Memorialization: The Past in the Present and Why it is Important Today

 

By Liza Bering

As our time in Berlin nears an end, I am noticing more and more the relationship between capitalism and sites, memorials, tours, and museums—especially how the importance of these places sometimes gets lost in a whirlwind of ignorance. This ignorance is one that allows for little discussion or critical remembrance and instead creates space for an insensitivity that masks the problems that “remembered” people face today. Before snapping a selfie or indulging in the appropriated souvenirs, a visitor should think about or ask themselves: What is the significance of this site? Who is it for? Why is this important? The truth is that most don’t bother to ask these questions. Instead, they settle for a cool key chain, an Instagram post, or even just to say they’ve been there. With this, I wonder how these places, museums, sites, may function as memorials for the people they “remember” or as a Band-Aid for historical traumas and the erasure of groups or if they are simply there to eagerly take money from seemingly clueless tourists, because the reality is that monuments and memorials prescribe history.

This past weekend, I traveled to Teufelsberg. Located just outside of the city of Berlin, near West Berlin’s Grunewald Forest, lies a large hill made up of 12 million cubic meters of war rubble pushed together and created what is now Teufelsberg, which literally translates to “Devil’s Mountain.” I arrived, payed the entrance fee, and set off on my way to explore. I had fallen into the vicious cycle that allows tourists to visit a place they know absolutely nothing about, take some pictures, and then leave—still knowing nothing. After leaving the site, I asked myself, “What is this place?” I still knew absolutely nothing about Teufelsberg, except that it had beautiful street art covering the walls of the abandoned spy tower. I later searched Google, and found what I was looking for: tangible information that would allow me to appreciate the site and understand its importance and how it functions today as a place of artistic expression. The tower was built on a former Nazi training school that was utterly invincible as it had survived multiple demolition attempts. Instead, truckloads of war rubble from World War II were dumped on the center, and the U.S. built a spy tower to use with Great Britain to spy on communist East Germany during the era of the Berlin Wall. After the fall of the Wall, the site became a place that was going house an air traffic control center, apartments, or a school, but it ultimately became a site open to the paying public and a haven for graffiti artists.

Bering III

Photo Credit: Liza Bering

Spending a relaxing Sunday strolling around the spy towers had me thinking about a prevalent theme that we have been discussing in class: the memorialization of sites and how they function as institutions of remembrance, knowledge, and recognition while sometimes simultaneously catering to capitalism, especially pertaining to collective guilt. Along these lines, in “Sites of Remembrance? Jewish Museums in Contemporary,” Sabine Offe writes, “It is a time gap between both institutional functions [collecting/sheltering cultural heritage and obscuring of past and history of guilt] that turns museums in general and Jewish museums specifically into highly ambivalent places, established to transform collective guilt and banish it from memory and thereby enhancing its commemoration” (78). During our class, the lens through which we view and discuss various sites of “remembrance” allows us to critically examine the ways certain acts of memorialization are sometimes fueled by personal, political, and/or capitalist interests rather than changing the way the memorialized subject is seen and treated today.

Berlin is city filled with historically deep wounds that are not forgotten and sometimes not even fully discussed. A common mentality I have picked up from some sites in Berlin is one that seems to scream, “Okay, Berlin has given you and your people a sign, memorial, or museum…isn’t that enough?” We saw this during the Africa in Wedding Tour when we discussed street signs that give recognition to the African countries that Germany colonized, like Ghanastraße, yet the city still fails to do much justice to the people or bring the invisibility of Germany’s colonial past to the present. We saw this at the Memorial to the Sinti and Roma of Europe Murdered under the National Socialist Regime, where clueless tourists throw pennies into the memorial’s basin of “tears” or continue to use derogatory language when referring to Sinti and Roma people. We saw this at Checkpoint Charlie, where tourists from all over waited patiently in line to dress up in old army uniforms and pose with a replicated U.S. checkpoint hut, while still not fully understanding the lasting effects that the Berlin Wall had on Berlin even after its fall in 1989. The common theme here is that the memorials do not necessarily change the stigma that surrounds these historically marginalized groups today. Just because you dedicate a statue, fountain, or street to something doesn’t mean the pain and suffering is over. Still, these sites are powerful, because they give recognition to groups, events, or people that otherwise might still be unrecognized. My question is, how can we memorialize people in a way that does not suppress their past and present experiences?

