European Memory

2009 marks the twentieth anniversary of the political changes which took place in the annus mirabilis of 1989. At the time, there was a fundamental shift in the coordinates in which post-war generations had grown up. There was no longer an East or a West, but something in between – Central Europe.

The years go by so quickly. It is hard to believe that nearly 20 years have already passed since 1989 – that's a whole generation. There are young people at school and university today who were born after the annus mirabilis and for whom all those events are, quite literally, history. To us – those who were actually there, in some form or another – it seems like only yesterday. Which of us still remember that back then, when we were at university in West Berlin, the underground trains passed through walled-up stations which were patrolled by border guards? Indeed, who can still remember the exact course that the Wall took? And who remembers the Polish market situated at the very spot where the new Potsdamer Platz is to be found today, a sandy patch of land dotted with parked caravans and boasting a maglev train track leading to nowhere, the Berlin Philharmonic and City Library buildings looking like space ships in a border zone? 20 years is a long time, though it can also be a short period when you are talking about long-term memory and longue durée. Its intervals are not defined by election periods or chancellors, but rather by generations, or even whole epochs. Just as entire generational horizons dissolved in 1989, new ones have also emerged. It would be odd if these fundamental changes did not also modify our memories and our perception of the past. The fact that each generation develops its own image of the past, addresses new questions to the past, and comes to terms – indeed must come to terms – with the past in its own way, is by no means alarming, but merely testimony to the vibrant, alive nature of a historical consciousness.

Changed coordinates

The following observations come from a person who consciously experienced 1986 and 1989, but whose overriding experience of Europe was that of the border. I think of myself as belonging to the Marienborn generation: those whose inner map was defined by the experience of the border crossing: of the train which is stopped and checked, of the same stupid questions always being asked about explosives and firearms, of the books being confiscated by border guards who would have liked to cross the border themselves if only they'd been allowed to. The events of 1989 gave rise to a new realm of experience. There was a fundamental shift in the coordinates in which post-war generations had grown up. There was no longer an East or a West, but something in between – Central Europe. Towns which had been out of bounds for decades suddenly became close neighbours. Towns and areas of countryside which people only knew about from literature, films or family stories were suddenly accessible, and much closer. One could move around freely there and take a look for oneself. This opening up changed just about everything: one's realm of experience, one's radius of action, one's holiday plans, and perhaps even the way one planned one's life. It was now possible, after all, to go to university in Prague or Krakow, not just in Montpellier or Oxford.

An asymmetry of perception, an asymmetry of interest

It is common knowledge that, in the part of the world known prior to 1989 as Western Europe, there was not much in the way of a surge eastwards. There was only moderate interest, even in the formerly divided Germany. The picture was quite different in Eastern Europe, where people had always been more interested in what was happening in the West: in literature, ideas, fashions and, above all, in freedom. 1989 finally gave them the great opportunity to go and take a look for themselves, and they set off in their millions – for a flying visit, to take an educational trip or a journey of discovery, to attend university, and later also to look for work. Eastern Europeans made up for lost time, doing all the things that had been so long denied them. This was a movement of exploration on the grandest scale. The same cannot be said of Western Europe – which itself is nothing more than a makeshift term. There was only limited curiosity, and at times even all manner of fears predominated (a flood of job-seekers, migration of industry, increased crime rates etc.). And yet nothing remained as it had been. New experiences made their mark, and people had to reorient themselves. It all takes time, but happens whether you like it or not, for "the West", that familiar old region, had also ceased to exist in its previous form. The enlarged Europe is not simply the old "EU plus accession states", but a Europe with a new make-up and a new self-assurance and, gradually, a new self-perception. The new Europe is something other and something more than merely the sum of East and West Europe.

The dual experience of Eastern and Central Europe

During its half century of division, Europe has had a range of different experiences. (…) These different experiences cannot be simply summed up at will within an "overall European narrative".

Eastern and Central Europe was the scene of an epoch characterized by world wars and revolutions, the Thirty Years' War and the resulting unfolding of violence which in many respects was without precedent. This region of the continent found itself caught in the midst of the European civil war, between nationalism and communism, between German National Socialism and Soviet Communism. It was the scene of the genocide committed against European Jews, of a systematic policy of social and ethnic cleansing, a parade ground for the biggest war machinery and burnt earth, the scene of large-scale forced deportations and flight, and of a liberation which in many respects was merely the replacement of one foreign power by another. There is no point on the map of this region, no family and no biography which has not been marked by this dual experience. This is the core zone in a "century of extremes". (…) It takes time to bring these vastly different experiences together into one cohesive model of thought, and this is not something that can be done as a rush job. There is no manual on how to deal with history, and no "German model" which some people would like to export because there are situations which are incomparably more complicated than the German case.

The end of the flight towards the West

In 1989, Germany was to some extent overtaken by Europe, the Germans being released into unity after the end of the division. History reasserted itself, and the Germans entered into a network of relationships which they themselves had destroyed and out of which they had catapulted themselves. They now once again faced their entire history and the territory in which it took place. There was the history of destruction, but also a history before that, centuries and generations during which the Germans were a natural and integral part of Eastern Europe. German history, which some people see as the "long road to the West" has now returned to the place where it has always unfolded, namely Central Europe. As a result, old historical relationships are also returning to the German horizon. It is now apparent that there is a history that predates the catastrophic history of the twentieth century, a history that few know about and that is older than the nation and nationalism, and one that it is well worth studying.

