Life in the New World E-Book

Andreas Seidl

• Herausgeber: Books on Demand
• Kategorie: Geisteswissenschaft
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024

Seitenzahl: 600

Beschreibung

Hello, I'm Sarah. What should your future look like? What should the future of humanity look like? Do you sometimes doubt whether politicians can reconcile the two? Come with me on my journey through one life among many in the new world. Experience with me how old problems are solved and how humanity becomes happier together. Be curious to find out which innovations can save our future. Look forward to the hope of being able to achieve anything in life as long as you vote your goals with the public. My life in the new world shows you how the non-fiction series "Handover of Power" could be implemented in the reality of the near future. Please help me and find your truth in this novel. Summary The book gives you hope for a great future without our current political problems. Climate change, war, debt, terrorism, dictatorship, poverty, hunger are disappearing worldwide. It offers many world firsts, including: First political non-fiction series also available as a novel. 3 forms of government and 4 economic systems operating simultaneously in one country. With your purchase, if desired, you will gain access to the network that wants to save the world. We have a plan for 200 years that everyone can have a say in implementing. Everything can, nothing must. Hints This novel is a summary of the non-fiction series called "Handover of Power - European Version" by Andreas Seidl. All references in the text are endnotes, indicating the number and title of appropriate volumes and chapters. In the novel, Germany is exemplary for every country in the world. These developments could take place anywhere, but the author knows Germany best. Trigger warning Drug use, homophobia, suicide, child abuse (domestic violence), racism Please try to approach my texts with an open mind, because I am only interested in how all people could live together in peace. If you feel fear or hatred, you may have understood something from an opposing point of view or I may have worded it inappropriately. Hopefully reading this will bring you new ideas that will give you hope of making the best of every situation.

Leseprobe

For You

Acknowledgements

I would like to thank my family and friends for making me who I am today. Special thanks go to all those who have supported me in the 20 years of exploring political problems, finding suitable solutions and writing this book series. I would like to thank all those with whom I have been able to gather the experiences from which the ideas in this book have emerged. I thank the Books on Demand team for their friendly helpfulness. Finally my thanks go to the citizens of Seligenstadt for the harmony and solidarity in which I was able to write.

About the author

The author was born in Frankfurt am Main in 1984 and is a qualified political scientist and social pedagogue. He gained his professional experience in Brussels at the European Union, in Frankfurt at the stock exchange and in day care centres in the Rhine-Main area. He has been keeping a diary of ideas for over 20 years and in this book publishes all his previous political proposals for solutions in an overall concept.

As a passionate social researcher, he is interested in the concerns, lifestyles and ideas for the future of his fellow human beings. As a convinced democrat, he likes to go to demonstrations and activists to ask about their motivation and the causes. As an author, he endeavours to use restrained criticism, constructive solutions and understandable language.

Hints

This novel is a summary of the non-fiction series called „Handover of Power – European Version“ by Andreas Seidl. All references in the text are endnotes, indicating the number and title of appropriate volumes and chapters. The anchors of the endnotes are located at the end of a sentence or paragraph to which they refer. They are often also given after the colons before the literal speech to which they refer.

In the novel, Germany is exemplary for every country in the world. These developments could take place anywhere, but the author knows Germany best.

Trigger warning

Drug use, homophobia, suicide, child abuse (domestic violence), racism

Please try to approach my texts with an open mind, because I am only interested in how all people could live together in peace. If you feel fear or hatred, you may have understood something from an opposing point of view or I may have worded it inappropriately. Hopefully reading this will bring you new ideas that will give you hope of making the best of every situation.

Table of contents

1. Beginning of a new life

2. Parental leave

3. Birth of a new hope

4. End with horror

5. Planned Economy

6. Just be a child

7. The great freedom

8. Final years

9. House construction

10. Fledging

11. Barter Economy

12. Culture shocks

13. Off to new shores

14. Everything back to square one

15. Second educational path

16. Young happiness

17. The big wide world

18. Building boom

19. A constitution for Europe

20. From the frying pan into the fire

21. Social Market Economy

22. Health at risk

23. Separate paths

24. Free Market Economy

25. World tour

26. Back to the homeland

27. United states of the world

28. Election of persons

29. Care

30. The mountain is calling

31. In the name of the people

32. To the stars

Endnotes

Contact form

1. Beginning of a new life

It’s late Sunday morning. I have just come into being from an egg and a sperm. My mum had forgotten to take her pill and had diarrhoea the days before. That’s why my egg made it into the cervix. My father didn’t feel like using a condom, so my sperm cell had an easy time of it. It’s raining outside on a day in autumn and there are federal elections in Germany today.

After sex, my parents have breakfast. Afterwards, my father watches his favourite team’s football match on TV. He’s betting on a win. My mum sits next to him and listens to an audio book. His favourite team wins the game and he wins his bet. He wants to go straight to his brother’s gambling shop and use the profits to treat himself and his mates to a shisha. My mum is just finishing her bottle of sparkling wine when she asks him:

“And when will you be back home?”

“I don’t know, but, Carola, let’s go out for dinner tonight. I’ll invite you!”

“Oh nice, and where to?”

“I’ll tell you later. Get dressed up now.”

“I will and I’ll still go vote.”

“What, you’ve never been to the polls.”

“There’s always a first time. But I’m sure I’ll be back sooner than you.”

“Do that. See you later. Love you!”

“Me too ... Mustafa, wait, don’t forget your key!”

“Thank you, darling! I’ll give you a kiss for that!”

