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We are so convinced of being naturally citizens, necessary products of the nation-state. Or else, when we allow the topic to cross our minds, we immediately find a niche among those entitled to a nationality and cast out into an unreasonable alienage those who belong to an elsewhere they have been unable to preserve, one that no longer belongs to them, who have expropriated themselves of their identity as citizens.
—Julia Kristeva
THE experience of being a foreigner influences all the information and impressions that students from an American university gather while studying outside the United States. Their sense of foreignness must be thematized in classwork abroad so that students can express their group and individual identifies in relation to the host country and can perceive how the values they bring with them provide the structure for describing the life-styles and culture that they encounter during their stay.
Such assumptions point toward intercultural teaching in the foreign language and literature classroom. Frank Trommler, Michael Geyer, and Jeffrey Peck have suggested that German studies in the United States should no longer strive to bring students to native speaker competency but should prepare them instead to recognize differences between the two cultures. Similarly, on the other side of the Atlantic, Alois Wierlacher has focused on cultural differences in teaching German studies to foreigners within Germany. My own experience team-teaching a course on German unification in the Berlin of June 1991 validated this contrastive approach. Although this was the fourth time that Karen Remmler and I had taught such a course, the political and economic restructuring of Germany since the dismantling of the Berlin wall had changed everyday life in the city so much that we were not sure which German culture to teach and how to do so. By the end of the three-week course, we realized that in presenting the history and economic consequences of German unification and in supporting our students' efforts to interview Berliners on film, we were also addressing cross-cultural issues surrounding foreignness.
The subtext for the course had shifted to center stage as we discussed with increasing intensity the relationships between our group, from the University of Wisconsin, Madison, and Mount Holyoke College, and the Berliners we met; between western Berliners and eastern Berliners; and between Berliners of German heritage and those of another background, such as Turkish or Polish. At no time did we, as a group, experience the social tensions in these interchanges as strongly as we did at a concluding party for course members and the Berliners they had interviewed.
One of our students, a Brazilian, became enraged before dinner to learn that some guests from western Berlin wanted Turkish citizens to leave the city. She was particularly angry because she had videotaped a fourteen-year-old Turkish girl who had spoken about fearing the neo-Nazis and feeling less safe in Berlin now than before unification. When some of our group tried to calm the student down, they talked about freedom of speech and argued that it would do no good to throw these guests out of the party. In their discussion, the students recognized that the Brazilian, having herself been visually identified as a foreigner in Wisconsin, was perhaps particularly sensitive to the consequences of angry statements directed toward foreigners. The other students could talk more tolerantly about hateful language and about the rights of Turkish “guest” workers who had been in the country for decades.
Dinner brought a pause in the agitation, but tension rose again afterward when students showed their videotaped interviews. One of the early presentations focused on a Berliner who had grown up in a central district of the western city and had not come into contact with the wall except when he left Berlin by car or train. But now that the wall was gone, he talked about feeling estranged in his own neighborhood. “His” stores were “overrun” by people from the eastern sector, jobs were sure to become less available for him and his friends, and he was unhappy with what he saw as a fundamental change in his quality of life. In the next interviews presented, young people from eastern Berlin described their happiness at the lifting of the wall but also their apprehensiveness about the future for members of their parents' generation. Older workers were losing their jobs and would, at fifty, most likely not find other employment. They had been babies during the bombing of Berlin, had grown up in streets of rubble, and were now facing a renewed existential insecurity. Their children, our interview subjects, could be more excited about the nation's unification and the new opportunities for travel. Our guests sat with their friends in what amounted to little cultural groupings. Comments and laughter separated the different groups from one another. In a sense, we were playing out in the room the conflicts touched on in our individual interviews and bringing people together who would otherwise not have had a chance to listen to one another.
