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If there was a European city that would know what it means to live with borders, it would be Berlin. For nearly three decades, residents of the divided city were segregated by a guarded wall that was erected by external forces, and exchange between the parts was all but obsolete. Even if the story of the Wall was an example of conflating a variety of temporal trajectories into one spatial metanarrative, and a rude awakening to the capacity of vertical structures to apply power and violent oppression, it remains an ode to the problems of barriers that thwart horizontal pathways. Now18, it is nearing on two decades since Berlin reunified, a process that hoped to amalgamate (and create) a new city of the formerly segregated eastern and western parts. However, this process simply generated new contexts to frame new forms of fragmentation and new rules of segregation. There are now a new set of stakeholders, occupiers of capital power, holders of citizenship and status, which reinforce the social patterns that create and sustain new forms of repression. The question remains (and therefore, the outstanding political project) whether or not a critical discourse is possible that can transform social space – one that critically challenges existing structures, and emancipates disadvantaged or marginalised groups that counteract, counterpose, and counterbalance the dominant.
This chapter will describe two phenomena in Berlin: 1) the story of Berlin’s “exit scene” (“Aussteigerszene”) of the squatter movement; and 2) the experience and position of newcomers (Einwanderer) in Germany. Exit and entry: at first glance it appears that these two social movements (in so far that they can be categorised as unified movements) are on opposite trajectories. Moreover, it would appear that the city is a kind of container in which some insiders attempt to refuse it, while others attempt to enter. I will return to the question of whether or not this is so in Chapter Four, but for now I will let this contradiction stand. This apparent contradiction was, after all, one of the reasons that I chose these two topics in the first place. They were also chosen because they are prominent and current social struggles in Berlin, in which respective participants struggle for place to produce space.
“Das ist unser Haus, schmeißt doch endlich Schmidt und Press und Mosch aus Kreuzberg raus!,” (Ton Steine Scherben 1972). |
So sang the beloved punk-folk band, in resistance to the developers that posed a constant threat to the squatters, who during the 1970s, lived in the district of Kreuzberg. It translates – unfortunately not so rhythmically – to, “That is our house, throw Schmidt and Press and Mosch out of Kreuzberg, once and for all!” Ton Steine Scherben (1972) sang this in the 1970s, but these sentiments still characterise the spirit of many protests that carry on today in Berlin as squatters continue to resist City revitalisation programs, developers rebuilding infrastructure, and private institutions staking out and cultivating capital investments.
After the German Democratic Republic (GDR) collapsed, and the border that divided Berlin opened, Berlin’s housing market went through a period of pandemonium, and so too the dialectic of protesting and singing versus ignoring and developing. Suddenly, properties that formerly lay on the eastern fringe of East Berlin were, in the re-unified Berlin, centrally located and available at (by western standards) rock bottom prices (Strom 1996: 7). For many, it was a real estate “gold rush,” (Strom 1996: ibid.). Among the myriad of speculators and investors hunting the sites, were young people searching for cheaper rents (Berg 1998: 85). Some simply squatted empty buildings – of which there were plenty – and thus began a new era in Berlin’s squatter history. Most found opportunities in the abandoned tenement housing stock of the former eastern fringe districts of Mitte, Prenzlauer Berg, and Friedrichshain. In this time over 30 squatter communities were established (squat!net 2006).
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The former GDR tenement housing stock provided ample space to build counter culture and housing communities. It might be noted here, that squats in Berlin differ from squats in North America in that they do not signify a larger problem of housing shortage. Inhabitants are not victims of a lack of affordable housing (Berg 1998: 8). Rather, inhabitants value co-operation, self-determinism, solidarity, and environmental consciousness, and reject commercialism, top-down state or institutional hierarchical structures (Berg 1998: ibid.; Grell, Sembale and Veith 1998: 209). Squatting is seen as a possibility to realise this utopia, and is therefore a consciously chosen lifestyle (Berg 1998: ibid.).
Of the initial squats, some are now legal (squat!net 2006), having achieved some sort of rental agreement with the property owner. Some have been “cleaned away” (“geräumt”) (ibid.). A few remain illegal. “Trailer villages” (“Wagendörfer”) or “trailer fortresses” (“Wagenburgen”) are similar, in so far that they (a) grew out of the house squatting scene and their social milieus overlap; and (b) occupy a territory in non-traditional forms. In wagon villages, inhabitants live in mobile wagons, and lack the infrastructure that buildings may offer.
The fate of many squats lay in the development of the reunified Berlin. As squatters were moving in, politicians, planners, and investors were also writing up their designs for the former GDR districts19. In 1999, Planwerk was voted in by the Berliner Senate. This was the development plan that would define areas of emphasis within the reunified Berlin to be redeveloped (Senatsverwaltung für Stadtentwicklung 2008). Many squats lay within these areas, and were in the way of such projects as the MediaSpree, Johannisviertel, Spandauer Vorstadt, and Rosenthaler Vorstadt.
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In this section, I will describe various house squats and trailer villages that are still, as of October 2008, located in Berlin. I will explain their history, outline their social objectives, and expose some of their various claims to difference. It is seen that over the last 15 years, the squatter movement has diversified. Some squats are not as radical as they once were. Some were, indeed, fully commercialised and state sponsored. Others continue to fight the city and private developers, resist forced eviction attempts, and continue to network in political activities. The trajectories of exit and refusal are not as unified throughout the squatter scene as they once might have been. Whether integrated or not, however, these stories expose social movements that are producing their space on independent and horizontal (see 4.3.2) trajectories. In addition to descriptions of the squats, I have also inserted images throughout that illustrate some of the contradictory dynamics at work. All of these trends and their significance for theories of social space will be discussed in Chapter Four, where I will interpret them through social spatial theory.
Figure 1: (1) Placards of meetings and demonstrations postered on abandoned houses of the Rigaer street (Rigaerstraße) (top); (2) Graffiti legitimated by a frame and hung for display in a subway station (bottom). | ||
The first photograph in Figure 1 shows placard posted on a not yet renovated building on Rigaer Street (Rigaerstrasse) in the neighbourhood of Friedrichshain. One placard advertises a solidarity party with the Antifa (anti-fascists). Another advertises a demonstration against deportations, and another advertises a festival for women. The second photo shows one of a series of framed paintings of spray can graffiti that hung in a subway station in the neighbourhood of Mitte. Both photos were taken in the same month by me as a passive and spontaneous bystander. Both the set of placards and the framed graffiti are materialised representations of space that signify, respectively, various counter movements, while the latter also represents an ambiguous form of packaged modern art.
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Shown side by side another level of interpretation is exposed: that of the signifier versus the signified. The placards are a call for solidarity, and as such they represent alternative spaces for alternative discourse. They signify a centre – a meeting place – of these counter movements. With these placards, the signifier signifies itself. Graffiti has indeed become a spatial product capable of being commodified, and spraying is one of the many branches of late-twentieth century modern art. However, the social practice of graffiti has its roots in rebelliousness. It arises as a rebellious act (Chalfant and Prigoff 1987: 10) where spraying on private property, spraying at night time, and spraying where it is not legal to do so were part of the thrill and soul of the art. Spray-can graffiti – and particularly subway spray-can graffiti – originated in New York by underground movements (ibid.: 10). The signifiers (the sprayers) signified themselves. Although some artists used underground spraycan art as a method of becoming known in the art world, the practice of graffiti as modern art can be viewed as a paradox. Once sold in a gallery, it is no longer rebellious and no longer illegal, but merely sprayer art. Still the modern art that hung in the subway station, at once signifies the practice of graffiti, the practice of underground movements, and perhaps even, their real existence, while its framed and paid-for presentation signifies its paradoxical legitimisation. The signifier, perhaps the German Rail (Deutsche Bahn), perhaps the City of Berlin, perhaps a private merchant, is signifying something or someone else – perhaps the practice of underground social movements, perhaps the practice of modern art. The real and concrete representations of space in Figure 1, then, reveal a split in the levels of power. The placards reveal the empowerment of counter groups to regroup, meet, self-organise, and act. The subway station art reveals a hierarchy, whereby the rebellious act of graffiti is subservient to the capitalist power of the buyer.
One of the first buildings to be squatted in 1990 was the Köpi. The squat is completed with a bar, video archive, cinema, and studio workroom (Köpi 2007). Events include queer cabarets, community kitchens (Volksküche), concerts, film showings, and solidarity parties (Soliparties). Themes include anti-state, anti-capitalism, anti-fascism, anti-racism, and anti-social stratification. The property and social events are co-operatively managed and financed by the 60 or so residents (ibid.). Roof and water systems, for example, were replaced on their own expense (ibid.). Outside funding would be rejected, as do-it-yourself ideology is preferred (ibid.).
The previous owner, Petersen & Partner KG, had made various attempts to evict the squatters. However, all attempts had failed (ibid.). Later the owner filed for bankruptcy, and the city made various failed attempts to auction the property off (ibid). As of summer 2006, there were no immediate eviction threats. However the members of the Köpi situate themselves against the MediaSpree Project that plans to revitalise 180 hectares of land along the riverside between the Jannovitz and Elsen bridges (ibid.). It is planned as a corridor connecting eastern Berlin to the city centre along the Spree River (that before 1989 acted as an East-West border), and as common connecting ground between the formerly severed districts of Kreuzberg and Friedrichshain (ibid.). New bridges are in the planning stages, with Ostbahnhof in the area, it is a 15-minute subway ride away from the Schönefeld Airport (ibid.). A host of new media technology businesses as well as recreation and services are expected. Ver.di, Universal Music, East Side Gallery, the Atrium on the Spree, the O2 Arena (for large sports and concert events), the East Side Hotel, MTV, the 185 meter high Ferris wheel, and thousands upon thousands of office lofts are either scheduled to move in or are already present (ibid.). The Köpi inhabitants plan to refuse this movement. If they lose the resistance, it would mean to them the submission to the capitalist commercial logic that they fundamentally reject (ibid.).
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The members of the Köpi represent themselves at their website as a separate social movement, with a separate agenda for the built environment than that of the MediaSpree project (ibid.). Their self-presentation explicitly signifies a commitment to their community and their space – values that they view as in conflict with the plans of the MediaSpree. The Köpi, itself, is very explicitly a meeting-point, a central place for the reproduction of these values.
“Free Space” (Freiraum) is ideological. The photograph on the left in Figure 2 shows the City of Berlin’s idea and realization of free space. Indeed, it is a space of pleasure. That it is full of young people not particularly radically dressed may be a fluke, but the photo does show a relaxing space that is indeed open, airy, bright, and open to anyone who likes to sit in the sun (everyone?). The uniformity of the furniture, the calculated placement of each tree, can signify on one hand simplicity and openness. It can also represent lowest common denominator conformity and assimilation. At the website for Berlin City Development, the creation of free space is celebrated as follows:
“Berlin creates free spaces. The public space – a place for everyone. The public space is, as a place of communication, individual consumption and social interaction, a steadfast part of the all-day culture …. Its redesigning creates the condition that everyone can find a place, in which their needs and can be met. In the simultaneity of the diverse forms of appropriation, public space becomes socially integrative and supports urbanity,”20 (Senatsverwaltung für Stadtentwicklung 2007a). |
Figure 2: “Free Space” (“Freiräum”) imagined and realised by the City of Berlin (top), and “free space” of the Rigaer squat (bottom). | ||
The city’s concept of free space endorses a space in which everyone can (at least in theory) enjoy and participate. The photo on the right of Figure 2, however, shows another vision of free-space that is bubbling up in another corner of Berlin, and manifesting itself in the form of another squatter derelict building in eastern district of Friedrichshain. Behind the mysterious facade of this building, the outside passive observer cannot immediately assess what takes place inside. To a non-member, this free-space might appear closed. The building is dilapidated, and the unknown inhabitants hang banners outside their windows. Little else can be assessed of this lived space. To access this space, one has to either have the right contacts, or research savvy.
