Ode To Joy? Not Really. A Meditation On Europe

Moher cliffs near Doolin, Ireland
Moher cliffs near Doolin, Ireland
Andrej Mrevlje


WASHINGTON — Late last summer, my wife and I took a ferry from Doolin, on the West coast of Ireland, to Inishmore, the smallest of the three Aran Islands. The tiny ferry, with perhaps no more than 30 or 40 people aboard, was filled with mostly European passengers.The ocean was rough; a short trip to a quaint island turned out to be a test of tolerance between various European nationalities. Italians took over the boat, while the Germans were appealing for discipline and order.

As a person with almost no ethnic identity, I wondered how this boat might survive the rough seas of the European Union. I was trying to imagine what might have happened during the European Summit between Germany, France and Italy on the small aircraft carrier docked at the island of Ventotene, Italy a few days before my disturbing boat ride. Why had the Italian premier called for the summit? What was he trying to obtain from his country's bigger siblings? How had they understood each other?

Then, a few days ago, browsing my Facebook page, I bumped into a video I had seen years ago. I remembered it to be touching and powerful, so I watched it again. Produced in 2012, somebody thought to repost it when Britain sent its formal exit letter from the EU to Brussels, while the rest of the member-family gathered in Rome to celebrate its 60th anniversary. It must have felt more like a funeral.

The video shows an unusual, impromptu performance of "Ode an die Freude" (Ode to Joy), Beethoven's Symphony No.9, an extraordinary piece of music. Very few people outside of Brussels know that the "Ode to Joy" is also the anthem of the EU. So, just as we witness Europe crumbling, its leaders desperate to solve the problems of the future, a video appeared, depicting strangers in the street being mesmerized by music that is essentially European. The casual onlookers — slowly enraptured by the ascending Allegro of Beethoven's chords — are transformed into a crowd embodying the European community.

The immediate thought that remains after watching this video a second time is that Brits are stupid, that they foolishly sought the European continent's disunity knowing full well that it cannot survive if divided. But that thought lasts only a moment under the spell of the powerful, unifying music. For when in London, one cannot but love it and its need to preserve its unique identity can be comprehended and understood.

There have been many discussions and political analyzes focused on deciphering and articulating the reason the British voted for Brexit, and also wild, unfounded interpretations of Westminster's plotting and political calculus. But the reasons for Brexit are much more apparent than conspiracies: Britain is desperately trying to stop the process of globalization. The irreversible expanding of markets that uniformly dictate the selling of products and the way of life, the melting of British icons into bitcoins. What Brits have left of their own is the Union Jack, the Queen, and the pound. When they voted for Brexit, they did not think; rather, they just wanted to protect their way of life, their homogenous after-work drinks in the pubs, their religion, their accents, their topography. No longer will it suffice to use red telephone booths. Not in the era of bitcoins and internet. There is no way back.

Now that the exit letter was delivered and the negotiations on the separation between Europe and Britain are set to begin, everyday changes for the islanders have already stirred up acute nausea. The shifts consist of losing small privileges, adding pennies to the cost of living, increasing instances of hate crimes, and all the other little obstacles that create that unpleasant feeling of being left outside one's door. The British no longer have the roadmap to the future; they're improvising.

Written by white hands

But what is the future? Do any of us have the map? Somehow we have convinced ourselves that the future has a liberal face, that humankind will inevitably progress toward universal values and ideals. At least, that is how we saw it until Brexit and Donald Trump. France, and perhaps even Germany, may follow. Holland seems to have resisted, just barely. But let's stop accusing. The revival of conservatism is not the cause but the consequence. The seeds of what we are seeing are buried deep in the foundation of Europe as much as the possibility of Trumpism is written in America's founding document. Trump, with his talented ignorance, is a spillover of the white supremacy this country has always borne. There is no doubt that American democracy has been written by the hand of whites, by slave owners. The same is true in our European bedrock. It just happened earlier.

Europe defined itself in terms of its differences from its neighbors

The proposals for a "united Europe" dates back to the 15th century. The Bohemian King George of Poděbrady proposed a treaty between all Christian nations – with its members pledging to peacefully settle disputes between themselves and concentrate military efforts against the Ottoman Empire. This was to be a Christian entity, and it was envisioned as a union standing in opposition to the encroachment of "non-Christian" forces upon Christendom.

In the absence of clear geographical limits, Europe defined itself in terms of its differences from its neighbors — the warlike Muslims of the Arab-Berber kingdoms, the Byzantine and Ottoman empires. The fall of Constantinople in 1453 was traumatic; Pope Pius II was the first to tell the quarrelsome Christian princes that they must think like Europeans if they aimed to drive back the Turks. Clearly, Europe began as Christendom, predisposed to the white race, so when refugees flooded Europe, it was the Christians and whites who stood up instinctively in survival. But that instinct, an impulse we all know, should not last long. History is a slow and elaborate process that retroactively allows us to overcome our purely instinctual reactions, the only thing which separates us men from beasts. Fintan O'Toole, assistant editor of the The Irish Times, tried to reflect on the moment of conservatism's outburst. It's entitled Has Europe lost its hold on our collective imagination:

It was a story, an imaginative fiction of the kind that Yuval Noah Harari evokes in his book Sapiens: A Brief History of Humankind. He makes the point that the capacity to believe in fictional constructs is a defining element of what makes us human, because without it we cannot co-operate with people we do not know: "At the heart of our mass co-operation networks, you will always find fictional stories that exist only in people's collective imagination… There are no gods, no nations, no money and no human rights, except in our collective imagination."

