When I first heard about the “Picnic of Open Blankets” (Picknick der offenen Decken), organized by Freie Bande in the city of Bonn, I thought, Okay… sounds nice. Probably just a group of people sitting on the grass with sandwiches and small talk, but it turned out to be more than that.
It started when a friend invited me to join one of the planning meetings. My German was still shaky, but they welcomed me in anyway. They listened to my ideas and treated me like I was already part of something.
And then came the picnic day.
Honestly? I almost didn’t go. But something in me said, Try Efe… Just try!
So I showed up early to help set things up, spreading out blankets, carrying supplies across the field, greeting people as they arrived.
Slowly, the field came to life…And so did the sun (the real kind, whew).
Blankets in various colours began to fill the field, snacks and drinks were laid out, children were laughing and running around. Someone’s speaker played something I couldn’t name, but it felt summery. The smell of freshly baked pastry drifted over from a nearby blanket. It felt less like an event, more like a neighbourhood coming together. Couples with their kids, groups of friends, different faces and backgrounds all mixing easily.
And then we were asked:
“What does an open society mean to you?” (Was bedeutet eine offene Gesellschaft für dich?)
People gave thoughtful answers. And when it was my turn at the end of the program, I said something like:
“To me, an open society feels like this moment. When you’re sitting on someone else’s blanket, and it feels like yours. When no one’s judging you for not speaking the language perfectly. When no one’s measuring your words or your accent. When people are curious about you… in a kind way, not a suspicious one.”
Okay… maybe I didn’t quite say all of that. But I thought it (the thought counts, no?) 😊 Instead, I said: “An open society is about fairness. About being seen, being accepted, and not being judged. This moment right here… this right here is what I’d call an open society.”
There was even a short session on communication. A reminder that sometimes, we listen just to reply or respond instead of listening to understand. That maybe, instead of saying “But,” we could start with “I hear you” and still share our view without trying to win an argument. That two perspectives can exist at once. I respect yours, and here’s mine…
We met people from all kinds of backgrounds that afternoon. And here’s what I noticed: no one asked, “Where are you from?” in that suspicious tone. You know the one I mean? The question that’s not really a question but a challenge, a way of asking why you’re here or whether you belong. Nobody did that. People were curious, but in a good way. The kind that leans in to know you, not label you.
My daughter doesn’t usually like going to events. She’d rather stay home with her novels. But that afternoon, she wandered between blankets, sat with different groups, actually talked to people.
On our way, she said: “Mom, if something like this comes up again, please take me.”
Later, I kept thinking about those pastries that appeared on our blanket. There was no note, no name; they were left there for whoever wanted them. I asked around, and no one claimed them. Someone had just decided to share something with strangers, and that felt like the whole afternoon in one gesture.
That’s the kind of afternoon it was.
