When I accepted a job in Weimar, Germany, I knew exactly two things about the town:
- Its location on a map.
- Its historical significance as the place where the Weimar Republic was founded in 1919.
I didn’t know that Weimar’s position in founding Germany’s first democracy continues to hold political significance today, but this is very much the case. The Weimar Republic period brought a flourishing of arts and literature, much of which was due to the new focus on civil liberties that was written into the Weimar Constitution. Women received the right to vote, freedom of speech was protected, censorship banned, the right to education guaranteed, and the freedom to negotiate for better working conditions granted.
These and other social and political rights are critical to a functioning democracy, and it is for this reason that Weimar is still a gathering place for people who have something to say. A significant point for many are the Monday Walks, in which far-right supporters and activists come to town with drums, whistles, flags, and placards. The march routes are protected by police, as are the gatherings from other groups often located along the route, accompanied by their own music and placards.
A particularly large far-right demonstration was scheduled for Saturday and the city put out a statement urging anyone without essential business to avoid the city centre. In response, left-wing activist groups did what they usually do and gathered in pedestrian zones of town around the square where the right-wing demonstration was set to take place. In doing so, they effectively blocked the route the demonstration was supposed to follow through town. Considering that the counter-protest wasn’t registered in advance, it wasn’t legal. But this would only become a problem if the counter-protest and far-right protest actually came into contact.
Following a breakfast discussion about freedom of expression, Germany’s laws against hate speech, and the role of discourse in a democracy, my partner and I headed into town. Listening to the far-right tropes made me nauseous, but I didn’t feel much better standing with the counter-protestors. The music they had chosen was largely political and aggressive, and the slogans they chanted were not much better. Although a number of people sported pride flags and t-shirts with statements like “Love is love” or “I greet all people”, the mood did not reflect these sentiments. Why, I asked my partner, were we not listening to Summer of Love music? Where were the guitars and the hand holding? Why was the counter-protest, in being against a group of people, just as negative as the far-right protest?
What would the world be like if we were for peace, for love, for humanity rather than against these people and their idea of peace and their idea of humanity? Wouldn’t finding commonality be much more effective if we spoke for people rather than against them?
This is not to say that far-right extremists, many of them the very definition of neo-Nazis with clothing and tropes only thinly vailed, should be allowed to spread the hate that they spread. And due to hate speech laws in Germany, there are limits on speech. This is rather to say that we, the people for justice and diversity, do not have to sink to their level. We can be for our beliefs rather than being against theirs. And considering that the rise in far-right extremism has not been accompanied by a rise in support of democratic ideals, it seems that the “against” message has turned people off or away.
As the newspaper reported the next day, there were no clashes between the two groups. Fewer right-wing protestors had come to town than expected and nearly the same number of ad-hoc left-wing protestors had turned out. Through force of numbers alone, opinions were made apparent.
Nevertheless, I was left with a feeling of disquiet that I cannot quite shake. There is something very wrong when one side speaks of freedom and screams, “Foreigners out!” and the other side speaks of equality and screams, “Nazis out!”. What these groups actually stand for is hidden behind the curtains of what they are against.
We live in a time in which there is a political weakness in standing for. Online and social media have created an environment in which the air time is given to those who are against, regardless of which side. Anger receives more clicks than attempts at common ground, but anger does not win. It destroys, and then something else picks up the pieces.
I am not an activist, but an educator. It’s my job to listen to young people and their ideas, my job to ask them where the evidence comes from, why they believe what they believe. I ask them to try on different hats, to empathize. We talk about what was surprising or challenging, what was comfortable or uncomfortable. My job is to encourage the formation of informed opinions, not to tell young people which opinions to have. I work in a school, one of the few places where, changing one’s mind is normal and it’s a sign of learning, not of weakness.
And I didn’t feel comfortable out on the street, just behind a crowd of counter-protestors lying in wait for another group of protestors. I might be on their side if we have to pick sides, but these were not my people. Their slogans were not my slogans.
Without discourse, the exchange of beliefs, only hate and anger remain. I refuse to do nothing, which is why I was there, but I also refuse the detestation with which these two sides regard one another. Over a glass of wine a couple weeks ago, I learned that the evening’s host had voted for the AfD, Germany’s far-right political party. Reminding myself that I stand for democratic values, I asked about his opinions and then gave him mine. A tiny drop might not make a difference, but a few more drops could do just that.
By Rebecca Michelle 