Yesterday evening, when my grandmother and my mother came to collect me for my trip home for Christmas, my Oma told protestors on the street that they should be put into labor camps.
I figured that after that, our return trip couldn’t get much more eventful, but seemingly, I’m wrong. I just returned to the train platform after stepping into briefly into the station to buy a cup of coffee, to find my mother telling an Arab man that his “days here are numbered”. I do not know the context. I’m not sure I need to.
I feel so privileged to be of the same genetic stock as these women. I truly do.