Danielle Levy

I read about a woman in Bangladesh. The only thing she owns is the sari she is wearing. She has a son who is a drug addict and because the aid agencies classify her as having an able bodied family member—his addiction and his absence are not factored in in the way they evaluate the needy—she is not able to receive food aid. On days when she works she can eat. On those days she gives or shares her food with her grandson. When she cannot work they both have nothing. The woman’s plight was part of a story about the horrific choices the food aid agencies have to make these days. The economic crisis has meant that less countries are able to give and those who do tend to give less, which all adds up to the fact that food aid agencies have serious food shortages and are having to chose who they can help and who they cannot. One can only imagine the story of this woman multiplied by thousands not only in Bangladesh but also in other countries. Similarly one can have feelings for the aid workers faced with such heart breaking stories on a daily basis, forced as they are to engage in a kind of Sophie’s choice. And all the while a reader is humbled by the lives of those with no choice but hunger, and by the impossible task of aid-workers.

A short while ago, in an attempt to fight anti-Semitism and be a cultural bridge, a delegation of some 150 Muslim dignitaries went to Auschwitz to pay tribute to the millions of Jews and others who were killed there. The delegation which included people from Morocco, Jordan, Turkey and Iraq also had rabbis, Holocaust survivors, Christian representatives, and several European dignitaries including former German Chancellor Gerhard Schroeder, was organized by UNESCO, the Paris City Hall along with a new anti-racism group, the Aladdin Project. “Muslims have to stand up with Jewish friends because in Europe, anti-Semitism is rising—and where there is anti-Semitism, Islamophobia is not far away,” said British Mufti Abduljalil Sajid. The visit and its intent may be far from revolutionary, nevertheless it represents something important especially given our polarized political climate.

Jamel in Mecklenburg-Western Pomerania is a rural village in northeastern Germany, once part of Eastern Germany where being right-wing is the norm. A neo-Nazi leader, Sven Kruger, has become a de-facto village elder. Anyone who doesn’t share the right’s view is shunned, criticized or harassed in a number of ways. Horst and Birgit Lohmeyer bought a home in the village because it is within their price range unaware of what they were getting into. Their efforts to get the authorities involved have failed. A few months ago the vice president of Germany’s federal government visited the village and spent half an hour in their living room promising support in their fight against the neo-Nazis, but nothing happened and nothing has changed.
It looks like Jamel is more than just a village, it carries a message or at least raises the questions to help us figure out the message. Should neo-Nazis have a place to call their own? Ought they to have the right to their own views? Can they be allowed to be in a position where their views can influence others and be imposed upon them? Could such a village occur in the U.S. or the U.K.?