Germany – Page 5 – understand-culture

85 pages !

Breadth and depth means gathering, analyzing and presenting alot of information. The semester papers at the Freie Universität Berlin were really long. One submitted by a graduate student was over eight-five pages!

The longest one I had ever written at Georgetown University was twenty, which back in 1980 was not considered short. My German Master’s thesis was one-hundred and twenty. Some doctoral theses in Germany go well beyond five-hundred pages. An American Ph.D. advisor would most likely not even accept such a tome.

It’s not much different in German print media. Even if you were to remove the advertising, weekly magazines here are very long. Who has the time to read all of that material? Over a five-year period I read Die ZEIT. A first-class weekly newspaper on politics, business, culture, and the arts.

But the length of the articles was simply too much. To Americans the Germans are simply too long-winded. TV and radio segments are long and detailed. The interactions among guests on talk shows can be painfully long, differentiating, minute. Yes, German books are excellent. But it would be equally excellent to leave out all irrelevant content.

Everyday interactions among the people are not much different. If you get lost in an American city and ask a stranger for directions, the response is typically brief. Often the person gives practical and effective advice: “Go three blocks down, turn right, cross over Main Street, then ask another person how to continue from there.”

That’s perfect! No need to listen to a long-winded speech. Nor to remember it. Saves time. Saves brain-power. You simply ask the next person a few minutes later. It also reduces the risk of mistakes. Germans are very helpful. But when they give long, detailed answers to relatively simple questions, I think: “My goodness, am I the stupid one or does this perfectly nice person not consider what a guy from out of town can possible remember?”

Rigor means mastering a craft, physically and mentally

If the approach taken is systematic – in the sense of “everything is connected to everything else” – then there is no alternative to gathering information in breadth and depth, in order to analyze all of the decision-making possibilities.

And all of this information should be from objective sources. Objectivity. This is another roter Faden (literally red thread, or common theme) in German thinking. A red thread in the topics Persuasion, Leadership, Process Philosophy and Conflict Resolution.

My impression is that Germans see information primarily as data. And data should be scientific. Measurable, quantifiable, independent of intuition. To gather information in depth and breadth means to gather facts in depth and breadth.

And, in order to analyze those facts in a competent way you need the right analytical tools. Another area of contention between Germans and Americans in their collaboration. For tools are the manifestation of how people, disciplines (i.e. engineering, marketing), companies, and cultures, fundamentally think.

You can get a sense of the work performed by a carpenter, a machine-tool maker, a baker, an architect, of a thinker of any kind, by looking at their tools. In Germany rigor is a key to quality and to success. Quality has to do with processes. And processes have to do with tools. Many tools. And they are fine, as in precise. Precision. For all processes are work processes. And work is supported by physical and mental tools. Rigor, therefore, means mastering a craft, physically and mentally.

Divulge Reveal Surrender

When it comes to minor decisions Germans rely on estimation. With major decisions they do in-depth research, gathering much information, analyzing it carefully. Like a detective who seeks out all possible pros and cons, especially indications of risk. To ferret out: search and discover through persistent investigation.

Anecdote: Independent of the topic or the purpose for the conversation, I have often had the impression that Germans are happy to let me talk at length, rarely interrupting. Perhaps while I am open and talkative. Perhaps because German politeness forbids interruption.

But, what if they simply want to get as much information out of me as possible without sharing any of theirs? Is it a game, a kind of sport? The German word preisgeben – Preis is price, award, prize. Geben to give – in other words divulge, reveal, surrender.

Anecdote: Interest unclear. Another train ride. Another major German company. This time just south of Frankfurt. I meet with a guy high up in corporate communications. He does not have much international experience. I’m not sure if he’ll understand what I am talking about, but he says that he is interested. We meet in the executive restaurant. Impressive. Excellent food. Excellent service.

We talk at length. His questions are short, my responses long, too long. His body language, especially his facial expressions, reveal little to nothing. Question after question, then my responses, but little indication whether he sees a need in the company.

Weeks go by. No response. I follow up. We meet again. The second lunch is like the first, but with more depth. Again, no concrete interest signaled. I don‘t request a third meeting. Perhaps a mistake on my part.

Figures of speech: Wer suchet, der findet. He who seeks will find. Wer es nicht im Kopf hat, hat es in den Beinen. Literally, those who don’t have it in their head, have it in their legs, meaning they will search until they find it.

Front-loading

Once Germans have made a commitment they begin immediately doing their part. And because they work independently, including little communication with the other parties to the agreement, it is essential that they have as much information upfront as possible.

Anecdote: Friendly interrogation. I take the train to Bavaria. A meeting with one of Germany’s largest multinational companies. Thusfar they are satisfied with my work. A new contact, high-level engineer, perhaps a new client.

We meet in his office, sit at a round table, drink tea. We talk. His questions are direct, precise, bordering on penetrating. The tone, however, is friendly, probing. Before I realize it an hour has gone by.

The questions keep coming, one after the other. About my background, methodology, how I execute seminars and specialized workshops. Then about my content, my research approach. What? How? Why?

Question after question, almost like an interrogation. He wants to understand. I become a bit fatigued, but remain fully focused, maintain eye contact, respond as precisely as my German language skills will allow. The meeting is tiring, he keeps me on my toes. At the same time the atmosphere is friendly, respectful, at a high level.

The German manager is above average in height, slender, his eyes sensitive, curious, listening. Not distrustful, skeptical but careful. In the weeks thereafter we would meet several times more. Each talk of lesser intensity. Then the decision. Positive. I went on to serve him and his organization for several years without interruption. Front loading.

