Every college has its dirty little secret. Normally tucked away at the far end of the furthest quad, you can see across Oxford the respective mistakes of colleges’ loony forebears in the 1960s. “Good joke, guys” would be my initial reaction to most of them if I did not have to live in one of their number. It was quite something, arriving at a stunningly beautiful (ok, moderately stunningly beautiful) college, a key factor in my choice of college, to be presented with the keys to Staircase 4. The looks of sympathy I got on arrival were an indicator of things to come. A spiral staircase, a Soviet-esque roof suitable for the handover of spies and another spiral staircase later, I was in my room and pleasantly surprised that at least it was marginally less prison-like in its decor than the hallway. Perhaps the most depressing aspect was that it does not have the modcons one would expect a modern building to possess: the hot water, when not coloured red by what I presume is rust, is freezing cold. It is another two spiral staircases, hard enough to navigate whilst sober, to get to the two loos for fifteen people. Indeed, in my freshers meeting with the College President, he was most enthused when he mentioned knocking the entire monstrosity down. It does, after all, ruin the so-called ‘architectural integrity’ of the place. 

In a desperate attempt to see the positive side of all this, I will now try to justify why these 1960s monstrosities, from St John’s infamous Beehive building to my very own, humble Staircase 4, add to the richness and diversity of Oxford Life. The first point to make is that it could be seen as a massive group-bonding exercise. Whilst we are all admittedly suffering, at least we can find mutual consolation in the fact that we are all suffering together. In fresher’s week, once the usual subject-staircase-place of origin formula was used up, we filled those awkward pauses with endless moaning about the hot water system or the paucity of loos. It was, to use that ghastly phrase, what one would call an ‘ice-breaker’. 

These 1960s monstrosities are also a vital component in the overall architectural character of the place. For, without them, Oxford would be dull in its uniform beauty. The monstrosities fulfil an important function; by breaking up the homogenous architectural experience, they render the 16th century turrets and stain-glass windows all the more impressive by virtue of comparison. Indeed, I appreciate the beauty of the view outside my window all the more by the relative hideousness of the building in which I am sitting. (Incidentally, one of the great bonuses of living in one of these 1960s buildings is that you do not have to look at them.) Furthermore, they are proof that Oxford is a living, breathing city. It is very easy to see Oxford as a city of the past, a monument to the nation’s heritage. Yet, it is easy to forget that it remains an active institution, filled to the brim with young people and a sprinkling of academics. The disconnect between the two is bridged by the less tasteful elements of the city’s past and, indeed, such elements showcase the full range of the city’s history, in a way that the orthodox beauty of traditional Oxford cannot. On the same train of thought, the architectural imperfections of Oxford make Oxford seem just a little less daunting and more welcoming to timid freshers who descend upon this alien city. 

Several of my fellow inmates, and independently of each other, came up with the following interesting psychological angle: living in architectural-hell in your first year means that your second year accomodation will nearly always prove a step up. It is a natural progression in many colleges to go from shoddy building in the first year to beautiful, stereotypical Oxford building in the second – although perhaps this does not apply to St Catz. Not only does this transition make you appreciate the second year accommodation to a much greater extent, but it also makes the burden of first year accommodation all the more bearable.

So, next time you bemoan the poor architectural choices of your respective colleges, remember that they, as much as the ancient quads, are part-and-parcel of the Oxford experience, and, most likely, where some of your best memories of Oxford will be made. And even after a few weeks, the sharp edges of Staircase 4 are beginning to grow on me – It is home after all.

The boys in military uniform, the saluting, the marching. The waving of our nation’s flag as if it justifies the deaths we are here to remember. The proud brandishing of guns; the very machinery that causes the destruction we mourn over. Poppy day isn’t about remembrance, it’s about glorifying the bravado that killed, and continues to kill, many.

Remembrance services are inextricably linked to the automatic respect and glorification of the armed forces, with more time given to military parades than reflection on those who have died. Our natural human empathy towards those who have suffered from war is manipulated in order to brand our foreign policy as worthy and heroic. Of course, at times, soldiers have been vital for the protection of our country, but we must be careful that Remembrance Day avoids using past battles to justify current policy. We cannot use the fight against Nazism to achieve public justification of Britain’s part in conflicts today.

