Perhaps it is Fernweh: “far-sickness,” the longing to be somewhere else, the opposite of homesickness.

Or maybe Heimweh: homesickness.

For me, Germany is neither a far-away place nor my home; it is both. I was born in the United States to a German mother. I have two passports – one blue and one red. For most of my life, I’ve lived in the United States and I’ve held that blue passport close to my heart. America has always had its problems – and until recently, I’ve been able to convince myself that the pros outweigh the cons. But now, in the midst of a pandemic, I find myself questioning my choice to stay here.

As the U.S. federal government continues to bungle this crisis, from President Trump’s clown show press briefings to the inability of Congress to pass a relief package that would make up for our utterly failing social safety net, Germany’s promise of a level-headed social democracy and fact-driven leadership is compelling — maybe even a matter of life and death. I yearn for a politics devoid of showmanship and filled instead with boring facts and common sense. To put it bluntly: I am grateful that my mother, who is healthy but 61, is not in this country — and I wish I wasn’t either.

The crisis responses of the two countries could not be more disparate. While the U.S. has the most coronavirus cases in the world, and is currently on track to see more deaths than even Italy and China, the coronavirus death rate in Germany is the lowest in the world. With 63,000 confirmed cases and only 560 deaths as of March 30, Germany has a death rate of 0.9%, only half the current US mortality of 1.8%. My mother tells me that patients from other parts of Europe are seeking care there, and as of now, there is still capacity in their ICUs.

The likely reason for this is Germany’s early, persistent, and widespread testing. And what enables that widespread testing is obvious: we’re talking about a country with a functioning healthcare system. Even if its citizens complain about some aspects – long-ish wait times, the option of private insurance that creates a tiered system of access to the best doctors – it functions. Maybe not perfect, but functional, covering the basic needs which our system ignores: everyone is insured; hospitals are accessible and staffed. In a pandemic, functional is preparedness. And Chancellor Angela Merkel is nothing if not prepared.

Meanwhile, the coronavirus pandemic has laid bare deep flaws in American society that go beyond an inadequate healthcare system. Our safety net is virtually invisible — unemployment and benefits programs are gutted, states have refused to expand Medicaid, widespread reliance on the contractor and gig economy bars many from benefits and unemployment insurance — and an invisible net will not catch us. Twelve hundred Trump dollars will not catch us.

My stomach dropped when I saw that Germany’s Ministry of Foreign Affairs had extended their Rückholprogramm – a program for Germans to return home from crisis-stricken countries  – to citizens currently in the United States. It’s unprecedented to make such a recommendation for another first-world country – but it’s also unprecedented to be a first-world country without universal healthcare. Germany has issued warning to its citizens: Get out while you can.

Of course, the brokenness of America’s infrastructure is not a new revelation. Just as the 2016 presidential election of an outlandish reality TV show host was the result of a slowly simmering pot of societal stew, so the coronavirus outbreak has only reflected the fragments in a system that has evolved that way over time — by valuing entertainment over truth, fiction over fact, “likeability” over policy. Maybe if we didn’t view politics as entertainment, we could escape the sick reality show nightmare this country has fallen into.

It’s hard to remember now but we’re still technically in the middle of a two-year election cycle that has spawned almost as much petty drama on the Democratic side as a typical Trump rally.

Concurrently, the Trump administration continues the buffoonery at briefings that some major media outlets, such as NPR, refuse to air due to the rampant falsehoods.

On March 18, in between several of Trump’s mind-boggling circus events, Angela Merkel sat down, alone in front of a screen showing the Bundestag, and gave her first nationally-televised address since her 2005 election. Viewing her speech from this frenzied side of the Atlantic, Merkel’s measured, calm cadence seemed to come from an alien otherworld. And to the American psyche, perhaps she is somewhat of an alien. We call America polarized, but the Chancellor grew up in a country not just polarized but physically divided; this temporary period of lockdown pales in comparison to the controlled existence of Merkel’s childhood behind the Iron Curtain.