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The contrast between these two representations of “Free Space” are reminiscent of discourse on modernity and all that modernity was to free us from. On modernity, Harvey wrote:
“The idea was to use the accumulation of knowledge generated by many individuals working freely and creatively for the pursuit of human emancipation and the enrichment of daily life. The scientific domination of nature promised freedom from scarcity, want, and the arbitrariness of natural calamity. The development of rational forms of social organization and rational modes of thought promised liberation from the irrationalities of myth, religion, superstition, release from the arbitrary use of power as well as from the dark side of our own human natures,” (Harvey 1990: 12). |
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The City of Berlin’s representation of free space is rational, orderly and (supposedly) open. It is reminiscent of Lefebvre’s (1991: 160) observations of high modernity in which there is also an unknown signifier, and the possibility that this signifier might be one of power renders this kind of space, then, contradictory. The producers are hidden. This space was produced by someone for someone else. Someone worked and drew up the plans, worked and planted the trees, worked and manufactured the chairs, worked and cut the grass. It is unlikely, that those workers were the same individuals that are represented here sleeping and sunning themselves. This production process of this “free space” was one of a split in the means of production – a split between thinkers and do-ers, high-paid and low-paid labour. It also represents a split between the producers and the consumers.
The contrasting and opposing representation of the squatter’s free space – as seen from the outside – is mysterious, dark and closed. These are the qualities that modernity was supposed to save us from (Harvey 1990: 12). The modernist duality has surfaced in feminist critiques of rationality and modernity (see Lloyd 2005: 165-168; Gatens 2005: 21-29; Felski 1995: 1-247), where it is debated whether or not modern rationalist thought is a masculine project or not. Here, it is not my goal to place judgement on the gender of this representation of free space, but it may suffice to say that the difference in representations of free space is curious and stark to say the least. Furthermore, it might be reasonable to conclude that for those on the inside, the squatter’s idea of free space is not so mysterious and closed, nor does it require rationalisation. And indeed, this is the case. At the Rigaer94 website, the following can be read:
“Free Space is Fought For Not Granted,” (Rigaer94 2006). |
The Rigaer94 is a house squat that arose after the Post-Wall west to east migration (Rigaer94 2006). The residents understand their project as a political housing project, and the building provides living space, as well as space for concerts, parties, community kitchens (Volksküche), and political meetings (ibid.). The house is equipped with an unregistered bar with unregistered workers, die Kadterschmiede. At their website one can also read:
“We want a space that opposes norms and where the alternative is possible. The Kadterschmiede, as a left cultural project, consciously opposes the commercial entertainment paradise, and is a meeting point for people, who search, and want to work in, the alternative,” (Kadterschmiede 2006).21 |
It can be seen that the Rigaer94 is explicitly perceived as a “free space” (“Freiraum”), a space that offers the possibility of alternative counter public discourses, and as stated above and on their website, it is also a space that has to be fought for.
The Rigaer94 is located just outside the boundaries of the MediaSpree redevelopment project. The squat would be indirectly affected by the developments on the Spree River (Rigaer94 2006), and directly affected by revitalisation projects by private developers in Friedrichshain. During the 1990s, the squatters had negotiated a rental contract with the local city housing administration (ibid.), after which the house went through the hands of several new owners, with each of whom the residents have been in a struggle to keep the building (ibid.). These struggles have involved physical resistance to police raids (ibid.). The residents view themselves, however, not just in a fight over a single property but in resistance to a general trend in Berliner city development (ibid.). At the Rigaer94 website, one could read:
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“… these modernization plans, just like in the Kastanie 86, or in the Brunnenstr. 183, are classified within the general restructuring plans of Friedrichshain and all of Berlin, as for example MediaSpree. Expensive and renovated apartments will be built, which the former renters cannot afford. The socially disadvantaged are systematically forced to the marginal districts, in order that space can be created for those who retain the necessary buying power, and want to spend their money in the consumption of a pseudo-alternative lifestyle,” (Rigaer94 2006).22 |
The Kadterschmiede – a bar located on the premises – supported the view further:
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“… it is a political conflict. Private profit seekers stand on the one side, and on the other side stand those who support the right to self-determination...” (Kadterschmiede 2006).23 |
This resistance furthers their view that the Rigaer94 is an alternative political project. Not only is the squat a meeting point for alternative discourses, but also their very presence is a statement of refusal of wider socio-economic trends.
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Like the Köpi, the Rigaer94 is explicitly separate social phenomeneon, with a separate agenda for the built environment from that of the City of Berlin. Their self-presentation explicitly signifies a commitment to their community and their space. Their space is also explicitly a meeting-point or centre for (their idea) of free space. It was also seen how collisions of these trajectories unfold: that of police force. Of course the police are not representatives of just any social movement, but that of the law and government. The readiness of the squatters to engage in conflicts with the law, might be seen as a readiness for refusal (Ausstieg) of the community of the German State.
In the 1980s, Kreuzberg squats were located at the western periphery of West Berlin, and Kreuzberg was famous for its squats. After the Wall fell, however, many squats found themselves sitting on prime central Berlin territories. Accordingly, development pressure in this district increased. Fifteen years after reunification, the Yorck59 squat was one of the few remaining. From 1988 to 2005 the Yorck59 was home to 60 adults and 11 children (yorck59 2008). It also housed meetings, exhibitions, children’s theatre, a bar, and a community kitchen (ibid.). In 2003 a series of court battles with the property owner began, that ended in forceful police eviction in 2005 (ibid.). At 4:30 am on a June morning, police arrived and encountered a human shield of approximately 200 members (ibid.). Throughout the day, participants were dragged away by police (ibid.). Unable to re-squat, as the building was immediately scheduled for renovations and put for sale as condominium lofts, the residents moved to a new building, called the NewYorck59, in Bethanien Mariannenplatz (ibid.). The Bethanien building provides housing for 70 people (ibid.). It also houses political and artist initiatives such as the Documentations Group for Anti-racist Initiatives, the Angolan Anti-militaristic Human Rights Initiative, The Initiative for the Future of Bethanien, the Collective for Art and Culture, and Libertad!.24 Campaigning, education and awareness, help-hotlines, theatre groups, solidarity parties, concerts are regular events. Equipped with a bar and café, the residents see Bethanien as an open neighbourhood meeting point providing affordable space for housing, grassroots initiatives and cultural events. According to their website, the City of Berlin has stated that they will be tolerated (gedulded) until November of 2006, at which point they would have to evacuate the premises. 14,000 signatures were collected to petition the eviction (Yorck59 2008).
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In the process of its fight to maintain the premises, the lifestyle of the participants is also publicly branded. At the official website of the Christian Democratic Party (the party that Chancellor Angela Merkel represents), the CDU-delegate for the district of Kreuzberg, Kurt Wansner, was quite vocal about his views:
“The squatters at Bethanien are the same people who squatted the Yorckstrasse 59. Should the spectre now continue at Bethanien? Democracy shames itself and lacks credibility if revolutionary powers siege vagabond houses and are allowed to destroy the property of others,”25 (CDU-Fraktion des Abgeordnetenhauses von Berlin 2007). |
As of February 2008, the Bethanien still stood (Bethanien 2008).
The Bethanien is yet again, another centre of alternative activity. Like the Köpi and the Rigaer94, it houses community kitchens, solidarity parties, and events and exhibitions. Like the Rigaer94, the inhabitants, too, have faced forced eviction and confrontation with the police. In this section, we also witness the comments of Christian Democratic member of Berliner Parliament and his views on “spectre …[and]…revolutionaries,” (ibid.). Also, the activities of the squatters, presumably inclusive of their social activism, are presented as destructive.
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The Brunnenstraße 183 is a post-Wall squat, and one of the last remaining in the central district of Mitte (Brunnen183 2007). The building has provided housing for up to 30 people of all ages since the mid 1990s (ibid.). Outfitted with a café, galleries, and music rooms, the residents understand their co-operatively run squat as an alternative housing project (ibid.). The residents place special emphasis on an anti-capitalist accumulation logic. On the ground floor, one can find the “Costs Nothing Store” (“Umsonstladen”) (ibid.). Here one can sift through various goods, and simply take them home. The visitor only needs to ask herself if she genuinely needs the object (ibid.). Goods are also not to be sold to a third party (ibid.). In the event that such an incident should occur, the visitor is barred from the premises (ibid.). Similarly, the visitor can bring and leave behind goods that she does not need anymore (ibid.). The primary stipulation here is that the goods must be in functioning order (ibid.). The shop runs on the basis of needs, and not on the basis of desire or capital power.
Like other squats, the Brunnenstraße 183 has also stood under threat of eviction (ibid.). To settle the uncertainty, the residents decided to respond to the City’s plan to auction the building off. A “Foundation for Free Space” (“Stiftung Freiraum”) was set up to administer donations towards its purchase (ibid.). Auction participants were required to come up with the minimum market value of the building. The squatters had achieved this sum of upwards of 250 thousand Euros (ibid.). However, at the last moment the auction was cancelled and the building was sold to a private investor, with whom they have since had a disputed rental agreement (ibid.). The landlord has since made various unsuccessful attempts to bar the residents from the property (ibid.). As of September 2006, the residents and shop remained under urgent threat of eviction, as the new owner plans to renovate the building and locate his practitioner’s office there (ibid.).
The Brunnenstraß3 183 is located within the Rosenthaler Vorstadt , a restoration district within Mitte, which was one of the first publicly subsidised zones in the eastern district to undergo upgrading. In 1993, along with Spandauer Vorstadt, Kollwitzplatz, Helmholzplatz, Samariterstrasse, and Pfarrstrasse/Kaskelstrasse, the tenement buildings of the Rosenthaler Vorstadt that were destroyed in the second world war and left largely unattended by the GDR were to be brought up to modern living standards – central heating, revitalised facades. According to Senatsverwaltung für Stadtentwicklung (2007 b ) the district contains 4777 tenement apartments, which required renovations after reunification. By 2003, two-thirds were completed (ibid.). Redevelopment of the Rosenthaler Vorstadt is intended to revitalise the neighbourhood and make it more attractive (ibid.). The Brunnenstraße183 itself is planned for mixed commercial and residential use. The residents of the Brunnenstraße 183, however, refuse a market-based negotiation. They write, “through commercial investors, the political and social character of the project would be destroyed,” (Brunnen183 2006).26
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The Brunnenstraße 183 is another centre. Radical images of clashes with the police are lacking, and the Brunnenstraße 183 does not present itself as a meeting point for the soli-parties or big events either. The Brunnenstraße 183 does, however, emphasize co-operation in terms of the organization of its housing, and a commitment to build spaces that refute capitalist accumulation. The “Costs Nothing Store” would be the materialization of this ideal. They also publicly resist the restoration plans of the local area, and view their building as a place for “free space”.
Standing at the heart of the district of Mitte is the famous Tacheles. Once an abandoned and severely damaged building during GDR rule, then a squatter’s settlement during the 1990s, it has now, after years of negotiation,27 integrated into its surroundings as a centre for the arts – or as cynics say a, “commercial senate sponsored, cultural Tra-la-la,” (Squat!net 2006).28
The Tacheles (Figure 3) was built at the end of the 19th century by architect Alfred Messel, and remains a significant architectural and historical monument in Berlin (Museum Mitte von Berlin 2003). It is said that the architectural form that the Tacheles was built as a “Cathedral of Commerce” intended to set le beau idéal for shopping centres to follow (ibid.). A decade later, architect Franz Ahrens built the Friedrichstraßenpassage in attempts to integrate the principles of shopping centres with pedestrian oriented avenues (ibid.). This became seen as (next to Unter den Linden) one of Berlin’s most important city centres, and the passage itself was one the largest in Europe (ibid.). Built in monumental grandiose dimensions, this spectacular glass roofed department store complex, built primarily from steel reinforced concrete, housed a series of small businesses (ibid.). Later, in 1927, the electric concern AEG moved in and occupied the 10,500 m2 retail space with its exhibition pieces. During the Second World War, the Tacheles suffered severe damage (ibid.). As a result, large parts of the ruins were torn down during the post-war rebuilding of Berlin. However, during GDR rule, the building remained largely unused, as were many buildings in this district (ibid.).
