On behalf of the child

Gender War.
The lawyer's name is Reto Wehrli. He is 43 years old, Catholic, and the father of a son. Years after this discussion with his office partner, he was elected to the National Council for the Christian Democratic People's Party (CVP) in 2003. "That's when I said to myself: Okay, now's your chance." He submitted a motion entitled "Parental Custody – Equal Rights," in which he called on the Federal Council to "examine how joint parental custody can be promoted for parents who are not or no longer married to each other, and whether joint parental custody can be implemented as the norm." Federal Councillor Blocher, whose responsibility the matter fell under, recommended that Parliament accept the motion. When it was debated in the National Council on October 7, 2005, it quickly became clear what it would lead to – a gender war.
Jacqueline Fehr, Anita Thanei, and Ruth-Gaby Vermot, veteran Social Democrats, said things like: “I talked to divorced women, both here in the hall and out in the world. The picture is pretty consistent. ‘Why get a divorce if things just continue as before?’ these women say. ‘That would only have continued the conflict. I would have fought it tooth and nail’ – that’s the general sentiment. Anyone who thinks that women would simply accept joint custody is mistaken.” And: “It’s usually the women who work part-time; it’s the women who take the children to the dentist, it’s the women who take the children to kindergarten and school. All these men who suddenly want a say don’t want to be involved, they just want to have their say.” And: “Militant men’s organizations are behind this proposal.” They are fighting for power over children and women.”
The feminist territory had been marked.
On the other side, SVP politicians like Caspar Baader and Oskar Freysinger joined the fray. “Ms. Fehr, you always fight for gender equality. Do you really think it’s right that under the current regulations, custody is granted to only one parent or the other? Does that correspond to your idea of ​​equality?”

Relief.
The next day, the newspapers wrote that the debate on divorce law resembled a hearing before a divorce judge. An emotionally charged exchange, man against woman. Yet Chantal Galladé, the young, ambitious Social Democrat from Zurich, had given the matter a new twist. "I've noticed," she called out to the room, "that this motion was signed by many who belong to the younger generation. Perhaps this has to do with the fact that we younger people are more likely to have grown up as children of divorced parents. We are, in a sense, the generation of children of divorce. We are the ones who will potentially be affected by this regulation in this country because we have young children and will then be confronted with these questions. Therefore, I would like to appeal to you: Let's solve our problems in our own way. We have a different approach, a different vision of how we could deal with each other as a couple or as parents. Let's just give it a try. Support the motion!"
Joint custody. Gion Kohler clears his throat. It was during a walk up the Lägern mountain, when the separation was looming, that he and Denise tackled the issue. He said to her, "Will we at least keep joint custody?" For her, it wasn't a question; she only vaguely remembers the walk and the conversation. "I had hoped we would have joint custody," she says. "The children have the right to have a relationship with their father. It's especially important for the boys."
How lofty that sounds. Far too magnanimous, if you ask Gion Kohler. "Yes, yes, yes," he grumbles. "You can admit now that it has its advantages for you. It's a relief. You have much more freedom."
She nods. "It's a relief, absolutely."
The divorced couple sit there rather tamely at the kitchen table, but it wasn't always like this. They've endured two and a half years of arduous struggle, first the parenting and separation agreement, then the divorce settlement, and they've spent around 9,000 Swiss francs on sessions with their lawyer and mediator. "Without him, we wouldn't have made it," they both say. The Kohlers say they exhausted their ability to separate their relationship problems from the question of their children "thanks to mediation." "Luckily, we managed without a custody battle."
Hurt feelings remain, of course. Disappointments. Initially, Gion wanted to "turn the tables." He told his wife that she had looked after the children for ten years, now it was his turn. Now she should work and earn the money, and he would take care of the children for the next ten years.
"I said: Well, hello!"

