JENNY B . W H I T E / BOSTON UNIVERSITY
Turks in the New Germany
BY 1991, A YEAR AFTER the Berlin Wall fell, the anesthetizing
excitement had worn off and the painful effects
of reunification were making themselves felt. In
an eastern German cabaret the jokes turned bitter.
"They've taken our Karl Marx; the least they could do is
leave us some Kapital." Things were better in the old
days. At least we could escape." Europe too was changing,
from a common economic market to a politicalsocial
union soon to be signed into being at Maastricht.
At the same time, nationalist and public sentiment
against foreigners reached new heights throughout
Europe and ignited in violence.
While Turkish identities in Berlin have their own internal
and external dynamics, they also now must be understood
within the frame of reunified Germany and the
new Europe. Different, though not necessarily coincident,
Turkish identities in Germany are forged from
class, ethnic, and religious loyalties, from institutional
and media ethnoscapes (created by Germans and by
Turks themselves), from shared regularities of interpersonal
expectations of generalized reciprocity, and in
reaction to how Turks are defined (and redefined after
reunification) by Germans. This latter process is a historical
component of identity, the frame of easternwestern
German relations, economic decline, and the
search for a new German identity within Germany and
within Europe. As Stuart Hall (1990) points out, identities,
like everything historical, undergo constant transformation,
subject to the continual play of history, culture,
and power. I would like to suggest, then, that
identity has two aspects, framed by history.
First, identity is a dialectic between howpeople see
themselves and how others see them; both are subject
to the intervention of historical events. Second, identity
has an essentialist or "external" component, visible as
ethnic or other named categories and focused on
boundary maintenance, but it also has a processual "internal"
component, which builds social relations in a
changing and unstable social environment. ThisprocesJENNY
B. WHITE is an associate professor in the Department of
Anthropology, Boston University, Boston, MA 02215.
sual component of German Turkish identity is generalized
reciprocity, an adaptable set of expectations that
forges community across boundaries of social class,
lifestyle, generation, and even ethnicity. It allows recognition
of an "us" that is not straitjacketed by often-divisive
external categories and boundaries. Reciprocity is
also the ballast for the younger Turkish generation's
creole creations of self, linking them to older generations
and across social and geographic boundaries.
These positive, community-building, and integration-enhancing
effects of processual identity may be
missed or even undercut by observers focused on more
external behavioral or linguistic characteristics. Contradictions
between German and Turkish negotiations
of identity at the processual level, particularly as expressed
in family expectations and gender roles, may
eclipse gains already made in "behavioral" integration
and serve to construct Turks as essentially unintegratable.
These contradictions between Turkish and German
identities, in turn, resonate with tensions between
eastern and western Germans in the economic and social
trauma following reunification. These tracings of
culture—as category and in practice—across the central
face of Europe are not unimportant, since culture
has become one of the contested grounds for conceptualizing
post-1989 Europe.1
Imagined Coherence
There are nearly 2 million Turks in Germany,
139,000 of them in Berlin alone, making them the largest
group of foreign workers (Senat von Berlin 1994). The
first workers were recruited to labor-short Germany after
1961 and were greeted with some enthusiasm. They
were mostly villagers, rural migrants with dreams of
earning money and retiring to a small business and a secure
life back in Turkey, Many of their families joined
them. In 1973, after the oil crisis, recruitment stopped
and many did go home. But a decrease in return migration,
the continued flow of family members from Turkey,
and ahigh birth rate kept the population of Turksin
Germany high (Kolinsky 1996; Kiirsat-Ahlers 1996).
American Anthropologist 99(4}:75&~769. Copyright © 1997, American Anthropological Association.
TURKS IN THE NEW G E R M A N Y / J E N N Y B. W H I T E 7 5 5
Many Turks, particularly those of the second and
third generations who were born or raised in Germany,
have only limited exposure to Turkey. Turkey retains
the status of a geographical origin myth, kept alive
through the dream of final return, particularly among
the first generation, who came to Germany as adults
(Wolbert 1996). They plan for a retirement that will take
them back to Turkey for good, but older German Turks
are starting to retire in Germany (Spiegel 1992). They
want to be close to their children and grandchildren, the
second and third generations, who show little inclination
to "return" to a place and a culture with which they
are increasingly unfamiliar. They also stay to be closer
to good medical care and consumer goods and to be
able to sharefinanceswith their children.
For many German Turks, ties with the homeland
have atrophied or rigidified into calculation through the
skewing of reciprocity, so that obligation is no longer
horizontal and unspoken (as in Bourdieu's gentle violence
of exchange [1977]) but has become an open expectation
of patronage and gifts by relatives in Turkey,
especially on annual vacation visits from Germany. In
Turkey, Turks in Germany are calledAlmancilar ("Germaners"),
an often-derogatory badge of difference. In a
1994 survey, 83 percent of Turkish respondents said
they were no longer considering a return to Turkey
(Goldberg 1996:3). In a recent study, three out of four
Turks said they would like German citizenship if they
could also keep the Turkish (Goldberg 1996:13).
Over the past three decades Turkey has lost its centrality
as a geographical core, that is, as the site of the
dominant institutions around which Turks build their
lives; it has ceded this centrality to the German Turkish
community. German Turks have developed their own
institutions, everything from professional organizations
and political interest groups to social clubs, newspapers,
and television stations. They have turned away
from institutions in Turkey, which many now say they
find inadequate and compare unfavorably with those in
Germany.
Benedict Anderson (1991 [1983]) explained that a
community or nation consists of linkages among people
(and among their quite disparate activities), linkages
that must be imagined since they cannot be experienced
directly by people who may not know each other. We
imagine community in large part by sharing the coherence
of events and people created by the media. Indeed,
on my first day in Berlin, I stepped into a subway car
lined with passengers reading the German edition of
Hiirriyet, a Turkish newspaper. But the creation of a
sense of simultaneity and coherence out of arbitrary
events and images has gone beyond Anderson's print
media to include mass media and popular culture, television
and film, as well as the flow of people itself. What
is imagined as community today is in large part a product
of this movement of information, images, and people
around the globe, resulting in shifting, interactive
ethnoscapes (Appadurai 1991:192).
Turks watch German television stations and Turkish
stations broadcasting from Germany and from Turkey.
But the images are not drawn solely from Turkey.
