Constructing a German Diaspora: The "Greater German Empire", 1871-1914
 9780415892261

Table of contents :
Table of Contents
List of Figures and Tables
List of Abbreviations
Acknowledgments
Introduction
1 Patterns of Migration and Settlement
2 Metropolitan Diaspora Constructions
3 Politics: Navy and Auslandsdeutschtum
4 North America and Russia
5 Religion: Protestantism and Auslandsdeutschtum
6 Language: German Schools Abroad
Outlook and Conclusion
Appendix I: Local Navy Clubs in Sample Years
Appendix II: German Protestant Congregations Abroad, 1904
Appendix III: German Schools Abroad, 1912
Bibliography
Index

Citation preview

Constructing a German Diaspora

This book takes on a global perspective to unravel the complex relationship between Imperial Germany and its diaspora. Around 1900, Germanspeakers living abroad were tied into global power-political aspirations. They were represented as outposts of a “Greater German Empire” whose ethnic links had to be preserved for their own and the fatherland’s benefits. Did these ideas fall on fertile ground abroad? In the light of extreme social, political, and religious heterogeneity, diaspora construction did not redeem the all-encompassing fantasies of its engineers. But it certainly was at work, as nationalism “went global” in many German ethnic communities. Three thematic areas are taken as examples to illustrate the emergence of globally operating organizations and communication flows: Politics and the navy issue, Protestantism, and German schools abroad as “bulwarks of language preservation.” The public negotiation of these issues is explored for localities as diverse as Shanghai, Cape Town, Blumenau in Brazil, Melbourne, Glasgow, the Upper Midwest in the United States, and the Volga Basin in Russia. The mobilisation of ethno-national diasporas is also a feature of modern-day globalization. The theoretical ramifications analysed in the book are as poignant today as they were for the nineteenth century. Stefan Manz is Senior Lecturer in German at Aston University, Birmingham, UK, and a Fellow of the Royal Historical Society.

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Constructing a German Diaspora The “Greater German Empire”, 1871–1914 Stefan Manz

NEW YORK

LONDON

First published 2014 by Routledge 711 Third Avenue, New York, NY 10017 and by Routledge 2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business © 2014 Taylor & Francis The right of Stefan Manz to be identified as author of this work has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. Trademark Notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation without intent to infringe. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Manz, Stefan. Constructing a German diaspora : the “Greater German Empire,” 1871–1914 / by Stefan Manz. pages cm. — (Routledge studies in modern European history ; 24) Includes bibliographical references and index. 1. Germans—Foreign countries—History—19th century. 2. Germans— Foreign countries—History—20th century. 3. Group identity—Germany— History. 4. National characteristics, German—History. I. Title. DD68.M36 2014 909'.0971243081—dc23 2014001953 ISBN13: 978-0-415-89226-1 (hbk) ISBN13: 978-1-315-76570-9 (ebk) Typeset in Sabon by IBT Global.

To Laura, Daniel, and Nicholas

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Contents

List of Figures and Tables List of Abbreviations Acknowledgments Introduction

xi xiii xv 1

1

Patterns of Migration and Settlement

19

2

Metropolitan Diaspora Constructions

50

3

Politics: Navy and Auslandsdeutschtum

98

4

North America and Russia

133

5

Religion: Protestantism and Auslandsdeutschtum

176

6

Language: German Schools Abroad

227

Outlook and Conclusion

261

Appendix I: Local Navy Clubs in Sample Years Appendix II: German Protestant Congregations Abroad, 1904 Appendix III: German Schools Abroad, 1912 Bibliography Index

267 277 305 327 351

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Figures and Tables

FIGURES 6.1 German schools abroad: Foundations by decade. 6.2 Support for German schools abroad.

234 236

TABLES 1.1 2.1

3.1 5.1 6.1

Occupations of White Male Population in Southwest Africa, 1911 Paul Langhans (1906), Population Number of the German Volk. Distribution of Germans across the World (Die Volkszahl der Deutschen. Verteilung der Deutschen über die Erde 1906) Navy Clubs, Statistics Worldwide Suggested Geographical Distribution of Protestant Diaspora Support German School Shanghai, Students’ Nationality, 1913–1914

42

73 102 205 247

APPENDIX TABLES Local Navy Clubs in Sample Years German Protestant Congregations Abroad, 1904 German Schools Abroad, 1912

267 277 305

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Abbreviations

AA AA-PA BAB BAMA EZA GASO GUA HDFVA MKI SHAVGE SHS SRO THLLA VDA WRH

Auswärtiges Amt (German Foreign Office) Auswärtiges Amt—Politisches Archiv (Political Archive of the German Foreign Office Berlin) Bundesarchiv Berlin (Federal Archive Berlin) Bundesarchiv Militärarchiv Freiburg (Federal Military Archive Freiburg) Evangelisches Zentralarchiv Berlin (Protestant Central Archive Berlin) State Archive of Saratov District, Russia Glasgow University Archive Hauptverband Deutscher Flottenvereine im Auslande (Central League for German Navy Clubs Abroad) Max Kade Institute Madison, Wisconsin, USA Archive of the Volga Germans at Engels, Russia State Historical Society, Madison/Wisconsin Scottish Record Office, Edinburgh, UK Tower Hamlets Local Library and Archive, London Verein für das Deutschtum im Auslande (Association for Germandom Abroad) West Register House, Edinburgh (Scottish Record Office)

