Greetings from 50 North

Welcome to 50 north.

Germany (and most of Europe) is on latitude with Canada, for the most part. Forty north, the line that runs through the American near-center-of-mass, paved and labeled I70, barely kisses continental Europe on the far side of the Atlantic.

At 50 north in summer there are a few more precious hours of daylight, and in winter comes the payback. These days I watch the sun rise on my way to work, and if I'm fortunate enough to call a day after a mere nine hours I see it set on my way home.

It's November now, in the sense I remember from where I grew up. November is brown in trees and fields, with green here and there to remind us what green is. But it's the brown month to be sure, leaves off trees, hint of cold, and sheet metal sky, steel-grey with a luminous sheen where sunlight almost pokes through.

There's a beauty in all that. This is a beautiful country, make no mistake. At least this part of it. God and men have conspired well to create a feast for the eyes in almost every direction. The Germans fully appreciate this beauty. Is it strange then that for the ears they rely so much on imports?

American imports, for the most part. Did you catch the American Music Awards? From teeny-bopper icon Justin Timberlake to golden oldies Fleetwood Mac, "appearing via satellite from Germany" and without a Dixie Chicks moment. I note the Dixie Chicks were resoundingly booed when the announcer read their nomination, nearly a year after torpedoing themselves to get a quick burst of applause here in Europe. I had forgotten; for an instant I didn't understand the jeering, for a shorter moment I pitied them, and then I returned to not-giving-a-damn.

The Beatles were here first, you know. These folks whose musical heritage runs the gamut from Wagner to The Scorpions can claim "discovery" of rock's first definitive band.

And the Germans are not fickle in their preferences; once they determine something meets their approval they support it whole-heartedly, and they'll maintain loyalty to the bitter end. Perhaps to a fault. Remember the crowd that cheered Michael Jackson in Berlin, as he dangled a baby over the edge of his 5-star hotel balcony? Accused once again of child molestation in America, the King of Pop can do no wrong here. In America he is innocent until proven guilty, in Europe he is innocent. Rallies are held on his behalf throughout the continent.

How do you supose this (from Agence France Presse) reads to a German audience, almost always eager to believe their atrocities from the past century could be repeated anywhere?

The star's mother, Catherine Jackson, told the online version of Germany's Bunte magazine Friday that there were two interpretations of the law in the United States -- "one for whites and one for blacks".

She suggested her 45-year-old son had been tricked ahead of a major police swoop on his house on Tuesday. "I wonder whether somebody could have set a trap for him and hidden false evidence in his house."

Always alert for opportunities to garner publicity get media "face time" serve justice, Jesse Jackson (no relation) has also gotten into the act.

"Michael deserves due process, the newsrooms should remain objective and the global community must not hasten to judgement (sic)," he said, branding the raid by up to 70 investigators on Jackson's Neverland Ranch "overkill."

Outrage from a man whose support of Shoshana Johnson has evaporated from the press and whose silence on the Lieutenant Colonel Allen West case speaks volumes as to his true character and motivation.

Make no mistake; Jacko is far from proven guilty. Perhaps, like Roman Polanski before him, he will come to live in Europe, where minds are apparently more open and accepting to certain behaviors. And where (at least in certain media circles) this view of American justice is considered witty and insightful.

(Cartoon and translation via David's Medienkritik.)

More to come...