The German Turkish stations regularly show feature
films from India, uncommon in Turkey, where people
instead have become addicted to Brazilian and Japanese
soap operas. There is a large body of literature by
Turks, often written in German, as well as locally produced
Turkish film, art, and theater. Clubs, newspapers,
and professional organizations are all very much concerned
with events occurring in Germany.
But the 2 million Turks in Germany are a disparate
community. They identify not only with Turkishness but
also or even primarily with their social class, with aparticular
regional or non-Turkish ethnic origin, or with a
transnational Creole "third culture." There are now
three generations in Germany, with varying degrees of
fluency in either language and with widely disparate
lifestyles. A variety of migrant organizations represents
the political, social, and religious orientations and interests
of the Turks. There are few centralized, representative
umbrella organizations, a fact that Yasemin Soysal
(1994) attributes to the lack of a German institutional
system that prescribes and supports centralized organizations
by migrants, as is found, for instance, in Sweden
and the Netherlands. In Germany, state funding for migrant
organizations is funneled through local regional
authorities, who allocate money mainly for specific projects,
such as cultural organizations, youthjob training,
and women's centers.
While a German Turkish community with an identity
of its own has been constructed at one level, set off
against both German and Turkish identities, at closer
range this coherence is clearly imagined. The Turkish
"community" refracts into numerous subcategories with
sometimes substantially different interests and lifestyles:
worker, student, Islamist, leftist, Kurd, Alevi,
second and third generation, artistic elite, and so on.2
Identity as Process
These categories tell us little about the processes
by which ethnic identities are maintained under conditions
of flux, competition, and change. Under these centripetal
conditions of competing and changing identities
and the deterritorialization of national and communal
identities through internationalization and migration,
what continues to bind Turks together as a community?
I suggest that underlying the strategic positionings of
ethnic categorization are fundamental processes, regularities
that set the parameters for action but are not in
7 5 6 A M E R I C A N A N T H R O P O L O G I S T • V O L . 9 9 , N o . 4 • D E C E M B E R 1 9 9 7
themselves specific in terms of language, ritual, or patterns
of social behavior.3
These regularities provide stability
and continuity over time while being flexible with
regard to all those behaviors and attributes that generally
are used to demarcate boundaries of ethnic categories.
What I call a processual identity is a kind of root
paradigm (V. Turner 1974), a cluster of meanings that
acts as a cultural map and enables people to find a path
in their own culture, regardless of changes in customs,
rules, language, and behaviors.
In the case of the Turkish community, this processual
identity is based on participation in generalized
reciprocity: someone who shares time, attention, information,
and assistance, a person whose "door is always
open" and from whom one can borrow money on trust is
"one of us," either a Turk or "like a Turk," Processual
identity interacts with changing objective conditions to
produce new and unpredictable patterns of social behavior
and shapes of community that are nevertheless
coherent and identifiable as Turkish. Turks can claim
Turkish identity so long as they engage one another on
the basis of generalized reciprocity, even if they no
longer speak Turkish, eat Turkish food, or dress and act
in what some would call traditionally Turkish ways (for
instance, guarding family honor by constraining women's
mobility). People bridge contradictions in their daily
practice brought about by economic, geographic, political,
or social changes by using the same underlying element
of identity—reciprocity—to explain new forms of
practice.
Expectations of generalized reciprocity sustain the
coherence beneath the fractures, politicization, and differences
in Turkish lifestyle. A processual identity is a
cultural imperative that is shared despite other differences.
It also connects the community to Turkey, from
which it has been essentially and categorically alienated.
This is an "ethnicity" different from that structured
for insertion into the political arena. It is flexible
and adaptive, and provides a template for a practical integration
into the encompassing German community. It
does not replace ethnicity as a strategy for power, but
provides a silent accompaniment. Processual identity
may give little access to power on the national or international
stage but provides the tensile fibers of historical
continuity under conditions of challenge and change.
In the following sections I will describe the functioning
of reciprocity in identity maintenance in Istanbul and
Berlin.
Istanbul: Concentric Community
I had come to Berlin to study how money and work
fit into Turkish women's perceptions of self. I had just
completed two years of research in Turkey among
women who had migrated from the countryside to Istanbul,
then a city of 8 million people (White 1994), and I
was curious to see whether my observations tliere held
up among working-class women in a different migration
setting in a large German city. One observation in Turkey
became particularly relevant in Germany for explaining
the first half of the identity dialectic: how
Turks see themselves.
In Istanbul, family and community membership
was expressed and maintained to a large extent through
participation in complex networks of generalized reciprocal
exchange. That is, people assisted each other in
various ways without expectation of return from any
particular person, but rather with the more general expectation
that, when they needed something, someone
in the family or community would provide. Among
women, much of this mutual assistance took the form of
shared labor: cleaning, food production, or child care.
But other important resources, such as food, information,
and, more rarely, money, were also shared.
Tourists often reported surprise and puzzlement at
how much Turks did for them, going out of their way to
help them and then refusing payment. In one case that a
disconcerted German couple related, they were given
what appeared to be the last egg in a poor village home.
Such open-ended generalized reciprocity seemed to imply
doing something with no expectation of return. But
that is not the case. A great deal is expected,just not immediately
and not from any specific individual. Bourdieu
calls this symbolic violence "the gentle, invisible form
of violence, which is never recognized as such, and is
not so much undergone as chosen, the violence of
credit, confidence, obligation, personal loyalty, hospitality,
gifts, gratitude, [and] piety" (1977:192).
Mutual assistance is not meant to open a ledger for
an equal exchange of services and an eventual summing
up and closure, but rather to forge ever-new routes of
obligation through the social web of community. It is
the open-endedness of exchange, the gentle violence of
obligation, that creates both solidarity and dependence
in social relationships and assures the long-term security
of community members. A member of the community
has access not only to the assistance and resources
of people whom she herself has helped but by virtue of
her membership has access to the resources of the entire
community, including assistance from people she
has never met face-to-face, in any of a series of concentric
communities extending outward from the nuclear
family (extended family, neighborhood, region, nation,
Islam). Family and community identity and solidarity
are expressed and maintained through participation ina
web of mutual support that characterizes social life in
working-class areas and that ensures that individual
needs are met by the group.