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Acknowledgments

A great many individuals and institutions have helped this project come to fruition. I am deeply grateful to fellow scholars for giving valuable advice and support at different stages of the project. These colleagues include, in alphabetical order: Sebastian Conrad, John R. Davis, Victor Dönninghaus, Christiane Eisenberg, Arkadi German, Petra Götte, Wolfgang Hartung, Dirk Hoerder, Ulrike Kirchberger, Cora Lee Kluge, Robert Lee, Lucian Leustean, Olga Litzenberger, Mark Louden, Nicci MacLeod, Jochen Oltmer, Panikos Panayi, Antje Petty, Horst Rößler, Joe Salmons, Angelika Sauer, Margrit Schulte Beerbühl, Jim Shields, as well as the anonymous reviewers for Routledge publishers. I also received helpful feedback whilst presenting at various conferences and research seminars in Britain, Germany, Belgium, Italy, and the United States. Collective thanks go to all the impressively competent archivists and librarians who helped me trace material around the world. I would like to mention Kevin Kurdylo in Madison, Wisconsin, as a shining example. Finding my way through archives in Saratov, Russia, would have been impossible without the help of Alina Bolshakova and Oxana Mozgovaya. Librarians at the German School Shanghai kindly provided material on its early history. The project would have been impossible to complete without generous fi nancial and institutional assistance. The German Academic Exchange Service (DAAD) funded a one-month research stay in Berlin. I spent this time as a visiting scholar at the Centre for British Studies (Humboldt University) with the kind support of Christiane Eisenberg. A grant from the Friends of the University of Wisconsin-Madison Libraries enabled me to spend another month at the Max Kade Institute for German-American Studies. The School of Languages and Social Sciences at Aston University granted a sabbatical term. All this was complemented with a most generous grant from the British Arts and Humanities Research Council (AHRC) which not only funded archive and lecture trips to Russia and the United States, but also one term of teaching replacement to enable preparation of the manuscript.

xvi

Acknowledgments

Oxford University Press and Wiley Publishers have kindly granted permission to reprint sections from the following articles: Stefan Manz, ‘Nationalism Gone Global. The ‘Hauptverein Deutscher Flottenvereine im Auslande’ 1898–1918’, German History 30/2 (2012), 199–221 (Oxford University Press); and Stefan Manz, ‘Protestantism, Nation and Diaspora in Imperial Germany’, in Nations & Nationalism 18/4 (2012), 744–64 (Wiley). Special thanks go to Susan and Al Friedman for their boundless hospitality during my research stay in Madison, Wisconsin. The book is dedicated to my wife, Laura, and to my two boys, Daniel and Nicholas. Birmingham, October 2013

Introduction

The Prinz Heinrich Gymnasium in Berlin Schönefeld was a typical German grammar school. Both in name and in action it was keen to instil the ‘invented traditions’ of the newly founded German Empire in its pupils. Frequent ceremonies commemorated the battles of the Franco–Prussian war in 1870–1871 or the history of the Hohenzollern dynasty. Causes for celebration included the Emperor’s birthday or the official handing-over of a portrait of an Imperial Prince.1 Similar forces were at work at Bismarck Schule. It was founded in 1895 to commemorate the eightieth birthday of Germany’s first Imperial Chancellor. When it moved into new premises sixteen years later, it was renamed Kaiser Wilhelm Schule and ceremoniously inaugurated. The assembly hall was decorated with a painting of the German Emperor, the frame being draped with the national colours. In his speech, head master Dr. Müller outlined that the foremost aim of the school was “to implant in all children a proud awareness of belonging to a powerful fatherland whose cultural achievements compare well with those of any other people (Volk).” The children exclaimed three cheers for the Emperor (“Unser Kaiser, er lebe hoch!”) and were given commemorative pictures of the princely couple.2 Both schools displayed congruent representations of monarchy and nation, but their settings could not have been more different. The latter ceremony took place in Shanghai, 5,000 miles east of Berlin. The Kaiser Wilhelm Schule catered for the offspring of the small German ethnic community, as well as some children from other nationalities. Shanghai also hosted a German Protestant Congregation which was attached to the Saxonian State Church, and a German Navy Club which was attached to the Berlin-based, but globally operating, Central League for Navy Clubs Abroad. Its aim was to increase German naval power through money transfers to Berlin and to constitute one of many “solid bulwarks of Germanness (Deutschtum) abroad.”3 Those German residents in Shanghai who chose to participate in pertinent activities were fi rmly embedded into transnationally operating institutions, organisations, channels of communication, and discourses about nationhood and belonging. A quick tour du monde in eastward direction confi rms that Shanghai was not a singular case. The German-Australian Nationalfest was held

2

Constructing a German Diaspora

annually on the 18 January to celebrate the foundation of the German Empire on that day in 1871. In the years before 1914, the Nationalfest regularly drew 3,000 German Australians, carrying banner slogans such as “With God for Kaiser and Fatherland” and listening to speeches about monarchy, fatherland, and “the awe-inspiring German Navy.”4 The Protestant congregation in Christchurch, New Zealand, petitioned Bismarck personally to receive the metal of captured guns from the Franco-Prussian War for casting their church bells.5 Within a colonial context, the German school in Apia, Samoa, received support from Prussian school funds as well as the German Colonial Society. The latter interpreted it as a “patriotic act” and “national duty” to counter the “stifling” English and American influence on the island.6 Across the Pacific Ocean, the National German-American Alliance, founded in 1901, aimed to preserve Deutschtum in the United States and forge closer links with the Reich,7 whilst in Latin America the Association for Germandom Abroad (Verein für das Deutschtum im Ausland) had over 350 local branches.8 In Haiti, Kaiser’s birthday in 1913 was celebrated in the German School, and head master Alfred Schuster stressed that “especially for us Germans abroad (Auslandsdeutsche) this is a day when the often obscured feeling of common extraction, blood relationship, and belonging to the same great Volk is brought to life in our consciousness.”9 In Spain, meanwhile, the 23 local German navy clubs formed a national association which urged Berlin for more German war ships to visit Spanish ports. This would symbolise protection and a bond of togetherness between fatherland and diaspora, and would also impress the host society.10 Moving on to Africa, members of the Protestant congregation in Cairo complained to the Foreign Office that some non-German members had the right to vote on congregation matters. They feared an “inundation with alien elements [which threatens] the fi rmly self-contained structure which derives its strength from the Volkstum itself.”11 The German ambassador to St Petersburg, Count Pourtalès, addressed his audience of resident Germans on Kaiser’s birthday as “fatherland-loving Germans who are proud to belong to the powerful Reich.”12 In the metropole itself, Kaiser Wilhelm II projected expansionary aspirations into his distant countrymen by speaking of the diaspora as the “Greater German Empire” (Größere Deutsche Reich). In his speech marking the twenty-fifth anniversary of the founding of the German Empire, he remarked: The German Empire has become a world power. Everywhere, in the farthest corners of the globe, dwell thousands of our countrymen. It is your part, gentlemen, to help me in the task of linking fi rmly this greater German Empire with the smaller home.13 These source texts delineate the scope of the present study which takes on a global perspective to unravel the complex relationship between Imperial

