ZURICH. In a move that has left demographers clutching their slide rules and estate agents weeping into their fondue, the Swiss government has announced a referendum on capping the national population at 10 million. Yes, you read that correctly. The land of cuckoo clocks, chocolate, and banks that guard your secrets with the fervour of a mother wolverine has decided that human beings, like fine cheese, should be aged and limited in quantity.
The plan, as outlined by a particularly earnest-looking bureaucrat who probably owns a zip-up cardigan, involves a combination of tighter immigration quotas, financial incentives for the childless, and a mysterious 'population clock' that will chime ominously whenever a new resident threatens to push the tally past the magic number. One imagines a large, glowing sign above the Matterhorn, flickering from 9,999,999 to 10,000,000, at which point the border would seal with a hiss of pneumatic finality and newlyweds would be issued with euthanasia vouchers.
But let us not mock the Swiss too harshly. There is a certain perverse logic to their madness. Have you been to Zurich lately? It is a city where the pavements are so clean you could eat your rosti off them, and the trams run with such punctuality that you could set your watch by their departure and still have time to polish your monocle. The place is groaning under the weight of its own perfection. Every Alpine meadow is already occupied by a sunbathing banker, and every fondue pot is at full capacity. Something had to give.
Critics argue that a population cap is inhumane, a violation of basic liberties, and a logistical nightmare. How, they ask, do you enforce such a thing? Will there be border guards with abacuses? Will pregnant women be required to produce a permit before their due date? The Swiss, ever pragmatic, have likely already drafted a 47-page manual on the subject. Expect to see QR codes on cowbells and a federal office responsible for 'Human Inventory Management'.
Proponents, on the other hand, see it as a noble experiment. They point to the nation's finite resources, the diminishing view of the Alps due to new-build ski chalets, and the increasing difficulty of finding a decent table at a fondue restaurant without booking three months in advance. From this perspective, capping the population is not just sensible, it is the ultimate expression of Swissness: orderly, controlled, and slightly smug.
I say let them do it. Let Switzerland become a gigantic, alpine-themed gated community. Let them sit atop their mountain of money and cheese, serenely watching the rest of Europe teem like a petri dish left in the sun. And when the system inevitably breaks down, when some poor soul sneaks across the border disguised as a cuckoo, or when a baby is born that pushes the total to 10,000,001, we will be there to watch the ensuing meltdown with the kind of schadenfreude that only a British satirist can muster.
Meanwhile, I am off to buy a Swiss Army Knife and a one-way ticket to Geneva. If you can't beat them, join them. But I am bringing my own bottle of gin. Theirs is far too expensive.