As teachers, Remmler and I had always encouraged our students to gather life stories from their Berlin acquaintances in order to understand German culture on the level of everyday actions and habits. Before our first program abroad, we had taped a series of interviews with Berliners for use in a German conversation course at Washington University in spring 1986. We combined these personal stories with an “extensive overview of the cultural, political, and social background of West and East Berlin” to develop “students' ability to discuss Berlin's position as a forerunner of change in Europe and as a barometer for measuring political tension between East and West” (Jankowsky and Remmler 16). These conversation and lecture courses were developed to prepare students to explore four neighborhoods in West Berlin during the summer of 1986. Since then, however, unification had taken away the “everydayness” on the streets of the city and unsettled the paradigm for seeing Berlin as a measure of East-West relations. Finding our narratives outdated but lacking alternatives, we talked about everyday life in big cities in the United States, the various individual ways we had experienced that life, and the differences between the big-city dwellers we knew at home and the Berliners we were encountering.
With the wall gone, Berlin became a place where our students could study the conflicts between personal, social, and cultural identities. Physical markers of the previous separate states, such as the remnants of the Berlin wall, were omnipresent. People who were formerly East and West Germans now intermingled in Berlin to search for jobs, food, material goods, subway seats, and hospital beds. Daily rituals such as using mass transportation and paying for postage posed difficulties, and not just for our students. Perhaps because the expanded landscape of the unified Berlin had become an undefined, wide-open space to its citizens, they tended for the most part to stay in their respective halves of the city. The geographer Yi-Fu Tuan explains that human beings cannot recognize an area as a place unless they ascribe symbolic meanings to its visible features. Thus people in Berlin were re-forming an understanding of their cultural identity as they physically moved through the city in new ways. The sixteen students in our group crossed paths with them.
They experienced the jostling of cultural identity that the summer of 1991 had in store for Berliners: the city was conditionally selected to become the capital of a unified Germany; efforts continued to restructure the universities in the eastern sector to make them part of the (historically younger) system in the west; the names of some Marxist leaders were taken off street signs in the eastern part of the city; bus lines in both areas were renumbered to unify mass transportation.
The contestation of German identity affected Berliners' daily patterns of movement. West Berliners had to adjust to increasing numbers of people crossing their no longer physically walled-in borders. Inundated by foreigners, only some of whom spoke their language, the Berliners often seemed unsure of how they should accommodate themselves to the changed circumstances. According to the statistics given the class by a speaker from the Berlin Information Center, two million citizens of the former East Berlin were visiting, working, and shopping in the western part of the city, while additional millions of visitors, shoppers, and job seekers from the countryside of the former German Democratic Republic and from other East European states, mostly Poland, were also entering the city. Hard-pressed to explain the greater sense of conflict in Berlin, I reasoned that the new freedom of movement in the city and its new status as the capital of a unified Germany provoked Berliners to feelings along a continuum from estrangement to foreignness. In retrospect, William Gudykunst and Young-Yun Kim's work on the spectrum of intra- and intercultural relationships with “strangers” has been helpful. The range between different kinds of alterity is expressed more directly in languages such as French and German, which have one word— étrange or fremd —for what English would distinguish as either “strange” or “foreign.” Given the economic differences between the East and West, political conflicts that predate the opening of the wall, and neo-Nazi threats, feelings of Fremdheit were unavoidable.
Peter Schneider's 1990 collection of essays, Extreme Mittellage , offers a paradoxically persuasive explanation for the uneasiness: the current foreignness is heightened by the previous inhibition of thinking and speaking about the possible unification of Germany. This taboo on thought ( Denkverbot ) was widespread not only among members of the alternative scene but also among social democrats, liberals, and conservatives. They had learned to view peace and security as dependent on the existence of two German states, recognized as the price Germans paid for their role in World War II. A divided Germany would appease the country's European neighbors and allow for the social experiment of real socialism in the German Democratic Republic.
When Remmler and I planned the 1991 course in Berlin, we wanted to do justice to recent historical changes but lacked a framework for addressing the shifts they had brought to our thinking. Adjustment would require more than additional visits to what had been East Berlin or travel into what had been the East German countryside. We needed to make West Berlin experientially understandable from a point of reference different from the cold war logic of confrontation, which had left the city in part western but not necessarily German or what had been West German. In short, we had to go beyond our previous concept of the course to respond to an altered situation that we could not analyze ahead of time.
