On American Transience and German Fears

When I wander around my neighborhood I walk on hastily laid concrete slabs, grass growing out of the cracks in and gaps between them. When I shower, I stand in an eroded plastic booth tarnished by chalk. When I drive my car through never-ending suburbs, I pass by buildings revetted with fake brick walls and wooden houses in advanced stages of disrepair. The floor of my room resembles parquet but is in fact imprinted synthetic foil, and the sink I wash my hands in is faux marble. My old apartment even had wooden window shutters that were unmovably mounted on the walls and even if they were to be moved, their size wouldn’t cover all of my window. 

One thing is for sure. Here, it is not about the real thing. It is about an illusion of the real. The fact that it is a replica, in most cases a pretty obvious one, doesn’t seem to bother much. But the fact that a lot of things aren’t what they seem or promise to be isn’t something uniquely American, although it’s one of the big stereotypes about the U.S. It’s something that one encounters on every continent. To me, more importantly than the illusion itself, is that the illusion is short-lived. It’s meant to be. There is not much interest in building something touchable, visible with the aspiration of it being long-lasting. As opposed to ideas, concepts, and dreams of which this country seems to live on more than on anything else.

I don’t know any other country I’ve been to that is as obsessed with the future and fixated on the new, the innovation as this one. Get up. Move on. Don’t look back. There’s a bright future ahead. Yes we can. These are the kind of phrases that are thrown at you constantly. To be fair, so far I’ve been to only about 20 out of over 190 (sovereign) countries and some memories are kind of blurred, for this or that reason. But the longer I am here the more I realize how much architecture charged with history and things that are or at least seem long-lasting and meaningful matter to me, and how much the U.S. lacks them. Leipzig’s cobblestone pavement. Riding a bike on it is a pain in the ass (literally) but it looks gorgeous. Actual parquet. A metallic bathtub. Gründerzeit houses.

These things gives confidence and reduce fear, fear of the unknown, and especially the uncertain. These cities I live in and agglomerates I drive through in this country are not only new but are built precipitantly and lovelessly. The result is an occasional sense of despair, a feeling of being lost in a place that utterly lacks meaning and consistency. The fact that all of this matter to me is quite telling, I’m more German than I want to be and admit. But maintaining, preserving and caring for structures, institutions or the environment, in short the tangible things that are at hand, is something we, and I, find pleasure. It’s not a coincidence that we (not me particularly) have elected a chancellor three times in a row whose conduct was always more characterized by maintaining the status quo instead of governing and who faces the strongest opposition in her political career after switching to actually bold policies. The flipside is that we are, and I am particularly, occasionally afraid of uncertainty, progress and new things, and therefore clutch at the past, (perceived) present and try to (sometimes desperately) find meaning. One can say that this is what leads to German cravenness, but it has something soothing to it, and yes, something slumberous as well.