One of the Few: Teaching as a Black Woman in Switzerland’s Gymnasium System
For readers outside of Switzerland, it is important to clarify that a “gymnasium” here is not a sports hall. It is the highest level of secondary school, comparable to college-prep high schools in the US, and it leads to the Matura, the qualification for university study.
When I first moved to Switzerland twenty years ago, I didn’t think much about who else might look like me in the teachers’ lounge. I simply got on with my job, assuming diversity was limited because Switzerland is small. Of course, there are more Black teachers in the United States, where I grew up, but here I accepted that things might be different. After all, when people think of Switzerland, the images that come to mind are almost always the same: Caucasian people, snow, skiing, cheese, watches. People of color rarely figure into the postcard version of this country.
It wasn’t until about six or seven years into my teaching career that I began to notice something: no new Black teachers ever joined the staff. In fact, I never saw anyone of African descent in my school system at all. A few teachers of color appeared here and there, a Mexican colleague, one Asian teacher, but Black and brown teachers? None.
There is one exception: a colleague who is half Swiss and half South African. She grew up here, was born here, and is fully Swiss. In that sense, her story is very different from mine. I am American by birth and only later became a dual citizen after marrying a Swiss man. I am, and always will be, something of an outsider in this system. She, on the other hand, belongs to it by birthright. And though she is mixed, she remains the only one of her background I have seen. But fully Black teachers? None. I myself am fully Black. My mother is Black, my father is Black. That kind of lineage, that visible marker of Blackness, I have never encountered at the gymnasium level in Switzerland.
Belonging vs. Awareness
For me personally, this awareness doesn’t shape my day-to-day life in the classroom. I have always believed I belong wherever I go. I don’t measure myself against the demographics in the room, and I don’t let the majority race determine whether or not I fit in. Anywhere and everywhere I go, I belong.
But every now and then, it hits me. In larger staff meetings, or when the entire teaching body comes together, I notice it again: I am still the only one. It is a quiet realization, not something that overshadows my work, but it flickers in my mind.
I suspect my colleagues don’t think about it at all. At my own school, people are used to seeing me. I don’t stand out to them anymore, and I doubt most give much thought to how unusual it is that a Black woman, and a foreign Black woman at that, is teaching at the gymnasium level in Switzerland.
Still, I do remember my very first year at the school, before classes had even started. There was an opening activity for all the teachers, and one of the colleagues in the English department assumed I was an English assistant, not a fully qualified teacher like them. I don’t know if that assumption had to do with me being a Black woman, or if it was just unconscious bias of some kind. But it stuck with me. I was just as qualified as everyone else in the room, yet the assumption was there. And that, in itself, speaks volumes.
What It Means for Students
For my students, having a Black woman, a teacher of color, at the front of the classroom matters. It is not something they see often, and I know that for many of them, I may be the only Black teacher they ever have during their entire school career. That in itself is significant.
When I first began teaching here twenty years ago, the student body was far less diverse. Most of the faces I saw belonged to white Swiss students. But over the years, that has changed. Today, the classrooms are filled with more variety: more students with Indian backgrounds and darker skin, more mixed children who carry multiple cultures with them, alongside the white Swiss majority.
My own son is part of that reality too. He doesn’t attend the school where I teach, but as a mixed child, half Black and half Swiss, he reflects the shift I see happening across the country. Diversity is not an abstraction; it is living, breathing, and growing in Swiss society.
In that context, my role as one of the few Black teachers takes on even more weight. Representation matters. Students of color see me and know that yes, it is possible to stand here, to lead, to teach at the highest level of Swiss secondary education. And even students who are not of color benefit from it. They are exposed to a perspective that is different, shaped not only by my being a Black woman, but also by being an American woman, born and raised in Chicago. That perspective is unique, and it enriches their education in ways that go beyond textbooks.
Words That Stay With Me
Over the years, I have had students say things to me that have really stayed with me. One boy once told me that he admired my fashion sense, and that it gave him more confidence to express himself. I was surprised by that, not because students don’t comment on my style, but because it came from a male student. His comment struck me as special. It reminded me that my presence in the classroom isn’t just about the subjects I teach; it is also about the way I show up as a whole person.
Not all words have been so encouraging. Early in my career, in my first year or so, a colleague told me directly that they felt I wasn’t qualified to be there, that I had nothing important to add to the department or the school, and that perhaps the administration had made a mistake in hiring me. This was not an administrator, not someone in authority, but a fellow teacher who somehow felt entitled to speak that way. The audacity of it struck me then, and it still does now.
