I was sitting in someone's bedroom, surrounded by German men, when the true meaning of integration became clear to me.

It chose a pretty innocuous time. Seven minutes into a friendly Fussball match between Germany and Italy…

A supposedly friendly football game had an unhappy outcome for Anna Cigolini

Heads in hands

The mood lasted about four minutes and dissipated as soon as Italy scored its first goal. German heads were held in German hands, inter-lingual sporting sounds were emitted (it seems that those groans that go with the AFL have globalised). I squealed happily, safe in the knowledge that no matter who won, my cultural identity would come out on top.

See, a product of a multicultural Sydney, I always figured my loyalties were split. If Australia is playing, I scream, cheer, weep, whatever, for that team. MY team. If Italy is playing against a team that's not Australia, then I get to do the same for them. As well as perhaps drool at the sweaty Italians running up and down the field… You know, MY team.

Now, if Germany is playing, I'll scream for them too. Not sure about the drooling, but they can be MY team too. I don't actually understand the rules of soccer. I just see it as a happy celebration of cultural multidimensionality. And an excuse to drink.

Dirty looks

I tried to explain this when Italy's second goal, seven minutes into the game, scored me a series a dirty looks. I clung to my social policy theories as, when Italy scored its third goal before half-time, my beloved asked me to shut up or get out. He was a bit less polite than that.

I gave up entirely on my sociological rantings when MY team won against MY other team, 4:1. I quietly hoped as many people would look as sad at my funeral as they did in front of that TV screen.

Fashionable nationalities

We walked home in silence. Well, ok, I was still singing my little 'Forza Italia' song to any tune that would fit. The others walked home in silence. To our home, which houses three people. Between us, we share four nationalities, only one of which is German.

I consider myself lucky enough to have two rather fashionable nationalities for this time and place, because I nearly choked when I first heard someone I considered left-wing use the term 'Mugda', and my ears still hurt whenever I hear the adjective 'farbiger' ('coloured').

Responsibilities

I could rant about normalizing whiteness. I've tried. And, in fact, if I wake one morning and my boyfriend has moved me and my earthly belongings to another Ort and changed the locks, it will be because we simply can't agree.

He says things about common values. I say things about accepting diversity. He says things about the responsibility you have when you visit a foreign land to operate by the land's codes. I say stuff about the responsibility of the land to provide an infrastructure that doesn't create an underclass, and that being treated as less worthy than the dominant culture makes the transition to a new land and culture even harder. We've had this discussion so often that I think I fell asleep once during one of my own pivotal arguments.

Bearing the brunt

But I know that this is an argument that I can't win, and don't want to win, because I sat in front of my computer and cried with shame and disappointment when race-related riots erupted along Sydney beaches earlier this year. And I know that people of one particular cultural background bore the brunt of the rioting. An unfashionable culture, one that wasn't considered particularly worthy.

So, I think the goalposts have moved somewhat since we first started having domestics over social policy. Neither of us is particularly for anything, at the moment. We're both anti pretty much everything. Which is very useful - at least if you want to continue arguing.

21 March 2006

Copyright Anna Cigolini 2006

Subject: Living in Germany, Anna Cigolini, multiculturalism in Germany, national identity