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(SAU/IDN) Riyadh, Saudi Arabia’s capital, is fascinating for visitors for a short time, but after a while, during a longer working stay, one misses the uncomplicated and free lifestyle of the West very much. No alcohol, no cinemas, no bars, the local women veiled beyond recognition and the mutabas, the religious guards, always on the lookout for sinners who go against the local customs. After a few months, you come to terms with the situation, and after a little longer, you get used to it and in a way you have arrived in this society. Then you can live better in Riyadh than in many other big western cities. Lonely and unhappy in Riyadh That’s how it was for me and that’s how it was for my German colleague Walter (name changed by the narrator). We lived in Riyadh for seven years. For the first four years we even worked for the same company. Then we parted ways. I was not sad about it, because Walter was a difficult personality. He worked around the clock and seemed quite friendly at first sight. However, he could also be quite arrogant and would often resort to any shabby intrigue to use opportunities to his advantage. His Balinese wife Sindi (name changed by the narrator) only lasted with him in Riyadh for a little less than a year. Then she preferred to return to Bali, where she lived in the house they shared. Walter had a hard time coping with the long-distance relationship. Especially in the evenings, he was on edge. He worked even harder, drugged himself with drinks and withdrew more and more from his circle of friends. Something was tormenting him, maybe a depression or some vague anxiety. We couldn’t get through to him. Only when he spent his annual holiday in Bali with his wife would he liven up and the obvious pressure of suffering seemed to leave him. We always noticed him a bit more relaxed when he returned. So it surprised me when I was passed on an e-mail from a friend with whom he was still in contact, which Walter had sent during his holiday in Bali and which seemed a bit strange to all of us, especially against the tragic background, which I will report on at the end. Walter’s strange email: Escaped from the jaws of death On the night of 30 November to 1 December at around 04:30, my wife and I only narrowly jumped off the cliff of friend Hein. Only a chain of truly miraculous circumstances saved our lives. And that is how it happened: We had a German friend in the house who was supposed to leave on Sunday. Around midnight we went to a small farewell party at “Lips”. Sindi at the wheel of the Toyota Corolla. Because it was finally raining steadily after days of sultriness, President John kept the “Lips” open a little longer so as not to have to let the guests out into the torrential rain, as there were no taxis to be seen far and wide. When the rain thinned out around 4 a.m., Sindi and I headed home, thinking that the new, slightly longer bypass to our house would be safer. Which was confirmed at first. The only disadvantage of this decision was that neither of us knew the area and its topological features. And so it happened. Somewhere in Kerborakan, which is a little north of Kuta in the direction of Denpasar, the water partially reached the bottom. Suddenly, there was a Toyota Kijang in front of us in the middle of the road: lights on. However, its wheels were already up to the rubber coating in the water. Because the Kijang was not moving, I said to Sindi: “Man, the cart has been abandoned, make sure we pass by on the other side of the road”. This new road in front of us was higher and quite visible in the darkness of the night. What we didn’t know, however, was that here the road crosses a small branch of the larger Kerborakan River. Obviously, this relatively small overpass had already been washed away or breached. As we passed the Kijang, our Toyota suddenly started to float and immediately a powerful current across accelerated us faster and faster towards the river. It was clear to me in a flash: the current always looks for the shortest way to the sea, so out, out, out of the cart. Sindi screamed desperately, but my calm voice calmed her down enough to keep control of the Toyota and not to stall the engine. That was the prerequisite for opening the automatic windows at a favourable moment and flooding the car for the exit. And so the current carried us about 25 m down the river, until the Toyota first hit a house wall with the rear end, and then touched down on something in the water. Later it turned out that it was a motorbike under water. Now the water on the outside was already up to the height of the windscreen, and the front part with us and the heavy engine sank relatively slowly, with the rear end floating up. From the scraping noises coming from the chassis, I realised that any moment now the entanglement on the ground would loosen. So, as calmly as I could, I said to Sindi: “It is time to leave the car now! Open your window”. Thank God the engine was still running and the window opened. Sindi was on the side downstream. I guessed that was the only place we had a chance to open the door. On my side it would have been impossible against the pressure of the current. The water shot inside, over Sindi’s lap. I climbed over the back of my seat to open the window and possibly grab the ledge about a metre above us. But the back window wouldn’t open; the motor had stopped working. By now the water in the car was up to our waists. The Toyota began to tip over onto Sindi’s side. I pushed Sindi’s door open with both feet and slowly let myself be pulled out by the water suction, feet first, above Sindi. And now something extremely miraculous happened. A whirlpool had formed behind the Toyota on Sindi’s side. From the side of the wall, it slowly sucked in a metal rack. A rack like the ones the small shops use to store bottles of moped petrol. This metal frame gave my feet some support for a few seconds, until it was caught by the current and swept away from under my feet. However, those seconds were enough to free one hand, grab Sindi by the scruff of the neck and pull her headfirst into the water. I had to let go of the Toyota and we were already hurtling downstream. In the process, I lost my grip on Sindi’s neck and then on her sleeve. So we shot downstream at breakneck speed. I really don’t know how far. And again something miraculous happened: Suddenly I saw bushes in front of me on the left side. My first thought was to immediately try to scramble in that direction to maybe grab a branch. And after a few failed attempts, I succeeded. Then, after drifting frantically downstream like a spider monkey, hanging on a relatively thin branch, my backside with my water-heavy jeans down, gasping for some oxygen, I was overcome by real panic for the first time: “Where is your wife? My God, now she’s drowning!” My thoughts raced: just let go, then it’s over, then you don’t have to experience this pain too! And then something wonderful happened again: somewhere above me, upstream, I heard Sindi’s voice in the dark: “Walter, Walter, Where are you? I am alive, don’t worry!” My God! That gave me the new energy. I have to describe my position in the rushing current: So I clung with both hands to the relatively thin branch, which cut rhythmically under the water due to my weight and chased the surge of water, which was more oil than water because of the moped filling stations, over my head. So I only ever had tiny windows of time to catch my breath. And it dawned on me: you can’t keep this up for long. And again a miracle: indistinct voices from the side of the bush. Sindi kept shouting, “Tolong sini, Tolong sini (help here, help here)”. And I yelled – whenever my breath allowed it:” Tolong, ada orang dua (Help, there are two of us)”. The time became interminable because in the darkness and with my head mostly under the spray, I saw nothing and heard nothing. My ears were constantly exposed to the pulsating water and hurt like hell. All I could think was: save your strength, don’t let go! And then I felt it, more than I heard it: crack, crack…! The small branch began to splinter at the fork. My thought: You have to pull yourself towards the branch fork against the current. You have to reach the mother branch. Otherwise it’s over. I really don’t know where I got the last bit of strength to do that. The new position was even more unpleasant, though, because this thicker branch caused an even bigger gush, so that my head cut more under water than before. I had had to swallow a lot of oily water, but thank God nothing was in my windpipe yet, so I didn’t have a coughing fit. Eternities passed until I suddenly heard a voice next to me: “Misterrr, perempuan sudah ada (We already have the woman)”. My brain signalled: hold on now, now more than ever. For the first time, I felt warm blood in my body again and my heart began to race with happiness. What I was to find out later: Sindi had been driven a little deeper into the bushes about 30 metres behind me and was able to hold on there. At this point, the rescuers were able to hand her a bamboo pole from the relatively firm hold, as there was one of the many temples, and pull her out by it. I, however, had been driven – probably by my greater weight – further downstream and relatively far away from built-up areas. And here again a miracle: Where did the rescuers organise such a long plastic part under these conditions? (As I was to see later, their own huts were about 1.50 m deep in the water and almost everything they owned had been destroyed). In any case, two of the Balinese on this rope let themselves be carried by the current near me at the risk of their lives and now pulled themselves from branch to branch into my reach. And then the moment came: I saw two outstretched arms of two people and now simply had to find a moment to let go. To find a hold on these brown Balinese arms. – It succeeded. – The men called out to me with gasps at the top of their whistling lungs, “Sindi masih hidup! Sindi is alive.” The rest was backbreaking work, but now without fear of death. One by one, the rescuers pulled the three of us against the current on the rope to the temple. The Toyota was not sighted until the next day, half a kilometre further downstream. Salvage is not to be thought of until the rains subside and the river returns to its normal width of a few meters. However, today, Sunday, December 2, 2001, at 5:00 p.m. Balinese time, it is still raining now and then. Finally, dear reader, some reflections. Everyone who knows me knows that I am neither inclined to superstition nor exceptionally religious. Can anyone explain to me how just in this situation only life-saving conditions were on our side? To name only the most important ones: 1. who gave my Indonesian wife Sindi the inspiration to visit the Kuta Gym every day for four weeks before my visit and do fitness training? This gave her the strength to withstand this inferno. 2) Why did the alcohol not taste good to me at all that night in the “Lips”, so that I only more or less reluctantly sucked down a few “Bintangs” and spurned the offered “Jack Daniel’s”? So I was relatively sober and still strong enough to save my body even at almost 60 years of age. 3) Why was there something on the bottom that kept our Toyota stuck to the ground for about 1-2 minutes and prevented it from drifting? This is exactly what allowed us to get out 4) Why did the Toyota engine run for exactly the time it took to operate the electric windows? 5) Why did the vehicle lie across the current in such a way that on Sindi’s side there was no pressure, but on the contrary the suction of a whirlpool that facilitated the opening of her driver’s door – if not made it possible in the first place? 6) Where did the metal frame suddenly come from that gave my feet support for a few seconds while I was getting out of the car to pull Sindi out? 7. why were there so many bushes, trees and bamboo growing there of all places? 8. why were there so many helpful people around at this very spot at about 04:30 in the morning? 9. where did the 20-metre-long rope for the rescue operation come from? Such a thing is an unaffordable possession for poor people! Questions upon questions. I don’t even try to look for answers. My attitude to life and to God changed decisively that night. Walter Bertram (name changed by the narrator), Just escaped from the jaws of death Denpasar, 2 December, 2001 at 7:11 pm Balinese time. A mysterious end When I received this email, Walter was already dead. He had died two or three days after sending what was probably his last message. What exactly had happened, I do not know. According to the scant information that filtered through to me from Bali, he had suddenly fallen seriously ill. Maybe he had swallowed too much harmful or even poisonous stuff in the river. After all, he had written himself that the water was contaminated with oil, probably also with petrol, because of the flooded petrol station. The rumour spread that his wife had desperately tried to raise $10,000 USD for treatment at a clinic, which she apparently had not succeeded in doing. Others told that since he obviously could not be treated in Bali, his wife had tried in vain to have him flown out to Germany. The fact is that Walter’s life still could not be saved after this great rescue from the river. He stayed in Bali with his new attitude to life, whatever that may have been. Aftermath – shock and reflection Walter’s sudden death came as a shock to all of us in Riyadh. We puzzled over the cause of death, Walter’s sudden belief in a higher power, the kind of change he must have envisioned, the irony of dying of a mysterious illness after this great rescue – and we finally went about business as usual – without Walter. I didn’t miss Walter, but I still think of his last email telling his story, unaware that life no longer held a future for him. Alongside this enigmatic narrative, I am also moved by the thought of how it would have felt to have walked part of the way together, not as adversaries, but as friends. (NS) Note from the editors At first, it was not easy for us to assign this story to a category. Actually, it is a classic experience, as life often has in store. On the other hand, this story also gives an insight into an unusual life path that ends abruptly. Walter’s life crisis, as described by the narrator, had actually been heading for a climax or turning point for some time. Where did his constant restlessness come from? His life as a workaholic with drinks to compensate? He seemed to be compensating for something. Was it Riyadh? The foreign country? The foreign culture? But then what was Bali for him as a German? A new home? Familiarity and security? But he was also cut off from that for most of his life. Did he feel his uprootedness and hardly see a chance to put down roots again? When, after surviving the fear of death in the floods of the river, he realised that he and his wife had been incredibly lucky, he could not leave it at that. A higher power must have arranged all this for their good fortune. What for? A second chance! A new life! A U-turn! The way out of the crisis, whatever it was, was suddenly recognisable to him. He obviously felt confidence and joy in life again, as well as the need to open up to friends and share his insights with them. This seems almost biblical. What is really tragic is that there was no time left for him. In any case, this story has reminded us that life has many different rational and irrational “pushes” in store that can or even should move us forward. This can be a mental or physical illness, an encounter, an arduous learning process or even a happy or terrible experience. Even the relatively uninvolved narrator has not let go of this story for 20 years. Perhaps other readers would also like to tell about strange, puzzling or “terribly happy” experiences that have led to a turning point in their lives. It would be interesting to read about them. Our blog is at your disposal. (LL/TA)

Family hierarchy DE: One day in summer, when I was still a kindergarten child, I decided not to announce my early return from kindergarten by ringing the front doorbell, but to surprise my mother. I climbed over the garden fence behind the house and crept across the terrace. I wanted to knock on the dining room window, where I suspected my mother was ironing, and grin triumphantly when she looked up from her work and wondered why I was home already. But my view through the window revealed a very different scenario. My mother was sitting alone at the table, crying. Concerned, I quietly retreated, went to the front door and rang the bell as usual. I was a little apprehensive, expecting a tearful mother. But far from it! The door was opened by my smiling mother, who was her normal self. There was no trace of tears or sadness, anger or despair. ,I was shocked because I felt deceived. But instinctively, I also knew that it would have been unwelcome to bring up the secret observation. Obviously, she was hiding something from me. Why? I couldn’t understand, and it hurt. But today, of course, I also ask myself why I reacted so shocked and so shy at the same time. Little children like to comfort if you let them. Was it because I was the youngest in the family? Was it because they didn’t trust me and wanted to protect me? Would my big sister or my two big brothers have reacted differently? I don’t know, because even between the four of us children there were issues that were never addressed, especially about our parents. One of four On the other hand, we stuck together like peas in a pod and formed a small combative front when it came to pushing through wishes and lifting bans. We never betrayed one another, not even when it came to wicked pranks. I am the youngest of four siblings (two brothers and one sister). I can’t say whether it was good or bad to grow up with siblings because I didn’t know it any other way. Classmates who grew up as only children often envied me. Sometimes I was tired of my siblings and would have liked to lend them out by the hour just to see how it was to live as an only child because it wasn’t always easy being one of four. One of the disadvantages of having siblings was that we always had to divide everything by four. There was often not much left, especially since the amount to be divided was not too large in the first place. As an accountant, my father had a regular but not lavish income, and as a housewife, my mother did her best to provide for the large family with little money. In such a situation, sharing was fine art, that we children were also taught. This is not to say that each of us didn’t have dreams of a land of milk and honey that we didn’t have to share. I still can remember buying a bar of chocolate from my first salary as a bank clerk when I was 15. For the first time, I didn’t have to share – and I ate it all by myself. That was a treat! But, my goodness, was I sick afterwards! It was obviously too much of a good thing as I wasn’t used to eating such large quantities of chocolate all on my own. The joys and sorrows of being the baby of the family My siblings say that I’m the spoiled little one. Okay, in some ways that can be true. My older siblings had already had many “battles of freedom” with my parents, paving the way for me. How old do you have to be to be allowed to go out with friends until 8 pm or 10 pm and then until midnight? These are questions of tremendous importance for young people. By the time it was my turn, these questions had already been sorted. My parents didn’t want to have the same discussions again. They were already tired and used to such arguments, so they reacted more calmly. But of course, times had changed in the meantime. In 1969, when I was at the peak of my puberty, there was a different wind blowing through society. I wanted my freedom and the spirit of the times supported me far more than it had done for my older siblings. On the other hand, as the youngest, it was difficult to discover my abilities and find my own way. The fact that, as the youngest, I always had to wear the discarded clothes and shoes of my siblings was something I could get over in retrospect. But the fact that you were always the fool because the older ones walked faster, read and wrote better, and knew much more generally was discouraging. They had an experience. At the same time, they were given responsibilities, such as looking after me, much to their dismay. I could never catch up or compensate on that level. Three intelligent and academically successful siblings can be quite intimidating, and I somehow also felt that my parents had run out of ideas when it came to my education. I kind of ran along with it. The little one really big But I had my moments. Once, when I was on my way home from the parish library with my brother, who was two years older than me, a few of his classmates got in our way. The atmosphere was hostile because my brother, at the top of the class, was exposed to the resentment of his less successful classmates. Obviously, they wanted to teach him a lesson by force, literally. My eight-year-old brother was paralysed holding his six-year-old sister’s hand. He was in shock and unable to defend himself or me. I, on the other hand, was totally upset by this unspeakable meanness towards my dear brother, and with clenched fists, I stood in front of him and shouted at the attackers to clear off immediately, or else….. The surprised guys were so flustered by that little girl that they looked at each other indecisively, finally shrugged their shoulders and trudged off without having achieved anything. My goodness, I was relieved, because actually, I was just as surprised about my action as was my brother. We went home quietly and never spoke about it again. In retrospect, my dislike of injustice and unfairness was probably already evident at this early age, as well as the strength and presence I could develop in the fight against it. As my later career path showed, this was to become my destiny. I have rarely raised my fists in all these years, but I have found other viable and more promising ways to make law and justice prevail. Girls and boys are never equal, are they? The unequal treatment of girls and boys within society and also within our family was an injustice, but back then, I did not perceive it that way for a long time. My sister and I never questioned the unequal treatment. My two brothers were the intelligent ones in the family. They were sent to a grammar school, the same humanistic episcopal boys’ seminary where my father had been. At that time, girls were generally considered not so intelligent. Only my sister’s primary school teacher recognised that she was very clever and recommended to my father that she be sent to a grammar school. She was at the top of her class. However, a neighbour, a grammar school teacher and therefore a professional authority, unsettled my father by arguing that girls didn’t need a higher school leaving certificate because they would marry soon anyway. As a result, my father