In Flanders Fields, read to schoolchildren across the country, exemplifies the propaganda we face each November. It is significant that Remembrance Day has adopted McCrae’s poem, written early in WWI before the true horrors of war were revealed, since the campaign is desperate to romanticise and glorify the grim reality of war. ‘Take up our quarrel with the foe,’ reads the poem, echoing in services across the country. If Remembrance Day truly respected those who have lost their lives in war, it would surrender this bloodthirsty rhetoric and military propaganda.

But the military propaganda isn’t limited to the annual ritual of Remembrance Day. Organisations like Help for Heroes blindly label soldiers as heroes, whilst they fight wars that public polls continually express overwhelming opposition to. How can a hero die fighting an unheroic cause? Help for Heroes aims to care for serviceman and their families, compensating for the government’s continued neglect of the armed forces. Yet these campaigns rely on nationalistic rhetoric of heroes and protectionism, in order to care for serviceman, only serving to increase public backing of otherwise unjust and unpopular conflicts.

To blindly honour any armed forces, no matter their actions or purpose, is dangerous. We need to be free to support and protect ex-serviceman without glorifying the forces that continue to cause such widespread death and destruction. Remembrance Day stops us from doing this – it ties the memory of individuals killed by war with the groups that continue to perpetuate conflicts today. On Remembrance Day we should be remembering people who have suffered, yet we allow the campaign to manipulate our empathy into something more nationalistic, antagonistic and dangerous, lending itself to xenophobia and racism. The Daily Mail recently published an article challenging Muslim women to prove their patriotism by wearing a poppy, and it is exactly this pseudo-patriotism that has no role in an event to remember those who have lost their lives.

Perhaps more important is that Remembrance Day has been hijacked by the armed forces to the exclusion of the other victims of war. The Poppy Campaign raises funds for ex-Serviceman and their families, organised by the Royal British Legion and the Haig fund. Central to this is the memory of soldiers who have died in wars past and present. Not just soldiers, but exclusively British soldiers – as if war is not an evil that affects all sides, but an evil that is unique to Britain. Innocent civilians are forgotten – no poppies are worn in their memory, no services held, no poems recited. This is especially surprising considering that over 90% of the victims of modern warfare are non-combatants. Look at the Iraq war, where the death toll of over 120,000 civilians towers above the 5,000 occupying troop who have lost their lives. Yet on Remembrance Day it is clear that we believe it is only the British soldiers who deserve our memory.

Currently all that decides if we mourn the soldiers of the two world wars is their birthplace – after all, both German and British soldiers were separated only by borders – often both conscribed, and equally disillusioned with the war they fought. Today it is bizarre that we exclusively remember those who died in British uniform – the rhetoric of ‘protecting our nation,’ seems hollow considering the public’s opposition to recent foreign policy. On the one day we set aside to reflect, we continue to cling to the tribal mentality of remembering the soldiers who died on ‘our’ side and not ‘theirs.’ Has death and destruction not taught us that it is the loss of human life which is to be mourned, not just the loss of a national?

It is for these reasons that the White Poppy campaign is growing – a symbol for the memory of all who have suffered and continue to suffer, united in the shared belief in peace. It remembers the victims of war regardless of their army, their nation or their cause, because it doesn’t have the arrogance to assume that the British cause is any better than the cause of anybody else. It remembers those who brandished guns as well as those who refused to fight. It remembers the Iraqis as well as the British soldier. In short, it remembers victims of war because they were human, not just because they were soldiers.

It’s often said that since soldiers ‘give their lives for us,’ we have a duty to participate in Remembrance Services. Yet the greatest insult to their memory isn’t to object to the ritual military propaganda of Remembrance Day, it is to ignore their experiences. To claim that their death was tragic, but not tragic enough to stop the glorification of war and start the campaign for peace. It is an insult to allow their memorial services to be hijacked by the armed forces, who continue to cause the death and destruction we mourn over. Instead we must put remembrance back at the heart of Remembrance Day, and ensure that it is a positive force for peace in the future, and not for the maintenance of militarism, chauvinism and war.

Robert Walmsley: Yes 

We all know OUSU has a terrible reputation. Ranked the least popular student union in the UK for two years running and with a turnout of 16% at its last election, OUSU is anything but a cherished Oxford institution. Given this recent history, it is not surprising then that the idea has emerged that Oxford students need to somehow reclaim OUSU, if it can be said that students ever had a popular claim on it.

