Cigdem Toprak

Wir wollten jung sein, wir wollten frei sein

Jul
21

Es heißt, dass der Salafismus die neue Jugendkultur der Muslimen in Deutschland sei. Das war früher anders.

Als wir blutjung waren, wollten wir nur eins: frei sein. Wir liebten unsere türkische, arabische, kurdische Kultur, unsere islamische, alevitische Religion, unsere maghrebinischen, afghanischen und anatolischen Traditionen – aber wir wollten sie so ausleben, wie wir es wollten – so wie es sich in einer modernen Gesellschaft gehört.

Jeden Sommer wollten wir im Freibad schwimmen, wir wollten in Clubs feiern gehen, in die wir mit sechzehn Jahren eigentlich gar nicht hinein durften, wir wollten mit Jungs oder Mädels ins Kino, wir wollten mit unserem Schwarm oder unserer Angebeteten telefonieren, wir wollten eine feste Beziehung haben und sie oder ihn Zuhause unseren Eltern vorstellen – so wie es unsere deutschen Freunde taten. Wir wollten jung sein, wir wollten frei sein.

Da wir strenge Eltern hatten, unabhängig davon, ob wir alevitisch, sunnitisch, arabisch oder kurdisch waren – mussten wir – gerade wir Mädels – viel von unserem Leben verheimlichen. Und das war nicht einfach. Wir haben uns im Zimmer eingeschlossen, wenn wir Liebeskummer hatten, und konnten oft unseren Eltern nichts davon erzählen.

An Liebe hat es uns nie gefehlt, aber an Freiheit sehr oft.

Wir haben nach Wegen gesucht, wie wir abends aus dem Haus kamen – wir haben unsere Eltern für jede weitere Stunde außerhalb unseres Zuhauses angebettelt. Wir wollten uns nicht beugen, wir wollten die herrschenden sozialen Normen durchbrechen.

In den Zeiten vor dem Handy hatten die Jungs immer Münzen in der Hand, um uns aus einer Telefonzelle  Zuhause anzurufen, in der Hoffnung, dass nicht unsere Väter oder unsere Mütter, sondern wir dran gehen – und sie unsere Stimme hören können. Wir haben Liebesbriefe geschrieben und sie Zuhause akribisch versteckt.

Wir Mädels haben uns überlegt, wie es wäre, wenn wir lesbisch wären – ohne dass unsere Eltern es merkten. Wir hätten mit unserer festen Freundin so viel Zeit verbringen können, wie wir nur wollten – sie könnte bei uns Zuhause abhängen, mit uns in den Urlaub fahren und mit ihr hätten wir nach dem Abitur sogar eine WG gründen können. Wir haben sehr viel geträumt. Auch davon, wie das Leben für die nächsten Generationen werden wird. Ob sie mehr Freiheiten haben würden als wir, fragten wir uns oft. Wir haben das gehofft.

Wir haben gehofft, dass wir so frei sein konnten, wie unsere „deutschen“ Freunde – so frei, dass wir auf der Straße Händchen halten könnten, ohne Angst zu haben, dass ein Onkel oder ein Freund unserer Väter uns dabei erwischen würde. Wir wollten einfach nur jung sein.

Und wir haben dafür gekämpft.

Wir wurden stets als „Ausländer“ bezeichnet, die Fronten waren klar. Das, was für die Deutschen galt, galt eben nicht für uns. Wir haben die Werte aber niemals abgelehnt. Wir haben uns nur darüber geärgert, dass die Deutschenmit ihren Freiheiten so wenig anfangen konnten. Wir, wir hätten das Beste rausgeholt.

Dann merkten einige von uns, dass es keinen Lichtblick gab, dass sie nur bestraft wurden, wenn sie die herrschenden sozialen Normen in den muslimischen Communities brechen. Als die hübschesten, selbstbewusstesten und coolsten marokkanischen Mädels mit 16 Jahren verheiratet wurden, als die freiheitsliebende und aufmüpfige Freundin nach dem Abitur ihren Cousin heiraten musste und sich anschließend das Leben nahm, als nur wenige es schafften, ein selbstbestimmtes, freies und offenes Leben zu haben – ohne mit den Eltern zu brechen, oder eine „falsche Muslima“ oder „unehrenhaft“ zu sein. Da fing man an, konform zu leben. Konform gegenüber den Erwartungen der Eltern. Und die Jugend war dahin.

Die Grenzen waren schließlich verschwommen.

Während unsere Eltern, unsere Tanten und Onkels noch in der Türkei, Marokko, Afghanistan und in Algerien sozialisiert worden waren und sich ihrer Heimat, ihren Traditionen und Normen immer stark verbunden fühlten – war das für uns nicht mehr selbstverständlich.

Wir waren in diesem Land geboren, aber für uns galten – so selbstverständlich war das für alle, auch für „die Deutschen“ – andere Normen, andere Regeln, andere Erwartungen. Wir waren überfordert; nicht nur mit Hausaufgaben und den Besuchen unserer liebevollen Verwandten, nicht nur mit den Sommerurlauben in unserer mittelöstlichen Heimat, wo wir auch stigmatisiert und bedrängt wurden, sondern auch mit den Übersetzungen für unsere Eltern bei deutschen Behörden – aber noch weitaus mehr, wir waren überfordert mit Erklären, mit Rechtfertigen, mit Entschuldigen.

Wir mussten uns stets entschuldigen, für das, wer wir waren und das, was wir sein wollten.

Am meisten tat diese Ungerechtigkeit weh. In unserem Herzen spürten wir jedes Mal einen Stich, wenn wir merkten, dass unsere Grenzen viel zu nah an unseren Träumen waren.  Und wir haben mit Angst gelebt. Angst, erwischt zu werden. Angst, bestraft zu werden. Angst, mit welchen Vorwürfen wir diesmal konfrontiert würden. Dabei wollten wir nur jung sein. Wir wollten frei sein.

„Wir Ausländer“ haben uns zusammengetan, wir haben Solidarität dort gezeigt, wo es unseren bürgerlichen Klassenkameradinnen und Klassenkameraden nicht gelang. Wir hatten uns unsere eigene Welt erschaffen.

