Nemačka - sve sto želite da znate a ne smete da pitate Filipenka

fikret selimbašić wrote:

U RACIJAMA diljem Njemačke uhićeno je 25 osoba koje se sumnjiči da su htjele nasilno srušiti vladu. Njemački mediji navode da se radi o skupini krajnjih desničara i bivših pripadnika vojske, koji su planirali upasti u zgradu parlamenta i prigrabiti vlast.

Kao ključna osoba za njihove planove spominje se muškarac kojeg su opisivali kao princa i nazivali Heinrichom 13. Ima 71 godinu. Među uhićenima u 11 njemačkih država su i navodni kolovođe, objavili su federalni tužitelji.Među urotnicima su članovi ekstremnog pokreta Reichsbürger (građani Reicha), koji njemačka policija već dulje vrijeme prati zbog nasilnih napada i rasističkih teorija. Ta skupina ujedno odbija priznati modernu njemačku državu.

Procjenjuje se da je oko 50 muškaraca i žena u skupini koja je planirala srušiti njemačku republiku i zamijeniti je novom državom utemeljenom na Njemačkoj iz 1871. godine, odnosno carstvom poznatijim kao Drugi Reich. "Još uvijek nemamo ime za ovu skupinu", rekla je glasnogovornica njemačkog federalnog tužiteljstva.

Racije su izvedene diljem Njemačke, a dvoje ljudi je uhićeno u Austriji i Italiji, javlja njemačka agencija DPA. Uhićeni će biti ispitani tijekom dana.

Ministar pravosuđa Marco Buschmann na Twitteru je objavio da je u tijeku "velika antiteroristička operacija" te da su uhićeni "planirali oružani napad na ustavna tijela". Glavni tužitelj rekao je da je skupina planirala nasilni puč od studenog 2021. Bivši pripadnici njemačke vojske odigrali su značajnu ulogu u organizaciji i planiranju puča. Među njima su bili i nekadašnji pripadnici elitnih specijalnih postrojbi. Urotnici su, objavio je ured federalnog tužitelja, planirali osobno vladati Njemačkom. Urotnici su smatrali da svoje ciljeve mogu ostvariti samo "vojnim sredstvima i nasiljem protiv predstavnika države", što je uključivalo i ubojstva.

Javna njemačka televizija ZDF objavila je da je bivši krajnje desni zastupnik Bundestaga također bio uključen u urotu te je, prema planovima pučista, trebao biti instaliran na funkciju ministra pravosuđa. "Princ Heinrich" trebao je biti vođa Njemačke nakon puča, navodi BBC.

https://www.bostonreview.net/articles/ukraine-and-the-eclipse-of-pacifism/


The Alarming Stakes of German Rearmament

German leaders have responded to war in Ukraine with huge increases in defense spending, breaking with the culture of pacifism that emerged after World War II and marking a new wave of militarization.

Stephen Milder


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German leaders’ vigorous efforts over the last year to better equip the Bundeswehr—and thus prove their commitment to the security of Europe—have been described as a dramatic turning point in postwar German history. Chancellor Olaf Scholz himself used such language last February to justify his pledge to take out an unprecedented €100 billion loan, which he referred to as a “special fund” for “necessary investments and armament projects.” Unwilling to leave any doubt about his commitment to strengthening the armed forces, Scholz announced that annual defense budget increases would follow. Speaking to parliament three days after the war began, Scholz justified this orgy of defense spending by arguing that the Russian invasion marked a “watershed in the history of our continent.” The claim must be understood in reference to the elephant in the German historical imagination: World War II. “Many of us,” the chancellor explained, “still remember our parents’ or grandparents’ tales of war. And for younger people it is almost inconceivable—war in Europe.” His arguments were widely accepted. By June parliament had passed the constitutional amendment required to follow through on Scholz’s plan for the huge increase in Bundeswehr funding.