OUSU came into existence in the 1960s, with the aim of representing, supporting and enhancing the lives of students. Few would disagree that in recent years OUSU has fallen short of these aims. In spite of this, OUSU continues to matter, as it manages a fairly sizeable budget. OUSU is funded by a block grant from the University and the profits from its commercial subsidiary, Oxford Student Services Limited, known for sending you spam emails. However, despite these resources few students could tell you what this money is spent on. Although, the people who do use their services seem to be generally positive about them.

According to the website Unistat, Oxford has an extremely low level of satisfaction with its student union, even for a collegiate university. For example, the National Student Survey found student satisfaction with the Oxford University student union was 36%, compared to 42%, at Cambridge, 50%, at Durham, and 62% at York.

Considering the clear lack of an OUSU fan club, who are we to blame for this distinct lack of popularity? The answer most people seem to suggest is the indomitable scourge of student politicians.  OUSU does not have an unearned reputation for this. For example, Will Straw, OUSU President in 2003, has been selected to run, as the Labour candidate, in the constituency of Rossendale and Darwen, for the 2015 general election. It is no wonder then we see repeated promises of change, which has condemned Oxford students to feel like they are suffering from an endless rerun of the rhetoric of the 2008 American presidential election.

What seems to turn many people off is the disparity between the language candidates use to talk about OUSU elections and how students talk about it. Candidates talk in terms of utopian ideals of representation and abstract promises, while when students talk about OUSU the conversation is often characterised by mistrust, suspicion and general apathy. The consistently low turnout in OUSU elections is a demonstration of this fact.

The largest problem OUSU has is it has so far failed to reach a widely recognised purpose, which demonstrates its value to Oxford students. Oxford students need to know what OUSU provides them that their JCR or MCR does not. What will be far less clear to most Oxford students is who the right candidate to establish such a purpose is. Oxford has no shortage of student politicians, but it does seem to have a shortage of popular ones. If sweeping change does not happen this year… well, there is always next year.

(This article was mistakenly attributed to Will Railton in print on 15/11/13. Apologies to both Robert and Will) 

Alexander Trafford: No 

As we approach sixth week, and election-obsessed hacks of all sorts become increasingly nervous and over friendly, it is hard to miss the fact that you’ll soon be asked to vote for at least one person in at least one election because they are ‘the only candidate who will really make a difference’. OUSU’s is certainly the most obvious and least avoidable upcoming election. This is either because someone will almost certainly wake you up one morning by banging on your door and asking you to vote, or because the candidates will appear in your JCR meeting so that each of them can explain in turn why they really are the person who should be in the Labour Party cabinet in fifteen years’ time. With the largest electorate, OUSU’s is not an election to be ignored, and so I’m sure that you noticed the rallying cry this week that this term is our chance to ‘Reclaim OUSU’. Now, I didn’t want to write on this side of the debate to attack the particular slate or campaign; I think it’s an honourable one. Instead, I simply suggest that successful reclamation or not, most students won’t notice the difference. 

It is stereotypical and dull to criticise OUSU and suggest that our student union ‘does nothing’, which is why I’m only going to do that a little bit. Right or wrong, it is certainly a popular view that OUSU is irrelevant to the life of an Oxford undergraduate. There is of course a legitimate part of this claim; the collegiate nature of the University does mean that much of what is done by most other student unions is handled in Oxford by JCRs and their committees. Repeated pledges and plans for OUSU to offer a more typical student union building to act as a student hub are met with tepid responses and blank stares. Though there are a few particularly angry people who disaffiliate themselves from our student union before they even arrive here, on the whole OUSU doesn’t inspire hatred. Instead, most people simply aren’t interested: I say that the OUSU election shouldn’t be ignored, but it might be useful to remember the fact that the vast majority of students don’t even bother to vote.

I don’t deny that what OUSU does, it does well. Particularly when it comes to specific areas such as welfare, rather than attempting to represent the views of Oxford’s students on national issues, OUSU clearly provides a real benefit. The OUSU Exec repeatedly prove themselves to be very good at what they do, whether or not they are the ‘student politicians’ that some would have us resent. So why would OUSU need reclaiming? For more pledges to find new ways to extend OUSU’s reach and remit; something that students clearly aren’t calling for. Seeing as a student union’s purpose is to reflect its student’s views and wishes, it might be worth listening to that. Our student union doesn’t need reclaiming: the indifferent student body it represents clearly thinks OUSU is doing just fine.

