WE WHITE NIGGERS

I have received the following communication from Nick Weaver, Head of Pensions Services, Hampshire Pension Fund, administered by the Hampshire County Council, concerning my pension from Portsmouth City Council, for whom I acted between 1975 and 1979 as City Arts Administrator and, latterly, also as Director of the Portsmouth Festival. The amount currently paid is £72.75 per calendar month.

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“In the June 2010 budget, the Government said future increases in public-sector pensions {to cover inflation PZ} would be linked to changes in the Consumer Prices Index. (CPI) Previously such pensions were linked to increases in the Retail Prices Index. (RPI)” Thus costs linked to housing, “mortgage interest, council tax, buildings insurance, ground rent etc.” will no longer be considered. Furthermore, figures will be “calculated differently even for the same basket of goods”, which sounds fishy to me.

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The Government has thus resorted to basing its figures on only a part of the facts, conveniently leaving out other, equally relevant, facts, to its own advantage and financial benefit, a thoroughly dishonest ploy.

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“Most commentators expect the CPI to be between 0.5% and 0.8% lower that PRI, over the long term.”

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So I’ll get that bit less. In the future I wont be getting the same increase in the piffling pension as I am getting now. You can imagine some civil servant, cant you, poring over a vast array of figures, the cost of little apples, computer-aided, to save the government a few more pennies, to try and balance its bankrupt books.

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How mean can you get...

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And it’s a good example to demonstrate how the poor will get poorer, and the great divide will get wider. Disraeli wrote a novel, SYBIL, which I have never read. But its subtitle is TWO NATIONS. The powerful, privileged, rich at the top of the spectrum and the impotent, undeserving poor at the bottom. Those all-round ‘cuts’ of Her Majesty’s Government will exacerbate the great divide. And the Government’s threats to the public to knuckle down, to cooperate, to find work (where?) or else! i e lose the state’s financial support, will leave more children poor, and more children growing up in disharmony. Even more bulging prisons will have to be built to house the ever-growing delinquent and rebellious population. That’s what comes of lovelessness and cliquiness at the top and filtering down, of festering ambition and of egotism, and of paranoia, with just a dash of sheer stupidity thrown in. The British public are treated by those in power, by those who make the decisions, like white niggers of empire. Disposable. As Julian Assange, yes, he of Wikileaks, said in an interview over Skype with TIME Magazine, December 13, 2010: “The dead hand of feudalism still rests on every British shoulder;”And he goes on: “we plan to remove it.” Oh, would he could!!!

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Yes, and how many of those ‘white niggers’ have been sent to die, have been made to kill, in unnecessary, illegal, and entirely unjustifiable, wars? How many young men and young women have not come home alive, or have come home maimed? No wonder there is apparent need for those huge war memorials on the island at London’s Hyde Park Corner, to commemorate all the myriad dead of yesterday. And of today. And of the future. But do these monstrous high jagged, and these wide-stretched curved, rusty steel and stone memorials express bereavement and regret? Do they not, rather, seem to celebrate, nay to glorify, the killing, and the being killed, thus uniting the nation in celebration of its noble uniqueness vis-a-vis an alien, threatening world?

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A plea. Isn’t it about time for this country to start spending its money on its own people, on their individual needs, on the infrastructure for their social existence, rather than spending it on maintaining the supposedly high military standing this country has been enjoying world-wide, and which its politicians are enjoying at the top of the top table, on this, alas, permanently warring earth? The slogans of the marchers alliterate: ”Welfare, not War!” “Medicines, not Munitions!” “Arts, not Arms!”

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I have received the following communication from Nick Weaver, Head of Pensions Services, Hampshire Pension Fund, administered by the Hampshire County Council, concerning my pension from Portsmouth City Council...

My Amazon review of W G Sebald’s Luftkrieg und Literatur

Exposure of the tainted authors of the Third Reich

In exquisite and clear, if complex, language - I read him in the original German - Sebald explains how the work of authors who went through the purgatory of the Third Reich was contaminated, rotten in the centre, and full of excuses and self-justification. They wrote novels showing how they SHOULD have behaved, a cover-up. He cites in particular Alfred Andersch, who was married to a Jewish woman, by whom he had a daughter. He sacrificed both by divorcing her, so that she lost the protection of an 'aryan' husband, and was subject to the terrible treatment the Nazis meted out to the Jews. After the war he used the fact that he had been married to a Jewish woman to gain favour with those in power. He was a shit. Obviously, his novels handled the material of his life to show him to advantage. Sebald also suggests that the Germans never faced, admitted, worked through, healed themselves of, the terrible trauma of their suffering from the bombing and conflagrations of their main cities. I knew from my friends the Dabelsteins in Hamburg, as we drove through the ruins of the city in 1946, where they didnt know which street they were in, as the rows of rubble were all the same, utterly unidentifiable, that the firebombs produced such huge areas in flames, that people were sucked into them.