Expanding the historical horizon

Western Europeans wishing to understand their Eastern neighbours will not be able to avoid focusing on the latter's experiences. This is asking rather a lot, and a warning about "too distant a memory" seems appropriate. There are, quite simply, limits to knowledge, to sympathy and to people's ability to understand the realms of experience of others. It is common knowledge that it took quite a while even for people in Germany to see and recognize the other players in the shadow thrown by Auschwitz: the Poles, the Soviet prisoners of war, the forced labourers. European history does not end at today's outer borders of the EU. A memory which cares nothing for the victims of terror in the former Soviet Union and a memory that does not also take into account the inmates of the Gulag, has in a certain sense no credibility and does not deserve to be called European.

Revising history and the struggle for interpretative predominance

1989 marked the beginning of a turbulent reappraisal and revaluation of the past – of the past 50 years, and in some cases of a nation's entire history. This occurred differently in each country, and encompassed everything from a spirited and thorough re-examination of the past to re-ideologization and the creation of new myths. This process took place on many different levels: in disputes about monuments, street names, textbooks and schoolbooks, in public controversies relating to data of key importance to the collective consciousness, in anniversaries, public holidays, and the establishment of memorials and museums. Virtually every country has its own dramatic highpoints and crossroads, its arguments about monuments. It was without doubt a question of a long overdue reinterpretation of the way we view history; equally often, however, it was a matter of veritable struggles for interpretative predominance and opinion leadership. The removal of some of the "blank areas on the map" often went hand in hand with the creation of new "blank areas" elsewhere. And, of course, it is not merely a question of historical science or historical knowledge, but of issues of national or collective identity, of the validity of revoking a sort of "official version" of events. In many cases, the discussion of the past is but a convoluted and masked form of a topical political debate, a battle fought by stand-ins in historical dress. This makes it interesting and relevant, but also dangerous: debates of historical issues are instrumentalized to serve the interests of everyday and, frequently, party politics.

The political culture, the historical culture, and the way in which the past is dealt with, dictate the way such controversies take place: in a manner which is factual or polemical, forced or calm, ideological or informative, pluralistic or monolithic, in a know-it-all way or doing justice to the matter and the persons concerned, in a way which is sensitive or denunciatory, moralistic or following a concrete line of argumentation, nostalgic or with an awareness of the present. As always it is not what is said, but the way it is said. This type of historical culture doesn't come about overnight; even in Germany, where people are proud of what they have achieved as regards coming to terms with the past and historical policy etc., it took a while and was not without some pretty fierce conflicts. Why should it not take just as long elsewhere? New, more appropriate and "truer" interpretations of history cannot be decreed, but emerge as the result of a fairly complex process of debate and argumentation.

Remembering and commemoration: how much can a person bear or how much does a person need to remember

There is a form of memory which is transitory: that form of immediate memory which is fed by one's own personal experiences. It dies with a person, and is superseded by a remembering and commemoration of that person which is communicated to others. The time will come when there will no longer be any immediate memory. We, those born after the event, can never catch up with the experiences acquired by others. It is part and parcel of a culture of commemoration – in contrast to a form of response which has become routine – that it respects this difference. The ability to understand and make sense of the horizon of experience of another generation is not something that can be taught in a crash course or prompted by well-meant reminders, but is a question of education, tact and sensitivity. There is something wrong with a memory which forgets the present in favour of the past. An affection for the dead which is not supported by respect for the living somehow lacks credibility. Alongside the well-known phenomenon of historical amnesia there is also its counterpart – an obsession with history that has the advantage of allowing one to escape the present, at least temporarily. (…)

European memory as a work in progress

There have been various attempts, successful to a greater or lesser extent, by Norman Davis, Gert Mak, Tony Judt and others, to come up with a European historical narrative, a potted history of Europe, most of them seen from a bird's-eye view. Yet such synopses are not what is meant by an integrative narrative which includes all the many conflicting experiences. Indeed, such a narrative cannot exist – for the time being at least. A narrative can never be further ahead than the narrators themselves, so a truly European narrative will only be possible once some sort of European horizon of experience has formed, and this will not be the case in the foreseeable future. The best that can be hoped for at present would not be a synthetic common history, which could presumably only be told if forced, but an attempt to make the different stories and versions heard. This is certainly a difficult enough task – indeed well-nigh impossible – as it would constitute an account of injuries and sickness – a history of impositions, a polyphony of histories, in parts dissonant and cacophonous. That the Europeans could bear to listen to these, their own stories, is more than one can expect at the present time. It is not a common history that is so urgently needed, in other words, but steps to ensure that the space in which the competing interpretations and national narratives are expressed is not jeopardized.

Not for the sake of a happy ending

To talk of Europe without speaking of its strength, beauty and splendour, would be entirely false and inappropriate; but not because we insist on having a happy ending. To work on Europe without taking note of its unsurpassable wealth, its differences, cultures, languages and works of art, would be entirely senseless. The twentieth century, which so devastated Europe and stripped it of its standing in the world, is but one layer, and it is time to unearth the others. A Europe that is nothing more than a "memory project" would be lost, a reserve for old people, a kind of theme park or doll's house for global tourism. Yet anyone who takes a look round Europe knows that it pulsates, works and functions – above and beyond yesterday's borders, and with such matter of course that it seems as if there had never been any division.