Germany, the right wing and the nostalgic charm of the moped

The ‘black avalanche’ arrives on a blue scooter. Ulrich Siegmund, the winner of the German regional elections, is now famous not only for his policy proposals (remigration, separate classes for disabled pupils, etc.) but also for the Simson Schwalbe (‘swallow’), that is, the blue moped on which he was photographed and which has become a symbol of his campaign and of ‘Ostalgie’ – that is, nostalgia for the East, and specifically for the GDR, or, for the younger generation, Communist Germany. In an era of political fluidity, it is perhaps not surprising that nostalgia for communism—paradoxically embodied in a vehicle that inadvertently underscores the shortcomings of the former regime, even in the realm of motorized transport—should propel a far-right politician to victory. (Masneri continues in Supplement II)

After all, Siegmund’s political leader, Alice Weidel – who is also celebrating – is opposed to gay couples and immigrants, being a well-known lesbian with a partner from Sri Lanka. The true cultural hegemony that the right has largely secured is that, on the left, we perhaps study more – according to Bonaccini’s theory – and with little to show for it, whilst on the right ‘they do whatever the hell they like’, and they win – as Guzzanti already said – yet, as Walter Benjamin argued, it is only now that this premise has fully entered its ‘age of legibility’; that is, it is a phenomenon – doing whatever the hell they like – that can only now flourish to the full. In short, it captures the true spirit of the times (Zeitgeist, for once appropriately in German: see, we’ve been studying).

Siegmund – previously much more moderate, having already obtained an online degree in economic psychology (who knows if it counts according to the Invalsi-Bonaccini tests), formerly a seller of home fragrances, born in 1990 (the year of reunification) – is now, according to Der Spiegel, “the most dangerous man in Germany” — and he has chosen precisely this ramshackle platform, prompting immediate protests.

Simson was founded in 1856 by the Jewish brothers Löb and Moses Simson, ‘Aryanised’ by the Nazis in 1936 (the family fled and the company was sold off), before becoming the iconic moped of communist East Germany when imports from the West were banned. Today, the descendants are publicly protesting against its Nazi-era use: “an insult to our name”, “it must never become a symbol of the AfD”.

Even this foray into other people’s territory is now part of the right-wing candidate’s new toolkit, such as Dante, Pasolini and Gattuso (or Guttuso? It’s all the same) in the pantheon of Atreju, and Rino Gaetano’s songs at Meloni’s rallies with her perpetually disgruntled relatives (‘Ma il cielo è sempre più blu’ was even played in Bari, though she did remove Guccini from the playlist there). Even the hardline Nazi candidate Höcke, in Thuringia, uses the same scooters in the party’s videos to demonstrate militant cohesion. And he has in fact said that the Simson is excellent for creating “camaraderie” (perhaps to be taken literally), among sympathisers, and that it is far better than the ‘cargo bike’ – those large bikes used by families in the Nordic countries to carry their children, a symbol of left-wing environmentalism (as are, in general, bicycles and cycle paths, now public enemy number one for the right, from Trump to Tosi; see the article opposite).

The right’s relationship with symbols is always interesting; it’s clear that they’re far more adept at navigating these mad times, picking and choosing à la carte from their own and others’ menus, even changing their minds frequently and stirring up a row. It’s an Instagram-style right, of stories that last 24 hours, a ‘Pigna-Corelli’-style right, Alberto Sordi’s character in “Troppo forte”, who one day is a lawyer and forces Verdone to have his spleen removed following a fake (motorbike) accident, and the next day suddenly becomes a dancer, having forgotten everything. In this instance, a motorbike has passed from a Jewish family to the Nazis, from the Nazis to real communism, and from real communism to the far right — without ever changing the carburettor.

Meanwhile, since Sunday, all the fascist brownshirts across the globe have been in raptures (you’ve treated us badly as fascists, when we could just as happily have been a bit Nazi!): it’s understandable. And what about us? Are we simply standing by? Where are the mopeds of nostalgia? Vannacci, who was wandering round the Cernobbio forum at Villa d’Este in a T-shirt, looking like one of those husbands on holiday who wants to make friends with everyone at the breakfast buffet whilst his wife is still asleep, could have turned up on a Vespa, just like on a postcard from the purest “Dolce Vita”. But would it have worked?

