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Where’s My Mercedes?

If Germany has a city of equal significance to Detroit, it’s Stuttgart. The birthplace of the country’s auto industry, it also hosts one of Germany’s biggest migrant communities, with one estimate rising as high as 39 percent of the overall population. The local Turkish community is particularly visible.

Also home to Jennifer’s firm, we’ve set up shop in a tiny studio apartment near her office until our new place is finished being refurbished.  In the western part of Stuttgart, we’ve been surprised by incredible Sri Lankan and southern European food, as it surpasses most of what we’ve eaten in Berlin.

We Don’t Bite

Jennifer and Joel. Los Angeles, November 2007.

Our New Home

Twenty-three months ago, Jennifer and I left San Francisco for London. Though we miss the Bay Area, and have weathered many difficulties since, we’ve never been more convinced that the decision we made to leave America was the right one.

In The Egyptian Plumber and My ‘Eurabia’ Problem, I discuss how the move has impacted me politically. What I’ve learned, where I’ve learned it,  in Milano, as well as in Berlin. Check it all out, in this week’s edition of The Jewish Daily Forward.

Off Road Vehicle

Vintage magazine. Clignancourt flea market, Paris, June.

Make an Effort

I’ve always enjoyed collaborative writing. Since April, I’ve written three essays about Israeli politics with my friend Keith Kahn-Harris. Our newest article, In Search of an Israeli Left, was just published by open Democracy.

Ambient Life

There wasn’t a day that he wasn’t there. If he wasn’t standing at the bottom of the stairs, leading down from our side of Piazzale Loreto, he’d be in the middle of the tunnel, connecting one side of the square to the other. Whether it was hot or it was cold, the same sock hat was always affixed to his head. Upon reflection, I can’t remember when he wasn’t wearing a down jacket, either.

I always assumed that the guy was deaf. I don’t know what lead me to conclude that. Blindness is not the same thing. Nonetheless, I’ve always unconsciously equated the two. Carrying my recording equipment through our underground station, taking pictures of the adverts, recording the sounds of the Milanese, I always found myself turning off the mic when I passed him by.

I wasn’t so disciplined with my camera. After six months, I finally gave in and took this picture last winter. Editing audio recordings I made in the Loreto tube station, I was reminded of this photograph. Somehow, I imagined, he saw me.

Meet the Neighbors

More than just cargo. Turkish freight forwarder, Neukölln, early June.

Always tell them to get off at Marx. Our new apartment is a block away.

The Blame Game

What’s the difference between a caricature and the real thing? This is the question I always ask myself whenever I hear complaints about Mahmoud Ahmadinejad indulging his anti-Jewish reflexes. This is not to deny the fact that the Iranian president’s statements are prejudiced and wrong. They should be condemned. My question is whether they have any ideological purchase.

Considering the nature of his statements, it’s easy to understand why German leftists would use his figure to combat Judeophobia. Prone to problematizing the Shoah, Ahmadinejad’s declarations parallel those of Holocaust revisionists. Similarly, his criticisms of Israel have an all-too familiar aura of scapegoating about them. Criticizing him this way illuminates both concerns.

The problem is that Ahmadinejad is Iranian. How useful can he really be, as a foil, to discourage discrimination against Jews, in Germany, instead of Iran? Doesn’t the contribution of German forces to NATO’s war effort in Afghanistan problematize such expressions of anti-racism? What about Israeli rightists, for whom the Nazi comparison serves different political requirements?

The responsibility for this situation is shared. Ahmadinejad has no difficulty reconciling the language of European anti-Semitism with anti-imperialism. It’s easy to misconstrue. Germans who emphasize his racism, without considering its significance, unnecessarily complicate their struggle against Judeophobia, by suggesting European and Iranian anti-Semitism are the same.

Photo: Lamp post sticker, west Stuttgart, July 30th.

Welcoming Committee

“In the old days, they’d paint a Magen David on your door.” So remarked my father, when I told him of the symbol scrawled at the entrance to our building.

Black bloc to the rescue. Circle A detournement, twenty-four hours later.

The final solution, so to speak. In my view, a different shade of white would do.

Subject/Object

I pass this apartment building whenever I take Pixel and Raster out for a walk. Recently constructed, it is flanked by beautiful old buildings that were most likely built in the early twentieth century. The graffiti is relatively new.

Shooting this photo yesterday, for once I became complicit, (albeit, by accident) with my subject matter, when the dogs decided to urinate on the building. Unfortunately, they relieved themselves outside the scope of the frame.

Near Frankfurter Allee, July 27th.



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