In 1986, we had focused on Berlin's development toward its upcoming 750-year anniversary by offering a summer course through Washington University entitled Berlin: Political Anomaly, Urban Bohemia, or Metropolis of the Future? In many ways we taught a similar course when the program moved to the University of Wisconsin, Madison, in 1988. We did not frame the identity question in relation to foreignness at that time, however, because in a sense it had been resolved—or at least had arrived at a static phase—during the post–World War II era. Postwar West Berlin had become an outpost of otherness in socialist East Germany, and the negotiation of the four-power treaty in the early seventies had given rise to a self-sufficient-island normalcy. Graffiti covered the surface of the once feared wall that faced West Berlin, creating one of the world's largest art displays. The inhabitability of West Berlin, not its unification with East Berlin, was of critical importance.
The identity issue, however, was forced to the foreground with the collapse of the eastern German state and the loss of the other in the binary opposition on which the cold war had thrived. Using Berlin as a tool in teaching German culture in 1991 allowed us to study complex renegotiations of economic and political practices, social institutions, and the daily lives of individuals. Berliners made immediately clear to our students that certain aspects of their normal routines had been complicated by unification. The negotiation of reality we once “visited” at the Mehringhof, a legalized squatters' renovation project, or in the Kreuzberg district, with its mix of cultures—Turkish, German working class, feminist, alternative, and squatters'—was now visible at every bus stop, bank, and post office in the city.
To enable our students to synthesize the consequences of unification for residents of Berlin, Remmler and I introduced the videotape as a medium of empowerment and self-awareness in their interviewing of Berliners. Our intermediate and advanced-level conversation and composition students needed to see themselves both as experts on their own culture and as interviewers gathering facts about Berliners' social surroundings. 1 Using a video camera gave students the ability to monitor their speaking skills, to concretize and share their perceptions of the city, and to recognize the importance of the information they were gaining by talking with Berliners.
Learning how to work with a camera was both challenging and exciting for the students. It brought their attention to the process of perception—what one sees, wants to film, tries to film, what does or does not communicate one's experience. Because video is a new tool in analysis and exposition, students showed considerable awareness of the steps involved in deciding what to include in their tapes. Working in small groups, they could follow their creation of meaning. By taking the interviews conducted in the city back to the classroom they were able to look for types of meaning they could not assess while conducting an interview in the target language. In the classroom they could relive the exchange from the security of their own cultural context, and in attempting to tolerate their ambiguous feelings about the foreign culture, they could often find support from other students.
Our home for the course and the video work was the International Youth Center at Glienicke Hunting Lodge (Internationale Begegnungsstätte Jagdschloβ Glienicke). The IBJG was founded in 1964 to plan, conduct, and evaluate programs in which groups of young people, most of them no older than twenty-six, come together from different countries to study and discuss a particular topic or set of issues. Such sites were organized beginning in 1948 for Internationale Begegnungen ‘international encounters or exchanges’ to encourage participants to discuss together the problems they face in their respective countries. The first such educational institution, the Internationaler Arbeitskreis Sonnenberg, was founded in Braunschweig. Its concept was a mixture of nineteenth-century British traditions of adult education and the Allies' denazification plans. The early educational approaches stressed cognitive learning about the countries' political systems as the basis for facilitating understanding between their citizens. The exchanges initially focused on bringing Germans together with French and Israelis so that the three could better understand one another. Gradually this “political education” became less concerned with democratic institutions on the whole and more with particular issues.
The center, located at the southwest corner of what had been West Berlin, also helped us to understand German unification by forcefully calling attention to the existence—or nonexistence—of the wall. For over thirty years, the Glienicke Center was bounded on two sides by the wall and on one side by the Havel river, patrolled by border police in boats. The demarcation line is out of the water today, and an asphalt road now leads behind the center to connect what was once an isolated village at the edge of the German Democratic Republic to bus and train lines taking passengers into the center of West Berlin. By 1991 the territory on the other side of where the wall once stood had the feel of “normal,” everyday life, though somehow from a different time period. During free time students crossed the Glienicke Bridge, where spies had on occasion been exchanged between East and West. They walked to the city of Potsdam, Frederick the Great's castle Sanssouci, or the Cecilienhof Lodge, where the peace arrangements for the end of World War II had been signed.
