Anger over holiday home vote result

Last Sunday's narrow nationwide vote of 50.6% to curb the construction of holiday homes sent a shudder through our alpine region. Although 54.9% of voters in Canton Berne approved the initiative, 82.8% in my commune rejected it, where holiday homes represent 49% of all dwellings, or way above the 20% limit called for in the initiative.

This vote means a practical moratorium on all new secondary home construction. How secondary homes will be defined and controlled and when this restriction gets implemented remain to be seen.

Since Sunday, I've spoken with a few townspeople who say they are convinced that this building stop will bring about a downturn in the local economy. They fear that jobs will be lost and that a mass exodus of local working families will ensue.

But what I find most striking is their anger.

They are mad at Mr. Franz Weber, the environmental activist and initiator of the vote. It was he who made it possible for the low-lying suburbs and cities to decide the fate of the mountain regions.

Let's face it. Mountain people are fiercely independent. For centuries, they have had to fight off foreign invaders. If it wasn't the Hapsburgs, then it was the Burgundians, or the Counts of Gruyère, or the French, or even the city of Bern. Just the mere idea that city folk could dictate how mountain folk manage their business drives mountain folk mad. In this case, some are so livid, they refuse to admit that some calming of the building industry was needed to save land from overdevelopment, to preserve our natural resources and agriculture, and to make housing affordable for locals.

Who knows what will happen and how the Swiss government will implement the vote. Some local developers are calling for a counter initiative. Many questions remain open.

One thing is for sure: the people have spoken and have shaken up the place. Something had to give. In history, one extreme has always led to another. I am confident that the Swiss--in their special way--will come up with a sensible compromise.

March 11 vote to curb holiday home construction

This is an image on a poster calling for the "End the Unlimited Construction of Secondary Residences."

  
On March 11, Swiss voters will get to decide whether or not to restrict the construction of holiday homes to 20 per cent of residential zones and of the total surface area within each commune. 

A people's initiative, titled "End the Unlimited Construction of Secondary Residences," was launched  by Helvetia Nostra, a foundation created by Franz Weber, an environmentalist. 

Weber and his supporters make the following dramatic points:  

- one square meter of land in Switzerland is lost to construction every second (and secondary residences are contributing significantly to this statistic.)
- 8,000 secondary residences – houses or apartments – are built in Switzerland each year. 
- Not only is open space disappearing, these structures are empty 300 days of the year.
- Resorts have turned into "overpriced jungles where locals can no longer afford housing." 

Sound familiar? See prior post on selling out to absentee owners.

The press seems to support the far right and developers, who are attempting to make these environmentalists appear short-sighted and claim: that such a vote would hurt local tourism economies and drive up prices for existing properties. Ludicrous! Only the supply of "holiday homes" would be restricted thereby affecting that market only... not local housing.

And if speculators are forced to pay more for luxury homes and apartments, do we really care?


Gstaad's tourism base comes to Gstaad for its open space, natural environment, traditions, and authentic community. Many believe that the constant building in Saanenland is ruining the very reason why people came here in the first place. If you speak to local ski guides, they are noticing a surge of interest in snowshoeing and ski touring. Even tourism surveys point to the fact that our tourists are not really into piste skiing.


Regarding the construction sector: it's overheated and turned greedy. Land speculation and sale to foreigners as investment properties are the games of the day. Some individuals are profiting at the expense of others. Construction companies are overstretched. There is too much work to be had. A little calming here wouldn't be a bad thing. 

If voters vote for greed, the questions remains: what do we leave our kids? Nostalgic stories of how there once were schools, communities, real indigenous people and traditions in Saanenland? 

How sad.

The mountain

Photo: Lisette Prince

A friend who is far away is sometimes much nearer than one who is at hand. Is not the mountain far more awe-inspiring and more clearly visible to one passing through the valley than to those who inhabit the mountain?

-Khalil Gibran

Selling our future to absentee owners

Being in Gstaad and its neighboring villages during the winter season is great. And this year's frequent and abundant snowfalls have turned the landscape into a magical winter wonderland. Main-street is filled with women, men, and children walking, shopping and conversing. There is a feeling of community.

It's not always like this.

Have you ever walked through Gstaad and some of its neighboring villages during its low-seasons? Have you noticed the eerie silence, the closed shutters, the dark restaurants, and the empty streets?

It is hard for many a visitor to imagine Gstaad as a ghost town. For some of us who live here year-round, we actually welcome the return to low season: traffic jams disappear; we can find a parking space easily; we don't need to make restaurant reservations if we can find one that is open; and we don't have to stand in line at the Coop or Migros.

But there are drawbacks.

