Overcoming Conflict: History Teaching―Peacebuilding―Reconciliation 3658392363, 9783658392369

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Florian Helfer · Peter Geiss Sandra Müller-Tietz Michael Rohrschneider Editors

Overcoming Conflict History Teaching—Peacebuilding— Reconciliation

Overcoming Conflict

Florian Helfer · Peter Geiss · Sandra Müller-Tietz · Michael Rohrschneider Editors

Overcoming Conflict History Teaching—Peacebuilding— Reconciliation

Editors Florian Helfer University of Bonn Bonn, Germany

Peter Geiss University of Bonn Bonn, Germany

Sandra Müller-Tietz University of Bonn Bonn, Germany

Michael Rohrschneider University of Bonn Bonn, Germany

ISBN 978-3-658-39236-9 ISBN 978-3-658-39237-6 (eBook) https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-658-39237-6 © The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Fachmedien Wiesbaden GmbH, part of Springer Nature 2023 This work is subject to copyright. All rights are solely and exclusively licensed by the Publisher, whether the whole or part of the material is concerned, specifically the rights of translation, reprinting, reuse of illustrations, recitation, broadcasting, reproduction on microfilms or in any other physical way, and transmission or information storage and retrieval, electronic adaptation, computer software, or by similar or dissimilar methodology now known or hereafter developed. The use of general descriptive names, registered names, trademarks, service marks, etc. in this publication does not imply, even in the absence of a specific statement, that such names are exempt from the relevant protective laws and regulations and therefore free for general use. The publisher, the authors, and the editors are safe to assume that the advice and information in this book are believed to be true and accurate at the date of publication. Neither the publisher nor the authors or the editors give a warranty, expressed or implied, with respect to the material contained herein or for any errors or omissions that may have been made. The publisher remains neutral with regard to jurisdictional claims in published maps and institutional affiliations. Cover photograph: “All Together Now” by Andrew Edwards, sculpture of a British and a German soldier fraternising with each other during the Christmas truce 1914. Photo taken by the artist. This Springer VS imprint is published by the registered company Springer Fachmedien Wiesbaden GmbH, part of Springer Nature. The registered company address is: Abraham-Lincoln-Str. 46, 65189 Wiesbaden, Germany

Foreword

Loss of memory is usually perceived as a major catastrophe. Individuals as well as societies appear to experience amnesia and dementia as an absolute horror because we tend to believe that memory is of paramount importance for a healthy and constructive life. We generally assume that recollecting the past enables us to learn from experience in order to prevent making similar mistakes in the future. In Deuteronomy 32:7, we are advised to “Remember the days of old; consider the generations long past”. The Hebrew verb for consider is understand. In essence, what is usually referred to as collective memory leads us to believe that remembering the past will guarantee that we enjoy a better future. In particular, with regard to reconciliation, we assume that coping with the memory of past conflicts will eventually facilitate an enhanced understanding of how to overcome future disputes. However, the contributions to this volume convey a rather different story. The large variation of collective experiences discussed, whether in the Middle East, in Europe or in previous European colonies, demonstrate the negative effect memory could have on the relations between countries and nations as well as on their ability to realise genuine reconciliation. First, societies are often challenged by the existence of more than merely one narrative of their past and participate in conflicts of memories that thwart reconciliation. In other words, past conflicts tend to perpetuate themselves by producing conflicting narratives instead of a common narrative on which all agree. Simultaneously, socialisation agencies that pretend to speak in the name of society at large often attempt to impose one authoritative narrative based on their memory of the past in an endeavour to avoid free dialogue that could lead to a compromise and open-endedness between previously conflicting groups. To promote such narratives, educational systems employ curricula, syllabi, media and official commemoration rites, often at the

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expense of coexistence and mutual understanding. Thus, collective memory is often employed as an instrument to prolong conflicts rather than enable societies to reach compromises and overcome existing rifts. The more than a hundred-years-old Israeli-Palestinian rivalry, for example, has not ended not only because of conflicting political and security interests of the parties involved but, to a considerable extent, because of each party’s adherence to an either-or narrative—that is, the roles history and memory play. Not only is the Palestinian catastrophe, which they refer to as Nakba, practically being ignored by the Israeli narrative but also a mere mention of it is considered illegitimate by official Israel because the Nakba could then be compared to the Jewish trauma of the Shoah. Attempts made in Israel to present a common Israeli-Palestinian narrative or at least to accept the juxtaposition of the two major narratives in schoolbooks remain isolated and have had little effect. With regard to international tensions, Israeli-Palestinian relations are no exception. Common textbook initiatives such as the German-French, German-Polish and German-Czech textbook projects may have raised hopes or even expectations that memory conflicts can be solved through a joint narrative on which all involved parties agree, thus creating a solid foundation for reconciliation. However, we have to acknowledge that the impact of such projects currently is more limited than previously thought. Even the idea of European unity, promoted by the European Union, proved to be too frail when confronted with traditional national narratives. In recent years, such nationalistic narratives have become more militant and made reconciliation between nations or between segments of societies within the same state almost impossible. History and memory have become a case for the law and judicial system, which, once again, is counterproductive if one wishes to arrive at a more pluralistic approach to society and memory or pursue reconciliation. Whether an Asian initiative may set an example to the contrary remains to be seen. However, it is imperative that the Russian case be regarded as a shrill warning—that without the revisionist reactions to the demise of the Soviet Union since 1991, re-writing the history of the Russian Empire backwards and the historical narrative proposed by Putin’s Russia, the present war in Eastern Europe would have remained inexplicable. Even the belief in the seemingly successful South African attempt at reconciliation between black and white people has recently been shaken. Neither common nor pluralistic memories have been powerful enough to help society to overcome past injustices and animosity. The global south, fascinated by the postcolonial interpretation of history and encouraged by the guilty conscience and bleak memories of the global north, has preferred to seek confrontation rather

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than reconciliation. In essence, with the politics of memory having such a decisive influence throughout the world that competing historical narratives become casus belli and memory and history actually sharpen the social divide, the hope for global reconciliation in the present situation remains a distant dream. The study of the phenomenon called reconciliation has become a far more challenging task than anticipated during the last three decades. Jerusalem

Moshe Zimmermann

Contents

Introduction: Understanding and Overcoming Conflict . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Peter Geiss, Florian Helfer, Sandra Müller-Tietz, and Michael Rohrschneider

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Peacebuilding and Reconciliation in the Twentieth Century Between “Rapprochement” and “Reconciliation”: The Lessons of Franco-German History in the Twentieth Century . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Corine Defrance A Prime Example for the Objectification of Textbook Representations? Failure and Success of the Franco-German Textbook Discussions in the Twentieth and Twenty-First Centuries . . . . Rainer Bendick The End of the Rainbow? Problems of Commemoration and Nation-Building in Post-apartheid South Africa . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Simon Ebert

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Peacebuilding in History Teaching Today Post-Soviet Openness to the West in Russian History Textbooks . . . . . . . Tatiana Khripachenko

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Was Austria the First Victim? Nazism in Austrian History Teaching . . . Christoph Kühberger

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Dual Historical Narratives: A Bottom-Up Approach to Teaching History in an Asymmetric Conflict—PRIME Experiences . . . . . . . . . . . . Sami Adwan Colonial Violence in German and English History Textbooks . . . . . . . . . Florian Helfer

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Learning from History? Comparative Perspectives Breaking the Chains of the Narrative: History Teaching, Peacebuilding and the Challenge of Human Universalism . . . . . . . . . . . . Peter Geiss

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The Prospects for Public History in East Asia: History Textbooks, Museums, Cinema and TV . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Hisaki Kenmochi

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The Peace of Westphalia (1648) as a Model for the Middle East? An Interim Summary . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Michael Rohrschneider

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Peacebuilding in the Digital Realm A Web of Peaces: Twitter Narratives on the Peace of Westphalia . . . . . . Jonas Bechtold Peacebuilding on YouTube? Conflicts, National Narratives and Comment Sections . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Sandra Müller-Tietz

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List of Figures

A Prime Example for the Objectification of Textbook Representations? Failure and Success of the Franco-German Textbook Discussions in the Twentieth and Twenty-First Centuries Fig. 1

Left: Cours d’histoire de France (Gauthier and Deschamps 1923, 247), Right: Cours d’histoire de France (Gauthier and Deschamps 1925, 247) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Dual Historical Narratives: A Bottom-Up Approach to Teaching History in an Asymmetric Conflict—PRIME Experiences Fig. 1 Fig. 2

Fig. 3 Fig. 4

Front cover of the second booklet (Adwan and Bar-On 2006) . . Sample page of the textbook on the 1967 Six Day War: Israeli narrative on the left and Palestinian narrative on the right (Adwan and Bar-On 2006, 68) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Front cover of the final textbook in Arabic (Adwan and Bar-On 2009) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Front cover of the final textbook in Hebrew (Adwan and Bar-On 2009) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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The Prospects for Public History in East Asia: History Textbooks, Museums, Cinema and TV Fig. 1

Public history tree of knowledge. (Copyright by Thomas Cauvin, see Cauvin 2019, 2021) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Introduction: Understanding and Overcoming Conflict Peter Geiss, Florian Helfer , Sandra Müller-Tietz , and Michael Rohrschneider

How can history teaching facilitate peacebuilding and, eventually, reconciliation—the highest level and most sustainable form of a rapprochement between nations or groups after periods of deep conflict and hatred (Morikawa 2018; see also the chapter by Corine Defrance in this volume)? There seems to be a large consensus today that history teaching can contribute to the process of conflict resolution among nations or groups by making students aware of different interpretations of the past. Various narratives may coexist more or less peacefully as long as all parties agree that their own is not the “only true and fact-based” representation of the past. The approach did not grow out of the devastating conflicts and mass crimes of the twentieth century; rather, it is one of the oldest principles of historiography, even if often neglected by those who write, teach and exploit history. For instance, as early as the fifth century BC, the Greek historian Herodotus discussed the origins of the Persian Wars according to a principle that we would today call “multiperspectivity” (Stradling 2003). In his time, some people believed that the people of Argos, in their struggle with Sparta, had provoked the P. Geiss (B) · F. Helfer · S. Müller-Tietz · M. Rohrschneider Universität Bonn, Bonn, Germany e-mail: [email protected] F. Helfer e-mail: [email protected] S. Müller-Tietz e-mail: [email protected] M. Rohrschneider e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Fachmedien Wiesbaden GmbH, part of Springer Nature 2023 F. Helfer et al. (eds.), Overcoming Conflict, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-658-39237-6_1

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conflict by maintaining “friendship” with the Persian Great King, i.e. by refusing to join the alliance concluded by Greek cities facing the threat of a Persian invasion in Europe (Will 2010, 63–67). Herodotus’ comment on this controversial issue reads as follows: I cannot say with exactness, nor do I now declare that I consider anything true except what the Argives themselves say. [2] This, however, I know full well, namely if all men should carry their own private troubles to market for barter with their neighbors, there would not be a single one who, when he had looked into the troubles of other men, would not be glad to carry home again what he had brought. [3] The conduct of the Argives was accordingly not utterly shameful. As for myself, although it is my business to set down that which is told me, to believe it is none at all of my business. This I ask the reader to hold true for the whole of my history, for there is another tale current, according to which it would seem that it was the Argives who invited the Persian into Hellas, because the war with the Lacedaemonians [i.e. Sparta] was going badly, and they would prefer anything to their present distresses. (Herodotus 7.152.1-3, transl. Godley 1920; see Will 2011, 26)

Acknowledging that one’s own story of the past is not the only acceptable version to tell and considering the mistakes and misdeeds of one’s own community before blaming others seems like a balanced and equitable way of approaching history. It is, however, subjected to certain preconditions and, especially in the context of twentieth and twenty-first century history, it has limitations. Particularly following totalitarian mass crimes and genocides, the quest for truth and justice is so essential that it cannot be left to the relativism of mere multiperspectivity (Rüsen 2017). This is a vicious circle. Multiperspectivity as a means of peacebuilding always presupposes parts of the conditions it wants to create: shared values and a spirit of tolerance (Rüsen 2017) as well as the shared acknowledgement of certain essential facts. Notably, peacebuilding through multiperspectivity is not possible in a context where one party considers an act of legitimate self-defence what the other party calls a crime against humanity (Geiss 2010, 202). Under these circumstances, we are forced to scale down our expectations. That is, multiperspectivity is unlikely to work in cases of armed conflict that usually lead to an extreme polarisation of views and opinions—including the understanding of history. In such situations, history is often exploited to facilitate ideological escalation instead of serving as an argument for peace. In times of war, present political and territorial claims are legitimised by essentialising accounts of the past, or even of an “invented past” (Hobsbawm 1994). Such narratives provide nations with the feeling of being “entitled”, based on their history, to dominate others, destroy their identity or state, or even kill them.

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Among various examples, the racist and totalitarian character of the Nazi conception of history is certainly the most radical form of such an essentialising approach. In 1941, Heinrich Himmler, head of the SS, saw the German forces’ perpetration of the genocidal war of extermination against the Soviet Union in the tradition of the Germanic tribes of late antiquity: “The Goths are riding again, since 22 June 1941. Each one of us a Germanic warrior” (qtd. in Paetel 1954, 21). Clearly, multiperspectivity in history teaching does not mean that racist, antisemitic or extremely nationalist narratives of the past deserve being discussed as some “acceptable” views among others. Giving room to perspectives that are opposed to the idea of human equality and dignity will never serve the purpose of peacebuilding. Accordingly, multiperspectivity can only come into play when a common framework of basic values has already been established. This is seen, for example, in the case of the French-German history textbook written in the first decade of the twenty-first century (Geiss 2010, 202). Participants in the French-German Youth Parliament meeting in 2003, which was itself a result of a highly developed reconciliation process, suggested creating a binational textbook to improve mutual understanding (“afin de réduire les préjugés causés par la méconnaissance mutuelle”, Parlement des jeunes 2003). Under these conditions, learning about another perspective and trying to understand another point of view can be a powerful tool of reconciliation because even a shared system of democratic values leaves space for misunderstandings based on different readings of the past. To give just one example, French approaches to military issues are often misunderstood in German educational contexts as “militaristic” because the link between the defence of democracy on the one hand and the military on the other, which is inherent in the French republican tradition (Doussot 2018), is not easy to grasp for German observers. This is due to their own national history of military aggression and especially the Wehrmacht as an instrument of Nazi power and crime, which leads them to neglect military history altogether (Lange 2009; Geiss 2010, 196). Furthermore, nations must not be misunderstood as monoliths, despite the image of unity authoritarian leaders often try to create. Even totalitarian regimes do not have the power to prevent reasonable and peaceful parts of “their” society from participating in a history dialogue that can prepare for a post-totalitarian future, when there will be better conditions for free, respectful and authentic forms of multiperspectivity (for a discussion of an approach based on the “autonomy” of reconciliation efforts towards the state, see Nishiyama 2021; chapter by Peter Geiss in this volume). *

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In addition to the teaching and learning of history, peacebuilding of course relies on historical peace research. Both are connected through the question about the potential of Cicero’s principle “historia magistra vitae” (Koselleck 2000). Particularly in recent years, efforts to find solutions—some of them emerging from the highest political level—for present conflicts between states have specifically involved the study of history. These efforts have generated important stimuli for peace and conflict research, as demonstrated, for instance, by publications about the peace process in Columbia (Quiroz 2020) and the war in Syria (chapter by Michael Rohrschneider in this volume). However, historians traditionally (and rightly so) warn about the naive notion that it is possible to generate tangible “recipes” based on lessons from past events which can directly contribute to the solution of present conflicts—history is not a “cookbook”, as Henry Kissinger rightfully stated (qtd. in Rüther 2014). Rather, historical research on peace and conflict aspires to describe the phenomena of war and peace in their historical genesis, without readily expecting to deliver “recipes” that can be immediately implemented (for a similar argument see Milton et al. 2018). A roaming view on other times, spaces and case studies (Histoire vagabonde), articulated by the French historian Maurice Agulhon (1995), proves particularly fruitful in contextualising an individual topic of research within a broader body of knowledge. In this sense, the contributions of this volume, if taken together, show how valuable diachronic case studies are when we try to better understand the very essence of fundamental phenomena such as conflict, war, rapprochement, peace and reconciliation. The specific characteristics of the case studies remind us that we must treat each situation with the necessary care, remembering that not every agreement actually brought peace in the past and not every peace treaty resulted in reconciliation. Further, it is necessary to consider competing definitions of “peace” as a technical term. Probably best known is the “classic” differentiation between a wider definition of peace, which primarily refers to an absence of war or violent conflict, and the “positive” definition of peace, which is characterised by criteria such as social justice and the absence of structural violence in all areas of society (Ide 2017, 10–12). Interestingly, recent peace research has tended to deconstruct clear-cut terminological boundaries between war and peace and focus instead on processes of transition and transformation (Planert and Retallack 2017; Arnke and Westphal 2021; Rohrschneider 2022). This raises the question of at what specific point the line between war and peace is finally crossed. For instance, did the Thirty Years’ War really end with the peace agreement on 24 October

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1648? Or would it be more precise to speak, as the military historian Bernhard R. Kroener (2002) provocatively suggests, of a Thirty-two Years’ War, given that the peace was not really noticeable for many people in the Holy Roman Empire of the German Nation before 1650? Efforts to identify and accurately characterise such “grey areas” are also reflected in the terminology used. Thus, in addition to the long-established term “Cold War”, its counterpart, “Cold Peace”, also came to the fore, for example, in the debate on the shaping of relations with Russia (Rahr 2004). Moreover, historical research on peace and conflict over the last few decades has reacted to fundamentally new stimuli from other disciplines regarding its content, theory and method. This has significantly contributed to the development of this field of research into an innovative historical discipline with an emphasis on crucial questions of the past and present that are highly relevant for dealing with contemporary challenges. Among these influences are ideas and concepts from the areas of New Diplomatic History (an approach that focuses on the actors involved e.g. in a peace process, including non-state agents), perception research (images of the enemy, prejudices, stereotypes), praxeology and of the various “turns” of history and the social sciences (e.g. the material and postcolonial turn). Furthermore, intercultural comparisons have contributed to a questioning of the dominant Eurocentric views (see, most recently, Geiss, Heuser and Rohrschneider 2022). This evolution of the (sub-)discipline affects more than the historiography of the twentieth and twenty-first centuries. In fact, research on war and peace especially in the Early Modern Period has provided important foundational work and delivered influential results (see, most recently, Dingel et al. 2021). A particularly prominent example of this is the critical edition of the Acta Pacis Westphalicae (APW ) by the Zentrum für Historische Friedensforschung (ZHF; Centre for Historical Peace Studies) located at the University of Bonn, the first volume of which was published precisely 60 years ago, in 1962 (Lanzinner 2014). The prominent position of the Peace of Westphalia, both in academia and the wider public today, is undoubtedly due largely to the foundational work conducted in the context of the APW. As a result, the 1648 peace agreement still serves as a tool or template for the analysis or comparison of other historical issues within research on peace and conflict (see the chapters by Corine Defrance and Michael Rohrschneider in this volume). *

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The following chapters are the result of the research the contributors initially sought to present at the 2020 conference “Understanding and overcoming conflict: Bonn international conference on history teaching and peacebuilding”. Although the event was cancelled due to the COVID-19 pandemic, we are very pleased that, with the volume at hand, the project has nevertheless generated the desired academic outcome. That being said, most of the contributions were finalised before a new and horrible chapter in the long European history of death and destruction began, i.e. before the Russian military moved into Ukraine on an unprecedented scale in February 2022. As a point of departure, Part One introduces three case studies about peacebuilding and reconciliation in the twentieth century. First, Corine Defrance discusses “rapprochement” and “reconciliation” from a theoretical point of view and analyses how reconciliation between France and Germany was achieved. She emphasises the need to historicise these terms as interpretative concepts and thereby establishes a theoretical foundation for the following chapters. Then, Rainer Bendick takes up the Franco-German relationship but focuses on the quite specific yet very revealing aspect of the almost century-long textbook discussions between representatives of both countries. From early in the twentieth century onward, some protagonists saw a need to objectify history textbooks in order to overcome hostile images of the other and nationalistic tendencies in history teaching—efforts with varying success in changing political climates. Third, Simon Ebert approaches the subject from a different angle with an intriguing discussion of the obstacles that a deeply divided South African society has faced in constructing the “rainbow nation”. His analysis of the politics of memory of the African National Congress shows the profound difficulties the legacy of the apartheid regime caused in the attempt to construct a shared identity. Consequently, Ebert’s conclusion is less optimistic than the chapters about the Franco-German case but all the more relevant for South Africa’s present challenges. Part Two sheds light on current attempts at peacebuilding through history teaching and the structural and political impediments that the agents involved have to face. To begin, Tatiana Khripachenko analyses the official education policy for Russian schools and identifies several versions of the patriotic narrative intended and sanctioned by the government in history textbooks, pointing out that the master-narrative is produced primarily by historically locating Russia as a counterpart to the West. Consequently, in recent decades, the master-narrative has undergone a transformation process proportional to the changing perceptions in Russia of the West. Next, Christoph Kühberger’s chapter also focuses on narratives, analysing past and present approaches to dealing with Nazism and

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the Holocaust in Austrian history classes. Kühberger finds that Austrian history teaching since 1945 can be divided into four phases characterised by avoidance, an initially prominent victim thesis, an opening up to the idea of Austrian perpetrators but still binary division between perpetrators and victims and, finally, a pluralisation of memories and approaches since the beginning of the twentyfirst century. In the subsequent chapter, Sami Adwan explores practical issues of peacebuilding by looking back on years of peacebuilding and textbook initiatives between Palestinians and Israelis conducted by the Peace Research Institute in the Middle East. He proposes a dual perspective approach regarding historical narratives in textbooks as a first step towards multiperspectivity. This chapter also demonstrates how difficult it is to exercise peacebuilding projects in a situation of open conflict. Concluding Part Two, Florian Helfer examines the representation of colonial violence in ten English and German history textbooks—an example of how unresolved historical conflicts and injustice continue to haunt presentday societies. Despite attempts to include other perspectives and transnational approaches, textbooks in the two countries are not completely free of the Western, Eurocentric and/or national histories implicitly suggested by the curricula. Together with the other chapters about history textbooks (Adwan; Bendick; Kenmochi; Khripachenko), this contribution illuminates the manifold facets of the interdependency between history teaching and the public process of coming to terms with the past. The contributions in Part Three combine a comparative approach with the allencompassing question of to what degree, in the context of peacebuilding, we can learn from history. Peter Geiss deals with the potential as well as the limits of multiperspectivity in the context of the normative obligation of history teaching regarding democracy and human rights education. After deconstructing case examples of history teaching in the past being exploited to foster hostile mindsets, the chapter moves on to discuss how a universal understanding of history and history teaching can contribute to creating peace. Then, in the next contribution, Hisaki Kenmochi draws attention to the complex and conflictual politics of memory in the triangle of Japan, China and South Korea. The field report also builds on the rich personal experiences of the author and traces lines of conflict in the East Asian public memory discourse by analysing selected exhibitions, TV productions, print publications and other examples of public history. Here, similarities and differences between the European and East Asian situation are pointed out. The chapter closes by suggesting a museum of shared history in East Asia as a means of overcoming long-lasting historical conflicts and a step towards reconciliation between former enemies. Finally, Michael Rohrschneider concludes Part Three by returning to the Peace of Westphalia as a European lieu

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de mémoire and discussing the learning potential it has for today’s challenges in fostering peace, for example, in the Middle East. The author proposes that deepening our understanding of mediation and peacebuilding processes by studying this exceptional peace in the Early Modern Period can pave the way for informed decisions today and thus guide us in settling present-day conflicts. As an outlook to the future of historical peace research, Part Four documents just how strongly the discipline is shaped by the challenges and new opportunities that emerge from the Digital Revolution. The chapters by Jonas Bechtold and Sandra Müller-Tietz particularly address the highly relevant issue of peacebuilding in the Web 2.0. Bechtold uncovers how different narratives about the Peace of Westphalia are negotiated on Twitter and draws conclusions about the impact of the Early Modern peace agreement on the construction of identities today. On a meta level, the chapter also reflects on the increasingly pressing issue of digital source critique and the methodical and heuristic problems that arise with a new type of source. Müller-Tietz deals with similar challenges in her content analysis of user comments on explainer videos about historical topics—a genre of historyrelated YouTube content that, in the past years, has become exceptionally popular among both students and teachers of history. Her chapter explores ways in which the videos and comments can be critically utilised in history teaching in order to deconstruct stereotypes and historical narratives and facilitate peacebuilding. Practical suggestions for teachers and history educators throughout the chapter link historical research and theory on the one hand and educational practice on the other. *

This collection would not have been possible without the support of all the people involved in the project. First of all, we are grateful for our contributors’ continued interest in our project and their motivation to come forward with such engaging essays as well as their patience throughout the editing process. We gratefully acknowledge, in particular, Moshe Zimmermann’s willingness to share his reflections on the prospects of reconciliation against the backdrop of recent international developments in his thought-provoking foreword. Even though the conference had to be cancelled on short notice, the necessary funds were generously provided. Therefore, we would like to thank the Transdisciplinary Research Area “Past Worlds and Modern Questions—Cultures Across Time and Space” at the University of Bonn and the Bonner Zentrum für Lehrerbildung (BZL; Bonn Centre for Teacher Training) for their support in this regard. The exchange of ideas in the interdisciplinary initiative about reconciliation research at the Faculty of

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Arts at the University of Bonn was crucial in developing the appropriate research questions to guide us through this project. We thank the participants of the initiative for their valuable and thought-provoking discussions, and we are glad that, as of June 2022, these efforts have led to the foundation of the new, interdisciplinary Bonner Zentrum für Versöhnungsforschung (Centre for Reconciliation Research at the University of Bonn). Much thought and diligence went into editing and proofreading this work. For their crucial assistance in this matter we would like to thank Jonas Kummerer, Clara Mowitz, Karoline Schmidt, Friederike Schürmann and Antonia Schwaderlapp and, for coordinating efforts in organising a professional editing service, the Central Translation Service at the University of Bonn. Last but not least, we very much appreciate the elegant translations by Lara Tremblay and Isabel Aitken (Ductia/prehistrans) of the French manuscripts written by Corine Defrance and Hisaki Kenmochi. Similarly, we thank Katharina Smith-Müller for translating parts of this introduction and the chapter by Michael Rohrschneider from German into English as well as Natalie Hungate and Imke Lichterfeld for proofreading the book’s blurb. Many thanks are also due to Andy Edwards for his support in choosing and permission to use a photograph of his monument “All Together Now”—a piece of art that perfectly captures the idea of overcoming conflict, peacebuilding and reconciliation—for the cover of this book. The result of these combined efforts is a volume with contributions that approach the subject of peacebuilding from many angles and viewpoints. We gladly embrace this as an opportunity to open up new perspectives and widen the scope of the field of historical peace and conflict research. Whereas older historiography often limited itself to macropolitical approaches with a narrow focus on state actors and top-down processes, the relatively new interest in perspectives that look at war and peace “from the bottom” (which, as Sami Adwan shows, also has much relevance for today’s peacebuilding projects) has significantly advanced the field. In this sense, we very much hope that the results and ideas presented here will contribute to further developing peace and conflict research.

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References1 Agulhon, M. 1995. Der vagabundierende Blick. Für ein neues Verständnis politischer Geschichtsschreibung. Frankfurt/M.: Fischer. Arnke, V., and S. Westphal, eds. 2021. Der schwierige Weg zum Westfälischen Frieden. Wendepunkte, Friedensversuche und die Rolle der “Dritten Partei”. Berlin et al.: De Gruyter Oldenbourg. Dingel, I., M. Rohrschneider, I. Schmidt-Voges et al., eds. 2021. Handbuch Frieden im Europa der Frühen Neuzeit. Berlin et al.: De Gruyter Oldenbourg. Doussot, S. 2018. Éducation à la défense et enseignement de l’histoire des guerres. Education et socialisation. Les Cahiers du CERFEE 48. https://doi.org/10.4000/edso.2972. Geiss, P. 2010. Beyond national narratives – a French-German contribution to the making of European history. In How to (Re)write European History. History and text book projects in retrospect, ed. O. Rathkolb, 189–204. Innsbruck et al.: Studien Verlag. Geiss, P., P. A. Heuser and M. Rohrschneider, eds. 2022. Christen und Muslime in Mittelalter und Frühneuzeit. Ein Schlüsselthema des Geschichtsunterrichts im transepochalen Fokus. Göttingen: Bonn University Press. Herodotus, with an English translation by A. D. Godley. 1920. Cambridge: Harvard University Press. Digital version. https://www.perseus.tufts.edu/hopper/text?doc=Hdt.+7.152& fromdoc=Perseus%3Atext%3A1999.01.0126. Accessed 6 May 2022. Hobsbawm, E. 1994. Die Erfindung der Vergangenheit, transl. Willy Winkler. Die Zeit No. 37, 9 September. Ide, T., ed. 2017. Friedens- und Konfliktforschung. Opladen et al.: Barbara Budrich. Koselleck, R. 2000. Historia Magistra Vitae. Über die Auflösung des Topos im Horizont neuzeitlich bewegter Geschichte. In Vergangene Zukunft. Zur Semantik geschichtlicher Zeiten, ed. R. Koselleck, 38–66. 4th ed. Frankfurt/M.: Suhrkamp. Kroener, B. R. 2002. Der “Zweiunddreißigjährige Krieg” – Kriegsende 1650. Oder: Wie lange dauerte der Dreißigjährige Krieg? In Wie Kriege enden. Wege zum Frieden von der Antike bis zur Gegenwart, ed. B. Wegner, 67–91. Paderborn et al.: Schöningh. Lange, T. 2009. Ein verdrängter Krieg. Der Zweite Weltkrieg im Geschichtsunterricht – ein persönlicher und pädagogischer Rückblick. Geschichte in Wissenschaft und Unterricht 60: 295–312. Lanzinner, M. 2014. Das Editionsprojekt der Acta Pacis Westphalicae. Historische Zeitschrift 298: 29–60. Milton, P., M. Axworthy and B. Simms. 2018. Towards a Westphalia for the Middle East. London: Hurst. Morikawa, T. 2018. Verzeihen, Versöhnen, Vergessen. Einführung. In Verzeihen, Versöhnen, Vergessen. Soziologische Perspektiven, ed. T. Morikawa, 3–18. Bielefeld: transcript.

1 The opinions expressed in the individual contributions to this volume and in all works cited do not necessarily reflect the opinions of the editors. For the purpose of referencing, this publication features weblinks. The editors do not have any influence on the websites mentioned and are not responsible for their contents or design.

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Nishiyama, A. 2021. Franco-German reconciliation through the prism of East Asia: a Japanese perspective. In Franco-German relations seen from abroad. Frontiers in international relations, eds. N. Colin and C. Demesmay, 179–196. Cham: Springer. Paetel, K. O. 1954. Die SS. Ein Beitrag zur Geschichte des Nationalsozialismus. Vierteljahrshefte für Zeitgeschichte 2: 1–32. [Parlement franco-allemand des jeunes]. 2003. Déclaration finale sur l’avenir des relations franco-allemandes du Parlement franco-allemand des jeunes pour le 40eme anniversaire du traite de l’elysee. Berlin, 23 January 2003. http://www.leforum.de/fr/fr-traite-resolc ommunejeunes03.htm. Accessed 9 May 2022. Planert, U., and J. Retallack, eds. 2017. Decades of Reconstruction. Postwar Societies, StateBuilding, and International Relations from the Seven Years’ War to the Cold War. Cambridge: University Press. Quiroz, L., ed. 2020. Hacia la paz. Ideas y conceptos para una discusión urgente. Medellín: Universidad de Antioquia. Unidad Especial de Paz. Rahr, A. 2004. Der Kalte Frieden. Putins Russland und der Westen. Internationale Politik. Das Magazin für globales Denken 59, no. 3: 1–10. https://internationalepolitik.de/de/derkalte-frieden. Accessed 28 May 2022. Rohrschneider, M. 2022. Zäsur 1648? Die Westfälische Friedensordnung im Urteil der Publikationen zum Gedenkjahr 2018. In Endpunkte. Und Neuanfänge. Geisteswissenschaftliche Annäherungen an die Dynamik von Zeitläuften, eds. S. Jerše und K. Lahl, 67–84. Wien et al.: Böhlau. Rüsen, J. 2017. The limits of multiperspectivism – relativism and Leitkultur. Public History Weekly 5, no. 33. https://doi.org/10.1515/phw-2017-10076. Rüther, T. 2014. Geschichte ist kein Kochbuch. Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung, 9 October, p. 9. Stradling, R. 2003. Multiperspectivity in history teaching: a guide for teachers. Strasburg: Council of Europe. https://rm.coe.int/1680493c9e. Accessed: 13 December 2019. Will, W. 2010. Die Perserkriege. Munich: Beck. Will, W. 2011. Athen im 5. Jahrhundert v. Chr. In Histoire/Geschichte. Europa und die Welt von der Antike bis 1815, eds. R. Bendick, P. Geiss, D. Henri and G. Le Quintrec, 12–27. Leipzig: Ernst Klett Schulbuchverlag (French edition: Paris: Nathan).

Peter Geiss is Professor of History Didactics at the Department of History at the University of Bonn. Florian Helfer, until April 2023, was a Doctoral Research Assistant in History Didactics at the Department of History at the University of Bonn. Since May 2023 he works at a public school as a teacher (in training) of History and English. Sandra Müller-Tietz is Doctoral Research Assistant at the Department of History at the University of Bonn. She teaches and researches History Didactics in the eponymous section of the Department. Michael Rohrschneider is Professor of Early Modern History and Rhenish Regional History at the Department of History and Head of the Centre for Historical Peace Studies at the University of Bonn.

Peacebuilding and Reconciliation in the Twentieth Century

Between “Rapprochement” and “Reconciliation”: The Lessons of Franco-German History in the Twentieth Century Corine Defrance Abstract

When analysing the history of the Franco-German relationship, it is necessary to distinguish between, on the one hand, “rapprochement” and “reconciliation” as interpretative concepts and, on the other, the use of these terms in historical sources. In other words: the language of interpretation must not be confused with the language of sources. We need to study the historicity of such concepts in order to understand their reflection on the shared past and their changing meaning over time, which ranges from a Westphalian “oblivion” to today’s omnipresence of memory. How and when did agents from different sides (political, civil, academic etc.) initiate the various forms of rapprochement? At what points in time did initiatives on different levels (local, regional, transnational etc.) commence experimenting with reconciliatory measures? This contribution focuses on the evolution of attitudes, in light of the experiences accumulated since the end of the nineteenth century, adopted in the French and German societies towards “rapprochement” and “reconciliation” after the Second World War. Gradually, reconciliation has become a major part of Franco-German and even European heritage. Critics tend to claim that with the disappearance of witnesses of the Second World War this narrative can no longer nourish the Franco-German future. However, when Translated by Lara Tremblay. C. Defrance (B) Sorbonne, identités, relations internationales et Civilisations de l’Europe (CNRS- UMR 8138 Sirice), Paris, France e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Fachmedien Wiesbaden GmbH, part of Springer Nature 2023 F. Helfer et al. (eds.), Overcoming Conflict, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-658-39237-6_2

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referring to the Franco-German “model”, other countries often consider it a “toolbox” that can be used in pragmatical way. During the commemorative ceremonies for the Great War centenary, on 10 November 2018, President Emmanuel Macron and Chancellor Angela Merkel met in the Rethondes Clearing and unveiled a plaque stating that they “here reaffirmed the value of Franco-German reconciliation in the service of Europe and peace” (Agence France-Presse 2018). Since the 1960s, the heads of state, government and societies of both countries have regularly highlighted this bilateral reconciliation as a great success and the most precious heritage of Franco-German history in the twentieth century. The official and societal narrative of the reconciliation can be summarised as follows: “hereditary enemies” became “hereditary friends” following the catastrophe of the Second World War (Schwarz 1992; Bergesdorf et al. 2007; Miard-Delacroix and Wirsching 2020). These “friends” are even often referred to as a “couple” in order to increase the emotional charge by invoking connotations of intimacy (e.g. Leblond 1997; Calla and Demesmay 2012). This narrative was employed to deconstruct the previous and contrary myth of the “hereditary enemy” (Jeisman 1997; Defrance 2013). Beyond France and Germany, beyond even Europe, reconciliation of former “enemies” has become a goal, even a categorical imperative, for international bodies and humanitarian organisations. The use of the term has expanded to such an extent that some observers denounce the “kitsch” of reconciliation (Bachmann 1994; see also Hahn et al. 2008).1 Yet, despite all the calls for reconciliation, the concept is rarely defined by those who use it. The practitioners of international relations who employ this expression—political figures, diplomats, jurists or humanitarians—rarely consider its definition necessary since it seems so obvious. As the political scientist Valérie Rosoux points out, the idea of reconciliation is, in varying ways, always linked to peace. She distinguishes between a “minimalist vision according to which reconciliation refers to any form of mutual arrangement between former enemies”, which can be summarised as the peaceful coexistence of parties that were once in conflict, and a “maximalist vision that considers reconciliation as a transcendental process involving truth, justice and forgiveness” (Rosoux 2015, 25–26). It would then be the return or establishment of trust and harmony. She thus identifies a continuum, described as “rapprochement”, the ultimate stage of which would be reconciliation. 1

“Reconciliation kitsch is what we have when any ordinary political act between two neighbouring states is no longer considered a normal act but an act of reconciliation” (Bachmann 1994). All quotations were translated into English by Lara Tremblay.

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In a historical approach, however, the concepts of rapprochement and reconciliation need to be more clearly defined. They are not simply gradations on a scale; they are different in nature. “Rapprochement” and “reconciliation” assume their specificities in relation to each other by their temporality (Lefranc 2006; Feldman 2012; Schwelling 2012; Wienand 2015; Defrance 2018b). They share the common goal of restoring coexistence between former “enemies” at the end of a conflict. The first term is forward-looking and cooperative. The second has a stronger symbolic and emotional charge, with moral and even religious connotations, implicit or explicit (Rognon 2016). Reconciliation requires former adversaries to work together to deal with the painful past that divided them. Memory and recognition of the victims are central to this process and forgetting is condemned as a moral fault. We are dealing here with categories that have not always been used in the past, and the language of interpretation must not be confused with the language of the sources. Equally, the concepts must be understood in their historical context. Thus, if we are examining Franco-German history from the end of the nineteenth century to the beginning of the twenty-first century, we must identify the words used at the time to describe the process of ending the conflict and also the sense in which they were used. Through these words, as well as gestures and images, we can retrace a process of reflection on our shared history. This contribution aims to analyse the narratives of Franco-German rapprochement and reconciliation in order to understand the relationship of both societies to the past, varying between the Westphalian model of “oblivion” (Gantet 2001) and the current model characterised by the omnipresence of memory or even hypermnesia. Some researchers have defended the thesis according to which the Franco-German rapprochement was for a long time based on forgetting the past (Moreau-Desfarges 1999; Delori 2007). This interpretation seems to deserve a new reading, which takes into account the diversity of the actors, modes of action, times and scales of this bilateral history. Taking a diachronic perspective, we will first analyse the positions adopted by the societies of France and Germany towards bilateral rapprochement after the end of the Second World War. To do so, we must consider the experience acquired since the end of the nineteenth century. Secondly, we will examine how this Franco-German memory is staged, how it tackles the traumatic past and finally leads to the self-celebration of reconciliation. We will also show that, over the last twenty years, this narrative of reconciliation has been transferred from the bilateral Franco-German to the European level.

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The Post-Second World War Period: A Time for Rapprochement?

Never before had the notion of the hereditary enemy and hatred of the other been so virulent and widespread in both societies as it was at the end of the Second World War (Hüser 1993; Fauser 2016). Nevertheless, three factors quickly and powerfully favoured the beginnings of Franco-German rapprochement. On the bilateral level, the first lessons were learned from the mistakes of the 1918–1923 period. The most astute, such as Joseph Rovan (1945), understood that relations had to be rethought and the narrative of the “hereditary enemy” deconstructed. Second, European integration with its complex entanglements—no (Western) Europe without a Franco-German “partnership” and no bilateral cooperation without a European framework—facilitated the “rapprochement”. Finally, the Cold War accelerated the convergence of West Germany and France, even if a certain number of French people, not only communists but also former resistance fighters, saw the “anti-fascist” GDR as the “better of the two Germanies” (Pfeil 2004).

1.1

The First Initiatives for Rapprochement

The pioneering initiatives for a rapprochement were taken in this new context. The first meetings between young people from France and Germany took place in 1946, followed by other meetings of opinion leaders, such as journalists, trade unionists, historians, etc. (Plum 2007). The churches also organised joint events— charity works, masses, pilgrimages—and erected peace crosses and chapels of reconciliation (Greschat 1995; Kißener 2010; Schröber 2015). At the municipal level, the first town twinning, between Montbéliard and Ludwigsburg, was concluded in 1950. Its initiator was Lucien Tharradin. A symbolic figure of the bilateral rapprochement, he combined all the wartime experiences that conferred the necessary legitimacy for reaching out to the former “enemy”. He had been a combattant, a prisoner of war, a member of the Resistance, a deportee and a survivor of the Buchenwald concentration camp (Defrance and Herrmann 2016). Almost all the societal protagonists of bilateral rapprochement come from these backgrounds. This is not the place to rehearse again the actors and types of action that paved the way for rapprochement. Nevertheless, two characteristics of the process should be emphasized. First, the resumption of neighbourly relations was undoubtedly more delicate in the border region, particularly in Alsace, because

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of the particular historical trauma suffered and the political tensions between the regions annexed to the Reich and the rest of France. Second, at the social level, certain actions were inspired by the experiences of the interwar period, such as meetings of young people (student meetings were organised by the Catholic Marc Sangnier in the 1920s, see Prat 2010; Beaupré 2014) and the revision of school textbooks (Faure 2015; Lässig and Korostelina 2013). Other actions were innovative, such as town twinning, and contributed to the democratisation of transnational relations. Hence the expression “Locarno from below” (“Locarno par en bas”), distancing such initiatives from the elitist approach of the Briand-Stresemann era in the second half of the 1920s (Defrance and Pfeil 2011).

1.2

When the Term “Reconciliation” was Still (Almost) Taboo

What vocabulary was used at the time to describe the process of rapprochement? In his 1946 speech in Zurich, British Prime Minister Winston Churchill spoke of a “partnership between France and Germany” (Churchill 1946). The Schuman Declaration of 9 May 1950 mentioned peace, solidarity and “common bases for economic development” (Schuman 1950). On the societal level, the discourse was more emotional but still very cautious: In 1950, Tharradin mentioned the “Franco-German Entente”, “mutual understanding”, “rapprochement” and “trust” (French original: “entente franco-allemande”, “compréhension mutuelle”, “rapprochement”, “confiance”, Tharradin 1950, 4). He made no reference to reconciliation. After the Second World War, this term was used almost exclusively in religious circles. Why was it avoided? The answer lies in its history. At the end of the nineteenth century, the word and the idea of reconciliation disappeared from diplomatic language for the first time: the Treaty of Frankfurt was perceived as a peace without reconciliation, and the Treaty of Versailles as a peace that named the guilty, making reconciliation almost impossible (Couderc et al. 2022; see also Defrance and Pfeil 2020, 86–91). The idea of reconciliation was then taken up by societal organisations concerned with maintaining humanitarian rules in war and conscious of the growing importance of human rights after the Hague conferences (1899 and 1907). Jurists spoke of “conciliation”. Thus, Paul Henri d’Estournelles de Constant founded the association “Conciliation Internationale” in 1905. Other international initiatives for international understanding were also born at the turn of the twentieth century. The International Fellowship of Reconciliation (IFOR) was founded at the outbreak of the First World War (Chickering 1973; Tison 2015). During the war, in 1917,

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pacifists from different countries met in Switzerland and campaigned for “reconciliation” through the magazine of the same name – Versöhnung. They did not envision a reconciliation based on forgetting the past but achieved through a nuanced and transnational approach, challenging the imperialist and militarist circles of all countries (Moll 2022). In the interwar period, the concept of reconciliation and other related terms such as “moral disarmament” and “pacification of minds” were very much in evidence, mainly in pacifist, feminist and religious circles, but they were also coming back into use in the language of politics and diplomacy. They were used by states, large non-governmental organisations such as the Carnegie Foundation, and the League of Nations. From the 1930s onwards, fascist and nationalist circles in Europe began to claim the term “reconciliation” for themselves. In his 1931 book, FranceAllemagne. La Réconciliation ou la Guerre, Gustave Hervé called for the cooperation of nationalists on both sides of the Rhine to fight against Bolshevism. He contrasted “true reconciliation” with the actions of Briand and Stresemann, which he described as a “shabby policy of rapprochement” (Hervé 1931; Defrance 2020). With the French defeat and the German occupation, a further step was taken. In July 1940, Gaston Bergery, a French fascist, launched his call for “the work of reconciliation and collaboration” within the “new European order” (Broche 2014, 6). The intellectual group “Collaboration”, founded in the fall of 1940, took as its motto “Rénovation française – Réconciliation franco-allemande – Solidarité européenne” (Unteusch 1990, 203; Berzel 2012, 102). Collaborationist writers constantly promoted Franco-German reconciliation. Even in 1945, while in prison and awaiting his execution, Robert Brasillach still pleaded for the “sincere reconciliation” (Brasillach 1946) between France and Germany that previous generations had failed to achieve… However, this asserted continuity constituted a mortal danger for the process and the very idea of reconciliation after 1945 (Taubert 2007). The discredit into which it had fallen was such that in April 1945, the British army put up posters in Germany warning its soldiers against the dangers of “fraternization” and “reconciliation” (Defrance and Pfeil 2016, 14). A second example, ten years later, was a cartoon in the French communist daily L’Humanité, showing Chancellor Adenauer in Nazi uniform, his hands open, barbed wire between his fingers, saying: “Give me some divisions… and I will embrace France”. The caption ironically reads: “A gesture of Franco-German reconciliation” (cartoon by Louis Mitelberg, L’Humanité, 8 September 1954). For the French communists, European integration and the rearmament of the Federal Republic were a continuation of collaborationism and European fascism.

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Despite the tabooisation of the term “reconciliation”, or even its negative use as a repellent, the idea of living together and the return to harmony remained present. It was a strong feature of France’s official policy in the particular political context of Saarland, but the message was not conveyed by words but rather by iconography (pictures representating fraternity, solidarity, cooperation and friendship; the symbolism of the colour blue, associated with peace and harmony, see Schneider 2017, 2019, 2022). The function of images is to express the unspeakable. For this first period, a question arises: what did contemporaries understand by Franco-German rapprochement? In his Zurich speech, Churchill spoke of a “blessed act of oblivion” (Churchill 1946). For Lucien Tharradin, “the past is too dark, let’s look together to the future”2 (Tharradin 1950, 4). Overall, the supporters of bilateral dialogue believed that it was too early to talk about the wounds of the past and were looking to the future. In their view, young people were necessarily at the center of all concerns. For a long time, war-related issues were not addressed as such in youth exchanges or town twinnings (Delori 2015; Herrmann 2019). Historians and history teachers had a more complex relationship to the past. It was no coincidence that the German historical research center founded in Paris in 1958—which became the Institut historique allemand in 1963—focused at first on medieval and modern history (Pfeil 2007, 2008a, b). Moreover, German, French and European historians had been meeting since the end of the 1940s to revise the teaching of history and school textbooks (see the chapter by Rainer Bendick in this volume). From their first meetings in Speyer, they pleaded for an emphasis on what brought the peoples of Europe together rather than what divided them. In other words, they wanted to give cultural history greater importance than political history and asked that the perspective of the other (multiperspectivity, as we say today) be taken into account in order to escape the lens of nationalism (Bendick 2003; Defrance 2008). Does this mean that questions arising from the past were not addressed during this first phase? Obviously, the Nuremberg trials of 1945/46, widely covered by the French media, are proof of the contrary. There, the war crimes and crimes against humanity perpetrated by the Nazis were debated. This first experience of international justice, despite its limitations, was an integral part of the reconciliation process. Edgar Faure, then Deputy Attorney General for France and a future politician, recalled that this process was a “chance for peace” (Gemählich 2

French original: “Le passé est trop sombre, regardons ensemble vers l’avenir” (Tharradin 1950, 4).

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2018): without justice, without recognition of atrocities and without condemnation of the crimes committed, it was impossible to prepare a common future. In the immediate post-war period, numerous testimonies were also published, mainly by concentration camp survivors, but they were hardly read, as was the case with the first edition of Primo Levi’s If this is a man (Rérolle and Weill 1994; Wieviorka 2003). The majority of societies, then, aspired to “turn the page” (Rousso 1987, 343; Reichel 2001; Knigge and Frei 2005; Frei 2009). To summarise: during this first phase, progress was made on solving serious problems arising from the past, but there was no great societal debate about the past. As historian Nicolas Moll has observed: “As long as the two societies were not willing and able to engage in the task of reflecting on their own past, they were not ready to critically address taboo subjects with their neighbours” (Moll 2012).

2

The Development of the Master Narrative of Reconciliation

2.1

The Political and Societal Rehabilitation of the Term “Reconciliation”

In the 1950s, the word “reconciliation” (“réconciliation” in French and “Versöhnung” in German) was increasingly used by civil society organisations. For example, from 1953 onwards, the Volksbund Deutsche Kriegsgräberfürsorge organised international youth camps at German military cemeteries abroad under the motto “Reconciliation over the graves” (Köhler 2016, 420). In 1964, a meeting of this kind involving German and French youth took place at Fort-de-Malmaison, in partnership with the Franco-German Youth Office, which had been founded the previous year (Bock et al. 2008). Reconciliation was also now being talked about within the town twinning system (Defrance and Herrmann 2020). From the end of the 1950s, the term was also used in diplomatic language (Lappenküper 2000; Aballea 2016). Even the communists and the CGT trade union changed their initial strategy in order not to leave the monopoly of reconciliation to the “capitalist” West Germany. This gave rise to a counter-discourse on the “true reconciliation” between the French people and the GDR as illustrated by a 1962 poster with the caption “True Franco-German reconciliation will be the work of the people themselves”3 (qtd. in Bibert 2015, 657). 3

French original: “La véritable réconciliation franco-allemande sera l’œuvre des peuples eux-mêmes” (qtd. in Bibert 2015, 657).

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The concept of reconciliation was finally consecrated politically by de Gaulle and Adenauer. At the end of the religious service held on 8 July 1962, in the cathedral of Reims, they announced that they had “sealed” the Franco-German reconciliation. A plaque on the cathedral parvis records the words of their announcement. With this problematic sentence—can one really “seal” reconciliation? Is it a state or a fragile and endless process?—the president and the chancellor wanted to break down the myth of hereditary enemies and replace it with that of hereditary friends. This church service marked the beginning of the great enactment of reconciliation, whose Christian and political dimensions were intertwined through this gesture. There was a certain similarity between the mass in Reims and the celebrations following the Peace of Westphalia (Gantet 2000). Thus, a Te Deum resounded under the vaulted roof and, as in 1648, the principal protagonists kept silent about the traumatic past (Linsenmann 2016). The latter was only mentioned implicitly and symbolically: by the choice of the city—place of signature of the German capitulation on 7 May 1945—and the cathedral of Reims, a contested and martyred church during the First World War (Gaehtgens 2018). Only Archbishop Marty proclaimed during the blessing: “For the past: forgiveness of the rifts. For the future: willingness to reconcile” (Marty 1980). The Christian perception of reconciliation is characterised by the inseparable link between forgiveness and reconciliation (Reuter 2002; P˛ekala 2018). After the meeting in Reims, the Catholic de Gaulle is said to have declared to his Minister of Information, Alain Peyrefitte: “No one but me can reconcile France and Germany because only I can forgive Germany” (Peyrefitte 1994). This statement by de Gaulle reflects his idea of a fundamentally asymmetrical relationship, on which his policy towards Germany was based. However, while the first major Franco-German orchestration of reconciliation took place in Reims in July 1962, the signing of the Élysée Treaty on 22 January 1963 was disconnected from reconciliation. The term was absent from the treaty and de Gaulle and Adenauer only mentioned it once in their joint declaration. This text was a “treaty of cooperation” oriented towards the future (Defrance and Pfeil 2012). At the time of this intense phase of political and societal rapprochement in the early 1960s, the leaders of the two countries were trying to resolve serious problems arising from the preceding conflict. Thus, in 1960, an agreement was signed between Paris and Bonn on the compensation of the victims of Nazism (Hockerts 2001). The question of reparations was essential in the process of reconciliation because it was inseparably linked to the recognition of victims. Although reparation was not enough, it remained necessary. However, at the same time as progress was being made in the recognition of victims, German war criminals

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who committed their crimes in France were being pardoned, which can be considered as a step backwards or a very problematic concession to German public opinion. The historian Claudia Moisel commented that the “rapprochement of the former hereditary enemies was thus accompanied by suppression of the memory of the war years, which was perceived as problematic” (Moisel 2004). Nevertheless, amnesties have been a constant factor in processes of rapprochement and reconciliation in modern and contemporary history. The Peace of Westphalia was largely based on amnesties (see the chapter by Michael Rohrschneider in this volume). The questions that arise are when and for whom. Special pardons, granted to people who have committed crimes of a singular gravity, are felt in our contemporary societies to be a provocation to the victims and give the impression that reconciliation is incompatible with justice. The non-applicability of statutory limitations to certain crimes, debated and adopted in both France and Germany in the mid-1960s, was a first response to the possible drift of amnesty towards impunity (Gacon 2002; Wahnich 2007).

2.2

Facing the Past: The Prerequisite for Reconciliation

As awareness of the particular nature of the crimes committed during the Second World War gradually increased, forgetting the past—political amnesia— was increasingly viewed as wrong, and societies demanded the commemoration and recognition of the victims (Traverso 2005). At the Franco-German level, the commemorative ceremony in Verdun on 22 September 1984, marked by President François Mitterrand and Chancellor Helmut Kohl holding hands, is often considered as the moment when the leaders of both countries faced the traumatic past. According to current analytical categories, it was therefore no longer a gesture of rapprochement, but rather a symbol of reconciliation (Rosoux 2001, 2007; Pfeil 2008a; Marcowitz 2016). And yet this iconic gesture, engraved in French and German memories, conceals many misunderstandings. The intention of the two leaders was to join in a single tribute to the memory of the soldiers who fell in the two world wars, but the choice of location made this message inaudible. Verdun was so linked to the Great War that the message concerning the Second World War was not heard. However, we now know from the German archives that Kohl had hoped to “draw a line under the past” (Kohl 1984, 837; Derix 2009, 174). He feared that the memory of past crimes would affect the image of the Federal Republic abroad (Eder 2020). He was, in a way, overtaken by the public reception of the gesture, and the symbolic value attributed to it by the media and society, which turned the action into an event. And ultimately, it was the ability

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to confront the past that became one of the main assets of the Federal Republic of Germany on the international scene (Trommler 2014). However, since the holding of hands at Verdun remained associated with the Great War, for which responsibility was relatively evenly shared, the official authorities had yet to demonstrate their ability to confront the more dissymmetrical memory of the Second World War. For the first time, this was the subject of a major joint ceremony on 6 June 2004, on the sixtieth anniversary of the Allied landings in Normandy, in the presence of Chancellor Gerhard Schröder and President Jacques Chirac. This was an important step, but it concerned the liberation of Europe from Nazism—in some ways a constructive element of the German post-war narrative. It was not until almost a decade later (4 September 2013) that Presidents François Hollande and Joachim Gauck visited together a site marked by Nazi crimes—the village of Oradour-sur-Glane—which had until then remained the symbol of the “right to irreconcilability” (Erkenbrecher 2012). The declaration of guilt, repentance, recognition of the victims and the clear rejection of forgetting the past are at the center of the German speech (Gauck 2013). Gauck repeatedly mentioned “reconciliation”, but did not ask for forgiveness, so as not to put any pressure on the victims and their descendants (Defrance 2018a). Twenty years passed between Verdun 1984 and Caen 2004, almost thirty until Oradour in 2013, which is an indicator of the obstacles that had to be overcome at the official level in order to involve Germany in the commemoration of the Second World War. During this period, bilateral commemorative initiatives were nevertheless undertaken by other actors at other levels. For example, within the framework of the twinning between the districts of Calvados and Lower Franconia, Germans were invited to the D-Day commemoration ceremonies from 1994 onwards. Within the framework of town twinning, joint ceremonies to commemorate the tragedies that divided the two countries multiplied in the 1990s. They were important local laboratories for experimenting with joint work on the past (Herrmann 2019).

2.3

Self-Celebration of the Franco-German Reconciliation and European Transfers

As confrontation with the traumatic past began, the French and Germans also began to celebrate their reconciliation. From the 1980s onwards, the significant anniversaries of the Élysée Treaty were celebrated. The myth of reconciliation found its greatest expression on the occasion of its fourtieth anniversary on 22 January 2003. In a specific international context (Western dissension over entry

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into the war in Iraq), Chirac and Schröder orchestrated the bilateral reconciliation at the Château de Versailles. In his speech, Chirac highlighted the double historical reference—the proclamation of the German Empire in 1871 and the Treaty of Versailles in 1919—thus achieving a commemorative somersault by transforming a site representing a double humiliation into one with positive meaning (Frank 2012, 219–220). Since 2003, 22 January has been “Franco-German day”, celebrated in schools and twinned cities under the banner of friendship and reconciliation. On 22 January 2019, the signing of the Treaty of Aachen—Élysée Treaty 2.0 (Demesmay 2018)—provided another opportunity to shape the myth of bilateral reconciliation. The ceremony took several new directions: first, as indicated by the more moderate and cautious use of the term,4 the leaders were aware that the self-celebration of reconciliation was running out of steam. The fact was that while reconciliation had been the ultimate aspiration of the war generation, young people now experienced Franco-German relations as a normalised friendly partnership. It was therefore necessary to offer them other projects for the future, and this is what the Treaty of Aachen attempted to do by addressing contemporary challenges such as sustainable development, the fight against global warming, and artificial intelligence. However, Emmanuel Macron’s speech aimed to sanctify reconciliation as a new “value”. Through its setting—Aachen, the city of Charlemagne, “father of Europe”—and through the speeches and protocol involving representatives of the main EU bodies, the ceremony had the further purpose of underlining the following official message: the Franco-German tandem does not see itself as an exclusive bilateralism but intends to be anchored in Europe and to serve Europe. For years, reconciliation has been transferred from the bilateral relationship to the European framework and even to a broader scale. On the one hand, during the bilateral summit in Mainz on 9 June 2000, the Franco-German tandem congratulated itself on the “exemplary value” of its reconciliation, offered as a “model” to Southeast Europe (Déclaration commune 2000). On the other hand, the European Union, through the voice of its parliament, has been claiming for more than a decade now to be a “model” of peace and reconciliation in and outside Europe (European Parliament 2009). It is also perceived as such by third parties, as attested by the speech given by Thorbjørn Jagland, Chairman of the Norwegian Nobel Committee, at the awarding of the Nobel Peace Prize to the European Union on 10 December 2012. He constructed a linear narrative with the 4

Merkel and Macron used the terms “réconciliation” (Macron 2019) and “Aussöhnung” (Merkel 2019) when looking back at history. Macron said: “Aujourd’hui cette réconciliation est actée […] Nous avons depuis franchi tant d’étapes. Nous avons appris à regarder nos histoires en face” (Macron 2019).

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Franco-German reconciliation “after the Second World War” as its starting point; this was the cornerstone of European construction and marked the beginning of a process uninterrupted since then and still expanding. He emphasised that, having brought its benefits first to Western Europe and then to Eastern Europe following the end of the Cold War, it had now spread to the Balkans (Jagland 2012). This was obviously a success story and, even more, an injunction to Brussels to continue its undertaking despite the difficulties, rather than a historical interpretation that sought to reflect the difficulty and ambiguities of a process. Beyond the rhetoric, the ways in which bilateral and multilateral levels interact have been rethought. At first, France and Germany seemed to want to export their “reconciliation model” (Déclaration commune 2000), something which did not fail to arouse criticism. Both countries now present their experiences as a “toolbox” from which third countries—European and non-European—can seek out appropriate instruments and adapt them to the situation they are facing (Seidendorf 2013; Demesmay and Colin 2020). We are thus much more in the situation of a cultural transfer as defined by Michel Espagne and Michael Werner (1998, 11–34). In this regard, we have seen over the last two decades the emergence in Europe of several institutions freely inspired by the Franco-German Youth Office, such as the Regional Office for the Western Balkans or the German-Polish and German-Greek Youth Offices). The European Union has made reconciliation a constituent element of the “European conscience”. The European Parliament’s resolution of 2 April 2009 underlines “the importance of keeping the memories of the past alive, because there can be no reconciliation without truth and remembrance” (European Parliament 2009). According to Étienne François and Thomas Serrier, the multiplication of gestures of repentance and reconciliation is “a sign of the Europeanization of memory”5 (Francois and Serrier 2012, 4–5, 2017). The new resolution of 19 September 2019 is more specific. It states that reconciliation requires the past to be kept alive in order to “honor the victims [and] condemn the perpetrators of crimes”. It is therefore diametrically opposed to forgetting the past and demands punishment of the perpetrators as well as reparation and recognition of the victims (European Parliament 2019). This reconciliation, cited in close connection with peace, democracy, human rights and the rule of law, therefore means both awareness of the past and aspiration for the future. Thus, while the Franco-German tandem is just beginning to emancipate itself from the narrative of reconciliation, it is being widely taken up at the European level. 5

French original: “Signe de l’européanisation de la mémoire” (Francois and Serrier 2012, 4–5, 2017).

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Conclusion

It turns out that the history of reconciliation on which France and Germany pride themselves was first built through difficulties, a fact that is sometimes forgotten in current accounts. The very term “reconciliation” remained taboo for a decade after the end of the Second World War, even though the idea was still present. At the state level, the primary concern was to solve the problems arising directly from the war (punishment of the guilty, reparation, restitution and compensation), which were seen as indispensable preconditions for peace, but not always perceived as elements of the reconciliation process. Various actors, although still few in number, worked to bring people together to safeguard the future, but the time was not ripe for a reflection on the past. Even the political figures who spoke of reconciliation had a Westphalian understanding of it. But as with the treaties of Westphalia, it was less a matter of forgetting than of (temporarily) maintaining silence on certain aspects of the past at the political level. And as in seventeenth century Europe, this went together with a strong individual and societal memory of past events. For reasons of national consensus, it was particularly difficult for the German and French leaders to deal at once with questions of guilt and responsibility. Often, it was other actors—writers, artists, historians, associations of victims and of former resistance fighters—who brought the debate on past crimes into the public sphere. Gradually, especially from the 1980s onwards, all the protagonists undertook a re-examination of the past. The idea gained ground that forgetting the past would be a moral fault, a “second guilt” (Giordano 1987). The particular nature of the crimes committed during the Second World War— crimes against humanity and in particular the Shoah—as well as the victims’ demand to be recognised as such profoundly transformed the relationship to the past. However, the great recollection of past wounds, at the political and societal level, raises new problems. First, the discourse and symbolic gestures with regard to “shared history” (particularly the two world wars) sometimes dilute the conflictual nature of history, turning it into a reassuring but unintelligible narrative according to which “we are all victims” (Moll 2012). This also undervalues the challenge of reconciliation. In order to counter this danger, Aleida Assmann argues for a “dialogical memory”. The aim is not to forge a unified master narrative but to approach, through dialogue, compatible narratives for the different parties, with mutual recognition of the specificities of national accounts (Assmann 2013, 199). Second, with the overuse of the term and the passing of generations, the discourse of “reconciliation” has lost its mobilising momentum. Ultimately,

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the so-called Franco-German “reconciliation model”, which has become a positive memory for both countries, has its limits. Each reconciliation process is unique and determined by the nature and violence of the conflict as well as by specific past experiences. The constant reference to the Franco-German example is problematic insofar as it reinforces a Western conception of what constitutes the European norm, to the detriment of other difficult and still ongoing processes in the east and south-east of the continent.

