The Swiss lived in splendid isolation for years. Trump's tariffs have shattered that complacency

The Guardian

15 hours ago

Growing up in Zurich often felt like being removed from the world. It shouldn't be that way: after all, Switzerland is at the heart of Europe. Riding on the cosy Zurich trams, one hears all the world's languages; and the airport offers more direct intercontinental flights than Berlin. And yet, coming of age in Switzerland is like sitting in an aquarium looking at the world through a thick bulletproof window.
That glass was shattered last week when Donald Trump announced 39% tariffs on Swiss exports. The US is the most important destination for Swiss products: 18.6% of all its exports go there. If Trump maintains the tariffs, sales to the US 'will be effectively annihilated', said Switzerland's industry lobbying group. The rightwing Swiss business minister, Guy Parmelin, announced a furlough programme to shield the economy from 'mass layoffs'. The tabloid newspaper Blick captured the mood with a stark black front page, pronouncing it a 'black day' for Switzerland.
Trump's tariff shock has provoked a major identity crisis in a country that has grown rich on exports, and done so in splendid isolation from world politics.
To understand Switzerland, imagine it as a giant country club. First, you don't get in there easily: immigration laws are tight, although being rich helps. Second, it's a tidy place: every inch of land is curated, and every lawn mowed. Third, there are ample leisure activities on offer: after work, the Swiss go biking, or show off their toned bodies on the shores of immaculate lakes.
Most importantly, the Swiss club has traditionally offered its members tranquillity. History doesn't happen here. The last war Switzerland was involved in was the Sonderbund war of 1847 (it lasted 26 days, and about 100 people died). The country has been run by a majority rightwing government since 1848. The Swiss economy has contracted in only six of the last 60 years.
As a teenager in the 2000s, looking out through the bulletproof window at the rest of Europe, I saw Islamist terrorism and mass youth unemployment. We had none of it. Crime is low and social conflict barely exists, though Islamophobia did raise its ugly head in the 2009 vote to ban minarets. The Swiss have Europe's lowest proportion of working days lost to strikes. Disputes are resolved through compromise, and frustrations vented through direct democracy, or drowned in a sea of passive-aggression. And yes, 93.2% of trains do run on time.
This all-pervasive sense of calm and predictability is perhaps the main reason why so many wealthy people move here. On a chaotic and anxious planet, Switzerland offers the luxury of living in a parallel reality – a chance to take a break from the world. That is the Swiss dream. That is the story of the children's book Heidi, in which a wealthy German girl suffering big city life in Frankfurt escapes to the Alps. That is the story of Thomas Mann's The Magic Mountain, in which Europe's neurotic elite retreats to the Swiss Alps to pontificate on the state of the world from a safe, numbing distance.
Switzerland's long history of neutrality and deliberate remoteness also nurtured a feeling of Swiss exceptionalism. Surviving two world wars untouched convinced many that staying alone means staying safe – indeed, that it can even be profitable, especially if you are happy to trade with Nazi Germany and apartheid South Africa.
Isolationism carries benefits even today. Not being part of either Nato or the EU allows Switzerland to be the only European country, apart from Iceland, to have a free trade agreement with China. It also allows Berne to spend just 0.7% of GDP on defence – far below Nato's 3.5% target. Swiss aid to Ukraine stands at just 0.13% of GDP, eight times lower than that of the Netherlands. Switzerland has thrived on being part of the free world without shouldering any of the burdens that come with it. But in the new era of cutthroat geoeconomics, this 'have your cake and eat it' policy doesn't work any more.
Moreover, Trump's move completely blindsided Berne. In Switzerland, many people assumed that the president Karin Keller-Sutter's majority rightwing government would get along well with the Rolex-wearing Trump. After all, he dislikes the EU, taxes and wokeness, and so do the Swiss. When the US vice-president, JD Vance, argued at the Munich Security Conference in February that social media 'censorship' was a bigger danger to Europe than Russia, Keller-Sutter praised the speech as 'very Swiss'.
Trump's shocking tariff announcement has left the Swiss establishment clueless as to how to respond. Last week, Keller-Sutter tried to convince Trump to let go of the US's $38bn trade deficit with Switzerland. Trump later said of the call, 'The woman was nice, but she didn't want to listen.'
Switzerland has little leverage at its disposal. The country has already committed to buying F-35 fighter jets. Keller-Sutter can't even promise to cut tariffs on US products. In 2024, Bern unilaterally eliminated tariffs on industrial products. If Trump adds pharmaceuticals to the 39% tariffs, the economic pain will be real: up to 0.7% of GDP a year or 700 Swiss francs a head, according to the Swiss Economic Institute. But the greater shock is psychological. A nation that has become accustomed to always getting its own way is now floundering, with a worse tariff rate than Algeria (30%). In a multicultural, federal country with four official languages, the grand unifying narrative of Swiss exceptionalism is in tatters.
Perhaps worst of all, Brussels is getting a better trade deal than Berne. That is provoking a lot of head scratching in a country where support for EU membership stood at 17% in a 2024 poll. Keeping the EU at a distance may no longer be the best option. The first test will come soon: the Swiss will vote on new economic treaties with the EU – something that the Swiss far right is fighting tooth and nail.
Trump's golf-cart style of governing ought to see him fit right in to the Swiss country club. Who would have guessed that he would be the one to finally shatter its splendid isolation?
Joseph de Weck is a fellow with the Foreign Policy Research Institute