Ukraine crisis: Time for some peace diplomacy, visions of a better future

2 Responses

1. Der Graben – (in English, The Grave) …..was written by a German poet in 1926, 8 years after the first world war and 13 years before the second world war. Both of these wars were devastating disasters, where millions of people were killed. The song is from the theater play “Die Mutter” (The Mother) by Bertolt Brecht. It tells a story about a German mother and her young boys and beg the sons not to join the war. They are asked to cherish their life, make peace with the French and English soldiers, also just boys, join hands with them across the horrible mass graves and stop the war, which none of them want. Once again we hear the terrible war drums of Europe; again we are on the brink of a new world war, a new disaster; it might be the last war there will ever be. Listen to the song, think about everything you love and cherish, think about our beautiful Planet and all the World’s people and how to protect them. Let’s refuse to destroy our world, let’s refuse to fight – with words as well as bombs. It is high time, we join our hands across all borders and build a better world in peace. To avoid a third world war, twelve of Asia’s countries with almost half of the world’s population try to seek peace instead of endless war: The ASEAN, ten countries in South East Asia with 622 million people, India with 1.3 billion people and China with 1.4 billion people. I know that many people in the West also favor negotiations and not war. Ukraine and Russia have already started negotiations in Belarus, and will now continue in Turkey. They need all the support they can get, no more weapons and fighter jets! https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U9eQ38d9iZ4 DER GRABEN Aus “Die Mutter”, Bertolt Brecht Komposition: Hanns Eisler Text: Kurt Tucholsky Mutter, wozu hast Du Deinen aufgezogen, Hast Dich zwanzig Jahr’ mit ihm gequält? Wozu ist er Dir in Deinen Arm geflogen, Und Du hast ihm leise was erzählt? Bis sie ihn Dir weggenommen haben Für den Graben, Mutter, für den Graben! Junge, kannst Du noch an Vater denken? Vater nahm Dich oft auf seinen Arm, Und er wollt’ Dir einen Groschen schenken, Und er spielte mit Dir Räuber und Gendarm Bis sie ihn Dir weggenommen haben Für den Graben, Junge, für den Graben! Drüben die französischen Genossen lagen dicht bei Englands Arbeitsmann. Alle haben sie ihr Blut vergossen und zerschossen ruht heut Mann bei Mann. Alte Leute, Männer mancher Knabe in dem einen großen Massengrabe. Seid nicht stolz auf Orden und Geklunker. Seid nicht stolz auf Narben und die Zeit. In die Gräben schickten euch die Junker, Staatswahn und der Fabrikantenneid. Ihr wart gut genug zum Fraß für Raben, für das Grab, Kameraden, für den Graben. Werft die Fahnen fort! Die Militärkapellen spielen auf zu Eurem Todestanz! Seid Ihr hin? – Ein Kranz von Immortellen, Das ist dann der Dank des Vaterlands! Denkt an Todesröcheln und Gestöhne! Drüben stehen Väter, Mütter, Söhne, Schuften schwer, wie ihr, um’s bißchen Leben. Wollt Ihr denen nicht die Hände geben? Reicht die Bruderhand als schönste aller Gaben Über’n Graben, Leute, über’n Graben! THE TRENCHES (An English translation; the word “trenches” should be substituted by “graves”) Mother, for what did you raise your son? Why did you struggle with him twenty years? Why was it to you he would always run And quietly he’d whisper in your ear? Till the day they came and took him away… For the trenches, mother, for the trenches. For the trenches, mother, for the trenches. Young man, can you still remember Dad? How he’d take you on his shoulder for a ride? How he’d always have a penny for his lad And count to ninety-nine while you would hide? Till the day they came and took him away… For the trenches, young man, for the trenches. For the trenches, young man, for the trenches. See those French and English workers yonder? Side by side they sacrificed their lives. Shot to pieces, every life was squandered, For a place a metre deep in mud. All the young men, even boys, who gave, Their lives for a lonely mass grave, Their lives for a lonely mass grave. Don’t be so proud of your scars and medals, Don’t be proud about glory days gone by. You were sent to the trenches by the ogres, The envy of industry, the madness of the state. You were good enough as carrion for the crows, For the trenches, comrades, for the trenches. For the trenches, comrades, for the trenches. Think of the moans and the rattle of the guns, Yonder are fathers’, mothers’ sons. Making ends meet with the daily grind, Don’t you want to shake hands with your own kind? Reach out your hands and greet your fellow men, Across the trenches, people, across the trenches. Across the trenches, people, across the trenches.

2. Thank you so much dear Gitte. What a thought-provoking reply- Brecht on how meaningless war is – then in the trenches, now all over: on the ground, in the deep ocean and in the sky, in space. Still, it’s done by human beings who refuse to see the larger picture of militarist culture which they are a small point. Like you, I share hope when it comes to the non-Western/Occidental ways of thinking and cultures of the East/Orient. And YES, no weapons to Ukraine but a peace-intrvention in support also of the peace people inside Ukraine. We never hear about them. My best; Jan