It was built to withstand a 12-megaton explosion, but you’d be forgiven for thinking it was just a car park. Hidden beneath a sports stadium, at the bottom of a ramp, only the reinforced steel door and civil defence insignia give clues as to its true identity. Most passers-by have no idea it’s even there, but this vast underground bunker is where a large part of Geneva’s population would find shelter in the event of a nuclear strike.

Of course, the prospect of nuclear armageddon breaking out on Lake Geneva in 2014 is unlikely. But that hasn’t stopped Switzerland preparing for it. Since 1978, when a law was passed stipulating that all new buildings must incorporate a shelter, over 300,000 have sprung up across the country, providing the possibility of protection for every Swiss citizen (and one million more besides).

Today, in the absence of any such threat, most bunkers lie empty and many are falling into disrepair. In Geneva, however, city authorities have found a novel use for these concrete cold war relics. This winter, as they have done for several winters, the doors of two bunkers will swing open to welcome in homeless people.



Some 200 beds are on offer every night, from November to April, for people desperate to escape the freezing temperatures. Although guests must be out by 8am and can stay no longer than 30 days, the shelters are nothing short of a lifesaver for many. Last year, the bunkers received 1,500 people of 65 different nationalities, each guest staying an average of 19 nights. More than half came directly from the street; more than half had no income whatsoever.



For people like Serge, the shelters are invaluable. Serge usually lives a hand-to-mouth existence at Geneva’s Salvation Army night shelter. He has been homeless for some years, and his story is a sobering reminder that the same fate could befall almost anyone. He used to play the harpsichord with orchestras all over the world. Now, over a bowl of lukewarm lentil soup, he tells me he is trapped in a cycle of short-term work and hostels. Even fluency in four languages can’t help him, and tonight’s soup is scant consolation after an unsuccessful day spent scouring the city for work. A bed at the Salvation Army shelter costs 15 CHF. In winter, when life on the street here becomes a battle against the elements, Serge will move to the fallout bunker.

In theory, nobody in Switzerland should be immersed in such poverty. The 2013 Credit Suisse Global Wealth Report suggests the average Swiss adult is worth $513,000, and the OECD consistently ranks it as the top-rated nation for life satisfaction. But even the prosperous cities of Geneva and Bern have beds for the homeless – although the 315 they muster between them is clearly not enough. Homelessness isn’t as visible here as it is in Paris or New York, but it definitely exists.

In Geneva, like anywhere, those forced to queue for free soup and a bed are homeless for myriad reasons. Often it’s through nothing more extraordinary than family breakdown, unemployment, addiction or bad luck. Though some citizens think of them as lazy or irresponsible, the vast majority of homeless people dearly want to pull themselves out of their predicaments. Many suffer from mental ill health, which can keep them from finding the help they need. Most, at one time, had a home, a job, a dream.

Although the majority of homeless people in Geneva are Swiss or French, a few hail from further afield. Saad, from Tunisia, is a good-natured and friendly man in his mid-30s who hauls a shabby green rucksack around the city in his search for work. I’ve never seen a Tunisian press card before, but here it is, lying beside a bowl of soup and a slice of bread – Saad, it turns out, is a journalist who has reported from war zones all over the Middle East. Now he is fighting his own battle on the streets of Europe.

He’s aiming for Paris, but he’s not sure his money will get him that far. When he tells me how much he has left, nor am I. In Switzerland, the official poverty line in 2005 was 2,200 CHF per month for a single-person household, or 4,600 CHF for a family with two children. Saad counts out his money: about 100 CHF. This winter, Geneva’s nuclear bunkers may be his only hope, as they continue to play their part in a new cold war.