Introduction

3

Germany and its diaspora. During the second half of the nineteenth century, German migrants were increasingly represented as outposts of ‘Germanness’ abroad whose ethnic links had to be preserved for their own and the fatherland’s benefits. In economic terms, they could act as promoters or customers of German industry and trade. In cultural terms, they could disseminate a supposedly superior Germanic culture and elevate the ‘inferior’ cultures of their host societies. In political terms, they could be used to legitimise territorial claims, especially in Central and Eastern Europe. Unification in 1871 added further dimensions to this discourse. Monarchy and nation-state now provided symbolic focal points for national identification not just within Germany, but also on a global scale. Germans worldwide underwent a redefi nition from geographically scattered and disparate groups to an ostensibly unified transnational ‘community of spirit.’14 What were the elements and mechanics of this process? To what extent did it actually have an impact on migrants’ expressions of belonging and, in turn, national identity construction within Germany as that of a nation which was not confi ned to state borders? Tackling these questions requires critical methodological and theoretical differentiation. A crucial issue is that of representativeness. To what extent were the sources presented above an appropriate reflection of the migrant experience? Trying to argue that all Germans living outside the Reich’s borders identified with its political course and subscribed to nation-centred ideas of belonging would be a futile undertaking. An altogether different global narrative is possible which oscillates between apathy and antipathy towards the newly founded Empire. Germans in the largest countries of destination, Russia and the United States, entertained very few religious ties with the ‘homeland’ as both had seen the development of independent ethnic church structures without affiliation to a German state church.15 The Volga Germans, having emigrated long before unification, led relatively isolated lives with persisting regional identities and dialects.16 The same is true for groups such as Mennonites in Russia or the American Midwest. In many communities, the very question of political allegiance caused intra-ethnic tensions. In the Brazilian settlement of Blumenau, for example, a press war between the staunchly nationalist Urwaldsbote and the socialdemocratic Blumenauer Zeitung erupted in which the latter stuck to its critical views of the fatherland. One of its editors, the general practitioner Dr. Hugo Gensch, was accused of launching “disgraceful attacks against the local Deutschtum and the German government.”17 The Blumenauer Zeitung, in turn, defended Gensch as an “upright social-democrat” and “enemy of the monarchy and the self-governing regime of his fatherland,” which was “autocratic, despotic and intolerant.”18 This was followed by a smear campaign, led by the German consul, Salinger, against Gensch as an “intriguer [and] drunkard who hangs around in obscure bars and preaches his wisdom to the lowest elements, drinking Schnaps and beer.”19 Bismarck’s vision of the homogenous nation-state had excluded social

4

Constructing a German Diaspora

democrats as ‘vaterlandslose Gesellen’ (‘fellows without a fatherland’), not least since they had argued against the annexation of Alsace-Lorraine in 1871. 20 In the same vein, the Urwaldsbote recommended to Dr. Gensch that he should “look for a new sphere of activity outside Blumenau.”21 Both national as well as diasporic memberships were certainly fluid and contested. Even more radical in their rejection of any state structures were the German anarchists who gathered in New York 22 and elsewhere. In colonial Southwest Africa, merchant Arnold Schad complained to the German authorities about the widespread apathy of colonial civil servants towards national holidays such as Kaiser’s birthday or Sedan Day.23 Sources of this kind raise legitimate doubts whether ideologically inspired ascriptions of ethnic bondage and diasporic homogeneity were a universally applicable reflection of a more complex reality. ‘The’ German abroad did not exist. What did exist were extremely heterogeneous groups or individuals of different geographical regions, political convictions, religious beliefs and social backgrounds, all moving into, and within, very different contact zones. The aim of the present study is therefore not to give some ex post credit to imperial efforts in constructing a close-knit global community. It is rather to analyse the manifold ways in which the diaspora-nation nexus was negotiated both within Germany and in migrant communities (even ex negativo), and ways in which this idea was disseminated through globally operating organisations, means of communication and transportation, a flourishing ethnic press which was itself integrated into global information flows, and, last but not least, migrants themselves. This agenda embeds the study into a historiographical strand which attempts to break up the paradigm of the nation as a self-contained unit and instead concentrates on its transnational entanglements. The institutionalisation of Geschichtswissenschaft along Rankean lines in nineteenth-century Europe, the United States, Japan, and elsewhere fossilised the nation as the ultimate reference point for the writing of history. This was a reflection of a political situation in which the nation-state assumed teleological qualities, not least in relation to late-coming or ‘unfinished’ nations such as Germany, Italy, Finland, or Poland. Territorial entities were imbued with singular qualities and traditions to legitimise the establishment of state borders and structures. In Germany, in particular through borussisch historians such as Heinrich von Treitschke, these narratives were permeated by Germanocentric chauvinism and the explicit negation or exclusion of ‘foreign’ (e.g. French or Jewish) elements. Under non-nationalistic auspices, the nationstate as primary analytical framework remained largely intact after 1945, and even experienced a slight resurgence after 1989 when new narratives had to be drafted for Central and Eastern Europe. At the same time since the 1980s, however, alternative scholarly strands have started to erode the alleged impermeability of state borders. An influential concept has been that of ‘intercultural transfer’ which was fi rst developed for the Franco-German relationship. Michel Espagne and Michael Werner reconceptualised the

