I Yell Because I Care, Part 2: Lines in the Sand

"I guess it's like my mama says, I yell because I care." - Ariana Waynes

This is the second part of a three-part reflection on the subject of foreigners, and being a foreigner, in Austria. In Part 1, I discussed my own positionality regarding this issue, and whether I am qualified to speak up on this subject. Part 2 describes the current situation with immigrant incorporation in Austria, using examples from my personal experience. In Part 3, I turn once again to my own position, questioning how I can best show solidarity with other Ausländer in Austria and, in some small way, contribute to a solution. 

I had always known, on some level, that discrimination against people with "migration backgrounds"* was a problem in Austria. But I had always considered it to be something that happens "out there" -- in villages, among older people. Not in the city I love, and coming from my friends and colleagues, from people who have been nothing but hospitable towards me. Not in my school, my ostensibly progressive, weltoffene (cosmopolitan) school, "wo Vielfalt Schule macht." 

I Yell Because I Care, Part 1: Ausländer in Austria

"I guess it's like my mama says, I yell because I care." - Ariana Waynes

This is the first part of a three-part reflection on the subject of foreigners, and being a foreigner, in Austria. In Part 1, I discuss my own positionality regarding this issue, and whether I am qualified to speak up on this subject. Part 2 describes the current situation with immigrant incorporation in Austria, using examples from my personal experience. In Part 3, I turn once again to my own position, questioning how I can best show solidarity with other Ausländer in Austria and, in some small way, contribute to a solution. 

As my one-year mark in this country approaches, I am feeling more and more like a member of this society. I will never be an Austrian, of course, but I've realized that I don't need to leave my American identity behind in order to feel beteiligt - to feel like I'm part of national life here. I care about what happens here, politically, socially, in terms of social justice, not in the abstract way I care about what happens in other parts of the world, but in the deep, personal way I care about what happens in the United States.

Which makes me feel like I can criticize it.

An Open Letter to the Austrian Holiday Gods

Dear People Who Set Holidays (and let's be honest, there's probably a Magistratische Abteilung somewhere responsible for this),

There are many people who are much more qualified than me to speak on the matter of Ausländerfeindlichkeit. I'm neither an Austrian nor an immigrant - just one of the "good" Ausländer who happens to be living here for awhile. And although I know and love many aspects of this country, I don't feel like it's my place to enter into its larger societal debates -- that's something y'all need to figure out for yourselves.

I have only one small point to make. Eid-al-Adha should be a national holiday.

Learning German: die Heimat

In a conversation with an Austrian girl at a party recently, she described Minnesota, where she had spent an exchange year during high school, as her "zweite (second) Heimat." And that struck me as strange, because a lot of times I don't feel like I have any Heimat at all.

Migration / Integration

I wrote this as a reflection paper for one of my classes (Penetrating Ethnic Communities) after we visited a mosque and speaking with some of its leaders about what it's like to be Turkish and/or Muslim in Austria. Writing it really helped me to clarify a lot of my thoughts on integration and xenophobia (Ausländerfeindlichkeit) in Austria. It's in German right now (I'll try to post a translation later), but I wanted to post it here anyway, both because I think it's important to understanding what I've learned here and because I want documentation of my German skills at this specific moment -- no matter if I advance or regress after this semester is over, I'll know that at one point, I could write semi-fluently.

Christmas Party at Frauentreff

Because my flights on Saturday were cancelled, I was able to attend the holiday party for workers and clients of Frauentreff, the organization for migrant women where I'm interning this semester.

Jugendzentrum Alte Trafik: A youth / community center where many of Frauentreff's social activities (including the holiday party) take place.

On Multiculturalism

I came home to a large pile of newspaper clippings on my desk. It seems that my grandma cut out every article in the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette for the past few months that had anything to do with Germany or Austria. While skimming through them, I found this op-ed from Leonard Pitts, Jr., comparing the German debate about multiculturalism to the American one. It really crystallizes a lot of the thoughts I've been having about attitudes toward migration in Austria and about my feelings toward American immigration.