Looking back, I see it for what it was: an attempt to intimidate me, to make me insecure, to plant doubt about whether I belonged in that space. But here I am, two decades later, still teaching at the same school. That longevity speaks for itself. And beyond that, the assumption itself was absurd. I was, and still am, the only native English speaker in the department. That fact alone brings an automatic value that the colleague who criticized me could not offer, since they were not a native speaker. Combined with my education, my qualifications, and my lived experience, my presence, didn’t diminish the department. It expanded it.
The Weight of Stereotypes
Of course, there are challenges that come with being the only Black teacher in the room. One of the biggest is stereotyping. I have often been lumped into assumptions, treated as though I represent all Black people everywhere. It is as if my presence alone makes me the spokesperson for an entire race. But the truth is simple: Black people are not a monolith. No group of people is. Each of us has our own opinions, our own tastes, our own nuances.
And yet, I have felt the weight of those assumptions. Just because I am Black, people at school have assumed certain things about me, that I must automatically think or act a certain way, that I must embody a “typical” Black identity. The truth? I do like rap music, but that doesn’t mean all Black people do, nor that I should be reduced to that stereotype. I have been met with similar assumptions in other areas too, that of course I must love Obama, or that I must automatically hate Trump, because isn’t that what all Black people think? The reality is far more complex.
Another way I stand out is through my fashion. I love style, I love expressing myself through clothes, and it shows. In Switzerland, where people are generally more reserved, that makes me more noticeable than I might be if I were back in the U.S. Over time, my colleagues have gotten used to it, especially those who have known me for many years. But I know my presence has always been a little different, a little brighter against a more subdued backdrop.
Being stereotyped isn’t just tiring. It is flattening. It reduces a person to an image instead of allowing them to be a full human being. And yet, these assumptions come with the territory of being one of the few.
The Rewards of Teaching
Despite the challenges, the rewards of being in this position far outweigh the difficulties. As a teacher, I can’t help but feel a deep sense of pride and purpose in what I do with my students. Some of them still reach out to me years later, sending me little messages on TikTok or direct messages on Instagram to say they miss me. Those notes mean so much. They remind me that my impact on them went beyond grammar rules or essay structures. It was personal, too.
That is the thing about teaching, you never fully know how you touch someone’s life. Sometimes it is a lesson, but other times it is a smile, a kind word, or even a compliment that shifts how they see themselves. I hope my students have gained confidence from being in my class, both as language learners and as individuals.
One of the great joys of teaching at this level is seeing students over many years. I have had students for as long as six years, from the time they arrive in Untergymnasium all the way through to Matura graduation. Watching them grow up, mature, and step into adulthood is incredibly rewarding. And knowing that I have played a role in helping them communicate better in English as they move into the wider world, it makes me proud. It makes me grateful to do this work.
Reflection – Race and Colorism
Before I close, I want to name something that often gets overlooked in these conversations: colorism. My lineage is African-American, both my parents are Black, but my skin tone is lighter. Sometimes, when people first meet me, they may not immediately identify me as Black. They might see me as “something else of color.” Yet at the same time, it is always clear that I am not white.
That nuance matters. In some ways, it shapes how people perceive me and how they categorize me. Colorism is its own form of bias, one that plays out even within Black communities and in the way others respond to Blackness. So when we talk about race and representation, it is not only about being Black in a predominantly white space. It is also about how skin tone influences the assumptions people make, the stereotypes they project, and the ways they decide who belongs where.
Hopes for Change
If I could wave a wand, I would want the people who make hiring decisions in Swiss schools to keep qualified candidates of color in mind. I am not asking for quotas or token gestures, that is not the answer. What matters is recognizing that representation strengthens education. Diversity brings new perspectives, and students deserve to learn from teachers with a range of life experiences.
In the United States, there has been debate around diversity initiatives, with some supporting them and others, like Trump, dismantling them. Switzerland does not frame the conversation in quite the same way. Here, the bigger challenge might be that there simply are not that many people of color in the applicant pool for positions like mine. I have not done the numbers, I will admit that, but my eyes tell me what the statistics likely would: the presence of teachers of color at the gymnasium level is extremely rare.
And that is what I would change. Not by lowering standards or filling quotas, but by ensuring that when qualified people of color are ready and willing to teach at this level, they are seen, recognized, and given the opportunity. Because I know what it means for students to see a teacher like me, and I know the difference it makes.
Closing
At the end of the day, I may be one of the few, but I am not invisible. I belong here, and I have proven that over two decades of teaching. My presence challenges assumptions, my perspective enriches my students’ education, and my longevity shows that I am not an exception by accident. I am an educator by design.
Representation in Swiss education may be rare, but it matters. And until the day comes when I am no longer “one of the few,” I will continue to stand where I stand with pride, with purpose, and with the hope that my being here opens the door just a little wider for whoever comes next.
If you’ve ever been “one of the few” in your workplace, school, or community, I´d love to hear how that experience has shaped you. Share your story in the comments.
