of a series of measures to reduce immigration. All were defeated as one pro-immigration measure in 1981. 40-hour work week (1976 - no) 22-78, 0-22 "We do not mind working only 40 hours a week," a worker told the Tages Anzeiger, "we just don't think it should be mandatory." Civil service as a replacement for military duty by religious and ethical objectors (1977 - no) 38-62, 0-22 Similar measure was rejected in 1984. Against over-foreignization (1977 - no) 29-71, 0-22 Proposal to further restrict immigration. Value added tax (1977 - no) 40-60, 1-21 Rejected several times; ultimately passed. Rent control (1977 - no) 42-58, 2-20 Other measures to protect tenants, approved by parliament and much less extreme, were approved in the 1970s. Establish tight, federal air pollution limits (1977 - no) 39-61, 1.5-20.5 Later measures for less extreme limits, administered by the cantons, were not challenged. Legalize abortion nationally (1978 - no) 31-69, 5.5-17.5 "Right to life" initiative to make abortion illegal on a national basis also failed, in 1985. Abortion continues to be a concern of the cantons. Vote needed to build highways (1978 - no) 49-51, 9-14 Note that the Swiss abstained from making its politicians obtain its permission for each proposed national highway. Creation of canton of Jura (1978 - yes) 82-18, 22-0 Swiss culture of consensus defuses a long-simmering dispute. Jura's desire to be independent of Bern had spawned the creation of a terrorist "liberation army" that killed dozens during the 1960s. Interestingly, more than eighty percent of Bernese voters supported the initiative. Create federal security police force (1978 - no) 44-56 Proposed specialized, central police forces to protect against terrorism, Soviet espionage, and other threats. The Swiss feared such a move undermined federalism and was a slight but real step toward a police state. Lower retirement age for social security (1978 - no) 21-79, 0-22 Would have provided state pension benefits to men at age 60 (instead of 65) and 58 for women (instead of 62). Value-added tax (1979 - no) 35-65, 0-23 One of several taxes or regulatory initiatives rejected but ultimately passed if political leaders made a persistent case of its necessity. Stronger rejection than in 1977 was in sympathy with global move towards lower taxation rates. Abolish state support for religion (1980 - no) 21-79, 0-23 Would have established U.S.-style "separation of church and state," preventing cantons from using tax dollars to support religion, blocking religious teaching in state schools. Seatbelts mandatory (1980 - yes) 52-48, 13-10 Also requires helmet for motorcycle riders. This was a challenge to a law already passed by parliament. Initial surveys suggested overwhelming support for overturning the law, but the politicians convinced the people. Immigration liberalization bill (1981 - no) 14-85, 0-23 Would have eased restrictive limitations on guest workers, providing a right to remain in Switzerland even for guest workers no longer employed. Equal rights for men and women (1981 - yes) 60-40, 15.5-7.5 Similar in language to failed U.S. Equal Rights Amendment. "Verhinderung missbräuchlicher Preise" (1982 - yes) 56-44, 17-6 One of the few initiatives to pass in the last 50 years, a consumer protection vote against corporate cartels. Civil service as a replacement for military duty by religious and ethical objectors (1984 - no) 36-64, 0-23 A similar measure later passed. Loosen banking protections (1984 - no) 27-73 One of many incremental erosions of bank secrecy protections passed in 1934. All were defeated except those having to do with drug dealers and other alleged international criminals. "Right to life" - outlaw abortion (1985 - no) 37-69, 5.5-17.5 Left cantons free to legalize or continue to restrict abortion. 1978 measure to legalize abortion nationally also defeated. Join United Nations (1986 - no) 24-76, 0-23 The Swiss do not hesitate to involve themselves in good works internationally (the Red Cross) but are chary of any involvement in organizations that might compromise their neutrality. Abolish the army (1989 - no) 36-64, 1.5-21.5 See comments of Andreas Gross in chapter 8. Join International Monetary Fund (1992 - yes) 56-44 Swiss concerns about neutrality are lower regarding fundamentally commercial or monetary organizations. Even so the country did not join the IMF for a half century after its founding (1943-44.) Full entry into the European Economic Area (1992 - no) 49.7-50.3, 7-16 Swiss leaders immediately set about negotiating a series of bilateral treaties simulating entry for trade and other policies, completed in 1999. Political union is a live issue for the future, likely to arise again in the 2002-2003 range. Ban purchase of U.S. F-18 fighter (1993 - no)43-57, 4-18 Increase value added tax (1995 - yes) Brought the Swiss closer in line with European Union countries, but not yet "harmonized." Approve new (consolidated) constitution (1999-yes) 59-41, 13-9 Substantively, the constitution was essentially a more tightly worded version of the old constitution, designed to convert various secular measures into laws and reduce the constitution's length. Late in the process, a lively debate ensued about the meaning of various phrases in the preamble, such as commitments to international law, but the draft still passed. (See chapter 5.) Restrict foreign-born share of population (2000-no) 36-64, 0-23 Most recent in a series of generally moderate, pro-immigration votes by the Swiss. --- enters the EU, and the period of discussion and education that will go on will be beneficial to us. We will enter on much more solid ground than if we had not gone through this process, troublesome though it is to some." Whether the decision was wise or ill advised, however, it clearly was no Armageddon for the Swiss political economy. After an initial slump, the stock market and currency soared in the years following Swiss rejection of the proposal. On foreign affairs, there has been a lively debate as well. Periodically the Swiss voter blocks the desire of its leaders to join an international organization (such as the United Nations) or take other actions that might incrementally impinge upon traditional Swiss neutrality. There is strong agreement among both leaders and the people that the neutrality policy is wise. But what does neutrality mean? Here there is much back and forth, as the Swiss sometimes choose to join in international organizations, and sometimes they do not. Even questions primarily "about" other subjects, such as environmental policy, often have reference back to neutrality. Insofar as we can draw any general conclusions about the process and foreign policy, it is that the voters guard Swiss neutrality but are willing to allow for an activist version of it if they hear a sustained, intelligent case. Thus, over time, the voters acceded to Swiss entry into the World Bank, the International Monetary Fund, and various European economic organizations.1 They may well someday join the emerging European state and the United Nations, but the people require more convincing. Domestic policy reveals more of the tendencies of the referendum. It is also, numerically, the more common theatre of action for the referendum - depending on how one classifies such matters as military