This is a time when the construction pressure cooker begins again: houses must be readied before the next high season hits, when loud outdoor construction noise is forbidden. Ski instructors exchange their red and white jackets for their construction gear. For them, this will mean long work hours, time away from family, and sometimes even burn-out.

And as time goes on, people in my community are selling their homes and farms to make quick millions. They do so because they have fallen into personal debt, are attracted by the quick money (not realizing that that money will never buy them something equivalent in the area), or because of family strife, death, or divorce.

The problem is they are selling to absentee owners.Where once lived a family with children lies now a vacant hull with closed shutters that is heated year-round. I don't even want to get into the ecological madness of heating these empty chalets year-round. You see when a village loses its children--and more specifically children's laughter--it loses its hope and optimism that such laughter represents.

The sound of children's laughter symbolizes a simple and pure act: the innocent pleasure of life. Sure adults can laugh, but their laughter is strange, often jealous, shaming, or insure. One always hears that children are able to live in the moment, while we adults stress and remain preoccupied with our responsibilities. Instead we need to enjoy children's laughter. It gives us hope and cheers us up.

So how can we right this wrong and keep our optimism? How can we prevent the absolute end of our community?

Well first one has to understand how this has been allowed to happen.

The "lump sum tax,""flat tax," "forfait" or "Pauschalbesteuerung"

Well, our area is not only beautiful and virtually crime-free. It's close to a melting glacier and amazing drinking water, ensuring a good supply for the near future... and it's got tax breaks. My corner of the Alps is a popular place for wealthy individuals to become Swiss residents, enabling them to buy real estate and profit from a tax loophole called the "flat tax", the "forfait" in French or "Pauschalbesteuerung" in German. Many believe that real estate prices have soared due to the existence of this tax and have encouraged locals to sell out.

By becoming residents in our municipality, these wealthy individuals are taxed on a strange computation that is based on the individuals' expected costs of living in Switzerland represented by a lump sum tax. This amount has been calculated by a factor of five times the rental cost of their homes or a factor of two times residential costs. They do not pay income tax, asset tax, nor do they have to declare this information.

The only restrictions are: 1) they cannot be Swiss; 2) they are not allowed to work in Switzerland or derive an income here; 3) they must spend six months of the year here.

No one actually checks and enforces that these foreign residents actually are physically here six months out of the year. And why don't the authorities do so? Well, why should they? The tax money generated from these so-called residents help pay for snow cannons and other expensive infrastructure supporting our tourism and construction industries. Plus, these flat tax payers don't cost the municipality much, because they don't use the services (schools, waste, police and fire). They even hire their own private security firms.

A win-win solution

Recently, the Swiss Upper House confirmed that each canton has the right to decide whether it wants the lump sum tax. The canton of Zurich voted to get rid of it. According to the national newspaper Blick, 92 of the 201 lump sum taxpayers in the canton of Zurich left the canton after the vote (26 left the country, and the remainder moved to other cantons). The financial ramifications of these departures have not yet been reported.

Such a referendum is expected in the canton of Berne in June of this year. I don't believe that banning the flat tax will do much good. But I do think that chalet owners should be forced by law to create a separate apartment under their roofs; these apartments should be large enough to house a family of four. The advantage for the chalet owner would be:

1. the house would be lived in and watched over (water damage would be noticed in time);

2. less need for constant home surveillance by private security firms;

3. more integration and communication between locals and newcomers.

Others have suggested enforcing the six-month physical presence and increasing the minimum cost-of-living benchmark to SFr. 400,000 from the current 100,000 to 150,000; and increasing the minimum cost measurement factors to seven times rental costs or three times residential costs. Maybe those who pay the lump sum tax, will be made to value their residency permits and actually live here.

Secondary homes

Involving non-residents, some people have proposed a law requiring that no more than 20% of all apartments be sold as secondary homes. This would be a good start in addressing the problem.

Back at the river's source

The waters of the Saane (or Sarine)
end up in the Rhine River
eventually. Photo: Diana Oehrli

One of the many river sources of the Rhine is located just nine kilometers from my house. It blows my mind to think that waters originating here in my backyard travel through Europe and end up in the North Sea.

And it's gotten me thinking that my move to the Alps can be likened to a return to the source, my early childhood place. And low and behold, I just read that life can be compared to a river, and that it, too, can be divided into three parts:

• the source is our past
• the channel is our present
• the mouth is our future

But these parts can only be divided conceptually, because they must remain in balance.

When I find myself thinking that my life was better in the 'old days', I become blind to the reality of the present. Have I fully understood how the past has affected me? With the right tools and introspection, I learn what the root causes are for my distorted thinking, my fears, and my need for instant gratification and control. Instead, by validating my past, I am free to heal old wounds, and thereby, avoid repeating the same mistakes and behaviors.

