For those who came in late, Enzensberger is a terrific German poet, and this is great prose.
The first time I saw an American was in 1945. He sat in a jeep, looking well-fed, confident and even dashing in his freshly pressed uniform, cruising through a landscape of rubble with his left hand lazily hanging out, holding a cigarette. An armada of benign aliens had finally arrived to deliver Germany from its twelve years’ nightmare. Overnight the rats had scurried away and hidden in the ruins, and suddenly some of us felt free to do as we liked. Why these liberators had first bombed us and then imposed democracy on a reluctant population was not quite clear to me. <SNIP>
For a few decades we lived under the American umbrella, and the place became, as they say, an economic giant while remaining a political dwarf. Only the most hardened Nazi could fail to feel gratitude and admiration for the invaders from outer space. Full article:
http://www.granta.com/extracts/1638