Even in her monotone, the message Merkel delivered to her people was one of leadership: Together, we will get through this. It was a balance of facts and reassurances. She emphasized that, perhaps even more so than in other countries, placing Germany under strict, draconian government control is a decision not to take lightly. “Es ist Ernst,” she said – this is serious.

“Lassen Sie mich versichern,” she said — let me assure you. “For somebody like me, for whom travel and free movement were hard-fought rights, these restrictions can only be justified by absolute necessity.” (Translation mine).

When Merkel offers her nation reassurance, I trust her in a way that is anathema to the current landscape of U.S. politics. I trust her without falling into a cult of personality; I’m able to take personal opinion and partisanship out of the equation and to believe what she says at face value. It’s refreshing.

The point is not that I approve of all her policies, or would necessarily even vote for her. The point is that in this moment, Merkel’s particular style of fact-driven composure is exactly what we need from the leader of the free world. And exactly what we are missing here in the U.S., where facts fall by the wayside to make room for white lies meant to mask the grimness of our current reality. The daughter of a Lutheran pastor with a PhD in quantum chemistry, Merkel has always been cool, calculated, and scientific —  sometimes even awkward and uncharismatic, known for her dry speeches and frumpy hair. With her awkward lilt and straightforward manner, Merkel is the anti-Trump.

If she sought office in America, the headlines would label Merkel as “unlikeable” long before she’d ever get the chance to unceremoniously pick at a Bratwurst at the Iowa State Fair. Not only is she a woman, she’s a boring — and highly intelligent —  woman. She is calculated and resolute, trained in data and untrained in showmanship. The story goes that on the day the Berlin Wall fell, Merkel wandered over the border from her chemistry lab in East Berlin for a quick look, and then went back to get back to work.

I asked my mother what she thought of Merkel’s speech, which was making headlines here.

“No big deal,” she said. Politics are not a big deal there, at least to her.  My mother amuses herself from afar with the Washington Post coverage of our American political pony show, but finds the Bundesregierung humdrum. Dull, but reassuring.

“But do you feel safe there?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said, without hesitation.

“Aren’t you glad you are there, and not here?”

“Oh, definitely.”

I wish I were too. Oh, how I long for leadership that is dull. That’s what I feel fernweh for: boring, folded-hands parliamentary politics; speeches that contain straight facts; healthcare as a right; a society where electing and reelecting an “unlikeable,” “unfeminine” woman to the highest office is routine. What a relief that would be.

There are no “Make America Great Again” hats in Germany. But on the website of the CDU, the party Merkel leads, you can buy a small orange heating pad with the words “keep cool” for ninety cents. And that, I think, is the point.

Serafina Smith is a NYU graduate journalism student in the Magazine and Digital Storytelling program.

The post Boring Politics is Good Politics – Especially in a Pandemic appeared first on Pavement Pieces.

Just three days before the New Hampshire primary, the Vermont Senator spoke to the crowd from the blue-carpeted stage at the SNHU Arena, rotating slightly from his hunched position behind the plexiglass podium to wave to the designated support section behind him.  The crowd, including the bleachers full of his fans waving magenta light-up “Bernie” signs, cheered in the cavernous arena.

The proclamation has been a standard part of Sanders’ stump speech on the 2020 campaign trail. But to some Democrats, especially those who actively support other candidates, it’s hardly a given that his supporters will vote for the party’s candidate if it’s not Bernie. And his supporters, in turn, are irritated at the stereotype of Bernie Bros, a group of mostly white men known for their abrasive behavior online. They see it as a way to underplay the campaign’s diversity.

“The Bernie bros stereotype is specifically designed to suppress people of color and LGBT voices,” said Isaiah Tobias Lee at a Sanders debate watch party in Manchester on Friday night.

Lee is a 19-year-old trans man who says that trans rights and rights for indigenous people are his top concerns in choosing a candidate. He believes the Sanders campaign will support those rights, and the rights of all people of color, more than anyone else in the race.

