A Shift in Priorities

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rast

Blessed are the poor, the sick, the crossed in love, for at least other people know what is the matter with them and will listen to their belly-achings with sympathy. But who that has not suffered it understands the pain of exile?
(Eric Arthur Blair)

The Sloten borough of Amsterdam was a neighbourhood where a lot of British expatriates had settled. Some had come together with their business or at least some assets, others had arrived just with their clothes on. Sloten had accepted them all. The very rich soon had moved to other places that offered more security or splendour. The ordinary people, the riff-raff and the bohemians had stayed. Sloten, once a village, annexed to Amsterdam in 1921, had become a pleasant and diverse quarter. There were pubs and restaurants, galleries and music halls, British food stores and gift shops. The Dutch had come to call it Klein-Engeland (Little England).

Sloterdjik, advantageously situated along the railway line Haarlem–Amsterdam, had developed into the commercial heart of Sloten – and was considered the political centre of the British expatriates in the Netherlands. – The two men meeting in the New Carlton Club on the Haarlemmerweg were Richard Austen ‘Rab’ Butler and Douglas McGarel Hogg, both prominent conservative leaders not pre-eminently affiliated with Churchillianism. Hogg, the senior of the two, had just arrived from Boston, Massachusetts. Rab Butler, the local Tory chairman, was trying to appraise him on the political situation after the Palme Putsch.

Continental socialists were still seeing Britain through rose-tinted spectacles. Palme Dutt’s reputation among them was a good one. He was regarded as comrade in arms of Oswald Mosley and was better known than Ernest Bevin, who never had been noted outside Britain – before his appointment as prime minister. So, the Netherlands, Belgium and France had acquiesced in the coup, which evidently hadn’t been a violent one. – The German national-conservative government might have a different view, but Germany was entering the hot phase of the 1949 electoral campaign right now. And Britain never had been a popular or even successful theme in German national electoral campaigns.

But even if the Lettow-Vorbeck Government wasn’t distracted by the electoral campaign, one couldn’t expect anything from these old and exhausted men. They were just glad to be alive still. – No, if Palme Dutt had waded through streams of blood, there might have been a positive reaction… As things had turned out, Berlin was content to disregard them. They had closed the COMECON for British merchandise and had allowed for some maritime arms build-up, more couldn’t be expected from them. Their incubus was capitalist Russia, not Red Albion…

Douglas Hogg, one could see it, was disappointed. The New England expatriates had entertained high hopes for a decisive European reaction – after the official US response had already been anticlimactic and indifferent. There had been no upheaval in Canada, only cool business as usual. Even the red rat’s nest of Jamaica had kept calm. Therefore, the Yankees had decided to turn a blind eye on the change of government in Westminster. Well, their eyes were riveted to the Pacific and China anyway. The old world was only interesting for some timeworn East Coast freaks. Even President Patton had put it off…

It was a matter of persevering, said Rab Butler. Yes, agreed Hogg, but this was becoming difficult for the New England community. The expatriates were gradually being assimilated, were becoming Yankees. Everything was too similar. – It might be easier here in continental Europe, where the expatriates were representing a distinct language group. – But in Boston, the children of the expatriates were already indistinguishable from native Americans. It was a tragedy…
 
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Expat

rast said:
It was a matter of persevering, said Rab Butler. Yes, agreed Hogg, but this was becoming difficult for the New England community. The expatriates were gradually being assimilated, were becoming Yankees. Everything was too similar. – It might be easier here in continental Europe, where the expatriates were representing a distinct language group. – But in Boston, the children of the expatriates were already indistinguishable from native Americans. It was a tragedy…
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That seems reasonable. Of course, it's taken 2-3 generations of Cuban Americans for us to be even close to changing our policy on Cuba IOTL, and even now support is still only about 50% in the Cuban American community.

