During one of her visits to Germany my mother commented: “John, when you do your management seminars be sure to remind the Germans how important it is in their dealings with Americans to smile.” Initially I thought the comment was rather absurd. But in the months, and even years, since then I have come to recognize its significance.

Especially in the public space Americans don’t exactly get the most positive impression from German facial expressions, body language, and from how they deal with each other. It‘s as if they are communicating that the sky is falling, the world is coming to an end, everything is just awful.

Maybe it is due to the strong German inclination to always look for things which don’t work or are imperfect or just substandard. Perhaps the logic is “the better you can find errors, the better you can improve them; the earlier you can anticipate mistakes, the sooner you can prevent them. Everything will be ok.” It‘s certainly an approach that works. Look at Germany. But it‘s certainly not a recipe for a positive atmosphere.

Even more problembewußt

I remember well an episode during my time in the CDU/CSU Parliamentary Group. We were in the U.S., a delegation of German parliamentarians in visiting members of Congress in Washington, D.C. There were several so-called photo opportunities. The politicians stood pressed together. The photographer clicked away.

Just before the first photo was taken one of my German colleagues whispered in my ear: “John, watch how the Americans put on a huge, happy smile.” He was right. Lots of teeth. Bright and shiny. His comment kept popping up in my mind for days afterward. I sensed that it was a bit critical in the sense of: “Look at how superficial you Americans are!” I took it personally. “You Americans” as in you, John, and your family, relatives and friends. “Look, as if everything in America was just great. How naive!”

It bothered me. I felt insulted. It hurt my feelings. Ever since then I notice – at least from my American perspective – how Germans have no problem presenting the world their long faces. Especially in moments of difficulty, when optimism is critical, Germans tend to be even more problembewußt (literally problem-conscious).

When Americans see people with a long face, they ask themselves instinctively (consciously or unconsciously): “What’s their problem? What did they do wrong to put themselves in a position to be so down? What opportunity did they not take advantage of? What battle did they just lose? Why don’t they pull themselves together and pursue the next opportunity? Are they losers?”

This kind of American thinking has not only to do with the figure of speech – “Never let them see you sweat!” – which means: precisely when you‘re down, when you are nervous or unsure of yourself, always give the impression that everything is going well, and that you are capable of handling any and all difficult situations successfully.

It has even more to do with the fundamental American belief that every person is the architect of their own fortune. The American experience is that the country offers many opportunities. So many waves of immigrants have come, worked hard and succeeded. Americans, therefore, have little patience for people who don’t take advantage of those opportunities, but instead look for causes of their failure outside of themselves.

The husband of one of my cousin‘s was in Germany for business. His name is Bert. We hadn’t seen each other in several years. He is a good guy, intelligent, open, hard working, and a good husband and father. 

Bert had meetings in Düsseldorf and he asked me to come up on the train and meet him for dinner. I take the train up from Bonn. It is a quick, comfortable, efficient ride. From the central train station in Düsseldorf it was only twenty minutes with the Strassenbahn, the tram. It was enjoyable winding through the tree-lined streets.

I enter the restaurant, turn left, go up a few steps and see Bert at a table with two men. They are his German business partners, or at least partners in this particular investment project Bert is working on. I sit down, we order food and talk. Bert does most of the talking. 

The two German guys aren’t terribly talkative. After about ten minutes I realize that they’d prefer to be somewhere else. At home with their families. At the gym getting a workout. Or even at their desk working. They made a very professional and focused impression.

Bert doesn’t really notice that they might rather be somewhere else. They’re polite, nodding to what Bert says, asking a question or two. They discreetly glance at their watches. I feel bad for Bert. He isn’t aware. I also become angry at the Germans for not putting a little more effort into the conversation.

Americans like to do business with people they like and who like them. They do not distinguish as clearly as Germans do between business and personal. Getting to know each other on a personal level is important. What could be better than enjoying a dinner together?

Arrogant Germans, I thought. They were being mean to my cousin, who was unknowing and perhaps a bit naive. My anger didn’t last long, though. From their perspective, perhaps it was selfish of Bert to invite them to dinner. 

