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How we would have met in real life

09.11.15
6 min
Post
  • Thank god not everybody lacks of sense of humour on Fountayne Road…
  • Haha I thought it wasn’t a joke at first but, as I’m a cat person, I got it was a joke, he was just a comfy furry ball there on a cloudy blanket. Although I don’t live in Fountayne Road, no idea who added me there, but I liked the group so I stayed.
  • Haha, so you just look for cat pictures on the page.
  • No, I just enjoy nice posts and think if i’d rent the rooms you guys post.
  • Are you looking for a room?
  • No, I think I’m going to Berlin after all. Was thinking about Stockholm before, but I was kinda looking for a while, yes. Now I’m in Buenos Aires.
  • Ah, bad choice, London is the best.
  • But so expensiiive
  • True but true…
  • Haha I’ll go visit
  • Well let me know, I’ll introduce you to the cat!
    I see you know Blair, he’s my neighbor.
  • Yeah, I don’t remember how, though. Very weird how I ended up in that group.
  • Facebook is so funny.
  • INDEED. But if it wasn’t via FB we would all connect the same weird ways somehow.
  • Well without my stupid cat joke and someone randomly adding you on that private and selective group I don’t really see how. I guess you’re an artist if you want to go to Berlin.
  • Maybe we bumped into each other somewhere or if it was on the internet maybe a forum or chat room. Haha no, I’m kinda sick of artists right now. I’m a writer, but I don’t know, also studying Audiovisual Design. Maybe I am an artist or want to be one. Fuck. But I also translate and subtitle, that’s so not artsy.
  • :) Subtitle is cool.
  • And write for magazines. Yeah, it’s incredibly tiring though.
  • How would I watch my hacked movies without it…
  • Right! I “volunteer” for this art site that uploads art documentaries and the volunteers subtitle them to Spanish. It’s a pirate site. So yeah, translators… We are really charitable.
  • Yeah, modern slavery for art. What’s the site? I’m interested.
  • Haha no, I think it more like passing and sharing the culture to people who don’t understand Damien Hirst’s bloody accent. Lalulula.tv is the site.
  • Well I don’t understand Damien Hirst’s art so getting his accent would be a good start…
  • Hahaha I do love the shark at the Met, though. But I love sharks.
  • And cats.
  • Now I’m subtitling one about Olafur Eliasson. And cats too and bats and spiders and snakes. And red pandas.
  • Oh bats are so cute!!!
  • Yesss
  • Haha bloody cute animals on internet.
  • Haha yeah. Anyway, lalulula.tv is a great site.
  • It looks like. I will check.
  • Well, it’s English with Spanish subtitles only.
  • Now I’m trying to imagine how we would have met in real life.
  • I kinda always think about that regarding people I’ve met on the internet.
  • You would hear me in a gallery telling a joke about a dead cat to my friend. You would take it seriously at first. Be sad.
  • And think about my dead cat River Phoenix and be sad, yes. Then keep drinking to try to get loose and not be sad.
  • Then I would tell you it’s a joke and you would be mad at me.
  • Would I?
  • Then I would tell you My Own Private Idaho is one of my favourite movies.
  • Depends on the joke, but I don’t think so.
  • And you would forgive me haha.
  • Of course.
  • And you would invite me for a dulce de leche.
  • Because it is a great movie! And my cat had this amazing name. I’m not so fond of dulce de leche… too sweet… but the one from Uruguay is better.
  • Good choice! I’m from Brazil, in a little city North East they have a very special one made with fresh milk directly coming from the cow.
  • Really? Where? My great grandmother was from Rio Grande do Sul.
  • Rio but the city is called Ipira in Bahia.
  • Nice.
  • Oh so you’re almost Brazilian :)
  • Hahah we could say, I like that.
  • :)
  • Have you  ever been here?
  • Where?
  • Buenos Aires.
  • No, I almost did 3 years ago to visit an old friend of mine. We used to play in the same band. But it was too expensive. Shame.
  • Oh shame indeed. What band?
  • It was called Alleph.
  • Nice
  • After the book from Jorge Luis Borges.
  • Yeah, got the reference.
  • Now my friend plays in a band called Morbo y Mambo. Do you know them by any chance?
  • Oh I love that band! Saw them at TRImarchi Graphic Design Festival in Mar del Plata. Great guys.
  • Oh cool
  • Who is your friend?
  • Manuel. But it was more than 10 years ago and so brief…
  • Aguilar?
  • The bass player. Yeah. You know him?
  • Not really, by friends in common but yeah.
  • That’s so crazy. Thank god for that cat.
  • Hahahah. See? But I don’t have him on FB, I just know him from events.
  • Don’t ruin it, say you know him, say it’s your childhood friend!
  • Hahaha I have 162 mutual friends on FB with him.
  • WTF!!!
  • Haha yeah a lot.
  • Just how many Facebook friends do you have? I only share 95 with my closest friend and we basically moved to the same countries almost at the same time and you share 162 with someone you don’t know.
  • I have like 1500 friends.
  • Wow…
  • Yeah I know. Comes with working at magazines.
  • Ah yeah OK makes sense. Have you ever sorted your page and unfriended people who you didn’t remember?
  • Yeah but what happens is that the first ones to appear are the ones I do know then I get tired and I don’t delete anybody.
  • So, to change the topic, are you writing?
  • Oh yeah, I mainly write personal stuff at the moment. Really short, I can’t write long for now.
  • Is it fiction?
  • No.
  • So purely your experiences.
  • Exactly. That’s what I can write about lately.
  • Interesting.
  • Is it? You can say if it’s rubbish.
  • No I haven’t read yet :)
  • Great haha.
  • Interesting the idea of writing experiences. Choose the ones you will talk about.
  • Yeah, not that I choose too. It just happens.
  • Haha so you just write whatever happens to you?
  • No, it’s just whatever comes out as writing. Sometimes I write in my mind but don’t write it down.
  • I had that since a few weeks. Well I guess our meeting is worth writing about ;)
  • It is, I will write about it.