I must also face the present, which flows like the uninterrupted current of a river. We just can't stop that clock! And living in the present can be as peaceful as it can be exciting, (my recent skiing experiences in powder snow could be an example). But I must be careful. When I live only for the present, I find that I have little regard for either precedent or consequence. How often have I agreed to do something without really thinking about how this action might fit into my schedule, and then later, to my horror realized that I didn't really have the time for it? The consequence was stress, breaking a promise, or losing credibility. Or, how about the times I said "yes"--when I really meant "no"--forgetting the bad thing that happened the last time I said "yes."

And finally, I must plan for my future. There is nothing more satisfying than to plant the seeds for those trees that will bear fruits later. However, I can't just live for the future. When I live only for some deferred reward, I strain myself too much, denying myself rich and satisfying experiences. And this could lead to burnout and hurt relationships. There needs to be a balance. It's okay to devote some energy each day to building the future, but not at the expense of the present.

Just as a river can be said to have parts that cannot be clearly divided, so too should we consider the whole of our time when deciding how to spend our lives.
-Deng Ming-Dao

Everything is as it should be

Photo: Lisette Prince

"What's your favorite thing about staying up on the alp during the summer months?" a woman asked a seven-year old local farmer boy.

"The sunrises and the sunsets," the boy responded.

This is why I choose to live here.

For those of you who don't know, in the summertime, many local farming families move up to higher pastures (higher than 1,400 meters above sea-level) to graze their cattle on delicious mountain grass and herbs. This is a time when they make their best cheese. The families live in huts using wood fires for warmth, and candles for light, as most do not have electricity (unless it's milking time, then the generators come on). This is a world far away from XBoxes, computers and other technological devices. This is a world where children have to rely on their imaginations for fun.

I like living close to nature and in communion with people whose lives are--for the most part--absorbed in in the evolution of life without hesitation or contradiction. Here, there is no alienation. Everything belongs. Everything is as it should be.

People often ask me why I've chosen to live alone in such a remote area. They ask me, don't you get stir-crazy? Don't you need shopping, cultural events, and people?

Yes, I admit. Sometimes it's fun to leave the mountains, view an exhibition or concert, wander busy streets, sip coffee in cafés, check out the latest trends and fashions, feel the excitement in the cacophony of traffic and voices.

Yet, for most of my daily living, there is nothing more soothing than living in a place where full moons are so evident that you can't help but pause to admire their roundness, their brightness, and the light they cast on ridges and slopes; or a place where stars twinkle above, their splendor still unmarred by light pollution. How about those sunsets and sunrises? No drama on stage can compare to a morning light illuminating the top of a mountain in a surreal glow. Then, there are the snowstorms that remind us of our vulnerability; and the droughts that remind us to conserve water; and the rain storms that replenish our aquifers and remind us to be grateful.

I find that being integrated into the constant flow of nature helps me to let go, to enter freely into its process, and become absorbed by it. Life becomes evident. Even as I've yearned for love, companionship, understanding, and fellowship, there have been times when I've pushed it all away with petty emotions, plans, and constant questioning. I've let hatred or pride cloud my perceptions, and in doing so, I've hurt myself.

So, as I let myself go, entering freely into the process of nature, I feel myself becoming absorbed by it. By integrating myself in that process, I find success. Then the sequence of things becomes as evident as the coming of the sun and moon, and everything is as it should be.

Snow and silence

Photo: Isabella Kiker

Happy New Year dear reader! I wish you much health, balance, and satisfaction in 2012!

For those of you wondering what it's been like in the Alps, well, it's been snowing. Starting on the 19th of December, the white crystals began falling and they have continued doing so since. This amount of snowfall reminds me of childhood winters in the 70’s and 80’s, when I used to come visit my grandparents. In those days, chalet roofs were adorned with icicles and covered in thick white puffy layers; creeks and streams were hidden, their icy clear waters gurgling under open patches; and streets and paths were all white, their existence carved out of the landscape like mazes in snowy fields. How the snow crunched under foot! Ah! So great, a real winter again!

The best thing about a snowy landscape is the silence. The sound of cars, trains, and people are dampened, their noise disappearing into nothingness. (This phenomenon, by the way dear reader, can be very dangerous when crossing a train track. One has trouble hearing the train coming.)

A snowy landscape is wonderful for getting into the moment and for releasing worry and fear. I don't know about you, but when I succumb to worry, I am unable to get things done. I get stuck in the "what if" and "should haves." With a snowy landscape one doesn't need to shut out noise. The landscape does it all for us. When in silence, I am more receptive to my thoughts, feelings, and I am able to work my way through difficult times. Focusing on a snowy landscape helps me focus on today. Today is all I have to work with, anyway.

The past has flown away. 
The coming month and year do not exist. 
Ours only is the present's tiny point.
 -Mahmud Shabistari