Foreign Front: Third World Politics in Sixties West Germany 9780822395041

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FOREIGN FRONT

A book in the series

Radical Perspectives: A Radical History Review book series Series editors: Daniel J. Walkowitz, New York University Barbara Weinstein, New York University

Quinn Slobodian

FOREIGN FRONT Third World Politics in Sixties West Germany

Duke University Press

Durham & London

2012

∫ 2012 Duke University Press All rights reserved Printed in the United States of America on acid-free paper $ Designed by C. H. Westmoreland Typeset in Minion Pro with Quadraat by Keystone Typesetting, Inc. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data appear on the last printed page of this book. Duke University Press gratefully acknowledges the support of Wellesley College, which provided funds toward the publication of this book.

CONTENTS

About the Series vii Acknowledgments ix Abbreviations xi Introduction 1 1. Dissident Guests 17 2. Third Worldism and Collaboration 51 3. The Rupture of Vietnam 78 4. The Missing Bodies of June 2 101 5. Corpse Polemics 135 6. The Cultural Revolution in West Germany 170 Conclusion 200 Notes 209 Works Cited 265 Index 287

ABOUT THE SERIES

History, as radical historians have long observed, cannot be severed from authorial subjectivity, indeed from politics. Political concerns animate the questions we ask, the subjects on which we write. For over thirty years the Radical History Review has led in nurturing and advancing politically engaged historical research. Radical Perspectives seeks to further the journal’s mission: any author wishing to be in the series makes a self-conscious decision to associate her or his work with a radical perspective. To be sure, many of us are currently struggling with the issue of what it means to be a radical historian in the early twenty-first century, and this series is intended to provide some signposts for what we would judge to be radical history. It will o√er innovative ways of telling stories from multiple perspectives; comparative, transnational, and global histories that transcend conventional boundaries of region and nation; works that elaborate on the implications of the postcolonial move to ‘‘provincialize’’ Europe; studies of the public in and of the past, including those that consider the commodification of the past; and histories that explore the intersection of identities such as gender, race, class, and sexuality with an eye to their political implications and complications. Above all, this book series seeks to create an important intellectual space and discursive community to explore the very issue of what constitutes radical history. Within this context, some of the books published in the series may privilege alternative and oppositional political cultures, but all will be concerned with the way power is constituted, contested, used, and abused. No oppositional political culture has received more attention from historians in recent years than the student movements of the 1960s. However, even sympathetic studies of the New Left and the Sixties tend to favor a narrative that locates its origins in Europe and the United States, and separates (following Jürgen Habermas) a ‘‘good’’ student left—that advocated broader liberalization and human rights, in the Enlightenment

viii About the Series

tradition—from a ‘‘bad’’ one that tragically degenerated into narcissism and violence, inspired by a warped vision of Third World revolution. These dual assumptions are boldly and persuasively challenged in Quinn Slobodian’s superb study of the German student movement of the 1960s, Foreign Front. The early chapters trace the crucial role played by thousands of foreign students from Asia, Africa, and Latin America, enrolled in West German universities, in both inspiring and mobilizing the first manifestations of German student protest during the 1960s. Indeed, Slobodian suggests that the international wave of demonstrations following the assassination of Congolese leader Patrice Lumumba in 1961—protests in which African and other Third World students played a central role— would be a more appropriate starting point for a global history of the sixties than the oft-cited Berkeley Free Speech Movement that began in 1964. It was flesh and blood political actors from the ‘‘Third World,’’ often speaking in the language of democratization and human rights, who helped inject concerns about neo-colonialism and U.S. imperialism into political debates at German universities. To quote Slobodian, ‘‘West German Third-Worldism did not inhabit a realm of fantasy separate from political reality for New Leftists,’’ despite the utopian elements contained in this perspective. The result of his meticulous research and innovative perspective is a book that genuinely decenters the history of the student left and that allows us to appreciate the significance of a Third World politics that amounted to much more than simply a projection of the desires of ‘‘Western’’ students. For all these reasons, it is a very welcome addition to the Radical Perspectives series.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

This book was a collective e√ort, and I am happy to add some of the names that should trail mine on the title page. My immense gratitude goes to my doctoral adviser, Molly Nolan at New York University, for her support, wisdom, and much-needed proof that critical scholarship and political integrity can coexist. At nyu, the work and mentorship of Jane Burbank, Jane Caplan, Fred Cooper, Manu Goswami, and Marilyn Young challenged and guided me through the completion of the dissertation out of which this book came. Kristin Ross and Maria Höhn, two scholars whose work I greatly admire, were gracious enough to be readers on the dissertation, for which I was very thankful. Among my fellow graduate students at nyu, Elisabetta Bini, Maggie Clinton, Sasha Disko, Simon Jackson, Leigh Claire LaBerge, Michael Palm, Michelle Standley, and Matthew Wendeln were colleagues and friends. Our reading groups, with their rotating membership, gave space for ideas to grow while forcing us to defend their relevance. At nyu, academic work overlapped with union work, and my colleagues in gsoc / uaw inspired me about the role of organized academic labor in the United States. The travels of research and writing created new friendships. My thanks go to Christina Gerhardt, Rüdiger Graf, Jennifer Ruth Hosek, Kris Manjapra, Jennifer A. Miller, John Munro, and Dieter Plehwe for conversations and collaborations. In Berlin, I had the pleasure of spending a few months at the apo Archive in Lankwitz, where Ulrike Groß welcomed me with instant co√ee and conversation while her dog Blue slept between the archive’s shelves. The archivists at the Hamburg Institute for Social Research, the Federal Archive in Koblenz and Berlin, the Deutsche Kinemathek, and the Political Archive of the Foreign O≈ce were also helpful and welcoming. Since being at Wellesley College, I have profited from the support and guidance of colleagues both inside and outside of the History Department.

x Acknowledgments

My deep thanks are due to Barbara Weinstein and Daniel Walkowitz for their faith in this project and to Valerie Millholland, Gisela Fosado, and others at Duke University Press for seeing it through. The input of two anonymous readers was also indispensable for turning the dissertation into a book. A version of chapter 1 was first published as ‘‘Dissident Guests: AfroAsian Students and Transnational Activism in the West German Protest Movement,’’ in Migration and Activism in Europe Since 1945, edited by Wendy Pojmann (New York: Palgrave, 2008), and appears here with permission of Palgrave Macmillan. A version of chapter 5 was first published as ‘‘Corpse Polemics: The Third World and the Politics of Gore in 1960s West Germany,’’ in Between the Avant-Garde and the Everyday: Subversive Politics in Europe, 1958–2008, edited by Timothy S. Brown and Lorena Anton (New York: Berghahn, 2011). And a part of chapter 6 was first published as ‘‘What Does Democracy Look Like (and Why Would Anyone Want to Buy it)?: Third World Demands and West German Responses at 1960s World Youth Festivals,’’ in Cold War Cultures: Perspectives on Eastern and Western European Societies, edited by Thomas Lindenberger, Annette Vowinckel, and Bernd Stöver (New York: Berghahn, 2011). Finally, while this book might exist without them—scholarly asceticism is nothing new—the person completing it would not feel as fulfilled and fortunate as I do without the friends and family that surrounded me along the way. To Hadji, Molly, Ryan, Andy, Lisa, and David, whose love and thoughts I benefit from and depend on. To my sister Mayana for her friendship and love. To my sister Katrina and her husband Stephàne, who produced three (!) beautiful children in the time it took me to produce this pile of pages. To my Baba for her courage and her humor. To my parents who see the world through charmed eyes and share their love with everyone around them. And to Michelle, who just went out for co√ee, but who will be back in a few minutes, a fact that makes life full. Berlin, August 2011

ABBREVIATIONS

aa apo apvo asta auma bmi brd bv ccp cdu cia cisnu daad ddr dffb dgb dm faasu fdj

Auswärtiges Amt (Federal Foreign O≈ce) Außerparlamentarische Opposition (Extra-Parliamentary Opposition) Ausländer-Polizeiverordnung (Foreigner Police Order) Allgemeiner Studentenausschuss (General Student Union) Ausstellungs- und Messe-Ausschuss der Deutschen Wirtschaft (Association of the German Trade Fair Industry) Bundesministerium des Innern (Federal Ministry of the Interior) Bundesrepublik Deutschland (Federal Republic of Germany, West Germany) Bundesvorstand (Federal Committee) Chinese Communist Party Christlich Demokratische Union (Christian Democratic Union) U.S. Central Intelligence Agency Confederation of Iranian Students, National Union Deutscher Akademischer Austauschdienst (German Academic Exchange Service) Deutsche Demokratische Republik (German Democratic Republic, East Germany) Deutscher Film- und Fernsehakademie Berlin (German Film and Television Academy), Berlin Deutscher Gewerkschaftsbund (Confederation of German Trade Unions) Deutsche Mark Föderation der Afro-asiatischen Studenten-Unionen (Federation of Afro-Asian Student Unions) Freie Deutscher Jugend (Free German Youth)

xii Abbreviations

fis frg fu gdr hsu hu inf kfa kz lsd nato neum nlf oau savak sds sed shb spd ss tu uar ugean un vds vgsa vis vlr 1 wescpv

Federation of Iranian Students Federal Republic of Germany (West Germany) Freie Universität (Free University), West Berlin German Democratic Republic (East Germany) Humanistische Studenten-Union (Humanist Student Union) Humanist Union Iranian National Front Kampagne für Abrüstung (Campaign for Disarmament) Konzentrationslager (concentration camp) Liberal Student Union North Atlantic Treaty Organization Non-European Unity Movement National Front for the Liberation of South Vietnam Organization of African Unity Sazeman-e Ettela’at va Amniyat-e Keshvar (National Intelligence and Security Organization), Iran Sozialistischer Deutscher Studentenbund (Socialist German Students Union) Sozialistische Einheitspartei Deutschlands (Socialist Unity Party of Germany) Sozialdemokratischer Hochschulbund (Social Democratic University Union) Sozialdemokratische Partei Deutschlands (Social Democratic Party of Germany) Schutzsta√el Technische Universität (Technical University) United Arab Republic Students of Black Africa under Portuguese Rule United Nations Verband deutscher Studentenschaften (Association of German Students ) Verein Griechischer Studenten und Akademiker (Union of Greek Students and Academics) Vereinigung Irakischer Studenten (Iraqi Student Union) Vortragender Legationsrat, 1. Klasse (Ministerial Counsellor, First Class) Western European Student Committee for Peace in Vietnam

INTRODUCTION

Sometimes he knows a great deal about the international political situation. It keenly interests him, and he feels connected to young people on other continents. This often means fighting against those that want to endow him with their way of seeing the world. He sometimes becomes alienated from his homeland under such circumstances. Through this act of distancing, I have understood him better. We belong together at this distance. —Patrice Mandeng, a Cameroonian student, on the West German student, 1967

In January 1962, the West German leftist magazine Konkret printed a photograph of a monument to German colonialism (see figure 1). A stone soldier in a uniform spattered with bird droppings stood as if on guard in front of Hamburg University. Near the bottom of the photograph and easily overlooked, a black hand reached in from the left margin, burying the teeth of a saw in the statue’s plinth. Formerly colonized populations, the photomontage suggested, were set to topple the soiled and pitted remnants of colonialism. In the accompanying article, the journalist Jürgen Holtkamp justified the prediction of colonial overthrow with reports on the local and international mobilization of African and Asian political actors: the demonstrations of black African students in Cologne after the murder of the Congolese leader Patrice Lumumba; the protests of Iranian students across West Germany against the policies of the shah; the conference of the Non-Aligned Movement in Belgrade in 1961; the departure of the Portuguese from Goa; and the successful demands of postcolonial countries in the United Nations. ‘‘Word of the Copernican discovery of the twentieth century is starting to get around,’’ he concluded. ‘‘Old Europe is no longer the center of the world.’’∞ Five years later, metaphor became reality when West German students

2 Introduction

1. Statue of the German colonial hero Hans Dominik being sawn by a dark-skinned hand in a photomontage in Konkret magazine (January 1962). The statue stood in front of Hamburg University until West German leftist students tore it down in September 1967.

tore down the very monument in the photomontage. Members of the largest and most active student group, the Sozialistischer Deutscher Studentenbund (German Socialist Students Organization; sds) pulled down the statue of Hans Dominik, a leader of colonial troops in Cameroon, along with a statue of the colonial leader Hermann von Wißmann in September 1967.≤ The students carried Wißmann across the street, propped him up in the cafeteria line, painted him red, and hung a collection box on him for activists’ legal fees.≥ The students linked their act of iconoclasm to a series of events in the developing world. They called for a celebration of ‘‘the eighteenth anniversary of the founding of the People’s Republic of China, the fall of Wißmann and [West Berlin’s mayor Heinrich] Albertz, the victories of the Vietcong, the struggles of the liberation movements in Latin America and the social revolution in Africa.’’∂ Their statement suggested a shift in the key locations of political struggle to sites beyond Europe and North America and cast West German radicals as partners in the international project of de-centering the map of world politics.

Introduction 3

Decolonization and the subsequent emergence of the Third World as a political category helped split the West German left in the 1960s. The students and intellectuals of a self-described New Left rejected the Old Left of labor and social democracy for its abandonment of the language of class struggle, its rigid Cold War mentality, and its refusal to criticize U.S. overseas military interventions. Coming of age during the ‘‘economic miracle,’’ many young West Germans used their free time and prosperity to push their elders on their own claims.∑ They asked penetrating questions. Why should a self-described democracy outlaw the opposition as the West German government had with the ban on the Communist Party in 1956? Why was the Soviet invasion of Hungary an outrage but the violent suppression of independence movements in Algeria and Angola by ‘‘free world’’ allies was not? What remained of democracy when the major parties of the right and the left formed a single coalition, as they did in 1966? If West German social democracy had been bought o√ by consumer capitalism and East German communism was su√ocating in authoritarian conformity, what was Left? Scrutinizing the claims of both Germanies to the label of democracy, New Leftists found both of them wanting. Children of the Cold War themselves, they questioned the received geopolitical categories and looked for options beyond the blocs. The space newly dubbed the Third World seemed like one source of political alternatives. The Asian-African Conference of 1955 held in Bandung, Indonesia, first brought the existence of a third geopolitical position to world attention. Leaders such as Jawaharlal Nehru of India, Sukarno of Indonesia, and Gamal Abedel Nasser of Egypt articulated their desire to follow a path of national economic development free of intervention by empires, whether old European or new Soviet or American. The formation of the Non-Aligned Movement in 1961 added Josip Broz Tito’s Yugoslavia to the bloc and another heterodox form of socialism with it. After 1959, a more radical alternative emerged in revolutionary Cuba, which a West German New Left journalist described in 1962 as a ‘‘permanent celebration.’’∏ These shifts on the world stage registered with the nascent West German New Left. Arguably more important, however, were the proximate interactions with members of the Third World at home. As foreign students arrived in West Germany in large numbers from Africa, Asia, and Latin America, they helped the New Left stake out its political position. Already mobilized by struggles for decolonization and democracy in

4 Introduction

their own countries, foreign students pushed West Germans to support their campaigns for political and economic self-determination. For a largely quiescent West German university population at the beginning of the 1960s, foreign students served as models of the politically active student. Seeding theories of New Left internationalism, some socialist student leaders also took the activism of their foreign colleagues as proof that the Third World could be the source of political energy that they felt the Western working class had lost. Acts of state violence drove West Germans to act and emotionally bound them to others worldwide. Crowds flooded the streets of national capitals across six continents after the murder of Lumumba in 1961; rolling demonstrations followed authoritarian heads of state on their diplomatic travels; and hundreds of thousands marched against the Vietnam War on internationally coordinated days of protest. For West Germans, state violence came home on June 2, 1967, when a police o≈cer shot twenty-six-year-old Benno Ohnesorg fatally in the back of the head during a demonstration organized by Iranian students against the shah. Under the truncheon blows of the police, West German activists developed an a√ectively powerful sense of shared victimization and shared political self-understanding with both distant Third World colleagues and those protesting alongside them. As the Vietnam War discredited postwar Western liberal democracy, West German New Leftists reoriented their politics eastward and southward. In the course of the decade, the focus shifted from Bandung to Havana to Beijing. Viewed extremely optimistically, revolutionary Cuba and the Chinese Cultural Revolution o√ered models of communism without a party. The Cuban model of the foco, or miniature guerrilla group, and Mao’s order to ‘‘bombard the headquarters’’ seemed to carry forward the communist principles that had stalled in the bureaucratic forms of Eastern Europe. As described by Ernesto ‘‘Che’’ Guevara and Régis Debray, the foco worked through improvisation and spontaneous adaptation to local circumstances rather than mass party-line orthodoxy. The permanently mobilized Red Guard and the foco group in the Sierra Maestras seemed to embody the unity of politics and everyday life. Like the Vietcong, they also provided the prospect of creating ‘‘liberated zones,’’ where forms of human interaction could be renovated from the ground up. While a tiny fraction of radicals chose to bring Guevara’s ‘‘propaganda of the bullet’’ to West Germany by the end of the decade, many

Introduction 5

more switched their attention from the seizure of state power to the transformation of mentalities and forms of everyday life. Creative reworkings of Maoism and the Chinese Cultural Revolution helped New Leftists understand culture as the site where the perpetuation of systematized oppression was enabled and where it could be opposed. West German activists earned insight and a sense of political authority from their work alongside Third World colleagues throughout the decade. It was a foreign student who gave content to the broad and seemingly homogenizing category of ‘‘Third World’’ in 1967. In a bestselling book, the Iranian intellectual and West German resident Bahman Nirumand praised the term as the first to describe Africa, Asia, and Latin America as political rather than economic entities.π For Nirumand and West German New Leftists, the category of the Third World did not denote comparative backwardness or inferiority. To be third was not to be last or behind but to be something new, and something more. Through concrete collaboration, activism, and engagement with political theories, the New Left brought the Third World close in the 1960s, making it a partner in dialogue, and an object of ongoing interaction.

The Third World in the Story of Germany’s ’68 Despite the breadth and complexity of this interaction, the Third World has had a curious fate in the scholarship and memory of the West German 1960s. The more time passes, the more it seems to disappear. Scholars and former activists insist that the Third World of West German radicals never actually existed. It was an artifact of their own imagination and a ‘‘projection screen’’ for their self-centered revolutionary yearnings.∫ The stories told about the era known as ’68 help explain this fate. In popular and scholarly imagination, ’68 has become the moment when West Germany began to earn its place among the Western democracies.Ω The protest movement challenged tradition and unleashed creative energies. Novel forms of sexuality and self-expression undermined the vestigial conservative mores of the Third Reich, and a new postwar generation confronted its parents about the crimes of the Nazi past. Maturing into the Green Party, new social movements and citizens’ initiatives of the 1970s and 1980s, the youthful protesters helped initiate what the philosopher Jürgen Habermas called, in an oft-repeated phrase, a ‘‘fundamental

6 Introduction

liberalization’’ of West German society.∞≠ Historians have recently expanded responsibility for this sea change from the relatively small circle of activists to broader groups and structural changes, but the overall narrative stands.∞∞ The year 1968 is a turning point in a national success story, when a society sloughed o√ the residues of fascism and joined the democratic West. The first transnational histories of the West German 1960s have tended to reinforce this story line by linking the student movement westward to the United States. Martin Klimke, Maria Höhn, and other historians have provided a rich portrait of exchange by tracing the movement of protest tactics, influences, and individuals across the Atlantic.∞≤ They have shown how entangled the West German and U.S. student movements were, from the presence of a West German sds member at the drafting of the Port Huron Statement in 1962 to years of collaborations on gi desertion campaigns and the travels of Black Panthers to West Germany in the late 1960s. Klimke follows the unexpected outcomes of the attempts to entrench West Germany institutionally in the U.S.-led bloc as West Germans on Fulbright exchange programs brought home critiques of U.S. military power and race politics and U.S. exchange students in the Federal Republic of Germany became participants in overseas antiwar activism. These interactions produced what he calls ‘‘the other alliance’’ between West German and U.S. activists in the shadow of their governments’ Cold War partnership. The alliance produced concrete policy outcomes. Höhn shows how it brought attention to issues of racism within the U.S. military ‘‘at the highest level of government in both countries’’ by the end of the decade.∞≥ The United States was the dominant international presence in West Germany in the 1960s, as it was in much of the world. The global scope of U.S. soft and hard power in the decade made it impossible to speak about the world without simultaneously speaking about ‘‘America,’’ to use the name that co-opted two continents. Its influence even overdetermined apparently Third World issues, as in the case of the Vietnam War, which was simultaneously about a postcolonial nation and about the United States. Critiques of imperialism emerging from the West German New Left reflected this fact, ascribing to the United States a universal, and sometimes nearly omnipotent, force. By the end of the decade, it became the referent for all expressions of power beyond national borders for New Leftists. Even the Soviet Union was portrayed in a reactive role.

Introduction 7

Historians have a clear responsibility to document the hypertrophy of U.S. power in the 1960s, as Klimke and others have done. Yet it is also their role to qualify it and bring back to light some of what Arif Dirlik calls the ‘‘alternative futures’’ and alternative alliances obscured by U.S. dominance.∞∂ More than ten thousand students from Asia, Africa, and Latin America were on West German campuses at the beginning of the 1960s, ten times more than from the United States.∞∑ Later in the decade, a preregistration list for the sds’s climactic International Vietnam Congress in West Berlin in February 1968 showed three participants expected from the United States but seventy-five from the Iranian student organization alone.∞∏ Pioneering works by activist-historians such as Werner Balsen, Karl Rössel, Siegward Lönnendonker, and Tilman Fichter in the 1970s and 1980s were well aware of these alternative connections.∞π Höhn and Klimke, too, are mindful of the insu≈ciency of an exclusive focus on the U.S.–West German relationship. Klimke points to the need for further transnational research on the non-West, a call to which this book is, in part, a response.∞∫ Yet some other voices are less careful and risk portraying ’68 as an innerWestern project and postwar student activism as an American invention. Wolfgang Kraushaar, for example, writes that the international student movement ‘‘had its origins without any doubt in the West’’—more precisely, in the West of the United States, in the Berkeley Free Speech Movement of 1964.∞Ω Norbert Frei similarly began a recent monograph on ‘‘youth revolt and global protest’’ in the 1960s with a chapter titled ‘‘In the Beginning There Was America.’’≤≠ The Third World is altogether absent in his book, which is divided into sections on ‘‘the West’’ of North America, Western Europe, and Japan and ‘‘the East’’ of Eastern Europe. The narrative of U.S. origins is repeated in the German press. In March 2009, Josef Jo√e wrote in the liberal weekly Die Zeit that the ‘‘cultural revolution in the West was born on October 1, 1964, in Berkeley, California.’’≤∞ The influence of the United States, on both West German society and the West German New Left, was undeniably significant and complex. Yet to locate the beginnings of all postwar student politics there betrays a serious oversight of the global process of decolonization under way since the end of the Second World War. Students had been central in decadeslong struggles against colonial rule that, by any measure, were radical attempts to expand political rights and realize the ‘‘concrete utopia’’ of new societies that Frei finds the origins of in the United States.≤≤ In Africa,

8 Introduction

as with other formerly colonial regions, the first generation of postindependence leaders came from the ranks of former student activists, and students remained an influential force after independence both in support of and opposition to postcolonial governments.≤≥ These mobilizations sent currents of ideas and individuals into the First World from the end of the 1950s onward. Paul Kramer has argued that foreign students of color were important protagonists in the early U.S. Civil Rights Movement.≤∂ Penny von Eschen, Robin D. G. Kelley, John Munro, and Nikhil Pal Singh have shown that anticolonial activist networks linked the United States and Africa long before the 1960s.≤∑ Other scholars have pointed to the catalytic role of the Cuban Revolution for both African American and white activists and the significance of the Asian-African Conference in Bandung in transforming the grounds for leftist politics in the United States.≤∏ These studies make clear that the United States was not the birthplace of international student politics but was itself responding to developments beyond its borders. Local actors read global politics through domestic concerns and gained a sense of membership in a political space that crossed the borders of Cold War dichotomies. Third World Marxism was strong in the United States, and scholars have shown its influence on the African American, Latino/a, Asian American, feminist, and labor movements that organized in the late 1960s and 1970s.≤π The story line for the U.S. 1960s is one of radicalization and eventual political balkanization. Some scholars and observers praise the turn to gender, race, and ethnicity as necessary, and others condemn it as a tragic loss of movement unity. Although armed groups such as the Weather Underground emerged in the United States, they were a sideshow to the new identitarian movements. In West Germany, by contrast, the turn by some New Leftists to left-wing terrorism is the most important immediate sequel to 1968. It is here that the Third World makes its appearance in the dominant story line of ’68, acting as a dangerous Fata Morgana, luring radicals to swerve from the road to the West. From early on, the Third World o√ered an answer to a problem implicit in the ‘‘red to green’’ liberalization narrative of ’68—namely, how to explain the elements of violence that were also part of the era. If the ‘‘good ’68’’ was about a society learning to think independently and call authority to principles of democracy and justice, what about the ‘‘bad ’68,’’ which held that ‘‘the stone determines consciousness (der Stein bestimmt Bewusstsein)’’ and preached the pedagogical value of bodily clashes with

Introduction 9

the police?≤∫ More important, what about the ‘‘bad ’70s’’ of left-wing terrorism, when small groups of erstwhile New Leftists turned to bombing, kidnapping, and hijacking? Habermas himself suggested a solution as early as June 1968, when he first located the flaw of the New Left beyond the West in its relationship to the Third World. In a widely reproduced speech, he declared that one of the central misconceptions of the student movement was the notion that ‘‘our space of action is determined through an international unity of anti-capitalist protest.’’≤Ω Although he condoned consciousness-raising about the ‘‘barbarity’’ of the United States in Vietnam, he warned strongly that ‘‘identification, produced at the emotional level—with the role of the Vietcong, identification with the Negroes in the metropolitan slums, with the Brazilian guerrilla fighters, with the Chinese cultural revolutionaries or the heroes of the Cuban revolution—has no value as a political position. The situations here and there are as incomparable as the problems they create, and the methods with which they must be confronted.’’≥≠ Habermas made a similar point in a talk in New York in 1967 when he said that the ‘‘white middle-class kids’’ of the New Left had departed from European strains of anarchism like that of George Sorel when they adopted the ‘‘actionism and worldview . . . of Mao and Castro.’’≥∞ Recent work on the New Left has taken Habermas’s point on the fatefulness of the Third World turn as given. A recent history of the Red Army Faction uses this precise quote to introduce that group’s embrace of militancy.≥≤ Yet it is worth looking more closely at the moves that Habermas performs in this passage. On the surface, he makes a sensible link between strategy and milieu with which most New Leftists would agree. Responding to the speech in 1968, Claus O√e, a Frankfurt sds member, called it a ‘‘truism . . . that [political] forms cannot simply be copied from one country to the other.’’≥≥ At the same time, O√e insisted that there was indeed an ‘‘internationalism of protest.’’≥∂ His adamancy points to the fact that Habermas seemed not only to distinguish the milieus of the New Left’s ‘‘white middle-class kids’’ from those of Third World and nonwhite populations but also to de-link them and remove any ground for common action. Habermas’s statement contained an internal geography that mapped politics onto race onto populations in impermeable containers, with no potential for exchange or interaction. Non-whites, he implied, practiced a kind of violent, guerrilla politics that was appropriate to them but could not be transferred to First World whites. Whites, by

10 Introduction

contrast, practiced, or should practice, the politics of rational engagement and measured protest that he described in the rest of the speech. By casting Third World politics as a potential deviation from the salutary aspects of the West German protest movement, Habermas previewed the role that the non-Western world would play in the dominant story line of ’68. As the U.S. ‘‘War on Terror’’ has directed attention back to the West German state’s own battle with terrorist groups in the 1970s, scholars have increasingly cast Third World politics as the midwife to armed extremism.≥∑ Ingo Juchler expressed the interpretive position succinctly when he wrote that ‘‘engagement with the [Vietnam] conflict, Third World national liberation struggles in general and their theoreticians contributed to a political radicalization of parts of the student movement and an identification with these struggles, leading ultimately to the formation of terrorist ‘urban guerrilla’ groups in both the U.S. and West Germany.’’≥∏ In the only book that compares Third World influence on the U.S. and West German New Left, Juchler forsakes nuance to draw a straight line from the Third World to the terrorist underground. In the process of inserting the 1960s into a national story of civic maturation, the dominant narrative has conveniently found the sources of error beyond national borders. The Third World has become part of an alibi, explaining why elements of the New Left chose the road to armed militancy in the 1970s and keeping the ‘‘good ’68’’ available as part of a national narrative of post-fascist recovery. The terminology used to discuss the Third World helps support this one-dimensional portrayal. Scholars and former activists return consistently to the psychoanalytic terms of identification and projection to describe the New Left relationship to the Third World. The inflationary use of these terms in recent years can have the e√ect of distancing and dematerializing Third World politics, denying them an independent existence by making them symptoms of the West German psyche. The notion of the Third World as a ‘‘projection screen (Projektionsfläche)’’ for the desires of West German radicals has become especially common since the mid-1980s.≥π Its usage follows the analysis introduced by Edward Said in Orientalism (1978). In their basic form, analyses that follow Said maintain that the categories of ‘‘Self ’’ and ‘‘Other’’ can be transposed onto the West and the non-West, or any other apparent binaries, to see how cultural self-understanding is constructed in large part through negative comparison against an Other.

Introduction 11

In a number of recent studies, scholars have returned to the writings and activism of radicals of the 1960s to see which elements of West German identity their dreams of the Third World reveal.≥∫ Sara Lennox and Arlene Teraoka have argued that West German radicals identified with Third World revolutionaries to exonerate themselves as Germans and claim a position that transcended national sins.≥Ω The former activist Peter Schneider supported this notion in 1998, stating that internationalism was attractive first as ‘‘a means of escaping from a despicable skin, the skin of being a German.’’∂≠ Richard Jobs points out that ‘‘embracing foreignness’’ was widespread among young activists in 1968 in Western Europe as a means of expressing alienation from their own nations and solidarity with foreigners both distant and nearby.∂∞ Discussing the West German engagement with African American politics and culture in the 1960s and early 1970s, Moritz Ege has applied the work of the theorists Gilles Deleuze and Felix Guattari to speculate about whether the process of ‘‘becoming a minority’’ could be a defensible element of an ‘‘ethics of identification’’ for West Germans, promoting the ‘‘deterritorialization’’ and ‘‘erosion of received subjectivities.’’∂≤ While Ege’s engagement with the possibilities of identification is novel, he acknowledges his own inability to defend his proposed claim in political terms. He confesses that it is not clear why ‘‘real groups such as AfricanAmericans would have any interest . . . in making themselves available as mediums . . . for the metaphysical encounter between static Being and dynamic Becoming’’ for Germans.∂≥ The perverse legacy of Said’s Orientalism has been that modern European historians pay attention to ‘‘the East’’ primarily as a mirror with which to see the West more clearly. When applied to the 1960s, the actual agency of individuals in the Third World, and Third World individuals in West Germany, can vanish as they become shadows of Germans themselves on geographically far-flung cave walls. By following the work of a small group of scholars in acknowledging the activist presence of African, Asian, and Latin American students in West Germany of the 1960s, this book seeks to complicate an analytic framework based on a West German Self and a Third World Other.∂∂ The fact that Third World activists in the first half of the 1960s articulated their demands almost exclusively in the ‘‘Western’’ idiom of human rights and political freedoms disrupts the dichotomies of the ‘‘projection screen’’ arguments, as well as the functionalist maps of the national liberalization narrative. When the projec-

12 Introduction

tion screen speaks, the localization of certain political idioms with ‘‘the West’’ and others with the non-West becomes untenable. As it restores agency to Third World actors, this book also contextualizes the very psychoanalytic language on which scholars have relied. The following chapters show that New Leftists used identification as a category of mobilization rather than analysis. Antiauthoritarian student leaders called for Germans to ‘‘recognize themselves’’ in the fighting Vietcong, suggesting that ‘‘solidarity with the victors’’ rather than the ‘‘underdogs’’ would embolden and empower them. They also promoted clashes with authorities to induce what the socialist student leader Rudi Dutschke, quoting Marx, called an ‘‘identification of the thinking with the su√ering’’ to bridge the gap between First World and Third World experience. What Habermas criticized, many embraced, celebrating the e≈cacy of what Herbert Marcuse called the ‘‘solidarity of sentiment’’ over the Old Left’s ‘‘solidarity of interests.’’ Dutschke’s relegation of the entire Third World to the category of the ‘‘su√ering’’ suggests that identification came at a price. Identification tactics tended to instrumentalize Third World populations, turning them into accessories for German psychological epiphanies. Clearly, many people from what Germans called the ‘‘Trikont,’’ or ‘‘tricontinental’’ of Asia, Africa, and Latin America, were active members of the ‘‘thinking’’ population in the 1960s. Indeed, many were doing their thinking alongside West Germans on university campuses. Dutschke himself was well aware of this fact. He had arrived at his theories in part through collaborations with leftist Third World students. Yet at the same time, he was able to elide their ‘‘thinking’’ presence in his model of mobilization. How and why did this happen? This book explores the oscillating dynamic of presence and absence that marked the West German relationship to the Third World throughout the 1960s.∂∑ It maps a trajectory along which the push by the West German New Left for universal theories turned Third World individuals into placeholders, and the drive for ever more shocking images of Third World conflict turned them into icons. It shows how national stories were being told about transnational events as they happened, writing Iranian leftists, for example, out of the narrative of June 2 even as the event was taking place. By the end of the decade, ‘‘becoming Chinese’’ seemed possible to many Germans without having ever met a Chinese person at all.

Introduction 13

Foreign Front shows how the Third World was both distant and near at hand for the New Left in West Germany of the 1960s. The book’s chapters illustrate the tension between abstract identification and embodied collaboration in the decade, proceeding in roughly chronological order through the decade. Chapter 1 outlines the arrival of large numbers of African, Asian, and Latin American on West German campuses in the early 1960s. Here I reverse the oft-repeated claim that the West German New Left ‘‘discovered the Third World’’ by showing that the Third World discovered it as politicized foreign students mobilized West German students for their causes. To the dismay of their home governments, many foreign students protested the ongoing oppression in their countries, bringing domestic acts of state violence to the attention of an international public. For Iranian, Angolan, and Iraqi students, among others, the West German public sphere became a ‘‘foreign front’’ in the struggle for political freedoms in their home countries. For West German students in the early years of the decade, Iranian repression, Portuguese colonialism, and South African racism looked like aberrations, blemishes on a world picture that seemed potentially to be moving toward standards of international justice and equality. They gave their solidarity and support to a range of national student groups, which made their demands in the liberal idiom of human rights and self-determination. West German internationalism in the early 1960s was personalized and e√ectively bilateral, shifting its focus between national groups. Chapter 2 reveals the consequences of collaboration with Third World students through the shifting theories of the influential student leaders Dutschke and Bernd Rabehl. I show that socialist students drew conclusions from their interactions with Third World students—even when those conclusions often boomeranged attention back to German subjectivity. The chapter’s pivotal event is the demonstration against the visit of the Congolese leader Moise Tshombe to West Berlin in 1964. Before the Vietnam War, West German New Leftists saw the Congo conflict as the key case in understanding how the dynamics of imperialism could persist after decolonization. By that time, the prediction made in 1962 of a black hand toppling the remnants of colonialism had proved premature. Even after the wave of decolonization, interventions of the former colonial powers and the new U.S. superpower ensured that the room for maneuver of African, Asian, and Latin American governments remained narrow. The dominant powers reacted to attempts to implement novel reme-

14 Introduction

dies for national-economic disadvantages with both repression by proxy and outright military intervention. West German New Left theories of neocolonialism crystallized around the Congo in the early decade. By foregrounding its importance, I propose that the global protest wave following the death of Lumumba in 1961 would be a more appropriate starting point than the Berkeley Free Speech Movement of 1964 for historical narratives of the global 1960s. Chapter 3 describes the ruptures in New Left thought and organization that followed the escalation of the U.S. military intervention in Vietnam. Many New Leftists responded to the war by questioning the validity of the liberal idiom of rights and freedom that had underwritten demands early in the decade. By 1966, socialist students had begun to see incidents like repression in Iran or racism in South Africa less as deviations from liberalism than revelations of the disavowed truth of liberalism as a system. An sds leader summed up the reigning interpretation in 1966 when he called Vietnam ‘‘an example and testing ground for warfare and cost calculations valid for future conflicts to be conducted in Asia, Africa, and Latin America according to the logic of imperialism.’’∂∏ Whereas Third World activism in the early 1960s related to particular national cases and even individuals, activism after 1966 sought exemplary cases that would illuminate broader patterns of U.S. imperialism, a term that entered socialist students’ discussions at this time. The imperialism critique encouraged a shift from specificity to abstraction and stressed that one could understand the relationship of the First, Second, and Third Worlds according to general laws and not only in national particulars. Within this changed environment, a small group of antiauthoritarian students from West Berlin pushed a new form of politics to the center of the socialist student movement. Abandoning the appeal to liberal values, they openly called for identification with the ‘‘Vietnamese victors’’ for the first time, radicalizing the empathy of the early decade. Chapter 4 revisits the events of June 2, 1967, a date that has endured in popular memory as the beginning of West Germany’s ‘‘1968.’’ Although opposition to the Vietnam War mobilized many West Germans, it was the death of the student Benno Ohnesorg at a West Berlin protest against the visit of the shah on June 2 that led large numbers of students to take to the streets. This chapter counters existing accounts of June 2 by writing Iranians back into the history of this properly transnational event. While Germans saw the murdered Ohnesorg as the first victim of a state back-

Introduction 15

sliding into fascism, Iranian students saw him as the most recent victim in the struggle for political freedoms in Iran. Bahman Nirumand and other Iranian students played a critical role as nodes in the transnational protest network, articulating the connection between domestic and overseas political struggles for the West German New Left. Despite these many and varied border crossings, there was a tendency even as it was happening to narrate June 2 as an inner-German rather than as a transnational political moment. National stories have been told about the global 1960s after the fact. This chapter shows that those stories were also being told at the time, putting transnational politics back into a national narrative. My retelling restores the missing bodies of Iranian activists—and the Iranian dead— that should flank Ohnesorg in the memory of June 2. Chapter 5 focuses on the dilemmas of representation faced by the New Left as it responded to the escalating domestic and international violence of the late 1960s. Ohnesorg’s death and the experience of police brutality at home, combined with the ongoing sanguinary Vietnam War abroad, amplified the register of protest rhetoric and changed its nature. After June 2, activists turned increasingly to graphic images of dead and mutilated bodies in their attempts to articulate outrage and mobilize public opinion. The adoption of what I call corpse polemics brought the politics of representing Third World su√ering to the fore of activist issues. It also accompanied dubious analogies between the West German New Left and other victims of state violence, including the murdered Jews of the Holocaust. By invoking the national past to protest acts of injustice in the present, activists both commemorated and distorted German history. Some New Leftists used internationalism as a long route back to German victimhood by casting themselves as the ultimate su√ering subjects after June 2. Others were able to keep their sights on the Third World subjects of their solidarity while navigating a visual landscape in the late 1960s that, for reasons of both politics and entertainment, was increasingly soaked in blood. Chapter 6 also begins with the West German media environment to explore the most radical case of cultural conversion in Third World politics in the 1960s: when large factions of the West German student movement declared themselves ‘‘Chinese.’’ Pronouncing themselves the ‘‘new Jews’’ allowed New Leftists to feel a sense of righteous victimization; calling themselves ‘‘Chinese’’ was an act of defiance against the mainstream media’s demonization of the Chinese Cultural Revolution. Em-

16 Introduction

bracing Maoist tactics as their own, New Leftists deracinated the category of culture, expanding the traditional German understanding of Kultur from a particular ethnic-national endowment or the sphere of artistic production to the ‘‘realm of the ruling ideas.’’ In a limit case of Third Worldism without Third World individuals, Germans also claimed a non-Western identity with none of the personal collaboration that characterized solidarity in the early years of the decade. In the swing between imagination and collaboration in the New Left relationship to the Third World, the Cultural Revolution allowed a moment of something that was close to pure invention. ‘‘Chinese’’ was an identity available for adoption as a style in the political marketplace. To be Chinese for a West German New Leftist in the late 1960s meant to provoke, shock, and, above all, discuss. By attempting to create ‘‘liberated zones’’ in communal apartments, occupied university buildings, and unauthorized demonstrations, West German activists had made the Third World their own.

1 DISSIDENT GUESTS

In the first part of the 1960s, West German universities experienced what one observer called an ‘‘invasion of students from African and Asian countries.’’∞ The number of students from those countries newly designated as ‘‘developing’’ had risen from 200 in 1951 to about 12,000 by 1962.≤ Financed through state scholarships and family funds, students from developing countries were to be new national elites, gaining practical knowledge with which to return to their home countries. O≈cials intended their presence in West Germany as temporary ‘‘guests’’ to demonstrate the openness of the German state and society to the world beyond Europe and augment the program of industrialization loans and grants to Third World nations begun in earnest in 1961. To the surprise and concern of o≈cials in both West Germany and the home countries, many African, Asian, and Latin American students quickly began to deviate from their prescribed role by organizing politically in West Germany, using publicity campaigns, hunger strikes, and demonstrations to bring to light instances of injustice and state violence in their home countries. As foreign students faced censorship, blocked money transfers, and threats of deportation for their activism, they urged West German students to act in solidarity with them. Dissident guests from the Third World acted as models of the political role that students could play on the national and international level, encouraging the umbrella West German Verband Deutscher Studentenschaften (Association of German Students; vds) to take political stances for the first time in its history. In the first half of the 1960s, the internationalism of West German student activists developed in significant part through concrete collaboration and relationships of solidarity with individuals from the Third World who shared their status as students and young intellectuals.≥ The emerging transnational narrative of 1968 that recognizes the role of the Berkeley Free Speech Movement as a ‘‘model for campus revolts,’’ as

18 Chapter 1

Wolfgang Kraushaar puts it, must also acknowledge the activism of Third World students on West German campuses in the early 1960s. Education migrations from the Third World created the conditions for African and Asians to speak in their own names rather than as distant objects of charity or romantic identification.∂ The defense of the right of nonGermans to free political expression in West Germany became an important site for the expansion of human-rights claims beyond a national framework and exposed the limits of democratic tolerance in the postwar German state.

African and Asian Students Mobilize alongside West Germans The most visible Third World campaigns in West Germany in the early 1960s were directed against Portuguese colonialism, South African racism, and political repression in Iran. In each case, the o≈cial and popular West German relationship with the countries was good. Portugal was a fellow member of the North Atlantic Treaty Organization (nato); South Africa still benefited from what Immanuel Geiss in 1963 called a ‘‘deeprooted Boer-Romantik’’; and the private life of the Shah of Iran was such a beloved subject of the tabloid press that some dubbed it the ‘‘SorayaPress’’ after his second wife.∑ Iran was also the single largest source of West German oil imports, which grew ten times over from 1957 to 1962, helping fill the needs of a rapidly motorizing population.∏ By 1961, West Germany imported one-third of its oil from Iran at an annual worth of more than $200 million.π Most important, despite some aid from the Soviet Union to Iran, all countries were firmly in the U.S.-led ‘‘Western’’ bloc and refused to recognize the German Democratic Republic (GDR) diplomatically. To mobilize public opinion against the injustices of these states, foreign students had to work outside the categories of Cold War competition. They needed to convince West Germans that allies in the struggle between the blocs could also be criticized for their internal policies, a di≈cult proposition in a public sphere dominated, as scholars have shown, by an emphasis on consensus rather than critique into the early 1960s.∫ Dissident students also had to overcome wariness on the part of West Germans, even those on the left, about the capability of non-Western populations to be responsible political actors. The West German labor leader Ludwig

Dissident Guests 19

Rosenberg summarized the caution in this relationship in 1960, writing that West Germans were watching the developing countries with ‘‘concern’’ about the ‘‘uncertainty of the political path they are striking out on, their deficient preparedness for self-su≈ciency, and the interruption of existing economic connections.’’Ω He also expressed the common anxiety about the vengeful volatility of postcolonial populations whose experience of colonialism often led them to ‘‘doubtless excesses and misguided hate’’ against their former oppressors.∞≠ Rosenberg, like many others, suggested that West Germany’s relationship toward the developing nations must be one of cautious accommodation with new governments. West German influence would be exercised through the soft power of economic investment and foreign aid and the cultural diplomacy of state and unions.∞∞ Strident demands for human rights and political freedom expressed by African and Asian students did not sit well with this model of interstate relations. Two events in early 1961 provoked the first major intervention of African and Asian students and their first appearance in West German streets: the closing of Tehran University after a demonstration against parliamentary fraud and the murder of the Congolese leader Patrice Lumumba.∞≤ On February 19, a female Iranian medical student led a march in Cologne of 300 Iranian, Egyptian, and West German students to protest the Iranian university’s closure, with further protests in Munich, Erlangen, Göttingen, and Düsseldorf. Police forbade a sixth demonstration planned for Mainz.∞≥ On February 20, in Bonn, Egyptian and African students protested Lumumba’s murder, with some demonstrators carrying the cover of the leftist magazine Konkret and its image of Lumumba accompanied by the caption ‘‘Murder’’ (see figure 2).∞∂ Further Lumumba demonstrations were held in Hamburg, Erlangen, Kiel, and Frankfurt.∞∑ West German o≈cials reported that some of the same students participated in both protests, with Egyptian students playing a leading role.∞∏ Both demonstrations contradicted the o≈cial West German position, which was supportive of the shah and critical of Lumumba, and challenged the intolerance for alternatives in the Cold War thinking of West German o≈cials. In labored logic, Eugen Gerstenmaier, president of the West German Bundestag, expressed the impossibility of Lumumba’s independence from both blocs, saying in an interview months before his murder, ‘‘A Lumumba in power can ruin everything and throw the door to Bolshevization wide open, even if he is not a communist and does not

20 Chapter 1

2. The Congolese leader Patrice Lumumba under the headline ‘‘Murder.’’ Egyptian and African students used the cover of this issue of Konkret magazine (February 1961) as a protest sign in demonstrations after Lumumba’s death.

want to comply with Moscow in any way.’’∞π State o≈cials similarly refused to concede a third space between the blocs in their reaction to the demonstrations of Iranian students. A Foreign O≈ce memo acknowledged that ‘‘the overall tendency of the [dissident Iranian] students is not communist but socialist. They are striving for a democratic system after the model of an India and want to follow a neutral course in foreign policy.’’∞∫ Nonetheless, because of the perceived likelihood of socialist students’ falling ‘‘more and more into communist channels’’ over time, and of communist agents’ ‘‘exploiting the unrest among Afro-Asian students by stoking the fires of their political passion,’’ the o≈cial recommended working to restrict the ‘‘all too liberal’’ attitude of universities and the state toward the political activity of foreign students.∞Ω In the wake of the demonstrations of 1961, another Foreign O≈ce o≈cial asked with concern, ‘‘What would it come to when every student group from every which foreign country were allowed to drag their internal political problems from home out into the street here?’’≤≠ In the following years, this is precisely what happened as foreign students took political

Dissident Guests 21

positions that troubled Cold War dichotomies. Campaigns of foreign students against colonialism, apartheid, and political oppression appealed to universals, including democracy and human rights, but worked practically through solidarity actions with individual victims of state violence. Such actions of solidarity moved West German student groups to political action. In 1961, the vds, which had taken no o≈cial positions in the late 1950s (though cooperating uno≈cially with the Foreign O≈ce in attempting to subvert the communist World Youth Festival in Vienna in 1959) surprised reporters by calling a press conference at which a refugee Angolan student spoke under a pseudonym against the persecution of Angolan students by the Portuguese colonial state.≤∞ Upon discovering that the West German relationship to Portugal, which was a member of nato and a recipient of Western European foreign aid, would be criticized, most journalists from major newspapers in attendance left the event early, one leaving ‘‘angrily’’ before it even began.≤≤ The unwillingness to tolerate criticism of the West German state or the Western bloc reflected the dominant tendency in the press at the beginning of the 1960s and its self-understanding more as an instrument of the state position than as the state’s critical interlocutor.≤≥ The conformity of opinion between press and party had already begun to rankle West German students in the late 1950s, preparing a ready foundation for mobilization in Third World causes. The Social Democratic Party (spd) had cut funding to its student organization, the Sozialistischer Deutscher Studentenbund (sds), in 1959 for participating in a conference protesting nuclear weapons that included communist organizations.≤∂ Angry about what it saw as its continued misrepresentation in the press, the sds responded by beginning to print and distribute its own leaflets unauthorized by the mother party, creating what movement historians call ‘‘the first attempts at a student counter-public (Gegenö√entlichkeit ).’’≤∑ In a similar move of defiance against the established system of press and party, the vds declared its first political position in 1962, the year after the press conference, against the apartheid policy of South Africa and the colonial wars of Portugal in Angola and France in Algeria.≤∏ The following year, the organization declared its solidarity with students facing state repression in Iran and Morocco, two nations that were partners of West Germany and major recipients of its foreign aid. When the West German vice-president returned from Angola in 1963 and justified Portuguese racial policies, the vds spoke publicly about the suppression of indige-

22 Chapter 1

nous intellectuals by the colonial government and called for the end of nato military aid for use in the colony.≤π As student groups became bolder about staking out positions independent from the mainstream political parties, Third World issues became an important site for them to assert their autonomy. In an article in Konkret in 1964, the journalist and poet Reimar Lenz, who had been active in solidarity campaigns with Algerians during their war against the French, asked ‘‘what had happened with the German students’’ that had driven them to begin taking political positions, even against allies of West Germany. He answered: ‘‘In their encounter with national student associations from Asia, Africa and Latin America, German student representatives have developed an idea of the political importance of young intellectuals in the developing countries, and how di≈cult the struggle for freedom of opinion, freedom of research and teaching, and the autonomy of the universities can sometimes be.’’≤∫ West German students watched the development of politicized students in Africa and Asia keenly and responded to their calls for solidarity. Klaus Meschkat, active in the sds in putting together a proposal on university reform, wrote an article in 1961 on the founding of an exile association for Students of Black Africa under Portuguese Rule (ugean).≤Ω Meschkat commented that ‘‘part of the unique form of this congress was that [it was] not concerned with the so-called purely academic issues’’ but was also taking explicit positions against Portuguese colonialism.≥≠ Meschkat ended the article by saying, ‘‘The vds will be observed with great attention. The president, as well as the vice-president of the association of students from the Portuguese colonies, studies in the Federal Republic.’’≥∞ The vds worked in conjunction with African students on campuses, who were staging their own campaigns. In August 1963, Meschkat traveled to Morocco to take part in the second ugean congress, sending a letter back to the sds with a member of ugean who studied in West Germany, asking that the African student be ensured a chance to speak at the upcoming sds delegates’ conference.≥≤ In 1963, the African Student Union at the university in Aachen released a leaflet denouncing the use of foreign aid from nato by the Portuguese state to finance state repression in Angola, citing in particular the massacre of civilians in 1961 as retaliation for attempts of nationalist guerrillas to free political prisoners.≥≥ In the same year, solidarity with a former fellow student, Neville Alexander, led to the first major protest of German students against the racist

Dissident Guests 23 3. Portrait of Neville Alexander, former student at the University of Tübingen, as it appeared on sds flyers soliciting donations to pay his legal fees after his arrest in South Africa in 1963. The portrait was also reproduced alongside newspaper articles about his case, giving a face to the object of international solidarity. Courtesy of apoArchiv, Universitätsarchiv, Freie Universität Berlin.

South African regime (see figure 3).≥∂ Alexander’s biography reads like a précis of the trajectories leading to the emergence of an international New Left in the 1960s. A member of sds in Tübingen, where as a Humboldt Foundation fellow he completed a dissertation on Gerhart Hauptmann in 1961, Alexander arrived with his politics already formed by participation at the University of Cape Town in the liberationist African National Congress, as well as in the Trotskyist Non-European Unity Movement (neum).≥∑ In West Germany, Alexander befriended both Algerian and Cuban students and became heavily involved with the Algerian solidarity movement. He also made connections with the labor movement, writing articles on African labor politics for the West German metalworkers’ union as it was seeking to organize Italian guest workers. He met Leon Trotsky’s wife, Natalia Sedova, in Paris before her death, and his opposition to communist parties loyal to Moscow, including the South African Communist Party, deepened during his time in West Germany.≥∏ In fall semester of 1960, Alexander formed and led the first sds working group on African issues, sharing his firsthand knowledge and political insights with West German socialist students.≥π He returned to South Africa the following year, taking his more radicalized and heterodox socialist politics with him, forming a group that advocated the use of guerrilla tactics and that broke with the more moderate neum. With a clear nod to the Algerian resistance, the new guerrilla groups united under the label National Liberation Front.≥∫ Alexander was arrested in July 1963 for distributing leaflets for the African People’s Democratic

24 Chapter 1

Union of South Africa, whose program called for the abolition of apartheid, and he would spend ten years in Robben Island prison. Alexander’s biography shows how individual education migrations knit together transnational networks of opposition in the early 1960s, linking distant causes and contexts. His arrest sparked organized protest against the South African government in West Germany as students responded by establishing a fund for his legal defense that would raise more than dm 40,000.≥Ω They also drew attention to West Germany’s indirect support of the regime by calling on West German firms to end their trade with South Africa.∂≠ In West Berlin, students used Alexander’s case to raise awareness about the 67,000 other political prisoners in South Africa and the institutional oppression of the black population by the white minority, sending a convoy of fifty cars through the city and distributing leaflets from Charlottenburg to Kreuzberg.∂∞ In 1963, exiled South African students and engaged Germans formed a Free South Africa Committee to advocate against apartheid and work to replace the idyll of Boer life cultivated by many Germans with, in the words of one of the committee’s founders, ‘‘the reality of the police state.’’∂≤ Students condemned the argument that disenfranchisement of blacks was necessary to preserve the standard of living and economic structure of whites, which the South African government used to justify political inequality.∂≥ Their slogans included ‘‘Bonn Development Aid for Racial Terror in South Africa’’ and, in an early use of a polemical analogy to the Nazi past, ‘‘He Who Supports Apartheid Sanctions Auschwitz.’’∂∂ The sense of urgency for students campaigning for Alexander was doubtless heightened by newspaper articles such as one that appeared in November 1963 reporting the execution of three black South Africans in a Pretoria jail for the political crime of ‘‘participation in unrest.’’∂∑ The intervention of the vds in such an overtly political case was, as an article in the newspaper Die Zeit reported in 1963, ‘‘so unusual’’ that it required explanation.∂∏ The article’s author, Ludwig Raiser, president of the Deutsche Forschungsgemeinschaft (German Research Foundation) wondered at the vigorous response to Alexander’s case from an age cohort that had been described five years earlier by the sociologist Helmut Schelsky as ‘‘the skeptical generation.’’∂π Raiser speculated that skepticism was perhaps more a feature of his own, older generation and its neglect of the rest of the world on the rationale that ‘‘injustice in the world does not appear first on the other side of the ocean.’’∂∫ Raiser saw the campaign as justified because, although Alexander was far from Germany, he had

Dissident Guests 25

become, ‘‘through his study among us, if one allows the Christian word, our neighbor (Nächster).’’∂Ω Raiser’s use of the word ‘‘Nächster,’’ taken from the biblical axiom ‘‘Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself ’’ and the root of the German word for compassion (Nächstenliebe), is suggestive when applied to the Alexander case and the general tendency toward collaboration between Third World and West German students in the early 1960s. On the one hand, a shared history of education and direct collaboration at West German universities created a sense of ‘‘neighborliness’’ between African, Asian, and West German students, which became the foundation for later acts of activism and advocacy. On the other hand, what characterized student activism was the movement from a generalized Christian compassion for ‘‘all humanity regardless of race’’ to a politicized solidarity with specific active individuals. The Christian mode of interacting with the world beyond Europe was best represented by the ‘‘Nodding Negro (Nickneger)’’ donation boxes, which portrayed begging black figures, in many West German churches into the 1960s.∑≠ This was a relationship of charity with a powerless and mute African subject. Transnational student activism in the early 1960s attempted to reverse the Christian model, with West Germans ideally playing a supportive role in creating a space for African, Asian, and Latin American intellectuals to articulate their demands. The sds, for example, created ‘‘working groups’’ on Third World issues that were often co-led by foreign students, such as the one on Africa led by Alexander at Tübingen in 1960–61 and another on Latin America co-led by Haitian and Venezuelan students at the Freie Universität (Free University; fu) in West Berlin in 1964–65.∑∞ Student activism around South Africa sought to make talk of profit and economic growth seem obscene by introducing facts of personal su√ering, injustice, and the specters of death and imprisonment for dissidence. Iranian students similarly mobilized West German students with the prospect of the execution of imprisoned colleagues in Iran and enacted the precariousness of their colleagues’ lives through hunger strikes. In October 1963, Iranian students in several West German cities began hunger strikes to plead for amnesty for three professors and students sentenced to death for political activity in Iran.∑≤ The hunger strikes, planned to coincide with the visit of West German President (and former Nazi Party member) Heinrich Lübke to Tehran, were not permitted in Erlangen but went ahead elsewhere.∑≥ Because the strike did not receive police approval in Bonn, it took place in the o≈ce of the General Union of

26 Chapter 1

Arab Students, with twenty-four students participating, including one woman.∑∂ The Bonner Rundschau ran a photograph of the female student carrying the demonstrators’ demand on a placard: ‘‘The un must send a delegation of neutral countries to Iran with the task of investigating the existence of human rights there.’’∑∑ Two years later, one hundred students in Karlsruhe began a hunger strike again, with photographs of six of nine condemned political prisoners hanging on the wall behind them.∑∏ In their leaflets and publications, Iranian dissident students used portraits of the condemned and images of tortured bodies to amplify a sense of urgency and to individualize the otherwise abstract demand of human rights.∑π By making the political issue about the life and death of individuals, dissident students both opened up and polarized the debate. They refused explanations of compromise based on economic necessity. Focusing on death sentences, performative hunger strikes, and polemical analogies to the Third Reich, dissidents elicited solidarity from their fellow students in the early 1960s by creating a sense of those in danger not only as ‘‘neighbors’’ but also as the political partners of West German students. Their protests aligned with what in German is called Gesinnungspolitik, or a politics of emotion and morality, rather than a politics of rational argumentation. In using this style of politics, they reflected parallel developments in the anti-nuclear peace movement, which by 1963 had begun to move away from an emphasis on sober rationality toward polemical language and more spectacular protest.∑∫ By focusing on moral polemic and the performative and su√ering body, they also pioneered the forms of activism that would follow in the late 1960s and beyond.∑Ω As a later chapter will demonstrate, these developments were all linked to a shift in the West German media landscape in the 1960s, from the dominance of text-based communication to a new emphasis on the visual. In their techniques of protest, foreign students rode the crest of the change in the public sphere.

The Politics of Education For students to take an active political role was unexpected in the early 1960s. Although West German universities were expanding in numbers and economic function, government and university o≈cials still vig-

Dissident Guests 27

orously maintained them as a space outside politics. In 1959, Theodor Adorno, teaching in Frankfurt, expressed the double nature of ‘‘democratization’’ at postwar West German universities. On the one hand, higher education had become accessible to more socioeconomic groups, diminishing the elitist aura that universities had carried.∏≠ On the other hand, relationships between student and professor were flattening out to resemble relations of commercial exchange, engendering an understanding of democracy as conformity (Anpassung) rather than ‘‘critical selfconsciousness.’’∏∞ Adorno followed many others in diagnosing the apolitical attitude of German students as a result of the hierarchical and insular structure of the university.∏≤ In the early 1960s, West German o≈cials wanted to go even further in adapting higher education to the needs of the economy.∏≥ In a series of articles in 1964, the philosopher and pedagogue Georg Picht coined the term ‘‘education catastrophe (Bildungskatastrophe)’’ that would define a decade-long debate about the supposedly anachronistic and ailing West German education system.∏∂ Attempts to make universities more economically e≈cient by shortening study times became an early flashpoint of West German student protest. In June 1966, students at the Free University in West Berlin occupied a university building after the administration introduced ‘‘forced ex-matriculation (Zwangsexmatrikulation)’’ without paying any attention to students’ demands for progressive university reform.∏∑ Despite the attempts at reform, and due in part to students’ resistance, education retained a function of humanistic Bildung relatively detached from the demands of the market for those West Germans successful in attending universities rather than trade schools in the 1960s. For students from the Third World, the economic function of education was a reality that was more di≈cult to contest. The creation of opportunities for Third World students to attend West German universities was an element of o≈cial West German development policy, with the stated aim of increasing economic productivity in developing countries. Under pressure from the United States to ‘‘share the burden’’ of overseas aid, the West German financial commitment to long-term loans, grants, and multilateral contributions to the development project jumped to about dm 3 million annually after 1961.∏∏ Into the 1960s, education took on added importance as West German experts and o≈cials disappointed with the di≈culties of Third World industrialization began

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to see development as a cultural rather than an economic problem. Building on colonial stereotypes, development experts emphasized the need to impart ‘‘Western norms’’ and overcome a supposedly endemic ‘‘apathetic attitude toward work’’ in Third World populations.∏π The West German federal government dedicated its first funds to international training and education in 1956 with dm 170 million for ‘‘maintaining cultural relationships.’’ The sum funded the Deutscher Akademischer Austauschdienst (German Academic Exchange Service; daad), overseas cultural education programs, and Goethe Institutes inside and outside West Germany. In addition, it provided scholarships and facilities for advising foreign academics, students, and trainees.∏∫ As a result of these policies, the number of foreign students at West German universities increased ninefold between 1951 and 1961, while the number of West German students only doubled.∏Ω West Germany was well ahead of East Germany in educating foreign students. At the end of the 1960s, there were fewer than 5,000 foreign students at East German universities, compared with 25,000 on West German campuses.π≠ From 1961 to 1965, the number of foreign students plateaued at about 8 percent of the overall West German student population, at between 21,000 and 24,000.π∞ Students from developing countries accounted for approximately half of all foreign students, with large numbers from Turkey, Egypt, Syria, and Iran (see tables 1 and 2).π≤ Female students made up a disproportionately small number of the foreign student population. In 1962, 16.9 percent of foreign students at regular universities, and a mere 1.8 percent at technical universities, were women.π≥ Less than a fifth of Third World students received state funding for their study in West Germany. A study conducted in 1963 found that only 6 percent of students from developing countries held scholarships originating with the daad, the federal government, or West German church groups, and an additional 8 percent received scholarships from their home governments.π∂ The vast majority of Third World students, in other words, had their education paid for by their families, making it likely that they were the children of either relatively established elites or the nouveau riche. Studies showed that, on average, students from developing countries had more disposable monthly income than German university students.π∑ The relative economic security enjoyed by many foreign students may have given them a sense of freedom to call West German society to its own claims. Like activist West German university students, many foreign

Dissident Guests 29

Table 1. Place of origin of foreign students at West German universities, 1961 No. of Students

% of Total

Europe Greece (33%) Turkey (15.1%)

8,600 2,900 1,300

46

Asia Iran (43.9%) India (10.5%)

5,700 2,500 900

27

Africa Egypt (58%)

2,500 1,450

21

Americas U.S. and Canada (66.6%) Latin America (33.3%)

2,100 1,400 700

10.2

Total number of foreign students Total number of students from developing countries

18,900 10,200

100 54

Sources: Pfei√er, Ausländische Studenten an den wissenschaftlichen Hochschulen in der Bundesrepublik und West-Berlin, 8–9. The number of Turkish students comes from Studienstelle für Entwicklungsländer Bonn, Studenten aus Entwicklungsländern an deutschen Hochschulen, 43.

students were children of prosperity who used their privilege to voice their idealism against what they saw as the hypocritical Realpolitik of the Cold War powers. Foreign students chose to study in West Germany for varied reasons, ranging from di≈culty entering universities in their home countries to the reputation and prestige of West German institutions.π∏ The ease of entering West German universities was likely a factor for some. Unlike in the United States, Great Britain, and France, no entrance exam was required to begin study at a West German institution.ππ The concentration of enrollment in West Germany di√ered greatly from that in the United States and in other Western European countries. Whereas close to half of foreign students in France, Great Britain, and the United States studied the humanities, social sciences, and law, only 12.6 percent were enrolled in these disciplines in West Germany.π∫ Medicine and technical disciplines

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Table 2. Third World students by discipline, 1961 (%) Discipline

Medicine Technical and engineering Math and natural sciences Humanities, social sciences and law

Region

Percentage

Asia

Africa

Latin America

Total

44.2 28 17 10.8

43.8 29 14.6 12.6

17.4 30 22.3 30.3

42 28.4 30.3 12.8

Source: Pfei√er, Ausländische Studenten an den wissenschaftlichen Hochschulen in der Bundesrepublik und West-Berlin, 12–13.

were the clear preference for foreign students, especially in the large Iranian, Egyptian, and Indian contingents. Especially high proportions of foreign students at the technical universities in Aachen and Munich, the agricultural faculties in Hohenheim and Gießen, and the medical academy in Düsseldorf reflected this concentration in technical disciplines.πΩ Among the non-technical universities, the largest percentage and number of foreign students relative to the student population in 1963 were at Heidelberg (13.3 percent; 1,450 students), Erlangen (12.2 percent; 1,111 students), Freiburg (10.6 percent; 1,146 students), Munich (6.5 percent; 1,470 students), and Cologne (7.2 percent; 1,197 students).∫≠ Regardless of their personal reasons for coming to West Germany, foreign students’ obligations after their arrival were clear. They were to become agents of the project of national-economic development. As the book jacket of a sociological study of international students published in 1962 read, Third World students were expected first and foremost ‘‘to attain knowledge in an industrialized country in order to apply the knowledge later in the economic-technical development of the home country.’’∫∞ In a dissertation on African students in West Germany completed at Freiburg in 1967, Ahmed Abdel Gadir spelled out this reality: ‘‘Education and knowledge acquired by an African student . . . are not seen as property for individual use but, one could say, as earnings that have to be paid back to the state.’’∫≤ In demanding the right to participate politically, foreign students appealed to a di√erent idea of development from that of economic utility. Their activism and demands implied that the right of critical engagement

Dissident Guests 31

was a necessary element of the democracy that they sought. In an open letter to the minister of the interior in 1964, Sayeed ur Rahman, an Indian physics student and leader in the Afro-Asian Student Union, argued that restriction of political activity contradicted the function of education for the purpose of development, writing that ‘‘the goal of all academic training is to develop a well-balanced personality that enriches the human community. Free exchange of opinions and free discussion are essential elements of such training. When our students are prevented from speaking freely and discussing from the beginning onward, then the aim of German development policy, as far as training of students is concerned, fails.’’∫≥ Fereydoun Farokhzad, an Iranian student of political science in Munich, expressed the centrality of free expression in a poem about leaving Iran that was published in a collection of works by ‘‘nine new German authors’’ edited by Martin Walser in 1963: baΔed by visible violence accompanied by killed doves tattered sky that is how I left to no longer have to fetter my words waterfalls of light blossom everywhere illuminating the eyes of the thousand and one nights only in my country do the grapes become raisins the soldiers judges.∫∂

Like Farokhzad, many Third World students embraced West Germany first not as a source of practical training but as a liberating space of free expression. Foreign student associations became organs for acting on an under-

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standing of education as the development of the faculty of critique. In 1961, there were 237 associations of foreign students at twenty-nine West German universities.∫∑ Although most of the foreign student associations on West German campuses were national in their membership, some were transnational, such as the African Student Association at the fu in West Berlin, which eschewed a strict geographic definition by including Haitians as some of its most active members, and the African-Asian-Latin American Student Association formed in Aachen in 1961.∫∏ The AfroAsian Student Union at Gießen University explained its political mission by saying, ‘‘The union is committed to the solidarity of the countries of Africa and Asia first expressed at the Bandung Conference. . . . The union pleads for the goals and ideas of the United Nations and is committed to the realization of overall human rights. To that end, it turns against every form of racial discrimination, colonialism, imperialism and every new imperialist form of support for reactionary, backward, antidemocratic regimes in Africa and Asia.’’∫π A study conducted in 1963 found that more than half of Third World students favored neutrality in the Cold War conflict and preferred a system such as India’s to that of either the United States or the Soviet Union.∫∫ Another study remarked on the frequent criticism from Third World students that development aid served only to introduce a ‘‘new dependency’’ and their resentment at being ‘‘objects of competition in the struggle between the Western and Eastern European industrialized nations for future export markets.’’∫Ω University administrators worked to prevent foreign students’ expression on political issues. The president of Gießen University, Johannes Glathe, appealed directly to the Ministry of the Interior, asking for permission to block funding to the Afro-Asian Student Union on the grounds that the political opinions of Third World students on foreign aid contradicted the o≈cial West German position.Ω≠ The president of Erlangen University responded to a hunger strike by Iranian students with plans to ‘‘proceed energetically’’ against foreign students in the coming year by forcing ‘‘ex-matriculation’’ of those who had been studying too long without passing any examinations, the very practice that brought on a sitin at the fu in June 1966.Ω∞ This first sit-in for academic freedom on a West German campus, although modeled self-consciously on the Berkeley Free Speech Movement, had been preceded by similar actions by foreign students in West Germany, such as when Iraqi students occupied their embassy in 1963 to

Dissident Guests 33

protest the Baathist military takeover of their government and when Egyptian students staged a sit-in at their embassies to protest the denial of passport extensions to sixty students who had expressed views critical of Gamal Abdel Nasser in 1965.Ω≤ In the summer of 1961, Iranian students staged sit-ins at the consulate in Cologne twice in support of colleagues in the United States who were facing deportation back to Iran.Ω≥ In February 1967, Libyan students occupied part of their embassy in Bonn for ten days to protest the ongoing repression of students in Libya, which included seven students killed during a protest in March 1964 and the closure of two schools in 1965.Ω∂ Students called for the release of imprisoned students, the re-matriculation of expelled students, the o≈cial recognition of academic freedoms, and the withdrawal of the police from academic a√airs.Ω∑ German police forcefully ended the occupation, which had begun simultaneously in Brussels and London, evacuating forty students from the building.Ω∏ Libyan and German students responded with an authorized march on the embassy the next day and an unauthorized march the next night, in which twenty students sat down as a group in front of the embassy with arms linked, leading to fourteen arrests.Ωπ

How States Silenced Dissidents Dissident students faced consequences from both their own states and the West German government for bringing instances of state violence and injustice to light internationally. Home governments often refused to extend passports, canceled scholarships, and blocked money transfers to critical students, attempting to force their return home. The Iranian government had blocked money transfers to dissident students since 1954 and often refused to extend passports.Ω∫ In 1969, the Turkish government withdrew the study visa of Hakki Keskin, the leader of the Turkish student organization and a political science student at the fu, along with sixteen others after Keskin gave a speech in front of the Turkish Embassy condemning censorship and inequalities of wealth in Turkey.ΩΩ Regime changes at home also made students sent to study under a previous government suspect to the new state. After the coup in Iraq of 1963, the new right-wing Baath Party cut scholarships and money transfers to those students sent to West Germany under the previous leftist government of ‘Abd al-Qarim Qasim in an attempt to force Iraqi students

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to return to possible persecution.∞≠≠ Iraqi students being pursued maintained a parallel organization to the o≈cial Baathist-sponsored group for years after the coup, but despite cooperation with the sds to publicize their predicament, 300 were forced to return home.∞≠∞ Whether or not they indeed faced persecution after they returned is unclear. After the coup in Greece in 1967, leftist Greek students had bank transfers from their parents blocked.∞≠≤ Following the coup that replaced Sukarno with Suharto in 1965, the Indonesian Embassy forced 1,200 Indonesian students in West Germany to declare their allegiance to the new state in writing and denounce those with communist sympathies, leading many to apply for asylum to avoid deportation.∞≠≥ The sds responded by creating working groups on neocolonialism in Indonesia in Frankfurt in 1966 and an information-gathering campaign among a√ected students; it also made preparations for nationwide protests against Suharto’s planned visit in 1969. In spite of these actions, the sds reported, at least one Indonesian colleague was ultimately deported.∞≠∂ State measures were occasionally more aggressive. In 1955, the Iranian government secured West German help in arranging the deportation of three students critical of the shah, to no public outcry.∞≠∑ The situation was di√erent in June 1967, when South Korean secret police abducted seventeen South Korean students studying in West Germany and returned them to South Korea to stand trial for espionage.∞≠∏ In a political climate sensitized by this time to issues of foreigners’ rights, students and faculty in West Germany mobilized to demand the students’ release and raised funds to pay their legal fees.∞≠π Political scientist Werner Hofmann articulated the liberal nature of the demands well when he told newspapers, ‘‘If the demands of the democratic world public (Weltö√entlichkeit ) and, in particular, the public in our country does not prove to be e√ective, then the answer must be the severing of diplomatic relations to the South Korean government by the West German government.’’∞≠∫ Politicians from the Free Democratic Party supported these demands, submitting formal complaints to the Bundestag in January 1968 and called for the severing of foreign aid to South Korea if the students were not allowed to return.∞≠Ω The appeals were to no avail. Despite demonstrations in several cities, including an attempted occupation of the South Korean Embassy in Bonn after the announcement of the students’ conviction in December 1968, the South Korean students did not return.∞∞≠ When students in Frankfurt formed a German–Korean Solidarity Com-

Dissident Guests 35

mittee in 1970 to continue the campaign, violent confrontations with South Korean nationalists led to the loss of their venue for protest.∞∞∞ The satirical magazine Pardon was left only with the device of black humor, printing a cartoon of two sinister agents and a person packed in tape and labeled ‘‘to Korea,’’ accompanied by the caption, ‘‘Half price trip to Germany!’’∞∞≤ The executive, legislative, and judicial branches of the West German government disagreed about how to handle dissent. The federal ministries’ unequivocal and constant desire to suppress foreign dissent completely through the decade ran into two source of opposition. The first was the federal and provincial parliaments, where individual members defended the right of foreigners to free political expression in key instances in the first half of the decade. The second was the courts, which tended to interpret the political rights of non-citizens generously. As Rahman of the Afro-Asian Student Union pointed out in his letter to the minister of the interior of 1964, the West German Constitution granted foreigners the right to free expression of opinion.∞∞≥ The Basic Law (Grundgesetz) had been designed specifically to ‘‘mirror in intensified form’’ the United Nations Declaration of Human Rights of 1948, incorporating a range of rights guaranteed to all, regardless of citizenship, including the right to freedom of opinion.∞∞∂ The right to assembly was not among these universal rights. Yet, as Foreign Ministry o≈cials discovered to their dismay while trying to prevent a march of Algerian students against the French colonial war in 1958, a court ruling in 1953 had guaranteed the right to ‘‘stage and participate in gatherings and protest marches’’ to non-Germans.∞∞∑ As jurists pointed out in later court decisions, Article 11 of the European Convention on Human Rights, passed in 1950, similarly protected the right to assembly for non-citizens.∞∞∏ Aware of these legal protections, ministerial o≈cials began to discuss more e√ective means for suppressing foreign dissent in 1961.∞∞π In the wake of the Lumumba and Tehran University demonstrations, Dr. Paul Raab, an o≈cial with the West German Foreign O≈ce, expressed his anxiety to the Bundesinnenministerium (Federal Interior Ministry; bmi) about the ‘‘increasing radicalization’’ within ‘‘Afro-Asian student circles’’ and the frequency of demonstrations ‘‘directed against their home governments, with which the Federal Republic enjoys friendly relations.’’∞∞∫ Raab advised that the previously ‘‘decidedly liberal’’ attitude toward demonstrations by foreign students be revised, recommending that the Bundesamt

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für Verfassungsschutz, the internal intelligence agency, and the provincial Interior Ministries ‘‘mit aller Schärfe vorgehen (proceed with all severity)’’ against foreign student leaders.∞∞Ω At a meeting of federal and provincial Interior Ministries in 1962, Werner Kanein of the Bavarian Interior Ministry stated his discomfort with the constitutional right to free expression enjoyed by foreigners and called for a new law that could completely restrict the political activity of non-Germans.∞≤≠ Concerns about foreign students’ protesting were compounded by fears of the potential political mobilization of guest workers. Arriving first from Italy in 1955, followed by Spain and Greece in 1960 and Turkey in 1961, guest workers became more crucial for the West German economy after the erection of the Berlin Wall in August 1961 severed labor flows from the gdr.∞≤∞ Kanein used the specter of politicized foreign workers to magnify the threat posed by the rights of foreigners to political expression, writing that ‘‘it cannot be discounted that overly broad political freedoms for foreigners will be abused for aims antithetical to state and constitution and thereby threaten public safety and order. This would apply, above all, if there were an increase in the political activity of foreign guest workers, who come in part from countries with strong communist parties.’’∞≤≤ A member of the Verfassungsschutz similarly emphasized in 1961 ‘‘how dangerous things could become if the form of activity of students were to carry over to the numerous foreign workers (Fremdarbeiter) in Germany.’’∞≤≥ Ministerial o≈cials assessed the need to restrict the rights of foreigners as a police measure, a sovereign intervention into the sphere of political freedoms necessary to ensure public stability both within and between states. They viewed the political expression of foreigners through the lens of ‘‘public security and order’’ rather than through abstract notions of rights. This attitude was consistent with the traditional treatment of foreigners in Germany, which, as Gerald Newman points out, had been seen as a question of ‘‘police power’’ rather than as a question of foreign relations or constitutional rights.∞≤∂ The primary instrument used for controlling foreigners was literally a police order: the AusländerPolizeiverordnung (Foreigner Police Order; apvo), which dated from 1938. The bmi o≈cial Kurt Breull explained the meaning of the police order for foreign dissent in 1962: ‘‘According to the apvo, what is relevant is whether the political activity can be reconciled with the obligations the foreigner has assumed in taking advantage of the hospitality of the Fed-

Dissident Guests 37

eral Republic or if he is damaging that hospitality through his behavior. Damage to hospitality occurs when the foreigner engages in political activity that is undesirable from the German standpoint because it can be seen as damaging German interests.’’∞≤∑ Breull elaborated the principle that the right of hospitality (Gastfreundschaft ) or a right as guests (Gastrecht ) enjoyed by foreigners carried the obligation not to trouble interstate relations. In this understanding, the activity of foreigners lay entirely within the jurisdiction of executive power and the prerogative of defining ‘‘German interests,’’ and a transgression of ‘‘hospitality’’ rested with the authorities alone. At the meeting of the Interior Ministries in 1962, Kanein encountered no opposition when he proposed that notations be put in the residence permit of foreign students forbidding them from engaging in all political activity.∞≤∏ The controversy that followed the introduction of such notations the following year, however, showed that the parameters of Gastrecht were open to contestation. The pretext used for introducing the notations was a wave of protests by Iranian dissidents during President Heinrich Lübke’s visit to Iran in October 1963. That month, three Iranian students arrested after engaging in an unregistered demonstration in Bonn received letters saying that further political activity would mean deportation and that notations forbidding political activity would be put in their passports.∞≤π In November 1963, a number of Iranians in Munich who had taken part in a hunger strike and demonstration received similar letters and had marks put in their passports.∞≤∫ In early 1964, Karl Kanka, a member of the Bundestag for the cdu who had also aided in drafting the constitution for the state of Hesse, alerted the bmi that he was going to ask during the upcoming parliamentary session about the passport marks.∞≤Ω In Kanka’s opinion, the notation functioned e√ectively as a ‘‘denunciation,’’ and measures were needed not only to stop such activity in the future but also to ‘‘compensate for the damage done.’’∞≥≠ In parliamentary session, Kanka asked the question in the single mammoth sentence required by procedure, addressing the federal government directly as the arbiter of right and wrong: ‘‘Does the federal government consider it correct that the foreign passports of foreign students who require a visa and have participated one time in a demonstration against their government should have, because of this one-time action, notations (for example, that the pass-holder is not allowed any political activity in the space of the Federal Republic) added by the foreign a√airs authorities,

