Street-punk Oki: Life outside society

No flat for Oki

By Peter Joerdell for R2-Horizon

Photo: Joerdell

Grateful for having "normal" people talk to him for a change: punk Oki.

Solingen. It’s been in the air for a while, a change more felt than actually observed. “The point at which it falls apart”, to quote the title of my favourite album by British band mesh. German society is changing. Since out of all things, the socialist-green coalition that ran the country from 1998-2005 chose to hail the American ideal of a state where everyone is responsible for themselves instead of clinging to “soziale Marktwirtschaft” (social capitalism, a German terminus technicus designating a society constructed on solidarity with capitalism kept at bay by the government), the country has been in a state of fear. Fear of unemployment, fear of losing social status, fear of “not making it” in the eyes of others. Fear of falling through the meshes of the social net that’s supposed to keep you from going right to the bottom. But those meshes have been widened arbitrarily. The fear, in Germany has a name: Hartz IV.

What may sound like the name of some weird medieval ruler is the name of a government counsellor. And the name of a whole bunch of new laws issued in 2003. The goal of the Hartz IV-legislation: To get more people than ever “off the dole” and into serious employment. The result in reality: Poverty is now something not exclusively reserved for hobos and homeless folks anymore. Now, everyone who’s unemployed for longer then a year loses his status as a normal, unemployed person. The gist is: You lose your unemployment support (“Arbeitslosengeld”, usually 60 percent of what you earned last), the cut back is serious. You’re then at the mercy of the Hartz IV-laws and the municipal officials who interpret them. It’s as if they’re continuously playing that song by the Scissor Sisters in their offices: “I can’t decide, whether you should live or die…” Germany is changing.

What we've got in common? We both wear Dr. Martens-boots

Why am I telling you all this? Because today I met my friend Oki. Well, he’s more something of an acquaintance. But I call him “friend” since he calls me thus. He’s a punk, about my age, and he lives most of the time basically at and in the train station that I often start business-trips from. Oki (not his real name, he’s called Thomas) is one of those people who tend to fall through the meshes of the new social order in Germany. Who wouldn’t have been homeless twenty years ago but who are now. And their numbers are increasing. At least it feels that way. The current crisis of course acts as a catalyst.

We met, because we both wear air-cushioned Dr. Martens most of the time. As is habitual with street-punks, Oki commented on that fact as I passed him by - and saw an opportunity to ask for a Euro. And who could resist being complimented on wearing the most beautiful and comfortable shoes in the world - especially if you've also got a weakness for punk-rock?

And of course you ask yourself - could that have happened to me? Perhaps yes, if my parents hadn't looked after me that well, or if I had met the wrong friends at a critical age. Sometimes the difference between a successful and a failed biography is remarkably slim. And shazam! you're sitting there like Oki on those stairs at the underpass, reading a dissolving paperback-novel by German fantasy-author Walter Moers, smoking self-rolled cigarettes, wondering where the next money for hairspray will come from while you're begging for some change, in order to prepare your mohawk for the next day. That isn't pretty. But such is life, too. At least for people like Oki.

Tough stories from Okis life

Oki’s not had an easy or a good life. And when you get to know him a bit and he’s sober enough he’ll tell you that some of the shit that lead to his current situation is definitely his fault. He’s got a history of violence, he did time because he once mugged someone and, well, former drug abuse completes the cliché.

But when you talk to him you can learn from his streetsmarts, and he’s a kind guy. I believe him, when he says he’s a different man now. Today was a downer for him. He almost had a flat. Almost. The place was too expensive, the officials from the Hartz IV authorities told him. So they keep him on the streets in December, instead of finding a solution about the flat that probably just costs 50 Euros too much compared to what they’re allowed to spend. Luckily, in really cold nights he can usually sleep at friends’ places. Germany is changing.

Oki once confided in me that it really touches him, when “normal people“ like me talk to him. “Pete”, he said, “I gotta admit it. Look at my friends, they’re mostly scum. Like me.” But when you’ve reached rock bottom like Oki, your friends are all you have. The only community left.

One evening, a whole crowd of punks was gathered there on the stairs outside the station, as I hurried home after work. One of them was playing Misfits-songs on his guitar. After greeting Oki, I told him I liked that. He smiled and asked: “Which one you wanna hear?” ”Saturday Night of the Famous Monsters-album?“, I replied. He started playing, and we all sang “Saturday Night” by The Misfits. There it was, out of the blue: Community. And I was a part of it, just like that, in that particular moment. I didn’t feel like Germany had changed in those minutes. But I certainly had.