As Goethe's City
Is Honored, Buchenwald Lurks Nearby
By Roger Cohen
WEIMAR, Germany,
July 28, 1999
Always a crucible of
the best and worst in Germany, this small town has emerged a decade after the
fall of the Berlin wall as a focus of national questioning and conflict.
Festivity should be in the air. This year is the 250th
anniversary of the birth of Weimar's most distinguished son, Goethe. The town
was selected by European ministers as the Continent's "cultural
capital" for 1999, an
accolade that has spurred spending and sprucing on a scale unknown elsewhere in
the former East Germany..
Its
Communist decay dusted off, its church spires repainted, Weimar now suffuses
cobblestoned charm, the stuff of fairy tales. But the town - home to Schiller
and to Nietzsche, birthplace of the Bauhaus - is also adjacent to the Nazis'
Buchenwald concentration camp, where more than 50,000 people were killed
between 1937 and 1945. This juxtaposition of high German thought and base
German barbarism has complicated the celebration of culture. Goethe's drawings
have been put on show -at Buchenwald,. Schiller's house was chosen for an
exhibition about the death in 1939 of several hundred Viennese Jews at the
camp. Not everyone approved.
This
week, in a sign of the tensions, six sculptures by the British artist Stuart
Wolfe that were on display in a Weimar church and represented camp victims were
destroyed by unknown assailants. The police have offered a reward of several
thousand dollars for information.
Friction
has also stirred between the "Wessis" from the former West Germany
who have dropped anchor here to direct many of the cultural events, and the
"Ossis" who feel resentment over what they call the "Western
conquistadors." Some locals feel that their past is being misrepresented
at Buchenwald and elsewhere.
"Weimar is a mythical place, our
Jerusalem," said Volkhard Knigge, the director of the Buchenwald memorial.
"What we have been trying to do is sort history from myth, and show the
story of Weimar and Buchenwald are intertwined. The Goethe Society was furious
over our exhibition of drawings, but this process is inevitably painful."
The pain, in many ways, is. also that of all of Germany. The country, a little
weary of seeing its history reduced to Hitler, is struggling to find a balance
between a renewed thirst to celebrate the great flowering of German culture in
Weimar and elsewhere with the duty to remember the Nazi past.
It
is also battling with a unification process that has proved far more difficult
than expected precisely because the "cultures" of east and west are
so divergent, and the memories of each part do not coincide. "Everyone in Germany now feels
themselves responsible for Goethe, for Schiller and for Beethoven - but nobody
for Himmler," Ignatz Bubis,
the chairman of the Central Council of Jews in Germany, said in an interview
published in the magazine Stern this week. It was an angry outburst, and a wild
accusation, but it reflected the cultural uncertainty of a country moving its
center of gravity back to Berlin from Bonn even as Germany's two 20th-century
dictatorships - Hitler's and Erich Honecker's are still heatedly debated.
Nowhere more so than in Weimar, which
suffered the ravages of both Nazism and Communism with particular intensity.
The name of Goethe, synonymous with German genius, has consistently acted as a
magnet to regimes anxious to bolster their standing. "The good and the bad
have always wanted to exploit the symbolism of this city," said Friedrich
Folger, the Deputy Mayor.
From the
moment, six years ago, when Weimar, with a population of about 60,000, was
chosen as Europe's cultural capital for 1999 - the first town of the former
Soviet bloc to be so honored - Bernd Kauffmann, the director of the festival,
was determined to break with the city's habits and treat Weimar and Buchenwald
as a single entity.
This decision, he
said, was rooted not in perversity or guilt, but in the history that has made
the alternation of eclectic culture and narrow provincialism, avant-garde
audacity and reactionary conservatism, enlightenment and repression, perhaps
the single most distinguishing characteristic of Weimar. Bach lived here, only to clash with the
ruling family and land in prison. Goethe and Schiller came to Weimar,
befriended each other and together ushered in the "Golden Age" of
German Literature in the late 18th
and early 19th century. But by the end of the 19th century, reactionary,
anti-semitic thinkers like Adolf Bartels had made Weimar their home.
In the 19th century,
the Bauhaus movement was founded here in
1919, drawing the likes of
Walter Gropius and Paul Klee to Weimar.
But then, the narrow-mindedness of central Germany reasserted itself,
driving the Bauhaus 100 miles away
to Dessau, and ushering the
Nazis to power in this region as early as the late 1920's.