service, domestic issues comprise about 85 percent to 95 percent of the material of popular votes since 1848. We can divide these still further into subject categories as follows: - taxes and spending (about 20 percent of all Swiss domestic issues); - other economic issues, e.g., central bank management, social welfare programs, and others (15 percent); - political reform (about 20 percent - the fairly well-tuned Swiss machine is constantly checking its own oil); - procedural matters - "the government may finance its capital budget over seventeen years instead of fifteen years," the cantons must provide environmental reviews - (about 15 percent); - social-moral issues such as abortion, the prohibition of absinthe, decriminalization of the Jesuit Order (15 percent ); and - eclectic matters, such as the vivisection of animals, or outlawing cars one Sunday of each month (10 to 15 percent). On largely administrative issues, the Swiss have proven amenable, even facilitative. This becomes less so in proportion as any given proposal is seen as being not merely technical, but having broader implications. A good example would be initiatives regarding the military organization, male service, and other such matters. The Swiss have readily supported expansion of military capability when the country is under threat, as in the 1930s, and offered no resistance to increased drilling and other sacrifices during World War I and World War II. They have turned down a number of proposals for changes in military service, including some rather minor ones, however, apparently viewing this as a kind of moral issue and something sacred to Swiss citizenship. And they voted no on a proposal to weaken the facultative referendum during World War II - as if aware that, while they would never stand in the way of a legitimate necessity, they nevertheless wanted their leaders to operate under the knowledge that arbitrary actions could still easily be challenged. The referendum power is even, in a sense, self-denying. Far from grasping for power, the people have periodically denied it to themselves - if, again, the matter is one they deem best handled by their politicians. In the 1960s, the Swiss even turned down efforts to require prior consent by referendum on nuclear weapons, and in the 1970s, rejected a similar proposal that would have made it easier to use the process to block highway construction projects. It is not that the Swiss, who are generally pro-environment, care nothing the state of their roads or the communities they go through. Indeed, one of the major controversies in Switzerland in the 1990s concerned how to control the large, smoke trucks that pass through the country between Germany, France, Italy, and Mediterranean Europe. Rather, the Swiss have a capacity for self-denial and prudent forbearance, even where their own power is concerned. This characteristic is, in part, especially Swiss - tied up with the concept of neutrality, of a self-conscious inability to influence certain great affairs, and a positive desire not to try. The sensibility is also, however, the product of institutions. It can be imitated by others, and inculcated by the right set of political arrangements. Always interesting, and in fact also instructive, are the somewhat off-beat proposals that occasionally come up for a vote. Most of these are placed on the ballot through the initiative process, which allows any citizen to bring a constitutional amendment before the country, provided he can collect sufficient signatures to show some serious level of support.(2) Only rarely do such measures - such as 1977's proposed prohibition of automobiles on the second Sunday of every month - pass. One is tempted to dismiss them as insignificant, and in direct legislative terms they are. They may also illustrate, however, that some of the system's most important impacts may be indirect or unseen. The power to bring a strongly felt proposal on to the national agenda, and have it debated in the press and voted on by the people, is an important one, and one the Swiss cherish. It defuses passions, and gives the angry and the enthusiastic an outlet for their energies. "Many of the people who worked on our initiative," as Andreas Gross put it, "became active in politics or in the society in other ways. Even though we were defeated, they were not alienated." A movement that has its measure rejected by Congress or vetoed by the president is likely to feel they were thwarted unfairly, that the will of the people was twisted by lobbyists and slick communicators. The Swiss whose initiative does not pass may feel some of this anger, but knows that his case has been judged directly by the people. He may feel he has helped educate the society, and probably has: All the articles about immigration policy in the Swiss press, while they have not enabled anti-immigration measures to pass, have provided information that the proponents are eager to see disseminated. The educational process works in both directions, too. Often the movements that propound radical ideas are able to refine or moderate their positions and become more effective. Politicians who misread the popular mood, meanwhile, can go back to their office and rethink their approach. And those who persist in the process do frequently prevail. The "radical" cause of women's suffrage, rejected many times in Switzerland, did pass in 1971. Consumer protection legislation, defeated in 1955, became law several years later, and a significant extension of the legislation by parliament in the 1970s was ultimately approved when challenged by a facultative referendum. The sheer volume of initiatives and referenda can tell us something about the state of Swiss affairs, and has offered information to all Swiss politicians who were intelligent enough to pay attention. In the 1970s, for instance, there was a sudden flurry of initiative making and referendum challenges - more than triple the average number of votes seen in other decades of the twentieth century. Putting aside the substance and the results of all this activity, it certainly suggests a restlessness on the part of the people and a preoccupation to improve the performance of their institutions. The Swiss do not lightly rouse themselves to such activity; they are happy to pay the price of citizen's government, but not looking for needless opportunities to fill up their evenings with political meetings. A large number of the proposals were environmental in nature - to block nuclear power, limit automobile emissions, and the like. Yet even though most of these were turned down, they helped produce policy changes in the 1980s that enacted some of the laws sought by the initial activists. Unable to persuade the people directly to adopt all their proposals, the environmentalists nevertheless generated a large discussion in the public and the press, and the parliament, reflecting this slow change in attitude, adjusted. There are, finally, all the cases in which the initiatives and referendum process "created a law" without a specific referendum ever taking place. This happens when the politician in Bern, sensing popular concern and anticipating an initiative by the citizens, proposes and enacts a law addressing the problem before the initiative is necessary. Or when legislators, knowing a certain