On Refugees

07.11.15
8 min
Conversation

Dear Georg
 
Thank you for your thoughtful reply. These are all very important questions you raise; before I get to them let me share with you a story of musafir who travelled from Somaliland to Germany. It is a complicated story with many twists, but here I reproduce just a small section.
 
Let’s call him Abdul.
 
I met Abdul in 2012 at Berbera, a port along the Horn of Africa that also serves as Somaliland’s sole international airport. I was on assignment for my newspaper.
 
Abdul, who was working with a friend of mine in Hargeisa, picked me up at the airport. We got talking, and to my surprise, he spoke fluent Hindi.
 
Abdul also spoke fluent English, and German, and Arabic, and Telegu and Dutch and a smattering of Amharic. He had lived in Hargeisa, Mogadishu, Hyderabad, Mumbai, Addis Ababa, Tripoli, Basel and three different German towns.
 
He began wandering when he forged a Indian visa in the 1990s and made his way to the South Indian city of Hyderabad, where he worked as an enforcer in a local gang. After five years, he got bored of his life of crime and returned to Somaliland.
 
“But in a few months, I got bored of home and decided to go to Ethiopia,” he said, as we drove along the long straight highway that connects Berbera to Hargeisa.
 
He spent a few months in Ethiopia and then caught a bus from Bahir Dar to Khartoum, Sudan. From Sudan he made his way to Tripoli, and from Tripoli he crossed by boat into Italy where he said he was fleeing Somalia’s endless civil war and applied for refugee status.
 
His papers were processed and he was sent to Basel, Switzerland, where he was assigned refugee housing, given some financial assistance, but was not allowed to work.
 
“But what is the point of coming to Europe if you can’t work?” he said, “and so I started working illegally in an Indian restaurant. The owner really liked me because I could speak Hindi to all the Indian tourists who came to the restaurant, and of course because my salary was low.
 
“I would befriend the Indian tourists and offer to show them around the city. At the time many of the Indian tourists couldn’t speak good English – only Hindi – so they were very happy to find a Hindi speaking guide.”
 
Eventually the Swiss authorities found out that he had been working in violation of his refugee status and so Abdul decided to escape to Germany.
 
“Everyday I went to the Swiss-German border and I observed. The border police, they checked everyone and ask for papers – every car, every truck, every man, woman, child. They check everyone, except sportspeople.
 
“They don’t check the people who are on cycles, who wear cycling clothes, and a small bag on their back in which you can put maybe three pens. Every weekend, these people come cycling from Germany, they cycle all day in Switzerland and they go back in the evening.”
 
So Abdul buys a cycling costume in bright colors. He has no money to buy a bicycle so he buys a screwdriver. At night, he slips the shaft of the screwdriver through the shank of a bicycle-lock and steals the bike.
 
The next morning, he waits on the Swiss side of the border for the German cyclists and joins them soon after they cross the border.
 
Pedal, pedal, pedal pedal, along Basel’s picturesque streets; pedal, pedal, pedal, pedal, into the beautiful Swiss countryside.  By afternoon, the cyclists loop back, the border looms, the policeman waves them through without checking for papers, and Abdul is in Germany.
 
In Germany he walks into restaurant, orders a beer and sips his beer till closing time when the owner asks him to leave.
 
“I tell the owner, I don’t know anyone here, I don’t have a place to stay. Will you help me? God will help you.”
 
Ok, says the German, you can stay here for just one night, and locks him into the restaurant.
 
“I don’t sleep. I clean everything: the windows, the floor. I cleaned all, I cleaned well, I wash, I dry. I clean the glasses, I clean everything.”
 
In the morning, the owner can’t believe his eyes.
 
“You are a worker,” the German says, “You stay with me from today and I will pay you money.”
 
Abdul stayed on in the restaurant, he married a German citizen, he had a son; he had marital problems, a divorce, and about five years after he left Tripoli, he came back to Somaliland.
 
“Why did you come back?” I asked
“It is a very complicated story, I had problems with everyone – my wife, Europe, the police, everything.”
 
A few months later, I was speaking with my friend from Hargeisa, Abdul’s boss, on the phone.
 
“How is Abdul?” I asked
“Who?”
“Abdul – the man who lived in India, and Germany and Sudan, and everywhere.”
 
“I don’t know. He is crazy. One day we had an argument and he left the job and vanished from Hargeisa. No one knows where he is.”
 
***
 
My reason for sharing this story is that I feel that the current writing about humanity’s march across Europe has produced the refugee as an abstract figure. In your email you write,
 
“The people who are coming, are reduced. They are no more than what they are. They have nothing more than what they have and if even their dignity were to be taken from them, they would be left with nothing more than a plastic bag with which they have been on the move for months. They are naked existence, devoid of all civilisation. And civilisation responds by pretending they don’t exist.”
 
How have you produced this figure of the refugee? What do you mean when you say they are “naked existence, devoid of civilisation”? Is civilisation a gift of the nation state, that you lose the moment you leave your home?
 
And who, or what, is this “civilisation” that “responds by pretending they [the refugees] don’t exist”?
 
Is Abdul – the musafir from Somalia – a naked existence devoid of civilisation?
 
No, he is an intelligent, ambitious, thinking agent of free will who sees an international border as a puzzle to be decoded.
 
European governments are eager to produce the figure of the helpless and desperate refugee because it suits them. If you are helpless, desperate and fleeing a civil war then you must be grateful for everything that Europe gives you – you must be grateful for a winter-proof tent in a large field with three meals a day.
 
This is the narrative produced by Power across the world; don’t fall for this trap.
 
In India, it is used by successive governments to justify the acquisition of community lands and the displacement of millions of people in the name of progress and development. It is a simple strategy in which a way of life is first stripped off all meaning, joy and value in public discourse. Then the intervention of the state is projected as an act of “humanitarian rescue”, a collective civic sacrifice at great cost to the taxpayer.
This “sacrifice” then justifies everything that follows. Luckily, very few people in India actually expect the state to rescue them from its own depredations.
 
