Friday, 19 July 2013

Concerning Racism and Racialism

Concerning Racism and Racialism
Notes on Marcia Langton’s The Quiet Revolution. Indigenous people and the resources boom. Boyer Lectures 2012. ABC Books. Harper/Collins Australia, 2013.

Silke Beinssen-Hesse
Monash University

On her own evidence, and by her own intention, Marcia Langton’s The Quiet Revolution  lectures have aroused a good deal of consternation. Though they are informative and interesting on the history of land rights, on Aboriginal relations with mining companies and on the period of struggle leading up to these successes, she at times expresses confronting views and also, to identify this potential hurdle right at the start, makes some surprising generalizations. There is, for example, her implied assertion that Aboriginal people do not make mistakes, that there could have been no trial and error in managing a new land and its resources on the part of the first human settlers tens of thousands of years ago. I would consider this to be a “racist” approach, if racism is defined as attaching absolute values, be they negative or positive, to human biological characteristics and thus dehumanizing people. Biological characteristics are unchangeable while the essence of being human is that you have an almost limitless potential to make choices and change yourself and the world. Aboriginal people are human and they are therefore of necessity not infallible.

Tim Flannery’s theory that humans who lived in Australia forty-five thousand years ago probably caused the extinction of Australia’s mega-fauna is more than once mentioned by Langton as an inexcusable insult to present-day Aborigines. Theories of this kind about prehistoric times are always hypothetical and subject to revision in the light of new or newly interpreted evidence. On the other hand nobody, least of all Flannery, would dispute that the choices modern man has made, and Australian settlers are prominent here, have also been responsible for extinctions. Humans make choices, and some of them will have results we now understand to be unfortunate. As curators of the land, the Aboriginal people made a great many good choices and that has been widely acknowledged. Whether such curatorial expertise could always be handed down intact to later generations is another question but the land management agreements which government bodies have entered into with Aboriginal people (Langton has the better part of a lecture on this) suggest that indigenous knowledge is still or again highly valued. What particularly riles Langton is what she interprets as Flannery’s view that white scientists and national park regimes are better and more reliable at conservation than the traditional owners for whom the land might, presumably, have many uses. Langton reminds us that “wilderness” areas had actually been managed by Aboriginal people for tens of thousands of years and are pristine only because they, rather than white people, have cared for them. She also points out that “Aboriginal people have dedicated more than 30 million hectares of their own land to environmental and biodiversity conservation” (113) and have agreed to manage it in close cooperation with white conservation authorities.  

Theories like Flannery’s concerning the extinction of Australia’s mega-fauna soon after the first arrival of humans, whether right or wrong, can be used as political ammunition. Flannery himself, as he plausibly protests, does not do this although Langton insists on suspecting him of it. One obviously cannot censor scientific discussion because its findings or hypotheses could be used politically and offend someone as  “racist”. Marcia Langton’s lectures are peppered with accusations of “racism”. There are of course, among other things, personal reasons for this; she mentions having experienced racial discrimination herself. But she goes further. Among other things she makes the extraordinary accusation that beside the “racists in the ‘green’ movement” and the “grazier activists” there are at present still “advocates for Indigenous genocide” (23).

Of course it cannot be denied that Aboriginal people have a great deal to complain about. They have been treated abominably by white colonizers in more ways than is possible to enumerate. But whether this behavior can be usefully defined as racist is a different matter. Racism is probably the crudest of all ways of conceiving difference. There were, and still are, genuine ethnic differences between white and Aboriginal people; they had a different culture which implies different ways of perceiving the world. Their traditional land management, cosmogony, laws governing social interaction, as well as the structure of their economy and their language are among phenomena that can be studied; ethnology does not regard such differences as essential but as evolved in the context of particular living conditions. For a while it was fashionable in Australia, following Lewis Henry Morgan, to impose upon prehistory a timeline, stretching from savagery through barbarism to civilization, that gave support to racialism. But this is no longer accepted, just as eugenics, an attempt at a scientific justification of racialist and biological evaluations of human difference, has been shown to be without substance. – There were, of course, also religious differences between white Christians and traditional Aboriginal people. Here the Christians often set out with rigidly supremacist views. But ultimately, these too were shown to be subject to argument and review; religions can be compared and chosen. – Finally, there were what one might call class differences between white people and Aboriginal people who traditionally had fewer material possessions than the settlers, also less destructive weapons, quite generally less power. We can have opinions about the way of life of traditional Aborigines and there have always been admirers and detractors.

But once racist standards are imposed, all comparison and argument is halted. People are placed in a category that is meaningless with regard to anything but the crudest of judgments: I am superior, and you are inferior because you are biologically different from me. That leads to the inevitable reciprocation: you are morally inferior for calling me inferior. Racism leads on to invective and people who use it cannot be unaware that their remarks or actions along with the angry responses these provoke, are merely weapons in a fight. Almost anything can serve as ammunition here. Australian governments now ban racist talk and behavior just as they ban knives and guns.  

Throughout history, racism has usually gained dominance when there were economic and power interests at stake. I would tend to agree with Langton’s comment: money does make the world go round (60). To peacemakers the nature of the weapon will always be of less interest than what the fight is about and in my view there has always been too much attention on racism and too little on what provokes it. Langton joins in the racist melee and ecologists like Flannery, whose concerns she perceives to be a threat to Aboriginal hopes of prosperity, are in the front line of fire. At stake is a potential increase in Indigenous power and independence as brought about by the Mabo ruling in combination with the mining boom: a unique opportunity white machinations might thwart. One unfortunate effect of racist exchanges is that they tend to disguise the real issues and thus make it harder to find rational solutions for genuine problems.

The traditional Aboriginal way of life of the ancestors has all but disappeared today and Langton does not mourn it. For her it is out of date and will hold Aboriginal people back if it is not discarded. There are of course both black and white people who do mourn its passing and believe that the value systems underlying this ancient way of life are still of considerable interest. Sustainability, for one, is attracting growing attention. A culture in which the traded values are knowledge and artistic expression rather than material goods may also seem a desirable alternative to people who are concerned about the wastefulness of our modern civilization of limitless economic growth and its effect on the climate of our world. Aboriginal organization of a peaceful, law-abiding and at the same time, to use W. E. H. Stanner’s expression, “militant” society is of interest. The wide distribution of responsibilities within a tribal group so as to utilize all talents and avoid any usurpation of power will seem desirable to some, particularly those appalled by the dictatorial potential of western civilization. Educators have drawn attention to the teaching methods that Aboriginal elders employed. Some form of initiation for young men can seem a useful practice in an age in which men often feel they have lost their pride and their distinctive purpose in life. The respect for the wisdom of elders that comes with a knowledge culture and that runs counter to fast-moving modernity with its emphasis on youth is an attitude that can arouse nostalgia and seem to correct social imbalances. All these values would have to be adapted to modern life in order to become effective today; they are ideas that can lead to regeneration, in the way that new ideas have always been generated when cultures meet and come to terms with each other.

It is absurd for Langton to claim that those who value such ideas are in the habit of insisting that Aboriginal people must for ever remain “noble savages” and be denied the right to participate in the modern economy, or that admirers of a bygone way of life determine government policy or Aboriginal self-perception. (They might, of course, influence tourism programs, often a source of income for Aboriginal people.) Why should there not be an exchange of values, a cross-fertilization, with both groups moving ahead and renewing themselves? Certainly, white respect for Aboriginal ideas is overall
more likely to work to the advantage of Aboriginal people than to hinder them and hold them back, as Langton claims. It is quite unreasonable to accuse people like Flannery, crusaders for the health of the earth and thus the survival of our human civilization, to be plotting to short-change Indigenous people. Langton’s fury at “Greenies and wilderness campaigners” derives, as said, from her aggressive desire to protect what she perceives as Aboriginal economic and property interests with their liberating potential; she seems convinced that only a strong right-wing political engagement can defend them. No one with any sense would want to deny Langton the right to prefer personal affluence and an economy of growth to traditional indigenous values; and it is likely that many long deprived Aboriginal people will share her orientation.  All the same, there are also still people interested in Indigenous cultural values, among them white people who would welcome opportunities for discussion with committed and knowledgeable traditional elders. It is now, of course, also possible to get much valuable information from books, often written or co-authored by elders. (Karl-Erik Sveiby’s and Tex Skuthorpe’s collaboration Treading Lightly. The Hidden Wisdom of the World’s Oldest People can serve as an example among many.)