proposition they may admire will inevitably be overturned by a facultative referendum, vote against it themselves. This can happen in a purely representative democracy too, of course, but notice how the effect is stronger and more direct in the case of initiative and referendum. The member of Congress who casts an unpopular vote may jeopardize his own reelection, but of course the voters will render their judgment on that based on hundreds of votes. A Swiss parliamentarian likewise can vote for an unpopular measure out of personal conviction or misguided judgment, but he has even less incentive to, since the measure, if truly unpopular, will almost certainly be overturned. It is a much higher certainty than in systems where elites have greater discretion to substitute their own judgments. In any of these cases there is no referendum to refer back to now. But it is certain that the referendum helped to produce the result - may even be, in some cases, the immediate cause. Taxes and central bank policy are the issues on which voters have proven most troublesome to their leaders through the referendum. Here, too, they might have done serious damage. The Swiss turned down tax increases in every decade of the twentieth century, and the referendum process directly, or by indirect pressure, helped bring about significant tax cuts in the 1920s, 1950s, and 1980s. Partly for this reason, Switzerland has developed a deserved reputation as a low-tax, low-spending country. This is generally true of its combined government budget, but is especially true of its central government, which consumes only 30 percent of government activity (the cantons, 40 percent, and the communes, 30 percent - resulting in a 30-40-30 "formula" of the sort the Swiss cite often with satisfaction). The Swiss, as we will discuss in more detail, do not even have an agency that corresponds to the U.S. Internal Revenue Service - and when measures even resembling them are proposed, they are soundly rejected at the ballot box. On the other hand, the Swiss are not reflexively against all taxation or still less all government. At first skeptical about train travel, the Swiss today love their national train system - and rightly regard it as a prudent investment that helped fuel the country's booming growth in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. They eventually approved excise taxes on liquor and cigarettes that they at first turned down, although the final outcome was no doubt less than many politicians - particularly of the center-left - might have hoped for. Switzerland adapted itself to European protectionism in the 1920s and 1930s, though the Swiss raised tariffs later, and less, than other countries. The Swiss eventually adopted a payroll tax and an income tax, though they jealously watch to ensure that these are administered by the cantons and communes. And they allowed a Value-Added Tax on the fourth or fifth try - but it is less than half the rest of Europe's. "Switzerland grew out of a tax revolt, in part," as Senator Franz Muheim told me at a meeting across from the Luzern train station, "but it also grew out of that bridge that the people of Uri built and maintained with their own community effort." Such taxes, in fact, bought Uri's freedom. As this historical analogy might suggest, taxes have generally had a much better chance when they are linked to some project or benefit, either directly or as a general matter of need. The Swiss are not fond of spending merely for the sake of spending, however, and are especially tight-fisted about transfer payments and other programs not linked to production. By contrast they are more willing than other countries, as a share of what the government does, to commit resources to education, transportation projects, and other goods perceived as stimulating production or efficiency, or aiding the community generally, or both. In part, the Swiss are merely fortunate in being able to devote themselves to such projects, and reject programs that merely pass around money and the taxes needed to fund them. They suffer few extremes of poverty or wealth, and in the general condition of rough equality that results, have less need for such palliatives. To an extent, however, the shape of the Swiss fiscal picture is creditable to intelligent choices by the Swiss. The initiative and referendum process made a contribution to this, both as a general matter and in the visible ways in which certain programs were adapted. For example, the Swiss turned down a proposal to move back the retirement age to fifty-eight and sixty-two - an attractive-looking proposal at time, but one whose rejection now appears quite shrewd as aging populations stress other government pension systems throughout Western Europe, and are literally crippling the economies of Russia, Poland, the Czech Republic, and the rest of the former Soviet bloc. The Swiss have also maintained lower income and consumption tax rates than the rest of Europe, helping them to continue to attract many of the most enterprising minds of science, finance, and manufacturing. Direct democracy is the greatest single cause of these economic policies that have helped Switzerland grow so rapidly over the last century. Switzerland's affection for taxes is nearly matched by its love for a powerful, unaccountable central bank. On at least six occasions they rejected government proposals for central bank management. Yet this tendency seems to have done no harm, and arguably has done good. Twice in the nineteenth century (1876 and 1880), the Swiss refused to even allow the central government a monopoly on bank notes. When a third effort was started in parliament in 1887, signatures for a facultative challenge gathered so fast that the effort was dropped. The political leadership finally drafted a proposal that made sense to the electorate, and in 1891 a more limited authority was granted than existed in the United States or most of Europe. In 1897, the proposal was approved and the government had the authority to set up a central bank. But it was still another decade (1907) until a workable design could be found that was not threatened by immediate rejection by the voters. When the national bank was created, it was one of the "weakest" such structures in the developed world. Even today the National Bank's role is strictly limited to monetary policy. The bank is a private entity legally, with a small staff and limited powers. A majority of the bank's stock is held by the cantons, the cantonal banks, and some several dozen other public bodies and institutions. In the early twentieth century the Swiss turned down one proposal to allow the bank greater latitude in conducting open-market operations. Other ideas were stillborn in parliament when the representatives considered how chary the voters had been in earlier bank votes. Their denial of this flexibility, coupled with Switzerland's low-deficit fiscal situation, may have helped soften the Great Depression, which in Switzerland was a blip of unemployment that never topped 5 percent, and a "growth recession" in which output did not decline, but expanded only 1 percent cumulatively from 1930 to 1934. In 1949, frustrated by the government's failure to "get with" the emerging monetary order, voters resoundingly rejected another proposed change in the national bank. The result was something of a crisis, but forced the government to revise its financial austerity package into a growth initiative built around postwar tax relief, monetary stabilization, and public works programs such as road construction. The combination helped pull Switzerland out of the European malaise of the early postwar years.