Tolerance Only Helps the Ruthless
By Henryk Broder

Page Three of Three

"Am I crazy, or is it the others?"

Yes, you've heard right: I said tolerance. Tolerance was the imperative of a time when Lessing put his Nathan into a world that was hierarchical. Some were on top, the others were at the bottom, and there was little in between. But in horizontally organized societies that don't have a top or bottom, but merely a broad spectrum of homogenized offers one can choose from; in such horizontally organized societies, the imperative of tolerance does not benefit the weak, but the ruthless. It is they who are brandishing the cudgel of tolerance and demanding rights they are refusing others.

We are being called upon daily to show understanding for all kinds of fundamentalism and fanaticism and to practice tolerance, to make advances without expecting returns. A German Nobel Prize laureate has suggested rededicating a church as a mosque, as a gesture of good will towards Muslims. So far, we are waiting in vain for a Muslim intellectual's proposal to rededicate a mosque as a church; for that kind of suggestion, uttered in public, could cost him his life. Just as one Afghan Muslim's conversion to Christianity almost cost him his. He only evaded the death penalty when he was declared clinically insane, after politicians like Angela Merkel and Kofi Annan had taken up his case. "Tolerance" is written on the screen behind which convenience, laziness and cowardice are hiding. Tolerance is the inexpensive alternative to walking tall; the latter is something that is preached, but not practiced.

Whoever wants to defend the values of the enlightenment today has to be intolerant, has to draw the line, and has to insist that it not be crossed. He must not glorify "honor killings" and other trifles by citing the perpetrators' "cultural background;" he must not demote the virtue-tinged terror of religious fanatics, who would hang a sixteen-year old girl for impure moral conduct, to the private business of another judiciary culture that one is to respect, because by now it is considered improper to point out the fact that not all cultures are equal and equivalent.

Whoever dedicates himself to selective intolerance will also be careful not to walk into the traps of equidistance and relativism. These days, you can score points at any Tupperware party by declaring that George Bush and Osama Bin Laden are cut from the same cloth, that the number of people killed in terrorist attacks is far lower than that of people killed in car accidents, and that the Christian crusaders shed far more blood in the past than Islamic terrorists do today. This is one way to sneak away from reality, but reality can never be escaped. I would not be surprised if, one of these days, a cannibal self-help group were to demand its recognition as an alternative to the vegetarian lifestyle, seeing as both are rather one-sided.

Recently, a Berlin administrative court ruled in favor of a political group which had called for an anti-war demonstration. Berlin's Chief of Police had banned the organizers from carrying flags and other symbols of Hezbollah during the demonstration. The protesters felt that their civil rights were being violated and appealed to the court. The court ruled that Hezbollah was to be considered a party to an armed conflict in which it was legitimate to support either side. Thus, soon the children and grandchildren of yesterday's murderers of Jews will soon be demonstrating for a just "final solution" to the Middle East conflict under the flag of tomorrow's murderers of Jews.

Which brings me back to the mother of all questions: am I crazy, because I consider this absurd and obscene, or is it the others, who find no fault with it? Is it me who has perception issues, or is it the President of the Frankfurt District Court who sued me for libel when I dared to point out that Germany's judges are "the heirs of Freisler, Inc."? Apparently I have overlooked something. The Bundesbahn is the lawful successor of the Reichsbahn, the Bundeswehr is the lawful successor of the Reichswehr and Wehrmacht; the entire Republic carries the heavy weight of the Third Reich on its shoulders. The federal judiciary alone had its cradle in a Salvation Army soup kitchen, where else.

I am well aware of the absurdity of the moment. I am being awarded a prize named after a Jew who suffered at the hands of Germany. In general, suffering at the hands of Germany seems to be a very Jewish virtue: from Börne and Heine via Jakob Wassermann to Wolf Biermann and Marcel Reich-Ranicki. I would like to refuse being a part of this tradition. If I absolutely have to suffer, it should not be at the hands of Germany, but at the hands of my own imperfection. I know what role I am playing: the Jewish side show clown who is allowed to perform his little tricks in a big arena. I will not deny that I am enjoying myself and that I like doing it; my clowneries are proof of how liberal a society has become that even appreciates my crossing the line as long as it is being entertained.