Hitler
loved the place, visiting it dozens of times, trying to make the town of Franz
Liszt and Lucas Cranach a showcase
of the qualities of the German "Volk". Not for nothing did he decide in 1937 to build Buchenwald a
few miles from town as a prison for Jews, homosexuals, leftists, Gypsies and
others seen as enemies of the Reich - and those whom the Nazis saw as
emblematic of the Weimar Republic. "In the ideology of the Nazis,
Buchenwald was a cultural project that belonged in Weimar," said
Mr.Knigge, the director of the camp memorial. "Its purpose was to root out
all that was unworthy, all that was seen as cancerous, from Germany society, so
that the Volk could be united and at one in its genius."
The
intimate ties between town and camp were graphically illustrated in 1942 when
Otto Koch, the Mayor of Weimar, had the singular idea of ordering prisoners at
Buchenwald to build wooden boxes to protect the works of Schiller and to make
reproductions of the furniture in the writer's house so that the originals
could be stored.
"It
is essential that we understand how close one is to another, how Weimar and
Buchenwald are the light and dark of our psyche," Mr.Kauffmann said.
"This, for me, remains a central German theme." But the way that
theme has been illustrated has proved an affront to some. The former Christian
Democratic Interior Minister Manfred Kanthner has called the emphasis on
Buchenwald "tiresome." Petra Uberhause of the Goethe Society said
several of its members were unhappy about the writer's drawings going on display at Buchenwald, although
no formal protest was made.
Tensions
have been fanned by the fact that both Mr. Kauffmann and Mr.Knigge are
"Wessis," the former from Hamburg and the latter from Cologne. Achim
Preiss, the curator of an exhibition devoted partly to the art of the former
East German state that has prompted outrage from "Ossis," is also a
westerner.
"What
the westerners cannot understand is that we also had our birthdays, our
weddings, our marriage, our moments of happiness," said Elvira Greiner, a
city official who lived in the former Communist state. "Not everything was
the crass stupidity and lies they portray."
One
of the official East German "lies" concerned Buchenwald, which was
turned into a memorial in 1958 by the former regime at a time when West Germany
was doing its best to ignore the history of camps like Dachau, near Munich. But
the memorial was naturally fashioned to bolster the prevailing ideology. Thus
the prisoners who suffered and died in Buchenwald were all, for the purposes of
the East German regime, "anti-fascists" and Communists who fought
Hitler. This was part of the story - but said nothing of the Jews, Gypsies and
others.
The fact that, from 1945 to 1952, the Soviet Army used Buchenwald as an
internment camp for Germans, most of them low-level Nazis, and that thousands
died there, was also passed over in silence.
Mr.
Knigge has now dragged all this history to the surface and is organizing an
exhibition of the "history of memory" at Buchenwald since 1945 as
part of the celebration of Weimar as Europe's cultural capital. It will open in
October.
But
although many applaud his efforts, the director has been attacked by east
Germans who feel that their Buchenwald has been violated, and by some
conservative west Germans who argue that the camp should be devoted as much to
the memory of Stalinism as Nazism as a way to remember the German victims of
the Soviet Army.
For
34 years, from 1960 to 1994 , Manfred Dathe, 65, was the gardener at
Buchenwald. He had enough to live on, he said, and life was secure and
predictable. Then the wall fell and all certainties with it.
"We're as German as the westerners,
but my pension is only 80 percent of theirs," he said. "Why is that?
And why are all the directors - of the festival, the museums, this camp
westerners? Do they think we are incompetent?" He continued: "I lost my father on the eastern front in
1942. 1 was 8. And then, when the war was over, we were told that Hitler was
bad, and the capitalists who supported him, and fascism, and of course we
believed the Communists. Now these people come here and tell us that our
history, all we learned, was wrong."
Mr.
Dathe shook his head in dismay. Memory in Germany remains an insistent and
divisive subject. From the camp, the organizers of the festival have cut a path
through the woods that they have called "Slice in Time." It connects
Buchenwald with the beautiful Ettersburg Castle, less than a mile away. Here,
at her summer home, Duchess Anna Amalia held her the "Court of the
Muses" between 1776 and 1780, drawing writers including Goethe, who
performed in his own works.
To
leave behind Buchenwald's brick-chimneyed crematory, the photographs of corpses
piled high, the fence-posts shaped like question- marks, and to emerge- a short
time later - from the peaceful woods onto a soft hillside dominated by a castle where civilization bloomed
in the 18th century is to grasp something of Germany's agonizing, and enduring,
ambiguity.
Goethe's
hero Faust declared, "Two souls, alas, are housed my breast, and each will
wrestle for mastery there." The message from Weimar in this anniversary is that the wrestling has
by no means entirely abated.
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