Why not? Take the Vespa, too – a symbol of the post-war era and of Italy’s industrial recovery as it emerged from fascism, with its converted aircraft engine: all locally sourced, a stone’s throw from his hometown of Viareggio, in Pontedera, Piaggio’s historic headquarters. But a Vannacci riding a Vespa in the style of Jerry Calà in "Sapore di mare" – the film that cemented nostalgia – also works. While the late heir Giovannino Agnelli (whose mother was a Piaggio employee) was perhaps prematurely labelled a ‘social democrat’ according to the analysis of the time and whizzed about on a silver Vespa, today the Meloni sisters know a thing or two about scooters, though they tend to use their helmets as a statement accessory. Back in 2015, a young Giorgia—a long way from becoming Prime Minister—arrived at the Quirinale riding a white Honda SH, wearing a helmet adorned with the Italian flag; whilst her sister Arianna sports one with the American flag, also on a scooter, also an SH (sovereignists on other people’s scooters), always sitting on the back, but more authentically in black (an SH very different from the one on which Rutelli, the glorious centre-left mayor, used to whizz around Rome long before).

One commentator noted that the state of Saxony-Anhalt voted for the Nazis because it had previously received substantial subsidies that have since been reduced, drawing a parallel with the situation in the South and the Five Star Movement. Before his Cuban misadventures, Dibba had one of those quirky three-wheeled scooters – a Piaggio, of course – which he used to campaign with and then put up for sale on eBay, donating the proceeds to earthquake victims (“the scooter is a Piaggio MP3. It’s practically new, it’s only done 6,000 km, but all in defence of the Constitution!”).

So, here in Italy, what should we do, particularly with the upcoming elections in mind? On the right as well as on the left? A Sicilian cart? An ‘Ape’ – or rather, a Piaggio ‘Lapa’? An ‘Arna’? If it’s difficult to tap into nostalgia for the East, how about a lovely ‘Alfasud’ to satisfy nostalgia for Pomigliano? In short, the search for a vehicle of identity is clearly no walk in the park. What we do know for certain is what we don’t like, what goes down a bit hard.

Vannacci would never turn up in an electric car, for example. Vannacci is a proud diesel driver. “My nephew has a Tesla and every time he has to come and visit me from Milan to Viareggio it’s a nightmare: he has to work out the charging costs. Electric cars cost more. They’re fine in town; they suit the rich. They aren’t cars for the poor, the starving, or the working class,” he said. And of course, the Tesla is a symbol of all evils, owned even by Fratoianni (amid much controversy, here too, and a remarkable logical reversal, because the manufacturer of the Tesla is, after all, the biggest financier of fascists of all shades and from all corners of the globe).

In Moscow, the pair of American negotiators, Kushner and Witkoff—who were immediately mocked in Russia—found a Soviet-made Aurus waiting for them back home. These are the descendants of the Zhiguli, the legendary Fiat-based cars so dear to all Soviet officials, produced in Togliattigrad. However, another of Trump’s close friends, North Korea’s Kim Jong-un, prefers European cars and has been known to appropriate them outright (an order for 1,000 Volvos made history: they were duly delivered to his grandfather in the 1970s and were never paid for).

What about Volkswagen, whose Beetle – already the ‘people’s car’ – was commissioned by Hitler? Does no one regard it as a symbol of Nazi nostalgia? Such an omission appears unjust. Perhaps because it later became a symbol of the much-vaunted model of co-management between trade unions and the factory? And, above all, what about the current disaster of redundancies and the crisis?

Perhaps Italian politicians could capitalise on mixed or fabricated nostalgia – but equally ignorant – such as the electrified Cinquecentos with their roofs cut off, beloved by foreign tourists and which bring Rome to a standstill, even in their nautical version (for the upcoming Cernobbio event); or, even better, on Fantozzi’s Bianchina, which is, moreover, very similar to the now-unobtainable Trabants, another industrial relic of the glorious GDR. With the accountant as the eternal symbol of resistance to the globalist elites and the galactic ‘megamanagers’ who are servants of the EU (and indeed of the Green Deal. Some were even keen on bikes, for that matter – oh well).