TURKS IN THE NEW GERMANY / JENNY B, WHITE 757
In Berlin I found, not surprisingly, that reciprocity,
or mutual obligation, also underlies social identity
among German Turks. But I would also like to suggest
two things. First, reciprocity in Germany maintains ethnic
identification, acting as a continuous substratum beneath
the enormous changes and variety in behavior,
gender roles, class affiliation, and structure of communitythat
characterize the Turkish population there. Second,
this important component of reciprocal obligation
in Turkish women's identity contradicts German constructions
of gender and family.
Berlin: Reciprocal Clusters
In Germany an important element of the dialectic
of identity has been gender, both in German views of
Turks as quintessentially Other and unintegrable and in
Turkish constructions of their own difference. Contradictory
constructions of community among Germans
and Turks intersect with differences in family ideals
and gender roles. As a result, family and gender are a focal
point of German-Turkish misunderstanding.
Women's wage labor, along with other influences
ofthe German social and institutional environment, has
contributedto changes in gender roles andthe structure
of community among Turks in Germany. Women work
outside the home to a much greater extent than in Turkey,
where women's labor-force participation is very
low, in part due to concerns about women's movement
outside the protected domestic sphere and the threat
posed by this to the family's honor. In Berlin, on the
other hand, one encounters numerous Turkish women
riding the subway at 4:00 a.m. to work the early shift in a
factory or to clean businesses before they open. In 1990,
36 percent of formally employed Turkish workers in
Berlin were female (Lundt et al. 1991), while in Turkish
cities only 15.2 percent of all women were formally employed
(SIS 1990).4
Several authors have pointed out that, in an environment
where public scrutiny can no longer be
counted on to enforce values such as honor, these values
seem to have become increasingly internalized (see
Pfluger-Schindlbeck 1989; Schiffauer 1986). Honor remains
important in Germany, but it is less dependent on
avoiding certain situations (such as being seen in public
with unrelated men) and is focused more on individual
action, such as premarital chastity and marital fidelity.
So to maintain family honor, parents may either attempt
to constrain their daughters' movements, something
that is not always feasible in Germany (although attempted),
or they may trust them and allow certain
types of social interaction, such as mixed-gender
groups or dancing, which would be unthinkable in many
Istanbul migrant communities.
The lack of time for socializing and the pressures of
scant housing in Berlin have contributed to a change in
the nature of community. The subjective experience of
doing fieldwork in Berlin was quite different from my
experience in Istanbul. It felt much more fragmented. In
Istanbul I would be introduced to a family by either a
family friend or relative, someone with whom I already
had a relationship, and so I was a known person with
some legitimacy and foundation for trust. This family
would then introduce me to another family, who would
introduce me to another, and so on. Since these families
all knew each other and often visited together, I was
never a total stranger. Community here may be thought
of as a series of concentric circles, where the family at
the center knows or at least knows of other families in a
spatially and socially continuous community that automatically
includes kin and neighbors. For me this meant
that my long-term friendships with members of one family,
some going back as much as 15 years, gave me a
sense of belonging and easy movement among other
families in their community and kinship network.
In Berlin, however, I had a great deal of difficulty
expanding my network of families. Initially I visited
relatives of a friend from Turkey. They introduced me to
several other families, whom I also visited, but it took
some time until these families introduced me further.
And I discovered to my surprise and dismay that this
third tier of families had never heard of my friend's relatives.
To them I was a complete stranger and at pains to
explain my presence and convince them that I was not a
German social worker.
As a general pattern, in Berlin families cluster (although
they are not necessarily spatially contiguous)
rather thanbeing concentrically embeddedin a community.
That is, a family will generally interact socially
with a core group of at least four or more other families
that may live in quite different and distant parts of town.
The family actually may have very little social contact
with some of their relatives or other Turks living in their
neighborhood or even in the same building. Contacts
with core families, if they are not kin, generally are initiated
through friendships between men at their workplaces.
Women's workplace friendships with other
women rarely develop into family visiting since, according
to some women, their husbandsa
might not like" the
husbands of their friends. In Istanbul, by contrast,
women initiate their own visiting patterns with other
women at their homes during the day. Since these relationships
are often based on spatial contiguity, it is not
unusual for the husbands to visit one another as well, although
usually outside the home in a nearby coffeeshop
or workplace. When the families visit one another in the
home, as during holiday or other celebrations, men and
women often interact separately.5
758 AMERICAN ANTHROPOLOGIST • VOL. 99, No. 4 • DECEMBER 1997
In Berlin, relations among families in a cluster are
maintained primarily through the exchange of mixedgendervisits
to their homes, for whichthere is a specific
term, ailece gorily (enfamitte meeting). This linguistic
distinction is less commonly voiced in Istanbul, where
visits to the home are a natural part of almost any social
interaction between women. In Berlin, women also socialize
with women and men with men outside of ailece
gorii§, meeting at work or in the park or coffee shop, but
these relationships generally do not involve socializing
in the home, particularly if women work and their husbands
will be at home in the evening. Such relationships
also carry fewer reciprocal obligations.
Ailece gorii§ families maintain relations through
visits and continual mutual assistance, which in Germany
focuses particularly on borrowing money and,
with kin, on purchasing commodities. Reciprocity has
become much more oriented toward money and consumer
goods than in Turkey, where women's relative
leisure and greater interaction through exchanges of labor
and information leads to abroaderpalette of mutual
assistance. In Germany women can buy whatever they
need, get information from a variety of formal sources,
and, in any case, have little time left over from theirjobs
to visit informally with other women beyond the ailece
gorii§ visits with the families in their cluster.
In Berlin, being able to borrow money is a marker
of a close relationship and of community. While money
generally is not talked about openly in Turkey, especially
among friends and kin, among German Turks it is
a constant topic of conversation. Money has become the
primary vehicle of reciprocity. It also, therefore, becomes
the salient metaphor of differentiation from Germans.
A common theme among German Turks is the observation
that "a German even lends money to her
mother with a signed piece of paper!" One couple, when
I asked whether they planned to return to Turkey for
good when they retired, answered, sadly, "We'd like to
return; but we can't. Who would we borrow money
from?"
Even though the range of acceptable social and
gender behavior has expanded, the reciprocal expectations
at their base still lead to the absorption of
women's and children's earnings by the family (Karakasoglu
1996). Both Turkish parents and children, to illustrate
to me how close their family was, often pointed
out that the children regularly gave their earnings to
their parents or bought them large consumeritems such
as living room furniture sets, televisions, washing machines,
and so on. One young woman, an ambitious university
student who had only been to Turkey twice on
summer vacations, lived at home and worked part-time
in a bookstore. That year she used her earnings to buy
her parents new living room furniture, although she herself
did not have a desk in her room until she could save
up for one months later.