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Pfeil, U. 2008b. Gründung und Aufbau des Deutschen Historischen Instituts in Paris (1958– 1968)/Création et développement de l’institut (1958–1968). In Das Deutsche Historische Institut Paris/Institut historique allemand 1958–2008b, eds. R. Babel and R. Große, 1–84. Ostfildern: Thorbecke. Plum, J. 2007. Französische Kulturpolitik in Deutschland 1945–1955. Jugendpolitik und internationale Begegnungen als Impulse für Demokratisierung und Verständigung. Wiesbaden: DUV. Prat, O. 2010. “La paix par la jeunesse”. Marc Sangnier et la réconciliation franco-allemande, 1921–1939. Histoire@Politique 10, 4–4. https://doi.org/10.3917/hp.010.00100. Reichel, P. 2001. Die Auseinandersetzung mit der NS-Diktatur von 1945 bis heute. Munich: C.H.Beck. Rérolle, R., and N. Weill. 1994. La parole contre l’extermination. Le Monde, 25 February. Also available on https://www.lemonde.fr/archives/article/1994/02/25/la-parole-contre-lextermination_3799308_1819218.html. Accessed: 4 March 2022. Reuter, H. 2002. Ethik und Politik der Versöhnung. In Politik der Versöhnung, eds. G. Beestermöller and H. Reuter, 15–36. Stuttgart: Kohlhammer. Rognon, F. 2016. Expiation, repentance, pardon et réconciliation: concepts religieux et valeurs des sociétés européennes contemporaines. Cahiers Sirice 15: 15–23. Rosoux, V. 2001. Les usages de la mémoire dans les relations internationales. Le recours au passé dans la politique étrangère de la France à l’égard de l’Allemagne et de l’Algérie de 1962 à nos jours. Brussels: Bruylant. Rosoux, V. 2007. La réconciliation franco-allemande: crédibilité et exemplarité d’un couple à toute épreuve. Cahiers d’histoire 100: 23–36. Rosoux, V. 2015. Portée et limites du concept de réconciliation. Une histoire à terminer. Revue d’études comparatives Est-Ouest 45: 21–47. Rousso, H. 1987. Vichy. Le syndrome de Vichy de 1944 à nos jours. Paris: Seuil. Rovan, J. 1945. L’Allemagne de nos mérites. Esprit 115: 529–540. Schneider, M. 2017. Desseins politiques. Représentations iconographiques de la France en Sarre (1945–1956) (unpublished PhD thesis, Universite Paris-Sorbonne and Universite d’Aix-la-Chapelle). Schneider, M. 2019. L’imagerie du traumatisme: radiographie du cas sarrois, 1945–1956. Les Cahiers Sirice 23: 81–105. Schneider, M. 2022. Traits d’union: la promotion visuelle du rapprochement franco-sarrois ou l’iconographie de la réconciliation (1945–1955). In La réconciliation. Histoire d’un concept entre oubli et mémoire, eds. A. Couderc, C. Defrance and U. Pfeil. Peter Lang: Brussels. Schröber, S. 2015. Konfessionelle Beziehungen. Lexikon der deutsch-französischen Kulturbeziehungen nach 1945, eds. N. Colin, C. Defrance, U. Pfeil et al., 474–476. Tübingen: Narr. Schuman, R. 1950. Schuman Declaration. https://european-union.europa.eu/principlescountries-history/history-eu/1945-59/schuman-declaration-may-1950_en. Accessed: 3 March 2022. Schwarz, H. 1992. Erbfreundschaft. Adenauer und Frankreich – Amitié héréditaire. Adenauer et la France. Bonn: Bouvier.

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Schwelling, B. 2012. Transnational civil society’s contribution to reconciliation: An introduction. In Reconciliation, civil society, and the politics of memory, ed. B. Schwelling, 7–21. Bielefeld: transcript. Seidendorf, S., ed. 2013. Le modèle franco-allemand: les clés d’une paix perpétuelle ? Analyse des mécanismes de coopération. Villeneuve d’Ascq: Presses du Septentrion. Taubert, F. 2007. La mémoire d’une autre réconciliation: le récit des anciens collaborationnistes au lendemain de la Seconde Guerre mondiale. Cahiers d’Histoire 100: 51–65. Tharradin, L. 1950. Rencontres de maires français et allemands à Stuttgart. Allemagne (bulletin du Comité français d’Échanges avec l’Allemagne nouvelle) 8: 4. Tison, S., ed. 2015. Paul d’Estournelles de Constant. Concilier les nations pour éviter la guerre (1878–1924). Rennes: Presses universitaires. Traverso, E. 2005. Le passé, modes d’emploi. Histoire, mémoire, politique. Paris: La Fabrique. Trommler, F. 2014. Kulturmacht ohne Kompass: deutsche auswärtige Kulturbeziehungen im 20. Jahrhundert. Cologne: Böhlau. Unteusch, B. 1990. Vom Sohlbergkreis zur Gruppe Collaboration. Ein Beitrag zur Geschichte der deutsch-französischen Beziehungen anhand der Cahiers franco-allemands, Deutschfranzösische Monatshefte, 1931–1944. Münster: Kleinheinrich. Wahnich, S., ed. 2007. Une histoire politique de l’amnistie. Paris: PUF. Wienand, C. 2015. Versöhnung. Lexikon der deutsch-französischen Kulturbeziehungen nach 1945, eds. N. Colin, C. Defrance, U. Pfeil et al., 474–476. Tübingen: Narr. Wieviorka, A. 2003. Déportation et génocide. Entre la mémoire et l’oubli. Paris: Hachette.

Corine Defrance is Director of Research at SIRICE (Sorbonne, Identités, Relations Internationales et Civilisations de l’Europe) at the French National Centre for Scientific Research (Centre national de la recherche scientifique, CNRS) in Paris.

A Prime Example for the Objectification of Textbook Representations? Failure and Success of the Franco-German Textbook Discussions in the Twentieth and Twenty-First Centuries Rainer Bendick Abstract

The conflictual relationship between Germany and France determined the history of Europe just as much as the self-perception of the two countries in the nineteenth and up to the middle of the twentieth century. Conflicts of interest in the sphere of power politics certainly were the main reasons for the impaired relations between the two neighbours. For contemporaries, however, the conflicts were historicised into a convincing and coherent narrative of traditional enmity. Such a narrative offered formidable potential for identification and mobilisation and, thus, shaped the national self-perception (Jeismann, Das Vaterland der Feinde. Studien zum nationalen Feindbegriff und Selbstverständnis in Deutschland und Frankreich 1792–1918. Klett-Cotta, Stuttgart, 1992). History lessons at school played an essential role in this process because they familiarised the pupils—future citizens of the two nations—with the basic assumptions and self-conception of the nation that they were expected to take responsibility for as adults. Despite this being a general characteristic

I would like to thank Silke Hellbaum (Ostercappeln) for the translation of this chapter into English. R. Bendick (B) German War Graves Commission, Braunschweig, Germany e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Fachmedien Wiesbaden GmbH, part of Springer Nature 2023 F. Helfer et al. (eds.), Overcoming Conflict, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-658-39237-6_3

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of history teaching, it is a particularly grave matter in the era of nationalism. That being said, this chapter seeks to shed some light on the question of how exactly, against such a difficult background, it was possible for textbook authors, educational experts and teachers from Germany and France to question and finally overcome the mechanisms of nationalistic, hostile history teaching. After the experience of tyranny and war, a European perspective on a shared past has slowly, but increasingly challenged national views as the dominant normative pattern of explaining history. Yet, it would be an oversimplification to argue that, after 1945, one narrative was simply replaced by another. Contemporaries argued differently. Some were genuinely guided by the knowledge potential that historical research offers. This reveals the paradigmatic value of the Franco-German textbook discussions for other conflict constellations as well as current didactic debates. How exactly can the Franco-German case be of value? What enabled the process of rapprochement, which concrete steps were taken and under which conditions could they be successful? The following five theses may suggest possible answers to these questions. For this purpose, the various stages of attempting to objectify textbook representations in Germany and France will be examined more closely. After 1919, the representations of France in German history textbooks and those of Germany in French history textbooks were shaped by deep hatred. The events of the First World War and the Peace Treaty of Versailles were regarded as evidence for the allegedly criminal intentions of the enemy. For the French historian Jules Isaac in 1921, there was no doubt about the causes of the First World War: “The mentality of modern Germany, a mentality shaped by avidity, pride, an immense appetite for domination, connected to the cult of brutal power, that is, in a final analysis, the basic cause of the war”1 (Malet and Grillet 1921, 1064). This can be seen as a typical example of how the war was remembered in France at that time. Consequently, French textbook authors glorified the French war efforts as acts of civilisation that put a stop to German barbarism and, ultimately, helped defend the freedom of the entire world. Nine years later, however, in the 1930 revised edition of his history textbook, Isaac gave a completely different account of the causes of war in general and specifically the First World War. He left the one, national “truth” behind and now provided a more sober analysis of events in order foster an understanding of how and why these events could be interpreted in very different ways. Rather than expressing national recriminations, Isaac showed 1

All quotations were translated into English by Silke Hellbaum (see note 1).

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how the tensions between the major powers had been mutually conditioned and exacerbated before 1914 (Bendick 2017, 82). How did Isaac succeed in objectifying his own account? Isaac was not only a secondary school history teacher and textbook author, but also an academic historian. During his research into the causes of the war (Isaac 1933, 1936), he had discovered that in official statements, the French government used to present the events of the July Crisis in a similarly distorted and falsified fashion as the governments of the Central Powers did. This undermined Isaac’s confidence in the adequacy of a national approach. In the introduction of his 1933 study on the causes of war, he finds that “[a]t that time (1922–1923), a new fracture in the documentation and, consequently, in the official presentations was revealed to us every day” (Isaac 1933, Préface). Later, he even confessed that, being confronted with the differences between historical truth and the information published in 1914, he felt “a certain retrospective shame” (Isaac 1936, 181). Of course, this was a personal matter to Isaac since, in his textbook, he had made the official positions of the French government the basis of his argument. After this realisation, he called for an “international spirit” to be included in history lessons. According to this approach, the views of others should be taken seriously and made understandable for pupils. Hence, in the 1930 revised edition, his explanations of the causes of war in 1870 and 1914 are followed by long excerpts taken from German history textbooks, representing a different perspective (Malet and Isaac 1930, 272–274 and 678–683). Isaac, however, did not advocate arbitrary narrativism according to the motto that everyone has his own story, his own truth, each with its own plausibility. Instead, he emphasised the inextricable link between history teaching and historical research—both endowed with the ultimate goal of getting as close to the historical truth as possible. Neither the national position, nor the national concern or the national values and norms were adequate sources of plausibility; the only criteria he now saw fit were the cogency and validity of a position. This is what Isaac understood by “honnêteté”—sincerity. In this sense, he advocated understanding the views of others by analysing and evaluating the arguments and sources that support them and contradict your own position. To his mind, such history lessons could promote an understanding among the nations (Isaac 1932). Therefore, linking history lessons to historical research moved history teaching away from justifying or confirming one’s own national position, and towards critically assessing the national positions with the aim of reconstructing the events as objectively as possible. For this purpose, Isaac founded the “International Conference for the Teaching of History”. After a preparatory meeting in Paris in 1932, the conference came together in The Hague in the same year, and once more

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in Basel in 1934. After that, the conference, for the time being, did not meet anymore because what had become National Socialist Germany was no longer a partner.

1

First Thesis

To make textbook representations more objective, textbook authors and editors must be willing, first, to question their own certainties and recognise the deficits of their own representation and, second, to honestly attempt to understand the positions of others. For this purpose, it is essential that teaching history is strictly bound to the principles of historical research. Isaac’s critical approach is distinct from other contemporary ideas regarding history teaching after the First World War. At the beginning of the 1920s, some French primary school teachers discussed whether to abolish history lessons altogether. They argued that memories catalysed feelings of hatred among the nations. At the 1924 congress of the teachers’ union in Lyon, Georges Clémendot even went as far as demanding to forget the truth: “What we need is to forget and history is the opposite of forgetting. Those who say ‘We will never forget’ will never reconcile with anybody. Thus, we even have to forget the truth; it is appropriate, in the interest of humanity, not to mention it” (Congrès de Lyon 1924, 17). In Clémendot’s logic, speaking about the First World War was automatically an accusation against Germany and a confirmation of German guilt. For him, this was one of those “truths” that prevented an understanding between French and Germans. Clémendot’s lesson plans published in the socialist-oriented “Revue de l’enseignement primaire et primaire supérieur” bear witness to this (Clémendot 1920a, b). To free history textbooks from hatred and to avoid disparagement of the Germans, this normatively set “truth” of German guilt did not allow for historical explanations, a scientific reflection and qualification of one’s own position. The only option Clémendot saw was to forget the past (Bendick 1999, 300). Ultimately, the congress of the French primary school teachers’ union did not adopt the demand to abolish history lessons. Instead, it passed a resolution that rejected nationalistic contents of teaching and demanded that history teaching should rather be “resolutely pacifist”: “There will be no other aim than the truth and human fraternity” (Congrès de Lyon 1924, 23). “Truth”, however, was not a category bound to historical research but a means to the end of a “brotherhood of men”. History textbooks should no longer demonise the former enemy, but show the horrors and senselessness of war: “[…] to expose the causes, facts and

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consequences with the aim to emphasise two aspects: the horror of the war and its absurdity” (Lapierre 1926, 22). In this sense, French primary school teachers boycotted all books that glorified the war, that did not portray military commitment as “absurdity” or that incited hatred towards former enemies. The boycott was so successful that, in the second half of the 1920s, the criticised books were either discontinued or substantially revised. In 1940, Marc Bloch took up this pacifism of the primary school teachers in his famous analysis L’étrange défaite—Strange Defeat: Not without good reason did they [the primary school teachers] preach that war brings unnecessary devastation. But they failed to distinguish between the war that one decides to wage voluntarily and the one that is forced upon one, between the assassination attempt and legitimate defence. When asked if they advised us to stick our necks out for the executioner, they replied: “No one is attacking you”. (Bloch 1940, 628)

It is certainly problematic to measure the desire for peace in 1926 against the experiences of 1940. Nevertheless, the analytical deficits of a normatively unmitigated orientation towards peace remain obvious. They can only be explained by the trauma that the First World War had left in France. Moreover, these deficits showcase the limits of an attempt to achieve peace without trying to understand and addressing the perspective of the other side. The revision of the history textbook by Gauthier and Deschamps makes clear that a desire of peace alone, without the willingness to reflect one’s own viewpoints and seriously consider other perspectives, is not sufficient for peacebuilding. Until 1924, the textbook summarised the results of the First World War in an infobox (see Fig. 1). It celebrated the Marshals Joffre, Foch and Pétain as well as the Allied heads of state as victors and described the provisions of the Treaty of Versailles as “expiations” imposed on the Germans for the Peace of Frankfurt (Gauthier et Deschamps 1923, 247). In the 1925 edition, however, this interpretation of the peace treaty and the glorification of the victors were replaced by a reference to the League of Nations and the death toll in all warring countries. Yet, the judgemental remarks on the territorial changes remained unchanged: “Alsace-Lorraine rendered to France.—Poland liberated.—Belgium rendered to independence” (Gauthier et Deschamps 1925, 247). The French president of the League of Nations, Jules Prudhommeaux, praised the changes: It can be seen that, aside from the objective account of the peace treaty, the narrative of 1924 is an apotheosis of the victory and the vae victis [woe to the vanquished] is

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Fig. 1 Left: Cours d’histoire de France (Gauthier and Deschamps 1923, 247), Right: Cours d’histoire de France (Gauthier and Deschamps 1925, 247)

proudly displayed, whereas that of 1925 is a painful reminder only softened by the comforting vision of the League of Nations, the producer of peace. (Prudhommeaux 1928, 33)2

Here, the Treaty of Versailles appeared as a work of liberation and justice. The German translation of Prudhommeaux’s text, however, shows how unacceptable this interpretation was even for those Germans who were working for reconciliation with France. The translation first appeared in the democratic and republican Preußische Lehrerzeitung and later also in the pacifist Quaker publishing house

2 French original: “On le voit: si l’on met à part la mention objective du traité de paix, le tableau de 1924 est une apothéose de la victoire et le vae victis s’y étale orgueilleusement; celui de 1925 est un in memoriam douloureux qu’adoucit seulement la vision consolante de la Société des Nations, génératrice de la Paix” (Prudhommeaux 1928, 33, emphasis by me).

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in Leipzig. Focusing on the differences to the original French wording, a rough translation of the German versions reads as follows: On page 247, there used to be a picture that depicted the results of the peace of 1919. On the left and right were the rulers and presidents of the victorious states, along with a picture of a cemetery of honour and portraits of the generals. The new picture of 1925, however, is a painful In Memoriam, whose only ray of hope is the building of the League of Nations. (Prudhommeaux 1929, 29–30)3

Prudhommeaux’s statement, which qualified the description of the territorial changes provided by Gauthier and Deschamps as “an objective account of the treaty” as well as his statement that the League of Nations was a “peacemaker” would have been objected by the German public. For many German teachers, the territorial changes, covered by the League of Nations, were a great injustice (Bendick 1999, 394 and 403). Despite best intentions, the persistence of national views blocked a real understanding of the other.

2

Second Thesis

The unconditional desire for peace and the rejection of military force in principle are—unfortunately—not sufficient conditions to overcome hostility and to reconcile with a former enemy. In addition, the objectification of textbook representations requires a willingness to question the correctness of one’s own representations and to understand the representations of others. Parallel to Jules Isaac, German educational experts and politicians also developed concepts that came very close to his ideas (Bendick 1999, 326). But such approaches remained a lip service whenever the Treaty of Versailles was involved. For example, Fritz Wuessing, one of the few social democratic directors of a grammar school, called for a critical, source-based examination of his own positions and those of others (Wuessing 1927, 197)—just like Jules Isaac did. But Wuessing did not live up to this demand in his own history book Geschichte des deutschen Volkes (=History of the German nation). In the 1921 first edition, he still confined himself to blaming the “degenerate imperialisms” (Wuessing 3

German version: “Auf Seite 247 fand sich früher ein Bild, das die Ergebnisse des Friedens von 1919 darstellte. Man sah links und rechts die Herrscher und Präsidenten der Siegerstaaten, dazu das Bild eines Ehrenfriedhofes und die Bildnisse der Generäle. Das neue Bild von 1925 ist dagegen ein schmerzliches In Memoriam, dessen einziger Lichtblick das Gebäude des Völkerbundes ist” (Prudhommeaux 1929, 29–30).

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1921, 265) of all great powers for the outbreak of war. However, the 1925 edition included a longer section on Poincaré, in which the French wish to regain Alsace-Lorraine is framed as active war policy (Wuessing 1925, 253). Similarly, in 1921, Wuessing had described the Treaty of Versailles as a “hostile dictated peace” and then listed the territorial cessions and reparations (299). In the 1925 edition, he added a detailed statement on Article 231 with the following introduction: “How was it possible to impose such monstrous conditions on us? The answer is as simple as it is cruel: by lying and breaking the law” (314–315). The obvious radicalisation during the 1920s is typical of the depictions in German history textbooks. Former opponents were portrayed in increasingly negative terms so that Germany more and more appeared to be the victim of hostile neighbours. At the same time, the perception of the present controlled the interpretation of the past: as the Peace Treaty of Versailles was more and more perceived as an unbearable burden, German warfare increasingly appeared as a defensive struggle against a world of enemies. The perception of the present blocked a critical examination of one’s own past. Consequently, the German side was hardly able to critically examine its own positions. Politicians, lawyers and teachers saw the Republican Constitution’s requirement to give lessons “in the spirit of international reconciliation” (Article 148) as a kind of treason, a “historical anomaly”, as the DVP politician August Ludwig Beuermann put it (1919). So long as the other powers refused to also follow the ideal of international reconciliation, it was regarded as “a moral constraint against anyone who upholds his German identity”, as the liberal constitutional law expert Gerhard Anschütz elaborately explained in his comment on the Constitution of the Weimar Republic (1929, 593). This mentality also overshadowed the German preparations for the first International Conference for History Education in The Hague in 1932. The conference was not understood as a way of reducing tensions with former enemies. Rather, the German delegation was supposed to represent the German position “in an impressive and united manner, as far as possible” (Niederschrift über die am 16. Juni 1932 veranstaltete Besprechung zur Vorbereitung der Internationalen Konferenz für Geschichtsunterricht im Haag).

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Third Thesis

If textbook representations are to be objectified, the tensions of the present must not be transferred to the past. The debate about the past must remain, as far as possible, unaffected by current conflicts of interest, no matter how important these are considered to be. The International Conference on History Education,

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in which Isaac had placed such high hopes, failed. On the German side, there seemed to be no interest in dialogue anymore after the transfer of power to the National Socialists. Isaac was therefore even more surprised when, in the spring of 1935, the Germans suddenly proposed direct talks to objectify hateful depictions in history textbooks. The following consultations took place in Paris in early December 1935. Talks resulted in the publication of 39 theses that summarised the two respective views on problem areas of Franco-German relations since the seventeenth century. Surprisingly, agreements were reached on numerous issues that had been the cause of earlier hateful textbook portrayals, for example the character of Alsace, the historical assessment of Bismarck, and the significance of the All-German Movement in Germany or, respectively, of the French notion of “revanche”. After presenting some common positions, however, 16 of the 39 theses express other, dissenting positions. Disagreement was particularly evident in questions of the recent past that had an immediate significance for the present. Ten theses concerned the events of the July Crisis of 1914, five of which were subject to reservations. Only one out of six theses about the post-war period remained without reservations (it was the one about the Locarno Treaties). This shows that contemporaries were not able to dissociate themselves from the immediate past. Nevertheless, they found a method that allowed them to express contradictions and make them the subject of a rational debate. In an open dialogue, as envisioned by Jules Isaac, these quarrels might then have been addressed and resolved. For this purpose, the agreement was to be published in the organs of both countries’ history teachers’ associations. Thus, the French History Teachers’ Association dedicated a special issue of its bulletin to the agreement (Association des professeurs d’histoire et de géographie 1937). The Germans, however, delayed the publication. It was not before May 1937 that the text was finally printed in the Berlin edition of the magazine of the National Socialist Teachers’ Association (Verpflichtender Wortlaut der Einigung der deutschen und französischen Geschichtslehrer über die Entgiftung der beiderseitigen Lehrbücher). Even so, for the National Socialists, the agreement went much too far. The NSDAP and the state apparatus became very active after a positive editorial in the Frankfurter Zeitung. Until its prohibition in 1943, this paper was one of the few critical voices in the German public and, accordingly, its editorial interpreted the agreement as a hopeful sign that an understanding was finally close. As a response, propagandistic articles in didactic and historical journals criticised the agreement as a cheap surrender of German positions. Later on, the French were invited to a clarifying discussion in Berlin. The French side, however, were aware

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of the German intentions and refused new talks as long as the agreement was not published nationwide in Germany. This was rejected by the Germans. Thus, the talks failed and Nazi Germany unmasked itself. The French ambassador in Berlin, André François-Poncet, saw the events as proof of the National Socialists’ unwillingness to seriously strive for peace. In February 1938, he reported to Paris: “Essentially, the Third Reich eludes any attempt at reaching an agreement. It repudiates the compromises that have already been agreed upon and shows a mentality that hardly allows hope that further attempts would be more successful” (The French Ambassador in Berlin to the French Ministry of Foreign Affairs, 10 February 1938, fol. 396–397). It was not the methodological approach that caused the textbook discussions to fail but the refusal of the National Socialists. How much this regime feared public debates and how little it was able to bear them is shown by its unequivocal reaction to the positive report of the Frankfurter Zeitung.

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Fourth Thesis

The textbook discussions in 1935/37 were not part of a naive policy of appeasement that abandoned its own values for the sake of peace. Rather, they were instruments of a liberal democracy in dealing with a totalitarian regime and, potentially, unmasking its true intentions. The textbook discussions are proof that an understanding between hostile nations is possible as soon as they are prepared to engage in a debate in public. Yet, this openness is a conditio sine qua non for its success. In another sense, however, these talks were successful after all because they established a paradigm that, after 1945, was revived. For contemporaries, their attraction lay was grounded in the methodical approach of admitting the relativity of one’s own position. The foreword to a 1949 reprint of the agreement emphasises the exemplary nature of the 1935/37 procedure. The authors believed it to be one-sided to judge “the great events from an exclusively French or German perspective”. In contrast, “true history […] strives to understand and make understandable why the people of our country or of a foreign country have acted in this or that way” (Sigmann 1951, 45). There is more to it than merely juxtaposing different narratives. In May 1951, the French History Teachers’ Association invited the German colleagues to Paris to revise the theses of 1935. All reservations disappeared in the revised version, save for a few objections that each side was able to retain.

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Significantly though, both the dismissed and retained reservations were not simply deleted but partially integrated into the new theses. This was not just the result of a political compromise. Compared to the hateful debates of the interwar period, the obvious intention to reach an understanding is striking. Moreover, the theses matched the historiographical climate of the time, especially in West Germany. Continuities in German history which could explain the transfer of power to the National Socialists were not discussed. Neither the Second World War nor the genocide of Jews and Slavs were addressed. Unmentioned went also the new post-war order, the acceptance of which was difficult for Germans. But there were also formal reasons for this. According to the new French curricula that came into effect with the liberation, the timeline for history lessons in France ended in 1939. The revision of the textbook recommendations of 1935 was the prelude to regular Franco-German discussions of questions regarding history teaching which continued until the end of the 1960s. The Second World War and its consequences were not discussed. This tabooing of the most recent Franco-German past meant that no sensitive topics were addressed that had a bearing on contemporary politics. A debate that questioned the mutual apologia would have resulted in painful accusations, justifications and set-offs just like in the interwar period. The interlocutors understood that some issues had to be given time and patience; they knew how to donner du temps au temps. Nonetheless, the textbook discussions did not suppress controversy or deny self-critical insights. Rather, they provided an opportunity to discuss and clarify issues that had provided the raw material from which Franco-German hostility had been knitted for decades. In this way, a habitus of understanding and communication was created between Germans and French.

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Fifth Thesis

One reason for the success of the Franco-German textbook discussions after 1945 lies precisely in the fact that the actors did not immediately talk about the most recent, politically explosive past but accepted the existence of the respective taboos. Thereby, a free space could be created that allowed an open exchange on previously controversial issues. But there is another reason: In the context of the Cold War, (West) Germans and French wanted to communicate with each other. That being said, after their fall into the barbarism of National Socialism, the textbook discussions offered (West) Germans another starting point for their efforts to be re-integrated into the Western academic and educational community.

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Only in the 1980s, a third round of the Franco-German textbook discussions focused on history since 1933, which meant that by the early 1990s all areas of the common history of Germans and French had been addressed in textbook recommendations. The main result of this long Franco-German exchange was that stereotypical images of the other as an enemy were completely dismantled. This created the necessary preconditions for the production of a joint textbook, the Franco-German history textbook Histoire/Geschichte (three volumes: 2006, 2008, 2011). In terms of peacebuilding, the Franco-German textbook discussions can therefore certainly be seen as successful: They have substantially contributed to objectifying textbook representations and dismantling stereotypical images of the enemy.

6

Conclusion and Outlook: History Teaching in France and Germany Today

However, some limitations remain. Most importantly, history lessons are still taught in a nation-state perspective. Despite all mutual understanding, even today there sometimes seems to be a deep divide between German and French history teachers. The methodological procedures and didactic concepts as well as the ideas of what constitutes good lessons are only valid within national borders—in Germany, the situation is even more complicated due to the different education policies of the federal states. Instead of opposing “national viewpoints” on history, different ideas of “good lessons” are now the matter of discussions. Sometimes, these ideas are so exclusive that we might speak of didactic nationalisms: Today, exemplary history lessons of one country are sometimes perceived as bad in the other. What is methodologically, didactically or historically demanded on one side might be questionable or even unthinkable on the other. Finally, another, more fundamental aspect needs to be considered. In the years following 1919, after the horrors of the First World War, the unconditional will to never again use military force determined the efforts of French primary school teachers. Interestingly, this attitude very closely resembles the pacifist conviction of German teachers today. In 1940, Marc Bloch stated: “There is no way around the fact that virtue, unless it is accompanied by strict, critical judgment, is always in danger of turning against its own aims.” With regard to the day of liberation from German occupation, he asked some primary school teachers: “Will you then, taught by dearly acquired experience, not think of changing some of the lessons you gave to your students yesterday?” (Bloch 1940, 629). Importantly, Bloch does not demand a renunciation of the striving for understanding and reconciliation

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with former opponents here. But he advocated, in the spirit of Jules Isaac, for a critical analysis of one’s own history and that of others, guided by the standards of historical research. Looking back at almost 100 years of Franco-German efforts to objectify textbook representations, it can fortunately be said that hateful, derogatory or even one-sided representations of the other have disappeared from our textbooks. What a great success! Now the foundation has been laid to focus on the deficits of didactic debates and on the desiderata of future textbook work. Methodological standards and didactic scenarios, the questions regarding possible criteria for “good” history teaching are discussed exclusively nationally today. These “didactic nationalisms” urgently need to be modified. The German debates could only benefit from yet more international dialogue. The experience of National Socialist tyranny has made the powerful slogan “Never again!” the guiding principle of German history teachings, which led to military violence being almost exclusively viewed through the prism of the Second World War. Ironically, this concept of teaching history lives up to the challenges of the present as much as the efforts of French primary school teachers did to the challenges of the interwar period.

References Anschütz, G. 1929. Die Verfassung des Deutschen Reiches vom 11. August 1919. Ein Kommentar für Wissenschaft und Praxis. 10th ed. Berlin. Association des professeurs d’histoire et de géographie. 1937. Bulletin de la société des professeurs d’histoire et de géographie de l’enseignement public. Bulletin spécial mai 1937. Paris. Bendick, R. 1999. Kriegserwartung und Kriegserfahrung. Der Erste Weltkrieg in deutschen und französischen Schulgeschichtsbüchern (1900–1939/45). Pfaffenweiler: Centaurus. Bendick, R. 2017. Geschichte im Präsens. Darstellungen des Ersten Weltkriegs in deutschen und französischen Schulgeschichtsbüchern der Zwischenkriegszeit. In Deutschfranzösische Beziehungen im europäischen Kontext. Ein vergleichendes Mosaik aus Schule und Hochschule, eds. O. Mentz and M.-L. Bühler, 61–103. Münster: Lit. Beuermann, A. L. 1919. Speech during the debate about Article 148 in the constituent assembly, 18 July. In vol. 328 of Verhandlungen der Verfassunggebenden Deutschen Nationalversammlung. Stenographische Berichte von der 60. Sitzung vom 18. Juli 1919, p. 1694. Bloch, M. 1940. L’étrange défaite. In L’Histoire, la Guerre, la Résistance [2006], eds. A. Becker and É. Bloch, 519–652. Paris: Gallimard. Clémendot, G. 1920a. La guerre de 1914–1919. I – Les causes. Revue de l’enseignement primaire et primaire supérieur 30: 560–562.

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Clémendot, G. 1920b. La guerre (1914–1919). Le Front français. Revue de l’enseignement primaire et primaire supérieur 31: 580–583. Congrès de Lyon. 1924. Vendredi 8 août 1924 (deuxième journée). Enseignement de l’histoire 1924. Bulletin mensuel du Syndicat National des Institutrices et Instituteurs publics September 1924: 8–23. The French ambassador in Berlin to the French Ministry of Foreign Affairs, 10 February 1938. SDN, Révision des manuels scolaires 1935–1939, Carton 1914, fol. 383–397. Archives Diplomatiques du Ministère de l’Europe et des Affaires étrangères. Paris. Gauthier and Deschamps in collaboration with teachers and historians. 1923. Cours d’histoire de France. Cours supérieur, certificat d’études, 2eme partie. Nouvelle édition conforme aux programmes officiels du 23 février 1923. Paris: Hachette, p. 247. Gauthier and Deschamps in collaboration with teachers and historians. 1925. Cours d’histoire de France. Cours supérieur, certificat d’études, 2eme partie. Nouvelle édition conforme aux programmes officiels du 23 février 1923. Paris: Hachette, p. 247. Histoire/Geschichte. 2006–2011. French-German history textbook in 3 vols., written by a team of French and German authors accompanied by a binational committee of experts. German version: D. Henri, G. Le Quintrec, R. Bendick and P. Geiss, eds. 2011. Europa und die Welt von der Antike bis 1815 (vol. 1). D. Henri, G. Le Quintrec and P. Geiss, eds. 2008. Europa und die Welt vom Wiener Kongress bis 1945 (vol. 2). G. Le Quintrec and P. Geiss, eds. 2006. Europa und die Welt seit 1945 (vol. 3). Leipzig: Klett (German version) and Paris: Nathan (French version). Isaac, J. 1932. Déclaration. In Conférence internationale pour l’enseignement de l’histoire. Réunion préparatoire les 1er et 2 février 1932. 52–53. Paris: Les presses universitaires de France. Isaac, J. 1933. Un débat historique. Le problème des origines de la guerre. Paris: Rieder. Isaac, J. 1936. Paradoxe sur la science homicide et autres hérésies. Paris: Rieder. Jeismann, M. 1992. Das Vaterland der Feinde. Studien zum nationalen Feindbegriff und Selbstverständnis in Deutschland und Frankreich 1792–1918. Stuttgart: Klett-Cotta. Lapierre, G. 1926. Rapport tendant à la radiation des livres scolaires de tendances bellicistes figurant sur les listes départementales. Deuxième partie. Notice concernant les manuels à proscrire. Bulletin mensuel du Syndicat National des Institutrices et Instituteurs publics May 1926: 22–31. Malet, A., and P. Grillet. 1921. Cours complet d’histoire à l’usage de l’enseignement secondaire. XIXe siècle. Histoire contemporaine (1815–1920). Nouvelle édition comprenant l’histoire de la grande guerre par Jules Isaac. Paris: Hachette. Malet, A., and J. Isaac. 1930. Cours d’Histoire Malet-Isaac à l’usage de l’enseignement secondaire. Histoire contemporaine depuis le milieu du XIXe siècle. Classe de Philosophie et de Mathématiques. Avec la collaboration d’André Alba. Paris: Hachette. Niederschrift über die am 16. Juni 1932 veranstaltete Besprechung zur Vorbereitung der Internationalen Konferenz für Geschichtsunterricht im Haag. Geheimes Staatsarchiv Preußischer Kulturbesitz, Berlin-Dahlem. Rep 76 VI, section 1, z – no. 32, vol. XIII, folio 254–255. Prudhommeaux, J. 1928. Pour la paix par l’école. Ce qui a été fait en France pour lutter contre les livres scolaires contraires au rapprochement des peuples (1923–1928). Nîmes: Edition de la paix par le droit.

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Prudhommeaux, J. 1929. Der Kampf um das Geschichtsbuch in Frankreich. Die Erreichung des Friedens durch die Schule. Leipzig: Quäker. Sigmann, J. 1951. Probleme der deutsch-französischen Geschichtsschreibung. Internationales Jahrbuch für Geschichtsunterricht 1: 44–64. Verpflichtender Wortlaut der Einigung der deutschen und französischen Geschichtslehrer über die Entgiftung der beiderseitigen Lehrbücher. Nationalsozialistische Erziehung. Kampf- und Mitteilungsblatt des NS-Lehrerbundes, Gau Berlin 6. Mai 1937: 229–235. Wuessing, F. 1921. Geschichte des deutschen Volkes. Vom Ausgang des achtzehnten Jahrhunderts bis zur Gegenwart. Ein sozialpsychologischer Versuch. Berlin et al.: Franz Schneider. Wuessing, F. 1925. Geschichte des deutschen Volkes. Vom Ausgang des achtzehnten Jahrhunderts bis zur Gegenwart. Ein sozialpsychologischer Versuch. Berlin: Laubsche. Wuessing, F. 1927. Die Kriegsschuldfrage in der Schule. Der Weg zur Freiheit 7, no. 13: 195–198.

Rainer Bendick holds a doctorate in history and is Educational Advisor at the German War Graves Commission (Volksbund Deutsche Kriegsgräberfürsorge).

The End of the Rainbow? Problems of Commemoration and Nation-Building in Post-apartheid South Africa Simon Ebert Abstract

When societies have undergone profound political transformation, the question arises as to how public memory reflects this change. South Africa is a special case because the new democratic state had to come to terms with centuries of racial segregation and the especially difficult legacy of the apartheid regime. For the young nation, the question arose on what basis the deeply divided society could develop a shared identity. This chapter examines the politics of commemoration pursued by the African National Congress as the ruling party and the goals it pursued in terms of nation-building. It focuses on the narrative of the rainbow nation as a promise and on the problems that arose with the implementation of this concept, the outcome of which is increasingly criticised by a younger generation. It is argued that despite undeniable efforts, the politics of commemoration has not succeeded in promoting a common memory and identity because the social reality is not in line with the narrative of the nation united under the rainbow. We, the people of South Africa, have made a decisive and irreversible break with the past. We have, in real life, declared our shared allegiance to justice, non-racialism and democracy; our yearning for a peaceful and harmonious nation of equals. The rainbow has come to be the symbol of our nation. We are turning the variety of our languages and cultures, once used to divide us, into a source of strength and richness. (Mandela 1995b) S. Ebert (B) Department of History, University of Bonn, Bonn, Germany e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Fachmedien Wiesbaden GmbH, part of Springer Nature 2023 F. Helfer et al. (eds.), Overcoming Conflict, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-658-39237-6_4

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S. Ebert The fact that his [Cecil Rhodes’] statue can stand there proudly, in such a prominent position, and that people can walk past it every day without questioning it, that is a problem of racism. If we can see that the statue is a problem, we can start looking more deeply at the norms and values of institutionalized racism that don’t physically manifest themselves, that are harder to see. (Chikane1 in Boroughs 2015)

The two quotes illustrate that after more than two decades of democracy, South Africa is still a deeply-divided society and that a younger generation wants not only to renegotiate the symbolic landscape of the country but also to question the norms and values that structure its society. Debates regarding public memory are part of the democratic discourse and, as such, are not problematic (Ndletyana and Webb 2017, 100). Recent developments have shown that such debates are not a specific issue for South Africa alone; there have also been demands in the United Kingdom and the United States for the removal of colonial statues and other monuments assigned to a racist context. How a society remembers its past, what remains a part of the public memory and what is excluded from it is constantly being renegotiated. According to Pierre Nora, “memory remains in permanent evolution, open to the dialectic of remembering and forgetting, unconscious of its successive deformations, vulnerable to manipulation and appropriation” (Nora 1989, 8). The statement of Kgotsi Chikane foregrounds the fact that memory as a form of knowledge about the past is essentially political because the present is inseparably connected with the memory of the past. As a consequence, public memory is primarily employed to legitimise current political interests, as well as to control and guide people’s perception of the contemporary socio-political order, rather than to simply recall the past (Marschall 2009, 172). From this perspective, memory as a form of “symbolic power” can be handled in similar ways to material power: “Public memory reflects the structure of power in society because that power is always contested in a world of ideological differences and because cultural understanding is always grounded in the material structure of society itself” (Baines 2007b, 168). In this respect, the #RhodesMustFall (#RMF) movement is an example of the growing social unrest after 25 years of democracy. This movement can be understood as a loss of legitimacy for the government whose narrative of the successful overcoming of apartheid and promise of a multicultural, equal society has not proven true for a significant portion of the population. In particular, the “born-free” generations show growing disillusionment over high levels of poverty

1

Kgotsi Chikane was a leader of the 2015 #RhodesMustFall (RMF) protests. For the RMF, see Knudsen and Andersen (2019).

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and unemployment and the legacy of apartheid. The statue of Rhodes is representative of white supremacy as well as of the continuing inequalities along the lines of black and white—the removal of the statue a “call for decolonisation” (van der Wal 2018, 2). For example, the #RMF movement was intertwined with #FeesMustFall and other movements, through which students protested against the inequalities of South African society, which persisted well into the 24-year-old democracy, not least in higher education (Naicker 2016, 52–61). Against this background, not only the strategies of commemoration in the context of the nation-building process but also the transition process and politics of the post-apartheid government are being questioned. South Africa is, therefore, a vivid example available to analyse the difficult relationship between commemorative activities and nation-building in a society burdened by numerous conflicts. Public memory can contribute to the reconciliation of society and create identity. However, for this to happen, the majority of the population must feel adequately integrated into the landscape of memory. Although the government has undertaken efforts to transform the symbolical landscape, it is suggested that this form of commemoration has not achieved the objectives associated with its strategy, as illustrated by the renewed debate in recent years. The underlying assumption is that the conflicts over the politics of memory cannot be separated from the structural legacy of apartheid and the socioeconomic conditions influenced by it. As a result, the symbolic landscape of South Africa is influenced by a narrative that bears no relation to the self-image, identity and personal or collective memory of many people and groups. The shortcomings of the government’s strategy are closely related to its neglect of the needs and expectations of the population: “Present needs shape what people believe and emphasize about the past, and how this affects present beliefs and actions” (Ross 2009, 224). Against the background of the politics of memory during the era of apartheid, this chapter analyses the strategies of commemoration employed in post-apartheid South Africa following the country’s transition to democracy as part of the nationbuilding process. It focuses on the question of how the new government sought to construct a master narrative as a means to realign collective memory with a new national identity. Since 1994, the government has sponsored a wide range of new museums, monuments, memorials, heritage sites etc. and has established commissions to foster the state-promoted narratives in post-apartheid South Africa that deemed appropriate from its perspective. This chapter focuses on a few selected examples that are only a very small part of the symbolic landscape but are considered representative to discuss the problems outlined, thereby allowing central developments to be highlighted.

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1

Commemoration during Apartheid: The White Man’s Country

South Africa’s cultural heritage conservation politics and memorialisation strategies between the creation of the Union of South Africa in 1910 and the demise of apartheid focused solely on the perspective of the white population. As a consequence, it was estimated that by the end of the twentieth century, 97% of all officially declared national monument sites referred to the history and culture of a small minority (Ndletyana and Webb 2017, 101). This does not include numerous other monuments, memorials, statues and other forms of a commemorative culture that were donated or erected through public funding. In apartheid times, the politics of memory served to materially reshape history to rationalise the oppression of the majority of the population (Tommasselli and Mpofu 1997, 3). This was premised on the justification of racial segregation, which portrayed the white population as the natural rulers of the country. Part of this representation, which became the official discourse, was based on the assumption that the indigenous population groups, in particular, were devoid of history and culture and, therefore, scarcely worthy of remembrance. The exclusive approach of the memorialisation strategy in the form of public monuments practised a type of non-reflexive representation that served to legitimise minority rule and the idea of ethnicity as the basis of nationhood. This was closely related to a singular vision of a white nation based on the principles of equality and unity and led by great white men (Crampton 2001, 239; Holmes and Loewing 2016, 8–9). Monuments honouring the Afrikaner2 served political and ideological mobilisation through the religiously and racially dominated discourses of Afrikanerdom (Tommasselli and Mpofu 1997). Typical of this form of commemoration is probably the most prominent example of the symbolic landscape during apartheid, the Voortrekker Monument. Still towering on a hill outside of Pretoria, it is the ultimate icon of Afrikaner nationalism, and regarded the most sacred shrine for ultraconservative Afrikaners, a pre-eminent symbol of apartheid and oppression until today. The monument was erected to commemorate the Voortrekkers who departed the Cape Colony between 1835 and 1854, only months after the first apartheid government was inaugurated (Crampton 2001, 227). It was constructed to foster an Afrikaner identity by way of a heroic interpretation of the 2

Ethnic group descended from predominantly Dutch settlers who arrived at the Cape in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. Originally referred to as Boers (Encyclopaedia Britannica).

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Voortrekkers’ past. In sculptured figures outside and the central frieze in the interior, the leaders of the Voortrekkers, such as Andries Pretorius or Piet Retief, are staged as “national heroes”. The Great Trek from the Cape Colony to escape the British Empire’s colonial rule and conflict with the Zulus is presented as the civilising mission of the Boers. The setting of the scene is based on an ethnic differentiation that makes whites the born masters of the country, characterises blacks as inferior and is, thus, intended to justify apartheid (Coombes 2003, 26–27; Grundlingh 2009, 158). After the introduction of apartheid as an official government programme in 1948, Afrikaners abstained from removing existing monuments of the Anglophone population group. The new government had no interest in offending the British, but in nation-building that embraced both sections of the white population. It was strategic considerations that served political and economic interests that contributed to this stance, as the Afrikaners depended on the support of the British population to implement the concept of apartheid (Marschall 2009, 31). In this sense, the existing monuments fit well into the narrative, as they, too, were entirely dedicated to the justification and legitimisation of white rule in Africa. Examples of the presentation of specific individuals who are representatives of the power of the white man and his special mission are numerous memorials commemorating Cecil Rhodes (1853–1902). Rhodes came to South Africa at the age of 17 and over the next two decades became the world’s most influential mining magnate, controlling the global diamond market with his company De Beers, founded in 1888. He was politically active, having been a member of the Cape Colony Parliament since 1881 and served as Prime Minister of the Cape Colony from 1890 to 1896. A staunch supporter of British imperialism and convinced of the greatness and special mission of the Anglo-Saxon master race, he was committed to the expansion of the British Empire. His ambitions were perhaps most vividly expressed in the foundation of the territories of Northern and Southern Rhodesia (now Zimbabwe and Zambia) and his plans for a rail link from Cairo to Cape Town through British territory alone. He is probably an ideal–typical symbol of British imperialism (Maylam 2002, 138). The memorialisation of Rhodes began soon after his death and took extraordinary forms. He was commemorated not only by numerous monuments, memorials and sculptures but also by rich biographical literature. As Cape Town soon became the centre of the institutionalised memory of Rhodes in South Africa, it was difficult to escape the city’s remembrance of Rhodes (Maylam 2002, 138–139). Memorialisation in his honour was intended to commemorate his achievements as an entrepreneur for the British Empire as well as his visionary ideas for its expansion. Despite some criticism of this form of veneration,

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Rhodes has long been glorified and the narrative around his highly acclaimed achievements lasted for a long time (van der Wal 2018, 4). Although relations between Afrikaner and British South Africans were conflictual, the interests of both groups converged in the exclusion of the majority population to secure white rule, which was based on segregation and exploitation. A core idea of the politics of memory in the apartheid era was the alleged unity and solidarity of the white nation. The idea of unity was aimed at overcoming numerous conflicts between the Afrikaner and British, which had reached their apex during the South African War (Second Boer War, Anglo-Boer War). Commemoration was intended to overcome these differences and to create a common history and identity for a society that had been previously divided. The Voortrekker Monument and the memorialisation of Rhodes served the same purpose of legitimising white rule by singling out certain personalities and their values and achievements, which were considered representative of the white national community. Based on the assumption that whites were chosen to bring progress and culture to South Africa, this narrative is exclusionary because the underlying skills and values are attributed exclusively to whites (Crampton 2001, 237–240). In 1994, the newly elected government was faced with the question of how to overcome the rifts in a previously deeply-divided society. However, the decisive difference was that, at present, all population groups should find themselves in the symbolic landscape of the nation.

2

The “Rainbow Nation”? Commemoration in Post-Apartheid South Africa

The end of apartheid and the new democratic South Africa was celebrated both within the country and internationally. Even parts of the white minority welcomed the change and joined in the celebrations. The negotiated transition to majority rule was praised by many commentators as a “miracle” but the transition from apartheid to majority rule from 1990 to 1994 was a time of dramatic change, which was not peaceful. Since the 1980s, South Africa had been in a state of low-scale civil war. In response to a campaign launched by the African National Congress (ANC) to make the country ungovernable, the government had declared a state of emergency. The increasing conflict between the apartheid regime and the forces of liberation was supplemented and expanded by growing tensions among apartheid’s opponents, especially between the ANC and the Inkatha Freedom Party. Negotiations with the government in the transitional phase since

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1990 had been overshadowed by numerous violent clashes between groups in the liberation movement. The government attempted to take advantage of this by shattering the internal conflicts. South Africa’s recent past was undoubtedly a conspicuously violent period that had traumatic consequences (Coombes 2003, 10). At the end of the apartheid regime, racial sentiments were extremely polarised, but distrust was high and relations were corrosive even among the supposedly natural allies in the fight against apartheid (Gibson 2006, 97). The elections in 1994 and the interim constitution ended a system that had structured nearly every aspect of life for 46 years—more than 300 years of colonisation, segregation, totalitarianism and resistance, which had created different pasts and histories. The problem emerged of shaping a nation “out of multiple and in some ways conflicting identities” (Bremner 2007, 94). In a society where both the beneficiaries and victims had to coexist, it was necessary to find ways to address questions of political and social justice, political stability, social reconstruction and sustainable reconciliation. Post-apartheid South Africa was, and probably still is, like other postcolonial African states after independence, a state that is searching for a nation, although the case of post-apartheid South Africa differs from other postcolonial societies. The end of apartheid was the result of negotiations, not of a revolution or military conflict. The politics of memory in the post-apartheid era are directly related to the manner of transition and the need to be analysed in this context (Marschall 2017, 207–208). In the time of transition between 1990 and 1994, fundamental changes were implemented, for instance, the adoption of a new non-racial constitution that instituted majority rule, representing a significant break from the past. However, the past also had to be dealt with in the context of the politics of memory. Statements from the ranks of the ANC, and especially from Nelson Mandela, repeatedly highlighted the importance of creating a non-racial society based on equal rights for all people: When I talk, therefore, about reconciliation and respect for all the languages and cultures of the country, this is not, as is often claimed, a purely individual position. It is a position that is in the fundamental policy of the ANC, the majority party in the government of national unity. I mention this for you to know that respect for the diversity of our society is deeply rooted in the political organisation that is in power in this country today. (Mandela 1996)

Thus, whites who wanted to remain in South Africa and participate in building a new nation would be fully accepted. The spirit of respect formed the ideological foundation during the presidency of Mandela. His vision of the new South

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Africa was marked by inclusivity and hope, a vision best described in Archbishop Desmond Tutu’s phrase: a ‘rainbow nation’. Unlike in the apartheid era, the intention was precisely not to pursue an exclusive approach that contradicted the long-expressed goal of overcoming the barriers between black and white in a spirit of reconciliation (Ross 2009, 229–230). This was later supplemented during Thabo Mbeki’s tenure by the concept of Africanism, which placed the African advocacy of the struggle for peace and the new government in the foreground. Although the latter approach could also be read in an exclusive form, both were focused on nation-building and the struggle for freedom as a metanarrative, “a teleological narrative, implying coherence and unity, a more or less concerted effort towards liberation led by the ANC and supported by its armed wing Umkhonto we Sizwe (MK)”, which translates as ‘Spear of the Nation’ (Marschall 2009, 13–14). As a motif, the rainbow symbolises a multicultural, non-racial nation that has overcome the racist system of apartheid and is at present on the path to reconciliation as the basis of the new nation, which depends on the peaceful coexistence of its diverse ethnic groups. The conflicts of the past should not be concealed but, rather, presented as part of the shared history. By remembering resistance and the struggle for freedom that paved the way for the new democratic South Africa, new solidarity between historically separated people would be created. The master narrative of the rainbow nation was intended to link collective memory with a new national identity. According to these principles, the ANC has, since 1994, embarked on a project to build the “imagined” community of the nation.

2.1

Reconciliation by Truth?

Probably the most visible attempt to establish a common collective memory in the spirit of reconciliation was the Truth and Reconciliation Commission (TRC). Announced through the Promotion of the National Unity and Reconciliation Act 34 of 1995, the commission was a result of a political compromise in South Africa’s transition to democracy. While the last head of state of the apartheid era, Frederik de Klerk, wanted a general amnesty to avoid undermining the loyalty of the police, military and secret services to a new political system, the opposition demanded legal prosecution of human rights violations in the apartheid era. After protracted negotiations, it was finally agreed to appoint a commission for investigation (Marx 2004, 108–109). The commission’s task was to uncover and come to terms with the human rights violations of the apartheid era, thereby enabling confrontation with this painful past and paving the way for reconciliation: “The

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objectives of the Commission shall be to promote national unity and reconciliation in a spirit of understanding which transcends the conflicts and divisions of the past” (Promotion of National Unity and Reconciliation Act 34 of 1995, Chap. 2, Sect. 3). The commission’s term of office only lasted two years, between April 1996 and July 1998. It operated through three specialised committees—the first dealing with the violations of human rights, the second on amnesty, and the third on reconciliation and reparation. Public hearings of the Human Rights Violations Committee and the Amnesty Committee were held at many venues around South Africa, and Archbishop Desmond Tutu of the Anglican Church presided over the hearings. At the end of the commission’s work, a five-volume interim report was handed over to President Mandela in October 1998 (Marx 2006, 157). Thus, the commission had the difficult task of not only dealing with the problem of “historical truth”, but also finding answers to the questions of amnesty, reparations and reconciliation. As a result, the aim was not primarily to condemn political leaders for crimes against humanity, but to secure a public recognition of the breaching of human rights in the past within the framework of an agreement on political amnesty. The process was also not intended as a one-sided reappraisal of the offences committed by representatives of the apartheid state, but encompassed all population groups. Therefore, the commission accepted reports of human rights violations and considered amnesty applications from representatives of the apartheid state as well as from resistance groups, including the ANC (Marx 2004, 112). The commission was authorised to grant amnesty to those who had committed crimes during the apartheid era, if the crimes were politically motivated and not disproportionate and the person seeking amnesty had fully confessed. The report of its activities and findings included recommendations of measures to prevent future violations of human rights (Promotion of National Unity and Reconciliation Act 34 of 1995, Chap. 2, Sect. 3, No. 1d). Unsurprisingly, to what extent the TRC process was successful and if truth led to reconciliation are highly debatable. This is as important as it is complicated or even intractable. There is no doubt that the commission’s work has contributed to the stabilisation of the young democracy. Considering the situation at the beginning of the 1990s, many feared, if not a civil war, then at least a massive destabilisation of the country characterised by economic collapse and unstable political conditions. However, none of these predictions came true. From this perspective, the process initiated by the TRC has contributed to reconciliation in South Africa. The journalist Max du Preez, for example, stated: “I believe

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that it would have been completely impossible for our society to be where it is today if we’d never had that process” (du Preez 2004, 252). However, the TRC has been heavily criticised for the compromises made in the name of “national unity” and reconciliation. The shortcomings of the TRC cannot be ignored, which is why, here, a few points are briefly addressed.3 First, the commission’s task was narrowly defined as it was primarily supposed to investigate gross human rights violations. The systemic nature of apartheid, institutionalised bureaucratic oppression of the majority population with its daily litany of humiliating harassment, devastating social consequences of several measures such as forced displacement and numerous other aspects were omitted. Furthermore, the work of the TRC was based on the distinction between “perpetrator” and “victim”. This was problematic mainly because the categories were interchangeable and some victims were also perpetrators. Moreover, by concentrating on the “perpetrator–victim” schema, the “evil” was individualised and the systemic distortions of society were ignored (Marx 2002, 50). The reappraisal was limited to the deeds of individuals who were supposed to forgive each other. This made it easier for white South Africans to evade the question of how they had profited from the system and prevented a public debate about complicity in the historical and ideologically-evolved links between the profiteers and perpetrators in the apartheid system (Grunebaum 2018, 7). This not only narrowed the discussion on the legacy of apartheid but also, through the explicit goal of nation-building based on reconciliation, promoted a particular narrative for defining the collective memory of a new nation that excluded other narratives and memories. Negotiations were primarily held on what appeared to be expedient in terms of nation-building, “individual testimonies publicly presented at the TRC were mediated in ways that absorbed them into a homogeneous and disembodied collective narrative of a nation under construction” (Grunebaum 2018, 7).4 Collective memory can only be established if there is agreement on what the common past of perpetrators and victims consists of, i.e. those deeds and events that are significant for the memory of both sides and to which relevance for the culture of remembrance can be attributed that goes beyond the individual victims and perpetrators. Reconciliation plays an important role in this context; 3

For a critical review of the work of the TRC, see Grunebaum (2018) and Marx (2004). The interest in shaping the work of the commission according to the narrative of reconciliation and nation-building is also evident in the fact that the chairpersons steered the testimonies of victims through comments and references; for instance, when they noted that the accounts of a victim were not their personal story, but part of the national narrative (Marx 2004, 116). 4

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without reconciliation, no shared memory was possible (Marx 2006, 167). The problem was thus not so much the TRC’s work itself as it was the limitation of its operations to selected aspects of apartheid, which was presented not only as a necessary but also sufficient reappraisal of the past because it had to subordinate itself to the narrative propagated by the government. Any public debate about the deeper causes and structures of apartheid were circumvented, while the socioeconomic framework conditions that left a large part of the population poor and without influence remained in place in post-apartheid South Africa. Nevertheless, with the TRC, the line was drawn on which the politics of memory were to be oriented. The framing of the TRC was flanked and complemented by other commemorative practices. The new government by making extensive use of its opportunities promoted discourses about the successful overcoming of apartheid and the image of a multicultural society on the path to reconciliation in the sphere of commemoration and heritage construction in South Africa, including museums, monuments, cultural and legacy projects, projects of newspapers and television channels and tourism (Rassool 2000). Nearly all of these memorials were related in some way to the narrative of resistance and freedom struggle. Part of the strategy was to avoid extensive encroachment on the sites of memory from the colonial and apartheid eras. Respect for the existing commemorative monuments, cultural heritage sites and real or perceived identity symbols of the white minority was one of many compromises that were strongly endorsed by President Mandela for the sake of reconciliation and national unity: In the first year of a democratic government, the monuments and symbols of the Afrikaners were certainly not recklessly tampered with. Where name changes did take place, this was done responsibly; never to cause offence. This was still my conviction that this is the spirit in which this matter should be approached. I think you will agree with me that there must be change, but once again this is a matter of negotiation, dialogue and cooperation. (Mandela 1995a)5

The decision in favour of an inclusive form of commemoration, which did not seek to replace but rather to augment existing forms, was an attempt by the new government to gain political capital from the process. It was to be made clear to the white population that their past and the memory of it were not to be ignored, but were to be linked with new approaches. In the rainbow nation, not only the coexistence but also the memory of the common past was to be viewed from a reconciliatory perspective. Therefore, the new government has refrained from 5

All quotations were translated into English by the author of this chapter.

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radical iconoclasm; although some statues were removed, the politics were to preserve colonial and apartheid monuments, while populating the landscape with newly commissioned memorials reminding of the suffering and heroic resistance of black South Africans. The goal was to represent a differentiating representation of the nation’s past, using the memory of the heroes of the freedom struggle as a counterbalance to the statues and memorials from the apartheid era (Holmes and Loewing 2016, 10).

2.2

Whose Nation, Whose History?

An interesting example of counterbalancing is the case of the Voortrekker Monument, which has already been discussed. Despite calls for its destruction, radical transformation and appropriation, the new government made no changes in the monument. Instead, it has been overshadowed by one of the most ambitious heritage projects in the post-apartheid era, the Freedom Park, which was built in Salvokop, purposely sited close to the Voortrekker Monument. Although the juxtaposition was probably not a central aspect in the initial planning, it was later emphasised more and more (Jethro 2013, 378; Marschall 2009, 206). The Freedom Park’s self-proclaimed mission is to “provide a pioneering and empowering heritage destination that challenges visitors to reflect upon our past, improve our present and build on our future as a united nation”, “accommodate all of the country’s experiences and symbols to tell one coherent story” and foster “a South African community spirit, by being a symbol of unity through diversity” (Freedom Park n. d.). The concept dates back to the TRC, which had recommended symbolic reparations for the victims of apartheid in its report. As a national memorial, the project should allow people to mourn the deaths of those killed in conflicts and to celebrate the victory of freedom and democracy (Baines 2009, 334). Built not only for national purposes but also as a tourist attraction aimed at international visitors, Freedom Park was to be the central place symbolically representing the idea of an inclusive, non-racial society nation in the post-apartheid era following the spirit of reconciliation. The site includes three major elements: //hapo, the Freedom Park museum, narrating the story of South Africa divided into seven epochs spanning 3.6 billion years; Isivivane, a symbolic resting place for those who died in the freedom struggle; and S’khumbuto, a memorial that bears witness to numerous conflicts in South African history and pays tribute to those who died in them. Among other elements, S’khumbuto includes the Gallery of Leaders and the Wall of Names. The latter consists of a series of walls nearly

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700 m in length on which the names of 75,000 people are inscribed, who died during eight selected conflicts: Pre-colonial Wars, Genocide, Slavery, the Wars of Resistance, the South African War, World Wars I and II and the Liberation Struggle (Marschall 2009, 217). Freedom Park has been discussed extensively and controversially (Baines 2009; Jacobs 2014; Labuschagne 2012; Marschall 2009); here, only a few particularly controversial aspects are addressed. As Freedom Park is presented as the central site for symbolising the new nation based on inclusion and reconciliation, the question arises as to who is understood as part of this nation and who feels included in the dominant narratives of resistance to oppression, liberation and unity in diversity. As is often the case with monuments and memorials as a means of identity and nation-building, controversy soon arose over the design and content to be conveyed. In addition to white South Africans, South Africans of Indian descent, KhoiSan and “Coloureds” complained that their interests had not been considered in the conception (Marschall 2009, 222). The problematic nature of the conceptualisation and implementation of the project can be witnessed, among other aspects, in the plan to “accommodate all of the country’s experiences and symbols to tell one coherent story” and to honour “those who gave their lives for South Africa’s freedom” using the example of the Wall of Names. As part of the public participation process, the Freedom Park Trust (FPT) called for suggestions for names to be included in the wall. Veterans’ organisations of the South African Defence Force (SADF) submitted the names of comrades who had died in combat during the apartheid era. This was rejected on the grounds that they had defended apartheid, whereas more than 2000 fallen Cuban soldiers who had supported the liberation struggle in Angola and had fought against South African troops, among others, were included. It was the prelude to a sharply fought controversy that reveals, on one hand, the complexity of identity and nation-building in a diverse society such as South Africa and, on the other, the ambivalent and contradictory strategy of the FPT. While there are certainly good reasons for opposing the inclusion of SADF members, there are also good reasons for opposing the inclusion of Boer generals from the South African War and leaders of the Voortrekkers, who were considered for inclusion because of their struggle against British colonialism and imperialism (Marx 2004, 210). After all, the Afrikaner nationalists were only fighting for their freedom and an exclusively white nation based on the oppression and exploitation of the black majority. Alternatively, this was a concession to the Afrikaner community, but conversely, it was questionable because the selection does not seem to have a clear concept and has opportunistic features. The

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freedom struggle of the Boers can also be read as a path to apartheid, which is why the argument that the members of the SADF were excluded because they defended the apartheid is unconvincing. In a speech, President Thabo Mbeki had also stylised the Boers as victims of British imperialism and included them in the community of victims and sufferers, which he understood as the basis of the South African national community. Through such unclear and disputable attributions, it remained open to question who belonged to this community, and thus, to the South African nation (Marx 2002, 56). Because of the refusal to list the SADF, a wall of remembrance was erected at the Voortrekker Monument, thwarting the intended bridge-building between the two monuments (Jacobs 2014, 77). The selection is also contestable in other respects. While many liberal whites will support the exclusion of the SADF, the concept also offers them a few points of appeal. For instance, Helen Suzman, who herself was one of the regime critics, complains that the participation of whites in the freedom struggle is only marginally addressed and their sacrifices are not sufficiently acknowledged (Marschall 2009, 225). Because of this, some felt that their role in and views of the freedom struggle are excluded from the presentation in Freedom Park, which they perceive as rather narrow, narrating only one version of the story. For instance, the historian Hermann Gilliome has labelled the park as an “ANC monument” (Baines 2009, 338). If Freedom Park is “a place where visitors can experience the diversity of our history and remember loved ones who played a role in the country’s history” (Freedom Park n. d.) and an inclusive place of mourning and reconciliation for all South Africans, this poses problems regarding the question of whether the existing design of the Freedom Park is representative of the diversified South African society (Labuschagne 2012, 67). In any case, low visitor numbers indicate that high expectations as an outstanding memorial site with national and international charisma and significance have not been met so far. This could also be due to the exaggerated claims of wanting to do justice to all viewpoints, but ultimately only satisfying a few: “The Freedom Park fracas suggests that the relationship between reconciliation and nation-building is a fraught one. Memorialisation is often a highly charged political process that leads to contestation between competing interpretations of past events” (Baines 2009, 331).

