The Pennsylvania State University
The Graduate School
College of the Liberal Arts
NARRATING THE IMAGINATION OF UNIFIED NATIONS
IN POST-APARTHEID SOUTH AFRICA AND POST-WALL GERMANY
A Dissertation in
German
by
Imke Brust
© 2009 Imke Brust
Submitted in Partial Fulfillment
of the Requirements
for the Degree of
Doctor of Philosophy
May 2009
The dissertation of Imke Brust was reviewed and approved* by the following:
Daniel Leonhard Purdy
Associate Professor of German
Graduate Program Officer for the Department of German
Dissertation Adviser
Chair of Committee
Cary Fenton Fraser
Associate Professor of African & African-American Studies and History
Thomas Oliver Beebee
Distinguished Professor of Comparative Literature and German
John Philip Christman
Associate Professor of Philosophy, Political Science and Women’s Studies
* Signatures are on file in the Graduate School
ii
ABSTRACT
My dissertation explores selected writings from post-wall Germany and post-apartheid
South Africa in order to determine how the concept of a unified nation is imagined in literature
within both countries. Approaching the nation state as a discursive construct, whose dominant
national narrative is defined by the elites in power, my research focuses on the alternative
national narratives of both nation-states, which are being explored in the two countries’
literature. My project asserts the argument that fiction is a realm that can incite a discussion, or
create a shift in consciousness, from which national change can arise. At the same time, fiction,
as a product of the imagination may already envision changes that seem quite impossible under
the existing circumstances. Moreover, the Bakhtinian heteroglossia in fiction, the overlapping,
and coexistence of narratives, mirrors the image of a nation-state that consists of, or is shaped by,
multiple communities rather than the common assumption of being a homogenous entity. In my
dissertation, I discuss the following contemporary German and South African works in detail: (1)
Narratives of Transition: Günter Grass Ein Weites Feld (1995), Kerstin Jentzsch’s Seit die Götter
Ratlos Sind (1994), Thomas Brussig’s Wie Es Leuchtet (2004), Zakes Mda’s Ways of Dying
(1995), Sindiwe Magona’s Mother to Mother (1998), and Antjie Krog’s The Country of My Skull
(1998) (2) Narratives of Repression: Günter Grass’ Im Krebsgang (2002), Monika Maron’s Stille
Zeile Sechs (1991), Zafer Senocak’s Gefährliche Verwandtschaft (1998), Mike Nicol’s The Ibis
Tapestry (1998), Achmat Dangor’s Bitter Fruit (2001), and Zoë Wicomb’s David’s Story (2001).
My literary research explores in particular the utopian possibilities, the missed chances
that both, Germany and South Africa, experienced in the transition to a new society, and how
those missed chances affect the present. I approach the process of unified democratization in
both countries with Frantz Fanon’s idea of ‘national consciousness’ and Hannah Arendt’s idea of
‘empathy’ in order to determine how the development of self-awareness and reciprocal
understanding can lead to national change. For both, South Africa and Germany, countries,
which have been shaped by the traumas of pathological nationalism and the search for alternative
visions of nation, it is of compelling interest to map out how modern nation states develop from
imagination to “concretion” so that national pathological pitfalls can be avoided and the
transnational dimensions of nation-building strengthened. The German and South African
experiences have illustrated the importance of conceiving the nation as part of both international
and transnational communities. A discursive construct of a nation-state that allows for a plurality
of national narratives is much better suited for a broader local collective, such as the European or
African Union, as well as for a global community, because it allows for differences and
similarities and is therefore more dynamic, flexible, and inclusive.
iii
Table of Contents
Page
Chapter I: Playing Ball – From Germany to South Africa and Back
1
Chapter II: An Ethical Inquiry into the Imagination of Nations
14
Chapter III: National Narratives
78
Chapter IV: Narrating the Reunification
116
Chapter V: Narrating the End of Apartheid
166
Chapter VI: Germany – Vergangenheitsbewältigung
198
Chapter VII: South Africa – Working Through the Past
299
Chapter VIII: Conclusion
387
Appendix A: Germany – Reunification in the Fast Lane
398
Appendix B: South Africa – The Transition in Slow Motion
416
Bibliography
436
iv
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I would like to thank the Africana Research Center at the Pennsylvania State University for
awarding me the dissertation fellowship 2006/2007, which made possible the completion of this
dissertation. In addition, I would like to thank my committee, Dr. Daniel Purdy, Dr. Thomas
Beebee, and Dr. John Christman for all their support. Very special thanks go to Dr. Cary Fraser,
who would always listen and have advice. Furthermore, I would like to thank my parents, Ursula
Brust and Dr. Rüdiger Brust, and my brother Roland Brust, who supported and believed in me.
Above all, I thank the love of my life, Daniel Robert Kopp, without whom it would have been so
much more difficult, if not impossible, to complete this dissertation.
v
CHAPTER ONE
PLAYING BALL - FROM GERMANY TO SOUTH AFRICA – AND BACK
Die Welt zu Gast bei Freunden1
Motto of the Soccer World Cup
Germany, 2006
Africa is calling: Come home to Africa in 2010 - Kommen Sie heim nach Afrika in 2010.
Thabo Mbeki, South African President
Tempodrom, Berlin: 7 July 2006
1.
Introduction:
The two statements above are an excellent illustration of the self-image of Germany
and South Africa. As positive as the motto of German Soccer World Cup sounds, it
nevertheless leaves an unpleasant aftertaste, because guests are only temporarily
welcome and they are expected to leave. Simultaneously, the motto conjures Germany’s
problematic relation to its “Gastarbeiter”2, many of whom have lived in Germany for
several decades, but still remain foreigners. Mbeki’s statement stands in sharp contrast to
the German motto. The South African president welcomes people home. He not only
identifies his country as part of the larger continent of Africa, but he portrays it as the
home of the world. Germany appears thus as a country, where people remain guests or
only lose this status over a long period of time before they can claim to be home. South
Africa, however, depicts itself as the home of all.
1
2
“The world a guest of friends”
Guest workers
1
In this respect, my work is interested in the concept of unified nations in post-wall
Germany and post-apartheid South Africa and focuses on selected writings from both
countries, in order to determine how the unified nations are imagined in the respective
countries’ literature. I explore in particular the utopian possibilities, the missed chances
that both countries experienced in the phase of the interregnum, and what became of
them. Approaching the process of unified democratization in both countries with Frantz
Fanon’s idea of ‘national consciousness’, my dissertation aims at discovering how the
development of self-awareness can lead to national change. For South Africa and
Germany, both countries, which have experienced severe “national pathologies” it is of
particular interest to map out how nations develop from imagination to “concretion” and
how national pathological pitfalls can be avoided. At the same time, my dissertation
highlights transnational dimensions of nation-building. In addition, my writing
investigates the different paths of restitution and reconciliation that South Africa and
Germany chose in the formation of the united nation, and what role these dissimilar
approaches played in the construction of new and alternative imaginaries of nation.
I argue that in the course of nation formation one national narrative becomes
dominant. It is therefore of utmost importance to explore the ‘other’ national narratives.
A multiplicity of national narratives enables people to perceive nationality as a
constructed identity, which offers them a place from where to speak. Simultaneously,
people can negotiate what being a nation means, while also assuming responsibility for
the action of a nation. My dissertation focuses on the alternative national narratives
explored in the respective countries’ literature, because contemporary nation formation is
largely dominated by visual imagery that aims at eliminating the speaking subject; the
2
discourse, which should really define nations. While in the 19th century literature largely
contributed to the framing of nations, in the 20th and 21st century, literature provides a
sphere and a space for challenging the nation.
The celebration of national pride in Germany during the Soccer World Cup from June
9th until July 9th 2006 was an unprecedented novelty. Never before since the German
reunification on the 3rd of October 1990 had Germans expressed their pride for their
country on such a large mass scale. The unforeseen success of the German national
soccer team triggered great enthusiasm among some parts of the German population,
which through intensive media coverage quickly turned the whole country into one big
national party. National colored merchandise reached levels of popularity it had never
experienced before. The soccer team appeared as the great unifier and the answer to all
questions. However, with the end of the World Cup the “Sommermärchen”3 was soon
over and there remained a certain void. Apart from soccer it was not clear what the
German nation was all about. Enchanted by the feeling of national unity, many Germans
have therefore already booked their 2010 Soccer World Cup packages for South Africa.
Although it seems questionable whether Germans will recuperate their national pride in
South Africa, they may learn other valuable lessons about the meaning of the nation
there.
At the same time, it speaks volumes that of all the countries in Africa, South Africa
will host the 2010 Soccer World Cup. It is the first World Cup ever to be hosted on the
continent of Africa. Although the country in which apartheid reigned for over forty-five
years, South Africa is not only the richest country in Africa, but also the one country in
Africa with one of the closest ties to Europe and the U.S.A. In particular, Germany and
3
Summer Fairy Tale
3
South Africa, however, share several, some of them very uncanny, links. On a political
level, the two countries, which appear so dissimilar, have indeed a close bond: Not only
did the South African apartheid ideology develop in tandem with, parallel to and out of
the German Nazi ideology4, but post-apartheid South Africa also modeled its constitution
and federal versus regional system of power sharing on the constitution and structures of
post-Nazi West-Germany.5 Given these influences of Germany on South Africa, my work
is interested in highlighting how the German nations could have benefited from the
nation building process in South Africa, e.g. instituting a Truth and Reconciliation
Commission etc.
Apart from the political links between Germany and South Africa, other connections
between the two countries trigger interest for the similarities and the dissimilarities
between the two countries. During the 1990s both countries overcame a former
separation and achieved political unity. In both countries the new nation was brought
about by a “velvet revolution”.6 Moreover, it has been argued that the fall of the Berlin
Wall in 1989 led to the demise of apartheid because the justification of the
institutionalization of apartheid as ‘a last stand against the Red Peril’ had become invalid.
In this respect, apartheid also represented a wall; i.e. an ideological wall. Previously, the
threat of international communism had been “lurking” especially in the so-called
4
See: Saul Dubow, “Afrikaner Nationalism, Apartheid and the Conceptualization of ‘Race’”, The Journal
of African History, Vol. 33, No. 2. (1992), pp.209-237
5
Richard Simeon & Christina Murray “Multi-Level Government in South Africa”, Bruce Berman, Dickson
Eyoh & Will Kymlicka, Ethnicity & Democracy in Africa (Oxford: James Currey Ltd., 2004) 283
(Hereafter quoted as: Simeon, page number)
6
The six-week period between November 17, and December 29, 1989 became known as the "Velvet
Revolution" because of the bloodless overthrow of the Czechoslovak communist regime. This term can
also applied to the similarly non-violent overthrow of the German socialist regime in the GDR in 1989 and
the non-violent overthrow of the apartheid regime in South Africa in 1994. Although it is clear that
violence clearly played a very defining role in the struggle against apartheid in South Africa and in the
struggle against the socialist regime in the GDR, the term ‘velvet revolution’ seems appropriate to refer to
the peaceful political transition in both countries in contrast to the war between the former states of
Yugoslavia for example.
4
frontline states of Mozambique, Angola, Zambia, Zimbabwe and Namibia.7 Although
located on different continents and embedded in dissimilar histories, both nations
nevertheless experienced a similar loss of identity as a result of this velvet revolution and
faced the challenge of building a new nation state out of this crisis. In South Africa, as
well as in Germany, this new nation state was founded on a capitalist basis after the
previous ideological dispute of the Cold War. However, today both countries still
struggle with the aftermath of the economic disparities that were inherent to the former
systems. In addition, the legal reconstitution of the state by way of redefining the
“nation” through the incorporation of new constituencies was achieved much faster than
the people could psychologically grow together. Moreover, both nations had to find a
constructive way of integrating a past of “racial capitalism”8 into the shaping of a
national future, while keeping the memory of this past alive in a responsible manner.
Finally, both countries are nation states within a broader geopolitical perspective, i.e.
South Africa as part of an African collective; Germany as part of a European collective,
which becomes increasingly significant during the current age of globalization. Both
countries are extremely important as strategic terres: South Africa as the link between the
Atlantic and Indian Oceans and Germany as the center of gravity in Europe.
Approaching the nation state as a discursive construct, which dominant national
narrative is defined by the elites in power, my research focuses on the alternative national
narratives in the two countries’ literatures and makes the argument that fiction is a realm
7
André Brink, Reinventing a Continent: Writing and Politics in South Africa, (Cambridge: Zoland Books,
1998), 3. (Hereafter quoted as: Brink, page number)
8
Gay Seidman. “Is South Africa Different? Sociological Comparisons and Theoretical Contributions from
the Land of Apartheid” Annual Review of Sociology, Vol. 25 (1999), 420-424. In this article Seidman refers
to South African apartheid as a system of racial capitalism. The racism was developed as a psychological
means to justify the exploitation of labor. In a similar manner, the German concentration camps under the
Nazi regime were also constructs that combined racism and capitalist exploitation.
5
that can open up a discussion, or create a rupture out of which national change can arise.
At the same time, fiction as operating in the realm of the imagination can already
envision changes that seem quite impossible under the existing circumstances. Moreover,
the Bakhtinian heteroglossia in fiction, the overlapping, and coexistence of narratives,
mirrors the image of a nation-state that consists of multiple communities rather than a
homogenous entity. At the same time, literature is still the realm of the speaking subject,
a space for dialogue between the authors and his readers, which remains relatively
untouched from the visual corruption of modern media images.9 Written or oral narration
is particularly crucial, because it allows us to comprehend and retrace occurrences in our
mind’s eye, it provides a forum for self-reflection. A discursive construct of a nation-state
that allows for a plurality of national narratives is much better suited for a broader local
collective, such as the European or African Union, as well as for a global community,
because such an image of the nation state allows for the articulation of differences and
similarities and is therefore more dynamic, flexible, and inclusive.
Apart from the introduction, my dissertation is composed of seven other chapters.
Chapter II engages with theories of the state, nationalism, nation, and nation state and
situates these problematic concepts in the German and South African contexts. A brief
comparison highlighting the parallels and differences between each concept in the
respective countries’ will provide the background for the further discussion. The
following Chapter III focuses on the relationship between nation-building and literature,
and explores the concept of national narratives, assuming that the survival of any nation
is based on the invention of one or several peacefully co-existing national stories. The
9
I refer her to Jean Baudrillard’s articles “The Evil Demon of Images and The Precession of Simulacra”
and “Toward a Principle of Evil” Thomas Docherty: Postmodernism: A Reader, (New York: Columbia UP,
1993) Both articles will be discussed in Chapter 2.
6
organization of the literary analysis in the following five chapters builds on the
theoretical background in Chapter II and Chapter III and follows the understanding of the
nation as a construct that is defined in the present, engages with the past, and works
towards the future. The discussion of selected narratives from both countries follows this
threefold understanding of the nation and therefore the literary analysis distinguishes
between narratives of transition and narratives of the past, while the final chapter briefly
deals with narratives of challenges and addresses issues of the future.
Chapters IV and V are concerned with narratives of transition: i.e. narratives that
discuss the transitional period of nation state formation in both countries. The
developments in Germany and South Africa at the end of the 1980s, beginning of the
1990s, clearly represented a rupture that affected all areas of political, economic, social
and even personal life, although it did not have an impact on all citizens alike. This
rupture in both countries was caused by a strengthened public sphere, which challenged
the governing authorities. In both countries, the existing power structures were shaken to
their foundations and those developments resulted in a renegotiation of the powers of the
state, which was to a large extent a legal state issue. As the imaginary and emotional glue
of the nation state, the imaginary community of the nation was used to facilitate the
implementation of the legal decisions of the state, both ethos and institutional framework.
The speed of the reunification in both countries is tantamount to the restructuring
processes that took place. Without doubt the German reunification was carried out at
vertiginous speed in less than a year (between the fall of the wall on November 9th, 1989
and the official reunification on October 3rd, 1990). In contrast, the South African
reunification process appears really slow, because it lasted several years. It began with
7
the release of Nelson Mandela on 11th of February 1990, and ended with the publication
of the Truth and Reconciliation Report at the end of October 1998. While the
reunification of Germany was executed ‘from above’ in a very short period of time,
South Africa’s unification was rather one ‘from below’ and occurred over a relatively
long period of time. The final decision to unify the two German states according to
Article 23 of the German Grundgesetz, the so-called Beitrittsparagraph, reduced the
newly won East German right of political self-determination to the right to vote. East
Germans were forced to adopt the West German Grundgesetz, instead of participating in
the creation of a new constitution for the joint Germany. Ironically, although the
reunification had been facilitated by the protesting East German masses, the reunification
itself was a matter of the political and economic elites of West and East Germany. In
contrast, South Africa’s reunion involved a constitution process as well as the work of a
Truth and Reconciliation Commission. Rather than implementing democracy from top
down, the two year constitution building process of South Africa fostered a participatory
democracy, by creating a constitution, which derived out of the dialogue of the South
African people. At the same time, there was a deliberate effort to ensure that the
constitution drafting process was also inter-generational, allowing younger generations to
play a role in institutionalizing democratic governance. While the constitution building
process paved the way for South Africa’s future, the creation of the TRC developed out
the recognition that dealing with the atrocities of South Africa’s apartheid past, was an
equally crucial part of enabling a peaceful future for the country.
8
Chapter IV discusses the following three texts from post-wall Germany: Günter
Grass’ Ein Weites Feld (1995)10, Thomas Brussig’s Wie Es Leuchtet (2004)11 and Kerstin
Jentzsch’s Seit die Götter Ratlos Sind (1994)12. All three authors address issues of the
1989/1990 transitional period in Germany, and explore in their fiction alternative ideas to
the accelerated reunification. In a very similar fashion, Chapter V engages with three
texts from post-apartheid South Africa, Zakes Mda’s Ways of Dying (1995)13, Antjie
Krog’s The Country of My Skull (1998)14; and Sindiwe Magona’s Mother to Mother
(1998)15. In contrast to their German colleagues, the longer unification period in their
country allowed South African writers to foreshadow and accompany the political
processes in their fiction. The discussion of the texts in Chapters IV and V explores the
making and disappointing of promises, the confrontation or evasion of conflict, and the
accountability or non-accountability of the protagonists. In addition, these chapters seek
to answer the following questions: How do writers of both countries assess the
transitional period? In what way do they critically engage with or challenge the dominant
national narrative?
Chapter VI and Chapter VII deal with narratives of repression: i.e. narratives that
engage with the past and touch on taboo themes that were previously never or not
adequately addressed in both countries, or which emerged as new crucial topics during
10
Günter Grass, Ein Weites Feld, (München: dtv, 1997). (Hereafter quoted in the text as: Feld, page
number).
11
Thomas Brussig, Wie Es Leuchtet, (Frankfurt am Main: S. Fischer Verlag GmbH, 2004) (Hereafter
quoted in the text as: Brussig, page number).
12
Kerstin Jentzsch, Seit die Götter Ratlos Sind, (München: Wilhelm Heyne Verlag GmbH and Co. KG,
1995) (Hereafter quoted in the text as: Jentzsch, page number).
13
Zakes Mda, Ways of Dying, (Cape Town: Oxford University Press, 1995) (Hereafter quoted in the text
as: Mda, page number).
14
Krog, Antjie, The Country of My Skull, (New York: Three Rivers Press, 2000) (Hereafter quoted in the
text as: Krog, page number).
15
Sindiwe Magona, Mother to Mother, (Boston: Beacon Press, 1998) (Hereafter quoted in the text as:
Magona, page number).
9
the two countries’ transitional period. As previously mentioned, both South Africa and
Germany share a problematic past, and during the transitional period each had to find
ways of how to contextualize this past within the formation of the new nation state. While
South Africa established the Truth and Reconciliation Commission as a forum to assume
responsibility for the past, work through it, and reconcile its people, no such forums were
created in Germany. Although for the first time after the end of the Second World War
Germans had the chance to address the true horrific dimensions of the Holocaust as a
“united nation”, the Nazi past was not part of the reunification debate. Whereas South
Africans were forced to create a forum to discuss the atrocities of the past, where moral
beliefs could publicly be re-established, in order to avoid further violent turmoil,
Germans considered the atrocities of Nazi Germany “old news”. Forty years of Cold War
separation and the economic success of the West German state had solved the problem.
As known, the reunification, however, soon entailed a lively discussion for and against
the normalization of German history. In addition, the violent and fatal attacks against
foreigners that followed the reunification conjured up disturbing images of Germany’s
Nazi past, and illustrated the need for the newly united state to engage with the
complexity of the German past anew, in order to develop a more multi-cultural selfunderstanding. In addition to sharing a problematic past, both Germany and South Africa
have in common a tradition of politically engaged literature. In post-apartheid South
Africa, South African writers have continued, expanded and complemented the
Vergangenheitsaufarbeitung of the TRC. Similar to the TRC, the authors organize the
discourse of the past, letting their witnesses, i.e. narrators, victims and perpetrators, tell
their stories, leaving it to the South African audience, i.e. their readers to judge the
10
truthfulness and significance of their stories. Just like they did in post-1945, in post 1989
Germany, German writers again made an argument for politically engaged literature and
did not cease to stir up the mud of the past. In their fiction, German writers created a
sphere, very similar to that of the South African TRC, which did not exist in the German
political reality of Nazi-trials, Stasi-trials, and state contracts. Once again, writers sought
to engage their readers in a discussion about the past, challenging them to add their
voices to the competing narratives of the past.
Chapter VI discusses the following post-wall German texts as narratives of
repression: Günter Grass’ Im Krebsgang (2002)16, Monika Maron’s Stille Zeile Sechs
(1991)17, and Zafer Senocak’s Gefährliche Verwandtschaft (1998)18. All three texts
depict issues of the German past in a new light, deal with issue of guilt and revenge, and
explore the close proximity of being a victim and being a perpetrator. At the same time,
all three authors argue against a normalization of German history, and appeal to their
readers to start their own digging through the past. Similarly, Chapter VII analyzes the
following texts from post-apartheid South Africa: Achmad Dangor’s Bitter Fruit
(2001)19; Mike Nicol’s The Ibis Tapestry (1998)20, and Zoë Wicomb’s David’s Story
(2000)21. The three South African authors complement and extend the work of the South
African TRC in their writing, and address in particular the shortcomings of the TRC. In
16
Günter Grass, Im Krebsgang, (Göttingen: Steidl Verlag, 2002) (Hereafter quoted in the text as: IK, page
number).
17
Monika Maron, Stille Zeile Sechs, (München: Lizensausgabe der Süddeutschen Zeitung GmbH, 2007)
(Hereafter quoted in the text as: SZ, page number).
18
Zafer Senocak, Gefährliche Verwandtschaft, (München: Babel Verlag, 1998) (Hereafter quoted in the
text as: GV, page number).
19
Achmat Dangor, Bitter Fruit, (New York: Black Cat, 2004) (Hereafter quoted in the text as: BF, page
number).
20
Mike Nicol, The Ibis Tapestry, (New York: Vintage Books, 1999) (Hereafter quoted in the text as: IT,
page number).
21
Zoë Wicomb, David’s Story (New York: The Feminist Press, 2001) (Hereafter quoted in the text as: DS,
page number).
11
this respect, Dango, Wicomb and Nicol appeal to their readers to continue searching for
the truths, which the TRC failed to address. In a very similar manner to their German
colleagues, the three South African writers also explore issues of guilt and revenge, and
urge their readers to keep digging through South Africa’s complex past. The analysis of
the texts in Chapters VI and VII centers on the following themes: personal vs. collective
memory, victims versus perpetrators, repetition vs. resolution. Moreover, the two
chapters concentrate on the following questions: What aspects of the national past do the
writers address? Do they bring up themes that were omitted or repressed by the dominant
national narrative? How do their narratives of the past differ from each other?
The final chapter, Chapter VIII, concludes the previous seven chapters and
provides threefold comparison of the literary analysis. It addresses the broader context of
national identity for both Germany and South Africa, and the role of literature within this
context. The first part of the conclusion sums up the similarities and differences between
the South African and German narratives of transition, while the second part addresses
the parallels and dissimilarities between the narratives of repression. The third and final
part of the conclusion addresses the challenges of the future, which arise out of the
narratives of transition and repression, for the two countries.22 Primarily, Chapter VIII
provides a conclusion of the contrastive study of Germany and South Africa and with an
22
Ideally, in the last part I would have also briefly referred to four additional texts from South Africa as
well as Germany, in which authors bring up pressing issues for the future of their respective countries. As
narratives of challenges I point to the following texts from post-Wende Germany: Friedrich Ani’s German
Angst (2000), Marcia Zuckermann’s Das vereinigte Paradies (2000), Christoph Hein’s Willenbrock (2000),
and Juli Zeh’s Adler und Engel (2001). In the South African context, I identify the following texts as
narratives of challenges: J. M. Coetzee’s Disgrace (2000), Nadine Gordimer’s The Pick-Up (2001),
Phaswane Mpe’s Welcome to Our Hillbrow (2001), and Zakes Mda’s The Madonna of Excelsior (2005).
The short discussion of these texts could explore the following three issues: violence vs. rage, sickness vs.
health, utopia vs. dystopia, and strive to answer the following questions: What issues do writers raise as
prominent for the national discourse? What place do these issues have within the dominant national
narrative?
12
emphasis on the following: What are the differences and similarities between the
discursive constructions of nation in both countries? How do the writers in both countries
evaluate the construction of the dominant national narrative? If literature can be viewed
as symptomatic of ‘the health of a nation’ what can be said about the health of the South
African and German nation? How can literature contribute to avoiding pathological
developments of the nation? What transnational aspects of the nation emerge from a
country’s literature?
13
CHAPTER II:
AN ETHICAL INQUIRY INTO THE IMAGINATION OF NATIONS
I.
The Imagination of Unified Nations
It was prior to the 20th century that the nation state and its psychological and
physical boundaries had become the norm. In the current era of globalization the nationstate and its boundaries are, however, being tested. The nation-state itself combines the
two concepts of nation and state and many contemporary nation-states portray themselves
as one state that consists of one nation. This equation of state and nation has been
achieved through the construction of a dominant national narrative. Most nation-states,
however, are actually the home of a multiplicity of different imagined communities; i.e.
the home of a variety of nations. A nation-state should therefore be better viewed as a
discursive construct, a matter of negotiation between different national narratives. While
the dominant national narrative is usually to be found in political statements of the
government and that of similar state institutions as well as in the media etc., ‘other’
national narratives exist and can for example be found in the national literature. This
chapter will explore how nation and state have been framed as imaginary constants which
reflect both the articulation of ideals and the limitations of political vision.
In order to avoid later confusion, it is necessary to clarify at first the distinctions
between the following highly contested concepts: state, nationalism, nation, nation state.
After an overview of each concept, I depict my understanding of it in the German and
South African contexts, followed by a brief comparison between the two. The concluding
part is concerned with the importance of national narratives for the nation state and in
particular their significance in the German and South African context. It is the primary
14
objective of this chapter to explore how pathologies of nationalism can be avoided and
how the concept of the “nation” develops from imagination to creation and what
problems can arise in the interregnum phase.
II.
States
The idea of the state predates that of the nation, and questions of the state have been
ongoing topics of political philosophy from ancient times until today. Most contemporary
critics will therefore agree with Hannah Arendt that the concept of the state derived from
centuries of monarchy and despotism, while the concept of nationality was a fairly recent
development during the eighteenth and nineteenth century, which gained increasing
credibility after the French revolution. According to Arendt, the supreme function of the
state had been the protection of all inhabitants in its territory regardless of their
nationality.23 Consequently, the state appears to be a supra-national concept, which
theoretically allows for plurality and does not necessarily have to be congruent at all with
that of the nation. In contrast to Arendt, the German political philosopher Carl Schmitt
defined the state as “the political status of an organized people in an enclosed territorial
unit”.24 The essence of this political unit was for Carl Schmitt the distinction between
friend and enemy.25 According to Schmitt’s first claim, a state is a form of organizing,
ruling and controlling people within a certain territory. At the same time, Schmitt’s
theory of friend and enemy distinction hints at the exclusive nature of states, but also
stresses that the institutions of the state claim the monopoly of violence within a certain
territory and therefore the right to make the distinction between enemy and friend.
23
Hannah Arendt, The Origins of Totalitarianism, (New York: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, 1973) 230
(hereafter quoted as: Arendt, page number)
24
Carl Schmitt, The Concept of the Political, (New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press, 1976) 19
(Hereafter quoted as: Schmitt, page number)
25
Schmitt, 26
15
Ideas of the state were first explored by thinkers such as Plato and were taken up and
developed further by several political philosophers such as Machiavelli, Grotius, Hobbes,
Locke, Rousseau, Marx, Gramsci, and others over the course of time.26 These
philosophers developed theories of the social contract, which combined with the concept
of mass politics, the secular state, and political sovereignty of the state paved the way for
the emergence of nationalism.27 A concept of the nation state, however, did not develop
until the eighteenth and nineteenth century. Prior to the 19th century the non-secular and
imperial dynastic state represented the norm. Without doubt, non-national state
formations, such as the dynastic state, have contributed to, and even produced elements
of, the nation state.28 Decisive for the shift from religious monarchic state to nation state
were the crisis of religious authority triggered by the Reformation, Enlightenment, and
the Age of European exploration and discovery.29 The nation state is therefore not only a
combination of the two concepts, nation and state, but also closely tied to democratic,
participatory, and secular ideas of the state.
Rejai and Enloe in their article on “Nation-States and State-Nations” offer the
following as a distinction between nation and state:
“Nation”, it is clear, is not the same as “state”. The latter refers to an
independent and autonomous political structure over a specific territory,
with and comprehensive legal system and a sufficient concentration of
power to maintain law and order. “State”, in other words, is primarily a
political-legal concept, whereas ‘nation’ is primarily psycho-cultural.
26
See: The Republic by Plato, The Prince and Discourses on Livy by Niccolò di Bernardo dei Machiavelli,
De Jure Belli ac Pacis by Hugo Grotius, Leviathan by Thomas Hobbes, Two Treatises of Civil Government
by John Locke, Du Contrat Social, Principes du droit politique by Jean-Jacques Rousseau, Thesis on
Feuerbach and The Communist Manifesto by Karl Marx, Prison Notebooks by Antonio Gramsci et. Al.
27
Mostafa Rejai & Cynthia H. Enloe, “Nation States and State-Nations” In: International Studies
Quarterly, Vol. 13, No. 2. (Jun., 1969) 145 (Hereafter quoted as: Rejai & Enloe)
28
Etienne Balibar, “The Nation Form: History and Ideology” In: Geoff Eley and Ronald Grigor Suny,
Becoming National A Reader (New York: Oxford University Press, 1996) 134 (Hereafter quoted as:
Balibar, page number)
29
Rejai and Enloe, 145
16
Nation and state may exist independently of one another: a nation may
exist without a state, a state may exist without a nation. When the two
coincide, when the boundaries of the state are approximately coterminous
with those of the nation, the result is a nation-state. A nation-state, in other
words, is a nation that possesses political sovereignty. It is a socially
cohesive as well as politically organized and independent.30
According to this excerpt, a state is defined by a specific territory, legal system and
source of power. A nation, however, is primarily a concept of the cultural, social, and
psychological imagination. The state appears as the institutional framework through
which a society establishes claims over a certain territory, certain people, and gives itself
a legal identity, while the nation provides the “emotional glue” for this. At the same time,
both concepts, state as well as nation, are utterly constructed concepts.
It is interesting that the above definition of state and nation excludes economic factors
from both. The rise of the nation state, however, is also often tied to economic factors,
specifically to capitalism. However, in the history of capitalism other state forms have
competed with that of the nation state, the form of empire (such as the British Empire),
and that of a transnational politico-commercial complex of cities (such as the Hanseatic
League). The privileged status of the nation state emerged from the successful
establishment of the bourgeoisie as generations of capital that financed state expansion
and centralization. It also allowed for the control of heterogeneous class struggles.31 In
the introduction to their book Becoming National, Geoff Eley and Ronald Grigor Suny
point out that the long revolution of capitalism together with the formation of complex
bureaucratic states allowed for two “opposing articulations of society and history, one
based on horizontal affiliations, such as class, and the other on vertical ones, such as
nationality.” Alliances of “Us” versus “Other” were established along concepts of both
30
31
Rajai & Enloe, 143
Balibar, 135
17
horizontal and vertical alliances.32 The financial opportunism inherent to capitalism
together with national alliances finally allowed for creating the illusion of overcoming
class differences. As a result the dynastic state, which built on alliances across regional,
feudal elites, and class differences, was abandoned in favor of the nation state. At the
same time, the homogenizing idea of the nation state created other dynamics of
discriminating against “the other” than class. It appears as most problematic that in
particular many European nation states came to portray themselves as mono-national
states. Many citizens of these European states have therefore developed a strong “mononational” identity, thus facilitating discrimination against “national others”. In many parts
of Africa and Asia, however, people developed a national identity primarily through the
creation of a state,33 and in contestation against European colonial projects. As a result,
citizens of such states often still accept and foster a multi-national identity. The question
of nation and state will be addressed again later in this chapter, when the specific nature
of nation states is discussed in detail.
It can be concluded that the state is an older concept than the nation and is primarily
defined by geo-political and legal parameters. Prior to the nation state different versions
of states existed: religious states, dynastic states, Empire states, city states, just to name a
few. The inhabitants of many of these states did not necessarily share a communal unified
identity at all, because they defined themselves often either in terms of class or religion or
had developed strong local identities. Most importantly, states are also arbitrarily
32
Geoff Eley and Ronald Grigor Suny, “Introduction: From the Moment of Social History to the Work of
Cultural Representation” In: Geoff Eley and Ronald Grigor Suny, Becoming National A Reader (New
York: Oxford University Press, 1996) 11 (Hereafter quoted as: Eley & Suny, page number)
33
George W. White, Nation, State, and Territory (Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield Publishers, Inc.,
2004) 99 (Hereafter quoted as: White, page number)
18
constructed entities, or they can also be the product of opportunist alliances or geostrategic accommodations among other states.
“Stating the German State”
Although, as previously outlined, the state is the older concept, the emergence of
a German state is a relatively recent phenomenon. A German state did not exist until the
formation of the “Deutsches Kaiserreich”34 under the chancellor Otto von Bismarck on
the 18th of January 1871. Prior to the founding of this state and the proclamation of
Wilhelm I of Prussia as its Emperor, many different German speaking states existed, but
none of them proclaimed itself as a German nation state. As a successor of the “Heilige
Römische Reich Deutscher Nation”35 the “Deutsche Bund”36 was founded on the 8th of
June 1815 and consisted of 38 German speaking member states; 34 principalities and 4
free city states. The two largest German speaking states, Prussia and the AustroHungarian Empire, were only part of this alliance with the same territories, with which
they had previously belonged to the HREGN. Through purchase and inheritance the
number of member states decreased until 1863. Prior to the creation of the German
nation, two different version for it existed, the so-called “kleindeutsche Lösung”37, which
excluded Austria and the “großdeutsche Lösung”38, which included Austria.
The decisive political figure for the creation of the German Empire was Otto von
Bismarck, who opted for the solution, which excluded Austria. The Prussian victory over
the Austrian Empire in the struggle for domination of a united Germany can among
others factors be mainly attributed to the prospering economy and industrial growth of
34
German Empire
Holy Roman Empire of the German Nation (dissolved in 1806) (Hereafter abbreviated as: HREGN)
36
German Federation (Hereafter abbreviated as: DB)
37
Smaller Germany
38
Bigger Germany
35
19
Prussia versus the stagnant economic development of Austria.39 At the same time, the
formation of the first German state under Bismarck can also be viewed as “a form of
Prussian expansionism and colonization of non-Prussian Germany”.40 In this respect, the
formation of the German Empire was the result of Prussian economic and military
supremacy.
In economic terms, the “Deutsche Zollverein”41 provided an economic union,
which preceded the formation of the Empire und Prussian leadership. This customs union
was first established as an internal customs union of Prussia in 1818 and was joined by
the majority of German states over the next several decades. By 1850 the majority of
German states belonged to this customs union under Prussian preeminence. In addition,
three wars were crucial for the successful establishment of the first German Empire: The
war of 1864 against Denmark secured Prussian claims over Schleswig Holstein. A
successful victory in the war against Austria in 1866, ended Austrian involvement in, and
crowned Prussia as the dominant force in forging the German nation. Simultaneously,
this war ended the alliance of the German Federation, which was subsequently replaced
by the “Norddeutsche Bund”42. The NDB consisted of the German states north of the
river Main and initially formed as a military alliance. A year after its creation, in 1867,
the NDB was given a constitution, which declared it a federal organized state. In
“domestic terms” the successful war against Austria and the creation of the NDB paved
the way and can be viewed as the closest predecessor to the first German nation state. In
the “international context” the Franco-Prussian war of 1870 laid the final foundation for
39
Mary Fulbrook, A Concise History of Germany Second Edition (Cambridge: Cambridge University
Press, 1991) 122 (Hereafter quoted as: Fulbrook, page number)
40
Fulbrook, 125
41
German Customs Union
42
Norther German Federation (Hereafter quoted as: NDB)
20
the creation of the German Empire by bringing Alsace-Lorraine “home”.43 As a result,
wars as having successfully paved the way for the formation of the first German nation
state came to be regarded as a legitimate means of bringing about unity.
Officially, the German Empire regarded itself as the state representing all
Germans. However, territorially, the Empire never consisted of all the German states it
regarded as associated, nor did it include all the states that viewed themselves as
belonging to it. Three different periods and state forms are generally distinguished in
relation to the German Empire. The first state was a semi-constitutional monarchy and
existed from 1871 until 1918. With the establishment of the Weimar Republic the
German state created it’s first pluralistic, semi-presidential democracy that also granted
women the right to vote, which survived from 1919 until Hitler’s empowerment in 1933.
Under the Nazis a totalitarian state was erected, which lasted from 1933 until 1945. It
was this totalitarian state, which picked up ideas of the “Großdeutsche Lösung”44 and
sought to realize them, leading the whole world into the Second World War.
As a result, post-Nazi Germany underwent a division into two German states with
the founding of the capitalist Federal Republic of Germany (FRG) on the 23rd of May
1949 and the official formation of the socialist German Democratic Republic (GDR) on
the 7th of October 1949. The development of these two separate German states clearly
resulted from the ideological Cold War dispute between the two emerging world powers,
the Soviet Union and the United States. Although based on completely opposing political
systems, socialism and capitalism, both states regarded themselves as democratic
representatives of the German people. Simultaneously, the FRG upheld the claim to be
43
44
Fulbrook, 126-127
“Greater Germany”
21
the only legitimate state representing the German people as a whole. Unlike the GDR,
which was founded on the premise of discontinuation of the German Empire, the FRG
viewed itself rather as a reorganization of it. In this respect the FRG constructed itself not
only as the heir, but also in the tradition of the German Empire as the representative of
people who were neither territorially nor systemically associated with it. On a legal basis,
the constitution of the FRG, the “Grundgesetz”45, was created as the legal foundation for
both states. Thus, in the course of the German reunification of the two greatly differing
German states, a new constitution was not created, but the West-German legal and
administrative system was just extended to the former East German state, while the East
German system was completely eliminated. Similarly to the first unification into one
German state, which was carried out under Prussian economic and military supremacy,
the second reunification was implemented under West German economic and military
superiority. After the Weimar Republic the reunified post-wall state constitutes only the
second democratic “all German” state.
According to John Breuilly the formation of the German state represents a curious
case. Unification is the rarest form of nation state formation and entails the bringing
together of several previously existing states. In Germany, this form of unification
happened twice: for the first time in 1871 and for the second time in 1990.46 In both cases
prior to the creation of a single German state several other states existed. Both German
state formations therefore seem to be informed by a transnational vision. At the same
time, this transnational vision developed into one of the world’s worst pathologies of
nationalism between 1933 and 1945. During the negotiation of Germany’s second
45
Basic Constitutional Law of the Federal Republic of Germany
John Breuilly, Germany’s Two Unifications (New York: Palgrave Macmillan Ltd, 2005) 1 (Hereafter
quoted as: Breuilly Unifications, page number)
46
22
reunification, much tension arose from the issue of whether a unified Germany would be
a European Germany or seek a German Europe.
‘Stating the South African State”
If the concept of a German state developed rather late by European standards the
concept of a South African state is an even more recent phenomenon. At the same time,
in Africa as a whole, the creation of a quasi-independent South African state occurred
rather early. Generally, the creation of the Union of South Africa in May 1910 is viewed
as the first establishment of the South African state. This union combined the Cape
Colony, Natal, Transvaal, and the Orange River Colony (Orange Free State), but was,
however, even if self-governing, still a dominion of the British Empire. It was not until
1961 that South Africa became a republic and left the British Commonwealth. Prior to
the creation of the Union of South Africa, other state forms existed in Southern Africa,
which had developed out of the precolonial and colonial contexts.
The pre-colonial inhabitants of Southern Africa, the Khoisan and San, for the
most part lived a hunter-gatherer way of life47 and ideas of the state were alien to their
way of living. By 1000 B.C. Bantu-speaking people from North-West Africa began
arriving in South Africa in small waves. As farmers they established villages in most
regions of Southern Africa and by the 16th century farmers occupied almost the entire
region except for the mountainous terrain.48 Although these farmers had developed more
complex forms of economic-political organization that extended beyond mere villages,49
none of them can be considered state forms.
47
Leonard Thompson, A History of South Africa, (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2001) 1-10
(Hereafter quoted as: Thompson, page number)
48
Thompson, 12
49
Thompson, 10
23
The first Europeans to set foot on Southern Africa were Portuguese explorers,
who surrounded the Cape of Good Hope in 1487.50 The Dutch, however, were the first
colonial power to establish a settlement in form of a provision post for the Dutch East
India Company, the world’s largest trading corporation of its time, at the Cape of Good
Hope in 1652.51 Between 1652 and 1795 Dutch, German and French Protestant
immigrants began to settle and establish the Cape Colony in Southern Africa while
simultaneously developing an understanding of themselves as Boer or Afrikaaners52. This
Cape Colony could be regarded as the first state-like entity in South Africa. However,
this colony heavily depended in every respect on the European “motherland” of the
Dutch Republic and did by no means represent an independent state.
By the end of the 18th century most of the indigenous population of South Africa
was living in successive chiefdoms53, which were slowly developing into loosely
structured kingdoms. In 1810 two kingdoms rivaled for dominion in East Southern
Africa, the Ndwandwe kingdom under Zwide, and the Mthethwa kingdom under
Dingiswayo.54 These two kingdoms repeatedly clashed and finally were united under the
leader Shaka into the Zulu kingdom in 1816. This Zulu kingdom represented an
amalgamation of many different groups, but was defined by its strict military
organization.55 While the Zulu kingdom represented the largest political entity, other
substantial, independent chiefdoms still existed, such as that of the Swazi, Tswana, Pedi,
50
Thompson, 31
Thompson, 32-33
52
In the following I will use both terms, “Boer” and “Afrikaners” to refer to this group.
53
Thompson, 70
54
Thompson, 81
55
Thompson, 83-87
51
24
Venda, Mpondo, and Thembu.56 The successive chiefdoms, as well as kingdoms, most
clearly the Zulu kingdom, can be regarded as state forms.
As an expanding colonial power, Britain seized the Cape Colony from Dutch rule
in 1795. British settlers, however, did not arrive in the Cape Colony until 1820. The
presence of two rival colonial forces as well as several competing indigenous populations
led to a variety of violent fights, such as between the Xhosa and the British, the Boer and
the Zulu etc. In such battles the colonial powers usually dominated because of their
technological superiority in war. The increasing competition between the British and the
Afrikaners caused the latter to conquer and claim territory further inland. This led to the
foundation of the Transvaal in 1852, which was recognized by the British as an
independent Afrikaner republic. In addition, the Orange Free State formed as an
independent Afrikaner republic in 1854. Both republics can be viewed as forms of state.
The discovery and subsequent mining of diamonds and gold in Southern Africa
led to increasing conflict between the British and the Boer, because of their competing
economic interests. While the majority of the Boer pursued an agricultural way of life,
the British had begun to institute industrialization in Southern Africa. Until the discovery
of diamonds (1867) and gold (1886) Britain had little interest in its southernmost colony
and thus little conflict with its Boer neighbors. The growth of mining created a demand
for cheap labor and a wider range of coercive policies within a centralized state, which
quickly collided with the agricultural interests of the Dutch co-colonizer. This conflict
resulted in the first Anglo-Boer war or “War of Independence” in 1880 and ended with a
Boer victory in February 1881 securing the independence of the Zuid-Afrikaansche
56
William Beinhart, Twentieth Century Africa (New York: Oxford University Press, 2001) 1 (Hereafter
quoted as: Beinhart, page number)
25
Republiek. The second Anglo-Boer War of 1899- 1902 ended with a victory of the
British.57 This second war was in many ways a war on Boer women, because the British
deported thousands of Boer women and children into concentration camps, in order to
break the guerilla fighter tactics of the Boer resistance. By the end of the war about
twenty-five thousand Boer women and children had died of the hunger and disease in
these concentration camps.58 The killing of these women and children later became
decisive for the development of the Afrikaner nationalism, which led to the establishment
of apartheid. At the same time, the Anglo-Boer wars, however, paved the way for the
creation of the Union of South Africa in 1910, which appears primarily as an attempt to
merge and secure the interest of the white colonizers through the establishment of a larger
state. The constitution of the Union of South Africa enfranchised only white men,59 and
the state was thus founded on racist as well as sexist parameters, turning it into a
“parliamentary dictatorship”. Although granting the right to vote white women in 1930,
disenfranchisement of people of color remained in place, and many of the racist
regulations were already written into law even before the actual implementation of
apartheid in South Africa in 1948. It is important to stress that as part of the British
Commonwealth South Africa fought in both World Wars as part of the allied forces. The
promises of enfranchisement, which motivated in particular black soldiers, were never
kept. Until its first democratic non-racial elections in April 1994, South Africa
represented a highly racist parliamentary totalitarian state.
57
Anne McClintock, ““No Longer in a Future Heaven”: Nationalism, Gender, and Race” In: Geoff Eley
and Ronald Grigor Suny, Becoming National A Reader (New York: Oxford University Press, 1996) 271
(Hereafter quoted as: McClintock, page number)
58
McClintock, 176
59
Thompson, 150
26
One could argue that similar to Germany South Africa also underwent two
unifications, even if not necessarily on a strictly territorial basis. The South African
Union in 1910 formed as a state bringing together several previously existing states. In
1994, the second South African unification brought together two very highly alienated
polities, i.e. two different constituencies within the state, the “white state” and the “black
state”, each of which had articulated very different notions of both nation and state.
“Stating the Two States”
Although the circumstances of the state formation in South Africa and Germany
clearly differed greatly, the following observations can be concluded: In both countries
the first united state was formed relatively late and was preceded by different competing
smaller state forms. Changing economic circumstances and the advancement of
industrialization contributed to the formation of the unified state. At the same time, in
both cases the final union of the state was brought about through fighting several wars. In
addition, in both, Germany as well as South Africa, one of the previously competing
powers, Prussia, in case of the formation of the German Empire, the British
Commonwealth, in the case of the creation of the Union of South Africa, assumed a
leading role in the creation of the new state.
In the course of their existence, both states, Germany as well as South Africa,
nurtured and legally implemented racist ideologies which fed each other. At the same
time, ironically, as part of the British Commonwealth, black South African soldiers
fought against Nazi Germans as part of the allied forces in World War II. Although they
helped to defeat Germany under Hitler and revealed to the world the whole dehumanizing
dimension of the Nuremberg laws, black South Africans failed to gather world attention
27
to prevent the official implementation of apartheid in South Africa, just three years after
the Holocaust became known. Nor did Britain and the US that fought against Nazi
Germany abandon their support for apartheid.
In the following forty years, the population of South Africa as well as of Germany
experienced a painful separation, Germany in form of the creation of two ideologically
opposing states, and South Africa through the racist, but legal creation of two societies
within one state, a white, enormously privileged and a black, highly oppressed society. At
the beginning of the 1990s both states, Germany and South Africa were facing the
challenge to unite these divided universes.
At the same time, both the South African and the German state, formed twice
through unification of several previously existing states, because inherent to the
unification nationalism of both countries clearly is a certain transnational vision. While
the German post-wall transnational vision seems to have been shaped by the “unification”
of territory and linguistic affinities, but appears much less concerned with the bringing
together of people, the South African post-apartheid transnational vision aimed at
securing the state territory, but also strongly focused on the reconciliation of people
across linguistic, and cultural differences.
III.
Nationalism and Nation
Nationalism and Nation as General Concepts
Critics generally agree that nationalism is a phenomenon that became first
dominant in the eighteenth century, but is still crucial for the understanding of human
socialization today. A simple distinction between nationalism and nation would be that
nationalism is the catalyst, the building material for the nation. Most contemporary
28
scholars of nationalism agree with E. J. Hobsbawm’s statement that “. . . nationalism
comes before nations. Nations do not make states and nationalism but the other way
round.”60 Nationalism is the driving force behind any formation of a nation. It is the
ideology that facilitates the creation of the nation and at the same time it is a process of
change that consists of different phases.
According to Miroslav Hroch, three structural phases - Phase A; Phase B; Phase C
- are typical of any existing national movement. In Phase A, a smaller group of
intellectuals aims at defining a national movement in terms of linguistic, cultural, social,
and sometimes historical attributes. During the second period, in Phase B, different kinds
of activists emerge, who through patriotic agitation strive to create national sentiments in
as many of their ethnic group as possible. Finally, in Phase C, nationalism leads to a
serious popular mobilization of the masses.61 In a similar manner, Frantz Fanon in his
famous book, The Wretched of the Earth, also describes the different stages of the
development of nationalism in the colonial context. In the first phase, colonized
intellectuals define the national movement, which is in the second phase taken over by
national patriots who aim at creating a national party, in order to mobilize the masses for
the final third phase.62 Fanon emphasizes in particular the importance of mobilizing the
rural masses in the colonial context, while in the European context the urban mobilization
of the urban masses are decisive for the success of a nationalist movement.63 In addition,
Fanon explains that in the colonial context, nationalism develops as a response to the
60
E. J. Hobsbawm, Nations and Nationalism since 1780, (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press,
1990) 10 (Hereafter quoted as: Hobsbawm, page number)
61
Mirsolav Hroch “From National Movement to the Fully-Formed Nation: The Nation-Building Process in
Europe“In: Geoff Eley and Ronald Grigor Suny, Becoming National A Reader (New York: Oxford
University Press, 1996) 63 (Hereafter quoted as: Hroch, page number)
62
Frantz Fanon, The Wretched of the Earth, (New York: Groove Press, 2004) 63-65 (Hereafter quoted as:
Fanon, page number)
63
Fanon, 65-68
29
injustices the colonized experience under the colonial system. In course of the anticolonial struggle the national sentiments and in particular the sense of national unity
grows stronger.64 While Fanon specifically describes the emergence of nationalism out of
the crisis created by colonialism, other authors also have established a link between the
formation of nationalism and crisis.
In his book Imagined Communities, Benedict Anderson states that the very
possibility to imagine the nation only became possible because three fundamental cultural
conceptions were called into question by the people: (1) the fact that only the knowledge
of one particular language offered privileged access to the truth; (2) the belief that society
was naturally organized around and under a single high center; (3) the concept of
temporality that cosmology and history, the origins of the world and men, were
identical.65 Nationalism developed therefore as a response to a crisis of the old belief
systems.
In agreement with Anderson, Hroch suggest three main reasons for national
sentiments to arise, a crisis of the old order, discontent among significant portions of the
population and loss of faith in traditional moral systems, such as religion.66 According to
this structural approach nationalism appears as a dynamic process of change, which can
appear at any place and time. At the same time, Hroch points out that successful national
movements show at least four elements:
(1) a crisis of legitimacy, linked to social, moral and cultural strains; (2) a
basic volume of vertical social mobility (. . . ); (3) a fairly high level of
64
Fanon, 83-84
Benedict Anderson: Imagined Communities, (New York: Verso, 1991), 36. (Hereafter quoted as:
Anderson, page number)
66
Hroch, 66
65
30
social communication, including literary, schooling and market
relations; and (4) nationally relevant conflicts of interest.67
It is important to note that Hroch connects the success of nationalism to a legitimation
crisis of the old order, but also to a high level of social mobility and communication.
Similarly, Thomas Nairn connects the emergence of nationalism to crisis, primarily the
economic crisis that arose of the uneven distribution of the advancements of
industrialization and modernization.68 Nairn calls particular attention to the “nationalismproducing” dilemma of capitalism’s uneven development. Moreover, Nairn not only links
the emergence of nationalism to geo-political co-ordinates, but he also stresses a
connection with social-class co-ordinates and describes a mechanism similar to the
structural phases Hroch describes.69 Above all, Nairn highlights that besides the rational
elements of the politico-cultural necessities, irrational desires also contributed to the
appearance of nationalism:
The politico-cultural necessities of nationalism . . . entail an intimate link
between nationalist politics and romanticism. Romanticism was the
cultural mode of the nationalist dynamic, the cultural “language”, which
alone made possible the formation of the new inter-class communities
required by it. In that context, all romanticism’s well-known features – the
search for inwardness, the trust in feeling or instinct, the attitude to
“nature”, the cult of the particular and mistrust of the “abstract”, etc. –
make sense. But if one continues to adopt that language, then it becomes
impossible to get back to the structural necessities which determined it
historically. And of course, we do largely speak the language, for the same
reason that we are still living in a world of nationalism.70
By linking it to romanticism, feeling and instinct, Nairn classifies nationalism as an
irrational reaction against the uneven rationalist diffusion of capitalist modernization. It is
67
Hroch, 68
Thomas Nairn, “Scotland and Europe”, In: Geoff Eley and Ronald Grigor Suny, Becoming National A
Reader (New York: Oxford University Press, 1996) 81-83 (Hereafter quoted as: Nairn, page number)
69
Nairn, 85-86
70
Nairn, 87
68
31
a turn to feeling and nature in face of rationalized discrepancies. At the same time,
modern day nationalisms seek to join these irrational desires of the people with political
and economic agendas and expectations.
Anthony D. Smith goes even a step further than Nairn and claims that in
particular because of its non-rational elements, ethnic nationalism resembles more a
“surrogate religion” than a political ideology.71 He briefly defines nationalism as:
. . . an ideological movement for attaining and maintaining the autonomy,
unity and identity of an existing or potential “nation”. I could also stress
its often minority status as a movement. As a movement, nationalism often
antedates, and seeks to create the nation, even if it often pretends that the
nation already exists.72
While nationalism may be a strategy of empowerment, and a call for the creation of new
hierarchies of power among minorities, it is important to note that Smith sees nationalism
as an ideology not only for the creation, but also for the maintaining of a nation. At the
same time, Smith points out that certain elements in a population and its environment
have to exist in order for nationalism/a nation to arise/exist. Basic requirements for the
achievement of national autonomy, unity, and identity are, for example, some core
networks of association and culture on which nationalism/a nation can be “built”. Such
core networks for constructing the nation are, according to Smith, for example language
groups, religious sects etc. Nations can, however, also be created on the basis of historic
territory, while other nations owe more to state centralization, warfare, economic policy,
and cultural homogeneity than to any nationalist movement.73
This suggests that
different forms of nationalism exist, which developed out of different needs, put
71
Anthony D. Smith, “The Origins of Nations” In: Geoff Eley and Ronald Grigor Suny, Becoming
National A Reader (New York: Oxford University Press, 1996) 125 (Hereafter quoted as: Smith, page
number)
72
Smith, 108
73
Smith, 108
32
emphasis on a variety of aspects and are more or less inclusive. In any case, nationalism
like a nation is always a construct that develops out of different networks of
communication and the growth of conflict.
Several scholars emphasize the importance of language and communication as
prerequisites of nationalism and nation formation. One of the first to highlight the
connection between nationalism and communication was Karl W. Deutsch. He claimed
that nationalism could only prosper among people who shared certain habits and forms of
communication. According to Deutsch, a functioning communicative system along with a
set of communicative symbols provides the fundament for cultures, societies, and nations,
and at the same time assures their cohesion.74 Furthermore, Deutsch insisted that above
all, people are disconnected from each other through communicative barriers, gaps in the
efficiency of communication.75 It seems, however, that these barriers to communication
do not necessarily arise out of the use of different languages, but can also be caused by
other factors such as the political-legal system of the state. Nationalism can therefore also
be described as the successful communication of the nation. It is a dynamic process and
over time nationalism / the nation can undergo changes according to what is
communicated. Simultaneously, a constant communication of the nation does not really
allow for the establishing of hard borders of a nation, but ensures that they remain rather
soft and amorphous and open to expansion or contraction.
The following ideas emerge from the previous outline and are important for the
further discussion: Nationalism is the ideology behind the creation of the nation, but can
also serve the purpose of maintaining the nation. As an ideology that creates the nation,
74
Karl W. Deutsch, Nationalism and Social Communication (Cambridge: M.I.T. Press, second edition,
1966) 86-98 (Hereafter quoted as: Deutsch, page number)
75
Deutsch, 100
33
nationalism is born out of a crisis, develops in three different phases, is defined by
rational and irrational needs and depends on a core network of communication; i.e. public
sphere. In addition, it is important to note that most descriptions of nationalism depict it
as “a condition of the mind”; a “state of mind”; a “new form of consciousness”.76 Taking
this psychological dimension into consideration, nationalism appears as a fragile
construct in the mind of the masses, which undergoes changes. It can therefore be
assumed that different stages of nationalism respond to different rational and
psychological conditions. At the same time, nationalism may very well be construed as a
means of controlling the masses. The main questions remain how nationalism develops
from an imaginary construct to a creative force that brings into being the nation, and how
the forging of the nation can avoid the development / institutionalization of pathologies
as instruments of legitimation.
Nations
As an ideology for the making of the nation, nationalism almost always “serves the
definite purpose of elites, as, for example furthering economic development or binding a
community together during a period of social upheaval.”77 The self-conception of the
nation is thus often the result of the institutionalization of the ideology of nationalism by
elites. It is in particular in the developmental state from idea to ideology of the nation that
nationalism is particularly prone to develop pathological traits.
Generally, definitions of the nation follow two schools of thought, that of the
‘constructivists’ and that of the ‘primordialists’. While the ‘constructivists’ view the
nation as a abstraction, as an imagined community that serves to constitute and legitimize
76
Robert M. Berdahl, “New Thoughts of German Nationalism” In: American Historical Review, Vol. 77,
No. 1. (Feb., 1972) 68-69 (Hereafter quoted as: Berdahl, page number)
77
Berdahl, 76
34
certain
ideals
and/or
socio-cultural
and/or
political-economic
arguments,
the
‘primordialists’ believe in a tangible or ‘primordial’ character of the nation.
Primordialists argued for the ‘reality’ of nations and the ‘natural’ quality of ethnic
belonging, as well as the “purity of nations”. Whereas for the ‘constructivists’ national
sentiment is a construct that always serves certain aims, for the ‘primordialists’ national
sentiment has a concrete mass base, at which core lies the unique feeling of kinship of the
extended family.78 It is important to stress that even primordialist views of the nation are
essentially constructed, because feeling of kinship is taught. Because of the
primordialist’s illusionist belief in some sort of essence of the nation, a primordial
portrayal of the nation is highly problematic. Primordialist views of the nation makes
nationalism/the nation, more susceptible to perverse pathological extensions, to
ideologies of exclusion, such as racism and sexism. My dissertation follows therefore the
constructivist view of the nation with particular attention to “primordialist pitfalls”.
In his 1882 essay, Ernest Renan discusses various principles of nation formation:
conquest, dynasty, religion, race, language etc., but already emphasizes the constructed
character of a nation, when he concludes that above all ‘a nation is a soul, a spiritual
principle’, a nation is based on the will to be a nation.79 Etymologically, however, a
“primordialist pitfall” is already inherent to the term nation:
The term nation is derived from the Latin nation, meaning a social
grouping based on real or fancied community of birth or race. In later
usage (especially in the 17th and 18th centuries), the term was expanded to
78
Smith, 106-107 [‘Constructivists’: Breuilly (1982), Hobsbawm and Ranger (1983), Sathyamurthy (1983),
Anderson (1983) et. al. – ‘Primordialists’: Connor (1978), Fishman (1980), Smith (1981a), Horowitz
(1985), Stack (1986) et. al.]
79
Ernest Renan “What is a nation?” In: Homi Bhabha, Nation and Narration. (New York: Routledge,
1990), 19 (Hereafter quoted as: Renan, page number)
35
include such other variables as territory, culture, language and history. It is
possible, however, that no nation has ever possessed all these criteria.80
The nation is, however, not an actual community of birth, but a community of the mind.
This terminological approach to the nation reveals a shift in the use of the word in the
17th and 18th century, which coincides with the previously discussed crisis of the old
order and increasing importance of nationalism as a unifying social force. At the same
time, this usage shift coincided with primordialist attempts to convince the people of the
“essential character” of the nation in order to facilitate the mobilization and rule of the
masses.
The majority of definitions of the concept of nation overlap on the following
points: The nation is a kind of human community, which is not necessarily coextensive
with states and cannot be tied to a particular set of properties. Many nations, however, are
named communities, which identify a certain homeland, common myths, memories, and
a shared language.81 More important, however, are subjective components of the nation.
Primarily, they are ‘communities of sentiment’ or ‘imagined communities’, which are
dependent on the belief and feeling of a core mass base, whose members desire to be a
nation.82 As such the nation is a fragile concept that depends on the desire of the masses.
Famously, Ernst Gellner defined nations as “artifacts of men’s convictions and loyalties
and solidarities.”83 If these convictions, loyalties and solidarities of the masses are not
sustained anymore, a nation may cease to exist. It can thus be expected that in most
nations a powerful system is in place that ensures the masses’ desire for, conviction,
80
Rejai & Enloe, 141
Wayne Norman, Negotiating Nationalism, (New York: Oxford University Press, 2006) 4 (Hereafter
quoted as: Norman, page number)
82
Norman, 4
83
Ernst Gellner, Nations and Nationalism. (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1983) 7 (Hereafter quoted as:
Gellner, page number)
81
36
loyalty and solidarity to the nation. At the same time, this is the reason why states as well
as nations were founded for a long time on exclusionary parameters: It is much easier to
ensure the loyalties of small groups than of the masses. Mirsolav Hroch describes the
nation as a large social group that is connected not only through objective relationships
such as economics, and politics etc., but also through subjective reflection in collective
consciousness primarily on the basis of memory, density of linguistic and cultural ties,
and a conception of the commonality of all members.84 The collective consciousness in
European nations was dominated for a very long time only by men (white, wealthy) and
as a result the equality of nations by far did not apply to all of the nation’s members.
As Lynn Hunt discusses as length in her book The Family Romance of the French
Revolution the nation was primarily presented as a “band of brothers”85. While women
were part of the national metaphor of the nation as family and were assigned the role of
“mothers of the nation”, they were not equal to their male counterparts.86 Early
establishments of nationhood therefore were highly exclusionary and not only excluded
members on the basis of sex, but also on the basis of skin color and religious beliefs. In
particularly, in the colonial context the concept of the nation was very often informed by
racist and sexist parameters. It is important to stress that both, sexism and racism are
political ideologies, which were used to facilitate the fabrication and steering of the
nation. They were used to marginalize and silence women and people of color in the
national discourse. It might be that nation-building inevitably always privileges members
84
Hroch, 61
Lynn Hunt, The Family Romance of the French Revolution (Berkeley: University of California Press,
1992) 53-88 (Hereafter quoted as: Hunt, page number)
86
Hunt, 1-16
85
37
of a majority culture, very often, however, particularly in the colonial context, nationbuilding privileged only members of a minority, such as white men.
It is important to stress that the nation is not only a constructed identity, but also a
supra state concept, which emphasizes that the concept of the state is equally constructed.
In modern times, however, the concepts of state and nation were increasingly equated, as
well as presented as “essential”, which lead to a variety of problems. The creation,
maintaining and reformation of nations and states, as well as the marriage of nation and
state, therefore need to be informed by consciousness and awareness of the Janus face of
state, nation and nationalism, in order to prevent pathological developments.
Acknowledging the constructed identity of the state as well as the nation would already
be a big step forward for most nations and states. The primary way to achieving a
perception of the nation as a constructed entity is to gain a better understanding of the
different ideologies of nationalism at work in nations and states. The two faces of Janus
are the nation and the state – and that is where the pathologies have their origin – in the
search for the symmetry between the two faces by use of state power to create the
uniformity implied in “national symmetry”.
Forms of Nationalism
Typically, nationalism is seen as a force that creates nations or threatens existing
nations but nationalism is also a force that holds together nations. It is a misconception
that nationalism vanishes as soon as a nation is founded:
At the most general level, nationalism refers to an awareness of
membership in a nation (potential or actual), together with a desire to
achieve, maintain, and perpetuate the identity, integrity, and prosperity of
that nation. At any point in time in a given society this awareness may be
38
shared by a relatively large or a relatively small proportion of the total
population.87
Accordingly, different versions of nationalism develop which serve different needs and
reach different levels of popularity or awareness among the members of a nation. In the
following, I will first distinguish and characterize three different forms of nationalism
according to their respective function.
For the first kind of nationalism the three developmental stages of nationalism
that Hroch and Fanon describe are typical. This first, pre-nation nationalism88, is the one
that precedes and aims at the establishment of the nation. Rejai and Enloe calls this form
“formative nationalism”89, while Anne McClintock refers to it as “anticipatory
nationalism”90. Benedict Anderson also seems to have in mind this PNN when he talks
about the “popular nationalism” of the early European countries, which developed
directly out of the fraternity of a unifying language that allowed speakers and readers to
think of each other as equals, to think of each other as one.91 At the same time, the third
kind of nationalism, which Anderson discusses in the last chapter of his book, called
“The Last Wave”, also seems to be of this kind. Anderson depicts in particular the
peculiar character of the new nation states that formed after the Second World War. For
Anderson these nation states are peculiar, because they often came to have European
languages of state and formed on the basis of a nationalism that combined ardent
populism with policy orientation.92 This form of nationalism is labeled by Anderson as
“colonial nationalism”. According to Anderson the transformation from the colonial to
87
Rejai & Enloe, 141
In the following, I will always refer to this form as pre-nation nationalism, abbreviated as PNN.
89
Rejai & Enloe, 142
90
McClintock, 267
91
Anderson, 84-86
92
Anderson, 113
88
39
the national state was made possible by three central factors: (1) increased physical
mobility, (2) increasing bilingualism in the native population, (3) spread of modern style
education.93 The “popular” and “colonial nationalism” that Anderson distinguishes have
in common, however, that both make possible the creation of a nation. It is important to
emphasize that PNN can even emerge in an already existing nation, striving for a
different kind of nation. John Breuilly distinguishes in his book Nationalism and the State
between “unification nationalism”94, “separatist nationalism”95, and “anti-colonial
nationalism”96 and “reform nationalism”97. The first three are all without doubt forms of
PNN. The last kind could also be considered a form of PNN, but at the same time
assumes already the existence of a nation. As an innovative form of nationalism, which
aims at profoundly redefining and changing a nation’s existing order, “reform
nationalism” does both, it strives for an entirely different and new kind of nation, but
simultaneously seeks to secure the continuation of an existing nation. One could say
“reform nationalism” aims at giving a nation a new content. As such “reform
nationalism” appears as a hybrid between PNN and the second kind of nationalism that
needs to be distinguished.
Although it is an illusion that nationalism ceases as soon as a nation exists, in
most established nations nationalism is construed as alien and threatening to the nation.
All already mentioned forms of PNN would be presented as a threat to the nation,
because they could shatter the power systems in place. Simultaneously, however, another
93
Anderson, 114-116
John Breuilly, Nationalism and the State (New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1982) 65-89 (Hereafter quoted
as: Breuilly, page number)
95
Breuilly, 90-124
96
Breuilly, 125-166
97
Breuilly, 195-220
94
40
kind of nationalism is at work in existing nations; a nationalism that aims at maintaining,
managing the nation. Michael Billig refers to this form of managing nation nationalism98
as “banal nationalism” and emphasizes that in existing nations, nationalism is for the
most part reduced to empty symbols and banal reminders of nationhood. Being national
becomes a meaningless, habitual, unconscious routine.99 Rejai and Enloe call this form of
perpetuating the nation “prestige nationalism”.100 A form of MNN also seems to be what
Anderson named “official nationalism”. According to Anderson, “official nationalism”
seeks to combine naturalization with perpetuation of dynastic power. “Official
nationalism” is construed in order to maintain power over vast or heterogeneous or
polyglot domains. The main aim of “official nationalism” is to conceal a discrepancy
between nation and dynastic realm.101 Simply put, “official nationalism” seems to
reconcile the contradictions between “the national aims from below and from above”,
between the needs of the people and the agenda of those in power, political and
economical alike. In addition, “official nationalism” sometimes attempts to stretch the
narrow concept of the nation over the gigantic body of an empire. As such “official
nationalism” is a willed merger of nation and dynastic empire.102 The “official
nationalism” Anderson depicts can be a form of MNN, but at the same time, it seems that
this form can also develop into a third kind of nationalism.
This third kind aims at expanding the nation. Thus, this form of nationalism can
also be regarded as imperialism or colonialism. Rejai and Enloe call this form of empire
98
In the following, I will always refer to this form as managing nation nationalism, abbreviated as MNN.
Michael Billig, “Banal Nationalism” In: Philip Spencer and Howard Wollman (eds.), Nations and
Nationalism A Reader, (New Brunswick: Rutgers University Press, 2005) 188-192 (Hereafter quoted as:
Billig, page number)
100
Rejai and Enloe, 142
101
Anderson, 110
102
Anderson, 86
99
41
nation nationalism103 “expansive nationalism”.104 According to Hannah Arendt,
nationalism and imperialism are two concepts which are in conflict with each other,
because nationalism generally builds on genuine consent of the people. The genuine
consent that provides the foundation for the nation has its limits, however, and cannot be
expected from foreign people who were conquered.105 Thus, any attempt to extend a
specific nationalism on an empire will only trigger that the conquered sooner or later
develop their own nationalism in response and therefore all attempts of empire building
are self-destructive.106 Arendt specifically distinguishes between the “overseas
imperialism” of Britain and France that looked for colonies overseas107 and the
“continental imperialism” of Pan-Germanism and Pan-Slavism that was in search of
colonies on the continent.108 Both forms of imperialism developed notions of racism in
order to justify their expansions.109 A nationalism that develops racism in order to justify
its aims is without doubt pathological. At the same time, this pathology is an indication
for the self-destructiveness of ENN. All forms of ENN will eventually trigger the
development of PNN.
Accordingly, all three forms of nationalism can be described as Janus-faced, as
double-sided, because although often based on great ideals they have the tendency to
develop an ugly underbelly. Thomas Nairn famously said that “all nationalism is both
healthy and morbid. Both progress and regress is inscribed in its genetic code from the
103
In the following, I will always refer to this form as empire nation nationalism, abbreviated as ENN.
Rejai and Enloe, 142
105
Arendt, 126
106
Arendt, 126-127
107
Arendt, 127-157
108
Arendt, 223
109
Arendt, 158-184
104
42
start.”110 The oppressive tendencies inherent to nationalism allow that nationalisms of
liberation often transform into nationalisms of domination.111 ENN is built on domination
ab initio, but will still disguise and justify all its endeavors with liberation. A
transformation from liberation to domination can occur in PNN and MNN: “For at the
heart of nationalism as a political project, whatever form it takes, is a logic that tends
towards exclusion.”112 While the oppressive tendencies in PNN and ENN are usually
acknowledged, a certain hesitance seems to exist to admit the repressive traits of MNN.
For the most part nationalism is not even recognized as part of the political project of
established nations. In these nations nationalism is usually called ‘patriotism’. More
positively, patriotism is a functional requirement for participation in community, while
nationalism is a prescriptive notion of community. In any case, the mechanisms of
exclusion at work in existing nations are also usually not discussed in the open and if they
are, they are often justified with the need of the greater good of the nation.
Because of its Janus face, nationalism is often described in dualisms. The
following offers a quite extensive list of dualistic descriptions of nationalism:
Western
Political
Staatsnation
Civic
Liberal
Individualistic
Voluntarist
Rational
Universalistic
Patriotism
Eastern
Cultural
Kulturnation
Ethnic
Illiberal
Collectivistic
Organic
Mystical/emotional
Particularistic
(Chauvinist) Nationalism
110
Nairn, 347-348
Etienne Balibar, “Racism and Nationalism” In: Philip Spencer and Howard Wollman (eds.), Nations and
Nationalism A Reader (New Brunswick, Rutgers University Press, 2005) 163 (Hereafter quoted as:
Etienne, page number)
112
Philip Spencer and Howard Wollman, “Good and Bad Nationalism” In: Philip Spencer and Howard
Wollman (eds.), Nations and Nationalism A Reader, (New Brunswick: Rutgers University Press, 2005) 199
(Hereafter quoted as: Spencer and Wollman, page number)
111
43
Constitutional
Historic nations
Nationalism of the oppressed
Women-emancipation nationalism
Authoritarian
Non-historic nations
Nationalism of the oppressor
Patriarchal nationalism113
Not all of these distinctions are equally important and between some of these concepts
overlaps exist. In addition, it is important to keep in mind that many of these distinctions
are informed by biases and make use of metaphors to illustrate the point. In the
following, only a selection of the above dualist nationalism will be briefly discussed, as
far as they are valid for the argumentation of my dissertation.
The first four dual categorizations follow all almost the same premise and
distinguish between nationalisms with either a strong politico-civic or an ethno-cultural
basis. In particular, the distinction between Western and Eastern nationalism in this
context is strongly informed by a sense of Western superiority. While Western
nationalism is described as progressive, rationalistic and constitutional, Eastern
nationalism in contrast is depicted as traditional, irrational and cultural.114 Accordingly,
the differentiation between political and cultural nationalism follows the above premise.
Political nationalism sought justification in reason, cultural nationalism in emotion. In
reality, however, all forms of nationalism are amalgamations of both, rational and
irrational needs.115 Politics is the organization, systematization of irrationality. The
distinction between Staatsnation (political nation) und Kulturnation (cultural nation) goes
back to the German historian Friedrich Meinecke116 and is closely linked to the
opposition of civic versus ethnic nationalism. Civic nationalism is usually defined by a
113
Spencer and Wollman, 199
Spencer and Wollman, 200
115
Spencer and Wollman, 201-202
116
Friedrich Meinecke, Cosmopolitanism and the National State, (Princeton: Princeton University Press,
1970) 10 (Hereafter quoted as: Meinecke, page number)
114
44
strong spatial/territorial but also legal dimension, meaning that all members of the patria
are equal and bound by the same law.117 Ethnic nationalism, in contrast, stresses a
community of birth, kinship and native culture.118 While civic nationalism seems to allow
the individual a certain choice as to what nation he/she wants to belong, ethnic
nationalism determines an individual’s belonging to a nation at birth.119 The question of
civic versus ethnic nationalism becomes most vital in terms of citizenship. Civic
nationalism grants citizenship from place of birth (jus soli), while ethnic nationalism
accords it on the basis of ethnic kinship (jus sanguinis). While granting citizenship on a
territorial basis is clearly also exclusionary, it is nevertheless more inclusive than
granting it in terms of blood-relation. Hannah Arendt referred to ethnic nationalism
therefore also as “tribal nationalism” and regarded it as highly problematic, because of its
close affinity to concepts of race.120 She defined “tribal” nationalism in the following
manner:
Politically speaking, tribal nationalism always insists that its own people is
surrounded by “a world of enemies,” “one against all,” that a fundamental
difference exists between this people and others, and denies theoretically
the very possibility of a common mankind long before it is used to destroy
the humanity of man.121
Arendt can be read here is direct response to Carl Schmitt’s previously mentioned
definition of the state and his idea of friend and enemy distinction. Although Arendt
acknowledges this notion of nationalism, she at the same time dismisses it as insufficient,
as inhuman, because a nation built on “tribal” nationalism is only founded on the fear and
117
Anthony Smith “Civic and Ethnic Nationalism” In: Philip Spencer and Howard Wollman (eds.), Nations
and Nationalism A Reader, (New Brunswick: Rutgers University Press, 2005) 177-179 (Hereafter quoted
as: Civic/Ethnic, page number)
118
Civic/Ethnic, 179
119
Civic/Ethnic, 179-180
120
Arendt, 223-224
121
Arendt, 227
45
dehumanization of the other. Moreover, as Arendt stresses, “tribal” nationalism
developed out of an atmosphere of rootlessness, of lacking a permanent home. Thus,
tribal nationalism developed the notion of divine chosenness in order to enforce the
enemy vs. friend distinction.122 The concept of divine chosenness so typical of religious
monarchic states was adopted by those nations built on tribal nationalism and conferred
from monarch to the people.
One of the main challenges, which arise out of the dualisms of nationalism, is
how to distinguish the rational and irrational desires that define it. Continued national
discourse seems to be the only way of how to expose and understand the rational and
irrational imperatives of nationalism. It is particularly important to perceive the people on
the margins of the nation also as part of it and hear their voices. As previously briefly
mentioned, up to the 20th century most forms of nationalism were primarily patriarchal
and assigned women strong symbolic but nevertheless marginal roles, while other forms
of nationalism within the same time frame were primarily built on discriminatory
parameters and excluded people on the basis of race, religion etc. Another challenge of
nationalism is how to resolve the seeming contradiction between universalistic and
particularistic demands, as well as individualistic and collectivistic interests. In this
respect, discourse also provides the key, because only discourse will facilitate the
development of consensual, inclusive, dynamic forms of nationalism with an
international dimension to emerge, which Frantz Fanon referred to as national
consciousness.123 Any repression of discourse automatically paves the way for coercive,
exclusive, static and closed forms of nationalism, which are particularly prone to develop
122
123
Arendt, 232-233 & 235-243
Frantz Fanon,179
46
pathologies. It is a misconception that a nation should speak with a monologic voice, but
rather:
Nationalism is rarely the nationalism of the nation, but rather represents
the site, where very different views of the nation context and negotiate
with each other.124 . . .
. . . we find a polyphony of voices, overlapping, criss-crossing;
contradictory and ambiguous; opposing, affirming, and negotiating their
views of the nation.125
As polyphony of voices nationalisms often appear as a threat, because everything seems
negotiable, in flux, dynamic and ever-changing, nothing is stable. For the politicoeconomic elites of a nation it seems threatening that people can simultaneously identify
with different communities, because the masses become less predictable and can
spontaneously assert certain claims. A pluralistic view of the nation would undermine
and challenge the perpetuation of MNN and create the self-conscious image of a nation,
which would be more inclusive, dynamic, flexible, creative, and just. In her article
“Gender as Seriality: Thinking about Women as a Social Collective”, Iris Marion Young
suggests thinking of women not as one social collective but rather as seriality; as a
multiplicity of overlapping social collectives.126 Similarly, it may make more sense to
approach a nation as seriality, as a plurality of different overlapping voices, according to
which people form changing interconnected communities. Such a view would also allow
for an international dimension of the nation, which seems much needed in the current era
of globalization. The new technologies of communication have already enabled the
creation of transnational communities, new imagined communities, i.e. nations.
124
Prasenjit Duara, “Historicizing National Identity, or Who Imagines What and When” In: Geoff Eley and
Ronald Grigor Suny, Becoming National A Reader (New York: Oxford University Press, 1996) 152
(Hereafter quoted as: Duara, page number)
125
Duara, 162
126
Iris Marion Young “Gender as Seriality: Thinking about Women as a Social Collective In: Signs, Vol.
19, No. 3. (Spring, 1994), 713-738 (Hereafter quoted as: Young, page number)
47
Interestingly enough, the politico-economic elites in the world are currently developing
strategies, i.e. laws, of how to restrict and monitor the new means of communication. It
appears therefore as a political challenge, but also as a necessity to develop national
identities, which are open to the co-existence of transnational identities, in order to tackle
trans-national responsibilities, such as for example global warming. Alternatively, it may
be useful to start from a premise of common humanity with citizenship determined in
relationship to states as legal entities – the nation can thus be decoupled from the state
and constitute a community of sentiment and engagement that does not implicate the state
in defining the bounds of cultural community.
German Nationalisms and Nations
The fundamental crisis, which triggered other European, and finally also a
German national movement, was without doubt the French revolution of 1789 and its
violent aftermath. During the 19th century, primarily two different forms of German
nationalism began to emerge, and loosely can be mapped on what Friedrich Meinecke
distinguished as ideas of the Staatsnation and Kulturnation.127 While the nationalism of
the late Romantics emphasized the territorial Germaneness, and perceived Germany as a
cultural nation, Heinrich Heine’s image of the German nation was supra-territorial,
cultural but also informed by the civic nationalism of the French revolution.128 The
Romantic Movement in Germany, which had begun as an aesthetic revolution that had
discovered art as the new religion, later turned into a national revolution that sought to
127
For further reference please see ‘Forms of Nationalism’
Susan Bernstein, “Journalism and German Identity: Communiques from Heine, Wagner, and Adorno”
New German Critique, No. 66, Special Issue on the Nineteenth Century. (Autumn, 1995) 70 (Hereafter
quoted as: Bernstein, page number)
128
48
elevate the nation to the level of the divine.129 The late Romantics did not clearly
distinguish between nation and state, because they regarded the nation as an organic
union that was in no need of legal status. Both the nation and the individuals within the
nation were rooted in the past.130 Heine, in contrast to the late Romantics, understood that
there was a fundamental difference between the state and the nation. While the nation
provided a unity of the mind, it did not offer equality and did not secure the rights of the
individuals within the state. While the formation of the state in post-revolutionary France
provided a political or civic entity that preceded the creation of a nation; the imagined
community of a cultural entity, Germans started by imagining the cultural entity before
the civic body of Germany even existed. Although living in exile in France, Heine
understood himself still as part of the German nation, the imagined community, while at
the same time realizing that a German nation did not make a German state. In addition,
Heine was very critical of the late Romantic’s construction of the German nation as a
historical continuity, because such continuity identified and excluded “certain others”
within the nation.
One can distinguish three major phases of the German national movement in the
19th century: (1) 1806-19, (2) 1848-49, (3) 1858-63131, which largely respond to the three
structural phases of any national movement, which Hroch distinguished: The German
nationalism of the first phase was primarily shaped by small elites, jurists and
publicists132, but also secretly organized students in Burschenschaften with no specific
129
Hans Kohn, “Romanticism and the Rise of German Nationalism” The Review of Politics, Vol. 12, No. 4
(Oct., 1950), pp. 443-444 (Hereafter quoted as: Kohn, page number)
130
Kohn, 445-446
131
John Breuilly, “Nation and Nationalism in Modern German History” In: The Historical Journal, Vol. 33,
No. 3. (Sep., 1990), 660 (Hereafter quoted as: Breuilly, page number)
132
Hans Kohn, “The Eve of German Nationalism (1789-1812)” In: Journal of the History of Ideas, Vol. 12,
No. 2. (Apr., 1951), 265 (Hereafter quoted as: Hans, page number)
49
political program, which established a cult of the German nation. In the second phase
Vereinsbewegungen assumed more of an influence, primarily in form of gymnastic,
choral and sharp-shooting societies, but also in form of linguistic and literary societies.
During the final phase, associations with a clear political program of state-building
formed, such as Hilfsorganisationen and the National Verein.133 Thus, German
nationalism developed over the course of sixty years from an unorganized, threatening
idea into a well-organized framework for the mobilization, and manipulation of the
masses.
During the failed revolution of 1848/1849 German nationalism still represented a
revolutionary force, a form of PNN, which strove for the political emancipation of the
people. At the same time, different forms of German PNN competed, and also conflicted
with Prussian and Austrian forms of ENN. At the time of the creation of the first German
nation state under Otto von Bismarck’s and thus Prussian dominance in 1871, German
PNN, and Prussian and Austrian ENN, had successfully been channeled into a form of
German MNN. In the end, Bismarck had contrived a way of how to employ the new
popular national sentiment, PNN, to realize his political ambitions, successfully turning
the revolution from below into a revolution from above, thus securing the existence of the
German monarchy until 1918.
The crisis of the First World War finally enabled the success of the democratic
German PNN over the Bismarckian MNN and lead to the creation of the Weimar
Republic. Within the Weimar Republic Nazi nationalism soon formed as a new form of
PNN and successfully subverted the weak democratic MNN of the Weimar Republic, in
particular after the crisis triggered by the Great Depression. After Hitler’s rise to power
133
Breuilly, 660-661
50
the Nazi propaganda and war machinery soon developed a powerful network, which
turned Nazi PNN/MNN into ENN, by resurrecting and propagating 19th century ideas of
a greater Germany. The devastating damage of the Second World War eventually undid
Nazi ENN from outside and to a much lesser extent from within. Unfortunately, no
successful form of PNN could develop within Nazi Germany, thus after the Second
World War, there was a void of German nationalism, i.e. “Die Stunde Null” (zero hour).
Soon, this void was filled by the differing political ideologies of the U.S. and the Soviet
Union. Once again, German nationalisms were developed from above, resulting in the
capitalist, and democratic MNN of the FRG and the socialist, and anti-fascist MNN of the
GDR.
Drawing on Freud’s distinction between mourning as a reaction to the loss of a
loved object and melancholy as reaction to the loss of a narcissistic object, Alexander and
Margarete Mitscherlich regarded the Wirtschaftswunder in West Germany as a manic
attempt of a collective subconscious to compensate the deficit in self confidence that was
caused by the loss of the narcissistic object. Thus, Mitscherlich’s argued Germans had to
break any emotional ties with the immediate past, such as with WW II and the Holocaust,
in order to save their selves from a significant loss of self-value.134 Mitscherlichs
regarded it as absolutely necessary that mourning the lost object and empathy for one’s
own history and mistakes would precede the mourning of the victim’s of the
Holocaust.135 One could argue that the establishment of the GDR on the basis of myth of
‘anti-capitalist fascism’ was another version of such a manic attempt of the collective
subconscious. If one wanted to take the issue even further one could make the claim that
134
Alexander & Margarete Mitscherlich, Die Unfähigkeit zu trauern, (München: Piper-Verlag, 1967), 38.
(Hereafter quoted as: Mitscherlichs, page number)
135
Mitscherlichs, 76-87
51
the accelerated colonial erasure of the GDR by West Germany in course of the
reunification was another manic attempt by the German collective subconscious to escape
the process of addressing the past.
During the time of the Wende, the political crisis in other member states of the
Eastern Bloc, as well as the economic deprivation in the GDR, facilitated the creation of
a new form of PNN in the GDR, which successfully challenged, and eventually destroyed
the MNN of the GDR. Unfortunately, in course of the reunification the revolutionary
Eastern PNN was successfully subverted by the MNN of the FRG. It can be concluded
that during the first (end of Second World War) and second zero hour (fall of the wall),
democratic nationalism was rather implemented from above than successfully achieved
from below. Paradoxically, forms of PNN, which allow for a mobilization of the masses
and demand more democratic participation, have been constructed as threatening within
the German context. It has largely been ignored that it were really forms of MNN, under
Bismarck, in the Weimar Republic, in Nazi Germany, and in the GDR, which facilitated
the subversion of the democratic system. In this respect, the pathologies of German
nationalism appear more as systemic problem, a problem connected to the parliamentary
political system and the spectator mentality of German democracy. The German masses
always have been and largely still are regarded as politically indecisive.
South African Nationalism and Nations
Within the South African context, many different forms of nationalism competed
prior to the creation of Union of South Africa in 1910. Due to the colonial situation, the
two most prominent forms of nationalism in South Africa in the 19th century were the
ENN of the British Empire, and the ENN of the Dutch colonizers. In addition, other
52
forms of PNN represented an influence in the South African realm, such as Zulu
nationalism, Griqua nationalism etc., but had, however, for the most part only limited
regional influence because of the colonial system. In addition, most nationalisms, which
formed in early South Africa did so on the basis of shared ethnicity.
While the ENN of the British remained always connected to that of the larger
British Empire, the Dutch settlers, together with French Protestant, and German
immigrants developed a new understanding of themselves as Boer or Afrikaner, primarily
through their violent wars with the British. In particular, the atrocities the British
committed in the concentrations camps they established for Boer women and children
during the Second Anglo-Boer war, allowed the Afrikaners to develop a powerful myth
of themselves as the chosen people of the land.136 The myth of the Great Trek enabled
them to create the Orange Free State. This claim to divine destiny in South Africa proved
decisive in the establishment of Boer PNN, which eventually lead to the undoing of the
pre-dominance of British ENN and the establishment of the apartheid system. It has to be
emphasized, however, that many of the laws, which facilitated the creation of the racist
system of apartheid had already been created by the British. Within the colonial system
blacks had been constructed as second class citizen, and as such had never been granted
the right to vote.
The crisis, which enabled the success of Boer PNN, was ironically the end of the
Second World War, because it accelerated the demise of the British Empire as a major
world power. Although South Africa formally remained a member of the British
Commonwealth until 1961, British influence in South Africa dwindled after the Second
World War. Thus Boer PNN was finally successful against British ENN, when the Boer
136
McClintock, 176
53
national party gained the majority vote in 1948. This election paved the way for the
implementation of the apartheid system. Subsequently, the Boer used other forms of PNN
in South Africa, such as Zulu nationalism etc. to promote conflict among blacks, in order
to hinder the building of alliances, and concurrently strengthen the MNN of the apartheid
system.
However, already during the early 1950s, ANC nationalism developed as a
prominent form of PNN, which continuously posed a threat to the apartheid system,
primarily because it sought to unite people of all backgrounds, and over the years became
more and more organized, although it was banned by the apartheid government. While
the ANC movement was in the beginning a peaceful force, it developed also into a
military resistance movement during the 1960s and 1970s, thus increasing pressure on the
white supremacists, when it became a mass movement in the 1970s and 1980s. In
addition, the final success of ANC PNN appears clearly linked to the economic crisis of
the apartheid system during the 1980s, but is also connected to the larger international
political crisis at the end 1980s; the beginning of the 1990s, i.e. the end of the Cold War.
Under the leadership of Nelson Mandela, ANC PNN was carefully used to establish a
highly inclusive image of a post-apartheid South African nation, while aiming at the same
time for the creation of national consciousness by establishing a participatory democracy.
Over the next decades, South Africa will have to prove, whether it can succeed in
maintaining a renegotiable form of MNN, which allows for the inclusion of the voices of
competing PNN nationalisms.
54
Comparison
Although the formation of German and South African nationalism and nations
differed greatly, the following can be concluded: It appears that in the aftermath of
conflicting forms of ENN in Germany (Austrian ENN and Prussian ENN) and South
Africa (British ENN and Dutch ENN), strong, but pathological forms of PNN (Germany:
Nazi PNN, South Africa: Boer PNN) established, which enabled the creation of a
totalitarian nation on the basis of racist capitalism. In both countries these PNNs
developed into powerful forms of MNN through the use of propaganda and violence.
While Nazi MNN was brought to an end by outsides forces at the end of the Second
World War, apartheid MNN was eventually brought down through ANC PNN. In the
German context, Nazi MNN was replaced by Cold War induced forms of MNN.
Eventually, GDR MNN was, however, also subverted by an emerging more democratic
PNN. This new GDR PNN was, however, during the developments around the fall of the
wall, soon crushed by still functioning FRG MNN.
IV.
Nation State
Constructing the Nation State
According to Ernest Gellner, the modern industrial world accepts two main
principles of political legitimacy: economic growth and nationalism.137 In most modern
states, these two principles have become closely intertwined. What is novel about modern
nation states is that we live now in a world system of nation states where the state has
penetrated almost into all areas of everyday life, areas which were previously dominated
by local authorities.138 Through its association with the state, the nation has gained
137
138
Ernest, 44
Duara, 157
55
utmost importance, and vice versa.139 The different institutions so typical of modern
nation states as well as a variety of daily practices ensure that “the individual is instituted
as homo nationalis from cradle to grave”.140 Through educational production of citizens
in a modern state as national citizens, people have internalized their nationality, and have
come to view it an essential part of their being and not as the construct that it is. In a
world of more or less 200 states about 5,000 ethno-cultural groups exist, each of whom
could very well develop a feeling of nationalism.141 Enforcing the portrayal of a state as
mono-national entails therefore all the consequences of trying to homogenize a very
diverse population. In particular in the current era of globalization, the self-image of a
nation as pluralistic seems to be better suited for a peaceful co-existence. At the same
time, it needs to be emphasized that nationalisms, nations, are supra state concepts, which
through the merger with the concept of the state, are often constructed as exclusionary.
Similarly, the state as a trans-nation concept is often established as exclusionary to one
nation in this respect.
For Ernst Gellner, who defined himself as a modernist, nationalism developed out
of the crisis of modernity; out of the shift from an agrarian to an industrial state. Crucial
for the shift from agrarian to industrial society was the development of literacy and
education-linked cultures.142 In our modern world such cultures have become the norm.
Modernity gave rise to nationalism and produced the nation, because the modern
industrial state required an egalitarian society, which would produce enough equally
139
Andrew Vincent, “Liberal Nationalism – An Irresponsible Compound?” In: Philip Spencer and Howard
Wollman (eds.), Nations and Nationalism A Reader, (New Brunswick: Rutgers University Press, 2005) 86
(Hereafter quoted as: Vincent, page number)
140
Balibar, 137
141
Norman, xi
142
Ernest Gellner, “Nationalism and Modernity”, In: Philip Spencer and Howard Wollman, Nations and
Nationalism A Reader (New Brunswick: Rutgers University Press, 2005) 43-44 (Hereafter quoted as:
Ernest, page number)
56
skilled labor, and the dynamic of technological innovation required both social and labor
mobility. At the same time, Gellner emphasizes that modernity is defined by the
elimination of context-bound communication. Thus, modern society requires everyone to
possess the skill to articulate and interpret context-free messages within a familiar
context.143 According to Gellner this explains nationalism:
. . . the principle - . . . that the homogeneity of culture is the political bond,
that the mastery of (and, one should add, acceptability in) a given high
culture (the one used by the surrounding bureaucracies) is the precondition
of political, economic and social citizenship. If you satisfy this condition,
you can enjoy your droit de cite. If you do not, you must accept secondclass and subservient status, or you must assimilate, or migrate . . .144
Within the nation state, education and socialization were therefore assigned key roles and
combined to frame the project of defining national identity as national projects emerged
at the turn of the century.145 Education and socialization were utilized as tools to fabricate
homogeneity of culture. The nation state started keeping the family book, previously kept
by the church, and nationalism as MNN, as dominant state ideology, started using the
family and schools to create interior frontiers of control.146 In early modern nation states
sexism and racism were political ideologies that defined forms of MNN and which were
perpetuated through family and education. In particular in the colonial context, education
was used to teach people their “second-class status”:
Colonial authorities with competing agendas agreed on two premises:
Children had to be taught both their place and race, and the family was the
crucial site in which future subjects and loyal citizens were to be made.147
143
Ernest, 46
Ernest, 47
145
Ann Stoler, “Sexual Affronts and Racial Frontiers: European Identities and the Cultural Politics of
Exclusion in Colonial South East Asia” In: Geoff Eley and Ronald Grigor Suny (eds.), Becoming National
A Reader (New York: Oxford University Press, 1996) 288 (Hereafter quoted as: Stoler, page number)
146
Balibar, 145-146
147
Stoler, 290-291
144
57
The “second-class status” strategy assumed that education would socialize colonial
subjects when in fact education became an instrument of liberation. Colonial and noncolonial nations alike used racism and sexism as ideologies of repression, discrimination,
and subordination of part of the populous by perpetuating it through the educational
system. Through education racist and sexist pathologies of nationalism were constructed
as “essential” for the national identity. The problem of homogeneity and exclusion seems
to arise rather out of the amalgamation or equation of the two concepts nation and state,
rather than out of the two concepts individually. In order to facilitate modern industrial
production and make democratic elections more predictable, modern nation states
implemented a powerful educational state system that sought to produce a homogenous
nation, while at the same time attempting to assimilate/eliminate other nations within this
state. In this context, MNN depicted any form of PNN as “the other”. In particular
transnational communities, which existed within the nation state were construed as the
paradigmatic other, because they presented a challenge to the hard borders, concrete and
imagined, many nation states attempted to establish. Transnational communities appeared
as threatening, because they offered an “alternative cartography of social space”.148
During the Second World War the transnational experience of people in exile and
refugees became highly problematic, because within the family of nations, refugees had
no place.149 Without a place, refugees became people without rights, who were viewed as
148
Khachig Tölölyan, “The Nation-State and Its Others: In Lieu of a Preface” In: Geoff Eley and Ronald
Grigor Suny (eds.), Becoming National A Reader (New York: Oxford University Press, 1996) 428-430
(Hereafter quoted as: Tölölyan, page number)
149
Liisa Malkki, “National Geographic: The Rooting of Peoples and the Territorialization of National
Identity among Scholars and Refugees” In: Geoff Eley and Ronald Grigor Suny (eds.), Becoming National
A Reader (New York: Oxford University Press, 1996) 443-445 (Hereafter quoted as: Malkki, page number)
58
a threat by the “other national citizen”. They did not appear on the radar of the nation
state.