My mum said this more out of defiance than conviction, because she doesn’t actually vote. She is rather disenchanted with politics and frustrated at only ever hearing meaningless chatter or empty promises from politicians. She doesn’t want to stay at home alone, so it’s just right for her to use the elections as an opportunity to socialise. As soon as my father leaves, she searches for “Bundestag elections 2029” on her tablet PC. She sees that a party has made its election programme into a feature film for the first time.1 It is a young, successful party that contested the last election for the first time and immediately entered government with two other parties. The party is currently represented in government by five ministers, but its programme has even more to offer. My mother follows the link to the feature film on her TV and watches it. In the movie, the main characters experience the implementation of the reforms from the election manifesto and as a viewer you feel like you’re right in the middle of it. I can feel my mum’s enthusiasm bubbling up. During the film, she sometimes cries and sometimes laughs. The election programme awakens hope in her for a better future and she wants to give this brave new world a chance to become reality. So she grabs her big umbrella and walks to the polling station. On the way, she meets a customer called Ulla from the supermarket where she works. The two of them often enjoy chatting about the latest gossip.

“Hey Ulla, hello!”

“Oh, hello Carola, where are you off to?”

“I’m going to vote.”

“Me too.”

“You don’t even have an umbrella. Come under mine.”

“Yes, at first I thought the jacket would be enough, but thank you. I’ll gladly accept it.”

“Did you find out who you want to vote for beforehand?”

“Yes, I always do this election forecast machine on the Internet and this new party was at the top of my list again. They have such concrete proposals for solutions. I think that’s good. And they’ve only done good new things in government so far.”

“Do you know the name of the party?”

“Dynamic party or something, something with dynamic.”

“Dynamic innovation party?”

“Yes, exactly.”

“I’ve just watched their election programme as a feature film. I liked the movie, even though I’m not usually into politicians. Anyway, after 100 minutes I know what they’re up to.”

“Oh come on, and how was it? Do you want to vote for them now or did the programme convince you otherwise?”

“No, that was good. Very specific and very clear about what we would be facing if they came to power on their own.”

“So what? What did you like best?”

“They want everything to be simpler, without paper and office opening hours, everything online and automated. If you then have a question or want to do something in person, there are offices for everything in the town hall with the same opening hours.”2

“That’s right, I ticked the same box when the election forecast machine said: digitise and automate bureaucracy and administration. But it makes more sense the way you put it.”

“Thank you. I thought it was crazy that they want to change the entire political system, i.e. street parties where politicians and citizens negotiate laws and celebrate before and after.3 That’s something for us, isn’t it?”

“Yes, then you can decide the future over a glass of champagne. Haha.”

“Haha, yes, that would be nice.”

“I’ve heard that other parties have already stolen ideas from the Dynamic Innovation Party, because the party programme has long been available to buy as a book all over the world.”

“What’s stolen from it, I don’t know. Anyway, I also saw things in the film that they had already implemented. But I didn’t even know they were in government.”

“And was there anything you didn’t like?”

“Yes. What they want to do with foreigners in the short term is pretty blatant, isn’t it?”

“I didn’t realise that. What do they want to do?”

“They want to deport all criminal and unemployed foreigners.”4

“What? Why?”

“They justify this with the many foreigners before German courts and in German prisons. But also with the high national debt and high unemployment in Germany. They want to combat both and thus also improve the image of the remaining foreigners.”

“Yes, and your Mustafa, have you thought about him? Has he got a job again?”

“Yes, he’s been with a temporary employment agency since last year. He likes it there. His boss is also Turkish and comes from Anatolia. The two of them get on well and he’ll keep the job.”

“And his crooked things?”

“What crooked things?”

“Well, the one with his brother. Everyone can see that the amusement arcade is a money laundering centre.”

“Oh, the family is weird, but I’m not interested in that. Mustafa and I just have fun together; no marriage, no children.”

If my mum had known at the time that I was already growing up inside her and that this carelessness was going to be her downfall ...

In the evening, she waits for my father and watches the news for once. After all, she wants to know who has won the elections. The Dynamic Innovation Party has achieved what no other party in Germany has done for a long time. It has won an absolute majority in the Bundestag. This means that I am growing up in a time when many reforms are being implemented quickly. And if the government does a good job, that will continue for a long time and influence my life. My mum is happy that the party she voted for has won. She feels part of a new movement and is even proud to know their programme. Previously, others had always told her about the programmes of the parties in government and now she can finally do the same. She pops the second sparkling wine cork of the day and calls Ulla. Full of anticipation, I look forward with excitement to the changes I will bring to her life.

2. Parental leave

Almost two months later, my mum is worried because she still hasn’t had her period. After her service at the supermarket, she takes a pregnancy test from the shelf. She makes sure that nobody is following her and nobody sees her as she walks back to the checkout. Just as she swipes the test over the scanner, her boss comes out of the office. He sees her paying for the test and says:

“So, will we be taking parental leave soon?”

“Let’s see.”

“I wouldn’t begrudge you that, Mrs Schmidt. Please just let me know in good time so that we can organise representations for you. We have recently become a company in the Social Market Economy and pay into your parental insurance. Do you know your rights?”5

“No, not yet. But let’s wait and see, shall we?”

“Yes, of course. Report back when you’re sure and I’ll be happy to explain everything.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Have a nice evening.”

“Thank you, likewise.”

The store manager’s evening is certainly nicer than my mum’s. She worries about what her family or Mustafa and his family would say if she was pregnant. Fear rises in her, which I also feel. Then my mum runs part of the way home from work to escape the fear. It’s good for me, because this swaying as she runs puts me to sleep.

When I get home, my mum goes straight into the bathroom and doesn’t tell my dad. She locks the door so he can’t come in by mistake. She takes the test and while she’s waiting she thinks to herself:

“When I’m not pregnant, everything stays as it is. When I’m pregnant, it’s supposed to be a new start for me and for this new life. I’ll stop drinking alcohol and eat healthier. So much is changing for the better in this country right now. I have a permanent position at work and I’m also secure, regardless of whether I have to raise the child all by myself. The state has done everything so that children can grow up on their own thanks to child benefits and all the childcare facilities.6 I don’t need to worry about who I can ask if I need help or support. I don’t care what my family says. If they support me, that would be great, but if they don’t, that’s nothing new. Mustafa? Oh, men come and go.”