Becoming a guru:
Denise works in a restaurant, a 40 percent position, with irregular shifts. Sometimes during the day, sometimes in the evening. Occasionally on weekends. He's a trained carpenter, now he gives continuing education courses, coaches SME managers, and together they earn 120,000 Swiss francs gross per year. The Kohlers are a middle-class family, one of thousands in Switzerland. Not poor, but every franc counts. Their refrigerator is stocked with M-Budget products.
Before the separation, she was a full-time housewife and mother. And now this: "turning the tables"? A hint of anger appears on her face. "The first ten years were backbreaking work. Constantly carrying the babies around, feeding three mouths at the table, or cutting something up; I often got to the first bite when everything was already cold. And the nights! I didn't sleep through a single night in the first few years." She pauses for effect and then gestures toward the empty living room. And today? The daughter is ice skating, the eldest is with his girlfriend; Sven is upstairs at the computer. "Childcare is completely different these days."
Turning the tables: many a mother would wish for that. Why did Denise refuse?
"I said no," she says defiantly.
"Turning the tables would only have been fair," Gion repeats, his voice sounding somber. He speaks deliberately (while Denise is impulsive and often suddenly raises her voice), he says it again, yes, he would have liked to. "But I realized that you, Denise, weren't going to cooperate, and I felt compelled to give in for the sake of a solution that worked for everyone."
Denise straightens her lean, athletic body with a jerk. "Hey. Working full-time in the service industry is extremely demanding. The level is high; I would have burned out within a year. I simply couldn't manage it. And what I want as my main job is my children. Yes." That's why I put my foot down in mediation and said: No way! I said: I don't support you sitting around at home, trying to fulfill yourself and become a guru. Gion had these ideas, she explains, about doing a bit of housework and on the side, "something guru-like," "and I'd have to work myself to the bone."
Gion: "You didn't realize that I've been working myself to the bone just as much over the past ten years."
And that's how things work for the Kohlers today: The mother looks after the children at their "nest" from Monday to Thursday. On Thursday evening, they have dinner together, then the father takes over—every other weekend until Monday morning. On the other weekends, Gion quits his family duties on Friday and retreats to his one-room apartment. Once a week, when the mother has a shift at the hotel, he takes on an extra day.
"Absolute fairness doesn't exist," says Gion. “But of course, when emotions overwhelm you—anger, hatred, and whatever else—then you're blocked.”
Justice is important, Denise says; you mustn't feel like you're being shortchanged. “We weren't even aware of that during the entire process with the mediator. But looking back, that was probably the underlying principle. With an eye toward a fair balance, the mediator gently guided us, sometimes even with a provocative remark.”
The Kohlers have precisely regulated custody of their children. They were aware of the risk of failure. “You probably won't find anyone in Switzerland with such a comprehensive divorce agreement.” Lawyers usually advise against the so-called “nesting model,” as it often falls apart after two or three years. This usually happens when new partners enter the picture. Then someone finds a hair in the shower and immediately starts imagining things. That's why the Kohlers' agreement stated: “New partners will not participate in the nesting arrangement.” Later, they removed this clause after consulting the children and a mediator. The house was then remodeled. Each parent now has their own bedroom with a shower. And if one parent has their new partner visiting on the weekend, the toilet must be "roughly cleaned" afterward – that's what the agreement says.

Outrage, anger.
Many lawyers and psychologists today see the weaker legal position of fathers as discrimination against men in favor of a mother's monopoly. The fact that fathers, after years of family life, can be excluded from custody in a divorce, regardless of the circumstances, leads to outrage and anger. For the past few years, this anger has been accumulating in fathers' associations, a new one of which is founded every few months: "MANNzipation," "Fathers Without Custody," "Interest Group of Divorced Fathers"—here, men meet whose stories sound harrowing, one after the other.
There's the young father whose wife slips into depression after the birth of their child, who stepped in and took over everything: the baby, the household, who initiated cheering-up activities to combat the mother's postpartum blues, for weeks on end, and then, at some point, has to go back to the office. The relationship falls apart. The wife tells him: Joint custody? Forget about it. And then the man stands before the judge, who sees that the man works 80 percent. For the judge, the case is clear: the woman gets custody.