They'll be Yanks before long, but Yanks inordinately concerned with liberating the British Isles and Canada for decades to come.
 

rast

You can’t learn in school what the world is going to do next year.
(Henry Ford)

In the far away eastern Ukraine there was a place, where recent events in Britain had been tracked with prying interest. This was Yuzovka, the heart of the industrial Donbas region. Originally, the settlement had been known under the name Aleksandrovka. In the nineteenth century, the Welsh businessman John James Hughes had built a steel plant and several coal mines in the vicinity. Consequently, the Aleksandrovka facility had grown to be a major steel supplier for the Russian Empire – and, in recognition of Hughes’ merits, the town had officially been renamed Hughesovka. And because Hughes was spelled Yuz in Russian, Hughesovka quickly had mutated to Yuzovka.

Hughes’ venture had attracted a large number of predominantly Welsh workers and engineers. And even today, the main quarter of Yuzovka was known as English Colony. Many people were tracing back their origins to the British Isles. There was an English school and neighbourhoods that definitely looked English. – In early 1918, the Germans had occupied the area, which subsequently had been allocated to the nascent Ukraine. Thus spared the devastations of the Russian Civil War, Yuzovka had grown into a major industrial agglomeration. However, despite the ‘English’ origins, the main language spoken these days was Russian.

It was estimated that about sixty percent of the regional population were native Russian speakers, while Ukrainian only held a humble second place. Even if many of these Russian speakers were the descendants of people transplanted to the area during the russification campaigns under Tsars Aleksandr III and Nikolay II, the fact of a Russian identity remained. The Hetmanate was deliberately ignoring these issues. All eastern districts of the Ukraine comprised sizeable portions of Russian speakers, on the Crimean Peninsula they even accounted for more than ninety percent of the population. It simply didn’t matter, couldn’t matter. It was no problem to have several official languages in one place; and the Ukraine didn’t define herself through ethnicity.

For a long time, this approach had worked well. The Ukraine was rich – and could afford to pamper her nationals by low taxes and low prices. While Russia had suffered through civil war and subsequent reconstruction period, the Ukrainians had grown fat and complacent. – But once Matutin’s Russia had emerged richer than the Ukraine, the mood in the Russian speaking areas had grown sombre. Kharashó, one wasn’t discriminated, but Mother Russia was calling her children nevertheless. And true Russians were subjects of Tsar and Holy Church, not of hetmans who licked the boots of the German Kaiser.

And when it became fashionable to undertake shopping trips to Russia on the weekends, the trend to look positive at things Russians became widespread. Kharashó, the Ukraine belonged to the COMECON and German high-tech stuff was readily available, but it wasn’t the same. The Nemzy had no clue how to build really strong automobiles, or television sets that didn’t look like cheap trash. – It was in this context that the English roots of Yuzovka had been revitalised by the Hetmanate. The Ukraine was diverse; there were Poles, White Russians, Germans, Romanians, Moldovans, Tartars, Greeks, and Gypsies, living side by side with Ukrainians and Russians. Even Anglichanye were residing here.
 
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rast

It is a miracle that curiosity survives formal education.
(Albert von Einstein)

The family pow-pow was in full session. It had started three hours ago, even before Dad had come home. Ma had asked where and what Paula wanted to study, once she had passed Abitur. – Now, Paula had often pondered that question for herself – without ever arriving at a reliable answer. It was so complicated. – But with Henriette and Willy within earshot, the pow-pow had instantly been declared open.

Paula was going to graduate from school next spring. That could be supposed as a fact. Her English had improved considerably, all other school subjects had never been precarious. – So, what should follow? Paula was usually wavering between architecture, fine arts and German philology, but sometimes also considering music or dramatics. Concerning the location, she thought that Berlin or Bonn should be fine.

But obviously, she had counted her chickens before they were hatched. Her family had a totally different view. Willy wanted her to stay in Deygbo, while for Henriette a location far, far away was okay. Ma didn’t care at all about the place, but insisted that her choice of subjects was ridiculous. Dad, when he eventually arrived, harrumphed and asked to be spared such deliberations until after supper.

That didn’t work either. Once Henriette and Willy had tasted blood, they wouldn’t let loose. Only at the supper table Dad managed to apply some structure to the pow-pow. Money wasn’t really a problem. So, yes, Berlin or Bonn would be acceptable – but also Paris – or Basel – or Moscow. However, Daressalam or Duala weren’t bad either. – This was fine and dandy, her Ma insisted. One had to agree on the subjects first.