TWO LETTERS TO TWO OLD FRIENDS

Dear .....

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I just wrote this to a friend of mine, as I noticed that he, at the end of his 50's, had a quite shockingly bent back, his posture having further deteriorated since I saw him a little while ago. As you mentioned that you were having trouble with parts of your body, I believe the two lowest parts, I wondered whether it might be relevant to mention to you my view on handling an older body! Sorry you haven’t got a printer, as it is so much nicer to read from paper than from screen, hint, hint... Here goes:

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"You know that I am into exercises and posture, and have this theory - based on regular evidence - that people as they grow older superimpose on the natural process of the ageing of their bodies another dimension, that of ACTING OLD, of giving an old performance, as if they were looking at their watches and saying, aha, it is 50, or 60 or 70 years o' clock, or whatever it is, and taking the decision to adopt a radically different life style, pattern, a pattern NOT in accordance with the state of their bodies, but with the IDEA of how ancient they are, what numeral they had reached. They varyingly hold themselves bent double; they move their bodies in slow motion; they stop cooking and catering; they stop entertaining; they stop travelling. I thought I'd jot these thoughts down, have never formalised them before, but was reminded of this evidence because of your posture, which I dont think is due to this cause, but to some other cause or causes unknown to me. Some tall people typically hold themselves bent out of courtesy to us smaller fry. I think you, actually, lose about an inch and a half in height the way you hold yourself. And it must cramp the lungs. And the weight of the head - the heaviest article we possess - is not ON TOP OF THE SPINE, but IN FRONT OF IT, which is not good for the spine. As I say, I dont know the cause. It could be lack of self-value. It could be exhaustion. It could be worry. It could be fear. It could be boredom. It could be despair. I have no idea what the cause is.

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So to the remedy. I have this morning, as is my habit, had my hot bath, and before it, and during it, done my exercises, which all took well over 3/4 of an hour. I know, because that's the setting of my microwave for my porridge, and it had stopped cooking by the time I came down. I have of course assembled a huge range of exercises from my acting and teaching days, improvisation and relaxation classes, Yoga and Alexander technique classes, physiotherapy sessions, osteopathy, from my doctor, and of my own invention. I deal with the whole body, and especially with any parts that need attention that day because they ached or were stiff. And I straighten my back whenever I see somebody with a particularly good posture; and I straighten my back when I see somebody with a particularly BAD posture. I am going on and on like this because I think it very important. And will now stop!"

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And you see, I am wondering, whether you are seeking enough advice, getting enough treatment; whether you could not be doing more to extend your range of action. I was surprised again when you mentioned that it was a 'podiatrist' on whose sole advice you were relying. I'd have thought he wouldnt be nearly high-powered enough to act as sole contributor to your health. I am of course completely in the dark as to the detail of your condition, and should really shut up, but I just have the feeling that one can always do more, rather than give up and be satisfied with the performance that one is achieving. I was utterly dissatisfied with the University College Hospital's nowadays utterly feeble and superficial physiotherapy and hydrotherapy, and thus landed with osteopathy. I fee that, together with my own work on my body, and the senior students' work manipulating its various parts, I have a very good combination for achieving optimum performance... And I should really go swimming once a week!

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Oh, and one other thought: We ought to try and avoid going peculiar...