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In 1990, a group of artists recognised the building’s historic significance and occupied the premises to prevent it from being fully demolished (Tacheles 2008). What remained was the section that stands directly along the Oranienburger street (Oranienburgerstrasse), and it is this (now historic) ruin that became, once again, famous after German re-unification in 1989. Receiving tourists that numbered in the tens of thousands each year, the Tacheles became known because of its staggering (ruined) architecture, and as a centre for the outrageous arts and political action carried out by the resident squatters. Visual and performing arts were so off-ball that one day when a woman committed suicide by jumping of the 6th story, onlookers passing by dismissed her body as just another work of art (Hasselmann 2002).
As with other eastern squats, the residents occupied the building after the fall of the wall. 1997 was a pivotal year for the squatters of the Tacheles. After years of negotiation among the artists, the city, architects, and the general public, the building was finally sold to the Fundus Group (Tacheles 2008) – a group that specialises in the creation of vacation villas and luxury hotels, such as the luxurious Adlon Hotel in Berlin (Die Fundus Gruppe 2008). The architectural competition to redevelop the master plans for the site and surrounding neighbhourhood (the Johannisviertel) was won by a Floridian architectural firm, Duany Plater-Zyberk (Duany Plater-Zyberk 2006). The negotiations between the new owners and the squatters achieved a one hundred year lease at rents that the artists could accept.
The Tacheles, now an official tourist attraction endorsed by the city, sits as an arts and entertainment centre in the heart of the Johannisviertel, a neighbourhood in the district Mitte. Artists from around the world utilise the premises further for the production of arts and entertainment as well as the delivery of gastronomic services, while the City states that:
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“…the planned revitalisation of the property should take the alternative character into account,” (BerlinOnline Stadtportal GmbH & Co. KG 2006)29 |
What was, during the 1990s, a fight of ideologies resolved into a co-operation between the state and the counter culture – although some argue that it is not so counter anymore (Squat!Net 2006).
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Though not abandoned by all artists, one of the main reasons for the exodus of many squatters was the oncoming of exactly what it was that they initially refused: commercialization and state authority. Nowadays, the Tacheles is among the several New Modernist projects listed at the website of Duany Plater-Zyberk (2006). Figure 3 shows the Tacheles upon completion. The right-hand photo zeroes in on the new windows. After the inset of the windowpanes, the concrete structures around the window were sanded and moulded into a better-polished representation of the rough and gritty, bombed out look that it had before. At the same time, adjacent buildings will be refurbished or built to recreate the style ideal of the master planners (Duany Plater-Zyberk 2006).
Figure 3: The Tacheles after renovations (top). The photograph on the left shows the building from the south side after new windows were inserted. The photography on the right shows the windows close up (bottom). The ledges, once crumbling, were polished, but the ruined look was preserved. | ||
It is said that the Johannisviertel – the block that houses the Tacheles – will retain its artistic character (ibid.). However, complete with a wellness, pool, and gourmet restaurant, TsAO & McKown are planning the Johannisviertel Hotel that:
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“… is being designed as a four star hotel and will be operated by a world renowned boutique hotelier. It is located in the Berlin Mitte district and is the centrepiece of a 6 acre (2.4 hectare) development. The development will occupy one of the last remaining fully open sites in central Berlin in a vital and growing area often compared to New York’s SoHo, with many art galleries, shops and restaurants. The Hotel will be located on the northern end of Friedrichstrasse, Berlin’s Fifth Avenue, and will facilitate a link between the high-end atmosphere of central Friedrichstrasse and the more artistically inclined Mitte area,” (Tsao and Mckown 2006). |
Also, hired architects Robert A.M. Stern Architects, who designed the neighbouring building followed the ideals of:
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“…a luxury apartment house in the spirit of the Beresford Apartments on Central Park West occupies its own block with a garden court at the centre. An office building recalling the Flatiron Building is set on a triangular block between a shopping square and the Oranienburgerstrasse,” (Stern 2003: 506). |
The plans reveal a city block that will be redone to parallel New York City. Duany Plater-Zyberk (ibid.) state that after long negotiations, the Tacheles has or will become fully integrated into the surrounding neighbourhood (ibid.). Pausing for a moment to consider the real 5th Avenue in New York City: there one finds luxury shopping with Bergdorf Goodman, Bergdorf Men's, Brooks Brothers, Bulgari, Cartier, Disney Store, Fendi, Ferragamo Women's, Fortunoff, Gucci, H. Stern, Harry Winston, Henri Bendel, Kenneth Cole, Louis Vuitton, NBA Store, Prada, Saks Fifth Avenue, Sephora, Takashimaya, Tiffany & Co., Trump Tower, Van Cleef & Arpels, and Versace. If the Johannisviertel is to parallel this district, the neighourhood is set for expensive shopping and luxury tourism.
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The story of the Tacheles has much to tell us from the standpoint of Lefebvrian social space and the trajectories of otherness. Upon inception, the Tacheles was conceived as a monument to the architectural triumphs of the early 20th century, and as a prototype shopping mall that others would surely follow (Museum Mitte von Berlin 2003). It was perceived as a Cathedral of Commerce (ibid.), or as shopping for the sensation of it. As a space of representation, its massive size and ornate gardens were marketed as a meeting place for well-dressed, entertainment oriented consumers. The brightly lit AEG with its exhibitions of modern technology (ibid.) rendered the Tacheles, too, as a space of high-end consume. During the building’s Post-War II years, it sat derelict among the numerous square kilometres of destroyed tenements of the former Socialist Berlin (ibid.), perceived by the Socialist regime as unfit for modern use, and as government capital. After the wall fell, artists and political activists squatted the building under the perception of historical preservation (Tacheles 2008), and as a space for the realization of their interests. During these years, as the former eastern districts now rendered central and opened up to speculation, the squatters encountered conflicts over the right to remain on the premises. The colliding of trajectories, that parallel the Köpi, Rigaer94, Brunnenstraße 183, and the Bethanien, emerged: squatter versus City.
This City versus the squatter duality fragmented still further after the sale of the Tacheles. First, there was a fragmentation within the squatter movement itself. Some holding true to their ideals of anti-capitalism and self-help organization, left the Tacheles, refusing the new rules. Second, the arrival of private capital to the site, revealed a fragmentation on the side of the City. City officials were not merely addressing concerns of resident German citizens, but of the interests of private capital and international planning designs. In order to fully understand the transformation at the Tacheles, the histories of these new actors must also be investigated: that of Duany Plater-Zyberk, and that of the Fundus Group. Furthermore, the marriage or hybrid of this trajectory with that of the City reveals a new form of governance in this former eastern district of Berlin. What was previously publicly own property, is now a city-sponsored cultural centre, represented as a tourist attraction, and as an icon of the neighbourhood. One might venture, that the Tacheles had come full circle to its own pre-war roots as a cathedral of commerce and monument of architectural trend. As for the remaining squatters, one sees the subservience of rebelliousness to power from above. The radical activities of the agreeable inhabitants are legitimated and further represented by officials from outside.
By the production of new trajectories, representations have shifted. The facade of the Tacheles is no longer a mysterious free-space, as one might still interpret of the Rigaer94. The Tacheles, a now somewhat naturalised space, is visited daily by hundreds of tourists, who come to consume its art and culture. Anyone may walk in and about it. Regarding this transformation, one might argue that the City and the Fundus Group were ambassadors of a helpful moral authority, in the sense that these actors apparently tried to integrate difference. On the other hand, one might also argue that like graffiti, counter-culture is no longer counter once it is integrated. It is rendered instead to the realm of modernity and becomes a paradox. The art that is produced at the Tacheles – that was once alternative and radical – has been transformed into a representation of Berlin’s modern capital power.
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At the website of the Schwarzer Kanal, a trailer-village for women, lesbians, and transgendered, one could learn that at 15 years of age, it is one of Berlin’s oldest remaining wagon squats (Schwarzerkanal 2007). It is one of the few remaining illegal wagon squats. The 20 or so residents live in a small community of mobile homes (ibid.). Generally, the residents understand their village as a housing and cultural project (ibid.). Decisions concerning common issues are determined through consensus decision-making processes (ibid.). Environmental projects (rain water systems and solar power) also provide for electrical and water usage needs (ibid.). These measures are understood not only as practical (as infrastructures associated with housing are absent), but also as a wider environmental political project of green living (ibid.). The residents have occupied their current position on the Spree River since 2002 (ibid.). The current property was provided as a substitute for their former one (a few meters to the east across from the Köpi squat) from which they were evicted in order that Ver.di could build its central headquarters (ibid.). The community understands itself as a meeting point for cultural, social and political activities (ibid.). Events include queer cabarets, community kitchens (Volksküche), concerts, Open Air cinema, and solidarity parties (Soliparties) (ibid.). All events are free, and all performances and events are organised voluntarily (ibid.).
Most activities in 2006 circled around their fight to remain where they are, and the residents feel that it is not only their location of residence that is threatened but also their lifestyle. The trailer-village sits in opposition to two movements (ibid.). The first is a complaint that was filed by their new neighbours (an architectural firm and real estate agency) that the wagon village’s presence presented a devaluation of their own properties, and at the end of 2005, the Schwarzer Kanal was ordered to leave (ibid.). Refusing the order, the members took the case to a higher court (ibid.). In addition to this court complaint, the Schwarzer Kanal was also threatened by the MediaSpree Project that feared to increase developing pressure in their area (ibid.).
Like the Köpi and the Rigaer94, this trailer-village is presented as a separate social movement, with a separate agenda for the built environment than that of the City of Berlin. Their self-presentation explicitly signifies a commitment to their community, the environment, and to the politics of gender and body. Their space is also explicitly a meeting-point. The relocation of the squat reveals a shift, too, in their territorial boundaries that are rendered meek in the face of capital power. The relocation also reveals the mobility of the territorial boundaries. The boundaries did not disappear, they simply arose elsewhere. Because its prior position was in closer proximity to the Köpi, its relocation probably also signifies a fragmentation in the community.
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The Lohmühle trailer village was founded in 1991 by former members of the Schwarzer Kanal (Lohmühle 2008). The 21 members and their guests understand themselves as part of a mobile housing project that seeks a living style that is socially and ecologically sustainable. The wagon village was to integrate art, culture and ecology into a single urban community (ibid.).
The Lohmühle was founded on a deserted property located along the east bank of the Spree River in the district of Treptow, where until 1989, the Berlin Wall stood (Todestreifen) (ibid.). For 15 years, the community was under threat of eviction, as all property in Berlin is privately owned – even the land upon which the Wall stood. However, in the summer of 2006 a land use agreement was reached, allowing the residents to remain on the property for another five years. The Lohmühle, therefore, began to enjoy tenure free of eviction pressure. Their current struggles are of an internal nature and a side-effect of the process towards realisation of their idealised utopia.
An immediate goal is to find ways to live longer-term in Gemeinschaft despite seemingly irreconcilable differences. The residents, themselves, are of diverse education, professions, and income level (Lohmühle 2008). High value was therefore placed on peaceful communication and egalitarian and hierarchy free decision-making (ibid.). The residents also place emphasis on the village as possibility to live free of the relatively anonymous rental housing market, and the larger capitalist system (ibid.). Outside of this system, the residents enjoy a sense of freedom and self-determination (ibid.). The Lohmühle is also host to a number of cultural events that support avant garde art as well as social political awareness (ibid.). The Lohmühle is also home to the Kulturbanausen e.V. -- an association that supports the realization of creative ideas. Towards this purpose one would also find a stage, a gallery, and studio workshops on site (ibid.).
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Another emphasis is on ecological sustainability (ibid.). Towards this goal, a myriad of systems have been built. Energy is provided by solar and wind power. The village is also complete with natural water purification systems, an underground electricity-free cool room, and integrated composting system. While the Lohmühle is located along the Todestreifen, where all greenery had been cleared away for the Wall, the residents also took the initiative to plant a number of trees, bushes and wild flowers, and renaturalise the riverbank (ibid.). Lastly, because value is placed on organic fresh food, residents use their land for subsistence gardening (ibid.).
Like the Schwarzer Kanal, the Lohmühle was wrapped up in legal conflicts over the right to remain in place. The Lohmühle reached an agreement that included their right to stay for 5 years. This is not very long in comparison to the 100-year lease offered to the artists at the Tacheles, but it is long enough to develop some sense of steadiness. Neither a tourist destination, nor a neighbourhood icon, nor supported by city funds, the Lohmühle has retained some of its autonomous character. One might observe that their struggles have now shifted towards being able to actually establish a longer-term community – something that was, until 2006, forbidden. The residents are preoccupied with projects to organise the community and its infrastructure.