Bering I

Photo Credit: Liza Bering

Memorials have become institutions that collect and shelter cultural heritage while sometimes obscuring the past, which contributes to an obscured sense of collective guilt and collective memory. Along these lines, in “Coming In From the Cold: The Black German Experience, Past and Present,” Marion Kraft comments on the recognition and memorialization of Afro-Germans, writing, “Despite the presence and achievement of Black Germans, racist notions and conceptualizations of nation and ‘race’ have not vanished from the mainstream German collective consciousness” (10). So where do we go from here? The beginning of this issue lies within the people—we must slough off shallow, surface-level approaches to sites of remembrance and enter with an open mind and the understanding that the issues surrounding such memorials are issues that are still deeply rooted in society today. The public attraction and capitalization that inevitably attracts tourists isn’t always bad, because after all some kind of remembrance or recognition is better than none. However, we must be careful and compassionate and critical of how and what information tourists and outsiders are seeking and being fed.


BeringLiza Bering is a sophomore at Colorado College hailing from Des Moines, Iowa. She is planning on majoring in Geology and minoring in Middle Eastern Studies and Feminist and Gender Studies. She plans on combining the three different disciplines in way that with impact others on more than just a shallow surface level. When she isn’t studying (or touring Berlin with her fellow FemGenuises) you may find her checking out street art, walking around Berlin’s beautiful city parks, or getting lost on the subway.

A Permanent Home for Friedrichshain-Kreuzberg’s History: The FHXB Museum

 

FHXB II (Zlevor)

Photo Credit: Annie Zlevor

By Annie Zlevor

As part of our continued exploration of Berlin’s hidden spaces and narratives, today the FemGeniuses toured the Friedrichshain-Kreuzberg (FHXB) Museum. Before entering the courtyard leading to the museum, you’ll find yourself on Adalbertsraße, a bustling street nestled in the Kreuzberg district. Crowded with a diverse array of restaurants, shops, and businesses, it is easy to see that Kreuzberg is full of life and has an eventful history. Once outside of the FHXB Museum, our guide, Stephanie Kuhn, met us to begin the tour.

While I was aware of the district’s status as the multicultural hub of Berlin, Stephanie pointed out that Kreuzberg developed into this multicultural hub only after an extensive sequence of urban development, gentrification, and political subcultural movements. Kreuzeberg’s transformation began in 1945, after World War II destroyed much of the district. Air strikes left an estimated 42% of the district’s political and industrial buildings destroyed. Most of the area had to be completely rebuilt, but some housing complexes remained. However, once the district’s reconstruction began in the mid-1950s, the government sought to tear down the outdated, densely-packed infrastructure and replace it with a modern development.

In 1961, construction of the Berlin Wall began, closing off Kreuzberg from West Berlin. Within days, more than 60,000 workers living east of the wall were cut off from their work in the west. To end the labor shortage, workers from southern and southeastern Europe were recruited to Berlin. One such immigrant, Junge Menschen, was highlighted in the museum. Like many other guest workers, Junge hoped to earn higher wages than she would at home in Turkey and save money before returning to her country. In response to the influx of migrant workers, the government built temporary housing facilities for guest workers like Junge. During this time, it was common for well-educated, secular Turks to make this trip with the intention of only staying a year, thus the temporary housing was suitable. But once guest workers chose to extend their stay in Berlin, permanent housing became problematic.

In 1963, the Berlin government approved an extensive plan for urban renewal and development. They intended to demolish 90% of the structures built around the turn of the 20th century. The city began buying houses from owners and in turn, Kreuzberg’s people moved away. Surrounded on three sides by the Berlin Wall, many were eager to sell as the value of their homes decreased. As a temporary fix to the housing crisis, the government permitted guest workers to live in these homes until they were torn down. However, as more housing complexes were destroyed, developers began to force guest workers out of their homes.

