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“What can I do?” asks the Tibetan next to me. We are at the counter in Zurich City Hall. For the fourth time in three weeks.
Waiting on the wooden bench until our number flashes. Which never takes more than 20 minutes (thanks). During this time, newlyweds throw silver pussies in the air, people put their half-full paper cups on the table and walk away, eat triangular sandwiches and leave the plastic package on the sofa, sip their soup with buttons in the ears, go to the toilet and then goodbye.
The official asks the Tibetan: “Are you single?” – “Yes.” Stamp on the form. “That’s 20 francs.” This was exactly the stamp that was missing. On the pension fund form. I can not believe it.
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This article was first published in the paid offer of beobachter.ch. Blick+ users have exclusive access as part of their subscription. You can find more exciting articles at www.beobachter.ch.
All official forms state that the Tibetan is single. But the Gastro-Social Pension Fund wants to have its mark on its form. “I’m sorry,” I say, “I should have read that better.”
Loud tongue twister – even for the locals
As a result, the Tibetan had to travel to Zurich again and go to the town hall with me. He speaks reasonable German. But words like “writing a receipt” or “civil status card” don’t even flow fluently from the lips of natives like me.
The first time we were too early. “You can deregister at the earliest 30 days before the day of departure,” the official said. Three days later the relay race through the institutions started and I kept asking, “Have you thought this through?” – “Yes. I’m here alone and I don’t have a job anymore.” – “Have you really thought carefully about what it means if you permanently unsubscribe?” – “Yes.”
He worked in restaurants for many years. Cold kitchen, washing dishes, cleaning. This gave him an income to survive. The Tibetan was often deployed on call. During Covid the boss only called to say he didn’t need it. And in the summer he doesn’t have to come to work because the restaurant doesn’t have a garden. The Tibetan became a matter for the RAV.
In the bureaucratic dilemma
The second time at the Stadthaus Zurich, the flight confirmation and visa were missing. It takes time before a consulate or embassy issues a visa. One doesn’t work without the other. Nobody cares about that. Draw a number. To wait. In vain? Come again.
I’m not much help, I guess. I am doing this relay for the first and hopefully last time.
Nine out of nine million – these foreigners move to Switzerland
The third time it works. “That’s 20 francs,” says the receptionist at the counter. Deregistration from Switzerland is called a “certificate”. “Do you want a receipt?” No. For what?
Humiliation and kilos of papers
“The woman didn’t even look at me,” says the Tibetan. “She was just talking to you.” I try to calm him down. «She spoke written German. She probably thought you didn’t understand her.”
A decade in Switzerland. What remains? What was left? Knowledge of German A1, approximately five kilos of files. In the end, one sheet of paper cost 20 francs. The Tibetan sheds a tear. A final – probably unintentional – rejection, a humiliation.
There is the expression ‘being ashamed of others’. During the weeks with my friend, the Tibetan, I experience a different feeling. Mourning for others. “I didn’t know this feeling,” I say to a friend. “Get used to it,” she says. “I can not do it.”
Only an “incorrect departure” is possible
As we walk along the Limmatquai after finally signing off, it is silent. I put my arm on his shoulders. “How are you? Are you relieved?” – “My heart doesn’t know what to feel. Good or not good,” he says.
Happy Indians, Koreans and Emiratis sit in the cafes on Limmatquai. And Chinese. The 20-franc certificate states that the Tibetan is a citizen of the People’s Republic of China. That is why Switzerland does not offer him any help to return. “It doesn’t look rosy,” says the helpful official from the canton of Zurich. “It is an incorrect departure.”
Whichever country the Tibetan goes to, he leaves “wrongly”, he travels to a “third country”. He cannot go back to Tibet. China ‘peacefully’ annexed Tibet in 1950. From a legal perspective it is clear: Switzerland cannot and may not finance an “incorrect” departure.
The result: the recognized refugee from Tibet has to pay for the flight himself. And back and forth. As a refugee, he cannot get a visa anywhere without a return flight. In order for the Tibetan to pay for the flight, he has to borrow the money. Without paid flight and accommodation no visa, without visa no ‘certificate’, without ‘certificate’ no money from the pension fund or the AHV.
Everywhere without papers
There is also no “return bonus” for Tibetans or even a financial incentive to build a life in their country of origin. Where should he go too? The Tibetan will be a Sans-Papiers in every country outside Switzerland, a person without papers, without any rights.