I have constructed this section in such a way that can illuminate immigrant movements as a pathway. On one hand, it exposes migration movements as horizontal (see 4.3.2). On the other hand, it also exposes a political problem: at what point are newcomers allowed to stay? Must they pass through after a certain term has expired (such as permits granted to students, workers or asylum seekers)? Or are they allowed to arrive, and make a home? If yes, how many hoops must they jump through to earn this privilege? Hoffman, Fainstein, and Judd’s (2004: 3), proposed regulation theory as a theoretical framework to understand tourism and its impacts on cities. They defined tourism in accordance with that of the World Tourist Organization as, "any person who stays away from home overnight for a limited time," (Hoffman et. al. 2004: 3). In this section, I extrapolate on this argument so that anyone who is not granted citizenship is a visitor. As such, temporary residents, seasonal workers, refugees, and permanent landed immigrants could be regarded as staying away from home for a limited time. This situation would apply to most newcomers in Germany. The parallel can be used to tell a story of how longer term residence is also a process wrought with entrances and exits oriented around a border, as each country has its own myriad of social and institutional structures that regulate and control a visitor's arrival, stay and departure. In this section, I will illustrate the borders that structure Berliner visitors. However short or long-term, I will tell a story in which visitors might encounter measures where they are managed, controlled, and channelled through various institutional structures that are governed at various levels of jurisdiction that are confined and secured by entrenched and rigid social-cultural norms. The result is a pathway wrought with obstacles, and one might wonder how they manage, in this situation, to produce their space, if they manage at all.
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Figure 4: While restoring the Brand en burger Tor, a curtain advertising the German Telephone Company (Deutsche Telekom) was draped to conceal the construction process. Standing in the background of the picture are the Eiffel Tower and the Arc de Triomph du Carrousel. At the top, the advertisement reads, “The World is Drawing near … DSL, ” (“Die Welt rückt näher ... DSL”). | ||
Whether short-term or long-term, arriving at any new country is a process penetrating the nation’s semi-permeable borders – boundaries that first reveal themselves as applications for visas (usually at consulates at point of departure), and continue to unveil themselves in transit and upon landing. If one were to do a little research on Berlin before setting out, they would also encounter Berlin as it is presented and marketed to the rest of the world, as Berlin advertises itself as a diverse cosmopolitan world city.
One must look closely at Figure 4 to notice that this is not a photograph of the Brandburger Tor in Berlin. Indeed, it is the Brandburger Tor draped in an advertisement, during its renovation. At the time this photo was taken (ca. 2000) much of the promenade, Unter den Linden, many parts of Mitte, and most of Prenzlauer Berg were still under construction, and what the reconstructed Berlin would yield remained in question.30 It was also a time when many other cities were turning to post-fordist models of flexible accumulation31 and globalising32, and it seemed the newly reunified Berlin might still be poised to do so as well33. This optimism is shown in Figure 4, as the German Telephone Company (Deutsche Telekom) suggested: Parisian (i.e. international) landmarks in the background coinciding with high speed internet. One might venture and interpret that the dark charcoal covered and fragmented Berlin will be cleaned, united, and global. Presumably, for the purposes of this dissertation, like other global cities, the social milieu would reflect this new global character. The new Berlin would be a meeting point, or a place of global trajectories.
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In 2005, the Berliner Senate concluded the document entitled, “Encouraging Diversity – Strengthening Cohesion,” (Commissioner for Integration and Migration of the Senate of Berlin 2005). It was intended as a guideline for integration policy for Berlin. The ideas outlined in this document, along with some previously published statistics of Berlin and Germany, help to substantiate the image of Berlin as an open and diverse city.
Among 24 countries reported on by the Organisation for Economic Co-operation and Development (OECD), Germany had one of the highest rates – in absolute numbers – of immigration (OECD 2005a). Germany permitted entry to nearly 700,000 new arrivals in 2002, ranking it empirically second to the United States that admitted more than a million foreign-born residents that, despite tougher regulation in response to September 11th, was an increase over previous years (OECD 2005a: 23). This statistic placed Germany, however, 7th, after Luxembourg, New Zealand, Switzerland, Austria, Australia, and Canada, once these numbers were transformed into percentages of total population (OECD 2005b: 120). This data is highly irresolute, however, due to the varying admittance records among the different nations. In Canada, the United States, Australia, and New Zealand, for example, “immigrants” include permanent residents – that is, those with permission to live and work in the country (OECD 2005b: 116). Persons with student visas, work permits, or those without official permission whatsoever, may not factor in to the data at all. (ibid.). There may also be differing views on whether a person an immigrant if she is born inland or foreign-born (ibid.: 117). In contrast, German data, calculated from population registers, does include all legal residents but does not indicate what status the permitted immigrants obtained. Still, on a global scale, Germany is perceived as a receiving nation of immigrants.
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OECD (2005a) also compared the rates of asylum by comparing the number of asylum applications received by each country. Between 1996 and 1999, Germany ranked first place among OECD nations, having received over 90,000 applications for asylum annually (OECD 2005: 313). In 2000, Germany was overtaken by the United Kingdom, in 2003, Germany ranked fourth behind, the United Kingdom, the United States, and France, respectively (ibid.). Although it cannot be confirmed from the data, that Germany, indeed, admitted the highest number of asylum seekers, it can be interpreted that Germany is, at least, seen as either an attractive or practical country to emigrate to, or seek refuge in.
In recent years, Berlin has begun to flaunt itself as a multicultural city. In 2003, at the City’s official website,34 the Senate’s chief official of Foreigner Affairs (Ausländerbeauftragte des Senats 2007a) boasted that Berlin is host to 460,000 foreign nationals. Of these, the most prominent feeder countries were Turkey, Yugoslavia, Italy, Poland (Ausländerbeauftragte des Senats 2007b). These numbers do not include the Russian-Germans that had settled in the Soviet Union in response to land grants offered by Catharine the Great and were permitted re-entry into Germany and given German citizenship after reunification. Numbers since January 2000 may also be smaller as many resident non-Germans became eligible for citizenship. These numbers also say nothing about the residence or citizenship status of the immigrant.
Naturalization in Berlin has gone up and down since reunification. In absolute numbers of citizenship granted, the rate has only increased between 1986 and 1999. The dramatic increase in 1995 was a result of a new law (Ausländergesetz) that permitted Russian-Germans (Spätaussiedler) access to German citizenship (Die Beauftragte der Bundesregierung für Migration Flüchtlinge und Integration 2008). For five years, a naturalization process was set up to administer citizenship. This process was abandoned in 2000, and Russian Germans were granted citizenship automatically upon entry and proof of status (ibid.). Thus in 2000, as this group was no longer counted, the rate of naturalization dropped (ibid.). The rates are not so dramatic if the number of naturalised is put in proportion with the number of registered resident non-citizens. Throughout the 1990s, between 2.07 and 2.8 percent of all resident non-citizens were naturalised. From 2000 onwards the percentile sank to and oscillated around a rather steady average of 1.5%. This data is also compounded by the observations of Häußermann, Läpple and Siebel (2008: 314, 319), who noted not only the drop in the rate of naturalization despite changes in the law, but also that of the 8.5 million migrants in Germany as of 2008, only 1.2 million migrants have applied for the German passport, while 7.3 million have not.
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The integration policy that was completed in 2005 (Commissioner for Integration and Migration of the Senate of Berlin 2005) was created as a guideline to deal with the issues that diverse cities face. The goal was to present Berlin as a city open and welcoming to newcomers. Integration was defined as:
“…the opposite of segregation or exclusion … Integration means that single individuals or entire groups receive equal chances both towards the participation in societal life and the articulation of their interests, as well as protection from individual and collective exclusion. Integration is, in its core, the production of equal possibilities. Integration is in no way to be understood as assimilation into or adjustment to the existing conditions,” (Commissioner for Integration and Migration of the Senate of Berlin 2005: 6-7).35 |
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That is, very clear goals for the encouragement of diversity were outlined. Twelve essential components of the integration policy were further formulated and these included participation in the democratic society, the creation of more user-friendly public services, improved access to education and employment, improved support in kindergartens, improved welcoming structures for migrants, extra attention to problem neighbourhoods, protection of women’s rights, the recognition of Islam and fight against Islamic fundamentalism, protection from discrimination and the fight against white power groups, as well as improved access for refugees (Commissioner for Integration and Migration of the Senate of Berlin 2005: 8-10).
While the statistics and statements publicised by the Berlin government might suggest an open Berlin, a recent publication on the subject suggests otherwise. In their book Stadtpolitik, Häußermann, Läpple and Siebel (2008: 315) stated that Germany early in integration phase, and that the difficult conditions for newcomers are easily proven.
Häußermann et. Al. (ibid.) wrote that integration is reached when no systematic differences could be recognised according to distribution of social position, status, and resources (e.g. money, appearance, occupation, living standards). Integration can happen if there are openings in the labour market, education system, and housing, and if newcomers are accepted by existing residents (some of these points will be revealed in detail later in this chapter).
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It would seem that it is, at least, the representation of Berlin as an open and diverse city that city officials and decision-makers deem important. From outside of Germany, too, there is some evidence that Germany is also viewed as an attractive place to migrate to. Once inside the nation however, migrants seem unwilling to naturalise. Why this is the case remains unknown, and the data would seem contradictory to the efforts from above to integrate them. Inside German academic circles, some of the problems that migrants encounter come into view – a discursive arena that may sway politicians’ courses of action, and the image and reality of Berlin.
(Häußermann et al. 2008: 313) stressed that it is increasingly inappropriate to discuss migrants as one group. Not only because many migrants have naturalised and are no longer visible, but also because within the group the migrants there are vast differences (ibid.). Still, however, all migrants must cross borders and go through the bureaucratic hoops to land. This is one common experience that all migrants share – even if it is the only experience. Within the European Union, border crossing is a rather insignificant event. Travelling by foot, bike, car, or train, from a Schengen nation, Germany, and Berlin can be entered without passport or customs checks. Individuals arriving from outside the Schengen region, may or will be subject to passport and customs controls (Bundespolizei 2006). Adult citizens of the European Union, without a criminal record, have the option of fast and convenient control, pending an iris scan (ibid.). If coming from outside the EU, Germany, and Berlin are unreachable by land as Germany is bordered exclusively by EU nations. Entry in Germany via the international air and sea ports is possible, and necessary custom controls are carried out there as well.
Entry requirements vary widely depending on travel history, nationality, planned length of stay, reason of stay. For non-EU citizens, residence permits must be applied for in person in the country of departure, except for nationals of the United States, Canada, Israel, Japan, South Korea, New Zealand, and Australia, who can apply after arrival (Auswärtiges Amt 2008). Upon application the following must be submitted for review (ibid.): 1) a valid passport; 2) two original copies of filled in application forms; 3) two photographs; 4) an employment contract, a written job offer from a German employer, or letter of admission to a German university; 5) a statement demonstrating financial funds. Asylum is also possible for victims of political persecution. Temporary residency permits may be available to asylum applicants during the application process. After a residency permit is granted, an individual is able to register a home address (mandatory for all residents of Germany), open a bank account, and acquire German regulated health insurance.
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In comparison to 20 years ago, Germany has opened its borders quite considerably, and its national borders have dissipated so that any EU national can arrive. Citizens of other non-EU nations may also arrive pending their ability to obtain cultural capital, i.e. work. Yet, the geography of immigration bureaucracy remains one wrought with very real and steadfast borders – in accordance with the Westphalian model of nationality (Benhabib 2004) – to those of all other nations primarily of the east and south. Like the fences that Bauman described:
“…they divide otherwise uniform space in an ‘inside’ and an ‘outside’ but what is ‘inside’ for those on one side of the fence is ‘outside’ for those on the other…” (Bauman 2007: 76). |
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Those attempting to get inside Germany are defined first as outsiders and are de facto illegal until proper papers are obtained. For many, this border has become naturalised. That is, most do not question it, and like Lefebvre’s (1991: 313) driver who does not question, neither the production processes nor the fragmentations that this border produces are perceived by those unaffected by it. However, those affected by it (e.g. migrants), or fragmented by this border, will indeed perceive it. Thus, the protest groups that have arisen on this issue: The Right to a Voice (La Droit à Voi) in France or No One is Illegal (Kein Mensch ist illegal) in Germany and North America.