At that moment, the second line becomes increasingly red in colour. I have become visible in this world for the first time. It brings tears to my mother’s eyes and joy rises in her. I feel the joy too and rejoice with her. My mother puts the positive test in her handbag - in the compartment with the zip. She wants to keep me a secret and go to the gynaecologist first to find out for sure.

A week later she has her appointment, sits in the treatment room, has already agreed to a genetic test and has given blood and urine for it.7 She doesn’t want a disabled child, so I hope that the test doesn’t reveal any disability or hereditary disease. The physician comes in, greets her, calls up the lab results and says:

“I won’t keep you in suspense and tell you: you’re pregnant. How does that make you feel?”

“Thank you. I feel good with it. But I did take the pill.”

“Have you ever had diarrhoea?”

“Yes.”

“Then the hormones from the pill have probably not been absorbed in your intestines, but have been excreted. Then the active level of hormones in your blood is not sufficient to trick your body into thinking you are already pregnant. Do you already know whether you want to keep the child?”

“Yes, I want to keep it.”

This sentence makes me very happy. Without telling others about me beforehand and allowing herself to be influenced, she has decided in my favour and to be there for me alone if necessary. As a reward, she is now allowed to see me. The physician asks my mum to lie down on the couch and puts the ultrasound machine on her. I am visible for the second time on this earth. Hello, that’s me. A little pile that you wouldn’t recognise as human at first glance. But there, my heart - how it beats. The physician says to my mother:8

“As we can see here, she is in excellent health and the lab results did not reveal any genetic diseases or malformations. Congratulations, Mrs Schmidt!”

“Thank you! I’m relieved that my child is healthy.”

“You can get dressed again. Do you know what to expect now? There have been some reforms recently.”

“No, not exactly. I’ve only heard about the parenting licence so far.”

“You’ll have to do it later. The important thing is that you are no longer allowed to take drugs from now on. What do you use?”

“I quite like drinking sparkling wine.”

“Nothing else?”

“Yes, I drink a lot of alcohol quite often, smoke at parties and have a joint now and again.”

“Then the addiction health insurance organisation can help you. They will automatically put together a guide for you on what recipes for success there are for pregnant women, how you can wean yourself off addictions and what harmless substitutes are available. If necessary, there is also a cure.”

“How much does it all cost?”

“Nothing. You pay your contributions to the drug insurance fund automatically when you buy the drugs.”

“That’s good! How do I get in touch with this drug insurance company?”

“You don’t need to contact them. I’ll give you everything or send it to you. And I would also organise the cure. Your family doctor can also give you advice.”

The physician looks at his screen and says:9

“I see here that you have linked your Health Card to your identity card.”

“Yes, then I only have one card for everything.”

“Do you already have the People’s Computer?”

“Yes, I have that too.”

“Then you have two options: Either we do everything digitally or you go to the Youth Welfare Office and they do everything for you.”

“We do everything digitally - I don’t need to run to the offices.”

“All right, I’ll enter the fact that you’re pregnant on your Health Card. Your data will then be automatically passed on to all the appropriate state agencies.”

“Which jobs are these?”

“These are all the offices that have to prepare for the arrival of another citizen, for example the Education Authority. However, your personal data will only be sent to the Youth Welfare Office because they will contact you. I will send you a news item with a link to the addiction counselling guide. This will send you a questionnaire on the basis of which the guide is automatically created and can be downloaded directly. From the third month onwards, a report will automatically be sent to your profile in the Persons Directory and to the Ministry of Family Affairs. In the Persons Directory you will then receive news from the Ministry of Family Affairs with an invitation to the Family Directory. You can book courses for the parenting licence there.”10

“Where do you get this parenting licence?”

“You can choose rooms in the neighbourhood. The courses are usually held in the evenings at local primary schools. But you can also register directly for the final exam if you think you already know everything.”

“No no, I’m happy about the courses and I’m excited about what I’m learning.”

“What about the child’s father?”

“I’m with him, but he doesn’t know I’m pregnant yet.”

“Do you want him to find out from them or via his People’s Computer?”

“He’s Turkish and doesn’t have a People’s Computer.”

“Then he would receive mail or a phone call, depending on what he indicated to the Residents’ Registration Office about how he would like to be contacted.”11

“I don’t know, but I’d rather tell him myself.”

“Okay, I can enter here when he should be notified, if not immediately. And the time must be within one month.”

“Then enter next week.”

Now the fear is rising in my mum again. She’s worried about Mustafa’s reaction and that of his family. She goes home and he’s already there. When she walks in the door, he asks her sceptically because he had been expecting her from work earlier:

“Hey pearl, where have you been?”

“Hello Musti, come and sit on the sofa with me.”

“Oh, getting straight to the point today?”

“Yes, but not the way you think. Have a seat.”

“What’s going on? Where have you been?”

“I’ve been to the gynaecologist and I’m pregnant.”

“What, you’re on the pill, aren’t you?”

“Yes, but the physician said that the diarrhoea may have caused the active ingredient levels to be too low.”

“What active ingredient levels?”

“Well, the hormones and all that.”

“But you’re aborting the child, aren’t you?” My mum feels a pinch in her stomach. That’s me. No abortion! I’ve come to stay! Didn’t you, mum? Go on, tell him!

“No, I’m going to have the baby. Whether you like it or not!”

My father turns white as a sheet, leans into the couch and runs both hands over his face. Silence. A sigh from him. He asks her excitedly:

“Do you actually care what this means to me?”

“No, I’m not, but you couldn’t care less.”

