This is how brainwashed the average "educated" lefty kid is

DEMOCRACY MEANS YOU NEED A BUREAUCRATIC SUPERSTATE

The Social Democratic Party of Germany (SPD) has recently handed out the Otto-Weis Prize for Democracy to a German 18-year-old for writing a short story about Europe. Some anons on brit/pol/ pointed this out, and the story can be found here: spdfraktion.de/system/files/documents/klassentreffen.pdf

I did a translation over on in parts, and you can find the full translation here on Pastebin: pastebin.com/HH8U3g7U

I'll paste the translation page by page here, in any case, and there's a short review at the end of it.

This isn't merely about the EU; it touches everything to do with the current left-right divide in the Western world, and the US too is involved.

Other urls found in this thread:

spdfraktion.de/system/files/documents/klassentreffen.pdf]
twitter.com/SFWRedditVideos

Translation of [spdfraktion.de/system/files/documents/klassentreffen.pdf]

[Cover = Page 1]

School Reunion

A short story by Stefan Endeward,
Berlin, 2016

[Latin here, but I translated it anyway]

His neck arises in wreaths of fat, and dewlaps hang from between his shoulders.
His horns are small indeed; but such as you would aver
were made with hands, and more transparent than a pure gem.
There are no threats in his forehead, nor are his eyes formidable:
his countenance has peace in it.

Ovid, Metamorphoses, Book II, Lines 854 - 858

[Page 2]

[Note: I changed the narrative tense in the English translation to the past tense, as opposed to the German text being composed mostly in the present tense. This is due to differing literary conventions and styles in both languages.]
[Note 2: Paragraphing for dialogue and pacing also deviates a little from the original.]

It was an old habit of his to take cold showers. As the water flowed down his lanky body, he thought about how it had come to be so: there had been no hot water in his hostel in Lebanon in 2015. It'd been fifteen years, and since then he had always wanted to show to himself again and again that he too could somewhat endure it. He can do it.

After he stepped out of the shower, he wore a small smile as he looked at himself in the mirror; "He can do it", he thought to himself. One hour later, he took his bag, left the room, almost forgot about the card on the table, but saw it just in time and took it. He then went down the six steps of the staircase into a big lobby. He then walked past a golden bull and stood before the reception.

"Mr Henning, you're looking to check out for sure," he heard a friendly voice say. When he had ticked off these formalities, he left the hotel building through the revolving door and crossed the street to his hired car. He opened the back door, placed his suitcase in the footwell behind the driver's seat, then got into the car. He sat and paused for a good while on the driver's seat.

Jörn Henning sat silently for at least three minutes, eyes lowered, at the driver's seat of a rented BMW on Friedrichstraße. Only then did he look at time and note that he was still much too early. He stepped on the brake pedal, threw the gear stick, indicated and began to reverse out of the parking lot.

Since he still had a lot of time, he drove along Friedrichstraße. He noticed that nothing had actually changed, yet everything somehow did change. McDonald's still existed, but was almost only vegan; cars were everywhere, but were now powered by electricity; and petrol stations looked different. The world continued to turn.

He turned left and now drove along Unter den Linden up to the Brandenburg Gate, then he turned and drove back, passing the Komische Oper (Comic Opera House). He saw Humboldt University and right after, the Staatsoper (State Opera House) directly opposite on Bebelplatz. He indicated again, quickly found a parking space and got out of the car. This square had already fascinated him a long time ago, and now, after over fifteen years, it did so again. When he thought about what exactly drew him there, he himself had no idea; the square was, apart from a few streetlamps on the edges, empty. He looked through the glass window in the ground at the shelves that should have been filled with books. He didn't know what intrigued him, but there were many people there who were fascinated. How come? Was it the reminder of the victory over the Nazis?

He drove on, heading north, as he didn't want to be too late.

[Page 3]

When the invitation card had come to him through his editorial staff two months ago, he accepted directly by e-mail. As of today, he didn't know why anymore. Meeting up with his sixth form class had sounded interesting. Flying to Berlin for the first time in a long while had too sounded interesting. Seeing his former school again had also sounded interesting to him. Now he was here in Berlin, in a rented BMW and found it all no longer quite as interesting. On the contrary, he was a little bit afraid, for he hadn't particularly liked his classmates even then.

He drove past the Museumsinsel (Museum Isle), past the New Synagogue, past Mauerpark and soon he was in Frohnau.

As he drove around the plazas, first around Zeltinger Platz, then around Ludolfinger Platz, he felt a tinge of sadness arise in himself. He parked behind a compact van and paused briefly. He had been here so often in the past that he no longer needed to see the squares in order to picture them before his eyes. Here he had been happy, whenever he had passed an exam, whenever the sun was shining, whenever he was holding a girl in his arms or whenever he was playing football with his brother. All these feelings now seemed to him not only twenty years, but an eternity away.

