Numerous punks are again among the weekend tourists on Sylt. You want to set an example – and celebrate. While they reap a lot of sympathy, nearby restaurateurs are worried about the absent guests.
The chaos days on Sylt go on – at least that’s the motto of the punks, who settled down again at the weekend, mainly at the “Dicke Wilhelmine” fountain in the city center of Westerland. The mood remains largely relaxed, but there are several incidents. As a result, displeasure is growing in related businesses.
The punks want to have music, alcohol and fun here. Saturday morning is initially largely quiet. Maybe 20 people from the scene have been drinking their drinks since the morning, enjoying the good weather. “We don’t cause any stress,” Sterni assures. Like most, he only wants to be called by his nickname: “There are cool people here. We just sit around and annoy people.”
Few seem annoyed, however. Rather, the nine-euro punks themselves have become a tourist attraction. Passers-by stop again and again, watch the hustle and bustle with amusement and take souvenir photos. Some also want to talk to them, like Dale Carpenter. The retired lawyer from America now lives in Germany with his wife and has come to Sylt for a week’s vacation. “My son was also a punk,” he says. They may look funny, but in his experience they are mostly good people. “Many have false prejudices,” observes Carpenter. That is why he attaches great importance to direct exchange.
For Kitty, 19 years old, dyed red hair, a spiked neckband and dressed in black, being punk means one thing above all: freedom. “To live and dress how I want to,” she continues. In her hometown in Mecklenburg-Western Pomerania, she also takes a stand against fascism and does educational work.
However, she is the only punk in her life. “I know how people stare at you,” Kitty, who has just completed a voluntary social year (FSJ), does not shy away from the looks of Sylt tourists. The punks also wanted to show them that there was a world outside their orbit. It was also important for her to meet like-minded people here. “I love the atmosphere, it’s warm,” she enthuses. It’s about cohesion and standing up for being different – without behaving antisocially.
Mickey Schreiber also shows understanding for the concern. “Most of them don’t mind – if we weren’t directly affected, neither would we,” he says and later adds: “Then I would sit down with a bottle of schnapps myself.” But Schreiber runs the directly adjacent restaurant together with his brother Robin Cropino. Only started in February 2020, the two had to survive the corona restrictions right from the start.
Now guests stayed away because of the punks, says Schreiber. Some would come to watch this spectacle. But that’s just a minority. “If the summer goes on like this, we can forget about it and close the shop,” says Schreiber. Especially since the fountain is the wrong place to annoy the “bonzes”, as punks keep saying; they can be found in other places on the island. “We are normal people and not a posh restaurant, we have to pay rent and employees and make a living from something,” he says.
If the group were to move in front of the nearby town hall, as on the evening of the previous week, the tradespeople here would not be so heavily burdened. However, he did not achieve anything with the administration and the police with his request. Instead, Schreiber has been criticized for his statements by outsiders on social media. The operator of a crepe stand is similarly frustrated, whose presence is almost completely lost behind the dot. “Some of the people are nice and friendly,” he also emphasizes, not having any aversion to the punks themselves. But for the family business, which has been in existence for 31 years, the lack of customers is a threat to its existence. “It hits the Sylter; it’s not all that well thought out,” he says.
However, punks on the island are not a new phenomenon, only the crowd is new. Honecker, as he is nicknamed, has also been to Westerland from time to time in recent years, he says. “There are enough philistines here,” he says. It is also about holding up a mirror to society. “The gap between the layers is widening and the cohesion is decreasing,” he complains. There is also bad politics. “We and the right are becoming more and more,” he observes. At some point it can no longer be ignored.
After riots are said to have erupted within the punk scene on Friday – they themselves speak of a fight with the right – things will remain largely calm on Saturday. Because the Antifa flag is hoisted, the police move in the meantime. Then it quickly disappears again. It only gets confusing for a moment: First, there is a group of men in football shirts. A woman wearing a bra yells “Asshole!” after one of them. “Show me tits,” he asked her, she says.
When paramedics arrive to treat a man for foot pain and the police arrive, glass rattles elsewhere. Immediately, the punks and said group of men face each other loudly, provoking each other. The football fans also accuse a cameraman. The group threw the bottle and almost hit someone, one of the punks later said. “Then we’ll go, otherwise we won’t make any bullying,” he emphasizes.
In the afternoon, the wish of the restaurateurs comes true: some of the punks continue towards Kampen. On the bus, the pensioner from Hesse, who earns some extra money here as a seasonal worker in the catering trade, talks about rampaging and smoking HSV fans on the bus. In contrast, the punks behaved much more civilized.
However, the days of chaos in Kampen will not happen. On the way to the beach, the group chats humorously with restaurant visitors. Once there, they settle down in the beach chairs, enjoy the sea air, waves and a fresh pinch of wind with beer and music.