(3) Again in 1961, the appreciation of several European currencies threatened Switzerland's monetary order. The government floated the currency and, after a long struggle, redesigned the bank. Most leaders of industry consider the design of the Swiss central bank to be a major asset, and that design is in no small way attributable to what one Swiss investor calls "the people's wonderful stubbornness on financial issues." Over the last 150 years, the Swiss have been less troubled by the wild swings of inflation and deflation seen in the world at large than almost any other country - even including the United States. The experience with issues of banking and taxation illustrates some important points about the referendum process itself, especially as it has evolved into something of an art form over long experience. The first is that the process itself has become deliberative. The effort by political leaders to secure arrangements for a central bank, or funding for desired projects, became an ongoing conversation. Political leaders first press one way, and then, finding there is insufficient support for a particular conception, they lead in another. The Swiss have seen this process in recent years regarding the debate over entry into the European Union: Proponents have had to rethink their arguments and their premises, and adjust their proposals and policies, in order to persuade the voters. In this, they naturally confer and deliberate among themselves, too, though with the people constantly in mind. Thus the process of establishing a national bank became a forty-year dialogue, and the value-added tax, one of almost twenty-five years. This is in marked contrast with traditional Western thought about the strengths and weaknesses of popular legislation. During the debates over the American Constitution, one of the advantages proposed for America's legislative system, in contrast to the more direct democracies of classical Greece, was the idea that a body of lawmakers would be able to consult, think, and craft the laws - to become a skilled profession, of sorts, and to be removed, at least to arm's length, from the passions of the people. Proposals would benefit from having been forged, refined, and crafted over time. Indeed the framers were so concerned about the popular whim that they feared the "rashness" of even representative assemblies {Federalist 63). One of the main arguments for the Senate was that this more senior body would impose something of a check on the possibly unruly House. The presidential veto, in turn, was set atop of both houses, and provided a still further check. Many hurdles were set up in order to filter public opinion through experts and seasoned officials, and to stretch the process out so that decisions would reflect the "deliberate sense" of the country, rather than mere waves of passion. In Switzerland, though, direct democracy turns out to be significantly deliberative. "In our system," as federal counselor and 1999 President Ruth Dreifuss explained to a foreign journalist asking about the process of Swiss entry into the EU, "things take time." Indeed, the most common complaint about the system, as it has actually operated, is that the Swiss referendum process slows things down too greatly. The people turn matters over and become part of a legislative process - especially when, as in Switzerland, they are placed in a position where they are, in effect, lawmakers. This raises a second point about the Swiss system and about popular politics generally. The people's opinion on a given matter, requested under one set of conditions, is not necessarily the same as their opinion on the same matter, but under different conditions. A system of referendum does not yield the same results one would have if one polled the people about the issues on the referenda - because when someone knows he is going to be asked to render an opinion, and that opinion will become law, he treats the matter more seriously. This does not mean that public opinion polls are wrong, or meaningless - it just means that they measure, normally quite accurately, something that may differ significantly over time or over different conditions. Nor are the people fickle in this, any more than water is capricious because it is a fluid at one temperature and a solid at another. They are, in fact, wise, economizing on their need for information and thought about subjects depending on whether their opinion will have some tangible influence. Members of a jury treat a case differently than members of the general public, and by the same token, voters and lawmakers regard it otherwise than if they were mere bystanders. In the Swiss case, this differential is more important, but less observable, because the people are now long accustomed to being lawmakers. It is probably one reason, for example, that the Swiss are voracious readers of newspapers and that their newspapers, in turn, offer some of the most serious coverage of political policies and issues in the West. A good illustration of these tendencies, in both Switzerland and the United States, is the sensitive issue of immigration. Like the U.S., Switzerland plays home to a large number of foreign-born workers and their families - close to 20 percent of the population for the Swiss. In a country already trying to assimilate three major languages across mountain ranges, this is a significant tax on Swiss resources and patience. One frequently hears complaints by the Swiss about the immigrant population, and it is one of the most frequent subjects for comment in the graffiti in the train stations and on the streets. (Switzerland, a generally orderly and one might even say extremely tidy country, has as much or more graffiti than any other country in Western Europe; it is close in most cities to New York City standards. The graffiti about foreigners, as one might expect, is especially unkind.) Public opinion polls, though taken much less seriously in Switzerland, indicate that by margins of about three to one the Swiss feel there are too many foreigners, they cannot be assimilated, and something should be done about it. Yet when confronted with the chance to reduce immigration through policy, Swiss voters have consistently rejected the proposals - and by large margins. Anti-immigration measures failed in the 1960s, 1970s, and 1980s. These measures were well financed by supporters and most of them were not extreme by comparative standards. That is to say, if passed, they would not have moved Switzerland to the bottom or even the middle of Europe in terms of accepting immigrants; they would only have reduced the country's lead, in percentage terms, of acting as a home to the foreign born. The sole victory by the anti-immigration forces was their defeat, albeit also by a large margin, of a 1981 initiative proposing to significantly liberalize immigration. The measure, however, would have had as large or larger an impact on the composition