“Why is that?”

“Because children in Germany can live independently, whether with their parents, in a youth centre, in a children’s home or with adoptive parents.”12

“Do you want to have it adopted?”

“No, are you crazy?”

“You’re crazy! What will my parents say? Look at you!”

“What do I look like?”

“Blonde, sexy, unveiled.”

“Do you want me to wear a veil for you? And only you can see what I have underneath?”

“Baby, I mean the full programme starts then. Marriage, Islam, visiting family in Turkey and so on. Can you handle that?”

“Why not?”

And it turns out as it had to. My parents’ parents are not at all enthusiastic about me. They don’t even know me yet. I don’t know what they always mean with their culture and religion. It’ll be up to me later anyway, how I live. When my mum talks to her mum on the phone, she’s told:

“What? ... You want a child with that Turk? ... He’s not coming into my house! ... Convert to Islam, are you crazy? ...

Don’t take your rebellious phase out on your child!”

When she spoke to her father on the phone:

“Holy shit! How did you do that? ... Don’t you want an abortion after all? ... You’ll never manage Islam. ... The clan can stay away from me.”

After the phone calls, my mum is pretty depressed. She cries herself to sleep and I can’t sleep at all that night. The next day, my father visits his parents but doesn’t say anything about me. He only talks about my mum and that he wants to introduce her to them. Enthusiasm sounds different. His father says:

“Is she Turkish? ... Is she Muslim? ... I chose Aisha for you. ... In this country you only get stupid ideas.”

His mum says:

“Does she have children? ... Does she dress dirty? ... Does she work? ... What do her parents do? ... Are they Christians or pagans? ... Don’t disgrace us.”

That’s probably the worst possible start to life, at least from a family point of view. A week later, my dad, mum and I are invited to his parents’ house. Officially, this is the meeting where they are supposed to meet my mum for the first time. The atmosphere at the meeting is pretty frosty. My mum doesn’t like the food, but I do. She doesn’t let on and thanks Mustafa’s mum for the effort. Not a word about me comes out of my mum’s or dad’s mouth. That makes me sad.

One month later, I’m already so big that my mum has got a bigger belly. She is normally quite slim. I’m becoming more and more visible in the world and that makes me proud. It’s exciting to see what my mum is learning in the parenting licence. She learns what rights children have. This is very important to me because my parents have to abide by them and can be penalised if they don’t. I have the right to consistent caring relationships, physical integrity and safety, personal exploration of my talents, experiences that are appropriate to my level of development, fair boundaries and structures, stable and supportive communities and a viable humanity. I think it’s good that something like that is in the law.13

My parents are also learning how to behave towards me when talking, arguing, changing nappies and discovering my body. It’s funny when my parents practise changing each other’s nappies. I sometimes get scared for a moment when practising arguing. All the role plays and case studies that my parents take part in show me early on what to expect and what it’s good for. The physical and mental development from birth to the age of 30 is fast-forwarded. When parents come to class to describe their situation and seek advice from the teacher and participants in a course on the subject of conflict, I realise what challenges can await me.

My mother often goes with my father, but he occasionally cancels classes when his favourite team has a football match. He then makes up the classes online. There are so many young parents together in the classes. Whenever my mum is there on her own, it makes her sad and a little envious. These emotional cocktails show me early on what mood my mum is taking me into.

One day, when my parents go to school together again, they meet Mustafa’s parents outside the school. The father asks:

“Mustafa, what are you doing here?”

Even before my father can answer, his mother screams when she sees my mother. But she actually screams because she sees me.

“What is that big belly? Carola, are you pregnant and you’re not telling us?”

Now everything comes to a head. Everyone is talking wildly and it’s getting loud. It’s actually about me, but it’s really about cultures and religions that are alien to each other and seem incompatible. But who does these things? Humans do these things, so they can change them. I alone decide which culture and religion I want to live and nobody else. After all, I have to come to terms with myself throughout my life. I hope my parents see it the same way, otherwise it could be a stressful time with them.

The future has taught me better. My mum marries my dad with a huge party, but her parents and brother aren’t there. This makes Mustafa’s father very angry because he has to justify to all his friends and relatives why they are not there. My mum has now become a Muslim and her mother-in-law introduces her to the religious rituals and prayers.

At the Registry Office wedding, things are calmer and I can understand more. My parents are there with their friends and my father’s parents. The Registry Office wedding is important to my mum so that I’m safe and there are no arguments about me or the money. For me, it’s important so that it’s always clear who is looking after me. I realise this when the registrar says:14

“Then I’ll ask you first, Mrs Schmidt, to come into the next room with me.”

My mum gets up and we go with the registrar away from my father and the guests into another room. There he asks my mum:15

“Mrs Schmidt, do you know your rights and what the wedding means for you?”

“No, not quite yet, but you’re clearing me up now, aren’t you?”

“I’m happy to do that. First I need to know whether you’re ready to partner up with Mr Öz.”

“What does that mean, ‘partner up’?”

“This means that you voluntarily and consciously want to enter into a loving and sexual relationship with Mr Öz. You are probably already doing this, if I assume correctly that the child in your womb is his. But there is no partnership registered here in the Family Directory for you or Mr Öz.”

“Yes, then enter that. We love each other and the child is from him. My relationship with Mustafa is voluntary and I’m also aware of what love and sex mean.”

“Thank you, Mrs Schmidt. After the new reforms, I have to ask you that. If you hadn’t wanted partnering or marriage, you could have gone through this back door now and gone into hiding with state help if necessary.”

“Okay, gross.”

“These are your personal rights. That’s why we went into this side room. I will now go through the same procedure with Mr Öz.”

“All right. Let’s hope he doesn’t disappear through the back door.”