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that will at the very least lead the authorities and the representatives of the foreign students’ homeland to conclude that they had participated in the demonstration?’’∞≥∞ In practice, the question was addressing not the ‘‘federal government’’ itself but the Interior Ministry, which was responsible for the policing of foreign students within the country. Having a public question posed in the space of the parliament put the Interior Ministry in a delicate situation. In his letter to the Interior Ministry, Kanka had written that he trusted the question would be answered with a ‘‘plain and simple no,’’ suggesting perhaps that he would continue to agitate about the issue if he was given a qualified response.∞≥≤ The open nature of the parliamentary session, which was printed as a transcript and made available to the public, also put some pressure on appearances and seemed to militate against an ambivalent answer. This fact was suggested by the internal drafting of a response to the answer. The first draft, written by a member of the bmi, contained conditions and was convoluted in its wording: ‘‘Whether a one-time action justifies the residence permit of a foreigner to be provided with conditions can only be judged from case to case. The decision is left to the discretion of the foreign a√airs authorities. Conditions are, as a matter of principle, noted in the passport of foreigners. What content the notation has depends on the intention of the condition. I do not consider registering the restriction of political activity in foreign passports as advisable when the inscription could lead to discrimination against the pass-holder in his or her home country.’’∞≥≥ When responding to the question o≈cially in the Bundestag, Interior Minister Hermann Höcherl opted against the qualified language, which seemed to reserve the right of foreign a√airs authorities to make the decision in the future, and responded as Kanka had requested with a simple no, saying in answer to a second question that he was willing to ensure that all of the state governments knew that this practice was intolerable.∞≥∂ By bringing a police measure into the space of the parliament, Kanka successfully confronted the logic of police power with the principle of liberal rights. The political activity of foreign students challenged o≈cial West German strategies of policing. To the express annoyance of the federal ministries, foreigners in West Germany not only enjoyed the same right to free political expression and assembly as Germans but were also being defended by politicians. Pressured by foreign embassies and by their own anxiety about the intrusion of non-state actors into the realm of foreign relations, the Foreign Ministry and Interior Ministry resorted to methods

Dissident Guests 39

of ‘‘administration (Verwaltung)’’ to eliminate troublesome elements of protest, seizing signs, making arrests, prohibiting demonstrations, and limiting the movement of foreigners. As the passport issue became public, an internal memo sent by a Foreign Ministry o≈cial to the Verfassungsschutz suggested that the strategy of authorities was to avoid the light of publicity as much as possible and treat foreign dissent as a police matter. The o≈cial wrote that the original decision to put the mark in the passport of the Iranian dissident Hassan Massali had been ‘‘clumsy. . . . It would have su≈ced at first to make Massali aware that he had injured the Gastrecht granted to him and that he would be threatened with not having his residence permit extended if he continued to do so.’’∞≥∑ It is significant that the o≈cial recommended a verbal rather than written measure. A personal threat did not leave the trace that could later become a subject for personal debate. At times, o≈cials used informal, unwritten means to set the lines of allowable dissent. In 1963, the bmi approved a demonstration in writing, but a note shows that an o≈cial communicated with the interior minister of Niedersachsen ‘‘by telephone to impede the demonstration.’’∞≥∏ The handwritten note added that the minister would speak to the local authorities personally and that, if necessary, the o≈cial should call the federal minister privately, presumably at home. The police worked under the direction of the Foreign Ministry to limit political activity in diplomatically sensitive areas. When Kurdish students planned to hold a congress in Munich in August 1963, the Federal Interior Ministry instructed the Bavarian Interior Ministry to prevent the congress from holding public demonstrations of any kind and to ensure that the Kurdish students issued no press releases. As a justification, the bmi pointed to a request by the Iraqi Embassy and the desire of the Foreign Ministry for diplomatic relationships with Iraq and Turkey not to be disturbed by the public political activity of Kurdish emigrants.∞≥π The West German state was even more proactive against potential Kurdish dissidents when, in May of the same year, West Berlin police arrested Kurdish students and searched their apartments and the o≈ce of the student organization.∞≥∫ On August 17, 1965, Kurdish students successfully held an international congress at the fu where more than a hundred delegates from North America, Eastern Europe, Western Europe, and China gathered and were o≈cially welcomed by a representative of the West Berlin sds.∞≥Ω The same year, West German authorities used direct and indirect means

40 Chapter 1

to suppress the political activity of Arab students. In May 1965, Arab students planned a conference in Bonn to discuss Palestine, German– Israeli relations, and developments in the Arab world with delegates expected from neighboring European countries.∞∂≠ The organizers of the conference were the Arab Student Union of West Germany and West Berlin and the General Union of Palestinian Students.∞∂∞ At the urging of the Tunisian Embassy, which predicted that President Habib Bourguiba’s policies would be harshly criticized and warned of violent demonstrations, the West German Foreign Ministry sent a request to the bmi that the congress ‘‘be prevented under all circumstances.’’∞∂≤ The Foreign Ministry recommended that special controls be set up at all incoming roads and train stations, that the police ‘‘direct away all buses with protesters or persuade them to turn back,’’ and that Arab participants be turned away at the border. The ministry also suggested that the holding of the conference in the planned building be ‘‘forbidden on general policy grounds (for hygienic, engineering or similar reasons) and then the attempt to hold the event outside be forbidden on the basis of the constitutional law of assembly.’’∞∂≥ The congress went ahead, but two Moroccans were turned back at the border, as were nine other participants arriving at the Aachen train station, leading to some public embarrassment for the West German federal state when Arab students studying in Paris published a letter of protest in Le Monde of Paris decrying the tactics of the West German o≈cials as ‘‘worthy of the Nazi period.’’∞∂∂ Even when o≈cials permitted demonstrations, they strictly policed the content of their political messages or suppressed their public impact. In 1963, the Foreign Ministry told the Iranian Embassy it had ensured that Iranian students’ protests would not be shown on television.∞∂∑ Police needed to approve the signs carried at protests beforehand and often seized unauthorized signs, as was the case at a demonstration of Iranian students in Munich in 1961 at which police allowed signs protesting the closing of Tehran University, the release of arrested students, and the shooting of students but seized one that read, ‘‘Freedom for Persia! Down with the Dictatorship!’’∞∂∏ At a demonstration of Iranian students in 1963, the police allowed signs critiquing the shah’s recent reforms but not those calling for the release of political prisoners and the arrest of police who shot at students.∞∂π In some cases, the West German authorities acted directly on the orders of foreign governments. Ahead of the visit of Iranian president Ali Amini

Dissident Guests 41

to Bonn in 1962, the Iranian government asked the West German Consulate for assurance that demonstrators would employ no images of deposed Prime Minister Mohammed Mosaddeq during Amini’s visit.∞∂∫ The Foreign Ministry conveyed the directive to the federal and provincial interior ministries.∞∂Ω On the day of the visit, police received specific instructions to seize pictures of Mosaddeq on the thin legal premises of an article in the criminal code (§103 StGB) that forbade defamation of a head of state and a law against obstructing tra≈c.∞∑≠ Police carried out their instructions, confiscating nearly eighty placards of Mosaddeq from the roughly one hundred students who gathered to demonstrate against Amini’s visit. Obviously satisfied, the Amini distributed dm 100 tips to each of his police escorts.∞∑∞ The persistence of Third World students’ protest in the face of police measures, and the corresponding complaints from foreign governments, continued to convince federal authorities of the need for new legislation to suppress foreign dissent. O≈cial concerns culminated in the passing of a new Foreigner Law (Ausländergesetz) in 1965, something Foreign Ministry o≈cials had been requesting since 1959.∞∑≤ Scholars have explained the law primarily in terms of its e√ect on guest workers in codifying their status as temporary residents of the Federal Republic of Germany and as an element in ‘‘working through’’ the past by replacing the Nazi-era Foreigner Police Order from 1938.∞∑≥ Yet the importance of cleansing the lawbooks of Nazi legislation should not be exaggerated. In most cases, bmi o≈cials mentioned the Nazi connection only to explain it away by pointing out that the law came in large part directly from the Prussian Police Ordinance of 1932.∞∑∂ Federal authorities did consistently return to the need for a stronger legal means to restrict the political activity of foreigners. Kanein, who had been the strongest advocate of suppressing foreign dissent since 1961, was the architect of the new law and the author of its legal concordance.∞∑∑ West German authorities did not hide their intention to use the new Foreigner Law to restrict the political activity of foreigners; nor did they conceal the role of foreign governments in influencing its design. In a press conference, Dietrich Rollmann, a member of the Bundestag from the cdu, remarked that the prohibition of political activity by foreigners when it infringed on ‘‘international law (Völkerrechte) and the constitution’’ had been ‘‘included at the wish of foreign democratic governments to prevent communist agitation among guest workers.’’∞∑∏ Regulating for-

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eign students was also clearly a goal. Ahead of the passage of the law in 1965, an Interior Ministry o≈cial wrote to the West German Embassy in Tehran that it should inform Iranian o≈cials who had complained yet again about Iranian dissidents in West Germany that the new provisos related to political activity ‘‘were not least created in order to be able to intervene more e√ectively than before against foreigners, especially those who try to damage the friendly relationship of the Federal Republic to other states through the use of slanderous or revolutionary propaganda.’’∞∑π Authorities hoped the new Foreigner Law would finally give them the means they desired to silence foreign dissent. Hans-Heinz Heldmann, a lawyer in Frankfurt who worked extensively with Amnesty International in defending Iranian dissidents throughout the decade, helped write a comprehensive critique of the new Foreigner Law with the vds in 1966.∞∑∫ Heldmann pointed out that the suppression of foreign dissent by authorities rested on a distinction between acts of constitutional law (Verfassung) and administrative law (Verwaltung). Using imprecise language such as ‘‘the interests of the Federal Republic’’ provided a ‘‘nearly unbounded space of discretionary maneuver’’ for authorities to ‘‘manage’’ troublesome dissidence through acts of policing.∞∑Ω O≈cials at the bmi had remarked internally that vague wording worked in their favor; the use of the undefined term ‘‘West German interests’’ allowed selectivity about which foreigners’ demonstrations to permit, allowing, in their example, demonstrations ‘‘in the fight against communism’’ but not others.∞∏≠ In a speech on the political rights of foreigners in 1967, Gerhard Heuer of the Interior Ministry explained how acts of administration interacted with the structures of law. Heuer used the example of an assassination threat on the shah by Iranian dissidents: ‘‘Imagine, please, what would happen if German authorities did not take seriously the threat of an Iranian to undertake a bomb attack during the next visit of the shah and if this Iranian in fact did throw a bomb! I find it in any case better to take such threats entirely seriously and to temporarily restrict spatially the residence permit for the relevant foreigner, especially when the intended purpose of study or work is in no way a√ected.’’∞∏∞ Addressing a threat in the short term was Heuer’s primary concern. He accepted as a matter of course that a higher court might later find this pre-emptive measure illegal: ‘‘If, indeed, a decision of the federal court were made as a genial complement to the administrative-regulative (verwaltungsbehördliche)

Dissident Guests 43

decision in this sector, . . . then I have to point out the significant difference arising from the fact that this relates to the legal side of a case. We are concerned only with the latter [i.e., the case itself ].’’∞∏≤ Referring with slight condescension to the activity of the federal court as a ‘‘genial complement (wohltuendes Gegenstück)’’ to the ‘‘administrativeregulative’’ treatment of foreigners, Heuer placed the everyday work of policing in a space that was mediated by the law only after the fact. Criticizing the use of this space of maneuver by authorities, Heldmann argued that acts of administration must be counteracted by making them publicly visible, by bringing them into a space of political contestation such as the parliament, the courts, or the public sphere. Federal authorities regularly faced opposition to their campaign against foreign dissent when police actions were brought into the sphere of law. As the journalist Eberhard Druck put it in 1969, the Foreigner Law was a ‘‘weapon that guarantees a direct hit almost every time as long as . . . police, jurists, lawyers and judges all work smoothly together,’’ but they did not always do so.∞∏≥ A Higher Administrative Court in Münster declared an attempt by authorities to ‘‘forbid all political activity’’ of an Iranian resident during the shah’s visit in 1965 to be unconstitutional.∞∏∂ A Foreign Ministry o≈cial complained in 1963 that courts frequently overruled the ministry’s attempts to prevent foreign students’ protests.∞∏∑ In late 1965, a Foreign Ministry o≈cial advised that a demonstration of Iranian students be allowed to go ahead against demands for its prohibition by the Iranian Consulate and the bmi. One could expect, he wrote, that the courts would simply overturn a police prohibition.∞∏∏ In 1965, the German ambassador cited the liberality of the West German legal system as a reason for the continued vocal presence of dissidents so irritating to Iranian o≈cials. In personal conversations with the shah in Tehran, the ambassador explained: ‘‘In the time of Hitler (Hitler-Zeit ), the German judiciary operated under the influence of the governmental organs too much and was overly generous with harsh judgments in political cases. This explains the understandable tendency today of the courts to be very liberal in political trials and to proceed with great caution. German administrative authorities must take this into account.’’∞∏π A Bonn District Court decision in 1964 exemplified the liberal position of the courts as it exonerated the Iranian student Mahmood Rassekh from having violated the law of assembly during a hunger strike in 1963. After citing the Basic Law and the European Convention on Human Rights, the jurists wrote:

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‘‘The hunger strike may have been politically undesirable; it could also have been seen as the expression of a certain ingratitude vis-à-vis the host country. Yet these considerations must recede before the right to free assembly that itself comes from the right to the free expression of opinion.’’∞∏∫ Authorities recognized that a conscientious judiciary restricted their space of maneuver. Yet, as Heuer pointed out, court decisions often happened after the fact, as ex post facto ‘‘genial complements’’ to a successful arrest or prohibition. The vague language of ‘‘damage to German interests,’’ though it rarely stood up in a court of appeal, could still be exploited for the sake of an arrest or a charge, e√ectively disciplining protesters by entangling them in legal proceedings that stretched over months. In the case discussed earlier, although the courts eventually exonerated Rassekh, the process took half a year, subjecting him to inconvenience and embarrassment that can be seen as an a√ective supplement to the original act of policing.

Defense of Foreign Dissidence Even under the new Foreigner Law of 1965, the attention and intervention of a critical public sphere of students, journalists, and lawyers continued to attenuate the ability of West German authorities to ‘‘administrate’’ away foreign dissent. As the defense of foreigners’ rights, and especially the defense of individuals from political deportation, became the grounds for mobilization within and beyond New Left circles, the o≈cial space of maneuver progressively narrowed. Large sectors of the population supported the right of foreigners to full political expression, as demonstrated by a survey commissioned by the bmi in 1965 after the passage of the new Foreigner Law. While 54 percent of blue-collar workers believed foreigners already ‘‘had enough rights,’’ only 34 percent of white-collar workers thought this was the case.∞∏Ω The press criticized the overreaction of authorities to foreign students’ protests, as seen in a political cartoon in the Westfälische Rundschau from before June 1967 that showed a long line of police trucks filled with o≈cers on the move while a bystander commented, ‘‘Three or five Iranian students are supposed to be protesting again’’ (see figure 4).∞π≠ At the most basic level, the participation of Germans in protests organized by non-Germans made it di≈cult to police foreigners as a distinct

Dissident Guests 45

4. ‘‘Three or five Iranian students are supposed to be protesting again.’’ This Westfälische Rundschau political cartoon from before June 1967 suggests that even the mainstream press saw the police response to foreign students’ protests as disproportionate to their supposed threat to public order.

group. Although Egyptians, Iranians, and other foreign student groups had organized the protests in 1961 after the death of Lumumba and the closure of Tehran University, half of the participating protesters were West Germans.∞π∞ In 1965, the Foreign Ministry considered using the Foreigner Law to prohibit a protest in front of the Iranian Consulate, until it discovered that the Gewerkschaftliche Arbeitskreis der Studenten (the trade-union students’ group) had co-organized the event.∞π≤ The Foreigner Law could be used to police the Iranians, Iraqis, and Africans, but not the Germans.∞π≥ More worrisome than the prohibition of protests was the possibility of deportation under the new Foreigner Law. Heldmann pointed out in his critique that o≈cials could now deny the right to asylum for reasons of ‘‘public security and order.’’∞π∂ West German asylum law, contained in Article 16 of the Basic Law, was internationally unique in providing the subjective right of asylum to all who feared political persecution.∞π∑ Authorities complained through the decade that dissidents appealed to this law to escape the deportation desired by their home states.∞π∏ In 1963, a

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court determined that two Iranian students arrested in Munich for possessing and distributing communist materials could not be deported because of probable persecution on their return to Iran.∞ππ In 1967, eighteen Greek communist workers avoided the deportation sought by the new military government in Greece by applying for asylum.∞π∫ West Germany was a focal point of the Greek military regime’s campaign against overseas opponents because, as an article in 1967 put it, ‘‘The agglomeration of students and guest workers had produced an especially militant opposition to the Athens dictatorship.’’∞πΩ Leftist student groups, the Confederation of German Trade Unions, and the spd were vocal in their support of Greeks who feared deportation.∞∫≠ Although money transfers to leftist students were cut, appeals to asylum law stymied attempts by Greek authorities to have them returned to Greece.∞∫∞ In two exceptional cases in which authorities employed the ‘‘public security and order’’ clause in 1968, the Socialist Lawyers’ Collective succeeded in defending the leftist guest worker Constantin Catsioulis in 1967 and the leftist journalist Demetre Maracas from deportation.∞∫≤ Public interventions a√ected the internal decision making of authorities. This became clear in the coordinated attempt between the West German and Iranian governments to deport the dissident Hassan Massali. A leader of the opposition to the shah in West Germany, Massali had first deflected attempts for his deportation through application for asylum in 1964.∞∫≥ Although o≈cials rejected his application, he appealed his case a year later and was not compelled to leave the country.∞∫∂ A Foreign Ministry o≈cial vented his frustration about the obstacle of a generous asylum law in a marginal note on a letter on Massali’s application, writing, ‘‘Sure. First make yourself punishable through your own behavior and place yourself in a condition of ‘political persecution’ so you can ‘place an application’ for political asylum. That’s how you gotta do it!’’∞∫∑ The o≈cial’s cynicism about the legitimacy of Massali’s claim was belied by the fact that in 1970, another member of the Iranian dissident group Confederation of Iranian Students, National Union, Hosein Reza’i, from the University of Mainz, visited Iran to observe a political trial with Heldmann and was seized, imprisoned, and not released until the Iranian Revolution in 1978–79, despite hunger strikes and embassy occupations in protest across Western Europe.∞∫∏ By 1968, Iranian dissidents and sympathetic journalists had successfully publicized the attempts of the West German authorities to restrict the

Dissident Guests 47

political activity of Massali, and articles on the topic appeared in several major newspapers.∞∫π In internal correspondence, a bmi o≈cial referred to Massali bitterly as a ‘‘star martyr.’’∞∫∫ Deferring to the advocacy of a critical public, West German o≈cials in Hessen abandoned attempts to silence or deport Massali in 1968 on the grounds that ‘‘proceeding against Massali would likely be criticized in press, radio, and television.’’∞∫Ω As Niels Seibert has shown, campaigns to prevent the deportation of leftist colleagues were often violent and large scale in the late 1960s.∞Ω≠ In April 1969, hundreds of students stormed the Frankfurt airport, smashing the windows of police cars and of the airline company, in an attempt to delay the imminent deportation of the twenty-eight-year-old Iranian leftist student Ahmad Taheri.∞Ω∞ They could not find Taheri because he had slit his wrists, non-fatally, at the border control in fear of being sent back to Iran. When the police escorted him, in bandages, covertly to a waiting Czech Airlines plane, the pilot refused to transport the unwilling passenger.∞Ω≤ As protesters continued to search the airport, police reportedly took Taheri, after a second suicide attempt, to a psychiatric hospital.∞Ω≥ At the beginning of the summer semester, hundreds of students repeatedly occupied Frankfurt University buildings to demand the reinstatement of Taheri as a student. Police used water cannons and truncheons to clear occupied administration buildings; students responded by throwing bottles, rocks, firecrackers, stink bombs, sour-butter bombs, and paint.∞Ω∂ Courts threw out the charges against the recuperated Taheri when he came to trial in September.∞Ω∑ He underlined the urgency of engagement in the cause of foreigners and firmly drew the battle lines between activists and authorities when he reported that police had pushed him against the wall during his arrest and said, ‘‘You’re going to be deported, you pig. We’re going to write the Iranian police a real nice letter. They have di√erent methods than we do.’’∞Ω∏ A more high-profile case than Taheri’s was that of the Iranian dissident intellectual Bahman Nirumand, the shah’s most visible critic in West Germany, whose influence is discussed extensively in a later chapter. Under unrelenting pressure from the Iranian government, West German ministerial o≈cials explored the possibilities of deporting Nirumand or restricting his political activity in 1968 and 1969.∞Ωπ Although the senator for the interior of West Berlin repeatedly insisted that such an action would be counterproductive, he finally relented and denied an extension to Nirumand’s residence permit in January 1969.∞Ω∫ The announcement

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brought an immediate national and international response. The Foreign O≈ce reported that 500 students had gathered at the Iranian General Consulate in Berlin, breaking its windows, and forty more had staged a ‘‘go-in’’ at the consulate in Hamburg.∞ΩΩ Telegrams of protest arrived from as far away as Canada, and a protest petition quickly gathered the signatures of West Germany’s most internationally well-known authors.≤≠≠ Clearly confident of the new power of the mobilized public, Nirumand visited the West Berlin authorities in a private meeting in May 1969 and laid out his strategy.≤≠∞ The senator for the interior reported the events of the meeting in internal correspondence later. Nirumand had explained, he recounted, that if the authorities continued to refuse his residence permit, Nirumand ‘‘would take it as a political measure directed at him and would use all the methods of publicity available to prove that West Germany [was] not a Rechtsstaat.’’≤≠≤ The authorities could not call his blu√, because the public outcry had proved the threat real. Making no mention of the conversations that had led to the decision, the authorities granted Nirumand a new residence permit in June 1969, weeks after his visit.≤≠≥ By the end of the 1960s, the advocacy of students, along with the national and international critical public sphere, had become demonstrably e√ective in protecting a space of Third World dissidence.≤≠∂ The diligence of the public sphere and the courts helped ensure that cases of politically motivated deportation and restrictions on political expression under the new Foreigner Law were few. Occasionally, acts of enforcement still happened quickly enough to escape the interventions of press and law. In February 1967, police arrested the Nigerian medical student Obi Ifeobu in a demonstration against the Vietnam War in Hamburg, and immigration o≈cials escorted him to a departing airplane within twenty-four hours, with no chance of appeal.≤≠∑ The deportation happened on the basis of the testimony of one drunken witness, later discarded, that Ifeobu had wielded a knife at a police o≈cer during the protest.≤≠∏ Friends of Ifeobu in West Germany stopped hearing from him soon after he returned to Nigeria. Because he was of Igbo ethnicity and from a wealthy family, many believed that he had been killed during the civil war that broke out that year.≤≠π Members of the public complained repeatedly to the federal government about Ifeobu’s case, and critical articles appeared in Die Zeit and the student press.≤≠∫ Nigerian newspapers printed scathing commentaries on the event. An editorial in the West African Pilot accused West Germany of

Dissident Guests 49

‘‘negrophobia,’’ and the Morning Post claimed that the ‘‘bare-faced racial ill treatment’’ of Ifeobu was further evidence that the Federal Republic was ‘‘the foster-child of the Kaiser-Hitler’s Nazi Germany.’’≤≠Ω The German ambassador in Nigeria dismissed the articles as ‘‘communist propaganda’’ and did not feel compelled to take further action to make Ifeobu’s return to West Germany possible.≤∞≠ When a delegate from Hamburg asked during a parliamentary session whether the case of Ifeobu should be the grounds for revising the Foreigner Law to ensure a court hearing before deportation, the Senate responded that, because the deportation had happened for reasons of ‘‘public order,’’ there were no grounds to revisit the new law.≤∞∞ When Ifeobu reestablished contact with students in Hamburg one year later, the authorities conceded that the deportation had been unfounded on legal grounds but refused to pay for his return.≤∞≤ By the end of the 1960s, federal authorities cognizant of a public sensitized to foreign issues began to self-regulate their administrative interventions against the political activity of non-Germans. Evidence of this was visible in 1969, when authorities balked at following the specific and direct request of the Iranian government to prevent a conference of Iranian dissident students in Karlsruhe from taking place.≤∞≥ While authorities had used administrative tactics to obstruct foreign students’ conferences in the past, as with the Kurdish students in 1963 and the Arab students in 1965, this time they advised against all interference beyond ‘‘surveillance.’’≤∞∂ They feared a response from a critical public. The bmi argued that if the event were prevented, it would be moved to the local university campus, and ‘‘we could then certainly count on protest actions of German students and their solidarity with the Iranian students.’’≤∞∑ In communication with the Iranian authorities, the West German ambassador justified the decision not to intervene by citing ‘‘the particular sensitivity of the German public toward measures that could be seen as infringements of the space of freedom, which, in the eyes of the German public is also to be defended for foreign citizens.’’≤∞∏ By the end of the 1960s, the willingness of a mobilized public to act in solidarity with nonGerman dissidents served to undergird the rights of foreigners and help guard them from interventions of police power that contravened their constitutionally protected rights. Kraushaar, a leading historian of the student movement, like many others, has argued that the international student movement ‘‘had its origins

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without any doubt in the West.’’≤∞π Yet it was not the students at the University of California, Berkeley, or in the American South but the students of Africa, Asia, and Latin America who first created a large number of meaningful alliances with West German students, a fact that forces a revision of the narrative of student protest in the 1960s as one of di√usion from the United States. Foreign students’ activism in West Germany bore the common qualities of the international student movement in the motivation for protest—against state violence—and the reassessment of the role of education and the university. Chosen as agents of national-economic growth, Third World students abroad arguably felt the pressures of an economic-utilitarian approach to education more acutely than any others. They were also the first to resist it by taking a public role as both students and political actors in the face of vigorous state attempts to silence them. African and Asian dissident students made allies of West German students by individualizing the victims of state violence in the Third World and insisting on the precedence of life and political freedom over economic and geopolitical necessity. In response to the challenges to Cold War dichotomies posed by Third World students, the federal government attempted to regulate protest through new legislation and individual acts of administration, providing a context for the Foreigner Law of 1965 that has been overlooked by scholars. Karen Schönwalder sees the creation of the new law as primarily motivated by the desire of authorities to cleanse the lawbooks of Nazi-era legislation.≤∞∫ Labor and immigration scholars interpret the Foreigner Law as the entrenchment of the status of guest workers as temporary residents.≤∞Ω In my interpretation, the Foreigner Law was also an attempt by the federal government to designate nonGermans in the Federal Republic as economic actors—a labor force to be recruited and dismissed at will—and disenfranchise them as political actors. Germans and non-Germans fought for the political rights of foreigners in the courts, the streets, and the public sphere through the 1960s, creating and protecting a space for Third World voices within West Germany. The proximate struggle of preserving the right for the foreigner to speak was the starting point for rethinking politics within a global framework.

2 THIRD WORLDISM AND COLLABORATION

Beginning in 1963, a small group of socialist students in West Berlin including Rudi Dutschke and Bernd Rabehl formulated a new model of political action based partly on their collaboration with Third World students. Dutschke and Rabehl saw their Third World colleagues as examples of the vanguard role that minority populations could play within advanced capitalist societies and as key figures in an emerging global network of anti-imperialist struggle. Dutschke discovered the Third World revolutionary as an idealized political subject not only in the pages of Frantz Fanon, Che Guevara, and Herbert Marcuse and in reports from Vietnam, Peru, and Cuba, but also in the midst of collaborative actions with students from Asia, Africa, and Latin America. At a key demonstration against the visit of Congolese Prime Minister Moise Tshombe in 1964, West German and foreign students broke the rules of protest together, storming police barricades, bombarding o≈cial vehicles with tomatoes, and forcing their way into West Berlin’s City Hall. Writing in 1968, Dutschke, who had become the leading figure in the student movement by 1967, placed great emphasis on his collaborations with nonGerman students and called the Tshombe protest the ‘‘beginning of our cultural revolution.’’∞ Tracing the origins of Dutschke’s and Rabehl’s Third Worldism is worthwhile because of their degree of influence within the student movement but also because it directly challenges existing historical narratives of the 1960s. With rare exceptions, historians continue to depict the turn of West German socialists to Third World revolutionary ideologies as an act of pure imagination.≤ Scholars, along with many former activists, contend that students invented the Third World from whole cloth to the specifications of their own revolutionary desires and explain the Third Worldism of student leaders as an accumulation of textual influences combined with wishful thinking.≥ The role of imagination is clearly cru-

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cial. West German radicals frequently had unreasonable expectations for their Third World counterparts, seeing them, as the former sds member Peter Schneider recalled, ‘‘like inverted gods, the way the Aztecs took the Europeans for gods.’’∂ Yet the origins of West German Third Worldism lay not only in distorted adulation but also in a history of concrete collaboration. Exploring moments of transnational activism in student radicalism in West Germany rejects the retroactive portrayal of the protest movement as a national story. The convergence of Latin American, Caribbean, and African trajectories of student activism in West Berlin allowed—and, arguably, encouraged—German socialist students to revise their models of political thought and action.

Dutschke, Rabehl, and Minority Politics More has been written about Rudi Dutschke than any other figure of the West German 1960s. He pioneered the antiauthoritarian line in the sds after joining the socialist student organization in early 1965, and his nearfatal shooting by the young worker Josef Bachmann in April 1968 initiated the largest student demonstrations of the decade. As Dutschke’s fifth and most recent biographer put it, he was at the time, and has remained, the ‘‘personification of the student movement of 1968’’ in Germany.∑ He was also the earliest and perhaps only German student leader to draw theoretical conclusions from his collaborations with students from the Third World. Although his biographers routinely note his friendships with Haitian and Latin American students, they do not relate this collaboration systematically to his theories of political action, within which he anointed the Third World revolutionary the political actor par excellence.∏ The fact that scholars have marginalized the centrality of Dutschke’s Third World connections makes returning to his case worthwhile. It demonstrates that many of the concrete links between West German New Leftists and the Third World have been hidden in plain sight and shows how much can be seen by pulling the lens back to reveal the transnational confluences of the decade. Dutschke’s own life story helps explain his a≈nity for partnership with Third World students. Born in a village south of Berlin in 1940, Dutschke grew up in the gdr and was a member of the East German Freie Deutsche Jugend (Free German Youth; fdj) as a teenager. When the draft was

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introduced in 1958, he tried di√erent means to avoid military service, motivated by an antimilitarism gleaned from his understanding of pacifist socialism and his Christian faith.π He eventually opted to begin studying in West Berlin in August 1961.∫ When East German authorities erected the Berlin Wall two days after his arrival, Dutschke found himself separated from family and friends and unable to travel back even to visit. He began classes at the fu in November 1961 as a de facto exile and, in e√ect, as a foreign student himself and describes feeling as if ‘‘the thread was torn, I had to first find a new social and personal point of view.’’Ω According to Dutschke’s later account, his insecurity ‘‘dissolved over time into a disposition toward new forms of work, struggle, and being with others.’’∞≠ He recalled that his new circle of colleagues and collaborators was ‘‘dominated by students who had left the gdr and those who had come from Latin America,’’ people who shared his experience of displacement.∞∞ His first friend in Berlin was Rabehl, an East German student of sociology at the fu.∞≤ Although both were initially uninterested in Marxism after the obligatory study of their youth in the gdr, they discovered it anew as students in West Berlin. By 1964, Dutschke was especially interested in the international dimensions of Marxism, including Chinese communism, likely because they seemed to provide an alternative to the parochial and bureaucratic form of socialism that had repelled him in his youth. Working at the library of the fu Eastern European Institute (established, ironically, as a center of anticommunist area studies by the Ford Foundation in 1961), Dutschke read the Peking Review (Peking Rundschau), which the Chinese Communist Party began publishing and distributing in German translation in 1964.∞≥ He also met a group of Latin American and Caribbean students at the library, all of whom lived in the ‘‘student village’’ near the fu campus in Dahlem. The mixture of German and foreign students in the village, in Jürgen Miermeister’s words, ‘‘drew the First and Third Worlds together in miniature’’ and provided an opportunity and an appropriate location for transnational political collaboration.∞∂ Dutschke and Rabehl began what they called an ‘‘international working group’’ in 1964, meeting regularly with Latin American, Haitian, and Ethiopian students to read, as his future wife Gretchen Dutschke-Klotz recalled, ‘‘the ‘classics’ as well as the newest texts of critical theory and Marxism.’’∞∑ Although he did not participate in the group, the Chilean student Gaston Salvatore was living in the village at the time. A trained lawyer studying philosophy at the fu, Salvatore would become Dutschke’s friend

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by 1967 and translate Che Guevara’s final speech calling for ‘‘creating two, three, many Vietnams’’ for publication in German with him.∞∏ He recalls that Dutschke’s knowledge of Latin American history and politics impressed the Latin American students: ‘‘At that time we knew damn little about other countries. We Latin Americans had always looked toward Europe or the U.S., maybe as far as the neighboring country, but not further.’’∞π Together with Dutschke and Rabehl, the members of the group began to develop a critical socialist perspective on the political situation in their countries and their region as a whole. Though Ulrich Chaussy refers to Dutschke as the ‘‘mentor’’ of the Latin American students, Dutschke himself implies that the education and influence went both ways. He saw the foreign students as important connections to Third World revolutionary struggles. In August 1965, Dutschke referred to the ‘‘international troupe of mostly Latin Americans’’ with whom he and Rabehl were meeting and the ‘‘extraordinary comrade’’ they had found in an Ecuadorian who would be in Mexico and Argentina as of 1966 to act as a ‘‘liaison between the guerrillas in various countries.’’∞∫ Dutschke saw concrete connections with international students as the most pressing element of political organizations. In April 1965, he wrote, ‘‘The global society presently constituting itself is moving forward. The internationalization of strategy for the revolutionary forces seems to be ever more urgent. Our micro-cells must begin extensive contact and cooperation with American, other European, [and] Latin American as well as Afro-Asian students and (when possible) non-students. These contacts must be placed ahead of all contacts with pseudo-revolutionary German groups. . . . Our very good but still unsystematic connections to the Latin Americans must be systematized.’’∞Ω Along with cooperating on ‘‘theoretical work,’’ Dutschke emphasized collecting the ‘‘addresses of revolutionary groups from their home countries’’ to open up new sources of information from the Third World that could ‘‘make the concrete structure of an all-encompassing theory of world revolution visible, a theory which no single person, no matter how brilliant, can attempt today.’’≤≠ For Dutschke, the benefits of transnational collaboration were both practical and theoretical. International connections could enable an alternative view of the global political moment by opening up novel channels of information and provide the first nodes in an international network of guerrilla revolutionaries. At the early date of April 1965, he was already discussing how ‘‘revolutionaries’’ within West Germany could be ‘‘found and trained’’ to act as domestic counterparts to Third World actors.≤∞

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The idea of West Berlin in 1965 as a node in an international guerrilla network is not as far-fetched as it may sound. In the first half of the 1960s, there were numerous guerrilla movements throughout Latin America, many of which had international connections. Beginning in 1963, Cuba had begun a concerted attempt to provide moral, material, and training support to socialist revolutionaries throughout Latin America and the Caribbean. According to the Cold War historian Odd Arne Westad, the Cubans had trained at least 1,500 guerrilla fighters by 1964.≤≤ The spokesperson for the Cuban strategy was Ernesto ‘‘Che’’ Guevara, who was already turning his attention to Africa by late 1964 and would travel to the Congo in August 1965.≤≥ Writing in the Algerian magazine Révolution Africaine in December 1964, Guevara described the ‘‘revolutionary bases’’ in Latin American countries as a part of the emergent ‘‘international front against imperialism.’’≤∂ U.S. o≈cials were increasingly concerned in 1964 and 1965 that Latin American and Caribbean students were using both Western European and Eastern European countries to make connections and plan for future domestic insurrections. In June 1964, the New York Times reported that police had broken up a ‘‘vast clandestine organization of communist ideology’’ in Spain, arresting one hundred people, including students from Haiti, Nicaragua, and Peru.≤∑ There were also press reports that Guillermo Lobaton Milla, a former sociology student at the Sorbonne, was leading the Peruvian guerrilla movement Movimiento de la Izquierda Revolucionariá and that Dominican communist students deported from their own country were arriving in Paris before traveling on to Eastern Europe.≤∏ The relevance of U.S. concerns to students in West Berlin became clear through the ‘‘Espinoza A√air.’’ In July 1965, the Peruvian student Salomon Espinoza Quiros, a member of the international working group, publicized his claim that he was being threatened with deportation for refusing to inform to U.S. intelligence on his Latin American colleagues.≤π Espinoza had briefly left West Germany to study in Dresden, East Germany, after being charged in Hannover under ‘‘suspicion of communist activity among Spanish guest workers’’ in 1961. He returned to study at the fu in the winter semester of 1963–64 attracted by a scholarship from the umbrella student organization Bundesstudentenring. Because of his previous charge in Hannover, however, he had problems securing a residence permit in West Berlin. According to Espinoza, the authorities in West Berlin sent him to U.S. intelligence services, which promised him

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leniency in exchange for information, especially about Venezuelan students at the university in Dresden.≤∫ The student groups at the fu came out in support of Espinoza and called on all foreign students to boycott their university courses related to politics in the case of his deportation because, in their words, ‘‘West Berlin only protects the security of foreign students who are more than loyal to the West German government from day one.’’≤Ω Seeking legal help on behalf of Espinoza, Dutschke made his first contact with the lawyer Horst Mahler, who would become the leading attorney for socialist students in the second half of the decade (and a member of the Red Army Faction in the 1970s). According to Mahler, American intelligence agents had also asked Espinoza to inform on his colleagues in West Berlin.≥≠ The publicity on Espinoza’s case saved him from forced deportation, but he left the city for an unknown location after his release from detainment.≥∞ In a meeting of the international working group, the Bolivian student Leon Bieber mentioned the incident with concern. ‘‘The Espinoza case,’’ he said, ‘‘has great significance for the progressive forces in West Germany, as well as for the position of foreigners.’’≥≤ The veracity of Espinoza’s charges was strengthened in February 1967, when twelve other foreign and German students reported that the U.S. Central Intelligence Agency (cia) had approached them to act as informants at the university in the decade. According to the current and former students, while the cia had been especially interested in East German students from 1959 to 1961, after the construction of the Berlin Wall in August 1961, their interest turned to the political student groups and specific politically active students.≥≥ In February 1967, Leslie R. Colitt, an American sta√ member of the New York Times, reported a similar experience during his graduate study at the fu in the early 1960s. According to Colitt, the cia primarily recruited at the ‘‘student village,’’ where Dutschke and Rabehl held their international working group, and compensated informants with salaries between dm 200 and dm 400 a month, roughly the equivalent of a government scholarship.≥∂ Informants, he reported, became ‘‘dependent on the extra money and, in the instances where they finally decided to quit, they were subsequently visited and telephoned innumerable times and asked to reconsider.’’≥∑ The fu Spiegel student magazine reprinted Collit’s article and called for students to come forward if the cia had approached them.≥∏ In creating a network of informants within the student body at the fu, the United States mirrored the East German practice of recruiting ‘‘uno≈cial

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co-workers (ino≈zielle Mitarbeiter)’’ to report on colleagues. O≈cial surveillance e√orts fed suspicion about U.S. claims of allegiance to the principles of intellectual and academic freedom.

Che Guevara and the Foco Model of Revolution In the early 1960s, the United States was also undermining its international reputation of benevolence through military interventions in Latin America, including the Bay of Pigs invasion of Cuba in 1961. Dutschke, Rabehl, and the Latin American students in the West Berlin international working group actively discussed the Cuban situation. In particular, they discussed whether Guevara’s model of revolution was appropriate in all situations. In opposition to the Soviet and Chinese emphasis on class and mass mobilization, Guevara’s model of revolution was based on the focus ( foco), the small guerrilla cell that would spark social revolt through isolated insurrections, creating ‘‘the conditions for making revolution,’’ as Guevara put it, instead of waiting for them.≥π In a meeting of the international working group, a Latin American student named Rene suggested that ‘‘in Latin America, the timeliness of revolution is uncontestable, and the Cuban revolution has answered the question of organization.’’ At the same time, Bieber cautioned that the ‘‘Cuban example is not easily transferable beyond Latin America. The capitalists have learned a great deal. Conceptions of the party must come from national experiences.’’≥∫ The Haitian student Bernard Pierre-Louis proposed a route to development other than revolution. Worried about the potential ‘‘failure’’ of socialist countries as partners, he recommended ‘‘using the national bourgeoisie, in light of the existing opportunities,’’ and ‘‘compelling [them] to make large investments,’’ presumably in national-economic development. Bieber countered that Venezuela and other countries had ‘‘overestimated the national bourgeoisie in the 1950s.’’≥Ω The fragmentary transcripts of the working group’s session suggest that the Latin American and Caribbean students had a range of opinions about how national development might take place, from reliance on the national bourgeoisie to Cubanstyle revolution. Dutschke himself was strongly attracted to Guevara’s model of creating the revolutionary moment.∂≠ In August 1965, he cited Guevera, along with Lenin and Juan Álvarez, who fought repressive colonial and national

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governments in Mexico in the early nineteenth century, as examples of ‘‘the supreme importance of the subjective action of an autonomous avant-garde in objectively ripe situations of poverty and social misery.’’∂∞ The problem with transposing this model to West Germany or Western Europe was clear. Postwar prosperity had all but eliminated the poverty that helped constitute a revolutionary situation, making the working classes unlikely revolutionaries. In February 1963, Dutschke wrote that, because of the overall improvement in living conditions, workers in Western Europe in the postwar period had ‘‘more to lose than their chains. . . . Man only destroys inherited norms on the condition that he can improve his situation. If the situation is good, even only apparently good, he will neither want to, nor will he, risk anything.’’∂≤ Drawing on Herbert Marcuse’s writings at the time, Dutschke saw alternative leaders of revolt in Third World liberation movements and the minorities and socially marginalized groups (Randgruppen) of the First World. In April 1965, Dutschke quoted Marcuse to the e√ect that ‘‘racial and national minorities, the unemployed, and the poor . . . represent the living negation of the system.’’∂≥ They had not been co-opted and fell outside the web of institutionalized ideological bribery that was welfare provision and mass consumption. Who such marginal groups might be in West Germany was an open question. Attempting to transpose Marcuse’s categories onto the West German situation, Dutschke would refer to the need to create an organization to ‘‘capture (erfassen)’’ the growing numbers of unemployed in late 1966.∂∂ In pursuit of a local racially defined minority, he proposed a tentative parallel between the ‘‘Negro problem in the USA’’ and ‘‘the Jews with us’’ in 1965 but failed to explore the radical dissimilarity between the history and socioeconomic position of the two groups.∂∑ A large, historically underprivileged African American population had little in common with a relatively well-educated and economically privileged German Jewish population that had nearly vanished through state-led extermination and postwar emigration. Martin Klimke has shown that the turn of parts of the Civil Rights Movement to Black Power after 1966 reinforced Dutschke’s interest in the role of African American revolt as he followed its progress with the help of his American wife, Dutschke-Klotz, going as far as to consider a move to the United States in late 1967.∂∏ Dutschke’s most immediate solution to the problem of the missing minority in West Germany, however, was to begin seeing radical stu-

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dents and intellectuals themselves as socially marginal groups. Radical German socialists, as he saw it, were distant from the mainstream of society and could justifiably perceive themselves as minorities. Yet the simple self-designation as minority group was not su≈cient. Dutschke held that Third World oppression and exploitation underwrote First World prosperity. Even if First World individuals accepted this fact as objective knowledge, it would still only become subjective understanding through the bodily experience of oppression at the hands of the state. ‘‘Authorized demonstrations,’’ Dutschke argued in 1965, ‘‘must be guided into illegality. Confrontation with state power is essential and must be sought out.’’∂π As he wrote in 1968, the demonstration must become an ‘‘instrument of struggle for creating consciousness (Kampfinstrument für Bewusstwerdung).’’∂∫ Even if the targets of protest were only symbolic, the outcome could be radicalizing. In 1965, he recommended organizing, for example, to protest ‘‘despised heads of state.’’ He quoted Marx and Engels from 1850 on the usefulness of channeling popular emotion: ‘‘Far from opposing the so-called excesses—instances of popular vengeance against hated individuals or against public buildings with which hateful memories are associated—the workers’ party must not only tolerate these actions but must even give them direction.’’∂Ω Referring again to Marcuse, Dutschke saw the overall goal as the ‘‘softening’’ of the ‘‘one-dimensionality’’ of industrialized societies.∑≠ If individual and collective acts of political mobilization could weaken the psychological control of consumer ideology on First World populations, then those populations would be in a position to respond to the liberating impulse emanating from Third World revolutions.∑∞ Dutschke’s emphasis on subjective aspects of revolt and the importance of confrontation with the state came from two sources in particular. The first was his reading of Marcuse, and the second was Frantz Fanon, about whom he had first heard in a presentation at the international working group in December 1964, in his words, ‘‘long before the excerpted publication’’ of The Wretched of the Earth in the literary journal Kursbuch in spring 1965.∑≤ Rabehl taught the Kursbuch article in a seminar to new members of the West Berlin sds in the winter semester of 1965. Dutschke proposed a session comparing the theories of imperialism and revolution in Lenin, Mao, and Fanon for the 1966 ‘‘Vietnam—Analysis of an Example’’ congress in Frankfurt. The sds leadership rejected the proposal

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because it was still unwilling to use the term ‘‘imperialism’’ in its public work at the time, as explored in the next chapter.∑≥ Fanon, a Martinican psychoanalyst, had lived and practiced in Algeria since the early 1950s and become actively involved in the struggle against French colonial rule by 1954. In The Wretched of the Earth, first published in France in 1961, he described the psychological deformations su√ered by colonial subjects and advocated violent confrontation as a necessary therapeutic step toward subjective liberation and the recovery of ‘‘selfrespect.’’∑∂ In their reception of Fanon, West German socialist students focused on his emphasis on the necessity for violence, but especially on his attention to the psychological. Like Marcuse and other members of the Frankfurt School, Fanon sought to reconcile Marxism and psychoanalysis, a goal shared by many in the West German New Left. The reviewer of the book for the sds journal was Renate Zahar, a twentyfour-year-old student of sociology at Frankfurt University who had studied in North Africa and Sub-Saharan Africa.∑∑ She praised Fanon for being the first to ‘‘investigate the psychological mechanisms of exploitation and alienation’’ and to realize that ‘‘true liberation’’ would mean liberation from both objective and subjective forms of oppression.∑∏ At the same time, Fanon saw that the common history of oppression placed formerly colonial populations in a unique position at the global political conjuncture of the 1960s. Marx’s theory of reification, as developed by Georg Lukács, held that the very experience of objectification and dehumanization made the proletariat a potentially revolutionary actor.∑π Fanon proposed analogously that the experience of brutal and duplicitous rule under colonialism had prepared the colonized individual to maneuver in the atmosphere of heightened danger in the era of Cold War conflict and colonial wars. In February 1966 at an sds meeting, Dutschke quoted a slightly truncated version of the passage in which Fanon makes this point that ‘‘this atmosphere of violence and menace, these rockets brandished by both sides, do not frighten nor deflect the colonized peoples. . . . The colonized peoples are well adapted to this atmosphere; for once, they are up to date. Sometimes people wonder that the native, rather than give his wife a dress, buys instead a transistor radio. . . . They live in the atmosphere of doomsday, and they consider that nothing ought to be let pass unnoticed. . . . The native and the underdeveloped man are today political animals in the most universal sense of the word.’’∑∫ Dutschke used the passage to reassert his position

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that individuals in industrialized countries must prepare themselves to act as the ‘‘dialectical’’ counterpart to the Third World revolutionaries. He borrowed from Fanon the emphasis on the psychological elements of political consciousness and an idealization of the colonized actor as, in the Aristotelian term used in the German translation of Wretched of the Earth, zoon politikon, or the ultimate political animal. Fanon’s writings took on meaning for Dutschke through his experience of collaborative protest with students from the Third World. The demonstration against Moise Tshombe in December 1964 was particularly important. In Dutschke’s account, ‘‘The Third World came alive for the first time in the practical-critical work of the students and workers in West Berlin’’ as foreign and German students spontaneously engaged in direct action together for the first time.∑Ω The experience was crucial in Dutschke’s development of his model of political action and its emphasis on the Third World individual as the exemplary political actor.

The Congo as a Case Study in Neocolonialism Explaining the significance of the demonstration against Congolese Prime Minister Tshombe’s visit to West Berlin in 1964 requires a review of the crucial role the Congo played in international patterns of student activism in the first half of the decade. Opposition to the Vietnam War clearly catalyzed the primary protest wave of the decade in Western Europe and the United States, beginning around 1965 and peaking in 1968. Yet large numbers of students in Third World countries had mobilized politically to both support and oppose their own governments since the beginning of the decade. The student struggles of the early 1960s in the Third World targeted colonial governments and their neocolonial heirs, as well as noncolonial authoritarian governments, as in Iran, Haiti, and Ethiopia. Students in the latter three countries had regular violent clashes with police and were actively involved in attempts to overthrow their governments in the early 1960s.∏≠ Students from all three states were also among the most active collaborators with socialist students in West Berlin in the mid-1960s. The first major internationally coordinated wave of protests by politicized Third World students came in the wake of the murder of Lumumba in February 1961.∏∞ As mentioned in the previous chapter, West German

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and foreign students demonstrating together against Lumumba’s death first prompted concern from the West German state about the increasing political activity of ‘‘Afro-Asian students.’’ Protesters marched in several West German cities, and the police used water cannons to disperse African and German student demonstrators in Bonn, injuring two.∏≤ The protests in West Germany, with participants numbering in the hundreds, were minor compared with those in other cities around the world. Lumumba’s death prompted a protest wave of geographical scope and intensity unparalleled before the beginning of the Vietnam War. In the week after reports of Lumumba’s death became public, protesters marched through Cairo, London, New Delhi, Lahore, Vienna, Amsterdam, Colombo, Dakar, Tel Aviv, Accra, Tehran, Calcutta, Montreal, Paris, New York, Washington, Havana, Caracas, Lagos, Dublin, and all of the Eastern European capitals.∏≥ In East Berlin alone, an estimated 15,000 people gathered at a rally in protest of Lumumba’s death.∏∂ African students were highly visible in the protests worldwide. The U.S. press reported that African students studying abroad led the demonstrations in Washington, London, and Chicago and initiated the invasion and partial destruction of the Belgian embassies in New Delhi, Moscow, and Belgrade.∏∑ In New York City, a group of protesters that included Maya Angelou and LeRoi Jones invaded and occupied the United Nations Security Council, creating what Peniel Joseph sees as an early radicalizing moment in what would become the Black Power movement.∏∏ The Congo crisis was significant both in West Germany and worldwide for the evocative element of human drama in the death of the charismatic Lumumba but even more as a jarring case study in the ongoing meddling of former colonial powers in postcolonial Africa. The most direct target of protest was Belgium, the former colonial ruler of the Congo, which provided military and financial support to the secessionist government of Katanga that imprisoned and ultimately murdered Lumumba. The mineral-rich province of Katanga had seceded from the Congo shortly after the nation’s independence in June 1960. It maintained its autonomy through the support of the Belgian military, along with Belgian, British, French, and South African industrial interests.∏π These Western European powers supported the patently illegal secession out of fear that Lumumba’s nationalist economic policies might jeopardize access to the copper, uranium, and manganese deposits of the province. Lumumba requested and received armed intervention by the United Nations to counter the threat of Katanga in 1960, but leaders of Western governments, including

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the United States, remained wary of his rhetoric of economic independence and bloc neutrality and explored means to replace him, up to, and including, assassination. Acting on what he believed to be the desire of President Dwight Eisenhower, the cia director Allen Dulles was formulating plans for Lumumba’s assassination in August 1960.∏∫ When Lumumba appealed to the Soviet Union for help that same month, U.S. and Belgian leaders saw their opportunity to discredit him by tarring him as a communist. They supported his dismissal by President Joseph Kasa-Vubu, then his definitive overthrow by Joseph-Désiré Mobutu’s military coup in September 1960, and finally his delivery to the execution squad of his Katangan rivals in January 1961.∏Ω The Western powers were pleased with the pro-Western position of the moderate Congolese leadership after Lumumba’s death, and United Nations forces ended the Katangan secession in January 1963. To the students and leftists protesting Lumumba’s murder, his death seemed to pre-empt the possibility of postcolonial self-determination. The one hundred African students who marched in downtown Brussels after Lumumba’s death expressed this in their call for ‘‘real independence’’ in the Congo.π≠ The elegance of the Congo as a case study in ‘‘neocolonial’’ duplicity became even clearer in 1964 when the success of a leftist ‘‘Simba’’ rebellion led Belgium and the United States to arrange for Tshombe, the former leader of Katanga, to return from exile and become prime minister to suppress the insurgency. In doing so, they e√ectively enthroned the public figure most directly linked to Lumumba’s death.π∞ To address the problem of the rebellion, Tshombe called on the same white mercenaries he had used as the leader of Katanga. In November 1964, Congolese military, white mercenaries, and Belgian paratroopers (dropped from U.S. planes) converged on the rebel stronghold of Stanleyville (Kisangani). Seventy white hostages, along with more than a thousand Congolese, were killed in the fighting, and the opposition to the pro-Western Congolese government was eliminated.π≤ After the eΔorescence of protest and public interest in 1961, the Congo issue resurfaced in West Germany in 1964 when the journalists Gerd Heidemann and Ernst Petry published a series of award-winning articles in the popular illustrated magazine Stern on a brigade of Tshombe’s mercenary army called Kommando 52.π≥ Heidemann and Petry revealed that the brigade included several West Germans and had been led by the former Wehrmacht o≈cer Siegfried Müller since July 1964.π∂ The critical leftist magazine Konkret gave a polemical edge to the story of Müller

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and Kommando 52. The December 1964 issue included an article titled ‘‘Congo Atrocity (Kongo-Greuel ),’’ which reprinted many of Heidemann’s most explicit photographs of mutilated Congolese corpses, along with testimony from Müller and other German mercenaries in Tshombe’s army.π∑ ‘‘Tshombe’s army,’’ the article wrote, ‘‘stands and falls with American deliveries of aid and the white soldiers.’’π∏ In an interview, the forty-four-year-old Müller recounted his service in the Wehrmacht after his voluntary enlistment in 1939, referring rhapsodically to his ‘‘wonderful times’’ in occupied Poland and his service on the French and the Soviet fronts. The fragment concluded with him laughing as he spoke about how he was now compelled to follow the ‘‘barbaric customs’’ of the Congo by not taking wounded opponents prisoner but simply shooting them dead.ππ The magazine also printed the statement of Sergeant Gerd von Plonnitz, born in Germany but raised in South Africa, that he was fighting ‘‘for the white man in Africa,’’ providing a portrait of crudity, racism, and sadism among Tshombe’s white mercenaries.π∫

The Success of Direct Action The journalistic coverage of Müller and other white mercenaries in Tshombe’s army was an important backdrop for the Congolese prime minister’s trip through West Germany and West Berlin in late December 1964. During his visit, which was not technically o≈cial, Tshombe hoped to solicit development investment from the West German government and private business interests. While the center-right newspaper Tagesspiegel referred to Tshombe as the ‘‘last hope for the independence, unity, and democratization of the Congo,’’ leftist students called him a ‘‘murderer’’ who was attempting to break popular resistance ‘‘through total war against his own people.’’πΩ To critical students, he was the embodiment of the management of the postcolonial world by indigenous proxies —a ‘‘marionette of capitalist oppression,’’ as one flyer called him.∫≠ African heads of state and foreign ministers shared the criticism. They had prevented Tshombe from participating in an Organization of African Unity (oau) conference in Cairo, and President Gamal Abdel Nasser placed him under house arrest when he traveled to Egypt anyway.∫∞ The week before Tshombe’s arrival, Tanzanian Foreign Minister Oscar Kombona complained in front of the United Nations Security Council that the

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use of Belgian paratroopers in Stanleyville was an ‘‘unjustified and provocative intrusion of the Western world in the internal a√airs of the African continent.’’∫≤ Protest had followed Tshombe through Western Europe. In France, Communist Party newspapers openly labeled him an ‘‘assassin,’’ and 1,000 African and French students protested in Paris.∫≥ Five hundred leftists fought with police in Naples in a protest against Tshombe’s presence in Italy. In Rome, police arrested 130 demonstrators when leftists and rightists clashed in front of the Italian parliament buildings, and communists sought to march into Premier Aldo Moro’s o≈ce to protest his reception of Tshombe.∫∂ Dutschke, Rabehl, and the international working group were not the only students to prepare protests ahead of Tshombe’s visit. At the time, Dutschke and Rabehl were also part of a group called Subversive Aktion, composed of both students and avant-garde artists, primarily in West Berlin and Munich. Members of the German section of the Situationist International and the artists’ group Spur had formed Subversive Aktion in Munich in 1962.∫∑ Working in the spirit of French surrealism and German Dadaism, the group sought to use shock, blasphemy, and humor to provoke insight into what its members saw as the veiled psychological repression built into consumer capitalist society.∫∏ The members primarily wrote inflammatory manifestos, disrupted art openings, and fought obscenity charges in court until 1964, when they set out to infiltrate the sds and co-opt it for their projects of provocation.∫π Although the attempt failed in Munich, in early 1965, Rabehl and Dutschke entered the West Berlin sds and advocated an actionist line against the more academic, less confrontational approach still dominant in the organization. The West Berlin section of Subversive Aktion, which included Rodolphe Gasché and Herbert Nagel, along with Rabehl and Dutschke, emphasized confrontation by re-dubbing itself the Anschlag-Gruppe (Attack Group) in fall 1964.∫∫ The Tshombe demonstration was crucial in raising the profile of the Anschlag-Gruppe. As in Munich, the Anschlag-Gruppe distributed a flyer, without the sanction of the sds, calling Tshombe a ‘‘murderer’’ and declaring its refusal ‘‘to cooperate in the exploitation and oppression of other peoples.’’∫Ω While Dutschke and Rabehl were not part of the sds at the time, the socialist student group had organized extensively in preparation for Tshombe’s arrival in cooperation with other leftist student groups at the

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fu and in the African Students Union.Ω≠ The sds did not use the morally charged language of murder favored by the Anschlag-Gruppe. Instead, it released a long press release pointing out that only a few years before, Tshombe, as the president of Katanga, had ‘‘led a war against the un contingent and the central government of the Congo,’’ that he had not been popularly elected, and that his mercenaries included ‘‘South African and South Rhodesian racists, former French oas o≈cers and former ss personnel.’’Ω∞ In light of these facts, they asked how Tshombe could be ‘‘seen today as the trustee of the Congolese common good.’’Ω≤ The red thread from 1960 to 1964, the leaflet suggested, was Tshombe’s support by Western European and U.S. business interests: ‘‘Five Belgian-American firms control 70 percent of the Congolese economy’’ and ‘‘Tshombe has always defended the interests of these corporations.’’Ω≥ The sds distributed 8,000 leaflets containing the text of the press release at universities in West Berlin the day before Tshombe’s arrival, when they finally received police approval for a silent demonstration at Platz der Luftbrücke (Berlin Airlift Square) in front of Tempelhof Airport, where Tshombe would touch down.Ω∂ Although some African students prepared for the demonstration through the African Students Union and some with the international working group around Dutschke, others came to the protest independently. Many were likely from the gdr, judging from the pro–East German content of signs such as ‘‘Bonn = Congo’s Enemy. gdr = Congo’s Friend.’’ At the beginning of 1965, about 939 students from Africa were attending East German universities and technical schools, including twenty-five from the Congo.Ω∑ Because they received bank transfers from their family and governments at West German banks, Africans studying in the gdr (along with students from Latin America and South Asia) had permission to travel back and forth to West Berlin, granting them a freedom of movement emphatically denied to the average East German.Ω∏ Authorities in East Germany described the Congolese students studying at Humboldt University in East Berlin as among the more radical foreign students, ‘‘seeking rash political and military solutions’’ for conflicts of decolonization and showing ‘‘widespread acceptance for tactics of individual terror.’’Ωπ In 1964, African students in West Germany showed an acceptance of tactics of direct action still foreign to West Germans themselves. Two days before Tshombe’s arrival in West Berlin, a group of African students had already staged a provocative intervention, interrupting Tshombe with

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shouts of ‘‘Long Live Lumumba!’’ as he spoke to a crowd of more than a thousand people at the Rhein-Ruhr Club, a businessmen’s association, in Düsseldorf. Police removed the fifteen shouting students from the room, and forty o≈cers secured the venue with police dogs.Ω∫ The number of actual Congolese students in West Germany was very small, likely less than one hundred, and the Congo was not among the top ten Sub-Saharan African nations sending students to West Germany in the early 1960s.ΩΩ Yet the international protests following Lumumba’s death demonstrated that large numbers of non-Congolese African students identified with him as a symbol of anti-imperialist Pan-African ideals. When African students studying in East Germany and West Germany met with the goal to create a single transnational student organization based on Pan-African principles in 1962, the East German representative presented the West German group with a large portrait of Lumumba almost certainly as a sign of their shared allegiance.∞≠≠ When the Congolese student association in East Germany split in the second half of the 1960s, one group named itself the Lumumba Youth Association to signal its authority.∞≠∞ Lumumba’s legacy remained open to multiple appropriations after his death. The Soviet Union angled for Third World support by naming the international university in Moscow after him in 1961. In 1966, the Congolese leader Joseph-Désiré Mobutu helped legitimate his authoritarian, pro-Western government by declaring Lumumba a national hero, while the New Left continued to claim him for itself.∞≠≤ In 1966, for example, one of the first books Klaus Wagenbach published on his influential left-wing press was the Martinican writer Aimé Césaire’s play about Lumumba, ‘‘A Season in the Congo.’’∞≠≥ Opponents of Tshombe had a range of complaints. While some were most o√ended by his use of white mercenaries, others were outraged by his war against the United Nations and his suppression of popular rebellions in the Congo. The signs carried by demonstrators at Berlin Airlift Square reflected this variety. The sds and the African Students Union brought placards reading: 1962 Fighting against the un —1964 Fighting against the People No Berlin Embrace for Tshombe No Money for White Soldiers No Bloodbaths in the Name of Humanitarianism

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125 un O≈cials Victims of the Gendarmes/Katangan Secessionists [in French] 1961 Lumumba—1961 Hammarskjöld—1964 the People? Kick Him Out, Willy! [in English] Congo yes—Tshombe no! [in French]∞≠∂

A group of anonymous black students, who the sds claimed later were Congolese students from either East Germany or West Germany, carried the anti–West German sign mentioned above, along with two signs in English reading ‘‘Tshombe—the Murder [sic] of Lumumba must Resign the O≈ce Immediately’’ and ‘‘Tshombe—The Murder [sic] of Lumumba —Down with Neocolonialism.’’∞≠∑ The African students had already broken the rules of protest by bringing signs that the police had not authorized, a necessary measure in West Germany throughout the 1960s. The ensuing demonstration would be marked by much more serious infractions.∞≠∏ At 10 a.m. on December 18, 800 students, including approximately 150 foreign students, gathered at Tempelhof Airport in a silent demonstration (see figure 5).∞≠π After Tshombe’s plane arrived and he did not appear, protesters realized that o≈cials had avoided confrontation by taking him from the airport through an alternative exit. According to the center-right newspaper Berliner Morgenpost, a ‘‘wave of anger went through the rows of demonstrators, who had peacefully circled the square quietly twice already as they realized’’ what had happened. ‘‘ ‘To City Hall!’ was the rallying cry,’’ the newspaper reported.∞≠∫ One group of protesters blocked tra≈c while another group ran across Mehringdamm Avenue and around the line of surprised and disorganized police o≈cers in the direction of City Hall, which was nearly five kilometers away in the neighborhood of Schöneberg. The protesters knew that Tshombe was scheduled to meet with Mayor Willy Brandt after his obligatory trip to the Berlin Wall and hoped to intercept him there. After breaking through the police line and running toward City Hall, the protesters regrouped, linking arms and chanting, ‘‘Tshombe Out!’’ The police tried to halt the march a few more times but eventually gave up and drove alongside the protesters in their patrol cars with lights flashing.∞≠Ω Less than fifty meters from City Hall, which lay within an o≈cial ‘‘no-protest zone (Bannmeile),’’ protesters confronted another line of

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5. Foreign and German students protesting the arrival of Congolese Prime Minister Moise Tshombe at Airlift Square in West Berlin on December 18, 1964. The signs read, ‘‘No Money for White Soldiers,’’ ‘‘No Berlin Embrace for Tshombe,’’ ‘‘1962 Fighting against the un —1964 Fighting against the People,’’ and ‘‘No Bloodbaths in the Name of Humanitarianism.’’ Photograph: Landesarchiv Berlin.

police o≈cers at John F. Kennedy Square. Protesters dispersed but waited in the area until the police lifted their barricade to allow shoppers and merchants into the open-air market in the square, when they casually walked in individually.∞∞≠ The demonstrators reunited directly in front of City Hall and began chanting slogans again. These direct actions were e√ective. Brandt delayed his meeting with Tshombe to receive a group of six students: a representative of the African Students Union, the president of the Nigerian Students Association, an Algerian student, an Egyptian student, and two German members of sds.∞∞∞ In the course of their twenty-minute conversation, the representative of the African Students Union and the foreign specialist in the sds impressed on Brandt the negative consequences that receiving Tshombe would have for West Germany’s standing in Africa.∞∞≤ According to the Berliner Morgenpost, the foreign students also ‘‘asked for understanding for their protest as they had understanding for the position of Berlin,’’

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relating their own precarious geopolitical position to that of the isolated city.∞∞≥ Brandt was receptive and assured the students that the spontaneous demonstration would receive retroactive police approval.∞∞∂ He showed his understanding further by cutting his meeting with Tshombe short, keeping ‘‘the contacts with Tshombe to the bare minimum required by protocol,’’ as the Associated Press reported.∞∞∑ Responding to the snub, the Congolese leader left the city in the afternoon of the same day instead of staying overnight as planned.∞∞∏

The Third World as a State of Mind? To Dutschke and Rabehl, the Tshombe demonstration had been an unmitigated success. By transgressing the rules of protest, demonstrators had achieved their goal, making direct contact with the authorities and persuading them of their position. The demonstration received international publicity. The Associated Press carried photographs of the demonstration and a story on its wire service; one member of Subversive Aktion boasted that even Radio Peking had reported on the protest.∞∞π The Tshombe demonstration gave activists in West Berlin a sense of participation in an international movement and a sense of their own power to influence interstate politics. Dutschke and Rabehl both put great weight on the outcome of the day’s protest and its consequences for connecting West German action to larger global patterns of revolt. Yet their conclusions were counterintuitive. They suggested that West Germans would become participants in an international project by focusing on themselves. The most important first step toward internationalism, in their understanding, was subjective transformation. Dutschke and Rabehl both provided accounts of the protest in Rebellion der Studenten oder Die neue Opposition, published in May 1968, which sold more than 180,000 copies.∞∞∫ Rabehl focused on how protesters had reevaluated their tactics and goals in the course of the protest. In his account, the first moment of decision came when the demonstrators realized that Tshombe had left the airport through a back entrance to avoid the protest. They interpreted this as an act of scorn for their exercise of a democratic right that ‘‘said a great deal about the way that . . . the Senate and the parties perceived the political authority of demonstration and the political articulations of ordinary citizens.’’∞∞Ω

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The evasion forced demonstrators ‘‘to develop new forms of action if they did not want to disavow the political reason for their gathering.’’∞≤≠ Prevented from getting closer to City Hall because of the ‘‘no protest zone,’’ demonstrators angrily broke through the police line. When the police caught up to them outside City Hall, they were forced into a second evaluation of tactics. As Rabehl put it, ‘‘What had happened spontaneously a few minutes before, more out of desperate anger, now had to be repeated, this time with the conscious decision of the participants. In the face of police authority, the demonstration march stopped for a short moment. Some tried to slip away, hesitated, but then the protesters called each other together and built a chain of their own, breaking through the row of the astonished and horrified police o≈cers.’’∞≤∞ Rabehl noted the success of the direct action, leading to the meeting with Mayor Brandt and his ‘‘overtly icy’’ reception of Tshombe later the same day. ‘‘On this day,’’ Rabehl wrote, ‘‘the leftist opposition had learned a lot.’’ Further demonstrations ‘‘with no resonance in society . . . would only be overcome when the ‘staid’ rules of the game of democracy were broken through and state executive, party, and interest groups were forced to declare their position in an encounter with the content of the goals of the demonstration.’’ Rabehl felt that the o≈cial attempt to elude the protesters had ‘‘outlined the relationship between Third World and metropole.’’∞≤≤ First World populations were supposed to exist quietly as ‘‘disciplined and manipulated societies’’ while Third World societies were subjected to violent interventions. In an article in a self-published magazine earlier in 1964, Dutschke had written similarly that it was necessary to see the ‘‘seemingly immovable . . . critical-enlightenment-consuming social-state capitalist ‘welfare society’ as the dialectical counterpoint to enormous changes in Latin America, Africa, and Asia.’’∞≤≥ In Dutschke’s and Rabehl’s conception, only transgression of the ground rules set by Western democratic society could expose the discrepancy between rule through ‘‘manipulation’’ in the First World and rule through ‘‘imperialist intervention’’ in the Third World. The resulting experience of confrontation with the state would create a moment of insight into the actual narrowness of the parameters of allowable dissent in industrialized democracy. Dutschke expressed the importance of direct action in transforming self-understanding by declaring the Tshombe protest ‘‘the beginning of our cultural revolution, in which all previous values and norms were thrown into question, those involved in the action concentrated

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6. Protesters in front of Schöneberg City Hall as Tshombe met with Mayor Willy Brandt inside. Rudi Dutschke is visible, half-concealed and smiling, in the center. Shortly after the photograph was taken, he would follow foreign students in forcing his way over the barricades. Photograph: Landesarchiv Berlin.

primarily on themselves, and in action, their self-awareness (Selbstaufklärung) developed about the sense and goal of the action.’’∞≤∂ The psychological breakthroughs e√ected through spontaneous forms of demonstration and the clash with the police, in Dutschke’s words, made ‘‘the Third World alive in the practical and critical activity of the workers and students.’’∞≤∑ For Dutschke, who had not been part of the delegation that met with Brandt, the most memorable element of the Tshombe demonstration was the final charge on City Hall that happened during the mayor’s meeting with students (see figure 6). The confrontation between protesters and police had escalated over the course of the meeting as some o≈cers used force to keep demonstrators away from the building. A small group of non-German and German students broke through the police barricade and stormed into the City Hall’s entrance. Dutschke broke through the barrier but balked at entering the building. He recounted the moment in his journal: ‘‘Our friends from the Third World jumped immediately into the breach; it was up to the Germans to follow. . . . A black colleague from

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the Otto-Suhr-Institut [the political science institute at the fu] wanted to storm into the City Hall. I stopped; don’t know exactly why. It definitely couldn’t be counted out that there were armed guards in the town hall.’’∞≤∏ In retrospect, he regretted not being as radical as the African students. In 1974, he wrote, ‘‘We should have occupied City Hall. . . . The militant Africans were pushing for such forms of political action at that moment. But the militants in and around the sds did not draw the final consequences from the possibilities that . . . had emerged.’’∞≤π Dutschke’s regret at his failure to respond to the spontaneous actions of his Third World colleagues seemed to inform his political thinking in the months following the demonstration. In his writing, he concentrated on the importance of direct action as a means to demolish internal, psychological barriers. Quoting Marcuse in April 1965, he said that ‘‘breaking through managed consciousness (verwaltetes Bewusstsein)’’ was the ‘‘precondition of liberation.’’∞≤∫ In August 1967, he recommended to a Third World study group that ‘‘direct actions against marionette consulates etc. will serve to deliver a more accurate reception of ‘revolutionary theory’ through constitutive ‘sensory experience.’ ’’∞≤Ω

The Antiauthoritarian Turn in the West Berlin sds Not everyone shared Dutschke’s and Rabehl’s enthusiasm about the Tshombe demonstration. As the o≈cial organizer, the sds was forced to defend itself from press accusations that it had colluded with the East German fdj on the protest and explain why African students had brought unauthorized signs attacking the Federal Republic.∞≥≠ The East Berlin fdj had indeed cooperated with the sds in planning the protest but had withdrawn over the inclusion of a line describing the Berlin Wall as a ‘‘tragedy’’ in the protest leaflet.∞≥∞ An sds representative explained that, while the fdj had not agreed with the sign calling Bonn the ‘‘enemy of the Congo,’’ it also had not forcibly taken it from the African student carrying it for fear of a ‘‘violent confrontation.’’∞≥≤ The Argument Club at the fu, led by Wolfgang Fritz Haug, which worked closely with the sds, was opposed to the methods of the Tshombe demonstration, which Haug remembers as being led by Dutschke.∞≥≥ Peter Gäng, another member of the West Berlin sds at the time, recalls the Argument Club complaining that the Tshombe demonstration was ‘‘destroying what they had been

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constructing.’’ The Argument Club disagreed with Dutschke’s impatient interest in revolution and his eagerness ‘‘not to wait for some future date but to do something now.’’∞≥∂ Dutschke and Rabehl joined the West Berlin sds one month after the Tshombe demonstration in January 1965, despite the distrust of the more moderate members.∞≥∑ Over the course of the year, they would succeed in drawing support away from the moderate line in the West Berlin sds toward their emphasis on spontaneity and confrontation. By May 1966, the result was what Ingrid Gilcher-Holtey has called the reversal of the relationship of theory and praxis, with ‘‘new forms of action now preceding theoretical debate.’’∞≥∏ The decisive factor in the shift was the beginning of the U.S. bombing campaigns in North Vietnam, which the sds organized extensively to oppose and which created unprecedented levels of anger among socialist students and increased skepticism about the viability of the liberal public sphere as a means of expressing dissent. Dutschke continued to meet with foreign students in the international working group and organize isolated independent actions even as he concentrated more on his work with sds and Subversive Aktion. By the end of 1967, some of the more active foreign students in the working group had returned home to join armed insurgencies. Bernard PierreLouis and Eden Germain died fighting the Duvalier regime after their return to Haiti.∞≥π The first two dedications in Dutschke’s dissertation, published in 1974, were to Pierre-Louis and Germain, acknowledging their importance to his early activism and scholarship and likely responding to news of their deaths.∞≥∫ Dutschke’s closest non-German collaborator in the last years of the decade was Gaston Salvatore of Chile, who became a nearly constant presence by his side at major events and demonstrations after 1967. The beginning of their friendship illustrates the intersections between personal connections, sociability, and intellectual development. Salvatore, a social democrat, claims he had originally been skeptical of Dutschke’s radicalism. They first met in spring 1967 when Dutschke approached him along with a group of Latin American students from the international working group for help. Dutschke was planning to send a German version of Che Guevara’s message at the Tricontinental Conference of 1966 to press the following morning, with its famous call for ‘‘two, three, many Vietnams,’’ but had yet to have it translated. According to Salvatore, Dutschke had only read newspaper reports and had not, and likely could not, read the text in the original. As

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the other students from the working group demurred, Salvatore volunteered in their place. He describes the scene in Dutschke’s apartment of the translation of what would become one of the most important texts for the West German New Left: ‘‘Unwashed dishes have piled up in the sink. Bits of food are stuck to them and are starting to turn green. The plates stink. I start to wash up. Rudi Dutschke reappears and places an elderly typewriter on the kitchen table. He looks at me and laughs impatiently. I wedge Che’s text between the wall and the water tap and translate while I do the dishes. As dawn breaks, the translation and the preface are ready.’’∞≥Ω In the case of the translation, Dutschke’s link to a Spanishspeaking foreign student not only augmented his reception of Guevara’s text but was the precondition for it. The text also circulated over the border in East Germany. In late 1967, East German authorities complained that the sds translation of Guevara’s text, which they themselves had not read, had been smuggled into the country from West Berlin and was being passed among foreign students with what they saw as a dangerous message of guerrilla avantgardism.∞∂≠ Dutschke’s and Salvatore’s connection shows how relationships of friendship and cooperation accelerated the di√usion of New Left texts across geographical and linguistic borders. In terms of content, Guevara’s message to the Tricontinental Conference deepened Dutschke’s belief that a revolutionary state of mind had to be created through action. Guevara’s epigraph from the Cuban revolutionary Jose Martí, ‘‘Now is the time of the furnaces, and only light should be seen,’’ along with the lengthy analysis of the Vietnam War, suggested a moment that required action rather than reflection. At the sds conference in September 1967, Dutschke and Hans-Jürgen Krahl promoted the need for ‘‘confrontation with executive state force’’ to make the ‘‘abstract violence of the system into a sensory certainty.’’ Direct action was the First World surrogate for and complement to Third World military revolution. ‘‘The ‘propaganda of the bullet’ (Che) in the ‘Third World’ must be completed,’’ they said, ‘‘by the ‘propaganda of the deed’ in the metropoles.’’∞∂∞ Gerd Langguth sees the speech in September 1967 by Dutschke and Krahl, who was from Frankfurt, as the beginning of the emergence of an ‘‘antiauthoritarian faction’’ within the sds beyond West Berlin that would dominate the student movement by the end of 1968.∞∂≤ In New Left memory, the Tshombe demonstration in 1964 became the symbolic starting point for the antiauthoritarian mode of protest based

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on direct action. A publication by the West Berlin socialist collective Kommune 2 in 1969 recounted that the demonstration created ‘‘for leftist students for the first time the sensory relationship (sinnliche Zusammenhang) between the oppression of the Third World and that in the metropole.’’∞∂≥ In the psychological-subjective reading, direct action was important primarily for its e√ect on the activist. The actual object of activism was secondary, first providing the occasion for a moment of radicalized self-awareness. According to Claus-Dieter Krohn, it was the ‘‘indiscriminately heterogeneous impulses’’ and ‘‘theory addiction’’ of the student movement that led West German radicals to their interest in the Third World.∞∂∂ The case of Dutschke and Rabehl, two pioneers of the Third Worldist position in the sds, disproves Krohn’s assertion. Far from indiscriminate, Dutschke and Rabehl developed their understanding of the Third World in discussion and collective action with foreign students. Collaboration with Latin American, African, and Caribbean students helped furnish Dutschke with a sense of connection to distant sites of actual and potential revolution. He saw the willingness of foreign students to transgress the rules of protest as an inspiring example of the militancy that he felt was necessary to break through the ‘‘managed consciousness’’ of industrialized society. Dutschke’s partners in the international working group and the African protesters at the Tshombe demonstration were real-life examples for him of the Third World actor as the definitive ‘‘political animal’’ (Fanon). The ambiguity of the category of ‘‘political animal’’ is important. While Fanon and Dutschke intended it as a term of esteem, it threatened to reintroduce racial and colonial hierarchies through the back door by banishing colonized (and non-colonized) Third World individuals from the sphere of rational politics. The first dangerous generalization in Dutschke’s reception of Fanon was the conflation of the Third World situation writ large with the particular situation in colonial Algeria. In fact, Dutschke’s Latin American and Haitian colleagues were facing situations of oligarchy and U.S. influence that Fanon’s model of settler colonialism did not help much to explain. The stark racial divisions in Algeria and the Antilles that formed the basis of Fanon’s theories of colonial subjectivity did not apply in situations that had been formally under ‘‘indigenous’’ leadership for long periods of time. Second, Fanon was writing from the front line of one of the most brutal wars of decolonization, and his depiction of

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colonial rule as ceaseless violence could be generalized only at the risk of oversimplification. Read as universally applicable by West German radicals, it made violence seem the only viable tool in the political repertoire of Third World individuals. The move to an abstract understanding of the Third World would have consequences for socialist student activism. For Dutschke, Rabehl, and the antiauthoritarians who followed them, the Third World became not only a place but a state of mind. The Third World designated a form of self-understanding that intuitively accepted militant protest as a response to the physical experience of oppression at the hands of an illegitimate ruling power. While this reinterpretation had a√ective force for West Germans, it e√aced the particularity of Third World experience by abstracting it from history, making it modular and repeatable in a Western European context. The fragmentary transcripts from the meetings of the West Berlin international working group suggest that active collaboration with Third World students had helped maintain a level of national and regional specificity in socialist students’ discussions. A consequence of the escalation of the Vietnam War, which the next chapter describes, was the emergence of the Vietcong as what Wolfgang Kraushaar calls the ‘‘archetype of the guerrilla’’ for West German radical students.∞∂∑ The absence of a personal connection to the Vietnamese promoted a troubling tendency. The discrete identity of Third World individuals seemed to disappear even as West German identification with the Third World guerrilla grew stronger.