Wir waren befreundet aufgrund unserer kulturellen Identität, weil wir unterschiedliche Kulturen aufweisen konnten – gerade auf dem Gymnasium, wo wir auf das deutsche bürgerliche Leben trafen und damit mit unserer kosmopolitischen und transnationalen Identität nicht viel anfangen konnten. Und es war nicht unsere Religion, die identitätsstiftend für uns war. Es war unser gemeinsames Verlangen, unser Streben nach Freiheit, nach Akzeptanz, nach Anerkennung. Sowohl von unserer eigenen Gemeinschaft, als auch von der deutschen Welt da draußen.

Und wenn unser Lehrer uns fragte, welchen Beruf unsere Großväter ausübten, waren wir drei „Türken“ die einzigen, deren Großeltern nicht einmal einen Schulabschluss hatten. Aber wir kamen damit klar, es hat uns nicht gestört. Denn nicht nur in Mathe oder Physik, sondern auch in Ethik, Geschichte oder Deutsch waren unsere Noten um einiges besser als derjenigen, deren Großväter Ärzte oder Lehrer waren.

Wir waren Aufsteiger. Wir hatten nur keine Ahnung, welchen Preis wir dafür bezahlen mussten.

Wir hörten Hiphop, liebten Pharrel Williams – bevor es heute die bürgerlichen Studenten taten. Wir trauerten um Tupac und Aaliyah. Wir kannten amerikanischen Slang und hatten deshalb den Englisch-Leistungskurs gewählt. Das war unsere Jugend.

Wir hatten kaum Vorbilder in den deutschen Medien oder in der Öffentlichkeit, die uns einen Weg aufzeigen konnten, wie wir die Erwartungen unserer Eltern, unserer Gemeinschaft mit den Erwartungen da draußen vereinbaren konnten. Wir haben uns nicht als Opfer gefühlt, aber wir wurden ausgegrenzt und irgendwann wurden wir zu Opfern gemacht.

Dabei haben wir uns nicht mit dem Islam oder den Koran auseinandergesetzt – das haben unsere Eltern vielleicht gemacht. Wir haben im Ramadan gefastet, wir haben unsere religiösen Feste zusammen gefeiert. Mit einem richtig miesen Gewissen haben wir uns in der Schule frei genommen – denn unsere Eltern wollten nicht, dass wir am Zucker- und Opferfest von der Schule fernblieben. Sie wollten nicht, dass wir vorrangig religiös waren – aber immer anständig.

Wir haben immer auf den Sommer gewartet; die Jungs haben trainiert, die Mädchen haben Diäten gemacht, weil wir wussten, dass wir uns in Bikinis und Badehosen im Schwimmbad treffen würden. Und wenn wir es schafften, wollten wir Abitur machen, wir wollten studieren, wir wollten raus in die Welt. Das war unsere Welt. Und wir hofften, dass die nächste Generation noch offener, noch freier und noch moderner leben würde. Dass sie soziale Normen durchbrechen würde. Dass sie nicht „deutscher“ werden müsste, aber freier werden könnte. „Dass sie mehr dürfen.“

Dürfen – das war eines der Verben, die wir am häufigsten verwendeten.

Wir wollten nicht nur einen modernen Lebensstil konsumieren, mit unseren Reebook- Schuhen, Nokia-Handys und Nike-Hosen. Wir wollten all das andere, was noch dazu gehörte. Wir haben versucht, Jennifer Lopez nachzuahmen. Ihren Kleidungsstil, ihre Haare – ihre Welt aus “Jenny From the Block” sollte zu unserer Welt werde. Und während Lil Jon und Ludacris im Autoradio „Move Bitch“ rappten, lächelten wir dankbar, dass unsere Eltern kein Englisch verstanden.

Die Namen unserer männlichen Freunde waren in unseren Handys als deutsche Frauennamen gespeichert: Tarek wurde zu Tatjana. Mit einem Julian oder Christopher waren wir offiziell befreundet, mit einem Milad oder Cem durften wir uns nicht blicken lassen. Unsere Eltern haben den deutschen Jungs stets mehr vertraut, als den Jungs ihrer Freunde und Bekannten.

Wir haben nie darüber geredet, wer eine “schlechte Muslima” war – sondern immer darüber gesprochen, welche Bekannte, Cousine oder Freundin nun von „Zuhause abgehauen war“. Sie sind einfach ausgebrochen, verschwunden – weil sie die strengen Regeln der Eltern und der Brüder nicht mehr aushielten – und wenn das unsere eigenen Eltern mitbekamen, bekamen sie Panik. Und engten uns mit ihrer Liebe und ihren Ängsten noch stärker ein.

Wir wollten nicht vorrangig muslimisch sein. Wir wollten frei sein. Wir wollten jung sein. Wir haben aber bemerkt, dass es schwierig wird, dass uns die Mehrheitsgesellschaft so akzeptieren wird, wie wir eben sind, so komplex unsere Identitäten auch sind.

Und wir begriffen, dass unsere eigene Community nur schwer uns so hinnehmen wird, wie wir sein wollten, so frei und offen und kritisch und selbstbestimmt wir leben wollten.

Wir wollten niemals konform leben. Aber man hat unseren Kampf für Freiheit nicht gesehen, nicht erkannt, nicht belohnt. Man fing irgendwann an, uns in Kategorien zu betrachten. Wir mussten mit Stereotypen kämpfen. Jahre später musste ich meinen altbekannten Klassenkameraden erklären, weshalb ich nicht in die Moschee gehe, weshalb ich kein Kopftuch trage. Wir mussten uns erklären, was wir vom 11. September hielten. Wir wurden als Deutsche etikettiert, obwohl wir spürten, dass wir nicht mal als Ausländer akzeptiert wurden. Weder von den Deutschen, noch von den Ausländern. Wir wurden hin- und her gezerrt. Nicht zwischen Tradition und Moderne – denn wir hatten uns längst für die Moderne entschieden – sondern zwischen Labels, die man uns gab.

Wir seien von nun an deutsche Muslime. Wir hätten einen Migrationshintergrund. Man müsse uns verstehen. Man müsste uns tolerieren. Kaum jemand hat uns gefragt, wer oder was wir sein wollen. Dabei wollten wir einfach nur jung sein. Wir wollten frei sein.