Now he had no wife, no children, hardly any friends and was seldom happy. He had wanted to kill himself at times, but he either could not find a reason or the strength to do so.

Jörn Henning lay his head on the steering wheel and listened noiselessly to the monotonous humming of the electric motors blending in with the aestival buzzing of the bees and flies and the twittering of the birds in a pleasantly hypnotic manner.

At 11:33 a.m., he lifted his head and looked at the clock.

Hastily and a little irately, he got out and ran the rest of the way to his former school. He was a couple of minutes too late, and it quite annoyed him. Shortly before he arrived at the school, it occurred to him that he would have to spend less time with the others if he were to walk slower. He reduced his pace, made a detour and arrived thirteen minutes too late.

Life is too short to look back, thought Jörn, as he stepped through the gate into the school grounds. Yet all these excuses and his pessimism did not lead him to take the event less seriously; rather, he become even more annoyed that he had come. And he had come, mind you, a long way to see people and places that he did not wish to see.

[Page 4]

"Too laaaaate! That's an entry into the class register!" yelled a high-pitched, loud and aggressive-sounding voice at him across the school courtyard. The group that had gathered - it must have been around forty people - turned around in unison and Jörn went red. He had already hated her then, back when she had always made herself the centre of attention and spoke ill of everything. Jörn hated her not for her insults, but for her entire existence.

Looks like it's stayed the same, he noted. She had frequently made fun of him back then, but whenever she could make use of him every so often, she was nice to him. Jörn had always done as she had wanted, which was why he still loathed her till today, even though he knew that the hate should have been directed at himself.

He took a champagne glass from the decorated bar table and sat himself down on a bench for a couple of minutes in order to get the colour off his face.

"Oh man, Jörn, my old pal! It's great that you're here! I honestly hadn't thought to see you here. It's a bit of a distance getting here, isn't it?" As Matze seemed to roar his words, he slapped him on his shoulder, causing Jörn to sit even more hunched up on the bench. He didn't see that coming.

"Yeah, quite a bit," replied the crunched up Jörn, somewhat agonised.

"Oh man, oh man! I can tell you this: I'm really chuffed! How long it's been since I last saw you! You weren't there the last time when we met up as a class. But yeah, it's quite some distance… well, anyway. I've followed your articles on the Internet; whenever something came out about Catalonia. Man, it must be exciting to live in Barcelona, eh? I mean, I was properly surprised when I saw that you were moving there. Going to some place, when one has just become independent and having to build up everything from scratch and such. But it seems to be go smoothly at the moment, no?"

This conversation was already getting on Jörn's nerves, but he didn't want to show that he was cracking, and began to participate a little in the dialogue: "Yeah, it certainly is exciting and by now I'd have been there for almost seven years. But somehow I don't feel entirely at home there. Sure, not everything is going that well, for instance whenever I have to interview an official, I have to wait two months for an appointment, and then they can never really prepare themselves fully for it. Yet somehow it works out every time. In the meantime, rumour has it that the EU wants to incorporate Catalonia…"

"Ha, if the Spaniards were to cooperate! I'll never ever believe it. Not especially now, when so many Basques are also demanding their independence. They'd be really stupid to give such an indication. And the French! They'll never go along with it. As always."

[Page 5]

As Jörn looked ahead contemplatively and Matze turned away from him, Maria Giesinger broke the silence. She said a few words in introduction, then explained that there was a photo slideshow which Thomas had kindly put together running in the school hall, and that there were nibbles and drinks in the foyer, whereas after 2 p.m. they could sit around on the ale-benches in the courtyard. She received polite applause.

"Well, she's done well for 'erself. In politics, ya know," said Jörg Nickel, who now was sitting on the other side next to Jörn. "You too must've gotten wind among the sombreros that she's got a seat in Parliament?" (Bundestag = "Federal Diet" = German equivalent of the House of Commons) [Original text has a Berlin accent; I've tried to transpose it into Cockney. Key word: tried.]

Jörn nodded, although he hadn't known till now. He could not guess for the life of him as to which party she belonged to; she had always changed her opinion so often back then.

"Ah Jörn, dere's somefin' I'd been meaning to ask. Matze's been tellin' me about Barcelona and stuff. But I tell ya, dat ya went traipsin' off to Lebanon after the A's, that I'm aware of even now. But what've ya been doin' since? Was it like ya thought?"

"Sidon. Saida, that's what the city's called. It's been a long time. I was on scene, then went into a refugee camp at Ain al-Hilweh, and till today they have to walk around with weapons. I'm telling you, if you weren't there, you wouldn't ever believe it. Seven thousand people, having fled from their homeland and now there in a neighbouring country, constantly in fear and in pain. All of this only because Israel and Palestine can't come to an agreement."

