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jenny_jenkinsOf Bambi Awards, Photographs and Whistling-Concerts: The Political Evolution of Mesut Özil. Part II.
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jenny_jenkins
To mark Mesut’s return to Germany to play Italy in Dortmund on Wednesday, we continue our exploration of his role as a political figure in the German Integration debate.
“The Chancellor Was Very Sweet”
Mesut with Angela Merkel in what would become a politically charged photograph.
In early December, Mesut took part in a “year in review” program on German television along with Arne Friederich and Marcell Jansen. As was typical of many of these programs this year, the focus was on the German National Team, which had brought its fans yet another “Summer Fairy Tale” as Germans refer to it – a play on the title and theme of Heinrich Heine’s famous (and melancholy) poem about Winter – A Winter’s Fairy Tale. After the surprise success of Germany’s 2006 squad on home-soil, many were expecting a let-down in South Africa – not least because the team had been marred by injury to its captain, its defensive mid-field and the shock suicide of Robert Enke, its goal-keeper. Instead, the team delighted everyone by their unexpectedly beautiful and stylish performance and became world-wide tournament favourites as a result..
Mesut with Arne Friederich.
One must never forget that Germans have a secret need to be loved. They are used to being feared, reviled, respected and then admired – in that order - over the events of the past 70 years. But it isn’t enough anymore. Germans crave love and recently it has been through their National Team that they get to feel it. Fans all over the world were backing the German youngsters. Commentators were in love with the team. TheBritish sports press fell hard and fast after recovering from the slaughter of its team in Bloemfontain – the city of roses – where Germany were the team left smelling sweet after the round of 16.
A lot of emotion is wrapped up in the team. Its players can nearly always do no wrong. Everything it represents is a positive thing. That half the team (11 of 23 players) had some multicultural background became a source of pride for Germany, where one third of the newborns born today will have at least one parent who is not ethnically German. Boateng's great-uncle scored the winning goal for Germany in 1954, but his father was Ghanaian. Sami Khedira's father was Tunisian. One of Denis Aogo's parents was Nigerian. Klose and Podolski had been born in Poland to parents of German ethnicity. The list goes on.
Sweet, modest, fresh-faced and multicultural.
And like the French National team of ’98 that Mesut admired so much, the team became the focus of some considerably romanticised attention on that score - a feeling that would result in some future repercussions for Mesut.
“You must have been relieved to have a hand-towel on you!” said the presenter to his guest from Madrid.
“It was a very nice experience.”
“You’re very diplomatic, so I think we’ll leave it at that.”
The joke about the hand-towel was a reference to a little incident in Mesut’s brush with political life. It took place after what must have been the most emotional evening of his life – an evening that had concrete political repercussions, as it happens. It resulted in a photograph that made the front-pages of every newspaper the next day – a photograph of the World Cup Star, flushed and perspiring, in a state of partial undress, being congratulated by the head of state in the dressing room after Germany’s emotional win over Turkey in Berlin – the final score: 3-0.
It was the second goal that would take all the headlines.
An October (Media) Storm
Mesut, receiving Germany's highest sporting honour.
A week before his 22nd birthday, Mesut was back in Germany. He was doing well. He was, as he would later tell the press during a somewhat trying press-conference “on the best path” though of course he hadn’t “achieved anything yet”. His stated goal: “I went to Madrid to get titles.”
Nevertheless, everyone was pleased with him. He had just scored his first goal in the Spanish League that weekend against Deportivo La Coruna – the 2-0 – and had set up the 1-0 for Cristiano Ronaldo with a beautifully taken corner kick. His coach was pleased with him. His National Team coach was pleased with him. And he had the day before received Germany’s highest sporting honour from the hands of the Chancellor herself: Das Silberne Lorbeerblatt – along with the rest of his teammates.
Meanwhile, the DFB was in an interesting position. They were getting an unusually high number of interview requests for Mesut Özil before the Qualification game against Turkey. In part to spare him having to face interviewers on his own, and to dampen the demand a little, the DFB decided to have Mesut appear at the daily press-conference the next day with Philipp Lahm and Oliver Bierhoff.
