Antifascism: “That was in the time before the Internet”

When I recently took part in an anti-fascist demonstration with my wife that was directed against hatred of Israel and anti-Semitism, something struck me: All of us, about 600 people trotting through the streets, had gotten older. Significantly older. And I don’t just mean the gray hair.

My wife turned to me after a while and informed me: “Just so you know. If I am arrested and the police drag me out of the demonstration, I will be forced to say to the officers: ‘My husband will have to be arrested too! He can remember the number of the investigative committee longer than I can. I always forget them very quickly.'” She laughed mischievously, but with this remark she had made an unmistakable statement about the average age of the demonstrators, even if unintentionally: There were people here who actually still knew about the Holocaust from their parents or grandparents or learned it from books, not from film snippets on Tiktok accompanied by bum music, from a bored look at Wikipedia or – as is common among young people these days – not at all.

You’re happy if you can manage the long walk halfway without having to take a long break at the bratwurst stand, and if you still appear somewhat alive to those standing around you.

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Or better said: People who had knowledge of history demonstrated here. Older people just. But they were not forgetful in at least one point. People who will no longer be there in 20, maybe 30 years, when Generation Z determines the fate of this part of the world. A friend of mine, a teacher at a high school, recently told me with a sad expression on her face that today it can be considered a great educational success if high school graduates can somewhat distinguish the 15th century from the 1950s or – an apparently even greater challenge – the German one National Socialism from the GDR (“That was in the time before the Internet”).

But I digressed. Bear with me. At my biblical age (56), it’s not always easy for me to concentrate. Let’s get back to the topic: All sorts of problems that come with the aging process were also evident at the demonstration in question. Difficulty walking quickly, bodies that appear hunched over, shrunken or emaciated, weak bladders. If you let your eyes wander, the whole meeting was more reminiscent of participants in a coffee drive than of the autonomous Antifa as I remembered it. Except that no electric blankets were being sold here today.

In any case, I couldn’t help but think of the old days, when people at demos would periodically jump up and down happily for a short time, then start running in a group and then abruptly stop again, which at the time was apparently not just a tactic to confuse “the cops”, but also also a simple method to strengthen the feeling of community and to encourage yourself and your own collective. Now the rotten bones can no longer handle it. You’re happy if you can manage the long walk halfway without having to take a long breather at the bratwurst stand, and if you still seem somewhat alive to those standing around you with your wrinkled face and your sugar-free energy drink in your hand.

What has also changed: Of course you know the essentials about the police, you know their unchanged function as an armed protection and auxiliary force for the repressive state, their role in maintaining the capitalist system and their natural hostility towards everything left-wing. “The guy in the uniform is a pig. That’s not a human being.« (Ulrike Meinhof)

But now, while walking in this demonstration, you were suddenly grateful that she was there and, bizarrely, protected a protest march that was explicitly left-wing and anti-fascist from attacks by confused, aggressive small groups who, ignoring reality, also called themselves “left-wing”. The grotesque spectacle must have seemed even more absurd to one or two cops: for years it had been drummed into him that “Antifa” were militant left-wing extremists who wanted to destroy our beautiful country and introduce communism tomorrow, and now he was deported to guard a protest march of these scoundrels and murderers! “O tempora, o mores!” as Dr. Durand, my good old Latin teacher, would say, she was still alive.

I’m not sure if, for the sake of a better future, the left-wing demonstrators shouldn’t slowly get younger again.

In any case, one thing is certain: After the demonstration, we didn’t go to the autonomous pub or the public kitchen. Instead, we had a pot of coffee and cake (bee sting) at home. Just like in the near future in the retirement home. By the way, the number of the investigative committee has been 030/69 22222 for years.