Similarly to Gellner, Hannah Arendt had already emphasized that the nation state
depended upon a homogenous population’s active consent to government, while at the
same time the reach of such a homogenous population is rather limited.150 According to
Arendt the greatest tragedy of the nation state was brought about by the will of the
people:
In the name of the will of the people the state was forced to recognize only
‘nationals’ as citizens, to grant full civil and political rights only to those
who belonged to the national community by right of origin and fact of
birth. This meant that the state was partly transformed from an instrument
of the law into an instrument of the nation.151
It is important to stress that Hannah Arendt exposes here how highly problematic it is if
“primordialist” perceptions of the nation are implemented as legal parameters of the state.
Rather than creating the legal conditions that would be allow for the equal co-existence of
many nations within a larger state conglomerates, such as the modern nation state, an
exclusionary legal system was established. It can also be concluded from this passage that
Arendt insinuates that successful nation states are in need of a principle higher than the
will of the people. At the same time, it is a reminder that the will of the people cannot
mean just the majority of the people, the homogenous population’s active consent to
government, but has to include all people and also take into account and protect minority
voices and rights. For Hannah Arendt, the higher principle needed to limit the will of the
people were universal human rights. The tragedy of nations became for Arendt
particularly visible in light of the dilemma of refugees and people in exile:
150
151
Arendt, 125
Arendt, 230
59
Mankind, for so long a time considered under the image of a family of
nations, had reached the stage where whoever was thrown out of these
tightly organized closed communities found himself thrown out of the
family of nations altogether . . . the abstract nakedness of being nothing
but human was the greatest danger.152
In the modern era of nation states, belonging to a nation state, became important to
survival. Without his/her nationality/citizenship a person was nothing. Through the
emergence of the nation state the transnational identity of humanity became meaningless.
People without nationality/citizenship were stripped of any rights and as such became
highly vulnerable. Belonging to a nation or to a state did not offer people the protection,
the affiliation with a nation state guaranteed them. Both, state and nation because of the
transitory characteristics did not offer individuals the same security as did the constructed
merger of the nation state. This was especially true for the Jews in Nazi Germany, as well
as black South Africans under apartheid. While Jews and blacks were part of the state,
they were constructed as alien to the nation, i.e. the nation state. The “rightless” situation
of refugees, asylums seekers, people in exile, resident aliens, in short all “national others”
within the nation state is another expression of the pathologies of MNN.
Challenging the Nation State – Aiming for the Nations State
The German political philosopher Jürgen Habermas closely connects the
emergence of the public sphere with the development of the nation state. According to
Habermas the public sphere is a sphere where private people come together in rationalcritical debate to form a ‘public’.153 Private people come from the economic sphere of
152
Arendt 294 & 300
Private people come from the economic sphere of labor and exchange, out of the private sphere of the
family and debate with public authority. The debate is public for three reasons: (1) It occurs in public. (2) It
is practiced by a public. (3) It is opposed to the actions of public authority (Jürgen, 2). According to
Habermas, events and occasions are generally called ‘public’, when they are open to all. Of course, the
state is also part of the Öffentlichkeit, it is the ‘public authority’. However, the term also refers to public
reception and includes a display of representation and public recognition. The subject of this publicity, as
153
60
labor and exchange, out of the private sphere of the family and debate with public
authority. The debate is public for three reasons: (1) It occurs in public. (2) It is practiced
by a public. (3) It is opposed to the actions of public authority.154 According to
Habermas, events and occasions are generally called ‘public’, when they are open to all.
Of course, the state is also part of the Öffentlichkeit, it is the ‘public authority’. However,
the term also refers to public reception and includes a display of representation and public
recognition. The subject of this publicity, as Habermas defines it, is the public as the
bearer of public opinion. As a critical judge the public attains a highly meaningful
function.155
The public sphere is therefore the sphere, were private people discuss
publicly public issues and form a critical opposition to public authority. In their
discussion the public can make use of a variety of ‘public organs’. These organs
depending on the circumstances may be either organs of the state such like a council, a
court, or the media, like the press.156 For Habermas the development of the nation state
and the public sphere are closely connected, because it was in the public sphere that
enabled the national self-conception, which paved the ground for a cultural context in
which oppressed subjects could become politically active citizens.157 Through the public
sphere people gained a consciousness of themselves as members within a nation, while
Habermas defines it, is the public as the bearer of public opinion. As a critical judge the public attains a
highly meaningful function (Jürgen Habermas, The Structural Transformation of the Public Sphere.
Cambridge, Massachusetts: The MIT Press, 1991. 1-3).The public sphere is therefore the sphere, were
private people discuss publicly public issues and form a critical opposition to public authority. In their
discussion the public can make use of a variety of ‘public organs’. These organs depending on the
circumstances may be either organs of the state such like a council, a court, or the media, like the press.
(Jürgen, 2)
Jürgen Habermas. The Structural Transformation of the Public Sphere, (Cambridge, Massachusetts: The
MIT Press, 1991. 1-3). (Hereafter quoted as: Jürgen, page number)
154
Jürgen, 2
155
Jürgen. 1-3
156
Jürgen, 2
157
Jürgen Habermas. Unter Einbeziehung des Anderen, (Frankfurt am Main: Suhrkamp Verlag, 1996) 135
(Hereafter quoted as: UEDA, page number)
61
simultaneously negotiating the meaning of the future nation. At the same time, Habermas
had to admit in later works that a major problem of the public sphere is that it is not
always open to all or grants equal access to all. In early modern nation states, people got
excluded from the public sphere for a variety of reason, sex, race, religion etc.
Nevertheless, according to Habermas, the nation state was historically successful,
because it replaced the corporate bonds of pre-modern societies by a solidarity union.
Two images of a nation state are possible: the ‘gewollte (wanted) Nation’ and the
‘geborene (born) Nation’. The wanted nation forms a legitimate alliance between citizens
on the basis of a constitution and creates constitutional patriotism through
communication and interpretation. In contrast, the born nation achieves social integration
between its people on the basis of a common language and history and produces national
patriotism. Returning to the previously discussed distinction between “primordialist” and
constructivist perceptions of the nation, Habermas’ “wanted nations” would acknowledge
the constructed character of nations, while “born nations” would still erroneously adhere
to “primordialist” notions of nations. In this respect, Habermas stresses that from the
linkage of both national forms of representation a certain danger arises, such as when the
integrative communicative power of the citizens is ascribed to something independent
from the citizen’s public opinion, such as national heritage.158 This marks the point when
communication becomes infiltrated by propaganda. It is in particular the artificiality of
national myths that makes the nation state so vulnerable to propagandistic abuse of
political or economical elites.159 The history of European imperialism between 1871 and
1914 as well as the integral nationalism of the 20th century and in particular the racism of
158
159
UEDA, 139
UEDA, 140
62
the national socialists are proof that this abuse. Repeatedly the idea of the nation was
employed to mobilize the masses for goals that did not reconcile with the basic principles
of a republic.160 The “nation” became a popular vehicle of propaganda. In this context,
the public sphere has an important function in a democratic society. It is in this sphere
that citizens can negotiate their own national identity in reasonable-critical debate in
opposition to the public or economic authority. The greatest challenge is to create a
public sphere that is indeed open to all.
As Habermas points out, mass media poses a peculiar problem in modern nation
states, because in the realm of mass media publicity has altered its meaning. Originally
mass media, as that of print capitalism had a prominent function in the formation of the
public opinion in the public sphere. In the eighteenth century the press supported the
public that grew out of coffee houses and salons. Public debate was essential to the
development of reason as both logic and principle in the European context. In addition,
public debate created public consensus about the common interest.161 However, mass
media soon became a power to forge public opinion.162 Mass media as the product of the
late 19th and 20th century were instruments of rational manipulation designed to subvert
the appeal to reason. Governments as well as economic empires made use this power of
the mass media. All public relations and ‘publicity work’ aim at shaping publicity
according to the interest of a certain institution.163 As a result the mass media is not a
medium anymore that triggers debate but one that undermines reasonable-critical debate
and political engagement in the public sphere, if it is between the public and the state or
160
UEDA, 141
Jürgen, 16-17
162
Jürgen, 22
163
Jürgen, 181-195
161
63
between the public and economic empires. Habermas refers to this phenomenon as refeudalization. This process involves the return of certain feudal elements in socialdemocratic states: a merging of state and society, public and private and a return to
elements of representative publicity.164 The distortion in communication is to a large
extent due to the fundamental destruction of the public sphere in modern society. As
Habermas points out the constitution formerly provided the institutional frame for
dialectics between legal and factual equality, which supported the private and public
autonomy of the citizen. In modern society, this dialectic came to a standstill.165 As a
result two forms of publicity compete in the public sphere for the public opinion: A
critical publicity in connection with the normative mandate that the exercise of political
and social power be subject to publicity, and a publicity that is object to manipulative
propaganda and staged display in the service of persons, institutions, consumer goods,
and programs.166 A major key to the successful creation of a nation based on
constitutional patriotism is the dialectic negotiation of a public opinion in the public
sphere, instead in many nation states patriotism became a strategy of subordinating the
autonomy of individuals to the authority of the state. Dialectic negotiation would
acknowledge and at the same time assume responsibility for the constructed nature of the
nation state. Ideally the public sphere should grant majority and minority voices equal
access and allow for a plurality of differing views.
While Habermas still seems to believe that the possibility to negotiate the
foundations of the nation state still exists, Anne McClintock suggests that the modern
national collectivity typical of nation states is created “through the management of mass
164
Jürgen, 196-211
UEDA, 145
166
Jürgen, 236
165
64
national commodity spectacle.”167 McClintock goes even a step further and claims that
despite the repeatedly asserted connection between the Enlightenment and the nation
state, nation states are largely managed on the basis of fetishism:
Despite the commitment of European nationalism to the idea of the nationstate as the embodiment of rational progress, nationalism has been
experienced and transmitted primarily through fetishism – precisely the
cultural form that the Enlightenment denigrated as the antithesis of
Reason. More often than not, nationalism takes shape through the visible,
ritual organization of fetish objects – flags, uniforms, airplane logos,
maps, anthems, national flowers, national cuisines and architectures as
well as through the organization of collective fetish spectacle – in team
sports, military displays, mass rallies, the myriad forms of popular culture,
and so on.168
The forging of the nation state through commodity spectacle in form of fetish objects that
McClintock describes here, reminds one very much of the banal nationalism that Michael
Billig characterized. The collective fetish spectacle of the nation state seems to have
penetrated almost all realms. Thus, resistance to the spectacle machinery, with which
modern nation states ensure the existence of MNN, in order to secure the loyalties and
solidarities of the masses to the nation state, to be effective, has to both engage in
spectacle and subvert spectacle.
In agreement with Jürgen Habermas and McClintock, Jean Baudrillard is very
critical of modern media images, and views them as sites of the disappearance of
meaning and representation, sites which do not invite or even make possible any
assessment of reality. According to Baudrillard, the world has been caught up in an
infinite mad pursuit of modern media images.169 As a result the world itself has become a
167
McClintock, 273
McClintock, 274
169
Jean Baudrillard. “The Evil Demon of Images and The Precession of Simulacra”. In: Thomas Docherty:
Postmodernism: A Reader. (New York: Columbia UP, 1993), 194 (Hereafter quoted as: Images, page
number)
168
65
constant spectacle that has contaminated everything around it including politics and the
law. Baudrillard distinguishes four successive phases of the image, the reflection of a
basic reality, the perversion of a basic reality, masking the absence of a basic reality and
simulating a basic reality. In the final phase, the images bear no relation to any reality
whatsoever anymore, they are not in the order of appearance anymore, but are pure
simulacrum.170 This is where the true power of modern media images lies: Those who
exercise the law are in the position to use modern media images to simulate a reality that
does not exist or exists solely as they would wish it to exist. Furthermore, it becomes
possible to create laws in a nation state, which are based on realities that have been
invented, i.e. racist and sexist ideologies can be established as legitimate laws of the state.
In this respect, the rhetoric of nation turns into a rhetoric of denial.
The only answer to this dilemma is, as Baudrillard asserts, to “re-inject realness
and referentiality everywhere”, in order to convince us of the reality of the social, of the
gravity of the economy and the finalities of production. Baudrillard asks for a discourse
of crisis, a discourse of desire.171 Nationalism as a pluralist negotiation of many differing
national narratives can definitely be viewed as a discourse of crisis and desire and as such
should define the nation state. Such national pluralism represents a strategy for fostering
debate and the resurrection of reason.
In his essay “Toward a Principle of Evil” Baudrillard distinguishes between
subjective and objective irony.
An objective irony watches over us, it is the object’s fulfillment without
regard for the subject, nor for its alienation. In the alienation phase,
subjective irony is triumphant. Here the subject constitutes an unsolvable
challenge to the blind world that surrounds him. Subjective irony, ironic
170
171
Images, 196.
Images, 198-199.
66
subjectivity, is the finest manifestation of a universe of prohibition, of
Law and desire. The subject’s power derives from a promise of
fulfillment, whereas the realm of the object is characterized by what is
fulfilled, and for that reason it is a realm we cannot escape.172
For Baudrillard, subjective irony can never completely escape objective irony, because
the subject always operates within the realm of the object. At the same time, accessing
one’s subjective irony represents the only possibility for resistance. Specifically,
Baudrillard establishes a link between the object and “the principle of evil”. The object
for Baudrillard refers to mankind and mankind’s social and political order. Evil can only
occur in this seemingly objective realm of order and is unlikely to occur in subjective
encounters. The object uses the banal strategy of obedience to control the subjects. For
Baudrillard “the principle of evil” resides where the object permits the concealment and
ironic corruption of the symbolic order.173 According to Baudrillard, the fatal strategies of
the object derive from real persons and their inhuman strategies. For Baudrillard these
inhuman strategies are connected to boredom and banality: “Super-banality is the
equivalent of fatality.”174 Out of banality the need for spectacle derives. The object has
therefore come to be defined by spectacle, which permitted the abdication of the
symbolic order. In order to resist the object’s banality of spectacle one has to access one’s
subjective irony. The only answer can be to initiate discourse, to express and exchange
subjective opinions, subjective observations, which may contradict the spectacle
machinery of the object. The nation state should thus be informed by a subjective
discourse of desire and not by the banality spectacle of the object. At the same time, the
172
Jean Baudrillard. “Toward a Principle of Evil”, In: Thomas Docherty: Postmodernism: A Reader. (New
York: Columbia UP, 1993) 355 (Hereafter quoted as: Evil, page number)
173
Evil, 256
174
Evil, 357
67
subjective discourse of desire has to resist the manipulation of the objectification of
discourse.
With his work on legitimation crises in social systems and the public sphere, the
Jürgen Habermas establishes a connection between communication and state, and
communication and nation, but also outlines how failed discourse can lead to a
legitimation crisis. According to Habermas social systems are defined by three
interdependent subsystems: the economic, the political and the socio-cultural system.175
Without doubt the nations, as well as states can be regarded as a social system. According
to Habermas, four crisis tendencies can occur in social systems: (1) economic crisis, (2)
rationality crisis, (3) legitimation crisis, (4) motivation crisis.176 The economic system
needs input of work and capital, as an output it produces consumable, distributable values
and is endangered by an economic crisis.177 Widespread mass loyalty is a required input
for the political system and its output lies in independently executed administrative
decisions. According to Habermas, the political system is put at risk by two different
forms of crises: output crisis or rationality crisis and input crisis or legitimation crisis. A
rationality crisis occurs when the administrative system does not fulfill the demands of
the economic system, a legitimation crisis can occur, when the legitimizing system lacks
to uphold the requisite level of mass loyalty while the steering imperatives from the
economic system are passed.178 What Habermas calls the socio-cultural system obtains its
inputs from the political and the economic system. From the political system it receives
its input in form of legal and administrative acts, social and public security and from the
175
Jürgen Habermas, Legitimation Crisis, (Boston: Beacon Press, 1975) 45 (Hereafter quoted as: Crisis,
page number)
176
Crisis, 45
177
Crisis, 45
178
Crisis, 46
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economic system as available goods and services. Output crisis in the economic and
political system trigger input conflicts in the socio-cultural system and result into
retraction of legitimation. As Habermas explains, crisis in the socio-cultural system are
always output crisis because the socio-cultural system does not organize its own output.
Whereas legitimation crisis arises from a need for different legitimation caused by
changes in the political system, motivational crisis are a result of changes in the sociocultural system itself.179 Economic and rationality crises are for Habermas mere displaced
symptoms for a systemic crisis expressing contradictions within the system. Legitimation
and motivational crisis, however, are seen by Habermas as identity crisis.180 Habermas
stresses in particular the socio-cultural influence on crisis. It seems that he regards
economic and rationality crisis as the less profound forms of crisis, since for him they are
only system crises, which thus might be solved by a systemic change. Legitimation and
motivation crisis however, are identities crises and are bound to the socio-cultural context
of the system (lifeworld) and can only be solved through forms of communication.
However, since the lifeworld is dependent on the economic and political input, a political
and economic crisis can always cause a legitimation and motivation crisis. In this respect
legitimation and motivation crisis appear as the more serious forms of crises because they
question the nation state as a whole. Such crises are much more likely to occur when
nations states are built in an exclusionary nature, because any form of exclusion restricts
communication and can thus hinder the necessary dialectic exchange between the
economic, political and socio-cultural system needed to avoid such crises. Thus, within
the nation state the social contract has to be constantly renegotiated.
179
180
Crisis, 48
Crisis, 46
69
Contemporary democratic nation states generally pride themselves with equality
of all members. However, such equality is hardly ever or almost never a reality.
Pathological developments of the nation state are therefore a lingering threat. In order to
establish a national identity that will not be prone to pathologies, two premises should be
given: Firstly, state institutional frameworks, which aggravate the mythological and
spectacular abuse of the nation and emphasize its “constructedness”. Secondly, a strong
emphasis on discourse, which includes all members of the nation state, and in particular,
gives a voice to people on the margins of the nation state. Only a multiplicity of voices
will raise consciousness about the constructed and dynamic character of the nation state
and allow changes.
Daniel Weinstock points out that in liberal democracies the endeavor of nationbuilding assumes either a minimalist or a maximalist position:
The minimalist believes that it is sufficient that members of a political
community share a basic set of political values and/or that they act in ways
that support core political institutions. In liberal democracies, the
minimalist nation-builder will enact measures aimed at promoting the
values of quality and tolerance and at inculcating the traits of character
(civility, responsibility, and so on) that are essential motivational
underpinnings for theses institutions. The maximalist believes that it is not
enough that citizen living under common political institutions merely
share the kinds of political values and attitudes that the minimalist aims to
realize. He or she believes that citizens must also share “deeper” aspects
of culture.181
It appears that the minimalist promotes a form of civic nationalism whereas the
maximalist combines ideas of civic and ethno-cultural nationalism. One could also say
that a minimalist approach takes more into consideration the constructed character of the
nation while the maximalist’s attitude at least sympathizes with a primordialist nature of
181
Daniel Weinstock, “Four Kinds of (Post-) nation-building” In: Michel Seymour (ed.), The Fate of the
Nation-state (Montreal: McGill-Queen’s University Press, 2004) 52 (Hereafter quoted as: Weinstock, page
number)
70
the nation. In addition, the minimalist versus maximalist distinction in nation building
also reflects different conceptions of the state, i.e. division of powers within the state. The
maximalists would promote a centralized form of state, while the minimalists would
endorse a unitary form of state. According to Weinstock, from the actual policies of
political institutions four different forms of nation building emerge: “majority nationbuilding (MNB), constitutional, (CNB), transformative (TNB) and organic (ONB).”182
Majority nation-building assumes a majority position and upholds that all
immigrants and minority groups should conform to the culture, language and symbols of
the majority group. Weinstock argues that European nation-building in the 18th and 19th
century for the most part assumed a majority position.183 The revolutionary ideas did not
result in a real negotiation, but rather in the imposition of a national idea. The
transformative process often did not include the masses and sold the democratic
endeavors short. PNN was often co-opted and national rule established with help of the
state’s monopoly on coercion. Consecutively, a form of MNN that often serves the
interest of economic and political elites is established that aims at the perpetuation of the
system.
In contrast, constitutional nation-building assumes a minimalist position and
believes that the political values guaranteed in the constitution should be the starting
point for nation-building. Jürgen Habermas is the most well-known promoter of CNB and
in accordance with his theory of the public CNB highly depends on a functioning public
sphere that is open to all.184 Such an image of the nation would be based on discourse and
ask for an all-including negotiation of the social contract. This consensual nation-building
182
Weinstock, 53
Weinstock, 53
184
Weinstock, 53-54
183
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process would above all, however, require time and the participation of the masses not
only in the creation of PNN, but also later in order to restrict pathological developments
of MNN – it is the product of continuous engagement and debate which establish and
institutional presence.
Proponents of transformative nation-building believe similar to the followers of
MNB in a common set of cultural values. The privileged cultural symbols and practices,
however, should not stem from a majority group, but rather emanate from the merging of
a society’s cultural sub-units. A European identity generated out of the different national
identities of the European Union would be an example for TNB.185 Such transformative
nation-building would require trans-national discourse that eventually transcends the
previous perceptions of nationhood. Such nation building only appears as fruitful in
relation with CNB, because otherwise the spectacle machinery and the creation of MNN
can be developed without any input of PNN, in particular “from below”. The European
Union at the moment appears solely as a myth that is and was constructed mainly by
economic and within the last years more an more by political elites, while the desires of
the masses are not even taken into consideration. Because the European Union does not
even have a constitution but just laws, the paradoxical situation has developed that the
masses are bound by laws, but have no rights and no vehicles for trans-national debate
across the EU that would sustain engagement.
Supporters of organic nation-building argue that apart from a political community
a nation is dependent on a shared sense of belonging and common purpose. In this
context, they are convinced that a shared culture will naturally develop out of shared
185
Weinstock, 54
72
political institutions.186 This reminds of primordialist views of the nation and appears
very prone to ideological abuses of racism and sexism. Such organic perception of
nation-building also does not take into account that responsible nation-building, which
seeks to avoid pathologies of nation-hood, requires a lot of work, a lot of negotiations,
discourse and of course also set-backs and does not “just grow”.
It is of utmost importance to keep in mind that both, the state and the nation, are
constructed entities, which should be negotiated. In established nation states, the
implementation of new laws, which serve certain political and economic aims, are often
justified with the greater national benefit. The powerful spectacle machinery at work in
such nation states, however, allows the creation of national needs and threats, which are
non-existent. The creation of laws on the basis of questionable circumstances can easily
develop into pathologies of the nation state. Only discursive forums, which are open to
all, will enable to modern nation state to transcend its own limitations. In this respect,
only nation building of CNB and CNB in combination with TNB, which Weinstock
describes, seem to be able to live up to such a challenge. The constitution of a nation state
must include an international dimension, which allows for multiple nations within one
state and presents a basis for the imagination of adaptation and diversity, instead of
imposing a false homogeneity in the construction of the state. Forms of PNN, which predate the nation-state, seem to have the strongest potential to break up the potential
pathological merger between the two concepts of nation and state, while forms of MNN
often emphasize the link between nation and state. Acknowledging the simultaneous
existence of PNN and MNN within the nation will already subvert homogenizing
imperatives of nation states.
186
Weinstock, 55
73
German Nation States
Germany presents a curious case in the sense that ideas of the German nation
predated that of the German state, and that the German nation state is one of the few
states, which formed twice. At the same time, forms of MNN, which emphasized the link
between nation and state, have been prominent in the German context, because initially
political claims for the German state were deduced from the imaginary concept of the
German nation. Thus far, two successful forms of PNN have developed within the
German state: the pathological form of Nazi Germany and the pluralist civil rights
movement of the GDR. While Nazi PNN enforced the merger of nation and state and
even aimed for the absolute consolidation of nation and state, GDR PNN also failed to
split the image of nation and state, because of the existing FRG MNN. In addition, taking
into account Weinberg’s distinction between minimalist and maximalist nation building,
it can be concluded that Germany has always pursued maximalist, i.e. centralized forms
of state. In addition, the German nation state builds on majority nation building (MNB).
South African Nation States
South Africa also represents a curious case, but for different reasons. Colonialism
had the most profound influence on the nation state formation in South Africa. During the
time of the first state formation in South Africa, a common national sentiment did not
exist, but developed rather out of the interest of the two competing colonial powers to
secure their competing versions of white supremacy. As explained the Boer fraction of
the population soon developed, however, a strong feeling of PNN, which resulted in the
merger of nation and state with the elections of 1948. The establishment and survival of
this nation state could only be ensured, by a powerful legal system, which
74
disenfranchised the majority of the population. It represented a maximalist, strongly
centralized, and organic form of nation building. In resistance to the apartheid system
ANC PNN developed as a powerful force, which eventually succeeded in subverting the
apartheid system. During the second state formation, and the first nation(s) state
formation in South Africa, South Africans assumed a minimalist position, i.e. opted for a
unitary form of state, and chose constitutional nation building. The additional creation of
the Truth and Reconciliation Commission significantly contributed to splitting the image
of the new South African rainbow community into nations and state. Ubuntu.
Comparison
As outlined, Germany, as well as South Africa faced the challenge of how to manage
a significant political, economic, and sociological crisis at the beginning of the 1990s.
The common perception of the German situation was, however, that only one of the two
existing German states, the GDR, was in crisis and that by all means it had to be avoided
that this crisis could spread to the BRD. In contrast, South Africans had no doubt that
they were all affected by this crisis. It would have been a possibility that Germany, with
one of the two German states belonging to the former Eastern block, would have
undergone a triple transformation as the other Eastern European states, including the
active negotiation of national diversity, the democratizing of political systems and the
liberalization of economic systems. However, such a transformation did not take place,
because the former GDR just completely adopted the systems of the BRD, its parties,
economic system etc. This significant transformation of Eastern Germany was not
negotiated, but rather imposed from above. Simultaneously, a negotiation of national
75
diversity was dismissed, because “Jetzt wächst zusammen, was zusammengehört.”187 Jus
Sanguinis rather than just soli still presented the basis of German citizenship, and thus
strong primordial conceptions of nation predominated during the reunification. The
attacks against foreigners, which resulted out of the growing disappointment with the
reunification, in this light, expressed an existing need for the negotiation of national
diversity within the two Germanys. In contrast, South Africa underwent a quadruple
transformation. During the lengthy period of change, South Africans negotiated ethnic
diversity, built or significantly restructured state capacity, democratized the political
system, and liberalized the economic institutions. The creation of the post-apartheid
South African nation state, in Weinstock’s categories, appears as constitutional (CNB) or
transformative (TNB) nation building, whereas the building of the post-wall German
nation state can only be viewed as majority (MNB) nation building. The West German
majority in a victorious manner imposed its successful system on the East, cozening their
East German “brothers and sisters” with nothing else but the right to vote, stifled the idea
of a plural national community.
Interestingly enough, however, the system of the South African nation state, at the
same time, adopted part of the West German system. As mentioned previously, South
Africa modeled its power-sharing between the provinces and the federal government on
the distribution of power between the West German states and the West German
government. While South Africa implemented this system as a conscious decision, to
facilitate the co-existence of many nations within one state, Germany did not seize the
chance inherent to its own state system, to allow a redefinition of Germany as one of
187
“It just grows together, what belongs together”. This sentence was said by the former West German
chancellor Willy Brandt at a speech given at the Schöneberger Rathaus in Berlin just after the “fall of the
wall” on the 10th of November 1989.
76
many nations within one state. At the same time, the German reunification even offered
the chance not only to develop again a consciousness of the multi-nationalism of its
system, but also to establish a new system, a federation of two different states of the same
nation. As communities of the mind nations are trans-state, therefore a need to unite the
German nation in one state, was not a necessity. It was, however, the logical result, of
political and economic motivations. The reunification, as it took place, represented an
assertion of Western superiority, as well as of capitalism. The following Chapter III deals
with the development of national narratives.
77
CHAPTER III: NATIONAL NARRATIVES
1. Narrating the Nation
Etienne Balibar highlights that any nation is always represented in form of a
narrative.188 It needs to be stressed, however, that the history of nationalism and nations
is rather one of competing narratives that seek to define a social community.
Simultaneously, this also highlights that nationalism is just one of the narratives of how
to define a community and by far not the only one. It is therefore important to keep in
mind that in any nation many national narratives exist, although one national narrative is
most likely constructed as dominant. The image of a healthy nation should therefore
evolve out of a discourse of many competing national narratives.
According to Benedict Anderson the invention of the printed language was
essential for the imagination of the nation, because print capitalism made possible the
spreading of national narratives to the people. Although he stresses the invention of a
common print language, Anderson is convinced that even nations without linguistic
communality essentially are imagined through the printed language. For Anderson
poetry, prose fiction, music and plastic art are essential cultural products of nationalism
that constitute a nations identity and may inspire love or fear and hatred of the ‘other’.189
According to Anderson nationalism works in terms of historical destinies that have to be
communicated190. It is through language that pasts are restored and futures are
imagined,191 but also that presents are negotiated.
188
Balibar, 132
Anderson, 141
190
Anderson, 149
191
Anderson, 154
189
78
Since the publication of Anderson’s
ground-breaking book, Imagined
Communities, in 1983, more than twenty years have gone by and in particular the
development of new media has decisively altered the ways of communication. As
previously discussed, the problem arises in modern nation states that the nation is not
even necessarily narrated to us anymore, but just represented to us in form of spectacle;
media picture; through fetish objects. This pictorial depiction of the nation often enforces
myths of origins and national continuity visually, instead of critiquing or questioning
these and initiating discussion with the national subjects. Within the overwhelming
national spectacle machinery of the object it is increasingly difficult for the subject to
access its own subjective irony. However, the voicing and exchange of subjective
narratives is at the same time the only way to withstand the national fetish bombardment
of the object. Most nation states have succeeded through the fetish spectacle of MNN to
convince the population of the “essentiality” of their nationality. Challenging the
narrative of the object through a multiplicity of subjective narratives will unmask the
completely fabricated character of the nation state.
Accordingly, Homi Bhabha does not approach the nation as a continuous
narrative of national progress, but as a liminal image, as a cultural temporality, a
transitional, liminal narrative.192 Primarily, Bhabha is interested in the nation as a written
display of the temporality of culture.193 In order to affirm and extend Fanon’s
revolutionary credo: “National consciousness, which is not nationalism, is the only thing
that will give us an international dimension.”194, Bhabha seeks to explore the in-between
192
Homi K. Bhabha, “Introduction: narrating the nation” In: Homi Bhabha, Nation and Narration. (New
York: Routledge, 1990) 1 (Hereafter quoted as: Intro, page number)
193
Intro, 2
194
Fanon, 179
79
spaces, through which the meanings of cultural and political authority are negotiated.195
In his essay “DissemiNation: time, narrative, and the margins of the modern nation”
Bhabha explains more clearly what he means by the margins. Bhabha wants to rewrite
the Western notion of nation from the perspective of migration, exile, from the point of
view of people gathering at frontiers.196 Drawing on Bakthin and Goethe, Bhabha argues
that the origin of the nation’s visual presence is the effect of a narrative struggle.197 From
the liminal, minority position, Bhabha wants to develop a counter-image of the nation
through narrative in order to replace nationalism by national consciousness.198 With this
counter-image Bhabha aims at splitting the national subject and turning the Nation It/Self
into a liminal form of social representation, a space that is internally defined by cultural
difference and the heterogeneous histories of disputing peoples.199 For Bhabha the
splitting of a nation’s narrative is needed, because out of this splitting identification is
born, national consciousness arises.200 Bhabha’s expects that through a narrative from the
margins the nation will be able to perceive itself from the perspective of the object and
the subject. According to Bhabha, a nation’s people have a dual inscription as
pedagogical objects and performative subjects.201 Marginal perspectives will help people
realize this duality. Bhabha’s dual inscription of people seems to echo Arendt’s
distinction between actor and spectator that she outlines in her Lectures on Kant. Arendt
distinguishes between the position of the spectator and the actor in the following manner:
195
Intro, 5
Homi K. Bhabha, “DissemiNation: time, narrative, and the margins of the modern nation” In: Homi
Bhabha, Nation and Narration. (New York: Routledge, 1990) 291 (Hereafter quoted as: Bhabha, page
number)
197
Bhabha, 295
198
Bhabha, 296-297
199
Bhabha, 298
200
Bhabha, 301
201
Bhabha, 302
196
80
Because of his impartial position the spectator is able to apprehend the design of the
providence of his nature, whereas the spectator in his partial position is not.202 The main
difference between the position of the spectator and actor is that the actor conducts
himself for fame according to what spectators would expect from him, whereas the
spectator conducts himself according to an inner voice of reason.203 In the case of a
nation state the nation as actor would act according to the will of the people, whereas as
spectator the nation would look at its own mirror image and then act according to reason.
In any case, a split, marginal, temporal perception of the nation can enable change much
more easily and exposes that the nation is not a stable entity, but rather a dynamic
endeavor. Any form of nation building, maintaining or reforming should therefore invite
many national narratives, in order allow for the inclusive, dynamic, equal process of a
narrative struggle that will ease the development of national self-awareness and at the
same time, use all creative potential. The strengthening of national self-awareness,
including the recognition that nationalities are completely constructed, is the only way to
avoid pathologies of the nation states. While the dominant national narrative of the object
can usually be found in the political speeches, press releases etc. alternative national
narratives are explored in other realms – one of them being literature.
In their work The Discursive Construction of National Identity Ruth Wodak,
Rudolf de Cillia, Martin Reisigl and Karin Liebhart analyze in detail how a nation state’s
national identity is discursively constructed by using the example of Austria. For their
research they included a variety of different sources:
202
Ronald Beiner (ed.), Hannah Arendt Lectures on Kant (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1992) 52
(Hereafter quoted as: Beiner, page number)
203
Beiner, 55
81
. . . in exploring the phenomenon of national identity, our interdisciplinary
approach combines historical, socio-political, and linguistic perspectives
in a methodologically pluralistic approach. In our study, the principle of
triangulation implies using various methods of data collections and the
analysis of different sets of data – political speeches, newspaper articles,
posters and brochures, interviews and focus groups – which enable us to
provides a detailed picture of the Austrian identity in public and semiprivate settings exhibiting various degrees of formality, and to identify and
contrast competing configurations of national identity as well as divergent
narratives of identity.204
From the above quote is can therefore be asserted that each nation state is indeed engaged
in a narrative struggle. Several different national narratives compete and are being
negotiated in the public sphere as Habermas described it. Simultaneously, powerful
spectacle machineries are in place, which not only ensures the dominance of one national
narrative, but often also aim at forging national homogeneity through the creation and
constant perpetuation of national fetish objects. Divergent narratives of national identity
exist, but have less of an influence. My research argues that one realm, where differing
national narratives are explored, is literature. Although, Wodak and her co-researchers
acknowledge the importance of culture in the creation of national identities, they did not
include literary research in their assessment of national narratives.
Literature, and in particular the emergence of the modern novel, in accordance
with Georg Lukács and Mikhail Bakhtin, appears intrinsically linked to the complexity of
modern life within the nation state. In his chapter “The Epic and the Novel”, Lukács
claims that the major difference between these two forms of literature originates from the
different historico-philosophical realities with which the authors were confronted. As a
result Lukács identifies the novel as the following:
204
Ruth Wodak, Rudolf de Cillia, Martin Reisigl and Karin Liebhart, The Discursive Construction of
National Identity (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 1999) 9 (Hereafter quoted as: Wodak, page
number)
82
The novel is the epic of an age in which the extensive totality of life is no
longer directly given, in which the immanence of meaning in life has
become a problem, yet which still thinks in terms of totality.205
In contrast to the lightness and reality-creating force of the verse of great epic literature
Lukács emphasizes that only prose can encompass the suffering, the heaviness, the
meaninglessness of modern life.206 However, as Lukács states, novel and epic also differ
in their way of depicting of the totality of life: Whereas the epic gives form to the totality
of life from within, the novel seeks to give form by uncovering and deconstructing the
totality of life.207 In addition, one of the main characteristics of the novel, according to
Lukács, is that the outward form of the novel is essentially biographical: The central
character is shown in his relationship to the world, and thus the novel deals with the life
of the problematic individual. The contingent world and the problematic individual are
realities, which mutually determine one another.208 Lukács emphasizes, the novel
overcomes its ‘bad’ infinity by recourse to the biographical form. The biographical form
of the novel is oriented towards ideas. Both, beginning and end of the novel are defined
by the process, which provides the content of the novel.209 Finally, Lukács defines the
novel as:
. . . the epic of a world that has been abandoned by God. The novel’s hero’s
psychology is demonic; the objectivity of the novel is the mature man’s
knowledge that meaning can never quite penetrate reality, but that, without
meaning, reality would disintegrate into the nothingness of inessentiality.210
205
Georg Lukács, The Theory of the Novel, (Cambrigde, Massachusetts: The M.I.T. Press, 1971) 56
(Hereafter quoted as: Lukács, page number)
206
Lukács, 56-57
207
Lukács, 60
208
Lukács , 77-78
209
Lukács, 81-83
210
Lukács, 88
83
The heroic character of a novel cannot, as do the heroic characters of an epic rely on the
guidance of gods. They find themselves in the paradoxical relationship between the
subjective and the objective worlds without divine guidance. In his demonic search for
meaning in life the hero arbitrarily and disconnectedly selects those moments of reality,
which he finds most suitable for himself.211 In this respect, the modern novel illustrates
the struggle of the author; the narrator, the protagonist to express his subjective voice
within the realm of the object, i.e. the nation state.
Bakhtin did not view the novel as a literary genre, but as a text whose main
characteristic is its constant flux,212 the novel parodies other genres, it depicts the
tradition of their forms and their language; it ostracizes some genres and incorporates
others into its own peculiar structure, reformulating and re-accentuating them.213
According to Bakthin, the main characteristic of the novel was from the very beginning a
new way to conceptualize time: The novel was structured in direct contact with
inconclusive present-day reality and had at its core personal experience and free creative
imagination.214 Following Bakthin, three basic characteristics distinguish the novel from
other genres:
(1) its stylistic three-dimensionality, which is linked with the multilanguaged consciousness realized in the novel; (2) the radical change it
effects in the temporal coordinates of the literary image; (3) the new zone
opened by the novel for structuring literary images, namely, the zone of
maximal contact with the present (with contemporary reality) in all its
openendedness.215
211
Lukács, 89-93
M. M. Bakhtin, The Dialogic Imagination, (Austin: University of Texas Press, 1981), 3 (Hereafter
quoted as: Bakhtin, page number)
213
Bakhtin 5
214
Bakhtin, 10
215
Bakhtin, 11
212
84
For Bakthin, these three characteristics are all interrelated and have all been powerfully
affected by historical change when European civilization came into contact with a
multitude of different languages, cultures and this became a decisive factor in life and
thought. Thus, an actively polyglot world became the center of the new cultural and
creative consciousness. In this polyglot environment completely new relationships are
established between language and the reality that could not be realized with already
completed genres of monoglossia. Thus, the novel by assuming polyglossia as its native
element advanced to the leader in the process of developing and renewing literature in its
linguistic and stylistic dimension.216 Bakthin emphasizes that the novel has no canon of
its own, but is a genre that is ever questing, ever examining itself and structures itself in a
zone of direct contact with developing reality.217 In this respect, the Bakhtinian
polyglossia in modern fiction, the overlapping, and coexistence of many narratives,
mirrors the image of a nation state that consists of, or is shaped by, multiple communities
rather than the common assumption of being a homogenous entity. Modern literature, in
particular novels, would thus depict, but also invite competing national narratives. In
addition, as a solely written medium, literature is relatively untouched by the mad circus
of media images, which Baudrillard describes. It appears therefore as one of the best
places to search for alternative national narratives.
In her book The Anatomy of National Fantasy, Lauren Berlant explores how the
writer Nathaniel Hawthorne engaged with questions of the nation in his work and
established a connection between personal and national narrative. For Berlant the realm
216
217
Bakhtin, 11-12
Bakhtin, 11
85
of nation and fantasy are very closely related through imagination as she explains by
coining the term “National Symbolic”, which she describes in the following manner:
Law dominates the field of citizenship, constructing technical definitions
of citizen’s rights, duties, and obligations. But the National Symbolic also
aims to link regulations to desire, harnessing affect to political life through
the productions of “national fantasy”. By “fantasy” I mean to designate
how national culture becomes local – through the images, narratives,
monuments, and sites that circulate through personal/collective
consciousness. There is no one logic to national form but, rather, many
simultaneously “literal” and “metaphorical” meanings, stated, and
unstated.218
As Berlant states in the above quote no national form can ever be homogeneously
rationalized, but rather presents itself as an imaginary, personal and collective struggle.
At the same time, Berlant distinguishes between a realm of the law; that of the state,
which defines citizen’s rights etc., and a realm of desire; of fantasy; that of the nation.
Although the National Symbolic develops out of the pluralistic logic of a struggle of
differing narratives, images, monuments, maps, etc., this complex discourse may later
become automated, and structured along the lines of a single logic, as Berlant points out:
. . . considering specifically the conditions under which national identity
takes shape: within dominant or official” culture, and for person who
come to know themselves as national “citizens.” To provide this analysis
of national consciousness I will refer to the formation and operation of
what I call the “National Symbolic” – the order of discursive practices
whose reign within a national space produces, and also refers to, the “law”
in which the accident of birth within a geographic/political boundary
transforms individuals into subjects of a collectively-held history. Its
traditional icons, its metaphors, its heroes, its rituals, and its narratives
provide an alphabet for a collective consciousness or national subjectivity;
through the National Symbolic the historical nation aspires to achieve the
inevitability of the status of natural law, a birthright. This pseudo-genetic
condition not only affects profoundly the citizen’s subjective experience
of her/his political rights, but also of civil life, private life, the life of the
body itself.
218
Lauren Berlant, The Anatomy of National Fantasy, (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1991) 5
(Hereafter quoted as: Berlant, page number)
86
Modern citizens are born in nations and are taught to perceive the
nation as an intimate quality of identity, as intimate and inevitable as
biologically-rooted affiliations through gender or the family. National
subjects are taught to value certain abstracts signs and stories as part of
their intrinsic relation to themselves, to all “citizens”, and to the national
terrain: there is said to be a common national “character”.219
As Berlant describes, over time, one national perception becomes dominant and is
increasingly perpetuated through the use of national signs and symbols, but also
narrations. Rather than continuing the national narrative struggle and engaging their
children in it, modern nations have developed intricate ways of educating the new
generations as national citizen and assuring them of the “essentiality” of this condition. In
this respect, narration does not question and approach the concept of nation critically
anymore, but becomes a ritualized practice of maintaining the nation. At the same time,
however, narration, as Berlant depicts through her analysis of Nathaniel Hawthorne’s
texts, can still serve as a means to undo and challenge the dominant national narrative. In
this context, a country’s “national literature” can serve as a steppingstone to entangle the
people again in a national narrative struggle that questions forms of internalized
nationality. This is particularly true in modern nation states, where the perpetuation of
national symbols and narratives takes place to a large extent on television. Literature
offers therefore a realm to depict and explore the counter-narratives.
In another article, “The Theory of Infantile Citizenship” Lauren Berlant stresses
in particular, the infantile creation of nationality though education.220 Moreover, she
highlights in light of the increasing influence of media images, not only the importance of
national literature, but also that of popular culture in constructing, but also deconstructing
219
Berlant, 20-21
Lauren Berlant, “The Theory of Infantile Citizenship” In: Goeff Eley and Ronald Grigor Suny,
Becoming National (New York: Oxford University Press, 1996) 495-497 (Hereafter quoted as: Lauren,
page number)
220
87
the dominant national narrative. Both, national literature and popular culture offer spaces
for alternative representations of the nation. The importance for exploring the diverging
narratives in popular culture arises for Berlant out of the fact that media images, in
particular television, have a much stronger influence on the forging of national identities
than literature.221 Thus, the dominant national narrative can only be successfully
challenged by using the same means. Although the influence of media images has
certainly increased even more over the past few years, this dissertation focuses on the
exploration of alternative national narratives in literature, because contemporary media
images are more and more affected by global interests. At the same time, in particular in
South Africa, but also in East Germany, media images have only become easily
accessible to the majority of the population over the past ten to fifteen years. Moreover,
books are traditionally part of the education process of a nation, while media images have
a rather marginal role. In addition, the engagement with the written word, forces the
reader to use his/her own imagination; i.e. subjective irony. In this respect, literature
appears as the more traditional medium for the forging, but also challenging the nation.
In particular, Roland Barthes’ distinction between middle and active voice when
discussing the verbs ‘to sacrifice’ and ‘to write’ might be helpful in this respect:222
. . . the verb to sacrifice (ritually) is active if the priest sacrifices the victim
in my place and for me, and it is middle voice if , taking the knife from the
priest’s hands, I make the sacrifice for my own sake; in the case of the
active voice, the action is performed outside the subject, for although the
priest makes the sacrifice, he is not affected by it; in the case of the middle
voice, on the contrary, by acting, the subject affects himself, he always
remains inside the action, even if that action involves and object. Hence
the middle voice does not exclude transitivity. Thus defined, the middle
221
Lauren, 497-498
Meg Samuelson, “The Disfigured Body of the Female Guerrilla: (De)Militarization, Sexual Violence,
and Redomestication in Zoë Wicomb’s David’s Story” Signs Journal of Women in Culture and Society
2007, vol. 32, no.4 © by The University of Chicago. 850 (Hereafter quoted as: Samuelson, page number)
222
88
voice corresponds exactly to the modern state of the verb to write: to write
is today to make oneself the center of the action of speech, it is to effect
writing by affecting oneself, to make action and affection coincide, to
leave the scriptor inside the writing – not as a psychological subject (. . . ),
but as agent of the action.223
By writing but also by reading we become agents of the action. The author enables the
reader through middle voice to become also an agent of the text. Assuming that any
literary text is written for an audience, we are effecting the last step of the author’s
writing as readers, but we are also affecting ourselves, when we start questioning what
we read.
II.
Narratives of the Present
As theoretical background for the political developments in both countries as well as
the analysis of the literary works of transition, this chapter draws on a variety of
intellectual thinkers, such as Jürgen Habermas, Jean Baudrillard, Hannah Arendt, Michel
Foucault, Friedrich Nietzsche, Edward Bernays, Frantz Fanon. In summary, I follow
Habermas’ aforementioned assessment of constitutional nation state formation and
analysis of the public sphere and the media and connect it with Baudrillard’s emphasis of
the subjective within the object and his perception of evil in modern media images.224
From Arendt I take her ideas about ‘empathy’ ‘violence’ and ‘power’, link them to
Foucault’s description of the ‘carceral system’ of the state; as well as Fanon’s previously
discussed idea of ‘political consciousness’225 and his observations of the traumatic effects
of violence. In addition, I briefly touch on Nietzsche’s insights on morality, and Bernays’
understanding of the usage of propaganda in time of peace. Let me explain.
223
Roland Barthes, The Rustle of Language (New York: Hill and Wang, 1986), 18 (Hereafter quoted as:
Barthes, page number)
224
Both, Jürgen Habermas and Jean Baudrillard’s theories were already explained in detail in Chapter 2.
225
Please see Chapter 2.
89
The developments in Germany and South Africa at the end of the 1980s, beginning of
the 1990s, clearly represented a rupture that affected all areas of political, economic,
social and even personal life, although it did not have an impact on all citizens alike. This
rupture in both countries was caused by a strengthened public sphere226, which
challenged the governing authorities. In both countries, the existing power structures
were shaken in their foundations and those developments resulted in a renegotiation of
the powers of the state, which was to a large extent a legal state issue. As the imaginary
and emotional glue of the nation state, the imaginary community of the nation was used
to facilitate the implementation of the legal decisions of the state.
As Hannah Arendt outlines in her ethos and institutional framework treatises, The
Origins of Totalitarianism as well as Eichmann in Jerusalem227, it is inherent to the law
that it can be elevated to an abstract level of autonomy where it can be used to operate
above the concerns of people. For both, Germany and South Africa, it was a challenge to
unify the different nations successfully into one state. Given the nature of the prior
separation it could be expected that the abstract legal procedures had to be accompanied
by other unifying measures, such as the creation of mutual understanding. According to
Arendt, empathy is one of the most unique characteristic of humans, because it allows us
to comprehend another person’s thoughts and feelings.228 Psychologists generally
distinguish between automatic and controlled empathy. While some more intelligent
animals, such as apes and dolphins are capable of spontaneous empathy only humans are
able of controlled empathy. Spontaneous empathy is primarily evoked visually, while
226
Please see Appendix A & B
Hannah Arendt, Eichmann in Jerusalem (New York: The Viking Press, 1963) (Hereafter quoted as:
Hannah, page number)
228
Hannah, 44
227
90
controlled empathy is mainly established discursively and presupposes the individual’s
willingness to open his/her mind, in order to fully comprehend someone else’s
position.229 In this respect, written or oral narration is crucial, because it allows us to
comprehend and retrace occurrences in our mind’s eye.
Hannah Arendt’s observation of Adolf Eichmann is definitely one of the most famous
examples of controlled empathy. In her close observation of Eichmann, Arendt used her
own emphatic abilities to understand the Nazi perpetrator. From her observation, Arendt
drew three main conclusions: Firstly, Eichmann, whose only language was Amtssprache
(officialese) and who mainly talked in stock phrases, had lost his emphatic abilities as a
dutiful member of a modern bureaucratized, i.e. Nazi state.230 Arendt saw Eichmann’s
inability to speak and think for himself as an expression of his dilemma that he could not
afford to face reality anymore, because his crime had become part and parcel of it.
Secondly, in Nazi Germany, Eichmann was part of a society where self-deception had not
only become a common practice, but prerequisite for survival.231 In this context, the use
of controlled empathy could have fatal consequences. Arendt stresses, however that the
practice of self-deception to deal with distortions of reality, is by no means limited to the
horrible distortions of Nazi Germany, but occurred in post-war Germany and still occurs
in other modern societies in a similar manner.232 Thirdly, absolute obedience to the law
facilitated the elimination of empathy within the Nazi state. Whenever Eichmann was
asked why he organized the transport of the Jews to Auschwitz, even though he knew the
229
Sara D. Hodges, Daniel M. Wegner, “Automatic and Controlled Empathy”, In: William Ickes, Emphatic
Accuracy, (New York: Guilford Press, 1997) 311-334
230
Hannah, 43-44
231
Hannah, 47
232
Hannah, 53
91
facts about Auschwitz, he responded that he had to obey the law.233 One could argue that
in order to “fully function” within modern bureaucratized societies one has to not only
restrict its emphatic abilities and internalize the virtue of obedience to the law, but also to
exercise self-deception. Nazi-Germany and apartheid South Africa are, however, only
two horrific examples of the pathologies, which can develop, when a society is built on
these three “virtues”. In this respect, controlled empathy, a critical stand to the law, and
avoidance or at least awareness of the dangers of self-deception, appear as necessary
components of a healthy society. Both, Germany and South Africa had the chance during
their moment of rupture to reflect on and restructure their society in terms of empathy,
law and deception.
Similarly to Arendt, Foucault points out that in modern states certain disciplinary
structures are at work, which facilitate living together. A problem arises if these
disciplinary measures are implemented and upheld by all means, in order to ensure the
further existence of the power structures in place; that those who are in power remain in
power. According to Foucault the ideological apparatus of the prison that aims at
replacing punishment by discipline extends into the state in institutions like schools,
factories or military barracks. Decisive factors in establishing discipline, as Foucault
points out, are the control of space and time, the control of activity and the control of the
body. This system of discipline was termed the carceral system by Foucault.234
Discipline on a state level is secured by the formation of a central police power. The ideal
form of modern penalty is the indefinite examination.235 Discipline turns the prisoner into
233
Hannah, 120
Michel Foucault, Discipline and Punish, (New York: Vintage Books, 1995) 135-194. (Hereafter quoted
as: Foucault, page number)
235
Foucault, 191
234
92
the delinquent. The creation of a notion of delinquency is useful as Foucault stresses for
four reasons; the last one of them being, that the notion of delinquency may be useful in
colonization projects.236 It becomes clear from Foucault’s outline that the delinquent was
not necessarily someone who broke a particular law, but part of a group whose very
existence implied illegality and crime. The carceral system ultimately aimed at turning
the masses into predictable, controllable units of people.237 In this respect, carceral
systems are at work in all modern bureaucratized states. In combining Foucault with
Arendt, carceral systems of the state become highly problematic, when they aim at
eliminating controlled empathy, require absolute obedience to the law, and encourage
self-deception. Without doubt, this was the case in Nazi Germany, apartheid South
Africa. At the same time, these mechanisms were also at work in the GDR, and, even to a
lesser extent also in the FRG during the Cold War.
At the same time, violence and not just power is often a decisive factor in upholding
the carceral system of the state. Hannah Arendt defines violence by contrasting it with
power: One of the most obvious distinctions between power and violence is for Arendt a
matter of numbers: “The extreme form of power is All against One, the extreme form of
violence is One against All.”238 While power depends on majority rule, violence does not
depend on majority, but just on implements.239 In order not to be unjust, power depends
on the establishment of a constitution, and corresponds not only to the human ability to
act, but to act in concert. For Arendt power is never the right of an individual but the right
236
Foucault, 257-292
Foucault, 293-308
238
Hannah Arendt. On Violence (New York: Harcourt, Brace & World, Inc., 1970) 41-42 (Hereafter quoted
as: Violence, page number)
239
Violence, 42
237
93
of a group of people.240 Institutionalized power in a form of government, Arendt
acknowledges, can in fact act violently241, also because it possesses the monopoly on the
legitimacy of violence. On an individual level, the use of violence, according to Arendt,
can be justifiable, such as in the case of self-defense, but can never be legitimized.242
While individuals can justifiably act violently, the state can act violently legitimately.
Power, i.e. majority rule, should, however, restrict the state’s access to legitimate
violence. At the same time, it is important to challenge the existing power structures
within the state constantly. On an individual level violence, often springs from rage, and
as such is a commonplace human affect. Rage arises, according to Arendt, when our
sense of justice is offended, because the conditions are unjust and could be changed and
are not being changed.243 Terror is for Arendt not the same as violence, but a form of
government, a police state, that comes into being, when violence has destroyed all power
and remains in full control.244 While violence and terror are anti-political in character245,
because they destroy dialectics, and can eliminate the human ability to exercise
controlled empathy, rage is not necessarily anti-political, because it still contains the
possibility for dialogue. Given that the proper channels for the expression and potential
alleviation of rage are provided, rage is more likely to entail violence if it is impossible to
articulate it or if it is ignored.
Following Arendt’s arguments about violence, power, and rage, the South African
apartheid system was not only a violent regime, but also a regime of terror. With the help
240
Violence, 44
Violence, 47-48
242
Violence, 52
243
Violence, 63
244
Violence, 55
245
Violence, 64
241
94
of an unscrupulous carceral system as well as through technological superiority the white
minority reigned with violence over the black majority. The German context appears a
little more complex. Both, West Germany and East Germany presented themselves as
democracies after the Second World War. However, post-1945 only West Germany
established a multi-party political system based on free elections that allowed for the
Arendtian formation of power, i.e. a majority elected government. In contrast, the East
German system was based on only one party, the SED.246 Free elections did not really
take place and election fraud was common, for example claiming nearly one hundred
percent voter turnout. It became clear at the latest with the building of the wall in 1961
that a minority unrightfully and violently governed the majority of the population in the
GDR. At the same time, it has to be emphasized that it poses a problem in Western
democracies that parliamentary delegates, i.e. a minority is elected and given the power
to make decisions that affect the majority, leaving often little objection space for
minorities or even the majority of the population, because of the state’s monopoly on
legitimate violence. In the FRG the student protests of the 1960s combined with the
subsequent creation and attacks of the RAF serve as indicators of this power as the right
of the majority, i.e. minority parliamentary representative, problem.
According
to
Fanon,
violence
is
a
natural
reaction
against
the
compartmentalization of the colonial world, one of the most prominent examples being
for him the case of apartheid South Africa.247 Fanon sees violence as part of the process
of decolonization and as being constituted from the belief that liberation from colonialist
246
247
SED = Staatliche Einheitspartei Deutschlands (State Union Party Germany)
Fanon, 3
95
rule can only be achieved through the use of violence.248 At the individual level Fanon
defines violence as cleansing force, a means to free the self of the inferiority complex; it
is a way out of the individual’s passive and despairing attitude.249 At the same time,
however, Fanon depicts the violence on part of the colonized as being triggered by the
regime of terror on behalf of the colonizer who can only rule unjustifiably by subjugating
the colonized through a massive use of violence.250 Fanon mentions in particular the
Sharpeville massacre in South Africa as such an example.251 Moreover, Fanon describes
how for the colonized violence seems to be the only means to force the colonizer to
recognize him as ‘equal’, worthy of negotiations.252 Arendt may have misread Fanon
when she accused him of having glorified violence The Wretched of the Earth in her
book On Violence. As a psychiatrist Fanon was very well aware how destructive violence
could be on an individual level and the case studies Fanon included in chapter on
“Colonial War and Mental Disorder” show the dimensions of such destruction.253
However, violence was from Fanon’s perspective the only and therefore justifiable means
of liberation from colonial rule. Fanon would have regarded the use of violence in South
Africa on behalf of the colonized only as a natural reaction against the massive use of
violence on part of the colonizer. Arendt’s claims can be reconciled with Fanon in the
sense that they both agree that violence arises out of rage stemming from the observation
of the colonized to live in an unjust system, where the conditions could be changed, but
248
Fanon, 33
Fanon, 51
250
Fanon, 37-39
251
Fanon, 35
252
Fanon, 23-24
253
Fanon, 181-233
249
96
are not being changed. In this context, violence appears as the only means to change the
situation.
While violence was certainly a factor that accompanied the changes in Germany
and South Africa, both countries managed the transitional phase without a civil war. The
final political changes were not brought about by violence, but rather by velvet
revolutions and subsequent re-negotiations of power. At the same time, a decision had to
be made, of how to deal with the injustices, i.e. atrocities of the past. In this respect, the
new distribution of power was of utmost importance. Friedrich Nietzsche points out in his
work On the Genealogy of Morals that the more powerful a community becomes the
more likely it is to let offenders go unpunished.254 In South Africa, the renegotiation of
power resulted in a power shift from the white minority to the black majority. The work
of the TRC, which would declare some murderers free to go, became largely possible,
because of this significant power-shift, which seemed to be unavoidable. The
redistribution of power was also the decisive factor in Germany, even though the
situation was complicated by the prior division and then merger of the East and West
German state. The German reunification serves an example of the political dilemma of
power as the right of the majority in democracies. Within the context of the crumbling
GDR state an East German majority, after having successfully established a public
sphere, gained the power to demand more political self-determination from their public
authority, i.e. minority. Within the context of the reunification East Germans were
deprived of their newly won majority power by becoming the minority again in their new
union with the West German majority.
254
Walter Kaufmann, Friedrich Nietzsche - On the Genealogy of Morals & Ecce Homo, (New York:
Random House, 1969) 72 (Herefater quoted as: Nietzsche, page number).
97
In his books, Crystallizing Public Opinion (1923)255 and Propaganda (1928)256,
Edward Bernays explained that in modern societies, i.e. democracies, systematic
manipulation of public opinion was an obligatory means of resolving conflict, avoiding
chaos, and directing the irrational desires of the masses. As a nephew of Freud, Bernays
employed psychology and, in particular, the Freudian idea of the subconscious, to
develop theories of influencing public opinion, i.e. as he called it, ‘the engineering of
consent’. Although, later in his life, in his 1965 biography, Bernays had to admit that his
ideas on propaganda could also be abused to instigate conflict, crimes, even war,257 for
Bernays, propaganda presented primarily an effected means of controlling and
regimenting the masses in a time of peace.258 Bernays insisted that democratic societies
depend on the methodical molding of the tastes, desires, habits, opinions, and even ideas
of the masses, by an elite few, in order to avoid turmoil.259 The transitional phases in
South Africa as well as Germany were not only a time of crisis, but both societies also
found itself at the verge of civic unrest, underneath which lingered the threat of mayhem.
Peaceful propaganda à la Bernays presented a welcome opportunity for the elites of both
countries to manipulate public opinion and direct the desires of the masses, in order to
control the situation. Germany and South Africa followed, however, different ways, of
how to guide the masses and influence their desires, which will be described in depth in
the following.
255
Edward Bernays, Crystallizing Public Opinion, (New York: Liveright Publishing Corporation, 1961)
(Hereafter quoted as: Bernays, page number)
256
Edward Bernays, Propaganda, (New York: Kennikat Press, 1928) (Hereafter quoted as: Edward, page
number)
257
Edward Bernays, Biography of an Idea: Memoirs of Public Relations Counsel Edward L Bernays, (New
York: Simon and Schuster, 1965) Joseph Goebbels, who owned a very large library on propaganda and
who knew of Edward Bernays work, used propaganda as very well known effectively in his fatal campaign
against the Jews in Nazi Germany.
258
Edward, 92-114
259
Edward, 92-93
98
The Agony and Ecstasy of Transitions in Germany260 and South Africa261
Although the parameters of the transitional phases in Germany and South Africa
undoubtedly differed significantly, they had in common that they were the result of a
changing domestic as well as international context. In particular the end of the Cold War
greatly influenced the situation in both countries, which also were under increasing
economic and political pressure; in Germany, in particular East Germany. Additionally,
both democratic transitions were connected to significant personnel changes. In the GDR,
Erich Honecker’s health caused him to resign from all government responsibility on
October 18th 1989, and he assigned Egon Krenz as his successor. Similarly, in South
Africa, a stroke forced President Botha first to step down and then hand over the
government to Frederic de Klerk at the end of 1989. As a result, the political power
structures in both countries were shaken to their foundations.
While the Wende in (East) Germany resulted out of a spontaneous uprising of the
population, the transitional phase in South Africa was the consequence of a political
struggle, which spun over several decades. The organization of the ANC, which soon
emerged as the leading force in the democratization process in South Africa, was much
older than the apartheid system itself. In contrast, most of the civil rights groups, which
lead to the fall of the wall in the GDR, did not form until a few months before the event.
At the same time, the democratization process in both countries resulted in power
changes. Whereas the previously disadvantaged black population in South Africa
benefited from the democratic rule of power as the right of the majority, East Germans
suffered from the democratic dilemma of the minority when they became outnumbered
260
261
A more detailed overview of the transitional period in Germany can be found in Appendix A.
A more detailed overview of the transitional period in South Africa can be found in Appendix B.
99
through the reunification with West Germans. In addition, Frederic de Klerk found a
charismatic competitor in Nelson Mandela, on whom he was largely dependent to
conduct a successful democratization process. The GDR, in constrast, was lacking a
charismatic figure, who could balance out the overpowering influence of Helmut Kohl in
course of the Wende.
Although, as previously described, the democratization process in Germany and
South Africa was the result of many different circumstances, one single event in both
countries was decisive for the further developments. The most influential incident in the
German context was undoubtedly the fall of the wall, while in South Africa Nelson
Mandela’s release from prison represented this unique event. Both developments came
rather as a surprise for the national and international public. At the same time, both
occurrences allowed another powerful political player to become involved in the political
process. The fall of the wall permitted West Germany to get involved in the political
turmoil in the GDR. With Nelson Mandela and the unbanned ANC a strong second force
emerged in the democratization process in South Africa. In both cases, this new second
force represented the majority. There was, however, a significant difference.
West Germans or the West German government interpreted the political
developments in the Eastern bloc and in East Germany within the context of the Cold
War as a victory of capitalism over communism. The fall of the wall was quickly
constructed as public sign indicating the failure of the Communist state, while at the same
time affirming the superiority of the Western democratic capitalist system. In this respect,
(West) Germans did not use the Wende period to question and to reflect on the
developments in post-1945 Germany as a whole. Thus, true democratic innovations in
100
Germany were hindered by the existence of a functioning West German state system,
which had no interest and was under no pressure to support significant political,
economic, and social reform. The dream of a third path for the GDR; of democratic
changes from within, was crushed by Western capitalist interest and East German
consumer desire. At the same time, peaceful media propaganda à la Bernays contributed
to undermining independent political ambitions of East Germans by channeling them into
more controllable desires, i.e. for the German West-Mark. The final decision to unify
according to Article 23 of the German Grundgesetz reduced the newly won East German
right of political self-determination to the right to vote. East Germans were forced to
adopt the West German Grundgesetz, instead of participating in the creation of a new
constitution for the joint Germany. Democracy was rather implemented from above with
minimal input from below. The reunification was a matter of the political and economic
elites. As a result, the West German economic, social, and political systems remained for
the most part unaffected from the reunification, while the East German economic, social,
and political systems underwent most drastic changes. In addition, the reunification
turned East Germans into the political minority, confronting them with the democratic
catch-22 that power is the right of the majority. The West German majority for the most
part lacked feelings of solidarity with their East German “brothers and sisters”. They had
watched the political upheaval in the East from the distance, shared their joy about the
fall of the wall, but in course of the reunification were more concerned with increasing
taxes than with democratic input. Perhaps most striking is the lack of dialogue between
the East and West German public. The spatial division of both German parts made it easy
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to avoid real encounters. Most of the East-West German negotiations were a matter of the
economic and political elites, or took place in the media.
In contrast, in South Africa, Mandela’s release was a public signal for the failure
of the apartheid state. Unlike Germany the whole South African state was in question,
and threatened to be torn apart by war. With Mandela and the unbanned ANC a political
force entered the stage, which was determined to assume a leading role in the
democratization processes. At the same time, the majority of South Africans supported
Mandela and the ANC. This support forced de Klerk and the Afrikaner government to
follow a transition according to Mandela’s vision. In addition, the ANC understood itself
as a pluralist organization, which had united people of all kinds of different cultural
backgrounds in the fight against apartheid. Moreover, within the black population
Mandela was not a member of the majority group, the Zulus, but he belonged to a
minority, the Xhosa. His minority status may have made Mandela more sensitive to
protecting the rights of minorities. Furthermore, Mandela was part of a generation, who
had still experienced a relative peaceful co-existence with whites prior to the
implementation of apartheid. In this respect, Nelson Rolihlahla Mandela represents the
key figure of the successful abolishment of apartheid in South Africa. It is not too much
to say that the whole endeavour stood and fell with him. Under Mandela’s leadership the
ANC developed into a serious political party, which did not assume a privileged position
in the democratization processes, but rather encouraged and allowed for all political
forces to contribute to the creation of an interim constitution by creating CODESA. After
the first general elections and the inauguration of Mandela as the first democratically
elected president of South Africa, Mandela made sure that the democratic change in
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South Africa did not only involve the elites. Rather than implementing democracy from
top down, the two-year constitution building process of South Africa built on a
participatory democracy and encouraged democracy from below. In addition, there was
also a very deliberate effort to ensure that the constitutional drafting process was also
inter-generational, allowing younger generations to play a role in institutionalizing
democratic governance. In contrast to Germany, this constitution building process
promoted and was founded on dialogue with and among the South African public. At the
same time, not only the present was included in these discussions, but the establishment
of the TRC also made the atrocities of the past part of the public debate.
In Germany, the past common to East and West Germany, the Nazi past, was not
part of the reunification debate. Although for the first time after the revelation of the true
horrific dimensions of the Holocaust, Germany had the chance to address the issue as a
whole. In a similar manner as the Nazi system, had caused a complete moral collapse in
German society, the apartheid system had produced a total ethical disintegration of South
African society. South Africans were forced to create a forum, where moral beliefs could
publicly be re-established, in order to avoid further violent turmoil. Germans, however,
considered the atrocities of Nazi Germany “old news”, because of forty years of Cold
War separation and the success of the West German state. Whereas what to do with the
wrong-doings of the Stasi, the East German secret service, was part of the contract based
reunification between the two German states, the common Nazi crimes were not. In
contrast to South Africa, Germany, as soon as the international question was solved, did
not necessarily have to fear eruptions of violence, since the alluring prosperity of the
West pacified people; at least temporarily.
103
In this respect, the unifications in South Africa and Germany were handled quite
differently: Germany chose a contract based unification, which focused primarily on the
re-union of space and was driven by feelings of retribution. South Africa opted for a
dialogue-based unification, which fostered dialogue among its people, in order to achieve
reconciliation. One of the main reasons for this dissimilar way of unifying can be seen in
the following: In Germany, although two different states were unified, the people of both
of these states, GDR and FRG, still identified themselves as German. Thus, old 19th
century myths of the “German nation state” could be recuperated, instead of inventing
new ones. Developing a different form of national consciousness through strengthening
the newly emerged public sphere, may have also profoundly shaken the existing power
structures in West Germany. In contrast, South Africa, was aiming for an extensive
reform of one existing state, turning its citizens, who had never previously identified
themselves as equals or even members of the South African nation state, into loyal
supporters of the new South Africa. The carceral system of the apartheid state had not
only fragmented people, but also forced them only to identify in terms of skin color.
South Africa was therefore in need of new convincing story of nationhood, in order to be
able to establish and consolidate new power structures.
The German reunification seemed driven by the wish to unite physically;
territorially, not psychologically. In fact, the physical borders between East and West
Germany had been removed, in order to uphold the territoriality of East and West
Germany, in order to stop the escape from GDR citizen to the FRG. At the same time,
legal parameters, such as different salaries and economic subsidies etc. were introduced
in course of the reunification, which enforced the differences between East and West
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Germany. It was therefore no surprise that once the physical borders between East and
West were removed and Germany was reunified, psychological borders à la “Ossi” and
“Wessi” materialized. Lack of contact, dialogue, meetings, and even friendships between
common East and West Germans during the first few years following the reunification
only deepened these psychological borders. At the same time, over the course of the years
the media-based capitalist consumer culture contributed to the disappearance of these
psychological borders; at least on the surface.262
In South Africa, the constitution building process and the creation of the TRC
aimed at deconstructing the psychological borders, on which the apartheid system had
been built. Without removing the psychological borders between South Africans, the
unification of a greatly diverse South African nation seemed almost impossible. The
psychological borders of apartheid had to be overcome publicly so that the physical
borders, which had come into place as a result of the laws of apartheid, could be crossed
without violent results. In this respect, re-establishing feelings of empathy between all its
citizens, while also undoing the repercussions of the apartheid’s carceral system was
crucial. Dialogue between the people appeared as the only possible basis for a peaceful
transition in South Africa.
It can therefore be concluded that the South African way of nation-building
fostered the creation of a public sphere, with its participatory constitution building
process and TRC, which would oppose the emerging political authority. The German
reunification was in contrast to the South African State formation to a large extent a legal
matter of the elites, which quickly crushed the newly emerged public sphere in East
262
I was fourteen when the wall fell, and although I lived less than 2 miles away from the fence, i.e. East
German villages, up until today I do not know anyone who lives in these villages, while I know a lot of
people in the West German villages around, many of which are much further away.
105
Germany. At the same time, in both countries, literature had been a critical public voice,
which had questioned and opposed the public authority.
Above all, creating the new nation state in South Africa, as well as in Germany
was a narrative struggle. It was a matter of the imagination. In South Africa, Nelson
Mandela followed a vision, but at the same time understood that he was dependent on
shifting the consciousness in the imagination of a broad South African public. The
constitution building process and the TRC represented two fora, where the new South
African national narrative could publicly be imagined and brought into being.
Participation in both of these fora was really open to all. The civil rights and protest
movement, which had developed previously to the fall of the wall in East Germany,
represented a strong public sphere.263 After the fall of the wall, this public sphere
weakened and was only included to a limited extent into the reunification negotiations. In
addition, this East German public sphere did not trigger a West German counterpart. The
creation of a common German public sphere could have profoundly influenced the course
and speed of the German reunification. While the East German national narrative was
utterly destroyed by the developments of 1989, the West German national narrative was
still intact. Moreover, the West German elites and media constructed the GDR crisis as an
affirmation of the superiority of the FRG state, and an act of charity through which a
prodigal son returned to the nation/family/estate. Thus, voices who attempted to call both
post-1945 German states into question were silenced.
In apartheid South Africa as well as in GDR and FRG Germany, literature was one of
the major realms, where a public sphere repeatedly emerged in opposition to the public
authority. Writers were key figures, who from very early on exposed the problems within
263
See Jürgen Habermas
106
the different societies. It can therefore be assumed that the role of literature within the
public sphere did not just disappear, but may have altered. Literary accounts of the
respective transitional period in Germany and South Africa will be explored in detail in
Chapter IV and Chapter V.
III.
Narratives of the Past
In discussing the complexities of memory politics in the national context, as well as
the relation between history and literature, I will draw on the aforementioned theoretical
frameworks, as well as on a variety of other thinkers, such as: Friedrich Nietzsche,
Sigmund Freud, Paul Ricoeur, Walter Benjamin, Jacques Derrida, Roland Barthes, and
Linda Hutcheon. From Nietzsche I take his ideas of historical malady and link them to
Freud’s distinction between of conscious and subconscious memory, in particular in
dreams. While Ricoeur emphasizes the duty of memory and links individual and
collective memory through empathy, Benjamin also represents empathy as crucial for
withstanding historical materialism. Similarly, Derrida also calls for an empathic
approach to history and like Arendt and Habermas, argues for a multi-layered historical
perspectives. Barthes and Hutcheon, however, make an argument for the resemblance of
literary historical fiction and historical discourses as both being narratives of the past. Let
me explain.
According to Nietzsche, all acting requires forgetting and only a strong man can
master the past.264 Nietzsche argues that an excess of history is detrimental for life, but at
the same time he stresses that history belongs to the striving man in three respects: (1) as
monumental history, as far as man is active and striving, (2) as antiquarian history, as far
264
Friedrich Nietzsche, On The Advantage and Disadvantage of History for Life, (Indianapolis, IN: Hackett
Publishing Company, 1980) 10 (Herafter quoted as: Nietzsche, page number)
107
as man preserves and admires, and (3) as critical history, as far as man suffers and is in
need for liberation.265 Too much, of any of these historical categories, however, leads to
what Nietzsche refers to as historical malady. The natural antitodes to this historical
malady are from Nietzsche’s point of view the unhistorical and the superhistorical.266 For
the superhistorical man the past and the present are one and the same.267 The unhistorical
culture or man would have no relation to the past whatsoever or at least act with no
regard to the past.268 It is interesting to note that Nietzsche does not distinguish between
the function of history for the individual, a people, a culture.269 For the nation as well as
the individual forms of historical malady are harmful. Nietzsche suggests that individuals
and nations need to treat memory carefully, in order not to hinder action. Any forgetting
of the past has to be proceeded first by a confrontation with the past. Memory would
therefore emerge as a willfully selective process. Keeping in mind Freud’s distinction
between consciousness and the unconscious270 it seems debatable whether the process of
willfully forgetting is a conscious or unconscious process on part of the individual. In
contrast, when a nation engages with its history, the process of memory and forgetting is
not only a conscious procedure, but often also a matter of politics.
In this respect, the personal memories within the nation represent the Freudian
unconscious. Freud called the unconscious “the true psychical reality”, which in its
innermost nature is as unknown as the reality of the external world.271. The true psychical
reality of the nation are the personal memories, which are not being shared, and are thus
265
Nietzsche, 14
Nietzsche, 10 & 61
267
Nietzsche, 13
268
Nietzsche, 46
269
Nietzsche, 10
270
Sigmund Freud, The Interpretation of Dreams, (New York: Avon Books, 1998) 648-660 (Hereafter
quoted as: Freud, page number)
271
Freud, 651
266
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unknown, while the reality of the external world, the politics behind a nation’s history are
for the most part equally unknown to the majority of people. Thus, if the personal
memories are communicated within the nation they can disrupt the nation’s conscious,
political construction of history. In passing, Freud also refers to the “historical
significance of dreams”.272 In the respect that dreams can conjure up repressed memories,
they can be of great historical significance, because if shared, they can entail a rupture in
a nation’s historical identity. The sharing of memories, would, however, be a conscious
decision.
Accordingly, Ricoeur defines memory as a conscious act by defining it as the
work of remembering which is set against the repulsion to repeat.273 Drawing on Freud,
Ricoeur differentiates between melancholia and mourning and defines melancholia as
being focused on the self, while the act of mourning request the disturbance of selfregard.274 At the same time, Ricoeur equates the work of mourning with the duty of
memory.275 Moreover, according to Ricoeur the duty of memory is the duty to do justice
through memory of people other than the self, the victims.276 Ricoeur struggles to bring
together “on the one side, the cohesion of the states of consciousness of the individual
ego; on the other, the capacity of collective entities to preserve and recall common
memories.”277 The individual and the collective are finally brought together by Ricoeur
through Einfühlung (empathy).278 According to Ricoeur empathy allows the individual to
establish a connection between the self as the possessor of one’s own memories by
272
Freud, 652
Paul Ricoeur, Memory, History, Forgetting (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 2004) 71
(Hereafter quoted as: Paul, page number)
274
Paul, page number
275
Paul, 88
276
Paul, 89
277
Paul, 124
278
Paul, 127
273
109
“attributing to others the same mnemonic phenomena.”279 In this respect, memory or
history on a national level should be a conscious procedure in order to do justice to the
victims of the nation’s history. Taking into account the Nietzsche’s perception of history /
memory as a hindrance to national action takes on new meanings in this respect. A
nation’s memory would then be primarily self-critical in order to locate and face its
victims. A nation’s action, however, would then be based on demanding justice for its
previous victims.
At the beginning of his “Theses on the Philosophy of History”, Walter Benjamin
describes “historical materialism” as an automaton, a puppet that is guided by a little
hunchback inside.280 This metaphor for “historical materialism” immediately positions
the concept as something uncanny; ghost-like; haunting. The opposite of ‘historical
materialism’ for Benjamin is the wish to relive an era by blotting out everything one
knows about the course of history; it is a process of empathy, “which despairs of grasping
and holding the genuine historical image as it flares up briefly”.281 Benjamin seems to
perceive ‘historical materialism’ as problematic, because it dismisses those images of the
past that are ‘not recognized by the present as one of its own concerns’.282 As such,
‘historical materialism’ is selective, pragmatic and seems to give way to manipulation
and fascism. In contrast, approaching history through the process of controlled empathy
allows us to learn about the tradition of the oppressed. It is from this tradition of the
oppressed that resistance against fascism can arise. It is there where the democratic
279
Paul, 128
Walter Benjamin, “Theses on the Philosophy of History”, In: Hannah Arendt (ed.) Illuminations (New
York: Hartcourt, Brace and World, 1968) 253 (Hereafter quoted as: Benjamin, page number)
281
Benjamin, 256
282
Benjamin, 255
280
110
possibility is to be found.283 For Benjamin, just like Bhabha, democratic possibility and a
more inclusive account of history start therefore on the margins.
Similar to Benjamin, Derrida seems to refer to the same process of approaching
history through empathy with his notion of the blinking of an eye, the twilight of an eye
that questions again the ongoing processes.284 As Roman Coles points out in the chapter,
“Derrida and the Promise of Democracy”, Derrida’s metaphor of the blinking of the eye
serves a double function: It is not only a process of reflection but also a moment of
listening it is a moment of pause that makes questioning possible and as such contains
momentum for democratic possibilities. Questioning and reflecting on individual as well
as national memories not offers ways of undoing the repressive mechanism and moments
of amnesia in the politics of memory. As Coles points out, Derrida resembles Habermas,
when he writes that we must “simultaneously respond to (répondre à) the other and
respond for (répondre de) the others before (répondre devant) a community of others”.285
In addition, Derrida also resembles Arendt, who claimed that in a democracy we must not
only be able to assume the position of others at all times, but also be able to view
ourselves from the perspective of others. National memory (as well as ideally personal
memory) would thus have to include multiple perspectives, which might very well
conflict with each other. The overlaps of these memories might not only reveal glimpses
and snippets of the truth, but also paint a picture of the complexity of occurrences.
In “The Discourse of History”, Roland Barthes outlines the similarities between
fictional and historical discourse, and notes as the most important difference that in
283
Benjamin, 257
Jacques Derrida, Specters of Marx, (New York: Routledge, 1994) 169 (Hereafter quoted as: Derrida,
page number)
285
Roman Coles, Beyond Gates Politics: Reflections for the Possibility of Democracy (Minneapolis:
University of Minnesota Press, 2005) 162, 165-166 (Hereafter quoted as: Coles, page number)
284
111
historical discourse “the signs of reception or destination are commonly absent”.286 There
is, however, another important difference between historical and literary discourse.
Barthes points out that the writer of historical discourse strives to present himself as an
objective person by making use of “referential illusion” by letting “the referent speak for
itself.”287 Based on the illusion of objectivity, historical discourse asserts, however, a
greater claim to truth in contrast to the subjective, literary discourse. In truth, literary and
historical discourses are both equally constructed. While historical discourse is used
within the realm of the nation, as part of the object to perpetuate a certain image of a
nation’s past, literary discourse appears as a forum for the subject, where alternative
images of the nation’s past can be explored.
Very similarly to Barthes, Linda Hutcheon identifies fiction and history both as
telling stories and points out that both, historians and novelists have in common that they
are not necessarily interested in recounted the facts, but in the fact that they are
recounting them.288 In this respect, she stresses that “Historiographic metafiction is
written today in the context of a serious contemporary interrogating of the nature of
representation in historiography.”289 It is in particular such historiographic metafiction,
which appears crucial in questioning the dominant historical narratives of nation states, in
splitting the image of nation and state. Such fiction raises awareness that the facts about a
nation’s past are often much less important than how they are being represented, and
why.
286
Barthes, 131
Barthes, 132
288
Linda Hutcheon, The Politics of Postmodernism, (New York: Routledge, 2002) 45 (Hereafter quoted as:
Hutcheon, page number)
289
Hutcheon, 47
287
112
Working Through the Past of ‘Group Insanities’ in Germany and South Africa
“Erinnern heißt auswählen.” (To remember means to select.)
Günter Grass290
“Der Irrsinn ist bei Einzelnen etwas seltenes, - aber bei Gruppen, Parteien, Völkern,
Zeiten die Regel.“ (Insanity is quite rare among individuals – it is, however, the norm for
groups, parties, nations, and over time.)
Friedrich
Nietzsche291
Considering the two quotes above, the following comes to mind: If one accepts that all
remembering will always be selective, not only the memories of individuals but also
those of groups, parties, or nations will always be a matter of choice. At the same time,
however, the choice of what or who will be remembered, or even who will remember
within groups, parties or nations will always be a matter of power. If insanity is rare in
individuals, but the norm for any group of people, then the problem arises of how to deal
with the memories caused by insane group behavior. On an individual level, people might
be hesitant to assume responsibility for participating in “group lunacy”, because alone, as
an individual they would have never carried out such insane deed. Many participants in
“group insanities” may therefore choose not to remember or even erase memories of such
events. Citizen of modern nation states also employ this form of behavior. Although all
citizens of modern nation states have participated actively or passively in “group
insanities” such as war, colonization, genocide, slavery, ethnic cleansing etc. as
individuals we prefer to block our participation in these “group manias” out of our
memory.
290
Wolfgang Weber, “Mein Jahrhundert? Anmerkungen zu Günter Grass und seinem jüngsten Buch“
World Socialist Web Site. [26.01.2000]
291
Friedrich Nietzsche, Jenseits von Gut und Böse, Aphorism 156 - Projekt Gutenberg:
http://gutenberg.spiegel.de/?id=5&xid=1950&kapitel=4&cHash=8cc070cc212#gb_found
113
At the same time, nation states not only tend to reconstruct their past so that it
corresponds and affirms the present but also often recuperate mythical pasts, in order to
justify their creation, perpetuation or unification. It is quite common for nation states to
deal with problematic pasts of “group lunacies”, as those mentioned above, through
repression and / or functional amnesia. At the same time, national memories are highly
selective, and emphasize certain occurrences while completely omitting others. Even
within democracies, memory often goes along with amnesia and who or what gets to be
remembered, and how events / people get remembered, is still a question of power. In
modern nation states, a multiplicity of national memories competes with each other. This
multiplicity of personal memories may overlap but also be at odds with the predominant
construction of the national past. A predominant approach to the past may, however,
strive to silence or even ignore conflicting accounts of the past. Within a nation state the
memory of the past is very much a matter of politics and the politics of memory may
change according to different objectives; power incentives.
As previously explained, the moment of crisis, which South Africa and the two
German states experienced in the late 1980s, beginning of the 1990s also affected the
politics of memory. The transitional period in Germany and South Africa set free a
plurality of conflicting memories about the past, which had to be re-negotiated, in order
to create a common point of departure for a unified nation state. Simultaneously, both,
Germany and South Africa had to find ways of how to incorporate a past of brutal human
rights abuses into the creation of a new nation. While South Africa created the Truth and
Reconciliation Commission (TRC) to deal with the problematic apartheid past, the united
Germany continued the West German tradition of dealing with such matters in forms of
114
trials, the Nuremberg trials, the Auschwitz trials, and thus the reunification entailed the
‘Mauerschützen’292 trials, the Stasi trials. The literary study in Chapters VI and VII deals
with the changes in the politics of memory, which occurred during the transitional period
in both countries, Germany and South Africa.
292
East German border guards
115
CHAPTER IV: NARRATING THE REUNIFICATION
I.
The Politics of the Present
As explained at length in the Appendix A293, GDR writers such as Christa Wolf,
Christoph Hein, and Stefan Heym began participating in the protest movement rather late.
In course of the reunification many GDR writers such as Wolf, Hein294, Heym, Monika
Maron, Helga Königsdorf etc. critically commented on the occurrences. West German
writers, most prominently Günter Grass and Martin Walser also raised their voices. Most
of the East German writers argued for a third path and lamented that the possibility of
“true socialism” was sold out to obtain the D-Mark. While Walser supported the
reunification, Grass opposed it and argued for the creation of a confederate Germany.
Although in both post-1945 German states writers had also been influential political
figures, their political influence during the reunification was rather limited, and they
failed to inspire the masses.
In her collection of essays Aus dem Dilemma eine Chance machen Helga Königsdorf
laments the death of death of socialism and the death of the third alternative that she
together with other GDR writers still upheld. At the same time, Königsdorf admits her
failure as a writer.295 While declaring that the revolution failed, she defines five different
phases of the velvet revolution:
(1) Die schöne Phase der Revolution
293
For an historical overview of the Wende period, please see Appendix A.
In a speech on May 6th 1990, Christoph Hein describes the disappearing GDR state as an alternative to a
capitalist society. At the same time Hein describes the existing socialism as a regime of terror by referring
to Stalin and the Prager Frühling. Hein sees the GDR state within the larger context of the Soviet Union. At
the same time, however, Hein insinuates, that capitalist society following solely the principle of efficiency
may also have horrific consequences. He points out how the capitalist principle of efficiency was able to
destroy without violence but at staggering rapidness restructured, but also destroyed the functioning
societies of the Ostblock and erased the vision of the common good. (Hein, 28-32)
295
Helga Königsdorf, Aus dem Dilemma eine Chance machen. (Frankfurt am Main: Luchterhand
Literaturverlag GmbH, 1990) 7-10 (Hereafter quoted as: Chance, page number)
294
116
(2)
(3)
(4)
(5)
Die visionäre Phase der Revolution
Die Phase des Wahlkampfes
Die Phase des ökonomischen Umbaus
Konsolidierungsphase296
The influence of writers ended with the third phase.297 Stasi-accusations as well as their
privileged status within the GDR destroyed the political credibility of many of them. At
the same time, the Western media did its best to hurt the prestige of GDR writers. In
particular Christa Wolf’s achievement as a GDR writer was aggressively called into
question after the publication of her short book, Was bleibt298, in the summer of 1990.299
Soon, West German journalists began to question that literature should play any political
role at all. The collapse of the GDR enabled critics to compare the political engagement
of East and West German writers and to dismiss politically committed literature on the
basis of lack of aesthetics and false morality.300 They argued that the political
engagement of literature was an unwanted remnant of the authoritarian German past and
296
Chance, 28-29 (1) The beautiful phase of the revolution (2) The visonary phase of the revolution (3) The
electoral phase (4) The phase of economic change (5) The phase of consolidation
297
Although Königsdorf acknowledges that the third alternative failed, she still upholds the hope that the
leftist legacy of the GDR will be of political influence in the united Germany. (Chance, 29) In addition,
Königsdorf expresses her resistance to give way to capitalism with its social injustice and her wish to hold
onto the old, even if corrupt system of the GDR that at least still contains the utopia, the promise, the hope
of ‘true socialism’. (Chance, 32-33) At the same time, Königsdorf expresses the hope that the loss of the
utopia can be compensated over time by the utopia of a joint Europe. (Chance, 44-48) In an essay written in
January 1991 Königsdorf assesses that the East and the West needed each other as a balance and that the
world is now solely dominated by capitalism. (Chance, 62-62) It seems that Königsdorf viewed the first
Gulf War as having become possible by this power vacuum. (Chance, 64-68) In this context, she critically
approaches the discrepancies between the GDR state and the socialist / communist utopia it tried to realize.
(Chance, 69-72)
298
What remains
299
Stephen Brockmann, Literature and the Reunification, (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1999)
64-67 (Hereafter quoted as: Brockmann, page number)
Wolf had originally written the book in 1978, but revised it in course of the Wende period. The book was
highly autobiographical and dealt with the Stasi observation, cooperation of a female protagonist, a writer.
If the book had been published earlier, it would have represented a devastating critique of the authoritarian
GDR regime. Now, Wolf’s book caused a major controversy and several West German journalists attacked
Wolf. Ulrich Greiner from Die Zeit called her a “Staatsdichterin” – a poet of the state and asserted that
Wolf had done her share to support the unjust GDR regime.
300
Brockmann, 73
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that literature’s true calling was aesthetic.301 The vertiginous speed of the reunification
also did not leave German writers and intellectucals much time to get engaged. They
rather had to helplessly watch along with the public, how the (West German) political
and economic elites conducted the reunification. In this repect, the importance of political
literature only increased after the reunification. The following three books, Günter Grass’
Ein Weites Feld, Thomas Brussig’s Wie Es Leuchtet and Kerstin Jentzsch’s Seit die
Götter Ratlos Sind are examples of such political literature. All three books deal
primarily with the transitional Wende period of 1989/1990 and represent amalgamations
of aesthetics and politics.
a. Mapping the Field of the Nation – Ein Weites Feld
Ein Weites Feld is Grass’ homage to Theodor Fontane, but also his analysis of the
time of the Wende. Grass not only borrowed the closing words from Fontane’s 1895
novel Effi Briest for the title of his book, but the main character of Ein Weites Feld, Theo
Wuttke alias Fonty, appears also as a Doppelgänger of Theodor Fontane.302 With this
character similarity but also through multiple other references, Grass establishes a link
between the German past and present. Fontane, known as a commentator on the period of
German restoration after the unification of 1871 under Bismarck, is reincarnated in
Fonty, who acts as a commentator on the time of the Wende and the unification in
1990.303 The novel starts in December 1989 a few weeks after the fall of the wall and
301
Brockmann, 71
Patrick O’Neill, Günter Grass Revisited. (New York: Twayne Publishers, 1999) 153 (Hereafter quoted
as: O’Neill, page number)
303
Mark E. Cory, „Ein weites Feld: The Aesthetization of German Unification in Recent Works by Günter
Grass” In: Beth Bjorklund and Mark. E. Cory, Politics in German Literature. (Columbia, SC: Camden
House, 1998) 188 (Hereafter quoted as: Cory, page number)
302
118
describes how two elderly men, Fonty, together with his “Tag-und Nachschatten”,
Hoftaller, witness the sellout of the GDR in Berlin.304 By the end of the novel it is
October 1991. Both men, Hoftaller and Fonty, share a past that portrays them in a
controversial light and both repeatedly compromised their integrity to adapt to the
circumstances. In this respect, the two characters are emblematic of the German public,
which conformed to the changes of history also in questionable ways.
The trickster figure of Hoftaller Grass openly based on the title character of the novel
Tallhover (1986) by the East German writer Hans Joachim Schädlich. Hoftaller is a secret
agent, ageless, immortal and transtemporal. With equal conviction and diligence he
served the Prussian police in the 1870s, the Gestapo during the Third Reich, the
authorities in 1948, and the Stasi in the GDR.305 Through the character of Hoftaller the
past is perpetually alive in the present. Grass seems to suggest that although the names
and systems of the secret services differed, they still served the same purpose. In this
respect, Hoftaller symbolizes the constant reinvention of the German nation state. The
appearances changed, but it was still the same man / nation. This would presuppose,
however, a certain core of a nation, i.e. the Kulturnation306, which Grass’ promoted
during the time of the Wende as the common ground for a German nation of two German
states. Offering the common culture, its literature and art as a unifying ground for two
German states, appears, however, also as problematic. A German Kulturnation could be
prone to pathological fantasies of extending the cultural nation to other German speaking
304
Berit Balzer, „Geschichte als Wendemechanismus: „Ein Weites Feld“ von Günter Grass“. In:
Monatshefte (Summer 2001, 93:2), 210.
305
O’Neill, 154
306
Cultural Nation
119
countries, such as Austria, Switzerland or even “Eastern Prussia”, as well as to notions of
cultural or linguistic racism, which Balibar described.
In contrast to Hoftaller, Fonty appears as a mortal character. He was born as Theo
Wuttke in Neuruppin, the birth place of Theodor Fontane, in 1919, a hundred years after
Fontane. In addition, Wuttke’s biography appears as a parody of that of Fontane. In this
respect, Wuttke as a reincarnation of Fontane repeats his life, while 20th century Germany
repeats the 19th century drive for Germany unity.307 During his lifetime Fonty occupied
different professions, but almost all in the same place: in Berlin in the ‘Haus der
Ministerien’308. Once a reluctant soldier of the Wehrmacht, and a war correspondent of
the Nazis, he had become a cultural functionary in East Germany after the war and now
worked as an office manager for the Treuhand.309 Although he is almost seventy, Fonty
still works. It seems as if he cannot bring himself to leave the Haus der Ministerien.
Throughout his life-time, Fonty was the diligent servent of the state, but in course of the
reunification finally breaks free from his life of servitude and assumes a critical stand to
the state, the merger of the two states.
Grass develops the story of Fonty and Hoftaller in five books, which could roughly be
matched on the aforementioned five different phases of of the GDR revolution, which
Helga Königsdorf described. Ein Weites Feld is told primarily from the perspective of a
non-defined, omniscient “we”, among whom a first person narrator sometimes makes his
voice heard. It is implied that the first person narrator is part of the collective “we”. The
novel begins: “Wir vom Archiv nannten ihn Fonty; . . .”310 (Feld, 9), and ends with these
307
O’Neill, 153
House of Ministries
309
O’Neill, 151
310
My translation: “We from the archive called him Fonty; . . .”