"Some optimists are pinnin' their 'opes on the negotiations today, but I tell ya, there won't be nuffin'. Deese Arabs, dey only ever want ta 'ack off yer 'ead, and…"

Jörn stood up, excused himself politely and walked out of sight. He walked past the finger food, through the foyer, into the school hall and viewed the images: skiing, volleyball tournaments, a social work internship at an institute for disabled people, and many parties. He looked at the wall upon which the photos were being projected, but he didn't take in the images.

Time seemed to fly right by and he woke from his unthinking trance only when he was bumped into and almost fell over. He turned around and wanted to voice his complaints, until he saw Adrian Goldsteyn, who had his arm around a young woman. Jörn did not raise his voice, but instead greeted him softly with a reserved voice. Even then he had never dared to say anything against Adrian. He had always seemed unapproachable to him: rich, handsome, and the crush of almost all the girls. If there ever was a really cool guy, then it was him. But he was an asshole, especially to Jörn.

[Page 6]

Adrian struck up a conversation and talked about his life: did further studies right after school, outstanding uni, excellent grades, direct internship at Porsche, employment, secure job, youngest managaer, soon-to-be member of supervisory board at VW, house here, house there, 9 cars, 3 antique cars, everything fine and dandy.

Jörn knew as well as Adrian that everything only came by way of Goldsteyn Senior. Contacts, you only needed contacts. Then you, even at age 33, would have a woman ten years younger than you. Money was just attractive, now as ever. Jörn was more repellent to others, as it seemed even to him. Jörn spoke laconically and did not ramble on; Adrian didn't need to know that he was doing well. Adrian seemed to even pity him. He offered to take him to Barcelona in his private jet the next day. He had always wanted to go back there anyway - and it was on the way to the Caribbean, which was where he actually wanted to go. Jörn wasn't jealous - he had even caught himself counting the wooden floorboards and not at all following Adrian's enumerations. Then he walked a short distance away and spoke on his phone for around three minutes, during which he turned red and even raised his voice at one point. His deep voice reverberated captivatingly, and his black, gelled back hair waved. Then he came back.

"The Barcelona thing, it can't happen. Have a good day. Darling? I have to travel to Brussels tomorrow, some MEPs aren't playing ball and they all want new ordinances at once. When we didn't have this fucking EU, then the corporations would be able to decide," said Adrian flustered and hastily to his companion as he made a beeline for Maria Giesinger, interrupted her in the middle of her speech and pulled her aside.

Jörn Henning sat alone in the school hall in the meantime, counted the planks thrice and came out with three different results. He also studied the photos in detail, unable to rouse his enthusiasm for such. He glanced at the clock and noted that it was already 2:19 p.m.

The celebration was in full swing outside. He search for a plate, served himself at the buffet and found there was no space at the ale-benches. He had never been a pariah back then.

"Jörn!"

Jörn looked around and saw Nina calling and waving to him.

"Sit next to us!" When he was standing before her and had put his plate down, she hugged him tightly. For the first time today, he was relatively happy to see a familiar face. Nina had always been good friends with Sophie.

"I miss her so much," said Nina, as though she could read his thoughts. "At the time, I somehow could not and yet completely could understand. She had wanted it -

[Page 7]

so much. I'm not sure either if she could help many people before she had been hit. Till a few years ago, I'd been trying to find in vain as to who was behind it. The press had always said that it was ISIS, and you're working for the press…"

"The press always says a whole lot, especially when it makes some people happy. And here in Berlin, no one wants to hear that the Americans too don't know whom they're shooting at. But I'm sure she could have helped…," Jörn had convinced himself of this for over ten years now.

Sophie, his best friend, had gone to Syria after a few years of medical school in order to help the refugees and to care for them. Everyone, except for Jörn, had advised her against it. Jörn knew that she had wanted it. He had leveled more blame at himself ever since. A temporary solution appeared to have some success today, almost twenty years after the situation had escalated. The Americans had sent in drones and ground troops into Syria in 2019, and they had flattened everything. A transitional government was still in power. Assad had been hanged and no one was training suicide bombers or wanted to establish a caliphate anymore. Not in Syria at least.

Back then they had often spoken about the situation in an advanced politics course. Pacifistic Jörn had always stayed on the sidelines during the discussions, while Julian and Adrian wanted to let the country be overrun, Maria Giesinger was always raising new suggestions each time, which only served to outdo the previous ideas in their stupidity, and only Martin Paster seemed to agree with him. To do politics with peace, that was difficult.

Jörn considered why bad dispositions against politicians always developed. At the time of his A-Levels, groups like PEGIDA and a party by the name of AfD had appeared, which had even been able to survive for a few years, insofar as Jörn had followed it. Admittedly, he had never been able to successfully debate his political opponents, which was why he had concentrated on sport journalism during his studies in Münster. But the EU had survived that. Sometimes it appeared to him as though he had been living in another world since fifteen years ago.