That unsettles me a bit now. I’m not sure if my mum meant it seriously. I certainly don’t feel any fear or unease from her now. I am rather happy to hear that I was created by the love of my parents. When my father comes back out of the next room with the registrar, I am relieved. I don’t really understand what happens next, but it’s about to become very important. The registrar says to my parents:16

“Now let’s move on to the marriage contract.”

“We don’t need a marriage contract!” says my father.

The registrar replies:

“Yes, Mr Öz, since the new reforms in the Ministry of Family Affairs, this is mandatory. But you can decide what it says and change it again at any time if you both agree and the text is notarised by a registrar.”

“Is this going to be a lecture in technical jargon?”

“No, you’ll understand everything and if anything is unclear, just ask. We’ll fill out the marriage contract together now, like a form.”

“Thank you, let’s get started,” says my mum.

“Okay, is the married name Schmidt or Öz?”

“Öz,” says my father.

“Thank you, now you have three options: Firstly, you can create a community of property. This means that any assets that existed before the marriage belong only to each of you. Any assets that are created during the marriage belong to both of you. If there is a divorce, the assets that were created during the marriage are divided equally between the two of you. Secondly, you can separate your property. Then you each keep what you own and what you earn. You then own nothing jointly and therefore nothing needs to be divided. Thirdly, you can create a community of property. This is like community of property, but then you also share the assets before the marriage. Gifts never have to be reimbursed. Which option would you like to take?”

“We’ll separate the property and save ourselves the paperwork with joint and separate property, won’t we, Mustafa?”

“Yes, less paperwork sounds good.”

“Thank you. I’ll enter that then. I would like to draw your attention to the fact that you will have to pay child support for any children from this marriage if you get divorced and do not each provide equally for the child. Child custody will then be divided equally between the two of you, unless one of you is detained, in which case he or she will be deprived of custody for the period of detention. These are the standard entries. Would you like to change anything?”

“No, it can stay that way, can’t it, Mustafa?”

“I don’t know what else to put there. We’re not getting divorced anyway.”

When my father says this, I am happy to know that both my parents are with me. It’s nice to see them together like this and how they are preparing for me. What the registrar says to my father afterwards sounds unsettling:17

“Mr Öz, I have to point out to you that I have to report your wedding to the Ministry of Integration.”

“Why is that?”

“From next month, foreigners from third countries outside the European Union will have to pass a naturalisation test and a naturalisation phase to obtain a permanent residence permit in Germany.”

“And what if you don’t do that?”

“Then you are a guest and have to emigrate again after a maximum of ten years. But the naturalisation phase changes for you.”

“How?”

“You have to submit your marriage certificate to the Integration Office. Then you don’t need the letters of motivation from at least ten friends, five of whom must be German and the rest naturalised persons. Otherwise, everything remains the same.”

“What is What if I don’t pass this?”

“If you fail the test three times or the phase lasts longer than ten years, you cannot be naturalised and are a guest.”

“And what will happen to my child if I have to emigrate?”

“Your child can then decide for themselves whether he or she wants to come with you or stay here. The same applies to your wife.”

“What do I have to do for the test and the phase? Or what am

I not allowed to do?”

“You’ll find out everything at an appointment at the Integration Office. I can only tell you that you should not be liable for detention or be unemployed for longer than twelve months, otherwise you must leave the country.”

This makes me feel insecure and I hope that my father keeps his job and doesn’t get arrested. The preparations for the parenting licence are now coming to an end and my parents are awaiting the final exam. They each have to fill in a questionnaire and write a guide to good parenting. My father fails these theoretical exams. But he can retake them as often as he likes. I’m still a bit worried. What if he and my mum don’t pass? The course said that we would then have to move to the Social Village and live together in the children’s home until one of my parents has passed the parenting licence. The practical test then has three situations from different phases of life where my father first gets angry and reacts incorrectly. He passes the theory test on the third attempt and passes the practical test on the second attempt. My mum passed the exams straight away. I’m looking forward to giving birth soon and I’m excited to see the gynaecologist again today. This time my father is with me. I look really good and hold out my vagina to the gynaecologist as he places the ultrasound machine on me. He says straight away:

“It’s hard to miss. You’re going to have a girl.”

My parents are happy and my father gives my mum a kiss on the forehead. That makes me happy. In the evening, they have a long conversation about possible names, but there’s one name they particularly like for me: Sarah.

I’m not going to make it easy for my mum in the coming weeks, because I’m getting heavier and heavier. At work, my mum is already training her replacement, who will be replacing her for two years. That’s good, because my mum isn’t supposed to lift heavy things so that I don’t fall out of her. Although I can hardly wait for the moment.

3. Birth of a new hope

The time has finally come. I see the light of day for the first time. My parents are with me in hospital. I’m lying in my mother’s arms and my father is proudly stroking my head. Now I am becoming a real human, with everything that goes with it. I am weighed, measured, photographed and examined by the midwife. Meanwhile, the nurse explains to my parents:18

“We are now creating a profile in the Health Directory. What is your daughter’s name?”

“Sarah Öz.”

When my father says this, I am happy to hear my name for the first time.

“Thank you, I have retrieved your details from the Health Directory and entered you as parents. Please check my entries on your People’s Computer by tomorrow, Mrs Öz. Berta, have you already entered the data from the examinations?” “Yes, you have a perfectly healthy girl, not too light and not too small, everything is great. Congratulations.”

I’m glad to hear that. With these words, the midwife hands me over to my mum. Meanwhile, my father grins happily at me. And then I give him and my mum my first smile. We are all beaming from ear to ear. It doesn’t take long for me to fall asleep while I can still hear the nurse saying:

“All the necessary data has now been entered. You will stay here for one night for observation and tomorrow a member of staff from the Youth Welfare Office will come and see you.”