Allgemein Kommentare deaktiviert für Wir wollten jung sein, wir wollten frei sein

Offener Brief an die AfD-Wähler

Mrz
12

Liebe AfD-Wähler, ich schreibe Ihnen diesen offenen Brief mit der Überzeugung, dass wir nur im Dialog die politischen und gesellschaftlichen Spannungen in unserem Land lösen können – gerade wenn es um Einwanderung und unser friedliches Zusammenleben geht. Es sind unsere gemeinsamen Probleme. Auch ich bin Deutsche, und Deutschland ist auch meine Heimat. Spätestens an dieser Stelle werden einige von Ihnen die Stirn runzeln oder fluchen. Und nicht weiterlesen.

Ja, ich gehöre zu jenen, die glauben, dass man mit Ihnen sprechen, Ihre Sorgen ernst nehmen sollte. Weil Sie vielleicht meine Nachbarin sind, mein Kollege, vielleicht die Kundenbetreuerin, mit der ich heute Morgen lange telefoniert habe, vielleicht der Kellner, der mich bediente, die Ärztin, die mich behandelte. Oder die Richterin, die mir mit ihrem Urteil ein Stück Gerechtigkeit schenkte. Oder derjenige, der mir auf der Straße hoch half, als ich auf glattem Boden ausrutschte.

Ja, ich gehöre zu jenen, die glauben, dass man Sie nicht beschimpfen oder pauschal als Rassisten bezeichnen sollte. Auch wenn sich unter Ihnen so viele Rassisten tummeln, die, sobald sie meinen türkischen Namen lesen, hetzerische Kommentare schreiben werden. Meine Worte richten sich an jene, die sich nicht für meine Herkunft interessieren, sondern dafür, was ich zu sagen habe. Weil ich Ihre Nachbarin bin, Ihre Kollegin, diejenige, die Sie an der Kasse oder in der U-Bahn anlächelt – nicht ahnend, wo Sie Ihr Kreuz setzen.

Es gibt viele und verschiedene Gründe, weshalb Sie die AfD gewählt haben oder bei der nächsten Gelegenheit wählen werden. Ich werde keine ideologische Debatte mit Ihnen führen oder Sie zur Rechenschaft für Ihr Wahlkreuz ziehen. Ich möchte Sie an etwas erinnern, was Sie in den letzten Jahren unserer gestressten Republik vergessen haben könnten: Rassismus und Menschenfeindlichkeit haben keinen Platz in unserem Land.

Nicht in der AfD, auch nicht in der Union, nicht in der FDP, nicht bei Grünen, der SPD oder Linkspartei. Die Verletzung der Menschenwürde kennt kein „rechts“, kein „links“. Rassismus kennt kein „mit“, kein „ohne Migrationshintergrund“. Er kann von jedem kommen und auch jeden treffen. Mich genauso wie Sie. Sie können mich genauso hassen, wie ich Sie auch hassen könnte – keine Sorge, Gründe dafür würde ich schon finden.

Wenn das Herz den Hass zulässt, findet auch die Vernunft ihren Weg dahin. Hass und Hetze können überall sein, überall dort, wo wir unsere Augen davor verschließen. Schauen Sie nicht weg, wenn ranghohe AfD-Funktionäre den geschätzten deutsch-türkischen Journalisten Deniz Yücel angreifen und ihm seine deutsche Identität absprechen.

Wenn ein AfD-Politiker die Opfer des Dritten Reiches verhöhnt, indem er vom Holocaust-Mahnmal als „Denkmal der Schande“ spricht. Wenn der AfD-Landeschef von Sachsen-Anhalt Türken als „Kümmelhändler“ und „Kameltreiber“ beschimpft und in seinen eigenen Worten „Ausländer raus“ ruft. Schauen Sie genau hin, wenn Ihr Parteichef meint, es sei nicht rassistisch zu sagen: „Die Türken gehören nicht zu uns.“

Sie sind nicht das „Pack“, aber auch nicht gerade die Hoffnung dieses Landes für eine demokratische Gesellschaft. Da mache ich mir keine Illusionen. Aber Sie sind Wähler. Und Sie haben die Wahl, ob die AfD konservative Positionen in unserer Parteienlandschaft einnimmt – oder ob Sie eine Partei wählen, die so lange pauschalisiert, ausgrenzt und hetzt, bis Sie taub werden und Ihr Gewissen nicht mehr hören können, das sich melden müsste, wenn die Würde eines Menschen verletzt wird.

Ich spreche mit diesem Brief diejenigen an, die wütend sind auf die Politik, die enttäuscht sind angesichts der Entwicklungen in diesem Land.

Auch ich bin wütend und balle meine Hand zur Faust, wenn ich vollverschleierte Frauen sehe. Wütend auf das System, das Frauen und ihre Männer glauben lässt, dass man ihre Würde mit dem Schleier verteidigen müsse. Ich bin aber auch wütend und beiße meine Zähne zusammen, wenn ich sehe, wie eine Patientin im Wartezimmer einer onkologischen Praxis von den anderen Patienten als „Flüchtling“ ignoriert wird und die dicke Luft für alle unerträglich wird.

Wenn niemand die Mutter sieht, die mit ihrer zweijährigen Tochter auf ihre Krebsbehandlung wartet, sondern nur ihr Kopftuch. Und es macht mich wütend, wenn ich junge „Flüchtlinge“ sehe, die mich belästigen. Es macht mich aber auch wütend, wenn meine Mitmenschen glauben, dass sexistisches Verhalten und Gewalt in der DNA von Muslimen angelegt sei.

Auch ich habe die ewig langweiligen politischen Floskeln unserer Volksparteien satt, und auch ich wusste nicht, wo ich bei der letzten Wahl mein Kreuz setzen sollte. Ich bin auch unzufrieden mit den Entwicklungen in diesem Land, in dem eine Minderheit einer Minderheit den öffentlichen Diskurs über die Rolle der Religion in unserer Gesellschaft diktieren möchte.

Aber ich lasse nicht zu, dass meine politischen Sorgen zu meinen persönlichen werden. Nur weil ich das Kopftuch ablehne, lehne ich nicht die Frau ab, die es trägt. Ihre Menschenwürde verletzt zu sehen, kann nicht in meinem Interesse sein. Denn es ist der Schutz der Menschenwürde, die unsere deutsche Gesellschaft ausmacht.