Then there's the middle-aged man who negotiated with his wife for a year about joint custody; finally, she agreed. But then she suddenly and seemingly without reason revokes it (she learned that her ex-husband is living with his new girlfriend).
The men in these associations want only one thing: joint custody as the default in divorce cases. Their expectations for a new law are enormous; every day, divorced fathers call the Federal Office of Justice, impatiently asking about the progress of the legislation or whether it will be applied retroactively. “Many men have endured years of conflict, feel ignored by the authorities, cheated by their ex-wives, and against the backdrop of this endless self-absorption, custody becomes a kind of trophy to hang on the wall,” explains Oliver Hunziker, 43, president of the national umbrella organization for shared parenting.
All these bitter and disillusioned (and often self-righteous) men will be disappointed. No law can redeem them. Because whether a couple can come together after a failed marriage and share custody of their children amicably depends only to a limited extent on the currently applicable law. It is primarily a question of character and mental health.
And yet, the time seems ripe to grant men this small right with its great symbolic value and – yes, of course – this measure of power. Reto Wehrli’s motion was clearly adopted in the National Council – by a vote of 136 to 44. The Federal Office of Justice has since been working on a draft law, which was finalized in December 2008. It proposes joint custody as the standard arrangement, regardless of marital status. In other words, it demands a major emotional balancing act from divorcing couples: although they no longer wish to have anything to do with each other, they must sit down together regularly and discuss important issues concerning their children. The law thus forces (former) couples back into the realm of parenthood, just as Reto Wehrli argued in his motion. Eveline Widmer-Schlumpf, head of the Federal Department of Justice and Police, will submit the draft law to the Federal Council in the coming weeks and then open it for public consultation. The law could come into force in two or three years.
Theoretically. Because politically, the matter is far from settled. A non-binding motion is one thing, a law quite another. The draft has two sticking points. Firstly, the question of what exactly joint parental custody should encompass. Certainly, the right to determine residence. But does a mother who wants to move with her child from Zurich to St. Gallen then have to obtain the father's consent first? In principle, yes. But what does that mean in a time when employee flexibility has become so important? What does it mean given that more than half of all marriages are now binational?
Furthermore, the fact that not only divorced parents but also unmarried couples – i.e., cohabiting parents – will automatically receive joint custody will cause an uproar. Some politicians will interpret this as an attack on the institution of marriage, while others will ask: Why should anyone get married then?
The idea is slowly taking hold in the public consciousness that we in Switzerland are facing an emotionally significant shift in the political landscape. Reto Wehrli, the National Councillor from Schwyz, has been traveling the country for a year now, from panel discussions to themed evenings, sometimes with the FDP Women's Association in Lucerne, sometimes with the student association in Zurich. He appears on television talk shows, and usually a woman sits beside him who stands out because she doesn't argue along gender lines like the others. Her name is Liselotte Staub, she's a psychotherapist and author of a guide frequently consulted in courts – "Divorce and the Best Interests of the Child."
Liselotte Staub says that making joint custody the default doesn't solve the problems of divorce, but it does free couples from today's warlike logic. To illustrate her point, she tells the story of a teacher's divorce, which she considers typical. This teacher worked full-time and also spent a lot of his free time with the children. He wants joint custody; his wife doesn't. Before the judge, he says he'll reduce his teaching hours and presents a childcare plan. The judge argues that if his wife doesn't want joint custody, they'll constantly be in conflict, and that's not good for the children. At this point, the teacher's lawyer changes strategy. He tells him: "We have to go all in. Now we have to go full throttle." "They have to fight for sole custody, and all the dirt has to be laid bare." In court, the children are now being fought over; ultimately, it's a battle over who is the better parent. "This fight is never in the child's best interest," says Staub.