Community and Exploitation
This kind of mutual support and obligation strikes
many Germans as exploitative, as does a variety of
other behaviors German scholars tend to ascribe to an
idealized traditional Turkish family.6
This is an essentialized
category derivedprimarily from studies ofTurkish
village life and generally ascribed to Islam (Kolinsky
1996). The other "traditional" behaviors that appear
prominently in German discourse about the oppressiveness
of the traditional Turkish family are arranged marriages,
emphasis on girls' virginity and women's honor
and the resulting restrictions on mobility, independent
decision making, and pursuit of self-fulfillment.
Not surprisingly, much of the German literature
about Turkish women is crisis-oriented and interventionist.
A large body of literature consists of case studies
by social workers operating on the premise that traditional
Turkish family expectations are a hindrance to
integration, particularly the emphasis on honor and
family responsibilities.7
The German confusion of reciprocal expectations
within the family with individual exploitation derives in
part from contradictory constructions of gender and
family: one focusing on collective obligation, the other
on individualistic goal-oriented behavior. In his analysis
of German subjectivity, the anthropologist John Borneman
(1992) writes that German women of the second
generation after World War II, that is, those who coincide
with the first generation of Turkish migrants,
swung away from the housewife marriages of their
mothers. Beginning in the 1970s, particularly in the
more radicalized environment of West Berlin, identity
for both women and men became less associated with
marriage and having children and more sexuality- and
gender-centered. Partnership outside of marriage became
the norm. Women tended to marry when they had
children, often in order to position themselves legally
for better access to state resources and subsidies. Still,
21 percent of women with children did not marry at all
(Borneman 1992:272).
German women entered the workforce, but workin
general was no longer a central defining feature ofidentity.
Work facilitated the pursuit of pleasure or was
pleasurable on its own. Vacation and free time, rather
than work, became the important arenas for selfexpression
and self-fulfillment Vacation, the nearly sacred
Urlaub, lasted at least a month and usually involved
lengthy, carefully planned trips with one or
several friends. During the rest of the year, free-time activity
centered around meeting friends at cafes or pub-
T U R K S I N T H E N E W G E R M A N Y / J E N N Y B . W H I T E 7 5 9
like Kneipen. Sports, concerts, movies, plays, and
neighborhood cultural activities were also important
arenas for expressing what Borneman calls the "Germanness"
of the second generation.
Having children tended to reduce parents' free time
and shrink their circle of friends. This nuclear family
tended to spend its evenings united around the television.
Familial networks often were restricted to blood
relatives. For an increasing number of German men and
women, choosing not to become a parent was a conscious
and positive part of their identity.8
This is in contrast
to a continued emphasis among German Turks on
marriage and family as primary sources of identification
and reciprocal support, even in the second genera-
tion.
Integration/Alienation
Rather than promoting a practical integration into
German society which would allow Turks to retain the
identity and support of Turkish family and community,
Germans have constructed integration in opposition to
what they perceive to be "traditional" Turkish behavior.
Integration generally has been defined by German
scholars in terms of cultural behavior (on a bipolar
scale between ideal types of traditional Turkish and
modern German behavior).9
The emphasis on behavior
means that the Turkish population is categorized in
much of the German literature as being neither Turkish
nor German, "between cultures," or as having a double
or schizophrenic identity. It has also led to German attempts
to "integrate" individuals by enabling ideal (German)
behavior (Horrocks and Kolinsky 1996). As
Semra, a young, jeans-clad Turkish student at a German
university and a German citizen, put it, by integration, "I
think what they want is assimilation. What they want is
that there be no more women with headscarves. What
they want is that, when you are invited [to dinner], you
don't first ask, Is there any pork?' I'm sorry; I don't eat
[pork]" (see Figure 1). Integration, in this sense, is taken
up by some German politicians as a magic formula for
dealing with immigrants without disturbing German
identity, that is, without having to become an immigrant
nation or a multicultural society.
Turkish families feel the effect of this assimilationist
interpretation of integration most intensely in the
German social programs that provide assistance to girls
if they are dissatisfied with the restrictions put upon
them by their family. Several parents told of their
daughter or the daughters of acquaintances seeking the
assistance of German social agencies to complain about
their parents, particularly about restricted lifestyles or
an impending arranged marriage. If the girl claims to
have been hit by her parents, she may stay in a shelter.
Figure 1
Young Turkish women walking arm-in-arm down a Berlin street, one
in the modest dress of a devout Muslim, the other "integrated" in
dress, though she probably would not eat pork. The young Turks
desire German acceptance of the full range of their dress and
behavioral styles. Photo by Jenny B. White.
Her parents are not told where she is, nor are they allowed
contact with her until a formal meeting is arranged.
If she wishes, the girl is given assistance to enable
her to live away from home. These stories have an
almost iconic quality to them, as parents believe they illustrate
German hostility toward family life and efforts
by the German state to break up the Turkish family.10
The German hope, reflected in social work literature
and in popular discourse, is that extracting Turkish
women from family expectations and obligations will
facilitate independent decision making and the pursuit
of individual goals and liberate their resources to this
end. While this may increase the young women's control
over their lives, removal from the family and its support
network and the questions that arise about the girls'
honor and respectability also undermine their ability to
retain membership in the Turkish community, a source
7 6 0 A M E R I C A N A N T H R O P O L O G I S T • V O L . 9 9 , N o . 4 • D E C E M B E R 1 9 9 7
of identity and emotional and economic support. A
young Turkish woman at a public hearing on the situation
of foreign women and girls pointed out that, while
Turkish girls have visions of Freiheit (the freedom of
German society), their experience is that participation
in German society cannot replace the support of the
family (Ministry for Youth, Family, Women and Health
1989, 1:59). They are, in any case, denied full entry into
German society.
While Turks may become "cocitizens with equal
rights" (Gleichberechtigte Mitburger), they can never
become "German" or participate fully in German society,
regardless of where their behavior falls on the
scale. German ethnicity and national identity are based
on blood, not on behavior (Forsythe 1989; Wilpert
1993). This is true regardless of citizenship status. One
second-generation Turkish man who was born in Germany,
had a German passport, spoke flawless German,
and had a secure civil-service job was refused an apartment
by a landlord who said, "I don't care what your
passport says; you're not German."11
Turkish girls removed from their families are alienated
from their own community and denied full membership
in the dominant one. The unattainability of acceptance
is hidden behind a screen of discourse that
promises integration in return for behavioral adaptation.