„In Deutschland hat dein Leben einen Wert“, höre ich immer wieder von meinen Verwandten und Freunden in der Türkei. Und darüber bin ich glücklich, darauf bin ich stolz.

Man kann sich darüber streiten, welcher Personenkreis in Deutschland das Recht auf Zuflucht und Asyl hat. Wir können leidenschaftliche Debatten darüber führen, ob straffällige Flüchtlinge abgeschoben werden sollen. Oder unzählige Argumente finden, wie verlogen die Welcome-Refugees-Bewegung im Herbst 2015 war. Sie können gerne den Aufnahmestopp der Essener Tafel für nicht-deutsche Bedürftige gutheißen. Aber während Sie Ihren Unmut kundtun, denken Sie an die Würde der Menschen, über die Sie sprechen.

Ich erwarte nicht, als Bürgerin dieses Landes, dass Sie meine Wurzeln, meine Kultur oder meinen Glauben kennen oder lieben. Ich erwarte, dass Sie, als Bürgerin oder Bürger dieses Landes, mich nicht aufgrund meiner Wurzeln, meiner Kultur oder meines Glaubens pauschal ablehnen oder gar hassen.

Die AfD kann keine Alternative für Deutschland sein, solange sich ihre Funktionäre nicht klar von Rassismus und Fremdenfeindlichkeit distanzieren. Denn es ist nicht die Vielfalt, die unsere Gesellschaft gefährdet. Sondern die fehlende oder falsche politische Koordination dieser Vielfalt.

Ich spreche nicht davon, wie friedliebend Muslime sind, wie erfolgreich viele Deutsche mit Migrationshintergrund sind, wie hoch sie aufgestiegen sind, welche tollen Beispiele wir in der Medienwelt, in der Politik und im Showbusiness haben.

Ich rede davon, nicht unsere Menschlichkeit zu verlieren. Ich habe meinen Glauben an unsere Gesellschaft nicht verloren und auch nicht den Glauben an Ihr Gewissen. Ich vertraue Ihnen, obwohl Sie die AfD wählen. Weil Sie den Essay bis hierhin gelesen haben.

Ich werde für Ihr Recht auf freie Meinungsäußerung kämpfen und für Ihre Würde eintreten. Aber werden Sie auch meine Menschenwürde schützen? Werden Sie es versuchen?

 

Erstveröffentlichung: DIE WELT, 6.3.2018

 

Ćelo & Abdï: „We are street philosophers“

Feb
13

Hier geht es zur deutschen Version

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German Rap is shaking up the cultural landscape of Germany. It is street rap from the vibrant migrant communities that co-creates an urban youth culture characterized by thrilling sounds, a capitalist lifestyle and heavy sociopolitical views. In the middle of the epedemic of trap beats, word games and the mixture of different languages of the migrant circles, Celo & Abdi – two conscious rappers from Frankfurt – show that German rap is an ultimative way not only to express their street stories and emotions, but to criticize the system without missing to have fun.

I am still living in the same flat since I have been a child, still in the same children´s room. What has changed? My wardrobe is full of Gucci clothes

Notorious as illustrious: Celo & Abdi are one of the most important rappers in Germany who consider themselves as conscious rappers. Their lyrics are sociocritical. The rap duo is controversial. They are authentic. The everyday survival in the jungle of the metropolis Frankfurt while running an illegal business is a main topic of their lines. Celo & Abdi are drawing sympathetically the migration story of their parents while they are offending politicians and police officers aggressively. Like many German rappers they do not glorify violence directly, but telling with their music that violence has been part of their life. Before there was music, there was violence. State power, police violence, street violence and structural violence in form of discrimination. Is it a cry for help? Not at all. They had to learn to accept, they learned to resist, they learned to attack. They use a sexist language and violent metaphors in their lyrics, but they think about criticism rather than shoot it down. It is worth to read between their lines, to get to know their personalities without falling into the parternalistic or pedagogical trap.

I meet Celo & Abdi in Bornheim, the bohemian middle-class district of Frankfurt, the hometown of Celo, for which he is very proud. Local patriotism is an important attitude of German rappers with non-German roots. Frankfurt, Hamburg or Berlin. They love their cities and try  to represent their own stories which differ from those told by mainstream media and known by the dominant German culture. „Our stories are worth to tell“ Abdi says. „Snatched from life experiences“, Celo continues and refers to their song „Frankfurter Zoo“ where a drug dealer get robbed by his friend.

With their fourth album „Diaspora“ they place the migration theme in the middle of their artistic existence. And still, their music is not only wholehearted criticism on German society and discrimination against its daughters and sons with a migration story, but a homage on making the best of living in socio-economically weak districts and having less perspectives than a „Christian“. Their narrative style is not based on a „I am a victim“-habitus, but on a sober statement that accounts the complexity of life.

Celo & Abdi are Erol Huseinćehajić and Abderrahim el Ommali born and raised up in Frankfurt. They have met while working in a call center 9 years ago where they decided to make music together. Both parents immigrated to Germany as guest workers. Abdi is 30 years old and has Moroccan roots. Celo has recently turned 35 and is proud of his Bosnian background.

They suggested a Ćevapčići (grilled dish of minced meat from the Balkans) fast food place to talk. The diner is close to the stylish cafés and restaurants for which Bornheim is known, but it belongs to another world. Small tables with shabby chairs in a tight corridor. The smell of minced meat spreads all over the small diner accompanied by Bosnian words and a lot of laughter between Celo and the chef. Those, who want to escape the smell and the sound, can take a seat in the winter garden. A bit cold, but calm.

   They see behind the curtains of our world

Rap is for me a valve for every kind of emotion.“ says Abdi. When he does feel „shitty“, he can take a piece of paper, he writes „shit“ on it and develops a track out of it. It is not aggression, what drives them, but anger „against everything“, Celo says, „against the society“, he continues. As storytellers of their own worlds with their own words, they reach white middle class students as well as Germans with foreign roots with few chances for a brilliant future. Some of their tracks give support to their listeners during their hard times. The track „Besuchstag“ (visiting day) for example deals with the feeling of being imprisoned and the regret to disappoint the parents. They have received a lot of messages telling that this song has given their fans the strenght to overcome difficult times. Not only those who have been in prison, but this song meant a lot for their relatives. „My brother is in prison, my son is in prison, my father is in prison. But also people who have been imprisoned listened to this song and thought When I am released, I will directly go to my mother and kiss her feet.“ Abdi says with proud. And those who did not go through the same experiences they have? „They see behind the curtains of our world“ Celo says.