Frauentreff, or in English, Meeting Women

Central College Abroad gives us the opportunity to complete an internship during our time in Vienna. Brie, another girl with the program, and I are both working at Frauentreff, a non-profit organization for foreign-born women in an immigrant neighborhood. Frauentreff has German language coruses, beginning literary courses, and advising for women in multiple languages (Turkish, Spanish, and three West African languages -- Ewe, Twi, and Hausa -- I had never heard of before). This is mostly advice and help with everyday life (How do I register my daughter for school? Could you translate this form and help me fill it out?) and small bureaucratic matters that present minor annoyances to cultural insiders but major roadblocks / sources of confusion for immigrants with little knowledge of the system and weak language skills. It's a bit ad-hoc, but nonetheless important. Unfortunately, there's not really much for us to do, so I don't know how long this internship is going to last, but I've enjoyed simply watching the work of the center so far.

Today, Brie and I went to a beginning literacy course. Because all of the women were from small villages in Turkey, they had never had the opportunity to go to school, and since studies show that it's easier for a person to learn to read in their native language, the class was conducted in Turkish. The women were working off of a paper with a bunch of very simple, "What is your name?" questions, and then various answers. First, the women attempted to read the paper through. A phonics lesson then followed, as the women had to attempt to figure out how to write each of the names of the people on the paper. Finally, the women had to attempt to write their own name using phonics. It was fascinating, because even though Brie and I could read the words on the paper, we didn't know what they meant -- the exact opposite of the women in the class, who understood the words but couldn't read them. By the end, though, both groups understood that "ismin ne?" means "What is your name?"

At the end of the lesson, the teacher told Brie and me that we could gladly stay and drink tea with the women. We accepted, and suddenly, the women were pulling out huge containers of food and pouring heaping amounts of a dish that looked and tasted like Italian wedding soup without the soup on plates for us. A large, circular piece of flatbread (very similar to naan) formed the basis of the meal, and then there were various topping options, from joghurt (Greek style, but don't tell Turkish people that) to thick cherry filling to cucumbers and parsley.

Brie and I didn't have a language in common with these women, because even though they've been in Austria for two to five years, they spoke very little German. They understood us when we said "Bitte" (please), "Danke" (thank you), "Entschuldigung" (excuse me), and "Auf Wiedersehen" (goodbye") -- what you can learn in any tourist book -- but when I tried to ask them "Wie heißt das auf Türkisch?" (What is that called in Turkish?), I got a mix of blank looks, "Türkisch, ja" (meaning that Turkish was the only word they understood), and "nicht verstehen" (don't understood). But that didn't really matter, because if you want to be my friend, all you have to do is feed me. The women were incredibly nice, and told the director of Frauentreff, a Turkish-born woman who has lived in Germany and Austria for 20 years, that they wished we could talk to one another better. I think they don't have a lot of opportunities to interact with Austrian / non-Turkish people. The director says that because they can find everything they need in their neighborhood (just like back in their villages in Turkey), they rarely venture out.

By the end of the meal (and with some help from the director), we had learned the Turkish words for sugar, bread, tea, thank you, spoon, and bowl. One of the women even asked us how to say goodbye in English. There was only one lingering question: Was that supposed to be lunch, or does "drinking tee" really mean "drink tea and eat until you burst?" I'll have to Google Translate that question and ask the women at "tea time" next Friday.

Penetrating Ethnic Communities

(I love it when Austrians try to speak English.) That's the given English translation of a seminar I’m taking, which basically throws 25 people in a room for three hours to informally discuss contemporary immigration to Austria. Today was the first course meeting, and it was one of the most fascinating experiences of my time in Austria. 

We first spoke in small groups about our perceptions of immigration / migrants / foreigners in Austria, and what types of contact we had with them. The strongest cultural difference I noticed came when we were trying to formulate a definition of assimilation / integration. No one mentioned naturalization as a marker of integration, so I asked directly, “Would you consider naturalization part of the process of integration? Do you have to be an Austrian citizen to be 'successfully' assimilated?” “No,” my groupmates said. “You can only become a citizen once you’re assimilated.” And that, I think, is a very different formulation of the national community. Austrian citizenship is like a prize that you get once you’ve already become Austrian, a visible marker of an internal transition. “The Austrians” are integrated, because the un-integrated are not permitted to become Austrians.

All the Small Things

Sometimes I feel like it's cheating to go to Europe for an "intercultural experience." Austrian and American cultures really aren't that different -- on the surface. We consume the same products and lifestyles (thanks global capitalism!), think on the individual level, believe in progress (we're Westerners, after all), and have a strict concept of time. It takes time to recognize cultural differences between Austria and America, because they're hidden below the surface of this hegemonic Western consumption-oriented cultural facade. That's why I'm here for five months, instead of two weeks. And during my first week of classes, some of these small differences made themselves clear.