and incentives of immigrants as on their numbers: For example, it reduced requirements for work, and increased the availability of welfare and other services. Thus even many advocates of increased immigration levels were lukewarm or opposed to the proposal. The persistence of this dichotomy suggests that the Swiss voter is not behaving in a fickle manner. There is no swing from one attitude to another, but rather, a steady pattern: Swiss attitudes on immigration are fundamentally negative; Swiss votes on immigration policy are fundamentally liberal. (One finds a similar dichotomy on immigration in the United States, although, since there is no national referendum or initiative, it is more subtle and difficult to read. Voters answer polls negatively about immigration generally. But in large numbers, Americans support the admission of immigrants who are highly skilled, or who will take jobs that Americans won't, or who are reuniting with families. Since these groups comprise about 90 percent of immigrants, there is latent support for a liberal policy. In numerous congressional votes over recent decades, proponents of high levels of immigration held their own, and politicians who ran on broad antiforeign themes fared poorly: Richard Gephardt, John Connally, Ross Perot, George Wallace, and Patrick Buchanan all garnered a few primary victories, or made it close to 10 percent of the popular vote, but did no more. The only major immigration referendum in the United States, in the state of California, was passed, and was described as a major setback for immigration nationally. It was politically, perhaps, but the measure had no direct application to the number of immigrants accepted, a federal concern. Rather, Californians voted to reduce welfare and other services offered to legal and in some cases illegal immigrants. One can argue the fairness of such measures, as one can make a case for them on incentives grounds. They do not, however, constitute a direct vote for lower immigration levels, any more than requiring cars on the street to drive on the right side is "antitraffic") The effects of the Swiss system appear to be somewhat different from the process of initiative and referendum in various states in the United States. Several other factors, of course, are different as well - the party structure, the political system, and others. And it is difficult to say which of these differences are causes, and which are effects. On the whole, however, the initiative and referendum process in the state of California - familiar to me from having lived there for some six years - is somewhat less deliberative, and more impulsive, than in Switzerland. Part of this is due to the difference in the political party structure and tone. In the U.S., since there is no national initiative or referendum and since there are two dominant parties, it is much easier to bottle up issues or proposals for years. They can still be forced out by a well-timed referendum or initiative. Proposition 13 in 1978, for instance, put the idea of tax reduction on the national agenda. But the process is more problematic. In addition, the whole tone of discourse on political issues is more divisive in the U.S. than in Switzerland, and in particular the motives of parties much more likely to be impugned than in Switzerland. When groups lose or win a struggle in a particular state, they are much more inclined to merely resume the battle elsewhere, and their politicians, being more of a professional class than mere citizens who happen to volunteer services to the government, view the struggle as a war that must be fought and won. There are other technical factors as well. The courts in the United States are more powerful and more inclined to throw out the results even of a popular vote, than in Switzerland. In California and Massachusetts, referendum results have been disallowed frequently by judges after the fact, or their placement on the ballot made difficult by arbitrary signature requirements (i.e., if there is one smudge on a sheet of paper with thirty signatures, all the signatures are invalid) . This makes the process, like the parties and the power structure, less direct and certain in its impacts, and hence, turns the referendum and initiative into more of an extension of politics as usual than a reliable process for making the voice of the people felt. As well, while California and many states have both initiative and referendum provisions, there are few referenda as such, and none required. The process is certainly less regular than in the Swiss cantons, in some of which every significant law must be approved by the people. This has the effect of rendering the process more exceptional. Because of many stages and iterations in Switzerland, the referendum process is not one shot - it's more deliberative and seriatim. The Swiss referendum process is more like the legislative process in the U.S. The American initiative and referendum process sometimes can become more drawn out and deliberative, but, for other reasons, it has tended not to be. In addition to those already mentioned, the sheer expense of collecting signatures in California, and the large amounts of money spent on demagogic appeals - which the voters, being less trained as legislators than the Swiss, are more susceptible to - has rendered the process more like what the American founders feared for direct democracy, than it is like the Swiss alternative. Overall, direct democracy infuses and pervades Swiss institutions through all levels of government; in the United States, direct democracy has been an occasional tool used in some places in limited fashion. The U.S. system might be called a "weekend athlete" who, while not necessarily being fat, does not train regularly and has not honed his or her skills to their potential. The Swiss are direct democracy professionals, working out regularly. The typical Swiss citizen votes on a constitutional amendment about once a year, and votes several times on cantonal laws, initiatives, and amendments. He takes public issues seriously as issues; like a mini-legislator, he will have to "vote" meaningfully on their resolution. The communications class - politicians, press, business leaders - take the importance of the people into account in everything they do. An American friend of mine who complains frequently about the massive efforts made to "lobby" members of Congress in Washington, D.C., asked me after a visit to Switzerland what possible difference it would make if the United States were to have an initiative and referendum process similar to Switzerland's. My response was that there would probably be, to her disappointment, as much or more lobbying as a matter of volume - but that a much greater amount of it would be directed at the people. "Imagine if all the effort and money spent in Washington went towards educating people - and listening to them." She agreed that this would be a substantial change. The use of direct democracy with this frequency and at this level of importance creates the effect, almost, of a different system of government. There is far less difference between Switzerland and the United States than there is between the United States and, say, one of the Arab countries or the authoritarian government of Indonesia. But if we