We of the teutonic persuasion speak of a “Demonstration” when we mean a march. A “Demonstration” is a political gathering in a public place, not necessarily a march, but always a statement, mostly in protest. A “Demonstration” is called a “Demo” when in the context of the ritualized political street fare of the left (and who knows, the way things are going, we soon might see “Demos” from the other side).
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I don’t like “Demonstrationen”. I don’t like them for the same reason I don’t like to “put my hands together” as one in a concert, or to stand up in sync when they do “la ola” in a stadium or to goosestep when it comes to marching. I particularly don’t like “Demos”.
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I am in Berlin for a while – a city of “Demos” if there ever was one. Even more so these days, as the Holy Lands are burning, Israel is berserking, Gaza is bleeding and the hatred of Jews regains voice and space in Europe. In Berlin they say you better don’t show up with a yarmulke on Sonnenallee in Neukölln. Sonnenallee is a very recognizable fief of Islam, and there are reports of Jews being harassed there. I myself did not see such things when I was on Sonnenallee. But without a doubt there is no love lost on the Jewish state and a whale of sympathy for the Palestinian cause in these corners. Waiting for the bus at Hermannplatz, I encountered a gaggle of people surrounding a man who was lecturing about “genocide” on the Palestinians. oudly and at length. And in English.
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It’s crazy how much English is heard in Berlin. In the street, in the shops, in the subway and on the bus you hear more of global-English than local Berlin dialect. “Icke” – the Berlin version of «Ich» – is rarer than «votts up?”. It’s quite puzzling. Or in the words of an utterly renowned Zurich whiz kid who evolved into global bloggerism from Berlin: “What means that?”
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I have been to two «Demonstrationen» in Berlin. The first one I stumbled into by chance. On the last October Saturday I was in Kreuzberg and saw blue lights flashing and police in Oranienstrasse. When I got closer I realized that a huge Gaza protest was rolling. Throngs of people paraded through the street, an across-the-board mix of folks: Women, kids, youth, middle-agers, oldies with thinning long hair. A lot of them were dark-skinned and even more “Bio-Deutsche” (“Bio-Germans”) – as ever-so-subtle Germany calls its purebreds nowadays (the French, also cultivating racial purity, call it a tad more delicately Français de souche). I went along on the sidewalk, by large numbers of police, all the way to Schlesisches Tor, as the subway stop halfway was closed. The marching masses to my right were teeming with Palestinians flags and self-made placards. They yelled «Free Free Palestine», «Viva Viva Palästina», and once or twice I heard that nostalgic old war cry: «Hoch – die – Internatio- nale – Solidarität». A bullhorn hero barked himself hoarse – in English. I neither saw nor heard the indexed words from the river to the sea, nor did I witness expressions of antisemitism. The man holding up a “no genocide” sign wore a yarmulka. Also, I did not hear any protest chant in German. This might have been by accident, but hopefully it was by design. German street protests against Israel come with a Gschmäckle as they say in German – a special, not-so-pleasant flavor.
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I don’t like «Demonstrationen», but sometimes it is necessary to take part. When must be publicly demonstrated what is at stake and what cannot be ceded, you have to stand and (probably) be counted. This is why I went to march on 9 November – 9/11 in the European way of marking a date. 9 November 1938 is the day of the big pogrom in Adolf Hitler’s Germany. National-socialist goons, backed up, riled on, humored, and aided by average folks, attacked Jewish businesses, destroyed shop windows, stole merchandise, ransacked and plundered apartments, burned down synagogues, desecrated cemeteries, beat up jews, tortured Jews, kidnapped Jews, killed several hundred of them. 300 harassed Jews took their own life. In order to send a signal against antisemitism in Germany, the Christian churches of Berlin called for a march on a “Gedenkweg” (“remembrance way”) through the heart of West-Berlin. The route started at Winterfeldplatz and went through Tauentzienstrasse and Kurfürstendamm, where «the mob was raging with particular severity,” as the churches wrote. According to them, at least 119 Jewish retail stores existed and were attacked along the “Gedenkweg”. In some places, signs with the names of the extinguished were held up: «Albert Rosenhain: Das Haus für Geschenke: Kurfürstendamm 232» – a gift shop. Or « Ida Radecke, Lebensmittelhandlung: Maassenstrasse 8» – a grocer. The corner of Joachimsthaler Strasse/Kurfürstendamm just has been renamed «Grünfeld-Ecke» – «Grünfeld corner», as it was known in the twenties, after the popular store of mail-order pioneer Heinrich Grünfeld (the company was «arianized» after the Nazi takeover, but to boost the fledgling sales, the new «Bio-German» owners added «formerly F.V Grünfeld» to the name).
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The marching crowd was way smaller than the one in Kreuzberg. It was anything but colorful, and it was silent. There were no war whoops, no flags, and no signs, except for a few Israel flags and some signs saying “nie wieder» («never again”) or “nie wieder ist jetzt» («never again is now”). There were less police and no «incidents». Once or twice, you heard a «Free Palestine» from afar. I found all this to be very good. It felt good that the war, the attacks of Hamas against Israel, the Israeli revenge, were left out of this occasion. It was good because right now everything said about this war is steeped in questionable political gravy.
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It felt good until Winterfeldplatz where the march stopped and the prayers set in. A “Monsignore” appealed to God for healing and comforting the survivors, changing the “misguided” and strengthening those who fight for tolerance. Then he said this: God, we think about the people in Israel which became victims of the terror of Hamas. Hunted down, murdered, and kidnapped. Threatened in their existence. God, liberate them.
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That’s when I lost it. This did not feel good any more: The clergyman praying for one group of victims and totally leaving out the other one. After all, right now, as he spoke, before our eyes, the death of thousands of civilians in Gaza is taken out of regard and factored into the military calculation in order to eliminate Hamas (a totally justified aim, by the way), and not seldom the Shoah is used as exhibit one. It’s hard to imagine that the preacher’s God would or could not care about the totality of this.
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I thought to myself, that the guy might run into difficulties when showing up at the pearly gates. Then I left the march and went for a glass of wine.