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.

Sean Sheosarah traveled from England to pay his respects at ground zero. Photo by Louie Lazar

Had Oswaldo Brasile’s gear been any more patriotic and “American” in nature, he might have been dressed as Uncle Sam.

The 47-year-old resident of Sao Paolo, Brazil, decked out in a red, white and blue polo shirt inscribed in cursive with the words of the Declaration of Independence, had just flown to New York from Orlando, where he’d been attending business meetings. Now, on this overcast morning in Lower Manhattan, he stood just a few blocks from ground zero where events commemorating the 10th anniversary of 9/11 were underway.

“It seems like a very appropriate shirt for today,” said the Brazilian. Every few seconds another passerby would pat his back or direct a ‘thumbs up’ his way.

Brasile, who described his job title as “President of the Institute of Internal Auditors” in Brazil, said he’d traveled here to “remember and to see how deep the impact [of 9/11] was on people’s lives.”

“And also to give Brazilian support for the U.S.,” he added. “It’s my way to do something.”

On blocks surrounding the 9/11 Memorial that was unveiled here Sunday, foreign visitors like Brasile comprised a sizable chunk of those who packed its sidewalks.

Like their American counterparts, foreign citizens said that they, too, had come to honor the victims and their families. But many of these foreigners also seemed to revel in unofficial roles, self-declared ambassadors of their home nations. They were eager to express their neighbors’ and native countries’ solidarity with America.

Unlike Oswaldo Brasile, whose surname was the only immediate clue as to his country of origin, it was often easy to determine one’s nationality by merely eyeballing the person’s attire.

One example of this was Paul Cull, a 46-year-old with Julius Caesar-style black hair and a black polo shirt featuring the words “New Zealand” near the top. Cull is from Christchurch in the southern part of that country, a historic and scenic city with a river intersecting its center. It’s a land with majestic mountains, about as distant from New York as anyplace on Earth.

“[9/11] was a very significant event in world history, whatever your political views,” said Cull, who noted that he’s in the U.S. doing missionary work unrelated to Sunday’s events. “It has molded and changed the planet.”

In February, an earthquake struck Southern New Zealand with an epicenter near Christchurch, devastating Cull’s community. The disaster claimed nearly 200 lives, and resulted in the nation’s first ever declared State of Emergency.

Cull said his close proximity to that trauma made his attendance Sunday essential.

“We’ve been through our own disaster and can sympathize with the loss of life,” he said. “It’s tragic.”

Along Broadway Street, throngs of foreign journalists shifted about with camera equipment and microphones, jockeying for space and conducting interviews in languages as disparate as Spanish and Mandarin, Japanese and French. Their presence highlighted the international spotlight on the day’s ceremonies.

One such foreign reporter was Christian Hauffman, a morning show news anchor in Berlin, Germany. A tall blonde man of 37, Hauffman, gripping a yellow microphone and sporting a bright red shirt with the words “104.6 RTL: Berlins Hit-Radio” said there’s much interest in Germany surrounding the memorial in Manhattan. He said there were moments of silence in Berlin today to honor the 9/11 dead, adding that many Berliners were attending church to commemorate 9/11.

Hauffman attributed his country’s attention here and his station’s media coverage, by extension, to the climate of uncertainty and alarm that pervaded Germany a decade ago, in the attacks’ aftermath.

“People were frightened, buildings were evacuated,” recalled Hauffman, who was working for another Berlin radio network at the time. “Nobody knew if there were planes that would hit our buildings. People were frightened.”

To most foreign citizens who’d come to pay their respects, however, the reasons for being at ground zero Sunday were more basic.

Sean Sheosarah, wearing a red Liverpool soccer jersey and gnawing on a toothpick, stood in a long, narrow, cordoned-off security line leading to a police checkpoint, awaiting entry into the memorial’s events. A burly, shaved-headed construction worker from Ireland who resides in the UK, Sheosarah, 42, had flown to New York from London solely for this purpose. He said little, but chose his words selectively: he’d be in the U.S. just four days, he said. He’d lived in Boston on 9/11.

Asked why he ventured across an ocean just to be here Sunday, Sheosarah shrugged in agitated fashion, as if the answer were obvious.

“It’s [about] respect, isn’t it?” he said, in a sharp Irish twang. “If you respect something, what’s the difference if it’s a mile away or a million miles away?”

He then removed the toothpick from his mouth, just as a ceremonial bugle began ringing out over Lower Manhattan.

“Distance,” he said, “Has nothing to do with it.”

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