took my sister out of grammar school after three years and put her into an apprenticeship with a tax consultant. My sister did as she was told and swallowed the bitter pill. But I often think that she never forgave my father. I wasn’t sent to grammar school but instead was sent to a convent school for girls to get my intermediate school-leaving certificate. There we received a good general education and were raised to become good wives, mothers and housewives who could support their husbands in every way. Our ambition was spurred on by the declaration that behind every great man was a great woman. What a perspective! My mother had never been to a higher school, and she was at peace with that. She consoled us, girls, in a somewhat questionable way by always emphasising that even if the boys were the intelligent ones, we girls were practical-minded instead. Because of this attitude and because we girls had to be prepared for household management, our household tasks were much heavier than those of our brothers. This bothered me, and I argued that the sporadic and seasonal duties of my brothers could not be compared to the everlasting chores of us girls. After all, shovelling snow or fetching coal from the cellar only occurred in winter. We girls, on the other hand, had our jobs to do all year round. Our chores were: cleaning the bathroom and toilet on a weekly basis, helping daily with the cooking, washing up and drying dishes, taking out the rubbish bins, dusting etc. My sister and I sweetened the cleaning hours by singing loudly together. But I was most annoyed when I had to clean everyone’s shoes on Saturday afternoons. Luckily that stopped when my brothers went to the seminary. There they learned to shine their own shoes, and when they came home, fortunately, they kept to this custom. However, I have to say, whenever my bicycle had a puncture, there was always one of my brothers around to repair it. I was very pleased about that. Questionable privileges for the boys From the age of 10, my brothers were placed in a boarding school, the Episcopal Boys’ Seminary, to advance their intellectual, but above all spiritual, education to the highest degree. The seminary was only 40 km from our home, but they were only allowed to come home during the holidays. Whether they suffered from not being at home with us I don’t know, but I did miss my brothers very much. Sometimes my mother and I went there by train to visit them. We brought lots of food with us. My mother also regularly sent parcels that provided my brothers with durable food, laundry and other useful things. I was so happy when I could see them. Even when my eldest brother was sent home because he had chickenpox, I fell around his neck in joy, regardless of the risk of infection. I didn’t wish it on him, and I was honestly sorry, but I was still glad when he broke his arm the following year because that led him to stay longer at home with us. The unequal treatment in no way led to dislike and ill will on the part of us sisters towards our much more esteemed brothers. The allocation of rooms in our house, for example, was accepted without reservation. Although my brothers were mostly at boarding school for several years and not at home (except during holidays), they were allowed to keep the large bright and sunny room with a balcony and a view over the city. We girls, on the other hand, shared a small dark room with a window facing the street and the north. Only recently, my brother asked me if we girls weren’t annoyed that we weren’t allowed to use the nice room. No, not at all. That was a fact of life, and we never questioned it. We also never questioned the supposed preferential treatment of our brothers. Today that is incomprehensible to me. But at that time, that was just the way it was. No one was bothered by it – that came much later. I also didn’t think about whether my brothers had to pay too high a price for this preferential treatment – namely boarding school, separation from family and friends, and so on. That was just the way it was. You had to accept what your parents thought was best, even gratefully accepting it, and you made the best of it. Different parent-child relationships Of course, we also competed with each other for our parents’ attention. I think each of us will have a different opinion about that now. Our mother did not let on whether she liked one of her children more than others. For her, her children were all equal. My father, however, had a clear favourite. That was my middle brother, the third in the gang and two years older than me. The reason was that he was born just when things were looking up for my father financially and existentially. After three years of unemployment, he won his case at the labour court and was compensated for his illegal dismissal and he found a better job in another city. The compensation served as the foundation for a house of our own, which we were able to move into and were full of hope. So, for my father, this child represented the beginning of better times after several years of hardship and restrictions. Besides, my father had every reason to be proud of his son’s particularly good school performance. For him, he was simply a lucky charm. My older sister, on the other hand, was stubborn and didn’t put up with everything. She frequently contradicted my father. That took courage. Although he didn’t like it, he seemed to respect her for it. My eldest brother and I were the shy ones who didn’t dare stand up to our authoritarian father. We avoided confrontation if possible and learned to do what we wanted to do without asking. Our strategy was rather to avoid our father having us on his radar. Of course, we would often have preferred to have our father’s approval and attention, but these differences in paternal affection were so ingrained and unquestioned at a young age. However, they did not at all detract from our affection for each other. After all, we knew our father, and that was just the way it was. Yes, I can say that I had hoped for recognition from my father all my life. However, no matter how much I achieved, for example, a doctorate, my father was not impressed. Instead, puzzled, he asked the question, “What is she doing that for?” It was obviously not possible for him to recognise in girls what he found worthy of recognition in boys. My mother, on the other hand, recognised my achievements and supported me where and how she could. She stood behind me at all times, as she did with my brothers and sisters. She was not offensive towards my father. From her, my eldest brother and I may have learnt our strategy of dealing with our authoritarian father by not contradicting him but silently doing what we wanted. Interestingly, my mother’s approval didn’t seem to be as important to me as my father’s. Why was that? Was it because I was so much like her or because my father had never really respected her either? My mother was simply there – as a matter of course, she was always there whenever we needed her. Today, however, I know that she was very important to me. I just wasn’t aware of it at the time. Find your place – find your way! To what extent does the role you play within the family shape you? Science has developed several models for this. But everyone has to recognise their individual experiences and see through the goals and strategies that have developed from them. For me, at any rate, despite my attachment to my siblings, I instinctively felt that I had to separate myself and find my niche to make my way. , My two brothers were recognised as the bright ones. They were encouraged to pass their A-levels and go on to study. My big sister, too, was an excellent student. Also, she showed great talent in handicrafts, which was in line with our mother’s view that we girls were gifted with practical skills. I was neither one nor the other. My grades were supposedly rather mediocre, with my worst grade once being a C grade. Probably the family standards were set very high. But what really made a world of difference was my total lack of talent for needlework. I was a failure at it, much to the displeasure of the needlework teacher, who frowned at my sweaty knitting and praised the glorious skills of my sister, who had been in her needlework class six years earlier. So, where was my place in the family? What was I good at? What was I supposed to do? Somehow, I had to set myself apart from the others and had to do something different. I went ‘wild’. At 16, I bought a Vespa scooter and enjoyed my independence and freedom to go away when and where I wanted. I was out a lot and hung out with friends in pubs. Later, I travelled a lot and as far away as possible. I didn’t want to play the role of a wife and mother that I was meant to play. So I started studying, worked abroad, and wrote my doctoral thesis. Was it all perhaps to prove my independence from the family’s judgement? Whatever the motivation, it still feels right to me even today. Family hierarchy remains long after childhood However, what is fascinating to me is that despite my efforts to be different and no matter how far I progressed in my professional career, as soon as I put the key in the front door and entered my parent’s house, I was little Liese again, the youngest. My brothers and sister likewise fell back into the place they had held throughout childhood. Why is that? Being shaped by the family – empirical A few years ago, I developed a training course for social workers and nurses in leadership roles at my university in London on the topic of ‘Diversity and Identity’. One of the assignments for the course participants was to reflect on how their place within their family had affected their life choices, identity and personal and professional development. To their surprise, most discovered certain patterns of behaviour. The participants’ examples revealed fascinating connections. Those who were the eldest among the siblings talked mainly about responsibility and duties. They had to look after younger siblings, although they would have preferred to play with their friends of the same age. They also took on more household tasks or were consulted by their parents. Some of them thought that this role predestined them to take initiative in adult life, to take on responsibilities and to care for others as well as to take the lead in groups. Some reflected on whether this had been a preparation for the leadership position they now held. Among the youngest, the former babies of the family, some complained that they had not been taken seriously within the family, that the older siblings had had more to say and that parents had mostly let the older siblings in on upcoming problems and perhaps asked for their advice, while the youngest had been considered too inexperienced or too naive. They were kept in the dark, either because they were not expected to make a useful contribution or to protect them. ‘Being protected’ was considered to be ambivalent in its meaning and effect. Many, however, also acknowledged the advantages of being the youngest. One was pampered by parents, grandparents and siblings. One could observe and learn from the experiences that the older siblings had made. Middle siblings said they had been under less pressure of responsibility like the elders, but also had not been able to enjoy special favours like the youngest. The majority of them felt that they had not really been noticed, which had both positive and negative sides. On the one hand, it gave them the freedom to develop without being restricted and without constant control. On the other hand, it also meant that their needs were not taken seriously and they tended to suffer from a lack of support. Those who had grown up as an only child spoke of feelings of loneliness. Not having siblings with whom they could play, argue, bond or talk about problems was felt very negatively. Many experienced a shock at school and later at work or in relationships because they had not learnt to argue or assert themselves. Others suggested that being an only child may have contributed to them being introverted, shy and timid towards others. In contrast, some found that their position as an only child and having the undivided attention of their parents and grandparents had contributed to their self-esteem and confidence, which had been very beneficial in their professional lives. It seems that the attention of adult family members was more important for an only child than it was in families with several children. How does family hierarchy influence professional development? The question now is, how did this influence their professional development? What difficulties did they have to overcome, and to what extent did the family’s influence facilitate the performance of a leadership task? In contrast to the eldest siblings, many of whom assumed that their position in the sibling hierarchy prepared them for their leadership role, this was not so easy to ascertain for the youngest, the middle siblings or even for an only child. A variety of answers and assumptions were expressed and discussed. It would go beyond the scope of this article to comment on them in detail. In summary, however, it can be said that the majority of the participants definitely suspected that their place in the sibling hierarchy played an important role in their professional life. Yet beyond that, the family into which one had been born had also been formative, i.e. what values the family lived by, how they communicated amongst each other and the existence, or non-existence, of a family support network. School and youth groups also seemed to have an influence that should not be underestimated. In my case, I could say that although I have worked in leadership positions, I am not a born charismatic leader who exuded natural authority. I am more task-oriented and work hard to achieve my given goal to earn my leadership position and the trust of my staff. I like to take responsibility, I am an efficient manager, but at the end of the day, I would have appreciated it if there were superiors within an organisation who would additionally approve of my decisions, support me and provide recognition. Whether this has to do with my position as the family baby or with my rather authoritarian father, from whom I wanted recognition all my life, remains to be seen. Probably both. The four years of education in a convent school that aimed to produce good women able to stand behind good men should not be ignored either. Cultural differences – unexpected developments It is a very interesting question of how one’s role within the family hierarchy contributed to an identity formulation and behaviour patterns as an adult. However, biographies are particularly exciting when cultural influences are also involved. The contribution of a course participant will remain in my memory. The wife of the fourth son A social worker from an Indian family introduced herself as the wife of the fourth son of an Indian family. At first, we couldn’t understand this statement, but when asked, she explained that there is a strict hierarchy in Indian families. The first-born son of the family is the most important person after the father, then comes the second son and so on. The lower down the hierarchy, the less influence the sons had. Girls are at the bottom of the hierarchy. Women who marry into an Indian family find themselves in the position of their spouse. The wife of the first son is the main wife, after the father (and mother) and is in a chain of command through her husband. The fourth son hardly plays any role in the family hierarchy and his wife has no say at all. We were quite enraged by this injustice. But our Indian participant emphasised the advantages her position brought. Although tradition and its associated customs and practices applied to the whole family and certain behaviours were expected, the bottom line was that those family members who ranked lower were subject to less scrutiny. After fulfilling her duty to the family and giving the in-laws two grandchildren, she was somewhat free to do what she wanted, whilst the first and second daughters-in-law had to live a life heavily regimented by the in-laws. She, on the other hand, was able to go back to university, where she studied social work. She now works as the head of a municipal social institution in a very responsible position. What was it like for you? The role we have within our families seems to be formative and, in some way, contributes to our identity. It would be interesting to hear more about this from others. As we are all different, we, therefore, also have different experiences and will have experienced our family hierarchy differently. What was it like in your family? What position were you in? In your opinion and experience, did it have any impact on your life at all? And if so, how? (LL)

(De/UK) Radio and Television in the 50s and 60s. When I was a child, in the 50s, we didn’t have a television. We listened to the radio. The radio was on all day long. We loved all kinds of music, be it pop songs, Bavarian folk music, operettas or classical music. We knew most of the song lyrics by heart and sang or hummed along if we didn’t know the words. Music and news, programmes for women, children and the whole family was catered for. For the men, there was sports, especially football. We looked forward to certain programmes and didn’t want to miss them. Radio plays instead of films We also liked to listen to radio plays. On Saturdays, my mother and my three siblings participated in the life of the “Brandl Family” (one of our mother’s favourite programmes), in which mother Walburga Brandl, spoken by the famous actress Liesl Karlstadt, tried to solve everyday problems of a German family in the 1950s. The daughter’s preparation for the housekeeping exam, the son’s school problems, financial decisions and the like provided weekly dramatic twists played out in family events. This weekly series on women’s radio enjoyed great popularity because “Mother Brandl” and her family were confronted with the same everyday problems as the listeners. Besides, Liesl Karlstadt had been a well-known comedienne alongside Karl Valentin. In this, her last role, she changed from comedienne to a good-hearted woman with a cheeky mouth – a humorous identification figure that the listeners could identify with. Her problem-solving strategies were pragmatic and in keeping with the spirit of the times. She was asked for advice in numerous letters by fans. My mother, of course, never did write to her. Our friend the Pumuckl Much more than the Brandl family, we children loved the adventures of Pumuckl (voiced by Hans Clarin), a goblin who got stuck on the glue pot in Master Eder’s workshop and, according to the goblin law, had to show himself to the master carpenter and live with him. In 1962, the radio play series based on the book by Ellis Kraut started on Bavarian Radio. Everyone loved this weird goblin. Why did they love him? He often did what was forbidden. He disobeyed Master Eder. He often played crude jokes and sometimes caused damage. He tricked and demanded. Modesty was not his thing. We children would have been in big trouble if we had shown even a fraction of his character traits. His punishment was mild, his insight reluctant. It certainly did us kids good to hear this little imp defy the lavish rules and prohibitions for children of the 50s and 60s, which demanded good behaviour and obedience. We had a lot of fun with him and admired him. Pumuckl freed us for a short while from the pressure of having to be too conformist and well-behaved. Later generations, the children who watched TV, know the goblin from 1982 onwards as a red-haired, colourfully dressed tiny goblin with a little belly. My image of Pumuckl did not correspond in the least to the computer-generated version of this red-haired Pumuckl from the TV series. I imagined Pumuckl as a little blond boy with short trousers and braces – and interestingly, in black and white. It’s quite amazing that this impish character made such an impression on children over the generations. Excitement for the whole family Once a month on Sunday evenings, the whole family gathered to follow “Kommissar Leitner” on Radio Klagenfurt as he solved cases in the crime quiz ‘Who is the culprit?’ This quiz was structured in such a way that while the crime was being described, small clues were laid that could help attentive listeners to identify the culprit. Listeners could then send their solution to the radio station. The anticipation continued for another two weeks when the solution was finally announced, and the winners amongst the 1000-plus entries received a book prize – a crime novel, of course. And then there were the adventure stories about the Chicago pickpocket Dickie Dick Dickens. I don’t remember what they were about – I was too little – but I do remember that I found the name Dickie Dick Dickens so fascinating that I kept babbling it to myself during the programme – much to the annoyance of my siblings who were listening intently. Thinking back, perhaps those early crime radio plays laid the foundation for my continuing passion for crime fiction. The nice thing about listening to the radio is that you can do something else at the same time. Knitting, handicrafts, building Lego, but also ironing, mending, chopping vegetables or fruit, etc., - all activities in which the mind can wander. First encounter The first time I saw a television set was in 1958. I was 5 years old when my siblings and I went with our parents to our neighbours’ house to watch the consecration of Pope John XXIII on television. We and the six neighbouring children sat on the floor, the adults crowded on chairs in the neighbours’ small kitchen. Their black-and-white TV set was small, and a picture could hardly be seen behind all the ‘snow flurries’, and our neighbour had to constantly turn the aerial to try and get a better picture. However, this did not stop us children from gazing in awe at their TV. So, when the neighbour’s children invited us to stay and watch ‘Fury’ after the consecration of the Pope, we were thrilled. Fury, the loyal but wild black horse; Lassie, the clever Collie dog; and also Flipper, the child-friendly dolphin, had been unknown to us until then. We were delighted and hoped to be invited more often. We would hang around ‘inconspicuously’ near the neighbour’s house just before the broadcasting time, hoping for an invitation, and sometimes we were allowed in. One thing our mother was really concerned about was us being a nuisance to the neighbouring family. Ideally, we would have spent every afternoon there, without giving it a thought that we might be overstaying our welcome. Why should we? After all, we were quiet and well-behaved and would have gone home for dinner! What more could you want!? Finally, a device of our own! Years later, I think it was 1964, my father gave in to our pleas and bought our first television set. It was placed in the dining room, the room where we all spent most of our time, and where we did our homework, read books and played games because it was too cold in our bedrooms, especially in winter. When a film was on in the evening, I often only finished my homework when the film had finished. My parents were often so fascinated by a programme that they completely forgot that their youngest was not yet in bed and was sitting at the table with her notebook and schoolbook spread out in front of her with unfinished homework. Those were the good times. Mostly, however, my mother sent me to bed. What a pity! During an exciting episode of the crime series “77 Sunset Strip”, with Kookie and Efrem Zimbalist Jr., just when it got to the exciting bit, my mother noticed me and mercilessly sent me to bed. Reluctantly, I made my way to bed. But instead of going to bed, I quietly crept back and peeked through a crack in the door from the kitchen to watch what was happening. And suddenly, the killer’s bloodied hand reached out from under the bed and grabbed the unsuspecting young woman by the leg. I screamed out in horror, betraying my hiding place. Only the thrill of the episode kept my mother from giving me a lecture. Television had an enormous effect on my imagination and also on my dreams. Years later, I would first look under the bed to make sure no murderer was hiding underneath before I climbed in. Today I have a bed with drawers underneath for storage, so there would be no room for a murderer. This bed is not only practical but also somehow reassuring. Television programmes help to structure everyday life During the 1960s, television developed into the most important medium of entertainment and information. Television was clearly structured by programmes and broadcasting times and, as a result, also structured the everyday life of the viewers. At that time, television was a shared family experience. Together we watched quiz programmes, films and TV series. However, there was no uncontrolled television consumption. In contrast to today, when television is available around the clock, the television programme in the 60s and 70s was limited. In these days, weekday programmes started around 5 pm and ended between 11 pm and midnight. Before and after those times, there was only a black and white snowy flickering or a graphic test picture. During the weekends, the programmes started earlier and ended later. Television presenters introduced the programmes so that you knew what it was about. On Saturday evenings, after the drawing of the lottery numbers and the Word on Sunday, a late-night film was shown, but this was not intended for children and young people. Something for every taste Children’s and family programmes were shown on Sunday afternoons, such as ‘The Little Rascals’, or series with animals as the title characters, such as ‘Flipper’, ‘Fury’ or ‘Lassie’, adventure films such as ‘Treasure Island’ and children’s films such as Erich Kästner’s ‘Das Doppelte Lottchen’, to name but a few. Late Sunday afternoon, at 5.45 p.m., they showed Bonanza. I could still sing along to the rousing theme song even today. The adventures of Ben Cartwright and his sons, Adam, Hoss and Little Joe, among others, formed our image of the culture of the USA and the rough but honourable and good-hearted men of America. In comparison, German films were rather small-minded and conservative. and Television programmes tried to offer something for every taste and broadcast a mixture of information, reports, shows, feature films and series. After the Tagesschau (daily news), which provided information on the news of the day from 8 p.m. to 8:15 p.m., entertainment programmes started as they continue to do today. Feature films that were shown were often from the 40s and 50s. The stories were harmless and often humorous. Films like Heinz Rühmann’s ‘Die Drei von der Tankstelle’, for example, had great entertainment value. Actors such as Heinz Rühmann or Heinz Erhard were of the trusting petty-bourgeois, humourous type, loved by German audiences. They were so different from the dashing guys in American westerns or crime thrillers. The good family fathers and their relatives embodied a moral social image of decency, friendship and family cohesion that made their viewers smile with quiet humour. They were anti-heroes, and their films had a certain feel-good character, exactly what German families needed after the war and something completely non-political. However, the reality of life for the average German post-war family was not represented or shown. As a child, one could believe that there were just such ideal families in the neighbourhood. It just so happened that one’s own was more problematic. In contrast, films like “Lassie” and “Flipper” and all the others were American series that did not depict the reality of life in Germany, but they did have a tremendous influence on us. This world was far more exotic, and the characters were not to be found in our neighbourhoods. What an adventure! Unattainable idols for girls One of the TV series most popular with our family was the science fiction series “Raumpatrouille” (Space Patrol) with Dietmar Schönherr as the rebellious Commander MacLane of the super-fast spaceship Orion, who was in constant clash with the security officer Tamara, played by Eva Pflug. This futuristic series was way ahead of its time. Apart from the computer monstrosities, which today are more reminiscent of old hoovers and hairdryer hoods, and the fascinating videophones, there was another aspect that stood out and had a formative effect on viewers like me. Women like Tamara or Helga were engineers, lieutenants and security officers just like their male counterparts, and met men on an equal level. Eventually, they became role models for us girls of the 60s. However, the spirit of the times still denied us this oxygen for our future. My family loved criminal series such as “Kobra übernehmen Sie” and “Der Kommissar”. I was especially fascinated by the intelligent and powerful agent Emma Peel (played by Diana Rigg) in the English TV series ‘The New Avengers)’. She became an idol for me, and for a long time I wanted to become an agent like her. Unfortunately, at that time, the German police only employed women as traffic wardens who handed out parking tickets, and that was certainly not for me. However, I still have a fondness for detective stories. Everyday life as a topic of conversation For a while, we and the whole neighbourhood, in fact, the whole of Germany, waited weekly with bated breath for The Fugitive and hoped that Dr Kimble would not be caught by Police Inspector Gerard and that he would finally be able to find his wife’s one-armed murderer and so prove his innocence. Television entertainment in those days was limited by having few channels and even fewer programmes and became an experience shared with many others in society. Everyone had seen the same crime thriller the night before, and therefore, it was a topic of conversation the next day. When the three-part Francis Durbridge crime series ‘Melissa’ aired, the streets of my hometown were deserted. Almost everyone was sitting in front of the TV, not wanting to miss the sequel. After all, there were no streaming services. If you missed a programme, that was it. No chance until maybe 10 years later when it might be aired again. With the introduction of the Second German Television (ZDF) in 1963, there was more choice of programmes, in addition to the regional programmes and the Austrian channels. But this also brought with it the agony of choice. Since most households at the time had only one television set, if any, there were often disputes about which programme to watch and who in the family had the say in what to watch. Today, this is less of a problem because most families have a choice of devices, for example, iPod, Ipad, tablet, and computer, and because of broadband and streaming reception in all rooms and no need for an ariel. The question of timing has been settled because of the possibility of recording programmes. Conflict material back then… In the early days, when television took its central place in family life, it was a frequent source of conflict. We were mostly unanimous when it came to our preference for thrillers. But for a while, in addition to our opinions, we had something else to consider, which unfortunately weighed heavily. Our neighbour did not have his own television set. Under the pretext of wanting to play chess with my father, he appeared every evening punctually around 7.30 pm. While the two of them were actually playing, we children were watching TV with our mother, looking forward to a certain programme after the news. So we switched over, which prompted our neighbour to say: “We could perhaps rather watch this and this….”. We cursed inwardly – but the guest is king. And so we watched the programme that the neighbour wanted to watch. Grrr! This went on for several months until the neighbour’s wife got tired of having to do without her husband every evening and relieved us of him by buying a TV set herself. Well done, Mrs Neighbour! The problem with the choice of programmes disappeared when we children grew older. We developed other interests and our own tastes and no longer wanted to spend our evenings with our parents in front of the TV. We wanted to be with our friends. We discovered cinema and especially new films that suited our times and the challenges of our generation. … and today Nowadays, we have a variety of media at our disposal 24 hours a day. Television competes with social media and streaming providers. News can be accessed online at any time from various providers and is no longer the prerogative of public service broadcasters. Television as a source of information and entertainment is becoming less important, and its structure has changed. Programmes can be accessed from the media library at any time of the day or night. To watch all the episodes of a series, you no longer have to wait until the next week, but, if you wanted, binge-watch an entire series via the media library, Amazon Prime or Netflix. Because episodes are and always have been structured in such a way that you are eagerly awaiting the next one, series have a certain addictive potential. You can’t switch it off; you have to keep watching, even if it takes all night. David’s and my rituals My husband and I are well aware of this danger. We have devised rules for ourselves because previously, there were barriers due to programming, daily life with work and other activities and distractions getting in the way. Our television habits have been adjusted because of Covid Lockdown. It is no longer possible to go to the cinema, or theatre or to visit friends, so we stay in and have developed this routine. The TV is only switched on whilst we have dinner, so we watch the news together. Then we watch a film or documentary, either from the BBC’s media library or from a streaming platform. We watch BBC because all the other channels are overloaded with advertising, which not only annoys us but also makes it easy to lose the tension or thread of the story. Sometimes it is not easy for the two of us to agree on a film because we have different tastes. It is easier when we have found a series that interests us both equally. Then there are no arguments about the choice for the evenings it takes to watch the series. The pressure to consume and the potential for addiction are less of an issue for us, as my better half falls asleep after two episodes, and I don’t want to watch the series alone. I then watch one of the German-language DVDs that I get from friends or family for my birthday. But there’s also a trick I use to watch the series a little longer if I do get hooked. I watch one more episode in the evening, and David, who gets up much earlier than I do, watches the same episode in the morning on his computer. And lo and behold, in the evening, we sit peacefully together in front of the TV and are in the same place in the series. So it goes on. (LL)

LL: De-UK: Guiding messages from my early teenage years that impacted my adult life decisions Becoming a teenager is tough. When you’re 13, you don’t fit in anywhere. You’re not yet an adult, but no longer a child. Everything is either wonderful, but also strange and annoying at the same time. You have to cope with mixed feelings and don’t know how to behave or which choices to make, which does not enhance your self-esteem. The hormones run amok together with the emotions and mood swings. This is a time when teenagers are very open to influences around them. Music creates desires and dreams In the early 60s, my girlfriends and I listened to loud music. It drove my parents mad as we listened and sang, or shouted at the tops of our voices, to songs like ‘Twist and Shout’ by the Beatles or to the Rolling Stones ‘Get off of my Cloud’ or danced wildly to sounds like Wooly Bully. Our music repertoire did extend further and included soppy German Schlager music, which we sang with ardour from our hearts. Songs like ‘Marmor, Stein und Eisen bricht, aber unsere Liebe nicht’ (marble, stone and iron can break but not our love) by Drafi Deutscher or ‘Dich gibts nur einmal fuer mich’ (you are the only one for me), by Semino Rosso, or ‘Du allein kannst mich verstehen’ (you alone can understand me) (Peter Maffay) to name but a few. These songs transmitted a message that we understood and liked: Love and Happiness forever. No matter if it was far from the reality around us, we wanted to believe it. When we saw our parents having arguments, couples getting divorced or relationships breaking up, it was mostly considered a failure of individual adults, certainly not the reality of life. The message of the music stuck and created pictures, ideas, dreams and desires. So, off we went, in search of never-ending love and happiness and, especially we girls, for that Mister Perfect. I searched long and hard. The first kiss that was supposed to lead to deep love passed, and love did not happen. When the first relationship ended, I was devastated, thinking life could not go on. Of course, you quickly learn: life goes on, you pick yourself up, dust yourself off, and on you go to search for love and happiness. Over time, the songs of true love sounded hollow, and I also liked to listen to the bitter ironic songs of Hildegard Knef, which seemed to me more realistic of life. They portrayed a different picture of love as very intricate, not easily achievable, and about broken relationships. The songs taught you a lesson: some people will potentially lie and cheat, and some will continue to love although they know they are being cheated on. Wow, I was fascinated. There were pain, disappointment and sarcasm, which was obviously part of life. There was a deeper story here. Not everything was in pink colours, but also darker tones. Even so, I still thought this sort of thing would not happen to me and that I would find true love. Films produce dream worlds Hildegard Knef was also a well-known actress, made famous by a quite controversial film in 1951, called ‘Die Sünderin’, (the sinner), in which she played a prostitute, who helped her ill boyfriend to die and committed suicide herself afterwards. In Bavaria, like in the rest of Germany, the film caused a storm of protests. This wasn’t because Hildegard Knef briefly showed her breasts, but because taboo subjects such as prostitution, suicide and assisted suicide were raised. In many cities and towns, the film was banned. Some cinemas defied the ban and showed the film. So, it happened in Regensburg, my home town, on a cold February evening in 1951. Several thousand people came, some hundreds came to protest against the film, but most protested against the ban and fought for the freedom of expression in the art that just recently had been anchored in the new German constitution. Regensburg was almost getting into a civil war, with people throwing stink bombs and insulting the bishop and the clergy. Well done, Regensburgers! That was before my time, but I am still proud of those freedom fighters in this conservative town. The film ‘Die Sünderin’ was a welcome diversion from all the other films that were shown at that time. In the 50s and 60s, people in Germany loved homeland movies, and soapy dramas and the German film industry produced many such films. Set in one of Germany’s many wonderful landscapes, idyllic villages or small towns, they involve good and bad people, grumpy ones with good hearts, an evil person, trusting children or loyal dogs or both. In the end, true love wins over animosity. Most people went to the cinemas to distract themselves from the past, from the post-war reality of destroyed families and cities. An alternative world of harmony, apolitical love of the country and dreams of small feelings of happiness replaced the memory of the shameful history of war and National Socialism. Few films dealt with the guilt and impunity of the fascist perpetrators or the social double standards. The masses of Germans wanted to dream and believe in miracles and not have to think about the many economic, political, military and social problems. Contradicting messages to the youth With all these mixed messages, no wonder the search for happiness in life and love became so complicated and troublesome for the post-war generation. There were ideas from another time, there were rigid moral concepts, and there were dreams of love and happiness within the sanctuary of marriage and family. Reality counteracted these ideas. The search for life As for me, I looked hard but could not find Mr Right or Mr Perfect. I doubted myself, was I not pretty enough, was I too boyish, was I not as men expected a girl to be? Although I never really knew how a girl should act or behave. I got on well with boys, but only as friends and not more. They accepted me as an equal. We had good talks and did great things together. However, when they were looking for a girlfriend, it was not me but someone more girly with long hair and mannerisms that I obviously did not have. I continued with my search for Mr Perfect, perhaps looking for my fairy-tale prince, hoping he would come along and carry me in his strong arms and make my life heaven on earth, sort out all my problems and help me progress in my career etc. Such rubbish that Schlager, love novels and films put into the brains of girls and women, and I guess it was the same for the opposite sex too. The fairy tale of the Froschkönig comes to my mind, where a frog asks the princess to kiss him as only her kiss could remove the spell that was put on him and transform him back into the beautiful prince he once was. I could say, I kissed many frogs in my life, but none of them transformed into a beautiful prince. However, saying that would be unfair. Over the years, I met good boys and good men, and we had a good time together, some long-term, some shorter-term. Unfortunately, as time progressed,, these relationships, for whatever reason, did not work out and we separated. Rethinking is needed At the University in the early 80s, frequently we discussed life and our purpose in it. Once, one of my friends gave me a copy of a poem called the Märchenprinz, the fairy tale prince, which is about a woman’s search for her fairy tale prince. She could not find him, but in the end, she realised that no such thing existed. The moral of the story: if you want to have a better life, you have to do something, become active and change it yourself. The poem ended: Perhaps then you realise the fairy-tale princess is you after all. This poem hit home and impressed me. If this was the case, then I had to take my life into my own hands, take responsibility and make changes and choices to get where I wanted to be. However, there was another problem in that I did not know where to go or what I wanted to do with my life, apart from searching for the fairy-tale prince. He and Mr Perfect were not around to tell me what to do. So I had to figure it out for myself. Not easy. In search of Career and Independence I decided to concentrate on developing my career. Once again the same problem: If only there was somebody who could tell me what to do, where to go and what to say. Perhaps somebody wiser than me, somebody with good connections to help me along…. Again, history repeated itself. I met many people, and some were helpful. However, most were like me, seeking or expecting me to help them and merely using me as a stepping stone to a better career. It was a long process which eventually led me to go to England to study for a Master's Degree in Public Health. I had to start afresh in another country, take on jobs in different areas, such as research and lecturing at University. Slowly I edged forwards, in between spells of unemployment and short-time consultancy work. Something unexpected happened Then something unexpected happened outside of work: One evening at a salsa dancing class (prescribed by myself to not slip into, depression), a dancing couple beside me wildly swung around and almost knocked me to the floor were it not for a handsome man who helped me up and offered to buy me a drink. We started chatting and realised that we had many things in common, such as the love for music, photography and travelling. This ever-so-helpful man became a regular feature in my life. He was so different from my other partners. He was not obsessed with his own career but was very interested in me and what I was doing. He was very supportive of whatever strange ideas I came up with. When I struggled with my self-confidence as I sought to achieve the things I wanted to do, he simply believed in me. Okay, I had to do all the work, the research, the studying, the writing, but he was there in the background, supporting me. When I came home late, as I frequently did, from a long day at the university, a warm dinner was waiting for me. When I decided on the silly idea to do my PhD at the same time when I had a very challenging job at the university as a Programme Director, he was there. He took on more of the household chores so that I had more free time to do my studies in the evenings and weekends. As a native English speaker, he was best placed to edit the various versions of my lengthy PhD and did so tirelessly. I still owe him a trip to New York that I had promised him for all the editing work. (He hasn’t forgotten! We simply did not have the time for it, yet.) In the meantime, we got married, on our Africa holiday after a safari in Senegambia. There were just the two of us and our taxi driver as witness. You may ask, could he be my fairy-tale prince? No, I don’t think so. After all, it was I who did all the work, and hard work it was to get there where I am now. However, his contribution was vital. Without his moral and active support, it would have been much more difficult – or not possible at all. I may not have found the self-confidence to go for it or the motivation and the strength to finish it. I would say, he is my soulmate. And that is more than a husband, more than a lover, much more than a fairy-tale prince and more than I ever dreamt in my teenage years. I certainly don’t take it for granted, but I do hope that it’s for life.