A new atheist church in Oxford? Praise God! Who wouldn’t want a movement that’s committed to making a positive impact in our community? It’s wonderful to hear of the Sunday Assembly’s desire to be ‘a place of love that is open and accepting’. Leo Mercer argued last week in these pages that the Sunday Assembly ‘offered those things that religion provides, though without dogmas or liturgy’. He mentioned some of those things that the Sunday Assembly seeks to emulate: ‘community, a place in which to reflect, a sense of purpose, and so on.’

And yet I wonder: are the wonderful aims and desires of the Sunday Assembly really compatible with its self-conscious atheism? Community and purpose aren’t ideals that Christians have happened upon, disconnected from what it is we believe; rather they flow from our understanding of the world – the ‘dogmas’ the Sunday assembly wants to do without. The two are inseparable.

I’m not surprised by the Sunday Assembly’s desire to build inclusive communities. The urge to gather in community is common to all humanity. But can an organisation that states ‘we come from nothing and go to nothing’ really have any basis for affirming that we should ‘live better, help often, wonder more’? By contrast the Christian understanding of humanity being made equally in the image of God was the bedrock of the human rights we all cherish. Couple that with the Christian understanding of us as flawed, yet unconditionally loved by God, and you have a strong basis to treat others respectfully and lovingly despite inevitably being let down and letting others down. Of course, in practice atheists are often more loving and generous than Christians – but in principle, with an atheistic understanding of the world, there’s no basis for affirming love instead of hate, or helping instead of hindering.

I fear that in their search for loving community, the Sunday Assembly have mistaken the trimmings for the Sunday roast: I’m not connected with this stranger sitting next to me because I’m singing a Disney song with them, but because we both know that through Jesus we have been made right with God and are now in his family together.

The same goes for meaning and purpose. Jesus says that we are to love God with all we are and have, and to love our neighbour as ourselves. And he provides powerful motivation for those who seek to live out this generous teaching by setting us the ultimate example: loving us so much that he died for us. But if we ‘don’t do God’ then can there be ultimate meaning? Sartre seemed to recognise this tension in Existentialism and Human Emotions: ‘If I’ve discarded God the Father, there has to be someone to invent values…life has no meaning a priori. Before you come alive, life is nothing; it’s up to you to give it meaning, and value is nothing else but the meaning you choose.’ Can we honestly feel the depth of this predicament and yet continue to celebrate life with integrity?

I wish the Sunday Assembly every success as it seeks to impact our city for the best. And yet the question remains: can the reality of an atheistic worldview sustain the goals the Sunday Assembly longs for? Could it be that the Christian understanding of the nature of reality and the human condition is actually the only basis for living better, finding purpose and building community, ideals that are the centre of what it means to be human?

Religious people might think that a church could never be atheistic; atheists might think that they would never need a church. But this weekend, the ‘Sunday Assembly’ held their first service in Oxford. Founded earlier this year in London, they call themselves an ‘atheist church’ – and there are now over forty of them around the world.

The structure of the Assembly’s service was modeled closely on a church service, though much more upbeat than what that brings to mind for most of us. In place of hymns, it began with bellowing sing-alongs (Queen, Disney, and others). In place of readings there were poems by Cavafy and W H Davies. In place of a sermon there was a speaker, this time Mark Leonard about mindfulness. And in place of a preacher, it was led by comedian and founder of the Sunday Assembly, Sanderson Jones. The theme of the first meeting was, more or less, loving life. As Jones put it, you can forget about this ‘when your to-do list is not getting to-done’, and it is good to have a space in which to remember how wonderful life is.

There are many atheists who would reject the idea of an atheist church fiercely. They want to distance themselves from anything religious. Religion is irrational or immoral, they say. The best thing is to get rid of all traces of religion, or at least, to realize there are no traces worth keeping. Moreover, they might simply not feel the need for the sorts of community that traditional religions offer. Yet there are three reasons why atheists should welcome the Sunday Assembly, and other initiatives like it.

Firstly, it will make atheism a more attractive possibility to many people. ‘New Atheism’ has tried – and often succeeded – to turn people away from religion through arguments. But this won’t change everyone’s mind. It is clear from the recent resurgence of religion, and other forms of spirituality, all over the world, that many people do search for things that religion can offer: community, a place in which to reflect, a sense of purpose, and so on. But, if it is true that there is no reason that it should only be religion that offers this, then atheists must work hard to show this.