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  It is the shit we grew up with that made us to talented rappers

The path of life for young men with a migration story growing up in socially weak districts, their way to criminality and their inner struggle is the essence of the new generation of German rap. „It is the shit we grew up with that made us to talented rappers“, Celo says. „But it is also our talent“, Abdi opposes.

Their talent is to play with words from different languages, to connotate names, notions and metaphors.  The unique language of Celo & Abdi and their azzlackz family (azzlacks is the name of the rapper network around one of Germany´s most influential rapper „Haftbefehl“ in the Frankfurt region) is characterized by neologisms and the use of foreign languages such as Arabic, Kurdish, Hebrew, Turkish or Bosnian words they they know from their friends in a multicultural and multiethnic neighbourhood.  The German language is important for them as it is also essential to rap in Hebrew (shalom), Arabic (habibi) or English (on point). Although they do not define German as their mother language, they admit that they are speaking German more than they speak Bosnian or Arabic.German is the commercial language and the language of our society“ says Celo. The slang of azzlackz has reached spheres beyond the hiphop and migrant community. A German politician for example used Celo & Abdi´s notion of „Hinterhofjargon“ (backstreet slang) in a political debate while criticizing another politician who expressed herself in an inappropriated way. „Our group did their bit on the society. That is beautiful. Whether it is important or not. It is there, it has happenend and that makes us proud.“

 We had a lot of James Bond moments in our life

Celo & Abdi like other street rappers in Germany are criticized for glorifying violence and for romanticized street life. „Everything can be romanticized“ is a weak answer by Celo. But he admits that he makes a lot of efforts to stay away from bad habits of the hood. „When a rapper tells me that he makes music to stay on the street, he lies. You make music, to get on, to get away, to get away from problems.“ Of course, they kept their old friends. „But I do not have to put myself on the street corner to sell packages of hash, in order to prove myself.“ Celo adds. Their lines are based on stories which they went through. „When you have to run away from the police and to hide under trucks, in garbage cans, in front yards …“ Abdi says and Celo continues „… than you feel like you are in a movie. We had a lot of James Bond moments in our life“

I listen to my heart. I make mistakes. Everybody makes mistakes. When I fall, I stand up again. What else do I need?

It is their down-to-earth habitus that they do not want to give up. „I have my mother, I have my father. I am fine. What else do I need? I listen to my heart. I make mistakes. Everybody makes mistakes. When I fall, I stand up again. What else do I need?“
Influenced by French rap music, the sound of their music is often melancholic or stimulating. „We like it“, Celo says.

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When Abdi called the leggings of the female German hiphop journalist VisaVie „saftig“ (juicy) and made it clear that he considers her leggings sexy (during an interview) -for them and Visa Vie a joke – a debate within the German hiphop media community has launched. Since than female music journalists received a lot of sexist comments with the word „juice“ or „juicy“. Although they are becoming more and more aware about what sexism means, how it functions and how hard it hurts, it is still an issue for them they cannot abandon easily from it. Sexist ideas and notions such as „Hurentochter“ (daughter of a whore) and „Fürsorgegen“ (gene for taking care of others) of women belong to the basic ideas of the biggest part of their social world. Celo & Abdi do not only belong to the male-dominated hiphop community where sexism is an everyday business. They are not only influenced by their traditional and patriarchal social environment in which they grew up. The rap artists are also challenged by those questions from mainstream media. They do not build a wall and stay in a comfort zone where they earn money, sell tracks due to the motto „sex(ism) sells“ and feel great and brave as „men“. They try to understand what it means to be a woman and to be faced with those offending comments. „Okay, as a Turkish girl you are more fucked up than a German girl while growing up“ Celo was commenting on the question whether being an adult in a migrant community in the German culture is more mischievous than being an adult as German with German roots.

The values that had an influence on Celo & Abdi were those from their religion. „With my faith I have learnt certain values, being human, being helpful.“, Celo says. But not only. For Abdi, German values are as important as those of their religion and culture. „German values such as punctuality together with those of our parents have formed us.“

The question of belonging and Heimat (homeland) together with the migration story has always accompanied their music. „To the question whether I am German, I can only say that I am gladly in Germany“ – this is Abid´s line in „Diaspora“ that was awarded as the „Line of the Year“ by hiphop.de. „Nador is the home of my father, but since I have been always welcomed there with open arms, I have recognized it as my home.“ For Celo home is where you feel good.

Are there any moments, in which you feel excluded? Abdi: Yes, when everybody around me was at home, but I wasn´t home for three days. When everybody comes fresh from home and I come from anywhere (laughing) … then I feel excluded. When my friends ask me „Have you also had a great breakfast, have you watched cartoons, then I feel excluded.“

But we are talking not about 15 years ago? Abdi: I am talking of few days ago. Watching cartoons? Abdi: Yes, watching cartoons. Of course. Celo: Do you see us as cartoon characters? Abdi: No, no, she says, watching cartoons means escaping from reality.“ Celo: Mhhm.

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When talking about their concert in the internationally renowned exhibition hall „Schirn“ in Frankfurt, Celo & Abdi were swarming about that night. „Schirn was baba (in Turkish: father; German slang for something huge in a positive way)“ Abdi told us. „It was one of our best concerts. Our friends, my brother, all of them were there. Everything was perfect.“  They feel honoured when people around them, friends or fans sincerely like their music. The biggest recognition, for Celo, is when „people who have studied, academics and journalists are dealing with me. When people who have studied, listen to me.“

Celo was a student, too. He tried to study but then gave up, jobbed in the callcenter that changed his life. Both of them tried to get to the Gymnasium (advanced secondary school in particular preparing students to enter university) and their parents convinced successfully their teachers to qualify them for it. Celo & Abdi learnt French as their first foreign language and struggled at school. Both of them could not fulfill the high expectations. Celo could get Fachabitur (qualification college), Abdi could at least manage to sell drugs at his vocational school.

