Identity is a powerful concept. In its strongest sense, according to Rogers Brubaker, identity is believed to be universal and mostly the same over time. We can be unaware of our own identity: it can be revealed to us at a later date, or we could be “mistaken” about our own identity. This makes it seem terribly similar to the Marxist concept of class. But unlike in Marx’s Marxism, “identity thinking” is convinced of the importance of one’s national culture.
So identity is not just what cuts to your core. It’s also those (often ephemeral) strands of collective behaviors and habitus that reveal us to be a member of a nation. And that collective identity is really hard to shake, even if you want that. It’s like an indelible stain à la Macbeth or like a delicious data “cookie” showing all our little favorite websites and predilections. Better just to get that VPN service, “Hide Your Ass” and hope you can remain anonymous until you have worked your national identity out for yourself in your own head.
So what’s this got to do with Germans, you ask me? A German friend living in London told me an anecdote over Facebook messenger:
“My German coworkers and I went to a German beer hall in London to watch the Germany-Austria soccer match. We outnumbered Austrian fans probably 5:1, but you wouldn’t be able to tell. No German wore a jersey or openly cheered or trash talked. Whereas the Austrians were very loud and animated.”
Now, let’s just leave the whole hornet’s nest of Germany vs. Austria behind for a moment.
What my man in London wanted to explain was that Germans, when they are abroad, seem to have a special trait or a desire to “lay low.” As if no one wants to be caught “traveling while German.” Even in the extreme situation of watching soccer, where even Germans are known to have a little flag in their collective pocket. My friend has a privileged position that helps him to see this all from a distance: he’s half Japanese, so no one on the street is going to mistake him for a German anyway. His name is both Peter and Namihiro. But that’s another story.
So what’s behind this “don’t mind me!” behavior my German friend self-reported from London? I remembered what I read about German immigrants to the United States being the pioneers of the “melting pot” behavior in the 19th century: they were early adopters of English and they assimilated so damned well that now they are the largest ethnic group in the United States. The largest, yes, by far. After the 1848 revolutions and emigration, the Schmelztigel was and is a warm and wonderful place to remain versteckt.
But back to this issue of Germans playing undercover today when they aren’t in Germany. I don’t think it is only about not wanting to talk about the 20th century, especially not those particular years in the middle. The fact that Germans are somewhat “talked out” on that topic is only part of their desire to keep their national identity on the down low. So what else is it?
I know what it’s not. It’s not as if this is some sort of German self-hatred or self-abnegation. Nor is it any national spy behavior, even if the Germans do have a completely conscious understanding of their own Besserwisserei with regards to this idea: “I see something you can’t see!” And anyway, spare me! I am really not in the mood to talk about this spying issue yet. I can’t even stand to look at Snowden’s face right now.
Maybe it’s more like this: In some sense, collective identity, like personal identity, assumes a sameness in constitution over time. If it is anything, identity is a collection of coherent stories we tell ourselves about ourselves and we find, at the very least, some kernel of truth that reveals something about us in the present. Most of these stories are confabulated in some way, of course. They are twisted to tell a certain truth that still remains relevant for the self today. The Grimm brothers did this in the 19th century: if they could get all those fairy tales from all those regions bound up into a single book, Kinder- und Hausmärchen, then perhaps there was hope for a unified Republik. Even if they had to make up some of those stories themselves. It didn’t work out in the end, anyway. It was a good try, though.
Germany doesn’t really have a lot of stories about itself in which contemporary Germans could find any sort of self-identification. What would that narrative look like, even? It would have awkward caesuras, traumas, and characters who were forgetting and knowing too much. The setting would be occupied by stranded objects carrying identity papers that had been either forged or lost. If it were a family romance, there would be startling generational differences and horrible secrets about mommy and daddy that would make you just want to put the book down. And there would be a strange but unavoidable chapter about Russia.
But most importantly, the story would still be deeply under construction. With a feeling at the end of holding your breath and hoping for a good ending. Not a happy ending, per se, but just a normal, everyday good ending which means we can convince ourselves come out of hiding. Until that time, Germans prefer to remain versteckt.