Springtime in Weimar by Cassandra
Surely, also, there were just as many beautiful springtime afternoons in China in the 1950s. After 400 years of internecine and colonial humiliation, the Chinese were again masters in their own house. Industry was humming. Employment was up. Hope filled the air. Ah, to be in Canton (Guangzhou) in, say, 1955, walking among the plane trees where Sengtsan walked. If I were there, would I see, would I hear what was coming? And think of the spread of lovely days blanketing Europe around 1900. European culture was in its flower, not only on the Continent but around the world. And the world paid rich homage, filling England, France, and Germany with luxury. Ah, to be in Paris, say, in 1905, walking down the Champs Elysée with Rodin and Rilke. If I were there, would I see, would I hear what was coming? Now Cassandra sits in her own lovely little garden, beautiful day after beautiful day, watching America. Industry is humming. Employment is up. The little civil wars of the 1960s are an ugly memory. The larger war of that decade abroad is now reduced to a tasteful, if wrenching, monument in Washington. The rising tide lifts many boats--if not quite all: (enough prisoners to populate an Atlanta; enough homeless to populate a Boston). I'm here. Do I see what's coming? As in Weimar, Canton, and Paris, the volume of activity is so great and so loud that it is difficult to see and hear anything other than what is immediately in front of one. One catches glimpses of disaster, snatches of distant thunder, blurred omens which vanish when you try to focus on them. A deepening, widening abyss of inequality in the distribution of wealth? A stirring monster of environmental degradation only further irritated by half-hearted measures of control? An insomniac atomic dragon whose 40,000 nuclear scales glow dully in the dim light of its underground lair? Endemic color-bound global racism whose hypocritical words (we won't tolerate racism) are belied by its rapacious deeds (lighter is brighter)? Cassandra sits in her garden, remembers, and looks for signs of hope. Economists speak of a new world of unending prosperity. Scientists speak of and deliver endless new wonders. Empires collapse. Lions and lambs try to lie down together. Is this enough to avert any of the possible catastrophes? Are we better, have we become better than we think we are? Have we learned something? Yes, but, Cassandra says, alas, not enough. Not nearly enough. Antarctica is melting. Greenland is melting. Species small and large are diminishing and dying. Etc. Etc. You don't want to hear about it--again. Cassandra doesn't want to say it--again. Why spoil this beautiful springtime in New York / Kuala Lumpur / New Delhi / Sao Paulo / Tokyo? Tomorrow is another epoch. END
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Do
you not think there were beautiful springtime afternoons in Weimar in the 1930s?
Many, many. Industry was humming. Employment was up. The disastrous inflation of the 1920s
was a bad memory. The 1936 Olympics had again made Berlin a world-city. Ah, to be in
Weimar in, say, 1937, walking among the crocuses where Goethe and Schiller walked. If I
were there, would I see, would I hear what was coming?