The hidden impossibility of this premise perpetuates
the image of the Turkish community as essentially
Other and unintegrable.
The Other Is Always Foreign
While social workers grapple with Turkish family
expectations, other state programs and subsidies are
structured to support "ethnic" activities: Turkish theater,
Turkish arts, migrant literature, exhibitions of Turkish
culture. While in Berlin, I attended a stage production
of Garcia Lorca's Blood Wedding, performed by a
theater troupe from Romania. The play was presented
in Roma, a gypsy language, but the presentation was
marvelously evocative and clear. The ensuing questionand-answer
period between audience and director focused
mainly on the question "Why don't you do something
from your own culture?" Following the same
principle, there is official support primarily for art and
other activities that are expressions of an essentially
Other ethnic identity (Tan and Waldhoff 1996) (see Figure
2).
Even in the demonstrations against hostility toward
foreigners organized by inclusionist progressive
groups following a particularly severe wave of antiforeigner
violence in 1992, Turks remained foreigners,
at best cocitizens, an essentialized ethnic Other whose
plight generally was addressed as a human rights conDas
Turkische
Bad fiir Frauen
Figure 2
Brochure for a "traditional" women's hamam, or Turkish bath, in
Berlin. It is situated in the basement of a former chocolate factory
located below a lesbian cafe frequented by Turkish and German
lesbians. Although this is the only hamam in Berlin, Turkish women
generally do not frequent it. Patrons are mostly German women and
"alternative" foreigners. Classes of German schoolchildren are
brought in for an "ethnic" experience.
cern rather than as an attack on German residents (Mandel
1994). The Other, even if a German citizen, is always
foreign. Witness the caption to an article in the news
magazine Der Spiegel: "Blacks with German Nationality
Organize against Racism" (Spiegel 1991:56). The article
was talking not about immigrants but about children of
mixed parentage who were born German and raised in
Germany. One of these, journalist Sheila Mysorekar,
said, "Black means for the whites[:] abroad, foreign,
not German. That's why supposedly in Germany there is
no racism, but only hostility to foreigners (Ausldnderfeindlichkeit)"
The rhetoric of Germany's cultural fundamentalism
excludes on the basis of an essential, primordial
cultural difference, a rhetoric distinct from
(but masking) that of conventional racism, which infers
a natural inferiority (Stolcke 1995; Wilpert 1993).
TURKS IN THE NEW GERMANY / J E N N Y B. W H I T E 7 6 1
"Nationalism thinks in terms of historical destinies,
while racism dreams of eternal contaminations [which
are] outside history" (Anderson 1991[1983]: 149). Cultural
fundamentalism, while based on characteristics
perceived to be primordial and unchanging, is itself a
product ofhistory andthe struggle to define the German
nation.
The Essential Turk
Essentialized categories of ethnicity and nationalism
are powerful realist forces on the national and international
stage. Certain characteristics (social behaviors,
language, customs) are attributed to these categories,
either by the groups themselves or by others. Categories
are often institutionalized and have practical consequences
for fostering or excluding ethnic and national
groups (Soysal 1993). Groups can situate themselves in
terms of identity in order to take advantage of, say, government
resources earmarked for particular ethnic
categories. Alternatively, groups can be identified in a
way that marginalizes them, in what Verena Stolcke
(1995) has called Europe's "cultural fundamentalism."
The essentialized identity of Turks in Germany has
changed over the past three decades, as Turks have actively
defined their own community (within the parameters
and opportunities provided by the German state
and society) and as Germans have redefined the Turks
to meet their own economic and political needs. Over
the years, the vocabulary of categorization, how Germans
referred to the Turkish population, changed along
with economic and political currents: Fremdarbeiter
(foreign workers) and Gastarbeiter (guest workers) are
terms fallen out of use, replaced in part by Ausldnder
(foreigners) or ausldndische Arbeitnehmer (foreign
employees). A contemporary, more politically correct
nomenclature is Migranten (migrants) or ausldndische
Mitbiirger (foreign cocitizens), never Immigranten, as
that would imply the right to remain. Turks, as the
Other, have always been considered auslander, and
some argue that Germans consider Turks among the
most inferior groups of foreigners (which also include
long-term pockets of Italians, Spaniards, Greeks, and
others), due in no small part to religious differences
(gaglar 1994:194; Mandel 1994:120). Nevertheless, as
long-term residents, Turks have until recently occupied
a unique, if still negative, place in German discourse
about foreigners. A German cartoon (Figure 3) shows
two men at a bar: one an archetypal Berliner, the other
dark-haired, with a mustache. The Berliner says to the
other man, "You a foreigner, eh?" The man answers,
"No. Turk." The Berliner looksflusteredand apologizes,
"Sorry. My mistake. But you do look a little foreign."
In the period shortly after the fall of the Berlin Wall,
the status of unsere Turken (our Turks) came into competition
with the "new" status of eastern Germans,
whom many western Germans characterized as culturally
inferior, lazy, sly, tight-fisted, and arrogant. Very
telling is ajoke that was circulating among western Germans
around this time, when eastern Germans (derogatorily
called "Ossies") packed into cheap shops in the
west, such as Aldi, a grocery chain. The joke goes:
A Turk is standing on line at Aldi behind two Ossies, One
Ossie complains to the other, "Look at this line. We've been
waiting here for hours. I don't know why we came here. It's
no different from where we were."
The Turk turns to them and says, "We didn't ask you to
come."
In another version of the joke, the Turk also corrects
their grammar in German.
Since reunification, however, Turks increasingly
are being deconstructed as a category of migrants and
"cocitizens" (auslander with a local history) and reassembled
in media and government discourse as auslander
lumped with non-German asylum seekers and other
newly arrived Others such as Poles, Romanian gypsies,
Figure 3
Cartoon by Erich Rauschenbach showing a conversation between a Turk and a Berliner. Used by permission of the artist.
