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On an anti-Nazi demonstration in summer of 2008 in Bonn, I asked myself for first time wher I am on right side. I was 16 years old, and an older man had addressed me. He wore a lear jacket, a working cap and a red Fähnlein in his hand. Altkommunist, I thought. Then he began to explain to me that I could only support political groups that also exist where I “come from”. That Rhineland was my homeland didn’t seem to matter to him. My black curls handed him to vaguely locate me in global South. And with him I should be demonstrating against Nazis?
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There is an old joke that is in different versions: What do you call three left? A movement. What do you call fourth you recruit? The fork. Many lines of conflict open up to questions such as wher revolutionary or cooperative path is better. That’s always been case. However, when it comes to big and concrete issues of anti-fascism, social justice and pacifism, most groups have been able to put back disagreements. The more often I met people like Altkommunist, more difficult it was for me to overlook this line of conflict.
I was interested in politics early and engaged in various groups. The left-wing radical milieu attracted me. Besides our political work, we heard a lot of music, extremely sound and extremely content. We grölten Dadaist-banal to system-despising texts, danced until we tipped over, and caught each or again. The concerts took place in left-handed pubs, in occupied houses and in youth centres full of graffiti.
My friends and I were against religions, against ideologies, and above all: against patronizing debate about immigration, identity and integration. When, in late Nullerjahren, notions such as conducting culture defined parts of public debates, and many were interested in question of how migrants behave – what was more radical than in sweaty halls and cellars of Raven To celebrate against Germany?
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Many of people I met at concerts, I saw at political events and at demonstrations again. We blocked Nazi marches, made election posters with slogans, and exchanged information about how ethical consumption is possible in capitalism. But even n it was a bit strange: from beginning many met me differently from ors. They often talked to me about things that had little to do with me, like Islam or Middle East, and rarely on things that really interested me, like philosophy or technology. My environment wanted to talk about Muslim and Arab politics, but in our home it was not an issue. Neverless, I rejoiced when ors considered me an Iranian diplomat’s son or for a Spanish autonomous. But I was even more pleased if you didn’t ask. Older activists gave me texts against religions, against capitalism, against nationalism. Most of time I found it rar boring and simplified, but it gave me respect if I could quote from it.
But n re was also leftist feminist, who directed me to right-wing populist, islamophobe blogs to prove her alleged criticism of religion. Or anti-fascist, who told me he was supposed to be me, wouldn’t be thing with my abstinence from alcohol. This irritated me, but I quickly pushed aside thought and focused on what we were doing: we were against anti-Semites, even in leftist parties and groups. We were against dictators, even in revolutionary countries. We were against state surveillance. And of course we were against Nazis, always and everywhere.