He remembered it as it was - Merkel was then Chancellor, and everything had begun with the refugee situation: people in general were fleeing war, poverty and hardship. Racist and right-wing populist opportunists were crawling out of their holes. Germany once again had a right-wing party along with even more right-wing movements; the atmosphere made for their bullshit, while for the first time, Jörn admired Angela Merkel for her composure.

Jörn had never understood before as to why Man had created countries, money and economic systems, where they did not bring him benefits, but enslaved him instead. The populace too had recognized this: two years ago, the European Question was -

[Page 8]

put forward, and the majority of EU citizens were for the United European States, quite in the vein of Churchill.

Jörn Henning sat on an ale-bench in the courtyard of his former school and noticed only now that Martin Paster, his old confederate, was sitting to his left. Martin was together with Jörn at a left-wing demonstration then, and they had mostly stuck together too in their Politics class, although only because they held the same positions.

"…and there right in the vicinity, in Friedenau as well, in Dickhardtstraße, I too have recently acquired a house there. Ah, Jörn! You're here too! How are you?"

"Yep, quite fine. I have to be anyhow. And yourself?"

"Very well. I've just told the rest. I'm now involved with many properties all over Berlin now, particularly in 'City West'. I managed to be in the right place at the right time. And you, are you still as politically engaged as ever?"

"Yeah, pretty much. Left-wing as ever, today just as I was yesterday. You're probably not?"

"No, not at all left-wing! Tax hikes. Where are we to go from there? Politics must be friendly to the economy, yes, friendly to the economy and only the Liberals are for that. It's fortunate that they've pulled themselves out of their slump. When one is young, one tends to judge all these issues wrongly…" This came from the mouth of the man who had once railed the loudest against such things. The world continued to turn.

Martin spoke further, "I was recently in Poland on business. To say that 'one could hardly believe it' would be downplaying it. No wonder they want to be back in the EU, but it's fortunate that it's the Liberals again and not these Nationalists any longer. Since their leaving the EU in 2018, everything has gone downhill. No more agricultural funds, no more money, while the whole of the EU is overtaking the world, one has to say. Really incredible. I thought I was standing in a developing country, so terrible were the infrastructure and supply - I won't even talk about the hotel."

"It's not any different in Hungary," interjected Jörn, speaking softly, for he had recently wanted to see Budapest again.

"Yeah well, they're even dafter. They didn't leave of their own volition, they were chucked out when they boycotted the EU. And as long as Orban is still there, there's no way back for them."

Jörn stood up and excused himself from further conversations in which he had participated in briefly, as the next match of the World Cup was about to start and there was a chance to watch it in the hall. France versus Greece in the quarter-finals; it was not to be missed.

[Page 9]

He ascended the stairs at the courtyard again on the way to the hall, passed the basketball court and the large clock when he was suddenly spoken to by Maria Giesinger. Only now when standing this close did he notice the golden shining eagle on the lapel of her dark blue pinstriped trouser suit.

"Ah, Jörn, who would have thought to see you here! No one had any contact with you, and we had to send the invitation to your newspaper agency. How nice it is to see you again. Such a lovely day it is with the sun shining so vitally [sic] and of course the flowers beautifying the surroundings. I must say, Berlin is absolutely beautiful in summer."

They both conversed afterwards about their careers, their politics class, and their plans for the future. She had a seat in Parliament on the Committee for EU Affairs, as he found out. The conversation was rather one-sided, as Jörn wanted to watch the match, but also didn't want to be impolite.

"This is really the most crazy thing we deal with on the Committee. I've been there since last year after the elections. And ever since we've been discussing the readmission of the countries which left, over Montenegro, Serbia, Macedonia, etc. which have wanted to be in since twenty years ago. Mad. But since we have a strong partner in Turkey in the EU, we now have an entirely different position than before.

Just look at Great Britain. Brexit came in 2016 because the people wanted it, and now everyone is talking about Brintro! Isn't it crazy? I have to be careful, but I can say this much: when they come back, we'll kill two birds with one stone. And according to our rules! They also have noticed that we don't need them as desperately as they need us.

Germany and France have always understood it as such. Ah well, let it be what it is. We'd become economically stronger, would have another country with great global political influence, and the pound, this I promise you, I will never let it darken our door again. Either completely in the EU, or absolutely nothing. And the crazy thing is, the Brits appear to be cooperating!"

"Pardon me, Maria, I have to visit the little boy's room."

When Jörn stepped into the hall, he first caught his breath. Two chairs stood slanted away from him, upon which Leon and Leon were sitting. They'd watched football together since forever, they did everything together and were ostensibly best pals even today. He took a chair for himself from the stack near the door and placed it near the two. The match was already on, -