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Honouring Victims and Celebrating National Heroes

While Freedom Park represents a comprehensive approach to memorialising the history of the young nation, numerous statues and memorials related to specific individuals and events have also been erected. The identification of “national heroes” was important not only as a counterweight to the artefacts from the colonial and apartheid era but also as an explicit Africanisation of the commemorative landscape. They were also intended to strengthen the identity of the non-white population by honouring their history and cultural values symbolised by specific individuals. Paying tribute to those who had laid down their lives in the freedom struggle was also a means to foster the narrative of the triumph of the liberation struggle over apartheid. Especially in postcolonial states, where the majority of population was also marginalised for a long time in terms of memory politics, the identification of and with national heroes played an important role in satisfying the need to visualise and recognise one’s own identity. The same can be stated, for example, of social groups such as the women’s movement in Europe and the USA (Marschall 2006, 183). Among the heroes celebrated is Hector Pieterson as part of the Soweto uprising of 16 June 1976. The protests, in which up to 20,000 students from Soweto participated, were triggered by the decision to introduce Afrikaans as the language of instruction for certain school subjects. The police used brutal force and weapons against the protesters. Officially, 176 people were killed, but the number of victims was estimated to be approximately 700. Hector Pieterson was among the first victims. He gained prominence and became the symbolic representation of the uprising through Sam Nzima’s iconic photograph of Mbuyisa Makhubo carrying Pieterson, who had just been hit, accompanied by his sister Antoinette Sithole (Baines 2007a, 286–289). The memorial in honour of Hector Pieterson and other victims was erected in Orlando West in Soweto, near the place where he was shot and to other important places of the protests. It was opened on June 16, 2002. The inscription reads: “In memory of Hector Pieterson and all the other young heroes and heroines of our struggle who laid down their lives for freedom, peace and democracy”. Although the inscription makes no direct reference to the events of 16 June, the memorial is embedded in a larger complex that also includes a museum narrating the story of the uprising and a wall with the names of victims. The uprising has been commemorated before in various forms. During the apartheid, the commemoration of 16 June played an important role in the politicisation and mobilisation of young people in the struggle against apartheid, and similar to the protests, this was neither initiated nor significantly influenced by specific resistance groups, such as the ANC and the Pan African Congress (PAC). By the

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end of the 1980s, however, memory had been split along party-political lines and was a source of contention between liberation movements (Hlongwane 2008). This is also one of the reasons for controversies surrounding the appropriation of Pieterson as a freedom fighter by the post-apartheid state. Disputes with the family of Hector Pieterson, who felt excluded from the question of how their son should be remembered, had already begun before the complex was built. The identification of Hector Pieterson as a freedom fighter is not without a certain irony, because his sister’s testimony before the TRC revealed that he was probably only present by chance and was not one of the protesting students (Baines 2007a, 290). However, the ANC-led government adapted the memory of the Soweto uprising symbolised by the figure of Hector Pieterson to the narrative of triumph over apartheid that it propagated, making its version of history the official memory. The memorial complex was financed by the province of Gauteng and was explicitly planned as a project to promote cultural tourism. This was complemented by the declaration of 16 June, formerly known as “Soweto” or “Heroes’ Day”, as a public holiday under the name “Youth Day”. Originally, it was used by the groups of the resistance movement to commemorate the sacrifices of students during the freedom struggle. When it was renamed, it lost its explicit reference to the events of 16 June, which was probably due to political considerations, because the protests were not associated with the ANC (Baines 2007a, 298). Through the new name, the protest was generalised and the youth movement could be interpreted as a homogeneous force that was fully committed to freedom struggle. This masked the undoubted tensions and conflicts of a political and social nature that were characteristic of the resistance and youth movements. The character of the memory also changed. The ANC considers Youth Day a joyous event to celebrate what had been achieved through sacrifice. This drew criticism from survivors of the uprising, who witnessed the staging as a day of joy as an inappropriate rewriting of their painful experiences. As with #RMF later on, connections were already made at that time between the politics of memory and the socio-economic conditions. Criticism of Youth Day’s intention was also justified by the fact that hardly anything had changed for those who had fought for freedom at the time (Marschall 2009, 122–123). Youth Day also contradicted the memory of the PAC and other groups. In their perception, it is a day of mourning for victims of apartheid, not a day to celebrate. Comparable conflicts also arose at other memorial sites. A similar case, for instance, is the commemoration of the Sharpeville Massacre. On 21 March 1960, following a call by the PAC, several thousand people, including high-ranking PAC officials, protested against the pass laws outside the Sharpeville police station.

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Despite the largely peaceful protest, police fired on the demonstrators, killing 69 people. However, the PAC was not involved in the design of the memorial. The renaming of the day of remembrance from “Sharpeville Day” to “Human Rights Day” was solely a decision of the ANC, which of course provoked sharp criticism from the PAC because it felt excluded from the official interpretation and memorialisation of its own history. Likewise, the local community still feels neglected because nothing has remained of the promises of the developmental impact on the surrounding area of the ambitious project with an attached museum. While elaborate celebrations would be staged on the anniversary itself, they would be forgotten for the remainder of the year (Marschall 2010, 370–373). Controversies have occurred for other prominent memory sites, including Robben Island, one of the largest tourist magnets of South Africa. The island, a UNESCO World Heritage site since 1999, has a unique role to play here, as it presents the international audience with the success story of the freedom struggle and the triumph over apartheid. Thus, the ANC’s version of history also appears to the outside world as the official interpretation of history. At Robben Island and elsewhere, there is a tension between the pronouncements of public officials about the purposes of sites, interests of tourist marketing and ordinary people, particularly victims and active participants in historical events, who cannot necessarily identify with the government-sanctioned version of “their” history. The appropriation or, from their viewpoint, potentially exploitation of their stories becomes all the more problematic when the nation’s narratives merge with ANC’s narratives and marginalise or exclude the experiences and memories of others involved in historical events (Coombes 2003, 99–101; Marschall 2009, 124–125). These examples demonstrate that the ANC’s version was never uncontroversial at any point in time, and so the landscape of memory was always the subject of debate, which is not only conducted along political–ideological lines but also generational, as illustrated by #RMF.

2.4

#RhodesMustFall

On 9 March 2015, Chumani Maxwele, a student of the University of Cape Town (UCT), accompanied by a group of other protesters, threw human faeces onto the statue of Cecil Rhodes on the UCT campus. They demanded that the statue should be dismantled. Maxwele was detained at first, but quickly gained support from a growing number of UCT students and staff who were calling on the university leadership to negotiate with the emerging movement, which gained international attention as #RMF. The protesting students held meetings and occupied university

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buildings, which they refused to leave until the statue was removed. By this time, debates about Rhodes’ role had been overshadowed by demands to dismantle the statue. The university management, which had initially resisted, bowed to the increasing pressure and finally had the statue removed on 9 April (Siebörger 2015). The movement spread to other universities at home and abroad, especially in the UK. The protests in South Africa were boosted by an increase in tuition fees in October of that year, which made it even more difficult for many black students to finance their studies than was already the case. While the movement originally aimed to remove the statue of Rhodes, the focus widened to include issues of tuition fees and the underrepresentation of black students and faculty at universities. #RMF soon developed into a movement whose engagement with the politics of memory led to a fundamental debate on socio-economic conditions. Critical voices that have established a connection between the social framework and the politics of memory have also existed before. Likewise, vandalism was not a new phenomenon in relation to memorial sites. What was new, however, was the extent and duration of this protest, which also received a great deal of attention due to media coverage, not least through the intensive use of social media channels by the protest movement, which is also expressed in its name #Rhodesmustfall (Marschall 2017, 211). Testimonies from members of the movement show the deep dissatisfaction of the younger generation with the way South Africa has developed since the end of apartheid. They refer explicitly to the vision of a united and reconciled nation as propagated by ANC protagonists under the slogan of the rainbow nation which, together with the successful overcoming of apartheid, represents the central narrative of the new government’s politics of memory: This is happening now, because South Africa is coming out of his infant years and into the teenage years of questioning everything. We’re not taking the words of Nelson Mandela at face value. The idea that the 1994 political and economic compromise worked out best for all South Africans, we should be able to question that. (Chikane in Boroughs 2015)

Moreover, the success of the reconciliation process is being questioned. As only limited changes were made to the structures of power outside of politics, whites hardly dealt with the underlying problems, as Brian Kamanzi, a member of #RMF, expressed: In a situation where the majority of the economy is still owned by white South Africans and where the Truth and Reconciliation Commission process was not fully

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implemented, those people didn’t come to deliver testimony. In fact, a large proportion of white South Africans claim not to have understood what was taking place. (Kamanzi in Chowdhury 2019, 308)

These voices indicate that the approach of the rainbow nation has failed for today’s generation in South Africa. In this respect, the protests are, therefore, not only directed against a specific form of commemoration strategy but also intended toward an expression of criticism of the entire societal framework. In the view of movement members, Rhodes’ statue on campus symbolises that the promised change has failed to materialise: “As black students we are disgusted by the fact that this statue still stands here today as it is a symbol of white supremacy. How we can be [sic] living in a time of transformation when this statue still stands and our hall is named after (Leander Starr) Jameson, who was a brutal lieutenant under Rhodes” (Bester 2015). The monuments to Rhodes honour him in his capacity as a representative of the colonial power and its ideology. Thus, Rhodes stands for a general discussion about colonialism, racism and its legacy. For the #RMF movement, the memory of Rhodes and the existing inequalities and injustices in South African society are two sides of the same coin. His continued presence represents the lack of transformation in South Africa post the apartheid. With the fall of Rhodes, the representative of British imperialism and postulator of white supremacy, postcolonial activists want to deconstruct the ideology of colonialism and racism, and thus, send a clear signal for readjustment of the memorial landscape (Chowdhury 2019; Holmes and Loewing 2016, 15–16). According to Kamanzi, a decolonisation of public space is supposed to be accompanied by the decolonisation of memory and life: Rhodes was used emotively as representing the root of the matter, his legacy being the colonial experience for black people in South Africa, and that the black pain you are experiencing here is a direct result of colonial conquest. So, you could say the psychological remedy for the pain is decolonization—hence, the removal of the statue. […] This would create space for something else to develop and for people to live. (Kamanzi in Chowdhury 2019, 294)

The discussions in the context of #RMF reveal that South Africa has entered a phase in which critical assessments of the country’s status are being made some 25 years after the end of apartheid. The analyses from the #RMF background indicate that the narrative of the rainbow nation has limited validity. In light of the events surrounding the #RMF movement, Max du Preez asked in an article entitled “A Rainbow Nation in Pieces” whether it was not time to bury the dream:

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S. Ebert I think we have to accept that the dream of a rainbow nation now lies in pieces at our feet. If this Mandela/Tutu concept could not withstand the test of time, isn’t it time for it to disappear so that we can build something else in its place? Is it time for a paradigm shift? […] It’s as if we haven’t made any progress since 1994 in getting to know each other’s fears, frustrations and anger. (Du Preez 2015)

Indeed, the image cherished in the landscape of memory seems to be becoming more and more of a facade, the flaws of which are becoming increasingly visible. The ANC has squandered its credit as the leader of the dawn of better times through a series of scandals, mismanagement and corruption, and with it, the vision of a united and reconciled nation has lost its power. The politics of memory can play its part in healing the wounds of the past, but it must not be fixated on the past if it is to be productive for the present, as Grunebaum stated as follows: As a fluid, future-oriented labour, memory-work could provide meaningful and regenerative social energies, igniting the social imagination and invigorating new visions, ideas and possibilities for the future. In this view, memory-work offers a resource for hope and meaning-making. However, when memory-work becomes focused on and fixed in the past […], its regenerative social energies become sapped and depleted. (Grunebaum 2018, 10)

3

Conclusion

Democratic South Africa had the difficult task of enabling social coexistence from a conflict-ridden past. In this process, the politics of memory is of great significance. Since the transition period, the ANC-led government has pursued a specific strategy to guide the politics of memory. The decision for an inclusive approach that would preserve existing forms of memory and pave the way for a common identity was expected to support a peaceful transformation by integrating the white minority into the new state; however, this integration was also determined by socio-economic interests. There were compelling political and economic reasons for the new government to signal both domestically and to the international community that it did not intend to make any radical changes. Democratic South Africa was to be perceived as a reliable partner on the political and economic stage. This approach has succeeded in raising symbolic capital, both national and international, which initially led to a high level of trust. The ANC-led government, by using this symbolic capital and its political power, promoted a specific interpretation of the past to shape national identity on behalf of the rainbow nation in such a way that it corresponded both to the discourse of

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reconciliation and the political and macroeconomic interests of the new government and economic elites in South Africa and abroad. In the symbolic landscape, memorials from the apartheid era were not to be erased, but rather, supplemented. Old and newer memorials stand side-by-side without necessarily interacting with each other or forming a coherent picture. As a consequence, many of the symbolic changes that one might have expected did not occur. Although numerous sites of memory were created to foster a national identity, it soon became clear that, considering the numerous disruptions in its history, it was extremely difficult to establish a consensual narrative in South Africa’s ethnically heterogeneous society. As the examples have shown, the narrative of the struggle and the rainbow nation was unsuitable for linking different interpretations of the past. Instead, counter-narratives provide competing constructions of the past and challenge the state’s claims to hegemony in the nation-building project. Following Pierre Nora, one could say that the ANC’s attempt to appropriate memory in its favour was unsuccessful. These controversies about individual projects and politics of memory, in general, not only reveal the continuing fractures in South African society but also counteract the formation of a collective memory and shared national identity. In addition, the ANC-led government has gambled away the symbolic capital it had garnered at the beginning. Despite numerous measures, it has not succeeded in eliminating the historically developed inequalities. The promises of the early years have not been fulfilled; the supposed rainbow nation is still marked by great inequality. Therefore, the dominant narrative could not fulfil its purpose. Because socio-economic conditions have not improved fundamentally for many South Africans even 25 years after the end of apartheid, there is a huge gap between the narratives of memory politics and reality. Many South Africans feel that the promises have not been fulfilled because black people are still disadvantaged in many areas of life. Especially for the younger generation of the born frees, considering the persisting inequalities, the memorialisation of the successful resistance against apartheid appears to be nothing more than an empty phrase that has no connection to their own history and present. As the example of #RMF has demonstrated, memorials are important not only for remembering the past but also for interpreting the present and future of society. What can the narrative of the victorious struggle promise, when the very social and economic hurdles that, according to the narrative, should have been overcome long ago and should have resulted in a glorious common future, still keep on arising in the present? At root, the #RMF movement is an example of the intensified discussion in many countries about how the politics of memory should be pursued. In the process, certain forms of commemoration are often increasingly questioned by

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younger generations. This discussion is also about the perception and interpretation of memorials and statues, i.e. the way individual memories and knowledge of the past are linked with the places of commemoration. What some consider part of their nation’s history is a provocation for others. This is not to say that the politics of memory in democratic South Africa were fundamentally wrong from the beginning and without any success. The past has not been concealed, but forms of reappraisal and confrontation have been made possible and with them debates on how to commemorate the conflictridden history. In a positive sense, the discussions of recent years show that there is democratic control and civil society participation in issues concerning public memory, commemoration and nation-building. However, it also shows the difficulties in a society whose democratic awakening was accompanied by so many previous burdens to find a form of commemoration that not only creates identity but also enables reconciliation. It seems that 25 years after apartheid, it is time to renegotiate what might be the basis of a shared memory and national identity in South Africa.

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Mandela, N. 1995b. Message by President Nelson Mandela on National Reconciliation Day, 16 December. http://www.mandela.gov.za/mandela_speeches/1995b/951216_ reconciliation.htm. Accessed: 6 June 2021. Mandela, N. 1996. Address by President Mandela at the meeting with Afrikaner organisations, Mhlambandlovu – Pretoria, 29 March. http://www.mandela.gov.za/mandela_spee ches/1996/960329_afrikaner.htm. Accessed: 6 June 2021. Marschall, S. 2006. Commemorating “struggle heroes”: constructing a genealogy for the new South Africa. International Journal of Heritage Studies 12: 176–193. https://doi.org/10. 1080/13527250500496136. Marschall, S. 2009. Landscape of memory: commemorative monuments, memorials and public statuary in post-apartheid South Africa. Leiden: Brill. Marschall, S. 2010. The memory of trauma and resistance: public memorialization and democracy in post-apartheid South Africa and beyond. The Journal of South African and American Studies 11: 361–381. https://doi.org/10.1080/17533171.2010.511780. Marschall, S. 2017. Targeting statues: monument “vandalism” as an expression of sociopolitical protest in South Africa. African Studies Review 60, no. 3: 203–219. https://doi.org/ 10.1017/asr.2017.56. Marx, C. 2002. Ubu and Ubuntu: on the dialectics of apartheid and nation building. Politikon. South African Journal of Political Studies 29: 49–69. https://doi.org/10.1080/025893402 20149434. Marx, C. 2004. Von der Versöhnung zur Entsorgung? Die Wahrheitskommission und der Umgang mit der Vergangenheit im „neuen“ Südafrika. Comparativ 14, no. 5–6: 107–123. Marx, C. 2006. Gedenken, Geschichte und Versöhnung in Südafrika und Zimbabwe. Africa Spectrum 41: 155–174. Maylam, P. 2002. Monuments, memorials and the mystique of empire: the immortalisation of Cecil Rhodes in the twentieth century. The Rhodes Commemoration Lecture delivered on the occasion of the centenary of Rhodes’ death, 26 March 2002. African Sociological Review / Revue Africaine de Sociologie 6, no. 1: 138–147. https://doi.org/10.4314/asr. v6i1.23206. Naicker, C. 2016. From Marikana to #feesmustfall: The praxis of popular politics in South Africa. Urbanisation 1: 52–61. https://doi.org/10.1177/2455747116640434. Ndletyana, M., and D. Webb. 2017. Social divisions carved in stone or cenotaphs to a new identity? Policy for memorials, monuments and statues in a democratic South Africa. International Journal of Heritage Studies 23: 97–110. https://doi.org/10.1080/13527258. 2016.1246464. Nora, P. 1989. Between memory and history: les lieux de mémoire. Representations 26: 7– 24. Promotion of National Unity and Reconciliation Act 34 of 1995. https://www.saflii.org/za/ legis/num_act/ponuara1995477/. Accessed: 18 March 2022. Rassool, C. 2000. The rise of heritage and the reconstitution of history in South Africa. Kronos 26, no. 2: 1–21. Ross, M. H. 2009. Cultural contestation in ethnic conflict. Cambridge: University Press. Siebörger, R. 2015. “Rhodes must fall!” Anatomy of a protest. Public History Weekly 3, no. 18. https://doi.org/10.1515/phw-2015-4134. Tommasselli, K., and A. Mpofu 1997. The rearticulation of meaning of national monuments: beyond apartheid. Culture and Policy 8, no. 3: 57–76.

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Van der Wal, E. 2018. Killing Rhodes: decolonization and memorial practices in postapartheid South Africa. Folk Life. Journal of Ethnological Studies 56: 130–146. https:// doi.org/10.1080/04308778.2018.1502408.

Simon Ebert holds a doctorate in history and is Study Programme and Erasmus+ Departmental Coordinator at the Department of History at the University of Bonn.

Peacebuilding in History Teaching Today

Post-Soviet Openness to the West in Russian History Textbooks Tatiana Khripachenko

Abstract

The recent historical education policy for Russian schools intends to establish a single historical master-narrative that offers a uniform interpretation of problematic moments of Russian history. At the same time, it aims at evoking feelings of patriotism. This chapter compares different versions of this narrative by analysing current textbooks on Russia’s post-Soviet history with regard to the question of how they portray the West. With some variations, this master-narrative is based on the idea of Russia’s search for a new identity in the aftermath of the collapse of the Soviet Union. The textbook stories suggest the following interpretation: Before the disintegration of the USSR, Russia had been in isolation from the economically more advanced countries of the West. Under the leadership of Mikhail Gorbachev and Boris Yeltsin, Russia opened itself to the West in the hope that the rejection of communism and the acceptance of Western values would integrate Russia into the international community. However, instead of providing friendly support, Western countries—according to the narrative—used Russia’s compliance for their own ends. With the ascendency of President Vladimir Putin, Russia found its new identity and thenceforth sought to deal with the West on equal terms. On 24 February 2022, Russia invaded Ukraine. Before starting the so called “military operation”, Vladimir Putin recorded a speech in which he referred to the West as an “empire of lies”. In thirty minutes, he recounted the history T. Khripachenko (B) Department of History, University of Bonn, Bonn, Germany e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Fachmedien Wiesbaden GmbH, part of Springer Nature 2023 F. Helfer et al. (eds.), Overcoming Conflict, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-658-39237-6_5

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of the relationship between Russia and NATO since 1991. He alleged that the West took treacherous advantage of Russia’s openness and deliberately sought to destroy it by aggressively advancing its military forces to the country’s borders (Putin 2022). According to him, this process culminated in the West turning Ukraine “anti-Russian”, which was the last straw. Despite the gradually increasing hostility of Russia’s official anti-Western rhetoric even in the time before the invasion, in this speech, completely new characteristics are ascribed to the West. It is portrayed as a monolithic, malevolent, almost demonic power that causes havoc, human deaths, the rise of terrorism and extremism in all places where it establishes its order, in violation of international law. It is noteworthy that this interpretation of the period since 1991 was used to justify the invasion as well as the legitimacy of a new, more authoritarian and repressive political regime within the country. Russia’s attempts to open itself to the West and pursue integration into an international community are here perceived as a fatal mistake. The consequences of this mistake should apparently be corrected by military means. Thus, the official Russian rhetoric demonstrates a drastic transition from the idea of mutually beneficial cooperation despite a difference of values towards the antagonistic idea of a total rejection of each other. In retrospect, many journalists and scholars of Russia try to retrace and comprehend the evolution of the Russian political regime towards its present condition and discuss how “natural” it was. Many of them recognise the significance of officially produced historical narratives in preparation of the invasion (Remnick and Kotkin 2022; Burgis et al. 2022; Burbank 2022; Mijnssen and Plokhy 2022; Schulze-Wessel 2022). In recent years, Vladimir Putin has published several articles in which he expressed his own historical views about the Second World War and the history of Ukraine (Putin 2020a, 2021a, b). He has repeatedly referred to history during his speeches and appearances on television. Developing a “coherent memory politics” was also an important aspect of Russia’s education policy (Putin 2020b). Nevertheless, it would be too simplistic to construct a long-term teleological chain of events. As the narratives of school textbooks demonstrate, the transmission of official interpretations and attitudes towards the West was lagging behind, rather than anticipating, turning points in Russia’s foreign or domestic policy. This article aims to trace the evolution of the official ideology towards the present hostile anti-Western position and consider how this evolution was reflected in the narratives of school textbooks. In 2013, the Ministry of Education introduced a new Cultural-Historical Standard that established a single master-narrative of Russian history and offered a uniform interpretation of its

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most problematic moments. Above all, this policy aimed at establishing government control over the content of history teaching. Along with it came an overarching state program that sought to promote patriotism (Government of the Russian Federation 2010 and 2015; Sanina 2017, 38–52). Considering the relevance of Russia’s post-Soviet history and its interpretation for the most recent events, I will try to analyse how this period has been forged into a historical narrative at school and compare different versions of it currently to be found in history textbooks.

1

The Image of the West in Russian Politics

The end of the Cold War and the dissolution of the Soviet Union led to a renunciation of communist ideology. The communist order no longer seemed a more just alternative to Western society. There was the sentiment that the years of Soviet rule had isolated the country from a trend of international development and that Russian society should pursue integration into the global community. Mikhail Gorbachev’s concept of Russia as a part of a “Common European Home” became an important element of Perestroika. The fascination of an imagined West, formerly limited to underground circles, came to the fore in everyday culture (Yurchak 2005, 158–206). Simultaneously, Russian westernisers revitalised Russia’s traditional identity as Europe’s “disciple”. In their view, Russia now had to master the basics of democracy, pluralism, and market relations in a very short time in order to catch up (Neumann 1999, 163–165). However, the opponents of this view were equally influential in the 1990s. A so-called “patriotic” position was represented by various actors. Some of them, like Gennadii Ziuganov and Maksim Kalashnikov, continued to support communism and idealised the Soviet role as a “great power” that decided upon the fate of the world. The adherents of the ultranationalist society “Pamyat” favoured a particular “Russian idea” with references to pre-revolutionary orthodoxy and autocracy. Many versions of these stances were expressed by various authors in the newspaper Den’, which was later renamed into Zavtra. In their writings, Alexander Solzhenitsyn and Alexander Zinoviev advocated a more complicated position, which generally supported Russia’s spiritual distancing from Europe and the West (Neumann 1999, 170–173). A middle ground in these debates on Russian identity was found with a position based on revived ideas of a Eurasianism that had first emerged in the circles of the Russian emigration in the 1920s and 1930s. The proponents of this view regarded Russia as a unique and distinct

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civilization that, due to its historic experience, geographical location and multinational composition, combined characteristics of East and West (Stent 2007, 414–421; Bassin 2017, 221–222). Alexander Dugin, a contemporary adherent of this theory, combined these ideas with the adaptation of the legacy of the European far-right (Laurelle 2019, 95–124). The beginning of Putin’s presidency was marked by his attempts to integrate Russia into the international community. After the attacks of 11 September 2001, there was the impression that Russia and the USA were united in a common goal, i.e. the fight against terrorism. Yet, all these plans soon were abandoned amid the US American and British 2003 military action in Iraq. An ever-increasing, mutual distrust as well as security concerns played important roles in the deterioration of the relations between Russia and Western countries. In the meantime, Russia’s uneasy relationship with her own imperial legacy led to conflicting interpretations of international developments at the margins of the former Soviet Union (Aust 2019, 94–106). The years 2003–2005 turned out to be a crucial period in Russia’s foreign policy. In relatively quick succession, the former Soviet republics Lithuania, Latvia and Estonia joined NATO. Furthermore, revolutions in Georgia and Ukraine led to the overturn of pro-Russian regimes. Russian authorities interpreted these events as attempts by the West to extend its influence in the post-Soviet space and undermine Russia’s status as a regional power (Sherlock 2007, 167; Trenin 2021, 210–213). In this context, “sovereignty”, “non-interference in internal affairs”, “multipolarity”, and “preserving Russia’s own identity” became key principles of Russian foreign policy (Trenin 2014, 8–9). According to many official ideologues of the time, universal values, human rights and the rule of law, due to their Western origins, primarily served the interests of Western countries, which only pretended to promote universal “guiding principles” for Russia. By recognising such—in their view only allegedly universal—values, these ideologues feared that Russia would accept foreign “rules of the game”. They argued that, instead, Russia should pursue its own interests and strive to undermine Western hegemony by cooperating with other powerful players such as China (Bordachev 2016, 4–6). In these years, the rhetoric of both the Ministry of Foreign Affairs and Putin reflects a view of international politics as an arena for competition between a multitude of egoistic power centres, each of which seeks to maximise their own benefits and consolidate the borders of their sphere of influence (Malinova 2013, 78–80; Lavrov 2008). As a result of the annexation of Crimea in 2014 and continuous military actions in eastern Ukraine, Russia’s relations with Western countries descended

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into confrontation. Mutual hostility became even stronger with Russia’s intervention in the Syrian civil war. The official rhetoric of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs and the President frames the West as an aggressor and a player who breaks the rules. In 2021, the political tensions of Russia with Western countries grew as Russia forged a political ultimatum for the United States and NATO to reconfigure the world security system and reinstate the balance of power to the point of 1997. However, until the events of February 2022, the official rhetoric recognised the mutual benefit of cooperation and interaction with Western countries despite their fundamental difference of values (e.g. Lavrov 2021). Many official texts used to draw a distinction between European countries and the West. In Putin’s declaration announcing the invasion on Ukraine, this distinction was already missing.

2

Textbooks and Politics

Today, textbooks generally reflect the official interpretation of foreign and domestic policy in post-Soviet Russia. But only since 2006 did the official narrative begin to be gradually implemented into school education. That year marked a turning point when compared to earlier approaches to history teaching (Miller 2009, 13). Previously, there were two competing approaches in Russian history teaching: a then still influential Marxist interpretation of history (formatsionnyi podkhod; Shnirel’man 2006) on the one hand, and the so-called civilisational approach (tsivilizatsionnyi podkhod) on the other. The latter can be understood as an expression of the Russian search for identity and was actively promoted by the Ministry of Education as an alternative to Marxist narratives. It is based on Arnold Toynbee’s, Oswald Spengler’s and, to a certain degree, Samuel Huntington’s ideas on the interactions of civilisations with different values (Semennikova 1994; Khachaturian 1996; Zakharova 2002). Accordingly, many pre-2006 textbooks influenced by the civilisational approach used to describe Russia as a distinct civilisation that belongs neither to the West nor the East, but nevertheless incorporates features of both (Khachaturian 1996; Ionov 2000). Entire textbook narratives were constructed around the idea that, at each turning point of its history, the country had to choose between different civilisational alternatives. The central questions of these textbooks, however, referred to Russia’s future. The books invited, albeit in different ways, the students to discuss the course their country should take following the disintegration of the Soviet Union (Ionov 2000, 7). Each student usually had to come up

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with a carefully considered judgment based on their own interpretation of Russian history. In the textbooks, this went hand in hand with the underlying notion of Russia as a large and influential global power with great potential to take over a mediating role between West and East. On the other hand, Marxist approaches in textbooks particularly on twentieth century global history granted less space for free judgment and had a rather sociological view on history. Preserving the elements of Marxism, these books portrayed the most recent historical development as a result of structural processes independent of the will of particular historical actors such as politicians. Embedded in a general narrative of modernisation, the textbooks referred to the capitalist West as the new international standard for development. Russian history was interpreted through the lens of its economic and political integration into an increasingly Westernised global community (e.g. Kreder 1995; Zagladin 2001; Volobuev 2004; Soroko-Tsiupa and Soroko-Tsiupa 2000). Only more recently did textbook authors try to disentangle modernisation and Westernisation, and generally take the idea of a multipolar world more into consideration (e.g. Soroko-Tsiupa and Soroko-Tsiupa 2019). Despite the dominance of these two approaches, history education at Russian schools in the 1990s was nevertheless characterised by certain pluralism. However, this began to change in the early 2000s, when the government made palpable attempts to control history education at school. These transformations partially reflected a more general turn in the official policy, which now publicly promoted a more positive image of Stalin and communism (Sherlock 2011, 94–95). At the same time Russian authorities embarked on the path of politics of memory, an increasingly contested emerging political trend in the countries of Eastern Europe. In the Russian context, this new policy took the form of an increasing patriotic propaganda and plans to introduce a single history textbook. The ministerial ban of Igor Dolutsky’s 2003 anti-Stalinist textbook provoked the first round of discussion (Sherlock 2007, 168–172). Four years later, in 2007, Alexander Danilov and Alexander Filippov published a new manual for teachers and a textbook on the history of the twentieth century. Both apparently were ordered by the Administration of the President (Filippov 2007; Danilov et al. 2007). Alexei Miller argues that these books were supposed to take over a dominant position in school education. To achieve this, the largest publishing house of school literature, Prosveshchenie, printed this textbook in a noticeably larger print run compared with other publishers and their textbooks (Miller 2009, 14; Miller 2015, 213). Also, due to its lower price, this textbook was more affordable for the majority of schools.

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Danilov was an experienced textbook author who had previously been involved in the production of many school textbooks, whereas, interestingly, Filippov at that time was a deputy director of the National Laboratory of Foreign Policy, a non-commercial expert organisation with links to the state administration (Miller 2015, 203). In an interview, Filippov recognised that what made their textbook stand out among the competition was that it highlighted the most recent period from 1991 to 2006 (Lagunina 2008). Other textbooks ended with the year 1991. Yet, maybe even more notably, the textbook described Putin’s presidency in accordance with Viacheslav Surkov’s theory of “sovereign democracy” (Danilov et al. 2007, 319–331; Lagunina 2008). This theory continued to adhere to the idea of Russia’s openness yet emphasised the sovereign origin of Russia’s democratic institutions and its distinctly Russian character. It opposed the idea that democracy may be imposed on Russia from outside. From 2006–2008, these ideas were recognised as part of the official ideology of the main pro-presidential party “United Russia” (Surkov 2006; Pliais 2008, 24–25). The authors’ general understanding of the West also reflected many official assumptions of the time. The very term “the West” (Zapad) was—remarkably— very rarely used in the narrative. According to Olga Malinova, this was typical of Putin’s rhetoric between 2000 and 2007 (Malinova 2013, 78). The textbook narrative instead focused on Russia’s relations with particular countries. It emphasised the idea of partnership and mutual interests. At the same time, the narrative, following the framework of a realist approach, presents international relations as a competitive zero-sum situation in which each power pragmatically pursued its own interests and gains. Already in this book, one can identify some characteristics of the most recent textbook generation that, later, became much more noticeable. Danilov and Filippov oppose the period of the 1990s and the years of Putin’s presidency. They criticise that Russia opened itself to the West and made considerable concessions without having had a clear understanding of its own national interests. They argued that therefore, in the long run, Russia found itself in a dependent position, having lost much of its international influence. By contrast, the West ostensibly interpreted this kindhearted openness as weakness. The leadership of Western countries were perceived as arrogant actors who systematically ignored Russia’s international claims. This situation was seen to having become most evident during the conflicts in Yugoslavia (the crisis in Kosovo) and the war in Chechnya. The narrative concluded that, when Putin came to power, Russia finally recognised its own interests. From that point on, the new President managed to regain Russia’s influence and its status as a great power. The West began to perceive Russia as an equal partner (Danilov et al. 2007, 294–302).

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In this narrative, the sole responsibility for the failures of Russia’s foreign policy lied with its previous leaders, whereas the image of the West remained unchanged. The West was interpreted as a unified, self-interested actor that pursued its own purposes without a specific goal to harm Russia. Rather unexpectedly, the interactions between Russia and the West were only discussed in the context of international relations. The West as well as individual Western countries were hardly mentioned at all in chapters on domestic politics, the economic reforms of the 1990s or the cultural developments of that period. Danilov and Filippov’s 2007 textbook provoked severe criticism from professional historians and, as a result, did not acquire the intended dominant position in school teaching. Historians above all denounced the textbook descriptions of the Katyn tragedy and the famine of 1932–1933, which, in their view, were aggressive reactions by the Russian state to the political interpretations of these events in Poland and Ukraine (Miller 2015, 213). It is noteworthy that, in this textbook, precisely the states of Eastern Europe appeared most unfriendly towards Russia. According to the authors, these countries were to be held accountable for the growing complications in Russia’s relations with the West (Filippov 2007, 392). In 2013, at the meeting of the Council on Inter-Ethnic Relations, Putin then suggested the creation of a single history school textbook. However, subsequent discussions among professional historians and expert organisations led to abandoning the idea in its initial form and to the introduction instead of a unitary Cultural-Historical Standard. This was supposed to define the main aspects that future textbooks should include in their narratives. The Ministry of Education and the Institute of Russian History of the Russian Academy of Sciences assumed the task of drafting this standard. An essential role in its preparation also played the Russian Historical Society, an organisation founded in 2012 and led by the speaker of the State Duma, Sergei Naryshkin. As a third party, the Association of School Teachers of History and Social Sciences, which is linked to the Ministry of Education, actively promoted the new standard and channelled feedback from the professional community of teachers. The Cultural-Historical Standard was finally published in October 2013. Already in 2016, the three major publishing houses on the textbook market launched their new textbook series. Some of these simply were revised editions of earlier textbooks by the same authors, adapted and complemented in accordance with the demands of the new standard (Danilov et al. 2013; Gorinov and Danilov 2016; Volobuev et al. 2013, 2016). Only the publishing house Russkoe Slovo proposed a completely original version (Nikonov and Deviatov 2017). Nonetheless, in all three books, the period after 1991 was described by entirely new texts.

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In the following section, I will analyse the narratives of these three renewed textbooks in detail.

3

The West in Textbook Narratives

3.1

Official Interpretation of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs

Among the three textbooks on twentieth century history, the Prosveshchenie textbook by Mikhail Gorinov and Alexander Danilov (2016) is most widely used. One can assume that it most closely approximates the official view on recent history. The chief editor of this textbook, Anatoly Torkunov, at the time of publication also was director of the Moscow State Institute of International Relations (an elite university subordinate to the Ministry of Foreign Affairs) and, simultaneously, co-head of the Russian Historical Society. In many interviews, he recognised his responsibility in formulating the single historical standard and emphasised the orientation towards some European standards for history education. In particular, he referred to the approach of the Netherlands, which presupposes a single and very strict, government-approved historical canon. Commenting on the textbook itself, he stated that one of the main themes of its narrative is to understand the essence of Russia’s national interests at its various stages of history (Ivoilova 2015). The textbook narrative builds on a realist theory and suggests a dialectical structure of Russian international relations that consists of three stages. Initially, the Soviet Union was hostile towards and isolated from the West. This turned out to be the reason for the country’s stagnation and economic backwardness. By the end of 1980s, this had become visible to everyone. The majority of Western countries developed information technologies, whereas the USSR lagged behind. To overcome its technical backwardness, the USSR then began to open itself to the West. This marked the beginning of the second stage. According to the authors, this is the period in which the USSR gradually lost its identity. The country’s leadership represented by Mikhail Gorbachev and Boris Yeltsyn blindly relied on Western help and made considerable concessions. Nevertheless, the West remained reluctant to help and perceived Russia’s concessions as weakness. The NATO military operation in Yugoslavia marked the peak of Russia’s humiliation. The third stage of the narrative is linked with Putin’s presidency. His administration conducted what is seen as a more reasonable foreign policy. Russia began

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to rely on its own strengths and pursue first and foremost its own interests. Putin’s foreign policy caused sharp criticism and hostility from the West. As a result, the confrontation between Russia and the West intensified, but in the process of this struggle Russia managed to find itself and stabilise its identity again. Russia finally regained its status as a “great power.” The apex of this process was the annexation of Crimea. In its descriptions of the first two stages, the textbooks see the West in a passive position. It is not mentioned in the context of the collapse of the Soviet Union. According to the authors, the disintegration was a result of internal processes, ethnic conflicts, and the failure of authorities to handle the situation. Notably, the chapter on the collapse of the USSR begins with the question: “Was the integration of our country into the international community really possible only after the collapse of the Soviet system and the disintegration of the USSR?”1 (Gorinov and Danilov 2016, 36). The very wording of the question already suggests a negative answer. It also implicitly conveys a regret that the USSR had collapsed. The rhetoric of the initial part of the narrative also reflects the reluctance of the authors to perceive the West as a hostile actor. The text abounds with phrases that portray the West as an entity to which concessions can be made or support can be expected: “the leadership [had to] make concessions to the West”, “Russia’s leadership […] would carry out the program […] relying on the support of the West”, or “Russia’s lag from the West increased” (Gorinov and Danilov 2016, 19, 33). The book depicts the West as a place with either negatively or positively defined features, depending on the attitudes of people in Russia. Glasnost has shown [to Soviets] the West with its values, its unusual way of life, its democratic traditions. For many, this was tantamount to opening a window to the world. At the same time, a large part of the population was imbued with a feeling of hopelessness about their own existence and a feeling of doom. (Gorinov and Danilov 2016, 24)

In this abstract, the authors describe the attitudes of a part of the society without explaining the reasons that caused these attitudes. This gives the impression that negative attitudes were the result of an encounter with the West. An alternative explanation could be that the feeling of hopelessness and doom emerged from finally abandoning the communist project, for which people had sacrificed very much. However, the authors do not accept this latter interpretation because they actually approve of renouncing the communist ideology. But, simultaneously, they 1

All Russian quotations were translated into English by the author of this chapter.

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also do not support those who praised Western values and a Western lifestyle. This becomes clear in the following extract about Western influences on Russian society: An important factor of [Russian] cultural life of the 1990s was the final blurring of boundaries between Russian and World cultures. The people of Russia were getting closer to the latest achievements of World culture and modern information society. However, the opening to the West was not limited to the best aspects of its culture. The country was flooded by low-grade fakes, which played their part in the decline of morals and rise of crime (B ctpany xlynyl potok nizkoppobnyx poddelok, cygpavxix cvoo polb v padenii npavov i pocte ppectypnocti). (Gorinov and Danilov 2016, 61)

Notably, the authors do not say that the West forcibly imposed the worst side of its culture on Russia. Rather, Russian authorities were responsible for opening the country not only for the good, but also for the bad. Remarkably, in the last sentence, the noun “flood” (potok) stands in the position of the subject, whereas the West is only mentioned in passing. It is not the West that must be held accountable for this flood of cheap fake products; Russia is flooded for reasons implied, but largely unmentioned. This reflects the entire approach of the authors of the textbook. The authors objectively describe social processes as the result of mistakes of the Russian leadership, rather than portraying them as conscious malevolence, be it of the Russian leadership or Western actors. Another example of this strategy is the following extract on the problems of Russian economic development: “There were two explanations for the hardships: domestic production continued to fall and capital flight abroad increased—entrepreneurs did not want to keep profits in Russia and exported them abroad” (Gorinov and Danilov 2016, 46). Instead of denouncing the actions of entrepreneurs as egoistic practice, the authors represent them as normal concerns of economic agents who seek to preserve their profits. The blame lies with the Russian leadership. It was their policy that, according to the authors, caused a situation in which “capital flight” became an inevitable consequence. In the sphere of foreign policy, the mistake of the Russian leadership apparently was to misjudge the West. Although not generally hostile towards Russia, the West consistently pursued their own interests. By contrast, Russian leadership “did not have, in the 1990s, a clear understanding of the country’s national interests” (Gorinov and Danilov 2016, 72). As a result, all of Russia’s concessions to Western countries were not followed by reciprocal concessions from the West. After all, “Western leaders were not going to give up their interests for the sake

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of friendship with Russia, [Russian leaders] understood this rather late” (Gorinov and Danilov 2016, 72). After the NATO military operation against Serbia and the extension of the alliance towards the East, Russia’s relationship with the West moved to a new stage. According to the authors, Russian society resented the policy of Western governments in Eastern Europe, and particularly in the countries of the former USSR because Western involvement there was perceived as a direct interference in Russia’s sphere of interests. In contrast to Filippov’s textbook, this interpretation emphasised a sharp conflict of interests between Russia and the West. Filippov had presented this episode as if the West merely, albeit arrogantly, ignored Russia’s interests and its plans of resolving the conflict (Filippov 2007, 414–415). Gorinov and Danilov, however, portray these actions as the West’s aggressive interference in Russia’s legitimate sphere of interests (Gorinov and Danilov 2016, 72–73). From this point on, the rhetoric changes. The West becomes a hostile agent: “A turning point in the relationship between Russia and the West was the Balkan crisis, when the countries of NATO led by the United Stated launched an open aggression against Yugoslavia” (Gorinov and Danilov 2016, 72). Here, the authors specifically name the actor—no longer a general “West” but the “countries of NATO led by the United States”. At the third stage of the narrative, the West starts to play an even more active role. As it follows from the text, during Putin’s presidency, Russia began to realise its national interests and its identity and status as a great power. In the view of the authors, under Putin, Russia conducted a more reasonable economic and foreign policy. Certainly, on the international stage, it still struggled to overcome unipolarity, i.e. the hegemony of the USA and its allies. Now, however, the West actively resisted the new Russian policy and sought to subvert Russia’s international influence through its neighbours, particularly through former republics of the USSR: The joining of Latvia, Lithuania and Estonia to NATO, their territorial and material claims against Russia, their rewriting of shared history, their violation of the rights of the Russian-speaking population, their mockery of the memory of the fallen in the Great Patriotic War could not leave Russian citizens and leaders indifferent. (Gorinov and Danilov 2016, 93)

The authors deny the Baltic countries’ right to determine their own foreign policy because it affects Russia’s interests, for example the status of the Russianspeaking population or the shared memory of the victory in the Second World War. NATO, which has approved the membership of Baltic states, is portrayed as

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an aggressor that intrudes into Russia’s sphere of influence. From a grammatical viewpoint, Baltic states are the actors but, nevertheless, the West bolsters their policy and encourages their allegedly russophobic activity. In the same vein, the authors portray the 2004 political crisis in Ukraine, which resulted in the fall of pro-Russian candidate Viktor Yanukovych: Directly supported from abroad, a change of political leadership took place in a number of CIS states […]. In 2004, a campaign against the recognition of the results of the elections in Ukraine was provoked. With the direct involvement of the Unites States, the European Union and NATO, the outcome of the elections was in effect overturned. (Gorinov and Danilov 2016, 94)

The authors do not mention that the protests in Ukraine condemned the election fraud committed by one of the parties. However, since the pro-European government came to power, Gorinov and Danilov assume that the West promoted it and thereby illegitimately interfered with Russia’s vital interests. Conversely, a paragraph on the annexation of Crimea offers a description of Russia as the passive side. The reader gets the impression that the initiative for the accession came from the Russian-speaking population of Crimea and Ukraine: In the conditions of severe political crisis in Ukraine in the beginning of 2014, nationalists came to power. The legitimate president V. F. Yanukovich was overthrown. It was suggested to repeal the law on the regional status of the Russian language, which implied the actual ban on its use. In response to this situation, the Russian-speaking population of eastern and southern Ukraine sought to defend their rights. As a result of a referendum in Crimea and Sevastopol, 96.77 per cent of the Crimean population and 95.6 per cent of the population of Sevastopol voted for the reunification of Crimea and Sevastopol with Russia. (Gorinov and Danilov 2016, 104)

The authors portray the inclusion of Crimea into the Russian Federation as the symbolic act that concludes Russia’s search for identity. The textbook quotes the following fragment from a speech by President Putin: Everything in Crimea speaks of our shared history and pride. This is the location of ancient Khersones, where Prince Vladimir was baptised. His spiritual feat of adopting Orthodoxy predetermined the overall basis of the culture, civilisation and human values that unite the peoples of Russia, Ukraine and Belarus. (Gorinov and Danilov 2016, 106)

According to this logic, Russia has found a new civilisational foundation with the annexation of Crimea. The newly acquired territory symbolises Russia’s success

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in uniting brotherly peoples under its spiritual authority and restoring the union of East Slavic nations. The West, which had refused to accept this logic and tried to persuade Russia to give up its interests, appears to be more hostile again: The events in Ukraine and the reunification of Crimea with Russia provoked severe reactions of the United States and European Union, who applied sanctions against Russia. However, these measures did not lead to a change of Russia’s sovereign domestic and foreign policy. (Gorinov and Danilov 2016, 105)

Overall, according to the authors, Russia’s search for identity is a process that resulted from its struggle with the West. According to the textbook narrative, the West had been striving towards a unipolar world led by the United States. Russia resisted these attempts, promoted its status as a great power and thus became one of the poles of a multipolar world. Russia’s historical destiny is being connected to its struggle for multipolarity, whereas the West attempted to bring Russia into a position that served the interests of the West. Hence, the West appears to threaten to deprive Russia of its newly acquired identity. What exactly constitutes Russian identity is left open by this narrative. Except for some general terms related to Russia’s spiritual values and distinct civilisational ground, identity is defined mainly negatively in opposition to the West. Without the West, this identity loses its meaning, except for claims for domination of the territory of the former USSR and the self-presentation as a great power that participates in deciding the destiny of the world.

3.2

Other Interpretations

The other two recent textbooks on twentieth century history occupy a rather marginal position in history teaching. After recent changes of the general school curriculum (the study of the twentieth century was extended from one to two years), they are less convenient than Gorinov and Danilov’s textbook. They are less comprehensive because they were designed only for a one year programme. First, a textbook by Viacheslav Nikonov expresses a position closely related to the “United Russia” ideology. In the Russian media, its author is famous for his relation to his grandfather Viacheslav Molotov, former Soviet Minister of Foreign Affairs under Joseph Stalin (e.g. Chalenko 2019). Since 2011, Nikonov had continuously been a representative of the party United Russia in the State Duma and had chaired the parliamentary Education Committee. He is also dean of the Department of State Administration at Moscow State University.

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Second, the authors of another textbook, Oleg Volobuev et al., advocate a more liberal perspective. A professor at Moscow State Regional University, Volobuev has been author of a large number of school and university history textbooks since the early 1980s and is well-respected among school teachers (Khodnev 2019, 55). In contrast to the textbook by Gorinov and Danilov, Nikonov’s textbook offers a more differentiated image of the West. For him, the West is a space that encompasses both malevolent anti-Russian forces and those open for mutual agreements on the basis of common interests. In this narrative, historical development is on both sides driven by specific politicians or elite groups instead of abstract structural processes. Some particular state leaders, nationalistic elites in the former republics of the USSR or international organisations such as the International Monetary Fund are ascribed negative roles. The abovementioned nationalistic groups, for example, are considered hostile because of their alleged alliance with anti-Russian forces in the West. Similarly, the leaders of the Russian opposition to Putin within the country are also accused of being sponsored by Western antiRussian organisations and of causing political instability (Nikonov and Deviatov 2017, 160–172). At the same time, the textbook maintains that there are conservative forces strategically oriented eastwards and that they are interested in cooperation with Russia. They do not aspire to weaken Russia because this might bring disbalance to international relations. Nevertheless, according to Nikonov, the friendly interest of those forces towards Russia is based on pragmatism rather than sympathy. They perceived Russia as an ally without whom a stable international order would be impossible. As in the textbook by Gorinov and Danilov, the narrative is constructed around the idea of Russia’s search for its identity. The books divide Post-Soviet Russian history into the same stages and attest similar mistakes to the Russian leadership in their interaction with Western leaders. An important difference, however, is that, for Gorinov and Danilov, the West played a decisive role in the process of Russia’s finding its own self. For Nikonov, it happened independently from the West. The annexation of Crimea is interpreted as a trigger rather than reason in this search for identity. Finally, the general message of this textbook is that contemporary Russia is a self-content country that presents the West with the choice between either finding a way of cooperation on the ground of mutual interests, or increasing the risk of confrontation. In the latter case, Russia is considered to have sufficient resources to resist. In particular, it may “turn to the East” (Nikonov and Deviatov 2017, 189, 193–194). The textbook by Volobuev et al. considerably departs from the narrative of Russia’s search for identity. It is based on an idealist theory of international

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relations, but there are also some conventional quotations from Putin’s speeches that seem to contradict the general line of the narrative. This textbook focuses on Russia itself. Its authors attempt to create a positive image of the country. The West is generally present only in the background, but its portrayal is also devoid of egoism or any technocratic features typical of some of the textbooks mentioned above. For the authors, Russia is a country ready to develop friendly relations with other states. The narrative suggests that Russia should cooperate with the West on the terms of mutual respect. The authors criticise the Soviet doctrine by arguing that it was based on the idea of confrontation. They stress that contemporary Russia, in contrast, arguably follows a democratic path and is open for peaceful interaction with the West. Nonetheless, Volobuev et al. recognise that there are still many contradictions between Russia and the West. For them, these are the result of mutual misunderstanding. Although the West is not considered hostile, the authors do acknowledge that it sometimes hurts Russia’s sensitive spots. For example, the West did not fully realise that its actions in Yugoslavia and the extension of NATO could cause such resentment in Russia (Volobuev et al. 2016, 335). In this perspective, Russia’s main adversaries supposedly are the elites of new national states on the territory of the former USSR. Remembering past injustices, they might seek to take revenge and eventually drag the West into a confrontation with Russia (Volobuev et al. 2016, 336–338). Therefore, rather than the West itself, nationalistically minded politicians of these countries are identified as the main initiators of NATO’s extension to Eastern Europe. The annexation of Crimea is not at all connected to a process of Russian identity formation in the textbook. It is rather interpreted as an example of a mutual misunderstanding between Russia and leading Western Powers. According to the text, Ukrainian nationalists behaved aggressively against the Crimean civil population, oppressed the Russian population and attempted a ban on the Russian language. Russia then deployed its troops to protect the population of Crimea. When the population later voluntarily voted to become part of Russia, Russian authorities could not refuse this request. Similarly, in Luhansk and Donietsk, the Russian population is said to have risen up against Ukrainian nationalists, who used military force against them. Russia only provided humanitarian support for the population in both regions. The West, therefore, misjudged Russia’s policy by interpreting it as an aggressive act (Volobuev et al. 2016, 342–343). Thus, in the view of Volobuev et al., Crimea and the entire conflict in Ukraine together can be seen as a prime example of how nationalists bring tensions in the relationship between Russia and the West. From this follows that Russia should more

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openly explain its policy to the West. In their view, there should not be serious impediments as cooperation brings mutual benefits (Volobuev et al. 2016, 343).

4

Conclusion

By comparing various versions of the currently predominant, patriotic masternarrative of Russian post-Soviet history, one can identify two competing theories. The more realist theory is best represented by Gorinov and Danilov’s textbook. It portrays the collective West as one of the main centres of power that acts solely in its own self-interest. The second theory, proposed by Nikonov’s textbook, considers the West, in a more differentiated way, as a combination of forces—those which are friendly and those hostile towards Russia. Although outwardly following the canon prescribed by the new Cultural-Historical Standard, the textbook by Volobuev et al. reproduces an earlier conception of Russia’s relationship with the West built on an idea of mutually beneficial cooperation. In all textbooks, the West plays only a peripheral role, whereas the main focus is on Russia and its own interests. In different versions of the master-narrative, the West appears as the “Other”, in contrast to which Russia finds its identity. This idea is expressed most clearly in the textbook by Danilov and Gorinov. In the proposed Hegelian dialectical scheme, the authors describe Russia’s way of finding its “self” in three stages: isolation (Soviet Russia as “the thing in itself”), openness to the West and adoption of its experience (post-Soviet Russia being “the thing for the other”), and finding its identity through learning from the West (contemporary Russia being “the thing for itself”). Although the authors do not explicitly disclose what this new identity consists of in detail, the reader can infer from the text that it mainly refers to Russia’s new pattern of behaviour at the international stage. In line with an “egoistic” West, present-day Russia itself turned into a self-interested actor. Thus, it can be concluded that Russia has learned from the West how to be selfish, how to ignore the opinion of others about itself and how to be confident in its own decisions. This, according to the authors, is an expression of Russia’s maturity. The theory of Viacheslav Nikonov differs from this approach. According to Nikonov, only certain circles in the West refuse to accept the existence of Russia and seek to destroy it as a distinct civilisation. The struggle of pro-Russian and anti-Russian forces takes place across state borders. Ideological variations between the described narratives may be understood as tensions between these two theories. One of them is descriptive and, in a larger sense, reflects the position of the Russian Ministry of Foreign Affairs. The other

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is an expression of the stance that sees textbooks as tools for military-patriotic education. Therefore, this theory assumes a more negative attitude towards what it presumes to be anti-Russian groups in the West. It is also more explicit about the specific values of “Russian civilisation.” Although the narratives in recent textbooks present a negative and even hostile image of the West, they emphasise the importance of mutually beneficial interaction between Russia and Western countries. Official political interpretations of the West after February 2022 implicitly deny any possibility for such cooperation. The authorities portray the West as an existential threat for Russia and proclaim the need to fight this threat both outside and inside the country— the latter by detecting so-called “national traitors.” In Summer 2021, before the beginning of the invasion, Putin created a special Commission on Historical Education led by Vladimir Medinsky. One can expect that within the framework of the new Cultural-Historical Standard new history textbooks will be published. If the present political situation in Russia does not radically change for better, then it is possible to assume that the school narrative of post-Soviet history will be constructed conforming to the idea of metaphysical opposition of Russia and the West.

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Tatiana Khripachenko is a Postdoctoral Fellow at the Department of History at the University of Bonn. She researches Eastern European History in the eponymous section of the Department.

Was Austria the First Victim? Nazism in Austrian History Teaching Christoph Kühberger

Abstract

This chapter deals with the response of Austrian society to National Socialism after 1945. A particular focus is placed on the so-called “victim thesis” according to which Austria is seen as the first victim of aggressive National Socialist expansion policy. This view can be traced back to Austrian diplomatic during the Second World War. At the end of the twentieth century, however, Austrian historians worked out that this view on Austria’s National Socialist past is untenable. Nevertheless, the notion that Austria as a country and thus all citizens were solely “victims” of this policy of aggression has had a long-lasting effect and can still sometimes be found in contemporary arguments. Therefore, this chapter analyses past and present approaches of dealing with Nazism in Austrian history classes and, as a result, proposes a division of Austrian history teaching since 1945 into four periods. Austrian textbooks serve as an empirical basis, but, by gaining a better understanding of this particular case, this chapter seeks to offer insights into processes of overcoming conflicts about a difficult past in school settings at a more general level, beyond the Austrian context. On 1 April 2000, several Global Union space rockets land in Austria. This is a reaction to the newly elected Austrian Prime Minister’s inaugural speech in which he openly voiced his opposition against the Allied occupation. In doing so, he denounced the existing control agreement between Austria and the Allies. C. Kühberger (B) Department of History, University of Salzburg, Salzburg, Austria e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Fachmedien Wiesbaden GmbH, part of Springer Nature 2023 F. Helfer et al. (eds.), Overcoming Conflict, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-658-39237-6_6

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Despite a total number of 2850 meetings held over half a century, the originally promised state treaty had not been achieved. Austrian patience was exhausted. Therefore, the Prime Minister declared Austria free and independent. The payment of occupation costs is stopped, the Austrians’ multilingual identity cards lose their validity and are to be destroyed. The French, English, U.S., and Russian High Commissioners thereupon leave the ceremony and accuse Austria before the “World Protection Commission” at the Global Union. “Stratospheric squadrons” are dispatched immediately, but they stray to Australia instead of Austria. Upon their arrival, heavily armed “world policemen” of the Global Union—who somewhat resemble the so-called Michelin man “Bibendum”—disembark from a futuristic aircraft. Also aboard the spaceship are the infamous president of the “WeltSchuKo” (Commission for World Protection) as well as the representatives of South America, North America, the Islamic Union, Europe, Asia and Africa. In front of an immediately appointed tribunal, the Prime Minister and the Austrian people are accused of disturbing world peace and consequently put on trial for their policy of aggression. This scene is taken from 1. April 2000 (Atomic Cinema 2019; directed by Wolfgang Liebeneiner), a 1952 satirical science fiction feature film commissioned in 1949 by the Austrian federal government itself.1 The aim was to restore the self-confidence of the Austrian population in all occupation zones and to showcase the best of Austrian culture (scenic beauty, cultural monuments, artistic, scientific and intellectual achievements, economy, sport, technology, folk customs and traditions etc.) to other countries (Fremuth-Kronreif 2000, 35). The film stylises the Austrian nation as an innocent, sweet and effeminate victim of international powers. It is apparently at the mercy of the dominant president of the so-called Commission for World Protection (= “Weltschutzkommission”; Hochholdinger-Reiterer 2003, 186). In the course of the film, the Prime Minister defends himself by referring to Austrian history from Maximilian I, the last knight, to the “funny Augustin”, to Emperor Franz Josef I. Thus, nostalgic memories of Austrian art and history, in a somewhat one-sided interpretation, are supposed to prove that, across centuries, Austria had never been an aggressor, but a peaceful people. In the end—and also owing to the effect of some Austrian wine and the Viennese charm of the Prime Minister—he succeeds in convincing the tribunal. In the last scene, Austria is given “absolution” after the Asian envoy of the Global Union finds the “Moscow Declaration” (sic) in the State Archives. He rushes into the hall of the tribunal and interrupts the pronouncement of sentence: 1

For genre discussions see Hochholdinger-Reiterer (2003). The film had its world premiere at the Apollo cinema in Vienna on 19 November 1952 (Reichhold 2018, 33).

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One moment, Excellency, one moment, don’t sentence Austria yet, I have just found an extraordinarily interesting document in the State Archives. In the year one thousand nine hundred and forty-three, the three greatest statesmen of the last century, Roosevelt, Churchill and Stalin, promised the country of Austria freedom and independence. Therefore, the occupation can only be a tragic mistake. (Atomic Cinema 2019, 1:23:00–1:23:34)2

The “Moscow Declaration” (sic), thusly interpreted as “holy legacy”, provides an irrefutable proof for the necessity of independence as it had long before been agreed upon. The President of the Commission for World Protection, played by Hilde Krahl, declares Austria independent and free. 1. April 2000, however, refuses to answer the fundamental question of why Austria was occupied in the first place. The Nazi era as well as the Second World War and the entanglements of the Austrian population and the annexed state are cleverly ignored. The historical situation is hidden behind humorous set pieces as known from the Viennese Volkstheater. The built-in love stories are more important than utopian aspects, tragic moments or imagined fears in postwar Austria (Hochholdinger-Reiterer 2003, 182–183). A pompous propaganda film of the young Second Republic is the result. By setting aside the content of the film and focusing on the filmmakers, it becomes clear why this is the case. Before 1945, some of the filmmakers were directly involved in National Socialism. For example, the director of the film, Wolfgang Liebeneiner (1905–1987), was proposed by Federal Chancellor Leopold Figl despite his engagement in Nazi propaganda productions such as Ich klage an (1941). During the National Socialist regime, he “not only headed the Reichsfachschaft Film, but also the art faculty of the German Filmakademie Babelsberg” (Blimlinger n.d.). In the end, the film must be understood as a product of its time. It exemplifies the typical way of dealing with National Socialism in the early 1950s. As a “state film” commissioned by the Austrian Federal Government, it reveals how authorities created the foundations for an Austrian identity at their discretion. This foundation offers possibilities for interpreting the past that, at other levels, still have an effect today: Austria is presented as a victim. The participation in National Socialism is negated, repressed and excluded from the national master narrative. At the same time, this narrative offers an identity which, via projections of the past, forms a smoothed, less self-reflective cultural and artistic nation. The cinematic events culminate in the rediscovery of the so-called “Moscow Declaration” (sic). Strictly speaking, the document the film refers to is not a 2

All German quotations were translated into English by the author of this chapter.