Introduction

5

two countries as “l’espace franco-allemand,” that is, a shared space which has always been characterised by constant exchanges of ideas, know-how, goods and artefacts, technology, capital and, not least, culture. The concept has inspired a wealth of studies on transnational entanglements. In the political sphere, for example, traditional notions of national distinctiveness have been questioned for the nineteenth century. Policies, institutions, ideas, and administrative arrangements were transferred globally across borders within newly emerging patterns of political representation, transnational communication, and network creation. Since the 1990s, ‘transnationalism’ has been the overarching term used to discuss perspectival changes of this kind. Key concepts of social practice and culture which have traditionally been accrued to nation-states (arising from what Anthony D. Smith critically calls “methodological nationalism”) are now redefined as being the products of human or material border crossings. 24 Within this framework, the significance of transnational migration has taken on new dimensions. Conventional migration theories still operated with an immigrant-emigrant dichotomy which presupposed two stable national entities. The ostensibly linear move of people from country A to country B was, for example, tackled within push-and-pull theories based on socio-economic comparative macro-analyses, 25 or within the assimilation paradigm of the Chicago School of Sociology which described linear stages of immigrant assimilation into an American ‘mainstream’ culture.26 A transnationalist perspective, in contrast, stresses the border-straddling networks which connect two or more states and lead to the emergence of new ‘transnational social spaces.’ Migrants’ mobility patterns and social practices do not necessarily follow the ascribed or imposed logic of nationstates but emerge as complementary spaces with different mental maps. Concepts of time and space are adapted as people move between localities of different economic, political or societal development. 27 Migrants are now seen as agents who bring ‘Cultures in Contact,’ as goes the title of Dirk Hoerder’s study on global migrations in the second millennium. Ultimately, they question the notion of ‘mainstream’ cultures (e.g. WASP—White Anglo-Saxon Protestant for the United States, or Leitkultur in Germany) and rather support the viability of, for example, Transcultural Social Studies. 28 Whilst the following chapters subscribe to the basic premises of this approach by viewing Imperial Germany as a permeable space, they also argue that de-nationalisation should not be pushed too far. As Robert C. Smith puts it: “Focusing on how changes in domestic politics—especially in the evolution in regime—affect the state’s stance towards its migrants abroad displaces transnational or global processes as the sole center of the analytical action. In this view, the state actively helps create diasporic public spheres and transnational politics by pursuing its domestic politics extraterritorially.”29 The nation-state was and remains an important analytical category, and whilst on the one hand migrants have certainly contributed to a relativisation of national distinctiveness, they have often moved,

6

Constructing a German Diaspora

acted, and argued within national parameters. The nineteenth century as the very period of mass migration concurrently witnessed the emergence of nationalist movements. Recent scholarship has shown that these two processes were, in fact, intertwined. The construction of ‘national cultures’ in areas which only later were to emerge as nation-states received significant stimuli from outside. Vienna was a centre of Bulgarian learning, and one of the first newspapers in Bulgarian was printed in Smyrna. Serbian literary culture was first developed in the printing presses of Venice and Budapest. Kiev was an important centre of Polish and Lithuanian intellectual life, and Finnish nationalism thrived in what were then, and now, Russian areas. Post-revolutionary exile communities in Brussels, Paris, and London organised themselves across national lines and developed strikingly similar rhetorical devices and images in order to represent ideas of nationhood.30 Another field where national parameters were, in fact, more pronounced than previously assumed is that of migration control. As Andreas Fahrmeir and others have shown for the nineteenth-century Atlantic world, the notion of free-flowing transnational migration relatively unhampered by state intervention draws too simplistic a picture. State control was fragmented along national lines and was one of the major factors that determined the nature and direction of migration flows. Although states were unable, or unwilling, to put a stop to migration, they nevertheless strove to have a grip on transnational flows through border controls, passports, or differing legal classifications into ‘desirable’ or ‘undesirable’ foreigners. The latters’ status, in turn, determined access to state welfare. 31 Exilic nationalism and migration control can act as exemplary reminders that “transnational history is at its most convincing when it takes the nation-state seriously. [ . . . ] To lose sight of the national dimension altogether would serve only to undermine the new approach’s credibility.”32 What emerges from these (re-)calibrations is the insight that German nationalism, even in its late Imperial right-wing form, can best be described as a ‘transnational nationalism.’33 It cannot purely be explained as an indigenous result of rapid social and economic transformations but derived its shape from interaction with the outside world: as demarcation from external and internal ‘others’; as a product of intercultural transfers; and as a grappling with the effects of migration, both inward and outward. The following chapters will strengthen this recalibration with regard to Germans moving and living outside the borders of Imperial Germany. Where the study goes beyond existing migration scholarship, however, is in its consistent application of methodological transnationalism. Existing analyses of the emigration-nation nexus tend to fall into two camps. The fi rst camp is centre-led. It focuses on discourses within Germany and looks at Germans abroad as passive objects of these discourses, i.e. as a canvas onto which (semi-)colonial fantasies could be projected. 34 The second camp is periphery-led. It focuses on the German ethnic minority in one specific region or state and analyses ways in which the ‘homeland’ was negotiated