As the sub-title suggests, most of Langton’s lectures focus on the recent mining boom across Aboriginal lands. She describes the exploitative approach of early mining ventures and indicates that she herself had a role in negotiating fairer agreements. This is an interesting story and her contribution as an activist and professional demands respect. The change of direction initiated by powerful fair-minded mining executives like Brendan Hammond, which she acknowledges gratefully, also deserves to be honored while the opportunities made available by the Mabo decision, which ultimately gave Aboriginal people the right to negotiate with mining companies, were of course of the utmost importance here. But contrary to Langton’s assumptions, my experience is that most Australian “tax-payers” today, particularly in the south where day to day conflict with Aboriginal people has long ceased, are unlikely to begrudge remote  communities any opportunities they may have to support themselves; that does not mean that there aren’t also some responsible citizens who are worried about aspects of the mining boom. It is hard to understand whom in particular Langton’s bitter accusations could refer to unless she is simply hitting out generically at the descendents of colonizers, still presumed to be intent on depriving all Aborigines of any means of advancement. Langton’s suspicions are of course not without a basis; historically, that has been the way things were all too often done.

It needs, however, to be said that for most of post-colonial history, white Australians have been genuinely confused about how to judge their takeover of the continent. Should the criterion be, for example, British law and the intentions of the British parliament, or colonial practice in the 18th and 19th centuries, or ancient indigenous rights to the land, or the best man for the job and a sensible use of the resources of the world, or the prize won by brave explorers and enterprising pioneers, or the brutal rights of conquest, or the now customary rights of a settler nation? Today most of us seem to agree that the only approach we can all live with successfully as citizens of one nation is one based on fairness, decency, equality and humanistic values; but vestiges of older attitudes and bitterness obviously remain.

The mining boom with its creation of jobs and business opportunities and its royalty payments, which Langton welcomes so enthusiastically, has been good to some, but is less likely to be a quick fix for the welfare dependence and substance abuse problems entrenched in so many remote communities, problems that the Federal Intervention and Aboriginal leaders like Noel Pearson and Alison Anderson are attempting to deal with. Langton has very little to say on this topic here. It is, in a sense, a legitimate omission because there are now two distinct groups of Aboriginal people: the emerging well-earning, assimilated, but in its most creative proponents still culturally committed middle class, with whom she proudly identifies and to whose considerable achievements she devotes her last lecture, and the remote area welfare recipients whose problems often almost defy solution.

Sadly, Langton is right when she speaks of “the tendency of the settler state to destroy or control or warp any Aboriginal initiative” (131). It can still be hard to work out what is well-meaning clumsiness, what stupidity, what blind tradition, what bad faith and what intentional destructiveness when it comes to the management of Aboriginal affairs. While we should attempt to avoid conspiracy theories, the frequency with which supposedly benign initiatives have ended up being injurious to Indigenous people is uncanny. (Peter Shergold only recently admitted multiple administrative failures in The Australian, 8-9 June, 2013.)  Even the 2007 Northern Territory National Emergency Response, with its often hamstrung white administrators, its expensive and minimally productive white tradesmen, and its refusal to give the targeted people any agency, is seen by some to be so poorly designed that it goes a way towards boycotting its own purported efforts.  Today’s official intentions are not quite as obvious as when the Bjelke-Petersen government, as Langton reminds us, made a point of buying up and gazetting as National Parks all lands which Aboriginal groups had an interest in acquiring, citing a 1972 Cabinet decision: “The Queensland Government does not view favorably proposals to acquire large areas of additional freehold or leasehold land for development by Aborigines or Aboriginal groups in isolation”(110).

Langton speaks of the “racialist tendencies in this society” but I would argue that it becomes obvious here that race has always been only incidental, a convenient excuse. What Australian governments were really worried about was any suggestion of a return of conquered lands, any reversal of the almost total loss of control over their lives that Aboriginal people had suffered under the colonizing regime, any slightest increase in power. It is the stance of an intransigent and fearful conqueror who still sees the subjugated indigenous inhabitants as unwelcome outsiders and potentially dangerous rivals, and this even after they have been officially declared citizens with full voting rights; it is a stance frozen in time. Before the courts stepped in with their Mabo decision, there had clearly never been any genuine intention to share the land on the part of white settlers. Any proof of competence by Indigenous people was always swiftly undermined. Australian governments knew from very early on that racial inferiority was not the true reason for Aboriginal exclusion but the last thing they wanted was for this to become public. When Langton emphasizes racialism, she is in effect giving support to a fallacy with which some Australian people still like to justify their takeover. The reality was always more sinister, for it involved not just the quarantining of a supposedly “primitive” people, incapable of fitting in with modern society, but until fairly recently the ongoing and at least partly intentional, unprovoked damaging of a rival people, a low-key version of genocide on behalf of the settler nation. It is not surprising that Langton welcomes the opportunities the mining boom has given her and others to catch up economically and join the middle classes, a goal which they have shown themselves, as she herself proves, to be eminently capable of achieving.

So where does Langton stand as an intellectual, as a spokesperson for her people, and as a political leader? She has been accused of being too close to the mining lobby. Revelations of undisclosed funding from that quarter could appear to support this. Langton’s commitment to mining may have sounded less strident but hardly less fervent if she had not had that motivation. To me, it seems a shame that she used Australia’s most prestigious lecture series, listened to largely by reasonable and sympathetic intellectuals, to launch a bitter attack against the likes of them and above all against anyone she believes could be an environmentalist. Still, it doesn’t hurt to know how alienated an Indigenous intellectual can be. Langton’s lectures at times sound triumphal, as though she were convinced that the mining bonanza is enough to tip the balance of power in favor of the “first Australians” (also the title of a TV series directed by Rachel Perkins to which Langton contributed), to give them independence from governments and paternalistic helpers and eventually solve all Indigenous problems.

But one can’t help feeling that she has a disregard for the less fortunate and the severely damaged among her people; perhaps she sees them as a problem to be tackled at a later time, maybe once the new middle class has established itself. Even if one agreed that, to achieve reform, the initial emphasis needed to be placed on building up the economic viability of Aboriginal communities, it may be simplistic to give so much redemptive weight to one sector of society, though mining is of course currently an important employer and financier in the outback. But listening to and reading these lectures, I could not discern a long-term and inclusive strategy in them; rather, the envisaged goal seems to be individual liberation and success within modern white society for those strong, fortunate and gifted enough to succeed. It almost appears as though Langton still needed to prove to herself and others that Aborigines are, if properly educated, as intelligent and competent as their white conquerors and their white relatives, a fact that was, by all accounts, obvious even in Governor Phillip’s day.  

All the same, I would agree wholeheartedly with Langton that it is essential Aboriginal people be far less often dictated to by governments. Whether solicitous or hostile, governments work with clumsy tools; they also have to keep an eye on their voters, most of whom are not Indigenous. In this country, voters are moreover always convinced that, much like “god”, “the government” has the primary duty to work for their individual personal advantage; the public good is not often evoked. Governments have, however, as Langton acknowledges, been useful at legislating for Indigenous rights. In contrast to the machinery of government and its bureaucracy, with which Langton, like others, is extremely frustrated, Australians in their private capacity tend to be warm and helpful, a resource to be drawn on by anyone in need. I think it is important to make these distinctions.

There can be no doubt that Indigenous people have to find ways to participate in the real economy. For that, education will always be crucial. Where mining companies reach their limits, employment opportunities and training can presumably also be provided or mediated with the assistance of other enterprises or even helpful citizens. The benefits of friendly contacts with the broader population, which would include a better and wider understanding of Indigenous needs and thus less racism or indifference, should not be underestimated. It is often hard for non-Indigenous Australians to know how they can contribute. (The organization Indigenous Community Volunteers comes to mind as having found a workable formula.) The descendents of colonizing settlers may not deserve forgiveness but it would be better for our country if they were offered it anyway. If we are to be a reconciled nation, we must become acquainted with each other and work together, rather than avoiding and disparaging each other. One side of Langton seems to want to blame and reject, while the other would like to merge and be accepted. Most Aborigines today, and particularly urban people, have, of course, been born into both black and white worlds, though the white has never welcomed the black. Langton makes it clear that she is not a separatist. It seems to me, therefore, that her only other choices are either assimilation and ultimately the disappearance of Aboriginal identity; apartheid, which does not have a good reputation; or bi-culturalism in conjunction with First Nation status, consolidated by the ownership of  “82% of northern Australia in a variety of titles” (46). Bi-culturalism, for its part, is a complex way of existing that needs to be explored and experimented with; in today’s Australia, people from many parts of the world have gathered experiences in this area. Langton’s lectures do not investigate bi-culturalism but she does provide us with a useful quote from Noel Pearson (who had, in a memorable 2006 speech “Layered Identities and Peace”, thought deeply about its complexities):

I believe that the only choice available to indigenous and non-indigenous Australians is to find a way of living together in a unified community which respects our particular and different identities and the particular rights of indigenous peoples. Because, as I often say to the discomfort of both black and white people, Mabo has put to rest two gross fantasies. Firstly, it has put to rest the fantasy that the blacks were not and are still not here. The fantasy of terra and homo nullius. Secondly, Mabo also puts to rest the fantasy that the whites are somehow going to pack up and leave. Coexistence remains our lot. (140)

What we all need to work on is how Aboriginal and settler societies can enter into a new, fairer and friendlier relationship, a difficult project when such disparities have been allowed to accumulate. While Langton accuses her non-Indigenous listeners of neglecting to notice “the much changed situation in the twenty-first century that offers more than a few rungs on the ladder of opportunity to those who choose to take this path” (15) one could also accuse her of not acknowledging that white attitudes too have changed and are still changing. In this climate Langton’s lectures may at times seem unduly confrontational; but they also give us a good deal to think about, and that was obviously what she intended.
  