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“Moscow Declaration” but the Declaration on Austria, one of several supplementary documents to the Moscow Declarations (plural), which were adopted on 30 October 1943. Notably, this document was still produced during the Second World War at the 1943 Moscow Conference of Foreign Ministers. This diplomatic document was considered central by Austrian politics after 1945 (Karner and Tschubarjan 2015) and often served as an argumentative shield on the slippery floors of international politics. The Declaration on Austria contains the following main statement on which Austria’s foreign policy after 1945 is based: The Government of the United Kingdom, the Soviet Union and the United States of America are agreed that Austria, the first free country to fall victim to Hitlerite aggression, shall be liberated from German domination. They regard the annexation imposed upon Austria by Germany on March 15, 1938 as null and void. They consider themselves in no way bound by any changes effected in Austria since that date. They declare that they wish to see reestablished a free and independent Austria, and thereby to open the way for the Austrian people themselves, to find that political and economic security which is the only basis for lasting peace. (Keyserlingk 1988, 207–208)

The fact that Austria was perceived by the Allies as the “first […] victim to Hitlerite aggression” even before the end of the war led to the appropriation of this argument, and thus the so-called “victim myth” (= “Opferthese”), as the officially used foreign policy doctrine. This way, Austria could not only block foreign policy demands (reparations, damages, etc.), but also largely suspend all other issues related to National Socialism and the Holocaust, such as questions of moral responsibility. The main goal of the post-war governments was to regain full sovereignty by overemphasising the victim status with a state treaty (= Staatsvertrag). The government argued that, since there was no state and no Austrian government, there was no shared responsibility for the crimes of the Nazi regime (Uhl 2001, 19–20). This politically successful approach actually led to the signing of the Austrian State Treaty on 15 May 1955 by representatives of the governments of the Soviet Union, Great Britain, the United States, and France (Bundesgesetzblatt für die Republik Österreich 1955). It is clear that the treaty also benefited U.S. interests: These governments signed the agreement with the understanding that the newly independent state of Austria would declare its neutrality, creating a buffer zone between the East and the West. The Austrian State Treaty was the only treaty signed by both the Soviet Union and United States in the decade after the 1947 Paris Peace Treaties, and it marked the only Cold War era withdrawal by the Soviet Union from a territory it occupied. (U.S. Department of State n.d.)

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In the preamble of the 1955 State Treaty, the Allies once more reinforce and, in a way, ratify the victim thesis. The so-called “Anschluss” of 13 March 1938 is referred to in the treaty as annexation. However, the price for Austria’s handling of National Socialism was high. After all, the—ultimately successful—political strategy used at the highest state level in dealing with the Nazi past was applied to all areas of politics and everyday life. According to this officially sanctioned narrative, Austria was a victim. It was mainly Adolf Hitler and definitely not Austria who was to blame. This can be seen above all in the personalising language used in both the 1943 Declaration on Austria and the 1955 Austrian State Treaty (e.g., “Hitler Germany”, “Hitlerite aggression”—see Kühberger 2017a). For Austria, it was useful to employ such linguistic images to delegate the blame to the “Führer” or Germany as a whole as it distracted from the entanglements of parts of its own population. Furthermore, in post-war Austria, stories about the Nazi past which overemphasised the German occupation were preferably told. It was common for Austrians to make the convenient claim that key administrative posts were occupied by Germans after 1938 (Kühberger 2017b, 397–398). Historical research, however, painted a different picture. Ernst Hanisch, for instance, maintains that the “Nazi regime was, in many respects, the rule of Austrians over Austrians, albeit heavily interspersed with citizens of the German Reich. Only one of the eighteen leadership positions in the Vienna Gau was held by a non-Austrian” (1994, 369). Moreover, 81–95% of the Gestapo officers in the Vienna office were Austrian. The proportion of the Austrian population that joined the NSDAP as well the SS and the percentage of the people involved in the Holocaust was higher than that of the German population itself (Hanisch 1994, 370–371; Hanisch 2006, 324; Perz 2006; with a critical view: Rathkolb 2017, 62–66). In addition to the section on the “first victim” in the Declaration on Austria, another section was of particular importance in dealing with National Socialism. It reads thusly: “Austria is reminded, however, that she has a responsibility which she cannot evade for participation in the war on the side of Hitlerite Germany, and that in the final settlement account will inevitably be taken of her own contribution to her liberation” (Keyserlingk 1988, 207–208). This is part of an Allied attempt, dating back to 1943, to gain support for the liberation of the country from the Austrian resistance. The resistance, however, was not a movement but clearly a minority programme (Pelinka 2007). Yet, the formulation in the Declaration on Austria quoted above leads to the consequence that Austrian politics put the Austrian resistance against National Socialism between 1938 and 1945 in a particularly positive light after the war. While originally the Austrian resistance was used as a foreign policy argument in the post-war period, the role of the

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resistance in the Austrian education system over time became more and more disproportionate (Markova 2013, 153–154; Rathkolb 2017, 17–18). If an attempt is made to describe the development of the way in which National Socialism and the Holocaust were dealt with in Austrian history lessons, several overlapping phases can be identified: The two earliest phases are directly linked to the Declaration on Austria. Some teachers, despite its rapid incorporation into the 1946 curriculum, did not address the subject area of National Socialism and the Second World War in the classroom at all. This group of teachers used to stop after the end of the First World War and excused this with a lack of time that did not allow for covering everything (Krammer 2011, 29). Others focused primarily on the victim thesis. Critical historical thinking, however, was not yet the goal of history teaching at that time. Rather, the aim was to acquire and reproduce the contents taught. Often enough, a sort of history education was favoured which sought to confront the pupils with shocking pictures in an attempt to immunise them against fascism (Krammer 2003, 2004). The teaching approaches of these phases have particularly been reflected in the history textbooks. This has also become evident in the results of Philipp Mittnik’s textbook research. Mittnik examined the depiction of Austria’s role in National Socialism in Austrian history textbooks from the early 1980s. Using a qualitative content analysis based on Philipp Mayring (2010, 13–14) with a particular focus on frequency analysis, Mittnik condensed descriptions of National Socialism in Austria from various textbooks. His results carve out four lines of argumentation, which appeared in at least two, but usually in three or more textbooks. They all emphasise Austria’s role as a victim, as can be seen in Mittnik’s list below3 : • Immediately after the annexation (Anschluss), many Austrians were sent to prisons and concentration camps […] • Citing the high number of victims among Austrians […] • Resistance intensified during the course of National Socialist rule despite the high danger […] • Due to the failed Stauffenberg assassination attempt, Austria’s ordeal was extended […] (Mittnik 2017, 230).

3

The pictures used in these textbooks also refer to the victim thesis (Markova 2015).

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Conversely, Mittnik could not find any indication that Austrians were also among the perpetrators in any of the Austrian textbooks of the early 1980s. The reason given is rather the disastrous economic situation in Austria, where an improvement was expected from the Anschluss. National Socialism is described as an evil that came over Austria from outside, but the fact that many Austrians were part of this perpetrator-system is completely omitted in the accounts presented in the textbooks. (Mittnik 2017, 229–230; see also Markova 2011)

In twenty-first century textbooks, a different trend is now emerging. Austria is obviously no longer portrayed as a victim and, thus, the problem of older political interpretation is avoided. Still, however, no special reference is made to the perpetrators from Austria. One of the rare instances where this is different is the textbook Durch die Zeiten: “Time and again, attempts were made to blame Adolf Hitler and his closest associates for all the atrocities committed. However, his reign of terror was only possible due to the support of significant forces from the economy, the military, the civil service and eventually from the people” (Vogel and Wallner 2009, 48; cf. also Ammerer et al. 2010). In most other textbooks, it can be seen that there is a tendency to delegate blame. It is either the undefined “National Socialists” who are collectively responsible for the events and crimes, or Adolf Hitler himself. This form of personalisation of history, in which Adolf Hitler is referred to as the main culprit, follows a typical interpretation of the post-war years that can also be found in Germany. By demonising Hitler and his actions, one could clearly assign guilt to him and a group of leaders. The population could thus be exonerated. Similar developments can be observed in Austria in the years following the turn of the millennium. After the dismission of the previously generally accepted interpretation that Austria was the first victim, new modes of representation were attempted. However, this also had detrimental consequences. A study conducted by the author of this chapter (Kühberger 2019, 243) shows that, based on all Austrian history textbooks for lower secondary schools (n = 13) officially approved for teaching in 2014/15, Adolf Hitler is mentioned on average 1.5 times per textbook page. In other words, in some textbooks in particular, Adolf Hitler appears as the agent of the narrative to a massive extent, giving rise to the impression that he, via his actions, was personally and solely responsible for numerous developments and events. In this way, a number of textbooks ascribe to Hitler a role with elevated importance in driving and effecting actions; such a role, depicted in this manner, must encounter criticism from a historian’s perspective, as well as falling short […] in terms of the teaching of history. (Kühberger 2019, 234; see also Kühberger 2015a)

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Today, one can hardly claim that the victim thesis has disappeared in Austria. It keeps reappearing in very different places—especially in politics. This is, on the one hand, certainly due to the education of those who repeat the victim thesis without reflection even as adults. On the other, it is connected to the longterm effects of Austrian politics, which contributed to the consolidation of a victim status until the 1980s. Until 1986, there was virtually no public debate on the role of Austria and its people at various levels of the Nazi regime. It was only with the presidential candidacy of Kurt Waldheim, a member of the Austrian People’s Party (ÖVP), that critical voices were raised in public. Waldheim’s past during National Socialism used to be of little interest even during his time as secretary-general of the United Nations (1972–1981). In 1985, however, Waldheim drew attention to his role in the Second World War through an autobiographical publication (Waldheim 1985, 29–31.). While the information there remained limited, Waldheim’s statement that he “only did his duty” was of little comfort to the critical public. Then, eight weeks before the election, journalists published research on Waldheim’s entanglements. This was followed in 1988 by a report by an international commission of historians (Bericht der internationalen Historikerkomission 1988, 43–44). Furthermore, Waldheim had been involved in the war in the Balkans in the 1940s. As an officer in the Heeresgruppe E, reports containing brutal details wandered across his desk and were signed off by him (Rathkolb 2005, 388). When Waldheim refused to discuss his biography and his membership in the Reiter-SA, the conflict intensified. As a response, then Federal Chancellor Fred Sinowatz (SPÖ) stated: “The SPÖ does not care if Waldheim was in the SA. So let us take note that Waldheim was not in the SA, but only his horse” (Österreichische Mediathek 1986). This satirical statement was taken up by the “Republican Club” (Zöchmeister and Sauer 2005) and led to the construction and public display of an oversized wooden horse. Today, this wooden horse is displayed in the permanent exhibition of the House of Austrian History as a central point of the Austrian post-war history and the dealing with National Socialism.4 Without going into further detail about the debates and the unambiguous historical documents, it must be pointed out that the Waldheim debate fundamentally changed Austria’s position towards National Socialism and its crimes. Although Waldheim was eventually elected Federal President, from that point on Austria’s self-conception as a victim crumbled rapidly. Thus, together with two other events—Chancellor Franz Vranitzky’s (SPÖ) 1991 statement in parliament 4

A photo of the horse in the exhibition can be found online: https://www.hdgoe.at/wal dheim_affair_1986_en. Accessed: 10 November 2021.

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Table 1 Phases in the teaching of National Socialism and the Holocaust in Austrian history lessons (Kühberger and Neureiter 2017, 21) Phase

Phase name

Timeframe

Characteristics of instruction

Phase 1

Avoidance

Since 1945

– – – – –

Phase 2

Victim-Only

Since 1945

– – – –

Phase 3

Perpetrator/Victim

Since the – Focus on content Waldheim affair – Address topics previously 1986 suppressed – Clarify contexts

Phase 4

Pluralistic Memories

Since the beginning of the twenty-first century (since the new curriculum in 2008)

Avoidance strategy Silence/collective amnesia Taboo subject Externalisation No systematic engagement

Focus on content Transfer of information Instruction Emotionalisation, sometimes shock – Students adopt an identity

– Competence-oriented approach – Case studies – Pluralisation of insights and perspectives – Analysis of history and memory as cultural products – Students find individual identities

on Austria’s responsibility in dealing with the “evil deeds” and the heated debates about the role of the Wehrmacht in the context of the “Wehrmacht Exhibition” (e.g. in Vienna in 1995 or Salzburg in 1998, see Manoschek 2001; Embacher et al. 1999; Zöchmeister and Sauer 2005)—the Waldheim debate also changed the way in which the public and schools dealt with Austrian National Socialist past. This marks the transition to a new phase in representing National Socialism in history lessons: the perpetrator-victim thesis (see Table 1). It was now recognised that there were perpetrators and victims in Austria and that a new interpretation of the past must factor in the complexity of their interactions (Botz 1997; Hanisch 2006). This development gained an enormous momentum thanks to the fiftieth anniversary of the so-called “Anschluss” in 1988 and the accompanying memorial events. Now, new questions were being raised and new topics addressed.

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Personally, I remember this well. In 1988, I attended the 3rd form of a secondary school in Salzburg. The topic was omnipresent in various school subjects and was discussed in many different ways. This, however, created an unprecedented new challenge for schools: an alleged oversaturation of students with topics related to the Nazi regime. On the one hand, an increasingly critical examination of National Socialism became an integral part of the school system. On the other, some teachers—a few of them even to this day—have feared that this subject area might be given too much attention. However, a 2015 survey among students in Salzburg (n = 283) at an average age of 14.3 years showed that they did not think that they were confronted with the topic too often and that they were willing to learn more about it (Kühberger and Neureiter 2017, 59). The study also showed that, currently, young people perceive History Education as the most reliable source of information available to them on this topic. Whereas, in the second half of the twentieth century, family and personal memories and their inscribed interpretations had still competed with history teaching, now, apparently, the historicisation of the subject area has progressed to the point that history teaching has now attained a new, outstanding position (Kühberger 2017b, 405). This has to do with some more recent developments since 2008. From that point on, history teaching in Austria has been transitioning to phase 4 (pluralistic memories). The focus of history teaching in this phase has shifted to the development of historical thinking. Now, it is not anymore the memorisation of information about the past with the help of the textbook or the teacher, but rather an independent examination of historical sources and interpretations of the past that should characterise teaching and learning. The heterogeneous narrative approaches and normative perspectives on the past in society should be considered as well as their empirical basis.5 This can be illustrated by taking a closer look at the current curriculum for history and civic education. Three out of nine modules of history lessons in the 8th form deal with National Socialism and the Holocaust (see Table 2). These modules show that source based historical reconstruction is just as central as the de-construction of representations of the past, for example in the form of monuments, computer games, films, advertising, etc. It is this latter approach that distinguishes the teaching of history in Austria— certainly in a tradition of German-speaking countries (Körber et al. 2007)—from other approaches to history education, for example in the Anglo-American world.

5

The shift from teaching content to teaching historical thinking has been notoriously difficult for teachers (Bernhard and Kühberger 2019).

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Table 2 Modules from the Curriculum for year 8/“History and Civic Education” (BGBl. II No. 113/2016) Module 1 (History Education): Fascism—National Socialism—Political Dictatorships Clarification of competences: – Describing, analysing and interpreting written and pictorial sources; – Understanding the perspective of a source; – Using insights gained from working with sources or working with representations for individual orientation Thematic specification: – Comparing selected aspects of fascist or dictatorial systems in twentieth century Europe and identifying structural characteristics (“Ständestaat/Austro-fascism”), Italian fascism, National Socialism, Stalinism, GDR); – Analysing the fundamental principles, prerequisites and effects of National Socialism in Austria; – Comparing historical day-to-day life in democracy and dictatorship; – Critically examining historical-cultural products (e.g., computer games or feature films) Module 5 (History Education): Holocaust/Shoah, Genocide and Human Rights Clarification of competences: – Describing, analysing and interpreting written and pictorial sources; – Creating personal historical narratives Thematic specification: – Defining and distinguishing forms of anti-Semitism and racism; – Analysing the National Socialist extermination policy (victim groups, industrial mass murder, “euthanasia”) and evaluating its historical and political significance for Austria up to the present; – Analysing and comparing the experiences of victims, perpetrators and followers; – Defining the term genocide, comparing examples of genocides of the twentieth and twenty-first centuries, working out their societal consequences and relating the role and capabilities of the European Court of Human Rights and the UN to them Module 6 (History and civic education): Cultures of History—Cultures of Memory—Memory Policy Specification of competences: – Working out and verifying source references in representations; – Recognising the influence of specific questions on representations; – Making local and regional references Thematic specification: – Analysing the instrumentalisation of history and memory (e.g. history policy, Habsburg myth, tourism, product advertising); – Analysing and contextualising monuments, memorials and contemporary witness reports (video archives); – Analysing public cultures of remembrance of the Holocaust and the Second World War as well as deconstructing historical and political representations of the victim myth

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Conclusion and Outlook

Analysing the way National Socialism and the Holocaust have been discussed in Austrian society is one example of illustrating various lines of conflict in dealing with the past. After the collapse of the “Third Reich”, Austria was reduced to an independent entity. Similar to the situation after the First World War, the new balance of power in Europe and the occupation of Austria created a sentiment of insignificance and powerlessness. The outlook, however, was different in 1945 compared to 1918. No longer was salvation sought in a connection with the German nation. 1945 was the time when German history was renounced. The blame for National Socialism was externalized and put onto the German Reich. The sophisticatedly composed occupation theory of the Austrian external policy provided the basis. Austria had never ceased to exist. The country was, like other countries, occupied by Hitler’s Germany and regained its freedom with the victory over the Nazism […] An Austrian nationalism was created by the ÖVP and the KPÖ which should educate the children at school to be “unconditional Austrians”. (Hanisch 2002, 28, transl. Krammer 2011, 28)

In contrast to Germany, Austria was not subjected to re-education by the Allies. Therefore, there was no particular emphasis on the development of a civic education with a democratic orientation after the war. The education system, hence, focused primarily on building an Austrian identity. A decree issued by the Austrian “State Office for Public Enlightenment, Education and Cultural Affairs” on 3 September 1945, for instance, reads as follows: It is the task of the schools and of all educational resources to show [the Austrian youth] new values and goals instead of the ideals that have proven to be wrong. The arrogant German nationalism should be replaced by an Austrian national and state consciousness, in which loving understanding of everything foreign is included: Instead of the false glory of leadership, the superiority of genuine democracy must be shown [...], and Austrian youth must be led to recognise not only the merits of our national character, such as kindness, politeness and forgiveness, but also their own flaws, such as excessive compliance, sensitivity and affection, and the importance of a strong will to overcome such flaws through firmness, determination and a masculine attitude. The Austrian ideal of humanity [...] includes the idea of social devotion, personal freedom and recognition of the rights of others, as well as the duty to put all resources to the service of the community. (archival source published by Wassermann 1998, 243 qtd. in Krotzer 2015, 14)

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While the curricula in the newly-formed state stipulated a critical emphasis on recent history, large parts of the teaching staff—members of the war generation— refused to comply. This painful chapter of the past was interwoven with their very own biographies and, apparently, they did not want it to become the subject of school lessons. Because of this, many children and adolescents of the post-war generation only learned about the historical context and cruel details of Nazi rule at a much later stage in their lives. The 1968 movement raised some concerns; however, its Austrian offshoot was a “gentle revolution” (Ebner and Vocelka 1998) in comparison to Germany or France. It was only the Waldheim affair (1986) that fundamentally disturbed the political master narrative and, thus, the victim status itself. The controversial case of the former SA member, Wehrmacht soldier, UN Secretary-General, member of the Austrian People’s Party (ÖVP) and later Federal President revealed some memories in Austrian society that used to be suppressed. However, the absurdity of this political spectacle laid the foundation for a new generation of adults born long after the end of the war to begin to reassess cherished old representations of the historical role of Austria and its people. History teaching reflects these developments, according to the thesis presented here. The four phases of dealing with National Socialism that I have outlined come to pass simultaneously in society and history teaching. However, since didactical research on post-war history teaching remains a desideratum and only textbook studies are currently available, future research will have to find even more differentiated approaches to the questions raised here. None of the four phases has come to an end, although observations indicate that, over time, the victim status has been claimed by fewer and fewer Austrians. Nonetheless, it leaves us wondering why, in 2015, the victim thesis was more widely accepted among Salzburg students (39.2%) than in a 2008 representative survey of the entire population (36%; Kühberger 2017a, b, 406). However, it also makes sense to classify the developments of history education in Austria outlined here in the perspective of peacebuilding. This development is in fact directed against political experiences since the First World War, when the newly introduced democracy broke down because of little conciliatory attitudes on the part of the political parties, National Socialism and its racist and bellicose regime was widely accepted without question, and a little self-critical image of the past—not least because of political advantages in world politics—was cultivated after 1945. The acquisition of critical historical thinking that looks at the past from multiple perspectives, evaluates representations or interpretations of the past (de-construction) and also takes present perspectives into account can make a significant contribution (Körber et al. 2007; Kühberger 2015b) to reconciliation.

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It is, however, necessary to recognise the different normative foundations at different times in the past and the present when trying to understand them, in order to avoid forms of self-exaltation. History education designed in this way must inevitably be understood as both civic education and a part of peace education (Sander 2022).

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Markova, I. 2013. Wie Vergangenheit neu erzählt wird: Der Umgang mit der NS-Zeit in österreichischen Schulbüchern. Marburg: Tectum. Markova, I. 2015. Österreichische Schlüsselbilder der NS-Zeit: Visuelle Gedächtnisse und deren Wandel in Geschichtsschulbüchern der Zweiten Republik. In Empirische Geschichtsschulbuchforschung in Österreich, eds. C. Kühberger and P. Mittnik, 119–134. Wien: StudienVerlag. Mayring, P. 2010. Qualitative Inhaltsanalyse: Grundlagen und Techniken. 11th ed. Weinheim: Beltz. Mittnik, P. 2017. Holocaust-Darstellungen in Schulbüchern: Deutsche, österreichische und deutsche Schulbücher im Vergleich. Schwalbach/Ts.: Wochenschau. Österreichische Mediathek. 1986. Mittagsjournal 1986.03.11. – https://www.mediathek.at/ journale/suche/treffer/atom/08FB81D3-07D-001DC-00000C8C-08FAAB64/vol/38071/ pool/BWEB?marker=00_30_40. Accessed: 15 June 2020. Pelinka, A. 2007. Der österreichische Widerstand im Widerspruch der verschiedenen Narrative. Dokumentationsarchiv des österreichischen Widerstandes. https://www.doew.at/ cms/download/arbcb/pelinka_jb07.pdf. Accessed: 9 November 2021. Perz, B. 2006. Der österreichische Anteil an den NS-Verbrechen: Anmerkungen zur Debatte. In Österreichische Nation – Kultur – Exil und Widerstand: In memoriam Felix Kreissler, eds. H. Kramer, K. Liebhart and F. Stadler, 223–234. Vienna: LIT. Rathkolb, O. 2005. Die paradoxe Republik: Österreich 1945 bis 2005. Wien: Paul Zsolnay. Rathkolb, O. 2017. Fiktion “Opfer” Österreich und die langen Schatten des Nationalsozialismus und der Dollfuß-Diktatur. Innsbruck: StudienVerlag. Reichhold, C. 2018. 100 x Österreich: Film. Wien: Amalthea. Sander, W. 2022. Friedenspolitische Bildung. In Handbuch politische Bildung, eds. W. Sander and K. Pohl, 391–399. Frankfurt/M.: Wochenschau. Uhl, H. 2001. Das “erste Opfer”: Der österreichische Opfermythos und seine Transformation in der Zweiten Republik. Österreichische Zeitschrift für Politikwissenschaft 30, no. 1: 19–34. U.S. Department of State (n.d.). Austrian State Treaty, 1955. https://2001-2009.state.gov/r/ pa/ho/time/lw/107185.htm. Accessed: 20 December 2019. Vogel, B., and B. Wallner, eds. 2009. Durch die Zeiten, 4. Klasse. 2nd ed. Wien: Hölzel. Vranitzky, F. 1991. Die Verantwortung Österreichs [Rede]. Austria-Forum. https://austriaforum.org/af/Wissenssammlungen/Essays/Zeitgeschichte/Verantwortung_%C3%96ster reichs. Accessed: 27 December 2019. Waldheim, K. 1985. Im Glaspalast der Weltpolitik. Wien: Econ. Wassermann, H. P. 1998. Und ab heute Kinder sagen wir “Grüß Gott” und nicht mehr “Heil Hitler!”. Nationalsozialismus, öffentliches und veröffentlichtes Geschichtsbewusstsein in Österreich nach 1945 (Dissertation). Universität Graz. Zöchmeister, M., and J. Sauer. 2005. Langes Schweigen – späte Erinnerung: Die Wehrmachtsausstellung in Salzburg. http://www.repclub.at/. Accessed: 29 December 2019.

Christoph Kühberger is Professor of History Didactics and Political Didactics at the Department of History at the University of Salzburg.

Dual Historical Narratives: A Bottom-Up Approach to Teaching History in an Asymmetric Conflict—PRIME Experiences Sami Adwan Abstract

Research on Israeli and Palestinian textbooks found that, on both sides, textbooks include only their views of history whereas other views—especially of those considered rivals—with their history, culture, tradition and legitimacy are completely omitted. They only focus on describing wars and conflict between both rivals and do not address the peaceful co-existence of Jews, Muslims and Christians in Palestine. Maps regularly do not show the geography of the other side; they only use the names of cities and towns recognized in their language and the border between the two political entities is missing in maps on either side. Each presents itself in a favourable light and as doing only good things while accusing the other of wrongdoings. PRIME initiated a bottom-up empirical project that involved Palestinian and Israeli high school history teachers focusing on how to move teaching historical narratives from a self-centred mono-perspective to dual perspectives and how to integrate the other side’s historical narratives in times of conflict. After World War I, the British Army’s military commander General Allenby built a bridge for his troops to cross from Trans-Jordan to Palestine. This bridge has This is the revised, extended and updated version of an article first published as part of an edited volume in the series ifa-Edition Kultur und Außenpolitik of the Institut für Auslandsbeziehungen (Adwan 2011). S. Adwan (B) College of Education, Hebron University, Hebron, Palestine e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Fachmedien Wiesbaden GmbH, part of Springer Nature 2023 F. Helfer et al. (eds.), Overcoming Conflict, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-658-39237-6_7

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been in place ever since—today, it still connects Jordan with the West Bank. Nowadays, it is the only crossing passage for Palestinians who live in the West Bank and wish to travel abroad via Jordan. Over the years, it has been renovated a few times and transformed from the wooden bridge it once was to today’s modern concrete structure. The Israelis call it the “Allenby Bridge” in honour of General Allenby whereas, in Jordan, it is called “King Hussein Bridge” in honour of the late third king of Jordan. And yet, the Palestinians call it “Al-Karamah Bridge”, referring to the Battle of Karameh between the PLO and the Israeli Army which was considered the first and biggest battle of its time. It took place on 21 March 1968 in the town of Al-Karamah between the attacking Israeli army on one side, and the PLO supported by the Jordanian Armed Forces on the other. Both sides claim victory of this confrontation. Until today, this bridge carries three names. Each of them reflects a different historical narrative of and perspective on the bridge and what it represents in this troubled part of the world. This case is an excellent example of how, in the context of conflict, the parties involved often have different narratives to describe the same event, place, or person. The First Palestinian Intifada (1987–1993) lasted until the 1991 Madrid Conference and, respectively, the signing of the Oslo Accords between Israel and the PLO in 1993. The Oslo Accords allowed many Israelis and Palestinians to meet in their mutual pursuit of an end to all forms of enmity and search for ways of peaceful co-existence. Many joint peacebuilding, people-to-people and grassroots projects were established, involving thousands of Palestinians and Israelis with a wide range of social backgrounds. This is why the period between 1993 and 2000 is called the Peace Era. Also, joint Palestine and Israeli NGOs such as Friends of Earth Middle East (FOEME, now known as EcoPeace), the Israeli Palestinian Centre for Research and Information (IPCRI, now known as the Israeli Palestinian Center for Regional Initiatives), the Palestinian and Israeli Environmental Secretariat (PIES), the Bereaved Parents (Parents Circle-Families Forum) and the Peace Research Institute in the Middle East (PRIME) were established. Their common goal was to create peace, understanding and an atmosphere of mutual respect for and recognition of each other’s identity and rights. However, the Palestinian-Israeli conflict was renewed on 27 September 2000. This time, conflict was sparked by the irritating and in many ways challenging visit of then Prime Minister Ariel Sharon to the Muslim holy places in the old city of Jerusalem, the Al-Aqsa Mosque compound; an incident that started what was later called Al-Aqsa Intifada or Second Intifada. As with the beginning of the First Intifada in 1987, of course, each side gives different reasons for the outbreak of the Second Intifada as well. Palestinians were frustrated and claimed that

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Israel went on building and expanding settlements, confiscating lands, destroying homes and imprisoning, killing and injuring Palestinians. They accused Israel of not implementing the remaining phases of the Oslo Accords which determined that an independent Palestinian State was to be established on lands occupied in 1967. On the other side, Israelis were disappointed and claimed that terror attacks still continued, that the intentions of Palestinian leadership could not be trusted and that there was a continuation of Palestinian incitement against Israelis. For example, in February 1994, Baruch Goldstein, an Israeli military doctor, had massacred 29 Palestinians during the morning prayer in Abraham’s Mosque in Hebron. One year later, in November 1995, an Israeli-Jewish right-wing extremist had assassinated then Israeli Prime Minister Yitzhak Rabin—co-signatory of the Oslo Accords. Soon after the start of the Al-Aqsa Intifada, which, other than the First Intifada, was militarised, most joint projects were stopped and only a few joint NGOs, such as IPCRI, Parent Forum and PRIME remained. This engendered disappointment and frustration among peacebuilders on both sides. The continuation of PRIME is mainly thanks to the vision, resilience and dedication of its co-founders and co-directors, the late Dan Bar-On (1938–2008) and myself as well as thanks to the leadership of the Talitha Kumi School and its supporters both in Palestine and Germany. Another major factor was PRIME’s location inside the compound of the Talitha Kumi School, which is accessible for both Palestinians and Israelis without any complications, requirements or permits. Overall, the bottom-up approach (peacebuilding, see Sect. 4) proved to be more successful than the top-down approach (peacemaking) due to the deadlock in the peace negotiations. Nevertheless, one challenge remained: both approaches unfortunately did not realise the importance of each other, did not synchronise their efforts or realise their needs for each other. They continued to follow different agendas, speak different languages and, thus, moving parallel to each other rather than conjointly.

1

Conciliation or Reconciliation

Palestinians, Jews, Muslims and Christians coexisted and lived as neighbours peacefully for a long period of time in Palestine until the late nineteenth century, when the two groups started competing as nationalities for the same lands and resources. Conflicts and clashes erupted between the two sides in the form of massacres, later the wars of 1948, 1967 and 1973, and ultimately the Israeli occupation. Thus, the relationship shifted from coexistence to war and conflict

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as we still witness today. People started seeing each other as enemies. Israelis and Palestinians continued to have relationships but it is now relations between “occupied” and “occupiers”, between “prisoners” and “jailers”. In the Palestinian view, Israelis became settlers, occupiers, jailers, land confiscators, killers and colonisers. The image of Jews in many Palestinians’ minds and hearts has much deteriorated because of the ongoing Israeli occupation and policies which have resulted in a continuation of the Palestinian Nakba (Palestinian Catastrophe) during the last 70 years. In the Israeli perspective, on the other hand, Palestinians are often seen as unorganised and uncivilised peasants or even terrorists, as people who do not have the right to exist and as people who are simply waiting for the right moment to wage a war against Israelis. The Oslo Agreement, with all its upsides and downsides, created a new chance and opened new opportunities for Palestinians and Israelis to meet, talk, and dine—to engage together in different activities and projects. These projects were an attempt to rediscover the human side of the other and develop ideas for reconciliation and peaceful co-existence. Funds were mainly made available from foreign resources (USA, Ford Foundation, GEI and other private sources) and meetings became possible both inside and outside of the region. The Peace Research Institute in the Middle East (PRIME) was born in this atmosphere as a joint Israeli-Palestinian NGO. It was established in 1998 by a group of Israeli and Palestinian intellectuals and researchers. The Peace Research Institute in Frankfurt (PRIF) supported initiating and setting up PRIME with advice, sharing of experiences, and even with seed capital.

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Prior to PRIME Projects

2.1

From Personal to Formal Relationships: The Idea was Born

Here is story of how personal relationships could lead to professional ones: In the late 1970s, Eugene Holst, then Foreign Minister of Norway, was head of UN peacekeeping forces in South Lebanon. He developed personal friendships with both Yasser Arafat († 2004), then head of the PLO, and the commander of the Israeli Army at that time, Yitzhak Rabin († 1995). These personal friendships were considered to have been the seed from which sprouted the secret talks between Palestinian and Israeli delegates in the small Norwegian town of Sarpsborg in the early 1990s, which later led to the 1993 signing of the Oslo Accords in Washington D.C.

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In 1997, I attended a meeting in Annecy, France, along with fifteen other Israelis and fifteen Palestinians who were invited there to try to find common interests and to set up joint projects. During an initial icebreaker activity, we were asked to stand up according to how many children we had—one, two, three and so on up to six. The only two people with six children were Dan Bar-On and myself. From that moment on, we became friends and began cooperating in several research projects. Later, together with other colleagues, the idea of establishing PRIME was born and finally turned into action in 1998. We were appointed co-directors of PRIME and together shouldered the responsibilities in good and bad times from 1998 until Dan Bar-On passed away in September 2008. He was succeeded by Eyal Naveh from Tel Aviv University who had been participating in the Dual Historical Narratives project as an expert on Israeli history from the start.

2.2

Initiating Research on Palestinian and Israeli School Textbooks

Two years after the signing of the Oslo Accords, I was invited to a meeting by the Palestinian Consultancy Group (PCG), a Palestinian NGO located in East Jerusalem. I was surprised to find that Israelis were also invited. I looked around the table and somehow, in my mind, the images reminded me of an interrogation session in which I sat across from an Israeli secret service officer. Both pictures in my head—the past experience and the current dinner situation—became blurred, which very much confused me. During a break, I was approached by an Israeli academic who started asking me a few questions, just like my interrogators used to do. How could I differentiate between her and the Israeli interrogators in my memory? She introduced herself as a teacher at Hebrew University. I then told her my name and that—at that time—I was teaching at Bethlehem University. After a long and difficult discussion, we decided to analyse Israeli and Palestinian school textbooks to see how the conflict and the other side is presented in both of them. At that time, Jordanian and Egyptian textbooks were used in Palestinian schools located in the West Bank and Gaza Strip. We established a connection with the Georg-Eckert-Institut (GEI), a German research institute founded in the 1970s with a focus on German, French and Polish school textbooks. We received all necessary academic, technical and financial support to conduct our research projects. Much was learned from the references available in the GEI library as well as from the experiences of the local staff.

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In 2004, this cooperation resulted in the publication of a book co-authored by Ruth Firer and myself titled The Israeli-Palestinian Conflict in History and Civics Textbooks of Both Nations. The results reflect completely opposing stories about the past, the conflict, and the other side: Each side maintains that “we” are “right”, “they” are “wrong”; “our heroes” are “their terrorists”; “our” presence on the land is “legitimate”, but “theirs” is “illegitimate”; “we” are the “victims” and “they” are the “perpetrators”; “our revolution and resistance” are “their riot, violence, and terrorism” and vice versa. “Our victims” usually are mentioned but not “theirs” and vice versa; “our” cities and towns are present on maps but “theirs” are not represented. Maps do not show the other side as a political entity. Palestinians refer to the land as “Palestine” whereas Israelis call it “Promised Land”. Both sets of textbooks focus on the conflicts, wars and struggles between the two sides but intentionally do not include any examples of the peaceful coexistence between them. This we call “missing”, “omitted”, “avoided” or “neglected” text. Both sides, and very much so, present history in a monolithic, one-sided way. They only include their own side of the story. The Other, when mentioned at all, is referred to as an individual and not as a collective, and is mostly framed as the enemy (Adwan et al. 2016).

3

About PRIME

PRIME is a non-governmental, non-profit organisation established at the Talitha Kumi School, Beit Jala (West Bank), in 1998 by Palestinian and Israeli researchers with the help of the Frankfurt-based PRIF. Its purpose is to pursue coexistence and peacebuilding through joint research and outreach activities. PRIME was established during the 1993–2000 Peace Era between Palestinians and Israelis. It was decided that the location of PRIME should be in a place that is easily accessible to both sides without a need for prior arrangements or security clearances—a place that does not require a special permit to be entered. According to the Oslo Accords, the Palestinian occupied territory from the 1967 Six Day War was divided into three areas: Area A is under Palestinian security and administrative control; Area B is under Palestinian administrative control and under Israeli security control; and area C is under Israeli security and administrative control. Therefore, PRIME’s offices were rented from the Talitha Kumi School located in Beit Jala, a Palestinian school under the administration of the German Lutheran Church. Part of it is located in area A and the other part is located in area C.

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Since the beginning of the Second Intifada in 2000 and up until now, both sides have had free access to the offices of PRIME. PRIME is managed by a joint and equal general assembly, a joint executive committee and dual leadership (one Palestinian and one Israeli director). PRIME strives to create symmetry in its structure, to alleviate the asymmetric reality between Palestinians and Israelis at all levels: political, economic, social and cultural. The organisation was established on the premise that there are two formulas for resolving the Palestinian and Israeli conflict: a “top-down” and a “bottom-up” approach. The top-down formula is employed by politicians and decision makers through negotiation and peace talks in order to reach a political agreement that resolves and ends the conflict. Sometimes, this formula is also called “track I” or “peacemaking”. The bottom-up formula is applied by the people or, more precisely, by NGOs, public institutions and community-based groups on both sides. It works through meetings, projects, research initiatives, gatherings of people of the same profession on common issues and so on. The aim of the bottom-up formula is to create a space for humanisation between the people of both sides, to get rid of animosity and fears and develop a shared agenda. This formula is needed both to prepare and support peace negotiations and to sustain the peace agreement afterwards. Sometimes, this formula is also called “peacebuilding”, “people to people approach (P2P)” or “track II”. PRIME follows the bottom-up formula of peacebuilding through its activities and projects. Of course, however, for both formulas to succeed in their mission, they have to recognise each other’s agenda, synchronise and support each other’s efforts. PRIME was established as a Palestinian-Israeli NGO on this premise. In hindsight, these formulas unfortunately were unable to synchronise their efforts and support each other. While the bottom-up formula continued throughout the 1993 and 2000 Peace Era, almost no progress was made at the political level in this time. This caused much frustration, especially when, in August 2000, the negotiations at Camp David II failed and were followed by the Al-Aqsa Intifada. The relationship between both sides once again were unsettled by clashes, conflict and fear. The majority of peacebuilding projects and most peacebuilding NGOs ceased to exist. Organising meetings between both sides became very difficult. PRIME was one of the very few joint Israeli-Palestinian NGOs that decided to continue its activities after 2000, although it had to modify its work and orientation to adapt to the new reality. PRIME remains committed to

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• reducing existing asymmetries and inequalities between Israelis and Palestinians, • parity, symmetry and equality between the two sides within the institute, • promoting human rights and full academic freedom, • independence from political interests on either side, • demonstrating practical solidarity when its principles are threatened or violated, • and striving for scholarly excellence. PRIME’s objectives are to: • • • • •

build an intellectual infrastructure of peace, influence the public agenda in Israel and Palestine, offer ideas and proposals for overcoming obstacles in peacebuilding, develop positions on long-term regional issues, train a new generation of leaders committed to peaceful coexistence and cooperation, • contribute to the strengthening of civil society, • serve as a reference centre for cooperative activities, • and encourage joint academic activities among PRIME’s members (Peace Research Institute in the Middle East n. d.). To achieve its objectives, PRIME has organised conferences, workshops and meetings for educators, researchers and students. PRIME engages in many research projects and has published several books. We have worked closely with international centres and institutes like the GEI, the American University in Washington, Monmouth University in New Jersey and the Ford Foundation. There was a cooperation agreement between PRIME and Kungälv Municipality in Sweden to implement PRIME’s Dual Narrative textbook in Palestinian, Israeli and Swedish schools. The agreement would have lasted two years and would have included exchange visits of pupils and educators, meetings, workshops and publications in Sweden and in the region. Unfortunately, however, the Israeli and Palestinian Ministries of Education did not approve it.

4

Two Education Systems: Palestinian and Israeli

It is worth mentioning here that Palestinians only started using their own textbooks in 2001. Before this time, as said above, Jordanian and Egyptian textbooks

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were used in Palestinian schools in West Bank and the Gaza Strip. Israeli textbooks were first used there in 1925. The Palestinian Ministry of Education is in charge of developing guidelines for publishing textbooks, commissioning authors, supervising their works and then printing textbooks for all subjects as well as distributing them to all schools at the beginning of each school year. It is a centralised system. For instance, in the academic year 2016/17, the Palestinian Ministry published new textbooks for all subjects through forms 1–5 whereas, in the academic year 2018/19, textbooks through forms 6–12 were published. On the Israeli side, the Ministry of Education publishes guidelines for the authoring of textbooks. Authors produce and submit their books to a special committee in the Ministry. The committee can approve the use of the proposed schoolbook and include it on a list of approved textbooks. Schools are free to choose only from the books shortlisted. Thus, the Israeli system is semi-centralised. In both cases, teachers must only use approved textbooks. However, teachers in both systems may use extra-curricular material to enrich their teaching. In any case, there are big differences between Palestinian and Israeli schools regarding the availability of resources and funds. Also, there is a disparity of teaching approaches, methods of evaluating pupils and conceptions of the teacher’s role. In general, the majority of Palestinian and Israeli teachers are well-trained and qualified to teach their own historical narratives. A serious discussion within the PRIME project emerged on whether to write only one narrative that represented both Israeli and Palestinian history, whether to write a bridging narrative that included selected parts of the narratives of both sides or whether to adopt each narrative and present them side by side with equal space allocation. This latter option was finally decided upon and adopted. The idea of joint history textbooks is new. Even in Europe, discussions on joint textbooks only started around 20 years after World War II. What also needs to be kept in mind is that narratives reflect current political developments and, thus, may change over time.

5

Recommendations for Textbooks

Based on the research results PRIME has gathered over the years, the following recommendations may be suggested. Some of them addressed textbooks in general whereas others focused specifically on language and content both of textbooks and other educational material. The general recommendations were to

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• revise existing textbooks, • eliminate the explicit and implicit animosity as reflected by narratives and stereotypes, • integrate the stories of the other side in one’s own textbooks and stress the shared heritage, • use language free of stereotypes, animosity and hatred, and not glorify one’s own group at the expense of the others, • use names of place and persons that are acceptable for both sides or at least present the differences of the contested names of place and persons, • include maps that show the 1967 borders, the green line and each other’s geopolitical entities and cities/towns, • include the common origin of the two Semitic languages: Arabic and Hebrew. Regarding the content of the textbooks, the recommendations included the following three aspects: • describing periods of peaceful coexistence as a counterweight to periods of clashes and thereby developing an orientation towards a peaceful solution, • describing the suffering and the plight of both sides by examining the Holocaust and the Palestinian Catastrophe, • including more information about the other side’s history, religion, and culture. With regard to the didactic approach, the textbooks should include • more primary resources, • more exercises with practical skills and discussions for peaceful conflict mediation, • more maps and photos, • open questions to encourage critical thinking, • more audio-visual devices. In addition, teachers should be • allowed to use texts written by NGOs and by individuals as supplementary material, which is forbidden as of today, and • be trained (pre-service), re-trained (in-service) or both about the importance of multiperspectivity in order to do justice to different, and sometimes conflicting, historical narratives and to move away from a monolithic way of teaching. Since the publication of the first booklet of Learning each other’s historical narratives (Adwan and Bar-On 2003), more research has been conducted on Palestinian and Israeli textbooks. By now, politicians and by officials at national, regional and

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international meetings discuss this topic. It has become an attractive topic both for the local and international media. However, some big and challenging questions remain: Can both sides change the contents of their textbooks before a political and peaceful solution has been found and an official process of reconciliation has started? Would it be easier for Israel to change its textbooks than for Palestine, since Israel has existed for more than 70 years and feels more secure and stable than the Palestinians who still live under Israeli occupation? What is the role of NGOs and individuals on both sides? What is the role of the international community? Of course, this chapter cannot answer all of these questions. However, when contemplating who should make the first move towards peace, the poem “No Wall High Enough” written by Budd L. Hall very much inspired me: Don’t you get it? Don’t you understand? There are no walls high enough No doors thick enough No guns big enough No tanks strong enough No bombs that can kill enough No means to kill all the enemies Forever Or even for now How does it start? One person puts down their gun Another puts down theirs Four and then 40 put down theirs And they do not wait for the bombers to do the same Like the non-violent movements of the many centuries Someone has to start They create community choirs, healing circles, study each others pains and dreams

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They think of the future for all the children of the world as Raffi* says They write poems together late into the night … a universal Mushaira for life They bake bread together in ovens that they have built Their children marry each other They respect all traditions of peace, no matter the origin, the theologies or the languages They lay in the road in front of tanks and on runways and generally become a nonviolent nuisance in their communities They become raging Grannies They become Veterans for Peace They turn war museums into peace museums They never stop They demand the public monies are used to create National Departments of Peace They sing Oh how they sing (Hall 2006)

Why should an idealist not seize this opportunity and take the first step by modifying textbooks to start a culture of peace? How long do Palestinians and Israelis have to wait for their Gandhi or Mandela?

6

Dual Historical Narratives in History Teaching

6.1

A Bottom-up Approach for Peacebuilding in an Asymmetric Conflict Situation

PRIME has focused on two main projects. Project (1) deals with the oral history of Palestinian Refugees and Jewish immigrants to Palestine. This project includes interviews with about 200 Palestinian refugees and about the same number with Jewish immigrants. Three videos were produced as a result: Haifa in the memory (PRIME n. d. a), Biet Jibreel Kibbutz Ravadim 1948–2005: Palestinians and

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Israelis talking with each other (PRIME n. d. b) and Histoire de l’autre (PRIME 2003).1 Project (2) is about the historical narratives of Palestinian and Israelis in the twentieth century, which are at the centre of the chapter at hand. Three booklets were published for teenage students aged 15–17, and in 2008/2009, these booklets were integrated into one book, which is now available in both Arabic and Hebrew. The English edition entitled Side by Side: parallel histories of Israel-Palestine was published by New Press in 2012 (Adwan et al. 2012). A German translation was published under the title Die Geschichte des Anderen kennen lernen. Israel und Palästina im 20. Jahrhundert (Adwan et al. 2015). The developing process and the experiences of Palestinian and Israeli teachers working together in 2006 were documented in a 45-min video called Learning each other’s historical narratives. Palestinian and Israelis. Unfortunately, both the Palestinian and the Israeli Ministries of Education refused to use the book in their schools, even though part one of the booklet is available in Hebrew, Arabic and English and has been translated into Italian, French, Spanish and German and is being used in some schools in these European countries. The Ministries argued that the textbook could confuse children and that it conveys normality whereas the situation between both sides is not normal, given the conflictual relationship, the occupation, etc. Apparently, there should be no space to introduce the side of the enemy.

6.2

The Dual Narratives Project

Historical narratives are shaped by what people remember from the past and how they put individual memories together to form a meaningful whole. People usually emphasise those parts of history that support and enhance their goals, ideologies and identity as well as give them orientation. At the same time, they overlook, neglect or outright undermine the parts that contradict these views. This occurs intentionally and unintentionally at an individual, group and even national level—especially in the context of conflict and war. Such at first subjective, individual views may perpetuate themselves through formal and informal education in schools, workshops, family stories etc. and thus become part of the dominant historical narrative. Children and pupils are subjected to these selected historical narratives during their upbringing, usually in a one-sided way that presents these narratives as the supposed only “truth”. Thus, a historical narrative is not only an 1

The videos can be viewed in PRIME’s office in Beit Jala.

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interpretation of the past but also shapes the present and provides orientation for the future (Sagy et al. 2002; Sagy and Adwan 2006). If pupils, i.e. future generations, are taught to accept only one side of the story, to believe in it as the only legitimate story and if they do not learn of the existence of other narratives, this is an act of indoctrination and of denying young people their right to know more. Differences then become a source of fear and pupils develop barriers between themselves and others. These barriers facilitate insecurity as well as disrespect and hatred of others, especially of those who have an opposing narrative. Peace cannot be achieved so long as each side does not recognise the other and their narratives. Of course, recognising another narrative does not necessarily mean legitimising it or starting to deconstruct one’s own narrative. However, would the educational systems allow pupils to learn the other side’s narratives? Would they allow their own pupils to critically review their own narrative? I think one of the main reasons why Palestinians and Israelis still cannot achieve peace is because they are not ready to recognise the historical narratives of one another. So far, neither Israelis nor Palestinians include the other’s narratives and cultures in their textbooks as suggested by our research. Our Dual Narratives project, born in late 1998 and still running, targets this deficiency. It primarily aims at introducing Palestinian and Israeli historical narratives to each other’s pupils through publishing booklets that include both narratives. These booklets are not intended to substitute existing history textbooks in schools. Instead, they should be used as supplementary material.

6.3

Textbook Development

The project started with 12 school teachers, six Palestinian and six Israeli. They worked in mixed groups in bi-national and national meetings. After much initial discussion and negotiation, the group decided to start writing the historical narratives of both sides side by side and to focus on twentieth century history. They started with the 1917 Balfour Declaration, the 1948 war and the First Palestinian Intifada, which began in 1987. Since the first booklet (Adwan and Bar-On 2003), these historical narratives are presented side by side on each page with an empty space between them. Next, the contributing teachers worked on narratives of the 1920s, 1930s, and the 1967 Six Day War, the results of which were published as a second booklet two years later (Adwan and Bar-On 2006, see Fig. 1). The third booklet in Arabic and Hebrew (Adwan and Bar-On 2007) includes the narratives of the 1950s, 1970s and 1990s. All three booklets are available in Arabic and Hebrew but the first booklet was translated into other languages as well (English, Italian, French, Spanish).

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Fig. 1 Front cover of the second booklet (Adwan and Bar-On 2006)

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In 2008, as mentioned above, the three booklets were integrated into one book that covers the entire twentieth century in chronological order. The book does not claim to include the Israeli and the Palestinian narratives in full. However, it may represent about 60 per cent of either side’s narratives. The blank space between the two narratives in the book (see Fig. 2) symbolically represents this incompleteness as well as the gap in between both societies. It invites pupils, readers and researchers to compare and contrast views, write annotations and even add their own narratives. The empty space became a didactic, pedagogical and philosophical model of how to look at a historical topic: there is no one history and there is no end to discussions of any historical issue. History as a discipline is always in the process of rediscovery. Meanwhile, new groups of Palestinian and Israeli teachers joined the project. They were trained by the first group of teachers. The working language in the binational meetings was English. Each group presented their narrative to the other group—interruptions or denials were not allowed—and afterwards a discussion followed. Suggestions and recommendations were accepted as far as the group agreed to them. Nevertheless, this process was not free from disagreement and conflict. It often aroused, at times strong, emotions. However, project leaders and teachers from both sides engaged in mediation to resolve such disputes. The results of their collaborative work can be seen below (see Figs. 3 and 4). Some teachers were not able to continue with the project—sometimes because of personal, family-related or psychological, sometimes because of political reasons. When a Palestinian teacher, for example, arrived late to a meeting, he explained: “I am coming here to work with Israelis and make peace but, on my way here, I was stopped at an Israeli check point. I was beaten and humiliated and forced to stand in the sun for two hours. I do not know who I am anymore.” He left the project. Another time, an Israeli teacher announced: “My family is concerned for my safety.” He left the project as well. Given the circumstances, it seems that younger teachers are more willing to continue with the project than older colleagues. Currently, PRIME is planning to work on writing both narratives for the period 2000–2010. Another plan is to prepare educational material on the Holocaust and Palestinian Nakba for schools to be used on both the Palestinian and Israeli side. PRIME is also involved in training more teachers on how to use our books in their schools. A teacher’s guide, based on teachers’ experiences, is being prepared.

Fig. 2 Sample page of the textbook on the 1967 Six Day War: Israeli narrative on the left and Palestinian narrative on the right (Adwan and Bar-On 2006, 68)

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Fig. 3 Front cover of the final textbook in Arabic (Adwan and Bar-On 2009)

7

Response

7.1

Reactions of Palestinian and Israeli Officials

Both the Palestinian and Israeli Ministries of Education refused to use the books in schools. The Israeli Ministry even warned Israeli teachers against using any materials not approved by the Ministry by threatening termination of employment and punishment. In Palestine, much pressure on teachers came from social and political parties. This led to teachers being afraid of being called “normalisers” and to the Palestinian Ministry of Education not approving the books. As a result, teachers were advised to not take the books to schools and instead, if they could, copy the parts they want to use for teaching. If they were not able to do so, they could still use the book for preparation and as a reference when talking about any historical events in order to open up more perspectives in their classes. To give but one example: In a Palestinian history class about

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Fig. 4 Front cover of the final textbook in Hebrew (Adwan and Bar-On 2009)

the Palestinian refugees of 1948, the teacher could discuss, or ask the pupils to discuss, how the Israelis teach about this period of history—and vice versa.

7.2

International Reactions to the Book and the Process

The Dual Historical Narratives model was given a warm welcome from the international community as represented by UNESCO, the United Nations, universities, research institutions, schools and teachers. A delegate of a Macedonian group of educators adapted the model to history teaching in their own country. Una Citta, an Italian newspaper, translated the first booklet (Adwan and Bar-On 2003) into Italian, then Liana Levi translated it into French, and then it was translated into Spanish. PRIME co-directors and teams were and still are invited to give talks and training sessions locally, regionally, and internationally to groups of educators, students, pupils, researchers and civil society leaders. In recent years, three

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Swedish schools have been teaching the Palestinian and Israeli narratives to their pupils. PRIME won seven peace prizes for initiating Dual Narratives to teaching history and this has led to discussion about a multi-narrative approach to teaching history. This model initiated discussions about challenging the one-sided mono-perspective on history and about moving it towards a more pluralistic representation of the past. That being said, Dual Narratives have become part of UN documents about history teaching and history textbooks. When describing the Dual Narrative project, a UNESCO official said: “This is the most unique project I’ve ever seen.”

7.3

Implementation in Classrooms: Reactions of Pupils and Their Parents

Some Palestinian and Israeli teachers were able to introduce PRIME materials as supplementary material in their lessons. They initiated role-plays, discussion groups, court trials, field research and drawings. Some teachers first taught their own narratives and then those of the other side. Even some French, Spanish, Italian and German teachers use the booklets because they have the impression that, at least to some degree, there is consensus on its content across borders. This way, they include both sides in class without taking side. Spanish teachers reported that, after they had completed a teaching sequence that included material taken from the first booklet as well as role-plays and then returned to more traditional teaching methods, their pupils challenged them: “Why do we not continue teaching our own history in the same way?” The responses of Palestinian and Israeli pupils to the material vary. From my own personal experience, approximately one third rejects learning what they call “the enemy narrative” and only accepts their own narrative as legitimate. According to them, “our narrative is right but theirs is propaganda and twists history.” This group questions the sincerity of their teachers and asks why they are teaching the other side’s narratives at all. Sometimes, they would ask their teachers whether they believed in the narratives. Some doubt whether teachers on the other side are also teaching counter narratives to their pupils. The reactions of about another third of the pupils are very positive. Some pupils want to know more about the other side and show much interest in meeting people from there. Others say they now know why the other side is behaving the way they do and now they realise why overcoming the differences and building peace takes so

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long. The last third of the pupils remains ambivalent or indifferent towards the approach. Something similar can be said about the reactions of the parents, some of whom strongly opposed PRIME’s teaching materials whereas others remained ambivalent or were in favour of the Dual Narratives approach—the latter group even reported that they engaged in fruitful discussions with their children about what the children had learned.

8

Challenges and Achievements: Peacebuilding Projects Under Fire

Carrying out peacebuilding projects or initiatives in a situation of open conflict is neither an easy nor a linear process. One day you may move forward two or three steps and the next day retreat five steps. It requires patience, dedication, resilience and flexibility. It is necessary to consider your emotions and feelings during the process and then balance them with the work that needs to be done. Changing the agenda and the program of an event at short notice should be a challenge for those involved. It is important to find a balance between processes and products. Everything usually takes up more time and energy than you were prepared for. Leaders in peacebuilding programmes must be charismatic in their approach; they have to empower people and let them lead a project and make it theirs. Finding resources for energising participants is vital since results are not achieved in the short term—and may not be sustained for a long time. You have to keep answering one particularly difficult question: Why should we start this project now? Why not wait until a peace agreement has been signed and then do the project? Another challenging question is: What did you achieve besides meetings and publishing booklets? The reality out there is not the same! It is hard to invite or convince people to engage in peacebuilding projects and widen the peace initiative. There is no official support or endorsement; therefore, you always have to work through personal connections. There is no synchronisation of top-down and bottom-up formulas, which makes such projects less effective than they could be. Donors want a project completed on time and according to contract, but this is often a big challenge. The experience, however, that you gain through working on such projects is valuable for other areas of conflict as well, especially in post-conflict situations. The Dual Narratives project is considered one way of disarming history. It is an educational reform project that could be used in other parts of the world, too. It

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helped to advance teaching from the idea of an inoculation of knowledge towards a hermeneutic approach through which pupils develop the ability to engage with knowledge. The project thus no longer sees pupils as passive learners but rather as active participants. Teachers become facilitators rather than the main source of a unilateral, supposed “truth”. Education reforms as tools for peacebuilding are actually needed all over the world, not only in Palestine and in Israel. Schools should prepare future generations to have open minds in order to enable them lead a world free from occupation, injustice, discrimination, fear and hate. Finally, it is important to recognise that different narratives exist in different times and places, in both the past and present. These differences must not be overlooked or neglected when trying to resolve a conflict. Moreover, that narratives are subject to change should not be seen as a threat but an asset. Bringing about such change, however, comes with several challenges: • rejection by ministries and officials: not accepting the material, not allowing teachers to use the material, not allowing them to participate in workshops; • dealing with emotions when teaching about historical conflicts (e.g. in the case of the 1948 war); • pressure from some parents, community leaders and political parties against the approach; • peacebuilding under fire: teachers do not feel safe and may resign, the process is slow and long-term, there are few immediate successes and many setbacks; • teachers face criticism, accusations and even threats by members of their own society: they cannot be protected from loss of job and even physical harm; • the continuing conflict between personal, group, community and national narratives; • exposing one’s own side to the wrongdoings of their own group: opening history to other perspectives includes addressing uncomfortable truths as well as the economical, moral, social, psychological and political responsibilities that come along with them; • other challenges that might arise in the process and that are hard to predict but that we nevertheless need to prepare for as best we can. The Dual Narrative approach in teaching historical narratives is a starting point to moving towards history teaching with multi-perspective views. In each society, many historical narratives exist parallel to each other. The reason for this programme’s focus on only dual narratives is that, when two societies such as the Palestinian and Israeli engage in conflict, each side assumes the other has just

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one narrative and they feel more or less comfortable with it. Reality, however, is far more complex. For this reason, education programmes should be further developed towards a teaching approach that takes multiple perspectives about the same events into account.

9

Conflicting Narratives—Case Examples

The following nine examples briefly illustrate how Israelis and Palestinians narrate the same historical topics differently.

9.1

The Balfour Declaration (1917)

Israeli Narrative: For the first time, a powerful country (the UK) officially and formally recognises the legitimate right of the Jews to return to their promised land (Palestine) and establish their home on it. This used to be more important in the Israeli Narrative but not any more—now there the prevailing perception is that the Jews did it all by themselves. Palestinian Narrative: The Declaration is an illegitimate promise given by those who do not own Palestine (the British government) to those who, at that time, did not have a land. It is a joint interest between an Empire and the—as seen by some Palestinians—racist Zionist movement that until today denies Palestinians their right to establish their country. 2 November is still a day of mourning and memorial in Palestinian society.

9.2

The British Mandate (1923–1948)

Israeli Narrative: At first, the British were in favour of Jewish interests and supported them. Later on, however, they sided with Arabs against Jews and fought against their military groups and leaders. Therefore, many Jews refer to the 1931 MacDonald Letter, which limited Jewish settlement in Palestine, as the “Black Paper”. Palestinian Narrative: To fulfil the Balfour Promise, Herbert Samuel—the first commissioner in Palestine, a Zionist Jew—fought against the growing Palestinian national movement, supported Jewish immigration to Palestine, stole Palestinian

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lands and gave it illegally to Jews (Campbell-Bannerman report 1907, Sykes-Picot Agreement 1916, San Remo Resolution 1920).

9.3

Maps and Places

Israeli Narrative: Contested places are called The Land (Ha’aretz), the Promised Land (between the Mediterranean Sea and Jordan River), Judea and Samaria (land liberated in 1967). Maps do not show Palestinian territories; they only show Jewish cities and towns. There is no green line on the maps and no Palestinian Authority. Palestinian Narrative: These lands are called Palestine, Islamic Waqf (between the Mediterranean Sea and Jordan River), West Bank and Gaza Strip (occupied in the 1967 Six Day War), 1948 Palestine (occupied in the 1948 war). Very few maps show Israel and Israeli cities and towns (Adwan et al. 2016, 211–214).

9.4

The 1948 War

Israeli Narrative: Few fought in defence against superior numbers and still were victorious. Many see the result of the war of independence as a dream come true because it not only brought victory, but also a safe place for Jews, joy and happiness. Palestinian Narrative: The war is referred to as Nakba, i.e. the Catastrophe, which created refugees and a diaspora who suffered defeat, colonisation, destruction. It meant the death of their dream of having their own country (Adwan et al. 2012, 109; 136).

9.5

Palestinian Refugees

Israeli Narrative: Palestinians fled despite us asking them to stay. Therefore, it is their own and their leaders’ fault; they are to be blamed. They are not allowed to return (no implementation of the 194 UN Security Council Decision), except for very few and elderly (Israeli Military Unit 101, a border unit to stop 1948 Palestinian refugees from returning to their homes that came under Israeli control, see also Adwan 1996).

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Palestinian Narrative: Palestinians were expelled: following the 1948 Plan Dalet, Jews organised a military plan to evacuate Palestinians from their towns, especially those located around the road leading to Jerusalem from the west. Palestinians were uprooted, pushed out from their lands, massacred (such as the population of Deir Yassin in 1948). They have the right to return to their original lands and be compensated according to the UN Resolution 194.

