Welcome to the rabbit's hole. A blog on pulp.
Yesterday I went to some event where our mayor presented what he decided to do for the next few years. And he called it: Generationenvertrag.
It’s a word so originally German that one simply can’t translate it in common English. It’s something like kindergarden or rucksack. It has to be imported. Please import it, in the US, in the UK to Australia, India, South Africa, wherever. It’s the holy grail of modern German politics. It means as much as: “contract between generations” and describes the ‘German dream’. No more conflicts between the young and the old. No second 1968. No RAF. No new ideas. No further demands of the young, no critique of the old.
But that wasn’t his point. He went a little bit away from that topic and instead stated, that he’d like to work us, the audience with him at the great master-plan how to rescue our city from financial collapse and exodus of the young. Which was quite funny because about five sixth of the audience where over thirty. The little difference between him and us was that he would earn money and we would get a guaranteed place in heaven. But no financial reward.
Which pretty sure leads to the conclusion that this city once again has the brand-new idea to leave all social problems to the people and deal with the big ideas. Like building a new ultra modern train station. A new skyscraper, dildo of the city. A science center (this ain’t even translated). A new airport.
He wasn’t even trying to understand that you can’t expect honorary work to run a city government. You can’t simply replace ordinary jobs with honorary posts and say to the people: sorry but we can’t afford it any more so help yourself. A city isn’t a do-it-yourself-workshop. You can”t just go around and explain that the school can’t afford teachers anymore and the parents should teach their and thirty other children if they want them educated. Even if they would accept this idea: they are just amateurs. Nothing against honorary work. But I won’t let my children taught by some fucked up guy without something to do. If I had children [grin.] I mean, there are professionals out there. I know it. You just have to pay them decently.
Oh. By the way, the most charming sentence of Mr Mayor was:
To thank someone is the most effective way to beg him doing it.