In Switzerland’s stunning Alpine landscape, a quiet crisis is unfolding. The Alps are melting at an alarming rate, posing unprecedented challenges to the communities nestled within their majestic peaks. Yet, in the face of this environmental upheaval, one village, Blatten, embodies an unwavering spirit, determined not to be moved.
Rebuilding was never just an option; it was an innate response. When a massive glacier catastrophically collapsed one Wednesday in May, sending a torrent of boulders, ice, and water cascading down upon Blatten, it devastated homes and farms that had been evacuated moments before. The entire event took mere seconds. But by the following week, authorities were already drawing up plans for a new village, right there in the same valley, despite the ever-present dangers of a warming world.
For centuries, Blatten had been home to 300 souls, with some families tracing their lineage back hundreds of years. Though the exact location for the new settlement remains undecided, initial estimates suggest rebuilding will cost Swiss taxpayers over $100 million. Additionally, insurance payouts for the disaster are projected to contribute another $400 million towards reconstruction efforts.
This situation in Blatten serves as a stark, high-altitude example of the profound financial and emotional damage that Europe is grappling with as its climate continues to change.
The Weight of Questions, The Strength of Resolve
Months after the catastrophe, residents and authorities across the Lötschental Valley wrestle with critical questions: How swiftly can the government cut through bureaucratic red tape to facilitate new home construction? How many former residents will choose to return and rebuild their lives in the reimagined Blatten? And most pressing of all, how will they navigate the persistent threats from the glacier, which now lies like a wounded dragon across the village ruins—still melting, still shifting, and still clouding the very notion of safety in the valley?
What remains conspicuously absent from these discussions, both among local leaders and every resident spoken to during a recent visit, is the question of abandoning their mountain homes. For the Swiss, this isn’t merely a practical decision; it’s an existential one, striking at the core of their national identity and the very concept of Alpine settlement.
“Our heart is here,” declared Daniel Ritler, a lifelong Blatten resident whose home, expansive farm, and tourist guest rooms were all consumed by the disaster. “It was our paradise.”
Franziska Biner, who spearheads the rebuilding initiative as the head of the energy and finance department for Valais canton (the Swiss state that encompasses Blatten), echoed this sentiment. “We cannot simply tell everyone they need to leave dangerous areas,” she explained in an interview, “because then we would have to abandon the entire canton.”
Map: Location of Blatten, Switzerland
An interactive map highlighting the village of Blatten within the state of Valais, in southwestern Switzerland, demonstrating its geographical context amidst the Alps.
A Warming World, Rising Dangers
For years, researchers have sounded alarms about the escalating dangers that climate change, driven primarily by the burning of fossil fuels, presents to both human populations and property in mountainous regions like the Alps.
Swiss scientists report that the country has experienced warming at twice the global average. These rising temperatures are thawing the permafrost that traditionally acts as a natural adhesive for mountainsides, dramatically increasing the risk of deadly landslides and rockfalls.
The warming climate also spells trouble for the region’s vital tourism sector. Fewer prime powder days at ski resorts translate directly into reduced tourism revenue, impacting countless Alpine economies. (While a decrease in snow might theoretically lead to fewer avalanches in the coming decades, few in Switzerland find this a reason to celebrate.)
However, no consequence of warming has impacted the Alps more dramatically in recent years than the accelerating loss of glaciers. Swiss glaciers, according to scientific findings, shed over 40 percent of their ice volume between 1980 and 2016. A staggering additional 10 percent vanished in just two years, 2022 and 2023. Neighboring Austria and France report similar glacial shrinkage. In Valais alone, experts now identify 80 glaciers as posing potential risks to human life or property.
As the people of Blatten painfully discovered in May, deteriorating glaciers can collapse with terrifying speed.
The Birch Glacier had always been a formidable presence above Blatten. But as it melted, so too did the permafrost beneath it. The accumulating weight of rockfalls further destabilized it. Researchers, meticulously monitoring for signs of trouble, detected them last spring, prompting a rapid evacuation of the village.
Just days later, Lars Gustke, who operates a cable car on the opposite side of the valley, watched in horror as the glacier gave way. The sheer force of the ice and mountain debris it carried obliterated homes and dammed the valley’s river, quickly forming a lake that submerged additional buildings.