9.6

The Role of the Arab Countries

Israeli Narrative: In an existential challenge and only depending on itself, the Israeli army defended the country by fighting and defeating the armies of the five Arab states who had not accepted the partition decision (UN Resolution 181) and who had started the war. Palestinian Narrative: The Arab countries resisted a conspiracy that had been around since the First World War and only defended their lands and people by not accepting the UN Resolution 181. However, the Arab armies came too late with too little military, firepower and plans. They only served their political interests and when they came under foreign control, they left the Palestinian people to their fate.

9.7

The 1967 Six Day War

Israeli: It was a pre-emptive war to prevent an expected foreign invasion. It was imposed on Israel but nevertheless won again. It liberated Judea and Samaria, Sinai, the Golan Heights and the Gaza Strip. Palestinian Narrative: It was a war of aggression that was prepared and planned for. The Arabs lost, which left Israel occupying the rest of Palestine (West Bank) and the Gaza Strip, Sinai and the Golan Heights. 400,000 Palestinians became refugees.

9.8

The First Palestinian Intifada (1987)

Israeli Narrative: The Intifada was not expected. A collision between a vehicle of the Israeli Defence Forces and a civilian car that killed four Palestinian from Jabalia, a refugee camp in the Gaza Strip. led to violent riots and thus accidently

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triggered the Intifada. This accident and the fact that Palestinians do not appreciate Israel’s good deeds led to the 1991 peace conference and later to the Oslo Accords. Palestinian Narrative: The Intifada was not expected. An intentional traffic accident killed four Palestinians from Jabalia. Peaceful resistance against the occupation led to the 1991 peace conference and the Oslo Accords.

9.9

The Oslo Accords (1993)

Israeli Narrative: Through a frustrating negotiation marathon an agreement was achieved that managed to reduce violent attacks on Israelis. Palestinian Narrative: The Accords are just a means to an end for Israeli occupation. However, they promised the establishment of an independent Palestinian state on lands occupied in 1967. An independent Palestinian state was not established, which caused disillusion and frustration among Palestinians.

References Adwan, S. 1996. “Analysis of Palestinian refugees issue in 1948 and 1967 war in school text books”, 1–2 July. Paper presented in a workshop organized by: George-Eckert-Institut in Braunschweig, Germany. Adwan, S. 2011. Bottom-up versus top-down: a PRIME experience. In Agents of change – Die Rolle von Künstlern und Kulturschaffenden in Krisen- und Konfliktregionen (ifaEdition Kultur und Außenpolitik), ed. Institut für Auslandsbeziehungen e. V., red. D. Gad, M. Schneider et al., 24–34. Stuttgart: Institut für Auslandsbeziehungen e. V. Adwan, S., and D. Bar-On. 2003. Sharing historical narratives: Palestinian and Israel teachers learning each other’s historical narratives, part one (in Arabic, English, Hebrew and Italian). Beit Jala/PNA: PRIME. Adwan, S., and D. Bar-On, 2006. Sharing historical narratives: Palestinian and Israel teachers learning each other’s historical narratives, part two (in Arabic and Hebrew). PRIME: Beit Jala/PNA. Also available online: https://vispo.com/PRIME/narrative.pdf. Accessed: 29 January 2022. Adwan, S., and D. Bar-On, 2007. Sharing historical narratives: Palestinian and Israel teachers learning each other’s historical narratives, part three (in Arabic and Hebrew). Beit Jala/PNA: PRIME. Adwan, S., and D. Bar-On, 2009. Learning each other’s historical narratives: Israeli and Palestinian (in Arabic and Hebrew). Beit Jala/PNA: PRIME. Adwan, S., D. Bar-On and E. Naveh. 2012. Side by side: parallel histories of Israel–Palestine. New York: The New Press.

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Adwan, S., D. Bar-On and E. Naveh. 2015. Die Geschichte des Anderen kennen lernen. Israel und Palästina im 20. Jahrhundert. Frankfurt/M.: Campus. Adwan, S., D. Bar-Tal and B. Wexler. 2016. Portrayal of the other in Palestinian and Israeli schoolbooks: a comparative study. Political Psychology 37: 201–217. Firer, R., and S. Adwan. 2004. The Israeli-Palestinian conflict in history and civics textbooks of both nations. Braunschweig: Georg-Eckert-Institut. Hall, B. L. 2006. No wall high enough. Newsmagazine of the B.C. Teachers’ Federation 19, no. 1: 6. Peace Research Institute in the Middle East. About PRIME. https://vispo.com/PRIME/about. htm. Accessed: 6 December 2021. PRIME. 2003. Histoire de l’autre (in French). Transl. Lian Levi. Paris. PRIME. n. d. a. Haifa in the memory. Beit Jala/PNA. PRIME. n. d. b. Biet Jibreel Kibbutz Ravadim 1948–2005: Palestinians and Israelis talking with each other. Beit Jala/PNA. Sagy, S., and S. Adwan. 2006. Hope in times of threat: The case of Israeli and Palestinian youth. American Journal of Orthopsychiatry 76: 128–133. https://doi.org/10.1037/00029432.76.1.128. Sagy, S., S. Adwan and A. Kaplan. 2002. Interpretations of the past and expectations for the future among Israeli and Palestinian youth. American Journal of Orthopsychiatry 72: 26– 38. https://doi.org/10.1037/0002-9432.72.1.26.

Sami Adwan, is Professor at the College of Education at Hebron University, West Bank/Palestine.

Colonial Violence in German and English History Textbooks Florian Helfer

Abstract

This chapter compares ten recent German and English textbook representations of colonialism with the objective to better understand the postcolonial history discourses based on the imperial legacy of both countries. Given the much lengthier and more impactful history of the British Empire, the foundations of the German and English history discourses are quite dissimilar. This accounts for many differences in the specific content, such as the temporal and geographical scope of the textbooks. On the other hand, this analysis found striking similarities in some of the overarching narratives of the textbooks, particularly a prominent postcolonial narrative in some books that has developed in the past two decades but also a tendency to uncritically use “Western” concepts such as “progress” or “modernisation” as supposedly universal points of departure for the interpretation of history. Lastly, the chapter examines how these findings relate to the curricular preconditions in both Germany (North Rhine-Westphalia) and the United Kingdom. In that context, the analysis shows that textbooks are still firmly rooted in national history but also influenced to some degree by transnational history discourses. By uncovering differences in the curricular contexts and the learning cultures of German and English history classrooms, this chapter provides further insights into how imperial history is understood and taught today in both countries.

F. Helfer (B) Department of History, University of Bonn, Bonn, Germany e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Fachmedien Wiesbaden GmbH, part of Springer Nature 2023 F. Helfer et al. (eds.), Overcoming Conflict, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-658-39237-6_8

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Since the early 2000s, public interest in the legacy of colonial history has considerably increased all over Europe. More recently, discussions about the provenance and restitution of colonial remnants, compensation claims, and public memory have become controversial issues on an international scale. The recent postcolonial debates address far-reaching questions about historical responsibility and, in a more general sense, reconciliation between former colonial powers and the independent nations and citizens of places that used to be colonies. History textbooks are particularly interesting for research about processes of peacebuilding because they can be understood both as a picture society paints about its own past and as a feature of national identity. Textbooks introduce a whole generation of pupils to a certain narrative that strongly influences their reception of history. The books tend to carefully select details that create or validate a national identity and reject aspects that are perceived as “foreign” (Jacobmeyer 1998, 30).1 For these reasons, Wolfgang Jacobmeyer once referred to textbooks as “national autobiographies”2 (1998, 29–30; see also Helfer 2021, 81); more recently, they have been framed as “barometers of dominant societal discourses” (Bentrovato and Nieuwenhuyse 2020, 296, based on a linguistic analysis by Klerides 2010). This makes them valuable sources for analysing postcolonial discourses. By focussing on selected German and English textbooks, this chapter seeks to shed some light on the complex relations between textbooks, postcolonial public discourse, historiography, and historical and educational policy. The following questions serve as starting points for the analysis: 1) How is the history of colonialism and imperialism represented in German and English textbooks today? 2) What do textbook depictions tell us about the current (post)colonial discourse? 3) To what extent can textbooks help understand and overcome a shared past that, in myriad ways, is shaped by injustice and violence?

1

All German quotations were translated into English by the author of this chapter. But there is another way: Transnational textbook projects such as the German–French textbook Histoire/Geschichte (2006–2011), the German-Polish textbook Europa – Unsere Geschichte (Brückmann et al. 2017–2019) or the work of PRIME in Israel and Palestine (Adwan in this volume) show that textbooks are able to transgress national boundaries. These projects, to different degrees, can be seen as both a result of peacebuilding efforts and an instrument for further peacebuilding. Some also consider joint textbooks projects as a means of reconciliation in postcolonial contexts: In 2012, the German party Die Linke has suggested a German-Namibian textbook commission (Müller 2013, 57).

2

Colonial Violence in German and English History Textbooks

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Colonial Memory in German and English History Education

Both imperialism and postcolonial forms of remembrance must be understood as global phenomena. Textbooks from imperial eras show that imperial ideas and discourses extended across European borders. For example, the English textbook Highroads of History from 1915 presents the British Empire as an epic tale of courageous British adventurers: “In the succeeding chapters we shall see how all these things came about, and follow the fortunes of the brave fellows who dared every kind of peril and death in order to become the makers of the British Empire” (Wilmot-Buxton 1915, 14). The Empire is regarded, in a teleological sense, as the ultimate goal of history itself, created by Britain’s “ambition” and her “energetic spirit which is part of her national character” (ibid., 12–13). According to the authors, the Empire is not only “goodly heritage” (ibid., 252; see also the chapter by Peter Geiss in this volume), but also a duty for contemporaries, especially the next generation. In this regard, Highroads of History is strikingly similar to a German textbook from 1913. Geschichte für Mittelschulen explains that its mission is “to introduce young people to an understanding of history and to fill them with love and enthusiasm for the fatherland” (Dilcher et al. 1913, IV). As with its English counterpart, the book stylises colonisers as heroes and, ultimately, tries to evoke feelings of national pride. An example for this is the following euphemistic description of the colonial war and genocide against the Ovaherero (1904–1908) in then German South West Africa: But our brave troops brought the battle to a victorious end. […] It demanded great sacrifices from us but it also showed all the world that the old valour and the oftenproved German bravery are still alive in our troops. […] May the growing generation also always stand up for Kaiser and Reich with the same love and enthusiasm as the men who longed for a united, powerful Germany with their hearts and fought for it with their swords. (ibid., 274–275)

The two passages would today be considered propaganda but stem from teaching material actually used in schools a century ago. The narratives in both books interpret history along the lines of nationalism and patriotism typical of the period and link the memory of former generations’ sacrifices with a challenge for present and future generations. To what extent has this changed in postcolonial times? Over the past decades, textbook researchers have become increasingly interested in what it means to teach colonial history in a postcolonial world and have tried to find answers

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to this question in several publications. For instance, Carsten Mish (2008) has written a concise diachronic analysis of the ways decolonisation is presented in English textbooks between 1947 and the early 2000s. He identifies three phases: 1) colonial history as a glorifying, nationalistic tradition (1947–64), 2) a more critical approach from the perspective of world history (1964–88), 3) a quantitative marginalisation of (post)colonial history in the curriculum, in textbooks and in teaching (since 1988). Also noteworthy are Susanne Grindel’s publications in the context of a research project by the Georg Eckert Institute for International Textbook Research (GEI), which systematically approach the topic from a comparative perspective. In the early 2000s, English textbooks openly discussed the imperial legacy but avoided making any connections to contemporary political problems (GEI 2012, 24). Meanwhile, embedded within the broader context of the so-called “memory boom” (Winter 2000, 69–70), the recent discussions about the colonial legacy in Europe also begin to affect textbook representations of colonialism. In 2013, the UK had a heated debate about the new curriculum draft by the conservative then-Education Secretary Michael Gove. The draft was publicly criticised by historians for its nationalistic focus (D’Avray et al. 2013; Grindel 2013, 36) and later amended, resulting in the 2014 curriculum (Department for Education 2014c). Five years later, in 2018, a discussion about racist stereotypes in a Sociology textbook’s description of family life in African-Caribbean communities resulted in the publishing house, Hodder Education, removing the book from sale and promising a thorough review (Badshah 2018). In these debates, increasing awareness of depictions that some quarters regard as Eurocentric, apologetic, or even racist, collides with a mindset—depending on the viewpoint, some would describe it as patriotic, others as nationalist or reactionary—that takes pride in the achievements of the Empire and the imperial legacy. According to a 2014 YouGov survey, 49% out of 1741 polled British people thought that formerly colonised countries were better off for being colonised, compared to 15% who believed that these countries were worse off (YouGov 2014; Dahlgreen 2014). This shows that an important historical legitimation strategy of the European expansion, the idea of colonialism as a civilising and modernising mission (see also Authaler 2019, 5; Rauch 10–11), has created a strong undercurrent that continues to be relevant in the present—even though, now, the majority of historians agree that the history of the European expansion cannot, or only through a very undifferentiated selection of aspects, be narrated as a success story (Grindel 2017, 120). In a 2019 roundtable by the UCL Institute of Advanced Studies and the German Historical Institute London, this led Yasmin Khan to diagnose a “deeply uncritical and celebratory feeling about Empire,

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tinged with nostalgia” that draws on “tropes which return again and again to ‘the Dunkirk spirit’” and “the myth of ‘standing alone’ in the 1940s” (Rauch 2020, 10–11). In his response, Tom Lawson offered some telling arguments to characterise this myth as “the officially sanctioned narrative of the British past” (Rauch 2020, 17). Of course, this does not criticise the resistance of the British Empire against Nazi Germany but rather the fact that, apparently, some utilise the memory of this resistance to morally exonerate the Empire as a whole. The two views on the British past are clearly visible along the lines of the debate about Churchill’s legacy, who is on the one hand heroised for his leadership against Nazi Germany and on the other attacked for some of his statements that are today seen as racist and imperialist. Regarding Germany, Britta Schilling has shown how the postcolonial memory landscape has changed during the twentieth century (2014, 2015, 2017). This change has probably had an impact on textbook production. In the early 2000s, textbooks seemed unsure about how to evaluate the colonial past in history and memory culture (GEI 2012, 24; see also Grindel 2008, 2012, 2013, 2017; Dulko and Namgalies 2014). However, since then the German textbook landscape has substantially evolved with regard to postcolonial issues (Helfer 2021). In contrast to the UK or France,3 heated controversies about the teaching of colonial history have not occurred, at least since the reunification. So far, the German postcolonial discourse of the Federal Republic seems to be situated in the realms of public history and material memory rather than in educational contexts. This may be because, due to the longer and more formative intertwining between Britain and its colonies, the imperial heritage is more present and more relevant for the construction of identity in Britain compared to the more “dynamic, scattered, and varied” postcolonial experience in Germany (Schilling 2014, 198), which lost its colonies in 1918. This makes colonial history and imperial heritage a more pertinent matter for history teaching in the UK. These few examples illustrate the differences between the British and German relationship to their respective imperial pasts. At the same time, however, the influence of critical, postcolonial voices in both countries is increasing. It makes sense to conclude that a more critical engagement with the imperial past in the public discourse, which can be observed in many Western European countries, has an especially potent impact in Britain because the Empire has long been an integral part of British collective memory and identity. 3

For the curriculum debate in the UK see above. In France, historians successfully protested against a 2005 bill according to which “School courses should recognise in particular the positive role of the French presence overseas” (Henly 2005, n. pag.; see also Liauzu and Manceron 2006; Ebert 2010; Schilling 2014, 205).

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Method

The corpus of this analysis comprises the textbooks shown in Table 1. As noted in the previous section, quite a bit is already known about the development of German and English textbook depictions of the Empire and colonialism pre-2010. This chapter therefore focuses on contemporary German and English textbooks from 2015 onwards. Taking the relevant literature as well as previous work (Helfer 2021) as points departure, Sects. 3 and 4 scrutinise textbooks from 2015 to 2018. Through comparison of the historical development and the current milieu of English and German textbook publishing, this chapter will attempt to elucidate a better understanding of the different ways in which current textbooks address the imperial past. The analysis focuses on texts, sources, images, maps, student exercises and the terminology used to describe High Imperialism and colonialism in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. The primary task is identifying the overarching narrative presented in each textbook and clarifying its relationship to the dominant societal discourse. Sometimes, this narrative is presented overtly, as when a textbook author addresses the question of whether the British Empire was “a force for good or evil” (Farmer 2018, 193–194); otherwise, the narrative is presented more subtly through the overall selection and arrangement of material. Given this, the terms and concepts used and the degree of self-reflexivity towards them are also analysed. Historical terms such as “civilisation” or “modernisation” describe complex

Table 1 Analysed textbooks, ordered chronologically. Full bibliographical data in the references section. Year German

English

2015 Buchners Geschichte (2015), Oberstufe, NRW Geschichte und Geschehen (2015), Oberstufe, NRW Horizonte (2015), Oberstufe, NRW Kursbuch Geschichte (2015), Oberstufe, NRW Zeiten und Menschen (2015), Oberstufe, NRW

African Kingdoms: A Guide to the Kingdoms of Songhay, Kongo, Benin, Oyo and Dahomey c.1400–c.1800 (2015), A-level, OCR Britain: losing and gaining an empire, 1763–1914 (2015), A-level, Pearson Edexcel Oxford AQA History: The British Empire c1857–1967 (2015), A-level, AQA

2016

Migration, Empires and the People (2016), GCSE, AQA

2018

Access to History. The British Empire c.1857–1967 (2018), A-level, AQA

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phenomena that are understood differently, depending on perspective and context. These concepts have a specific history and therefore require interpretation (see also Defrance in this volume). By fostering critical engagement, textbooks and teachers can help pupils better understand the underlying concepts. Lastly, the analysis deals with the perspectives taken by or represented in the textbooks and the manner in which colonised peoples are represented compared to colonisers. For pragmatic reasons, the German corpus is limited to the five textbooks currently approved for history teaching in North Rhine-Westphalia (NRW). In the UK, the historical content of history teaching at AS- and A-Level depends on the choice of courses and, thus, varies from class to class. Accordingly, the UK system has no extensive volumes meant to cover all possible courses, unlike Germany. Because of this, the analysis focuses on five textbooks for courses on imperial and colonial history, four for A-Levels and one for GCSE, each approved by one of the three largest examination boards (AQA, OCR, or Pearson Edexcel). Furthermore, the analysis takes account of the curricula relevant for the textbooks: the NRW curriculum and the curricula by the respective UK exam board (Sects. 3.1 and 4.1). These boards are awarding organisations that follow the guidelines of the national curriculum (Department for Education 2014c) to create subject courses and teaching units and publish curricula according to national specifications. Most boards work with textbook publishers and certify textbooks that fit their courses. Schools may choose which exam board they prefer for each subject. Already at GCSE level, but much more at A-Levels, each exam board offers different paper options that can be combined in multiple ways (e.g. AQA 2019a, b; OCR 2019; Pearson Edexcel 2017). There seems to be little epistemic value in systematically comparing the individual exam board curricula and, in any case, such an undertaking would extend beyond the scope of this chapter. Nevertheless, Sect. 4.1 provides a brief overview of the curricular situation in the UK with examples of the implications for schools, teachers, and pupils. The textbooks are analysed in Sects. 3.2 and 4.2, respectively. Finally, the comparison of the different modes of representation of colonial violence in German and English textbooks (Sect. 5) proposes some answers to the questions posed initially, and attempts to provide an overall view of the different national (post)colonial discourses and possible alternatives.

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3

Colonial Violence in German Textbooks

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Curricula

The curricular guidelines for history teaching vary to some extent between Germany’s 16 states. Textbooks are tailored by authors and publishers for each federal curriculum. They undergo an approval procedure by the respective state so schools have the option of choosing from a range of approved history textbooks (Kerber 2005, 83). The German textbooks analysed are based on the 2014 NRW History curriculum for the “Sekundarstufe II”, or “Oberstufe”—i.e. the last three years of secondary school education before the Abitur examinations and graduation (Ministerium für Schule und Weiterbildung NRW 2014). Curricular revisions do not occur very frequently—the two preceding curricula for history in the Oberstufe in NRW came into effect in 1999 and 1982, respectively (Der Kultusminister NRW 1982; Ministerium für Schule, Wissenschaft und Forschung NRW 1999). Generally speaking, federal curricula focus on abstract learning goals, providing a broad overview of historical subject matter but rarely, if ever, specifying definitive historical topics to be taught. Based on the framework given by the state, each school then develops an individual curriculum for each subject, thereby avoiding a homogenous master narrative and aligning with Germany’s pluralistic society (Der Kultusminister NRW 1982, 34). In practice, however, the German public history discourse arguably does not differ much between the states—differences appear to be far more relevant at the regional than federal level (save, perhaps, for Bavaria). Because of this, textbook editions in different states vary to some extent in topics discussed but, it seems, not so much in how they interpret history—i.e. their overall narrative (see also Helfer 2021, 83–84). That being said, the 1982 curriculum defined eight obligatory chronological subject areas—including “Imperialism”—that were regarded as absolutely essential to history teaching (34–35). In the 1999 curriculum, however, these topics were replaced by a more abstract chronological and spatial framework (26), allowing for a wider range of choices. In 2014, the curriculum departs from the chronological order as the main basis for teaching history and, instead, structures the subject content by seven so-called “content fields” such as “Human rights in a historical perspective”, or “Nationalism, nation-state and German identity in the nineteenth and twentieth century”. Imperialism and colonialism are a part of content field four—“The modern industrial society between progress and crisis” (2014, 18–19). This approach raises a number of problems that will be addressed in the next section.

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Analysis of Five Contemporary NRW Textbooks

The five textbooks currently approved for history teaching in the NRW Oberstufe deal with colonialism in very different ways, both quantitatively and qualitatively. Despite the variety of topics and approaches, two main narratives can be identified that conflict with each other but somehow simultaneously coexist within each text. Sometimes, these narratives can clearly be identified in the text or in student exercises whereas, at other times, they are expressed more subtly through didactic arrangements or the choice of topics and sources. First, a traditional narrative ponders the consequences of colonialism and carefully attempts to balance the immediate negative aspects of colonisation and foreign rule with some alleged long-term benefits of the colonial project, mainly the modernisation of “underdeveloped” territories of the world. Thus, the narrative shows some parallels to the mission civilisatrice, a European justification for its colonial projects that extends as far back as the early days of colonialism and that had provided the ideological support needed to continuously advance the colonial ambitions of European powers, including economic exploitation of the colonies. However, the mission civilisatrice was not merely a cover for malicious intent. At the time, many colonial agents sincerely believed that it was the “White Man’s burden” and duty to bring European civilisation to other, “savage”, peoples. The blurring of the boundaries between these two aspects of the civilising mission alone makes the attempt to come up with a balanced account of the positive and negative sides of colonialism considerably more challenging. More importantly, though, an account of “pros and cons” can never claim to be universally valid because it is intrinsically tied to a European discourse of modernisation, development, and civilisational advance (cf. Grewe 2021, 501–502). How can European civilisational traits such as rail networks or the nation state, at the time not universally seen as valuable,4 be weighed against the foreign domination, oppression, and exploitation that is indeed universally condemnable in terms of human rights? This discourse of “modernisation” and “development” manifests itself specifically in representations of Africa, which in the past (especially pre-2000) has often been constructed by textbooks as an uncivilised, primitive space—an antithesis to Europe, which, in contrast, is usually characterised as “modern” (see also Kerber 2005, 91; Macgilchrist and Müller 2012, 196; Bernhard and Wimmler 2019, 163; Geiger 2021a, 141–143; Marmer and Sow 2015, 4

Agreement about the civilisational value of the nation state, industrialisation, even formal education etc. can be postulated for the closely connected “Western world”, i.e. European and North American nations, but not, at the time, globally.

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8; Helfer 2021, 86). Textbooks rarely went into detail on the inherently violent nature of colonialism, which the power hierarchies between imperial troops, settlers and locals facilitated. The supposedly positive consequences of colonialism were often presented as counterbalancing or even compensating for its negative consequences (see also Kerber 2005, 89; Geiger 2021b, 178; Helfer 2021, 88; 94). The problem with this is that discussing the imperial heritage in such a way confuses technological with ethical arguments—two entirely different levels that cannot be “set off” against each other. For their depiction of the consequences of colonialism, textbooks have been criticised at least since around 2000 (e.g. Poenicke 2003, 79–81). Interestingly, history textbooks have at the same time, and not necessarily as a direct reaction to external criticism, slowly (i.e. usually as a delayed response, see Geiger 2021a, 139) started to focus more on colonial violence, oppression and resistance (e.g. Kerber 2005, 87–91). Their depictions changed considerably during the 2000s. Even so, today’s textbooks still retain echoes of this narrative (Geiger 2021a, 143–148). To some extent, this has to do with the curriculum. The NRW curriculum clearly refers to the modernisation discourse by embedding imperialism in between industrialisation and the First World War. The content field “The modern industrial society between progress and crisis” is subdivided into three sections: “The ‘Second Industrial Revolution’ and the emergence of modern mass society”, “From High Imperialism to the first ‘modern’ war of industrial society”, and “Causes and consequences of the global economic crisis 1929” (Ministerium für Schule und Weiterbildung NRW 2014, 29). There is a clear focus on the linkages between technological advance and “modernism”—hence, the collective terms “modern industrial society” and “modern mass society” only refer to the industrialising countries in Europe, North America and, perhaps, Japan. Moreover, with the sections being ordered chronologically, the curriculum interprets imperialism not as a historical phenomenon of its own but solely as the system facilitated by industrialisation that later set the stage for the Great War. The complex relations between empires and their colonies, meanwhile, are reduced to a detail of European foreign policy. Imperialism and colonialism, in fact, appear solely as a prehistory of the First World War (see also Geiger 2021b, 163–164; Mielke 2021, 57). Bernd-Stefan Grewe’s criticism of the focus on the political dimension of colonial rule in German history teaching points in a similar direction. Understanding colonialism as a primarily political phenomenon leads to the false conclusion that it has already been overcome through formal decolonisation. This, in turn, causes the illusion that our own European or even Eurocentric perspective on colonial history is neutral and perfectly balanced, as Grewe argues (2021, 482; 495).

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This shows that, in NRW History teaching, both the discourse of development and modernisation and the curricular structure are intertwined in a way that marginalises colonialism as a historical topic and locates European concepts at the centre of enquiry. Maybe this is because German curricula still are relevant lieux de l’histoire nationale, which complicates global history approaches. In a recent publication that became available only after the manuscript of this chapter had been finished, Wolfgang Geiger aptly calls this narrative an “extended national history” (“erweiterte Nationalgeschichte”, Geiger 2021b, 163). That being said, it does not come as a surprise that, as Sandra Müller-Tietz shows in another chapter of this volume, other educational resources such as YouTube videos targeted at students also focus on German and European history of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. In the five textbooks under scrutiny, this traditional narrative is challenged by its polar opposite. The second major narrative in the textbooks is a postcolonial narrative based on the categorical rejection especially of colonial violence and emphasising resistance against the colonial rule as well as the suffering of the victims of colonial oppression. This narrative also underlines the existence of pre-colonial societies, cultures, and histories. While textbooks for curricular reasons do not elaborate on, for example, African pre-colonial history, they do include brief references to the fact that previously existing structures were partly destroyed or replaced by European ideas about nation and property. These postcolonial efforts in textbooks are, of course, anchored in present-day public history discourses, yet clearly collide with the traditional narrative presented above. This leads to many inconsistencies and contradictions not only between textbooks but also within the same texts. The tension between the two narratives results in a spectrum on which textbook representations are positioned, at three levels: textbooks as a whole (macro-level), each chapter (meso-level), and individual texts and didactic arrangements (micro-level). The following sections take a closer look at each textbook to determine how the two narratives are presented in each case, how they interact with each other and how some books attempt to reconcile them.

Horizonte Horizonte is especially suitable for highlighting the tension between the two narratives. At some crucial junctures, the postcolonial narrative is dominant, such as the end of the chapter on High Imperialism, where the cultural historian Joel Kossivi Agnigbo has the final say in an anti-colonial account that also addresses

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the negative image of Africa in the media today (184–1855 ; see also Kossivi). Earlier in the chapter, the book emphasises the violent aspects of colonisation and addresses the critique of colonisation (165) and imperialism (169). Here, it also represents African voices (169; the same sources are also used by Geschichte und Geschehen). The section “Germany as a colonial power” notes that “80 per cent of the Herero population” were killed with “relentless military rigour, knowingly accepting the total extermination of the Herero tribe” (172). The term “genocide”, however, is avoided in this book. Nonetheless, the text presents a parliamentary debate from 26 June 2008 about Namibian claims for reparations. Textbook exercises invite students to analyse the historical responsibility of the Federal Republic towards former German colonies today. Also, Horizonte uses inverted commas and qualifying adjectives to indicate potentially problematic terms, as can be seen in a paragraph about the “distribution of seemingly still ‘ownerless’ territories” (162), and highlights the active role that some Africans played during colonial resistance (165). The textbook makes it clear that European countries encountered no “states” in a European sense, noting that “incompatible” differences between the European understanding of “property” and African precolonial economic structures (171–172) clashed during the so-called “scramble for Africa”. This paragraph seems to have been added to the book at some point between 2003 and 2014, whereas other passages were already used in an earlier Horizonte edition from 2003 (Grindel 2008, 703–704). This indicates that the postcolonial narrative began to find its way into the textbook discourse in the early 2000s, which is in line with earlier findings (Kerber 2005, 87–91; Helfer 2021). However, there are other aspects that seem to refer more to the traditional narrative. All the learning objectives for the chapter refer to imperialism but none specifically to colonialism (161), which is in concordance with the curriculum. Also, the discourse of modernisation, development and civilisational advance seems to be a central point of reference, as the following example demonstrates: High Imperialism can only be understood by considering the profound structural differences between colonial empires and their subjugated territories. On the one hand, the industrial revolution had brought the world closer together than ever, but on the other, it had also created a gap in the level of development. (160)

5

To keep references at a minimum, page numbers in the subsections on certain textbooks always refer to the headlined textbook when not specified otherwise. In other chapters, textbooks are quoted by title instead of author to enhance clarity.

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To be clear: as an explanation of historical circumstances, this statement is valid. The “economic, military and technological superiority” (162) of the Europeans was certainly an important precondition for imperial expansion. Soon, however, this matter-of-fact-statement is reframed into a more general “civilisational-technological superiority” (163). The authors argue that because of this superiority Social Darwinism as a world view seemed plausible to contemporaries. In that paragraph, Social Darwinism is, in fact, deconstructed—but the alleged “civilisational-technological superiority” is taken for granted. This concept is not so far away linguistically from the historical mission civilisatrice— even though the textbook in another section sees the civilising mission as one of the ideological motors of colonialism. This reveals that the discourse of development and modernisation itself is not interrogated—rather, it remains formative for the characterisation of postcolonial peoples and countries in the present. “Civilisation” as a concept is not limited to technological aspects such as infrastructure; it naturally implies normative values as well. Even though the authors probably mean the term in the first sense, there remains an uneasiness with the reader about the semantic parallels mentioned above. In the third subchapter, Horizonte seeks to “understand imperialism as a historical phenomenon” but simultaneously wants to “problematise the extent to which the current underdevelopment of some countries is a consequence of colonisation” (161). Consequently, the book diagnoses “positive and negative aspects” by intermingling technological with ethical arguments: despite “extremely ambivalent results” including the “extensively documented destructive consequences of subjugation, foreign domination and exploitation”, colonialism set the “foundations for a modern infrastructure” and other “modern structures (administration, jurisdiction, hospitals, schools)”, followed by other examples (180). According to Horizonte, this later allowed some countries, such as South Korea or Taiwan, the “breakthrough to modern industrial society […] whereas on the other hand Ethiopia and Afghanistan, as non-colonies, remain extremely underdeveloped”. To address the issue of neocolonialism would go too far at this point; but even so it should be clear that this comparison and the monocausal conclusions drawn here extremely simplify the issue at hand. When the book ultimately asserts that a new local elite with Western education led the movement towards decolonisation, this might be correct from a technical point of view, but reasoning and emphasis seem somewhat twisted (180) since, without colonisation, colonies would not have needed Western education to be emancipated from imperial dominion in the first place.

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In summary, Horizonte critically engages with many aspects of imperialism, especially colonial violence. The authors have clearly been inspired by postcolonial thought yet, at the same time, the underlying cognitive categories and concepts are neither problematised nor deconstructed.

Kursbuch Geschichte The Kursbuch is similarly close to the curriculum with regard to its learning objectives (57). The text focuses on (High) imperialism, but makes a rather ambiguous distinction between this and “traditional European colonialism” (57). Some introductory terms set the tone for the rest of the chapter: “These global rivalries of the European great powers were also one of the main reason for the beginning of the First World War, which the American diplomat George F. Kennan called ‘the great seminal catastrophe of the twentieth century’” (57)—again, imperialism appears as the Great War’s prehistory. On the other hand, various examples of colonial conflicts are provided, such as the Abushire revolt, the Boxer Rebellion and the Maji Maji Rebellion (64– 66). In each case, the Kursbuch strives to present more than one perspective and point out the relevance of the topic today, noting that Tanzanian lieux de mémoire connected to the Maji Maji Rebellion (1905–1907) still shape Tanzanian national identity. A source on the German-Tanzanian relationship 100 years after the war (69–70) is referenced for the students to reflect on questions about historical responsibility: 1. Outline the significance of the Maji Maji Rebellion for the formation of the present nation state Tanzania. 2. Discuss in class: Should the Federal Republic of Germany officially apologise for the German colonial period or pay reparations? 3. Bonus question: Read up on the Herero Uprising and present your findings as a short paper. Suggested presentation: Colonial wars—causes and consequences of imperialist rule for the colonised peoples. (70)

Another question, based on substantive African and German source materials, enquires “What was the relationship between the Germans and the natives in German East-Africa like?” (68–70). Such exercises demonstrate that the textbook invites students to change perspectives and look into the relevance of the colonial legacy today—not only on a national scale but also locally (debate about the renaming of the Lansstraße in Cologne, 71–72) and at an international level (UK debate about an official apology for the practice of slavery, 57). The same applies to the authors’ historical account: “The Chinese population regarded the German colonialists and also the other Europeans as foreign rulers and perceived them as

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arrogant and imperious” (66); and critical source analysis: “Critically investigate the photographers’ motives for portraying the people in the colony in such a way” (66). All in all, the Kursbuch Geschichte successfully manages to achieve a balance between the curricular parameters, which lean towards the traditional narrative, and postcolonial perspectives at the meso and micro-levels. The outcome is an examination of European imperialism and its interactions with the non-European world with a focus on multi-perspectivity and contemporary relevance. The text does justice to the curriculum while still managing somewhat to unite the two conflicting narratives.

Zeiten und Menschen6 Zeiten und Menschen follows a similar approach but the text’s execution is less elegant. Of all the books considered, Zeiten und Menschen is the most straightforward in condemning the “devastating consequences for the African tribes” (161). At the same time, the terminology marks the alterity of “African tribes” as opposed to its implicit counter-concept—“civilised European peoples”. Inverted commas are used sporadically and inconsistently (141–142). Sometimes, the book criticises colonial practices while simultaneously conveying—subtly and, probably, unintentionally—an idea of universal European superiority, noting, for example, that African chiefs signed “dubious treaties” (144) which they “did not understand in wording and meaning” (157). By phrasing the issue in this manner, the implication is that the consequences of such treaties were partly the signees’ own fault, whereas the fraudulent and deceitful practices of the other party are hardly addressed. Similarly, by describing “untouched areas” (153) and “white spots on the maps of the continent” (157) only gradually discovered by “courageous adventurers” (141), the text serves the notion of a terra nullius and exoticises “foreign” territories. Its Eurocentric perspective, furthermore, is expressed through an emphasis on land acquisitions taking place “in remote parts of the world” (153)—remote from where? Nonetheless, Zeiten und Menschen does describe the Boer War (145–146) and the Congo atrocities as acts of colonial violence (157), even putting forward the Ovaherero and Nama wars as a detailed case study for colonial atrocities. Here, the authors take a particularly close look at the “darkest side of colonialism” (161–164). Even in chapters such as these, however, the book maintains a European, if not Eurocentric, perspective. While the authors adopt a very critical 6

I have previously analysed these editions of Zeiten und Menschen and Geschichte und Geschehen (see below) in Helfer (2021, 90–92) and draw on these former results here.

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stance towards colonial atrocities, they do not offer any non-European sources to further support this view, which would be necessary considering the increasing sensitivity of the topic in the German Erinnerungskultur. Another problem is that the book deals with the question of whether the Ovaherero and Nama wars can be labelled a genocide as an open question, drawing on a journal article from 1988 (Spraul, 713–739). In light of the fact that, today, most historians recognise the genocidal quality of these wars (e.g. Conrad 2008, 100; Häussler 2018), a focus on more up-to-date matters of memory, such as the debates about the repatriation of objects in European museums, would have been more fruitful. Altogether, the analysis shows that the postcolonial narrative has been inserted into Zeiten und Menschen, especially at the level of topic selection, albeit not so much at the conceptual level. Despite its attention to the “dark” side of colonialism, the emphasis is on imperialism as an extension of European foreign policy.

Buchners Geschichte Oberstufe Although not as blatant as in the previous two textbooks, the two standard narratives can be identified in Buchners Geschichte Oberstufe in specific instances. Similar to Horizonte, the textbook links colonialism with Africa’s “underdevelopment” today but correctly presents the issue as a historiographical question that is still vigorously debated today: “Underdevelopment—Result of imperial rule or a crisis of [African] own making?” (68–69). By contrast, the maps showing the European expansion between 1830 and 1914 (48–49; 64) present early nineteenth century Africa as a vast, white space, whereas Africa in the early twentieth century is subdivided according to the newly established borders and brightly coloured in the hues of the European empires. As this author has argued elsewhere (Helfer 2021), such depictions present the African continent as vast and empty terra nullius, reflecting the imperial notion that pre-colonial Africa was an uninhabited land without any organised forms of society or history. The impression conveyed by such maps can be very powerful (Grindel 2008, 700), even if the accompanying text warns against exaggerating the expanse of imperial power in the colonial hinterland. Across textbooks, the comparative cartographic depiction of the world before and after colonialism appears virtually canonical: except for Geschichte und Geschehen, such maps can be found in all the NRW textbooks analysed here as well as in older textbooks (e.g. Augst and Lendzian 2007, 513). Amongst them, however, the map design in Buchners Geschichte Oberstufe is most striking in the blankness of the African continent. Thus, most of the (scarce) evidence seems to indicate the textbook’s conformity to the traditional narrative, with a few exceptions: for instance, there

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is mention of the collaboration of colonial agents (53), on which the imperial powers oftentimes depended.

Geschichte und Geschehen Similarly hard to evaluate is Geschichte und Geschehen, mainly because of the relative brevity of the chapter on imperialism (300–307). Neither one of the narratives is properly constituted within the somewhat incoherent collection of texts, sources and exercises. Overall, however, the postcolonial narrative seems to prevail, with the chapter generally emphasising the wrongful character of colonialism (301). Moreover, as previously noted, it is the only current history textbook in NRW with a map that includes pre-colonial dominions and their approximate regions of influence (304). It makes use of inverted commas and neutral terminology throughout the chapter: important rulers of both European and African origin are called “leaders” or “kings” (instead of “native chieftains”, as, for example, in Zeiten und Menschen). Historical sources from a non-European point of view offer alternative perspectives (306; the same sources are also used by Horizonte). Some student exercises are suitable for deconstructing an all-too-passive and subaltern image of African people. Asking students to assess distortions and falsifications shown in cartoons, or having them “[e]valuate the scope of action that these Africans may have had” (307) certainly has potential in this regard. However, reasonable answers can only be found on the basis of considerable historical background knowledge and source material about everyday life in the colonies or acts of colonial violence, which the book does not provide. That being said, while Geschichte und Geschehen has clearly been influenced by the postcolonial narrative, the chapter on imperialism does not fulfil this end simply because it is too short to propound any coherent narrative at all.

4

Colonial Violence in English Textbooks

4.1

Curricula

In the UK, the specifications for subject content in the national curriculum are much less concrete than in NRW. The national framework mostly focuses on methodological details. In Key Stages 3 and 4 (school years 7–9 and 10–11 until GCSEs), imperial history is embedded within a content field about British history from 1745–1901 (Department for Education 2014c, 250; Department for Education 2014b, 4). Even so, it is not mandatory to specifically teach imperial and colonial history. While teaching up to GCSE examinations is structured more or

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less chronologically, history teaching in Key Stage 5 (years 12–13 until A-Levels) can be modified to individual preferences to an even greater extent, needing only to follow a few formal requirements to ensure breadth and depth of content. These include studying “the history of more than one country or state, including at least one outside of the British Isles, aspects of the past in breadth (through period and/or theme) and in depth” (Department of Education 2014a, 1–2). In fact, the only mandatory topic explicitly defined by the state in both Key Stage 4 and A-Levels (years 10–13) is the Holocaust: In Key Stage 3, students should be taught about, amongst other subject areas, “challenges for Britain, Europe and the wider world 1901 to the present day. In addition to studying the Holocaust, this could include [several topic suggestions]” (Department for Education 2014c, 251). The vagueness regarding all other topics is impelled by the variety of UK examination boards that liaise with textbook publishers and certify textbooks customised to their courses (see Sect. 2). Consequently, the curricula allow for a wide range of possible topics and an international orientation to teaching history. On the other hand, this also means that the corpus of what A-level graduates should know about history can only be defined on a very broad level. For example, pupils in an AQA GCSE course may address the thematic study about “Britain: Migration, empires and the people: c790 to the present day”— but, alternatively, they could also be given one of two alternative options “Health and the people: c1000 to the present day” or “Power and the people: c1170 to the present day” (AQA 2019b, 7). Students doing an AQA A-Levels course also do not necessarily study imperialism and colonialism—this only happens if the correspondent papers are chosen (AQA 2019a). In theory, therefore, an English student could graduate with a history A-level without ever having systematically learned about the British Empire (see also Anderson 2011). From a curricular and textbook point of view, therefore, this freedom of choice leads to a quantitative marginalisation of a central aspect of British history in advanced secondary education. However, this analysis is not so much about the question of whether Britain’s imperial history falls short in British history teaching—others have written about that (Grindel 2013, 40; Mish 2008, 757)—but more about the ways in which High Imperialism and colonialism during the nineteenth and early twentieth century are depicted in contemporary textbooks. For the reasons mentioned previously, there is a relatively small number of A-level history textbooks—all of them published in England—that specifically focus on Empire and colonialism. Five of them are analysed in the following section.

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165

Analysis of Five Contemporary English Textbooks

According to these textbooks, the legacy of the Empire is highly relevant to questions of national identity and to a sense of Britishness, i.e. what it means to be British today—more so than in Germany, even though the postcolonial narrative in German books also increasingly underlines the relevance of the German imperial past. Imperial policy is not so much presented as part of a European expansion project but, instead, more as a power projection of Britain as the former imperial world power—sometimes against the background of the BritishFrench competition which catalysed Britain’s emergence in this role. Inevitably, the textbooks are much more global than German books, with colonial case studies from all over the world. The fact that these British books are devoted entirely to imperial history, whereas the German textbooks each feature only one chapter on High Imperialism, contributes to this tendency. Another difference is the British focus on Personengeschichte, which prioritises the almost exclusively male British decision-makers, especially Prime Ministers and their policies. Thus, even when the topics addressed are very specific to an individual colony and its administration, the (post)imperial perspective almost never changes. Even the World Wars do not stand out in any particular way—the books are more focused on the impact of the wars on the Empire. This reveals the involvement and importance of the colonial empires for the colonial powers during the wars (e.g. Oxford AQA History, 119–125), an aspect that is often overlooked. Due to the different theoretical approaches in German and British history didactics, German books generally attempt to address every topic from a plurality of viewpoints (Multiperspektivität; Bergmann 2016a and 2016b), ideally via historical sources, and enquire the relevance of each topic for the present (Gegenwartsbezug; Bergmann 2004). British textbooks also attempt to foster critical source analysis but present fewer and shorter source extracts. Also, the texts often ask how useful or convincing one or more sources are in the context of a given historical enquiry, or if the sources can be used to verify or falsify a given hypothesis. This focus on certain historical enquiries, or historical problems, somewhat resembles the German concept Problemorientierung (Uffelmann 1990).7 Evaluating historiographical extracts is also quite common in both pedagogical cultures (Kontroversität; Bergmann 2016a, b), albeit possibly moreso at the UK A-level. 7 After Uffelmann introduced Problemorientierung to German history didactics, it soon evolved into a central principle of history teaching. Barricelli (2016) provides a recent description of the concept. For a comparison of German “Problemfragen” and British “enquiry questions”, see Kämmerling (2018).

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Regarding the “stories” of the textbooks, there are two conflicting narratives, somewhat similar to the German context, but with a British twist. There is a postcolonial narrative in the same sense as explained in Sect. 3.2 that, overall, seems to have had a strong impact on the textbooks. All texts at least question the righteousness of colonisation, even though they differ to some extent in their answers. Some arrive at a balanced account by juxtaposing supposed positive and negative consequences, while others outright condemn Britain’s imperial past. On the other hand, sometimes a somewhat nostalgic, post-imperial narrative seems to rear its head. In comparison, this narrative is similar to the traditional narrative in German textbooks but with a more pronounced patriotic, nationalist, even reactionary twist. It would be hyperbolic to say that the textbooks still reflect great awe and admiration for the former glory and power of the British Empire, along with its alleged civilising achievements. However, fragments of this narrative at times do express themselves, albeit much more subtly and very seldom openly. In any case, the trope still retains much potential for the constitution of a British identity. As with the German situation, this occasionally leads to inconsistencies in the textbooks, which are more closely examined in the following subsections.

Britain: Losing and Gaining an Empire, 1763–1914 This textbook for a Pearson Edexcel course provides two “breadth studies”: one on trade as “the lifeblood of the British Empire” (10), and one on the Royal Navy as its most important tool for extending national power. This combines economic history (free trade, slave trade, importance of hubs such as Singapore) with aspects of exploration, military history and the importance of naval bases during the Age of Sail (37–44; 48–63). The second part of the book consists of five “depth studies” on the American colonies, British Australia, Canada and Durham, India and the Nile valley. Throughout the book, history is conveyed from the point of view of British agents or institutions. Almost all historical sources represent the imperial perspective. Given that the British-French relations are consistently an important focal point of the book (Seven Years War, American War of Independence, Coalition Wars, competition during High Imperialism), it would have been quite interesting to cite contemporary French sources from those periods since this might have helped foster a better understanding of past conflicts and present relations. Also, when addressing the slave trade and its abolition, which is otherwise objectively explained in great detail (12–15), the experiences of the people affected by British policy are somehow unmentioned.

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A post-imperial notion can perhaps be identified in the chapter on the Royal Navy, which for the most part dwells on its success in “transforming Britain from a European to a truly global power at the centre of the largest empire the world has ever seen” (36). Every now and then, it seems important to the authors to duly note, for example, Britain’s “remarkable economic resilience and social cohesion” (84), or the “self-confidence of what was about to become the richest, most powerful country in the world” (85). The same applies to the indisputable British achievements in exploration and mapping (48–50), which could have been contrasted by, for example, addressing encounters between the explorers and indigenous populations. British explorer James Cook’s (1728–1779) exploration of the South Seas, 1768–71 (49–50) plays an important role in this chapter, but not the circumstances of his death8 —although this would be a good example to foster a differentiated understanding of early intercultural encounters as well as the difficulties of historical (and moral) assessment. At the same time, the textbook often acknowledges the violent features of the Empire; for instance, “entire villages massacred” (150) during the 1957 Indian Mutiny, or the fate of the victims in the genocide against Aboriginal people during the “Black War”, “one of the worst chapters in all the history of the British Empire” (99). The relevance, especially of the latter, for today is underlined by pointing out “debates on the rights of Aboriginal population in Australian society today, the kind of Australian history that should be taught in schools and the extent of racism in Australia today” (101). Some postcolonial ideas are incorporated when the book explains that the Aborigines’ “national systems and language were complex. Their survival skills and ability to survive […] were unmatched, but their technological advancement was weak by any measure” (99). Many pages later, the students are asked to “[c]ompare Kitchener’s treatment of a European enemy as described in source 8 [British-French talks at Fashoda 1898] with the slaughter illustrated in source 10 [a picture showing dead dervishes after the Battle of Omdurman in the same year]: What reasons can you suggest for the differences?” (173). Also, the book 8

Despite initially good relations, a lack of understanding of the local culture and religion had led to a deterioration of relations: After quarrels had emerged between Cook and his crew and the native inhabitants of Hawaii, the Englishmen tried to take hostage the ruler of the island in order to get back a stolen longboat. The situation escalated at the beach when more and more natives showed up and started to encircle Cook and his men, which ultimately led to violence between the two groups and Cook as well as several others on both sides being slain (e.g. Williams 2008). As the sources contradict each other in some important details such as the outbreak of violence, both the historical and ethical analysis could prove fruitful for history teaching.

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consistently uses inverted commas when necessary: slaves as “property” (15), a British attempt to “improve” (140), “modernis[e]” (142) or “develop” India (152), the “‘inefficiency’ of the princely states” (141). The ambivalence between some sort of admiration for the imperial past and criticism regarding its darker sides is quite similar in the next textbook.

Access to History. The British Empire c.1857–1967 This book also focuses on the inner workings of the Empire rather than its relations with—and incorporation of—other peoples. Access to History is a “breadth study” for AQA and, for the most part, a monograph supplemented by some essay questions, diagrams, maps and summaries of each chapter. There are no primary sources and just nine secondary sources, all by “Western” male historians. Each chapter introduces some important historical figures—politicians, military commanders, noblemen—but no personages of non-European origin (with a few exceptions such as Gandhi, 99–100). In its introductory section, the textbook explains Britain’s “manifest destiny” (8) along with the fact that, while “most British administrators thought British rule was enlightened and civilising”, local “opposition was dealt with harshly”, reminding the reader that the “Empire was profoundly racist (in today’s terms and by today’s standards)” (4–5). The book provides several examples of colonial violence, but the information is quite variable in terms of quality. On the one hand, most of the accounts emphasise the wrongful nature of British actions, such as in the Third Anglo-Burmese War (1885), during which “British forces responded savagely, burning villages and executing suspected terrorists” (37), the 1919 Amritsar Massacre (99–100), or the Mau Mau Uprising (c.1952–1957), which resulted in “racist terror” in Kenya (143–144). On the other hand, the book misrepresents the Bengal Famine (1943–1945) by asserting that “the provincial administration was unprepared for the catastrophe” (119), completely omitting the role the British government and Churchill himself played during the crisis. In retrospect, one sentence in the textbook’s first chapter seems almost cynical: “colonial governments were initially not very effective at dealing with [famine and disease in India]” (24, emphasis by me)—yet the Bengal Famine struck as late as four years before the Indian independence. The statement that “Britain’s record in Africa between the wars was not good, albeit it was probably better in most respects than that of other European states” (109; see also 143) equally seems to defend British actions. The question of whether British rule was “a force for good” (24; 173) or “a force for good or evil” (193–194) occurs more than once. The answers are inconsistent. While many excerpts paint a rather negative view of the Empire, in

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the detailed “key debate” (173–174), positive aspects seem to prevail. However, on closer inspection, it turns out that many of the arguments listed under “The positive” are lacking in substance. For example, in arguing that the Empire’s “relatively bloodless end can be perceived as a triumph” (174), defeat is somehow reinterpreted as moral victory. It is also unclear why the fact that the Empire was a “source of considerable pride to most Britons” (174) is a good thing on its own, and referring only to the controversial interpretation of one historian known for his exceptionally positive view of the Empire’s legacy (Niall Ferguson) is not a valid argument when the numerous criticisms against his theses are omitted (174). Then again, the conclusion maintains that the Empire was “a place of deep inequality” (24; 191) that “exploited its colonies for all they were worth” (191) but simultaneously refers to ongoing scholarly and political debates about its legacy. It “should also be remembered that today’s morality is different from that of people in the past” (193)—does the book euphemise the Empire’s “profound racism” (4–5) as “different morality” here? Ultimately, however, this text warns against “almost any overarching statement about whether the Empire was a force for good or evil” (193).

Oxford AQA History: The British Empire c1857–1967 The structure of Oxford AQA History is very similar to Access to History. Both are “breadth studies” for AQA, offering a comprehensive overview of the last two centuries of the Empire that mainly consists of a narrative text. However, Oxford AQA History is more of a history workbook, offering more student activities, sources and images. There are many “key profiles” and entire sub-chapters are dedicated to “the role and influence of individuals” within each section, taking a biographical approach to history. Again, indigenous agents for the most part do not play an important role. Nevertheless, this is completely reversed in the chapters about the decolonisation process (153–156; 208–214). These chapters also address postcolonial migration and other aspects of postcolonial political, economic and cultural connectedness (219–230), from the racial tensions and racist violence in the 1950s and 60s up to the present. In light of the postcolonial debates of past years, the final section “The winds of change, 1947–1967” could have taken a slightly more controversial approach to the imperial legacy. For example, the Imperial Royal Honours are mentioned (228–229), but not the fact that a notable number of nominees refuse to accept the award because of its links to the imperial past (Busby 2020). Even so, it is striking that the book addresses so many aspects of the imperial legacy at all—and not only in its final section. Each of the four sections has one

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chapter on “Relations with indigenous peoples” that address many of the violent conflicts of imperial history, sometimes also from the “other” perspective, as in the chapters on the Mau Mau Rebellion (233–235) and the Indian Mutiny. In the latter case, a student activity calls for reflection: “Can you explain [Tapan Raychaudhuri’s] references in Extract 1 to ‘the great rebellion of 1857’ and the ‘First War of Independence’ (rather than the Indian Mutiny)?” (50). The textbook, furthermore, emphasises the agency of indigenous agents (17) and the imperial need for collaboration (14–16; 243) as well as the importance of “men on the spot” (38). In light of so many examples representing a postcolonial narrative, some conflicting findings stand out even more starkly. Several student activities are somewhat trying in how they seem to replicate imperialist values without reaching an analytical level: • “Produce a pamphlet on behalf of a missionary society, encouraging volunteers to join a mission to either Africa or India” (48). • “Write a short imperialist article on Sudan for an edition of the Daily Mail in 1911” (114). In contrast, just three pages later: “Write a letter to The Times that might have appeared in the wake of the Boer War and the revelations about the concentration camps” (117). Are both positions equally valid, as the exercises imply? • “Choose any episode, person or event from your knowledge of the Empire and write a page for a primary school History or Geography textbook, making the imperial theme exciting for young readers” (108). The main text analyses and deconstructs the civilising mission and Social Darwinism (46–48; 111– 118). What is the didactic purpose of asking students to adopt an imperialist perspective? To be clear, tasks like this are the exception rather than the norm. Nonetheless, they do not help students to deconstruct imperialist values. However, it may be that the authors assume students will reach an analytical level on their own, without explicit guidance. In its concluding remarks, Oxford AQA History points at an imperial legacy “both positive and negative”, shaped by “both years of imperial achievement and innovation and years of atrocity and oppression.” Claiming that “for most of the Empire’s history, imperial peoples exhibited as much, if not more, patriotism and loyalty to their British monarch than those living within the British Isles themselves” lacks evidence and seems a rather bold statement. Either way, the

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textbook assures that this “is not to absolve Britain from all blame” as “Imperialism could often bring out the worst in the nation.” Thus, the bottom line seems to be rather critical, but in a differentiated manner: “There was much about empire, particularly the attitudes to and treatment of native peoples, that is abhorrent to the modern mind” yet “it is all too easy to view developments from a twenty-firstcentury perspective and to be ultra-critical of British actions”—in short, there are no “‘easy’ answers” (243–244).

Migration, Empires and the People As the only history textbook for GCSE, Migration, Empires and the People covers the history of Britain and the world from 790 CE up to the present. The book is a result of the educational project “justice2history” by two scholars of history education, Abdul Mohamud and Robin Whitburn, who are also the authors. In light of an increasingly multicultural and diverse classroom, they propose “hidden” histories with an immediate relevance to their target group (Mohamud and Whitburn 2014). Their project clearly has a postcolonial background in its attempt to find appropriate answers to “the serious dangers of a single version of ‘national power and glory’ in school history”, as it says on the project website, in order to “restore justice to history where stories have been consciously or unwittingly ignored” (Mohamud and Whitburn 2014). The textbook identifies “migration” and “Empire” as two vital themes of British history. Obviously, acts of colonial violence are closely linked to these themes, so it is hardly surprising that the book addresses, for example, the Barbados Slave Code (34), mentions the “exclusion and extermination of large numbers of Australian aborigines” (43), the 1865 Morant Bay Rebellion (46), the 1857 “Great Indian Rebellion” (65–66; notably, not called “Indian Mutiny”) as well as the Amritsar Massacre (83–84), the Quit India Movement and the partition of India (86; but not the Bengal Famine), and also the 1845–52 Great Irish Famine (54–57). Considering its background, though, the text deviates less from the depictions of the other textbooks analysed above than one might expect. Still, some differences can be identified. By focussing on certain, overarching themes, the book successfully shows, for instance, that migration is not a phenomenon of modern societies and history but has been occurring for centuries. Even more than Oxford AQA History, Migration, Empires and the People introduces students to historically important personalities of both British and non-British antecedents. Student exercises also sometimes deal with British identity but at an analytical level, not by recreating imperialist identities, with questions like “How might [Emily]

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Hobhouse feel about being British?” (76). Other examples from the text also support a postcolonial narrative: “The English colonisers who established Jamestown in 1607 learned very quickly that they were not colonising an empty land” (31); “imperialist ideologies […] positioned white European people as superior to other native peoples, regardless of their longstanding civilisations” (51); and so on (e.g. 44; 70–71). There is no post-imperial cast to this book.

African Kingdoms: A Guide to the Kingdoms of Songhay, Kongo, Benin, Oyo and Dahomey c.1400–c.1800 This e-book for an OCR A-level course is, unlike the books above, a special issue “depth study” for West African pre-colonial history.9 Just 48 pages long, the textbook provides a concise diachronic overview of the history of five West African kingdoms from the eleventh to late nineteenth century but also includes detailed topics such as a section on Timbuktu, hub of the Songhay Empire in the fifteenth and sixteenth century, as a place of (not always peaceful) cultural exchange and a centre of learning and trade (14). Owing to the paucity of written sources for West African history (5), it utilises mostly visual material such as images of material sources that testify to West African cultural richness. Inevitably, African Kingdoms comes with an ambitious degree of complexity that is quite demanding for pupils (it is targeted at both students and teachers). There are no exercises or additional didactic material. The book hews close to academic discourse at points, as when it summarises the 1970s/80s discussions about the dependency theory (47–48). But this is also its strong point since it avoids reducing history to facts and dates and instead tries to understand the cultural features of pre-colonial empires. The author reflects on the essentialisation of “Africa” and emphasises that the book is rather about “African histories, not African history” (6; 47): “A Senegambian in the fifteenth century had much more in common with someone from Portugal than they did with someone from – say – Kongo: Islam was practised in both Senegambia and Portugal, and there was a shared language for some in Arabic, where none of that was the case in Kongo” (5). The complex history of European-African interactions is investigated from an African perspective and includes stories of peaceful diplomatic and economic relations on the one hand but also of the slave trade, wars and colonisation on the other. The author emphasises the richness of West African cultures, which were

9

In this regard, it is very similar to a 2001 German “special issue” textbook about the history of the Edo and Ibo (Prokasky 2001).

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“far too strong to be crushed by the relatively shortlived intervention of colonialism” and are “still apparent in their postcolonial successor states” (35; 45). This underlines the relevance of studying pre-colonial history for today, which helps in understanding not only the influence of West African artistic styles on modern Western art, or the origins of blues music in the Senegambian region (6–7), but also the multi-layered cultural and historical value of the Benin Bronzes that were looted and distributed all over Europe during colonial times, where many of them remain today (37). As a whole, these findings show that African Kingdoms presents a quintessentially postcolonial narrative.

5

Conclusion: Colonial History and National Identity

Analysing textbooks does not tell us what pupils actually learn about history. However, it can show us what pupils should learn (Kerber 2005, 83; Schissler 2003, 155). Studying textbooks provides an insight into the relationship between societies and their past—in this case, the recent much-disputed legacies of colonial times. Generally speaking, the didactic concepts for German and British textbooks differ to some degree. Student exercises in British textbooks, especially for ASand A-Levels, focus on evaluating different interpretations by historians or assessing the validity of certain theses. Historical sources are also listed but usually not at the centre of attention. German history teaching, on the other hand, emphasises the importance of analysing history from different angles by exercising source criticism and comparing sources from different viewpoints (Multiperspektivität). Working with historical extracts is also common (Kontroversität) but much less so than in British textbooks. Also, the British learning culture seems to be interested rather in analysing history for its own sake whereas German history teaching constantly seeks linkages between past and present to emphasise the contemporary relevance of studying history. Due to the UK curricula being structured around certain combinations of “breadth” and “depth studies”, it is possible for students in the UK to completely avoid learning about the Empire in their history education. On the other hand, if they do choose a course on the Empire, they study the topic intensively and over a longer period than in Germany. In the German curriculum, (High) Imperialism is, above all, understood as the continuation of European industrialisation and modernisation and as the prehistory of the First World War. In English textbooks, Empire is instead understood as a part of British history. Also, because the British Empire continued beyond 1918, the First World War is not as big a

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caesura for imperial history in the British context. This difference still shapes the way imperial history is understood and taught today in Britain and Germany. In short, British courses on Empire history teach (global) colonialism (from a British point of view) whereas German history classes teach (national) imperialism (from a Euro- and sometimes Germanocentric viewpoint). The analysis identified three narratives in total within textbooks from NRW and the UK about imperial and colonial history. At one end of the spectrum, in both the British and German textbook discourse there is a postcolonial narrative, potentially somewhat more pronounced in British books. At the other end, the analysis identified, for Germany, a traditional, Eurocentric narrative based on the idea of modernisation and development (cf. Grewe 2021, 501–502), and, for Britain, a post-imperial narrative that has been more deeply shaped by the Empire and its legacy. While the postcolonial narrative points out a transnational similarity of colonial history discourses, the other end of the spectrum shows some distinct characteristics of German and British national history discourses respectively. The conflicts between the textbook narratives in both countries lead to varying degrees of ambivalence, inconsistency and, occasionally, contradiction. This is nothing unusual for textbooks and, as Klerides aptly describes, is rooted “in dilemmas at the societal level” (2010, 50). The fact that the imperial legacy has become such a highly contested field of memory in the UK might explain why recent British textbooks tend so much towards a postcolonial narrative: This not only reflects the rising influence of postcolonial thought in academia and society. It could also have to do with the work of activist pressure groups and with a dynamic that Diane Ravitch—twenty years ago and in the US-American context, which in many aspects differs from the German and British cases—critically described as the “beneficent [self-]censorship” (2003, e.g. 3) employed by various actors in the politics of education to ensure political correctness. From this perspective, the postcolonial orientation of the newer textbooks possibly is an (albeit belated) tribute to Britain’s increasingly diverse multicultural society, which has been influenced to a far higher degree by migration and cultural transfer from its former colonies than the German society.10 Conflicting narratives and identity politics aside, there is still reason to expect that textbooks that acknowledge colonial violence and address history from different viewpoints might help reconciling in the context of a shared past and making young minds ready for a peaceful future (see the chapter by Peter Geiss in this volume). 10

Maybe the postcolonial narrative would be equally strong in the German books if colonialism was not such a marginalised topic in the curriculum. As Macgilchrist and Müller have concluded after observing the writing process of a German history textbook, processes of reduction usually tend to stabilise hegemonial conceptions of history (2012, 200–202).

