“Not at all. It’s just clear observation. Today it’s obvious for every critical mind in the Western world that Neo-Liberalism in conjunction with Neo-Capitalism was conceived in the States as early as the 1960s, but it all remained political theory at first. It took such ruthless politicians as Reagan and Thatcher to implement those theories in the 1980. One of the measures that were implemented was wide-spread privatization of public services. Competition was the watchword of the day. Many believed that competition was the key to the general improvement of many goods and services. The entire process was accelerated and helped by the technological development which made Globalization possible. For the first two decades or so, the world merely applauded the macro-economic benefits of the new system.”
“Wasn’t that a good thing?”
“In a way, yes, mainly for investment bankers and multi-national syndicates. But it also led to general greed and a disregard of social responsibilities. Investors and their bankers lost all shame and blindly followed the most primitive impulse of greed, making ever and ever higher profits. So that, by the turn of the century, many ordinary middle-class individuals began to believe that the el-dorado of investment banking was there for everyone, just for the taking. Thousands of middle-aged people in the UK who had managed to put away a modest nest egg for their retirement were led to believe that they could just go on the computer and start their own private investment banking in order to increase their savings.”
“Yes, and didn’t many of them make a good profit?”
“Some very few did. But someone had to pay the bill. Most of them had lost enormous sums by about 2006. Many even lost their entire savings and their pensions. However, their disillusionment came too late, because the investment bankers themselves had also lost their former confidence. After 2008, everyone, that is governments, bankers and the general public, believed that the illusionists behind the whole shambles must have learnt their lessons from the recent crash. But we were all wrong. To this day, the morbid greed of most investment bankers and of the multi-national syndicates has remained as strong and as criminal as ever. They haven’t learnt a single lesson.”
“Okay, but what has that got to do with what we’ve been discussing? I mean the rise of new nationalism and the increasing success of populist leaders.”
“During the past twenty years or so, the middle-classes in European societies have been eroded, dried out. A few middle-class people managed to participate in the general economic success, but many more failed and dropped down to lower-class living standards, thanks to the immoral greed of those champions of Neo-Liberalism and Neo-Capitalism. This led to a loss of confidence in the established politicians because they couldn’t stop the terrible development either. The situation was such that the politicians were seen by the general public as ‘those up there’ who only filled their own pockets and couldn’t do anything for the ordinary people. Fewer and fewer citizens even took part in elections and referendums because they thought it was all for nothing. If the national governments suffered such a loss of confidence, matters became even worse for the EU. And in stepped the populists! They attacked the established political systems and the elected politicians of their countries and of the EU administration in Brussels, not with well-founded arguments but with cheap slogans, telling the frustrated people that they had the simple solutions to their problems. They completely ignored the complexity of many of today’s problems and the tedious reality of political processes in a democracy, promising radical and simple solutions. They acted like the rat-catcher of Hamelin. Frustrated people began to follow them in thousands in France, in Germany, in Hungary, in Poland and in this country. UKIP is hardly better than the French Front national or the German Alternative für Deutschland. They all belong to the same cast.”
“So where does it lead?”
“In the worst case, we’ll see a dangerous increase of right-wing populism in many European countries. Sooner or later, such populist leaders will blame all the problems on the democratically elected governments, and political discourse will get rougher, like in the Weimar Republic in the 1920s. Eventually, they will be successful as the proverbial rat-catchers that they are. People will say: ‘At last someone calls a spade a spade. At last a politician who listens to us and takes our fears seriously.’ And all those self-styled pseudo-saviours will play with the people’s fears. They will lie to the people that they can solve all the problems and heal the fears that they first instilled in them.”
“Could that lead to civil war?”
“Possibly. One thing it will produce is national isolation. Those populist leaders will disregard EU regulations more and more. They will re-introduce border-controls and they will make racism an accepted attitude. Lies will become generally acceptable.”
“And you’re saying that you can see such developments in many countries?”
“Yes, as I said, certainly in France, Germany, Hungary, Poland and the Netherlands. The only country that may be spared such developments is probably Switzerland because it is the most democratic country in the world. But all the others have representative democracies in which the people have no direct influence on single political decisions. Perhaps the Scandinavian countries will also be spared because they have better social systems and generally more coherent societies.”
“What about this country?”
“I don’t know where we’re going. There are a few dangerously populist signs. Take the example of Steve, an old friend of mine. He’s a plumber, and he used to be our neighbour when I was a small boy, so we became friends and have remained friends ever since. He’s retired now, but every time we have a chat he goes on about all those foreigners coming into our country, how they are taking away our jobs, how they are getting too much money from our social system, and then how Britain has to pay all those enormous sums, week after week, to Brussels. These are all populist lies, slogans spread by individuals who want to gain power by the means I’ve just been explaining. Everyone who cares to check will find out that we profit a lot more from the EU than what we have to contribute. As I pointed out before, I’m not saying the EU is perfect. Far from it! But the populist lies being spread about our membership in the EU are enormous. More and more people are beginning to believe them - particularly older people who still dream of Britain’s alleged greatness in the times of the Empire, or people who lost their jobs through technological innovation or as a consequence of Globalization.”