762 AMERICAN ANTHROPOLOGIST • VOL. 99, No. 4 • DECEMBER 1997
and Yugoslavian refugees. News articles often do not
differentiate, shifting from a description of a skinhead
attack on a Turkish wedding to a discussion of public
outrage over the alleged criminality of Bulgarian asylum
seekers or Yugoslavian refugees, linking them in
the same article as if the latter explained the former.
The categories by which Turks in Germany are labeled
and perceived are now in flux, unwound and respun in
complex ways onthe loom of German and European unifi-
cation.12
Historyis rewritten insubtle ways, through shifts
of categorization in the public mind.
The Barbarians at the Gate
In 1991, one year after the wall fell, the East German
secret police files were opened to public scrutiny,
and television, magazines, and newspapers became
steeped in emotional testimonials and confrontations
as eastern Germans learned who had spied on and betrayed
them, who had made them losejobs or be put behind
bars: husband betrayed wife, children betrayed
parents, parents children, friend friend. Victim and perpetrator,
as the media called them, were discovered
within the same family, the same community. A television
camera recorded a victim knocking on his parents*
door, asking, "Why did you do it? Why did you turn me
in?" The camera then recorded the door being slammed
and the victim's still helpless but vindicated shrug. The
air was thick with feelings of betrayal, hung out on the
public line, eagerly consumed by a mesmerized German
press and public.
In November 1991, in a subway station in aprosperous
part of western Berlin, a Turkish teenager was battered
to death by German youths with a baseball bat.
Several weeks later, a young Polish tourist buying a hot
dog at a shop in a sedate middle-class shopping area
was pulled into the bushes of a small park by skinheads
who cut out part of his tongue. In the media the almost
Foucaultian mandatory "Ossie" confession and passion
play was edged aside by breathless and slightly puzzled
rhetoric about the threat of right-wing radicals and skinheads,
a public sore on what had been carefully constructed
since World War II as a healthy body politic.
More than 5,000 attacks against foreigners were reported
in Germany in 1992 alone (Senat von Berlin
1994:33, 78-79). Of these, over 2,000 are proven or suspected
to have been motivated by right-wing radicalism,
almost double the previous year. According to the police,
most of those arrested for antiforeigner violence in
Berlin were young, unemployed youth. Two-thirds of
those sought for right-wing violence were from the
east.13
While many of those arrested sported right-wing
symbols, such as shaved heads, brown shirts, or swastikas,
most did not belong to any organized right-wing
movement.
While much of the violence was initially directed
against asylum seekers and eastern European refugees,
it was soon directed as well at members of Germany's
long-term Turkish population. Turks have been constructed
in the press and in German political rhetoric
not only as victims of auslanderfeindlichkeit but also as
perpetrators. Victim and perpetrator is a seminal set of
concepts that lies at the core of muchpost-World WarII
German national soul-searching and that has gained
new life after reunification as eastern Germans sort out
their roles under the old regime and western Germans
confront the east's different historical construction of
responsibility for the Nazi past and its roles in the postwar
present (Heilbrunn 1996). The notion of Turk as
perpetrator, as a threat to the welfare of the German nation,
as the metaphoric "barbarian at the gate" is, I suggest,
a construction that has arisen out of the anxiety of
a nation faced with a painful renegotiation of its own
identity (and victim/perpetrator roles) amidst economic
decline.
Turks have from their earliest migration to Germany
been the Other, the foreigner, but over the past
three decades that categorization has gained in complexity
as Turks became long-term employees and
members of German communities and as two generations
of Turks attended school and worked or pursued
careers in Germany. Reunification brought a consolidation
of these identities as Turkish residents became
conflated with newly arrived asylum seekers and eastern
Europeans as a kind of lumpen foreigner, perceived
to be an economic and cultural threat to German national
health.14
The term Auslander, which had become
virtually synonymous with the term Turk, expanded referentially
after reunification to include not only economic
and political refugees from the former Soviet
sphere but also AitssiedZer (ethnic Germans from eastern
and southeastern Europe and the former Soviet
Union). Many of the aussiedler lack familiarity with the
German language and culture and are dependent on
government support and training; they automatically receive
German citizenship and full access to Germany's
social welfare system (MacEwen 1995; Wilpert 1993).
What had been a German-Turk dichotomy increasingly
has taken on connotations of "western versus eastern
people" (Mandel 1994).
One popular explanation for the increase in attacks
against foreigners focused on unemployment, particularly
in the east. The "shock therapy" applied to eastern
Germany after reunification was brutal. From full employment
under the socialist system, by 1991 only half
of the workforce of 10 million people was fully employed,
a rate of unemployment higher than during the
depression of the late 1920s and early 1930s (von Beyme
T U R K S I N T H E N E W G E R M A N Y / J E N N Y B . W H I T E 7 6 3
1992:158). It was argued that unemployment and a severe
lack of housing (in both east and west) contributed
to a sense of social threat. Foreigners were blamed for
taking resources. Asylum seekers were believed to be
coddled by the state and were accused of theft. Poles
were pictured emptying the shelves of shops like locusts.
In reality, foreigners make up a mere 7 percent of
the western German population (less in the east). Turks
own 40,000 businesses in Germany that generate
168,000 jobs, with an annual turnover of 34 billion German
marks.15
Nevertheless, public discussion quickly
refocused on German Turks (assimilated to other auslander)
as the major problem (Caglar 1994:195). Turks
then became a target of hatred in the east and arson and
other attacks in western Germany.
Terence Turner (1995) and others (Fritzsche 1994;
Ostow 1995) have suggested that the foreign immigrants
against whom cultural nationalist violence is directed
are not its primary targets. Rather, Turner argues,
exclusionist nationalist rhetoric and violence are
a protest by the relatively disenfranchised, dominated
elements of the national population against the dominant
political-economic and cultural order, and a claim
for "inclusion and integration on more favorable social,
political and economic terms" (1995:17). After reunification,
as eastern Germans slid into the biggest economic
depression in German history (Drost 1993), many
felt victimized, first by their own country, the former
German Democratic Republic (GDR), and then by the
West. Reunification was accompanied by enormous social
dislocation, resentment, feelings of guilt, and fear
of the Other and the threat that this Other presented to
the nation's way of life. For eastern Germans that threat
took the shape of an overpowering Western political
and consumer culture, for which many were unprepared
(see Figures 4 and 5). Eastern Germany and the
expense of reunification, on the other hand, were felt to
endanger the achievements of postwar western German
society (Lewis 1995). The following line heard at an
eastern German cabaret expresses the latent hostilities
between eastern and western German citizens and hints
at their displacement onto Others: "How bad does it
have to get for us before we come up with new ideas. ..
orvery old ones?" And a contrasting line from a western
German cabaret: "You just don't know anymore where
the borders are, what belongs to you. So you turn into a
rabid dog. First you have to piss on the borderposts
again." Hostility to foreigners, in this sense, may be understood
as a displacement of the victim and perpetrator
roles of eastern and western Germany acted out
upon a foreign body or a body made foreign for the pur-
pose.