Gosh! Off we go! The hot phase – and a can of worms – had just been opened. Her parents definitely had funny ideas what she should study. And they wouldn’t take her wishes any serious. – It was galling! At least Willy, that little infestation, was sent to bed after supper. – Why were parents having such weird perceptions? What had Dad actually studied? And Ma?

Well, that almost saved the evening. Almost only… Because, of course, Ma and Dad only wanted the best for her, the very best. – In the end, one agreed not to be in agreement – and adjourned the meeting. Paula wasn’t disaffected, only exhausted. She could go to Germany! Away from Henriette and Willy! To a country where German was spoken instead of English.

As it happened, now that this dreadful Heydrich type had perished in a traffic accident, Dad was officially considered the Old Man’s crown prince. So, staying in Deygbo – or studying in Middle Africa – was out of question for Paula. In Germany, nobody would know her – and she could focus on her studies without being bothered by protocol or tripping over body guards. Yeah, Berlin would be nice, she imagined. And architecture might be a good starter…
 
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1SaBy

rast said:
As it happened, now that this dreadful Heydrich type had perished in a traffic accident, Dad was officially considered the Old Man’s crown prince.
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Oh, yes, Heydrich and cars. Always a lovely sight.
We can only guess if Daddy was involved in any of this. ;)
 

rast

Pure mathematics is, in its way, the poetry of logical ideas.
(Albert von Einstein)

A reform camp wasn’t just a simple camp; it was a veritable microcosm. Usually, the inmates weren’t a homogenous group, but a fascinating mixture of dissenters of all kinds. Nevertheless, they had to be instructed and rectified. And they had to be put to work according to their skills and abilities. It was a complex – and often difficult – task that required qualified personnel. One truly had made great progress, compared to the first primitive camps rushed into operation at the end of the Churchillian Rebellion.

Camp 235, situated near Colchester, had originally been designed for women. Despite the fact that about half the population was female, only one quarter of all camps were slated for women. This was the result of an antiquated understanding of women’s role in society, said some. May be, replied others, but it reflected reality. Many women still were housewives only, dependents without regular occupation and income of their own. The wife of a capitalist might display his wealth by wearing expensive jewellery, but – in most cases – she was not guilty of the crimes he had committed against humanity. She might be imprudent and coldhearted, but normally she was not a delinquent.

True, that approach had forced many women to seek a bolt-hole in the seedy underworld. What else could they do when the husband was arrested and all assets had been confiscated? But that was part of another story: ordinary criminals were still flung into ordinary prisons. – The reform camps were concerned with political cases, a lot of them dissenters coming from within the ranks of the SUP, but also many obnoxious class enemies. – However, there had been an important change lately…

It always had been an issue what to do with sodomists; sodomists who were political cases, of course; the ordinary remainder of these perverts were just nicked. Putting male sodomists into male camps had turned out to be counterproductive, one lost too many of them. In the beginning, that hadn’t seemed a bad idea; but nowadays one had become conscious of the many talents one had been wasting. Sodomists might rummage in sexual filth, but many of them were gifted artists or scientists.

Interning male sodomists in camps for women had been introduced recently, just before the change of government. And the new persons in power hadn’t rescinded the concept. – Thus, today, the staff of Camp 235 were expecting the first male sodomists to be accommodated. Chief Controller Marge Thompson had decided to inspect the newcomer in person; after all, he was a renowned scientist. The female internees had been ordered to their work stations; they would only spoil the event by unsavoury remarks.

A small unobtrusive bus of the kind used by MI5 to shuttle around internees had arrived at the main gate – and was duly checked by the guards. Then, the exterior gate was opened – and the bus proceeded into the outer ward. After the gate had been closed again, Thompson approached the bus. The escort personnel, male executives, opened the rear car door. Thompson caught sight of a frail boyish man who was squinting against the light.
“Welcome to Camp Two-thirty-five, Mister Turing.” she said.
 

Expat

...interesting. I wonder, is this an idea taken from OTL anywhere? I can't remember having heard of it ever being tried, but it does have a certain twisted kind of logic, if you put yourself in the shoes of an overbearing, experiment-prone dictatorial regime.