The IBJG's concept of intercultural learning as a process that allows for conflict was important to the way we worked through our experiences with German unification. In the last ten years the center has moved from a cognitive to an interactional model of international understanding. Werner Müller addresses barriers to communication in the “intercultural context” at the international centers in 1982 and identifies “intercultural learning” as a 1985 coinage by Diether Breitenbach. The learning process this term describes is as relevant to addressing conflicts that stem from seminar participants' different cultural codes as it is to analyzing the codes themselves. The other culture is explored not only from an analytic position but also within the subjective experience of foreignness, with its attendant confusion, annoyance, or pleasure. This intercultural teaching occurs when a particular obstacle to understanding arises for a group and the foreignness of the situation can be discussed. In such situations, like the episode at the party when a Berliner's anti-Turkish statements led to a minidebate on how harmoniously diverse the United States really is, seminar participants can learn to identify stereotypes in their thinking and begin to distance themselves intellectually from their cultural biases or preferences.
Rosy Peisker, from the IBJG, worked with Remmler and me to facilitate the intercultural dimension of our course. 2 She encouraged us to keep general background lectures to a minimum and to allow time for students to investigate how their past and their perceptions affected the way they processed what they experienced in Berlin. She sent them on walking tours, for example, and asked them to record the impressions they gathered through all their five senses.
The IBJG, which as a learning center had had years of practice in organizing experiential learning, inspired us to use educational approaches in Berlin that would not be available to us at an American study site, where students' work needs to be judged quantitatively and qualitatively for grades. Peisker had been developing concepts and exercises for an audience made up primarily of Europeans, who can receive paid vacations from their jobs ( Bildungsurlaube ) for participating in adult education programs. They typically commit themselves to participate in one-week exchanges in Berlin with groups from at least one other country and then, in subsequent years, to visit the home countries of those groups and meet again. 3 But we, as university educators, could not expect a two- to three-year commitment from our students. Remmler and I had to combine the experiential component of our program with teaching and testing historical, social, and cultural background information. Particularly in the first week, we strove to teach German language and culture in a traditional format and then to provide the supplementary material needed for students' individual forays into the foreign space. We tried to meet specific requirements by organizing exercises that would take our students further into the city in open-ended ways but would at the same time provide a way for them to mark their steps into the new territory. Showing their video essays to Berlin guests at a party at the end of the course was to be the pinnacle of their cultural exchange. Although it was indeed that, it was not an easily consumable performance of mastered cultural skills.
In the beginning of the course, students were asked to make themselves aware of various levels of experience in Berlin by exploring the city in concentric circles from our center, with interview questions in hand for shopkeepers and passersby on the street as well as for interviewees whom they had selected for a particular topic. Another assignment, suggested by Peisker, was to explore the nearby city of Potsdam, on the other side of what was once the Berlin wall, and to write down their impressions during an unguided walk through its neighborhoods. Then they divided into small groups to ask directions and find a particular place, such as the former Dutch or Russian area of the town, the Sanssouci castle, or a former Stasi interrogation and prison compound enclosed in a circle of houses. They were instructed to describe what seemed non-American to them about these places.
At a later stage, students were asked to become familiar with the video camera as an instrument of perception. Although, as pointed out above, this tool would limit their field of vision, it would also allow them to communicate with others in a variety of ways. They first used the cameras to interview one another in the vicinity of our center, and then, continuing to think about how their cameras saw, ventured out to videotape in other areas of the city. Their increased sensitivity to how modes of perception focus what can be seen and understood influenced how they gathered facts, chose people to interview, and conducted conversations about particular topics in front of the camera.
During the second week of the course, while they were learning how to work with the camera, they decided on the following topics for their essays: how young people in eastern and western Berlin view unification, the economic redevelopment of the former German Democratic Republic, Jewish identities in a unified Germany, changes in social programs that affect women's employability in the new eastern states in the Federal Republic, the situation of Poles trying to settle in Berlin, and the relationship between Turks and Germans in the Kreuzberg district of former West Berlin. In the end students were asked to hand in both a small-group video essay and an individually written analysis of the interviews. The interplay of their creative and analytic endeavors helped them process broader aspects of their experiences.