At this point Europe’s governments are still pretending that they can actually control the march of the musafirs; that they can “solve” this “problem”. But there is no solution to the march of history – we can only live through it and hope to alter its course.
 
You ask: “Here we have the question of whether time that runs backward processes all that went before. The modern in reverse – the results, forms and triumphs of the modern age change back into what was there before. However, what would this mean for democracy, human rights, individualism, secularism, nation and state?”
 
I feel we need to stop thinking like the state – these are state-driven categories. They put the state at the centre of the conversation and we are reduced to making appeals to our local representatives.
 
America’s upcoming election is a fascinating example of how even the language used in electoral processes is completely exhausted and devoid of meaning.
 
If you haven’t watched the debates, I urge you to do so – these debates offer us a surreal and hopeful moment to think harder, think better, think sharper.
 
To conclude this email, let me leave you with another image: don’t think of the musafir as a naked existence plodding through a cynical landscape under police escort – this is a figure that doesn’t challenge your view of the world; this figure only produces pity and hopes for rescue.
 
Instead, imagine a young, muscular Somali man kitted out in sleek lycra and spandex, speeding across the Swiss German border on a stolen 7-speed bicycle.
 
He doesn’t need Chancellor Merkel to find a place for him in Germany – he has found it himself. Now how are we going to respond to, think through, and celebrate, his actions, choices, and life?
 
Yours
 
Aman.

The Refugees

with
Emily Dische-Becker
Georg Diez
Julia Zange
02.11.15
59 min
60hertz

It was the fall of the refugees, it was the fall that Germany changed back and forth and back and forth, unsure about itself, unsure about how to handle this challenge that some called a crisis. But really, a crisis for whom? There are people coming, desperate, dying, knocking at our door. Can you really deny them help? Can you really deny them the right to live as happy and pleasant as you? The answer of most people was: No, we have to help them. But this mood shifted. Emily Dische-Becker, a long-time human rights activist living in Beirut for years and now based in Berlin, has helped a band of Syrians to make their way to Germany. She accompanied them from Croatia to Berlin, she witnessed the difficulties of crossing the borders, she worked on a film which will be shown in 2016. She is an important voice in a time of free floating opinions and a public lost between hysteria and humanity.

Groin Gazing

02.11.15
8 min
Conversation

I asked about your use of the word play, because I was afraid you meant it in the sense of “Sex and the City”-feminism, in the sense of empowerment exhausting itself in serial anonymous sex, on how many orgasms a woman achieves. Now, I see what you mean. In Nigeria, for instance, there is a burgeoning feminism that intersects between “Sex and the City” and Raunch Culture. This feminism, for all its braggadocio, seems to consist chiefly in the idea that positioning oneself as a bitch is liberating. I use positioning in this sense: you never escape the feeling that it’s all a pose, a concession to fashion. You get the feeling that underneath this sexual pose is a pervasive sexual frustration and conservatism. I argue that this [sexual] ‘liberation’ is not liberating at all: it is simply an attempt at convincing oneself that one is empowered and using the corresponding pose to revenge oneself against men.  
To agree with your use of play by revisiting what has been said: Freud likened every sexual act as involving four persons, by which he also meant the fantasies each partner takes to bed. What is missing sorely in relationships is the thrill of discovery and astonishment, the thrill of being naked – that is of being open, without artifice or disguise and be seen this way, of being yourself – as against being nude, that is, not seen for who you are. Being naked involves what you said: the acceptance and exploration of each other without attempts to dominate or define. Being nude, on the other hand, involves belligerent tensions because you are on display, objectified. In this lies the contradiction. How do you achieve the former in a society where we are all buyers and sellers? How does love escape being a commodity, in the sense of the fetishism of sex (once it’s stripped, necessarily, of acceptance, exploration and equality)? In the film “Paris Is Burning”, a character, Venus Xtravaganza says: “But I feel like, if you’re married, a woman in the suburbs, a regular woman who is married to her husband, and she wants him to buy her a washer and dryer set, in other for him to buy that, I’m sure she’d have to go to bed with him anyway and give him  what he wants for her to get what she wants. So, in the long run, it all ends up the same way.” Under existing class relations, sexual relations tend to involve commodification, objectification and domination. I will come again to “Paris Is Burning”.
What you write about wanting to go topless and its attendant ‘danger’ of objectification is still somewhat problematic (at least, for me). To make a somewhat unrelated analogy: certain African writers, who decided, in response to what is usually referred to as cultural imperialism, to write in their own language. These writers, I insist, are trying to solve what is a political economic problem linguistically. It seems to me that this desire to want to go topless inputs the responsibility for staring sorely to male admirers. If, as you say, admiration could also be a form of objectification, would you accept that going topless could also be a form of exhibitionism? Are men, for fear of being labeled, to pretend that they don’t see you, that they don’t find your breasts sexually moving? And the women who also find you sexually attractive this way, would they also be objectifying you? I agree with you that it could be subversive. In this sense: society actually encourages women to show themselves, but you must wear your nudity like a designer dress. That is to say, your body must be sculpted to unreal standards (I prefer unreal to unnatural because there is nothing natural or unnatural about human sexuality or the human body).
Here, I’m reminded again of the conversation I had in a small unisex gathering about FEMEN. Whereas you can legitimately say that its activists encourage breasts that conform to certain specifications, it is also possible to question whether the opposition to FEMEN activists is also because, in a society where men has always been stripping women in films, fashion, photography, it is an affront to them for women to take off their clothes by themselves without the male factor which necessarily involves objectification. So, yes, in this light, to go topless with a female body that challenges prevailing specifications could be an act of subversion. Just that it comes with its own dangers. This danger, of course, does not involve, in any way whatsoever, blaming the woman or placing responsibility on her for men’s actions. No, not at all. I can’t resist saying this: since part of the photography of the construction of the savage involves nudity, do you think that wanting to go nude implies a return to the savage?
What you say about women needing to cover involving shame is valid. I’ve argued that this shame, which involves fear and denial of a woman’s sexuality, is why Virgin Mary had to be constructed without a vagina. As an aside, I wonder how you’d classify the woman who parted her legs to show her vulva in front of Gustav Courbet’s painting “The Origin of the World” in which the “origin” is actually not shown. Is this exhibitionism or subversion? And yes, what you say about showing breasts in their diversity easing self-hate in women reminds me of a personal experience. But, I wonder if women are also aware that men also have this with respect to their penis? Really, my thinking is that men are much more insecure about the size of their penis than women are of their breasts. Just that men have a better way of bonding with other men and coping with this. Thus, braggadocio becomes a pose, a longstanding one. I must also point out to you that breasts and vaginas were not things of shame, especially in the streams and villages of my childhood. Now, to a large extent due in part to Catholicism, the rise of political Pentecostalism, porn and raunch culture shame has been invented. You say it would be healthy for a society if we can hang out naked in the sun without it having to mean anything sexual. Yes, but only a healthy society can offer this. So, I’m inclined to agree when you wonder about another cultural setting in which shame would not come into play anymore, “probably a less violent culture,” you say.  
To round off our conversation you ask what I think I learnt and benefitted from feminism, how feminist perspectives supported and inspired me to free myself from the strains of masculinity. Since you mention Pasolini, I must tell you that I love Pasolini. Again, I reference “Paris Is Burning”. There’s a sense you can say identity is performance, that prevailing notions of femininity and masculinity are constructs arising from social codes which acceptance and performance has naturalized. I mention Paris here because its subject matter demonstrates that gender can be performed: it can be constructed and deconstructed. How did feminism facilitate my notion of masculinity, you ask? Because I was totally outside gay culture, ‘feminism’ made it possible for me to construct my identity deliberately feminine, in a way, deliberately homosexual – to shock and confront the aggressively male and macho pose of the black masculinity that I was never able to fit into. As a black male person, who’d been fascinated, by what it means to be a woman, the fact that I could put kohl on my eyes, a ring on my nose and ear, dress feminine and still come back home without blood on my body had been a source of power. Femininity in men (as opposed to effeminacy) I feel, is a source of power. It is why, to the extent it is possible for me to use this term, I’ve never ever felt attracted, in any way whatsoever, to men who fit the traditional notions of masculinity – understand that I don’t use labels like straight and queer. To really end with “Paris Is Burning”, one of the strongest sexual impulses I’ve ever felt was what I felt for Octavia Saint Laurent, a transgender female character in the movie – what I felt was quite irrespective of her birth gender, which  was quite meaningless to me. Perhaps, it is that I’d always been attracted to the masculine in women?…