3 THE RUPTURE OF VIETNAM

Beginning in 1964, unprecedented numbers of students in West Germany mobilized to protest the U.S. military intervention in Vietnam. As the United States bombed North Vietnam almost daily from March 1965 onward, injuring and killing unknown numbers of civilians, two lasting ruptures emerged in the Third World activism of students in West Germany. The first was in the language of protest. For many leftist students, seeing the standard-bearer of liberal values in the postwar world acting as the bellicose aggressor in Southeast Asia discredited the language of liberal freedoms and human rights. In the words of a former member of the West Berlin sds, the war ‘‘consigned the ‘free West’s’ entire arsenal of ideological legitimation to the dustbin of history.’’∞ As American imperialism replaced European colonialism as the central object of criticism, increasing numbers of students began to see the United States as the primary oppressive force in the postwar world. In the process, the demand for human rights that had underwritten almost all Third World activism in the early 1960s lost the status of consensus. The gap between liberal norms and reality opened up by the war inspired many, including former reformists, to search for radical alternatives. The second rupture in students’ Third World activism took place within the sds around strategies of antiwar activism in 1966. Were provocative protest techniques necessary to break through what Dutschke called the ‘‘managed consciousness’’ of First World populations? Or could one continue to appeal to liberal-capitalist governments in the language of human rights tactically in the interest of building an oppositional bloc? The disagreement pivoted on an analysis of the international situation in the mid-1960s. As chapter 2 demonstrated, West Berlin sds leaders had been sensitized to Third World revolutionary tactics through reading Guevara and Fanon, following world events, and collaborating with foreign students. Referred to as the ‘‘antiauthoritarians,’’ they felt that the immediate

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revolt of radical students and marginal social groups could widen the cracks opened in the system of international capitalism by Third World liberation struggles. They called on West Germans to identify with the resisting Vietnamese and advocated illegal direct action to spark moribund segments of the population into action. The Marburg and Frankfurt sections of the sds, also known as the ‘‘traditionalists,’’ opposed the West Berlin sds’s stance as ‘‘sectarianism’’ and ‘‘verbal radicalism.’’≤ Although they shared a keen interest in the Third World, they doubted both the transferability of Guevara’s foco strategy into the industrialized countries and the extent to which Third World liberation struggles had already undermined the structures of Western capitalism. Although they were certain that the crisis was coming, they felt that it had not yet arrived and that the West Berliners misidentified the potential for revolution in the economically stable conditions of West Germany. The Marburg and Frankfurt factions insisted instead that the sds avoid self-defeating putschist rhetoric and continue to build a coalition on the left both inside and outside socialist circles. Broad support at the grassroots level would prepare them to capitalize on a future crisis in the capitalist economies of the West. The conflict between the ‘‘traditionalist’’ and ‘‘antiauthoritarian’’ positions came to a head around the ‘‘Vietnam—Analysis of an Example’’ Congress organized by the sds and held in Frankfurt in May 1966. Although they possessed a sophisticated analysis of U.S. imperialism that the West Berliners lacked, the Marburg and Frankfurt position had lost out in the sds to the West Berlin antiauthoritarians by early 1967. Able to capitalize on a sense of urgency among leftist students, the West Berlin faction successfully offered an alternative to the tedious process of domestic coalition building with a new form of organization inspired by Third World political idioms. Focused on the international rather than the national frame, and the psychological-existential rather than the practical aspects of politics, the West Berlin position resonated with young leftists eager to break with the mentality of the older generation. Opposition to the Vietnam War, as movement historians have argued, ‘‘played the decisive role in the mobilization and politicization of students.’’≥ It also permanently transformed the terms of West German leftist engagement with the Third World. While personal connections to Third World intellectuals characterized the campaigns of the decade’s early years, an abstract relationship to guerrilla fighters grew to dominate

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alongside the escalation of the Vietnam War, presenting new challenges and potential pitfalls to the goal of relating political struggles between the First World and the Third World. The starkness and apparent ethical clarity of the confrontation between U.S. oppressor and Third World victims in Vietnam would provide the deep structure of activism in the years that followed.

A New Kind of Third World Issue The Vietnam War was a new kind of Third World issue for West German students for several reasons. First, the war was unique in its scale. With close to 200,000 U.S. troops in South Vietnam by the beginning of 1966, it was the first major war in the adult lives of West German students. The violence was also particularly brutal. Reports of carpet bombing of civilian areas, napalm designed to remove human skin if wiped o√, and fragmentation bombs built to explode in midair and send out shards of shrapnel into human flesh suggested not only that Vietnam was being used as a ‘‘testing ground for new weapons,’’ as the sds concluded, but also something approaching a connoisseur’s taste for pain on the part of the U.S. military.∂ The political songwriter Dieter Süverkrüp expressed his feeling of helplessness at the asymmetry of the conflict in 1966 in a verse that contrasted empathy with an imaginary Vietnamese victim with revulsion for his U.S. Marine killers: His name was Da-Min-Shu Was as young as you A farmer’s son, South Vietnamese Never had enough to eat Yesterday he was forgotten And two leathernecks grin themselves rotten Staring at you in the morning dailies.∑

Images of the war, both in the print media and on television, were also central in amplifying the presence of the conflict in West German students’ consciousness. By fall 1965, one could see images from the front nightly on the television news.∏ A year later, news reports included closeup footage of combat and bird’s-eye views of bombs falling.π Many students were disturbed by the fact that the emissary of pluralism

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and democracy in postwar Western Europe had become the perpetrator of a horrific war. Even in leftist circles, most students had seen the United States as a positive international force in the early 1960s. The former activist Klaus Vack has compared opposition to the war to an act of patricide.∫ He had read the Declaration of Independence aloud ‘‘and believed in it’’ in 1955, he recalls, and the war came as a shock. When a ‘‘big, rich strong country went in and massacred a small, poor people,’’ Vack wrote, ‘‘something collapsed.’’Ω Peter Gäng, a member of the West Berlin sds, remembers the e√ect of the war on the worldview of the younger generation: ‘‘When Kennedy died, the dismay of the left here [in West Germany] was perhaps stronger than anyone else’s. Against that stood the reality of American society. Vietnam was a land that had earned all of its support, and the Americans went there and crushed everything to death with an enormous hammer.’’∞≠ Before his assassination, President John F. Kennedy had enjoyed widespread sympathy from West German students, especially in West Berlin, where he became an honorary member of the fu during his visit in June 1963.∞∞ Twenty thousand students took to the streets in West Berlin in an unplanned mourning march after his death in November 1963.∞≤ Even the relentlessly critical political observer Ulrike Meinhof eulogized Kennedy in Konkret, writing, ‘‘The sorrow ebbs, the void remains. The man who the people of the world believed would make peace is dead. . . . He was discomfiting to conservatives, compliant to leftists. But the powerful had to work with him, and the powerless placed their hope in him. Three shots in Texas brought it to an end.’’∞≥ Kennedy’s aura outlasted his death. When the cabaret impresario Wolfgang Neuss published a provocative leaflet in December 1965 denouncing West German support for the war (which led to his ejection from the Social Democratic Party [spd]), he included the line, ‘‘America’s leadership is conducting an anti-Kennedy policy in Vietnam.’’∞∂ The young president’s charisma may have helped divert critical attention from the realities of his aggressive policies of anticommunist containment in the Third World, which were no secret in West Germany.∞∑ The left-liberal newsmagazine Der Spiegel reported on what it called the ‘‘secret U.S. war’’ in South Vietnam from spring 1962 onward. The magazine conveyed graphic details, such as the response of the White House military adviser General Maxwell D. Taylor after hearing the number of communist partisans operating in South Vietnam: ‘‘Why don’t you kill

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them instead of counting them?’’∞∏ Der Spiegel followed the escalation of military personnel in South Vietnam as it rose from 800 when Kennedy took o≈ce to 11,000 in 1962.∞π Despite these reports, the sds remained focused on issues of European colonialism and personal solidarity campaigns with Angolans, Algerians, and South Africans until 1964. Beginning in 1964, the vocal support of West German political parties across the spectrum for the U.S. military intervention in Vietnam helped catalyze leftist opposition. Under Ludwig Erhard, chancellor from October 1963 to November 1966, the West German administration voiced its approval for U.S. policy in Southeast Asia several times.∞∫ In April 1965, Willy Brandt, the leader of the spd and the mayor of West Berlin, followed the British Socialist Party by publicly endorsing the U.S. war.∞Ω In response to an antiwar demonstration in West Berlin in February 1966, Brandt reiterated his support, writing a letter to U.S. Major John F. Franklin Jr. apologizing for the criticism by students and saying he was ‘‘certain that the extensive obligations and limited goals of American policy in Southeast Asia served the prosperous coexistence of the peoples.’’≤≠ As Alexander Troche has shown, verbal statements of support by West German politicians were, in part, attempts to appease the U.S. government, which began to suggest the deployment of West German troops to Vietnam in spring 1964.≤∞ In March of that year, Defense Secretary Robert McNamara first introduced the notion that ‘‘the defense of Berlin starts at the Mekong.’’≤≤ In the following years, U.S. o≈cials repeatedly used the formula to pressure the Federal Republic for increased financial contributions to U.S. overseas commitments.≤≥ Both Christian Democratic Union (cdu) and spd leaders accepted McNamara’s characterization of the conflict, publicly repeating it after the beginning of carpet-bombing campaigns in spring 1965.≤∂ Erhard linked the two sites explicitly in June 1965, saying, ‘‘The U.S. commitment in Vietnam is confirmation for the German people that they can depend on the loyalty of the U.S. within our alliance.’’≤∑ West German politicians were able to avert the demand for troops by augmenting their verbal support with generous donations of economic and medical aid.≤∏ By December 1965, West Germany had contributed $100 million in non-military aid to the South Vietnamese government, making it the second-largest donor after the United States.≤π In late 1965, Erhard was also negotiating to send West German civilian construction and medical teams to South Vietnam, using West German support for the

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war e√ort to angle for partial control of the Western nuclear arsenal.≤∫ Although the nuclear negotiations dissolved, West Germany deployed a hospital ship called the Helgoland, with a sta√ of seven doctors, to South Vietnam in September 1966.≤Ω The uncritical support by the West German political parties exacerbated the anger of antiwar activists, who felt that the war in Vietnam threatened rather than ensured the security of Western Europe. As Wilfried Mausbach has shown, the pacifist Ostermarschbewegung (Easter March Movement) and its parent organization, the Kampagne für Abrüstung (Campaign for Disarmament; kfa) first took up the Vietnam issue in spring 1965 out of fear about a potential expansion of the conflict.≥≠ The kfa argued that ‘‘the war in Vietnam has to end before it buries us all.’’≥∞ After 1965, the pacifist organization became what Günther Wernicke calls the ‘‘organizational carrier’’ of protest against the war and clearly mobilized the largest number of people. In 1965 and 1966, more than 100,000 demonstrators participated in the fourteen peace marches organized by the kfa throughout West Germany.≥≤ The scope and quantity of protests greatly expanded from mid-1964 to early 1966, as the sds took its place within a broad coalition of West German antiwar groups. While demonstrations had been limited to Munich and West Berlin in 1964, student activists held events on the theme of Vietnam in fifteen West German university cities and towns in the summer semester of 1965.≥≥ In late 1965 and early 1966, the sds organized a teach-in, protest, press conference, or film screening related to Vietnam on the fu campus every couple of weeks, and the issue dominated its activity by the end of 1965.≥∂ In December 1965, members of the sds-a≈liated West Berlin Argument Club created a position statement for the antiwar movement that focused on humanitarian concerns and the call for the enforcement of liberal norms. Antiwar activists constructed the widest base of opposition to date with the ‘‘Declaration against the War in Vietnam’’ drawn up by the Argument Club, securing the signatures of 150 prominent writers, academics, and intellectuals, including the philosopher Ernst Bloch, the theologian Helmut Gollwitzer, and the authors Heinrich Böll and Erich Kästner.≥∑ Signed by 1,300 students at the fu in the first three weeks of December 1965, the declaration linked the on-campus opposition to wider circles of civil society.≥∏ It also linked the on-campus opposition to the antiwar movement in the United States. The declaration concluded by

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declaring solidarity with the ‘‘5,000 American professors who demand an immediate end to the war and the neutralization of Vietnam’’ and with the ‘‘U.S. Civil Rights Movement, whose spokesman, Martin Luther King, has called for demonstrations for peace in Vietnam.’’≥π By 1965, the U.S. antiwar movement was already rapidly expanding. Twenty-five thousand people attended a demonstration against the war organized by the Students for a Democratic Society in April 1965, and activists held teach-ins on university campuses across the nation that spring.≥∫ In December 1965, the American folk singer Hedy West brought the more radicalized position of the U.S. opposition to a performance in West Berlin organized by the fu Student Union, singing, ‘‘Before I were fenced in—I’d vote for Ho Chi Minh.’’≥Ω In the same way that personal connections with Third World students helped catalyze activism in the first years of the decade, transatlantic networks helped catalyze and give shape to the antiwar e√ort. Martin Klimke has shown how the firsthand experience of many West German sds leaders in the United States, including Michael Vester, K. D. Wol√, and Günter Amendt, created conduits for the exchange of protest tactics and information, as well as a vision of the ‘‘other America,’’ which could act as a leftist ally.∂≠ In an issue of Konkret published in June 1966, Ulrike Meinhof argued that the strengthening of domestic opposition to the war had made the U.S. state more dependent on the tacit consent of Western Europe ‘‘as an argument against the opposition in its own country.’’∂∞ Not only was visibly protesting the war in West Germany internationally relevant, but it could also buttress the e√orts of the opposition within the United States. The protest network spread internationally within Western Europe. In late 1965, sds members met Italian and French students in Florence to discuss future cooperation.∂≤ At a meeting in Frankfurt in February 1966, the sds formed the Western European Student Committee for Peace in Vietnam (wescpv) with student groups from Austria, France, Sweden, Norway, the Netherlands, and Italy.∂≥ By May 1966, the wescpv included members from all Western European nations except Spain and Portugal.∂∂ The wescpv’s demands illustrated the increased stridency of students’ demands in comparison with 1964. They called for the withdrawal of all foreign troops from Vietnam, the immediate meeting of all powers both directly and indirectly involved, and the right to self-determination for the Vietnamese people in domestic and foreign a√airs, including free elections according to the Geneva Agreements.∂∑

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Although a small number of South Vietnamese studied at West German universities and a Vietnamese student became vice-president of the Afro-Asian Student Union Federation in 1963, they did not take leading roles as other Third World students had.∂∏ Some may have been supporters of the administration of Ngo Dinh Diem, while others may have feared repercussions from their government. Such a fear was substantiated in 1972 when a Vietnamese student group in Aachen distributed a flyer giving a di√erent valence to the Allies’ comparison of Berlin to Vietnam. They wrote, ‘‘As high school students, we were appalled by films of night bombing raids in Europe and the bombs dropped in Hiroshima. We were a√ected when we saw films about the Second World War because our parents had raised us in the spirit of humanity and brotherhood. Now these films are being made reality in Vietnam.’’∂π The leaflet commented cuttingly on both the origins of mechanized violence in the West and the role of images in transmitting the awareness of war. The Vietnamese Embassy responded by blocking money transfers to the students and publicly denouncing them as venal traitors.∂∫ Other Asian and African students were active in antiwar protest from early on. In February 1965, the Tübingen sds planned a protest with the Iranische Studenten-Vereinigung (Iranian Students Association) in the wake of the North Vietnam bombing campaign.∂Ω The same month in Munich, the Afrikanischer Studentenverband (African Students Association) cooperated with the sds to organize a one-hundred-person demonstration in front of the U.S. Consulate in Munich and helped draft a resolution calling for an ‘‘immediate end to combat operations’’ in Vietnam.∑≠ In Darmstadt in 1965, the sds reported that ‘‘it was above all foreign students that defended the position of the sds’’ on Vietnam on the university campus.∑∞

The Uniqueness of West Berlin The most active organization of student opposition to the Vietnam War was the West Berlin section of the sds. A few factors help explain why the fu students were the quickest to respond to U.S. overseas intervention. The city of West Berlin was itself a front in the Cold War. As a militarized island in the middle of the gdr, it faced daily reminders of ongoing geopolitical tension in the high numbers of resident U.S. military person-

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nel, the Berlin Wall (erected in August 1961), and the towers of the U.S. military listening station on top of the city’s largest hill near the fu. The fu itself was founded in 1948 as part of what Völker Berghahn has called the ‘‘intellectual Cold Wars in Europe’’ to counter the party-line Humboldt University in East Berlin.∑≤ Funding for its initial creation and subsequent institutes came from the U.S. occupying administration with large contributions by the Ford Foundation.∑≥ Ford funded the university’s Osteuropa Institut (Eastern Europe Institute) as a research center for anticommunist area studies. The U.S. influence was clearly visible at the fu and its environs. The campus lay a short distance from Clay-Allee (Clay Boulevard), named for the first military governor of U.S.-occupied Germany, as well as from the U.S. Embassy and the residential area for U.S. military personnel and their families. One of the central buildings on campus was the Henry Ford Building, which became a center of activism in the 1960s. A less visible presence on campus was U.S. intelligence. There was a minor scandal in 1965 when, as mentioned in chapter 2, a Peruvian student reported that U.S. intelligence agents had threatened him with deportation unless he informed on radical German and foreign students.∑∂ The allegations emerged again in early 1967 when an American and former fu graduate student reported that the cia had regularly recruited foreign students as informants in the early 1960s.∑∑ The U.S. presence in West Berlin and at the fu was broad enough that when an anonymous person wrote, ‘‘ami [Yankee] go home! killer go home!’’ in white paint across the entrance of the Henry Ford Building in February 1966, the target could have been the U.S. military in West Berlin or in South Vietnam or the American influence at the fu.∑∏ The fu was also unique in its commitment to students’ self-government according to the ‘‘Berlin Model,’’ which included student representatives on the university’s decision-making bodies. The relatively empowered student government was stolidly anticommunist throughout the 1950s and early 1960s, but student support shifted leftward beginning in 1965 in response to overcrowding in the classroom and issues surrounding free speech, on which left-wing candidates took the lead.∑π A new generation of students without the vivid experience of war or blockade felt freer to begin calling the United States to account on the principles they saw being violated in Vietnam. News and personal experience of the Berkeley Free Speech Movement and the African American Civil Rights Movement provided the prospect that American-style democracy could also

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mean dissent. Students could look to proximate evidence after 1967, when U.S. citizens in West Berlin formed a ‘‘U.S. Campaign to End the War in Vietnam’’ and began biweekly antiwar demonstrations.∑∫ Martin Klimke has shown that the American authorities themselves were surprisingly flexible in their reception of West German dissent, frequently seeking to create opportunities for active discussion about geopolitical issues.∑Ω Indeed, the pro-American stance of the West Berlin population and tabloid press was more violent than that of the U.S. authorities, a discovery that some antiwar demonstrators made as they moved from academic argument and rule-abiding protest to direct action. The first moment of large-scale direct action came when 1,500 antiwar protesters marched through downtown West Berlin on February 5, 1966, ending (for reasons that are unclear) with a sit-down strike in front of the French cultural center, the Maison Française.∏≠ About 500 demonstrators, including members of the sds, along with the East German–a≈liated fdj –West Berlin and sed –West Berlin, continued to the America House, where they took down the U.S. flag and a few protesters pelted the building with nine eggs.∏∞ The local tabloids reported the protest in scandalized tones. The headline in the Bild-Zeitung read, ‘‘Shameful! Unthinkable! Short-Sighted!,’’ and the B.Z. announced, ‘‘A Disgrace for Berlin!’’∏≤ Three days later, members of the cdu and its student associations, the Junge Union and Ring ChristlichDemokratischer Studenten, staged a counter-demonstration. According to Der Spiegel, right-wing demonstrators grabbed leftist hecklers ‘‘by the hair, dragged them to the nearby train station, and pounded them through the turnstiles.’’∏≥ The public and press response to the minor act of egging the America House shocked many students. To some, it served as startling evidence of the narrow parameters of political discourse in West Germany, and especially in the ‘‘front city’’ of West Berlin. Susanne Schunter-Kleeman, a group leader within the West Berlin sds, recalls feeling alienated from the urban population that showed indi√erence to reports of torture and sadism in Vietnam but displayed a ‘‘massive counter-reaction’’ against the symbolic protest action of egging the America House. ‘‘But they all saw the atrocities and crimes happening in Vietnam,’’ she wrote. ‘‘One could only think in the end: ‘They’re the ones that are crazy, not us!’ ’’∏∂ Early encounters with a West Berlin population that continued to see the United States as its protector and savior helped to radicalize leftist students at the fu. Opposition to the war bore consequences for some students. Members

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of the Humanist Student Union (hsu), the Liberal Student Union (lsd), and the Social Democratic University Union (shb) faced sanctions from their a≈liated organizations for their antiwar activism. The Third World activism of the hsu, which started with antiapartheid protests in 1963, began in earnest with opposition to the Vietnam War.∏∑ Their parent organization, the Humanist Union (hu), condemned the cooperation of the hsu in antiwar protests in February 1966, stressing its institutional independence from the on-campus group and writing in a press release, The hu stresses that it does not have the slightest to do with the demonstrations [against the Vietnam War in Berlin, Heidelberg, and Munich]. It is an organization concerned with cultural and legal issues and seeks to realize the principles of the Basic Law in these areas in the Federal Republic. A position concerning foreign and geopolitical incidents is outside of its area of activity and its competence. It has taken no position on the war in Vietnam until now and will not do so in the future. . . . The hu regrets that the Humanist Student Union has not for its part restricted its activity to the cultural and legal-political problems of our country.∏∏

In early 1966, the hu placed clear national borders on its humanism.∏π The attention of university students to human rights beyond West Germany and beyond the West threatened to complicate the scope of its activity, which had been concerned until that point primarily with questions of religion, secularism, and civic freedom. By 1968, events in the Third World had radicalized opinion within the hu itself as, ‘‘prompted by the Vietnam War,’’ members began to discuss how their organization could acknowledge the fact that ‘‘one cannot understand human rights as nationally limited,’’ but the student group led the way.∏∫ The spd blocked its subsidiary student organization, the shb, which had been signing antiwar statements at the fu since July 1965, from participating in a congress against the Vietnam War organized by the sds in May 1966 because it was anxious about adversely a√ecting public opinion ahead of an upcoming election.∏Ω The shb chapter in Frankfurt complained that the parent organization was unfairly denying it the right to protest by controlling its operating funds, but to no avail.π≠ The Free Democratic Party also publicly severed ties to the West Berlin section of the lsd after the protests in February ‘‘for following a political direction that no longer had anything liberal about it.’’π∞

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Relatively tame demands for the enforcement of international legal norms by antiwar activists in 1965 and 1966 brought strong reactions from the organizations with which student groups were a≈liated. It seemed that the call for the application of human rights to populations beyond Western Europe was radical and unacceptable when it implicated West Germany’s principal ally, the United States. The vehemence of the reaction exasperated antiwar students who felt they were calling on the very principles of democracy and self-determination that the United States claimed to defend. Some concluded that the war conclusively proved the bankruptcy of liberal capitalism. As Ulf Kadritzke, a former member of the West Berlin sds, put it, ‘‘If the postwar messenger of a new democratic ideal, the U.S. superpower, was fighting for the defense of Western freedom with carpet bombing and receiving the public blessing of all democratically legitimized organs of the Federal Republic for it, then it was not only our moral feelings that were injured. . . . The entire existing framework for understanding the world was put into question.’’π≤ Antiwar activists were left with a dilemma about the language of organization. As the demand for human rights seemed ine√ectual in persuading the very proponents of those values, some activists began to look for alternative political idioms that could express their anger about the brutality of the ongoing war.

The Tension of the sds Position From the beginning, tension existed in sds antiwar activism between external and internal discussions of the Vietnam conflict. In public, the sds soft-pedaled socialist language and the critique of the United States to build a coalition with other, less radical student groups.π≥ In 1964, the sds’s demands remained quite moderate, stopping short of the call by North Vietnam (and by France’s Charles de Gaulle) for free elections and the neutralization of South Vietnam.π∂ At the same time, sds members began to refer internally to the U.S. intervention in Vietnam as an act of ‘‘neocolonialism’’ in September 1964.π∑ How could socialist activists use the very terms of liberalism (including human rights) that they believed served as such e√ective ideological cover for the U.S. state? The answer lay in the dominant sds strategy of the time, which was still set by the Frankfurt and Marburg faction rather than the West Berliners. The tradi-

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tionalists in these factions saw the path to socialism in exploiting the possibilities of liberal democracy paired with systematically constructing a grassroots opposition. Their theories of imperialism were a baseline within socialist student circles against which the antiauthoritarians around Dutschke and Rabehl began to react in 1966. The division between the two factions structured Third World activism in the second half of the 1960s. Descriptions of the United States as ‘‘imperialist,’’ rarely heard in sds circles in the early 1960s, became commonplace after 1965. The most important theorists of imperialism came from the Marburg circle of political science and sociology students working under the mentorship of professors Wolfgang Abendroth and Heinz Maus.π∏ The Marburgers were influenced by Abendroth’s contention that the egalitarian aspects of the West German Constitution or Basic Law could be used for what Jürgen Habermas described as a ‘‘legal transition to socialism.’’ππ Abendroth felt that socialists should work on building alliances among leftist groups to make demands on the promises of social equity codified in the constitution.π∫ Unlike Marcuse, he believed in the potential recuperation of the working class as a force for leftist politics in ‘‘late capitalist’’ societies. Frank Deppe, Hans-Dieter Boris, Kurt Steinhaus, and Rüdiger Griepenburg, members of the Marburg sds, followed their mentor’s faith in the working class and the need to construct broad-based coalitions in preparation for moments of crisis. Deppe and Steinhaus wrote in 1966, ‘‘We [the sds] must attempt to build political potential that will be able to contribute to the mobilization of exploited and oppressed classes in historically open situations. . . . As there are a great number of possibilities for the left in the Federal Republic yet to be exhausted, this demands a planned, coordinated, and optimal use of all obtainable political resources within and outside of existing oppositional organizations.’’πΩ According to the Marburg analysis of the global situation, the crisis was not yet at hand. In an article in Das Argument in February 1966, Boris warned against the ‘‘unmodified transfer’’ of insights from ‘‘classic’’ Marxist theories of imperialism to the present day.∫≠ At the same time, he suggested the viability of a ‘‘new, di√erentiated theory of imperialism’’ that took into account the enormous di√erences between the global situations before the First World War and after the Second World War. As one of the first attempts by West German socialist students to create a global political-economic framework for their engagement, it is worth exploring at some length.

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Boris began by pointing out that, whereas private capitalist interests in industrialized regions had relied on overseas colonial markets to fix ‘‘surplus capital’’ in the period before the First World War, the postwar global situation was di√erent. First, the willingness of the capitalist countries to work together rather than in competition had led to a ‘‘decrease of significance of the developing countries.’’∫∞ Having commonly chosen the Keynesian mechanisms of ‘‘full employment policies and increasing stimulation to invest,’’ Western capitalist states had themselves ‘‘taken over the entrepreneur function of increasing e√ective demand, using all of [their] means against the structural crises of under-consumption,’’ which had made the export of surplus capital to the colonies necessary in the past.∫≤ In addition, most economic exchange between industrialized and developing countries in the postwar period were public transactions in the form of development aid, military aid, and the grants of financial and credit institutions, a reversal of the dominance of private capital in the period of imperialism before the First World War.∫≥ Although capitalists in industrialized nations did not rely on the developing regions in the same way that they had in the past, Marburg theorists insisted that they were still vulnerable to overseas tendencies in the long term. While the quantity of private investment may have declined relative to the earlier period, Boris pointed out, the profit rates had grown dramatically. In the example he used, profit rates for private investment in Asia, the Near East, and the Middle East were between 39 percent and 60 percent, compared with 5.8 percent for Canada.∫∂ Overseas private investment continued to boom in the extractive industries, particularly oil and mining. If one bracketed Latin America, he noted, two-thirds of U.S. direct investment went into oil alone.∫∑ The seven major American oil companies, in particular, reaped enormous profits, benefiting from monopoly control of prices and low royalties returning to the primary nations of extraction: Venezuela, Iraq, Iran, and Saudi Arabia.∫∏ The new regime of foreign aid served two important and arguably indispensable functions for capitalist states. First, Boris argued, ‘‘the expansion of the world market stimulates export industries and secures new export markets’’ through providing public credits for private investment. Under the guise of humanitarianism, the structure of foreign aid in the late 1950s and the early 1960s ‘‘provided returns to private individuals through foreign aid funds drawn from the taxes of the entire population.’’∫π More important, U.S. foreign aid policy dovetailed with global

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strategic concerns. According to Boris, one-third of U.S. capital transfers overseas ‘‘were for military purposes.’’ Funding its military bases in allied countries such as South Korea, Taiwan, Turkey, and South Vietnam with ‘‘foreign aid’’ funds both relieved pressure on the domestic budget and ‘‘mobilized a√ordable troops for U.S. geopolitical goals.’’∫∫ In an article in February 1966, Griepenburg and Steinhaus put even greater emphasis on the central role of the military in the management of the U.S. business cycle. They observed that the United States had solved crises of overproduction by raising the production of goods that ‘‘increase the e√ective demand rather than creating additional supply on the market.’’∫Ω The most reliable sector for producing new products and new needs had been the armaments industry, which was constantly developing new forms of weaponry and vehicles, especially following the precipitous rise in the military budget since the beginning of the 1960s.Ω≠ Avoiding crises of overproduction through public investment in the armaments industry had the grotesque outcome that ‘‘military engagement itself was an instrument of economic stabilization or business cycle policy.’’Ω∞ ‘‘The notion,’’ they wrote, ‘‘that a limited armament, as has been a consequence of Vietnam, is the best thing that could happen to the American national economy is spoken of in astonishingly open terms.’’Ω≤ In support, they quoted a New York Times editorial from 1965 by M. J. Rossant, a former senior editor of Business Week, saying that ‘‘the decision to escalate . . . had nothing to do with the state of the economy . . . but was timed perfectly. It permitted the administration to apply the necessary stimulation without confessing its fallibility.’’Ω≥ Griepenburg and Steinhaus argued that U.S. imperialism was sustained and driven forward by military Keynesianism, or what two authors from the West Berlin sds in 1966 called the ‘‘shift from the welfare economy to the warfare economy.’’Ω∂ This fact, the Marburg theorists suggested, explained both why the United States was fighting in Vietnam and why it could not a√ord to stop. At a basic level, U.S. capitalist interests feared the loss of access to resources and the large profits from overseas investment that might follow a socialist revolution in South Vietnam. But this fear alone could not motivate the scale of the military undertaking. As Griepenburg and Steinhaus pointed out, the Vietnam War was ‘‘not only illegal and inhumane—contravening the human rights norms of the un Charter, the General Declaration of Human Rights, and the Hague Conventions’’—it was also ‘‘extremely expensive.’’Ω∑ The enormous campaign

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in Vietnam made sense only if one saw that a Vietcong victory would pose a fundamental challenge to the U.S. system of organizing the world. Afraid that a successful revolution in Vietnam would encourage other Third World liberation movements, the United States chose to make Vietnam an example. Brutal suppression of socialist challenges in South Vietnam would send a disciplinary message to would-be revolutionaries worldwide. As Griepenburg and Steinhaus phrased it: ‘‘The struggle of the Vietnamese people anticipates, almost in miniature, the emancipation of entire continents, the significance of which for the self-reproduction of the international capitalist system, especially for the United States, can hardly be overestimated. Through the ongoing change in the terms of trade, through the running profits from over a century of overseas capital investments, the ‘Third World’—emancipated in the formal sense, at best—is a source of enrichment for the capitalist industrial countries that is not to be underestimated.’’Ω∏ Although the wealth of the United States meant that it could sustain its engagement in South Vietnam indefinitely, Griepenburg and Steinhaus conclude by asking, ‘‘What would happen if Vietnam was only one case among many, when, for example, the many partisan movements in Latin America currently unfolding reach a comparable strength?’’Ωπ Working from the analysis of U.S. imperialism outlined here, the Marburg sds felt that the role of socialists in West Germany was to continue to wait and build the domestic forces of opposition in the hope that the successful challenge of Third World liberation movements would shake the structures of U.S. imperialism. They should be prepared to ‘‘exploit moments of crisis to create breakthroughs toward socialism in terms of consciousness and practical politics’’ but did not have a direct role in bringing about the crisis.Ω∫ Although they advocated armed partisan warfare in the Third World as a means of revolt, the only hope in the First World was a long process of strengthening socialist opposition, drawing in new groups, and seeking to reanimate the working class.ΩΩ In an article in 1966 on ‘‘political education and praxis in the sds,’’ Steinhaus and Deppe used a passage from Mao Zedong that captures the traditionalist position on political organization. Distinguishing the conditions of political action between the industrialized world and China, Mao wrote: ‘‘The forms of organization [in the industrialized nations] are legal, the forms of struggle bloodless. But in China there is no parliament that one can exploit, the workers have no legally established right to organize or

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carry out strikes. . . . So the problems in China can only be solved through armed struggle.’’∞≠≠ The position of the Marburg sds, shared by the Frankfurt and Hamburg members of the sds Bundesvorstand (Federal Committee) in early 1966, followed this insight. These traditionalists prescribed a policy of moderate and inclusive political language in statements such as the ‘‘Declaration against the War in Vietnam’’ as a way to expand the oppositional movement within West Germany. Deppe and Steinhaus called it a policy of ‘‘here and later’’ rather than ‘‘here and now.’’∞≠∞

The Antiauthoritarian Breakthrough In early 1966, the West Berlin faction of the sds announced its break with the long-term strategies of the Marburg and Frankfurt factions in two spectacular actions unauthorized by the sds leadership. Taken in combination, the actions shattered the consensus on decorous protest and the language of human rights. The first was an illegal ‘‘poster action’’ in which a group of about forty activists, mostly members of West Berlin sds and including Dutschke, Jürgen Horlemann, and Eike Hemmer, put up 60– 100 posters throughout the city.∞≠≤ The police arrested five activists for putting up the poster, which read, ‘‘Erhard and the parties in Bonn support murder. . . . East and West [meaning the two Cold War blocs] are increasingly coming to an arrangement with one another at the cost of the economically underdeveloped countries. Now, all that remains for the oppressed is to reach for arms. For them, future means: revolution.’’∞≠≥ The second act of provocation came three months later, at the Vietnam congress in May 1966, when West Berlin sds members circulated a leaflet without authorization from the sds Federal Committee. The leaflet’s authors condemned the ‘‘solidarity with underdogs whimpered by the lame student movement until now’’ and called for the students to ‘‘become powerful in solidarity with the victors, more powerful with every American plane shot down, every draft card burned.’’∞≠∂ In the flyer, the West Berlin sds proposed, ‘‘We have to achieve what we have failed to do until now, not simply chant our laments for [the Vietnamese] but finally recognize ourselves in the condemned who successfully defend themselves.’’∞≠∑ The West Berlin faction suggested that the Vietnam War could act not as depressing confirmation of patterns of increasing state

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authoritarianism but as an inspiration for rebellion in the First World. The crisis, which the West Berlin faction saw as having already arrived, could become an opportunity. The solution was a leap of identification with the fighting Vietnamese. The West Berlin position reflected the culmination of experiences in the previous years of mobilization, as well as successful advocacy of an actionist line intolerant of compromise by a small number of student leaders. As described in chapter 2, Dutschke and Rabehl had entered the West Berlin sds in early 1965 explicitly intending to redirect the student organization toward the program they had developed with their colleagues in Subversive Aktion. In April 1965, Dutschke wrote to Subversive Aktion members that he had ‘‘no illusions about the character of the sds’’ but that it could be used ‘‘to maintain the possibility of international connections.’’∞≠∏ Along with an international orientation, Dutschke and Rabehl brought with them belief in the need for provocation and conflict with authority to deepen the commitment of activists.∞≠π The Tshombe demonstration had proved that transgressing the rules could produce results and could draw the attention of the media, which could have an amplifying e√ect on the demands of protesters. The unique relationship of the media to the sds in West Berlin doubtlessly helped to validate spectacular protests. West Berlin was the only place in West Germany where student demonstrations were automatically domestic, and even international, news stories because of the city’s high geopolitical profile. Dieter Kunzelmann of Subversive Aktion has illustrated this point by comparing the response of the media to the Tshombe demonstrations in West Berlin and Munich: ‘‘In Munich, we made the foyer of the . . . hotel where Tshombe was staying into a no-go zone with stink bombs without producing a noticeable public reaction. In Berlin, by contrast, the demonstration against Tshombe and the successful rupture of a police cordon into the area around Schöneberg City Hall led to huge headlines.’’∞≠∫ Subversive Aktion focused its e√orts on West Berlin, Kunzelmann wrote, because ‘‘the media resonance was excellent. The slightest leftist activity prompted heated journalistic red-baiting from the Springer Press.’’∞≠Ω The exaggerated response of tabloids owned by Springer to the egging of the America House in February 1966 supported Kunzelmann’s description of West Berlin as a ‘‘provocateur’s paradise.’’∞∞≠ The experiences of the West Berlin sds nurtured the notion that the most direct route to public

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consciousness was not through small-scale coalitions but through media attention attracted by spectacular protests. Such experiences help explain the frustration of the West Berlin faction with the relatively slow organization promoted by the Marburg and Frankfurt sds sections. The provocations of the West Berlin sds brought outraged responses from sds leaders. After the poster action, President Helmut Schauer and Vice-President Hartmut Dabrowski of the sds traveled to West Berlin and demanded that the perpetrators of the action be expelled from the organization.∞∞∞ Although the rogue members were not expelled, a meeting was held to discuss the consequences of the action for the sds’s position. At the meeting, the West Berliners’ primary target was the ‘‘Declaration against the War in Vietnam,’’ which sds leaders had made the basis for the Vietnam congress held in May 1966.∞∞≤ When West Berlin sds members challenged what they saw as the anodyne nature of the declaration, Schauer defended it, saying that the goal was ‘‘to enable the participation of all radical opponents of the U.S. intervention in Vietnam, and they are not all socialists.’’∞∞≥ The West Berlin faction rejected the appeal to liberal norms and goal of coalition building that underlay the Vietnam congress and the widely circulated petition. They expressed their dissatisfaction in a letter to the national leadership in the run-up to the congress, writing: ‘‘We do not believe that an immanent critique of the contravention of bourgeois norms in Vietnam can unify the opposition. Themes, for example, like ‘political and legal problems of the Vietnam War’ can only serve to camouflage the actual process at work.’’∞∞∂ To the West Berlin faction, the lack of response to international protest proved the futility of trying to pressure the United States with its own language of liberal norms. In a leaflet distributed in West Berlin without the approval of the sds Federal Committee, the West Berlin faction began with a list of U.S. crimes that deliberately invoked the Second World War: ‘‘Everyone knows today what the ‘cordon sanitaire’ produced by carpet bombing looks like, the e√ects of tear gas . . . what kind of poverty the ‘non-toxic material’ used to eradicate the harvest brings to the civilian population. Everyone knows that ‘resettlement’ only hides expulsion, that concentration camps are being presented as ‘villages for new living,’ that the cia’s ‘pacification’ is intended to create the coercive state (Zwangsstaat ) that will finally guarantee ‘population control.’ ’’∞∞∑ The authors of the leaflet wondered why knowledge of these facts had

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not shaken the faith of antiwar activists in appeals to the morality of the superpower that ‘‘speaks loudly of freedom but means carpet bombing.’’ ‘‘They presuppose,’’ they wrote, ‘‘a government in Washington that sees Vietnam as a mistake, as a scandal exposed, and deny the unrelenting consistency that has led to the construction of this slaughterhouse.’’∞∞∏ Jürgen Horlemann, leader of the West Berlin sds, argued that mobilizing under liberal demands actually did damage by preserving the semblance of a tolerant civil society, further thickening ‘‘the democratic veil . . . through the whole democratic performance of the splintering of protests, their partial placation, diversion, etc.’’∞∞π Schauer, who had defended the appeal to liberal norms in the declaration, conceded the inconsistency himself in private discussion with the sds but argued that it was a matter of tactics. As he put it, ‘‘Of course, appealing to the Johnson administration to end the intervention and the war is incorrect and obscures the actual circumstances. . . . But we are not formulating our political goals for Johnson, but for those we want to win for our cause and draw into our movement.’’ Beginning in the run-up to the Vietnam congress, the West Berlin sds rejected Schauer’s model of organization based on compromise, coalition building, and appeals to rational self-interest in favor of a model of vanguardism based on leaps of psychological and emotional identification with Third World revolutionaries. At the Vietnam congress, the West Berlin sds found an unplanned ally for its call to break with appeals to bourgeois norms in the keynote speaker, Herbert Marcuse. Ahead of Marcuse’s arrival from California, the sds leader Walmot Falkenberg had written privately to ask that he use his remarks to discipline the West Berlin faction, whom he described as exhibiting the ‘‘infantile disorder of communism,’’ using Lenin’s label for the anti-union and anti-parliament communist factions of Great Britain and Germany in 1920.∞∞∫ Falkenberg foreshadowed Dabrowski’s discussion of the solidarity of ‘‘rationally grounded interests’’ by asking Marcuse to emphasize ‘‘which concrete solidarity of interests, not of sentiments, connects us with the liberation movements of the Third World.’’∞∞Ω In his keynote speech, Marcuse responded to Falkenberg’s request for a call to order by rejecting it. Instead, he praised the ‘‘instinctive, spontaneous solidarity of sentiment’’ with the Third World, which, he said, ‘‘goes deeper than organized solidarity, without which it cannot become effective.’’∞≤≠ He put emphasis on the first jump of empathy—what he called

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‘‘the power of negation that initiates the upheaval’’—giving the seal of approval to the mode of existential voluntarism advocated by the West Berlin faction.∞≤∞ Before the congress, the conflict between the sds Federal Committee and the West Berlin faction had come to a head in an exchange between Schauer and Dutschke, the most vocal representative of the West Berlin group, on the question of ‘‘total negation.’’∞≤≤ While Schauer argued that ‘‘there were starting points for developing a society based on solidarity within capitalism’’ and defended the viability of the Western working class as a revolutionary subject, Dutschke contended that the coming revolution would not be ‘‘a proletarian but a popular revolution (Volksrevolution),’’ the subject of which ‘‘would constitute itself first in the course of revolutionary struggle.’’∞≤≥ He held that the key starting point for contemporary struggle was the identification by the First World intellectuals with Third World revolutionaries and the ‘‘total negation’’ of existing terms of political engagement. He referred to the internationalist coalition as the ‘‘identification of the thinking with the su√ering,’’ adapting Marx’s description of the cross-class opposition to the Prussian absolutist state.∞≤∂ In response, Schauer reasserted the problem of class di√erence, pointing out that only a small sector of West German society ‘‘was in the position to comprehend what was happening in Vietnam and to make the abstract identification called for by Dutschke.’’∞≤∑ Schauer’s position reflected a continuing faith in the progressive role of labor that the West Berlin sds did not share. In early 1966, the sds Federal Committee was still dominated by students who maintained close working relationships with labor, including Frank Deppe of the Marburg sds. With Schauer as president, the sds leadership had worked with ig Metall, the metalworkers’ trade union, since early 1965 to oppose the Emergency Laws being proposed by the cdu government. In 1966, Schauer became an employee of ig Metall as the secretary of the Notstand der Demokratie (Crisis of Democracy) organizing committee devoted to opposing the Emergency Laws, actively cultivated connections between socialist students and labor institutions and helping to organize a conference that drew 20,000 attendees in October of that year.∞≤∏ To Schauer, Third World issues were distractions from domestic issues. In early 1965, he had already expressed concern that attention to the Third World could be a dangerous ‘‘escape to the distant (Fernflucht ).’’∞≤π Unlike Schauer’s position and that of the Marburg sds, the West Berlin position, as articu-

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lated by its main spokesperson, Dutschke, allowed no progressive role for the working class in Western countries. Marcuse took the same stance, pointing out in his keynote address that the working class in the United States had been entirely ‘‘integrated’’ into support of the status quo and the Vietnam War and that the ‘‘crucial counterforce’’ was ‘‘the opposition in developing countries.’’∞≤∫ The resonance between Marcuse and the West Berlin faction was not surprising. As discussed in chapter 2, the West Berlin group had developed its focus on the psychological aspects of revolution and its dismissal of the Western working class in engagement with Marcuse’s writings. It had also arrived at its conclusions based on its members’ political experiences of the preceding years. In the isolated ‘‘front city’’ of West Berlin, the closest collaborators of the sds had not been labor organizations but its Third World colleagues at the fu. The experience of collaboration influenced the group’s understanding of what forces would and could lead political change. Schauer and Dabrowski declared their o≈cial intention to step down as sds leaders in the wake of the Vietnam congress, saying that the West Berlin faction threatened ‘‘the destruction of the sds in the form it has taken until now.’’∞≤Ω Although they withdrew their resignations and finished their terms, they were correct in their prognosis. In September 1966, two representatives of the West Berlin line, Reimut Reiche (of Frankfurt) and Peter Gäng, replaced Schauer and Dabrowski as sds leaders.∞≥≠ Until the sds’s dissolution, antiauthoritarians dominated its leadership, rejecting the prospects of collaboration with the working class for an orientation toward Third World revolutionary socialism.∞≥∞ The value of identification with the Vietnamese victor became the party line in the leading West German socialist student organization. Socialist students recognized the risks of leaving coalition building, academic analysis, and the ‘‘solidarity of interests’’ for the project of sparking empathy and what Marcuse called the ‘‘solidarity of sentiment’’ with Third World revolutionaries. Even after signing the leaflet calling for identification with the ‘‘Vietnamese victors,’’ Horlemann worried in May 1966 about the false sense of ‘‘immediacy’’ that this identification might create.∞≥≤ He recognized that, if felt too completely and ‘‘when it cannot be put into practice,’’ empathy could be dangerous and misleading, welcoming irrationality into the core of political organization. Both the

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power and the hazards of identifying with the Third World revolutionary would become obvious as the movement continued to expand. The widespread adoption of theories of imperialism in socialist student circles had similarly long-reaching consequences. In their pioneering analyses at mid-decade, Steinhaus, Boris, and Helga Deppe-Wolfinger, among others, were specific about condemning the project of international development in the particular form practiced by the United States in the 1950s and early 1960s.∞≥≥ Yet their conclusions, and those of the less intellectually rigorous students who followed them, tended toward an allor-nothing prescription for the Third World, which branded everything short of popular revolution an indefensible variant of ‘‘neocolonialism.’’ The influence of Vietnam in socialist student circles helped displace the alternative visions of development built around liberal and critical freedoms proposed by foreign students in West Germany for the panacea of partisan revolution. It was not until the high point of mobilization had passed in 1969 that some students returned to critiques of development policy that saw a space for maneuver between subjugation to U.S. imperialism and outright escape from it.∞≥∂ Accepting the impossibility of total escape from the capitalist world system would first require a deflation of expectations and, for many, personal and physical confrontation with the police force of their own apparently intransigent state.

4 THE MISSING BODIES OF JUNE 2

On June 2, 1967, the Shah of Iran visited West Berlin, where critical German and Iranian students confronted him with a day of protests (see figure 7). The West Berlin police responded drastically, penning protesters into a closed lane in front of the German Opera and beating many of them bloody. As the shah watched an evening performance of The Magic Flute, the police chased and bludgeoned demonstrators and shot a twenty-sixyear-old student, Benno Ohnesorg, fatally in the back of the head. In historical and popular memory, June 2 marks the beginning of West Germany’s ‘‘1968.’’∞ Protests began to draw thousands instead of hundreds, and the formerly rare charge that the West German state was ‘‘fascist’’ became common currency.≤ Nazi analogies proliferated as German students began to see themselves as the new persecuted minority, potentially the first of many in a reversion to authoritarian rule.≥ What is striking in both the original and the ongoing accounts of June 2 is the fate of Iranians themselves. German students initially participated in the demonstration as an impressive showing of solidarity with an activist group of Iranian dissidents. Yet in the months, and later decades, that followed, June 2 was oddly severed from its international context and turned into a domestic episode in the intergenerational drama of the West German student movement. For Iranian activists, June 2 was not a starting point but the continuation of a campaign that had stretched over years and continents. For them, Ohnesorg was not the first victim in a new struggle against fascism in West Germany but the most recent victim in an ongoing struggle for freedom in Iran. Arif Dirlik has recommended that we use ‘‘double vision’’ in studying the 1960s, looking at political events for both their local and their international significance.∂ Using such double vision, we can see the Iranian dissidents who died in prison cells and in the streets in the 1960s as the missing bodies of June 2. Looking at the events from this new perspective restores the thickness

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7. Protesters in front of the German Opera on the evening of June 2, 1967. Paper bags printed with caricatures of the Shah of Iran and Farah Diba, originally designed to disguise the identity of Iranian dissidents from Iranian secret police, became an accessory for both foreign and German protesters. The sign reads, ‘‘Autonomy for Tehran University and Release of the Imprisoned Students.’’ The fu Student Union used the photograph in its investigation of the day’s violence. The number above the police o≈cer’s head was to aid in identifying him. Courtesy of apo-Archiv, Universitätsarchiv, Freie Universität Berlin, fu Student Union June 2 Investigation Committee.

of what are often cast as the purely imaginary bonds of West German internationalism.

Protest out of Personal Connections Dissident Iranian students had been active at West German universities since the first years of the decade. The Iranian student organization Confederation of Iranian Students, National Union (cisnu), had successfully gained the support of the Association of German Students (vds), sds, and other student groups for petitions, protests, and hunger strikes targeting the repression of political freedoms under the shah in Iran. Yet by

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spring 1967, opposition to the Vietnam War dominated the Third World activism of socialist students. When members of cisnu approached the sds about collaborating on the June 2 demonstration, they were turned down. Focused on Vietnam, the socialist students were concerned that working on Iranian issues would divide and dissipate the energies of the anti-imperialist movement.∑ cisnu found allies instead in members of Kommune I, who had become media personalities through the so-called pudding assassination of U.S. vice-president Hubert H. Humphrey in April 1967. Police had raided an apartment where Kommune I members were living on the suspicion that they were building a bomb to attack the visiting statesman. Although the police discovered only flour and food coloring—the ingredients to make ‘‘pudding bombs’’—they arrested eleven students. Large numbers of students protested the arrests, and the media covered the proceedings extensively.∏ Kommune I members embraced provocation as their primary means of political action, modeling themselves on the Amsterdam Provos and the Situationists. The leading figure was Dieter Kunzelmann, founding member of Subversive Aktion, which had dissolved in April 1966.π Although Kommune I members were originally part of the sds, the student organization expelled them in May 1967 after they distributed a series of provocative flyers signed ‘‘sds’’ that personally insulted the university leadership and threatened arson on campus.∫ Bahman Nirumand, an Iranian dissident intellectual and a key figure in organizing the protest, recalls the successful attempt to mobilize the Kommune I members for the protest: ‘‘Kommune I took up our suggestions with great enthusiasm. We planned imaginative actions; the federal government and the Berlin Senate would have no fun during the state visit.’’Ω According to Nirumand, the sds decided to get involved only when it realized ‘‘how explosive the visit would be.’’∞≠ The sds leader Wolfgang Lefèvre acknowledged in retrospect that ‘‘none of us [in the sds] took the shah demonstration seriously; rather, we resolved to do it as an act of obligation [Pflichtübung].’’∞∞ With few exceptions, the reminiscences of former activists never clarify what actually convinced the sds to participate and help coordinate the demonstration after initially dismissing it.∞≤ The answer certainly lies in the diligent and wide-ranging campaigns of Iranian dissidents in the years before 1967. During the demonstration, Walter Burkart, a German student una≈liated with any political group, told a police o≈cer that

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he had ‘‘taken part in the demonstration because, through information about Persia (Die Zeit, discussion evening at the university auditorium, leaflets, Iranian newspaper) I have become convinced that it is my obligation to stand up for freedom, democracy, and a life worthy of living in Persia.’’∞≥ The left-liberal weekly newspaper Die Zeit had been publishing articles about Iranian students’ activism in West Germany and Iran since the mid-1960s, and the ‘‘Iranian newspaper’’ Burkart referred to was likely Iran Azad, printed by the National Front since 1962 and in German translation since at least 1964.∞∂ The discussion at the university auditorium was doubtless the teach-in that Iranian and German students organized at the Technische Universität (Technical University; tu) in West Berlin on June 1, at which students heard about the situation in Iran and about sanctions leveled against Iranian dissidents in West Germany ahead of the shah’s visit. Personal connections of West German students to Iranian dissidents were a crucial spur to activism on June 2. Public statements made by student governments almost all directly referred to their Iranian colleagues. On June 1, student representatives of the tu in West Berlin complained in an open letter that they had heard from Iranian colleagues with ‘‘dismay’’ about the fact that police had searched the homes of two Iranian students at the request of Iranian authorities.∞∑ They called for participation in the next day’s demonstration against the ‘‘dictatorship of the Shah in Iran.’’∞∏ At the teach-in, a representative of the fu student government read a statement declaring the student body ‘‘in solidarity with the request of cisnu that the Federal President retract his invitation to the Shah.’’∞π The student government at the tu in Munich passed the same resolution, and the student union went as far as to resign in protest over the shah’s visit.∞∫ In Bonn, the student union sent a letter to the federal government condemning the conditions in Iran and asking for more political freedom for Iranian colleagues in West Germany.∞Ω The Frankfurt student parliament declared ‘‘the protests of Persian and German students’’ necessary. ‘‘Only through strident forms of protest,’’ the students wrote, ‘‘can the public, with their deliberately low level of information, be made aware of the true conditions in Persia.’’≤≠ As Belinda Davis has argued, ‘‘Personal and politically motivated connections to foreign students’’ had made increasing numbers of Germans aware of events in Iran by this time.≤∞ At the teach-in at tu West Berlin, attended by more than 2,000 people,

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the lawyer Hans-Heinz Heldmann, who worked with Iranian dissidents and Amnesty International throughout the decade, described the restrictive measures faced by Iranians in the run-up to the shah’s visit, to the loud boos of the crowd.≤≤ The West German state had made its first use of the new Foreigner Law (Ausländergesetz) to regulate the movement of foreign residents in preparation for the shah’s visit. In the week before his arrival, police told Iranian residents in many cities, including Bonn, Cologne, Düsseldorf, and Frankfurt, that they could not leave their cities in the four days of the shah’s visit. In addition, they had to appear to the authorities in person at least twice—and in one case, an extraordinary six times—per day to confirm their presence in the city.≤≥ Police searched the houses of Iranian students in Mainz. When asked by the police ‘‘if they had anything against it,’’ a student reported, ‘‘the Iranian friends unfortunately had nothing against it. . . . In the wake of the general incitement against the ‘radical masked Persians,’ it seems clear that anyone who doesn’t let themselves ‘voluntarily’ be searched has at least an armaments factory in their closet.’’≤∂ The student wrote that he saw a ‘‘police state’’ emerging out of the Foreigner Law’s gray space of administration.≤∑ West German authorities directed the strictest measures at the nearly 2,000 Iranian residents in Munich, the first stop on the shah’s visit.≤∏ Criminal police questioned nearly every Iranian in Munich in the lead-up to the demonstration and gave a drastic order to almost one hundred of them.≤π With only two days’ notice, authorities instructed ninety Iranians and seventeen other foreign students to leave Munich and the surrounding areas of Upper Bavaria and Middle Franconia for the duration of the shah’s time in West Germany.≤∫ To ensure compliance, they were required to register with the authorities multiple times per day at their temporary place of residence over the four-day period. In all cases, authorities threatened recipients of the letters with deportation for noncompliance, according to the Foreigner Law. They emphasized that deportation would be ‘‘executed immediately (mit sofortige Vollziehung),’’ thereby eliminating the likelihood of appeal.≤Ω West German students criticized the restrictions on political freedoms in the Foreigner Law before and after June 2. In July 1967, journalist Dieter Schoner wrote in the Frankfurt student magazine Diskus that the shah’s visit had been a ‘‘test-run’’ of the Foreigner Law as a legal means to prevent foreign residents of West Germany from raising awareness about ‘‘authoritarian conditions’’ in their home states.≥≠ A foreign student named O. Mohamed

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expressed the sense of precariousness among non-Germans in a letter, writing: ‘‘I am a Negro, and I still hand out leaflets. . . . When will the police deport me from Berlin? I’m waiting for it!’’≥∞

Iran, Model Developing Country?: Nirumand’s Intervention The most substantive source of information about the situation in Iran for West German students was Nirumand, a former student at West German universities who was the featured speaker at the teach-in. Born in 1936, Nirumand had moved to West Germany alone as a high-school student in the early 1950s. He studied in Munich, Tübingen, and West Berlin before completing his doctorate in German studies, Iranian studies, and philosophy in 1960. After returning to Iran that year, he began teaching at Tehran University but returned to West Germany in 1965 after facing state persecution for his leftist political activity in the midst of crackdowns by the Shah Reza Pahlevi’s regime.≥≤ While still in Iran, he had met Hans Magnus Enzensberger, the leftist poet and editor of Kursbuch, who encouraged him to write a book about the political situation in the country.≥≥ Rowohlt Press published the book, titled Persien, Modell eines Entwicklungslandes (Persia, Model Developing Country), in March 1967, with an afterword by Enzensberger.≥∂ In his book and subsequent talks, Nirumand expanded on his ironic designation of Iran as a ‘‘model developing country.’’ To Western governments, the shah’s Iran in the 1960s was, in fact, exemplary. Pahlevi had avoided the economic nationalism and Soviet orientation of Egypt’s Gamal Abdel Nasser and kept markets open to the West while modernizing through the so-called White Revolution of 1963, which introduced partial land reform and women’s su√rage and further secularized education.≥∑ To Nirumand, the reforms were superficial measures intended to obscure the realities of continuing poverty and internal repression within Iran. He claimed that foreign aid had only enriched a privileged upper class and bound Iran’s economic development more tightly to Western countries through long-term loans and the direct investment of American and Western European business interests.≥∏ Nirumand provided an evocative description of the e√ect of economic modernization: ‘‘Every Cadillac sits next to a broken-down donkey cart, every villa next to dozens of mud huts, and in Hilton hotels and nightclubs, people walk on

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carpets woven by children working fourteen-hour days.’’≥π In his book, Nirumand also included a list of jewelry Pahlevi had given to his third wife, Farah Diba, including a $3 million diadem and a $1.5 million brooch, as well as a list of luxuries, from sixteen pairs of skis to a brass band that the shah required for his Swiss holidays.≥∫ Overall, he condemned Western development aid and investment for having only helped exaggerate and give new form to local class di√erences without addressing basic structural inequalities and injustices.≥Ω The shape of the Iranian state, Nirumand contended, was itself a product of ongoing American and British intervention. Pahlevi had come to power after the cia-supported overthrow of social-democratic Prime Minister Mohammed Mossadeq in 1953. The United States encouraged Pahlevi to maintain a constitutional monarchy ‘‘so as not to present the spectacle of a dictatorship promoted by the United States.’’∂≠ Since the beginning of the 1960s, Nirumand argued, Pahlevi had progressively constricted democratic institutions despite his apparent reforms. He dissolved the parliament from 1961 to 1963 and used the secret service (savak) to vigorously police printed and public discussion.∂∞ According to Nirumand, the apparent Iranian ‘‘success’’ of the 1960s was entirely a performance for the outside world. As he put it, ‘‘Before the eyes of the enthusiastically applauding world, [the shah] stages a play whose tragicomic action and grotesque tactics rival any by Ionesco. Yet the backdrops for this play, the Potemkin villages of a functioning democracy, conceal another, bloody play, and the world’s attention is studiously distracted from the latter by spectacular actions on the stage.’’∂≤ ‘‘Does it harmonize with Iran’s image,’’ Nirumand asked, ‘‘that the police use submachine guns—as on January 10, 1959—against high-school students demonstrating for better schools, or that Tehran students were locked inside the university for several days during the 1961 elections to prevent them from protesting against the rigging of elections?’’∂≥ Nirumand explained the disconnect between Iran’s international public image and its domestic realities by the fact that Western countries were profiting from Iranian oil and investment and chose to ignore internal repression. The goal of dissidents, Nirumand wrote, must be to be enable ‘‘the people of the Free World to see behind the scenes’’ and, he hoped, thereby dissolve the regime’s legitimacy. As he put it, ‘‘Through demonstrations, leaflet actions, hunger strikes, etc., cisnu seeks to set right the image of himself that the shah hopes to impress on the world public and to take

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away the support and good will overseas that he has obtained through lies.’’∂∂ As described in chapter 1, Iranian students had been undertaking such campaigns with some success in West Germany since 1961. In 1965, an international petition and hunger strike campaign with one of its focal points in West Germany resulted in the commutation of the life sentences of two students accused of attempting to assassinate the shah.∂∑ On June 2, one Iranian demonstrator carried a large photograph of Ahmad Kamrani, one of the two students, in the protest against the shah (see figure 8).∂∏ At the teach-in, Nirumand described how Iranian authorities extracted confessions from dissidents by using torture and tried them in front of secret military tribunals. ‘‘Critique of this form of democracy,’’ he said, ‘‘is openly equated to treason.’’∂π As he spoke, students unfurled long banners that demanded ‘‘Autonomy for Tehran University and Release of Imprisoned Students’’ and ‘‘End the Torture of Political Prisoners’’ to minutes of uninterrupted applause.∂∫ These bed-sheet-size signs were a relative novelty at the time and may have been adopted in response to the ‘‘bigcharacter posters’’ of the Chinese Cultural Revolution, which, as a later chapter will discuss, students in West Berlin had followed attentively since late 1966. Peter Schneider, a former member of the West Berlin sds, remembers the catalyzing e√ect Nirumand had on the Third World activism of socialist students: ‘‘One had the feeling that this was finally someone who knew what he was talking about. It was a liberation from all the indistinct ideas, the overly large concepts one did not know how to fill [with content]. He was, so to speak, an envoy from a grimmer and therefore better world . . . that could provide us with a clear goal. The words ‘co-determination, freedom’ suddenly had meaning.’’∂Ω Nirumand’s book would enter its fifth printing within months of its release and ultimately sell more than 100,000 copies.∑≠ Perhaps most crucial for the success of Nirumand’s argument in more radical student circles was his outline of a global context that linked the struggles in Iran, Vietnam, and the rest of the Third World. After decolonization and the Sino-Soviet split, according to Nirumand, there had been a realignment in global politics ‘‘from the clash of ideologies to the alliance of the rich against the poor.’’∑∞ The new front lines, he argued, ‘‘often enough . . . run right through individual states.’’∑≤ Governments and upper classes allied and identified themselves with the First World because of access to investment and aid, while the remaining population

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8. Protesters on June 2 carrying a portrait of the imprisoned Iranian student Ahmad Kamrani and a caricature of the shah. The text reads, ‘‘Torture, Execution, Prison’’ (in German) and ‘‘Shame on You, Executioner’’ (in Farsi). Courtesy of apo-Archiv, Universitätsarchiv, Freie Universität Berlin.

was left in the poverty and political marginalization characteristic of the Third World: ‘‘This is as true for the Bantus in the South African Republic as it is for the Vietcong in South Vietnam or for the spokesmen of the Iranian peasants.’’∑≥ The solution for the Third World, Nirumand proposed—in Vietnam and South Africa, as well as in Iran—was nationalist revolution. Such revolutions would transition afterward into an international ‘‘solidarity of the poor peoples’’ and presumably radical material redistribution, although his vision of post-revolutionary society was underdeveloped. The combination of apparent modernization with repression overlaid by a cultural and economic dependence on the United States made Iran a ‘‘model’’ for the present development policy of the Western world. But, Nirumand implied, it could also make Iran a model of resistance and revolution. Participants at the teach-in followed Nirumand in linking the struggles in Iran, Vietnam, and the broader Third World. During his speech, Niru-

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mand announced that ‘‘the freedom of South Vietnam is going to cost the U.S. something!,’’ at which point a man unfurled the flag of the insurgent, communist National Front for the Liberation of South Vietnam (nlf) from the upper galleries to ‘‘demonstrative applause.’’∑∂ Speaking at the teach-in, Dutschke linked the protest to Vietnam, as well, saying, ‘‘It is not on the meaningless June 3, but tomorrow, during the shah’s visit, that it will be all about Vietnam.’’∑∑ An elderly Iranian man who took the podium to speak in defense of the shah and his policies was met with boos from the crowd.∑∏ In the months that followed, publications from right to left-liberal printed long articles attacking Nirumand’s depiction of conditions in Iran.∑π Christ und Welt called him a ‘‘rabble-rouser,’’ while Der Spiegel called him a ‘‘short-term Persian’’ who ‘‘really only knew Iran from his childhood.’’∑∫ Even before the shah’s visit, Karl-Heinz Schmitz, parliamentary secretary of the West Berlin Christian Democratic Union (cdu), helped form a ‘‘German–Iranian Society’’ to counter the claims of ‘‘groups that attack the shah’s policies through demonstrations and leaflets,’’ targeting especially Nirumand’s book for distortions and inaccuracies.∑Ω In response, West Germans and Iranian students defended Nirumand.∏≠ An Iranian student organization wondered whether Der Spiegel was not using a ‘‘Hitler–Autobahn ideology’’ when it ‘‘justified the conditions in Iran’’ based on its achievements in economic modernization.∏∞ In a letter to Konkret, a representative of the Rowohlt Press suggested that the Springer newspapers had taken another tack on the Nirumand book by ignoring it altogether, having realized that ‘‘even press attacks on books are advertisements for them.’’∏≤ The police acknowledged Nirumand’s book as a source of information for leftist West German students and sought to suppress its promotion by demonstrators. During the June 2 protest, police o≈cers asked a German student which organizations he belonged to, whether he had been at the teach-in the night before, and whether he had used Nirumand’s book as a source of information.∏≥ Five days earlier in Bonn, the police had informed students that a leaflet they were handing out with citations from Nirumand’s book was illegal. When a female student refused to hand over her leaflets, o≈cers forcefully took her into custody, causing abrasions and serious bruises, according to a doctor’s report publicized by the Bonn student unions.∏∂ Attendees of the June 2 demonstration in West Berlin cited the teach-in and Nirumand’s work as the reason they participated in the protest.∏∑ Nirumand’s stark

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account of injustice and oppression, which he also placed in an international context of anti-imperialist struggle, helped catalyze West German students to protest.

The Protest: West German and Iranian State Violence Although the major confrontation between protesters and police happened on the evening of June 2, the first acts of violence took place during the shah’s noontime visit with Mayor Heinrich Albertz at the Schöneberg City Hall. Carrying the signs from the previous night’s teach-in, between 2,000 and 3,000 demonstrators gathered in front of City Hall behind metal barricades.∏∏ Many of the protesters wore paper bags over their heads printed with caricatured images of Pahlevi and his wife Farah Diba, which Kommune I members had printed and sold at the teach-in the night before. The so-called shah bags (Schah-Tüte) were intended to protect the identities of Iranian protesters from both the West German state and savak, which was known to be active in West Germany.∏π Many Germans wore the masks, as well, turning demonstrators into comic versions of their common antagonists. While the protesters awaited the shah’s arrival, a West Berlin public transit bus pulled up and discharged a group of Iranian men on the inside of the police barricades. The group proved to be pro-shah counterdemonstrators, who faced o√ against the protesters, waving miniature Iranian flags and signs bearing the image of the royal couple. Protesters shouted ‘‘savak!’’ at the arriving group, identifying them as members of the Iranian secret service.∏∫ One German demonstrator reported that he recognized them immediately by their ‘‘typical suits and their faces,’’ as he had ‘‘been observing savak people for a long time,’’ likely in political collaboration with Iranian colleagues.∏Ω After the arrival of the pro-shah contingent, Iranian demonstrators started a chant, picked up tentatively by non-Farsi-speaking Germans, of ‘‘Yad-e Mossadeq! (Remember Mossadeq!),’’ invoking the National Front leader who had died under house arrest at age eighty-four in Iran less than a month before.π≠ Most of the Iranian dissidents in West Germany identified with the social-democratic policies of Mossadeq, who, most notably, had nationalized the Iranian oil industry in his brief time as prime minister. Counter-demonstrators responded with the pro-Pahlevi chant ‘‘Shah-in-Shah! (Emperor of Em-

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perors!)’’ and surged toward the demonstrators threateningly before being repelled by a smoke bomb thrown by either police or demonstrators.π∞ Almost immediately after the shah arrived and entered City Hall to deafening boos, chants, and whistles, several counter-demonstrators stormed toward the barricades and began using the sticks of their signs as weapons, swinging wildly at protesters (see figure 9). Film footage shows demonstrators attempting to protect themselves with their bare hands against the blows of the counter-demonstrators for several minutes until a mounted police o≈cer finally interceded.π≤ Walter Siepmann, an elderly member of the cdu (and Nirumand’s father-inlaw), who is visible in the front row of demonstrators, later testified to having seen counter-demonstrators using concealed metal blackjacks (Totschläger), as well as wooden planks, against protesters (see figure 10).π≥ Testifying one month after the event, another demonstrator said that it was ‘‘incomprehensible to him that the police o≈cers had not intervened immediately against these Persians, who everyone could see were committing criminal acts of assault.’’π∂ After the shah left the building, the partiality of the police became even more obvious as they dispersed the protesters violently while women from the Red Cross served tea to the pro-shah demonstrators on the sidelines.π∑ The next serious conflict came in the evening when the shah was scheduled to see a performance of Mozart’s The Magic Flute at the German Opera. Before the arrival of either the shah or the pro-shah demonstrators, witnesses remember that the atmosphere was light, and protesters responded to ‘‘the large police presence with ironic-mocking remarks.’’π∏ As the group of 3,000–6,000 demonstrators waited, the shah masks became the means for impromptu protest theater.ππ One participant recalled, ‘‘A Citroën drove past in the direction of Ernst-Reuter-Platz. A paper-bag shah and a similarly caricatured Farah sat on the open roof of the car. The pair graciously and regally accepted the laughing ovations of the demonstrators’’ (see figure 11).π∫ According to the demonstrator Ilse Rodewald, other passing cars accompanied the protest chant of ‘‘Mo-Mo-Mossadeq,’’ which was likely the more German-friendly version of the earlier Farsi chant.πΩ It was also a variation on the pro-nlf chant ‘‘Ho-Ho-Ho Chi Minh’’ that protesters in West Berlin and West Germany had been using since early 1967 as more students expanded their critique of the United States to vocal support of the North Vietnamese resistance.∫≠ Rodewald remarked that

9. Iranian supporters of the shah attack protesters with wooden sticks in front of Schöneberg City Hall on the afternoon of June 2, 1967. This amateur photograph was used by the fu Student Union in the attempt to identify the assailants, several of whom were students at West Berlin universities or long-time residents of the city. Courtesy of apo-Archiv, Universitätsarchiv, Freie Universität Berlin, fu Student Union June 2 Investigation Committee.

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10. Iranian supporter of the shah attacking protesters in front of Schöneberg City Hall. Courtesy of apo-Archiv, Universitätsarchiv, Freie Universität Berlin.

the tone changed with the arrival of the pro-shah counter-demonstrators, and the protesters became ‘‘more agitated and loud.’’∫∞ The counterdemonstrators disembarked again from a public transit bus in a group of about twenty-five, carrying the same small signs on long sticks they had used to beat demonstrators earlier.∫≤ They stood across from a line of metal barricades that confined the protesters to a narrow lane of sidewalk across the street at a distance from the theater’s entrance. Protesters had reason to be anxious about the presence of the counterdemonstrators after the police had tacitly sanctioned their violence in the

11. Protesters drive past Bellevue Palace on June 2 as the shah takes tea inside. The sign reads, ‘‘Murderer.’’ Photograph: Landesarchiv Berlin/Karl-Heinz Schubert.

