Aug 30, 2025
Rosa Luxemburg 🚩
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Rosa Luxemburg 🚩
Socialism is the only way to achieve social justice. There can be no social justice without socialism.
Menschen sind dreckig. Egoistisch. Sie können es nicht anders. Verzeih ihnen.
Ansichtskarte
Kulturzentrum Neuhausen (Erzgeb.) Kulturhaus Schloß Purschenstein Festsaal Tel.: 310
Reichenbach (Vogtl): VEB BILD UND HEIMAT Reichenbach i.V. (V 11 28 A 3/60 - DDR 14/4805 944/60)
Foto: Spahn, Olbernhau
1960
welcher genosse hat uns im kampf gegen die plage der tankstellenpreise unterstützt?
Hört sofort auf, Marx zu lesen, ihr Verfassungsfeinde!
Sind Marx-Lesekreise schon der Versuch, das System zu stürzen? Ein Hamburger Verein wehrt sich gegen den Vorwurf des Verfassungsschutzes – m
Der [Verfassungsschutz] aber bleibt auch Mittwoch bei seiner Einschätzung. „In der Gesamtschau“, so erläutert es ein Amtsmitarbeiter, verfolge der Verein das Ziel, den Kapitalismus zu überwinden. Und das, so schrieb das Amt zuvor, „unter dem Deckmantel der Wissenschaft und der Bildung“.
Der Verfassungsschutz sieht die kapitalistische Wirtschaftsordnung noch immer als Teil der fdGO an. Wer auch nur laut darüber nachdenkt, ob es eine bessere Alternative gäbe, wird zum Feind der Demokratie erklärt.
Kapitalismus steht zwar weder in der Verfassung, noch stellt das Bundesverfassungsgericht in seiner Definition der fdGO darauf ab:
In der neuesten Rechtsprechung zur fdGO betont das BVerfG in seiner zweiten NPD-Verbotsentscheidung vom 17.01.2017, dass die fdGO nur diejenigen zentralen Grundprinzipien umfasse, die für den freiheitlichen Verfassungsstaat schlechthin unentbehrlich seien (BVerfGE 144, 20–367, Rn. 538). Dabei sei die menschliche Würde (Art. 1 GG) „Ausgangspunkt“ und das Demokratieprinzip „konstitutiver Bestandteil“ (Rn. 542). Begriffsbestimmend sei weiterhin das Rechtsstaatsprinzip, insbesondere das staatliche Gewaltmonopol in Verbindung mit der Rechtsbindung der öffentlichen Gewalt sowie die Kontrolle dieser Bindung durch unabhängige Gerichte (Rn. 547).
Dem VS ist das aber egal. Wer heute das Kapital liest, errichtet morgen eine Gewaltherrschaft. Wahrscheinlich haben die Verfassungsschützer mal was von Diktatur des Proletariats gehört, können sich über dieses Schlagwort aber nicht informieren, ohne sich selbst beobachten zu müssen. Schade eigentlich.
Völlig ohne jeden Zusammenhang zu diesem Artikel erwähne ich an dieser Stelle noch, dass der "jüngste" Verfassungsschutzbericht zum Thema Alternative für Deutschland, der mit Blick auf die Bundestagswahl zurückgehalten wurde, noch immer nicht veröffentlicht wurde.
Wahrscheinlich sitzen die verantwortlichen Beamten seit nunmehr neun Jahren in einem Lesekreis und debattieren, ob sowas hier mit der fdGO vereinbar ist oder nicht:
so true
The Adventures of Randy the Roast Chicken: The Pickle Jar
PSA: This story has been translated from German. If you speak German, I'd recommend you read the original
////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
“RANDY!” yells Hans.
I run to the kitchen. Standing there is Hans, in front of an open cabinet door, looking horrified.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, concerned.
“My pickle jar is gone!”
“FUCK.”
Hans’ pickle jar is holy to him. It was gifted to him by his ex soccer coach from his teenage years. Yes, Hans played soccer when he was a teenager. He was that kind of guy. Luckily he stopped because he had a lightbulb moment and realized soccer sucks. Still, the pickle jar has always stayed incredibly important to him because he had a crush on his coach at the time, and the dude gave it to him while crying and explained that he’d spent months making it himself.
“Are you sure it’s gone?” I ask as sensitively as I can.
“YES.”
“FUCK.”
We spend the rest of the day going through the whole apartment, but the pickle jar really is gone.
“Someone must have stolen it!” Hans says despairingly when it starts getting dark outside.
“But what kind of person would steal a pickle jar? What kind of person would steal a pickle jar out of our apartment?”
“No idea, but we’ve been living here for a year, and I still get the feeling, that there’s so many things I don’t know about roast chickens. Maybe they love pickle jars! Or maybe it’s not even a general roast chicken thing, maybe one specific roast chicken just desperately wanted this specific pickle jar!”
I sigh. “Yeah, you’re right. Okay, we have to try and remember what chickens have been in our apartment lately.”