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That being said, textbooks alone cannot overcome memory conflicts about the imperial legacy, as the narrative ambivalence of many textbooks both in the UK and Germany demonstrates. But, as mirrors of society’s historical consciousness, textbooks reflect contemporary history discourses. If read critically, conflicting narratives can be identified and productively used—maybe even in history teaching—to better understand how conflicting history narratives arose. Also, if the alternative is a uniform master narrative of national history, the inconsistent nature of the genre is perhaps not entirely inimical.

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Schilling, B. 2014. Postcolonial Germany. Memories of empire in a decolonized nation. Oxford: University Press. Schilling, B. 2015. German postcolonialism in four dimensions: a historical perspective. Postcolonial Studies 18, no. 4: 427–439. https://doi.org/10.1080/13688790.2015.119 1988. Schilling, B. 2017. Material memories of empire: coming to terms with German colonialism. In The cultural legacy of German colonial rule, ed. K. Mühlhahn, 23–50. Berlin et al.: De Gruyter Oldenbourg. https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110525625-002. Schissler, H. 2003. Der eurozentrische Blick auf die Welt. Außereuropäische Geschichten und Regionen in deutschen Schulbüchern und Curricula. Gutachten des Georg-EckertInstituts für internationale Schulbuchforschung für das Bundespräsidialamt. Internationale Schulbuchforschung 25: 155–166. Spraul, G. 1988. Der “Völkermord” an den Herero – Untersuchungen zu einer neuen Kontinuitätsthese. Geschichte in Wissenschaft und Unterricht 12: 713–739. Uffelmann, U., in collaboration with S. Andresen, D. Burkard et al., eds. 1990. Problemorientierter Geschichtsunterricht. Grundlegung und Konkretion. Villingen-Schwenningen: Neckar-Verlag. Williams, G. 2008. The death of Captain Cook. A hero made and unmade. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Winter, J. 2000. The generation of memory: reflections on the “memory boom” in contemporary historical studies. Bulletin of the German Historical Institute 27: 69–92. YouGov. 2014. Survey Results. http://cdn.yougov.com/cumulus_uploads/document/6quatm bimd/Internal_Results_140725_Commonwealth_Empire-W.pdf. Accessed: 4 August 2020.

Curricula AQA. 2019a (Version 1.4). AS and A-level history. AS (7041). A-level (7042). Specifications. For teaching from September 2015 onwards. For AS exams in May/June 2016 onwards. For A-level exams in May/June 2017 onwards. https://filestore.aqa.org.uk/res ources/history/specifications/AQA-7041-7042-SP-2015.PDF. Accessed: 4 August 2020. AQA. 2019b (Version 1.3). GCSE History (8145). Specification. For teaching from September 2016 onwards. For exams in 2018 onwards. https://filestore.aqa.org.uk/resources/his tory/specifications/AQA-8145-SP-2016.PDF. Accessed: 4 August 2020. Department for Education. 2014a. GCE AS and A level subject content for history. https:// assets.publishing.service.gov.uk/government/uploads/system/uploads/attachment_data/ file/302102/A_level_history_subject_content.pdf. Accessed: 4 August 2020. Department for Education. 2014b. History. GCSE subject content. https://assets.publishing. service.gov.uk/government/uploads/system/uploads/attachment_data/file/310549/his tory_GCSE_formatted.pdf. Accessed: 4 August 2020. Department for Education. 2014c. The national curriculum in England. Framework document. https://assets.publishing.service.gov.uk/government/uploads/system/uploads/att achment_data/file/381344/Master_final_national_curriculum_28_Nov.pdf. Accessed: 4 August 2020.

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Der Kultusminister des Landes Nordrhein-Westfalen, ed. 1982. Richtlinien für die gymnasiale Oberstufe in Nordrhein-Westfalen. Geschichte. Köln. Ministerium für Schule und Weiterbildung des Landes Nordrhein-Westfalen, ed. 2014. Kernlehrplan für die Sekundarstufe II Gymnasium/Gesamtschule in Nordrhein-Westfalen. Geschichte. Düsseldorf. http://www.schulentwicklung.nrw.de/lehrplaene/upload/klp_SII/ ge/KLP_GOSt_Geschichte.pdf. Accessed: 4 August 2020. Ministerium für Schule, Wissenschaft und Forschung des Landes Nordrhein-Westfalen, ed. 1999. Richtlinien und Lehrpläne für die Sekundarstufe II – Gymnasium/Gesamtschule in Nordrhein-Westfalen. Geschichte. Düsseldorf. OCR. 2019 (Version 1.4). A level specification. History A. H505. For first assessment in 2017. https://www.ocr.org.uk/Images/170128-specification-accredited-a-level-gce-his tory-a-h505.pdf. Accessed: 4 August 2020. Pearson Edexcel. 2017. A level history. Specification. Pearson Edexcel level 3 advanced GCE in History (9HI0). First teaching from September 2015. First certification from 2017. 3rd ed. https://qualifications.pearson.com/content/dam/pdf/A%20Level/History/2015/Specif ication%20and%20sample%20assessments/9781446914366_GCE_2015_A_HIST.pdf. Accessed: 4 August 2020.

History Textbooks Augst, A., and H.-J. Lendzian, eds. 2007. Zeiten und Menschen. Geschichte. Oberstufe. Paderborn: Schöningh. ISBN: 978-3-14-024970-6. Austermann, L., and H.-J. Lendzian, eds. 2015. Zeiten und Menschen – Geschichte. (Schöningh-Schulbuch). Paderborn: Schöningh. ISBN: 978-3-14-024990-4. Bahr, F., and U. Baumgärtner, eds. 2015. Horizonte – Geschichte. Qualifikationsphase. Nordrhein-Westfalen. Braunschweig: Westermann. ISBN: 978-3-14-111346-4. Brückmann, A., et al. 2016–2020. Europa – Unsere Geschichte. 4 vols. Wiesbaden: Eduversum. Carr, R.J., S. Waller and A. Webster. 2015. Oxford AQA history for A Level: The British Empire c1857–1967. Oxford: UP. ISBN: 978-0-19-835463-5. Christie, N., and B. Christie. 2016. Paper 3: Britain: losing and gaining an empire, 1763– 1914. Harlow: Pearson. ISBN: 978-1-447-985341. Dilcher, A., L. Kahnmeyer and H. Schulze. 1913. Geschichte für Mittelschulen in drei Teilen. Ausgabe für konfessionell gemischte Schulen. Dritter Teil. Bielefeld: Velhagen & Klasing. http://gei-digital.gei.de/viewer/resolver?urn=urn%3Anbn%3Ade%3A0220-gd7306727. Accessed: 4 August 2020. Droste, P. J. 2015. Geschichte und Geschehen. Stuttgart: Klett. ISBN: 978-3-12-430105-5. Farmer, A. 2018. Access to history. The British Empire c.1857–1967 for AQA (A-Level). London: Hodder Education. ISBN: 978-1510423480. Green, T. 2015. A Level ebook. History A. African kingdoms: a guide to the kingdoms of Songhay, Kongo, Benin, Oyo and Dahomey c.1400–c.1800. E-Book: OCR. https://www. ocr.org.uk/Images/208299-african-kingdoms-ebook-.pdf. Accessed: 4 August 2020. Histoire/Geschichte. 2006–2011. French-German history textbook in 3 vols., written by a team of French and German authors accompanied by a binational committee of experts. German version: D. Henri, G. Le Quintrec, R. Bendick and P. Geiss, eds. 2011. Europa

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und die Welt von der Antike bis 1815 (vol. 1). D. Henri, G. Le Quintrec and P. Geiss, eds. 2008. Europa und die Welt vom Wiener Kongress bis 1945 (vol. 2). G. Le Quintrec and P. Geiss, eds. 2006. Europa und die Welt seit 1945 (vol. 3). Leipzig: Klett (German version), and Paris: Nathan (French version). Langendorf, E. 2015. Buchners Geschichte – Oberstufe. Qualifikationsphase. Bamberg: Buchner. ISBN: 978-3-7661-4677-9. Laschewski-Müller, K., and R. Rauh, eds. 2015. Kursbuch Geschichte. Nordrhein-Westfalen und Schleswig-Holstein. Qualifikationsphase. Berlin: Cornelsen. ISBN: 978-3-06064445-2. Mohamud, A., and R. Whitburn. 2014. AQA GCSE history: migration, empires and the people. London: Hodder Education. ISBN: 978-1471886249. Prokasky, H., and M. Tabaczek. 2001. Afrika – ferner Nachbar. Geschichte in Westafrika am Beispiel der Edo und Ibo im Gebiet des heutigen Südnigeria (Geschichts-Kurse für die Sekundarstufe II, Bd. 8, Schülerbd.). Paderborn: Schöningh. ISBN: 3-506-34867-1. Wilmot-Buxton, E. M. 1915. Highroads of history. Book VIII. Highroads of empire history. London: Nelson and sons. Internet Archive: https://archive.org/details/highroadsofh isto08unse. Accessed: 4 August 2020.

Florian Helfer, until April 2023, was a Doctoral Research Assistant in History Didactics at the Department of History at the University of Bonn. Since May 2023 he works at a public school as a teacher (in training) of History and English.

Learning from History? Comparative Perspectives

Breaking the Chains of the Narrative: History Teaching, Peacebuilding and the Challenge of Human Universalism Peter Geiss Abstract

History teaching can shape aggressive mindsets as well as peaceful attitudes and behaviours. In textbooks, the image of the other is established not only through overt moral judgements but also more implicitly by narratives that label other nations or groups as aggressive and dangerous. From the perspective of democratic peacebuilding, history teaching has an obligation to endow young people with an understanding of how to free their minds from the often essentialising and hostile patterns of such narratives. Typically, these narratives spring from a conception of history as part of geopolitical power struggles or as an expression of “national interest”. Such a view of history is narrow-minded and even misleading. Faced with the threats of devastating nuclear war, climate change, poverty and the recent pandemic, the real interest of nations lies in preventing armed conflict and stabilising international relations to bring about shared answers to today’s most urgent challenges. Only a dialogue that focuses on a universal—but not uniform—reading of the past can free the world from the misunderstanding of history as an instrument of nationalist competition. I am indebted to Florian Helfer and the professional copy-editing service organised by the Central Translation Service of the University of Bonn for helpful comments and emendations to this manuscript as well as Clara Mowitz, Karoline Schmidt and Antonia Schwaderlapp for formal corrections. P. Geiss (B) Department of History, University of Bonn, Bonn, Germany e-mail: [email protected]

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Fachmedien Wiesbaden GmbH, part of Springer Nature 2023 F. Helfer et al. (eds.), Overcoming Conflict, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-658-39237-6_9

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In the opening scene of the 1930 film “All quiet on the Western Front” based on Erich Maria Remarque’s famous bestseller, a German teacher gives a highly enthusiastic speech. This event is set at the beginning of World War I in August 1914. The teacher tries to convince his students that it is both a great honour and their duty to fight for their fatherland. As an example, he mentions the Romans and their saying “Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori”. After singing the patriotic song “The Watch on the Rhine” (“Die Wacht am Rhein”) the entire group leaves the classroom to join the army (film directed by Lewis Milestone, USA 1930; for the above scene, see the extract and transcript on American Rhetoric by Eidenmuller 2001). Can teachers’ words make young people ready for war? I would like to reformulate this question in a way directly linked to the central issue of the present volume: can history teaching create aggressive attitudes or even provoke wars? And if so, might we presume that history teaching can also operate in the opposite direction by creating or stabilising peace? Undoubtedly, it will always remain impossible to prove the influence of textbooks or history lessons on political decisions or actions (Hirano 2009, 2). The leaders going to war in 1914 did not do us the favour of mentioning the influence of history lessons or textbooks on their decisions. It is very likely, however, that the ideas of historical competition and antagonism (Miller 2020a) imbibed by these leaders at an early age affected their actions when they were in power. In this respect, the role of history teaching might be compared to that of modern mass media. Textbooks have even been considered a subgroup of mass media (Jacobmeyer 1998, 27) “indirectly or directly authorized by the state” (Lässig 2013, 7). Recent research shows that contemporary media contributed to a mindset that made the disaster of 1914 possible and perhaps inevitable (bibliographical reference in Geiss 2016). When discussing the impact of framing (Jervis 2017, 40–43) on attitudes or behaviours, we must certainly presume that teaching does not have the power either to provoke wars or to bring peace in the short term. In the long run, however, it is likely to help shape “pictures inside people’s heads” (Lippmann 1922, 31) in a way favourable or unfavourable to peace, as studies of long-term media effects in the context of 1914 have demonstrated (cited in Geiss 2016). A starting point of the present chapter is the hypothesis that conflictual mindsets and behaviours result not only from hatred, contempt or direct aggressiveness, but potentially also from narratives that emphasise an enduring competition between nations or other groups.

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In this chapter, I would like to focus on two main questions: • What types of history teaching are likely to create aggressive or even warlike attitudes? • How can history teaching contribute to overcoming conflict between nations or groups? The main point of departure of my reflections is certainly the Franco-German dialogue on history teaching that began in the interwar period and restarted after World War II (Bendick 2003; see also the chapter by Bendick in this volume). I myself had the honour and privilege of being involved in a late phase of this process as a co-editor of the French-German history textbook (Histoire/Geschichte, three volumes: 2006, 2008, 2011). This project followed the approach of comparing and explaining different views, for example, the clear contrast in perceptions of the United States’ role in Europe after 1945. It did not try to create a new common narrative. This comparatist logic of the regard croisé (François 2007, 78) aimed to explain difference rather than to reach a complete consensus (for a similar approach, see the chapter by Sami Adwan in this volume). This method was possible only because there was no hardened controversy concerning, for instance, the origins of the two world wars or the reality and common condemnation of German war crimes in France (Geiss 2010). In 2018, I had the chance to discuss with young adults from the Baltic States, Russia and Germany whether the French-German project could be a “model” for Eastern Europe (Geiss 2021b). The differences that distinguish Franco-German reconciliation, which is based on a common but not identical reading of history, from the situation existing at that time in Eastern Europe were enormous (for the complex example of Lithuania, see Makhotina 2017). Geopolitical conflict and its impact on the politics of memory were without doubt the main obstacles to any “transfer” of the Franco-German experience to the east. Since the 1950s, the Federal Republic of Germany and France had belonged to the same geopolitical block and have had common security interests, which shaped an environment favourable to an empathic discussion on controversial issues of the past (Defrance and Pfeil 2011, 1–18, 36; Auerbach 1990). By contrast, the Cold War division across Central Europe had been replaced by a new, more eastward frontier, with NATO and EU member states as well as nations politically close to them on one side and Russia on the other (Brie 2012, 174). The fears instilled in its neighbouring countries by the Russian leadership’s great power ambitions had contributed to this process (Brie 2012, 168) long before Russian forces moved into Ukraine in 2014 and, on a much larger scale, in 2022. Under these circumstances, it

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seems very difficult to imagine a way in which a dialogue on the past inspired by the idea of the regard croisé could be enabled. As long as history is considered a strategic asset, an effort “to put oneself in someone else’s shoes” (Stradling 2003, 13) will almost inevitably be viewed as a sign of weakness or even an act of treason (see, with a critical focus on Eastern European politics of memory, Miller 2020b). Nevertheless, and independently from this particular case, discussions on the partial and flexible “usability” of the Franco-German example in other parts of the world have already begun. These should be pursued in an open-minded way that transcends the simplistic idea of a “model” that can be successfully copied elsewhere (for recent contributions that address this problem, see Colin and Demesmay 2021). Rather than a “model”, the French-German textbook and the overall process of reconciliation between these two countries should be considered a “point of reference” (Dong-Ki Lee 2021, 166) or “an important part of the reconciliation cloud” (Nishiyama 2021, 192). It is also important not to confuse young people interested in reconciliation and dialogue with the political leadership of their country, especially if that leadership instrumentalises and ideologises history in a spirit of power politics and/or nationalist revisionism. In this perspective it might be useful to discuss Akiyoshi Nishiyama’s argument that the French-German case was characterised by a very specific, domestic cooperation between state and civil society on each side (i.e. state and civil society working hand in hand, not against each other)—a particular condition that could not be found in East Asia (Nishiyama 2021, 192). This leads him to suggest that “distance from politics” and “institutional autonomy” could further the social dialogue on a difficult past (Nishiyama 2021, 192). But how could such projects work in contexts of extreme nationalism, authoritarian rule or even dictatorship, where leaders and the state apparatus they control are eager to give no room even to the slightest deviation from the narrative they want to promote and where any refusal to participate in ongoing “memory wars” (Koposov 2018) can be viewed—and, sometimes, punished—as an act of national treason? Is it possible to engage processes of international dialogue and reconciliation without the state or even against the state? In contexts of repression and state-controlled mass media, such dialogue only involves courageous minorities. However, they might be an important nucleus for a broader process taking place in the future under different political circumstances. The history of the twentieth century gives hope to think that the powers of repression and of a nationalist and/or imperialist reading of the past will not be given the last word.

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Creating Warlike Mindsets: Textbooks in the Age of Imperialism

How can history teaching create warlike mindsets? I would like to offer an example from a German textbook published in 1874, only three years after the foundation of the German Empire. In this book, the results of the Thirty Years War are framed in a nationalistic way that almost entirely avoids negative stereotypes: France stands menacing on the Upper Rhine, against the open Empire, Sweden dominates Northern Germany holding in her possession the delta of the rivers Oder and Weser. The fact that our fatherland remained politically independent and that the spirit of our people was never extinguished proves the indestructability of its core. (Dietsch 1874, 38)1

Here, France is not explicitly denigrated as an enemy but nonetheless clearly presented as a threat to the security and independence of the German nation as an unchangeable entity. In 1874, the author writes “our fatherland” when referring to the situation of the Holy Roman Empire in 1648. The message is clear: the German nation already existed as a political entity in the seventeenth century and there has always been fierce competition between Germany and her neighbours. I think that such antagonistic representations of history (Miller 2020a) might frame international crises of the twentieth century in a particular way. In the age of imperialism, decision makers and public opinion interpreted international crises not only in light of existing circumstances but also from the longer-term perspective of centuries-long antagonism (further examples in Riemenschneider and von Geibel 1980). When France tried to extend her colonial empire in North Africa between 1904 and 1911 by establishing a protectorate over Morocco, this expansionist policy was criticised, for instance, in a German textbook (Neubauer 1914, 113). It is highly plausible that German students, who had learned that French power politics—whether monarchical or republican—had tried to harm “their country” since the seventeenth century, would only perceive France’s policy in Africa as the logical continuation of a traditional French pursuit of hegemony and domination over Germany.2 Even acknowledging that textbooks published in Germany in the years preceding the outbreak of World War I focused more 1

Unless stated otherwise, texts written in languages other than English have been translated by the author of this chapter. 2 This pattern is not unlike the geopolitical “zero-sum-game”-narrative that Tatiana Khripachenko analyses in current Russian textbooks (see her chapter in the present volume).

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on internal rather than international matters (Bendick 2013, 328, 337, on the exceptional focus of Neubauer’s textbook: 334), this type of framing could have influenced students’ perceptions of France. The impression of armed competition was not limited to the German perspective. I would like to offer another example, quoting the foreword of a British history textbook published in 1914: Little children, in these pages / You shall learn the tale of ages; / You shall learn the wondrous story / Of our Britain’s fame and glory. You shall learn how many a war man — / Kelt and Saxon, Dane and Norman — / Men of courage, might, and grace, / Blended all in Britain’s race. You shall learn how much you owe / To your sires of long ago; / How they fought and died, that we / Might be great and might be free; How the waves that hemmed them round / Were their highway; how they found / Rich new lands that grew to be / Brighter Britains o’er the sea; […]. (Shirley 1914)

Threatening images of the other are likely to produce hostile attitudes, even without direct denigration of the enemy. According to Jouni-Matti Kuukkanen (2015, 229, citing Frank R. Ankersmit), historical narratives can be understood as arguments transmitting meaning in a “holistic” way. From this perspective, the conduct of a nation can be condemned as aggressive, even in a textbook that does not contain one single phrase explicitly stating something like “France (or Britain) had always been Germany’s enemy no. 1”. Consequently, we must take into account the presentation of earlier periods, such as the Middle Ages and even antiquity, if we want to learn how France was framed in German history textbooks on the eve of World War I and vice versa. During the war, antiquity became one of the most important settings for the explicit denigration of the German enemy as the “barbarian” in French propaganda (examples and literature in Geiss 2021a). In a French textbook published in 1923, we read that World War I was a conflict between “barbarism” and “civilisation”—and Germany is clearly presented on the side of “barbarism” (Sieurin and Chabert 1923, 358). The same book calls the German nation state founded in 1871 a “new Empire built ‘by iron and fire’, by Prussia and for Prussia, and violating the principle of voluntary nationality and creating a permanent source of war in Europe” (Sieurin and Chabert 1923, 59). How can history lessons and textbooks contribute to preventing or overcoming such patterns, and thus to peacebuilding? Before trying to answer this question,

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I would like to discuss briefly the relevance of the concept of “peacebuilding” to this aim. According to the classical definition formulated by former UN Secretary General Boutros-Ghali, peacebuilding means an “action to identify and support structures which will tend to strengthen and solidify peace in order to avoid a relapse into conflict” (UN-Report 1992, 5; Schneckener 2005, 18–19). These words were pronounced in June 1992, only a few years after the end of the Cold War. Boutros-Ghali’s optimism about the global progress of democracy has passed away, but I think that many aspects of his reflections remain relevant to us. In another part of his speech, Boutros-Ghali states that the aims of peacebuilding can be achieved in part by “reducing hostile perceptions through educational exchanges and curriculum reform” (UN-Report 1992, 15). Although history teaching is not mentioned explicitly in this speech, it is clear that history lessons have a particular potential to create such perceptions of other nations or groups. In the 1990s and the first decade of the twenty-first century, most Europeans found it plausible to believe that war was not their problem, with the bloody exception of the devastating and partly genocidal conflict on the territory of the former Yugoslavia. For a brief moment, people might have the impression that the “end of history” proclaimed by Francis Fukuyama (1989; 2006 [1992]) had brought with it the end of military conflict. The wealthy countries of Central and Western Europe and their partners in Eastern Europe seemed to be far from the danger zone. Now, however, the situation has changed. After the 2008 RussoGeorgian War, which John J. Mearsheimer (2014) considered an early warning sign, armed geopolitical conflict returned to Europe in 2014. In this dynamic context, peacebuilding is back on the European agenda, and not only as a regional issue. Peacebuilding is also a global concern that should not be considered closed by the disastrous results of Western military interventionism we have witnessed in Afghanistan and elsewhere. The achievement of sustainable détente and trust is a very demanding challenge for political leaders of all countries concerned. In the long-term, the common interest in a stable and peaceful world order based on respect among nations is too important to be considered merely as a strategic issue to be handled by politicians according to their personal or partisan agenda. This idea was already expressed in 1926 by French Foreign minister Aristide Briand on the occasion of Germany’s admission to the League of Nations, when he recalled the slaughter of 1914–18: “It is easy to condemn peoples; most of the time, it is rather their leaders who deserve such a condemnation because they have the duty

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to make an effort on themselves to understand the events and to interpret them in a sense favourable to peace.”3 The focus of peacebuilding is not only on leaders and their enormous responsibility, but also on societies and especially on their younger generations. Thus, history teaching comes into play as trust and distrust can be backed by historical narratives transmitted in the classroom. It is tragic that authoritarian and nationalist states, i.e. states in which multiperspectivity would be of utmost necessity, usually do not tolerate this principle in history teaching because they consider the past a resource of legitimacy and power that they cannot afford to leave to open discussion.

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Beyond the Prison of National Narratives: Universalising History Teaching

Between the two world wars, people interested in issues related to history teaching were already conscious of this problem: narratives that serve national interests and legitimise national claims rarely contribute to peacebuilding. As the works of Rainer Bendick have shown, scholars such as the French historian Jules Isaac have sought to free history teaching from the impact of national biases through a method that would be called “multiperspectivity” in German history didactics (Bendick 2003, 83; on the limits of this principle: Rüsen 2017). I think, however, that the main idea behind this concept may be universal: historians struggling for an unbiased understanding of the past will eventually discover it, as the Greek historian Herodotus did in the fifth century BC (Will 2015, 72–73). According to Robert Stradling, multiperspectivity requires a “willingness to accept that there are other possible ways of viewing the world than one’s own and that these may be equally valid and equally partial; and, second, a willingness to put oneself in someone else’s shoes and try and see the world as they see it, that is, to exercise empathy” (Stradling 2003, 13).4 This is exactly the approach we adopted when writing the French-German history textbook from 2005 to 2011 (Histoire and Geschichte 2006; 2008; 2011; see 3

“Condamner les peuples, c’est facile; la plupart du temps, ce sont leurs dirigeants qui méritent surtout cette condamnation, parce qu’ils ont le devoir de faire effort sur eux-mêmes, de comprendre les événements, de les interpréter toujours dans un sens favorable aux tentatives de conciliation” (Prochasson and Wieviorka 1994, 287). 4 This is the opposite of the “memory cage” (“Gedächtniskäfig”) as recently described by the German-Israeli historian Dan Diner (2022), i.e. a situation in which views and actions are determined through a monological reading of the past.

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Geiss 2010). Whenever we felt confronted by different assessments of historical facts, we tried to present these differences and, if possible, to explain them. We did not try to create a coherent French-German narrative. But can this resolve all problems? I think that multiperspectivity works well in a Franco-German context because of the substantial discussion and exchange on controversial historical issues since the interwar period (François 2007, 76, citing Corine Defrance and Ulrich Pfeil). Moreover, it only works because there is no really hard historybased conflict between France and Germany today, and certainly no conflict concerning the reality of German war crimes (Geiss 2010, 202). It is clear that the same method could not have been used successfully after 1919, in the aftermath of World War I and the Treaty of Versailles (Bendick 2003, 77). A key problem with multiperspectivity is that it remains a principle based on the assumption that history is a national thing. Under this assumption, it is impossible to overcome conflicting narratives because they reveal different national realities. Thus, even approaches that tend to promote peacebuilding consider national narratives as the normal starting point. This is certainly realistic, but I think we need to go one step further: even if national perspectives and narratives are typically the starting point of our work (Hilbrenner 2019), we should try to universalise history as best we can. It is not the nation or its government that owns history, but humanity. Fortunately, human beings are equipped with bon sens (Descartes 1991 [1637], 75), and so are able to engage in a common search for truth, which is understood as an open process (Fabre 2020, based on Dewey5 ). This common quest for truth must not be confounded with the Western universalism often suspected of being just another version of “Western imperialism” (Aust 2019; Straßenberger and Hausteiner 2019; Khripachenko in the present volume). Rather, it is based on history as a critical science (Audigier 2018, 32; Geiss and Vössing 2021, 11). Even if it is impossible to prove complex causality beyond simple facts, rational human beings of different nationality, culture or religion should be able to agree that some narratives about the past are more “warranted” than others, as Jouni-Matti Kuukkanen (2015, 233, 235) argued. What does this mean for history teaching and peacebuilding? At this point, we approach the concept of “dialogic memory” as defined by Aleida Assmann (2014). History teaching can promote peacebuilding if it encourages students to find, in the master narratives of other nations, elements of truth, “partial justifications” (Jeismann 1980, 201) of history-related perceptions and memories specific to the experiences of each nation (Walzer 1989). However, 5

I am grateful to Sylvain Doussot for bringing this article and Dewey’s thinking in general to my attention.

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this is only possible if these narratives are not initially presented as the “enemy’s tale” and if one’s own nation and its real or alleged interests are not the only reference for historical judgement (Audigier 2018, 35). In an ideal scenario, this approach could go far beyond multiperspectivity to create elements of a universal understanding of history.6 At this point, it might be helpful to introduce the concept of “reiterative universalism” as suggested by Michael Walzer. According to Walzer, it is possible “to find value” in a variety of different narratives (Walzer 1989, 514; see also Straßenberger 2007, 147; Geiss 2019, 354). But whereas Walzer asserts that “there is no universal history” (Walzer 1989, 514), the approach defended in this chapter maintains that respect towards different valuable narratives does not preclude the existence of one real history to which they refer in different ways (for the defence of historical realism against radical forms of narrativism, see Gerber 2007, 2012; Geiss 2018). The reality of the deaths of Katyn and Leningrad during the Second World War does not depend on narratives (with a different example Gerber 2012, 234), and human beings capable of rational reflection and empathy are able to acknowledge and deplore them regardless of national background (Aust 2021, 163). When interviewed by students about the FrenchGerman history textbook, the German historian Rudolph von Thadden coined the following expression: “one reality—two approaches to History” (“une réalité— deux approches de l’Histoire”, von Thadden n.d.). If we seek elements of truth in others’ narratives in a context of geopolitical conflict, we are always exposed to the risk that our efforts at understanding will be exploited by aggressive forces that consider such reflections a sign of weakness and try to use them as arguments that legitimise their claims and discredit those of their opponents. The alternative, however, would be to abandon altogether the idea that there is room for any shared understanding of reality—a state of affairs close to what we call war. Maybe the narratives that seem at first glance to serve our interests best actually serve them worst in the longer term. This could lead us to surrender altogether any idea of “specifically national utility” (criticised by Miller 2020b) when we try to understand history or explain it to young people in our different school systems.

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The perspective of such universalisation is already discernible in Jörn Rüsen’s reflections on the “limits of multiperspectivity” (2017). Rüsen finds that a pluralistic approach to the past cannot operate without an “overarching divergence- and diversity-absorbing perspective”, including, for example, the principle of tolerance (Rüsen 2017).

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Conclusion

As a substantial contributor to peacebuilding, history teaching should go beyond multiperspectivity to seek a universal understanding of history. As Martin Aust rightfully claimed, we should remember the victims of the German war of extermination in a way that transcends national identities, i.e. in a universal way (Aust 2018, 15; on the German war of extermination, see Aust 2021). The millions of victims of World War II did not live in different national universes hermetically separate one from another. They once belonged to the same real world, and there is no reason why the memory of their suffering and death should not transcend political borders today. History teaching is about the real world of the past and the human beings that lived, suffered and died in it, not about the transmission of “useful” national narratives and messages (on the dangers of “uses and abuses of history”, see MacMillan 2010 and, particularly on nationalism, Hobsbawm 1994; see also Pandel 2017: 31–32). Students should be encouraged to empathise with the victims of war, war crimes and crimes against humanity, not because of a shared nationality or group identity, but because they were human beings (Aust 2021, 163). The perspective of such a methodology would not be that of a defence against others perceived as enemies, but of a common transnational striving for a world that will not see global war and destruction again. From the beginning of the early modern period, the abuse of universalism as a tool of European and later Western power politics and expansion has unfortunately contributed to discrediting the idea of universal humanity altogether (Wallerstein 2006, see also Geiss et al. 2019; for the Russian perspective, see Aust 2019 and Khripachenko in the present volume). Instead of giving up on this necessary idea, history teaching should aim to free it from this dark heritage of hypocritical power politics and violence. It should show to others that it does not intend to use universalism as a facade for the pursuit of national or bloc interests (for a defence of universalism transcending Western traditions, see Joas 2015). How could this kind of teaching work? One of its instruments could be textbooks that present controversial narratives on important events. In a special dossier of such a textbook we might find, for example, extracts from articles that frame a controversial event in very different ways, though avoiding clearly falsified versions of the facts—even if it would be naive to assume that it is always possible to draw a clear distinction between falsification and framing. This kind of arrangement already exists in the French-German textbook (Geiss 2010) and in others (see the chapter by Sami Adwan in the present volume). Here, the approach lies in the students’ activities. In the analytical part of the dossier, they would not only compare the different narratives or assessments but would also be asked to perform the following analytical operations:

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• To what extent can these assessments be backed by generally acknowledged historical facts? Where do they neglect or distort important elements of the past? • Try to understand why the authors of the text deem it necessary to defend their version of history. Think of past experiences and present political situations that might have influenced their views. • Try to write an assessment of the controversial event that would be acceptable to all authors. • What could be done to reach agreement on remaining controversial issues? How might these issues be handled in a way that avoids an escalation of conflict? Analytical operations of this kind are very demanding and for most groups would be too difficult. Such an approach would not be effective in a context of high geopolitical tension and might even be counter-productive, exacerbating emotions in direct confrontation with narratives “from the other side”. In the Franco-German context, it was only possible to apply this approach after tension had been replaced by a high degree of solidarity and trust—and a multiplication of ties in the general context of European integration, NATO membership and a shared understanding of democracy and human rights (Defrance and Pfeil 2011, 1–18, 36; Auerbach 1990). In some ways, peacebuilding through history teaching already presupposes the conditions it wants to create. This means that history teaching can only be one element among others in a broad political and social process. Leaders bear an enormous responsibility for this because—in the words of Aristide Briand pronounced in 1926 and already cited—they “have the duty to make an effort on themselves in order to understand the events and to interpret them in a sense favourable to peace”.

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Peter Geiss is Professor of History Didactics at the Department of History at the University of Bonn.

The Prospects for Public History in East Asia: History Textbooks, Museums, Cinema and TV Hisaki Kenmochi Abstract

This chapter argues that public history is an effective and crucial tool to reconcile conflicts about history. Public History transmits the results of academic historical research to the general public. Here, three media of public history are surveyed: books, films and TV movies, and museums. In East Asia, there is so far no common history textbook as compared to Europe, but there are exchanges of knowledge and common historical publications between Japan, China and Korea. As for films, there are no equivalents of The French village either in China or in Korea. In their films, Japanese soldiers usually are portrayed as villains. Such antagonistic tendencies are emphasised also through the nationalisms of museums in all three countries. As a solution to the observed problems, the author suggests a common museum for the history of East Asia. Why include public history in a volume about history teaching and peacebuilding? Because I believe public history is the best tool for assisting the reconciliation of historical conflicts. In other words, it is the best tool for counteracting historical revisionism. The Franco-German history textbook Histoire/Geschichte (three volumes: 2006; 2008; 2011) is a quintessential product of public history. While dialogues on a reciprocal improvement of textbooks by France and Germany in (Translated by Lara Tremblay) H. Kenmochi (B) School of International Relations, University of Shizuoka, Shizuoka, Japan e-mail: [email protected]

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Fachmedien Wiesbaden GmbH, part of Springer Nature 2023 F. Helfer et al. (eds.), Overcoming Conflict, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-658-39237-6_10

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the 1950s and by Germany and Poland in the 1970s are considered rather as best practice in official history, shared textbooks, such as the Franco-German or German-Polish ones, are indeed an outcome of public history (for the FrancoGerman case see also the chapters by Rainer Bendick and Corine Defrance in this volume). What is public history? According to the definition of the National Council on Public History, “Public history is a movement and approach that promotes the collaborative study and practice of history; its practitioners embrace a mission to make its special insight accessible to the public” (Stanton 2007, 1). This means that the mission of public history is to transmit the results of academic research in history to the general public. It is a way of popularising history. To represent an overview of public history, Thomas Cauvin, former president of the International Federation for Public History, used a tree metaphor, calling it “Public His(tree)” (Cauvin 2019; 2021). This allows us to visualise the range of public history as the branches or leaves of a tree (s. Fig. 1). Public history as an academic field or discipline was born in the United States and entered the university curricula in North America in the 1970s and 1980s. But in Europe, this did not happen until the twenty-first century; for instance, at the Free University of Berlin (FUB) in 2008 and the University of Paris Est in 2015. Learned societies were first organised in the United States in 1980 (National Council on Public History) and then worldwide in 2010 (International Federation for Public History). Public history can be understood in two ways, a broad one and a narrow one. In the broad sense, it is history in the public domain, which means anyone can write or produce it. That means a laudable democratisation of historical sciences, but it also allows the production of any kind of history that sells well, especially historical revisionism. In France, the example that springs to mind is Éric Zemmour, who has attracted a lot of attention with his nationalist conception of history for example by underestimating the anti-Semitism of Vichy by insisting that Petain protected the French Jews (Zemmour 2014). But the likes of Zemmour exist all over the world—in Japan, for instance, famous populist writer Naoki Hyakuta wrote a history of Japan, Nihon kokuki, which sold more than a million copies but was the object of much criticism. I therefore prefer to limit public history to its narrower sense: history intended for the general public but produced by specialists, i.e. professional historians, or people familiar with the rules of the discipline and respecting them.

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Fig. 1 Public history tree of knowledge. (Copyright by Thomas Cauvin, see Cauvin 2019, 2021)

As far as I am concerned, public history is a means of transmitting the results of historical research to the general public. Three media come to mind as examples of public history: books, films and museums. The following sections deal with each of these media, starting with books.

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Books as a Tool for Public History

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A Popular Book or a Book of Demagogy?

To explain the Japanese situation, I shall introduce four books about French contemporary history as examples. First, an academic book, Vichy France by Robert Paxton (1972), in the Japanese version (translated by myself); second,

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a popularised academic work, The shorn women (Fujimori 2016), written by a Japanese doctoral student; third, a popular work, An introduction to modern and contemporary French history, written by myself (Kenmochi 2018b). These books, especially the last two, can be described as public history. But the fourth book, which I would call a book of demagogy, is problematic. Its title, Usodarake no Nichifutsu kingendaishi (French-Japanese Modern History Full of Lies), clearly shows its demagogic or revisionist character. Its aim is to disparage the whole of French history by comparing it to Japanese history. One cannot say that its author falsifies historical facts, but he uses them to mislead his readers for his own purposes. For instance, citing the popularised academic work mentioned above, he takes this episode of shaven-headed women as proof of an absurdity in French history, while divorcing it from its historical context, i.e. the aftermath of the German occupation, when women suspected of liaisons with German soldiers were exposed to cruel forms of public punishment and shaming. The problem is that this book sells well, much better than serious books like the others mentioned. This leads me to believe that one of the missions of public history is to fight against historical revisionism of this kind.

1.2

An Unsuccessful Defamation Case

I will take the liberty of presenting two concrete examples of Japanese revisionism. One is the lawsuit involving a book by Yoshiaki Yoshimi, the other is the scandal caused by a revisionist book made available to hotel guests. Yoshiaki Yoshimi is a great specialist on the history of the so-called “comfort women”. He has published not only academic books, but also a popularised one that is highly regarded as such and has been translated into English as Comfort Women (Yoshimi 2000). However, when describing this book at a press conference in 2013, a politician let slip the word “falsification” in front of foreign journalists. The press conference was being hosted by Toru Hashimoto, mayor of Osaka, who had to apologise for the following misogynistic statement: “For soldiers who risked their lives in circumstances where bullets are flying around like rain and wind, if you want them to get some rest a comfort women system was necessary. That’s clear to anyone” (Associated Press 2013). However, it was not Hashimoto but another politician, Fumiki Sakurauchi, who mentioned the word “falsification” at the very moment when the books referring to the subject of the press conference, including Yoshimi’s, were being presented. No historian, indeed no researcher, can excuse the world “falsification” since it denies their very “raison

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d’être”. It was therefore natural for the author, Mr. Yoshimi, and his fellow historians to sue this politician for defamation. But after several trials, the accusation was rejected (Yun-hyung 2016). The judge concluded that the use of the term was not a matter of slander but of freedom of speech. Yet for most of us, the word “falsification” is not used to appraise a book but to defame the author.

1.3

An Untouchable Revisionist Hotel

Another example is more lamentable and less academic. It concerns a revisionist hotel group, APA Hotels, the biggest budget hotel chain in Japan. Its owner is a well-known revisionist, a personal friend of former Prime Minister Abe, who writes many books on so-called contemporary Japanese history, published privately. The book in question justifies the Japanese war against China and the United States, while downplaying the Nanjing massacres and the plight of “comfort women”. The hotel-group owner puts his revisionist book in every single room in his hotels—more than 60 thousand rooms in 400 hotels. If you were to stay in his hotel, you would find that revisionist book at your bedside, next to the bible. Admittedly, this revisionist hotel owner is not acting against the law as these are private establishments and tourists are not forced to read his book. But the book is published in two languages, Japanese and English, printed on facing pages, Japanese on the left, English on the right. Clearly, the author wants his book to be read by foreigners. Eventually, in 2017, two tourists, an American and a Chinese, discovered this book in their rooms and posted a picture of it on social media, mainly in China. The discovery naturally attracted a lot of attention for a few days. A Chinese tourist agency cancelled all its reservations at that hotel chain, etc. Curious, however, is the reaction of the Japanese media. In the written press, such as newspapers, there were very few critical articles. Even more surprising was the total silence of Japanese television. The only exception was the morning news programme Sukkiri on the private channel Nippon TV on 19 January 2017, where a commentator criticised the book’s revisionism. But he was dismissed from the show. Why was that? This hotel group sponsors many TV shows, especially news shows on private channels. Thus, it is untouchable in the world of Japanese television.

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A Shared Textbook or a Shared Book

Let us turn to the positive side of public history. As we have already mentioned, there are border-transgressing history textbooks in Europe: the Franco-German and the German-Polish ones. We do not yet have any such transnational textbooks in East Asia, but there are some attempts, most notably, two common historical publications written by historians and educators from the three countries of Japan, China and South Korea—works that later have also been translated into English (The China-Japan-Korea History Textbook Tri-National Committee 2015 [2005]; Fuchs et al. 2018 [2012]). Will we, the peoples of East Asia, one day have a common history textbook as they do in Europe? We do not know. What is certain is that the Korean people believe in its possibility. They think that it will be the best way to reconcile Japan and Korea over historical conflicts. But I do not believe so. In my opinion, the Franco-German textbook is the result of Franco-German reconciliation, not its reason. I think that if the GermanPolish textbook succeeds, it will be an ideal case of public history as a means of reconciliation, but considering the conservative tendency of the current Polish government, it will be difficult. For example, the Museum of the Second World War that opened its doors in Gdansk, developed by competent European historians, is currently threatened by the government, to the point that its president was sacked the moment it opened (Machcewicz 2019).

1.5

A Journal for Popularising History

In this category of books or written resources, I find the French journal L’Histoire to be the ideal example of public history. It is a journal dedicated to the popularisation of historical sciences. What is special about L’Histoire is that almost all the articles are written by professional historians, which is quite rare for a journal of popular history. For instance, in Japan, as in France, there are many journals that popularise history, but all of these Japanese magazines are written by history enthusiasts or authors of historic novels. One wonders if there is an equivalent of the journal L’Histoire in other countries, a journal which is neither the Revue historique nor Historia; that is to say, neither an academic journal for specialists nor a magazine written only by amateurs. According to studies that have compared the contents of L’Histoire and Historia, two representative popularising journals, there is almost no overlap between the authors of the articles (Pain Prado 2010). The authors of papers for L’Histoire never write for Historia

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and vice versa. I consider L’Histoire to be ideal and quintessential public history, as it transmits the results of historical research to the general public through competent and specialised historians. In Japan, there are many specialised journals aimed at professional historians and history students, similar to the Revue historique, and there are also many popular journals similar to Historia. But there is no equivalent to the journal L’Histoire. The problem with the many popular journals that exist in the world is that they are vulnerable to the influence of historical revisionism, especially in the field of contemporary history.

2

Films as Tools of Public History

2.1

Un Village Français and Unsere Mütter, Unsere Väter

We turn next to the second medium of public history: films or television series. Being especially interested in contemporary French history, I will allow myself to highlight the importance of the French TV series A French Village, which aired between 2009 and 2017 (Un village français 2009–2017). This TV series portrays the life of French people under German occupation during the Second World War. The story takes place in a supposedly fictional town located near the Swiss border and the demarcation line that divided France into the free and occupied zones. As the inhabitants of this town face the time of upheaval from the debacle of summer 1940 to the purge in spring 1945—and, with it, the end of the German occupation—they oscillate between collaboration and resistance. What is remarkable about this story is that it avoids Manichean distinction between good and evil. Everyone could become good or bad, resistance fighter or collaborator, depending on the situation. It accurately reflects academic research on French history during the occupation. It shows the inhabitants’ behaviour as what is known as “accommodation”, a concept proposed by the historian Philippe Burrin (Burrin 1995). The series is much appreciated by the historian Henry Rousso, a great specialist on the subject of France under the German occupation, who introduced it to me. It has not yet been broadcast in Japan. As another example of a recent telefilm about the Second World War period, I would like to mention the German mini-series Unsere Mütter, Unsere Väter (2013). It tells the story of young Germans who lived through the German-Soviet war. This series, based on real history, seems to be appreciated for the same reason as Un village français in France: it succeeds in portraying the lives of ordinary Germans, neither convinced Nazis nor resistance fighters. This telefilm was reportedly criticised when it was aired in Poland because it highlighted Polish

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anti-Semitism. But the fact that it was allowed to be broadcast in Poland shows that it could play a role in public history.

2.2

(TV) Movies in East Asia

In East Asia, there is no equivalent to Un village français in either China or Korea. Chinese and Korean movies always feature monstrous soldiers in the role of villains. In Chinese TV series, Japanese soldiers seem to me to be distorted caricatures, like monsters from a fairy tale. This has even been criticised by Chinese media (Yinan and Lidan 2013). One may therefore get the impression that they have nothing to do with the real Japanese. In Korea, however, the subject is more serious since they are still hunting for former Korean collaborators from the time of the Japanese occupation. They have even compiled a Dictionary of Collaborators, in three volumes and with over five thousand entries (Rousso 2016). This is no longer the case in France, where the Manichean distinction between collaboration and resistance is disappearing in the depiction of this era. In Japan, it is also not easy to show a movie that is critical of Japan during the war. Although there are good TV documentaries about the war period, they are only shown in August every year, when the three symbolic dates of 1945 are commemorated: 6 August for the atomic bomb dropped in Hiroshima, 9 August for the one dropped in Nagasaki and 15 August for the end of the war. It is always called “the end of the war”, rarely “the defeat”. Outside of this season, there is much less talk about the war, and movies for the general public rarely address it. The few good films about the war usually do not attract the attention of the general public. I would nevertheless like to introduce two films that deserve attention from the perspective of public history. The first one is about “comfort women”: the documentary film Shusenjô / The Main Battleground of the Comfort Women Issue, which denounces, in particular, revisionist statements (Shusenjo 2018). The topic of the film has already been treated in other documentaries, but since the subject is delicate, these are aimed at a particular audience, i.e. an audience eager to support the victims’ cause. However, Shusenjô offers something fresh in so far as it traps the revisionists into revealing their true intentions. This movie has been successful, but has unfortunately become the target of lawsuits brought by its “actors”. If I had to cite a Japanese movie as a hopeful example of public history, it would be In This Corner of the World (2016), which is neither an anti-war nor a nationalist film, but caters to the feelings of as many people as possible (see

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also Macheret 2017). There have been many fictional films about the period of the last war, but until now they have fallen into two camps: either liberal, left-leaning movies denouncing the war on the one hand, or movies that tend to glorify the sacrifices of the soldiers, for instance the kamikazes, on the other. This movie, however, does not strike me as either of these. You just have to look at its impact all over the country. For example, it had a favourable review in the newspaper Shinbun Akahata, the organ of the Japanese Communist Party, a fiercely pacifist party which does not admit any revision of Japan’s pacifist constitution, especially of article 9 which renounces armed forces (Shinbun Akahata 2016). But we also found posters for the film in the city of Kure, where the movie In this Corner of the World is set, including on the premises of the Jieitai (Japan SelfDefense Force), the Japanese professional army. In other words, this film was recommended by the Japanese army. No-one would have imagined that a movie could be endorsed by both the communist party and the army. We may therefore consider that this movie represents public history for a broad variety of people within Japan’s society.

3

Museums as Tool for Public History

Finally, we will address the third and primary medium of public history: museums of history or of war. I believe that a museum is the ideal setting and possibly the space most open for public history. Museums are a means of relaying the results of research to the general public in a pluralistic way. They are able to implement several points of view in an exhibition. Allow me to mention an example from the Bundeswehr Museum of Military History in Dresden (Militärhistorisches Museum Dresden n.d.). There I discovered a comparative exhibition dedicated to the history of Germany after the Second World War, in the era of the Cold War. What impressed me about this exhibition was that the histories of East and West Germany were presented almost equally, without any prejudice towards East Germany. This prompted me to envision a potential future museum in a reunified Korea, although the disparity between the two Koreas today is much wider than it was between the two Germanies before 1989/90. It is possible to criticise the way the exhibition is presented or change the content. But the crucial thing is that the exhibition can be modified as research evolves. Once books or movies are released, these can no longer be easily modified (except for small alterations).

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Japanese Museums

In this section, let us begin with the museum located closest to the author: the Shizuoka Peace Document Center (Shizuoka Peace Document Center n.d.). It is a place of remembrance devoted to the Second World War, particularly to the American bombing of the city in June 1945. Besides the exhibition of war relics, one can listen to witnesses of the bombing. Small local museums like the one in Shizuoka can be found everywhere in Japan. There is, of course, a major museum of Japanese history, the National Museum of Japanese History and Folklore, located in Sakura, Chiba Prefecture, one hour’s train ride away from Tokyo (National Museum of Japanese History n.d.). It is an excellent museum with high standards, particularly from the perspective of historical research, as it includes a research and educational centre for doctoral students. One cannot therefore hold anything against its academic status. But this museum has a defect, and from my point of view, a very serious one: there is a deficiency in terms of contemporary history. Although there is an exhibition on contemporary history, including the 1931–1945 war, this is curiously limited to local history, the social history of the city’s inhabitants who lived through that period as soldiers. If this was a local museum for Chiba, it would be reasonable to display the contemporary period in that way. But given that the other exhibitions, on various periods from Antiquity to the Modern Age, focus on Japan as a whole, this limitation seems odd. One suspects the reason is a wish to avoid exhibiting the overall history of the war, which would have had to include the aggressive actions of the Japanese army such as the Nanjing massacre. This kind of exhibition would invite political intervention by the conservative government. Thus, we lack a museum of contemporary history in Japan, or, more precisely, a museum of war. The only notable exception is Yûshûkan, which is located in the centre of Tokyo, within the Yasukuni Shrine. It is a proper war museum and apparently also an important one in the eyes of the visitors, welcoming 300,000 guests annually including many foreign tourists. Strictly speaking, however, it is not a genuine museum as defined by museology but rather the private collection of the Yasukuni Shrine, so there are no curators. But the biggest problem of this so-called “museum” is that it is a prime example of revisionist presentation. The Yasukuni Shrine is famous for its revisionist nature. The fact that it deifies war criminals such as Hideki Tôjo has been the target of much criticism from Asian countries (Takahashi 2012). From the eighteenth century until today, the exhibition justifies every war waged by the Japanese army, portraying the army, moreover, as the

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emancipator of East Asia from the Western colonial powers, while overlooking all the negative aspects, including the Nanjing massacre (Kenmochi 2018a). Nevertheless, we do have some important institutions for commemorating the war. The most famous one is in Hiroshima (Hiroshima Peace Memorial Museum n.d.). Along with Auschwitz, Hiroshima has become a symbol of the tragedy of the Second World War. But this museum can be criticised for overemphasising Japan’s role as victim and saying almost nothing about its role as aggressor. This is a common feature of all Japanese museums. What happens if the aspect of aggression is highlighted? This is what was attempted by the International Peace Center in Osaka. It is the most important public museum of its kind, dedicated to the American bombing, like the one in Shizuoka (Osaka International Peace Center n.d.; for the history of the exhibition’s deterioration see Seaton 2015). At first, the exhibition showed both the American bombing and its global context, namely the Japanese invasion of mainland China. Then the mayor of Osaka intervened, saying that showing this aggressive side was too masochistic, and the museum, as a public institution, had to change its exhibition and get rid of the global context (Seaton 2015). Amidst this very alarming situation there are a few exceptions. Some Japanese museums exhibit the negative side of Japanese history, but they are all either private or small exhibitions. At Waseda in Tokyo, for instance, there is the Women’s Active Museum on War and Peace, a museum about “comfort women” (Virgili 2014). However, it has become the bugbear of conservatives and it already requires a certain amount of courage to pay it a visit. It is not exactly a space for public history.

3.2

Museums in East Asia

Let’s move on to museums in East Asia; first of all, in Taiwan. Among the East Asian countries formerly occupied by the Japanese, Taiwan seems to be one of the few exceptions, that is, a country with good memories of the time (Laskai 2014). Is that true? Not quite. You can find a museum about “comfort women”, the Ama Museum, in Taipei (Ama Museum n.d.). Unlike its Japanese counterpart at Waseda, however, this museum gives the impression of being very open. The entrance has a cafe, the exhibition presents a more universal view of the plight of women during the war era. When I visited it, there was also a temporary exhibition on Anne Frank. In Taipei, I also visited the Republic of China Armed Forces Museum, which later, in December 2021, has been closed and is supposed to reopen in another place. Unlike in the Chinese museums discussed below, I

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had the impression that the war against Japan was put into perspective. Three phases of the Chinese Civil War were displayed in an almost equal way: the war against the north (northern warlords), the war against Japan, including the Nanjing massacre, and the war against the communist army. Next, we will turn to mainland China. There are many war museums and memorials in China and almost all of them are harshly critical of Japan. History is written according to the communist doctrine, in which it was the communist army that resisted the Japanese army and fought it to the end. In actual fact, it was the nationalist army which fought the war. I visited four museums: the September 18 History Museum, the Nanjing Massacre Memorial Hall, the Manchukuo Museum in Changchun and the Unit 731 Museum in Harbin.1 Both the September 18 Museum and the Nanjing Memorial are very critical of Japan. The former is located where the Japanese invasion started on September 18, 1931, leading to the establishment of the puppet state of Manchukuo. The latter is definitely the most important Chinese museum on the war against Japan. The most impressive fact, highlighted in 12 world languages, is the number of victims—three hundred thousand. At the end of the visitors’ itinerary is the message: “[in order to avoid repeating this tragedy], we must raise the flag of patriotism”. The third museum, the Manchukuo Museum, gives a slightly different impression, however. This may be because the exhibition is based on the story of The Last Emperor, a movie by Bernardo Bertolucci. We follow the life of Puyi, who eventually converts to communism and become a reformed character. If I dare say so, this museum seems to me somewhat like an amusement park. I expected the exhibition at the last museum I visited, the Unit 731 Museum— a museum about war crimes committed by the Japanese army, including human experimentation with biological weapons—to be the most accusatory towards the Japanese. In fact, the opposite was true. I felt that this museum was more objective, less emotional and closer to academic research than any other museum I had visited in China. The exhibition shows many Japanese documents and texts of testimonies from Japanese witnesses alongside those of Chinese victims. Most remarkable of all is the fact that this museum has a Japanese version of the official catalogue-guidebook. That is not the case for other war museums in China. At the Nanjing Memorial, I did not even find a Chinese catalogue (in 2016). One 1

As of March 2022, the websites of the Nanjing Massacre Memorial Hall and of the Manchukuo Museum in Changchun are available in English, the homepage of the Unit 731 Museum in Harbin is available only in Chinese and the site of the September 18 History Museum is not available.

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may say that, among the Chinese museums on the war against Japan, the Unit 731 Museum will best serve public history. We move on, finally, to South Korea, the country which is most critical of Japan. Among the numerous establishments condemning the era of Japanese colonisation, two major museums are considered the main weapons in the “history war”. One is the Independence Hall, located in Cheonan, south of Seoul, which was built in the midst of the history textbook feud of the 1980s (The Independence Hall of Korea n.d.). What is most shocking is the slogan displayed at the top of its booklet: “35 years of Japanese rule, another crime against humanity”. Another museum, the National Memorial Museum of Forced Mobilization under Japanese Occupation, was built only recently (National Memorial Museum of Forced Mobilization under Japanese Occupation n.d.). At present, our two countries are engaged in a dispute over this issue (Mesmer 2019). Korean judges ordered Japanese companies to pay compensation for their former workers, not for illegal actions by the companies themselves, but for the fact that the country was “illegally” annexed by Japan. For the Japanese, this is a violation of the Treaty on Basic Relations between Japan and Korea of 1965. Another museum in Busan, a museum of modern history devoted to the history of that maritime city, the second largest city in Korea, seems to me slightly different from the two major museums mentioned above. It describes the development (or modernisation) of Busan city, despite the Japanese occupation. It criticises the Japanese exploitation, but if we look closely at the displays, the Japanese contribution to the development of the city cannot be overlooked (Busan Modern History Museum n.d.). Hence, I find this museum relatively objective about the Japanese occupation period.

3.3

Museums/Events Without Borders in Europe2

Whatever the differences between them, all the East Asian museums are influenced by strong national perspectives and are therefore very far from the transnational museums that have already been achieved in Europe. It is well known that there are three Great War museums in Europe that transcend borders and the limits of national narratives. I have already mentioned the Bundeswehr Museum of Military History in Dresden. The other two are the Historial de la Grande Guerre in Péronne in France (Historial de la Grande Guerre n.d.) and 2

For a comparison of museums from East Asia and Europe, see Pingel (2016).

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the Imperial War Museum in London (Imperial War Museum London n.d.). The museum in Péronne was established in 1992 as a result of cooperation between French, German and British researchers from the “culture de guerre” school of thought, which played a leading role at the time of the centenary of the Great War from 2014 to 2018. The Imperial War Museum, on the other hand, opened at the time of the Great War and so was very nationalistic at first, just like Yûshûkan in Japan. However, it has undergone a complete metamorphosis since the late twentieth century, acquiring a universal character. It today includes an exhibition dedicated to the Shoah or Holocaust, which occupies one and a half floors of the museum building. Thus, in Europe, I find that war museums are really playing a role in public history. I would also like to mention another example of public history practice: the Rendez-vous de l’histoire de Blois in France.3 I do not know if there is any equivalent in other European countries or in the rest of the world, but there is unfortunately none in Japan. The event brings together both professional historians and the general public. There may be historical meetings elsewhere, meetings of learned societies or, on the other hand, meetings of history enthusiasts. But these Rendez-Vous in Blois are neither one nor the other. They are the scene of genuine public history that connects the world of historians and the general public. The meetings have taken place for more than 20 years. I used to think that France was late in introducing public history, but with the Rendez-vous and the journal L’Histoire, I believe it has, in fact, been practising public history for quite some time.

4

Conclusion

Is the situation in East Asia hopeless compared to the situation in Europe? Not quite. Things are not perfect in Europe either. Two rather ambitious history museums have been built recently, a House of European History in Brussels (House of European History n.d.) and a Museum of the Second World War in Gdansk (Museum of the Second World War in Gdanks n.d.). Visiting both museums, I got the impression that the European situation is not entirely satisfactory. First of all, the House of European History in Brussels seems to me a little too optimistic in the way it portrays modern and contemporary European history. In the current, 3

I participated in the 2017 Rendez-Vous of the RDV de l’histoire de Blois. For more recent events, see: http://rdv-histoire.com. Accessed: 1 March 2022.

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post-Brexit situation, there should also be another, more critical angle on European history, dealing with the spread of populism and nationalism, for example. As for the Gdansk museum, it was born out of an excellent initiative that brought together competent European historians, including the above-mentioned Henry Rousso. But at the time of the museum’s opening, its director had already been dismissed by the Polish government, which in recent years has shown increasing tendencies towards nationalism (Machcewicz 2019). When I visited this museum in 2019, I had the impression that the exhibition had not yet deteriorated, but one worries about what will happen next.4 As for the East Asian situation, I would like to propose a solution from a public history perspective: museums of shared history in East Asia. There are already some timid attempts in both Korea and Japan: the Nagoya Castle Museum on the island of Kyûshû (Saga Prefectural Nagoya Castle Museum n.d.) and the Joseon Tongsinsa History Museum in Busan (Joseon Tongsinsa History Museum n.d.). Both museums are devoted to exchanges between the two countries. The Nagoya Museum covers the period from Antiquity to the era of Tokugawa shogunate (1603–1868). It should be noted that this museum is quite popular with visitors from the opposite side of the Tsushima Strait, though its main subject is the Japanese war of invasion in the sixteenth century. The Busan museum deals with the restoration of diplomatic relations between the two countries in the Edo period. But it should also be noted that these two rather reconciliatory institutions fail to deal with a critical period: the contemporary era since 1868. We therefore need a shared museum that tells the story of this period. Would that be impossible? It will certainly be much more difficult, but I have found grounds for hope. When I participated in the Japanese-Korean historians’ congress in 2017, I dared to propose this idea. Obviously, it will not come to anything, but interestingly, my proposal was mentioned in a Korean national newspaper (Jo Tae-Song 2017). This article seemed to attract a lot of attention, judging by the number of hits on the Internet so far. That gives me a glimmer of hope for the future: a museum of shared history in East Asia could help transmit results of historical research to the general public, confronting the distortion of historical facts and misunderstandings about the past. This way, it could contribute to solve long-lasting historical conflicts and promote reconciliation between former enemies.

4

Just after my visit in September 2019, I noticed that the statue of a Polish hero had been erected in front of the building (see Museum of the Second World War 2019). This seems to me to be a first step in the Polonization of this internationally conceived museum.

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References Museums and exhibitions Ama Museum. https://www.amamuseum.org.tw/en. Accessed: 1 March 2022. Busan modern history museum. To be reopened in June 2022, but virtual visits and 3D tours are already possible via the website. https://embed.360vrmuseum.com/showcase/gLeh2g cGdSX. Accessed: 4 April 2022. Hiroshima Peace Memorial Museum. https://hpmmuseum.jp/?lang=eng. Accessed: 1 March 2022. Historial de la Grande Guerre. https://www.historial.fr/en/. Accessed: 1 March 2022. House of European History. https://historia-europa.ep.eu/en/welcome-house-european-his tory. Accessed: 1 March 2022. Imperial War Museum London. https://www.iwm.org.uk/visits/iwm-london. Accessed: 1 March 2022. Joseon Tongsinsa History Museum. http://www.tongsinsa.com/html/ex_eng/. Accessed: 1 March 2022. Militärhistorisches Museum Dresden. Bundeswehr. https://mhmbw.de/ Accessed: 1 March 2022. Museum of the Second World War. https://muzeum1939.pl/en. Accessed: 1 March 2022. National Memorial Museum of Forced Mobilization under Japanese Occupation. https://mus eum.ilje.or.kr/eng/Main.do. Accessed: 1 March 2022. National Museum of Japanese History. National Institutes for the Humanities. https://www. rekihaku.ac.jp/english/index.html. Accessed: 1 March 2022. Osaka International Peace Center. Peace Museum Preserving the Memories of the Osaka Air Raids. http://www.peace-osaka.or.jp/pdf/pamphlet_en.pdf. Accessed: 1 March 2022. Saga Prefectural Nagoya Castle Museum. https://saga-museum.jp/nagoya/language/english/. Accessed: 1 March 2022. Shizuoka Peace Document Center. https://www.shizuoka-heiwa.jp/. Accessed: 1 March 2022. The Independence Hall of Korea. http://global.i815.or.kr/en. Accessed: 1 March 2022.

