Leading You Down the Kleingarten Path

One of Berlin's many Kleingartenanlagen (allotment garden complex). You
might find peace and quiet, but only if you follow the myriad rules and
regulations! (Photo: Christoph Diepes)

She (or he) who seeks the quintessence of Germanic order and practicality, but also wishes to savor the flavors of its bureaucracy and bourgeois culture, need look no further than the over 1 million Kleingärten (allotment gardens; literally "small gardens"). They dot the landscapes of Germany's city outskirts, line large thoroughfares and stretch along the parcels of land abutting railroads and airports. Their history begins in the 19th century, and their use has evolved from beginnings as children's exercise areas, later became crucial vehicles of food production for the urban poor, and now mostly serve as mini weekend homes for older middle-class Germans looking for a weekend escape.

The history of the Kleingarten in Germany stretches back to the age of Industrialization in the 19th century. As rural populations flooded to burgeoning urban centers, newly bloated cityscapes housed increasingly poor, crowded and unhealthy citizens. Air pollution, malnutrition and poor working conditions were just a few of the factors contributing to the ample suffering of the German city dweller of the 1800s. Enter Dr. Daniel Gottlob Moritz Schreber, who observed the deteriorating health of young Germans and proposed that the government set aside parcels of land as "green oases" where children could exercise, cultivate gardens, and generally profit from some time away from the soot and pollution of the cities.

A collection of Dr. Schreber's curious
anti-masturbatory exercise machines.
(Graphic: Wikipedia Commons)

This all seems very positive and well-intentioned from the Herr Doktor S. aus Leipzig, but beneath the surface was a much less benevolent philosophy: Schreber was also a big proponent of the strict repression of sexual desires. He vehemently opposed the idea of masturbation (not to speak of its frequent practice), and believed that his oases – in combination with a series of machines he had invented – could help "purge" the excess energy that he thought drove the urge to pleasure oneself, and thus (re)form the child into a productive, hard-working German citizen (see graphic). We probably shouldn't be surprised that his own unfortunate son ended up writing memoirs about his substantial psychological illnesses which, according to Sigmund Freud and several of his colleagues, stemmed from his father's draconian parenting style. Perhaps unsurprisingly, children outside of Schreber's domain went on masturbating at approximately the same rate they did before, and also showed less interest than he had intended in mindfully cultivating these "small gardens". Maybe they were too busy putting in their 80 hours a week in soot-filled factories.

So of course it ended up that adults were actually more interested in caring for the garden plots, at which point the so-called Schrebergarten developed into an important means of food security for the urban poor, perhaps the most useful and positive consequence of Schreber's master plan. Other urbanizing countries in Europe also developed some form of allotment gardening with this goal (London famously set aside allotments in the aftermath of World War II), but Germany led the pack then and now in terms of organization and prevalence of these plots.

Some 150 years later, today's Schrebergarten really has nothing to do with the health of German youth, and little to do with feeding the poor. In fact, the current average age of the Schrebergärtner sits at 60 years of age. Today, aside from providing the originally-intended escape from urban concrete jungles, the million-plus German Schrebergärten (70,000 of which can be found in Berlin) now serve in large part as an outlet for the well-known German penchant to over-organize, over-regulate, and over-tidy anything and everything they can get their Teutonic hands on. The typical plot consists of a small, immaculately stained wooden shelter, a nice little section of perfectly groomed lawn, a few lounge chairs of varying quality, and of course a garden with neatly arranged rows of vegetables and flowers. Weeds are nowhere to be found, as they are meticulously exterminated well before they are able to spread. File all of this under "irony" that Schreber's original plan for allotments to help purge children's sexual urges has now resulted in an outlet for old people to be super ordentlich and spießig (and we of course know nothing of their sexual urges).

Speaking of spießig, this concept is actually one of my favorite German words, and it is of those concepts that is nearly impossible to translate into English. "Bourgeois" is the most common translation but doesn't quite work, and "square," as in "be there or be square," isn't a very useful translation either, especially now that the 50s are over. In a way, the Kleingärtner might just be a living, breathing translation of the word spießig: the following video (in German) from the Deutsche Welle series "Die Wahrheit über Deutschland" ("The Truth about Germany") does an amazing job of investigating a typical German Kleingärtnerkolonie to give us a little taste of what spießig really means. A small dose of perfectionism, a spoonful of nerdiness, and a healthy swallow of being extremely tidy. This is spießig:

The particular Kolonie featured in the video has a 73-page booklet (!) of rules and regulations, including the 4-chapter, 22-legal-paragraph long Bundeskleingartengesetz. Lovely summer reading, I assure you (feel free to take my word for it). For the top three examples of Spießigkeit in the allotment gardens, skip forward to 2:35!

Our own little backyard Schrebergarten, complete with
improperly spaced veggies, not-so-straight crop rows and
an inadequate flower-to-vegetable ratio.

All of this is quite amusing, but the Schrebergarten is actually a real and practical way for modern city-dwellers to obtain some semblance of balance in their lives, grow healthy food, and also make very good use of land that would often otherwise lie vacant or unused (such as the area near train stations and tracks). We Americans have been reading articles for several years now about how urban gardens are booming in U.S. cities, but it still remains a niche activity reserved for hipsters and environmental activists who want to eat brown eggs and a whole lot of kale and Swiss chard. I think American city centers that have experienced urban decline and have large tracts of dilapidated and unused land – such as Detroit or Cleveland – could really benefit from a healthy dose of the aforementioned German regulation and land-use laws (perhaps 20 pages instead of 73). Vacant or degraded lots could be set aside for use as Kleingärten, with set lot prices much like they were in post-war Britain. They could even be used by inner city schools to introduce kids to foods that don't glow bright orange, contain mysterious animal parts or stay fresh on the shelf for upwards of a decade. The benefits would be many-fold: a happier, healthier populace, green gardens instead of scrap heaps, eroding buildings and weeds, and generally a more attractive cityscape.

Whether or not such a plan is a realistic undertaking in the U.S. is another question. For one, Americans as a rule aren't afforded nearly as much time off to spend working on a garden (nor would they necessarily spend it there if they had it!). I also think fast food and processed food culture is much more deeply seated in the States than in Germany. In the end though, we don't have to copy Germany's model exactly (in fact, I think we'd be well-advised not to). I think the simple idea of setting aside urban land for gardens is a no-brainer, especially in U.S. cities where that land is already lying fallow.