Before the Berlin Wall fell, the former East German government held tight reins on immigration, and tourism was restricted to certain districts. In the eastern district of Prenzlauer Berg, Husemann Street was renovated and held as an example to tourists of an East Berlin neighbourhood. Sometimes tourists boarded a tour bus that would drive down a particular prescribed path and then back out again. These tourists would never see the square kilometres of bombed and decaying tenement housing. The well kept, painted, and polished buildings of Husemann Street were all that would be presented and seen. In the same way, it can be observed how longer-term residents are channelled and controlled – a process that to not prevent a newcomer from viewing the rest, but a process that inhibits full settlement and the establishment of a sense of home, of community, and of belonging.
In Berlin, as already said, there is much discourse and concern over the inclusive and exclusive aspects of Berlin as a diverse city. Häußerman, Läpple, and Siebel (2008: 316-319) argued that housing, employment and education were the three pillars of integration. Here, I will add that image production, language politics, and social spatial organization are further issues that newcomers will be faced with after sifting through the borders of landing, and settling, adjusting, carving out a life.
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After passing through the gates and the satisfying the government officials, a newcomer can land, move through and experience the city. By being there, one can test the representation of Berlin as a diverse city against the lived experience. To illustrate, I can draw upon my own experiences during my first visits to Berlin in 1999. First, sushi served on and chosen from a conveyor belt, then an IMAX film, then a piña colada served from a Caribbean stand at the street market, and then settling down in an audience of mainly western tourists, and closing the evening with some Kentucky Dixie music interpreted and performed by local musicians: this was experienced on a summer night at Potsdamer Platz – all hosted on the piece of land owned by Daimler-Benz. Or in Kreuzberg on another summer day, while shopping I found some Japanese udon noodles, Brazilian coffee, and a salty Turkish yoghurt drink at a local supermarket. Later that night, I went out and ate at a Sri Lanken restaurant before catching the latest Inuit film, and turned down the opportunity to check out some Asian Techno. These were real experiences travelling along particular contours of particular landscapes in Berlin. Similar experiences can also frequently be obtained, simply by opening up a local entertainment magazine, Zitty, and choosing from a list of activities on any particular day. Berlin was fun, and one might venture that these possible everyday perceptions of space might support the representation of Berlin as open and integrative.
Another view (e.g. Klaus 2004: 262-263), however, holds that my experience demonstrates that culture is something to be consumed, and to be sure, none of these experiences can expose anything about the barriers to economic and social integration, other than that a foreigner (myself) can indeed consume what might be their products. Such a representation of Berlin – as a collection of national identities spread across a field otherwise called a city – also masks the transnational aspects of the potential migrants. It neutralizes space such that consumers may become the uncritical participants. Were the workers at the Caribbean stand indeed newcomers? Were they indeed Caribbean? What are their histories and what geography do they perceive? Does this geography transcend national borders? Is this information not essential in order to understand the depth, complexity and richness of transnational spatial geographies and trajectories? This fragmentation, as well as all the hybridities and resulting problems of classification36, is hidden.
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Some critics have observed that public and private actors in city development forge a certain imagery of the city as a form of urban boosterism and identity fabrication. Klaus (2004: 264), for one example, has already observed in other European cities, a role, and this role has its function in the creation of the multicultural image of the city. Klaus (ibid.) has showed that, in the case of Zurich, there is the rigorous promotion of a wide and varied array of cultural services inside a flexible economy. Being multicultural is trendy and cool (ibid.). Also, in telling the story of the Info Box that stood at Potsdamer Platz, Lehrer (2004: 44) showed that this deceivingly modest structure was an integral part of a particular marketing strategy to promote the area, and the image of Berlin. One might wonder if everyday experiences and perceptions like mine as a consumer also have a similar function. One might question my role as a consumer, the role of Daimler-Benz as a host, and/or the city’s role for releasing the permit for the festival. Why was this festival held? Who profited? For whom was it targeted? For me, as the passive consumer, these questions were not readily in view. The space was again neutralised, and production process masked.
Another side of the production process that is masked by such festivals as the one at Potsdamer Platz, are the everyday lives of the workers at the festivals. If they were indeed newcomers to Berlin, not only would their transnational histories be relevant, but also their everyday experiences within Berlin itself as newcomers. Häußerman et. al. (2008: 313-315) have already stated that the social situation for newcomers is worse than for native-born Germans. Their analysis showed that the unemployment rate for migrants is 20%, that migrants earned less, and that they seldom held positions demanding higher qualifications (e.g. in banking, insurance, or civil service) (Häußerman et. al. 2008: 316-317). In terms of education, they also showed that newcomers are more likely to leave school without diploma, and are over represented in schools for pupils with special needs (Sonderschule) (Häußerman et. al. 2008: 317-318). Furthermore, only 40% of new residents achieve higher than a 10th grade certificate (Hauptschuabschluß) (ibid.).
This situation is exacerbated by a stream-lining school system that regulates children of both citizens and non-citizens through a minimum of 9 years and a maximum of 13 years of educational institution. The City of Berlin refers to the stream-lines as “Educational Paths” (Bildungswege) (Senatsverwaltung für Bildung, Wissenschaft und Forschung Berlin 2008). Learning can begin at two years of age if parents choose to put their children in kindergarten where attendance is voluntary. At six years of age, elementary school (Grundschule) begins. After completion of the fifth grade, the children are divided across four kinds of schools in which to continue their schooling – two main schools (Hauptschule and Realschule), high school (Gesamtschule), and prep school (Gymnasium)37. The different schools and their functions have developed over many years. The Hauptschule and Realschule were once considered the main schools, or the schools in which most attended. Historically, these were schools for children of working class or farming families. Pupils expect a certificate of completion after the 10th grade (ibid.) after which graduates of Hauptschule have the option of continuing at a vocational college (Berufsschule), or at the Realschule whose graduates have the option of switching over to Gymnasium to complete another 3 years of secondary education. Gymnasium was the school that pupils attended if they wanted to prepare for University (ibid.). Gymnasium schools are the only schools that offer an education at par with international standards (Artelt et. al. 2001: 44-45).
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The failure of German students to achieve even average results on the OECD Program for International Student Assessment (PISA), first published in 2001 (ibid.), was a signal that the German school system was in need of structural change38. In a comparison of 32 countries, German 15-year-old pupils scored below average in each of the three broad categories of assessment, reading literacy, mathematical literacy, and scientific literacy (Artelt et. al. 2001: 13, 21, 28) – a result that sent devastating shock waves through the education and political system. The report also showed that more than half of all teenagers of non-German parents did not attend Gymnasium (Artelt et. al. 2001: 38). Rather, they attended Hauptschule – schools that by contrast were attended by only 25% of teenagers whose parents were both German born (ibid.). Furthermore, 15-year-olds attending Hauptschule scored lowered competency levels than those of Gymnasium which scored top levels of competency among other leading countries (Artelt et. al. 2001: 44-45). Essentially, the PISA results indicated an extreme process of differentiation among German pupils according to citizenship, whereby new residents were very likely to be streamlined towards a substandard education.
We can view these streamlines as real and concrete trajectories that are being produced within Germany. Clearly, this is fragmenting production process. As the data from Häußerman et al. (2008: 316) has also suggested, the educational trajectories will also lead to differentiating trajectories within the labour market. The school system here, is also a site of colliding trajectories – that of migrants that may have other expectations or needs, and that of the school system as an extension of the German state – who meet at a certain point in time and cannot integrate with one another. The result is a perhaps not further fragmentation, but at the very least a preservation of the status quo whereby migrants remain at the margins during their stay, just as they did upon arrival.
German is the official language of Berlin and Germany, and the language barrier is one barrier that a newcomer might encounter. German is the official language of administration and a general prerequisite for governmental and most other employment sectors39. In recent years, some companies (outside of the gastronomy industry) now offer services in various languages. A German bank and postal service (Postbank) and the Berliner subway (Berliner Verkehrsbetriebe), for example, both offer vending machine services in various languages including Turkish. Museums often provide information in English as well. Lohaus and Lindemann (2003: 13), however, argued that German social policy generally targets those languages that are economically influential not those that are simply used by and among residents. Although some improvement in institutional access (institutional opening) can be witnessed in Berlin, by and large non-economically productive languages remain unsupported – this too, regardless of the languages most commonly spoken in the homes by Berliner residents. Turkish, for example, is the language spoken in the homes of families who have emigrated from Germany’s most frequent feeder nation. This aspect has become a critical question in Berlin (and wider Germany) in recent years.
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The language barrier as a problem in German schools has been widely discussed in the media. It has been observed that children born of parents who are not born in Germany do not excel in the school system (Artelt et al., 2001: 38). The root cause that is usually cited is not the German school system or the greater socio-political and economic system in which the school system is embedded, rather the children and their families themselves, and it is from this starting point that policies to address the issue are constructed. In 2004, a new policy was voted in, approving mandatory German language tests for children upon entering the first grade. For children who did not demonstrate the desired level of proficiency, further German language courses are mandatory. Preparation for the test would be conducted in the kindergartens. Whether or not more spaces would be allotted in Gymnasium to accommodate and admit the resultantly better prepared students was not in discussion. In a speech to the Berliner Parliament (Berliner Abgeordnetenhaus) on the 15th of January 2004, Senator Klaus Böger hailed the new and greater package of school reforms – in which this language policy was a part:
"The results from the PISA test have shown that, in Germany, the social background is a greater determinant of the child’s education success than the child's ability. This is not acceptable to us, and this is what we want to change,"40(Böger 2004: 2). |
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To complement, the integration policy completed in 2005 also outlined steps towards the more equal distribution of newcomers throughout the school system. Three primary measures were outlined in the English version: 1) that students should master the German language; 2) that immigrant parents should also acquire the German language; and 3) that students and parents alike need to acquire the basic information of German culture and society (Commissioner for Integration and Migration of the Senate of Berlin 2005: 8).
Turkish communities in Berlin viewed the situation another way. The Turkish Union in Berlin-Brandenburg (2004), an umbrella organization representing the interests of 21 member associations in Berlin, agreed that language training for all children (including German speaking children) was a useful tool towards educational integration. The organization, however, also lobbied for (Turkish Union in Berlin Brandenburg 2004): 1) further and more intensive training of pre-school and school teachers towards the purposes of increasing their ability to support, encourage, and teach bi- or multilingual children; 2) the general addition of classes in Turkish as a second language to the school program, as well the addition of Turkish language as an Abitur41 relevant subject; and 3) the general transition away from the assumption that school children are a homogenous group with a German ancestry and towards, instead, an assumption of that school children are a heterogeneous group.
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Again we see a discourse that promotes Berlin as a city open to diversity, as shown in the speech by Senator Klaus Böger (2004: 2). Yet, the response to the problem of fragmentation within the school system is to lay the onus on the consumers who have problems consuming the education – i.e. the migrants – and not on the elements within the production process – i.e. the school system. It is recognised that the school is a site of colliding trajectories, but instead of trying to unite and harmonise them within the school system, an attempt to erase differential trajectories at the onset is made; thus, overlooking the fragmentary character of the school system. The depth of this harmonization of difference at the onset, has also resulted in attempts to go into the homes of migrants and adjust how they speak with one another. It was exactly the assumption that consumers of the school system are homogeneous, that the Turkish Union challenged. Their position shows one of difference, one that does not challenge the various trajectories that children have travelled before entering school, but challenges the school’s capabilities in managing difference.