Angst essen Seele auf

Gülriz Egilmez about Fear as a main subject in societies nowadays.
01.11.15
8 min
Post

Quoting a film from the seventies by Rainer Werner Fassbinder, Fear is a main subject in societies nowadays- from the Near, Middle and Far East all the way to Western Europe.

The concept of fear got me thinking: I am a woman of turkish origin who grew up in Germany and decided to live and love in Turkey. Turkey is under the regime of an authoritarian nutcase. The authoritarian nutcase is offering refuge for more than two million refugees from various countries like Syria and Iraq in Turkey. In Syria there is currently a civil war going on between the dictator Assad and various rebel groups of the opposition plus on top of it by a so called Islamic State. Iraq is long lost for various reasons. ( „Various“ is the nom du jour as everything is so fucking messed up and I don’t know how to get the facts right by now.) The citizens of Syria and Iraq, from among many others wartorn regions in the world, are fleeing their homelands and countries with Germany as the praised land in mind. Germany is the country that most of the refugees are fleeing to by risking their lives tremendously by choosing unsafe passages through „various“ (sic!) countries like Turkey, Greece, Hungary, Macedonia, Croatia and so forth. The german chancellor Angela Merkel goes out of her way to, on the one hand, invite refugees from aforementioned countries to seek refuge in Germany and, on the other hand, is planning to implement transit zones on the borders of fortress Europe and offering aforementioned nutcase huge monetarian help in order to keep refugees from Germany and Europe. German people disagreeing with Merkel’s open door policy are starting their own way of showing their right to civil disobedience by putting refugee camps on fire on a regular basis.

Turkey, Syria, Iraq, Germany and all of its people are somehow representative for other countries and its people following the same logic.

This is a very simplified way of putting together factors in an equation in order to make my point to which I will come now: As weird and logical as it seems at the same time, Fear is what all these various factors in this incoherent compilation have in common.

I myself am living under a subconscious and sometimes very conscious non-definable fear in Istanbul. I am not endangered as I am not a member of an ethnic minority in Turkey. I strongly support humanist and leftist believes which I am too scared to declare in public right now ever since the first attack on civil society and oppositional groups of mainly left-wings which happened in July in Suruc. A suicide bomber blew himself up among a group of students who were on their way to rebuild the long embattled town of Kobane which got freed by kurdish fighters from the IS and killed more than 30 people. The suicide bombing is supposed to be planned and executed by the IS which never claimed responsibility for it. The turkish government made these claims in order to justify their now proclaimed fight with the IS and more importantly the PKK. Ever since the landslide loss of the ruling party majority in turkish parliament the countries state of affairs hit the downslope. Outright threatening of the opposition, killing civilians in Kurdish regions by claming to fight terrorism. detaining journalists, oppositional politicians, shutting down newspapers and tv channels to name only but a few of regulations is showing the nutcases’ fear of losing his power over the state of Turkey and its people. The second attack in Ankara where again two suicide bombers attacked a gathering of freedom protesters and more than 100 people died in the killing nurtured my rising fear and helplessness in this country. When I was too scared to claim my freedom of speech and attend a peace protest, more than 100 people died because they wanted to overcome their fear and show their strong will for peace. It is terrifying to understand that you die when you fight for your right to protest the status quo. The power of fear is ruling the ruling party of Turkey and it has its people in stranglehold. To maintain a clear vision of if the government is nurturing the IS or fighting it or who is working for whom under which circumstances or which outside forces are again threatening the state, let’s the conspiracy theories go galore and your sane brain AWOL.