They were supporting him with their legal expertise, thus not in a position to say no to dinner. Maybe they had a sick child at home or an important report to prepare for the next day. They most likely were good guys, also. Intelligent, open, hard working, good husbands and fathers.

We returned last week, August 2013 (this an old anecdote), from the United States. My son, Daniel (15), and I had done our annual Father-Son USA trip. We stay at my mother‘s home in suburban Philadelphia and traveled throughout the region visiting relatives, taking trips to New York City, the Jersey Shore, to Washington DC, and on to Virginia.

It is a special time for us each year. And it involves a lot of travel: airports, train stations, car driving, subways and buses. And it involves a lot of activities: visiting relatives and friends, sight-seeing, museums, eating at restaurants, and many other things folks do during their vacation.

What I notice time and again, however, is how different Germans and Americans are in public. Germans are very quiet in public spaces. Whether in a bus, a streetcar, a subway, long-distance train, or in an airplane, they are reserved.

When they do converse with each other it is done in most cases discreetly and quietly. It is true that German train stations can be loud due to constant public announcements of arriving and departing trains. But the passengers themselves are discreet, both on the platform waiting for their connection, and especially in the train.

Whenever I travel by public transportation in Germany with my son, whose mother is German and who we have raised in Germany, he gets impatient with me when I talk to him at what I consider to be a normal and acceptable volume level.

The greatest contrast for me is when I fly from Philadelphia to Frankfurt. American airports are loud. There seems to be a television hanging from the ceiling ever twenty-five feet with either CNN, Fox or some other channel blaring away. And because network television in the U.S. is fighting so hard to hold viewers (from going to the Internet), they have become rather shrill, almost screaming, as if everything they have to say is breaking news of the utmost importance for the future of humankind.

If the television noise isn’t enough, you have stores, bars, and restaurants located between the gates. American airports have become shopping malls. This is nice. Who would want to go back to the old days when airports were like bus terminals? Impersonal, bland, boring. But notice the noise level at airports in the U.S.

Americans are simply extroverted compared to Germans, at least in public spaces. We Americans are friendly, outgoing. We like to talk, be active, be social. It’s just the way we are. And why not? It’s fun. Of course, if we’re honest with each other, many Americans simply do not know how to behave in public.

But I like the Frankfurt Airport, too. Well organized. Quiet. Especially after one arrives from the U.S. early in the morning after a flight where sleep is next to impossible. It‘s almost like a museum. Passengers move quietly and purposely from flight to baggage pick-up, place their things on those heavy, stable carts, move through customs often without having anything checked, then off to either a taxi, a train, or a waiting car. Yes, there are now many stores in the Frankfurt Airport. Yes, it too is a shopping mall, but a German shopping mall. Quiet, reserved, discreet.

Germans are simply introverted compared to the Americans, at least in public spaces.  Germans are friendly, outgoing. They like to talk, be active, be social. But not so much in public space. That‘s just the way they are. And why not, it’s respectful.

November 2001 in the U.S.. I am running a three day management workshop with Germans and Americans from a major global German company. All of the colleagues are very capable people, mechanical engineers who have formed a transatlantic team. They work very closely together. Our topic for the three days is processes. Germans say Prozessverständnis. Americans say process philosophy.

We are not addressing specific processes, but how Germans and Americans fundamentally understand and live processes. This is no simple topic. There is lots of potential for misunderstanding, disagreement, internal political battles.

We head to dinner after the first day and sit at a big, long table. Hardly have I begun to eat my salad when the senior-level manager of the team, Martin, brings up the recent invasion of American-led forces into Afghanistan. I am sitting across from Martin. We know each other fairly well, have had several conversations in Essen, in the famous German industrial area, the Ruhrgebiet. Martin is smart, professional, high integrity. He knows me and my work. I know him and his reputation.

It gets intense

U.S. forces were attacking the Taliban in Afghanistan as a reaction to the attacks on the World Trade Center in New York on September 11. Or supposedly that was the reason. Who knows? I don’t. I follow politics, but not intensively. I, as an American, certainly do not raise controversial topics with business customers, and never in such a situation.