A novel by South Afncan writer J. M. Coetzee,
Waiting for the Barbarians (1980), describes an allegorical
frontier settlement. Skirmishes are reported
Ihr -
anogunten
Sesatzeri
Jsislnocfj
ijM nidiraller
Figure 4
Dismantling of Lenin statue in eastern Berlin. The construction fence
was quickly covered with fresh flowers, red banners, the East
German flag, posters of Lenin, and signs protesting this attempt by
the "arrogant occupiers" to erase eastern German history. Photo by
Jenny B. White.
from over the horizon between the barbarians and the
forces of the empire. There is a sense of threat in the
town, even though the only "barbarians" in sight are
prisoners brought in for interrogation by a colonel of
the empire; they appear to be simple fisherfolk, a young
boy, a woman. The interrogations are brutal, the prisoners
tortured. The questions posed in the book are: Who
are the barbarians? Is the threat from the outside,
hordes waiting to descend on and plunder the populace?
Or are the barbarians within? Who are the perpetrators
and who are the victims? The answer in Germany,
as in Coetzee's book, is far from clear. Are they
the auslander, a threat from the outside, or at least constructed
as Other and as foreign? Or are the barbarians
within?
764 AMERICAN A N T H R O P O L O G I S T • VOL. 99, No. 4 • D E C E M B E R 1997
Figure 5
To avoid a mass demonstration and media coverage of the decapitation
of Lenin's statue, the construction firm shrouded the figure
and gave out the wrong time for the beginning of the demolition.
Photo by Jenny B. White.
The following apt lines are from the poem "Waiting
for the Barbarians," by the 19th-century Ottoman Greek
poet Constantine Cavafy:
What are we waiting for, assembled in the forum?
The barbarians are due here today.
Why isn't anything going on in the senate?
Why are the senators sitting there without legislating?
Because the barbarians are coming today.
What's the point of senators making laws now?
Once the barbarians are here, they'll do the legislating.
Why this sudden bewilderment, this confusion?
(How serious people's faces have become.)
Why are the streets and squares emptying so rapidly,
everyone going home lost in thought?
Because night has fallen and the barbarians haven't come.
And some of our men just in from the border say
there are no barbarians any longer.
Now what's going to happen to us without barbarians?
Those people were a kind of solution. [Cavafy 1975:17-18]
The process of imagining community is a dialectical
process, the production of a national imaginary
(Hamilton 1990). A national imaginary is the means by
which contemporary social orders produce images of
themselves and images of themselves against others.
That is, a national or ethnic self distinguishes itself
against challenges by social, economic, and political
mechanisms. These mechanisms may be those of the
state or the minority population, or a result of changes
in identity at the transnational level, such as the reinvention
of Europe. The media plays a major role in linking
and projecting these various images into the national
or international imagination.
In imagining the new German nation, western images
of the national self are challenged by the east's divergent
social and historical imaginary. The image of
the foreigner is forged on the anvil of this east-west dialectic,
representing a threat to both, against which a nation
under siege can be imagined whole. A new right
wing of political thought spanning both eastern and
western Germany has emerged in the aftermath of reunification.
The new Right has imagined a powerful reunited
Germany that no longer feels ashamed of its Nazi
past or needs to atone for it by opening its borders to
those not of its own blood. The movement denounces
the United States and Europe for underwriting a "guilt
mythology" and for shaming Germany into thinking it
must accept foreigners, thus depriving Germans of their
Germanness (Heilbrunn 1996). A new, powerful, ethnically
homogeneous Germany is imagined against a multicultural
national imaginary felt to be enforced by the
United States and Europe.
Identities within Europe also are in flux and competition
as Europe moves from being structured as an
economic community to a European union based more
on cultural similarities. This change in the constitution
of European identity has repercussions for nations and
other communities encompassed or excluded by that
definition.16
So, for example, eastern European states,
formerly excluded for ideological and economic reasons,
are being considered for inclusion, whereas Turkey,
long an associate member of the European Community,
has gone to the back of the line for full
membership. Much of the rhetoric about the exclusion
of Turkey speaks to perceived cultural and religious in-
compatibility.
By the same token, the identity of Turkish communities
within Europe is also transformed. Those who
have been guest workers and cocitizens have become
T U R K S I N T H E N E W G E R M A N Y / J E N N Y B . W H I T E 7 6 5
the foreigners within, both in the sight of Germany and
Europe. As one young Turkish woman discovered upon
applying to a French university, living in Germany most
of her life and having a European identity did not make
her a citizen of the European Union and eligible to study
"abroad." In counterpoint, the decreasing importance of
national identity enables noncitizen Turks to legitimate
their claim on the German state by reference to abstract,
universal rights in a kind of transnational citizenship
(Soysal 1994).
Turkish responses to antiforeigner violence (and to
German reactions to the violence) also illustrate the
principle that social identity is the outcome of a dialectic
between images of self and images of self against
others. Turkish responses, while varying by generation,
social class, and educational level (White 1996), also reflect
the availability of both external and internal components
of identity (which include reciprocity) for the
creation of an ethnic self.
One response has been withdrawal from German
culture and consolidation and defense of community
boundaries. Turkish working-class youth gangs, for instance,
set aside their differences and vowed to work together
to defend their neighborhoods (see Figure 6).17
Some Turks, particularly the educated young, became
politicized, expressing a greater interest in obtaining
German citizenship, while others gravitated toward a
more transnational definition of self that retreated from
both Turkish and German identities, drawing upon
characteristics of interpersonal relationships—what I
call processual identity—to create an "ethnic" community.
This community could include not only other
Turks but also Iranians, Italians, or anyone who shared,
by virtue of their personal history, the characteristics of
self by which young educated Turks defined themselves—a
bricolage (Qaglar 1990) of what they call
"European or German" attributes, like professionalism
or being on time, and "oriental or Turkish" attributes,
like engaging in generalized reciprocity and "keeping
Figure 6
Turkish youth-gang graffiti in Berlin; the group calls itself Barbaren, German for barbarians. Photo by Jenny B. White.