were to take a constitutional monarchy, such as Britain's, from the nineteenth or even eighteenth century, with an elected legislature, it is arguable that the U.S. democracy of today is closer to it, institutionally and certainly in spirit, than it is to democracy in Switzerland. When an American visitor to Switzerland told his hosts in 1999, "You have a democracy; we do not," he went too far. It might not be saying too much, however, that these two types of democracy are so different they might be classified as separate species with certain common ancestors and ideas. Some of the disadvantages of the referendum system are peculiar to Switzerland: For example, the diversity of language sometimes yields drafting imprécisions in the wording of laws and resolutions, and renders political debate and discussion more difficult as well. There are other disadvantages to it, however, that while felt in Switzerland, might be even more acute for the United States and other powerful republics. Critics of the system of direct voting generally fall into one of two categories. One group consists of those who don't like the results of direct democracy. This is seen in representative elections too, of course: It is tough to see your ideas lose, particularly when votes are close. In the Swiss system, given that the voters have demonstrated a certain eclecticism and balance in their actions - supporting some government programs, opposing others; keeping out of some international organizations, but supporting some as well - most groups have suffered enough defeats, but also won enough victories so that the "losers" don't comprise a consistent or solid ideological bloc. Business interests, for example, have lost many votes on environmental policy, but have won others on taxes. The left has been unable to push certain spending schemes, but has enjoyed victories on pension and health care policies. This does not mean, however, that such groups might not form, or have not partially formed already - creating a potential threat to the system by fostering a small, but hardcore lobby, dedicated to incessantly seeking opportunities to overturn the system so it can finally win passage of a particular economic or social agenda. One such group would be the Swiss, including centrists in the government and members of the manufacturing and other non-banking sectors, who are keen to have Switzerland join the European Union. Many of those who favor such policies - indeed the majority - nevertheless are willing to hew to the long and patient task of winning a majority of the Swiss over to their point of view. But there is a quiet resentment of some of the elite that this is a necessity, and that, of course, it could be that they will never win popular support for their policies despite their best efforts to explain why they are right. This sociological effect - the feeling of superiority and condescension by some Swiss elites - could be important in the long run. If direct democracy is ever to be overturned, it might well be that it happens as a result of a long, concerted effort by embittered business, political, or other elites. A related group would be critics of the regime in accord over Switzerland's role in World War II - those who want to see further apologies, and payment of reparations by the Swiss, or, in some cases, demand that banking privacy and Swiss neutrality be done away with altogether. But again, even these critics, who often smolder with resentment over the stubborn resistance of the Swiss to clamor to their view of the war and related issues, are of mixed minds when it comes to direct democracy itself. When I visited one such critic, Jean Ziegler, in his office at the University of Geneva, I expected to hear a jihad against the direct democracy. Ziegler's assessment was that his proposal for a Swiss apology for the country's part in World War II would lose about 90-10 in a national referendum. Yet he does not propose to overturn the system as such. "There has to be a way to persuade people," he says, confidently. Others in Ziegler's circle, of course, may not take such a patient, long-run view. For the most part, however, it is notable that even many of those who find much of Switzerland corrupt - "like a girl who works in a whore house, but wants to remain a virgin," in the words of Ziegler's The Swiss, the Gold, and the Dead - accept the discipline of direct democracy, which forces them to treat each Swiss man and woman as their equal. "Change of the kind we are looking for takes time," Ziegler comments. A second type of critic is more philosophical. One of the more serious is Beat Kappeler, a long-time labor union leader, and now an editor for the weekly journal Weltwoche. Kappeler's arguments for an adjustment in the Swiss system are varied, and his manner smooth and polished. Seemingly superior, on the one hand - he decries the notion that the system encourages voter study of the issues as "the ill- informed myth about well-informed Swiss voters" - he is, nevertheless, anything but an elitist. Kappeler recalls how, as a prominent labor leader, he eschewed first class on the Swiss trains in favor of second-class section. "It wasn't out of economic reasons, although it saves a little money," he concedes. "It's the fact that elites who travel in first class feel free to interrupt you and barge right in on you. People in second class leave you alone." As theories of representative democracy are likely to be in the future, Kappeler is especially critical of the impact of direct democracy on legislators and the legislative process. In a short but cogent book, Regieren statt revidieren, he lays out the case that initiative and referendum have weakened the Swiss parliament and hampered it from making tough choices and providing meaningful leadership. (Weltwoche, Zürich, 1996.) The weaker of Kappeler's two main criticisms is that direct democracy has perverted the legislative process by placing it at the mercy of special interest groups and well-heeled lobbies, who can "block almost anything" early in the process. Switzerland certainly has pressure groups, but how do they compare with other countries? "We have lobbies, but they are not anything like the full-time armies you see in Washington," comments Casper Selg, host of the German- language news broadcast on Swiss public radio and a former correspondent in Washington, DC. "UBS does not have 10 or 20 full time staff working in Bern." Another correspondent, Swiss television's Hans Bärenberger, is likewise an experienced reporter in Bern. "Lobbying hasn't really become a profession the way it has in Washington and other capitals," he notes. "There are some hired guns, but I don't think I could name more than two or three. There are pressure groups and the parties, but these don't seem to be stronger than elsewhere, and I would guess they are weaker." At the least, the referendum and initiative process provides a check on these groups. If Kappeler doesn't like their influence, why doesn't he challenge laws, or propose new ones through the referendum? Kappeler's answer, and it is a fair point, is that this tool, while always present in theory, cannot always be used in practical terms after the long period of building a complicated set of policies or interconnected programs. The voters in