Does today’s life in the rights sphere begin when I take care of equality myself, i.e., when I don’t just leave it up to the authorities? A small field study at the local government office.
I had to show up in person between 8 and 10 a.m., without an appointment, to apply for my new passport, or I wouldn’t be able to go on vacation. So I prudently arrived at 7:15 a.m. in the waiting area of the Weimar Citizens’ Office. A friendly, good-humored banter began with the five people who were already there regarding the end of the queue, about which I had inquired. I greeted the gentleman who entered shortly thereafter a bit amusedly, commenting that I was now the end of the queue. He also had the look of someone seeking orientation and wondering whether we all shared the same fate, as did each person who came into the room and looked at us from then on. Some asked directly, others had the situation explained to them. One person told us that he had left Franconia at 4 a.m. to come here and get a license plate. The elderly lady who, until now, had been standing a little to one side, had the courage to admit that she was actually ahead of me. “No problem, please take a seat here.”
After ten more minutes, there were so many of us that we came up with the idea that it would be very lucrative to open a café here early on Tuesdays. Everyone laughed, and we found ways to pass the time—if we weren’t too shy or too restless—a round of questions or a word game. For a moment, it seemed possible for people who didn’t know each other to meet freely and joyfully in gatherings outside of any political affiliation or point of view. And it seemed to me that the image of Germany created by the media was actually not to be found on the ground, only on a meta-level in the cloud.
Another ten minutes and thirty people more, and the queue began to break up a little, as the increasing number of people waiting generated more anonymity. As we approached 7:45 am, a cross-section of German citizens had gathered: old, young, with children or clients, transgender, Barbie-style, reserved, speaking loudly, suits, sweatpants, tattered trousers and expensive lipstick, weary, facing each other, withdrawn, with headphones, wishing each other Gesundheit after sneezing. The faces of those entering now looked rather desperate when they saw the length of the queue. But someone explained that it would actually go quickly once they got a ticket number from the machine. Someone poured themselves a cup of tea and said they had given up the previous week. And the woman who had arrived first eventually stood by the ticket machine to make it clear to new arrivals with her physical presence that there was a queue. Her friend joked that she was the machine’s bodyguard. We laughed again. The dynamic had changed, but the mood was still good. In the end, there were about fifty people in the room. All equal before the law and in their various issues that needed to be resolved with the authorities.
It was the first time that the rights life was so clear to my mind. I am quick to comprehend spiritual life and freedom, but there was an equality here that we usually leave up to the government, or that we believe it should regulate. And it does. But that morning, I realized that we can’t simply relieve ourselves of this responsibility—that it lies within me. I help shape whether things go well or go badly when someone shoves ahead and stubbornly insists on their rights. That’s not unusual in Germany because, as we say, “the legislature provides,” even if I don’t know exactly who that is. That Tuesday morning, everyone wanted the same thing: the number from the machine to sort things out, and they were equal in that all they needed something, even if I was number 6 and the last person was number 56.
I wondered if there was something we could all want like this, something that would unite us—something we could want with and for each other as equals among equals. Living well together? Peace? Care for the Earth? Then, equality in private matters would turn into equality in the common good for which we are jointly responsible. Would equality then become humanity? Can the rights sphere, understood as a center, as a heart-rhythmic system, allow us to come into play with each other in equality and to be flexible? We would have to want that.
The ticket machine was unlocked at 7:45 am. The man who had come in after me let the woman, who hadn’t realized that he was ahead of her, go first. He seemed to have time for it at that moment and didn’t feel the need to assert his rights. When I was called to go to Station 7 shortly after 8 am, a civil servant wearing a sash in a booth decorated with balloons was waiting for me. I asked if it was her birthday. No, it was her last day at work. I congratulated her warmly. We laughed. And I was back at my desk in time for the Weekly editorial meeting at 9.
Translation Laura Liska
Photo Meizhi Lang