“How long is my passport valid?” The Tibetan shows me the document. It looks like a Swiss passport. The envelope is blue, not red. It is a ‘travel document’ for ‘refugees’. I had never seen such an ID before. “Don’t know.” I’ll ask the authorities. All agents are polite and helpful. But they don’t know it either.
He asks: “Where is the vacuum cleaner?” Then the tears fall
I tried to distract the Tibetan on our way along the Limmatquai. And I. “Are you hungry?” – “A little.” – “What would you like to eat?” – “What you have at home.” – “Should we buy a pizza on the way?” – “No. We eat what we have in the house.” – “I have ravioli with ricotta and spinach and parmesan.” – “Good.”
At home he smooths the carpet by hand. He had spread it out on my couch a few days ago. The carpet had shifted when I sat down on the couch. “Where is the vacuum cleaner?” asks the Tibetan. “Won’t you clean my apartment?” – “But. You cook for me. Then I can help you too. Where are the buckets and rags?”
He eats the ravioli and drinks a small Coke. Then his eyes flood. Tears drip from his chin. I stand up and take him in my arms. “I’m not happy,” he says. I hug him tighter. “Oh dear. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I hope this goes well for you.”
20 narrow mailboxes for 20 small lives
After a long pause, a round of bureaucracy follows. Deregistration from the health insurer. The studio has ended. Maximum 15 square meters. A 90 centimeter bed, a table, two chairs, a frame with a shade plant on it and a single yellowed book. “See it and say it in German”.
“Remember that. I don’t need it anymore,” he says. I read sentences like: “Are there flowers in May? Do you want to go to the ballet? I bought a motorboat.” Or: «I said. I have worked. I rented. I cried.”
In any case, there is room for the rice cooker in the narrow kitchenette in the studio with shower and toilet. There is no balcony, but there are two windows without a view. The house used to be a brothel. I won’t tell him that.
When we open the door of his studio to leave, we meet a man with a fat dog in the hallway. The dog wags past us into the Tibetan’s room. “Get out of there!” the man shouts. His neighbor.
He also lives alone in this house with its 20 narrow mailboxes for 20 small lives. At the entrance it says: ‘Anyone who deals drugs or engages in prostitution in this building will be fired.’ And: “The front door should ALWAYS be like this! remain closed.”
Where should you put the money?
A new round of bureaucracy. Canceling the rental deposit account. Another word to chew on. “These did not come,” says the Tibetan. He is referring to the two months’ rent he had to pay for his studio. After all these years, the bank UBS pays him an interest of five cents.
The Gastro-Social Pension Fund writes that the money will not be paid out in cash. Even if it says so on the forms. My emails aren’t going anywhere. ‘When will the money come? I don’t know how long my account has been around,” says the Tibetan. Without an address in Switzerland, Postfinance closes its account.
And when will the AHV come? “It will only be paid out in a few months,” it says here. Is your email address still valid?” – “Yes.”
The costs consume a fifth
The AHV balance is the largest asset the Tibetan has been able to acquire during his years in Switzerland. To access his money abroad, he must get a new account. He opens an account with an online bank.
Every time he withdraws money, he pays a high fee and loses money because of the worse exchange rate. For each purchase that is about 20 percent, I calculate. The Tibetan has no other choice. As an undocumented person, he cannot open an account at a bank counter in any new country.
“Is the address still correct?” asks the AHV. Address? Which address? The Tibetan had to book a cheap hostel so he could get a tourist visa. The AHV wants to transfer his money to him in a few months. He says: “What Switzerland wants, it wants immediately. If Switzerland has to give in, I will have to wait a long time. Very long.”
Time to go
His account is empty. ‘I can’t stand you being without money. I don’t want that,’ I say. “Thanks,” he says, putting the bills in his pocket.
It’s time to go. We take each other in our arms. “I wish you all the best,” I say.
“Are you coming to visit me?” he asks. “Yes. Promise. Would you like me to accompany you to the airport tomorrow?” – “No.”
When the Tibetan has left, I lie down on the couch. On his carpet, which he laid on it and smoothed it flat with his hand.
And I wish the carpet could fly.
Source:Blick
I am Liam Livingstone and I work in a news website. My main job is to write articles for the 24 Instant News. My specialty is covering politics and current affairs, which I’m passionate about. I have worked in this field for more than 5 years now and it’s been an amazing journey. With each passing day, my knowledge increases as well as my experience of the world we live in today.