What expectations did their parents have towards them? „They parents want me to become what I want and they want more for me than they want for themselves.“, Abdi says. „Well, my father did not immigrated to Germany, so his son can become a rapper.“ Celo says and laughs.

Is there anything what your parents tell you to do or not do do? Abdi: Come home, where have you been, do not spend all of your money, what is about this receipt? Why do you sleep in hotels?
Do not sleep in hotels, do not spend all your money, bring less
receipts home, save your money, think about your future, do you
have a pension insurance? These kind of things.“

Celo & Abdi do not refuse to have certain roles such as a streetworker, a street psychologist, being integration ambassador who mediate between the worlds of migrant communities and those of the dominant culture. They use rap music to deal with their experiences and observations. Not only what happened to them, but to their friends, to people in their surrounding. „That affects us deeply.“

Although their music is political – more than the music of other German rappers – they tend to be leftists. „But“, Celo rejects „like it is said in Star Wars: As Celo & Abdi we have never had the luxury of political opinions.“

Nevertheless they are observe their social and political environment and they do social criticism. Not in an intellectual but smart way.  Not friendly but unsparingly. In their song „A.C.A.B“ of their first mix tape „Mietwagentape“ they say „No, because you hate other cultures. That is the reason why we remain among our own anyway“

We do what we do. We are who we are

They drink often their coffee at Café Ecke Konsti, a mix of an American whiskey bar and a oriental men´s coffee house. And we meet there, too. As passionate football fans Celo & Abdi are watching the African Cup, Morocco against Nigeria. With every goal for Morroco, Abdi cheers to his other homeland while Celo is taking a Instagram story about the football game.

They had a lot of Oprah-moments. When Abdi brought his Cartier sunglasses to the Cartier Store in Frankfurt to replace its glasses, one staff assumed that his sunglasses was fake. Another staff member checked the number in the system and told them that it was a vintage sunglasses of the 80s. That is why Celo & Abdi tend to spend their time in areas in which they do not feel discriminated. They do not only blame Germans with German roots, they can feel not being respected by anybody „who sits in a café in Fressgass and thinks that his father owns the street. Although the street belongs to Germany.“, Abdi complains.

Music is not their salvation, but Celo & Abdi´s way to express their creativity, their thoughts. Music is their calling, their destiny – not less than an artist who was born in the upscale district Westend and who studied at Städel. „Our art college was the street.“ Celo once said.

To criticize the system and the use of a certain language was the main base for rap music. „We want to criticize the system in our slang. We want others to understand street life, our world view, our language. That is Celo & Abdi. That is our essence. Packed with sympathy. That is why people likes us, because we do not play-act. We do what we do. We are who we are.“

Celo & Abdi are on their Germany tour. Here you can check their concert dates.

 

Tourdaten

Credit: Ondro

We wanted to be young, we wanted to be free

Jan
10

Hier geht es zur deutschen Version

They say that Salafism is the new youth culture for Muslims in Germany. That was not always the case.

When we were really young we only wanted one thing: to be free. We loved our Turkish, Arab, or Kurdish culture, our Islamic, Alevi, our Maghreb, Afghan and Anatolian traditions – but we wanted to express them on our own terms – as they are in a modern society.

Every summer we wanted to go to swimming pools; we wanted to go to clubs that, at 16, we were not actually allowed to go to; we wanted to go to the cinema with boys or girls; we wanted to be able to call our crush; we wanted to have a real relationship, and introduce him or her to our parents at home – just like our German friends did. We wanted to be young, we wanted to be free.

Since we had strict parents, regardless of whether we were Alevi, Sunni, Arabic, or Kurdish, we – especially girls – had to hide much of our lives. And that was not easy. When we were heartbroken we locked ourselves up in our rooms and we could not talk to our parents about it.

We never missed out on love, but we often missed out on freedom.

We looked for ways to get out of the house in the evenings – we begged our parents for every hour that we spent away from home. We did not want to give in; we wanted to break through the prevailing social norms.

In the days before mobile phones, the guys always had coins in their hands to call us on our home phone, in the hope that we would pick up and they would hear our voices, and not one of our parents. We wrote love letters and painstakingly hid them at home.

We girls thought about what it would be like if we were lesbian – without our parents noticing it. We could have spent as much time with our long-term girlfriend as we wanted – she could hang out at our house, go on holiday with us and we could even move in together after finishing school.

We spent a lot of time dreaming. We also dreamt about what life would be like for the next generations. We often asked ourselves whether they would have more freedom than us. We hoped so. We hoped that we could be as free as our “German” friends – so free that we could hold hands in the street, without worrying that an uncle or one of our father’s friends would catch us. We just wanted to be young.

And we fought for it.

We were constantly branded “foreigners”, the distinctions were clear. What was possible for the Germans was not possible for us. We never rejected their values. We were just annoyed that the Germans did so little with their freedom. We would have done more with it.

Then some of us noticed that there was no ray of hope, that they were simply punished if they broke the prevailing social norms of the Muslim communities. As the most beautiful, most self-assured and coolest Moroccan girls got married at the age of 16, when the freedom-loving and rebellious girlfriend had to marry her cousin after graduating from school and subsequently took her own life, as only a few managed to have an autonomous, free and open life – without cutting off your parents, or being a “bad Muslim” or “dishonourable”. That was when you started to conform. Conform to the expectations of your parents. And your youth was over.

In the end the boundaries became blurred

Whilst our parents, our aunts and uncles had been socialized in Turkey, Morocco, Afghanistan and Algeria, and always felt strongly connected to their homeland, their traditions and norms – this was no longer the natural course for us. We were born in this country, but for us – it was like this for everyone, even for “the Germans” – different rules applied, and there were different expectations. We were overwhelmed; not only with homework and visits from our loving relatives, not only with the summer holidays in our Middle Eastern homelands where we were also stigmatized and harassed, but also with helping our parents with translations with German authorities – but also something more, we were overwhelmed with explaining, justifying and excusing ourselves.

We had to constantly apologize for who we were and what we wanted to be.

