Carnival: the organised suspension of the normal rules

A common stereotype has it that Germans tend to lack any sense of humour. Even when engaging in humorous banter, the typical German purportedly checks first whether “jocularity” is even on the agenda. Like a government agency, German humour is said to have only limited opening hours. Germany’s carnival is an officially sanctioned and controlled period when the normal rules are suspended. The “fifth season” begins in Germany - as you’d expect - at a precise moment: at 11.11 am on the 11th day of the 11th month.  

Following a euphoric kick-off, however, what then follows is several weeks of calm before the storm. Behind the scenes, people are busily rehearsing and preparing for the carnival. In January, the “carnival meetings” then begin - jolly occasions where the booze flows freely: they feature a great deal of glitter, more or less original costumes, songs to sing and sway along to, the “Gardetanz” majorettes and - yes, really - plenty of humour. The humour comes in the form of “Büttenreden”, speeches that combine cabaret with rhyming verse and must be in dialect. Every punchline comes with a fanfare to ensure that everyone gets it. The “fools” - those officially taking part in the carnival - must use regionally specific cries, such as “Helau”, “Alaaf” or “Narri-Narro”, to whip the audience into a frenzy.  

In around mid-February, the carnival culminates in the “tolle Tage” - the crazy days. On Fat Thursday, the Thursday before Rose Monday, women symbolically take control and cut men’s ties off - though fewer and fewer men actually wear them these days. The fools also take over the local town hall and are handed the keys to the city by the surrendering mayor.

In many regions, this organised abandonment of inhibition reaches its absolute climax on Rose Monday: major processions, confetti and themed carnival floats featuring oversized papier-mâché figures that mock politicians with such blunt humour that even autocrats get the joke. Usually, at least. That said, Russia is suing Düsseldorf float builder Jacques Tilly for his satirical depictions of Vladimir Putin.

Then Ash Wednesday arrives - and it’s all over. Humour is then duly placed into storage again until the next carnival season. The good news is: Germans don’t lack humour on principle. It’s just that they see humour as a precisely coordinated cultural device with defined operating hours.