Dangerous Conversations

Friday, February 10, 1984: Walking the Fine Line in a Repressive Regime.

One last thing. Then we can put a lid on this chapter, I try to get our conversation from yesterday going again.

We could both get in trouble for what we talked about this week.

All it would take is for me to rat you out and you to rat me out, and we'd have some explaining to do.

Or someone might have overheard us – then they could use it against us.

I don't care because I'm done with this system.

A country that turns every fart into a political stink bomb, criminalizes critics, and punishes wanderlust with prison is not my country.

They know that – from me. It's not a question of if, but how long they'll let me stew. But what about you?

“I don't give a shit about politics,” Andi sums it up.

He wouldn't snitch on me. He doesn't even know what I said that was wrong.

But they can always find some clause or other.

I agree with him. Let's hope no one was eavesdropping.

In any case, he wouldn't strike again. His punishment would be harsher than mine.

He's looking at two years. That's what he was told if he blew his probation. And he did. Thoroughly.

If only he had listened to Udo:

“Ich bin Rocker (I'm a rocker), Ich bin Rocker (I'm a rocker) /
Doch ich steh nicht auf Gewalt (But I'm not into violence /
Ich bin nicht so'n primitives Schwein (I'm not some primitive pig) /
Und schlag'nem Schwachen die Fresse ein ... (Who beats up weaklings...)”

Andi's eyes are watering again. That's how it was meant. On with the Bakelite program. All Quiet in the Eastern Jail.