308
120
rather abstract narrators: “Wir lasen: . . .“311 (Feld, 781). The “we” narrators of Grass’
novel are a variety of different co-workers of Fonty, who seem to form some sort of
critical opposition to the existing authority within the ‘Haus der Ministerien’. This plural
narrative perspective, Grass choose, could symbolize something like a public sphere,
even if only on the level of the microcosm. The “we” speakers seem to offer a counternarrative or a plurality of counter-narratives of the occurences. As the archivists of the
‘Haus der Ministerien’ they meticulously record all actions of the authorities, the
successes but also the failures. Simultaneously, the “we” speakers remain beyond any
categories of definition, such as gender, race, class, and it is not even clear if the “we”
narrators are alive, or dead, or both. Similar to Hoftaller they seem ageless, immortal and
transtemporal and appear as the “gute Geist des ‘Haus der Ministerien’”312. In this
respect, the “we” functions at the heart of the state and represents a search for an
alternative voice, counter-narrative. The first person narrator, however, shows
characteristics of a real person. He seems to be male, in his late fifties or at the beginning
of his sixties and East German. At the end of the book, the first person narrator still
works in the archive, but only holds a part-time job there. (Feld, 780) Throughout the
book the “we” and the first person narrator address the reader several times directly,
which contributes to creating the notion of an oral setting. Interchanging the plural and
singular narrative perspective allows Grass to address the Wende period in terms of
public, but also individual memory.
311
312
My translation: We read: . . .”
The god spirit of the House of Ministries
121
The most important feature of the ‘Haus der Ministerien’ is the paternoster. As a
Dingsymbol313, the paternoster serves as a symbolic reference to the up and down of
history in the ‘Haus der Ministerien’. It allows for a change of authority and systems, but
fundamentally repeats the same patterns, rise and fall. The ambiguity of paternoster –
Pater Noster, adds a religious undertone to the Dingsymbol. It is part of the ritualistic
mechanics of state institutions, of the law, which often do not leave much space for
alternative ways. Throughout his lifetime Fonty witnesses different statesmen rise and
fall in the paternoster: Göring, Ulbricht, Honecker and now the boss of the Treuhand.314
Fonty ließ den Episodenfilm noch einmal und abermals ablaufen. Im
Paternoster geeint. Vom Reichsmarschall bis zum Chef der Treuhand. Die
Denkschrift hatte ihr zwingend zeitraffendes Bild. Zugleich sah er sich in
wechselnden Zeiten immer wieder auf eine steigende Kabine warten. Er
begriff die Mechanik der Wende in Gestalt eines rastlos dienstwilligen
Personenaufzugs. Soviel Größe. Soviel Abstieg. Soviel Ende und Anfang.
Doch nach Schwerin schrieb er an seine Tochter Martha nur knapp: “Sah
kürzlich unseren Chef aus dem Paternoster steigen. Was dieser Mann sich
zumutet, ist zuviel. Eine kolossale Machtfülle, die eigentlich niemand
gutheißen kann. Letzte Entscheidungen über Menschen und Eigentum, auf
die – da bin ich mir sicher – Haß antworten wird. (Feld, 568)315
The up and down of the paternoster symbolizes the rise and fall of power. Although
supporting different ideologies, the men who descended in it, have in common that they
have an inflated sense of ego and are equally corrupt and power-obsessed. The
continuation of the paternoster after the Wende illustrates that the pattern in fact has not
313
Symbol, Leitmotif
Balzer, 212-213 & Feld, 566,568
315
My Translation:
Fonty let the episodic film unfold before his inner eye again and again. United by the Paternoster: from the
Reichsmarschall (Göring) to the boss of the Treuhand. Coercively the memorandum had an accelerated
nature. At the same time, he watched himself throughout the changing times, waiting again and again for
the rising cabin. He understood the mechanics of the Wende in form of a restless, willing to serve,
passenger hoist. So much greatness. So much descend. So many endings and beginnings. But he only wrote
briefly to his daughter in Schwerin: “I recently saw our boss getting out of the paternoster. What this man
expects of himself - is too much. An abundance of power, which really no-one can approve of. Final
decisions over men and property, which will trigger – I am sure of it – hatred.
314
122
changed. If one sees the rise (and fall) of the people in the paternoster as a allegory of
them climbing the political career latter, the underlying Pater Noster insinuates that
completing the path to the top provides the climbers also with something like a holy
consecration. By making it to the top the people in power grow beyond criticism, they
appear as sacred and can hardly be wrong. In this respect, Grass presents both, the FRG
and the GDR, as a continuation of Nazi-Germany and portrays even the reunited
Germany as still affected by the repercussions of Hitler’s Germany. The networks of
power and servitude, and belief in authority persisted over time. Dangers of pathologies
are inherent to all regimes, even democratic ones, which is why all regimes need to be
critically opposed. In the ‘Haus der Ministerien’ the people in the archive represent an
opposition to the authority and document all their doings and wrongdoings. In addition,
the above scene illustrates that Grass is concerned that the failure to address the banality
of evil within the dynamics of servitude and power as well as the willingness to grant
single individuals “ultimate power” over humans and property, can turn rage into
violence in an Arendtian manner.
The initial working title for Ein Weites Feld was Treuhand. In this context Grass’
novel can be read as a critique of the Treuhand as the administrative power machine that
was introduced to handle the privatization of the previously state-owned companies and
was above all driven by capitalist rather than common interest.316 Ein Weites Feld can be
viewed as a polemic critique of the reunification as a process of colonization, the
democratic and capitalist take-over of East by West-Germany.317 It is debatable, however,
316
Dieter Stolz, “Nomen est Omen. Ein Weites Feld von Günter Grass“ (Zeitschrift für Germanistik, Neue
Folge 2, 1997) 322-323 & 328-329 (Hereafter quoted as: Stolz, page number)
317
Ludwig Arnold, Blech getrommelt Günter Grass in der Kritik. (Göttinge: Steidl Verlag, 1997) 225
(Hereafter quoted as: Arnold, page number)
123
whether Grass succeeded in depicting the damaging repercussions of the Treuhand on
East (and West) German individuals and German society as a whole in his novel.
Many of Grass critics described Ein Weites Feld as unreadable, “als eine Zumutung
für den Leser”318, but the complexity of Grass’ novel appears intentional and symbolic in
several ways. On the one hand the cross-referential thicket of signs that Grass creates in
his novel mirrors the dense interconnectedness between the German past and present and
suggests that certain patterns of history are eternally repeated, i.e. the continuity of
national culture. On the other hand the cross-referential complexity of the novel could
also refer to the vertiginous density of the web of change with which the capitalist West
enveloped East Germany. In a much more positive light, the confusing plurality of
overlapping and crossing narratives combined with the mystic vagueness of the “We”
narrators could point to the multiple co-existing, contradicting, national narratives within
the united Germany. Moreover, the chaotic, intricate, tumoresque nature of Ein Weites
Feld, through which the reader has to dig himself a way, could serve as an allegory for
the dynamic, complicated, multilayered “German nations”, or as the chaos against which
the state and authoritarian politics has to be constructed.
Moreover the novel also portrays the problematic relationship of literature and
politics in Germany in the 19th and 20th century. As Grass’ points out in his essay
“Literatur und Politik”, politics and literature are related insofar as politics is always part
of reality, and literature, which is always in search of reality, can therefore never exclude
politics. For Grass politics and literature are always intertwined, because the language, in
318
Marcel Reich-Ranicki: Der Spiegel „. . . und es muß gesagt werden“, 95 08 21 In: Georg Oberhammer
& Georg Obstermann, Zerreissprobe. Innsbruck: Innsbrucker Zeitungsverlag im Eigenverlag, 1995. 87-91
124
which the author writes, as well as the author as a person, is defined by politics.319 Later
in his essay, Grass tries to distinguish between literature and politics in ten different
theses. In the first thesis, Grass claims that literature feeds of the past in the present while
politics attempts to create the future in the present, but is often suffocated in this attempt
by the past.320 Grass linkage between literature and past seems to be symptomatic of
German literature since 1945, because to a large extent authors were concerned with
Vergangenheitsbewältigung. They would comment on the present in regards to the past,
but failed to imagine an alternative future, which proved problematic in the process of the
reunification. Similarly, Grass’ Ein Weites Feld evolved out of observations in the
present, which were linked to the past, wile only offering glimpses of the future.
Grass’ most prominent linkage between past and present is that to Theodor Fontane
and Effi Briest. Similar to Grass, Fontane was both, a writer and political activist. Both of
them had to walk the line between politics and aesthetics and find ways of how to embed
or better hide their political ambitions in their literary works. With his direct reference to
Fontane’s novel, Effi Briest, Grass also addresses the problematic stand of women within
the unification. The absence and the silencing of female voices during the reunification
were, as discussed in Appendix A, was striking. Christa Wolf, who, once fallen from
grace, had to retreat, could be seen as an Effi Briest character. By committing “adultery”
with the Stasi, Wolf, just like Effi Briest with Major von Crampas, suffered a social
disgrace, which was not forgiven, and from which she could not fully recover.
In addition, Grass’ novel discusses also the problematic role of the intellectuals in
German history who repeatedly were corrupted by the ruling systems. In a way Ein
319
Daniela Hermes (ed.), Günter Grass Der Autor als fragwürdiger Zeuge. (München: Deutscher
Taschenbuch Verlag, 1997) 77 (Hereafter quoted as: Hermes, page number)
320
Hermes, 79
125
Weites Feld itself, is symptomatic of repeated historical failures of the German
intellectuals, who did not succeed in imagining an alternative system that could have
inspired the masses. Instead of inspiring, Grass’ book alienates its readers and it was
therefore probably quite easy for Germany’s leading literary critic Marcel Reich-Ranicki
to dismiss the book as unreadable. Rather than imagining what could be, Grass diagnoses
and dissects the present in light of the past. If Grass imagines the future, he tends to
imagine the negative like Im Krebsgang (which will be discussed in detail in Chapter 4).
At the end, Grass suggests two possible escapes from the repetitive circle of history
and two possibilities of how to arrive at a new definition of Germany: This change will
either occur violently or happen within a European context. Grass alludes to the
possibility of a violent change by insinuating that Fonty set the paternoster, the
Dingsymbol of the abuse of power in Germany, on fire (Ein Weites Feld, 758-763). At
the same time, the fire also conjures up another mysterious fire of the German past, the
arson of the Reichstag, which paved Hitler’s way to power:
Der Paternoster hatte Feuer gefangen. Weil auch nachts in Betrieb, war es
dem um- und umlaufenden Brand gelungen, die meisten Kabinen zu
erfassen und auszuglühen, der Rest galt als mehr oder weniger stark
angekokelt. Man konnte von einem Totalschaden sprechen, was den
offenen Kabinenaufzug betraf; die Treuhand selber kam mit dem
Schrecken davon.
Sogleich wurde von Brandstiftung gemunkelt; Gründe genug hatte die
Abwicklungszentrale geboten. Trotz offizieller Dementis ließen die
Zeitungen nicht locker. Sie überboten einander mit Spekulationen und
nannten mutmaßliche Täter und Tätergruppen. . .
Kurzschluß wurde als Ursache genannt. Die wachs- und ölgetränkte
Holzverkleidung der Kabinen hätte wie Zunder gebrannt. Später war von
fahrlässiger Wartung die Rede. Dennoch blieben Zweifel: Der im
Brandbericht der Feuerwehr erwähnte leere Kanister - . . . ließen sich nicht
einfach wegschwatzen. Da aber keine Bekennerschreiben gefunden
wurden, ging die Presse davon aus, daß diesmal nicht die RAF, sondern
ein Einzeltäter aktiv geworden sei; auch kamen abgetauchte
Stasiseilschaften in Betracht. Dennoch begann weder das
126
Bundeskriminalamt noch eine andere übergeordnete Dienststelle zu
ermitteln.
...
Zusammenfassend läßt sich sagen: Der Brand hat die Arbeit der
Treuhandstelle kaum behindert und sie nur kurze Zeit lang in die
Schlagzeilen gebracht. (Feld, 762-763)321
The cause for the fire remains vague. Officially, short-circuit was the cause of the fire
and with this statement the investigation closes. Rumors insist on arson for two reasons:
Firstly, because the official fire report mentioned empty canisters etc, and secondly,
because people view the work of the Treuhand, consisting primarily of economic
liquidations, robbing people of their jobs etc., as a reason for the fire. Rumor has it that
the suspects could either be the RAF, the Stasi, or a distressed single perpetrator, who had
been bankrupted by the Treuhand. In any case, the fire completely destroyed the
paternoster, barely interfering with the work of the Treuhand, but temporarily drawing
unwanted media attention to its work. The burning of the paternoster gains importance
against the background of the murder of the Treuhand boss Detlev Rohwedder on April
1, 1991, at night in his own home. Primary suspect for this murder was the RAF,
although the perpetrator(s) are still unknown. Rohwedder’s murder only briefly halted the
work of the Treuhand, since he was immediately replaced with Birgit Breuel. At the same
321
My translation:
The paternoster caught fire. Because also in service at night, the circling fire had affected most of the
cabins and wore them out and the rest of the cabins were more or less burnt. One could speak of a total loss
of the paternoster, while the Treuhand itself got away with only a scare.
Immediately rumors about arson spread; the processing agency of the Treuhand offered reasons enough.
They outbid each other with speculations and naming probable suspects . . .
A short circuit was announced as cause of the fire. The waxed and oil drenched wainscot of the cabins
burned like tinder. Later talk about negligent maintenance increased. Nevertheless there were doubts: The
report of the fire department mentioned empty canisters . . . which could just not be omitted. Since no claim
of responsibility was found, the press assumed this time around, that not the RAF, but a single perpetrator
acted; although old-boy networks of the Stasi were also suspected. However, neither the federal police
agency nor another higher-ranked office began to investigate.
...
To sum up: The fire barely hindered the work of the Treuhand office and brought it only briefly into the
headlines.
127
time, it triggered unwanted media attention for the work of the institution of the
Treuhand, which much preferred to operate unobserved, far from the spotlight of the
media. Grass, however, seems to suggest that neither destroying the buildings, nor
murdering the people in power has an effect. The system has to change and people’s
attitudes need to change.
Grass ends his book with a glimpse of such a change:
. . . da traf gegen Mitte Oktober - . . . – eine, wie wir nun wissen, letzte
Postkarte ein.
Sie sagte alles, indem sie auf der blanken Ansichtsseite eine gehügelte,
vorn grüne, zum Horizont hin immer blaustichiger werdende Landschaft
bot, der die Rückseite mit unleserlichem Poststempel auf dem
Wertzeichen – eine karminrote Marianne! – und ein paar Worten
entsprach, diesmal in Tintenschrift.
Wir lasen: “Mit ein wenig Glück erleben wir uns in colossal
menschenleerer Gegend. La petite trägt mir auf, das Archiv zu grüßen, ein
Wunsch, dem ich gerne nachkomme. Wir gehen oft in die Pilze. Bei
stabilem Wetter ist Weitsicht möglich. Übrigens täuschte sich Briest; ich
jedenfalls sehe dem Feld ein Ende ab . . . “(Feld, 780-781)322
A changed Germany within a European context becomes imaginable when Fonty follows
his granddaughter to France.323 In a way Grass diagnoses in Ein Weites Feld that his
generation as well as the generation of his children failed in imagining a changed
Germany. Grass seems to suggest that the impetus for change has to come from the
generation of his grandchildren. By using a granddaughter, Grass expresses hope that
women will take a lead in bringing about change. The end of the vast field of the German
nation lies abroad, in France, in the “cradle of democracy”. Grass may point here to the
322
My translation:
. . . mid October –. . . – a, as we now know, the last postcard arrived.
It said everything in depicting on the front side a hilly landscape, first green; turning more and more blue
towards the horizon, matched by a back side with an unreadable postmark on the stamp – a carmine
Marianne! – and a few words, this time written in ink:
We read: “With a little luck we arrived in a completely deserted area. La petite asks me to greet the archive,
a wish, which I love to fulfill. We often search mushrooms. If the weather is stable a vast view is possible.
By the way, Briest is mistaken; I at least can see an end of the field . . .
323
Stolz, 330
128
irony that Germany and France have a shared mythology of origin, with Karl dem
Großen; Charlemagne. Striking is also the rural setting of this vision, as if Grass’ calls for
a return to nature.
With all its intertwined complexity, Ein Weites Feld, appeals to the reader in
Baudrillard’s terms to access their subjective irony to be able to form an opposition, and
participate in the creation of a Habermasian public sphere, in order to challenge the
object of the state. At the same time, Grass’ forces the reader to confront the Arendtian
banality of evil in everyone and asserts that not changing things, which could be changed
and are unjust, could result in violence. Purposefully, Grass only provides very vague
glimpses of the future and leaves the solving of the dilemmas up to his readers. The past
appears, however, as a necessary instrument in shattering the imagination. With the plural
narratives perspective Grass already emphasizes the multiplicity of voices within the new
nation state. Similarly, at the end of the novel, Grass leaves his readers in the Barthesian
middle voice, encouraging them to join the negotiation of the new Germany.
b. The Glow of the Nation – Wie Es Leuchtet
There are multiple ways of how to label Thomas Brussig’s novel Wie Es Leuchtet.
One could call it an “Ostalgie-Roman” (GDR nostalgia novel), a “Wenderoman” (fall of
the Wall novel), an “Epochenroman” (epoch novel), a “Geschichtschronik” (historical
narrative).324 Whatever the label, Brussig’s novel explores the time of the Wende and as
the title already suggests, in particular “das Leuchten der DDR” (the glowing of the
GDR), i.e. the revolutionary drive, political engagement and hope that lead to the fall of
324
Susanne Ledanff, “Neue Formen der “Ostalgie” – Abschied von der “Ostalgie”? Erinnerungen an
Kindheit und Jugend in der DDR und an die Geschichtsjahre 1989/90. In: Seminar 43:2 (May 2007) 186187 (Hereafter quoted as: Ledanff, page number)
129
the wall in 1989 and the disappearance of it throughout 1990. The novel is told from the
perspective of a first person narrator, a photographer, Lena’s big brother, who documents
the Wende by constantly taking photographs. He observes the revolutionary occurrences
with great skepticism and records it in his photographs, which he always takes with
closed eyes so that he “dem wahren Leben wahre Bilder entreißt”.325 (Brussig, 94) His
pictures have therefore a strong subconscious dimension.326 The photographer narrator’s
behavior reminds here of Walter Benjamin’s statement that photography is similar to
psychoanalysis because the photographic devices of slow motion and enlargement allow
the viewer to take a much closer look. As the optical unconscious, photography reveals
details of structure and image worlds in the smallest things that the normal eye would not
notice.327 At the same time, a photograph also documents a certain moment by freezing it
in time and as such gives way to psychoanalytic endeavors. In the early photographs it
was in particular the innocence of the photographed subjects that gave way to a space
informed by the unconscious. Just like the photographer narrator freezes the moments of
the Wende in time and also captures the innocence of the people, Brussig does so with his
narration.
Throughout the book, Brussig engages the reader with multiple characters, most
of them East, fewer of the West German. The first person narrator’s sister, the nineteen
year old Lena, represents the heroine of the novel and of the Wende. Apart from Lena,
Brussig introduces about thirty different characters throughout the novel, such as Lena’s
friend - the wild Willi, Dr. Ing. Helfried Schreiter - the boss of the Trabant plant, Carola
325
“takes real pictures of real life”
Ledanff, 187
327
Walter Benjamin. “Little History of Photography” In: Walter Benjamin, Selected Writing, Volume 2,
1927-1934. (Cambridge: Harvard Upress, 1999), 512 (Hereafter quoted as: Photography, page number)
326
130
Schreiter - his daughter, who escapes to the West from Hungary, Leo Lattke - a West
German reporter, Alfred Bunzuweit - the director of the Palasthotel, the impostor Werner
Schniedel, and others. Brussig paints a multifaceted picture of the Wende by weaving
together the stories of these different characters with the experiences of Lena, her friends
and
colleagues.
To
a
large
extent,
however,
Brussig
omits
the
“Bürgerrechtsbewegung”328, which was the main driving force behind reunification, from
his novel. Only one character, the figure of Jürgen Warthe, is identified as part of this
movement. Brussig seems more interested in the un-organized, un-predictable masses
that first facilitated the fall of the wall and then obeyed a reunification according to
Western protocol.
In his novel Brussig depicts what changes the lives of all of these characters undergo
in the course of the Wende and reunification. In seven books he shows how a new world
is created. At the same time, it is possible to detect Helga Köngisdorf’s aforementioned
five different phases of the GDR revolution in Brussig’s descriptions. The “Leuchten“
serves as a Leitmotif for these different phases, but it is also an ambiguous metaphor. In
the beginning, the glow stands predominantly for the enthusiastic atmosphere of
demonstrations, critique of the authorities, political engagement, and hope for a change
prior to the reunification:
“Das könnte euch so passen”, redete Lena leidenschaftlich gegen die
Wand aus Polizisten. “Wir bleiben hier, und IHR geht!”
“Genau!”, rief jemand, der hinter Lena stand. “Wir bleiben hier!”
Eine Minute später rief auch der Haufen um Lena im Chor “Wir bleiben
hier! Wir bleiben hier! Wir bleiben hier!”
Und so kam es zu den ersten freien Wahlen.
Es sprach sich schnell in der Stadt herum, daß am Bahnhof was los war,
und wer jetzt kam, der konnte frei wählen: Ging er zu denen, die “Wir
wollen raus!” riefen, oder zu denen, die mit ”Wir bleiben hier!” drohten.
328
Citizen’s movement
131
Die Wahl endete unentschieden: Die Hierbleiber waren zwar in der
Überzahl, doch die Rauswoller waren lauter.
Die Fotos, die Lenas Bruder in jener Nacht knipste, sind später oft
gedruckt worden. Es waren seltene Fotos . . . So knipste er straflos die
wütende Lena, die einem stur dreinblickenden Polizisten frontal
gegenüberstand, Nasenspitze an Nasenspitze. Ein dünnes, gezacktes Licht
dazwischen, das von einer Leuchtreklame weit im Hintergrund stammte,
erscheint wie eine elektrostatischen Entladung zwischen den
Nasenspitzen. (Brussig, 68-69)329
This scene portrays the “first free election of the GDR” in a quite ironic light. Instead of
having a discussion about real issues, two different mottos quickly divide the crowd.
Although the two groups could easily compromise and their desires even overlap, they
soon form an ardent opposition against each other. Lena finds herself in the middle, face
to face with a police officer. The heat of their confrontation creates an electrostatic
discharge between their noses – a magic glow of hope; the glimpse of something new,
which could evolve out of the conflict. However, Brussig immediately links this glow to
that of a neon colored advertising sign, and implies a connection between politics and
advertising. The threat of consumerism shimmers always in the background of the
political engagement. At the same time, the two groups, who are quickly divided by two
different mottos, also allude to the split GDR population in course of the Wende. The
“We want to leave!” Group represents those fleeing the GDR as soon as the Hungarian
329
My translation:
“That’s just what you would want”, Lena exclaimed passionately against the wall of police officers. “We
will stay and you LEAVE!”
“Exactly!” Somebody yelled from behind Lena. “We will stay!”
A minute later, the whole crowd around Lena chanted “We will stay! We will stay! We will stay!”
And that’s how the first free elections took place.
The news spread quite fast around the city that something was happening at the train station, and whoever
showed up there, could vote freely. He/she could join those, who shouted “We want to leave!” or those,
who threatened “We will stay!” The election ended in a tie. There were more people, who wanted to stay,
but those, who wanted to leave, screamed louder.
The pictures, which Lena’s brother took during that night, were printed quite often later, because they were
so unique. He got away with photographing the furious Lena, who was facing a stubbornly looking police
officer, the tips of the noses touching. Between the tips of their noses shone a thin, jagged light, which
originated from a neon advertising sign in the background, but appeared like an electrostatic discharge.
132
border was open, while the “We will stay!” group stands for those, who took part in the
protest movement. At the same time, both groups wanted essentially the same, an
improvement of the living conditions in the GDR.
Most clearly, in the beginning, the glow of hope is connected to Lena, whose blue
eyes beam of enthusiasm and hope:
Lena lächelte, und ihre blauen Augen leuchteten – man konnte glauben,
sie dufteten . . .
Eine Woche später war Lena die Nummer eins der Hitparaden. Wer ihr
Lied hören wollte, brauchte nur das Radio einzuschalten und die
Senderskala herauf- oder herunterzukurbeln. Irgendein Sender spielte es
immer. (Brussig, 86)330
As the “Jeanne D’Arc der Karl Marx Stadt (Brussig, 89) Lena represents the charismatic
figure of the Wende revolution, which the movement in truth was lacking. But even Lena,
icon of the new political movement, soon becomes corrupted by capitalism, when she
writes and sings a song in response to the revolutionary spirit around her. The text of this
song seems less inspired by the revolutionary, political atmosphere of the Monday
demonstrations, than it reflects the emotional atmosphere of these events.331 With its
strong emphasis on friendship, the song alludes to alliances that reach beyond family and
kinship, not necessarily only friendship between East and West Germans, but friendship
between all people. In this respect, Lena’s song reaches beyond the national German
context and conjures up the image of a nation / world of friends. Through its popularity
on the radio, however, the song quickly becomes part of the public German subconscious.
Like an anthem, the song temporarily allows for the formation of an imagined united
330
My translation:
Lena smiled, and her blue eyes shone – and one could think that they scented . . .
A week later, Lena’s song became the number one hit of the charts. Whoever wanted to hear her song, only
had to switch on the radio and dial through the different adio stations. One of the stations always played it.
331
Ledanff, 186-187
133
German community and becomes part of the implements of the national emotional glue.
The song does not intiate dialogue between East and West Germans, however, but a
temporary, enthusiastic feeling of unity a la “Wir sind ein Volk!”332. Rather than enabling
people to access in their subjective irony333; activating people’s controlled empathy,
Lena’s song prompts only spontaneous empathy334 between people. This spontaneous
empathy is not only shallow, but also media and consumer product mediated. Any glow
of Eastern political engagement in Lena’s song drowns in the overwhelming glow of
Western capitalism.
Throughout the book the glow clearly becomes more and more a metaphor for the
consumer culture of the West335:
Sie hatten sich den Westen als etwas Buntes, Leuchtendes, Duftendes und
Lebhaftes vorgestellt. Doch mit so etwas hatten sie nicht gerechnet. Sie
waren überwältigt: prachtvolle Gebinde in kräftigen Farben, kleine,
zierliche Schmucksträuße, herbstliche Sträuße in gelben, braunen und
dunkelroten Tönen, rote Rosen, weiße Rosen, blaue Rosen. Gläserne
Säulen, gefüllt mit farbigem Sand oder mit runden Kieselsteinen. Ein
fröhlicher Türke kam aus dem Laden und fragte, ob sie nicht
hereinkommen wollten. Drinnen gingen sie umher und lernten die Namen
von Blumen, die sie nie gesehen hatten: Protea, Helikone . . . Der Türke
sagte lachend, sie seien die ersten Deutschen, denen er deutsche Wörter
beibringt.
“Sind wir deutsch?” fragten die zarten Masseusen. “Wir sind doch . . .”
Sie drucksten herum, weil sie die drei Buchstaben nicht sagen wollten.
“Doch”, sagte der türkische Blumenhändler überzeugt. “Ist auch deutsch.”
Die beiden zarten Masseusen sahen sich an und kicherten. Deutsch zu
sein, das fanden sie gut. (Brussig, 121)336
332
We are one people!
Baudrillard – as explained before!
334
The difference between spontaneous and controlled empathy was previously explained!
335
Brussig, 115-118 & 121-122
336
My translation: They had imagined the West as something colorful, luminous, scented and lively. But
they did not visualize something like that. They were overwhelmed: gorgeous bouquets in strong colors,
small, delicate decorative bouquets, fall bouquets in yellow, brown and dark-red colors, red roses, white
roses, blue roses. There were columns out of glass, filled with colorful sand or round pebble stones. A
happy Turk came out of the store and asked them, if they did not want to come in. Inside they walked
around and learned the names of flowers, which they had never seen before: Protea, Helikone . . . The Turk
said while laughing, that they were the first Germans he had to teach German words.
333
134
When several of the characters in Brussig’s book travel to the West after the opening of
the wall, its colorful beaming is sheer overwhelming. The bright reality of the capitalist
West by far exceeds their imagination. All the more difficult does it become to discover
the flaws in the shining spectacle of the West, let alone to imagine an alternative.
However, the above scene exposes one of the flaws of the West Germany, a country,
which was erected with the help of Turkish guest workers, who, despite having spent the
majority of their life in Germany, remain foreigners, guests in Germany. While the
Turkish flowershop owner is convinced that the East Germans can call themselves
German, his own status is clearly Turkish and not German. He represents the “other” to
West Germans and now also to East Germans. His failed integration is one of the
“shadows” over the glow of the West, which brightness still blinds East Germans from
seeing the blemishes.
Brussig deliberately plays with the term “Leuchten” and also connects it to the
contradictions inherent to enlightenment thought, i.e. the reasonable freeing of white
men, and simultaneous reasonable discrimination of women and people of color. Shortly
after her arrival in the West, Carola Schreiter feels enlightened, when she comprehends
the limitations of freedom in the West: “Die Bürokratie ist das Kleingedruckte im Vertrag
über deine Freiheit.“337 (Brussig, 102) Even freedom is limited. This quote is an almost
direct reference to social contract theory.338 Every state grants and guarantees its citizen’s
freedoms, but at the same time restricts their freedoms. In course of the reunification,
“Are we German?” asked the delicate masseuses. “We are . . . “
They squirm, because they did not want to say the three letter word.
“Sure,” said the Turkish florist convinced. “That’s also German.”
The two delicate masseuses looked at each other and giggled. To be German, they quite liked that.
337
My Translation: Bureaucracy is the small print in the contract about your freedom.
338
ala Rousseau, Hobbes et. Al.
135
East Germans, in particular East German women soon realized that for the newly won
“Western freedoms” they had to give up some of their “Eastern liberties”, such as the
extensive state childcare system the GDR offered.
Shortly after the reunification the narrator notices that the glowing on the faces of
the people is gone. The disappearance of the glow is just like its emergence connected to
Lena. The revolutionary heroine of the Wende becomes increasingly corrupted by
Western capitalism and finally betrays her Eastern brothers and sisters, when she joins
Leo Lattke, the dubious West German reporter, in his currency speculations towards the
end of the book.339 The glowing of Eastern active political engagement dissolves in the
glow of Western consumer culture. It remains the memory of the revolutionary spirit and
the possibility to affect change alongside the realization that East Germans have been
deprived of something. At the end of the book Lena links the glow to the lights of New
York City:
„Aber wenn man etwas nimmt, das an vielen Stellen flimmert und
flackert, und man schaut sich das Ganze an, dann sieht man wie es
leuchtet, verstehst du? „
„Nicht so richtig“, sagte ihr groβer Bruder, der sich aufs Fahren
konzentrierte.
„Wir zum Beispiel, mit unseren Scheinwerfern sind nur ein Lichtpunkt in
der Nacht. Aber in New York zum Beispiel, da ist abends und nachts so
viel Licht auf einem Haufen, daβ man das sogar vom Mond aus sehen soll.
Und das Leben – ich finde, es leuchtet manchmal. Wenn die Zufälle nur
wenig flimmern und flackern, dann kommt nichts zustande. Aber im
letzten Jahr, da ist so viel passiert. Natürlich nicht nur mir, sondern auch
vielen anderen. Und da denke ich, das leuchtet. Das leuchtet so hell, daβ
man es noch lange sehen wird.“ (Brussig, 600)340
339
Ledanff, 188
My Translation:
“But if you take something, which flickers and sparkles at many different places and then you have a look
at the whole, you will see how it glows, do you understand?”
“Not really”, said her big brother, who was concentrating on driving.
“We, for example, with our headlights are only a small light spot in the night. In New York, however, there
is in the evening and during the night so much light in one place that you are even supposed to be able to
see it from the moon. And life – I think, sometimes it glows. If coincidences only glimmer and shimmer
340
136
As other characters in the book, Lena travels to the U.S. in her first year of freedom. For
her as for the other characters the reality of the West by far surpassed their imagination of
it; the Leuchten of the West’s consumer culture shines much, much brighter than in their
mind’s eye. By associating the glow with New York City, Brussig again combines it with
the consumer culture of the West. At the same time, New York City is a very diverse
place that allows people to constantly reinvent themselves, to plot their very own
everyday revolutions. As a cosmopolitan metropolis, New York City is also a place
where the concept of the Habermasian ‘wanted nation’ of the U.S. has most successfully
been realized. At the same time, the glow of this wanted nation is intrinsically tied to and
primarily built on mass consumption. Other glows of change can only succeed within this
consumer glow if they outshine it, i.e. mobilize the masses in an equal manner.
In Wie Es Leuchtet Brussig offers a few explanations why the Eastern Wende
movement could not outshine the Western glow of capitalism. He depicts how
accusations of corruption and reciprocal Stasi suspicions quickly lead to a split between
people. This mistrust among people even affected families and was a lingering, ominous
presence over the euphoria of the moment:
. . . während die sich in eine Euphorie des Protestes steigerten, kam Lena
zur Besinnung. Sie nahm ihren großen Bruder wahr, und daß der die ganze
Zeit hatte knipsen können. Da war was faul. Der große Bruder mit der
Leica. Big Brother is watching you. Sie konnte diesen häßlichen Gedanken
nicht aufhalten. Wer so dicht bei den Polizisten Fotos macht, ist bei der
Stasi. Und das – in dem Augenblick knipste er sie – ist für meine Akte.
(Brussig, 69)341
nothing gets achieved. But last year, so much happened. Not only to me, but to so many others. And that’s
when I think that life glows. It glows so brightly that you will still be able to see it for a long time.
341
My translation:
. . . and while the euphoria of the protest increased, Lena recovered control. She noticed her big brother and
that he had been taking pictures the whole time. Something was wrong. The big brother with the Leica. Big
Brother is watching you. She could not prevent this ugly thought. Whoever takes pictures in such close
vicinity to the police, is a member of the Stasi. And that – at that very moment he took a picture of her – is
for my file.
137
Lena’s excitment during a protest immediately dwindles when she notices that her
brother meticulously photographs the whole event without being hindered in any way.
Suddenly, the thought crosses her mind that he could be working for the Stasi; taking
photographs for Stasi files; her Stasi file. No-one was usually permitted to take
photographs so close to the police without being obstructed, except for Stasi informants.
This scene illustrates that fear was a constant companion in the political protest of the
GDR, fear of being arrested or being prosecuted later, the fear of a violent government
reaction similar to that in China.342 This fear even spoiled the trust between brother and
sister. In the context of the East – West German “brotherhood”, this East German fear
and mistrust overshadowed the political enthusiasm and presented a valuable tool for the
West to undermine the newly established Eastern public sphere. While East Germans
were unsure if they could trust each other, they too easily trusted West German promises.
In another scene, Brussig depicts in the microcosm of a hospital meeting the
potential and the problems of the macrocosm, i.e. the political movement in the East. At
the staff meeting of the entire hospital staff of the Bezirkskrankenhaus343 of Karl Marx
Stadt344 mutual accusations, banalities, Stasi suspicions, opportunism, hunger for power
etc. represent obstacles for a constructive impetus of change. However, despite great
frustration the staff meeting finally reaches democratic decisions:
Die Versammlung dauerte über fünf Stunden. Sie verirrte sich in abseitige
Themen und begriff irgendwann, daß sich unmöglich alle mit allem
befassen konnten. Also wurden Arbeitsgruppen gebildet. Der wilde Willi
geriet in die Arbeitsgruppe deutsch-deutsche Kooperation, wo die
Westreisen winkten, Lena war in der Arbeitsgruppe Mittleres
medizinisches Personal/soziale Rahmenbedingungen.
342
For more information see Appendix A
Regional Hospital
344
Previously Karl Marx City – now again Chemnitz
343
138
Als der wilde Willi mit Lena der Saal verließ, hatten fünf Stunden
Diskussion, Versammlung, Wortgefechte, Durcheinanderreden, Gezänk,
Stehen und schlechte Luft, hatten fünf Stunden Anspannung und
Langeweile ihren Geist in einen Zustand angenehmer Ermattung versetzt.
Sie hatten das zerklüftete Gebirge der Empörung überwunden und nun die
Ebene der großen Gleichgültigkeit erreicht. (Brussig, 158)345
After five hours of sometimes anarchic discussion, frustrating experiences, reciprocal
accusations, and entanglement in banalities, the people finally reach the agreement to
form a number of teams to work on different important issues. Lena and her friend, Willi,
who both established themselves as leading figures during the discussion, end up in
different work groups. A certain gendered bias seems to have been at work during the
formation of the groups. While Willi becomes part of a quite important group dealing
with cooperation with the West, Lena is assigned to the one concerned with the general
social conditions of workers within the hospital. This gendered group division appears as
a commentary on the marginalization of women during the reunification. As a result of
this rather unspectacular outcome of the tiring five hour discussion, their revolutionary
zeal has given way to apathy. This above scene represents the first, in which Lena starts
loosing the glow. However, when Willi tries to abuse Lena’s apathy for sexual favors,
she still asserts her right to self-determination and rebukes him. Later, after meeting Leo
Lattke, Lena is not that strong anymore. She has lost her glow, her belief and not only
starts an affair with Lattke, but also joins his other, previously mentioned, dubious
currency speculations.
345
My translation:
The meeting lasted about five hours. They got side-tracked with a variety of different issues and
understood at some point that it was impossible that everyone could deal with everything. The wild Willi
joined the workshop German-German cooperations, which offered potential travels to the West, while
Lena became part of the workshop Mittleres medizinisches Personal/soziale Rahmenbedingungen.
When the wild Willi left the assembly hall with Lena, five hours of discussion, assembly, word
entanglements, interrupting each other, fights, standing around and bad air, as well as five hours of tension
and boredom, had turned their minds into a condition of pleasant fatigue. They had overcome the rough
cliffs of outrage and now reached the sphere of great indifference.
139
Just like Lena, Brussig portrays in his book how other East Germans become quickly
corrupted by capitalist interest and get lost in the rapture of consumer culture. The
Palasthotel of East-Berlin, the realm of Alfred Bunzuweit, is the center for the dangers of
the lust for luxury. Even in GDR times the hotel was a place of decadence and
extravagance and serves now during the Wende as a renewed forum for the celebration of
the deception of wealth. (Brussig, 138-139). The character Werner Schniedel, who
pretends to be the son of Volkswagen CEO, not only manages to stay in the hotel without
paying for several months, but he also deceives representatives of the East German
automotive industry as a “special agent of VW”. In real life, Schniedel is just a West
German impostor who takes advantage of the credulity of East Germans. (Brussig, 261275)
Nach einer Dreiviertelstunde Werkbesichtigung fand sich Werner
Schniedel im Besprechungszimmer des Generaldirektors wieder. Dr. Ing.
Helfried Schreiter hatte alle seine Direktoren, sieben an der Zahl, und den
weißhaarigen Hauptbuchhalter geholt. Werner Schniedel hatte er neben
sich gesetzt, an die Stirnseite. Dr. Ing. Helfried Schreiter hatte noch immer
keine
Ahnung,
weshalb
die
Volkswagen
AG
einen
Sonderbevollmächtigten schickte – aber er war von Hoffnung erfüllt. Der
VW-Sonderbevollmächtigte kam, um etwas anzufangen, nicht , um etwas
abzubrechen, das spürte Dr. Ing. Helfried Schreiter sicher. Deshalb holte
er sein gesamtes Leistungsteam hinzu, um es allen zu zeigen: Wer mich
torpediert, der gefährdet die neue Kooperation mit VW. (Brussig, 264)346
Schniedel’s fraudulent ambitions find fruitful ground in the disintegrating power
structures of the East, where everyone is eager to hold on to previous power positions
through alliances with the West. One gets the impression that the best way to outgrow
346
My translation:
The fortyfive minute tour of the company ended for Werner Schniedel in the main office of the chief
executive of the company. Dr. Ing. Helfried Schreiter had assembled all his directors, seven in all, as well
as his primary accountant, a white haired man in his office. Werner Schniedel sat next to him, at the front
side of the table. Dr. Ing. Helfried Schreiter still had no clue, why the Volkswagen AG would send a
special agent - but he was full of hope. The VW special agent came to start things, not to end things, Dr.
Ing. Helfried Schreiter was sure of that. He had therefore asked his whole team to join them, in order to
show to everyone: Whoever tries to attack me, will jeopardize the new cooperation with VW.
140
one’s questionable past is economic success or an alliance with the West. In the
East/West German context this means the following: West Germany, in contrast to East
Germany, can represent itself as having “defeated” its Nazi past through economic
success, whereas for East Germany the Nazi past emerges out of its economic disaster
and has to be dealt with. Brussig, however, also addresses that the East German economic
failure was also caused by West German politics, i.e. economic sanctions. In the book,
Schniedel’s deceit is also fed by frustration of the forty years of Western ignorance of
entrepreneurship in the GDR. Dr. Ing. Helfried Schreiter and his colleagues are desperate
to finally present their ideas to a West German, who could possibly provide them with the
capital investment to realize them. While the economy of the GDR during the time of the
Wende may have been at its end, idealistic GDR entrepreneurship was not. The GDR may
not have any products to sell anymore but it had enough people, who believed in their
ideas. Brussig exposes in particular how naive East German were about of the rules of the
capitalist game and how easy it was for West Germans to take advantage of them. Even a
teenager like Werner Schniedel could.
Just his name and alleged relation to the Volkswagen CEO is reason enough for the
hotel director Bunzuweit, the boss of the Trabant plant, Dr. Ing Helfried Schreiter and
other East Germans to roll out the red carpet for Schniedel, their main motivation being
hope for West German investment. Werner Schniedel is courted as if he was noble;
capitalism has replaced Adel by Geldadel and as part of the Geldadel Werner Schniedel’s
authority is not questioned at all: Money rules. Brussig illustrates through Schniedel’s
character how the BRD’s take-over of the GDR was facilitated by the authority of
money, the East German fear of economic disaster and their naivety about capitalism. In
141
addition, Brussig points to the role that manipulation and deception played on an
economic level. Instead of providing real help, in form of investments similar to that of
the Marshall plan, for the disintegrating, out-dated GDR companies, the West just used
the inexperience of East Germans to siphon profits and buy up unwanted competition.
Just like Günter Grass Brussig diagnoses in his book, he records rather than
imagines. Just like his photographer narrator, Brussig documents the Wende and the
change it brought to people’s lives, but he hardly depicts alternatives. Several of
Brussig’s characters travel abroad in the year after the wall fell. The aforementioned
reference to the glow of New York City seems to suggest that Brussig like Grass
envisions the possibility of a changed Germany only within the broader European or even
global context. Both authors, however, fail to imagine the specifics of such a changed
Germany.
In Wie Es Leuchtet Brussig mentions Fontane and thus indirectly refers to Grass’
Ein Weites Feld:
Am Abend des ersten Wandertages fragte ihn einer dieser Ehegatten, ob
sich -tane so schriebe – und dann hielt er ihm einen Notizblock hin, auf
dem stand
Theodor von Thane
Daß sich jener Ehegatte am Vormittage mit volltönender Stimme als
“Baulöwe von Mainz“ vorgestellt hatte, machte Dr. Erler nicht stutzig –
mutig hatte er die entgegengestreckte Pranke des Baulöwen ergriffen und
an den müden Löwen gedacht, der vor manchen amerikanischen Filmen
leinwandfüllend im Bild liegt und dazu ein Brüllen vernehmen läßt, das
Dr. Erler immer an das Röcheln einer Klospülung bei Wassersperrung
erinnerte. (Brussig, 580)347
347
My Translation:
At the end of the first hiking day one of the husbands asked him, if – tane- was written the following way
and held a notebook in front of him, on which was written
Theodor von Thane
The same husband had introduced himself in the morning with a sonorous voice as “Building Lion of
Mainz”, which had not puzzled Dr. Erler. He had bravely grabbed the stretched out “paw of the building
lion” while thinking of the tired lion, which fills the screen prior to some U.S. American movies. The lion,
which utters a roaring that always reminded Dr. Erler of the rustle of a toilet flush with water blockage.
142
The misspelling of Fontane suggests that literature is too weak a weapon to counteract the
influence of U.S. American culture and essentially capitalism: Against the powerful
entertainment industry of the West as empty as its messages may be, Fontane enthusiasts
do not have a chance. Indirectly, Brussig seems to criticize Grass or lament with him that
writers like Fontane, or Grass or Brussig cannot even come close to the influence that
Hollywood movies have. It is interesting to note that the misspelled name of Fontane
takes up half a page in Brussig’s novel and is presented as a handwritten note.
Misspelling Fontane as “von Thane” also conjures up images of the German nobility and
Brussig seems to suggest that in course of the reunification the German nobility gained a
new fascination among Germans. A vision of the future is largely missing from Brussig’s
book, even though the connection to the U.S. may insinuate an impetus for change from a
global context, or, nostalgia for American modernity to be authentic. In addition, the
movie lion is tired and his roaring sounds like a toilet flush with a defect. Thus, literature
may have a chance after all against the movie machinery to affect change. At least it can
like Brussig’s Wie Es Leuchtet present a complex counter-narrative of the Wende and its
possibilities. Unlike Grass, Brussig creates a more conventional, much more readerfriendly narrative, and offers his readers a variety of characters, with whom to identify.
At the same time, Brussig ends his novel quite symbolically. The last scene of the novel
portrays the funeral of Jürgen Warthe, the one character in Brussig’s books, who
represented the Eastern civil rights movement, which lead to the fall of the wall. On a
metaphorical level, Brussig asserts that the reunification indeed was the death of this
movement. In course of the reunification, the revolutionary zeal of East Germans was
143
quickly channeled by the West into much less threatening consumer desire à la Edward
Bernays.
c. The Myth of the Nation – Seit die Götter Ratlos Sind
Kerstin Jentzsch’s Seit die Götter Ratlos Sind is the first book of a triology about the
female protagonist Lisa Meerbusch, who grew up in the GDR and slept through the fall
of the wall. All three books by Jentzsch, Seit die Götter Ratlos Sind; Ankunft der
Pandora; Iphigenie in Pankow, represent self-contained narratives independent of each
other. At the center of Seit die Götter Ratlos Sind stands the reunification of Germany
and Lisa is approximately twenty. All chapter headlines in the novel list a time reference
to an action, indicating how many days before or after the reunification it occurred. The
references span from 5859 days (about 16 years) before the reunification (Jentzsch, 39)
until 242 days after the reunification (Jentzsch, 524). The novel is not told in
chronological order, but in flashbacks, alternating past and present. The narrative’s main
protagonist is Lisa Meerbusch and the reader learns about her coming of age in the GDR,
her political engagement in course of the reunification, her travels to Greece, and her
attempt to find new “Heimat” on Crete. The book ends with Lisa’s decision to return to
Germany. Although Jentzsch’s book is divided in chapters, rather than books, like
Brussig’s and Grass’ novels, the five different phases of the revolution, which Helga
Köngisdorf described, can also be discovered in her depiction of the Wende.
The whole novel is told from the perspective of an omniscient narrator. Interspersed
with the story of Lisa is commentary of the Greek gods, whose attention Lisa gained as
soon as she set foot on Greece. Through the commentary of the Greek gods the reader
144
slowly develops the impression of plural omniscient narrators, i.e. the gods. At the same
time, the whole novel has a strong feminist undertone from the beginning. The following
serves as a preface to Jentzsch’s novel:
Am Anfang war die Frau. Gott verehrte die Frau, und er wollte nicht, daß
sie einsam bliebe. Er hüllt sie in einen tiefen Schlaf und nahm ihr das
Beste, was sie besaß: die Brust in der Mitte. Aus dem weichen Fleisch
schuf er den Mann. Es ist deshalb nicht verwunderlich, daß die Männer
auf Busen fliegen. Sie sind ständig auf der Suche nach ihrem Ursprung.
(Jentzsch, 7)348
This preface retells the story of creation from a feminist perspective. Thus, at the
beginning the reader first has a female omniscient narrator in mind. After the introduction
of the narrative perspective of the Greek gods, the reader develops the notion of plural
omniscient narrators; the female and the male gods fighting over their different ideas for
Lisa’s fate. The strong feminist notion of the preface, however, remains a stubborn, ironic
presence against the “male interferences”. In this respect, Jentzsch novel seems
particularly interested in the role of women during the reunification.
The novel opens with Lisa Meerbusch’s travel to Greece 59 days after the
reunification, while her past and present fate is lively discussed by the Greek gods, which
leads to strong disagreements between the male and female gods. (Jentzsch, 30-38)
Simultaneously, Jentzsch explores feminist perspectives within Greek mythology, but
also plays with the idea of the Greece as the cradle of democracy; a democracy, which
also excluded women. Disenchanted with the democratic process in Germany, Lisa seeks
348
My translation:
In the beginning there was the woman. God worshipped the women and he did not want that she would
remain alone. He put her in deep sleep and took from her the best she owned: the breast in the middle.
From the soft flesh, he created the man. It is therefore not very surprising that men are attracted to boobs.
They are constantly searching for the place of their creation.
145
to become part of a village on Crete, only to struggle there as a single woman with the
rules of the patriarchal society at work.
In flashbacks the novel reflects on Lisa’s childhood and her relationships with her
parents Elke and Ernst, and her uncle Willi, Ernst younger brother. (Jentzsch, 39-59) In
particular her uncle, Willi, inhabited a key role in Lisa’s life, not only because of his
“Westkontakte” and the presents he brought her, but also as her confidant. Throughout
the novel Lisa gets increasingly disenchanted with her uncle. She realizes that Willi
worked for the economic arm of the Stasi and in the course of the reunification developed
into a “Wirtschaftskrimineller”, who enriched himself with the national wealth of the
tumbling GDR (Jentzsch, 499). Before Willi goes on a yacht tour after the reunification,
he entrusts Lisa with a lot of money that derives from secret sources as he says:
Ich habe dir einen Umschlag mit einigen Papieren in deinen Teddy
gesteckt”, sagte Willi. “Da ist mehr Geld drin, als du brauchst.”
“Ich brauche dein Geld nicht. Ich komme sehr gut selbst zurecht.”
...
Das Geld stammt aus geheimen Quellen. Wenn ich es annehme, und es ist
registriert, was passiert dann?
...
“Also, hör zu. Ich wollte wegen des Umschlags mit dir reden”, begann
Willi.
“Welcher Umschlag? Ach, der mit dem Geld.”
...
“In dem Umschlag habe ich einige persönliche Unterlagen nach Bereichen
geordnet. In einem dicken Kuvert ist Geld, das du bitte für mich auf deiner
Rückfahrt bei irgendeiner Bank einzahlst. Anteile, du weißt schon.
...
“Auf einem Kuvert steht: Lisa. Das Geld ist für dich.” Lisa wollte
protestieren, doch Willi fiel ihr ins Wort: “Wenn du es nicht brauchst, heb
es für später auf. Ich erinnere mich gut an einen Ausspruch von dir. Ich
möchte nie arm sein, hast du mal gesagt.”
...
“Bis jetzt”, sagte Lisa niedergeschlagen, “glaubte ich, das ginge mich alles
nichts an. Aber wenn ich auch nur einen Pfennig von dir annehme, mit
vollem Bewußtsein, dann stecke ich mit drin. Und dann kann jeder mit
dem Finger auf mich zeigen.
146
...
“Es ist allein unsere Sache, die meiner Generation”, versuchte Willi
einzuwenden.
“Das ist doch nicht wahr! Wenn ich hier einem Touristen aus dem Westen
sage, wo ich herkomme, wer meine Familie ist, hat der sofort ein Vorurteil
gegen mich und denkt, ich könnt auch bei der Stasi gewesen sein. Die
Westdeutschen können nicht differenzieren.”
“Sie wollen nicht”, sagte Willi. “Es ist eine reine Schutzbehauptung, so
müssen sie keine Verantwortung übernehmen. (Jentzsch, 489-490)349
Lisa hesitates to take Willi’s money, because she knows the money derives from
questionable sources and is probably part of the “Volksvermögen”350 of the GDR. So far
Lisa feels that she is not responsible for the failure or the problems of the GDR. She
realizes that with accepting Willi’s money come responsibility, possibly accusations, and
the feeling of guilt. In particular West Germans will speculate, where she, as an East
German, obtained all this money and possibly suspect her of Stasi affiliations. Willi
attempts to dissolve her scruples and accredits the disaster of the GDR and the guilt for it
349
My translation:
“I put an envelope with a few documents in your teddy,” said Willi. “There is more money in it than you
will need.”
“I don’t need your money. I can very well take care of myself.”
...
The money is from secret sources. If I accept it, and it is registered, what will happen?
...
“Listen. I wanted to talk to you about the envelope”, said Willi.
“What envelope? Oh, the one with the money.”
...
I sorted several personal documents in the envelope according to subject. There is thick envelope with
money, with which I ask you to open a bank account at any bank in my name on your return. My shares,
you know.
...
“Another envelope has your name, Lisa, on it. That money is for you. “ Lisa wanted to protest, but Willi
interrupted her. “If you don’t need it keep it for later. I recall well what you once said. You said you never
wanted to be poor.
...
“Until now,” said Lisa dispirited, “I thought, it was all not my concern. But if I only accept one penny from
you, with full conscience, then I am involved. Then everybody can point their fingers at me.
...
“That’s solely our affair; that of my generation, “Willi tried to object.
“That’s not true! If I tell a tourist from the West here, where I am from, who my family is, he immediately
will have prejudices against me and think I worked for the Stasi. The West Germans cannot differentiate.”
“They don’t want to,” said Willi. “It is just a defensive statement. That way they do not have to accept
responsibility themselves.”
350
Wealth of the People
147
solely to his generation. This appears as a reference to the collective guilt of the
Holocaust, which affected even the generations born after the war. Clearly, for the
aftermath of the GDR, Willi rejects such notions of collective guilt for the future
generations in the East. He does not think that Lisa should assume responsibility for the
wrong-doings of her parent’s generation. At the same time, Willi emphasizes that West
Germans prefer to point their finger at East Germans instead of assuming responsibility
themselves. West Germans perceived themselves as rightful victors of the Cold War and
were quite unwilling to sit back and deliberate how the political and economic policies of
West Germany contributed to the disaster of the GDR.
A few days after Willi’s departure Lisa reads in a boulevard magazine that Willi was
killed in Egypt and she assumes he was murdered because of the money he obtained
(Jentzsch, 518-524). At the end of the novel, Lisa learns that Willi was in fact her father
and not her uncle (Jentzsch, 539-540). Lisa’s relationship to her “real” father, Ernst, is
presented as difficult from the beginning. The relationship between Ernst and Lisa’s
mother, Elke, seems increasingly estranged and in course of the “Mauerfall”, so that Elke
decides to get a divorce. Soon after this decision, Ernst moves in with his lover Trude. As
a convinced member of the SED party and a judge loyal to the GDR system, Ernst is very
critical of the democratic change and still oblivious to the GDR structures of oppression
(Jentzsch, 126).
The real demise in the relationship between Lisa and Ernst starts, however, when a
former “case” of Ernst, Frau Braun, visits them at home. It seems quite striking that this
visitor from the past bears the name Braun, which immediately conjures up Germany’s
problematic Nazi past. In the course of the reunification, just like post-1945, legal
148
changes turned the former perpetrator into a victim and made the former judge the
perpetrator. In addition, Lisa’s and Elke’s shock when they hear about the injustices their
father and husband committed as a regime loyal judge within the GDR system; their
ignorance of Ernst’s duties, reminds of the “Mitläufer”- mentality of most Germans
during Nazi time.
“Mein Mann, äh . . . Herr Meerbusch sagte Ihnen, Sie könnten ausreisen,
aber nur ohne Ihr Kind?” vergewisserte sich Elke.
“Doktor Meerbusch las mir einen Brief meiner Mutter vor, in dem stand:
Ich kann es als Pflegerin mit meinem Gewissen nicht vereinbaren, das
Kind meiner Obhut zu entziehen und seiner Mutter zu übergeben.” . . .
“Die Verzichtserklärung auf mein Eigentum habe ich zuerst
unterschrieben . . . “ Frau Braun zögerte. “Mein Eigentum wurde also
meiner Mutter zugeschrieben. Die sagten, das sei eine Formsache, das
müßten alle in so einem Fall machen. Und dann habe ich die
Verzichtserklärung auf mein Kind unterschrieben; Ihr Mann hat das dann
richterlich beglaubigt.”
“Nicht zu fassen.” Elkes Wangen röteten sich vor Wut.
“Wenn ich nicht unterschrieben hätte, wären die Aufhebung der Haft und
die Ausreise nicht möglich gewesen.”
“Erpressung ist das!” rief Lisa. . . (Jentzsch, 190-191)351
As a former opponent of the GDR regime, Ernst was head of the legal unit, which forced
Frau Braun not only to give up any rights to her property, but also to turn over her only
child to her mother. Her release from GDR prison and immigration to West Germany
became possible only after signing the appropriate papers. Both, Elke and Lisa are
outraged by these legal procedures, which appear like black-mail to them. This scene
351
My translation:
“My husband, ah . . . Mr. Meerbusch told you that you could leave the GDR, but only without your child?”
Elke asked to make sure.
“ Doktor Meerbusch read a letter written by my mother to me, which said: I as caretaker cannot in good
conscience give up custody of the child so that it can be reunited with his mother.” . . .
“I signed the waiver declaration for my property first. . . . “ Mrs. Braun hesitated. “My property was also
referred to my mother. They said, it was a formality, everyone had to do in such a case. And then I signed
the waiver declaration for my child; as a judge your husband legalized the documents.”
“Unbelievable.” Elke’s cheeks turned red from furiosity.
“Without signing the documents the abrogation of the imprisonment and leaving the country would have
been impossibility.”
“That’s blackmail!” exclaimed Lisa . . .
149
illustrates the limits of legality. Whatever is legal does not have to be just. Meanwhile,
Frau Braun and her son are already reunited in the West, because she “kidnapped her own
son”. Now, she is, however, dependent on Ernst Meerbusch, the former judge, to revoke
his former decision as erroneous, in order to be able to keep her own child. Thus, Lisa
decides to confront Ernst about this questionable court decision, but instead of admitting
his mistake, Ernst bans Lisa from his house. (Jentzsch, 215-221)
“Frau Braun wurde vom Stadtgericht Berlin-Mitte zu zwei Jahren
Freiheits-entzug verurteilt. Sie hatte einen Sohn, Paul, damals neun Jahre
alt, den hast du in einem zweiten Verfahren der Großmutter zugesprochen.
Erinnerst du dich?”
“Vage, Lisa, vage. Und wo liegt das Problem?”
...
“Kannst du nicht einen Antrag auf Aufhebung des damaligen Urteils
stellen?” fragte Lisa.
“Wie stellst du dir das vor? Ich bin arbeitslos”, sagte er aufgebracht.
. . . Zu Lisa sagte er: “Ich habe das Urteil verhängt, weil diese Frau
offenbar nicht ihr Kind erziehen konnte.”
“Das sagst du einfach so?” entrüstete sich Lisa. Nach allem, was
inzwischen passiert ist? Es gibt bald keine DDR mehr, dann gibt’s auch
ihre Gesetze nicht mehr.”
“Recht bleibt Recht”, widersprach er. “Das Urteil wurde nach damaligem
Recht gesprochen und war völlig korrekt.”
“Korrekt, daß ich nicht lache. Republikflucht ist inzwischen kein Delikt
mehr, für das man ins Gefängnis muß. Du mußt dir mal klarmachen, was
Frau braun durchgemacht hat. Nach heutiger Auffassung hat sie kein
Verbrechen begangen. Also muß sie rehabilitiert werden. Das heißt, die
von dir verhängte Adoption muß annulliert werden!”
...
“Der Richter hat nach geltendem Recht gesprochen.”
“Es gibt keine Straftat mehr.”
“Lisa, versteh mich, ich habe den Kopf voller Sorgen. Meinen
Arbeitsplatz in Berlin habe ich verloren, ich bemühe mich um eine Stelle
in Leipzig. Denkst du, ich pfusche mir jetzt selbst ins Handwerk?”
“Du bist der einzige, der der Frau helfen kann. Du hast das Urteil damals
gesprochen.”
“Eben darum. Ich muss froh sein, meine Zulassung als Familienrichter zu
behalten.”
“Und da verbietet dir dein Stolz, einen Fehler von damals zuzugeben.”
150
“Ich habe keinen Fehler begangen, Lisa” brüllte er.” (Jentzsch, 216217)352
When Ernst insists that he did not make a mistake, because he just followed the law, he
reminds of Adolf Eichmann’s insistence on the validity of Nazi law. Unable to access or
having repressed his subjective irony within the legal system of the object, the GRD,
Ernst is unable to recognize his wrong-doing. Even though the GDR does not exist
anymore and soon its legal system will have disappeared, Ernst still insists on the
“rightness” of his decision: Law remains law, even after a regime falls. Ernst refuses to
revoke his decree, because he fears for his reputation as a judge. Temporarily
unemployed, Ernst is concerned to keep is licence as a judge, specialized in family law,
and has just applied for a new job. Admitting a judicial error on his part and possibly
exposing his involvement with the Stasi appears to him as professional suicide. Although
352
My translation:
“The city-court of Berlin-Center sentenced Mrs. Braun to two years in prison. She had a son, Paul, back
then he was two years old, for whom you assigned custody to the grandmother in a second trial. Do you
remember?”
“Vaguely, Lisa, vaguely! And what is the problem?”
...
Can’t you file a petition for the abrogation of the former decision?” asked Lisa.
“How do you imagine I do that? I am unemployed”, he said angrily.
. . . to Lisa he said: “I imposed this sentence, because the woman was obviously not capable of raising her
own child.”
“And you say it as if it is as simple as that?” replied Lisa in outrage. “After all that happened in the
meantime? Soon there will be no GDR and thus no laws of the GDR anymore.”
“Law remains law,” he disagreed. “The verdict was reached according to former law and was absolutely
correct.”
“Correct, don’t make me laugh. Escaping from the republic is by now no crime anymore, for which one has
to go to jail. You have to realize, what Mrs. Braun had to go through. According to today’s perception she
did not commit a crime. Therefore she has to be rehabilitated. Meaning, the adoption you imposed has to be
revoked!”
...
“The judge imposed the verdict according to applying law.”
“There is no punishable act anymore.”
“Lisa, understand me, my head is full of worries. I lost my job in Berlin and now I am trying for a job in
Leipzig. Do you really think I will spoil my own efforts?”
“You are the only one, who can help the woman. You imposed the verdict.”
“Exactly! I have to be glad about keeping my license as a family lawyer.”
“And pride keeps you from admitting your past mistakes.”
“I did not make a mistake, Lisa” he screamed.
151
Ernst perhaps recognizes his own wrongdoing, he is unable to assume a critical stand to
the system he once supported. He has becomes part and parcel of it and the injustices it
committed.
While Ernst stands for those upholding the oppressive state apparatus of the GDR,
Willi’s character represents those who corrupted the political and economic system of the
GDR from within. In course of the reunification Ernst becomes more and more isolated
on a personal level. It appears, however, that despite his questionable decisions as a judge
in the GDR, it seems that he will be able to continue his profession in the united
Germany. Jentzsch’s portrayal of Willi shows that it were in fact these already corrupt
people that most easily adapted to the new capitalist system. In addition, it may also
suggest, that financial corruption are key to the expansion of capitalism. In the first
democratic elections Willi voted for the party of the capitalist, the CDU (Jentzsch, 458).
Willi’s violent death signals, however, that any attempt to outsmart Western capitalists
proved fatal, literally and metaphorically. His death could even be regarded as
symbolizing the elimination of East German companies and East German economic
ambitions in course of the reunification.
After having slept through the opening of the wall (Jentzsch, p. 111), Lisa first
explores West German party life (Jenztsch, 123-143) before she engages politically in the
reunification processes. Lisa starts working for a West German, Herr Vogt, who engages
for a different, more socially fair form of reunification. Vogt and his affiliates support the
local civil rights movements that they regard as largely responsible for the fall of the wall
and the West German opposition. They demand that in the case of a reunification the
different financial and educational situations in East and West Germany have to be
152
analyzed and taken into account in order to achieve social justice. (Jentzsch, 144-154)
Vogt and his allies fear that in course of the reunification the financial gap between East
and West Germans will only increase. Thus, they suggest that the state capital of the
GDR should equally be divided among the citizens of the GDR and that each GDR
citizen should be given real estate property. Lisa’s confusion confronted with Vogt’s
suggestions is representative of the naivety and perplexity experienced by the majority of
East Germans when facing the financial realities of the capitalist West. This is one of the
main reasons, why Vogt engages Lisa. He is hoping that Lisa as someone who grew up in
the GDR will be of help in convincing the citizen’s of the GDR to vote for the social
democratic opposition, so that more economic equality can be achieved between the
citizen of East and West Germany prior to a reunification. (Jentzsch, p. 207-213)
. . . “Mit dem Schritt in die Freiheit stellt sich die DDR, die ja noch als
eigenständiges Land existiert, den Gegebenheiten der freien
Marktwirtschaft. Der Weg dahin ist mit Handikaps gepflastert, die aus der
vierzigjahrigen Abkapselung des Landes herrühren. Deshalb ist die DDR
auf wirtschaftlichem Gebiet für den Westen keine Konkurrenz.”
“Wieso?” fragte Lisa.” Es gibt doch eine Menge Handelsverträge
zwischen Ost und West. Außerdem sind die Bruderländer im RGW
vertraglich gebunden. Es gibt doch Abnehmer für DDR-Produkte.”
“Alles, was die DDR künftig produziert, wird im Westen, in Übersee, in
Asien besser und billiger hergestellt”, argumentierte Vogt. “Seit der
Grenzöffnung überschwemmt der Kapitalismus den gesamten Ostmarkt
mit seinen Waren. Es wird nicht lange dauern, da werden die sogenannten
Bruderländer, in denen es bekanntlich ebenso brodelt, nicht mehr
zahlungsfähig sein und die bestehenden Verträge kappen.”
...
“Der Nachholbedarf ist riesig”, sagte Frau Vogt. “Die meisten Leute
werden sich zuerst ihre langehegten Wünsche erfüllen.
...
“So wird nur das Sparvermögen der DDR-Bürger abgeschöpft”, sagte
Vogt. “Wie in Entwicklungsländern: Die Waren kommen von aussen. Das
schwächt auf die Dauer die wirtschaftliche Substanz. Handelsketten
machen das Geschäft, und am Ende sitzen die Menschen auf ihren auf
Raten gekauften Autos und Videorecordern, haben keine Arbeit und
deshalb kein Geld, um sie zu bezahlen. Sie werden ihres Geldes beraubt,
153
das sie besser in neuen Produktionsmitteln anlegen könnten. Ohne
breitgefächerte Investitionen in moderne Technik sehe ich für die
veralteten DDR-Betriebe keine Chance.” (Jentzsch, 206-207)353
This conversation between the Vogt couple and Lisa highlights that the reunification was
to a large extent decided by economic factors. With the opening of the wall, the GDR
made its, already very morose economy vulnerable to Western capitalist interest. For the
West the GDR presented a significant extension of the consumer market, even better a
market, which was far from being saturated. As far as many consumer goods were
concerned, the GDR was “virgin territory”. In contrast to this opportunist, profit oriented
reunification, Matthias Vogt and his co-workers try to work out a plan, which would
bring the GDR citizens more financial security and equip them with a reasonable amount
of capital in comparison to their West German neighbors. In addition, Vogt points to the
fact that East Germans buying consumer products from Western markets, just leads to a
further weakening of the GDR economy. East German capital is exchanged for Western
consumer goods, which are possibly bought on credit. Instead of blindly buying into the
353
My translation:
With the step to freedom the GDR, which so far still exists as a sovereign country, surrenders itself to the
conditions of the free market economy. The transitional phase will be full of problems caused by the forty
year isolation of the country. The GDR is therefore no competition for the West in economic terms.
“Why?” asked Lisa. “Several trade agreements exist between East and West. In addition, the “brother
countries” are contractually bound by the RGW. There are customers for GDR products.”
“Everything the GDR will produce in the future - will be produced in a better and cheaper way in the West,
overseas, and in Asia,” argued Vogt. “Since the opening of the wall capitalism flooded the entire Eastern
market with its commodities. It won’t take long, until most of the so-called “brother countries”, which are,
as is well known, also experiencing social unrest, will not be able to pay their contracts anymore and
therefore terminate them.”
...
“The “catching up need” is enormous,” said Mrs. Vogt. “Most of the people will at first fulfill their long
fostered wishes.”
...
“That way the savings of East Germans are being siphoned, “said Vogt. “Just like in developing countries:
The products come from the outside. In the long run that weakens the economic substance. Chains make
the profit. And in the end, people sit there with their cars and videorecorders, which they purchased on
installments, and they have no work and therefore no money to pay them. They are being deprived of their
money, which they could invest better in new means of production. Without wide spread investments in
modern technology I do not see a chance for the out-dated GDR companies.
154
flashy consumer propaganda of the West, which as Edward Bernays explained, channels
any desire into consumption, Vogt recommends to Lisa, i.e. East Germans, investing in
GDR real estate and updated production machinery to save GDR businesses. In order to
have a say in the reunification, East Germans need to hold property, not just ideas.
Richtig. Entscheidend ist die Eigentumsfrage, Frau Meerbusch.”
“Das hat schon Marx gesagt.” Lisa lächelte.
“Wohnungen sind Volkseigentum. Mein Vorschlag: Jeder DDR-Bürger
bekommt die Hälfte seiner Wohnung zugeschrieben, geschenkt als seinen
Anteil am Gesamtvermögen . . .”`
“ . . . als Gegenwert des vom Volk in den letzten vierzig Jahren
erwirtschafteten Volksvermögens?” fragte Lisa.
“Ja, den die Menschen in der Bundesrepublik haben sich in dieser Zeit
Wohnungskomfort und Billionen auf ihren Sparkonten sichern können”,
sagte Vogt.
“Dagegen sehen die DDR-Bürger sehr bescheiden aus. Matthias meint, sie
müßten eine reelle Chance bekommen,“ ergänzte Frau Vogt.
“Die andere Hälfte der Wohnungen könnten die Bürger später , sagen wir
mal, in Raten erwerben”, fuhr Matthias Vogt fort. Indem sie sich hundert
Prozent Eigentum an ihren Wohnungen verschaffen, fließt dem Staat
zusätzlich Geld zu. Das alles passiert noch gegen DDR-Währung . . . und
vor einem föderalistischen Zusammengegehen beider Staaten . . . “
“Das ist genial,” platzte Lisa dazwischen, “so ist jedem seine Wohnung
sicher, und das ganze Ostgeld wird verbraucht und muß nicht eins zu zwei
oder eins zu vier umgetauscht werden.”
“Oder sie verkaufen”, sagte Vogt. “Dann fließt dem Staat rechtmäßig
Kapital zu. Jeder DDR-Bürger sollte Eigentum per Gesetz bekommen,
anteilsmäßig. Es steht ihm moralisch und juristisch nach vierzig Jahren
zu.”’
“Das Volkseigentum wird also in privates Eigentum des Volkes
überführt”, schlußfolgerte Lisa. (Jentzsch, 207-208)354
354
My translation:
“Correct. The property question is the decisive one, Ms. Meerbusch.”
Marx already said that.” Lisa smiled.
“Appartments are public property. My suggestion: Every GDR citizen is accredited property over half of
his apartment; as his/her part of the total assets.”
“. . . as exchange value for the public property the citizen of the GDR produced over the past forty years?”
asked Lisa.
“Yes, the people in West Germany were able to secure property as well as trillions in savings accounts
within the same time frame.”
“In contrast the citizen of the the GDR lived very modestly. Matthias thinks they should all get a real
chance,” added Mrs Vogt.
“The citizens can acquire the the other half of the apartment later, let’s say, in installments,” continued
Matthias Vogt. While gaining full property rights of their apartments, the state gains additional money. All
that takes place with GDR currency . . . and before a federalist union of both states . . . “
155
Vogt not only favors a federalist union of the two German states, but his plans would also
require a much slower pace of the reunification, which would allow for fair retribution,
but also reconciliation between East and West Germans. The establishment of economic
security for East Germans has to precede, according to Vogt, the reconciliation between
East and West. The “Volkseigentum355” of the GDR needs to be redistributed to the
people. Instead of losing GDR savings in the exchange against the West German
Deutschmark, Vogt wants East Germans to be able to invest their savings in GDR
property. In the currency exchange of Ostmark against Westmark East Germans were
likely to lose half, three quarters or more of their savings. Vogt argues that every GDR
citizen legally and morally gained the right to property after forty years of living in the
GDR, because during the same time period, West Germans saved billions in their bank
accounts and acquired private property. Once economic parity is established, East and
West would be more equal partners in a reunification. Lisa Meerbusch’s naivety towards
the rules of the capitalist game stands for that of the majority of East Germans. Many of
them were enchanted by but did not understand the complexities and consequences of the
Western capitalist system, which enveloped them at a breath-taking speed. They did not
understand yet that property was the one thing that would give them the most say in the
future society:
“Ihre Wohnung liegt seit der Grenzöffnung im im Zentrum der Stadt, der
Wert kann nur noch steigen. Sie vermieten beispielsweise an
Unternehmen, die in die Hauptstadt kommen werden.”
“Bonn ist die Hauptstadt”, sagte Lisa.
“That’s genius,” interrupted Lisa him, “that way everyone has secured his own apartment and all of the
GDR money is used up and does not even have to be exchanged one against two or one against four.
“Or they sell,” said Vogt. “Then the state obtains capital rightfully. Every GDR citizen should receive
property by law; pro-rata. After forty years every GDR citizen morally and legally deserves it.”
“Public property is thus transferred into private property of the people, “concluded Lisa.
355
Wealth of the People
156
“Ach, das ist nur eine Frage der Zeit”, sagte Herr Vogt. “Seit der
Trennung reden alle davon, Berlin ist und bleibt deutsche Hauptstadt. Sie
werden sehen, Frau Meerbusch, das geht gar nicht anders. Bonn war nur
das Provisorium. Die deutsche Hauptstadt ist und bleibt Berlin.” (Jentzsch,
210)356
Vogt has to point out to Lisa that since the opening of the wall, her apartment is situated
in the center of Berlin. Lisa if full of disbelief, while Vogt is convinced that the value of
her apartment will increase significantly, once Berlin is made the capital again. For Lisa,
just like many other East Germans (and West Germans), Berlin as the capital seemed
quite unimaginable, because for the last forty years it had been in Bonn. Vogt, however,
is certain that now that the wall is open and the reunification imminent, it is only a matter
of time until Bonn will have to give up its capital status to the “historically righteous
heir”, Berlin. Against the background of a rather vague vision of a reunited Germany, it
appears as a certainty that Berlin will be the capital of the unified state. Moving the
capital back to Berlin, appeared above all as a political move, which would finalize the
Western German, the FRG’s conquest of the East.
After the CDU party wins the first democratic elections within the GDR on March
18th, 1990, Vogt’s plans lay shattered. Lisa, who cast her votes between SPD, Green
Party and PDS, is disenchanted. Vogt, however, is cynical, because he realizes that the
voting decision of East Germans was mainly influenced by the West German
Deutschmark, the fallacious prophecy of economic wealth. (Jentzsch, 221-225)
Lisa fand sich vor einem Monitor wieder, auf dem bunte Grafiken zu
sehen waren . . . Die CDU führte knapp vor der SPD. Sie hörte ein
356
My translation:
“Since the opening of the wall your apartment is situated in the center of the city; its value can only
increase. You will for example rent it to businesses, which will come to the capital. “
“Bonn is the capital,” said Lisa.
“That’s only a matter of time,” said Mr. Vogt. “Since the division everybody has been talking about it,
Berlin is and remains the German capital. You will see, Mrs. Meerbusch, it is inevitable. Bonn was only a
provisionary solution. Berlin is and remains the German capital.”
157
Gespräch von zweien, die aussahen wie westdeutsche Politiker: “Das hat
noch gar nichts zu sagen.” – Die CDU macht das Rennen.” – “Das wissen
wir erst nach Mitternacht.“ “Ich geh’ einen Kaffee trinken.” Die beiden
Politiker fuhren vor Lisa mit der Rolltreppe ins Obergeschoß, von wo man
das ganze Foyer überblicken konnte. “Wenn wir gewinnen”, sagte der
eine, “sollten wir eine Kampagne zum Wiederaufbau des Stadtschlosses
ins Leben rufen.” Der andere lachte. Du willst wohl Erichs Datsche am
Kanal genauso in die Luft sprengen, wie Ulbricht das Stadtschloß
weggesprengt hat?” – “Sofort, besser gestern als heute.”
...
Als sie zu Laura und Matthias Vogt and die Bar zurückkam, wurde das
vorläufige Wahlergebnis bekanntgegeben: ein klarer Sieg der CDU. Lisa
glaubte, sich verhört zu haben. Matthias Vogt sah geknickt aus. . .
Unten im Foyer bestürmten die Presseleute den künftigen ersten frei
gewählten Ministerpräsidenten der DDR, Lothar de Maizière. Völlig
überrascht und sichtlich vom Presserummel überfordert, gab er seine erste
Erklärungen und bedankte sich bei seinen Wählern und Parteifreunden. An
der Bar prosteten sich die beiden Sprengmeister zu. “Auf unser
Stadtschloß!”
Matthias Vogt zog zynisch die Mundwinkel nach oben; sein einziger
Kommentar war: “Die DDR-Bürger haben die Westmark gewählt.”
(Jentzsch, 224-225)357
The first free democratic elections in the GDR were at the same time the last. By
crowning the CDU as the victorious party, the citizens of the GDR, knowingly or
unknowingly, simultaneously sealed the deal of a reunification under CDU conditions.
The celebration of Lothar de Maizière as first democratically elected president of the
357
My translation: Lisa stood opposite a monitor, which showed colorful charts. The CDU was narrowly
ahead of the SPD. She overheard a conversation of two men, who looked like West German politicians.
“That doesn’t mean anything.” - “The CDU will win the election.” – “We won’t know that for sure until
midnight.” “I need a coffee.” Standing right in front of Lisa, both politicians took the escalators upstairs,
from where one could overlook the whole foyer. “If we win, “said one of the men, “we should initiate a
campaign for the reconstruction of the city castle.” The other man laughed. “I guess you want to blow up
Erich’s datcha at the channel just like Ulbricht blew up the city castle?” – Immediately, better sooner than
later.”
...
When Lisa returned to Laura and Matthias Vogt at the bar, the preliminary election result was announced: a
clear victory for the CDU. At first, Lisa thought, she misheard the result. Matthias Vogt looked crestfallen.
..
Down in the foyer, the press assailed Lothar de Maizière, the first demoractically elected prime minister of
the GDR, with questions. Although completely surprised and visibly overwhelmed by the attacks of the
press, he released his first statements and thanked his voters and fellow party members. At the bar, the two
“masters of exlosives” raised their glasses “To our city castle!” Matthias Vogt cynically raised the corners
of his mouth, his only comment was: “The East Germans voted for the Westmark.”
158
GDR appears as a farce, because his job did not even last a year and ended with the
reunification. At the same time, the election set the stage for the future elimination of the
GDR remnants from the landscape of Berlin and the architectural reconstruction of a new
Germany. The conversation of the two West German politicians, which Lisa eavesdrops
on, illustrates this. They plan to rebuild the “Berliner Stadtschloß”358, symbol of a
Germany pre-dating Nazi time, while at the same time destroying architectural icons of
the GDR. All in all, Jentzsch portrays the first democratic elections of the GDR very
much in terms of a spectator democracy. For the most part, the voters were completely
unaware of what was really at stake behind the “curtains of the spectacle”. In any case the
spectacle machinery of the West successfully directed forty years of unfulfilled desires of
East Germans to its benefits. West German politicians abused the inexperience and
consumer “Nachholbedarf”359 of their brothers and sisters in the East and imposed on
them a reunification according to Western protocol. In economic terms, many West
Germans used the Wende in opportunistic ways to make money. Instead of advising East
Germans on how to wisely invest their money, West Germans cashed in on East German
desire for consumer products.
After the first democratic election in the GDR, Lisa is disillusioned about politics and
flies with her mother, an art historian to Crete. There they finally visit the ancient Greek
ruins her mother studied her whole life but could never visit (Jentzsch, p. 226-254). In
Greece, Lisa makes the decision to return to Crete for an extensive period of time. Lisa
returns to Berlin 179 days before the reunification and is on her way back to Crete 60
days after the reunification. The actual reunification is omitted in Jentzsch’s narrative and
358
359
City Castle of Berlin – which is now finally in the making!
Accumulated needs
159
only referred to briefly in flashbacks. While Jentzsch exposes in her novel the role of
spectacle during the reunification, it is quite striking, that the two greatest spectacles of
the Wende are left out. Lisa slept through the opening of the wall and also misses the
reunification, because she is determined to move to Crete. The deliberate omission of a
description of both these crucial dates, 9th of November 1989 and 3rd of October 1990 by
Jentzsch, signals that these dates were not anymore important than anything that
happened before or after these dates. On the contrary, Jentzsch suggest that the
occurrences leading up to these two dates were probably more important, although the
whole Wende period is often reduced to these two dates.
82 days after the reunification a West German appears in Lisa’s village on Crete.
During a conversation with him, Lisa realizes that many West Germans perceive East
Germans as a burden on them as tax payers. She sees this as an unjust perception of the
situation and feels the need to do something against it, even though she is unsure of what
to do. Above all, Lisa realizes that Vogt was right with his assessment that East Germans
should have requested more economic equality before accepting the reunification.
(Jentzsch, 298-308)
While East Germans struggle in Germany to be accepted by West Germans as equals,
Lisa struggles to become accepted as part of the Greek village of about 30 houses. Her
status as a single woman proves Lisa’s main obstacle to being accepted as part of the
village community on Crete. As a foreign woman she is an object of desire for the men
and an object of hatred for the women (Jentzsch, 263-297, 318-336). Lisa’s situation
intensifies when she starts an affair with one of the local men. Within no time the whole
village knows about the affair and her sexual liberality (Jentzsch, 350-370). The
160
difficulties that Lisa experiences as an independent woman in the Greek village,
establishes a connection to the problematic issue of women within the nation. As
previously discussed, from the perspective of women; in particular women in the GDR,
the reunification was not at all a step forward. Many of the advantages the socialist state
had created for its female citizen disappeared in the process of the reunification. In
addition, few women’s voices reached and had an impact on the public during the
reunification. The most prominent woman’s voice, Christa Wolf, was successfully
silenced by a chorus of men. On Crete, Lisa finds out that even in the West there are
limits on freedom. Similarly, East German women after the reunification soon discovered
that they lost freedoms instead of gaining them. From the perspective of emancipation,
the reunification was also a sell-out of East German’s women’s rights.
Although Lisa begins to feel quite at home on Crete, she finally comes to the
realization that it is not her place. Two events lead up to this conclusion. When Lisa helps
her mother to organize a trip for her and her colleagues to Greece, she observes that these
women are treated in a similar manner as she still is, as tourists (Jentzsch, 413-451). In
addition, Willi visits her in the village, entrusts her his money, leaves and Lisa finds out
about his violent death (Jentzsch, 452-502 & 517-524). Confronted with all the money
Willi left her, Lisa now holds the financial means to stay in Greece as long as she likes,
but at the same time is forced to take over the responsibility, the collective guilt of her
parent’s generation, which comes with accepting Willi’s money. Thus, she is quite unsure
of what to do, however, appears determined to undo the wrongdoings of her fathers
(Jentzsch, 532-540):
Lisa Meerbusch holte ein Schreibheft hervor und machte sich Notizen.
Erste Möglichkeit: Das Geld abgeben. . .
161
Lisa Meerbusch warf den Kugelschreiber hin und blickte aus dem Fenster,
ohne etwas von der Landschaft wahrzunehmen. Alles Quatsch. Ich muß
ein richtiges Konzept machen. Ich muß das Erbe meines Onkels antreten,
muß das Geld sinnvoll verwenden.
Idee Nummer eins:
Dieses Geld gehörte dem Volk der DDR. Die DDR gibt es nicht mehr,
wohl aber das Volk. Also werde ich die Scheine vom Fernsehturm
herunterfallen lassen. . .
Idee Nummer zwei:
Das Geld an alte Leute verteilen. . .
Idee Nummer fünf: Technik kaufen. . .
Idee Nummer siebenundsechzig: Wohnungen für Großfamilien. . .
Idee Nummer einhundertneunundachtzig: Schwarzbrottransfer nach
Kreta. . .
Idee Nummer zweihundertdreiundvierzig: Ein Weiterbildunszentrum
einrichten. . .
Allein schaffe ich das nicht. Also muß ich erst mal eine Gesellschaft
gründen. Mit Vogt zusammen? Das wäre eine echte Partnerschaft
zwischen Ost und West. . . (Jenztsch, 535-538)360
Above all Lisa feels that the money represents a new responsibility for her towards the
united Germany. She feels required to return to Germany and make use of the money in a
meaningful way. Although she assumes that Willi obtained the money in questionable
ways, she quickly abandons the plan to turn in the money to German authorities,
primarily because she doubts they will use the money in the most beneficial way. Lisa’s
brainstorming about what to do with the money results in an impressive list of 250 ideas,
360
My translation:
Lisa Meerbusch took out a copybook and started taking notes.
First Possibility: Turn in the money . . .
Lisa Meerbusch jotted the ballpen aside and stared out of the window oblivious of the landscape. Complete
nonsense. I have to come up with a plan. I have to accept the inheritance of my uncle, and have to use the
money in a meaningful way.
Idea Number One:
The money belongs to the people of the GDR. The GDR does not exist anymore, but the people do.
Therefore I will let the money fall from the TV tower. . .
Idea Number Two:
Divide the money among old people . . .
Idea Number Five: Buy technology . . .
Idea Number Sixty-seven: Purchase apartments for large families . . .
Idea Number One-hundred-and-eighty-nine: Black Bread transfer to Crete . . .
Idea Number Two-hundred-and-forty-three: Establish a center for continuing education . . .
I will not be able to do it alone. Therefore I should first found an organization. Together with Vogt? That
would be a real partnership between East and West . . .
162
which are more or less valuable. Most importantly, Lisa realizes that Vogt’s expertise
would help her tremendously to invest and use the money wisely. With the aim to
establish genuine cooperation between East and West with Vogt, Lisa returns to the
united Germany at the end of the book. Jentzsch, in contrast to Grass and Brussig, seems
to suggest, that a changed Germany needs to be imagined from within the two united
German states. While the men represent consumption and corruption, she gives thought
to the future. At the same time, Jentzsch emphasizes that a joint Germany has to be
imagined by East and West Germans together, old and young, together. In addition,
Jentzsch also seems to perceive the broader European context as a solution to the German
dilemma. However, Jentzsch simultaneously highlights new problems, which may arise
out of this context. The strong feminist undertone of Seit die Götter Ratlos Sind also calls
attention to the difficult role of women within the nation, i.e. the reunification.
II.
Germany – Loosing the Light of the Nation
To a greater or lesser extent, the five phases of the German velvet revolution, which
Helga Köngisdorf described, can be detected in all three German novels, in the five books
of Grass’ Ein Weites Feld, in the seven books of Brussig’s Wie es Leuchtet, and in the
many chapters of Kerstin Jentzsch’s Seit die Götter Ratlos Sind. In addition, all three
authors employ a plural narrative perspective: Grass’ first person narrator is part of a
pluralist ‘we’, Brussig’s first person narrator is clearly part of a larger collective, and
Jentzsch feminist omniscient narrative perspective is interspersed with the plural
narrative comments by the Greek gods. With their narrative strategies, the writers create
thus an allusion to the public sphere, which decisively contributed to the fall of the wall.
163
At the same time, the authors also mimic an oral setting, signaling to the reader that they
are also part of the collective. As a result, in all three books create an image of the
German transitional period as defined by a multiplicity of competing national narratives.
While Brussig’s narrative focuses primarily on the transitional Wende period in the
present, Grass and Jentzsch interweave a present and a past narrative. Grass explores the
events of the fall of the wall, as well as the aftermath of the reunification in the larger
historical context of German history, and establishes a connection not only to Fontane,
but also to the first German unification under Bismarck. Jentzsch, however, shines light
of the events of the Wende, by also depicting aspects of the GDR past. In addition, her
narrative adds another dimension of magic realism by including the discussions of the
Greek gods.
All three authors represent counter-narratives to the “wonder” of the fall of the wall
as well as the reunification and stress the growing disappointment during the phase of
interregnum. Furthermore, Grass, Brussig, and Jentzsch also highlight the corruption,
deception, and economic speculation involved in the events. They show that any political
and economic alternatives for the people of the GDR were ruthlessly destroyed by
Western capitalist interest. In particular Jentzsch and Grass and, too a much lesser degree,
also Brussig, call attention to the lingering violence before, during, and after the
reunification.
Although the authors primarily explore the missed chances of the Wende and offer
possible explanations for their failures, all three also provide glimpses of the future.
Brussig and Grass seem to imagine a changed Germany within a larger European or even
global context, while Jentzsch seems convinced that an impetus to a different Germany
164
has to develop out of true cooperation between East and West Germans. In addition,
while the feminist undertone is most prominent in Jentzsch’s novel, Brussig and Grass
also express hope that women will play a more important role within the new Germany.
165
CHAPTER V: NARRATING THE END OF APARTHEID
I. South Africa: Uniting Through Mourning
Similarly to Germany, South African literature had also represented one of the
major realms, where a public sphere could emerge in opposition to the public authority.
Historical revisionism’ and criticism in South Africa has often taken a literary form361,
but at the same time, South African fiction had a long tradition to be visionary. In
December 1948, the same year apartheid in South Africa was implemented, Alan Paton’s
Cry, the Beloved Country, was published. In this novel, Paton exposes already the
structures of apartheid that would dominate South Africa for more than 45 years.
Similarly, Nadine Gordimer’s books, such as July’s People (1982), and My Son’s Story
(1990) already anticipated a drastic change in South African society. In addition, Zakes
Mda’s theatre work, which preceded his first novel, Ways of Dying, was already
visionary. Mda was engaged with the Marotholi Traveling Theatre, a project of the
University of Lesotho, established in 1982, which was dedicated to theatre as a medium
of development communication. This project used theatre for motivating communities
into initiating or participating in development activities, as well as political change.
Mourning and empathy appear as essential ingredient of this new South African story
because mourning creates a pause and allows for reflection, while empathy generates
reconciliation and initiates change. All the three novels, which will be discussed in the
following, are concerned with the previously described transitional phase, in which
361
Michael Green, “Social History, Literary History, and Historical Fiction in South Africa” Journal of
African Cultural Studies, Vol. 12, No. 2, Literature and History (Dec., 1999). 122 (Hereafter quoted as:
Green, page number)
166
mourning and empathy played important roles. The novels connect these themes with an
appraisal of the future, a confrontation with the past and a negotiation of future.
a. Mourning for the Nation – Ways of Dying
Zakes Mda understands himself as an artist, who acts as a social commentator and
aims to rally the people into action. Generally, as Mda affirmed in an interview, his work
contains an underlying factual basis362 The facts that inspired Mda to write Ways of
Dying were newspaper reports from the City Press and Sunday Times, which he obtained
at Yale University in 1993, as well as other witness accounts of the violence in South
Africa.363 In his novel Ways of Dying, Mda exposes the violence, which occurred in the
transitional period in South Africa between 1990 and 1994, but also foreshadows the
work of the TRC (1995) by telling the story of a professional mourner, Toloki. In the
South African context, Toloki can be regarded as an Antigone character364, who already
takes upon himself the work of mourning that will later be done by the TRC. At the same
time, the plural narrative perspective introduced at the beginning of Way’s of Dying,
reminds of the chorus in Antigone:
“There are many ways of dying!” the Nurse shouts at us. Pain is etched in
his voice, and rage has mapped his face. We listen in silence. “This our
brother’s way is a way that has left us without words in our mouths. This
little brother was our own child, and his death is more painful because it is
our own child, and his death is more painful because it is of our own
creation. It is not the first time that we bury little children. We bury them
362
David Bell, “The Teller of Tales: Zakes Mda and the Storifying of Post-Apartheid South Africa.” In:
Goeffrey Davis (Ed.) LWU - Literatur in Wissenschaft und Unterricht Thema: Südafrika / Theme Issue:
South Africa XXXIX 2/3 (Würzburg: Verlag Königshausen & Neumann GmbH, 2006) 158 (Hereafter
quoted as: Bell, page number)
363
Bell, 161
364
I am referring here to the play Antigone by Sophocles written around 442 BC. Mourning plays a crucial
part in this play. After a bloody battle the Theban king, Creon, forbids a respectable burial for the traitor
Polyneices. Antiogne, Polyneices sister, disobeys Creon’s orders, mourns her brother and performs burial
rituals. Creon punishes her and does not realize his mistake until it is too late. The play exposes Creon as an
example of a bad ruler and encourages civil disobedience. At the same time, the play depicts mourning as a
chance for a new beginning.
167
every day. But they are killed by the enemy . . . those we are fighting
against. This our little brother was killed by those who are fighting to free
us!”
We mumble. It is not for the Nurse to make such statements. His duty is to
tell how this child saw death, not to give ammunition to the enemy. Is he
perhaps trying to push his own political agenda? But others feel that there
is no way the Nurse can explain to the funeral crowd how we killed the
little brother without parading our shame to the world. That the enemy
will seize hold of this, and use it against us, is certainly not the Nurse’s
fault. Like all good Nurses, he is going to be faithful to the facts.
Toloki belongs to the section of the crowd that believes strongly in the
freedom of the Nurse to say it as he sees it. (Mda, 3)
The ‘we’ in Mda’s novel represents the people of South Africa. As this excerpt illustrates
the people do not necessarily form a unity. Confronted not only with the violence and
death caused by the rulers of apartheid, but also with the violent death of little children
brought about by members of their own group in the fight for freedom, the people are in
conflict. Some in the community view admitting that the fight for freedom results not
only in glory but also in shame as giving the enemy (whites) ammunition. Mda implies,
however, that such concerns are much less important than the truth. As the primary value
appears the freedom of speech, the freedom to express one’s personal opinion, one of the
very fundaments of a democratic society. The truth, however, is never unilateral, but
always has to be achieved through discourse:
No individual owns any story. The community is the owner of the story,
and it can tell it the way it deems it fit. We would not be needing to justify
the communal voice that tells this story if you had not wondered how we
became so omniscient in the affairs of Toloki and Noria. (Mda, 8)
This excerpt reminds of the TRC’s distinction between personal narrative truth and social
truth. Simultaneously, Mda refers to the fact that unilateral narration and truth is always
an intentional construction. The overlapping of multiple voices and narrations will
therefore always come closer to truth than a single narration or voice. Throughout the
168
book Mda mirrors his belief in a complex construction of truth through the co-existence
of many voices and changes in narrative perspective. Although the ‘we’ chorus remains a
narrative presence throughout the book, the perspective also switches to omniscient, third
person narration and even first person narration in form of direct speech.
At the beginning, at the burial of her son, Toloki meets Noria, his ‘homegirl’, who
came to the city from the same village where he is from. (Mda, 7) In flashbacks Mda’s
novel gives an account of Toloki’s as well as Noria’s arrival in the city and their
struggling with the transitions from village to urban life. Both encountered great
difficulties to adapt to urban life and find themselves on the margins of society in city’s
slum.365 Mda tightly interweaves the past narrative of Toloki and Noria’s downward
spiral in the city, with the present narrative of their meeting. While the past narrative
extends approximately over one decade, the time line of the novel’s present narrative is
fairly short. Noria and Toloki meet at the funeral of Noria’s son in Johannesburg on
Christmas Day (Mda, 4) and the novel ends on New Year’s Eve. (Mda, 181) It is less
clear, however, what year the action takes place. From the reference that the president of
the political movement attends a funeral where Toloki mourns, one can conclude that the
novel is set after Mandela’s release from prison, but before the first general election.
The funeral was the biggest that had ever been seen in those parts. The
president of the political movement was there in person, together with the
rest of his national executive. He, the consummate statesman as always,
made a conciliatory speech, in which he called upon the people to lay
down their arms and work towards building a new future of peace and
freedom. He called those who had died martyrs whose blood would, in the
standard metaphor for all those who had fallen in the liberation struggle,
water the tree of freedom. He called upon the government to stop its
double agenda of negotiating for a new order with the leaders of the
political movement, while destabilizing the communities by killing their
residents and by assassinating their political leaders. He further called
365
Bell, 161
169
upon the tribal chief to stop his gory activities, and to walk the democratic
path. (Mda, 171)
This passage shows what a painful, slow process the transition to democracy in South
Africa was and that after Mandela’s release the violence indeed increased. At the same
time, the passage emphasizes Mandela’s key role in the abolition of apartheid. He was the
main charismatic figure who made the change possible, forced the whites into
negotiation, appeased the black population, and took control of the personal agenda’s of
tribal leaders.
