Heading towards Dresden's main train station, the Hauptbahnhof, I couldn't stop thinking about where I was. My eyes turned to the dull, grey sky. I knew that, earlier, waves of several hundred bombers had suddenly appeared in that very sky, piercing the air with their formations and thunderous roar as they dumped an endless stream of incendiaries and bombs onto the city centre I was just now crossing. I thought about the terrifying, deafening explosions that must have occurred in those first few moments - the blinding light and the blazing heat as the city, considered by all to be a 'safe city' filled with displaced persons, literally vanished in a giant mushroom cloud of smoke, ash, fire and flame.
I shook the thought and returned to the world where I had come within sight of the main station. It was where the procession to mourn the bombing was supposed to take place. In the distance, I could hear music. It was classical music, and it seemed to be coming from the station. The tune, sophisticated and dramatic, was a stark contrast to what I had heard just the other night in a crowded club, where the walls had reverberated to a lazy beat interlaced with simple rhymes about money, hustling drugs, materialism and bulbous female arses. What I was now hearing was clearly of another era and that era's ideals, almost as if they had been born of another world completely. I remembered then that German Europe was the birthplace of such music. It made me proud to be making an appearance as a representative of 'that' culture in defiance of the new one.
By this point in time, I saw that the area in front of the train station had been gated off. A few policemen were standing guard and, behind them, a lorry was parked. The lorry appeared to have been hired from Sixt, a German car hire company. Next to the lorry, two German flags fluttered proudly and defiantly in the cold breeze.
To my dismay, however, the entire square was empty except for one or two onlookers. It was a complete let down. I had been hoping for an overwhelming show of support, some sort of confirmation that Europe knew of the destruction wrought by those who had collaborated with the communists, and are responsible for the devastation of Europe that continues today. Notably, the music was blaring now. It was dramatic and foreboding. Intense. Wagnerian. This, too, seemed widely appropriate based on the circumstances. I was a man among the ruins of Europe's own 'Goetterdaemmerung' (twilight of the Gods).
Still hopeful that the event would grow, I decided to cross the corridor and wait in "Jack Wolfskin", a major outdoor clothing and supplies chain in Germany. The plan was to simply kill time and perhaps buy a pair of sunglasses. I suspected that the Antifa and press would eventually be making the rounds - if anyone did, in fact, show up. So far, the whole event looked kind of dodgy, and I did not want to become the focus of tomorrow's news, nor did I want my full mugshot in some Antifa dossier.
I looked down at my watch. The demo was supposed to start in a half hour. There was only now a small crowd starting to form in front of the lorry. I decided to keep waiting to see if the crowd grew. So, I took a walk up the adjacent street for a better view of whether anybody else was coming.
Some minutes later, there I was, on the top floor of a tower complex. Looking out of the windows all around me, I could see the entire square in front of the train station. In the distance, a line of police lorries formed a barrier against the length of the main street, St. Petersburger Street. Directly below, police were dealing with people who wanted to cross into the fenced-off square. Those who wanted to reach the demo and were carrying large flags or banners were let through the barricade and into the square without much commotion. Others just wanted to cross through to reach the bloody station. Each time, they were stopped, haggled and questioned by the police. Each time, they were told that they had to go all the way around the the line of police cars and down to the other side of the train station. Interestingly, foreign-looking people - Asians, Pakis - who were carrying luggage seemed to get a free pass to proceed through the demo to the station, perhaps because it was obvious that they were tourists and not there to create a disruption. It was ironic that the police were letting such people cut through a group that the media had tried to portray as not proud German nationalists, but nation-bating xenophobes who wanted to kill everybody who did not look like them.
Meanwhile, the crowd in front of the train station for the demo was growing rapidly. I detected that a lot of people had been lingering around inside the train station for a time. They were now wandering out. Every now and then, a new train would arrive, filled with people heading to the demo. In the distance, people were also arriving from beyond the police lorry barricade and were filtering in. They had probably come from inside the city, perhaps even nearby hotels. The crowd had grown considerably large.
By this point in the day, I was not alone in the building. Others, notably, journalists with press passes around their necks, had joined me. After taking a photo or two from behind the window, two of them stared through the glass in amazement.
"These...they are no Nazis, right?" the one woman asked.
"Yeah I know", said the man, uninterested.
"They must be protesting the government," she replied.
I knew the photos they had just taken would not be used in their report. Everything written in the morning paper would lie about the event and say the opposite of what we all were staring at. I wondered how that woman could sleep at night knowing she or whoever edits her work purposely distorts the truth.