The streamlined school system is also running the risk of creating a neutralised space. For pupils, and parents of pupils who attend Gymnasium, the system need not be questioned –like Lefebrve’s (1991: 313) driver who does not question. Indeed, the school system was not questioned until an outside international study was conducted that damaged the image of German schools on an international stage. But for those for whom the system works, and for those who will be set on life trajectories of power and capital, the problems of the Hauptschule and Sonderschule, indeed need not be questioned. This space is apparently natural. Furthermore, those questioning and those formulating the solutions are again those with decision-making power. The advantaged signify the disadvantaged. Turkish residents whose communities are indeed affected by the school system have different opinions on the solutions – solutions, too, that are not being transformed into policy. The signified signify themselves and are not heard.
Figure 5: A governmental postcard: “German Turk” (Deutsche Türkin) (Die Beauftragte der Bundesregierung für Ausländerfragen 1999). | ||
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Another dilemma that converts itself into a barrier is the state regulation of the expression of difference on the grounds of preserving a so-called condition of neutrality. Across the world, the story of Afghani-German Fereshta Ludin was to be read42. She had been forbidden to teach at a German school because she wore a tschador to work (Benhabib 2004: 198-200). The Stuttgart Higher School Authority forbade her appointment to the school on the grounds that her headscarf was a statement of cultural divergence and thereby not just a religious symbol but also a political symbol. It was also argued that wearing a tschador conflicted with parents and pupil rights to an ideology-free schooling under Article 6.2 of the constitution (ibid.).
Religious freedom is protected in the constitution under Articles 3, 4, 33.2, and 33.3. The paragraphs under Article 3 of the constitution read:
“(1) All persons are under the constitution equal. (2) Men and women are equal. The State supports the actual assertion of the equality of men and women and is active on the removal of existing disadvantages. (3) No one may be disadvantaged or advantaged on the grounds of his sex, his ancestry, his race, his language, his religious or political outlook. No one may be disadvantaged on the grounds of his disability,”43 (Bundesministerium der Justiz 2008a). |
In addition, articles 33.2 and 33.3 state:
“(2) Each German has, according to his aptitude, skills, and professional performance, equal access to every public office. (3) The enjoyment of civil rights, the access to public offices as well as rights acquired to public services, are independent of religious confession,”44 (Bundesministerium der Justiz 2008b). |
Furthermore, Articles 4.1 and 4.2 state:
“(1) the freedom of belief, the conscience and the freedom of religious and philosophical confessions are inviolable. (2) The undisturbed expression of religion will be guaranteed,”45 (Bundesministerium der Justiz 2008c). |
Ludin’s case was taken to the Supreme Court where it was finally ruled that Ludin should be permitted to continue wearing her tschador (Benhabib 2004: 198). However, the court also deemed that individual German States (Länder) could forbid it, should they see fit (ibid.). The verdict of the High Court effectively decentralised, downloaded, and deferred the decision; thus, enabling them to take an inoffensive position while at the same time not fully protecting Ludin’s civil rights to difference.
Shortly after the verdict of the Supreme Court, the individual States began drafting amendments to their state-wide constitutions. The German States that went forward with the tschador prohibition – of which, Berlin was one (Senatsverwaltung für Integration, Arbeit und Soziales 2008: 5) – supported the argument that it was the teacher’s duty to remain neutral and not display religious or political leanings. Teachers were obliged to remain “neutral” (ibid.). Berlin modified Article 29 of the Constitution of Berlin (ibid.), prohibiting the display of all religious symbols not just in schools46, but also in all public offices. Neutrality, and the codes associated with such a condition, became obligatory.
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Conspicuously absent from the discussion in the courts and within the media was the notion of neutrality and its implications. The status quo attire of existing teachers defined the court’s vision of neutrality – perhaps not unlike the woman in the postcard “Deutsche Turkin” (Figure 5) that was distributed by the government in 2000 to advertise the new immigration laws (Die Beauftragte der Bundesregierung für Ausländerfragen 1999). It the front, the postcard reads, “German Turk” (Deutsche Türkin). On the flipside, it reads, “Citizens with foreign passports. Speak German. Think German. Dream German.”47 The postcard says nothing about diversity or freedom of expression. It also did not clarify what a citizen with a foreign passport is, since Germany does not permit dual citizenship to residents whose migratory history extends beyond the European Union. Nonetheless, the woman on the postcard is young, appears healthy and confident, and is above all not displaying any foreign symbols – she is not wearing a hijab or tschador, and the black and white production of this picture renders her skin colour pale. The postcard was distributed entirely independently of the Ludin case, but its message remains clear: this is what new Turkish Germans look like; new Turkish Germans will think and act in German; citizens with foreign passports will not be foreign. Was this the condition of neutrality that the German courts had in mind?
Häußermann et. al. wrote that integration is reached when:
“no systematic differences can be recognised according to distribution of social position and resources, for example, wealth, appearance, occupation, living standards,”48 (Häußermann et. al. 2008: 315). |
Whether integration is truly met under these conditions is indeed a curious question, but Häußermann et. al (ibid.) are also indicating to their readers a condition of neutrality that does not mean that everyone must earn, work, live, and look the same. It merely means, that the visible material characters and symbols of a person’s body carry no determinable meaning. In an urban setting where this form of neutrality is the norm, Ludin’s tschador would not carry any determinable meaning to the observer (see Goodewardena and Kipfer 2003: 225). The fact that the tschador did carry meaning to the schools and the courts indicates that another a priori norm or ideology had been challenged. When Berlin asserted the prohibition of Ludin’s attire, they also placed greater value on this pre-existing, yet neither universal, natural, nor neutral norm.
With the story of Ludin, the Muslim population is seen again fighting for recognition of its difference. We also see various trajectories colliding in the work place, and the incapability or willingness of the work place to manage these differences. We also see the apathy of the government to protect this difference, in the name of protecting a so called homogeneous whole. Again instead of examining the institution (the work place), those States that prohibited the tchador attempted to harmonise the trajectories from the onset.
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“Do we have to go by Weekend Ticket?” Ahmed asked as he shifted his weight. |
“Well, it’s cheaper…” I shrugged. |
“Yeah, ok… I just prefer not to travel on the milk-run trains through the New States if I can avoid it.” |
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Later, on a regional train somewhere in Brandenburg, my darker skinned German friend and I, with my pale skin, were greeted by twenty or so drunken skinheads who at the looks of my friend, began chanting, “Ausländer raus! Ausländer raus! Ausländer raus!“ Meanwhile, as we crept to our seats, I kept my foreign language mouth tightly shut. |
The above is a description of a personal experience travelling from Berlin to Soest by regional trains in the summer of 2000. It was shocking to witness such hatred, and disturbing to see that some German citizens have to endure it.
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Violence against visible minorities has been a growing problem in Berlin and wider Germany for some years now. On this, Neidhardt commented:
“Right wing extreme, xenophobic, and anti-semetic crimes must not be seen as isolated incidents. They are embedded in a societal climate, are based in attitudes shared by part of the population, are deliberate or at least tolerated consequences of strategies, are often committed by members of particular subcultures, scenes, or groups, and are part of wider socio-political and economic patterns,”49 (Neidhardt 2000: 93). |
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Despite recognition of the seriousness of the problem, xenophobic violence rose in the following years, and in September of 2006, the citizens that either passively accept or actively support such a climate voted the Nationaldemokratische Partei Deutschlands (NPD) into the Berliner district parliaments of Lichtenberg, Marzahn- Hellersdorf, Treptow-Köpenick und Neuköln. The problem has lead to public discussions about the existence of areas which are dangerous to anti-nationalist supporters. The creation of regions of national liberty (National befreite Zone) is, too, one more goal achieved by the extreme right.
The statistics of xenophobic violence and its ubiquity vary somewhat, depending on the source and the exact object of measurement. The Anti-racist Initiative Association (Antirassistische Initiative e.V.) in Berlin (2005: 3-345) reported the deaths of 80 refugees who have been killed by racist violence between 1993-2005. Kahane (2003: 2) reports that members of the extreme right wing have committed over 100 murders since reunification. The victims were homeless, left leaning teenagers, refugees and persons of darker skin colour. The Berliner Senate Administration for Education, Youth and Sport (Senatsverwaltung für Bildung, Jugend und Sport) (2005: 3) reported 50, 36, 26, 39, and 62 racist offences within the school for the school years beginning 2000, 2001, 2002, 2003, 2004, respectively. Fifteen of the 62 cases in 2004 involved physical violence. In fall of 2006, the Tagesspiegel (2006) reported the statistics published by the German Federal Criminal Police Office (Bundeskriminalamt): eight thousand racially motivated criminal offences were registered in the first 8 months of 2006 – a number 20% higher than the equivalent time frame in 2005.
The number of violent crimes against visible minorities reached a point where some were willing to publish warnings to prospective visitors. During the summer of 2006, Germany was host to the World Cup. Shortly before the opening, the Africarat (Afrikarat 2007) in Berlin circulated 10,000 flyers that warned visitors about No-Go Areas in Berlin. They also circulated warnings to several African countries (ibid.). The flyer identified several districts in Berlin that visitors should avoid for fear of racist violence (ibid.). During the World Cup, too, a hotline was set-up for victims of racism (ibid.). The hotline was set up with respect to the experience that previous victims have no faith in the police force (ibid.). With a hotline, victims could speak with someone who: a) is on their side; b) can speak their language; and c) is capable of acting as a mediator between them and the German administration (ibid.). The hotline received 11 reports inside 14 days (ibid.). The project was supported, among others, by Student’s Association of the Technical University of Berlin (Allgemeiner Studierendenausschuss TUHH), Reach Out, Victim’s Perspective (Opferperspektive), The Berlin Initiative for Black People in Germany (Initiative Schwarzer Menschen in Deutschland Berlin e.V.), CyberNomads, Plataforma, Mosquito Network (Netzwerk Moskito), and Refugee’s Initiative Brandenburg (Flüchtlingsinitiative Brandenburg) (ibid.).
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Ahmed, who lived in Kreuzberg, didn’t want to travel through former eastern districts. Our experience showed us why. The actions of the Africarat shows that Ahmed is not alone and that there are more who fear for their bodies in some parts of Berlin. The Afrikarat’s hotline also shows distrust in the legal system to protect their bodies. What this amounts to is an accusation to the City of Berlin that Berlin is not safe for certain people. This representation of Berlin also forces those certain people into certain spatial trajectories that are dependent on their own physical being. The map of No-Go Areas is also a bottom-up representation of Berlin. The Africarat, like Ludin and the Turkish Union, is asserting its difference and re-mapping Berlin to suit their difference – this re-mapping is necessary because popular maps (or representations), such as subway, bicycle or street maps, do not reveal these danger zones.
Berlin exhibits an intensive multiculturalism in specific regions in the city. One can walk along the streets of Kreuzberg and Neuköln and observe stores and restaurants from every corner of the globe, and hear a seemingly endless number of languages being spoken. This multicultural concentration, however, has clear geographical limits within the city (see Häußermann und Kaphan 2000: 209). At the inner-neighbourhood level, Berlin exhibits an apparent lower level of segregation. At the city-wide level, however, Berlin appears the more segregating because as newcomers are apparently concentrated only inside certain neighbourhoods (ibid.). A large proportion of the resident non-German population remains concentrated in the western districts of Berlin – and not in the east (Häußermann and Kapphan 2000: 209). The uneven distribution of newcomers is reported to be a result of the different histories of the former East and West Berlins, and as a result of uneven access to the housing market (Häußermann and Kapphan 2000: 208). This situation did not change either after re-unification. With the exception of a few isolated pockets in the former East Berlin, new immigrants still tend to settle in western districts.
Figure 6: Graffiti sticker found in former eastern district of Berlin. It reads, "For Germans, the established parties are not a choice."50 | ||
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Some eastern districts are also commonly home to producers of (not always neo-) nazi thought. The sticker shown above in Figure 6 – of unknown origin but likely from a neo-fascist – was found stuck to a lamppost in the eastern district of Prenzlauer Berg. Evidently, there are social movements there who identify with a specific sort of Germanness, as this sticker is propagating that the existing parties are not representing the so called true German residents.