In a similar manner to Mandela, Toloki is also a charismatic man, who makes an
impression on people and to whom they listen. He is known to the people as Toloki, the
Professional Mourner. (Mda, 4) Although there are other professional mourners, Toloki
possesses a special position among them, because he mourns even when he is not paid for
it: “His service is for the dead.” (Mda, 11) Through mourning, Toloki encounters violent
death in many forms, but mainly indirectly, because he is confronted with the destructive
aftermath of violence. While he is also confronted with violence committed by whites
against blacks, Toloki also comes across assaults by blacks against blacks. Toloki mourns
that the people of South Africa let the violence of the apartheid system dominate their
lives so that they turned against each other. Although mourning takes a toll on his
personal life, it isolates and alienates him366, Toloki does not stop, because he mourns for
the whole South African nation.
For Noria, mourning is a very complicated and personal matter. Noria mourns the
loss of her two sons, both of whom were named Vutha. Noria lost her first son, Vutha I,
in course of the separation from Vutha I’s father, who kidnapped and then neglected his
366
Bell, 162
170
son so that he died. While Vutha I’s death alludes to fatalities caused by partriarchal
systems, Vutha II, Noria’s second son, died a violent death brought about by the political
circumstances of apartheid. After six-year old Vutha II revealed confidential information
to the police in exchange for food, the resistance group, Young Tigers, forced Vutha II’s
friend, six-year old Danisa, to ‘necklace’ Vutha II:
The children had to confess that they told the hostel inmates about the
planned ambush. The leaders of the Young Tigers were very angry. They
called the children to come and see what happened to sell-outs. They put a
tyre around Vutha’s small neck, and around his friend’s. They filled both
tyres with petrol. Then they gave the boxes of matches to Danisa and to a
boy of roughly the same age.
“Please forgive us! We’ll never do it again. We are very sorry for what we
did.”
“Oh, mother! Where is my mother!”
“Shut-up, you sell-outs! Now, all of you children who have gathered here,
watch and see what happens to sell-outs. Know that if you ever become a
sell-out, this is what will happen to you as well. Now you two, light the
matches, and throw them at the tyres.”
Danisa and the child who had been given the honour of carrying out the
execution struck their matches, and threw them at the tyres. Danisa’s
match fell into Vutha’s tyre. It suddenly burst into flames. His screams
were swallowed by the raging flames, the crackle of burning flesh, and the
blowing wind. He tried to run, but the weight of the tryre pulled him to the
ground, and he fell down. The eight-year old was able to stagger some
distance, but he also fell down in a ball of fire that rolled for a while and
then stopped. Soon the air was filled with the stench of burning flesh. The
children watched for a while, and then ran away to their mothers. (Mda,
177)
As horrific as this scene of Vutha II’s killing may appear, ‘necklacing’ had become a
quite common form of punishment executed by freedom fighters in apartheid South
Africa.367 Very vividly Mda shows how deeply violence had permeated South African
society. It illustrates the rituals of violence that had become embedded in the struggle
against apartheid; the revolution consuming its children. Throughout the novel, violence
367
Apart from Mda, Krog (Krog, 49, 186) and Magona (Magona, 77) also describe the terrible practice of
‘necklacing’ in their work.
171
occurs in many different forms, and all of the characters have been experienced or been
witnesses to extremely violent occurrences. In this respect, violence appears as a “normal
state of affairs.”368 Violence served not only as a natural form of conflict solution, but
also as an intimidating form of prevention. Although Vutha II and his friend are small
children, who do not even understand the whole consequences of their actions, the Young
Tigers have no mercy. However, rather than killing the two traitors themselves, they
force two other little children to set their friends on fire. They make the ‘necklacing’ of
Vutha II and his friend a public spectacle for the other children to make them internalize
in a horrendous way the full ramifications of becoming a traitor. In the aftermath of
Vutha II’s killing, the Young Tigers also administer the burning of Noria’s shack, in
order to stress that betrayal also has consequences for the traitor’s family members.
Noria’s despair about the loss of her son becomes therefore intermingled with
anxiety about further attacks by the Young Tigers. Similar to Antigone, Noria
experiences resentment and punishment for mourning her son, the traitor. Although the
street committee helps her organize her son’s funeral, she is not allowed to tell the truth
about her son’s death. People do not want to hear about it. Toloki is the first one who
really reaches out to her, understands and shares her sorrow. He is the first one to express
empathy with Noria about the loss of her son and who listens to Noria telling the story of
Vutha II’s death. (Mda, 166-178) As ‘homeboy’ and ‘homegirl’ Toloki and Noria help
each other how to live again. Together they rebuilt Noria’s shack and Noria invites
Toloki to stay with her, providing a home for the previously homeless mourner of the
nation. In return, Toloki offers Noria a shoulder to lean on so that she can mourn and
learn how to cope with the loss of both her sons.
368
Bell, 162
172
In South African society under apartheid there was no room for empathy or mercy,
not even for small children, because both could prove fatal in the fight against the white
oppressor. With Vutha II’s extremely excruciating death, Mda calls special attention to
the role children and teenagers played in the South African anti-apartheid movement.
While those of Mandela’s generation had still experienced partial peaceful co-existence
with the whites in their country, those generations born after the implementation of
apartheid in 1948 lacked such a reality. For them violence became a reality of everyday
life. In addition to the establishment of a Foucaultian carceral369 system, the white
minority rule of the South African apartheid movement depended largely on violence.
The police raided Black neighborhoods on a regular basis and arrested, tortured,
imprisoned, and killed those whose passbooks were not in order, those who “resisted” in
any way or just chose people at random. Any form of Black resistance was immediately
crushed with violence: Since the Soweto riots, many of the victims of the fight against
apartheid were teenagers and even children. As a result of not experiencing mercy from
the apartheid forces, the younger generations of South Africa began to return the violence
against the oppressor, but also turned it against their own. In the aftermath of apartheid,
South Africa was in need to find forums of how to dismantle this legacy of violence. At
the same time, because of the violent abuses of the apartheid system the belief in the
369
Compare: Michel Foucault, Discipline and Punish, (New York: Vintage Books, 1995).
The South Africa apartheid system represents a Foucaultian carceral system, because it turned the majority
of South Africans into delinquents, in order to secure white political supremacy and economic domination.
A variety of different concepts aimed at disciplining the South African Black population, controlling their
time, space, their activities, their bodies and ultimately their minds: the circulatory migrant labor system
that was the corner stone of apartheid, the complete racial segregation, the forced resettlements, the states
of emergency, the constant threat of detention, police violence and torture and the politicization of tribalism
among blacks. Some of the laws on which the apartheid system was build were even introduced before the
official establishment of apartheid in 1948 (Urban Influx Control Act of 1923, Riotous Assemble Act of
1927). The Population Registration Act of 1949 required all citizens to be classified by race and those
categorized as black had to carry their identity passes with them at all times.
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state’s right to have a monopoly on violence was in question. In this context, the TRC
was the only possibility left for South Africa to restore the belief in a just state, by having
the state show mercy and giving the country time to mourn. At the same time, the black
majority could afford to show mercy, because the end of apartheid unquestionably was
their claim to power.370
Apart from depicting the violent legacy of the apartheid system, Mda also creates a
vision of reconciliation and forgiveness, of human kindness, and creative energy at the
end of the book.371 With Toloki’s help Noria welcomes the children back into her life and
even overcomes her negative feelings towards Danisa:
They sit outside and watch the children play. Noria points to a skinny little
girl and says that that is Danisa. When she saw all the children playing at
Noria’s, she came to play as well. At first, Noria was reminded painfully
of her son, for the two children had played together most of the time. But
she has forced hersef to accept that Danisa will be there, and will be
everywhere she wants to be, without her son. . .
“I was not able to bring you any flowers today, Noria. But you can have
these that I have drawn with crayons.” “I love these even better, Toloki,
for they are your own creation.”
As the afternoon progresses, Toloki draws pictures of the horses, as he
used to do back in the village. Noria says that they are the best pictures
that she has seen in all her life. She asks him to draw pictures of children
as well. Toloki tries, but he is unable to. . .
Noria okingly says that maybe she should sing for him, as she used to do
for Jwara. After all, Jwara was only able to create through Noria’s song.
Noria sings her meaningless song of old. All of a sudden, Toloki finds
himself drawing pictures of the children playing. Children stop their
games and gather around him. They watch him draw colourful pictures of
children’s faces, and of children playing merry-go-round in the clouds.
The children from the dumping ground and from the settlement are able to
identify some of the faces. They laugh and make fun of the strange
expressions that Toloki has sketched on their purple and yellow and red
and blue faces. (Mda, 186-187)
370
371
I refer here to Nietzsche – as explained in Appendix B.
Bell, 163-164
174
It is implied throughout the book that the children from the dumping ground and even
some from the settlement may not have parents. While Noria is now a mother without a
son, there are still many children who would need her. Toloki’s presence has given her
the strength for a new beginning. She can even forgive Danisa, who as she realizes, was
merely tool of the Young Tigers. Apart from providing stability for each other, Noria and
Toloki give new hope to each other. Together with the homeless children they are able to
form a family, not necessarily one of kinship, but one of the mind. This hope finds
creative expression in form of drawing on Toloki’s part and singing on Noria’s part.
Together they create the vision of a happy South African future that they share with the
children and with the community. Mda alludes here to the fact that mourning and
forgiveness has to precede creation (the building of a new nation), in order to convince
people of the vision of the future. At the same time, he stresses that art will play a
decisive role in the shaping of the future. Art not only provides new hope, but it also
helps to envision a peaceful future. In addition, it is a means to overcome past traumas.
Art is depicted as therapy and the imagination appears as an alternative to the violence
and viciousness of deconstructing apartheid.
b. Shedding the Last Skin for the Nation – The Country of My Skull
While Zakes Mda’s book foreshadowed the work of the TRC, Antjie Krog’s book,
The Country of My Skull, emerged out of her work as a reporter for the TRC. The
devotement that precedes The Country of My Skull reads: “For every victim who had an
Afrikaner surname on her lips.” By dedicating her account of the work of the TRC to all
victims of Afrikaner violence, Antjie Krog already takes sides. In addition, she calls
175
special attention to women as victims of the apartheid system by saying ‘her lips’.
Without doubt, The Country of My Skull is dedicated and written against forgetting the
victims of apartheid; it is a promise not to forget. Inherent to the title, however, is also a
claim. By calling South Africa the country of her ‘skull’, Krog stresses her internal
identification with the country and asserts her belonging. Krog’s emphasis on the ‘skull’
could be a play on the anthropology of Africa as the womb of homo sapiens, and in this
respect represents a statement on her ancestry as African notwithstanding her
Afrikaner/European forebears who came from “out of Africa”. At the same time, this title
is also a reference that the new South Africa is a matter of the imagination.372 It is a book
that was born out of the crisis of being white in post-apartheid South Africa.373 In her
book, Krog reports on and assumes responsibility for the atrocities committed under the
apartheid system, and, at the same time, negotiates the conditions under which whites can
be part of the new South Africa.
How complex this negotiation will be for whites in South Africa is already reflected
by the fact that the genre of Krog’s book is not easily determined, but appears more like
an amalgamation of many genres. Her book has been called a memoir, a biography of the
victims of the TRC, an autobiography, personalized journalism, etc. However, the text
does not quite fit any of those terms, because it includes many fictionalized accounts as
well as poetry.374 It is probably best described as ‘faction’, a portmanteau of ‘fact’ and
‘fiction, which is tantamount to her problem of a writer to find a literary form of how to
372
Carli Coetzee, “They Never Wept, the Men of My Race: Antjie Krog’s ‘The Country of My Skull’ and
the White South African Signature” Journal of Southern African Studies, Vol. 27, No. 4. (Dec., 2001). 685
(Hereafter quoted as: Carli, page number)
373
Carli, 688
374
Sarah Nuttall, “Subjectivities of Whiteness” African Studies Review, Vol. 44, No.2, Ways of Seeing:
Beyond the New Nativism. (Sep., 2001). 126 (Hereafter quoted as: Nuttall, page number)
176
deal with the atrocities of her country’s apartheid past. (Krog, 313) Simultaneously, this
mix of genres mirrors in a very Bakthinian manner Krog’s all-embracing identity as a
white South African of Afrikaans heritage.
When interviewed about her hopes for the TRC Antjie Krog declared what the
commissions’ work could achieve was an extensive collection of “people’s perceptions,
stories, myths and experiences” of life under apartheid, which would help “to restore
memory and foster a new humanity” in South Africa.375 Narration for Antjie seems to be
not only a way of assuming responsibility, but also restoring memory. At the same time,
narrating a traumatic memory is a first step to starting to control it so that it cannot haunt
you anymore. (Krog, 57) In this context, Antjie’s account of the work of the TRC serves
a double function, it makes known a selection of the narratives given at the hearings; it
restores the memory of them, but it also helps the author to deal with the trauma she
experienced as a witness to these horrific narratives. Her book is an attempt to record the
memory of the injustices of apartheid, while also recuperating the faith in a new
humanity; in a new beginning. Moreover, Anjtie views narrative understanding as the
most primitive form of explanation: “We make sense of things by fitting them into
stories.” (Krog, 261) Narration is therefore not only essential to empathy, to facilitate
understanding between people, but it also is a way of making sense of occurrences. The
Country of My Skull aims at both.
Deliberately, Krog made the decision to publish the book under her maiden
Afrikaner name, Krog, and not under her married name, Samuel, the one, she used, when
reporting on the work of the TRC. Her Afrikaner surname immediately singles her out as
375
Temma Kaplan, “Reversing the Shame and Gendering the Memory” In: Signs, Vol. 28, No. 1, Gender
and Cultural Memory. (Autumn, 2002) 195 (Hereafter quoted as: Kaplan, page number)
177
one of the accused.376 This step of consciously naming the self also shows Antjie Krog’s,
Samuel’s, split identity. Signing the book with her Afrikaner name, Krog, conjures up the
audience, Antjie Krog seeks to address, those to whom she is known as an adored
Afrikaans poet. This time, however, the author does not write in Afrikaans, but in
English, thus establishing a distance between herself and her previous audience.
Simultaneously, by writing in English, Antjie acknowledges that her mother tongue
carries violence. (Krog, 285) She is now addressing mainly those who are willing to
embrace her in the new language.377 At the same time, however, Antjie is speaking to
black South Africans as a daughter who has broken away from her white fathers, in full
knowledge that her Afrikaner kinsmen are still watching her.378 In addition, by using
English, Antjie also signals her departure from the politics of language that helped to spin
the Soweto uprising. By rejecting Afrikaans, Antjie is claiming a new politics of identity
for post-apartheid South Africa. In this respect, Antjie is appealing mainly to those whites
who will share the vision of the new South Africa and are willing to fulfill the promises it
entails. Her work for the TRC made her realize that in a way her whole culture was
seeking amnesty. (Krog, 121) Therefore, Antjie is asking black South Africans to allow
her a place in the new country and is making several attempts throughout the book to
demonstrate her sincerity and trustworthiness. She concludes the book with an apology
and a plea to be allowed a place in the new South Africa: “You whom I have wronged,
please / take me / with you.” (Krog, 365)
Most clearly, Antjie seeks to distance herself from the ‘men of her race’ throughout
the book. While Antjie is horrified by the enormity of the atrocities committed by these
376
Carli, 686
Carli, 686-687
378
Carli, 296
377
178
men, she also has to acknowledge an uncanny linkage with them. Uncanny, because the
intimacy she shares with them extends beyond language, as one of her colleagues
observes, when Antjie interviews several Afrikaner men during her work as a reporter for
the TRC:
“You know, your whole body language and tone of voice change when
you are with these men,” . . . “I couldn’t hear what you were talking about
but there is a definite intimacy . . “ I say nothing. When I spoke to them, I
did use all the codes I grew up with, and have been fighting against for a
lifetime. But now I want a good story and I want to understand them.
(Krog, 116-117)
Antjie is highly aware that she shares a family and cultural bond with these men that she
cannot easily shed. But she also realizes that it is exactly these codes that link her to them
that she can use to distance herself from them. In a very Arendtian manner Antjie does
not shy away from making use of the familiar codes to empathize with the perpetrators,
but, from the very beginning, she also stresses that it is empathy that these men lack. The
title of the first chapter, “They Never Wept, the Men of My Race”, already makes clear
the distinction between Antjie and the Afrikaner men. Her fellow kinsmen deal with their
past atrocities mainly in forms of repression and non-acknowledgement, while Antjie is
willing to endure the psychological and physical pains of the work of the TRC. Before
her work as a reporter even begins, Antjie suffers a nervous breakdown, when she is told
to head the five person radio team covering the TRC. (Krog, 50) Being a radio reporter,
Krog is particularly skilled in comprehending and reliving occurrences through oral
narrative, controlled empathy.
Prior to the hearings all journalists receive warnings that empathizing with the
victims will take a toll:
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The next morning, the Truth Commission sends one of its own counselors
to address the journalists: “You will experience the same symptoms as the
victims. You will find yourself powerless – without help, without words.
(Krog, 51)
However, Antjie and her colleagues soon find out that being without words when
confronted with the atrocities, which are being told, is the least of their problems. After
having attended many TRC hearings as a reporter, Antjie notices that her hair and teeth
are falling out, she experiences increasing alienation from her husband and children
(Krog, 63-64) and she is diagnosed with a trauma related rash. (Krog, 123) As the
hearings proceed, Antjie observes the draining effect of the TRC hearings on herself, her
colleagues, the TRC commissioner, and in particular on Desmond Tutu, who is diagnosed
with cancer throughout the TRC hearings. (Krog, 201-204) Engaging with the narratives
in an emphatic way depressed Antjie and her colleagues, because it forced them to share
the burden of the atrocities committed. The more they empathized with the victims, the
more they felt like the victims. Foreseeing these developments, the journalists were asked
to see a psychologist:
The next morning, the psychologist arrives. We all sit nervously around
the table. He begins. What physical symptoms have manifested
themselves recently?
We answer: neck ache, backache, ulcers, rashes, lack of appetite,
tiredness, insomnia.
Right. So how do we feel? He says we each have to answer individually.
Mondli says: “I am not affected, because I grew up with theses things. My
sister’s house was burnt, Bheki Mlangeni was one of my best friends. So, I
mean this is nothing new. Usually I laugh at testimonies. I listen but I
don’t feel pain.”
The same story is repeated by all the black journalists – they are actually
fine. The commission’s work doesn’t affect them, because they grew up
with human rights abuses all around them. . .
The psychologist shuffles his papers together. “I am not suggesting that
you are affected – I’m merely asking a question. Are the black journalists
in this group telling me that they have a special capacity to handle pain? . .
. Are you saying that God has given black people this stunning special
180
capacity to deal with suffering? What has changed in your behavior – and
it may have nothing to do with the commission – but what has changed
this past year? I want to know.”
And with theses word, he cracks open what has been a mystery – the
feelings of black journalists about the Truth Commission.
Mondli sighs. “There is something that has never happened before – I hit
my children with a belt the other day.”
Makhaya: “. . . And then something strange happened to me. I also started
to cry. I haven’t cried since I was a child. . .
Thabo: “. . . I didn’t even cry at my father’s funeral. But the other day at
the funeral of my best friend, I broke down and cried. . .
Sello: . . . It was only when I watched Prime Evil, I felt this spark of
hatred. It was quick, but it was very severe. And I was surprised at it. . .
Patrick: “. . . – the other day my wife put a bowl of porridge in front of me
and when I took the first spoonful, it burnt me, it was too hot. When I
came to my senses, I was standing with the bowl in my hand ready to
throw it on the floor at her. I don’t want to become abusive.”
“Do you talk at home about the hearings?”
We all shake our heads; we don’t talk. (Krog, 222-223)
While the white journalists mainly feel shame and guilt that manifest in form of bodily
symptoms, the black journalists admit, after being pushed by the psychologist, that they
suffer from anger and grief attacks. At the same time, the journalists reconstruct in a
microcosm what the TRC is aiming to achieve on a national level, the sharing of feelings,
of anger, disgust, fear, exhaustion, guilt and grief. It seems, strangely enough, that it has
become easier to address these issues in public than in private, because all journalists
admit that they do not speak about the TRC hearings at home. In this respect, although
the TRC provided a public forum to speak about atrocities, repression still takes place in
the private realm.
Towards the end of the TRC’s work Antjie admits that she fears the end of the TRC
and being separated from the TRC commissioners. She is afraid that with the end of the
TRC the faith in the new humanity may be lost. (Krog, 363) Throughout the book, it
becomes clear at several instances, how much the success in the new South Africa
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dependent on the presence of charismatic characters, who gave others hope, two of the
most prominent people being, Nelson Mandela and Desmond Tutu. Although the work of
the TRC is promises amnesty, it seems crucial that the committee members are beyond
accusations. Antjie admits that if Mandela did something wrong she would not even want
to hear about it. (Krog, 295) Furthermore, although Antjie has no problem hearing
women testifying about violence done to them or people they loved (Krog, 233-247), she
is reluctant to hear about violence committed or endorsed by women as during the
hearing of Winnie Mandela:
Outside the hall, a group of followers from the ANC Women’s League are
chanting support. They are all old and wrinkled and poor. “Winnie didn’t
kill alone!” they shout. “Winnie had a mandate from us to kill!” I switch
off my tape recorder. I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want to broadcast it. I
don’t want to live in a country where women mandate one another to
murder. This hearing will test us beyond ourselves. I know. (Krog, 322)
It is part of Antjie’s “country of her skull” that the perpetrators of the apartheid system
were primarily male, while the victims were largely women. The hearing of Winnie
Mandela, however, makes clear that the atrocities of the system cannot so easily be
gendered. The way she set up her book, by dedicating it primarily to the female victims
of apartheid, against the Afrikaner men who refuse to weep, Antjie Krog, however, tries
to uphold this claim.
Bearing witness and testifying in front of the TRC represents for all of the involved,
victims, perpetrators, reporters, spectators etc. alike a first step to assuming responsibility
for their actions. A particular key passage in the book, where even the possibly ‘noninvolved’ reader is forced to accept responsibility, is the following:
Just before midnight, six black youths walk into the Truth Commission’s
offices in Cape Town. They insist on filling out the forms and taking the
oath. Their application says: “Amnesty for Apathy.” They had been
182
having a festive Saturday evening in a township bar when they started
talking about the amnesty deadline and how millions of people had simply
turned a blind eye to what was happening . . .
“But where does apathy fit into the act?” a Truth Commission officer asks.
“The act says that an omission can also be a human rights violation,” one
of them quickly explains. “And that’s what we did: we neglected to take
part in the liberation struggle. So, here we stand as a small group
representative of millions of apathetic people who didn’t do the right
thing.”
With applications like this, the amnesty process has become more than
what was required by law. It has become the only forum where South
Africans can say: We may not have committed a human rights abuse, but
we want to say that what we did – or didn’t do - was wrong and that we’re
sorry. (Krog, 159)
Not only the majority of South Africans, whether black and white, were guilty of apathy
during South African apartheid, but so was the world. But not everyone so easily accepts
responsibility for the evils of apartheid as these six black youth. The Afrikaans churches,
for example, remain silent, instead of taking part in the search for truth and
reconciliation. (Krog, 216) Antjie Krog’s work as a reporter for the TRC triggers angry
responses by fellow whites, who vehemently reject being mixed up with the “. . . work of
Afrikaners and Nationalists.” (Krog, 123)
Although the TRC’s focus is primarily on truth and reconciliation, guilt appears as
the most problematic by-product of the work of the TRC. Political guilt means amnesty,
criminal guilt does not. Other forms of guilt are not addressed by the TRC. In her book,
Antjie refers therefore to the four categories of guilt formulated by German theologians
after the Second World War:
. . . criminal guilt – for the people who did the killings; political guilt – for
the politicians and the people who voted them into power; moral guilt –
for those who did not do enough, who did not resist, who were passive;
and lastly, metaphysical guilt – if I survived while the other was killed, I
am guilty of my very existence. (Krog, 123)
183
One category Krog leaves out, however, is collective guilt, the guilt about the Holocaust
that even the post-war generations, who were not personally involved, experienced. It
seems to be the same form of guilt some of her fellow white South Africans already
object to. Antjie emphasizes, however, that guilt was not necessarily an issue of the TRC,
but rather that the one unique feature of the South African TRC was the creation of
turmoil in the power structures. (Krog, 314) For many whites in South Africa, in
particular Afrikaners, Antjie Krog’s deliberate participation in this shaking of the existing
power structures was incomprehensible. Some of her fellow Afrikaners viewed her
therefore as a traitor. Therefore, Antjie experiences personal attacks, such as when she
receives a note in Afrikaans:
Ou Antjie Somers,
Geniet iy nog die aanklagte en Swartsmeerdery van die Afrikaners? Is iy
nog by jou man o het iy nou’n hotnot‚ ‘n mede wapendraer in jou stryd
teen die Nasional Party waarnvan jou pa so’n getroue ondersteuner
is/was?
K.K.K.
[Old Antjie Somers,
Are you still enjoying your accusations and besmirching of the Afrikaner?
Are you still with your husband or have you found yourself a Hottentot, a
weapon-bearer in your struggle against the National Party of which your
father is/was such a loyal supporter?
K.K.K.]
(Krog, 217-218)
This note illustrates quite well the difficulty of Antjie Krog’s position, not only as part of
the Afrikaner community in South Africa, but also as part of an Afrikaner family, who as
the note suggests was if not a supporter, clearly a beneficiary of the apartheid system.
However, in particular one flashback clarifies that Antjie Krog, previously to the fall of
184
apartheid in South Africa, was already known within the Afrikaner community as an
opponent of the apartheid system and a sympathizer of the ANC:
1989. A rural suburban afternoon like any other. . . The phone rings. The
dog barks.
“24543.”
“Is that Antjie?”
“Yes,” I say. . .
“Is that the one who spoke to the ANC?”
I am silent. It is that kind of sluggish Afrikaans.
“Do you know the Wit Wolwe? We’re coming for you tonight. A traitor
and a slut like you must be shot like a dog.” The phone goes dead. (Krog,
114)
In this context, things have slightly improved. Instead of receiving death threats, Antjie
and her family are merely insulted. While Antjie because of her work for the TRC still
has more reason to be afraid of her fellow Afrikaner kinsmen, her family parents and
brothers are concerned about the family property. Unlike their sister, Antjie’s brothers are
still moderate National Party supporters and consider it their right to shoot at intruders of
their farm land risking to kill them. (Krog 15-16, 355) For Antjie’s mother it is one of the
greatest downsides of the end of apartheid that the family farm has turned from a
“lifelong haven . . . the safest place” known into “an island under threat” (Krog, 357). In
contrast to her parents and siblings, Antjie realizes the reasons and costs and therefore
feels ashamed about the privileges of the past. Her parents and siblings lament the loss of
these privileges and are afraid of the future. They therefore ponder leaving the country.
(Krog, 355-360) For Antjie leaving the country is not an option. She is determined to
earn herself a place in the new South Africa even if that means shedding her last skin.
The shedding of skin is a metaphor that the author employs from the beginning to
the end of the book. This metaphor symbolizes the shedding of privileges, but also
contains images of rebirth. Antjie wants to break out of the blood lineage of the men who
185
do not cry.379 She is searching for a new identity, a new skin, a new language for white
South Africans, because she knows that her people are no longer dictating the conditions
under which they can claim South Africa to be the country of their skull. This time, they
will have to be invited to stay. At the same time, Antjie anticipates that there might be a
price to pay:
We of the white nation try to work out the conditions for our remaining
here. We are here for better or worse. We want to be here, but we have to
accept hat we can no longer stay here on our terms. Therefore I prick up
my ears and try to hear what the new conditions for my existence are.
Taxes. Mbeki mentioned that – the transfer of resources. Is that it? Is he
saying: your money will do, but please dear God, spare us your meager
little white souls?
We are being told who we are, what we have done wrong, but not what we
owe. Why this vagueness? (Krog, 376)
Antjie Krog is fully willing to pay this price and concludes her book with a poem
dedicated to all who took part in the work of the TRC and expressed their belief in the
new South Africa, the new skin: “daily because by a thousand stories / I was scorched / a
new skin.” (Krog, 364) The TRC offered not only Antjie but the new South Africa the
chance, in an admittedly painful process, to develop a new skin. At the same time, the
shedding skin as a process common in nature among reptiles and snakes is also connected
to growth and transformation. In this respect, the shedding of skin symbolizes Krog’s
dedication to the growth and transformation of post-apartheid South African society.
c. Seeking Forgiveness for the Nation – From Mother to Mother
In the epilogue of her book, Antjie Krog provides a selective list of perpetrators
who were granted amnesty by the TRC. One of the cases, which received particular
interest abroad, was the amnesty given to the murderers of the U.S. exchange student
379
Carli, 691
186
Amy Biehl. (Krog, 383) Sindiwe Magona’s Mother to Mother (1999) takes up the murder
case of Amy Biehl and spins a fictional narrative around Amy’s death in late 1993. In a
similar manner as Antjie Krog emphasizes the importance of personal narrative and
merges genres, Sindiwe Magona’s book appears as an amalgamation of biography and
fiction. Moreover, Magona in her work alludes to and aims at reviving oral history as an
important democratic practice of South Africa prior to apartheid.380 Magona is interested
in exploring the possibilities of discourse. The oral setting allows her to create a special
relationship between reader and writer out of which basic truths about life can arise.381
One can argue that empathy is one of the fundamental conditions of oral storytelling. By
basing a novel on occurrences, which actually took place, and by having people, who
were involved in these, directly address the reader as fictitious characters, the author
prepares the ground for controlled empathy. Sindiwe Magona seems to believe just like
Antjie Krog that narration offers a primary way to make sense of certain incidences and
also enables a first sphere of understanding.
In Mother to Mother a fictional first-person narrator, Mandisa, who identifies
herself as the mother of one of the murderers, directly addresses the mother of the
murdered, the mother of Amy Biehl:
My son killed your daughter.
People look at me as though I did it. The generous ones as though I made
him do it. As though I could make this child do anything . . .
Let me say out plain, I was not surprised that my son killed your daughter.
That is not to say that I was pleased. It is not right to kill.
380
Green, 127
Sindiwe Magona & Margeret J. Daymond, “Class in the Discourses of Sindiwe Magona’s
Autobiography and Fiction” In: Journal of Southern African Studies, Vol.21, No.4, Special Issue on South
African Literature: Paradigms Forming and Reinformed. (Dec., 1995), 564 (Hereafter quoted as: Magona &
Daymond, page number)
381
187
But, you have to understand my son. Then you’ll understand why I am not
surprised he killed your daughter. Nothing my son does surprises me
anymore. . .
I have known for a long time now that he might kill someone some day . . .
And, if he had killed one of the other women who were with your daughter,
d’you think there would be all this hue and cry? . . .
And your daughter; did she not go to school? Did she not see that this is a
place where only black people live? . . .
White people live in their own areas and mind their own business –
period. We live here, fight and kill each other. That is our business. You
don’t see big words on every page of the newspapers because of one of us
kills somebody, here in the townships. But with the case of Boyboy’s , even
the white woman I work for showed me. The story was all over the place.
Pictures too. (Magona, 1-3)
In this excerpt, the direct questions are the most explicit proof of how Magona meshes
oral tradition into her writing. Particularly the questions imply the listening presence of
Amy’s mother (the reader). At the same time, imagining a listening presence on part of
the narrator adds a performative aspect to the story.382 The narrator is aware that her
words will be evaluated, will be judged by the imagined audience. This oral setting that
Magona sets up, can also be seen as a expression of ‘ubuntu’, because the narrator and
the audience are reminded that they depend on one another; each other’s understanding
and cannot exist in isolation. As the mother of a murderer, Mandisa struggles with the
guilt of her son’s actions, but also with her treatment by the community. People,
however, seem to deal with the topic of the murder primarily non-verbally with looks,
while Mandisa’s speech clearly expresses to need for dialogue, she wants to offer an
explanation, seeks understanding and reconciliation with the community, but also with
Amy’s mother.
382
Margaret J. Daymond. “Complementary Oral and Written Narrative Conventions: Sindiwe Magona’s
Autobiography and Short Story Sequence ‘Women at Work’” In: Journal of Southern African Studies, Vol.
28, No.2 (Jun., 2002) 344 (Hereafter quoted as: Daymond, page number)
188
Above all, Mandisa’s address to Amy’s mother illustrates that she views the
violence on the part of her son as a reaction to the fact that violence intensely permeated
every aspect of their life. For her as the mother, her son’s bloody deed almost seemed
inevitable, it was just a question of time when he would return the violence he
experienced throughout his whole life. Mandisa also contextualizes Amy’s death within
the South African carceral system, and therefore partially holds the victim responsible for
ignoring the warning signs and being too naïve about the spatial divisions in South
Africa. Concurrently, Mandisa points to the fact that under the apartheid system,
violence; murder, committed by blacks against blacks was hardly recognized, while
violence by blacks against whites was reported in the media all over the world. Murders
committed of blacks by whites were for the most part completely ignored.
The story of Amy Biehl received such great international attention, because Amy
was a volunteer from the U.S., who came to South Africa to prepare the first democratic
elections in South Africa in 1993. On her last day in South Africa Amy decided to drive
home her black friends to their township, Guguletu, in Cape Town. There she was killed
by a mob of adolescents. It proved fatal for Amy that she did not take serious the
boundaries that separated blacks from whites in apartheid South Africa, and that within
the changing South Africa even her black friends momentarily ignored them. In a
complicated arrangement of flashbacks, by telling her own life-story and that of her son,
Mxolisi, Mandisa reconstructs for Amy’s mother (the reader) how and with what force
these spatial and emotional divisions between blacks and whites were created in South
Africa. The biographical parts are interspersed by a detailed fictional account of the last
48 hours before and after Amy’s violent death.
189
One of the most defining experiences of Mandisa’s life was her family’s move to
Guguletu at the age of nine:
My first impressions of the place are still vivid in my mind, etched my
eyelids, fresh today as they were all those many years ago when I was still
but a child, not even ten . . .
No big, smiling sign welcomes the stranger to Guguletu. I guess even
accomplished liars have some limits. This place is like a tin of sardines but
the people who built it for us called it Guguletu, Our Pride. The people
whie live in ‘Our Pride’ call it Gugulabo – ‘Their Pride’. Who would have
any gugu about a place like this?
It was early morning when my family got here, early in 1968. How my
eyes were assaulted by the pandemonium. People choking the morning
streets. People everywhere you looked. Stray dogs/ Peddlers. Children
roaming the streets aimlessly even in that early hour. And then the forest
of houses. A grey, unending mass of squatting structures. Ugly.
Impersonal. Cold to the eye. Most with their doors closed. Afraid.
Guguletu is both big and small. The place sprawls as far as the eye can see
...
As far as the eye can see. Hundreds and hundreds of houses. Rows and
rows, ceaselessly breathing on each other. Tiny houses huddled close
together. Leaning against each other, pushing at each other. Sad small
houses crowned with gray and flat unsmiling roofs. Low as though trained
never to dream high dreams. (Magona, 26-27)
Guguletu was the one major housing project in Cape Town that was developed during the
‘high phase’ of resettlements in South Africa from 1950 to 1980.383 In 1950 the Group
Areas Act was passed, which provided the basis for racial spatial division in South
Africa. This law regulated ownership of land according to racial group and resulted in
immense forced resettlements. Areas were marked off for residence, occupation and
trade. As the above excerpt illustrates the townships created were designed in a costeffective manner and resulted in impersonal, hopeless, overpopulated, dehumanizing
living conditions, which did not even allow for the development of dreams and aimed at
the elimination of empathy. In many ways, housing projects like Guguletu were the
383
Rebekah Lee, “Reconstructing ‘Home’ in Apartheid Cape Town: African Women and the Process of
Settlement” In: Journal of Southern African Studies, Vol. 31, No.3 (Sep., 2005) 612 (Hereafter quoted as:
Lee, page number)
190
architectural realization of apartheid’s carceral system384. Unlike in other parts of Africa,
were the mobilization of the rural masses, as Fanon argued, was crucial to the
emancipation of the nation385, the resettlements and housing projects in South Africa
facilitated an urban resistance movement against apartheid. At the same time, the narrator
reflects also on the irony of naming in South Africa. The name given to the township in
the Xhosa language does not do justice to the reality of the miserable conditions of the
housing project, but rather as the name of the inhabitants illustrates, serves as a further
extension of the apartheid system.
In a similar manner, even the notification of the resettlement just reinforced the
hierarchy on which the apartheid system was built. While picking berries in the rather
rural area were Mandisa’s family lived before, the people are startled by an airplane:
An aeroplane. Flying so low, my friends and I could see the people in it.
See their pink-pink skins and the colours of the clothes they wore . . . see
too the dark glasses hiding their coloured eyes.
The phenomenon was that unusual, we forgot the ritual:
...
Then were a moment before, we’d been struck dumb, no a new concern
smote us and restored our voices.
‘Uza kuwa! Uza kuwa!’ Wide-eyed with fear, we cried out . . . Even as we
recoiled from the horror, we felt compelled to watch . . . to look on . . .
witness: Why was the man bending forward, out of the door or window of
the aeroplane? . . .
But the man did not fall out. Instead, the aeroplane threw up. It emitted a
big, fluttering white cloud.
...
I looked at the paper in my hand. Writing. In big letters. Spelling errors.
Whoever wrote this, can’t have gone far in school. I thought. Why, even I,
only in Standard Three, would know how to write all the words written
here. And I would spell all of them correctly too. Corrected, this is what
the papers said:
YONK’ IBLOUVLEI IYAFUDUSWA. ISIWA ENYANGA. KULE
NYANGA IZAYO – 1 JULAYI. ABAZICELELAYO BAYA
KUNCEDISWA NGELORI.
384
385
I refer here to Foucault as previously explained.
As previously explained in Chapter 2.
191
The message was simple and direct
ALL BLOUVLEI WILL BE RELOCATED _ MOVED TO NYANGA.
NEXT MONTH – 1 JULY. FOR THOSE REQUESTING IT, THERE
WILL BE LORRIES TO HELP WITH THE MOVE. (Magona, 57-59)
In a god-like manner from above, the white ‘masters’ inform Mandisa’s family and their
neighbors about their forced move. The spatial segregation is already implemented before
it has even begun, because no personal contact between whites and blacks takes place.
Through the use of technology the whites emphasize their superiority and cause anxiety
in the black population, but their use of the Xhosa language the white supremacists
expose their weaknesses. Mandisa, only nine years old, realizes that the pink men in the
airplane are incapable of writing correctly in Xhosa, which makes her question for the
first time their power. Magona hints here at the crucial role of education in the fight
against apartheid. While the schools were also part of the carceral system of apartheid,
the skills South Africans like Mandisa acquired in school inevitably lead to the undoing
of the apartheid system. Used initially as a tool for subordination, education soon turned
into a tool for liberation.
In the end, it was only the violence of the apartheid system, which ensured the
obedience of black citizen. Accordingly, the people of Blouvlei have to give in to the
armed forces, which arrive to enforce the resettlements:
An army of invasion: a fleet of police. Vans, bulldozers and army trucks
surrounded the location. Completely. In its entire vastness, Blouvlei was
surrounded and contained.
As though enacting a long-rehearsed macabre dance, out of each of the
army and police vehicles and bulldozers sprang uniform-clad white men.
Hundreds of them. In a cloud of pink-fleshed faces peeping from beneath
heavy helmets, beefy hands sprouting from camouflage uniform, the white
men set upon the tin shacks like unruly children destroying a colony of
anthills. (Magona, 65)
192
Against the mercilessness of the determined white men the people of Blouveil do not
have a chance. Although they do not want to move, they helplessly watch the destruction
of their homes. The above passage illustrates in a vivid manner how crucial the use of
technology was in achieving complete dominance of a minority over a majority and
executing inhumane laws.
While Mandisa however, still experienced a comparatively peaceful and safe early
childhood, Mandisa’s oldest son, Mxolisi is from very young age on exposed to the
violence his mother experienced for the first time during the resettlements. As the most
crucial experiences in her son’s life, Mandisa recalls him witnessing the shooting of his
teenage friends at the age of four. Not only did Mxolisi witness the boys’ shooting by the
police, he also indirectly caused their deaths by revealing their hiding place to the police:
‘Nab’ewodrophini! Here they are! Here they are, in the wardrobe!’
screamed Mxolisi, pointing to the wardrobe. A clever little smile all over
his chubby face.
He said those terrible words and, swift as a wink, witnessed the outcome.
The boys jumped out and made for the window. But when they hit the
back garden the police were waiting, and shot them then and there. He was
struck mute by what he saw the police do to the two boys. His beloved
friends. After that, he zipped his mouth and would not say a word. Not one
word more – for the next two years. (Magona, 139)
This passage demonstrates the traumatic effects of violence on children in South Africa.
From a very early age children had to learn to deal with violence on a regular basis. It
was not unusual for children in South Africa to witness their friends and family members
being killed by the police before their very eyes. Magona in her book depicts the circular
structure of violence. The first reaction against massive violence is of course shock, but
then violence can lead to the deadening of feelings, eventually to rage and then again to
violence. Mandisa’s account of her own and Mxolisi’s life shows how profoundly their
193
lives were defined by violence. The constant exposure to violence over time resulted in
the slow erosion of empathy. Although at the end it remains doubtful whether Mxolisi
actually killed Amy even if he was part of the mob attacking her, the reader understands
the violence against Amy as a reaction against the violence that permeated South African
life. When Mandisa finally confronts Mxolisi, he does not confess having killed Amy to
his mother. However, it is implied that he did. (Magona, 196-197) Mandisa is
heartbroken by the knowledge that her son killed and she feels torn and ill of guilt.
(Magona, 199) Mandisa’s reaction shows that enduring violence is one thing but acting
violently another. The guilt of having killed weighs as heavy as the sorrow of losing a
loved one to violence, but as a result of her son’s killing Mandisa also experiences being
an outcast in her community. After some time has passed, however, Mandisa achieves
reconciliation with her neighbors through mourning Amy’s death. Mourning collectively
opens up the discourse between Mandisa and her neighbors and they achieve
understanding. (Magona, 200-201)386
Although relieved about the reconciliation with her neighbors, Mandisa cannot
quite find peace without expressing her sisterhood of sorrow with Amy’s mother:
My Sister-Mother, we are bound in this sorrow. You, as I have not chosen
this coat that you wear. It is heavy on our shoulders, I should know. It is
heavy, only God knows how. We were not asked whether we wanted it or
not. We did not choose, we are the chosen.
But you, remember this, let it console you some, you never have to ask
yourself: What did I not do for this child? You can carry your head sky
high. You have no shame, no reason for shame. Only the loss, Irretrievable
loss. Be consoled, however. Be consoled, for with your loss comes no
shame. No deep sense of personal failure. Only glory. Unwanted and
unasked for. I know. But let this be your source of strength, your fountain
of hope, the light that illumines the depth of your despair. (Magona, 201202)
194
Aiming to achieve reconciliation and understanding, Mandisa appeals to Amy’s mother
through the common experience of motherhood. Mandisa emphasizes that she shares
Amy’s mother’s loss, and offers her remorse, but she also she seeks her understanding for
Mxolisi’s actions and asks for his forgiveness. At the same time, Mandisa points out to
Amy’s mother to that there lays certain strength / comfort in carrying the loss without
having to carry the guilt also. Unlike Mandisa, Amy’s mother can carry her head up high,
because her daughter died innocently, trying to do good things. In contrast, although
Mandisa lost Mxolisi in a way too, when he killed Amy, Mandisa is not really allowed to
mourn this loss of the innocence of her son. Thus, through mourning Amy, Mandisa
indirectly also mourns Mxolisi’s childhood and loss of innocence. Simultaneously, she is
suggesting that if the circumstances of his coming of age had not been so horrible, he
would have not turned into a killer.
Although Magona’s book is fiction, he comes very close to the real occurrences,
because the mother of one of the three men seeking amnesty for Amy’s murder before the
TRC send Amy Biehl’s parents a video message expressing remorse and seeking their
understanding. When Amy’s case was heard before the TRC, Amy’s parents, Linda and
Peter Biehl, actually met with one of Amy’s murderers and his mother, Mongezi and
Evelyn Manqina.387 The Biehls were the ones, who affirmed on an international scale the
ambition of the TRC and showed that reconciliation between a murderer’s family and the
family of the murdered is indeed possible. Magona’s book demonstrates above all a belief
in the healing power of narration, while it builds at the same time on the human ability of
387
Documentation about Amy’s hearing can be found in the TRC report, as well as in the film footage that
exists of the TRC hearings. Film footage also exists of the meeting between Amy’s parents and the
Manqinas.
195
controlled empathy. Narration not only allows for assuming responsibility for atrocities
but also facilitates reconciliation and rehabilitation.
II. The Making of a new Morning: Reconciliation and Restitution
Similar to their German counterparts, all three novels about the South African
transitional period, Zakes Mda’s Ways of Dying, Antjie Krog’s The Country of My Skull,
and Sindiwe Magona’s Mother to Mother employ a plural narrative setting. While Mda
uses a plural narrative voice to comment on the story of the two main characters, Toloki
and Noria, Magona creates a setting similar to that of an oral narrative, by letting the first
person narrator directly address an audience (Amy’s mother and the readers). Antjie
Krog’s very own personal account of her work as a reporter for the TRC, and the effect it
had on her, and her family, is interspersed with a multiplicity of narratives told in front of
the TRC.
While Mda foreshadows the amount of mourning that needs to be done in order to be
able to function again as ‘a people’, both, Krog’s as well as Magona’s book provide more
personalized narratives of the work of the South African TRC. All authors agree that
mourning is essential to the reconciliation of the people of South Africa, and that the guilt
and grief must be shared. Simultaneously, all three authors expose the connection
between the violence committed and the carceral system established under apartheid.
They stress that it will take a while, until the violent legacy of the system of apartheid
will be undone. In this respect, all three authors prove their willingness to empathize with
the victims and the perpetrators of apartheid.
196
At the same time, the way the authors construct their narratives illustrates that they
share the belief that healing starts with narration. Through narrating the subject assumes
agency, while at the same time, enabling others, who are willing to listen, to empathize.
Simultaneously, the all three authors seems convinced that the psychological carceral
system of apartheid, as well as its violent repercussions can only be exposed in narration.
Moreover, the strategy of the overlapping and coexistence of narrative perspectives Mda,
Krog, and Magona use, as well as the merging of genres demonstrates a belief in the
construction of truth through discourse; a multiplicity of voices. While Krog’s and
Magona’s narratives highlight in particular the healing powers of narration, written or
oral, Mda also depicts other avenues of healing, such as through music or the fine arts. In
any case, all three authors clearly view art as well as reconciliation with the community
as crucial for the development of a future South Africa.
While Krog seems concerned that as a white South African she might not be granted
a place in the new South Africa, Mda and Magona do not express such fears, but instead
call attention to the difficult economic situation of blacks. Both, Mda’s and Magona’s
story is set in a slum and some of the violence depicted seems to derive out of the poverty
which surrounds the people. In contrast, Krog shows members of her family quite willing
to defend their property with guns. Thus, subliminally all three authors convey concern
that new violence could erupt from the extreme economic disparities in post-apartheid
South Africa. In this respect, they foreshadow that the TRC’s work will have to be
followed and complemented by some sort of retribution.
197
CHAPTER VI: GERMANY - VERGANGENHEITSBEWÄLTIGUNG
I.
The Politics of the Past
Kathrin Schödel differentiates in her article “’Narrative Normalization’ and Günter
Grass’s Im Krebsgang”388 between two main positions, which dominated the public
discourse on normalization in Germany since reunification, the “New Right” and a
second, more moderate position. While the “New Right” called for a normal
“selbstbewußte Nation”389 and an end of the predominance of the National Socialist past,
i.e. the guilt of the Holocaust, within the self-image of the German nation, the moderates
promoted merely a new “Unbefangenheit”390 in dealing with this past. They encouraged a
less burdened national identity and including different memories of the past.391 All three
texts, which will be discussed in the following, Günter Grass’ Im Krebsgang, Monika
Maron’s Stille Zeile Sechs, and Zafer Senocak’s Gefährliche Verwandtschaft assume a
moderate position within the discussion of normalization.
A more pluralistic perspective on the past appeared logical in the context of the newly
unified Germany for several reasons: Post-wall Germany not only had the chance for the
first time to address the atrocities of the Holocaust as a united nation, but also had to find
ways of how to contextualize the Cold War, i.e. GDR past as part of the common national
history. At the same time, the German reunification paved the ground for the creation of a
larger European conglomerate. Thus, German history also had to be contextualized
388
Kathrin Schödel, “Narrative Normalization” and Günter Grass’s Im Krebsgang” In: Stuart Taberner and
Paul Cooke (eds.), German Culture, Politics and Literature into the Twenty-First Century – Beyond
Normalization (Rochester, NY: Camden House, 2006) (Hereafter quoted as: Schödel, page number)
389
“selfconfident nation”
390
“unselfconsciousness / unbiasedness”
391
Schödel. 196
198
within a larger European context. This chapter will therefore investigate, if Grass, Maron
and Seoncak engage with the German past in a new way, and if so, in what ways.
At the same time, this chapter will also explore how the authors view the relationship
between history and literature. As previously discussed, the fall of the wall, and, in
particular the Stasi accusations against Christa Wolf, entailed a heated discussion in the
newly unified Germany, about the (aesthetic) value of political literature. Like many
other authors, Grass, Maron, and Senocak, expressed their belief that in post-wall
Germany the need for such literature was even greater.
a. Im Krebsgang – Turning up the Mud
By simply dedicating Im Krebsgang “in memoriam”, Grass positions his book
already within the memory discussions, which followed the German reunification. At the
same time, by dedicating the text generally, without mentioning what or who is to be
commemorated, Grass stresses the importance of how we remember over what / who is
remembered. The central issue of Grass’ novella is the representation of memory not it’s
content.392 Over the past forty years, Grass had successfully established himself with his
“Schreiben gegen das Vergessen”393 as the “conscience of (West) Germany”. Most of
Grass’ writing had been dedicated to the memory of the suffering that Germans caused
with the Holocaust and the Second World War and against forgetting the German guilt.
During the time of the Wende, Grass even went so far as to argue that with Auschwitz
392
Kristin Veel, “Virtual Memory in Günter Grass’s Im Krebsgang“, German Life and Letters 57:2 (April
2004) 208-209 (Hereafter quoted as: Veel, page number)
393
My translation: Writing against Forgetting
199
Germans had forfeited any right to ever be a united country again.394 In many ways, the
Wende represented a break with the vision of a united “Pan-Germanic” nation, and the
symbol of multiple German nationalisms. Thus, the fall of the wall also entailed a
significant shift in Grass’ writing, which became most notably in Im Krebsgang.
Two days prior to the publication of Im Krebsgang, Grass stated in an interview
with the Frankfurter Allgemeinen Sonntagszeitung395 that he felt guilty about so far
having neglected the topic of the expulsion of Germans from Eastern Europe at the end of
the Second World War.396 The day his book appeared, on February 5th, 2002, Grass even
denounced that not only his own writing, but in post Second World War German
literature as a whole, the suffering Germans endured during their expulsion had so far
been a taboo theme. Therefore, in order to overcome this taboo, he had, now, for the first
time, devoted a whole book to this topic. Grass new novella depicted the human
catastrophe, which resulted out of the sinking of the German ship, Wilhelm Gustloff, by a
Soviet submarine in the Baltic Sea in January of 1945. In passing, Grass had referred to
the tragedy of the Wilhelm Gustloff in several of his previous works directly or indirectly,
such as in Die Blechtrommel (1959), Hundejahre (1963), Die Rättin (1986)397, and most
recently in Mein Jahrhundert (1999).398 At the same time, it is clear that Grass’ portrays
the sinking of the ship as emblematic for the larger tragedy: The expulsion of about 14
394
Arno Lustiger, “Dichtung und Wahrheit? Nein, Schummelei! Anmerkungen zum letzten Buch von
Günter Grass“, 2. http://www.fritz-bauer-institut.de/texte/essay/Lustiger-Grass_10-09-06.pdf (Hereafter
quoted as: Lustiger, page number)
395
Sunday edition of the Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung (FAZ)
396
Martina Ölke, “Flucht und “Vertreibung in Hans-Ulrich Treichels Der Verlorene und Menschenflug und
in Günter Grass’ Im Krebsgang” Seminar: A Journal of Germanic Studies - Volume 43, Number 2, (May
2007) 115. (Hereafter quoted as: Ölke, page number)
397
Elizabeth Dye, “Weil die Geschichte nicht aufhört: Günter Grass’s Im Krebsgang“, German Life and
Letters 57:4 (October 2004) 473. (Hereafter quoted as: Dye, page number)
398
Veel, 207
200
million Germans from the East between 1945 and 1946.399 Already, the very opening of
Im Krebsgang anticipates the reader’s reaction - “Warum erst jetzt?” sagte jemand, der
nicht ich bin.” (IK, 7) This first sentence not introduces not only an unknown first-person
narrator, but simultaneously makes the author, Grass, as well as the reader, part of the
text. The author, Grass, is very well aware that the topic of his novella will trigger this
very question in his readers, but Grass also reminds the reader not to equate the first
person narrator with the author. Nevertheless, ‘Why only now?’ became the primary
question Grass had to answer after the publication of his book. With the collapse of the
wall, the issue of German identity reopened and the memory of the expulsion of
“diasporic” populations gained a new currency post-wall.
Grass offered one main reason for finally addressing the Second World War
suffering of Germans. He wanted to prevent the monopolization and unilateral
representation of German suffering during the Second World War by the political
right.400 In order to challenge one-sided right-wing representations of the expulsion,
Grass delivers his own subjective representation of the historic occurrences and
contextualizes German suffering. Grass is bearing witness, because the post-war
generations, in particular the third generation, are beginning to treat the Holocaust and
the Expulsion “just as history”.401 In this context, Grass expresses his reservations against
a “normalization” of German history within public memory.402 Moreover, Grass also
seems invested in destroying the binary world of victims and perpetrators, which
399
Robert Gerald Livingston, “Germany’s Sunken Memories” In: Foreign Policy, No. 135, (Mar. – Apr.,
2003) 81. (Hereafter quoted as: Livingston, page number)
400
Robert G. Moeller, “Sinking Ships, the Lost Heimat and Broken Taboos; Günter Grass and the Politics
of Memory in Contemporary Germany” In: Contemporary European History (2003), 12: 173 (Hereafter
quoted as: Moeller, page number)
401
Livingston, 82
402
Schödel, 195
201
developed as a result of the student movement in Germany.403 Furthermore, in postreunification Germany, Grass is exploring how the Holocaust can be contextualized
within the new memory discourse of the newly unified state.404 Finally, Grass asserts
with his novella his belief in the importance of politically engaged literature within the
public sphere.405 Although other artists had dealt with the topic of the expulsion prior to
Grass, it seems that it needed a public figure of Grass’ caliber or his reputation as the
country’s ‘moral conscience, to make the topic acceptable for public discussion.
At the same time, journalists also accused Grass and his publisher Steidl of a
well-calculated publicity stunt.406 By insinuating that Im Krebsgang finally dealt with the
taboo topic of the expulsion, Nobel laureate Grass ensured that his novella would become
a major success. Indeed, the Grass novella became an immediate bestseller, which was
not only out of stock a few days after its publication, but six editions of Grass’ book
appeared just within the first month407, amounting to 300,000 copies sold.408 Moreover,
for Grass this topic was also personal, because as a native of Gdańsk, Grass, as well as
his parents, and his sister, had themselves been German expellees from Poland (former
Pomerania) at the end of the Second World War. Seeking reconciliation with Poland had
always been a major priority of Grass’ political and creative work.409 At the same time,
Grass’ work had been dedicated to preserving the lost “Heimat” in the East literally,
linguistically, culturally.410 Im Krebsgang, however, seems inspired by Grass’
403
Moeller, 161
Dye, 473
405
Ölke, 116
406
Thomas Medicus, “Kalte Heimat. Eine Debatte im Krebsgang“, Frankfurter Rundschau: 16.02.2002.
(Hereafter quoted as: Medicus)
407
Ölke, 116
408
Dye, 473
409
Livingston, 81.
410
Moeller, 163
404
202
responsibility and / or guilt as a survivor of the expulsion.411 Moreover, with the violent
disintegration of Yugoslavia, which soon followed the peaceful fall of the wall,
expulsions and the experiences of refugees had become an important topic again on the
European continent.412 In his autobiography, Beim Häuten der Zwiebel, Grass’ clarifies
that he was spared the trauma of the flight, when he was drafted on the 10th of November
1944, while his father, mother, and his sister experienced various atrocities during their
flight westward not much after.413 Although Grass certainly found a new home in
Schleswig-Holstein, his pre-occupation with Gdansk, which defines most of his work,
speaks of his life-long struggle with the lost Heimat. In his autobiography, Grass revealed
a well-kept secret about his past: Through the draft, 17-year-old Grass became a member
of the “Waffen SS”.414 Grass’ “confession” was met with outrage by some Germans and
immediately triggered a public discussion about his status as the ‘moral conscience’ of
Germany. This role, however, Grass had never really assumed but had rather been
assigned. In this respect, Im Krebsgang can possibly be seen as one of the first milestones
of Grass’ attempt to deconstruct himself as the ‘moral conscience’ of Germany, and
encourage the public to assume responsibility for and engage with the complex German
past on their own. Furthermore, in the novella Grass is also continuing what he already
started in Ein Weites Feld: He is beginning to re-conceptualize the issue of German
identity in the larger European context, Germany as perpetrator, victim, and healer.
411
Moeller, 150
Dye, 475
413
Günter Grass, Beim Häuten der Zwiebel, (Göttingen: Steidl Verlag, 2006) 271-277. (Hereafter quoted
as: Zwiebel, page number)
414
Zwiebel, 126
412
203
Without doubt, Im Krebsgang qualifies as a historical narrative, in which Grass
addresses issues of German history from 1936 until 1999.415 Memory and history are the
two great themes of Grass’ novella, with which he, once again, aims to shape the readers’
awareness about the complexity of the German past. In Im Krebsgang as in his other
works, Grass uses a technique common to the novella, when he closely intertwines two
different narrative threads in the text: The first narrative strand deals with the Nazi past,
whereas the second narrative takes place in the present after the fall of the wall.416 This
narrative device allows Grass to stress the inter-connectedness of the national past and
present. Perhaps, Im Krebsgang can best be described as ‘faction, a portmanteau of ‘fact’
and ‘fiction’417, or as a ‘docu-novella’, because Grass interweaves the story of the ship
Wilhelm Gustloff with six biographies of three factual and three fictional characters.418 At
the same time, the construction of Grass narrative on the basis of magic numbers appears
almost geometric.419 Some critics have even dismissed Im Krebsgang because of its
constructed, symmetric arrangement, and suggested that Grass’ should have rather
remained silent, when he was so obviously lacking words.420 However, Grass employs
the highly fragmented, numeric narrative style on purpose, constantly reminding the
reader of the constructed nature of the narrative, but also memory and history.
The lives of the three historical characters in Im Krebsgang were fatally
connected with each other in real life: Wilhelm Gustloff, after whom the ship was named,
415
Veel, 207
Dye, 478-479
417
Richard Reichensperger, “Mit Krebsscheren gegen Skinhead-Mythen Günter Grass umkreist in seiner
neuen Novelle den Untergang” Der Standard 09.02.2002 (Hereafter quoted as: Reichensperger)
418
Livingston, 81
419
Ulrich Raulff, “Untergang mit Maus und Muse” Süddeutsche Zeitung 05.02.2002 (Hereafter quoted as:
Raulff)
420
Karl Schlögel, “Die Sprache des Krebses. Der Neue Grass und die Erinnerung an die Vertreibung“
Frankfurter Rundschau 12.03.2002 (Hereafter quoted as: Schlögel)
416
204
was a Nazi functionary in Switzerland. In 1936, a young Jew, David Frankfurter, killed
Gustloff in Davos and was arrested and convicted of his murder. Alexander Marinesko, a
Soviet submarine captain, caused the sinking of the ship, Wilhelm Gustloff, in an attempt
to exonerate himself and avoid being sent to the gulag. Grass enmeshes the lives of these
three historical persons closely with that of the three fictional characters in the novella.
The main protagonists in the story are three members of the same family, from three
different generations: Tulla Pokriefke, the narrator Paul Pokriefke, her son, and Konny
(Konrad) Pokriefke, Paul’s son; Tulla’s grandson. All three struggle with their connection
to the ship Wilhelm Gustloff, which serves as a symbol for Nazi Germany as a whole.
These two narrative strands of six different characters are told by the first person narrator,
Paul, but even “further complicated by a meta-commentary, provided by the author’s
alter ego, ‘der Alte’”.421 Apart from these fictional and factual characters, Grass
references a number of characters of his own fictional universe in the book, such as Harry
Liebenau, Jenny, Walter Matern, Eddi Amsel, and Joachim Mahlke.422 Thus, Grass
encourages his readers to view Im Krebsgang in immediate connection to his other
works; insinuating even that the novella is best understood in an inter-textual context, not
only to his own works, but also in response to the other texts, films, and authors, he
references in his narration about the sinking of the Wilhelm Gustloff.
Those familiar with Grass’ work will recognize Tulla Pokriefke as a minor, but
memorable, character from the two last books of the so-called “Danziger Triologie”423,
Katz und Maus (1961). This trilogy consists of the three books: Die Blechtrommel (The
Tin Drum) (1959), Katz und Maus (Cat and Mouse) (1961), and Hundejahre (Dog Years)
421
Dye, 479-480
Veel, 207
423
Veel, 207 My translation: Gdańsk Triology
422
205
(1963). In all three books Grass’ addresses Germany’s Nazi past and attempts to work
through this past. Forty years later, the reader now encounters an aged Tulla, roughly the
same age as Grass himself, who has not worked through the past, but rather suffers from
a superhistorical form of historical malady.424 For Tulla, the most decisive moment of her
past, the sinking of the Wilhelm Gustloff, where she as a seventeen-year-old not only lost
her parents, but also gave birth to her son Paul amidst the catastrophe, is constantly alive
in the present.425 All of her conversations, daily routines and preoccupations eventually
return to this very single topic. It is in particular Tulla’s voice, which contributes to the
oral nature of Grass’ novella, when she repeatedly retells the tragedy of the ship in the
dialect, which was typical of Gdansk.426 In comparison to this very personal horrific
experience, all others, even the Holocaust, pale for Tulla in comparison. Whenever
confronted
with
issues
“Binnichtzuhausegesicht,
out
das
of
heißt,
her
comfort
sie
verdrehte
zone,
die
Tulla
Augäpfel
makes
bis
her
zum
Gehtnichtmehr”427, refusing to hear the other stories. The memories of the ship’s sinking
haunt her, and keep her from being able to empathize with other people. In many ways,
Tulla represents the prototype of the German post-war psyche.428 After the war, Tulla
resettled in East Germany, in Schwerin, where she had a quite successful career as the
director of a carpenter unit and became a quite convinced communist (IK, 90). The
political atmosphere of post-1945 anti-fascist East Germany, prohibited Tulla from
talking openly about these haunting images of the past. Thus, she repeatedly urges her
424
As explained in Chapter 3.
Veel, 211
426
Reichensperger
427
“I-am-not-at-home-face, meaning she rolls her eyes until she cannot any further.”
428
Ingo Arend “Kraft durch Wahrheit. Das Böse, das raus muss” Freitag Nr. 08 2002 (Hereafter quoted as:
Arend)
425
206
son, Paul, who left the GDR and began a career as a journalist in West Germany, to tell
the story of the expulsion; to portray Germans also as victims rather than just as
perpetrators.
Paul, however, who was allegedly born during the sinking of the Wilhelm
Gustloff, despises his mother for telling the story of the ship’s sinking, i.e. the story of his
birth, over and over again. As the representative of the “late-born generation”, Paul
struggles greatly with the fact that the tragedy of the Wilhelm Gustloff, i.e. the fall of the
Nazi regime, was the birth night of his and all successive generations. As a member of
the ‘68 generation, the stories of German victims appear meaningless to Paul in contrast
with the much larger atrocities of the Holocaust. Thus, Paul constantly struggles to
suppress the whole subject, but every year, his own birthday, January 30th is a reminder
of what he wants to suppress. The date of Paul’s birthday is cursed thrice (IK, 16),
because it coincides with Hitler’s rise to power in 1933, as well as Wilhelm Gustloff’s
birthday, but also represents the anniversary of the Wilhelm Gustloff tragedy429:
Da ist es wieder, das verdammte Datum. Die Geschichte, genauer, die von
uns angerührte Geschichte ist ein verstopftes Klo. Wir spülen und spülen,
die Scheiße kommt dennoch hoch. Zum Beispiel dieser vermaledeite
Dreißigste. Wie er mir anhängt, mich stempelt. Nichts hat es gebracht, das
ich jederzeit, ob als Schüler und Student oder als Zeitungsredakteur und
Ehemann, geweigert habe, im Freundes-, Kollegen- oder Familienkreis
meinen Geburtstag zu feiern. Immer war ich besorgt, es könne mir jemand
bei solch einer Fete – und sei es mit einem Trinkspruch – die dreimal
verfluchte Bedeutung des Dreißigsten draufgesattelt werden, auch wenn es
so aussag, als habe sich das bis kurz vorm Platzen gemästete Datum im
Verlauf der Jahre verschlankt, sei nun harmlos, ein Kalendertag wie viele
andere geworden. Wir haben ja Wörter für den Umgang mit der
Vergangenheit dienstbar gemacht: sie soll gesühnt, bewältigt werden, an
ihr sich amzumühen heißt Trauerarbeit leisten. (IK, 116)430
429
Dye, 474
My translation: There it is again, the cursed date. “History, more precisely, the history we are
stirring up, is a stopped up toilet. We flush and flush, the shit still floats back up.” (Moeller, 147) For
example the cursed thirtieth. How it hangs on to me, how it marks me. It didn’t matter that I always refused
430
207
In this respect, even Paul shows symptoms of superhistorical malady. His whole life, he
avoided having a birthday party out of fear someone would make a comment evoking the
Wilhelm Gustloff tragedy, i.e. the Nazi past. At the same time, Paul grew up in Schwerin;
Wilhelm Gustloff‘s hometown (IK, 37). Thus, Paul is unable to overcome the trauma,
which surrounded his birth. By using the metaphor of the clogged toilet Grass also
illustrates that Germans perceive history as something that is embarrassing, a nuisance, it
soils the clean appearance of the post-war (West) German democracy. Unlike many other
Germans, Grass did, however, not get tired of digging up the dirt of the past in particular
in historic moments.431 The title of Grass novella, Im Krebsgang, fits well together with
the titles of Grass’ other works, which he named after critters: dogs, rats, flounders,
snails, toads, and now crabs.432 All these animals find their home in the in-between realm
of humus and feces; in the dirt of history.433 Simultaneously, Grass insists that it is not
enough to use certain words to engage with the past, but he rather suggest that Germans
need to struggle for words in the labor of mourning the past requires. Consequently, Paul
constantly struggles for the appropriate words to tell the story. In this respect, the legacy
of the Nazi crimes produced almost an intellectual paralysis. Great tension arises for Paul
from the need to narrate the story of the Wilhelm Gustloff and the challenge to tell to
story in a politically correct manner.434 Furthermore, for Paul narrating the story of the
to celebrate my birthday with friends, family or colleagues, in school, at the university, as a newspaper
editor and as husband. I was always worried that someone at a party like that would bring up – even if just
in a toast – the three times damned meaning of the thirtieth, even if it seemed as if the date lost some of its
explosive meaning over the years, had became a harmless calendar day as any other. We employed certain
words for dealing with the past: it should be atoned, overcome, to struggle with it means to perform the
work of mourning.
431
Arend
432
Raulff
433
Arend
434
Dye, 484
208
ship’s sinking results in undoing his identity rather than constructing it, because he has to
acknowledge the enormous obstacles, which have to be overcome, in order to achieve
any truthful representation.435 Similarly, Grass calls for a re-narration of German history
in the newly unified Germany, in order to deconstruct the nation’s current identity.
Throughout the novel, Paul unravels the consequences of his refusal to make use
of his profession as a journalist to tell his mother’s story. From Tulla the superhistorical
malady spreads to Konny, in whom Tulla finds a complaisant listener for her stories
about German suffering during the expulsion. Unlike Paul, Konny is willing to take it
upon himself to tell his grandmother’s story. Through the use of modern technology,
Konny is even able to reach a much wider, international audience (IK, 15) for Tulla’s
story than Paul would have ever reached as a mere journalist. On the newly established
Internet, Konny designs his own webpage, www.blutzeuge.de, in memory of the tragedy
of the Wilhelm Gustloff, and turns his grandmother’s trauma into Neo-Nazi
propaganda.436 Via chat a new tragedy develops, when Konny under the pseudonym,
Wilhelm Gustloff, develops a virtual amity/enmity relationship with Wolfgang Stremplin,
another young German of the same age as Konny, who uses the alias of David
Frankfurter in their heated chat room discussions.
Discovering Konny’s Neo-Nazi leanings finally causes Paul to confront and
explore his mother’s favorite story, the sinking of the Wilhelm Gustloff, which in so many
ways has become very closely entangled with the story of his family. However, in
particular because of these personal involvements with the story, it quickly becomes clear
435
436
Veel, 211
Veel, 211
209
that Paul is as yet another of Grass’ unreliable narrators.437 There is, however, also
another reason, why Paul finally decides to tell the story; he was hired to do so. Paul’s
“Auftraggeber”438 (IK, 55), is an aging author, who appears as an alter ego of Grass.439
Unlike Grass, however, the fictional author in the book feels too worn out to be still
tackling complicated topics of the past, he feels “leergeschrieben”440 (IK, 30),
“müdegeschrieben”441 (IK, 99). Thus, while acknowledging his generation’s failure to
deal with topics like the expulsion, he assigns Paul Pokriefke as his deputy, his
“Ghostwriter” (IK, 30):
Das nagt an dem Alten. Eigentlich, sagt er, wäre es Aufgabe seiner
Generation gewesen, dem Elend der ostpreußischen Flüchtlinge Ausdruck
zu geben: den winterlichen Trecks gen Westen, dem Tod in Schneewehen,
dem Verrecken am Straßenrand und in Eislöchern, sobald das gefrorene
Frische Haff nach Bombenabwürfen und unter der Last der Pferdewagen
zu brechen begann, und trotzdem von Heiligenbeil aus immer mehr
Menschen aus Furcht vor russischer Rache über endlose Schneeflächen . .
. Flucht . . . der weiße Tod . . . Niemals, sagt er hätte man über so viel
Leid, nur weil die eigene Schuld übermächtig und bekennende Reue in all
den Jahren vordringlich gewesen sei, schweigen, das gemiedene Thema
den Rechtsgestrickten überlassen dürfen. Dieses Versäumnis ist bodenlos .
. . (IK, 99)442
In this quote, Grass lets his narrator express again, what he articulated in interviews about
his motivations and inspirations to write Im Krebsgang. The suffering Germans
experienced as a result of the Second World War should have also been part of the public
437
Dye, 482
employer
439
Ölke, 115
440
“drained from writing”
441
“tired of writing”
442
My translation: It bothers the old man. It would have really been the duty of his generation, to express
the misery of the East Prussian fugitives: the treks to the West in winter, the death in snowdrifts, the dying
at the roadside or in holes of the ice, as soon as the freshly frozen backwater began to break after bombing
or because of the weight of the horse wagons, and nevertheless more and more people followed from
Heiligenbeil in fear of Russian revenge over endless plains of snow . . . flight . . . The white death . . . One
should have never, he says, kept quiet about so much suffering and left the shunned topic to people on the
right, just because the own guilt was overwhelming and showing remorse had been more urgent during all
these years. This failure was fathomless . . .
438
210
debate and not marginalized so that it could become a popular topic for the right-wing.
Quite vividly, Grass describes in concise, gruesome images the horror refugees
experienced, who fled from Eastern Europe in the winter of 1945. At the same time,
Grass depicts the German dilemma at the end of the Second World War. As soon as the
true dimensions of the Holocaust were known, any suffering of Germans became
secondary; mourning the loss of loved ones and the expulsion from home had to be
contextualized and “weighed against” the millions, who died and the unspeakable
atrocities committed in German concentration camps.
This is, however, not entirely true, as Robert G. Moeller elaborates in his article,
“Sinking Ships, the Lost Heimat and Broken Taboos; Günter Grass and the Politics of
Memory in Contemporary Germany”, because narratives of German victims and victims
of Germans always co-existed and even competed in the public memory discourse in
Germany.443 Tales of the German expulsion were particularly part of the public debate in
West Germany during the 1950s and even 1960s.444 While Grass could very well
condemn himself for not speaking about the German expulsion in emphatic terms in his
literary work until Im Krebsgang, he was not justified to project his failure on post-1945
German literature and culture as a whole. It was not until Grass began his literary career
in the late 1950s, early 1960s that the politics of memory in West Germany slowly began
to focus more on the memory of the World War II victims of Germans rather than on
German victims.445 Apart from Willy Brandt’s new “Ostpolitik”446, ironically, Grass was
443
Moeller, 179
Thomas E. Schmidt, “Ostpreußischer Totentanz” Die Zeit (14 February 2002) 33-34
http://www.zeit.de/2002/08/200208_gustloff_xml (Hereafter quoted as: Schmidt)
445
Moeller, 151
446
Joachim Güntner, „Opfer und Tabu. Günter Grass und das Denken im Trend“ NZZ 23.02.2002
(Hereafter quoted as: Güntner)
444
211
one of the intellectuals, who significantly produced this shift.447 Although within the
dominant portrayal of German history (which presented 1945 in retrospect as a moment
of liberation of the country from evil Nazis), narratives of German suffering and
expulsion in course of this liberation, did not seem to have a place, the twelve million
(eight millions of which ended up in West Germany) refugees from the East, soon raised
their voice.448 Within the young West German republic the expellees represented an
unpredictable social and political threat, which caused the Adenauer government to pass
laws to compensate the expellees for their losses. In addition, the Adenauer government
established a cabinet-level Ministry for Expellees and Refugees, in order to accelerate the
expellees’ integration into the new democratic nation.449 Moreover, reaching out to
expellees meant recruiting members and securing votes for the CDU after the war.450 At
least on two levels dealing with the victims of the Holocaust and the German victims was
linked in the Adenauer republic. The same West German legislators, who created the
“Lastenausgleichsgesetz”451 negotiated the reparation and compensation treaty for the
Holocaust victims with Israel.
In addition, Adenauer made it clear that Holocaust
reparations to Israel would be restricted by the need of German victims.452 In the context
of the formation of the two German states after the Second World War, Moeller stresses
that in postwar West Germany the experiences of the expellees did not only feed into the
tactics of the Cold War that strove for the demonization of Communism, but also
contributed decisively to the creation of
447
Christoph Bartmann, “Schräg Gegen die Zeit“, Die Presse 23.02.2002 (Hereafter quoted as: Bartmann)
Moeller, 152
449
Moeller, 153
450
Schmidt
451
“Law for the distribution for burdens”
452
Moeller, 158
448
212
“. . . a community of suffering and empathy among Germans. Stories of
the expulsion represented one important medium through which West
Germans were able to depict themselves as a nation of victims, providing
and account of National Socialism in which all Germans had ultimately
done penance for a war that Hitler had started but everyone had lost.”453
In terms of the aforementioned forms of spontaneous and controlled empathy, it was
easier for Germans to spontaneously empathize with the loss of the expellees, with whom
they had direct contact and even shared similar experiences. Many Germans had lost their
homes and / or loved ones as a result of Allied bombing. In contrast, it was far more
difficult and Germans were far less willing to perform notions of controlled empathy, in
order to empathize with the stories of Holocaust survivors, of whom there were only a
few in the first place. The narrative of German expulsion from their “Heimat” in the East
therefore has to be seen as one of the major narratives, on which the early West German
nation was built.
During the 1950s -1960s the story of the expulsion was central to West Germans
politics and the West German government, i.e. Ministry for Expellees, Refugees and
War-Damaged, even initiated the creation of eight thick volumes documenting the
Vertreibung der Deutschen aus Ost-Mitteleuropa.454 In addition, Grass was by far not the
first artist or writer, who touched on the topic of the expulsion.455 However, after Willy
Brandt’s rise to power and the student revolutions the West German public discourse
primarily focused on the memory of the Holocaust. Stories of the flight and expulsion
from the East became marginalized topics and were soon affiliated with neo-Nazi
tendencies.456 Thus, many writers turned to self-censorship in order to avoid being
453
Moeller, 154
Moeller, 156
455
Ölke, 120
456
Güntner, Ölke, 119
454
213
misunderstood.457 In this climate any critical, artistic engagements with the German
expulsion from the East ran the risk of being misinterpreted. Especially for the German
Left the theme of the expulsion developed into a taboo topic.458 The lively discussion
entailed by Günter Grass public statements and the release of Im Krebsgang made clear
how strong this taboo had been for the German public. It needed someone like Grass to
re-elevate the expulsion as an acceptable topic again in public discourse.459 In the privacy
of German homes; on German television, the expulsion had, however, been less of a
taboo topic. In response to the US mini-series Holocaust, two television series addressed
topics of the German expulsion: A three-part television series Flucht und Vertreibung
(Flight and Expulsion) produced by state-owned television represented quite a success in
1981 and in 1984 Edgar Reitz’s Heimat achieved a similar success.460 Similarly, in the
pseudo-privacy of the movie theatre, Germans had already embraced depictions of the
expulsion during the 1950s, when a lot of films had focused on refugees.461 During this
time even the sinking of the Wilhelm Gustloff had previously been turned into a movie as
Grass was very well aware because he lets his narrator, Paul Pokriefke, mention this in
the novella:
Nun gibt es diesen Film in Schwarzweiß, der Ende der fünfziger Jahre
gedreht wurde. Er heißt “Nacht fiel über Gotenhafen” und ist mit Stars wie
Brigitte Horney und Sonja Siemann besetzt. Der Regisseur, ein
Deutschamerikaner namens Franz Wisbar, der zuvor einen Stalingradfilm
gedreht hatte, ließ sich von dem Gustloff-Spezialisten Heinz Schön
beraten. Im Osten nicht zur Aufführung freigegeben, lief der Film mit
mäßigem Erfolg nur im Westen und ist, wie das Unglücksschiff, vergessen
und allenfalls Ablagerung in Archiven. (IK, 113)462
457
Schlögel
Reichensperger, Ölke, 117
459
Livingston, 80
460
Moeller, 164-165
461
Moeller, 156-157
462
My translation: There is, however, this black and white movie, which was filmed at the end of the
1950s. It was titled “Night fell over Gotenhafen”) and starred actresses like Brigitte Horney and Sonja
458
214
The above quote contains another reason, why Grass might have picked up the topic of
the German expulsion now, more than ten years after the reunification of Germany.
While the expulsion had been, as Moeller convincingly argued in his article, part of the
West German nation building process as least during the 1950s and early 1960s, it
represented a taboo in the anti-fascist creation of the East German nation, because of the
official account of the end of the Second World War as a moment of liberation.463 Any
tales about the suffering Germans experienced during their expulsion from the East by
Soviet forces could not publicly be told in the post-1945 GDR. Within the Communist
Block accounts of the expulsion represented a too apparent contradiction to the dominant
representation of the past, which insisted on the heroic Soviet liberation of Germans from
Nazi rule. In the GDR it was thus quite common to use the euphemism
“Umsiedelungen”464 to talk about the expulsion.465 Although clearly not the first to
address the issue of the expulsion, Grass was the first to publicly address the issue of the
expulsion again after the fall of the wall – this time as “Gesamtdeutsch”466 – as an issue,
which concerned all Germans. In this respect, Grass explores in Im Krebsgang for the
first time the role of the Holocaust within the newly formed German nation state with a
fixed border to the East.467 Interestingly enough, Grass assumes to be the spokesperson
for all Germans, East and West, even spanning generations.468 In addition, at the time of
Siemann. The director, a German-American, called Franz Wisbar, who had previously shot a movie about
Stalingrad, had been advised by Gustloff-specialist Heinz Schön. Whereas in Eastern Germany the movie
had not been approved for showing, the movie only achieved a moderate success in West Germany, and is
now, just like the misfortunate ship, forgotten, and at best debris in the archive. (IK, 113)
463
Moeller, 152
464
Resettlements
465
Ölke, 118
466
Dye, 476
467
schmidt
468
Moeller, 180
215
the publication of Im Krebsgang, ten years after the reunification; in the 21st century, any
accounts of the Holocaust, the Second World War, or the expulsion, will slowly not
necessarily be told in person anymore. The witnesses to history are slowly dying and with
them any testimonial dimension of Second World War history.469 Soon accounts of the
Holocaust, the Second World War, and its aftermath will only exist in written form,
mostly stored away in archives. To these written testimonials, Grass wants to add his
account.470 It seems that Grass hints here at a difference that may exist between personal,
oral accounts and written accounts of history. While personal, oral accounts are
commonly perceived as subjective representations of an occurrence, written, historical
documents are viewed as objective, accurate descriptions of an event. The fact that even
historical discourse is arranged according to a certain meaning, and is often strongly
nationally biased, is largely ignored. Grass wants to remind his readers that even
documents in an archive are just interpretations of what really happened and that the truth
can only be found “between the lines”, in the intersections of various narratives from
different perspectives. At the same time, Grass portrays memory as a double-edged sword
and stresses the importance to distinguish between voluntary and involuntary memory. In
contrast to involuntary memory, which is usually highly emotionally charged and
triggered through certain sensations, the voluntary, the willed memory of the subject
requires a lot of work.471 While Tulla is enslaved by her involuntary memory, Paul only
hesitantly takes up the challenge to voluntarily remember. For Konny, however, it has
469
Günter Franzen, “Versenkung Der Alte Mann und sein Meer” Die Zeit 07.02.2002 (Hereafter quoted as:
Franzen) http://www.zeit.de/2002/07/Der_alte_Mann_und_sein_Meer
470
Franzen
471
Dye, 478
216
disastrous consequences that he was never taught to differentiate between those two
forms of memory.
As if the structure of Im Krebsgang was not yet complex enough, Grass adds
another virtual dimension to the story. By letting the Internet play a key role in the
novella and using the idioms associated with its use, Grass illustrates his willingness to
understand and engage with the present.472 In addition, Grass foreshadows that in the
future history might not be stored in archives anymore, but will rather just be a click
away. Virtual reality enables the resurrection of the past in distorted ways online.
Another key issue Grass explores in Im Krebsgang is therefore the relation between
literary narrative and the Internet as the new communicative mass medium.473 On his
webpage, www.blutzeuge.de, Konny combines historical information and material about
the sinking of the Wilhelm Gustloff according to his own liking, while “spicing it up”
with visual aids. Most importantly, Konny presents the historical occurrences almost as
contemporary events (IK, 71), and even assumes “die Rolle des Augenzeugen” (IK, 72)
in his descriptions. In this respect, Grass explores in his novella in a quite Benjaminian
way how our approach to history may be affected by the new technological medium.474
The Internet appears as a haven for right-wing extremists where they can not only present
their revised versions of German history, their conspiracy theories and their denials of the
Holocaust unhindered, but where they can also easily connect to like-minded people:
. . . seitdem die Gustloff im Cyberspace schwimmt und virtuelle Wellen
macht, bleibt die rechte Szene mit Haßseiten online. Dort ist die Jagd auf
Juden eröffnet. Als wäre der Mord von Davos gestern geschehen, fordern
472
Bartmann
Veel, 207
474
I am referring here to the well-known essay by Walter Benjamin. “The Work of Art in an Age of
Mechanical Reproduction” In: Walter Benjamin: Illuminations. (New York: Schocken Books, 1969) 226227.
473
217
Rechtsradikale auf ihrer Webseite „Rache für Wilhelm Gustloff!“ Die
schärfsten Töne – „Zündelsite“ – kommen aus Amerika und Kanada. Aber
auch im deutschsprachigen Internet mehren sich Homepages, die im
World Wide Web unter Adressen wie „Nationaler Widerstand“ und
„Thulenet“ ihrem Haß Auslauf geben.
Mit als erste war, wenn auch weniger radikal, www.blutzeuge.de“
online. Sie hat mit der Entdeckung des Schiffes, das nicht nur gesunken,
sondern weil verdrängt, Legende ist, Zulauf von tausend und immer mehr
Usern bekommen. (IK, 62-63)475
In addition, the Internet provides a virtual space for the creation of an international
alliance of Neo-Nazis; for the propaganda of a global white power movement. Clearly,
the creators of such websites suffer from superhistorical malady, because for them the
past and the present appear as one and the same. As a result, they not only distort
historical facts, but instead of promoting reconciliation, they focus upon vengeance.
Similarly, Konny’s website www.blutzeuge.de calls for revenge for the murder of
Wilhelm Gustloff and quickly attracts a growing audience. In the above quote, Grass
links the interest for the legend of Wilhelm Gustloff, the person and the ship, also to their
marginalization in the public realm. The Internet can be a mechanism for publicizing
private news and thus represents a bridge between the private and public realms, and
allows for the subversion of the public. In this respect, Grass portrays the Internet as a
questionable realm for collective memory, because in the virtual realm of the Internet; in
the realm of the eternal present, concepts such as memory and history become
meaningless. Furthermore, in the realm of the Internet it becomes increasingly difficult to
475
My translation: . . . ever since the Gustloff started swimming and making virtual waves in cyberspace,
the Right has remained with its hate sites online. There the manhunt for Jews has been started. As if the
murder at Davos happened only yesterday, rightwing extremists demand on their websites: “Revenge for
Wilhelm Gustloff!” The harshest voices - “Kindling Site” come from the US and Canada. But the
homepages also multiply on the German speaking Internet, and express their hate on the World Wide Web
under names like “National Resistance” or “Thulenet”.
As one of the first German pages, even if less radical, www.bloodwitness.de was online. With its
rediscovery of the ship, which not only sank, but which memory was also repressed, the page received
attention of a thousand and even more and more users. (IK, 62-63)
218
differentiate the virtual and the real, the past and the present.476 What Grass describes
here as the dangers of the Internet, is what, as previously discussed, Jean Baudrillard has
described as the banality of evil in modern media images.477 With its distorted
representation of history, Konny’s website just adds to the disappearance of meaning,
instead of facilitating a better assessment of the events. Eventually, Konny’s absorption
into the Internet, into the past, his loss of reality makes him dangerous to others.
Clearly, Grass asserts with Im Krebsgang the importance of politically engaged
literature, which should stimulate the reader to think critically. Engaging with a complex
literary text like Grass’ novella requires work from the reader. The book cannot easily be
digested, but the reader rather has to disentangle the web of the past, which the author has
carefully woven. When reading Grass’ novella it is clear to the reader that he is engaging
with a fictional account of the past, but the complicated amalgamation of fact and fiction
also wakes the reader’s interest to differentiate between fact and fiction. He/She feels
challenged to do a little historical research on his/her own; and to engage in a discussion
about the past. Moreover, the fragmented structure of Im Krebsgang is indicative of a
multilateral approach to history. Grass’ novella portrays a tightly enmeshed network of
competing narratives, which stands in contrast to Konny’s unilateral and biased historical
representations on the Internet. But there is another interesting dimension of Konny’s
website. The identity of the website’s creator is only slowly discovered by the narrator,
Paul, Konny’s father. The sharing of information; of historical representation on the
Internet occurs for the most part anonymously; or hidden - as in Konny’s case – behind a
pseudonym. Moreover, unlike a reader of Grass’ novella, a surfer on Konny’s webpage
476
477
Veel, 210
See Chapter 2
219
cannot immediately decipher that he/she is engaging with a fictional account of the
occurrences. Asserting himself in the beginning as a “Militärhistoriker”478 (IK, 71),
Konny makes every effort to disguise the constructed nature of the historic ‘truth’ he
presents and simultaneously omits on his website:
Ich wünschte, ich könnte es mir so einfach machen wie mein Sohn, der auf
seiner Website verkündete: “in Ruhe und Ordnung nahm das Schiff die
vor der russischen Bestie fliehenden Mädchen und Frauen, Mütter und
Kinder auf . . .” Warum unterschlug er die gleichfalls eingeschifften
tausend U-Bootmatrosen und dreihundersiebzig Marinehelferinnen,
desgleichen die Bedienungsmannschaften der eilig aufmontierten
Flakgeschütze?
. . . Nur als Flüchtlingsschiff sollte die Gustloff den Internet-Usern bekannt
gemacht werden.
Warum log Konny? Warum beschwindelte der Junge sich und andere? . .
. (IK, 103)
On his webpage, Konny turns the man Wilhelm Gustloff into a martyr and presents the
ship, which was named after him, as a refugee ship full of innocent women and children,
omitting that externally the ship was still marked as part of the German navy (IK, 80). In
contrast to Konny’s unilateral virtual representation of facts, Paul tells the reader the
whole story about the ship Wilhelm Gustloff. Already at the very beginning of the
novella, it becomes clear that the ship is indicative of the rise and fall of Nazi Germany.
The launching and naming of the ship as Wilhelm Gustloff took place in August
1936 in Hamburg (IK, 41, 50-53). For the next three years, the ship aided the creation of
the myth of the modern vainglorious German Nazi nation as a “klassenloses
Schiff”479(IK, 50), which united countless Germans on “Kraft durch Freude”480 travels.
The ship was not only an important symbol of Germany’s technological and economic
superiority, it also ensured the citizen’s distraction from the preparation of the war and
478
Military history expert
“classless ship” (IK, 50)
480
“Power through Joy”
479
220
the Holocaust. Simultaneously, the cruise ships could conveniently be turned into war
ships, when at the end of August 1939, at the eve of the Second World War, the navy
took over command for the ships of the KDF fleet. On board of the Wilhelm Gustloff
“KdF Theater”481 gave way to “Fronttheater”482, when the ship, literally overnight, was
changed into a hospital ship for the navy holding five hundred beds (IK, 80). Around the
tragedy of the ship’s sinking, at the end of January 1945, Hitler Germany had already lost
the war. Unlike his son, Paul paints a much more gruesome and less heroic picture of the
sinking of the ship. In contrast to Konny, Paul does not develop a coherent narrative of
great detail, but rather portrays the merciless chaos of the ships sinking in brief
snapshots.483 Above all, Paul emphasizes that although the majority of the passengers on
the ship were children and women, the majority of the survivors were men:
Doch die über viertausend Säuglinge, Kinder und Jugendliche, für die es
kein Überleben gab, . . . , blieben eine abstrakte Zahl, wie all die anderen
in die Tausende, Hunderttausende, Millionen gehenden Zahlen, die damals
wie heute nur grob zu schätzen waren und sind. Eine Null am Ende mehr
oder weniger, was sagt das schon; in Statistiken verschwindet hinter
Zahlenreihen der Tod.
Ich kann nur berichten, was von Überlebenden an anderer Stelle als
Aussage zitiert worden ist. Auf breiten Treppen und schmalen
Niedergängen wurden Greise und Kinder totgetreten. Jeder war sich der
Nächste. . . Auch mußte auf dem vereisten Sonnendeck von Schußwaffen
Gebrauch gemacht werden, weil der Befehl „Nur Frauen und Kinder in die
Boote!“ nicht befolgt wurde, weshalb sich überwiegend Männer gerettet
haben, was nüchtern und kommentarlos die alles Leben abschließende
Statistik bewiesen hat. (IK, 136-137)484
481
“Theatre of Power Through Joy”
“Theatre of the War”
483
Franzen
484
My translation: But the over four thousand babies, children and teenagers, who did not survive . . .
remained an abstract number, just like all the other thousands, one hundred thousands, millions, which
today just like back then could only be roughly estimated. One zero more or less, what does it matter, in
statistics death disappears in columns of numbers.
I can only report, what has been recorded by survivors elsewhere. On broad and narrow staircases old
people and babies were crushed to death. It was a case of dog eats dog. On the sun deck, which was
covered in ice, fire arms had to be used, because the order “Only women and children into the lifeboats!”
482
221
In this respect, the sinking of the Wilhelm Gustloff represents a catastrophic moment,
where the total loss of empathy occurred. It was a case of dog eats dog; a moment of the
survival of the fittest. The (young) men of the nation made sure to rescue themselves with
total disregard for the weaker women, children, old people, and the wounded. The
national survival was clearly primarily a ‘male’ survival. At the same time, Grass
insinuates that the human mind is incapable of comprehending the full tragedy involved
in the ships sinking; the human suffering as it occurred during the Second World War
extends human imagination, and is therefore commonly rationalized and neatly packaged
in form of statistics.485 These death statistics, however, represent a much too convenient
euphemism for the suffering, which really occurred and the millions of lives lost.
On his webpage, Konny makes use of narrative, pictures, as well as statistics to
support his selective representation of the past (IK, 171). He practically omits this less
heroic part of the sinking of the Gustloff and also leaves out that the ship carried apart
from refugees also members of the German army: about a thousand “U-Bootmatrosen486”
and three hundred and seventy “Marinehelferinnen487” and “Flakgeschütze488” (IK, 103).
Within the context of the Internet, Konny’s one-sided and prejudiced presentation of the
occurrences, nevertheless carries authority due to the reverence for technology. During
the time Grass’ story is set - from 1996-1998 - the Internet was still a relatively new
medium489 Someone who could design a website at that time made such an impression
with his/her knowledge that anyone encountering the website would initially accept the
was not obeyed, which is why primarily men saved themselves, which the statistic, which ends all lives,
proves matter-of-factly and without comment.
485
Dye, 485
486
submarine marines
487
marine helpers
488
antiaircraft gun
489
The Internet went public on April 30th 1993.
222
presented information as face value, and barely question the historical information
presented. At the time, the Internet, its creators, and even the masters of websites were
still surrounded by a Benjaminian aura of the divine490, which was beyond any doubt.
Grass aims to destroy this divine quality of the technological novelty Internet, by casting
doubt on the information presented. One of the main intentions of Grass’ novella is
clearly to urge the reader to question any information he finds on the Internet. Just
because the medium of information appears impressive does not mean that the content of
the information is reliable. Moreover, Grass generally wants to instill skepticism about
the reliability of historical resources in his readers, by stressing that any historical
representation serves a purpose, depends on perspective, and is therefore necessarily
biased. In addition, Grass illustrates the danger of repressing parts of history, of
encouraging selective memory, of taboo themes in personal, family, and national history
alike. Moreover, Grass is also pointing to the limits of historical understanding among
those who receive history rather than having lived it. The fact that the true dimension or
even the whole catastrophe of the Wilhelm Gustloff was probably unknown to the
majority of contemporary Germans, would have given someone like Konny another
advantage with his prejudiced, but new technology supported, and innovative
representation of “the truth” about the past.
At the same time, Grass depicts in his novella, how the politics of memory and
amnesia affected the third generation; the generation of the grandchildren:
So verlief ihr Rollenspiel: wie eingeübt. Und doch zweifelte ich mehr und
mehr an meiner Annahme, es klicke sich Mal um Mal ein erfundener
David ein, es quaßle ein Homunkulus gestanzte Sätze, etwa diese: “Euch
490
I am again referring here to the well-known essay by Walter Benjamin. “The Work of Art in an Age of
Mechanical Reproduction” In: Walter Benjamin: Illuminations. (New York: Schocken Books, 1969) 226227.
223
Deutschen wird Auschwitz als Zeichen der Schuld ewiglich eingebrannt
sein . . . “ . . . “Wir Juden vergessen nie!” Worauf Wilhelm mit Sätzen aus
dem Lehrbuch des Rassismus gegenhielt, in denen das “Weltjudentum”
überall, doch besonders mächtig in New Yorks Wall Street seßhaft war.