One of these enabling fictions is "Europe." It is a story that most of the central and western nations of the continent agreed to tell themselves and each other in order to deal with the legacies of the second world war and the cold war. And like all stories, it sustained itself, if not exactly with belief, then at least with a willing suspension of disbelief. The question now is whether it still exists at all, whether "Europe" has lost its hold on our collective imagination. All the evidence suggests that it has.

That overwhelming video of "Ode to Joy" woke the European who sleeps in me. As I watched again, my heart applauded, feeling the "fil rouge" that connects the European minds. Then a terrible moment of recognition hit me suddenly. That Beethoven Symphony, now the anthem of the European Union, is like all of history, from America to Africa and eastward: written by white hands for white ears. Except for two Asian children, there are only Caucasians in that video. They smiled, they stopped, they listened and got carried away by the powerful music. For a moment, they joined the idea of Europe. Was it an instinct or a process?

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What It Means When The Jews Of Germany No Longer Feel Safe

A neo-Nazi has been buried in the former grave of a Jewish musicologist Max Friedlaender – not an oversight, but a deliberate provocation. This is just one more example of antisemitism on the rise in Germany, and society's inability to respond.

At a protest against antisemitism in Berlin

Eva Marie Kogel


BERLIN — If you want to check the state of your society, there's a simple test: as the U.S. High Commissioner for Germany, John Jay McCloy, said in 1949, the touchstone for a democracy is the well-being of Jews. This litmus test is still relevant today. And it seems Germany would not pass.

Incidents are piling up. Most recently, groups of neo-Nazis from across the country traveled to a church near Berlin for the funeral of a well-known far-right figure. He was buried in the former grave of Jewish musicologist Max Friedlaender, a gravesite chosen deliberately by the right-wing extremists.

The incident at the cemetery

They intentionally chose a Jewish grave as an act of provocation, trying to gain maximum publicity for this act of desecration. And the cemetery authorities at the graveyard in Stahnsdorf fell for it. The church issued an immediate apology, calling it a "terrible mistake" and saying they "must immediately see whether and what we can undo."

There are so many incidents that get little to no media attention.

It's unfathomable that this burial was allowed to take place at all, but now the cemetery authorities need to make a decision quickly about how to put things right. Otherwise, the grave may well become a pilgrimage site for Holocaust deniers and antisemites.

The incident has garnered attention in the international press and it will live long in the memory. Like the case of singer-songwriter Gil Ofarim, who recently claimed he was subjected to antisemitic abuse at a hotel in Leipzig. Details of the crime are still being investigated. But there are so many other incidents that get little to no media attention.

Photo of the grave of Jewish musicologist Max Friedlaender

The grave of Jewish musicologist Max Friedlaender

Jens Kalaene/dpa/ZUMA

Crimes against Jews are rising

Across all parts of society, antisemitism is on the rise. Until a few years ago, Jewish life was seen as an accepted part of German society. Since the attack on the synagogue in Halle in 2019, the picture has changed: it was a bitter reminder that right-wing terror against Jewish people has a long, unbroken history in Germany.

Stories have abounded about the coronavirus crisis being a Jewish conspiracy; meanwhile, Muslim antisemitism is becoming louder and more forceful. The anti-Israel boycott movement BDS rears its head in every debate on antisemitism, just as left-wing or post-colonial thinking are part of every discussion.

Jewish life needs to be allowed to step out of the shadows.

Since 2015, the number of antisemitic crimes recorded has risen by about a third, to 2,350. But victims only report around 20% of cases. Some choose not to because they've had bad experiences with the police, others because they're afraid of the perpetrators, and still others because they just want to put it behind them. Victims clearly hold out little hope of useful reaction from the state – so crimes go unreported.

And the reality of Jewish life in Germany is a dark one. Sociologists say that Jewish children are living out their "identity under siege." What impact does it have on them when they can only go to nursery under police protection? Or when they hear Holocaust jokes at school?

Germany needs to take its antisemitism seriously

This shows that the country of commemorative services and "stumbling blocks" placed in sidewalks as a memorial to victims of the Nazis has lost its moral compass. To make it point true north again, antisemitism needs to be documented from the perspective of those affected, making it visible to the non-Jewish population. And Jewish life needs to be allowed to step out of the shadows.

That is the first thing. The second is that we need to talk about specifically German forms of antisemitism. For example, the fact that in no other EU country are Jewish people so often confronted about the Israeli government's policies (according to a survey, 41% of German Jews have experienced this, while the EU average is 28%). Projecting the old antisemitism onto the state of Israel offers people a more comfortable target for their arguments.

Our society needs to have more conversations about antisemitism. The test of German democracy, as McCloy called it, starts with taking these concerns seriously and talking about them. We need to have these conversations because it affects all of us. It's about saving our democracy. Before it's too late.

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