The next day, the man from the Youth Welfare Office takes us home from the hospital. There he creates my own profile in the Persons Directory. Now I’ve also arrived in the virtual world. I have no idea how much this world will do for me. First of all, I’m proud of my birth certificate and my child ID card. The employee from the Youth Welfare Office brought them with him. I look smart in the photo, but I’d like to have hair like my mum. He gives both to my parents and says:19

“This is the birth certificate with the release that you have successfully passed the parenting licence. And this is the child’s ID card. It’s an identity card, Health Card, bank card and childcare licence all in one. Sarah can use it to access all state-recognised childcare facilities around the clock, seven days a week. The child benefit is paid into the bank account every month. What you haven’t spent on childcare at the end of the month can be spent in all shops over the next few months, but only on things for Sarah. There is a starting balance of 5,000 euros in the pension account, which has to be repaid at the end of her life. As soon as Sarah can use her child’s card herself, she must be allowed to do so. There are automatic limits for the bank card when making purchases. But someone from People’s Bank will explain this in more detail when the time comes. We will see each other every fortnight for the next three months. If you have any questions, feel free to call me at any time.”

That makes me happy. I was practically born into a hotel with full board and personalised service staff. What a good start to life! I spend it at home with my mum. She has two years of parental leave, doesn’t have to go to work and still gets 80 per cent of her salary every month. My father comes home from work in the evening. In a free market economy, he would only have been able to take a year’s unpaid parental leave for me. Even if he has to be re-employed afterwards, he prefers not to take parental leave. He hasn’t saved enough money for the year of special leave, he says. He doesn’t want me to want for anything, so he’s going back to work, and I believe in that.20

The days are always beautiful in life, unlike the night. I discover new things every day. My favourite thing is to grab everything I can get my hands on and put it in my mouth. My tongue is simply the best way to feel what it is and what it tastes like. But nothing tastes as good as my mum’s milk. I particularly like colours. And that’s why I don’t like the night. Everything is black or grey. I find that quite scary and often cry at night because of it. And you’re supposed to sleep there? At first I’m still allowed to sleep in my parents’ bed. Then one night my father accidentally rolls over on top of me. He’s so heavy that I can’t breathe and I think I’m going to die. Then I scream as loud as I can with the last of my breath. Luckily, my mum wakes up and pushes my dad away. They argue afterwards:

“Mustafa, you almost killed her!”

“That wasn’t intentional! I was against her sleeping in our bed from the start.”

“Yes, but that’s why...”

“No, but that’s why. She gets her own bed now. And that’s it!”

“But...”

“No, but. The howling every night and I have to get up early. She gets me down.”

“Yes, I understand you. Let’s do it like this. I’ll get her a bed, okay?”

“Okay.”

“But you’re building it!”

“Yes, in the children’s room.”

“No, here.”

“Nothing, that’s pointless. Then I can still hear her howling. And sex still won’t work. Children’s room, over!”

“Yeah, okay.”

“I’m going to sleep on the sofa now.”

And so the nights of fear begin. At first I think how great it will be to have my own bed. But when I sleep in it for the first night, I’m terrified. I am all alone. Everything is quiet and dark. I’ve always fallen asleep with my mum’s heartbeat and now it’s suddenly gone. I lie awake for ages wondering when the night will finally end. I would love to sing myself to sleep, like my mum does sometimes. But when I open my mouth, I can only manage two letters, U and A. And because I’m sad and angry, I prefer to shout or cry the song. My mum often comes and holds me in her arms until I fall asleep. After so much excitement, it takes a while.

Sometimes my father comes too. He always scares me then. He either switches the light on straight away or comes secretly in the dark and covers my mouth. When he puts the dummy in my mouth, I spit it out again and scream. Then he holds my mouth shut, holds me down with a pillow or holds me upside down by my feet and I wriggle until I’m away from him.

Last night I fall off him and I scream even louder. He quickly grabs me under the arms and puts me in my bed. I keep screaming until my mum comes in. She usually goes back to sleep, but this time she hears me and asks my dad what happened. He says that he’ll tell her tomorrow and that he’s going to bed now. My mum sings me a lullaby again. The next day, my mum takes me to the paediatrician. I like the paediatrician because they play children’s music, there are colourful lights on the wall and I always get something sweet. I go there with her regularly for my compulsory examinations. But today I came without an appointment and the paediatrician was surprised:21

“What has happened, Mrs Öz?”

“Sarah fell on her head.”

“How and when?”

“Her father comforted her last night when she screamed again. She then fell off him. On his head, he said. I was asleep. I blame myself so much, otherwise I’m there for her.”

“You do what you can, Mrs Öz. Let me have a look at Sarah and please undress Sarah on the electric blanket. What else did your husband tell you about the fall and where did Sarah fall, i.e. on what surface?”

“He had her in his arms and she was wriggling like that again, he says. She doesn’t really do that with me.”

“Then what happened?”

“She must have wriggled off his arm, I don’t know. She fell on the carpet next to the cot, I think.”

My mum is crying now. The physician holds a coloured light in front of my eyes, which I follow, and examines me with various things.

“Do you know where Sarah got the bruises under her arm and on her ankles?”

“No, they weren’t here yesterday.”

“Have there been bruises like this more often?”

“Not that I know of.”

What he doesn’t tell my mum is that he reports the case to the Youth Welfare Office and they call in the civil police.22 The next time the Youth Welfare Office officer is with us, he asks my parents about the accident. He asks them to recreate the situation and stays in my room. As soon as my parents go into the bedroom, he sets up a hidden camera next to my cot. He then closes the shutters and calls my father. My father comes in, picks me up and cradles me, just like he learnt on his parenting licence. Then he holds me in his arms and slowly lowers me headfirst to the floor. I cry the whole time because it’s dark. As my father holds me upside down, I wriggle and scream. But the Youth Welfare Office employee excuses himself from me:

“I’m sorry, Sarah, that you’ve had to go through this again. I’ve brought you a cuddly toy with a music box as a debt reduction.”

