Don't eat it, it's German!

I was born in Denmark and grew up in Denmark.

 

It was only a few years after the German occupation of the country.  In school we were lead to understand that Germany equalled marching, discipline and blind obedience of orders. After the War many people took great care to show that they did not like the Germans. Maybe they had neglected doing it during the war. After all, it could be very dangerous. Some of the dogs were even taught not to eat the lump of sugar at their feet, if told that it was “German”.

England, on the other hand, represented humour, humanity, nobleness, chivalry and in general everything good in this world.

This was the general view which my generation grew up with.

There was one person, however, who never said anything negative about the Germans. It was my father.  He had been in the resistance during the war, fighting the Nazis. He had shown his attitude during the war, and therefore felt no great need after the war to show that he was on the right side.

Fortunately you grow wiser with age. I have had the opportunity to get to know Germany and the Germans better.  I have realised that they are just like the rest of us. Would we have had the bravery to react differently from them under the same circumstances?

Kennedy said he was "ein Berliner". We are all Germans.

 

NB! As for our "free" choice of allegiances in times of war and occupation I can warmly recommend Sofi Oksanen's novel Purge (takes place in Estonia).

Nationalists without Borders

When are we most nationalistic? Maybe when we are living abroad.  

When you meet with your fellow contrymen, you will soon start reminiscing about your home country. How everything worked more smoothly there. How the food was better. How the weather was better. How your own Church or religion is superior to that of your host country. How people at home were so much more open-minded and tolerant. 

You are happy to have an occasion to speak your own language, and you take much more care to do it correctly and without the use of foreign loan-words you would use at home. You even dig up the word for “fuck” that once existed in your own language before the globalisation of the English word. 

Maybe it is like that for everyone. A sort of protection against the foreign and unknown. 

I heard a talk with an Arab girl on the radio. Her parents had emigrated to Northern Europe. She was born there. She grew up in what can probably best be described as a “ghetto”. She had a strict upbringing. Muslim customs and morality were scrupulously adhered to. Muslim  food was prepared in accordance with all the old rituals. The children were protected from the loose morality of the youths of the new country.

As a teenager she had the opportunity to stay with relatives in her parents’ village for at period of time. To her surprise she found that life was much more relaxed there. Things were not so strict. The old way of life, which her parents had cultivated and cherished in their new country, no longer existed in the same form in the old country. 

Maybe our “colonies” abroad turn into museums of national virtues as surviving only in the memory of those of us, who did not witness the change. 

On the other hand, maybe this is not so bad as it sounds. When we go to our home country on holidays, we are no longer nationalistic. We then, fortunately, become international citizens with an understanding of the people of the world in their multitude. The nationalists are now those who stayed at home. Within their borders.

To share what you do not have

Here’s a little story. It is about human nature. I have heard it in different disguises.

This is one of them: To homeless, destitute vagabonds are sitting on a bench in the park. They are talking about the world and its imperfections.

One of them says: “if only people would share, this could be a wonderful world with plenty for everybody. If I were a rich man and had two houses, I would give you one of them. And If I had two cars, one of them would be for you. If I could afford to go to the finest restaurant, you would be my guest. I’m sure you feel the same way. If, for example, you had two shirts, I’m sure you would give one of them to me.”

“No”, the other one says.

The first one looks at him in astonishment. “But why not?” he asks.

- “Because I do have two shirts.”

The direction (and misdirection) of solidarity

In my town there are basically two kinds of socialists:

- those who think that it is unjust, that the neighbour has a bigger car than they have

- those who think that it is unjust, that the neighbour can’t afford a car as nice as the one they have.

Solidarity can be with those who have less than you, or it can be with those who have more than you - in the latter case there's another name for it, which I can't remember at the moment.

Sunday Bloggers

In the old days, when I was still a boy, my parents took me and my brother to Church every Sunday. The organ was playing, psalms were being sung and prayers said. And we had to be dressed in our Sunday’s best, and our hair had to be combed (if not we might have continued this practice for a few more years).
 

It was before Hollywood took over from the Holy Church to teach us about good and evil.  

The best part of the performance was the live blogger. He must have had another name at the time, but it is so many years ago, that I have forgotten about it. He was speaking from a bloggers’ stand. A so-called pulpit, if my memory serves me right. Every Sunday he would, on the basis of a section from the Bible, deliver a live, oral blog on the morals of our everyday lives. Why it was important to forgive, why you would be happier giving than receiving, why you shouldn’t judge other people, why you shouldn’t envy other people, why you shouldn’t blame your faults on others and a load of other edifying stuff.  A new blog every Sunday – all year round.

 

It was a Church and it was about religion, but what I took with me was the humanism. Not the importance of God, but the importance of people and the way we behave to each other. Maybe this was not intended, but I think for many of my generation it worked that way.