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early afternoon. Other incidents had since reinforced the sense of police bias. Iranian men had attacked three Germans driving a car in front of the German Opera displaying signs that read ‘‘Iran—kz [Konzentrationslager, or concentration camp] in the Orient’’ and ‘‘80% Illiterates,’’ then chased them down a side street and tore their signs away. When the Germans demanded that the police take the names of their attackers, the Iranian men countered that the demonstrators themselves be arrested. The police complied, putting one of the demonstrators into an arm hold and leading them all into a waiting police car.∫≥ Police confiscated flyers from two other demonstrators, taking one into detention for two hours.∫∂ One German woman recalled an Iranian man striking her from behind and tearing her shah mask o√. When she complained to the police, an o≈cer told her that ‘‘it served her right.’’∫∑ It was not the Iranian counter-demonstrators but the police who ended up being the perpetrators of violence at the evening demonstration. Before and after the shah entered the theater, a small number of demonstrators threw tomatoes, eggs, smoke bombs, and, according to some reports, stones at the police, who responded by pulling individual protesters out of the crowd and dragging them to patrol wagons.∫∏ In the process, an o≈cer’s hand was injured, and two o≈cers escorted him away.∫π Around 8 p.m., the commanding o≈cer responded to the hurled objects and the injured o≈cer by ordering the police to attack.∫∫ The police ran at the lane of demonstrators, leapt the barricades, and began beating the people inside with truncheons.∫Ω Penned between barricades and a seven-foot wall, protesters had no way to escape what seemed to be the purely punitive bludgeoning by the police. Some protesters called for a sit-down strike, which succeeded for some, but others were beaten ‘‘mercilessly,’’ according to a witness.Ω≠ An American witness described the scene of the protest: ‘‘Broken watches, eyeglasses, etc. littered the pavement around me, and a woman next to me was bleeding so profusely that my clothing was covered with her blood.’’Ω∞ As people attempted to flee, the police brought in vehicles with loudspeakers, ordered the protesters to disperse, and barraged them with water cannons.Ω≤ After half an hour of scrambling, arrests, and altercations between protesters and police, a gunshot rang out from a courtyard parking lot.Ω≥ The thirty-nine-year-old plainclothes o≈cer Karl-Heinz Kurras had shot the twenty-six-year-old literature student Benno Ohnesorg in the back of the head.Ω∂ Ohnesorg had come to the protest after he had read

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Nirumand’s book and ‘‘been enraged by it,’’ according to a Chilean friend of his.Ω∑ He had brought a pillowcase painted with the message ‘‘Autonomy for Tehran University.’’Ω∏ He held the pillowcase crumpled in one hand when he was shot, and a police o≈cer put it under his head as he bled.Ωπ He died that night in Moabit Hospital as fights between police and protesters continued until 12:30 a.m. Ω∫

Civic Shock and Nazi Talk For left-leaning Germans, the first response to the day’s events was what can be called civic shock, a disbelief that a democratic Rechtsstaat could exercise such brutal police force. For many, Ohnesorg’s death provided disturbing evidence that the state could answer dissent with fatal retaliation. The events of June 2, the former activist Inge Buhmann remembers, ‘‘for me, as for many other, [were] decisive. Until then I had hesitated about whether I should actually become politically engaged. With one blow, it was clear and irrevocable—it was really like a blow, likely for most of us.’’ΩΩ Many previously inactive students mobilized in the wake of Ohnesorg’s death. Buhmann recounted in a letter to a friend in June 1967 how, in the campaigns after his death, ‘‘a large percentage of the students were being politically active for the first time, picking up leaflets from the student government, carrying them out to the population and beginning to argue, going in front of factories, painting posters.’’∞≠≠ An estimated 5,000 fu students participated in a memorial procession for Ohnesorg in West Berlin, and a convoy of more than 100 cars escorted his body through East Germany to his home in Hannover.∞≠∞ In Göttingen, the memorial march of 6,000 students was the largest in the university’s history.∞≠≤ Nick Thomas notes that 65 percent of West German students claimed in retrospect that they were ‘‘politicized’’ by Ohnesorg’s death.∞≠≥ Distorted media coverage of the event further inflamed students’ outrage. The first reports of the demonstration bordered on outright fabrication. The Tagesspiegel explained Kurras’s act as a gesture of self-defense against armed students, writing, ‘‘As the attackers began to slash with knives at the detective who was lying on the ground, he drew his pistol and fired.’’∞≠∂ The paper editorialized that the death of Ohnesorg was the ‘‘worst possible consequence of a situation in which a street-fighting atmosphere has been created.’’ It laid the blame on oppositional Iranian

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and German students: ‘‘We already knew about the opposition to the shah of many Persians who live in Germany, of the riot addiction (Randaliersucht ) of certain extreme-left German student groups, and finally about those without political interest who are ready to go whenever a riot is at hand.’’∞≠∑ The coverage of the event by the Springer press, which controlled most of the newspapers in West Berlin, including the Tagesspiegel, fed students’ existing frustration with how their protests were portrayed in the mainstream press.∞≠∏ The case of Helga Haas provides the best illustration of press misrepresentation. A twenty-eight-year-old mother, Haas went with her husband to the protest, which she later described as her first. She joined a group of people in chants that she felt ‘‘appropriate to express her protest,’’ including ‘‘Mo-Mo-Mossadeq’’ and ‘‘Freedom for Vietnam.’’∞≠π After the shah’s arrival, she felt that the demonstration was over and prepared to leave but found herself trapped, like others, between barricades and the police at the exits. According to Haas’s account, the police beat her three or four times after she had already fallen to the ground and begun bleeding heavily from her head. Her husband tried to help her, but police o≈cers beat him back, breaking his glasses. Police led Haas to an ambulance, which took her to a hospital, where she received stitches for her four head wounds. She said she had to ‘‘endure the scorn’’ of doctors and nurses as she waited for her X-rays. When someone suggested that she be X-rayed first so she could return home to her child, the doctor responded, ‘‘Anyone who has time to demonstrate has time to wait.’’∞≠∫ Waking the next morning after her head wound bled for three more hours in the night, Haas saw a photograph of police escorting her to an ambulance in that day’s issue of the Springer tabloid Bild-Zeitung (see figure 12). The caption read, ‘‘A blood-drenched young women is led from the hail of stones into safety,’’ implying that the wounds had come from demonstrators and that the police were her saviors. Haas recalls that she was so upset by the total reversal of truth in the caption that her head wound began to bleed again.∞≠Ω Underground newspapers and journals in Berlin and Hamburg reprinted the story of the deceptive redaction by the tabloid press alongside photos of Haas bleeding at the protest.∞∞≠ In the week after June 2, leftist groups repeatedly stated their disbelief at the day’s events and the response of o≈cials. The normally tempered vds announced itself ‘‘shocked’’ and ‘‘outraged.’’ The association had been ‘‘stunned’’ to discover that the city government had done nothing to

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12. Helga Haas bleeding from a wound inflicted by a police truncheon on June 2. Reprinted in a Berlin student magazine. Courtesy of apo-Archiv, Universitätsarchiv, Freie Universität Berlin.

express its regret over Ohnesorg’s death for more than a day, instead seeking further to ‘‘cover up’’ an ‘‘act of police terror.’’∞∞∞ The fu Student Union declared the conduct of the city’s politicians ‘‘incomprehensible.’’ A statement referring to Emergency Laws being prepared for passage in the Bundestag read, ‘‘Berlin is experiencing an actual state of emergency while the legal one is still in preparation.’’∞∞≤ The pacifist Committee for Disarmament issued a statement saying that the actions of the police represented ‘‘state of emergency practices’’ and saw in them a ‘‘dangerous deviation from the free-democratic order of the Federal Republic.’’∞∞≥ Anecdotal evidence supported the charge of June 2 as a rehearsal for a state of emergency. When one non-demonstrating bystander asked a policeman for his badge number (Dienstnummer) on June 2, she was told, ‘‘Not during a state of emergency (Nicht bei Notstand).’’∞∞∂ Police refused to give their badge numbers to another demonstrator who was arrested for distributing leaflets and kept at a police station under no charge until 2:30 a.m. on the night of June 2.∞∞∑ Another o≈cer dismissed

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a demonstrator by saying he could ‘‘come get the badge number tomorrow.’’∞∞∏ Mayor Heinrich Albertz’s initial statements on June 3 also implied the suspension of regular legal routines and the imposition of emergency laws when he included ‘‘the establishment of summary courts (Schnellgerichten)’’ as one of the measures foreseen to ‘‘fight the criminality that seeks to undermine the security and order of our city.’’∞∞π Wolgang Büsch, senator of the interior of West Berlin, also formally prohibited protests in the wake of June 2, thus curtailing a basic democratic right.∞∞∫ The security measures put into place ahead of the shah’s visit had been unprecedented. Newspapers reported that police helicopters had circled Munich during the visit, and 4,800 o≈cers (2,600 more than for Queen Elizabeth II) had been mobilized for the shah’s time in Bonn.∞∞Ω The Crisis of Democracy organizing committee, composed of ig Metall and sds representatives in Bonn, wrote: ‘‘During the visit of the Persian shah, the population had the opportunity to take part in drills for an emergency: the state of emergency was practiced, demonstrators were arbitrarily arrested and beaten down, the student Benno Ohnesorg was the first victim of the state of emergency in practice.’’∞≤≠ The leaflet continued in alarmist tones, warning that the Emergency Laws in preparation would ‘‘open the door to a coup d’état as has recently taken place in Greece. The planned measures will not prevent a state of emergency, they will bring a state of emergency about.’’ The flyer ended with a desperate admonition: ‘‘Defend your basic rights while there is still time!’’∞≤∞ Statements from politicians heightened the sense of panic and hardened the opposition between those mobilized on the left and those in power. During Ohnesorg’s funeral procession, participants listened on transistor radios as Albertz declared that Berliners would ‘‘no longer let themselves be terrorized by a minority,’’ referring to demonstrators. Using an idiomatic expression, he insisted that the incidents ‘‘went onto the account (geht auf deren Konto)’’ of demonstrators, a disturbing formulation that seemed to imply a future balancing of accounts. ‘‘They initiated the clash to which a student fell victim,’’ he said.∞≤≤ Five days after the event, even as the details had been largely clarified, Albertz still laid the blame for Ohnesorg’s death on the demonstrators, saying, ‘‘The dead student is, hopefully the last victim of a development caused by an extremist minority.’’∞≤≥ The Police Union, similarly unrepentant, printed a statement in the Tagesspiegel on June 4: ‘‘The behavior of a muddle-

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headed minority allied with hysterical, notorious rowdies has shown the population of Berlin once again how this small, radical clique is intent on systematically ruining the city’s reputation.’’∞≤∂ The notion of leftist student as minority would be central in the years of escalating student protest. The most immediate attribution of minority status to protesting students was from passers-by in the street, who said that students should be treated like the supposed enemies of the Third Reich. One woman, standing on the street wearing a black armband during the funeral procession, heard a man say, ‘‘What? She hasn’t been gassed to death yet?’’∞≤∑ Another bystander told a marcher, ‘‘There should have been fifty demonstrators shot to death, and not just one, so that peace and order could finally prevail.’’∞≤∏ Elderly passers-by told other demonstrators that ‘‘they haven’t shot enough of you yet,’’ and ‘‘You should all be sent to the concentration camp (kz ), in the gas chamber.’’∞≤π At the June 2 demonstration itself, one witness reported an onlooker shouting, in Berlin dialect, ‘‘You all need to be gassed; it was probably just your relatives that got gassed, right (wohl nur deine Verwandten vergast, wa)?’’∞≤∫ Evocations of the concentration camps and executions did not come solely from the older generation. One demonstrator reported hearing a group of teenage girls asking whether anyone had a pair of scissors so they could cut o√ his commemorative black armband. When he asked what they were saying, a girl of eighteen or so replied, ‘‘They should have shot you, too.’’∞≤Ω The same witness reported being told by a teenage boy after a short discussion that ‘‘they should have gassed you all, too.’’∞≥≠ What was happening here? Comments from the older generation could be explained as unrepentant adherence to Nazi ideas of the militant protection of order, but attacks from young people suggested a cross-generational mentality in the urban population. One witness made an impromptu analysis in his witness report, writing, ‘‘The predominant impression was that with these Berliners the same minority schema snapped into place that is especially familiar from past persecution of Berlin minorities: Jews, communists, students, bums (Gammler).‘We Berliners need peace and consensus; we don’t want discussions and argument. You all need to be locked up, go over to Ulbricht. I’m not paying any more taxes for this kind of thing, you communists,’ and finally, ‘If you have another opinion, you belong over there (drüben).’ ’’∞≥∞ This witness equated the logic of the counter-protesters to that of the early National Socialist government,

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which ‘‘cleaned up’’ German society by imprisoning people on political and racial grounds. The solution, in this new version, became dispatching protesters drüben, meaning over the Berlin Wall to the gdr. After June 2, the persecution of a student minority took on a more serious cast. A number of leftist groups responded to the death of Ohnesorg somewhat apocalyptically, warning of a threat to other groups. The fu student government passed a resolution declaring, ‘‘What happens today to essentially defenseless students can a√ect large sectors of the population tomorrow.’’∞≥≤ Students used the specter of a coming danger in their largely ine√ective attempts to mobilize workers in solidarity with them. A flyer by the Berlin Trade Union youth group asked ‘‘whether these measures will be used tomorrow against workers and employees who demonstrate or strike for the retention of their positions.’’∞≥≥ The Frankfurt University student government echoed the appeal, predicting that similar tactics would be used if workers struck against the shrinking of wages and social services.∞≥∂ The fu Student Union also addressed the city’s workers, saying, ‘‘The fatally shot Benno Ohnesorg was the first victim! They will deal with workers even more brutally, because they are more frightened of them.’’∞≥∑ The appeal to workers drew sharply divided responses. Walter Sickert, the Berlin representative of the German Confederation of Trade Unions (dgb), issued a press release rejecting the attempt by the student union to place blame for Ohnesorg’s death on the police. ‘‘The guilt for the dead and the injured lies with those who set the scene for the demonstration,’’ he wrote, condemning the actions of an ‘‘anarchistic student minority.’’∞≥∏ On the other hand, the workplace representatives of ig Metall, a union that continued to push a more leftist line than the dgb, made perhaps the most polemical statement about June 2. It explicitly placed June 2 in the context of the Nazi past, writing: ‘‘We protest in the name of the victims of Lidice and Auschwitz, the victims of the Berlin Wall, those in Spain or Iran and all other dictatorships of this earth where people have died or sit in prison. . . . We will defend our freedom to prevent the emergence of a second thousand-year Reich. We will prevent anything that might lead to a second Ohnesorg case. The first time it was a student, the second time it could be a worker and then the serfdom of an entire people once again.’’∞≥π The Nazi analogy is understandable as a reaction on the part of students and leftist workers. The a√ective force of Nazi talk was no doubt both felt viscerally and used to rhetorical e√ect by left-wing groups. Yet a side e√ect of the persistent placement of the struggle into German na-

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tional history was that it roped what was in fact a transnational event back into a national story line and established its parameters as a national struggle. Reiterating the persecution of minority groups in the German past and using Ohnesorg’s death as a cautionary tale and harbinger of repression to come erased the transnational connections that had led to the June 2 demonstration. Analyses from within socialist student circles further elaborated on the status of students as the new minority, displacing the dissident foreign students who were, in a sense, the true minority, as well as the catalysts for the protest. ‘‘In Berlin,’’ the sds press release read, ‘‘the call has rung out a thousand times, if the students do not want to be silent, then throw them over the wall. They have been made into the ‘Jews’ of anticommunism.’’∞≥∫ As with other cases of the self-identification of non-Jews as figurative Jews, this ascription elided the continuing existence of actual Jews in West Germany, a fact that would become more pertinent after the adoption of the Palestinian cause by leftist students. Socialist explanations of the student as minority were both geopolitical and socio-structural. The sds member Knut Nevermann placed the public reaction in the context of the decade’s changing geopolitics: ‘‘For a long time, the stereotype used to divert attention from internal problems and integrate the population was anticommunism. Since West Berlin has been drawn into the trend of détente, too, however, its function as capital and ‘front city’ cannot be further upheld in earnest, bringing inner-political problems back into consciousness and making it necessary to find a new antagonist or enemy for the integration of the population. The noisy, critically protesting students o√ered themselves as a weak minority.’’∞≥Ω The authors of the sds statement traced the minority status of students to a tension created by higher education in postwar West German society. On the one hand, the university was a ‘‘factory’’ for ‘‘turning out functionaries for the high technocracy.’’∞∂≠ On the other hand, the exposure of students to the ‘‘formal principles of political democracy and humanity’’ uniquely equipped them to identify inconsistencies in the conduct of the ruling powers. Thus, students found themselves in a position of ‘‘latent socialpsychological conflict’’ with both the ruling system and the working-class population, which continued to view them as a privileged social class.∞∂∞ In this analysis, authors with the sds not only conceded that students were a minority but also celebrated their minority status as endowing them with a distinct perspective on the inconsistencies and hypocrisies of the larger system. In a televised debate two weeks after June 2, Walter Jens,

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an author and a professor at Tübingen University, supported this notion by saying that students were taking up a role of critique abandoned in West German society and thereby ‘‘tearing away a veil of lies.’’∞∂≤ For students, a status as a ‘‘marginalized group (Randgruppe)’’ legitimized their position as political actors within a model of social change inspired by Marcuse and C. Wright Mills, who both felt that the Western working class was no longer a viable source of progressive political action.∞∂≥ Even if persecution by the larger population was traumatic, the designation as a minority group justified the self-understanding of students in their role as the conscience of West German society or, for some, as a revolutionary vanguard.

Wreathes before June 2 For Germans, the events of June 2 brought the new possibility of physical su√ering into the practice of protest. The cover of the fu student magazine fu Spiegel illustrated the arrival of murderous state violence in West Berlin with an image of the city’s iconic bear printed on a practice-firing target with a bullet hole in it.∞∂∂ The caption of the image was ‘‘Berlin Democracy’’ (see figure 13). One of three sds representatives in a televised debate remarked that students were forced to think much more seriously about how they planned to demonstrate after the ‘‘violent measures’’ used by police. As he put it, ‘‘In Berlin, it has become, if you permit me the somewhat dramatic wording, almost a question of survival—that is, a question of whether one wants to be injured or not.’’∞∂∑ It took activists and others some time to comprehend the notion that the West German state, too, was capable of this form of brutality. The de facto exclusion of the possibility was best expressed by Professor Ernst Heinitz, who responded to the idea that the police o≈cer had shot Ohnesorg without provocation with the statement, ‘‘That is impossible in a Rechtsstaat.’’∞∂∏ Tellingly, witness reports show that the first response of police and protesters alike was to attribute violence to non-German culprits, actors beyond the boundaries of the West German Rechtsstaat. On the evening of June 2, police loudspeakers broadcast the rumor that a policeman had been killed. Working entirely from melodramatic tropes—a fresh-faced youngster killed by an outsider—a police o≈cer told demonstrators that, ‘‘in the chaos in front of the Opera, a young comrade of

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13. Issue of the student magazine fu Spiegel (July 11, 1967). The caption reads, ‘‘Berlin Democracy.’’ Courtesy of apo-Archiv, Universitätsarchiv, Freie Universität Berlin.

mine, who has only been with us for a short while, has had his throat slit, very probably by a foreigner.’’∞∂π In a witness report, one demonstrator remembered hearing the rumor of the dead policeman and thinking immediately that the culprit had been a foreigner. She justified the assumption by the notion that foreigners ‘‘were, in the end, accustomed to totally di√erent [forms of ] struggle.’’∞∂∫ In displacing the source of violence onto a foreigner, both police o≈cer and protester worked from the belief of a basic incompatibility of West German civility with acts of fatal violence. The attribution of violence to foreigners may have followed from the apparent interloper role played by right-wing Iranians on June 2. But not all of the pro-shah demonstrators were flown in on ‘‘charter flights,’’ as Mayor Albertz would claim forty years after the event.∞∂Ω Rather, some were residents of Berlin, even long-term residents. In the days after the event, German students identified armed counter-demonstrators from

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photographs as classmates from art school and agricultural college.∞∑≠ The three Iranians eventually charged with assault for their actions on June 2 had all lived in Berlin for years—two of them since 1963, and the other since 1965. Two of the men had married German women, and one had a German child.∞∑∞ According to an acquaintance, one of the men had boasted before June 2 that he was providing ‘‘help to the police . . . on behalf of the Iranian Embassy.’’∞∑≤ Far from the invasion of violence from the outside, the day’s clashes were a bubbling over of tensions that had existed within West Germany and West Berlin for years.∞∑≥ The West German and Iranian governments had worked with West German police to suppress the vocal criticism of Iranian and West German students since the beginning of the decade. During the shah’s visit, they found allies with local Iranian nationalists. The transnational event was also a hometown a√air. Iranian opponents of the shah in West Germany were commemorating the death of their colleagues before Ohnesorg was shot. On May 29, four days before the demonstration in West Berlin, three Iranian students attempted to lay a wreath with a sash reading, ‘‘For the Victims of the Shah’s Regime,’’ at a memorial statue in Bonn during the shah’s visit (see figure 14). A deployment of 600 police o≈cers blocked them from doing so and arrested 61 students.∞∑∂ Although less well remembered, the protests in the days before June 2 were considerable and often involved a disproportionate show of force by the West German authorities. Three hundred police o≈cers showed up to face 150 protesting Persian students when the shah arrived in Cologne. One student, a Dr. Bajatzadeh, reportedly spent six weeks with his arm in a plaster cast after abuse by a police o≈cer.∞∑∑ In Munich, many of the students ordered to leave elected to stay, taking refuge in the homes and dormitories of German friends to participate in a protest that reportedly included ‘‘hundreds of o≈ce and factory workers alongside the students.’’∞∑∏ Fearing reprisal from savak as well as from West German authorities, Iranian students covered their faces with handkerchiefs or put their glasses on over the spread pages of newspapers, appearing, as one journalist put it, ‘‘like members of the Ku Klux Klan.’’∞∑π The shah and Farah masks distributed in West Berlin solved the problem of the makeshift disguise (and any unfortunate resonances with white racist vigilantes), serving to blur not only individual identities but also the distinction between German and Iranian. The masks likely played o√ the Marxist

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14. Members of the Iranian student organization cisnu attempt to lay a wreath ‘‘For the Victims of the Shah’s Regime’’ in Bonn during the shah’s visit. Courtesy of apo-Archiv, Universitätsarchiv, Freie Universität Berlin.

designation common in New Left circles of political and economic leaders as interchangeable ‘‘character masks,’’ whose function in systems of oppression was more important than their individuality.∞∑∫ The multiplication of shahs in the streets exaggerated the singularity of the Iranian leader to the point of absurdity. Compared with the Germans’ earnest description of themselves as the ‘‘new Jews,’’ which would echo in the French radical chant, ‘‘We are all German Jews,’’ in May 1968, the mask’s announcement that ‘‘we are all the shah’’ introduced an element of irony into protest rhetoric, substituting playful provocation for self-victimization. In a column published in 1969, Ulrike Meinhof wrote that on June 2, the ‘‘realization that West German capital and the Iranian terror regime are closely allied was pounded into the students by the police. The same goes for the awareness that the opposition here—in the metropolitan centers—and the opposition in the Third World countries must work together.’’∞∑Ω In the immediate wake of June 2, Iranians melded the two

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national movements themselves by placing Ohnesorg’s death in a succession of martyrs in the campaign for democratic rights in Iran. The Federation of Iranian Students (fis) released a statement in the days after his death saying that they saw Ohnesorg as ‘‘one of the many victims in the struggle for the freedom of Persia.’’∞∏≠ The fis announced that the World Federation of Iranian Students had declared a memorial week from June 5 to 12 ‘‘in which Iranian students the whole world over will join,’’ placing it within a transnational organizational framework.∞∏∞ ‘‘Iranian students,’’ the leaflet continued, ‘‘would give expression to their sadness above all through intensified struggle for freedom and democracy.’’∞∏≤ According to Nirumand, a street in Tehran was renamed after Ohnesorg on the second day after the success of the Iranian Revolution in 1979, in which many leftists participated, an illustration of his enduring symbolic meaning in Iranian dissident circles.∞∏≥ The Association of Iranian Students in Hamburg responded to June 2, as well as June 3, when German and Iranian students in Hamburg faced similarly brutal treatment by police and five Iranian students were arrested on multiple charges.∞∏∂ The association prefigured Meinhof by portraying the events as evidence of a transnational front that pitted progressive students against their governments. Its flyer read: ‘‘In the face of our struggle against the manifest fascism in Iran supported by the ruling powers in West Germany, and the resistance of our German colleagues against the latent fascism in West Germany, driven by those very same powers, we see international solidarity as the foundation for our common struggle.’’∞∏∑ At a one-year anniversary event in Frankfurt, a member of cisnu, possibly the medical student Assadollah Tojurtschi, said that Ohnesorg’s death showed ‘‘the international complicity of authoritarian rulers in the oppression of oppositional democratic movements, especially the students, in the entire world. The similarity in the confrontation between students and state power in Frankfurt, Berlin, Munich, Hamburg, Paris, Madrid, Rome, Tokyo, [and] Tehran . . . is not coincidental; rather, it clearly shows the character and goals of the international student movement.’’∞∏∏ Far from domesticating Ohnesorg’s death, Iranian students fit it into a narrative that locked geographically distant populations in a common struggle against forces of police and state. The politicized treatment of Iranian residents in West Germany continued after June 2. In a stark case of political justice, courts found the three pro-shah counter-demonstrators guilty of physical assault, a crime

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routinely warranting deportation, but freed them on probation and allowed them to remain in the Federal Republic.∞∏π Internal governmental correspondence reveals a heated discussion about the case. From the outset, the senator for the interior of West Berlin wanted to deport the three men for reasons of constitutional equality and to avoid the ‘‘expected criticism from the public.’’∞∏∫ Federal authorities countered by insisting that they be allowed to stay. A Foreign O≈ce o≈cial argued that the ‘‘case needs to be judged not only from a legal but a political viewpoint’’ and asked how deportation of supporters of the shah would appear to the Iranian government in light of the failure to deport dissidents such as Hassan Massali, as that government had repeatedly requested.∞∏Ω Another Foreign O≈ce o≈cial made the weak point that the ‘‘political opponents of the shah had also carried out acts of violence at the event’’ and the pro-shah participants had acted to ‘‘protect the shah from serious injury,’’ eliding the fact that Pahlevi was safely inside City Hall at the time of the armed assault by counter-demonstrators against the unarmed crowd.∞π≠ In the end, the desire of the federal o≈cials to avoid a ‘‘new strain on the German–Iranian relationship’’ trumped the West Berlin senator’s principle of constitutional equality.∞π∞ While the West Berlin authorities held out for some months, they relented when federal authorities declared formally that deportation of the three Iranians would ‘‘gravely a√ect the interests of the Federal Republic.’’∞π≤ The men who had committed open and well-documented assaults on June 2 were allowed to stay. Iranian students received another chilling message in July 1968 when the state of Baden-Württemberg introduced a new policy requiring them to leave a deposit of dm 1,000–2,000 when they entered the country. Authorities explained that the money was a deportation deposit, kept aside to cover future costs of expelling them from the country.∞π≥ The requirement, which was not applied to other national groups, a priori criminalized Iranians, marking them as likely transgressors of West German laws and mores.

The Significance of the Right to Insult the Shah These policies seemed to tighten the bonds of administration around Iranian dissidents and narrow their space of free political expression. Yet there were also moments of e√ective pushback on the part of West Ger-

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man civil society after June 2. As discussed in chapter 1, the West German authorities’ refusal to extend Nirumand’s residence permit led to such a public outcry that they reversed their decision within months.∞π∂ Success in preventing the deportation of the Iranian student Ahmed Taheri, also discussed in chapter 1, was similarly heartening for leftist students. Although not without its di≈culties, West Germany seemed to continue to o√er a base for the overseas campaign of Iranian dissidents. Another cause for optimism about West German political freedoms came in the challenge to its regressive laws of lèse majesté. Before and after June 2, the defense of the right to insult the shah became a testing ground for civil liberties in the Federal Republic. Overlooked by historians, the issue linked the rights of West Germans and Iranians and demonstrated the depth of collusion between their governments. It helps explain the resonance of June 2 in the public sphere. The struggle between dissident students, factions of the press, and the government over depictions of the shah stretched back to the late 1950s. As outlined in chapter 1, the police regularly seized signs from protesting Iranians under the charge of ‘‘defamation of the head of state.’’ The West German press was equally susceptible to the crime. In 1957, the women’s magazine Brigitte had been charged with defamation for printing a photograph of the shah’s first wife, Soraya, with a snide caption about the depth of her décolletage.∞π∑ The case was dropped only when the magazine’s editor apologized personally to the Iranian ambassador.∞π∏ When the authorities threatened economic consequences for further unflattering articles, the West German government proposed a stricter libel law in 1958 that earned the nickname ‘‘Lex Soraya’’ from the left-liberal press.∞ππ Although the Lex Soraya failed to pass the Bundestag, the cases did not stop. A humor journalist was charged with libel in 1965 for creating a photomontage implying that the shah had purchased his third wife, Farah Diba, from Ibn Saud.∞π∫ Time magazine reported that West German president Heinrich Lübke promised consequences for the infraction in the course of his televised New Year’s Eve address of 1964, demonstrating the seriousness with which o≈cials took the issue.∞πΩ The journalist was found guilty, missing a month of work and fined the equivalent of two months of his salary.∞∫≠ Police also searched his house in January 1965 under suspicion of having ‘‘connections to the anti-monarchist-oriented Tudeh Party,’’ recalling the invasive actions that had accompanied the socalled Spiegel A√air in 1962, when the police searched the popular news-

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magazine’s o≈ces and arrested its editorial sta√ on suspicion of leaking state secrets.∞∫∞ The defamation issue returned to public attention after June 2 with the charging of forty-four Iranian and German protesters for distributing flyers calling the shah a murderer and sixteen more for related statements and signs.∞∫≤ Rather than examining the case on its own merit, the attorney-general and federal government turned first to Iranian o≈cials for direction.∞∫≥ The Iranian Embassy called for ‘‘strict measures’’ and full legal consequences for those charged.∞∫∂ After news of the Iranian state’s demand leaked, political groups and journalists protested. A leaflet from the tu West Berlin asked whether ‘‘this means that the whim of an autocratic ruler has more weight than Article 5 of the Basic Law’’ guaranteeing free expression.∞∫∑ Sensitive to the publicity, West German o≈cials warned Iranian authorities that demonstrators would turn the trials to their advantage and ‘‘use them to transmit the least flattering image of conditions in Iran as possible.’’∞∫∏ This was indeed the case in summer 1967, when the jailed Kommune I member Fritz Teufel used the court as a platform to give extended political speeches to an attentive media.∞∫π O≈cials worried that the libel issue was turning into an ‘‘inner-German political matter (Politikum)’’ they were unable to manage.∞∫∫ The most irksome evidence was the ‘‘self-denunciation campaign’’ launched in August 1967. In the space of ten days, more than 2,000 Germans sent forms to the authorities declaring the shah a murderer and demanding to be punished under the same law as the Iranian and German protesters.∞∫Ω Newspapers reported that the campaign’s base of support was not limited to a minority of radical students. In addition to ‘‘students, journalists, pastors, and lawyers,’’ a Stuttgart newspaper noted, the campaign’s kicko√ was also attended by ‘‘housewives, workers, and o≈ce workers.’’∞Ω≠ Responding to the campaign, the Interior Ministry begged the Foreign O≈ce to talk the Iranian government out of pressing charges, saying that the issue needed ‘‘to have steam let out of it.’’∞Ω∞ The situation became even more pronounced with what authorities called the second ‘‘symptom’’ of rising public agitation: the appearance of a special issue of the satirical magazine Pardon dedicated to gleeful mockery of the shah.∞Ω≤ The magazine’s cover showed Pahlevi with vampire fangs protruding from his mouth. A photomontage inside referred to the story that the Federal Republic had given a golden bathtub to the imperial couple (while also engaging in some gratuitous masculinity baiting) by pasting the shah’s head onto a nude,

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apparently feminine, bathing body. A series of cartoons further mocked the obeisance of the federal authorities to a foreign despot.∞Ω≥ Confronted with the self-denunciation campaign and fearing ongoing provocative publications, the state flinched. By the middle of August, the Foreign O≈ce had agreed with the Interior Ministry that dropping charges of libel was in the best interest of the federal government, citing the vocal opposition of the German public as the deciding influence.∞Ω∂ By August 1968, all charges of libel had been dropped, representing a clear success for the power of the West German public sphere against the demands of a foreign head of state.∞Ω∑ At the same time, Iranians and Germans faced the increased scrutiny of their governments as they rallied around the right to free expression. Germans became acquainted with the domestic equivalent of savak in one case when they discovered an undercover agent of the criminal police at a Munich teach-in about Homayoufar Farazi, a student facing imminent deportation for having failed to leave the city during the shah’s visit.∞Ω∏ When students summoned the university’s president to discuss the matter and he failed to arrive, 800 students stormed his seminar on Ovid and turned it into a discussion about the activity of the German and foreign secret service on university campuses.∞Ωπ Drawing links between the persecution of German and Iranians, one student held a sign reading, ‘‘It was Ohnesorg in June / We won’t allow Farazi’s murder, too.’’∞Ω∫ West German solidarity with the Third World changed after June 2. Responding to the fatal shooting of Ohnesorg, young German leftists saw themselves in a position of vulnerability comparable with their Third World colleagues for the first time. Although clearly exaggerated, the sense that violent and even fatal acts of state repression could meet acts of dissent was a√ectively powerful. As the former activist Klaus Vack put it, the death of Ohnesorg gave evidence, ‘‘even if mostly emotional . . . that the Federal Germany supported and backed the imperialistic and oppressive policies of the USA and its despots in other countries with manifest violence and even the willingness to kill.’’∞ΩΩ Equivalences between the First World and the Third World came out of creative analogy, as well as concrete facts. Demonstrators su√ered blows from both Iranian nationalists and West Berlin police, giving tangible evidence of the transnational fronts of an anti-imperialist struggle. Although Iranian dissidents were quick to point out this fact, some West

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German political groups did not always acknowledge the transnational nature of the event. Historians, though usually mentioning Nirumand, downplay both the Iranians’ indispensable role in mobilization and the particularity of their response.≤≠≠ They tend to narrate June 2 as a turning point in the history of the West German student movement and the Federal Republic rather than the product of networks of activism and state repression that linked Iran and West Germany.≤≠∞ Uli Edel’s hit film The Baader Meinhof Complex (2008) starkly expresses the domestication and distortion of June 2 in cultural memory.≤≠≤ One of the first scenes of the film is a detailed re-creation of the anti-shah protest in West Berlin. In tableaus clearly reconstructed from photographs, protesters, many in shah and Farah masks, gather in front of the German Opera behind a police barricade. A public bus arrives carrying blacksuited supporters of the shah, and the imperial couple enters the opera house to the boos of the crowd. A projectile filled with flour sprays across the concrete. All is according to the historical record up to this point. But then, rather than the police charging the students, it is the Iranian shah’s supporters who begin clubbing the crowd as the bass tones of the film score rumble. In a symptomatic narrative decision, the filmmakers compressed the two protests of June 2, turning the shah’s supporters, who had actually been violent at City Hall earlier in the day, into the initiators of the evening protest sequence that culminated in Ohnesorg’s death. The Third World is present but only as the bearer of violence in the streets of West Germany. One scans the faces of extras in the crowd in vain for Iranian features. When protesters remove their shah masks in close-up, it is not surprising to find that there are only white German faces beneath. Bringing the Iranian perspective back into narratives of June 2 keeps it from becoming an episode in a purely national drama and reminds us of the o≈cial and activist border crossings that produced the moments of mobilization and violence that catalyzed West Germany’s 1968. Despite its overall domestication, some activists clearly remained conscious of June 2 as a nexus of First World and Third World violence. They also drew attention to the questions of visibility and absence taken up in the next chapter. One of the most explicit attempts to link the predicaments of West Berlin and Iran came in a documentary made by the student filmmaker Hans-Rüdiger Minow in the weeks after June 2. The film began with an extended segment of black screen and Nirumand describing in voiceover a demonstration for political freedoms that left

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one student dead and many more beaten and hospitalized.≤≠≥ The event, he concluded, was not June 2, as the viewer might expect, but ‘‘Tehran, January 21, 1962.’’ The film then cut to the site of the West Berlin protest with the line, ‘‘Berlin, June 2, 1967.’’≤≠∂ While the black screen signified the total suppression of a critical public sphere in Iran, the film that followed included testimony from witnesses, speeches by Nirumand and Dutschke, and attempts by the filmmaker to buttonhole police o≈cers on the street about their role in suppressing the protest. Minow and his collaborators, including the African American camera operator Skip Norman, showed how student counter-publics could be both alternative source of information and reminders of the transnational nature of their political project. June 2 had knit together forces of state across borders, but it had knit together an opposition, too. Control of images would be central in the struggle that followed.

5 CORPSE POLEMICS

A photograph of the murdered Benno Ohnesorg, his head cradled by the twenty-two-year-old student Friederike Dollinger as he bled from a bullet wound, became an immediate icon for the New Left. The fu Spiegel printed it on the cover of its first issue after June 2, and it has since become the single most recognizable image of the student revolt (see figure 15).∞ The author and former student activist Uwe Timm wrote that the ‘‘photograph created outrage in the way that only images can.’’≤ He compared it to the e√ect of ‘‘another image—of children fleeing from a burning Vietnamese village led by a girl with a face burnt by napalm.’’≥ The pairing of examples is fitting, as it joined the key issues of domestic repression and international injustice around which the protest movement mobilized. In the years after June 2, showing the dead and mutilated body, and speaking in its name, became increasingly central to radical politics in West Germany. The emergence of what I call corpse polemics presented Third World activists with new techniques and new dilemmas. They hoped to shock and enlighten public opinion by using images of su√ering non-white bodies as political weapons. At the same time, they risked e√acing Third World individuality by transforming usually nameless and mute bodies into icons of mobilization. Creating publicity around a Third World issue was not the straightforward act of exposure that Minow’s documentary about June 2 implied. Representing Third World violence often threatened to shade into the exploitative genres of sadistic action films and softcore pornography that boomed in the late 1960s. The openness of images to multiple interpretations made them both e√ective and volatile tools of mobilization and enlightenment.∂ Analogies to the murdered Jews of the Holocaust proliferated in the wake of Ohnesorg’s death, threatening to further distance Third World subjects of solidarity. Taken to its conclusion, the Nazi talk that followed June 2 placed German activists in the position of the ‘‘new Jews,’’ granting

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15. Benno Ohnesorg on the cover of fu Spiegel (June 1967). The Pietà image became an immediate icon for the West German New Left. Courtesy of apo-Archiv, Universitätsarchiv, Freie Universität Berlin.

them the dubious authority to speak as potential future victims of a backsliding authoritarian state. Invocations of Auschwitz furnished protesters with a powerful vocabulary of outrage, but it rarely accompanied a concerted attempt to investigate the details of the Holocaust itself.∑ Using Holocaust awareness as a goad to activism, New Leftists both respected and distorted the recent German past. This chapter turns around three signal moments in the development of corpse polemics in the late 1960s and explores the e√ect of each on Third World activism. The first is the furor around the film Africa Addio in 1966. The protest against the film, in which foreign students played a central role, brought the politics of representing the dead Third World body into open discussion in West Germany for the first time and acted as an early conjuncture for invocations of the Holocaust. The second is the emerging left-wing critique of violent cinema, especially of the so-called SadoWestern wave that began in 1967. Finally, Harun Farocki’s two Vietnam films, made in 1968 and 1969, reflect a new suspicion of the power of the image by some members of the New Left and a desire to move beyond corpse polemics as a mode of political enlightenment.

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Africa Addio: The Rhetoric of the Dead Body On July 31, 1966, Der Tagesspiegel advertised the premiere of a new film ‘‘more exciting and interesting than detective and spy films,’’ promising ‘‘images of an unimaginable reality never seen before.’’ Advertisements featured a black woman with an upper body wrapped in furs and her legs exposed to the viewer.∏ The name of the film was Africa Addio (1966), also known as Goodbye Africa, and, in its American release, Africa Blood and Guts. The principal filmmaker was Gualtiero Jacopetti, who had made his name on the internationally successful film Mondo Cane (1962), a socalled shockumentary featuring eccentric and often brutal human practices from around the world.π Jacopetti had spent three years in Africa shooting Africa Addio with his collaborator, Franco Prosperi. As he had in Mondo Cane, Jacopetti privileged the gruesome, including extended sections devoted to the dismemberment of savannah animals and long aerial shots of Arabs massacred during the Zanzibar revolution of 1964. The newsmagazine Der Spiegel called it the ‘‘film of the color corpses and widescreen cadavers.’’∫ According to the opening text, the filmmakers intended Africa Addio as a ‘‘document of [Africa’s] death throes (Todeskampf ).’’Ω The overall message was that the end of colonial rule had initiated the process of Africa’s self-destruction. Africa Addio was banned in England because of its images of on-screen death; the Filmbewertungsstelle Wiesbaden (West German Film Rating Board), however, lauded it for the potentially edifying e√ect of witnessing scenes of brutality. The board’s o≈cial statement read: ‘‘The viewer receives insight into the horrifying and ongoing problems of the African continent and encounters the entity of the African human (mit dem Wesen des afrikanischen Menschen) in a new, often startling way. The hard shock e√ect of the film provokes an unfamiliar, yet possibly beneficial, insight into the reality of the black continent, even when the film’s bias is evident.’’∞≠ Based on this positive analysis, the board designated the film ‘‘valuable (wertvoll ),’’ freeing it from luxury taxes in the largest West German states.∞∞ On August 2, 1966, the film premiered at the Astor Theater in West Berlin and was met with unexpectedly forceful protest. Whistling and shouting ‘‘turn it o√ (Absetzen)’’ throughout the screening, a group of African, Haitian, and West German students stormed the stage after the scene of the execution of a Congolese partisan by American-led mercenaries.∞≤ The Nigerian student Adekunle Ajala physically held the curtains closed, and the film stopped rolling.∞≥ Eight students were arrested.

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On a second day of protest, 600–800 students and workers demonstrated in front of the theater, resulting in forty-three arrests.∞∂ Damage to seats and theater curtains and the fear of further demonstrations led theater owners to stop showing the film. The leaflets and letters generated around the action and the subsequent trial illustrate key aspects of the emerging protest genre of corpse polemics. Representations of the murdered body of the African, the Vietcong, and the Jew became goads to articulating outrage and resentment, and the right to speak in the name of the victim emerged as the defining source of political and moral authority. The protest also brought the history of German racism into the present, with demonstrators suggesting that racial intolerance had not been extinguished with National Socialism. The author of the leaflet distributed by the sds was Bernard PierreLouis, a foreign student and member of Rudi Dutschke’s international working group who would later die fighting the Duvalier regime in his native Haiti.∞∑ Pierre-Louis argued that Africa Addio’s ostensible humanitarianism was actually sadism. ‘‘Bloodthirstiness, barbarity, murder, corpses,’’ he wrote, were ‘‘the themes that satisfy the camera of the Italian director.’’∞∏ He called for direct action to prevent themes of gore from being ‘‘elevated into ‘humanitarian’ categories.’’ To Pierre-Louis, the film reflected the perversity of European colonialist claims to morality: ‘‘What colonialists call the expansion of their own culture, what colonialists call the creation of a welfare society, means dehumanization, rape of cultural values, and humiliation for Africans.’’ Like that of his fellow anticolonial Caribbean Francophone intellectuals Aimé Césaire and Frantz Fanon, Pierre-Louis’s rhetoric worked through revelations and reversals. Catalogues of atrocity proved the supposed benevolence of colonialism to be its inverse. In an article on French torture in Algeria published in 1957, Fanon had observed that ‘‘the colonialist structure rests on the necessity of torturing, raping, and committing massacres.’’∞π Two years earlier, Césaire had produced the even terser equation: ‘‘colonization = thingification.’’∞∫ For these authors, like Pierre-Louis, violence and dehumanization were not an unfortunate side e√ect but a requirement of colonialism as a system. Pierre-Louis also shared Césaire’s and Fanon’s belief that colonialism was the reagent of a wider moral decay in European society. Césaire wrote in 1955 that colonialism ‘‘works to decivilize the colonizer, to brutalize him in the true sense of the word, to degrade him, to awaken him to buried

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instincts, to covetousness, violence, race hatred, and moral relativism.’’∞Ω He explained fascism as part of a ‘‘boomerang e√ect (un choc en retour)’’ by which the inhumanity of the colonies had returned to the European continent in the form of a merciless war.≤≠ In 1966, Pierre-Louis expressed a similar fear that Africa Addio would carry the racially marked cruelty of the colonies into West Germany, writing that the film ‘‘calls on its Berlin viewers to vent the violence it incites against students, interns, and soldiers, indeed, against all people in Berlin of black skin color.’’≤∞ By celebrating the colonial past and condemning the present, Africa Addio turned the government-sanctioned narrative of decolonization in West Germany on its head. O≈cially, West German state and business interests welcomed the end of empire and the expanded field of activity that accompanied it. They staged events such as the ‘‘Africa: Partner of Progress’’ industrial exhibition in West Berlin in 1962, which featured the Afrikarama, an eighteen-meter-wide rotating relief map of the continent, ringed by displays of industrial goods and handicrafts.≤≤ Government o≈cials spent considerable time and resources on courting postcolonial leaders in their bid to isolate East Germany diplomatically.≤≥ Foreign students themselves were celebrated as agents of national progress. For a cohort instilled with postcolonial optimism, Africa Addio’s one-sided vision of a continent in decline was an a√ront to both their dignity and their sense of history. A Ghanaian medical student told a reporter he was protesting ‘‘against the fact that this film portrays us Africans as we lived a hundred years ago or even earlier.’’≤∂ More distressingly, the film raised the prospect that the progress away from colonialism was reversing direction. In a letter to the mayor, the African Students Union wrote that the film ‘‘falsifies . . . the actual consequences of the division of Africa undertaken in 1884–85 in Berlin. Against this, we have chosen to determine the course of our own history.’’ The film, they said, advocated ‘‘the continuation of colonialism in Africa by means of brutal violence.’’≤∑ The idea of decolonization as provisional and even reversible may seem implausible from an early-twenty-first century perspective. Yet the widespread intervention of Western mercenaries and militaries in postcolonial nations, and in Vietnam above all, lent weight to the notion that national independence for former colonies might be a brief episode in world history rather than a permanent shift. New Leftists joined Soviet bloc critics and some postcolonial leaders in arguing that neocolonialism, a form of continued domination without empire, had replaced out-

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right colonialism.≤∏ In his statement, Pierre-Louis articulated this allembracing critique: ‘‘The old means of exploitation for the plundering of Africa and the Third World no longer su≈ce. Do not be deceived: CongoMüllers, Jacopettis, and the interventions in Vietnam and Santo Domingo represent one and the same thing. Neocolonial policies take on one character or the other depending on the field of action, the situation, and the moment. The goal remains the same: plunder, extermination, humiliation.’’≤π For protesting foreign students, the film stood for more than itself. It was the indicator of a shift in public sentiment away from the relative generosity of the early postcolonial moment toward a reassertion of Western control by the second half of the 1960s. Pierre-Louis saw Jacopetti as a symptom. ‘‘Even Europeans should finally understand there are thousands of Jacopettis,’’ he wrote. ‘‘To protest Africa Addio is to protest a worldview.’’≤∫ But what kind of villain was the filmmaker? During his trial five years earlier, Adolf Eichmann had become the embodiment of the bureaucratization of murder in the Third Reich. It had been Eichmann’s distance from the crime that was disturbing; as a ‘‘desk murderer (Schreibtischmörder),’’ he was insulated from the graphic results of his actions. Jacopetti represented a new form of perpetrator, present at the site of the murder but not formally involved, capturing gory images to titillate the viewer while reinforcing an apologist narrative for Western military intervention. Referring to the ‘‘ordinary racism’’ of the film, the literary critic Hans-Georg Soldat wrote that its political message was clear: ‘‘The only good Negro is a dead Negro; everything else is bleeding-heart humanitarianism.’’≤Ω Another German reviewer satirized the film bitterly: ‘‘Finally, someone displays the true face of Africa: the black, blood-scored grimace of the nigger. Anyone who does not comprehend now that they are all really still cannibals will never comprehend it. It is a one-time festival of slaughter in Cinemascope. Blood, blood, blood.’’≥≠ The leftist film critic Enno Patalas explicitly denied the filmmakers their innocence. He said they ‘‘only unpacked the camera where bloody chaos reigned. . . . Their indignation is poorly acted, and their complicity with the killers is all too clear; the composer’s hand left fingerprints when it moved the victim into the right light for the camera.’’≥∞ The worldview the film’s opponents protested was literally a way to view the world: through the lens of a filmmaker that sought brutal scenes to a≈rm the story line that non-white populations were unable to govern themselves. If Eichmann was a desk murderer, critics cast Jacopetti as a movie-camera accomplice.

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For foreign students, the decision to protest the film’s message risked the right of residence in West Germany and the connected access to education. Ajala, who held the curtains together at the premiere, was the president of the African Students Union at the fu. He bore the brunt of the legal charges that emerged from the protest. A charge of breach of domestic peace was joined by another for incitement for a letter he cosigned as the representative of the African Students Union with Peter Gäng of the sds. The police interpreted the letter as a veiled threat to theater owners. It read: ‘‘We assume that, as citizens of Berlin, you are not willing to make money o√ of race baiting. During the screening of the film, there was spontaneous damage to property, which we in no way condone. However, we would understand if the audience reacted in the same way in your theater as they reacted at the Astor.’’≥≤ Jürgen Borck insisted that sds had written the letter and only given it to the African Students Union afterward. He wrote to the police that it was ‘‘incomprehensible . . . that [the African Students Union] could be charged with a criminal o√ense for this action.’’≥≥ Ajala’s academic career su√ered consequences for his intervention. Born in 1938 in Imadan, Nigeria, Ajala first studied law in Nigeria and London before coming to West Germany in 1962 on a daad scholarship to study political science.≥∂ In late 1967, the liberal political scientist Kurt Sontheimer invited him to join a small group of students on a trip to Great Britain to visit Parliament, where Ajala had arranged an interview with Labour Member of Parliament Michael Foot. The courts forbade the trip because of interviews related to his trial.≥∑ Ajala was found guilty of both charges in March 1968 and sentenced to two dm 100 fines or two sentences of ten days in jail and the costs of the trial.≥∏ Ajala had been concerned about deportation when his residence permit came up for renewal in 1967 and had the daad send an appeal for him to the courts.≥π After his sentence, he went to London without alerting the police in late 1968.≥∫ Despite the risks involved, other non-German students stepped out against the Africa Addio screening, many of them unconnected to the African Students Union or the sds. Five of the forty-three protesters arrested on the second day were non-German.≥Ω Wallelesaifu, a twentynine-year-old Ethiopian engineering student on scholarship at the tu in West Berlin, went to the protest after having seen the film and agreeing that it was a provocation against the black race. He had not known that a protest was planned but saw many of his Ethiopian colleagues there. He told police he had heard the command to clear the street but had not left

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because, after all, he ‘‘had come there to protest.’’∂≠ O≈cers arrested the twenty-seven-year-old Palestinian student Abu Ramadan Mufid-Fahmi out of the crowd for ‘‘shouting in unison with others,’’ according to the police report.∂∞ Thirty-two-year-old Joseph Derac from Haiti was fined dm 80 for slander on the strength of a translation error. Although the first police report noted that he had cursed at the arresting plainclothes o≈cer by using the French word ‘‘merde (shit),’’ his guilty ruling indicated that he had called police ‘‘Mörder (murderers)’’ as they took him from the theater.∂≤ Foreign students extended their protest to the courts and appeals to local o≈cials. Pierre-Louis, the Ethiopian student Haile Gabriel Dagne, and three German students filed a charge against the film for defamation of a head of state, o√ense against human dignity, and slander.∂≥ The attorney-general rejected the case, dismissing the charge that the film encouraged violence against Africans in Germany. In his verdict, he wrote, ‘‘There are no cases of violence by whites against African guests or fellow citizens, and in particular, none by whites who have actually seen the film. . . . In fact, the only agitation and opposition has been among colored people and the few who believe they have to support them.’’∂∂ The attorney-general threw the charge of violence back at the non-white population and belittled German opposition to the film as an unreflective solidarity. After meeting with leftist students a few months later, the journalist and ‘‘Africa expert’’ Wolfgang Bretholz repeated a similar opinion, writing in the pages of the Welt am Sonntag, ‘‘They were young, and most of them had frizzy beards. They ranted about colonialism and racism, about the evil whites and the poor Africans, and they probably didn’t know themselves that they were parroting primitive phrases about problems that they hadn’t really thought over.’’∂∑ Bretholz went on to say that ‘‘the reality of Africa is often much more horrible and merciless as some scenes of the film’’ and to suggest that ‘‘in Africa, other laws apply, and that it has to be measured by other standards than ours.’’∂∏ Opposition to the film was clearly an act of solidarity with African colleagues for Germans. They contended the universality of standards of justice against Bretholz’s exculpatory relativism. The protest also had an important national context for many. While foreign students and sds members framed the protest in terms of Third World liberation struggles and the persistence of colonial ideology, others felt moved to act as part of a specifically German imperative to be vigilant about a national past of

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racial persecution.∂π Helga Rothe-Schon, a twenty-four-year-old bookstore employee and writer, attended the film out of her own interest in racial issues unconnected to the sds demonstration but had joined the chant of ‘‘Turn it o√ !’’ after the line, ‘‘Africa received more from the whites than it gave.’’∂∫ She returned the following day with a sign reading, ‘‘According to the Article 23 of the Berlin Constitution, everyone is called on to intervene against race baiting.’’ She testified that police had immediately seized the sign.∂Ω Udo Vehof, an architecture student from the tu, went after seeing the film and becoming ‘‘so disgusted that I chose to do something against it.’’ He took a sign that read, ‘‘Against Race Baiting (Rassenhetze) in Film,’’ with ss lightning-bolt runes in place of each ‘‘s.’’ The police forced him not to display the sign, but it appeared in a photograph on the front page of the tabloid Bild-Zeitung.∑≠ Explaining his use of the ss symbol during his interrogation, Vehof said: ‘‘I used this symbol to document that Rassenhetze on a grand scale and in a criminal fashion has been carried out before under this symbol, and specifically because ss people played a role in this film.’’∑∞ The ‘‘ss people’’ Vehof referred to were no doubt the former Wehrmacht o≈cer Siegfried ‘‘Congo’’ Müller, who, as discussed in chapter 2, had become a cause célèbre after his interviews about working as a mercenary for Tshombe in suppressing Marxist Congolese rebels. In an interview in 1967, Müller recounted that Jacopetti and Prosperi had traveled with him while they were shooting Africa Addio. He had sent the film crew on an expedition with a South African lieutenant that resulted in ‘‘one or two men killed,’’ likely the very execution that led Ajala and other demonstrators to storm the theater’s stage.∑≤ For the protesters, Müller provided a link between Nazi Germany and postcolonial conflict beyond polemical analogy. Personal connections to non-Germans heightened the sense of obligation to speak out against the film. The worker Wolfgang Rothe said that his ‘‘outrage and scorn’’ for the film was exacerbated by having established a friendship with an African medical student while volunteering at the hospital. The film threatened to ruin his attempt to create a bond of cross-cultural understanding. ‘‘What was the use of my previous conversations’’ with the student, he asked, ‘‘in which I showed evidence of a better, tolerant generation, when months later we have to see this disgusting botch job, Africa Addio, blown up over the boulevards of the philistines and the petit bourgeoisie?’’∑≥ When found guilty, Rothe opted to

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serve the fifteen-day jail sentence but asked that he serve his time during his holidays to avoid losing his job. He pointed out that the size of the fine meant that he would have to ‘‘work hard for forty hours to finance police activity that would make an [East German] Ulbricht regime proud.’’∑∂ The police had also seized Rothe’s sign at the demonstration. His had read ‘‘Yesterday Jews—today colored people, Rassenhetze still statesupported in the Federal Republic.’’∑∑ The shift of the target of racism from Jews to non-whites may seem schematic, but it reflected seldom discussed facts of everyday racism in West Germany. The heat of PierreLouis’s reaction and his charge that the film ‘‘called out for human slaughter’’ must be understood in light of the troubling realities and, frequently, accompanying violence of being black in West Germany in the 1960s.∑∏ In the early years of the decade, West African students in many West German cities complained of being regularly insulted in public and receiving no assistance from the police.∑π In 1959, a woman assaulted a Rhodesian student verbally in a train station in Hannover, screaming, ‘‘Nigger, go home! (Nigger geh heim!).’’∑∫ In 1961, two African students reported being beaten up in a Bonn bar and again receiving no help from the police.∑Ω In late 1958 in Mannheim, the police themselves beat Humphrey George, an African intern at an electric company, to the point of permanent brain damage after falsely accusing him of stealing a sweater from a department store.∏≠ A sociological study carried out in 1962 by an Indian-born sociologist concluded that foreign students faced systematic discrimination, with incidents increasing according to the darkness of their skin color.∏∞ As unarmed objects of ‘‘foreign aid,’’ non-German black students in the 1960s may have been more susceptible to direct discrimination and racial violence from the West German population than African American gis, the other large black population in the country, who received the brunt of racist hostility from their white gi colleagues.∏≤ Pierre-Louis’s lived experience of racism in West Germany likely contributed to the rhetorical register of his writing, which circled around the physical. Rather than remaining within the realm of abstract principles, he inventoried other pariah groups murdered with popular and state sanction to strengthen his claim. He wrote, ‘‘To remain passive toward Africa Addio means to be complicit in the murder of 6 million Jews, in the mass execution of Congolese [and of ] Vietnamese mothers and children, to name only a few examples.’’∏≥ Establishing a tone followed by many future activists, Pierre-Louis expressed his anger not through ethical-

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political abstractions but by localizing his polemic in the figure of the dead body. The German Africa Addio protesters came to trial in January 1968, a year and a half after the contested premiere. By this point, white activists had also experienced police brutality and civilian insult, bringing them closer, in their opinion, to the position from which Pierre-Louis had written in 1966.∏∂ The frequent verbal (and occasionally physical) abuse that leftist students endured from ‘‘ordinary’’ Germans made them feel like social pariahs. Many felt that students had become the new minority in Germany: the targets of ‘‘accumulated aggression . . . scorn and discrimination’’ for the mainstream.∏∑ A satirical cartoon of a cocktail party ‘‘thirty years in the future’’ published in 1967, summed up the feeling of convergence between racial minorities and leftist students. ‘‘What’s the di√erence between a hippie (Gammler) and a Negro?,’’ a guest asks, and answers, ‘‘Simple: the Negro doesn’t come out in the wash!’’∏∏ Detlef Siegfried has argued that young West Germans adopted the status of ‘‘white Negro’’ voluntarily to enable identification across national and racial boundaries with what many saw as the authentic experience of oppressed non-white populations in the United States and elsewhere.∏π While this was certainly true, it is important to note that the ostracism was not entirely voluntary and often came out of jarring interactions with fellow Germans. When filtered through frequently self-dramatizing hyperbole, the sense of being social outsiders allowed many West German New Leftists to imagine that they spoke from an experience of everyday persecution in 1968 that was broadly analogous to Pierre-Louis’s experience in 1966. Like Pierre-Louis, West German Africa Addio protesters invoked the murdered Jews of the Holocaust and used a graphic language of violence to lend rhetorical force to their arguments. When the former Nazi Party membership of a prospective judge became public, protesters released a flyer refusing to stand trial, saying that the judge ‘‘should find himself other Jews (soll sich andere Juden suchen).’’∏∫ A protest flyer read, ‘‘Today, we are to be dealt with by a former backwoods Aryan (Provinz-Arier) who still chews on the fascist placenta in the movie theater.’’∏Ω The authors of the flyer were graphic in their language and imagery: ‘‘Anyone can come along and say, ‘I was a member of the nsdap (Nationalsozialistische Deutsche Arbeiterpartei ).’ I have the qualifications to judge the film Africa Addio. I know the material already—it was all there before:

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slaughter, stab, snap, burn, sack, spear, cut, rape, smoke out, massacre, torture, cut o√ hands, knock o√ heads, kill nigger-Jews, murder, execution games.’’π≠ Protesters equated Jews murdered by their parents’ generation of Germans with the Africans murdered by Western mercenaries. At the same time, they equated themselves with those persecuted, claiming a position of victimhood from which they could speak, as Pierre-Louis had done, with the moral authority granted by that status.π∞ This tactic was ambiguous. New Left activists invoked the murdered Jews only to displace them again through spurious comparison to their own predicament or analogy to postcolonial Africa.π≤ A press release about the Africa Addio trial issued by the sds in 1968 again made reference to the Holocaust while simultaneously relativizing and instrumentalizing it. The authors began by demanding that Africa Addio demonstrators receive the same amnesty as the protesters of a new film by Veit Harlan, director of the anti-Semitic Jud Süß (1940), in the 1950s. The leaflet drew comparisons between the two films, saying that ‘‘all the world knew what importance the film Jud Süß played in the preparations for the extermination of the Jews of Europe.’’π≥ They felt that Africa Addio served a similar function: ‘‘Incitement of racial hatred against the people psychologically prepares the metropolitan masses for the violent suppression of emerging national and social liberation struggles in Africa.’’π∂ In the schema of the protesters, Africans were the ‘‘new Jews,’’ placed outside the realm of human and thus able to be killed. Showing the murder of black people as a form of entertainment, they contended, both reflected and furthered their exclusion. Like the foreign students, they feared that the film was both symptom and agent at a particular moment. Left uncontested, it could help tip the public toward an acceptance of decolonization’s reversal, what they saw as a regression of history.

Activist Memory and the Role of Images The Africa Addio protest provides an example of how both German and non-German demonstrators refracted the Nazi past through the political issues of the postcolonial present. It also shows how diversely the memories of National Socialism and the Holocaust operated in the protest movement. Michael Rothberg has used the term ‘‘multidirectional mem-

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ory’’ to describe the role of Holocaust memory in debates about decolonization.π∑ Memory, he argues, should not be seen as ‘‘a zero-sum struggle over scarce resources’’ but ‘‘as subject to ongoing negotiation, crossreferencing, and borrowing.’’π∏ The West German New Left’s relationship to the Nazi crimes followed this model, with the signifier of Jew slipping easily between German protester and African while rarely coming to rest on Jews themselves. In recent years, historians have dispelled the long-standing notion that young activists ‘‘broke the silence’’ of their parents’ generation about National Socialism in the late 1960s. They have shown that extensive public discussions about the crimes of Nazi Germany were under way from the mid-1950s to the mid-1960s, including parliamentary debates, the bestselling narrative of Jewish experience in The Diary of Anne Frank, and the integration of the themes of the Second World War into public school curricula.ππ What was unique about the New Left’s relationship to the German past was its detachment of National Socialism and the Holocaust from their historical specifics to be put to use as polemical analogies in varying forms of Third World activism. Scholars have been critical of the way that New Leftists in West Germany dealt with the Holocaust. Harold Marcuse, for example, claims that activists were quicker to use Nazism and the Holocaust ‘‘as symbolic weapons’’ than to seek to understand their details.π∫ Although they clearly have merit, such criticisms also miss an important point. Perhaps surprisingly, inattention to the details of the Holocaust and the instrumentalization of Auschwitz awareness for the sake of Third World activism was precisely what some leftists intended. Contrary to one of the clichés about ‘‘ ’68,’’ the complaint of many leftists was not that the older generation was ignoring the past but that it had found a way to remember it that deflected attention from the present. They contrasted their own determination to speak out about contemporary injustice against the passive, elegiac mode that they diagnosed in the mainstream. As Michael Schmidtke has argued, the New Left’s understanding of working through the past contained an injunction not only to remember but also to act. Protest was to have a ‘‘therapeutic function,’’ strengthening West German democracy by demonstrating the ‘‘civil courage (Zivilcourage)’’ that Germans had failed to show under the Nazis.πΩ In 1963, in a Frankfurt student magazine, the activist and poet Reimar Lenz provided a clear distinction between mainstream and what could be

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called activist memory. He painted a picture of the contemporary West German ‘‘Sunday speaker’’: ‘‘The speaker furrows his brow and looks meaningfully into the room. In low tones, he recalls our recent history, when Germany—tremolo in the voice—fell into disgrace, while now— and the voice becomes once again strong and imperious—it has a democratic order to call its own, one worth defending against the enemies of freedom.’’∫≠ Lenz continued: ‘‘We know this speaker from anniversaries, party congresses, from radio and television.’’ He placed him in the ‘‘class of the Overcomers (Bewältiger). He overcomes the ‘unfortunate recent past’ by condemning it, in order to ever more forcefully approve of the present.’’ The problem with the dominant form of memory, Lenz argued, was that it criticized only ‘‘that which has already occurred. [The Overcomer] appears as the born funeral orator when the pain of the victims can no longer be undone.’’∫∞ Lenz argued instead for turning the impulse of the memory of National Socialism to present injustices. ‘‘We can only work through the past,’’ he wrote, ‘‘by learning something from it for the present.’’ In his article, he directed attention to French o≈cers responsible for torture in Algeria who still held high positions, the torture of political prisoners in South Africa, and the dm 15 million earmarked by the West German federal government for building ‘‘strategic hamlets’’ in Vietnam. He finished his article by calling for a move from rhetoric to action, from the past to the present, from the domestic to the global: ‘‘We will only have learned something out of the past of monstrous Nazi injustice when we try to stand by the victims of present-day persecution instead of overlooking them, wherever they may be.’’∫≤ Pierre-Louis’s placement of the six million murdered Jews next to the Congolese and Vietnamese killed in conflict provided a prime example of activist memory and provided evidence that this model was not limited to Germans. Although the scale of death and su√ering clearly was not comparable, Pierre-Louis, like other protesters, attempted to create a frame that could contain the injustices of both the past and the present. He collapsed the contexts of National Socialism and the postcolonial intervention, writing, ‘‘It is evident that twenty-five years ago in the ghettos of Warsaw, Maidanek, and Theresienstadt, and even at the camp at Auschwitz, Jacopetti could have filled an outstanding function in service of ‘humanitarianism.’ ’’∫≥ In linking the themes of sadism and representation, state violence and film, and Africa Addio and Jud Süß, protesters displayed a particular sensitivity to the role of images in both memory and

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activism. Images had in fact been central to how the average West German encountered the facts of the national past. Alain Resnais’s documentary Night and Fog and its explicit footage of corpses in concentration camps had been what Wilfried Mausbach calls a ‘‘standard fixture in West German classrooms’’ since 1955. ∫∂ By the late 1950s, images of the Holocaust had become tools of what Germans call ‘‘political education (politische Bildung),’’ or civic pedagogy. In the first half of the 1960s, extensive media coverage of Eichmann’s trial in 1961 and the Auschwitz trials in Frankfurt in 1964–65 publicized details of the extermination of the Jews and other minority groups. Photographs of the Holocaust were extensively reproduced and shown in public exhibitions, books, documentaries, newspapers, and magazines.∫∑ The compilers and exhibitors of these images, some of whom came directly out of sds circles, saw confrontation with graphic evidence of the Holocaust as necessary to transcend the mode of memory that characterized the 1950s.∫∏ In particular, they criticized the excessive dependence on the story of Anne Frank as the heuristic to understand the enormity of Nazi crimes. In 1963, the sds member Michael Mauke criticized the Anne Frank narrative as a ‘‘kind of food that the public consumes as though it were sweet wine, the sentimental-private, pleasantly engaging, ‘restrained,’ tragic ‘romance.’ ’’∫π The hope was that the shock e√ect of images would force a confrontation with the realities of recent history.

Didactic Gore and Its Problems The use of images as pedagogical tools for the purposes of Holocaust memory transferred smoothly into the demands of activist memory in Third World causes. The formal similarities were clear. Images from the death camps rhymed gruesomely with those from the war zones in Vietnam and the Congo. In 1966, the year of the Africa Addio protest, Herbert Marcuse remarked, ‘‘There are photographs that show a row of halfnaked corpses laid out for the victors in Vietnam; they resemble in all details the pictures of the starved, emaciated corpses of Auschwitz and Buchenwald.’’∫∫ If Veit Harlan and Gualtiero Jacopetti could be moviecamera accomplices for the forces of reaction and repression, New Leftists hoped they could mobilize images in their own interests. Beginning in 1966 and accelerating after Ohnesorg’s death the following year, activists

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increasingly used images of mutilated Third World bodies as tools of mobilization. Exposing the face and body damaged by napalm was an especially common tactic in campaigns against the Vietnam War (see figure 16).∫Ω In 1966, Pardon magazine titled a series of pictures of napalm victims meaningfully: ‘‘The Truth about Vietnam.’’Ω≠ In December of the same year, the D Ira club in West Berlin translated and circulated a pamphlet originally Ca produced by the group United Committee against the War, based in Berkeley. The pamphlet featured a photograph of a dead Vietnamese woman and child in lieu of a headline, accompanied by the caption, ‘‘A mother, a child, and napalm.’’Ω∞ In March 1968, the youth magazine Elan, published in West Germany but funded by East Germany, prefaced a series of full-page graphic images of disfigured children’s faces with the statement, ‘‘Dear readers! We deliberated a long time about whether we could show you the pictures on the following pages. They are horrifying (grauenerregend). But in a situation in which responsible U.S. politicians call for the use of nuclear weapons, we believe that we must show the full horror of the criminal U.S. war in Vietnam.’’Ω≤ The author casts the images of scarred and injured children as the symbolic counterpart to the American atomic bomb: as weapons to be deployed only when needed. Unauthorized posters created for the international art exhibition ‘‘Documenta’’ in Kassel in 1968 used grisly humor as an enlightenment tactic, showing close-ups of napalmed flesh with the caption, ‘‘U.S. art. National teamwork. Medium: Napalm on Skin and meat of coloured people.’’Ω≥ In the exhibition itself, the American artist Paul Thek displayed animal flesh under glass as a straightforward commentary on the Vietnam War.Ω∂ In a similar mode of dark irony, protest signs showed close-ups of partially dissolved Vietnamese faces with the slogan, ‘‘Napalm—This Is How the U.S. Saves Face in Vietnam.’’Ω∑ The use of images was a departure from the techniques of the first half of the decade, when dissenting students relied on textual and verbal interventions in the West German public sphere buttressed by academic analysis and periodic orderly marches. Socialist students were originally skeptical of the intrusion of both images and emotions into the public sphere. Both seemed to belong to the repertoire of the dominant political parties, who, they believed, were attempting to turn democracy into a stage-managed spectacle akin to popular entertainment, ‘‘with all its psychological refinements,’’ as sds president Helmut Schauer put it in 1964

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16. Protesters in West Berlin on June 23, 1967, carrying a sign that reads, ‘‘Napalm for Freedom,’’ with an image of a mutilated child. Photograph: Landesarchiv Berlin / Ludwig Ehlers.

in an article in the sds journal Neue Kritik.Ω∏ Politicizing images and emotions also inevitably recalled the techniques of the National Socialists and their obsessions with iconography and visual spectacle. Two developments had deepened the relationship between mainstream politics and visual media in the early 1960s: the application of marketing techniques to political campaigning and the rise of television. For both, the central category was that of ‘‘the image,’’ a concept, Paul Nolte notes, that sociologists adopted from the field of marketing research around 1960.Ωπ An internal Christian Democratic Union (cdu) memo before the election campaign of 1961 provided a succinct definition of the concept while also illustrating the overlap between the language of advertising and politics: ‘‘It is not the way something is, but the way people think it is, that determines public opinion about something, including political candidates. . . . Using the English technical term, we refer to the ‘image’ of something, be it a brand-name product or a figure in public life.’’Ω∫ People’s ‘‘opinions,’’ the memo reminded its reader ‘‘do not have much to do with their knowledge or conviction. They are determined more by their feelings, their nature, and even their prejudices.’’ΩΩ The memo suggested

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learning from the advertising industry in constructing campaign material ‘‘as large as possible, as loud as possible’’ and ‘‘with as few words as possible.’’∞≠≠ Beginning in the mid-1950s, the cdu had successfully used public opinion polls and sophisticated advertising campaigns to both tailor the party’s message to popular concerns and, in turn, help shape popular concerns to those of the party.∞≠∞ The rise of television consumption intensified the focus on the visual aspect of the political ‘‘image’’ and the tendency to appeal to voters’ sympathies rather than their self-interest. The proportion of West German households with televisions grew from 17.6 percent in 1960 to 80.3 percent in 1974, and the number of channels had grown from one to three in most regions by the second half of the decade.∞≠≤ In an article describing the election campaign of the Social Democratic Party’s candidate Willy Brandt in 1961, Der Spiegel called television ‘‘the most e√ective of all mass media’’ and remarked on the new emphasis on physical appearance in political campaigning brought about by the predominance of a visual medium.∞≠≥ In 1962, Wolfgang Abendroth, political science professor at Marburg and mentor to many socialist students, expressed his concern about the excessive emphasis placed on the image in the West German political process: ‘‘If political parties become ‘swappable’ in the minds of the voters in the sense that they are not distinguished by their policies but by the color of their campaign signs or the photogenic quality of their candidates . . . then democracy will lose its foundations entirely.’’∞≠∂ Jürgen Habermas expanded on this criticism in his book-length analysis of the deterioration of the critical public sphere, The Structural Transformation of the Public Sphere, which he finished with Abendroth as his adviser in 1962. Socialist students returned consistently to Habermas’s condemnation of television and ‘‘a culture that no longer trusts the printed word’’ in their own analyses.∞≠∑ In the conception of moderate and traditionalist socialist students inspired by Habermas and Abendroth, the project of enlightenment involved working against the tendency to communicate meaning through images, emotions, and psychological connections. A Neue Kritik article by two sds members in 1965 described the goal of the public sphere as the ‘‘implementation of rationality’’ against the reliance of the dominant powers on ‘‘icons, identification, and selective, discontinuous pseudo-information.’’∞≠∏ The polemical use of images of dead bodies seemed to embrace the very

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elements of iconization and identification targeted by the Habermasian critique. Indeed, the rise of corpse polemics in sds circles was predicated on the antiauthoritarian break with the more moderate factions described in a previous chapter. Realizing that the high visibility of the Cold War front city made their protests magnets for media attention, the antiauthoritarians in West Berlin rejected the emphasis of the Marburg and Frankfurt sds on moderate rhetoric and appeals to rationality. Rather than resist the shift in the media landscape toward the visual and spectacular, antiauthoritarians sought to turn it to their own advantage by using provocative protest forms such as an antiwar ‘‘happening’’ in December 1966 at which members of Kommune I burned papier-mâché e≈gies of President Lyndon Johnson and the East German leader Walter Ulbricht on the main West Berlin shopping street, the Kurfürstendamm.∞≠π At the larger demonstration that preceded the happening, protesters used similarly confrontational imagery, including large signs showing a photograph of a Vietnamese woman holding a dead child and the English slogan borrowed from the United States, ‘‘How many babies did you kill today, LBJ?’’∞≠∫ Alongside divisions over strategy within the sds, external factors certainly played a role in the antiwar activists’ embrace of images as elements of protest. For West Germans, television and photographs were crucial in gaining a sense of both the Vietnam War and the growing international opposition to it. Joscha Schmierer, former member of the Heidelberg sds, emphasized the importance of television in creating a feeling of simultaneity between events over great distances: ‘‘We would never have developed the sense of intensity of the historical moment if all the information had only come to us in simple newspaper reports or even welldone journalistic reports instead of in the living images, that made every event that came across the screen correspond with the others: images from Vietnam, demonstrations in the U.S, National Guardsmen firing, barricades in Paris burning, residents of Prague waving their flags against marching Warsaw Pact troops, demonstrations in Berlin, Frankfurt.’’∞≠Ω Kathrin Fahlenbrach has argued that the student movement arrived at an opportune moment in the shift in the West German media landscape toward an emphasis on the visual and the emotional.∞∞≠ In the evolution of protest techniques, socialist students doubtless were influenced by overall transformations in media culture. Departing from the Habermasian attempt to demystify illusory images

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with rational argumentation, corpse polemics as strategy sought to harness and project the emotional force of the image to reorient the political position of the viewer. It also produced its own hazards. An extreme example of corpse polemics in the campaign against the Vietnam War were the stamp-size stickers made by the West Berlin artist and activist Elke Regehr and others showing a victim of napalm who, in the words of their designer, ‘‘was so burnt and disfigured that one no longer knew if it was a man, woman, or a child.’’∞∞∞ Although Regehr recounts that she and the others held long discussions about whether to make the stickers, ultimately they produced and sold them at bookstores and demonstrations in West Berlin and West Germany with a caption that read, ‘‘Capitalism shows its face.’’∞∞≤ Although it was certainly intended as an act of solidarity, the caption further dehumanized the victims by rechristening them with the name of the perpetrating system. The victims were no longer individuals; they were simply evidence for the prosecution in the case against ‘‘capitalism.’’ In early 1967, the influential leftist journalist Otto Köhler expressed absolute faith in the power of images of Third World corpses as tools of protest: ‘‘Anyone who has seen the Negroes shot to pieces in Sharpeville, the mutilated Lumumba supporters in the Congo, and the Vietnamese farmers lying scorched by napalm can easily weaken. Those who have seen these corpses and still . . . remain firm and consistent, they can rightfully consider themselves defenders of the Christian hemisphere.’’∞∞≥ To Köhler, images of Africans and Asians murdered by Western allies in the Cold War struggle functioned as a visual litmus test, determining which was stronger in the viewer: basic human empathy or adherence to Cold War ideology. Clearly, the deployment of Third World corpses as enlightenment was not this simple. This is especially evident when comparing the mode of corpse polemics to the Third World activism of the early 1960s described in chapter 1. Campaigns around South Africa and Angola had relied primarily on individual connections: West German students acted in solidarity with endangered colleagues. Empathy and activism was founded in individualization and the mutual recognition of fellow students and young intellectuals. Corpse polemics, by contrast, did not rely on political or personal a≈nity. It appealed instead to morality at its most basic in compassion for a fellow human being. Most significantly, the dead or horribly disfigured Third World body was not able to speak. Rather than opening a space for Third World articulation, the corpse polemicist spoke on behalf of the dead.

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For all of its e√ectiveness, the display of traumatized Third World bodies often involved a tradeo√.∞∞∂ When the individual body became a symbol of larger su√ering, individual identity tended to vanish. The case of the Iranian dissident Parviz Edalat-Manesch illustrates the dynamic well. Through the 1960s, Iranian activists in West Germany repeatedly reproduced an image of Edalat-Manesch’s tortured body, shown to below the waist, including his badly bruised or bloody buttocks.∞∞∑ Gory images served an important purpose in the Iranian dissidents’ campaign against the repressive regime of the shah, personalizing their demands by connecting abstract rights talk to the (often abused or even murdered) features of individual human faces and bodies. Edalat-Manesch’s most prominent appearance was on the back cover of Bahman Nirumand’s Persien, Modell eines Entwicklungslandes oder Die Diktatur der freien Welt (1967), which would ultimately sell more than 100,000 copies (see figure 17).∞∞∏ The image sat alongside a photograph of a mutilated face and another of two men, blindfolded, bound, and possibly dead. As was the norm, Edalat-Manesch’s image appeared without his name. Tellingly, activists only paired the image with Edalat-Manesch’s name once: to accompany a letter he wrote from prison in 1964.∞∞π In this case, they made a critical edit by cutting the image above the buttocks. The choice to remove the gore from the image suggests an apparent antinomy between the damaged body and the individual voice. Including the normally hidden or obscene buttocks heightened the visual e√ect when the dissident was serving as a mute metonym for the oppression of the shah’s regime. Yet when he spoke in his own voice, activists sanitized the image, restoring individual dignity while diminishing its power to shock. The authors of an article in a self-published West Berlin student magazine in 1964 observed that in James Bond movies, although villains were killed by the dozens, the only ones who took on a distinct identity, as opposed to dying anonymously, were those for whom the killing was prolonged. Perversely, torture became ‘‘the only concession to human dignity, to individuality’’ separating them from ‘‘from the face- and nameless number of statistical bodies, whose only task was to give scenes background through their aesthetically staged deaths.’’∞∞∫ The case of EdalatManesch shows how this dilemma could play out within leftist protest culture; at times, members of the Third World entered the sphere of circulation and gained their identity as tortured bodies but without accompanying names or opportunities for self-articulation. The inclusion of the buttocks in the image of Edalat-Manesch also

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17. The back cover of Bahman Nirumand’s Persien, Modell eines Entwicklungslandes oder Die Diktatur der freien Welt (1967) featuring graphic photographs of tortured Iranian opponents of the shah, including Parviz EdalatManesch, at top right. Graphic imagery was central to the campaigns of Iranian dissidents in West Germany.

points toward the slippage between gory imagery and pornography. A review of Africa Addio had already referred to the ‘‘perverse thrill’’ of ‘‘bathing visually in blood and disgust’’ that the film o√ered in 1966.∞∞Ω In the late 1960s, images of the dead and injured Third World body could be found ever more frequently next to images of First World sexuality. From 1965 on, the covers of Konkret, the leading magazine of the counterculture, which sold more than 200,000 copies monthly by 1967, consistently combined images of postcolonial violence with nearly nude women (see figure 18).∞≤≠ The mixture led to such paired headlines as ‘‘Student Love: Striptease and Mathematics’’ next to ‘‘Black Hell: Congo,’’ ‘‘Sex Party of Four’’ next to ‘‘Indonesia: 80,000 Murders,’’ and ‘‘Sick for Sex’’ next to ‘‘Three Months with the Vietcong Rebels.’’∞≤∞ The last showed a woman in a push-up bra and black sunglasses next to a photo of a Vietnamese youth with a spear against his throat. Pardon magazine took the juxtaposition to the point of satire with a two-page spread of a Greek bathing-suit model

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18. A typical issue of Konkret blending sex and atrocity (January 1965). The headlines include ‘‘Student Love: Striptease and Mathematics’’ and ‘‘Black Hell: Congo.’’

cavorting topless on the beach with speech bubbles above her head (along with a photomontage image of a beaten political prisoner) talking about the torture and human rights abuses in Greece.∞≤≤ The combination can be interpreted in two ways. The first would be to read it through Dagmar Herzog’s assertion that sexuality was a central site for the New Left confrontation with the fascism of their parents’ generation.∞≤≥ Herzog argues that, because the New Left understood the ‘‘Third Reich as marked above all by sexual repression,’’ breaking with the Nazi past meant first and foremost undoing the received modes of sexual morality and behavior.∞≤∂ Images of youthful nudity in magazines such as Konkret were printed and consumed for the precise reason that they o√ended the dominant morality, which young leftists saw as having retained the kernel of a fascist mentality. Heribert Adam, a graduate student at the Frankfurt Institute for Social Research, expressed this point in an article in the student magazine Diskus in 1965: ‘‘One can perceive rage

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against pretty, naked women and di√use hatred for an already mutilated sexuality. This reaction points to a socially deep-rooted fact: ‘upright popular sentiment’ reflects both fear against that which places socially dictated compulsion in question and identification with one’s own oppression.’’∞≤∑ The sensitivity of ‘‘popular sentiment,’’ in Adam’s understanding, was merely the resentment of an older generation whose own sexuality was ‘‘mutilated’’ beyond repair. The censoriousness of the older generation appears as ‘‘revenge for the denials su√ered as individuals.’’∞≤∏ He describes the ‘‘aggressive call for the death penalty’’ and the persecution of those who deviate from mainstream sexual morality—homosexuals, prostitutes—as further consequences of repressed sexuality. Similarly reading human aggression as an epiphenomenon of imbalanced sexual drives, the prominent psychologist and leftist Alexander Mitscherlich wrote provocatively in 1966 about the media consumption of postcolonial conflict that one can almost believe that our nature is so poorly balanced in the needs of our drives that everyday life can only proceed so reasonably and undisturbed because we unconsciously take part in the child murders in Congo or in Vietnam. The next morning we read eagerly, under any excuse, who has murdered whom. Everything remains ‘‘clean’’ for us here, but what one does at the equator, that seems excusable. Because it is practiced far away, the bloody handiwork of mercenaries becomes more a horror story than horrifying reality. It becomes manageable because it is less burdened with feelings of guilt. And we seem to need the horror stories like daily bread. Whoever believes that man is without demands is mistaken.∞≤π

Psychoanalytic interpretations common on the New Left traced both local, interpersonal and distant, military aggression back to the central knot of sexual repression. Following this understanding, one could then argue that the corpses of Konkret were being presented as evidence of a pathological society for which sexual liberation, represented by the images of nudity and intimacy, would be the cure. The testimony of Konkret ’s publisher, Klaus Rainer Röhl, partially supports this interpretation. He pointed out that it was gory photos from the Congo conflict and articles about youth sexuality that prompted the most strenuous attempts by conservative federal o≈cials to censor the publication.∞≤∫ Such facts may have heightened the sense that it was an inherently

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politically progressive act to both print and consume those stories and images that made the authorities uncomfortable. The sole reader’s letter about graphic sexual cover stories complained that it showed degeneration in the readership to the ‘‘naïve’’ and ‘‘cheap’’ and gave fodder to reactionaries who equated ‘‘all that comes from the left’’ with ‘‘immorality’’ and ‘‘sensationalism (Sensationsgier).’’∞≤Ω Initiates of psychological theorists such as Mitscherlich and Wilhelm Reich, and their belief that sexuality was the master key to undoing the dominant ideology, could only have seen such complaints as missing the point. At the same time, it is telling that Röhl’s own discussion of the magazine’s imagery referred more to its marketing impact than its psychologicalpedagogical function. He described the combination of ‘‘sex and social issues, joie de vivre with indignation at injustice,’’ as the ‘‘gruesome mixture,’’ the ‘‘Röhlian blend,’’ and his ‘‘recipe for success.’’∞≥≠ The composition of the covers was especially important, he wrote, and could determine a swing in sales of between 20,000 and 30,000 copies.∞≥∞ In relying on women’s bodies and images of gore to sell product, the standard-bearer of the left-wing counterculture closely followed the marketing style of the right-wing Springer tabloid press, which also routinely printed explicit images of car accidents and military violence alongside seminude models. Although writers regularly criticized the reporting bias of the Springer press in the pages of Konkret, their formal visual similarity suggests a cross-political consensus in the late 1960s on the availability of the bodies of white women and dead non-Europeans for voyeuristic consumption. The field of discussion changed, however, when Konkret ’s imagery began to be contested in early 1969. According to Röhl, it was then that he began hearing the complaint that all he published was ‘‘sex-crap and repression.’’∞≥≤ In April 1969, authors in a student magazine in Kiel accused Konkret of sharing the ‘‘sexual clichés’’ and ‘‘sadism’’ of the BildZeitung.∞≥≥ They used Marcuse’s concept of ‘‘repressive desublimation’’ to explain how acts of apparent sexual liberation or permissiveness such as the Konkret ‘‘sex report’’ could work to reinforce rather than challenge the capitalist status quo.∞≥∂ In Konkret itself in December 1968, Ulrike Meinhof, Röhl’s wife and the author of a political column, criticized the style that had won the magazine its readership as ‘‘Wilhelm Reich paraphrased real quick, Mao quotes mounted next to sex photos.’’∞≥∑ Opposition to the Konkret style was coming most directly from feminists, who had begun gathering in all-woman ‘‘action councils (Aktions-

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räte)’’ in early 1968, groups that would number forty across West Berlin and West Germany by late 1969.∞≥∏ Feminists argued that the ‘‘sexual revolution’’ as it was progressing both in the mainstream and in the student movement had not disrupted men’s monopoly on the prerogatives of representation, articulation, and sexual freedom. They called for dissolution of the separation between the private and public and the immediate revision of the sexual division of labor in the sphere of childrearing and domestic life.∞≥π The practice of visually representing women became the target of feminist criticism. In January 1968, the Action Council for Women’s Liberation in West Berlin published a flyer criticizing the second World Photography Exhibition, the theme of which had been ‘‘The Woman.’’ At the exhibition, the author wrote, ‘‘one can see women. Black women, white women, beautiful women, ugly women, fierce women, gentle women, rich women, poor women. What one cannot see are the concrete social conditions that women are subjected to. . . . The oppressed woman becomes a shop-window decoration in the business of sexual exploitation: decorative poses instead of social perspective, the intimate sphere on show, making the observer into a voyeur, the terror of beauty and harmony preventing rational insight.’’∞≥∫ The feminist critique renewed the suspicion of images. It held that mainstream visual depictions of women not only obfuscated the ‘‘concrete social conditions’’ behind what was represented but also left images of women captured in a male-dominated circuit of voyeuristic production and consumption. A similar argument could have been made, though it was not at the time, about using images of dead Third World bodies as weapons of enlightenment. Even when intended as part of an overall project of liberation, corpse polemics kept the prerogative of representation (with rare exceptions) in the hands of First World actors.∞≥Ω The display of injured, dead, and often naked Third World bodies to bring about political enlightenment involved an obvious paradox: activists made the demand for dignity by displaying and circulating images of indignity. In the late 1960s, the proliferation of images of gore made it more di≈cult to defend the simple display of the body as a political tactic. The multiplication of images from Vietnam, combined with the continued public support for the war, also presented activists with a dilemma: what does one do when ‘‘the truth’’ has been exposed visually and the act of revelation has no e√ect; when public indi√erence not only

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persists but deepens into a perverse enjoyment of the horrific violence? This became a more disturbing possibility as images of the Third World violence appeared literally side by side with the pornographic. Discussions of film and the sadistic pleasures of on-screen violence most directly addressed questions about the e√ect of images and their defensibility as tools of politics.