FHXB I (Zlevor)

Photo Credit: Annie Zlevor

Eventually, the development of excessive commercial housing led to the Renters’ Rights Movement in the 1970s with the hopes of putting an end to investor interest. Distrust and anger with the governance of the city led to the development of the Squatting Movement in 1979. In response to the poor conditions of homes and the high number of empty properties, citizens occupied abandoned apartment buildings. They believed that the people who lived in the city should be the ones that owned it, not the investors who financed the buildings. As a result of persistent protesting, a law safeguarding residents’ interests was enacted in Berlin.

When the wall came down in 1989, Kreuzberg became the center of Berlin once again. With a newfound ability to travel, many Kreuzberg residents left for the neighboring district of Friedrichshain. But in an effort to continue their fight for affordable and livable housing, protestors from the Squatter Movement again took up their demonstrations, this time in Friedrichshain. Unfortunately, this micro-migration produced detrimental effects on Kreuzberg’s economy. In response, an administrative reform in 2001 merged the districts of Kreuzberg and Friedrichshain. Since then however, gentrification has stripped the district of nearly all available and affordable housing. As Wolfgang Kil and Hilary Silver describe in their historical description of Kreuzberg in “From Kreuzberg to Marzahn: New Migrant Communities in Berlin,” “The neighborhood remains a zone of concentrated ethnic poverty” (100). Rent is nearly twice as high as it was in 2007, and the 1 million tourists who visit the district annually rent out the few available apartments. By using trendy websites like AirBNB, owners can easily rent their home out for days at a time. Consequently, the 40,000 Syrian refugees welcomed to Berlin in 2015 were forced to live in airports and gymnasiums without access to a permanent or even temporary home. To this day, the housing market in Berlin has been nearly impossible to navigate.

While the FHXB Museum tells the determined and resilient history of Kreuzberg- Friedrichshain, most incredible to me was the way they told their story. When you first enter the museum, a three-dimensional map illustrates what the district of Kreuzberg looked like in the 1981. However instead of relying on a group of historians to produce the map, the museum invited local residents to create the exhibition with them. This is one the first exhibits of its kind, unlike any other in Germany because of its collective participation. It forced me to question the difference collaboration might bring about as we look to remember our past. It seems disturbingly common that the history of a group of people is often told by everyone but the people themselves. As Michael Stewart notes in “Remembering without Commemoration: The Mnemonics and Politics of Holocaust Memories among European Roma,” when historians and other academics write about a people’s past, it “entirely bypasses the relationship of the victims to their own history” (561). I feel this project represents the power and unity of a collaborative community. The museum provides a safe space for the neighborhood to remember and commemorate the district’s past on its own terms.

Additionally, in conjunction with the neighborhood, the FHXB Museum has also created an interactive map of East Berlin. Over the course of four years, the museum collected hundreds of stories about specific places in Kreuzberg-Friedrichshain. You can actively walk on the map and listen to these stories told by the people themselves. By participating in the exhibit, the community demonstrates its support and emotional investment in the district’s history. It was exciting for me to experience this exhibit knowing of all the people who came together in order to create it. The map’s construction tells the history of a community just how the community wants it to be told. In Berlin, it is so common to see Germany deciding how to remember and commemorate the long histories of other people. For example, sites honoring murdered Jews in the Holocaust are often built without consulting the Jewish community first. As Sabine Offe describes in “Sites of Remembrance? Jewish Museums in Contemporary Germany,” Jewish museums have “been established for a largely non-Jewish public, mostly lacking in knowledge and experience of Jewish history, culture, and religion” (78). However, much unlike this example, it was refreshing to see the Kreuzberg-Friedrichshain district representing itself.

FHXB III (Zlevor)

Photo Credit: Annie Zlevor

The FHXB Museum has been a staple location for our class on this trip. Thus far, it has served as the site of our “Rethinking Masculinities” panel, the building for temporary classroom abroad, and the location of our tour today. After learning more about the museum’s purpose in the community, it seemed fitting to me that we had taken advantage of the space for our academic learning purposes. Just as we have spent time in this building to uncover the truth about Berlin’s past, the local community has done the same. The museum actively collaborates with activists in the Friedrichshain-Kreuzberg district by offering support for their cause and by providing a space for these organizations to meet. Even the simple offering of a room to hold speeches, discussions, and exhibitions can be instrumental to a nonprofit’s success. It felt empowering to be in a place that actively enables the community to take action and strive to create change.

