Prussian party-poopers spoil it for the Bonners

An oppressed minority in Germany wants justice. The people of Bonn, who ran the country for four decades from pubs dotting the left bank of the Rhine, are outraged by Prussian moves to stifle their self-expression. The new masters of the Federal Republic have banned carnival festivities from the parliament building in Berlin.

An oppressed minority in Germany wants justice. The people of Bonn, who ran the country for four decades from pubs dotting the left bank of the Rhine, are outraged by Prussian moves to stifle their self-expression. The new masters of the Federal Republic have banned carnival festivities from the parliament building in Berlin.

Perhaps, the Bonners are hoping, the Prussians responsible for this edict were unaware of Rhineland sensibilities, and will reverse their decision. But Wolfgang Thierse, the president of the assembly, has spoken: no carnival under the hallowed roofs of the Reichstag, no red noses, sparkling wine and songs sung in the Cologne dialect. Verboten.

Germany's young democracy was able to develop only a few traditions in its short life, and carnival was one. The chaotic scenes which usher in Lent in Roman Catholic parts of Germany, and especially in the Rhineland, kicked off for the last 31 years in the Bundestag, with women pouncing on their male colleagues and cutting their ties off. It is an age-old custom in those parts, symbolising the craziest moment of the "crazy days" - women redressing the balance in the war of the sexes.

But this year Mr Thierse, a Berliner, decreed that the Berlin Republic would not tolerate the Rhinelanders' revelry. Many MPs and a large proportion of the state bureaucracy are from Bonn. At home, they used to have two days off to get drunk, sing themselves hoarse, pair with the opposite sex and generally break as many social conventions as possible. At carnival time, everything outrageous is allowed, and even expected.

Mr Thierse appears to be oblivious to this charming custom, and therefore stands accused as a "humourless Prussian". His intervention has put the two communities at loggerheads, reviving old enmities and clichés. "Rhinelanders are more friendly and easygoing, and Prussians more reserved," explains Harald Grunert, a leading Bonn expatriate in the new capital.

Mr Grunert is this year's Carnival Prince in Berlin, which is perhaps the greatest honour that can be bestowed on a Rhinelander. There have been secret carnivals in Berlin since the 1920s, but this year the Rhinelanders, boosted in numbers by the influx from the old capital, were to come out into the open. Now all those hopes have been dashed.

There will instead be a small procession to a disco in East Berlin on 2 March. The employees of the Bundestag will be allowed to hold a small celebration on the 29th of this month in a concrete canteen.

The ban is likely to put further strain on relations between the masters of the old republic, most of whom moved to Berlin with the utmost reluctance, and the local élite. The Bonners have been unhappy with the move. Many are staying in small flats in Berlin suburbs because their families refuse to join them. Homesick and lonely, this sad crowd hangs out at Mr Grunert's restaurant, the Ständige Vertretung (permanent representation) named after the Federal Republic's unofficial embassy in the former East Germany. They sip Kölsch, the thin pale beer of Cologne, and chat nostalgically about their 10-minute cycle rides to work when Bonn was the centre of the universe.

How are they to get through their first carnival away from home? You do not even get any time off for that in Berlin. But resistance is mounting. "I've heard of several ministries where celebrations are planned on those days," Mr Grunert says. "I am sure this government will get a taste of carnival anarchy."