This is a translation of the Le Temps article: Nyon, 7h53: la ville au bord de l’asphyxie In Nyon, the debate over the ‘No to a Switzerland of 10 million!’ initiative is neither an election slogan nor a statistical abstraction. At the heart of the Lake Geneva paradox, the town still retains the charm of a historic market town, yet is now bearing the full brunt of the pressure of a global metropolis. An investigation into a symbolic town, where economic prosperity clashes violently with the limits of the territory It is 7.53 am on the platform at Nyon station. For Béatrice Jotterand, it is time for her ‘strategic positioning’. At 25, this local girl, born in the local hospital and raised on the road to Saint-Cergue, knows the drill by heart: you have to position yourself directly in front of the future carriage door in the hope of securing not a seat – a luxury long forgotten – but a spot in the aisle where you can stand without blocking the way. “The worst thing is ending up standing between the rows of seats, which happens to me regularly,” she grimaces. She’s heading to International Geneva, where she works full-time. In Nyon, the discomfort is a tangible reality. The district is one of the most dynamic in Switzerland: the population has risen from 62,000 in 1990 to over 106,000 in 2020, an increase of 58% in thirty years. The town passed the 24,000-resident mark in 2025, and the region could absorb a further 35,000 people by 2050. Ideally situated halfway between Lausanne and Geneva, Nyon has become the symbol of a Switzerland that is “bursting at the seams”, as Béatrice Jotterand puts it. The end of Nyon’s carefree days The young woman has seen her street, once lined with family homes, become cluttered with high-rise blocks and dense housing estates. She has seen the Rocher swimming pool become inaccessible to the public, reserved for clubs to cope with overwhelming demand, whilst the Colovray pool now requires traffic wardens to direct the cars of summer bathers. “When I was little, we always used to see the same faces. Today, at the market, you hear English spoken everywhere. I don’t recognise anyone anymore,” she confides. This is not bitterness, but an observation of saturation. Nyon is no longer a small town; it is a luxury commuter town for expats and commuters, where the infrastructure—from the sports hall that was too small even when its extension was opened to the roads gridlocked by 6.30 am—is struggling to keep up with a rapidly growing population. Despite a salary she considers comfortable, Béatrice Jotterand lives with her parents. For her, independence in Nyon is a mathematical equation that never adds up. “A furnished two-room flat for 2,900 francs or a studio in questionable condition for 1,800 francs… That’s the reality of the market.” This feeling of being stifled fuels the debate over the SVP’s initiative. Whilst she is wary of “simplistic” solutions, she admits that the initiative raises the questions the authorities are avoiding: “Very selfishly, I tell myself that if there were fewer people, it would be easier for me to find somewhere to live,” she admits, whilst categorically refusing to vote ‘yes’ on 14 June. A few kilometres away, in Chéserex, Antoine Spillmann, a financial entrepreneur, agrees. He criticises a “property trap” in which the economy becomes dependent on concrete and an ever-growing workforce. “We manage wildlife well, so why not the population?” “It’s the perfect example of the current paradox: on the land around Signy, where I was once asked to intervene to control crow populations to protect farmers’ crops, we’ve now built laboratories and schools on concrete,” explains the businessman. “We’re putting immense pressure on wildlife and the farming community in the name of ecology, but as soon as it comes to regulating the human population, everyone takes offence. We regulate nature, but we refuse to set limits on population growth, which is, after all, overwhelming our infrastructure.” Although he is not affiliated with the SVP, he supports the immigration initiative for economic and ecological pragmatism. In his view, Switzerland must focus on artificial intelligence and automation rather than extensive growth. And limiting population pressure is essential to preserving the quality of life: “Setting limits means taking a step back in order to make a bigger leap in the long term. It is a matter of survival for our country.” Yet, in the midst of this stifling Nyon, some are attempting to turn demographic constraints into a social driving force. This is Rui Narciso’s challenge. His journey is the mirror image of Béatrice’s: this former finance director of an American multinational lived in Nyon for eighteen years without knowing anyone there, always rushing between flights. “I didn’t want that disconnected corporate life any more; I needed a sense of belonging,” says the man who opened Café Ex Machina in 2017. Amidst the town’s few tea rooms, where the “slightly old-fashioned” style sometimes seemed set in stone, Rui Narciso has injected a dose of cosmopolitan dynamism. In his establishment, open seven days a week, English is widely spoken, but the atmosphere remains family-oriented. By training local young people to serve a clientele of often isolated expats, he has succeeded in creating what he was missing: a genuine “living space” that never closes its doors. Whilst Béatrice Jotterand regrets no longer recognising anyone at the market, Rui Narciso has chosen to “sell a product without pulling the wool over people’s eyes” in order to encourage interaction. His meteoric success proves that, whilst Nyon may have lost its small-town carefree atmosphere, it can still forge an identity as a welcoming global city – provided that a sense of community is nurtured there. A significant nuance in the debate over the 10 million mark: quality of life depends not only on the number of inhabitants, but on a place’s ability to foster connections rather than merely rows of letterboxes. High school students from Nyon sent to Greater Lausanne Faced with this situation of saturation, the political response is intended to be nuanced, although the urgency of the matter is recognised. Stéphanie Schmutz, a Socialist councillor responsible for Urban Planning, Regional Development and Social Cohesion in Nyon, experiences this tension between attractiveness and structural limitations on a daily basis. “We are under immense pressure due to our proximity to the canton of Geneva. When Geneva was no longer building enough, people came looking for flats on La Côte, and particularly in Nyon.” For the councillor, growth is not out of control, but is dictated by overriding imperatives: “We are responding to the canton’s growth requirements. We have control over the zoning plans and timetables to ensure that the arrival of new residents is supported by adequate infrastructure.” On the issue of infrastructure, Stéphanie Schmutz