East Germans fleeing
from Hungary to Austria on Aug. 19, 1989
A
Legacy of East Germany
Where
Does the Hate Come From?
Hatred of
refugees is widespread in Germany, but it seems particularly
prominent in the eastern half of the country. There are several
reasons for that, and many of them stem from life under communism --
and unfulfilled expectations afterwards.
An Essay by Stefan
Berg
October 05, 2016
10:46 AM
I recently ran into
a man in Brandenburg who, for no obvious reason, began to rail
against German President Joachim Gauck before spitting on the ground
and storming away. Another time, I overheard a loud discussion about
refugees in a bus, one that escalated into an exchange of ideas for
how best to neglect or even abuse migrants: by giving them only bread
and water, for instance, or keeping them in cages. In the nearby
butcher shop, you can find people who don't care much about freedom
-- people who demand a "clear position," a "bit more
Putin" and less "palaver in the talk-shop," by which
they mean the German parliament in Berlin. Outside the butcher's,
there's a parked car with the bumper sticker: "death penalty for
child abusers."
In its report on the
state of German unity, which was celebrated on Monday, the government
warned that Eastern Germany's xenophobia represents a danger to
social harmony. No matter where it takes place, xenophobia can be
dangerous for its victims, whether in East or West. But the
government in Berlin has identified a greater danger in Eastern
Germany -- one that threatens society as a whole.
Every time a
snarling horde marches against a refugee home in Saxony, every time
the chancellor is confronted with hateful tirades during a public
appearance, I wonder if this behavior is typical for Eastern Germany.
At first glance, my answer is: No. The majority of Eastern Germans
clearly adhere to the rules of decency and democracy. Nevertheless,
something "typically Eastern German" can still be
identified in these excesses.
We saw similar
incivility in front of asylum-seeker hostels in 1991 and during the
protests against welfare reform in 2005, when members of the
center-left Social Democrats were berated as "traitors to the
workers." The danger of such combustions is particularly
significant in the East.
According to my
personal diagnosis, such types of behavior cannot be blamed on the
current material situation in which these people find themselves.
They are more indicative of a surfeit of emotional tension.
In the East, there
is an exhaustion syndrome: Lots of people were forced to dramatically
change their lives following 1989. They only briefly experienced
reunification as liberation and many now behave less like free
citizens and more like released prisoners whose learned demeanor does
not correspond to present-day requirements. Surely this is a
minority, but it's a loud and noticeable one.
Demanding Attention
From their days
behind the Iron Curtain, they are still carrying the baggage of
political expectations that today cannot be fulfilled. This includes
the demand to be noticed and recognized by those in power -- just as
they were before. Although communist functionaries were frequently
hated, there were a huge number of them and they were omnipresent:
both accessible as an advocate and available as the target of
derision and contempt. This proximity of state and society wasn't
just an invention of socialist propaganda. East Germany awarded
myriad commendations, from the "badge for best knowledge"
to the "order of merit." Almost everybody had an
opportunity to be honored for something at least once a year.
In comparison,
politics today feels distant and doesn't satisfy the need for
recognition that developed prior to the fall of the Wall. Instead of
the daily newspaper Bauernecho, with its cover stories on that
month's most successful collective farmer, newsstands are now filled
with tabloids featuring famous heroes whose lifestyles have nothing
to do with our own. This reinforces the feeling of being left behind
-- it magnifies the perceived distance to those "at the top."
Anger builds up until it is vented when one of "them" turns
up, be it Angela Merkel, Joachim Gauck or the next best state
parliamentarian.
The hate is probably
also the result of jealousy for the chancellor's personal devotion to
the refugees. "Helmut, take our hand, show us the way into the
economic wonderland," was the message on banners in 1991. And
former Chancellor Helmut Kohl fulfilled that wish for many. But
Merkel? She is considered cold and calculating, yet she showed
emotion by embracing refugees. Has she ever done the same to anyone
in the East?
One of East
Germany's legacies is the model of a closed society in which
uniformity is more important than diversity. People learned little
about interacting with people of different faiths and origins. In
Eastern Germany, one's own religious tradition is largely irrelevant.
The communists systematically gave preferential treatment to atheists
over Christians and new cities were forced to make do without church
towers. As such, it's hardly surprising that people now feel
threatened by the arrival of those who define themselves outwardly by
their religion. When I hear hateful tirades about faith and religion
in Eastern Germany, I am reminded of what my own civics teacher used
to say about the "preachers." What's learned is learned.
