A procession of small humiliations

This week I had lunch in Switzerland with two clients, an Egyptian man and a Cote d'Ivoirean woman. As is the way at such things the table talk inevitably turned to travel. The Cote d'Ivoirean had only recently relocated from Africa and we bombarded her with recommendations of weekend trips to Strasbourg, Munich and Milan.

It wasn't until I stood in line at Swiss border control later that day that I realised how thoughtless I'd been. Every white traveler in the queue was pretty much waved through without a glance whereas every black or Asian, regardless of passport, seemed to be held up by demands for permits, work contracts, proofs of residence and even medical certificates, often spending fifteen rictus-faced minutes standing at the counter.

This was to get out of the country.

In the past I've described air travel as a procession of small humiliations but I'll never be subjected to anything close to that degree of institutional racism. If I lived in Switzerland and carried an African passport there's no way I'd have my current enthusiasm for short cross-border pleasure trips.