To continue: Turkey is offering refuge for more than 2 million people and it is not the safe haven as the government wish it to be seen. Granting no basic civil rights, neither monetarian help nor the right to work legally, refugees are forced to work as cheap labor under miserable conditions and endure racist attacks by Turks. The refugees’ fear to die in the civil war of Syria or the unstable conditions in Iraq ,and after maybe having lost family or friends before, put them on the trail out of their homecountries. By endangering the life you wish to protect you overcome your fear and put yourself on the way. Fear is your force to stay alive which you put aside. You risk something which is your life because apparently life is worthwhile maintaning once you don’t have the privilege to choose.

Germany now is the country that most of the refugees are longing for in order to be safe. Safe from death and fear. Chancellor Merkel announced that Germany is able to welcome 800.000 refugees this year (without raising taxes) and refugees keep coming in. „Wir schaffen das“, is the famous remark by her which struck me for a mere second as it made me wish to believe that Germany can change after all (???) and offer asylum for people in need as it is indeed a very wealthy country and make up for their role as one of the biggest warfare exporters in the world. Nonetheless Merkel is faced with utter refusal by her own coalition partners and the utter racist population in the country who is in fear of being overrun by muslims. Her fear of losing her power and her face her integrity after admitting the refugees to come and now realizing that Germany as a whole is not that humanist and charitable after all, lets her negotiate some utterly despicable deals with the aforementioned nutjob (utter and utterly is prominent in this part of the text.) Money for keeping the refugees away to put it in a nutshell regardless of Turkey’s ruling party’s disrespect for civil or human rights. The blatant opportunism of this thinking is unbearable. Again here the fear of turkish people is at stake as Merkel is reinforcing Erdogan’s power fantasies.

For all who can’t read or write or remember recent history and evaluate present times: Turkey is not a safe third country according to the EU as it wishes to be or as Germany suddenly wants it to be, without even ever accepting Turkey as a candidate without restrictions. Oppositional parties, kurdish people in Kurdistan as civil targets, journalists, newspapers or civil society groups- everyone forming their own right to oppose the ruling party or are a minority is under attack. As it can’t grant safe living conditions to all of its citizens it can’t grant these conditions to refugees.

This means that the fear of the refugees to stay in their countries or to stay in Turkey will lead to more fleeing to the fortress, no matter what. The wish to live is bigger than the fear, in case of the refugees aka the people of Syria, Iraq, Libya, Eritrea, Sudan and many more wartorn countries as they are humans in the first place and not refugees per se.

Fear is embracing all of us and has us in its grip.

Irrational fear of sth bad might happen is opposed to rational and certain fear where sth bad will happen.

People in safe countries are more plagued with irrational fear.

People in unsafe countries are under constant fear of i.e. dying or being injured or traumatized.

Germany is a safe country.

Syria and Iraq are unsafe countries.

Turkey is on the verge of getting an unsafe country.

Once Turkey is an unsafe country the more refugees will come to Germany.

Hard facts put together rather simplistic.

Fear is egoistic and makes you only want to think for yourself. I among many fear for myself in Turkey, the people of Syria and Iraq are fearing for themselves in their countries, german people are fearing for themselves let alone all the governmental representatives.

I have no idea how to overcome this deadlock. I only know that being ruled by fear doesn’t mean to threaten, endanger or kill another person in order to feel safer. Killing or endangering others doesn’ t let you live safer, it endangers your own life. Fear is eating your soul to come back to the start. When your soul gets harmed you ask yourself what else is left.

Terrace after my mother set the flag on Turkish Republic Day, October 29th, 2015
Time broadcasted on TRT (National Turkish television) as allocated to political parties and president RTE according to the newspaper "Sözcü"

My mother's flag

Murat Suner about Control on Turkish Republic Day
30.10.15
4 min
Post

Turkey, October 29th, 2015. 

We arrived earlier than expected. My mother walked out on the terrace, her hair still in curlers. Ah, she didn’t notice my text message that we managed to change flights. A little moment of embarrassment, when you arrive with a guest, who wasn’t introduced yet. “You’re early, way too early!”, she says with the notion of a mother, who knows her son to be rather late than early. “I won’t forgive you that one!” she says and laughs. We all laugh. A laughter is always a good introduction, isn’t it? 

A laughter is also the perfect easement for people, who are used to keep their stuff under control: Get up, but more importantly make my father get up, make breakfast, make my father have breakfast, make my father take his medicine before his first bite of breakfast, and strictly before that: make him take four pills, which he inspects every day from scratch, again and again with utter care, as if he took a brand new decision about his life on each morning.

Is that his way to control what remains uncontrolled? Is her strict daily routine from early morning till late at night her way to keep control? Over the loss of control that his dementia brings along to both of them – everyday anew? Is it her way to exercise control in a country that shows you everyday how little its people are in control of things? Where people with power abuse every bit of it, commit crimes, break the constitution, ignore court decisions, as if there was no tomorrow, as if microphones and cameras were wild cards lie straight to people’s face, day by day? And do things that are beyond most people’s imagination – and they get away with it, just like that. 

Since more than a decade the country’s agenda seems to be about the state gaining control: Control over the military, the police, the judiciary, the youth, schools, universities, civil organizations, women, social networks – basically every aspect of society, and first and foremost over journalists, media and social media. After the mass killing in Suruc and Ankara, after every major violent incident, the government imposed a news embargo – five times, only in 2015.

During the last 25 days, in the run up to general national elections, state controlled television channel TRT degenerated into a full-blown government propaganda outlet. This is how TRT allocated its broadcasting time to the country’s major political parties and its president, who is supposed to stay neutral, but in fact isn’t: AKP – 30 hours, RTE – 29 hours (RTE = Recep Tayyip Erdogan), CHP – 5 hours, MHP – 1 hour, HDP – 18 minutes.

It became worse: The day before, police forces with chains saws gained control over BugünTV – a former government allied, now anti-AKP turned television channel. All that happens during live news broadcasting, anchors call their colleagues from other media and report live from the occupied news room, they again report live on other television channels. The bare obviousness of this Orwellian act, the sheer demonstration of power, the perfidious usage of media appears as a powerful gesture of exercising control, and reminds how terrorists are actually using media and social networks to get their message across. 