Texas Addio: The Left’s Critique of Sadistic Cinema On April 21, 1967, Africa Addio returned quietly to West Berlin, opening in eleven theaters that Friday and in eight more the following week.∞∂≠ The advertisement for the film’s re-premiere sat next to another, much larger advertisement for a movie titled Django, der Rächer (Django the Avenger; 1966).∞∂∞ Originally titled Texas Addio, the film shared Africa Addio’s themes of gore and shocking violence. It came to West Germany as part of a wave of Italian Westerns, known in the United States as ‘‘spaghetti Westerns’’ and in West Germany as ‘‘Sadowesterns,’’ that distinguished themselves by their graphically realistic violence and departure from the morality narratives of the U.S. Western.∞∂≤ Although seemingly peripheral to the question of the political use of gory images, the discussion around Italian Westerns and violent cinema illuminates the broader cultural context within which the New Left formed its strategies. Leftist West German film critics tended to see the Italian Westerns as both expressing and fueling an ascendant social-political climate of aggression, sadism, and violence. Writing about Italian Westerns along with James Bond films and Jacopetti’s Mondo documentaries in Pardon, the critic Eckhart Schmidt called sadism ‘‘the new feeling of life.’’∞∂≥ A magazine funded by East Germany declared the ‘‘sado-films’’ the ‘‘ideological response’’ to the ‘‘present state of imperialism. . . . The ‘democratic mask’ has long since been removed; the Americans speak openly of ‘power’ or, a little more delicately, of ‘interests’ that they defend in Vietnam.’’∞∂∂ The leftist critic and impresario Uwe Nettelbeck was shocked by the ‘‘joy’’ that Sergio Leone, the director of many Italian Westerns, seemed to take in portraying violence, and the critic Werner Kließ saw Italian Westerns as entering the realm of the pornographic, showing the ‘‘gunfight as an act of love (Revolverkampf als Liebesakt ).’’∞∂∑ The violent and the pornographic shared screen space in West German theaters as a sex-film wave

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beginning in 1967 shattered previous taboos on depictions of sexuality.∞∂∏ The humorist Chlodwig Poth satirized the commercial utility of dead Third World bodies in 1967. He imagined a producer instructing his director to put ‘‘two or three dead bodies’’ in his film, saying, ‘‘There was a big stink with Africa Addio about the corpse. The best promotional gag in the world! Nothing more. Nothin’ better could happen to us than a big fuss about murder, with student demonstrations, boycott threats, and all of that.’’∞∂π Corpses were not only weapons of political enlightenment. They had become increasingly common objects of entertainment. The film critic Helmut Färber was concerned that film viewers could not distinguish between real-life and fictional deaths. To the filmgoer, he wrote, ‘‘the filmed corpse of an actual person is only a film corpse. The filmed death of a real person is only a film death. . . . As one who is filmed, the actually murdered is nothing more than any of the cinema dead who stand up again and have their wounds taken o√ in makeup.’’∞∂∫ Färber observed that the repeated consumption of filmed violence led to indifference; what is ‘‘intended to escalate our disgust turns instead into blasé routine.’’∞∂Ω Film violence had an apparently paradoxical e√ect: it ‘‘simultaneously deadens and adrenalizes (Sie stumpfen ab und putschen auf zugleich),’’ leaving the viewer ultimately una√ected.∞∑≠ Connecting these observations to New Left practice, Färber wrote that the adrenalizing/ anesthetic e√ect of violent images was ‘‘one of the reasons that it is only counterproductive to demonstrate against the Vietnam War with images of battle and destruction.’’∞∑∞ Färber suggested an entropy of the e√ect of violent imagery. Even if powerful at first, the shock wore o√ with time, leaving the distillate of perverse pleasure. Footage of war carried no more inherent force of mobilization than a fictional Western gunfight.

‘‘Express Vietnam Here’’: Harun Farocki’s Protest Films It was New Left filmmakers who most explicitly confronted the implications and risks of using violent imagery as a tactic of protest, taking seriously the risk of becoming incidental movie-camera accomplices in the style of Jacopetti. Inspired by Bertolt Brecht and Jean-Luc Godard, they sought to intervene in contemporary politics through the medium of film without submitting to the manipulative techniques of mainstream moviemaking.∞∑≤ The West German center of political filmmaking was

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the Deutsche Film- und Fernsehakademie (German Film and Television Academy; dffb) in West Berlin, which opened in 1967 and was occupied by its leftist students for several days and renamed the Dziga Vertov Academy in late May 1968. In two films about the Vietnam War made at the dffb, Harun Farocki, one of the academy’s most active students, engaged directly with questions of the political use and responsibility of the image. Farocki’s ethnicity and life history straddled the First World and the Third World. He was born in in 1944 in the territory of the Sudetenland annexed by the Third Reich (Sudetengau) to Abdul Qudus Faroqhi, an Indian doctor trained in Germany, and a German mother, Lili Faroqhi (née Draugellatis). Abdul Qudus Faroqhi was a supporter of the militant Indian anticolonialist movement led by Subhas Chandra Bose and acted as Bose’s doctor during his wartime years in Germany.∞∑≥ Repatriated to India after the war, Harun Farocki lived with his family there and in Indonesia before returning to West Germany in 1956.∞∑∂ Harun Farocki was part of the first class at the dffb and a member of what one contemporary called the ‘‘Godard cult’’ at the film school. He followed the program laid out by Godard in the film Loin de Vietnam (Far from Vietnam; 1967), made in collaboration with Chris Marker and others.∞∑∑ Godard’s spoken text from the film was printed in full in the journal Filmkritik, where Färber’s article had appeared and of which Farocki would become co-editor in 1971. Godard’s text read: ‘‘Rather than shower it with high-mindedness, the best that I can do for Vietnam is to allow it to seize me, to make clear for myself what place it has in our everyday life, everywhere.’’∞∑∏ Farocki attempted to follow a similar injunction in his two films about Vietnam of 1968 and 1969. As a character in his film Before Your Eyes—Vietnam (1982) would describe it, the goal was ‘‘to replace the images from Vietnam with images from here, express Vietnam here.’’∞∑π The first of Farocki’s films, made in early 1968, was White Christmas. With black-comedy technique, Bing Crosby’s vocals are played over kitsch images of Christmas—Santa Claus’s sled, children being given war toys— which transition into images of bombs falling over a landscape and the placard ‘‘The Americans think of the Vietnamese at Christmas, too. They drop ‘explosive toys’ for them from the sky.’’ A toy house bursts into flames on-screen. Another placard read, ‘‘Today our Savior is born,’’ followed by the image of a Vietnamese mother with a dead child and the placard

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‘‘Tortured—murdered—resurrected!,’’ then the image of an armed Vietnamese youth emerging from a waterhole. The final scene of the movie, from television, showed a quiet street in which the Vietcong suddenly burst from the bushes, ending Crosby’s song.∞∑∫ The film plays with a Christian vocabulary of redemption and resurrection and makes the jump, as Klaus Kreimeier notes, from the Soviet bloc call of ‘‘peace for Vietnam’’ to the more radical Third Worldist celebration of the guerrilla and the call for ‘‘victory in Vietnam.’’∞∑Ω The film followed a number of other roughly contemporaneous political interventions in making bloody geopolitical realities the uninvited guest in the insular dream world of Christmastime. In 1966, 200 students demonstrated on the Kürfurstendamm in West Berlin chanting, ‘‘Christmas wishes come true; bombs made in the USA.’’∞∏≠ Ten young men dressed as Santa Claus demonstrated on the same shopping street two years later, along with twenty others carrying signs reading ‘‘Genocide— Merry Christmas’’ and ‘‘Timely Christmas Tree Decorations: Napalm Candles.’’∞∏∞ In 1968, Nirumand, Dutschke, and others stormed West Berlin’s Kaiser Wilhelm Memorial church during a Christmas service. Nirumand’s wife, Barbara Siepmann, carried a sign showing a female Vietnamese farmer with an American soldier pointing a gun at her head and the biblical passage, ‘‘Whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me.’’ Churchgoers struck her and Dutschke with canes, and Dutschke had to be treated at a hospital for his wounds.∞∏≤ Occasionally, provocative direct action was e√ective. In Wiesbaden, demonstrators disrupted a Christmas mass in 1968 with demands to discuss the ‘‘death and oppression in Biafra, Vietnam, and Iran.’’ The pastor allowed the protesters to read their demands aloud following the mass, and a two-and-a-half-hour long conversation ensued between students and the congregation.∞∏≥ Less successful in terms of public relations was the performance by the Austrian artist Otto Muehl at the technical university in Braunschweig in 1969, where he read an antiwar poem standing naked next to a Christmas tree before a live pig was butchered in a bed, and a naked woman was ‘‘smeared with blood, urine, and feces.’’ Seventeen thousand signatures on a petition forced the university president to resign following the performance.∞∏∂ Christian language and imagery was clearly central to corpse polemics. The central image in White Christmas is what Farocki later called the ‘‘Vietnamese Anti-Madonna,’’ the woman holding the dead child who is

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figuratively resurrected as a guerrilla fighter. Such Pietà-like images were common sights at antiwar demonstrations, including in Berlin in December 1966.∞∏∑ Farocki describes an event during the making of the film that had an e√ect on his understanding of the use of images and that helped move him toward a new political technique. While making the film, he showed the Anti-Madonna photograph to Holger Meins, a fellow student and future Red Army Faction member. Meins’s response was to take a stick of charcoal and ‘‘heighten the contrast between the woman and the background. He then began to shade her face, saying something along the lines of: ‘If you’re going to do it at all, then you must exaggerate a little. Her su√ering has to be really visible.’ ’’∞∏∏ Farocki read this as a subtle critique on the part of Meins. He seemed to suggest mistrust for ‘‘the political rhetoric we employed at the time,’’ Farocki recalled, implying that ‘‘we ourselves had been exploiting Vietnam by making it our thing.’’∞∏π Meins had a point; indeed, the image easily could have come out of one of the right-wing Springer tabloids despised by the New Left. The BildZeitung had published a ‘‘Vietnamese Madonna’’ photograph of its own in April 1967, portraying a woman cradling a dead child with its head lolled back and its mouth hanging open. The caption read, ‘‘The war in Vietnam daily claims innocent victims.’’∞∏∫ Farocki’s tactic in White Christmas was to take such a Pietà image, with its static statement of depoliticized moral tragedy, and inject it with dynamism. While the tabloid presented the image as a lamentable dead end, Farocki supplied a sequel in guerrilla struggle, appropriating and repositioning the image in a new narrative leading toward potential Vietcong victory. Yet, as Meins suggested, he accomplished this move at the expense of transforming individual su√ering into an iconic station on the road to collective redemption. Responding to Meins’s critique, Farocki’s next film would use a di√erent tack, moving from pop appropriation and guerrilla boosterism to Brechtian pedagogy. Inextinguishable Fire (1969) went beyond the simple salvaging and recoding of images from the mainstream media and found a way forward from the back-and-forth of corpse polemics. The film begins with Farocki sitting at a table speaking into the camera, reading a report written by a Vietnamese survivor of a napalm attack (see figure 19). Establishing the strategy of the film, Farocki asks the camera: ‘‘How can we show you the deployment of napalm and the nature of the burns it causes? If we show you pictures of napalm wounds, you’ll close your eyes.

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You’ll close your eyes to the images, then you’ll close your eyes to the memory, then you’ll close your eyes to the facts.’’∞∏Ω An o√-camera voice intones that a cigarette burns at about 500 degrees Celsius and napalm at about 3,000 degrees as Farocki takes a cigarette from an ashtray and presses it into the flesh of his arm while the camera slowly zooms in (see figure 20). Farocki seeks to reach the viewer here by filming the actual act of burning rather than its e√ects. He also personalizes the pain by inflicting it on a well-dressed man speaking fluent German rather than a geographically distant Third World body.∞π≠ The larger part of the film works to transmit the means by which the United States produces napalm without either moral revulsion or resistance on the part of the producers. A sign on a piece of paper designates the set ‘‘Dow Chemical,’’ and the film proceeds, through a series of wooden, non-naturalistic dialogues, to show how each sector of the company takes charge of di√erent aspects of production. One department ensures that the substance is sticky, another that it maintains high temperature, and so on. The theme of the film, repeated more than once by the film’s characters, is that ‘‘a chemical company is like a box of building blocks. You can create the entire world with it.’’ The division of labor within industrial production, the film demonstrates, inoculates those within it from realizing the larger implications of their work. Farocki conceived the film in the context of a ‘‘technology campaign’’ at the dffb by which, as Kließ described it in 1969, film students ‘‘sought to enlighten engineering students about the political nature of their [engineering] work and about the [fallacy of the] concept of the so-called ‘ethical neutrality (Wertfreiheit )’ of research.’’∞π∞ In 1968, Farocki had produced a film, Wanderkino für Ingenieure (Traveling Cinema for Engineers), that similarly sought to enlighten engineering students about their implication in political processes. He took the film to ten towns that year, screening it outdoors and in auditoriums at technical universities.∞π≤ Disappointed with the lack of response from students in 1968, Farocki made Inextinguishable Fire with funding from the public television station Westdeutscher Rundfunk, where it aired first on July 27, 1969.∞π≥ Critics received Farocki’s film warmly at the year’s film festivals.∞π∂ In a dissenting review, Die Welt objected that factory workers rather than festivalgoers were the film’s real audience, but Farocki defended television as a medium for work that dealt with long-term problems such as the relationship between technology and politics.∞π∑ As the proportion of

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19. and 20. Stills from Harun Farocki’s film Inextinguishable Fire (1969). Courtesy of Harun Farocki Filmproduktion.

West German households with television sets tripled from 17.6 percent in 1960 to 80.3 percent in 1974, the television was also becoming a far more reliable conduit to the attention of the working class than the direct factory visit.∞π∏ The politics of gore relate to recent scholarly discussions about how New Leftists operated within a media landscape dominated increasingly by images rather than the spoken or written word.∞ππ Social scientists and historians have observed that activists, though critical of the mainstream media, were nonetheless caught in a relationship of dependence on television and the press for exposure. Some argue that this dependence helped drive activists to ever more spectacular and provocative forms of protest. Sometimes this strategy was self-conscious; Dieter Kunzelmann

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of Kommune I claims to have recognized in the early 1960s ‘‘how the media could be put to use, so that despite the negative cast of their reporting, they would still spread and make known the ideas that they intended to suppress or silence.’’∞π∫ The didactic use of gore by protesters followed this logic. They tried to create a visual sensation large enough to register in a public sphere already awash in violent images. Yet, as Oskar Negt, Jürgen Habermas’s assistant in Frankfurt in the 1960s, has pointed out, relying on subverting the mainstream media ultimately ‘‘surrendered to the rules of the dominant public sphere that one was struggling against . . . exhausting itself in that one’s own success became measured in the amount of attention created by certain actions in the media.’’∞πΩ Both Negt and Habermas saw the left-wing terrorism of the 1970s as emerging in part from a destructive symbiosis with mainstream media that demanded ever more radical acts to keep the attention of consumers.∞∫≠ Images of the nearly nude capture and, later, death by hunger strike of Farocki’s former collaborator Holger Meins were paradigmatic instances of voyeurism for the West German media.∞∫∞ Farocki remarked with bitter irony that the widely circulated image of Meins’s emaciated corpse followed the very Christian iconographic conventions that he had criticized in Farocki’s first Vietnam film.∞∫≤ Another photograph of Meins’s wasted corpse as he lay on the autopsy table also circulated widely. Hans-Joachim Klein, a member of the leftist terrorist group Revolutionary Cells, carried the photograph with him through the 1970s.∞∫≥ Farocki’s own collaboration with public television and his ‘‘technology campaign’’ serve as examples of New Left attempts to intervene in the West German public sphere without relying on the sensationalist methods of mainstream media and entertainment. In Inextinguishable Fire, Farocki illuminated the mundane processes that led to atrocity without relying on the visual impact of the atrocity itself. What this strategy lost in immediate shock value it gained in demonstrating how seemingly benign, everyday mentalities facilitated injustice. As the protest movement surged after June 2, interventions like Farocki’s remained the exception rather than the rule. Posters of Che and Mao multiplied alongside corpse polemics, and events led by foreigners like the Africa Addio protest became proportionally more rare. At the height of West Germany’s ’68, Third World individuals appeared in two dimensions as often as three. The ubiquity of the heroic icon and the injured

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body reflected the partial displacement of the solidarity with the fellow intellectual that had catalyzed Third World activism originally. The human rights campaigns that followed the decade would extend this trend, relying more on images of abject and anonymous Third World bodies than individuals to mobilize opinion.∞∫∂ The disappearance of voices such as that of Pierre-Louis meant that the right to represent non-German su√ering would remain, like many in the decade, a debate begun but interrupted. Even as Third World partners became less visible, increasing numbers of activists used a concept borrowed from the Third World to articulate their political project. The idea of cultural revolution, adopted from China after 1966, prescribed the renovation of hierarchy, habit, and forms of representation with the goal of transforming mentalities. The distant Chinese Cultural Revolution was an event mediated to the West German New Left through mainstream sources and Chinese-produced publications, films, and posters. Images were crucial in both the New Left reception of the Cultural Revolution and the conclusions they drew from it. Intervening in the public sphere, it seemed, meant not only engaging in the civil forms of the printed word but seizing visual and physical space through new forms of communication, collective iconoclasm, and spectacular actions. Farocki was one of many young activists who took up the notion, casting his films as tools for conducting cultural revolution in 1968. For the West German New Left, cultural revolution reinforced the idea that the message mattered, but the medium did, too.

6 THE CULTURAL REVOLUTION IN WEST GERMANY

It has become a commonplace to say that a ‘‘cultural revolution’’ took place in West Germany after June 2, 1967. But what does the term mean? Scholars regularly use ‘‘cultural revolution’’ to denote a change in norms, popular values, and expectations, leading to a ‘‘liberalization,’’ ‘‘democratization,’’ and ‘‘Westernization’’ of West German society.∞ Until the last decade, scholars saw the so-called ’68ers of the student movement as the primary actors in this transformation. Since then, historians have redirected their attention to long-term changes in consumption and lifestyle that began in the late 1950s.≤ The new interpretation of the ‘‘long 1960s’’ holds that the ‘‘cultural revolution’’ of the student movement only served to accelerate the processes of individualization and informalization already under way in West German society.≥ Yet historical specificity is lost in this functionalist interpretation— above all, the fact that West Germans first turned to the concept of cultural revolution in response to the Great Proletarian Cultural Revolution in China beginning in 1966.∂ The regret of former New Leftists for their erstwhile enthusiasm for Chinese communism and the retroactive gloating of their critics have hindered scholarly evaluations of the reception of Maoism in West Germany and West Berlin.∑ Although scholars are now exploring the so-called K-Gruppen (communist groups) that emerged in the wake of the dissolution of the sds, many of which were Maoist in orientation, the particularity of the reception of the Cultural Revolution between 1966 and the formation of the first Maoist parties at the end of the decade remains understudied.∏ Many West German socialist students reacted to the racialized depictions of the Chinese Cultural Revolution in the mainstream press by adopting the notion of cultural revolution as their own, self-consciously asserting a common political lineage linking East and West. In the process, they expanded culture from its reigning definitions—as the particular endowments of ‘‘national peoples’’ or the sphere of music, arts, and

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21. ‘‘Cultural Revolution at the fu.’’ Gra≈ti in the fu German studies building occupied in protest of the Emergency Laws in May 1968. Photograph: Landesarchiv Berlin / Ludwig Ehlers.

letters—to what Gert Meyer, sds member and political science student in Marburg, called in 1967 ‘‘the realm of the ruling ideas.’’π Students most commonly invoked Mao Zedong to support the antiauthoritarian techniques of direct action they had been developing before 1966 in imitation of the U.S. tactics of ‘‘go-ins’’ and ‘‘sit-ins’’ and in collaboration with their Third World colleagues.∫ They added the Wandzeitungen (wall newspapers), audacious confrontations, and renaming of institutions of the Chinese Red Guard to the repertoire of techniques they used to break the rules of decorous discourse, stimulating discussion and undermining structures of authority (see figure 21). Cultural revolution in West Germany meant a fundamental reevaluation of forms of political action and interaction. Translating this impulse, emanating as it did from China, into an aspect of ‘‘Westernization’’ is symptomatic of a historiography that systematically marginalizes the productive nature of the West German encounter with the Third World.

The West German Discovery of Chinese Communism China first o√ered an alternative to the Cold War dichotomy following its break with the Soviet Union in 1963. Before the Sino-Soviet split, the Chinese Communist Party (ccp) had followed the Cold War schema in

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dividing the world into opposing ideological ‘‘camps’’ with Moscow at the center of world communism.Ω After the split, the ccp gave itself the privileged role in leading revolutionary struggles in Africa, Asia, and Latin America.∞≠ Lin Biao, the ccp’s vice-chairman, gave the new model its enduring metaphor in 1965 by transposing Mao’s strategy of ‘‘encircling the cities from the countryside’’ to the world stage.∞∞ In what would become known as the ‘‘Chinese model’’ in West Germany, Lin argued that the revolutionary struggles of the ‘‘world villages’’ were leading to an encirclement of the ‘‘world cities’’ of North America and Western Europe.∞≤ West German leftists became aware of the Chinese position through the ccp’s Peking Review, available in German translation as the Peking Rundschau since 1964; the publications of the ccp’s Foreign Languages Press, which appeared regularly in German after 1963; and the work of authors such as Paul Sweezy in the Monthly Review.∞≥ Kurt Steinhaus of the Marburg sds laid out the Chinese position in Zur Theorie des internationalen Klassenkampfes (1967). The central category was the ‘‘contradiction (Widerspruch)’’: ‘‘The ccp works from the assumption that there are multiple, fundamental national and international contradictions. It distinguishes between ‘contradictions between the socialist and imperialist camps,’ ‘between proletariat and bourgeoisie within capitalist countries,’ ‘between the various imperialist states’ as well as ‘between the various monopoly-capitalist groups.’ ’’∞∂ According to Steinhaus, the di√erence between the Soviet and Chinese positions was the location of the ‘‘primary contradiction’’: ‘‘Though the Soviet [Communist Party] attributes ‘extraordinary importance’ to Third World liberation struggles, it continues to see the ‘contradiction between capitalism and socialism’ as the ‘primary contradiction of our era,’ while the ccp leadership takes the position that the ‘contradiction between the revolutionary peoples in Asia, Africa and Latin America on the one side, and the U.S.-led imperialists on the other represent the primary contradiction in today’s world.’ ’’∞∑ Steinhaus quoted the ccp Central Committee’s statement in 1963 that the ‘‘the weakest links in the chain of imperialist rule’’ and ‘‘the most important storm centers of the world revolution’’ were in the Third World, and it was there that ‘‘imperialism [could] be delivered direct blows.’’∞∏ An early point of contention in the West German reception of the Chinese position was the role it allowed for the Western working class. Beginning in 1965, the poet and leftist publisher Hans Magnus Enzens-

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berger promoted his version of the Chinese position in the pages of the widely read journal Kursbuch. He argued that the new relevant division in world politics was between the ‘‘rich countries’’ of the industrialized North, including the Soviet Union, and the ‘‘poor countries’’ of the nonindustrialized South.∞π Incorporating elements of the French political economist Pierre Jalée’s theory of ‘‘super-imperialism,’’ Enzensberger dismissed the progressive potential of both the Western working class and the Eastern European countries.∞∫ Many West German New Leftists rejected this strong version of the Chinese position, maintaining, as Steinhaus put it, that ‘‘whether they realize it or not . . . the objective interests of First World workers as well as intellectuals are completely identical with Third World liberation fighters.’’∞Ω They held that the increasing costs and brutality of suppressing Third World socialist revolutions would eventually ‘‘politicize’’ larger social groups in the First World and ‘‘necessarily lead to the sharpening of class struggle in capitalist countries.’’≤≠ For radical socialist students such as Rudi Dutschke, the Chinese emphasis on the catalytic role of Third World political actors was especially attractive. After reading an article by Sweezy in 1964, Dutschke wrote in his journal, ‘‘In the judgment of the character of our era, an era of national liberation in Asia, Africa, and Latin America, I am Chinese.’’≤∞ In spite of the undertones of cultural conversion, Dutschke’s statement designated a position in theoretical debates equivalent to saying one was ‘‘left-liberal’’ or ‘‘Trotskyist.’’ He was an isolated rather than typical case in 1964, when Chinese communism was still a relatively minor influence in West Germany. When large numbers of students declared themselves ‘‘Chinese’’ in late 1966, the connotations were much di√erent. It was the Cultural Revolution, and the role of youth in it, that first attracted large numbers of West Germans to Chinese communism. The first stages of the Cultural Revolution began with the attacks that Mao directed at the historian Wu Han in November 1965, followed by purges of political, academic, and military elites.≤≤ Beginning in May 1966, Mao opted for a new strategy, mobilizing students at Beijing’s universities against professors and administrators.≤≥ Students proved to be enthusiastic supporters of the restructuring of university hierarchies, denouncing professors and political figures through self-produced big-character posters. The most active students were at Beijing’s Tsinghua University, where 65,000 posters appeared in June alone, and the Red Guards formed at its attached middle school in May 1966.≤∂

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In August 1966, the ccp o≈cially sanctioned the activities of the Red Guards, and Lin gave a speech advocating the destruction of the ‘‘four olds’’ of ‘‘old ideas, old culture, old customs, and old habits.’’≤∑ Red Guards formed throughout China in August and September as the party freed students from classes to write and read big-character posters, make pilgrimages to political sites, and give revolutionary names to streets, institutions, and themselves.≤∏ Their most spectacular activity was the widespread public humiliation of supposed ‘‘revisionists’’ and class enemies. Mobilized youth frequently seriously injured their antagonists, confiscating their property and ‘‘repatriating’’ them from the city to their villages of origin.≤π Large numbers of workers joined the mobilization in Shanghai, helping students to seize power in that city in January 1967, for which they received Mao’s retroactive approval.≤∫ In spring 1967, ccp leaders, increasingly concerned about the e√ects of mass action on economic production and their own monopoly on power, made their first attempt to reassert order.≤Ω They were unsuccessful, and a state of quasi-civil war, with complex and shifting centers of power, followed until late 1968, when the ccp brought the Red Guards under control and sent many students ‘‘down to the countryside’’ to work in factories and on farms.≥≠ The sds took its first o≈cial position on the Cultural Revolution after its delegates’ conference in September 1966, nearly one month after the ccp released its Sixteen Point Declaration outlining the Great Proletarian Cultural Revolution. The sds resolution followed the Chinese argument that the Cultural Revolution was necessary to eliminate lingering and possibly resurgent bourgeois elements and argued that the Cultural Revolution was ‘‘not only . . . a movement of the popular base towards the further development of the productive forces but has, above all, the function of preventing the restoration of a pre-socialist social order.’’≥∞ The resolution’s author called the actions of the Red Guards the ‘‘most spectacular events’’ in the Cultural Revolution, which continued the ‘‘accelerated mobilization of social consciousness’’ begun by the Great Leap Forward.≥≤ Not all members of the sds shared the sanguine sentiment of the resolution. Zoran Stoljadinovic, a member of the Münster sds, wrote to the organization’s president, Reimut Reiche, in September asking whether he realized what kind of ‘‘idiocy’’ the Red Guards were engaged in.≥≥ Reiche apologized and promised further elaboration on the sds’s position, citing ‘‘mysterious’’ circumstances around the resolution.≥∂ The probable author of the resolution was Dutschke, leader of the West

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Berlin sds, who had given a presentation on the Cultural Revolution at the delegates’ conference and used wording similar to the resolution in a debate about the Cultural Revolution with the Belgian political economist Ernest Mandel and the Dutch Provo activist Leo Klatzer in December 1966.≥∑ At the debate in West Berlin, organized by the social-democratic student group Die Falken, Dutschke repeated the statement from the sds resolution that the function of the Cultural Revolution was to ‘‘catch up with the stage of capitalist development and leap over it.’’≥∏ Dutschke’s uncritical adherence to Mao’s characterization of the Cultural Revolution contrasted with the criticism from other members of the panel about the unfolding of events in China. Echoing media descriptions from both East Germany and West Germany, Mandel described the Cultural Revolution as an ‘‘internal power struggle’’ of the ccp leadership and suggested that China was acting erratically because of its ‘‘isolation’’ within the ‘‘socialist camp.’’≥π Klatzer, who had traveled to West Berlin to recount the experiences of the anarchist Provos in Amsterdam, stated that, ‘‘according to his own political experience, the ‘public denunciations’ [of the Cultural Revolution] had long since exceeded the boundaries of an ‘internal critique out of party solidarity.’ ’’≥∫ It is notable that Dutschke refused to concede criticism of the Cultural Revolution even while Mandel and Klatzer, prominent members, respectively, of the Trotskyist and anarchist left, expressed their own reservations on the subject. Dutschke and his fellow antiauthoritarians in West Berlin, whose Third World orientation was discussed in previous chapters, encouraged and stimulated discussion about the Cultural Revolution at the fu through a series of events in late 1966 and early 1967. Along with the debate in December, the West Berlin sds twice showed a film produced by the Chinese praising the Cultural Revolution to capacity crowds of 2,000 students in the main auditorium at the fu in January.≥Ω Dutschke and his fellow sds member Dieter Kunzelmann smuggled the films from the Chinese Embassy in East Berlin, taping them to their stomachs to pass through border controls.∂≠ They also received copies of Peking Rundschau and books of Mao’s quotations for free from the embassy, which they sold at events in West Berlin.∂∞ After one of the film screenings in January 1967, the sds member Rainer Langhans debated the events in China with the fu political scientist Richard Löwenthal. While Löwenthal argued that the Cultural Revolution was a result of Mao’s attempt to eliminate alternative poles of power within an emerging bureaucracy, Langhans count-

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ered that the goal was, in fact, the ongoing di√usion of decision-making power to all groups in society.∂≤ The West Berlin sds embraced the Chinese framing of the Cultural Revolution without criticism and celebrated its extreme rhetoric. The flyer for an event on February 20, 1967, reproduced a translated bigcharacter poster of the Red Guards at the Tsinghua University middle school in full.∂≥ The poster began with a challenge to those who were insu≈ciently radical: ‘‘Some still have a mortal fear of revolution and revolt. You cling to conventions, are obsequious, and hide in revisionist shells. As soon as the wind of rebellion comes, you become anxious and filled with fear. In recent days, you have heard constant and relentless critique. You are shocked daily. Is that not di≈cult to withstand? How can you live on like this?’’∂∂ The statement continued by extolling the literally supernatural powers of mobilized students, saying, ‘‘Revolutionaries are like the Monkey King: their golden sta√ is powerful, their supernatural powers are sweeping, and their magic is omnipotent. They possess enormous supernatural powers, and we use our sorcery to turn the old world on its head, crush it into pieces, turn it into dust, create chaos and great disorder, the bigger the better!’’∂∑ The Red Guard’s comparison of revolutionaries to the Chinese mythological figure of Sun Wukong, the Monkey King, would have seemed exotic to German students, apparently presenting an entirely foreign field of political self-understanding and action. Nonetheless, some students identified with the Cultural Revolution and sought to relate it to their own models of politics. In retrospect, Langhans recalled the attraction of the Cultural Revolution to socialist students: ‘‘To us, the Chinese model was the most correct and progressive revolutionary model, and it was also being lived out. We were impressed by the fact that it was specifically the youth that were getting the old cadres going again and breaking out of the structures of the so-called Maoist socialism. We saw that as precisely what we intended to do.’’∂∏ Partially inspired by the Cultural Revolution, Langhans, along with Kunzelmann and others, engaged in plans in winter 1966 to found a political ‘‘commune,’’ or shared apartment, an unheard-of novelty among students at the time. In November, Kunzelmann began a short text about the plans for the ‘‘revolutionary commune’’ by quoting Mao’s comment to Andre Malraux that ‘‘dogma has less value than cow dung. At least dung can be used as fertilizer.’’∂π On November 26, 1966, Kunzelmann, Langhans, and their other col-

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laborators declared their program in the first visible action in which West German leftists directly connected themselves to Mao. During a student meeting with fu President Hans-Joachim Lieber, they stormed in with pins of Mao on their lapels.∂∫ Eike Hemmer seized the microphone from the administrators and read the text of a flyer being distributed to the meeting condemning the university, saying, ‘‘We have to cope with poor working conditions, miserable lectures, stupefying seminars, and absurd exam requirements. When we decline to be trained by narrow-minded experts (Fachidioten) to become ourselves narrow-minded experts, we run the risk of ending our study without degrees.’’∂Ω The ‘‘Red Guard,’’ as they labeled themselves, urged students to quit school, seek employment in factories, and buy houses to be made into communes for ‘‘free love, cadre education, and the training of ‘Provos’ to be sent into society to stage disruptive actions.’’∑≠ The actions of the group around Langhans and Kunzelmann, which became known as Kommune I after the group moved into a shared apartment in January 1967, drew much media attention. The West Berlin press began to refer to socialist students at the fu as the ‘‘Red Guard.’’∑∞ Kunzelmann, who, as discussed in a previous chapter, had connections to the French Situationists, as well as to the Dutch Provos, was being deliberately provocative in his use of Maoist imagery and language. His successful linking of Maoism among socialist students to acts of provocation, such as the preparation for a ‘‘pudding assassination’’ of the visiting U.S. president Hubert Humphrey in April 1967, helped stoke the enthusiasm of some socialist students for the Cultural Revolution in spring 1967 but drew concern from others. In a review of the new edition of Mao’s quotations in April 1967, sds president Reimut Reiche noted the recent shift that had taken place in student opinion from the Soviet ‘‘traditionalist’’ geopolitical interpretation to the Chinese position. He feared the element of irony involved in the identification with the Chinese position. ‘‘Six months ago,’’ he wrote, ‘‘no one would have dared to quote Mao at an sds gathering. Today it occurs constantly but amid the a√ected laughter of reader and listeners.’’∑≤ He wrote, ‘‘For the last six months, young people becoming socialists have been ‘Chinese’ from the beginning,’’ but he was worried that the orientation was happening ‘‘through a primarily unpolitical identification.’’∑≥ Reiche suspected that ‘‘young people recently joining the anti-capitalist movement’’ might be choosing their theoretical positions

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through emotional a≈nity or, as he later explained, through the psychological need to build a strong ‘‘ego-ideal’’ instead of rigorous intellectual investigation.∑∂ He expressed skepticism about the utility of Chinese communist rhetoric, writing about Mao’s book of quotations: ‘‘There are as many wonderfully beautiful sentences in here as in the touching and beautiful fairy tales and snippets of folk wisdom in the Peking Review. But one cannot carry out revolutionary struggle in one’s own country with these. One can only take comfort in them, which is good but also dangerous.’’∑∑ Reiche was concerned about the practical goals of building a political movement being derailed by a sentimental fascination with Third World revolution. At the same time, he proposed the non-specific possibility for a more robust engagement with Maoism. Adopting a grave tone reminiscent of Lin’s introduction to the ‘‘Mao Bible,’’ as the book of quotations was known, Reiche called socialist students to order, writing, ‘‘We must now learn to read him correctly, to learn from the revolutions of the Third World. The works of Mao are inexhaustibly rich; he is certainly the greatest theoretician and the greatest revolutionary since Lenin. We must read his essays in their entirety.’’∑∏ In what must be read as a lightly veiled criticism of the Kommune I circle in West Berlin, Reiche correctly identified that part of what was drawing German students to identification with the Chinese were the elements of provocation, irony, and play that an engagement with the distant, radical strain of socialism entailed, along with the key role it assigned to youth and students. Many invocations of Maoism in 1967 and 1968 followed the model of Kommune I, using expressions of allegiance to Mao as an element of playing the Bürgerschreck—shocking the bourgeoisie. As Gerd Koenen, former member of Tübingen sds, put it, ‘‘To stick on a Mao button, recite the words of the Great Chairman, or pin his smiling portrait to the wall as the Mona Lisa of the world revolution signified the most radical and striking antithesis to the ‘old’ bourgeois world as much as to the ‘old’ reformist-revisionist left.’’∑π Klaus Kreimeier, part of activist film circles in West Berlin in the late 1960s, connects this spirit of provocation to its clear historical antecedent by calling it Dada-Maoism, a practice engineered to provoke heated reactions from the broader public but also within the student movement itself, where not all were convinced of the wisdom of invoking Mao.∑∫ Kreimeier coined the expression in reference to a film made by Harun Farocki in the wake of June 2 and the death of

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Benno Ohnesorg. The content and reception of Farocki’s film, titled The Words of the Chairman, illustrate the diverse ways in which Maoism was operating in the New Left milieu in 1967 and 1968. Farocki’s black-and-white film opens with a shot of Mao’s book of quotations spinning in stop-motion animation before cutting to a woman in the uniform and trademark ‘‘balloon cap’’ of the Chinese Red Guards reading the book at a desk. In voiceover, a woman’s voice reads Lin’s inscription and the beginning of his foreword from the compilation of quotations issued in 1966: ‘‘Study Chairman Mao Zedong’s writings, listen to his teachings, and act according to his instructions. Mao Zedong is the greatest living Marxist-Leninist. Mao Zedong has elevated MarxistLeninism to a completely new stage.’’ The text then switches to Farocki’s paraphrasing of Lin: ‘‘We must elevate his words to another completely new stage. We must place them in new contexts. We must supplement them according to historical experience. We must cleverly transform them. In our hands they must become weapons . . .’’ As the voiceover recites the passage, the woman at the desk tears a page from the book of quotations, folds it into darted ends, and fixes wooden matchsticks and a pin to the end with string, turning it into a makeshift arrow (see figures 22 and 23). We see the arrow flying, followed by a shot of two people wearing masks of the Shah of Iran and his wife Farah Diba eating soup. The voiceover continues with ‘‘ . . . that, with surprise, strike the enemy,’’ as the arrow lands in the shah’s soup. He reels back with marks on his paper-bag forehead as if he has been shot, and the twominute film ends with Mao’s book spinning again accompanied by rousing Chinese choral music.∑Ω According to Farocki, the film evoked wide-ranging reactions when he screened it at teach-ins at the fu in 1967 and 1968—‘‘sometimes . . . thundering applause, sometimes . . . deafening catcalls.’’∏≠ Farocki has since insisted on the playful intention of the film, though some read it as literal advocacy for armed militancy. As the film historian Tilman Baumgärtel has pointed out, The Words of the Chairman was the first film made by the German Film and Television Academy that made any reference to violence.∏∞ Farocki has downplayed literal readings of the film, claiming that ‘‘people understood then that over-obviousness is also a form of irony.’’∏≤ At the same time, despite his retroactive revisions, Farocki was publishing articles in the late 1960s in which irony was di≈cult to detect. In a tract in the leftist film journal Filmkritik in 1968, Farocki wrote that

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22. and 23. Stills from Harun Farocki’s The Words of the Chairman (1967). Courtesy of Harun Farocki Filmproduktion.

‘‘revolutionary tactics concentrate their blows on the weakest links,’’ describing the ‘‘foundation for cultural revolution’’ at West German schools and universities: ‘‘Students no longer want to assimilate habits that help to reproduce the status quo. In the context of education, cinema does belong not to those who make it but to those who see it. Pedagogical theory has already begun to develop models to transcend the hierarchical flow of information from teacher to student. Cinema can overtake it in the field of education. Cinema can learn from schools and usurp parts of the cultural and leisure industry in order to educate.’’∏≥ Proposing the integration of film into progressive projects of political education and even ‘‘cultural revolution,’’ Farocki called on Filmkritik’s editors to take an active role in the ‘‘process of radical change’’ under way in cinema and

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television.∏∂ The varying uses of the notion of cultural revolution by one activist filmmaker, from provocation to systematic proposition, and the divergent responses to his film suggest the diversity with which the West German New Left received Maoist idioms. Ironic and provocative uses of Maoism must be set in the context of the mainstream media representations of the Cultural Revolution in West Germany. As scholars have pointed out, New Leftists developed their political self-understanding and models of action in dynamic relationship with the mainstream public sphere.∏∑ Coverage of the Chinese Cultural Revolution in the mainstream media was startlingly crude, attributing the irrational anarchy of the Red Guards to their race, their nationality, and their youth. The defense of Chinese communism by young leftists was premised first, I would argue, on their rejection of its demonization by the mainstream media. The New Left’s turn to Maoism was not enabled, as current historiographical wisdom suggests, by the dearth of information about the Cultural Revolution but encouraged by the very volume of mainstream coverage that seemed to use every means to cast the event as distant, dystopic, and disturbingly foreign.∏∏

The Cultural Revolution as Horror Story The West German press described the Chinese Cultural Revolution in tropes of floods, epidemics, and uncontrollable crowds.∏π A cover story in November 1966 in the center-left newsmagazine Der Spiegel, the publication read most often by students, began with a dramatic description of an attack of the Red Guards on a hotel:∏∫ ‘‘They broke into the Nanfang Hotel in Canton, swung red books, rampaged through the rooms, and swore at the hotel employees. Then they glued a poster with red characters at the entrance. It read: ‘The Nanfang Hotel stinks of bourgeois ideas. We found people here who still have powdered faces and oily greaser hairstyles. Other people wore foreign clothes and pointy shoes. Throw this trash out within forty-eight hours!’ ’’∏Ω The article identified the ‘‘Nanfang-Stürmer’’—a term with clear connections to the Nazi ‘‘Storm Troopers’’—as ‘‘teenagers of both sexes from the middle school of the South Chinese metropolis. They call themselves ‘Satan’s thugs (Satansschläger)’ and belong to the 10 million-strong army of young fanatics that has torn through the enormous Middle Kingdom in the last three

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months, wanting, by their own confession, to ‘set the old world on its head, beat it into pieces, and create chaos, the bigger the better.’ ’’π≠ Mainstream media focus on the violent details of the Cultural Revolution recalls the psychologist Alexander Mitscherlich’s point, discussed in chapter 5, that Third World reportage often titillated its readers, making scenes of violence more like ‘‘horror stories than horrifying reality.’’π∞ In the left-liberal journal Merkur, Wolfgang Bauer saw a similar dynamic in the response to the Cultural Revolution. ‘‘Western observers,’’ he wrote, ‘‘including the Soviet Russians this time, are observing the idiosyncratic, atavistic accretions that are giving the ‘cultural revolution’ its outer form with feelings that combine terror and amusement.’’π≤ In the field of popular culture, five Dr. Fu Manchu films appeared in West German theaters between 1965 and 1969 that linked themes of China and indoctrination in ways that resonated with mainstream coverage of the Cultural Revolution. The West German film company Constantin partially funded the films, which featured many Germans in the cast and starred the British actor Christopher Lee as Fu.π≥ The plot of The Vengeance of Dr. Fu Manchu, which appeared in West German theaters in June 1967, drew clear parallels to the danger of infiltration through ideology as Fu replaced Western police chiefs with hypnotized doubles to carry out his plans for world domination.π∂ In mainstream media and entertainment, China, as the conservative Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung observed in 1966, ‘‘was giving West Germans the creeps (ein Gefühl des Gruselns).’’π∑ Der Spiegel ’s account of the Cultural Revolution explained the Red Guard as both particular and universal. The author connected the targeting of foreign influence to the Boxer Rebellion, saying that the assaulting of foreigners was a form of ‘‘practicing Chinese tradition.’’ The racial component was also critical. As the author wrote, ‘‘The specter of the Asiatic hordes that fell across the world emerged again. Europeans and Americans saw their children as coolies of the yellow people.’’π∏ Communism and Asianness were often conflated in the political rhetoric in West Germany in the postwar decades. In both the memory of the rape of German women by Russian occupiers and the ongoing threat of conquest from the Soviet ‘‘East,’’ communists were frequently represented with Asian features.ππ For the author of the Spiegel article, the Cultural Revolution was troubling not only because of its specific Chineseness but also because of its

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international quality of youthful anarchic revolt. ‘‘Hooligans’’ were cast as a potentially subversive fifth column within all societies. What distinguished China in 1966 was that the desires of the youth to undermine the existing order were being given free rein: ‘‘The Guard is allowed to do what is denied hooligans (Halbstarke) the world over: beat up the rich, chase teachers out of the schools and government employees out of their o≈ces, destroy monuments and nail shut museum doors, cut the long hair from women’s heads and tear high-heeled shoes from their feet.’’ The Cultural Revolution was simultaneously particularly Chinese and potentially global. It was in the context of racialized reportage of the Chinese Cultural Revolution that some West German New Leftists began to identify themselves demonstratively as Chinese and invoke Mao in their political actions. By late 1966, they had read enough press accounts distorting their own demonstrations as ‘‘riots (Krawalle)’’ led by ‘‘red rampagers (rote Randalierer)’’ and ‘‘political hooligans (politische Halbstarken)’’ to be suspicious about the veracity of reports from China.π∫ As Gretchen Dutschke-Klotz put it, ‘‘We did not believe the bourgeois press when it spoke of mass murder in China. We had little reason to believe them knowing, as we did, the lies that were spread about us.’’πΩ Select eyewitnesses seemed to confirm the New Left’s skepticism. On February 24, 1967, Jerg Haas, an instructor at the Foreign Languages University in Shanghai, spoke in front of 900 people at an event sponsored by the sds and the student union at the fu.∫≠ Haas criticized West German press accounts of the Chinese Cultural Revolution, which, he claimed, relied solely on intelligence sources from Hong Kong, Tokyo, and Taiwan and used unattributed quotes from the English-language Hong Kong daily Star.∫∞ Joachim Schickel, a chief editor with the Norddeutscher Rundfunk public radio station, had traveled to China in 1964 and praised the social and economic transformations against what he called the ‘‘lies about the People’s Republic.’’∫≤ In February 1967, he wrote a long article for Kursbuch dismissing Western press reports that portrayed the Cultural Revolution as either ‘‘chaos’’ or an act of ‘‘shadowboxing staged by the party.’’∫≥ As will be discussed later, Schickel saw the Cultural Revolution as the realization of a socialist project long abandoned by the Soviet Union. In March 1968, the sds member and sexual rights activist Günter Amendt, who had reported firsthand from the Free Speech Movement in

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Berkeley in 1964, broadcast a program on Westdeutscher Rundfunk radio station titled ‘‘China, the Fairytale Land of the German Press,’’ analyzing the press coverage of the Cultural Revolution.∫∂ He pointed out that no major West German newspaper had a correspondent in Beijing, and that they often retracted their reports when their sources turned out to be faulty.∫∑ Trained as a sociologist, Amendt sought to explain the roots of the vilification of the Chinese in West Germany. Taking as a given that dominant social forces rely on strengthening ‘‘friend-enemy schema’’ to distract attention from internal class di√erences, he observed that the relaxation of relations between the Federal Republic and Eastern Europe in the second half of the 1960s may have encouraged the emphasis on a new and distant ‘‘object of aggression.’’∫∏ Amendt’s overarching explanation put the Chinese Cultural Revolution in the context of other Third World revolutionary struggles. He argued that the West German fear of the Cultural Revolution could be explained by the simultaneous emergence of other insurgent ‘‘colored’’ populations and their challenge to the position they had inherited as ‘‘inferiors’’ on the global stage. The Vietcong, in particular, threatened the stability of international asymmetries of wealth and power, which were only incidentally, Amendt argued, mapped onto race: ‘‘The [West German] fear syndrome is permanently reconfirmed by the successful struggle of the ‘little, yellow, slit-eyed’ Vietnamese against the powerful technical apparatus of repression of the United States. International class struggle reproduces itself clad as a struggle between races.’’∫π According to Amendt, it was the fear that Third World populations might act in their own material interests to correct their historical position of inferiority that sustained West German popular anxiety about the Cultural Revolution. More provocatively, Amedt suggested that the creation of a radical public sphere during the Cultural Revolution may have been what both most threatened the West German mainstream press and most inspired West German students. He cited reports from January 1967 about the eΔorescence of big-character posters on Chinese university campuses and the atmosphere of open discussion and debate as ‘‘the most idealtypical model of the democratic public sphere imaginable.’’ He suggested that the ‘‘partially allergic reactions of Western news services to these examples is understandable’’ in relation to the ‘‘attempt here to monopolize the construction of opinion. . . . The ‘non-hierarchical discussion

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between free individuals’ as Habermas would call this form of constructing and expressing democratic opinion represents a danger for the opinion monopoly of the commercial creators of opinion.’’∫∫ Amendt saw German students as borrowing forms of expression from the Chinese in their own struggle with the distortions of the mainstream press. ‘‘It is no coincidence,’’ he wrote, ‘‘that students in Berlin have adopted precisely these methods from the Red Guards to combat the opinions of the Berlin press. Parts of the Berlin press were exactly as astounded and repelled by the flood of leaflets and night-long discussions of students as [Western] correspondents in China were by the bigcharacter posters of the Red Guards.’’∫Ω At root, Amendt felt that the press’s condemnation of critical students in West Germany and China served the same function: ‘‘justifying domestic administrative oppression and concealing the inner anarchy of the relations of production.’’Ω≠ The chief opponent of the critical students was the Springer press empire, which controlled more than 40 percent of West German newspapers, including the widely read tabloid daily Bild-Zeitung and its middlebrow equivalent Die Welt. From early 1967 on, the Springer papers made condemnations of student protest and its allegedly foreign origins a staple of their reporting. The Springer press portrayed the cultural revolution in both China and West Berlin in terms of irrational destructive anarchism and terror. True to tropes of moral panic, commentators cast the international spread of youth rebellion as an epidemic.Ω∞ One of many Bild cartoons making fun of oafish, disheveled, and always male leftist students portrayed two young men sitting in hospital beds, each reading a book simply titled ‘‘Mao,’’ with a portrait of the leader on their side tables. One turns to the other and asks, ‘‘How do you say ‘Atchoo!’ in Chinese?’’Ω≤ The reference here is not only to the supposed cultural conversion of young radicals but also to the often-repeated idea of youth radicalism itself as a ‘‘Chinese disease,’’ which was now spreading worldwide. For the conservative press, describing the German student protest as Chinese was both a way to trivialize it and, more seriously, to cast student leftism as foreign in origin and therefore illegitimate and potentially criminal. In April 1967, the Berliner Morgenpost, a Springer publication, reported the so-called pudding assassination plot (discussed in chapter 4) under the fallacious headline ‘‘fu-Students Manufactured Bombs with Explosives from Peking,’’ and Mayor Heinrich Albertz of West Berlin began referring to the dissident students at the Free University as the ‘‘fu-

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Chinese,’’ a term with possibly fortuitous resonances with the Fu Manchu films.Ω≥ After the June 2 protest, the Berliner Morgenpost went as far as to put the blame onto the ‘‘fu-Chinese’’ for the death of the protester Benno Ohnesorg, saying, ‘‘The police carry no guilt for the clash, which was clearly provoked by our riot radicals. . . . Benno Ohnesorg is not the martyr of the fu-Chinese but its victim.’’Ω∂ By February 1968, Die Welt was speculating about a worldwide network of revolutionaries with Mao at its center. In an article titled ‘‘Vietnam— also in Germany?,’’ Werner Titzrath, who would become the editor of Springer’s Hamburger Abendblatt the following year, wondered about the simultaneity of the ‘‘o√ensive of the communist Vietcong in South Vietnam [and the] increasing riots of radical forces in West Germany and West Berlin,’’ asking, ‘‘Is this conjuncture in timing only a coincidence?’’Ω∑ For Titzrath, the connections were clear: ‘‘One group, the machine pistol aimed, already practices insurgency: they want revolution. The others, Mao Bible under their arms, attempt, at least, to experiment with it. . . . Do we already have the first signs of a Vietnam situation in Germany, or are we on the path to one if it is allowed to continue?’’Ω∏ The primary node of connection was Maoism, which Titzrath saw as providing the means for the ‘‘terroristic’’ rule by minorities: ‘‘Certainly, even the most fractious radicals in Germany are no Vietcong—only imitations, at best. But both have Mao as ideological instructor. Both possess—one more so, the other less so—the recipe whereby militant minorities can terrorize indi√erent majorities and, when possible, govern them.’’Ωπ Titzrath cast Mao as the source of subversive knowledge and strategy and the nodal point linking international struggles lined up against the West. The common front against the U.S.-led bloc, if there was one, was going to be united under Maoism. In the Bundestag in 1969, Chancellor Kurt Georg Kiesinger summarized the fears of both an ascendant East Asian communist power and the domestic student rebellion in the sentence, ‘‘I can say only: China, China, China.’’Ω∫

Deracinating Kultur on the New Left From September 1966 on, the sds took a defensive tone vis-à-vis the mainstream coverage of the Chinese Cultural Revolution. The resolution in September encouraged socialist students to engage in ‘‘theoretical de-

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liberation and practical consciousness-raising about the sources and necessities of permanent revolution in China . . . with particular emphasis on fighting invocations of a ‘yellow peril’ or ‘Asian communism.’ ’’ΩΩ The resolution’s author insisted that racialized fears were ‘‘legitimizing the violent suppression of revolutionary movements in the ‘Third World’ and especially preparing for the planned attack of U.S. imperialism against the People’s Republic of China.’’∞≠≠ Defending China against such a threat was especially important because of the country’s position as a potential ‘‘hinterland for the revolutionary war’’ in Vietnam. For West German leftists, embracing Chinese theory and the outward markers of Chinese communism such as Mao pins and ‘‘balloon caps’’ turned what had been consumed as a distant ‘‘horror story’’ into a visible reality in German streets and defiantly reappropriated the pejorative labels of the conservative press. It is notable that German New Leftists saw no problem of cultural appropriation in claiming an identity as ‘‘Chinese.’’ As scholars have pointed out, notions of race as a potentially exclusive category for the making of political claims first entered New Left discussions with the engagement of some West Germans with the Black Panthers in 1969 (and even then only tentatively).∞≠∞ Before then, assertions of cultural di√erence seemed more the language of counterrevolution than cultural revolution. Conservative journalists sought to cast doubt, sometimes in overtly racist language, on acts of cross-cultural political collaboration, as in an editorial in 7-Uhr Blatt about West German students demonstrating with African colleagues in 1964 titled ‘‘Solidarity with Cannibals.’’∞≠≤ Reiche poked fun at mainstream conceptual divisions of race as he remarked on the number of West German New Leftists moving to a Maoist standpoint, asking in a mocking tone, ‘‘How could the ‘Chinese’ have achieved this victory, they who were branded heretics and targeted by anticommunists, they who are primitive, atavistic, bizarre, and yellow?’’∞≠≥ One of the focuses in the New Left’s reception of the Cultural Revolution became deracinating it and connecting it to the larger history of socialist thought. Where the mainstream media cast the ‘‘Chinese disease’’ as an epidemic of youthful anarchy emanating from the East, New Left authors connected cultural revolution to decades-long discussions linking socialist circles from East and West. At the same time, di√ering interpretations of the Cultural Revolution emerged on the West German New Left. While some leftists took it as confirmation of their own focus

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on the productivist goal of industrialization, others, such as the West Berlin antiauthoritarians, used it to buttress their belief in action and the need for intervention at the level of popular mentality and consciousness. In an article in the widely read sds journal Neue Kritik in 1967, Gert Meyer, a student under Wolfgang Abendroth at the political science institute in Marburg, provided an extended reading of the Cultural Revolution through the lens of the traditionalist faction of the sds.∞≠∂ Meyer began by expressing his surprise at the Soviets’ disavowal of the history of cultural revolution as a category: ‘‘It is not surprising that the public sphere in capitalist states takes the latest events in the People’s Republic of China as confirmation of their doctrine of the ‘yellow peril’ and paints a picture of the ‘specter of the Asiatic hordes as in the time of Genghis Khan’ that threatens the world. It is astonishing, however, that the socialist side also adopts these ‘interpretations.’ ’’∞≠∑ Meyer pointed out that the Soviet polemic appealed to an ‘‘entirely traditional concept of culture and the careful maintenance of the old cultural legacies by pointing to the rising numbers of visitors at public museums, theaters, and galleries.’’∞≠∏ This restrictive definition of culture, in his analysis, ignored the early work of Proletkult in 1917, whose protagonists had recognized correctly that ‘‘the process of socialist revolution cannot be limited to the economic policy but must stretch to the realm of the ‘ruling ideas,’ which, as the ‘ideas of the ruling class,’ play a central role in the self-reproduction of the old society.’’∞≠π The Chinese, he asserted, were acting on the original Soviet understanding of cultural revolution, replacing ‘‘notions handed down from the old society with a ‘socialist culture’ and creating a consciousness adequate to modern work processes.’’∞≠∫ Meyer dated the beginning of the cultural revolution in China to the May 4 movement in 1919, when young intellectuals outraged by the terms of the Versailles settlement and the persistence of quasi-colonial claims in China, used the ‘‘Western’’ philosophical idioms introduced by Bertrand Russell, John Dewey, and Karl Marx to attack traditional Confucian social attitudes.∞≠Ω In Meyer’s telling, ccp leaders learned through this early revolt, during the Yan’an years in the 1930s and 1940s and the eventual revolutionary victory, that ‘‘the socialist cultural revolution would still need to be continued long after the capture of state power.’’∞∞≠ In the article, Meyer established a narrative by which the Soviet and Chinese revolutions shared a common moment of emergence in the context of the First World War. While the Soviets abandoned the goal of renovating consciousness

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for a conservative notion of culture as the sphere of museums, theaters, and galleries, the ccp had carried the project forward in earnest. Meyer’s definition of culture was universal and unlinked to particular ethnic or national context. At the same time, it securely anchored the process of cultural revolution to the productivist goals of socialist modernization. Draining the Chinese Cultural Revolution of all elements of cultural particularity or the xenophobic aspects that figured so centrally in the mainstream reportage, he located the value of culture in its instrumental contribution to economic development: ‘‘The determined struggle against the four olds (culture, ideas, customs, and habits) is aimed at the content of received conceptions that stand in the way of the demands of modern labor processes and the further development of industrialization.’’∞∞∞ Meyer vilified traditional values in his comparison of China and India, writing, ‘‘The enormous meaning of these enlightenment campaigns for the masses is clear when compared to the recent events in the Indian Union, where several hundred thousand fanatical Hindus trekked to the capital and declared that they would all rather die than see any pain inflicted by a butcher on the cow that they hold holy.’’∞∞≤ Foregrounding the Maoist message of ‘‘more new, less old,’’ Meyer made a case for China as an exemplary modernizing state, shedding traditions as obstacles to a new mentality appropriate to the demands of modern production.∞∞≥ In his discussions of cultural revolution, Meyer delinked culture from the anthropological notion of shared life ways and removed it from the constrained realm of aesthetic production, a double departure from dominant German discourses of Kultur. As Norbert Elias noted in 1934, the German understanding of Kultur di√ered from that of the French and English by referring ‘‘essentially to intellectual, artistic, and religious facts,’’ while Zivilisation referred to ‘‘political, economic, and social facts.’’∞∞∂ ‘‘Kultur’’ was also the key term in defining di√erences between national groups and, in the English-language sense, civilizations.∞∞∑ In the ethnological schemes that persisted into the 1950s, humans were divided into Kulturvölker (cultural peoples) and Naturvölker (natural or primitive peoples).∞∞∏ Although long-standing civilizations such as India and China were generally regarded as belonging to the Kulturvölker, some of the commentary around the Cultural Revolution seemed to posit a homology between Western culture and Kultur in general. Bauer interpreted the attacks on foreigners and the opposition to ‘‘everything Western and

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European’’ as suggesting that what was happening was less a cultural revolution than ‘‘a revolution against culture.’’∞∞π Meyer, by contrast, universalized Kultur as a notion aimed toward a future in which particularistic features of ethnicity or nationality were constantly disappearing in the process of ongoing revolution. Meyer’s productivity-oriented interpretation of the Cultural Revolution dovetailed with that of Joachim Schickel, the most consistent source of information about Maoism in West German New Left circles and a critic of anarchist interpretations of Chinese communism.∞∞∫ Schickel traveled to China in the early 1960s and frequently wrote articles and radio broadcast pieces providing historical background, linguistic parsing, and unswervingly positive assessments of the developments in China.∞∞Ω In 1969, he translated and edited a collection of documents related to the Cultural Revolution of nearly 600 pages that was published by Bernward Vesper’s Voltaire press.∞≤≠ Like Meyer, Schickel sought to connect the Cultural Revolution to the larger history of socialism, as in his pithy assertion of 1969: ‘‘Cultural revolution: postulated by Lenin in 1923, proclaimed by Stalin in 1928, finally organized by Mao Zedong in 1966.’’∞≤∞ He also criticized the media’s horror-story narrations of the Cultural Revolution, which, he wrote, ‘‘used the fear of the unknown to give its readers the creeps’’ in depictions of the Red Guards without acknowledging their precedent. The Red Guards, he pointed out, had been first seen under the same name in the form of armed textile-factory workers in the Russian Revolution in 1905, and then again in March 1917 as a militia, resisting being disarmed by the provisional government.∞≤≤ Schickel also distinguished the communes of the Cultural Revolution from the production collectives of the Great Leap Forward, writing that ‘‘what has been conceived since 1966 as a ‘commune’ is the memory of the Paris Commune from 1871 in practice.’’∞≤≥ Schickel and Meyer, who provided the most extensive discussion of the Cultural Revolution on the West German New Left, linked it to a longer history of socialism. Both used analyses of Chinese communism to take the Soviet bloc to task for deviating from its own history. By connecting events in China to the Soviet Proletkult movement, which was disbanded by Stalin in 1932, Meyer proposed cultural revolution as a line of socialist practice that conveniently swerved away from the Soviet Union at the beginning of its most blatant phase of repression.∞≤∂ In this way, allegiance to the Chinese Cultural Revolution could be the means of being more

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Soviet than the Soviets themselves. As with other New Leftists, Schickel and Meyer agreed that Mao’s innovation was his recognition that antagonism was not resolved by the ascension to power. The definition of culture that they proposed di√ered from the mainstream Kultur in its temporal orientation; where anthropological and humanist ideas of Kultur looked backward to an endowment in the past, New Left Kultur posited a future convergence of socialist societies. Yet while Meyer and Schickel claimed to universalize the Cultural Revolution, their emphasis on productivity and ‘‘modern work processes’’ also foreclosed the possibility that Maoism might be seeking new means to measure success and progress other than those recognized by narratives of modernization. Meyer’s prioritization of industrialization in his interpretation of the Cultural Revolution reflected his a≈liation with the traditionalist position within the sds and distinguished him from the West Berlin–based antiauthoritarian response to the events in China. As discussed in previous chapters, the traditionalists, concentrated around the university in Marburg, di√ered from the antiauthoritarian faction by maintaining considerable faith in the political potential of the Western working class and the possibility of a progressive role for the Eastern European socialist countries.∞≤∑ They were also generally skeptical about the techniques of provocation and shock preferred by the antiauthoritarians, who tended to emphasize spurring changes in the ‘‘superstructure’’ of consciousness at the apparent expense of attention to issues of the material ‘‘base.’’ Meyer’s emphasis on the economic outcomes of the Cultural Revolution represented a di√erent reading from that of the West Berlin activists discussed earlier, who celebrated the spontaneity and action of the Red Guards. While Meyer found confirmation of the gradual trajectory of socialist countries toward industrialization in China, the antiauthoritarians looked to the Cultural Revolution for a form of politics that might transcend productivism. Although the positive content of the future society they envisioned was underdeveloped, the very goal of radical action for its own sake still may have brought them closer to the intentions of Mao at the time than Meyer’s perhaps overly tidy modernization explanation. Maurice Meisner insists, ‘‘If the cultural revolution was a ‘utopian’ movement, it was (unlike the Great Leap) marked by a strangely negative utopianism, its author far more preoccupied with the weight of the past than with any positive vision of the future.’’∞≤∏ While both Lenin and

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Marx had prescribed building on the historical achievements and developments of bourgeois capitalism, Meisner points out that Mao felt the need for a total rupture with the past.∞≤π The West German antiauthoritarian version of Maoism, which reached its peak of popularity in 1968, was marked by a vocal rejection of the goal of both socialist and capitalist modernization for a largely undefined future. In February 1969, the antiauthoritarian West Berlin sds member Peter Schneider wrote what is perhaps the definitive statement of antiauthoritarian cultural revolution for the literary journal Kursbuch. Calling cultural revolution ‘‘the conquest of reality by imagination,’’ he defined it as thoroughgoing social liberation—‘‘not only an abolition of the relationship of capital but of all relationships in which human is made into commodity and commodity into subject: the relationship between the sexes, between parents and children, between neighbor and neighbor, between automobile and automobile owner. It even asks, for example, whether personal cars are still tolerable at all.’’∞≤∫ Schneider’s utopian prescription of cultural revolution—to ‘‘move from the liberation of society from capital to the liberation of imagination from the performance principle’’—clearly di√ered from Meyer’s re-functioning of culture for the purposes of industrialization.∞≤Ω By challenging the productivism of the traditionalists, the antiauthoritarians’ own universalization of the category of cultural revolution ignored the fact that Third World demands overall continued to orbit around economic development and modernization.∞≥≠ As scholars have pointed out, antiauthoritarian New Leftists tended to neglect specificity and generalize ‘‘global models’’ out of national cases.∞≥∞ Using Maoism to legitimate their actionist model of protest, West Germans arguably sacrificed the attention to human rights and alternative visions of development that motivated Third World activism in the first part of the decade for the belief that continual transgression of structures of authority and established modes of behavior and discussion would lead the way spontaneously to a liberated future. From late 1966 to late 1968, West German New Leftists practiced their antiauthoritarian versions of cultural revolution in confrontations with professors, meetings with other activists, congresses, and demonstrations (see figure 24). Students hung self-made posters in occupied academic buildings after the Chinese model.∞≥≤ Peter Mosler recalls the ccp’s decree about the Great Proletarian Cultural Revolution being recited aloud

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24. Students adorn themselves with the robes of the fu’s president in June 1968 after occupying his o≈ce to protest police clearing the occupied East Asian studies building. Photograph: Landesarchiv Berlin.

during an occupation. It read: ‘‘A large number of previously unknown revolutionary young people have become courageous and daring trailblazers. They are energetic and intelligent. They criticize matters in their fundamentals and attack the open and hidden representatives of the bourgeoisie with determination.’’∞≥≥ The text was a declaration of righteousness that implied a privileged role for young students and intellectuals. Like the foco (miniature guerrilla group) of the Cuban Revolution, the ongoing Cultural Revolution proposed a form of socialist organization other than the party.∞≥∂ Unlike in France, where Maoist splinter groups formed from within the French Communist Party, West German Maoism lacked all party structure until late 1968, leaving it as an open space for improvisation.∞≥∑ Koenen has written about how radical leftists invoked Mao to justify a whole spectrum of causes, from the demand for free condoms and free drug use to discussions of alternative childhood education and ‘‘urban guerrilla’’ arson actions.∞≥∏ The lack of structure made Maoism, as he put it, a ‘‘di√use general mood’’ before late 1968 and even afterward.∞≥π

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Some examples serve to illustrate the diversity of the use of Mao. In 1967, students from the Stuttgart art school marched through the streets with a ten-foot-high portrait of the Chinese leader, reciting passages from Mao’s book and handing out leaflets announcing the need for a cultural revolution in provincial West Germany.∞≥∫ In 1969, a group of former sds activists in Munich self-consciously referred to Lin’s lesson of ‘‘encircling the city from the countryside,’’ mapping out youth detention centers, discotheques, and other gathering places in the Bavarian countryside as likely sites for recruiting cadres.∞≥Ω In 1969, members of a West Berlin commune decorated their Christmas tree with forty ‘‘Mao Bibles’’ to ‘‘document the particularity of our position, also to Christmas.’’∞∂≠ Mao seemed to provide a roadmap to a range of actions, from insurrection to changes in everyday habits within the ‘‘sphere of reproduction’’ in the home.

Sofia 1968: Antiauthoritarian Maoism in Action Despite their global worldview, young activists had few opportunities to practice cultural revolution beyond the national context. An exception came at the World Youth Festival held in Sofia, Bulgaria, from July 27 to August 6, 1968, which o√ered a chance for antiauthoritarians to put their ideas into practice outside the Federal Republic, with extensive contact with members of the Third World. The Sofia World Youth Festival was the second of its kind in the 1960s. It was a pageant-like gathering that included sporting, cultural, and political events organized and funded by the Soviet bloc in the hope of building goodwill, particularly among participants from the Third World.∞∂∞ The focus of the festival was opposition to the Vietnam War and solidarity with Third World liberation struggles, and it brought 20,000 participants from more than 140 countries to Bulgaria.∞∂≤ Neither Chinese nor Cuban representatives were in attendance at the festival, the former increasingly estranged from the Soviets since 1963 and the latter having withdrawn when the organizers refused to add ‘‘revolutionary action’’ to the o≈cial slogan, ‘‘For Solidarity, Peace, and Friendship.’’∞∂≥ The Cuban Organization of Solidarity of the Peoples of Asia, Africa, and Latin America objected to the festival organizers’ invitation to the United Nations. The international organization, it argued, was an

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instrument of ‘‘American imperialism,’’ having sanctioned the Korean War and turned a blind eye to the U.S. invasion of the Dominican Republic in 1964 and the attempted invasion of Cuba in 1961.∞∂∂ The Young Communist League of Cuba explained its absence by the fact that the festival stopped short of sanctioning armed struggle as the means of carrying out revolution.∞∂∑ West German antiauthoritarians set out to transgress the rules of the festival. Their expressed aim was to ‘‘break open’’ the ‘‘front’’ created between party and youth leaders from the Soviet bloc and to ‘‘make the general line the object of discussion’’ by challenging the unquestioning conformity to authority demonstrated by youth from state-socialist countries.∞∂∏ As they saw it, ‘‘A festival like this must contain critique and self-critique, information and argumentation, as well as make possible a discussion of strategy and tactics against imperialism at a national as well as international level.’’∞∂π Not all students in the West German delegations were antiauthoritarians, though their faction included most of the representatives from the sds, the liberal and social-democratic youth groups, and the Verband Deutscher Studentenschaften (Association of German Students).∞∂∫ The diversity of the 500-person group became visible and audible in the opening ceremonies as the antiauthoritarians greeted the Soviet delegation by shouting ‘‘Mao!’’ and carried portraits of the Chinese leader they had secured from the Chinese Embassy the day before.∞∂Ω The Soviet partyline ‘‘traditionalists’’ shouted ‘‘Lenin!’’ while the moderates, including Christian democrats, were the only ones to applaud the Czechoslovak delegation as it came in carrying pictures of Alexander Dubˇcek.∞∑≠ In the absence of Chinese and Cuban representatives, the West German antiauthoritarians saw themselves as both stand-ins and ambassadors for the excluded Third World elements, visiting the Chinese and Cuban embassies and demonstratively chanting ‘‘Castro–Mao–Guevara’’ at the closing ceremonies.∞∑∞ At one point, the sds members K. D. Wol√ and Björn Pätzoldt used megaphones to complain in front of 2,000 people about the lack of Chinese and Cuban representatives at the festival.∞∑≤ The Chinese seemed ambivalent about the West Germans’ choice to act as their proxy. Although the Chinese welcomed the West German students into the embassy, they declined the desire of the radical students to have an extended conversation.∞∑≥ The Chinese government had begun o≈cially to praise the Western European New Left after the uprising in

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Paris in May and had organized large public demonstrations in support of the ‘‘progressive student movement’’ in Europe and North America.∞∑∂ Yet according to a contemporary analysis, it remained particular in its assessment of the New Left, insisting that Mao’s thought and the Cultural Revolution were the sole inspiration for the international revolts, making the ccp their rightful mouthpiece.∞∑∑ Because Che Guevara and Régis Debray were targets of Chinese criticism, and some Chinese-oriented Latin American communist parties were opposing Guevarist guerrilla groups, embassy o≈cials may have objected both to the usurpation of the leadership role by the West German students and their association with advocates of the Cuban model of guerrilla struggle.∞∑∏ Observing that ‘‘revolutionary Third World organizations’’ at the festival had been replaced by ‘‘revisionist Communist Party–loyal’’ organizations or delegations put together from students at the Lumumba University, the West German antiauthoritarians worked to support delegations at the festival that were critical of the Soviets.∞∑π During a teach-in on Greece that they helped organize, antiauthoritarians physically defended the speaker, a member of Lambrakis Democratic Youth, a group also active in West Germany, from ‘‘orthodox Stalinist’’ Greek representatives.∞∑∫ They convinced the group from Okinawa to leave the orthodox line of the Japanese delegation and take part in an unregistered demonstration.∞∑Ω Festival organizers had also attempted to replace the Confederation of Iranian Students, National Union (cisnu) delegation with a small group of pro-Soviet Iranian students.∞∏≠ Bulgarian secret police seized the Iranian flag and name placard from cisnu students when they marched with the West German sds.∞∏∞ The West German delegation sat down in the street in protest, delaying the opening ceremonies for an hour with no result, and the Iranian students left the festival early.∞∏≤ West German students criticized the o≈cial exclusion of cisnu on leaflets and in teach-ins in the following days.∞∏≥ The Yugoslavian and Czechoslovakian delegates, also alienated from the Soviets because of their intolerance toward reform, agreed to build a front with the antiauthoritarians.∞∏∂ The Czechoslovaks expressed their alliance at one of the festival’s mass events with a chant of ‘‘Rudi Dutschke!’’∞∏∑ When the sds leader K. D. Wol√ complained at a meeting that the festival organizers were ‘‘manipulating participants and restricting genuine discussion,’’ a Bulgarian compared him to the Nazi propagandist Josef Goebbels. While attempting to seize the microphone to reply, Wol√ was

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dragged from the room by Bulgarian undercover police.∞∏∏ The Yugoslavian and Czechoslovakian delegations walked out of the meeting with West Germans in solidarity with the silenced Wol√.∞∏π By supporting delegations that did not identify with the Soviet line, West German antiauthoritarians sought to act on their intention ‘‘to lead a discussion over revolutionary strategies and tactics represented in Sofia by minority groups.’’∞∏∫ In the eyes of youth loyal to Eastern European states, this strategy served only to dissolve the potential strength of a consistent bloc and ‘‘furnish the imperialists with gloating commentary on the festival.’’∞∏Ω The antiauthoritarians insisted in response that they were ’’interested in creating unity, but not an unreflected-on (unreflektierte) united front.’’ This, they believed, ‘‘can only be created on the basis of discussion.’’∞π≠ The antiauthoritarians’ obsession with discussion was made concrete in a series of teach-ins in their section of the festival, which were ‘‘hardly attended by Soviet youth.’’∞π∞ Some members of the West German group chanted the word itself—‘‘Discussion, discussion!’’—during long speeches in the seminars and staged a ‘‘spontaneity test’’ in which several of them stood and vigorously applauded a ‘‘demonstrably unimportant’’ section of the speech.∞π≤ ‘‘The room,’’ they noted smugly, ‘‘rose to their feet’’ in imitation and ‘‘clapped frenetically.’’∞π≥ Asked by a Soviet student at the festival what program his organization had, a West German antiauthoritarian replied that it had no program.∞π∂ Its program, in the antiauthoritarians’ version of West German Maoism, was provocation; its strategy, ‘‘unmask bureaucracy and annihilate depoliticization.’’∞π∑ The West German antiauthoritarians’ most visible provocation was an unregistered demonstration against the Vietnam War in front of the American Embassy. They announced the event on a banner they had smuggled into the opening ceremonies and spent much e√ort in recruiting student groups to join them in an action that orthodox delegations saw as impugning their Bulgarian hosts and the Soviet Union.∞π∏ At the demonstration, West German antiauthoritarians, led by Wol√, physically clashed with ‘‘traditionalist’’ West German sds members loyal to the Soviet Union who were working side by side with Bulgarian secret police.∞ππ At what would be the last sds delegates’ conference in September 1968 in Frankfurt, five ‘‘traditionalists’’ were expelled from the organization for cooperating with Bulgarian secret police to suppress the demonstration in Sofia.∞π∫ Other students left the sds with those expelled, founding the Marxistischer Studentenbund Spartakus, the first of

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many splinter groups, which would contribute to the ultimate dissolution of the sds by spring 1970.∞πΩ The activity of West German students in Sofia in 1968, where they set out to stage a ‘‘cultural revolution against bureaucratic and authoritarian structures,’’ contained both continuities and ruptures with their Third World activism in the first half of the decade.∞∫≠ In the early 1960s, West German students had appealed to both the national and international communities in the language of human rights to defend their colleagues in the Third World from political oppression, racism, and colonialism. Although they continued to create a space for articulation for marginalized political actors, by 1968 they had abandoned the liberal idiom of human rights as discredited, above all, by the ongoing war in Vietnam. Their new form of politics was radical in the literal sense: they assumed that the content of their goals could not be predetermined and would form in the process of action. Their means targeted the rules of discourse, which they sought to break at every occasion and, they hoped, prompt a larger rupture with what Dutschke called the ‘‘managed consciousness (verwaltetes Bewusstsein)’’ of First World populations.∞∫∞ As Peter Schneider put it in his article in Kursbuch in 1969, the Cultural Revolution had taught them that the first step in social transformation was to use ‘‘methods of direct action and agitation’’ to ‘‘produce a revolutionary consciousness.’’∞∫≤ Cultural revolution meant many things in West Germany and West Berlin in the late 1960s. For mainstream society, it was a frightening specter of youth revolt both distant and domestic. For socialist students, it provided a means of provocation and a way to stake out a symbolic position beyond the Cold War binary of Western capitalism and Soviet communism. By freeing socialist practice from its focus on economics, the notion of cultural revolution legitimized attention to discussion forms, interpersonal behavior, and the daily forms of bureaucratic authority as the starting point of politics. These meanings are at odds with current scholarly equations of cultural revolution with ‘‘modernization.’’∞∫≥ Such redefinitions accurately describe the unexpected consequences of leftist mobilization. Yet they fail to acknowledge the act of alchemy performed by transforming the intent of radical students to destroy capitalism, seize state power, and establish international socialism into a boon for West Germany’s ‘‘binding to the West.’’∞∫∂

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The attraction of many socialist students to Chinese communism also represented a change in the nature of Third World solidarity. As discussed in previous chapters, concrete collaboration with African, Asian, and Latin American students and an emphasis on demands for human rights drove West German Third World activism in the first half of the 1960s. With no personal connection to the Red Guard or the Vietcong guerrilla fighter, who became an equally important figure in socialist students’ imagination in 1967 and 1968, Germans created idealized versions of Third World revolutionaries that had little to do with reality and rejected rights talk as obfuscatory ‘‘bourgeois morality.’’ Self-identification as Chinese was an act of defiant solidarity with a population vilified in West Germany, but it was also an act of arrogance that assumed other national or racial identities were open for West German appropriation. In their version of cultural revolution, West German radicals posited a universalistic concept of culture beyond bounded notions of race, nation, or ethnicity. Although clearly liberating, this vision also erased the particular experience of non-white populations, a fact that had consequences for leftist politics in Germany well beyond the decade of the 1960s.