Introduction

7

within these communities.35 A recent edited volume on the ‘boundaries of Germanness’ makes important inroads into connecting the two spheres, 36 and the present study follows a similar conceptual framework. It argues that Imperial Germany and its diaspora have to be seen as one permeable space in which the themes of migration and nation were experienced and negotiated. This argument is not only derived from the discourse level but is also fi rmly grounded in concrete mobility patterns. These were substantial and complex, ranging from internal to intra-European and cross-continental, and included circular, step, permanent, or re-migration. In his or her lifetime, an individual could (and often did) go through several of these stages. These mobility patterns underline that it is impossible to draw a clear demarcation line between centre and periphery, and the concomitant discourse reflected this social reality as it was conducted within one transnational social space. Proponents of the existing methodological dichotomy might argue that the diasporic interpretation of the nation was inherently different from the one prevalent within Germany, and that these are therefore best discussed within separate analyses. This argumentation is fuzzy at both ends. At the metropolitan end, Stefan Berger rightly talks about the “diverse and often contradictory notions of Germanness in the hearts and minds of Imperial German citizens.”37 After 1871, national cohesion and consciousness was forcefully pushed by elites, with anti-urban concepts of Heimat and Volk constituting ideological links between the local and the national. Even then, however, citizenship came at two levels: the national level as well as that of the respective territorial state. Regional identities persisted well into the Second Reich, and these, in turn, generated very different conceptions of ‘Germany.’ For example, the southern states of Baden, Württemberg, and Bavaria, but also the northern city-states of Hamburg and Bremen, had stronger liberal and civic traditions than Prussia or Saxony.38 This differentiated picture can equally be applied to those living abroad. There was no single diasporic notion, only its constant negotiation, which, in turn, was conducted in constant interaction between the two spheres. The suggestion is therefore to view diasporic expressions of nationhood as one variation out of a multitude of expressions which were negotiated both within and outside Germany. Here and there, their shape and intensity was determined by factors such as religion, class, gender, or encounters with the ‘other.’ All this was conducted within one transnational communicative space. The aim of the following chapters is to establish this space. This aim can only be pursued through consistent methodological transnationalism. A case-study approach will focus on three selected arenas of national identity construction—politics, religion, and language—and ways in which these generated communication flows and institutionalised structures which transcended the Reich’s borders. The right-wing pressure groups (Verbände) had branches abroad; the Prussian Protestant state church in particular was at the centre of a global network of affi liated

8

Constructing a German Diaspora

congregations; and schools abroad were supported by the German state and pressure groups with the aim of language preservation. The institutionalised character of suchlike networks guarantees a substantial body of archival and published sources. These include correspondence, reports, statistics, newspapers, and a wide variety of other types. Some of these sources are held within Germany, others had to be evaluated abroad. The main foci of critical source interrogation revolve around, fi rst, the question to what extent one-dimensional nationalistic texts produced by pressure groups and ethnic leaders appropriately reflect the multi-faceted character of ethnicity, and, second, the problem that most of the texts that have been archived were produced by members of the educated middle-classes. It is therefore crucial that the analysis does not stop at the discourse level but also takes into account social and economic data from the communities studied. This means triangulating the size and social structure of specific communities with ethnic membership records and narrative sources in order to assess the pervasiveness of nationalist discourse abroad. To name but two examples: For Glasgow, the triangulation is conducted through a comprehensive prosopographical database; for Blumenau, Brazil, internal frictions generated by the encroachment of Pan-Germanism are analysed within parameters of religious denomination, social class, length of stay in Brazil, and citizenship status. This is where empirical data allow for a critical evaluation of the ‘official’ discourse which represented the diaspora as a unified, Reich-oriented block. The selection of regional case studies cannot, for obvious reasons, cover all contact zones. It rather aims to present a range of different contexts, from urban to rural, from short-distance to long-distance, from small-scale to large-scale, from colonial (both German and other) to non-colonial, and from low alterity (e.g. Wisconsin) to high alterity (e.g. Shanghai) between migrant and host culture. The term ‘diaspora’ was increasingly used by contemporaries both in an ethno-religious and in a purely ethno-national way.39 It has also found its way into recent conceptual approaches towards German emigration.40 Some theoretical underpinning of its use in the present study is required in order to avoid contributing to its ‘inflated’ (Ulrich Beck) application to any dispersed group. This tendency has been fostered by the advent of transnational theorisation.41 The term derives from the Greek and contains the two lexemes of ‘speiro’ (to sow) and ‘dia’ (over). Thucydides used it in his History of the Peloponnesian War to denote the dispersal of the Aeginetans, whilst the first Greek translation of the Old Testament used it for the exilic situation of the Jews. From its very inception, the term thus contained the two aspects of voluntary movement on the one hand, and forced migration on the other hand. It is the latter aspect which would prevail in the long run, with the term mostly referring to the Jewish, but also the Armenian, diasporas.42 Scholars such as Robin Cohen, Khachig Tölölyan, and Gabriel Sheffer have recently made important contributions to a wider conceptualisation of the term which picks up on its original double meaning. Cohen lists nine constitutive points

Introduction

9

which he calls ‘common features’ of diasporas. It is worthwhile reproducing these in full since many of the source texts and arguments in the following chapters can be related to one or more features: 1. Dispersal from an original homeland, often traumatically, to two or more foreign regions; 2. Alternatively, the expansion from a homeland in search of work, in pursuit of trade or to further colonial ambitions; 3. A collective memory and myth about the homeland, including its location, history, and achievements; 4. An idealization of the putative ancestral home and a collective commitment to its maintenance, restoration, safety, and prosperity, even to its creation; 5. The development of a return movement that gains collective approbation; 6. A strong ethnic group consciousness sustained over a long time and based on a sense of distinctiveness, a common history, and the belief in a common fate; 7. A troubled relationship with host societies, suggesting a lack of acceptance at the least or the possibility that another calamity might befall the group; 8. A sense of empathy and solidarity with co-ethnic members in other countries of settlement; and 9. The possibility of a distinctive creative, enriching life in host countries with a tolerance for pluralism.43 Sheffer adds some terminological clarity to these points by referring to diasporas as social-political formations defi ned by ethno-national parameters. This is particularly useful for the present study as it helps to differentiate its actors and discourses from other transnational formations (religious, professional, cultural) without a clearly defi ned homeland. For Sheffer, members of ethno-national diasporas: maintain regular or occasional contacts with what they regard as their homelands and with individuals and groups of the same background residing in other host countries. Based on aggregate decisions to settle permanently in host countries, but to maintain a common identity, diasporans identify as such, showing solidarity with their group and their entire nation, and they organize and are active in the cultural, social, economic, and political spheres. A crucial feature is the existence of ‘trans-state networks’ to organise and negotiate the complex relationship with each other, the homeland, and host societies.44 Sheffer also reminds us that the question of belonging and loyalty is never either black or white for a given diaspora. It depends on individual and collective choices and is usually ambiguous, dual, or divided.