“What if we’re going to leave the EU?”
“I wouldn’t object to that, even though our economy would have to go through hard times after such an exit. But what I would object to, and most emphatically, is an exit from the EU based on such populist lies. If we’re ever going to leave the EU - even if such a step is possible - we’ll have to do it on the basis of facts, not as followers of populist liars. That would be a crime committed by the frustrated older half of our people, and our younger generations would be the victims. Blind nationalism in this country is most widely spread among the elderly, and they would be robbing the younger generations of their opportunities in the world.”
During this long discussion, which really amounted to a lecture from David, the two friends had reached Holywell and were now strolling back towards the town centre and the Pier. They decided to sit down in one of those relatively new open-air cafés along the seafront. They got their coffees and were silent for a while, merely enjoying the view of the English Channel and the mild weather.
Twenty-Four
It was not very difficult for Andrew to find out the whereabouts of Manfred Kleinschmidt in Vancouver. Unfortunately, he could only find out his postal address, not his email. But this was far better than nothing. On Google there was nothing about the man, so he hadn’t distinguished himself in any way.
Andrew decided to write an old-fashioned letter. But before he could start he had to get himself into the mood.
; He sat at his piano and began to play a Chopin waltz. While he was playing, his mind drifted off and he found himself playing mechanically, without really being in the music. So, he gave up.
He sat at his computer and opened the “Word” programme.
“Dear Manfred,” he began, but then changed his mind. Should he write “Dear Mr Kleinschmidt” or “Dear Uncle Manfred”? He decided to leave the greeting until the end. Once the whole letter was composed it would be easier to find the right wording for the address. He could still insert it then. That was the advantage of writing with the computer.
First, he introduced himself as Manfred Weidmann’s grandson. He explained what he thought was necessary to understand the whole context, such as his grandfather’s change of name after the War, his move to Switzerland, to the States, to England. He told the story of his mother’s meeting with his grandfather’s young love, Anna, in Gera. He mentioned Wolfgang Löffel without giving any more details. Naturally, he didn’t mention what Löffel had done to Anna. But he told Manfred junior how Manfred senior had always loved Anna and still loved her today, despite his dementia. Andrew felt the man in Vancouver ought to know about this great love.
In the end, he added the relevant data of his family, such as everyone’s names and dates of birth, his grandmother’s early death and his mother’s keen interest in family history, which was why they would like to get in touch with a man they believed to be her half-brother.
He made sure the letter was kept in a friendly tone, not too presumptuous and not too business-like. In the end, he decided to put “Hello Manfred” at the beginning. Rereading his letter, Andrew was quite satisfied with himself.
After he had posted the letter, he went to see his mother. He told her about the letter, which she was very grateful for.
“However,” she added, “I think it’s a bit daunting. I mean, I might find out if he’s really my half-brother.”
“The alternative would mean that Löffel has a son in Canada,” Andrew said.
“Indeed.”
“Which would you prefer? Would it make you happy to know you’ve got a half-brother? Would you want to travel to Canada to see him?”
“I don’t really know. That’s why I’ve been putting it off for all those years. I tried to forget the question. But to tell you the truth, when I allowed you to read my diary, I half expected you to ask it again. I’ve been thinking. Why don’t we wait and see what the man’s response to your letter will be?”
* * *
David and Marie-Claire were giving a party. Of course, Andrew and Rebecca were among their guests, but there were a lot of people, many of whom Andrew had never met before. There were old friends from both the host’s and the hostess’s side, there were academic colleagues of David’s and there was a happy mixture of other people who were connected with them in one way or another. Quite a big party, in fact.
“What’s the occasion?” Andrew had asked when he got the invitation.
“You’ll see,” had been David’s answer.
The party took place in the function room upstairs from the Bibendum Bistro. There was a small jazz band. They had obviously been instructed to play soft background music, not too loud, at least for the first half hour or so. When the party was in full swing, everybody’s glasses filled, and people had been introduced to each other for the greater part, David and Marie-Claire positioned themselves next to the band, which aroused everybody’s attention by playing a flourish.
“Dear friends,” David began his speech, holding hands with Marie-Claire. “We all love parties, don’t we? But many of you may have wondered if there could be an occasion for this party.”
There were loud cheers and people shouted, “Yeah!”
David then told their guests that he and Marie-Claire had decided to get engaged, and they intended to get married soon. Andrew was surprised. He asked Rebecca what she thought of it. She just laughed.
“Oh, you stupid intellectuals,” she teased.
“What do you mean?”