CONCLUSION

On November 6, 1968, the monuments mentioned at the beginning of this book returned to the news. Five students charged with attempting to topple the statue of the colonial hero Hermann Wißmann in Hamburg arrived for their court date and brought 1,000 supporters with them. Denied a courtroom large enough for all, the students refused to stand trial and marched to the university at the head of a huge crowd. When police o≈cers gave the order to arrest, sixty students slipped paper-bag masks over their heads, and the defendants disappeared into the mass of people. Arriving at the plinth where the colonial hero once stood, the five defendants emerged and climbed up to take his place. The gathered students elected the would-be iconoclasts as ‘‘monuments’’ and warned the police that they would charge them with ‘‘desecration of a monument’’ if the students were removed.∞ The November action was a successful piece of protest theater. The students used their self-confidence and their numbers to flout authority and show the malleability of power relations. The action also told an unintentional truth about the fate of Third World politics in West Germany’s 1968. The original motivation for toppling the statue, the displacement of the Eurocentric world, vanished in the cat-and-mouse game with the authority figure. Borrowing the paper bags Iranians used to protect themselves from deportation or worse, the West German students ended by electing themselves as monuments. Beyond the pioneering work of activist-historians in the 1970s and 1980s, the extensive collaboration between West German and Third World students has barely existed in the cultural and scholarly memory of 1968. Until the recent attempts at revision by a small group of scholars, New Left internationalism has most often been seen as a form of narcissism. In 1988, former New Leftists gathered to discuss West German Third Worldism under the title ‘‘Internationalism as a Flight from Reality.’’ West German

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internationalism, one participant observed, ‘‘only lasted as long as it affirmed their own ideas and imaginings.’’≤ Peter Gäng echoed the sentiment, describing West German Third Worldism as a return to ‘‘the image of the noble savage.’’≥ Although intended as self-criticism, such descriptions dissolved Third World politics, casting them as symptoms of West German political immaturity. In his own comments, Bahman Nirumand challenged the discussion’s framing and e√ectively posed the question, ‘‘Flight from whose reality?’’ Against the regrets of the German participants, Nirumand argued, ‘‘The support we got here was of great significance from the standpoint of the countries of the Third World.’’∂ New Left internationalism in the West, he insisted, had a politicizing e√ect on members of the Third World themselves: ‘‘Every member of the Third World was pushed into the role of political hero, whether he wanted it or not. I experienced quite curious situations in which people who actually had nothing to do with politics were suddenly pushed into the role of engaging politically and as performing as the heroes of history.’’∑ For future internationalism, Nirumand suggested the same demands that he and the Confederation of Iranian Students, National Union (cisnu), had made throughout the 1960s: the protection of basic human rights. He argued against the notion that the same rights did not apply across cultural divisions, saying, ‘‘This is where the actual internationalism begins: engagement for the maintenance or introduction of the human right that people cannot simply be killed.’’∏ Nirumand pointed out that such a right did not yet exist in his country. His political beliefs had forced him to flee from Iran for a second time at the end of the 1970s. An anecdote illustrates Nirumand’s point. In August 1970, seventy Iranian students invaded and occupied the Iranian Consulate in Munich with black ski masks pulled down over their faces, holding it for six hours until forcibly evacuated by the police.π The replacement of the paper bag with the balaclava seems to foreshadow the turn to terrorism and the kidnappings, hostage taking, and hijackings that would dominate the cultural landscape of the 1970s. But the story changes when one follows the protesters to trial. There, with his ski mask removed, the leader, the thirty-seven-year-old political scientist Djafar Sadigh from Berlin, explained that the students had occupied the consulate to ‘‘make the world aware of the terror and death sentences in Iran.’’ Italian, French, and German lawyers representing Amnesty International, the League for Hu-

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man Rights, and the International Association of Democratic Lawyers— organizations that had risen to international prominence in the 1960s— had traveled to Munich to testify on his behalf. Although the judge ruled against the Iranian protesters, a mainstream journalist expressed support when he wrote, ‘‘Without the persecution of the opposition, without torture, without death penalties for political undesirables, there would have been no occupation of the consulate in Munich. And the judge must not close his eyes to that fact.’’∫ For many both inside and outside the New Left, West Germany had become part of a shared communicative space with the broader non-Western world by the end of the decade. Making distant oppression visible represented a prerogative that bridged the gap created by the state’s attorney between the ‘‘rights of the Iranian people’’ and ‘‘legal order in West Germany.’’Ω As far as possible, this book has attempted to provide the parallax view on Third World politics in 1960s West Germany suggested by Nirumand and Sadigh. Departing from the common reduction of Third World politics to the question of militancy, this book has shown how Third World students used the political potential of the First World, as well as the reverse. The Third World certainly functioned as a projection screen for the New Left in the West Germany of the 1960s, but it was also something more. Personal collaboration with African, Asian, and Latin American students and intellectuals expanded the field of political action for West German leftists. West German and foreign students tested the parameters of allowable political discourse and forced the question of whether non-German citizens enjoyed political rights in the postwar republic. Cooperation with foreign students encouraged activists to draw connections between the diverse national situations in the Third World. The sense of participation in an international struggle grew for leftists after June 2, 1967, when West German protesters faced the armed blows of West German police and Iranian nationalists alongside their Iranian colleagues. The death of Benno Ohnesorg at the demonstration in West Berlin lent weight to leftists’ claims that the West German government, a coalition of the Social Democratic Party and the Christian Democratic Union since December 1966, was preparing to stifle internal dissent through heavy-handed measures. Social democrats’ support for the proposed Emergency Laws and the U.S. war in Vietnam alienated leftist students from their government and the form of democracy it represented. A speaker at the Vietnam congress in West Berlin in 1968 con-

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veyed how the disturbing facts of the war had sapped the legitimacy of liberal capitalist democracy: If it is true, that the United States of North America are in the process of exterminating a people; if it is true that American pilots are daily, hourly roasting children, dismembering the sick, women, and old men; if it is true that the Americans are gassing Vietnamese farmers and poisoning them with chemicals; and if it is true that they are pushing prisoners from flying helicopters; and if it is furthermore true that the Federal Republic of Germany and its Senate and the delegates in Bonn and West Berlin are supporting this gigantic slaughter, then it has to finally be said: we are not governed by idiots; we are governed by criminals.∞≠

The gap between liberal norm and reality opened up by the war—the perceived move from idiocy to criminality—radicalized many leftists and cast doubt on the possibility of reforming the existing system. ‘‘The war in Indochina,’’ as two former activists have written, ‘‘became a crucial moment of political education’’ for young West Germans, providing evidence of the potential brutality of governments that claimed to adhere to the principles of freedom and human rights. At the same time, ‘‘Vietnam was a possibility.’’∞∞ A small nation fighting o√ the world’s most heavily armed power proved the alterability of the world situation and o√ered many West German radicals the vision of ‘‘an egalitarian society free of repression and exploitation.’’∞≤ Despite its utopian element and often wildly optimistic assessments of the facts, West German Third Worldists did not inhabit a realm of fantasy separate from political reality for New Leftists. Insights from Third World socialism presented them with challenges about how to confront the institutions and patterns of behavior that they felt reproduced repressive forms of authority. The reception of Third World socialism played a crucial role in reclaiming democracy from political-party-style representation and refilling it with the historical tradition of direct democracy. Oskar Negt, a junior professor of sociology in Frankfurt in the late 1960s, describes direct democracy as the ‘‘new’’ of the New Left.∞≥ The writings of Mao Zedong and Che Guevara provided models for political action outside of party and bureaucracy and included intellectuals and students, along with peasants and the working class, as key agents of social transformation. Kurt Steinhaus of the Marburg sds began his book on ‘‘international

204 Conclusion

class struggle’’ in 1967 with an epigraph from Guevara: ‘‘The ice must be broken where it is thinnest.’’∞∂ The relative ‘‘thickness of the ice’’ in West German society was a constant obstacle for the New Left. How could a prosperous nation in which the socialist leadership had been wiped out, had migrated East, or had allied with the United States a generation before possibly see the need for revolution? The recommendations of Jürgen Habermas and Wolfgang Abendroth to bolster the critical public sphere and deepen coalitions within the extra-parliamentary left were clearly influential. Yet New Leftists were also responding to Third World developments when they aimed their interventions at the expanded sphere they referred to as culture. The Chinese focus on the relations rather than the forces of production, along with the Cuban emphasis on literacy and education, nourished the belief that changing mentalities was a precondition to changing class structures.∞∑ Guevara’s stress on the pedagogical role of the partisan in creating the ‘‘subjective conditions’’ for revolution legitimized the political function of West German intellectuals. The New Left’s portrayal of a Third World vanguard ‘‘leading the political enlightenment of the masses about their own objective interests’’ can also be read as self-description.∞∏ Despite apparently vastly divergent conditions, the problem seemed to be the same in the First World and the Third World: populations operating under false consciousness required a vanguard to educate, enlighten, and guide them.

Anti-Imperialism’s Blind Spots The nature of West German New Left internationalism transformed over the course of the decade. The individual solidarity campaigns that began in the 1960s persisted but were eclipsed by anti-imperialism’s macrocritiques by its end. Although anti-imperialists placed great significance on the catalytic role of Third World struggles and benefited from their insights, they also had the tendency to replace specificity with abstraction and individuals with systems. Such a move from the particular to the abstract may be unavoidable in formulating a larger analysis, especially in the context of a rapidly growing movement searching for ideas to give itself structure. Yet as a worldview, it created telling blind spots. One such blind spot emerged around humanitarianism. Although a partial legacy of the decade’s transnational partnerships, humanitarian activism fell under suspicion from the New Left in the late 1960s. Anti-

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imperialists believed that the humanitarian perspective perceived individual cases of su√ering but failed to see the larger exploitative structures that had produced them. Steinhaus argued in 1967 that anti-imperialists saw a unity between class struggle and Third World conflicts. He wrote that solidarity with ‘‘the actual ‘wretched of the earth’ in theory and practice is always the struggle against one’s one ruling class.’’∞π He felt that the goal was to transcend the appeal to ‘‘pure humanity’’ or humanitarian principle and see the mutual necessity of socialist revolution for the liberation of the First World and the Third World. Such an approach seemed to dignify Third World political actors and recognize them as interdependent partners. Concretely, though, antiimperialists signaled their dissociation from humanitarianism by shifting attention away from individuals and toward structures. New Leftists went as far as to denounce personal connections as fatal flaws in solidarity. The author of a ‘‘manifesto against blind humanism’’ signed by the Social Democratic University Union, Humanist Student Union, and the sds in 1967 criticized the author Günter Grass’s public advocacy on behalf of persecuted dissident intellectuals in Eastern Europe who were also personal acquaintances, writing that ‘‘fraternization with people for their own sake prevents the distinction between systemic criminality and historically superfluous instances of individual oppression in the Soviet Union. Therein lie the objective constraints of the international solidarity of intellectuals.’’∞∫ The ‘‘solidarity of intellectuals’’ criticized in the manifesto closely resembles the Third World activism of the beginning of the decade, which had operated in large part through personal connections and ‘‘historically superfluous instances of individual oppression.’’ By stigmatizing personal connections, anti-imperialists threatened to drain Third World individuals of their agency, turning them into placeholders in a theory of international change. Even an activist as sensitive to the importance of individual connections as Rudi Dutschke manifested this depersonalization when, as noted in the introduction, he spoke of First World alliances with the Third World as ‘‘the coalition of the thinking with the su√ering’’ in 1966.∞Ω The dominant representations of Third World individuals as either injured bodies or heroic icons by 1968 reflected the displacement of the individual connections that had originally catalyzed Third World activism. In the process of abstraction, the object of solidarity became a cipher, unmarked by history, gender, or individuality. The selective reception of the work of Frantz Fanon in West Germany

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illustrates another blind spot of anti-imperialism on the question of race. Although sds members had been reading The Wretched of the Earth since its original publication in French in 1961, Fanon’s first book Black Skin, White Masks, was not translated into German until 1980, and West German New Left theories of anti-imperialism did not incorporate its conclusions about the enduring psychological trauma of non-white experience in colonial societies.≤≠ In her review of The Wretched of the Earth published in 1966, the sds member Renate Zahar blithely neglected Fanon’s earlier conclusions when she approvingly cited Jean-Paul Sartre’s statement in 1948 that négritude, the Afrocentric literary movement, ‘‘as the antithesis of the ideology of white supremacy, prepares the synthesis of a human society without races.’’≤∞ In Black Skin, White Masks, Fanon described his response to Sartre’s prediction of a future ‘‘society without races’’ as devastation. ‘‘I felt that I had been robbed of my last chance,’’ he wrote.≤≤ While Fanon himself became a critic of négritude by the late 1950s, it was an agonizing process for him, and he remained cognizant of why a worldview that redeemed what had been denigrated—the social fact of blackness—could seem subjectively like salvation. While Fanon called for the creation of a ‘‘new man’’ at the end of The Wretched of the Earth as the only means of overcoming the internalized dehumanization of colonial socialization, white West German New Leftists repeated the slogan without the burden of racialized experience. Perhaps symptomatically, the West Berlin sds member Traugott König even mistranslated the final key line, translating the idiomatic French expression ‘‘Il faut faire peau neuve,’’ meaning ‘‘One must change one’s way of being,’’ literally as ‘‘We must create a new skin (wir müssen eine neue Haut scha√en).’’≤≥ The West German New Left’s call for a ‘‘society without races’’ may have been liberating for them in their desire ‘‘to escape the despicable skin of being a German,’’ as Peter Schneider put it, but it also dispensed too quickly with the lived realities of people of color.

The Legacies of Third World Activism In the decades after 1968, feminists, people of color, German Jews, and others directed light at the blind spots of anti-imperialism, asserting what the New Left dismissed as ‘‘secondary contradictions’’ as the bases for their own struggles.≤∂ While these undertakings had complex connec-

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tions to Third World politics that demand further study, the most direct legacy of the New Left engagement with the Third World were the parallel strains of anti-imperialism and humanitarianism. Despite the commonplace assumption of 1968 as the high point of leftist mobilization, the numbers of politically organized West German leftists greatly expanded in the 1970s. Gerd Koenen has pointed out that, while the sds had about 2,500 members at its peak and brought 15,000 people into the streets for the Vietnam demonstration in West Berlin in February 1968, between 80,000 and 100,000 people were registered in left-revolutionary and communist groups in the 1970s.≤∑ Sven Reichardt and Detlef Siegfried add that about 80,000 people were engaged in more than 11,500 alternative projects by 1980, continuing to turn attention to the ‘‘sphere of reproduction’’ through cultural centers, agricultural communes, self-run businesses, and alternative schools.≤∏ The stronghold of revolutionary anti-imperialism, with its opposition to any proposed reform of the capitalist system, was in the K-Gruppen (communist groups) of the 1970s, which frequently oriented themselves to the Chinese communist line.≤π Anti-imperialism was also central to the politics of the Autonome scene, which emerged in the squats of West German cities at the end of the 1970s.≤∫ Campaigns in support of the Palestinian cause, which emerged in West Germany only around 1969, became influential and, because of the Nazi past and persistent charges of leftist anti-Semitism, highly controversial in the decades that followed.≤Ω The leftist adoption of Third World themes, and the Palestinian cause in particular, was stigmatized in the 1970s because of acts of international terrorism, above all the attack at the Munich Olympics in 1972, but also because of West German left-wing terrorists. The Red Army Faction, among others, carried out their campaigns of armed insurgency amid both real and rhetorical connections to Third World revolutionary movements.≥≠ While anti-imperialism remained largely ghettoized in the K-Gruppen in the 1970s, political organization around human rights in the Third World achieved a much higher public profile. Werner Balsen and Karl Rössel note that scholars regularly and unjustly overlook the wide range of Third World activism when they catalogue the ‘‘new social movements’’ that emerged from the 1960s.≥∞ Amnesty International, which had established itself in West Germany through collaboration with Iranian dissident students in the 1960s, became a fixture of the nongovernmental landscape. The 1970s also saw the expansion of Medico International,

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Terre des Hommes, and the Gesellschaft für bedrohte Völker (Society for Threatened Peoples), three humanitarian organizations formed between 1967 and 1970 by West German leftists originally mobilized against the Vietnam War.≥≤ The Humanist Union, which, as described in chapter 3, first turned its attention from domestic civic matters to global political issues in the context of the Vietnam War, continued to focus on the larger world in the decades after the 1960s. Despite the programmatic call of anti-imperialists to raise attention from individuals to structures, West German radicals continued to mobilize to defend the political rights of foreign dissidents after 1968. Niels Seibert has recently outlined West German activism in defense of political refugees from the late 1960s to the early 1980s.≥≥ Manuela Bojadˇzijev and Massimo Perinelli have dissolved the artificial divide between immigration history and social movement history to show lines of collaboration between migrants and German activists through the 1960s and 1970s.≥∂ The exciting work of these scholars supports the argument of this book that personal connections to foreign students and intellectuals were key catalysts to West German Third World activism and awareness. It was not abstract analysis of the world situation that first led the New Left to Third World issues but the experience of being pushed into action by fellow Third World students and intellectuals. The precarious legal position of foreign dissidents meant that their activism was a spark, often stamped out by state or police action. Yet these acts of personalized politics remained the strongest basis for a conception of the Third World in 1960s West Germany that did not signify su√ering, poverty, and futile violence, but a political entity containing individuals with the capacity and will to speak in their own name.

NOTES

Introduction The source for the introduction’s epigraph is Mandeng, ‘‘Wie ich den Deutsche sehe,’’ 245. 1. Holtkamp, ‘‘Neger-märchen,’’ 3. 2. While the attempt to topple the statue on August 8, 1967, described here failed, students were successful in their second attempt, on September 27, 1967: Seibert, Vergessene Proteste, 52–53. For ongoing projects related to the monuments and the colonial history of Hamburg, see the website at http://www .afrika-hamburg.de (accessed July 16, 2011). 3. ‘‘Denkmalsprozess gegen ‘Denkmäler,’ ’’ Frankfurter Rundschau, November 7, 1968. 4. Quoted in Seibert, Vergessene Proteste, 53. 5. For a solid account of the structural roots of the West German New Left, see Markovits and Gorski, The German Left, 46–58. 6. Holtkamp, ‘‘Kubanisches Tagebuch,’’ 14. On the West German New Left’s relationship to Cuba, see Hosek, ‘‘ ‘Subaltern Nationalism’ and the West Berlin Anti-Authoritarians,’’ 57–81; Hosek, Sun, Sex and Socialism: Cuba in the German Imaginary. 7. Nirumand, Persien, Modell eines Entwicklungslandes oder Die Diktatur der freien Welt, 9. 8. For examples of the ‘‘projection screen’’ usage in recent scholarly assessments of West German Third Worldism, see Hein, Die Westdeutschen und die Dritte Welt, 304; Juchler, ‘‘Trikontinentale und Studentenbewegung,’’ 205; Schmidtke, Der Aufbruch der jungen Intelligenz, 142. For an example from the reflections of former activists, see Peter Schneider in Nirumand et al., ‘‘Ringvorlesung vom 15. Juni 1988,’’ 61. For productive uses of this metaphor in understanding the nature of West German internationalism, see Rethmann, ‘‘On Militancy, Sort of,’’ 81; Teraoka, East, West, and Others, 165. 9. For chief proponents of the liberalization thesis, see Brand et al., Aufbruch in eine andere Gesellschaft, 71; Kraushaar, 1968 als Mythos, Chi√re und Zäsur, 47. See also Hockenos, Joschka Fischer and the Making of the Berlin Republic.

210 Notes to Introduction 10. The oft-cited term ‘‘fundamental liberalization’’ first appeared in Jürgen Habermas, ‘‘Der Marsch durch die Institutionen hat auch die cdu erreicht,’’ Frankfurter Rundschau, March 11, 1988. For examples of citations of his characterization of the 1960s as a period of ‘‘fundamental liberalization,’’ see Cornils, ‘‘Long Memories,’’ 89; Gassert and Richter, 1968 in West Germany, 13; Schmidtke, ‘‘Cultural Revolution or Cultural Shock?,’’ 89. 11. Recent scholarship has worked to relativize the role of the student movement in the transformation of West German political culture, pointing to changes in the media and patterns of consumption that acted as the precondition for students’ mobilization: see the collected essays in Schildt et al., Dynamische Zeiten; von Hodenberg and Siegfried, Wo ‘‘1968’’ liegt. For a magisterial application of this approach to West German youth culture in the 1960s, see Siegfried, Time Is on My Side. On a relativization of the role of the activists in changing norms of sexuality in postwar West Germany, see Herzog, Sex after Fascism, chaps. 2–4. For critical reassessments of the claim that members of the New Left pioneered confrontations with the Nazi past, see the essays in Gassert and Steinweis, Coping with the Nazi Past. 12. See Höhn, ‘‘The Black Panther Solidarity Committees and the Voice of the Lumpen’’; Klimke, ‘‘Black Power, die Black-Panther-Solidaritätskomitees und der bewa√nete Kampf ’’; Klimke, The Other Alliance; Klimke, ‘‘Sit-in, Teach-in, Go-in.’’ See also Davis et al., Changing the World, Changing Oneself; GilcherHoltey, Die 68er Bewegung; Junker et al., ‘‘Atlantic Crossings?’’ For comparative studies of the United States and West Germany, see Juchler, Die Studentenbewegungen in den Vereinigten Staaten und der Bundesrepublik Deutschland der sechziger Jahre; Schmidtke, Der Aufbruch der jungen Intelligenz. 13. Höhn, ‘‘The Black Panther Solidarity Committees and the Voice of the Lumpen,’’ 146. 14. Quoted in Wenzel, ‘‘Remembering the Past’s Future,’’ 11. 15. There were roughly 1,200 U.S. students and 10,200 students from the developing world on West German campuses in 1961. More detailed statistics follow in chapter 1. See Pfei√er, Ausländische Studenten an den wissenschaftlichen Hochschulen in der Bundesrepublik und West-Berlin, 10–11. 16. ‘‘An der internationalen Vietnamkonferenz teilnehmende Organisationen,’’ iish, Neue Linke, Studentenbewegung, Außerparlamentarische Opposition in Deutschland Collection (hereafter, nl), 94. The actual number of Americans at the conference was slightly higher than that of those who had preregistered. On American participation at the conference, see Klimke, The Other Alliance, 93–94. 17. The following works were indispensable to this project: Balsen and Rössel, Hoch die internationale Solidarität ; Fichter and Lönnendonker, Kleine Geschichte des sds ; Lönnendonker and Fichter, Freie Universität Berlin; Lönnendonker et al., Die antiautoritäre Revolte. 18. Klimke, The Other Alliance, 244. 19. Kraushaar, 1968 als Mythos, Chi√re und Zäsur, 68.

Notes to Introduction 211 20. Frei, 1968. 21. Josef Jo√e, ‘‘Kurraskapaden,’’ Die Zeit, May 28, 2009. 22. Frei, 1968, 31. 23. Munene, ‘‘Student Activism in African Higher Education,’’ 118–20. 24. Kramer, ‘‘Is the World Our Campus?,’’ 776. 25. Kelley, Freedom Dreams, chap. 2; Munro, ‘‘The Anticolonial Front’’; Singh, Black Is a Country, chap. 5; Von Eschen, Race against Empire. On the geopolitical context for the Civil Rights Movement, see Dudziak, Cold War Civil Rights. 26. Gosse, Where the Boys Are; Joseph, Waiting ’til the Midnight Hour, chaps. 1–2; Young, Soul Power, chap. 1. 27. Elbaum, Revolution in the Air ; Prashad, Everybody Was Kung Fu Fighting, chap. 5; Young, Soul Power. 28. The slogan is from the May 1968 issue of the New Left magazine Charlie Kaputt of West Berlin, reprinted in Bacia, 10 Jahre Archiv für alternatives Schrifttum (afas), 68. The magazine was published by members of Kommune I, a collective led by Dieter Kunzelmann and Rainer Langhans, discussed in later chapters: see Baumann, Wie alles anfing, 30. 29. The speech was reprinted in Frankfurter Rundschau, Der Spiegel, and again in a book the same year: ‘‘Die Scheinrevolution und ihre Kinder. 6 Thesen über Taktik, Ziele und Situationsanalysen der oppositionellen Jugend,’’ Frankfurter Rundschau, June 5, 1968; ‘‘Scheinrevolution unter Handlungszwang. Über Fehldenken und Fehlverhalten der linken Studentenbewegung’’ Der Spiegel, June 10, 1968, 57–59; Habermas, ‘‘Die Scheinrevolution und ihre Kinder.’’ 30. Habermas, ‘‘Die Scheinrevolution und ihre Kinder,’’ 9. 31. Habermas, ‘‘Student Protest in the Federal Republic of Germany,’’ 26, 28. 32. Varon, Bringing the War Home, 73. 33. Claus O√e, ‘‘Kapitalismus—Analyse als Selbsteinschüchterung,’’ in Negt, Die Linke antwortet Jürgen Habermas, 52. 34. Ibid. 35. See Langguth, Mythos ’68. On the Red Army Faction, see Varon, Bringing the War Home. 36. Juchler, Die Studentenbewegungen in den Vereinigten Staaten und der Bundesrepublik Deutschland der sechziger Jahre, 17. Kraushaar has also linked the New Left to the ultra-leftist terrorists of the 1970s by concentrating on the iconic status of the Vietcong guerrilla fighter and the relationship between small groups of radicals and the Palestinian Liberation Organization: Kraushaar, Die Bombe im Jüdischen Gemeindehaus; Kraushaar, ‘‘Der Vietcong als Mythos des bewa√neten Volksaufstandes.’’ See also Kraushaar, ‘‘Rudi Dutschke und die bewa√nete Kampf.’’ Wilfried Mausbach similarly identifies the destructive side of the student movement in the anti-Semitic undertones discernible in some New Left expressions of Palestinian solidarity beginning in 1969: Mausbach, ‘‘Wende um 360 Grad?,’’ 34–37. 37. Lennox, ‘‘Enzensberger, Kursbuch, and ‘Third Worldism’ ’’; Teraoka, East, West, and Others, 165.

212 Notes to Chapter 1 38. Petra Rethmann illustrates this approach when she writes that ‘‘support for Vietnam was perhaps less about the Vietcong than it was about the formation of a set of political desires filtered through a largely imagined Vietcong, a filtering that allowed a synthesis of profoundly German utopian traditions for a new generation’’: Rethmann, ‘‘On Militancy, Sort of,’’ 81. 39. Lennox, ‘‘Enzensberger, Kursbuch, and ‘Third Worldism,’ ’’ 188; Teraoka, East, West, and Others, 165. Katrin Sieg argues similarly that antifascist moments of ‘‘ethnic drag,’’ such as the portrayal of a Greek guest worker by Rainer Werner Fassbinder in the film Katzelmacher (1968), ultimately return the power of definition to Germans without deepening solidarity or collaboration with foreign subjects: Sieg, Ethnic Drag, 154. 40. Nirumand et al., ‘‘Ringvorlesung vom 15. Juni 1988,’’ 60. 41. Jobs, ‘‘Youth Movements,’’ 390. 42. Ege, Schwarz werden, 148–49. 43. Ibid., 152. For an entry point into the complex discussions in political and cultural theory about whether identification is a defensible basis for political mobilization, see Fuss, Identification Papers, 8–9. 44. For recent work that is attentive to the activism of foreigners in West Germany in the 1960s and 1970s, see Bojadˇzijev, Die windige Internationale; Brown, ‘‘ ‘1968’ East and West,’’ 75–77; Davis, ‘‘A Whole World Opening Up,’’ 263–65; Davis, ‘‘Transnation und Transkultur,’’ 328–29; Matin-Asgari, Iranian Student Opposition to the Shah, 47–112; Seibert, Vergessene Proteste. 45. I owe this way of formulating the book’s thesis to the very helpful comments of an anonymous reviewer. 46. Walmot Falkenberg, sds, to Herbert Marcuse, May 11, 1966. Archiv ‘‘apo und soziale Bewegungen’’ Freie Universität Berlin, Otto-Suhr-Institut für Politikwissenschaft (hereafter apoa), Kongreß ‘‘Vietnam—Analyse eines Exempels,’’ 1966, folder.

1 Dissident Guests 1. Heise, ‘‘Politische Aktivitäten ausländischer Studenten innerhalb und außerhalb der Hochschule,’’ 146. 2. Pätzoldt, Ausländerstudium in der brd , 101; Dieter Bielenstein, vds Press O≈ce, to Dr. Gerhard Fritz, Member of the Bundestag, enclosure, April 26, 1961, BArch, b166/1172; ‘‘Das Ausländerstudium in der Bundesrepublik,’’ doc. III/63, ew —Entwicklungsländer, May 24, 1963, 4–5. 3. Scholars who have also recently drawn attention to the importance of foreign students and foreigners in catalyzing New Left activism include Manuela Bojadˇzijev, Timothy S. Brown, Belinda Davis, Afshin Matin-Asgari and Niels Seibert: see Bojadˇzijev, Die windige Internationale; Brown, ‘‘ ‘1968’ East and West,’’ 75–77; Davis, ‘‘A Whole World Opening Up,’’ 263–65; Davis, ‘‘Transnation

Notes to Chapter 1 213 und Transkultur,’’ 328–29; Matin-Asgari, Iranian Student Opposition to the Shah, 47–112; Seibert, Vergessene Proteste. 4. My use of the term ‘‘Third World’’ follows the usage of the time, designating the regions of Asia, Africa, Latin America, and the Caribbean emerging as a political force in the 1960s as a result of the near-completion of decolonization and e√orts at international coordination, such as the Bandung Asian-African Conference of 1955 and the founding of the Non-Aligned Movement in 1961. On the origin of the term as one of advocacy and entitlement rather than denigration through analogy to the ‘‘Third Estate’’ of the French Revolution, see Pletsch, ‘‘The Three Worlds, or the Division of Social Scientific Labor, circa 1950–1975,’’ 569. 5. Imanuel Geiss, ‘‘Gegen die Apartheid,’’ Welt der Arbeit, October 25, 1963; Nutz, ‘‘Tendenzen zu autoritären Verhaltensmodellen in der Regenbogenpresse,’’ 657. 6. Ausstellungs- und Messe-Ausschuss der deutschen Wirtschaft, ‘‘Informationen über die Deutsche Industrie-Ausstellung Tehran vom 4. Oktober–22. Oktober 1960,’’ Politisches Archiv des Auswärtigen Amts (hereafter paaa), b 55, Bd. 2141. 7. Statistisches Bundesamt, Statistisches Jahrbuch für die Bundesrepublik Deutschland (1962), 318; Division IIIB6, aa, Record, September 6, 1963. paaa, b 55, Bd. 2141. 8. See von Hodenberg, ‘‘Mass Media and the Generation of Conflict,’’ 371–75. 9. Rosenberg, ‘‘Wie helfen wir den Entwicklungsländern?,’’ 449. 10. Ibid., 450. 11. A major motivation for o≈cial West German interest in developing nations was its determination to prevent diplomatic recognition of East Germany under the so-called Hallstein Doctrine: see Gray, Germany’s Cold War. 12. In January 1961, 4,000 students occupied Tehran University. The police surrounded the campus, and the sit-in lasted three weeks, until the university was shut down by the state: Matin-Asgari, Iranian Student Opposition to the Shah, 44. 13. Hermann Voigt, Division 708, memo on ‘‘Unruhe unter iranischen Studenten in Köln; mögliche Bedrohung der Iranischen Botschaft,’’ February 25, 1961; Voigt, Division 708, to Division 502, on ‘‘Iranische Note vom 14. Februar 1961, February 21, 1961’’; Paul Raab to the bmi, ‘‘Niederschrift über die Sitzung des Koordinierungsausschusses zur Bekämpfung verfassungsfeindlicher Bestrebungen im bmi am 13. März 1961,’’ March 1, 1961, all in paaa, b 82, Bd. 528. 14. Voigt, memo (February 25, 1961); Konkret, February 20, 1961. 15. Raab to the bmi (March 1, 1961). 16. Voigt, note (February 25, 1961). 17. ‘‘Karitas für Afrika,’’ Der Spiegel, October 26, 1960, 33. 18. Carl-Heinz Lüders, Division 604, bmi to Division D5, aa, on ‘‘Politische Demonstrationen ausländischer Studenten in der Bundesrepublik,’’ February 20, 1961, paaa, b 82, Bd. 528. 19. Ibid.

214 Notes to Chapter 1 20. Hermann Voigt to Division d5, aa, on ‘‘Politische Demonstrationen ausländischer Studenten in der brd,’’ February 16, 1961, paaa, b 82, Bd. 528. 21. ‘‘Afro-Asiaten sagen in Bonn ihre Meinung,’’ 22. On vds actions at the World Youth Festival in Vienna in 1959, see Slobodian, ‘‘What Does Democracy Look Like (and Why Would Anyone Want to Buy It)?’’ 22. G. E. K., ‘‘Angola,’’ 3. 23. Von Hodenberg, ‘‘Der Kampf um die Redaktionen,’’ 143; von Hodenberg, ‘‘Mass Media and the Generation of Conflict,’’ 375–76. 24. Markovits and Gorski, The German Left, 49–50. 25. Fichter and Lönnendonker, Kleine Geschichte des sds , 57. 26. Rall, ‘‘Keine Hallsteindoktrin für Studenten,’’ 9. 27. Lenz, ‘‘Zwischen Macht und Menschenrecht,’’ 17. 28. Ibid., 16; Leggewie, Ko√erträger, 28. 29. Lönnendonker et al., Die antiautoritäre Revolte, 11–12. 30. Meschkat, ‘‘Gründung des Verbandes des Studenten des schwarzen Afrika unter portugesischer Kolonialismus,’’ 6. 31. Ibid. 32. Klaus Meschkat to the sds bv, August 3, 1963, apoa ‘‘apo und soziale Bewegungen,’’ Freie Universität Berlin, Otto-Suhr-Institut für Politikwissenschaft (hereafter apoa), sds bv, Referat Ausland, Oktober 1964–Oktober 1965, folder. 33. Afrikanische Studenten Union, Aachen, ‘‘Wir fördern die Freiheit und Unabhängigkeit für Angola,’’ February 11, 1963, BArch, b166/1411. 34. C. G., ‘‘Solidarität,’’ 4. 35. Villa-Vicencio, The Spirit of Hope, 9. The status of neum as Trotskyist seems to have been attributed to the movement largely by its opponents in the South African Communist Party, but the fact of the label shows deviation from the Moscow line: Kayser and Adkhikari, ‘‘Land and Liberty!,’’ 319. 36. Villa-Vicencio, The Spirit of Hope, 10. 37. Albrecht, Der Sozialistische Deutsche Studentenbund, 449. 38. Villa-Vicencio, The Spirit of Hope, 11. 39. Rudolf Hickel, asta Tübingen, ‘‘Bitte um Hilfe für Dr. Alexander in Südafrika,’’ n.d. (1963); ‘‘Interview mit Ignaz Bender,’’ sds-Information, no. 1/1965, February 18, 1965, 4, apoa, Privatbesitz Marianne Lieck, Alexander 1963 folder. 40. C. G., ‘‘Solidarität,’’ 4. 41. ‘‘Humboldt Stipendiat in Todesgefahr,’’ notice of demonstration for November 4, 1963, apoa, Privatbesitz Marianne Lieck, Alexander 1963 folder; ‘‘KfzKonvoi der Studenten. Freiheit für Dr. Alexander,’’ Welt am Sonntag, November 3, 1963; ‘‘An alle Teilnehmer des Autokorsos,’’ description of demonstration route, n.d., apoa, Privatbesitz Marianne Lieck, Alexander 1963 folder. 42. Geiss, ‘‘Gegen die Apartheid.’’ 43. Renate Bühning, hsu, Berlin, October 25, 1963, apoa, Privatbesitz Marianne Lieck, Alexander 1963 folder. 44. ‘‘Slogans (Michael Maukes Entwurf ),’’ ibid. The use of Nazi analogies can be explained by the fact that the author of the proposed slogans, Michael Mauke,

Notes to Chapter 1 215 was closely involved with e√orts at the turn of the decade to bring the images and facts of the Holocaust into public discussion: see Sackett, ‘‘Pictures of Atrocity,’’ 546. 45. ‘‘Drei Afrikaner gehängt,’’ Frankfurter Rundschau, November 2, 1963. 46. Ludwig Raiser, ‘‘Vor Gericht in Südafrika,’’ Die Zeit, November 8, 1963. 47. Ibid. See Schelsky, Die skeptische Generation. 48. Raiser, ‘‘Vor Gericht in Südafrika.’’ 49. Ibid. 50. On the donation boxes, see Balsen and Rössel, Hoch die internationale Solidarität, 44. 51. Albrecht, Der Sozialistische Deutsche Studentenbund, 449; his, Nachlass Rudi Dutschke, contents of a notebook labeled ‘‘1964/1965 Lateinamerika,’’ rud 210.03. 52. ‘‘Bekanntmachung der iranischen Studenten der Universität Heidelberg,’’ flyer handed out in the cafeteria of the University of Heidelberg in October 1963, BArch, b166/1173. 53. Lenz, ‘‘Zwischen Macht und Menschenrecht,’’ 17. Kraushaar writes that Lübke was a ‘‘favorite opponent’’ of the student movement: Kraushaar, 1968 als Mythos, Chi√re und Zäsur, 38. 54. ‘‘Polizei: ‘Im Krankenhaus sind keine Betten für Sie frei,’ ’’ Bonner Rundschau, October 28, 1963. 55. Ibid. 56. ‘‘Iranische Studenten traten in Hungerstreik,’’ clipping from an unidentified newspaper published in Karlsruhe, October 26, 1965, BArch, b212/24012. 57. See, e.g., both techniques used in Confederation of Iranian Students, National Union, ‘‘Was It a Plot to Kill the Shah, or Is It a Conspiracy to Silence the Students?,’’ n.d., BArch, b166/1173. 58. Nehring, ‘‘Searching for Security,’’ 180. 59. Andrei Markovits and Philip Gorski have observed that Gesinnungspolitik became a central feature of the new social movements that emerged in the 1970s and 1980s: Markovits and Gorski, The German Left, 11. 60. Adorno, ‘‘Zur Demokratisierung der deutschen Universitäten,’’ 120. 61. Ibid., 122. 62. Abromeit, ‘‘The Limits of Praxis,’’ 19. 63. Hahn, Education and Society in Germany, 118. 64. Ibid., 121. 65. Kraushaar, 1968 als Mythos, Chi√re und Zäsur, 63. 66. Schmidt, ‘‘Pushed to the Front,’’ 483–85. 67. Haase, Zwischen Lenkung und Selbstbestimmung, 19; Heintz, Soziologie der Entwicklungsländer, 717; Stucken, ‘‘Der ‘Circulus Vitiosus’ der Armut in Entwicklungsländer,’’ 60. 68. Pätzoldt, Ausländerstudium in der brd , 55. 69. Pfei√er, Ausländische Studenten an den wissenschaftlichen Hochschulen in der Bundesrepublik und West-Berlin, 9.

216 Notes to Chapter 1 70. Schmidt-Streckenbach, ‘‘Strukturen des Ausländerstudiums in der Bundesrepublik Deutschland,’’ 46; Wiedmann, ‘‘Strukturen des Ausländerstudiums in der deutschen demokratische Republik,’’ 81, 92. 71. Schmidt-Streckenbach, ‘‘Strukturen des Ausländerstudiums in der Bundesrepublik Deutschland,’’ 46. 72. Pfei√er, Ausländische Studenten an den wissenschaftlichen Hochschulen in der Bundesrepublik und West-Berlin, 8–9. The number of Turkish students comes from Studienstelle für Entwicklungsländer Bonn, Studenten aus Entwicklungsländern an deutschen Hochschulen, 43. 73. Statistisches Bundesamt, Statistisches Jahrbuch für die Bundesrepublik Deutschland (1963), 98. 74. Studienstelle für Entwicklungsländer Bonn, Studenten aus Entwicklungsländern an deutschen Hochschulen, 12. 75. In 1963, while only 16 percent of German students had more than dm 300 per month, more than a third of students from developing countries had more than dm 350 per month: ibid., 12. 76. Pätzoldt, Ausländerstudium in der brd , 105–6. 77. Pfei√er, Ausländische Studenten an den wissenschaftlichen Hochschulen in der Bundesrepublik und West-Berlin, 19. 78. Again, the ease of enrollment may have been a factor. West German universities did not set quotas on foreign students in medical faculties, as was the practice, for example, in the United States: ibid., 13. 79. Ibid., 16. 80. Statistisches Bundesamt, Statistisches Jahrbuch für die Bundesrepublik Deutschland (1963), 98. 81. Aich, Farbige unter Weißen, book jacket. 82. Ahmed Abdel Gadir Abdel Basif, ‘‘Einige politische und soziale Aspekte des Studiums der Afrikaner in der brd’’ (Ph.D. diss., University of Freiburg, 1967), quoted in Pätzoldt, Ausländerstudium in der brd , 110. 83. Sayeed ur Rahman for the governing board of the faasu to Federal Interior Minister Hermann Höcherl, March 2, 1964, BArch, b166/1173; ‘‘AfroAsiatisches Prinzip,’’ 22. 84. Farokhzad, ‘‘Land im Schatten,’’ 229. The poem also appeared in Die Zeit on October 25, 1963. Farokhzad would later return to Iran and become a popular television entertainer before the Iranian Revolution of 1979, after which he continued his career in exile. In 1992, he was brutally murdered in his apartment in Bonn in apparent retaliation for his on-camera confession of homosexuality and intimations of having had sexual liaisons with mullahs: Heinrich-BöllStiftung, Iran-Report, vol. 3, 2004, 17. 85. Bielenstein to Fritz (April 26, 1961). 86. ‘‘Des Sammelns müde,’’ 22. 87. Afro-Asiatische-Studentenunion, Gießen, Statutes, n.d., enclosure to Rektor Johannes Glathe, Justus-Liebig-Universität Gießen, to Herrn bmi, May 4, 1965, paaa, b 82, Bd. 803.

Notes to Chapter 1 217 88. Studienstelle für Entwicklungsländer Bonn, Studenten aus Entwicklungsländern an deutschen Hochschulen, 14–1 5. 89. Eich and Frevert, eds., Bürger auf Zeit, 201. 90. Glathe to Herrn bmi (May 4, 1965). 91. Rektor Götz Freiherr von Pölnitz, Friedrich-Alexander-Universität, Erlangen-Nürnberg, to Minister of State Heinrich Junker, Bavarian Ministry of the Interior, July 30, 1964, BArch, b106/31348. 92. ‘‘Kairos langer Arm in Bonn. 60 Ägypter für ‘schlechtes nationales Verhalten’ gerügt,’’ Akut, January 1966, 14–15. On the influence of the Berkeley Free Speech Movement on the fu protesters, see Klimke, The Other Alliance, 70–71. 93. Matin-Asgari, Iranian Student Opposition to the Shah, 48. 94. vds, ‘‘Internationale Fragen,’’ no. 6 (1967), transcribed in a collection of documents concerning foreign students, apoa, Nordrhein-Westfalen (nrw) Bonn folder. 95. Frankfurter Rundschau articles transcribed in collection of documents concerning foreign students, ibid. 96. Frankfurter Rundschau (February 9, 1967) article transcribed in collection of documents concerning foreign students, ibid. 97. General-Anzeiger (Bonn, Febuary 17, 1967) in collection of documents concerning foreign students, ibid. 98. Lutz Gielhammer, West German Embassy in Tehran, to the aa, telegram, November 16, 1954, paaa, b82, Bd. 168; Hassan Massali, Confederation of Iranian Students, to vds, June 4, 1964, BArch, b166/1173. 99. ‘‘Türkei geht gegen Studenten vor,’’ Frankfurter Rundschau, May 29, 1969; Hakki Keskin, transcript of speech from February 2, 1969, apoa, asta der fu files, Griechenland, Türkei box. 100. Studentenunion Ortsvereinigung, Heidelberg, press statement on measures taken by the Iraqi government against Iraqi students, July 22, 1964, BArch, b166/1172. 101. Ezidin Al-Dujaili, second chair, vis in West Germany and West Berlin, March 16, 1965; Faruk Redae, second secretary, Allgemeinen Studentenverbändes der Irakischen Republik, ‘‘Internationales Seminar über die Lage der irakischen Studenten im Ausland’’; Ezidin Al-Dujaili to the sds, May 12, 1964, all in apoa, sds bv, Referat Ausland, Oktober 1964–Oktober 1965, folder. For the o≈cial sds declaration of solidarity with Iraqi students, see sds, ‘‘Beschlussprotokoll der 18. ordentlichen Delegiertenkonferenz,’’ September 1963, iish, nl, 127. 102. Ilias Katzoulis, first chairman, vgsa in Berlin, press statement by asta und the vgsa, July 21, 1967, apoa, asta der fu files, Griechenland, Türkei, Baden-Württemberg Kontakte box; ‘‘Warnung vor Griechen-Geheimdienst,’’ Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung, July 25, 1967. 103. ‘‘Au√orderung zur Hexenjagd.’’ Diskus, March 1967, 8; Otfried Niederauer (on behalf of the sds bv and Gruppe Frankfurt), appendix to circular no. 17, n.d. (ca. 1966), iish, nl, 127; Burkhard Bluem, sds, ‘‘Konterrevolution in Indonesien. Vorbermerkung,’’ May 2, 1969, iish, nl, 93.

218 Notes to Chapter 1 104. sds Frankfurt, ‘‘Der Begri√ des Neokolonialismus am Beispiel Indonesiens und des Kongo,’’ November 8, 1966, iish, nl, 51. 105. Imperial Iranian Embassy to the aa, memorandum, January 7, 1955, paaa, b82, Bd. 168. 106. Günter Krems, ‘‘Können Geheimdienste verboten werden?’’ Die Welt, July 28, 1967. 107. ‘‘Spenden für Südkoreaner,’’ Frankfurter Rundschau, December 16, 1967. 108. ‘‘Protestwelle gegen Söler Urteile,’’ Frankfurter Rundschau, December 7, 1968. 109. ‘‘Reisten Südkoreaner ‘legal’ aus?’’ Frankfurter Rundschau, January 12, 1968. 110. ‘‘Protestwelle gegen Söler Urteile,’’ Frankfurter Rundschau, December 7, 1968. 111. ‘‘Krach um Südkoreaner in Frankfurt,’’ Süddeutsche Zeitung, December 21, 1970. 112. ‘‘Deutschlandreisen um die Hälfte verbilligt!,’’ Pardon, July 1968, 41. 113. Rahman to Höcherl (March 2, 1964). 114. Graham, ‘‘The Political Culture of Rights,’’ 191. 115. The law, from July 24, 1953, was on page 684 of the Bundesgesetzblatt : Werner Brückmann, Division 502, to Division 708, on ‘‘Protestmärsche arabischer Studenten in der brd,’’ June 6, 1958, paaa, b82, Bd. 528. 116. Bonn District Court, ‘‘Beschluß in der Strafsache gegen Mahmood Rassekh wegen Verstoßes gegen das Versammlungsgesetzes,’’ May 13, 1964, BArch, b166/ 1173. 117. ‘‘Niederschrift über die Besprechung mit den Ausländerreferenten der Länder im bmi am 24. Februar 1961,’’ BArch, b106/47380. 118. Raab to the bmi (March 1, 1961). 119. ‘‘Vorschlag des Bayerischen Staatsministeriums des Innern für die Tagesordnung der Innenministerkonferenz am 15–16. Februar 1962 in Berlin,’’ BArch, b106/47380. 120. Ibid. 121. Chin, ‘‘Imagining a German Multiculturalism,’’ 47. 122. ‘‘Vorschlag des Bayerischen Staatsministeriums des Innern für die Tagesordnung der Innenministerkonferenz am 15–16. February 1962 in Berlin.’’ 123. Detlef Scheel, vlr 1, note, March 14, 1961, paaa, b82, Bd. 528. 124. Newman, ‘‘Immigration and Judicial Review in the Federal Republic of Germany,’’ 82. 125. Kurt Breull, Division IB3, ‘‘Politische Betätigung der Ausländer in der brd,’’ February 12, 1962, BArch, b106/47380. 126. ‘‘Niederschrift über die Besprechung mit den Ausländerreferenten der Länder in bmi am 24. February 1961.’’ 127. ‘‘Nachspiel zum Hungerstreik,’’ Bonner Rundschau, January 29, 1964, in BArch, b106/47386. 128. ‘‘Politisches Betätigungsverbot,’’ Süddeutsche Zeitung, November 4, 1963.

Notes to Chapter 1 219 129. Karl Kanka, MdB, to the Federal Interior Minister Hermann Höcherl, on ‘‘Als Denunziationen wirkende Vermerke deutscher Ausländer-Polizeibehörden in ausländischen Pässen von Ausländern, die sich in Deutschland aufhalten,’’ January 25, 1964, BArch, b106/47386. The fact about Kanka’s participation in the drafting of the Hesse constititution is from Ullrich, Der Weimar-Komplex, 202. 130. Kanka to Höcherl (January 25, 1964). 131. Oral question, Deutscher Bundestag, 4. Wahlperiod, 110. Sitzung des Deutschen Bundestages am Mittwoch dem 5. Februar 1964, 111, Sitzung des Deutschen Bundestages am Freitag dem 7. Februar 1964, printed paper IV/1884, BArch, b106/47386. 132. Kanka to Höcherl (January 25, 1964). 133. Kurt Breull, Division IB3, to Herrnminister bmi, January 31, 1964, BArch, b106/47386. 134. Deutscher Bundestag, 110. Sitzung, February 5, 1964, printed paper 5044, ibid. 135. Reinhard Schlagintweit, Division IB4, to Bundesamt für Verfassungsschutz, July 8, 1963, paaa, b82, Bd. 520. 136. Handwritten note on the reverse side of Willy Grote, Niedersachsen Ministry of the Interior, to the bmi, on ‘‘Versammlungen ausländischer Vereinigungen,’’ April 14, 1963, BArch, b106/31348. Because the telegram was addressed to a member of the bmi and was found within the archival files of the bmi, it is safe to assume that the author of the note was a member of the bmi. 137. Rudolf Toyka, bmi, to Bavarian Ministry of the Interior on ‘‘Kongress kurdischer Studenten vom 9–15. August 1963,’’ August 5, 1963, BArch, b106/ 47386. 138. COL to vds, telegram, June 4, 1963, BArch, b166/1411. 139. Lönnendonker and Fichter, Freie Universität Berlin, 44. 140. Georg Von Pirch, Division V3, to Hans-Hugo Pioch, bmi, May 7, 1965, paaa, b82, Bd. 803. 141. North-Rhine Westphalian Ministry of the Interior to the bmi, May 21, 1965, paaa, b82, Bd. 803. 142. Von Pirch to Pioch (May 7, 1965). 143. Ibid. 144. Hermann Meyer-Lindenberg to West German Embassy in Paris, May 21, 1965; Manfred Klaiber, West German Embassy in Paris, to the aa, on ‘‘Erklärung Vereinigung arabischer Studenten in Frankreich zu verhinderter Einreise in die Bundesrepublik,’’ May 18, 1965, both in paaa, b82, Bd. 803. 145. Hermann Holzheimer, Division Protocol 2, note on ‘‘Demonstration iranischer Studenten in München,’’ May 13, 1963, paaa, b82, Bd. 528. 146. Voigt to Herrn D5 (February 15, 1961). 147. Grote to the bmi (April 15, 1963). 148. Ohlendorf, West German Embassy in Tehran, to Hans von Vacano, aa, telegram, February 2, 1962, paaa, b82, Bd. 528. 149. Detlef Scheel, aa, to the bmi, January 31, 1962, in ibid; Eduard Dreher and

220 Notes to Chapter 1 Otto-Georg Schwarz, Strafgesetzbuch: mit Nebengesetzen u. Verordnungen (Munich: Beck, 1976), 501. 150. North-Rhine Westphalian Ministry of the Interior, Division IVa3, to Herrn bmi, March 20, 1962, BArch, b106/47380. 151. Ibid. 152. Hilger Van Scherpenberg, aa, to Hans Ritter von Lex, bmi, September 10, 1959, BArch, b106/47380. 153. Chin, The Guest Worker Question in Postwar Germany, 50–51; Schönwälder, ‘‘West German Society and Foreigners in the 1960s,’’ 119. 154. See, e.g., Gerhard Schröder to West Berlin Senator for the Interior, response to letter from January 9, 1960, BArch, b106/47380; Gerhard Heuer, bmi, to Werner Kanein, Bavarian Ministry of the Interior, on ‘‘Politische Betätigung ausländischer Studenten,’’ November 29, 1967, BArch, b106/39954. 155. ‘‘Niederschrift über die Besprechung mit den Ausländerreferenten der Länder im bmi am 24. February 1961,’’ BArch, b106/47380; Kanein, Ausländergesetz und die wesentlichen fremdenrechtlichen Vorschriften. 156. Uwe-Jens Petersen, ‘‘Gastrecht großzügig gewährt,’’ Frankfurter Rundschau, March 19, 1965. 157. Breull, bmi, to Franz Josef Bach, West German Embassy in Tehran, February 16, 1965, BArch, b106/39962. 158. Werner Kanein, Bavarian Ministry of the Interior, to Gerhard Heuer, bmi, on ‘‘Fremdenrecht. Hier: Politische Betätigung ausländischer Studenten,’’ December 6, 1967, BArch, b106/39954; Hans Heinz Heldmann to Amnesty International on ‘‘Berufungsverfahren gegen Parviz Nikkah und acht weitere Angeklagte vor dem Militärgerichtshof in Tehran,’’ December 15, 1965, his, Bestand Sozialistische Anwaltskollektiv Berlin, 230.10, 2. Juni Demonstration Diverses folder. 159. Heldmann, ‘‘Zum neuen Ausländergesetz,’’ 1–2. 160. Breull, ‘‘Politische Betätigung der Ausländer in der brd’’ (February 12, 1962). 161. Gerhard Heuer, bmi, draft of speech for ‘‘Ausländerrecht—Ausländerstudium’’ conference organized by German Committee of the World University Service, October 20, 1966, BArch, b106/39954. 162. Ibid. 163. Eberhard Druck, ‘‘ ‘Die Letzten beißen die Hunde.’ Die veilfältigen Möglichkeiten, mit dünnen Gründen Ausländer abzuschieben,’’ Frankfurter Rundschau, May 27, 1969. 164. Fritz Menges, ‘‘Das Ausländergesetz und der ausländische Student,’’ speech delivered at 6th Council of the vds, July 2–3, 1966, BArch, b166/1172. 165. Holzheimer, note (May 13, 1963). 166. Georg Von Pirch, Division v3, note no. 1, October 27, 1965, paaa, b82, Bd. 528. 167. Walter Gehlho√, West German Embassy in Tehran, to the aa, November 29, 1965, ibid. 168. Bonn District Court, ‘‘Beschluß in der Strafsache gegen Mahmood

Notes to Chapter 1 221 Rassekh wegen Verstoßes gegen das Versammlungsgesetzes,’’ May 13, 1964, BArch, b166/1173. 169. Wickert Institute for Domestic and Overseas Market and Public Opinion Research, Press Service 6/3, BArch, b106/39962. 170. N.d.; reprinted in Hamburger Extrablatt, June 22, 1967, 3. 171. ‘‘Niederschrift über die Sitzung des Koordinierungsausschusses zur Bekämpfung verfassungsfeindlicher Bestrebungen im bmi am 13. März 1961.’’ 172. Georg Von Pirch, Division V3, note no. 2, ‘‘Studentendemonstrationen gegen die iranische Regierung,’’ October 27, 1965, paaa, b82, Bd. 528. 173. Ibid. 174. Heldmann, ‘‘Zum neuen Ausländergesetz,’’ 3. 175. Joppke, ‘‘Asylum and State Sovereignty,’’ 273. 176. See, e.g., Breull to Bach (February 16, 1965). 177. ‘‘Beginnt eine Verhaftungswelle gegen persische Studenten in der brd?,’’ ew-Dienst, no. 1/63, n.p., BArch, b106/47386. 178. Werner Ernst, bmi, to the aa, on ‘‘Ausweisung kommunistischer Agitatoren unter griechischen Gastarbeitern,’’ June 7, 1967, paaa, b82, Bd. 800. 179. ‘‘Athen/Bonn. Sind die griechische Studenten in Deutschland bedroht?,’’ ew –Entwicklungsländer, 6, no. 7, July 19, 1967, 2. 180. ‘‘spd-Delegierte gegen jede Ausweisung,’’ Die Welt, October 16, 1967; ‘‘Der griechischer Arbeiter Constantinos wird ausweisen,’’ leaflet co-signed by asta der fu, Studentenvertretung der tu, Antifaschistische Kamp√ront der Auslandsgriechen, sds Berlin, Die Falken, Republikaner Club, Gewerkschaftliche Studentengemeinschaft, and the shb, apoa, asta der fu files, Griechenland, Türkei box. 181. ‘‘Protest gegen Athener Regierung,’’ Die Welt, July 25, 1967; ‘‘Griechen behalten die Pässe,’’ Frankfurter Rundschau, August 12, 1967. 182. Günter Weißmann, Chief of Police, Berlin, to Constantinos Catsioulis, October 11, 1967, his, Bestand Sozialistische Anwaltskollektiv Berlin, 260.03, apo, Diverse Demonstrationen Dokumentation I, Administrative Court of Berlin, decision, February 19, 1968, his, Bestand Sozialistische Anwaltskollektiv Berlin, 260.03. Helmut Türpitz, Federal O≈ce for the Recognition of Foreign Refugees, decision, April 26, 1968; Horst Mahler, Rechtsanwalt, to Federal O≈ce for the Recognition of Foreign Refugees, June 4, 1968; Erich Urbanek, Federal O≈ce for the Recognition of Foreign Refugees, notice of the decision, May 19, 1969, all in his, Bestand Sozialistische Anwaltskollektiv Berlin, 300.53, Asyl und Aufenthalt folder. 183. Kurt Breull, bmi, to Bundestag, Petitions Committee, November 19, 1964, paaa, b82, Bd. 520. 184. Hans Karl von Borries, Division v3, note, November 10, 1965, ibid. 185. Marginal note on Heuer, bmi, to Division Ib3, July 30, 1964, ibid. 186. Matin-Asgari, Iranian Student Opposition to the Shah, 119–20; Rainer Gohr, ‘‘Reise nach Tehran—Reise ins Gefängnis,’’ Süddeutsche Zeitung, December 15, 1970. 187. See, e.g., Ulrich Weitho√, ‘‘Hassan Massali hat Angst vor savak,’’ Han-

222 Notes to Chapter 1 delsblatt, June 20, 1967; Anton-Andreas Guha, ‘‘Ausländer zwischen Grundgesetz und Staatsräson,’’ Frankfurter Rundschau, February 8, 1968. 188. Heuer to Kanein (November 29, 1967). 189. Department V, bmi, Record of ‘‘Ausländerrechtliche Maßnahmen gegen den iranischen Staatsangehörigen Hassan Massali,’’ March 19, 1968, paaa, b82, Bd. 520. 190. Seibert, Vergessene Proteste, 141–51. See also Seibert, ‘‘Der schlafenden Flughafenpolizei krachten die Scheiben um die Ohren.’’ 191. ‘‘Achmed Taheri bleibt noch eine Frist,’’ Frankfurter Rundschau, April 14, 1969; Seibert, Vergessene Proteste, 146–47. 192. Ibid., 147; ‘‘Ausländerpolizei brachte sich ins Gerede,’’ Frankfurter Rundschau, July 29, 1969. 193. Seibert, Vergessene Proteste, 147. 194. ‘‘In der Universität regierten die Wasserwerfer,’’ Frankfurter Rundschau, April 29, 1969. 195. ‘‘Taheri hielt die Polizei für npd-Schläger,’’ Frankfurter Rundschau, September 13, 1969. 196. Richard Wachter, ‘‘Wurde aus Schlamperei ein politischer Fall?,’’ Frankfurter Rundschau, May 1, 1969. 197. See Hans Gawlik, Division v4, Urschriftlich dem Referat v3, February 29, 1968, paaa, b82, Bd. 1347. 198. Friedrich-Wilhelm Grunst, O≈ce of the West Berlin Senator of the Interior, to the bmi, November 29, 1968, ibid. 199. Georg Negwer, Division Ib4, aa, to West German Embassy in Tehran, February 18, 1969, ibid. 200. Annamarie Doherr, ‘‘Neubauer kündigt Entscheidung an,’’ Frankfurter Rundschau, January 29, 1969; Jacquie Henderson, Young Socialists/Ligue des Jeunes Socialistes, to German Consulate-General, January 30, 1969, paaa, b82, Bd. 1347; Negwer to West German Embassy in Tehran (February 18, 1969). 201. Grunst to the bmi (May 30, 1969). 202. Ibid. 203. ‘‘Nirumands Aufenthalt gesichert,’’ Frankfurter Rundschau, June 5, 1969. 204. On the development of the critical media in the 1960s, see von Hodenberg, ‘‘Der Kampf um die Redaktionen,’’ 144–58. 205. Hannover, Die Republik vor Gericht, 169. 206. Ibid., 179. 207. Ibid., 176. 208. Heuer to Kanein (November 29, 1967); Joachim Wegener, ‘‘Die zweifelhafte Ausweisung eines afrikanisches Studenten,’’ Die Zeit, March 3, 1967; ‘‘Fragen an Ruhnau,’’ Auditorium, June–July 1968, 4. 209. ‘‘Negrophobia,’’ West African Pilot (Lagos), March 8, 1967; ‘‘The Insult from Hamburg,’’ Morning Post (Lagos), March 16, 1967. 210. West German Embassy in Lagos to the aa, telex, March 16, 1967, paaa, b82, Bd. 527.

Notes to Chapter 2 223 211. Senator Heinz Ruhnau, printed paper for the Senate Session no. 115, March 6, 1967; ‘‘Antwort des Senats auf die kleine Anfrage des Abgeordneten Plattner,’’ doc. no. 499, both in BArch, b82/527. 212. ‘‘Obi Ifeobu Lebt!,’’ asta-Info, Sonder-Info, winter semester 68/69, November 19, 1968, iish, nl, 59. 213. Franz Jochen Schoeller, West German Embassy in Tehran, to the aa, December 4, 1969, paaa, b82, Bd. 524. 214. Division v3, note on ‘‘Angebliche Kundgebung schah-feindlicher iranischer Studenten am 17. Dezember 1969 in Karlsruhe,’’ December 9, 1969, ibid. 215. Ibid. 216. Schoeller to the aa (December 4, 1969). 217. Kraushaar, 1968 als Mythos, Chi√re und Zäsur, 37. 218. Schönwälder, ‘‘West German Society and Foreigners in the 1960s,’’ 119. 219. Chin, The Guest Worker Question in Postwar Germany, 51; Herbert, A History of Foreign Labor in Germany, 214–15.

2 Third Worldism and Collaboration 1. Dutschke, ‘‘Die Widersprüche des Spätkapitalismus, die antiautoritären Studenten und ihr Verhältnis zur Dritten Welt,’’ 63. 2. Koenen, Das rote Jahrzehnt, 67–68; Kraushaar, ‘‘Der Vietcong als Mythos des bewa√neten Volksaufstandes,’’ 762. For an exception, see Seibert, ‘‘Proteste gegen den Film Africa Addio.’’ Niels Seibert shares my emphasis on the significance of collaboration with Third World students on the internationalism of the student movement. 3. Michel, ‘‘Maos Sonne über Mönchengladbach,’’ 258; Schmidtke, Der Aufbruch der jungen Intelligenz, 263; ‘‘Twenty Years After: Gespräch mit Peter Gäng, Mitglied des Arbeitskreises Vietnam des Berliner sds 1964 und ab 1966 zweiter Bundesvorsitzender des sds,’’ in Balsen and Rössel, Hoch die internationale Solidarität, 257. 4. Nirumand et al., ‘‘Ringvorlesung vom 15.Juni 1988,’’ 61. 5. Karl, Rudi Dutschke, 9. The other biographies are Chaussy, Die drei Leben des Rudi Dutschke; Dutschke-Klotz, Rudi Dutschke; Miermeister, Rudi Dutschke; Rabehl, Rudi Dutschke. 6. For an important exception see Brown, ‘‘ ‘1968’ East and West,’’ 75. 7. Miermeister, Rudi Dutschke, 18. 8. Dutschke, Aufrecht gehen, 37. 9. Ibid. 10. Ibid., 38. 11. Ibid. 12. Chaussy, Die drei Leben des Rudi Dutschke, 37. 13. Miermeister, Rudi Dutschke, 40. 14. Ibid., 55.

224 Notes to Chapter 2 15. Dutschke, ‘‘Die Widersprüche des Spätkapitalismus, die antiautoritären Studenten und ihr Verhältnis zur Dritten Welt,’’ 62; Dutschke-Klotz, Rudi Dutschke, 58. 16. The biographical information comes from the senior public prosecutor Horst Severin to District Court, Berlin, arraignment, March 8, 1968, his, Bestand Sozialistische Anwaltskollektiv Berlin, 225.02, Rechtshilfe Anträge a-e. (Africa Addio 2. August 1966) folder. Salvatore also co-wrote the foreword to the forty-six-page volume with Dutschke: Guevara, Kleine revolutionäre Bibliothek 1. 17. Quoted in Chaussy, Die drei Leben des Rudi Dutschke, 64. 18. ‘‘Brief von Rudi Dutschke an die Münchner Gruppe vom 24 Aug 1965,’’ reprinted in Böckelmann and Nagel, Subversive Aktion, 340. 19. Rudi Dutschke, ‘‘Diskussionsbeitrag [for Subversive Aktion meeting in Munich in April 1965],’’ reprinted ibid., 323. 20. Ibid. 21. Ibid., 326. 22. Westad, The Global Cold War, 176. 23. See Gleijeses, Conflicting Missions. 24. Norman Gall, ‘‘A Red Insurgency Jolts Latin America,’’ Wall Street Journal, November 8, 1965. 25. ‘‘Madrid Police Seize 100 Reds in Secret Unit,’’ New York Times, June 19, 1964. 26. ‘‘Latin Guerrillas Draw City Youth,’’ New York Times, August 1, 1965. 27. Lönnendonker and Fichter, Freie Universität Berlin, 40. 28. Ibid. 29. Ibid. 30. Chaussy, Die drei Leben des Rudi Dutschke, 102. 31. Ibid., 103. 32. his, Nachlass Rudi Dutschke, contents of a notebook labeled ‘‘1964/1965 Lateinamerika,’’ rud 210.03. 33. Lönnendonker and Fichter, Freie Universität Berlin, 148. 34. ‘‘Student Recalls cia Recruiting,’’ New York Times, February 20, 1967. 35. Ibid. 36. fu Spiegel, February 22, 1967, nl, 15. 37. Westad, The Global Cold War, 178. 38. The exchange is reproduced in Dutschke-Klotz, Rudi Dutschke, 79. 39. his, Nachlass Rudi Dutschke. 40. For an examination of Dutschke’s reception of Cuban revolutionary socialism focusing on the question of nationalism, see Hosek, ‘‘ ‘Subaltern Nationalism’ and the West Berlin Anti-Authoritarians,’’ 57–81. 41. Dutschke, ‘‘Diskussionsbeitrag,’’ 326. 42. Miermeister, Rudi Dutschke, 31. 43. Dutschke, ‘‘Diskussionsbeitrag,’’ 323. 44. At a discussion of the Chinese Cultural Revolution with the Belgian political economist Ernest Mandel, Dutschke was quoted as saying, ‘‘By spring, there will be 500,000 unemployed. But we still have no group to organize them in.’’

Notes to Chapter 2 225 Udo Bergdoll, ‘‘Der Führer der ‘Berliner Provos’ verteidigte das Treiben der ‘Roten Garden,’ ’’ bz,’’ December 21, 1966, reprinted in Lönnendonker and Fichter, Freie Universität Berlin, 377. 45. Dutschke, ‘‘Diskussionsbeitrag,’’ 323. 46. Klimke, The Other Alliance, 69, 97, 113. 47. Dutschke, ‘‘Diskussionsbeitrag,’’ 324. 48. Dutschke, ‘‘Die Widersprüche des Spätkapitalismus, die antiautoritären Studenten und ihr Verhältnis zur Dritten Welt,’’ 63. 49. Karl Marx and Friedrich Engels, ‘‘Address of the Central Committee to the Communist League London, March 1850,’’ quoted in Dutschke, ‘‘Diskussionsbeitrag,’’ 324. The translation is from http://www.marxists.org/archive/marx/ works/1847/communist-league/1850-ad1.htm (accessed July 31, 2011). 50. Dutschke, ‘‘Diskussionsbeitrag,’’ 326. 51. Ibid. 52. Dutschke, ‘‘Die Widersprüche des Spätkapitalismus, die antiautoritären Studenten und ihr Verhältnis zur Dritten Welt,’’ 62. Martin Klimke notes that Dutschke was able to secure an advance copy of the German translation from Traugott König, a member of the sds and the text’s German translator: Klimke, The Other Alliance, 266. 53. Lönnendonker et al., Die antiautoritäre Revolte, 241, 258. 54. Fanon, The Wretched of the Earth, 94; Karl, Rudi Dutschke, 97. 55. The biographical information is from Europäische Verlagsanstalt, Dritte Welt, Stand Mai 1969, booklet, iish, Kurt Steinhaus Papers (hereafter, KS), 24. 56. Zahar, ‘‘Frantz Fanons antikolonialistisches Manifest,’’ 49. 57. See Georg Lukács, ‘‘Reification and the Consciousness of the Proletariat’’ (1923), in Lukács, History and Class Consciousness, 83–222. 58. Dutschke, ‘‘Die Widersprüche des Spätkapitalismus, die antiautoritären Studenten und ihr Verhältnis zur Dritten Welt,’’ 69. The English translation is from Fanon, The Wretched of the Earth, 81. In two recent publications, Detlef Siegfried mistakenly attributes this quote to Dutschke himself: Siegfried, ‘‘White Negroes,’’ 201; Siegfried, Time Is on My Side, 381. 59. Dutschke, ‘‘Die Widersprüche des Spätkapitalismus, die antiautoritären Studenten und ihr Verhältnis zur Dritten Welt,’’ 64. 60. Students in Haiti held a four-month university strike in early 1961 to oppose the Emergency Law measures of the repressive Duvalier government, organized against the government in exile, and took part in a failed invasion in 1964: ‘‘Haiti Students End University Strike,’’ New York Times, March 17, 1961; ‘‘Madrid Police Seize 100 Reds in Secret Unit.’’ Students led a failed overthrow of Ethiopia’s Emperor Haile Selassie in 1960 and became more active in opposition to the administration at mid-decade, culminating in intensive protests in 1968 and 1969 in which many students were shot and imprisoned: Jay Walz, ‘‘Selassie Sets Out to Bolster Regime Shaken by Rebels,’’ New York Times, December 25, 1960; John K. Cooley, ‘‘Students Prod Ethiopian Reforms,’’ Christian Science Monitor, May 31, 1966; Hanna et al., ‘‘The Active Minority,’’ 73–74. 61. Although Lumumba was killed by Katangan o≈cers and police on Janu-

226 Notes to Chapter 2 ary 17, 1961, the world public became aware of his death only on February 13, when the Katangan administration announced (erroneously) that he had been killed by villagers while escaping: ‘‘Lumumba in Katanga ermordet,’’ Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung, February 14, 1961; Witte, The Assassination of Lumumba, 143. 62. ‘‘Asians, Africans Still Rioting over Lumumba,’’ Los Angeles Times, February 19, 1961. 63. Ibid.; ‘‘Rioting over Patrice Eases,’’ Chicago Daily Defender, February 21, 1961. 64. ‘‘Protests in Several Nations,’’ New York Times, February 17, 1961. 65. ‘‘Rioting Over Patrice Eases’’; ‘‘No Appreciation,’’ Chicago Daily Tribune, February 22, 1961; ‘‘Lumumba Rioting; Russ Boycott un Chief,’’ Los Angeles Times, February 15, 1961; ‘‘African Students Storm Embassies,’’ Chicago Daily Defender, February 15, 1961. 66. Joseph, Waiting ’til the Midnight Hour, 38–42. 67. Nzongola-Ntalaja, The Congo from Leopold to Kabila, 101. 68. Ibid., 107. 69. Ibid., 108–10. 70. ‘‘Brussels Students Stone uar, Russ Embassies,’’ Chicago Daily Tribune, February 18, 1961. 71. Nzongola-Ntalaja, The Congo from Leopold to Kabila, 135. 72. Ibid., 138. 73. Heidemann received the Gold Medal from World Press Photo in 1965 for his photographs of the mercenaries. He is best known to history, however, for negotiating the sale of the counterfeit ‘‘Hitler diaries’’ to Stern magazine in 1983, for which he was found guilty of fraud. In 2002, it was also revealed that he had been working with the East German secret police since 1953: Klaus Brinkbäumer and Ste√en Winter, ‘‘Dann bist Du erledigt,’’ Der Spiegel, July 29, 2001, 78–83. 74. Ernst Petry and Gerd Heidemann, ‘‘Auf der Straße der Landsknechte (1),’’ Stern, November 22, 1964, 470–53; Ernst Petry and Gerd Heidemann, ‘‘Auf der Straße der Landsknechte (2),’’ Stern, November 29, 1964, 92–99; Ernst Petry and Gerd Heidemann, ‘‘Auf der Straße der Landsknechte (3),’’ Stern, December 6, 1964, 112–118. See ‘‘Siegfried Müller,’’ Der Spiegel, September 23, 1964, 138. For facts related to Müller, see Hagen, ‘‘Internationalism in Cold War Germany.’’ Hagen also investigates in depth the West German state response to the Congo conflict. 75. Bunnenberg, ‘‘Kongo-Müller,’’ 17; Luft, ‘‘Kongo-Greuel.’’ 76. Luft, ‘‘Kongo-Greuel,’’ 17. 77. Ibid., 18. 78. Ibid., 19. 79. ‘‘Demonstration gegen Tschombe,’’ Der Tagesspiegel, December 18, 1964; ‘‘Die ‘Befreiungsaktion’ im Kongo,’’ n.d., apoa Privatbesitz, sds, Arbeitskreise folder. The statement was signed by the Iranian, Syrian, Iraqi, Greek, South African, and Sudanese student associations, along with the sds Hamburg.

Notes to Chapter 2 227 80. Aktion für Internationale Solidarität, ‘‘Was hat der Mörder Tschombe bei uns zu suchen?’’ (1964), reprinted in Miermeister and Staadt, Provokationen, 75. 81. Hedrick Smith, ‘‘Nasser Is Holding Tshombe Hostage for Cairo’s Aides,’’ New York Times, October 8, 1964. 82. Quoted in Lönnendonker and Fichter, Freie Universität Berlin, 9. 83. ‘‘Anti-Tshombe Marchers Foiled by Paris Police,’’ Los Angeles Times, December 1, 1964. 84. ‘‘Rome Reds Riot over Tshombe,’’ Chicago Tribune, December 11, 1964. 85. Kraushaar, 1968 als Mythos, Chi√re und Zäsur, 28. 86. Lönnendonker et al., Die antiautoritäre Revolte, 199, 422–24. See Böckelmann and Nagel, Subversive Aktion; Lee, ‘‘Umherschweifen und Spektakel’’; Teune, ‘‘Humour as a Guerrilla Tactic,’’ 115–32. 87. For an account of the years before 1964 by a central member of Subversive Aktion, Situationist International, and Spur, see Kunzelmann, Leisten Sie keinen Widerstand!, 25–44. 88. The group began self-publishing a magazine called Anschlag in August 1964: Lönnendonker et al., Die antiautoritäre Revolte, 200, 224. 89. Ibid., 200. Aktion für Internationale Solidarität, ‘‘Was hat der Mörder Tschombe bei uns zu suchen?,’’ 75. 90. The groups that signed the protest statement were the sds, the lsd, the Argument Club, the Afrikanische Studentenbund, and the Lateinamerikanische Studentenbund: Lönnendonker et al., Die antiautoritäre Revolte, 200. 91. Ibid. 92. ‘‘Call for Demonstration!,’’ apoa, A. K. Privatbesitz, sds, Arbeitskreise folder. 93. Ibid. 94. ‘‘Zum Verlauf der Demonstration gegen den Empfang Tschombés durch den Regierenden Bürgermeister von Berlin,’’ doc. no. 361, reprinted in Lönnendonker and Fichter, Freie Universität Berlin, 179. 95. Secretary of State for Universities and Technical Schools, Enclosure 1, ‘‘Bürger Entwicklungsländer, die sich am 1. Januar 1965 an Hoch- und Fachschulen der ddr in Ausbildung befanden,’’ BArch, dy 30-IV, a2/9.04/466. 96. Komitee für Angelegenheiten ausländischer Studierender in der ddr, ‘‘Analyse der Arbeit im Bereich des Ausländerstudiums an Hoch- und Fachschulen der ddr im Studienjahr 1968–69,’’ October 15, 1969, BArch, dy 30-IV, a2/9.04/513, 15. Internal reports suggest that this freedom was a source of resentment for those foreign students denied similar freedoms. East German authorities also repeatedly expressed concern that some foreign students were abusing the right of freedom of movement to smuggle goods and currency into the gdr: see Horst Kühlinger, Secretary of Agitprop, sed Kreisleitung tu Dresden, ‘‘Bericht über die politisch-ideologische Situation unter den ausländischen Studenten der tu Dresden,’’ August 28, 1967, BArch, dy 30-IV, a2/9.04/466, 14. Karl Schlögel has recently suggested that the black markets created by Third World students with similar freedom of movement at Moscow’s Patrice Lumumba

228 Notes to Chapter 2 University in the 1980s were part of an early ‘‘molecular movement’’ that drained the Soviet Union’s legitimacy: Karl Schlögel, ‘‘The Black Marketeers of Bahnhof Zoo,’’ March 24, 2009, available online at http://www.signandsight.com (accessed July 31, 2011). 97. Kühlinger, ‘‘Bericht über die politisch-ideologische Situation unter den ausländischen Studenten der tu Dresden,’’ 19a. 98. ‘‘Berliner Studenten demonstrieren,’’ Frankfurter Rundschau, December 19, 1964. 99. Oehler and Pabel, Das Studium der Ausländer an den wissenschaftlichen Hochschulen in der Bundesrepublik, 107. Although eighty-six Congolese participated in language training at Goethe Institutes in West Germany in 1962, the number could include practical trainees as well as labor leaders: Statistisches Bundesamt, Statistisches Jahrbuch für die Bundesrepublik Deutschland (1963), 106. 100. Mwafrika, organ of the Afrikanischen Studentenunion Deutschland, July–August 1962, nos. 1–2, 11, BArch, b166/1411. 101. Kühlinger, ‘‘Bericht über die politisch-ideologische Situation unter den ausländischen Studenten der tu Dresden,’’ 24. 102. Nzongola-Ntalaja, The Congo from Leopold to Kabila, 175–76. 103. Césaire, Im Kongo. 104. ‘‘Zum Verlauf der Demonstration gegen den Empfang Tschombés durch den Regierenden Bürgermeister von Berlin,’’ doc. no. 361, reprinted in Lönnendonker and Fichter, Freie Universität Berlin, 179. 105. Seibert, ‘‘Vor 40 Jahren,’’ 15; ‘‘fdj verteilte Flugblätter’’ Berliner Morgenpost, December 22, 1964. 106. Lönnendonker et al., Die antiautoritäre Revolte, 200. 107. ‘‘Zum Verlauf der Demonstration gegen den Empfang Tschombés durch den Regierenden Bürgermeister von Berlin,’’ 179. 108. ‘‘Plötzlich wurde das Gesicht Tschombes starr,’’ Berliner Morgenpost, December 21, 1964. 109. Chaussy, Die drei Leben des Rudi Dutschke, 67. 110. Ibid., 68. 111. ‘‘Zum Verlauf der Demonstration gegen den Empfang Tschombés durch den Regierenden Bürgermeister von Berlin,’’ 180. 112. Ibid. 113. ‘‘Nach Tschombe empfing Brandt die Demonstranten. Tumulte vor dem Rathaus,’’ Berliner Morgenpost, December 21, 1964. 114. ‘‘Zum Verlauf der Demonstration gegen den Empfang Tschombés durch den Regierenden Bürgermeister von Berlin,’’ 180. 115. ‘‘Tshombe Curtails West Berlin Visit after Jeering by Student Crowds,’’ Washington Post, Times Herald, December 19, 1964. 116. ‘‘U.S. Flies Tshombe from Berlin’s Jeers,’’ Chicago Tribune, December 19, 1964. 117. Ibid.; Frank Böckelmann to Christofer Baldeney, June 14, 1965, reprinted in Böckelmann and Nagel, Subversive Aktion, 295.