"Look at them, they just keep coming!" the woman exclaimed.
Her eyes were fixed on the middle entrance to the train station. Guards were checking everybody as they entered, so this slowed the process. They were funnelling out of the station, but it was hard to see how far it was backed up inside. My eyes went back to the Sixt truck. I scanned the area again, admiring the flags that were flapping in the breeze. The flags were from various lands, many from within Germany. I noticed a number of Czech, Austrian and Slovakian flags, too. But mostly black flags of mourning.
I decided to go into the station and climb up for a good view. So, I retraced my steps and followed the police-vehicle lined path around Jack Wolfskin into the demo. The station was absolutely filled with people. By now, there was a speech going on. I couldnt hear it so well, but once I got to the top platform I could see that the entire square, from one end of the train station to the other, was just about completely full. Finally, the speech ended. The first row got ready to start to file out. The press swarmed in, busily taking photos. People were all around me too, watching from the platform. It was a marvellous view and I was glad I had left the tower to go there.
Below me, row after row after row filed out. From the flags, I could tell that they were being grouped by region. I could identify so many: Bavaria. Baden-Wuerttemburg. Baden. Silesia. Berlin. Brandenburg. Prussia. East Prussia. Soon, the beginning of the procession disappeared into the distance down the main street. One or two charter buses pulled up late and more people crowded into the mass of people that was slowly being filtered out the main street. I soon realised I had been up there a whole hour and a half.
My plan was to hurry through the main pedestrian way and cut through an alley to take a photo of the procession before joining up with it. I felt a little bit like a wanker tourist, coming up and snapping photos like that. And not only that, I thought it was a little rude and disrespectful of the whole event. So, after taking a few photos, I integrated into the procession. Nobody seemed to mind. The procession continued forward and then slowed to a stop. I saw a middle-aged lady hurrying around with pen and paper, looking at all the banners the demonstrators were carrying. I was curious what she was doing.
"Äh, Gestern Dresden, Heute Gaza sehr gut", I heard heard her say as she neared.
She jotted something down and I wondered if she was also a journalist. I wondered if she approved of the message she had just read, or if she was saying what she said because it would fit the story she wanted to write.
Finally, she came over and politely started asking questions. She wanted to know where we were from, if we could exchange contact, why we were there. The people around me answered.
Looking around, I discovered that most of the city was completely empty except for the onlookers. Some came forward and shook our hands. They were overcome by emotion. Generally, they were older people and you knew that, in their hearts, it touched them so to see so many young people taking to the streets to show that they cared and hadnt forgotten about Dresden. I had a feeling that the bombing was something the onlookers had seen in person as very young children, or soon enough to see the bombing's terrible effects.
Finally, the demonstration moved forward again. I watched as it passed. As a new part of the demonstration came into sight, I looked over and saw a lady with a huge sign around her neck. I decided to try to read it later and took a photo:
I walked on for a little aside the group, and then broke away. I wanted to see the beginning of the procession before blending in as they marched over the river and then back around towards the train station. Unfortunately, I took a wrong turn or two, and a counterprotest - Gegendemo - had just started, which meant that the police had closed off roads. For the time being I was caught between two cut-off points.
I was a little frustrated, but it was also entertaining to see people who lived on that block arguing with policemen who would not let them go home.
"Go to Aldi!", the policeman had suggested to the one person.
So, I tried to go in the other direction. On my way, I saw a tiny pathway in between a row of houses. But as I looked closer, sure enough, standing between shrubs and the wall of a house, a policeman had blocked the pathway. They had thought of everything, the clever lads.
At about this point, I saw a whole bunch of reckless-looking people who were slightly young then me, they were screaming and running with excitement. Their hands were filled with beers and they were dressed in black. They had brightly-dyed hair and hats with antifa political buttons on them. They were excited to make trouble with the law...on a day marking the instant deaths of some two hundred fifty thousand peoples. They were why the streets had to be closed off.
The previous night, there had been a rally just under where I was staying. Loud music, red antifa flags, flags of the US, our dear proud Britain and most common of all - Israel. It was a party, a celebration, on the night that Dresden had been bombed. The next day, I went outside, the place was a mess. Someone had smashed the glass door. It is still shattered as I write this. Inside the door, there were beer bottles and drink cartons all over the ground, half empty, in puddles on the floor. Outside, walls were and still are covered with antifa stickers: "UK 1 Germany 0" and other stuff. They put them over stickers advertising the citys soccer club. I imagine this is because the soccer club is an expression of pride in the city. I started to peel these stickers off the other day, but then I concluded that their message is so absurd, maybe it is actually beneficial to leave them up.