Solstice-to-Solstice with the Berlin Fernsehturm

Some would point to the Brandenburg Gate as the most prominent Wahrzeichen (emblem or symbol) of Berlin, but in the post-Berlin Wall period, I think more and more people would point to the fantastically pointy Fernsehturm – or TV tower. Love it or hate it (I love it), this icon of the DDR-Zeit reigns supreme over Berlin's otherwise-modest skyline; like nearly every aspect of Berlin's landscape, it has an interesting history that begins with a 300-million-dollar mistake about 20 miles to the southeast. I decided last December that a little Ode an den Fernsehturm was in order, and over the past six months I had the perfect office window to compose it.

Starting in mid-December, with the sun merely skirting the horizon over the course of a day, I decided to take a picture from the same spot in my office window each work day (with a barely-noticeable move one room to the east about halfway through) between 11:30 AM and noon – admittedly I did take a few shots up to an hour late when I was forgetful. As it turns out, this winter was also one of Berlin's (and Germany's) greyest on record, with a grand total of 67.5 hours of sun for the entire winter season. April got a lot sunnier, and those trees absolutely exploded with green at the first opportunity. I particularly like to watch the sun migrate upward over the course of the video as we pass through the equinox toward the summer solstice. I first loop through slowly, then again much more quickly, and finally I end with those precious few days of sun between December and late May. There are 95 photos in total, and the music is "Murs Beat" from RJD2. You can also find the video here on YouTube.

There's a strange beauty in the simplicity of
the Fernsehturm. Maybe it's more beautiful
because of all the hideousness surrounding it.

Das Fehlgeburt auf dem Müggelberg

There is a subtle irony in the story of how the Fernsehturm ended up being built in the center of Alexanderplatz in the former East Berlin, and how it later became the icon of a modern and united Berlin. The DDR party leaders wanted to trumpet the architectural prowess and power of their Communist utopia, but also wanted to improve their miserable radio and television broadcasting reach (something something two birds, something something stones). They chose the highest point in East Berlin, the Müggelberg near the southeast corner of Groß-Berlin, so that their new tower would imposingly lord over the plains of Brandenburg and the plebs obediently working the sandy soil. At the same time, though, they wanted to bite their collective thumbs at the capitalist naysayers of the West. Alas, only after they had laid a 300 million dollar foundation did they think to consider whether the planned 160-meter spire might interfere with air traffic. Sure enough, it did. And it's a wonder they didn't think of it sooner given that Schönefeld Airport is well under 10 km away (as the plane flies) from Müggelberg. Apparently, foresight was about as abundant as luxury consumer goods in the DDR. So before anyone noticed, Walter Ulbricht and Co. dreamt up a much more grandiose plan...

A more typical, and greyer, view of the tower.

Berlin's Third City Center, and a Thumbed Nose to the West

The tower was to be placed at the center of Alexanderplatz, thus putting the finishing touch on the new center of East Berlin. As far as I'm aware, Berlin is the only world metropolis that has three distinct city centers pointing to three very distinct aspects of its history: the 800-odd-year-old city center in and around the Nikolaiviertel (which is now little more than a curiosity and secondary tourist destination), the center of the East at Alex, and the epicenter of West Berlin that was artificially established around Kurfürstendamm and the Gedächtniskirche. So Ulbricht's tower plans grew from 160 to over 300 meters, and they even threw in a rotating restaurant to impress the Muscovite Comrades during state visits. The West had the consumer mecca at the KaDeWe, but Ulbricht one-upped them with a massive silver ball that was visible to all Berliners, East and West. The game was far from over though, as the West soon thought it would have the last laugh: the Fernsehturm's architects formed the tower's sphere such that it reflected the sunlight perfectly into the sign of the cross, and it didn't take long before the more pious Westerners named it the Rache des Papstes ("the Pope's Revenge"), referencing the godlessness of the Eastern and Soviet regimes. Before Reagan single-handedly brought down the Wall with one simple turn of phrase in his famous speech, he jeered the East and their massive 'becrossed' sphere. Piety, however, was not destined to define the future Hauptstadt, though. Today, the Fernsehturm has become the symbol of a re-united, modern, increasingly cosmopolitan, and very much secular Berlin; in the end, the last laugh goes to the Fernsehturm itself, because it managed to transcend its builders, and later its detractors to represent a much better version of Berlin.

Dubbing Trouble and the German Kino

Das Kino, Berlin style.

When I moved in Berlin for the first time in 2010, I met a guy who had set the lofty goal of visiting every Kino (movie theater) in Berlin at least once. An ambitious and time-intensive undertaking to say the least, given that there are no fewer than 275 movie theaters within the city limits (about 1 in 7 movie theaters in all of Germany is located in Berlin!). With this high number of theaters, along with the increasingly popular Berlinale Film Festival, the film business is alive and well in Berlin, and indeed in Germany at large.

I haven't had a chance to meet up with my Kino enthusiast acquaintance since 2010, so I have no idea whether he's on the home stretch or whether he's given up on his Kino-quest (if I remember correctly he was working on his 40s when I met him), but I have had the chance to poke my head into a few of Berlin's many interesting film houses myself. Being a major European capital, Berlin of course has the typical massive and sterile theaters located at Potsdamerplatz and the Sony Center. These 15-plus screen behemoths often host major premiers and shamelessly bombard you with up to 45 minutes (!) of advertisements. This might be the one rare case where Germany actually trumps the U.S. in unabashed consumer capitalism – though the U.S. has ads at movies as well, they've never exceeded 15-20 minutes in my experience. Apparently the ad men and women at the Cinemaxx think that everyone who watches 007 films is obsessed with cars as well, because they were hawking everything from Fiat 500s to Fords to Porsche 911s until we were almost ready to walk out and waste our 12,50 entry fee and purchase any kind of transportation vehicle that wasn't a car. The most painful thing of all, though, is that you can generally forget about seeing an American or non-German movie in Germany without subtitles or dubbing, unless of course you want to support one of these behemoth cinemas.

Despite appearances and the prominent signage
suggesting otherwise, this is in fact a Kino.