The uneven distribution of newcomers in Berlin might suggest segregation or the formation of a ghetto in Berlin, and this was indeed a concern of Häußermann and Kapphan (2000: 213) as they analysed migrant populations and their social-economic status. Wacquant (2004a: 1), however, points out that the word "ghetto" is often used very loosely in social science literature in general as its application has relied primarily its folk and layman's use. In an effort to define a useful and working definition of the term so that it may be properly compared to and put on part with other forms of oppression such as prisons, reservations, or refugee camps. To Wacquant (2004a: 2) a ghetto was characterised by four elements: stigma, constraint, spatial confinement, and institutional encasement. The ghetto is a place in which the greater society singles out a particular segment of the population and sections them either through force or through systematic institutional exclusion. The result, according to Wacquant (2004a: 3), is the growth of parallel institutionalism. According to Wacquant (2004a: 6) and his definition, the contemporary ghetto can be found in African American neighbourhoods of the United States, prisons, or refugee camps, and that these should be analysed separately from urban enclaves or slums. In another essay, Waquant (2004b: 199) wrote that income statistics, standard of living, or other positivistic indicators, or observation of entry into the market place, are not enough to understand disadvantaged neighbourhoods. Such indicators would see no difference between such neighbourhoods as Le Courneuve in Paris and Woodlawn in South Chicago, for example. Hypothesizing that the differences are indeed quite substantial, he studied territorial stigmatisation, criminality and safety, institutional ecology. Reframing the analysis this way, enabled him to remark vast differences between the two urban situations. Le Courneuve could not be considered a ghetto in comparison to Woodlawn. By comparison, Le Courneuve was well attended by public institutions (such as health, transit, advocacy and security) as well as cultural services. Woodlawn lacked just about all of these amenities – even police.
Many newcomers settle in the districts of Kreuzberg, Wedding, and Neuköln (Häußermann and Kapphan 2000: 208). Yet, following Wacquant's (2004a: 2) definition one cannot illustrate Berlin as a city that funnels new residents into particular regions and excludes them either socially or economically. Like Paris, neighbourhoods in Berlin with an over proportional concentration of newcomers, are still well serviced and connected. Berlin's multicultural development cannot be labelled as a ghetto, as there is no strict muster of confinement, parallel institutionalism and stigmatisation. Although new residents are found primarily in particular districts, confinement is not by physical force. The districts of Kreuzberg, Wedding, Neuköln, then, cannot be considered ghettos.
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There is, however, a social praxis in Germany that begins to resemble Wacquant’s (2004a: 2) definition of a ghetto. Newcomers who arrive applying for asylum, are subject to special laws and procedures (Asylverfahrensgesetz). With refugee status, newcomers may be required to live in certain designated homes and their movement may be restricted to certain districts (Residenzpflicht). Not adhering to the designated regulations is a criminal offence. Asylum homes have also been target of xenophobic violence. To name a few examples documented by the Antiracist Initiative Association (Antirassistische Initiative e.V.) (2006: 3-5, 17, 37, 51, 71-72, 166, 198, 221, 293): Malchow in 1993, Schwalm-Eder-Kreis in 1993, Mühlberg in 1993, Oebisfelde in 1993, Hohenstein-Steckenroth in 1993, Ludwigshafen in 1994, Kassel in 1995, Lübeck in 1996; Hannover in 1996, Boizenburg in 1997, Ludwigsshafen in 1997, Rottstock in 2000, Neubrandenburg in 2001, Remscheid in 2002, Darmstadt in 2002, Meßkirch in 2004, Borken in 2004, Berlin in 2004. Between 1993 and 2005, the Antiracist Initiative (2006: 49, 68, 93, 125, 160,195, 218, 249, 284, 319) documents a total of 65 deaths and 666 injured as a result of attacks on asylum-seeker’s homes in Germany. The legal situation of refugees is one then that restricts movement, is reinforced by street violence and police force: this system therefore constitutes a ghetto, in Wacquant’s (2004a: 2) sense. There has been, however, some positive movement towards changing this structure, as asylum applicants in Kreuzberg-Friedrichshain are allocated individual apartments to reduce social-spatial segregation.
After a few days, weeks, or months tourists pay up their hotel bills, shake hands with their tour guide, declare bought goods at customs, and leave or go home. Less transparent, however, are the return travel itineraries of newcomers or longer-term residents – if they have one at all. Indeed, all visitors – short-term and long-term – are bound by the laws of entry, as one finds them stamped their passports (Figure 7). The laws of entry, of course, determine the laws of exit too. These regulations, which vary from nation to nation and are bound and supported by wider normative ideals of citizenship, and expectations of belonging and not belonging, invariably curtail a new resident’s ability to permanently settle with a sense of longevity or tenure, and create a sense of home. The risk: newcomers may leave. The worst-case scenario: they may be deported to an undesirable destination.
Figure 7: Stamps to pass through the port | ||
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Residence permits are distributed initially with tight regulations concerning work, state participation, and length of stay. Permits are generally granted for the duration of a work contract and expire upon termination of employment (Auswärtiges Amt 2008). Students living in Germany on a student visa are limited in the number of working hours that they may take on. Figure 7 shows the contents of my passport, during my stay in Berlin on a student visa. Left it says my residency is limited. On the right, it says that employment is not permitted. The visa is also void no later than one year after completion of studies (ibid.).
Unless certain requirements are fulfilled, holders of residence permits cannot expect longer term stays in Germany. German citizenship may be granted after 8 years of residency if (Die Beauftragte der Bundesregierung für Migration, Flüchtlinge und Integration 2008): living expenses can be covered without the social help; proficiency in the German language can be demonstrated; no charges have been laid against the applicant; the applicant is in agreement with the German constitution; the applicant relinquishes other citizenships. Some exceptions are made to the last rule. It does not apply to European Union citizens, and if problems in renouncing the second citizenship arise, the applicant can further apply for dual nationality (ibid.). Citizenship is also available after three years, if the newcomer is married to a German citizen (ibid.).
For children born in Germany to at least one German parent, the child may retain the citizenship of each parent (ibid.). If the father is German, paternity must be proven before the child’s 23rd birthday (ibid.). Citizenship according to jus soli, birthright, does not apply if the child is born to two non-European parents (ibid.). For such children, citizenship laws according to jus sanguis apply – citizenship by inheritance – and they fall into the category of the “Option Model” (Optionsmodell) (ibid.). Children that fall into this category are required to choose which citizenship they want at the age of 18 (ibid.). If no decision is reached before the child’s 23rd birthday, the German citizenship will be revoked, and the child will subject to visa limitations (ibid.). If the second nationality cannot be renounced, an application for dual citizenship can be submitted (ibid.).
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This administration process is a geography that all newcomers wishing to stay for a longer period of time are subjected to. It is an experience to in which the applicant is in total submission to the entry requirements of Germany. There is no place here for protest or the self-assertion of identity. It is a place where life trajectories slide right past one another.
The regulation of refugees is bound in the constitution, but specific regulation of each individual refugee is determined at the state level. Non-German residents in the City-State of Berlin who believe that they will be victims of persecution should they return to the country from which they came, have the opportunity to apply for asylum (Landesamt für Gesundheit und Soziales Berlin 2006). Applicants must report to the central administration of asylum seekers for the State of Berlin (Zentrale Aufnahmeeinrichtung des Landes Berlin für Asylbewerber), where they may receive council, and directions for further procedures, including help in returning to country of origin (ibid.). In Berlin, asylum applications are processed at the Federal Office for the Recognition of Foreign Refugees (Bundesamt für die Anerkennung ausländischer Flüchtlinge). By an interview, applicants will be asked to justify their grounds for application (ibid.). During the application process, applicants are required to live in a specified and ordained admissions facilities for a period of up to three months (Aufnahmeeinrichtung) (ibid.). If the application is rejected, the applicant has one week in which to appeal (ibid.). If the application is referred to another European State (e.g. a border State that issued the entry Visa into Germany in the first place), the applicant will be transferred out of the country (ibid.).
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Failure to depart upon termination of residency, or failure to arrive without proper papers in the first place, is an illegal offence in Germany and is liable to prosecution. Such individuals are subject to removal orders, detentions or deportations by the German State. Deportation (Abschiebung) legally sanctioned according to § 58 of the Residency Laws (AufenthG §58 Abschiebung)51 if:
“…if it cannot be assured that the individual will leave on her own free will (according to § 42 Paragraph 3 and 4), or if on grounds of order and security the departure must remain under surveillance,” (Bundesministerium der Justiz 2008d). |
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An asylum applicant will land in detention (Abschiebungshaft) if, after preliminary procedures, she has disappeared without proper consultation with the foreign office (AsylNet 2006). The German government tries to avoid this situation by heavily controlling arrival in the first place. The Federal Border Police are designated for this job. They patrol not only the border regions of Germany but also inland, at airports, seaports, and throughout the rail system. This strategy allows them to secure the borders, by the prevention the entry of unauthorised foreigners, controlling of smuggling, as well as protection against other border violating criminality such as human trafficking, drug trafficking, and document fraud (Urkundendelikte). (Bundesministerium des Innern 2002).
Detention (Abschiebungshaft) may be ordained during deportation processing if a decision on deportation cannot be immediately met and a deportation without detention is difficult or impossible (AufenthG §62 Abchiebungshaft) (Bundesministerium der Justiz 2008d). For this situation a preparatory detention (Vorbereitungshaft) is ordained, and “should not last longer than six weeks” (ibid.).52 Security detentions (Sicherungshaft) may be ordained if (ibid.): 1) the affected must leave on the grounds that her arrival was illegal; 2) the deadline of departure has passed and the affected changed her address without notifying the Foreign Office; 3) the affected did not show up to an appointment for deportation; 4) the affected, for any reason, has avoided deportation; or 5) there are grounds for suspicion that the affected will avoid deportation. The deportee may not be held in security detention longer than two weeks if the departure deadline has passed, and it is certain that the deportation will be carried out (ibid.). A deportee may be sentenced to security detention for up to six months. In the case that the deportee obstructs deportation, detention may be extended to a length of one year (ibid.).
The reported experiences of deportees do not reflect the laws that govern the process. A number international and local human rights, refugee help, and anti-racism organizations (such as ProAsyl, Opferperspective, IndyMedia.de, ReachOut Berlin, Antirassistische Initiative Berlin, Amnesty International, Anti-Diskriminierungsbüro Berlin, FRat Berlin, Internationale Liga für Menschenrechte e.V.) report of detentions that last up to ten years, of deportees – under age and of the age of majority – who are held without legal advise or awareness of why they are there, and of inhumane living conditions or abuse within the detention centres. Further, these same organisations report of the life threatening conditions experienced by refugees crossing into Germany, or of dangers related to the deportation process itself. In a documentation of deportee cases between 1993 and 2005, the Anti-racist Initiative Association (Antirassistische Initiative e.V. ) (2006: 49, 68, 93, 125, 160,195, 218, 249, 284, 319) reported 49 deaths, 299 cases of abuse and 127 cases of police abuse within deportation detention centres. In addition, 162 deaths, and 439 injuries have occurred while crossing the border (ibid.) – of these, 121 deaths and 259 injuries were reported at the eastern border (ibid.). Sixty-seven deaths resulted from fires or racist attacks at refugee hostels (ibid.). In short, the reported experiences of deportees illustrates a much more violent geography of the border regions than let on by government documents.
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Migreurop (2008) documented the number of deportation centres around Europe. In Germany alone there are 40 (ibid.). The detention centres are often heavily guarded buildings surrounded in barbed wire. The image of a prison perhaps comes to mind, and because of this and because of the fact that the detainees have not usually committed dangerous offences (particularly the children), but are instead mere subjects of a bureaucratic exit process, they are often referred to as deportation jails (Abschiebeknast) by local activists53. The length of stay must depend on processing slow downs or complications. To imagine that some are held in suspension for years, is to imagine Wacquant’s (2004a: 2) ghetto: forced confinement, stigmatisation, parallel institutional encasement, all play a role in the scenario of the detention centre. This is not a place of self-determination or self-assertion. Life trajectories are controlled entirely from above.
18 “Now,” refers to the date of the defense of this dissertation on June 18, 2009.