It was a laboured performance – from everyone involved - fresh-faced, unflappable, boy-next-door Philipp Lahm excepted. Oliver Bierhoff was asked about the number of Turkish supporters expected at the game – more than half of the stadium was expected to be Turkish supporting. Wasn’t this, in its way, an “away” game for the team? Bierhoff was diplomatic and avoided answering – he could remember playing Turkey in 1999 – and really, of course the Turks loved their football team.
Then a Turkish journalist asked a question – just in time for the translation equipment to break down. What followed is recorded in this clip of the interview.
Harald Stenger: “I do hope that Mesut doesn’t expect an honorarium for his translation...but thank you very much...this is [an example] of successful integration!”
Bierhoff, recognizing that this might be laying the developing theme of the evening on a little thick, and possibly wanting to take some attention away from Mesut (a player he once described to a group of school children as very nice, but rather shy and reserved) joked that “perhaps the questions will be arriving in Bayerisch (a Southern German dialect) for Philipp too!”
As for Mesut, he was asked questions that all hinged on the same theme: how did he feel about playing against Turkey? His answers, which were slow and careful, quickly became repetitive.
“I play with my whole heart for Germany.”
“Three Generations of my family are in Germany.”
“My Turkish fans support me.”
“The Turkish fans approach me sometimes and say that they support me and they follow what I do in Madrid, and I’m sure they are pressing their thumbs for me.”
“No other country, aside from Germany, ever came into question.”
“Three generations of my family are in Germany.”
“I always wanted to play for Germany.”
“If I score a goal...we’ll have to see. I’ll react spontaneously, as I always do.”
And, perhaps the most poignant:
“It’ll be a special game for me, because I’m playing against my friends.”
One cannot underestimate the attention this press conference got. It made the English sports pages, for example. Two soccer powers were going to be meeting in a cauldron – the Berlin Olympia Stadium – in a city with a huge immigrant Turkish community. What would happen?
Emotions were running high and there had already been some unpleasantness in the press. Bayern Munich's Hamit Altintop, a Turkish National Team player who grew up in Gelsenkirchen and had known Mesut since he was a child, had given an interview with Munich's Süddeutsche Zeitung. Although it was a single sentiment in a much longer interview, one quotation got a great deal of attention. Altintop had said, "I am a tolerant person and I respect Mesut's path but I cannot support him." Altintop argued that Özil had more sway as a German national player, a higher market value and earns more money. "That has nothing to do with integration," he said.
Mesut with Altintop at Schalke.
Meanwhile, Mesut and Nuri Sahin of Borussia Dortmund (a childhood friend) recorded an unintentionally hilarious spot meant to highlight the harmonious relationship between the two communities (and not their comically bad acting skills) -
A translation:
Mesut: "Nuri. What makes you a good footballer?"
Nuri answers: "My Turkish discipline. What about you Mesut?"
Mesut answers: "My German spontaneity."
Together: Turkiye ve Almanya biz birlikteyiz!
"Turkey and Germany are united!"
A Shrill Chorus of Whistling
This video provides the highlights of the game. It begins with Bayern Munich teammates Philipp Lahm and Hamit Altintop (in a moment reminiscent of Nuri and Mesut's little video effort) hoping for “an unforgettable evening of football, in a sign of friendship” – in German and Turkish – or, a more accurate non-literal translation: “A message to our fans: please! Don’t riot after the game!”
As the game begins the German commentator notes for his viewers that the whistles they can hear are meant for Özil and that Mesut’s shots on goal are being taken as though “the whistles are spurring him on.”
Then, in the 79th minute - as everyone half-expected, he scored.
A translation, from minute 8:26:
“Mueller – Özil - Lahm continues on...no offside! He’s got to do it! He’s done it! He’s done it! Özil! Ironically it’s Özil! A goal that makes a statement. A quiet celebration – a respectful celebration from Mesut Özil. 2-0 for Germany...here we have it again - Philipp Lahm, no offside, and the soul of calm and clarity – with his strong left foot. What a story! Ironically it was Özil. A shrill chorus of whistling...and yet they are usually proud, the Turks, of their Mesut. They always say “Our Mesut plays at Real Madrid” or “Our Mesut was third at the World Cup” – today he plays for them in the wrong colours – and after the whistling comes the applause...”