defends the council’s record: “As for schools, we have invested a great deal of money in extensions and renovations. We are also completing a large, independent sports centre in Colovray.” However, she acknowledges the local authorities’ lack of power when it comes to certain sensitive issues, such as the Nyon Sports Centre. “The sports centre falls under cantonal rather than municipal jurisdiction. It was designed too small to save money. Now we’re paying the price: young people from Nyon have to go to Renens or Crissier to study.” The breaking point remains housing. Stéphanie Schmutz confirms that the market is “unaffordable” for many: “We’re seeing young adults who no longer leave their parents’ home. The situation is becoming strained everywhere, but even more so in Nyon.” While the town mandates 25% social housing in new large-scale projects, it lacks the tools to regulate the private market. “We don’t have sufficient legal tools to combat the spiralling of private rents. Even old buildings are seeing their prices skyrocket without any control. It’s a system that no longer regulates itself.” Faced with the 14 June initiative, the councillor is concerned: “There is a risk that this initiative will appeal not only to SVP supporters, but also to moderate voters who can no longer find housing, or to environmentalists who want to stop urban sprawl.” Amateur footballers turned away due to lack of space The unease described by the councillor is evident on the ground. At Stade Nyonnais, the region’s population growth is coming head-to-head with the cramped facilities at Colovray. Oscar Londono, a former professional footballer now in charge of the youth teams, manages over 350 children spread across 17 teams, but the club is reaching capacity. Every year, dozens of young people have to be turned away due to lack of space. “If we had more pitches, we could double our numbers in the Under-17s or Under-16s, but we don’t have the space,” he laments. The situation becomes critical in winter or in wet weather: as the grass pitches are closed to protect the turf, up to four teams have to share a single artificial pitch at the same time. Sharing the facilities is made all the more difficult by the fact that the sports centre, managed by UEFA, also hosts other clubs, such as Italia Nyon, or teams from neighbouring villages. Hopes of seeing two new artificial pitches built have recently been dashed, officially due to budgetary constraints linked to the construction of the neighbouring sports hall. The club will have to make do with the refurbishment of an existing surface, an ‘old carpet’ that is abrasive and worn out by the years. This shortage forces the club to make early sporting selections: whilst the football academy remains open, a ‘funnel’ effect sets in from the Under-15s onwards. Stade Nyonnais must therefore prioritise local children whilst coping with significant rental costs, which weigh heavily on the youth budget. The case of the Nyon Gymnasium has become symbolic of planning that is struggling to keep up with a demographic reality that is already far ahead. Despite an extension, the school is already ‘under water’. Here, the contrast between the fiscal prosperity of La Côte and the precarious state of public services is glaringly obvious. To manage the shortage, the cantonal school allocation system has descended into a curious patchwork solution, in the name of a principle of fairness that penalises local pupils: to avoid imposing double journeys on pupils from outlying villages (such as Coppet or Founex), it is the young people of Nyon, some of whom live just five minutes from their schools, who are suffering. They are sent to the ‘Greater Lausanne catchment area’, to Renens, Etoy or even the new secondary school in Crissier. “My son started the year in total chaos in Renens, despite our appeals,” says one father, who had to engage in a real administrative battle. “This academic delay and the exhaustion from the journeys are impossible to make up for. As well as arriving in a class where he didn’t know anyone, he failed his first tests because the syllabuses differed slightly. It’s his quality of life that’s been ruined.” For these teenagers, the day never ends. A pupil sent to Etoy describes endless journeys home, as the special morning train doesn’t run in the evening. The result: her sports club activities in Nyon have been scrapped. The resilience of the residents The prevailing feeling among parents is that the town is ‘cracking at the seams’ once again, from all sides – from the overcrowded indoor swimming pool to the sports clubs forced to move their training sessions to Genolier due to a lack of facilities. To avoid their children being forced into exile, some families have learnt to plan a year in advance, asking local sports clubs to write letters of necessity – the only ticket sometimes accepted by the admissions office in Lausanne. Without this ‘file’ and iron-willed tenacity, the pupil from Nyon becomes a pawn moved across the chessboard of an overcrowded region, where a lack of administrative foresight turns post-compulsory education into a logistical obstacle course. It is 6.24 pm. Béatrice Jotterand returns to the cobbled streets of Nyon. A brief stop at home, just long enough to catch her breath, before heading to the gym. But to get some exercise, she gets back behind the wheel and drives to Gland, in search of more breathing space. She will, however, wait until 7.30 pm before setting off, watching for the moment when the road, finally freed from its congestion, will let her through. Beyond the alarming figures, Nyon today epitomises the end of a certain Swiss ‘exceptionalism’. For decades, the country managed the remarkable feat of combining rapid economic growth with the preservation of an almost idyllic way of life. But on the shores of Lake Geneva, some residents are beginning to feel suffocated. The ‘global village’ is no longer a sociological theory; it is an endless queue outside a flat to be viewed or on the tarmac of a congested motorway. The vote on 14 June is not merely about a demographic threshold; it questions our ability to redefine progress. Is it still possible to grow without losing our identity? In Nyon, the answer lies neither in Bern’s promises nor in the SVP’s fears, but in the resilience of its inhabitants. Between those who, like Antoine Spillmann, call for a technological breakthrough, and those who, like Rui Narciso, are trying to reinvent urban hospitality, the town is desperately seeking a third way. A path where Béatrice Jotterand’s ‘strategic positioning’ on the station platform would no longer be a survival instinct, but a distant memory of a time when Switzerland had simply forgotten to set itself limits. Nyon’s fate foreshadows that of the nation: a quest for balance in a territory that will no longer expand. submitted by /u/Anib-Al
Originally posted by u/Anib-Al on r/Switzerland