LL-De: When I was a child, my mother sometimes complained that I was never satisfied with what I had. It wasn’t about toys, but mostly it had to do with my clothes. I was fed up and complained bitterly when I had to wear the old washed-out clothes or jumpers I inherited from my big sister or cousins once again. Of course, this fate is still shared by the youngest members of the family today, but back then, when sewing or buying clothes, long-term or multiple use was already planned. Old skills and a new Zeitgeist Commonly there was a long hem on the skirt, which became narrower and narrower as I grew. Side seams were also lavish so an adjustment to the width was also easy. But I looked sceptically at this practice. I preferred to be dressed as neatly as my school friend Lizzy. She was the only girl in the family and always very nicely dressed, with nice new dresses over her petticoats, new stockings and matching shoes. Next to her, I felt like a clodhopper. My clothes, even when I put them on clean, were dirty or even ruined in no time. It was probably because I was a tomboy playing in the street with my friends and definitely didn’t give a thought to my new stockings. I wanted to win the race on my roller skates, not look pretty and come second. In the heat of the moment, I regularly fell to my knees and my stockings had big holes in them. Anyway, my knees were used to being scraped. But the sad thing was that instead of getting a pair of new stockings, as Lizzy’s mother would certainly have done, my mother painstakingly darned the stockings to make them fit for the rest of the season. There were no new ones, like at my girlfriend’s. But, there again, she never fell or skated. My mother explained my dissatisfaction not only with being the youngest of four children but also with the era I was born into. While my older brothers and sisters (who were apparently more content – although I remember my brothers complaining about their itchy knitwear) grew up in the post-war period (between 1946 and 1951) when nobody had any money, I was born in 1953. This was the time when the so-called economic miracle began in Germany. At that time most people were still poor and experienced only a very slowly progressing economic miracle. Others were wealthier than we perhaps because they had a business or a shop; they owned a car, went on holidays or could afford to buy new clothes for their children, like Lizzy’s parents. So, I grew up looking at better-off neighbours, comparing myself to their children and became dissatisfied. The priorities of parents were different My parents, especially my mother, were modest people and were less influenced by the view over the garden fence. They made the best of everything. I remember once when I got a new blue coat with a small fur collar. I was very proud and wore it to church on Sunday mornings. Finally, I had a brand-new coat and just for me! Little did I know that my mother and my cousin had made this coat from the old coat of one of my aunts. They turned the fabric over and sewed a nice little coat for me. Sewing was cheaper than buying, and the old fabrics of that time were still good enough to make new clothes out of. It was all a question of quality. Why throw away a nice jumper just because it had a hole at the elbow or had become thinner? No problem! With a piece of fabric or leather, the clothes were repaired and given a new life. A hole could be artfully repaired with needle and thread so that the jumper could be worn for at least another 5 years. And even then, the jumper was most likely ripped up and socks, gloves or scarves were knitted from the recovered wool. Make the best of what you’ve got The economic miracle was of course also evident to our family. We were able to buy a house as part of a programme by the Catholic Church to support families with many children. We were now homeowners, but that did not mean that we could afford a car or go on holiday. My father continued to cycle to work every day on his old bicycle and returned home for lunch, then cycled back to work. Every day he went to the office dressed in a nicely starched, ironed shirt and his favourite leather trousers, as he had done for decades. He was satisfied with this and always felt appropriately dressed. However, economic development also affected social norms about what to wear and what not to wear at work. My father was very offended when his boss called him one day and asked him to wear a suit instead of his leather trousers in the office in future. This request was not the only reason for crossing swords, but soon afterwards, my father left this company to work in a different environment. Later, when my father no longer fit into these leather trousers, my mum cut his much-loved Lederhosen into pieces and made leather soles which she sewed onto knitted socks to make nice warm slippers for us all.

Telephone and communication – changes over time LL-DE/UK: Last year, an overanxious mother in England called her son on his mobile phone to find out how he did in his exams. Unfortunately, the exam had not yet finished and when the boy’s mobile rang, the teacher, according to the rules and regulations, had to take away the pupil’s exam papers and, as a consequence, the boy failed the exam. The two sides of the coin This shows the two sides of mobile phones. Mobiles can be a vital tool for communication between parents and children, for example, ensuring their safety. They can also become a tool of control and interference. Similarly, using the internet can be a great help in learning, but research needs to be learned and knowledge about prohibited plagiarism and copyright should also be available. The use of mobile phones at school is controversial, unlike the Internet. On the one hand, it could be very valuable for use in class, for example, for quick research; on the other hand, it can become a disruptive factor or even an instrument of bullying. From time to time, a ban on mobile phones in schools is therefore discussed in England. In Germany, mobiles are not allowed to be used at schools whatsoever. Mobile phones – a new body part of young people However, nowadays, mobile phones are generally indispensable. A recent study in the UK by Childwise, based on a survey of 2167 young people aged between 5 and 16 years, into the use of mobile phones by young people revealed that most children in the UK own a mobile phone by the age of 7 and that on average pupils spend 3 hours and 20 minutes each day messaging, playing games and being online. More than half (57%) of those asked in the study said they slept with their mobiles beside them in bed as they were anxious about being separated from their phones. Almost 2 in 5 (39%) said they could not live without their phone. 44% said they felt uncomfortable if they went somewhere and there was no phone signal, and 42% admitted that they were constantly worried about running out of battery and could not use their phone anymore. What worries do these teenagers have? I resisted mobile phones for a long time but finally gave in and bought my first little pay-as-you-go phone about 18 years ago, just for emergencies in case my car broke down, or to call ahead when I was running late or to phone my husband from the supermarket to ask if we needed anything else. I soon found out how useful mobile phones could be. Life has changed since then, and I have become used to my smartphone, but I also think that I am not and will not become so dependent on my mobile as the young people in the above study. After all, I grew up in a time when communication media were still extremely scarce or non-existent. Over the last three decades, technology has advanced greatly. Recently, a TV report presented two UK teenagers with the challenge of having to use a rotary dial telephone. This kind of phone has been phased out and superseded in the 80s with a push-button phone. The poor teenagers, so used to their mobiles, did not have a clue how to operate them. The technical connection to the mobile phone had not been realised. Times without a telephone When I was a teenager, back in the 60s, we did not have a telephone at home. At that time, only a few people in our neighbourhood had a phone. Communication was different back then. Instead, we wrote letters, and postcards or visited in person. In case of an emergency, you either phoned a neighbour who had a phone and asked them to be so kind as to get your parents on the line or to give them a message; or you could send a telegram. However, telegrams usually caused panic among the recipients, because they were typically sent when a death had occurred. So, receiving a telegram was, therefore, often associated with receiving bad news. Even after my parents had a telephone at home, my dad, as a matter of habit, still sent a telegram when somebody died. Worries and reassurance, then and now The reason why my parents finally bought a telephone was because of me. Once, in 1969, I went out with my Vespa scooter and got delayed by more than 2 hours as I miscalculated how long the journey home would take. It was already getting dark, and my parents did not have any idea where I was and were very worried. How could I contact them to tell them that I was okay when I was on the road and had no public telephone around? Finally, I rode into a village to find a public phone box. Luckily, I found a shop open where I could change some coins. I called our neighbour to get word to my parents that I was on the way home, but would be late. Their worry was over for this day, but soon afterwards, they bought a phone, just in case something like that happened again. After my siblings and I moved away from home, the telephone became a lifeline for my mother as she was able to keep in regular contact with all her children. She became the centre of communication within the family. If we wanted to know anything about each other, we just phoned mum. She was always informed, and she knew (almost) everything. Constant phone calls even without a mobile phone When I lived and worked in Berlin in the 90s and shared a flat with several people, the only phone in the flat was constantly ringing. After a while, the people I lived with insisted that I should have my own phone and fax as they were tired of answering the phone as 90% of the calls were for me. They steadfastly refused to act as my secretary, taking messages. Well, that was understandable. So, I got used to having my own telephone and fax machine, but in the mid-90s, I was in for a shock when I moved to London to study for a Master’s Degree. In the student hall where I stayed during that 1st year, I had to share one payphone in the hallway with about 20 others who were mostly teenagers and constantly on the phone. My best chance to get to the phone was on Sunday mornings at 7 am when the youngsters were asleep after a late night out. Staying in contact from abroad With the increasing use of the internet, WhatsApp, email and skype, communication became ever more versatile and convenient. Many of my friends are in constant contact with their children, whether they are living around the corner or travelling around the world on a gap year. When I was travelling and working in Latin America in the 80s, communicating with friends and family was rather difficult. If I wanted to receive letters from families or friends, I had to plan my trip carefully and let them know where and when I roughly would be in a certain country and city, and for how long. When I arrived, I went to the agreed place, which was either the German Embassy or the Central Post Office (poste ristante), to collect my mail. Letters usually took between two and six weeks to arrive, sometimes up to 3 months. By then, the news was out of date. Phoning would have been better but was too expensive. I remember well the few times when I could not resist the urge to phone Europe and hear a familiar voice from the other side of the world. I also remember the shock of having to pay up to US 120 for 3 minutes for that pleasure. When I worked as a journalist and wanted my articles to arrive quickly, I had to phone and read out what I had written over the phone, hoping the line was okay and the person, on the other hand, was able to understand and type up every word verbatim I was saying. Luckily, I did not have to pay for this phone bill. From the late 80s onwards, I started to use a fax machine in a central post office whenever possible, but in 1988 one page of the fax from Chile to Berlin cost me US $9. Needless to say, I didn’t use the fax that often. The agony with the public payphones Phoning home from abroad was not only costly but often also very troublesome. I remember the many times when I set off with a bag full of coins in search of a functioning telephone box. Usually, you had to queue and wait until the people in front of you had finished their conversations, only to find out that the person you wanted to talk to was not at home or the line was busy and you had to queue again. Then finally, when you made it and connected with the person you wanted to speak to, you had to be quick to put the coins in to keep the connection going. When you were not quick enough or when you ran out of coins, the conversation ended prematurely, and then you had to redial or get more coins and queue again. What a nightmare it was when you wanted to make a really urgent call and could not find an empty phone box. Then you had to queue and wait for hours until the people in front of you had finished their (what you perceived as trivial) conversations. Or when you wanted to have a private conversation, but those waiting outside the phone box were eavesdropping on your conversation or signalling for you to hurry up. Modern-day communications Nowadays, with social media, it is so easy to send photos or videos, respond immediately or signal how you feel by clicking on a smiley. You can make long phone calls for free to anywhere in the world – given a good connection. I fully embrace the new communication tools as they enable me to stay in contact with my friends wherever they are. I enjoy my regular long skype calls with friends from around the world when we chat, laugh and joke and discuss politics and put the world to right. Therefore, I find it rather irritating when I want to communicate with people who are not connected in the same electronic way and then have to sit down and write a letter, buy a stamp and take the letter to a post box like in the olden days. However, somehow it does feel nostalgic when doing so. I do not like phoning up people out of the blue as I fear I am interrupting them in whatever they are doing. It almost feels like visiting someone without having previously arranged to meet. Although, I am aware that agreeing to a certain time for a phone call takes away the spontaneity of the conversation. As the phone offers different ways of contacting somebody, I still prefer texting, sending emails or WhatsApp messages. That way, the recipients have the opportunity to read my message and respond at a time that suits them. The same applies to me, of course. I do like the convenience of my smartphone, and I use it for more than just communicating. It also serves as a photo or video camera, and I can immediately find the answer to any question via searching the internet; helpful apps tell me how long I have to wait for a bus or show me which way to go; I can order goods online and read the news etc. I don’t have my smartphone beside my bed at night like the anxious teenagers in the study. That’s the time for charging in the living room. However, like them, I get irritated when I am in areas where there is a poor signal or no signal at all, and I make sure I always have my battery pack with me, just in case I run out of battery. I have times when I do not want to be accessible, and I switch off my phone. I certainly do not want to have phone conversations when in a public toilet. Equally, I do not want to have to listen to other people’s private conversations on public transport either. I feel rather annoyed when forced to listen to other people’s conversations without the means to escape. I like to believe that I am in control of my smartphone use and, if need must, I could live without it like in the olden days. Life without my phone would certainly be calmer and less stressful as the pressure of having to know everything immediately would be removed. Still, I would greatly miss its versatility and the convenience of being able to connect to others. , During the troubling times of the COVID-19 lockdowns (at the time of writing) when travels to other countries or visits to friends were not possible, modern electronic media proved to be a lifesaver. They enable us to escape from the isolation of lockdown by staying in contact with friends and loved ones. Imagine how we could cope with COVID if we did not have our mobile phones, or the internet, but were still living in an era without phones. Or imagine how it would be if we didn’t have electricity. Perish the thought.

LL: DE/UK: Illness turned my life around It was the 26th of April 1976, the day after my friends C. and H. got married. I woke up with excruciating pain in my stomach. I could hardly walk or stand. No way was I able to go to work that day. I had to go to the doctor to get this sorted. My GP did not have a clue what was causing me so much pain and referred me to a specialist. This was the start of a week-long odyssey. I was sent from specialist to specialist, from the gastroenterologist to the nephrologist and the urologist, who, looking at my hard and swollen belly, sent me to the gynaecologist thinking that I was pregnant. (I knew I wasn’t, but they did not believe me). Nobody had any idea what was wrong with me. Alone with painkillers I was given lots of painkillers and sent home for the weekend. A kind taxi driver took pity on me and helped me up the stairs to my apartment. All I wanted was to sleep and for the terrible pain to go away. If I had to die, that was alright with me as long as the pain went away. From then onwards, I don’t remember much. My mother later said she got very worried as I had told her over the phone that I had not been to the toilet for a week and could not pass water. I had started to vomit dark brown stuff. Luckily, my dear friend and neighbour, A., decided to check on me when he came home from a Saturday night out with his friends. He found me unconscious and called an ambulance. The emergency doctor did not know what was wrong with me either but at least she recognised it was an emergency and rushed me to the hospital. I was not worried but rather relieved that somebody took the initiative and did something. The kind doctors in the hospital in Munich explained to me that the X-ray did not reveal much and they needed to open my tummy to see what was going on. Just as I was about to be wheeled into the operating theatre, a young lad was rushed into the theatre in front of me, bleeding heavily. The nurses who were waiting with me told me he had a motorbike accident and his legs were badly injured. Most possibly, they had to amputate both his legs. How horrible! I felt so sorry for him. Two hours later, it was my turn, and I was wheeled in for surgery at 4 am. Solving the riddle When I woke up, everything was white around me, and I heard bells ringing. For a moment I wondered whether I was in heaven, but then I heard loud screaming next to me. It was the young lad in the next cubicle who had also woken up and had just noticed that his legs were missing. I felt for him. A doctor popped his head into my cubicle and told me that I was very lucky because if they had not operated on me in the night, I would not have survived until the morning. He explained that I had a tumour on my intestines that had caused peritonitis and intestinal perforation. The operation took six hours, because they needed to remove part of my intestines and clean my guts. They did not fit a colostomy pouch (Ileostomy) as the consultant, who was brought in during the night to oversee my operation, thought it unimaginable for a young woman of my age to have an external bowel bag. Thank you, Doctor! Much appreciated! I was fascinated to hear all that but it took me a while to fully grasp the enormity of it. Over the next few days, I was visited and examined by several more doctors and professors. It seems that nobody had ever seen such a disease pattern in a young person like me, who was only 22 years old. This was commonly known as an old person's disease, which explained why none of my doctors had recognised it. Recovery requires a deeper look It took me a while to recover, not only physically but also psychologically. At first, I refused to eat as I was anxious that by eating the pain and illness would start all over again. I was bribed into eating by the wonderful caring intensive care nurses. They promised to let me have a small glass of Bavarian beer once my bowels were working again. As I was thirsty and fed up with drinking lukewarm water, I accepted their offer. It took me a while to realise that I did not want to get better and leave the hospital, as I did not want to go back to my work as a secretary in an office. I was dead bored and deeply unhappy with my job. It finally occurred to me that I had just jumped off death’s shovel and had been given a second chance at life and that I needed to do something useful with this new life. But – I had no idea what to do or what I wanted from life. There was no serious boyfriend in my life, and I was not interested (yet) in setting up a family and having children. How it all began I left school when I was 15 after finishing my O-levels. Like many of my friends from primary school, I had attended a Realschule (medium-level education) for girls, run by Catholic Nuns, leading to O-levels after four years. The school’s goal was to equip us girls with a good all-around general knowledge base and prepare us to run a household and support our future husbands. We learnt everything from cooking to needlework; even in physics, we studied how a thermos flask or a cooking plate worked. We also learnt book-keeping, stenography and typing. These skills were considered useful to earn money before marriage, or for additional family income or as a pastime once the children were grown up. Only a few of us 15- and 16-years olds knew what we wanted to do afterwards. A few wanted to work with children or look after ill people. Those few whose fathers had a business had their work laid out by joining the family business. But the vast majority of the rest of us, like me, had no clue what to do. A friendly but useless woman from the job centre, invited by our school to advise us, did not inspire us with outstanding options. She suggested that considering the skills we had learnt in this school, we should work as administrators in an office, putting into practice our stenography and typing skills. The rare times I had visited my father in his office, where he worked as book-keeper, I was impressed by all the office utensils on his desk. Besides the punch hole makers, staplers and files, I found it particularly fascinating having use of a telephone, something we did not have at home at that time. Based on these indicators, somehow, the decision was made that I should go and work as a secretary in an office. Soon afterwards, I joined eight girls from my school, and together we started to work in a local bank. Once the reality of everyday life in the office became apparent, I rapidly became bored with the daily routine. I was disillusioned and thought there must be more to life than typing up and filing what other people gave me to type, filling in forms and filing them away. I began to dream that I needed to move to a bigger town in order to have a more interesting and meaningful life. After three years, I turned my dream into reality and moved to Munich and worked as a secretary in a property management office. Something still wasn’t right, and after a further three years, my body revolted, and I had become ill. And it was then that I knew instinctively that I needed a radical new beginning. How it all started I still had no idea what I wanted from life or what my purpose in life was. Unimpressed with previous advice from job centres I decided consulting someone with an expertise in testing intellectual and professional abilities would be the way forward. Once out of the hospital, I contacted a psychiatric professor specialising in intelligence testing, whose phone number I