Hippies and History in Berlin's Small Kinos

So once you've developed the advanced skill – as I have – to resist the temptation to verbally abuse the distracting subtitles gracing the bottom of the screen at your favorite film, you can begin to discover the best side of Berlin's film scene: the host of small venues that have fewer than 100 seats (and often fewer than 50) and fewer than 5 screens – places where Hollywood blockbusters live peacefully next to art-house and independent films in an interesting and organic environment. I remember in particular one of my earlier experiences with Berlin's small movie theaters. We cycled down to the self-styled "oldest Kino in Germany," Moviemento in Neukölln, to see Gaspar Noe's Into the Void (which ultimately turned out to be about 2 hours too long and a tick heavy on the gratuitous porn scenes but that's beside the point). The foyer and ticket counter reminded me more of my grandma's living room than a movie theater, and the pierced, tattooed and moderately medicated cashier sold us our organic colas and Gummibärchen with a subdued smile. The screens aren't all that much bigger than the biggest flatscreens at your local electronics store, the plush 70's-style seats are bolted into carpeted concrete floors with a .003% grade, and I think my home speaker system just might be better than theirs. But I can say with full confidence that I enjoyed the experience far more than the impersonal, cavernous atmosphere at the commercial-happy Cinemaxx. You can find these little gems in virtually every district in Berlin if you're willing to wait a bit for the latest releases to come out. One of my other favorites is Central-Kino, nestled into a grungy alley near the otherwise-posh Hackescher Markt.

The DDR's Kino International, lording over the pavement
desert that is Karl-Marx Allee.

For a more palpable sense of history, though, Kino International might be the most interesting theater in Germany for my money. It was the movie theater of the GDR that hosted all of the glorious premiers jenseits der Mauer (although one would imagine famous east-of-the-Iron-Curtain stars strutting along a red carpet to be particularly fitting at Kino International, I personally imagine a more spartan and egalitarian grey one). All of these interesting old theaters in Berlin – and their continued success – just confirm for me though that the newest, most advanced theater technology (I'm looking at you, disappointing 3D-tech) isn't necessarily what movie-goers are always looking for. These quirky spots offer much more of a movie experience.

Randy Marsh, video rental entrepreneur.

Death of a German Movie Salesman?

At first glance, the home movie experience also seems to be alive and well in Germany, or at least in Berlin. As far as I'm aware there is no equivalent to Netflix or Blockbuster's online service in Germany that is killing the brick-and-mortar establishments. I've also heard from many that torrents and illegal downloading is pretty strictly monitored on German networks.  As we strolled around the city, we also couldn't help but notice that Videotheke seemed to be on every corner and were often full of customers. This is starkly different from the U.S., where independent movie shops, Blockbusters, Hollywood Videos and Family Videos disappeared in a matter of months after online services and downloading exploded. Just ask Randy Marsh from Southpark: he bought a Blockbuster franchise in hopes of making it big, and instead promptly went insane while pacing the empty aisles in his rental shop. While Germany's shops seem to be hanging on a little longer than those in the States, a closer look at Berlin's video scene reveals that there really is only one major player (Video Center) in the city's rental market, and that the larger market is also experiencing an inexorable decline. In other words, I'm not looking to pull a Randy Marsh here in the Hauptstadt anytime soon.

Video rental is still hanging on – for now – in Berlin.

Rub-a-dub Dub, Dubbing is Rubbish

Though I've really enjoyed exploring some of these unique spots to see movies and am happy to see that rental shops are at least giving it the old college try at surviving, I don't view all aspects of the German Kino experience through rose-colored 3D glasses. The continuing scourge of movies (and television!) in Germany is Synchronisierung, or dubbing, whereby the original actors' voices are replaced with ill-fitting and vanilla German voice-overs. While I'm sure these are all very talented individuals, it is enormously frustrating to hear the same voices, accents, expressions applied to the vast variety of amazingly talented actors in world television and film. My latest scream of frustration came when watching the trailer for the latest Star Trek film, where the venerable Benedict Cumberbatch is reduced to an insipid Hochdeutsch (see video) that I swear I heard on the Simpsons at some point. I grew up thinking of dubbing as something of a joke, having been exposed to some of the classic kung fu films and their hilarious sound-video mismatches. However, when I saw my first television shows in Germany, I realized it was actually a serious way of watching foreign shows. In fact, most of the countries in central Europe – with the exception of the Netherlands and Scandanavia – still dub a large portion of their video entertainment, and Germany is king of them all.

Dubbing is a huge industry employing thousands, but the actual number of voice actors is surprisingly limited. The more prolific voices can be heard voicing a host of famous actors from all over the English-speaking world. For example, Gert Günther Hoffmann dubs Sean Connery, Paul Newman, Rock Hudson, Lex Barker and William Shatner. Even more ridiculously, Thomas Danneberg plays Sylvester Stallone (American), Arnold Schwarzenegger (Austrian-American), Dan Aykroyd (Canadian) and John Cleese (British). My immediate question was, what happens when two of these people happen to play in the same film, but fact is, I don't think people would necessarily even notice. Second thought is, how the hell do they choose the same guy to play the quintessentially American actor Paul Newman and the quintessentially Scottish actor Sean Connery?! John Cleese and Arnold Schwarzenegger, seriously?

I asked a German friend at one point how people can tolerate the mismatched mouth movements, poor translations and lack of variety in the voices. They replied that because they grew up with it, they barely even notice it. I've also met people who say they heard Bruce Willis' real voice and were quite disappointed because they had grown used to his German doppelgänger's voice. I'm no huge Bruce Willis fan, but it's all pretty sad, really. To boot, all this dubbing means that Germans always have to wait months before new releases make it to market. Seems like a lose-lose-lose-lose to me. Maybe I'm just being a selfish English native speaker by demanding less interference in my movie experience in a foreign country, but I think the case for subtitles over dubbing even for non-English-speaking Germans is a pretty strong one. The good news is that younger generations have had far more exposure to international languages and original versions of film and television via the Internet, so original versions (OV) and versions just with subtitles (Original mit Untertitel, OmU) are becoming more and more popular. Maybe those German-dubbed English language films will eventually be the jokes that dubbed kung fu movies have become in the U.S.

Update: Another topic that I consciously left out for brevity's sake – but had to tack on to the end here after stumbling across this great little movie blog – is the ridiculous translation and renaming of movies in the German market. I'll let the "Madmind" blog speak for itself, but basically, the Germans are obsessed with the "Title: this is a pointless phrase" movie title format. My favorite: American movie "Signs" becomes "Signs – Zeichen". In other words, "Signs – Signs" (!). Doing this in virtually every case results in some pretty solid (and tragic) comedy. Enjoy.