Switzerland do rely on legislative expertise, and do tend to give their elites the benefit of the doubt - approving the vast majority of laws passed by parliament that are challenged. As well, Kappeler argues, money plays an unhealthy role in the referendum process itself. Often one side outspends the other by a factor of 5-1, 10-1, and more, and the record of success by groups at the low end of that figure is not long. It is not, however, non- existent. When Kappeler met with me at the Bern train station, a national vote by the Swiss on reform of the military was only a few days off. Powerful forces, led by Christoph Blocher on the right and the Green Party on the left, were opposing a proposal to allow Swiss forces who volunteer to go abroad to carry arms. Having watched Blocher's fund-raising efforts, and a sophisticated media campaign to accompany it, along with what he called the "very poor" effort of the government to rally support for its own proposal, Kappeler's assessment was that the opposition was likely to win. I ventured the opinion, taken from Jeff Greenfield's concept of "political jujitsu," that the very fact that the opposition had so much money was being turned into an issue by the government. It also seemed to me that the federal council, in particular President Moritz Leuenberger, had in fact waged a reasonably skillful counter-effort, and would probably pull out a win. My guess turned out to be right in this case, though the win was only by a slim 51-49 margin. Nevertheless, the result suggested that money, in referendum politics as in other votes, can be a two-edged sword. Kappeler's second argument, that direct democracy tends to produce a weaker brand of leadership, is more difficult to deny. This has been observed in the U.S., for example, in the state of California, where governors and legislators have often seemed ineffectual, dating back to the populist uprising that took place in the state during the 1978 Proposition 13 tax cut. "We don't have a government," Kappeler argues. "We have a toy government." Most members of the Swiss executive, let alone ordinary members of parliament, have little experience and no competence, in Kappeler's eyes - let alone strength, or polish. "It is not quaint any more," he adds with a smile. In making this point, however, Kappeler and the defenders of direct democracy find themselves in rough agreement. Both he and the system's supporters find that the referendum system tends to produce a less agile, less polished, less independent legislature and executive than would otherwise be the case. Kappeler believes this to be a political ill. Supporters believe it is a political good. At least, they share the same assessment of its impact. Even enthusiastic Swiss are sometimes weary of their democracy - and the referendum system is a partial cause of this. Turnout levels in Switzerland have reached U.S.-like levels of 50 to 60 percent in national elections and 30 to 40 percent in cantonal elections. It is, in fact, work. "You must remember, we have to vote three or four times a year, sometimes more," as the late Dr. Paul Jolies, the former Swiss Secretary of State, put it. "Some people are tired of it. That is the price of citizenship - it is work sometimes." This phenomenon is not to be overstated, however, especially in comparison to other affluent societies. The Swiss are uniquely proud of their political system, as survey data show, and as American sociologist Carol Schmid, cited previously, has demonstrated in depth. If the burden placed on the Swiss citizen is high, it is also true that his capacity for bearing such burdens appears to be high as well, provided that they are the reasonable duties of citizens. Their weariness is that of some Americans when called for jury duty. If they are busy people, there is a certain natural reluctance to have to spend days or weeks at a trial. But if they are patriots, they are willing to do so, and may even wax nostalgic about this exercise of a right their forefathers fought and died for. This drawback, the desire to be less involved in the details, is merely the unavoidable flip side of one of the system's striking advantages - its precision. The Swiss system of citizen legislation facilitates a much quicker and more accurate matching of public policy to the will of the electorate. The difference between it and purely representative democracy is illustrated if we imagine a system in which you could pick only which grocery store someone else would shop at for you - or, still further, if you could select between three or four carts that had been previously filled by people at the store, but could not stock the carts yourself. It is possible, particularly if leaders are respectful of the popular will, to communicate what groceries you want to the cart fillers. Over time, you might find one of them consistently putting eggs into the cart. But even if he did, he might also tend to purchase $20 worth of Spam, which you don't want, or to buy 2 percent milk instead of your preference, skimmed. There would only be very rough approximations of your desires, though. And in a system of representative elections, remember, the voters are only able to communicate with the "cart stockers" once every few years and when they do, rather than giving elaborate instructions they vote yes or no for one of them, accepting all the choices they didn't like in the bargain. Imagine if, after acclimating yourself to this system, you were suddenly allowed to make periodic trips to the grocery store yourself, and pick out your own items. You would have an immense feeling of relief as you knew that, from time to time, you could take care of some of the neglected items. Sophisticated grocery stores would watch carefully to see what you picked out when you had a chance, and use this as a signal to improve their own purchases. In thinking about the Swiss system, and watching it in action, one feels something of the sense of exhilaration that that shopper would feel. It is far from perfect, and there are many mistakes made. But the mistakes you make are yours. It is a gulp of oxygen; a sip of undiluted democratic spring water. Professor Wolf Linder of the University of Bern, a leading analyst of the referendum and initiative process in Switzerland, offers a contrasting metaphor. "I think it is true, and a good image, that direct democracy is, in a sense, much like this grocery store," he suggests. "But we might say that representative democracy presents a different image, and it has some advantages. "Suppose you would like to buy a computer. You face many different choices, and you know there are many good models, but you want to get one that is right for you, and at a decent price. What do you do? You have a nephew that knows a lot about computers, so you ask him to help you. You tell him what you want - 'I want a computer that does this, and this; I don't care about a lot of storage, but I want a fast model,' and so on. He then knows what you want, but he also knows about the different computers that can do this. "So he selects the model for you. He is, in effect, your representative." This is a just and persuasive summary of the representative model. It relies, of course, on the same kind of hybrid as my own image of the grocery store does - combining