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Love

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Peter

MEANNESS AT ST MARTIN'S, TRAFALGAR SQUARE

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To whom it may concern
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It was only yesterday that I happened to pass St Martin's, had time, and took the lift to look at the new crypt. Beautiful. Wonderful spaces, lovely architecture, a shaft of sunlight coming down through the lightshaft, wondrous. I only then discovered that there were TWO FLOORS BELOW GROUND, with a lovely meeting room, seen through windows, below. I looked for the lift to go down, and couldnt find one, saw only a wheelchair lift. AND IT SLOWLY DAWNED ON ME THAT THAT LIFT I HAD COME DOWN ON SERVED ONLY THE UPPER LEVEL OF THE NEW DEVELOPMENT, DIDNT GO DOWN TO THE LOWER FLOOR, WHICH THE PUBLIC WOULD ALSO BE USING, AND I WAS ABSOLUTELY SHATTERED AT THE UNBELIEVABLE MEANNNESS, TO HAVE ECONOMIZED ON THIS IMPORTANT DETAIL: IT TOOK MY BREATH AWAY
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I think it is shameful to turn in such a faulted job, to spoil the (exquisite) ship for a ha'pworth of tar. No doubt some high moral principle will be cited, but I regard it as simply shoddy.
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Peter Zander

DEFINITION OF MY IDENTITY

Howard Spier 30 September 2010

Executive Editor

AJR Journal

Association of Jewish Refugees

Jubilee House, Merrion Avenue

Stanmore

Middlesex HA7 4RL

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Dear Howard

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DEFINITION OF MY IDENTITY

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I spent a little time on my New Pocket Oxford Dictionary, wondering how to accurately define myself.

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Started with 'exile: 'the state of being barred from one's native country.' Well, I didnt start barred, was taken by my parents in 1933 from Berlin to Welwyn Garden City, and I suppose I sort of 'became and stayed' exiled sometime between then and the end of the war, when I again ceased to be an exile, or at least remained a voluntary one.

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'Banished'? with the 'ed' sounded a la Shakespeare: '1) make (someone) leave a place, especially as an official punishment. 2) get rid of; drive away.' Again, fits only partially because we went voluntarily.

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'Emigrant: a person who emigrates. emigrate: leave one's own country in order to settle permanently in another.' That fits. Though the thought at one point occurred to my mother to return to her beloved Berlin.

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'Immigrant: a person who comes to live permanently in a foreign country.' That's me.

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'Refugee: a person who has been forced to leave their country because of a war or because they are being persecuted for their beliefs.' Well, if fits roughly. I wasnt exactly forced, so early on in the dictatorship, but it was hinted. And it wasnt exactly because of my beliefs, but rather because of my origins.

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Holocaust survivor. 'holocaust: destruction or slaughter on a massive scale.' That applies. 'The Holocaust: the mass murder of Jews under the German Nazi regime in World War II.' 'survivor: a person who has survived.' That applies. I have survived the holocaust. My father, my mother, and I, escaped before it got really nasty. Perhaps I am an escapee, an escaper, both in the dictionary. All honour to concentration camp survivors. I know one such. Rosy. A remarkable lady who lives in Paris. She is special.

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Yours

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Peter

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To explain. Two eternal themes run through the articles and letter pages of the AJR Journal: Is one, after 77 years, still a refugee? I maintain that one is, that I am: once a refugee, always a refugee. That's how one came to this country. That's the door through which one entered. That defines one. The Journal, on the other hand, now always prefixes the term refugee with an 'ex': In its aim at its version of political correctness it refers only and always to 'ex-refugees', as if one can discard the reason and process by which one arrived at Liverpool Street station on 5 October 1933, and can become indigenous, like landed gentry, a, to my mind, completely false logic.

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The other theme is the apparent need to grade refugees into those who suffered, and survived, concentration camp, and only these are allowed to call themselves Holocaust survivors; and those who didn’t, and aren’t allowed to call themselves Holocaust survivors. I find this unappetising. Comparisons are odorous! How can I compare my coming over to England as a child, with my mother, my father already being here to reconnoitre the new country, our leaving Germany long before the real insults, degradation, persecution, torture and killing had got started, with the unimaginable suffering of Rosy??? Impossible. And etymologically irrelevant.

Marshall Street Leisure Centre, Hurrah!