 

Spargelzeitgeist: the German Penchant for Seasonal Food and Drink

The sun is shining in Berlin, winter jackets are being stowed away, city park lawns will soon be trampled into dirt, and all that means it's Spargelzeit in Germany! I can still remember my very first Spargelzeit as if it were yesterday. As Spring sprang in Freiburg im Breisgau, I heard whispers of the beloved Spargelzeit among the public, and soon I started spotting small stands throughout the city selling bundles of the thick, phallic white stalks stacked precariously high on foldable tables. Then, I noticed that every restaurant in town that wasn't hawking Döner was making appetizers, main courses, soups – and yes, desserts – using what appeared at the time to me as unripe or poor quality asparagus that had been allowed to grow for far too long. As far as I was concerned, asparagus was green, the best ones having a very tender quality and being only about a half centimeter thick. How much I had to learn about the world of asparagus. This is the obsession that is Spargelzeit in Germany (which could be translated as "asparagus season", but I think "asparagus-time" better encompasses the child-like excitement surrounding it), and it turns out it's actually just one of many seasonal food and drink "events" in Germany throughout the year.

Aside from being a bit put off by this different brand of asparagus that's exceedingly rare in the States, and reportedly had to be peeled before consuming, I was flummoxed at the sheer enthusiasm the Germans had for the vegetable. Many even religiously adjust their schedules and eating habits in the Spring to maximize Spargel consumption, and I'd bet big money that there's an annual hollandaise bubble around late April-early May, as it is the Spargel sauce of choice. Many lands tout their scenic wine or beer routes, but I reckon few can say that have a designated Spargel-route; Delbrück in northeastern Germany can make this proud claim, and they advertise their veg-specific cycle tour route on the Internets with the slogan "Pure cycle and asparagus pleasure." If I loved white Spargel as much as I love cycling, this would be a dream come true for my inner hedonist...but I don't, so it really isn't (to boot, there is nary a hill in the region, rendering the cycling equally marginal). Although my home province of Berlin/Brandenburg doesn't have its own Asparagus Pleasure Route as far as I'm aware, it does have its own epicenter of asparagus production located in and around the town of Beelitz, just southeast of city limits. In other words, if you're in Berlin and your asparagus didn't come from Beelitz, you've been had.

After 50 total hours of sunshine all Winter, Spargelzeit finally
shines its light on Berlin.

For those hard-to-convince readers needing more evidence of just how serious (or rather, giddy) the Germans are about the mighty asparagus stalk, the Spargelzeit phenomenon has also reached into the realm of television: one of the longest-running and most popular series in Germany was and is the crime show Tatort, and the 2010 episode called Spargelzeit (if you love Tatort and Spargel and have an hour to burn, you can watch the whole episode on YouTube) racked up the highest ratings for a Tatort show in 13 years (about 10.5 million viewers and a 29% share!), which puts it high in the running for the most watched show Germany-wide.

In search of some sort of concrete reasons behind this Teuton-Vegetable love affair, I found some information at germanfoods.org that points to the history of asparagus as a "luxury vegetable." Back in the day, it was almost exclusively available to the medieval rich and famous, and was therefore a rare treat for the humble plebs, who were drinking chunky-style beer and living in the otherwise-monotone culinary world north of the Alps. I think there could be something to this history playing a role on modern Spargel-eating habits, but I can think of two possible additional factors: first, Spargelzeit comes right at the glorious moment when the cold, grey winter of northern Germany gives way to blossoming flowers and trees and chirping birds. Asparagus, in other words, is just another happy indication that winter has come to a close. Second, and probably more importantly, I think Spargelzeit is really just the most popular example of the larger phenomenon of ingrained seasonal eating and drinking habits in Germany that emphasize the beginnings of a particular food or drink's harvesting season.

Erdbeerzeit is still the best Zeit of them all
as far as I'm concerned. (Photo: Hölker Verlag)

Case in point: On the heels of Spargelzeit comes Erdbeerzeit (Strawberry-time), and then as summer hits its peak (that is, if summer hits any kind of peak at all, which is far from a sure thing in Berlin lately), out come the Pfifferlinge for Pfifferlingszeit (chanterelle mushrooms), and of course any imaginable dish that involves mushroom cream sauce. In other words, lots of deliciousness. These seasonal events also stretch down to the southern reaches of the German-speaking world: When I first arrived in Styria, Austria, I quickly learned about Sturmzeit, which is centered around the grape harvest and the production of Sturm, a young and cloudy wine often drunk at the famous Heuriger (farm-to-table operations that serve meats, cheeses, wines, and vegetables that are all legally required to be produced on the premises). Along with producing prodigious hangovers, the drink represents a sort of a swan song for the friendly Fall weather in Austria. In the words of the Austrian, "Sturmzeit ist Herbstzeit!"

All of these Zeiten underline the much more prevalent tendency of Germans to eat seasonally. This tendency is part by choice, part out of habit, and part by general availability of produce. Any American who has lived in Germany or wandered into a German supermarket on vacation has probably noticed that the breadth of produce is far narrower than that found in its American counterparts (I've also read blogs complaining about the barren supermarkets of Germany). For many years in the U.S., I grew used to year-round strawberries, avocados, grapefruits and almost any other seasonal fare that was flown in from opposite hemispheres, so it took me a while to get used to the comparably sparse selection at the typical Rewe, Edeka and especially the increasingly numerous Bioläden (organic grocery stores). But when I got beyond this initial frustration, I realized that seasonal eating and the Germans' various food obsessions are actually one of my favorite aspects of German (and really, European) culture: it really is a wonderful way to enjoy the passing of the seasons and forces you to enjoy those foods even more when they're available and fresh. It also minimizes the shipping of food across hemispheres and oceans (see this article from the Local on this topic) or inefficient production in giant greenhouses. So enjoy your Spargel thoroughly (for now), and the strawberries will be here in no time flat.

German Beer: Past, Present and Future (Part 2)

Ludger Berges' Hopfen & Malz shop in Berlin-Wedding.
(Photo: Philip Husemann)

"Berlin was waiting for good beer" – this was shop owner Ludger Berges' reply upon being asked why he decided to open his Berlin-Wedding beer shop Hopfen & Malz in February 2012. Before exiting the pharmaceutical industry that was failing to float Berges proverbial boat, he began researching the German beer market and sifting out the best brews across the country (see Aktion Gutes Bier). Today, his shop carries about 300 different brews, and his selection mainly comes from within Germany, but he also stocks beers from the U.S., Belgium and a few other countries. I think the above quote from Mr. Berges – and the success of his shop – is symbolic of a nascent change going on in Berlin's (and maybe Germany's) beer world. I think it's also a development that has the potential to affect all stages of the life cycle of German beer – how it's produced, distributed, sold and consumed. Much like the United States during the mid-20th century, the German beer market has seen a consolidation and monopolization of the beer production, distribution and sales processes, resulting in less variety, less choice, and less quality in a country where beer is a cultural – and of course a nutritional – staple. The question: Can Germany reverse this development and rediscover the great variety that's always been present in its beer culture? And perhaps more importantly, how?  