The commentator is correct of course, Mesut is loved by his Turkish fans. You don’t clutter up his Youtube videos with arguments about how German or Turkish he is, or with the endless Turkish/Kurdish debate (for the record, he’s not a Kurd) unless you CARE!
Mesut's subdued goal-celebration.
Angela Merkel, a genuine National Team fan who is, nevertheless, a shrewd political operator, made her way straight to the dressing room, as she often does after games, and took along her press photographer. He made sure to capture the “spontaneous” congratulations that Merkel gave Özil, who had arrived early in the dressing room after receiving an injury to his ankle and was in a state of partial undress. Then she had her press crew distribute the photograph. It promptly made the front-pages.
Comforting cuddles in a chorus of whistling.
To say that Mesut Özil was on the minds of most Germans over the next few days – when the game and the reaction of the German-Turkish community was front and centre on political talk-shows, the tabloids, the newspapers, and the serious sporting press – is an understatement. The photograph of Mesut and Merkel was circulated widely. The reaction of the crowd was a favourite news-panel and talk-show theme for several days afterwards.
Mesut himself was interviewed the next day:
In response to a question about how he felt about being whistled, Mesut replied that he hadn’t really paid attention – he’d just concentrated on his game. He was injured, but they’d have to see about Tuesday’s game in Astana. He was really happy the team got the three points. He was happy to have scored. It was “naturally” a very interesting game for him, playing against his friends – it was really nice. And he had such nice exchanges with the Turkish players.
In response to the main question: why hadn’t he celebrated? Was it really meant as a sign of respect to his Turkish fans? – Mesut replied “in every way, of course.”
Nuclear Fall-out
Sit in a game, with your colours flying, and you’ll never think about Nationalism the same way again. Angela Merkel didn’t only have an interesting post-game in the locker-room. She had spent the game in the VIP box sitting next to the Turkish President who had arrived to watch the game (and for trade talks). She had spent an evening watching resentful Turkish-Germans booing, hissing and whistling the star of her World Cup team. She had just watched her National Team, playing at home in the capital city, playing in a stadium so hostile that it resembled an away-game.
Chancellor Merkel and the diplomatically attired PM Erdogan at the game.
So no one really considered it a coincidence when, a week later at a party conference, Merkel declared that Germany’s entire approach to multiculturalism was a failure.
If you lived outside Germany, the narrative was slightly different: “Merkel Says Multiculturalism A Failure” read Canada’s National Post. She didn’t actually say that though – it was the approach that had failed – an important difference.
Some background – and we’ll use Mesut Özil as an example. Mesut Özil didn’t have a German passport until he was 9 or 10 years old. You didn’t get German citizenship prior to 1999 because you were born there. You got it because you were ethnically German, or had fulfilled residency requirements – requirements not open to Turkish guest workers.
Imagine you are 30 years old, and a Turk living in Germany. That means you didn’t get your civil rights until you were almost 20 years old. You likely grew up in a poorer immigrant community on the fringes of one of the larger cities – or in the Ruhr, like Mesut did. You have no real connection to Turkey – a place you may have visited for vacation – but for 2/3 of your life, you were an unwanted quantity – a person everyone was hoping would “just leave”. Now you have your civil rights – but the larger community is complaining because you aren’t sufficiently “integrated” – even though for most of your life they certainly didn’t provide any incentive for you to do so. In the meantime, the Ruhr regions, for example, are in a state of serious financial depression. The jobs your parents had in the mines or in manufacturing, are gone.
Optimistic Fans!
To put it bluntly, you were never really at home when you were at home.
There are many reasons for Germany’s failure on this front. Germany invited Turkish guest-workers in the ‘60s. At the time, the cold-war was on and Germany was keenly aware that it would be, literally, the battle-ground if anything ever happened. Then the Berlin-wall came down and the politics and policies of reunification took over – it was, to put it mildly, a busy 55 years in German politics. Worrying about guest-workers the country’s politicians hoped would “just leave” was low on the priority list.