Frick (1991) discussed some of the planning challenges that Berliner planners faced immediately after the fall of the wall: 1) how to deal with development inside the inner city (Frick 1991: 39) (the territory within the “Subway Ring” (“S-Bahn Ring”)); 2) how to development the different city centres (Frick 1991: 45); and 3) how to deal with expansion into Brandenburg. Concerning the area inside the “Subway Ring” – which covers an area comparable to the size of Paris (~100 km2), houses 1.29 million people, contained the old city centres, city park, and old working class districts (Frick 1991: 39). Frick described some of the polar opinions concerning how this area should be re-developed. On one hand, some wanted to encourage the growth of a vital inner city. However, on an opposing hand, others argued that this land would be the only attractive territory to investors interested in a service economy and market-oriented development. These arguments were only the background to the series of physical amendments that had to be made to the area to reconnect the eastern part with the western (ibid.). Concerning the various city centres, Frick (1991: 45) predicted the further independent and careful development of the two city centres Kurfürstendamm/Zoologischer Garten, and Mitte – two centres that existed before the division of the city as a result of the founding of Charlottenburg in 1705. Regarding the surrounding State of Brandenburg, Frick (1991: 46-47) discussed the concept of a “star-shaped” development pattern that would extend Berlin into the surrounding Brandenburg -- a pattern that would trace the old railways that were built in the 1920s and 30s. The star’s axes, which reach out to neighbouring towns of Oranienburg, Bernau, St r ausberg, Königs Wusterhausen, Zossen Wünsdorf, Michendorf, and Neuen, would be reserved for housing and built up areas, while the areas in between the axes would be reserved for open space. The main problem with this plan, according to Frick (1991: ibid.), was its realization, as there existed complex bureaucratic planning barriers between the City-State of Berlin and the State of Brandenburg. More on this can also be found in a later article from Frick (1995) written four years later.
Plans were also being set in motion to move the capital city of the republic from Bonn to Berlin, as Berlin was (Häußermann and Strom 1994: 336): 1) a capital city as a symbolic place; 2) a capital city as a political setting; and 3) a capital city as a catalyst of regional development.
My translation of, “Berlin schafft Freiräume. Der öffentliche Raum – ein Ort für alle.
Der öffentliche Raum ist als Ort der Kommunikation, individueller Aneignung und sozialer Interaktion fester Bes tandteil der Alltagskultur [...] Seine Neugestaltung schafft die Voraussetzungen, dass alle den Platz finden, der ihren Nutzungsanforderungen entspricht. In dieser Gleichzeitigkeit der unterschiedlichsten Aneignungsformen wirkt der öffentliche Raum sozial integrativ und fördert die Urbanität,”
(Senatsverwaltung für Stadtentwicklung 2007a).
21 My translation of, “Das Recht auf selbstbestimmtes Leben, und zwar für alle! Denn dieser Normalität versuchen wir ein Ort entgegenzusetzen, an dem Alternativen möglich sind. Die Kadterschmiede als ein linkes Kulturprojekt steht in einer bewußten Opposition zum kommerziellen Erlebnisparadies und ist ein Treffpunkt für Leute, die nach Alternativen suchen und daran arbeiten,” (Kadterschmiede 2006).
22 My translation of, “Auch reiht sich dieses Modernisierungsvorhaben, genauso wie in der Kastanienallee 86, oder in der Brunnenstr. 183, in die allgemeinen Umstrukturierungspläne in Friedrichshain bzw. ganz Berlin, wie z.B. MediaSpree, ein. Dabei sollen hier teure und sanierte Wohnungen entstehen, welche von den ehemaligen MieterInnen nicht mehr bezahlt werden können. Sozial schwache Menschen werden systematisch in Randgebiete verdrängt, um hier Platz zu schaffen für Leute, die die nötige Kaufkraft mitbringen und mit ihrem Geld einen pseudo-alternativen Lebensstil konsumieren wollen,” (Rigaer94 2006).
23 My translation of, “Nichtsdestotrotz ist es ein politischer Konflikt. Auf der einen Seite stehen private Profitinteressen, auf der anderen - das Recht auf selbstbestimmtes Leben,” (Kadterschmiede 2006).
24 The names of these initiatives are my translations of the following original German names: Dokumentati o nsgruppe der Antirassistischen Initiative (ARI), Angolanische Antimilitaristische Menschenrechtsinitiative (IAADH), Initiative Zukunft Bethanien (IZB), Kollektiv für Kunst Kultur und Kommunikation, and Libertad !.
25 My translation of, “Die Hausbesetzer im Bethanien sind dieselben Personen, die bis vor einigen Wochen über mehr als ein Jahrzehnt das Haus in der Yorckstraße 59 in Kreuzberg besetzt hielten. Soll der Spuk jetzt etwa im Bethanien fortdauern? Die Demokratie nimmt Schaden und macht sich unglaubwürdig, wenn revolutionäre Kräfte vagabundierend Häuser belagern und das Eigentum anderer stören und zerstören dürfen,” (CDU-Fraktion des Abgeordnetenhauses von Berlin 2007).
26 My translation of, “durch kommerzielle Investoren würde der politische und soziale Charakter des Projektes zerstört,” (Brunnen183 2006).
27 This process of negotiation was well documented by local newspapers: ‘Berliner Morgenpost’ (1996, 1997a, 1997b, 1997c, 1997d, 2001a, 2001b), Berliner Zeitung (1994; 1995a; 1995; 1996a; 1996b; 1996c), ‘Der Zitty’ (1997), ‘Die Welt’ (1999; 2000a; 2000b; 2000c).
28 My translation of, “kommerzielles Kultur-tralala, sponsert by Senat,” (squat.net! 2006; errors as in original).
29 My translation of, “Heute steht das Tacheles unter Denkmalschutz. Eine geplante Neubebauung auf dem Gelände soll Rücksicht auf den alternativen Charakter nehmen,” (BerlinOnline Stadtportal GmbH & Co. KG 2006).
30 In this year, Häußermann and Kapphan (2000) came out with their book, “Berlin: from a Divided City to a Fragmented City (“Berlin: von der geteilten zur gespaltenen Stadt?”), which addressed this very question.
31 During the late eighties and nineties, many cities were making the transition from Fordist models of production to a flexible service economy (Mayer 1997), while at the same time entering into a new global network of exchange (Sassen 1994). The patterns and consequences of these trends were widely discussed throughout urban studies all over the world. For a glimpse into the North American situation see Keil, Wekerle and Bell (1996). For a glimpse into the European situation see Wolff, Schneider, Schmid, Klaus, Hofer, and Hitz (1997). For a glimpse into Asian transformations see Ooi (2000a/b).
32 For global city theory see Sassen (1994, 1998,1999).
33 Whether or not the post-industrial, post-socialist, reunified, and new German capital city of Berlin would become a booming metropolis was widely discussed in the 1990s. For a review of these debates see Berry and McGreal (1995), Frick (1991) Campbell (1999) Krätke (1992), Häußermann and Sackmann (1994), Häußermann and Strom (1994), Musterd (1994), Pepchinski (1993).
34 www.berlin.de
35 My translation of, “... bildet Integration das Gegenstück zu Segregation oder Ausgrenzung [...] bedeutet Integration, dass Einzelpersonen oder ganze Gruppen gleichberechtigte Möglichkeiten der Teilhabe am gesellschaftlichen Leben und der Artikulation ihrer Interessen erhalten, und vor individueller und kollektiver Ausgrenzung geschützt werden. Integration ist im Kern Herstellung von Chancengleichheit. Integration ist keinesfalls als vollständige Anpassung oder Assimilation an bestehende Bedingungen zu verstehen. ” (Der Beauftragte für Integration und Migration 2005: 6-7).
36 See Goonewarden’s and Kipfer’s (2003) analysis of Deepa Mehta’s Bollywood/Hollywood.
37 In other German States, the streamlining begins after the fourth grade. It should also be noted that the English translations I have used are my “best attempts” and remain rough. Sometimes, too the categorizations are not so black and white. There are hybrid forms among the schools. Sometimes, for example, a Gymnasium education can be obtained at a Gesamtschule or Realschule. Still, the choice that a 10 year-old must make, is one of choosing among education streams.
38 A Google search in June of 2008 for the German phrase “PISA Deutschland Schüler,” which means “PISA Germany Pupils” brought up over 40 pages of links to various (German) websites concerning themselves with this topic (Google 2008a).
39 This, I base on my own experience as I sift through the employment advertisements. Often knowledge of English is desired. Sometimes French, Spanish or Turkish are also called for.
40 My translation of, “Die Ergebnisse von PISA haben gezeigt, dass in Deutschland die soziale Herkunft über den Bildungserfolg entscheidet und nicht die Fähigkeiten eines Kindes. Das ist für uns nicht hinnehmbar, das wollen wir ändern,” (Böger 2004).
41 “Abitur” is the name of the German high-school diploma.
42 As of June 2008, one could still call up 13 pages of links to websites discussing Fereshda Ludin, by entering her name into the Google search engine (Google 2008b).
43 My translation of Article 3 of the German constitution, which reads: “(1) Alle Menschen sind vor dem Gesetz gleich. (2) Männer und Frauen sind gleichberechtigt. Der Staat fördert die tatsächliche Durchsetzung der Gleichberechtigung von Frauen und Männern und wirkt auf die Beseitigung bestehender Nachteile hin. (3) Niemand darf wegen seines Geschlechtes, seiner Abstammung, seiner Rasse, seiner Sprache, seiner Heimat und Herkunft, seines Glaubens, seiner religiösen oder politischen Anschauungen benachteiligt oder bevorzugt werden. Niemand darf wegen seiner Behinderung benachteiligt werden,” (Bundesministerium der Justiz 2008a).
44 My translation of Article 33 of the German constitution, which reads,“( 2) Jeder Deutsche hat nach seiner Eignung, Befähigung und fachlichen Leistung gleichen Zugang zu jedem öffentlichen Amte; (3) Der Genuß bürgerlicher und staatsbürgerlicher Rechte, die Zulassung zu öffentlichen Ämtern sowie die im öffentlichen Dienste erworbenen Rechte sind unabhängig von dem religiösen Bekenntnis,” (Bundesministerium der Justiz 2008b).
45 My translation of Article 4 of the German constitution, which reads, “(1) Die Freiheit des Glaubens, des Gewissens und die Freiheit des religiösen und weltanschaulichen Bekenntnisses sind unverletzlich. 2) Die ungestörte Religionsausübung wird gewährleistet,”(Bundesministerium der Justiz 2008c).
46 In Germany, schools are public institutions and teachers are civil servants.
47 My translation of, “Inländerin mit ausländischem Pass: Spricht deutsch. Denkt deutsch. Träumt deutsch, ” (Die Beauftragte der Bundesregierung für Ausländerfragen 1999).
48 My translation of, “…keine systematischen Unterschiede hinsichtlich der Verteilung von Positionen und Ressourcen gibt, z.B. Geld, Ansehen, Beruf, oder Wohnqualität,” (Häußermann, Läpple und Siebel 2008: 315).
49 My translation of, “Rechtsextremistische, fremdenfeindliche und antisemitische Straftaten dürfen nicht isoliert betrachtet werden. Sie sind eingebettet in ein gesellschaftliches Klima, haben ihre Basis in Einstellungen von Teilen der Bevölkerung, sind bewußt gewollte oder zumindest in Kauf genommene Konsequenzen von Strategien, werden häufig verübt von Angehörigen bestimmter Subkulturen, Szenen oder Gruppen und sind schließlich Teil weitergehender Handlungsmuster,” (Neidhardt 2000: 93).
50 My translation.
51 My translation of § 58 of the German Residency Laws (AufenthG §58 Abschiebung): “ ...wenn die Ausreisepflicht vollziehbar ist und die freiwillige Erfüllung der Ausreisepflicht nicht gesichert ist oder aus Gründen der öffentlichen Sicherheit und Ordnung eine Überwachung der Ausreise erforderlich erscheint,” (Bundesministerium der Justiz 2008).
52 My translation of § 62 of the Detention Law (AufenthG §62 Abschiebungshaft) that reads, “Die Dauer der Vorbereitungshaft soll sechs Wochen nicht überschreiten,” (Bundesministerium der Justiz 2008d).
53 A search in Google for the German phrase, “Abschiebeknast” which means, “Deportation Jail” will bring up 61 pages of links to critical discussion (in German) and reports of detention detainees (Google 2008c).
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