Notes to Chapter 2 229 118. Bergmann et al., Rebellion der Studenten oder Die neue Opposition. 119. Rabehl, ‘‘Von der antiautoritären Bewegung zur sozialistischen Opposition,’’ 160. 120. Ibid. 121. Ibid. 122. Ibid., 162. 123. A. J. [Rudi Dutschke], ‘‘Die Rolle der antikapitalistischen, wenn auch nicht sozialistischen Sowjetunion für die Marxistischen Sozialisten in der Welt,’’ Anschlag 1, no. 1 (August 1964), reprinted in Böckelmann and Nagel, Subversive Aktion, 169. 124. Dutschke, ‘‘Die Widersprüche des Spätkapitalismus, die antiautoritären Studenten und ihr Verhältnis zur Dritten Welt,’’ 63. 125. Ibid., 64. 126. Dutschke, Jeder hat sein Leben ganz zu leben, 22, 24. 127. Rudi Dutschke, ‘‘Von der entgegengesetzten Seite her gesehen—aus Anlaß der Amtsübergabe von Gustav Heinemann,’’ Extra-Dienst (supp.), May 28, 1974, quoted in Miermeister, Rudi Dutschke, 50. 128. Dutschke, ‘‘Diskussionsbeitrag,’’ 327. 129. Rudi Dutschke, sds Landesverband Berlin, ‘‘Bibliographie der Projektgruppe Dritte Welt,’’ August 18, 1967, apoa, Urs Müller-Plantenberg, sds, Privatarchiv III, September 1965–September 1968, folder. 130. ‘‘Studenten holten Ost-FDJler zum Tschombe-Protest. Funktionäre brachten ihre Transparente mit,’’ Berliner Morgenpost, December 20, 1964; ‘‘fdj verteilte Flugblätter,’’ Berliner Morgenpost, December 22, 1964. 131. Lönnendonker et al., Die antiautoritäre Revolte, 200. 132. Claus O√e, Landesverband Berlin, sds, to Mayor Willy Brandt and Rector Herbert Lüers, asta , factions of delegates of Berlin, December 26, 1964, apoa, Urs Müller-Plantenberg, sds, Privatarchiv II, January 1964–December 1964, folder. 133. ‘‘Interview mit Wolf Haug am 27. Januar 1999 in Berlin,’’ apoa, 68er Interviews—Berlin, a-h. 134. ‘‘Interview mit Peter Gäng am 16. April 1997 in Berlin,’’ ibid. 135. Karl, Rudi Dutschke, 36. 136. Gilcher-Holtey, ‘‘Kritische Theorie und Neue Linke,’’ 180. 137. For mention of the deaths of Germain and Pierre-Louis, see PierreCharles, Haïti Jamais Plus!, 111. I thank Matthew J. Smith at the University of the West Indies, Mona, for the reference. For an in-depth study of Haitian radicalism before the 1960s, see Smith, Red and Black in Haiti. Gretchen DutschkeKlotz mentions Germain’s death in a footnote to Dutschke’s journals. Dutschke, Jeder hat sein Leben ganz zu leben, 53. 138. Dutschke, Versuch, Lenin auf die Füße zu stellen. 139. Gaston Salvatore, ‘‘Lost in the Federal Republic,’’ dossier 1968, Goethe Institute, available online at http://www.goethe.de (accessed July 31, 2011). 140. Sektor Hoch- und Fachschulpolitik, Information, November 17, 1967, BArch, dy 30-IV, a2/9.04/468.

230 Notes to Chapter 3 141. Quoted in Juchler, Die Studentenbewegungen in den Vereinigten Staaten und der Bundesrepublik Deutschland der sechziger Jahre, 242. 142. Langguth, Mythos ’68, 65. 143. Kommune 2, Versuch der Revolutionierung des bürgerlichen Individuums, 14. 144. Krohn, ‘‘Die westdeutsche Studentenbewegung und das ‘andere Deutschland,’ ’’ 702. 145. Kraushaar, ‘‘Der Vietcong als Mythos des bewa√neten Volksaufstandes,’’ 762.

3 The Rupture of Vietnam 1. Siepmann, ‘‘Vietnam—der große Katalysator,’’ 195. 2. Deppe and Steinhaus, ‘‘Politische Praxis und Schulung im sds,’’ 32. 3. Lönnendonker et al., Die antiautoritäre Revolte, 209. 4. The notion that Vietnam was a ‘‘testing ground’’ for future suppression of Third World liberation movements and, as discussed later in this chapter, the basis for the Vietnam congress organized by the sds in 1966. For a contemporary report on new weapons being used in Vietnam, see Horlemann and Gäng, Vietnam, 178. 5. Süverkrüp, ‘‘Vietnam-Zyklus,’’ 126; author’s translation. 6. Tent, The Free University of Berlin, 307. It should be noted, however, that post-secondary students were the least likely to have access to television sets. In 1968, only 30 percent of post-secondary students had television sets, and as Detlef Siegfried notes, they were the most likely group to be critical of the medium as a source of information and entertainment: Siegfried, Time Is on My Side, 79. 7. Chaussy, Die drei Leben des Rudi Dutschke, 148. 8. Klaus Vack, quoted in Balsen and Rössel, Hoch die internationale Solidarität, 129. 9. Ibid., 128. 10. Interview with Peter Gäng, ibid., 255. 11. Tent, The Free University of Berlin, 188. 12. Balsen and Rössel, Hoch die internationale Solidarität, 146. 13. Meinhof, ‘‘Deutschland ohne Kennedy,’’ 38. 14. Wolfgang Neuss, Aufruf, ‘‘Berliner Weihnachts-Damoklesschwert 1965,’’ December 2–6, 1965, reprinted in Lönnendonker and Fichter, Freie Universität Berlin, 55. 15. The defense budget increased by $17 billion during the Kennedy presidency: Young, The Vietnam Wars, 76. 16. ‘‘Schleier des Schweigens,’’ Der Spiegel, March 7, 1962, 73. 17. Young, The Vietnam Wars, 82. 18. Sterling G. Slappey, ‘‘Erhard Lauds U.S. for Keeping Commitments,’’ Los

Notes to Chapter 3 231 Angeles Times, April 21, 1965; John W. Finney, ‘‘Erhard Backs U.S. on Vietnam Stand,’’ New York Times, June 5, 1965; Harry B. Ellis, ‘‘West Germans Increase Viet ‘care’ Aid,’’ Christian Science Monitor, July 15, 1966. 19. ‘‘Brandt Aligns Party with U.S. on Vietnam,’’ Los Angeles Times, April 27, 1965. Brandt and Fritz Erler, the party leader, were the strongest defenders of U.S. policy within the spd against the skepticism of some lower-ranking party leaders: Troche, ‘‘Berlin wird am Mekong verteidigt,’’ 350–52. 20. Mayor Willy Brandt to Major John F. Franklin, letter, February 7, 1966, reprinted in Lönnendonker and Fichter, Freie Universität Berlin, 68. 21. Troche, ‘‘Berlin wird am Mekong verteidigt,’’ 291. 22. Ibid., 289. 23. See, e.g., National Security Adviser McGeorge Bundy’s claim, from February 12, 1965, that ‘‘the defense of Berlin right now is in Vietnam’’: quoted in Mausbach, ‘‘Auschwitz and Vietnam,’’ 285. 24. Troche, ‘‘Berlin wird am Mekong verteidigt,’’ 341. 25. Quoted ibid., 345. 26. Public opinion polls suggested that direct military aid would have been a political disaster. In the summer of 1965, while the vast majority of West Germans supported the U.S. intervention, 90 percent opposed the deployment of the Bundeswehr to South Vietnam: ibid., 359. 27. Osgood Caruthers, ‘‘Erhard Leaves Today for Washington Talks,’’ Los Angeles Times, December 19, 1965. 28. Max Frankel, ‘‘Johnson, Erhard Abandon the Plan for Atomic Fleet,’’ New York Times, December 22, 1965. 29. Hermann Schreiber, ‘‘Das wahre Ungemach ist Made in Germany,’’ Der Spiegel, September 19, 1966, 141. 30. Mausbach, ‘‘Auschwitz and Vietnam,’’ 284. See also Thomas, Protest Movements in 1960s West Germany, 70–71. 31. Mausbach, ‘‘Auschwitz and Vietnam,’’ 284. 32. Wernicke, ‘‘Solidarität hilft siegen!,’’ 24. 33. Lönnendonker et al., Die antiautoritäre Revolte, 215. 34. Ibid., 211, 222. 35. ‘‘Wasser in den Augen,’’ Der Spiegel, December 22, 1965, 33. Falkenberg mentioned that the declaration was ‘‘drawn up in the Argument Club’’ in a letter to Herbert Marcuse: Walmot Falkenberg, sds, to Herbert Marcuse, May 11, 1966, apoa, Kongreß ‘‘Vietnam—Analyse eines Exempels,’’ 1966, folder. 36. Lönnendonker et al., Die antiautoritäre Revolte, 221. 37. ‘‘Erklärung über den Krieg in Vietnam,’’ reproduced in Miermeister and Staadt, Provokationen, 79–81. 38. Young, The Vietnam Wars, 152. 39. Lönnendonker and Fichter, Freie Universität Berlin, 53. 40. Klimke, The Other Alliance, esp. chaps. 1–3. 41. Meinhof, ‘‘Vietnam und Deutschland,’’ 71. 42. Lönnendonker et al., Die antiautoritäre Revolte, 236.

232 Notes to Chapter 3 43. The groups were the Unione Goliardica Italiana from Italy; the Fédération des Groupes d’Études des Lettres from France; Politeia from the Netherlands; the Verband Sozialistischer Mittelschüler and the Verband Sozialistischer Studenten Österreichs from Austria; Clarté from Sweden; and Sosialistik Studentenforbund from Norway: Press Release n.d., apoa, Kongreß ‘‘Vietnam—Analyse eines Exempels,’’ 1966, folder. 44. ‘‘Informationen über den Studentenkongreß am 22 Mai 1966 in der Universität Frankfurt,’’ ibid. 45. Presseerklärung, n.d., ibid. 46. ‘‘Afro-Asiatisches Prinzip,’’ 22. Only eleven students from Laos, Cambodia, and South Vietnam combined entered West German universities in 1962: Oehler and Pabel, Das Studium der Ausländer an den wissenschaftlichen Hochschulen in der Bundesrepublik, 108. The appearance of a South Vietnamese student named Le Voha at an sds event in Munich on July 15, 1964, was a rare exception: Lönnendonker et al., Die antiautoritäre Revolte, 210. 47. Vietnamesische Studentengruppe Aachen, n.d. (ca. 1972), iish, nl, 94. 48. Telegrams in Vietnamese blocking money transfers, as well as statements from the embassy, reproduced ibid. 49. ‘‘Gegen Bombkriege in Vietnam,’’ sds-Information, no. 1/1965, February 18, 1965, 8, apoa, Müller-Plantenberg II folder. 50. Lönnendonker et al., Die antiautoritäre Revolte, 212. 51. Ibid., 214. 52. Berghahn, America and the Intellectual Cold Wars in Europe. 53. Tent, The Free University of Berlin, 205. 54. See the discussion of the Espinoza A√air in chapter 2. 55. See ‘‘Student Recalls cia Recruiting,’’ New York Times, February 20, 1967; ‘‘Berlin Students Ask cia Inquiry,’’ New York Times, February 22, 1967. 56. Lönnendonker and Fichter, Freie Universität Berlin, 70. 57. Thomas, Protest Movements in 1960s West Germany, 53–56. 58. Klimke, The Other Alliance, 81. 59. Ibid., 170, 214. 60. ‘‘Eier von links,’’ Der Spiegel, February 14, 1966, 48. Der Spiegel put the number of participants at 1,500. The Manchester Guardian reported 1,000 demonstrators, and movement historians put the number at 2,500: ‘‘Anti-U.S. Satirist Hounded out of Berlin,’’ Washington Post, Times Herald, February 10, 1966; Fichter and Lönnendonker, Kleine Geschichte des sds , 92. 61. Lönnendonker et al., Die antiautoritäre Revolte, 231; Lönnendonker and Fichter, Freie Universität Berlin, 67–68. 62. Mohr, Der diskrete Charme der Rebellion, 57. 63. ‘‘Eier von links.’’ Episodes of physical violence against leftist students (and people assumed to be leftist students) accompanied pro-U.S. rallies in the years that followed, as well. Most notably, a crowd chased and threatened to lynch a man misidentified as Rudi Dutschke after a pro-U.S. demonstration in February 1968: Klimke, The Other Alliance, 170, 172.

Notes to Chapter 3 233 64. Schunter-Kleeman, ‘‘sds Aktivistin,’’ 108. 65. See, e.g., Renate Bühning, hsu, October 25, 1963, apoa, Privatbesitz Marianne Lieck, Alexander 1963 folder. In West Berlin, the hsu signed on to the major antiwar statements after 1965: Lönnendonker and Fichter, Freie Universität Berlin, 59, 130, 167. 66. hu, Mitteilungen, no. 26, March–April 1966, 13. 67. The hu was formed in 1961 out of concern with restrictions on democracy in West Germany under the Adenauer government: Wildenthal, ‘‘Human Rights Advocacy and National Identity in West Germany,’’ 1053. 68. See the contributions to Humanistische Union, Mitteilungen, discussion 1 (1968) and discussion 2 (1968), n.p. 69. Lönnendonker et al., Die antiautoritäre Revolte, 258. Since its break with the spd in 1960, the sds’s revenue came from internal membership contributions rather than party funding, thus freeing it from the financial pressure put on other political student groups. For a detailed description of the sds split with the spd, see Albrecht, Der Sozialistische Deutsche Studentenbund, 322–49. 70. Lönnendonker et al., Die antiautoritäre Revolte, 258. 71. Lönnendonker and Fichter, Freie Universität Berlin, 69. 72. Kadritzke, ‘‘Produktive und unproduktive Illusionen in der Studentenbewegung,’’ 248. 73. For an example, see Dietrich Wetzel, member of the sds, quoted in Lönnendonker et al., Die antiautoritäre Revolte, 211. 74. Ibid. Young, The Vietnam Wars, 129. 75. Lönnendonker et al., Die antiautoritäre Revolte, 209. 76. Scholars have noted that historical and popular memory has underplayed the contributions of Abendroth and the Marburg faction to New Left discourse in favor of a focus on West Berlin’s student leaders and the academics of the Frankfurt School: Behrmann, ‘‘Kulturrevolution,’’ 333; Bock, ‘‘Ein unangepaßter Marxist im Kalten Krieg,’’ 238. A member of the German Communist Party during the Weimar Republic, Abendroth was imprisoned for his politics during the Second World War. When transported to fight involuntarily on the front in Greece in 1943, he deserted and joined the Greek resistance: Deppe, ‘‘Ein Leben in der Arbeiterbewegung,’’ 188. 77. Habermas, ‘‘Wolfgang Abendroth in der Bundesrepublik,’’ 169. 78. Bock, ‘‘Ein unangepaßter Marxist im Kalten Krieg,’’ 222. 79. Deppe and Steinhaus, ‘‘Politische Praxis und Schulung im sds,’’ 33. 80. Boris, ‘‘Zur politischen Ökonomie der Beziehungen zwischen Entwicklungsländern und westlichen Industriegesellschaften,’’ 174–75. 81. Ibid., 194. 82. Ibid. 83. Ibid., 176–77. 84. Ibid., 187. 85. Ibid., 179. 86. Ibid., 190.

234 Notes to Chapter 3 87. Ibid., 183. 88. Ibid., 184. 89. Griepenburg and Steinhaus, ‘‘Zu einigen sozioökonomischen und militärischen Aspekten des Vietnamkonflikts,’’ 54. 90. The Marburg understanding of what was called military Keynesianism was indebted to the work of the Marxist economists Paul Baran and Paul M. Sweezy, whose work, although not translated into German, was very influential in sds circles. Deppe and Steinhaus cite Baran’s Political Economy of Growth in ‘‘Zur Vorgeschichte des ‘underdevelopment’ und der ‘nationalen Befreiung,’ ’’ 17. In a letter to Sweezy in 1967, Steinhaus emphasized the influence of Baran’s work in sds circles: Kurt Steinhaus to Paul Sweezy, letter, January 20, 1967, iish, ks, 8. 91. Griepenburg and Steinhaus, ‘‘Zu einigen sozioökonomischen und militärischen Aspekten des Vietnamkonflikts,’’ 54. 92. Ibid. 93. Ibid. See M. J. Rossant, ‘‘Vietnam War Fuels U.S. Growth,’’ New York Times, September 24, 1965. 94. The authors themselves refer to Steinhaus for the ‘‘socio-economic aspects of American policy’’: Horlemann and Gäng, Vietnam, 187. 95. Griepenburg and Steinhaus, ‘‘Zu einigen sozioökonomischen und militärischen Aspekten des Vietnamkonflikts,’’ 54. 96. Ibid., 55. 97. Ibid. 98. Deppe and Steinhaus, ‘‘Politische Praxis und Schulung im sds,’’ 34. 99. Ibid. 100. Griepenburg and Steinhaus, ‘‘Zu einigen sozioökonomischen und militärischen Aspekten des Vietnamkonflikts,’’ 46. Mao’s distinction here closely resembles that made by Antonio Gramsci between ‘‘war of position’’ and ‘‘war of movement.’’ Abendroth was one of the few political theorists in West Germany to engage with Gramsci’s writings before the 1970s. He wrote the foreword to the first book-length translation of his writings published in 1967: Gramsci, Philosophie der Praxis. Gramsci’s Prison Notebooks was translated into German and published in the gdr in the late 1950s: Gramsci, Briefe aus dem Kerker. 101. Deppe and Steinhaus, ‘‘Politische Praxis und Schulung im sds,’’ 33. 102. Lönnendonker and Fichter, Freie Universität Berlin, 66. For an account of the action, see Chaussy, Die drei Leben des Rudi Dutschke, 119–20. 103. Reprinted in Fichter and Lönnendonker, Kleine Geschichte des sds , 91–92. 104. Reprinted ibid., 96. 105. Reprinted ibid.; emphasis added. 106. Rudi Dutschke, ‘‘Diskussionsbeitrag [for April 1965 Subversive Aktion meeting in Munich],’’ reprinted in Böckelmann and Nagel, Subversive Aktion, 324. 107. Ibid. 108. Kunzelmann, Leisten Sie keinen Widerstand!, 49. 109. Ibid.

Notes to Chapter 3 235 110. Ibid. 111. Dutschke-Klotz, Rudi Dutschke, 87. Wolfgang Kraushaar calls the poster a double provocation, aimed at both the West German government and the antiauthoritarian faction’s own more moderate colleagues in the sds: Kraushaar, ‘‘Der Vietcong als Mythos des bewa√neten Volksaufstandes,’’ 756. 112. The ‘‘Vietnam—Analyse eines Exempels’’ student congress was held on May 22, 1966, at Frankfurt University: Invitation, apoa, Kongreß ‘‘Vietnam— Analyse eines Exempels,’’ 1966, folder. The sds printed the declaration verbatim in the conference announcement. 113. ‘‘Referat des 1. sds Bundesvorstizender Helmut Schauer während der Landesvollversammlung in Berlin am 18 Mai 1966,’’ doc. no. 532, reprinted in Lönnendonker and Fichter, Freie Universität Berlin, 314. 114. Reprinted in Lönnendonker et al., Die antiautoritäre Revolte, 257. 115. ‘‘Informationen über Vietnam und Länder der Dritten Welt 1. An die Teilnehmer der Berliner Vietnamdemonstration: sds (U. Enzensberger, R. Fleischmann, P. Gäng, H.-J. Hameister, J. Horlemann, E. Nohara [später gestrichen], G. Schmidt, R. Würgau; Verantwortlich: U. Enzensberger),’’ doc. no. 528, reprinted in Lönnendonker and Fichter, Freie Universität Berlin, 307. 116. Ibid. 117. Jürgen Horlemann, ‘‘Referat zu Flugblatt ‘Informationen über Vietnam und Länder der Dritten Welt’ May 1966 [before Congress],’’ doc. no. 531, reprinted ibid., 311. 118. Falkenberg to Marcuse (May 11, 1966). 119. Ibid. 120. Marcuse, ‘‘Vietnam—Analyse eines Exempels,’’ 208. Marcuse’s speech was also reprinted in Neue Kritik 7, nos. 36–37 (July–August 1966), 30–38. 121. Günther Behrmann has emphasized the distinction between the radical existential position of Marcuse in the 1960s, with its clear connections to Heidegger, and that of Theodor Adorno and Jürgen Habermas, who were much more moderate in their political demands and often critical of what they saw as the ‘‘voluntarist’’ excesses of some factions of the student movement: Behrmann, ‘‘Kulturrevolution,’’ 334–47. For an exploration of this comparison see John Abromeit, ‘‘The Limits of Praxis: The Social-Psychological Foundations of Theodor Adorno’s and Herbert Marcuse’s Interpretations of the 1960s Protest Movements.’’ 122. The exchange happened at an sds discussion of general principles (Grundsatzdiskussion) on March 12–20, 1966, in Oberreifenberg/Taunus. Lönnendonker and his colleagues include a nearly verbatim transcript of the main arguments between the members present in Lönnendonker et al., Die antiautoritäre Revolte, 251–55. 123. Ibid., 254. 124. Dutschke had used this phrase already in a speech on February 13, 1966, saying, ‘‘The historical materialist must recognize the constitutive function of the Third World for the revolutionization of the world in the unique situation of

236 Notes to Chapter 4 the totality of poverty and dehumanization within world society. What is at work is the dialectic of ‘actual poverty,’ which must be completed by a ‘dialectic of correct insight’ in the metropoles of the high-capitalist states to carry through, what Marx called to Ruge, the coalition of thinking and su√ering mankind’’: transcribed in Dutschke, ‘‘Die Widersprüche des Spätkapitalismus, die antiautoritären Studenten und ihr Verhältnis zur Dritten Welt,’’ 69. 125. Lönnendonker et al., Die antiautoritäre Revolte, 254. 126. On the cooperation between sds and ig Metall, see Michael Schneider, Demokratie in Gefahr?, 178–82. 127. Lönnendonker et al., Die antiautoritäre Revolte, 213. 128. Marcuse, ‘‘Vietnam—Analyse eines Exempels,’’ 208. 129. Quoted in Lönnendonker and Fichter, Freie Universität Berlin, 94. 130. Lönnendonker et al., Die antiautoritäre Revolte, 155. 131. The last sds bv, elected in September 1967, included the antiauthoritarian brothers Karl-Dietrich Wol√ (Freiburg) as president and Frank Wol√ (Frankfurt) as vice-president. The political advisory council included Hans-Jurgen Krahl (Frankfurt), Herbert Lederer (Cologne), and Bernd Rabehl (Berlin): Fichter and Lönnendonker, Kleine Geschichte des sds , 120. 132. Horlemann, ‘‘Referat zu Flugblatt ‘Informationen über Vietnam und Länder der Dritten Welt’ May 1966 [before Congress],’’ 314. 133. Deppe-Wolfinger, ‘‘Zum Verhältnis von Bildung und Gesellshaft in Entwicklungsländern.’’ 134. The sites of renewed discussion in 1969 were the Aktion Dritte Welt groups that existed on eight university campuses by July of that year: Hein, Die Westdeutschen und die Dritte Welt, 143. It is notable that the organizers of the Aktion Dritte Welt themselves felt entirely indebted to the imperialist analyses of the Marburg School that preceded them. An organizer of the Aktion Dritte Welt groups from Freiburg wrote to Kurt Steinhaus in April 1969 that ‘‘his book Zur Theorie des internationalen Klassenkampfes and the Dieter Boris article in issue 38 of Das Argument were likely the most decisive impulses for the emergence of the current Aktion Dritte Welt ’’: Siegfried Bartels, asta Spokesperson for Aktion Dritte Welt, to Kurt Steinhaus, on ‘‘Einladung zu einem Vortrag in Freibug,’’ April 21, 1969, iish, ks, 1.

4 The Missing Bodies of June 2 1. See Fichter and Lönnendonker, Kleine Geschichte des sds , 106–7. The communications scholar Kathrin Fahlenbrach refers to June 2 as a ‘‘critical event’’ that ‘‘produced a cognitive-emotional polarization’’ between the generations by which ‘‘even previously indi√erent students were mobilized, creating the basis of a collective protest identity’’: Fahlenbrach, Protest-Inszenierungen, 168. 2. Davis, ‘‘New Leftists and West Germany,’’ 219–22. 3. For these sentiments, see ‘‘Brief des Zentralen Ausschusses der Kampagne

Notes to Chapter 4 237 für Abrüstung an Heinrich Albertz vom 3. Juni,’’ in Nevermann, Der 2. Juni 1967, 87; ‘‘Stellungnahme des Leiters der ig Metall-Jugendschule Berlin, Lothar Pinkall, und mehrere Betriebsräte vom 5. Juni,’’ ibid., 93. 4. Dirlik, ‘‘The Third World in 1968,’’ 314. 5. Nirumand, Leben mit den Deutschen, 105. 6. Lönnendonker et al., Die antiautoritäre Revolte, 319–24. 7. Kraushaar, ‘‘Kinder einer abenteuerlichen Dialektik,’’ 10. 8. Lönnendonker et al., Die antiautoritäre Revolte, 455. 9. Nirumand, Leben mit den Deutschen, 105. 10. Quoted in Lönnendonker et al., Die antiautoritäre Revolte, 331. 11. Wolfgang Lefèvre, quoted ibid. 12. For an exception, see Annette Schwarzenau, Nirumand’s sister-in-law, quoted in Davis, ‘‘Transnation und Transkultur,’’ 328. 13. Walter Burkart, witness report no. 0520, apoa, Untersuchungsausschuß Zeugen ab 401 folder. 14. The first editor of Iran Azad was the well-known intellectual Ali Shari’ati: Matin-Asgari, Iranian Student Opposition to the Shah, 54. See, e.g., inf Informationen für die Bundesrepublik Deutschland und Westberlin (German-language supplement to Iran Azad ), the organ of the European Organization of the Iranian National Front, no. 3, July 1964, BArch, b166/1172. For articles from Die Zeit, see, e.g. ‘‘Studenten wider den Schah,’’ Die Zeit, May 14, 1965. 15. Lönnendonker and Fichter, Freie Universität Berlin, 169. 16. Ibid. 17. ‘‘Historische Ereignisse, 2. Juni 1967. Der Tod von Benno Ohnesorg und die Bewegung der 68er,’’ June 10, 2007, broadcast, Phoenix. 18. Lönnendonker and Fichter, Freie Universität Berlin, 169. 19. Riwotzki, ‘‘Die Polizei,’’ 6. 20. Demonstration, June 2, 1967, iish, nl, 50. 21. Davis, ‘‘Transnation und Transkultur,’’ 328. 22. Lönnendonker and Fichter, Freie Universität Berlin, 169; ‘‘Historische Ereignisse, 2. Juni 1967.’’ 23. Heldmann, ‘‘Wie der Gesetzgeber das Ausländerrecht liberalisiert und wie die Verwaltung ihm dabei geholfen hat,’’ 59. 24. ‘‘Polizeistaat auch in Mainz?’’ Nobis, June 1967, 2. 25. Ibid. 26. Reportedly, 1,956 Iranians were living in Munich in 1967: Johann Freudenreich, ‘‘Perseraustausch zum Schahbesuch,’’ Süddeutsche Zeitung, May 30, 1967. 27. ‘‘120 Münchner Perser müssen zur Polizei,’’ Abend-Zeitung, May 29, 1967; Freudenreich, ‘‘Perseraustausch zum Schahbesuch.’’ 28. Freudenreich, ‘‘Perseraustausch zum Schahbesuch.’’ 29. Heldmann, ‘‘Neuigkeiten aus unserer Fremdenrechtspraxis,’’ 12. 30. Schoner, ‘‘Sonstiger Natur,’’ 8. 31. Dirk Schneider, ‘‘Sonderinformation des Komitees für Ö√entlichkeitsarbeit,’’ n.d. (ca. 1967), iish, nl, 7.

238 Notes to Chapter 4 32. Nirumand, Leben mit den Deutschen, 159. 33. Ibid., 103. 34. Nirumand, Persien, Modell eines Entwicklungslandes oder Die Diktatur der freien Welt, 1967. 35. The reforms drew violent opposition from many social groups, especially religious students and clerics. It was during these protests that Ayatollah Ruhollah Khomeini first took a leading role in opposition to the shah: Abrahamian, Iran between Two Revolutions, 424. 36. The reality was much more mixed. The Iranian government did make significant investments in infrastructure and agriculture in the 1960s while maintaining a restrictive political system: ibid., 427–28. Fred Halliday has noted that one of the challenges faced by the shah’s radical opponents was ‘‘denying the degree to which Iranian society had been transformed’’ by his reforms: Halliday, ‘‘The Iranian Left in International Perspective,’’ 30. 37. Nirumand, Persien, Modell eines Entwicklungslandes oder Die Diktatur der freien Welt, 10. 38. Further references are to the English translation: Nirumand, Iran, the New Imperialism in Action, 167. 39. The book also included a long critique of what he saw as the distortions of Iranian personality, especially masculinity, as a result of the arrival of Western culture: ibid., 170–81. This section of the book showed the likely influence on Nirumand at the time of the thinking of Ali Shari’ati and Jalal Al-e-Ahmad, whose theory of ‘‘Westoxication’’ incorporated elements of German existentialism and Third Worldism and Marxist-Leninist theories of imperialism to criticize the corrosive e√ects of technology and consumerism on Iranian society. The Iranian term ‘‘gharbzadegi ’’ is also translated as ‘‘Western intoxication’’ or ‘‘West-struckness’’: see Matin-Asgari, ‘‘From Social Democracy to Social Democracy,’’ 44. 40. Nirumand, Iran, the New Imperialism in Action, 94. On the overthrow of Mossadeq, see Abrahamian, ‘‘The 1953 Coup in Iran.’’ 41. Nirumand, Iran, the New Imperialism in Action, 160, 162. 42. Ibid., 160. 43. Ibid., 165. 44. Nirumand, Persien, Modell eines Entwicklungslandes oder Die Diktatur der freien Welt, 122. 45. Matin-Asgari, Iranian Student Opposition to the Shah, 89. 46. Uncaptioned photograph, apoa, Photodokumentation 2. Juni portfolio. The face on the placard matches a sketch of Kamrani from ‘‘Procès Militaire des Intellectuels Iraniens Teheran 1963–1964. Publié par la Confédération des Étudiants Iraniens,’’ 11, BArch, b166/1411. 47. ‘‘Historische Ereignisse, 1967, Der Tod von Benno Ohnesorg und die Bewegung der 68er,’’ first broadcast 10 June 2007 by Phoenix. 48. Ibid. The signs were carried at the demonstration the next day by the medical students Reingard Stahl and Helmut Pantlen: Reingard Stahl and Hel-

Notes to Chapter 4 239 mut Pantlen, witness report no. 0183, June 5, 1967, apoa, Untersuchungsausschuß Zeugen 160–250 folder. 49. Schneider, quoted in Nirumand et al., ‘‘Ringvorlesung vom 15. Juni 1988,’’ 60. 50. Ibid., 58. 51. Nirumand, Iran, the New Imperialism in Action, 11. 52. Ibid., 12. 53. Ibid. 54. ‘‘Vietcong-Fahne im fu-Auditorium,’’ Der Tagesspiegel, June 2, 1967. 55. ‘‘Historische Ereignisse, 1967.’’ Der Tod von Benno Ohnesorg und die Bewegung der 68er,’’ first broadcast 10 June 2007 by Phoenix. 56. Although the presence of a pro-shah representative among the speakers at the teach-in is not mentioned in any histories of the student movement, an elderly Iranian man speaking at the podium appears in a photograph taken by Bernard Larsson: see photograph no. 30026593, Bildarchiv Preussischer Kulturbesitz, http://bpkgate.picturemaxx.com/(accessed July 31, 2011). Hamid Ahmadi, who is currently writing an oral history of the Iranian left, identified the man as a supporter of the shah who was likely named Tajbakhsh. I thank Khosrow Shakeri, Afshin Matih-Asgri, Ervand Abrahamian, and Mary Nolan for help in identifying the man. 57. ‘‘Einer namens Nirumand,’’ Christ und Welt, August 3, 1967; ‘‘Gewalt auf dem Campus. Das Persien-Bild des Bahman Nirumand,’’ Der Spiegel, October 23, 1967, 132. A notable exception was the Abend-Zeitung of Munich, which printed large passages from his book without commentary while the shah was still in West Germany: Veit Mölter, ‘‘Diktator auf dem Pfauenthron,’’ AbendZeitung, June 3–4, 1967. 58. ‘‘Einer namens Nirumand’’; ‘‘Gewalt auf dem Campus,’’ 131. 59. ‘‘Das Programm des Schah-Besuchs,’’ Der Tagesspiegel, June 2, 1967. 60. ‘‘Trüber Spiegel. O√ener Brief des Iranischen Studentenvereins Berlin,’’ Diskus, January–February 1968, 5; C. Rainer Roth. ‘‘Das Faustrecht des Spiegel,’’ Diskus, January–February 1968, 5; Meinhof, ‘‘Der Fall Nirumand,’’ 26. 61. ‘‘Trüber Spiegel,’’ 5. 62. F. J. Raddatz, Rowohlt Verlag, letter to the editor, Konkret, July 1967. 63. Henning Kuhlmann, witness report no. 0114, apoa, Untersuchungsausschuß Zeugen 1–69 folder. 64. Achim Böker, ‘‘Freie Meinungsäußerung,’’ Information der Studentengewerkschaft, May 29, 1967, apoa, Nordrhein-Westfalen (nrw) Bonn folder. 65. Tilman Kriebel, witness report no. 0166, apoa, Untersuchungsausschuß Zeugen 160–250 folder; Buhmann, Ich habe mir eine Geschichte geschrieben, 265. 66. Thomas, Protest Movements in 1960s West Germany, 109. 67. Kunzelmann, Leisten Sie keinen Widerstand!, 82. 68. ‘‘Geheimdienste: savak,’’ Der Spiegel, October 16, 1967, 64–67; Thomas, Protest Movements in 1960s West Germany, 109. 69. Achim Hebgen, witness report no. 1027, apoa, Ohnesorg folder.

240 Notes to Chapter 4 70. Rainier Heinrich, witness report no. 0198, apoa, Untersuchungsausschuß Zeugen 160–250 folder; ‘‘Historische Ereignisse, 2. Juni 1967.’’ I thank Ervand Abrahamian for the translation. 71. ‘‘Historische Ereignisse, 2. Juni 1967.’’ 72. Ibid. 73. Walter Siepmann, witness report no. 0196, August 8, 1967, apoa, Untersuchungsausschuß Zeugen 160–250 folder. 74. Günter Wilke, witness report no. 639, June 30, 1967, apoa, Untersuchungsausschuß Zeugen ab 401 folder. 75. Christoph Conrad, witness report no. 0296, June 12, 1967, apoa, Untersuchungsausschuß Zeugen 251–400 folder. 76. Ilse Rodewald, witness report no. 47, apoa, Untersuchungsausschuß Zeugen 1–69 folder. 77. The number of protesters is from Thomas, Protest Movements in 1960s West Germany, 110. 78. Horst Wodke to Kommando der Berliner Schutzpolizei, letter, June 3, 1967, in Nevermann, Der 2. Juni 1967, 18. 79. Rodewald. 80. Protesters used the chant in February in Frankfurt and in April in West Berlin: Lönnendonker and Fichter, Freie Universität Berlin, 145; ‘‘Berlin bedauert Studenten-krawalle,’’ Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung, April 8, 1967. 81. Rodewald. 82. O. M. Ungers, Architect, to Attorney Horst Mahler, ‘‘Augenzeugenbericht über die Erreignisse am 2. Juli [sic] 1967,’’ witness report no. 0187, June 8, 1967, apoa, Untersuchungsausschuß Zeugen 160–250 folder. 83. Sven Lind, witness report no. 0170, ibid. 84. Giselker Friedemann, witness report no. 0297, June 5, 1967, ibid. 85. Karen Fitzke, witness report no. 0158, June 3, 1967, apoa, Untersuchungsausschuß Zeugen 1–69 folder. 86. Whether demonstrators actually threw stones is unclear and was never conclusively proved; nor is it visible in film footage of the demonstration: Thomas, Protest Movements in 1960s West Germany, 110. The most in-depth account of the protest is in Soukup, Wie starb Benno Ohnesorg, 6–76. Unfortunately, Soukup’s decision to use neither footnotes nor references for his data while engaging in freewheeling speculation makes the work of limited usefulness as a historical source. For a very critical review, see Jochen Staadt, ‘‘Maßlose Übertreibungen,’’ Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung, November 30, 2007. 87. ‘‘Historische Ereignisse, 2. Juni 1967.’’ 88. Soukup argues that the rumor that circulated later in the evening—that an o≈cer had been fatally stabbed—was announced through loudspeakers before the police charged the protesters. Although this would help explain the violence of the police brutality, it is a claim based only on contradictory witness reports and thus is hard to confirm: Soukup, Wie starb Benno Ohnesorg, 42–46. 89. ‘‘Historische Ereignisse, 2. Juni 1967.’’

Notes to Chapter 4 241 90. ‘‘Zeugenaussagen zu den Ereignissen anläßlich des Schah-Besuchs in Berlin,’’ in Nevermann, Der 2. Juni 1967, 12. 91. Elsa Adelaide Rassbach, witness report no. 0178, June 3, 1967, apoa, Untersuchungsausschuß Zeugen 160–250 folder. 92. See ‘‘Historische Ereignisse, 2. Juni 1967.’’ See also Soukop, Wie starb Benno Ohnesorg, 39–75. 93. Thomas, Protest Movements in 1960s West Germany, 112. 94. In 2009, historians uncovered the fact that Kurras was a member of the East German sed and an informant for the East German Ministry for State Security, or Stasi. There is no evidence, however, that he was acting on the Stasi’s orders when he shot Ohnesorg: Mechthild Küpper, ‘‘Stasi-Mitarbeiter erschoss Benno Ohnesorg,’’ Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung, May 21, 2009. 95. Ohnesorg’s Chilean friend Alex Schubert was an exchange student in West Berlin, who claims he was ‘‘turned into a leftist’’ by his conversations with Ohnesorg before his death. As an economist, Schubert became part of Salvador Allende’s government when he returned to Chile and was imprisoned after Allende was overthrown. Schubert was freed with the help of Hans-Jürgen Wischnewski, a politician with the West German spd: Soukup, Wie starb Benno Ohnesorg, 143. 96. Ibid., 24, 144. 97. Ibid., 103, 114. 98. Timm, Der Freund und der Fremde, 115. 99. Buhmann, Ich habe mir eine Geschichte geschrieben, 265. 100. Ibid., 266. 101. Thomas, Protest Movements in 1960s West Germany, 114. 102. Schmidtke, ‘‘Cultural Revolution or Cultural Shock?,’’ 84. 103. Thomas, Protest Movements in 1960s West Germany, 114. 104. ‘‘fu Student wurde durch Schuß eines Kriminalbeamten tödlich verletzt,’’ Der Tagesspiegel, June 4, 1967. 105. ‘‘Der Schah in Deutschland,’’ Der Tagesspiegel, June 3, 1967. 106. Christina von Hodenberg has emphasized the importance of seeing the construction of the media as opposed to the student movement grosso modo as a myth: von Hodenberg, ‘‘Mass Media and the Generation of Conflict,’’ 386. Leftliberal press sources such as Der Spiegel were generally supportive of the students in the coverage of June 2, as with many later protests: see, e.g., ‘‘Knüppel Frei,’’ Der Spiegel, June 12, 1967, 41–46. 107. ‘‘Eine Frau sagt wie es war,’’ Berliner Extra-blatt, undated special edition; Helga Haas, witness report no. 0426, apoa, Untersuchungsausschuß Zeugen ab 401 folder. 108. Haas. 109. Ibid., 3. 110. ‘‘Eine Frau sagt wie es war’’; ‘‘Nicht Schlagen,’’ Hamburger Extra-blatt, June 22, 1967, 3.

242 Notes to Chapter 4 111. ‘‘Erklärung des Verbandes Deutscher Studentenschaften vom 4. Juni,’’ in Nevermann, Der 2. Juni 1967, 85. 112. ‘‘Resolution der außerordentlichen Sitzung des XIX. Konvents der fu vom 5. Juni,’’ ibid., 87. 113. ‘‘Brief des Zentralen Ausschusses der Kampagne für Abrüstung an Heinrich Albertz vom 3. Juni,’’ ibid., 87. Andrew Oppenheimer notes that the pacifist movement was vocal in its outrage after June 2, declaring Ohnesorg a ‘‘martyr’’: Oppenheimer, ‘‘By Any Means Necessary?,’’ 53. 114. Christoph Hönig and Klaus and Annegret Schä√ner to asta der fu, witness report no. 0162, June 5, 1967, apoa, Untersuchungsausschuß Zeugen 160–250 folder. 115. Alf Hamann, ‘‘Festnahme beim Verteilen von Flugblättern vor der Oper abends 20h15,’’ ms., June 15, 1967, apoa, Untersuchungsausschuß Zeugen 1–69 folder. 116. Peter Eberbach, ‘‘Die Tatumstände meiner Anzeige gegen einige Beamte der Berliner Polizei,’’ witness report no. 0252, June 5, 1967, apoa, Untersuchungsausschuß Zeugen 251–400 folder. 117. ‘‘Erklärung des Regierenden Bürgermeisters Heinrich Albertz vom 3. Juni,’’ in Nevermann, Der 2. Juni 1967, 141. 118. ‘‘fu Student wurde durch Schuß eines Kriminalbeamten tödlich verletzt.’’ 119. Freudenreich, ‘‘Perseraustausch zum Schahbesuch’’; ‘‘Bonner Studenten kritisieren Polizei-Maßnahmen,’’ Abend-Zeitung, June 2, 1967. 120. Volker Rohde, Kuratorium Notstand der Demokratie Bonn, ‘‘Notstandsinformation no. 1,’’ n.d. (ca. June 1967), apoa, Nordrhein-Westfalen (nrw) Bonn folder. 121. Ibid. 122. ‘‘Erklärung des Regierenden Bürgermeisters Heinrich Albertz vom 3. Juni,’’ 106. 123. ‘‘Auszüge aus Reden des Regierenden Bürgermeisters von Berlin, Heinrich Albertz, 8. Juni,’’ in Nevermann, Der 2. Juni 1967, 143. 124. ‘‘Erklärung des Gewerkschaft der Polizei, Landesbezirk Berlin, vom 3. Juni (Auszug),’’ published in Der Tagesspeiegel on June 4, 1967, and reprinted ibid., 142. 125. Claudia Braun, witness report no. 0568, apoa, Untersuchungsausschuß Zeugen ab 401 folder. 126. Horst Kurnitzky, witness report no. 0551, ibid. 127. Barbara Kerneck, witness report no. 0589; Eckhart Bauer, witness report no. 0597, both ibid. 128. Reinhard Strecker, ‘‘Zeugenaussage vom 27. Juni 1967,’’ witness report no. 624, ibid. 129. Hanno Moebius, witness report no. 613, ibid. 130. Ibid. 131. Strecker, ‘‘Zeugenaussage vom 27. Juni 1967.’’

Notes to Chapter 4 243 132. ‘‘Resolution der außerordentlichen Sitzung des XIX. Konvents der fu von 5. Juni,’’ ibid., 87. 133. ‘‘Flugblatt der Gewerkschaftlichen Studentengemeinschaft Berlin an die Berliner Arbeiter vom 5. Juni,’’ ibid., 91. 134. Michael Wol√, asta der Johann-Wolfgang-Goethe Universität, June 8, 1967, iish, nl, 50. 135. ‘‘Flugblatt des asta der fu an die Berliner Arbeiter vom 5. Juni,’’ in Nevermann, Der 2. Juni 1967, 90. 136. Quoted in Balsen and Rössel, Hoch die internationale Solidarität, 180. 137. ‘‘Briefe von Vertrauensleuten und Betreibsräten der ig Metall an Heinrich Albertz und an den asta der fu vom 6. Juni,’’ in Nevermann, Der 2. Juni 1967, 96. 138. ‘‘Erklärung des sds-Bundesverstandes vom 6. Juni,’’ ibid., 98. 139. Ibid., 9. 140. Ibid., 97. 141. Ibid. 142. ‘‘Fernsehdiskussion im Dritten Programm vom 14. Juni im Auditorium Maximum der Freien Universität Berlin zum Thema ‘Studenten an der fu —Zur Behandlung einer Minderheit’ mit Prof. D. Helmut Gollwitzer, Ulf Kadritzke, Wolfgang Lefèvre, Knut Nevermann, Prof. Dr. Ernst Heinitz, Rechtsanwalt Horst Mahler und Prof. Dr. Kurt Sontheimer,’’ ibid., 136. 143. On the reception of Mills in West Germany, see Schmidtke, Der Aufbruch der jungen Intelligenz, 36–46. See also Klimke, The Other Alliance, 35–37. 144. fu Spiegel, June 1967, special edition. 145. ‘‘Fernsehdiskussion im Dritten Programm vom 14. Juni,’’ 132. 146. Ibid. 127. 147. ‘‘Thomas Sprengel und Birget Mens zu den Vorfällen am Freitag, den 2. Juni 1967,’’ witness report no. 0192, apoa, Untersuchungsausschuß Zeugen 160– 250 folder. 148. Petra Schneider, ‘‘Zeuge Nr. 73. Zusätzliche Aussagen,’’ apoa, Untersuchungsausschuß Zeugen 1–69 folder. 149. For a brief interview with Albertz, see Röhl, So macht Kommunismus Spaß!, 558. 150. Klaus Kuhlmay, witness report no. 0002; Antje-Christine Krüger, witness report no. 0006, both in apoa, Untersuchungsausschuß Zeugen 1–69 folder. 151. Heinz Müller-Zimmermann, aa, to Herrn bmi, on ‘‘Ausländergelegenheiten,’’ November 8, 1967, paaa, B 82/801. 152. Observations of Siegfried Wöhrl, witness report no. 0352, apoa, Untersuchungsausschuß Zeugen 251–400 folder. 153. For an informative overview of clashes between foreign political factions in West Germany, see Clarkson, ‘‘Home and Away.’’ 154. ‘‘Schah-Beleidiger stra√rei,’’ Frankfurter Rundschau, August 6, 1968; ‘‘Presseerklärung des asta der Universität Bonn vom 30.Mai,’’ in Nevermann, Der 2. Juni 1967, 85. 155. Cimal Eckle, Evangelische Studenten-Gemeinde (esg) (Protestant Stu-

244 Notes to Chapter 4 dents Union) Mainz, ‘‘Der Fall Bajatzadeh,’’ Gutenbergerblatt no. 1, Fall 1968, iish, nl, 83. 156. ‘‘Perser. Wir werden mit allen Mittel protestieren,’’ Abend-Zeitung, May 31, 1967; ‘‘27 Perser trotzten Ausweisungsbefehl,’’ Abend-Zeitung, June 1, 1967. 157. ‘‘Radau vor der Alten Pinakothek,’’ Süddeutsche Zeitung, June 2, 1967; ‘‘Die hat ja kar keine Krone auf,’’ Süddeutsche Zeitung, June 2, 1967, photograph. 158. The term comes from Marx, who introduced it in Capital (vol. 3, chap. 48). Dutschke was especially fond of the formulation but was careful to note that it applied only to First World leaders, who had become ‘‘fungible.’’ Third World leaders such as ‘‘Ky, Branco, Duvalier and the Shah,’’ he argued, still needed to be ‘‘hated’’ and attacked as individuals: see R. S. [Rudi Dutschke], ‘‘Zum Verhältnis von Organisation und Emanzipationsbewegung. Zum Besuch Herbert Marcuses,’’ Oberbaumblatt, vol. 5, June 12, 1967, apoa, Urs Müller-Plantenberg, sds, Privatarchiv III, September 1965–September 1968, folder, 6. For a brief description of the use of the term in the context of the Red Army Faction, see Varon, Bringing the War Home, 239. 159. The quote appeared in ‘‘Everybody Talks about the Weather,’’ in her regular column in Konkret : Meinhof and Bauer, Everybody Talks about the Weather, 184. 160. fis Berlin, ‘‘Aufruf der Föderation Iranischer Studenten in der brd und in Westberlin,’’ reprinted by the Iranischen Studentenverein in Hannover, n.d., apoa, Iran 2 folder. 161. Ibid. 162. Ibid. 163. Nirumand et al., ‘‘Ringvorlesung vom 15. Juni 1988,’’ 59. 164. Amnesty International, ‘‘Schah Prozess,’’ apoa, Iran 2 folder. 165. Vereinigung Iranischer Studenten to Universität Hamburg, ‘‘Warum sind wir gegen den Schah und sein Regime?,’’ n.d. but stapled to a press release dated June 6, 1967, his, Bestand Dr. Jürgen Klein, sds-Archiv Hamburg III, Welt, 1967–1971, folder 21. 166. The text is from an untitled document ‘‘for the demonstration on June 2, 1968,’’ Confederation of Iranian Students (cis), fis brd Federation of Iranian Students (fis brd), iish, nl, 50. Tojurtschi is mentioned as the main speaker in the caption of an untitled photograph in Frankfurter Rundschau, June 4, 1968. 167. Friedrich-Wilhelm Grunst, O≈ce of the West Berlin Senator of the Interior, to the bmi, on ‘‘Ausländergelegenheiten,’’ January 9, 1969, paaa, b82/801. 168. Kurt Neubauer to the bmi, on ‘‘Ausländergelegenheiten,’’ January 17, 1968, ibid. 169. Walter Truckenbrodt, Division v3, aa, record, March 8, 1968, ibid. 170. ‘‘Anlage zur Kabinettsache des Bundesministers des Inneren vom 3. Oktober 1968,’’ ibid. 171. State Secretary Georg Ferdinand Duckwitz, aa, to Kurt Neubauer, West Berlin Senator of the Interior, March 13, 1968, ibid. 172. ‘‘Anlage zur Kabinettsache des Bundesministers des Inneren vom 3. Oktober 1968.’’

Notes to Chapter 4 245 173. Wolf-Ulrich von Hassell, Division v3, aa, to the bmi, August 8, 1968, paaa, B82/801. 174. Seibert, ‘‘Der schlafenden Flughafenpolizei krachten die Scheiben um die Ohren,’’ 230. 175. Hans Marmann, aa, to the Chief Public Prosecutor of the District Court, Berlin, March 22, 1957, BArch, b141/17124. 176. Ernst Kanter, Bundesministerium der Justiz (bmj), Federal Ministry of Justice, to the State Secretary of the Federal Chancellery, January 31, 1958, ibid. 177. ‘‘Wahrheit nicht zugelassen,’’ Der Spiegel, June 4, 1958, 14–16. 178. Criminal case against Harald Sattler and Rolf Elbertzhagen, December 9, 1965, BArch, b141/25851. 179. ‘‘The Shah Was Not Amused,’’ Time, January 22, 1965, available online at http://www.time.com (accessed July 31, 2011). 180. The figure was dm 4,500: Johann-Georg Schätzler, bmj Division IIb4, to the aa, on ‘‘Strafverfahren der Staatsanwaltschaft Köln gegen Elbertzhagen und Sattler wegen Beleidigung des iranischen Staatsoberhauptes,’’ February 16, 1966, BArch, b141/25851. 181. Criminal case against Harald Sattler and Rolf Elbertzhagen. On the Spiegel A√air, see von Hodenberg, ‘‘Mass Media and the Generation of Conflict,’’ 370. 182. Diether Dehnicke, Attorney-General of the District Court, to the Federal Justice Minister, on ‘‘Ermittlungsverfahren wegen Beleidigung eines ausländischen Staatsoberhauptes (Schah von Persien),’’ June 19, 1967, BArch, b141/ 26028. 183. Ibid. 184. Imperial Ambassador of Iran to the aa, verbal note, June 19, 1967, ibid. 185. Dieter Läpple and Herbert Stahl, tu Berlin Studentenvertretung, to Justice Minister, letter as part of ‘‘Selbstanzeige-Kampagne,’’ August 10, 1967, apoa, Iran 2 folder. 186. ‘‘Für die Aussicht genommene Besprechung von Herrn Minister mit dem Herrn Bundesminister des Auswärtigen am 7. August 1967,’’ record, BArch, b141/26028. 187. On Teufel’s use of the courts as a platform to address the public, see Scharloth, ‘‘Ritualkritik und Rituale des Protest,’’ 78–79. 188. Head of Department IIb, bmi, note on ‘‘Strafverlangen der iranischen Regierung wegen der Vorfälle anlässlich des Schah-Besuchs,’’ August 4, 1967, BArch, b141/26028. 189. ‘‘Über zweitausend Selbstanzeigen,’’ Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung, August 10, 1967. 190. ‘‘Schah-Beleidiger machen Ernst. Das ‘politische Happening’ der Selbstbezichtigung,’’ Stuttgarter Zeitung, August 10, 1967. 191. Head of Department IIb, bmi, note on ‘‘Strafverlangen der iranischen Regierung wegen der Vorfälle anlässlich des Schah-Besuchs,’’ August 3, 1967; Frank Thierfelder, aa, record, August 16, 1967, both in BArch, b141/26028. 192. Head of Department IIb, note (August 3, 1967). 193. Pardon, special edition, August 1967.

246 Notes to Chapter 5 194. Thierfelder, aa (August 16, 1967). 195. ‘‘Schah-Beleidiger stra√rei,’’ Frankfurter Rundschau, August 6, 1968. 196. The charges against thirty-five others (for whom Hans Heinz Heldmann acted as lawyer) for ignoring the evacuation order had already been dropped: ‘‘Politischer Polizei mischt sich unter Münchner Studenten,’’ Süddeutsche Zeitung, December 20, 1967. 197. ‘‘Rektor Becker versteckte sich vor den Demonstranten,’’ Abend-Zeitung, December 19, 1967. 198. The German text read, ‘‘Im Juni war es Ohnesorg / An Farazi dulden wir kein’ Mord’’: Almut Hielscher and Heinz Sünder, ‘‘Krach in der Universität: Polizist von Studenten ‘verhaftet,’ ’’ Abend-Zeitung, December 20, 1967. 199. Klaus Vack, ‘‘Der Todesschuss auf Benno Ohnesorg war ein Auslöser,’’ in Balsen and Rössel, Hoch die internationale Solidarität, 181. 200. Dutschke’s own account stands out in contrast because of his emphasis on the role of the ‘‘Iranian comrades and friends’’ in organizing the demonstration: Dutschke, ‘‘Vom Antisemitismus zum Antikommunismus,’’ 79. 201. See, e.g., Davis, ‘‘New Leftists and West Germany,’’ 214–22. This is also a shortcoming of the otherwise thorough account in Thomas, Protest Movements in 1960s West Germany, 107–23. 202. On the film, see Gerhardt, ‘‘The Baader Meinhof Complex.’’ 203. Nirumand et al., ‘‘Ringvorlesung vom 15. Juni 1988,’’ 58. 204. Hans-Rüdiger Minow and Thomas Giefer, dirs., Berlin 2. Juni, film, asta der fu, 1967.

5 Corpse Polemics 1. fu Spiegel, vol. 58, June 1967, special issue. 2. Timm, Der Freund und der Fremde, 117. 3. Ibid. 4. For a helpful extended discussion of this point in relation to peace movements, see Ziemann, ‘‘Situating Peace Movements in the Political Culture of the Cold War,’’ 25–27. 5. Marcuse, ‘‘The Revival of Holocaust Awareness in West Germany, Israel, and the United States,’’ 428. 6. See advertisement in Der Tagesspiegel, July 31, 1966. 7. On Jacopetti, see Goodall, ‘‘Shockumentary Evidence.’’ 8. ‘‘Starker Spürsinn,’’ Der Spiegel, August 15, 1966, 87. 9. For a contemporary analysis of the film, see Cohen, Africa Addio. 10. ‘‘ ‘Wertvoll’ Prädikats-Begründung für Jacopettis Film ‘Africa Addio,’ ’’ Der Tagesspiegel, August 9, 1966. 11. Lönnendonker et al., Die antiautoritäre Revolte, 293. Founded in 1951, the Film Rating Board was composed primarily of government o≈cials, along with representatives from journalism, the film industry, and the churches: Fehrenbach, Cinema in Democratizing Germany, 143.

Notes to Chapter 5 247 12. The Americans can be identified by their accents. 13. Lönnendonker et al., Die antiautoritäre Revolte, 293. See the photograph in Ruetz, ‘‘Ihr müsst diesen Typen nur ins Gesicht sehen,’’ 15. For a lengthier description of the protest, see Seibert, Vergessene Proteste, 280–89. 14. Lönnendonker et al., Die antiautoritäre Revolte, 294. Lönnendonker and his colleagues write that forty-three ‘‘German and African students’’ were arrested. In fact, the non-Germans arrested were four men—two Ethiopian, one Haitian, and one Palestinian—and one Irish woman, along with two German non-student workers: ‘‘Gesamtbericht der Ermittlungsvorgänge Africa Addio,’’ November 23, 1966, his, Bestand Sozialistische Anwaltskollektiv Berlin, 110.02, 3. 15. See chapter 2 for more information on Pierre-Louis and the international working group. 16. Bernard Pierre-Louis, ‘‘Stellungnahme eines Afrikaners zu dem Film: Africa Addio,’’ his, Bestand Sozialistische Anwaltskollektiv Berlin, 110.02. 17. Fanon, ‘‘Algeria Face to Face with the French Torturers,’’ 72. 18. Césaire, Discourse on Colonialism, 42. 19. Ibid., 35. 20. Ibid., 36. 21. Pierre-Louis, ‘‘Stellungnahme eines Afrikaners zu dem Film: Africa Addio.’’ 22. Paul Mattar, Division IV/9, ‘‘Bericht über die Sonderschau ‘Partner des Fortschritts—Afrika’ auf der deutschen Industrie-Ausstellung Berlin 22. September bis 7. Oktober 1962,’’ October 6, 1962, paaa, b145/3140. 23. See Gray, Germany’s Cold War. 24. Chris Strohschön, ‘‘Krawall an Ku’damm,’’ Bild-Zeitung, August 5, 1966, 1. 25. Adekunle Ajala, Bernard Pierre-Louis, Andargatchew Assegid (Ethiopia), B. Osman (Sudan), and Michael Haile to Mayor Heinrich Albertz, August 4, 1966, his, Bestand Sozialistische Anwaltskollektiv Berlin, 110.02. 26. A selection from the Ghanaian leader Kwame Nkrumah’s pivotal text on neocolonialism was published in 1966, the year of the Africa Addio protest, in a communist-a≈liated journal in West Germany: see Nkrumah, ‘‘Der Kampf der ‘Dritten Welt’ gegen den Neokolonialismus.’’ In addition, a series of books on the ‘‘neocolonialism’’ of West German foreign aid were published in the gdr in the first years of the decade: see, e.g. Tillmann and Kowalski, Westdeutscher Neokolonialismus. Foreign students in the gdr were active participants in these discussions: see ‘‘Ohne Schecks im Busch,’’ Der Spiegel, April 26, 1961, 56–8. 27. Pierre-Louis, ‘‘Stellungnahme eines Afrikaners zu dem Film: Africa Addio.’’ 28. Ibid. 29. Hans-Georg Soldat, ‘‘Der gewöhnliche Rassismus. Jacopettis Film ‘Africa Addio’—zur kommenden Berliner Erstau√ührung im Astor,’’ Der Tagesspiegel, July 31, 1966. 30. Eichen, ‘‘Mondo Nigger,’’ 16. 31. E. P. [Enno Patalas], ‘‘Africa Addio,’’ Filmkritik, August 1966, 450. 32. Adekunle Ajala, Afrikanischer Studentenbund, Peter Gäng, sds, n.d., his, Bestand Sozialistische Anwaltskollektiv Berlin, 110.01. 33. Ibid.

248 Notes to Chapter 5 34. Kurt Pagel, ‘‘Im Namen des Volkes Strafsache gegen den Studenten Adekunle Ajala geb. am 4. Januar 1938 in Otean-Aigegbaju, wohnhaft Berlin 65, Reinickendorferstr. 47 wegen Hausfriedensbruchs,’’ March 15, 1968, his, 110.01. 35. Horst Mahler to Tiergarten District Court, October 20, 1967; Tiergarten District Court to Horst Mahler, October 26, 1967, both ibid. 36. Pagel, ‘‘Im Namen des Volkes Strafsache gegen den Studenten Adekunle Ajala’’ (March 15, 1968). 37. Hubertus Scheibe, daad, to Chief of Police, Berlin, on ‘‘Herrn Adekunle Ajala, Nigeria,’’ July 4, 1967, ibid. 38. Chief of Police, Berlin, to Horst Mahler, June 24, 1969, ibid. Ajala would go on to publish a widely reviewed book on Pan-Africanism: see Ajala, PanAfricanism. 39. Lönnendonker et al., Die antiautoritäre Revolte, 294. 40. Wallelesaifu, o≈cial interrogation, September 5, 1966, his, Bestand Sozialistische Anwaltskollektiv Berlin, 110.01. 41. Interrogation Record no. I-A-KI 3, Police Sergeant Jürgen Freitag, September 6, 1966, ibid. 42. Chief of Police, Berlin, criminal complaint, August 5, 1966; Paul KK against Joseph Derac, crime: libel; order, Tiergarten District Court, to the student Joseph Derac, July 5, 1967, both ibid. 43. Horst Mahler to Attorney-General of the District Court, Berlin, August 24, 1966, his, Bestand Sozialistische Anwaltskollektiv Berlin, 110.02. 44. Heinrich Kuntze, Public Prosecutor for the Attorney General of the District Court, to Horst Mahler, August 9, 1966, ibid. 45. Wolfgang Bretholz, ‘‘Sie droschen die alten Phrasen. Heiße Diskussion mit Berliner Studenten über ‘Africa Addio,’ ’’ Die Welt am Sonntag, October 2, 1966. 46. Ibid. 47. Wilfried Mausbach has argued that West German activism in Third World issues, including opposition to the Vietnam War, was often a foil for working out issues of their own German past: Mausbach, ‘‘Auschwitz and Vietnam,’’ 298. 48. Helga Rothe-Schon, o≈cial interrogation, September 2, 1966, his, Bestand Sozialistische Anwaltskollektiv Berlin, 110.01 49. Ibid. 50. Chris Strohschön, ‘‘Krawall an Ku’damm,’’ Bild-Zeitung, August 5, 1966. 51. Udo Vehof, o≈cial interrogation, September 22, 1966, his, 110.01. 52. Köhler, ‘‘Kongo-Müller oder die Freiheit die wir verteidigen’’ (January 1967), 36. 53. Wolfgang Rothe to the Prosecuting Attorney, on ‘‘Geschäfts-Nr. 1 P Js 932.66,’’ January 13, 1967, his, Bestand Sozialistische Anwaltskollektiv Berlin, 110.01 54. Wolfgang Rothe to the Tiergarten District Court, July 24, 1967, ibid. 55. Strohschön, ‘‘Krawall an Ku’damm.’’ 56. Pierre-Louis, ‘‘Stellungnahme eines Afrikaners zu dem Film: Africa Addio.’’

Notes to Chapter 5 249 57. Paul Raab to the bmi, on ‘‘Betreuung afrikanischer Stipendiaten und Praktikanten,’’ March 1, 1961, paaa, b82/528. 58. ‘‘Blinder Rassenhaß einer Frau,’’ Bild-Zeitung, September 8, 1959. 59. Paul Raab to the bmi, March 2, 1961, paaa, b82/528. 60. Luitpold Werz, Department 3, aa, copy for Division 502, March 18, 1961, ibid. 61. Aich, Farbige unter Weißen. 62. Along with racially motivated attacks from white gis, African American gis faced institutionalized racism within the military until the 1960s and frequent discrimination in the restaurants and bars close to military bases: see Fehrenbach, Race after Hitler, 32–37; Höhn, gis and Fräuleins, chap. 3. 63. Pierre-Louis, ‘‘Stellungnahme eines Afrikaners zu dem Film: Africa Addio.’’ 64. Petra Rethmann has pointed out how growing militancy in the New Left was not only a product of internal developments but also a response to police violence: Rethmann, ‘‘On Militancy, Sort of,’’ 70. 65. ‘‘Studenten. Die Juden des 4. Reichs?,’’ Res nostra (student newspaper, University of Kiel), April–May 1969, 21–22. 66. Poth, ‘‘Deutschland im Jahre 1997,’’ 52. 67. Siegfried, ‘‘White Negroes,’’ 193–204. 68. asta [fu Berlin], ‘‘Erster Prozesstag,’’ January 15, 1968, his, Bestand Sozialistische Anwaltskollektiv Berlin, 110.02. The court required Judge Kurt Gente to prove his ability to judge the trial without prejudice through his entrance into the party and his friendship with a Jew: District Court Director Dieke, O≈cial Copy. Tiergarten District Court, Ruling in the aforementioned criminal charge against Derac et al., January 15, 1968, ibid. 69. Die Angeklagten, ‘‘Merda Justitia Addio Mondo Hoppe Merda Gente Addio Justitia Merda. Der nationalsozialistische Kraftfahrer,’’ January 12, 1968, ibid. 70. Ibid. 71. Claus Leggewie sees the constant claim of victimhood as one of the elements that a certain strain of militant West German anti-imperialism originating in the late 1960s shares with the far right: Leggewie, ‘‘A Laboratory of Postindustrial Society,’’ 289. 72. Dagmar Herzog has written about how the Holocaust ‘‘functioned unevenly and selectively in New Left activism’’: Herzog, Sex after Fascism, 172–79. 73. ‘‘Presseerklärung,’’ January 12, 1968, his, Bestand Sozialistische Anwaltskollektiv Berlin, 110.02. 74. Ibid. 75. Rothberg, Multidirectional Memory. 76. Ibid., 3. 77. Gassert and Steinweis, ‘‘Introduction,’’ 1, and the collected essays in Coping with the Nazi Past. See also Marcuse, ‘‘The Revival of Holocaust Awareness in West Germany, Israel, and the United States’’; Mausbach, ‘‘Auschwitz and Vietnam’’; Mausbach, ‘‘Wende um 360 Grad?’’

250 Notes to Chapter 5 78. Marcuse, ‘‘The Revival of Holocaust Awareness in West Germany, Israel, and the United States,’’ 421, 428. 79. Schmidtke, ‘‘The German New Left and National Socialism,’’ 181, 184. 80. Lenz, ‘‘Ideal für Sonntagsredner,’’ 3. 81. Ibid. 82. Ibid. 83. Pierre-Louis, ‘‘Stellungnahme eines Afrikaners zu dem Film: Africa Addio.’’ 84. Mausbach, ‘‘Auschwitz and Vietnam,’’ 281. 85. Knoch, ‘‘The Return of the Images,’’ 35–41. 86. One of the first major books of photographs of the Holocaust was Der gelbe Stern, published by the former sds member Gerd Schoenberner in 1960: Sackett, ‘‘Pictures of Atrocity,’’ 530. See Schoenberner, The Yellow Star. 87. Quoted in Sackett, ‘‘Pictures of Atrocity,’’ 552. 88. Mausbach, ‘‘Auschwitz and Vietnam,’’ 291. 89. On the role of photography in antiwar activism and public awareness of the Vietnam War in the United States, see Hagopian, ‘‘Vietnam War Photography as a Locus of Memory’’; Hariman and Lucaites, No Caption Needed, chap. 6; Walsh and Aulich, Vietnam Images. 90. Burg, ‘‘Die Wahrheit über Vietnam,’’ 23–25. 91. Reproduced in Miermeister and Staadt, Provokationen, 84–85. 92. ‘‘Mr. Johnson’s Killer,’’ Elan, March 1968, 3. 93. Mehrmann, ‘‘Polit-Plakate,’’ 20. 94. 4. Documenta: Katalog, vol. 2 (Kassel: Druck and Verlag, 1968), 140–41. 95. See the photograph in Balsen and Rössel, Hoch die internationale Solidarität, 147. 96. Schauer, ‘‘Soziale Demokratie oder neuer Faschismus,’’ 12. 97. Nolte, Die Ordnung der deutschen Gesellschaft, 336. Daniel J. Boorstin’s influential critique of the rise of ‘‘the image’’ in U.S. politics was published in German translation by the left-wing publisher Rowohlt three years after it was released in the United States: Boorstin, Das Image oder Was wurde aus dem amerikanischen Traum? 98. ‘‘Der Abgeordnete als Markenartikel,’’ Der Spiegel, December 7, 1960, 38. 99. Ibid. 100. Ibid. 101. For a detailed discussion of this process, see Schindelbeck and Ilgen, Haste was, biste was!. 102. Schildt and Siegfried, ‘‘Youth, Consumption and Politics in the Age of Radical Change,’’ 23. 103. ‘‘Held nach Maß,’’ Der Spiegel, September 6, 1961, 28. 104. Wolfgang Abendroth, letter to the editor, Der Spiegel, January 10, 1962, 8. 105. Habermas, The Structural Transformation of the Public Sphere, 163, originally published as Habermas, Strukturwandel der Ö√entlichkeit. 106. Baethge and Friedrich, ‘‘Die außerparlamentarische Ö√entlichkeit vor den Wahlen,’’ 3. 107. Kunzelmann, Leisten Sie keinen Widerstand!, 58.

Notes to Chapter 5 251 108. Uncaptioned photograph, apoa. Ausstellung 2. Juni portfolio. 109. Schmierer, ‘‘Der Zauber des großen Augenblicks,’’ 119. 110. Fahlenbrach, ‘‘Protestinszenierungen,’’ 11. 111. Regehr, ‘‘Die Zerreißprobe zwischen Kunst und Politik,’’ 89. 112. Ibid. 113. The original text read, ‘‘the Christian ‘heavensphere (Himmelsphäre),’ ’’ a reference to a malapropism used by the subject of the article, the mercenary o≈cer Siegfried Müller, in an interview. It has been edited out here for the sake of clarity: Köhler, ‘‘Kongo-Müller oder die Freiheit die wir verteidigen,’’ Pardon (February 1967), 33. 114. Michael Schmidtke and Susan Sontag both acknowledge the e√ect that print images of napalm victims had in swaying opinion on the war in the United States and West Germany: Schmidtke, Der Aufbruch der jungen Intelligenz, 270; Sontag, Regarding the Pain of Others, 37–38. 115. In addition to Nirumand’s book, the image was used at least twice in a campaign in 1963 to free professors and students sentenced to death for political protest: postcard, n.d., BArch, b166/1173; cisnu, ‘‘Was It a Plot to Kill the Shah, or Is It a Conspiracy to Silence the Students?,’’ n.d., BArch, b166/1173, 10–11. 116. Nirumand, Persien, Modell eines Entwicklungslandes oder Die Diktatur der freien Welt ; Nirumand et al., ‘‘Ringvorlesung vom 15. Juni 1988,’’ 58. 117. Parviz Edalat-Manesch, ‘‘Sippenhaft,’’ inf Informationen für die Bundesrepublik Deutschland und Westberlin, July 1964, BArch, b166/1173. 118. H. N. [Herbert Nagel] and R. G. [Rodolphe Gasché], ‘‘Heroismus als Dienstverpflichtung. Anmerkungen zur Roman- und Filmfigur ‘James Bond 007,’ ’’ Anschlag, August 1964, 22. apoa, Anschlag folder. 119. Soldat, ‘‘Der gewöhnliche Rassismus.’’ 120. Röhl, So macht Kommunismus Spaß!, 473. 121. Konkret, January 1965, February 1966, June 1966. 122. ‘‘Helena Pattakos,’’ 28–29. 123. See Herzog, Sex after Fascism. 124. Herzog, ‘‘Sexual Morality in 1960s West Germany,’’ 378. 125. Adam, ‘‘Spiesser Moral,’’ 1. 126. Ibid. 127. Mitscherlich, ‘‘Stenographisches zu Ko-Mü,’’ 78. 128. Röhl, So macht Kommunismus Spaß!, 474. 129. Konkret, February 1966, 5. 130. Röhl, Fünf Finger sind keine Faust, 339. 131. Ibid. 132. Ibid., 360. 133. H. Brunkhorst and U. Conradt, ‘‘Konkret—Puppen, Pop und Politik,’’ Res nostra, April–May 1969, 27. 134. Ibid. On the New Left’s skeptical response to the mainstream sex boom, see Herzog, Sex after Fascism, 154–55. 135. Röhl, Fünf Finger sind keine Faust, 350. 136. Anders, ‘‘Chronologie der gelaufenen Ereignisse,’’ 14.

252 Notes to Chapter 5 137. Schulz, Der lange Atem der Provokation, 70–73. 138. N.a., January 15, 1968, apoa, Aktionsrat zur Befreiung der Frau folder. 139. The feminist critique of regimes of representation would eventually open the space for interventions from minority perspectives within West German society, although not until the 1980s: see Opitz et al., Showing Our Colors. 140. Ibid. 141. The film, released in 1966, was directed by Ferdinando Baldi and featured the rising Italian Western star Franco Nero in the title role. 142. The Italian Western boom peaked with forty-seven films opening in West German theaters in 1968. Many of the films were West German co-productions that included West German cast: Bergfelder, International Adventures, 84. Many of the films also appeared in West Germany and Italy years before release in the United Kingdom and the United States, where the Italian Western boom did not start until around 1969: Brückner, Für ein paar Leichen mehr, 56, 109. 143. Schmidt, ‘‘Sadismus.’’ 144. Langer, ‘‘Sex und Sadismus,’’ 50. 145. Uwe Nettelbeck, review of For a Fistful of Dollars, Filmkritik, April 1965, reprinted in Brückner, Für ein paar Leichen mehr, 29; Werner Kließ, ‘‘Das ritual des Schießens,’’ Film, June 1966, reprinted in Brückner, Für ein paar Leichen mehr, 38. 146. Bergfelder, International Adventures, 222–32; Herzog, Sex after Fascism, 141–46 147. Poth, ‘‘Mach dir ein paar schöne Leichen, oder die Eskalation des Sadismus,’’ 41. 148. Färber, ‘‘Reklame für Krieg,’’ 288. 149. Ibid., 284. 150. Ibid., 284, 288. 151. Ibid., 288. 152. See Elsaesser, ‘‘Political Filmmaking after Brecht.’’ 153. Baumgärtel, Vom Guerillakino zum Essayfilm, 18. 154. Ibid., 20. Elsewhere, Farocki has written that he returned from Indonesia in 1953: see Harun Farocki, ‘‘Written Trailers,’’ available online at http://www .sduk.us (accessed February 12, 2011). 155. Kreimeier, ‘‘Papier–Schere–Stein,’’ 37. According to Catherine Lupton, Far from Vietnam was made by a collective of about 150 individuals. For a brief description of the film, see Lupton, Chris Marker, 113. 156. Godard, ‘‘Meine Art des Engagements,’’ 587. 157. From Etwas wird Sichtbar (Before Your Eyes—Vietnam; 1982), quoted in Pantenburg, ‘‘Visibilities,’’ 38. 158. The description comes from Kreimeier, ‘‘Papier–Schere–Stein,’’ 39. 159. Ibid. 160. Fichter and Lönnendonker, Kleine Geschichte des sds , 101. 161. ‘‘ ‘Weihnachtsmann-Aktion’ der apo,’’ Frankfurter Rundschau, December 9, 1968. 162. Nirumand, Leben mit den Deutschen, 99.

Notes to Chapter 6 253 163. ‘‘Demonstrationen vor den Kirchen,’’ Frankfurter Rundschau, December 27, 1968. 164. Novero, ‘‘Painful Painting and Brutal Ecstasy,’’ 465. 165. See photo in Klimke, The Other Alliance, 88. 166. Farocki, ‘‘Staking One’s Life,’’ 84. 167. Ibid, 85. 168. ‘‘Alltag in Vietnam,’’ Bild-Zeitung, April 13, 1967. In Farocki’s later film Etwas wird Sichtbar, one of the characters would comment on the realization of how images could be reused for di√erent politics. ‘‘The images were so close together. We pointed at one and said ‘Americans out’; they pointed at the other saying, ‘Vietcong out.’ It was like advertising, competing as to who could show the more appalling atrocities. I felt ashamed’’: quoted in Elsaesser, ‘‘Political Filmmaking after Brecht,’’ 143. 169. Harun Farocki, dir. Nicht löschbares Feuer (Inextinguishable Fire) (West Berlin for Westdeutscher Rundfunk, Cologne, 1969). First broadcast July 27, 1969 by Westdeutsches Fernsehen. 170. The question of Farocki’s status as ‘‘First World’’ in this context is complicated by his name and dark features. 171. Kließ, ‘‘Europa als Kolonie,’’ 36. 172. Baumgärtel, Vom Guerillakino zum Essayfilm, 86. 173. Ibid., 210, 273. 174. Ibid., 92. 175. Ibid., 91, 94. 176. Schildt and Siegfried, ‘‘Youth, Consumption and Politics in the Age of Radical Change,’’ 23. 177. Fahlenbrach, Protest-Inszenierungen, 17–19, 167–78; Klimke and Scharloth, ‘‘Maos Rote Garden?,’’ 2–3. 178. Kunzelmann, Leisten Sie keinen Widerstand!, 49. 179. Negt, Achtundsechzig, 152. 180. Habermas, quoted ibid., 289. 181. See Davis, ‘‘Activism from Starbuck to Starbucks, or Terror: What’s in a Name?,’’ 48. 182. Farocki, ‘‘Staking One’s Life,’’ 85. 183. Varon, Bringing the War Home, 231. 184. See, esp., Pogrom, the journal of the human rights organization Gesellschaft für Leben und Zukunft bedrohte Völker (later Gesellschaft für bedrohte Völker), which relied heavily on invocations of the Holocaust and gory imagery in its issues in the 1970s.

6 The Cultural Revolution in West Germany 1. Brand et al., Aufbruch in eine andere Gesellschaft, 71. 2. See Davis, ‘‘Review Essay,’’ 366; von Hodenberg and Siegfried, ‘‘Reform und Revolte,’’ 8.

