Learning from the Germans: Race and the Memory of Evil By Susan Neiman
I’ve been teaching a unit about Jim Crow in my college writing class for the last 10 years. The recent hysteria about CRT has forced me to look closely at why I teach a unit about American racism.
It seems one can teach American racism in four ways:
- American exceptionalism, in which racism is minimized as a mere hiccup in America’s grand narrative
- The Lost Cause is the most grotesque perversion of history in which resentful losers of the Civil War cast slavery and Jim Crow as a virtue in which everyone knows their place.
- Radical Fatalism in which the original sin of racism is so egregious that America is an irredeemable hellscape.
- Struggle for Redemption in which we acknowledge our sins of racism and our accomplishments and struggle to find atonement within our country’s contradictions. Working off the past or the struggle to overcome the past is a long word in German: Vergangenheitsaufarbeitung.
I choose the latter category as the only moral and instructive way I can teach a course about American racism.
See the New Yorker essay by Lizzie Widdicombe: “What Can We Learn from the Germans About Confronting Our History?
Widdicombe writes:
Neiman, an American who directs the Einstein Forum, a public think tank outside of Berlin, has recently published a book, “Learning from the Germans,” that makes the case for an American version of Vergangenheitsaufarbeitung, a word that she translates as “working off the past,” which refers to the decades-long process through which Germany has come to terms with Nazism and the Holocaust. Today, the country isn’t free from racism and anti-Semitism, as the recent attack on a synagogue in Halle showed, but its culture and politics remain deeply informed by its history. All of the arts, including TV and film, regularly refer to and treat Nazi history. And the country pauses to perform what Neiman calls “public rites of repentance” around events such as the liberation of Auschwitz, Kristallnacht, and the end of the war. Then there’s the iconography: the Holocaust Memorial sits at the center of a reunified Berlin. There are also the famous “stumbling stones”—small brass plaques placed throughout the city to mark where Jews and other victims of the Nazis last lived, before they were deported. By comparison, she writes, “Imagine a monument to the Middle Passage or the genocide of Native Americans at the center of the Washington Mall. Suppose you could walk down a New York street and step on a reminder that this building was constructed with slave labor.”
The lesson for Americans—particularly those involved in racial-justice work—is that “Nobody wants to look at the dark sides of their history,” she said. “It’s like finding out that your parents did something really horrible. There’s always going to be resistance. It’s normal, and it’s something we should expect.” So what made the Germans change? Neiman writes about a number of historical factors, but the most important, in her opinion, was “civil engagement” by the German public, beginning in the nineteen-sixties. A new generation came of age. “They realized that their parents and teachers had been Nazis, or at least complicit in Nazi atrocities, and were outraged,” she said. A small and often controversial vanguard insisted on digging up history that older generations had refused to discuss. People called them Nestbeschmützer, or “nest-foulers.” But the process they set in motion—a process of uncovering the past and talking about it—eventually reverberated throughout German society.
Her final lesson was about balance. She brought up a charge recently made by conservative critics of the Times’ 1619 Project, which commemorates slavery: that focussing on the worst parts of a nation’s history is depressing and, worse, delegitimizing. “They complained about it in Germany as much as Newt Gingrich and company are complaining about it now—‘It’s going to tear the social fabric, and we won’t have a national identity anymore! People won’t have anything to celebrate!’ ” There’s some truth there, she said. When planning monuments, “I think it’s really important that it not just be sites of horror, that we also remember heroes.” Is this to make us feel better about ourselves? “Yes,” she said. “I make this analogy which may seem a bit hokey: having a grownup relationship to your history is like having a grownup relationship to your parents. As a kid, you believe everything they tell you. As an adolescent, you may be inclined to reject everything. But having a grownup view involves sifting through with some distance, and saying, ‘O.K., I’m glad that my mother had those values, and that’s what I’m going to pass on to my kids. Not the other stuff.’ ” She mentioned a few of her own heroes: Sojourner Truth and Ralph Waldo Emerson, John Brown and Harriet Tubman, Woody Guthrie and Paul Robeson. She said, “It’s like being orphaned if you can’t say, ‘No, there are people, and not a few of them, in my nation’s history whom I really admire.’ ”
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After World War II and the defeat of Hitler and the Nazis, German went through a soul-search process, acknowledged their collaboration with evil forces, and made a concerted effort to work away their sins.
Working off the past or the struggle to overcome the past is a long word in German: Vergangenheitsaufarbeitung.
We cannot overcome the past unless we acknowledge it. Denial of the past causes the past evils to perpetuate.
To acknowledge evil from our own tribe goes against human instinct. Evil is “out there performed by The Others, but it’s not us.” Such an impulse makes acknowledgment of evil within the tribe very difficult.
Today in the South, many southerners won’t acknowledge that the South committed sedition and insurrection to defend the evil practice of slavery. There is a different narrative: “The South fought Nothern aggression and defended state rights.”