Monday, 15 July 2013

Silke Beinssen-Hesse: Publications and Papers

Silke Beinssen-Hesse, Monash University
Publications and Papers:

Dissertation: "An Anatomy of Ambivalence. The Work of Franz Kafka." Monash Univeristy, 1969. (Revised version at: Kafka's Ambivalence.blogspot.com).
BA Honours Thesis: "Rilke und die Dinge". Sydney University 1957.

Monographs
Out of the Shadows. Contemporary German Feminism, with Catherine Rigby in the series INTERPRETATIONS, Melbourne University Press, Melbourne, 1996.
Books Edited
Paul Hatvani (1892-1975) Die Ameisen. Mit einem Nachwort herausgegeben von Silke Hesse und Pavel Petr, Siegen 1994.
Articles in Refereed Journals
i) „A Re-Evaluation of Goethe’s Faust in Light of Nazi Terror. Else Lasker-Schüler’s Late Drama IchundIch”  in: Limbus. Australian Yearbook of German Literary and Cultural Studies,  2011, pp. 225-240.
ii) “Else Lasker-Schüler im Umkreis des Ersten Weltkriegs” in Metis. Zeitschrift für historische Frauenforschung und feministische Praxis, 2, 1996, pp. 45-55.
iii) “Reflections of an Australian Bilingual” in Journal of Intercultural Studies, Vol.1, 3, 1980, pp.53-55.
Book Chapters
“The Grotesque as Constructive Axis and Rotten Core in Else Lasker-Schüler’s Realist Drama Die Wupper” in Groteske Moderne – Moderne Groteske. Festschrift for Philip Thomson. Ed. Franz-Josef Deiters, Axel Fliethmann, Christiane Weller. Röhrig Universitätsverlag: St. Ingbert, 2011, pp.119-136.
“The Ideological Implications of Wagner’s Changes to Wolfram’s Parzival”  [1985] in Passagen. 50 Years of German Studies at Monash University. Ed. Franz-Josef Deiters, Axel Fliethmann, Christian Weller. Röhrig Universitätsverlag: St. Ingbert, 2010, pp.151-176.
“Zu Nation, Nationalismus und Adolezenz aus biographischer Perspektive” in Moderne Begreifen. Zur Paradoxie eines sozio-ästhetischen Deutungsmusters. Ed. Christine Magerski, Robert Savage, Christiane Weller. Deutscher Universitäts-Verlag: Wiesbaden, 2007, pp.171-182.
“Paradigmen der Geschlechterbeziehung zwischen Aufklärung und Moderne” in: Die Lektüre der Welt. Worlds of Reading. Zur Theorie, Geschichte und Soziologie kultureller Praxis. On the Theory, History and Sociology of Cultural Practice. Festschrift für Walter Veit,  ed. Helmut Heinze and Christiane Weller, in co-operation with Heinz Kreuz. In the series: FORSCHUNGEN ZUR LITERATURGESCHICHTE , ed. Helmut Kreuzer, Karl Riha and Ralf Schnell. Vol. 74. Peter Lang: Frankfurt am Main, Berlin, Bern, Bruxelles, New York, Wien, 2004, pp.223-229.
“Dichtung und Gemeinschaft. Zur Lyrik Manfred Hausmanns” in: Lyrik. Kunstprosa. Exil. Festschrift für Klaus Weissenberger zum 65. Geburtstag, ed. Joseph Strelka. Francke Verlag: Tübingen and Basel, 2004, pp. 41-64.
“Leo Frobenius in the Pacific? Plans for Founding a German Institute for the Morphology of Culture in Sydney”, including a translation of the  “Correspondence of Leo Frobenius and colleagues with Ekkehard Beinssen concerning proposed activities of the Frankfurt Institute for the Morphology of Culture in Australia” in: The Struggle for Souls and Science. Constructing the Fifth Continent: German Missionaries and Scientists in Australia.  Occasional Paper Number 3, Strehlow Research Centre. Guest Editor: Walter Veit. Northern Territory Government: Alice Springs, 2004, pp. 152-182.
“Paradigmen der Geschlechterbeziehung zwischen Aufklärung und Moderne” in Die Lektüre der Welt. Worlds of Reading. Festschrift for Walter Veit, ed. Helmut Heinze and Christiane Weller in co-operation with Heinz Kreuz, Peter Lang: Frankfurt am Main, 2004, pp. 223-230.      
“Christa Wolfs ‘Medea. Stimmen’ und die Krise des Opferkults” in Schreiben nach der Wende. Ein Jahrzehnt deutscher Literatur 1989-9, ed. Gerhard Fischer and David Roberts, Stauffenberg Verlag: Tübingen, 2001, pp.193-206.
“Weininger and the Time-Honoured Analogy between the Inferiority of Women and Jews” In  Why Germany? National Socialist Anti-Semitism and the European Context, ed. John Milfull, Berg: Providence, 1993, pp.9-28.
“The Study of Australian Aboriginal Culture by German Anthropologists of the Frobenius Institute” in From Berlin to the Burdekin. The German Contribution to the Development of Australian Science, Exploration and the Arts. ed. David Walker and Jürgen Tampke, N.S.W. University Press: Kensington, 1991, pp.135-150.
“Fascism and the Hypertrophy of Male Adolescence” in The Attractions of Fascism. Social Psychology and Aesthetics of the 'Triumph of the Right, ed. Milfull, John, Berg: New York/Oxford/Munich, 1990, pp.157-175.
“Faschismus und die Hypertrophie männlicher Adoleszenz” in The Attractions of Fascism: Traditionen und Traditionssuche des deutschen Faschismus (Sonderheft), ed. Günter Hartung, Martin-Luther Universität Halle-Wittenberg, Wissenschaftliche Beiträge 1988/55 (F 83), Halle (Saale) 1988, pp.26-54.
“Des abenteuerlichen Simplicii Verkehrte Welt, oder: Ein Topos wird fragwürdig” in  Antipodische Aufklärungen; Antipodean Enlightenments, ed. Walter Veit,  Peter Lang, Frankfurt(M) /Bern / New York, 1987, pp.63-75.
“The Ideological Implications of Wagner’s Changes to Wolfram’s Parzival’’ in The Richard Wagner Centenary in Australia. Miscellanea Musicologica.  Adelaide Studies in Musicology, Vol.14, ed. Peter Dennison, University of Adelaide: Adelaide, 1985, pp.131-147.
“Zum Realismus in Christa Wolfs ‘Der geteilte Himmel’” in Wolf: Darstellung - Deutung - Diskussion, ed. Manfred  Jürgensen,  Francke: Bern and Munich, 1984, pp.23-49.
“’Kolun’, ‘Matapui’ or ‘Biek’? - Ekkehard Beinssen’s Story of an Expedition into the Mountains of Central New Guinea”. In‘Captain James Cook: Image and Impact. South Sea Discoveries and the World of Letters. Vol.II, The Pacific Syndrome; Conditions and Consequences, ed. Walter Veit,  Hawthorn Press: Melbourne, 1979, pp.118-159.
Entries in Encyclopaedias
“Aufklärung”, “Bürgerliches Trauerspiel”, “Tragikomödie” and “Weinerliches Lustspiel” in A Glossary of German Literary Terms, ed. : E. W. Herd and A. Obermayer , University of Otago Press, Otago, 1983. Revised Edition: 1992.
Book Reviews
"Askey, Jennifer Drake: Good girls, good Germans. Girls' education and emotional nationalism in Wilhelminian Germany." Rochester, NY [et al.]: Camden House, 2013. X, 201 S.; (Studies in German literature, linguistics, and culture) in: Germanistik, Vol. 54 (2013) No 3/4, p. 557.
"Chiu, Charles S.: Women in the Shadows. Mileva Einstein-Maric, Margarete Jeanne Trakl, Lise Meitner, Milena Jesenska, and Margarete Schütte-Lihotzky. Introd. and transl. by Edith Borchardt." New York, NY [u. a.]: Lang, 2008. For Germanistik, Vol. 50 (2009) No. 3/4, pp. 850-851.
“Hendrix, Heike: Ingeborg Bachmanns ‘Todesarten’-Zyklus: Eine Abrechnung mit der Zeit.” Königshausen & Neumann: Würzburg, 2005, in Germanistik, Vol. 47 (2006), No 3-4, p.943.
“Colvin, Sarah: Women and German drama. Playwrights and their texts, 1860-1945”, Camden House: Rochester, N. Y., 2003, IX, 211S. (Studies in German literature, linguistics, and culture)  in Germanistik, Vol. 45 (2004), No 3/4, p.899.
“Understanding Ingeborg Bachmann by Karen Achberger”, in   AUMLA, 84, Nov. 1996, pp. 111-113.
“Beicken, Peter U.: Franz Kafka”  Athenäum, Frankfurt/M, 1974 in:
AUMLA 46, 1976, pp.342f.
“Frey, Eberhard:  Franz Kafkas Erzählstil” Lang: Bern and Frankfurt/M, 1974,  in: AUMLA 47, 1976,  pp.103-105.
“Polheim, K.K. (ed) Theorie und Kritik der deutschen Novelle von Wieland bis Musil”,  Max Niemeyer Verlag: Tübingen, 1970  In: AUMLA 37, 1972, pp.106f.
Conference Abstracts
“Vision and Reality in Seventeenth-Century German Literature” in AULLA XXII Congress:  Spectacle, Vision, Reception, ANU: Canberra 1984, p. 120.
“Arbeitskreis 6:  Barockroman” in Internationaler Arbeitskreis für deutsche Barockliteratur.  Vorträge und Berichte, ed. Paul Raabe and Barbara Strutz, Wolfenbüttel, 1973 pp. 129-132.
Published Teaching Material
“Christa Wolf’s ‘Cassandra’ and the German Classical Tradition” written and distributed for a course on women's literature in the Gippsland External Studies Programme, 1991.
Literary Translations
45 poems by German women poets: Annette von Droste-Hülshoff, Else Lasker-Schüler, Nelly Sachs and Ulla Hahn translated into English, published in Newsletter 7, 1993 of the Association for Australian Studies e.V., Wuppertal, pp.180-207.
Radio Programmes
“Deutsche Frauenliteratur” 3EA, March 1990
Review of “Wonderful,Wonderful Times” by Elfriede Jelinek for 3RN “Books and Writing”, February 1991.
Papers Presented at Conferences
“The Complexities of Androgyny in Ingeborg Bachmann’s Malina” (Bachmann Conference at Monash University, 2 December, 1996).
“The Abortion Issue in the Context of the West German Women’s Movement” (Europe at La Trobe Conference 1993).
“Travel as an Image of Disorientation in Contemporary German Women’s Literature” (Travel Conference, Monash 1991).
“Oppositional Strategies in the Mature Work of Elfriede Jelinek” (Literature and Opposition Conference, Monash 1991).
“The Brutalities of Population Control. A Much Misunderstood Eighteenth Century German Tragedy: H.L. Wagner 'Die Kindermörderin’” (delivered at 23rd AULLA Congress, 1985).