had found in the yellow pages. I hoped that he could shed some light on what my talents and qualities were in order to help me decide upon a new career path. Perhaps I even had it in me to study at a university. Who knows? The results of the multiple tests revealed that I was blessed with mediocre intelligence and had a talent for looking after children. A potential career as a childminder working in a Kindergarten was the professor’s recommendation. His fatherly advice was: “Don’t dream of going to a university because studying is not within your intellectual capabilities.” What? Come again? I already knew that I was not a genius or an intellectual highflyer, but his professional pearls of wisdom shocked me quite a bit. At least I had expected a range of career options from which to choose, based on the science of the psychological tests rather than a judgement purely based on his male values and views of what a young girl like me should do with her life. Believe in yourself! Exasperated, I phoned my brother, who was studying Psychology in Berlin, for advice. His response was: “I can’t see any reason why you shouldn’t go to University. I simply thought that you were not interested in studying.” From then on, everything fell into place. A friend told me about an interesting school project in Berlin for mature students to gain their A-levels. This alternative school was special in the sense that students and teachers ran the school together. Students were respected as equals, and students and teachers decided together as to what subjects to learn during the next term. That was just the right thing for me, and I decided to give it a go. However, there was just a little barrier to overcome: My father was dead against my idea of leaving my job and going back to school. He was brought up in the traditional way in that he did not believe this was what girls should do. He wanted the best for me, and in his view, it was getting a husband to look after me and have children, which would give me purpose in life. Unfortunately, this was not what I wanted. He was not willing to contribute to my school fees and my new life as a student. Added to this, it dawned on me that by then, I was used to having my own income and being independent. Not having a regular monthly salary was a frightening concept. However, I calculated and made enquiries. I learned as a mature student I was entitled to a student loan, independent from my parents’ income, and with a bit of work besides my studies, I reckoned I should be able to pay the school fees, the rent and my cost of living. This strategy and my siblings’ mediation on my behalf persuaded my father to let me do what I wanted to do. Moreover, as a gesture of goodwill, he went with me to purchase an electric typewriter that would help me to get work, for example, typing dissertations for other people (needless to say, I had to pay for the typewriter myself). Stepping into a new life Finally, equipped with my new electric typewriter, I moved to Berlin and never looked back. I was enthusiastic about the school, about Berlin and about my new life. There was so much to do and so much to learn. I had so much catching up to do, and there were not enough hours in a day. I felt free to do anything, and, more importantly, I had the energy. I got involved in the school’s administration, became an activist in the feminist, environmental and peace movements and got involved in third-world activities. By the way, the typing skills I was taught and my little typewriter proved very useful. For many years both provided me with valid income not only for my student life in Berlin but also to fund my travels, project work and studies in various Latin American countries. The lived experience of alternative education for adults, together with my health scare, gave me inspiration. They were vital influences and education and health were, to some extent, a constant throughout my professional career. I went to University to study adult education, and I became involved in alternative education projects (education for peace, environment, women’s equality etc). I worked on literacy campaigns and with health education projects in Nicaragua. Back in Berlin, I moved into the area of health education (women’s health and wider health promotion) and public health. My Master's dissertation in London was on the topic of improving health service provision for migrants in Germany. My PhD was on developing and testing educational training to enhance cultural competence in staff in health and social services who work with clients from different cultural and social backgrounds. I also conducted research analysing health service provision for people with HIV, drug and alcohol or mental health problems and for people who had experienced domestic violence. I identified gaps and made recommendations on how to improve health systems. After years of training nurses and social workers at a London University, I set up a Recovery College for people who had suffered from drug and alcohol addiction and mental health problems, and by doing so, help them to reintegrate back into society and to get a job. Feedback to the Expert My message to the Professor in Munich: I proved you wrong. There was more in me than working as a nursery teacher in a Kindergarten – not that there is anything wrong with being a nursery teacher, but it simply wasn’t for me. I wanted something else. I wanted to find my own purpose in life. I wanted to develop my own dreams and follow them. I wanted to be free to choose my own goals, and through my work, I wanted to help other people to reach their potential. I achieved all this, despite or perhaps because of some stumbling blocks like illness, incorrect analysis and stereotypical male views of women. (LL)

LL-UK: It was a drizzly November afternoon in 2009 when my siblings and I were admiring the Wembley Arena in London, the site of the infamous England v Germany football match in 1966. Even today, England still rejoices in this rare victory over Germany. I, too, should associate my own personal victory with this site. Peak and painful descent We were on our way to the award ceremony, an event organised by my university at the Wembley Conference Centre, where I was to receive my doctoral certificate. I had done it! After six years of hard work, researching and writing my PhD thesis whilst working in my full-time job at the university, I must admit that I enjoyed being congratulated by my professors, my work colleagues and my family. One of my brothers and my sister had travelled all the way from Germany as they did not want to miss their little sister’s big moment. The hard and difficult years of my doctoral programme were forgotten. I was full of energy and now officially a Doctor and more than ready to take on any new challenges. I had many ideas on how to advance the Bachelor’s programme that I had led for the past 12 years at the university, and I was also aiming for a professorship in the not-too-distant future. However, I had no idea that this would not turn out as I had planned. The new university leadership introduced rationalisation measures throughout the university to cope with the Tory government’s cutbacks, which severely affected all sections of society, including the education sector. These soon had an impact on my programme. As a result, instead of expanding and extending it as planned, I had to fight to maintain the status quo. My colleagues were frustrated and gradually lost their enthusiasm for our work and their fighting spirit. As a result, half of them accepted severance packages from the university and resigned. However, the students in the programme were still there, expecting courses to be taught and supported. This work now had to be shared with the remaining staff. I was determined not to give up and kept going, but it felt as if I was banging my head against a brick wall every day. Over the following months, I worked harder and longer just to keep the programme alive and support the students. I was at my desk at 7 a.m., and often my husband would call me at 8 p.m., saying enough was enough and that I should come home as dinner was ready. That was a white lie because he knew that I had a 45 minutes drive home. That was his way of getting me to down tools and come home. Even though I worked weekends, the mountain of work was unsurmountable and the work felt harder by the day. In fact, I was getting slower and slower and became less effective. I could not sleep; my brain could not rest and would not switch off. I also noticed that my memory was not as good as it used to be. Faced with simple tasks, my mind would sometimes go blank, and I forgot what I was supposed to do. I realised that I could no longer rely on my sharp mind that I used to be so proud of. This greatly affected my self-confidence and increased my already high stress levels. I gazed into the abyss and kept going. Insight, acceptance and a new beginning In a much-needed holiday in Crete, during which David, my husband and I had many conversations, I gradually realised that I was on the verge of becoming seriously ill and that I had to leave the university to recover. The recovery process was very slow. In fact, a psychologist and specialist in burnout warned me that the recovery process would take a long time. After three months, most people recover to 30%; the remaining 70% of recovery can take years or even decades. Now, after the passage of more than 10 years, I am much better, but I still get easily stressed, and I am no longer able to face challenges as I used to be able to. Although I am not sure if this is because of my burnout or simply a sign of me getting older. I adopted a range of strategies to get through this tough time. I decided against prescribed medication as I suspected it would only dull my brain and not help my recovery. Instead, I took up reading ‘prescribed’ books, a new scheme the NHS prescribed. A local library stocked books about stress, mental health and burnout as a means of self-help. I read them all, and they certainly helped me to understand my situation a lot better. The intense pressure on my professional life had transformed into a feeling of personal failure that brought about my burnout. I walked a lot and enrolled at our local fitness centre and found that working out on the rowing machine and kicking the boxing punchbag helped me to beat stress. I also joined a workshop with a colour stylist to find out which colours best suited my skin type to increase my self-confidence. Afterwards, I proudly glided around town with my new hot-coloured lipstick and colourful clothes. What was not so easy to achieve was finding a new identity for myself. Throughout my professional life, work had always been important to me. It was almost like: Do I work to live, or do I live to work? Now that the work had gone, what was left for me? I was 57 years old and far too young to retire. I had some ideas about what I could do, but the thought of working again in a hierarchical structure where bosses told me what to do would drive me crazy. I wanted to be free and independent. I decided to start my own consultancy business. Over time I slowly developed a business strategy and built my website, both as a means of my development and recovery. I hired a friend as a coach and discovered where my strengths lay and that my purpose in life was to help others and support them in their personal and professional development – exactly what I had been doing for the past decades. It was reassuring and encouraging to know that I was on the right path and that I could build on the knowledge, skills and experience of my previous professional life. Challenges kickstarting my new career However, in the past, I had always worked within a team and had the backing of an institution to fall back on. Now I was on my own and independent. Without the backing of an institution which had a system of quality control, the value of my work was not known. So, who would hire me? This was possibly the reason why the expensive adverts that I launched had not produced the results I wished for. I soon realised that to be successful, I needed to work together with other people who know me and my work. This would allow me to find work and develop further. Trust in former colleagues With this in mind, I started to go through my contact list of former colleagues and invited a selected few for lunch to talk my business ideas through with them. Picking their brains helped me to get ideas of what was possible and what was not. Some colleagues introduced me to other people who also had ideas, which also helped. Making contact with my former colleagues was a good strategy. Their advice helped set up and develop my own business concepts. They encouraged me to follow through with my ideas, which also helped me to regain my self-confidence and my new identity. Through my conversations with my former colleagues, I also learned a great deal beyond setting up my business. When I talked about the experience of my burnout and work-related stress, their reaction was sympathetic throughout. Indeed, many admitted that either they or a partner or close friend had suffered similar issues. I found that talking about my burnout, which is still surrounded by stigma and shame, brought us closer together and brought our relationship to a different level. (LL)

-Encounter on the journey from Popayan to Pasto, Colombia, March 2015-. My husband David and I had to get up early to catch the 6 am bus to Pasto. We could easily imagine what awaited us. Since the bus had left Bogota eight hours ago, it would be packed, and the air inside would be bad from the odours from the passengers who had been asleep for eight hours. We fervently hoped to get decent seats for the six-hour journey to Pasto. Everything else was secondary. Luckily, a few people got off in Popayan, and we hurriedly squeezed into the nearest available seats. The fact that we wouldn’t be sitting next to each other didn’t matter. On the contrary, that’s how you always meet new people. But at this time of day, most passengers were asleep, wrapped in their blankets. So was my seat neighbour. I tried to get a first impression of him by looking at his clothes. when I guessed that he was an old indigenous farm labourer. But unfortunately, I couldn’t see much of him because he wore an old poncho that also covered his face. He also wore a typical hat of the kind I had often seen on the indigenous men of southern Colombia. In my neighbour’s case, this hat had an important function. It fixed the poncho so that it could not slip off. So, for now, I couldn’t expect a conversation with the indigenous farm worker, so I turned my attention to the landscape. The Andes are spectacular. High mountains, deep abysses and narrow serpentines. I could never get enough of it. After a while, my neighbour woke up and was stretching. He was emotionless that suddenly a gringa, a blond foreigner, was sitting next to him. Obviously, this meant he would spend the next few hours silently contemplating the landscape. What else could you do with such a gringa next to you?! I was used to such indifference. I had experienced all too often that locals automatically assumed that a blonde gringa didn’t speak Spanish and was just an ignorant tourist disinterested in the lives of the locals anyway. I took a closer look at his profile and realised that he was not old, but at most in his early 60s. In other words, just like me. This time I was irritated that a Colombian of my generation was so disinterested. I was tempted to correct his view of the world a little. Friendly and in my best Spanish, I commented on the beautiful landscape and fog covering the valley. And lo and behold, it worked. Surprised, he looked up, and we started talking. Soon it was my turn to admit my error. It turned out that this supposed indigenous old farm worker was a very active, committed and innovative contemporary from whom I could experience and learn a lot. He was one of the leaders of an indigenous community in the Putumayo region, near the Ecuadorian and Peruvian border. And so, I learned firsthand about many significant problems in this region. Putumayo is a province where coca is grown. More than 50 per cent of Colombia’s total production is grown in Putumayo. Therefore, this area has become the strategic centre of the government’s anti-drug plan in cooperation with the USA. This so-called “Plan Colombia” provides for the indiscriminate aerial spraying of herbicides to eradicate coca plantations. However, during this anti-drug war with herbicides, no attention is paid to sparing fruit, vegetables, bushes, and trees or not contaminating the rivers’ water, making drinking water and fish unconsumable. These actions not only drive coca producers to ruin but, above all, innocent inhabitants of the region into abject poverty. As a result, many now see flight as their only chance of survival. At the same time, different armed groups, from the Colombian military and paramilitaries to the guerrilla groups FARC and ELN, compete for control of the area. My seatmate reported that the indigenous communities were caught in the middle of the witch’s cauldron of violence, human rights abuses, economic ruin, environmental destruction, and recruitment by both guerrillas and paramilitaries. The longer we talked about his work in an indigenous community in this highly problematic and contested region, the more impressed I was with his personality. As it turned out, he had first studied psychology, then ethnology, but later also completed a business degree to acquire the necessary know-how to serve his community in a dignified and competent manner. He was also a member of a special working group of indigenous community leaders who developed strategies and projects for economic improvement and ethnic identity with the Colombian government as part of an indigenous development programme. He was on his way back from Bogota, where he had successfully secured the continuation of the development programme for his community for another three years. I was particularly fascinated by the view of the ethnic identity formation of the indigenous communities. An external reason for these communities’ awareness of their indigenous identity is to prevent recruiting of young men and the poor by paramilitaries and guerrillas. The offers are tempting – money and power. Who could resist? My interlocutor explained that the working group of indigenous community leaders considers the emphasis on shared values and commonality among indigenous tribes as a certain protection against the temptations of violent groups. Interestingly, commonality was also an essential strategy in his community when punishing someone who had broken the law. Their concept is not to isolate the offender by putting him in prison. Isolation is exclusion from the community and is therefore considered the worst punishment, which would only lead to hatred, envy and hostility, which is counterproductive, I was told. Instead of excluding the lawbreaker and isolating him in prison, the community should intensively care for the offender, find out the causes of his criminal act or antisocial behaviour and help him to become a fully respected member of the community. I was very impressed by this approach. After all, I had just finished a research paper on health care in prison in England and discovered many shortcomings in this custodial system, which is geared towards isolation and punishment rather than social rehabilitation. We could definitely learn a lot from such and similar approaches. I was electrified and saw in my imagination many opportunities for cooperation. This new justice project was only in its early stages, but the other programmes’ economic and health improvements were already promising results. My bus neighbour probably felt the same way I did. Then, unexpectedly, two like-minded people met who could support each other in their work. He invited me and my husband to visit his district (another 6-hour bus ride south) and see the programmes and their successes on site. We could also discuss how and whether we could cooperate on research projects. Fantastic prospects opened up! I was about to jump into a new big exciting project! But I didn’t jump, and I regret that to this day. Still in Colombia, we didn’t have time, or so we thought, to drive another six hours south to get to know the projects. After all, we were almost on our way home again. At home in England, the manifold, more or less significant demands of everyday life displaced my vision of cooperation with the indigenous working group in Colombia. I can’t shake off the feeling that I missed an opportunity for a meaningful and entirely new task. (LL) #bustravelinColumbia #Colombia #Missedopportunities

-Ride on the 168 Bus through London, August 2005-. (UK) I was on the 168 bus in London that morning and was pleased to have managed to get my favourite seat at the front of the double-decker bus. On the way to the shops, I used to enjoy watching London’s houses go by and pondering my thoughts. Sitting so relaxed and lost in thought on public transport, and even going shopping in the city centre, was no longer a matter of course in London since 7 July 2005. On that day, exactly four weeks ago, a series of four coordinated suicide attacks were carried out by Islamist terrorists in London. The attacks, triggered by mobile phones, had targeted commuters travelling by public transport during the morning rush hour. Three underground trains and a double-decker bus had been targeted in the terrorist attack, which killed 70 people besides the terrorists and injured more than 700. After this attack, the thoughtless use of public transport was suddenly no longer possible. We Londoners reluctantly but stoically resumed our routines and travelled to work by bus and train. But now we considered carefully which carriage to board. It should not be too crowded so one could better keep an eye on the passengers. The risk potential had to be assessed. Bearded men with backpacks certainly put you on alert. But not every beard was equally suspicious. Moustaches, three-day stubble beards, goatees or trimmed beards were nowhere near as alarming as the primal and curly full beards worn by many devout Muslims. Nevertheless, one could hardly escape this hysteria and eyed the people on public transport suspiciously before boarding the bus or train. But what was the point if you had carefully considered the risk potential of the carriage or bus when boarding, and then at the next station, a bearded backpack carrier got on and took a seat next to you? Not aware of the shockwaves and panic attacks he would trigger. And that’s precisely what happened to me in my favourite seat on the 168 bus. So I was driving through Camden, lost in thought, when someone sat down next to me, someone from the at-risk group: dark full beard, dark complexion and large backpack. I was immediately tense to the core. Should I move away? How could I slip away inconspicuously? Nervously, I planned my rescue. But it seemed too late because my neighbour took his mobile phone out of his pocket and fiddled with it. So that was it! In a moment, he would press the trigger, and the bomb in the backpack would explode! I could only close my eyes, say goodbye to my life and my loved ones and wait for the bang, which would be the last thing I heard. But instead of the bang, I heard the dark voice of my seat neighbour blaring quickly, harshly and angrily into the phone. Because I couldn’t let go of my terror hysteria so quickly, even this unfriendly phone call made me panic. After all, an acutely angry terrorist is even more dangerous than a more relaxed suicide bomber!? But wait a minute! I know and understand this language! It’s Spanish! Of course, I listened to the conversation, understood, relaxed and felt ashamed at the same time. On the other end of the line was the wife of my terror suspect. She had forgotten some ingredients for the dinner invitation that evening and wanted her husband to come home early from work and get the ingredients on the way. For his part, the husband found this an imposition, for whatever reason, and resisted this request tooth and nail. Actually, this incident was hilarious. But what had become of me? I had suspected so many innocent people in the last few weeks because they were bearded, dark-skinned and wore backpacks. With the fear, crude prejudices had crept into my mind. A frightening realisation! (LL.)

