Whenever discussions turn to Britain or Germany, I find myself in the curious position of defending Germany, while heaping shovel fulls of opprobrium on my former home. This isn’t entirely surprising. I was born in Britain by chance, but I actively chose to become German. I’m not blinkered to the many issues that daily swirl around German society like so many satellites of negativity, but I’m much more likely to see the positives as well. Call it integration or Stockholm syndrome, but I’m really enthusiastic about Germany. However, it’s hard to muster the same enthusiasm for Britain. The way I see it, Britain is the family member you adore, but who seems to be a constant well of disappointment. I love them, but I just wish they would stop breaking my heart. Germany on the other hand is the best of best friends, the family member not by blood, but by choice. That love is different.

Germans tend not to agree with my rosey outlook. Instead they seem constantly underwhelmed with their country. If the train is early, someone will point out the many times it was late. If there’s a bargain to be had in the supermarket, someone will remember when they were overcharged. If there’s genuinely something to complain about, that complaint will be darker and more foreboding than is necessarily true. I’m convinced that if Germany was to reach utopia, there would be a voice complaining about how it was better before we cured all disease and whizzed around on hoverboards.

All this negativity might be upsetting to some, but to the British it’s a welcome balm. As my complaining about Britain suggests, the British like the Germans are champion complainers. Having said that, British complaining is slightly different. For example, the British often complain as a way to start a conversation. Maybe it’s the weather, maybe the traffic, nearly always its politicians, but whatever it is, complaining about it can be a good way to start a conversation. The conversational British complaint isn’t necessarily unserious, sometimes it can be deadly so, but usually it’s not about finding a resolution to a problem, it’s about having a cathartic moan. 

The conversational complaint doesn’t function in the same way in Germany. Over the years, often when I’m not thinking, I’ll accidentally begin a conversation by moaning about some daft problem. Recently it’s been the oppressively hot weather. I like it, but sometimes I’ll mop my brow and utter something along the lines of ‘It’s bloody hot, isn’t it’. Instead of replying with an agreeable ‘Too right!’ or ‘Tell me about it!’ I’ll be met by brute force German pragmatism. Complaints in Germany aren’t simply idle conversation, they’re things to be fixed. If I tell a German I’m too hot, they may tell me I’m wearing the wrong clothes, or that I should go for a swim, drink a cool beverage or stay out of the sun. These are all good suggestions, but not ones I was actually looking for. Practical solutions take all the fun out of moaning.

If a German conversationally complains about something, it’s not to absently moan, instead it’s to tell a fully contained story with a beginning, a middle, and an end. Someone might tell you about buying a product, finding that it was broken, taking it back to complain and receiving a full refund. If there’s a cliffhanger to be found in one of these tales of woe, it’s that the person complaining is still waiting for a reply to their email of complaint. Germans don’t wait quietly when there’s an issue, they pick up a phone, write and email or go directly to the source to rectify whatever injustice has been perpetrated. This is not how things are done in Britain.

Some offences do go beyond the confines of the conversational British complaint, and when this happens, British people opt for one of two extremes: absolute silence or full blown rage. The former is the most common. British people are frequently upset by the realities of modern life, but you would rarely know. British culture teaches that’s it’s actually rude to complain, and that ‘making a fuss’ is a highly negative activity, almost as bad as the original grievance itself. If someone receives the wrong order at a restaurant, they’ll often eat it anyway, just to avoid saying anything that might be construed as a complaint. If they do complain at all, it will be couched in apologetic indirectness, using an almost begging tone that communicates how awful it is that they’ve been forced to correct the mistakes of others.

The other side of the complaint coin is ruddy faced bellowing aggression. If the complaint needs to be made, if it can’t be solved by suffering in silence, then the British will switch to red hot insanity. Angry British complaint is always over the top, wildly gesticulated and often incomprehensible. Usually this choice of strategy invites a series of escalations, until the police arrive and end up macing everyone they can see. Weirdly of the two approaches, Germans appreciate the second. 

For Germans, the idea of not saying anything when unhappy seems at best idiotic, and at worst dishonest. I see this played out when family come to stay with us. Perhaps someone wanted more pillows or a cup of tea, but didn’t say anything. When I tell my wife in passing about these tiny issues, she’ll often groan and ask the same question ‘Well, why didn’t they say anything!?’. It’s a fair question, but since I’ve explained the issue to both sides of my family many, many times, I tend to just shrug and make a non committal noise. I could complain, but you know, I wouldn’t want to make a fuss. 

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