This week marks the second time in as many months that I’ve had the good fortune to be visited by Chitown heroes*
That beautiful bespectacled fella has been my main squeeze since 1976. The brunettes are his, the gingers are mine. I love ‘em one and all.
And so it was that, once again, I had the pleasure to see my adopted city of Berlin through the eyes of beloved visitors. What a joy to have such sweet company, to share in the little things with the big people in my life, and to have my little people share little moments.
Sometimes I reckon that a staycation with visitors, seeing my fair city through the eyes of others, is every bit as gratifying as a vacation. This is especially true when considering the costs and indignities of modern travel.
Great. Now I sound like a curmudgeon. But if you will indulge my cantankerousness…
The very morning my visitors left, I arrived at work, greeted by the detritus of one my least favorite German traditions. Abistreich.
For those not in the know, Abistreich is an opportunity for the graduating class to come together upon completing their exams to play a gag on the school. The tradition involves pranks, vandalism, and general chaos on the school premises.
Abistreich actions range from the sweet interruption
…to the more aggressive water pistol assaults on younger students
But when water turns to beer
…and you give this turd the keys to the castle
Some version of this happens every year
In fairness, I’ll make the case for Abistreich. It offers an outlet for pent-up emotions, allowing students to forcefully abandon their academic responsibilities and revel in having survived the indignities of school. Abistreich carries a communal significance and can have a unifying effect on the graduating class. The planning and execution of pranks require cooperation, teamwork, and creativity, fostering a sense of camaraderie.
Abistreich is a rite of passage, the goal of which is to leave a unique mark. An epilogue. A legacy. An act of vengeance.
The tradition varies from school to school and class to class. Some schools have banned it outright. After countless years of wanton destruction by graduating seniors, over whom the school has no authority to speak of, my school administration has sought to negotiate with the graduating class, thinking they could tame the beast. They can’t. A few years back, we were featured in the Tagesspiegel when our beloved graduates donned balaclavas and attacked younger kids with water pistols and flour as parents and teachers watched in horror.
Abistreich is an act of liberation that I wish I could wholeheartedly celebrate.
Regular readers know that I am deeply interested in rituals. This newsletter is but one of mine.
Abistreich is a cathartic, ritualistic act of mindless destruction, about which I have strong but complicated feelings.
Consider other cathartic destruction rituals. Destruction of personal items in grief rituals. Burning effigies. Greek traditions of pottery smashing. Destroying sand mandalas. Holi festival in India (below).
Berliners tend to bring a wantonness to such rituals. May Day celebrations are disruptive and destructive and reticently supported by the state.
New Year’s Eve looks like a warzone, as I explored in my first newsletter this year.
Abistreich in Berlin gives otherwise kind, caring kids the greenlight to destroy. Sometimes they do. The more destructive incarnations of the tradition normalizes behavior that is contrary to the principles of respect, empathy, and responsibility. The disruption, the seeking of vengeance, the property damage, and the carelessness of it all can overshadow any intended celebratory aspect.
Lest I hoist myself by my own curmudgeonry, I might add here that heartily support the gentle, playful version of the ritual. However, I take umbrage when there is destruction and damage that our mostly Arabic and African cleaning crew has to contend with. The optics of that, to say nothing of the drudgery of the work, frustrate me.
Moreover, I take umbrage when there is a “fuck this shithole” vibe to the ritual. I earnestly devote my working life to making that shithole less shitty. And here y’all are, making it more shitty. Not cool, ya shitheads.
But the catharsis. The community. The ritual. It matters.
I just don’t know.
I do know this. There is a kinder, gentler graduation tradition that I adore. Biertisch! Bellying up to wooden tables to drink beer with the graduating class. I did that Wednesday night. It was an unmitigated joy to share a tipple with these kids, some of whom I have taught since they were lil’ ninth-graders.
We were together when it all shut down in March 2020. We navigated lockdowns, online school, and hybrid school. We went through the shit together. We tried so hard to keep it together. The story of the Class of 2023 is complicated and beautiful. I love these kids. I mostly held back my happy tears. Mostly.
It’s been a rich week in LazarTown y’all. Glorious guests. Wrapping up the school year. WifeLady had a yucky surgery (home and recovering now). Dropped an episode of the CoGoPod that I recorded with four esteemed colleagues. Put a lil’ lipstick on a pod I recorded with a violin maker, dropping it on Tuesday. Recorded a convo with Afro-German studies professor Tiffany Florvil, coming soon.
Gonna chill this weekend. Hope you do the same.
Yours,
DL
*I wrote about Cousin Floppy n’ Fam in Seeing Berlin with Fresh Eyes.
I’m learning how rituals that mark time matter to me. So this year, I am carving out an hour or so on Friday to sit quietly before my family wakes to write about what I obsessed about that week. If you enjoy this weekly reflection, please subscribe so I can send it to you every Friday.