254 Notes to Chapter 6 3. Siegfried, ‘‘Understanding 1968,’’ 61, 76. 4. For the sole, brief discussion in the historiography of the connection between the Chinese Cultural Revolution and the West German New Left’s investment in the category of culture, see von Dirke, ‘‘All Power to the Imagination,’’ 43–45. For a helpful overview of the influence of Maoism on the New Left, see Felix Wemheuer, ‘‘Einleitung.’’ 5. For examples of the former and the latter, respectively, see Michel, ‘‘Maos Sonne über Mönchengladbach’’; Schla√ke and Schneider, ‘‘Maoismus.’’ 6. See Koenen, Das rote Jahrzehnt, 257–319; Kühn, Stalins Enkel, Maos Söhne; Ste√en, Geschichten vom Trü√elschwein. 7. Meyer, ‘‘Zur chinesischen Kulturrevolution,’’ 4. 8. See Klimke, ‘‘Sit-in, Teach-in, Go-in.’’ Although Klimke’s discussion of U.S. influence is excellent, he tends to conflate all Third World influence with the theme of guerrilla militancy. 9. Chen, Mao’s China and the Cold War, 212. 10. Ibid. 11. Lin, Long Live the Victory of People’s War!, chap. 7. 12. Ibid. 13. Dutschke, Jeder hat sein Leben ganz zu leben, 20; Juchler, Die Studentenbewegungen in den Vereinigten Staaten und der Bundesrepublik Deutschland der sechziger Jahre, 81–82; Schla√ke and Schneider, ‘‘Maoismus,’’ 82. Sweezy, cofounder and frequent contributor to the Monthly Review, wrote frequently on the Chinese position in the 1960s: Elbaum, Revolution in the Air, 60. 14. Steinhaus, Zur Theorie des internationalen Klassenkampfes, 14. 15. Ibid. 16. Ibid. 17. See Enzensberger, ‘‘Europäische Peripherie’’; Weiss and Enzensberger, ‘‘Eine Kontroverse.’’ 18. For expanded discussions of Enzensberger’s political thinking at this time, see Sareika, Die Dritte Welt in der westdeutschen Literatur der sechziger Jahre, 66– 70; Teraoka, East, West, and Others, 51. 19. Steinhaus, Zur Theorie des internationalen Klassenkampfes, 8. 20. Ibid., 101. 21. Dutschke, Jeder hat sein Leben ganz zu leben, 20. 22. For the historical narrative of the Cultural Revolution from 1966 to 1969, see Meisner, Mao’s China and After, 312–51. 23. Andreas, ‘‘Battling over Political and Cultural Power during the Chinese Cultural Revolution,’’ 473. 24. MacFarquhar and Schoenhals, Mao’s Last Revolution, 67, 104. 25. The key event took place in Tiananmen Square in Beijing on August 18, 1966, where Lin delivered his speech and Mao accepted a Red Guard armband: ibid., 92, 107. 26. Ibid., 110–15. 27. According to Roderick MacFarquhar and Michael Schoenhals, 70,000 resi-

Notes to Chapter 6 255 dents of Beijing were ‘‘repatriated’’ out of the city in August and September: ibid., 117–23. 28. Ibid., 161–66. 29. Ibid., 173. 30. For a complete account of the complicated series of events, see ibid., 173– 252. 31. ‘‘Die Kulturrevolution in der VR China,’’ Beschlussprotokoll der 21 o. dk des sds vom 1–4. September 1966 in Frankfurt [am] Main, ‘‘The Cultural Revolution in the People’s Republic of China,’’ Record of Resolutions of the 21st sds Delegates Conference held from September 1–4, 1966, in Frankfurt am Main, sds-Korrespondenz, no. 3 (October 1966), 7. apoa, Urs Müller-Plantenberg, sds, Privatarchiv III, September 1965–September 1968, folder. 32. Ibid. 33. Quoted in Lönnendonker et al., Die antiautoritäre Revolte, 298. 34. Quoted ibid. 35. Deppe and Claußen, ‘‘Ringvorlesung vom 11. Mai 1988,’’ http://userpage.fuberlin.de/≈archapo/Online/RING88.htm (accessed July 31, 2011); Lönnendonker and Fichter, Freie Universität Berlin, 132. 36. Quoted in Lönnendonker and Fichter, Freie Universität Berlin, 132. 37. Quoted ibid. Richard Löwenthal similarly diagnosed the Cultural Revolution as a power struggle among elites at a talk at the fu in January 1967, 137. Beda Erlinghagen has noted the use of the ‘‘power struggle’’ analysis in both East Germany and West Germany: Erlinghagen, Von ‘‘wildgewordenem Kleinbürgertum’’ und ‘‘Weltherrschaftsplänen,’’ 45. 38. Quoted in Lönnendonker and Fichter, Freie Universität Berlin, 132. For the mention of Klatzer’s trip to West Berlin, see Teune, ‘‘Humour as a Guerrilla Tactic,’’ 120. 39. Lönnendonker and Fichter, Freie Universität Berlin, 137. 40. Kunzelmann, Leisten Sie keinen Widerstand!, 55. 41. Ibid. 42. Lönnendonker and Fichter, Freie Universität Berlin, 137. 43. Ibid., 146. 44. Reprinted in Lönnendonker et al., Die antiautoritäre Revolte, 299. 45. Reprinted ibid. 46. Klimke and Scharloth, ‘‘Du musst den Dingen ihre eigene Melodie vorspielen und sie werden zu tanzen beginnen,’’ 312. 47. Dieter Kunzelmann, ‘‘Notizen zur Gründung revolutionärer Kommunen in den Metropolen,’’ November 1966, reprinted in Böckelmann and Nagel, Subversive Aktion, 144. 48. See Klimke and Scharloth, ‘‘Maos Rote Garden?,’’ 1. 49. Quoted in Ulrich Eggestein, ‘‘Mit Mao für die freie Liebe. ‘Rotgardisten sprengten Diskussion an der fu,’’ Der Abend, November 28, 1966. Fachidioten, which is di≈cult to translate, implies an obsession with the details of one’s discipline so narrow that it slips over into imbecility.

256 Notes to Chapter 6 50. Ibid. 51. See, e.g., ‘‘Die ‘Rote Garde’ an der fu,’’ Berliner Morgenpost, December 8, 1966. 52. Reiche, ‘‘Worte des Vorsitzenden Maos,’’ 10. 53. Ibid., 9. 54. The book was written in late 1967 and early 1968: Reiche, Sexuality and Class Struggle, 144. 55. Reiche, ‘‘Worte des Vorsitzenden Maos,’’ 10. 56. Ibid. 57. Koenen, Das rote Jahrzehnt, 146. 58. Kreimeier, ‘‘Papier–Schere–Stein,’’ 37. 59. Harun Farocki, dir., Die Worte des Vorsitzenden (dffb, West Berlin, 1967). First broadcast June 29, 1969 by Zweites Deutsches Fernsehen. 60. Kreimeier, ‘‘Papier–Schere–Stein,’’ 37. 61. Baumgärtel, Vom Guerillakino zum Essayfilm, 63. 62. See the website at http://www.farocki-film.de (accessed July 31, 2011). 63. Farocki, ‘‘Die Votze ist kein Radio.’’ 64. Ibid. 65. Fahlenbrach, Protest-Inszenierungen, 18. 66. Commentators who follow remarks on the supposed dearth of information about the Cultural Revolution by pointing pedantically to extensive available accounts do not mention the racialized nature of most reportage: see, e.g., Götz Aly, ‘‘In welcher K-Gruppe waren Sie denn?,’’ Die Tageszeitung, December 27, 2007; Schla√ke and Schneider, ‘‘Maoismus,’’ 81. 67. This language suggested parallels to the moral panics around the so-called Halbstarke (hooligan) youth riots in West Germany in the late 1950s, with the important distinction that the Chinese Cultural Revolution was actually a mass movement and not merely an exaggerated social threat. On the Halbstarke riots, see Poiger, Jazz, Rock, and Rebels. The term ‘‘moral panic’’ was introduced in Cohen, Folk Devils and Moral Panics, and expanded on in British cultural studies to explore the tropes of social anxiety used in the mainstream media: see esp. Hall, Policing the Crisis. 68. In 1968, surveys showed that 71 percent of West German students read Der Spiegel: Siegfried, Time Is on My Side, 281. 69. ‘‘Kulturrevolution: Brutal sein,’’ Der Spiegel, November 21, 1966, 114. 70. Ibid. 71. Mitscherlich, ‘‘Stenographisches zu Ko-Mü,’’ 78. 72. Bauer, ‘‘Der hastende Riese,’’ 518. 73. Bergfelder, International Adventures, 220. 74. ‘‘Mordlüsterne Mädchen killen harmlosen Männer,’’ Bild-Zeitung, June 30, 1967. 75. Quoted in ‘‘Kulturrevolution,’’ 118. 76. Ibid., 114. 77. Fehrenbach, Race after Hitler, 50; Moeller, Protecting Motherhood, 102–3. 78. The examples come from Berndt, ‘‘Presseberichte über den sds in der

Notes to Chapter 6 257 letzten Zeit,’’ 30. The number of terms used to describe demonstrating students was impressive. In July 1967, the student magazine Auditorium printed a list of the terms it had received in letters to the magazine, including ‘‘Rabauken, Radaumacher, Radaugesindel, Rowdies, Gammler, Schreier, Krawallmacher, Studentenlümmel, Unreife, Wirrköpfe, Dummköpfe, Hitzköpfe, Rotzjungen, Flegel, Halbstarke, Lausbuben, Unruhestifter, Bürschchen, Schmarotzer, Gesindel, Schweinehunde, Raufbolde, Grüne, Bengel, Großmäuler, Provokateure, Nichtstuer, Drecksgesindel, Mob.’’ Rolf Schübel, ‘‘Rowdies, Gammler und Schmarotzer. Reaktion der Bevölkerung auf studentische Demonstrationen’’: Auditorium, July 1967, 9. Otto Köhler published a similar list in an article in Der Spiegel in January 1967, connecting each synonym to a source in the press: Otto Köhler, ‘‘Störenfriede ausmerzen,’’ Der Spiegel, January 16, 1967. 79. Dutschke-Klotz, Rudi Dutschke, 108. 80. Lönnendonker and Fichter, Freie Universität Berlin, 146. 81. Ibid., 147. 82. The program was broadcast on Norddeutscher Rundfunk/Sender Freies Berlin in 1965 and later printed as ‘‘Peking’’ in Schickel, Große Mauer, Große Methode; Schickel, Terra incognita. Schickel was the editor of the so-called Third Channel (Dritte Programm) of the Norddeutscher Rundfunk radio station, which created programming with Radio Bremen and Sender Freies Berlin from January 1965 onward. 83. Schickel, ‘‘Dialektik in China,’’ 101. 84. The broadcast was later published as a booklet in the Voltaire-Flugschrift series: Amendt, China. 85. Ibid., 11, 29. 86. Ibid., 34. Although they originated with the right-wing legal theorist Carl Schmitt in the 1920s, leftist students regularly used ‘‘the friend-enemy relationship’’ or ‘‘friend-enemy thinking’’ as categories of social analysis, particularly in seeking to understand the popular mentalities nurtured by the Cold War. See, e.g. the discussion of students as minorities in chapter 4. Leftists di√ered crucially from Schmitt in seeing the friend–enemy relationship as something to be opposed and attenuated, while he saw it as necessary and even praiseworthy: Schmitt, The Concept of the Political, 37–45. 87. Amendt, China, 35. 88. Ibid., 13. 89. Ibid., 13–14. 90. Ibid., 34. 91. Repentant activists favor the metaphor, as well. Both Aly and the former sds member Peter Schütte refer to the ‘‘Mao-fever’’ of the New Left: Aly, Unser Kampf, 106; Schütte, quoted in Schla√ke and Schneider, ‘‘Maoismus,’’ 96. 92. Bild-Zeitung, November 28, 1967. The two figures were caricatures of the Kommune I members Rainer Langhans and Fritz Teufel, who had been the subjects of a well-publicized trial in July 1967. For a detailed analysis of the trial, see Scharloth, ‘‘Ritualkritik und Rituale des Protest,’’ 78–82. 93. ‘‘Attentat auf Humphrey von Kripo vereitelt. fu-Studenten fertigten

258 Notes to Chapter 6 Bomben mit Sprengsto√ aus Peking,’’ Berliner Morgenpost, April 6, 1967; ‘‘Die ‘Rote Garde’ Polit-Gammler,’’ Bild-Zeitung, April 28, 1967; See also ‘‘Es droht der Verweis. Akademischer Senat entscheidet über ‘fu-Chinesen,’ ’’ Berliner Morgenpost, April 19, 1967. 94. Hopf, ‘‘Das Faschismusthema in der Studentenbewegung und in der Soziologie,’’ 72. 95. Werner Titzrath, ‘‘Vietnam—auch in Deutschland?’’ Die Welt, February 7, 1968. 96. Ibid. 97. Ibid. 98. Schildt, ‘‘German Angst,’’ 93. 99. Record of Resolutions of the 21st sds Delegates Conference held from 1–4 September 1966 in Frankfurt am Main sds-Korrespondenz, no. 3, October 1966, 7, apoa, Urs Müller-Plantenberg, sds, Privatarchiv III, September 1965– September 1968, folder. 100. Ibid. 101. Höhn, ‘‘The Black Panther Solidarity Committees and the Voice of the Lumpen,’’ 146–147. Race as a category of analysis for the period after 1945 remains unacceptable in most fields of German academe. It is only since the 1990s that Afro-German, black European, and critical whiteness studies have begun to make inroads in scholarly and activist discussions: see Eggers et al., Mythen, Masken und Subjekte; El-Tayeb, ‘‘If You Cannot Pronounce My Name, You Can Just Call Me Pride’’; Opitz et al., Showing Our Colors. See also Chin et al., After the Racial State. 102. Berndt, ‘‘Presseberichte über den sds in der letzten Zeit,’’ 30. 103. Reiche, ‘‘Worte des Vorsitzenden Maos,’’ 9. 104. Heigl, ‘‘Oppositionspolitik,’’ 310. 105. Meyer, ‘‘Zur chinesischen Kulturrevolution,’’ 4. Meyer, in turn, is quoting from Der Spiegel, November 12, 1966. 106. Meyer, ‘‘Zur chinesischen Kulturrevolution,’’ 5. 107. Ibid., 4. 108. Ibid. 109. Ibid., 6. 110. Ibid. 111. Ibid., 8. 112. Ibid. 113. This reading of Maoism recalls the arguments made by some scholars on the masculinist, anti-traditionalist a≈nities between modernization theory and its radical challengers in the 1960s: see, e.g., Mahoney, ‘‘Estado Novo, Homem Novo (New State, New Man)’’; Saldana-Portillo, The Revolutionary Imagination in the Americas and the Age of Development. 114. Elias, The Civilizing Process, 6. 115. Ibid., 7. 116. Zimmerman, Anthropology and Antihumanism in Imperial Germany, 20.

Notes to Chapter 6 259 For an example of the postwar use of the categories, see Thurnwald, ‘‘Der Wandel der Erscheinungen und Gedanken des Zusammenlebens,’’ 8. 117. Bauer, ‘‘Der hastende Riese,’’ 526. 118. For his lightly veiled attack on antiauthoritarian tendencies in the West German New Left, see Schickel, ‘‘ ‘Wu cheng-fu’ oder Anarchismus in China.’’ 119. Many of his pieces were collected in Schickel, Große Mauer, Große Methode. See esp. Schickel, ‘‘Dialektik in China.’’ 120. Zedong, Der Große Strategische Plan. 121. Schickel, ‘‘Revolution, selbstkritisch permanent,’’ 32. 122. Schickel, ‘‘Dialektik in China,’’ 96. 123. Schickel, Große Mauer, Große Methode, 115. 124. Meyer’s translations of Proletkult documents formed the basis for a distinct West German school of interpretation connecting the Soviet cultural revolution to the avant-garde artist circle rather than the period of 1928–31 popularized by Sheila Fitzpatrick’s work in Anglo-American circles: David-Fox, ‘‘What Is Cultural Revolution?,’’ 185. See Lorenz, Proletarische Kulturrevolution in Sowjetrussland. 125. According to Kraushaar, Abendroth and some members of his institute, including Frank Deppe, met secretly with East German representatives to prepare plans to form a communist party in West Germany in 1967: Kraushaar, 1968 als Mythos, Chi√re und Zäsur, 149–50. 126. Meisner, Mao’s China and After, 299. 127. Ibid., 298. 128. Schneider, ‘‘Die Phantasie im Spätkapitalismus und die Kulturrevolution,’’ 1. 129. Ibid. 130. For an overview of international development discussions in the 1960s, see Rist, The History of Development, 80–140. 131. Sareika, Die Dritte Welt in der westdeutschen Literatur der sechziger Jahre, 297. 132. Mosler, ‘‘Zur Deutung des Ereignisses in der Bundesrepublik,’’ 65. 133. Mosler, ‘‘Europa sucht seine Identität,’’51. 134. Régis Debray’s book on the Cuban Revolution was published in German translation by Munich’s Trikont Press the same year that it was published in French by Maspero. Guevara’s writings on partisan war had been available in Germany in an East German publication since 1962 and were widely reproduced from 1967 on, legally and illegally: Debray, Revolution in der Revolution?; Guevara, Der Partisanenkrieg. See, e.g., Guevara, Botschaft an die Völker der Welt ; Guevara, Kleine revolutionäre Bibliothek 1. A reading list for the West Berlin sds’s ‘‘Third World’’ and the Metropoles project group compiled by Dutschke in August 1967 included Guevara’s ‘‘Man and Socialism in Cuba’’ (1966), along with Paul Baran’s Political Economy of Growth (1966), Fanon’s The Wretched of the Earth (1967), and Mao’s Theory of Guerrilla Warfare (1966): Rudi Dutschke, sds Landesverband Berlin, ‘‘Bibliographie der Projektgruppe ‘Dritte Welt’ und Met-

260 Notes to Chapter 6 ropolen,’’ August 18,1967, apoa, Urs Müller-Plantenberg, sds, Privatarchiv III, September 1965–September 1968, folder. 135. On Maoism in France, see Fields, ‘‘French Maoism.’’ 136. Koenen, Das rote Jahrzehnt, 147. 137. Ibid., 280. 138. Michel, ‘‘Maos Sonne über Mönchengladbach,’’ 260. 139. Eckart Spoo, ‘‘Die Städte von den Dörfern her einkreisen,’’ Frankfurter Rundschau, June 5, 1969. 140. Heinemann, ‘‘Lutz von Werder,’’ 17. 141. See Breßlein, Drushba! Freundschaft?; Slobodian, ‘‘What Does Democracy Look Like (and Why Would Anyone Want to Buy It)?’’ 142. Breßlein, Drushba! Freundschaft?, 136; Paul Wohl, ‘‘Red-Sponsored Youth Festival Twangs,’’ Christian Science Monitor, August 12, 1968. 143. N.a., ‘‘Der deutsche Bundesjugendring in Sofia,’’ Preliminary Report, n.d., BArch, b145/4003. 144. Breßlein, Drushba! Freundschaft?, 127. 145. ‘‘Cuban Group Spurns Red Youth Festival,’’ New York Times, June 29, 1968. 146. Reinhard Selka, Hochschulausschuss vds University Committee, ‘‘Bericht über die Reise der vds Delegation zu den 9. Weltjugendfestspiele in Sofia vom 27. Juli bis zum 8. August 1968,’’ Sept 25, 1968, BArch, b166/1303, 2. 147. Günther Dengel, Chair, internationalen Ausschusses vds International Committee, ‘‘Bericht über die Reise der vds Delegation zu den 9. Weltjugendfestspiele in Sofia vom 27. Juli bis zum 8. August 1968,’’ BArch, b166/1303, 13. 148. These groups were the lsd, the shb, and the vds, respectively: Marianne Henkel, Chair, internationalen Ausschusses vds International Committee, ‘‘Bericht über die Reise der vds Delegation zu den 9. Weltjugendfestspiele in Sofia vom 27. Juli bis zum 8. August 1968,’’ BArch, b166/1303, 1. 149. Several students had been arrested for the visit to the Chinese Embassy. Antiauthoritarians also visited the Cuban Embassy during the festival: Dengel, ‘‘Bericht über die Reise der vds Delegation,’’ 1, 3. 150. Selka, ‘‘Bericht über die Reise der vds Delegation,’’ 4. 151. Dengel, ‘‘Bericht über die Reise der vds Delegation,’’ 8. 152. Breßlein, Drushba! Freundschaft?, 141. 153. Ibid., 145. 154. Mehnert, Peking and the New Left, 62. 155. Ibid., 63. 156. Ibid., 66. 157. Selka, ‘‘Bericht über die Reise der vds Delegation,’’ 1. 158. Dengel, ‘‘Bericht über die Reise der vds Delegation,’’ 8; Henkel, ‘‘Bericht über die Reise der vds Delegation,’’ 13. See ‘‘Deutsche und Griechische Antifaschisten rettet das Leben Grigoris Farakos und seiner Genossen!,’’ flyer calling for a demonstration on Jan 18, 1969, co-organized by Lambrakis Youth, apoa, Hörlemann Privatbesitz, infi (International News and Research Institute) folder. 159. Henkel, ‘‘Bericht über die Reise der vds Delegation,’’ 5.

Notes to Conclusion 261 160. cisnu was critical of the Soviet Union for its economic support of the shah: see Dengel, ‘‘Bericht über die Reise der vds Delegation,’’ 3; Matin-Asgari, Iranian Student Opposition to the Shah, 99. 161. Dengel, ‘‘Bericht über die Reise der vds Delegation,’’ 3. 162. ‘‘Der deutsche Bundesjugendring in Sofia,’’ 20; Breßlein, Drushba! Freundschaft?, 138. 163. Dengel, ‘‘Bericht über die Reise der vds Delegation,’’ 8. 164. Henkel, ‘‘Bericht über die Reise der vds Delegation,’’ 5. 165. Breßlein, Drushba! Freundschaft?, 148. 166. ‘‘German Red Beaten at Festival in Sofia,’’ New York Times, August 4, 1968. 167. Wohl, ‘‘Red-sponsored Youth Festival Twangs.’’ 168. Henkel, ‘‘Bericht über die Reise der vds Delegation,’’ 8. 169. Dengel, ‘‘Bericht über die Reise der vds Delegation,’’ 9. 170. Henkel, ‘‘Bericht über die Reise der vds Delegation,’’ 7. 171. ‘‘Der deutsche Bundesjugendring in Sofia,’’ 30; Henkel, ‘‘Bericht über die Reise der vds Delegation,’’ 13. 172. Dengel, ‘‘Bericht über die Reise der vds Delegation,’’ 7. 173. Selka, ‘‘Bericht über die Reise der vds Delegation,’’ 5. 174. Dengel, ‘‘Bericht über die Reise der vds Delegation,’’ 12. 175. Johann-Wolfgang Landsberg to the vds, ‘‘Bericht über die Reise der vds Delegation zu den 9. Weltjugendfestspiele in Sofia vom 27. Juli bis zum 8. August 1968,’’ BArch, b166/1303, 3. 176. Henkel, ‘‘Bericht über die Reise der vds Delegation,’’ 7. 177. Breßlein, Drushba! Freundschaft?, 140; Dengel, ‘‘Bericht über die Reise der vds Delegation,’’ 4. 178. Fichter and Lönnendonker, Kleine Geschichte des sds , 157. 179. Schmidtke, Der Aufbruch der jungen Intelligenz, 276. 180. Breßlein, Drushba! Freundschaft?, 139. 181. Rudi Dutschke, ‘‘Diskussionsbeitrag’’ [for April 1965 Subversive Aktion meeting in Munich], reprinted in Böckelmann and Nagel, Subversive Aktion, 327. 182. Schneider, ‘‘Die Phantasie im Spätkapitalismus und die Kulturrevolution,’’ 1–2. 183. Klimke and Scharloth, ‘‘Maos Rote Garden?,’’ 1. 184. Kraushaar, 1968 als Mythos, Chi√re und Zäsur, 47.

Conclusion 1. ‘‘Denkmalsprozess gegen ‘Denkmäler.’ ’’ Frankfurter Rundschau, November 7, 1968. 2. Schneider, quoted in Nirumand et al., ‘‘Ringvorlesung vom 15. Juni 1988,’’ 60. 3. Quoted in Balsen and Rössel, Hoch die internationale Solidarität, 256. 4. Nirumand, in Nirumand et al., ‘‘Ringvorlesung vom 15. Juni 1988,’’ 59. 5. Ibid. 6. Ibid., 61.

262 Notes to Conclusion 7. ‘‘Polizei will Namen weitergeben,’’ Frankfurter Rundschau, August 7, 1970; ‘‘Botschafter von Lilienfeld, Teheran, an das Auswärtige Amt, April 27, 1971,’’ doc. no. 141, in Institut für Zeitgeschichte, ed., Akten zur auswärtigen Politik der Bundesrepublik Deutschland, 658. 8. Almut Hielscher, ‘‘Zeugen durften nicht reden. Persische Studenten wegen Hungerstreiks vor Gericht.’’ Abend-Zeitung, April 20, 1971. 9. Ibid. 10. Raute at the International Vietnam Congress in West Berlin in 1968, quoted in Lönnendonker, ed. Linksintellektueller Aufbruch zwischen ‘‘Kulturrevolution’’ und ‘‘kultureller Zerstörung,’’ 236. 11. Andreas Buro und Karl Grobe, ‘‘Vietnam und die Deutschen,’’ 1984, reprinted in Balsen and Rössel, Hoch die internationale Solidarität, 244. 12. Ibid. 13. Negt, Achtundsechzig, 141. 14. Steinhaus, Zur Theorie des internationalen Klassenkampfes, 6. 15. For a similar point about the reception of Maoism in France, see Ross, May ’68 and Its Afterlives, 96–98. 16. Griepenburg and Steinhaus, ‘‘Zu einigen sozioökonomischen und militärischen Aspekten des Vietnamkonflikts,’’ 47. 17. Steinhaus, Zur Theorie des internationalen Klassenkampfes, 8. 18. shb, asta Frankfurt, hsu, sds, Diskus, ‘‘Manifest gegen den blinden Humanismus. Allerweltsproteste für Menschlichkeit in aller Welt-Liberale Phrasen,’’ Diskus 17 (November–December 1967), 8. 19. See chapter 3 for the context of this statement. 20. Fanon, Schwarze Haut, weiße Masken. On early circulation of Fanon in sds circles, see Horlemann, ‘‘Zwischen Soziologie und Politik,’’ 228. 21. Zahar, ‘‘Frantz Fanons antikolonialistisches Manifest,’’ 47. 22. Fanon, Black Skin, White Masks, 133. 23. The phrase was cited in Nirumand and Siepmann, ‘‘Die Zukunft der Revolution,’’ 90. For the reference to König as the translator of the German edition, see Lönnendonker and Fichter, Freie Universität Berlin, 40. 24. See Benjamin and Rabinbach, ‘‘Germans, Leftists, Jews’’; Ha et al., Re/visionen; Lennox, ‘‘Divided Feminism’’; Opitz et al., Showing Our Colors; Schulz, Die lange Atem der Provokation; Wetzel, ed., Die Verlängerung von Geschichte. 25. Koenen, Das rote Jahrzehnt, 18. 26. Reichardt and Siegfried, ‘‘Das Alternative Milieu,’’ 11. 27. On the K-Gruppen, see Koenen, Das rote Jahrzehnt, 257–319; Kühn, Stalins Enkel, Maos Söhne; Ste√en, Geschichten vom Trü√elschwein. 28. On the Autonome, see Katsiaficas, The Subversion of Politics. For selfdescriptions, see Geronimo, Feuer und Flamme; Grauwacke, Autonome in Bewegung. 29. On leftist politics and Israel/Palestine in the late 1960s, see Diner, ‘‘Täuschungen’’; Kloke, Israel und die deutsche Linke, 106–33; Kraushaar, Die Bombe im Jüdischen Gemeindehaus; Mausbach, ‘‘Wende um 360 Grad?’’

Notes to Conclusion 263 30. See the articles collected in the two volumes of Kraushaar, Die raf und der linke Terrorismus. 31. Balsen and Rössel, Hoch die internationale Solidarität, 503. 32. All three also had connections to campaigns in solidarity with Biafra in the Nigerian Civil War, an important context that deserves further study. 33. Seibert, Vergessene Proteste, 141–91. 34. Bojadˇzijev, Die windige Internationale; Bojadˇzijev and Perinelli, ‘‘Die Herausforderung der Migration.’’

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INDEX

Page numbers in italics refer to illustrations. Aachen, 22, 30, 32, 40, 85 Abendroth, Wolfgang, 233 n. 76, 259 n. 125; media critique of, 152; as mentor of socialist students, 90, 188; political model of, 90, 204, 234 n. 100 Action Councils for Women’s Liberation, 159–60 administration: constitutional law vs., 42; foreigners’ rights and, 36– 38, 50, 105, 129; police actions as, 39, 42–43 Adorno, Theodor, 27, 235 n. 121 Africa Addio (Jacopetti and Prosperi): protest against, 136–46, 147–49; return of, to theaters, 161–62 African Americans: activism of, 8, 134; as gis, 144, 249 n. 62; influence of, on West German New Left, 9, 11, 86; political role of, 58 African National Congress, 23 African student associations: in Aachen, 22; in Munich, 85, in West Berlin, 32, 66–67, 69, 139, 141, 227 n. 90 Afro-Asian students: associations of, 31–32, 35, 85; Dutschke’s discussion of, 54; o≈cial anxiety about, 20, 32, 36, 62 Afro-Germans, 258 n. 101 aid: to authoritarian regimes, 21, 34,

82; criticisms of, 22, 24, 32, 106–8, 248 n. 26; expanded West German contributions to, 27; higher education and West German, 28, 144; military, 22, 91–92, 231 n. 26; racist regimes receiving West German, 24; soft power of West German development, 19; Soviet, 18, 261 n. 150; in theories of imperialism and neocolonialism, 91–92, 106–8, 247 n. 26; U.S., 64, 91–92 Ajala, Adekunle, 137, 141, 143 Aktion Dritte Welt, 236 n. 134 Albertz, Heinrich, 111, 120, 125, 185 Alexander, Neville, 22–25 Algeria, 3, 55; French war in, 21–22, 82, 148; students from, 23, 35, 69 Amendt, Günter, 84, 183–85 America Houses, 87, 95 Amnesty International, 42, 105, 201, 207 anarchism: Dutch Provo, 175; influence of, on New Left, 9; pejorative charges of, 122, 185, 190 anger: images as catalysts of, 135; at mainstream media, 21; at police, 68, 71; sexual repression as source of, 157–58; at state violence in Third World, 117, 144; at Vietnam War, 74, 83, 89 Angola, 3, 82, 154; students from, 13, 21–22

288 Index Anschlag-Gruppe, 65–66, 227 n. 88 antiauthoritarians: cultural revolution concept of, 171, 175–80, 188, 191–98; Dutschke’s influence on, 52, 73–76, 94–95, 98–99; identification of, with Vietcong, 12, 14, 79, 95, 97–99; importance of direct action for, 75–76, 171; media concept of, 95–96, 153; sds faction of, 73–76, 236 n. 131; Third World concept of, 77–79; traditionalists vs., 79, 94–99, 153, 191 anti-capitalism, 9, 177 anticommunism: U.S., 53, 81, 86; West German, 86, 123, 187 anti-imperialism: blind spots of, 204–6; centrality of Vietnam in, 92–95, 103; international network of, 51, 54–55, 132; Iran in framework of, 108–11, 132; legacies of, 206–8, 249 n. 71; Lumumba as symbol of, 67 anti-Semitism, 146, 207, 211 n. 36 apartheid, campaigns against, 21–24 Argument Club, 73–74, 83, 227 n. 90, 231 n. 35 armed struggle: in China, 94, 259 n. 134; Cuban support for, 195; East German opinion of, 75; in Haiti, 74; in Latin America, 196; New Left theories of, 9–10, 75, 93; in United States, 8; in West Germany, 10, 168, 179, 207, 211 n. 36. See also foco; Guevara, Ernesto ‘‘Che’’; Red Army Faction; Vietcong arson, 103, 193 assassination: attempted, of shah, 42, 108; of Lumumba, 63, 65; of John F. Kennedy, 81; ‘‘pudding,’’ of Vice-President Humphrey, 103, 177, 185 Association of Iranian Students, 128 Association of German Students

(vds): criticism of Foreigner Law by, 42, 118; participation at World Youth Festivals of, 195, 214 n. 21, 260 n. 148; support of foreign and overseas students of, 17, 21–22, 24, 102, 118 AStAs. See student unions asylum, 34, 45–46. See also Foreigner Law atrocities: in Algeria, 138; in Congo, 64, 157; in Indonesia, 156; in Iran, 155–56. See also Holocaust; Vietnam War Auschwitz, 24, 122, 136, 147–49. See also Holocaust Autonome, 207, 262 n. 28 Bandung Asian-African Conference, 3–4, 8, 32, 213 n. 4 Basic Law: administrative law vs., 42; asylum provision in, 45; Humanist Union defense of, 88; legal position of foreigners in, 35– 36, 41, 43, 49, 129; legal transition to socialism through, 90; right of assembly in, 35, 40; right of free expression in, 131 Belgium, Congo and, 62–63, 65–66 Berkeley. See Free Speech Movement Berlin. See East Berlin; West Berlin Berlin Wall: erection of, 36, 53, 56, 86; o≈cial visits to, 68; rhetoric invoking, 73, 122 Biafra, 164, 263 n. 32 Bild-Zeitung (newspaper): similarities of, to Konkret, 159; in Springer press empire, 185; student movement in, 87, 118, 143, 257 n. 92; Vietnam War in, 165 Black Panthers, 6, 187 Black Power, 58, 62 Bolivia, 56 Böll, Heinrich, 83 bombing: alleged activist, 185; car-

Index 289 pet, 80, 82, 89, 96–97; of Europe in Second World War, 85; of Hiroshima, 85; images of, 80, 163; left-wing terrorist, 9; of North Vietnam, 74, 78, 85, 164; nuclear, 150 Bonn: District Court of, 43; as metonym for federal government, 24, 66, 73, 94, 203; occupation of embassies in, 33–34; protests against Lumumba’s murder in, 19, 62; protests related to Iran in, 40– 41, 104, 110, 120, 126–27; restriction of foreign student activism in, 25–26, 37, 40, 105; violence against people of color in, 144 Boris, Dieter, 90–92, 100, 236 n. 134 bourgeoisie: Chinese understanding of, 172, 174, 181, 192–93; development role of national, 57; distrust of, 96–97, 183, 199; shocking of, 178 boycotts: of classes, 56; of films, 162 Brandt, Willy, 68–72, 82, 152, 231 n. 19 Brecht, Bertolt, 162, 165 Brussels, protests in, 33, 63 Bundesstudentenring, 55 bureaucracy: murder and, 140; socialism and, 4, 53, 175, 197–98, 203 B.Z. (newspaper), 87 Cameroon, 1, 2 Campaign for Disarmament, 83 capitalism: anti-, 9, 177, 207; bankruptcy of liberal, 89, 203; consumer, 3, 65, 71; cooptation of sexual liberation by, 159; crises of, 79, 91; Cultural Revolution as leap over stage of, 175, 192; desire for escape from, 100, 199; geopolitics of, 79, 91–93, 173; imperialism and, 91–93; Third World injustice

caused by, 64, 93, 154; working class in late, 90, 98, 172–73 censorship: condemnations of, 33, 158; of Konkret, 158–59; through seizure of protest materials, 40– 41, 110, 130, 143–44, 196 Central Intelligence Agency (cia), 56, 63, 86, 107 Césaire, Aimé, 67, 138 chants, 111, 112, 118, 240 n. 80 Chile, students from, 53, 74, 117, 241 n. 95 China, People’s Republic of: embassies of, 175–76, 195–96, 260 n. 149; ‘‘fu-Chinese,’’ 185–86; students from, 39. See also Chinese Communist Party; Chinese Cultural Revolution; Mao Zedong Chinese Communist Party (ccp), 171–74, 188–89, 192, 196; distribution of materials by, 53, 169, 172, 175; geopolitical model of, 171–73; West Germans and model of, 53, 57, 172–73, 177–78. See also Chinese Cultural Revolution; Mao Zedong Chinese Cultural Revolution, 173– 74; criticism of West Germans identifying with, 9, 174–75; mainstream depictions of, 15, 181–83; New Left understanding and universalization of, 15–16, 169–71, 174–85, 187–93; racialized West German depictions of, 182, 184, 187, 256 n. 66; techniques of, 108, 171, 174, 184 Christian democratic student groups, 87, 195 Christian Democratic Union (cdu), 37, 41; Emergency Laws proposal by, 98; Grand Coalition of, with spd, 202; marketing strategy of, 151–52; political activity of members of, 87, 110, 112, 195; Vietnam War and, 82

290 Index Christianity, 25, 53, 154; activists’ use of imagery of, 136, 163–65, 168 cisnu. See Confederation of Iranian Students, National Union Civil Rights Movement (U.S.), 8, 58, 84, 86, 211 n. 25 coalition building by activists, 79, 93, 96, 97, 99 Cold War, 60; China and, 171, 198; foreign students and, 18–20, 29, 32, 50; New Left criticism of, 3, 8, 94, 154, 257 n. 86; West Berlin as ‘‘front city’’ in, 85–86, 123, 153; West Germany in, 6, 55 Cologne, 30, 105; protests in, 1, 19, 33, 105, 126 colonialism, 2, 13, 19, 32, 78, 198; Césaire on, 138–39; economic aspects of, 91; Fanon on, 60–61, 76–77; perversity of moral rhetoric of, 138–39; protest against Portuguese, 13, 18, 22, 82; protest and solidarity campaigns against French, 21–23, 35, 82. See also decolonization; imperialism; neocolonialism communes: Chinese, 190; Paris, 190; West German, 176–77, 194, 207. See also Kommune I Communist Parties, 196; French, 65, 193; German, 233 n. 76, 259 n. 125; South African, 23, 214 n. 35; Soviet, 172; West German 1956 ban on, 3. See also Chinese Communist Party compassion, political meaning of, 25 concentration camps: Iran as, 116; in Second World War, 149; as verbal threat, 121; in Vietnam, 96. See also Holocaust Confederation of Iranian Students, National Union (cisnu), 196; commemorations of dead of, 127– 28; goals of, 107–8, 201, 261 n. 160; June 2 protest role of, 102–4

confrontation: with authority, in cultural revolution concept, 171, 192; Dutschke’s theory of, 59, 65, 71–76; with images of Holocaust as strategy, 149; with images of Third World violence as strategy, 153 Congo, 55, 226 n. 74; conflict in, Holocaust analogies to, 140, 144, 148–49; images and reports of atrocities in, 154–56, 157, 158; New Left and, 14, 61–63, 66–68. See also Lumumba, Patrice; mercenaries in Congo; Tshombe, Moise constitutions, 37, 143. See Basic Law consulates: foreign dissent and, 43; occupations of, 33, 48, 201–22; overseas West German, 41; protests at, 45, 48, 73, 85. See also embassies consumerism: criticism of, 3; psychological e√ects of, 58–59, 65, 238 n. 39 consumption: media, 152, 157–62, 168, 187; as precondition for student movement, 170, 210 n. 11; theories of imperialism and, 91– 93 contradiction, theories of, 172, 206 counter-public, New Left and, 21, 34. See also public sphere coups, 33–34, 63, 120 courts, 120; activist use of, 131, 142, 145–46, 200–202; in foreigner activism cases, 35, 42–50, 141; National Socialist past and, 43, 145–46, 249 n. 68; overseas, 34, 46; in pro-shah demonstrator cases, 128–29 crisis, competing sds theories of, 79, 90–95 Crisis of Democracy, 98, 120 Cuba, 57; criticism of identification with, 9; international network

Index 291 built by, 55; model of political action of, 193–96, 204; New Left interest in, 3–4, 51, 194–95, 209 n. 6, 259 n. 134; students from, 23; U.S. activist interest in, 8; U.S. intervention in, 195. See also Guevara, Ernesto ‘‘Che’’ cultural revolution: current historiographical definitions of, 7, 170, 198; New Left techniques of, 108, 171, 192–94, 198; New Left understandings of, 4–5, 169–71, 174–93, 198–99, 254 n. 4. See also Chinese Cultural Revolution Czechoslovakia, 195–97 daad, 28, 141 Dabrowski, Hartmut, 96–97, 99 Dadaism, 65, 178 Darmstadt, 85 Debray, Régis, 4, 196, 259 n. 134 decolonization, 3–4, 7–8, 108–9, 139; Holocaust memory in debates of, 146–57; potential reversal of, 139– 40, 146. See also colonialism; imperialism; neocolonialism defamation of heads of state, 41, 130–32, 142 democracy, 147, 233 n. 67; as conformity, 27; as demand for Iran, 104, 107–8, 128; direct, 203; foreign students’ definitions of, 31; grassroots opposition and, 90; narratives of ’68 and, 8, 170; New Left critique of West German, 3, 71, 124, 125, 150–52; universities and principles of, 123; U.S., 86–87. See also liberal democracy deportation: appeals to asylum to prevent, 45–46; Foreigner Law provisions for, 45, 49, 105; Indonesians and, 34; Iranians and, 33, 37, 46–48, 105, 129, 132, 200; Nigerians and, 141; Peruvians and,

55, 86; politically motivated, 33, 34, 44, 47–49, 56, 86, 130, 132 Deppe, Frank, 90, 93–94, 98, 234 n. 90, 259 n. 125 Deppe-Wolfinger, Helga, 100 development aid. See aid dffb, 163, 166, 179 Diem, Ngh Dinh, 85 direct action, 1–2, 47, 116; against Africa Addio screening, 137–38; political-psychological function of, 8–9, 59, 65, 71–76; in Tshombe protest, 68–73; in Vietnam War protests, 87, 164. See also cultural revolution; occupations Diskus (magazine), 105, 157 Dominican Republic: students from, 55; U.S. invasion of, 140, 195 Dresden, 55–56 Dubcek, Alexander, 195 Düsseldorf, 30, 105; protests in, 19, 67 Dutschke, Rudi, 52–53, 196, 232 n. 63; antiauthoritarian theory of, 94–99, 198, 244 n. 158; Nirumand and, 110, 134, 164, 246 n. 200; promotion of Chinese model by, 173– 76; Third-Worldism of, 12–13, 51– 61, 65, 70–77, 99, 205, 259 n. 134 Dutschke-Klotz, Gretchen, 53, 58, 183, 229 n. 137 Duvalier, François, 74, 138, 226 n. 60, 244 n. 158 East Berlin, 86; foreign students in, 66; protests in, 62 Easter March Movement, 83 East Germany. See German Democratic Republic Edalat-Manesch, Parviz, 155, 156 eggs in protests, 89, 95, 116 Eichmann, Adolf, 140, 149 Eisenhower, Dwight D., 63 Egypt, 3, 64, 106; students from, 19– 20, 28–30, 33, 45, 69

292 Index embassies: Chinese, 175–76, 195–96, 260 n. 149; Cuban, 198, 260 n. 149; occupations of, 32–34, 46, 62; overseas West German, 42; silencing of foreign student dissent by, 33, 34, 38–40, 85, 126, 131; U.S., 86, 197. See also consulates Emergency Laws, 98, 119–20, 171, 202 empathy, 14, 80, 97, 99, 154 Enzensberger, Hans Magnus, 106, 173, 254 n. 18 Erhard, Ludwig, 82, 94 Erlangen, 30; protests in, 19, 25, 32 Espinoza Quiros, Salomon, 55–56 Ethiopia: Africa Addio protesters from, 141–42, 247 n. 14, 247 n. 25; students from, 53, 61, 225 n. 60 existentialism, 79, 98, 235 n. 121, 238 n. 39 ex-matriculation, forced, 27, 32 Falken, Die, 175 Fanon, Frantz, 51, 76–78, 138, 205, 262 n. 20; Black Skin, White Masks, 206; German translations of, 59, 206, 225 n. 52; Wretched of the Earth, 59–61, 206, 259 n. 134 Farah Diba, 107, 130; masks of, 102, 111–12, 126, 133, 179 Färber, Helmut, 162–63 Farocki, Harun, 163, 253 n. 168, 253 n. 170; on film as pedagogy, 166, 180–81; Inextinguishable Fire, 165– 66, 168; White Christmas, 163–64; The Words of the Chairman, 179– 80 fascism: as consequence of colonialism, 139; fears of West Germany backsliding into, 15, 101, 128; in Iran, 128; in narratives of ’68, 6, 10; sexuality as site of confronting, 157. See also National Socialism fdj (Free German Youth), 52, 73, 87 Federation of Iranian Students, 128

feminism, 159–60, 206, 252 n. 139 Filmkritik (journal), 163, 179–80 films: activist screenings of, 83, 175, 180; Chinese, 175; documentary, 85, 112, 149; mainstream feature, 133–37, 155, 182, 186; New Left feature, 212 n. 39, 252 n. 155; propaganda role of, 139–40, 146–49, 180–81; protests against, 137–38, 141–44; student-made, 133–34, 163–68, 178–80; Western, 161–62, 252 n. 141, 252 n. 142 foco, 4, 57, 79, 193. See also Guevara, Ernesto ‘‘Che’’ Ford Foundation, 53, 86 Foreigner Law, 41–45, 48–50, 105 Foreign Ministry, 35, 38–41, 43–46 foreign students: in Africa Addio protest, 138–45; as catalysts of West German activism, 3–5, 13, 17–26, 45–57, 208, 212 n. 3; economic function of, 27–28, 30–31, 50; recruitment as informers of, 86; redefinitions of development by, 31–32, 100; suppression of activism of, 30–47; as translators, 74–75; in Tshombe protest, 66– 70, 72, 72–73; in Vietnam War protests, 85 Frankfurt, 34, 42, 60, 84, 88, 122, 197; Auschwitz Trials in, 149; Iranians in, 105; professors at university in, 27, 168, 203; protests in, 19, 34–35, 47, 128, 240 n. 80; sds faction from, 75, 79, 89, 94–99, 153, 236 n. 131; sds working groups in, 34; Vietnam Congress in, 59–60, 79 Frankfurt School, 60, 157, 233 n. 76 Free Democratic Party, 34, 88 Free German Youth (fdj), 52, 73, 87 Free Speech Movement (U.S.), 7, 14, 17, 32, 86, 183, 217 n. 92 Free University (West Berlin): foreign students at, 32–33, 39, 53–57,

Index 293 Gerstenmaier, Eugen, 19 Gesellschaft für bedrohte Völker, 208, 253 n. 184 Gesinnungspolitik, 26, 215 n. 59 Gießen, 30, 32, Godard, Jean-Luc, 162–63 Goethe Institutes, 28, 228 n. 99 go-ins, 48, 171, 177 Gollwitzer, Helmut, 83 Göttingen: protests in, 19, 117 Great Proletarian Cultural Revolution. See Chinese Cultural Revolution Greece, 120, 233 n. 76; guest workers from, 36, 46, 212 n. 39; internaGäng, Peter, 73, 81, 99, 141, 201 tionalism of students from, 226 gdr. See German Democratic Republic n. 79; opposition to military govGeneva Agreements, 84 ernment of, 34, 46, 157–58, 196 genocide, 164 Green Party, 5 Germain, Eden, 74, 229 n. 137 Griepenburg, Rüdiger, 90, 92–93 German Confederation of Trade guerrillas. See armed struggle Unions (dgb), 46, 122 guest workers, 23, 36, 41, 46, 50, 55, German Democratic Republic: 212 n. 39 covert actions of, in West GerGuevara, Ernesto ‘‘Che’’: Chinese many, 150, 161, 226 n. 73, 241 n. 94, criticisms of, 196; East German 259 n. 125; Dutschke’s experience translations of, 259, n. 134; foco in, 52–53; foreign students in, 28, model of, 4–5, 57; German trans55–56, 66–68, 227 n. 96, 247 n. 26; lation of ‘‘two, three, many Vietfunding of West German publicanams’’ speech of, 54, 74–75; as tions by, 150, 161; Marxist texts in, icon, 168; influence of, on 75, 234 n. 100, 259 n. 134; neoDutschke, 51, 57, 74–75; internacolonialist critique in, 247 n. 26; tional actions of, 55; ‘‘propaganda as partner of activists, 259 n. 125; of the bullet’’ concept of, 4, 75; Rabehl’s origins in, 53; relationWest German activists and, 78– ship to West Germany of, 36, 85, 79, 195, 203–4, 259 n. 134 139, 213 n. 11; as target of activist Habermas, Jürgen, 90, 168; on stucritique, 144, 153; Third World dent movement, 5–6, 9–10, 12, 235 and, 18, 75, 175, 255 n. 37, 259 n. 121; on terrorism, 168; theories n. 134; use of informants by, 56– of public sphere of, 152–53, 185, 57, 226 n. 73, 241 n. 94, 259 n. 125; 204 West German student protest and, Haiti, 61, 76, 225 n. 60; students 3, 73, 117, 122 from, 25, 32, 52–57, 74, 137–38, German Film and Television Acad142, 247 n. 14 emy (dffb), 163, 166, 179 66, 72–73, 141; ‘‘fu-Chinese’’ and, 185–86; June 2 protests at, 102, 111–17, 119, 122; occupations at, 27, 171, 193; reception of Chinese Cultural Revolution at, 175–79, 255 n. 37; Student Union at, 84, 104, 119, 122; U.S. influence on, 53–57, 81, 85–87, 217 n. 92; Vietnam War opposition at, 83–88. See also Argument Club; FU Spiegel; Socialist German Students Union Freiburg, 30, 236 n. 134 FU Spiegel (magazine), 56, 124–25, 125, 135–36, 136

294 Index Hamburg, 94, 118, 209 n. 1, 226 n. 79; protests in, 1–2, 19, 48–49, 128, 200 Hannover, 55, 144 Harlan, Veit, 146, 149 hatred, 19, 165; German self-, 11; political function of, 59, 244 n. 158; psychological explanations of, 158; racial, 139, 146 Haug, Wolfgang Fritz, 73 Heidelberg, 30, 153; protests in, 88 Heidemann, Gerd, 63–64, 226 n. 73 Heldmann, Hans-Heinz, 42–43, 45– 46, 105, 246 n. 196 higher education: changes in West German, 27, 123; development role of, 30–32 Ho Chi Minh, 84, 112 Holocaust: analogies to, 15, 135–36, 145–49, 253 n. 184; images of, 149, 215 n. 44, 250 n. 86. See also Jews hooligans: description of protesters as, 183; Halbstarke as, 256 n. 67, 257 n. 78; Red Guards as, 183 Horlemann, Jürgen, 94, 97, 99 horror stories: Chinese Cultural Revolution as, 181–82; reportage of postcolonial conflict as, 158 Humanist Student Union, 88, 205 Humanist Union, 88, 208, 233 n. 67 humanitarianism, critique of, 204–5 human rights, 157: activist rejection of, 192, 199, 204–5; as basis of activism after 1960s, 169, 201, 207– 8, 253 n. 184; as demand of foreign students, 11, 13, 19, 26, 32, 201; European Convention on, 35, 43; as language for opposing Vietnam War, 89–94; skepticism of international campaigns for, 88–89; U.N. Declaration of, 35, 92; Vietnam War and language of, 78, 198, 203 Humboldt University, 66, 86

hunger strikes, 17; Iranian activist use of, 25–26, 32, 37, 43–45, 102, 107–8; Meins’s death by, 169 iconoclasm, 1–2, 169 icons: Che and Mao as, 168; Christian, 168; Nazi use of, 151; Ohnesorg as, 135; skepticism over, 152; Third World individuals as, 135, 165, 168, 205, 211 n. 36 identification: with African Americans, 9, 145; with Chinese, 12, 177– 78, 199; criticism of, 9, 98, 152–53, 177–78; ethics of, 11, 212 n. 43; as explanation for New Left internationalism, 9–11; with Third World revolutionaries, 94–99; with Viet Cong, 9, 12, 14, 77, 79, 94–99 ig Metall, 98, 120, 122, 236 n. 126 image, sociological concept of, 151–52 imperialism: Chinese theories of, 172; criticism of, 32, 79, 161; Cuban theories of, 55, 195; international front against, 55, 111, 132, 195; Iranian theories of, 238 n. 39; New Left theories of, 6, 13–14, 59–60, 71, 79, 90–93, 100, 236 n. 134; super-, 173; U.S., 14, 132 India, 3, 20, 32, 189; professors and students from, 30, 31, 144, 163 Indonesia, 3, 34, 156, 163, 252 n. 154 Inextinguishable Fire (Farocki), 165– 66, 168 informants, for U.S. intelligence, 56–57, 86; for East German intelligence, 241 n. 94 intelligence agencies. See secret police; and under names of individual agencies Iran, 28–31, 37, 201; geopolitical and economic significance of, 18, 91, 106–9; German-Iranian Society and, 111; in narratives of ’68, 133; 1978–79 revolution in, 46, 128;

Index 295 West German o≈cials and, 37, 40–41; White Revolution in, 106. See also Pahlevi, Reza Mohammad; savak; Tehran University Iran Azad (magazine), 104, 237 n. 14 Iranian National Front, 104, 112 Iranian Students Association, 85 Iraq, 33, 39, 91; students from, 13, 32– 34, 45, 217 n. 101, 226 n. 79 irony, 127, 150, 168, 177–80 Israel, 40, 262 n. 29 Italy, 65; activists from, 84, 201, 232 n. 43; films from, 137–40, 161–62, 252 n. 142; guest workers from, 23, 36 Jacopetti, Gualtiermo, 137–49, 161– 62, 246 n. 7 Jalée, Pierre, 173 Japan, 7, 196 Jews, 58, 206; activists as ‘‘new,’’ 15, 122–23, 127, 135–36, 145–47; people of color as ‘‘new,’’ 144–47. See also Holocaust Johnson, Lyndon B., 97, 153 June 2 protests. See Free University; Pahlevi, Reza Mohammad Junge Union, 87 Katanga, 62–64, 66, 68, 225 n. 61. See also Congo Keynesianism, 91; military, 92, 234 n. 90 K-Gruppen, 170, 207, 262 n. 27 Kiel, 159; protests in, 19 Kiesinger, Kurt Georg, 186 King, Martin Luther, Jr., 84 Klatzer, Leo, 175, 255 n. 38 Kommune I, 131, 211 n. 28; cultural revolution model of, 177–78; media understanding of, 168; provocative actions of, 103, 153; role of, in June 2 protest, 103, 111. See also Kunzelmann, Dieter; Langhans, Rainer

Kommune 2, 76 König, Traugott, 206, 225 n. 52, 262 n. 23 Konkret (magazine), 1, 2, 22, 110; Meinhof ’s columns in, 81, 84; reportage of postcolonial conflict in, 19–20, 63–64, 156–59, 157 Krahl, Hans-Jürgen, 75, 236 n. 131 Kultur, redefinitions of, 16, 189–92 Kunzelmann, Dieter, 95, 103, 167–68, 175–77, 211 n. 28 Kurras, Karl-Heinz, 116, 241 n. 94 Kursbuch (magazine), 59, 106, 173, 183, 192, 198 Langhans, Rainer, 175–77, 211 n. 28, 257 n. 92 Latin America, 25, 32, 91, 196; students from, 50–57, 74–76; in theories of anti-imperialism, 2, 5, 55– 58, 71, 93, 172–73, 213 n. 4. See also Cuba law. See courts; Foreigner Law lawyers, as allies of activists and dissidents, 42–46, 53–56, 105, 131, 201–2, 246 n. 196 Lederer, Herbert, 236 n. 131 Lefèvre, Wolfgang, 103 Lenin, Vladimir Ilyich, 57, 59, 97, 178, 190–91, 195 Lenz, Reimar, 22, 147–48 libel, shah and, 130–32 liberal democracy: appeal to norms of, 13–14, 38, 83, 89–90, 96–97; Vietnam War discrediting of, 4, 14, 74, 78, 89, 198, 203 liberalization in narratives of 1960s, 5–6, 8, 11, 170, 209 n. 9 Liberal Student Union (lsd), 88, 227 n. 90, 260 n. 148 liberated zones, 4, 16 Libya, students from, 33 Lin Biao, 172, 174, 179, 254 n. 25 London, 141; protests in, 33, 62

296 Index Lübke, Heinrich, 26, 37, 131, 215 n. 53 Lukács, Georg, 60 Lumumba, Patrice, 20, 67–68, 154, 225 n. 61; protests after murder of, 4, 14, 61–62; West German protests after murder of, 1, 19–20, 35, 45, 60–61 Mahler, Horst, 56 Mainz: Iranians in, 46, 105; protests in, 19 managed consciousness, 73, 76, 78, 198 Mandel, Ernst, 175, 224 n. 44 Maoism: antiauthoritarian, 177–81, 192–99; Dada-, 178; mainstream fear of, 186; K-Gruppen and, 170, 207, 262 n. 27. See also Chinese Communist Party; cultural revolution Mao Zedong: as icon, 168; as initiator of Cultural Revolution, 173– 75; New Left references to, 9, 59, 159, 170, 175; political model of, 93–94, 171; quotations of, 159, 175, 177–79, 181, 194. See also Chinese Communist Party Marburg, 152, 171–72, 188, 203; sds faction from, 79, 89–98, 153, 191, 233 n. 76, 234 n. 90, 236 n. 134 Marcuse, Herbert, 90, 124, 147, 149, 235 n. 120; influence of, on Dutschke, 51, 58–60, 73; at 1966 Vietnam Congress, 97–99; repressive desublimation theory of, 159; solidarity of sentiments and, 12, 99 marginal groups (Randgruppen), 58–59, 79, 124 martyrs: in Iranian opposition movement, 47, 127–28; Ohnesorg as, 186, 242 n. 113 Marx, Karl, 188, 191; Dutschke’s references to, 12, 59, 236 n. 124, 244 n. 158

masks: activists’ use of, 102, 105, 111– 12, 116, 126, 179, 200–201; metaphor of, 126–27, 161, 197, 206 Massali, Hassan, 39, 46–47, 129 Maus, Heinz, 90 media landscape, changes in West German, 26, 151, 153, 167, 180–81 Medico international, 207 Meinhof, Ulrike Marie, 81, 84, 127– 28, 133, 159. See also Red Army Faction Meins, Holger, 165, 168 mercenaries in Congo, 63–67, 137– 46, 158, 226 n. 73, 251 n. 113 Meschkat, Klaus, 22 metropoles, 71, 75–76, 127, 236 n. 124, 259 n. 134 Mexico, 54, 58 Meyer, Gert, 171, 188–92, 259 n. 124 Mills, C. Wright, 124, 243 n. 143 minorities: African Americans, 58; becoming, 11; German Jewish, 58, 149; Germans of color, 206, 252 n. 139; political role of, 51, 58–59, 197; South African whites, 24; West German leftist students and intellectuals as, 58–59, 101, 120–24, 131, 145, 186 Minow, Hans-Rüdiger, 133–34 Mitscherlich, Alexander, 158, 159, 182 Mobutu, Joseph-Désiré, 63, 67 modernization: criticism of Iranian, 107, 110; criticism of productivist, 191–92; cultural revolution as means of, 189, 198; as development goal, 192 Mondo documentaries, 137, 161 moral panics, 185, 256 n. 67 Morocco, 21–22; students from, 40 Mossadeq, Mohammed, 107, 111, 112, 118, 238 n. 40 Müller, Siegfried ‘‘Congo,’’ 63–64, 140, 143, 226 n. 74, 251 n. 113. See also mercenaries in Congo

Index 297 Munich, 19, 30, 39, 95, 104, 194; antiwar protests in, 83, 85, 88; Iranians in, 31, 37, 40, 46, 105–6, 126, 132, 201–2; Subversive Aktion in, 65, 95 napalm, 80, 135, 150–51, 154, 164–66, 251 n. 114 Nasser, Gamel Abdel, 3, 33, 64, 106 National Front for the Liberation of South Vietnam (nlf). See Vietcong National Socialism, 151, 181, 196, 207; activists’ memory of, 146–49; analogies of South Africa to, 24, 214 n. 44; analogies of West Germany to, 40, 49, 101, 122; Foreigner Law and, 41, 50; former Nazi party members and, 25, 145, 249 n. 68; mercenaries’ connection to, 143; in narratives of 1960s, 5, 210 n. 11; racist legacies of, 138; rhetoric of, 121; sexuality as site of confronting legacy of, 157–58; Vietnam War opposition and, 248 n. 47 nato (North Atlantic Treaty Organization), 18, 21, 22 natural resources in geopolitics and conflict, 18, 62, 91, 107, 111 Negroes: Africans as, 154; ‘‘nodding Negro’’ collection box, 25; ‘‘white negroes,’’ 145 Negt, Oskar, 168, 203 Nehru, Jawaharlal, 3 neocolonialism: Congo in theories of, 14, 61–63, 68; East German uses of, 247 n. 26; New Left use of, 34, 100, 139–40; Nkrumah’s book on, 247 n. 26; Soviet bloc uses of, 139–40, 247 n. 26; Vietnam in theories of, 89 neutrality. See non-alignment New York Times, 55–56, 92

Nigeria: civil war in, 164, 263 n. 32; students from, 48–49, 69, 137, 141, 263 n. 32 Nirumand, Bahman, 15, 164, 201; definition of Third World by, 5; June 2 protest and, 103, 106–11, 128, 133–34; Persien, Modell eines Entwicklungslandes oder Die Diktatur der freien Welt, 106–10, 117, 155, 156; in West Germany, 47–48, 130 non-alignment: foreign student sympathy for, 20, 32; intolerance of, 19, 63; Non-aligned Movement and, 1, 3, 213 n. 4. See also Bandung Asian-African Conference North Atlantic Treaty Organization (nato), 18, 21, 22 nuclear weapons: protests against, 21, 26; Vietnam War and, 150; West Germany and, 83 occupations: of embassies and consulates, 32–33, 34, 46, 201–2; of government buildings, 62, 73; of university buildings, 16, 27, 47, 163, 171, 192–93, 213 n. 12 O√e, Claus, 9 Ohnesorg, Benno, 116–17, 241 n. 95; death of, 4, 116–17, 126, 149, 202, 241 n. 94; Iranian interpretation of death of, 15, 128; o≈cial West German response to death of, 120–21, 186; protests after death of, 15, 102, 117–24, 132–36, 178–79 oil: Iranian, 18, 107, 111; U.S. investment in, 91 Otto-Suhr-Institut, 73 overproduction, 92. See also imperialism pacifism, 53, 83, 119, 242 n. 113 Pahlevi, Reza Mohammad: Iranian supporters of, 111–16, 125–26, 239 n. 56; libel charges related to, 130–

298 Index Pahlevi, Reza Mohammad (cont.) 32; media interest in private life of, 18, 130; Nirumand’s criticism of policies of, 106–10, 239 n. 57; police measures against Iranian critics of, 34, 43, 46, 47, 105, 130–31; protests against policies of, 1, 40, 102, 118, 155–56, 238 n. 35, 244 n. 158; protests during 1967 visit of, 4, 14, 101, 103–4, 110–17, 126–27; reforms of, 106, 238 n. 36; security measures ahead of 1967 visit of, 120; ‘‘Shah bag’’ masks caricaturing, 102, 111– 16, 126–27, 133, 179; threats of bodily harm to, 42, 129; West German support for, 19 Palestine, 40, 123, 207, 211 n. 36, 262 n. 29; students from, 142, 247 n. 14 Pan-Africanism, 67, 248 n. 38 Pardon (magazine), 35, 131–32, 150, 156–57, 160 Paris, 23, 40, 55, 190; protests in, 62, 65, 128, 153, 196 Patrice Lumumba University, 196, 227 n. 96 peace movement, 83, 119, 242 n. 113, 246 n. 4 Peking Review (newspaper), 53, 172, 175, 178 Peru, 51, 55, 86 petitions, 48, 96, 102, 108, 164 Petry, Ernst, 63 philosophy: professors and students of, 5, 27, 53, 83, 106, 235 n. 121; Western, 188 photographs: Holocaust awareness and, 250 n. 86; in protests, 108, 250 n. 89, 251 n. 114 Pierre-Louis, Bernard, 57, 74, 229 n. 137; Africa Addio protest and, 138–48, 169 police power. See administration police violence, 47, 62, 144; e√ect of, on West German New Leftists, 15,

100, 124, 127–28, 132, 249 n. 64; during June 2 protest, 101, 110, 116–19; pedagogical value of, 8–9 political animals, 60–61, 76 pornography, 135, 156–62 posters: activists’ use of, 94, 96, 117, 150, 192, 235 n. 111; of Che and Mao, 168; Chinese big-character, 108, 173–74, 176, 181, 184–85 poverty: poor countries vs. rich countries and, 173; as precondition for revolutionary politics, 58, 236 n. 124; in Third World, 81, 96, 106, 108–9, 208 productivism, 188, 189, 190; critique of, 191, 192 projection screen metaphor, 5, 10– 11, 202, 209 n. 8 Proletkult, 188, 190, 259 n. 124 Prosperi, Franco, 137, 143 protest theater, 112, 200 provocation: antiauthoritarian practice of, 65, 78, 94–96, 103, 153, 167; criticism of, 191; Maoism as, 177– 81, 197–98; ‘‘Shah bag’’ masks as, 127; of shah through publications, 131–32. See also direct action; Kommune I Provos, 103, 175, 177 psychoanalysis: Fanon and, 60; narratives of ’68 and, 10, 12; New Left theories of, 158–59 public sphere: activists’ use of, 13, 26, 43–44, 48–50, 130–34, 152–53, 168–69, 204; changes in, 18, 150; Chinese Cultural Revolution as radical, 184–85; criticism of, 74, 168, 181, 188; Habermas’s definition of, 152–53, 204; international, 48, 107 Rabehl, Bernd, 50; foreign students and, 53, 56; interpretation of Tshombe demonstration of, 70–

Index 299 71, 73; sds and, 74, 95, 236 n. 131; Subversive Aktion and, 65, 95; theories of, 13, 51, 59, 65, 76–77, 90 race: mainstream tropes of Asianness, 181–82; in narratives of ’68, 9–10; New Left theories of, 184, 187, 199, 206. See also minorities racism, 139; apartheid and, 21–24; Césaire’s theories of, 139; of mercenaries, 64, 66; in U.S. military, 6, 249 n. 62; in West Germany, 25, 49, 106, 140–45 Radio Peking, 70 rationality, 10, 26, 99, 152–54, 160 Red Army Faction, 9, 56, 165, 207, 211 n. 35, 244 n. 158 Red Guards: attire of, 179, 187; Chinese activity of, 173–74, 254 n. 25; as inspiration to West German activists, 4, 171, 176–77, 185, 191, 199; mainstream description of, 181–82, 190; sds discussions of, 174; West German, 177 Reich, Wilhelm, 159 Reiche, Reimut, 99, 174, 177–78, 187 religion, 88, 189, 238 n. 35. See also Christianity repressive desublimation, 159. See also Marcuse, Herbert Revolutionary Cells, 168 revolutionary subjects: colonized populations as, 60–61; minorities and marginal groups as, 58–59, 78–79, 124; self-appointed vanguard as, 57, 78–79, 97, 124, 204; Third World individuals as, 51–52, 58–59; working class as, 58, 90, 93, 98–99, 124, 172–73 revolutions: Cuban, 3–4, 8–9, 57, 75; Iranian, 46, 128; nationalist, 109; potential for West German, 79, 204; proletarian vs. popular, 98; sexual, 160; in South Vietnam, 92–93; Third World, 59, 75, 94,

173, 178; White, 106; world, 54, 172, 178. See also Chinese Cultural Revolution; cultural revolution Ring Christlich-Demokratischer Studenten, 87 rock throwing in protests, 8, 47, 116, 118, 240 n. 86 Röhl, Klaus-Rainer, 158–59 rowdies, protesters as, 121, 257 n. 78 Rowohlt Press, 106, 110, 250 n. 97 sadism, 159; Africa Addio as, 138, 140, 146, 148; film consumption as, 135–36, 161; of U.S. soldiers in Vietnam, 80, 87; westerns as, 161; of white mercenaries, 64 Sado-Westerns, 136, 161–62 Salvatore, Gaston, 53–54, 74–75, 224 n. 16 Saudi Arabia, 91 savak: in Iran, 107; in West Germany of, 102, 111, 126, 132 Schauer, Helmut, 96–99, 150 Schickel, Joachim, 183, 190–91, 257 n. 82 Schmitt, Carl, 257 n. 86 Schneider, Peter, 11, 52, 108, 192, 198, 206 Schutzsta√el (ss), 66, 143 sds. See Socialist German Students Union Second World War, 7, 85, 96, 147, 233 n. 76. See also Holocaust; National Socialism secret police: Bulgarian, 196–97; East German, 226 n. 73; South Korean, 34; Verfassungsschutz, 36, 39. See also Central Intelligence Agency sed, 87, 241 n. 94 Senate (Hamburg), 49 Senate (West Berlin), 70, 103, 203 sexuality: free love and, 177; homosexuality and, 158, 216 n. 84;

300 Index sexuality (cont.) narratives of ’68 and, 5; political role of, 157–58, 177, 210 n. 11; pornography and, 156–62, 251 n. 134; rape and, 138, 146, 182 Shah Reza Pahlevi. See Pahlevi, Reza Mohammad Shari’ati, Ali, 237 n. 14, 238 n. 39 shock: activists’ use of images to, 136, 149, 155, 178; antiauthoritarian tactic of, 65, 168, 178, 191; ‘‘civic shock’’ and, 117–18; films intended to, 137, 161–62; as response to Third World violence, 12, 81, 137 sit-ins, 32–33, 87, 116, 171, 196, 213 n. 12 Situationism, 65, 103, 177, 227 n. 87 smoke bombs, 112, 116 Social Democratic Party (spd): Greek dissidents and, 46; relationship of, to student organizations, 21, 88, 233 n. 69; Vietnam War and, 81–82, 231 n. 19 Social Democratic University Union (shb), 88, 260 n. 148 Socialist German Students Union (sds), 146, 149, 205, 207, 233 n. 69; analyses of imperialism in, 14, 59– 60, 66, 90–94, 138–39, 234 n. 90; antiauthoritarian line in, 52, 65, 74–77, 94–100, 153, 192–98; campaigns of, against Vietnam War, 14, 82–100; debates about confrontational methods in, 74, 78– 79, 94–100, 104, 150–52, 197; direct action of members of, 2, 65, 87, 94, 138, 192–98; dissolution of, 170, 197–98; Fanon and, 59–60, 206, 262 n. 20; foreign students and, 34, 39, 67–70, 85, 102–3, 138, 141, 232 n. 46; overseas connections of, 6, 22–23, 84, 194–97; position of, on China, 174–78, 186–92; split with spd, 21; trade

unions and, 98–99, 120; traditionalist line in, 79, 93–94, 152–53, 177, 188, 191–97; Vietnam Congresses of, 7, 94–99; working groups of, on Third World issues, 23, 25, 34, 259 n. 134 Socialist Unity Party, 87, 241 n. 94 sociology: students and professors of, 53, 55, 60, 90, 184, 203; studies of, 24, 30, 144, 151 solidarity: Asian-African, 32; of poor countries, 109; of sentiment vs. interests, 12, 97–99; with specific individuals, 25, 155, 204–5; of students and intellectuals, 17, 26, 169, 205; with victors vs. victims, 12, 95. See also Algeria; foreign students; Vietnam War Soraya, 18, 130 South Africa: Congo and, 62, 64, 66, 143; protests against apartheid in, 13–14, 18, 21–25, 82, 109, 148, 154; students from, 22–24, 226 n. 79 South Korea: kidnapping of students from, 34–35; U.S. military aid to, 92 Soviet Union: China and, 108, 171– 72, 182; cultural revolution and, 183, 188–91, 259, n. 124; Eastern Europe and, 196; foreign students and, 32, 228, n. 96; Iran and, 18, 261 n. 160; as model of communism, 57; New Left opinion of, 3, 6, 139, 172–73, 177, 183, 188–91, 195–99, 205; Second World War and, 64, 182; students from, 197; Third World and, 63, 67, 106, 139, 164, 194, 196 Spain, 36, 55, 122 Spiegel, Der (magazine): criticism of Nirumand by, 110; Spiegel a√air and, 130–31; student movement and, 241 n. 106; student readership of, 181; on Vietnam War, 81–82

Index 301 spontaneity, importance of, 4, 61, 70–74, 97, 191–92, 197 Springer Press: coverage of protest movement by, 95, 118, 185–86; criticism of, 110, 118, 185; imagery of, 159, 165. See also Bild-Zeitung; Tagesspiegel, Der Spur, 65, 227 n. 87 state violence: images of, 135–39, 148–51, 154–62, 185, 240 n. 88; response to, 4, 13–17, 21, 33, 50, 77, 80, 85, 148, 249 n. 64. See also Pahlevi, Reza Mohammad; police violence; Vietnam War Steinhaus, Kurt: on Chinese position, 172–73; coalition building theory of, 90; imperialism theory of, 92–94, 100, 203, 205, 234 n. 90, 234 n. 94, 236 n. 134 Stern (magazine), 63, 226 n. 73 stink bombs in protests, 47, 95 student associations: of foreign students in West Germany, 7, 22, 31– 33, 39, 85, 110, 128; cross-national, 31–32, 35, 45, 67, 85. See also African student associations; and under names of individual organizations students: as minority, 58–59, 101, 120–24, 131, 145, 186; political role of, 17, 21–22, 26–28. See also foreign students; higher education; Socialist German Students Union student unions (AStAs): at fu West Berlin, 84, 86, 102, 104, 113, 119, 122, 183; at tu Munich, 104; at university in Bonn, 104, 110; at university in Frankfurt, 122 subjectivity: colonial, 76–77, 206; as starting point for New Left politics, 11, 57–60, 70, 75–76, 204. See also antiauthoritarianists Subversive Aktion, 65, 70, 74, 95, 103, 227 n. 87

Sudan, students from, 226 n. 79, 247 n. 25 Suharto, 34 Sukarno, 3, 34 surrealism, 65 Süverkrüp, Dieter, 80 Sweezy, Paul, 172, 173, 234 n. 90, 254 n. 13 Syria, students from, 28, 226 n. 79 Tagesspiegel, Der (newspaper), 64, 137; coverage of June 2 by, 117–18, 120 Taheri, Ahmed, 47, 131 Taiwan, 83, 92 teach-ins, 132, 179; before June 2 protest, 104, 106–11, 239 n. 56; about Vietnam War, 83–84; at World Youth Festival, 196–97 technical universities, 28, 30; in Braunschweig, 164; in Munich, 104; in West Berlin, 104, 131, 141, 143 Tehran University, 106, 213 n. 12; demands for autonomy of, 102, 108, 117; protest against closing of, 19, 35, 40, 45 television: activists’ use of, 47, 166, 168, 181; censorship of, 40; marketing of politicians on, 151–52; public access to, 152, 167, 230 n. 6; sense of international simultaneity through, 153; Vietnam War images on, 80, 153, 164 Terre des Hommes, 208 terrorism: in narratives of ’68, 8–10. See also armed struggle; Red Army Faction Teufel, Fritz, 131, 245 n. 187, 257 n. 92 Third World, 213 n. 4; in narratives of ’68, 5–12; as political category, 3–5, 208. See also antiimperialism Third-Worldism: antiauthoritarian, 12–13, 51–61, 65, 70–77, 99, 205,

302 Index Third-Worldism (cont.) 259 n. 134; critiques of, 52, 98; theories of, 10–11, 51–52, 58–59. See also anti-imperialism; Vietcong tomatoes thrown in protests, 51, 116 torture: activists’ use of images of e√ects of, 26, 155–56; by French in Algeria, 138, 148; by Germans in Second World War, 146; in Greece, 157; in Iran, 26, 108–9, 202; by U.S. soldiers, 87, 164 trade unions: collaboration of, with student movement, 23, 46, 98, 120, 122, 236 n. 126; criticism of student movement by, 122; youth groups of, 45, 122 traditionalists, 79, 93–94, 152, 177, 188, 191–97. See also Marburg translation: of Chinese material, 53, 172, 176, 190; of Fanon, 61, 206, 225 n. 52, 262 n. 23; of Gramsci, 234 n. 100; of Guevara, 54, 74–75, 259 n. 134; of Iranian material, 104; of Soviet material, 259 n. 124; of U.S. material, 150, 234 n. 90, 250 n. 97 Tricontinental Conference, 74–75. See also Guevara, Ernesto ‘‘Che’’ truncheons, police use of, 4, 47, 116, 119. See also police violence Tshombe, Moise: protests against, 51, 61–76, 95; use of white mercenaries by, 63–64, 67, 143. See also mercenaries in Congo Tsinghua University, 173, 176 Tübingen, 23, 25, 106, 124, 178; protests in, 85 Turkey, 39, 92; guest workers from, 36; students from, 28, 33 Ulbricht, Walter, 121, 144, 153 under-consumption, 91. See also imperialism unemployed, political significance of, 58, 224 n. 44

unions. See student unions; trade unions; working class United Nations, 1, 62, 64, 194; activists’ appeals to, 26; Congo and, 62– 63, 66–69; Declaration of Human Rights of, 35, 92; goals of, 32 United States, 18, 32; antiwar activism in, 83–84, 250 n. 89, 251 n. 114; Black Panthers in, 6, 187; Civil Rights Movement in, 8, 58, 84, 86, 211 n. 25; foreign students in, 8, 62, 33; Free Speech Movement in, 7, 14, 17, 32, 86, 183, 217 n. 92; intelligence agencies of, 55–56, 86; links between activists in West Germany and, 6, 58, 83–84, 86– 87, 150, 153, 171; in narratives of ’68, 6–8, 50; overseas interventions of, 3, 13, 57, 62–64, 107, 195; presence of, at West Berlin Free University, 85–87; pressure on West German government by, 27, 82; protests at diplomatic buildings of, 85–87, 197; students from, 210 n. 15; in theories of imperialism, 14, 76, 90–93, 99–100, 109– 10, 172–73, 187; West German opinions of, 78, 81, 86–89, 145. See also Vietnam War urban guerrillas, 8–10, 193 vds. See Association of German Students Venezuela, 57, 91 Verfassungsschutz, 36, 39 Vester, Michael, 84 Vietcong, 93, 184, 186; identification with, 9, 12, 14, 77, 79, 94–95; images of, 138, 156, 164, 253 n. 168; support for, 2, 109, 110, 112, 165, 199, 211 n. 36; utopian depictions of, 4, 212 n. 38 Vietnam, South, students from, 85, 232 n. 46

Index 303 Vietnam War: brutality and atrocities in, 15, 80, 81–82, 87, 135, 144, 158, 203; e√ect of, on opinion of United States, 4, 6, 14, 80–81, 86, 89, 203; escalation of, 74, 77, 80; European protest against, 84; Farocki’s films about, 136, 163–68; foreign student protest against, 48, 85, 232 n. 46; Frankfurt 1966 Congress protesting, 59, 79, 96– 99, 235 n. 112; Guevara’s speech on, 54, 74; Holocaust and, 96, 144, 148–49, 248 n. 47; images of, 149– 51, 153–54, 156, 160, 162–65, 250 n. 89; John F. Kennedy’s role in, 81; mainstream link between New Left and, 186; as neocolonialism, 89, 140; New Left analyses of, 10, 13, 51, 75, 91–94, 100, 139, 161, 184, 187, 203, 212 n. 38; Nirumand’s analysis of, 108–10; sds debates about means of opposing, 79, 89– 100, 152–53; Soviet bloc’s opposition to, 194; spd support for, 81– 82, 88, 202; as testing ground for U.S. weapons, 14, 230 n. 4; U.S. citizens’ protests against, 83–84, 86–87, 150; West Berliners’ support for, 87; West Berlin 1968 Congress protesting, 7, 202, 207, 210 n. 16; West German protests against, 4, 9, 14, 61–62, 74, 78–89, 94, 103, 118, 150–53, 164, 197, 207– 8; West Germany and, 82, 148, 231 n. 26 violence: civilian, 121, 145, 232 n. 63; June 2 protest and, 111–17, 124–25, 129, 132–34; New Left theories of, 8, 60, 75, 165–66, 179; racist, 142, 144, 249 n. 62. See also police violence; state violence voluntarism, 98, 235 n. 121. See also antiauthoritarians voyeurism, 158–60, 168

wall newspapers, 171 warfare economy, 92 water cannons, police use of, 47, 62, 116 Weather Underground, 8 Wehrmacht, 63–64, 143 welfare society, critique of, 58, 71, 138 Welt, Die (newspaper), 166, 185, 186 West Berlin, 82, 106, 118, 139, 160, 175, 177, 186, 194; antagonism of residents to student movement in, 87, 121; anti-apartheid protests in, 24; as Cold War front city, 69–70, 82, 85–87, 95, 99, 123; movement between East Berlin and, 67, 75; protests against Vietnam War in, 82–83, 87, 151, 153, 164, 202, 207, 240 n. 80; protests at City Hall of, 51, 68–73, 95, 111–14, 129; Senate of, 70, 103, 120, 129, 203; suppression of foreign dissent in, 39, 47– 48, 55–56. See also Africa Addio; antiauthoritarians; Free University Westdeutscher Rundfunk, 166, 184 Westernization, narratives of ’68 as, 170, 171, 198 Wol√, Frank, 236 n. 131 Wol√, K. D., 84, 195, 196, 236 n. 131 workers, 166, 174, 190; participation in protest of individual, 126, 131, 138, 143, 247 n. 14. See also guest workers; trade unions working class: faith in political role of, 90, 93, 98–99, 191; opinion of foreigners’ rights of, 44; opinion of student movement of, 123; skepticism of political role of, 4, 58, 124, 172–73. See also trade unions world villages and world cities, Chinese theory of, 172 World Youth Festivals: Sofia 1968, 195–98; Vienna 1959, 21

304 Index yellow peril, 187–88 Yugoslavia: geopolitical position of, 3; World Youth Festival delegates from, 196–97

Zahar, Renate, 60, 206 Zeit, Die (newspaper), 7, 24, 48, 104, 216 n. 84

Quinn Slobodian is an assistant professor in the Department of History at Wellesley College. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Slobodian, Quinn Foreign front : Third World politics in sixties West Germany / Quinn Slobodian. p. cm. — (Radical perspectives) Includes bibliographical references and index. isbn 978-0-8223-5170-2 (cloth : alk. paper) isbn 978-0-8223-5184-9 (pbk. : alk. paper) 1. Student movements—Germany (West)—History— 20th century. 2. Students, Foreign—Political activity— Germany (West) 3. Nineteen sixties. I. Title. II. Series: Radical perspectives. hn445.5.s56 2012 322.40943%09046—dc23 2011038523