Unerbittlich ging es zu. Doch gelegentlich fielen sie aus der Rolle, etwa,
wenn mein Sohn als Wilhelm die Schlagkraft der israelischen Armee
lobte, hingegen David die jüdischen Siedlungen auf palästinensischem
Grund und Boden als “aggressive Landnahme” verurteilte. Auch konnte es
geschehen, daß sich beide plötzlich bei der Beurteilung von
Tischtennismeisterschaften sachkundig einig waren. So verriet ihr
individueller, mal scharfer, dann wieder kumpelhafter Ton, daß sich im
virtuellen Raum zwei junge Leute gefunden hatten, die, bei allem
feindseligen Getue, hätten Freunde werden können. (IK, 118-119)491
The amity/enmity relationship between Konny alias Wilhelm Gustloff, and Wolfgang
Stremplin, alias David Frankfurter, results in fatal consequences, because the two
members of the third generation have internalized the roles they assumed as a result of
the questionable memory politics of their grandparent’s Nazi generation, as well as their
parent’s generation. Both, Konny’s neo-Nazi fanaticism as well as Wolfgang’s assumed
Jewish identity represent hyperbolized depictions of superhistorical malady.492 In
response to their parent’s indifference to the subject, both boys immersed themselves in
memories of the Nazi past. While Konny develops an obsession with the suffering of
Germans but refuses to acknowledge the suffering of Jews, Wolfgang’s guilt about the
Holocaust inhibits him from empathizing with the suffering of Germans. In this respect,
491
My translation: Their role play proceeded as if well rehearsed. But I doubted my assumption more and
more that an invented David participated in the conversation; that an homunculus uttered pierced sentences
like these: “Auschwitz will eternally burn as a sign of guilt for you Germans . . .” . . . “We Jews will never
forget.” Whereupon Wilhelm replied with sentences out of the textbook of racism, in which the “World
Judaism” was a powerful presence everywhere but especially powerful in New York’s Wall Street.
They continued adamantly. Occasionally they broke form their part, such as when my son as Wilhelm
praised the Israeli army, while David condemned the Jewish settlements of Palestinian soil as “aggressive
seizure of land”. But it could happen also that both agreed on the grounds of each other’s knowledgeable
judgements of a table tennis championship. One could tell by their individual, sometimes harsh then again
buddy-buddy tone that the two of them in spite of their hostile behaviour could have become friends. (IK,
118-119)
492
Schödel, 203
224
the culture of amnesia appears as the breeding ground of alienation in the contemporary
context.
In the virtual reality, Konny becomes Wilhelm and Wolfgang becomes David,
they mock each other, insult each other, but relate to each other on the basis of wellresearched facts about the past: “Und beide erwiesen sich als Bescheidwisser, die ihre
jeweils neuen Erkenntnisse gegenseitig lobten.”493 (IK, 49) Konny and Wolfgang also
have in common that they both present history one-dimensionally (IK, 149-150). Any
form of truth can only develop out of the dialogue of their discourses, which the reader
has to decipher. However, the reader does not get very much information about
Wolfgang’s motives except that his parents admit that they refused to discuss the matters
of the past openly with their son (IK, 184-187), avoiding to discuss crucial aspects of
Germany’s past.494 Konny’s development, however, is for the most part completely
reconstructed by his father. During the reconstruction of Konny’s life, Paul is not only
forced to admit his failure as a father, but retracing Konny’s development also leads to a
deconstruction of Paul’s political correctness. At several instances, Paul could have
prevented the later tragedy, but the trauma of his birth paralyzed him from doing so.
Paul finds Konny’s website by coincidence, when he researches facts about the
Wilhelm Gustloff (IK, 41). Subsequently, Paul develops a curious fascination with the
website, because its discourse sounds uncannily familiar, and reminds him of the eternal
lament of his mother (IK, 89). For quite a while, Paul is, however, unable to recognize his
son as the master-mind of the webpage, which he visits quite frequently. Paul’s historical
amnesia has long developed into self-deception. Finally, Paul identifies his son as the
493
My translation: And both appeared as being in the know, and reciprocally praised their new findings.”
(IK, 49)
494
Dye, 482
225
webmaster, when Konny links the ship’s sinking to the drowning of Tulla’s little deafmute brother (IK, 73). Although Paul even engages in chats with his son, and challenges
his representation, he does not reveal his true identity (IK, 105-106). In this respect, Paul
is guilty of the same deception as his son. Soon, Paul notices frequent chats between
Wilhelm and David on the website. In the beginning, Paul is still convinced that David is
a mere invention on part of the webmaster, but then later realizes his misconception (IK,
47-50). The realm of the Internet makes it difficult to differentiate between the virtual
and the real.495 Even though Konny’s behavior is truly worrisome, Paul fails to confront
his son.
Throughout the novel, Paul has great difficulties to assume responsibility for his
son’s behavior and admit his failure as a father. In contrast, he repeatedly blames his
mother, Tulla, for brainwashing his son and giving Konny the computer as a present (IK,
67-68). At the same time, it becomes clear, that Paul never had much time nor interest in
his son. When Gabi and Paul got divorced, Gabi moved with Konny to Mölln496, a small
city in Schleswig-Holstein, while Paul remained in West Berlin. As a result, Paul spent
less and less time with his Konny, ranking his own son low on his priority list. Although,
Gabi and Konny initially seem to have a close relationship, it seems that even for his own
mother Konny was never the main concern. After her son has been convicted of
manslaughter, Gabi eventually gives up on him and insists on the right to her own
happiness. (IK, 213) For his grandmother, Konny always was and still remains the most
important person in the world. After the fall of the wall, Konny lived within close vicinity
495
Veel, 211
Grass comments in the book on the arson attack against a Turkish home in Mölln on November 23,
1992, where three people died. This reference, together with the preparations for the 1998 election at the
end of the book, provides the rough time frame for the story in the present. Gabi moves with Konny to
Mölln three and a half years after the attack happened. (IK, 74)
496
226
to Tulla, who still resided in Schwerin. On weekends and during school holidays, Konny
visited her, and eventually moved in with her. Thus, Tulla’s growing influence on Konny
is closely related to Paul’s and Gabi’s negligent parenting. Furthermore, it is strongly
connected to the fall of the wall, because it is after the fall of the wall, when Konny’s
relationship with Tulla intensifies. Grass uses the wall as a symbol for the metaphorical
breakdown of inter-generational communication. While the Wilhelm Gustloff tragedy
shaped Tulla’s life, and the German economic miracle and its political correctness shaped
Paul’s life, the fall of the wall shaped Konny’s life. With the removal of the wall, new
avenues opened for inter-generational communication. In particular for Konny’s
generation, Grass seems to argue, the revelations of the elder generations are
overwhelming, if not communicated in a responsible and multi-faceted manner.
The main problem arises out of the previous selective approaches to history.
Whereas the war, i.e. Tulla’s generation focused on the memory of German victims,
rather than victims of Germans, the second generation, Paul’s generation; the 68
generation did the reverse. Overcome by feelings of collective guilt and obsessed with
ideas of reparations, they focused solely on the suffering caused by Germans, and largely
ignored memories of German suffering. As aforementioned, topics like the expulsion
became taboo topic, which could not be discussed, without risking to be accused as a
Neo-Nazi. Consequently, Konny developed a distorted sense of German history, unable
to resolve the conflict, which arose out of his grandmother’s and his parents’ (and his
teachers’) dissimilar, but equally selective accounts of history. Thus, Konny’s final act is
the result of historic amnesia of his parent’s generation as well as the sentimentalizing of
227
history of his grandmother generation.497 As the narrator of Im Krebsgang, Paul tries to
resolve this dilemma of historical selectiveness, by offering an all inclusive account of
the occurrences around the sinking of the Wilhelm Gustloff. Rather than developing one
coherent story of the past, which could easily be handed down from generation to
generation, Paul’s account portrays history as an entangled web, as a struggle of multiple
and often contradictory voices.498 Grass, the author, challenges the reader, by having
Paul, the narrator, present a chaos of overlapping, conflicting stories, to untangle the web
of history all over again, and to illustrate the complexity of history.
Throughout the novel it becomes clear that one major problem is the absence of
fathers.499 Paul’s poor performance as a father stems from his own father complex.
Although now middle-aged, Paul still does not know who his real father is. Until the
beginning of his twenties, Paul at least had a “financial father”, his mother’s cousin,
Harry Liebenau, who monthly transferred him a specific sum of money. (IK, 20) Over the
years, Tulla mentioned a variety of different men as possible fathers, but the identity of
the true “Erzeuger500” remains a mystery (IK, 21-22). Throughout his life, Paul struggled
with not knowing his father and repeatedly ponders the possibility throughout the novel
that his own fatherlessness also affected his ability to be a good father for Konny. (IK,
151) It remains a possibility that the aging author, who now finally forces Paul, mainly
on Tulla’s behalf, to tell the story of the Wilhelm Gustloff, could be Paul’s long missing
father:
Doch nicht er, Mutter zwingt mich. Und nur ihretwegen mischt sich der
Alte ein, gleichfalls gezwungen von ihr, mich zu zwingen, als dürfe nur
497
Dye, 481
Schödel, 203-204
499
Veel, 212
500
“genitor” (i.e. father)
498
228
unter Zwang geschrieben werden, als könne auf diesem Papier nichts ohne
Mutter geschehen.
Er will sie als ein unfaßbares, durch kein Urteil dingfest zu machendes
Wesen gekannt haben. Er wünscht sich eine Tulla von gleichbleibend
diffuser Leuchtkraft und ist nun enttäuscht. Niemals, höre ich, hätte er
gedacht, daß sich die überlebende Tulla Pokfriefke in solch banale
Richtung, etwa zur Parteifunktionärin und stramm das Soll erfüllende
Aktivistin entwickeln würde. Eher hätte er von ihr Anarchistisches, eine
irrationale Tat, so etwas wie ein durch nichts zu motiviereneder
Bombenanschlag zu erwarten gewesen oder eine im kalten Licht
erschreckende Einsicht. Schließlich, sagt er, sei es die halbwüchsige Tulla
gewesen, die in Kriegszeiten und also inmitten willentlich Blinder abseits
der Flakbatterie Kaiserhafen eine weißlich gehäufte Masse als
menschliches Gebein erkannt, laut den Knochenberg genannt habe: „Das
issen Knochenberj!“ (IK, 99-100)501
Almost fondly, Paul refers to his employer as “der Alte”502 – an expression often also
used to refer to the father in German. At the same time, it also becomes clear that Tulla
and “der Alte” knew each other during the time of the war, when Tulla got pregnant. On
a metaphysical level, the term “der Alte” also alludes to alter ego and thus to Grass
himself503, as the creator, the father of all the characters in the book. As Grass
Doppelgänger, “der Alte” not only guides Paul, the narrator through the story and defines
the genre of the text as novella rather than report (IK, 123), but also intersperses his own
observations and memories. In many ways, the mystical old man thus becomes a virtual
father figure for Paul, in a very similar manner as Wilhelm Gustloff became a virtual
501
My translation: But not he, mother forces me. And just because of her the old man gets involved,
likewise pressured by her to force me, as if writing was only possible with coercion, as if nothing could be
put on this piece of paper without mother.
He insists that he knew her as an incomprehensible being, which escaped any form of judgment. He wishes
for a Tulla of constant diffuse luminance and is now disappointed. He tells me that he would have never
imagined that the surviving Tulla Pokriefke would develop in such a banal manner, into a party functionary
and into an activist, who diligently fulfils the quota. He would have rather expected something anarchistic,
or an irrational deed from her, such as a bomb attack without any clear motive or a deeper insight, which
would appear frightening in broad daylight. After all, he explains, it was the teenage Tulla, who had
recognized, during war times and also in mitten the willingly blind, a heap of white mass near the defense
artillery Kaiserhafen as human bones, and called it loudly a mountain of bones: “That is a mountain of
bones.”
502
“The old man”
503
Schmidt
229
father figure for Konny.504 Both father figures are, however, connected to Tulla. “Der
Alte”, however, perceives Tulla as someone, who does not fit well into any system, will
not follow the mainstream, and will always speak her mind. Even during Nazi time, she
was the only one, who dared to speak the truth and called a “Knochenberg” what it really
was – “a mountain of bones”. The episode of the mountain of bones near the
“Flakbatterie Kaiserhafen”505 contains an open reference to the concentration camp
Stuffhof near Gdańsk. In addition, this Knochenberg is also an indirect reference to what
Im Krebsgang omits: One day after the sinking of the Wilhelm Gustloff 5,000 survivors of
a death march from the concentration camp Stutthof were massacred at the Baltic
coast.506 Another story not told is that of the accidental sinking of the two ships Cap
Arcona and Thielbek on May 3, 1945 by the British, which resulted in the death of 7,500
detainees from the KZ Neuengamme.507 Although Grass does not openly refer to the
Stutthof massacre; or the other ships’ sinking; or the Holocaust itself in the novella, the
suffering of the Jews is the untold story, which haunts the narrator, the characters, the
reader, the author. It appears that Tulla’s constant recounting of her own suffering also
serves as a protective mechanism against the acknowledgment of the agony of others, i.e.
the Jews. Instead of holding herself accountable it is easier for her to hold others
accountable. In addition, it also illustrates that history is both, light and shadow.
Despite the characterization of Tulla by “Der Alte” as anti-authoritarian, Tulla
appears clearly as a “Mitläufer” during the Nazi period. Her parents were convinced
Nazis, who were not only dedicated members of Nazi organizations, but enjoyed
504
Veel, 212
Defense Artillery Kaiserhafen
506
Schmidt, 34
507
Lustiger, 3
505
230
themselves a trip on the Wilhelm Gustloff, when it was still a KDF ship (IK, 32-33). In
the GDR, Tulla had a quite remarkable career as the female leader of a carpenter unit, and
a highly awarded worker activist (IK, 90). Most disturbingly, Tulla exposes an uncanny
fascination with questionable authority figures. At several occasions stresses Paul his
mother’s admiration for and loyalty to Stalin, the day he died, she lit candles and cried
(IK, 39). There is a dark side to Tulla, which makes her behavior highly unpredictable, as
Tante Jenny, Tulla’s best friend from childhood times explains:
“Das ist das Böse das rauswill. Meine Jugendfreundin Tulla, deine liebe
Mutter, kennt dieses Problem. Oje, wie oft habe ich als Kind unter ihren
Ausbrüchen leiden müsen. Und auch mein Adoptivvater – ich soll ja, was
damals geheimgehalten werden mußte, von echten Zigeunern abstammen , nunja dieser ein wenig schrullige Studienrat, dessen Namen, Brunies, ich
tragen durfte, hat Tulla von ihrer bösen Seite kennenlernen müssen. War
bei ihr reiner Mutwille. Ging aber schlimm aus. Nach der Anzeige wurde
Papa Brunies abgeholt . . . Kam nach Stutthof . . . Doch ist am Ende fast
alles gut geworden. (IK, 211)508
One of Tulla’s most defining characteristics is that she acts before she thinks. In this
respect, Tulla appears not as an old wise woman, but as a child who never grew up.
Although apparently aware of the existence of a concentration camp near her hometown,
Tulla caused out of pure mischief, as her best friend Jenny puts it, Jenny’s father’s arrest
and detainment in Stutthof. Tulla’s mischief could also be described as the banality of
evil in everyone; as a certain thoughtlessness, selfishness or ignorance; as the failure of
not really thinking things through; a lack of effort to perform controlled empathy. It is
tantamount to Tulla’s lack of reflection about herself.
508
My translation: “That is the evil, which breaks out. My childhood friend, Tulla, your mother, knows
this problem. Oh dear! I often had to suffer as a child from her outbursts. And even my adoptive father - I
am supposed to be a direct descendant of real gypsies, which had to be kept secret back then -, who was
this, a little eccentric, lecturer, whose name, Brunies, I was allowed to call my own, had to get to know
Tulla’s evil side. She did it out of pure mischief. But it had bad consequences. After the complaint, Papa
Brunies was arrested. . . He was deported to Stutthof . . . But in the end almost all of it turned out well. (IK,
211)
231
All in all, Tulla is a very unreliable source of the past. Her stories not only often
contradict one another but are also clearly exaggerated and utterly subjective. In this
respect, Tulla’s anarchic nature also resists any coherent account of the past. According
to her mood, Tulla’s stories change. Kathrin Schödel makes the argument in her article
“Narrative Normalization and Günter Grass’s Im Krebsgang” that “The paradigm of
normalized collective and personal memory thus appears to be patrilineal.”509 She bases
her argument on the fact that Paul for years had refused to fulfill his mother’s wish to tell
the story of the Wilhelm Gustloff, but soon gives in to the pressure of the male “father”.510
Furthermore, she suggests that Grass might call for the creation of a coherent story of the
German past so that future generations could again identify with their fathers.511 If this is
true, the nation would again appear primarily as a presence of males. The whole story of
Im Krebsgang, however, appears not really as an appeal for the creation of one coherent
story of the past, but rather an acknowledgment that any account of the past is not only
constructed, but also selective and that it will highlight certain aspects, while others will
be omitted. In his novella, Grass invokes a highly complex structure of the past. Paul’s
account of the past merges literary as well as journalistic narration, switches freely
between past and present, and includes a multiplicity of voices and perspectives
simultaneously even spanning generations.512 If anything, Grass is calling for an allinclusive, honest approach to the past without any taboos. At the same time, he stresses
that we should not accept just being handed down the past, but instead every generation
has to demand a new engagement with the past. Just because history has been written
509
Schödel, 200-201
Schödel, 200
511
Schödel, 201
512
Veel, 212
510
232
down, does not mean that the documents are infallible. Sometimes - often they need to be
revised. At the same time, Grass paints a slightly gendered approach to the presentation
of the past. It seems that he views males as more in need of a coherent account of the past
or the self-appointed guardians as females.513 Interestingly enough, the majority of those,
responding negatively to Grass’ deconstruction of himself as the ‘moral conscience’ of
(West) Germany, were males. With his revelation that he was a member of the Waffen
SS, Grass exposed himself as the most unreliable of all his unreliable narrators. Most
importantly, however, Grass challenged his readers once again to live up to the challenge
of digging through the past on their own.
In this respect, Grass’ novella also has to be seen within the larger context of the
debates about the ‘normalization’ of German history, which surrounded and followed the
reunification.514 In short, Im Krebsgang explores the struggle of an individual of the third
generation to develop a complex, nuanced individual identity in the absence of a complex
national identity. Both, the war and the second generation fail in the public as well as in
the private sphere to tell the story of the past; to create a “normal, ‘healthy’ version of the
past . . . a linear story capable of establishing a sense of continuity and identification”.515
When Grass gave a speech in Vilnius, Lithuania, as part of a forum on the “future of
memory” eighteen months prior to the publication of Im Krebsgang, he already assumed
a moderate position within the aforementioned historical normalization discussion when
he called for breaking the silence of German World War II suffering.516 The complex
nature of Im Krebsgang proves, however, that Grass did not believe that any engagement
513
Schödel, 203-205
Schödel, 198-199
515
Schödel, 200
516
Moeller, 172
514
233
with the past would result in a linear narrative. Rather, Grass depicts confronting the past
as a painful individual, but also generational struggle, as a complicated coexistence and
conflict of multiple narratives. Thus, Grass creates in his novella a postmodern web of
different simultaneous realities.
One would not do Im Krebsgang justice, by saying that the novella deals
primarily with the suffering of German expellees caused by the sinking of the Wilhelm
Gustloff. In contrast, the ship’s catastrophic ending serves only as one of the red threats
which lead through the novella, but, as explained, the ship’s sinking is told in fragments
rather than cohesively and takes up few pages in the book. A multiplicity of different
stories some of them past, some of them present, superimpose on the “central story”; the
sinking of the Wilhelm Gustloff and even distract the reader from this “main story”.517
Grass carefully contextualizes the novella’s “ungewöhnliche Ereignis”, the sinking of the
Wilhelm Gustloff518. He paints a multifaceted picture of the occurrences, in order to
challenge any one-sided depiction of the past, which might dominate public or for that
matter private memory.519 Grass does not tell the story of Im Krebsgang in a linear
manner, but rather approaches it rather cautiously; “seitwärts krebsend”520, carefully
weaving in each character’s perspective.521 In addition, Grass exposes the politics of
history and memory and stresses that both are largely a matter of perspective by
portraying the same events from different angles. As aforementioned, Im Krebsgang
connects the generational German struggle of Tulla, Paul, and Konny with the lives of the
517
Schödel, 202 & Helmuth Kiesel “Am Elend vobeigeschrieben. Zur Debatte um die Novelle ‘Im
Krebsgang’ von Günter Grass, “Die politische Meinung 47:390 (2002): 85-91; here 90
518
“unusual event”
519
Schödel, 195
520
My translation: “Walking side-ways like a crab”
521
Livingston, 81.
234
historical figures of Gustloff, Frankfurter, and Marinesko. Although Grass novella
focuses mainly on the German suffering during the expulsion from the East and the intergenerational problems that developed out of the repression of these memories in post1945 German society, by bringing in the characters of David Frankfurter and Alexander
Marinesko, he also calls attention to the other stories, which stand against a “normalized
German past”. The two untold subtexts of Im Krebsgang are clearly the Holocaust, but
also German brutality in context of Hitler’s aim of conquering living space in the East;
i.e. in Poland, in the Soviet Union etc.522 For Grass these stories are clearly intertwined
and therefore should be addressed together but are still distinctive. At the same time,
Grass illustrates that ‘Lebensraum’523 is not just about geography, but also about
psychological space. Burdened by his grandmother’s trauma and his parent’s and
teacher’s guilt, Konny has few psychological space available for him in reality, and thus
searches and establishes alternative space for himself on the Internet.
While, at first sight, the “expulsion of Jews and Germans” may appear as
comparable, because both were caused by national and racial hatred, it is important to
emphasize their differences.524 Im Krebsgang can be seen as an attempt to write a story,
which tells of Jewish, but also of German and Russian suffering. In particular, the
character of David/Wolfgang serves as a reminder for the reader how closely the
“German question” and the “Jewish question” are linked. Most importantly, however,
Grass portrays the suffering of German refugees during the expulsion as a consequence
of German Nazi crimes, and insists on the importance not to blur the lines between
victims and perpetrators. If one keeps in mind the distinction between genocide and
522
Moeller, 174
Living Space
524
Moeller, 155
523
235
ethnic cleansing then it is possible to tell the Holocaust and the tragedy of German loss as
part of same story.525 While the expulsion of the Jews resulted in genocide; in mass
extermination, the expulsion of Germans from the East amounted to ethnic cleansing;
mass deportation.526 A successful German conquest of living space in the East would
have similarly resulted in ethnic cleansing and mass deportation for Poles, Russians etc.
At the same time, the Germans were not the only ones, who suffered from expulsion in
the aftermath of the Second World War. In particular Poles suffered a similar fate during
the expulsion by the Russians.527 In Im Krebsgang Grass vividly illustrates the difference
in remembering Jewish, German, Polish, and Russian suffering. While enough survivors
existed and exist to narrate the story of German suffering, of Polish or of Russian
suffering, accounts of Jewish suffering are completely omitted, because so few survived
to tell the story. If it were not for Wolfgang Stremplin, who assumes a fake Jewish
identity, in order to defend the cause of the Jews, no-one in Im Krebsgang would tell the
story of the Holocaust. Grass argues here in accordance with Ricoeur528 that Germans
owe Jews their voice. Wolfgang, however, suffers fatal consequences for stepping in for
the victims of the Holocaust to tell their story.
In the end, Wilhelm/Konny and David/Wolfgang take their historical dispute from
virtuality to reality, and agree to meet in person in Schwerin on Hitler’s birthday in 1997
(IK, 171-174). The two boys peacefully spent the day together until they visit the ruins of
the Memorial of Wilhelm Gustloff (IK, 174). Here, Konny kills Wolfgang. When later
525
Moeller, 177-178
Moeller, 175-176
527
Medicus
528
As explained in Chapter 3.
526
236
asked during the trial about his motives, Konny replies that he took revenge for David
Frankfurter’s killing of Wilhelm Gustloff:
“Wie ich, so hat David Frankfurter vier Mal getroffen.“ Auch dessen vor
dem Kantonsgericht geäußerte Begründung der Tat, er habe geschossen,
weil er Jude sei, wurde von meinem Sohn in Parallele gesetzt, dann aber
erweitert: „Ich habe geschossen, weil ich Deutscher bin – und weil aus
David der ewige Jude sprach.“529 (IK, 189)
History / the story of Wilhelm and David repeats itself in reverse530, because through his
immersion in the Internet, Konny has lost the ability to distinguish the virtual from the
real.531 Thus, the digital farce comes to a bloody end.532 Konny becomes a murderer,
because just as in the virtual reality of the Internet, he suddenly turns into Wilhelm, and
Wolfgang becomes David.533 For Wilhelm/Konny the boundaries between the past and
present, the virtual and real blur. Simultaneously, Wilhelm/Konny’s virtual sense of
agency as the master of his website extends into reality, causing him to commit the
deadly act. Furthermore, Konny becomes a murderer and Wolfgang has to die, because
the violent social behavior of the chat room transfers into reality.534 Grass seems,
however, less interested to explain Konny’s behavior psychologically, but rather explores
in Im Krebsgang, how “the collective way of treating German history socially, politically,
and culturally can explain Konny’s crime.”535 In this respect, the tragedy has to be
analyzed within the setting of the family, i.e. the nation. The families of both boys failed
529
My translation: “Just like I, David Frankfurter shot four times.” My son even mimicked the
justification he (Frankfurter – my emphasis) gave in front of the district court for his crime, he had shot,
because he was Jewish, but at the same time, expanded it: “I shot, because I am German, - and because
David spoke as the eternal Jew.” (IK, 189)
530
Arend
531
Veel, 210
532
Raulff
533
Veel, 211
534
Veel, 215
535
Veel, 216
237
to offer them an adequate framework of how to deal with Germany’s horrific and highly
conflicted past.
As previously explained, Paul fails to confront Konny, although he discovers his
son’s disturbing virtual world. Paul’s own unresolved issues with the past kept him from
being able to offer his son advice and guidance. Tulla, however, inadvertently makes her
grandson a murderer, because she not only caused Konny to create the website, but she
also bought and gave Konny the gun, with which he shot Wolfgang (IK, 198). In many
ways, Konny’s final inability to distinguish between the virtual and the real appears just a
continuation of Tulla’s inability to separate between her actual and fictional memories of
the ship’s sinking. The tragedy of Wolfgang’s death is, however, a final wake-up call for
Paul, to engage with the German past in all its narrative complexity. As previously
explained, for Paul ‘the digging through the dirt of the past’ results in the deconstruction
of his identity. In this respect, Grass clearly argues against a ‘normalization’ of German
history, and insinuates an analogy between national and individual identity calling for
more narrative self-reflection within the German nation state.536 At the same time, Grass
seems to call for a deconstruction of the German nation as a primarily male fantasy.
Above all, Grass asserts that the threat of German Neo-Nazis can only be banned by
telling German history in all its complexity, because any historical amnesia contains the
danger of inviting the creation of powerful myths.537 In addition, by portraying the
continuing impact of the past on the present, Grass emphasizes the need for a politically
engaged German literature, which continues to alert the German public of the difficulty to
536
537
Schödel, 204-205
Arend
238
distinguish between historical fact and fiction.538 In contrast to the Internet, which invites
a replaying of the past, literature allows for remembering as well as questioning the
past.539 The open-endedness of Im Krebsgang highlights the importance of such public
awareness in particular in the digital age.540 Grass seems to believe that plural
perspectives, as well as inter-generational dialogue, are crucial to achieving such raised
national awareness. In the end, Grass leaves his readers in the Barthesian middle voice541;
once again trying to shed his image of being the ‘moral conscience’ of Germany, forcing
it upon his readers to be the judge, letting them find a variety of different endings,
appealing to them to start digging their way through the German past on their own.
b. Stille Zeile Sechs – Closing in on the Silence
Similar to Günter Grass, Monika Maron also grapples with issues of memory,
guilt and innocence, the distinction between victims and perpetrators in her work.542
Maron’s essay “Ich war ein antifaschistisches Kind” illuminates that in many of her
works she makes use of biographic narration. As the child of convinced GDR
Communists, Maron’s world was for the longest time not divided into nations but into
classes, which is why she still struggles with thinking in terms of national history.543 Her
novel Stille Zeile Sechs, which was published briefly after the reunification, has to be
538
Dye, 486-487
Veel, 218
540
Veel, 213
541
As explained in Chapter 3.
542
Birgit Konze “Das gestohlene Leben. Zur Thematisierung und Darstellung von Kindheit in der DDR im
Werk von Monika Maron im Vergleich mit Werken von Uwe Johnson, Irmtraud Morgner und Thomas
Brussig” In: Elke Gilson (ed.) Monika Maron in Perspective (Amsterdam: Editions Rodopi B.V., 2002)
185 (Hereafter quoted as: Konze, page number)
543
Monika Maron, Nach Maßgabe meiner Begreifungskraft (Frankfurt am Main: S. Fischer Verlag, 1993) 9
(Hereafter quoted as: Maron, page number)
539
239
contextualized within the “Geständnisdiskurse544”, which defined GDR literature after
1989.545 The breakdown of the GDR’s repressive carceral system, the epitome of which
was the wall, which it’s forced confessions, entailed an outpouring of voluntary
confessions in form of psychoanalytic writing.546 In this respect, Maron’s novel appears
to have evolved out of her difficulty to think in terms of a joint East / West German
history, to reconcile memories of the Nazi as well as the Communist past:
Ich höre die warnenden und entrüsteten Stimmen, man könne die Zeiten
nicht miteinander vergleichen, und kein Verbrechen wiege so schwer wie
das des deutschen Nationalsozialismus. Es wird sich in den nächsten
Jahren und Jahrzehnten erweisen, was sich miteinander vergleichen läßt
und welchen Sinn es ergibt, die Millionen Toten des Nationalsozialismus
gegen die Millionen Toten des Stalinismus abzuwägen. In diesem
Jahrhundert wüteten zwei barbarische Regime in Europa. Nicht selten
wurden die Opfer des einen zu den Tätern des anderen. Der Stalinismus in
der DDR war weniger mörderisch als der in der Sowjetunion, aber er war
seines Geistes. Es lag an den geographischen und politischen Bedingungen
der DDR und nicht an der Gesinnung ihrer Herrscher, wenn der deutsche
Stalinismus einen Schein wahrte, dem er bis heute die Nachrede verdankt,
er sei unblutig gewesen.547
Accordingly, Maron explores in Stille Zeile Sechs, how easily the lines between victims
and perpetrators blur, and, moreover, how being a victim in one regime does not prevent
one from becoming a perpetrator in another. The reversing of the dualism between victim
and perpetrator appears not only connected to a lack of dialogue between the two but also
544
“Discourses of Confession”
Hyunseon Lee, “Die Dialektik des Geständnisses: Monika Marons Stille Zeile Sechs und die autobiographischen Diskurse nach 1989“ In: Elke Gilson (ed.) Monika Maron in Perspective (Amsterdam:
Editions Rodopi B.V., 2002) 57 (Hereafter quoted as: Lee, page number)
546
Lee, 57-58
547
Maron, 17-18
My translation: I hear the warning and the enraged voices arguing that you cannot compare these two
different eras with each other and that no other crime was as profound as that of German National
Socialism. Over the next years and decades we will find out, what can be compared, and what sense it
makes to weigh the millions who died under National Socialism against the millions who died under
Stalinism. In this century two barbarous regimes raged in Europe. It was not uncommon that the victims of
one regime became perpetrators in the other. The Stalinism of the GDR was less murderous than that of the
Soviet Union, but it was of the same mind-set. It was due to the geographic and political conditions of the
GDR and had nothing to do with the attitude of tthose who ruled the GDR, if the German Stalinism was
able to keep up the appearance until today that it was without bloodshed.
545
240
to the tendency to demonize perpetrators. Thus, Maron stresses the need to discuss the
GDR past in connection with the Nazi past, calling for a complex labor of national
remembrance, set against unilateral representations of German history. In addition, Stille
Zeile Sechs represents Maron’s response to and conflict with GDR Stalinism. At the same
time, in order to break the vicious circle of victims and perpetrators, Maron rejects the
idea of the “innocent victim” and stresses the banality of evil in everyone.
Central to Maron’s work in general, as well as Stille Zeile Sechs, are memories of
her childhood, which disrupt the common national historical narratives, and prevent any
form of nostalgic remembrance.548 While Maron explains in the aforementioned essay
that growing up in the GDR, as a child of Polish heritage, provided her with a secure
distance to the uncanny history of the Nazi Germany,549 she vividly recalls the
omnipresence of communism, which permeated all areas of life.550 In this respect, in
Baudrillard’s terms, Maron portrays the individual’s struggle for subjectivity within the
omnipresence of the object; for finding a subjective voice outside the diction of the
object. Moreover, the individuals in Maron’s novels search for alternatives to the
common, rational, alienating rhythm of everyday life.551 Within Maron’s fiction becomes
possible what would seem impossible in reality.552 The subject at least partially succeeds
in escaping the rigid structure of the state (SZ, 34). All female protagonists in Maron’s
548
Konze, 182
Maron, 20
550
Konze, 182
551
Elke Gilson “’Dialogische Einblicke in das Werk von Monika Maron: Eine Einführung” In: Elke Gilson
(ed.) Monika Maron in Perspective (Amsterdam: Editions Rodopi B.V., 2002) 10 (Hereafter quoted as:
Gilson, page number)
552
Gilson, 11
549
241
works are haunted by their desire to take action.553 Accordingly, Rosalind, the main
protagonist, and first person narrator, in Stille Zeile Sechs is also driven by an inner urge
for action, initially an unknown action (IK, 35). Rosalind’s wish for an act, which would
give her life more meaning, causes her not only to rebel against all conventions, but also
to take risks.554 In the end, her need for a new impulse in her life culminates in a horrific
action. Hence, a quote from Ernst Toller serves as a red threat through the novel: “Muß
der Handelnde schuldig werden, immer und immer? Oder, wenn er nicht schuldig werden
will, untergehen?” (SZ, 29)555 While action appears as the only protection against
victimization, acting without empathy simultaneously entails possibly the burden of
guilt.556 In Stille Zeile Sechs, Maron explores how difficult it is to walk the line between
being a victim and being a perpetrator.
In addition, Maron’s novel also has to be contextualized within the Bakhtinian
framework of heterogeneity, and intertextual references.557 With Stille Zeile Sechs Maron
responds to the non-literary, autobiographic texts written by former male GDR state
officials, such as Erich Honecker, Hans Modrow, Kurt Hager, already prior to but also
after the fall of the wall.558 Most obvious in the novel are, however, the intertextual
references to Maron’s own texts, essays and novels, alike. The main protagonist and first
person narrator of Stille Zeile Sechs (1991), forty-two year-old Rosalind Polkowski, is no
553
Alison Lewis “’Die Sehnsucht nach einer Tat’: Engagement und weibliche Identitätsstiftung in den
Romanen Monika Maron’s” In: Elke Gilson (ed.) Monika Maron in Perspective (Amsterdam: Editions
Rodopi B.V., 2002) 75 (Hereafter quoted as: Lewis, page number)
554
Sigrun Leonhard, “Rosalind Polkowskis Sehnsucht nach der großen Tat: Monika Marons Roman Stille
Zeile Sechs“ German Studies Review, Vol. 27, No. 2 (May, 2004) 289-290 (Hereafter quoted as: Leonhard,
page number)
555
My translation: “Does acting inevitably result in becoming guilty? So that those who do not want to
become guilty, cease to exist?” (SZ, 29)
556
Lewis, 87
557
Gilson, 4-5
558
Lee, 64-65
242
stranger but rather well-known to Maron’s dedicated readers as the main character of her
previous book Die Überläuferin (1986). While Rosalind fights in Die Überläuferin for
more “Selbstbestimmung”559, for an alternative existence between dissidence and
immanence560, Rosalind struggles in Stille Zeile Sechs with the injustices of the GDR past
and their memorization, as well as controlling her own feelings of revenge. In some
ways, Rosalind sometimes even appears as the author’s alter ego. As a result of her quest
for an alternative existence, Rosalind has quit her job. This decision evolved out of the
recognition that any form of labor, physical or mental, for someone else is a form of
prostitution. In the end, physical labor allows more freedom, because the mind is still
free. (SZ, 16-17) Throughout the novel, Rosalind discovers, however, how challenging it
is for her to earn her living without using her mind. Realizing this existential human idea
of more responsible self-determination proves much more difficult than expected, and in
the end she fails miserably.561 While Rosalind appears in the beginning as a positive
heroine, who not only successfully revolts against the corrupt system of the state but also
escapes the masculine discourse of the state, she ultimately corrupts herself.562 Perceiving
herself as an innocent victim of the male dominated system of the state, unable to assume
responsibility until it is to late, leads to Rosalind’s corruption and also compromises her
search for self-determination.
Maron reveals Rosalind’s story in retrospective. The novel begins, when Rosalind
is on her way to the funeral of Herbert Beerenbaum, a former party official, and ends
when Rosalind leaves the cemetery afterwards. In this respect, the funeral, Beerenbaum’s
559
Self-determination
Lewis, 81
561
Lewis, 84
562
Leonhard, 290-291
560
243
death, serves as a frame for the narrative, and also sets Rosalind’s story in the middle of
the 1980s in the GDR.563 Although Rosalind is secretly happy about Beerenbaum’s death,
she nevertheless feels guilty; it is her guilt, which has driven her to attend his funeral.
Throughout the novel it becomes clear that Rosalind was employed by Beerenbaum to
write his memoirs. During the work sessions, Rosalind repeatedly questioned
Beerenbaum about his questionable action as a GDR official. As a result of Rosalind’s
upsetting interrogation, Beerenbaum suffered and eventually died of a heart attack (SZ,
136). The tone of Maron’s first person narrative resembles often an inner monologue; it
appears as a psychoanalytic process of Rosalind, who wants to understand her own
behavior.564 She wants to understand how her decision not to be a victim anymore turned
her into a perpetrator.
After quitting her job at a Research Institute, Rosalind encountered Herbert
Beerenbaum, an aged and retired member of the GDR elites, in a café. When Rosalind
meets Beerenbaum for the first time, she immediately identifies him just from his
demeanor and facial expressions as a man of power.565 Due to a stroke, Beerenbaum is
unable to use his right arm, and seeks to hire someone to write his memoirs for him.
Against better knowledge and even though she recognizes Beerenbaum as her
antagonist566, Rosalind accepts the job to become “Beerenbaum’s rechte Hand”567,
because he exerts an uncanny fascination on her. The frame narrative of the funeral
signals to the reader from the very beginning of Stille Zeile Sechs that the work
563
Lee, 59
Lee, 62
565
Leonhard, 292
566
Leonhard, 292
567
“Beerenbaum’s right hand”
564
244
agreement between the two protagonists resulted in fatal consequences for Beerenbaum
and similarly disastrous ones for Rosalind.
Born in 1907, seventy-eight year old Herbert Beerenbaum is an exemplary
Communist, who recognized and fought the evils of fascism quite early, and thus had to
seek refuge during Nazi time in the Soviet Union. When Beerenbaum returned to the
GDR after the war, he became a professor despite his lack of education, and served for a
long time as the commissioner for ideological questions at the University of Berlin.
Beerenbaum’s personal history resembles that of many GDR officials, such as that of
Maron’s stepfather Karl Maron as well as that of Erich Honecker, and identifies him as a
type rather than an individual.568 At the brink of his own death, Beerenbaum is
determined to compose a historical document about himself as well as the state he helped
to build. He feels obliged to bear witness for the following generations. As a man of
power, Beerenbaum sees no problem in replacing his right hand through an amanuensis.
It soon becomes clear, however, that by engaging Rosalind as his amanuensis,
Beerenbaum is also losing control over his narrative.
Soon after accepting to work for Beerenbaum, Rosalind experiences how
extremely hard it is for her not to use her mind:
Meinem Vorsatz, Beerenbaum Memoirenwerk mit nichts anderem als
meinen Händen zu dienen, wurde ich selbst zum größten Hindernis.
Während Beerenbaum meine intellektuelle Verweigerung gelassen
hinnahm und es auch bald unterließ, mich in diese oder jene Wortwahl
einzubeziehen, fiel es mir von einem Treffen zum anderen immer
schwerer, ihm nicht zu widersprechen. (SZ, 40)569
568
Lee, 59-60
My translation: I myself turned out to be the biggest hindrance to stick to my intent only to serve
Beerenbaum’s memoirs with my hands. While Beerenbaum accepted my intellectual refusal calmly and
stopped asking for my opinion on word choice, with every meeting it became more and more difficult for
me not to disagree with and answer back to him. (SZ, 40)
569
245
For the most part, Beerenbaum reminisces about the past, rather than engaging with it
critically. While Rosalind writes down Beerenbaum’s one-sided recollection of the
occurrences, she revolts internally. More and more she recognizes that by penning
Beerenbaum’s distorted recollection of the past, she makes herself his henchwoman by
not using her mind. In the right mind, she would contradict him. Furthermore, by writing
down Beerenbaum’s words without questioning them, she becomes an extension of the
state she despises:
Bei unserem letzten Treffen hatte er mir den Satz diktiert: “Gestützt auf
den reichen Erfahrungsschatz der Leninschen Partei sowie ihre brüderliche
Hilfe, führte unsere Partei die Arbeiterklasse zum Sieg und errichtete für
immer den Sozialismus im ersten Arbeiter- und Bauern-Staat auf
deutschem Boden.“ Kein besonderer Satz, nur einer von Tausenden
geschriebenen und gesprochenen Sätzen, die einem mit der Zeit so wenig
auffielen wie die Anzahl grauer Haare auf dem Kopf eines Menschen, den
man jeden Tag sieht. Aber diesen Satz hatte ich mit meiner eigenen Hand
aufschreiben müssen. Ich bekam Geld dafür, daß ich ihn aufschrieb. Wäre
ich nicht sicher gewesen, daß Beerenbaum meinen Widerspruch erwartete,
hätte ich ihn wenigstens nach einer der fünf Lügen gefragt, die der Satz
enthielt. (SZ, 63)570
By serving Beerenbaum as his amanuensis, Rosalind is forced to reproduce the
propagandistic
discourse
of
the
state,
to
participate
in
her
employer’s
“Geschichtsschönschreibung”571. Rosalind finds herself in the dilemma that by not using
her mind she is even more prone to being corrupted than before. By writing for
Beerenbaum, she is actively aiding to maintain the discourse of the state rather than
undermining it, which is, what she strove to do for the majority of her life. At the same
570
My translation: During our last meeting he dictated me the following sentence: “Our party lead the
working class to victory on the basis of the rich experiences of the Leninist party as well as with the
brotherly help of our party, and erected forever socialism in the first farmer and worker state in German
soil.” Not a very special sentence, just one of thousands of sentences, which were written or spoken, and
which over time went as unnoticed as the number o grey hairs on the head of a person, one sees every day.
But this sentence I had to write down with my own hand. I even received money for writing it down. If I
had not been sure that Beerenbaum only waited for my objection, I would have at least asked him about
one of the five lies, which the sentence contained.
571
Literal translation: “Glorification of History”
246
time, Beerenbaum’s complacent behavior and speech provoke Rosalind to not end572, and
working for him unleashes an unprecedented rage in her.
In addition, Rosalind experiences Beerenbaum’s physical deterioration with great
disgust:
Mich ekelte die zarte, welke Haut an seinen kräftigen Händen; mich reizte
eine gewisse Schwingung in seiner Stimme, eine heuchlerische Milde, die
er einsetzte, sobald er ein Gespräch jenseits unserer Vereinbarung mit mir
begann. Ich haßte sogar die Hinfälligkeit seines Körpers, die er unter
teuren Strickjacken zu verbergen suchte und die mir, wäre meine maßlose
Abneigung eindeutig zu erklären gewesen, eher Genugtuung hätte bereiten
müssen. Es kam mir vor, als haßte ich Beerenbaum von Natur aus, als
existierte in mir ein genetischer Code, der mich vor Beerenbaum warne
wie vor dem Habicht. Das Huhn fürchtet den Habicht, es haßt ihn nicht.
Ich fragte mich, was das ist, das im Menschen die Furcht in Haß
verwandelt. Ich hätte Beerenbaum nicht hassen müssen, wenn ich ihn
nicht gefürchet hätte. (SZ, 81)573
During their meetings, Rosalind is constantly on edge, because everything about
Beerenbaum gets under her skin. Although Beerenbaum is not even provoking her
intentionally, Rosalind finds everything about him irritating, his voice, his aging body
etc. Above all, Beerenbaum’s physical decay enrages Rosalind, because she feels that it
disguises, and distracts from his former horrific actions as a man of power, it serves as an
excuse not to prosecute him. In this respect, Beerenbaum’s appears as Erich Honecker’s
double. As very well known, the poor health of the former GDR head of state served as
an excuse not to prosecute him with the full extent of the law after the fall of the wall, but
rather to grant him amnesty. At the same time, Rosalind realizes that her irrational hatred
572
Lee, 60
My translation: I found his tender, limp skin on his strong hands sickening. The tone of his voice
aggravated me, a hypocritical mildness, which he employed as soon as he began a conversation with me,
which strayed from our agreement. I even hated the decrepitude of his body, which he tried to hide under
expensive cardigans, which really should have caused me gratification, had it been possible to explain my
animosity unambiguously. It seemed as if I hated Beerenbaum naturally as if an inner genetic code
cautioned me about Beerenbaum like a chicken about the hawk. The chicken fears the hawk, but it doesn’t
hate it. I wonder what it is that turns the fear of humans into hate. I would not have had to hate Beerenbaum
if I had not feared him.
573
247
for Beerenbaum is caused by her fear of him. Even though he is now an old man,
Beerenbaum still represents the old repressive system. As a retired former leading
official, as Rosalind’s employer and mastermind of his memoirs, Beerenbaum not only
has still power over her, but also over the historiography of the GDR state. In this respect,
Beerenbaum reminds Rosalind of her prior and still continuing powerlessness.
Beerenbaum is still enough in power to dictate what happened; to rearrange the facts.
Rosalind is forced to write them down, if she wants to earn her living. This dilemma
naturally enrages Rosalind beyond reason in a very Arendtian manner - although things
could be changed they are not being changed, because the old system of power is still in
place.574 Throughout the novel it becomes increasingly difficult for Rosalind to control
her rage, which begins to dominate all of her daily routines. If she was before unable to
escape the repressive system of the state, it is now her rage against this system, which
takes over her life.
Throughout the novel, Rosalind repeatedly associates Beerenbaum’s features with
animals. The more Beerenbaum’s physical degeneration progresses, the more he reminds
Rosalind of an animal:
Eine direkte Verwandschaft zwischen Pflanze und Mensch hielt ich für
abwegig. Die Ähnlichkeit der erschiedenen Menschensorten mit Vögeln,
Affen, Fröschen, Hasen, Katzen, Schweinen und allerlei anderen Tieren
aber war so augenfällig, . . . Beerenbaums Ähnlichkeit mit einem
Froschlurch hätte nicht einmal jemand, der ihn liebte, leugnen können. . . .
Die Frage war: Diente Beerenbaums Menschenleben der Vorbereitung auf
sein Dasein als Froschlurch . . . oder schleppte sich sein längst
vergangenes Froschlurchleben erinnerungslos und schicksalshaft durch
dieses, wie wir alle das unsere.
Natürlich, es war ganz einfach, die hinterhältigste und gemeinste Variane
haben sie, DIE, sich für uns ausgedacht. Erst Mensch, dann Tier, dann
574
Violence, 63-65. As Hannah Arendt explained, rage is a natural response when our natural sense of
justice is offended. This occurs, when matters, which are unjust and could be changed, are not being
changed, because of the power system in place.
248
Pflanze. Je tiefer wir in das Geheimnis eindringen, um so schweigsamer
müssen wir sein. (SZ, 57-58)575
Beerenbaum’s turning into a beast can be interpreted in different ways. Firstly, it
symbolizes that Beerenbaum is dying; he is metamorphosing into another stage of being.
Secondly, it is also connected to Rosalind’s gradual loss of empathy towards
Beerenbaum. Thirdly, it also serves as a constant reminder that within the state apparatus
of the GDR, Beerenbaum was in fact “ein hohes Tier”576, i.e. a leading official. As a
result of his career within the state system, Beerenbaum gradually lost human
characteristics, and turned, in a very Orwellian manner, into an animal of the state, a
being incapable of performing controlled empathy. For Beerenbaum the people within the
state had lost all individuality because they had merged into the body of the state, which
had to be protected by the wall:
Das war eine aufregende Zeit, wie Sie sich denken können, so kurz nach
dem Bau unseres Antifaschistischen Schutzwalls, sagte er.
Allein die Zumutung, das Wort hinzuschreiben, als wäre es ein Wort wie
Blume, Hund und Mauer empörte mich. Ich notierte: B: Zeit nach Bau des
Antifaschu war aufregend.
...
Damals, sagte Beerenbaum, vor dem historischen August 61, habe er,
wenn er morgens beim Betreten der Universität die Linden
herunterblickte, oft die Vision gehabt, Ströme des Lebenssaftes der jungen
575
My translation: Because she didn’t answer I devoted myself to my favorite thought, which is that we
all have to be a plant, an animal and a human being at some point., but I could not decide in what order.
However, I only deemed two versions plausible, the first: plant, animal, human, the second: human, animal,
plant.
I considered a direct kinship between plants and humans unlikely while the similarities between different
humans and birds, apes, frogs, rabbits, cats, pigs and all kinds of other animals was rather striking . . . Not
even someone who loved Beerenbaum could have denied his resemblance to a batrachian . . . The question
was did Beerenbaum’s life as a human being serve as a preparation for his life as a batrachian . . . or did his
former batrachian life drag fatefully and without memory through this one, as we all do ours. Of course, it
was very simple, they, THEM, thought of the meanest and most perfidious variant: first human, then
animal, then plant. The deeper we penetrate into the secret (of life – MY EMPHASIS) the more silent we
have to be.
576
Literal translation: a high-ranking animal – Alpha Animal
249
Republik, rot und pulsierend, durch das Brandenburger Tor geradewegs in
den gierigen Körper des Feindes fließen zu sehen. (SZ, 71)577
Beerbaum’s description of the young GDR republic illustrates not only his lack of
empathy for the individuals within the state, but also speaks of the sexist, male discourse,
which dominated the state. Most of the readers, just like Rosalind, would probably not
call the time after the building of the wall exciting but rather think of it as a disturbing
moment. For the members of the elite, like Beerenbaum, the feelings of the citizen of the
GDR did not matter, because they thought of them merely as the lifeblood of the
republic. Moreover, Beerenbaum’s vision of invading West Berlin through the
Brandenburg Gate visualizes a male rape fantasy: It is the picture of a pulsing phallus
penetrating the body of the enemy. At the same time, the wall appeared as the only
protection to prevent the ‘rape of the West’. For the East, however, the wall represented a
closure of the imagination, the suffocation of the ideal, which the GDR republic had been
built on, the ideal of fundamental human equality.
In many ways, the normalizing disciplinary powers of the GDR state deformed
Beerenbaum’s mind and body. Now that he is old, the decomposition of Beerenbaum’s
mind also begins to show physically. Although his posture is still that of a man in power,
Beerenbaum paralyzed hand reminds of the ugly underbelly of the totalitarian state.
Similarly, the great numbers of men with double chins, who attend Beerenbaum’s funeral
577
My translation: The time shortly after the building of the anti-fascist protection wall was an exciting
time, as you can imagine, he said.
It outraged me that he expected me to write down such a word, as if it was like any other word like flower,
dog, and wall. I wrote down: B: Time after the building of the Antifaprowa was exciting.
...
Beerenbaum said that before the historical August of 61, when he looked down the road of linden trees
before entering the university in the morning, he often had the following vision: Streams of the lifeblood of
the young republic, red and pulsing, flowing through the Brandenburg Gate straight into the greedy body of
the enemy. (SZ, 71)
250
(SZ, 59-62) speak of the decadence of the GDR elites.578 In addition, they represent also
Beerenbaum’s doubles and serve as a reminder that Beerenbaum is just a type and other
men are already in line, willing to take his place.579 Moreover, they also symbolize the
inherent hypocrisy of the GDR system, which built on the belief that all men are equal.
While the average GDR citizens by far did not live a luxurious life, state officials like
Beerenbaum lived off the fat of the land. Like vampires, or “Menschenfresser“, and
“Sklavenhalter” (SZ, 135), they fed of the common people in the GDR. Thus, even on his
deathbed, Beerenbaum does not recover his humanity in Rosalind’s eyes, but rather
appears to have transformed into a saurian:
Mein letztes Bild von Beerenbaum: der geöffnete, zahnlose Mund, darin
die dreckige, wie von Schimmel überzogene Zunge, die Iris seiner Augen
fahl und durchsichtig, zwei kleine runde Fenster in das Innere von
Beerenbaum’s Kopf. Dann Beerenbaum’s Hand; wie eine weißhäutige
Echse schoß sie hervor unter der Decke und sprang mir mit aufgerissenem
Maul an die Brust. Es war als hätte er mein nacktes Herz berührt. Später
versuchte ich zu glauben, er habe nach meinem Arm fassen wollen oder
nach meiner Schulter und nur seine Hinfälligkeit habe die Hand ihr Ziel
verfehlen lassen. Aber ich konnte den halboffenen grinsenden Mund nicht
vergessen und die hellen Augen, in denen sich die Pupillen zu einem
winzigen Punkt zusammengezogen hatten.
Als mein Vater starb, war er dreiundsechzig Jahre alt. Er starb zu Hause in
seinem Bett, etwa gegen ein Uhr nachts, allein . . . (SZ, 107 - 108)580
Just like Rosalind is unable to come to terms with Beerenbaum he is likewise unwilling
to reconcile with her. Even on his deathbed, Beerenbaum seeks revenge while at the same
578
Lewis, 82
Georg Leisten, „Schrift und Körper in Stille Zeile Sechs“ In: Elke Gilson (ed.) Monika Maron in
Perspective (Amsterdam: Editions Rodopi B.V., 2002) 147-48 (Hereafter quoted as: Leisten, page number)
580
My translation: My last image of Beerenbaum: the open, toothless mouth, inside, the dirty tongue,
seemingly covered in mold, the iris of his eyes sallow and transparent, two small round eyes into the
interior of Beerenbaum’s head. Then suddenly, Beerenbaum’s hand dashed forward from under the blanket
like a white-skinned saurian and jumped with its open mouth directly at my breast. It was as if he touched
my naked heart. Later I tried to believe that he wanted to touch my arm or my shoulder and his hand just
missed its target because of his decrepitude. But I could not forget his half-open grinning mouth and the
light eyes, in which the pupils had turned into a tiny dot.
When my father died, he was sixty-three years old. He died at home in his bed, at approximately 1 am,
alone . . . (SZ, 108)
579
251
time asserting his male superiority when he pricks Rosalind’s breast. Although Rosalind
tries to convince herself afterwards that Beerenbaum meant to touch her arm, the
recollection she has of his face proves otherwise. In this respect, Rosalind’s hospital visit
to Beerenbaum is a failure, because their reciprocal animosity continues even at the brink
of death. At the same time, Beerenbaum’s dying triggers Rosalind’s memory of her
father’s death, and she realizes that her relationship with Beerenbaum appears as a
replication of the complicated relationship she had with her father. When her father was
dying, Rosalind was equally incapable to find a way of how to reconcile with him (SZ,
108-109).
In course of her work for Beerenbaum, Rosalind relives the childhood death wish
she had for her father: “Ich war dreizehn. Ich hatte erreicht, daß mein Vater sich nun für
mich interessierte. Vor dem Einschlafen wünschte ich mir manchmal, daß er stirbt.“581
(SZ, 75), and projects it onto Beerenbaum. The more she associates Beerenbaum with her
father, the more her hatred increases and her feelings of empathy towards him decrease.
In many ways, Beerenbaum and Rosalind’s father are “intratextuelle Doppelgänger” in
the novel.582 Several uncanny links exist between the two. Some of them are physical,
others are ideological. Just like Rosalind’s father (SZ, 74) Beerenbaum is missing all his
teeth (SZ, 97), and wears the same cardigan as well as the same wine red leather slippers
as her father (SZ, 88). In addition, they have in common the same picture book biography
of the founding fathers of the GDR.583 Furthermore, both men were not only loyal
supporter of the GDR regime, but despite their lack of education, also filled leading
581
My translation: I was thirteen. I had achieved that my father finally was interested in me. Before falling
asleep I sometimes wished he would die. (SZ, 75)
582
Leisten, 144
583
Lewis, 85
252
positions within the GDR state.584 As a result of the overpowering similarities between
the two men, Rosalind’s unresolved childhood traumata with her father resurface during
her interaction with Beerenbaum.585 Thus, she starts harboring the same resentment for
Beerenbaum, which she had for her father.
In many respects, Rosalind’s working sessions with Beerenbaum turn into a
reenactment of the conflicts with her father, which eventually becomes a matter of life
and death.586 Rosalind’s engagement and reaction to Beerenbaum is highly emotionally
charged. It is predominantly the hate of a child, who had not gotten any appreciation, sign
of love, from her father for making him his favorite dessert; lemon custard:
Ich sagte, ein Kommunist sei jemand, der sich bei einem Kind, das ihm
eine große Schüssel Zitronencreme schenkt, nicht bedankt, weil er gerade
mit der Weltrevolution beschäftigt ist. Dieses Dilemma bestimme so ein
Kommunistenleben von Anfang bis Ende, und ich befürchtete,
Kommunisten würden eher die Erde in die Luft jagen als zulassen, daß sie
nicht kommunistisch wird, weil es für Kommunisten eben nichts
Wichtigeres gibt als den Kommunismus. Das geht so weit, daß sie jede
Sauerei, die sich anrichten, kommunistisch nennen, weil sie nicht
aushalten können, daß etwa nicht kommunistisch ist. Wahrscheinlich hätte
mein Vater ein Verhältnis zu der Zitronencreme und mir auch als
kommunistisch bezeichnet, weil er sich etwas anderes gar nicht vorstellen
konnte. Ich sah es Beerenbaum an, daß er meiner vom Schnaps
angetriebenen Logik nicht folgen konnte. Zitronencreme, was hat der
Kommunismus mit Zitronencreme zu tun. Er schüttelte verärgert den
Kopf. Offenbar hätte ich ein schwieriges Verhältnis zu meinem Vater
gehabt, sagte er, und brächte nun Privates und Gesellschaftliches gehörig
durcheinander, was nicht gerade von einer wissenschaftlichen Weltsicht
zeugte. (SZ, 104-105)587
584
Lee, 61-62
Leonhard, 293, Lee 62
586
Leonhard, 293-294
587
My translation: I said that a Communist is someone, who does not thank a child, who made a large
bowl of lemon custard for him, because he is currently preoccupied with the world revolution. This
dilemma defines the life of a Communist from beginning until the end, and I feared that Communists would
rather blow up the world than accept that it will not be Communist, because there is nothing more
important for Communists than Communism. They would even go as far as to call any mess they cause
Communist, because they could not stand that something was not Communist. Probably my father would
have even called his relationship to lemon custard or even me Communist, because he could not imagine
anything else. I saw that Beerenbaum could not really follow my logic, which had been fuelled by hard
585
253
Although Rosalind argumentation that a Communist is someone, who does not thank his
child for a gift, appears as a ridiculous claim, it only does so at first glance. While
Beerenbaum accuses Rosalind to confuse private and public matters, she views her
father’s behavior in the private sphere only as an extension of his persona in the public
sphere. At the same time, the father’s sense of entitlement for the lemon custard also
illustrates the narcissism of the GDR elites, who thought, they were entitled to all. At the
same time, Rosalind’s father had become unable, similar to Adolf Eichmann588, to think
outside of the ideology of the object; he had lost all empathy, even for his own daughter.
Accordingly, Rosalind learned quite early that life consists to a large extent out of
unfulfilled wishes. In Rosalind’s memory unfulfilled desires and lack of love are
intrinsically connected to her parent’s, in particular her father’s, ideological
absoluteness.589 As a principal, Rosalind’s father served the regime by ensuring the
education of younger generations in a devoted socialist mind-set. This makes for another
common feature between Beerenbaum and Rosalind’s father. Both men were in control
of the written word in the GDR. Beerenbaum’s developed the ideology, which Rosalind’s
father then taught in the schools.590 Unlike her peers, Rosalind could not even escape
GDR ideology at home, because even at home her father represented above all the state
official (SZ, 72-77). Therefore, Rosalind never experienced family life outside of the
Communist framework, without the restraints of the state.591 Within the realm of the
family she was never able to escape the influence of the object. Desperate for her father’s
liquor. Lemon custard, what does lemon custard have to do with Communism. He shook his head in
annoyance. I obviously had a difficult relationship to my father, he said, and was now truly confusing
private and public matters, which did not really speak for a scientific worldview. (SZ, 104-105)
588
As previously explained, for more information see Chapter 2 and in Hannah Arendt’s Eichmann in
Jerusalem.
589
Konze, 194
590
Leisten, 151-152
591
Konze, 194
254
love, Rosalind soon discovered that she could only gain her father’s attention by
provoking him. Thus, she constantly invented new questions, in particular regime critical
questions, to enrage her father. One of her question proved particularly poignant to her
father:
Ich begann, mir Fragen auszudenken, die er nicht in einem Satz, an mir
vorbei abtun konnte, und machte dabei eine Entdeckung,ohne die meine
Kindheit, Jugend und were weiß noch alles anders verlaufen wären. An
dieser Frage hatte ich eine Woche gearbeitet. Ich war sicher, daß sie ihn
beeindrucken würde und daß sie kompliziert genug war für ein längeres
Gespräch am Eßtisch. Ich wartete einen Abend ab, an dem meine Mutter
spät nach Hause kam und ich hoffen konnte, daß niemand ihn von mir und
meiner Frage ablenken würde. . . Wenn die Arbeiterklasse die
fortschrittlichste Klasse sei, sagte ich, hätte sie auch als einzige Klasse den
Faschismus verhindern können; warum die Arbeiterklasse das nicht getan
habe.
...
Willst du sagen, nicht der Täter, sondern das Opfer ist schuldig, schrie
mein Vater.
Wenn das Opfer sich nicht wehrt, hat es auch Schuld, schrie ich. Ich
kämpfte um die Schuld des Opfers wie um mein Leben. Die Leidenschaft
dieses Abends hat sich mir tief eingeprägt, daß ich mich bis heute sträube,
Opfer und Unschuld gleichzusetzen, was meine Gedanken zuweilen auf
gefährliche Pfade führt. (SZ, 73-74)592
In order to gain her father’s interest, Rosalind spent a lot of time inventing questions, questions, which her father could not just answer in passing. Her constant questionfinding process entailed a natural enhancement of her critical thinking skills. As a result,
in contrast to her father, who had internalized the ideological mind-set of the state,
592
My translation: I began to invent questions, which he could not answer in one sentence while he
walked passed me in four to five steps, and I made a discovery, without which my childhood, youth and
who knows what else would have developed differently. It took me a week to develop this question. I was
sure that it would impress him and that it was complicated enough for a longer conversation at the dining
table. I waited for an evening, where my mother came home later and I could hope that nobody would
distract him from my question and me. . . If the working class is the most progressive class, I said, it would
have also been the only class which could have prevented fascism; why had the working class not done so.
...
Do you want to say that not the perpetrator, but the victim is guilty, screamed my father.
If the victim does not defend itself, it is also guilty, I screamed. I fought for the guilt of the victim as if I
was fighting for my life. The passion of this evening made an impression on me so that I am until this day
reluctant to equate victims and innocence, which sometimes leads my thought dangerously astray. (SZ, 7374)
255
Rosalind developed a mind of her own. Moreover, she turned into a dissident of the state
by questioning the anti-fascist creation myth of the GDR state. She not only expressed
doubt that all workers; i.e. Communists, were victims of the Nazi regime, but she also
refused to equate being a victim with absolute innocence. In conflict with her father, she
argued that every being has to assume responsibility for the self, even a victim. Claiming
to be an innocent victim means rejecting any personal responsibility.593 Together with the
Toller quote this is the main thought, which animates and guides Rosalind’s inner
struggle in Stille Zeile Sechs. Being a victim, or having been a victim, does not prevent an
individual from becoming a perpetrator, because any action, or for that matter non-action
can ensue culpability. Unlike her father, or Beerenbaum for that matter, Rosalind is
critical of her own action to the extent that she is almost unable to act at all. She is
engaged in a constant fight for her subjectivity, an ongoing struggle to undercut the grid
of the object. Within the overpowering realm of the object, Rosalind searches for her own
words and recognizes that the power of the state has even permeated speech.
During her writing sessions for Beerenbaum, Rosalind notices that his diction
sounds uncannily familiar. She can almost anticipate what Beerenbaum will say:
Solange Beerenbaum über seine Kindheit sprach, erregten mich selten die
Tatsachen, von denen er berichtete und die entweder landläufig bekannt
oder von harmloser Privatheit waren. Fast immer lag es an dem Ton, an
der Selbstgewißheit seiner Sprache, in der Rührseligkeit und einfältige
Metaphorik oft so dicht beeinanderlagen wie in dem Satz, der mein
Zwerchfell außer Kontrolle hatte geraten lassen.
Mit dieser Sprache war ich aufgewachsen. Meine Eltern sprachen sie,
sobald sie sich größeren Themen als der Haushaltsführung oder
Kindererziehung widmeten. Die Grenze zwischen der privaten und der
anderen Sprache verlief nicht exakt. Es konnte vorkommen, daß meine
Mutter meinem Vater davon erzählte, ihre junge Kollegin B. habe einen
neuen Freund, und, während sie die Teller in den Schrank räumte,
593
Leonhard, 294
256
hinzufügte: Ein guter Genosse, wirklich, was klang, als hätte sie sagen
wollen: Ein netter Junge, wirklich.
Oder mein Vater kam nach Hause und schimpfte, weil er sich über die
dreckigen U-Bahnhöfe geärgert hatte, auf „unsere Menschen“, die nicht
begreifen wollten, daß der Kampf um den Kommunismus beim
Bonbonpapier beginnt.
Mir gegenüber setzten meine Eltern ihr unnatürliche Sprache ein, wenn
ich erzogen werden sollte.594 (SZ, 41-42)
It is less what Beerenbaum says, but rather how he says it that causes Rosalind’s strong,
negative somatic reaction. The confidence in Beerenbaum’s voice together with the
banality of evil inherent to his speech repulses Rosalind, while it also reminds her of the
brainwashed diction of her parents. Just like Beerenbaum, Rosalind’s parents had
internalized the language of the state. They did not question it, but instead perpetuated it
and passed it on, i.e. forced it onto their child. Rosalind, however, grew increasingly
aware of her parent’s code-switching. She started to notice how the objective, i.e.
unnatural speech of the state, polluted all of her parent’s subjective perceptions to the
extent that they were unable to talk and think outside of the diction of the state. When
Beerenbaum starts to sounds like her father, Rosalind meets him with the same feelings
of vengeance she had for her father.
In a similar way as she questioned her father, Rosalind begins to interrogate
Beerenbaum during their writing sessions. More and more their writing meetings begin to
594
My translation: When Beerenbaum spoke about his childhood I got not so much agitated by the facts,
which he recalled and which were either commonly known or of harmless privacy. It was rather always the
tone; the self-confidence of his voice, in which emotionalism and simple imagery were so closely adjoined
as in the sentence, which had caused my diaphragm to get out of control.
I had grown up with this language. My parents spoke it, as soon as they addressed greater themes than
housekeeping and child rearing. The line between the private and the other speech was not exact. It could
happen that my mother told my father that her young colleague had a new boyfriend, and added, while she
put the dishes in the cabinet: A good comrade, really, which sounded as if she had wanted to say: A real
nice guy, really. Or when my father came home in annoyance about the dirty subway stations and railed
against “our people, who did not realize that the fight against communism started with picking up candy
paper. In relation to me, my parents made use of their unnatural speech, whenever they wanted to educate
me. (SZ, 41-42)
257
resemble an official interrogation.595 Although Rosalind soon realizes that Beerenbaum’s
physical degeneration does not make him an equal partner in the discussion anymore, this
does not stop her from repeatedly attacking him openly. The main motivation for her
action is that she does not want to be a victim again.596 Thus, Rosalind and Beerenbaum
soon switch roles. Rosalind, who always felt as a victim, turns into the perpetrator, who
interrogates the ex-perpetrator Beerenbaum without pity.597 She has lost all sympathy;
she wants to see his blood.598 When Beerenbaum actually bleeds as a result of their
upsetting conversations, Rosalind does not stop:
Und haben Sie nicht ihre Genossen vermißt, mit denen Sie im Hotel Lux
Tür an Tür gewohnt haben?
Er versuchte, tief zu atmen. Die Lippen zitterten, das Gesicht verfärbte
sich tiefrot. Dann floß das Blut aus dem rechten Nasenloch, verlief sich im
runzligen Delta seiner Oberlippe, und tropfte auf das unbeschriebene
Papier vor ihm.
Ich ekelte mich. . . Nicht Beerenbaum’s Blut, nicht, wie es sich zwischen
den kaum sichtbaren Bartstoppeln auf der Haut verteilte, widerte mich an,
sondern daß er mir statt einer Antwort sein altes, tablettenverseuchtes,
gegen Thrombose künstlich verdünntes Blut anbot, daß er versucht, sich
durch diesen miesen Trick in ein Opfer zu verwandeln und mir das Fragen
zu verieten. Endlich fand er das Taschentuch.
Wollten Sie nicht wissen, was aus ihren Genossen geworden ist, nachdem
man sie nachts aus den Betten gezerrt hat im Hotel Lux.
Ich konnte nicht aufhören. Sein Gesicht war vom Taschentuch verdeckt,
sichtbar nur die Augen, haßerfüllt oder flehend. Warum hatte ich kein
Mitleid. Fürchteten Sie nicht, daß man eines Tages auch Sie holen würde?
Oder Ihre Frau? (SZ, 91)599
595
Gilson, 9
Leonhard, 294
597
Lee, 60
598
Leonhard, 298
599
My translation: Did you not miss your comrades, who lived right next door to you in Hotel Lux?
He tried to breathe deeply. His lips trembled, his face turned deeply red. Then blood ran out of his right
nostril, bled into the wrinkled delta of his upper lip and trickled on the blank paper in front of him.
I felt disgusted. . . Not Beerenbaum’s blood disgusted me, not how it dispersed among the barely visible
stubbles on his skin, but that instead of an answer he just offered me his blood, contaminated by pills,
artificially thinned against thrombosis, that he tried to portray himself as a victim by using such an
appalling trick, in order to prohibit me further questions. He finally found his tissue.
Do you not want to know, what became of your comrades, after they were yanked out of their beds at night
in Hotel Lux?
596
258
Rosalind’s demand for accountability triggers hemorrhage and death. However, when
Beerenbaum nose starts bleeding, Rosalind feels tricked by him, and continues her
cutting questions in spite of his condition. Just like the state officials within the
totalitarian state previously tortured confessions out of people at all costs, Rosalind now
mercilessly aims to press a confession out of Beerenbaum.600 This reverses the situation
for Beerenbaum as well as Rosalind. While Beerenbaum previously followed an inner
urge to confess, he is now forced by an outsider, i.e. Rosalind to own up to his past
wrong-doings.601 Rosalind, on the other hand, acts very similar as Beerenbaum the state
official previously acted. Viewing herself as a victim of Stalinist patriarchy, Rosalind
takes revenge on Beerenbaum, who represents the Communist fathers.602 By doing so,
she acts, however, just like them: She forces her accusations, her truth on Beerenbaum,
without letting him speak. Thus, Beerenbaum’s confession is coerced rather than
voluntary. Nevertheless, Rosalind’s inquiries conjure up what Beerenbaum had
repressed: He knew that his fellow comrades were tortured in Hotel Lux,603 as well as he
was aware that he was the reason, why Karl-Heinz Baron was sentenced to three years in
prison as a “den hohen Zielen der neuen Ordnung feindlich gesonnenes Subjekt”604 (SZ,
118). As Georg Leisten points out in his article “Schrift und Körper in Stille Zeile Sechs”,
Rosalind can be seen as an epigone of the nymph Echo in two ways. She echoes
Beerenbaum’s past for him, while she is at the same time only able to hear the echo of
I could not stop. His face was covered by the tissue, only his eyes were visible, full of hate or pleading.
Why did I not have any compassion. Did you not fear that some day they would come to get you? Or your
wife? (SZ, 91)
600
Lee, 60
601
Lee, 60-61
602
Frauke E. Lenckos, “Monika Maron’s The Defector; the Newly Born Woman?”, The Rackham Journal
of the Arts and Humanities, 1992-1993. 59 (Hereafter quoted as: Lenckos, page number)
603
Lee, 61
604
“a subject, who represents an enemy to the high aims of the state” (SZ, 118)
259
her own accusations against him.605 In any case, Beerenbaum’s confession is written in
blood and Rosalind has suddenly blood on her hands. Regardless of his weak condition,
she is still unable to control her rage, still unwilling to find a common sense of humanity
which would provide a basis for a discussion with Beerenbaum and allow for
reconciliation.
It is primarily Beerenbaum’s nostalgic and self-righteous representation of his
past as a leading GDR official, which unleashes a disturbing and increasing desire for
Beerenbaum’s death in Rosalind:
Ich hatte nichts zu verteidigen als mich, während Beerenbaum einen
ganzen Radschwung der Geschichte als sein Werk ansah, das er zu
beschützen hatte, wenn nötig mit der Waffe in der Hand, wie mein Vater
oft gesagt hatte und vermutlich auch Beerenbaum sagen würde. In dieser
Minute begriff ich, daß alles von Beerenbaums Tod abhing, von seinem
und dem seiner Generation. Erst wenn ihr Werk niemanden mehr heilig
war, wenn nur noch seine Brauchbarkeit entscheiden würde über seinen
Bestand oder seinen Untergang, würde ich herausfinden, was ich im Leben
gern getan hätte. Und dann würde es zu spät sein. (SZ, 101)606
Men like Beerenbaum and her father threaten Rosalind’s urge for freedom, for alternative
spaces, her need for self-determination, because they have grown inseparable of the
object of the state.607 During her writing sessions with Beerenbaum, Rosalind realizes
that these men now even aim to take over history, in an attempt to defend themselves, but
also the whole system to which they had dedicated their life. Writing his memoirs was
Beerenbaum’s last attempt to defend at least the memory of that system, to solidify a
certain representation of the state he supported and his role in it. By acting as
605
Leisten, 152
My translation: I had nothing to defend but myself, while Beerenbaum viewed a whole wheel of
history as his work, which he had to defend, if necessary by force, just like my father often said and
Beerenbaum probably also would have said. At that moment I realized that everything depended on
Beerenbaum’s death, on his death and that of his generation. I would not find out what I would have liked
to do, until their work was not sacred to anyone anymore, not until only it’s practicability would decide
about it’s continued existence or downfall. And then it would be too late. (SZ, 101)
607
Leonhard, 289-290
606
260
Beerenbaum’s amanuensis Rosalind is aiding him to accomplish his aim, rather than
planning her own future; she is getting caught up in and infected by Beerenbaum’s
superhistorical malady.608 In course of the developments Rosalinds just starts to mimic
and becomes guilty of the same behavior, which she wants Beerenbaum to confess about.
At the same time, Rosalind gives in to the assumption that with Beerenbaum’s death, and
with the death of his generation, the struggle would be over. Their death appears as the
only solution, because their worldview does not permit differing opinions, because they
do not regard their fellow citizen as politically mature. Rosalind has thus only two
options, to become a terrorist or murderer, or part of the object.609 Ironically, after
Beerenbaum’s death, Rosalind realizes that with his death her narrative struggle was not
over, but really began. At Beerenbaum’s funeral, Rosalind feels for the first time in her
life compassion for her father (SZ, 110). Furthermore, she realizes that in her engagement
with Beerenbaum, she has no right to claim a victim status. In the end, Rosalind has to
admit that she and Beerenbaum are not at all as different as she thought. Only after she
acted, is Rosalind able to reflect critically on her behavior. During Beerenbaum’s funeral
Rosalind is engaged in a constant inner monologue, and draws the reader into the
psychoanalytic process about her prior actions. Unlike Beerenbaum, Rosalind willingly
remembers. She scrutinizes and reflects on her memory, in order to come to a better
understanding of herself.610 In retrospect, Rosalind realizes that during her encounter with
Beerenbaum, she was not able to free herself from her childhood traumata with her
father. As a result, she acted often like a helpless child in her conversations with him (SZ,
72).
608
NIETZSCHE – CHAPTER 3
Leonhard, 300
610
Lee, 64
609
261
Throughout the novel Rosalind repeatedly feels like a powerless child within the
world of men. As a woman Rosalind feels excluded from the male dominated discourse,
where women are only talked about, written about, but are not allowed to speak or write
for themselves.611 In order to escape the paternal script of the state, she starts to celebrate
therefore playful, pluralistic, musical, and sometimes even nonsensical oral discourse.612
In this respect, Rosalind’s polyglossia and playful, musical attitude to language, which
generates for example her decision to translate the Don Giovanni recitative despite her
complete lack of qualifications613, stands in sharp contrast to the pre-scripted discourse of
the men in the book: Beerenbaum’s and her father’s officialese, and the citation games of
the men in the bar.614 While the “Kneipe” (bar) functions as an alternative space for
Rosalind’s ex-lover Bruno and the Baron, it does not provide a refuge for Rosalind (SZ,
111-116).615 The only place, where Rosalind is finally able to find a temporary sanctuary,
is a very private sphere, which at least partially operates outside of the framework of the
object. It is the apartment of her neighbor, the piano teacher Thekla Fleischer.616 In her
relationship to Thekla, Rosalind can finally live out her playful, creative side, and
approach one of her greatest childhood desires, playing the piano. At the same time,
Thekla’s marriage to Herr Solow alias Theodor Wittig, who is already married, is a
game617, which operates completely outside of the parameters of the state, and allows
Rosalind temporary escape from reality: “Es war ein Tag wie aus einem anderen Leben.
611
Lenckos, 60
Leisten, 152
613
Konze, 192
614
Gilson, 2-3
615
Leonhard, 295
616
Leonhard, 296
617
Konze, 294
612
262
Ich dachte nicht eine Minute an Beerenbaum.” (SZ, 125)618 The day when Thekla gets
married is the glimpse of another life, where men like Beerenbaum do not have any
power anymore, and even Bruno recovers his ability to speak on his own: “Das sagte
Bruno, und ich traute meinen Ohren nicht.” (SZ, 124)619 However, the thunderstorm and
ice-rain, which follows the wedding and Bruno’s speech, insinuate that the time is not yet
ripe for excercising so much freedom; it might still be a reason for punishment (SZ, 124145). In addition, the thunderstorm foreshadows imminence in the relationship between
Beerenbaum and Rosalind.
During their work session, Rosalind had repeatedly fantasized about killing
Beerenbaum. She had imagined that his death would bring her relief, would offer her
closure with the past. At his funeral, Rosalind understands that Beerenbaum’s death did
not really resolve her conflicted attitude towards the past, it did not end any of her
problems, but in contrast his death created new ones. Although she did not actually kill
Beerenbaum, she recognizes that there is only a slight difference between her and
someone who murders:
Ich habe Beerenbaums Zungenbein nur mit den Augen gesucht. Ich habe
nicht meine Hände um seinen Hals gelegt und mit meinen Daumen seine
Gurgel eingedrückt, das habe ich nicht. Aber wie der Hilfsarbeiter aus F.
konnte ich auch nur einen Ausweg denken: Beerenbaums Tod. Warum
hatte sich der Hilfsarbeiter aus F. nicht eine andere Frau gesucht und mit
ihr die Kränkung, die ihm angetan wurde, vergessen . . . Warum ging ich
nicht meine eigenen Wege, lernte bei Thekla Fischer Klavier spielen . . .
Warum fügte ich mich nicht der Antwort, die ich hinter der Tollerschen
Frage längst vermutete: Ja, der Handelnde muß schuldig werden, immer
und immer, oder, wenn er nicht schuldig werden will, untergehn. Als hätte
ich nur das gesucht: meine Schuld. Alles, nur nicht Opfer sein. Das wußte
618
619
“It was a day in another life. I did not think of Beerenbaum, not even for a minute.” (SZ, 125)
“This said Bruno, and I could not believe what I heard.” (SZ, 124)
263
auch Herbert Beerenbaum, der Arbeiter aus dem Ruhrgebiet: Alles, nur
nicht noch einmal Opfer sein. (SZ, 136-137)620
Of course the significant difference between Rosalind and an actual murderer is that she
only carries out her murders in her thoughts. At the same time, Rosalind has in common
with a murderer that she also cannot think of another way of how to satisfy her feelings
of hate and revenge than Beerenbaum’s death. She cannot imagine reconciliation with the
former state official. Unlike the unskilled laborer F., however, Rosalind possesses the
intellectual capacity to control her rage and brutally attacks Beerenbaum only in her
fantasies:
Ich hörte Rosalind kreischen, sah, wie sie dabei den Speichel in einem
breiten Kegel versprühte und mit den Fäusten auf die Schreibmaschine
einschlug. Das Schlimmste sah ich in ihren Augen, wo sich spiegelte, was
sie nicht tat: Rosalind stehend vor Beerenbaum, die Faust erhoben zum
Schlag, die andere Hand an Beerenbaums Hals zwischen Kinn und
Kehlkopf. Die Faust traf sein Gesicht. Das Gebiß fiel ihm aus dem Mund.
Sie schlug ihn wieder, bis er vom Stuhl stürzte. Der wollene Hausmantel
öffnete sich über den Beinen, und Beerenbaums schlaffes Schenkelfleisch
lag nackt auf dem Boden, unter der weißen Wäsche sichtbar das weiche
Genital. Sie trat ihn gegen die Rippen, den Kopf, in die Hoden, beidbeinig
sprang sie auf seinen Brustkorb. Er rührte sich nicht. Als das Blut aus
seinem Ohr lief, gab sie erschöpft auf.
Beerenbaum lehnte im Sessel hinter dem Schreibtisch, einzig lebendig an
ihm die zu ewigem Zittern verurteilte Hand. Sie sind doch ein Feind
flüsterte er.
...
Die gesunde Hand verkrampfte sich über der Brust, da, wo der Atem in
einem Röcheln verendete. Die andere Hand griff, Halt suchend, ins Leere.
Rosalind sahe die ihr entgegengestreckte Hand, sah den sterbenden
Beerenbaum und wartete auf seinen Tod. Als ich endlich verstand, daß sie
620
My translation: I only searched for Beerenbaum’s hyoid bone with my eyes. I did not put my hands
around his neck and closed his throat with my thumbs. I did not do that. But just like the unskilled laborer
from F. I could only think of one resort: Beerenbaum’s death. Why did the unskilled laborer from F. not
look for another woman, so he could forget with her, how much he had been hurt . . . Why did I not move
on and took piano lessons with Thekla Fischer . . . Why did I not submit to the answer , which I long
suspected to be the right response Toller’s question: Yes, the doer will be guilty, again and again, or, if he
does not want to be guilty, go down. As if I had only looked for that: my guilt - anything but to be a victim.
Herbert Beerenbaum, a laborer from the Ruhr area, also knew that feeling – just never to be a victim again.
264
nichts tun würde, um ihn zu retten, fand ich meine Stimme wieder. (SZ,
135-136)621
In the above scene, Rosalind experiences a moment of dual personality, which is
illustrated by the narrative split into “Rosalind” and “I”. This moment, in which Rosalind
recognizes that her torture of Beerenbaum mimics those of Stasi-interrogations, allows
Rosalind a dialectical approximation of victim to perpetrator.622 The enraged part, “she”,
seeks revenge at all costs, is willing to assault Beerenbaum physically, has lost all
empathy, and wants to kill him. Although Beerenbaum appears completely helpless and
pathetic, “she” dwells in her violent day-dream and imagines crushing his body like an
insect. Sensing the violent attack “she” carried out against him in her mind, Beerenbaum
suffers a heart-attack and it takes all of Rosalind’s inner strength to remobilize her
feelings of empathy. While the murderous Rosalind, the animal in her, wants to let
Beerenbaum die, the human part, the one that has a conscience and is still able to say “I’,
calls the ambulance (SZ, 136). Nevertheless, Rosalind realizes that it would have been
quite easy for her to give into her violent fantasies, thus the incident triggers feelings of
guilt. Moreover, the split into “Rosalind and I” also symbolizes the duality of Rosalind
the narrator and Maron the writer. The protagonist in the novel can act upon the rage,
621
My translation: I heard Rosalind scream, and saw how her saliva sprayed in a broad cone, while she
battered the typewriter with both fists. But the worst I saw in her eyes, which reflected what she didn’t do:
Rosalind standing in front of Beerenbaum, her fist raised ready to hit, the other hand on Beerenbaum’s neck
between chin and larynx. The fist hit his face. The denture flew out of his mouth. She hit him again, until
he fell from the chair. The woolen dressing gown openend above his legs, and Beerenbaum’s saggy thigh
(flesh) lay bare on the ground, the soft genials visible below his white underwear. She kicked him in the
rips, against the head, in his balls, with both legs she jumped on his chest. He did not move. When the
blood ran out of his ear, she gave up; exhausted.
Beerenbaum rested in the armchair behind the desk, the only living part of him his hand, damned to shiver
eternally. You are the enemy after all, he whispered.
...
His healthy hand clenched above his breast, there, where his breath ended in steterousness. The other hand
grasped looking for support air. Rosalind saw the hand held out towards her, saw the dying Beerenbaum,
and waited for his death. When I finally understood that she would not do anything to save him, I recovered
my voice. (135-136)
622
Leisten, 146
265
which the author can just contemplate and fantasize about.623 In Stille Zeile Sechs, Maron
carefully scrutinizes and depicts the human disposition to violence; Rosalind’s in place of
her own, within the totalitarian state.624 In addition, Maron’s novel also carefully analyses
the power structures within the totalitarian state, as well as those between men and
women. Regardless of their gender, however, Rosalind appears in the end as
Beerenbaum’s heiress.625 When Beerenbaum’s son hands over Beerenbaum’s memoirs to
her, Rosalind knows she has to assume responsibility for them:
Als ich die Straße erreiche, sehe ich auf dem Parkplatz das karmesinrote
Auto von Michael Beerenbaum, der in diesem Augenblick die Wagentür
öffnet und ausssteigt. Er kommt auf mich zu. In der Uniform hat er
plötzlich das Gesicht eines Militärs, nicht mehr das eines Pfarrers oder
Pathologen. Auch der Gang wirkt verändert, soldatisch. In der Hand hält
er ein in Zeitungspapier eingeschlagenes Paket. Hier, sagt er, als er vor
mir steht, er hat gewollt, daß sie es bekommen. Seine Stimme verrät nicht,
ob er den Willen seines Vaters billigt. Ich weiß, was in dem Paket ist. Ich
will es nicht haben. Ich will nichts damit zu tun haben. Trotzdem greife
ich danach.
. . . Ich werde es nicht öffnen. Ich werde es in die nächste Mülltonne
werfen. Ich werde es zwischen den Papierbergen im unteren Fach meines
Bücherregals begraben. Ich werde es auf keinen Fall öffnen. (SZ, 142)626
Just like Rosalind is made responsible for Beerenbaum’s text, Maron assumes
responsibility for and writes against the documents of the Communist fathers. Instead of
viewing herself as an innocent victim, she assumes responsibility. Rosalind’s obsession
with oral discourse suggests that Maron believes in the importance of the spoken word as
623
Gilson, 11
Leisten, 146
625
Leonhard, 301-303
626
My translation: When I reached the street I saw on the parking lot the crimson colored car of Michael
Beerenbaum, who at this very moment opened the car door and gets out. He approaches me. In his uniform
he all of a sudden has the facial expression of someone in the military not anymore that of a pastor or a
pathologist. Even his movement has changed; soldierly. He holds a packaged wrapped in a newspaper in
his hand. Here, he says, when he stands in front of me, he would have wanted you to get it. His voice does
not give away, whether he approves of his father’s wish. I know what is in the packet. I do not want to have
it. I don’t want anything to do with it. Nevertheless I reach for it.
. . . I will not open it. I will throw it in the next trash can. I will bury it under mountains of paper in the
lowest panel of my bookshelf. In no case will I open it.
624
266
a revolutionary tool. The human disposition to rage and violence, as well as the
dominating authority of the written word, clearly limit the effectiveness of this tool. Thus,
Maron aims to undermine the male dominated written texts by injecting it with oral
“feminine” discourse. Just like Rosalind is in charge of Beerenbaum’s memoirs at the end
of Stille Zeile Sechs, Maron takes over the memoirs of the GDR fathers, tells her own
version of the occurrences. In the end, Rosalind is not a positive heroine, because she has
crossed the line between victim and perpetrator. Similarly, Beerenbaum is both victim
and perpetrator. The reader finds himself in middle voice, is assigned the role of
confessor.627 In addition, Maron shows in Stille Zeile Sechs, how the repressive system of
the GDR state extended even into the realm of the family, and suggests that undoing the
damage this entailed, may very well take generations.628 At the same time, Maron argues
that psychoanalysis in oral or written form offers a tool to undo this damage, and portrays
writing or talking about the self as the first step to assume responsibility.629 Above all,
Maron’s novel is also a warning against a normalization of German history. Similar to
Grass, Maron’s believes that the struggle to come to terms with German history will
never be over. In contrast, the future generations, i.e. the readers, will have to embark on
their very own narrative struggle, psychoanalytic process, and dig their way through their
own, their parents and grandparents recollections, while at the same time being willing to
face the banality of evil in everyone. Without such a process reconciliation and mutual
understanding appear impossible, instead the human disposition to violence will lead to
repeated reversions of the correlation between victims and perpetrators.
627
Lee, 66-67
Konze, 199-200
629
Lee, 68-70
628
267
c. Gefährliche Verwandtschaft – Feelings of Kinship
Over the past two decades, Zafer Senocak, a German writer of Turkish heritage,
established himself as critical writer and essayist, who assumed the role of public
intellectual in the German context.630 Alongside other German intellectuals such as
Jürgen Habermas, Senocak aimed to develop a debate on multiculturalism in Germany.631
Such a debate was particularly needed after the attacks against foreigners, primarily
Turks, after the fall of the wall. Senocak contextualized these attacks in connection with
the aim to develop a German “Leitkultur” within the united Germany632, and argued in
accordance with Etienne Balibar that in contemporary Germany / Europe biological
racism has been replaced by cultural racism.633 In essence, the concept of culture, as a
conception of a specific society’s cultural context and perspective, just serves as another
way of exclusion.634 In this context, ‘culture’ just becomes a closed universe of discourse.
Although the reunification represented a chance for Germany to emphasize the multifaceted nature of the country’s culture, the reunification was largely justified with the
homogeneity of “being German”. While Senocak’s strives in his writings to problematize
the homogeneity of German culture, he also explores “issues of the Turkish diaspora in
Germany” as well as “the political relations between Christian Europe and Islam”.635 He
is particularly interested in the relationship between diasporic and national memory, and
630
Matthias Konzett “Writing Against the Grain: Zafer Senocak as Public Intellectual and Writer” In: Tom
Cheesman and Karin E. Yesilada, Zafer Senocak (Cardiff: University of Wales Press, 2003) 43 (Hereafter
quoted as: Konzett, page number)
631
James Jordan, “Zafer Seconcak’s Essays and Early Prose Fiction: From Collective Multiculturalism to
Fragmented Cultural Identities” In: Tom Cheesman and Karin E. Yesilada, Zafer Senocak (Cardiff:
University of Wales Press, 2003) 97 (Hereafter quoted as: Jordan, page number)
632
Tom Cheesman, “Ş/ß: Zafer Şenocak and the Civilization of Clashes” In: Tom Cheesman and Karin E.
Yesilada, Zafer Senocak (Cardiff: University of Wales Press, 2003) 149 (Hereafter quoted as: Cheesman,
page number)
633
Andreas Huyssen “Diaspora and Nation: Migration Into Other Pasts” In: New German Critique, No. 88,
Contemporary German Literature. (Winter, 2003) 154 (Hereafter quoted as: Huyssen, page number)
634
Jordan, 95
635
Huyssen, 157
268
how diasporic memory can be used to reflect critically on national memory.636 Within the
German context, Senocak has provided valuable insights about how Germany’s largest
immigrant group, the Turks, relate to the complicated memory history of their host
nation.637 In addition, his writings conjure up memories of Turkish German relations
during the First and Second World War, and serve as a reminder that Turks and Germans
were once brothers in arms.638 In this respect, Senocak is adding another valuable
perspective to both, German as well as Turkish main-stream national memory.
Moreover, Senocak has been very outspoken against stereotypical perceptions of
Turks in Germany639, as well exoticism, and criticized other Turkish German writers for
their “Selbst-Exotisierung” (self-exoticism)640. He has been particularly critical of Emine
Sevgi Özdamar, Germany’s most well-known, and highly awarded, female GermanTurkish writer.641 In addition, Senocak also rejects the image of the migrant as victim642
and demands that Turks in Germany assume responsibility for themselves.643 While
Senocak stared his career as a poet, and for a while primarily wrote essays, he has turned
recently to writing prose.644 In all his writing Senocak plays with issues of identity and
calls into question even the possibility of any form of fixed identity.645 In addition, his
636
Huyssen, 152-153
Huyssen, 156-157
638
Huyssen, 159
639
Cheesman, 149
640
For more information see: Ulrich Johannes Beil, “Wider der Exotismus: Zafer Senocaks west-östliche
Moderne“ In: Tom Cheesman and Karin E. Yesilada, Zafer Senocak (Cardiff: University of Wales Press,
2003) pp. 31-42
641
Jordan, 93
642
Moray McGowan, “Odysseus on the Ottoman, or ‘The Man in Skirts’: Exploratory Masculinities in the
Prose Texts of Zafer Senocak” In: Tom Cheesman and Karin E. Yesilada, Zafer Senocak (Cardiff:
University of Wales Press, 2003) 65 (Hereafter quoted as: McGowan, page number)
643
Jordan, 94
644
Konzett, 50
645
Karin E. Yesilada, „Poetry on its Way: aktuelle Zwischenstationen m lyrischen Werk Zafer
Senocaks“In: Tom Cheesman and Karin E. Yesilada, Zafer Senocak (Cardiff: University of Wales Press,
2003) 116 (Hereafter quoted as: Yesilada, page number)
637
269
poetry and his prose also deals with the generational conflict between fathers and sons,
i.e. in the Turkish context the conflict with Mustafa Kemal ‘Atatürk’, the father of all
Turks; the father of the nation.646 Another central theme in Senocak’s writing is the
equation of digging with remembering, „das Graben als Erinnerungsarbeit“647. Writers
are assigned and assume a central role in the construction and reconstruction of
memory.648 In a similar manner as Grass and Maron, Senocak also views writers as the
conscience of the nation and argues for a politically engaged literature.
Unfortunately, Senocak’s work has not been very well received in Germany and
many Germans have never heard of his literary work. Senocak’s novel, Gefährliche
Verwandtschaft did not sell well in Germany, was soon out of print, and even major
university libraries, like the FU Berlin, do not even own a copy of the book.649 In
particular after the reunification, Senocak appeared as an “unbequemer Schriftsteller”650,
who did not fit easily into the new “homogenous” German nation. Senocak recognized
that the German reunification allowed the new society to redefine its internal boundaries
and thus called for more heterogeneity in the united Germany. Thus, Senocak added
another competing narrative into the already highly charged debate after the German
reunification; he raised the voice of the post – Second World War German immigrants.651
He contributed another memory text, which could not easily be integrated into the newly
646
Yesilada, 117
“digging as part of the work of memory”
648
Yesilada, 118
649
Huyssen, 157
650
“inconvenient writer”
651
Leslie Adelson, “Touching Tales of Turks, Germans, and Jews: Cultural Alterity, Historical Narrative,
and Literary Riddles for the 1990s.” New German Critique, No. 80, Special Issue on the Holocaust, (Spring
– Summer 2000) 93-94 (Hereafter quoted as: Adelson, page number)
647
270
formed united nation.652 As a German writer of Turkish heritage, Senocak views and
writes the newly united German nation from the margin. He assumes this position,
however, voluntarily, because it offers him unique insights.653 Furthermore, it allows him
to remain more unpredictable as a writer, making it difficult for others to pin him down
as a certain kind of writer.654 Unlike Grass and Maron, who deal with questions of
memory in the German national context, Zafer Senocak’s novel explores memory
discourses and questions of guilt in a more transnational setting, and even comparative
setting, when he evokes the Armenian question.