We spend all night making a list. It ends up containing many of our friends, which is why we agree not to tell the story to any of our friends just yet. We take the list and make our way to the roast police. The roast police isn’t like the police that humans know of. The main difference is the fact that they always treat every roast chicken, no matter if they’re perpetrator or victim, roast chicken or roost chicken, with roast chicken rights.
Wie strike up a conversation with a roast officer, who tells us she’ll investigate everyone on our list. Naturally, we come along.
The first doorbell we ring is Lola’s.
“Where were you yesterday evening between six and seven o’clock?” Roast Officer Kay asks.
“What?” asks Lola. “The fuck is going on here? Randy, what happened?”
“I’m sorry, but I can’t tell you. We both promised to keep our mouths shut,” I explain.
Lola rolls her eyes. “I swear, I really don’t know why I’m friends with you two. I was at home, watching a movie.”
Kay makes a note of this.
“Do you have any more questions? If so, please hurry,” Lola adds.
“I do, actually. Have you ever stolen a pickle jar?” asks Kay.
“Um… no?”
“Okay.” Kay writes down another note and then turns to Hans and me. “Who’s next on the list?”
I get it from my pocket. “Maya.”
“Vamos a la Maya.”
“Vamos a la Maya.”
We march on.
Maya is in her garden.
“Hey Hans, Randy, Kay,” she calls to us.
“You already know Kay?” Hans asks.
“Nah, but Kay’s name is on the uniform.”
“Oh yeah, I forgot.”
“Maya, where were you yesterday evening between seven and eight o’clock?” Kay asks.
“I was out with my group,” Maya explains.
“Your group?” asks Kay.
“Yeah,” answers Maya.
“What kind of group?”
“Just like, my group.”
“And what were you doing with the group?”
“Hot girl shit.”
“Hot girl shit?”
“Yeah, we always do hot girl shit. Every Wednesday at seven thirty.”
“Ah, I understand.” Kay makes a note of this. “Can we perhaps talk to someone from your group so to get a confirmation of your story?”
“Sure, I’ll call Johanna.” Maya holds her phone to her ear for half a minute before putting it down. “She can’t right now, she’s doing hot girl shit.”
“And the others?”
“Them too.”
“Okay.”
Next we go to Klaus. He opens the door and stares at us. We stare back. The thing about Klaus is that you could spend hours looking into his eyes. If there’s anyone for who the sentence ‘the eyes are the window to the soul’ is actually true, then it’s Klaus.
“Um… can we maybe have a look around?” Kay finally asks.
Klaus stares at us. We stare back.
“Yeah, I guess,” he says and moves aside.
We go inside. We look around. The pickle jar is nowhere to be seen.
“Klaus, did you steal a pickle jar from Hans?” asks Kay.
“Nope,” answers Klaus.
We go back outside.
Hans is very sad.
“It’ll be okay, we’ll find your pickle jar. I promise,” I try to comfort him.
“But what if we don’t find it? It’s the only thing I have left from my coach?”
“We’ll find it, even if we have to search the entire roast universe,” says Kay. “I’m an expert in things like this, and I almost always find the things I’m searching for.”
Hans looks at Kay with a dash of hope in his eyes. “Really?”
“Really,” says Kay and smiles.
We head to Margaret. The door is open so we just go inside. She’s sitting at the table in front of a Bunsen burner. And over the Bunsen burner…
“My pickle jar!” Hans yells and tries to pick it up, but burns himself in the process. “FUCK! MARGARET, WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING WITH MY PICKLE JAR AND A BUNSEN BURNER?”
“I wanted to see if it would melt,” she answers all chill.
Hans looks like he’d like to have her beheaded. “MELTS? MELTS? YOU WANTED TO MELT MY PICKLE JAR?”
“Okay so it wasn’t really about your pickle jar, it was about a pickle jar. I’ve melted lemon jars, orange jars, apple jars, mango jars, zucchini jars, blueberry jars, tomato jars, lime jars, banana jars, raspberry jars, cherry jars, bean jars, corn jars, carrot jars, pepper jars, mushroom jars, potato jars, blue cabbage jars, salad jars, cauliflower jars, red cabbage jars, broccoli jars, spinach jars, chard jars, clementine jars and pea jars before, but never a pickle jar. They’re really hard to find for some reason. That’s why I was so excited when I saw one at your place.”
Footnote: In the German language there are two names for red cabbage: Rotkohl in Northern Germany and Blaukraut in Southern Germany. The reasons for the different names is that the ground in these areas has a different pH value, causing the plant to be either red or green. In the story, this has been translated as Margaret speaking of blue cabbage and of red cabbage. They are, however, exactly the same thing.
“AND YOU JUST-“
“Hans,” I put my hand on his shoulder. “Come on, there’s no point.”
I take a potholder and pick up the pickle jar, then Hans and I head home and Kay goes back to work.
The pickle jar has now been put in an absolutely secure glass display case in our kitchen. If the glass gets broken or something, an alarm goes off. Hans is very happy with this, because he can now always keep his soccer coach who he had a strange relationship with in mind. And I’m happy because Hans is happy.