A Germany-Turkey game in the capital with a German-Turkish player as its main focal point – the biggest star on the team playing for one of the world’s biggest clubs – a player who is no stranger to media attention –the result was never going to be pretty and the fans on both sides were never going to be satisfied.
And it should be noted that however unpleasant a reaction the Turkish fans had, the German reaction was, in its own way, about as bad. Bild published a photograph of “Unser Özil” – Our Özil – as though he might not have been quite as much “ours” if he hadn’t scored, or been a football player – or, whatever it is they meant.
Thank you, Teşekkür Ederim, Vielen Dank, Gracias
Mesut with the award that spawned a nickname.
The Germany-Turkey game was also used in cringe-worthy montage before Mesut received his Bambi award for being an example of “successful integration” – whatever that means – after the beautiful Nazan Eckes explained how well integrated she was now because “St Nicholas” now visited her house. Mesut sat in his chair throughout the presentation, his face glistening with perspiration and his eyes wide with terror (he hadn’t known about the award beforehand – he had been invited to present an award to his National Team Coach) but did himself proud by talking about “respect” and “a more colourful federal republic” and thanking his audience in 4 languages (English, Turkish, German and Spanish) as he collected the award.
His thank you was about the only dignified thing about the affair. It was a terrible, badly considered and almost insulting moment for someone who was born in the country and grew up there. It was the sort of thing you couldn’t get away with in a country, like Canada for example, that has developed a more mature political discourse of some 40 years around multiculturalism.
It was meant well, of course. It was meant as a kindness. But it left a bad taste in the mouth of many viewers – and a lot of Turks took it badly. It was the award that didn’t seem like an award. It was a paternalistic pat on the head. It was the award that took something natural and unscripted about the National Team (that it is an example of genuine integration) and turned it into a crass pat on the back for the German public.
And then just as it began to look as though the initial incident was about to fade away...
Nuclear Fall-out: Redux
... the DFB let it be known that they did not appreciate the use of their star player in the debate. They didn’t appreciate the press attention. Most especially though, they were resentful about the Mesut-Merkel photograph being used as political cover for Angela Merkel. The federation had no intention of allowing Mesut to be used in a game of political football.
As is often the case, the point was lost a little in translation. By the time the story reached Spain, for example, the scandal no longer had anything to do with the politics of the thing – the scandal was now about Mesut being photographed without his shirt on with the lady-chancellor (never any mention being made of the other glorious half-naked specimens surrounding them in the locker-room), which led to an unintentionally funny and earnest answer by Mesut to a radio interviewer from Cadena Ser who asked him about being photographed “half-naked” with the Chancellor –
Mesut was slightly battered during the game against Turkey...
“The meeting went like this: I got a knock on my ankle and so I went directly to the dressing room and of course I took my sweaty things off...I took my jersey off and of course, I mean, I still had stuff on…it was only my upper body…it was like in a swimming pool and I came out and there she was and...well, it was a very funny moment.”
In the German press, he simply refused to be drawn in. “The Chancellor was very sweet”, he said. He ordered two copies of the photograph. One is framed and kept next to his Bambi award (which has a special shelf in his living room). The other was a gift for his agent.
...And Hansi Flick was suitably sympathetic!
Mesut is the known quantity – the diplomatic, shy, sweet-natured lad who refuses to get drawn in. Refuse to get drawn in and the story is bound to fade away eventually. As time passed, and Jogi Loew’s famous blue sweater brought in 1 million Euros for charity and the Oberhausen aquarium splashed out on a gaudy mausoleum for Paul the Octopus, and end of the year programmes were able to joke about the incident, the sour taste began to fade away again.
It isn’t easy to just wipe away or distract from the happiness the team brings the country, of the example it continues to provide (an example that isn’t scripted – that just is an example) of happy integration, and of the brush with love it gave the country over the summer.
And Mesut’s refusal to become controversial, his insistence on being as conciliatory as possible – his natural intelligence in every way where the politics of his life-story is concerned – to say nothing of his beautiful playing – all this is its own best defence against unwanted attention or emphasis.