In post-World War II Germany, there was initial resistance to the acknowledgment of past sins. We read in The Guardian from Alex Clark:
Neiman does not stint on impressing on her readers the details of number one, drawing on a vast body of interviews – half, she estimates, didn’t even make it into the book – to explore how long history’s tail is. It is too easy, she argues, to believe that as soon as the second world war ended, Germany set about the process of atoning for its crimes. It simply isn’t so: after all, 10% of the country’s population had been members of the Nazi party, “and the most shocking, but also important thing, is they were not the uneducated masses. The majority had academic degrees. We like to think that education provides immunity to racist and fascist ideology. And it doesn’t.”
What, then, heralded the start of Germans en masse beginning to face the past? Although some of it can be explained generationally, she replies, as people died off, “that won’t do the trick, as we’ve seen in the United States. And as we’ve seen in Britain where, you know, time has gone by, and people like falling back on national myths of greatness.” In part, she believes the Auschwitz trials marked a moment of change in which the burgeoning of mass travel connected ordinary Germans with other worldviews and there was an emergence of books by Holocaust survivors. She also notes the importance of 1968, “a moment for confronting parents and teachers … and there was a sense of a sudden real wave of disgust and rebellion: what have you done?”
Neiman is also at pains to point out that this work was done more quickly and more effectively in East Germany – much of which went unnoticed because of the relentless focus on West German attempts at rehabilitation. “Whenever you say anything good about East Germany,” she says, “immediately somebody jumps up and says, ‘My God, you’re a Stalinist … ’ I’m not defending everything about it, of course. But I laboured on the chapter that talks about the east. I fact-checked it; I had somebody else fact-check it. I knew that I was going to get a lot of flak for that. But in the beginning, East Germany did a better job. They just did. On every level: in terms of bringing old Nazis to trial, in terms of teaching the period in schools, in terms of building monuments, and restoring concentration camps and making them educational.” Meanwhile, the west was so busy fighting a new conflict – “old Nazis were the best people to fight the cold war” – that efforts at serious denazification went by the board.
As one might expect from a philosopher – especially one who has side-stepped the academy to work across disciplines – Neiman is fascinating and potent on how the Holocaust has functioned on multiple planes, and primarily as an example of pure evil that, by consequence, allows other societies to divert attention from their own misdeeds. “Nothing else even comes close to it. And if you haven’t done that, well, then you’re doing fairly well … you know, it’s as if we would like to have a large black hole that says, this is where you put evil and we don’t have to look at it.”
She has, she says, been shocked by the lack of knowledge in Britain about the Nazi period, which naturally leads us into a conversation about the fondness of rightwing politicians for invoking the glories of the war, “this nostalgia for the empire that you see all over the place with Nigel Farage and Jacob Rees-Mogg and I suppose Boris Johnson too ... As if the empire really was a wonderful thing, as if it brought nothing but civilisation to the rest of the world.”
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In the New York Times review of Neiman’s book by Deborah E. Lipstadt, we read:
For two decades after World War II, Germany — East and West – practiced “moral myopia.” Communist East Germany claimed that since it was a postwar antifascist state and all the former Nazis were in West Germany (they were not), it bore no responsibility for genocide. West Germans, in Neiman’s words, “from dogcatcher to diplomat,” falsely insisted that only the Third Reich’s leadership knew of the mass murder. “Our men were gallant fighters, not criminals,” one German told her. Chancellor Konrad Adenauer appointed former Nazis to some of the government’s highest jobs, thus telegraphing the message that, on a personal level, all was forgiven. Even the reparation process, Neiman says, was “meanspirited and arduous.” Auschwitz survivors received a smaller pension than former SS guards and their widows. Simply put, Germans, East and West, refused to articulate the words: I was guilty.
What changed? In the late 1960s West German children and grandchildren of Nazis began to struggle with their families’ crimes. Having watched the televised Eichmann and Auschwitz trials, and inspired by student protests sweeping Europe, young Germans demanded an honest account of past wrongs. That confrontation with history, while hardly complete and now under attack from right-wing forces, remains far more extensive and honest, Neiman says, than anything that occurred in the United States regarding slavery and discrimination.
Born and raised in the South, Neiman moved from Berlin to Mississippi to research this fascinating book. She actively sought people and institutions engaged in “remembering.” She found eerie similarities between the response of the first generations of postwar Germans to their evil past and the response of many Americans, particularly Southerners, to theirs. Many of her Southern informants echoed Germany’s post-World War II mantra. Nobody was in the slave business. Southerners just bought what Northern ship captains sold them. Slavery was unconnected to the Civil War. The conflict was all about taxes.
Neiman notes that while Germany’s past no longer immunizes it against resurgent nationalism and anti-Semitism, there is in the heart of Berlin a memorial to the six million Jews murdered by Germans. “A nation that erects a monument of shame for the evils of its history in its most prominent space is a nation that is not afraid to confront its own failures.” While a museum dedicated to the African-American experience has opened in the heart of Washington, recent expressions of racism not just from the highest office in this land but also from many politicians, pundits and ordinary people suggest that America’s confrontation with its legacy of slavery and racial hatred is far from complete.
Many Americans, in the South and the North, insist that Confederate monuments are historical artifacts that simply honor the region’s history and its loyal defenders. They ignore the fact that most were built 50 years after the war, when the children of the Confederacy were creating the myth of a noble lost cause. Others were erected during the 1960s in protest of the civil rights movement.
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