Loving Europe

1.

I love Europe. Much more than I love the EU. But what does that mean? It is like saying one loves their partner more than the institution of marriage, or loving God more than the Church. One is the platonic idea, the other a practical form. ?So the point is moot. If you love Europe, you live with the EU.

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2.

I love the EU the way I love the Habsburg Empire. I particularly think of the Double Monarchy period of 1867-1914 there. A beautiful kitschy dream with its heart in the right place. ?An ambitious attempt at coming together beyond language and nation. An admirable but failed attempt at creating equal rights and equal footing. A place where nobody was satisfied, and everybody felt badly treated in some way or other. A lot of superficial shiny stuff, burdened by bureaucracy.

But also a safe haven, a free market and – for a while at least – a place of peace.? Look at the mess we got in the region after it fell apart.

I prefer mediocrity over tragedy. This EU is better than no EU. ??

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3.

I love the EU the way I love my family. You do not chose your family, they are there. Including the aunt with the hairs on her chin tickling you with her kiss. That is family.

When Britain left, it felt like a breach in the family. My favorite crazy uncle left. He sometimes smelled funny, but I loved his jokes. Brexit was personal. Family birthday parties weren’t the same anymore. There is a hole where no hole should be. ?

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4.

I love Europe the way I love the country I live in.

Germany is like a management summary of Europe. Historically, geographically, culturally and – not to be forgotten- culinarily. Germany starts at the bottom of Scandinavia and ends in Southern Europe. Its northwestern parts are clearly Western Europe, smelling of the North Sea. Its south-east is already embedded in Central Europe. If you travel through the country, you will see and taste changes in cakes and dishes. Regions and borders shaped by bread rolls, sausages and noodles.

Germany is the beating heart of Europe. For twelve years in the 20th century, it was its heart of darkness. Our darkness.

Germany’s scars and treasures are European scars and treasures. I think of Nena, Novalis, Nietzsche and the NSDAP. It is impossible to talk about Germany and not talk about Europe. It is impossible to talk about Europe and ignore Germany. Nobody wants heart problems.

I love Germany’s treasures and I live with its scars. They are mine too. I share its history and its future. Drunk rich kids singing racist rhymes on Sylt are mine too. ?No escape. Treasures can be spent and scars can be multiplied. ??If Germany goes wrong, Europe goes wrong.

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5.

I remember the first time I was confronted with an outside look at Europe. It was 1988. I was a Dutch student of 20 spending a couple of weeks in Hungary. I needed time off.

My host was a pastor, the first Hungarian vegetarian I met, which meant he basicaly lived on Coke and cigarettes. His father was a general in the People’s Army and had broken off all contact when his son converted.

The hospitality I received was beyond belief. I liked him very much. We talked a lot about theology, politics and history and we basically disagreed about everything. But we had a great time. ?

I found a booklet in the house, written by an Iranian theologian. At the time the Iranian revolution still was young. It described the decadence of the West. I had never looked at ourselves this way before. It also explained the Holocaust as a European event. Something the Europeans had done to the Jews.

That was a jolt. Not the Germans. The Europeans.

And I knew it was true. And I was one of them.

6.

I remember a summer vacation on Cura?ao fifteen years ago. I remember looking at the castle in Willemstad where my ancestors kept the slaves coming in from Africa. ??

I cannot stop thinking of all the things that Europe has brought to the world. Good things. Horrible things.

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7.

My personal European moment was in Istria at the Croatian-Slovenian border in the summer of 2003, almost a year before the nine Central European countries joined the EU. ?I was ready to hand our passports (three Hungarian and two Dutch) to the border control officer, but he said: ‘We are all Europeans now.’ And he motioned that we could enter. ?

We drove on and we saw Venice. Its canals glistering in the summer sun.

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8.

I feel connected to places I have not even visited. Cork and Novi Sad. Edinburgh and Constan?a. ?Palermo and Odessa. Kiel and Kraków. Every name yields pictures and textures in my head. Whiffs and smells. They belong to the story that I belong to.

I hope to live to visit Belgrade and spend time in its cafes and bookshops. I hope to see the EU banner flying there too one day.

I love to be a European and to feel home in all these places.

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9.

Europe is a riddle that categorically refuses to be solved. The question is not answered, even though the answer is obvious: from a global perspective, we are very much the same – perhaps most of all in our strong and irrational desire to be very different from each other. Polishing our perceived mutual incompatibilities. ?Slovakians and Hungarians being worlds apart instead of almost the same. How we love our grudges. They make us feel alive.

One day we will acknowledge that. One day our deeply felt differences will be folkloristic and the basis for many a good-natured joke. Like people in Germany joke about Bavarians. Like Bavarians joke about the rest of Germany. Like people in Frankfurt joke about Offenbach. (I do not know what Offenbach people joke about.)

I love Europe. My love for Europe is deep – and tired. I hope to live to see that little riddle solved. We are wasting so much time.

I love Europe.? Despite all.

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