Nicole Kalbermatten and Lilian Ritler—a distant relative of Daniel Ritler, as the village boasts many Ritlers—were working at the Lötschental Marketing AG tourism board offices when it happened. The lights flickered. Ms. Ritler opened a window, and a powerful pressure wave, unleashed by the glacier’s descent, slammed into the building. She rushed to find Ms. Kalbermatten, her closest friend from the village.
“Blatten,” she said, simply, “is gone.”
Vanished were the three hotels that once welcomed skiers and hikers. Gone were the ancient barns in the oldest part of the village. Even the communal oven, where generations of residents baked bread, was lost.
Remarkably, thanks to the swift early warning and evacuation, only one resident perished. The newly displaced found refuge with friends in nearby villages or in vacant vacation homes generously offered by strangers. Then, the grieving began. “You don’t just lose the house,” Ms. Ritler reflected. “You lose the lanes, the church and your childhood.”
Yet, the village itself, at least in name, is not lost. Swiss officials are unequivocally committed to its rebirth.
Within a week of the collapse, Ms. Biner and her cantonal council colleagues resolved to rebuild. A plan, unveiled in September, aims for completion within five years, with the first residents moving into their new homes as early as next year. Generous aid has already poured in, with approximately $75 million secured from private donors, non-profits, and government agencies. The state itself has pledged around $125 million, and insurance companies are expected to contribute approximately $400 million more.
“The new Blatten will be a different Blatten. The memories have been evacuated along with the people,” Mayor Matthias Bellwald commented from what used to be the road leading into the village. “It will certainly be a modern village. It will be a beautiful village.”
To assist in selecting a suitable site, government experts are meticulously updating their danger maps of the valley, factoring in avalanches, rockfalls, and other natural hazards exacerbated by rising temperatures. The melting glacier, however, remains a wild card.
“It’s still moving. The ice still needs to melt,” Ms. Biner noted. “There’s this lake that formed because of the immense mass there. So as long as this mass moves, the lake moves”—a dynamic that significantly complicates new construction.
A comprehensive assessment of the risks for a new village could take years to fully materialize.
For residents who have returned to survey the ruined village, still largely buried and flooded, the experience is deeply traumatic. The disaster has also exacted a heavy economic toll, severely impacting this summer’s tourist season and threatening winter revenues for neighboring villages where many former Blatten residents now work. Villagers are weighing their options: move to the new Blatten, or establish permanent roots in their current temporary homes. Few, however, are even considering leaving the mountains entirely.
Globally, critics have often questioned the wisdom of rebuilding communities that face increasing vulnerability to climate-driven disasters, particularly in areas like coastal regions of the United States prone to recurrent flooding or rising sea levels.
Such debates are rare in Switzerland. Parliament has overwhelmingly supported the Blatten rebuilding effort, a sentiment largely echoed by other civic leaders. Alpine life, as I was repeatedly told throughout my journey, is an inseparable part of Swiss identity, even for those residing in bustling cities like Zurich or Geneva.
“I’m happily paying taxes, and I think the majority does, to allow these valleys to be inhabited,” stated Flavio Anselmetti, a geologist at the University of Bern in Switzerland.
However, Anselmetti cautioned that as warming temperatures alter risk profiles in mountainous regions, “some areas will have to be declared, ‘OK, no, here we cannot rebuild.’ And then people are compensated in a way that the society or the village or the state gives them money or ground to build somewhere else.”
Daniel Ritler and his wife, Karin, briefly considered moving far from the Alps. Ultimately, they chose to stay in the region, albeit not in the new Blatten. Instead, they are refurbishing an old hotel in a nearby village, contributing to a broader effort to revitalize local tourism.
Mr. Ritler acknowledges the inherent risks of living in the valley, but the Alps are too deeply woven into the fabric of his life to leave. “I told Karin, ‘If you’re afraid, we need to talk about it,’” he recalled. “For me, it’s not a problem.”
“We must have respect for nature,” he concluded. “We are lucky we were evacuated. And we are lucky that we are healthy and have two hands. And with these two hands, we want to achieve something.”
Tatiana Firsova contributed reporting.