Whenever American students go to another country, they will encounter foreignness and the need to learn interculturally. This experience is intensified in a country where borders have recently changed and political identity is being renegotiated. Studying in reunified Berlin, in a part of Germany that has put an end to its state structure and is suffering great economic hardship, the participants in our program felt the contradictions in this process all the more. Still, this educational opportunity does not stand alone. Similar conditions exist all over Africa and Eastern Europe, but perhaps also in conservative cultures like the one in France. This article is an appeal for culture studies that take to heart Benedict Anderson's description of nations as “imagined communities” and that examine the conflicts between social identities within specific geopolitical boundaries. Teaching culture in this way involves what Julia Kristeva describes as an ethic for balancing the “rights and duties of citizens with respect to non-citizens,” one that would “reveal, discuss, and spread a concept of human dignity, wrested from the euphoria of classic humanists and laden with the alienations, dramas, and dead ends of our condition as speaking beings” (154, 153).
Kristeva reminds us that the relationship between outsiders and those who belong to a group or country is central to the basic structure of human society. For over 2,000 years the Western world has posited foreigners and regulated relationships with them. Students, however, are largely unaware of this history; they need to know how Euripides sets up the non-Greek as the barbarian, how Stoicism assimilates foreigners at the cost of their visibility, and how foreigners themselves, as the history of Christianity shows, can become a powerful community that designates and persecutes heretics. Kristeva hopes that by reexamining texts from ancient Greece, the Middle Ages, the Renaissance, the French Revolution, German Romanticism, and nazism, we will be able to recognize a “toccata and fugue” of relationships with foreigners and to examine our problems with cosmopolitanism (41).
The nation-state has established the modern configuration of community that excludes foreigners as noncitizens. Machiavelli paved the way for the nation-state by calling for a strong central power in a unified Italy capable of defending itself against outside cultures. Herder helped develop the concept by equating the nation with language and culture, the spiritual base that legitimizes a political state. We can distinguish between the rights of citizens who belong to a particular state and the universal rights necessary to human dignity. As Kristeva's words at the beginning of this paper make clear, in a world of nation-states we fear not belonging and not having certain guaranteed rights, whether we do so unconsciously, as American citizens do today, or more consciously, as did Jewish emigrants from Germany in 1938 and as Palestinians do in 1992.
In psychological terms, when the foreigner acts according to codes that are not part of our society, we are reminded of the arbitrariness of our own rules and of the tenuousness with which we sometimes conform to them. As Freud points out, we repress the foreignness at the center of our unconscious in order to be part of the community. It is our fear of becoming like the foreigners standing outside the social group and our anger at the apparent freedom with which they behave within the group that give rise to our animosity toward them. Kristeva reasons that accepting the foreigner reflects our acceptance of the compromises we have had to make to be part of a particular society. Facing the foreigner or the experience of estrangement brings back into our awareness the conscious and unconscious decisions we have made in the past so that we can belong. Only a third of our students professed to having known, before leaving for Berlin, what it felt like to be a foreigner.
Outside their country, as at home, American students' naive curiosity often reflects their unquestioned sense of identity. They do not necessarily know a great deal about the other culture they are visiting, but they are willing to learn by asking basic questions of the host country's citizens. In a positive sense they are often unencumbered by massive intellectual baggage concerning what they “should” know about the history, culture, or institutions of the country. Despite the benefits of their spontaneous question raising, we must recognize that few American students have developed the skills needed to express the experience of not belonging to the country in which they find themselves. 4
With an essentially static perspective on their American identity, many students from the United States do not easily see a cultural identity as something that is constantly undergoing change. In fact, the students in our course tended at first to think of post-1989 Germany as having a unified identity reflecting the removal of the borders between the two former German states. Viewed from across the ocean, the process of German unification might seem to imply the instantaneous creation of a single national identity cast in a Western model. On-site in Berlin, however, it becomes evident that a plethora of identities coexist and vie for influence within the country.