The title of Senocak’s book, Gefährliche Verwandtschaft immediately conjures up
the titles of two other famous texts, one of them French, one of them German: Pierre
Choderlos de Laclos’ Les Liaisons dangereuses (1782) and Johann Wolfgang Goethe’s
Wahlverwandtschaften (1809), and thus with its title already hints subtly at FrenchGerman transnational relations, i.e. more generally points at the transnational nature of
literature and culture. In addition, the Senocak’s title implies that there is something
uncanny about the family, nuclear or national. The main protagonist and first person
narrator of Gefährliche Verwandtschaft, Sascha Muhteschem, is known to Senocak’s
readers already from his two previous novels, Der Mann im Unterhemd (1995) and Die
Prärie (1997) and makes a fourth appearance in Der Errotomane (1999). Whereas the
protagonist is easily recognizable in the second and third book, his identity is more
652
Monika Shafi, “Joint Ventures: Identity and Travel in Novels by Emine Sevgi Özdamar and Zafer
Senocak” In: Comparative Literature Studies, Vol. 40, No.2, 2003, 209 (Hereafter quoted as: Shafi, page
number)
653
Matthias Konzett, “Zafer Senocak im Gespräch” The German Quaterly 76.2 (Spring, 2003) 132
(Hereafter quoted as: Matthias, page number)
654
Konzett, 57
271
disguised in the first and fourth novel.655 In an interview Senocak stated that of all four
books Gefährliche Verwandtschaft was the most theoretical and that its narrative was
inspired by the discussion about national belonging, which succeeded the German
reunification. Senocak wanted to expose the constructed nature of national identity.656 At
the same time, Senocak also purposefully blends the identities of Sascha, the narrator,
and Senocak, the author. All three novels, Der Mann im Unterhemd, Die Prärie, and
Gefährliche Verwandtschaft, contain nuances, which attempt to mislead the reader to
equate author and narrator. In this respect, Gefährliche Verwandtschaft, also appears as
‘faction’, and liberally blends fact and fiction.657 Although Senocak refers to the book as
a novel, several of the thirty-five chapters have a strong essayistic focus, which is why
Monika Shafi calls the book an “essayistic idea that never matures into novel form”.658
As aforementioned, Bakhtin identified an amalgamation of different forms of text as
particularly typical of the modern novel. Thus, Gefährliche Verwandtschaft truly is a
modern novel. In addition, Senocak constantly emphasizes the constructed nature of the
text, and letting it thus at times appears even as autobiographical.659 When Sascha, the
narrator, the writer and journalist, accepts a job to portray young Turks in Germany, he
lends
his
voice
to
“Ali,
Immobilienmakler”660
(GV,
96-97),
to
“Kamile,
Modedesignerin”661 (GV, 98-99), to “Halil, Lehrer, z. Z. arbeitslos”662 (GV, 100-101) but
655
Tom Cheesman, “’Einfach eine neue Form’: Gespräch mit Zafer Senocak” In: Tom Cheesman and
Karin E. Yesilada, Zafer Senocak (Cardiff: University of Wales Press, 2003) 21-22 (Hereafter quoted as:
Cheesman, page number)
656
Cheesman, 22
657
Konzett, 53
658
Shafi, 210
659
Shafi, 194 & 201
660
“Ali, Real Estate Agent”
661
“Kamile, Fashion Designer”
662
“Halil, Teacher, temporarily unemployed”
272
also to “Zafer, Schriftsteller”663 (GV, 102-109). The latter monologue represents a fusion
of articles and essays, which Zafer Senocak had previously published, thus insinuating
once more to the reader that Sascha, and Zafer are the same person. At the same time,
Senocak has always strongly rejected interpreting a writer’s work through his / her
biography.664 Thus, despite the obvious similarities, Sascha, the narrator, should not be
confused with Zafer, the author, the former is clearly an invention of the latter.
In Der Mann im Unterhemd, and in Die Prärie, the reader is left in the dark about
Sascha Muhteschem’s ancestry and can only make assumptions. Gefährliche
Verwandtschaft now reveals Sascha Muhteschem’s background. In the first person
narrator’s identity quest German as well as Turkish history play a role.665 Sascha grew up
in Germany, in Munich, and is of affluent German Turkish Jewish background.666 He
describes himself as a nomad, who only calls a place home after he has left it (GV, 43).
In this respect, Sascha the narrator follows the same philosophy as Senocak, the author,
who regards transition and movement as a creative force.667 Very similar to Senocak
himself, although the time frame differs, Sascha, the narrator, accepted a job as writer in
residence in the U.S. in February of 1989 (VG, 18) and returned to Germany in the
summer of 1992 (GV, 19). The novel’s frame narrative spans a little more than a year.
Due to his absence Sascha was only able to observe the fall of the wall and the German
reunification at a distance from abroad. Back in Germany, Sascha settled with girlfriend
Marie, a German linguist, whom he met in the U.S., in the united Berlin, unsure how to
deal with the decisively changed historical circumstances:
663
“Zafer, Writer”
Jordan, 102
665
Shafi, 194
666
Shafi, 199
667
Matthias, 133-134
664
273
Als ich aus Amerika nach Berlin zurückkam, staunte ich über die
Stimmung in Berlin. Die Mauer war weg, und schon im nächsten
Augenblick war ein neues, vereintes Deutschland entstanden, kein loser
Bund von Ländern, sondern ein richtiger deutsche Nationalstaat. Aber die
Zahl derer, die sich die Mauer zurückwünschten stieg von Tag zu Tag.
Jene, die nach der Wende arbeitslos geworden waren, oder die, die einen
zu starren Hals hatten, um sich politisch schnell genug zu wenden, konnte
ich verstehen. Sie hatten etwas verloren und trauerten alten Tagen nach,
die ihnen im nachhinein wie die Tage einer geborgenen Kindheit
erschienen. Das Ende einer Diktatur kann für gläubige Untertanen so
etwas wie den Verlust eines geliebten Vaters bedeuten. . . .
. . . Hätte die DDR nicht einfach als demokratischer, aber souveräner Staat
der EU beitreten können, ähnlich wie Österreich? Eine deutsche Nation
erschien manchen wie die Büchse der Pandora. Lange Jahre war sie unter
Verschluß gehalten worden. Und jetzt hatte man sich plötzlich wieder als
Deutscher zu fühlen. Auch wenn man kein professioneller Historiker war.
Gerne hätte man diese Dinge untereinander noch etwas ausführlicher
diskutiert. Doch der Kanzler hatte allen einen Strich durch die Rechnung
gemacht. . . Dieser Mann hatte einfach den Arm ausgestreckt und den
reifen Apfel vom Baum der Geschichte gepflückt. (GV, 33-35)668
Unaffected by the euphoria, which surrounded the fall of the wall, Sascha laments the
great speed at which the two German states united. While he acknowledges Kohl’s clever
political move, he still ponders alternatives to the accelerated Western dominated
reunification, such as the creation of a sovereign democratic GDR state, which could
have joined EU independently. Furthermore, Sascha notes that although the wall has
physically been removed, it still exists and has even been solidified as a mental barrier
between East and West. The legacy of the wall reaches far beyond the reunification,
668
My translation: When I cam back to Berlin from the U.S., I was surprised about the mood in Berlin.
Die wall was gone and practically overnight a new united Germany had formed, not a loose federation of
states, but a real German nation state. But the number of those, who wished to have the wall back,
increased daily. I could understand those, who had lost their jobs after the fall of the wall, or those, whose
neck was too stiff to change politically so quickly. They had lost something and longed for the old days,
which appeared to them in retrospect like the times of a safe childhood. The end of a dictatorship is for
loyal subjects like the loss of a beloved father. . .
. . . Could the GDR not have just joined the EU as a democratic but sovereign state similar to Austria? A
German “nation” appeared somewhat like Pandora’s box, which had remained closed for many years, but
all of a sudden you had to feel like a German again. Even if you were not a professional historian. Some
would have liked a more thorough discussion of matters. However, the chancellor put a spoke in
everyone’s wheel. . . This man had just stretched out his arm and picked the ripe apple from the tree of
history. (GV, 33-35)
274
which just achieved a formal German unity. Thus, he offers understanding for those GDR
citizens, who still mourn the loss of their country, comparing the loss of their
“Vaterland”669 to the death of a father. In this respect, Senocak draws a comparison
between the traumatic end of Hitler’s Germany and that of the GDR. As previously
discussed, the Mitscherlichs likened the end of Nazi German to the loss of a beloved
father, a loss, which required mourning.670 On a very personal level Sascha can, however,
relate to this feeling of loss, because soon after his arrival in Germany, he finds out that
his divorced parents died together on their way to Munich in a car crash. As their only
son, Sascha is the sole heir, and finds himself in an unforeseen family void, without many
memories of his parents and grandparents.671 On an allegorical level, the sudden loss of
Sascha’s parents mirrors the sudden erasure of GDR, and to a lesser extent of the FRG.
The previous identities of the Second World War’s two “children”, East and West
Germany, which had been natured by parents “the Wall and the Cold War”, had been
eliminated after their “parents” sudden death. Just like Sascha, the newborn child “unified
Germany” finds itself in a family void, and in need to reinvent its identity. Within this
post-wall German national identity quest, people like Sascha Muhteschem, a
“Möchtegern-Deutscher”672 (GV, 131) of Turkish descent, represent a problem, and are
threatened with exclusion.673 It also does not help that Sascha rejects any form of fixed
identity for himself:
Ich hatte keine Identität. Damit hatten Menschen in meiner Umgebung
zunehmend Probleme. Es war, als hätte der Fall der Mauer, der
Zusammenbruch der alten Ordnung, nicht nur eine befreiende Funktion
669
“fatherland” – mother country
Compare Chapter 3
671
Shafi, 208
672
“Would-be-German”
673
Shafi, 211
670
275
gehabt. Ohne Mauer fühlt man sich nicht mehr geborgen. Identität ist zum
Ersatzbegriff für Geborgenheit geworden. Man fixiert sich, den anderen,
seine Herkunft, um Nähen und Distanzen zu bestimmen. (GV, 47)674
The above quote contains the argument that the wall gave East and West Germans a
feeling of security and that over the course of almost thirty years, Germans on both sides
of the wall, had arranged themselves quite comfortably with the existing situation. In this
respect, the fall of the wall also entailed a feeling of great insecurity and discomfort, and
made issues of empathic nationalism much more prominent.675 Now that the former
dichotomies of East and West do not apply anymore, people rediscover their ethnic
heritage, i.e. German history to define their identity. Within these parameters, Sascha
represents a problem, because he regards his identity similar to language as constant in
flux.676 Just like Senocak, the author, Sascha, the narrator plays with and highly questions
any concepts of fixed identity.677 In 1993, after the attacks against foreigners, primarily
Turks, in Germany, Senocak lamented that “Nun droht in Deutschland vor lauter Einfalt
die Vielfalt verlorenzugehen.”678 In this respect, Sascha, the narrator, and Senocak, the
author, both express a belief in fragmenting identities, on a personal as well as national
level.679 They draw inspiration out of being “history’s outsider”, and as Zafer Senocak
put it himself “history/story as document and invention becomes the book’s real
protagonist, and it becomes even clearer that the search for truth cannot easily be
674
My translation: I did not have an identity, and a lot of people around me increasingly had a problem
with that. It was, as if the fall of the wall, the collapse of the old order, did not just have a liberating effect.
Without the wall, people did not feel secure anymore and identity became a synonym for security. You
locate (fix) yourself and others, your heritage, in order to define closeness and distance.
675
Huyssen, 158-159
676
Shafi, 208
677
Yesilada, 116
678
Zafer Senocak, “Deutsche werden – Türken bleiben”, In: Clause Leggewie and Zafer Senocak (eds.),
Deutsche Türken / Türk Almanlar: Das Ende der Geduld / Sabrin sonu (Reinbek: Rowohlt, 1993), 11
(Hereafter quoted as: Zafer, page number)
679
Jordan, 92
276
documented.”680 Instead any form of historic or national truth appears highly multifaceted and evasive. The fragmentary structure of Gefährliche Verwandtschaft as well as
the ongoing search for a story is tantamount to Senocak’s belief in diversity, multiple
competing narratives within history, within any nation.
As his parent’s only child, Sascha inherits quite a fortune and a lot of mysteries.
In addition, his inheritance includes a silver box with his grandfather’s diaries, a total of
twenty notebooks, dating from 1916 to 1936. All of the entries in the notebooks are very
neat, almost all of the same length, written in a beautiful hand-writing without any
crossed out word. (GV, 14) However, Sascha is unable to decipher any of the entries,
because his grandfather wrote them in Arabic and Cyrillic script. Thus, the grandson
inherits a house of words, which he cannot inhabit.681 His parents’ unforeseen death as
well as his grandfather’s mysterious diary legacy, finally cause Sascha to confront his
mixed and conflicting heritage: From his mother’s side Sascha is German-Jewish and
from his father’s side he his Turkish. Sascha himself, however, was born and raised in
Germany, and never learned to speak Turkish. Blond-haired and blue-eyed, Sascha looks
so German that Nazi widows thankfully hand over their husbands personal documents to
him.682 While Sascha’ maternal grandparents survived the Nazi regime (unlike other
relatives who died in German concentration camps) as refugees in Istanbul, Sascha’s
paternal grandfather was a founding member of the Turkish republic, and possibly
involved in and profited from the Armenian genocide.683 In an interview with Tom
680
Zafer Senocak and Tom Cheesman, “The Capital of the Fragment” New German Critique, No. 88,
Contemporary German Literature, (Winter, 2003) 146 (Hereafter quoted as: Senocak, Cheesman, page
number)
681
Adelson, 120
682
Adelson, 121
683
Huyssen, 160
277
Cheesman, Senocak stated that his maternal grandfather, who was a typical member of
the Turkish Republic’s founding generation, inspired the mysterious grandfather figure in
Gefährliche Verwandtschaft.684 In 1936, Sascha’s Turkish grandfather, a successful
politician and entrepreneur, committed suicide shortly before he was supposed to
accompany the Turkish Olympic team to Berlin.685 Sascha suspects that his grandfather’s
diaries possibly contain the key to his unresolved suicide.686 As a result of his German,
Jewish, and Turkish heritage, Sascha is the offspring of victims and perpetrators, and
understandably cannot easily come to terms with his identity.687 At the same time, this
complex heritage of the main protagonist weaves historical references to the German
reunification, the First and the Second World War, the Holocaust, the Armenian
genocide, as well as the Ottoman Empire into the text.688 Simultaneously, Sascha’s
ambiguous stand between victims and perpetrators is reflective of Senocak’s rejection of
the migrant as victim.689 Undoing the secret of his grandfather thus suddenly appears to
Sascha as the key to himself, and he decides to write a novel based on his grandfather’s
diaries.690 By finding out more about his grandfather and solving the riddle of his suicide,
Sascha hopes to explore unknown facets and gain a deeper knowledge of his own self. At
the same time, it is an attempt to recuperate the loss of inter-generational knowledge.
Although Sascha finds and hires someone to translate his grandfather’s diaries for
him, it suddenly appeals much more to him to fill the family void himself and to invent
684
Cheesman, 23-24
Huyssen, 161
686
Senocak, Cheesman, 146
687
Huyssen, 195160
688
Adleson, 122
689
McGowan, 64-65
690
Jordan, 101
685
278
his grandfather’s story.691 With his parents the past also died (GV, 23). Now, Sascha is
free to invent his own version of his ancestry. There is no-one to ask anymore. Thus,
Sascha decides to make use of the unused side of history by just fabricating his
grandfather’s tale:
Geschichte hat immer eine verbrauchte und eine unverbrauchte Seite. An
der verbrauchten Seite sind die Historiker am Werk. Sie versuchen zu
rekonstruieren. An der unverbrauchten Seite wollte ich tätig sein. Ich
verknüpfte die Fäden in meinem Kopf zu einem Roman, dessen zentrale
Figur mein Großvater sein sollte. Meine Aufgabe war es zu konstruieren,
was nicht zu rekonstruieren war. Großvaters Figure war wie geschaffen
für dieses Vorhaben. Vieles in seinem Leben war verdeckt geblieben. Sein
Tod war mysteriös, letztlich unaufgeklärt. Ich hatte seine Tagebücher, die
ich nicht lesen konnte. Wozu brauchte ich Archive? Waren sie nicht bloß
ein unpersönliches Gedächtnis? Es gab für mich nichts zu erinnern. (GV,
51)692
Out of the above quote from Gefährliche Verwandtschaft speaks Zafer Senocak’s
fascination with history, and how it influences people’s minds and self-perceptions.693 At
the same time, it becomes clear that history/story as a document of invention, and not
Sascha or his grandfather, is the main protagonist of the novel.694 In addition,
Sascha/Senocak reflects on the unreliability of memory. Confronted with the inaccessible
writings of his grandfather’s memories, Sascha recognizes that his grandfather’s
recollections will probably not come much closer to the truth than his invention of his
grandfather’s story. Without having to be loyal to a certain historical perspective, Sascha
is free to dig in the dirt of history and make up his own truth. For both, Sascha, the
691
Huyssen, 161
My translation: History always has a used and an unused side. Historians work on the used side of
history. They try to reconstruct. I wanted to work on the unused side. I interlaced the threads in my head to
a novel, whose main protagonist would be my grandfather. My job would be to construct, what could not
be reconstructed. The figure of my grandfather was well suited for this plan. Much of his life had remained
hidden. His death was mysterious, ultimately unsolved. I had his diaries, which I could not read. For what
did I need archives? Were they not merely an impersonal memory? There was nothing for me to remember.
(GV, 51)
693
Matthias, 131
694
Huyssen, 161
692
279
narrator, as well as for Senocak the author, writing as narrative deconstruction is crucial
in assessing historic truths:
Großvater hat Tagebuch geschrieben. Ich schreibe Bücher. Ein Tagebuch
ist kein Buch. Es ist vielmehr ein Organ seines Verfassers. Es legt offen,
was ein Erzähler von seinen Figuren verheimlicht. Die entscheidende
Frage beim Erzählen ist, ob Schreiber, Figuren und Leser im Bann des
Erzählten sich selbst finden können. (GV, 41)695
However, there is a clear difference between writing autobiographic writing and writing a
novel. A diary appears as an external organ of the author, which contains personal
secrets. It represents a monologue, which serves the promotion of a certain selfunderstanding of the writer. In contrast, a novel aims at establishing a dialogue between
author, narrator, and readers. In this respect, Gefährliche Verwandtschaft represents an
attempt by Zafer Senocak, to explore his own writing strategies696, while at the same time
entering into a discussion with his readers about the contradictions about the fallibility of
memory and the constructedness of history, i.e. his-story.
From the very beginning of the novel, Senocak draws a connection between
memory and dream. The novel opens with the unnamed first person narrator recounting a
nightmare about his own death:
Als ich aufwachte, hatte ich im Gesicht an der Stelle, wo mich die Kugel
getroffen hatte, einen Pickel . . .
Ich weiß nicht, warum ich in dem Bus war, der überfallen wurde. Ich
weiß nicht, wohin ich fuhr. Ich weiß auch nicht, wo ich war. . . .
Als sie von draußen in den Bus schossen, wurde niemand getroffen. Die
Menschen duckten sich. Sie blieben ruhig, schienen an solche Vorfälle
gewöhnt, als wäre es nichts Besonderes, wenn das Leben auf dem Spiel
steht.
695
My translation: Grandfather kept a diary. I write books (novels). A diary is not a book (novel). It is
rather an organ of its composer. It exposes what a narrator (author) keeps secret from his protagonists. The
crucial question when narrating is, whether writer, protagonists and readers can find themselves in the spell
of the narrated story. (GV, 41)
696
Matthias, 132
280
Es blieb ruhig im Bus. Keiner regte sich. Mir fiel auf, daß der Bus
keinen Fahrer hatte. Ein Mann mit einem Maschinengewehr stieg vorne
ein. Er richtete sein Gewehr auf mich und begann zu schießen. Ich habe
mich etwas geduckt, so daß er mich am Kopf traf. Normalerweise ist das
ein tödlicher Schuß. Aber statt zu sterben, bin ich aufgewacht. (GV, 78)697
This emphatic moment of disorientation and danger introduces the reader to an unreliable
first person narrator and sets the tone for the whole novel.698 Just like the nightmare, the
novel’s declared main story, the story of Sascha’s grandfather, appears rather vague;
remains elusive; dream-like. The grandfather’s story constantly fades into the background
in Gefährliche Verwandtschaft, but at the same time it lingers as a nightmarish presence
throughout the novel. The reader struggles to make sense of Sascha’s fragmented
amalgamation of past and present occurrences just like he would of a disturbing dream.
At the same time, in reality things are not / were not, what they seemed. It is quite ironic
that the bullet of the dream turns out to be a pimple. Senocak is determined to shoot holes
into “historic truths”, or at least adorn them with annoying pimples.699 At the same time,
the bullet/pimple analogy also reminds the reader of the parallel realities in modern
society. While some people in the world have no other worry but the pimples on their
faces, others worry about not getting shot.
Throughout the novel, Senocak repeatedly alludes to dreams and stories and their
fleeting nature:
697
My translation: When I woke up, I discovered a pimple right at that place in my face, where the bullet
had hit me. . .
I don’t know why I was in the bus, which got robbed. I don’t know where I was going. I don’t know
where I was . . .
When they shot from the outside into the bus, nobody go hit. The people ducked down. They remained
calm as if they were used to such occurrences, as if it was nothing special, when you life was at risk.
It remained quiet in the bus. Nobody moved. I noticed that the bus did not have a driver. A man with a
machine gun entered the bus. He pointed his gun at me and began to shoot. I ducked down a little so that he
hit my head. Normally that is a fatal shot. But instead of dying I woke up.
698
Shafi, 207
699
Adelson, 113
281
Erzähl die Geschichte, erzähl die Geschichte, wie sie sich ereignet hat.
Erzähl sie, auch wenn sie nicht deine eigene Geschichte ist. Irgendwann
einmal hast du sie gehört und wieder vergessen, dann hast du dich wieder
daran erinnert und hast sie nicht glauben können. Man muß nicht jede
Geschichte glauben, die man hört. Es gäbe keine Geschichten, wären sie
alle wirklich. Die Konturen der Wirklichkeit sind am schärfsten an der
Grenze zum Traum. Wahrheit und Einbildung streiten miteinander. (GV,
77)700
Above all, according to Freud, dreams offer us another perspective on memory, on reality
by letting our subconscious speak.701 Senocak stated in the interview with Matthias
Konzett, that he views dreams as providing us with the possibility to access our forgotten
and repressed memories.702 In our dreams, our subconscious weaves its own story out of
the impressions of reality. These stories, i.e. alternate perspectives, are, however, highly
transitory. As soon as we wake up, dreams start to escape us; sometimes we do not even
remember them at all. Similarly, the reality of the present begins to vanish from our
memory as soon as it becomes the past. In addition, our memory is highly selective.
Some things we remember, others not at all. Any recollections of the past are thus
inadvertently incomplete. Nevertheless, Senocak undoubtedly views dreams and memory
as important tools to make sense of the present. This becomes clear, inter alias, when
Sascha, the narrator, represent dreams as an inspirational force:
Ich beginne meine Texte meistens im Halbschlaf. Dann konkurrieren
Sprache und Traum miteinander. Ich habe immer Papier und Stift neben
dem Bett. Ich finde keine Ruhe, bevor ich nicht alles notiert habe. Worte,
die ich nicht aufschreibe, gehen wieder verloren. Sie hervorzuholen ist
schwerer, als einen verlorenen Ring aus einem tiefen Brunnen zu bergen.
700
My translation: Tell the story, tell the story, how it happened. Tell it, even if it is not your own story.
At some time you heard it and then you forgot about it, then you remembered it, and then could not believe
it. You do not have to believe every story you hear. There would be no stories, if all of them were real. The
outlines of reality appear more focused at the cross-over to dream. Truth and imagination are in conflict
with each other.
701
Freud, 44-56
702
Matthias, 135
282
Für den Dichter ist der Schlaf das, was für den Fischer das Meer ist.
Jagdgrund, Zuhause, Fremde. (GV, 79)703
Dreams and memory, however, can only be turned into effective tools for comprehending
the present through writing. Without writing them down, dreams and memories are lost;
recuperating them becomes almost impossible. Karin E. Yesilada argues in her article
“Poetry on its Way” that Senocak links writing poetry with somnambulating; as emerging
out of the ‘twilight zone’ between waking and sleeping.704 Similarly, the above quote
insinuates that this twilight zone inspires not just Senocak’s poetry, but all sorts of his
writing. At the same time, Senocak argues that writing things down allows the individual
to structure his / her thoughts and experiences, and paves the way for discovering new
insights:
Ich notiere mir Sätze, um sie später an passender Stelle wieder verwenden
zu können. Ich habe immer zwei Hefte bei mir, wenn ich lese. In eines der
Hefte, daß ich „Erfindungen“ betitelt habe, trage ich meine Gedanken und
Einfälle ein. Manchmal gelingen mir Sätze wie: „Zwischen Unsagbarem
und Banalem gibt es den Alltag.“ In das andere Heft, das ich
„Erinnerungen“ überschrieben habe, kommen Zitate aus den Büchern, die
ich lese. Dieses Heft füllt sich meistens schnell, so daß ich schon mehrere
„Erinnerungen“ habe, während es bisher nur eine halbvolle „Erfindung“
gibt. Es kommt auch vor, daß ich dies Hefte verwechsele, daß sich
Erinnerungen in die Erfindungen hineinschmuggeln oder umgekehrt. Ich
nehme das nicht so genau. Ich bin kein Wissenschaftler. Ich bin auch kein
Feind der Wissenschaft. Aber ich traue ihren Ergebnissen nicht. Vor allem
glaube ich nicht, daß es eine objektive Stimme geben kann, die Wissen
sammelt und verbreitet. Unsere Wahrnehmung der Welt ist subjektiv.
Kälte, Wärme, Größe, Stärke – das alles sind relative Begriffe. Was
meßbar ist, bleibt austauschbar. (GV, 84-85)705
703
My translation: I begin my texts usually semi-somnolent. At that point language and dream compete
with each other. I always keep paper and pen next to my bed. I cannot calm down, before I wrote down
everything. Words, which I do not write down, get lost. To retrieve them is more important than recovering
a lost ring out of a deep well. For the poet sleep is, what the sea is for the fisher. Hunting ground, home, the
unknown. (GV, 79)
704
Karin, 119
705
My translation: I write down sentences, in order to be able to use them later at a suitable position. I
always keep two notebooks with me when I read. In one of the notebooks, which I titled “fiction”, I record
my thoughts and ideas Sometimes I succeed to write sentences like: “Between the unutterable and the banal
there is everyday life. “ In the other notebooks, which I gave the title “memories”, I note down quotes from
283
In her article “Joint Ventures: Identity Politics and Travel in Novels by Emine Sevgi
Özdamar and Zafer Senocak”, Monika Shafi presents the argument that Sascha’s two
notebooks are symbolic of the rift between narrative cohesion and literary imagination,
which define and eventually lead to what Shafi regards as the shortcomings of Senocak’s
novel; the lack of narrative richness i.e. detail.706 As previously explained, Gefährliche
Verwandtschaft is, however, highly fragmented and lacks a story on purpose. In this
respect, Sascha’s two notebooks are tantamount to any writer’s dilemma that hardly
anything new can be written. While we have multiple memories of the past, we often fail
to envision the future. Many writers fictionalize therefore what has been, rather than
imagining what will be. At the same time, Sascha’s memory notebooks, with its quotes
from other books, also comments on the intertextual nature of the modern novel, which
gains importance primarily through its relation to other texts. In addition, the lack of
literary imagination, which Shafi laments, forces the reader to assume middle voice.707
Without the reader’s contemplations on Senocak’s story the novel is incomplete. This,
however, entails a multiplicity of different voices, because Senocak’s readers will all
respond differently to his narration. Thus, the real stories in Gefährliche Verwandtschaft
develop out of the engagement of author, narrator and the readers. Each reader will,
however, respond differently to Senocak’s story. In this respect, Gefährliche
books I read. This notebook generally fills up quickly so that I already have several “memories”, while only
so far only one half-filled “fiction” exists. It also happens that I confuse the two notebooks so that
memories get smuggled into the fiction and vice versa. I take liberties with it. I am not a scientist. I am also
not an enemy of science, but I do not trust their results. Above all I don’t think that there can be an
objective voice, which collects knowledge and circulates it. Our perception of the world is subjective. Cold,
heat, magnitude, power - these are all relative terms. What cannot be measured remains interchangeable.
(GV, 84-85)
706
Shafi, 210
707
I refer here to Roland Barthes as previously discussed in Chapter 3.
284
Verwandtschaft virtually demands a plurality of competing narratives of history and the
nation.
Throughout the novel, Sascha’s fictional approach to the past is contrasted by his
girl-friend Marie’s endeavor to film a documentary about Talat Pascha (GV, 15). As
another Young Turks leader under Atatürk, Talat Pascha appears almost as Sascha’s
grandfather’s Doppelgänger. Just like Sascha’s grandfather, Pascha was also both, a
perpetrator and a victim. In 1921, a young Armenian shot Pascha in Berlin in the
Hardenbergstrasse. As the Minister of Interior and Grand Vizier, Pascha had been
responsible “for the deportations and deaths of hundreds of thousands of Armenians in
Anatolia.”708 In Germany, Pascha had sought and found refuge from threats of criminal
proceedings against him in the Ottoman Empire.709 The story of Talat Pascha is the
second story in the novel, which eludes the reader and is never really told. While
Sascha’s grandfather’s story primarily represents the untold story of his family history,
the story of Talat Pascha is symbolic of the untold stories of Turkish German relations
prior to the guest worker contracts. Both, however, represent repressed stories, which
people chose not to remember.710 Similar to Sascha, Marie gets also constantly sidetracked from her project and in the end takes a pro-longed research trip to Greece and
Turkey. In contrast to Sascha, who only wants to fictionalize his grandfather’s story,
Marie aims to document, i.e. reconstruct the story of Talat Pascha realistically. While
Sascha only wants to narrate his grandfather story, Marie also wants to visualize Pascha’s
708
Senocak/Cheesman, 145
Adelson, 122
710
Senocak/Cheesman, 145-146
709
285
story, in order to make it seem more authentic.711 For Marie, images and words not only
complement each other but are almost the same:
“Bilder sind auch nur Worte”, meinte sie lapidar. „Man muß nur bereit
sein, sie zu lesen. Kennst du den Unterschied zwischen schauen und
lesen? Wer ein Bild sieht, kann das Bild noch lange nicht lesen. Lesen
kann nur derjenige, der schaut.
Marie will Dokumentarfilmerin werden. Bilder, die nicht dokumentiert
werden, sind für sie verlorene Worte, vergessene Begriffe.
„Dokumentieren heißt, die Bilder vor der Welt zu retten, eine andere
Sprache zu finden, als die Welt sie findet“, so formuliert sie es.
Am Anfang hatte es mich befremdet, daß Marie ein Wort wie „Welt“ in
den Mund nahm. Ein klotziger Begriff, den ich mir selbst untersagte. (VG,
20-21)712
Marie argues that images are like words in the sense that recognizing a word, an image,
does not mean one automatically understands the word or image. Although, Sascha is
able to identify and possible can even read the words in his grandfather’s diary, he lacks
the skills to understand them. Similarly, in particular in our modern era, we see a lot of
images, but lack the skills or the information to comprehend their meaning. However, as
previously explained, based on the theories of Baudrillard and Arendt, this leads to the
banality of evil in modern images.713 While Marie believes that by making a
documentary, she enables people to see and understand the images, Sascha believes that
people can only attain understanding if they engage in their own narrative struggle. Thus,
Sascha does not even narrate his grandfather’s story, does not even offer his readers
pictures in words. Instead, Sascha/Senocak appeals to the readers to invoke their own
711
Adelson, 122-123
My translation: “Images are also just words”, she argued simply. “You have to be willing to read them.
Do you know the difference between watching and reading? Whoever sees an image cannot necessarily
read the image. Only those who watch (closely –MY EMPHASIS) can read.
Marie wants to becomes a documentary film makes. Undocumented images are for her lost images,
forgotten terms. She put it this way: “Documenting means, saving images from the world, to find another
language than the world finds it. In the beginning, it alienated me that Marie used a word like “world”. It is
such a bulky term, which I prohibit myself to use. (GV, 20-21)
713
Chapter 2 & 3
712
286
imagination; to dig up their own repressed family stories. Sascha’s grandfather’s story
just stands for all the other grandfather stories never told:
Ich erklärte das kommende Jahr zu einem Wendepunkt in meinem Leben.
Ich sehnte mich danach, tiefere Schichten meiner selbst zu finden. Diese
Tiefe war nur durch die Entdeckung meiner Herkunft zu erreichen. Ich
wollte nicht länger wurzelos sein, unverantwortlich für alles, was länger
als zwanzig Jahre her war. Plötzlich erschien mir Großvater als das
Geheimnis, das zwischen mir und meiner Herkunft stand. Ich mußte sein
Geheimnis lüften, um zu mir selbst zu kommen.
28
In unserer Kultur existiert kein Begriff von Schuld. Wir kennen nur die
Sünde. Sie umreißt unsere Verantwortung einem göttlichen Wesen
gegenüber. Aber wir haben keine Verantwortung vor uns selbst. Schuld ist
eine persönliche Frage. Man ist mit seiner Schuld immer allein. Wir sind
es nicht gewohnt allein zu sein.
Eintragung vom 21.2.1921, gelesen am 19.9.1993
(GV, 118-119)714
When Sascha receives his own Turkish grandfather’s personal documents, and possibly
inherent written confession of his participation in the Armenian genocide, Sascha already
owns 520 personal hand-written documents, i.e. possible confessions by German World
War II veterans, which he collected over the years from their widows (GV, 63-66). These
are the other untold stories of Senocak’s Gefährliche Verwandtschaft. Just like Sascha
hesitates to engage with his grandfather’s story, many Germans, in particular after the fall
of the wall, refused to remember their father’s and grandfather’s stories and possible
guilt. Central to Sascha’s grandfather’s story and thus to Sascha’s self analysis, as well as
the readers’, soon becomes the question of guilt. It is, however, not Sascha’s, i.e. the
714
My translation: I decided that the upcoming year was a turning point in my life. I wished to explore
deeper spheres of myself. I could only reach these spheres by discovering my heritage. No longer did I
want to be without roots, not responsible for anything that was longer ago than twenty years. All of a
sudden my grandfather appeared as a secret, which stood between me and my ancestry. I had to uncover
this secret, in order to find myself.
28
No concept of guilt exists in our culture. We only know sin. It describes our responsibility towards a divine
being. But we do not have any responsibility before ourselves. Guilt is a personal question. You are always
alone with your guilt. We are not used to being alone.
Entry of 2/21/1921, read on 9/19/1993
287
readers’, personal guilt, but rather the guilt they inherited from their fathers, or
grandfathers. The quote above contains the sole entry from the grandfather’s diaries,
which is reprinted in the book. At the same time, Sascha is clearly an unreliable narrator
and thus the reader is hesitant to accept the quote as genuinely the grandfather’s. Because
of the ambiguous authorship, it remains unclear what culture is meant. Instead of
assuming these reflections on guilt to be specific to any culture, it appears most plausible
to view them as pertinent to any culture, i.e. society. Misconducts on an individual level
are usually dealt with as sins, which have to be justified before the self, i.e. a divine
being. Guilt, however, is described as a personal choice, a burden voluntarily taken upon
the self. We choose to feel guilty or not; for the deeds of our ancestors, the Holocaust, the
Armenian genocide. At the same time, modern society does not really offer much space
for guilt, because guilt is a feeling that one encounters when alone. In modern society, we
are, however, rarely ever alone. In addition, the above statement also implies that it is
difficult to talk about one’s guilt, to share it. Therefore the reader never finds out the
whole truth about the Sascha’s grandfather’s guilt, i.e. his reason to kill himself, because
to a certain extent Sascha refuses to share his grandfather’s guilt. Similarly, Turks refuse
to share their ancestor’s Armenian genocide guilt, while Germans refuse to accept their
grandparent’s Holocaust guilt.
While guilt on an individual level has to be voluntarily assumed, it appears that
guilt can also be publicly assigned; it is also a legal matter:
Deutschland war wie ein Gerichtssaal, in dem ununterbrochen angeklagt
und gerichtet wurde. Waren es früher die Nazis und ihre Schergen, die
zumindest seit den späten sechziger Jahren als Dauergast auf der
Anklageban Platz genommen hatten, so gesellten sich jetzt Stasiagenten,
Informelle Mitarbeiter, Parteifunktionäre der SED, überhaupt die Politiker,
die Scheinasylanten, die UNO, die Serben, die Konfliktpädogen, die
288
Hütchenspieler, türkische Generäle, die Kurden, linke Lehrer, Neonazis,
die Ideologen der siebziger und die Müßiggänger der achtziger Jahre dazu.
Ein Volk von Gerichtsdienern, Anwälten und Richtern hatte alle Hände
voll zu tun. (GV, 34)715
On a national level, guilt, i.e. the guilt of the Holocaust, in Germany was largely a legal
rather than a personal issue. Few Germans voluntarily assumed responsibility for the
Holocaust individually and acknowledged their guilt. Instead, in post-1945 the majority
of Germans offered various excuses for their support of Hitler’s regime, and generally
claimed ignorance of the concentration camps. Thus, the German public dealt with the
Holocaust guilt primarily by conducting trials, i.e. assigning guilt, and paying reparations
to Israel. The German word for guilt is “Schuld”, which is closely related to the word
“Schulden” debt – owing money. This connection between guilt and money stems from
the religious custom to pay for the absolution of sins, which was the basis for Martin
Luther’s challenge to the Roman Catholic Church and helped to trigger the Reformation.
This appears as a very rational, economic way of dealing with guilt, a deeply emotional,
personal issue. In Gefährliche Verwandtschaft, Sascha, the narrator also addresses the
etymological relation between guilt and owing money in German. However, he concludes
that: “Wenn man in Deutschland von Schuld spricht, denkt man nicht an ein überzogenes
Bankkonto. Schuld ist gleichbedeutend mit Völkermord.” (GV, 40)716 This only seems to
be the case on a personal level, because on the (West) German national level, guilt and
owing money had become intertwined, because of the reparations, which were paid to
715
My translation: Germany was like a court room, where people were uninterruptedly accused and
judged. At first it was the Nazis and their myrmidons who took their seats in the dock and almost became a
permanent presence there at least since the late sixties. Now Stasi agents, informal associates, party
functionaries of the SED, generally politicians, bogus asylum-seekers, the UN, the Serbs, the conflict
pedagogues, thimbleriggers, Turkish generals, leftist teachers, Neo Nazis, the ideologist from the seventies,
and the idlers of the eighties joined them. A nation of attorneys and judges got their hands full. (GV, 34)
716
My translation: If one talks about guilt in Germany, one does not think of an overdrawn ban account.
Guilt equals genocide.
289
Israel. At the same time, for post 1945 Germans being in debt was construed as a
shameful, i.e. possibly because it reminded of the Holocaust guilt. Within the German
post-1945 context of trials, guilt soon developed from a personal matter into a legal,
economic, public issue. Thus, post-1990 Germans chose to deal with the ‘guilt’ of the
fallen GDR regime and former secret service, the Stasi, also by using the law, the West
German law. Ironically, the law, i.e. the banality of evil in law, had played a key role in
the erection of the Nazi as well as the GDR regime. The law had facilitated the atrocities
and injustices committed within both regimes. Senocak seems to suggest that viewing
guilt again as a personal rather than a legal economic question may assist in undoing the
banality of evil in law. In addition, Senocak emphasizes the transnational nature of guilt
and reminds of the Turkish-German cooperation during the First and Second World War.
Senocak is reminding in particular Turks in Germany that they are not as removed from
the evils and guilt of German history as they may believe.
Alongside guilt, the concept of mourning underwent a similar transformation as
Senocak, the author, lets Sascha, the narrator, point out:
Die Opfer sind tot. Die Täter leben. Wir sind nicht mehr erinnerungsfähig.
Wir trauern um die Erinnerung. Für die Täter gibt es keine überlebenden
Opfer. Alle Überlebenden sind Täter. Das ist die Basis für die Versöhnung
zwischen Tätern und Opfern. Die Trauer verheimlicht den Trauernden den
Grund ihrer Trauer. Dieses Phänomen wird Betroffenheit genannt. Die
gemeinsame Trauer der Täter und der Opfer findet im Namen der
Betroffenheit statt. Die Trauer, der körperlichste aller seelischen Zustände
–Herz, Kopf und Körperflüssigkeit sind direkt miteinander verbunden –
wird zur Betroffenheit, wenn der Körper der Trauer im Körper des
Betroffenen gänzlich verschwunden ist. Betroffenheit ist die passende
Befindlichkeit für Gedenktage, ein sentimentaler Begriff, der die
körperliche Trauer aufhebt. Wenn die Trauer nicht von Einzelnen
ausgedrückt, sondern von einer Gruppe nachgestellt wird, hat sich die
290
Betroffenheit gegenüber der Trauer durchgesetzt. Es ist die Geburt der
Farce aus dem Geist der Tragödie. (GV, 61-62)717
In post-Holocaust Germany most survivors were perpetrators, while most victims, in
particular Jewish victims, were dead. Thus, reconciliation between victims and
perpetrators was largely unachievable. Many of the perpetrators, however, were also not
willing to mourn the victims, because for years these victims had been constructed as the
‘other’. They had been trained to eliminate empathy. Thus, many Germans failed to see
themselves in the Jewish victims. They could not understand and were not willing to
view the tragedy of the Holocaust as part of themselves, part of the German, the
European nation, the nation of human beings. Thus, any real physical form of mourning
for the victims of the Holocaust did not take place. Instead, mourning developed from a
very personal physical affair to a rationalized public performance: Consternation, a
rationalized, controlled form of sadness, replaced mourning. At the same time, Germans
may have also lamented their inability to claim innocence. Rather than mourning for the
victims of the Holocaust personally and physically, Germans turned to publicly
expressing their consternation in groups. If Germans had been able to truly mourn for the
victims of the Holocaust, they possibly would have also been able to deal with the
questions of guilt differently. Instead, guilt and mourning, both issues of highly personal
responsibility, were taken over and organized by the state into something collective. In
717
My translation: The victims are dead, the perpetrators are alive. We are not capable of remembering.
We mourn for our memory. For the perpetrators there are not victims who are still alive. All survivors are
perpetrators. That is the basis for reconciliation between perpetrators and victims. Dolefulness hides the
reason for mourning from the mourners. This phenomenon is called consternation. The shared mourning of
perpetrators and victims takes place in the name of consternation. Mourning, the most physical of all
psychological conditions - heart, head, and body fluids are directly connected – becomes consternation,
when the body of mourning has completely disappeared within the body of the person concerned.
Consternation is the adequate mental state for memorial days, a sentimental term, which annuals physical
mourning. If mourning is not expressed by individuals, but reenacted by a group, then consternation has
prevailed over mourning. It is the birth of farce out of the spirit of tragedy. (GV, 61-62)
291
course of this national organization, guilt and mourning changed their meaning, guilt into
something collective and legal rather than personal, mourning into consternation. As
previously explained, this change in meaning is closely connected to the German inability
to mourn, which the Mitscherlichs discussed. Similarly to the Germans, the Turks were
equally unable to mourn the victims of the Armenian genocide, let alone admit their guilt.
By reminding Turks and Germans of the common features of their national histories,
Senocak urges both, Turks and Germans, to engage with their national as well as their
personal family histories, and encourages them to dig up their family secrets.
At the same time, Senocak’s Gefährliche Verwandtschaft attempts to break up the
dichotomy between Germans and Jews by interweaving it with the narrative of the largest
minority in Germany, the Turks.718 As the first person narrator, Sascha, observes in the
novel:
In Deutschland entsteht jetzt ein Trialog zwischen Deutschen, Juden und
Türken, zwischen Christen, Juden und Muslimen. Die Auflösung der
deutsch-jüdischen Dichotomie könnte beide Parteien, Deutsche und Juden,
von ihren traumatischen Erfahrungen, erlösen. Dazu müßten sie aber die
Türken in ihre Spähre aufnehmen. Und die Türken in Deutschland müßten
ihrerseits die Existenz der Juden entdecken, nicht nur als ein Teil der
deutschen Vergangenheit, an der sie nicht mehr teilhaben können, sondern
als Teil der Gegenwart, in der sie leben. Ohne die Juden stehen die Türken
in einer dichotomischen Beziehung zu den Deutschen. Sie treten in die
Fußtapfen der deutschen Juden von einst.
...
Wenn aber heute die Frage gestellt wird, wer ein Deutscher ist und wer
nicht, schaut man auf die Türken. An ihnen werden die Grenzen des
Deutschseins gestestet. Juden, die sich, über ihr Deutschsein klar werden
wollen, entdecken im Spiegel die Türken. (GV, 89-90)719
718
Hyssen, 157
My translation: A trialogue between Germans, Jews and Turks, between Christians, Jews and
Moslems, is developing in Germany right now. Breaking the German-Jewish dichotomy could redeem both
Germans and Jews from their traumatic experiences. For that to happen they would have to accept the
Turks into their sphere. The Turks in Germany, however, would have to discover the existence of the Jews,
not only as a part of German history, which they cannot be a part of anymore, but also as part of the present
they live in. Without the Jews the Turks stand in a dichotomic relationship to the Germans. They step into
the footsteps of the former Jews.
719
292
It can be concluded from the above quote that Senocak believes that Turks have to join
the discussion about the “unresolved questions of guilt, shame, and alienation” between
Germans and Jews.720 Including the Turks could possibly facilitate overcoming the
traumas of the past. In addition, for Germans acknowledging a Turkish perspective,
narrative within the newly unified nation would prevent a repetition of past mistakes.
Most importantly, Senocak demands an end of binary politics. Instead of viewing
relations only in a binary manner, i.e. German-Turkish, German-Jewish or East-West
German relations, Senocak suggests to view the German past and present in a more
transnational, multi-cultural perspective.721 As Leslie Adelson puts it, Senocak writes
against ‘between’, but for transitional spaces within the nation; he argue for a transitional
house of words.722 Andreas Huyssen argues that Senocak calls for a transnational, rather
than a purely national memory discourse in Germany, in order to facilitate a multicultural vision of Europe.723 A trialogue between German, Jews and Turks would also
acknowledge that Germany, and Europe are the home of different religions, Christians,
Jews, and Muslims. In addition, it also links Germany to Jerusalem, which as the home of
Christians, Jews, and Muslims is also a site of inter-religious tensions. At the same time,
it becomes clear that so far such a trialogue is far from being realized and is mostly
wishful thinking 724 Instead, many Germans define being German by looking at Turks as
“the other” and vice versa.
...
However, when the question is asked, who is German and who isn’t, people look at the Turks. By looking
at them, people test the limits of being German. Jews, who seeks to clarify being German, discover in the
mirror the Turks. (GV, 89-90)
720
Shafi, 200
721
Konzett, 53-55, Hyssen, 163
722
Adelson, 133-134
723
Huyssen, 164
724
Adelson, 124
293
Furthermore, with Gefährliche Verwandtschaft, Senocak also aims to break
German as well as Turkish amnesia and repression about the national atrocities of the
past.725 The unfulfilled search for a story in Gefährliche Verwandtschaft in combination
with it’s typically Bakhtinian heteroglossia constantly reminds the reader not only of the
necessity but also of the inadequateness of memory, i.e. history - the whole truth will
never be known, inevitably it will contain invented parts.726 At the end of the novel, when
Sascha finally tells the reader his version of his grandfather’s story, the reader still does
not quite know, why the grandfather committed suicide, it still remains a secret.727
Simultaneously, the vagueness of the grandfather story is tantamount to all memory
discourses, all constructions of national history. We are never quite sure, how things
happened.728 Furthermore the story also is symbolic of the silence, in particular within the
realm of the family, which still surrounds issues like the Holocaust in Germany, the
Armenian genocide in Turkey.729 By pointing them to their grandparents, Senocak shows
Turkish Germans a way of how to relate to German post-Second World War history.730 It
is a reminder for the present generations that the construction of ‘nation’ in both,
Germany and Turkey, shares a history involving genocides. Moreover, the unresolved
ending of the story also forces the reader into the Barthesian middle voice and challenges
him / her to embark on his / her own narrative struggle. The reader is left with the
question how to remember, imagine, or write such problematic histories.731 At the same
725
Matthias, 135
Monika Carbe „Der Errotomane: Ein Vexierspiel mit der Identität” In: Tom Cheesman and Karin E.
Yesilada, Zafer Senocak (Cardiff: University of Wales Press, 2003) 86 (Hereafter quoted as: Carbe, page
number)
727
Huyssen, 161
728
Huyssen, 162
729
Cheesman, 27 & Huyssen, 163
730
Hyssen, 158
731
Hyssen, 160
726
294
time, Senocak dares his readers to unravel their family secrets. In this respect, Sascha’s
grandfather’s secret stands for all the other uncovered family secrets, all the other un-read
diaries and letters of German, Turkish, Jewish etc. grandparents, which we hide on our
attics or in our basements in a box.732
II.
Digging Through the Past
First and foremost, it can undoubtedly be affirmed that Grass, Maron and Zenocak
assert in their respective works the need for and value of politically engaged literature
within the united Germany. All three authors appeal to their readers to join the on-going
negotiation about the nation’s present, past, and future. Although, Im Krebsgang, Stille
Zeile Sechs, and Gefährliche Verwandtschaft are all examples of politically engaged
literature, which was written to incite a discussion, a rupture in the nation’s
consciousness, only Grass’ novel succeeded at reaching even common Germans. At the
same time, however, Grass was to an extent, as always, also misunderstood by many,
because, as discussed, with his novella Grass aimed to slowly deconstruct his image as
the ‘moral conscience’ of Germany. In this respect, all three novels have in common that
they appeal to the public to assume agency. At the end of each novel the reader finds
him/herself in the Barthesian middle voice, challenged to start digging in the dirt of the
German past on his/her own.
All three texts represent what, as previously explained, Linda Hutcheon has called
historiographic meta-fiction.733 Maron, Grass, and Senocak constantly remind their
readers through their narrators of the constructedness of the narrative. At the same time,
732
733
My own family does.
As explained in Chapter 3.
295
the texts are all highly fragmented and can all be characterized as faction, liberally
blending fact and fiction. In this respect, the novels represent historical counternarratives, which challenge the common national discourse, simultaneously reminding
their readers of the constructedness of history itself.
In all three texts, the first person narrator, Paul in Im Krebsgang, Rosalind in Stille
Zeile Sechs, and Sascha in Gefährliche Verwandtschaft, are initially employed as
amanuensis’s, but in the end engage in a narrative quest of their own, setting a good
example for the readers to follow suit. For Paul, Rosalind, and Sascha the narrative quest
leads to a deconstruction of their personal identity, however, enables them also to a new
self-understanding. In this respect, Senocak, Maron, and Grass seem to call for a
narrative deconstruction of German national identity, arguing that this would facilitate a
new national consciousness.
On a more thematic level, the three authors all deal with issues historical amnesia and
tackle each another taboo. As aforementioned, Stille Zeile Sechs has to be seen in
connection within the discourses of confession, which defined GDR literature after 1989.
Maron is writing back against any autobiographic palliations by former GDR
functionaries, which aimed to downplay the magnitude of the totalitarian system of the
GDR. Im Krebsgang, however, explores how the Holocaust and the suffering of Germans
during the expulsion from the East could be reconciled in one narrative. As explained,
Grass was the first one, who addressed the controversial issue of the expulsion within the
united Germany. Gefährliche Verwandtschaft, however, portrays German history in a
more transnational perspective and establishes parallels between German history and the
history of the greatest minority within Germany, the Turks. Senocak calls attention to
296
Turkis-German relations during both World Wars, but also addresses the topic of the
Armenian genocide.
In addition, all three authors depict in their narratives the problematic absence,
unavailability of fathers. The fatal development of Maron’s and Grass’ stories can largely
be attributed to the failure of fathers. In Senocak’s text the failure of the father is that of
Kemal Atatürk, who allowed for the Armenian genocide to happen. In this respect, all
three authors also depict the nation as a primarily male fantasy. At the same time, Maron,
Grass, and Senocak all make the argument that the family creates the framework of how
to address the past. All three protagonists, Rosalind, Paul, and Sascha struggle to finally
break the family framework of amnesia about certain aspects of the past. Although for
Rosalind and Paul it is already too late, because the horrible deed is done, they still
decide to engage with the past, in order to possibly break the vicious circle of amnesia.
Sascha, however, makes use of the family void, and decides to reinvent parts of his
family story.
Questioning of the dichotomy of victims and perpetrators represents another
commonality between the three books. Both, Maron and Grass depict how being the two
concepts of perpetrator and victim do not represent polar opposites, but that they rather
sometimes can even overlap. Most importantly, being a victim in one system does not
prevent one from becoming a perpetrator in another and vice versa. Senocak goes even
one step further, because the main protagonist of his novel, Sascha, is the grandchild of
victims and perpetrators.
Finally, it can be concluded that Günter Grass, Monika Maron, and Zafer Senocak all
assert the importance of politically engaged literature, and in particular historiographic
297
meta-fiction to question, challenge, and complement conventional historical texts. In this
respect, the three authors portray writing as crucial in assessing historic truths.
Additionally, the authors stress the need for accessing once subjective irony, in order to
subvert the narratives of the object. In this respect, Maron, Senocak, and Grass all add
their subjective accounts of history, while at the same time appealing to their readers to
add their competing narratives, break their silences. As a result, the truth about the past
would thus emerge out of a multiplicity of competing narratives, possibly producing an
image of a pluralist, rather than homogeneous German nation.
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CHAPTER VII: SOUTH AFRICA - WORKING THROUGH THE PAST
I.
South Africa – Collecting the Pasts
Similar to Germany, the end of apartheid resulted also in a renegotiation of history in
South Africa. While the work of the TRC emphasized the need for South Africans to
engage with the immediate violent legacy of the apartheid past, there was certainly also a
need to contextualize the creation of the apartheid system within the larger colonial
history of South Africa, in particular in the context of the Anglo-Boer wars. The TRC,
however, fell short, of such reworking through history, and thus South African writers
were challenged once again to start digging through the past.
Just like Grass’, Maron’s, and Senocak’s novel, the novels of Achmat Dangor, Mike
Nicol, and Zoe Wicomb also represent counter-histories. At the same time, Dangor’s
Bitter Fruit, Nicol’s The Ibis Tapestry, and Wicomb’s David’s Story also qualify as what
Linda Hutcheon described as historiographic metafiction.734 In this respect, the authors
explore the relation between history and fiction and at the same time challenge the
existence of historic truths. Furthermore, Dangor, Nicol, and Wicomb critique and
deconstruct the work of the TRC, and expose the shortcomings of this institution, thus
complementing and expanding its work. At the same time, the authors all appeal to their
readers to join the negotiation processes of the past, present and future South Africa.
At the same time, just like Mda in Ways of Dying, Krog in The Country of My Skull,
and Magona in From Mother to Mother, Dangor, Nicol, and Wicomb depict the violent
legacy of the apartheid system, contextualizing it, however, in new ways. All three
authors pay particular attention to the ways in which the violence of the apartheid system
734
As explained in Chapter 3.
299
affected women. In addition, Dangor and Wicomb investigate the significance of race in
post-apartheid South Africa, by focusing on the “in-between position” of the so-called
colored population.
a. Bitter Fruit – Unbearable Memories
Achmat Dangor’s Bitter Fruit (2001) is divided in three parts: Part One
Memory735, Part Two Confession736, Part Three Retribution737. The novel is preceded by
a quote by William Shakespeare ‘It is an old story – ours. My father’s and mine.’ Most
obvious about this quote is the omission of women; the stories of the mothers, possibly
also the daughters – the old story is possibly the repression of the female perspective
within a male dominated world. Bitter Fruit tells the story of a mother and addresses one
of the taboo topics of the South African TRC, the issue of rape. At the same time, Dangor
also explores the effects of the repression of memories within the microcosm of a family.
The novel is set in post-apartheid South Africa in 1998 during the last working weeks of
the TRC and before the second election in 1999. The novel is written in an omniscient
narrative perspective containing interior monologue from many characters, most
importantly the three main protagonists, Silas and Lydia Ali and their son Mikey, who
belong to the so-called colored population in South Africa. Dangor’s novel scrutinizes the
meanings of colored identity in the new South Africa, their status between “blacks” and
“whites”, and stresses the historical and contextual construction of such categories of
735
A quote from André Gide’s Fruits of the Earth precedes Part One Memory: “I will teach you that there
is nothing that is not divinely natural, . . . I will speak to you of everything.” (BF, 1)
736
A quote from Mevlana Celaleddin-i Rumi’s Mesnevi precedes Part Two Confession: “Since in order to
speak, one must first listen, / Learn to speak by listening.” (BF, 177)
737
A quote from William Shakespeare’s Hamlet precedes Part Three Retribution: “Thou liv’st; report me
and my cause aright / To the unsatisfied.” (BF, 227)
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race.738 At the same time, Bitter Fruit explores the work of the TRC against the
background of the unstable relationship between South Africa’s apartheid history and
memory, in particular in the transitional period of the present.739 At the same time,
Dangor “explores the boundaries between silence and articulation” and exposes that
despite the TRC’s public acknowledgment of the atrocities of the apartheid past
repression is still at work in the private, i.e. family sphere.740 Most importantly, Dangor
suggests that silence eventually leads to destruction. On a public level the TRC aimed not
only at a rewriting of South African history, but also at fostering a society of expression
rather than repression.741 In this respect, Bitter Fruit puts forward the argument that the
public work of TRC needs to be continued and extended in private. Personal Memory is
portrayed as the first step from silence to articulation and also as the means of undoing
the silences, exposing the repressed histories of the TRC.742 At the same time, the novel
acknowledges the incompleteness of the TRC, which could not heal all remaining
wounds of the apartheid system.743 The Ali family suffers from such a wound.
The apartheid past catches up with the Ali family when Silas, who works as a
spokesperson and lawyer for the TRC, encounters a “monster from the past”, Lieutenant
Du Boise. Twenty years ago, Du Boise, a white police officer raped Lydia, Silas’ wife, in
order to punish Silas for his membership in the ANC and his participation in the freedom
fighter movement. For the past twenty years, Silas and Lydia have not spoken of this
incident, but rather buried it deep in their memories. Bumping into Du Boise greatly
738
Ronit Frenkel, “Performing Race, Reconsidering History: Achmat Dangor’s Recent Fiction” Research
in African Literatures, Vol. 39, No. 1 (Winter, 2008) (Hereafter quoted as: Frenkel, page number)
739
Frenkel, 156
740
Frenkel, 157
741
Frenkel, 158
742
Frenkel, 158-159
743
Rebecca Stuhr, “Bitter Fruit Review” Library Journal; Feb. 1, 2005; 130, 2; ABI/INFORM Global
pg.67 (Hereafter quoted as: Stuhr, page number)
301
disturbed Silas and the painful memory erupted. He feels unable to carry the burden of
this memory alone, and tells Lydia about it. At first, Lydia ignores Silas’s words and
leaves for work regardless, but she soon returns, and after a dispute with him withdraws
into a self-destructive dance on broken glass, unable to face the pain of the memory Silas
brought back to her:
‘You know what he called me as he was fucking me?’
‘For fuck’s sake, Lydia!’
‘He called me a nice wild half-kaffir cunt, a lekker wilde Boesman poes.’
Silas grabbed Lydia by the arms and shook her. The glass of beer fell from
her hands. She kissed him on the mouth, held him close to her, and sucked
his tongue into her mouth the way she did when she was really passionate.
She tasted of hops, of bitter fruit. She gasped, then leaned up against him,
her head against his chest, weeping, making gentle dancing movement
with her feet. He cradled her head, astonished by how much taller he was.
He glance down the slenderness of her back, saw the slow pool of blood
spreading on the floor, saw his heavy shoes immersed in its dark flow, saw
her feet dancing, delicate little steps, on the jagged edges of the broken
beer glass. (BF, 17)
Unlike Silas, Lydia additionally also has to deal with the physical memory of the abuse.
This pain is too much for her, and she reacts by acting violently against herself,
attempting to drown it out with the fresher, stronger pain of her cut feet.744 Silas,
however, is almost too preoccupied with his own trauma to fully comprehend what is
happening to her. Most disturbingly, he briefly misreads Lydia’s agony as passion. It
takes him a moment to realize what Lydia is doing to herself. Silas’ misunderstanding of
Lydia’s feelings in this scene resembles his larger incomprehension to view the incident
of the rape not through his but through her eyes. For Silas, Lydia’s rape was part of the
anti-apartheid struggle, which made any further discussion of it superfluous, and
744
The self-inflicted cuts on Lydia’s feet can be seen as a symbolic expression of the physical and
psychological torture of her rape. Similarly, Zoë Wicomb’s main protagonist, David Dirske, bears deep
scars on his feet, which stem from torture.
302
effectively silenced Lydia.745 It is also quite telling that Silas’ remembers how Du Boise
looked after he raped Lydia, but not Lydia’s looks: ‘You don’t remember my face, my
tears . . .’ (BF, 14). Lydia became the innocent victim of a male battle, because Du Boise
essentially raped her to emasculate Silas. This is how Silas stored Lydia’s rape in his
memory, as the moment of his emasculation, while at the same time rationalizing it as
part of the struggle. In this respect, Silas is not only unable to comprehend, but also
unwilling to listen to, or let alone imagine, what the forced bodily invasion meant for
Lydia.
Throughout the novel, the reader discovers together with Silas’ and Lydia’s son
Mikey, what Lydia already knows that Mikey is possibly the fruit of this rape. Mikey
senses the tension between his parents following his mother’s hospitalization and he
searches for answers. Just like in Gefährliche Verwandtschaft the unspoken truth about
the past is stored in a diary, in Lydia’s diary, which Mikey detects, when he unlocks and
rummages through Lydia’s desk drawers:
. . . This diary has something to do with Lydia’s accident, her subsequent
hospitalization, with the name Du Boise that he has heard his parents
whisper tensely between them in the hospital room.
A ghost from the past, a mythical phantom embedded in the ‘historical
memory’ of those who were active in the struggle. Historical memory. It is
a term that seems illogical and contradictory to Mikey; after all, history is
memory. Yet, it has an air of inevitability, solemn and compelling,
especially when uttered by Silas and his comrades. It explains everything,
the violence periodically sweeping the country, the crime rate, even the
strange ‘upsurge’ of brutality against women. It is as if history has a
remembering process of its own, one that give life to its imaginary
monsters. Now this mother and father have received a visitation from that
dark past, some terrible memory brought to life. (BF, 32)
The history of the apartheid system so deeply permeated and defined South African
society for more than forty years that its legacy still lingers. It is more apparent in form of
745
Frenkel, 158
303
the violence, which still disrupts South African society on a regular basis; violence
against others, strangers, friends and family members alike, but also as in Lydia’s case
against the self. The violent legacy of the South African apartheid system has to be
undone physically and mentally. These memories of the past cannot be overcome by
storing them away as historical memories of the past, by declaring the apartheid system
history. Its ghosts have to be uncovered, exposed, confronted and disempowered. By
repressing the phantoms of the past, by remaining silent about them, these still retain their
power, as the aftermath of Silas’ encounter with the former perpetrator shows. Apart
from still having power over Silas and Lydia, whose relationship starts to fall apart, Du
Boise’ deed also starts to affect Mikey, who discovers his mother’s best kept secret.
Within one night Mikey reads his mother’s journal, which starts on December 1978, and
abruptly end on the 16 May 1994, one day after the first democratic elections (BF, 126130). Simultaneously, this was also the day when the TRC White Paper was completed
(BF, 134), creating the possibility for Lydia to go public with her suffering.
Lydia’s inability to articulate her traumatic experience within the setting of the
TRC stands for the inability of the TRC to address the whole truth.746 The dominant
narrative constructed by the TRC automatically already excluded those, who could only
address their traumas in writing. While Lydia was unable to express her trauma verbally,
she still testifies in written form.747 In her journal, Lydia confessed all her inner turmoil,
and the full extent of the trauma of the rape becomes clear. For Lydia the rape was a lifechanging experience:
They dropped us off at the edge of the township, and Silas and I walked
down the quiet, peaceful street, both of us silent. He stopped moaning, but
746
747
Frenkel, 158
Frenkel, 160
304
did not know how to reach out and touch me. Perhaps if he had, my mind
might have been made up. I would have aborted the child the moment the
pregnancy was confirmed. Perhaps his touch would have drawn me closer
to him and to his struggle. Yes, he could have made me loyal to his
affronted manhood, turned me into a soldier, perhaps, a fearless bomb
planter or a ruthless arms smuggler. But his fear, that icy, unspoken
revulsion, hung in the air like a mist. It would enable me to give life to
Mikey, my son. At that moment, in Smith Street, Noordgesig, I crossed
over into a zone of silence. (BF, 129)
First and foremost, the rape changed the Ali’s relationship. After the rape Silas was
unable to address, let alone comfort or touch Lydia. Rather than being concerned with
Lydia’s suffering, Silas’ was preoccupied with the rape as an affront to his manhood.
Lydia sensed that for Silas it did not make a big difference that she did not sleep with the
enemy voluntarily; the rape still represented a transgression by her. In Lydia’s
subconscious, the rape became therefore connected with Silas’ secrecy about his
involvement in the anti-apartheid movement. “After she had been in bed with the enemy”
Silas did not trust her anymore. The above quote insinuates that the Alis’ could have
coped better with the traumatic experience, if Silas had reached out to Lydia and made
her part of his struggle; if he had helped her to see the rape as part of the struggle against
apartheid. In contrast, Silas kept Lydia deliberately from the movement and did not
engage her in any way, not as a confidant, let alone an accomplice, a weapon smuggler
etc. He brought upon her the pain of the struggle, but kept her from the joy of the
struggle. Thus, Lydia made the decision to possibly give birth to “the child of the
enemy”. Already in her first journal entry, three days after the rape, Lydia proclaims that
she is pregnant and that her child “will be a child of rape’ (BF, 126). Pondering an
abortion, Lydia, however, decides to have the child, and then she “would decide whether
it would live or die.” (BF, 128) At the same time, Lydia has little evidence but her own
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intuition that Mikey is in fact the offspring of the rape rather than Silas’ son. In this
respect, it was not so much the rape but rather Silas’ response to it, which made Lydia
enter, verbally, into a zone of silence, and made her “the mother of the white man’s son”.
It was Silas’ silence, which preceded Lydia’s, and caused Lydia to make a mental
connection between Silas and Du Boise:
Yes, the smooth and devious one, handsome in his own way, he is my
husband. You should have left Du Boise alone when you saw him, Silas,
you should not have brought my rapist home. I can’t rest peacefully with
both of you around, your bodies, your smells, even your sounds have all
become mixed up. It’s like he raped me on your behalf, so that one day I
would live with him through you. When you are inside me, and around
me, it feels like Du Boise. He made you his instrument. It is not enough
that I have to deal with the thought of his seed in Mikey, his genes, his
blood, his cold and murderous eyes? (BF,123)
For Lydia, Silas and Du Boise merged, when Silas’ told her of his encounter with Du
Boise. In the past and in the present, it is Silas’ who brings Lydia in contact with Du
Boise. It is her husband, who makes Lydia suffer from superhistorical malady.748 For
twenty years, Silas silenced and repressed the whole issue, but all of a sudden wants
Lydia to testify before the TRC:
It would have not helped her to appear before the Commission even at a
closed hearing. The offer had been made, a special session on abused
women. ‘Of course, everyone acknowledges that both sides used women,
exploited them, this is an opportunity to bring the issue out into the open,
to lance the last festering wound, to say something profoundly personal.’
A young lawyer from the TRC had brought the offer. She looked into his
eyes and saw an evangelist’s fervour. When she refused, she saw in Silas
(whom she asked to remain with her in order to inhibit the young
emissary’s eagerness) a brief moment of disappointment. Her appearance
would have given him the opportunity to play the brave, stoical husband.
He would have been able to demonstrate his objectivity, remaining calm
and dignified, in spite of being so close to the victim.
Nothing in her life would have changed, nothing in any of their lives
would change because of a public confession of pain suffered. Because
nothing could be undone, you could not withdraw a rape, it was an
748
I refer here to Nietzsche as explained in Chapter 3.
306
irrevocable act, like murder. Once that violating penis, that vile cock had
been inside you, it could not be withdrawn, not by an act of remorse or
vengeance, or even by justice. (BF, 155-156)
For Lydia, testifying before the TRC, would have just given Silas another chance to play
the hero, but would have not made her feel any better. Nothing, not an act of remorse, but
not even one of vengeance could undo the pain the rape caused Lydia. By dealing
extensively with the trauma of her rape in writing, Lydia found a way of living with the
rape. In this respect, Dangor expresses criticism that the TRC “forced a certain way of
dealing with the past” on the victims, not taking into account that many victims already
found other ways of how to deal with their traumas, and for whom testifying before the
TRC would just open old wounds.
At the same time, it becomes clear that specifically in her relationship to Silas the
rape presents an unresolved issue. After Silas encounter with Du Boise, both Mikey and
Silas are constant reminders of her rape for Lydia. She is now not only looking for
similarities between her son and Du Boise, but also between her husband and her rapist.
The mental connection between Du Boise and Silas is enforced by the fact that Silas is
more than ten years Lydia’s senior and about the same age as Du Boise. In addition, Silas
and Lydia seem to have become lovers not long before “the incident”. Once the rape is
addressed verbally between the Alis, their sexual relationship, which they were only able
to sustain with the help of their respective imaginary lovers749, ends. In this respect, the
effect of the breaking of the silence on Silas’ and Lydia’s relationship, ultimately also
changes it. By using the microcosm of the family as an example, Dangor implies that the
749
Following the rape, Lydia summons the image of a woman, Sister Catherine, who cared for her in
school, while Silas’ conjures up images of his childhood infatuation, Frances Dip, when they make love.
(BF, 119)
307
work of the TRC will also inevitably change South African society; break certain
previously existing relationships apart.
Unlike Lydia, who articulated her anguish about the rape in writing, Silas
completely repressed the issue. The unforeseen encounter with Du Boise and Lydia’s
subsequent self-inflicted injuries, however, loosened his memory. When Lydia gets upset
after Silas visits her in the hospital without Mikey, Silas is overcome by his own aguish
and suffers a seizure. Upon doctor’s inquiry, Lydia explains that according to her
knowledge, Silas experienced such a seizure only once before, also in response to
enormous emotional stress about twenty years ago. Although Lydia does not give any
further information to the doctor or her family, the reader understands that Silas’ first
seizure occurred in connection with the Du Boise “incident” (BF, 49). As a result of his
coincidental meeting with Du Boise, and again after Lydia got hurt, Silas suffered
another seizure. It appears as if the past repeated itself, but something changed. Whereas
Silas’ first seizure resulted in a paralysis, in amnesia, and froze any memory of the rape,
the second seizure is a form of catharsis and releases the memory of the rape:
Silas awoke from the dream of his own death.
His rational, living mind intruded: the geography was all wrong . . . And
Mikey too was all wrong, his hair a long flowing blond that would thin to
a frail baldness when he grew old, like Du Boise, dry patches flaking off
from his exposed scalp. No, his Mikey has wavy hair that will go grey
with age, but retain its fullness. He will have the silver-headed luster of
African sages. What kind of heritage is it that dooms young men to
acquiring that scraggy, white man’s hairlessness?
A distant fear came back to Silas, one that he rarely allowed to take shape
in his mind – Mikey is not my son, not physically – and he struggled to
rouse himself before the dream of death flowed into his life. (BF, 91)
It appears as if the seizure freed a passage to Silas’ subconscious and reveals to him the
repressed knowledge about his son’s genetic heritage. Silas’ dream of his own death
308
symbolizes the acknowledgement that Mikey might be in fact Du Boise son. This
“genetic death” completes Du Boise emasculation of Silas. Unlike in the dream, however,
the physical resemblance between Du Boise and Mikey is not striking. Du Boise did not
pass on the degenerated genes of his baldness to Mikey. Instead, Mikey possesses a rare
beauty, which gives him not only the aura of a sham magician (BF, 71-72), but also the
rare charisma of an exceptional leader like Nelson Mandela (BF, 139). Only by clinging
to the thought that although Mikey may not be his son physically, he is still his son, Silas
is able to break the spell of the nightmare and awakes.
Meanwhile, Lydia’s and Silas’ hospitalization also disturbs the sleep of other
members of the Oliphant family. They sense that the conflict between Lydia and Silas has
something to do with the past. At night in bed, Gracie cannot sleep and asks Alec,
whether he knows anything about the tension between Silas and her sister Lydia. As a
result of her questions, Alec turns into the “furtive Alec, who surfaces now and then, cold
and hard and unreachable, a stranger who talked differently from the man she knew” (BF,
84). In order to evade her questions, Alec leaves the bed and retreats to the kitchen:
Overcome by a sudden rage at Gracie, at Silas, Lydia, at Mikey for not
coming to the hospital, at Kate for her intrusion, at Nelson Mandela the
political saint, at the whole ‘beloved fokop’ as he called the world . . .
Heaven help him, he didn’t want to go mad, like those old bastards in
Tara, off their fucken heads because they were always discontented about
something. They were either too black or not black enough, they had lived
too much or lived too little, they remembered everything or had nothing
worth remembering Ja, he always said that a happy nation has no memory.
That’s the problem with this country, we want to forgive but we don’t
want to forget. You can’t have it both ways. (BF, 86)
The cold Alec, who retreats from Gracie, is linked to Silas’ and Kate’s comrade past.
Like them, Alec was also part of the liberation struggle and therefore, Silas and Alec now
hold leading position in the new South Africa; Alec as a business entrepreneur (BF, 111)
309
and Silas as a leading lawyer and spokesperson for the TRC (BF, 63). Similar to Silas and
Lydia the past also seems to hold unwanted memories for Alec, which he would rather
erase from his memory than confront. It appears that Alec is opposed to the concept of
the TRC, which opts for the revelation of the truths about the past but also reconciliation
between the people. Alec is convinced that remembering and forgiving cannot coexist.
He does not believe that forgiveness will ensue from the memory work of the TRC, but
rather seems afraid that the painful memories will result in revenge. Therefore, Alec,
unable to believe that the work of the TRC will break the circle of revenge, is hiding
something from his family.
Similarly to Gracie, Silas also harbors suspicions that Alec may know more than
he admits. The day after his seizure Silas leaves the hospital after signing a ‘Refused
Hospital Treatment’ form (BF, 97) and after a brief stop at home to check on Mikey, he
goes to work. The whole day, Silas contemplates the previous night’s occurrences and in
his head, he hears Alec’s voice echoing:
It was Alec’s voice that had brought back some uncontainable memory, a
grey-black photo of that day, the incident with Du Boise. Alec was saying
something banal last night, he recalled. Alec was always saying something
banal these days, but the timbre of his voice last night, its vibration,
metallic, brittle, had resurrected a long-suppressed detail from the night of
Lydia’s rape. Silas closed his eyes and listened to Alec’s voice again, and
there it was, a voice among many voices. Christ, what was he thinking?
Voices like that come from a vast genetic pool. . . .
But Alec’s voice was distinctive, his township ‘bry’ unique, tongue
pressed against his teeth so that he pronounced ‘trow’ for throw. . .
If Alec had been present that night, it could only have been as
perpetrator, or conspirator, at best. Not as victim, no, . . .
‘Alec was one of them? Fuck of, Silas, fuck off, what are you thinking?
Silas said to himself.
...
He called Alec on his speakerphone, wanting to hear him speak through
the echo that the device created. A sudden inspiration: that’s what a voice
310
magnified by darkness and the metallic barrier of a police van would
sound like. Clear up another mystery at the same time. (BF, 101-102)
It appears that the seizure not only unblocked Silas’ memory, but also sharpened his mind
about the circumstances of Lydia’s rape. Suddenly, he links the voice of his childhood
friend, and brother-in-law, Alec, to the crime. For twenty years Alec’s voice had not
triggered any distrust in Silas, but now he sees in Alec the possibly perpetrator or at least
conspirator. Although part of Silas seriously doubts his suspicions against Alec, he
nevertheless puts them to the test, when he calls him on the speaker-phone. The phone
call neither confirms nor refutes Silas’ suspicions against Alec, but prompts Silas to
finally confess a childhood secret to Alec. As an adolescent in the township, Silas rose to
fame, because a Chinese girl, named Frances Dip, had shown Silas her vagina under the
condition that he would never tell of what he saw. Until now Silas kept his promise, but
finally reveals it to Alec:
‘Well, okay then, she had a scar, ‘Silas said.
‘A scar?’
‘Yes, ran from inside of her groin right around her leg. Fell on some rocks
at a picnic, she said, A real bullshit story. That was a wound, you know, a
knife wound that hadn’t been properly stitched. It was so deep. If she had
allowed me to touch it, I guess my whole fingertip would have gone in.
Fuck, Alec, she was trying to tell me something, but I was too stupid to
know.’
His heartbeat was racing again, like the night before, he had to slow
down, take a deep breath, slow down his pulse. (BF, 109)
In retrospect, Silas finally realizes that the Frances voluntary exposure to him was really
a call for help. The seizure clearly gave Silas’ a keener mind, but at the same time his
new insights take a toll on his body by causing him stress. In addition, Silas does not
know how to deal with his new knowledge, because it shatters the foundation of his
existence: Mikey not his son, Alec the perpetrator, and Frances, his childhood infatuation,
311
his imaginary lover all throughout his marriage, (BF, 119) the victim of a horrible
crime.750 Instead of dealing with his personal and his family’s crisis, Silas turns to his
work. His work at the TRC enabled Sila’s to develop a “deliberate strategy to repress his
pain”.751 As an administrator for the TRC, Silas is still able to maintain a safe distance to
the apartheid atrocities, he can rationalize them, but confronted with his personal
memories this convenient detachment threatens to evaporate:
Hell, he has an important job, liaising between the Ministry of Justice and
the Truth and Reconciliation Commission. It was his task to ensure that
everyone concerned remained objective, the TRC’s supporters and its
opponent, that they considered the law above all, and did not allow their
emotions to sway them. What would happen if he broke his own golden
rule and delved into the turmoil of memories that the events of those days
would undoubtedly unleash? (BF, 63)
It is Silas’ job as a spokesperson and lawyer for the TRC to assure that everyone involved
with the TRC’s work remains objective. His own personal memories make Silas realize,
what a desperate undertaking he is involved in. It becomes clear in the above quote that it
should not be forgotten that the TRC operates, to speak in Baudrillard’s terms, within the
realm of the object. As a governmental institution, it is still an extension of the law and in
Arendtian terms still prone to fall prey to the banality of evil. In this respect, personal
memories, subjective ironies, are crucial to challenge the work of the TRC. At the same
time, the transition from repression in apartheid South Africa to expression in the new
South Africa bears the danger of violent explosions. Thus, Silas prefers not to leave the
safe framework of the object, where he can rationalize the atrocities. Confronted with the
uncertainties, the grey areas, of the post-apartheid present, Silas becomes even nostalgic
750
At the same time, Frances scar hints to the same issue, which Zoë Wicomb’s David’s Story touches
upon, that within the framework of the TRC rape in the new South Africa became defined primarily as
“forced vaginal penetration by a penis”, while there were many other, much more gruesome forms of rape
committed.
751
Frenkel, 159
312
for the apartheid past, he “thinks of the past, increasingly summoning up happier times,
epochs of greater clarity, times without this ambiguity he sees everywhere” (BF, 164).752
Silas is afraid of what accessing his own painful memories might unleash in the present,
but he also shies away from performing controlled empathy to share his own wife’s, let
alone the TRC victims’ suffering. Instead, Silas is happy to find distraction from his own
disturbing memories in the difficult demands of the TRC, dedicating himself fully to the
greater cause of the nation (BF, 109-110). In this respect, Silas behavior mirrors Krog’s
observations as a reporter for the TRC that many South Africans addressed the atrocities
of the past in the public forum of the TRC, but completely ignored them at home. In
addition, Silas’ behavior insinuates that atrocities, which would possibly expose family
members as perpetrators or conspirators, as accomplices, were not addressed.
In the end, Alec, who expressed strong doubts about the TRC process, is the only
one, who admits the truth. After the publication of the TRC report, Alec reveals his guilt
to Silas’, who fails to ask, whether Alec was really present at the night of Lydia’s rape:
‘Si, you know that I worked for them, the cops, years ago. I couldn’t help
it, I could not stand pain, not like you.’
Suddenly, the voice Silas heard on the night Lydia was raped came back to
him. Exaggeratedly low, someone trying to disguise his normal timbre,
reducing it to something almost guttural. Yet it had attracted his attention,
a turn of phrase, a slurred ‘r’, a mispronounced ‘g’ – at times, Alec still
uses a hard, Afrikaans ‘g’ in words like ‘gesture’- despite his pain. Three
cracked rips, he recalled, made him feel heroic afterwards.
Alec had been there! A traitor. Silas stopped himself. What a crude word.
Who knows what goes on in the hearts of people who are confronted with
such stark choices: work for us, betray your friends and comrades, or
endure unending pain. Curiously, no one had ever subjected him to such
physical and psychological torture. What would he have done if Du Boise
had offered him Lydia’s safety in return for his allegiances?
‘Gladly, I would have given it gladly,’ he muttered to himself.
752
Frenkel, 159
313
He could not look at Alec, could not bear witness to the pain he knew Alec
was desperately trying to hide. What did it matter in any case? We
defeated them, the enemy and their agents. . .
‘So why are you telling me now, after all these years? Is someone
threatening you, trying to use it against you somehow?’ Silas asked.
. . . ‘No, Silas,’ he said, ‘I needed to tell someone, for years I’ve been
needing to tell someone, and I thought you would be the best person to
tell.’
(BF, 216-217)
Silas reaction to Alec’s confession shows that although Silas works for the TRC, he is not
the best person to tell. While he publicly propagates the TRC on TV, in private, Silas
does not seem to believe in its main purpose: finding the truth about the past. Although
Silas suspected that Alec might have worked for the apartheid regime, Silas does not
appreciate that Alec finally comes clean. Instead, Silas is unable even to look at him, and
supposes that Alec’s admittance of his guilt is the result of someone threatening him.
Now that the struggle is over; the apartheid regime overthrown, Alec’s revelation appears
pointless to Silas. In this respect, Bitter Fruit suggests that the machinery of the TRC
constructed a certain truth about South Africa’s apartheid past rather than really finding
it. As a former leading freedom fighter movement member, Silas applies the same good
vs. evil dichotomy of the fight against apartheid to the work of the TRC. Thus, it appears
useless to Silas’ to admit any malfeasances committed in the fight against apartheid.
Unlike Alec, Silas represses any urge to be more truthful about his comrade past, which
was much less heroic than Alec assumed.
As a comrade, Silas did not possess a miraculous ability to withstand pain, but
rather he was never really tortured, neither physically or psychologically. Lydia had to
endure the real physical and psychological torture in Silas’ place. In this respect, the antiapartheid movement was more important to Silas than the physical and psychological
314
well-being of his own wife. While Du Boise did not suggest trading Lydia’s safety for
Silas’ cooperation, Silas also did not try to prevent Lydia’s rape by offering himself in
her place, or demonstrating his willingness to cooperate with the apartheid regime. Silas’
silence about the rape therefore seems to stem also from his own guilt about is own
failure to intervene. At the same time, it becomes clear that enduring torture as part of the
anti-apartheid struggle was construed as heroic, being raped was not. Silas recalls that the
three cracked ribs he suffered as a result of the Du Boise encounter made him feel heroic.
He was, however, completely unable to view Lydia’s survival of the rape as heroic, but
he rather saw it as something shameful, which needed to be repressed. To a large extent,
viewing Lydia’s rape as shameful, was born out of his own powerlessness:
For years, this memory, this humiliating recollection of his own
powerlessness, his inexplicable sense of detachment, would be his guard
against complacency, the smugness of minor success, the vanity of petty
fame. But the paradox was that it became a source of comfort, the very
unease that it created in his mind seemed to still other, more immediate
fears and concerns confronting him.
He closed his eyes, trying to help the flow of sleep that the remedy of
natural herbs sought to induce (these homeopathic concoctions always
demand your active collusion!), weaving Dikeledi’s voice into the murmur
of sounds that always seemed to rise from the streets of Berea at this hour.
(BF, 175)
Now that the enemy has been defeated, Silas prefers to construct his own past as a
comrade as heroic. He does not want to recall his own failure, powerlessness, even
cowardice. It appears that primarily women are disrupting Silas’ heroic construction of
the past, are haunting his memories. Over the years Silas failed to aide a lot of woman,
his childhood friend Dikeledi (BF, 175-176), his first love Frances (BF, 109), Lydia, and
even his lover Betty (BF, 98). On a larger scale, Silas behavior mirrors that of ANC
members, who disapproved of discussing atrocities of the apartheid police alongside
315
atrocities committed by the ANC in front of the TRC. As the future leading power, the
ANC much preferred a heroic representation of its past, fostering silence of its failures.
Thus, instead of burdening Lydia with testifying before the TRC, Silas could have
publicly sought atonement for causing the violations against his wife. Essentially Lydia
was raped because of Silas’ political involvement, which he completely kept secret from
her. To make matters worse, Silas did not even explain the situation to Lydia after the
rape, letting her wonder, why she was violated in such a manner. Much later, Lydia finds
out about Silas’ engagement in the movement, because Silas has an affair with an
informer. The movement did not approve of the relationship and therefore exposed Silas
to Lydia. Silas, however, instead of apologizing to Lydia for his adultery, increasingly
turned to justifying his affair with the pressures he had to endure as part of the antiapartheid struggle. (BF, 54-56). He never, however, explained Du Boise’s rape to Lydia
in this manner. In this respect, Dangor exposes that the TRC burdened the victims with
forgiveness rather than pressing the perpetrator’s and accomplices’ with seeking
atonement.
The wounds on Lydia’s feet are slowly healing, when Silas’ comes home one
night with the news that the TRC has finally completed its report (BF, 159). In addition,
Silas has, however, more painful news for his wife, who refused to testify about her rape
before the TRC, thus enabling Du Boise to seek amnesty753:
‘Du Boise has applied for amnesty, he and three, four others, for rape,
assault, on women mostly. He has named you as one of the cases he is
asking amnesty for.’
She remained silent.
753
As explained in Appendix B, perpetrators could only apply for amnesty, as long as they had not
previously been already accused by victims.
316
He leaned forward. ‘I saw a brief, someone involved in the TRC’s
investigation recognized your name. The hearings will be public, some
time next year.’
‘Stop them, Silas.’
‘I can’t, not even the President . . .’ (BF, 161)
Using Lydia as an example, Dangor exposes here another short-coming of the TRC
process. If a victim remained silent, for whatever reason, the TRC punished the victim by
allowing the perpetrator to seek amnesty. By refusing to testify before the TRC, Lydia
paved the way for Du Boise to apply for amnesty for her rape, portraying it as a political
crime. Lydia’s verbal and Silas’ complete silence, now allows Du Boise to articulate his
version of the event. Just like Silas’ was unable or unwilling to protect Lydia from Du
Boise’ first violation, he now fails her again. Moreover, Silas fails to empathize with
Lydia, to understand what Du Boise testifying might mean for her. Instead of consoling
her, Silas begins to caress her. When Lydia pushes him away, Silas is unable to forget his
manly pride and walks out on her, leaving it to his son to comfort his mother (BF, 161162).
Where Silas fails to empathize with his wife, Mikey’s close, almost incestuous
relationship with his mother (BF, 162, 167-168), causes him to over-empathize with her.
When he reads her diary, her story becomes his:
He rises abruptly. He is determined not to sink into the melancholy that
comes with reliving the past. He knows that it will not be possible to apply
his golden rule – look to the future, always – with the same singlemindedness as before. He can no longer think of the future without
confronting the past.
Christ, he thinks, I am beginning to sound like Archbishop Tutu. And
what does he know? He has never been raped, nor is he a child of rape.
(BF, 131)
Intuitively, Mikey understands that his mother refused to testify before the TRC, because
she anticipated not finding much understanding there, testifying before other men, who
317
just like her own husband would be unable to assume her perspective. Determined not to
sink into the melancholy of reliving the past, Mikey turns to pave the way to the future by
confronting the past in his own way. At the same time, Mikey is not convinced that he is
the fruit of rape. In this respect, he decides to take his own past, the construction of his
origins into his own hands. Now that he knows that name of the man who raped his
mother from Lydia’s diary, Mikey uses his affair with Kate, his father’s former comrade
and fellow TRC lawyer, to obtain the file about Du Boise (BF, 136 & 155).
After reading about his mother’s most intimate thoughts in her diary, Mikey now
faces the unbearable fate of having to cope with the fact that he is possibly the son of a
rapist.
I am the child of some murderous white man, Mikey thinks, a boer,
someone who worked for the old system, was the old system, in fact. For
the first time, the alien nature of this thought strikes him. Why think of the
man as white, as a boer, there were many black men who worked for that
system, and they too raped women, sowed their venomous seed in the
wombs of their enemies? Being fathered by a traitorous black man, that
would have been different, poetic almost, some sort of salvation in
ambiguity.
But were they all traitors, the many black people who collaborated with
the old regime? The subject for any inquiry, a hob for some learned
academic. Decipher those unspoken, ambivalent shadows of our past. (BF,
131)
Instinctively, Mikey rejects the possibility of white heritage. It becomes clear that in the
new South Africa being white is equated with the apartheid system. As part of the colored
minority, Mikey inherits a conflicted heritage. Already his full name, Michael Ali,
represents the oxymoron of his heritage. While in the old South Africa Mikey’s black
heritage was constructed as the source of shame, it appears that within the new South
Africa, Mikey’s possible white heritage could now become shameful. This becomes
clear, because Mikey ponders and concludes that having been fathered by a traitorous
318
black man would have been more poetic than having a white perpetrator as a father. In
this respect, Mikey story in Bitter Fruit is an initiation story, a coming of age story.
Throughout the novel, Mikey’s coming of age is symbolized through naming. The novel
introduces the character with the childish Mikey, the name his mother gave him. Later
Mikey demands to be addressed as Michael, the name Kate, his first lover, gave him.
Finally, at the end of the novel, Michael resolves the oxymoron of his name, by assuming
the identity of Noor Ali (BF, 277). As a result of uncovering the horrible secret of his
creation, Mikey turns to a part of his ancestry, which appears furthest removed from his
parents. In order to get away from the “claustrophobic fervour of the ‘new South Africa’”
(BF, 181), and the uncanny revelation from Lydia’s diary that he might not be Silas’ son,
Michael begins to explore Silas’ heritage. The marriage of Silas’ parents was considered
highly inappropriate from either of their families. His grandmother, ‘Ouma Angel’,
Angelina Pelgron, was white, of Afrikaans heritage (Bf, 180), and the third wife of his
grandfather, Ali Ali (BF, 187), the Imam of the mosque on Griffith Street in Soweto (BF,
190). Michael starts his quest for Silas’ roots, by seeking out and visiting Silas’ halfbrother, Uncle Amin and his family:
What is he really looking for? For evidence that he is indeed Silas’s son,
that Lydia is wrong, that her usually infallible maternal instincts had been
undermined by bitterness, by her fear of the worst, when she proclaimed
him to be Du Boise’s bastard son? What will that evidence be? Physical
resemblance, the unmistakable lineage to be found in the shape of a nose,
the contour of a cheek, or, even more telling, the depth of an eye, the
familiarity of a glance?
He dismisses his thought. Must every pursuit have a utilitarian purpose?
Is it not enough to want to discover your roots simply for the sake of it?
Yes, he can write his history and the history of a whole country, simply by
tracing his family’s nomadic movements from one ruined neighbourhood
to the next, searching through photographs, deeds of sale, engineering
reports . . . social worker’s assessments. (BF, 186)
319
Initially, Michael appears unsure about his intentions. Part of Michael wants to prove
Lydia wrong, wants to detect physical family resemblance between himself and Silas’
half-brother’s family. Simultaneously, Michael realizes that getting to know Silas’
heritage just offers him another option to invent his family’s story. In addition, Michael
understands that uprooting and resettling people, depriving them of exploring and even
getting to know their roots was very much part of the apartheid system. In this respect,
Michael now takes the liberty to be the master of his own identity, to write his own
history. Recognizing his parents’ superhistorical malady, Mikey seems to take a
unhistorical turn, by selecting only a certain part of his heritage, with the intention to
wipe out and leave behind the rest of his family history.
Instantaneously, Michael feels at home among his new-found relatives, who
welcome him like a long-lost son:
He feels immersed in his family, these are his people, these dark-faced,
hook-nosed hybrids; he longs to go and look in the mirror, seek
confirmation of his desire to belong. Lydia must be wrong! How can Du
Boise be his biological father? (BF, 189)
In particular, the candid blitheness with which Uncle Amin’s family welcomes him as
one of their own, affirms Michael’s doubts about his mother’s claim that he is Du Boise
biological son. The above quote is also another indicator that in the new South Africa,
white heritage will be a source of shame; causing another identity crisis in particular for
the so-called coloreds. Thus, Michael is all to willing to confirm relations with “these
dark-faced, hook-nosed hybrids” (BF, 189). In addition, Michael is eager to learn more
about Silas’ father, his grandfather.
When his half-cousin Sadrodien invites him to a meeting at the mosque of their
grandfather, Michael interest for his new-found family soon shifts to the Imam Ismail
320
Behardien, who becomes his mentor. The Imam quickly recognizes Michael’s unusually
sharp mind during discussions with him, takes him under his wing, and patiently answers
Michael’s questions about his grandfather. Soon Michael visits the Imam every other day,
carefully hiding these visits from his parents. The Imam, however, is not really a
philanthropist, but takes an interest in Michael for other reasons:
Someone tells the Imam that Michael has a unique insight into the politics
of the new government. Michael does not disappoint the Ismail. His
observations are sharpened by his knowledge of his father’s work, by
years of exposure to the functioning of the liberation movement and its
effects on the lives of its soldiers and their families. The ‘movement’ is an
organism rather than an organization, it has no central mechanism, but
relies on a series of interlined structures, very much like gears, to make it
work. Its decision-making is slow and requires continuous refinement (at
the last movement, Michael avoids making an analogy with the wheels of
God, fearing that Ismail will be offended).
‘What is its weakness?’ Moulana Ismail asks.
‘One day, someone will try to replace that elaborate wheel with a human,
put a manager in its place, introduce the fallibility of the single mind.’
‘You are truly your grandfather’s seed, such a subtle mind.
...
‘I have a question, Brother Ismail.’
‘Yes, this is trade, value for value.’
‘Hypothetically speaking. If someone without the means, without the
power, but with a just cause, comes to you for help, will you give it?’
‘In search of vengeance?’
‘Justice.’
‘Personal justice?’
“Against one person, yes. But he and his actions represent an entire system
of injustice.’
Ismail goes quiet. Then he says:
‘What do you know about your grandfather’s history?’
‘Very little.’
‘Well, let me tell you a story, a fable of sorts.’ (BF, 195-196)
The Imam uses Michael to gain a better understanding of the power structures within the
new South Africa. In this respect, Michael is Silas’ son, because he not only possesses a
unique knowledge of the political structures of the ANC, but also of the transitional
process. Moreover, Michael’s intelligence enables him to exceed Silas’ knowledge of the
321
processes and provide the Imam with a prognosis for the future at a time that the second
election is imminent. Michael diagnoses that the greatest weakness of the new South
Africa will occur, when the slow-working and pluralistic decision making process of the
ANC will be rationalized and replaced by the “fallibility of the single mind’ (BF, 195).