“You go on and on about things that nobody cares about, and you can’t see what’s in front of your nose. Marie-Claire has got him at last. He has always been full of excuses. All that prevarication.”
“I am surprised, I must say. Dave never mentioned anything. I know he loves her, but he’s often spoken about the heavy responsibility of marriage.”
“Bullshit, they love each other, and they obviously have fantastic sex. So why not get married?”
Andrew hesitated. “Well, for one thing, one has to be quite certain about mutual compatibility, about common aims in life and such things.”
“Oh, you intellectuals!” she shouted and walked away.
Andrew drifted among the guests, dropping a friendly greeting here and there, taking in the few familiar faces and registering the unfamiliar ones. From the distance, he could detect Rebecca as she was talking to a tall young man with very fair hair. She was drinking from a champagne glass, obviously involved in a very vivid discussion, while the tall man merely nodded his head.
“A penny for your thoughts,” a voice on his right said. He turned his head and faced a very charming woman whose skin was a very appealing light brown colour and whose hair was black and curly. She was wearing a lot of jangling jewellery. He noted her deep black eyes and glossy red lips.
“Oh, I’m just skimming the crowd, nothing in particular. What about you?”
“I’m a journalist looking for material,” she smiled and handed him a business card. He looked at it but failed to register her name.
“Are you looking for material here? This is only a private engagement party, and the couple concerned are hardly VIPs.”
“I was having a drink at the bar downstairs when I realized there was a party upstairs, so I left the others downstairs to come up here. You could call me a gate-crasher, you see. I’m just curious. Who’s the guy getting engaged and who’s the lucky girl? Do you know them?”
“Yes, they are friends. But tell me, what do you write about? Society gossip in small towns?”
“I’m interested in small-town life, yes. And this is such a sleepy and boring town that my curiosity is aroused. There must be a lot of intrigues going on behind the bland façade. Do you live here?”
Andrew said yes, but when the woman went on asking him questions he held back. Why should he tell her everything? While he was fending off some of her curious enquiries he was becoming aware of her flirting attitude. So, this was her game! She made charming eyes at a man in order to get out of him what she was looking for. A dangerous person, indeed! Andrew decided to enjoy her charms and sexy smiles without giving anything away. Like this, they kept talking for quite some time while the party was going on, people were growing louder, and general merriment prevailed.
It was about an hour later - Andrew had been talking to several different people - when he found himself face to face with the young journalist again. She had told him she was originally from Jamaica but lived in Brixton. She moved her body in a very alluring way, put her arms about his neck and kissed him quickly. Then she moved off, looking over her shoulder, obviously attracting him to follow her.
At that moment, he was hurled around from behind and his face was slapped by a strong blow from a flat hand. He stumbled and found himself lying on the floor.
Andrew hardly realized what was going on when Rebecca had already disappeared among the surprised bystanders. It must have been her. She had hit him. She must have seen him with the Jamaican woman and thought he was flirting with her.
David helped him up, his face full of concern. “Come on, old chap,” he breathed his usual phrase of encouragement. But then he asked what had happened. Andrew couldn’t tell him the whole truth because he wasn’t sure if it had really been Rebecca and if her motive had been what he first thought.
“I
think it was Rebecca. I think she hit me,” he explained.
David took him to where the drinks counter was and gave him a full glass of champagne. The little incident - violent as it had been - was soon forgotten, and people went on with their celebrations, their small-talks, their excessive drinking and shouting, and their general merriment.
When, several hours later, most of the guests had left, the band had packed up their stuff and the waiters were beginning to clear up, there were only David, Marie-Claire, Andrew and three other people left. They were sitting in a circle of easy-chairs, sipping from their glasses, but mostly too tired to leave.
“Why do you think Rebecca did that?” David asked his friend.
“I don’t know. But I think it could be jealousy. Jealousy of two types, I might add.”
“You mean she thought you were having a fling with another woman?”
“That’s one type. There was that Jamaican journalist who was nailing me with questions about possible scandals in Eastbourne. She was very sexy and got a bit too fresh with me, I have to admit. Rebecca must have seen her giving me a kiss.”
“And what’s the other type of jealousy?” David wanted to know.
“It’s her general intellectual jealousy. Of late, she has told me off several times for using too many big words, for being an arrogant intellectual, for having lost touch with normal people. That sort of thing, you know.”
“Yes, I’ve seen that myself.”
“You must have, particularly when she’d had too much to drink. The other day she even called me a bloody German. I told her I wasn’t a German, it was only Granddad who was. And only yesterday she yelled at me, telling me off for criticizing current politics. ‘How dare you criticize our government, you bloody foreigner!’ she shouted at me. I told her again that I was as English as she was, but she wouldn’t listen.”
“Oh dear!” David said. Marie-Claire joined them. She had heard the last bit, so she wondered what Rebecca must have thought of her, who was a real foreigner.
White Lies Page 37