By
jenny_jenkinsTo mark Mesut’s return to Germany to play Italy in Dortmund on Wednesday, we continue our exploration of his role as a political figure in the German Integration debate.
“The Chancellor Was Very Sweet”
Mesut with Angela Merkel in what would become a politically charged photograph.
In early December, Mesut took part in a “year in review” program on German television along with Arne Friederich and Marcell Jansen. As was typical of many of these programs this year, the focus was on the German National Team, which had brought its fans yet another “Summer Fairy Tale” as Germans refer to it – a play on the title and theme of Heinrich Heine’s famous (and melancholy) poem about Winter – A Winter’s Fairy Tale. After the surprise success of Germany’s 2006 squad on home-soil, many were expecting a let-down in South Africa – not least because the team had been marred by injury to its captain, its defensive mid-field and the shock suicide of Robert Enke, its goal-keeper. Instead, the team delighted everyone by their unexpectedly beautiful and stylish performance and became world-wide tournament favourites as a result..
Mesut with Arne Friederich.
One must never forget that Germans have a secret need to be loved. They are used to being feared, reviled, respected and then admired – in that order - over the events of the past 70 years. But it isn’t enough anymore. Germans crave love and recently it has been through their National Team that they get to feel it. Fans all over the world were backing the German youngsters. Commentators were in love with the team. TheBritish sports press fell hard and fast after recovering from the slaughter of its team in Bloemfontain – the city of roses – where Germany were the team left smelling sweet after the round of 16.
A lot of emotion is wrapped up in the team. Its players can nearly always do no wrong. Everything it represents is a positive thing. That half the team (11 of 23 players) had some multicultural background became a source of pride for Germany, where one third of the newborns born today will have at least one parent who is not ethnically German. Boateng's great-uncle scored the winning goal for Germany in 1954, but his father was Ghanaian. Sami Khedira's father was Tunisian. One of Denis Aogo's parents was Nigerian. Klose and Podolski had been born in Poland to parents of German ethnicity. The list goes on.
Sweet, modest, fresh-faced and multicultural.
And like the French National team of ’98 that Mesut admired so much, the team became the focus of some considerably romanticised attention on that score - a feeling that would result in some future repercussions for Mesut.
“You must have been relieved to have a hand-towel on you!” said the presenter to his guest from Madrid.
“It was a very nice experience.”
“You’re very diplomatic, so I think we’ll leave it at that.”
The joke about the hand-towel was a reference to a little incident in Mesut’s brush with political life. It took place after what must have been the most emotional evening of his life – an evening that had concrete political repercussions, as it happens. It resulted in a photograph that made the front-pages of every newspaper the next day – a photograph of the World Cup Star, flushed and perspiring, in a state of partial undress, being congratulated by the head of state in the dressing room after Germany’s emotional win over Turkey in Berlin – the final score: 3-0.
It was the second goal that would take all the headlines.
An October (Media) Storm
Mesut, receiving Germany's highest sporting honour.
A week before his 22nd birthday, Mesut was back in Germany. He was doing well. He was, as he would later tell the press during a somewhat trying press-conference “on the best path” though of course he hadn’t “achieved anything yet”. His stated goal: “I went to Madrid to get titles.”
Nevertheless, everyone was pleased with him. He had just scored his first goal in the Spanish League that weekend against Deportivo La Coruna – the 2-0 – and had set up the 1-0 for Cristiano Ronaldo with a beautifully taken corner kick. His coach was pleased with him. His National Team coach was pleased with him. And he had the day before received Germany’s highest sporting honour from the hands of the Chancellor herself: Das Silberne Lorbeerblatt – along with the rest of his teammates.
Meanwhile, the DFB was in an interesting position. They were getting an unusually high number of interview requests for Mesut Özil before the Qualification game against Turkey. In part to spare him having to face interviewers on his own, and to dampen the demand a little, the DFB decided to have Mesut appear at the daily press-conference the next day with Philipp Lahm and Oliver Bierhoff.