Of course all the men will know the other men are gay, so that's interesting. And without straight men around to be wary of, who knows what kind of society might develop?

And then, it probably won't be long before a couple of licentious inmates at the straight men's camp get the idea to "get caught" making out with each other and get transferred over to the women's camp. That's like the plot of a 1980s American comedy.:rolleyes::p:D
 

ANARCHY_4_ALL

Expat said:
...interesting. I wonder, is this an idea taken from OTL anywhere? I can't remember having heard of it ever being tried, but it does have a certain twisted kind of logic, if you put yourself in the shoes of an overbearing, experiment-prone dictatorial regime.

Of course all the men will know the other men are gay, so that's interesting. And without straight men around to be wary of, who knows what kind of society might develop?

And then, it probably won't be long before a couple of licentious inmates at the straight men's camp get the idea to "get caught" making out with each other and get transferred over to the women's camp. That's like the plot of a 1980s American comedy.:rolleyes::p:D
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Recently escaped from the British prison system Orson Welles new hit comedy I Now Sentence You Chuck and Larry satires the policy to move homosexuals to female prisons....
 

Arrix85

About the Ukraine I do think it's the only place the Russians' plan can work and will probably work (Germany doesn't seem active enough to do something about it and the Hetmanate itself.... telling people they're not russians, but englishmen.... that's quaint to say the least).
 

rast

Lawsuit: a machine which you go into as a pig and come out of as a sausage.
(Ambrose Bierce)

It was hopeless, thought Gudrun, she hadn’t the ghost of a chance to succeed. The judge was a fossil, an authoritarian and undiscerning survivor of Bismarck’s time. The prosecutor was a pigheaded dogmatist. And the two of them seemed to be pretty much in agreement concerning the case. – There was no proof that her client had dealt with hashish. Okay, the police had found approximately two kilograms of the stuff in his room. That was quite a lot. But no evidence had been established that her client had sold dope – or perhaps had distributed it substitutionally.

Yet, the two gentlemen concurred that ‘experience of life’ was telling them that a guy, who had so much grass, would also sell it. Now, what validity had ‘experience of life’? – It made a difference, of course: drug possession would eventuate in a suspended sentence; drug dealing would send her client into jail for at least one year. – But she evidently was unable to get through to the judge. The doter wouldn’t listen to her arguments.

Her client was a soft young man, bearded, long-haired, unkempt. She had counselled him to get a shave, a haircut and a suit, but he wouldn’t do it. He said he was a student. That might even be true. However, he hadn’t seen a lecture hall from inside since a long time for sure. A prowler, the prosecutor had called him. That was manifestly untrue, because he had a permanent residence. Okay, it was a commune. And there was evidence of scortation and neglect, but that didn’t directly affect her client.

Her client was a peace activist and member of the DFU, had even paid the membership fee. This was why Gudrun was here. – Well, one certainly would have to appeal to higher court, if the judge applied his ‘experience of life’ rule. So, the lawsuit might continue for some time. – Perhaps, once the DFU had scored in the upcoming national elections, the attitude of the fossilised establishment might change. Right now, many still considered the peace movement as a bug that would soon die down.

Gudrun had seen the latest polls. The DFU might win almost ninety seats – and thus had a fair chance to become the strongest party in the Reichstag off the cuff. That should be good to shake such fossils like this judge out of their complacency. Actually, the whole German society should be galvanised. It was about time that a jolt went through this abominable sleaze.

It ought to be interesting: the DFU strongest party, followed by the horrible DVP – two parties that were completely opposed to the existing order. Gudrun loathed the dim-witted goons of the DVP, but they stood for something new – like the DFU. Perhaps it resulted in a true system change – to something modern. Without Wilhelmine plush and gaudiness…

“Is there anything you want to add, Fräulein Hitler?” twanged the judge, calling Gudrun back to the courtroom.
 
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Bmao

Just when we thought it was safe to think that the family panache for shaking society had passed.

By the mid sixties, I'm sure that all of Germany will be chanting 'Heil Gudrun'!!
 

Deimos

Banned
Germany going straight from overbearing militant Junkers to overbearing (militant) pacifists - just like IOTL. :rolleyes:
 
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