In any case, I did take one sticker with me, it says "Die Konsequenz aus Der Geschichte Ziehen: ANTIZIONISMUS BEKÄMPFEN! Solidarität mit Israel!" It was an interesting contrast to the message I had seen about Gaza.
Back to my story though, I eventually found out a way around the police blockade and rode my way back to the central station. When I left the train, the station was starting to fill up again. Inevitably, many were leaving the demo for home. I thought about the fact that some of these people had travelled up to 8 hours (it is about 8 hours from one end of Germany to the other). It was 16:30 at the time. Many people had quite a trip ahead of them.
Even from where I was, I could hear deafening chants coming from outside the station. Although I couldnt make out what they were saying, the train station seemed to shake with their voices.
I made my way towards the exit. On my way out, I looked over at McDonalds and saw that it was practically empty; perpendicular to McDonalds, there was a long line to buy sandwiches and Bratwurst. I thought that was intriguing.
I finally went back outside, where some demonstrators were still just returning from the procession. In any case, there was a huge semi-circle around the front of the train station, created by those who had been carrying large banners. Towards the back of the platform, people were handing out flyers. I saw one young man with a stack of leaflets and slowly made my way over, cutting through the crowd. The man handed me a flyer. "Fight for a free Europe", it said. I looked it over.
Then, a speaker stepped forward on a stage next to the Sixt truck. I do not know the speaker's name, but he thanked everyone for coming and talked about the volk-destruction of Dresden and the volk-destruction of now, about the need for Europe to unite. He talked about the great turnout, about the efforts of the media to slander us, and about the mainstream politicians lying about the number that died in Dresden. He talked about how none of this could stop us, about there being nowhere to go but up. We are taking Europe back, he said. Some of the other stuff I cant remember, but I was happy that I could understand as much as Ive typed.
Next, a Spanish speaker came on, and he could have been talking about how to make his mum's beef lasagna - I wouldnt have had a clue. If only you were there to translate. There was a bit of a pause after that, and I briefly thought the event was over. So, I tried to make my way over to the other side of the fenced-in area and have something to eat. This, of course, required me to cross over the barricade to where I had been earlier that morning. The policewoman wouldnt let me by "for my own protection." I looked over and heard protesters starting to swearing at me. I walked back to the demo.
It was quite odd. I could have been anyone just walking from the train station, except my features were fair, Yes, that didnt rule me out for having been at the event I was trying to leave. And yes, I was young and male and, although a good number of old people and quite a few women were there, this worked in favour of her assumption. But I was puzzled. Suddenly I remembered my hat with "Germany" written on it and the colours of the flag...I had a good chuckle.
By now, there was another speaker. When he finished, there was a moment of silence and, finally, the national anthem. Around this time, in a completely disrespectful act, I saw media personnel weaving through, hunting for last-minute photos. *Snap* I saw the flash of a camera and looked around for somebody wearing something that would have gotten their attention. Finally I spotted him, the media's darling. He looked unclean and the only thing shaven was his head. It was bitter cold, but he was wearing just a pullover with a bright-white middle finger on it. He had tattoos everywhere. He stood out like a sore thumb. I laughed about how right I had been regarding the press. Anyway, I was convinced not to let this moment ruin my overall impression of the event.
Later, as I left the event, I passed a tall, lanky fellow dressed in a suit jacket and overcoat and an older woman with traditionally-braided hair. They were walking in the same direction that I was, back into the city. I thought about whether they were coming from the demonstration. I could hear what they were talking about, about how positive the event had been, that the press had counted at least seven thousand. I smiled.
Shortly afterwards, we all blended back into another world. People no longer looked as clean cut as what I had seen most of the day. For the first time all day, I also saw hip-hopper clothes. Suddenly, the demographic looked darker than anything I had seen the last hours, too. I thought of the lads with the flags who were going back to cities in Germany where so many people didnt even speak German. It was going to be like a culture shock for them.
I refocused and began to reflect on the day. It had been so refreshing to take in the throngs of people, to take in the faces of a city filled with Germans in spirit. There had been people who were intellectually curious about the event, and those who watched on thankfully. It was wonderful to see so many people who, in spite of the smears and propaganda and risk of harassment or worse, were there and had come with intrigue or taken a stand. It had been a good day.