This injustice hurt the most. In our hearts, we felt a twinge every time we realized the limits which came too close to our dreams. We lived in fear. Fear of being caught. Fear of being punished. Fear of what reproaches we would be confronted with this time. We just wanted to be young. We wanted to be free. “We foreigners” stuck together, we showed solidarity when our bourgeois classmates failed. We had created our own world. We became friends because of our cultural identity, because we had our own different cultures – starting at school, where we came into contact with the German middle class and so did not have much to do with our cosmopolitan and transnational identity. And it was not our religion which was our identity. It was our common goal, our pursuit of freedom, of acceptance, of recognition. From our own community as well as from the German world. And when our teacher asked us what jobs our grandfathers had, we three “Turks” were the only ones whose grandparents had not even finished school. But we realized that it did not bother us. It turned out that not only in maths and physics, but also in ethics, history and German, our grades were much better than those whose grandfathers had been doctors or teachers.

We were newcomers. We had no idea what price we had to pay for that.

We listened to Hip Hop, we loved Pharrel Williams – long before the middle-class students did. We mourned for Tupac and Aaliyah. We knew American slang and so we chose to study advanced English. That was our youth. We had very few role models in the German media or in the public eye to show us a way to reconcile the expectations of our parents and our community with the expectations of society. We did not feel like victims, but we were marginalized and at some point this made us into victims. 

We never got to grips with Islam or the Koran – like perhaps our parents did. We fasted during Ramadan and celebrated the religious festivals. With a really bad conscience we took time off school – since our parents did not want us to miss school for Eid. They did not want us to be primarily religious – but always practising. 

We always waited for the summer: the guys had been working out, the girls had been dieting because we knew we’d meet at the pool in bikinis and swimwear. And if we managed to, we wanted to graduate from school, we wanted to study, we wanted to get out into the world. That was our world. And we hoped that the next generation would lead lives which were even more open, free, and modern. That the next generation would break down social norms. That they did not have to become “German”, but could become freer. “That they would be allowed to do more.”

To be allowed – that was one of the phrases we used most regularly.

We did not just want to consume a modern lifestyle, with our Reebok shoes, Nokia phones and Nike trousers. We wanted all the other things which went alongside. We tried to imitate Jennifer Lopez. Her style, her hair – her world from “Jenny From the Block” could become our world. And while Lil Jon and Ludacris were rapping “Move Bitch” on the car radio we smiled gratefully that our parents could not understand English.

The names of our male friends were stored in our mobile phones as German women’s names: Tarek became Tatjana. We were officially friends with Julians and Christophers, but we weren’t allowed to so much as look at a Milad or Cem. Our parents always trusted German boys more than the sons of their friends and acquaintances.  We never talked about who was a “bad Muslim” – but we always talked about any acquaintance, cousin or friend who had “run away from home”. They just broke out and disappeared because they could no longer cope with the strict rules of their parents and brothers – and when our own parents saw this happening, they panicked. And they suffocated us even more with their love and their fear.

We did not want to be primarily Muslim. We wanted to be free. We wanted to be young. But we noticed that it was becoming difficult for society to accept us for who we were when our identities were so complex.

And we realized that our own community would find it difficult to tolerate the way we wanted to live – freely, openly, critically and autonomously.

We never wanted to live lives of conformity. But our struggle for freedom was not seen, recognized or rewarded. At some point they began to see us in categories.  We had to fight these stereotypes. Years later I had to explain to people I had gone to school with for years why I don’t attend a mosque, why I don’t wear a headscarf.

We had to explain what we thought about 9/11. We were labelled as Germans, although we felt that we were not even accepted as foreigners. Neither by the Germans nor by the foreigners. We were dragged back and forth. Not between tradition and modernity – because we had already decided on modernity – but between the different labels that were given to us.

 From now on we would be German Muslims. We had a migrant background. We had to be understood. We had to be tolerated. Almost no one asked us who or what we wanted to be. We just wanted to be young. We wanted to be free.

– Translation Myfanwy Craigie

 

Offenbach

Apr
11
OffenbachFoto: Ingolf

Heute ist Bundespräsident Joachim Gauck in Offenbach zu Besuch – einer Stadt, in der 60 Prozent aller Einwohner einen Migrationshintergrund haben. Doch Offenbach ist nicht Neukölln – trotz hoher Kriminalität, Vollverschleierung und radikalem Islamismus. Das Leben ist für den Großteil der Migranten im Rhein-Main-Gebiet angenehmer als in Berlin, weil sich keine mono-ethnischen Viertel entwickelt haben und Vielfalt in allen Schichten existiert. Alltägliche Begegnungen zwischen Menschen unterschiedlicher Herkunft ist hier selbstverständlich.

(mehr …)

Interview with Ivo Molinas after the Turkish elections: „I am hopeful“

Nov
04

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published in Jüdische Allgemeine on November 5, 2015

Mr. Molinas, the AKP won the elections on Sunday with a dinstinct majority. Which direction is Turkey now taking?

The people voted for stability.  Their decision is based on economic interests since uncertainity dominated the country after the elections of June and the already tarnished economy became even worse with the chaos caused by the failure of coalition talks and the return of the PKK terror. The speak of Prime Minister Ahmet Davutoglu was very moderate. He stated that the AKP is going to counteract to the existing polarization and division within the Turkish society. I am hopeful, because Davutoglu knows that a polarized country cannot be governed. Still, the future remains uncertain and we will see, which direction Turkey is going to take.

(mehr …)

Interview with Ece Temelkuran: „Our society is going to be mad.“

Nov
01

The author Ece Temelkuran about the brutalization of the every-day life, collective inferiority feelings and her hope for a change in Turkey in the interview with the German daily newspaper DIE WELT.

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The 42-years old lawyer, journalist and author Ece Temelkuran draws in her new book „Euphorie und Wehmut“ impressively the picture of the contractionary Turkey and its every-day life, which is characterized by constant astonishing yet simultaneously shaking the head. Turkey is building new bridges to Europe while breaking already existing ones.

The Turkish general elections are accompanied by bombings in Diyarbakir, Suruc and the recent horrible incident in Ankara at a peace rallying. What is happening with Turkey?