Work in Progress
In Two Minds. Between Australia and Germany in an Era of Wars: A Biographical Study of Ekkehard Beinssen.

Linked Blogs:
Things German Australian.blogspot.com.au (22 unpublished essays and papers)
Silkes Travel Notes.blogspot.com.au (3 travel reports)
Ekkehard Beinssen.blogspot.com.au (translations)
Internment in Australia: WWII.blogspot.com (translations, papers, talks)
Kafka's Ambivalence.blogspot.com (Honours thesis and revised PhD thesis)

email: silke.m.hesse@gmail.com

Scapegoating

© Silke Hesse, 2013

Scapegoating
Silke Hesse

Under the Westminster System, the minister carries the responsibility for decisions made regarding his portfolio. This means, he accepts individual guilt for a complex procedure which he can often only partly influence. Subordinates may have been more directly to blame, or mainly to blame, but the minister bears the responsibility.

The citizens, however, bear the responsibility for voting in the party that chose the minister. They are responsible for their government, even though the choice of parties they had was limited, they did not choose the minister, they could generally not foresee what eventualities might arise, they may actually have voted for another party, and they may even have been too young to have the vote.

In other words, our political system recognizes some formal transferred or indirect responsibility though it hides this by encouraging citizens to think of themselves as one nation, as though a nation were the equivalent of a single person. If things go wrong, e.g. war is declared or lost, all members of a nation must consider themselves equally responsible.

According to the democratic system as developed in Britain, both Hitler and his ministers should be seen as responsible for the war and the Holocaust but so should the German nation in so far as it elected the Nazi party and more or less agreed to certain forms of government. The nation would have to accept that it would be punished in various ways.

This is one version of collective guilt. You are declared guilty as a “German national” but you feel reasonably innocent as an individual. This is political guilt.

A second form of collective guilt is where a whole culture in which people have grown up and which has shaped their personality has been declared deeply flawed in its centuries-old traditions, which, it is implied, could only have led in one direction, namely to evil and disaster. A concerted attempt was made by Germany’s enemies, particularly the academics among them, after the war, to prove this. These proofs were, on the whole, not very convincing, among other things because many of the ‘faults’ were associated with European culture or with the developments of modernity and were widespread; also because under a changed political system, the German nation could change its character quite quickly and reliably after the war. In its extreme version, Germans were apportioned a certain immutable national character, of the kind that had been used polemically in Europe since the beginning of nationalism in the 17th century. This theory of the culturally perverted German was often little more than an excuse to take revenge with a disguised form of racist thinking.

A third type of collective guilt concerns individual representatives of the group. I am here not interested in those actually involved in the crimes. They obviously have to confront their consciences. I am concerned with those who committed no crimes, either because their actions were always as humane and honourable as the situation allowed, or because for one or the other reason they were no longer a direct part of the nation at war under Hitler, or because they had not yet been born, or for other reasons. It is of this group that I have some experience. Individual Germans have basically two options: Either to deny personal responsibility, as they are entitled to do, or to allow themselves to become scapegoats. It is the situation of the scapegoats that interests me here and because wars are governed by internationally accepted conventions and there is widespread experience of them, it is the Holocaust I shall concentrate on.

Why did the Germans persecute the Jews?  
It was ostensibly for racist reasons, but what is racism here where differences between Jews and Germans were usually all but invisible and had certainly been overlooked for decades?
1. There is an old-fashioned ‘aristocratic’ racism of blood-lines, ‘by the grace of God’, so to speak. (Thus the Jews as ‘chosen people’ were to be outdone by the pure and original Aryan race.)
2. There is an evolutionary racism in the wake of Darwinist theories, where the ‘higher’ is seen as in danger of losing its evolutionary advantages if mated with the ‘primitive’ (hardly applicable to the majority of German Jews but perhaps to the handicapped).
3. Lastly, there is the racism driven by a fear of miscegenation. This form of racism has appropriated concepts of breeding applied to domestic animals intended to serve humans in specialized ways, like race-horses, milking cows, and lap-dogs. With respect to humans, this variety of racism was scientific mumbo-jumbo.

Nazi racism was an untidy mix of these racisms; whatever came to hand and proved useful was used. But all three point to a pathological fear of loss of identity which almost certainly had more to do with Germany’s lack of secure geographical borders, her recent political unification, her loss of dignity and power after Versailles, her international pariah status, and the economic insecurities associated with inflation, depression and reparations payments, than with perceptions of race. To put it bluntly, the Jews were scapegoats, officially welcomed as the great enemy so that the fight against them might help restore German confidence; for in the modern scientific world biological superiority meant fundamental superiority.

In reality, envy of a group that had preserved its identity for two millennia of Diaspora existence, a group that, once emancipated, was proving itself to be more creative and successful than their Aryan compatriots, was almost certainly the real motivation that seduced the ordinary German to racism. (There are few instances in history where racism has not been an excuse for power politics.) The Jews, which meant millions of individual Jews, neighbours of individual Germans, and innocent of any wrong-doing, were scapegoats for these Germans: their insecurities, their anger, their desire for revenge. Therefore, one might argue, individual Germans who are innocent of any offence against Jews now, in turn, deserve to become scapegoats for their anger. They can count themselves lucky that they, the German scapegoats, are more than likely to escape annihilation. This type of scapegoating is a diminished form of ‘an eye for an eye’ justice. Of course the justice of revenge, even of incomplete revenge, does not get us far as human beings.

I have tried, over the years, to live as a scapegoat according to the following rules:
1. A scapegoat must never forget that though he may be symbolically guilty, he is in real terms innocent.
2. A scapegoat must abhor the crimes of which he is symbolically guilty.
3. A scapegoat must acquiesce in his symbolical function.
4. Though a scapegoat must put up with a certain amount of discrimination or abuse, he must make sure that he does not suffer real injury which would only increase the guilt in the world.
5. A scapegoat always deals with real people and he must be genuinely fond, never resentful, of them.
6. A scapegoat must be knowledgeable about and empathize deeply with the hurt inflicted by the crimes he represents.
7. A scapegoat must try to live impeccably so that he will never provoke real rather than symbolic anger.
8. A scapegoat must make sure that his ‘sacrifice’ is not misused by people who have no genuine claim on him but simply want to evade their own conscience.
9. A scapegoat’s relationship with the injured party must be such that it solicits forgiveness.
10. A scapegoat must make sure that he lives a fulfilled life in spite of his symbolic function. His role should never be that of the martyr.