But this time I decide to respond. For American eyes and ears the brief discussion Martin and I had was an argument. John arguing with the customer. For German eyes and ears we debated. Martin has strong arguments. He provokes. I counter with questions. It gets intense. For Martin. For me.

At one point I need to go to the men‘s room. I get up from the table and head over. An American pops up and joins me walking down the hall: “Are you crazy, arguing with the customer like that? Just let him make his statements and nod. The workshop is great. You want to continue doing work for us, don‘t you?“

I smile. There is no time to explain. He wouldn’t believe me anyway. We head back to the table a few minutes later. Folks have moved on to other topics. Days two and three of the workshop go very well. Martin is very happy with my work. I go on to serve him, his organization and his colleagues for several years.

Martin enjoyed our brief discussion about American foreign policy very much. It did not hurt our business relationship, it helped it. Let‘s not forget. True friends speak their mind, especially when they fear that the other friend is making a mistake which could damage themselves. Martin was concerned about America‘s invasion of Afghanistan. He wanted to know how we Americans viewed it.

It was a Monday. Six in the evening. Early June. I had a few minutes before going across the street to the university to teach. Sitting in one of the comfortable armchairs in a multi-level bookstore here in Bonn, I check emails. 

Germans have an intimate relationship with books, the written, the learned word. Gutenberg. Dozens and dozens of great thinkers. In the natural sciences. In mathematics. In philosophy, theology. The great historians of the 19th and 20th centuries. Germans. They write. They read.

A woman, late twenties, possibly a graduate student, sitting across from me is reading a rather thick book. Enjoying it. She smiles time and again. Not far off an elderly woman with headsets on is listening to Beethoven. She hums. She’s left alone. I can’t see her, but the hum is not youthful, but joyful.

A guy walks over, early thirties, knows exactly which book to pull from the shelf. He begins leafing through it, then glances at the cover of the book read by the woman across from me. He starts a conversation about J.K. Rowling and her Harry Potter series. His selection, her book too, must be of that genre. They begin debating about authors. Who’s better. Who steals material from whom.

Neutral. Argument vs. Counterargument

I listen and think. German. So many years I’ve been here. Twenty-two. So many times I’ve observed, been in such interactions. Commonplace. So easy to forget that it is foreign to me. Foreign to Americans. Different.

Direct. Argumentative. Bordering on rude. Know-it-alls. The interaction lasted no longer than five minutes. It was impersonal. No introductions. No smiles. Statements. Differences of opinion. Each holds their ground. Argument. Counterargument. Not unfriendly. Not attacking. Neutral. He walked away. She looked at me for a split second. Neither irMariated, nor insulted. As if: “Oh, well. He sees it his way. I see it my way. No big deal.“

What would that kind of interaction look like between two Americans, in a university town, in America?

The guy: “Oh, hi, excuse me. You’re reading Jack Jones. I haven‘t read his stuff. Is he good?” The woman looks up, smiles a bit. “Yeah, I really like him. A lot like Rowling but a little more history to it.” The guy returns the smile. Nods. “J.K. is great. But, sometimes I get the feeling that maybe she gathers material from other authors.“

Like a cup of coffee together in the café

Woman: “Do you think? What authors?” Man: “Well, perhaps Smith. Maybe Richards.” The Woman: “Could be. Not sure. Smith is good. I haven’t read Richards yet. Don’t they all read each other and get inspired?” Man: “Hmm, I suppose you‘re right about that. But, my sense is that Richards might be a bit more original. By the way, I‘m Tom.” He offers his hand to shake hers. She reaches out with a warm smile. “I‘m Maria. You sound like you’ve read quite a bit in this genre.” Tom: “Love this stuff. Ever since I was a kid. And you?” Maria: “Me, too.“

The conversation could have stopped at that point, could have continued, perhaps led to a cup of coffee together in the café across the street. Many possibilities.

Let’s change the scenario once more. Maria is sitting across from me. A Fulbright Scholar in Bonn, for a year, studying German literature. Working on her Ph.D. Her German is excellent. She‘s been to Germany many times, but never for longer than three months.