More than that, it is a big statement for many people to call themselves an atheist. It seems like a purely negative statement: how can I be completely sure? And if I don’t believe in god, what do I believe in? But imagine if atheists stopped talk about their lack of belief in god, and defined themselves positively as a community that offered those things that religion provides, though without dogmas or liturgy. This would change the connotation of ‘atheism’, and make it much easier for many people to choose to be a part of.

Secondly, it will help bring a greater quality of life to those people who already consider themselves atheist. At the moment, being an atheist is a major identity statement for a person, but on the whole does not contribute much to them. Someone searching for meaning in their life would have to be an atheist and something else (like an artist, or a meditator) in order to find it. But why can’t atheists try come together as atheists, and make communities where people, just by being part of the community, find meaning?

Thirdly, if atheists define themselves only negatively, they will dwell on their differences from other people, delineating themselves sharply and aggressively. This will lead increasingly to tensions between religious people and atheists. But if they focus on community building, they will focus less on their differences from others, but on how to make themselves the strongest communities possible, and perhaps find positive ways of relating communally to other groups.

All this suggests that atheists should welcome and pursue the idea of community building. That being said, it is probably best to lose the term ‘atheist church’ – that’s just for publicity. Though there is some sense to the term, it will just multiply confusion and controversy. Atheists communities would of course not be obligatory for atheists; for those people happy living without it, fine. Nor would there be any one way of running it. But until atheists show that they can build communities and provide meaning for a wide variety of people, their influence on contemporary society will be weaker than it could be both in terms of breadth and depth.

I tend to react to social media sites in the same, middle-aged way: I moan about them, watch my friends jump on board, then make a silent U-turn.

Last week I caved and got Twitter.

I was governed by a need to curb my illegitimate Facebook hashtagging and a misguided notion that Twitter is “like Facebook, but with more intelligent people”. Warning: careful cultivation of an employer-friendly, ‘I’m so cultured’, pristine profile is easily dashed by one swift, reckless follow. This was literally the case for me when I followed ‘FeministTaylorSwift’ (I regret nothing).

I was left infuriated at Step One on the road to this shiny, new form of procrastination, however, when my name was already taken. No big deal you may say. It happens. Tweeter @JohnLewis has been cordially responding to complaining customers of @JohnLewisRetail for months, bless him.

But this minor username setback was the culmination of constant online frustration, the lengthening of a cyber-shadow hanging over me, the latest threat to my internet identity.

For the past two years, I have been receiving the emails of another Rebecca Fairbank. Doesn’t sound too traumatic, does it? After all, people get junk mail all the time. Oxford accounts have previously been bombarded by dodgy-looking companies offering to do essays for us. It’s blatant and it’s shocking. An article on the perils of commercial cheating would probably have been a more intelligent contribution, but the Exam Regulations doorstop has got that covered. These spamming companies may be morally questionable, but at least they reached their target (stressed fresher) market. Top marks for trying.

I’m not concerned here with mass marketing emails, but with masses of emails sent to me. Over the years I’ve inadvertently received an eclectic, comical range of offerings meant for my Email Doppelgänger. Highlights include:

1. Four security passes from the German Federal Ministry of the Interior, granting access to a meeting at the Bundestag. The email itself was encoded in the name of ‘heightened security arrangements’, so my response telling them that they had breached their own security bounced. Oh the irony.
2. An award from the History of Art department of an American University. This was the most disappointing of all the misdirected emails. I was waiting to receive an art history essay back from a tutor at the time, and so wildly overestimated my own abilities on first glance.
3. Constant messages from a woman called Faith, the Young Woman’s leader of a Rhode Island church. She’s pretty peeved that Rebecca didn’t help out at church camp, despite her e-card pleas.
4. Weekly parenting emails. Did you know that babies start rolling over when they’re 3 months old?

This last example landed in my inbox relatively early on in the saga. At first I thought my friends’ had set me up based on the fact that I am the least broody person ever to be graced with ovaries. Their denials led to some thorough Facebook stalking. The mystery was solved: I found an American, pregnant, graduate, Christian, Rebecca Fairbank (who lived in Berlin for a year, fyi).