Our tour ended with an open conversation about current gentrification in the United States and Germany. During our discussion, it became evident why this museum was a relevant experience for us. The stories told by each exhibit showed the capacity and effectiveness of continued dedication to a cause. Unlike Germany, political movements such as the Renters’ Rights Movement focusing on housing and gentrification are not happening as broadly in the United States. In some cases, it can feel as if capitalism is more powerful than demonstrations. There are hardly any known squatters actively protesting this capitalistic initiative. However, the people of Kreuzberg-Friedrichshain have shown that the housing market is not invincible. We should look to this community as an example of ways to initiate change at home. Although their fight lasted many years and still continues to this day, we should not be scared of its difficulty, but instead be inspired by it.


Annie Zlevor Blog PhotoAnnie Zlevor is a rising junior from the shores of Lake Michigan in Racine, Wisconsin. She is an Organismal Biology & Ecology major and a Feminist & Gender Studies minor. Annie is also a pre-medicine student, and hopes to attend medical school. In her free time, Annie enjoys eating Lebanese food, going fishing with her family, and taking lots of naps. Currently, you can find her spending some time outside the lab learning about Berlin’s hidden histories. She is excited to be exploring Germany for the first time and hopes you enjoy reading about her experiences.

The Anne Frank Museum and It’s Place in Contemporary Germany

Photo Credit: Liza Bering

By Liza Bering

Nestled in the Hackescher Markt and located in one of Berlin’s many hotspots, the Mitte area, we hurried to the Anne Frank Museum to experience its current exhibit, “Anne Frank: Here and Today.” Growing up, I had read The Diary of Anne Frank, and had taken a certain fascination with her, so I was eager to see what the museum had to offer. Earlier this week, we read “Site of Remembrance? Jewish Museums in Contemporary Germany” by Sabine Offe, which gave me a new critical lens to view the Anne Frank museum as an institution as well as a physical site and how the contemporary museum contributes to the collective memory and the collective guilt of the Holocaust. I came into this tour prepared to learn more about Anne Frank while also using a critical lens to see how the museum functions as a Jewish museum in contemporary Germany.

Before unpacking the museum content, I would like to share, briefly, what we learned about Anne Frank. Anne Frank, born June 12 1929, is famously known for her diary that surfaced after her years of hiding from Nazis and has since been translated in over 67 languages. The museum focuses on Anne’s life while also providing the history of Holocaust, which our guide, Joscha Jelitzki, described in detail, as well. Born in Frankfurt, Anne grew up with her parents Edith and Otto Frank and sister Margot. The family was constantly having to assimilate to German culture while still remaining Jewish. Jelitzki noted that German Jewry in Anne’s early life was focused more on “being German” rather than “being Jewish.” More specifically, he stated, “Becoming German often meant leaving behind Judiasm.” As Hitler came in to power and the Jewish identity became more and more marginalized and controlled, Anne and her family moved to Amsterdam in 1933 where her young life was molded and assimilated yet again to the Dutch culture and language. After Germany invaded the Netherlands in 1940, Anne and her family, along with four other close friends seeking safety from the Nazi’s, went into hiding from 1942-1944 until they were eventually reported to the police and taken away.

Photo Credit: Liza Bering

Anne had always felt what I would describe as misunderstood, using a diary given as a gift to her as an outlet to express herself and her feelings. Her diary quickly became her best friend. During her time in hiding, Anne figured that her diary could serve as a historical artifact in the future and infused her passion for writing into her diary by even editing and revising it while simultaneously continuing to fill its pages for what would eventually reach millions of readers all over the world. After being captured and arrested by the Nazis, the Frank family was taken to a local camp in Amsterdam before eventually being transferred to Auschwitz, a concentration camp in Germany, where they were separated. Anne and Margot were then taken to another camp called Bergen-Belsen, where Anne’s young life ended in 1945 just a few weeks before Bergen-Belsen was liberated by the Allies.

