But not the people taking refuge here. The Fremdenkontrolle, the Stranger Control, a bureau of the police, estimated that there were now five million native Swiss and three million Ausländer within the borders. This ratio, one of the most extreme in the world, had caused membership in the various right-wing anti-immigrant parties in Switzerland to swell, and now they held a dozen or more seats in the Swiss legislature, led by the SVP, the Swiss People’s Party. There were about thirty political parties in Switzerland, and all the ruling coalitions in the federal government were formed by majorities created by alliances between the central parties; center-right, center-left, with the more radical parties on each side just barely earning seats. SVP had even held a majority for a while, then after the heat wave it had lost popularity. Now they did better in the cantonal governments, but these had had their power shifted over the years to Bern’s federal government— not entirely, but in national matters like this one, the federal government tended to get its way. The upshot seemed to be that there was a lot of pent-up anger in the anti-immigrant crowd, as they saw their country being “overrun,” with nothing they could do about it, at the political level anyway.
Maybe it was this way everywhere. Now, whenever Frank saw small groups of obvious Ausländer, people from the global south or even the Balkans, walking in areas of the city where they might get accosted, he would strike up a conversation with them in English and walk with them. He saw it help once or twice. Racists were confused by mixed-race situations, so a white man with these dark-skinned people gave them pause. If it were a dark-skinned man with a Swiss woman it might make them angry, even though this was a common sight; but a white man with people of color was different, and anyway it took some evaluation before any racist could decide to get angry, so that created some time, and if one walked fast, staying on lit streets, which in Zurich meant any street not an alley in the Niederdorf, it would be enough to keep from getting assaulted, except by some guttural comments hurled one’s way, comments designed not to be understood. So he walked with them when he could.
But then a day came when he saw a group of young Swiss men standing on the bridge looking at the big meal tent. Though it was hot, the air had gone dark; there were clouds building overhead, a thunderstorm was imminent. It would be a relief when it came. For now, it was getting hotter.
Big fat raindrops began to spatter the pavers outside the tent. All of a sudden they were in a downpour, and in that same moment the young Swiss men charged the tent throwing pavers and shouting. They were going for the servers as well as the guests, and people were screaming and going down, there was blood splashing from nowhere into reality, and seeing that, many among the refugees charged their assailants screaming with fury. Pavers gone, the Swiss thugs had nothing but their fists, but they too were enraged, and a donnybrook of punching and shoving and shouting erupted outside one edge of the tent. The Swiss who ran away were tackled or kicked in the back, the moves familiar and practiced from soccer pitches at their worst. The Swiss thugs then realized they had to retreat while still facing the refugee fighters, at least until they could get a clear route away. Some of them ran across a street right in front of a tram, which squealed down past them and gave them some cover for their retreat.
After that, wet people, screams, crying, blood on the ground and on the tabletops, which were now commandeered to lay injured people on something other than the cold wet ground. Police arrived, and clumps of quivering shouting people surrounded them to tell the tale of the outrage. The police teams went from person to person in the following hour, and Frank stayed, too upset by what he had seen to leave. He had to testify. But everyone the police interviewed they were also scanning, and when they were done talking to Frank, having done the same to him, they looked at each other. One of them was showing his scanner to his colleagues. These approached Frank and then surrounded him.
“Sorry,” one of them said to him in English. “There is a warrant out for your arrest. Please come with us.”
48
Babies crying at dawn. Already hot. People hungry. Sun over the hills like a bomb. Hot on the skin. Don’t look that way or you’ll be seeing white all morning. Shadows running off the west edge of the world. It’ll be that way until the tent roof blocks the glare, about nine. By then it will be too hot to move. Better to sweat than not. Dust settles on the sweat and you can see little tracks of mud on your skin. Showers not till Saturday. It’s my time of the month. Need that shower.
The dining tent opens at eight, still lit by the horizontal light. Long line of people at the entrance. People let the moms with little kids go first. Most people anyway. They’re stacked up next to the entry, line collapsing, fretting. Unless you’re starved, it’s easier to hang back. Not to mention the right thing to do. After a while it’s just a habit. You go where you’ve gone before. The group of women I usually join is there trying to stay normal, talk.
Inside the smell of eggs and onion and paprika. Big bowls of plain yogurt, my favorite. Load up