The fact that the question of the more competent parent is now being raised in court is, according to the psychologist, not least a legacy of the divorce law revised in 2000. At that time, the fault principle was abandoned. "The exclusion of the question of fault opened up a new battleground, based on the motto: If it's no longer possible to clarify who is responsible for the breakdown of the marriage, then at least a decision must be made as to who is the better parent." In short, the underlying logic is: If someone is left alone to search for the reason for the breakdown and no court ruling provides clarity, they will seek redress in other ways.

It's Never Too Late.
Just as some mothers smugly think they always know better, many fathers are unreliable. Fathers' unreliability is statistically proven. Liselotte Staub calls it "the sad reality." Indeed, many women say: He didn't care before either, so why does he want joint custody now! Now suddenly he can take care of the children, that's outrageously unfair. He left me to fend for myself for years, and now he's suddenly the loving dad. "That's obviously a slap in the face for the woman. It's a total insult," says Liselotte Staub. "But from the child's perspective: fantastic!" It's never too late to become a father.
And then she tells the story of a father who didn't engage with his son for six years, whose marriage ultimately failed because of it. This father, a workaholic, now spends every other weekend with his son, takes him to museums, helps with homework—in short, he's involved. And the woman? She doesn't find it funny at all; she'd wanted this all these years. "But it's great for the child because they can now experience a relationship with their father. That's the best way to prevent this intense longing for their father that you see in many children."
Many fathers become estranged from their children after a divorce. They withdraw because they don't have custody and, as a result, are dominated by the feeling of having lost importance as a parent. They experience it as a loss of power; it breeds helplessness. But with joint custody as the norm, no one would be left feeling like a loser. Men and women could meet as equals. This, Liselotte Staub believes, has a fundamentally calming effect. Moreover, it's a good foundation for mediation if the conflict flares up again. In the vast majority of families, the disputes subside over time, even if the separation phase was turbulent. "Joint custody is also manageable for parents with a high potential for conflict," says Staub.
Outside, in front of the "Nest," the birch trees are sinking into the evening gloom. Sometime on this Wednesday afternoon, ten-year-old Sven tore himself away from his computer game and sat down at the kitchen table with his parents. He listened with a mixture of equanimity and curiosity, saying at one point that he didn't really know why his parents had divorced.
"Have you asked your parents yet?"
"No."
For a moment, there was complete silence.
Then his mother, who had propped her head up, said to her son, "Are you going to make candles now?"
"Yes."
"Do you need two francs for the wick?"
"No, I have a wick. But I'd still like the two francs."
"For what?"
"Just because. To buy something."
The question of why Denise and Gion Kohler had divorced didn't embarrass her. Not in the slightest. They kept meticulous records; a folder labeled "Partnership" testifies to the countless discussions of the past eight years. "It was a kind of marriage planning, relationship work. Our constant theme was intimacy," says Denise. And to Gion: "Right? You felt I didn't want enough intimacy. It's obvious that things weren't exactly going well in our sex life either. We talked and talked and wrote it all down; sometimes we almost talked the relationship to death, we talked so much."
Gion: "I wished you would show your feelings more. Basically, what women usually demand of men. But I hit a brick wall. Or should I say: ice?"
Denise: "There was no solution on that point. We were both in distress, and the many pages we filled were an expression of that. We're both logical, well-organized people, and perhaps we were trying to find a way out of the endless loop." Denise threw out the folder last October, and Gion, finding out now, is astonished. How could you! Then they talk about this and that, about his illness and the anxieties associated with it, and at one point he says: "I don't know when it started that you became interested in getting another boyfriend from out of town."
A bright cry from her. "Just that phrasing!"
The phone rings. Gion answers it. He says: "Yes, yes, she lives there too." He hands the receiver to his wife, who is now his ex-wife, and says: "About the dress." Sure, Denise says into the receiver, she'll come pick it up today, before 5:30. As she hangs up, Gion can't resist commenting. "So, you're buying a nice dress?"
Denise Kohler groans and throws her hands up in a theatrical gesture. "You can't keep anything secret in this household!" "You're divorced, but the other person still knows everything!" Then she bursts into laughter, and he laughs quietly along.