It was a laboured performance – from everyone involved - fresh-faced, unflappable, boy-next-door Philipp Lahm excepted. Oliver Bierhoff was asked about the number of Turkish supporters expected at the game – more than half of the stadium was expected to be Turkish supporting. Wasn’t this, in its way, an “away” game for the team? Bierhoff was diplomatic and avoided answering – he could remember playing Turkey in 1999 – and really, of course the Turks loved their football team.
Then a Turkish journalist asked a question – just in time for the translation equipment to break down. What followed is recorded in this clip of the interview.
Harald Stenger: “I do hope that Mesut doesn’t expect an honorarium for his translation...but thank you very much...this is [an example] of successful integration!”
Bierhoff, recognizing that this might be laying the developing theme of the evening on a little thick, and possibly wanting to take some attention away from Mesut (a player he once described to a group of school children as very nice, but rather shy and reserved) joked that “perhaps the questions will be arriving in Bayerisch (a Southern German dialect) for Philipp too!”
As for Mesut, he was asked questions that all hinged on the same theme: how did he feel about playing against Turkey? His answers, which were slow and careful, quickly became repetitive.
“I play with my whole heart for Germany.”
“Three Generations of my family are in Germany.”
“My Turkish fans support me.”
“The Turkish fans approach me sometimes and say that they support me and they follow what I do in Madrid, and I’m sure they are pressing their thumbs for me.”
“No other country, aside from Germany, ever came into question.”
“Three generations of my family are in Germany.”
“I always wanted to play for Germany.”
“If I score a goal...we’ll have to see. I’ll react spontaneously, as I always do.”
And, perhaps the most poignant:
“It’ll be a special game for me, because I’m playing against my friends.”
One cannot underestimate the attention this press conference got. It made the English sports pages, for example. Two soccer powers were going to be meeting in a cauldron – the Berlin Olympia Stadium – in a city with a huge immigrant Turkish community. What would happen?
Emotions were running high and there had already been some unpleasantness in the press. Bayern Munich's Hamit Altintop, a Turkish National Team player who grew up in Gelsenkirchen and had known Mesut since he was a child, had given an interview with Munich's Süddeutsche Zeitung. Although it was a single sentiment in a much longer interview, one quotation got a great deal of attention. Altintop had said, "I am a tolerant person and I respect Mesut's path but I cannot support him." Altintop argued that Özil had more sway as a German national player, a higher market value and earns more money. "That has nothing to do with integration," he said.
Mesut with Altintop at Schalke.
Meanwhile, Mesut and Nuri Sahin of Borussia Dortmund (a childhood friend) recorded an unintentionally hilarious spot meant to highlight the harmonious relationship between the two communities (and not their comically bad acting skills) -
A translation:
Mesut: "Nuri. What makes you a good footballer?"
Nuri answers: "My Turkish discipline. What about you Mesut?"
Mesut answers: "My German spontaneity."
Together: Turkiye ve Almanya biz birlikteyiz!
"Turkey and Germany are united!"
A Shrill Chorus of Whistling
This video provides the highlights of the game. It begins with Bayern Munich teammates Philipp Lahm and Hamit Altintop (in a moment reminiscent of Nuri and Mesut's little video effort) hoping for “an unforgettable evening of football, in a sign of friendship” – in German and Turkish – or, a more accurate non-literal translation: “A message to our fans: please! Don’t riot after the game!”
As the game begins the German commentator notes for his viewers that the whistles they can hear are meant for Özil and that Mesut’s shots on goal are being taken as though “the whistles are spurring him on.”
Then, in the 79th minute - as everyone half-expected, he scored.
A translation, from minute 8:26:
“Mueller – Özil - Lahm continues on...no offside! He’s got to do it! He’s done it! He’s done it! Özil! Ironically it’s Özil! A goal that makes a statement. A quiet celebration – a respectful celebration from Mesut Özil. 2-0 for Germany...here we have it again - Philipp Lahm, no offside, and the soul of calm and clarity – with his strong left foot. What a story! Ironically it was Özil. A shrill chorus of whistling...and yet they are usually proud, the Turks, of their Mesut. They always say “Our Mesut plays at Real Madrid” or “Our Mesut was third at the World Cup” – today he plays for them in the wrong colours – and after the whistling comes the applause...”