7 6 6 A M E R I C A N A N T H R O P O L O G I S T • V O L . 9 9 , N o . 4 • D E C E M B E R 1 9 9 7
one's door always open." Not only does this Creole ethnic
self (Qaglar 1990; Hannerz 1987) provide an identification
beyond the unwelcoming nation, but its processual
core, reciprocity, simultaneously conserves links
to other Turks across boundaries of class, age, education,
lifestyle, self-definition, and geographic location.
Like all imagined communities embedded within a
dominant nation, the historical trajectory of the German
Turkish community will be pulled by the gravity of
struggles to redefine and reimagine the German nation
and German identity after reunification. The outcome is
uncertain, in part because there are so many competing
elements: east/west, Turk/foreigner, blood/citizenship,
German/European, national/transnational. But the components
of community building are also in place. Benedict
Anderson, referring to those shared elements of
cultural systems through which community may be collectively
imagined, wrote, "Through that language encountered
at mother's knee and parted with only at the
grave, pasts are restored, fellowships are imagined, and
futures dreamed" (1991[1983]:154). Reciprocity is such
a language, providing a grammar for future community,
whatever the vocabulary of change.
Notes
Acknowledgments. Research for this article was conducted
in Berlin over 16 months in 1991-92 and 1994, and in Istanbul
in 1986-88. The 1991-92 research was sponsored by the Berlin
Program for Advanced German and European Studies of
the Social Science Research Council and the Free University
of Berlin; the follow-up study was supported by the German
Academic Exchange Service and the University of Nebraska
at Omaha. Funding for the Istanbul research was provided by
Fulbright-Hays and the National Science Foundation. The
John D. and Catherine T. MacArthur Foundation has generously
supported writing time. Two quite different earlier versions
of this article were presented at symposia at Harvard
University and at the University of Washington. I would like
to thank Yasemin Soysal and Re§at Kasaba for providing me
with these opportunities to work through my data, and the
audiences for their thoughtful remarks. I am particularly
grateful to Jon Anderson, Carol Delaney, Laura Graham, Barbara
Kellner, Kathleen Stewart, Barbara Wolbert, and an
anonymous reviewer for their perceptive comments on an
earlier version of the manuscript, and to other colleagues for
their editorial advice.
1. I am grateful to Jon Anderson for this formulation.
2. See Qaglar 1994, Mandel 1989, and Tan and Waldhoff
1996. Sixty-one percent of the Turkish workforce is in the
manufacturing industry (Qaglar 1994), and Turks remain disadvantaged
in the German job market (Faist 1993; Kolinsky
1996). But entrepreneurship is growing rapidly, with an average
of 2,000 new Turkish businesses every year (§en
1996a:31).
3. Similar to what Bourdieu (1977) has called habitus,
structured dispositions to behave a certain way that we learn
through our daily practice.
4. But this figure does not take into account women's
extensive participation in the informal labor market. Much of
that work is done in the home or immediate neighborhood,
thus not challenging norms disapproving of women's movement
in public spaces and interaction with strangers (White
1994). In rural areas, women work in the fields (Delaney 1991)
and increasingly engage in piecework, such as weaving carpets,
for which they are paid by the knot (Berik 1995). The
informal labor market, though it exists in Berlin, is very small
due to tight regulation by the German state.
5. There are numerous exceptions to this depending on
such factors as social class, religious affiliation, or regional
origin. The minority Alevi religious sect is noted for its freedom
of social interaction between men and women; migrants
from western Turkey tend to be less conservative than those
from the east. As migrants move financially and socially into
the middle class and as women become educated and take up
professions (teacher, pharmacist, and so forth), patterns of
gender interaction also change.
6. For an overview of recent literature on Turks in Germany,
see White 1995.
7. See de Jong 1984; Hahn 1991; Ministry for Youth, Family,
Women and Health 1989; and Schaumann et al. 1988.
8. My own extensive personal experience with German
culture generally supports Borneman's observations, although
Berlin, as a result of its long geographic isolation and
distance from bourgeois West German norms, incubated
more extreme versions of the social trends that color the lives
of my extended family in a provincial southwestern German
city. Village life, on the other hand, seems much more oriented
toward marriage and children.
9. For a cogent critique of use of the culture concept in
studies of encapsulated migrant communities, see Qaglar 1990.
10. The availability of recourse is important when tensions
arise in Turkish families from the quite different life experiences
and expectations of three generations. What I am pointing
out is the very different construction of gender, family,
and the individual in society which underlies German perceptions
of Turkish culture as exploitative and oppressive and
Turkish perceptions of Germans (and their institutions) as
hostile to family life.
11. Forsythe (1989) points out that German identity itself
is a problematic categorization. Germanness can be defined
neither by consistent geographic boundaries nor by a long
history; recent history also is unavailable as a basis for an
unproblematic identification. Thus, Germans use categories
of purity, language, culture, family, and appearance to define
Germanness. They may also react by being nationalist (and
acknowledging Germany's recent history as legitimate) or by
denying their Germanness or by focusing on other available
identities: as Berliners or Europeans.
12. In one of the more bizarre but deliciously significative
postreunification developments, Turks cornered the market
on Soviet and East German government and military paraphernalia,
which they hawked with great bazaar professionalism
in the plaza on the east side of the Brandenburg Gate,
TURKS IN THE N E W G E R M A N Y / J E N N Y B. W H I T E 7 6 7
formerly the central symbolic locus of the city's Cold War
division.
13. Police President Georg Schertz, reported in Berliner
Zeitung 1991. But see also Goldberg 1996:18.
14. Mattson describes a similarly alarmist "homogeneous
mass public discourse shaped out of [the] tremendously heterogeneous
population" (1995:82) of refugees and asylum
seekers in postreunification Germany. See Faist 1994 on the
role of political parties in this process.
15. §en 1996a:30, 1996b:2; TGBA 1997.
16. See Ruane 1994, Shore and Black 1994, and Wilson
1993.
17. Hermann Tertilt (1996) has written a powerful ethnography
of a Turkish youth gang, in which he relates acts of
violence by Turkish gang members against German youth to
the atmosphere of hostility against foreigners in their German
environment.
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