The U.S. Beer Renaissance

I'd like to start by having a look at how America's beer world has changed, and is changing. The number of breweries in the U.S. steadily declined well into the 1980s as conglomerates swallowed up smaller brewers, which resulted in a boring beer "monoculture" – beer drinkers basically had the choice between regular or light lagers (Miller/Miller Lite; Bud/Bud Light; Coors/Coors Light, Busch/Busch Light etc.). A more apt description of this choice: high-calorie dishwater versus low-calorie dishwater. In the late 1970s, the number of breweries bottomed out at 89 nationwide, which had a number of fundamental effects on beer culture and business in the U.S., many of which persist today:

1. The business of brewing is only about the bottom line, and quality inevitably suffers:
For example, Anheuser-Busch InBev (A-B InBev) brews with cheaper grains (such as rice) to save money, and fewer or poor quality hops are used because the plant is expensive. Much more recently, A-B InBev has been fighting claims they've been watering down their beer to save money. The way I see it, it makes zero difference whether they watered their beer down or not; their beer still tastes like rubbish (or in the best case, nothing) to anyone who knows anything about beer, and it's because all they really care about is a better bottom line and a growing market share.

2. Brewing conglomerates move to control distribution and shelf space in stores:

The American brewery 'pinch' in the 70s, and the subsequent
explosion of microbrews. (Graphic: Brewer's Association)

This issue is crucial, and as we shall see, it's also crucial in Germany's beer market. As in any business, more market share means more control over the means of distribution, and it also means you can impose more pressure on the retailers to prominently display your product. In Beer Wars, a 2009 documentary about the beer business in the U.S., we learn about the so-called three-tier system in the U.S. (Brewers, Distributors, Retailers), which successfully helps to curb vertical integration, which allows the corporation to control all stages of production. But in doing so, the three-tier system actually encourages horizontal integration (acquisition of, and/or merging with competitors to form huge conglomerates). In short, the big boys can muscle out the runts by: a.) getting distributors to not deliver for the competitor, and b.) providing retailers with dozens of 'brands', thus occupying more and more shelf space (Check out this fantastic overview from the Washingtonian).

3. An ignorant consumer is a good consumer for the brewing juggernauts:
In creating a beer market where there is little difference between competitors' products, the battle is shifted away from the arena of product quality toward the marketing arena, and this is exactly where the big fellas want to fight their war (A-B InBev spent $1.42 billion in 2011). If consumers spend their lives in a market dominated by boring swill, they'll be less likely to notice or develop a taste for a higher quality product if it does manage to enter the market.

All the pesky little flies in AB-InBev's soup (Graphic: Aleheads.com)

Here's the good news: Americans are developing a taste for higher quality beers and a more diverse product; the result is more choice for the consumer, the emergence of American brewers as some of the best in the world, and a "democratization" of the beer-brewing market. As Herr Berges at Hopfen und Malz informed me, home-brewing was actually not even legal in the U.S. until Jimmy Carter legalized it in 1979 (it still isn't legal in Alabama, and will finally be legal in Mississippi as of this summer), and if you cast another glance up to the Brewer's Association chart, it's no coincidence that this legalization lines up nicely with the explosion of craft breweries after 1980. Today, there are over a million homebrewers in the U.S. and over a thousand homebrew clubs. In the past decade, new U.S. breweries have consistently competed at the World Beer Awards, and often won, against the "traditional" country of origin for a given beer type. Since 1980, over 2,000 new craft breweries have been established, and although the U.S. beer market overall is declining – a development that is now mirrored in Germany – craft breweries producing fewer than 700,000 L per year saw a robust 13% increase in sales (U.S. Brewer's Association). As shown in this NPR piece, they continue to chip away at their total share of the market. All stats aside, I think the development of the American beer market is part of a more general and growing movement of buying local, avoiding chains and conglomerates, and being more aware of the source of one's food and drink. Although craft brewers still only account for a small fraction of the overall market, they've succeeded in greatly widening the horizons of beer drinkers in the states and reminding people what beer can and should taste like.

(Update: I was unaware of this recent story from BBC about how the British beer scene has been influenced by America's craft beer boom.
 
A Similar Story in Germany – with a similar outcome?

When I sat down to talk with Hopfen und Malz owner Mr. Berges last month, I was curious if the state or development of the German beer market in any way resembled that of the U.S. I was vaguely aware of a similar consolidation of brewers in Germany (i.e. that Becks, Spaten and several other big German names had been snapped up by InBev back in the day, and German companies responded in kind), but I had no idea how similar the picture actually looked...

I was probably one hill-climb away from the
Schwarzer Keller in this photo.

Mr. Berges discovered the true variety of German beer in the same place I did: in the rolling hills of the east central region of Franken (Franconia). This area boasts the densest collection of breweries in the world, with nearly 300 of Germany's 1,400 or so breweries. Berges assured me when I listed the breweries we had visited on our beer/bike tour that we had missed the best place in all of Germany to drink a beer: the Schwarzer Keller in Weigelshofen. Most of Franconia's breweries are located in small towns, and are small-production Privatbrauereien with long histories. Helles, Dunkles, Kellerbier, and Rauchbier are the leading varieties in Franken. But Germany's beer diversity isn't just robust in Franconia: there are hundreds more small breweries from Bavaria in the south, to the Danish border in the north, where some of the world's best pilseners, Weizens, and Kölschs in the world are made. So why is it that so many of us beer-lovers – despite our appreciation for the superiority of the German Pils and Weizen – find ourselves growing bored in a country with so much good beer? Three words, according to Mr. Berges: "Distribution, distribution, distribution"...

Why German Beer is so Damned Cheap

Much like the U.S. companies, German brewing companies began swallowing up smaller breweries one by one in order to gain more market share. The largest brewery in Germany, the Radeberger Group, owns some 40 different brands and controls about 15% of the beer market by itself. A company called Brau Holdings International (BHI) and AB-InBev round out the top three. Though it's perhaps not as extreme as in the U.S. in the 1980s, the top 8 companies in Germany controlled 52% of the market in 2009 (see Aktion Gutes Bier).