I’m delighted about that. It’s a red snail with a colourful shell in the colours of a rainbow. What I only realise later is that it also contains a device that can measure my body values and record sound.

4. End with horror

I have now learnt to walk. The world is open to me. I run everywhere as fast as I can. I still like colourful things, but now I also like soft things. Speaking doesn’t work so well yet. But my mum talks to me a lot with her hands. Good means, for example, thumbs up and nodding my head yes. I can also make these movements and so we sometimes have conversations. I’m looking forward to discovering more every day.

The next time my father tries to comfort me by closing my mouth, shaking me and holding me upside down, I hear a buzzing outside the window. My father raises the blinds and checks. Nothing. I continue to cry. He grabs me again with a pillow, pushes me onto the bed and covers my mouth. There’s that buzzing again and this time I see a drone hovering outside the window. Then everything happens very quickly. The doorbell rings and the police is there. They handcuff my father and take him away. My mum is crying and a policewoman shows her the video footage from the drone on a tablet PC. First there is footage from a thermal imaging camera and then the footage through the window. My mum is stunned and reproaches herself for never having noticed. The policewoman comforts her and asks:23

“Do you know what you and your husband can expect now?”

“No, what is it?”

“He is now being remanded in custody because he is an acute danger to the child and could abscond abroad. He also has a criminal record.”

“And what happens to me?”

“You don’t really have anything to worry about. However, we will take your handprints to compare them with the documents from Sarah’s injury images. To do this, you and Sarah will go back to your paediatrician tomorrow. You and Sarah are not to travel abroad until the court hearing has been concluded. Or are you planning to travel?”

“No, when is the court hearing?”

“Let me have a quick look. In a fortnight’s time on Tuesday at eleven o’clock.”

“What’s the worst that could happen to him?”

“He is accused of serious child endangerment. He will certainly have to spend a few years in prison for this and because he will then be a convicted, criminal foreigner, he will also be threatened with deportation.”

That hits me hard. My father is no longer supposed to be with me? Where is he now and where will he go? What will happen to my mum and me? I’ll find out soon enough.

The next day, the doorbell rings. My mum takes me in her arms and goes to look through the peephole. I want to see who’s there too and say:

“Oooop.”

It should actually mean “open” because I want to know who the door is being opened for. My mum immediately flinches when she sees my dad’s parents standing in front of the door. I hear my grandad knock on the door and say:

“Open up, Carola, we know you’re there.”

My mum opens the door. A loud babble of words starts immediately. I only understand what my grandparents are saying:

“What did you do?” ... “You called the police!” ... “You should have looked after Sarah!” ... “You can’t do anything, you just sit at home being lazy!” ... “You’re a bad wife and a bad mum!” ... “Sarah should grow up with us!”

It’s getting too much for me. My mum is a good mum and I want to stay with her. I run towards my grandparents and push them. My grandad holds me and my mum wants to come to my aid. But then my grandma gets in the way and grabs her by the arm. My grandad grabs me by the arm, pulls me out of the living room into the hallway and closes the door behind him. All I can see is my grandma slapping my mum. I want to go to her, but my grandad holds me tight. I can hear her and my grandma screaming. Then the living room door opens. My grandma comes out and grabs me by the arm. My grandad immediately lets go of me and holds the door shut for my mum. My grandma walks out with me. All I can hear is my mum screaming:

“Leave my child here! Sarah! No! Help!”

As my grandma walks with me across the corridor into the stairwell, my grandad comes out of the front door and holds it for my mum again. Suddenly our neighbour Ali comes out of his door with a baseball bat in his hand and shouts:

“Let go of the child immediately!”

He runs towards my grandma, raises the bat to the height of her head and takes a swing. My grandma lets go of me and runs to my grandad. Ali says to me:

“Sarah, go to my front door.”

I remember my neighbour from the playground, where I like to play with his children. I quickly run up to him and his wife Yasemin is already standing in the doorway. My grandad runs to my grandma and they both hurry past us outside. My mum immediately opens the front door, runs to me and takes me in her arms. Yasemin asks:

“Carola, should we call the police?”

“No, not the police in the house again.”

“Do you want to stay with us?”

“No, I just want to get out of here for now. But thank you, thank you.”

My mum starts to cry and takes me back to our flat. She picks up the phone and calls her family while she holds me in her arms and hurriedly gathers things together. She asks if she can come to them, but we get cancellations everywhere. All I hear on the phone are accusations like:

“I told you that from the beginning, but you didn’t want to listen again.” ... “You’re always so gullible” ... “You drink too much.” ... “You only think about sex and not about your future.” ... “You only come when you’re feeling bad.”

She calls her friend who we have already visited in Bonn. That was my first train journey and will be my next.

But we can’t stay long in Bonn because my father’s brother visits us with his friends and wants to take me with him. It’s almost like with my grandparents, but this time my mum’s girlfriend gets a black eye. She’s also a single parent and wants my mum to report them to the police:

“You have to report them, all of them.”

“Yes, you’re right. But it’s my guilt that everything turned out like this.”

“You’re not! Don’t tell yourself that.”

“Yes, I only ever wanted to have sex with Mustafa because I like southerners so much. I never wanted a child with him. And then Sarah came along and everything changed. I forgot to take the pill. I’m on parental leave and I’m at home. I can sleep longer than Mustafa. And now they all have to go to prison because of me and then they’ll be deported too.”

“Carola, this isn’t your guilt. It takes two to tango. What do you think it was like with me and my ex? He doesn’t have to go to prison and neither does his family.”

“But I won’t report them, they’re my family.”

“A family doesn’t do that.”

“Oh, you talk a good game with your model family.”