10

Constructing a German Diaspora

The stronger the degree of organisation of trans-state networks, the more likelihood there is for substantial degrees of loyalty to be maintained or developed towards the homeland. Sheffer fi nds that more case studies of different ethno-national diasporas are “urgently needed” for comparative analyses.45 The present study contains ample source material which can be latched on to these theoretical considerations. Particular attention will be given to formalised trans-state networks (navy clubs, protestant congregations, schools) as case histories of multi-directional conveyor belts of a diasporic disposition. A critical stance is, however, necessary towards the motivation of diasporic actors to produce relevant utterances. Were instrumental considerations prevalent? More concretely, did ethnic leaders such as school directors or pastors express Reich-orientation because their institutions depended upon fi nancial contributions from metropolitan bodies? Was the motivation purely situational in the form of, for example, transnational enthusiasm in the wake of German unification in 1871, or very differing reactions between hastened assimilation and outspoken nationalism after August 1914? To what extent was alleged primordiality not a relatively recent construct itself? What about legal issues which are, surprisingly, often excluded from diaspora theorisations?46 Did naturalisation in the host society sever any ties with the homeland, or were pragmatic professional advantages overriding without any impact on transnational belonging? The complex mix of factors, actors, and motivations will not allow for onedimensional conclusions. Parallels with Italy, another latecomer nation with heavy emigration, are useful. It would lead nowhere to use theoretical criteria such as Cohen’s or Sheffer’s as a tick-list and come to the conclusion that a respective diaspora did—or did not—exist. Criteria for inclusion or exclusion would be too fuzzy. In this I fully share the scepticism of migration historians such as Donna Gabaccia or Dirk Hoerder to apply any notion of a clearly defined and homogeneous ‘national diaspora.’ They rather use the term in the plural in order to do justice to widely differing regional, political, or religious transnational attachments of those labelled italiani al estero (Italians Abroad) or Auslandsdeutsche (Germans Abroad).47 What this study is rather concerned with is the constructionist aspect. Diaspora has to be seen as a process, not a state. Just as the idea of the nation (and, in fact, in a mutually fertilising tandem), it was constantly negotiated and pushed by different actors. Without engaging with the specific terminological discussion, this point has been recently demonstrated by Mark I. Choate. He looks at ways in which the Italian state forcefully reached out to its emigrants, encapsulating them in notions of a ‘Greater Italy’ and colonialist aspirations. Importantly, he also fi nds that these attempts fell on some fertile ground abroad. They were not exclusively metropole-led but received major stimuli from emigrants themselves.48 The subtitle of Choate’s study, The Making of Italy Abroad, points to the insight that transnational connectedness is

Introduction

11

a consciously pushed process. On a methodological level, my own study works with similar premises, but argues that the diaspora concept is suitable to describe this process—if understood as constructionist. Just as nations can be understood as discursively constructed entities49 or ‘imagined communities,’50 so can diasporas. As Tölölyan puts it succinctly, “populations are made into nations and dispersions into diasporas.” For him, “national identity is a form of collective identity that may coexist with, subordinate, or even replace other forms of collective identity.” 51 Also, scholars increasingly appreciate that heterogeneity and ruptures are inherent characteristics of any diaspora (just as they are of any nation). Ruptures do not preclude the application of the term but should, in fact, be adequately discussed within pertinent analyses.52 It is only natural that the foundation of the Italian (1861) and German (1871) nation-states had an impact on respective conceptions of diasporas. To analyse these conceptions for Germany is the aim of the following chapters. Within a wider framework of time and space, they represent a case study in diaspora mobilisation. At some point in their modern histories, a wide range of other nations such as Poland, Mexico, Greece, Portugal, and Japan have pursued similar strategies. 53 These have usually been triggered by a combination of domestic and external changes. The salience of imperial thinking for the configuration of a—largely hidden—English diaspora is now being traced within a major research project. 54 Generally, “sending states tend to redefi ne their relationships with their diasporas when they experience a major reconfiguration in their relationship with the global system that causes a domestic political crisis in national identity, under conditions within which emigrants are seen to have become potentially or actually of greater strategic importance.”55 The concrete changes for Imperial Germany were the foundation of the nation-state in 1871, globalisation, mass emigration, and an increasing engagement with Weltpolitik. The most widely used term of reference at the time for those Germans living outside the borders of Imperial Germany was Auslandsdeutsche. This can be translated as ‘Germans Abroad’ and suggests persisting bonds with the homeland and ethno-cultural homogeneity despite residence abroad. The genesis of the term helps to establish both a larger framework as well as the historicity of diaspora construction. Although the traditional term Auswanderer (emigrants) remained in use, it was increasingly replaced with the neologism Auslandsdeutsche from the 1850s onwards. This was a late outgrowth of German idealism and Herder’s—still unpolitical—definition of a people (Volk) as a cultural and linguistic community which was not necessarily confined to state borders. The idea was picked up forcefully by the German national movement of the 1840s and was encapsulated more appropriately in the term Auslandsdeutsche than in Auswanderer. As Bradley Naranch explains: Denoting the foreign and the familiar in equal parts, it reflected the ambiguous, threshold status of those individuals living beyond the

12

Constructing a German Diaspora fatherland whom Germans at home wanted to include in their imagined community. [ . . . ] As a word not exclusively associated with transAtlantic migration, the Auslandsdeutsche was spatially and temporally more expansive than the Auswanderer. It was broad enough to include German speakers who had settled generations or even centuries earlier in south-eastern Europe or central Asia, for example.56