The Editor

West End Extra

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Dear Sir
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The Marshall Streeet Leisure Centre
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Heard from a neighbour that the Marshall Street baths, now the Marshall Street Leisure Centre, were open again. It's taken the Westminster City Council 10 years to achieve that! Hurrah! Went with my Freedom Pass and telephone bill with my Soho address on it to join. Rounded the corner of Broadwick Street, saw the big blue poster erected on the ground just beyond the entrance to the Baths. Took no notice of it, as it had a large arrrow on it pointing to the other side of the road. Tried the two old front entrance doors of the baths, the first was locked, the second opened, but appeared to be an office, and I was told that the entrance was now where the poster was. I thought architects were supposed to show one clearly where the hole was for one to enter a building. I went through this narrow door into a small vestibule, to learn that my Freedom Pass gave me free access to the baths. Excellent. But what a pity that the old Foyer is used as an office, and that all the swimmers and all the health fiends have to use this narrow side entrance to this tiny vestibule. Commercial meannness meets bureaucratic stupidity. First impressions bad.
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Yours sincerely
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Peter Zander

Obermayer German Jewish History Awards

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PETER ZANDER

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14 August 2010

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Obermayer German Jewish History Awards

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The Obermayer German Jewish History Award is given annually to individuals who have made outstanding voluntary contributions toward preserving and recording the Jewish history, heritage, culture and/or remnants of local German communities. I am one of three Berliners who have been requested by Frau Gudrun Blankenburg, Stadtfuehrerin, Berlin Tourist Guide, to nominate, for this year’s award, the 800 pupils, the senior classes of the Loecknitz-Grundschule, a primary school in Berlin Schoeneberg, who have, over a period of 7 years, built a memorial wall to commemorate the Jewish neighbours killed by the Nazis.

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11 August 2010

Obermayer Foundation
239 Chestnut Street
West Newton, MA 02465-2931
obermayer@alum.mit.edu

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Obermayer German Jewish History Awards

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NOMINEE:

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Die Schülerinnen und Schüler aller 6. Klassen der Löcknitz-Grundschule in Berlin Tempelhof-Schöneberg, die seit 1994 ununterbrochen ein einmaliges und eindringliches Denk-Mal für die ermordeten jüdischen Menschen gesetzt haben, die früher Nachbarn der Schule waren und von der Nazi-Diktatur ermordet worden sind.

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Löcknitz-Grundschule

Berchtesgadener Str. 10-11

10779 Berlin Schöneberg

T.: 030-90277-7164

F.: 030-90277-4315

loecknitz-grundschule@t-online.de

www.loecknitz-grundschule.de

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NOMINATOR:

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Peter Zander

22 Romilly Street

London W1D 5AG

United Kingdom

Telephone + 44 (0) 20 7437 4767

U K Mobile + 44 (0) 79 20 12 55 09

peterzan.berlin@virgin.net

http://peterzan.blogspot.com

SUMMARY OF NOMINEES’ ACTIVITIES

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Seit 1994 bauen die Schülerinnen und Schüler der jeweiligen 6. Klasse der Löcknitz-Grundschule in Berlin Tempelhof-Schöneberg, jedes Jahr an einem Denk-Mal, einer Gedenk-Mauer aus gelben Backsteinen. Jeder Backstein ist einem von der Nazi-Diktatur ermordeten jüdischen Menschen der Nachbarschaft gewidmet, und traegt ihren oder seinen Namen, sowie ihr oder sein Geburtsdatum, und auch das Todesdatum und den Ort des Todes, Auschwitz, Riga, Theresienstadt usw. Es sind derer schon 800...

800 Steine. 800 Schueler.

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Vielleicht hatte der juedische Mensch in der selben Wohnung wie die Schuelerin oder der Schueler gewohnt; vielleicht hatte er den gleichen Geburtstag wie der Schueler; vielleicht waren es die Eltern eines Schuelers der Schule die umgebracht wurden... So kundschaften die Schueler aus, was in ihrem Haus, was in ihrem Kietz, was in Berlin, was in Deutschland, was in Europa, zu der Zeit Grausames und Graessliches passiert ist, und setzen ein Erinnerungszeichen denen, die ausgesetzt, gepeinigt, getoetet wurden. Sie verfolgen das Schicksal einer Person, zeichnen deren Namen und Details schwarz auf einen Backstein. Dieser Backstein wird praepariert, sodas die Schrift nicht verwischt, und wird zu einer Pyramide aufgestapelt, bis alle Backsteine des Jahres in die Mauer eingemauert werden. Die viele Meter lange Mauer, vielleicht 1 ½ Meter hoch, steht auf dem Schulhof, wo Schueler, Lehrer, Eltern, Besucher, Touristen, Interessentengruppen, Nachfahren der Eltern, der Grosseltern, die umgekommen sind, sie sehen koennen; ein Fragezeichen, eine Metapher, ein Einfluss zum Verstaendnis zwischen den Menschen, ein Lehrmittel, eine Warnung, ein ‘Grab-Stein’ fuer diejenigen, die kein Grab haben, ein ‘Denk-Mal’. Und auch eine Erinnerung an die schoenen Zeiten, in der die juedischen Buerger wesentliche Deutsche Mitbuerger waren, Berliner waren. Die Schule steht auf dem Grundstueck einer Synagogue, was das Projekt untermalt.