The commentator is correct of course, Mesut is loved by his Turkish fans. You don’t clutter up his Youtube videos with arguments about how German or Turkish he is, or with the endless Turkish/Kurdish debate (for the record, he’s not a Kurd) unless you CARE!
Mesut's subdued goal-celebration.
Angela Merkel, a genuine National Team fan who is, nevertheless, a shrewd political operator, made her way straight to the dressing room, as she often does after games, and took along her press photographer. He made sure to capture the “spontaneous” congratulations that Merkel gave Özil, who had arrived early in the dressing room after receiving an injury to his ankle and was in a state of partial undress. Then she had her press crew distribute the photograph. It promptly made the front-pages.
Comforting cuddles in a chorus of whistling.
To say that Mesut Özil was on the minds of most Germans over the next few days – when the game and the reaction of the German-Turkish community was front and centre on political talk-shows, the tabloids, the newspapers, and the serious sporting press – is an understatement. The photograph of Mesut and Merkel was circulated widely. The reaction of the crowd was a favourite news-panel and talk-show theme for several days afterwards.
Mesut himself was interviewed the next day:
In response to a question about how he felt about being whistled, Mesut replied that he hadn’t really paid attention – he’d just concentrated on his game. He was injured, but they’d have to see about Tuesday’s game in Astana. He was really happy the team got the three points. He was happy to have scored. It was “naturally” a very interesting game for him, playing against his friends – it was really nice. And he had such nice exchanges with the Turkish players.
In response to the main question: why hadn’t he celebrated? Was it really meant as a sign of respect to his Turkish fans? – Mesut replied “in every way, of course.”
Nuclear Fall-out
Sit in a game, with your colours flying, and you’ll never think about Nationalism the same way again. Angela Merkel didn’t only have an interesting post-game in the locker-room. She had spent the game in the VIP box sitting next to the Turkish President who had arrived to watch the game (and for trade talks). She had spent an evening watching resentful Turkish-Germans booing, hissing and whistling the star of her World Cup team. She had just watched her National Team, playing at home in the capital city, playing in a stadium so hostile that it resembled an away-game.
Chancellor Merkel and the diplomatically attired PM Erdogan at the game.
So no one really considered it a coincidence when, a week later at a party conference, Merkel declared that Germany’s entire approach to multiculturalism was a failure.
If you lived outside Germany, the narrative was slightly different: “Merkel Says Multiculturalism A Failure” read Canada’s National Post. She didn’t actually say that though – it was the approach that had failed – an important difference.
Some background – and we’ll use Mesut Özil as an example. Mesut Özil didn’t have a German passport until he was 9 or 10 years old. You didn’t get German citizenship prior to 1999 because you were born there. You got it because you were ethnically German, or had fulfilled residency requirements – requirements not open to Turkish guest workers.
Imagine you are 30 years old, and a Turk living in Germany. That means you didn’t get your civil rights until you were almost 20 years old. You likely grew up in a poorer immigrant community on the fringes of one of the larger cities – or in the Ruhr, like Mesut did. You have no real connection to Turkey – a place you may have visited for vacation – but for 2/3 of your life, you were an unwanted quantity – a person everyone was hoping would “just leave”. Now you have your civil rights – but the larger community is complaining because you aren’t sufficiently “integrated” – even though for most of your life they certainly didn’t provide any incentive for you to do so. In the meantime, the Ruhr regions, for example, are in a state of serious financial depression. The jobs your parents had in the mines or in manufacturing, are gone.
Optimistic Fans!
To put it bluntly, you were never really at home when you were at home.
There are many reasons for Germany’s failure on this front. Germany invited Turkish guest-workers in the ‘60s. At the time, the cold-war was on and Germany was keenly aware that it would be, literally, the battle-ground if anything ever happened. Then the Berlin-wall came down and the politics and policies of reunification took over – it was, to put it mildly, a busy 55 years in German politics. Worrying about guest-workers the country’s politicians hoped would “just leave” was low on the priority list.
