Germans are finding that death no longer quite becomes them. Europe’s biggest economy is rethinking its way of death, with one start-up claiming to have found a way of prolonging life — digitally at least — beyond the grave.
Youlo — a cheery contraction of “You Only Live Once” — allows people to record personal messages and videos for their loved ones, which are then secured for several years in a “digital tombstone.”
Unveiled at “Life And Death 2022” funeral fair in the northern city of Bremen this month, its creators claim it allows users to have their final word before they slip gently into the good night. Traditionally, Lutheran northern Germany has long had a rather stiff and stern approach to death. But as religion and ritual loosened their hold, the crowds at the fair show people are looking for alternative ways of marking their end — a trend some say has been helped by the coronavirus pandemic.
Photo: AFP
“With globalization, more and more people live their lives far from where they were born,” said Corinna During, the woman behind Youlo.
When you live hundreds of kilometers from relatives, visiting a memorial can “demand a huge amount of effort,” she said.
And the COVID-19 pandemic has only “increased the necessity” to address the problem, she insisted.
NO LONGER TABOO
During lockdowns, many families could only attend funerals by video link, while the existential threat coronavirus posed — some 136,000 people died in Germany — also seems to have challenged longtime taboos about death.
All this has been helped by the success of the German-made Netflix series The Last Word — a mould-breaking “dramedy” hailed for walking the fine line between comedy and tragedy when it comes to death and bereavement.
Much like British comedian Ricky Gervais’ hit series After Life, which turns on a husband grieving the loss of his wife, the heroine of The Last Word embraces death and becomes a eulogist at funerals as her way of coping with the sudden death of her husband.
“Death shouldn’t be a taboo or shocking; we shouldn’t be taken unawares by it, and we certainly shouldn’t talk about it in veiled terms,” Bianca Hauda, the presenter of the popular podcast “Buried, Hauda,” said. “It aims to “help people be less afraid and accept death,” she said.
“The coronavirus crisis will almost certainly leave a trace” on how Germans view death, said sociologist Frank Thieme, author of Dying and Death in Germany. He argued that there has been a change in the culture around death for “the last 20 to 25 years.”
These days, there are classes to teach you how to make your own coffin and even people who make a living writing personalized funeral speeches. Digital technology which was “barely acceptable not so long ago” was also beginning to make its mark, he said.
‘STRAITJACKET’
Historian Norbert Fischer of Hamburg University said they have been a shift toward individualism in the “culture of burials and grief since the beginning of the 21st century.”
“The traditional social institutions of family, neighborhood and church are losing their importance faced with a funeral culture marked by a much greater freedom of choice,” he said.
However, the change has been slower in Germany because “legal rules around funerals are much stricter than most other European countries,” said sociologist Thorsten Benkel, which is at odds with “what individuals aspire to.”
Some political parties like the Greens also want to loosen this legislative “straitjacket,” particularly the law known as the “Friedhofszwang.” The 200-year-old rule bans coffins and urns being buried anywhere, but in a cemetery. Originally passed to prevent outbreaks of disease, it has been largely surpassed as a public health measure, particularly since cremation became popular.
Germany also had a very particular relationship with death in the aftermath of World War II. Back in 1967, the celebrated psychoanalysts Margarete and Alexander Mitscherlich put Germany on the couch with their book The Inability to Mourn.
One of the most influential of the post-war era, the book argued that Germans had collectively swept the horrors committed by the Nazis in their name — and their own huge losses and suffering during the war — under the carpet. Thankfully, said Benkel, mentalities have “changed an awful lot since.”
Climate change, political headwinds and diverging market dynamics around the world have pushed coffee prices to fresh records, jacking up the cost of your everyday brew or a barista’s signature macchiato. While the current hot streak may calm down in the coming months, experts and industry insiders expect volatility will remain the watchword, giving little visibility for producers — two-thirds of whom farm parcels of less than one hectare. METEORIC RISE The price of arabica beans listed in New York surged by 90 percent last year, smashing on Dec. 10 a record dating from 1977 — US$3.48 per pound. Robusta prices have
A dozen excited 10-year-olds are bouncing in their chairs. The small classroom’s walls are lined with racks of wetsuits and water equipment, and decorated with posters of turtles. But the students’ eyes are trained on their teacher, Tseng Ching-ming, describing the currents and sea conditions at nearby Banana Bay, where they’ll soon be going. “Today you have one mission: to take off your equipment and float in the water,” he says. Some of the kids grin, nervously. They don’t know it, but the students from Kenting-Eluan elementary school on Taiwan’s southernmost point, are rare among their peers and predecessors. Despite most of
The resignation of Taiwan People’s Party (TPP) co-founder Ko Wen-je (柯文哲) as party chair on Jan. 1 has led to an interesting battle between two leading party figures, Huang Kuo-chang (黃國昌) and Tsai Pi-ru (蔡壁如). For years the party has been a one-man show, but with Ko being held incommunicado while on trial for corruption, the new chair’s leadership could be make or break for the young party. Not only are the two very different in style, their backgrounds are very different. Tsai is a co-founder of the TPP and has been with Ko from the very beginning. Huang has
Nine Taiwanese nervously stand on an observation platform at Tokyo’s Haneda International Airport. It’s 9:20am on March 27, 1968, and they are awaiting the arrival of Liu Wen-ching (柳文卿), who is about to be deported back to Taiwan where he faces possible execution for his independence activities. As he is removed from a minibus, a tenth activist, Dai Tian-chao (戴天昭), jumps out of his hiding place and attacks the immigration officials — the nine other activists in tow — while urging Liu to make a run for it. But he’s pinned to the ground. Amid the commotion, Liu tries to