Ok, maybe it's not the worst thing that the Observer has ever published. How would I know that? It did irritate me a lot, though. Some sentences might illustrate why:
That Cologne audience, utterly opposed to terrorist violence, nonetheless felt a pang of sympathy with the protagonists. Thirty years ago, would they have turned away those terrorist boys and girls if they had come begging for shelter? Would they have called the police?
Well, obviously, yes, unless they were confused, pre-disposed idiots. Would you let a criminal thug like Andrees Baader or a zombiefied political groupie like Gudrun Ensslin into your house? Or, like, how would you feel listening to Ulrike Mienhof explain that she was sending her two kids to grow up in a Palestinian refugee camp so that they could be reared in the heart of the international revolutionary struggle? Oh, yes, that's a good idea Ulrike, I wish I'd have thought of that. Thanks, Mum!
One of these radicals was Andreas Baader, an unstable tearaway with devastating charisma and a taste for violence.
Or, you could say, a mentally disturbed, psychopathic little chancer.
the extraordinary Gudrun Ensslin.
Ludicrous. I think we've all met a pseudo-Gudrun Ensslin, and I don't think we'd consider the real deal to be extraordinary at all.
The culmination of that friendship was the 1970 springing of Andreas Baader. Afterwards the gang, now growing in numbers, went to Lebanon for military training with Palestinian guerrillas. Back in Germany, the shooting war began with a series of spectacular bank raids and clashes with the police
All of which was petty and pathetic, in reality. The RAF trip to Lebanon was farcical; the Palestinians couldn't wait to get rid of these jokers. The assassinations and bank robberies and "clashes" were horrible, and sordid and pointless, rather like the RAF/Red Brigade style of politics. This was a rudimentary, shifting, almost incidental thing; an extreme lifestyle choice rather than a serious political programme. To indulge and confirm their seriousness in this regard, as Acherson clearly does, is absurd and trivial. This is the last thing about them you can take seriously.
I'm stupidly fascinated by the late-60s-70s-80s international ultraleft terrorist underground and try to read everything that is written about it, and the best book on the RAF I've ever read is
this near-contemporary, impeccably researched and sourced account. It ably demonstrates that the principal points of interest in regard to these groups and individuals is not politcial, but psychological, biographical, social. Essentially, despite their ridiculous reputation, RAF are in no way elevated over, say, the Patty Hearst-kidnapping, suburban bank robbing, farcical communique-issueing Symbionese Liberation Army (all 10 of them!!).
Around the group, there was soon a wide 'sympathiser' network of people who shared the RAF aims, even though they rejected their terrorist methods.
Because, of course, they could be seperated. By the time the RAF became the RAF, terrorism was exactly part of their aim. That's why they were the RAF! You either believe in revolutionary violence, or you don't 'sympathise' with the RAF.
Meinhof would have agreed with that. So might Ensslin. A wonderful scene in the film shows her strutting naked in the Lebanese sun, jeering at shocked Palestinian recruits. 'What's the matter? Fucking and shooting; it's the same thing!'
Wonderful?? It sounds fucking terrible. Really, Acherson's sheepish qualifications barely disguise the fact that this article is one long fucking
eulogy!