-From Medellin to Cali, Colombia, January 1988-. I was on the bus from Medellin to Cali, looking forward to seeing my friends again. As I had managed to get a window seat, I could be sure to enjoy the spectacular view of the mountains and valleys and the coffee-growing areas of Colombia during the journey without being disturbed. The trip was to take 14 hours. The bus was packed, and it was noon and very hot. I was due to arrive in Cali at 2 am, and my friends would be waiting for me at the bus station. I was full of anticipation. Shortly after our departure, before we left the city behind, a young man got on and sat in the last free seat behind me. His red face could have been from the midday heat if it hadn’t been for the waft of liquor coming toward me. Now, that was a less uplifting prospect for the next 14 hours. I fervently hoped he would fall into hours of deep sleep and sleep it off. But that was not the case. After half an hour of driving through a beautiful but winding landscape, he felt sick. Since he had a window seat, he wanted to throw up out the window. Unfortunately, he realised too late that the window was closed. He banged his head against the glass, and his stomach contents spilt onto the floor. I was just able to snatch my backpack off the floor and bring it to safety on my lap. Within a few minutes, an infernal stench of vomit spread throughout the bus, and several passengers began to vomit. The conductor rushed over and handed out plastic bags, but they didn’t last long. My pregnant seatmate also started to gag, and I had to do something. Luckily, I always have a bottle of China oil for emergencies. So I dripped some on paper handkerchiefs and passed them to my nearest neighbours. I hoped the smell of peppermint in their noses could keep the gag reflex at bay. When we stopped in a small village, I asked the conductor to wash away the worst of the vomit with a bucket of water. He nodded in agreement, went into the small grocery shop and returned with a pound of coffee. And the journey continued without any further action. Coffee? I shot angry glances at the selfish conductor! Couldn’t he understand what a miserable situation we passengers were in?! And he was only thinking of his next cup of coffee after the journey. What an inhuman being! While I was still swearing at the conductor in my mind, he opened the coffee packet and scattered all the ground coffee along the bus aisle. Immediately, the pleasant smell of coffee hit our nostrils and displaced the stench of vomit. We were saved, and I was ashamed! As quietly as I had cursed the conductor in my mind before, I made amends to him now. He had the experience of dealing with such mishaps on his side, and before I got all know-it-all, I should learn to wait and develop more trust in the problem-solving skills of the locals. The culprit had long since fallen asleep and was sleeping it off. He had not noticed any of this. (LL) #busstories #travelexperiences #travellingbybus #travellinginColombia

Sorry - no translation in English! (DE) In diesem Teil meiner Pandemie-Erfahrungen möchte ich mehr oder weniger tagesaktuell ab dem 18. November 2021 von den Ereignissen und Vorgängen berichten, die mich bewegen. Und ich möchte meine persönliche Sicht darauf als Zeitgenossin dokumentieren. 18. November 2021: An diesem 18. November 2021 hat Deutschland gerade keine Regierung. Die zukünftige Regierungskoalition (Ampelkoalition genannt wegen Rot-Gelb-Grün), bestehend aus SPD (rot), Grünen und FDP (gelb), ist noch dabei einen Koalitionsvertrag auszuhandeln. Die Bundeskanzlerin Angela Merkel (CDU) und ihr Kabinett aus Vertretern der CDU, CSU und SPD, darunter auch Gesundheitsminister Jens Spahn (CDU), sind nur noch geschäftsführend tätig. Das Pandemiegeschehen eskaliert seit Wochen, ohne dass Maßnahmen ergriffen worden wären, obwohl Virologen und Mediziner seit Monaten das prophezeiten, was gerade zu beobachten ist. Die Infektionszahlen in Deutschland steigen in nie gekannte schwindelnde Höhen. Das Robert-Koch-Institut (RKI) meldet 65 371 neu positiv getestete Personen binnen 24 Stunden. Die Sieben-Tage-Inzidenz beträgt nun 336,9. Es gibt weitere 264 Tote im Zusammenhang mit dem Virus. Die Zahl der Todesfälle erhöht sich damit auf 98 538. Es gibt noch eine Maßeinheit, die das Geschehen in der Pandemie widerspiegelt und Anlass für Maßnahmen sein sollte: Die Hospitalisierung! Das RKI meldete am 17. November als Indikator die Zahl 5,15 (Zahl der in Kliniken aufgenommenen Corona-Patienten je 100 000 Einwohner innerhalb von sieben Tagen). Die Hospitalisierungs-Inzidenz ist wegen der regionalen Unterschiede in Deutschland nur regional von Bedeutung. Der Höchstwert um Weihnachten 2020 betrug 15,5. Aktuell liegt er im Bundesland Thüringen bei 18,6. (Quelle: RKI, SZ) Es findet heute ein Corona-Gipfel von Bund und Ländern statt, wie wir das aus der Zeit von Herbst 2020 bis Frühsommer 2021 zur Genüge kennen. Die Ministerpräsidenten der Bundesländer handeln gemeinsam mit der Bundeskanzlerin mehr oder weniger einheitliche Regelungen zur Eindämmung der Pandemie aus. Die Einheitlichkeit ging in der Vergangenheit zumeist flöten, da jeder MP (Ministerpräsident) sich für seine Partei stark machen wollte. Es war Wahlkampfzeit! Einige der MPs fordern bundesweit 2-G, was heißt, dass nur Geimpfte oder Genesene Zugang zu Restaurants, bestimmten Geschäften und Veranstaltungen haben würden. In Bahnen und Bussen solle 3-G (Geimpft-Genesen-Getestet) gelten. Keiner weiß, wer das wie und wo kontrollieren könnte. Warten wir mal ab, was beschlossen wird. Aber nicht nur die MPs wollen heute den Kampf gegen die Pandemie aufnehmen. Auch die Ampel-Koalition in spe stellt heute dem Bundestag ein modifiziertes Infektionsschutzgesetz vor, das die am 25. November 2021 auslaufende „epidemische Notlage nationaler Tragweite“ ablösen soll. Man wolle, so die Koalitionäre, die Gesetzgebung von der Exekutive (Regierung) wieder in die Hände der Legislative (Parlament) legen. Interessant ist, dass die Unionsparteien (CDU/CSU), die gerade ihr Image als Opposition aufbauen, angekündigt haben, dieses Gesetz vermutlich im Bundesrat (Gremium der Bundesländer) zu blockieren. Es gehe ihnen nicht weit genug, sei also nicht angemessen für die Lage in Deutschland. Der bayerische MP Markus Söder und der NRW-MP Hendrik Wüst profilieren sich gerade als CDU/CSU-Hardliner. Mal sehen, was geschieht. Ich möchte nur noch anmerken, dass Grüne und FDP die Maßnahmen der Großen Koalition in der Krise mitgetragen haben, auch wenn sie nicht hundertprozentig übereinstimmten. Ich frage mich, ob die Unionsparteien in erster Linie ihr Profil schärfen wollen oder das Wohl des Landes im Auge haben. Man wird es an ihrem Verhalten in den Tagen und Wochen dieser neuen alten Krise ablesen können. Unser Leben, also das der Bürgerinnen und Bürger, wird aber sowieso gerade wieder eingeschränkt, denn die Kommunen denken pragmatisch. Weihnachtsmärkte, die teilweise schon aufgebaut worden sind, werden abgesagt. Die Impfzentren werden wieder hochgefahren, denn Boosterimpfungen wurden von der Stiko (Ständige Impfkommission) ab dem 5. Monat nach der vollständigen Impfung empfohlen. Aber die Menschen stehen schon längst Schlange, Empfehlung hin oder her. Selbstverständlich weiß derzeit niemand, wie das alles organisiert werden soll, aber wenigstens haben wir genügend Impfstoff. Angeblich! In der Öffentlichkeit wird die Impfpflicht mindestens für Pflegekräfte und die Lehrerschaft diskutiert. Viele plädieren für eine allgemeine Impfpflicht, denn es zeigt sich, dass in den Regionen mit den Inzidenzen über 1000 meist nur gut 50 Prozent der Bevölkerung geimpft sind. 90 Prozent der Corona-Kranken auf den Intensivstationen seien ungeimpft, kann man überall lesen und hören. Es wird von einer Pandemie der Ungeimpften gesprochen. Die Wut der Geimpften auf die Ungeimpften ist groß. Manchmal habe ich das Bild von regelrechten Kämpfen zwischen Geimpften und Impfgegnern vor Augen. Ich hoffe mal, dass das übertrieben ist. Morgen kann ich hoffentlich über die Beschlüsse der mächtigsten Gremien Deutschlands berichten. Was sagen der Bundestag und die Ministerpräsidenten mit der Noch-Kanzlerin?! 19. November 2021: Der Präsident des Robert-Koch-Instituts rechnet in einem Interview den Deutschen vor, wie die Lage derzeit konkret aussieht: Von den gut 50 000 aktuellen Neuinfektionen würden 3000 in Krankenhäusern landen und 400 sterben. Dies werde sich täglich wiederholen, bis zu dem Zeitpunkt, da das Infektionsgeschehen eben abflaut. Er bemüht ein drastisches Bild, um zu verdeutlichen, dass daran nichts mehr zu ändern sei. Das Wasser des Eimers sei ausgeschüttet und könne nicht mehr zurückgefüllt werden. Lediglich die mittelfristige Zukunft liege noch in der Hand der Menschen und selbstverständlich auch in der Hand der Politiker. Bitter beklagt er, dass alle Warnungen, die bereits im Juli vom RKI und von anderen Wissenschaftlern ausgesprochen worden waren, von der Politik in den Wind geschlagen wurden. Warum auch immer!? Politik und Gesellschaft wurden auf der Basis von Impfquote (65 %) und Öffnungen Szenarien vorgestellt, die recht exakt die reale Entwicklung des Infektionsgeschehens wie auch der Belastung der Intensivstationen vorhersagten. Grafiken, im Sommer erstellt, weichen nur minimal von den aktuellen Grafiken ab. (Quelle: SZ) Ich muss sagen, dass ich als ganz normale Zeitungsleserin und Konsumentin von Fernseh-Reportagen und Nachrichten von diesen Prognosen gehört und gelesen habe. Dass ich mich wirklich die ganze Zeit fragte, wieso keine Konferenzen, keine Vorschläge für Maßnahmen und dergleichen mehr stattfanden. Und wie viele Wissenschaftler und Journalisten werfe ich den verantwortlichen Politikern vor, dass sie Chancen vertan haben. Schon wieder! Das ist unverzeihlich! Ich frage mich, worin die gewählten Volksvertreter eigentlich ihre Hauptaufgabe sehen! In der Imagepflege für sich und ihre Partei? In der Ausrichtung auf Zustimmungswerte in ihrem Handeln? Jetzt, da es für viele Menschen zu spät ist, wird über Maßnahmen beraten und Beschlüsse gefasst, deren Umsetzung sich teilweise hinziehen kann und somit noch mehr Zeit verloren geht. Aber was haben nun gestern der Bundestag und die Teilnehmer der Ministerpräsidentenkonferenz beschlossen? Der Maßnahmenkatalog der Corona-Konferenz von Bund und Ländern sieht vor, dass sich die Länder flächendeckend an der Hospitalisierungsinzidenz orientieren sollen: Inzidenz von 3 führt zu 2-G-Regel; Inzidenze von 6 führt zu 2-G+ (Auch Geimpfte und Getestete müssen sich in sensiblen Bereichen vorher testen lassen.) Inzidenz von 9 führt zu weiter gehenden Maßnahmen wie z. B. Kontaktbeschränkungen. Wir in Bayern haben bereits eine Krankenhaus-Inzidenz von 9,15 erreicht und haben also erheblich mehr Einschränkungen zu erwarten. Der Maßnahmenkatalog sieht am heutigen Freitag folgendermaßen aus: Kontaktbeschränkungen für Ungeimpfte; 2-G auch für körpernahe Dienstleistungen wie Frisöre; keine 2-G-Beschränkung für den Handel, aber Begrenzung der Personenzahl; 2-G+ für alle Kultur- und Sportveranstaltungen; Zuschauerbegrenzung auf 25 Prozent; Sperrstunde ab 22 Uhr sowie Schließung von Diskotheken, Bars und Verbot aller Weihnachtsmärkte. In den oberbayerischen Hotspots mit einer 7-Tage-Inzidenz von 1000 werden zudem Gaststätten, Sport- und Kulturstätten komplett geschlossen und Veranstaltungen generell untersagt. Die Maskenpflicht existiert immer und überall, außer natürlich in privaten Räumen. Aber zurück zu den Beschlüssen der Ministerpräsidenten: Auch auf eine Impfpflicht für Mitarbeiter in Pflegeeinrichtungen soll erwirkt werden. Das aber, muss der Bundestag beschließen, liegt also nicht in der Hand der Ministerpräsidenten. Auch die Auszahlung eines Bonus bedarf noch der Absprache mit dem Bund. In Alten- und Pflegeheimen sind tägliche Tests vorgesehen, unabhängig vom Impfstatus. Der Bund verspricht bis Mai 2022 die Impfzentren finanziell zu unterstützen, denn zusätzlich zu den Auffrischungsimpfungen hoffe man, auch die Erstimpfungen für Kinder ausweiten zu können. Im öffentlichen Nahverkehr soll die 3-G-Regel gelten, deren Einhaltung verstärkt kontrolliert werden soll. Wie ich heute in den Medien lese, steigt die Zahl der Erstimpfungen in diesen Tagen stark an. Und das macht mich, ehrlich gesagt, nun wirklich sehr wütend. Es war offensichtlich bei vielen Leuten nicht einmal Überzeugung, wieso sie sich nicht impfen ließen, sondern einfach Bequemlichkeit und Gleichgültigkeit oder auch Unfähigkeit. Ich habe mit einer Freundin immer wieder eine hitzige Diskussion darüber, ob der Staat gegenüber diesen Menschen eben versagt habe. Sie meint, wenn jeder eine SMS bekommen hätte, ähnlich wie in Spanien, mit Impftermin und -Ort, wäre eine viel höhere Impfquote erreicht worden. Ich hingegen kann nicht glauben, dass man die für eine Demokratie so notwendigen mündigen Bürgerinnen und Bürger derart gängeln und pampern müsste. Und auch im Bundestag und im Bundesrat tat sich was. Die Regierungskoaltion in spe (SPD,Grüne,FDP) brachten ein neues Infektionsschutzgesetz auf den Weg, das in etwa den Beschlüssen der Ministerpräsidenten ähnelt. Auffallend ist jedoch die Regelung der Arbeitswelt. Generell gilt 3-G am Arbeitsplatz für all diejenigen, die Außenkontakte haben. Ungeimpfte müssen jeden Tag einen Test vorlegen und der Arbeitgeber muss das kontrollieren. Bei einer Weigerung kann Homeoffice angeordnet werden oder Freistellung ohne Lohnfortzahlung. Sogar eine Kündigung wäre möglich. Homeoffice sollte, wenn immer möglich, erlaubt werden. Die „epidemische Notlage von nationaler Tragweite“ wird nach dem 25. November nicht mehr fortgeschrieben. Das bedeutet, dass die Länder nicht mehr so weitreichende Maßnahmen wie etwa Ausgangssperren und eine generelle Schließung von Restaurants und Schulen beschließen können. Dies sei aufgrund der 67 Prozent geimpfter Bürgerinnen und Bürger rechtlich nicht haltbar, so die Ampel-Koalition im Bundestag. Bundestag und Bundesrat haben, nach anfänglichen Profilierungs-Diskussionen mit CDU/CSU, diesem Gesetz zugestimmt. Ich bezweifle stark, dass diese Maßnahmen als Bremse für das Corona-Gefährt, das mit 300 km/h oder sogar mehr fährt, dienen kann. Vor zwei Monaten, wäre das vielleicht noch gelungen. Und eine andere Sache macht mich noch misstrauisch. Die Ministerpräsidenten wollen in ein paar Wochen bei einem weiteren Treffen überprüfen, ob die Maßnahmen Wirkung gezeigt hätten. Ja das hatten wir doch alles schon! Herbst und Winter 2020! Und da waren die Infektionszahlen geringer als heute! Haben die denn alle kein Erinnerungsvermögen?! Es gibt Begriffe und Szenen für das, was ich dabei empfinde: Déj`a-vu oder „The same procedure as every year…“ Österreich hat einen kompletten Lockdown beschlossen und will die generelle Impfpflicht einführen. Ist das die bessere Option? Irgendwie bin ich neidisch. 20. November 2021 Lothar Wieler, der Chef des RKI, warnt vor einer fünften Welle, noch bevor diese vierte Welle ihren Zenit überschritten hat. Die nicht so stark betroffenen Bundesländer im Norden und Westen könnten durch Kontaktbeschränkungen vorbeugend tätig sein, empfiehlt er dringend. Generell sollten keine Feiern und Veranstaltungen mit vielen Personen in Innenräumen stattfinden. Diese Maßnahmen würden sich dann langsam auf das aktuelle Infektionsgeschehen auswirken. Wirklich sinnvoll aber sei eine Impfquote von 85 Prozent, bei über 60-Jährigen sogar von 90 Prozent. Ich habe heute wieder Leserkommentare in der SZ gelesen und mich auch an der Diskussion beteiligt. Mir scheint, als ob viele Leute, von den Journalisten und Moderatoren in den Medien bis hin zu Leuten in meinem persönlichen Umfeld, stinksauer sind. Man hat den Eindruck, dass die Szene der Impfgegner und Querdenker das Geschehen beherrscht, obwohl es sich ja nur um eine Minderheit handelt. Die Mehrheit scheint aber irgendwie keine Stimme zu haben. Es gibt Querdenker-Demos, aber keine Impfbefürworter- oder Anti-Impfgegner-Demos. Wirklich erfreulich ist, dass die Menschen diesmal schneller als die Politik waren und sich schon für Booster-Impfungen eingetragen, angemeldet oder angestellt haben, als von Seiten der Politiker noch keine klare Ansage gekommen war. Der Wille der Menschen suchte sich wie Wasser seinen Weg zu irgendwelchen Impfstationen. Und das ist derzeit nicht einfach, da Impfzentren geschlossen worden waren, Hausärzte natürlich nur begrenzte Kapazitäten haben und man daher echt hartnäckig suchen muss. Aber die Menschen scheinen lernfähig zu sein, zumindest der impfwillige Teil. Gut so! Tut, was euch euere Vernunft sagt! Informiert euch bei den Medizinern, die in den Medien auftreten und die die Zusammenhänge meist wunderbar verständlich erklären! Fast möchte ich auch sagen: Geht auch auf die Straße und fordert Entschuldigungen und Rücktritte der Politiker, die das rechtzeitige Eingreifen versäumt haben! Sie hätten es besser und vor allem vorher wissen können! Warum setzt sich eigentlich niemand an die Spitze der Impfbewegung bzw. gestaltet so eine Bewegung? 