The function of the scapegoat for the injured person is perhaps best described in terms of the psychoanalytical process of transference, whereby the analyst becomes the screen onto which the anger and resentment of the analysand are projected so that they can be dealt with constructively and overcome. In this case, however, the final outcome of the transference should preferably not be professional withdrawal but friendship.


Bernhard Schlink's Views on Collective German Guilt

© Silke Hesse, 2013

Bernhard Schlink’s Views on Collective German Guilt

Silke Beinssen-Hesse
Monash University


As a child I knew that our family had a connection with the German Lutheran Church in Sydney – at some stage my mother was even elected an elder and my less committed father was co-opted as church treasurer – but we attended mainly for christenings, confirmations, marriages, funerals and other rites of passage. Our instruction in doctrine was minimal; what I carried away with me was the primacy of the commandment of love and the advice that prayer was best used to ask for guidance when life matters became too complicated for common sense and kindliness. Sin was an unfamiliar concept; we tried to get things right and if we didn’t succeed, we approached them differently or tried harder the next time. I can’t remember religious instruction at school placing the emphasis very much differently; perhaps I was just not attuned to other messages. Original sin was not on the syllabus, nor was redemption. And yet my brothers and I grew up drowning in guilt.

At first things were simpler. There was a war in which one half of the world was fighting the other half; all the countries seemed to be either the friends or the enemies of other countries. Our problem was that we had somehow become detached from the country whose side we were supposed to be on, and had become lost right in the middle of the other side. The other side were people just like us, except that they didn’t speak German at home, and some of them were nice to us and some of them didn’t want anything to do with us. It was all a conundrum. At some stage we were then moved to a place where the people on our side had been collected and everyone spoke either German or another non-English language like Italian or Arabic, which we couldn’t understand at all. In some ways that made things simpler, though the place was crowded and dusty, the facilities basic, and the people felt like strangers; even their German sounded funny, probably because most of them had come from Palestine or Singapore or New Guinea or Iran or some other far-away place. But we all got used to each other and there wasn’t a problem. Then a year or so before the end of the war, our family was suddenly discharged and we had to get used to the other lot of people again; and again most of them were very nice to us and we could usually avoid those that didn’t like us. And then there was peace which we had all wanted, but which turned out to be not such a good thing.  My mother was very sad because nearly everyone in her family had been killed, and those that hadn’t were starving, and the houses and the countryside had been smashed up completely; but that had happened in other countries too. We tried what we could to help, which was all one could really do. But the peace wasn’t the real problem either. The real problem was that something had happened during that war in that far-away land from which my mother came and in which my Australian-German father had also lived for many years that made us all so despicable that people shunned us in horror. It had to do with a man called Hitler, who was, however, no longer alive, due to the heroism of the Australians and their friends, and with people called the Nazis who supported him. For those, like us, who spoke German at home the Nazi poison was part of their very nature; poison was the best way of describing it since it was invisible but apparently terribly harmful. People would shout at you in anger or perhaps fear if they saw you; if you were a girl they would often just turn their backs on you and walk quietly away. But what the Nazis had actually done was not really explained to us at home or at school. Perhaps nobody quite knew; it had something to do with Jews and nobody really knew what a Jew was, and probably people didn’t want to be nasty to you by talking about it too openly either, even though they clearly considered you responsible for the terrible things that had happened, though you had never even seen a Jew or knowingly hurt one. All the same, there were still quite a lot of people who were nice to you and not afraid of you either. It was difficult to work out how bad you really were. – I was eight when the European war ended. How does one describe a child’s confusion in an age where children were largely left to work things out for themselves? How does one cope with guilt without sin?

Recently – it is now sixty-six years since the end of that war – I came across Bernhard Schlink’s essay “Collective Guilt”, published two years ago in his collection Guilt about the Past. Schlink, a professor of Law at Berlin and also a novelist who has used the Holocaust as a theme, argues for the legal validity of the concept of collective guilt for crimes such as the Holocaust, guilt that would include the children of perpetrators, collaborators or accessories right down to the third or fourth generation, though he admits that collective guilt is today outlawed under international law. To support his case he goes back to ancient Germanic tribal law according to which any or all members of a perpetrator’s clan could be punished for his misdeed, whether it was intentional or accidental. Such clan law still exists in some places: remote Aboriginal groups often prefer to solve problems with pay-back; in New Guinea Christian missionaries fought hard against the socially crippling scourge of revenge killings; and just a few days ago my paper reported on the public gang-raping of a Pakistani woman, Mukhtaran Mai, by fourteen men, a punishment ordered by village elders in 2002 “because Ms Mai’s brother was accused of having illicit relations with a woman from a rival clan” (The Age, 22-23 April, 2011). The courageous Ms Mai took her case to the courts but even Pakistan’s Supreme Court refused to condemn all but one of the alleged rapists involved. Presumably, according to the logic of the elders, if the sexual relations of a clan member might serve to boost the numbers of a rival clan, his sister must be forced symbolically to bear the fourteen children that could eventually be the result of such an illicit union. While primal instincts of group revenge can be stirred up in many of us - George W. Bush’s reaction to the outrage of 9/11, inflicting massive punishment on a different set of Muslims, might serve as an example - it seems extraordinary that a modern European lawyer should want to sanction this, particularly when the Holocaust itself had elements of a very similar revenge action against a group perceived by many Germans to have had an unfair economic advantage over the avenging group. Hitler had also introduced Sippenhaftung, according to which family members were held responsible for the actions of one of their members.

Schlink goes on to explain that one way of avoiding the more extreme consequences of payback has always been to expel the offending member of the group, so that the group can no longer benefit from his economic contribution. He tells us that his generation of the Student Revolution had done their best to achieve such expulsions, outing their own parents and grandparents, even though, if collaborators and accessories were counted in, they knew that the numbers of the guilty were too vast to punish effectively. Many of the more extreme cases had, of course, by then been dealt with by the courts; but Schlink points out that the German administration had never rid itself completely of Nazi collaborators and consequently Germans could not expect leniency from their victims.

There seem to me to be several things wrong with Schlink’s argument. Advocating payback as a remedy for payback (even WWII can be seen as in part payback for the injustices of Versailles) seems absurd if our aim is world peace. It also seems strange to insist that justice must be aligned with primal psychology, which tends to need little encouragement to burst forth, rather than governed by reason and experience. Moreover, the vengeful justice of Schlink’s generation makes no distinction between the crime and its human perpetrator or facilitator. While a crime must be condemned unequivocally, a human being can learn from mistakes, particularly if encouraged to confront them, and such a person can then become a valuable member of society. He or she is often deeply disturbed by what they have done and needs help and eventually forgiveness. Nazism is not an incurable deformation or contagion. Even prison systems today have some commitment to rehabilitation. Moreover, any accused must also have access to the defence of mitigating circumstances. Where such vast numbers of people within a nation go wrong, as was the case in Germany, the likelihood is great, that coercion, blindness, ignorance, timidity, a perceived conflict of duties or similar universal human weaknesses would have played a significant part. The post-war de-nazification process along with the Nuremberg Trials recognized this and concentrated on the instigators and the major criminals, prescribing re-education for the wider population. The modern Germany thus produced seems to endorse this policy as having been generally successful, for the Federal Republic has become a reliable democracy and a responsible and helpful member of the European and global communities.

There is another point to be made in relation to Schlink’s essay. In their legal practice, societies have the choice between placing the emphasis on punishment or on rehabilitation; the two are often almost incompatible. Punishment may be satisfying for the wronged party from the point of view of gaining revenge; but it has been shown to be next to useless with regard to prevention. In the case of Germany, since it is virtually inconceivable that any German citizen today would want to repeat even elements of the Holocaust, punishment, even if it were an effective deterrent, would have no constructive role to play. A rehabilitated German nation intent on improving its image does, however, presage a better future and that is in everyone’s interest.