Video projects took students from the University of Wisconsin, Madison, and Mount Holyoke College into various parts of Berlin. They interviewed other students in front of the Free University in the west and the Humboldt University in the east; in different financial institutions, such as the Treuhand, which oversees the privatization of businesses in the east; and in the Jewish Community Center in the west. Some Berliners graciously consented to being interviewed in their apartments, where they talked about how different generations in their families or people in professions like medicine and law are having their fields of knowledge revised. Others took members of our group through neighborhoods in the Kreuzberg district; once an economically isolated area jutting into what was East Berlin, it has been catapulted to the center of the unified city and is now facing gentrification. Students actively practiced Kristeva's ethic by documenting the state of flux among social groups, institutions, and neighborhoods in the Berlin of summer 1991. While students grappled with issues of cultural identity and foreignness during unification, they also put images of themselves as outsiders in Berlin into their visual essays. Although our study-abroad course has unique features, its video component and thematization of identity as culturally contested can be integrated into a broad range of foreign language and area studies classes.
Language and literature teaching that focuses on culture does not often address the element of foreignness as an experiential part of learning. The German Studies Association states in its 1987 curriculum guidelines for German studies programs that “intercultural competence” must be one of the goals of education in America:
Although English is widely used in international communications, intercultural competence and the ability to speak foreign languages are essential for deeper mutual understanding and for the development of lasting relationships, both personal and professional. (3)
The GSA calls for “the interdisciplinary study of the contemporary cultural, social, economic, and political life of the German-speaking peoples in their historical and international context” and goes on to list numerous topics of comparison between the United States and the German-speaking countries (4). While it discusses the benefits of exchange programs, it makes no explicit reference to the need for developing a way of learning during breakdowns in intercultural communication. A cognitive understanding of customs and institutions in the target culture helps, but does not suffice, to make barriers to communication comprehensible. That the study of another language and area of the world can engage our deep-seated ambivalences about foreigners in our midst and our uneasiness at being exposed as foreigners in another country is usually ignored. Remmler and I had not planned to foreground foreignness in teaching German unification. Our own and our students' struggle to understand the psychological barriers between people on the buses, subways, and streets motivated the shift in focus. In a more or less conscious effort, as one student described it, “to let students know that what they were feeling was legitimate,” we adapted not just the material but the way we taught. The tumultuous joining of the two German states and economies makes it impossible to overlook the contested cultural identities created as narratives of “Germanness” are reformulating. 5
Karen Jankowsky is Assistant Professor of German at the University of Wisconsin, Madison.
1 Alois Wierlacher developed the concept of empowering individuals to see themselves as experts on their own cultures when they meet with representatives of other cultures, and Dieter Adolphs, Sandra Boschetto, and Diane Shoos have adapted the principle to intercultural teaching in the United States. Students of Spanish, French, and German meet separately and collectively to discuss films and works of literature from the three cultures they are studying.
2 Other teachers who have left their mark on the course include tony Voss, Jürgen Eichhoff, and Harald de la Sauce, who was the director of the IBJG in 1984, when we began planning for our first Berlin course. Without the assistance and enthusiasm of Gerhild Scholz Williams at Washington University, Karen Remmler and I—as graduate students—could not have organized that first 1986 program. I am indebted to the Fulbright Council for International Exchange of Scholars for funding my research in Berlin during the winter of 1990–91. In this period I gained an on-site understanding of the unification process while working on a book on Berlin women writers and questions of national identity.
3 For an overview of the West German organizations that conduct youth exchanges and their working concepts, see Internationaler Jugendaustausch- and Besucherdienst; Landesjugendring Berlin; Neumann; Otten; and Rademacher. See also Broschek and Kloninger's concept paper on approaching Berlin through experiential geography and the workbook distributed by the Berlin Information Center.
4 Valters Nollendorfs has described the benefits of this American learning style by comparing it with the cautiousness of his students in Latvia.
5 I am indebted to Karen Remmler for her suggestions on the structure of an earlier version of this article and to Cora Lee Nollendorfs, Dieter Adolphs, James Steakley, and Karen Till for their thorough comments on how to bring together the different levels of scholarship and experience in this text.
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———. Der Mauerspringer . Darmstadt: Luchterhand, 1982.
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© 1992 by the Association of Departments of Foreign Languages. All Rights Reserved.
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