While I was looking, listening, and reading the old photos, artifacts, and explanations, another article we read earlier this week about reflections from women of the Holocaust came to mind. In “Troubling Categories I Can’t Think Without: Reflections on Women in the Holocaust,” R. Ruth Linden uses her vast knowledge and experience with women of the Holocaust to bear caution to her readers and argue that the language used to describe or recount women of the Holocaust’s experiences must be purposeful and unique to the survivor itself. Anne’s story demonstrates that every survivor has a different story, and we must not generalize or compare her story with others, because when doing so we lose meaning and the significance of the story and its uniqueness. Along these lines, I am curious how Anne Frank’s story, a famous one, is used to understand and learn about the Holocaust. How does it shape the reader’s ideas of the Holocaust? How did it affect the lives of the people, both Jewish and non-Jewish at the time? Her story is important, but we also must remember that it does not serve as a reflection for everybody who was a victim of the Holocaust.

Photo Credit: Liza Bering

As Offe argues, Jewish museums are “an effort to gain access to a different memory of Jews and non-Jews in Germany,” meaning that while used as crucial sites of remembrance, Jewish museums are also places of collective memory and guilt. The Anne Frank Museum is geared towards educating younger local students, but is also visited by other adults, tourists, and students and therefore is, in my opinion, more of an educational experience rather than being completely focused on remembering both Anne Frank and the Holocaust. This made me think: If this museum is being used for young educational purposes, how do the depictions and explanations contribute to both the collective memory and collective guilt surrounding the Holocaust now? How is the information subjectively transposed into the minds of its visitors? Joscha explained that often most students come with the questions: How did Hitler gain so much power? Why did Germany become to anti-Jewish? Questions and answers that may be asked and found in the museum focus on the story of the Holocaust, Hitler, and of course Anne Frank; however, what I find interesting it that it provides little information on what it meant to be Jewish during that time and what it means now as the assimilation and marginalized status of Jewish Germans continues today. I believe that there is a way to use the past to understand and show acceptance in the future. The critical lens I took away from Offe’s article makes me question the use of Jewish museums in contemporary Germany as tools to express collective guilt and memory rather than understanding and giving space to Jewish Germans today.

Currently, the exhibit is one that compares teens of today with Anne Frank. The exhibit is controversial in that it attempts to compare narratives, which may be detrimental to the importance and personal space of each narrative. This runs the risk of erasing value and meaning for both parties. While it can be somewhat convincing to the younger audiences that attend the museum, it was mostly not convincing to the FemGeniuses. During an activity, we divided into small groups and analyzed different aspects of the exhibit looking to answer questions presented by Joscha, which included: Who is represented? Who is not? What are the inequalities you observe? What is the design like? What is convincing? What is not? Shortly after, we presented and concluded that while the exhibit might seem like a good way to help put things into perspective, it sometimes traffics in racist undertones and problematic comparisons. Joscha, a independently contracted guide for the museum, even agreed. What does this say about the attention and collective memory that is being presented in Jewish museums in Germany today? Furthermore, this has both Heidi, Dana, and I wondering and looking to further explore the way in which history is presented and infused in German schools (or even other countries’ curricula). Just like Anne during her time of assimilation in both German and Dutch societies, young people today are easily “moldable,” and must be presented with history without perpetuating imperialism, racism, sexism, colonialism, etc. that so often lead to the rigidity of thought.

Photo Credit: Liza Bering

I would like to thank Joscha and the Anne Frank Museum for having us and providing us with a rich dose history, while also providing a critical analysis of the curation of museums exhibits and how they impact its visitors.


Liza Bering is a sophomore at Colorado College hailing from Des Moines, Iowa. She is planning on majoring in Geology and minoring in Middle Eastern Studies and Feminist and Gender Studies. She plans on combining the three different disciplines in way that with impact others on more than just a shallow surface level. When she isn’t studying (or touring Berlin with her fellow FemGenuises) you may find her checking out street art, walking around Berlin’s beautiful city parks, or getting lost on the subway.

Taking Down The Wall of Religious Intolerance: Jewish History in Berlin

Photo Credit: Olivia Calvi

By Olivia Calvi

This morning we had the opportunity to explore some of the hidden histories of Berlin with a woman named Carolyn Gammon took us on a walking tour about Jewish history throughout East Berlin, and opened our eyes to why the waiter at the restaurant taking our order seems to have a bit of resentment for us. We’re people whose President wants to build a wall. A wall that will divide families and fulfill greed for power driven by hatred and discrimination. Of course, what is becoming our reality existed for the Germans generations ago. And they are still feeling that guilt and recovering from that hate. Over seventy years after the Holocaust ended, recently built Jewish museums and memorials ensure that it is something the Germans will never forget.

