My Berlin – Dalai Lama in Germany (May 2008)
That man – silly smile, 1970s dentists’ glasses, Birkenstocks, saffron robes – doesn’t he look familiar? Sipping a raspberry Frappucino with extra caramel at Starbucks in the Ku’damm? Yes, it was almost certainly the Dalai Lama, all alone in Berlin. Understandable really: if your only political friend in Berlin was Roland Koch, you too would rather sit by yourself, sipping over-priced coffee and contemplating (as usual) the seven (six? eight?) roads to happiness.
Various wise men – Keynes, Oscar Wilde – have suggested that it is a sign of intellectual maturity to change your opinions. I am not so sure; I don’t like change of any kind. If I like a pair of trousers I wear them every day until they fall apart, and I am a bit like that with my political beliefs. But in the case of the Dalai Lama I have to accept that I was wrong. Some months ago I criticised Angela Merkel for meeting him. It seemed like another pointless piece of conciliation theatre in which the Chancellor seems to specialise. What was the aim – to demonstrate an interest in Buddhism, in spirituality, in Tibet, in the principle of autonomous rule in police states? Or to simulate a critical position on human rights in China, in the full knowledge that German business will continue to make deals there even if (God forbid) dissident monks are strung up from lampposts. So, I was with Steinmeier on the Dalai Lama meeting: it seemed more honest somehow to treat the man in saffron as a marginal spiritual leader with good friends in Hollywood.
Now, surely the politically honest course is to meet him in Berlin. It is the Chinese government that has upgraded him into an important political figure. This is how the communist leadership describes the Dalai Lama: “a jackal in Buddhist’s monk’s robes and an evil spirit with a human face and the heart of a beast.” Even Joschka Fischer in his heyday would have thought twice about using that kind of vocabulary. In the Chancellor’s first meeting, there was little to discuss. This week the German government had plenty to discuss – but instead hid under their desks rather than be photographed with the man in saffron. Berlin should be demanding and objective investigation into the violent suppression of the Tibetans, it should be calling for international observers to the trials of Tibetans, urging the Chinese to open the province for foreign correspondents, reminding Beijing that it has a constitutional commitment to religious freedom. Perhaps Steinmeier has been doing this behind the scenes, but now surely is the moment to go public. If the Chancellor met the Dalai Lama to underline her commitment to human rights, then surely she shouldn’t abandon her public stance when things get difficult. For sure, the Chancellor had an alibi for avoiding the Dalai Lama: she was out of town. And I suppose one could argue that Steinmeier was too tired after a whole week of defending human rights in Russia (did you hear his speech on this subject? No, I didn’t either) to find time. But surely the President was the man who should have taken care of the Tibetan guest; Horst Köhler, above party politics, concerned with the ethical life of Germans.
I have nothing against political hypocrisy. Of course not: I’m English. It is – as a fascinating new book by the philosopher David Runciman (Political hypocrisy: the Mask of Power from Hobbes to Orwell and beyond) makes clear – the necessary oil in the political machine. He identifies “first order hypocrisy” when politicians use public rhetoric to disguise vice as virtue. “Second order hypocrisy” occurs when politicians conceal this practice from themselves. First order hypocrisy – the culture of exaggeration and of benign deceit – is part of social existence. Second order hypocrisy is dangerous.
The government in Berlin genuinely seems to believe that it is serving human rights by now ignoring the exiled spiritual leader of Tibet, despite having embraced him when the political costs were lower. What kind of signal does that send to corporate business where corruption and moral turpitude seems to have become part of the once-proud ‘Made in Germany’ label? German voters demand clarity not only in policy but also in language. It is precisely this that is missing from the Grand Coalition.
Germans, I know, laugh a little at the American political process. America is the land of Phineas Taylor Barnum who invented the first Wanderzirkus. His man-eating tigers, Liliputaner and bearded women performed before Queen Victoria and Abraham Lincoln. Now we have the Wanderzirkus of the American primaries and Germans seem to regard it as an expensive mockery of democracy. But out of it all comes a democratic essence and – because speeches are so closely monitored – a lucidity of language. At the end of it all, Americans will be left with a feeling that politics can improve lives and that it really is about creating a better world. That is what is missing in German politics.
An dem Tag, als Martin Luther King erschossen wurde, sprach Bobby Kennedy vor einer Menschenmenge vornehmlich schwarzer Amerikaner in Indianapolis. Es gab damals noch keine Mobiltelefone; niemand in der Menge wusste, dass Martin Luther King tot war. Kennedy sagte es ihnen, hörte ihr Entsetzen und improvisierte eine Rede. Sein Schluss: „Lasst uns gemeinsam die Unzivilisiertheit der Menschheit zähmen und das Leben dieser Welt besänftigen.“ Zuerst war es still dort, dann kam Applaus. In den nächsten Tagen gab es Rassenunruhen in 76 amerikanischen Städten. Aber nicht in Indianapolis.
Germans need to find that kind of language if they are to believe in the power of politics again. And that in turn means finding politicians who are not afraid of awkward situations, who do not pull down the shutters and who sit in darkened rooms when uncomfortable guests arrive in Berlin.
