10/31/04

Page 1I

Show of hands

When Swiss canton votes, the nation and visitors watch

By Tod Robberson

Staff Writer

APPENZELL, Switzerland - The Alps had a new coating of white, thanks to a springtime snowstorm, while the hillsides surrounding Appenzell offered a dazzling display of bright flowers and emerald-green pastures. It's the kind of scenery that makes people want to spread their arms like Julie Andrews and burst out singing, "The hills are alive..."

So why, then, do the people of Appenzell seem so solemn and downright funereal whenever the last Sunday in April rolls around? It is election day, residents explain, which is particularly serious business when you're keeping alive one of the world's longest-surviving exercises in direct democracy.

As Americans head to the polls Nov. 2, they will owe at least a small part of their democratic tradition to Appenzell's ancestors. Seven centuries ago, they took sword in hand to oust the distinctly undemocratic Habsburg feudal system and install a system of popular self-government.

As they've done annually on the last Sunday in April since the 14th century, residents of the tiny, German-speaking canton of Appenzell Inner Rhoden withdraw their swords and march to the town square to make their voices heard.

On April 25 this year, more than 3,000 voting-age citizens gathered to participate in Landsgemeinde, the pure form of democracy that has been carried out here since at least 1394.

"Landsgemeinde is a place where you can feel, once a year, that you are a part of the canton and also where you feel you have a say in what's going on," said Bruno Koster, 44, who presided over this year's gathering as the Landsmann, or alternating chairman of the canton (state). "For my father and grandfather, it was always a big celebration of our own freedom."

With an elected governing council overseeing the daylong event, Appenzell's citizens gather to serve as their own parliament as well as electorate. They hold an open discussion of pressing issues, elect officials, propose laws and ordinances, then vote on those measures.

Every participating citizen has the right to take the podium to deliver a speech with the same ceremonial flourish of an American president delivering the State of the Union address. If many choose to speak, participants know they are in for a long day, which can be particularly arduous because tradition requires all but the elderly and infirm to remain standing throughout the event.

"We never know how long it will last or what is going to happen because, basically, all the people have the right to talk," said Dominik Baldegger, a spokesman for the cantonal government.

Appenzell Inner Rhoden, with a population of only around 15,000, is the last canton in Switzerland that still observes Landsgemeinde (pronounced lands-ga-mine-da) now that its sister canton, Appenzell Outer Rhoden, abolished it several years ago. Although Landsgemeinde is so widely revered that Appenzell's observance is televised nationally, the rest of the nation abandoned it because cantons had become too populous to manage a gathering in a single location.

"We take it very seriously, but it's not something that every canton can do so easily," said Charles S. Guggenheim, a businessman from Zurich who came to witness the process firsthand.

On any other day of the year, Appenzellers gladly hand over their restaurants and beer gardens to the outsiders whose tourist money serves as the canton's economic lifeblood. But when Landsgemeinde rolls around, crowd-control police keep tourists and the news media at bay while citizens and their elected leaders take center stage.

"The big point is that Landsgemeinde is not for tourism or foreigners. It's just for us," Mr. Baldegger explained as he watched a slow procession of dignitaries file into the central plaza. "They walk slowly so that everybody can see them. But it's also so they can see everyone else as well."

It's a time for Appenzellers to make their presence known, he added. Nothing is private during Landsgemeinde. All voting takes place by show of hands, so that every person knows exactly where his or her neighbor, friend, enemy or business associate stands on the issues.

This year, a few residents took advantage of the occasion to dress in colorful, billowing dresses or lederhosen and spiffy Swiss hunting hats. On the other end of the spectrum, some showed up in blue jeans. One participant strolled through the plaza with pink hair and a pierced nose.

At the same time, every aspect of the event is carried out with a bow to tradition. Until 1991, it was a men-only event, but a federal court ruled that the exclusion of women was unconstitutional.

At the time, many older women in Appenzell joined men in opposing the court decision, arguing that preserving the tradition was more important than winning the right to vote. Today, however, it's routine to see women of all ages raising their hands high when voting time comes in the plaza.

Hotels, especially those overlooking the town square, were so packed on April 25 that guests were required to share their rooms with as many as 15 others.

During his remarks opening Landsgemeinde, Mr. Koster, the chairman, reminded residents that the event was not being put on as a "show for the tourists," even though hundreds of visitors had crowded around the perimeter of the plaza.

"We don't care about the tourists," he explained later. No special accommodation is made to help visitors view the event. "It is the same ceremony as the one they had maybe 200 or 300 years ago," he added.

The April 25 observance began, as in centuries past, with a special service at the ornate St. Mauritius church near the town square in this overwhelmingly Roman Catholic canton.

Afterward, with church bells pealing, uniformed youths emerged from the church bearing the flags of each of Appenzell's cantonal departments. They began a slow procession to the town square, followed by invited guests from the Swiss federal government and local dignitaries dressed in black robes.

This year, the most distinguished guest was Christoph Blocher, a billionaire industrialist and politician who holds a senior federal cabinet post. His People's Party, which campaigns on an ultra-nationalist platform of restricting immigration and maintaining Swiss isolationism, holds the plurality of seats in the federal Parliament.

Mr. Blocher's presence was highly controversial in Appenzell, which already appears deeply divided between conservative and liberal factions. Even the priest at St. Mauritius managed to get in a few digs at Mr. Blocher during his homily, parishioners said.

Mr. Koster said that, although he personally disagrees with Mr. Blocher's politics, he invited the minister "only out of political correctness, nothing else." Tradition calls for the most senior cabinet member to be invited each year. This year, it was Mr. Blocher's turn.

During the procession from the church, critics of Mr. Blocher withheld catcalls and jeers out of respect for the solemn occasion. They registered their opposition by withholding applause as he passed by.

As the procession approached the square, a brass band struck up a ceremonial march while thousands of residents filed into the cordoned-off central plaza.

All observers and tourists were kept outside, but within viewing distance, by three separate rings of cordons, leaving little space for pedestrians to move once the proceedings began.

Entry is limited to those who present a valid voting card. In a nod to the dominant position men continue to hold at the ceremony, however, they are allowed to enter simply by presenting their sword, which most adult males carried at their side throughout the day.

Mr. Koster said he inherited his Landsgemeinde sword from a close cousin who died 20 years ago. The sword has been in the family since 1414, he said.

Andreas Trunz, who celebrated his 18th birthday this year and was therefore allowed to participate for the first time, brought the sword his grandfather gave him on his birthday.

"This is a very important day for me as an Appenzeller," he said. "It makes you proud, the first time you raise your hand to vote."

This time, Mr. Trunz and others voted on more than a dozen measures, some of which were so tightly contested that the crowd murmured or laughed each time the hands shot up and down, with heads casting from side to side as participants looked to see how others were voting.

The most controversial vote was for the new cantonal justice minister. Two candidates vied for the post: a liberal woman and a conservative man.

The vote was so close that Mr. Koster had to declare a tie. To break it, he invoked a procedure that has not been needed in Appenzell in 40 years. He ordered all participants to leave through two exits - one for those who favored the liberal candidate, and the other for the conservative.

That single vote count took about 30 minutes, after which the conservative was declared the winner.

Recalling the U.S. presidential elections in 2000, Mr. Guggenheim observed that the low-tech Swiss vote-counting method proved to be more efficient in the end.

"It still takes longer to count the votes in Florida than it does here," he joked.