Yours, Anne
Monday, 27 March, 1944
Dear Kitty, One very big chapter of our history in hiding should really be about politics, but as this subject doesn’t interest me personally very much, I’ve let it go so far. So, for once, I will devote my whole letter to politics today.
It goes without saying that there are very many different opinions on this topic, and its even more logical that it should be a favourite subject for discussion in such critical times, but—it’s just simply stupid that there should be so many quarrels over it.
They may speculate, laugh, abuse, and grumble, let them do what they will, as long as they stew in their own juice and don’t quarrel, because the consequences are usually unpleasant.
The people from outside bring with them a lot of news that is not true, however, up till now our radio hasn’t lied to us. Jan, Miep, Kleiman, Bep and Kugler all show ups and downs in their political moods, Jan least of all.
Political feeling here in the 'Secret Annexe’ is always about the same.
During the countless arguments over invasion, air raids, speeches, etc., one also always hears the countless cries of impossible, or Um Gottes Willen, if they are going to start now however long is it going to last.’ “It’s going splendidly, first class, good!” Optimists and pessimists, and, above all, let’s not forget the realists, all give their opinions with untiring energy and, just as with everything else, each one thinks he alone is right. It annoys a certain lady that her spouse has such unparalleled faith in the British, and a certain gentleman attacks his lady because of her teasing and disparaging remarks about his beloved nation.
They never seem to tire of it. I have discovered something— the effects of which are just like pricking someone with a pin and waiting to see how
they jump. This is what I do: begin on politics. One question, one word, one sentence, and at once they’re off!
Just as if the ‘German Wehrmacht’ News bulletins and the English B.B.C. were not enough, they have now introduced ‘Special Air-Raid Announcements.’ In one word, magnificent; but on the other hand often disappointing too. The British are making a non-stop business of their air attacks, with the same zest as the Germans make a business of lying. The radio, therefore, goes on early in the morning and is listened to at all hours of the day, until nine, ten, and often 11 o’clock in the evening.
This is certainly a sign that the grown-ups have infinite patience, but it also means the power of absorption of their brains is pretty limited, with exceptions, of course—I don’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings. One or two news bulletins would be ample per day! But the old geese, well—I’ve said my piece! ‘Music While you Work; the Dutch broadcast from England, Frank Phillips or Queen Wilhelmina, they each get their turn and an ever attentive ear. And if our elders are not eating or sleeping, then they’re sitting around the radio and discussing food, sleep, and politics.
Ugh! It gets so boring, and it’s quite a job not to become a dull old stick oneself. Politics can’t do much more harm to the parents!
I must mention one shining exception—a speech by our beloved Winston Churchill is quite perfect; 9 o’clock on Sunday evening. The teapot stands, with the cozy over it. on the table, and the guests come in. Dussel is next to the radio (on the left), Mr. van Daan in front of it, with Peter beside him. Mummy is next to Mr. van Daan and Mrs. van Daan behind him, Pim at the table and Margot and I beside him. I see I haven’t described very clearly how we sit. The gentlemen puff away at their pipes, Peter’s eyes are popping out of his head with the strain of listening. Mummy is wearing a long, dark negligee, Mrs. van Daan trembling because of the planes, which take no notice of the speech but fly blithely on towards Essen, Daddy sipping tea, Margot and I united in a sisterly fashion by the sleeping Mouschi, who has claimed both