Along these lines, one of the first things Carolyn pointed out to us while walking were little brass plaques in the ground, each representing a German Jew that was murdered during the Holocaust. Carolyn informed us that these small squares were usually placed in front of the house where the individual lived as a ritual of commemoration. Along these lines, in “Sites of Remembrance? Jewish Museums in Contemporary Germany,” Sabine Offe suggests that these memorials were placed because of the guilty feelings passed down through the generations. People are told they can shine these plaques with their shoes as a sign of respect so that the brass does not turn brown and the names of the deceased can still be clearly read. These memorials lie throughout most of the city.

Photo Credit: Olivia Calvi

Next, Carolyn took us across the street to the Burning Book memorial. It is a piece of glass that covers a hole in the ground. When you stand to the side, you see bookshelves that have enough space to hold the 20,000 books that were burned. When you stand on top of the memorial, you can only see the reflection of yourself. I viewed this memorial as a warning to future generations to really take a look at who we are and the destruction we have the ability to cause. Next to the glass lies a plaque was a quote from Heinrich Heine, which translates to “if you start burning books, you will end up burning people.” It’s far too reminiscent of the books being banned in the U.S. and the textbooks riddled with creationist ideas that teach young teens that abstinence is the only form of sex education. Religious and political censorship leave children uncertain of their past or their future. I can’t help but think the fundamentalist right is well on its way to burning the people of the U.S.

This extreme religious intolerance is what led us to the most humbling part of our tour: a Jewish cemetery torn down by Nazis with only a few salvaged tombstones remaining. When the Nazis occupied East Berlin, they saw to it that every synagogue was burned and every cemetery destroyed. We learned that in Germany, the term Nazi is not used because it is too short and “sweet.” Germans only refer to them as National Socialists, because the German word is extensive and has a connotation of disgust. The cemetery sits on a street that was referred to as Tolerance Street before the Nazis occupied the area, because of the open dialogue and shared space between the Jewish and Protestant communities. When the Nazis invaded, the street became known as Death Street. Carolyn made it very clear that the plaques located at the cemetery use strong language in German, because referring to the deaths as killings instead of murders would be doing an injustice to the Jews whose lives were lost. Since the community has come back together, it has regained its original name. Under Nazi rule, communities were forced to come together against anti-Semitic groups. Along these lines, in “We Don’t Want to Be The Jews of Tomorrow: Jews and Turks in Germany after 9/11,” Gökçe Yurdakul and Y. Michal Bodemann examine the Turkish and migrant groups that helped lead initiatives against anti-Semitism and demonstrated to show their solidarity with Jewish Germans against Nazi terrorism. Similarly, the people of East Berlin who called that community home refused to stand for the intolerance and instead chose solidarity.

Photo Credit: Olivia Calvi

Just down the street from the cemetery is a school founded by and named for Jewish German philosopher Moses Mendelssohn who strongly believed in religious tolerance and had a dream to create a school where Jews and non-Jewish students could study together and learn from each other. The school, established in 1778 and reopened in 1993, currently enrolls students of all religions. Those from non-Jewish backgrounds take Hebrew and Judaic studies, learning from a young age what it means to be open-minded and accepting of a community different from your own.

As a religion major with the goal of a career as either a prison or military chaplain, there is really nothing I “geek out” about more than churches and religious places of worship. I was glad, then, when our tour took us to a Protestant church that was one of the only remaining buildings from medieval Berlin. Inside the church there is a donation box for an initiative between the Jewish, Islamic, and Protestant communities in Berlin. The initiative is called House of One, and they are raising money to build a religious center that can hold services in all denominations—a great opportunity for people who seek a shared community of multiple religious belonging. I think faith is one of the most interesting things about humanity, because people build shrines and monuments in honor of gods they believe will bring them salvation or peace in this life. I was raised Unitarian Universalist, a liberal faith denomination that does not have a specific dogma but instead is committed to building community and ministry around issues of social justice. While I identify as agnostic, I believe a person’s beliefs, religious and otherwise, tell you most everything you need to know about a person. It is only when religion is misused and becomes combative that a strong sense of religious belonging brings destruction instead of beauty.