“Your bullshit pragmatism!“

“Nicht über den eigenen Tellerrand hinaus zu schauen,” literally to not look beyond the rim of your own plate, is as negative a criticism as having an underdeveloped Problembewusstsein, problem-consciousness. Such people don’t recognize connections, interconnections, and interdependencies (the complexity). They sort of stumble along without fully grasping the broader context within which they do so. They have plenty of facts at hand, and can tell entertaining stories based on their experience, but fundamentally cannot “put two and two together.”

Germans are no fans of anecdotes in general anyway. They consider anecdotes to be uncertified, unauthenticated pseudo-documents, un-proofed by an official body or organization. Anecdotes are subjective, therefore invalid, worthy of being challenged. Germans expect theory which helps objectify facts and numbers, offering a clean method for understanding complexity.

Germans would roll their eyes when confronted in a typical American bookstore by those tall, narrow kiosk-like stands pushing how-to books with titles such as “10 Easy Steps to a Successful Marriage,“ “5 Simple Ways to Become a Millionaire,“ “Start Your Own Company in 3 Weeks,“ “A Successful Family in Ever Way,“ each of them amounting to no more than 150 pages.

“You stupid Americans, with your bullshit pragmatism!”

Germans are capable of being focused and to-the-point. It’s those “easy steps” which make them nervous. Perhaps it’s a part of Anglo-American pragmatism. I’ll never forget a conversation I had with Georg (yes, yet another anecdote). 1982, my very first year in Germany. He was the boyfriend of the daughter in the family I lived with in a small town south of Bonn.

Hardly had I met him and Georg got right down to business. As a junior officer in the Bundeswehr, the German Army, he asked me if Reagan and the U.S. would defend West Germany if the Russians and the Warsaw Pact attacked. I tried to give him a credible response, but was not exactly prepared for that kind of question as a twenty-two year old who had just graduated from college. I was not persuasive. Georg ended the conversation abruptly and in a huff mumbling under his breath, yet audible enough: “Ihr blöden US-Amerikaner mit Eurem scheiß Pragmatismus!”, literally you stupid Americans, with your bullshit pragmatism!

I shrugged my shoulders and continued on my way in life. In the quarter century since then I have thought often about that interaction. It was the thought that pragmatism could be “scheiße.“ To think and act pragmatically was a principle I had never challenged. What could possibly be wrong with pragmatism?

Airports

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.

“Are you crazy?“

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.

Bookstore Encounters

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.

Allow yourself to be pulled in

The history of Germany, as well as the historical consciousness of the German people, continue to impress and attract me. Today, just as strongly as a quarter century ago. You need only to go into a bookstore in Germany. Their books are not only solid, well bound and have great covers. The Germans have a very special relationship to books. There are always many older and newer publications about history, about their history. For those Germans who want to know their history there will never be a shortage of opportunities.

Every city in Germany, large and small, has museums in which history, but not only theirs, is told, is kept alive and relevant. In my early years in Berlin and Bonn I was astounded by how many fascinating and well-made documentary films were shown on German television. There was never a day without at least one in the evening. The German language is worth learning if only to read their books, to visit their museums, and to watch their documentaries. Although not a documentary, but one with the look and feel of one, was Heimat.

It was the summer of 1992. I watched episode for episode of Heimat. My eyes were glued to the television, my mind racing to understand every word, to pick up on as many nuances as possible. What an opportunity for me to gain insight in Germany of that time period, between the world wars. Time and again I had to turn to my German wife to get the meaning of this or that word, for the dialogue was in the dialect of that region of Germany, the Hunsrück, along the Moselle River, between Trier and Koblenz. After every episode I was in a kind of trance, reflecting about what I had just taken in.

The history of another people

Then another time. I was in the car. Driving through Bonn. Evening. I turned on the radio. Deutschlandfunk. A book review was being read. It was about the immediate post-war years in then West Germany. The first sentences grabbed my attention. They flowed: complex, clear, rich, full of substance, critical, analytical, yet elegant. That feeling had come back, from when I was a student at Georgetown. History. German History. The history of another people. In another part of the world. And when I read the books by John Lukacs. Trance.

The reader continued. I was captured, drove further, but as if on a soft cloud just a few inches above the road. I think of the many war memorials in Germany. When I walk or ride my bicycle down the hill from the Venusberg in Bonn to the former government quarter on the Rhine, I pass through Kessenich where there is such a memorial. It’s round, cement, encircling a lovely oak tree. Six pillars about eight feet high. Plenty of space between them to step in and out. The tops of all eight crowned – or held together – by a cement ring providing the tree with space to stretch out its branches. Just below the top each of the eight the face in cement of a German soldier with the iconic German steel helmet from the World War I.

Chiseled into the pillars, from the top to just about the bottom, are the names of the men who died in the two world wars. Six pillars, three sides each. Longs lists. Names. Of men, and boys, from that part of Bonn, from the neighborhood. Yes, boys, many no older than seventeen or eighteen years old. Sad. Especially sad for me, as one of five Magee boys, to read the same last names. Meyer. Schmitz. Leyendecker. Two, three, sometimes four of the same last names. Brothers. Cousins. Imagine the deep, deep sadness of the mothers and fathers who saw their boys go off to war only to kill and be killed. 1914. 1915. 1916. 1917. 1918. Four long years for an entire continent. Then on the other sides of the pillars. 1939. 1940. 1941. 1942. 1943. 1944. 1945. Many of the same names. The sons and nephews of those fallen between 1914 and 1918. The Germans suffered, too.

“Get a bike helmet!“

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.

“Not acceptable!“

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.