I traveled frequently to Germany years ago, both before the wall came down and after. In many ways, the contrast between the two Berlins was like that in the Detroit Metropolitan area.
West Berlin was a glittering jewel, reminding me in many ways of the Detroit suburbs of Birmingham and West Bloomfield, with a touch of Washington D.C, thrown in.
East Berlin -- well, the contrast couldn’t have been more stark. Physically, it had a lot in common with Detroit. Most of the residential buildings were prewar, many still pockmarked from the horrendous battle in 1945. Most of them seemed not to have been painted since World War II. Ancient faded ghostly letters spelled out the names of long-dead inhabitants and long-defunct businesses.
Some of the structures were partially destroyed, with trees growing out of their upper stories, a sight common in Detroit today.
Life was clearly grim. The telephone exchange barely worked; the stores were Spartan and joyless. There were no racial differences . . . but you could always tell an Ossi, or an East German.
Their complexions had that pastiness that comes from not enough Vitamin C. Their clothing was cheaper; their dialect slightly different after decades of separation.
Then the world changed, and the wall came down, and to everybody’s shock, in October 1990 Germany was united again. The prosperous west; the impoverished east.
What was to be done? There was virtually no debate. West Germany had to pay to build up the east. Anything else was unthinkable. This is our country; these are our people. Within a few years, you could barely recognize the old East Berlin.
Sure, there was grumbling about the lazy Ossis and the arrogant Wessis. Though the job isn’t finished, they pitched in and got it done. The Germans once committed unspeakable crimes. But it seems to me they are now more civilized now than we.
Two miles from Detroit, a city crumbling with poverty and decay, people live in multi-million-dollar homes and think they are secure. They think the mess a bike ride away is not their problem. Nor do they think they can or should do anything about it.
I don’t know what a clinical psychologist would call this attitude, but I know what it is. Stark raving insanity.
And we are paying for it, throughout Michigan, every day.
Comments