Photo Credit: Olivia Calvi

On that note, I was intrigued to learn that on September 13, 1964, Martin Luther King, Jr. spoke to the congregation on Tolerance Street in East Berlin. That day he preached: “No man-made barrier can erase the fact that God’s children lie on both sides of the wall.” I don’t know if I believe in MLK’s God, but I do believe in his sentiments. The 7th and last principle my faith is based on discusses the significance of the interdependent web of life. We are not all the same, and we most certainly do not have the same religious beliefs. But we are all human. Trump’s ideas to build a wall between the U.S. and Mexico and his attempted ban on Muslims are blatantly racist. As Carolyn told us, German Chancellor Angela Merkel recently opened Germany’s doors to one million refugees—an economically advantageous choice that Trump was quick to call a catastrophic mistake. Along these lines, in “Troubling Categories I Can’t Think Without: Reflections on Women In The Holocaust,” R. Ruth Linden writes: “It seems to me that the history of the Holocaust, like all of history, is a collection of stories […] the stories we write, tell, or paint about Holocaust victims and survivors, and the plots we give these stories are mirrors of our own era.” As students, we learn about history so that we don’t make the same mistakes, but Linden’s words point out the problem with America: we don’t pay attention to the mistakes of others. It is going to take a lot of work and admission of guilt to mend America’s mistake, and if one thing is certain, there will always be work to do. At least for the time being, I’m happy to be in a country that can actually call itself a democracy.


Olivia Calvi is a rising sophomore from Los Angeles, CA. She is double-majoring in Religion and Classics at Colorado College, and hopes to also attain a Feminist & Gender Studies minor. After college she plans on attending Seminary to eventually find herself in a career as a military or prison chaplain. She wholeheartedly believes in the Denver Airport conspiracy theory and has recently made the discovery that she is terrible at navigating public transportation.

#FemGeniusesInBerlin 2017: Our First Two Days

Photo Credit: Liza Bering

By Hailey Corkery

After a long ten hours (or more for some) of travel, we had finally arrived in Berlin. The new city greeted our jet lag and fatigue with cool temperatures and pouring rain as we stepped off the plane. The ten of us, a group of Colorado College students with varying degrees of interest in Feminist & Gender Studies, gathered after claiming our bags, most of us meeting for the first time.

After a while of driving through streets of mostly earth-toned buildings, looking especially drab due to the weather, the van eventually pulled up to a bright orange structure: The Happy Hostel. At our temporary home, we met our professor, Heidi R. Lewis, and course associate, Dana Maria Asbury. Over the next three weeks, they will be taking us through many different tours and activities in order to teach us about how identities of marginalized people are constructed in Germany.

Once we settled into our new temporary home, we fought the urge to sleep by starting our required readings and films. Of the six analytical pieces, two really resonated with me: Sabine Offe’s “Sites of Remembrance? Jewish Museums in Contemporary Germany” was one of them. Here, Offe discusses how Jewish museums are used as both physical sights and institutions for their visitors to access the memory of Jewish relations in Germany, as well as for German visitors to deal with secondhand guilt. These ideas were very new to me and were especially intriguing due to my Jewish heritage. I had always been on the other side of the conflict, related to a victim, rather than being a part of the “guilty” third-generation. Because of this, I only thought of Jewish museums as places of mourning and remembrance. I had never thought about how museums serve as places for very different things for those affected (a place to remember what happened to them or their loved ones) and those who are or feel responsible (a place to deal with secondhand guilt).

Another piece that was particularly memorable to me was “We Don’t Want To Be the Jews of Tomorrow”: Jews and Turks in Germany after 9/11” by Gökçe Yurdakul and Y. Michal Bodemann. This work discusses the inter-ethnic relations between minorities and immigrants—specifically Jews and Turks—in Germany, which I was not previously informed about. This reading forced me to think about how unaware Americans generally are of other nations’ inequalities and power relations. Our country is very focused on itself, and our media is filled with mostly American politics, stories, and events. Many other countries, however, are informed about most of the issues occurring in America. This reflects extremely poorly on the U.S., and makes me question our media’s priorities regarding the distribution of information.