The German guy sees that Maria is reading Jack Jones in English. Based on that and on her clothing, he thinks that she might be American. His English is good, has traveled extensively throughout the U.S., feels in many ways close to America and to Americans.

Permutations

“You are reading Jack Jones. I read his first two books. He steals from Smith and Richards. But, they’re all better than Rowling. She’s over-rated.” Maria winced slightly: “Who is this guy? Doesn’t even know me. Strikes up a conversation and gives an unsolicited opinion?” She smiles halfheartedly: “Uh, excuse me? Oh, the book I am reading? Uh, well I happen to like Jones.” The man: “He’s not bad. But not very demanding of the reader. Kind of simple his story lines.“

Maria cringes again, thinking: “Oh, ok. I‘m stupid for reading Jones. Is that the message? I wish this person would disappear.” Her smile disappears, she closes the book, peers over at him and says softly, icily, sarcastically: “Well, you seem to really know your stuff. Are you a professor of English literature here at the university?“

The man interprets the question literally, as a compliment. “No, no. I work in city hall here, public finance, just an avid reader of anything which combines history and science fiction.“

He’s happy to meet someone with whom he can discuss the authors and their works. And what‘s more an American! He quickly and energetically sits down next to her determined to deepen the conversation.

Maria’s mind races. She goes through the permutations. Glance at her watch as if she had an appointment, then head for the door. Humor him for a few minutes, then head for the door. Give him a piece of her mind first, then head for the door. Or, head for the door. But, then again. He’s not bad looking. Well dressed. Sincere eyes. Intelligent. Maybe just a bit clumsy socially.

Summer in Germany. My boy is big enough to sit in a seat mounted on the back of my bike. We go for a ride through the pedestrian zone. Saturday. Lots going on. We come to a street crossing. Narrow street, cars moving slowly. Red man showing. I remain standing. Son on bike next to me. Next to him an elderly gentleman. Looks me sternly in the eye. I sense something coming.

“Ihr Kind hat keinen Helm auf. Das ist von Ihnen äußerst unverantwortlich!” –  “Your son does not have a bike helmet on. Very, very irresponsible of you!” Before I can react the red man turns to a green man. Folks move across the street quickly. He was right. My son should have had a bicycle helmet on.

Three years later, while taking him to kindergarten on the bike, it suddenly slipped out from under me. A very slight amount of powdery snow was enough to do it. I heard my son‘s head hit the pavement. A plastic sound. He had his helmet on. That arrogant, cranky old man giving unsolicited advice. I wish I could thank him.

It is the summer of 1997. I’m working in the Bundestag. There is the German-American Parliamentarian Group, made up of senators, congressmen and Bundestag members who meet twice a year, once in Germany, and once in the U.S., and they have many individual meetings throughout the year when any one of them is in the other capital.

This time the Bundestag is the host. The group meets in Bad Münstereifel, a lovely, quaint town about 45 miles southwest of Bonn. It has many remnants of the Middle Ages. An ancient wall encircles the town, with narrow cobblestone alleys and a stream winding through it. The morning air is cool and fresh. The mind wonders and wanders back into history.

The meetings are not intense. The purpose is relationship building. There are discussions, yes, and an agenda, too. But they are exploratory, about points of view and understanding. Austausch. Exchange. The second evening, after dinner, down in the Ratskeller, we are enjoying German wine. The mood is relaxed, friendly, gemütlich as Germans would say.

Suddenly one of the German parliamentarians stands up. Tall, strong build, focused, a determined look, she toasts the group briefly then announces that she would like to address a problem, a difference of opinion, between American foreign policy and the views of her political party, the Social Democrats (SPD), who at that time were in the opposition.

German direct vs. American indirect

She wanted to talk about Cuba, about the Helms-Burton Act, otherwise known as the Cuban Liberty and Democratic Solidarity Act, which tightened the U.S. embargo on Cuba. She and her party were diametrically opposed to it. “This was absolutely unacceptable!”, she said.

