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Thank you for Andy Warhol. Thank you for the Big Mac and the iPhone. Thank you, too, for Francis Ford Coppola, for Stanley Kubrick and Quentin Tarantino. Thank you for Angela Davis, Joan Mitchell and Susan Sontag. Thank you for F. Scott Fitzgerald, for Aretha Franklin, Edward Hopper and also for Levi’s 501s. And now: Goodbye.
Yes, it was a grand American epoch, one that afforded us here in Europe with a hundred years of security, pleasure and stimulation. But every good thing must come to an end. Now, we can finally abandon our meek submission. We no longer have to skittishly acquiesce to each new crazed impulse from the prepotent, red-tied occupants of the White House. We must no longer listen, wide-eyed with horror, as the American vice president terminates our friendship. We don’t have to immediately contract the flu when someone in America coughs. In 1925, one-hundred years ago, the Americans gave us The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald, Manhattan Transfer by John Dos Passos, Hemingway’s first short stories, Josephine Baker’s first dance. America gave the world the first motel and the magazine The New Yorker. And it went on like that for ten decades.
The spirit of the age found a home in America, and the west wind reliably blew all the benefits and aberrations of capitalism across the Atlantic, every new music style, every new art genre, every new student movement, every new take on the world. But now that lunacy has installed itself in Washington for the next four years, the time has finally come for Europe to once again try its hand at hosting the spirit of the age. After all, that arrangement worked out rather well for the 2000 years before Hemingway and the Big Mac.
A brief reminder: When the Europeans conquered the American continent in the early 16th century, at a time when coyotes and grizzlies were still bidding each other good night where New York and Los Angeles would later appear – Raphael, Michelangelo and Leonardo were feverishly drawing, painting and building the Medici’s Florence, the spiritual center of the world. And this High Renaissance was itself just a „rebirth“ of the venerated advanced civilizations of Greek and Roman antiquity a couple thousand years earlier.
We have, in other words, a slightly larger slice of the cultural history pie than the North Americans. And yes, it is, in fact, astounding just how fast they were able to catch up in the 19th century and cruise on past in the 20th century – technically, militarily and culturally. But now the time has come to stop obsessing about the humiliations from the New World and reflect on our own roots and strengths here in the Old World.
Never forget: Coffee existed even before Starbucks. And the computer was invented by Konrad Zuse, not Steve Jobs. The best books by Fitzgerald, Hemingway and Susan Sontag are set in Europe, Andy Warhol’s mother comes from the Carpathians, Bill Gates collects French impressionists, and the director of the Metropolitan Museum of Art is from Vienna.
Since World War II, the European – and particularly the German – perception of the U.S. has always been a bit schizophrenic. As deeply objectionable as the McCarthy era, the Vietnam War and the Iraq invasion were, everything cultural and pop-cultural produced by America’s liberal universities, publishing houses, film and record studios was eagerly and reverently snapped by Europeans over the course of several decades. The products from America were usually a bit more original, more fun, more sophisticated – and simply better.
Now, though, with the administration of Donald Trump, it’s not just American politics that is appalling, more appalling than ever before. Consumerism has also lost its shine, as it, too, seems infected by the Trumpian specter of illiberalism. It is spreading like an infectious disease. Those who use Instagram know that Mark Zuckerberg has kowtowed to Trump, those who order something from Amazon know that Jeff Bezos invited the president to his wedding – and every Tesla driver wants to punch the steering wheel every morning because their erstwhile mobile testament to coolness and climate awareness has suddenly become an enabler for Elon Musk’s chainsaw-wielding fever dream. It seems as if everything American has suddenly lost its innocence. Only the brave, recalcitrant journalists from the New York Times, the New Yorker and the Atlantic have not yet fallen under the broad veil of suspicion.