Literature Associated Press, 2013. Japanese mayor says second world war “comfort women” were necessary. The Guardian, 14 May. https://www.theguardian.com/world/2013/may/14/jap anese-mayor-comfort-women. Accessed: 4 April 2022. Burrin, P. 1995. La France à l’heure allemande 1940–1944. Paris: Seuil. Cauvin, T. (@thomascauvin). 12 November 2019. “My recent visualization of #publichistory…”. https://twitter.com/thomascauvin/status/1194283070062391296. Accessed: 9 August 2022. Cauvin, T. 2021. New Field, Old Practices: Promises and Challenge of the Public History – Tree of Knowledge. magazén 2, no.1: 13–44. doi: https://doi.org/10.30687/mag/27243923/2021/03/001.

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Fuchs, E., T. Kasahara and S. Saaler, eds. 2018 [2012]. A new modern history of East Asia [Atarashii higashiasia no kingendaishi]. 2 vols. Göttingen: V&R. Fujimori, A. 2016. Marugari ni sareta Onnatachi. Doitsuhei no koibito o meguru tabi [“Les femmes tondues”. Voyage to visit the lovers of German soldiers]. Tokyo: Iwanami Shoten. Histoire/Geschichte. 2006–2011. French-German history textbook in 3 vols., written by a team of French and German authors accompanied by a binational committee of experts. German version: D. Henri, G. Le Quintrec, R. Bendick and P. Geiss, eds. 2011. Europa und die Welt von der Antike bis 1815 (vol. 1). D. Henri, G. Le Quintrec and P. Geiss, eds. 2008. Europa und die Welt vom Wiener Kongress bis 1945 (vol. 2). G. Le Quintrec and P. Geiss, eds. 2006. Europa und die Welt seit 1945 (vol. 3). Leipzig: Klett (German version) and Paris: Nathan (French version). In this corner of the world. Japan 2016. Dir.: S. Katabuchi. Mappa/Genco. International Federation for Public History. Homepage. https://ifph.hypotheses.org/. Accessed: 18 March 2022. Jo, Tae-Song 2017. 한일 공동 역사교과서보다 공동박물관 어떤가요 [How about a shared museum rather than a shared history textbook], Hankook Ilbo, 15 November. https://www. hankookilbo.com/News/Read/201711151540608218. Accessed: 1 March 2022. Kenmochi, H. 2018a. Ekkyôsuru Rekishininshiki. Tokyo: Iwanami-Shoten. Kenmochi, H. 2018b. Yoku wakaru Furansu kingendaishi [An introduction to modern and contemporary French history]. Kyoto: Minerva shobo. Laskai, L. C. 2014. History and the Possibility of Taiwan-Japan Relations. The Diplomat, 12 September. https://thediplomat.com/2014/09/history-and-the-possibility-of-tai wan-japan-relations/. Accessed: 4 April 2022. Machcewicz, P. 2019. The war that never ends: the museum of the Second World War in Gdansk. Berlin et al.: De Gruyter Oldenbourg. Macheret, M. 2017. “Dans un recoin de ce monde”: les rêveries d’une ménagère dans un Japon en guerre. Le Monde, 6 September. https://www.lemonde.fr/cinema/article/2017/ 09/06/dans-un-recoin-de-ce-monde-les-reveries-d-une-menagere-au-japon_5181571_3 476.html. Accessed: 21 February 2022. Mesmer, P. 2019. Entre Séoul et Tokyo, une guerre de la mémoire. Le Monde, 20 August. https://www.lemonde.fr/international/article/2019/08/20/entre-seoul-et-tokyo-une-gue rre-de-la-memoire_5500958_3210.html. Accessed: 21 February 2022. Museum of the Second World War 2019. Ceremony of unveiling the statue of Cavalry Captain Witold Pilecki, https://muzeum1939.pl/en/ceremony-unveiling-statue-cavalrycaptain-witold-pilecki/2727.html. Accessed: 1 March 2022. National Council on Public History. Homepage. https://ncph.org/. Accessed: 18 March 2022. Pain Prado, L. 2010. La question de l’histoire grand public: étude comparée de deux magazines d’histoire: Historia et L’Histoire, 2004–2008. Grenoble: Université Pierre Mendès France, Grenoble II, UFR Sciences humaines. Paxton, R. O. 1972. Vichy France. Old guard and new order, 1940–1944. New York: Alfred A. Knopf. Pingel, F. 2016. Peace in war museums and war in peace museums? A comparative view on military museums in Europe and East Asia. International journal for history and social sciences education 1: 67–114. Rousso, H. 2016. Face au passé. Essais sur la mémoire contemporaine. Paris: Belin.

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Seaton, P. 2015. The Nationalist Assault on Japan’s Local Museums: The conversion of Peace Osaka. The Asia-Pacific Journal Japan Focus 13, no. 30/3. https://apjjf.org/2015/ 13/30/Philip-Seaton/4348.html. Accessed: 21 February 2022. Shinbun Akahata. 2016. Review of the film In This Corner of the World. Shinbun Akahata, 20 November. https://www.jcp.or.jp/akahata/web_weekly/201110/161120/. Accessed: 5 April 2022. Shusenjo – The main battleground of the comfort women issue. USA 2018. Dir.: M. Dezaki. No Man Productions LLC. See also https://www.shusenjo.com. Accessed: 18 March 2022. Stanton, C. 2007. What is Public History? Public History News 27, no. 4: 1 and 14. https:// ncph.org/wp-content/uploads/2010/08/September-2007-NCPH-Newsletter-Compressed. pdf. Accessed: 21 February2022. Takahashi, T. 2012. Morts pour l’empereur: La question du Yasukuni. Paris: Les Belles Lettres. The China-Japan-Korea History Textbook Tri-National Committee. 2015 [2005]. A history to open the future: modern East Asian history and regional reconciliation [Mirai o hiraku rekishi]. Honolulu: University of Hawai’i at Mãnoa. Un village français. France 2009–2017. Dir.: P. Triboit, F. Krivine and E. Daucé. France 3. Unsere Mütter, unsere Väter. Deutschland 2013. Dir.: P. Kadelbach. ZDF. Virgili, F. 2014. “La mémoire des Ianfu”: Le Women’s Active Museum on War and Peace (Tokyo). Genre & Histoire. La revue de l’Association Mnémosyne 15. https://journals.ope nedition.org/genrehistoire/2222. Accessed: 21 February 2022. Yinan, G., and Lidan, C. 2013. WWII TV dramas border on the ridiculous. Shanghai Daily, 12 April. http://en.people.cn/90882/8204920.html. Accessed: 4 April 2022. Yoshimi, Y. 2000. Comfort women, sexual slavery in the Japanese military during World War II. New York: Columbia University Press. Yun-hyung, G. 2016. Japanese court’s disappointing ruling in defamation case related to comfort women. Hankyoreh, 21 January. http://english.hani.co.kr/arti/english_edition/e_i nternational/727243.html. Accessed: 21 February 2022. Zemmour, E. 2014. Le Suicide français. Paris: Albin Michel.

Hisaki Kenmochi is Professor at the Department of International Languages and Cultures, School of International Relations at the University of Shizuoka.

The Peace of Westphalia (1648) as a Model for the Middle East? An Interim Summary Michael Rohrschneider Abstract

23 May 2018 marked the 400th anniversary of the Defenestration of Prague, the starting point of the Thirty Years War (1618–1648). For this occasion, various academic studies raised the question of whether comparisons can be drawn from the Thirty Years War and the Westphalian Peace (1648) to contemporary conflicts in the Middle East. This study summarises the current academic debate and discusses previous contributions. It takes as a starting point the proposition that research on seventeenth century events cannot deliver explicit instructions on how to make peace in Syria according to the idea of “historia magistra vitae”. However, research on early modern peacemaking in Westphalia deepens our understanding of the general challenges and specific potentials of the traditional instruments of mediation. The solutions found at the Westphalian peace congress must not be regarded anachronistically, nor can they provide a toolbox for conflicts in the twenty-first century. Nevertheless, a diachronic and comparative historical contextualisation allows us to find answers on how to cope with wars that are characterised by a variety of internal and external causes and by the entanglements of religious and political conflicts.

M. Rohrschneider (B) Department of History, University of Bonn, Bonn, Germany e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Fachmedien Wiesbaden GmbH, part of Springer Nature 2023 F. Helfer et al. (eds.), Overcoming Conflict, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-658-39237-6_11

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23 May 2018 was the fourth centennial of the so-called Defenestration of Prague, which gave rise to the Thirty Years War (1618–1648). For this occasion, numerous academic treatises were published, dealing with the protracted war, its causes and its aftermath (for an overview, see Kaiser 2018). There was also extensive media coverage. Multiple radio and TV productions, as well as press and social media articles, bear witness to the wide appeal that the events of those years still hold in the twenty-first century (e.g. Bechtold et al. 2019; Goetze 2019, 261–262; for the blogosphere see Kaiser n.d.). Further attention was also drawn to the events of the seventeenth century by the current situation in Syria. Taking retrospective stock of publications and discussions during the commemoration year of 2018 (Münkler 2017; Hammerstein 2018; Milton et al. 2018; Rohrschneider 2018; Milton 2019; Schaede and Abmeier 2020), it is hard to miss that the possible analogies between the Thirty Years War and the Peace of Westphalia, on one hand, and the present conflicts in the Middle East, on the other, have enriched research by another question: is it possible to potentially learn something about how to resolve and overcome the current war in Syria from an academic analysis of the Thirty Years War and the nature of the Peace of 1648? This question is far from being a concern for academia alone. The current president of the Federal Republic of Germany, Frank-Walter Steinmeier, gave multiple speeches on this subject during his term as foreign minister (Steinmeier 2016a, b). At the same time, from this context, the suggestion emerged in the political sphere that the expertise of historical studies should, if possible, be used in a concrete way in the field of peacebuilding. This was in large part inspired by questions emerging out of the Middle Eastern countries concerned (Axworthy and Milton 2016a, b; Czada 2017). It is without a doubt exceptional that the historians of the early modern era are involved in political discussions dealing with conflicts in the current world of nation-states. This demonstrates two things: first, it clearly illustrates just how grave the current situation in Syria is and how desperately every straw is being grasped at to start a peacemaking process. Second—and this is the point of departure for the following study—the involvement of experts on the Thirty Years War and the Peace of Westphalia in the on-going search for peace in Syria reveals that politicians and economists are evidently aware of the fact that the European events of the seventeenth century show surprising similarities to today’s situation in the Middle East. The aim of this study is to present an up-to-date interim summary of the ongoing research on this problem and the various viewpoints on it. First, I will provide a rough outline of the current debate (1). From this basis, I will proceed

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to some thoughts on the potential of historical peace and conflict research, which I will then link to my own recommendations (2). However, this study is not about how to develop concrete approaches to the hoped-for peacebuilding process in the Middle East based on the Peace of Westphalia. Rather, on the basis of an up-todate overview, my intention is to show how the idea of “learning from history” and historians’ self-understanding of peace and conflict research are interwoven with each other, using the situation in Syria as an example. I do not assume that direct guidelines for the peace process in Syria, according to the classical principle of “historia magistra vitae” (Koselleck 2000; recently: Geiss 2019) can be derived from studying the seventeenth century. However, research into the Congress of Westphalia and the peace order that was established in 1648 does, in my opinion, make it possible to acquire knowledge regarding general problems of peacebuilding in further depth—problems that are also relevant to the conflicts of the twenty-first century.

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Current Debates

The blurb of the 2018 monograph Towards a Westphalia for the Middle East by Patrick Milton, Michael Axworthy and Brendan Simms reads thusly: It was the original forever war, fuelled by religious fanaticism, personal ambition, fear of hegemony, and communal suspicion. It dragged in all the neighbouring powers and went on interminably. It was punctuated by repeated failed ceasefires. It inflicted suffering beyond belief and generated waves of refugees. No, this is not Syria today, but the Thirty Years War (1618–48), which turned Germany and much of central Europe into a disaster zone.

This monograph, which can be considered the most important publication to date on the topic of this study, emerged from a series of workshops that the Forum on Geopolitics of the University of Cambridge has been holding in various locations since 2015 (A Westphalia for the Middle East n.d.). The initiative was supported by the Federal Foreign Office of the Federal Republic of Germany and the Körber Foundation (Milton and Hammerstein 2017). The aim is to foster exchange between researchers of the early modern era with expertise on the Thirty Years War and Middle Eastern experts to establish whether there might possibly be a kind of Peace of Westphalia for the Middle East. The original approach to this initiative was in accordance with the Ciceronian principle of “historia magistra vitae”. Lessons, inspiration and ideas for ending the war in Syria were to be generated from research on the seventeenth century.

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For methodological reasons, historians do not view such an approach uncritically (Kaiser 2019; Rohrschneider 2019b). Historians are traditionally sceptical about the academic epistemological value of the classical topos of history as the “teacher of life”. With good reason, they continually remind us to always proceed with extreme caution, the basic legitimacy of diachronistic comparisons aside. Quite rightly, the emphatic warnings about premature conclusions by analogy, uncritical equations and anachronistic parallelisations abound. However, it is precisely such analogies that hold an interesting potential that—depending on the object of analysis—can enable a significant gain of knowledge, particularly because making comparisons does not necessarily mean entirely equating the two things being compared. In the present academic discourse on the Thirty Years War and the Peace of Westphalia, there are remarkable discrepancies in views on the possibility of a “Peace of Westphalia” for the Middle East. In his voluminous and comprehensive description of the Thirty Years War published in 2017, the political scientist Herfried Münkler stated the following: “It seems, accordingly, that there is nothing more to learn from the order of Westphalia. Instead, though, all the more can be learned from the Thirty Years War, the forms of whose warfare have returned to the praxis of wars on a large scale” (817–818).1 By contrast, the most recent monograph of the former Augsburg professor of history, Johannes Burkhardt, ends with the following pointed remark: “The war of wars could be ended […] finally after all, and someone who already knows how that was possible might be able to achieve this faster in comparable cases” (2018, 265).2 Is it possible to learn from the Peace of Westphalia after all? However, the fact remains that completely inaccurate ideas about the nature of the Peace of Westphalia are markedly present in both current academic and nonacademic discourses. Remarks from the Secretary General of the Arab League, Ahmed Aboul-Gheit, exemplify where the core of the problem lies: namely, in his extremely problematic concept of the “Westphalian order” or the “Westphalian system”.

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German original: “Es scheint also, als könne man aus der Westfälischen Ordnung nichts mehr lernen. Dafür aber lässt sich umso mehr aus dem Dreißigjährigen Krieg lernen, dessen Formen der Kriegführung im großen Stil in die Praxis der Kriege zurückgekehrt sind” (Münkler 2017, 817–818). All quotations were translated into English by the author of this chapter. 2 “Der Krieg der Kriege konnte […] schließlich doch beendet werden, und wer schon weiß, wie das möglich war, könnte es in vergleichbaren Fällen vielleicht schneller schaffen” (Burkhardt 2018, 265).

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What we need is not an entirely new order. What we really need is perhaps going back to the very principles that underlay the Westphalian order, namely the mutual recognition of equal sovereignty between states, non-interference in internal affairs, and separation between state and religion. In other words, we do not need a Westphalian process. We need Westphalian principles to be re-established and recognized. (Aboul-Gheit 2017)

Numerous historians of the early modern era see the “Westphalian order” or the “Westphalian system” mentioned here as misleading, even to the point of being a myth or a legend (e.g. Duchhardt 1999, 2010, 2018; Kampmann 2018, 47; Schmidt 2018, 612–613). This is connected to the fact that the principles that Aboul-Gheit discusses—namely, the “mutual recognition of equal sovereignty between states, non-interference in internal affairs, and separation between state and religion”—have precious little to do with the actual content of the peace agreement of 24th October 1648 (see the general overviews in Dickmann 1998; Repgen 1999b; Croxton 2013; Westphal 2015, 2021). This, then, can lead to erroneous assumptions. Unfortunately, the buzz words “Westphalian order” or “Westphalian system” serve more and more these days as an almost arbitrary label that is increasingly hard to reconcile with the actual conditions of the Peace of Westphalia (e.g. Strange 1999). From the viewpoint of historical studies, this is a substantial problem—especially if the aim of historians is to explore the potential of a comparison between the peace order of 1648 and the hoped-for peace process in Syria. However, let us look, first, at the obvious parallels and analogies between the Thirty Years War and the Peace of Westphalia on the one hand and the current situation in the Middle East on the other. Research has demonstrated numerous examples. Three facts are particularly striking (see also Kampmann 2017, 49). First, that the events of the seventeenth century are being connected to the current conflict situation at all, both in academia and in the wider public, is undoubtedly because of the intense interlacement of religious and political problems, which are (and were) of marked significance in both cases. The Thirty Years War was a denominational conflict, even if the events of it cannot be reduced to an exact difference between Catholics and Protestants (Repgen 1987; Bireley 1988; Tischer 2010, 7–15; recently: Mennecke 2018; Mühling 2018a, 2018b; Kampmann 2020). One example, in this context, is the foreign and coalitional policies of Catholic France. Catholic France led a war against the Catholic Habsburgs with the help of alliances forged with Protestant partners. In Syria, the traditional conflict between Sunnis and Shiites has been an integral part of the problem for centuries. Nonetheless, it would be too simple to attempt to explain the Syrian conflict by means of neatly separated religious lines. The religious-political context is too complex to do so (Milton et al. 2018, 33–35, 41–42).

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Second, the Thirty Years War was an asymmetrical conflict, as is the present war in Syria (Milton et al. 2018, 6–7). Accordingly, neither case resembles the classic state conflicts of the nineteenth or early twentieth centuries in which static, centrally organised states were at war with one another. The start of the Thirty Years War was particularly shaped by the fact that it was not “states” at war with each other. Rather, the war in Bohemia following the Defenestration of Prague was at first a violent conflict between rebelling estates and their sovereign and was by no means a “state war” of modern ilk (on the origins and the outbreak of the Thirty Years War, see: Rebitsch 2017; Duchhardt 2017; Asch 2020). This corresponds to the situation in Syria insomuch as the war there also started with an uprising against the ruler (Milton et al. 2018, 91–94). In Syria, too, a number of the factions that are directly involved in the war are undoubtedly non-state actors. Most notably, the so-called “Islamic State” comes to mind, which despite calling itself a “state” must be counted as a non-state actor according to the ‘classical’ criteria of Georg Jellinek (national territory, nation, state authority). Moreover, the Kurds must also be categorised as non-state actors. Third, both conflicts involve the intervention of external forces. The Thirty Years War expanded from an initially internal Bohemian conflict to an outright war in which several European powers were directly involved. Thus, France and Habsburg were warring in a veritable “duel about Europe” (Lutz 1984, 31) over their economic, political and military zones of influence. In the North Baltic, it was chiefly Denmark and Sweden who were battling for predominance over the so-called “Dominium maris Baltici”. All of this focused itself on warfare that particularly affected the territories of the Holy Roman Empire. Looking towards Syria, the similarities are obvious. The war in Syria is not only a civil war but also a war that is significantly shaped by the involvement of foreign powers (Milton et al. 2018, 21–35). For a long time, Saudi Arabia and Iran have been fighting with considerable force for supremacy in this area. In addition, Russia and the USA are more-or-less directly involved as actors. If this was not enough to begin with, Israel and Turkey are also participants. Turkey particularly wants to prevent the formation of a Kurdish state. This multi-polarity of divergent interests leads, in connection with the issue of religion, to an extraordinary complexity of different lines of conflict, which is at least almost as great as that of the Thirty Years War. Further parallels and structural analogies that are mentioned in recent research—but that I only wish to mention briefly here—include the existence of warlords and military entrepreneurs who essentially consider war, in the first instance, as a business. Another is the fear that is found of the supposed efforts of

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the opposed party to achieve hegemony. Other parallels are general crisis phenomena in regard to the climate and developments of the economy and the population as well as social tension (Münkler 2017, 834–843; Milton et al. 2018, 87–106). This list could easily be continued. The Cambridge Centre of Geopolitics and Grand Strategy attempts to provide inspiring lessons to be learned from the seventeenth century and to explore how these lessons can usefully be instrumentalised. Their aim is to determine “which steps are necessary to pave the way for an eventual signing of a negotiated settlement to be achieved”, as the script for a workshop held in Cambridge puts it.3 The Thirty Years War and the Peace of Westphalia are, however, not taken as a blueprint from which tools can ultimately be developed and which then must only be modified accordingly before being directly applied to the present situation. This would be putting things too simply. First and foremost, their aim is instead a better understanding of the interrelations between peace and war. Ideally, this may be conductive for inspiration and incentives, aiding the search for applicable ideas, tools, and procedures of peacebuilding: The purpose of the project has been a look towards the peace congress and the resulting treaties of Westphalia not as a framework that needs to be followed closely but rather as a source of inspiration for new methods of conflict resolution in the contemporary Middle East; not by imposing an external model or blueprint but rather by trying to encourage a settlement reached by local actors themselves with the help of a toolbox of mechanisms and techniques that proved effective in the historical experience. (Milton et al. 2018, 11)

Initial recommendations have already emerged for a course of action that has worked well in the past or that at least seems promising in the current situation. One of these is, for example, the plea for a large-scale peace solution. Per this suggestion, the objective needs to be to form an “all-inclusive congress” (Milton et al. 2018, 89) to achieve a general settlement in the way of the original vision of the Westphalian peace congress and bring about a “pax universalis” (Rohrschneider 2019a): “The distinctive and important element of what is being proposed here is predicated on the realisation that all the Middle Eastern conflicts must be viewed as an interlocking overall-crisis, which requires an overall solution” (Milton et al. 2018, 16). In addition, the workshops of the Centre of Geopolitics and Grand Strategy analyse the pertinent peacebuilding instruments 3

Cf. A Westphalia for the Middle East. Workshop: Lessons in Diplomatic Techniques and Peacemaking Mechanisms from the Congress of Westphalia for the Middle East. Pembroke College, Cambridge, 16 May 2019, 2 pm–6.30 pm (unpublished abstract).

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by which peace was ultimately achieved in Münster and Osnabrück (Milton et al. 2018, 107–132). Particularly worthy of note are, in this context, mainly the tried and tested tools of mediation: the separation of the places of negotiation to avoid arguments, an international guarantee of the peace treaties, provisions for war reparations and the formation of a “third party” as well as the conscious decision to forgo the attempt to look for theological truth in religious disputes. The Centre also gives the explicit recommendation to purposefully connect the conflicting parties to common traditions on which further understanding can be built in the future, especially to “the unifying factors of Islam” (Milton et al. 2018, 88). Other pieces of advice include the following: willingly carrying out flexible and innovative measures; dispensing with hardliners in the peace negotiations; maintaining transparency, that is, someone’s own interests should be disclosed and red lines defined; taking measures to build trust that are aimed at overcoming hostility towards the other; assembling and extending pre-existing peace frameworks and, last but not least, protecting minorities (Milton et al. 2018, 107–128). A famous instrument that made a considerable contribution to the success of the Peace of Westphalia, however, must be decidedly rejected for Syria: amnesty (Milton et al. 2018, 128; Kaiser 2019). We are certainly well advised not to exercise amnesty, which is based on immunity from prosecution, for a peace agreement in the Middle East. Otherwise, all war criminals would go unpunished. This cannot and should not be our intention—even if we fully acknowledge that this could be a major obstacle for peace. In summary, the approach of the researchers at Cambridge University bears a strong similarity to the classical idea of “historia magistra vitae”. The intention is to contribute to the solution of present-day problems by drawing conclusions from the insights that historical research has gained in the context of the analysis of the Thirty Years War and the Peace of Westphalia—not in the sense of simple, linear instructions for action, but nonetheless with the goal of better understanding peacebuilding processes.

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The Potential of Historical Peace and Conflict Research: Some Fundamental Thoughts

In this chapter I will present some methodological problems that should be kept in mind when comparing events of the seventeenth and twenty-first centuries. It does not do to assume that the toolbox of the Peace of Westphalia holds straightforward solutions for the conflict situations of the twenty-first century.

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It is necessary to work against all too simple ideas about the power of the principle “historia magistra vitae” so that no false expectations arise. It would be a huge success for the work of the Centre of Geopolitics and Grand Strategy if it were possible to gainfully introduce knowledge gleaned from historical research into current attempts at peacebuilding. Still, this would not change the fact that the methodological reservations voiced by historians when they face demands for historical solutions to current problems are as justified here as they are in other situations. Current historians’ self-understanding of the study of history as being pledged to plurality, the open-endedness of outcomes and perspectivity points in a different direction: namely, away from the instrumentalisation of historical knowledge for concrete political ends. It can also not be denied that there are significant differences between the events of the seventeenth century and current events in the Middle East. These are, not in the least, owing to the age of digitalisation and globalisation that has a completely different framework than the early modern era. This does not, however, change the fact—of which I personally am strongly convinced—that an analysis of the Thirty Years War and the Peace of Westphalia can teach something to the present and that—in the context of political peacebuilding processes—methodological concerns of an academic nature should not be too strongly accentuated. A historical perspective that is designed to be diachronic and comparative, for example, could help answer the question of how human beings have previously tried to resolve wars shaped by exceptional complexity and the mixing of religious and political conflicts. This can be carried out on a more instrumental level, which looks for specific tools for peacebuilding, as is currently being done by the research group in Cambridge. Conversely, this process also touches on deeper layers of historical consciousness, the analysis of which does not promise immediate results in the political field but can nevertheless help better illustrate the history of mentalities towards historical peacemaking and conflict in the longer term. Among these are, for example, research into images, stereotypes and prejudices toward the enemy as well as how to overcome them. In addition, another avenue is the academic analysis of the genesis of “lieux de mémoire” and collective memory. How people deal with feelings of hopelessness in the face of nearly unsolvable, long-standing conflicts could also be researched in a comparative perspective. The same is certainly true for certain symbols that can convey hope. The Peace of Westphalia seems to be becoming one such symbol. Much remains, however, to be done in this field, particularly since a large-scale history of mentalities has yet to be

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written about the Thirty Years War (for the best recent approach, see Medick 2018). Overall, the following can be said about the current state of research: there is by now a broad agreement in academia that comparative research into the Thirty Years War or the Peace of Westphalia, on the one hand, and the current situation in the Middle East, on the other, cannot offer any quick solutions for the war in Syria. However, as mentioned above, the intention of such research is not about achieving quick and direct results but a better understanding and providing signposts for possible solutions. The connections between historical learning and peacebuilding are much more complex than the topos of “historia magistra vitae” suggests. That the Peace of Westphalia has been becoming, for some time, a regular symbol of hope, demonstrates this in great clarity. If research on the early modern era can foster peace processes in any way, it should do so by all means, potentially even setting aside traditional methodological reservations—even if they are entirely legitimate. The history of the Centre for Historical Peace Studies at the University of Bonn (see Zentrum für Historische Friedensforschung n.d.) clearly shows that this impulse might not have a short-term impact but does have, in the long term, a comparatively high pay-off. When, in the 1950s, the idea of an edition of the files of the Peace of Westphalia was born, the principle of “historia magistra vitae” was, so to speak, its proud godmother. This is because funds that were originally meant to be dedicated to the establishment of the West German army were instead used to prepare the path for a research project that was to address the question of how it was possible, in the past, to build peace. The intention was to learn something that would benefit the peacebuilding processes of the present, in particular, regarding an understanding with the Soviet Union (Repgen 1999a, 59–62; Lanzinner 2011, 2014; Goetze and Oetzel 2019a). This was the birth of the historical–critical edition of the Acta Pacis Westphalicae (APW), which currently comprises almost 50 volumes, the majority of which is also available digitally (Braubach et al. 1962, 2015; see also Acta Pacis Westphalicae digital n.d.; Lanzinner et al. 2014; Tenhaef 2019). The APW has played a considerable role: although the Peace of Westphalia is arguably the most thoroughly researched and documented peace agreement of the early modern era, we would not know as much about the Peace of Westphalia at present without the APW. It is only through knowing so much about this peace treaty that the Peace of Westphalia can serve as a template to better understand present-day conflicts and their wider repercussions, to orientate ourselves, to illuminate the mistakes of the past and to help us ask the right questions. Without the historic groundwork

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that has been laid with the APW for over 60 years, this would be impossible in its current form. According to its own self-image, historical peace and conflict research is disinclined to remain in its academic ivory tower but is instead exploring the possibilities of historical learning to find answers to the question “Why is building peace so difficult”, to quote the motto of a Bonn conference organised in 2017 by Dorothée Goetze and Lena Oetzel, the results of which have been available in print since the end of 2019 (Goetze and Oetzel 2019b). There is at least one thing that the research into the Thirty Years War and the Peace of Westphalia as a template for present-day conflicts shows us extremely clearly: in the past, there have been wars that were so long, so complex and so devastating that they were perceived, by contemporaries, as an apocalyptic experience that was seemingly without end. Nevertheless, an end was finally achieved, precisely because these contemporaries used innovative and intelligent methods in paving the path for peace. In this sense, the Peace of Westphalia is a “lieu de mémoire” (Gantet 2001), which is not only a fixed part of collective European memory but can also, as a template for successful peacemaking, offer us a little hope.

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des Westfälischen Friedenskongresses, eds. D. Goetze and L. Oetzel, 427–431. Münster: Aschendorff. Kampmann, C. 2017. Der festgeschnürte Frieden. Interview: M. Scheufens and J. Schröder. P.M. History (05): 49–53. Kampmann, C. 2018. Politischer Wandel im Krieg – politischer Wandel durch Krieg? Militärische Gewalt und politische Innovation in der Epoche des Dreißigjährigen Kriegs. In Dynamik durch Gewalt? Der Dreißigjährige Krieg (1618–1648) als Faktor der Wandlungsprozesse des 17. Jahrhunderts, eds. M. Rohrschneider and A. Tischer, 41–67. Münster: Aschendorff. Kampmann, C. 2020. Religionskrieg. In vol. 4 of Staatslexikon. Recht – Wirtschaft – Gesellschaft. 8th ed., eds. Görres-Gesellschaft and Verlag Herder, 1359–1363. Freiburg/Br.: Herder. Koselleck, R. 2000. Historia Magistra Vitae. Über die Auflösung des Topos im Horizont neuzeitlich bewegter Geschichte. In Vergangene Zukunft. Zur Semantik geschichtlicher Zeiten. 4th ed., ed. R. Koselleck, 38–66. Frankfurt/M.: Suhrkamp. Lanzinner, M. 2011. Die Acta Pacis Westphalicae und die Geschichtswissenschaft. In L’art de la paix. Kongresswesen und Friedensstiftung im Zeitalter des Westfälischen Friedens, eds. C. Kampmann, M. Lanzinner, G. Braun et al., 31–71. Münster: Aschendorff. Lanzinner M. 2014. Das Editionsprojekt der Acta Pacis Westphalicae. Historische Zeitschrift 298: 29–60. Lanzinner, M., T. Schröter-Karin and T. Tenhaef. 2014. Acta Pacis Westphalicae digital. In Verständigung und Diplomatie auf dem Westfälischen Friedenskongress. Historische und sprachwissenschaftliche Zugänge, ed. A. Gerstenberg, 251–265. Cologne et al.: Böhlau. Lutz, H. 1984. Friedensideen und Friedensprobleme in der frühen Neuzeit. In Friedensbewegungen: Bedingungen und Wirkungen, eds. G. Heiss and H. Lutz, 28–54. München: Oldenbourg. Medick, H. 2018. Der Dreißigjährige Krieg. Zeugnisse vom Leben mit Gewalt. Göttingen: Wallstein. Mennecke, U. 2018. War der Dreißigjährige Krieg ein Religionskrieg? Jahrbuch für Evangelische Kirchengeschichte des Rheinlandes 67: 37–60. Milton, P. 2019. Ein Westfälischer Frieden für den Mittleren und Nahen Osten? Ein Diskussionsbeitrag. In Warum Friedenschließen so schwer ist. Frühneuzeitliche Friedensfindung am Beispiel des Westfälischen Friedenskongresses, eds. D. Goetze and L. Oetzel, 439– 442. Münster: Aschendorff. Milton, P., M. Axworthy and B. Simms. 2018. Towards a Westphalia for the Middle East. London: Hurst. Milton, P., and E. von Hammerstein, eds. 2017. Reinventing ‘Westphalia’. Historical lessons for a future peace in the Middle East. Hamburg: Körber-Stiftung. https://www.koerberstiftung.de/fileadmin/user_upload/koerber-stiftung/redaktion/westfaelischer-frieden/pdf/ 2017/Broschuere_Reinventing-Westphalia_171127.pdf. Accessed: 22 March 2022. Mühling, C. 2018a. Die europäische Debatte über den Religionskrieg (1679–1714). Konfessionelle Memoria und internationale Politik im Zeitalter Ludwigs XIV. Göttingen: V&R. Mühling, C. 2018b. Wie der Dreißigjährige Krieg zum Religionskrieg wurde. In Dynamik durch Gewalt? Der Dreißigjährige Krieg (1618–1648) als Faktor der Wandlungsprozesse

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des 17. Jahrhunderts, eds. M. Rohrschneider and A. Tischer, 93–118. Münster: Aschendorff. Münkler, H. 2017. Der Dreißigjährige Krieg. Europäische Katastrophe, deutsches Trauma 1618–1648. Berlin: Rowohlt. Rebitsch, R. 2017. 1618. Der Beginn des Dreißigjährigen Krieges. Cologne et al.: Böhlau. Repgen, K. 1987. What is a ‘Religious War’? In Politics and society in reformation Europe. Essays for Sir Geoffrey Elton on his sixty-fifth birthday, eds. E. I. Kouri and T. Scott, 311–328. Basingstoke et al.: Macmillan Press. Repgen, K. 1999a. Akteneditionen zur deutschen Geschichte des späteren 16. und 17. Jahrhunderts. Leistungen und Aufgaben. In Quelleneditionen und kein Ende? Symposium der Monumenta Germaniae Historica und der Historischen Kommission bei der Bayerischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, München, 22./23. Mai 1998, eds. L. Gall and R. Schieffer, 37–79. München: Oldenbourg. Repgen, K. 1999b. Die Hauptprobleme der Westfälischen Friedensverhandlungen von 1648 und ihre Lösungen. Zeitschrift für bayerische Landesgeschichte 62: 399–438. Rohrschneider, M. 2018. 1618 – 1648 – 2018. Zur Aktualität des Dreißigjährigen Krieges und des Westfälischen Friedens. Wissenschaft und Frieden 36, no. 3: 48–51. Rohrschneider, M. 2019a. Der universale Frieden als Leitvorstellung auf dem Westfälischen Friedenskongress (1643–1649). Probleme und Perspektiven der Forschung. In Eine Werteordnung für die Welt? Universalismus in Geschichte und Gegenwart, eds. P. Geiss, D. Geppert and J. Reuschenbach, 195–216. Baden-Baden: Nomos. Rohrschneider, M. 2019b. Zu den Aufgaben der Historischen Friedensforschung. Ein Diskussionsbeitrag. In Warum Friedenschließen so schwer ist. Frühneuzeitliche Friedensfindung am Beispiel des Westfälischen Friedenskongresses, eds. D. Goetze and L. Oetzel, 443–446. Münster: Aschendorff. Schaede, S., and K. Abmeier, eds. 2020. Syrien liegt in Europa. Vor 400 Jahren begann der Dreißigjährige Krieg. Rehburg-Loccum: Evangelische Akademie Loccum. Schmidt, G. 2018. Die Reiter der Apokalypse. Geschichte des Dreißigjährigen Krieges. Munich: C.H.Beck. Steinmeier, F.-W. 2016a. Der Westfälische Frieden als Denkmodell für den Mittleren Osten. https://www.auswaertiges-amt.de/de/newsroom/160712-westfaelischer-frieden/282196. Accessed: 22 March 2022. Steinmeier, F.-W. 2016b. Rede zur Eröffnung des 51. Deutschen Historikertages. https:// www.auswaertiges-amt.de/de/newsroom/160920-bm-historikertag/283542. Accessed: 22 March 2022. Strange, S. 1999. The Westfailure system. Review of International Studies 25: 345–354. Tenhaef, T. 2019. Informationsgewinn und Informationsverlust beim Medienwechsel. Das Beispiel APW digital. In Warum Friedenschließen so schwer ist. Frühneuzeitliche Friedensfindung am Beispiel des Westfälischen Friedenskongresses, eds. D. Goetze and L. Oetzel, 123–136. Münster: Aschendorff. Tischer, A. 2010. Kriegstyp “Dreißigjähriger Krieg”? Ein Krieg und seine unterschiedlichen Typologisierungen von 1618 bis zur Gegenwart. In Diplomatie, Medien, Rezeption. Aus der editorischen Arbeit an den Acta Pacis Westphalicae, eds. M.-E. Brunert and M. Lanzinner, 1–20. Münster: Aschendorff. Westphal, S. 2015. Der Westfälische Frieden. Munich: C.H.Beck.

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Westphal, S. 2021. Der Westfälische Frieden 1648. In Handbuch Frieden im Europa der Frühen Neuzeit, eds. I. Dingel, M. Rohrschneider, I. Schmidt-Voges et al., 929–949. Berlin et al.: De Gruyter Oldenbourg. Zentrum für Historische Friedensforschung. Homepage. Rheinische Friedrich-WilhelmsUniversität Bonn. https://www.zhf.uni-bonn.de/. Accessed: 22 March 2022.

Michael Rohrschneider is Professor of Early Modern History and Rhenish Regional History at the Department of History and Head of the Centre for Historical Peace Studies at the University of Bonn.

Peacebuilding in the Digital Realm

A Web of Peaces: Twitter Narratives on the Peace of Westphalia Jonas Bechtold

Abstract

The Peace of Westphalia, although concluded in 1648, still impacts current identities and narratives of national sovereignty, independence, tolerance, failure and triumph. Since 1648 the Peace of Westphalia has been brought up in diverse contexts of identity management in a national or international framework. As a result, this early modern treaty that concluded the Thirty Years’ War has a long history of being stereotyped in European history. By suggesting a new consideration of sources with social media content such as Twitter, this chapter analyses how the Peace of Westphalia is being understood, framed and criticised based on French, Dutch, Spanish, Swiss and German Twitter posts. The results show that the Peace of Westphalia is stereotyped on social media with pre-existing narratives about its relevance for modern, nation-centred statehood and sovereignty as well as its tolerant image. However, the narratives on Twitter differ considerably between different national Twitter spheres. Through broadening our perspective on the visibility of national narratives about the Peace of Westphalia in public media, this chapter thus argues that stereotypes about the Peace of Westphalia have endured through time and have also been transferred from old to new media. “During all my nine years as a pop artist, the one thing I know for sure is that the Treaty of Westphalia was complete shit” (Clickhole 2017). These words, satirically attributed to the American pop singer Katy Perry by the news parody J. Bechtold (B) Department of History, University of Bonn, Bonn, Germany e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Fachmedien Wiesbaden GmbH, part of Springer Nature 2023 F. Helfer et al. (eds.), Overcoming Conflict, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-658-39237-6_12

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site “Clickhole”, started what should have been a “blistering Twitter tirade”— a sequence of short posts—judging the Peace of Westphalia, a European peace treaty of 1648. The Peace of Westphalia, as pseudo-Perry continues, “created basis for self-determinism [and] established [the] principle that each nationstate has sovereignty over their territory”. It, therefore, “sowed the seed” to create Empires and colonise peoples and lands, and was thus the beginning of Eurocentric imperialism. Unsurprisingly, these sharp words misconstrue the Peace of Westphalia. In fact, the singer’s rant is a satiric fraud. But the link pseudo-Perry opens between the Peace of Westphalia and negative judgements on modern statehood and nationality is less farfetched then its absurd context and satiric authorship. The Peace of Westphalia was concluded in the cities of Münster and Osnabrück after six years of negotiation. Consisting of two treaties from 24 October 1648, it put an end to the interconnected series of wars during the first half of the seventeenth century—the Thirty Year’s War—between France, Sweden, the Holy Roman Emperor and the Imperial Estates. An earlier treaty in January/May 1648 had ended the so-called Eighty Years’ War between the Kingdom of Spain and its former subjects, the seven provinces of the Northern Netherlands, then known as the Dutch United Provinces. The latter is formally known as the Treaty or Peace of Münster, whereas the October treaties are collectively referred to as Treaty or Peace of Westphalia. Faking these early modern peace agreements into an anti-capitalist, critical Twitter monologue on statehood and European colonial crimes is not entirely surprising. The Peace of Westphalia serves as a melting pot for several theories on the system of states within the field of International Relations (IR). The Peace of 1648 is regarded as the point of origin of the modern state and international system, establishing the principles of sovereignty, territoriality and equality of states (Westphal 2015, 113; recently Kampmann 2020). This narrative of the Westphalian system being established in 1648 has recently been dubbed a “foundation myth of IR” (Carvalho and Kustermans 2019). The Westphalian system is—as many historians have pointed out—an historiographical misconstruction, but a long-lasting and global one. It not only has been shared in every language by politicians and political scientists (e.g. IR researchers) but also has reached a broader public (Kampmann 2020, 415). When looking at Twitter again, tweets referring to the narrative of the so-called Westphalian system dominate every historical discussion of the event and the IR myth of Westphalia is the preeminent frame for most tweets on the subject. The pseudo-thread by Clickhole—even as a fake—together with the reactions it provoked on Twitter thus appears to

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be only one prominent example in a long line of Twitter comments. Their core corresponds to the narrative of the Westphalian system. The Westphalian system is not the only narrative that has grown from the Peace of Westphalia in 1648. Whether it be of a treaty of tolerance, national power, sovereignty or national failure—many storylines have been nourished by these misconceptions to further seed public conversations about Westphalia on Twitter. These narratives of the Peace of Westphalia in tweets outline how communities across Twitter engage with it. The fake tweets by Clickhole show, as an outstanding example, that, beyond an understanding that needs to be challenged critically, there is a sense of overcoming the narrative—to put the constructed narrative in a new context or functionalisation and stereotype it as something bad, capitalist, Eurocentric or imperialistic. The narrative, here, becomes a stereotype, a reductionist kit of understanding (Lüsebrink 2016, 101–104). In the overstretched case of pseudo-Perry, the Peace of Westphalia is put in a hostile context of Eurocentrism and imperialism. However, the phenomenon of stereotyping the Peace of Westphalia with narratives of sovereignty, (in)tolerance, or independence is neither exclusive to pseudo-Perry nor to the American Twittersphere. The Peace of Westphalia is known and discussed in as many communities today as there were agents involved in the 1643–1648 negotiations, not to mention its importance in IR academia. The Peace of Westphalia is thus a perfect place for a comparative approach to identifying national and cultural stereotypes in social media. Starting from the stereotypical use of Peace of Westphalia narratives in pseudo-Perry’s fake tweets, this chapter suggests a broader look at how national narratives and stereotypes about the Peace of Westphalia are visible and present in social media content. How is a decisive peace agreement in European (or, others might even say, global) history represented in this medium? Which narratives live on in social media, which have been transferred or adopted and which have disappeared and lost value on the web? This approach incorporates some of the main questions of this volume by focusing on an a priori non-academic medium and the representations of a peace (process) within. Thus, this chapter seeks to open a path for looking at social media when dealing with processes of understanding and overcoming conflict. Through a short survey across several Twitter spheres, this chapter argues that narratives about the Peace of Westphalia have a long durability and have been transferred from old to new media. As a result, the Peace of Westphalia is stereotyped on social media with pre-existing narratives about its relevance for modern, nation-centred statehood and sovereignty as well as its tolerant image. To conduct this approach, I have taken up two methodological premises: first, why look at the Peace of Westphalia instead of a more recent

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peace agreement? Second, what—from a historiographical perspective—must be considered when dealing with social media as a source?

1

The Peace and the Web: Two Preliminaries

1.1

The Peace of Westphalia in the Twentyfirst Century

Reasons to deal with the Peace of Westphalia on social media are diverse: first, the source output in social media itself contributes to choosing the Peace of Westphalia as an example. Among early modern peace agreements, the Peace of Westphalia appears to be the most frequently mentioned. While other early modern peace agreements are little represented in social media, the Peace of Westphalia offers enough feasible material for a thorough investigation. Secondly—and referring to Michael Rohrschneider’s chapter in this volume—the Peace of Westphalia has seen a renaissance in geopolitical thinking that ought to be accompanied by broader research on its global appearance. Lastly, the Peace of Westphalia complements this volume’s approach because of its narrative significance to nation-states. On the one hand, it was a potential beginning of de facto stately independence for the Netherlands and Switzerland. On the other, thanks to the myth derived from the Peace of Westphalia, it gave a name to the academic legitimisation of modern national sovereignty: the Westphalian system.

1.2

Social Media in a Historiographical Perspective

The second preliminary point refers to the material itself: social media content. There are three important questions to ask in advance.1

How Can Social Media be Described from a Historiographical Perspective? According to Thorsten Hochwald, social media are internet based applications that enable people to communicate and share resources and information and allow the mass distribution of a one-way message from one-tomany […]. […] [S]ocial Media such as […] social networking sites […] provide alternative mediums for citizen communication and participatory journalism, allowing

1

Thoughts presented here are based on previous ideas in Bechtold et al. (2019).

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distributors and recipients of information simultaneously to use and create content. (Hochwald 2013, 12–13; see also Bruns 2015 or Miller et al. 2016, 9.)

Other contributions to social media studies have highlighted varying degrees of privacy ranging from private messengers (such as WhatsApp) to public posting platforms (such as Twitter or Instagram). As this “scalable sociality” (Miller et al. 2016, 10) cannot be circumvented for a content analysis, this chapter is restricted to publicly accessible contributions; in this case, to Twitter. Hochwald’s definition of social media clears the way for their historiographical use. Defined as a “participatory [medium] allowing distributors and recipients of information simultaneously to use and create content” (Hochwald 2013, 12–13), social media platforms can historiographically be seen as source base, determining the type and frame of the source—just as in letters and correspondence—but not its content. Thus, while the type and frame of a source needs our attention in our critique, there seems to be no limit to the content or information shared, discussed and commented on in the digital communication space of social media.

Why is it Relevant to Pay Attention to Social Media in the Context of this Volume? Just as printed media revolutionised the spread and consumption of information in early modern times, social media is an active and influential force in conflicts and peacebuilding processes today. This is generally reflected by presidents and governments tweeting, specifically in the Arab Spring. It has been argued that social media was one of the most important drivers for the development of the Arab Spring in 2010 (Hochwald 2013). Data leak scandals, such as the Cambridge Analytica case and the possible Russian interference in the United States’ presidential election in 2016, underline both the rule-stabilising and rule-destabilising potential of social media and its role in conflicts and security building processes. Thereby, it has often been stated that social media can be used by rebels to coordinate subversive interaction, as well as by regimes to re-establish order and security, i.e.—in their view—peace. On the other hand, it has rarely been asked whether social media as a soft power tool could by its networking and connecting functionality also contribute to peacebuilding processes.2 One theoretical way to approach this question can be provided by the concept of “platformization” developed by the Dutch media scientist Anne Helmond (2015) as well as David Nieborg and Thomas Poell (2018). The latter describe 2

The interdisciplinary field of Peace and Conflict Studies (PACS) is barely focussing on the role of media in general or social media in specific. Thus, for example, the topic is given no place in the 2020 volume of Routledge Companion to PACS (see Byrne et al. 2020).

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platformisation as “the penetration of economic, governmental, and infrastructural extensions of digital platforms into the web and app ecosystems, fundamentally affecting the operations of the cultural industries” (Nieborg and Poell 2018, 4276). Through platformisation, the interconnectivity of social media platforms and cultural construction of social, communicative and economical routines around those platforms, social media has an impact on culture and social life and affects social conflict and peacebuilding structures. However, whether social media is an “educational system”—as this volume aims to analyse in peacebuilding—remains uncertain. Despite accusations of creating a fake, virtual social sphere, social media is embedded in the daily acquisition of information (Miller et al. 2016, 11). Therefore, it at least seems to be educational, even if it lacks a system of unanimous control or direction. Besides the acquisition of news and information, social media serves as a place for exchanging and expressing historical narratives, but its contributors and their motivations are less clear than in any other medium of educational information.

Which Methodical and Heuristic Problems of Source Critique Do We Face in Social Media Content? Analysing online media tools as sources requires an adaptation of established methodical approaches and awareness compared to traditional media such as printed or handwritten sources. Dorothée Goetze (2017) has outlined a digital source critique that she developed for online repositories and research platforms. Her categories are, with slight adaptations, also applicable to a social media analysis. According to Goetze (2017, 252–255), a keyword-based search might lead to a lack of context. She therefore suggests reflecting the results in a critique of individualised searching methods (“Kritik des Findens”), a critique of the platform’s perspectivity (“Kritik der Perspektivität”) and a critique of its fluidity and dynamics (“Kritik der Dynamik”). These parameters must be considered when choosing contributions from Twitter as a source base.3 First, searching mechanisms in a keyword search are bound to individualised algorithms and parameters. Searches are thus led by the searched content and by the searching user. Several obstacles bias the results: scalable sociality and private accounts hinder representativeness, paid interactions fake popularity and validity of reactions, and a lack of transparency in the listing of results gives way to assumptions in the critique of perspectivity.

3

The following adaptations in source critique rely on Pfaffenberger (2016).

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Second, when talking about perspectivity, we should bear in mind that sites like Twitter, Facebook and Instagram remain huge economical players and American enterprises that primarily cater to western people. To the same extent, research on the so-called Twittersphere reveals that the typical user “is a white male in his thirties or forties who has moderate-to-high household income and considers himself to be a political junkie” (Miller et al. 2016, 12; see also Parmelee and Bichard 2012, 206–209). Third, just as every online published text is fluid and can be edited, social media content is dynamic not only in its textual composition but also in its meaning. The explanatory power and meaningfulness of a social media statement is not agreed on. Why somebody said something and how consistent their point was can hardly be certain without a full reconstruction of the author’s mindset, which often hides behind fictitious profile names and fake accounts. The difficulty in working in a historiographically accurate way with information from social media derives from the platforms’ economic structures, the restricted access to data and the sheer quantity of authors and contexts in a responsive form of communication. Due to these reasons, content-based analyses of social media remain doubtful and risky. The interest of academia has centred more on the platform itself than on its contents, which only recently started to come into focus in computational social science (Blätte et al. 2018; Bruns 2015; Stuetzer et al. 2018). A content-related analysis such as this chapter—which cannot fully rely on empirical data—thus needs to take necessary precautions. As accurate data collection is difficult (Pfaffenberger 2016, 41–109), this chapter relinquishes statistic presentations as they would be suggesting completeness, which cannot be achieved, and instead approaches the data qualitatively. For the following study on the Peace of Westphalia’s digital representations on Twitter, approximately 200 tweets from publicly accessible personal accounts have been collected and analysed. The collection assembles tweets from 2009 to 2019 in seven different languages (German, English, French, Dutch, Spanish, Portuguese and Italian). The corpus has been collected through a basic Twitter search of specific key words in these languages (such as #peaceofwestphalia, #paixdewestphalie, #pazdewestfalia, etc.). Considering the above-mentioned methodical problems, the following examples do not claim to be more than impressions of social media representations of the Peace of Westphalia.

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Understanding and Overcoming? Narratives of the Peace of Westphalia on Twitter

After these indispensable preliminaries when working with social media sources, spotlights fall on the framing of the Peace of Westphalia and its image in the digital room of communication. The Peace of Westphalia has formed different narratives in various countries. Therefore, Twitter content will be analysed regarding the question of whether national narratives continue to be produced and spread in the Web 2.0, which understanding of the Peace of Westphalia backs such comments and in which political, polemical or discursive setting they are placed. The tweets used for this investigation are roughly categorised in three types: first, a trivial type that only refers to the fact of Peace of Westphalia or a place or object linked to it. A second type could be called political-argumentative. In these tweets, users imbue the Peace of Westphalia with an argument or political statement, contextualisation or framing. Finally, a third academic-informational type can be differentiated that transmits knowledge-based information about the Peace of Westphalia that has been published by an academic institution or individual. This third type, however, will be disregarded in this chapter—which instead focuses on the non-academic sphere—and will only be integrated into the results in the conclusion.

2.1

A French View: Overcoming the Alsatian Narrative?

There is hardly any non-academic reflection on the Peace of Westphalia in French cultural space, neither in media nor in the broader quotidian public. Despite academic attention throughout the centuries (Gantet 2019; Duchhardt 2012, 189– 190), there is no significant culture of remembrance concerning 1648 in France. This is mostly because the Peace of Westphalia was not as important to French contemporaries in 1648 as their continued war with Spain, and the Fronde occupied significantly more political attention than peace in the Empire. Recently, French historian Claire Gantet (2019, 41–43) has suggested some historiographical reasons why the Peace of Westphalia could not establish strong narratives in France: the preeminent Annales School and the concurrence of the 1598 Edict of Nantes have hindered a deeper memorialisation due to the emphasis of Longue Durée prioritisations of Nantes over Westphalia in French historical narratives. If Westphalia is recognised, then it is usually as a phenomenon of political studies or an example on how to divide Germany into pieces, as prominently emphasised

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in the French Wikipedia article (Gantet 2019, 43). However, when looking at the 350th anniversary in 1998, there are some stereotypical comments on the Peace of Westphalia that are worth considering. For this anniversary, a conference took place in Strasbourg in Alsace. In the forewords of the voluminous academic publication accompanying the conference, both historians and politicians such as the Mayor of Strasbourg outlined the main aims of the conference and the volume. Here the Mayor outlined the importance of 1648 for “l’identité alsacienne” and made it “l’origine de notre rattachement à la France” (Ries 1999, 7–8). This Alsatian narrative appears repeatedly and is presented as a main reason for why the Peace of Westphalia should be remembered. This is in contrast to the contemporary French perspective of 1648, which paid little attention to the fact that parts of Alsatian territories (but not the whole) were being assigned to France in 1648.4 However, when looking at twentieth century literature, the Alsatian question appears to be—as Derek Croxton puts it—the “most heavily contested and thoroughly analysed question of the Peace of Westphalia” (Croxton 1999, 238).5 This contradiction might be primarily due to the political significance of the Alsatian question after 1870, which preoccupied a generation of historians who were educated in the shadows of German Alsatian nostalgia after 1918, and should not be put down to the relevance of the question in the Westphalian treaty of 1648. To some extent, the anniversary volume from 1998 still nourishes this overrepresentation of the Alsatian question in French Peace of Westphalia reflections. However, the volume is now 20 years old and the relevance of these stereotypes today is much more difficult to track. Twitter might be one way to uncover relevant stereotypes. Indeed, when searching on French Twitter, we can see that— even if the Peace of Westphalia has a very marginal role in the overall French public sphere—the most frequent frame for it in form and content of the analysed tweets is the cession of Alsace. The supposed annexation of Alsace by France in 1648 is thus represented in tweets on the Peace of Westphalia, whether it be correctly named as a cession of the Habsburg possessions in Alsace (TAR6 54; 62), or, less accurately, the entire Alsatian region (TAR 5; 19; 31; 34; 73), or even the question of how “French” the Alsatians (TAR 27) truly are. 4

In 1948, the exposition L’Alsace français 1648–1948 put the French acquisition of Alsace to its centre (Duchhardt 2012, 189). 5 Apologetic publications, claiming the Alsace’s French identity in a historical perspective, such as Batiffol (1918, esp. I–IV, 223–236) underline the social and historiographical importance of the “Alsace question” around 1900. 6 = Twitter Account Reference, see bibliography.

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There is a second stereotypical aspect of representations of the Peace of Westphalia on Twitter—that is, the idea of a French military and diplomatic success. By using the “#victoirefrancaise” (TAR 64) to contextualise information from the Thirty Years War and the Peace of Westphalia, or by presenting it as an example of superior French strategy that cut up the Empire (that is, Germany) into pieces (TAR 10; 14), the Peace of Westphalia is presented as a moment of national power. This makes it less surprising to note that it is frequently used as a discursive figure to argue for a more assertive French foreign policy (TAR 26; 40). These stereotypical presentations of French victory correspond to French academic opinions from the nineteenth century that outlined the positive impact that the Peace of Westphalia had on the kingdom of Louis XIV as a highpoint of active French foreign policy (Duchhardt 2012, 189). Here, in the very small scope of French Twitter output on the Peace of Westphalia, old stereotypes thus continue in new media.

2.2

A Dutch View: A (Supra)National Date of Independence

Few political entities claim such an important impact of the Peace of Westphalia process as the Netherlands (Krawietz 1999, 137; Kappen 1999, 18; Jensen 2016, 23–42). Surely, when peace between Spain and the United Provinces was concluded on 30 January 1648 and ratified on 15 May, Dutch independence was settled (TAR 3; 66). The Peace of Münster is still relevant in Dutch discourse as it is not only nationalist users who see it as a national day of independence (TAR 8; 12; 46; 57; 60). Nevertheless, the exact date is not agreed upon, as the Peace of Münster is quite often post-dated to 24 October (when the Peace of Westphalia was signed), even though it had been signed on 30 January and ratified on 15 May (TAR 9; 33; 41). As a symbol of national self-determination, the Peace of Münster became one of the most important documents in Dutch public history and has generally been regarded positively (Duchhardt 2012, 188–189; Jensen 2016, 23–29). Famous paintings like Ter Borch’s Ratification of the Peace of Münster (1648), Govaert Flinck’s Company of Captain Joan Huydekoper and Lieutenant Frans van Waveren (1648) or Bartholomeus van der Helst’s Banquet of the Amsterdam Civic Guard (1648) are permanent reminders of the Peace’s popularity (Tümpel and Tümpel 1998; Goosens 1998). By resigning his rights in the United Provinces, the Spanish king officially sanctioned the Dutch state-building process. However, a process is exactly what it was: the formulation of equal acceptance

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that gave way to independence was the same as in 1609 during the truce deliberations between Spain and the Dutch rebels (Roelofsen 1999, 177). Furthermore, the recognition of independence was de facto approved by Spain in negotiations already in 1646 (Kozmanová 2019, 76; Dickmann 1998, 302–303). This confusion about when Dutch independence began reaches even further back in time: in 1579, the Union of Utrecht was formed out of rebelling provinces. They then declared themselves independent two years later with the Plakaat van Verlathinge in 1581, normally referred to as the birth year of the Netherlands (Becker 2020). So, in some way, 1648 unrolls history from its result; in a Dutch perspective, they had been independent all the time since 1581 when the Dutch had first declared independence. Indeed, this date acts as a key point in today’s nationalist discourse on Dutch self-awareness and identity. Even so, the Peace of Münster continues to intervene in this narrative, as its popularity has been transferred to social media. This confusion about the dates of independence has caught up with Thierry Baudet, the leader of the Dutch nationalist party Forum voor Democratie (TAR 25). In a PR video published on Twitter in 2019, the party leader presents the Plakaat van Verlathinge as the foundational charter of Dutch greatness, but the document he shows is obviously the 1648 Peace of Münster. This rather embarrassing mistake provoked a vivid debate, which brought together two conflicting lines of argument: a nationalist narrative presenting 1648 as the birthdate of the Netherlands and a supranational narrative reminding the euro-sceptic party leader of the legacy of 1648 for the European Union (TAR 16; 17; 22; 42; 47; 50; 52; 69). Both sides use the Peace of Münster as a significant step in their narrative and stereotype the Peace as something relevant to both nationalist and supranational approaches.

2.3

Spanish and Portuguese Views: Don’t Mention the Peace!

Quite the opposite attitude appears in the Iberian perspective. The king of Spain was a main driver of the Thirty Years’ War, fighting both France and the Northern Provinces of the Netherlands. Whereas the conflict with the latter came to an end in 1648, the war with France was not concluded until 1659 and no good memories were built upon the failed Westphalian peace process in Spain (Malcolm 2019). The Peace of Münster was regarded as a mistake in Spanish diplomacy, weakening the Spanish crown and its future capacity for peacebuilding. Meanwhile, the Portuguese rebels could not follow the Dutch in achieving European acceptance of their independence from Spain (Tischer 1999, 321–410; Rohrschneider

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2007). Portugal’s independence was not internationally guaranteed by the treaties of 1648 and even today, the date of the Portuguese Restoration of Independence in 1640 is honoured instead of the Peace of Westphalia. For all these reasons, the Peace of Westphalia is barely mentioned in Iberian public spheres. Although it is acknowledged as an important date in history (TAR 15; 24), the Peace of Westphalia has received little individual attention. Looking at Spanish and Portuguese Twitter comments, only a few tweets refer to the event. Without geospatial data basis (Rieder and Kühne 2018, 426–428), it remains impossible to say whether these data derive from the Iberian Peninsula or the many Hispano-Portuguese global language communities. However, the Peace of Westphalia does exist as a term in popular political science and is often used as an equivalent to the emergence of the nation-state. Here, the classic Westphalian myth raises the Peace from obfuscation and into public dialogue (TAR 1; 6; 7; 21; 28; 30; 39; 43; 45; 58; 61; 63; 65; 67). This general result allows the hypothesis that national remembrance of the Peace of Westphalia and the understanding of a Westphalian system are inverse to one another: the less the Peace is remembered, the stronger the Westphalian myth becomes. In the Spanish-Portuguese case, the Peace of Westphalia has no national reference per se but only exists as a treaty that it never was. Similar conclusions could be drawn from a Swedish example. Although widely considered one of the most victorious participants of the war, Swedish social media records hardly any remembrance of the Peace today (see Hårdstedt 2019, 65–69 with his focus on academic reception only). Nevertheless, tweets on the Westphalian system are ubiquitous. Thus, a missing culture of remembrance foreshadows the dominance of the Westphalian system narrative; the latter being the first symptom of a poorly differentiated memory of the Peace and its significance in 1648.

2.4

A Swiss View: Johann Rudolf Wettstein’s Legacy on Twitter

All these national social media representations of the Peace of Westphalia focus on the Peace and its agreements, but not on the process that led to the Peace. This is not surprising. The architects of a peacebuilding process are unlikely to be mentioned in social media. In fact, just recently Christoph Kampmann (2019, 437) stated that the Westphalian Peace Congress can hardly be personalised and thus lacks popular attraction. There is, however, one exception to this statement: the Swiss perspective and their representation of Johann Rudolf Wettstein, the envoy

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of the Swiss Confederation’s protestant cantons and cities to the Westphalian Peace Congress. Wettstein seems to perfectly fulfil the need of giving a human face to the Peace of Westphalia. The Peace itself, from a Swiss perspective, is strongly associated with the nation’s independence history. In 1648, the Confederation obtained exemption from Imperial jurisdiction and achieved the formal acceptance of its long-held independent status (Egger 1998; Maissen 2006, 187–198). As one Twitter user wrote in 2012, “Un homme, seul et sans mandat, obtint la reconaissance internationale de l’indépendance de notre pays aux traités de Westphalie” (TAR 49), complaining that “l’histoire du traité de Westphalie et du rôle de J[ohann] R[udolf] Wettstein n’est presque jamais enseigné”. Wettstein is also declared “le premier diplomate de l’histoire suisse” (TAR 32; see also TAR 53; 68). Multiple tweets link Wettstein’s role in the Peace of Westphalia to the history of Swiss independence. In the sixth article of the Treaty of Osnabrück and the sixtyfirst paragraph of the Treaty of Münster, the exemption of the Confederation from Imperial jurisdiction was established by explicitly not speaking of sovereignty (Oschmann 1998, 19, 128–129; Maissen 2006, 190–198). From the Empire’s perspective, 1648 confirmed a status of juridical distance that had been developing since the fifteenth century. Whether this was the beginning of Swiss independence or the formalisation of a long-lived status quo remains a question of interpretation and valuation among historians (Burkhardt 1992, 271–272; Press 1992, 287–293; Egger 1998, 432). However, for Swiss Twitter users, the question is quite clearly answered in favour of the ideal of radical independence. Whether 24 October should be declared their day of independence (TAR 18; 29; 44; 48; 49)—or at least represent a key date in Swiss history—the Peace of Westphalia plays a formidable role in the identity management of the multilingual nation (Meles and Historisches Museum Basel 1998; Kopp 1998, 6–7) and is linked to the nation’s independence and the person of Johann Wettstein.