The novel concept ultimately reconciled the two differing interpretations of emigration which were prevalent since the 1840s. The first one was negative. In a post-mercantilist fashion, its proponents argued that high population density contributed to the wealth of a nation. Emigration was the flip-side of active workforce recruitment by territorial rulers (‘Peuplierung’). Those migrants which moved into new areas ultimately depleted their areas of origin in terms of numbers and skills. The second interpretation of emigration was positive. It was inspired by the Malthusian nexus of population increase in combination with a decrease in resources, especially land and food. Emigration would help alleviate the pressure of looming overpopulation and resulting pauperism. Unimpressed by the argument that a growing economy would also provide for an extended labour market which could absorb a growing population, it operated with a zero sum game.57 Oskar Cannstatt, for example, in 1904, used the metaphor of a closed-up container. As soon as a Volk expanded it caused an overflow of its ‘Volk-container’ (‘Volk-Gefäß’). This overflow should be channelled into regulated emigration and would then benefit the country of origin.58 The framework of these two argumentative poles, one negative and one positive, helps to explain the attractiveness of the notion of a close-knit diaspora. Scepticists of emigration were appeased that emigrants were, in fact, not lost to the nation; and for its proponents it was the missing link between the Malthusian trap and German global politics. Instrumentalising emigration to construct a ‘Greater German Empire’ was a catch-all solution for all the problems and opportunities attached to emigration. This explains why the concept appealed to large sections of society and was forcefully pushed in all possible facets. Previously idealist notions were now charged with power political connotations. The annexation of the border areas of Schleswig-Holstein in 1864 and of Alsace-Lorraine after 1871, for example, was legitimised with the argument that these had been areas of German settlement for centuries. Between 1871 and 1914, diasporic settlements were instrumentalised for imperialist ends. They were discursively constructed as outposts of a ‘Greater German Empire’ and agents of Weltpolitik. During World War I, many came into conflict with host societies. The war period would require a full-length study in its own right and thus lies outside the chronological scope of this book. It will, however, be touched on in a number of chapters. The degree of diasporic nationalism which continued to be expressed beyond August 1914 supports the argument that diasporic actors should not always be seen as passive victims of host societies’ wartime measures

Introduction

13

against ‘enemy aliens.’ The latter could just as well be active catalysts of international political tensions. A number of scholars have recently started to unpack these global implications of German civilian minorities during World War I.59 The book is structured as follows. Chaper 1 will give an overview of German ethnics settling in different environments during the Imperial period. A longer historical perspective will be necessary in order get a grip on those labelled Auslandsdeutsche from the mid-nineteenth century onwards. Heterogeneity is an underlying theme of this overview. Chapter 2 will look at metropolitan constructions of Auslandsdeutsche. What were the main strategies, actors, and pressure groups fostering the notion of a close-knit global community of Germans? Legal and gender aspects will be considered within this theme. Were these just armchair fantasies, or did ascriptions actually resonate abroad? This question will be tackled in the following suite of case studies looking at specific platforms of diaspora construction both at home and abroad. Chapter 3 enters the political arena and the theme of navy agitation. The Wilhelminian battle fleet was a powerful symbol of national strength and unity not only within the Reich but also in communities abroad. A global network of 179 navy clubs with 9,500 members (1913) was coordinated by the Berlin-based Central League for German Navy Clubs Abroad (Hauptverband Deutscher Flottenvereine im Auslande). Its aims were the collection of migrants’ money for concrete navy projects and the promotion of allegiance to the Reich and of ethnic cohesion abroad. Chapter 4 pursues a methodological symbiosis between comparison and transfer in order to analyse patterns of diaspora construction in the two most important host societies, the United States and Russia. Limits are clearly visible in both countries. Chapter 5 is concerned with religion, and with Protestantism in particular. More than Catholicism, it embraced closeness to state and Kaiser. The Prussian State Church and other territorial churches strengthened the legal and organisational framework for an increasing number of diaspora congregations to become attached. These acted as an important vehicle to embed the nationalist rhetoric produced within the Reich into emigrants’ notions of belonging. Pastors were sent out by the mother churches and reproduced familiar forms of Pastorennationalismus abroad. Chapter 6 concludes the suite with a discussion of language and schooling abroad. Being the prime marker of national belonging, the German language was imbued with ideological weight to function as ethnic glue. Within the range of ethnic institutions, German schools abroad (Auslandsschulen) were accrued a central role as preservers of ‘Germanness.’ The Imperial Foreign Office sent out an increasing number of teachers and provided fi nancial support. Coming from what has been termed a ‘conformist class,’ these teachers were selected for service abroad on the basis of political conviction. The case studies all shed detailed light on the structure and mechanics of diasporisation, but also discuss its limits. What emerges is a wide