Today, October 29th, is Republic Day.

Before breakfast, my mother hangs the republic’s flag right over the table. 1923, when the republic was founded, my mother was thirteen, my father five years old. She was born as a republican native when in 1935 women obtained the active and passive right to vote. On November 1st, she will take my father, who can barely walk, and they will go to vote. 

On Refugees

25.10.15
8 min
Conversation

Dear Aman,

Thank you for your mail, which sent me in two different directions. Way back to Mesopotamia, to where everything started. And to a future which is only just beginning to take shape. But that’s the way we live at the moment, time moves simultaneously backward and forward. This in turn – so goes the rapid script for our cascade conversation – reminded me of something that I read a couple of days ago, an article in the New York Times about the new findings of quantum mechanics. According to the report, physicists at the Delft University of Technology in the Netherlands conducted an experiment in which they proved that objects – in this case, the smallest of particles – affect each other even when far removed from each other.

Albert Einstein always rejected this theory, claiming it was as though God were playing dice. What bothered Einstein was the question of whether, in addition to the universe we know, there could be more – potentially infinite – universes. Whether, in addition to the reality we accept, there are other – potentially infinite – realities. Whether, in addition to the world we call our own, there are other – potentially infinite – worlds. Or as John Markoff describes it in the New York Times: ‘……the existence of an odd world formed by a fabric of subatomic particles, where matter does not take form until it is observed and time runs backward as well as forward.’

The wording is fascinating in many ways. Particles that take shape, in other words become reality and are therefore perceptible only when observed. Perception constitutes reality. And time that runs backward and forward. Here we have the question of whether time that runs backward processes all that went before. The modern in reverse – the results, forms and triumphs of the modern age change back into what was there before. However, what would this mean for democracy, human rights, individualism, secularism, nation and state? Is this what you mean when you speak of the crisis of the idea of the state, of a new way of thinking, other words, other philosophies and a freedom that does not come from the arbitrariness of a nation or from ‘German’ being randomly attributed to one who is born as a German and ‘Syrian’ to one born as a Syrian? That suffering, to some extent, must be accepted by birth and that freedom applies only to those who are free to claim it?

Yet atoms, particles that are separated, correspond, react to each other even when they are thousands of kilometres apart, as proved by the tests conducted by the physicists from Delft. Yet what does this mean for the way we think? What you said was right – money flows freely, people falter at borders. This is an untenable situation, a personal and moral insult representative of all of humanity. For a long, long time, columnists and other professional know- -alls have been saying that everything is linked to everything in a globalised world. But this reasoning was shaped purely by an economic perspective and it reduced everything to economics. It simply blanked out what it would mean if people were also to move as freely as capital. Money was released, and that had consequences. Now it is being followed by people. This has consequences too. In a certain way, both stand naked today, drastic in their existential rigour: the market and the human being.

For the people who are coming, are reduced. They are no more than what they are. They have nothing more than what they have and if even their dignity were to be taken from them, they would be left with nothing more than a plastic bag with which they have been on the move for months. They are naked existence, devoid of all civilisation. And civilisation responds by pretending they don’t exist. Some at least, and I fear there could be more. This is the daily shock of the images, the daily pain when looking at them. The people in long lines, wandering through no-man’s land, sometimes Slovenia, sometimes Croatia, sometimes Austria, the rain, the mud, the green of the landscape cruel, almost cynical, immobile, eternal, while the human being, the people, the families move on, vulnerable and in vain yet defiant, uncertain of what lies ahead, certain only of the fact that what they have left behind was what they found frightening, painful and threatening. 

A trek of nomads in a world that left the nomadic way behind thousands of years ago. At least that is what is said. But perhaps it is different. And what you say is correct: the human being is old, something stirs in him, he sets forth, again and again, an old story currently being repeated. Time is there throughout, the entire history of mankind, in these pictures, breaking through the surface of the present that wanted to forget – and forgot ­– the multi-layered anthropology. Something is forcing its way through, and we are afraid. They walk and walk and walk, and it seems this is the way people originally were, walking, and yet to see it like this is surprisingly new and unexpected. 

We must allow this shock to enter our language and thought. Only then can we perhaps understand what we are seeing, what is happening. Yet Europe is resisting the shock, in word and thought. We see destinies being transformed into policies, suffering into rules, need into measures. It is a sad, tragic spectacle, oppressive like Greek tragedy. 

The six-year-old boy sleeping on the pavement, he is this boy and he is all boys, he has just arrived and he was always here. His mother, tired, his father, can he protect him? They are all parents, always have been, and are still pushing a rickety baby stroller through the dirt, right here, in the centre of Berlin, where we see scenes familiar only in Hollywood’s dark films, the end of civilisation as a fable, best enjoyed with plenty of popcorn.

Man is afraid of nothing as much as he is afraid of himself. Who is this musafir you talk about? A refugee, a wanderer, a traveller, a guest? Why is he travelling? What drives him? These are old, fascinating questions. The newspapers that write against the refugees no longer speak of ‘refugees’ but of ‘migrants’. This makes the masses controllable, bureaucratically manageable. They have started questioning basic human rights. They say this cannot continue, yet have no ready answer other than fences where people will die, and camps in which people will wait, wait, wait until they wait no more and run away. 

I don’t know if this, what we are witnessing, is a ‘Völkerwanderung’ or rather a concrete reaction to concrete circumstances that have come about in the last 10 to 15 years, because of the war in Iraq and Afghanistan, of the failure of the West, of the iron hand of rulers in the Middle East, of poverty and injustice, of a war in Syria that was ignored, refugees who should stay where they are, that was the plan, the mistake, the moral betrayal. The countries there have already collapsed, the state here, in Germany, is also under threat, or so they say. I don’t believe it. It seems to be some sort of self-fulfilling prophecy, almost like conjuring up a state of emergency, that’s how extreme vocabulary is here now. They are talking yet again of Weimar, because here Weimar is the great shock of the past century. Those are the images they can recall. But the new events escape them. As does humanitarianism. 