The two films also had an impact on me, especially The Holocaust: What the Allies Knew. This documentary analyzes World War II, and presents evidence of the allies’ early awareness of genocide, examining why they often did not do anything to stop it. Though I had learned about World War II in high school, the curriculum never mentioned anything about the allies’ prior knowledge of concentration camps. I found this information extremely shocking and disturbing, and I also reflected a lot about how it is rarely discussed. A lot of history that casts a country in a bad light is not included in our schools’ curricula, which is problematic because it tells a false narrative and continues to add to the cycle incorrect information being fed to the American people.

Photo Credit: Nikki Mills

After doing some work and resting at the hostel for a while, the group got together to look for food. We hopped on the (somewhat confusing) public transportation and headed toward a neighborhood called Kreuzberg. While exploring the area to find a restaurant, we stumbled upon a large crowd of people listening to live music. We got closer to see what it was for, and discovered that we had ended up at Berlin’s Karneval der Kulturen (Carnival of Cultures). The carnival included multiple stages, bars, activities for children, and dozens of food stands filled with cuisine from around the world. It also featured a parade that celebrated different cultures, which we, unfortunately, did not get to see. Despite missing out on that, we spent our first night exploring the festival, eating amazing food, and getting to know Berlin and its people a little better (while also getting to know each other).

The next day we traveled to Heidi’s flat to discuss our expectations for the course. Though most students’ hopes for the class were similar to those of Heidi and Dana and each other, many people had at least one personal learning experience they wanted to get out of the class. One talked about how their goal was to learn more about queerness and the white washing of the LGBTQIA+ community in Germany. Another wished to find out more about racism in Germany and how it manifests itself in Berlin, which led us to discuss global racism and how Americans and United States media are so focused on their own country that many people from the U.S. are unaware of inequalities and events occurring elsewhere. My biggest expectation was to learn about what it’s like working for a non-profit organization when we visit some during the course, since I have interest in the field.  We also talked about our expectations for Heidi and Dana. We let them know that we expect them to be understanding and supportive both regarding the course and not.

The expectations mentioned were not solely about the academic course; some regarded the experience of travelling abroad with a group. There was a discussion about sharing space, both with the citizens of Berlin and the members of our group. Multiple people mentioned an extremely important factor: discomfort due to privilege. As Americans, no matter how oppressed each of us may or may not be back in the States, we automatically have a certain privilege in Germany. For example, most of us do not know German, but most Germans know English. As Americans, we can walk into places of business and other German spaces speaking English with few problems, if any at all; we will most likely be able to communicate with the employees without even trying to speak their first language. This privilege we have as Americans, as many different privileges often do, may make us feel guilty or uncomfortable while we are here in Berlin. Another causation of our discomfort as Americans comes from being stereotyped by Germans due to the current political climate in the United States. We may at times feel extremely guilty; the looks or attitudes Europeans give us may convey that they think we personally agree with the decisions President Trump has made. This discomfort is and will be a challenge for us to deal with, but everyone in the group agreed that it is something we need to and will embrace in order to fully appreciate our experiences here.

Photo Credit: Ryan Garcia

A few hours after class ended, we met Heidi and Dana at the Berlin Fernsehturm, also known as TV Tower. We were given the amazing opportunity of eating dinner in a restaurant towards the top of the structure. This restaurant was inside of a revolving sphere that rotated 360º per hour. This movement, along with the large windows by our tables, allowed us to see a bird’s-eye view of Berlin from all angles. Though the weather was rainy and cloudy, the city was still visible and spectacular to see from so high up. I have never been to Berlin before and honestly did not know much about it before arriving here, so this gave me a better sense of both how the city is laid out and how beautiful it really is. Our group was unfortunately split up between two tables, but it was nice to get to know half of the group a little bit better over an incredible meal.

After this dinner and every other activity from the first few days, I feel like I know everyone extremely well considering the amount of time I have known them. The beginning of this trip has been so fun and rewarding, and has only made me more excited for what is to come!


Hailey is a rising sophomore at Colorado College from the Washington, D.C. area. She plans to major in Sociology and minor in Feminist and Gender Studies. At CC, she is part of Students Against Sexual Assault (SASS) and Ellement, an all-women acapella group. This is her first course with Heidi and first time in Berlin, and she is extremely excited for all the learning and exploring to come with this experience.