Lee is currently taking a semester off from Rhode Island College to canvass for Sanders, but is originally from Kentucky. In addition to the Sanders campaign he is involved with the Sunrise Movement, a youth climate action advocacy group. When asked how he relates to friends and family who have chosen to support other candidates in the 2020 presidential race, he said, “I mostly distance myself from every friend who hasn’t decided to vote for Bernie.”

New Hampshire voter Jonah Manning, a 28-year-old cook in Portsmouth, echoed Lee’s sentiments about the diversity of the campaign. “Even if you do create a stereotype of Bernie bros that is a pejorative,” he said, “Obviously the frame is hollow because he has the most diverse supporters.”

In 2016 Sanders struggled to match Hillary’s support in nonwhite communities. But this time around, Sanders’ movement is much more diverse, both racially and in terms of other metrics like gender and education level. This is likely due to new talking points on systemic racial injustice in addition to his standard mantra on economic inequality.

Polling data from the Economist suggest that while Vice President Biden leads with Black voters, Sanders leads the Hispanic vote in all education and gender categories. He is also polling ahead of any other candidate with white women under the age of 30 and Hispanic women of all ages. In most other identity categories, he and Senator Elizabeth Warren are neck-and-neck, except for white males under 45, where Sanders again is at an advantage.

Christopher Williams, a Sanders volunteer from Idaho who has canvassed in both Iowa and New Hampshire, said he was “wildly proud” of the campaign in the Hawkeye State. “We ended up with 40% of the nonwhite vote, and we only ended up with 26% of the votes. That we got almost double that of the nonwhite vote is huge.”

But in a state like New Hampshire, where the nonwhite vote makes up a very small percentage of the electorate (the state’s population is 93% white) — the question of “Bernie Bro” cyberbullying remains. And although the candidate has asked his followers to “engage respectfully,” the loyal haven’t always listened.

When controversy surfaced in January over whether Sanders had made a comment to Warren about a female candidate’s electability, #RefundWarren trended on Twitter the next day, appearing alongside screenshots of donors asking for a return of their contributions to the Massachusetts Senator’s campaign. Sanders supporters lashed out and called the candidate a liar, terrorizing her vocal online supporters. Almost every tweet from Warren’s campaign still elicits a flood of snake emojis and hashtags like #WarrenIsASnake.

Sanders supporters on Twitter also have several hashtags to attack other candidates, including many targeted at Mayor Pete Buttigeig – #WallStreetPete, #MayorCheat, and the rat emoji,  apparently a mean-spirited attack on the South Bend mayor’s appearance.

Ethan Manning, Jonah’s brother and a student at the University of New Hampshire, attributes the online actions of his fellow Sanders fans to the passion of the campaign.  “Because of all the activity and energy, you’re going to see people saying stupid shit and tweeting rat emojis and snake emojis,” he said.

“That stuff is just like peripheral,” Manning added. “It’s ancillary to the fact that this is a political thing, and these policies are affecting peoples’ lives.”

For the most part, Sanders supporters on the streets of Manchester seemed not to reflect the movement’s online toxicity.

“They’re mostly harmless,” said Emily, a Warren supporter who preferred not to use her last name. The question on her mind, however, was if Sanders’ coalition would turn out to vote for another Democratic nominee in November. “My hope is that, just like how we would vote for any winner of the primary, that they would do the same, and keep that same kind of energy for whoever the final candidate is,” she said.

Some Sanders supporters indicated that they would, although with varying degrees of hesitation. Jonah Manning said he would vote for anyone against Trump in November, but added that the question, “doesn’t address the despair I would feel voting for another person.”

His brother Ethan would too, unless there was an extenuating circumstance. “If they murder Bernie at the convention and there’s like some demonic ritual that happens, no,” he said with a laugh. “But other than that, I probably will.”

Serafina Smith is a graduate student in the Magazine and Digital Storytelling concentration.

The post Are Sanders’ New Hampshire Supporters “Bernie Bros”? appeared first on Pavement Pieces.