politics on the one hand with consumer choices in a market on the other hand. In politics, of course, even democratic politics, we cannot each select our own nephew to buy the particular type of government we want. Rather, say in a town of 10,000 people, all of us select one person to buy a computer for all 10,000 of us - a loss of intimacy and of control on our part. Furthermore, in a real-life grocery store, there are, in fact, elements of representative government. We rely on the grocer to select various items to put on the shelf for us, and a whole range of government inspectors and regulators to make sure - hopefully - that the food we buy is accurately labeled, properly handled, and safe. Nor can we all go to the grocery store and buy whatever we want, individually, you selecting snow peas and your neighbor preferring corn on the cob. However many choices there are before a law is made, once it is made, it is the law - for all of us. Jude cannot pay taxes under one code, while Jeff pays taxes under another. So, to the extent that either image relies on the desirability of making individual choices, they somewhat miss the mark. Even so, on the central matter that is being compared, the two illustrations are illuminating. Representative government, to an extent, relies on expertise of someone - your nephew, a consultant, your congressman - to make decisions for us. Direct democracy, to a greater extent, lets us make choices more directly, with less intervention by experts. In the case of initiative, it even enables us to "place an item on the shelf that the store manager, or our nephew the computer nerd, has declined to do, whether out of stubbornness or ignorance or because they simply aren't hearing us very well. This advantage may be less or more acute depending on many other factors. For example, in many countries, multiparty systems create opportunities for voters to choose their representatives, at least to select between several different models. In the United States, a strong and somewhat exclusive two-party system means that in most cases, the choice comes down to brand X and brand Y. These illustrations also remind us that neither Switzerland, the United States, nor any other modern democracy we see today is purely "representative" or "direct." The systems we observe, and are likely to observe, are mixed regimes. They vary in degree, more than in kind. Still, most of the world at present tends to lean far more toward the representative model. And Switzerland uses the instrument of direct democracy more extensively, indeed far more extensively, than the others. Anyone who wants to know what European or U.S. politics would be like if direct democracy were employed more extensively will surely wish to study this convenient political and social test case. Whether such a system is suitable for other countries or not, the Swiss use of this device, over a substantial period, is a valuable departure. Other democracies rely almost exclusively on representative methods of securing popular consent. The Swiss alone have taken this more direct route. This is not to say that the other democracies are wrong. The fact that Switzerland is virtually alone suggests prudence may argue against its innovation. It is, at the least, something different. If we glance at how the initiative and referendum process has performed, now a 150-year experience, several patterns become readily apparent. Even those who are skeptics of the benefits of referendum, of whom there are few, concede it has committed few if any drastic wrongs. The most common complaint against it among the small number of critics is that having worked well, it is now "out of date" because it hampers entry into the European Union and other desirable outcomes. (And many of the staunch advocates of full EU entry, which the Swiss have declined for the present, say that the referendum process would need only adjustment for that end, along the lines of the Swiss entry into the League of Nations, and not a complete overhaul. That is a separate debate.) In short, if the general presumption is in favor of the most direct means of popular control, subject only to checks on the people as might seem necessary, the Swiss experience seems to suggest the need for such limits is small indeed. We may conclude with Viscount Bryce that the Swiss have used their power of initiative and referendum "responsibly and well," and certainly without gross disaster or inconvenience. Having asked dozens of Swiss what the worst result initiative or referendum has produced, most of them answered "none" if the question meant has there been a single grave error or result. The respondent will then point to a particular referendum he or she did not agree with - but will hasten to add that this is only their personal opinion. Importantly, when commenting about "mistakes" by the voters, most add one of the following two points - or both. First, nearly all will say that the result "is not final" - that if they and others who agree with them are right and can marshal the facts, the public, being reasonable and indeed astute, will eventually agree with them. Second, many - especially politicians, such as Mr. Loeb, Mr. Gross, others - will have come to the conclusion that because the people disagreed, their own initial opinion must have been wrong. So far from feeling any contempt for their fellow citizens as ill informed, the Swiss - even the most brilliant - regard the voters as a standard of judgment, more than an object. In most countries, as the former economic and political guru to Jack Kemp, Jude Wanniski, has observed, the voters as a whole are smarter than their leaders. The difference may be that, in Switzerland, most leaders believe the people are smarter. As a result, there is perhaps less of a gap between elite and popular opinion in Switzerland than in any other country. There is, when such gaps occur, less arrogance felt by the elites and less frustration by the people than perhaps mankind has ever seen over an extended time under any other political system. The chief institutional sources of this distinctive level of mutual respect, in my observation, is the federal and cantonal initiative and referendum process, and community democracy. Notes The history of the instrument and the term are under debate. A case can be made that the word itself derives from a practice in the Swiss Diet, predating the French Revolution, of "referring" questions back to the cantons. A number of cantonal constitutions required this (as did the colony of New York in the U.S. Continental Congress). But there are many acts of "referring" questions to other branches and authorities in politics. In the Swiss case, some of these referrals might issue forth in a popular assembly; others would not. The level as of this writing was 100,000 signatures within an eighteen-month period, though there is discussion of raising these and other signature requirements to reflect growth in the population and the size of the voting public since those levels were established. Gregory Fossedal, Richard Holbrooke, and Paul Nitze, "How the Marshall Plan Worked," Research Report 05-997-02, Alexis de Tocqueville Institution, June 5, 1997; and Gregory Fossedal and Richard Holbrooke, "Will Clayton's Genius," Houston Chronicle, 2 June 1997