Some of the names you'll see in Getränkeläden and Spätis.

But here's the real kicker: Germany doesn't have a three-tier system to stop these conglomerates from vertically integrating, and thus controlling all steps in the process. For example, the Radeberger Group brews the beer from its 35+ brands, distributes them, and then sells them in warehouse-like Getränkeläden or Märkte (drink stores – see also my earlier post "Into the Drink"). This kind of vertical and horizontal integration has the positive effect of reduced production and distribution costs, such that beer is quite a bit cheaper than most water in Germany. I always thought it was just because Germany likes beer more than a friend, but it's really all about capitalism: the conglomerates can produce, distribute and sell beer extremely cheaply while still profiting, and want to keep it cheap, but not too cheap (either legally, or illegally by means of price collusion) to maintain their dominance.  The end result, as Mr. Berges put it: "If you go to Getraenke Hoffmann (owned by Radeberger Group), they have 200 Getränkemärkte in Berlin and Brandenburg. And they all belong to this [Radeberger] Group. So if you go there and look at the variety, 50% comes from the same brewery. You do not see it because of all the different labels, the colors of the boxes, but it's all the same company...that is why people think it all tastes the same." The real clever bit on the part of the conglomerates was keeping all the regional labels they had swallowed up so that the vast majority of consumers would remain ignorant to the fact that all the variety is in fact illusory. I imagine most have no idea that their beloved local brand they grew up with has been bought out by a multinational corporation. In cities like Berlin, this means that the hundreds of small Spätis (convenience stores) can source all of their beer from two or three distributors (i.e. Radeberger, AB-InBev and BHI) and still offer what appears to be a wide selection of beers for rock-bottom prices. And the same goes for the supermarkets.

The Plight of the Beer-Lover's Beer Shop in Germany, and the Light at the End of the Tunnel

You'll have a clear sense of Germany's
beer variety at Hopfen und Malz. (Photo: Philip Husemann)

So because of all of this, as Mr. Berges explained, "Germans have only three major sources from which to buy beer: the Getränkemarkt, Supermarkt, and the Kiosk/Späti, and none of them focus on small-production brewers." This of course was the impetus for Berges' Hopfen und Malz, but unlike liquor stores in the States, he has no easy method of getting beer to his store. He had to laboriously establish personal contact with dozens of breweries and distributors one by one, and currently works with 30 (!) different distributors in order to maintain his current stock. He focuses only on the top-rated smaller suppliers and displays them clearly by beer type, the best of the best residing at eye level. It's a refreshing new way to experience and shop the Vielfalt (diversity) of German beers. But Berges doesn't just carry the traditional German beer types from Franconia and Bavaria: he also stocks the newest pilsners, porters, and yes, IPAs, APAs, and XPAs (!) from Germany's newest microbrews, which are popping up at an increasing rate all over Germany.

An IPA and a Märzen from Pax Bräu, one
of Germany's new promising microbrews.
(Photo: Philip Husemann)

So despite all of the aforementioned factors working against them, these new microbrews and brewpubs are beginning to breathe new life into the German beer market. Berlin now has 20 breweries and brew pubs, only 1 of which is large-production (unsurprisingly owned by Radeberger Group). Berges believes this number will grow to 30-40 in a few years, including the first American-owned brewery to open in 2013, called Vagabund-Brauerei. Founders Tom, Matt and David started as humble home-brewers, but are now crafting a set of ambitious beers in hopes of broadening German beer taste and bringing some much-needed variety to Berlin's beer market. It's interesting that the homebrewing craze that helped kick-start the U.S. microbrew market is not quite as prominent in Germany (Berges reckons there are somewhere in the neighborhood of 10,000 people who are homebrewing in Germany); one of my theories is that even the mass-produced pilseners are still top-quality products compared to the Buds and Millers of the U.S., so perhaps there was less impetus for exploration. But maybe it was also just that something that was long forbidden in the U.S. had suddenly become legal, so people went hog-wild on it.

In the end, it's clear to me that there are two big keys to Germany (re)discovering the quality and variety of it's brewers: until shop owners like Berges have a less burdensome method of stocking products from quality, small-production breweries, they will remain needles in the haystack of Spätis, Getränkemärkte, and Supermärkte. The big players will definitely fight this tooth and nail, but I think craft brewers in the States and the new ones cropping up in Germany have shown that if you brew it, they will come. However, I think the demand side might be even more important: The German consumer must wake up, smell the hops, and realize that they've been duped by the beer behemoths. Nobody expects the majority to drop everything and never buy an AB-InBev beer again, but some of the energy Germans put into buying organic foods can certainly be shifted over to more conscientious beer shopping. Hopefully they can also overcome their often rigidly traditional mindsets to explore some of the plethora of wonderful beer types that didn't originate in or near Germany. I, for one, am optimistic.

Germans are still serious about brewing:
give it a few years and Germany will also be
crafting top-notch pales. (Photo: P. Husemann)

(If you'd like to travel back in time to beer's past, have a look at Part 1. Also, another big thanks to Ludger Berges and Hopfen und Malz for his insight into this blog post. Also, if you're interested in getting updates on the newest promising pilsners, pale ales, and porters in Germany and beyond, the Hopfen und Malz Facebook feed is a great resource!)

German Beer: Past, Present, and Future (Part 1)

"We can better conquer Germania with beer than with weaponry." These choice words from Roman historian Tacitus in the 1st century give an indication of just how far back in time the Germans' love for beer reaches. In the many generations and centuries following, beer remained an irreplaceable staple in Germanic society – indeed, as basic as food itself – and still today, it's impossible to think about Germany without thinking about its beloved Volksnahrungsmittel (literally "people's food"). Here, I take a look at beer's long history in "Germania", its roots in the culture of the populace, but also at the beverage's present and possible future(s) – in two parts. The second half will include some first-hand input from the owner of a Berlin beer shop called Hopfen und Malz that's breaking the city's Späti (late-night convenience store) mold. I'll also examine what I think has to happen for Berlin and Germany to best cultivate its rich beer history in the coming years and decades. The world of beer is changing again – as it always has – and I think Germany would do well to ride the wave.