“That’s enough, Carola. If you don’t report your brother-in-law, I’ll do it with the whole gang.”

“I have to get out of here.”

My mum suddenly packs her things and we take the train to Giessen to visit my mum’s brother. I’ve never seen him before, except in the family photos. On the way, she calls her friends again. This time there are more promises. Nevertheless, we drive to my uncle first. He opens the door and says to us:

“Oh no, look at that. The stepsister with her Turkish child.”

“You really are the last straw!”

“Thank you too, have a nice day!”

He closes the door in our faces. My mum walks back to the station with me. We go to Mannheim to visit Susi, an old school friend of my mum. She has a big house with a fence and cameras at the door. We stay there again for several months. We celebrate my second birthday in the garden with her children and their friends. A few days later, my mum has to go back to work because her parental leave is over. We go back home to our flat in Dietzenbach. It doesn’t take three days before my father’s brother is at our front door. But this time I’m quiet. When my mum sees him through the peephole, we quietly hide under the duvet in her bedroom. After a while, we hear him and his friends talking outside on the street, get into the car and drive away. Then we repeat our escape. We drive newly to Susi’s house. But when we get there, my uncle and his friends are there again. He rings the doorbell. Susi brings my mum in, they look at the camera screen together and Susi asks my mum:

“Is that him?”

“Yes.”

“Go up to your bedroom and stay away from the windows. I’ll go and get rid of him.”

We go upstairs and Susi goes out. We can only hear quietly through the open window:

“Carola there?” ... “No” ... “Who are you?” ... “Do you know Carola?”

Susi comes back in and my uncle drives off with his friends. She comes up to us and councils my mum:

“Carola, please report them to the police. They’ve been following you for so long. Now we have it on video.”

“Susi, we don’t have anything on video. He came here, you say we’re not here, and then he was gone again.”

“Then go to the police anyway and ask what you can do now. It can’t stay like this. What about your job?”

“Sarah is more important to me. They know what’s going on.”

That’s a lie from my mum. I noticed how she pushed the calls away.

“But tell me, Carola, how does he always know where you are?”

“I wonder the same thing.”

“Have you checked your mobile phone?”

“What do you mean? I have a password.”

“My husband is a teacher and one of his pupils was tracked by her parents using an app. It was hidden, so she didn’t notice. But when she didn’t come home, her parents were on a school trip because she had forgotten to tell them. Long story short: let’s search your mobile phone.”

They do this straight away and behold, they find the app. My mum says:

“Mustafa must have done that in his jealousy.”

“That’s how it looks anyway.”

“I have to delete the app immediately.”

“Yes, and you can’t be here for now. Do you know where you can go?”

“Yes, I can...”

“Stop, wait! Don’t delete it!”

“What? Too late. Why?”

“You could have shown that to the police and lured them into the trap.”

“Susi, I don’t want to report them, how many times?”

“But, Carola, that’s going too far. You can ...”

“Let it be, Susi. I’m going to Babsi’s home. And tell me, could you maybe drive to my place in Dietzenbach and get my mail out of the letterbox?”

We move in with Susi’s friend, who my mum also knows. The next day Susi comes with the post. When my mum opens the third letter, she turns white as a sheet. Susi asks:24

“What’s the matter, Carola?”

“I’m fired.”

“What? Why?”

“Who cares?”

“No, show me! They must have written a reason.”

She takes the letter from my mum’s hand, reads it and says:25

“Carola, you didn’t even tell them where you were and you just didn’t go?”

“Susi, it’s all too much for me.”

“You know what? We’ll call the social emergency call centre now.”

“What is that? This Social Village?”

“Yes, exactly. I’ll call them, they’ll come and pick you up and take you to the Social Village, where you’ll be safe and Sarah too. After all, they’re probably after Sarah.”

I don’t want to live with my grandparents, I want to live with my mum. And I’m curious about this Social Village. A short time later, a police car pulls up to Susi, but the two people who get out don’t look like policemen. They show their ID cards and introduce themselves as social workers from the People’s Protection Service. One of them says to us:

“What do you think of that? We’ll go to the Social Village together. You’ll stay in a hotel there for a few days and tomorrow we’ll get a truck and a few removal men to take your things out of your flat. Then you’ll move to the Social Village until everything is good again. Is that how we want to do it?”

My mum agrees. It’s all very exciting for me. I’m supposed to move out of the flat and away from all the humans and places I’ve only just got to know? A queasy feeling rises in my stomach. I can now speak, but getting to know everything new will certainly not be easy.

5. Planned Economy

We arrive at the Social Village and it’s very different to what I imagined. It has a fence all round it, made of transparent pillars with green algae floating in them. We park in front of it and go through the gate. There are three people sitting in the gate like at a hotel reception. One of them is a policeman. We hand over our identity cards to him and get another one that looks almost the same. It just has a different colour and heading. The porter with a yellow waistcoat says to my mum and me:26

“Welcome to the Social Village Hanau. These are your identity cards. We call them social cards. You can use them to go almost anywhere and buy and pay for everything you need here in the Social Village. You are now in the hotel for one night. Tomorrow, please report back here at 1 pm so that we can organise the move. My colleague from Social Service will do this with you. Here are some towels and sheets. Do you still need personal hygiene products and clothes, or do you have them in your luggage?”

“Thank you, we have everything. Can we wash up and get something to eat or drink?”

“Yes, of course. On the way to your room, I’ll show you the supply centre. It’s a laundry there and the canteen serves ready meals and drinks around the clock. The social centre is open from 10 a.m. to 6 p.m. Monday to Friday. But because you are coming as an emergency, I can unlock the door for you and you can get everything you need for the next few days until the shop is open again. Your new neighbours will give you a comprehensive tour of the entire Social Village. I’ll show you to your rooms now. Follow me.”