Yet there is so much that could be done now, that one could learn, there is so much that gives us courage. This is an old country in an old continent. It could open up, could re-invent itself. What does it mean for thought and thus also for politics if there is a shift in the world view? When things, people, separated by thousands of kilometres start to move? Does something like the discovery of a multiple truth, as shown by quantum mechanics, also have consequences for a different code of ethics? Many worlds exist only if observed by us. That is the shock that is starting to make itself felt, that is what explains the hatred and the aggression that are coming to the fore once again.

That’s the situation. And winter has yet to come. 

All the best,
Georg

On Refugees

22.10.15
5 min
Conversation

Dear Georg,
I read your mail with great interest. The current situation across Europe is very intriguing, and I look forward to more details on how Germany is engaging with this sudden arrival of over a million people.
This morning I saw this arresting image (attached with this mail) of thousands of men, women and children walking in an orderly file through Slovenia en route to Germany. Clearly we are only just beginning to understand the origins and repercussions of this great migration.
I am also fascinated by the resurrection of old phrases and categories like “Abendland” or “the Occident”, and by this wonderful sentence where you say, “no sooner do I start than the entire vast history of the world washes over me.” It sent me down a digression that may be relevant in our thinking about the present moment in connection with the “new Völkerwanderung”.
You mention that many of the people moving through Europe come from Iraq, Syria, and the Turkish Syrian border, which correspond to the region once known as Mesopotamia – home to one of oldest recorded urban civilisations. The early Mesopotamian settlements traded extensively with the Harappan civilization, the ruins of which were found in present day Pakistan (another country you mention in your mail).
Recently a friend alerted me to historical research that contemplates the existence of a Harappan enclave – i.e. a colony of migrants from what is now called Pakistan – founded in in Lagash, a settlement in present day Iraq, in the second half of the third millennium B.C. It seems that the dawn of urban civilisation as we know it carries within it the seed of migration, and the history of the world is a chronology of struggle between the entropic, or disorderly, desires of people and the negentropic, or order-seeking, impulses of states.
Perhaps Europe’s current “crisis” signals a new moment in our shared histories? Perhaps this moment – when nation states in some of the oldest continually inhabited regions of the world (like Syria and Iraq) collapse – shall result in a re-fashioning of the critical categories of thought and language that we are accustomed to.
There are signs of this re-ordering already, with journalists, politicians and policy wonks wondering how to refer to this tide of humanity – are they migrants, or immigrants, or expatriates, or refugees, or asylum seekers?
Perhaps for the sake of this conversation we can refer to them as “Musafir” – an Urdu word common to Arabic, Persian and Turkish with slightly altered meanings in each language – A musafir is a traveller from a strange land, in some languages she is a pilgrim, a seeker of paths and truths, and in Turkish (I could be wrong here) I think, a musafir is a guest.
But why does this Musafir travel? Here we may consider a wonderful Persian phrase – of the concept of the ashina-zada, which refers to the feeling of tiring of all one’s acquaintances and desiring the company of strangers.
Perhaps this fluid category – of the Musafir, motivated by impulses that are not always obvious – is helpful in alluding to the long journeys taken by these people without diminishing the hardships they have suffered, or pre-judging the reception they will receive in Europe (as you mentioned, in some cases they have been met with violence, and in other cases with solidarity).
Your mail sent me down another line of inquiry, which is the narrative of the desperation of the Musafir – of course I have seen the pictures and read the harrowing accounts of boatloads of people drowning, of death by asphyxiation in abandoned freight trucks; the horror is real, visceral and immediate.
The amplification of this horror makes clear that the only politically feasible way Europe can engage with this situation is through the trope of humanitarianism. This narrative obscures the fact that in the years after World War One, it became a criminal offence to seek one’s fortune in a foreign land. While finance capital moves across the world with ever increasing velocity, we are fettered by our passports. There is, of course, a parallel imperial history of the passport – which we can consider another time: Who is to decide that I am Syrian, or German, and what does the act of name and fixing entail?
The current narrative of “rescuing the desperate” allows European nations and commentators to speak of humanitarian rescue and “European Values” without engaging with the strange, policed landscape that we live in, and accept the eternal policing of borders and residents as normal. What is the process by which it became normal and desirable for BMW to invest in a automobile factory in South Africa, but almost impossible for a young woman in a village somewhere in southern Africa to gather money from her network of friends and family, catch a flight to Germany, walk into a government office and register herself as someone seeking a job without constantly fearing imprisonment and deportation?
I think this “march of the musafir” offers us a moment to reflect on the long shadow of the twentieth century and the strange new categories it presented us with – borders, aliens, people smugglers, camps for those who cross a border without permission. It’s all a bit bizarre isn’t it?
Thank again for your thought-provoking email. I really look forward to this conversation and your descriptions of what’s happening on the ground in Germany. It is these details, after all, that shall help us think further and deeper.
Yours
Aman

(W)hole III: Human Life To-Do List

20.10.15
3 min
Post

I remember my first kiss. I was 14. I kinda wanted to live the experience at last. I’ve waited long enough. I felt like a really late bloomer. We’ve been going to the municipal pool with two friends, everyday riding our bikes, during the whole summer. Only “My Girl” as the soundtrack was missing. I’m sure we sang it a few times while riding our bikes, though, or it definitely played in my mind. We would meet boys there and have fun. Although they wanted to be around the place and I really wanted to be in the pool all day long.

So I met E. He wasn’t what I would call something special, but he was the one I liked the most in that group. And so did my friend M. I didn’t know that at first. But I had something personal to get through with. The whole summer went by, he sorta had to decide between the two of us. The whole situation started feeling really pathetic, so even though I liked him and even though I am incredibly stubborn and capricious, I thought he’d of course choose my friend instead of me, because she was blonde and had an amazing hair and was more experienced than I was. I’d never kissed anybody before! Why would he want that? So I stepped aside and waited to see how everything with my friend would start to develop and focused on enjoying the pool. 