The Ancient Roots of Beer Brewing

Hugubert enjoying some swill from the horn.
(Photo: Ormsheim Re-enactment Group)

The history of beer goes much further back than the Germanic tribes of Central Europe. Many centuries before Aldegund and Hugubert were brandishing battle axes and sculling beers out of animal horns in the longhouse, the Sumerians, Egyptians and Chinese sipped a very chunky version of the drink through filtered straws and made from a variety of grains. In fact, a recent New York Times article "How beer gave us civilization" claims that as early as 10,000 years ago, beer – and not bread – may have actually been the first product rendered from cultivated wheat. The author goes on to claim that beer, and the light intoxication it brought on (early beer had quite a bit less alcohol than today's brews), was likely a key step on man's road toward complex societies and innovation. In a sense, the author claims that beer acted as a sort of social "lubricant" for humans, allowing them to get beyond their basest animal instincts and societal restraints. I have to say I'm a bit skeptical that beer was a necessary prerequisite for novel human creativity, not to mention the fact that alcohol also probably played a pretty hefty role in ramping up interpersonal aggression. But there is no doubt that beer has played a fundamental role in a host of world cultures – none more, of course, than the Germans.

Swiss cloister St. Gall brewed
three different beers in 820 AD.

At the risk of seeming presumptuous or misogynistic, I think most of us today would identify beer brewing as a masculine enterprise; however, the production of beer was in fact a household duty in early Germania, and therefore a woman's job. The brew bore little resemblance to the drink we know and love today; it was also chunky, sour, and probably had less than 3% alcohol, so you'd have to choke down a half dozen pints of the swill if you wanted to get your medieval buzz on. Beer was the drink of choice – or rather, the drink of necessity – in all of the areas of Europe where grapes could not be cultivated, and this beer/wine division remains pretty robust today; try a beer that's actually brewed in 'winophilic' Spain, Italy or Greece and you'll believe me. The big advantage with beer in the Dark and Middle Ages was that, aside from it's wonderful intoxicating properties, the water had to be boiled and was therefore guaranteed to be safe to drink.

The Tipsy Monks

Just as literacy, scientific knowledge, and wealth were centered around the cloisters and monasteries dotting the European landscape, the business of brewing was mainly the domain of the monks of medieval Germany and Europe. Some of the oldest continuously operating breweries in Europe are in abbeys and cloisters. Beer was also a convenient work-around for monks during those pesky fasting periods; because beer was a liquid, monks could still consume it during this time. The way I see it, it wasn't all that bad being a monk during this time, at least compared to the poor sots outside the monastery walls: stable food supply, comfortable and airy robes with optional hood for chilly nights, and although the church made you fast for a while, it actually meant you got to tie one on on an otherwise empty stomach.

One of the earliest proper breweries we have on record is the St. Gall brewery located in modern Switzerland, and it gives us a tantalizing description of its brewing complex that confirms the above. What's fascinating about the St. Gall brewery is that it produced three different grades of beer: prima melior for the monks, secunda for lay brothers, and tertia for pilgrims, beggars, etc. (for more detail see Ian Hornsey's History of Beer and Brewing). Now, the details of exactly how these brews were crafted isn't explicitly laid out in the description, and some even dispute that three distinct beers were produced, but as far as I've read, the general consensus is that they comprised three levels of decreasing quality, where some of the raw materials (malt, hops, etc.) from the previous "level" would be reused to make the inferior brews. Imagine brewing three pots of coffee using the same grounds each time – in a cruel ironic twist, it was the poor and destitute that were given the weakest and sourest brew, thus hindering their ability to drown their collective sorrows. Viewing St. Gall from a more global perspective, Klosterbrauen ("abbey ales") perhaps represent the first clear evidence of top-down control of beer and brewing, and as we shall see, this system of controlling production and distribution continues through to the present day.

German Stadt- and Hofbräuhäuser

The German Purity Law of 1516

Eventually, the populace and nobility noticed that they were being shut out of a lucrative business; as a result, myriad Stadt- and Hofbräuhäuser (city and court breweries) were established, in effect democratizing the beer-making process. Sounds great on the surface, but this development also led to a rapid decline in beer quality. Many producers began using strong spices and herbs such as stinging nettles, cloves and juniper to mask poor taste, and materials such as soot – and even the psychoactive fly agaric mushroom of Alice in Wonderland fame – were used as preservatives. In addition, wheat and grain supplies were being increasingly depleted as brewers and bakers competed for often-scarce ingredients, especially wheat. These were the two main factors that led to the world-famous Reinheitsgebot of 1516 (German purity law), stating that only barley, water and hops could be used in the production of beer. To this day, it stands as the oldest continuously implemented food regulation (and I think it's fitting that this title belongs to the Germans).

An interesting consequence of the adoption of the at first only Bavarian Reinheitsgebot – especially after it was adopted by all of Germany upon the 1871 unification of Germany – was that, along with curbing poor and tainted products, it also reined in a lot of the variety in German beer and cleared the way for the pilsner beer to dominate the German beer market. The Pils is a bottom-fermenting lager that became possible and gained in popularity in the 19th century as refrigeration became more available. It also had the added advantage of being more transportable because of its higher hops content. Today, bottom-fermenters (mainly pilsner and export, the latter of which is a higher alcohol version of the former) account for over 73% of beer sales in Germany. Though dark beers, Franconian-style Helles, and others are gaining in popularity, you can basically say that Germany is a two-type beer market: the Pils, which is popular basically everywhere, and the Weizen, which is particularly popular in the south (see figure below).

Market shares of various beer types
(source: Aktion Gutes Bier)

A Decline in German Beer Culture?

This fact brings me to the article that actually spurred me to write these two posts: namely, a Slate article by Christian DeBenedetti entitled "Buzz kill: Why German Beer Culture is in Decline", which reports that overall German beer consumption is in decline for the first time in a very long time. DeBenedetti claims further that German beer culture is declining along with it. I wanted to know whether this was true, and if so, why it was happening. The author first cites the exodus of talented young German brewing school graduates to the United States that are looking to become part of the craft brew market boom there. I'll elaborate more on this in the following post, but the U.S. beer market is now in the midst of a pretty big renaissance; craft breweries are popping up left and right and offering a wide range of products of superior quality. Over the past several years, beer consumption in the U.S. has also stagnated, but craft breweries have shown strong growth and consistently chipped away at the market share of the big three (Anheuser-Busch InBev, Miller and Coors). In short, despite flagging overall consumption, U.S. beer culture is as lively as ever. Jumping back to Germany, DeBenedetti later cites the decline in the number of breweries in Germany, and Berlin in particular, as an indicator of Germany's beer culture slump. The city did once house over 700 local and regional brews, but now has a total of just 20 (19 of which are brew pubs or very small production). The author paints a decidedly dour picture for German beer culture, but given the depth of Germany's relationship with its Volksgetränk outlined above, I don't think the Germans need to fear the long-term decline of their beer culture. Indeed, I think what I've observed and heard confirms that German beer culture may well be in transition, but I don't think it's in decline.