Due to Schlink’s use of archaic justice as a model, he also does not make the nowadays relevant distinction between the individual and the group. Individual Germans may know they are innocent; but they will still recognize that the nation to which they belong bears responsibility for crimes, even generations after they were committed. The nation must make restitution, but under a new government and a generation or two later, it is no longer guilty in the true sense of the word. In the sixty-six years since the end of the war the German government, the nation’s institutions, and many individuals acting on behalf of their country have done a great deal - I cannot argue here about whether or not it is enough - to make information about the Nazi years available, compensate victims, and manifest regret. Regret to the extent of mourning will inevitably still be felt by many among the current generation; but the term guilt in place of responsibility can only create confusion. It is also counter-productive for it is obvious that any person who is unjustly accused will be far less willing to compensate, warn and mourn than someone who does so voluntarily in an act of generosity. It is only if their personal innocence is acknowledged that young people will shoulder the national responsibility willingly. The term guilt must be reserved for actual perpetrators. Apart from being destructive to the individual and his sense of self, it encourages the perpetuation of nationalist clichés of the wicked German that lend themselves to all sorts of chauvinism, concealed racism and dishonesty.

It is perhaps inevitable that many Germans of the second and third generations that I have met have an over-sensitive reaction to all forms of coercion and disrespect, to demands for unquestioning obedience, to any remark that suggests intolerance of foreigners and to any other behaviours and attitudes that remind them of Nazi times. Worrying behaviours and attitudes can be found, to some extent, in all societies. In Germany, however, they will more often than not evoke memories of historical guilt. It is above all in this way that a perception of ongoing guilt is likely to remain alive, and that is a constructive use of memory. Schlink seems to suggest that individual Germans would do best to move out of the oppressive historical context into which they were born and define their identity as arising ”only from the here and now”. It seems to me that this wholesale rejection of one’s history could well lead to a shallow and impoverished life. Though it is not politically correct to say so, my conversations with German friends I trust have shown that for most, their lives throughout the Nazi years were as full of small but difficult acts of courage, kindness and honesty, as they were of disturbing moments of cowardice and coldness. Ordinary people do not suddenly become purely good or bad when a government changes. A gesture of protest or helpfulness in dangerous circumstances is worth a great deal, even if it can ultimately do little to change an oppressive situation. In Germany’s case, only the fall of the dictator could do that.               

So much for Schlink’s views on collective guilt. There is, however, another sense in which Germany has often been held to be guilty. Academics in particular have tried hard in the post-war years to prove that the nation’s culture had been going evil ways for many generations. I worked among such ideas during my professional life. But what came to the surface was often heavily determined by geographical specificities, good and bad relationships with neighbours that were mutual, and pervasive pan-European movements and fashions. Thus racism of one kind or another was a prevailing attitude in that newly scientific age, as was nationalism. I have not been persuaded that it is possible to apportion blame in a meaningful way here. A world-wide culture of mutual respect and cooperativeness between nations would presumably have produced better outcomes than the competitive nationalism of the first half of the twentieth century did. In the present global age we have learned to realize that the needs and peculiarities of others can quickly become our own problems and we must approach them proactively. Germany has been strongly discouraged from looking to blame any country other than itself for Hitler’s rise to power and its consequences; this restriction is clearly intended as part of its punishment, designed to prevent any attempt to shirk responsibility and deny guilt. But it is not an approach that can help us to understand how political and humanitarian catastrophes are best prevented.
      
When I began writing about my father’s life, it was impressed on me that his German background made it imperative that the question of participatory guilt for the Hitler debacle and the Holocaust be of primary importance. Before the facts became manifest through his letters, it had been widely assumed that his support of a right-wing anti-Hitler group was deeply suspect and this suspicion had a significant effect on my relationship with colleagues. I have become tired of the question of German guilt that has haunted my life. Like many other Germans too, my father tried to make considered and responsible decisions. Whether in hindsight they were always right, is a separate issue; but they were certainly never spectacularly wrong either. I would like to tell his story, which is interesting in its own right, without moralizing.














 © Silke Hesse, 2013

Bernhard Schlink’s Views on Collective German Guilt

Silke Beinssen-Hesse
Monash University


As a child I knew that our family had a connection with the German Lutheran Church in Sydney – at some stage my mother was even elected an elder and my less committed father was co-opted as church treasurer – but we attended mainly for christenings, confirmations, marriages, funerals and other rites of passage. Our instruction in doctrine was minimal; what I carried away with me was the primacy of the commandment of love and the advice that prayer was best used to ask for guidance when life matters became too complicated for common sense and kindliness. Sin was an unfamiliar concept; we tried to get things right and if we didn’t succeed, we approached them differently or tried harder the next time. I can’t remember religious instruction at school placing the emphasis very much differently; perhaps I was just not attuned to other messages. Original sin was not on the syllabus, nor was redemption. And yet my brothers and I grew up drowning in guilt.

At first things were simpler. There was a war in which one half of the world was fighting the other half; all the countries seemed to be either the friends or the enemies of other countries. Our problem was that we had somehow become detached from the country whose side we were supposed to be on, and had become lost right in the middle of the other side. The other side were people just like us, except that they didn’t speak German at home, and some of them were nice to us and some of them didn’t want anything to do with us. It was all a conundrum. At some stage we were then moved to a place where the people on our side had been collected and everyone spoke either German or another non-English language like Italian or Arabic, which we couldn’t understand at all. In some ways that made things simpler, though the place was crowded and dusty, the facilities basic, and the people felt like strangers; even their German sounded funny, probably because most of them had come from Palestine or Singapore or New Guinea or Iran or some other far-away place. But we all got used to each other and there wasn’t a problem. Then a year or so before the end of the war, our family was suddenly discharged and we had to get used to the other lot of people again; and again most of them were very nice to us and we could usually avoid those that didn’t like us. And then there was peace which we had all wanted, but which turned out to be not such a good thing.  My mother was very sad because nearly everyone in her family had been killed, and those that hadn’t were starving, and the houses and the countryside had been smashed up completely; but that had happened in other countries too. We tried what we could to help, which was all one could really do. But the peace wasn’t the real problem either. The real problem was that something had happened during that war in that far-away land from which my mother came and in which my Australian-German father had also lived for many years that made us all so despicable that people shunned us in horror. It had to do with a man called Hitler, who was, however, no longer alive, due to the heroism of the Australians and their friends, and with people called the Nazis who supported him. For those, like us, who spoke German at home the Nazi poison was part of their very nature; poison was the best way of describing it since it was invisible but apparently terribly harmful. People would shout at you in anger or perhaps fear if they saw you; if you were a girl they would often just turn their backs on you and walk quietly away. But what the Nazis had actually done was not really explained to us at home or at school. Perhaps nobody quite knew; it had something to do with Jews and nobody really knew what a Jew was, and probably people didn’t want to be nasty to you by talking about it too openly either, even though they clearly considered you responsible for the terrible things that had happened, though you had never even seen a Jew or knowingly hurt one. All the same, there were still quite a lot of people who were nice to you and not afraid of you either. It was difficult to work out how bad you really were. – I was eight when the European war ended. How does one describe a child’s confusion in an age where children were largely left to work things out for themselves? How does one cope with guilt without sin?

Recently – it is now sixty-six years since the end of that war – I came across Bernhard Schlink’s essay “Collective Guilt”, published two years ago in his collection Guilt about the Past. Schlink, a professor of Law at Berlin and also a novelist who has used the Holocaust as a theme, argues for the legal validity of the concept of collective guilt for crimes such as the Holocaust, guilt that would include the children of perpetrators, collaborators or accessories right down to the third or fourth generation, though he admits that collective guilt is today outlawed under international law. To support his case he goes back to ancient Germanic tribal law according to which any or all members of a perpetrator’s clan could be punished for his misdeed, whether it was intentional or accidental. Such clan law still exists in some places: remote Aboriginal groups often prefer to solve problems with pay-back; in New Guinea Christian missionaries fought hard against the socially crippling scourge of revenge killings; and just a few days ago my paper reported on the public gang-raping of a Pakistani woman, Mukhtaran Mai, by fourteen men, a punishment ordered by village elders in 2002 “because Ms Mai’s brother was accused of having illicit relations with a woman from a rival clan” (The Age, 22-23 April, 2011). The courageous Ms Mai took her case to the courts but even Pakistan’s Supreme Court refused to condemn all but one of the alleged rapists involved. Presumably, according to the logic of the elders, if the sexual relations of a clan member might serve to boost the numbers of a rival clan, his sister must be forced symbolically to bear the fourteen children that could eventually be the result of such an illicit union. While primal instincts of group revenge can be stirred up in many of us - George W. Bush’s reaction to the outrage of 9/11, inflicting massive punishment on a different set of Muslims, might serve as an example - it seems extraordinary that a modern European lawyer should want to sanction this, particularly when the Holocaust itself had elements of a very similar revenge action against a group perceived by many Germans to have had an unfair economic advantage over the avenging group. Hitler had also introduced Sippenhaftung, according to which family members were held responsible for the actions of one of their members.