21. November 2021 Seit heute morgen 09:15 Uhr bin ich geboostert, habe also meine Auffrischungsimpfung erhalten. Es ist eine große Erleichterung, denn meine zweite Impfung liegt fünf Monate zurück und die Mediziner wie auch die BionTech-Erfinder räumen ein, dass der Impfschutz besonders bei älteren Menschen stark nachlässt (von 90 auf 40 oder sogar 20 Prozent sinken kann). In Bayern, wo ich lebe, beträgt die 7-Tage-Inzidenz heute 639 und die Intensivstationen haben keine Kapazitäten mehr. Da will man nicht krank werden. Also nutzte ich das Angebot von Stadt und Landkreis Hof, mich bei einer Impfstation anzustellen und ohne Termin geboostert zu werden. Um 8 Uhr sollte die Impfstation öffnen und ich kam mir schlau vor, indem ich um 07:30 Uhr schon vor der Tür stehen wollte. Ich erwartete, dann keine Wartezeit zu haben und auf jeden Fall meine Impfung zu bekommen, bevor der Impfstoff ausginge. Dies zeigt die halbe Warteschlange noch vor der Öffnung der Impfstation in Hof. So schlau waren viele. Als ich ankam, wartete bereits eine Schlange quer über den riesigen Parkplatz der Freiheitshalle, über eine kleine Straße hinauf zur großen Zufahrtsstraße und diese auch noch etliche Meter entlang. Nach einer Stunde und zwanzig Minuten Wartezeit und einigen Gesprächen mit den anderen Wartenden erhielt ich den Piks. Aus den Gesprächen der Umstehenden war deutlich zu hören, dass man die zögerliche Politik unverzeihlich finde, dass aufgrund des Wahlkampfes und der darauf folgenden Regierungslosigkeit verantwortungslose Tatenlosigkeit geherrscht habe und außerdem die Impfgegner oder auch Gleichgültigen uns allen dieses Fiasko eingebrockt hätten. Die Geimpften blickten nicht sehr freundlich zum Eingang zur Erstimpfung. Es gab nämlich einen extra Eingang für die Erstimpfungen. An diesem Eingang bildete sich keine Schlange. Nur vereinzelt tröpfelten etwas verschämt ein paar Leutchen hinein. Ich denke, dass nun die Medien, die durchaus sehr kritisch über Imfpstoffe und Nebenwirkungen und Gefahren berichtet hatten, auch entsprechend über die Meinungsäußerung der Mehrheit berichten sollten. Die Menschen strömen in Massen zu den Auffrischungsimpfungen und demonstrieren damit indirekt für den Schutz durch Impfung. Könnte man ja auch so sehen. Da Politiker immer auf Zustimmung schielen, könnte das Druck machen. 26. November 2021 Vor zwei Tagen stellte die Ampel-Koalition ihren Koalitionsvertrag vor und informierte über das Maßnahmenpaket im Zuge der Corona-Bekämpfung. Am 25. November war ja die „epidemische Notlage von nationaler Tragweite“ ausgelaufen, da sich die neue Regierungskoalition (Ampel) nicht dazu durchringen mochte, sie zu verlängern. Um zu verstehen, was das bedeutet, möchte ich an dieser Stelle ein Beispiel erzählen, das ich heute im Leserforum der SZ gelesen habe. Den Pflegekräften eines Pflegeheimes war in einer umfangreichen E-Mail dargelegt worden, dass nun Pflegekräfte und Besucher, unabhängig von ihrem Impfstatus, einen Test vorweisen müssten. Dies werde von einer Security-Firma auch kontrolliert, da man keine Pflegekräfte dafür abstellen könne. Dieses Pflegeheim musste aber feststellen, dass der Security-Markt leergefegt ist. Eine andere Idee: Kräfte der Bundeswehr könnten aushelfen? Aber die Bundeswehr untersteht dem Bund und steht daher für Angelegenheiten in den Kommunen und dem Land nicht mehr so unbürokratisch zur Verfügung, wie das durch die epidemische Notlage von nationaler Tragweite möglich gewesen wäre. Der Teufel steckt wie so oft im Detail. Andererseits fliegt nun erstmals die Bundeswehr Intensivpatienten von Hotspot-Bundesländer in noch weniger belastete Länder. Die 7-Tage-Inzidenz pro 100 000 Einwohner beträgt in ganz Deutschland ja momentan 438,2, in Bayern 652 und Sachsen ist Spitzenreiter mit über 1074. Die Zahl der Corona-Toten in Deutschland hat die 100 000er Grenze überschritten und es müssen ca. 100 Intensivpatienten kreuz und quer in Deutschland verteilt werden, weil in einzelnen Regionen die Intensivbetten nicht mehr ausreichen. Also alles in allem eine verheerende Lage zu Beginn des Winters, der ja bekanntlich noch mindestens 3 Monate dauert und eigentlich kann man in unseren Breiten damit rechnen, dass der Aufenthalt in Innenräumen in den nächsten fünf bis sechs Monaten angenehmer sein wird als draußen. Die Ampel-Koalition hat gute Ideen, die langfristig für ein planvolleres Umgehen mit der Pandemie oder mit zukünftigen Pandemien sorgen werden. Es soll im Bundeskanzleramt einen ständigen Bund-Länder-Krisenstab geben. Außerdem will die zukünftige Regierung ein Expertengremium einrichten, in dem Experten diverser Disziplinen (Mediziner, Virologen, Sozialwissenschaftler usw.) zusammenarbeiten, um die Regierung „ganzheitlich“ beraten zu können. Das macht Sinn. Wenn das Gesundheitsministerium beispielsweise nicht mehr die medizinischen, sozialen, wirtschaftlichen, gesellschaftlichen, psychologischen Aspekte selbst zusammenfügen muss, sondern die Abwägung bereits unter Fachleuten stattgefunden hat, dann wäre das ein großer Erkenntnisgewinn und könnte für schnelleres und durchdachteres Handeln sorgen. Aber wie soll man die Probleme lösen, die jetzt existieren und täglich größer werden? Selbst das Impfen wirkt erst mittelfristig. Experten und allen voran die Oppositionsparteien CDU/CSU scheinen, befreit von der Regierungsverantwortung im Bund, richtig radikal geworden zu sein. Impfpflicht für alle ab 01. Januar 2022 fordert Markus Söder (MP Bayern) und viel strengere Maßnahmen (Kontaktbeschränkungen, Lockdown…). Man habe keine 10 Minuten mehr Zeit, um etwas zu unternehmen, teilte er heute mit. Komisch! Während des ganzen Sommers und auch zu Beginn des Herbstes hatte er durchaus jede Menge Zeit. Menschen mit ausgeprägter Profilorientierung agieren so, Menschen mit Aufgabenorientierung hätten bereits im Sommer auf die Experten gehört und Maßnahmen getroffen. Am Horizont, genauer gesagt in Südafrika, ist in den letzten Tagen eine neue Virus-Variante aufgetaucht, Omikron-Variante genannt, die so viele Mutationen entwickelt, dass die Impfstoffe gestresst sind und nicht mehr so gut abwehren können. Also das ist jetzt die Kurzfassung dessen, was bisher an Informationen in den Medien zu finden war. Es ist, glaube ich, gerade kein guter Zeitpunkt Entscheidungen zu vertagen, wie das momentan in Deutschland gemacht wird. Wieso ist dieses Land so träge?! Ich bin müde. Ich bin verunsichert, weil ich nie weiß, was kurz-, mittel- und langfristig möglich oder eben nicht möglich sein wird. Ich bin deprimiert, weil ich kein Licht am Ende des Tunnels sehe. Immer wenn man meint, jetzt könnte es besser werden, schlägt wieder eine Welle über einem zusammen. 30. November 2021 Das Bundesverfassungsgericht hat heute entschieden, dass die Bundesnotbremse, wie sie vom 21. April bis Juni 2021 praktiziert worden war, verfassungskonform ist. Diese Bundesnotbremse besagte, dass in Regionen ab einer bestimmten Inzidenz automatisch einen Lockdown mit Ausgangssperre, Kontaktbeschränkungen und Schulschließungen nach sich ziehen würde. Medienvertreter, Oppositionspolitiker sowie Virologen und Ärzte fordern bereits seit Wochen einen Lockdown, um die vierte Welle zu stoppen. Die Bundeswehr fliegt täglich Corona-Intensivpatienten aus den Hochrisikogebieten Bayern und Sachsen in andere Bundesländer, weil die bayerischen und sächsischen Krankenhäuser keine Plätze mehr frei haben. Der designierte Kanzler Olaf Scholz (SPD) spricht sich heute nach einer Besprechung mit den Länderchefs für eine allgemeine Impfpflicht zum 01. Februar 2022 aus. Ja super, momentan bemühen sich viele tausend Menschen um eine Auffrischungsimpfung oder um die Erstimpfung. Erfolglos! Es gibt keine Termine bis in den Januar 2022 hinein. An den mobilen Impfstationen, an denen ohne Termin geimpft wird, stehen die Leute stundenlang an, bis der Impfstoff aus ist. Die im Herbst blöderweise geschlossenen Impfzentren könnten rein räumlich durchaus schnell wieder hochgefahren werden, aber das Personal steht nicht mehr zur Verfügung. Pech! Die haben sich andere Arbeitsstellen gesucht. Vom Warten auf die Wiederöffnung kann man ja seine Miete nicht bezahlen. Im Frühling hatte Deutschland Impfgelegenheiten, aber keinen Impfstoff. Dann gab es beides in Hülle und Fülle, aber die Impfwilligen blieben aus. Und nun das! Es wird auch gemunkelt, dass die Tests langsam knapp werden und die Kapazitäten der Labore irgendwann schon auch erschöpft seien. Wer hat eigentlich einen Überblick oder gar einen Plan? Im Leserforum der SZ streiten sich die Kommentatoren über die Notwendigkeit eines Lockdown. Die Fronten sind verhärtet. Geimpfte sehen nicht ein, dass sie bestraft werden sollen, wo sie doch alles richtig gemacht hätten. Die Impfgegner sehen sowieso nichts ein, weil es ja keinen Grund zur Sorge gebe. Die vorsichtigen und rationalen Geimpften finden es wirklich beschämend für die deutschen Politiker, dass es so weit kommen musste, aber nun helfe halt nur noch ein Lockdown. Alle sind wütend auf die Ungeimpften. Eine weitere Nachricht ist in juristischer Hinsicht interessant. Impfgegner, die sich einen gelben „Judenstern“ ans Revers heften, auf dem „ungeimpft“ steht, machen sich nun wegen Verharmlosung des Holocaust bzw. Volksverhetzung strafbar. Das ist natürlich Wasser auf deren Mühlen, auch wenn die Gerichte recht haben mit ihrer Entscheidung. Aus meiner kleinen privaten Vorweihnachtswelt, die ohne Weihnachtsmärkte wirklich nur noch eine lustlose Ich-kauf-halt-ein-Geschenk-für-jeden-bevor-alles-zumacht-Tour ist, beobachte ich die politischen Entscheidungsprozesse und habe nicht einmal mehr Lust darauf, mich aufzuregen. Es macht sich wirklich langsam Hoffnungslosigkeit in mir breit. Wird das jetzt den Rest meines Lebens so weitergehen? Schließungen – Öffnungen – Unsicherheit -Schließungen – Öffnungen…. Immer wieder denke ich daran, dass in Belarus an der Grenze zu Polen und im Ärmelkanal Flüchtlinge sterben. Was in den Lagern der griechischen Inseln derzeit passiert, mag ich mir nicht ausmalen. Zwischen Russland und der Ukraine schaut es nach Säbelrasseln aus, was der NATO durchaus zupass kommt. Südafrika hat die Welt sofort über die neue Corona-Variante in ihrem Land informiert und wird nun zum Dank gemeinsam mit den Nachbarstaaten vom Rest der Welt ohne wenn und aber isoliert. Beim nächsten Mal sagen die nix mehr! Es gibt unendlich viele Krisen und Baustellen auf dieser Welt. Wir sind derzeit auf die Corona-Pandemie fixiert. Werden wir, wenn sie vorbei ist, uns fragen, wieso wir all die anderen Entwicklungen nicht gesehen haben? 01. Dezember 2021 Heute möchte ich einmal über Szenen berichten, die einen Eindruck vermitteln, wie manche Menschen so ticken. Ein Kommentator im Leserforum der SZ berichtete, dass in einem Supermarkt eine Frau den Filialleiter darüber informierte, dass sich im Markt eine Person befinde, die eigentlich in Quarantäne sein müsse. Der Supermarktleiter forderte über Lautsprecher die Person, die Quarantäneauflagen unterliege, auf, sich am Ausgang einzufinden. Nicht eine, sondern vier Personen fanden sich ein und hatten sich angesprochen gefühlt. Man weiß nicht, ob man weinen oder lachen soll. Ebenso geht es mir, wenn ich Interviews sehe, in denen Menschen auf Intensivstationen gefragt werden, warum sie sich denn nicht hätten impfen lassen. Auch auf ihre Erstimpfung wartende Leute in den Schlangen vor den mobilen Impfstationen werden gefragt, warum sie erst jetzt zur Impfung bereit seien. Die Antworten machen mich fassungslos. „Naja, ich bin ja jung und gesund“, „Wenn 2-G gilt, dann bin ich ausgegrenzt und ich will feiern“, „Ich hab mich ausschließlich in den sozialen Medien informiert“, „Ich lese keine Zeitung und schaue oder höre auch keine Nachrichten“ usw. Den Vogel schoss eine alte Dame ab, die um ihre Fruchtbarkeit fürchtete. Aber ihr Realitätsverlust ist halt altersbedingt und nicht dumm. Das alles sind noch keine Querdenker und Verschwörungstheoretiker, sondern Menschen, Bürger, die in diesem Land leben, arbeiten, Verantwortung tragen sollen und wählen gehen. Das muss man sich mal auf der Zunge zergehen lassen! 04. Dezember 2021 In dieser Woche haben die Ministerpräsidenten gemeinsam mit Vertretern der Bundesregierung (Merkel noch, Scholz noch nicht Bundeskanzler/in) getagt, um bundesweite Minimalregeln aufzustellen. Dazu gehört ab kommenden Mittwoche, dass die Ungeimpften nur noch in Geschäfte des täglichen Bedarfs einkaufen dürfen sowie strengen Kontaktbeschränkungen unterliegen. Leider wurden Großveranstaltungen wie Fußballspiele nicht verboten, sondern es wurde nur die Zuschauerzahl begrenzt. Die Länder setzen z. T. auf stärkere Einschränkungen. Die Inzidenzen sind ja auch unterschiedlich. Das Infektionsgeschehen flaut in München und in Bayern gaaanz langsam ab. Ist aber nach wie vor auf hohem Niveau. Auf Bundesebene „flackern“ die Infektionszahlen und die Inzidenz auf hohem Niveau. Im Leserforum der SZ habe ich heute einen fürchterlichen Kommentar gelesen. Jemand fragt nach, ob es stimme, dass 45 Prozent der Covid-Schwerkranken in den Intensivstationen Migrationshintergrund hätten. Wenn dem so sei, könne man doch nicht alle Deutschen mit Einschränkungen quälen. Ich habe natürlich meiner Fassungslosigkeit Ausdruck verliehen, aber was, wenn viele Leute so drauf sind?! Ich versteh die Welt nicht mehr. Nicht dass ich sie je gut verstanden hätte, aber ist diese widerwärtige Art von Fremdenfeindlichkeit salonfähig in Deutschland?! Das wühlt mich momentan mehr auf als die Coronalage. Auch interessant ist ein Bericht in der SZ online. In Sachsens Städten protestieren jeden Montag Querdenker und Konsorten gegen die Einschränkungen. Manchmal seien es ein paar Dutzend, manchmal 200. Dabei verstoßen sie natürlich gegen die Corona-Regeln. Die Polizei lässt diese „Spaziergänge“ der wohl überwiegend Rechten geschehen. Linke haben nun diese Woche eine Gegendemo angemeldet, um zu zeigen, dass das Polizeiaufgebot, wenn Linke beteiligt sind, viel größer ist. Siehe da, es wurden 300 Polizisten herangekarrt. Die Gegendemonstranten kamen zwar nicht, aber sie hatten recht mit ihrer Prognose. (sinngemäß zusammengefasst!) Mich weht ein Lüftchen Weimarer Republik an, wenn ich so etwas lese. 13. Dezember 2021 Demonstranten gegen die Corona-Beschränkungen in Deutschland haben sich am Wochenende in Städten Sachsens, Thüringens und Baden-Württembergs als recht gewaltbereit erwiesen. In Sachsen hatte vor ca. zwei Wochen eine Querdenker-Gruppe einen Fackelauftritt vor dem Privathaus der sächsischen Gesundheitsministerin organisiert. Die Verfassungsschützer beobachten, dass im Netz Aufrufe zu weiteren Fackel-Märschen die Runde machen. Privatadressen von Politikern werden veröffentlicht. Ja es gibt sogar Mordphantasien Politikerinnen und Politiker betreffend in den sozialen Netzwerken wie beispielsweise Telegram. Meiner Meinung nach hat das alles nichts mit der Angst vor den Nebenwirkungen der Corona-Impfung zu tun, sondern hier ergreifen Gruppierungen eine Gelegenheit zum politischen Kampf. Ich fürchte, von Fremdenfeindlichkeit bis hin zum Rassismus, von Demokratiefeindlichkeit bis hin zu faschistoidem Gedankengut ist da alles zu finden. Aber woher kommt die Unterstützung? Wer ist Stratege? Woher kommt das Geld? Wer hat ein Interesse an der Verankerung rechten Gedankenguts in der Bevölkerung? Andererseits wird die Protestbewegung in Baden-Württemberg vermutlich von der ehemals links-esoterischen Szene getragen. Haben die beiden Protestbewegungen in den ost- und westdeutschen Bundesländern wirklich nichts gemeinsam, außer die Impffeindlichkeit und das Misstrauen gegenüber der Regierung? Gleichzeitig sinken die Infektionszahlen langsam, aber kontinuierlich. Dem Personal der Intensivstationen ist damit nicht geholfen. Die Situation bleibt kritisch und alle haben Angst, dass die Triage in den Krankenhäusern notwendig werden würde. Wobei man sagen muss, wenn Tumoroperationen wegen Coronapatienten abgesagt werden, dann findet da jetzt schon eine Auswahl statt, die es nicht geben dürfte. 