A Germany-Turkey game in the capital with a German-Turkish player as its main focal point – the biggest star on the team playing for one of the world’s biggest clubs – a player who is no stranger to media attention –the result was never going to be pretty and the fans on both sides were never going to be satisfied.
And it should be noted that however unpleasant a reaction the Turkish fans had, the German reaction was, in its own way, about as bad. Bild published a photograph of “Unser Özil” – Our Özil – as though he might not have been quite as much “ours” if he hadn’t scored, or been a football player – or, whatever it is they meant.
Thank you, Teşekkür Ederim, Vielen Dank, Gracias
Mesut with the award that spawned a nickname.
The Germany-Turkey game was also used in cringe-worthy montage before Mesut received his Bambi award for being an example of “successful integration” – whatever that means – after the beautiful Nazan Eckes explained how well integrated she was now because “St Nicholas” now visited her house. Mesut sat in his chair throughout the presentation, his face glistening with perspiration and his eyes wide with terror (he hadn’t known about the award beforehand – he had been invited to present an award to his National Team Coach) but did himself proud by talking about “respect” and “a more colourful federal republic” and thanking his audience in 4 languages (English, Turkish, German and Spanish) as he collected the award.
His thank you was about the only dignified thing about the affair. It was a terrible, badly considered and almost insulting moment for someone who was born in the country and grew up there. It was the sort of thing you couldn’t get away with in a country, like Canada for example, that has developed a more mature political discourse of some 40 years around multiculturalism.
It was meant well, of course. It was meant as a kindness. But it left a bad taste in the mouth of many viewers – and a lot of Turks took it badly. It was the award that didn’t seem like an award. It was a paternalistic pat on the head. It was the award that took something natural and unscripted about the National Team (that it is an example of genuine integration) and turned it into a crass pat on the back for the German public.
And then just as it began to look as though the initial incident was about to fade away...
Nuclear Fall-out: Redux
... the DFB let it be known that they did not appreciate the use of their star player in the debate. They didn’t appreciate the press attention. Most especially though, they were resentful about the Mesut-Merkel photograph being used as political cover for Angela Merkel. The federation had no intention of allowing Mesut to be used in a game of political football.
As is often the case, the point was lost a little in translation. By the time the story reached Spain, for example, the scandal no longer had anything to do with the politics of the thing – the scandal was now about Mesut being photographed without his shirt on with the lady-chancellor (never any mention being made of the other glorious half-naked specimens surrounding them in the locker-room), which led to an unintentionally funny and earnest answer by Mesut to a radio interviewer from Cadena Ser who asked him about being photographed “half-naked” with the Chancellor –
Mesut was slightly battered during the game against Turkey...
“The meeting went like this: I got a knock on my ankle and so I went directly to the dressing room and of course I took my sweaty things off...I took my jersey off and of course, I mean, I still had stuff on…it was only my upper body…it was like in a swimming pool and I came out and there she was and...well, it was a very funny moment.”
In the German press, he simply refused to be drawn in. “The Chancellor was very sweet”, he said. He ordered two copies of the photograph. One is framed and kept next to his Bambi award (which has a special shelf in his living room). The other was a gift for his agent.
...And Hansi Flick was suitably sympathetic!
Mesut is the known quantity – the diplomatic, shy, sweet-natured lad who refuses to get drawn in. Refuse to get drawn in and the story is bound to fade away eventually. As time passed, and Jogi Loew’s famous blue sweater brought in 1 million Euros for charity and the Oberhausen aquarium splashed out on a gaudy mausoleum for Paul the Octopus, and end of the year programmes were able to joke about the incident, the sour taste began to fade away again.
It isn’t easy to just wipe away or distract from the happiness the team brings the country, of the example it continues to provide (an example that isn’t scripted – that just is an example) of happy integration, and of the brush with love it gave the country over the summer.
And Mesut’s refusal to become controversial, his insistence on being as conciliatory as possible – his natural intelligence in every way where the politics of his life-story is concerned – to say nothing of his beautiful playing – all this is its own best defence against unwanted attention or emphasis.