The atmosphere in the group, in that Ratskeller, went from warm to cold within seconds. The Americans didn’t twitch a muscle. She continued, digging deeper and deeper. When her monologue was finished she remained standing. There was a pause. The U.S. chargé d’affaires (Acting Ambassador) stood up. He, a great admirer and friend of the Germans. He was first stationed as an Army officer, then made the switch into the Foreign Service.

Fluent in German, knowledgeable of their history and culture, he quietly and carefully stated that the United States, as a sovereign country, reserved the right to pass legislation which it deems to serve its foreign policy interests. He sat down as understatedly as he had stood up. Again there was silence. Not a movement. She, too, sat down. She was bewildered.

A side note. Earlier that day, during one of the meetings with all present, including support staff, a senior-level foreign policy advisor of the Free Democrats made a comment for all to hear about Newt Gingrich, then Speaker of the House. He commented about Gingrich‘s bad character, having served his wife divorce papers while she was in the hospital dying of cancer.

Clearly that was not a nice thing to do, but was it the right topic and tone for that kind of setting? One of the Americans, a Republican Congressman, raised his hand, cleared his voice, then politely begged to differ. He knew Gingrich as a colleague and a friend, found him to be a man of honesty and integrity. The room was silent. Not a movement. 

The Germans are direct. They believe in saying what you mean and meaning what you say.

But, wait. What’s so wrong with that? Americans are often nuanced, tolerant of ambiguity, diplomatic. Americans believe that indirectness allows people to say what they mean and mean what they say, without saying it explicitly. Right?

But, tact can be tactics. Tactics in the sense of not direct, not transparent, not honest. Do Americans not have their own screamers, accusers and “bomb-throwers” in politics and in the media?

Unfortunately, after those two incidents, the atmosphere never really improved in Bad Münstereifel.

Words. We use them to communicate. They are all that we have. When working across cultures we use English. American English. British English. And so on. But also the English spoken by non-native English speakers. In fact, that English is spoken by more people than those who speak native English.

1998. Federal elections in Germany. Chancellor Kohl recommended to a young Member of the Bundestag in his party to invite Father Kelly (name changed) to Bonn in order to talk about educational reform in the American university system.

Chancellor Kohl and Father Kelly had become acquaintances. Kelly, President of a major American and Catholic university located in Washington D.C., had done his Ph.D. in Theology in Germany. He was fluent in German. The Chancellor, also a Catholic, was very well-versed in both church history and theology. He was also quite well-connected with Rome.

University reform had become an important issue in German domestic politics. Federal elections were just around the corner. Father Kelly’s office gets a phone call. “Would the university president be willing to participate in a hearing in the Bundestag?”

The Bundestag is the German Parliament. And Parliament is analogous to Congress. Father Kelly’s chief of staff made the connection: a hearing in the Bundestag is like a hearing in the House or in the Senate. The Chancellor is inviting via the parliamentary group? “Yes, certainly. Father Kelly would be honored.”

Documents are sent back and forth per email. In English. It all seems to match up, but with a few question marks. A week before his scheduled flight to Bonn, it begins to occur to Father Kelly that the “hearing” he has been invited to as a very high-level subject area expert does not quite sound like one he would participate in across town in a Senate office building.

Words aren’t words

A phone call is made from Father Kelly’s office to the Bundestag seeking clarification without success. Father Kelly makes the flight from Washington to Bonn. The “hearing” in the Bundestag turns out to be a half-day meeting with a handful of young members of the Chancellor’s party who are focused on the issue and seeking expert input from across the Atlantic.

The “hearing” did not take place in the Bundestag. There was no large committee room. No panel of Bundestag Members from the various parties asking Father Kelly well-researched questions about how American universities approach the educational challenges of the future.

Nor did Kohl’s party schedule any other meetings for Father Kelly, neither with the press, nor with the presidents of nearby universities such as Bonn and Cologne, nor with German Secretary of Education or at least with his Undersecretary. Nothing.

Father Kelly flew from Washington to Bonn to speak with very junior members of the Bundestag for no more than half a day, then flew back to Washington. A terrible waste of time, and money, for Father Kelly and the university he is the president of.

Hearing isn’t hearing. Words aren’t words.