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MEIN ERLEBNIS DES PROJEKTS

Ich bin als elf-jaehriger mit meinen Eltern 1933 aus Berlin nach England emigriert. Ich war 1934 Weihnachten mit meiner Mutter auf Besuch wieder in Berlin. 1946-48 war ich wieder in Deutschland, im Britischen Roten Kreuz, als Wohlfahrtsoffizier des Save the Children Fund, die Britische Kinderhilfe, und jede 3 Monate war ich in Berlin, wo mein geliebter Grossonkel Otto Loewi mit seiner arischen Frau Lotte die schlimme Zeit - man gerade - ueberlebt hatte. Danach war ich unregelmaessig immer mal wieder in Berlin. Seit 1985, das heisst in den letzten 25 Jahren, bin ich regelmaessig jedes Weihnachten, und oft auch im Sommer, 2-3 Wochen in Berlin.

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Auch diesen Sommer war ich in Berlin, und wurde von Frau Gudrun Blankenburg, Stadtfuehrerin, eingeladen, zur Loeknitzschule mitzukommen. Ich hatte keine Ahnung was auf mich zukommt. Frau Blankenburg hatte einen Schluessel zum Schulhof, und liess uns drei rein – wir waren mit einem gemeinsamen Freund Hartmut Schulz da. Einige Kinder spielten auf dem Hof. Ich sah diese lange gelbe Mauer; ich sah die einzelnen Schwarz beschriebenen Backsteine, mit den Namen der Toten und ihren Daten und Schicksalen, in verschiedenen kindlichen Handschriften, manche in Suetterlin. Ich war baff, und in Traenen. Hartmut fotografierte die Mauer. Wir gingen die Mauer entlang; ich sah die Pyramide der losen Backsteine, die darauf warteten, in die Mauer miteingebaut zu werden. Was fuer ein fantastisches Projekt! Zur Vergangenheitsbewaeltigung allerseits. Auch meiner. Denn warum komme ich denn immer wieder nach Berlin... Und zur Verstaendigung der verschiedenen Voelker, Rassen, Kulturen. Ein Gedenkwerk in Stein, dass die ermordeten juedischen, deutschen, berliner, Mitbuerger nicht vergessen werden, als Mitbuerger anerkannt werden; dass das Verbrechen, das an ihnen begangen worden ist, als solches gennannt werde. Nie wieder...

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Peter Zander

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DU DARFST NICHT MEHR LEBEN

Der erste Schritt der Ausgrenzung der Juden...

Du darfst nicht mehr Klubmitglied sein.

Du darfst nicht mehr in Deinem Stammlokal Kaffee trinken.

Du darfst nicht mehr auf der Bank im Park sitzen.

Du darfst nicht mehr ins Theater, ins Konzert, ins Kino, in die Ausstellung.

Du darfst nicht mehr die oeffentlichen Verkehrsmittel benutzen.

Du darfst kein Geschaeft mehr leiten.

Du darfst nicht mehr unsereinen heiraten

Oder ficken.

Du darfst nicht mehr leben.

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Das Gedicht ergab sich aus meiner Geschichte von Adolf Hain und dem Verein Seglerhaus am Wannsee , VSaW. 18 3 9

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YOU ARE NO LONGER PERMITTED TO LIVE

The first step in the exclusion of the Jews…

You are no longer permitted to be a member of the club.

You are no longer permitted to have coffee in your regular café.

You are no longer permitted to sit on the bench in the park.

You are no longer permitted to go to the theatre, to concert, cinema or exhibition.

You are no longer permitted to use public transport facilities.

You are no longer permitted to run a business.

You are no longer permitted to marry any of us,

Or to fuck any of us.

You are no longer permitted to live.

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The poem arose out of my story of Adolf Hain and the Sailing Club on the Wannsee, VSaW.

19 3 9

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C 2009 Peter Zander