I have accommodated myself in a niche from which I am sometimes trying to escape: to Iceland, to California, far away from German megalomania, Jewish sniveling and multicultural misunderstandings. But then I am still drawn back to the arena of the vanities, to those other side show clowns pointing their fingers at each other and accusing each other of profiting from repressive tolerance.

We will not be able to clarify the question today of whether it is me or the others who is mad; it has to remain unanswered for now. I only know that I am not the only one posing this question to himself. Someone to whom I owe a great deal and from whom I've both learned and plagiarized many things has posed it to himself time and again: storyteller and cabaret artist Hanns Dieter Hüsch, the black sheep from the Lower Rhine. Hüsch was, without claiming this distinction for himself, a philosopher, or as you would say in Yiddish: a Mensch. He has spoken about the "solidarity of solitary idiots," and written many wonderful texts - among them one which has been rumbling around my head ever since I first heard it. Allow me to read you this text as a salute to a master craftsman of language:

Ich sing für die Verrückten
Die seitlich Umgeknickten
Die eines Tags nach vorne fallen
Und unbemerkt von allen
An ihrem Tisch in Küchen sitzen
Und keiner Weltanschauung nützen
Die tagelang durch Städte streifen
Und die Geschichte nicht begreifen

Die sich vom Kirchturm stürzen
Die Welt noch mit Gelächter würzen
Und für den Tod beizeiten
Sich selbst die Glocken läuten
Die mit den Zügen sich beeilen
Um nirgendwo zu lang zu weilen
Die jeden Abschied aus der Nähe kennen
Weil sie das Leben Abschied nennen
Die auf den Schiffen sich verdingen
Und mit den Kindern Lieder singen
Die suchen und die niemals finden
Und nachts vom Erdboden verschwinden

Die Wärter stehen schon bereit mit Jacken
Um werkgerecht die Irrenden zu packen
Die freundlich auf den Dächern springen
Für diese Leute will ich singen
Die in den großen Wüsten sterben

Den Schädel längst schon voller Scherben
Der Sand verwischt bald alle Spuren
Das Nichts läuft schon auf vollen Touren
Die sich durchs rohe Dickicht schieben
Vom Wahnsinn wund und krank gerieben
Die durch den Urwald aller Seelen blicken
Den ganzen Schwindel auf dem Rücken

Ich sing für die Verrückten
Die seitlich Umgeknickten
Die eines Tags nach vorne fallen
Und unbemerkt von allen
Sich aus der Schöpfung schleichen
Weil Trost und Kraft nicht reichen
Und einfach die Geschichte überspringen
Für diese Leute will ich singen.*

Hanns Dieter, I thank you. And I thank all of you for listening to me.

*Translation:
I sing for the insane
The sideways bent
Those who one day fall over
And unnoticed by all
Sit at their table in kitchens
Of no use to any world view
Roaming the cities for days
Uncomprehending of history

Those who throw themselves from steeples
Still seasoning the world with laughter
And for death ahead of time
Toll the bells themselves
Those hurrying in trains
So as not to linger for too long
Those who know every farewell first hand
For they call life farewell
Those making a living on ships
And singing songs with children
Those searching and never finding
And those vanishing into nothingness at night

The guards are ready with their jackets
To professionally grab the errant ones
Who amicably bop around the roofs
For those I want to sing
Who die in the great deserts

The head has long been full of broken fragments
The sand will soon wipe out all traces
The nothingness is at full speed already
Propelling it through the coarse thicket
Made sore and ill by insanity
Those who look through the primeval forest of all souls
All this deception on their backs

I sing for the insane
The sideways bent
Those who one day fall over
And unnoticed by all
Sneak away from the creation
For comfort and strength do not suffice
And just like that they skip history
For these people I will sing.

Henryk Broder is one of Germany's best known journalists and commentators. A former AICGS Fellow, Broder has been a reporter for Der Spiegel and Der Spiegel Online since 1995.

This speech originally appeared in German in the June 25, 2007, edition of Der Spiegel Online and is available by clicking here. It also appeared in the July 6, 2007, AICGS Advisor, and was translated into English by Anke Irgang.