In reality, the actual watershed isn’t the sudden appearance of “war in Europe” for the first time since World War II—a breathtaking instance of historical amnesia, erasing not just the hot wars of the 1990s in Yugoslavia but also decades of militarization during the Cold War. The real, deeper change has elicited little commentary: the culmination of Germany’s transformation over the last three decades from a post-fascist country—which seemed to have overcome its Nazi past on account of its “culture of peace,” as historian Thomas Kühne has put it—to a post-pacifist country eager to ramp up defense spending and convey a posture of readiness to fight back against heavily armed aggressors. To be sure, both East and West Germany rearmed soon after World War II and hosted hundreds of thousands of American and Soviet soldiers during the Cold War, but throughout this period a significant bloc of Germans also advocated passionately for “making peace without weapons” (Frieden schaffen ohne Waffen), as two East German dissidents famously put it. This Cold War pacifism, and its striking transformation beginning in the 1990s in the face of widespread calls in the West for armed self-defense and humanitarian intervention, are erased in Scholz’s rhetoric.
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Perhaps the clearest evidence of the transformation of German attitudes about armed intervention is to be found in the Green Party, which first entered the West German Bundestag in 1983 at the height of the peace movement.
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And yet, the party that had once been understood as the parliamentary expression of Germany’s grassroots peace movement adopted new positions that helped it move toward supporting NATO with force amid the wars of the 1990s. Joschka Fischer, a leading Green politician who became Germany’s foreign minister in 1998 when the Greens entered the governing coalition of Social Democratic Chancellor Gerhard Schröder, stood at the forefront of this shift, which suggested that the lessons Germans drew from World War II were changing, too.
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The lessons of the 1990s were quickly absorbed not only in Germany but across the West. The idea that military might was the most effective means of stopping war crimes and genocide gained purchase, and with the UN member states’ unanimous endorsement of the “Responsibility to Protect” (R2P) framework in 2005, the international community adopted the idea that collective action was necessary in cases where states were failing to protect their own populations from genocide. In short, taking action—including military intervention—against war crimes and genocide had become a norm in the new international order.
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This legacy resonates down to the present. Leading Green politicians, in their role as ministers in Scholz’s cabinet, have been among the foremost advocates of sending German arms to Ukraine. The press has portrayed these calls as marking a sudden shift within the erstwhile pacifist Green Party, but this transformation has actually been in the works since the 1990s. For a case in point, take an April 2022 Der Spiegel cover story calling the party’s leaders “Olive Greens” on account of the Greens’ transformation from a party of “pro-peace idealists to tank-fans.” This language directly echoes the headline of a November 2001 article, published in the same newsmagazine, featuring “Olive Green” Angelika Beer, the Green parliamentary delegation’s spokeswoman on defense who worked tirelessly to shore up support for the U.S. invasion of Afghanistan. Already in 2001 Der Spiegel spoke of the Greens as a party that “was once pacifist.”
By 2005 militarization for the sake of protecting against war crimes had become a norm of the new international order.

Partly as a result of Beer’s work, only four green MPs declined to vote in support of the U.S. invasion, and with the vast majority of the Green delegation backing the decision, German armed forces were deployed to Afghanistan. Fischer, once again advocating in support of the military intervention, argued afterward that the vote had “decisively renewed the republic.” But for Paul Hockenos, who has written a biography linking Fischer’s political career with “the Making of the Berlin Republic,” it was not so much renewal as transformation that defined the foreign policy of post-reunification Germany. Under the Schröder-Fischer government, Hockenos argues, Germany “demonstrated itself a confident, at times independent-minded actor”—a far cry from Cold War West Germany, which was famously described as an “economic giant, political dwarf.” It was in this way that reunified Germany made its peace with waging war.
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According to American journalist Stephen Kinzer, Baerbock’s hawkish statements epitomize the position of a younger generation of German politicians who “grew up without any of the embedded shame and anti-militarism that shaped previous German generations.” It seems more likely that politicians like Baerbock were significantly influenced by the experiences of the 1990s, when armed intervention played a part in ending the Bosnian and Kosovo Wars.) Facing pressure from the likes of Baerbock, Scholz slowly backpedaled, authorizing ever greater arms shipments to Ukraine.
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While the Left continued to oppose Germany’s arms build-up and warned against “risking a firestorm” by “sending weapons into crisis areas and warzones,” the party was engulfed in a dire internal crisis and appeared increasingly irrelevant in Bundestag debates.

The situation has been much the same for extra-parliamentary advocates of peace without weapons. In April prominent feminist Alice Schwarzer published an open letter to Scholz signed by twenty-eight intellectuals and artists on the website of her magazine Emma calling for the end of German arms aid for Ukraine. “The escalating arms buildup taking place under pressure could be the beginning of a global arms spiral with catastrophic consequences, not least for global health and climate change,” the letter implored. “It is necessary,” they concluded, “despite all differences, to strive for a global peace.”

