Euro-nationalism is still a terrible idea.

This piece about Catalan #indyref crystallises everything I hate about what I call Euro-nationalism. It’s wonderful that they’re all so engaged:

Kilted men wearing saltire capes and foam fingers on both hands danced in the aisles as “The Red Hot Chilli Pipers” played a bagpipe version of Don’t Stop Believing.

Sorry. That was the other lot. Let’s try that again.

Clara, 20, a university student, is one of nearly fifty thousand volunteers who made Sunday’s vote on Catalan independence possible. I meet her sitting behind a ballot box in a school-turned-polling station in Barcelona, a big smile on her face…

But what is it they actually want to do with independence? Well, stop paying into the Spanish government’s finances. What this means is nicely demonstrated by the following map from here. Blue regions’ per capita GDP is at 90% or more of the EU average. Yellow ones are between 90% and 75%. Red ones are 75% or lower.

European_regional_policy_2014.svg

So what we’re really saying here is “Stop paying social insurance for people in places like Extremadura, some of the poorest people in Europe. Punkt, ende.” That fundamentally selfish and meanspirited impulse is what unites Clara, the SNP, and UKIP; the Euronationalists have spoken and they said “Want! Me! Me! Me!”

Abenomics 2.0 – Just What Are They Trying To Achieve?

The recent move by the Bank of Japan to take further measures to accelerate the rate at which it ramps up its balance sheet took almost everyone – market watchers included – completely by surprise. The consequence was reasonably predictable – the yen has once more fallen strongly against almost all major currencies – and most notably against the USD – and Japan’s main stock indexes are sharply up. Continue reading

I saw the wall Mr Gorbachev tore down.

In October 1989, I was in Berlin for the first time. Small town boy, big city lights. We flew with Pan-Am back then. The airline also doesn’t exist anymore.

I caught about the last possible glimpse at the wall in its concrete dividing brutality, looking eastward from the visitor platform at the Brandenburg gate. The next time I experienced a similar feeling was in 2008, on the UN premises in Panmunjom, South Korea, looking north. And in 2012, in the Banksy gift shop, right next to the wall in Bethlehem.

West-Berlin was an oasis of calm before the storm. On October 18th, my mother, who hails from East Germany, my sister and I were having lunch at the famous Kaffee Kranzler on the Ku’Damm, at the time West Berlin’s main shopping street. I was facing a big info wall attached to a building across the street. When I read and told my mother that, according to news reports, Erich Honecker, the GDR’s head of state and chairman of the state council since 1971, had just been removed from power, she could hardly believe it. That was a common reaction to a lot of things happening in those days.

Just that afternoon we were doing a state-run bus tour of East Berlin. Some parts of the tour could still be executed according to the last four year plan. Forced currency exchange, Soviet war memorial, and Pergamon museum. Others not so much. There was not enough cake left for the Kaffee klatch at the state-run coffee house, not even for Western tourists paying in Dollars or Deutsche Mark. Too many former employees had already answered the call of freedom and had left the socialist workers’ and famers’ state for Hungary.

Decay and new hope were palpable with both hands in East Berlin that day, while nearby, the GDR’s top brass desperately hoped that replacing Erich Honecker with Egon Krenz would allow their regime to survive. On the way back to the West, our bus was searched for 45 minuts by the East German border control. At a border that would only exist for a couple more days.

In June 1990, I was in Berlin for the second time. One week before East Germany was to become part of the two Germany’s economic and currency union. This time, I walked through the Brandenburg Gate. On the way to Potsdam, border police didn’t even bother to check our passports anymore. A lot can happen in seven months.

These days, I’m in Berlin relatively often. Because what belonged together, grew together, eventually. Of course, there are still a number of things, biographies, opinions, that divide East and West Germany, particularly in Berlin. But it is no longer a wall. Not in the city, and not in the hearts.

To Europe! To Germany! To Berlin! Poor, sexy, but united. And to the hope, that, one day, families, friends, and lovers will no longer be separated anywhere by walls and borders on maps and in minds.

[ I originally posted this story in German on https://fallofthewall25.com/weltweit#Tobias+Schwarz where you can find more personal wall-stories from all over the world. // photo credit: Press foto / Visualisierung der LICHTGRENZE am Brandenburger Tor © Kulturprojekte Berlin_WHITEvoid / Christopher Bauder, Foto: Daniel Büche / http://www.berlin.de/mauerfall2014/presse/pressebilder ]

Wolf Biermann trolls the Bundestag

So the German parliament invited legendary songwriter, dissident, and wonderful professional malcontent Wolf Biermann to the session celebrating 25 years since the revolution. That went as badly as you might expect, or perhaps as well.

Where do we start here? Obviously there’s the bit where he calls the Left Party MPs the “wretched remnants of everything we so fortunately overcame”. There’s the speaker of parliament, the CDU’s Norbert Lammert, a man who looks and talks exactly like a conservative called Norbert, who calls him to order on the grounds that he was invited to sing, dammit, and if he wants to speak he can always get elected. Biermann remarks that the DDR didn’t manage to shut him up and Lammert won’t.

While this goes on, the breaking news caption informs us that the association of the post-1945 expellees is electing a new president. Geschichtsträchtig.

There’s the performance itself, as if the rest wasn’t part of the performance. And then there’s the bit where Lammert tries to make up for it by congratulating Biermann on his silver wedding, and Biermann breaks off from chatting (does he chat? I rather think not) with, or at least to, Sigmar Gabriel to remind him that it’s also the anniversary of the great, socialist October Revolution, as he puts it.

Even if Lammert’s intervention might not have been wholly serious, it’s a masterpiece of awkwardness. As well as a guitarist of note, a brilliant lyricist, and an unmistakable voice, Biermann is one hell of a troll.