22. Dezember 2021 Es ist eigentlich eine absurde Situation. Die Infektionszahlen gehen kontinuierlich zurück, aber sowohl die führenden Politiker, allen voran der neue Gesundheitsminister Lauterbach, und die wissenschaftlichen Berater der Regierung, allen voran Lothar Wieler vom RKI (Robert-Koch-Institut), sind panisch. Der Grund? Die Omikron-Variante, die viel ansteckender ist als die bisherigen Corona-Viren und die die Abwehr durch die Impfung teilweise umgehen kann! Man hat in den Abwässern der Gemeinden gemessen und festgestellt, dass die Menschen von München bis Hof wohl schon mit dem mutierten Virus in Berührung gekommen sind. Das heißt, es gibt viele unerkannte Infektionen. Im Vereinigten Königreich und in den USA hat Omikron wohl schon übernommen und das Problem ist, dass bis zu einem Drittel der Bevölkerung entweder krank oder in Quarantäne sind. Die kritische Infrastruktur (Krankenhäuser, Pflegeeinrichtungen, Müllentsorgung, Feuerwehr, Polizei, Fahrer des öffentlichen Nahverkehrs, LKW-Fahrer, Mitarbeiter der Wasserwerke und Energieversorger….) ist nur noch mühsam aufrechtzuerhalten. Nun haben gestern wieder die Ministerpräsidenten der Bundesländer mit der Bundesregierung getagt und sind zu dem Schluss gekommen, dass die weihnachtlichen Familienfeiern keine Superspreader-Ereignisse seien. Und die Ungeimpften dürfen ja sowieso nur zwei Leute aus einem anderen Haushalt treffen. Großveranstaltungen sind eh nicht mehr erlaubt, was die Fußballfans bestimmt frustriert. Ab dem 28. Dezember soll es dann auch Kontaktbeschränkungen (maximal 10 Leute) für Geimpfte geben. Naja, die Wissenschaftler, besonders das RKI, hatten vor der Konferenz noch gefordert, dass sofort Kontaktbeschränkungen einzuführen seien. Heute sind sie wieder im Schulterschluss mit der Regierung. Dass da Druck gemacht wurde, ist keine Frage. Die Erst- und Zweitimpfungen kommen nicht wirklich im Eilschritt voran, aber die Protestveranstaltungen wachsen durchaus. Man wolle bis Ende Januar 30 Millionen Impfungen verabreicht haben. Mit den Auffrischungsimpfungen klappt das bestimmt, aber sonst? Ich bin frustriert, ja sogar deprimiert, denn ich habe das Gefühl, dass die Pandemie meine letzten Jahre bestimmen wird. Das wäre sehr schade. 08. Januar 2022 Nun ist es also auch in Deutschland so weit! Die Omikron-Variante treibt die Infektionszahlen wieder in die Höhe. Die lang erwartete fünfte Welle, die nun in den Medien als Omikron-Welle bezeichnet wird, schickt sich an, die deutsche Gesellschaft zu drangsalieren. In den meisten anderen europäischen Staaten sind die 1000er oder sogar 2000er Marken für die 7-Tage-Inzidenz pro 100 000 Einwohner längst gerissen worden. Was die deutschen Politiker aus den Erfahrungen der Nachbarn gelernt haben, ist, dass die Aufrechterhaltung der notwendigen Infrastruktur durch Krankenstände und Quarantäne ein viel größeres Problem darstellt, als die Belegung der Intensivbetten. Die gute Nachricht ist nämlich, dass Omikron besonders dreifach Geimpfte nicht so krank macht. Ein Hoffnungsschimmer am Horizont! Die schlechte Nachricht ist, dass die Virusvariante um ein Vielfaches ansteckender ist. Die Ministerpräsidenten der Länder und die Bundesregierung haben daher gestern beschlossen, Quarantänezeiten teilweise zu verkürzen und den dreifach Geimpften etwas mehr Freiraum zu geben. In Restaurants gilt ja 2 G+. Aber drei Impfungen ersetzen den Test. Recht viel mehr wird nicht geregelt und die Bundesländer waren sich schon Minuten nach den gemeinsamen Beschlüssen nicht sicher, ob sie das so gut finden und auch genau so umsetzen werden. Manchmal glaube ich, dass Deutschland immer noch von Landesfürsten wie im 18./19. Jahrhundert regiert wird. Leider entfaltet auch die Querdenkerszene exponentielles Wachstum. Es scheint immer mehr Leuten Spaß zu machen, sich „zufällig“ bei „Spaziergängen“ zu Hunderten, manchmal zu Tausenden zu treffen. Manchmal kommt es zu gewalttätigen Auseinandersetzungen mit der Polizei. Das Anliegen ist immer noch, dass man gegen Anti-Corona-Maßnahmen ist. Es handelt sich also um Nichtdemonstrationen für Anti-Anti-Corona-Maßnahmen. Ich denke nach wie vor, dass rechte Gruppierungen mit der Organisation dieser Proteste mittel- und langfristig Menschen für ihre politischen Ziele fischen. Ich hoffe, ich irre mich! 19. Januar 2022 Omikron geht um in Deutschland! Aber mit Sicherheit stehen wir noch am Anfang dieser Welle, denn die europäischen Nachbarn, die schon länger betroffen sind, haben 7-Tage-Inzidenzen pro 100.000 Einwohner von 2- oder sogar mehr als 3 000. In UK scheint der Höhepunkt überschritten, die Fallzahlen sinken wieder. Vielleicht mangelt es auch an Tests, wie Lisa erzählt. Die Belastung für die Intensivstationen stieg aber nirgends so stark wie die Infektionszahl. Das ist eine gute Nachricht. Allerdings haben die meisten europäischen Nachbarn eine höhere Impfquote (72,8) als Deutschland. Aber in unserer Regierung traut sich niemand ein Gesetz zur Impfpflicht auf den Weg zu bringen, wie das Österreich bereits getan hat und Italien es wenigstens ab einem bestimmten Alter tut. Gesundheitsminister Lauterbach und Kanzler Scholz, beide SPD, sprechen sich dafür aus. Aber die Regierungskoalition will, dass das Parlament die Gesetzesinitiative ergreift und einen Entwurf vorlegt. Dass der Bundestag so einem Gesetz zustimmen muss, ist eh klar. Aber bei den meisten Gesetzesvorhaben ist es die Regierung, die eine Vorlage zur Debatte stellt. Das Parlament braucht viel länger, muss erst die Berater-Ressourcen zusammenstellen, Mitstreiter finden… Ja, ich laste dieser Regierung Scheinheiligkeit und Feigheit an. Das Argument, dass es sich um eine Gewissensentscheidung für die Abgeordneten handle und man daher keinen „Fraktionszwang“ geltend machen wolle, ist Bullshit. Laut Grundgesetz sind die Abgeordneten immer nur ihrem Gewissen verantwortlich. Dass dem meist nicht so ist, dass statt Gewissen Fraktion und Koalition Verantwortung einfordern, ist bekannt, aber trotzdem nicht korrekt. Den Abgeordneten ihr Gewissen zu lassen, ist keine großzügige Geste der Regierung, sondern schlichtes Befolgen des Grundgesetzes. In Wahrheit wollen die Regierungsparteien nicht die Verantwortung dafür übernehmen, dass wahrscheinlich auf den Straßen massenhaft friedliche oder auch gewalttätige Demonstrationen der Impfgegner, Querdenker und der Rechten stattfinden würden. Da jetzt auch Gegendemonstranten auf die Straße gehen, könnte es natürlich zu Auseinandersetzungen kommen. Tja, so haben wir in Deutschland die Situation, dass laut Umfragen die Mehrheit eine Impfpflicht wünscht, aber eine Minderheit so sehr gefürchtet wird, dass sie eine erwünschte Maßnahme, ja ein gewünschtes Gesetz verhindern kann. In Deutschland gilt der Minderheitenschutz und das ist auch richtig so. Aber was, wenn Minderheiten missbraucht werden?! Hatten wir so ein Szenario schon in der Geschichte? Ich muss darüber nachdenken! 11. Februar 2022 Es gab nun längere Zeit nichts Neues zu berichten aus Deutschland in der vierten Corona-Omikron-Welle. Die Infektionszahlen stiegen und steigen immer noch. Der Höhepunkt ist mit ca. 200 000 Infektionen täglich (Inzidenz von ca. 1400) noch nicht erreicht. Dänemark hat eine Inzidenz von über 5000 und legt trotzdem keinen Wert auf Einschränkungen. Ein Vorbild für viele hier in Deutschland. Bei uns werden nun auch hauptsächlich von politischer Seite Lockerungen gefordert, weil die Intensivstationen von den hohen Infektionszahlen kaum betroffen seien. Aber wenn man sich als ganz normale Zeitungsleserin täglich die Zahlen anschaut, dann sieht man, dass seit ein paar Tagen die Belegung der Intensivbetten steigt und auch die Todesfälle mehr werden. Gesundheitsminister Lauterbach warnt vor Lockerungen und rechnet vor, dass man mit bis zu 500 Toten täglich rechnen müsse. Auch Wissenschaftler, Virologen und Mediziner aller Art sehen keinen Grund derzeit zu lockern. Wieso jetzt der richtige Zeitpunkt für Lockerungen sein sollte, erschließt sich mir auch nicht. Ungläubig schaue ich auch auf die Umsetzung zur Teilimpfpflicht und zur Gesetzesvorlage einer allgemeinen Impfpflicht. Eigentlich müssten lt. Gesetz am 15. März alle Beschäftigte in Kliniken und Pflegeeinrichtungen durch eine Impfung immunisiert sein. Das Bundesverfassungsgericht hat Eilanträge zur Aussetzung dieses Gesetzes abgelehnt. Also kann niemand ausbüchsen? Entweder impfen oder Jobwechsel! Aber nein, es gibt noch eine dritte Möglichkeit! Auswandern nach Bayern! Der bayerische Ministerpräsident Markus Söder hat nämlich vor ein paar Tagen verkündet, dass er diese Impfpflicht nicht umsetzen werde, da die Bedingungen nicht geregelt seien. Man würde nur im Chaos enden und so das Vertrauen der Bevölkerung verlieren. „Welches Vertrauen?“, kann ich da nur fragen. Aber es steht ja im Bundestag auch noch Gesetzesinitiativen zur allgemeinen Impfpflicht aus, die von partei-, fraktions- und ministerienübergreifenden Gruppen vorgelegt werden sollten, so der Wunsch der Bundesregierung. Die wollte sich offensichtlich damit die Hände nicht schmutzig machen. Ja, diese Vorschläge werden in diesen Tagen vorgelegt. Seit Dezember 2021 liegt ein Antrag des Bundestagsvizepräsidenten Wolfgang Kubicki (FDP) vor, der gegen eine Impfpflicht ist. Ein anderer FDP-Parlamentarier arbeitet mit einer Gruppe noch an einem Stufenmodell. Einer Beratungspflicht (was auch immer das heißen mag) würde, falls notwendig, eine Impfpflicht für über 50-Jährige folgen. Die Fraktion aus CDU/CSU nennt ihren Vorschlag „Impfvorsorgegesetz“. Es sieht die konkrete und logistische Vorbereitung auf eine Impfpflicht vor, wozu auch ein Impfregister gehört. Einführen wolle man sie aber nur, falls die Situation im Herbst dies erfordere. SPD-Parlamentarier könnten angeblich sofort einen interfraktionellen Entwurf zur allgemeinen (ab 18 Jahren) zeitlich befristeten auf drei Impfungen begrenzten Impfpflicht vorlegen. Es kommen langsam Zweifel auf, ob Ende März oder auch vor Ostern, also Mitte April, alle drei Lesungen stattgefunden haben könnten und man zur Beschlussfassung übergehen könne. Der Bundesrat muss ja auch noch abstimmen. Von politischer Seite ist auch vorgesehen, dass die Krankenkassen mit der Kontrolle der Impfpflicht beauftragt werden sollten, vermutlich da ja jeder in unserem Land krankenversichert sein muss und daher die Daten bei den Kassen herumliegen. Die Krankenkassen wehren sich aber mit Händen und Füßen dagegen. Da bin ich mal gespannt, wie man die ins Boot holen will! Also ich schätze, wenn nicht noch eine Wahnsinnsmutation für eine Neubewertung der Lage sorgt, dann verabschiedet unser Parlament ein Gesetz dann, wenn sich die Deutschen fragen, „Corona, was war das gleich nochmal?“. Überspitzt gesagt! 21. März 2022 Erstens kommt es anders, zweitens als man denkt! Dieses Sprichwort bewahrheitet sich wieder einmal. Eigentlich dachte ich ja, dass die Pandemie ihrem Ende entgegenstrebe und ich diesen Beitrag in diesen Tagen schließen könne. Tatsächlich veränderte sich die Lage in unerwarteter Weise dramatisch. Dass die Infektionszahlen im Zeitraum vom 11. Februar bis heute zuerst fielen und dann auf hohem Niveau gleich wieder so sehr anstiegen, dass täglich Höchstwerte gemeldet werden, ist aber nicht der große Wendepunkt. Ein ganz anderes weltpolitisches Ereignis bewegt Politiker aller Welt, aber besonders die Europäer: Die Armee der russischen Föderation hat am 24. Februar tatsächlich die Ukraine angegriffen und überzieht nun das Land mit Krieg. Es fallen sozusagen im Vorgarten Europas Bomben auf Wohnhäuser, Soldaten und Zivilisten sterben, drei Millionen Flüchtlinge strömen in die EU. Dieses Szenario hat der Pandemie nun in der öffentlichen Diskussion den Rang abgelaufen, so zynisch das auch klingen mag. Aber ich will dennoch den Stand der Pandemie in Deutschland für die Nachwelt festhalten. Heute liegt die 7-Tage-Inzidenz pro 100.000 Einwohner in Deutschland bei 1745, Tendenz steigend. Die Anzahl der vollständig Geimpften hat nicht mehr wesentlich zugenommen. Sie beträgt immer noch ca. 71 Prozent. Am 20. März 2022 sollten dennoch lt. überarbeitetem Infektionsschutzgesetz die meisten Schutzmaßnahmen ein Ende haben. Allerdings wurden die Bundesländer ermächtigt, in Eigenregie Maßnahmen beizubehalten oder auch nicht. Der Maßnahmen-Flicken-Teppich in Deutschland feiert also wie schon so oft fröhliche Urständ. Ich trage einfach meine FFP2-Maske nach wie vor überall, wo viele Menschen in Innenräumen zusammenkommen und natürlich in allen öffentlichen Verkehrsmitteln. Ob ich das muss? Keine Ahnung! Ist mir aber ganz egal, denn bei diesen Infektionszahlen macht das für mich Sinn. Die Impfpflicht für Beschäftigte in Kliniken und Pflegeeinrichtungen, die eigentlich ab dem 15. März hätte gelten sollen, ist natürlich noch nicht durchgesetzt. Und über die allgemeine Impfpflicht wird in der Politik und in den Medien immer noch gestritten, aber nicht mehr an prominenter Stelle. Die allgemeine Aufmerksamkeit gehört dem Kriegsgeschehen. Es ist mir ein Anliegen anzumerken, dass sich meine Befürchtungen hinsichtlich der rechten Szene und der Querdenker- bzw. Verschwörungstheoretiker-Szene tatsächlich zu bewahrheiten scheinen. Die Mythen um die Pandemie stießen im Laufe des Februars 2022 nicht mehr auf das große Interesse. Nun schüren dieselben Leute und Gruppen entsprechende Verschwörungstheorien bezüglich des Krieges. Viele scheinen sich mit dem russischen Präsidenten Putin und Russland zu identifizieren. (Quelle: https://www.sueddeutsche.de/projekte/artikel/politik/der-ukraine-krieg-als-grosse-verschwoerung-e916186/) Ich habe das Gefühl, dass die Gefahren der Pandemie keineswegs vorbei sind, obwohl sie nicht mehr die Aufmerksamkeit erhält wie früher. Von Befreiung kann nicht die Rede sein. Und es ist die Auseinandersetzung mit der Kriegsgefahr und all den menschlichen und wirtschaftlichen sowie politischen Folgen hinzugekommen. Ich bin mir derzeit schmerzhaft der Tatsache bewusst, dass man als Zeitgenosse keinen tieferen Einblick und überhaupt keinen Überblick hat. Aber dieses Thema möchte ich demnächst in der Rubrik „Ukraine“ bearbeiten. 08. April 2022 Nun ist es also wirklich so weit. Die Pandemie macht eine Pause! Genauer gesagt: Nicht die Pandemie macht eine Pause, sondern die Maßnahmen zur Eindämmung der Pandemie machen eine Pause. Das hört sich merkwürdig an, wenn man bedenkt, dass die 7-Tage-Inzidenz pro 100.000 Einwohner in Deutschland derzeit 1181 (Tendenz fallend) beträgt. Auch an der unzureichenden Impfquote hat sich kaum etwas geändert. Aber dennoch ist die Maskenpflicht tatsächlich gefallen wie fast alle anderen Schutzmaßnahmen schon vorher. Als ich heute zum Einkaufen in den Supermarkt ging, war ich mit meiner Maske im Gesicht eine Außenseiterin. Der deutsche Bundestag hat heute auch mehrheitlich gegen eine generelle Impfpflicht gestimmt. Nicht einmal dem Kompromiss, dass die über 60-Jährigen sich einer Impfpflicht beugen sollten, mochte das deutsche Parlament zustimmen. Sind wir nun endgültig an dem Punkt angelangt, wo die Corona-Pandemie, die ungefähr im Februar 2020 zumindest in Europa begann, langsam aus dem Bewusstsein der Menschen Stück für Stück verschwindet? Werden sich immer wieder Wellen aufbauen? Werden wir alle einfach mit dem Virus und der Infektionsgefahr leben wie mit anderen Gefahren auch? Werden wir vergessen? Oder gibt es ein böses Erwachen? Wir werden sehen!