Turkey is heading to the elections in a stronger becoming atmosphere of terror. Additionally, the investigations in those cases are categorized as “secretly” and a ban of news coverage in the media is conducted by the AKP-government. More than half of the Turkish population is convinced, that the AKP is while it is heading to the elections, is supporting this state of terror. They are pointing to the ground for that the statement of Erdogan saying “Elect 400 representatives and the problem will be solved peacefully”. Another reason for the terror lies in the ending of the peace process in the Kurdish question prior to the elections by the government. We are experiencing a period, in which every single citizen and the society as whole is crippled by pain and anxiety.

Has Merkel´s visit to Turkey brought luck for the upcoming re-elections in Turkey?

Probably the only „uncomfortable“ thing for Merkel was not only the throne in Flamboyant Style on which she had to take seat! But I have to say, that her visit made Erdogans throne more comfortable. The news coverage in pro-government media was so weird, such as “Merkel bowed with cramped hands”. Merkel´s visit brought, at least from the government´s perspective an easing.

Arrested and sentenced journalists, authoritarian voices of the government towards its citizens, partly unclarified terror attacks on the civil society, unsuccessful coalition talks, the end of the Turkish-Kurdish peace process and now re-elections. Is Turkey able to come back to peaceful and democratic normality? And if so, what has to be happen?

I have a very brief answer to this question: We don’t have any other option than having faith in that this possible. But my longer answer is: This will take a long time. We are faced with the problem that it seems that Erdogan is the only responsible person for this situation, which is partly true. His very personal policy and discourse has immensely contributed in this chaos that we are going through now. Especially in his second term as the PM, he established his discourse on the “us” and “them. It was another example of “You are either with us or against us”. On the other hand such an discourse was approved by millions of people, the voters of the AKP. It will take time, until these hostilities will turn into a peaceful society. But it is true, that this solution will not be achieved by the AKP as the single governmental power. We need a coalition government, in order to motivate our society towards a more democratic, diverse and equal country. This need for coalition became apparent by the the last election results. The Gezi Park Protests have also shown, that more than the half of the population are being ignored by the government.

How do these hostilities between different ethnic, religious and cultural groups in Turkey clash in the Turkish every-day life?

The everyday life has become a scene of unprecedented, shocking and unpredictable scene of violence. Besides the easy-to-identify cases of ethnic, religious and political conflicts, maybe for the first time in Turkish history “violence for no reason” is becoming a social issue. One of the common subjects of everyday chit-chats is that the entire society is going mad. It mostly talked about in an ironic tone although it may unfortunately be a fact.

You are describing Turkey in a “schizophrenic permanent state which is swinging between inferiority complex and exaggerated self-confidence.” Are not Turks patriots, even a bit too nationalistic for the German taste?

Turkey is suffering since its founding from an identity issues. The problem concerns how we see us as well as how the world sees us. But towards the West we have been always feeling inferior, and in order to supress this inferiority, Turkey has an identity of an exaggerated self-confidence. We see that the AKP is the successful organized form of this anger resulted from this inferiority complex and with this feeling they have turned the face of Turkey towards the East, “the former Ottoman Empire”. That we now are struggling in the bloody and dusty political hole of the Near East, is the result of this change of course.

Who or what is the political hope of the Gezi Generation for Turkey´s future?

The main intention during the Gezi protests as to show and see for ourselves that the co-habitation and the societal peace must be the main goal for the future. Therefore anyone, any political leader who is eager to emphasize this merit can be an option for those who joined the Gezi protests.

In your book you also blame the West to have ignored the doubts and worries of Turkish intellectuals who opposed to the AKP when they came to power from 2002 on. Why?

Since the AKP took governmental power it has been said by Western intellectual circles and USA main stream politics that the AKP “is the perfect marriage between Islam and Democracy”. The general attitude in the West was that this much of democracy would be enough for Turkey. They accused the secular powers in Turkey to be an authoritarian and elitist clique as the government. That did not only happen in high political circles, but also in intellectual circles in the West. That the concerns of the regime critics were justified, we need to experience the Gezi Park Protests. From then on western intellectuals and politicians started after Gezi to listen to the oppositional voices of Turkey.

Is the AKP really more authoritarian than the former governments of Turkey or are we now facing with the results of the „Geburtsfehler“ of modern Turkey in 1923 in terms of the authoritarian, leader oriented political system and instructional modernization project to Westernize Turkey?

Of course are the problems today linked to structural problems existing since the founding of Turkey. But I am convinced, that the real source of the authoritarian and reactionary governance of the AKP is the 1980 Coup d´etat. Although the coup d´etat seemed from the outside conducted by secular powers, the coup d´etat brought in Turkey a reactionary and authoritarian regime. Those, who conducted the coup, have replaced a whole generation of progressive people by guardians of ab absolutistic-religious and reactionary culture of submission.

Is Turkey driving away from Europe because it has not been given any real perspective to join the EU?

This is also one reason, for sure. But the AKP-government has turned the face of Turkey towards the Arab world. It might be a good project, that we have good relations to our neighbours in the Near East, but Erdogan had formulated an ambitious goal to become the leader in the Middle East. That the West has considered Turkey as a model state, had also an impact on that. Erdogan believed that a power which is cyclical decreasing is going to become his power and since this day we are captured in an endless desert game of the Middle East together with our neighbours.

How can the Turkish civil society survive and will it survive in an authoritarian state?

Through struggle which they are having now. Despite the very serious obstacles people are still trying to speak up and be heard.

How do you explain to German readers Turkish society and politics?

Euphorie und Wehmut, is a literary non-fiction. So it tells the story of a country rather than giving the figures and statistics. But by the end the of the book, I hope, the reader will be informed and opinionated about why Turkey is such a mess. Turkey is a problematic yet an amazing country. I wrote the book for foreigners who are willing to be aware of the problems as well as the amazement.

You were quitted few years ago because of your critical columns on the AKP-government by “HABERTÜRK“. How free can you write in a country and say your opinion today which has been offered to speed up the negotiations for EU-membership?

The pro-government media are used, in order to show us as a target we are threatened. This is the reason why I do not feel safe anymore. When we published Euphorie and Wehmut, they started again a campaign which showed me as a target.

How is the life for a woman in Turkey today?

Complicated! Harsh! Maddening!

And the future of Turkey in three words?

Shady, complicated but resilient.

 

Photo: Mehmet Turgut