Zafer Şenocak and Alina Bronsky on their German immigrant stories
What does it mean to be German? Who belongs? How are these questions addressed by Germans of foreign background — both immigrants and those born within the country? This episode is the final part of a four-part series: "At the Centre of Europe: A Changing Germany."
Historically, Germany has not been a country that's attracted a lot of immigrants. This is despite the arrival of hundreds of thousands of "guest workers" — foreign labourers from southern Europe and especially Turkey — who came to work in factories during the economic boom of the 1960s and '70s. The collapse of the Soviet Union in 1991 brought further waves of immigration to Germany, and today, Turks and Russians make up the country's largest migrant communities. In this episode of Writers & Company, Eleanor Wachtel speaks to novelist Alina Bronsky, who immigrated to Germany from the former Soviet Union as a teenager, and poet and essayist Zafer Şenocak, who came from Turkey as a child.
Alina Bronsky spoke to Eleanor Wachtel in Berlin. Her latest novel, which has been translated into English by Tim Mohr, is Baba Dunja's Last Love.
ON HER EXPERIENCE MOVING FROM RUSSIA TO GERMANY
I can't say anything about the whole wave [of Russian immigrants who came to Germany in the 1990s]. It's difficult to say the same thing about a whole group because we are all so different. For me, it was a sort of blessing, and I'm very happy that my parents decided to come to Germany, not because I hate Russia, I don't, but because of this challenge of changing the environment completely, of having to learn a new language and having to adapt to a new situation. I think that's very important, particularly for me as a writer. But we all are different, and I believe there are people who aren't so happy with their experience. It's a very individual thing.
ON WANTING TO BE MORE THAN JUST "THE IMMIGRANT"
It's totally normal for a person born in the Soviet Union to have many different ethnic roots and grandparents from different parts of the country. When I meet people from my generation who have the same kind of immigration experience that I do, that unites us. They are like me, even if they have different roots. Sharing this immigration experience is more important than wondering where their grandparents come from.
When I came to Germany, I did not speak the language. My classmates were really nice, but they would watch me a bit like I came from another planet. When you're a teenager, of course, you just want to be like the others, you don't want to be the stupid and helpless one. Being associated with Russia made me not like the others, so I really hated when somebody asked me about that or always saw me as "the Russian," because that's not the most important thing about me!
WHY SHE LOVES WRITING IN GERMAN
German is very clear and well-structured, a bit like English. If you compare it to Russian or other Slavic languages, which are very flexible and very rich in nuances, German is sharper but it makes it more difficult to become very emotional. And I liked that, because you could describe very emotional things without getting too emotional, kitschy or cliché. So I felt protected by the clarity of the language.
Alina Bronsky's comments have been edited and condensed.
Zafer Şenocak spoke with Eleanor in Berlin.
ON HIS POSITIVE EXPERIENCE OF INTEGRATION
[When I came to Germany from Turkey,] in the beginning it felt a little frightening, but this was a very small period, just a few months. I was lucky, because my surroundings were very helpful to me. I had nice people in my class, and I was integrated very fast. I liked the language. So I have a very positive memory, and maybe that's why I'm so German now! I can really say that I'm German.
ON THE GERMAN TENDENCY TO EXOTICIZE FOREIGNERS
I think this happens for people from certain cultural backgrounds, especially if they come from Muslim countries and a little bit if they come from Eastern Europe, a Russian background for example. There are very strong stereotypes of being Oriental, Muslim, Russian. This still plays a role in literature. My main character in Perilous Kinship is Turkish, Jewish, and German and this is a problem for him, but my question was, why is this a problem? If you have all these backgrounds, is it really necessary to "be" one of them and to fight the other ones? I think this is a major question for all of us for the future, not just Germans. Why do you have to always identify yourself with something? It doesn't manifest so much in how we live together, but on an intellectual level there's always this problem of integration. These anxieties about Germany losing ground and disappearing, they're issues for the heart, not the brain. I am German, but in the end, I have a different background, and for people who think I'm a foreigner, I write as a German.
WHAT IMMIGRANTS NEED TO UNDERSTAND ABOUT GERMAN HISTORY
It's necessary to understand that Germany is a special place. You immediately think of this thing that's horrible and enormous, and then you see the cities destroyed and rebuilt. You can see the wounds of the past. And then you have the people. When I was growing up, this generation was still alive, and they had to come to terms with that past, whether they were perpetrators or victims. People don't think about it, but there were all these children who would sit in their cellars every night, waiting for bombs for three years. It's influential, no?
This is something that's very typical for Germans, which I think immigrants underestimate a lot. They have Germany in their head as this perfect country, where they have the best cars, the best industry, good jobs, everything is organized, everything is functioning. And yes, this is Germany too! But they don't see the other side, this darkness.
Zafer Şenocak's comments have been edited and condensed.
Music to close the interview: "Closing Scene" and "Notes After an Evening," composed and performed by Eberhard Weber, from the album Pendulum.