2.5

A German View: (Westphalian) Peace for the World

The German perspective differs from the other European examples. Here, the Peace of Westphalia seems to hold more sway. Academic studies on its later reception up until today are common (Austermann 2017; Gantet 2003; Goetze and Oetzel 2019, 16–18; Duchhardt 1997, 1998, 85–108; Steinwascher 1999). When asking whether the Peace of Westphalia might serve as a European myth, Heinz Duchhardt argues:

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The more emotional attitudes towards the Peace of Westphalia in other communities can be traced back to its formal role in their state-building process. [...] It is indeed due time for a public historical revaluation of the Peace of Westphalia based on a closer reading of its text and consideration of its consequences. In doing so, however, one should remain unemotional: The Peace of Westphalia is not suitable to serve as a national or European myth. It is—and always has been—a plain document with very limited potential for emotions and emotionalisation.7

Although from an early modern historian’s perspective one might agree with Duchhardt’s view, the preceding examples show that the Peace of Westphalia can raise emotional reactions. The example of German Twitter provides a decisive confirmation to this impression. In German Twitter comments, the Peace of Westphalia serves as a topos of peacefully living together. It is not only invoked on the level of religious confessions and modern states (TAR 13; 29; 59; 70; 72; 74; 75), but also on the football pitches in Westphalia (TAR 11; 37), political party assemblies in Münster, or at urban events. Historiographically acknowledged to be a “positiv konnotierter Erinnerungsort” (Duchhardt 2012, 186), the Peace of Westphalia is often framed in pro-European terms supporting a liberal, tolerant world order or as a model for current peacebuilding processes (TAR 4; 20; 35; 51; 55; 56). Although these narratives do also appear in other languages (TAR 2), their quantity in German tweets is outstanding. The wording in these tweets is often politically charged and used to send messages from one political side to another. For example, it has been used to contradict the policy of US President Donald Trump (TAR 70; 71; 74) or to headline the low support for the German right-wing party Alternative für Deutschland (AfD) in Münster (TAR 36). On the other hand, it has also been utilised by the AfD party itself (TAR 23) to insult the political left. In these examples, the Peace of Westphalia is not understood as a historical peacebuilding process, but rather employed in narrow political discourses. Both sides thus perpetuate a stereotypical understanding of the Peace of Westphalia. Both claim their discursive right over the Peace, yet both fail to explain or even understand it from a historical 7

Translation by the author of this chapter. Original quotation: “Wenn andere Gemeinwesen ein emotionaleres Verhältnis zu[m Westfälischen Frieden] entwickelten, dann liegt das daran, daß er formal an der Wiege ihrer Staatswerdung steht. […] [Es ist] zwar hohe Zeit, daß eine näher an den Texten und ihren Konsequenzen stehende Bewertung des Westfälischen Friedens Eingang in das allgemeine Geschichtsbewußtsein findet. Bleiben wir aber auch dann nüchtern: Zum nationalen oder europäischen Mythos eignet sich der Westfälische Friede nicht. Er war und ist ein nüchternes Dokument, das für Emotionen und Emotionalisierung nur begrenzt Raum läßt” (Duchhardt 1998, 863; resp. Duchhardt 1997, 108).

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point of view. This new ambiguity of the Peace of Westphalia makes it not only more political, but obviously more emotional, too. Even if, from an early modernist perspective, the Peace is not an emotionally charged document or event, it reappears in a highly emotional context on social media. Therefore, in addition to being a label for European ideas of supranationalism—which it has been since the 1990s (Holzhauer 1999; Krawietz 1999, 137; Reese 1988; Duchhardt 1997 citing the speech of Federal President Roman Herzog)—the Peace of Westphalia has expanded in the public consciousness and is thus more often transformed into a political argument.

3

Conclusions: A Digital Web of Peace(s)?

On its anniversary in October 2019, a Twitter user remarked that the Peace was a “sujet trop complexe pour un tweet” (TAR 38) and referred to a more detailed external source. The user might be right: most of the cited tweets contain misinformation about the Peace, disregard its various aspects or assign them the wrong significance. However, this is neither surprising nor the point of this chapter. Social media representations of the Peace of Westphalia allow historians to address general lines of understanding peace and overcoming conflicts beyond historical accuracy. By focusing on stereotyped Twitter narratives about the Peace of Westphalia from various European countries, this chapter has undertaken the first steps in tracing a map of the current Twitter culture of remembrance of the Peace. Despite the methodological challenges that such a Twitter survey must contend with, there are several conclusions to be made. First, the survey shows that social media content can and ought to be considered when seeking a non-academic understanding of historical topics, even those at the periphery of public awareness. While in 1998 congresses and exhibitions dominated the public perspective, today media representations have diversified. When Jürgen Wilke (2004) described the on-going mobilisation of media consumption since the fifteenth century in 2004, Twitter did not yet exist. Because the reception of news is now, more than ever, separated from organized channels and networks due to the influence of social media, historians should take this type of source more into consideration in addition to “traditional” sources of media consumption. Social media contributions should be acknowledged as sources of public historical expression and reception similar to museum exhibitions, memorials or textbooks. Second, all “national” representations under scrutiny in this chapter show a potential politicisation of the Peace of Westphalia in social media, whether it

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be related to regional or national identity, the presumed success or failure of a nation, or as a frame for judging current international political actions and behaviours. These social media contributions, loaded with today’s representations of the Peace, mostly contain old and established myths, ideas and stereotypes of the Peace. The modern medium thus transports old attitudes if we compare analogue debates in exhibitions with Twitter content. However, more clearly than in analogue representations and due to Twitter’s constraints for communication, the Peace is being transformed for modern usage with ideals of independence, international systems, tolerance and so on. Such ideals and references (even if deliberately ironical) say more about the time from which they derive than about the Peace of Westphalia itself. Digital dissemination of the Peace of Westphalia thus contains and confirms pre-existing stereotypes. The academic fear that the involvement of the public happens at the cost of accurate presentation (Kampmann 2019, 438) might have come true. The Peace’s representation in social media has not shifted the old discourse about how and why the Peace of Westphalia could or should be considered. Instead, the analysed tweets raise new questions that need to be observed and addressed in the years and debates to come: 1. The narratives about the Peace of Westphalia have led to more emotionalised receptions in political and polemical contexts. This circumstance should be analysed rather than lamented as a non-academic discursive shift. Do emotionalisations in the long-term perspective contribute to a more differentiated representation and re-evaluation of the peace process? A focus on personnel and structures of the peace process in social media contributions might illuminate this topic better. 2. Furthermore, the pre-dominance of the Westphalian system myth overshadows a more differentiated culture of remembrance. By internationalising a Peace that had different impacts on multiple modern states, it constructs an ideal that the treaty itself was never meant to fulfil and obscures its more specific legacy with a pan-political set of understandings. The interdisciplinary debate between IR and early modern historians must evolve in response. 3. This survey used tweets of non-academic origin (personal accounts) meant for a non-academic audience (Twitter). But, nevertheless, there are academic examples on social media disseminating information on the Peace of Westphalia (Bechtold et al. 2019). Those, whether by the personal accounts of academics researching the topic or by institutional accounts that share, distribute and comment on knowledge about the Peace, try to integrate the academic element with social media perspectives and thus manage interaction

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with a broader public. This integration still relies on personal engagement and voluntary scientific communication by academics but might—in its technically small scope—contribute to an educational experience on social media. 4. Concerning the popularisation of understanding the Peace, there is one last question to address: does the current understanding of the Peace of Westphalia contribute to an overcoming of conflict? An overview of selected Twitter perspectives as presented here cannot deliver a methodically valuable answer. However, I do have a hypothesis: the analysis of multiple national understandings of the Peace of Westphalia does not—due to its multifaceted character—allow for a general conclusion, except about its heterogeneity. As Miller et al. point out, the rise of social media fostered both hopes and fears of an increasing global homogeneity of thoughts, ideas, narratives and attitudes. Media-anthropological studies, however, suggest the opposite has become true: due to differing uses in national or cultural “bubbles” and values—and thus differently discussed topics and contents—social media rather fosters heterogeneity and fraction (Miller et al. 2016, 16). This perspective thus puts into question social media’s functionality for overcoming conflicts and divisions. This anthropological result is confirmed by this short—and methodologically difficult—spotlight. Although today’s cultures share an understanding of the Peace of Westphalia, it is framed and functionalised differently across diverse lingual-cultural social media spaces. Because of this, it is being charged with different (and often conflicting) narratives and stereotypes. The one Peace is being replaced by several peaces—historically the same, but discursively creating a heterogeneous and sometimes conflicting web of peaces.

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TAR 67=@talissaleal. 29 June 2009. “Guerra dos 30 anos+Paz de Vestfália…”. https://twi tter.com/talissaleal/status/2381726739. TAR 68=Thüring, J. (@JoelThuering). 18 March 2015. “Grosser Rat negiert das historische Erbe…”. https://twitter.com/JoelThuering/status/578139593112956929. TAR 69=Tilanus, E. (@erik_wt). 5 May 2017. “Vandaag bevrijdingsdag maar dag van de vrijheid…”. https://twitter.com/erik_wt/status/860606929235845123. TAR 70=Trutschke, R. (@Nacktmagazin). 2 June 2017. “Was Trump jetzt noch kündigen will:…”. https://twitter.com/Nacktmagazin/status/870531590048411649. TAR 71=@uncle_m_music. 24 October 2018. “Herzlichen 370. Geburtstag den Friedensverhandlungen…”. https://twitter.com/uncle_m_music/status/1055105000660176896. TAR 72=@unkej. 24 October 2018. “Heute vor ein paar Jahren in @muenster_de…”. https:// twitter.com/unkej/status/1054974002651979776. TAR 73=@villedeselestat. 17 March 2017. “1648, l’Alsace est rattachée…”. https://twitter. com/villedeselestat/status/842628676772642817. TAR 74=Vogler, K. (@voglerk). 24 October 2019. “Heute anno 1648: Der Westfälische #Frieden. Im…”. https://twitter.com/voglerk/status/1187314585537257474. TAR 75=@WWU_LIVE. 28 November 2013. “Gauck: ‚Es ist kein Zufall, dass Münster…”. https://twitter.com/WWU_Live/status/406004941199667200.

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Hochwald, T. 2013. How so social media affect intra-state conflicts other than war? Connections 12, no. 3: 9–38. Holzhauer, H., ed. 1999. Europa 1648–1998. Von Münster nach Maastricht. Symposium anläßlich des 350. Jahrestages des Westfälischen Friedens. Münster: LIT. Jensen, L. 2016. Vieren van vrede. Het ontstaan van de Nederlandse identiteit, 1648–1815. Nijmegen: Vantilt. Kampmann, C. 2019. Westfälischer Frieden und neuzeitliche Friedensgeschichte. Überlegungen zu Forschungsperspektiven und Forschungstransfer. Ein Diskussionsbeitrag. In Warum Friedenschließen so schwer ist. Frühneuzeitliche Friedensfindung am Beispiel des Westfälischen Friedenskongresses, eds. D. Goetze and L. Oetzel, 433–438. Münster: Aschendorff. Kampmann, C. 2020. Der Westfälische Friede als Grundlage von Völkerfrieden und Völkerrecht: Frühneuzeitliche Wurzeln und Entwicklung einer Vorstellung. In Die Habsburgermonarchie und der Dreißigjährige Krieg, eds. K. Keller and M. Scheutz, 415–432. Wien: Böhlau. Kappen, O. M. van. 1999. Der spanisch-niederländische Frieden von 1648. In Europa 1648– 1998. Von Münster nach Maastricht. Symposium anläßlich des 350. Jahrestages des Westfälischen Friedens, ed. H. Holzhauer, 1–19. Münster: LIT. Kopp, P. F. 1998. Erinnerungen an den Westfälischen Frieden. 350 Jahre unabhängige Schweiz 1648 bis 1998. Schaffhausen: Novalis. Kozmanová, I. 2019. Der Friede als Tabuthema? Die gegenwärtige Konstitution von Zeit und Sachen und das Reputationsproblem der Provinz Holland. In Warum Friedenschließen so schwer ist. Frühneuzeitliche Friedensfindung am Beispiel des Westfälischen Friedenskongresses, eds. D. Goetze and L. Oetzel, 75–92. Münster: Aschendorff. Krawietz, W. 1999. Pax optima rerum. Das politische und rechtliche System des Westfälischen Friedens von 1648 als Vorlaufentwicklung des modernen Europa. In Der Westfälische Frieden in rechts- und staatstheoretischer Perspektive, eds. O. M. van Kappen and D. Wyduckel, 137–138. Berlin: Duncker & Humblot. Lüsebrink, H.-J. 2016. Interkulturelle Kommunikation. Interaktion, Fremdwahrnehmung, Kulturtransfer. 4th ed. Stuttgart: J. B. Metzler. Maissen, T. 2006. Die Geburt der Republic. Staatsverständnis und Repräsentation in der frühneuzeitlichen Eidgenossenschaft. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht. Malcolm, A. 2019. Spanish narratives of the Westphalian Peace process. Congress diplomacy as eternalisation of war. In Warum Friedenschließen so schwer ist. Frühneuzeitliche Friedensfindung am Beispiel des Westfälischen Friedenskongresses, eds. D. Goetze and L. Oetzel, 51–64. Münster: Aschendorff. Meles, B., and Historisches Museum Basel, eds. 1998. Wettstein. Die Schweiz und Europa 1648. Basel: Christoph-Merian. Miller, D., E. Costa, N. Haynes et al. 2016. How the world changed social media. Vol. 1 of Why We Post. UCL. https://www.jstor.org/stable/j.ctt1g69z35. Accessed: 1 September 2020. Nieborg, D. B., and T. Poell. 2018. The platformization of cultural production. Theorizing the contingent cultural commodity. New Media & Society 20: 4275–4292. Oschmann, A., ed. 1998. Die Friedensverträge mit Frankreich und Schweden. Teilband 1. Urkunden. Series III, Section B (Verhandlungsakten) of Acta Pacis Westphalicae. Münster: Aschendorff.

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Parmelee, J. H., and S. L. Bichard. 2012. Politics and the Twitter revolution. How tweets influence the relationship between political leaders and the public. Lanham, Md.: Lexington Books. Pfaffenberger, F. 2016. Twitter als Basis wissenschaftlicher Studien. Eine Bewertung gängiger Erhebungs- und Analysemethoden der Twitter-Forschung. Wiesbaden: Springer Fachmedien. Press, V. 1992. Die Schweiz. Steter Weg zur eigenen Identität. In Region, Nation, Europa. Historische Determinanten der Neugliederung eines Kontinents, ed. G. Lottes, 287–293. Heidelberg: Physica/Regensburg: Mittelbayerische. Reese, A. 1988. Pax sit Christiana. Die westfälischen Friedensverhandlungen als europäisches Ereignis. Düsseldorf: Schwan. Rieder, Y., and S. Kühne. 2018. Geospatial analysis of social media data – A practical framework and applications using Twitter. In Computational social science in the age of big data. Concepts, methodologies, tools and applications, eds. C. M. Stuetzer, M. Welker, and M. Egger, 423–446. Cologne: Herbert von Halem. Ries, R. 1999. Allocution de Roland Ries, maire de Strasbourg. In 350e anniversaire des Traités de Westphalie, 1648–1998. Une genèse de l’Europe, une société à reconstruire, eds. J.-P. Kintz and G. Livet, 7–9. Strasbourg: Presses Univ. Roelofsen, C. G. 1999. Völkerrechtliche Aspekte des Westfälischen Friedens in niederländischer Sicht. In Der Westfälische Frieden in rechts- und staatstheoretischer Perspektive, eds. O. M. van Kappen and D. Wyduckel, 175–188. Berlin: Duncker & Humblot. Rohrschneider, M. 2007. Der gescheiterte Frieden von Münster. Spaniens Ringen mit Frankreich auf dem Westfälischen Friedenskongress (1643–1649). Münster: Aschendorff. Steinwascher, G. 1999. Städtische Erinnerungskultur zwischen protestantischer Politik und Marketing. Die Jubiläumsfeiern des Westfälischen Friedens in Osnabrück. In Städte und Friedenskongresse, ed. H. Duchhardt, 69–82. Cologne et al.: Böhlau. Stuetzer, C. M., M. Welker and M. Egger, eds. 2018. Computational social science in the age of big data. Concepts, methodologies, tools and applications. Cologne: Herbert von Halem. Tischer, A. 1999. Französische Diplomatie und Diplomaten auf dem Westfälischen Friedenskongress. Außenpolitik unter Richelieu und Mazarin. Münster: Aschendorff. Tümpel, C., and A. Tümpel. 1998. Die Spiegelung von Krieg und Frieden in der niederländischen Kunst. In 1648 Krieg und Frieden in Europa. Textband 2. Kunst und Kultur, eds. K. Bußmann and H. Schilling, 555–564. Münster: Westfälisches Landesmuseum für Kunst und Kulturgeschichte. Westphal, S. 2015. Der Westfälische Frieden. Münich: C.H.Beck. Wilke, J. 2004. Vom stationären zum mobilen Rezipienten. Entfesselung der Kommunikation von Raum und Zeit – Symptom fortschreitender Medialisierung. Jahrbuch für Kommunikationsgeschichte 6: 1–55.

Jonas Bechtold is Doctoral Research Assistant at the Department of History at the University of Bonn. He teaches and researches Early Modern History and Rhenish Regional History in the eponymous section of the Department.

Peacebuilding on YouTube? Conflicts, National Narratives and Comment Sections Sandra Müller-Tietz

Abstract

This chapter examines explainer videos about historical topics on YouTube. It aims at answering the question of whether those videos facilitate or hinder peacebuilding. For this purpose, four videos from the two largest Germanlanguage YouTube channels that host explainer videos about historical topics are analysed. The study focuses on the structure of the channels and the narrative structure of the videos as well as on the comment section. Thus, not only the productive but also the reception side of the videos can be explored. The comment sections provide, to some extent, insights into the historical consciousness of the audience. The chapter concludes with pragmatic explorations of how such videos can be used in the contexts of teaching and peacebuilding. An increasing number of students use explanatory and educational videos on online platforms such as YouTube not only for entertainment but also for scholastic purposes (Krämer and Böhrs 2017, 254–255). Nine out of ten German adolescents use YouTube regularly, and one-fifth watches educational videos or tutorials on a regular basis (Feierabend et al. 2019, 38–39). Through videos on platforms like YouTube anyone can learn about anything at any time. A study by Krämer and Böhrs showed that users strongly prefer video over text information (2017, 259). As a study by the Rat für kulturelle Bildung shows, students even rate explanatory videos fully or partially higher than lessons in school in terms of understandability, and they regularly use videos to review and study for lessons S. Müller-Tietz (B) Department of History, University of Bonn, Bonn, Germany e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Fachmedien Wiesbaden GmbH, part of Springer Nature 2023 F. Helfer et al. (eds.), Overcoming Conflict, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-658-39237-6_13

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and exams (Rat für kulturelle Bildung 2019, 33–36). Thus, it can be concluded that explanatory videos for students are becoming an increasingly important way of learning about history, when preparing for exams, presentations, lessons or doing homework. Currently, there are no empirical studies that show how these types of videos might influence an individual’s historical consciousness. In theory, it can be assumed that historical consciousness is influenced by explanatory videos as strongly as it is influenced by other more established media formats, i.e. movies or video games. How can explanatory videos be defined, especially when it comes to historical topics? Krämer and Böhrs describe explainer videos as follows: Explainer videos effectively convey complex facts to a target group within a very short time. Characterizing elements are storytelling and multisensory. Explainer videos are usually one to three minutes long. Rather than going into detail, they focus on the most relevant facts. The visualization includes animated illustrations, graphics, or photos. There are different types of explainer videos, such as paper cut-out or so-called papermotion videos, live scribble, whiteboard animation, or fully animated explainer videos. (2017, 255)

Apart from the fact that explanatory videos covering historical topics are usually longer than three minutes, these characteristics apply aptly to videos about history. Following the explanations of Steffen (2019, 62), several other factors contribute to the popularity of explainer videos. The style of the videos matches recent viewing habits. The videos are often animated in a way that reflects a modern aesthetic. They are also easily available and mostly free of cost. The more professionally produced the videos look, the greater their credibility seems to be (Steffen 2019, 61). This chapter seeks to find answers to questions on three levels. On a general level: How do explanatory videos about historical topics work and what conceptions of history do they convey? What does the audience think about these videos? On a more specific level regarding the topic of this volume: How do these videos deal with peace and conflict? Do explanatory and educational videos on YouTube facilitate or hinder peacebuilding? On a pragmatic level: How can these types of videos be used to facilitate peacebuilding in educational contexts? These questions are answered in this chapter based on a comparison of the two largest German-language YouTube channels that host explanatory videos about history, “MrWissen2go Geschichte” and “simpleclub Geschichte”. The comparison consists of a channel analysis of the general structure of the two channels, a video content analysis to determine how these videos are structured and what concepts of history they convey and, finally, a comment analysis to take a

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closer look at what users think about these videos. To analyse the comments, a category-based content analysis was conducted. The analysis method used in this chapter is loosely based on an approach by Uebing (2019), which consists of separated descriptive and interpretative levels of analysis. In the second step, a comment analysis extends the focus from the presenter and the video content to the users. This way, user-centred and content-centred approaches can be combined to examine not only what is presented by whom and how, but also what the audience thinks about the producers and products. This approach allows conclusions to be drawn about the historical consciousness not only of the content creators but also of the viewers. To examine the audience reaction, the comment section of four different videos from two channels was analysed. In total, 1428 comments were categorised using the software MaxQDA for a categorical content analysis.

1

Two Channels—Similar but Different?

The analysis focuses on the two largest—by number of views and followers—German-language channels dedicated to explanatory videos about historical topics: “MrWissen2go Geschichte” and “simpleclub Geschichte”. These channels are good examples for the analysis because they are as much alike as they are different from each other. One of the main differences is the financial structure behind the channels. “Simpleclub Geschichte” is tied to a commercial concept with a pay-to-use app for learning and exam preparation for different subjects such as math, physics, engineering, chemistry and several others (Neubert 2019, 262–263). “MrWissen2go Geschichte” started as an independent format, but is nowadays part of the funk media group, which is a joint venture of the two public television stations ARD and ZDF and is financed by broadcast licence fees (Roers 2019, 146–147). In January 2020, the channel “MrWissen2go Geschichte” had 152 videos and 372,000 subscribers. It is hosted by journalist Mirko Drotschmann, who holds a degree in history and started his first YouTube channel with explainer videos in 2012 (Roers 2019, 146). He is the presenter of the channel, but due to the increasing professionalism of the videos, it can be assumed that they are produced by a larger team, which is not specified in the channel description (Roers 2019, 146). Drotschmann appears in every video. This way, he personally stands for the credibility of the video content (Uebing 2019, 81). He appears neat, dressed modestly yet not too conservatively and his style of speech is informal but not

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colloquial. A new video is uploaded to this channel every Thursday, as is stated in the head banner on the channel side. With 203,000 subscribers and 117 videos as of January 2020, “Geschichte— simpleclub” is nearly the same size. This channel about history, as well as the corresponding channels for other subjects and the app, were founded by two students. The channel hosts rarely appear in the videos, most of which are animated, with a voiceover to explain the topic. The language used is informal, colloquial, almost slang and aims for young viewers. In May 2018 the upload of new videos had paused until 2022. Yet the number of subscribers was still increasing during this break. However, the number of subscribers does not accurately represent these channels’ range of influence because it is necessary to have a YouTube profile to subscribe. The number of views corresponds to the range of influence more accurately and at the same time shows which topics viewers prefer. Both channels cover all epochs and mostly German and/or European history (Table 1). The videos offered by “Geschichte—simpleclub” clearly focus on topics covered in school curricula. “MrWissen2go” also deals with topics that are not part of curricula and that relate to present-day issues, such as pandemics in history or videos on the history of countries such as Iran, Syria and North Korea. Both channels tend to focus on the nineteenth and the twentieth century, and both have the fewest number of videos in the category of medieval history. This selection of subject matter mainly reflects the orientation of the German curricula (see the chapter by Florian Helfer in this volume). In context of the expositions by Roers and Steffen about authenticity and authentication in explainer videos (Roers 2019, 148–157; Steffen 2019, 66–68),

Table 1 Distribution of topics (own table) MrWissen2go Geschichte (152 videos)

Geschichte—simpleclub (117 videos)

Total

Total

Percentage

Percentage

Twentieth century

69

45%

33

28%

Nineteenth century

27

18%

31

26%

Early Modern History

16

11%

14

12%

Medieval History

6

4%

4

3%

Ancient History

6

4%

17

15%

18%

18

15%

Not epoch specific 28

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the two channels seem vastly different. As Roers and Uebing (2019, 81) stress, in the videos of “MrWissen2go”, Mirko Drotschmann himself stands for the credibility of the given information and thus authenticates them with his own persona. The makers of “Geschichte—simpleclub” do not employ this strategy of credibility through personal appearance. As noted, they are rarely shown in the videos. Also, their own name does not stand behind the information given in the video because the scripts are written by several different people, who are credited at the end of each video. Instead, they seem to follow a different strategy: professionally animated videos with audio descriptions in colloquial and youthful language leading to an impression of professional unprofessionalism. This way, the videos seem authentic even without the credibility of verified factual information and without the self-orchestration of a Mirko Drotschmann as a modern and a slightly unconventional, yet academically credentialed tutor.

2

Linear Narratives and Colourful Animations—Video Structures

The videos have a short introduction, a main part and sometimes a summary at the end or short summaries in between. The narrative structure is linear, starting at event A und ending at event B. Often, a long time span or even an entire period is covered in few minutes. For example, “MrWissen2go” explains events spanning 150 years in 10:24 min (Die Deutsche Frage 2019). The explanations in all four videos (see Table 2) analysed here are supported by animations and historical pictures. The narratives in the videos are highly structured, linear and mostly are characterised by low complexity. In the present study, the video content and comment analysis focused on videos about the “German question” and the founding of the Kaiserreich after the Franco-Prussian war of 1870/71. This topic was selected not only because it is one of few topics presented by both channels, but also because it has implications for peacebuilding. The “German question”, which is concerned with the possible size and structure of a German nation state, has often been restricted to the nineteenth century and the German national movement of that period. However, the question can be extended up to 1989/90 and was also an important question for the Allies after the Second World War (Geiss 1992; Hömig 2019). Today, this question has been answered—at least at a political level. Historical research also agrees on a consensual interpretation of the nationalist movement of the nineteenth century, the so-called wars of unification (Einigungskriege) and German nationhood. The narrative of how Germany gradually became a nation

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Table 2 Distribution of views and comments (own table) Channel

Video title

Total: views (3 February 2020)

Total: comments analysed

Total: codes

Geschichte—simpleclub

Der deutsche Sieg und die Reichsgründung—Die Einigung Deutschlands durch Blut und Eisen

278,000

137

355

Die Deutsche Frage beim Wiener Kongress und der Deutsche Bund

174,000

84

237

Die Deutsche Frage / Geschichte

88,000

835

2168

Der Weg ins Deutsche Kaiserreich / musstewissen Geschichte

431,000

372

1002

MrWissen2go Geschichte

state in the nineteenth century—first, through a bottom-up nationalist movement that failed in 1848; later, in 1871, by “blood and iron”, as Otto von Bismarck called it and again in 1989, catalysed by the Peaceful Revolution—is a prominent part in the “master narrative” of German history and an important element of the curriculum in schools. This “master narrative” offers several opportunities for talking about peacebuilding, such as how Franco-German relations contributed to overcoming the conflict of 1870/71 and led to a new common ground after the Second World War; how the revolution of 1848 serves as an example of a failed attempt at democratic nationhood, and of course, how the revolution of 1989 can be seen as an example of a peaceful revolution and a successful attempt at reunification. Although the German question is no longer a relevant question in politics at present, the comment analysis in this study suggests that to some extent this is not a fully answered question for some people. Two of the four analysed videos focus on the “German question”. They follow the “master narrative” outlined above but focus on different aspects. While “MrWissen2go” explains the change in the “German question” chronologically in its context from the early nineteenth century until 1989/90, the videos of “simpleclub” take only the nineteenth century as a focal point. The two other videos

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that were selected for this analysis focus more closely on the wars of 1864, 1866 and 1870/71. Both channels do not name their sources, but “MrWissen2go” references scholarly articles for further information, for example academic publications by the Bundeszentrale für politische Bildung (Federal Agency for Civic Education). In the “simpleclub” video on the German unification, an image of Bismarck and Napoleon III is shown (1:13), and the narrator describes the individuals in the image. However, the overall context of the image is not discussed (where it originated from, whether it shows a real or fictional meeting between Bismarck and Napoleon III, whether it is of German or French provenance etc.). Generally speaking, pictures and quotes from historical sources are only used as illustrations but not in the analytical way a historian would use them or in the way they would be used in history teaching. To further illustrate the narration, colourful animations, such as maps and timelines, are used. In addition, inserted text boxes are used to structure the narration by highlighting new aspects or chapters and concluding important points. This approach adds to the impression of highly structured, linear narrations with often monocausal explanations. On the other hand, these text boxes and animations can facilitate competencies of orientation in space and time. The ability to locate events and processes on geographical and chronological levels is an important aspect of historical learning and historical thinking. Animated maps or timelines, as they are used especially in the videos of “Geschichte—simpleclub”, can help students understand where and when the events discussed in history classes happened in a more dynamic way than a map in a textbook can.

3

What do the Users Think?

This part focuses on how the audience responds to the videos. The way YouTube is used as a source for all kinds of video material can differ, which makes a classification of user types valuable for an interpretation of comments. YouTube users can be classified into three groups (Friedburg 2019, 231–235): first, content creators who create their own videos and interact with their viewers and other content creators; second, users who have a YouTube account and interact with the content creators by watching, liking/disliking, sharing and commenting on the videos, and thereby also interact with other users; third, viewers who only consume the videos, but do not interact with users or content creators within

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the medium.1 In the present study, only the actions and interactions of content creators and users are analysed. The behaviour and reactions of viewers could be determined in an empirical experimental setting, which was not part of this study. Content creators and users/viewers are in a reciprocal relationship. Content creators want as many views as possible, good ratings and traffic on their channel; they want the audience to enjoy their content and interact with the channel, so they create content that will fulfil the expectations of users and viewers. Based on the comments in the analysed videos’ comment sections, it can be concluded that these expectations mainly consist of learning something about history through a simple yet sound, and still not too simple explication. Comments regarding the presenter omitting certain events or reasons show that all users do not welcome a too simple explanation. In contrast, users praise the simplicity and clarity of the explanation, especially in comparison to how the topics are conveyed in school: “Thanks, that was very interesting! Unfortunately, I have never learnt about this at school. Really cool that it is possible to catch up via YouTube:D” (Der Weg ins Deutsche Kaiserreich 2017, comment no. 19).2 A total of 1428 comments were analysed, using a total of 5089 codes. The distribution of comments among the four videos and the two channels reflects that the channel “MrWissen2go Geschichte” has more subscribers than “Geschichte— simpleclub” (Table 2). The video “Die Deutsche Frage” (The German question) has the fewest views of all four videos yet the most comments. This indicates a lively discussion in the comment section and possibly a controversial topic. The ratio of views to comments shows that the group of viewers is much larger than the group of users, making viewing the main form of interaction with the videos, not commenting. The comments were categorised using a software for qualitative and quantitative content analysis (MaxQDA). To analyse the comments, a set of inductive categories based on the comments was established. The categories reference mainly seven different aspects: • Users recur on the topic of the video and express an opinion about this topic • Users express an opinion about the video, i.e. that they liked/disliked the video • Users show historical knowledge and/or historical consciousness 1

This does not mean that viewers do not interact with the videos in any way, just that they do not do so within the YouTube sphere. They may still share the video on other social networks or tell their friends about it. 2 German original: “Danke, das war sehr interessant! Das habe ich leider nie in der Schule gelernt. Echt cool, dass man das so gut durch YouTube nachholen kann:D ”. All German quotations were translated into English by the author of this chapter.

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267

Users reference history teaching (at school) Users mention cultural aspects, i.e. regional specifics in Germany Web culture, i.e. interaction with the channel host Hate speech, right-wing political opinions3 and conspiracy theories

Because the comments can contain several of these aspects, multiple coding was enabled. These categories contain several sub-codes to allow a differentiated analysis. Table 3 shows prototypic examples for each category. The examples are real comments and were extracted later to explain the categories. During the analysis, the categories were formed inductively, based purely on the material. Prototypes were not worded ahead of the analysis so that the inductive procedure would not be distorted. To protect the users’ anonymity and because the comments or user accounts may have been deleted in the meantime, the comments are quoted with reference to the video and a number that was assigned chronologically at the time the comments were downloaded for the analysis in January 2020. Comments about cultural specifics in Germany, i.e. regional specifics or the German broadcast licence fee (Rundfunkbeitrag), or aspects of web culture, such as users asking for videos on other topics or the channel host replying to comments, are mostly insignificant for this study. However, they were included as categories to show the scope of comments resulting from the videos. The comments that state users’ opinions about the video indicate how the videos are received (Table 4). In the following sections, aspects of historical consciousness and history teaching as well as hate speech, political opinions and conspiracy theories are explored further.

4

Historical Consciousness and Use of Sources

Within the German didactic discourse, “historical consciousness” as the central category for history didactics (Jeismann 1977; Baumgärtner 2015, 31) is also present in the comment section. Historical consciousness can be defined, following the definition of Pandel (2013, 123–150), as an individual mental structure of categories such as temporality, morality, changeability, identity and political and socio-economic consciousness that define how we tell a story/history. This 3

Because these categories were generated from the material, only right-wing political opinions are shown. This does not mean that there are no left-wing extremists or that there are no such comments under YouTube videos. This only means that for the four analysed videos, only right-wing extremist political opinions were expressed.

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Table 3 Prototypic examples for each category (own table) Category

Prototypic example4

Video topic Opinion about „Mirko,ausgezeichnetes Video!! Allgemein sind deine Videos sehr video hilfreich und super gestalten.Weiter so! “ (Der Weg ins Kaiserreich, comment no. 234) [Mirko, excellent video! In general, your videos are very helpful and well designed. Keep it up!] Historical knowledge / historical consciousness

„Mir fehlte der Fachbegriff Pentarchie und der Hinweis auf den öster.-preuß. Dualismus. Metternich hätte auch fallen sollen.“ (Die Deutsche Frage, comment no. 54) [The term pentarchie as well as a remark about the Austrian-Prussian dualism were missing. Metternich should have been mentioned, too.]

History teaching

„Danke, schreibe morgen eine Arbeit darüber und habe das davor nie verstanden! “ (Der Weg ins Kaiserreich, comment no. 286) [Thanks, I have a class test about this tomorrow and never understood it before.]

Cultural aspects

“Die Süddeutschen waren schon immer arrogante Dödel “ (Der deutsche Sieg, comment no. 119) [The people from Southern Germany have always been arrogant pricks]

Web culture

„Könnt ihr bitte ein Video über das Heilige Römische Reich Deutscher Nation machen? “ (Der Weg ins Kaiserreich, comment no. 84) [Could you please do a video about the Holy Roman Empire?]

Hate speech, political opinions and conspiracy theories

„du bist NH bemiderbemiteltes Stück scheisse [sic!]“ (Der Weg ins Kaiserreich, comment no. 522) [You are an imbecilic piece of shit] „aaah, unwissenswertes vom inoffiziellen merkelkanal, jugendlich aufgefrischt! “ (Der Weg ins Kaiserreich, comment no. 342) [aaah, nothing noteworthy from the unofficial Merkel channel, youthfully freshened up]

individual mental structure becomes visible in expressions and actions. Thus, remarks left in the comment section of a video that covers a historical topic can convey something about the historical consciousness of the commenter. Comments aimed at correcting or complementing the information given in the video are an indication of the presumably highly differentiated and reflected historical consciousness of some users and of detailed knowledge about the topic covered in the video. Even though the information in those comments does not always 4 All German YouTube comments have been transcribed exactly as they appear online. Due to the informal nature of the platform’s comment section, spelling, grammar and punctuation mistakes are frequent. To enhance readability, I refrain from pointing out these mistakes each and every time and only use [sic!] in the context of factual errors and extreme or extremist utterances.

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Table 4 User opinions about the videos (own table) Category/ Subcategory

Total number of codes in this category

Percentage: codes of this category

Prototypic example

Opinion about video

179

100%

Positive

156

87%

“Sehr gutes Video!” (Der Weg ins Kaiserreich, comment no. 37) [Very good video!]

Negative

23

23%

„Schlechtes Video, dachte ich könnte mir schnell nen spickzettel schreiben aber mit so wenig infos kann ich nichts Lernen.n daumen nach UNTEN!!! “ (Der Weg ins Kaiserreich, comment no. 350) [Bad video, thought I could quickly write a cheat sheet but with that few information I cannot learn. Thumbs DOWN!!!]

represent the most current state of historical research, it nevertheless allows for conclusions about the users’ historical consciousness (Table 5). Pointing out missing information or mistakes in the video also suggests that they are aware of their knowledge of history. Historical knowledge is often supported by means of the historical method, for example, the use of historical or academic sources, to strengthen arguments or validate information (Table 6). For that reason, these two categories are observed together. The comments reflect mainly political and socio-economic consciousness. Most of the correcting comments are focused on certain events of political history that were left out in the video, such as the war against Denmark in 1864, which was missing in the video “Der Weg zum Deutschen Kaiserreich” by “MrWissen2go Geschichte”. Many comments that correct, stress or add facts indicate not only historical knowledge, but also that educational videos are used both to learn something new and to strengthen or broaden existing knowledge and positions on the users’ side, which gives the videos a function of confirming existing narratives. This corresponds to, for example, the learning process in museums: studies show that showed that visitors to museums confirm their pre-existing knowledge and integrate the objects into their own understanding rather than learn something entirely new (Treinen 1999, 168–182; Schuppe 2020). This constructivist approach to learning as a process of integration and confirmation can to some

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Table 5 Historical consciousness (own table) Category/ subcategory

Total Percentage Prototypic example number of of codes of codes in this category this category

Historical 415 consciousness/ historical knowledge

100%

Users correct other users

43

10%

“Nicht unbedingt. Das Deutsche Reich wurde 1871 gegründet, und war bis 1918 eine Monarchie mit einem Kaiser. Wenn man vom ‘Kaiserreich’ spricht meint man diesen Zeitraum. Das Deutsche Reich existierte danach noch bis 1949.“ [sic!] (Der Weg ins Kaiserreich, comment no. 311) [Not really. The German Reich was founded in 1871 and was a monarchy with an emperor until 1918. “German Empire” is referring to this timespan. The German Reich existed until 1949]

Users state opinion about historical situation

334

77%

“Das deutch-französische Verhältnis wurde von Napoleon Bonaperte und Adolph Tiers (Rheinkrise) belastet. Und was heisst hier ‘zu schlechter letzt’????? Ich hätte geren im Kaiserreich gelebt. So toll ist das 21. Jahrhundert nun auch nicht.” (Der Weg ins Kaiserreich, comment no. 164) [The German-Franco relations were burdened by Napoleon Bonaparte and Adolphe Tiers (Rhine crisis). And what does “last and least” mean????? I would like to have lived in the German empire. The twenty-first century is not that great.]

Users ask questions

69

16%

“War die Emser Depesche der einzige Grund für Frankreich um den Krieg zu suchen? “ (Der deutsche Sieg, comment no. 135) [Was the Ems Dispatch the only reason for France to start the war?] (continued)

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Table 5 (continued) Category/ subcategory

Total Percentage Prototypic example number of of codes of codes in this category this category

Users stress or correct something mentioned in the video

36

8%

“Also die Staaten waren vor Napoleon wesentlich zersplitterter. Hier wird das so dargestellt, als hätte Napoleon die erst so zersplittert. Dabei hat er sogar die Anzahl verringert und die Staaten vergrößert.“ (Die deutsche Frage, comment no. 17) [The states had been more fragmented before Napoleon. Here it is pictured as if Napoleon had split them up. But he diminished the number of states and enlarged them.]

Users add a fact that has not been mentioned in the video

75

17%

“Du hast vergessen warum der Krieg zu Stande gekommen ist, Österreich wollte Schleswig—Holstein haben und Deutschland auch “ (Der Weg ins Kaiserreich, comment no. 148) [You left out why the war was started, Austria and Germany both wanted Schleswig—Holstein]

extent be applied to learning with explainer videos. Although this has yet to be conclusively proven in an empirical study, the comments suggest that this is how at least a segment of the users processes the information in the video. If some information does not correspond to their pre-existing knowledge or their expectations, they feel the need to mention it in the comment section. If the users successfully align the narrative of the video with their pre-existing knowledge, they might express this in an indirect way by liking the video or stating a positive opinion about the video as such, but not by sharing the learning experience they had directly in the comment section. Historical consciousness is also communicated in comments that state an opinion about a historical question (Problemfrage), such as the “German question” covered in the videos. Although they may not directly express historical knowledge (Sachwissen), by having an opinion about the German question, they demonstrate political awareness and consciousness of historical change. For other audiovisual formats that deal with historical topics, the term “histotainment” was coined to describe the tension and overlap between the two poles

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Table 6 Academic or historical method (own table) Category/ Subcategory

Total number of codes in this category

Percentage: codes of this category

Prototypic example

Use of sources

88

100%

Users quote the video

23

26%

“03:09 sagt ihr Norddeutscher Bund. Der ist ja aber erst Bestandteil der späteren deutschen Geschichte. Ein Hinweis im Video wäre wünschenswert, da es bei vielen sonst zu Verwirrungen kommen könnte.“ (Die Deutsche Frage, comment no. 15) [03:09 you said Norddeutscher Bund. But this is only a part of later German history. A reference in the video would be desirable, otherwise there could be confusion.]

Users reference other videos

7

8%

“An sich ein sehr gutes Allgemein Zusammenfassendes Video. Wer sich aber genauer über die Gründe und Hintergründe Informieren will, dem empfehle ich gerne die Videos von den Kollegen von TheSimpleClub anzuschauen. Sie gehen noch etwas mehr auf den jeweiligen Kontext ein “ (Der Weg ins Kaiserreich, comment no. 291) [Generally a very good summarising video. I gladly recommend the videos by the colleagues at TheSimpleClub for those who want to further inform themselves about the reasons and the background. They focus even more on the specific context.]

Users quote (academic) literature

2

2%

“Karl Marx zum deutsch-frz. Krieg: ‘Von deutscher Seite ist der Krieg ein Verteidigungskrieg’. Quelle: Der Lange Weg nach Westen1 Seite 203” (Der deutsche Sieg, comment no. 33) [Karl Marx about the Franco-Prussian War: “From the German side this war is a defensive war.” Source: Der Lange Weg nach Westen page 203] (continued)

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Table 6 (continued) Category/ Subcategory

Total number of codes in this category

Percentage: codes of this category

Prototypic example

Users quote historical sources

29

33%

“Sehr schön wie du auf von Clausewitz angespielt hast: ‘Krieg ist die bloße Fortsetzung der Politik mit anderen Mitteln.’ […]” (Der Weg ins Kaiserreich, comment no. 305) [I like how you referenced von Clausewitz: “War is a mere continuation of politics by other means.”]

Users reference (academic) literature

11

13%

“Die deutsche Frage ist territorial beantwortet. Aber welche Rolle Deutschland in Europa und der Welt spielen soll ist noch nicht endgültig geklärt. Buchempfehlung zum Thema: Rödder, Andreas: Wer hat Angst vor Deutschland: Geschichte eines europäischen Problems. 1. Aufl., Frankfurt am Main 2018. Habe am Mittwoch in der Uni eine Prüfung zur ‘deutschen Frage’. Also wer sich nicht nur einen kleinen Überblick verschaffen möchte, dem kann ich dieses Buch nur empfehlen. Ist auch kein langweiliger alter Schmöker;) Und gutes Video, wie immer natürlich.“ (Die Deutsche Frage, comment no. 817) [The German question, territorially, has been answered. But what role Germany should play in Europe and the world is not conclusively decided yet. Book recommendation about this topic: Rödder, Andreas: Wer hat Angst vor Deutschland. Geschichte eines europäischen Problems. 1. Aufl., Frankfurt am Main 2018. On Wednesday I have an exam at university about the “German question”. I recommend this book to anyone who is not only looking for an overview. It’s not a boring book;) And good video, as always.] (continued)

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Table 6 (continued) Category/ Subcategory

Total number of codes in this category

Percentage: codes of this category

Prototypic example

Users reference historical sources

25

28%

“richtig! Auch von Mozart gibt es ähnliche zitate, die zeigen, dass er sich selbst als deutscher gesehen hat” (Die Deutsche Frage, comment no. 72) [right! Similar quotes from Mozart show that he saw himself as German]

Users ask for additional literature

3

3%

“[…] Ich habe eine Frage: Kannst du vll. Literatur bzw. Quellenangaben machen ? Ich schreibe an meinem Bachelor und würde gern durch die Primärquellen blättern bzw. zumindest welche online finden. […]“ (Der Weg ins Kaiserreich, comment no. 340) [I have a question: Could you maybe indicate sources or literature? I am writing my bachelor thesis and would like to read some primary sources]

of learning and entertainment (Barricelli and Hornig 2008). Although the narrative structure of explainer videos can to some extent be compared to other formats of “histotainment” (Arendes 2019), the comments do not mention the factor of entertainment but rather stress the educational aspect.

5

History Teaching

While history teaching in school aims to show how complex history is—that one event does not have only one but many short- and long-term causes, that there are determinations and coincidences, that history is not teleological—users of explainer videos on YouTube appear to want the opposite of that. They seem to desire a sound and well-structured, yet simple and linear explanation in easy words, supported by colourful animations. They want presentations of history to be straightforward and teleological, broken down into bits and pieces that are easy to understand and easy to memorise. However, the comments show that they still want the narrative in the video to cover all aspects of what they regard as relevant

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to the topic. This attribution of relevance is highly subjective and depends on the user’s individual historical consciousness and historical knowledge. Comments like “very well explained, understand the founding of the German empire better than in school”5 (Der Weg ins Deutsche Kaiserreich, comment no. 220) support this interpretation. The simple style of explanation in the explainer videos seems to fill a gap that history instruction in schools apparently often does not address sufficiently: basic knowledge (Orientierungswissen) as a simple, linear and consensual narration conveyed in a form that meets current information consumption habits—as an audiovisual medium (Table 7). Comments referring to history teaching and school mainly focus on exam preparation and studying, be it for homework, tests, presentations or the final exams of the Abitur. This further suggests that students do increasingly rely on these types of videos and maybe less on their textbooks or the notes they have taken in class.

6

Video Topic—The German Question and German Unification

A lively discussion about the German question, or “the appropriate size of Germany” erupted under the video of “MrWissen2go Geschichte” concerning the German question. The video covers the “German question” from the early nineteenth century to the German reunification in 1990. The moderator mentions parts of the question in a rhetorical way before answering them by explaining the historical context. At the end of the video, he clearly states that the German question need not be asked anymore because it was finally answered in 1990, thus indicating that the questions asked in the video were merely rhetorical. His final question addresses the viewers and users, asking, “Do you believe that the German question is finally answered nowadays?” In the comments, the users do not debate this specific question, but rather which parts should belong to a German nation state (Table 8)—a question that was debated in the nineteenth century before German unification, as the moderator explained in the video, and also in the 1970s regarding the German “Ostpolitik”. While most of the discussion in the comment section is conducted in a civil manner and some comments show profound historical knowledge, it is still clear that a lot of the comments in this specific discussion show nationalist tendencies and sometimes extremist political opinions (Table 9).

5

German original: “sehr gut erklärt, verstehe die Reichsgründung besser als im Unterricht”.

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Table 7 Comments regarding history teaching in school (own table) Category/ Subcategory

Total number of codes in this category

Percentage Prototypic example of codes of this category

History teaching

81

100%

Topic has not been taught in school

2

2%

“Die ganze Videoreihe ist einfach genial. Ich hatte mit meinen 24 Jahren absolut keine Ahnung, wie Deutschland entstanden ist. Man kriegt ja nur die Hitlerzeit erklärt. Es ist interessant, wie es zum deutschen Kaiserreich kam und toll zu wissen, wieso Deutschland heute so aussieht. Tausend Dank an euch! Ihr füllt die Wissenslücken, die in deutschen Schulen hinterlassen werden.“ (Der deutsche Sieg, comment no. 81) [The whole series is just brilliant. With my 24 years of age I had absolutely no idea how Germany evolved. You only get explained the Hitler era. It is interesting how the German Empire came to be and great to know why Germany looks like it does today. A thousand thanks to you! You close the knowledge gaps that are left by German schools.] (continued)

As Hoffmann has shown, historical hate speech is a crucial phenomenon of internet culture. As a communication strategy it consists of diminishing the worth of others by using arguments related to the past (Hoffmann 2019, 213–214). It can be directed at a single person or be more general. Examples are revisionism, Holocaust denial, glorification of dictators or the diminishing of a person because of his or her descent. Hoffmann characterises YouTube’s publication and discussion system as fertile ground, an ideal space for historical hate speech (2019, 218). Some comments under the videos examined in this chapter also show aspects of hate speech, often intertwined with extremist political opinions or conspiracy theories (Table 5). The historical consciousness shown in the comment section often manifests itself in minor details, and not always peacefully. The comments are more focused

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Table 7 (continued) Category/ Subcategory

Total number of codes in this category

Percentage Prototypic example of codes of this category

User used the 48 video for exam preparation

36%

“Vielen Dank!! Schreib in 5 Tage Abitur in Geschichte.. Jetzt fühle ich mich gut vorbereitet” (Der Weg ins Kaiserreich, comment no. 168) [Thank you very much!! Writing my Abitur in history in 5 days. Now I feel well prepared]

Video has been 6 used in school teaching

5%

“Warum hat so ein hochwertiger und geiler YouTube Kanal so wenig Abonnenten?! Naja bei meinen Lehrern habt ihr es geschafft. The Simple Club wurde mir einfach von drei verschiedenen Lehrern empfohlen… Not Bad:D” (Der deutsche Sieg, comment no. 40) [Why does such a high-quality and great channel have so few subscribers? Well you made it with my teachers. The Simple Club has just been recommended to me by three different teachers… Not bad:D]

on war and conflict than on peace. This may be because the videos also are focused on wars, not on peace. In particular, the comments on the video “Die Deutsche Frage” by “MrWissen2go Geschichte” reflect strong political opinions about the “German question”. Comments that contain not only hate speech on the basic level of insults, but also nationalist or racist tendencies, extremist political opinions or conspiracy theories show that, despite the fact that the videos by themselves facilitate peacebuilding by conveying basic knowledge, some users rather stand in the way of peacebuilding. Yet even these comments can be a starting point for historical and peacebuilding-oriented learning—if they are deconstructed.

100%

16%

32%

Users argue that 21 parts of Poland do not belong to Germany

Users argue that 42 parts of Poland belong to Germany

(continued)

“Für mich gehören die alten ostgebiete immer noch zu Deutschland und sollten wieder Staatsgebiet werden… Nicht mehr, nur Preußen und co. Diese Landestriche bilden das Fundament deutscher geschichte und waren jahrhunderte lang teil deutscher länder.” (Die Deutsche Frage, comment no. 569) [In my opinion the old Eastern Territories still belong to Germany and should become national territory again… Not more, just Prussia and co. Those regions are the foundation of German history and had been part of the German lands for centuries]

“[…] Damals wurden von deutscher Seite schlimme Verbrechen begangen und die Ostgebiete bei Polen zu belassen war der Kompromiss für unser heutiges Deutschland. Und irgendwann muss halt auch mal gut sein, man kann sich nicht nur an früheren Gebietsansprüchen aufhängen.” (Der Weg ins Kaiserreich, comment no. 508) [At that time, terrible crimes were committed by the German side and to leave the eastern territories to Poland was the compromise for our Germany of today. And at some point one has to let go, you cannot only hang on to former territorial claims]

Total Percentage of Prototypic example number of codes of this codes category

Video 132 topic—German question

Category

Table 8 Comments regarding the video topic (own table)

278 S. Müller-Tietz

9%

23%

Users argue that 30 Austria belongs to Germany

“Für mich gehört Österreich zu Deutschland dazu! Und auch die Deutschschweiz usw. eben ‘Soweit die deutsche Zunge klingt’.” (Die Deutsche Frage, comment no. 51) [For me, Austria is part of Germany! And also German-speaking Switzerland etc. Just “As far as the German tongue reaches”.]

“kein Österreicher will was mit den Deutschen zu tun haben warum. So 1. Ihr denkt ihr wärt die stärksten die unanzweifelbaren Deutschen. 2. Wir wollen unser eigenes Land Preußen und Österreich werden NIE Freunde. 3. Österreich darf sich und will sich niemals anschließen. Also schreibs dir hinter die Ohren. ROT WEIß ROT BIS IN DEN TOT” [sic!] (Die Deutsche Frage, comment no. 135) [No Austrian wants anything to do with the Germans. Why 1. You think you are the strongest the unquestionable Germans 2. We want our own country and Austria and Prussia will NEVER be friends. 3. Austria must not and will never join again. So get it in your head. RED WHITE RED UNTIL DEATH]

Total Percentage of Prototypic example number of codes of this codes category

Users argue that 12 Austria does not belong to Germany

Category

Table 8 (continued)

Peacebuilding on YouTube? 279

100%

28% 2%

29%

146

41

3

42

Hate speech and conspiracy theories

Users insult someone

Xenophobia

Nationalist comments

Percentage of codes of this category

Total number of codes in this category

Category

(continued)

“das mit Ungarn sehe ich ein wenig anders, da die Geschichte Österreichs als Teil Deutschlands deutlich länger ist, aber Österreich hat auf jeden Fall auch eine längere gemeinsame Geschichte mit Österreich [sic!]. Mein Traum wäre es nur, dass irgendwann in einem Großdeutschland alle deutschen vereint leben können. Allerdings kann ich mit Österreich als unabhängigen Staat auch erstmal gut leben und die Tatsache, dass viele Österreicher nicht zu Deutschland gehören wollen ist (leider) auch richtig.” (Die Deutsche Frage, comment no. 82) [about Hungary, I see that somewhat differently because the history of Austria as part of Germany is considerably longer, but Austria definitely also has a considerable shared history with Austria [sic!]. My dream would only be that one day all Germans could live united in a Großdeutschland. However, I can also live with Austria as an independent state for the time being, and the fact that many Austrians do not want to belong to Germany is (unfortunately) also true.]

“die Deutschen nimmt die Schweiz doch mit Handkuss - die sind im Vergleich zu den ganzen Mohammedanern und Afrikanern wirklich ein Gewinn.” (Die Deutsche Frage, comment no. 41) [Switzerland will happily take in the Germans—compared to all the Moslems and Africans they are really an asset.]

“deine Aussage ist dumm” (Die Deutsche Frage, comment no. 20) [Your statement is stupid]

Prototypic example

Table 9 Comments containing hate-speech, conspiracy theories and extremist political opinions (own table)

280 S. Müller-Tietz

Total number of codes in this category

18

42

Category

Anti-German comments

Extremist political opinion/ conspiracy theory

Table 9 (continued)

29%

12%

Percentage of codes of this category

“Nenne doch Frankreich, England = USA beim Namen. Sie wussten nach dem verbrecherischen Versailes, das es wieder Krieg geben MUSSTE. Die Latte ihrer Verbrechen ist über lange Zeit so lang, das sie mit dem Hollocaust kaum noch zuzudecken sind.” [sic!] (Die Deutsche Frage, comment no. 254) [Just call France, England = USA by their names. They knew that after the criminal Versailles there had to be war again. Their bar of crimes over time is so long that the Holocaust can barely cover it]

“Ich als Österreicher bin froh, dass ich kein Deuscher bin.” (Die Deutsche Frage, comment no. 164) [I, as an Austrian, am happy that I am not a German]

Prototypic example

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Explainer Videos and Peacebuilding—Pragmatic Explorations

Explainer videos on YouTube mostly focus on informal and individual learning. Anyone can learn about anything he or she is interested in. Wolf (2020) sees explainer videos on YouTube as an audiovisual encyclopedia, even despite informational plurality. While an encyclopedia aims to present a generally accepted definition based on academic research, explainer videos can present different opinions and, sometimes, less reliable information. Thus, the ability to differentiate valid information from invalid, highly subjective, opinionated or false information is becoming even more important than in predigital times. The processes of historical thinking are focused on determining the informational value of sources. Learning about history and learning to engage with informational plurality on the internet can go hand in hand in a symbiosis of historical and digital learning (Müller 2020, 105–111). Explainer videos can be a part of this process. Regarding the topic of peacebuilding, three different ways to engage explainer videos in this process are possible. First, they can be used to convey information about conflicts in a short, condensed way. The information given in the video should be put into context, but this type of material can, after careful consideration, provide a lot of orientation knowledge for the main topic, in order to establish a foundation for a more focused approach. Second, such videos can be analysed in terms of how conflicts and peace are depicted. To do so, a comparison of the content and style of two or more videos can be carried out to show that the way of presenting information also influences whether a video facilitates or hinders peacebuilding, for example, if stereotypical animations or one-dimensional explanations are used, or if certain aspects are stressed and others left out. Third, students can be asked to produce their own explainer videos that focus specifically on peace and peacebuilding, for example, in bi-national educational contexts. Based on Bernsen et al., (2012) theory of historical learning on, with, about and within digital media, these approaches allow learning in the first case with, in the second case about and in the third case within digital media. Taking the comment section into account when analysing explainer videos with students allows them to learn within and about the specifics of digital media. The social media contexts and practices of liking, commenting and interacting are what make explainer videos unique and separate them from other formats of “histotainment” such as documentaries or movies. This should be considered when working with explainer videos in history teaching. As this chapter has shown, the comment section allows to draw conclusions about how the content and style of a video are received and how the topics that are covered are discussed in a public sphere.

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Letting students produce their own explainer videos is often postulated as a way of developing digital competencies. It is also believed to promote learning as a means of gaining knowledge through teaching. Of course, to let students produce their own explainer videos requires not only the right equipment and software but also digital skills on the part of the teacher. Hence, it is often demanded to include explainer videos as a topic in teacher education—as both a means of transporting knowledge and a method of learning by producing the videos (Nolte 2020). Widely available tools make it easy to create explainer videos even without high-end video recording equipment. In addition, most modern smartphones are equipped well enough with both hard- and software to produce a video. Beginnerfriendly apps help with editing and adding effects. Thus, this form of presenting content can be easily used in a teaching context—if the aim is not to come up with a high-end professional video. The process of creating an explainer video can be highly rewarding for learning. To be able to explain something, students have to, first and foremost, understand it themselves. Then, they can experience the initial steps in didactical reduction, scriptwriting and in getting creative with screenplay writing before finally presenting their work. This exercise can produce a unique learning experience. For bi-national or other exchange formats that focus specifically on peacebuilding, this form of learning experience can be used in different ways. For example, students could divide into groups and create an explainer video that addresses their view on a conflict. Or they can work in mixed groups, producing a video that discusses both sides of the story in an intertwined narrative. In a chapter such as this, based on a presentation for a conference that was cancelled due to the COVID-19 pandemic, which led to a rapid increase in digital communication, it only seems fitting to reflect on how to incorporate explainer videos into distance learning and how to facilitate peacebuilding at a long distance. Digital communication and distance learning do have certain advantages, especially for bi-national peacebuilding projects. New working and learning habits facilitated through digital communication allow for bi-national exchanges without expensive travel and extensive organisation. In that context, explainer videos can be used during the preparation of video-based exchange formats to convey basic knowledge or to present positions before entering a discussion.

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Conclusion

In modern digital communication, audiovisual elements—from video conferences to explainer videos—play an increasingly significant role. However, imparting knowledge through audiovisual formats is not entirely new. Explaining topics in audiovisual form is almost as old as television itself. Formats like Sesame street or Telekolleg work in a similar way (Arendes 2019). Considered purely in isolation, explainer videos can facilitate peacebuilding because they help convey knowledge about history. Depending on how well they are made, if they cover “two sides of the story”, they can help the viewer better understand the other side and learn from history—not only with regard to one’s own national history but also other nations’ histories. However, the context in which they are presented—the interactive platform YouTube—does hinder peacebuilding rather than facilitate it. Comment sections are “the abyss of the internet”, to paraphrase journalist Giovanni di Lorenzo (Moorstedt 2015), and web culture is often unobjective, personal, sometimes insulting and not always well informed. Also, for young people, children or students, who may use these videos to prepare for exams, it can often be difficult to assess the credibility of the information given in the videos as well as the form of presentation. However, they can be a starting point for deeper research. In bi-national contexts or learning arrangements that focus specifically on peacebuilding, these videos can be used either to communicate some basic knowledge at the beginning or as an example of how to recognise and deconstruct dense, shortened, predictive or even violent narratives. Thus, it is important that students learn how to deal with these types of videos as a source of information, so that they learn to put them into context and understand that history is not as linear and monocausal as presented in the videos.

References Videos MrWissen2go. 2017. Der Weg ins deutsche Kaiserreich / musstewissen Geschichte. YouTube. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sqlLFvB8oTo&t=3s. Accessed: 28 October 2021. MrWissen2go. 2019. Die Deutsche Frage / Geschichte. Youtube. https://www.youtube.com/ watch?v=yj_1trIi-QE. Accessed: 28 October 2021.

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Simpleclub Geschichte. 2016. Die Deutsche Frage beim Wiener Kongress und der Deutsche Bund • Gehe auf SIMPLECLUB.DE/GO. YouTube. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v= vlFVGtS7g5g. Accessed: 28 October 2021. Simpleclub Geschichte. 2017. Der deutsche Sieg und die Reichsgründung – Die Einigung Deutschlands durch Blut und Eisen. YouTube. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=01O 1Dy8wVR8&t=104s. Accessed: 28 October 2021.

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Sandra Müller-Tietz is a Doctoral Research Assistant at the Department of History at the University of Bonn. She teaches and researches History Didactics in the eponymous section of the Department.