The last day of summer you could smell the nostalgia in the air, you could see the bright colours fading like a retro Instagram filter slowly into the autumn palette. This guy, the Paraguayan we called him because that’s where he was from said he wanted to talk to me. He asked me if I still liked E, if I wanted to make out with him. I was confused, I thought he had chosen my friend already, I thought he didn’t want to kiss me after all. I didn’t know what I wanted anymore, I was all nerves, but I had to get through with it and it had to be that summer, I wouldn’t wait any longer.

His friend told me he was waiting for me passing a long row of trees. I walked there, almost shaking, but pretending with a firm and steady walk. I sat down next to him and I told him I’ve never kissed anybody before, I had no idea how to proceed. He told me not to worry, that it was easy and to close my eyes. He just leaned toward me and our lips touched, our mouths were wide open and our tongues danced. I opened my eyes, his were closed. He seemed to be into it. I didn’t get what the fuss was all about, I felt nothing, I just mechanically but willingly moved my tongue and my lips like I would perfect a choreography at my dance classes. Think I did pretty well. Then we stopped and we sat there for a little longer, although it was kinda awkward and I didn’t really know what to say. Then we went back to the group. I felt nothing, I felt the same, but somehow accomplished. I’ve crossed that off of my human life to-do list.  

I never hanged out with my two friends nor him anymore after the summer ended. Then found out my friend and him were a couple. I didn’t really care.

On Refugees

15.10.15
5 min
Conversation

(In cooperation and with the generous support of Goethe Institute New Delhi / Max Mueller Bhavan)

Dear Aman,
 
I’d be happy to describe to you what’s going on in Germany at the moment – at least I’d be happy to try, because actually I don’t understand it myself. And incidentally that’s the way it is for most Germans – except for the ones who set refugee homes on fire: at least they know that they hate, and hate is what they’re looking for because they often have little to hold onto in their lives.
Everyone else, on the other hand, finds it difficult to say what kind of country they live in. Sometimes it seems like a dark Germany that scares them because the citizens flock together to form an obtuse mass. Then again it seems like a bright Germany that gives them courage because the citizens unite in solidarity. And then it seems like a dark Germany again in which the politicians cut their values and their humanity down a notch while the citizens provide the necessary help for everyone who needs it.
And there are many – 40,000, 80,000, 1.5 million people, from Syria, from Iraq, from Afghanistan, Pakistan, Eritrea or the Balkan states. They come because they’re fleeing from war and persecution in their homelands or in search of a better life for themselves and their children. Those are the numbers for this year, for Germany alone, and as always politics are made with those numbers, images are used to manipulate opinions, the media come under suspicion of being biased, etc.
Could we have known that these people were coming? No, say the politicians who have been looking the other way for years, who have ignored the war in Syria, who were hoping the refugees would stay in the camps in Jordan or Lebanon, who thought the journeys would be too far and the ocean too wide and the fences too high – they didn’t know human nature very well, that’s evident once again; they’re not acquainted with the despair, they don’t know what volition all those people have who set out with only a plastic bag in their hand.
Yes, say those who’ve been dedicated to the refugees’ cause for years, who’ve been interested in the war in Syria, which has been like a gaping moral wound in the West for four years; yes, say those who think in historical dimensions and understand the large-scale geo-political devastation wrought by the Americans since they invaded Iraq and threw the country into turmoil because they weren’t willing or able to create a democratic order there the way they did in Germany after World War Two.
We could go back even further, to 1919 and Woodrow Wilson’s betrayal when, after World War One, he broke his promise of independence for many countries, or back even further to the nineteenth or even the eighteenth centuries to the havoc caused by colonialism, and perhaps we’ll get there in the course of our correspondence: as you can see, I really just want to tell you what’s happening here right now, in Berlin, where I live and where the refugees find themselves confronted with a bureaucracy that often comes across as sadistic in its Kafkaesque opacity – and no sooner do I start than the entire vast history of the world washes over me.
But perhaps that’s also quite apt for the current situation: because the fates of the individual human beings who come here mingle with fears that are older, raise questions that are more fundamental, open dimensions that are more permanent. When there is talk – rightly or wrongly – of a “new Völkerwanderung”, then already that choice of words alone suggests that we’re facing something between the Mongol invasions of Europe and the Turkish march on Vienna. And indeed, the fears that are often invoked are fears of “Überfremdung” (foreign infiltration) and in particular the “Islamisation” of the so-called “Abendland” (occident) – another word I haven’t heard for a very, very long time.
In a certain sense it’s as if Europe had woken up out of a slumber that lasted twenty-five years – and now that reality is breaking over this languishing continent in all its vehemence, many people seem overwhelmed. Until now, for example, Germany has had a hard time admitting that it’s an immigration country – at least conservative politics have refused to accept that reality. In the present situation that’s backlashing, because the country that essentially grants unqualified right of asylum – a circumstance rooted in the history of Nazi Germany – has no immigration law that corresponds to the current needs.
So much for today. There’s plenty I can still tell you: about our chancellor, who confuses everyone except herself, about scenes of the kind I’ve never seen in Europe, scenes of readiness to help and scenes of chaos, about my hopes and doubts, about optimism and pessimism. But I’d be more interested in your perspective on all this, which seems to Germany like a historic watershed, but to many parts of the world naturally doesn’t.
Warm regards,
Georg

(In cooperation and with the generous support of Goethe Institute New Delhi / Max Mueller Bhavan)

How we would have met in real life

09.11.15
6 min

On Refugees

07.11.15
8 min

The Refugees

with
Emily Dische-Becker
Georg Diez
Julia Zange
02.11.15
59 min

Groin Gazing

02.11.15
8 min

Angst essen Seele auf

Gülriz Egilmez about Fear as a main subject in societies nowadays.
01.11.15
8 min

My mother's flag

Murat Suner about Control on Turkish Republic Day
30.10.15
4 min

On Refugees

25.10.15
8 min

On Refugees

22.10.15
5 min

(W)hole III: Human Life To-Do List

20.10.15
3 min

On Refugees

15.10.15
5 min