Correction: der Staubsauger has informed me correctly that Miller and Coors are MillerCoors since 2007. I guess they couldn't just stand around idle while Anheuser Busch got even bigger by teaming up with InBev. So it's now the "Big 2".

(to be continued in part 2 of "German Beer: Past, Present, and Future")  

Atomkraft? Nein Danke. Energiewende? Ja bitte.

In June of 2011, Germany made perhaps the most significant and gutsy move made by any nation to date in order to boost renewable energy production and (eventually) reduce emissions. In the wake of the Fukushima disaster (which marked its 2-year anniversary just the other day – have a look at this amazing before/after photo series from the Atlantic), and under significant pressure from the German people and rival parties, Merkel's administration pledged to shut down all nuclear power plants in Germany by the year 2022. This move represents a huge step in the so-called Energiewende ("energy transition"), whereby all non-renewable energy sources will be phased out in favor of renewables. In Germany's case, the latter have consisted largely of photovoltaic and wind energy, which at their peak now account for more than 20% of Germany's total energy use. More than any other Western nation, Germany has acknowledged the energy problems ahead of us, and the world will certainly be watching closely as they try to tackle the challenges of rapidly ramping up renewable energy production. They'll also watch Germany take a big lead in implementing these technologies.

In the following, I'd like to take a look at how Germany got here, and why they in particular have stepped away from the status quo in this case. In doing so, I'm hoping to avoid the whole debate on the merits or weaknesses of nuclear power; instead, I'd like to focus on how German culture and politics led to these developments.

Monthly wind and solar power production in Germany

Although the Fukushima event was the proverbial straw that broke the camel's back, the recent political push toward the Energiewende is actually the end product of decades of activism going back to the 1970s, when Germany' aversion to nuclear power began. As the Wirtschaftswunder (the "economic miracle") rolled on in the West during the 50s and 60s, demand for power rose, and the relatively new technology offered by nuclear science filled the gap. But of course it wasn't long before the first (big) problems arose, and the German people rose up along with them. Back in those days, the spectres of nuclear power gone wrong were the Three Mile Island disaster in the U.S. and the Chernobyl explosion in the Soviet Union. If that didn't hit close enough to home for many Germans, then the proximity of planned nuclear waste storage facilities to people's towns and homes was enough to drum up popular support for the Anti-Atomkraft movement. To this day, this German movement against nuclear power has been stronger, more widespread, and more sustained than anywhere else in the world.

More importantly, however, the Anti-Atomkraft movement was part of a much broader and more fundamental environmentalist movement in Germany that continues to define the country's politics and the psyche of the populace to this day. Though I think many would agree that the environmentalist movement in the United States began much earlier, with conservationist pioneers such as Aldo Leopold (who, incidentally, was just profiled today on NPR) or looking even further back to John Muir, there isn't a shadow of a doubt that environmentalism in policy and practice is far more advanced in Germany than in the States today. There is a significant chunk of the U.S. populace that doesn't see any reason to change daily habits, conserve energy, or modify public energy policy in the face of environmental change.

Anti-Atomkraft protesters

Setting aside the obvious reasons for this development that are certainly rooted in our very different political systems, I think one of the big reasons for this disconnect in public opinion and behavior is the vast difference between the post-war worlds experienced by the Germans and Americans. Before the Wirtschaftswunder really had a chance to take hold in Germany – and of course during the latter part of World War II – an entire generation of Germans grew up in an environment of heavy rationing and shortages that left no other option besides adopting a lifestyle of Sparsamkeit (thriftiness). Nothing was wasted, everything used, reused, recycled and repaired. I think many also forget that much of this generation is still living today, and their offspring undoubtedly retain many of these characteristics in their daily lives simply because it's the way they were brought up.

By contrast, the U.S. came out of World War II as rich as ever, with a young population just beginning to realize the scale of vast natural resources at their fingertips. Combined with a pretty liberal capitalist/expansionist economic model, consumerism boomed, and the conservationist/environmentalist movement that had such strong roots in the U.S. fell into the background. Though books such as Rachel Carson's "Silent Spring" found a broad readership, a real movement never gained significant political traction. What the Germans call the Wegwerfgesellschaft (literally "throw-away culture") had been born, flourished, and spread out of the U.S. during this period. My favorite statistic in this vein is average per capita water consumption: although Germany is far from the being the best in the world, they still use about 1/3 the amount of water as the average American. Some of this is simple personal awareness of waste, but a lot of it is the availability of products such as water-saving toilets and fixtures, which have only just begun to be commonplace in the States.

Bringing this back to the issue of nuclear energy, the Energiewende and the environment, I think the social climate of the late 1960s and 70s in Germany provided the perfect environment for all of these factors to come together: the confluence of anti-consumerism, anti-materialism, the cult of growth and corresponding disregard for nature, and finally, the nuclear accidents, all served to fuel the movement that resulted in Germany's giant step forward in the Energiewende. I think that one of the most interesting aspects of the phase-out of nuclear in Germany is that it came from the Conservatives. Granted, Merkel's CDU party prior to Fukushima was singing a different tune about nuclear power, but in Germany (in contrast to the U.S.), conservatism is not automatically associated with a reduced interest in pursuing renewable energy. Furthermore, the flexibility and willingness of a politician to change a political standpoint based on relevant events is a place where the U.S. can learn a lot from the Germans.

Wutbürger protesting Stuttgart 21
(Wikipedia Commons)

One final point in connection with this issue is that public demonstration and public opinion are heeded in a much more real sense in Germany than in the states. It's not that protest is dead in the U.S. – quite the contrary, and on both sides of the political spectrum – both the Tea Party and Occupy Wall Street are strong evidence that Americans are as actively political as ever. The problem is that politicians in the states don't answer to the public any more. The German word of the year in 2010, "Wutbürger" (angry citizen), was coined to describe people acting in response to controversial public projects and initiatives, and in many cases their actions have led to real change (see Stuttgart 21, the Berlin-Brandenburg Airport, and the Gorleben nuclear waste storage facility). Although these demonstrations can become tiresome at times, and their efficacy is far from perfect, they are a sign of a healthy democracy, where a real interface exists between public opinion and the actions of politicians.