The Imam’s interest in the weaknesses of the new government suggests that in addition to
continuing racial tensions, religious tensions will also play a role in the new South
Africa.754 It soon becomes clear, that Michael expects something in return for his political
insights. On his personal quest for justice, Michael is looking for unconditional support.
Moulana Ismail guarantees Michael this kind of support rather cryptically, by
telling Michael the story of how his grandfather Ali Ali got his name and came to live in
South Africa. According to Ismail’s story, Ali Ali was born as Hamed Chothia in a small
village called Kacholie in the early 1890s, when India was still ruled by the British
Empire (Bf, 197-198). Sometime during the First World War, a British soldier raped
Hamed’s sister Hajera, who became pregnant as a result. Unable to press charges against
the soldier, the family banned Hajera to live in another village, because she had disgraced
the family (Bf, 200-201). Briefly after its birth, the baby died, while Hajera was breastfeeding it, and the nurse in the hospital accused her of having choked the baby to death.
Thus, Hajera “is condemned to spending the rest of her life in a madhouse.” (BF, 201)
While the family tried to forget Hajera, Hamed, who was very close to his sister, plotted
ways of how to avenge his sister. Under a pretense, he lured the British soldier into “the
same mango grove where Hajera used to walk” (BF, 202) and killed him. Afterward he
assumed the name Ali Ali and fled half across the world before he finally settled in Cape
754
Anderson Tepper, “Bitter Fruit” New York Times Book Review: Jul 31, 2005; ProQuest National
Newspapers Premier pg. 16
322
Town, where he married, had children, and became a student of Islam, a Sufi mystic.
Later Ali Ali settled in Johannsburg as a learned Imam in the mosque, where Ismail now
preaches, as the founder of a Rumi tariqah (BF, 203). Most importantly, the story of
Michael’s grandfather Ali Ali contains the answer for Michael’s question. The reader can
assume that the Ismail is well-informed about Lydia’s rape, and senses Michael’s inner
turmoil and anxieties, about possible being the fruit of Du Boise rape. In this respect, Ali
Ali’s story and Ismail’s views on rape provide the final justification for Michael to
exercise vigilantism:
There are certain things people do not forget, or forgive. Rape is one of
them. In ancient times, conquerors destroyed the will of those whom they
conquered by impregnating the women. It is an ancient form of genocide.
It does not require a Sufi prophecy to see the design in that. The Romans
and the Sabine women, the Nazis and the Jewish women in concentration
camps, the Soviets in Poland, Israeli soldiers and Palestinian refuges,
white South African policemen and black women.
You conquer a nation by bastardizing its children. (BF, 204)
The Imam reminds Michael that rape is one of the things, which can neither be forgotten
nor forgiven, because it possible leads to the mixing of “nations”. In addition, the Imam
stresses the shame of a nation’s “bastard heritage”, leaving Michael not very many ways
of how to resolve the crisis of his mixed identity. The superhistorical malady of his
parents manifests in Michael, when he makes his grandfather’s story his own; lets the
past take over the present. Just like his grandfather took justice into his own hands to
avenge his sister Michael takes itupon himself not only to retaliate for his mother but also
his friend Vinu.
Just like Michael, Vinu is blessed with the preternatural beauty of her mixed
heritage, an Indian mother and a Dutch father, but like Michael, she carries the ugly
burden of an oxymoron as a name, “Vinu Viljoen” (BF, 163 & 222). After Michael has
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already become involved with the Imam, Vinu confesses to Mikey that she had a sexual
relationship with her father since she was fourteen. It takes quite some convincing on
Michael’s part to make Vinu view this “love-making” between her father and her as
abuse; as rape (BF, 207-209). When Michael asks Vinu as to how she plan to resolve her
problem with her father, Vinu jokes that she could get him, “Michael the Avenger”, to
kill her father for her (BF, 224-225). Unable to discuss his or Vinu’s problems with his
parents, Michael resorts to his grandfather’s way of solving the problem. With the help of
the Imam, Michael obtains a gun more suited to shoot people (BF, 241). Not quite sure,
why, Michael decides to first kill Vinu’s father and then Du Boise. Killing Vinu’s father
appears is “a ‘dry run’, practice for a more important mission” (BF, 242), it affirms for
Michael that he is “capable of killing another human being” (BF, 253). When both Lydia
and Silas learn of Johan Viljoen’s violent death, neither one of them connects his murder
with their son. Thus, Michael attends Silas’ fiftieth birthday celebration as if nothing
happened, before he resorts on his final mission. Not even running into Nelson Mandela
himself (BF, 268-270) can stop Michael on his path of vengeance. He is determined to
wipe out his white heritage:
My heritage, he says, in a whisper, unwanted, imposed, my history, my
beginnings.
Michael fires – twice – directly into Du Boise’s face, forgetting his
carefully worked-out plan: shoot into the heart, it is quieter, tends to attract
less attention, He wants to obliterate Du Boise’s face, wipe away that
triumphant, almost kindly expression, leave behind nothing but splintered
bone and shattered skin.
Then he hurries away, not waiting to see which way the body will
tumble. He walks briskly down the road. On the corner of Oxford and
Riviera there are numerous taxis. He will take one into the city, then a
fifteen minute walk to Fordsburg. He has to be at the Oriental Plaza by
6.30. At Moola’s Silk Bazaar, he is to introduce himself.
‘Salaam u aleikum, I am Noor.’ The Prophet’s light. One of his most
devoted disciples.
324
Someone will drive him to Lenasia, drop him off at the Nurul Islam
Hall. From there, he will be transported to a scholar’s retreat near
Potchefstroom in the North West Province. India comes later, much later,
after he has learnt enough about being a Muslim to perhaps become one.
...
He, too, is going to a death a sorts. Michael is to die, Noor will be
incarnated in his place.
May Michael’s truth live on after him. (BF, 276-177)
At the same time, Michael’s execution of the two white fathers and his rebirth as
the Islamic disciple Noor, symbolizes also a rejection of the underlying Christian ethos of
confession and forgiveness, which provided that basis for the TRC.755 At the same time,
by seeking vengeance, Mikey/Michael gives up his place in the new South Africa, and
leaves his family and friends behind. As Noor, he is now dependent on, i.e. enslaved by
the Muslim underground. For the new South Africa, loosing someone of Michael’s
potential, someone with a charisma similar to Mandela’s, to the violence stemming from
the trauma of the unresolved past, represents an immense loss.
At the same time, it appears that Michael’s turn to violence can to a large extent
be blamed on Lydia and Silas, their silence and repression of the traumatic past. Both,
Silas and Lydia had in the end a chance to confront Michael and possibly prevent his turn
to violence: Lydia, when she learned that Michael stole Prof. Graham’s husband’s gun
(BF, 246) and Silas, when Alec told him that Michael got involved with the Imam (BF,
214-215). Both, Lydia and Silas, are however, too preoccupied with dealing with the own
memories, their own identity crises, to realize what the monsters of the past are doing to
their son. While Silas becomes nostalgic for the comrade past756 and is preoccupied with
preserving his heroic self-image, Lydia is engrossed with reinventing herself, asserting
herself, stepping out of Silas’ shadow. She accepts a new job as “part of a research team
755
756
Frenkel, 159-160
Frenkel, 159
325
doing ’control tests’ on HIV-positive mothers (BF, 169) and finally gets her own car (BF,
170). At Silas’ fiftieth birthday party, Lydia finally celebrates her sexual liberation, by
having a one-night stand with a young Mozambican named João, who is her junior by
more than ten years, while both, her husband and her son, watch them (BF, 264-268).
Instead of providing their son with the adequate family framework of how to deal with
the traumas of South Africa’s apartheid past, Silas and Lydia burdened their son with
their unresolved traumas, leaving Michael no other way to free himself than to violently
transform himself into Noor.
Most ironically, the reader remains doubtful throughout the whole novel, whether
Lydia, Silas, and finally Michael are correct in their assumption that Du Boise is really
Mikey’s biological father. The possibility lingers that this presumption is just chimera,
which developed out of their inability to address the traumas of the past. There are
several hints which create the doubt about Michael genetic heritage of Du Boise. Most
importantly, Lydia was already convinced to carry Du Boise child milliseconds after the
rape. This idea, however, can be seen as an irrational response to the traumatic event. No
physical resemblance backs her phantasm: Throughout the novel, Michael is repeatedly
described as tall and beautiful, while Du Boise is described as rather stocky and ugly (BF,
3-4, 274-276). Moreover, Mikey is of mixed heritage from both sides of the family,
Lydia’s757 as well as Silas’. In addition, until Michael read Lydia’s diary, he was
convinced to be the spitting image of Silas’ gay half brother Uncle Toyer (BF, 141), who
“was found with his throat cut, and . . . he’d been castrated”(BF, 135). Most importantly,
however, Lydia was in the possession of Ali Ali’s diary, entrusted to her by Silas’
mother. On Silas’ fiftieth birthday Lydia hands this diary over to Silas’ as a surprise gift.
757
Lydia’s skin & Oliphant
326
Although the reader never learns anything about the content of the diary, knowing
Ismail’s account about Ali Ali’s life, the reader can assume that Ali Ali described his
sister’s fate in his journal. Therefore Lydia’s idea that Du Boise is Michael’s father could
have also developed out of her over-identification with Ali Ali’s sister, their sisterhood of
rape, rape by the oppressor. Another hint is that Lydia writes in her own diary that she
wants to wait until after the birth of the baby, whether it is supposed to live or not. Unlike
Hajera’s baby, Michael survived. It seems even likely that Lydia was familiar with
Hajera’s story before she was even raped by Du Boise, because Ali Ali died long before
Lydia and Silas met.
In this respect, in particular Lydia could have provided her son with a powerful
framework, of how to prevent violence, how to deal with the traumas of South Africa’s
past; a framework, which even Ali Ali employed, even if a little too late: writing. When
asked at a family dinner in December 1993, before the first democratic election of South
Africa, about what he wanted to be when he grew up, Mikey expressed the wish to be a
writer. Instead of taking his wish seriously, the family and even Lydia laughed about it
(BF, 33-35). In this respect, Dangor’s novel not only asserts that writing represents a
powerful tool of how to deal with the unresolved trauma’s of South Africa’s past, but
suggests that writing may even prevent further violence.
b. The Ibis Tapestry – Unbearable Memories
Mike Nicol’s The Ibis Tapestry is divided in four different parts: Reconstruction,
Development, Truth, and Reconciliation. This composition of the novel directly alludes
to the TRC (Truth and Reconciliation Commission) and in many ways the novel can be
327
read as an analogy of work of the TRC758, although Nicol claims to have finished the
manuscript of the novel before the TRC hearings began.759 In the novel, Nicol uses a
post-structuralist approach to history to challenge the official historical narrative of postapartheid South Africa. Simultaneously, Nicol stresses the equal importance of literary
versus historical discourse in the exploration of historical topics, and demands absolute
literary freedom.760 Although the novel is set in the present, in post-apartheid South
Africa, it also qualifies as a historical novel in the sense that history is presented as a
product of the politics of the present.761 In terms of arrangement the novel is in a rather
Bakhtinian manner a modern arrangements of different forms of text762, and combines
“transcriptions of computer files and phone calls, letters, statements, personal interviews,
quotes from books, poems, even corrections to events that have occurred”.763 In many
ways the novel therefore reads more like the notes for a novel than an actual novel. Prima
facie The Ibis Tapestry appears as a thriller, a detective novel.764 It is particularly this
detective element of the novel, which establishes a link to the TRC. In this respect, the
novel explores not only the “nature of truth itself”765, but also how truth and fiction
become intertwined in South Africa, a country undergoing rapid revolutionary change.766
In this respect, Nicol shows in his novel in disturbing ways how closely the South
758
Sten Pultz Moslund, Making Use of History in New South African Fiction, (University of Copenhagen:
Museum Tusculanum Press, 2003) 63-65 (Hereafter quoted as: Moslund, page number)
759
Michael Titlestad and Mike Kissack, “The Secularization of South Africa’s Truth and Reconciliation
Commission in Mike Nicol’s The Ibis Tapestry” Research in African Literatures, Vol. 37, No.4 (Winter,
2006) (Hereafter quoted as: Titlestad & Kissack, page number)
760
Moslund, 32
761
Moslund, 63
762
As explained in Chapter 3.
763
Doris Lynch, “The Ibis Tapestry Review” Library Journal; Apr 15, 1998; 123, 7; ABI/INFORM Global
pg. 114 (Hereafter quoted as: Lynch, page number)
764
Moslund, 62-63
765
Lynch, 114
766
Erik Burns, “Soldier of Fortune” (Review of the Ibis Tapestry) New York Times Book Review; Jun 14,
1998; ProQuest National Newspapers Premier pg. 21 (Hereafter quoted as: Burns, page number)
328
African past and present are still linked, and how deeply the apartheid policies, as well as
the corruptions of President Botha’s apartheid regime permeated ((South) African)
society.767 While the TRC attempted to expose the atrocities of the past through the
testimonies, Robert Poley, the first person narrator and main protagonist of The Ibis
Tapestry also sets out to explore a crime of the past.768 Poley’s quest for the truth about
the death of Christo Mercer resembles the TRC’s search for truth about the atrocities of
the apartheid past. The truth about the past, however, proves to be very evasive, while at
the same time pointing to unmistakable and often disturbing repercussions in the present.
Two main themes dominate Nicol’s novel: guilt and remembering.769 The ghosts
of its apartheid past haunt the present South Africa. The author tightly enmeshes a
personal story with the larger political repercussions of the apartheid system, past and
present, national and international. Above all, the novel exposes the apartheid system and
generally the killing of human being as an economically profitable business. In addition,
Nicol establishes a connection between Europe, the United States, South Africa, and
other violent conflicts in other parts of Africa. Moreover, Nicol connects contemporary
violent conflicts in Africa with its history of colonization and shows how particularly
women became innocent victims of these present and past conflicts.
The main protagonist and first person narrator of The Ibis Tapestry, Robert Poley,
is a mediocre but quite successful writer of political thrillers; of pulp fiction; of airport
novels (IT, 209). After twenty years of marriage, Poley and his wife are seeking a
divorce, because she discovered her lesbian preferences. Unable to cope with this
767
Sybil Steinberg, “The Ibis Tapestry” Publishers Weekly; Mar 9, 1998; 245, 10; ABI/INFORM Global
pg. 50 (Hereafter quoted as: Steinberg, page number)
768
Moslund, 63-64
769
Moslund, 64
329
revelation, Poley retreats and is unable to reach out to his teenage sons, who stay with
their mother and also struggle with the new situation. The mysterious arrival of a laptop
computer in the mail disrupts Poley’s hermitage and pulls him out of his lethargic selfpity. It is a welcome distraction for Poley, when he finds strange evidence of a man called
Christo Mercer on the laptop. Uncovering the shadowy identity of Mercer soon becomes
an obsession for Poley, a diversion from his own family problems.
Although Nicol’s novel fits within the detective genre, the narrative set-up of the
text is far more complicated and is rather “a reflection of texts within texts within
texts.”770 The author, Mike Nicol, lets the first person narrator, Robert Poley, narrate and
retrace the story of Christo Mercer, who in turn tells the story of the surviving virgin
Salma and Ibn el-Tamaru. The identity of the mastermind behind Mercer’s story, who
sends Poley all information about Christo Mercer, Deep Throat II, remains unknown.
Christopher Marlowe’s play Tamburlaine the Great serves as a subtext for Christo
Mercer’s as well as Ibn el-Tamaru’s life, but also constitutes an allegory of the apartheid
state.771 The amalgamation of different forms of text, the notes within the text, as well as
the intertextual references also create a “factional” impression of the novel. But Poley
also appears as an unreliable first person narrator, who constantly reminds the reader of
the constructed nature of his narrative: “I am the writer . . . I choose what to include and
what to leave out” (IT, 80). The narrator’s/author’s self-monitoring together with the selfcritical notes in the text resist the creation of any typical fictional illusion.772 At the same
time, the reader gets lost in the entanglement of fact and fiction, but remains conscious of
the subjectivity of Poley’s narrative, which lacks any form of authority or claim to
770
Moslund, 67
Moslund, 67
772
Moslund, 67
771
330
objectivity. The grown Poley has not only maintained his childhood’s imaginative
escapism, but also, according to his own mother, has always liked to exaggerate: “You
have always made mountains out of molehills. No problem was ever too small that it
couldn’t be exaggerated into something insurmountable” (IT, 81). The narrative creates
in the reader more questions than it gives him answers and encourages the reader to
develop his/her own detective traits about Christo Mercer’s death, about the past; i.e.
history.
One of the first clues about Mercer’s identity is the man’s apparent obsession with
Christopher Marlowe’s Elizabethan play about Machiavellian power, Tamburlaine the
Great. Mercer’s laptop contains a single file, which represents a rewriting of Marlowe’s
play. Several lexical and textual links exist: Possibly inspired by sharing the same initials
with Christopher Marlowe, Mercer turns Tamburlaine the Great into Ibn el-Tamaru and
retells the central story of Marlowe’s play, the shooting of the four innocent virgins. It
appears, as if Mercer constantly relived the works of Christopher Marlowe.773 Mercer’s
story does not seem to spring solely from his imagination, but rather appears also
grounded in reality. For example, Mercer took the names of the four virgins from
newspaper clippings, but fictionalized their lives. Ironically, in Mercer’s story only two
of the ‘virgins’ are virgins although none of the girls is older than fifteen. Two of them,
however, have previously been raped, three of them been circumcised (IT, 14-18). In this
respect, Nicol’s description of Mercer’s account of the shooting of the virgins also creates
a larger context of violence against females in Africa, including murder, rape, sexual
assault, but also female genital mutilation; countless other instances when virgins become
773
Steinberg, 50
331
victims.774 Similar to Marlowe’s play in Mercer’s story the shooting occurs when the
warlord, Ibn el-Tamaru, attacks the Saharan town Djano. Unlike in Marlowe’s play, one
of the virgins, Salma, survives the shooting in Mercer’s version of the story and is nursed
back to life by Ibn el-Tamaru’s wife, Sarra. The survival of one of the victims is the most
significant difference between Marlowe’s and Mercer’s story.
Robert Poley, however, is less interested in the story of the virgins than in Christo
Mercer’s story. Instead of researching whether Mercer’s account of the shooting of the
virgins contains a grain of truth, dedicating himself to the lives of the victims in his
narrative, Poley becomes fascinated with Mercer. A large part of Poley’s reconstruction
of Christo Mercer’s life stems from a variety of documents he receives from an unknown
source. In addition to the laptop with one single file, “tamburlaine.txt” (IT, 46), Poley
receives two more packages in the mail: The first one arrives “about a week after the
laptop” (IT, 82) and contains “a stiffy disc containing a copy of Christo Mercer’s paper
“The Nature of Political Power in Marlowe’s Tamburlaine the Great” and the “virgin.txt”
and “e-pisodes” files” (IT, 82). One week later Poley receives the last package in the
mail, which includes “two large feint-ruled exercise books glued together into a single
book, and a short newspaper clipping” (IT, 89), which briefly summarizes the violent
death of Christo Mercer. In the exercise book, titled “The Book of Dreams”, Christo
Mercer noted down in a rather Freudian manner “4,571 dreams, dated from 1975 to 11
November 1994, two days before his death” (IT, 90-94).775 All three packages were
posted in Johannesburg, but none of them provided any information about its sender,
774
One of the virgins is named Dirie – possibly after Waris Dirie, the former model, who wrote a bestseller
about her own female genital mutilation and subsequently became a UN advocate for the abolition of
female genital mutilation worldwide.
775
Titlestad & Kissack, 52
332
about whom Poley has a variety of questions, for which he does not really know the
answer:
1. How did Deep Throat II get his hands on Christo Mercer’s possessions,
especially those from Malitia?
2. How did Deep Throat II get the biographical file?
3. Why was such a file kept in the first place?
4. Where was the file kept?
5. Why did Deep Throat II choose me?
To Question 1 I now have an answer, of sorts (see chapter 32). Question
2 conjures up totally sinister dealings. There will never be an answer to
either this or Questions 3 and 4. There will, however, remain the hints of
state security and military intelligence and ominous, faceless figures in the
background.
To me, personally, number 5 was the most alarming question of all.
...
Even so I have a theory: Deep Throat II spends (or spent) a lot of time in
airports; he’s read my thrillers. And he can’t tell the difference between
their world and his own. As for his motives, they might be anything from
revenge to righteous indignation. My motives are far simpler. I’m
constantly in search of plots and intrigue – and this particular one, in those
despairing days of post-apartheid revelation, couldn’t have rung truer.
There’s also something of the journalistic curiosity left in me. (IT, 95-97)
By naming the unknown sender of the Mercer packages “Deep Throat II”, Poley/Nicol
establishes a connection to the disclosure of the United States biggest political scandal.
The anonymous source, who disclosed information to the Washington Post about U.S.
President Richard Nixon’s involvement in the Watergate scandal, became known under
the pseudonym “Deep Throat”. In this respect, Poley/Nicol stresses the gravity of the
political discoveries in The Ibis Tapestry, suggesting that the truth about Christo Mercer
could shatter the newly established and highly fragile political structures in South Africa.
Thus, speculations about the true circumstances of Christo Mercer’s death can only be
addressed in fiction; moreover, can only be addressed by an entertainment author of
Robert Poley’s caliber, i.e. by a relatively unknown author of Mike Nicol’s standing,
whose writing does not even come close to the influence of a serious, internationally
333
established writer such as J. M. Coetzee. At the same time, the question lingers, why
journalists (Robert Poley previously worked as a journalist.) have not done more research
about the death of Christo Mercer; i.e. the crimes he was obviously involved in. At the
same time, the nickname for the Watergate source, “Deep Throat” stemmed from a porn
movie of the same name, alluding to the objectification and abuse of women within maledominated political systems, such as the apartheid system.
In a journalistic fashion, Poley researches Christo Mercer’s life, and follows up on
the inter-textual references Mercer provides by reading Christopher Marlowe’s
Tamburlaine The Great, Charles Nicholl’s The Reckoning (IT, 208), Richard Burton’s
Book of the Thousand and one Nights (IT, 76), and also uncovering a number of poems,
which Christo Mercer published “in the seventies and early eighties” (IT, 158). In
addition, although himself a writer, Poley seeks professional literary assistance from
Professor Khufalo, the Renaissance authority in the Department of English at the
University of Cape Town. Professor Khufalo’s insights make it a little easier for Poley to
dig himself a way through the amalgamation of fact and fiction in Mercer’s rewriting of
Christopher Marlowe’s text; to differentiate the dubious world of Elizabethan espionage
from that of South African apartheid.776 Moreover, Poley fills in the remaining gaps
about Christo Mercer by interviewing his friends, relatives and business acquaintances,
some of which refused to speak to Poley. As a result of Poley’s inquiries the man Christo
Mercer slowly begins to take shape, at least in biographical form:
Michael Titlestad and Mike Kissack point out in their article that “To a point, the
life of Christopher Edward Mercer is typical of a white English-speaking South African
776
Titlestad & Kissack, 53
334
born in the mid-1950s.”777 Mercer was born in Johannesburg “on Sunday, 12 September
1954” (IT, 101), and was raised in apartheid South Africa as part of the white middle
class. “From 1972 to 1974, he was registered for a BA at the University of
Witwatersrand, majoring in law and English” (IT, 101). Subsequently, he joined the
army, choosing active duty over being a desk clerk, and thus became actively involved in
the guerilla war against the SWAPO (South West African People’s Organization) in
Namibia, where South Africa was involved in military conflict with Southern Angola (IT,
101-102). In 1976, Mercer begins working as an articled clerk “at the law offices of
Heunis, Hamman & Mostert” (IT, 102), marrying Wilma Mostert “just under eighteen
months after” (IT, 103). A year later, in 1978, Christo Mercer “completed, part-time, a
year-long diploma in management and administration” (IT, 103). Coming more and more
under the influence of his father-in-law, the following year, Mercer joined the company
Precision Engineering, for which P.J.P. Mostert, Wilma’s father, acted as one of the
company’s four directors. Alongside his work for Precision Engineering Mercer obtained
an MBA at the University of Cape Town and fathered his first daughter, Olive778 (IT,
103). When his father-in-laws company was suddenly closed down in 1985, Mercer
registered his own company, International Ventures, under a fake street address. Together
with Philip Kleinschmidt, Mercer acted as director for this company, which operated
solely out of a postal box. One year later, in 1986 Mercer’s began his travels to northern
Africa, meeting the warlord Ibn el-Tamaru. Although Mercer’s feelings of anxiety and
guilt, as his dreams show, existed before he got involved with the warlord, these feelings
worsened, in form of the reoccurring dream of the murdered virgins, upon working with
777
Titlestad & Kissack, 53
As Poley finds out, Mercer named his daughter after the South African writer Olive Schreiner (18551920), because she was pro-Boer. (IT, 125-126)
778
335
and befriending Ibn el-Tamaru. By the time, Mercer’s second daughter Emily779 was
born, in 1988, one John Campbell became another director of International Ventures,
only to be deleted from the register four years later (IT, 104). Poley’s research about
Mercer’s company uncovers that
Note 10: International Ventures belongs to that rash of mysterious
companies set up by exposed spies and apparently retired security
policemen in the mid to late eighties; operations – like those started by
spymaster Craig Williamson – purporting to offer industrial security
services.
Unlike Williamson’s concerns, though, International Ventures received
no media coverage until it was linked, in January 1993, to mercenary
activity in Angola. But even that story soon ran out of substance; the
company’s only comment, attributed to director Philip Kleinschmidt, was
that they acted as transport carriers for North American and European aid
agencies.
Even the killing of Christo Mercer occasioned only two mentions in
daily newspapers, one of which I’ve already quoted . . . And then both
Christo Mercer and International Ventures dropped out of the public mind
until 17 September 1995, when an article on South Africa’s arms trade in
the Sunday Times mentioned his name in passing. (IT, 109)
In this context, Mercer’s name appears as suggestive, “mercer” being a euphemism for
“mercenary”. Instead of trading cloth, Mercer traded weapons and belonged to a larger
corrupt international network, which made enormous profits from other people’s
miseries. The power of this network if best illustrated by the way it is impossible to
retrieve exact information about the business of Mercer’s company. The little
information, which leaks, does not resonate, but rather disappears quickly through the
cracks in the media. By mentioning Craig Williamson in one breath with Mercer,
Poley/Nicol establishes a connection between the two. Similar to Craig Williamson, who
sought amnesty before the TRC, Mercer “represents an English speaking South African
779
As Poley finds out, Mercer named his daughter after the British activist Emily Hobhouse (1860-1926),
who brought attention to the horrific conditions inside the concentrations camps, which the British had
established for the Boer women and children during the Second Anglo-Boer war. (IT, 125-126)
336
who . . . identified with the ideology of Afrikaner nationalism to the point that he became
its covert agent.”780 At the same time, Nicol stresses the fact that apartheid South Africa
was born out of British imperialism as well as Afrikaner nationalism, while at the same
time also suggesting that all three have common traits.
In a last attempt to solve the riddle around Christo Mercer’s death, Robert Poley
even travels to the sight of Christo Mercer’s death, to Malitita, where he meets and sleeps
with Mercer’s former lover Oumou Sangaré781 (IT, 197-201). Despite all his endeavors,
Poley is in the end unable to answer the most the two most pressing question about
Mercer’s death: ‘Who killed Christo Mercer? And why?’ On a meta-fictional level
Christo Mercer’s mysterious death mirrors the circumstances of Christopher Marlowe’s
unresolved murder.782 Just like Marlowe, Mercer spent the last day of his life in the
company of three Englishmen indulging with them in eating and drinking expensive
foods and beverages, only to be brutally murdered an hour after he left their company
(IT, 203-205). In their article on The Ibis Tapestry, Titlestad and Kissack point out the
three main reasons why Marlowe’s murder escapes explanation: Firstly, “. . . the
available documentary evidence is fragmentary and inconclusive. Secondly, as a
counterfeiter, a probably spy, and a controversial atheist (. . .) Marlowe participated in a
world that was, out of necessity, committed to secrecy and concealment”.783 Thirdly,
applying the classical ideal of dialectical disputation to the interpretation of Marlowe’s
life, and work, possibly let to an elusive biographical representation of him, but also to
780
Titlestad & Kissack, 53
Like almost all of the characters in Nicol’s novel, Mercer and then Poley’s lover Oumou Sangare also
has a real life namesake. Oumou Sangare is a well-known female African musician from Mali, who has
been outspoken against polygamie and promotes freedom of marriage for women.
http://africanmusic.org/artists/sangare.html
782
Titlestad & Kissack, 55
783
Titlestad & Kissack, 54
781
337
“traces that lend themselves to a variety of interpretations.”784 Similarly, Christo
Mercer’s dubious life, work and death appear like an incomplete puzzle and all
information Poley uncovers is highly fragmentary and often, as in the case of the
interviews, even biased. At the same time, it becomes unmistakable clear that Christo
Mercer was part of the highly deceptive; corrupt, but also dangerous world of the
international arms trade. Thirdly, depending on, who Poley interviews, different images
of Christo Mercer, who apparently was a man of many faces, exist. Moreover, different
speculations about Mercer’s death surface; suicidal as well as murderous theories: Only
one person is adamantly convinced that Mercer may have committed suicide, Martin
Eloff, Mercer’s “long-standing friend” (IT, 153). He tells Poley that he perceived Mercer
as “clinically depressed” before he left for Malitita, and is convinced that Mercer
“committed suicide” by provoking “the attack” (IT, 158). The murder theories amount a
number of possible suspects. While Mercer’s Afrikaner father-in-law, P.J.P. Mostert,
because of his anti-Semitic inclinations, suspects that the Israeli secret service; the
Mossad, killed Christo Mercer (IT, 116-117), Mercer’s mother-in-law, Magda Mercer,
blames the Arabs (IT, 119). Oumou Sangaré, Mercer’s lover, could also imagine that he
was murdered by “dealers from another country who were protecting their territory”. (IT,
207) Yet another theory is put forward by Mercer’s sister, Mary Fitzgerald and her
husband, Anthony:
…Okay, here goes. I – we, Ant and I – think Christo was killed by one of
these “dirty tricks” guys. You know, the third force. Maybe he knew
things about those high up, and what with the Truth Commission and the
judicial inquiry into arms trading plenty of people were getting worried.
Who knows what goes on in such circles. Maybe Christo was going to do
a “Paul Erasmus”, although I doubt it. But it would fit with your theory
that he was showing signs of remorse. (IT, 131)
784
Titlestad & Kissack, 54-55
338
After previously linking Christo Mercer to Craig Williamson, Nicol links Mercer in the
above quote to Paul Erasmus, a remorseful South African security police officer whose
testimony before the TRC caused quite a controversy. Whereas Williamson did not show
signs of genuine remorse in his testimony before the TRC and also left a lot of things
unexplained785, Erasmus’ testimony before the TRC revealed a lot of information other
people would have liked to keep secret. In particular, Erasmus disclosed information
about a special security police unit, STRATCOM, which specialized in propaganda
against opponents of the apartheid regime. In addition, Erasmus declared that this unit
had been involved in spreading false rumors about Winnie Madikizela-Mandela with the
intent to discredit her publicly.786 At the same time, the above quote presents a general
commentary on the fact that TRC failed to summon leading members of the apartheid
government such as P.W. Botha, De Klerk, as well as the Inkatha leader, Mangosuthu
Buthelezi before the TRC, and in the end even granted them, as well as the leadership of
the ANC amnesty without any public hearings at all.787 Keeping in mind that the number
of people killed in South Africa as a result of political violence actually increased after
Mandela’s release, it does not appear too far fetched, to suspect, that Mercer was
murdered by the so-called Third Force as like previously mentioned Mercer’s sister and
her husband suspect. As an insider of South African apartheid society and the
international arms trade, a testimony by Mercer in front of the TRC surely posed a threat
to the previous and present establishment, national and international.
785
South African Associated Press (SAPA) "Police unable to get to Slovo, so they killed first: TRC told”
(Pretoria, September 1998) http://www.doj.gov.za/trc/media/1998/9809/s980928a.htm
786
Press Release by Paul Erasmus issued by the ANC, signed by Paul Erasmus on 09-09-97 Johannesburg
http://www.anc.org.za/ancdocs/pr/1997/pr0909c.html
787
Moslund, 65
339
Although, it remains utterly unclear who killed Christo Mercer and why, it
becomes clear that his feelings of guilt, his remorse, his growing ability to perform
controlled empathy again, had fatal consequences for Mercer. The very year Mercer
started writing down his dreams, he killed his first victim, the Cuban soldier, Jorge
Morate, on patrol in Angola in 1975. Subsequently, the ghost of Jorge Morate mercilessly
haunted Mercer:
Except he was seriously disturbed. Jorge Morate had seriously disturbed
him. And then Marlowe came along and seriously disturbed him some
more. You know about Faustus, don’t you? His contract with the devil and
all that. Well, listen to this. Christo once advanced the theory that Jorge
Morate was actually the devil, and that by killing him he’d contracted his
soul to Lucifer. Jesus wept. Have you ever heard anything like it? And he
thought he didn’t need help. God alone. He had a serious problem and just
refused to deal with it. And this was ten years later. In about 1985 or ’86. I
said to him, Christo, I’ve got the name of someone who can help you. And
you know what he said to me? He said, Onions, Mary-lamb (that’s what
he called me, Mary-lamb), it’s all onions. (IT, 130)
According to his sister, Mercer appeared convinced that by killing Jorge Morate he had in
a rather Faustian manner made a pact with the devil; i.e. loosing his soul to him. Mercer’s
affectionate name for his baby sister, ‘Mary lamb788’ serves as another indicator that
Mercer was indeed quite a religious person, and possibly believed that as a murderer he
would go to hell. For those convinced they would go to hell, because they had broken the
third commandment, those who had killed, the TRC did not really have anything to offer.
Forgiveness or reconciliation on earth would not save them from the fires of hell. The
problematic duality in certain strands of Christianity, in particular in Catholicism, of good
and evil, God and the Devil, heaven and hell could not be resolved by the TRC. In
particular Mercer’s reference to onions in the above quote appears as rather strange. From
the documents he received in the mail, Poley already noticed Mercer’s strange hatred of
788
Mary as the mother of Jesus and Jesus as metaphorically referred to as the lamb.
340
and repeated reference to onions. His sister Mary recalls, however, that Mercer was quite
fond of onions when they were growing up: He “used to eat raw onions” (IT, 171) as a
child, once “had this gang, and you could join only if you ate a raw onion” (IT, 172), and
even had a “crazy idea about making cough mixture from raw onions juice and sugar”
(IT, 172). Around the time when he killed Morate, onions became a repulsive object for
Mercer and he could not stand them anymore. The shape of onions, their smell and taste
haunt Mercer in his nightmares (IT, 21), but even when he is awake onions trouble him:
The taste of onions was still in his mouth, raising a memory he thought
he’d long forgotten. Or rather, a memory he’d learnt not to remember. One
which even now he kept hidden from himself. (IT, 12)
For Mercer onions are clearly linked to disturbing memories, which he would rather
suppress. Onions are the symbol, which keeps the memory of Jorge Morate alive, while
simultaneously constantly reminding Mercer that he is a murderer. Apart from this
psychological explanation, Mercer’s sister offers Poley a more concrete explanation of
her brother’s aversion against onions:
It’s so obvious, really. It’s about that onion business. A bit gruesome, not
at all the sort of thing one needs on one’s answering machine, but here
goes anyhow. This has to do with that guy, Morate, who Christo shot. I
told you how Christo went back afterwards and took his crucifix and
searched for his documents. Well, while Christo was going through his
pockets, the corpse sighed – I don’t know why, maybe the lungs collapsed
or something – and this waft of onion breath blew out. It was enough to
make Christo hurl. I can only think this is why Christo went off onions.
(IT, 172-173)
In this respect, onions are a permanent somatic reminder for Christo Mercer of his
“undeniable complicity in violence”.789 The smell of onions takes Mercer right back to
the corpse of Jorge Morate. At the same time, when the onion breath escaped from Jorge
Morate’s body, Mercer may have unwillingly recognized himself in Morate, and
789
Titlestad & Kissack, 56
341
understood that it could have also died in their encounter. Not only learning his victim’s
name, but smelling his odors, made Mercer realized what he had done – taken another
human being’s life. From then on, Christo Mercer preferred his victims to remain
nameless, but he could not escape the mnemonic device of the onions, which forever
conjured up Jorge Morate, who became the symbol for all of Christo Mercer’s other
victims; for his involvement in violence. Jorge Morate’s last name is also telling in this
respect, because from Spanish “morate’ translates into “a salt of moric acid”. For Christo
Mercer, Jorge Morate is the salt in the wound of the past; the memory of his guilt, which
burns in his consciousness. At the same time, the meaning of Morate’s name, as well as
his Cuban origins, also bring in the context of British / U.S. American imperialism:
Glass, death by eating thereof. This is a theme carried like a rumbling
appendix in the bowels of some such as P. J. P. Mostert (and maybe this is
where Christo Mercer got the idea for Sarra’s death). It has its origins in a
myth that those in the British Boer War concentration camps had their
good “doctored” with glass on the express orders of their Herr Lager
Kommandants. As thousands of the inmates succumbed to the dysentery
shits, the story isn’t conceivable. It was supported by the prescription of
epsom salts by camp medics, a laxative, which probably only served to
exacerbate the condition. Today the mythic remnants of this horror can be
found on supermarket shelves, where epsom salts – its crystals resembling
ground glass – is still labeled Engelese Sout. (IT, 135)
The above quote suggests that Mercer’s involvement in the violence of the South African
apartheid regime may have in fact been born out of guilt. Mercer loyalty to the apartheid
regime can be seen as an attempt to make up for the British atrocities committed against
the Afrikaners during the Anglo-Boer War (1899-1902). His encounter with Jorge Morate
made Christo Mercer realize that he had made a mistake. Instead of alleviating former
injustices, he had gotten involve in creating new ones. Instead of confronting and
preventing his own further corruption, Mercer chose to repress it. The onions, however,
342
developed into a multi-sensory reminder of his own guilt. By mentioning the “Engelse
Sout”, Nicol stresses that the foundations for Afrikaner nationalism, i.e. the apartheid
regime, were laid by British imperialism, while at the same time suggesting that all three,
British imperialism, Afrikaner nationalism, the apartheid ideology are different sides of
the same coin. The ideology of apartheid South Africa allowed white South Africans to
overcome their former animosities and unite against a new “common enemy”, people of
color. In this respect, the memory work, truth search of the TRC did not go far enough,
because it just concerned the apartheid past, largely ignoring the previous connections
with the colonialist past.
This is where Christo Mercer’s relation with Ibn el-Tamaru comes into play. As
Poley researched, not only the memory of Jorge Morate but also the ghosts of the four
virgins troubled Christo Mercer towards the end of his life. Mercer’s obsession with the
four virgins symbolizes his realization that his involvement with Ibn el-Tamaru has made
him part and parcel of the warlord’s crimes. Moreover, much of the atrocities Ibn elTamaru committed, he carried out, in order to free his people from colonial oppression.
As a South African of British descent, Mercer’s heritage also makes him part of the
colonial oppressor, his guilt is therefore twofold. Having previously profited from being
part of the colonial oppressor, Mercer now cashes in on the Africa liberation struggle by
providing the necessary arms, creating even more suffering.
In the Ibis Tapestry, the massacre of the virgins by Tamburlaine the Great, Ibn elTamaru, represents the repetitive violent circle of history.790 In Mercer’s retelling of
Marlowe’s play, which Poley names “The Last Dream of Christo Mercer”, this repetitive
violent circle of history is broken, because one of the victims, Salma, miraculously
790
Titlestad & Kissack, 58
343
survives the shooting, although she is crippled for life. Largely responsible for Salma’s
survival is Sarra, Mercer’s recreation of Zenocrate, the wife of Tamburlaine the Great in
Marlowe’s play. For Poley, Zenocrate represents the following:
Hers is the voice of remorse. She bitterly regrets the wanton destruction,
the maiming, the loss of life. She would be the first person to stand up
before a Truth Commission and confess her sins of omission:
. . . pardon me that was not mov’d with ruth
To see them live so long in misery.
If any of the four virgins had still lived Zenocrate would have been forever
stricken with remorse, with guilt, with the need to make good. (IT, 42)
As the voice of remorse, Sarra takes upon herself Ibn el-Tamaru’s guilt and nurses Salma
back to life, protects her against her husband, but also tries to find ways for Salma to
express her trauma.791 As the first form of recovery, Sarra instructs Salma in beading. For
Sarra beads are objects of the past, which simultaneously contain the possibility to create
something new.792 However, the beads only achieve new meaning in union:
There is nothing is these beads that is evil, Salma, just as there is nothing
in them that is good. They’re just beads. They’ve no value, yet they’re not
valueless. They’ve no meaning, yet in a tapestry they could have so much
meaning they could explain anything. They’ve not motion, yet can make
us laugh or cry. With these beads you could show the evil or quick
moments of good. The beads are neither, yet can be one or the other. It all
depends on you. (IT, 52)
On their own, the beads are without meaning, and only achieve meaning through their
connections with other beads. Whether the union of beads, the tapestry, will represent
evil or good depends primarily on the creator. On an allegorical level, the beads also
resemble human beings. At birth, human beings are neither, not good nor evil, but they
carry the possibility of being both. Depending on the social network; the tapestry; the
791
792
Titlestad & Kissack, 58
Titlestad & Kissack, 59
344
community, in which they grow up, humans are able to create flashes of good and evil.
Awareness of the past, however, provides a possibility to create a conscious community,
which will be better. Upon Sarra’s instructions, Salma decides to make an ibis tapestry,
because for Salma “hope is an ibis” (IT, 48):
Sarra told me this about the ibis: it is sacred.
“It cannot be touched”, she said. “Neither killed nor destroyed in image.
Whoever does so is cursed. In my country we believed that the ibis
hatched the world and named it. She made letters from the shapes of
mountains, the contortions of trees, the sloughed skins of snakes, from the
tracks beetles left over the sand. She made words from the sounds on the
wind. These she sprinkled about the earth as she flew and they named the
places were they fell.
“Yet, she had now words for what happened in these places between
these animals. She had to wait until events occurred. She had to leave the
story to us.
“’Who you are,’ she warned our ancestors, ‘will be known by the tales
you tell. These I cannot alter. But I shall judge you by them both in this
world and the next. Remember my plumage is the light of the sun, my
neck is the shadow of the moon.’ (IT, 61)
The ibis represents hope because it created and named the world. Just like in many
creation myths, the ibis creation myth connects creation with letters, with words, with
narrating. As a sacred entity, whose image should not be destroyed, as the creator, as the
supreme and final judge, he ibis exhibits divine qualities similar to those in Christian
beliefs. At the same time, the imagery used in the ibis creation myths conjures up more
indigenous African belief system, in particular by referring to the ancestors. Most (South)
African belief systems refer to a circular bond between the realms of the ancestors, the
living generations, and the future generations. Narration becomes crucial, because to the
following generations, the previous generations will only be known through tales. Like
any representation of the past, history is also a collection of tales. In Sarra’s care it
becomes increasingly important for Salma to tell her story, add to the tales of the past.
345
At first, Salma attempts to fulfill the “ibis’ ethical challenge” to tell her story, by
meticulously beading the ibis tapestry.793 After nearly two years of work the Salma’s ibis
tapestry is still unfinished. Salma’s and Sarra beading of tapestries, stands, however, also
in opposition to the tapestries Mercer and Ibn el Tamaru weave. As Poley researches,
“Weaving the desired tapestry” is a euphemism of the arms trade for “placing enough
arms dealers with enough weapons of death in the field” (IT, 112) In this context, it
makes much more sense, that Ibn el-Tamaru in his uncontrolled rage about his wife
Sarra’s barrenness destroys the two women’s common beading studio and also Salma’s
work: “In the end he comes for my ibis screaming not words but rage. My shield is torn
from me. I see him rend the fabric, see the beads fly loose in an arc over us.” (IT, 61) By
obliterating her ibis tapestry, Ibn el-Tamaru further abuses Salma, in destroying the
creative evidence of her trauma, i.e. the fact that he almost killed and subsequently
crippled her for life. In addition, he also destroys the women’s critical evidence of his
business. Simultaneously, Ibn el-Tamaru also violates the sacredness of the ibis, whose
image he ruins. Moreover, his violent attack against the two women is representative of
other violent domestic and non-domestic attacks of men against women.
However, Ibn el-Tamaru’s violence cannot silence the two women. Only
moments after his attack, Sarra invents an alternative plan for Salma to tell her story:
She looked at me, her dark eyes unblinking, determined. “Come. I’ll teach
you to write.”
I didn’t move, for a moment held her eyes, then glanced away.
“Salma.”
“There’s no point,” I replied. “What I write he’ll burn.”
“Then you will write it again.”
“We can defeat him, Sarra.”
“I am not talking about defeating him. We’re not even going to fight him.
We’re just going to tell what happened.”
793
Titlestad & Kissack, 59
346
“It’s not going to change anything.”
“No.”
“Then why bother.”
“Because we have to. Because this is the way we are and we have to
describe it. Come.”
I was petulant. But even so, I hobbled to the table and sat down. . .
...
Day after day we made the signs. Even when I faltered and could not
match the letters to her sounds, or formed the signs with less skill than a
child, she kept behind me. Patient. Encouraging.
“It’s not easy,” she would say. “It will take time. But I’ll give you as many
years as you need.”
Or: “Remember the beads. Think of each letter as a bead. The beads
strung together made patterns and out of the patterns you made an image.
We’re doing the same thing. We’ll build words and then sentences and the
run of sentences will be your story. But it takes time. (IT, 62-63)
Even in light of the danger that Ibn el-Tamaru will again destroy the fruit of their labor,
Sarra is convinced that Salma needs to tell her story. Speaking out appears as the only
way for the victim to free him/herself from the abuse of the perpetrator. With Sarra’s
patient help, Salma slowly learns out to write just like she learned how to bead the
tapestry. Every letter adds to the Salma’s story just like every bead contributed to the
imagery of the tapestry, finally offering Salma another way of how to express the trauma
of Ibn el-Tamaru’s abuse, bearing witness publicly. Unlike the work of the TRC, which
aimed for reconciliation and forgiveness, Salma’s struggles to tell her story in beading or
writing, are a practice of blaming Ibn el-Tamaru794, in particular after Sarra commits
suicide by eating glass (IT, 69-70).795 Mercer’s rewriting of Marlowe’s play shows above
all that Mercer is still capable of performing controlled empathy. Because of his
affiliation with the warlord, Mercer developed feelings of guilt, which caused him to
assume the perspective of victims. Similar to Sarra, Mercer’s guilt may have been
794
Titlestad & Kissack, 60
As previously mentioned, the way Sarra commits suicide establishes another connection to the
“Engelese Sout”, i.e. the British concentration camps during the Anglo-Boer war.
795
347
overwhelming in the end, and driven him to expose himself to situations, where he knew
he would be killed; thus purposefully committing suicide. Nicol insinuates that forgiving
is an act of the perpetrators rather than the victims. The victims essentially have nothing
to forgive. They just have to find a way of how to deal with their suffering. The
perpetrators, however, have to forgive themselves, in order to be able to live.
When Poley interviews Salma at the end of the novel, Salma defends her
unforgiving stand towards the warlord:
He stood before me. If I forgave I would not be freed. I would still have
the pain. I would not be healed. I would still be ashamed that I had been
allowed to live. It would be too easy to forgive him, too easy.
So my choice was to accuse him. To judge him. Like the ibis I had to
judge him. I had to. For those who were dead. But not only for them, also
for those who had chosen to forget.
Once if a person had leprosy he had to warn people of his disease. He had
to ring a bell where he went. I was Ibn el-Tamaru’s bell. I reminded him
of what he was.
I do not think there can be any forgiving and there should be no forgetting.
Ibn el-Tamaru was a killer and he will always be that and so forever he
will be unforgiven. For me, though, it is not longer a matter of not
forgetting what he did, it is that I no longer need to remember. I have my
graves to tend. I have my memories. I have my life. I still have the pain
but it is now the pain of an old wound that didn’t kill me. I survived. It
reminds me that I survived.
Of course I often think of Sarra, but it is the same with her memory: I
don’t ache for her anymore. The anger of grief is gone. . . (IT, 198)
Salma is convinced that forgiving Ibn el-Tamaru would not set her free; would not ease
her pain; would not alleviate her survivor’s guilt. Instead, Salma chooses to constantly
remind Ibn el-Tamaru and those around him of the atrocities he committed. She
constantly rings the bell of his guilt, preventing as Moslund points out, “the perpetrator
from ever being freed of history’s burden of guilt.”796 At the same time, Salma’s
resistance to forgive and her insistence to ceaselessly reminding Ibn el-Tamaru of his
796
Moslund, 80
348
deeds, shifts the responsibility of reconciliation from victim to perpetrator. It asks from
the perpetrator “to accommodate the needs of the victimized in unremitting
indebtedness.”797 Instead of burdening the victims with forgiveness as done in the process
of the TRC, Nicol’s novel suggests that the perpetrators should be forced to seek
redemption. Finding peace appears as an utterly private and introverted process for
Salma. In addition, more crucial to her recovery than forgiveness seems to be finding a
way of expressing her trauma, in beading the ibis tapestry, in writing down her story, in
reminding Ibn el-Tamaru of his guilt. As Salma’s story illustrates, forgiveness is not the
only way to be freed of the aftermath of the atrocities suffered. For any victim, it seems
most important to find a way to express what happened. In this respect, the TRC offered
the victims a forum where to tell their stories, but at the same time, the TRC’s emphasis
on reconciliation troubled the victims with the expectation to forgive, rather than forcing
the perpetrators to forgive themselves. At the same time, it is not forgiveness, but
remembrance, which prevents “the possibility of unexamined repetition” of the past.798
As Titlestad and Kissack point out in their aforementioned article, Nicol calls for a more
secularized form of the TRC processes.799 In this respect, The Ibis Tapestry represents
remembering the tales of the victim’s of the apartheid regime as more important than
forgiving the perpetrators of this regime, in order to break the repetitive circle of history
in the new South Africa.
Without doubt, The Ibis Tapestry is a very complex book that works on several
different spheres, some of which will only be accessible to those readers, who read very
closely, take all given references seriously, researching them if necessary. The murder
797
Moslund, 80
Titlestad & Kissack, 61
799
Titlestad & Kissack, 64
798
349
mystery of Christo Mercer becomes even more complicated by the fact that Robert Poley,
the narrator detective, may himself have something to hide. After all, Robert Poley is not
only, as previously explained, a highly unreliable narrator, but he also carries the same
name as one of the men, who were last seen in the presence of Christopher Marlowe.800
In addition, Poley’s reconstruction of Mercer’s death causes the reader to identify one
main suspect: Nicholas Skeres – the second of the three men who spent Marlowe’s last
evening with him. Poley encourages the reader to suspect that Skeres, the “Englishman”,
“NS” (IT, 12-13), might have something to do with Christo Mercer’s death. Primarily,
because, according to Poley’s obscure documents, which he received from “Deep
Throat”, “NS” wrote a number of threatening emails to Mercer only a few days prior to
Mercer’s final journey to Malitita. These emails concerned an arms transaction, from
which Mercer wanted to withdraw. Fact is, however, that both men, Poley and Skeres,
followed Mercer all the way to Malitia, even though Poley claims to have done so a year
after Mercer’s death. In this respect, Poley’s reconstruction of Christo Mercer’s murder
might be pure simulacra, and primarily serve a cover-up.
Nicol’s novel aims to represent history as a discourse with no greater claim to
objectivity than fiction and emphasizes that any knowledge of the past depends on the
textual, i.e. narrative form, and will always be subjective.801 In the Ibis Tapestry, Nicol
makes use of parody and postmodernism to stress the interconnectedness of the
discourses of fiction and history.802 Critics of postmodernism point out that
postmodernism at its best does not deny the past but calls attention to the impossibility of
knowing the truth about the past because of the textual representation and availability of
800
Titlestad & Kissack, 54
Moslund, 66-67
802
Moslund, 69
801
350
history.803 At its worst, the insistence on the impossibility of knowing the truth, differing
versions; plural truths of the past, can result in ignoring the suffering of the victims,
providing the basis for historical denial.804 Nicol’s postmodernist analysis of the
representation of the apartheid past in contemporary South Africa challenges, however,
the institutionalization and politicization of history by exposing historical and literary
discourses as bedfellows:
To speak of provisionality and indeterminacy is not to deny historical
knowledge . . . what the postmodern writing of both history and literature
has taught us is that both history and fiction are discourses, that both
constitute systems of signification by which we make sense of the past . . .
In other words, the meaning and shape are not in the ‘events’, but in the
systems which make those past ‘events’ into present historical ‘facts’. This
is not a ‘dishonest refuge from truth’ but an acknowledgement of the
meaning-making function of human constructs.805
In this respect, history and fiction appear as different ways of dealing with the past,
which can in fact complement each other. Nicol’s novel clearly makes an argument that
the TRC’s process of reworking the past had to accompanied and completing, by
addressing the atrocities of the apartheid past in fiction. The novel itself argues that
discovering truth(s) is not a matter of facts, but forms:
Note 1: In a true story accuracy is the first victim, which might sound like
one of Professor Khafulo’s aphorism but in fact is mine. However, he did
say: “The essence of truth lies not in fact, Robert, but in form. We’re
convinced not by what is said, but how it is being said. And sometimes, to
arrive at a greater truth – something more truthful than what happened –
our language forces us to, how shall I put it . . . invent? Yes. Invent: from
the Latin, invenire, to come upon. In other word, narrative is a process of
recovery. What we’re talking about are the steps taken towards a truth. So
these inventions aren’t lies so much as explications” (21 October 1995)
(IT, 147)
803
Moslund, 70
Moslund, 70
805
Linda Hutcheon, The Poetics of Postmodernism: Story, Theory, Fiction, (New York: Routledge, 1988)
88-89. (Hereafter quoted as: Linda, page number)
804
351
While the facts in a story may not be completely reliable, forms of story-telling often
provide more clues to the truth. To uncover “greater truth” about the past, all forms of
truth finding need to be explored. Narration, as a process of recovery, is a form of
obtaining truth, i.e. a greater understanding of the processes; the self. Most importantly,
truth appears also as a matter of authority rather than fact. We tend to believe what is
being said with great authority, and then completely forget about the facts. In this respect,
history, i.e. its forms of story-telling just seems to have a greater claim to authority than
fiction. As Nicol shows in his novel, the forms of fiction, as narrative processes of
recovery, also offer paths to truth.
As a detective novel, which operates completely outside the conventions of
classical detective fiction, The Ibis Tapestry denies the reader any logical conclusions in
the end, but rather calls upon the reader to develop a detective interest for the past. In
addition, Nicol’s novel represents a text within the postmodern, deconstructive tradition,
which seeks to expose the links between the narrative principles of detective fiction and
the ideological project of imperialism.806 Unlike in classical detective fiction, the
detective, i.e. Poley is unable to find out the truth, because of the impenetrable thicket of
intertextual references, the gaps in his research, and the different possible versions of
Mercer’s final hours.807 In the end, Poley is still unable to answer, who Christo Mercer
was and why he was killed. As previously mentioned, however, Poley may have just
intended to create even more confusion than to reveal the truth about Christo Mercer and
his death. Thus, at the end of the novel, the quest is not over. Instead, Poley turns his
research about Christo Mercer into a novel, leaving it to his readers to dig up more dirt.
806
Titlestad & Kissack, 61-62 & for more information see: Jon Thompson, Fiction, Crime and Empire:
Clues to Modernity and Postmodernity. Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 1993.
807
Titlestad & Kissack, 62-63
352
Similarly, the readers of The Ibis Tapestry feel challenged by Nicols to unravel the
mysteries they encounter.
c. David’s Story – Deciphering the Past
Zoë Wicomb’s David’s Story (2001) is set in 1991 after the release of Nelson
Mandela, and aims to tell the story of David Dirske, a so-called “colored" of Griqua
origin. In terms of storytelling, Wicomb’s story is a rather difficult arrangement: The
unnamed, female first person narrator identifies herself as David’s amanuensis, whom he
hired to record his story. She is, however, highly unreliable and arranges his story
according to her liking rather than following David’s instructions (DS, 1-3). In addition,
the reader is on a certain level encouraged to identify the amanuensis narrator with the
author Zoë Wicomb, although Wicomb insists that they are not one and the same.808 The
complicated narrative structure of the novel allows Wicomb to undermine any
authoritative representations of truth.809 With great ease, Wicomb switches from past to
present in her novel, and merges David’s contemporary search for his Griqua origin with
a historical account of Griqua history, while intersecting it also with glimpses of David’s
marriage to Sally, and the raising of their two children. At the same time, the novel
touches on David’s and Sally’s involvement in the anti-apartheid movement, and David’s
mysterious relationship with fellow female comrade Dulcie.
808
Hein Willemse, “Zoë Wicomb in Conversation with Hein Willemse” Research in African Literatures;
Spring 2002; 33,1; Research Library Core, 148-149. (Hereafter quoted as: Willemse, page number)
809
Dorothy Driver, “Afterword” Zoë Wicomb, David’s Story, (New York: The Feminist Press, 2001) 217
(Hereafter quoted as: Driver, page number)
353
On a meta-fictional level, Wicomb interspersed the novel with quotes from a
variety of colonial and other South African texts810, most notably by Sarah Gertrude
Millin811. As Dorothy Driver points out in her afterword of the novel, these intertextual
references in David’s Story function as a way of “writing back” (i.e. the Empire writes
back), which takes place on three levels: that of author, narrator, and on the level of the
characters. This technique allows Wicomb to scrutinize questions of authority, memory
and truth.812 David’s Story is very much part of South African literature engagé, but
presents that “tradition as a transaction between European imperialist power and a
colonised world.”813 In the advent of the new South Africa, the novel summons the ghosts
of the country’s past and ponders the elusiveness of truth814, emphasizing that the
reworking of the past is not complete with the end of the work of the TRC. While TRC
hearings serve as an “unspoken subtext of the entire novel”815, the novel highlights also
the importance of also working through the past of the pre-apartheid days.816 In this
respect, David’s Story represents a counter-history against political amnesia, while
outlining and stressing the interconnectedness between colonialism, slavery, and the
810
Driver, 242: “Wicomb refers in her epigraphs and in the narrative itself to a large and wide ranging set
of texts: colonial and South African texts by William Dower, Andrew le Fleur, Eugène Marais, Sarah
Getrude Millin, Nadine Gordimer, Bessie Head, J. M. Coetzee, Breyten Breytenbach, Thabo Shenge
Luthuli, among others, as well as a more geographically and historically dispersed set of writes, such as
Miguel de Cervantes, Hart Crane, Laurence Sterne, Joseph Conrad, James Joyce, Frantz Fanon, and Toni
Morrison. Some of these writers are named in the novel; others remain unnamed. While the narrative
allusions have a diverse function, the epigraphs, usually ironic, indicate the resistance offered by Wicomb’s
own text to a (mostly South African) literary tradition. For instance, early South African texts (Millin,
Dower’s) act as a reminder of the English liberal tradition that preceded apartheid and is often
indistinguishable from it, and later ones (Breytenbach’s, Luthuli’s) are placed to suggest a continuing racial
bias.”
811
Driver, 244-246
812
Driver, 242
813
Driver, 218
814
Anderson Tepper, “David’s Story Review” The Washington Post. Washington D.C.: Aug 19, 2001. pg
T.06 (Hereafter quoted as: Tepper)
815
Shane Graham, “The Memory of Stones / David’s Story Africa Today; Winter 2001; 48, 4; Research
Library Core, 141. (Hereafter quoted as: Graham, page number)
816
Driver, 217-218
354
politics of apartheid nationalism.817 Simultaneously, Wicomb explores, within different
historical contexts, what happens to nationalism once it is not needed strategically
anymore.818 Hence, David’s Story, which was published in the year 2000, makes the
argument that nationalism in South Africa, six years after the first democratic election,
does not present a revolutionary force anymore but rather has become an unpredictable
power, which the new South African should treat carefully and consciously.
In many ways, Wicomb’s novel is a “kaleidoscopic book – its story fragmented
and colorful, its focus continuously shifting.”819 In an interview with Hein Willemse,
Wicomb declared that while she was writing David’s Story, she soon discovered that the
novel resisted any linear and conclusive form of storytelling, and that instead, the rather
fragmentary nature of the story called for an equally disconnected structure.820 Thus,
Wicomb’s novel represents also as Stéphane Robolin suggests “a metanarrative about the
project of writing itself”, which “exposes the complexities in the contemporaneous
mobilization of memory and representation in South Africa.”821 According to Wicomb,
the lingering legacy of the aftermath of the legitimized violence of the South African
apartheid regime inspired her to write the novel. One way of healing people from the
violent legacy, as Wicomb believes, is narration alongside education.822 In David’s Story,
Wicomb explores, therefore, how the anti-apartheid struggle developed qualities of the
apartheid system it was fighting against, while simultaneously investigating how these
817
Driver, 235
Willemse, 151
819
Tom Beer, “David’s Story” New York Times Book Review; May 27, 2001; ProQuest National
Newspaper Premier pg. 16 (Hereafter quoted as: Beer, page number)
820
Willemse, 144-145
821
Stéphane Robolin, “Loose Memory in Toni Morrison’s Paradise and Zoë Wicomb’s David’s Story”
Modern Fiction Studies; Summer 2006; 52,2; Humanities Module, 303 (Hereafter quoted as: Robolin, page
number)
822
Willemse, 152
818
355
traits affect the society in the new South Africa.823 The novel addresses “problems of
truth, memory, representation, and history” in the old and new South Africa824, in order to
gain a better insight of the dynamics of these processes. In this context, Wicomb’s novel
stresses the need of telling stories to develop an enhanced understanding of the past.825
Finally, David’s Story encourages its readers to contemplate two issues within the new
South Africa: “first, about what happened in the African National Congress (ANC)
detention camps; and, second, about the sanctioned treatment of ANC women.”826 In
order to explore all these different topics, Wicomb weaves a complicated web of
intersecting narrations in her novel.
The center narrative of Wicomb’s book is, as the title already suggest, David’s
story. Thirty-five-year-old David Dirske is the main protagonist of the novel. He is an
(ex-) anti-apartheid activist, who cannot deny his partial white heritage because of his
striking green eyes. Within the changing South Africa, David experiences a sudden
shame, because of the color of his eyes827: “Sally will never guess how he hates those
eyes, fake doll’s eyes dropped as if by accident into his brown skin.”(DS, 98) In this
context, David’s Story is a story about belonging, and the novel is not, as Wicomb states
in the interview with Willemse, just exploring the identity of coloreds in South Africa,
but rather different forms of racism.828 Wicomb’s novel writes back against racist “the
infection of shame” (DS, 162), and places the shame on those, like Millin, who spread
823
Samuelson, 834-835
Graham, 140
825
Graham 141
826
Driver, 217
827
Mike Marais, “Bastards and Bodies in Zoë Wicomb’s David’s Story” The Journal of Commonwealth
Literature 2005; 40; 21 DOI: 10.1177/0021989405056969 http://www.sagepublications.com
828
Willemse, 147
824
356
such words of shame.829 Subtle references in David’s Story point to the amnesia
concerning the history of slavery in contemporary reconstructions of South Africa’s past,
while stressing that slavery rather than mixed ethnic origin is the real source of shame.830
Within the political transitional phase of 1990-1994, David, the former ANC freedom
fighter, who was part of the ANC’s armed wing, finds himself in an identity crisis, facing
the challenge to find himself a place in the new South Africa.831 In anticipation of a
fundamental political change in South African society, David worries that within the
country’s new system the hierarchy of the racial categories of apartheid will just reverse,
so that his “coloured identity” will still prevent him from being equal, but rather will still
place him “in between”; some degree above whites but some degree below blacks. He is
anxious that his fight for a non-racial democracy will have been in vain.832 As a result of
the unbanning of the ANC movement, David experiences primarily disorientation, and
appears highly resistant and even unable to give up his old routines of vigilance and
renitence.833 In addition, David struggles with his ANC task, which demands of him to
solve the conundrum of how the ANC can maintain its armed wing while officially
dispersing it.834 When David finds his name and Dulcie’s name on a death-list his
anxieties heighten, because he does not trust himself anymore to be able to distinguish
between friend and foe. Thus, David attempts to solve his personal crisis by exploring his
Griqua origins, in order to accomplish his greater aim to tell the story of his life.
Unsurprisingly to the amanuensis narrator, David experiences unforeseen difficulties in
829
Driver, 246
Driver, 238
831
Robolin, 302
832
Driver, 225
833
Tepper
834
Driver, 233-234
830
357
doing both, because he “was using the Griqua material to displace that of which he could
not speak.” (DS, 145) At the same time, David’s engagement with Griqua history also
had a positive effect, because it heightened David’s critical thinking skills and enabled
him to criticize himself and his own action more closely.
In order to find out more about his family tree as well as the formation of Griqua
identity, David embarks on a journey to Kokstad, the primary settlement of the Griqua at
the Eastern Cape.835 The Griqua believe to be direct descendants of on of the largest
groups of the Khoi people, one of South Africa’s earliest indigenous inhabitants.836
David’s journey to Kokstad, resembles the Great Trek of the Griqua leader Andries
Abraham Stockhausen La Fleur837, to whom David believes to be distantly related.838
David’s relation to the founder of the Griqua nation is through his great-grandmother
Ouma Ragel, whom La Fleur allegedly fathered illegitimately merely by looking at
Antjie, Ragel’s mother.839 Just like the relation to his ancestor already shows aspects of
the mythological, the more David engages with the whole notion of the Griqua nation the
more fabricated it appears to him. Thus, rather than finding comfort in exploring his
roots, David’s research about La Fleur heightens his imbroglio, because David digs up
multiple contradictions and omissions in his ancestor’s construction of the past. David’s
primary sources for his reconstruction of Griqua history are written histories, newspapers
of the time as well as Le Fleur’s own accounts. These documents are, however,
incomplete and must be complemented by the stories of David’s mother, grandmother
835
Robolin, 302
Driver, 219
837
Tepper
838
Ann Irvine, “David’s Story” Library Journal; May 1, 2001; 126, 8; ABI/INFORM Global pg. 129
(Hereafter quoted as: Irvine, page number)
839
Jeff Zaleski, “David’s Story” In: Publisher’s Weekly; Mar 26, 2001; 248; ABI/INFORM Global pg. 65
(Hereafter quoted as: Zaleski, 248 & 65)
836
358
and great-grandmother; their oral tradition of history.840 In this context, David’s Story
exposes, by letting David discover how La Fleur framed the narrative of the Griqua
nation, ideological and political manipulations of history.841 At the same time, Wicomb
also highlights the existence of historic errors by letting David commit a fundamental
miscalculation in the construction of the Griqua family tree, when he conveniently erases
a century between Eduard la Fleur’s arrival soon after 1688 and Andries/Andrew le
Fleur’s birth in 1867.842 Wicomb stresses in the interview with Willemse that she did not
intend to degrade and counter the Griqua myths, but rather wanted to show how such
historic legends despite their flaws represent fascinating records of the time, which can
facilitate the deconstruction of the past.843 Studying and unraveling these historic myths
enables us to understand the political ideologies and the intentions behind them.
In David’s Story Wicomb portrays a fictionalized rather than historically accurate
version of Andrew Le Fleur, in order to mirror his invention of the Griqua nation.
Wicomb expressed that she was in particular intrigued by La Fleur’s framing of “pure
notions of coloredness”, “his crazy ideology produced at such a crucial time [around the
turn of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries] in the history of South Africa”.844 In many
ways, Le Fleur’s ambitions for a separate development of the Griqua bore in fact uncanny
similarities to the ideals of apartheid.845 To his own dismay, David uncovers during his
research about La Fleur that his ancestor’s preaching for a separate homeland and ethnic
identity of the Griqua, his visions of segregation and ethnic purity preceded, and may
840
Driver, 226
Robolin , 302
842
Driver, 227
843
Willemse, 146
844
Willemse, 145-146
845
Zaleski, 248 & 65
841
359
have contributed to the policies of apartheid.846 Paradoxically, even though David sees
the flaws in Le Fleur, senses the marginalization in Le Fleur’s accounts, he is appalled
but also strangely fascinated by his ancestor’s retrogressive notions of nationhood.847
Although David can hardly reconcile the non-racial, all-inclusive democratic nationhood
he fought for with his ancestor’s exclusionary understanding of the Griqua, Andrew Le
Fleur still holds heroic characteristics for David, as the one who fought to give his people
a home and independence from colonial rule. Above all, Le Fleur succeeded at turning
the Bastards into the Griqua. The Bastards were largely the offspring of “hypergamous
miscegenation” between white male settlers and Khoi women.848 As such “the bastards”
were a constant reminder of adultery and rape. In an attempt to end their ambiguous and
unstable status as bastards under colonial rule, Le Fleur sought to create a more positive
ethnic identity for them as Griqua while also leading them to a new homeland beyond
colonial borders.849 Despite David’s despise for Le Fleur, he is still thankful to him for
making it possible that “. . . we have fashioned ourselves into a proud people a grand
Griqua race no coloured nameless bastards . . .” (DS, 146). Le Fleur’s myths gave these
people on the margins a certain sense of pride as well as a new sense of belonging.
In many ways, the Griqua and the Boer resembled each other: Like the Boer the
Griqua embarked on a journey inwards to flee from British rule at the Cape. Ironically, as
David discovers, Le Fleur collaborated and endorsed a form of apartheid as part of his
endeavors to gain independence for the Griqua nation.850 As a result, both, Boer and
Griqua, based their national identity on similar myths, i.e. the Great Trek and the myth of
846
Tepper,
Willemse, 146
848
Marais, 22
849
Marais, 22
850
Robolin, 306
847
360
the Promised Land, i.e. The Chosen People. In addition, both groups were Christians and
spoke a version of Dutch, which would later develop into Afrikaans. While the Boer
identified as white, racial mixture was part of Griqua identity.851 Whereas the Griqua
were initially accepting of people from other ethnic groups, they later developed a
discriminatory notion of ethnic nationalism. In reaction to the hierarchy of colonialism,
which excluded them, the Griqua aimed to create a pure notion of coloredness, thus
legitimizing notions of pure blood, which would later inform the apartheid ideology.852 In
many ways, as Le Fleur’s understanding of Griquaness in David’s Story shows, the
mixed racial identity politics of the Griqua were not necessarily less exclusionary than
that of the Boer:
There was no end to work, Ouma Ragel remembered her mother, Antjie,
complaining. From first light to sunset it was work, work, work. Through
sickness and health, women tied their babies to their backs and hacked at
the hills for red and yellow ochre with which to paint the buildings. Of
course, not on the outside. The Chief did not approve of decoration. . . No,
that was what savage natives did and we are no Cousins to Xhosas; we are
a pure Griqua people with our own traditions of cleanliness and plainness
and hard work. Which is why they didn’t complain, even those who
hacked at the quarries. For the semiprecious stones, the Chief said, but the
men knew that is was for no reason other than to keep them busy. (DS, 94)
In the above quote, Wicomb highlights how Le Fleur’s construction of the Griqua nation,
repressed certain heritages, and aimed to create an artificial sense of homogeneity and
tradition among the Griqua. At the same time, the women’s oral story-telling exposes Le
Fleur as a highly dogmatic but not necessarily reliable leader who used work as a means
to keep his people from criticizing him. In addition, David’s research about his ancestor
uncovers that Le Fleur had not only reinterpreted God’s will, but also manipulated
historical records, in an attempt to realize independence and a more coherent identity for
851
852
Driver, 220
Marais, 23
361
the Griqua. Thus, Le Fleur conveniently erased the possibility o Madagascan or Malayan
heritage, and also downplayed the influence of European ancestry (DS, 88).853
Eventually, David realizes that Le Fleur’s construction of the Griqua nation represents
the opposite of what he had been fighting for and labels him:
“A sellout, David is forced to admit, that’s what he became. All those lofty
ideals, pshewt, he whistled, lost in their own grand and godly rhetoric. No,
I have some sympathy for our comrades who turn the wrong way; it’s not
easy to resist a meal when you’re hungry, not through week after week of
not being able to feed your children. But they don’t kid themselves that
they’re doing the right thing; they understand their own treachery, don’t
turn it into an ideology. Now take our great man: the Chief continued to
believe in himself; he had not idea that he was betraying his own ideals,
falling into the hands of the policymakers. In fact, he offered them
Apartheid, reinterpreted his own words to suit a new belief in separate
development. Siss, he said, pulling a face, a separate homeland for a
separate Griqua race! He should have been kept in prison; nothing like
prison for keeping one’s ideas sound, for keeping the politician’s hands
clean, he echoed.
So you have no sympathy with him?
Of course not. Why do you think I’ve given my life fighting for a
nonracial democracy? (DS, 150)
In his conversation with the amanuensis, David judges Le Fleur harshly, condemning him
for not noticing he inadvertently supported apartheid by demanding a separate homeland
for a separate Griqua race. Within the transitional South Africa, David, without doubt,
clearly strongly rebukes the efforts of the Inkatha movement and Zulu leader Buthelezi
for an independent homeland for a separate Zulu race. Furthermore, he even draws
parallels between Le Fleur, i.e. the Zulu leader’s demands, and the ideology of apartheid.
Simultaneously, it seems important for David, to distinguish the mistakes of the
movement from Le Fleurs, by stressing that comrades commit transgression out of
hardship, and are highly conscious of any wrongful action. Above all, because of
853
Robolin, 302
362
dedicating their life to a nonracial democracy, even if they committed horrible crimes,
comrades (like David and Dulcie) deserve David’s (i.e. our) sympathy.
In her novel, Wicomb, undermines Le Fleur’s artificial myth of the Griqua
nation’s ethnic homogeneity by exploring in particular their marginalized heritage, while
also inventing an additional French lineage for La Fleur.854 David’s “one-hundred year
mistake” makes Madame la Fleur the housekeeper of Georges Cuvier (1769-1832), the
“father of biology”, professor of animal anatomy at the National Museum of Natural
History in Paris.855 This domestic connection between Cuvier and Madame la Fleur lets
Wicomb imply that Eduard la Fleur, a.k.a. Andrew Flood is the illegitimate offspring of a
relationship between the two.856 This fictionalization makes David’s own ancestry even
more complicated: Andries/Andrew le Fleur becomes Curvier’s possible great-grandson,
and thus David, through his Ouma Ragel, Andrew Le Fleur’s illegitimate child, appears
himself as a possible distant relative of Cuvier.857 Moreover, Wicomb constructs David’s
genealogy not only by linking him to Griqua historical figures such as Le Fleur and
Adam Kok, but also connects him to protagonists in Laurence Sterne’s A Sentimental
Journey, and Sarah Gertrude Millin’s God’s Stepchildren.858 The amanuensis even refers
the reader to Millin’s novel for a more detailed account of Eduard la Fleur:
The rest of Eduard’s story can be found in Mrs. Sarah Gertrude Millin’s
narrative about miscegenation, although the reader should note that she
has taken several liberties with the tale, including casting the boy as an
Englishman and adding some years to his age – in other words, that her
narrative is as unreliable as David’s. (DS, 38)
854
Willemse, 146
Driver, 227
856
Driver, 227 & Marais, 30
857
Driver, 227
858
Driver, 246-247
855
363
The above quote exposes Millin as an unreliable writer, while also alluding to the racism,
which informed Millin’s novel. In the opening section, entitled “The Ancestor”, of
Millin’s novel, Eduard la Fleur starts the “shameful line of mixed blood” with a Khoi
woman.859 In this context, Wicomb’s David’s Story strikes back against the scientific
discourse of blood in the 19th century which established a link between biological blood
heritage and individual destiny.860 At the same time, Wicomb shows that Le Fleur makes
himself one of “God’s stepchildren”, because he perpetuates and includes himself in the
discourses of race, the “tragedy of blood”, which also permeates Millin’s novel.861
Ironically, by calling for a Griqua nation of pure blood, Le Fleur “inscribes a history of
shame on the faces of coloured people”.862 In many ways, David repeats Le Fleur’s story:
Like Le Fleur, David is involved in a love triangle863, and like him, he turns to his
ancestry as a result of his exclusion from the liberation movement and a strong desire to
belong to the new South Africa. As Marais points out in his article, “Bastards and Bodies
in Zoë Wicomb’s David’s Story”, Wicomb employs repetition as a narrative strategy in
her novel. In this respect, David’s story just like Le Fleur’s story, and even Sonny’s story
in Nadine Gordimer’s My Son’s Story, both of which it shares aspects with, all three, are
compulsive reiterations of Millin’s narrative of “the coloured” in God’s Step Children.864
Above all, Wicomb’s David’s Story is an ironic reenactment of Millin’s “tragedy of
blood” and stresses that the real tragedy “the ultimate irony is that the tragedy need not
be”.865 It is important to note that Wicomb only alludes to stories of men. In this respect,
859
Marais, 23
Marais, 24
861
Marais, 25
862
Marais, 25-26
863
Le Fleur: Rachael, Antjie, Andrew – David: Dulcie, Sally, David
864
Marais, 26-27
865
Marais, 27
860
364
David’s Story also contains a strong feminist undertone, because both, Le Fleur’s and
David’s story, are haunted by women.
Deliberately, Wicomb invented a wife for Le Fleur, who acts as his critical
counter-part and sees right through him.866 In Wicomb’s story, Le Fleur’s political power
and authority is even dependent on and derives from his wife Rachael Susanna, because
of her affiliation with Lady Kok.867 Moreover, Rachael sharply criticizes Le Fleur’s
political action, in particular his letters to General Louis Botha and General Herzog.868 In
addition, Rachael Susanna does not share Le Fleur’s vision of land and volk:
And what an unhealthy and accommodating business the idea of nation
was, she thought – just as well that her husband had given her the new
name Dorie with which to face this idea. (DS, 63)
She does not believe in an exclusionary vision of the Griqua people, but rather perceives
and identifies herself more as part of a larger African community. It does not even
intimidate her that her husband gave her a new name, in order to punish for her
disobedience and critique.
Letting women haunt Griqua history, allows Wicomb to contrast the striking
absence of women from historical accounts with the contemporary mythification of two
early South African women, Krotoa/Eva869 and Saartje Baartman870. Wicomb juxtaposes
these historical icons with real-life figures Lady Kok and Rachel Susanna Kok, as well as
fictional characters such as Antjie, Ant Mietjie, and Ouma Ragel, on whom David bases
866
Willemse, 146
Driver, 228
868
Driver, 229
869
“Krotoa (renamed Eva by the Dutch) is the first Khoi woman represented in the writing of early Cape
Dutch settlers. . .” (Driver 230)
870
“Saartje Baartman (1789-1815 or 1816) was a young Khoi woman taken to Europe in her early twenties
as an ethnological museum exhibit, advertised as the “Hottentot Venus”. (Driver, 230)
867
365
his claims of relation to Le Fleur.871 Just like Le Fleur’s construction of the Griqua nation
is questioned and undermined by the oral tradition of women, David’s story is troubled
by women. While David notices and is taken aback by Le Fleur’s racism, he remains
largely oblivious and uncritical of his ancestor’s attitude towards women. Wicomb,
however, clearly links past and present attitudes towards women and suggests that
“David has inherited a longstanding attitude towards women”.872 Both, Dulcie and Sally
experience sexist, abusive treatment during their career in the movement, which David
refuses to discuss with the amanuensis:
Sally had not known that she was afraid of water . . . In the thick
Mozambican heat the water felt like oil, and the comrade with his hand
under her belly barked his instructions . . . and she saw his bulging shorts
and knew that her time had come, as she had known it would come sooner
or later, this unspoken part of a girl’s training. And because she would not
let him force her, lord it over her, she forced herself and said, Okay, if you
want. It did not take long, and she had no trouble pushing him off as soon
as he had done, and since she had long forgotten the fantasy of virginal
white veil, it did not matter, she told herself, no point in being fastidious,
there were more important things to think of, there was freedom on which
to fix her thoughts. (DS, 123)
Within the training camps of the freedom fighter movement abroad, women had little to
no protection and rape appeared as “part of a girl’s training”. Thus, it is hardly a surprise
that Sally rationalizes losing her virginity to being raped within the larger context of the
South African freedom movement, and constructs it as her sacrifice for the greater good.
Rather than being forced by her instructor, she forces herself to sleep with him. Similarly,
David refuses to acknowledge that women were subjected to different gendered
experiences in the movement and rebukes the amanuensis’ inquiries:
I ask about the conditions of female guerillas. / Irrelevant, he barks. In the
Movement those kinds of differences are wiped out by our common goal.
871
872
Driver, 228
Driver, 231
366
Dulcie certainly would make no distinction between the men and women
with whom she works. (DS, 78)
As Sally’s example shows, Dulcie did not have to distinguish between the men and
women she commanded, because men made the distinction for her. Unlike David, the
amanuensis has little doubt that Dulcie’s rise to military commander within the
movement did not come without sacrifice. David, however, is enraged that women play
such a vital and decisive role in his story:
“You have turned it into a story of women; it’s full of old women, for
God’s sake, David accuses. Who would want to read a story like that? It‘s
not a proper history at all. (DS, 199)
Although David argued that for the movement men and women were equal, he proves
here himself that it was dominated by men. It is impossible for David to free himself
from the “misogynistic military discourse”873, in which he was brought up in, and to
allow and support an equal voice for women in the construction of history, i.e. the nation.
At the same time, it appears that probably primarily because of the female voices, which
disrupt his story, David experiences difficulties to develop a conclusive narrative of
himself. Thus, he hands the task of story-telling over to the unnamed female narrator,
who he deems more literate than himself. He is, however, still determined to “father his
text” (DS, 2), even if from a distance.
In contrast to David, his amanuensis values “meaning on the margin, or absence
as an aspect of writing” (DS, 2), although she knows that by exploring the margins she
goes astray from David’s project. In many respects, as the narrator declares in the
preface, Wicomb’s novel is therefore not only David’s story:
This is and this is not David’s story. He would have liked to write it
himself. He had indeed written some fragments – a few introductory
873
Samuelson, 838
367
paragraphs to sections, some of surprising irony, all of which I have
managed to include in one way or another – but he was unwilling or
unable to flesh out the narrative. I am not sure what I mean by unable; I
have simply adopted his word, one which he would not explain. He
wanted me to write it, not because he thought that his story could be
written by someone else, but rather because it would no longer belong to
him. In other words, he both wanted and did not want it to be written. His
fragments betray the desire to distance himself from his own story; the
many beginnings, invariably flights into history, although he is not a
historian, show uncertainty about whether to begin at all.
...
It is a matter of some concern to me that David has not read all of the
manuscript, although he was happy with what he saw . . . It was much
later, during the final draft . . . fearing that historical events would
overtake us, that I took liberties with the text and revised considerably
some sections that he had already approved. (DS, 1-3)
The first sentences of David’s Story already foreshadow the tension, which defines the
whole novel and arises out of the conflicting narrative agendas of David and the
amanuensis narrator.874 It is also in particular the gender difference between the two
narrators, which leads to conflict. The amanuensis is particularly interested in the
positions and struggles women undergo in times of conflict, while David feels that the
women in his life just lead astray from and add confusion to his own story.875 As Wicomb
explained in the interview with Willemse, David’s story “doesn’t quite make sense from
a woman’s point of view” causing the amanuensis to maintain a skeptical and ironic
distance to David’s memories of the past.876 The amanuensis’ skepticism, as well as his
discovery of Le Fleur’s manipulations of history, seriously begins to affect David, who
begins to scrutinize his own memories far more critically, and even begins to distrust
them:
874
Robolin, 303
Samuelson, 835
876
Willemse, 148
875
368
Today he does want something added to the text. Instead of deleting
and rewriting a misremembered event from his childhood, he insists on the
reader going through the tedious details of his own revision.
That David should have been thinking such trifling and inappropriate
thoughts in that hotel room bristling with terror is beyond me. He appears
to be so disturbed by the falsehood of a memory that he asks me to rewrite
the offending section, which is on one level a ruse; he perhaps regrets
telling me about the hit list, or wishes to bring the Kokstad weekend to a
close. But I can tell by his agitation, the way in which his jaw is set, the he
is genuinely concerned about getting things straight, as he so
disingenuously puts it, and perhaps, rusted and ill fitting as it seems, it
may be a key of some kind to the story. Clutching at straws and having
agreed at the beginning not to overstep the role of amanuensis I must put
up with his digressions.
So it was not the truth, the episode embedded in his memory for so
many years that he does not know how it came to be there in its distorted
form. But now, in his state of confusion - . . . – something else indeed
takes over from the present. Sounds and images reel chaotically through
time until a picture growing out of the morass, . . . unintelligible at first
until the black-and-white image, whole and in sharp focus, settles, and
there it is – the truth, which he recognizes after years of false memory.
(DS, 141)
Recognizing the falsehood of his own memory deeply disturbs David, because it forces
him to acknowledge the deceptive nature of his own mind, the existence of subconscious
repressive mechanisms. Whereas the unreliability of his own memory just seems to add
to David’s confusion and discomfort, the narrator interprets David’s final realization
about the untrustworthiness of his own mind far more positively. She suggests that
David’s engagements and attempts to tell his own story, lead him to reconsider things. In
this respect, David’s own memories exposed the flaws in his personal history. For David,
this has, however, no cathartic but rather an alarming effect. The truth appears as
troubling, as upsetting. At the same time, the above quote is again a commentary on the
elusiveness of truth and thus also a reference to the TRC. David’s insecurity and
confusion mirrors that of the TRC era, when the incomprehensible corruption and
369
arbitrariness of the apartheid politics were revealed.877 At times the truth appeared
incomprehensible, other times facing the truth hurt. In addition, it may not be easy to
recognize, let alone find words to express the truth. In any case, letting the truth loose
upsets the order of things.
Among David’s documents, the narrator finds a note, which speaks of his
frustration with matters of truth:
Truth, I gather, is the word that cannot be written. He has changed it into
the palindrome of Cape Flats speech – TRURT, TRURT, TRURT,
TRURT – the words speed across the page, driven as a toy car is driven by
a child, with lips pouted and spit flying, wheels squealing around the
Dulcie obstacles. He has hauling up a half-remembered Latin lesson, tried
to decline it.
trurt, oh trurt, of the trurt, to the trurt, trurt, by, with, from the trurt
...
There are all symbols form the top row of the keyboard, from exclamation
mark, ampersand, asterisk, through to the plus sign, the all are scored out.
There is also a schoolboy’s heart scribbled over, but not thoroughly
enough to efface its asymmetrical lines.
TRURT . . . TRURT . . TRURT . . . TRURT . . . the trurt in black
and white . . . colouring the truth to say . . . which cannot be said the
things of no name . . .
Towhisperspeakshouthollercolour
(DS, 136)
David’s distortion of the word “truth” to “trurt” appears almost as an amalgamation of
“truth” and “hurt”. Instead of expressing the truth, which hurts, however, David turns to
repress it by pressing it into the rational grammatical patterns of Latin. Nevertheless, his
inner anguish finds expression in the random pressing of all keys on the computer
keyboard. In addition, David turns to stock phrases and to compounding words, unable to
877
Graham, 141
370
denote in his own words what he really wants to express.878 David’s old freedom fighter
habits of secrecy and deception prevented him from telling and being able to write down
parts of his own life-story. Part of David was not able or unwilling to undergo the
psychoanalytic process of narration; of finding out what he did and why. Something kept
him from coming clean. The merely fragmentary nature of the information he revealed to
his amanuensis shows that David preferred to maintain a safe distance to his action,
nevertheless expecting her to arrange his snippets according to his liking.
David’s death, however, sets his female narrator free. After a big ANC rally in
Cape Town on the sixteenth of June, Soweto Day, in 1991, David cannot be found:
David has disappeared. Comrades ring to see whether he has turned up; no
one has seen him since early evening, when the crowd dispersed. He was
supposed to drive to Comrade K’s house for a short meeting, but nothing
has been seen or heard of him since that arrangement was made.
...
When I return from the hospital there is a message on my answer-phone in
the same old-fashioned SABC voice.
For broken bones take two teaspoons of harmansdruppels mixed with
one spoon of rooi laventel. Avoid taking with coffee. We repeat . . .
The view coming around the bend at Chapman’s Peak would have been
breathtaking before dawn . . . There are tyre marks of a screeching halt, as
if he had decided only at the last minute to stop. There is a note on top of
the pile of carefully folded clothes on the passenger seat. It is for Sally and
the children: there is no explanation, only an apology and an assurance of
his love.
...
The body washed up a few days later is heavy with water; the staring
eyes are glassy green bulbs, doll’s eyes dropped carelessly into the ashen
mahogany of his bloated face. (DS, 210-211)
The circumstances of David’s death are rather mysterious. After the rally, David has
disappeared. He does not show up for a meeting with a comrade, and the amanuensis
878
In this respect, David here reminds of Hannah Arendt’s descriptions of Adolf Eichmann, who was
lacking the capacity to describe in his own words rather than using stock-phrases and officialese his
participation in the Holocaust.
371
receives a threatening phone message. Later, David’s car is found with his folded clothes
and a note for his family. Although the note points to suicide, David’s sudden
disappearance and death appear mysterious and lack explanation. When David’s bloated
body washes up later, any possible signs of a non-natural death have been destroyed. The
novel allows for two different interpretations of David’s death. Firstly, it is quite
possibility that David’s self-questioning and inhibitions to tell his story, his increasing
guilt lead him to commit suicide. Secondly, David’s self-criticism and feelings of
remorse, his increasing willingness to come clean about the past, to break his silence,
may have lead fellow comrades “to encourage his suicide”.
For the amanuensis, however, David’s death is not only liberating. Although she
gave up the idea to only act as David’s ghostwriter early on, and decided to take her
liberties with his story, his death also makes a solely responsible for the story being told.
Previously, she made the decision to interpret and complete David’s story, chiefly,
because what David told her, and the notes he left her, simply did not add up. His
narration contained too many loose ends, omissions, and discrepancies. Thus, the narrator
couldn’t help herself, but to be critical of David, to question him ironically.879 Now that
David is dead, the words also escape the amanuensis (DS, 213). Similarly to David, she
struggles greatly to fulfill her task to tell David’s story. For her it is equally unsettling to
tell of women in and of war.880 The fragmented, nonlinear structure of David’s Story is
thus tantamount to the narrator’s and David’s inability to find words and a structure for
an untellable story.
879
880
Willemse, 145
Samuelson, 835
372
Both, David’s and to a certain extent also the narrator’s lack of words are
primarily connected to the mysterious character of David’s female comrade Dulcie, who
“always hovered somewhere between fact and fiction” (DS, 198). For the narrator it soon
became clear that David’s wordlessness primarily occurred, when she asked him about
his freedom fighter days and in particular his relationship with Dulcie. Dorothy Driver
points out that Dulcie’s name conjures up two possibly namesakes: Firstly, the fictional
character of Dulcinea, the idealized mistress of Miguel de Cervantes’s Don Quixote de la
Mancha (1605-1615), who serves as Don Quixote’s muse for his all his different
endeavors, and, secondly, the real life ANC activist Dulcie September (1935-1988),
whose murder in Paris was never solved.
881
Dulcie exhibits characteristics of both
personas mythic and real. Similar to Dulcinea for Quixote, Dulcie is the muse, who
inspires David to write down; to attempt to tell his story in the first place. In addition,
David and Dulcie shared a strong bond, which undoubtedly reached beyond mere
friendship, even though the amanuensis fails to get David to admit that he loved Dulcie
(DS, 178). At the same time, Dulcie just like Dulcie September was a leading female
ANC activist, i.e. David’s comrade in arms, who is now dead. In this respect, David feels
obliged to tell her story, because she cannot. In addition, Wicomb’s representation of
Dulcie at the end of the novel as a wounded tree, establishes a reference to a character in
Toni Morrison’s Beloved (DS, 212).882 Similarly to David’s Story, Beloved is also a
881
Driver, 252 – In an explanatory footnote for the above quote, Driver points out the following:
“Dulcie September’s political activities cast back to the early 1960s: as a member of the National
Liberation Front, in Cape Town, she was imprisoned for five years and then banned on her release. After
she left South Africa for Britain in 1974, she joined the ANC, and in 1984 she was appointed chief ANC
representative in France, Switzerland and Luxembourg. Dulcie’s name may also refer to the wellknown
line, “Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori” (It is sweet and fitting to die for one’s country) in Horace’s
Ode III.2, which is generally celebratory of manly courage and loyalty.” (Driver, 271)
882
Tepper
373
haunting book, which grapples with issues of representation, memorization, and
reconciliation of atrocities. In many ways, David’s Story is therefore also Dulcie’s story.
As a character Dulcie, however, does not appear at all in Wicomb’s novel. She
develops only as a quite mythological figure of the anti-apartheid movement out of the
conversations between David and the amanuensis. While David has great difficulty to
even talk about Dulcie, he hardly produces more than a “mess of scribbles” (DS, 135)
when trying to write about her.883 Although David fails to express the “trurt” (DS, 136)
about Dulcie in writing, he portrays her in drawing:
There are geometrical shapes: squares, rectangles, triangles, - isosceles
and right-angled – hexagons, polygons, parallelograms, and especially
diamonds. The cartoonist’s oblique lines that indicate sparkling are
arranged about each diamond, but I now see that these have been done
with another pen, perhaps added later.
There are the dismembered shapes of a body: an asexual torso, like a
dressmaker’s dummy; arms bent the wrong way at the elbows; legs;
swollen feet; hands like claws.
There is a head, an upside-down smiling head, which admittedly does
not resemble her, except for the outline of bushy hair.
I have no doubt that it is Dulcie who lies mutilated on the page. (DS,
205)
David’s representation of Dulcie bears strong resemblance to an expressionist painting or
a cubist painting by Pablo Picasso. At the same time, representing her body in
geometrical forms appears as a way for David to rationalize and abstract, i.e. distance
himself emotionally from, while at the same time portray the mutilation of her body.
Mike Marais suggests in his aforementioned article that “Dulcie cannot be represented in
language, because it is in and through language that the body of the black woman has
been dismembered . . . Language’s complicity in the conceptualization of the subaltern
883
Marais, 28
374
body extends to the sexualization of that body.”884 Although Marais argument is valid,
Wicomb surely makes a strong case for the power of language in her novel, thus it is only
IN and THROUGH language that the body of the black woman can be reclaimed. When
David finally attempts to write about Dulcie, he tells the story of Saartje Baartman
instead and during his research is shocked by the racist and sexist representation of the
“Hottentot Venus”.885 Unable to break the circle of racist and sexist representations of
women, David is not able to write about Dulcie. In this respect, Wicomb establishes a
connection between actual physical violence and the violence of representation, i.e. sexist
and racist representations of women.886 At the same time, David’s inability to find words
to portray Dulcie, however, gives the women in the novel the chance to speak. Instead of
having men portray them - women finally can portray and write themselves. Although the
amanuensis also struggles to write about Dulcie, she does so for different reasons.