Schlink goes on to explain that one way of avoiding the more extreme consequences of payback has always been to expel the offending member of the group, so that the group can no longer benefit from his economic contribution. He tells us that his generation of the Student Revolution had done their best to achieve such expulsions, outing their own parents and grandparents, even though, if collaborators and accessories were counted in, they knew that the numbers of the guilty were too vast to punish effectively. Many of the more extreme cases had, of course, by then been dealt with by the courts; but Schlink points out that the German administration had never rid itself completely of Nazi collaborators and consequently Germans could not expect leniency from their victims.

There seem to me to be several things wrong with Schlink’s argument. Advocating payback as a remedy for payback (even WWII can be seen as in part payback for the injustices of Versailles) seems absurd if our aim is world peace. It also seems strange to insist that justice must be aligned with primal psychology, which tends to need little encouragement to burst forth, rather than governed by reason and experience. Moreover, the vengeful justice of Schlink’s generation makes no distinction between the crime and its human perpetrator or facilitator. While a crime must be condemned unequivocally, a human being can learn from mistakes, particularly if encouraged to confront them, and such a person can then become a valuable member of society. He or she is often deeply disturbed by what they have done and needs help and eventually forgiveness. Nazism is not an incurable deformation or contagion. Even prison systems today have some commitment to rehabilitation. Moreover, any accused must also have access to the defence of mitigating circumstances. Where such vast numbers of people within a nation go wrong, as was the case in Germany, the likelihood is great, that coercion, blindness, ignorance, timidity, a perceived conflict of duties or similar universal human weaknesses would have played a significant part. The post-war de-nazification process along with the Nuremberg Trials recognized this and concentrated on the instigators and the major criminals, prescribing re-education for the wider population. The modern Germany thus produced seems to endorse this policy as having been generally successful, for the Federal Republic has become a reliable democracy and a responsible and helpful member of the European and global communities.

There is another point to be made in relation to Schlink’s essay. In their legal practice, societies have the choice between placing the emphasis on punishment or on rehabilitation; the two are often almost incompatible. Punishment may be satisfying for the wronged party from the point of view of gaining revenge; but it has been shown to be next to useless with regard to prevention. In the case of Germany, since it is virtually inconceivable that any German citizen today would want to repeat even elements of the Holocaust, punishment, even if it were an effective deterrent, would have no constructive role to play. A rehabilitated German nation intent on improving its image does, however, presage a better future and that is in everyone’s interest.

Due to Schlink’s use of archaic justice as a model, he also does not make the nowadays relevant distinction between the individual and the group. Individual Germans may know they are innocent; but they will still recognize that the nation to which they belong bears responsibility for crimes, even generations after they were committed. The nation must make restitution, but under a new government and a generation or two later, it is no longer guilty in the true sense of the word. In the sixty-six years since the end of the war the German government, the nation’s institutions, and many individuals acting on behalf of their country have done a great deal - I cannot argue here about whether or not it is  enough - to make information about the Nazi years available, compensate victims, and manifest regret. Regret to the extent of mourning will inevitably still be felt by many among the current generation; but the term guilt in place of responsibility can only create confusion. It is also counter-productive for it is obvious that any person who is unjustly accused will be far less willing to compensate, warn and mourn than someone who does so voluntarily in an act of generosity. It is only if their personal innocence is acknowledged that young people will shoulder the national responsibility willingly. The term guilt must be reserved for actual perpetrators. Apart from being destructive to the individual and his sense of self, it encourages the perpetuation of nationalist clichés of the wicked German that lend themselves to all sorts of chauvinism, concealed racism and dishonesty.

It is perhaps inevitable that many Germans of the second and third generations that I have met have an over-sensitive reaction to all forms of coercion and didrespect, to demands for unquestioning obedience, to any remark that suggests intolerance of foreigners and to any other behaviours and attitudes that remind them of Nazi times. Worrying behaviours and attitudes can be found, to some extent, in all societies. In Germany, however, they will more often than not evoke memories of historical guilt. It is above all in this way that a perception of ongoing guilt is likely to remain alive, and that is a constructive use of memory. Schlink seems to suggest that individual Germans would do best to move out of the oppressive historical context into which they were born and define their identity as arising ”only from the here and now”. It seems to me that this wholesale rejection of one’s history could well lead to a shallow and impoverished life. Though it is not politically correct to say so, my conversations with German friends I trust have shown that for most, their lives throughout the Nazi years were as full of small but difficult acts of courage, kindness and honesty, as they were of disturbing moments of cowardice and coldness. Ordinary people do not suddenly become purely good or bad when a government changes. A gesture of protest or helpfulness in dangerous circumstances is worth a great deal, even if it can ultimately do little to change an oppressive situation. In Germany’s case, only the fall of the dictator could do that.               

So much for Schlink’s views on collective guilt. There is, however, another sense in which Germany has often been held to be guilty. Academics in particular have tried hard in the post-war years to prove that the nation’s culture had been going evil ways for many generations. I worked among such ideas during my professional life. But what came to the surface was often heavily determined by geographical specificities, good and bad relationships with neighbours that were mutual, and pervasive pan-European movements and fashions. Thus racism of one kind or another was a prevailing attitude in that newly scientific age, as was nationalism. I have not been persuaded that it is possible to apportion blame in a meaningful way here. A world-wide culture of mutual respect and cooperativeness between nations would presumably have produced better outcomes than the competitive nationalism of the first half of the twentieth century did. In the present global age we have learned to realize that the needs and peculiarities of others can quickly become our own problems and we must approach them proactively. Germany has been strongly discouraged from looking to blame any country other than itself for Hitler’s rise to power and its consequences; this restriction is clearly intended as part of its punishment, designed to prevent any attempt to shirk responsibility and deny guilt. But it is not an approach that can help us to understand how political and humanitarian catastrophes are best prevented.
      
When I began writing about my father’s life, it was impressed on me that his German background made it imperative that the question of participatory guilt for the Hitler debacle and the Holocaust be of primary importance. Before the facts became manifest through his letters, it had been widely assumed that his support of a right-wing anti-Hitler group was deeply suspect and this suspicion had a significant effect on my relationship with colleagues. I have become tired of the question of German guilt that has haunted my life. Like many other Germans too, my father tried to make considered and responsible decisions. Whether in hindsight they were always right, is a separate issue; but they were certainly never spectacularly wrong either. I would like to tell his story, which is interesting in its own right, without moralizing.















  © Silke Hesse, 2013

Bernhard Schlink’s Views on Collective German Guilt

Silke Beinssen-Hesse
Monash University


As a child I knew that our family had a connection with the German Lutheran Church in Sydney – at some stage my mother was even elected an elder and my less committed father was co-opted as church treasurer – but we attended mainly for christenings, confirmations, marriages, funerals and other rites of passage. Our instruction in doctrine was minimal; what I carried away with me was the primacy of the commandment of love and the advice that prayer was best used to ask for guidance when life matters became too complicated for common sense and kindliness. Sin was an unfamiliar concept; we tried to get things right and if we didn’t succeed, we approached them differently or tried harder the next time. I can’t remember religious instruction at school placing the emphasis very much differently; perhaps I was just not attuned to other messages. Original sin was not on the syllabus, nor was redemption. And yet my brothers and I grew up drowning in guilt.

At first things were simpler. There was a war in which one half of the world was fighting the other half; all the countries seemed to be either the friends or the enemies of other countries. Our problem was that we had somehow become detached from the country whose side we were supposed to be on, and had become lost right in the middle of the other side. The other side were people just like us, except that they didn’t speak German at home, and some of them were nice to us and some of them didn’t want anything to do with us. It was all a conundrum. At some stage we were then moved to a place where the people on our side had been collected and everyone spoke either German or another non-English language like Italian or Arabic, which we couldn’t understand at all. In some ways that made things simpler, though the place was crowded and dusty, the facilities basic, and the people felt like strangers; even their German sounded funny, probably because most of them had come from Palestine or Singapore or New Guinea or Iran or some other far-away place. But we all got used to each other and there wasn’t a problem. Then a year or so before the end of the war, our family was suddenly discharged and we had to get used to the other lot of people again; and again most of them were very nice to us and we could usually avoid those that didn’t like us. And then there was peace which we had all wanted, but which turned out to be not such a good thing.  My mother was very sad because nearly everyone in her family had been killed, and those that hadn’t were starving, and the houses and the countryside had been smashed up completely; but that had happened in other countries too. We tried what we could to help, which was all one could really do. But the peace wasn’t the real problem either. The real problem was that something had happened during that war in that far-away land from which my mother came and in which my Australian-German father had also lived for many years that made us all so despicable that people shunned us in horror. It had to do with a man called Hitler, who was, however, no longer alive, due to the heroism of the Australians and their friends, and with people called the Nazis who supported him. For those, like us, who spoke German at home the Nazi poison was part of their very nature; poison was the best way of describing it since it was invisible but apparently terribly harmful. People would shout at you in anger or perhaps fear if they saw you; if you were a girl they would often just turn their backs on you and walk quietly away. But what the Nazis had actually done was not really explained to us at home or at school. Perhaps nobody quite knew; it had something to do with Jews and nobody really knew what a Jew was, and probably people didn’t want to be nasty to you by talking about it too openly either, even though they clearly considered you responsible for the terrible things that had happened, though you had never even seen a Jew or knowingly hurt one. All the same, there were still quite a lot of people who were nice to you and not afraid of you either. It was difficult to work out how bad you really were. – I was eight when the European war ended. How does one describe a child’s confusion in an age where children were largely left to work things out for themselves? How does one cope with guilt without sin?