This should be the end of the story. I attempted to contact her, I disowned her Dad, I restored Faith’s faith (sorry) in her online organisational skills. But after a brief respite, the emails kept coming. Maybe it’s a technical glitch, or she gives out the wrong address on purpose, or her contacts have old mailing lists. In the case of her Dad, Bob – well he’s just forgetful, look how long it took him to forward that email from Aunt Jeanne (she sends her love to baby Rachel by the way).

It’s clear that I know way too much about this woman’s life. I know her parent’s names, her town, her former university. It’s a fraudster’s dream; it’s a nuisance. I spend a fair amount of time replying to random people, “From Another Rebecca Fairbank”. But despite this, I can’t help but feeling a strange sort of affinity with my online double. After five months of receiving maternity hospital newsletters, I was genuinely excited to hear the news of the birth of baby Rachel. I’d been privy to baby shower proposals, Bob was sending me baby gear ideas – basically, my inbox was as pregnant with plans as the parents-to-be.

I’ve also gained an insight into a life lived to the full. Here was someone putting my name to better use than me. The fact that I initially thought the emails were intended for several different people – the diplomat, the volunteer, the expectant mother – stands testament to a person successfully juggling the demands of modern life, in a way that seems implausible on paper. And that’s inspiring. Friends have advised me to change my email address. But if the postman kept delivering someone else’s letters to your house, would you move?

So, without starting a Sinead-Miley style spat: let this be an open letter to you, American Rebecca Fairbank. It’s been quite a journey. But please stop giving out my email address. And give my love to Aunt Jeanne.

The English language is threatening Europe’s different cultures. Nobody can really stop it, it is happening every day at an intimidating pace. Two countries particularly affected are France and Germany, both of which possess very old and meaningful languages, which are in danger of eventually dying out as more and more English enters their vocabulary. Action needs to be taken immediately, otherwise languages and thereby cultures will soon be lost. People will lose their identification, which lies in both culture and language. 

Or is this really true?

As a German, I am perfectly aware of all the discussion relating to this, which has been going on for years. It is true, indeed, that the vocabulary of French as well as German does contain an increasing amount of English words. However, these include terms which usually find their origin in the digital arena. The internet was invented, so were computers and laptops, MP3 Players and so on. Very often technical devises, invented in the English speaking world, which have not been given a translated name in German or French. This is especially the case in France, where every single English word entering the language is given an equivalent in French as to protect the language. However, the English terms tend to spread before the new terms are even invented, and very often it becomes impossible to replace it by the new one after this fact. But if these terms describe things originating from the English or American culture, do we really need to make up new terms for them?

Another very important thing to consider is the effect the infiltration of the English language has on culture. Any given language does contain some cultural value, as culture has always influenced language and vice versa. So the possibility of losing some of our cultural identity by losing some of our language must not be ignored. 

One of the brothers Grimm was particularly engaged in linguistics. If you change a few words of his writings, you could simply reprint it onto the German language today and no one would notice that it is not current. He criticized exactly the same issue of language encroachment which is criticised today, only that the role now given to English was back then attributed to French and Latin. Grimm was furious that many words of French and Latin were becoming part of the German vocabulary, while there were perfect German options available, yet these words are now considered totally German. We may indeed have adapted the spelling and the pronunciation, but that does not make the words any more “originally German”. 

It is true that some of our cultural value gets lost, or “replaced”, as some new word enters our language instead. However, in the past, it was not just about using French words; we copied their style of planning streets and partly adapted to their style of living. So by including French terms, we could also say, we enriched our language alongside our culture. This may actually give a truer idea of what really happened. Today, we include English terms in our language, and our cultural identity is surely modified by that, but is it actually oppressed? We have adopted the Bachelor-Master system for University, we have a strong economical connection to the US and to England, we promote exchanges – and still expect all this to have no influence at all? It is a shame that we do not see how much we gain by including elements of another culture in our own. 

What really struck me at the beginning of my time at Oxford, were the many German terms I came across in English Textbooks. The English did not seem to bother changing particular expressions from German, “Gestalt-Psychology”, “doppelganger” or “angst” were just a few of them. The English, it seems, do just the same as we do. And this is only for German, not including all the French or Latin expressions in English.

All the languages mentioned here have their origins in the Proto-Indo-European Language. And over time all the different languages have split from it, evolved, and finally become their own. They have influenced one another ever since and developed further. Why can we not focus on the obvious enrichment this gives to our culture instead?