Within the movement Dulcie’s reputation is legendary and she appears almost as
an invincible Amazon figure.887 At the same time, as David insists, Dulcie is “not
feminine, not like a woman at all” (DS, 80). While for David, Dulcie is “kind of a scream
somehow echoing” (DS, 134) through his story, the narrator is convinced that Dulcie
would never scream, because she “is the very mistress of endurance and control” (DS,
134). In many ways, as Meg Samuelson points out in her article “The Disfigured Body of
the Female Guerrilla: (De)Militarization, Sexual Violence, and Redomestication in Zoë
Wicomb’s David’s Story”, Dulcie represents the opposite of the archetype of the heroic
national woman figure, the virginal, saintly Joan of Arc. As a woman in uniform, a
884
Marais, 28
Marais, 28-29
886
Marais, 29
887
Willemse, 148
885
375
woman in arms, Dulcie transcends her sex.888 The main source of her apparent defeminization seems to be that Dulcie, just like her male comrades, does not shy away
from acting violently. The first time the reader encounters Dulcie in the novel, she is
most probably washing blood from her hands: “Dulcie washes the sticky red from her
hands, watches until the water runs clear and then shakes them vigorously; she does not
like wiping them on a towel.” (DS, 18) Thus, Dulcie’s elusiveness in the novel emerges
not only out of her stand between the mythic and the real, but also out of the fact that she
represents perpetrator and victim. Without doubt, Dulcie was the victim of torture, but
she is no innocent victim, but rather an MK commander, who probably tortured and/or
killed herself. The fragmented nature of the novel thus also represents the rupture created
by the concept of the woman warrior.889 In this light, the quote from Frantz Fanon, “My
final prayer: O my body, make of me always a man who questions!”890, which precedes
the novel, serves as a dual underlying subtext. Firstly, it reminds the reader that crucial
for the success of a revolution is self-questioning.891 Secondly, using a preface by Frantz
Fanon for the story of a woman warrior immediately conjures up Fanon’s analysis of the
contribution and later betrayal of women during the Algerian liberation struggle, which
he discusses in his article “Algeria Unveiled”.892 Wicomb herself described Dulcie’s
story as a story of betrayal, the moment in the South African liberation movement, when
powerful colored women, such as Sally and Dulcie were not wanted anymore.893 While
888
Samuelson, 848
Samuelson, 850
890
Frantz Fanon, Black Skin White Masks (New York: Grove Press, 1967) 232
891
Driver, 240
892
Frantz Fanon, A Dying Colonialism (New York, Grove Press, 1965) 35-67
893
Samuelson, 837
889
376
Dulcie presents the betrayal of women warriors’ Sally represents the betrayal of women
through re-domestication.
Sally and David both worked for the ANC as comrades and met for the first time
when they both cooperating on an assignment on a train. When they meet for the second
time two years later, David unlike Sally can remember the assignment but has no
recollection of meeting her (DS, 10). Until they decide to marry, David and Sally
continue to cooperate on other assignments (DS, 13). Their marriage, however, ends
Sally’s involvement in the movement:
Sooner or later he would suggest marriage. Sally laughed, It’s all that talk
about Tracy and blue kitchen cupboards. But no, he was serious. The
struggle had made unprecedented progress; despite the government’s
bravado, it would not be long before the country would be free, before
democracy would reign; it was only sensible that they should think of the
future, of leading normal family lives; they were no longer spring
chickens. Sally had not realised the extent of his influence: she was
released from her underground work after protracted debriefing and that
was that. The so-called part time job in the community centre became real,
full-time, and community issues were to be her domain. (DS, 14)
In anticipation of winning the struggle against apartheid, the movement seems concerned
with re-establishing the “normal power structures”; i.e. gender roles. After her release
from the movement, Sally’s domains and new areas of duty are clearly defined: Her
service is in the domestic sphere as a wife and mother and at the community centre, as the
mother of the community.
Although Wicomb does not depict violence explicitly in the novel, the notion of
violence lingers as an uncanny presence all throughout the novel, which the reader can
almost feel as a physical presence; an additional ghastly character in the text. Very early
in the novel it becomes clear that David suffers from the aftermath of torture: His feet
bear “deep scars on the soles” (DS, 11) and “the dislocation of the bone on the ball of the
377
left foot gave him a slight emphasis on the right when walking”. (DS, 11-12). Where
David obtained these injuries is left to the amanuensis’ and the readers’ speculation. As a
former freedom fighter, David’s scars might be the result of torture by forces of the
apartheid regime, but the possibility lingers that the torturers may also have been David’s
fellow comrades. Just like the reappearing tinnitus in David’s ear, which as Dorothy
Driver suggest in the afterword of the novel, could stem from “the practice at Quatro of
ukumpmpa, blows and claps on inflated cheeks which often caused ear damage”894,
David’s other scars may also be the aftermath of his detention at Quatro camp. In 1984,
David was detained at Quatro camp, an ANC detention camp in northern Angola, where
dissidents from within the ranks of the South African liberation movement were kept.895
David’s memory of camp Quatro is closely related to the unspeakable horrific things,
which happened to Dulcie before his very eyes (DS, 201) Although David adamantly
denies having had a relationship with Dulcie, it is insinuated at several instances in the
novel that Dulcie and David’s friendship; comradeship, may have been a love
relationship.896 In this context, the possibility lingers that David’s and Dulcie’s detention
and torture in Quatro camp may have been the result of having a forbidden intimate
relationship among comrades. Within the context of the anti-apartheid struggle, personal
relationships between comrades were a taboo, and reason for punishment, because
personal relationships made the movement vulnerable to the enemy. When David and
Sally started having a relationship, Sally was almost immediately excluded from the
movement.
894
Driver, 237
Driver, 236
896
Beer, 16
895
378
Although David also is a victim of torture, violence in David’s Story is most
closely connected to Dulcie. David’s inability to speak freely about Dulcie is connected
to the unimaginable violence and pain she had to endure:
Dulcie believes that there comes a time when physical pain presses the
body into another place, where all is not forgotten, but where you imagine
it relocated in an unfamiliar landscape of, say bright green grassland,
cradled in frilly mountains. In such a storybook place the body performs
the unexpected – quivers, writhes, shudders, flails, squirms, stretches – but
you observe it from a distance. It is just a matter of being patient. Of
enduring. Until the need to relocate once more.
Then you can run through the vocabulary of recipe books, that which is
done to food, to flesh – tenderize, baste, sear, seal, sizzle, score, chop – so
that the recitation transports you into yet another space. Keeping on the
move, like any good guerrilla. Which brings a sense of clarity, as if the
mind, too is being held under a blindingly bright light, and clarity is
conferred by the gaze of others. . .
They do not speak unnecessarily. For special operations she is blindfolded.
They grunt and nod in a shadow play of surgeons, holding out hands for
instruments, gesturing at an electrical switch. A woman, who does not
always come along, performs the old-fashioned role of nurse – mopping
up, dressing wounds. . .
On the very first visit, one of them, the wiry one who seems to be in
charge, spoke: Not rape, that will teach her nothing, leave nothing; rape’s
too good for her kind, waving the electrodes as another took off her
nightclothes. (DS, 137)
It remains utterly unclear who tortures Dulcie in this scene. Within the context of the new
South Africa the reader is quite willing to blame the white apartheid regime for
“administering the torture” against Dulcie, although, as with David’s scars, the possibility
remains that Dulcie’s torturers were in fact her fellow comrades. Moreover, Wicomb
illustrates in the above quote, how it is even humanely possible for perpetrator and victim
to commit and survive such horrific acts of violence. Both, victim and perpetrator leave
the body and their humanity behind; i.e. loose empathy. Torturing appears as a scientific
process, as a surgical operation, an act of blindly following an instruction manual or a
cooking recipe without even thinking. Any torturer will have to artificially distance
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himself/herself from his victim, objectify it and focus solely on administering the act of
torture. Similarly, the pain forces any victim of torture to move beyond bodily
experiences and seek refuge in the realm of the mind. The above scene also stresses that
in times of war and torture, rape is not just performed in conventional ways, but rather in
any atrocious and unimaginable way possible, rape is carried by subjects and objects, by
electrodes, by animals. Although a lot of women testified before the TRC, violence
against women, and in particular sexual violence was rarely a topic.897 For the ANC
sexual violence against women was a taboo topic, because of the unspoken part of the
girls’ training within the movement. For the former apartheid regime, sexual violence
against women was a taboo topic, because it did not qualify as a political crime.
The character of Dulcie epitomizes therefore two taboo themes of the TRC; of the
new South Africa: violence of ANC members against women and violence performed by
women comrades. It is for these reasons that the female amanuensis narrator grapples
with lending Dulcie her voice, because on many levels she cannot identify with her. As a
pacifist, the narrator is horrified by the image of a woman warrior, and also seems to
believe that military skill and valor can hardly be reconciled with a woman’s nature.898
Clearly, the amanuensis holds on the gendered perceptions of war as masculine, and
peace as feminine. Dulcie, however, disrupts this gendered representation and thus also
challenges masculine images of warriors and protectors and feminine images of victims
and defenseless “damsels in distress”.899 In her novel, Wicomb refuses to restrict women
to certain conventional roles, while also pointing to the fact that to a certain extent
897
Driver, 239
Samuelson, 838
899
Samuelson, 839
898
380
women themselves find some comfort “in their conventional roles”.900 The amanuensis
herself, was not involved in the active struggle of the movement at all, and thus finds it
difficult to find the right voice for Dulcie:
Dulcie’s Story: Perhaps the whole of it should be translated into the
passive voice. Or better still, the middle voice. If only that were not so
unfashionably linked with the sixties and with French letters.
David shakes his head in disbelief.
Not only would that be a gross misunderstanding of Dulcie, and
as it happens, I do know at least what the passive voice is, but it is also
clear that I – and he beats his chest histrionically – have made a terrible
mistake in choosing to work with you – pointing rudely at me. I may have
overestimated the importance of using someone who is not in the
Movement, not of our world; I have certainly underestimated the extent to
which your head is filled with middle-class, liberal bullshit. (DS, 197)
The above scene raises several interesting points. It is a moment of regret for David when
he realizes that the amanuensis struggles to comprehend, and thus might be unable to tell
Dulcie’s story the right way. Unlike Dulcie, David and Sally, the amanuensis was not
part of the anti-apartheid movement, but rather part of the liberal middle-class in South
Africa, who passively opposed the apartheid system, but never actively participated in the
fight. At the same time, the amanuensis’ suggestion to tell Dulcie’s story in the middle,
i.e. passive voice can be read, as Samuelson points out in her aforementioned article, as
an allusion to Roland Barthes’ distinction between middle and active voice when
discussing the verbs ‘to sacrifice’ and ‘to write’:901
. . . the verb to sacrifice (ritually) is active if the priest sacrifices the victim
in my place and for me, and it is middle voice if , taking the knife from the
priest’s hands, I make the sacrifice for my own sake; in the case of the
active voice, the action is performed outside the subject, for although the
priest makes the sacrifice, he is not affected by it; in the case of the middle
voice, on the contrary, by acting, the subject affects himself, he always
remains inside the action, even if that action involves and object. Hence
the middle voice does not exclude transitivity. Thus defined, the middle
900
901
Samuelson, 837
Samuelson, 850
381
voice corresponds exactly to the modern state of the verb to write: to write
is today to make oneself the center of the action of speech, it is to effect
writing by affecting oneself, to make action and affection coincide, to
leave the scriptor inside the writing – not as a psychological subject (. . . ),
but as agent of the action.902
While Samuelson connects Barthes concept of the middle voice to Dulcie, who “makes
the sacrifice of and for herself”903, this can also be said of David, who finally also turns
himself into a sacrifice of and for himself. Within the new South Africa, Dulcie, the
abused and abusing female warrior has no place anymore, thus she sacrifices herself for a
new beginning. Similarly, David, the abused and abusing male warrior also strives but
eventually fails to reintegrate himself into society. When David sets out to tell, to write
his story; he aims to be the agent of the action, tries to assume responsibility for it. His
failure to tell; write down his story in its entireness, finally leads him to sacrifice himself.
Wicomb seems to suggest that without telling your story, you will not find a place within
the new South Africa. At the same time, telling your story within the changing South
Africa is also a dangerous undertaking. David’s decision to tell his story coincides with
suspicions by the movement that he may have lost his political commitment. For some of
his comrades, David’s story may have been tantamount to blowing the whistle on them,
and given them reason to murder him. Thus, Wicomb raises a variety of issues in David’s
Story; stressing that people will need help, security and possibly even instructions to
develop the means to tell their story. In this respect, the amanuensis also fails, because
she does not provide David with the adequate methods to express himself. Instead of
acting as his amanuensis she quickly becomes the agent and author of his story. This is
again, where the thin line between the unnamed narrator and Wicomb, the author, blurs.
902
903
Barthes, 18
Samuelson, 850
382
In this respect, Wicomb, the narrator/author argues that writing was and still is a
significant part of the anti-apartheid struggle. She aims to be a writer, who acts as an
agent, who effects the construction of the nation’s past and present, while at the same
time not shying away from affecting herself; making a sacrifice of and for herself. By
telling David’s Story, Wicomb aims to set herself apart from the writers, with whose
quotes she frequently and deliberately disrupts the flow of her novel. Unlike Wicomb,
these authors assume the active voice in their writing, performed the action / the writing
outside of themselves, effecting but not affecting themselves. They let others do the
sacrificing, distanced themselves from any responsibility. With David’s Story, Wicomb
picks up, where the TRC fell short: She assumes responsibility for the atrocities
committed by freedom fighters in the anti-apartheid struggle, willing to use her controlled
emphatic abilities, willing to be affected by telling their stories; working through their
painful pasts; re-imagining their violent experiences.
Most importantly, the complicated narrative setting of David’s Story forces the
reader to act as the middle voice. At the end of the novel, Wicomb, the author, clearly
hands over the text to the reader, when the amanuensis narrator looses control of the text:
My screen is in shards.
The words escape me.
I do not acknowledge this scrambled thing as mine.
I will have nothing more to do with it.
I wash my hands of this story. (DS, 213)
Now, that the author let his agent, the unreliable narrator, tell the story, the reader has all
the information, but is left with a lot of questions. Although the reader understands that
something horrible happened to Dulcie and David, he still does not know what and why.
Thus, the engaged reader has no choice but to become middle voice and embark on his /
383
her own journey to decipher the truth about David and Dulcie. In accordance with
Fanon’s credo that revolution needs to involve (self)-questioning, Wicomb created with
the narrative setting of David’s Story also an allegory of the work of the TRC. The TRC
committee appears as the author, who employs the witnesses, i.e. victims and
perpetrators, as (unreliable) narrators, forcing to audience into middle voice, i.e. handing
over to South African the task to assess the validity and meaning of the TRC stories.
Wicomb’s novel continues and expands this challenge on a literary level.
II.
Dissolving the Fog of the Past
As outlined, all three authors engage critically with the work of the TRC. Although
the three authors generally seem to approve the TRC as providing an alternative
framework, of how to engage with and approach the violent legacy of South Africa’s
apartheid past, they critique it at the same time for its limitations. Dangor exposes that the
TRC did not offer an adequate forum for women to deal with the aftermath of rape.
Similarly, Wicomb exposes that sexual violence against women, in particular by
members of the ANC, as well as violence committed by women, represented taboo topics
in front of the TRC. Throughout The Ibis Tapestry Mike Nicol’s also problematizes
violence against women in various ways, stresses, however, that violence against women
was and is in no way unique and limited to the apartheid system. Generally, Nicol
stresses the international dimension of violence and also calls attention to the violent
legacy of the apartheid system on the larger African continent.
384
In addition, in contrast to the TRC, which chose only to address the atrocities of the
apartheid system within a forty year time frame904, all three authors contextualize the
South African apartheid system within the colonial history of South Africa. Nicol points
out that the racist Afrikaner nationalism developed in response to the atrocities the British
committed against Boer women and children during the Anglo-Boer war. Similarly,
Wicomb draws parallels between the exclusive nationalism of the Boer and that of the
Griqua people. Dangor, however, tells the story of another marginalized group within
South Africa that of Muslims. Moreover, Wicomb and Dangor also consider the difficult
situation of the so-called colored population in light of the changed power structures in
South Africa, while Nicol examines primarily how the complicated and guilt ridden
relationship between British and Boer facilitated the creation of the apartheid system.
Similar to the three German books, Im Krebsgang, Stille Zeile Sechs, and Gefährliche
Verwandtschaft, Wicomb, Dangor, and Nicol also employ narrative strategies, which
comment on the kinship of historical and fictional narration. All three writers, Nicol and
Wicomb, much more so than Dangor, constantly remind the reader of the constructedness
of the narrative. The first person narrator, Robert Poley, in Nicol’s novel, as well as the
unknown female first person narrator in Wicomb’s book, both represent amanuensis’s.
While Dangor’s story is told from an omniscient narrative perspective, two instances in
the novel, involve, however, an amanuensis emulating situation. It is through Mikey that
the reader learns of Lydia’s rape, because he reads her diary, and it is through the Imam
that Mikey, and the reader, learns of Silas’ father’s story.
Finally, just like in the German novels, the reader finds him/herself at the end of the
South African novels in the Barthesian middle voice, he/she is left with many more
904
As explained in Appendix B.
385
questions than answers. Thus, Dangor, Wicomb, and Nicol also urge the reader to embark
on a narrative quest of their own, to access their subjective voice, to be able to challenge
the dominant national narrative of the object. All South African novels strongly argue for
politically engaged literature and clearly view the new South African rainbow nation as a
pluralist one, which has to allow for many competing narratives.
386
Chapter VIII: CONCLUSION
I.
Narratives of the Present
The six transitional narratives have in common that they all make use of an plural
narrative setting: Grass’ ‘we’ narrators of the house of ministries, Brussig’s many
characters, Jentzsch’s Greek gods, Mda’s community ‘we’, Krog’s depiction of the work
of the TRC, and Magona’s testimonial narrative perspective. The use of these plural
narratives as well as their partial emulation of an oral setting, signals to the reader the
need for civic engagement in the transitional period, i.e. the need for a public sphere,
while at the same time represented the primary need of the transitional period in both
countries, reconciliation of the people.
The South African author’s transitional narratives foreshadow and emphasize the
amount of mourning, which will have to be done in on a personal and national level, in
order to be able to undo the violent legacy of the apartheid system. Mda, Krog, and
Magona all make an argument that healing, national and personal, starts with narration.
On a national level but to a large extent also on a personal level, it appears as the primary
way to deconstruct South Africa’s violent apartheid past. In addition, Mda highlights that
art in general will play a crucial role in the healing of the nation, and mentions music and
the fine arts as other avenues for the individual, as well as for the nation.
In contrast, the German authors depict in particular the growing political
disappointment in course of the Wende, and expose how the East German public sphere
was quickly subverted by West, and to a lesser degree also East German corruption,
deception, and economic speculation. Grass, Brussig, and Jentzsch all explore the missed
387
chances and alternatives to the accelerated execution of the reunification, but also provide
glimpses of the future. While Grass and Brussig see a future Germany within a European
/ global context, Jentzsch makes an argument that a future for the reunified Germany has
to start with true cooperation and reconciliation between East and West Germans.
Throughout the novel, Jentzsch depicts, however, the emerging ‘wall in the head’ as a
major obstacle for such an endeavor. In this respect, Grass and Brussig provide the reader
with semi-closure at the end of the narrative, because the national narrative of Germany
within a European / global context represents only a lingering idea. At the end of
Jentzsch’s book the reader is left with a lot of questions, finds himself in the Barthesian
middle voice and feels challenged to start looking for solutions him/herself. Although the
feminist undertone is most obvious in Jentzsch’s text, Brussig and Grass also express
hope that women will play a more prominent role in the united Germany.
Another commonality between all six texts is the fear of violence as a result of the
economic disparities between black and white South Africans, East and West Germans.
Such fear is of course much more prominent in the South African texts. Krog expresses
fear that the work of the TRC will not be able to undo the violent legacy of the apartheid
system, while at the same time depicting her own family’s willingness to defend their
property with guns. Moreover, Magona and Mda highlight how deeply intertwined
economic poverty and violence are in South Africa. Even if to a much lesser extent, the
German texts also include references to violence: with the burning of the paternoster in
Grass’ text, the murder of uncle Willi in Jentzsch text, and the ominous presence of the
state’s monopoly on violence in Brussig’s text.
388
II.
Narratives of the Past
All six texts by Grass, Maron, Zenocak, Dangor, and Wicomb represent counterhistories, which emphasize the testimonial dimension of the discourse of history, while at
the same time exposing how the historian very similar to the fiction writer functions as
the organizer of this discourse, and does not necessarily have a higher claim to truth.905
The six authors also stress that in our societies the content of discourse is often valued
much less than its form. It matters less what information is presented than how it is being
presented. Claims to truth arise out of the form of representation rather than out of the
representation itself. In spite of our visually dominated world, all writers stress the
importance of narration in assessing national history. At the same time, all six authors
also approach their country’s respective national history from the margins.
In the German context, Grass re-writes German history through the marginal
perspective of German refugees from the East, while calling attention to the Russian as
well as the Polish perspective. Primarily through omission Grass also stresses the
marginal historical perspective of Jews and reminds Germans of their duty to remember
the horrific dimension of the Holocaust for them. Maron writes back against the
confessional discourses of former leading GDR officials and assumes the marginal
perspective of a female dissident in the GDR. Zenocak focuses on the marginal
perspective of Turks in Germany, while at the same time emphasizing the transnational
relations between Germans, Jews and Turks.
In the South African context, Dangor’s narrative employs the marginal narrative
perspective of coloreds and Muslims, and to a lesser extent also calls attention to the
905
Roland Barthes, “The Discourse of History”, In: The Rustle of Language, (New York: Hill and Wang,
1986) 127-140.
389
marginal perspective of gays in South Africa. Nicol portrays a marginal perspective in
that he focuses on the international, and in particular, larger African repercussions of
South Africa’s apartheid system. In addition, Wicomb also concentrates on the marginal
narrative perspective of coloreds in her book, while at the same time stressing the
continuing marginalization of South African women during colonization, under
apartheid, and even in the ANC movement.
As previously already mentioned, the South African and German texts all have in
common that they present counter-histories within the nation, and tackle or question
common approaches to the two nation’s pathological pasts, i.e. the apartheid and Nazi
past, and to a lesser extent the Cold War and GDR past. In addition, all six novels make a
strong argument for politically engaged literature, and emphasize the importance of
writing matters down, bearing witness and exploring historic occurrences in writing. At
the same time, all texts amalgamate fact and fiction and explore the connections,
overlaps, and distinctions between fiction and history. The narrative setting of all six
texts emphasizes the constructedness of any discourse, i.e. the story, which is told. All six
novels depict at least one crucial or are primarily based on a narrative testimonial
situation, and involve the Barthesian “shifters of listening”906. Besides the events narrated
906
Roland Barthes, “The Discourse of History” In: The Rustle of Language (New York: Hill and Wang,
1986) 128:
“The first type we might call shifters of listening. This category has been observed, on the level of
language, by Jakobson, under the name testimonial and under the formula CeCalCa2: besides the event
reported (Ce) the discourse mentions both the act of the informant (Cal) and the speech of the “writer” who
refers to it (Ca2). This shifter therefore designates all mention of sources, of testimony, all reference to a
listening of the historian, collecting an elsewhere of his discourse and speaking it. Explicit listening is a
choice, for it is possible not to refer to it . . .
The shifter of listening is obviously not pertinent to historical discourse: we find it frequently in
conversations and in certain artifices of the novel (anecdotes recounted as “heard from” certain fictive
informants who are mentioned).
The second type of shifter covers all the declared signs by which the “writer”, in this case the historian,
organizes his own discourse, revises it, modifies it in the process of expression; in short arranges explicit
references within it.”
390
in the novel, the discourse in all texts portrays the act of an informant and the speech of a
writer, i.e. narrator, who refers to it. In addition, in all of the novels the author is a
hovering presence, constantly reminding the reader, unlike the historian, that he / she was
the one, who organized the fictional discourse.
The complicated narrative setting of all novels, forces the reader to assume the
Barthesian middle voice: The authors: Grass, Maron, Senocak, Dangor, Nicol, Wicomb,
clearly organize the story, which is presented by the often unreliable narrator: Paul
Pokriefke, Rosalind, Sascha Muteschem, an omniscient narrator, Robert Poley, the
amanuensis, leaving the reader in the end with more questions than answers. Instead of
being offered a solution to the moral dilemma presented in the novels, the engaged reader
finds himself in middle voice, feeling obligated to research and assess the truthfulness of
the story presented; to embark on his / her own quest to find answers to the unresolved
questions.
The narrative setting of the South African novels by Dangor, Nicol, and Wicomb
mirrors, expands, and complements “the working through the past” of the TRC. Similar
to the TRC, the authors organize the discourse of the past, letting their witnesses, i.e.
narrators, victims and perpetrators, tell their stories, leaving it to the South African
audience, i.e. their readers to judge the truthfulness and significance of their stories. As
previously discussed in detail, the line between victims and perpetrators is not very easily
drawn in all of the three South African novels, thus facilitating and encouraging to
explore all different possibilities for reconciliation and the finding of truth.
Within the German context, the situation is slightly different, because the atrocities and
wrongdoings of the past, the Nazi and GDR past, were largely dealt with in form of trials.
391
Not surprisingly, all three German novels question therefore the usefulness of trials as
forms of reconciliation and depict fatal consequences. In Im Krebsgang, Tulla
Pokriefke’s unfulfilled need to publicly bear witness about the suffering during the
sinking of the Wilhelm Gustloff ends in the murder trial of her own grandson. Similarly,
Monika Maron depicts in Stille Zeile Sechs, how Rosalind does not allow Herbert
Beerenbaum to bear witness, but rather subjects him to a trial-like interrogation, finally
causing him to have a heart-attack. Sascha Muteschem, in Zafer Senocak’s novel,
however, simply denounces reading his grandfather’s possible confession about the past,
which lead him to commit suicide, and instead of putting his grandfather posthumously
on trial he decides to invent his grandfather’s story, which really allows him to embark on
a narrative quest of his own, to find Sascha’s story. Nevertheless, the three German
novels create in fiction a sphere, very similar to that of the South African TRC, which did
not exist in the German reality of trials, showing Germans to relearn controlled empathy,
showing them ways to reconcile. The behavior of the narrators and protagonists in the
novel illustrates primarily how not to do it. In this respect, the novelists do not offer their
readers solutions, but rather leave them again in the difficult position of middle voice. All
texts, the South African (possibly not Bitter Fruit) and German alike, are written in
Roland Barthes middle voice, where “the subject is constituted as immediately
contemporary with the writing, being effected and affected by it: this is the exemplary
case of the Proustian narrator, who exists only by writing, despite the reference to a
pseudo-memory.”907 At the end of each novel, the reader finds himself in the difficult
position to ask him/herself the question of personal accountability: “What would I have
done – what could I have done – what should I do?”
907
Barthes, 19
392
All of the text deal also, to a lesser or greater degree, with the gendered
representation of national history. The authors expose national historical discourse as
dominated by the fathers who largely marginalized and even silenced the mothers. In this
respect, the South African and German novels all address a “father problem”. It appears
that in particular the unavailability of the fathers, their inability to share their feelings, as
well as their incapacity for comprehensive, and multi-faceted discussions, contributed to
the loss of empathy in the main protagonists. All fathers in the text either want to or
control the discourse: Der Alte and Paul Pokriefke in Im Krebsgang, Rosalind’s father
and Herbert Beerenbaum in Stille Zeile Sechs, Sascha Muteschem’s grandfather and
father in Gefährliche Verwandtschaft, Silas in Bitter Fruit, Robert Poley and Christo
Mercer in The Ibis Tapestry, David in David’s Story. The dogmatism of the fathers stands
for the dominance of one national narrative within the nation, which does not allow for
the other alternative narratives to co-exist. Except for Zafer Senocak’s novel, however,
all other novels disrupt the narrative of the fathers by emphasizing and inserting female
counter-voices. In Senocak’s novel and also in Grass’ novel it is the discourse of the son,
which challenges the historical narrative of the father. Thus, it appears that all authors
believe that the male national fantasy of the nation will have to be deconstructed by
inserting female voices, as well as the voices of younger male generations. Grass,
however, seems particularly critical of the younger generations in that he seems to doubt
their ability to affect positive change.
Another common feature between all novels is the complexity and intertwined
structure of the narrative. Rather then representing occurrences chronologically, all
writers created a story, which develops rather in spirals, resembling a maze through
393
which the reader has to find his way. All texts qualify as “faction” and appear as an
amalgamation of fact and fiction. The authors draw in a very Bakthinian manner on
several other forms of texts in creating their novel. In addition, all of the texts built to a
greater or lesser extent on intertextuality. For the two female writers, Wicomb and
Maron, this intertextuality also serves to write back against male dominance, portraying
the female discourse already as a counter-narrative within the nation. In particular
Wicomb uses intertexuality to expose the racist and sexist representation, i.e. violation of
black women, showing also how white women participated in the infringement of their
black sisters. The male writers use their intertextual references to allude to the texts they
seek to challenge or in whose tradition they write.
Finally, all texts are for the most part written in a post-modern tradition and deal
with the interchangeability and unreliability of signs. The writers show, how in our
contemporary societies, it is difficult to grasp reality underneath the impenetrable thicket
of signs. They make the argument that in our modern era, truth is therefore not a matter
of fact but of form. It does not matter so much, what is being said, but how it is being
said. All texts question the reliability and authority of historical sources and stress that
the discourse of history is equally constructed, serves a certain purpose, omits – such as
the voices of women, and is sometimes plain fiction. In this context, national histories are
exposed as mythological constructions, which often aide the perpetuation of the nation.
The South African novels therefore not only complement the TRC process, create
a rupture within the historical narrative by adding the voices of women, but they also
question the Christian discourse of forgiving, on which the TRC built. All writers seem to
aim for a more secular discourse of reconciliation, as well as alternative forums to bear
394
witness. In all three novels, one of the main characters, one of the “victims”: Lydia in
Bitter Fruit, Salma in The Ibis Tapestry, and Dulcie in David’s Story, chooses a different
way than the TRC proposed to deal with her trauma. It is particularly striking that
although all novels also portray male victims, there seems to be a major concern on part
of the writers to stress the abuse of women within the apartheid context. Moreover, it
appears that the TRC forum failed to accommodate women to bear witness about their
physical, i.e. sexual abuse. In David’s Story Dulcie’s and also Sally’s (repeated) rape is
the untellable story, also because they as well as their male comrades, rationalized rape as
“part of a girl’s training”, their sacrifice for the freedom of the nation. Lydia refuses to
testify in front of the TRC, because she has already dealt with her trauma extensively in
writing. Similarly, Salma worked through her trauma by beating the ibis tapestry, but also
by writing her story down. Instead of being burdened with the responsibility of
forgiveness, the victims, especially Salma, expect atonement and redemption from the
perpetrators. In this regard, Dangor, Nicol, and Wicomb all emphasize that the TRC’s
third committee: The Reparation and Rehabilitation Committee, now has to hold the
perpetrators accountable for their actions to ensure the rehabilitation and well-being of
the victims.
In the German context, it is particularly interesting to note that the fall of the wall
all of a sudden opened up possibilities for a new engagement with the past. Grass, Maron
and Senocak create a fiction the public “TRC” sphere, which was lacking during the
reunification. All three writers clearly make a strong argument for a multi-faceted
discourse of Germany’s national history. While Maron and Grass stress that this
discourse not only has to incorporate Jewish, and West and East German perspectives but
395
also be inter-generational, Senocak stresses the importance to incorporate also the voices
of the Turks, i.e. see Germany’s history in a transnational perspective.
III.
Narratives of the Future
With the fall of the wall in Germany and the fall of apartheid in South Africa, the
following futures were foreclosed in the respective countries: East German visions of true
socialism, as well as West German ambitions, i.e. illusions, to regain control of the
Eastern territories lost after the Second World War. In South African, the peaceful
abolition of apartheid under Nelson Mandela’s leadership not only ended ideas of white
supremacy but also visions of the Zulu majority to create their own state. The futures,
which were imagined and which are still being imagined, are however, still being
negotiated - as outlined – very heavily in the national literature of both countries.
Politically and economically, Germany’s future is to be found within a larger
European context, where it is claiming a leading role, also by emphasizing its importance
in the global economic context. South Africa in course of its constitution building process
and the work of the TRC successfully invented the story of a new nation(s) state of
rainbow South Africa. In addition, with the successful and peaceful abolition of
apartheid, South Africa established itself as a leading force within the larger African
conglomerate, and as the number one African global player.
From the previously discussed texts and from the text I would still like to discuss908,
the following challenges emerge for the future Germany and the future South Africa and
908
Ideally, I would have also liked to discuss the following texts in my dissertation: Friedrich Ani’s
German Angst (2000), Marcia Zuckermann’s Das vereinigte Paradies (2000), Christoph Hein’s
Willenbrock (2000), and Juli Zeh’s Adler und Engel (2001), J. M. Coetzee’s Disgrace (2000), Nadine
Gordimer’s The Pick-Up (2001), Phaswane Mpe’s Welcome to Our Hillbrow (2001), and Zakes Mda’s The
Madonna of Excelsior (2005).
396
will have to be addressed elsewhere: What role will the politics of migration play in the
re-definition of the two nations? How will the pluralist needs of the two nations be made
part of the social contract? One of the most prominent problems within South Africa is
clearly the issue of AIDS, while economic disparities are an issue in Germany and South
Africa alike, but also play a role in the larger European and African context. What future
role will Germany pursue and play within the European Union? What role will South
Africa assume on the larger African continent? What will be the roles of both countries in
the global context? Will both newly formed nation states solidify their national identities,
or will they remain open to national transformation? What role will the problematic past
of both countries play on a national level as times goes by? What will be the future of
politically engaged literature in both countries?
397
APPENDIX A
Germany - Reunification in the Fast Lane
The velvet revolution of East Germany has to be seen within the larger context of
the destabilization of Eastern Europe, i.e. the Eastern Bloc. In March 1985 Mikhail
Gorbachev was elected as secretary general of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union.
Soon after, he introduced his reform policies of “Glasnost” and “Perestroika”, which
appeared as a revolution from above. Even before Gobachev became president of the
USSR in October of 1988, the Soviet reform triggered significant changes in other
Eastern European countries.
Poland announced reforms in September of 1988 and legalized the resistance
movement Solidarność in April 1989, which had already been founded in 1980 as a
solidarity association of Polish workers against the questionable political system in their
country. In August 1989 Poland held its first free elections and Solidarność achieved a
landslide victory. In the Czech Republic, the protest movement, lead by Václav Havel,
gradually, but persistently challenged the authorities to introduce democratic change.
Demonstrations began in January 1989, and gained new momentum with the arrest of
Havel in February 1989. After Havel’s release in May 1989, reforms could hardly be
prevented anymore and finally lead to the election of Havel as president of the Czech
Republic in December 1989. While the changes in the GDR resembled those in the Czech
Republic most closely on a temporal scale, the changes in Hungary had the most
significant impact on the citizen of the GDR. In May 1988 Hungary announced radical
economic and societal reforms and implemented a multi-party system in February of
1989. A year after starting its reforms, in May 1989, Hungary began dismantling its
398
security systems on the border to Austria and completely opened the Hungarian-Austrian
border on the 11th of September 1989. For GDR citizens this opened a gateway to the
West.
The democratic changes in the Communist countries were, however,
overshadowed by the final brutal reaction to the student protest in Beijing, China, on the
“Platz des Himmlischen Friedens”909. On the 17th of April, 1989 about 4000 students
assembled on the plaza demanding primarily an investigation of the disempowerment and
successive death of the liberal secretary general Hu Yaobang. This initial temporary
protest lead to a permanent occupation of the plaza and the students began requesting a
democratic reform. When the political authorities rejected any dialogue with the students,
they entered into a hunger strike at the beginning of May, hoping that Gorbachev’s visit
to Beijing would cause the political authorities to reconsider. These hopes did not come
true. Briefly after Gorbachev’s return to the Soviet Union, the Chinese army mercilessly
and literally crushed the student protest by using tanks on June 4th, 1989, killing about
5000 people and injuring about 30 000.910 Subsequently, the Chinese authorities arrested
other leading protestors and executed them, while the world watched in shock. Unlike the
governments of most other countries, the GDR authorities did not condemn the action of
their Chinese Communist friends, but rather justified their brutal deeds as the only means
to guarantee public order and safety.911 When the Chinese Republic celebrated its 40th
anniversary on October 1st, 1989, a delegation, lead by GDR leader Egon Krenz, traveled
909
Tiananmen Square
Bernd Lindner, Die demokratische Revolution in der DDR 1989/90, (Bonn: Bundeszentrale für
politische Bildung, 1998) 33 (Hereafter quoted as: Lindner, page number)
According to Chinese officials, only 300 people were killed and about 2000 injured, all of whom were
considered unlawful fanatics.
911
Lindner, 34
910
399
to Beijing to attend the festivities. As a result, all GDR demonstrations throughout 1989
were accompanied by the fear that the GDR authorities would react as violently to the
protests as their Chinese counterparts.
The fear of “Chinese reactions” may also be the reason why the majority of the
citizen’s protests in the GDR did not take place in Berlin, the capital, but rather in the
provinces of the republic. Demonstrations occurred earlier and more in the South than in
the North of the GDR, and most demonstrations happened in Karl-Marx Stadt,912 Erfurt,
Halle, Gera and Leipzig, in that order.913 Especially Leipzig emerged, however, as a key
city within the GDR protest movement. The first demonstration, which demanded
democratic changes, took place on January 15th, 1989 in Leipzig. It was organized in
secret through the distribution of thousands of leaflets and aimed to honor the memory of
the assassination of the Communist leaders, Rosa Luxemburg and Karl Liebknecht,
seventy years prior. Although the demonstrators had not sought the mandatory
authorization from the authorities they succeeded in walking past Liebknecht’s house of
birth through the city center of Leipzig to the “Ring”914 before authorities intervened and
stopped the protest. For the participants as well as its spectators this small demonstration
presented a public sign that the authorities could be challenged and democratic change
might finally be underway.915 However, most protests were at first local and did not
affect the GDR as a whole.
912
The city was renamed again in the united Germany as Chemnitz.
Lindner, 92-93
914
This is the name of the main, circular street, which surrounds the city center of Leipzig.
915
Lindner, 7-14
913
400
One of the first indicators of heightened civic criticism and engagement in the
GDR as a whole occurred during the “Kommunalwahlen916” on May 7th, 1989. In many
cities of the GDR its citizen set out to supervise the elections in suspicion of voter fraud.
Almost all observations, many of which were publicized after the election, came to the
same conclusion: The official results were falsified. As a result, distrust of the leading
GDR authorities multiplied.917 Another factor that affected the GDR as a whole was the
opening of the border between Hungary and Austria. One of the greatest problems of the
GDR, which had finally resulted in the erection of the wall, had always been the escaping
of its citizen. When the Hungarian-Austrian border opened, many GDR citizens used the
opportunity to flee to the West. Within the first three days of the opening of the border in
September, about 15,000 GDR citizens crossed the border and reached West Germany.
Until the opening of the wall on November 9th many thousands more followed their
example. Temporarily this refugee issue came close to a humanitarian disaster, such as
when several hundreds of refugees occupied the West German embassies in Hungary and
the Czech Republic.918 The flight of so many GDR citizens to the West had a catalytic
effect on the demonstrations of those GDR people determined to remain in the GDR.
From week to week more and more people participated in the demonstrations.
Generally, the protest movement in the GDR of the fall of 1989 and spring of
1990 can be distinguished into four different phases, which overlap and merge into each
other:
1. Etappe: Die „Bewußtwerdung der eigenen Kraft” (4. September bis 9.
November 1989)
916
general communal elections
Lindner, 25-27
918
Lindner, 39-47
917
401
2. Etappe: Der „Prozeß der Politisierung des Unpolitischen“ (Ende
September bis 9. November 1989)
3. Etappe: Das „Erlebnis Pluralismus“ (9. November 1989 bis Januar
1990)
4. Etappe: Die „Rückdelegierung des politischen Handelns and die
Berufspolitiker“919
During the first two phases the demonstrations resembled a large grass root movement,
which was loosely and primarily locally organized, and did not follow any specific
agendas. In the third and fourth phase the previously unstructured public sphere
organized and thus became fragmented losing its initial revolutionary zeal and power.
In many cities, churches played a key role in the organization of protests and
often demonstrations would follow after attending church. The church had established
itself, and gained a lot of supporters in the GDR throughout the 1980s, as part of a larger
peace movement.920 The Monday demonstrations in Leipzig also developed out of peace
prayers, which had been organized by the pastor of the Nikolaikirche, Christian Führer,
as early as January 1989. Over the summer of 1989 these peace prayers came to a halt,
and Führer had difficulties receiving a continuation permit from the authorities for the
fall. After the prayers resumed the first Monday in September 1989, they immediately
developed into demonstrations. When several demonstrators were arrested at the first
September protests in Leipzig, this only increased the number of participants in the city
itself, and simultaneously triggered solidarity protests in other cities.921 In matter of
919
Lindner, 66
My translation:
1. Phase: “Gaining Consciousness of the Movements’ Power” (4th of September until 9th of
November 1989)
2. Phase: The “Process of Politicization of the Non-political” (End of September until 9th of
November 1989)
3. Phase: The “Experience of Pluralism” (9th of November until January 1990)
4. Phase: “Re-delegating Political Action to Professional Politicians”
920
Lindner, 53
921
Lindner, 63-69
402
numbers, Leipzig quickly assumed a leading position in the GDR protest, because the
number of people attending the Monday demonstrations steadily increased from
September, October and November 1989. From Monday to Monday more and more
people joined the demonstrations.922 At the latest in October, the numbers of people
protesting923, combined with the number of people leaving the country924, became
progressively more worrisome for the GDR authorities. The dissatisfaction of the people
with its governing representatives could barely be ignored.
In spite of it all, however, the GDR elites turned the celebration of the fortieth
anniversary of the GDR on October 7th, 1989, into a gigantic spectacle. Soon after,
however, Erich Honecker resigned as head of state on the 24th of October 1989.
Subsequently, Egon Krenz was elected as his successor by the Volkskammer925. Although
Honecker’s resignation offered the GDR a chance to restructure, reorganize and
modernize the GDR state, Krenz and the other leading members of the SED party did not
use and perhaps could not use this chance for reform anymore. At the end of October
1989 the protest in the GDR had reached a new peak and challenged primarily the
“Führungsanspruch”926 of the SED. It became clear to the ruling elites that any reform
from “above” would have to enter into negotiations with the revolution from “below”. In
addition, the ruling authorities also realized that such negotiations might very well entail
a complete loss of power on their behalf, especially because at this point the
922
Lindner, 84: While on Monday, October 9th, 1989 only 70,000 people attended the demonstration in
Leipzig, on Monday, October 16th already 120,000 people showed up. 250,000 people participated on
Monday, October 23rd, an estimated 300,000 turned up on Monday, the 30th, and on Monday, November 6th
the number of protestors totaled about 500,000.
923
One of the slogans of the protestors within the GDR was: “Wir bleiben hier!” (We will stay!)
924
The slogan that became known for those wanting to leave the GDR was: “Wir wollen raus!” (We want
out!”)
925
GDR parliament
926
Claim to power
403
“demonstrators” had far more concrete ideas about democratic reforms than their
“rulers”.
Although it is a misconception that all East Germans participated in the protest
movement, which led to the fall of the wall, a significant majority of them was willing to
repeatedly demonstrate on the street. The statistical entry of the GDR for the year 1989
lists a total of 7,563 communities, out of which only 649 communities had more than
3,000 inhabitants. In 511 of these 649 communities organized protests took place, in
which certainly not all citizens took part. A large majority of the population, although
they viewed the developments for the most part positively, stayed at home, and followed
the demonstrations by watching television, reading the newspaper etc.927 The
demonstrating GDR public, which successfully challenged the authorities, was
percentage-wise really a minority. The increasing numbers of the people willing to join
the protests, however, made clear to the GDR elites that they had lost the support of the
quietly watching GDR majority.
Apart from the churches, “Bürgerrechtsbewegungen”928 played a key role in the
GDR protest movement and developed ideas about democratic reforms. While many of
these civil rights groups formed primarily in the “hot phase” of the protests in the GDR;
September, October, November 1989 or after the fall of the wall, those part of the larger
peace movement, such as the Initiative Frieden und Menschenrechte, had already formed
in the 1980s. One of the first groups, which newly formed was the group Aufbruch 89
Neues Forum. Founded on the 9th-10th of September 1989 in Grünheide, Berlin, this
initiative soon established itself as one of the most prominent GDR wide initiatives. The
927
928
Lindner, 89
Civil Rights Movements
404
founding members of this group had come together from many different towns in the
GDR and were for the most part citizen of higher educational background. At the Neues
Forum founding meeting the participants created a sort of manifesto, in which they stated
their demands for political reform.929 At the same time, other political groups were
created in the fall of 1989, such as Demokratischer Aufbruch, Demokratie Jetzt,
Sozialdemokratische Partei in der DDR, Vereinigte Linke, Gruppe Demokratischer
SozialistInnen, Grüne Partei/Grüne Liga, Unabhängiger Frauenverband. Although the
major aims of all these groups slightly differed, all agreed that political reforms were
desperately needed, but could not be expected from the authorities anymore. Thus, they
had decided that the impetus for change had to come from them, from “below”. As early
as on the 6th of October 1989, six of these groups930 together with different peace
activists, published a joint statement, in which they outlined their vision for change.
Together they pursued a democratic reform of the the GDR state and society. Without
doubt, all these groups were in favor of a future sovereignty of their country.931 During
the reunification process the voices of these civil rights movements were given less and
less attention, in particular, after the course had been set for reunification.
GDR writers, who had established themselves in their writing over the years as
the most ardent critics of the SED regime, appeared quite late as a prominent part of the
protest movement. However, when they finally spoke at the Berlin demonstration on the
4th of November 1989, they immediately reached a much broader public than any of the
929
Lindner, 50-51
Bürgerbewegung Demokratie Jetzt (DJ)- Democracy Now, Demokratischer Aufbruch (DA) –
Democratic Beginning, Gruppe Demokratischer SozialistInnen (DS) – Association of Democratic
Socialists, Initiative Frieden und Menschenrechte (IFN) – Initiative for Peace and Human Rights,
Initiativgruppe Sozialdemokratische Partei in der DDR (SPD) - Social Democratic Party in the GDR, Neue
Forum (NF) – New Forum
931
Lindner, 59
930
405
other demonstrators and speakers before. With 500,000 participants the demonstration in
Berlin was probably the largest in GDR history and was also broadcast live on GDR
television. Unlike prior local demonstrations in the GDR, the demonstration in Berlin did
not develop out of spontaneous protests, but had been organized from “above” in
advance.932 Alongside members of the civil rights movement, primarily artists and
members of the intelligentsia, such as the actor Ulrich Mühe, the writers Christa Wolf,
Heiner Müller, Christoph Hein, and Stefan Heym, the lawyer Grego Gysi, and the
director of the film institute in Potsdam, Lothar Bisky, gave speeches at this
demonstration. Only one speaker of the civil rights movement, Jens Reich, identified
himself as a spokesperson of a specific civil rights group, i.e. the Neues Forum. In
addition, “reform oriented” members of the SED, such as Günter Schabowski and
Markus Wolf attempted to address the public. The demonstrators however, barely let
them speak and responded with a concert of whistles.933 In retrospect, it probably
damaged the reputation and credibility of GDR writers as well as members of the civil
rights movement to deliver speeches together with members of the former ruling elites.
Rather than representing the change from “below”, they were perceived as part of a
desperate act of the GDR rulers to control the change from “above”.
Most of the artists and intellectuals, who spoke at the Berlin demonstration had in
common that they interpreted the GDR revolution as aiming for the realization of true
socialism.934 All three, Christa Wolf, Christoph Hein, and Stefan Heym advocated a
“Third Path” in their Berlin speeches and argued for a reform of the GDR from within, in
932
The group of artists, who had organized the demonstration, had already applied for authorization of the
demonstration on the 16th of October 1989.
933
Lindner, 97
934
Brockmann, 48.
406
order to realize the utopia of “true socialism”.935 None of them, however, addressed the
issue, which turned out to be quite pressing for the public: How to deal with the legacy of
the Stasi? How to deal with the injustices created by the GDR state? The Berlin
demonstration was probably one of the last times that GDR writers were still viewed not
only as writers, but also as spokespersons of political and social significance. Soon
afterward they were to experience their loss of moral authority.936 In particular their
“cooperation” with the GDR’s ruling elites, which in Berlin had become visible on
television not only to the GDR public but also to West Germans, would contribute to the
writers’ loss of authority. The fall of the wall, and the imminent reunification of Germany
presented a welcome opportunity to call the significance of political literature as a whole
into question, using GDR writers, and in particular Christa Wolf, as scapegoats.
The fall of the wall occurred almost as unexpectedly as it had been built and was
announced nearly in passing. On the evening of the 9th of November 1989 at the press
conference of the Zentralkommittee937 of the SED, which was broadcast live on
television, the spokesperson Günter Schabowski declared that the Ministerrat938 of the
GDR had decided to grant general permission for travel to the West, starting
immediately. As a result, GDR citizen assembled at border crossings in Berlin the same
night and around 9:30 pm the first of them passed the border crossing Bornholmer Straße
from East into West Berlin. Over the course of the night, thousands followed them into
the West after several other border crossings opened. Although some of those, who
crossed the border, remained in the West, most GDR citizen just went for a visit over the
935
Brockmann, 48-49
Brockmann, 50
937
Central Committee
938
Council of Ministers
936
407
next couple of days and returned. Almost all of them, however, picked up the 100 DM
West “Begrüßungsgeld” 939, even those belonging to the GDR elites, for whom the West
represented the “Klassenfeind”.940
The demonstrations and political engagement of the GDR people did not end with
the fall of the wall, although the number of people participating in demonstrations
decreased. For many East Germans the fall of the wall did not mean the end of their
political engagement and they joined one of the many civil rights groups. Even the SED
still held on to its political power and organized a rally on the 10th of November 1989,
which still 150,000 GDR citizen attended. In addition, the SED responded with more
personnel changes to the dissatisfaction of the people with the previous regime. On the
13th of November 1989 the GDR parliament elected Hans Modrow as head of the
ministry council. Four days later Modrow announced his vision for change, guaranteeing
a future separation of party and state and proposing a “Vertragsgemeinschaft”941 between
the GDR and FRG.942 With the fall of the wall, the GDR elites had gained an advantage
again over the people, because for the West German politicians they still represented the
spokespersons for the GDR state. The civil rights movement already appeared too diverse
and fragmented. In addition, no single charismatic figure had emerged out of these
movements, as for example in the Czech Republic with Havel and in Poland with Walesa.
Another problem was that the East German demonstrations and political forums,
however, did not mobilize West Germans to engage on a similar mass scale in political
discussions. Had West Germans supported East Germans in their struggle for a
939
Every GDR citizen received 100 DM West, so called ‘greeting money’, upon their arrival in the West, if
he/she presented her GDR passport at any bank.
940
Enemy of the State
941
Contract Partnership
942
Lindner, 133
408
reorganization of power, and in their quest for a more participatory democracy, the
governing elites of GDR and FRG could have not at easily organized the reunification at
such vertiginous speed.
Briefly after the 9th of November, one of the major slogans: “Wir sind das Volk!”
(“We are the people!”), which had dominated the protest movement, changed into: “Wir
sind ein Volk!” (“We are a people!”). This new catchphrase soon caused a split among
GDR citizen into those advocating the “third path of true socialism” and those supporting
reunification with West Germany. At the same time, the slight change in the motto
illustrates a significant switch from political consciousness to the articulation of myths of
nationhood, which were soon perpetuated in the post-wall era by the media, in particular
also the Western media, which gained significant influence on the events. While the
majority of the GDR population was mainly occupied with digging through the flood of
information suddenly available, a minority of them began struggling for political power.
Primarily members of the civil rights movements, but also artists and intellectuals
engaged in the political power struggle. On the 26th of November a diverse group signed
the petition “Für unser Land”943 in Berlin, which was published three days later in the
newspaper Neues Deutschland. This article appealed again to the citizen of the GDR to
support the “third path”; a reform of the GDR state, to facilitate the establishment of true
socialism, rather than uniting with the capitalist West. Several GDR artists signed this
petition, such as Volker Braun, Tamara Danz, Stefan Heym, Jutta Wachowiak, Konrad
Weiss, and Christa Wolf. Only two days after its publication, the petition’s impact was
significantly damaged, when Egon Krenz responded to the letter in the same newspaper
943
„For Our Country“
409
and assured his assistance in building a socialist utopia.944 Again, GDR artists appeared
in the public’s eyes as closely aligned with the GDR leaders they sought to disempower.
West Germans and East Germans were equally surprised by the fall of the wall.
West German politicians were, however, quick to respond to the changed situation. At
first the Kohl government favored a federation of the two German states. These plans,
however, soon vanished in light of a reunification of both states. On the 28th of November
1989, Helmut Kohl publicized a ten topic agenda for overcoming the division of
Germany, i.e. Europe, which was at first interpreted by the GDR government as an
unwanted involvement in their state sovereignty. Above all, Kohl stressed that a major
economic reform, i.e. the establishment of a free market economy in East Germany, had
to precede any West German economic support for the desolate GDR economy.945 At the
same time, however, it was really the tumbling GDR economy, which needed protection
from the West. On the 23rd of November the GDR government took precautions against
the Western sell-out of the GDR. Certain state-subsidized groceries could only be bought
by presenting a GDR passport. In addition, the illegal export of GDR currency became a
problem. Less than two weeks after the opening of the wall an approximately 3 billion946
of the GDR currency had already left the country.947 The capitalist West not only
enormously profited from the East German desire for consumer products, but also from
the unpredictability of the situation. At the same time, the media contributed to the
further separation and alienation of GDR citizen. An opinion poll carried out among
demonstrators in Leipzig on December 11th 1989 showed that two-thirds of all East
944
Lindner, 118
Lindner, 130
946
At the later exchange rate of 2:1 this amounted to 1.5 Billion DM West.
947
Lindner, 133
945
410
Germans more or less agreed with Kohl’s agenda.948 In contrast an opinion poll
conducted by Spiegel/ZDF in the first week of December illustrated that 71% of East
Germans were still in favor of the sovereignty of the GDR, while only 27% supported a
reunification.949 In any case, GDR citizen still expected a say in the political
developments affecting their country, as the on-going demonstrations, formation of
interest groups, and round-table discussions prove. As soon as the GDR parliament
announced the first free elections for the 6th of May 1990, many demonstrations or
political forums turned into electoral campaigns. This was even more the case after the
elections were rescheduled for the 18th of March.
It soon became clear, however, that the further developments of the GermanGerman question would be organized “from above” with rather limited input from
“below”. Of the different possibilities, i.e. “the third path”, confederate union, contract
union, or reunification of the two German states, the latter solution predominated. At a
meeting with Modrow in Dresden on the 19th of December 1989, Kohl defined the
reunification of Germany as his major political aim, if history would permit it. Still, Kohl
was unsure about the reactions of Germany’s neighboring countries in face of a German
reunification, such as Poland, but also those of former Allies, Britain, France, the Soviet
Union, and the United States. After the SED dissolved itself at the end of January 1990,
Modrow presented an outline for a German reunification on the basis of neutrality on
February 1st. While Kohl reacted positively to Modrow’s support of a reunification, he
adamantly rejected a reunification on the basis of neutrality. Shortly after the four allied
forces declared their general support of the reunification, but asserted to have a say in the
948
949
Lindner, 132
Brockmann, 54
411
proceedings. They suggested that the reunification should take place in two steps. Firstly,
the FRG and the GDR should negotiate the domestic issues. Secondly, together with the
Allies they should manage the foreign policy questions. One of the most pressing foreign
issues in course of the reunification was the Western border to Poland. While in February
the West German government still rebuffed the East German proposition to confirm the
indefeasibility of the Oder-Neiße border to Poland, it confirmed this border on the 8th of
March.
The main domestic question remained under what basis the reunification would
take place. The West German Grundgesetz950 contained two possibilities for a
reunification. According to article 23, the so-called “Beitrittsparagraph”, the Grundgesetz
was valid for all the different states of the federal republic of Germany, but could be
extended to any states, which joined the republic.951 Article 146 of the German
Grundgesetz, however, recommended the creation of a new constitution in case of a
reunification of the two separate German states.952 The major West German intellectual
opposing a reunification was Günter Grass, who argued that with the Holocaust Germany
950
Constitutional Law
Artikel 23 Grundgesetz until 23.09.1990 (BGBl II 885)
http://www.chronik-der-wende.de/_/lexikon/glossar/glossar_jsp/key=art23.html (Link checked: 4/12/2009)
Artikel 23 Grundgesetz
"Dieses Grundgesetz gilt zunächst im Gebiet der Länder Baden, Bayern, Bremen, Groß-Berlin, Hamburg,
Hessen, Niedersachsen, Nordrhein-Westfalen, Rheinland-Pfalz, Schleswig-Holstein, Württemberg-Baden
und Württemberg-Hohenzollern. In anderen Teilen Deutschlands ist es nach deren Beitritt in Kraft zu
setzen.“ (My translation: This law applies so far only for the territories of the states of Baden, Bayern,
Bremen, Groß-Berlin, Hamburg, Hessen, Niedersachsen, Nordrhein-Westfalen, Rheinland-Pfalz,
Schleswig-Holstein, Württemberg-Baden und Württemberg-Hohenzollern. In all other parts of Germany it
applies after their joining of the federation.)
952 Artikel 146 Grundgesetz: http://www.gesetze-im-internet.de/gg/art_146.html (Checked: 4/12/2009)
Artikel 146 Grundgesetz
[Geltungsdauer des Grundgesetzes]
Dieses Grundgesetz, das nach Vollendung der Einheit und Freiheit Deutschlands für das gesamte deutsche
Volk gilt, verliert seine Gültigkeit an dem Tage, an dem eine Verfassung in Kraft tritt, die von dem
deutschen Volke in freier Entscheidung beschlossen worden ist. (My translation: The constitutional law,
which applies after the union and freedom of Germany for all of the German people, looses its legitimacy
on that day, when another constitution is implemented, which was freely decided upon by the German
people.)
951
412
had forfeited any right to ever be a united country again.953 In this respect, Grass
supported only a joint confederation of the two German states on the basis of a new
constitution. 954 Such a creation of a new Germany would have been an effort to construct
a national community based on dialogue at all levels rather than a settlement from above.
In accordance with Grass, Jürgen Habermas asserted that the reunification had to be
founded on article 146. Furthermore, Habermas emphasized that a rushed reunification
would not only threaten the fragile constitutional patriotism, which had emerged in postwar West Germany, but would also place the united Germany only on one fundament: the
D-Mark.955 The building of a new constitution would offer the chance to build the united
state on the convergence of the imagination and political desires of people of both
German states and its multiple nations within.
It soon became clear, however, that the Kohl government favored an accelerated
reunification following article 23. A new constitution building process based on article
146 would have demanded a much slower pace of the proceedings and an involvement of
the East and West German population as a whole. The West German population,
however, had, for the most part, only watched the fall of the wall in apathy. Forty years
of Cold War separation and ideology, had seriously damaged West German feelings of
solidarity for the East German “brothers and sisters”, and they almost perceived East
Germans as a threat to their comfortable existence, which they did not necessarily want to
share. It was perhaps also the existing West German constitutional patriotism, which
presented a hindrance to a new constitution building process. In addition, the media also
953
Brockmann, 57
Joachim Köhler und Peter Sandmeyer, „Der Leser verlangt nach Zumutungen“ (Stern: 95 08 17) In:
Georg Oberhammer & Georg Ostermann (ed.), Zerreissprobe (Innsbruck: Innsbrucker Zeitungsarchiv im
Eigenverlag, 1995) (Hereafter quoted as: Zerreissprobe, page number)
955
Brockmann, 58
954
413
did not popularize the building of a new constitution, but instead focused on the problems
of the failing GDR economy and its Stasi past. Political desires were channeled via
Bernaysian propaganda of peace into economic desires; symbolized by the D-Mark.
Moreover, during the GDR electoral campaigns, reciprocal Stasi accusations proved quite
damaging for candidates of the civil rights movements.956
The result of the first free elections of the GDR was heart-breaking for the
members of the civil rights groups, who had largely contributed to the fall of the wall.
They received only minor fractions of all votes957, while the “Allianz für Deutschland”,
consisting of CDU-Ost, DA, and DSU958, received a clear majority with 48.15% of all
votes. For the SPD the outcome of the elections presented also a failure, because only
21.84% of the voters opted for them, possibly because of wrongly associating the SPD
with the SED. The clear majority for the conservative alliance in the GDR election
provided the West German Kohl government with the opportunity to administer the
reunification according to the limits of their imagination. The greatest tragedy about the
first freely elected parliament of the GDR was that it had merely been elected to dissolve
itself.
959
Lothar de Mazière, the leading candidate of the CDU-Ost, who was elected as
prime minister of the GDR soon after the elections, did not present an equal to Kohl in
956
At the beginning of March accusations emerged against the head of the civil rights group,
Demokratischer Aufbruch, Wolfgang Schnur, who finally, three days before the election, gave in to the
pressure of the West German government to resign.
957
DJ, NF, “Bündnis 90” received 2.9% of all votes, while the alliance of the Green Party together with the
UFV (Unabhängiger Frauenverband – Independent Women’s Union) received an even smaller percentage
with only 1.96%.
958
Alliance for Germany: Christian Democratic Union-East (CDU-Ost), Democratic Beginning (DA),
German Social Union (DSU) Helmut Kohl – who established himself as the one “charismatic” figure
during the era of change in 1989/90 was head of the Christian-Democratic Union West.
959
After one of their first meetings the parliament issued a statement, in which they assumed responsibility
firstly for the Holocaust, secondly for the war damage done to the Soviet Union, thirdly for the violent
suppression of the protests of the “Prager Frühling” in 1968, and fourthly they announced their support of a
reunification of both German states as well as Europe without challenging the borders established after the
Second World War. (Lindner, 152)
414
the ensuing reunification negotiations, but rather presented himself as a mere aide. After
the elections the rest of the reunification procedures proceeded at breath-taking speed.
Instead of drafting a new constitution, the reunification was based on contracts and
followed article 23 of the Grundgesetz. By July 1st 1990 the diverging economies of the
two German states were unified under a capitalist system and the currency of the GDR
was replaced by the West-Mark. The privatization and modernization of GDR companies
was to be managed by the administrative machinery of the Treuhand. On October 3rd,
1990, the two German states were unified, when the former five East German districts,
Mecklenburg-Vorpommern, Brandenburg, Sachsen, Sachsen-Anhalt and Thüringen
together with East Berlin joined their West German counterparts in the Federal Republic
of Germany. In less than a year the GDR had ceased to exist and the eradication of any
remainders/reminders of the GDR soon began.
415
APPENDIX B
South Africa - The Transition in Slow Motion
In a similar manner to Germany, the transition to democracy and the abolition of
apartheid in South Africa not only has to be seen as the result of a violent internal
domestic struggle for freedom, which cost many lives, and spanned over decades, but
also within a larger international context. After the Afrikaner national party won the
general elections in 1948, and began with the slow implementation of apartheid, many
South Africans, black and white, believed for a long time that a peaceful solution would
still be possible. However, the white supremacists wasted no time in turning their racist
ideology into laws.960 As early as 1952, the African National Congress (ANC)961
established itself as a leading force in the fight against apartheid. Together with its allies,
the ANC launched a passive resistance campaign inspired by Mahatma Ghandi against
the Afrikaner government.
The forced resettlements during the 1950s and 1960s, and the increasing
enforcement of the discriminatory laws, soon cast doubt on the success of such passive
resistance. In addition, the white minority terminated the parliamentary representation of
Africans and Coloreds in 1960. The Sharpeville massacre on March 21st 1960 exposed
the full degree of state violence when during a demonstration against the Pass Laws 69
Africans were killed and 180 wounded, nearly all of them were shot in the back.
Afterward the apartheid government banned all African political organizations. This legal
960
In 1950 the Afrikaner government passed the Population Registration Act, which classified people by
race, and the Group Areas Act, which forced people to reside in racially zoned areas. During the following
years the government implemented extensive security legislation, which provided the government with farreaching legal control over people and organizations.
961
In 1912 the South African Native National Congress (NNC) founded and later became the African
National Congress (ANC).
416
step turned the members of the ANC into outlaws. Together with other ANC members,
Nelson Mandela was arrested on August 5th, 1962, and sentenced to life imprisonment in
1964. All these developments gravely called into question the effectiveness of passive
resistance in South Africa.
By1968 the younger black South African generation took on the fight against
apartheid when the exclusively black South African Student Organization (SASO) was
founded under the leadership of Steve Biko.962 His ideology of Black Consciousness soon
entered the schools in urban areas, and created a new awareness about the injustices of
the apartheid system among the younger African generations. When the Minister of
Bantu Education issued an instruction in 1975 to teach math and social studies in
Afrikaans, thousands of students spontaneously organized a protest against this
instruction in Afrikaans. These protests resulted into the so-called Soweto Riots on June
16th, 1976, which were primarily led by schoolchildren. When the police killed a thirteen
year-old student during the demonstration, protests developed nationwide within the next
few days. The white supremacist government reacted mercilessly and killed hundreds of
protestors. According to an investigation by an official commission, over 575 were killed
and at least 2400 wounded in violent confrontations, general strikes, school disruptions,
and police raids that tried to identify the leaders of the revolts between August and
November 1976. Of those killed 134 were under the age of eighteen.963 For many South
African the so-called Soweto riots and their brutal aftermath destroyed any remaining
hopes to ever end apartheid peacefully.
962
On September 12, 1977 Steve Biko died of brain damage, which was the result of injuries he had
obtained during interrogation and abuse by the South African security police.
963
Thompson, 213
417
In addition, the South African economic boom of the two previous decades had
turned into a recession by the end of the 1970s. The enforcement of the apartheid laws
limited the number of skilled workers and upholding the laws proved extremely costly.
At the same time, the emigration of whites from South Africa had increased as a response
to the economic recession but also to the questionable policies of the apartheid
government. As a result, demographers predicted a significant drop of the white
population in comparison to the total future South African populace, in particular,
because the black population was growing at a much faster rate.964 Under these
circumstances it became more and more difficult for the white supremacists to protect
their minority government.
After serving as prime minister from 1978-1984, P.W. Botha became president of
South Africa in 1984. Under the leadership of Botha the Afrikaner government attempted
to “ease the situation”, i.e. secure the power of whites, through a “show of reforms”. In
November 1983 an all white referendum accepted the establishment of a tricameral
parliament, in order to make the white minority regime more acceptable by sharing power
with Asians and so-called “Colored”. Meanwhile the black majority of South Africa still
remained excluded from power.965 Primarily, the new constitution protected the white
minority’s sole claim to power. The new Parliament was made of three chambers: a
House of Assembly consisting of 178 white people elected by Whites; a House of
Representatives with seats for 85 Coloreds elected by Coloreds; and a House of
Delegates with 45 Indians elected by Indians. The unequal distribution of delegates
964
965
Thompson, 221
Brink, 2
418
assured that in joint meetings Whites still possessed a clear majority.966 Both Coloreds
and Indians expressed their contempt for this unfair distribution of power through nonparticipation.967 In his famous “Rubicon” speech in August 1984 President Botha backed
away publicly from any real reforms; giving in to pressure from right-wing Afrikaners.968
At the same time, however, it became more and more apparent that the apartheid system
was hurting the South African economy. As a result, the Botha government removed
some segregation laws pertaining to multiracial political parties, interracial sex and
marriage, but also to reserving particular jobs for white workers, as well as banning black
traders in the city. In contrast, South African school education continued to be rigorously
segregated, and the economic divide between Blacks and Whites widened.969 Thus, the
support for the anti-apartheid movement continually increased during the 1980s.
The fight of the apartheid resistance was organized primarily on two fronts: The
ANC directed the fight against apartheid from its position in exile, while the United
Democratic Front (UDF), which was founded in 1983, led the internal, domestic
resistance. Simultaneously, a black freedom fighter movement was on the rise, gained
popularity, and was perfectly willing to counter the violent white oppression with violent
resistance; violence being the only language, which had any sort of effect. As a response
to the government brutality to the Soweto riots, thousands of young black South Africans
joined military training camps in Tanzania and Angola. On their return to South Africa
these guerilla fighters attacked South African military and police institutions and
966
Thompson, 225
Thompson, 226 - Only 61 percent of Colored adults and 57 percent of Indian adults registered to vote.
Of these registered voters only 30 percent of Coloreds and 20 percent of Indians even voted.
968
Brink, 2
969
Thompson, 227-228 – In 1986 the South African apartheid government paid seven times more for the
education of a white child than for an African child. In addition, the majority of Blacks were poor and
several million were impoverished.
967
419
sabotaged other apartheid institutions with help from the militant wing of the ANC.970
During the year of 1985 school boycotts, bus boycotts, worker strikes and clashes
between township residents and security forces often lead to violence with fatal
consequences. The death toll in political violence for the year 1985 amounted to 879
casualties.971 When the pressure heightened in June 1985, Botha announced a national
State of Emergency, which was renewed annually.972 As a result, South Africa found
itself constantly on the verge of a Civil War during the second half of the 1980s. Due to
the military superiority of the white supremacists, the ANC conducted its fight against
apartheid primarily in form of underground warfare. At the same time, the South African
apartheid regime also acted as an aggressor against its newly independent neighboring
countries973, in order to secure its minority government. Between 1981 and 1988 South
African forces invaded Angola, and conducted hit-and-run raids into Lesotho,
Mozambique, Zimbabwe, and Zambia, to weaken the anti-apartheid resistance in exile.
Towards the end of the 1980s, however, became apparent to the South African apartheid
government that defending its racist policies abroad as well as domestically was quite
costly. Cuba’s defeat of the South African forces at Cuito Cuanavale in Angola in 197576 is also important.
At the same time, not only on the African continent but also in a global context
the South African apartheid government became more and more isolated. Only one year
after the Soweto riots, in 1977, the United Nations declared an obligatory embargo on the
970
Thompson, 213
Thompson, 229
972
Brink, 2-3
973
Between 1966 and 1968 Lesotho, Botswana, and Swaziland gained independence. In 1975 – 1976
Mozambique and Angola became independent states, and in 1980 Zimbabwe, previously Rhodesia, became
independent.
971
420
sale of arms to South Africa. In addition, at the end of the 1970s the civil rights
movement in the United States had successfully achieved the abolishment of racial
discrimination from U.S. law and had created a new awareness of racism in a global
context.
974
During the 1980s the achievements of the civil rights movements, however,
experienced set-backs under the conservative governments of Margaret Thatcher in Great
Britain and Ronald Reagan in the United States. Both political leaders were adamantly
opposing sanctions against apartheid South Africa. Simultaneously, the media in form of
television significantly aided the anti-apartheid cause by brining international attention to
the extension of state violence against unarmed Blacks in South Africa. As a result public
pressure increased world-wide to pass sanctions against the apartheid state.
In particular in the U.S, anti-apartheid protests had achieved that economic
sanctions against South Africa were seriously debated. Although Reagan was still against
sanctions, he gave in to public pressure in September 1985 and passed limited sanctions
against South Africa. One year later, in October 1986, the U.S. Congress passed the
Comprehensive Anti-Apartheid Act overriding Reagan’s veto. This Act banned financial
cooperation in form of investments or loans between South Africa and the U.S.
prohibited South African imports, and threatened those breaking the UN arms embargo
against South Africa.975 The situation in Great Britain took a similar turn.
Although Margaret Thatcher tried her best to keep Britain and the Commonwealth
countries from intervening against apartheid South Africa, seven Commonwealth
countries976, under the leadership of the prime minister of Australia, visited South Africa
974
Thompson, 222
Thompson, 233-234
976
Apart from Australia, the mission was supported by senior Commonwealth politicians from Nigeria,
Barbados, Canada, India, Tanzania, and Britain itself.
975
421
in early 1986. The involvement of the Commonwealth countries can be seen as an
attempt to undo old wrongdoings. Many of the most gruesome apartheid laws were
implemented before South Africa declared its independence and expulsion from the
Commonwealth in 1961. During their visit in South Africa the Commonwealth delegation
met with a wide range of South Africans, including President Botha and Nelson Mandela
and on March 13, 1986, issued a proposal to the South African government. This
proposal contained suggestions of how to end the violence in South Africa, and enter into
peaceful negotiations with the ANC, in order to facilitate normal political activity. Two
months later, on May 19, 1986, the Commonwealth mission ended, after South African
forces had attacked suspected ANC bases in three Commonwealth countries, Zimbabwe,
Botswana, and Zambia. After leaving the country, the Commonwealth group published a
statement condemning apartheid in South Africa.977 With the U.N. weapons embargo, the
U.S. economic sanctions and the public shunning of the Commonwealth countries, the
pressure increased for the South African apartheid government to develop their own
policies of change.
The first impetus for change was set in Dakar, Senegal in July 1987, when a
delegation of leading Afrikaners met with prominent banned ANC leadership for secret
discussions. This meeting entailed similar ones, i.e. a meeting between writers and
academics and their ANC counterparts at Victoria Falls, Zimbabwe, in 1989.
Simultaneously, within the larger African context, the situation also grew more
complicated for the apartheid government. South Africa was loosing its war against
Angola, and the South-West African People’s Organization (SWAPO), when its
977
Thompson, 233
422
neighbor, Namibia, gained independence in early 1990.978 Domestically, the situation
changed when President Botha suffered a stroke in 1989 and was first succeeded as head
of the National Party by F.W. de Klerk, who then was inaugurated as the new president
by the end of the year.979 With a new man in power, the South African apartheid
government was presented a new opportunity to finally deliberate democratic reforms to
end its unjust and inhuman regime. On an international scale the personnel changes of the
South African government coincided with the collapse of the Soviet Union and the fall of
the Berlin Wall in November 1989, which removed the threat of international
communism. Previously, the South African government had rationalized apartheid as a
last stand against the Red Peril, by pointing to the communist alliances of the ANC and
SWAPO.980 Within the context of the Cold War this had been a vital domestic, but also
the last effective international argument. Now the situation was different.
Taking into account the turbulent domestic and overtly changed international
situation, de Klerk understood that he had little choice but to use his power to
significantly change the political system in South Africa, if he wanted to save the country
and secure himself, i.e. whites, part of the future South African “power-pie”.981 Although
de Klerk’s political record did not much differ from that of his predecessor’s, one
characteristic set him apart from them. He did not subscribe unconditionally to the
apartheid ideology, but was more concerned with his political survival.982 With his
famous speech at the opening of parliament on February 2, 1990, de Klerk reached for
statesmanship, and secured himself an entry in the history books, when he announced
978
Brink, 3; Thompson, 243
Brink, 4
980
Brink, 3
981
Brink, 4-5
982
Brink, 4
979
423
Nelson Rolihlahla Mandela’s imminent release from prison.983 When de Klerk informed
Mandela a week later that he would be released from prison the following day, Mandela’s
demand to be freed on his own terms, already indicated the significant power changes,
which lay ahead:
. . . Although the press in South Africa and around the world had been
speculating for weeks that my release was imminent, Mr. de Klerk’s
announcement nevertheless came as a surprise to me. I had not been told
that the reason Mr. de Klerk wanted to see me was to tell me that he was
making me a free man.
I felt a conflict between my blood and my brain. I deeply wanted to
leave prison as soon as I could, but to do so on such short notice would not
be wise. I thanked Mr. de Klerk, and then said that at the risk of appearing
ungrateful I would prefer to have a week’s notice in order that my family
and my organization could be prepared for my release. Simply to walk out
tomorrow, I said, would cause chaos. I asked Mr. de Klerk to release me a
week from that day. After waiting twenty-seven years, I could certainly
wait another seven days.
De Klerk was taken aback by my response. Instead of replying, he
continued to relate the plan for my release . . . Before he went any further I
told him that I strongly objected to that. I wanted to walk out of the gates
of Victor Vester and be able to thank those who looked after me and greet
the people of Cape Town. Though I was from Johannesburg, Cape Town
had been my home for nearly three decades. I would make my way back
to Johannesburg, but when I chose to, not when the government wanted
me to. “Once I am free,” I said, “I will look after myself.”
De Klerk was again nonplused. But this time my objections caused
a reaction. He excused himself and left his office to consult with others.
After then minutes he returned with a rather long face and said: “Mr.
Mandela, it is too late to change the plan now”. I relied that the plan was
unacceptable and that I wanted to be released a week hence and at Victor
Vester, not Johannesburg. It was a tense moment and, at the time, neither
of us saw any irony in a prisoner asking not to be released and his jailer
attempting to release him.
De Klerk again excused himself and left the room. After ten
minutes he returned with a compromise: yes, I could be released at Victor
Vester, but, no, the release could not be postponed. The government had
already informed the foreign press that I was to be set free tomorrow and
felt they could not renege on that statement. I felt that I could not argue
with that.984
983
Brink, 5
Nelson Mandela, A Long Walk to Freedom The Autobiography of Nelson Mandela, (New York: Back
Bay Books / Little Brown and Company, 1995) 557-558 (Hereafter quoted as: Mandela, page number)
984
424
After 27 years in South African prison, Nelson Mandela had probably become the most
famous political prisoner in the world. This position equipped Mandela with unique
power. In addition, the long imprisonment had not broken Mandela’s spirit, but just
strengthened his determination to end to apartheid state. De Klerk and the national party
in South Africa were very well aware that they desperately needed Mandela’s aid to
achieve a peaceful transition in South Africa. Mandela was the one charismatic figure,
which would pacify the outrage of the masses and ease the violence, which threatened to
destroy South Africa. The above quote illustrates mainly two things: Firstly, a change of
order had taken place. In the future, de Klerk and the National Party would have to follow
the orders of Nelson Mandela and the ANC. Secondly; Mandela’s future political
decisions would not exclude compromise, but rather be based on viewing matters from
multiple angles.
The next five years, from Mandela’s release to the first democratic elections in
South Africa, were a hard test for South African society. Although de Klerk government
demonstrated its willingness for change by unbanning the ANC, PAC985, and SACP986 ,
as well as repealing the 1913 and 1936 Land Acts, the Group Areas Act, the Population
Registration Act, and the Separate Amenities Act987 over the course of 1990-1991,
several factors threatened a peaceful transition in South Africa. Under the leadership of
Mandela, the ANC with its broad; multiracial nationalism, emerged as the leading force
for a democratic South Africa and entered negotiations with de Klerk’s government. At
the beginning of May 1990, Mandela announced the end of the armed struggle of the
985
PAC – Pan Africanist Congress
SACP – South African Communist Party
987
All these acts were part of apartheid’s carceral system.
986
425
ANC by referring to Joe Slovo, the former head of the ANC’s military wing.988 However,
the de Klerk government remained suspicious that the ANC had given up all plans to
overthrow the apartheid state by force. As a result, the ANC, although it had officially
unarmed, was still involved in battle.
Within apartheid South Africa the ANC had fought its fight for democracy on two
fronts. In addition to the guerilla warfare against the apartheid government, the ANC was
also involved in violent conflict with Zulu supporters of Inkatha in KwaZulu and on the
Witwatersrand. This conflict started in 1986 and lasted beyond the democratization of
South Africa until 1995. The prime minister of KwaZulu, Chief Mangosuthu Buthelezi,
had originally been a member of the ANC, which supported the formation of Inkatha, a
Zulu cultural movement. After being accused of collaborating with the government for
heading an apartheid institution; the Zulu Homeland, Buthelezi left the ANC in 1979 and
became an outspoken Zulu nationalist. He ruled his province with an iron hand and was
responsible for repeated human rights violations. While urban and better-educated Zulus
endorsed the ANC, conservative chiefs and illiterate peasants supported Buthelezi and the
Inkatha movement. This cultural movement grew more and more political until 1990,
when it was renamed the Inkatha Freedom party (IFP). Within the changing South Africa
Buthelezi strove to maintain his power. He wanted the KwaZulu Homeland either to
become a sovereign state or a member state within a loosely federal South Africa.989
Although unlike bed fellows, the Zulu movement under Buthelezi and the de Klerk
government post-1990 soon found common ground in their shared interest to weaken the
power and influence of the ANC. Over the next four years the South African army and
988
Thompson, 248: For white South Africa Joe Slovo symbolized what evil communism could do to a
white man.
989
Thompson, 249
426
police aided the newly formed IFP to carry out hidden attacks on the ANC. The violent
conflicts between the IFP “hit squads” and the ANC “self-defense units” took mainly
place in rival villages and cost many innocent lives, of men, women and children. In
urban areas, such as in Johannesburg, male Zulu migrant workers committed a number of
brutal and fatal attacks on township residents. South African police often either turned a
blind eye or even assisted in planning and executing these attacks.990 As a result, the
death toll of people killed by political violence in South Africa after Mandela’s release
nearly tripled from 1,403 fatalities in 1989 to 3,699 victims in 1990. Over the next years
the political killings remained high: 2,706 lost their lives in 1991; 3,347 in 1992; 3,794 in
1993; and 2,476 in 1994.991 Already soon after his release Mandela grew highly
suspicious that the apartheid government did not have anything to do with the dreadful
human rights violations and massive killings. When Mandela found out that a
government related Third Force, the Zulu IFP992, had and still executed wide-spread
attacks on ANC supporters, he lost faith in de Klerk. After news of possible government
abuses surfaced in the press in July 1991, a commission under Judge Richard Goldstone
began publishing a series of reports with critical views of government action and
agencies.993 These reports later lead Mandela to appoint the formation of a Truth and
Reconciliation Commission, in order to investigate the full extent of political violence
and at the same time to undo its legacy.
The shift from a totalitarian regime to a democracy in South Africa occurred in a
transitional period over the course of eight years, from 1990 until 1998 and consisted of
990
Thompson, 250
Thompson, 248 (Race Relations Survey, 1996-97, 600)
992
IFP - Inkatha Freedom Party
993
Thompson, 249
991
427
multiple steps. While the first step was definitely Mandela’s release from prison, de
Klerk took the next step by removing apartheid policies and unbanning of the ANC. A
next step was taken, when the ANC conducted its first meeting in South Africa in thirty
years in July 1991. According to Mandela, the ANC consisted of 700,000 members, who
were united in the opposition of apartheid, but came from very different backgrounds and
also differed ideologically.994 Since its prohibition in 1961, a small group of about thirtyfive people had decided the policy for the ANC. At the conference, the ANC faced the
challenge to transform an illegal underground movement into a political party. 2,244
delegates, who had been elected into office at ANC divisions inside and outside South
Africa, attended the conference and elected Nelson Mandela as president and Cyril
Ramaphosa as secretary general. In addition, the assembled members also elected a sixtysix member National Executive Committee (NEC), with which Mandela had to cooperate
closely.995 After the ANC had solved its internal difficulties and emerged as a serious
democratic force, it was ready to dedicate itself fully to a peaceful democratic transition
in South Africa.
When violence escalated in KwaZulu and in the Witwatersrand townships, concerned
South African church, business and civic leaders organized a conference on September
14, 1991 in Johannesburg, where Mandela, de Klerk, Buthelezi, and heads of other
parties were asked to sign a code of conduct for the future democratization process.
Buthelezi used this conference as an opportunity to display his Zulu pride and refused to
994
Thompson, 250: Many of the ANC members were dedicated communists, while others were more openminded about the structure of a future South Africa. Although Mandela was influenced by Marxist
literature and communist friends, he was not a communist.
Any communist plans for a future South Africa, however, crumbled after the disintegration of the Soviet
Union and the fall of the Berlin wall.
995
Thompson, 250-151
428
shake hands with Mandela and de Klerk at the signing ceremony. When de Klerk tried to
make excuses for Buthelezi’s behavior, Mandela publicly criticized him for it.996
However, de Klerk and Mandela continued their talks in private and as a result of their
meetings a Convention for a Democratic South Africa (CODESA) was formed. Twenty
different political organizations with twelve-member delegations were part of CODESA
and met under the chairmanship of two judges (one Afrikaner, one Indian), in order to
create an interim constitution.997 On March 17, 1992, when a whites-only-referendum
was held in order to end apartheid in South Africa, voters overwhelmingly supported the
reforms and the drafting of a transitional constitution. The first multiracial democratic
elections on April 26-28, 1994 were based on this transitional constitution.998 The voter
turnout reached an estimated 86 percent of the electorate, and for the most part the
election process was free and fair, although some irregularities occurred. However, the
official records closely resembled the pre-election polls. The ANC was the clear winner
of the elections and won 62.25 percent of the votes, i.e. 252 seats in the National
Assembly. De Klerk’s National party received 20.39 percent of the votes and 82 seats,
while Buthelezi’s IFP obtained 10.54 percent of the votes and 43 seats.999
On May 10, 1994, Nelson Mandela was inaugurated as the first democratic South African
president, Thabo Mbeki was made his first, and de Klerk his second deputy president.
996
Thompson, 251-252
Thompson, 252: Unlike the constitution, which had facilitated the creation of the apartheid system, the
interim constitution created by CODESA drew on a pluralistic group: Nearly three hundred delegates, most
of them Africans, many of the women, delegations from the government, from eight political parties, from
ten homelands, were involved in the process.
998
Constitutional Court of South Africa “The History of the Constitution”
http://www.constitutionalcourt.org.za/text/constitution/history.html#1992
999
Thompson, 264: All other parties received minor fractions of the votes: Viljoen’s Freedom Party won
2.17 percent of the votes (9 National Assembly seats), the Democratic Party got only 1.73 percent (7 seats)
and the PAC only 1.25 percent (5 seats). The casting of votes during the first South African elections
seemed largely influenced by racial and ethnic origin. The supporters of the ANC and PAC were primarily
African, those of the National Party to a large extent white and colored and those of the IFP for the most
part Zulu.
997
429
Throughout his presidency Mandela worked hard to set the new South Africa on two
strong pillars: a constitution inspired by human rights, and a report, which made public
the gross human rights violations of the apartheid regime. Over the next four years major
change was achieved by the work of the Constitutional Assembly1000, and the Truth and
Reconciliation Commission.1001 The establishment of the new constitution of the South
African “rainbow nation” was truly a matter of the people. From the first democratic
elections on it took two years of intensive consultations of ordinary citizens to negotiate
and develop the new constitution. The new constitution of the Republic of South Africa
was adopted by the constitutional assembly on May 8, 1996 and amended on 11 October,
1996. On December 10, 1996 the new constitution was signed into law by Nelson
Mandela and it took effect on February 4, 1997 while being implemented in phases.
Apart from these legal matters of building a nation-state, the much more pressing
issue in South Africa was how to reconcile and bring together the people, who had been
separated by the apartheid system for more than 45 years. In the preamble of their
constitution South Africans already assumed responsibility for the atrocities committed
under apartheid.1002 In accordance with their dedication to a participatory democracy
1000
In the following referred to as: CA
In the following referred to as: TRC
1002
PREAMBLE
We, the people of South Africa,
Recognise the injustices of our past;
Honour those who suffered for justice and freedom in our land;
Respect those who have worked to build and develop our country; and
Believe that South Africa belongs to all who live in it, united in our diversity.
We therefore, through our freely elected representatives, adopt this Constitution as the supreme law of the
Republic so as to
• Heal the divisions of the past and establish a society based on democratic values, social justice and
fundamental human rights;
• Lay the foundations for a democratic and open society in which government is based on the will of
the people and every citizen is equally protected by law;
• Improve the quality of life of all citizens and free the potential of each person; and
1001
430
South Africans went a step further and discussed the atrocities publicly. Already the
transitional constitution had required the establishment of such a commission and after
his inauguration on May 10th 1994 Nelson Mandela introduced legislation to form a TRC.
After much debate the parliament approved the promotion of the National Unity and
Reconciliation Act in July 1995, which provided that the TRC consisted of three
committees: the Human Rights Violation, the Amnesty, and the Reparation
Reconciliation Committee. The public nominated about 200 high profile persons to serve
as members of the TRC. A multi-racial party panel selected forty people from this list
who were interrogated publicly. From these forty candidates, twenty-five people were
chosen for a list that was sent to President Mandela who made the final appointments.
Archbishop Desmond Tutu became the appointed chair of the TRC and Dr. Alex Boraine
was assigned as his deputy.
By choosing a TRC to deal with the atrocities of the apartheid past, South Africa had
decided “to let killers go free” as David Goodman put it.1003 The TRC was in charge of
establishing a forum for which can be viewed as a place of public mourning or public
psychoanalysis. The TRC was given the power to grant amnesty to anyone who
voluntarily applied for a hearing before the commission and fully disclosed and assumed
responsibility for his / her human right violations publicly as long as these would qualify
Build a united and democratic South Africa able to take its rightful place as a sovereign state in the
family of nations.
May God protect our people.
Nkosi Sikelel' iAfrika. Morena boloka setjhaba sa heso.
God seën Suid-Afrika. God bless South Africa.
Mudzimu fhatutshedza Afurika. Hosi katekisa Afrika.
http://www.info.gov.za/documents/constitution/1996/96preamble.htm
1003
David Goodman, "Why Killers Should Go Free: Lessons from South Africa" In: Washington Quarterly
Vol. 22, No. 2. (Spring 1999), 169 (Hereafter quoted as: Goodman, page number)
•
431
as a political crime.1004 Crimes that were usually not regarded as political crimes were,
for example rape and fraud. However, amnesty was only granted for crimes committed
between 1960 and the 10th of May 1994, which marked the inauguration of Mandela as
president. The main idea behind the TRC was the realization that a large part of the
violence under apartheid had occurred as a result of the apartheid system that deeply
penetrated all of South African society. At the same time, the TRC hearings made clear
that atrocities had been committed by people of all color under apartheid. Most
importantly, the decision to resolve the apartheid past through a TRC rather than a court
demonstrates the belief in a different kind of justice. Moreover, the establishment of the
TRC was also indirect acknowledgement that the upholding and fight against apartheid
had similarities with war; soldiers are the only other examples of killers who are let go
free.
Under the leadership of Desmond Tutu, the South African TRC was dedicated to
restorative justice, a form of justice that appeals to the South African ethic of “Ubuntu: I
am because we are, and since we are, therefore I am.” This form of restorative justice was
not interested in revenge, but in re-establishing people’s allegiances and relations to each
other in order to facilitate the creation of a community again. The term ‘reconciliation’ is
crucial in this respect, because it does not necessarily imply complete forgiveness, but
just means ‘to be friendly again’. While the Western perception of justice sought in trials
is that of retributive justice, which includes an aspect of revenge in the sense of ‘an eye
for an eye’, restorative justice is based on the belief that by publicly confessing an
atrocity the individual not only assumes responsibility for it, but also restores his / her
1004
Rodney Davenport & Christopher Saunders, South Africa – a Modern History. (New York: Palgrave
Macmillan, 2000) 695 (Hereafter quoted as: Davenport, page number)
432
humanity as well as that of the victim.1005 Although at first glance it seemed to be the
perpetrators who were benefiting most from the TRC process the victims were the main
focus of the TRC and they began the hearings. Any perpetrator who was named by a
victim and had not yet applied for amnesty had forfeited his chance to be granted
amnesty and could then be tried in court. It is important to note though that of about 7000
amnesty petitioners the vast majority, more than 5000 were not granted amnesty. As a
result of the hearings of the TRC only about 800 perpetrators were granted complete
amnesty for a political crime.
The second important aspect of the TRC, the search for truth, also differs in a
decisive manner from the factual and forensic truth that dominates the legal system. The
TRC approved four different versions of truth: (1) factual and forensic truth, (2) personal
or narrative truth, (3) social truth, (4) healing or restorative truth.1006 Although the TRC
clearly did not succeed in revealing the whole truth about the atrocities committed under
apartheid it at least gave the people the chance to give a full account of their violations
publicly in their own words. The TRC offered victims and perpetrators alike the chance
to assume agency. How threatening the truth collecting by the TRC was became clear
when both de Klerk and the ANC tried to intervene shortly before the TRC report was to
be made public. While de Klerk was concerned about a personal matter, the ANC felt that
the violence committed by its members should not stand as morally equivalent to the
violence committed by members of the apartheid regime.1007 Both, Desmond Tutu and
Nelson Mandela, however, resisted these last minute attempts to hinder the publication of
1005
Goodman, 5 & Krog, 143-144
TRC Report Volume I (110-114): http://www.doj.gov.za/trc/report/execsum.htm & Charles VillaVicencio, “The Reek of Cruelty and the Quest for Healing: Where Retributive and Restorative Justice
Meet” Journal of Law and Religion, Vol. 14, No. 1. (1999-2000), 178 (Hereafter quoted as: Villa-Vicencio)
1007
Davenport, 700
1006
433
the report. On October 29th 1998 Tutu handed the report over to President Mandela and
after that the report was made public. While the work of the first two commissions, the
Human Rights Violations and the Amnesty commission was completed with the
publication, the work of the third TRC committee that of Reconciliation and Reparation
had really just begun.
Above all, the work of the TRC aimed at publicly re-establishing the basic moral
foundations of South African society by truthfully discussing the failures of the past. In
this respect, the work of the South African TRC was successful, because it acknowledged
the banality of evil of the atrocities committed under apartheid and at the same time
shared the burden of the violent legacy of the apartheid past. Unlike trials, addressing the
atrocities in form of a TRC actually allowed for empathy. Even if not for all, at least for
some, the TRC insinuated empathy between victims and perpetrators. At the same time,
the TRC can be regarded as a public sphere where the truth was negotiated publicly and
the prospect of amnesty surely caused people to reveal what many of them would
probably otherwise have never told. While the constitution building process of the CA
had already encouraged the building of a functional public sphere in post-apartheid South
Africa, the work of the TRC endorsed a public sphere even more. Although both fora
were state controlled, they depended on discourse with the public and invited multiple
narratives. Both the CA and TRC were, however, temporal institutions. The TRC
provided a first platform to overcome what Hannah Arendt regarded as ideological
perceptions that undermine the “mind’s capacity for judgment and learning”1008. Whereas
the TRC did not fail South Africa, South Africa had now to prove that it would not fail
the TRC. Post-apartheid South Africa is/was therefore in need of other forums, public
1008
Villa-Vicencio, 178
434
spheres, in which negotiation of the nation’s self-perception could continue and empathy
could be relearned. Fiction provided such a sphere, because the success of the new South
Africa is/was primarily based on the invention of a new convincing story.
435
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Curriculum Vitae – Imke Brust
Professional Experience:
BUCKNELL UNIVERSITY, Lewisburg, PA
2008 – 2009: Visiting Assistant Professor of German
Education:
PENNSYLVANIA STATE UNIVERSITY, State College, PA
May 2009: PhD in German Language, Literature, & Culture
Title of Dissertation: “Narrating the Imagination of Unified
Nations in Post-Apartheid South Africa and Post-Wall Germany”
Advisors: Dr. Purdy, Dr. Fraser, Dr. Beebee, Dr. Christman
PhD Minor in Social Thought and English/Creative Writing
Cumulative GPA: 3.89
CHRISTIAN-ALBRECHTS UNIVERSITY, Kiel, Germany
July 2003: Certificate Teaching German to Foreigners
July 2002: M.A. in English – Thesis: “The Complete Screenplay
Versions of Nadine Gordimer’s July’s People” – Advisors: Prof. Dr.
Groß, Prof. Dr. Fleischmann
February 2002: 1st Staatsexamen in English & Physical Education
Academic Honors:
Fall 2006 - Spring 2007 Africana Research Center Dissertation
Fellowship, State College, Pennsylvania State University
January 2002 Penn State University Exchange Teaching Assistantship for
Fall 2002 and Spring 2003
December 2000 Everett Helm Visiting Fellowship from the Lilly
Library, Indiana University 2001.
Fall 1998/Spring 1999/ First Summer Session Summer 1999
Indiana University Exchange Scholarship, Indiana University,
Bloomington, Indiana
Publications:
“Uniting through Mourning in Post-Apartheid South Africa” In:
Goeffrey David (Ed.) LWU - Literatur in Wissenschaft und Unterricht
Thema: Südafrika / Theme Issue: South Africa XXXIX 2/3 (Würzburg:
Verlag Königshausen & Neumann GmbH, 2006)
“Transcending Apartheid: Empathy and the Search for
Redemption” In: Jaspal K. Singh & Rajendra Chetty (eds.) Trauma,
Resistance, Reconstruction in Post-1994 South African Writing
(forthcoming)
Lectures:
January 2009: NGO/DPI briefing “Issue of the Moment: The
Changing Face of Race”, United Nations Headquarters, New York City
September 2008: 21st Annual Pennsylvania Foreign Language
Conference, Duquesne University, Pittsburgh, PA: “Transnational
Relations between Germany and South Africa”
December 2007: MLA Annual Convention, Chicago, IL, 20th
Century German Literature Panel, Panel 145: German Culture and Political
Violence: Representing the Red Army Fraction: “From Protest to Violent
Resistance: The Repercussions of the RAF in West Germany”
October 2007: German Studies Association Thirty-First Annual
Conference, San Diego, CA, GDR Literature and Film Panel: “Suicide
and the Utopia of True Socialism in Selected Writings by Ulrich
Plenzdorf, Volker Braun, and Christa Wolf”