The Wall

Insecurity, panic, and protectionism: A solo voice in increasing rage against the abstract idea of hostile strangers. Threat and mistrust and a wall as the only solution. A wall that cannot stop the allegations brings neither peace of mind nor prevents delusional thoughts. The duo Butterland – consisting of writer Regina Dürig and musician Christian Müller – developed a gloomy story and sound piece about the creation of borders as the renunciation of humanity. First shown as a sound installation at the Butterland show Feeding the Hand that Bites Us at Lokal.Int, Biel, March 2018.

»Die Mauer« by Butterland (in German)

»The Wall« (English Translation):

I’m not crazy when I say they stole our hatchet, because one thing is sure: stupid they are not. I’m not crazy when I say they tell each other stories about you, about you, your thighs, your cheeks. I’m not crazy when I say they keep whispering our name over and over again, they put it on lists from which it won’t ever be deleted again, you know, the ink they use is thick. I’m not crazy when I say they want to poison our animals, cause I see their looks, their greed, their envy. I’m not crazy when I say they want to cut off your braids when you sleep, the silky, full and long. Just imagine how they’d hit the ground, so inaudibly sad and also a bit dull.

I’m not crazy when I foster mistrust around here, when I’m facing even those who call themselves our friends around here with my very coldest eye. I’m not crazy when I stop paying off our debts, because, truth be told, they have more than enough. They are blithely accumulating decadences at the expense of what we would deserve. They wear their coats in a manner that is supposed to show that they are superior to us, that they are different, different mainly from us. We who lived here all our lives, whose bodies largely consist of groundwater, who use the language as it is supposed to be done, let me just say: the hard vowels, the consonants, the sound. I am not crazy when I close the gate as of late during the day, because you, my dears, are soft. I know your good-naturedness, the curiosity, all that feeling that is going to make life hard for us in these outrageous times. I’m not crazy when I keep an eye on the forecourt from the window here, when I keep sharpening our knives, the scythe, the ax. I am not crazy when I call you traitors, my girls, because the way you continuously try to silence me, shows so clearly: the severity of the situation is far beyond what your heads comprehend.

I’m not crazy when I say they have stolen our hatchet now, because one thing is sure: stupid they are not.
 I’m not crazy when I say they tell each other stories about you, stories that would embarrass every decent man, please believe me, they are impossible for me to repeat. I’m not crazy when I say they’re whispering our name over and over again, that they pronounce it in a way that’s what gives a strange sound to it, a sound foreign in our very own ear. I’m not crazy when I say they want to poison our animals, cause I see their looks, their greed, their envy.
I’m not crazy when I say they want to cut off your braids when you sleep, the silky, full and long. Just imagine how they’d hit the ground, so inaudibly sad and also a bit dull. I’m not crazy when I say they’re after our property, mind you, the fields, the stream, the forest. Is there one among you who has ever seen a nicer patch of land? I myself most certainly haven’t. I’m not crazy when I say they want to set our house on fire when I say they sneak up with paraffin at night, with cloths soaked in wax, with schnapps.

I’m not crazy when I say it was wise to build a wall, a wall so many stone blocks high.
I’m not crazy when I say: we are safe now, when I let my eyes wander, when I know that everything we have invested was good.
I’m not crazy if I pick up the spade to enlarge the basement, because from now on, my dears, we are alone. We will have to live on, what we are owning now, and you can believe me, it is more than enough.
I am not crazy when I say: it is easy to abstain from all those things that do not originate here, I mean, how important is salt, is silk, is steel. As long as we stick together, nothing can bedevil us, we will be in front of each other just the way we are.
I am not crazy when I say that they are standing there outside with long necks and not knowing what is happening to them. Let them stretch out their dirty hands as long as they want, but my house, my land, my daughters are way out of reach.
I’m not crazy when I say stop whimpering and push up your sleeves, because now the only life commences which is left to us. I’m not crazy when I say we have to keep watch because they will not give up, that’s for sure.
I’m not crazy when I say that I can only sleep peacefully when you know how to defend yourselves, in a short and longer range.
I’m not crazy when I come to cut off your braids in the night, the silky, full and long. Otherwise you could get them in your eyes when you have to aim, and that – for sure – in a critical moment.

I’m not crazy when I say I hear them digging at night, I mean, they have spades, they have torches and dynamite. Imagine what it would be like if suddenly the ground opened up with the sole purpose of dragging you down, into the hands of the tunnel men, into the trenches, into the shafts, into the black.
I’m not crazy when I maneuver our stock out of the cellar when the preserves start to ferment in the sun, because the loss of apple compote is no comparison to being vulnerable, that should be apparent even for you. I’m not crazy if I make you fill up the basement with stone blocks, stone next to stone next to stone next to stone. I’m not crazy when I ask you to please forget about the stock and get started here, go get the stones, oh girls, you’ll find them piled up high around the house. The strength in your arms has to sufficient up for this, right, my dear children, you’re up? I’m not crazy if I make you fill the rooms on the ground floor with the rest of the stones, because you know that your integrity is important to me, the most important thing in this life of all.

I’m not crazy when I say they want to set our house on fire when I say they sneak up with paraffin at night, with cloths soaked in wax, with schnapps. All the stone will be hard to ignite, but you, my dear children, are so very flammable, you with your eyelashes, your hair, your skin.