Imagining the Other, or Anti-Fascism without Fascists

During a walk on the outskirts of town last Thursday, I found a series of bridge underpasses. Each one was heavily graffitied, and each one seemed to "belong" to a youth subculture. There were the antifascist skinheads: "Punks raus!" (Punks, get out!) and "Fuck the Nazis!" There were the hip-hoppers: "Nigga 4ever" and "Hip-Hop" (OK, this one was kind of obvious). And, across a creek from the others, was a small tunnel for the fascists / neo-Nazis: "Fuck antifa!" (Fuck antifascists!). It, and a small "White Pride" sticker on a trashbin near my dorm, was the only sign of actual right-wing extremism I've seen during my three weeks in rural Germany, and it was a pretty weak one at that. It's anti-fascist graffiti that covers the walls, bridges, and tunnels of Schwäbisch Hall.

Fascism isn't an opinion; it's a crime.

Ban the NPD now

I actually don't know how to translate this, but the general idea is that we need a positive movement, not neo-Nazism.

The abundance of anti-Nazi graffiti, of course, could stem from a small troupe of anti-fascist skinheads. For them, it's not about fighting Nazis in Schwäbisch Hall; it's about fighting Nazis through "participation" in the European anti-racist skinhead movement. 

Much more prominent is Schwäbisch Hall's Freundschafttag (Friendship Day), an annual street festival celebrating multiculturalism, that took place yesterday on the main plaza.

A warm welcome to Friendship Day!

It was started 25 years ago, when people from different parts of the world began arriving in Schwäbisch Hall and the NPD started making some ruckus. There was at least one sign of the festival's political origin:

Banner on the church wall says: "Social justice instead of Sarrazin! Racism solves no problems."

For the most part, though, this was a day of "fun, food, and festivals" multiculturalism, which makes "celebrating diversity" a consumer choice rather than a call to reorder social power relations. Because of its anti-fascist history, Freundschaftstag is also a way of defining the self in opposition to the Other. Because we are not neo-Nazis, the festival indicates, we are not racist, either. If only it worked like that.

With that said, this type of multiculturalism does include FUN and FOOD. So it can't be all bad. And I had an enjoyable afternoon hanging out with various people from the Goethe. What began as a gathering of four on the main church steps became a circle of fifteen young people enjoying the sunshine; conversing in German, French, English, and Spanish/Portuguese/Italian (they're interchangeable here); and cheering for three other Goethe students and professional musicians who performed at festival's conclusion.

View of the festival from the church steps

Lebanese man grinding chickpeas to make falafel.

Homemade falafel. Yum!

Brazilian drummers

Goethe students performing: Sean (American viola player), Keiko (Japanese violinist), and Amy (American opera singer)

The P-Word Again

Of the eleven students in my German class, five of us are students: me, another girl from Central College Abroad, a 20-year-old Turkish guy who wants to become a translator, and two 24-year-old engineering students, one from India and one from Israel. The others are older adults, many with families, who are here in Germany for work and need to learn German. In fact, we have four doctors in the class (three of whom are Romanian)! I feel so privileged compared to them. Here I am, studying abroad just because I think it would be fun, and because I want the personal satisfaction of being bilingual. I guess what I didn't realize before is that in most of the world, being bilingual (or even tri- or quatralingual) isn't some membership badge to the cosmopolitan elite. It's the best way to survive and provide for your family. My introduction interview partner, for example, is an engineer from Libya with a 10-month-old son. He's been learning German from the ground up for seven months now, and next month he's going to bring his family to Germany because he finally has the language skills to get a job.

I know that (white) Americans get derided all the time for only speaking English. (In fact, that was my original reason for wanting to continue studying German, even though it no longer fits neatly into my academic or career interests.) And maybe the world would be a better place if everyone could speak multiple languages. But I think I would rather work for a world in which learning other languages isn't so painfully necessary, a world in which opportunities for high-paying jobs exist in every language. And then we can worry about all becoming polyglots who get to learn about other cultures.

One other thing: I realize how horrible it is that I needed to go to Germany to interact with recent labor migrants on a personal level when the United States is one of the biggest sites of immigration in the world. I don't have a good explanation for it, except that, for all the I'm-just-here-for-academic-enrichment privilege I bring to the table, I am going through a somewhat similar process to the immigrant students in my class.