In a striking premonition of the controversy that ensued in the United States following the release of a similar letter from the Congressional Progressive Caucus in October, the signatories of the Emma letter were met with a barrage of indignation from across the German political establishment—not least from the Greens. Britta Haßelmann, one of the chairpersons of the Green Party’s parliamentary delegation, suggested that the entire idea of working toward peace was naïve “when Putin has invaded a free, European country in violation of international law, levelled entire cities, murdered civilians, and rape has been systematically deployed as a weapon against women.” Meanwhile Ralf Fücks and Marieluise Beck, two veteran Greens, responded by organizing a second open letter to Scholz, starting with fifty-seven signatories. In direct contradiction of Schwarzer’s warning about the consequences of the “escalating arms buildup,” Fücks and Beck argued in favor of the “continual supply of weapons and ammunition, in order to shift the military balance of power in Ukraine’s favor.” Only by stopping Putin from “leaving the field as the victor” could the “European order of peace” be preserved, they maintained. In other words, peace could not be created without weapons: it was to be made at the barrel of a gun.

There is a clear continuity between these attitudes and the debates of the 1990s, when preventing wars of aggression—especially genocide—began to supersede the avoidance of armed struggle at all costs among Germany’s pacifists. For Antje Vollmer, herself a veteran Green and a co-signatory of Schwarzer’s letter, the change is evidence that today’s Green politicians are “Joschka’s children.” Fischer’s contrast of “Never again war!” and “Never again Auschwitz!” masterfully expressed shifting Germans attitudes to war. If the defeat of 1945—along with the desolate circumstances in which postwar Germany found itself—was once an inspiration to reject war at all costs, growing willingness to process Germans’ responsibility for the Holocaust provoked a different lesson. It is not so much a lack of experience of war that explains young German politicians’ relative bellicosity in debates on the Ukraine war. On the contrary, the experience of looking on while horrific war crimes were committed in Yugoslavia, in Rwanda, and elsewhere buttresses the righteous indignation that prompts young politicians’ outspoken support for Ukrainians’ efforts to defend themselves against the Russian onslaught. Baerbock, who was a teenager in the 1990s, made a point of traveling to the Balkans in April. Upon visiting an exhibition on photos documenting the Srebernica massacre, she commented upon how that horrific event had “shaped her generation in Germany, socially as well as politically.”

Applying the lessons of the 1990s is made all the easier given that the aggressor this time is a major military power backed by a vast nuclear arsenal. Whereas Fischer once framed the slogan “Never again Auschwitz!” as an unfortunate exception to his rejection of war, advocacy of armed struggle is quickly becoming a new kind of common sense.
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With the country’s top diplomat, Baerbock, repeatedly pledging to “supply Ukraine with weapons as long as it takes,” and fellow Green politicians arguing that cease-fire negotiations “would weaken Ukraine’s position,” no one seems to be thinking about how a non-military resolution to the conflict might be brought about.

Instead, the widespread sentiment—in Germany and across the West—that “Ukraine must win” expresses a belief both that war can be won and that victory, not peace, should be the goal of German policy. Whatever limitations diplomacy will face in confronting Putin’s war of aggression, this attitude embodies not only a striking sense of resignation but also a disregard for what will happen whenever the guns finally do stop.
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If even talking about working toward peace—rather than marching to armed victory—is beyond the pale of public debate, saber-rattling, with all its ugly consequences, becomes the norm, while strivings for peace become the exception. Awkwardly enough, this form of hawkishness can easily be justified by appeals to the righteous responsibility to protect against war crimes and genocide. Indeed, it underwrites the conceit that superior weapons—and, where necessary, Western military intervention—are the surest and most righteous means for resolving international conflict, a sentiment summed up in Baerbock’s recent remark that “our weapons deliveries save lives.” This lionization of Western military might leaves the dire human costs of war off the ledger and threatens to support spiraling militarization that goes well beyond the parameters of protecting against another Auschwitz.

From the perspective of a post-fascist and now post-pacifist country, it is the culmination of this long-developing change—the operationalizing of humanitarian concerns on behalf of militarization and war—that marks a historical watershed.