Recently – it is now sixty-six years since the end of that war – I came across Bernhard Schlink’s essay “Collective Guilt”, published two years ago in his collection Guilt about the Past. Schlink, a professor of Law at Berlin and also a novelist who has used the Holocaust as a theme, argues for the legal validity of the concept of collective guilt for crimes such as the Holocaust, guilt that would include the children of perpetrators, collaborators or accessories right down to the third or fourth generation, though he admits that collective guilt is today outlawed under international law. To support his case he goes back to ancient Germanic tribal law according to which any or all members of a perpetrator’s clan could be punished for his misdeed, whether it was intentional or accidental. Such clan law still exists in some places: remote Aboriginal groups often prefer to solve problems with pay-back; in New Guinea Christian missionaries fought hard against the socially crippling scourge of revenge killings; and just a few days ago my paper reported on the public gang-raping of a Pakistani woman, Mukhtaran Mai, by fourteen men, a punishment ordered by village elders in 2002 “because Ms Mai’s brother was accused of having illicit relations with a woman from a rival clan” (The Age, 22-23 April, 2011). The courageous Ms Mai took her case to the courts but even Pakistan’s Supreme Court refused to condemn all but one of the alleged rapists involved. Presumably, according to the logic of the elders, if the sexual relations of a clan member might serve to boost the numbers of a rival clan, his sister must be forced symbolically to bear the fourteen children that could eventually be the result of such an illicit union. While primal instincts of group revenge can be stirred up in many of us - George W. Bush’s reaction to the outrage of 9/11, inflicting massive punishment on a different set of Muslims, might serve as an example - it seems extraordinary that a modern European lawyer should want to sanction this, particularly when the Holocaust itself had elements of a very similar revenge action against a group perceived by many Germans to have had an unfair economic advantage over the avenging group. Hitler had also introduced Sippenhaftung, according to which family members were held responsible for the actions of one of their members.

Schlink goes on to explain that one way of avoiding the more extreme consequences of payback has always been to expel the offending member of the group, so that the group can no longer benefit from his economic contribution. He tells us that his generation of the Student Revolution had done their best to achieve such expulsions, outing their own parents and grandparents, even though, if collaborators and accessories were counted in, they knew that the numbers of the guilty were too vast to punish effectively. Many of the more extreme cases had, of course, by then been dealt with by the courts; but Schlink points out that the German administration had never rid itself completely of Nazi collaborators and consequently Germans could not expect leniency from their victims.

There seem to me to be several things wrong with Schlink’s argument. Advocating payback as a remedy for payback (even WWII can be seen as in part payback for the injustices of Versailles) seems absurd if our aim is world peace. It also seems strange to insist that justice must be aligned with primal psychology, which tends to need little encouragement to burst forth, rather than governed by reason and experience. Moreover, the vengeful justice of Schlink’s generation makes no distinction between the crime and its human perpetrator or facilitator. While a crime must be condemned unequivocally, a human being can learn from mistakes, particularly if encouraged to confront them, and such a person can then become a valuable member of society. He or she is often deeply disturbed by what they have done and needs help and eventually forgiveness. Nazism is not an incurable deformation or contagion. Even prison systems today have some commitment to rehabilitation. Moreover, any accused must also have access to the defence of mitigating circumstances. Where such vast numbers of people within a nation go wrong, as was the case in Germany, the likelihood is great, that coercion, blindness, ignorance, timidity, a perceived conflict of duties or similar universal human weaknesses would have played a significant part. The post-war de-nazification process along with the Nuremberg Trials recognized this and concentrated on the instigators and the major criminals, prescribing re-education for the wider population. The modern Germany thus produced seems to endorse this policy as having been generally successful, for the Federal Republic has become a reliable democracy and a responsible and helpful member of the European and global communities.

There is another point to be made in relation to Schlink’s essay. In their legal practice, societies have the choice between placing the emphasis on punishment or on rehabilitation; the two are often almost incompatible. Punishment may be satisfying for the wronged party from the point of view of gaining revenge; but it has been shown to be next to useless with regard to prevention. In the case of Germany, since it is virtually inconceivable that any German citizen today would want to repeat even elements of the Holocaust, punishment, even if it were an effective deterrent, would have no constructive role to play. A rehabilitated German nation intent on improving its image does, however, presage a better future and that is in everyone’s interest.

Due to Schlink’s use of archaic justice as a model, he also does not make the nowadays relevant distinction between the individual and the group. Individual Germans may know they are innocent; but they will still recognize that the nation to which they belong bears responsibility for crimes, even generations after they were committed. The nation must make restitution, but under a new government and a generation or two later, it is no longer guilty in the true sense of the word. In the sixty-six years since the end of the war the German government, the nation’s institutions, and many individuals acting on behalf of their country have done a great deal - I cannot argue here about whether or not it is  enough - to make information about the Nazi years available, compensate victims, and manifest regret. Regret to the extent of mourning will inevitably still be felt by many among the current generation; but the term guilt in place of responsibility can only create confusion. It is also counter-productive for it is obvious that any person who is unjustly accused will be far less willing to compensate, warn and mourn than someone who does so voluntarily in an act of generosity. It is only if their personal innocence is acknowledged that young people will shoulder the national responsibility willingly. The term guilt must be reserved for actual perpetrators. Apart from being destructive to the individual and his sense of self, it encourages the perpetuation of nationalist clichés of the wicked German that lend themselves to all sorts of chauvinism, concealed racism and dishonesty.

It is perhaps inevitable that many Germans of the second and third generations that I have met have an over-sensitive reaction to all forms of coercion and didrespect, to demands for unquestioning obedience, to any remark that suggests intolerance of foreigners and to any other behaviours and attitudes that remind them of Nazi times. Worrying behaviours and attitudes can be found, to some extent, in all societies. In Germany, however, they will more often than not evoke memories of historical guilt. It is above all in this way that a perception of ongoing guilt is likely to remain alive, and that is a constructive use of memory. Schlink seems to suggest that individual Germans would do best to move out of the oppressive historical context into which they were born and define their identity as arising ”only from the here and now”. It seems to me that this wholesale rejection of one’s history could well lead to a shallow and impoverished life. Though it is not politically correct to say so, my conversations with German friends I trust have shown that for most, their lives throughout the Nazi years were as full of small but difficult acts of courage, kindness and honesty, as they were of disturbing moments of cowardice and coldness. Ordinary people do not suddenly become purely good or bad when a government changes. A gesture of protest or helpfulness in dangerous circumstances is worth a great deal, even if it can ultimately do little to change an oppressive situation. In Germany’s case, only the fall of the dictator could do that.               

So much for Schlink’s views on collective guilt. There is, however, another sense in which Germany has often been held to be guilty. Academics in particular have tried hard in the post-war years to prove that the nation’s culture had been going evil ways for many generations. I worked among such ideas during my professional life. But what came to the surface was often heavily determined by geographical specificities, good and bad relationships with neighbours that were mutual, and pervasive pan-European movements and fashions. Thus racism of one kind or another was a prevailing attitude in that newly scientific age, as was nationalism. I have not been persuaded that it is possible to apportion blame in a meaningful way here. A world-wide culture of mutual respect and cooperativeness between nations would presumably have produced better outcomes than the competitive nationalism of the first half of the twentieth century did. In the present global age we have learned to realize that the needs and peculiarities of others can quickly become our own problems and we must approach them proactively. Germany has been strongly discouraged from looking to blame any country other than itself for Hitler’s rise to power and its consequences; this restriction is clearly intended as part of its punishment, designed to prevent any attempt to shirk responsibility and deny guilt. But it is not an approach that can help us to understand how political and humanitarian catastrophes are best prevented.
      
When I began writing about my father’s life, it was impressed on me that his German background made it imperative that the question of participatory guilt for the Hitler debacle and the Holocaust be of primary importance. Before the facts became manifest through his letters, it had been widely assumed that his support of a right-wing anti-Hitler group was deeply suspect and this suspicion had a significant effect on my relationship with colleagues. I have become tired of the question of German guilt that has haunted my life. Like many other Germans too, my father tried to make considered and responsible decisions. Whether in hindsight they were always right, is a separate issue; but they were certainly never spectacularly wrong either. I would like to tell his story, which is interesting in its own right, without moralizing.