25 | Jura, or when small lies gave birth to a canton

Tuesday books - Diana-Alice Ramsauer

«The train of reality passes by only once. Everything else must be entrusted to literature.» It is under this motto that Daniel de Roulet entrusts his fiction The Bird Catcher the task of presenting another version of the Jura Question of the 1970s—the one we know little about; the one marked by conflict; the one shrouded in Swiss-style state secrecy; the one that smacks of no compromise; the one that is violent; the one that is intertwined with international struggles. It was a way of blending historical reality with pure imagination that at first struck me as nothing short of genius… until it began to resemble a settling of scores between the author and the federal government.

What is the connection between the young officer Flükiger, who died on the French side of the Jura border, and the kidnapping of Hans-Martin Schleyer, the «boss of bosses»—a former Nazi, chairman of the Mercedes board of directors, and later head of the German employers’ association? That is the question investigator Niklaus Meienberg asks himself in the fall of 1977, a few months before the vote on the creation of the 23rd^th the canton of Jura. The historical backdrop is already weighty, and we follow this journalist as he travels between Paris—where he lives and is involved with the daughter of the president of the Swiss Confederation—the village of Grandfontaine, Bern, and Porrentruy. An almost detective-like investigation interspersed with accounts of the news of the time.

Throughout the book, the first question Meienberg asks leads to many others. Why is Swiss President Kurt Furgler hosting the German Vice Chancellor and the President of the Federal Republic of Germany, when the country is searching for the far-left commando—members of the Red Army Faction (RAF)— members of the Baader Gang—who were, in fact, responsible for the kidnapping of Schleyer, the «boss of bosses»? Is there a connection between these events and the trial of fourteen young Jura separatists, who were half-heartedly labeled “terrorists” for storming the Bern police stations (and also setting off a few explosive charges in front of anti-separatists’ homes or smearing tar on the tram tracks in Moutier to block the town)? Could Officer Flükiger have seen something he wasn’t supposed to? Was he eliminated by the Baader Gang? Is the Federal Council being transparent? Why isn’t there an international investigation? What is the connection between all these independence, leftist, anarchist, and even terrorist movements?

Read also | Rural-urban divide: a solution inspired by the Bernese Jura?

A question in lieu of an answer

You won’t find all the answers in this book. It’s even frustrating. But the questions deserve to be addressed, according to Daniel de Roulet. These questions are addressed by Niklaus Meienberg, a journalist who actually existed and who is «one of those who dared to lift the lid on our consensual idyll.» It would seem, in fact, that he died because of it—slowly consumed.

Throughout this investigation, the author navigates the boundaries between fiction, journalism, and truth. These three concepts blur into one another, feed off one another, and clash—yet none emerges victorious in the end. It is both difficult and exhilarating. Thus, the Roulet-Meienberg couple desperately searches for the truth in this case, without ever finding it. The writer and his character seem convinced that «something is being hidden from us» and that the president of the Confederation sought to cover up certain matters to preserve his ultimate goal: social peace ahead of the referendum aimed at granting independence to the Jura. «Forty years later, the truth would still need a breath of fresh air rather than the stifling silences that reasons of state seek to impose upon it.»

«Having a goal and selling your mother to achieve it»

«All too often, the country where I was born holds itself up as a model, claiming to know how to resolve political conflicts through mutual consent and without violence.» According to the author, this is completely false. A silence that drives one mad, yet protects the interests of certain individuals—such as Federal Councilor Furgler, the guardian of the myth of a consensus-driven Switzerland.

«I’m impressed to see a guy who knows where he wants to go—to create a new canton—period. To that end—with that goal in mind—he charges ahead, crushing everything in his path, even if it means twisting the facts and flouting the law. It reminds me of Lincoln—the President of the United States—a stern and pious man like the Federal Councilor, he had declared that slavery would be abolished—period—he didn’t shy away from buying votes—scheming with his enemies—letting his own fellow citizens be massacred, but in the end, the result: slavery eradicated—hats off to you, Mr. President. The truth is, these people don’t care about it—what matters is the balance of power and how to shift it—having a goal and selling your own mother to achieve it—not my style.»

No, that's not Meienberg's style. Nor is it de Roulet's. And yet.

You have to see who it's from

Since the reality of this Jura autumn has not come to light, and since journalists have gradually become spokespeople for the authorities… only literature remains to question reality.

But that hint of doubt has a slightly sour aftertaste. In the margin of my copy of The Bird Catcher, I read my own handwriting: «I have a strange feeling. As if the author were settling scores.» In a blank space at the bottom of page 9, beneath a paragraph disparaging Swiss literature for dealing only with the moods of everyday life and not with politics; shortly after we realize that Meienberg is in fact a tormented journalist who was fired from the Tages Anzeiger Since I had, unfortunately, slightly scratched the Prince of Liechtenstein, my handwriting in pink pen traced out the following words:

«You have to consider where all this comes from. Daniel de Roulet was born in Saint-Imier. He was on the secret service’s watchlist. He set fire to the chalet of media mogul Axel Springer. He was considered a terrorist, and he wrote a book about it a few years ago.» These few scribbles give it away: I suddenly wonder if I’m reading the grudge list of a frustrated old revolutionary.

If I’d started this book with stars in my eyes, ready to discover how fiction might shed light on state secrets; if my heart was racing at the thought of experiencing Jura independence forty years later; if my little idealistic brain was gurgling with excitement at the prospect of following a journalist on an in-depth investigation; well, I finish the hundred or so pages as if I’d spent a day on my couch: without much satisfaction. What a shame to criticize a government’s silence without managing to fill that void—even through a work of fiction.

But perhaps I'm being too critical. Because while de Roulet seems particularly bitter, disillusioned, and resentful, The Bird Catcher At the very least, it helps us understand why the Jura Question is still unresolved: the dreams of several generations of Béliers are portrayed with a humanity I had never experienced before. That genuine and powerful flame of independence isn’t conveyed through words, but through the atmosphere. You just get it. And for me, that alone was already an achievement in itself.

Write to the author: [email protected]

Photo Credit: © Swiss National Museum/ASL

Daniel de Roulet
L’oiselier
La Baconnière
2021
120 pages

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