An Affront
Communist rule may
have ended in 1989, but the desperate yearning for homogeneity didn't
change much in the East. There was now a variety of parties to choose
from on the ballot, but that diversity wasn't always experienced on
the ground. Indeed, new proselytizers of political conformity emerged
-- such as the center-right Christian Democrats. Their "red
socks" campaign against the Party of Democratic Socialism (PDS)
-- which emerged out of the East German communist party and went on
to become the present-day Left Party -- caused lasting damage. It
made it even more difficult for the only significant Eastern German
political party to integrate into the political landscape of newly
reunified Germany. It was a campaign that disparaged those who
thought differently -- for the sole goal of preserving power.
For many former East
Germans, the campaign was an affront -- they felt scorned and
ridiculed. Indeed, the "red socks" debate was essentially a
xenophobic one, though instead of being directed against foreigners,
it was aimed at those who thought differently. And in such campaigns
of intolerance, the CDU chapter in Saxony often took the lead. It is
almost gratifying now that the CDU itself is under attack -- but for
the fact that the target of such attacks is not limited to the CDU.
It includes all those who would support democracy, enlightenment and
reason.
Given the decreasing
willingness to defend the democratic system we now have, it has
become clear that it was a mistake to have refused recognition to the
Left Party for so long -- recognition for their undoubted role in
establishing democratic order in former East Germany. Imagine, for a
second, if the Left Party were to pull all of its elected officials
from political office: Democratic structures would almost certainly
collapse in some places. Even today, some are still waiting for a
word of recognition for the political reeducation that took place in
the party and in Eastern Germany. Instead, German President Joachim
Gauck -- himself a product of East Germany -- became indignant when a
member of the Left Party became the governor of Thuringia.
The aptitude for
resisting political and economic processes was something West Germans
learned, but East Germans did not. Sit-ins, student protests and
strikes have been part of the toolbox of democracy for generations in
the West. In the East there was the radical change in 1989, which is
why calls for revolutionary uprising come quick. Those who don't have
access to the tools of protest, scream out their rage. And sometimes
this rage is taken advantage of: When it comes to helplessness, rage
(and stupidity), the right-wing populist party Alternative for
Germany (AfD) has proven more than willing to act as a medium.
Covert Praise
Many of the current
leaders of the AfD were socialized in the East and more or less
covert praise for East Germany has become a part of the AfD
repertoire. Who would have thought 25 years ago that the use of
firearms against those who would transgress Germany's borders would
be seriously discussed -- as was proposed by AfD head Frauke Petry?
Who would have believed that a chancellor would be under fire for
opening borders for humanitarian reasons -- the self-same reasons
that led to the breaching of the Hungarian border fence in 1989?
It is extraordinary
how quickly the new-old way of thinking has spread, and who is now in
agreement with it: It didn't take even two years from the first
protests by the anti-immigration group Pegida in Dresden -- from the
calls for an exclusionary society that defines itself as anti-Islamic
-- for the Bavarian center-right party Christian Social Union (CSU),
the sister party of Merkel's CDU, to adopt this basic idea. The call
of the Bavarians to make the status of a person in German society
dependent on their religion is no different from the policies once
pursued by the East German communist party, just with a different
focus. And such ideas are apparently contagious: More than 800,000
voters in the prosperous state of Baden-Württemberg cast their
ballots for the AfD. Despite widespread concerns about the East,
other parts of Germany are likewise at risk.
The advance of the
Eastern German desire for homogeneity has been paired with an
extraordinary party transformation. The AfD was founded by Bernd
Lucke as a protest against the European common currency. But this
focus was shoved aside, along with many of the Western Germans who
joined Lucke at the beginning, by the Saxony native Frauke Petry and
others riding the wave of Islamophobia. She and her mostly Eastern
German allies succeeded in combining that which initially seemed
incompatible: the term "alternative," which was shaped by
the left and West Germany, with the desire for homogeneity that
dominates in the East. Their calls for direct democracy have become
another tool to debase foreigners.
The AfD has adopted
the 1989 slogan "We Are the People" and redirected it
against a democratically elected government (one led by a chancellor
from East Germany). The slogan "We Are One People" is used
as a weapon against those from elsewhere. AfD followers were ecstatic
when Merkel, frustrated by rising xenophobia, said "this is no
longer my country." It provided fodder to those who wanted a
different Germany -- a German Germany.
It is, of course,
something of a curiosity that a political movement from Eastern
Germany has become a serious threat to a chancellor from East
Germany. And it wouldn't be particularly concerning either -- if
there weren't a great deal more at stake.
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