14

Constructing a German Diaspora

spectrum from enthusiastic embrace, to indifference, and to downright rejection. Based on a range of sources from different geographical and societal provencance, the study shows that the upper end of this scale increased significantly during the Imperial period. It argues that conceptions of diasporic connectedness were not just metropolitan armchair constructs but, in varying degrees, experienced reverberations across the world. They played out in concrete ways through transnational institutional structures, flows of ideas and money, and participation in pertinent activities. Emigrationist discourse and agency were both a motor and seismograph of globalisation processes in Imperial Germany. NOTES 1. Eric Hobsbawm, ‘Inventing Traditions in Nineteenth-Century Europe,’ in Eric Hobsbawm and Terence Ranger, eds., The Invention of Tradition (Cambridge University Press, 1983), pp. 1–14 (at pp. 5–6). Also see Geoff Eley, ‘Making a Place in the Nation. Meanings of “Citizenship” in Wilhelmine Germany,’ in Geoff Eley and James Retallack, eds., Wilhelminism and Its Legacies. German Modernities, Imperialism, and the Meanings of Reform, 1890–1930 (New York and Oxford: Berghahn, 2003), pp. 16–33 (at p. 25). 2. German Consulate Shanghai to German Foreign Office (Auswärtiges Amt, henceforth AA), 27 April 1911, Bundesarchiv Berlin (Federal Archive Berlin, henceforth BAB) R901/38909; The North-China Daily News, 30 March 1911; Shanghaier Nachrichten. Supplement to Der Ostasiatische Lloyd, 28 April 1911 (quote); Hamburger Nachrichten, 27 May 1911. 3. “[ . . . ] feste Stützpunkte des Deutschtums im Auslande,” Bundesarchiv Militärarchiv Freiburg (Federal Military Archive, henceforth BAMA), RM 3/9920–12, 1902, Satzungen für den Hauptverband Deutscher Flottenvereine im Auslande, p. 1; Evangelisches Zentralarchiv Berlin (Protestant Central Archive Berlin, henceforth EZA), fi les Shanghai, EZA 5/3143, 3156, 3143; Schweinfurter Tageblatt, 8 July 1914. 4. Jürgen Tampke, The Germans in Australia (Cambridge University Press, 2006), p. 112. 5. The Star (Christchurch), 14 May 1873. Also Ashburton Guardian, 7 June 1919: “The Government had decided to ‘scrap’ the bells after consultation with the French Consul at Auckland. [ . . . ] If the metal were sold as souvenirs during the peace celebrations it would bring a bigger return than by selling in ingots.” 6. BAB R8023/974, fi les Deutsche Kolonialgesellschaft: Deutsche Schule auf Samoa. Quotations from: Consul Rose to German Colonial Society, 22 June 1896; and Reports of Society’s board meetings 5 December 1896 and 4 December 1897. 7. Charles T. Johnson, Culture at Twilight. The National German–American Alliance, 1901–1918 (New York: Lang, 1999). 8. Sebastian Conrad, Globalisierung und Nation im Deutschen Kaiserreich (München: Beck, 2006), p. 267. 9. “Es ist gerade für uns Auslandsdeutsche ein Tag, an dem das oft verdunkelte Gefühl der gemeinsamen Abstammung und Blutverwandtschaft, der Zugehörigkeit zum selben großen Volke in uns zu lebendigem Bewußtsein erwacht,” Alfred Schuster, ‘Ansprache zu Kaisers Geburtstag in der Deutschen Schule zu Port au Prince (Haiti),’ Die Deutsche Schule im Auslande. Organ des Vereins deutscher Lehrer im Auslande 12 (1913), 348–352 (quote p. 350).

Introduction

15

10. Verband Deutscher Flotten-Vereine in Spanien, Annual Report 1910–11, BAMA RM3/9923–1, p. 13. 11. “[ . . . ] dass doch über Kurz oder Lang die deutsch-evangelische Kirche mit fremdländischen Elementen derartig überflutet wird [ . . . ]. Ein fest geschlossenenes Gefüge, das sich seine starken Reserven im deutschen Volkstum selbst holt [ . . . ],” letter congregation members to AA, 1906 (no day), BAB R901/39638/134–140. 12. “[ . . . ] vaterlandsliebende Deutsche [ . . . ], die stolz darauf sind, dem mächtigen Reiche anzugehören,” quoted in Margarete Busch, Deutsche in St. Petersburg. Identität und Integration (Essen: Klartext, 1995), p. 218. 13. A. Oscar Klaussmann (trans. and ed.), Kaiser Wilhelm II, The Kaiser’s Speeches (New York: Harper, 1903), p. 132. Also Robert Hoeniger, Das Deutschtum im Ausland (Berlin and Leipzig: Teubner, 1913), p. IV. 14. Conrad, Globalisierung, pp. 229–278; Peter Walkenhorst, Nation—Volk— Rasse. Radikaler Nationalismus im Deutschen Kaiserreich, 1890–1914 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2007), pp. 59–67. 15. See Chapter 5. Also Stefan Manz, ‘Protestantism, Nation and Diaspora in Imperial Germany,’ Nations and Nationalism 18, no. 4 (2012), 744–764. 16. James W. Long, From Privileged to Dispossessed. The Volga Germans, 1860–1917 (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 1988); Douglas B. Klusmeyer and Demetrios G. Papademetriou, Immigration Policy in the Federal Republic of Germany. Negotiating Membership and Remaking the Nation (New York: Berghahn, 2009), pp. 54–59. 17. “[ . . . ] schmachvolle Angriffe gegen das hiesige Deutschtum sowie gegen die deutsche Regierung,” Urwaldsbote, 2 February 1902. 18. “[ . . . ] überzeugter Sozialdemokrat [ . . . ] Feind der Monarchie und des selbstherrschenden Regimes seines Vaterlandes [ . . . ] in einem autokratischen, despotischen und intoleranten Lande, Blumenauer Zeitung, 22 February 1902. 19. “Ränkeschmied [und] Trunkenbold, der sich in den obscursten Kneipen herumtreibt und dort bei Schnaps und Bier den niedrigsten Elementen seine Weisheit predigt,” Consul Salinger, Blumenau, to Imperial General Consul von Zimmerer, Florianopolis, 4 April 1902, AA-PA R141742. 20. Volker Ullrich, Die nervöse Großmacht, 1871–1918. Aufstieg und Untergang des deutschen Kaiserreichs (Frankfurt: Fischer, 2007), p. 64. 21. “Dr. Gensch wird guttun, sich außerhalb Blumenaus einen neuen Wirkungskreis zu suchen,” Urwaldsbote, 2 February 1902. 22. Tom Goyens, Beer and Revolution. The German Anarchist Movement in New York City, 1889–1914 (Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 2007). 23. Birthe Kundrus, Moderne Imperialisten. Das Kaiserreich im Spiegel seiner Kolonien (Köln: Böhlau, 2003), p. 181. 24. Heinz-Gerhard Haupt and Jürgen Kocka, eds., Comparative and Transnational History. Central European Approaches and New Perspectives (New York: Berghahn, 2009); Sebastian Conrad and Jürgen Osterhammel, eds., Das Kaiserreich transnational. Deutschland in der Welt, 1871–1914 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2004); Stefan Berger, ed., Writing the Nation. A Global Perspective (New York: Palgrave, 2007); Ljiljana Šarić, Andreas Musolff, Stefan Manz, and Ingrid Hudabiunigg, eds., Contesting Europe’s Eastern Rim. Cultural Identities in Public Discourse (Bristol: Multilingual Matters, 2010); Michel Espagne and Michael Werner, eds., Transferts. Les relations interculturelles dans l’espace franco-allemand, XVIIIe–XIXe siècle (Paris: Édition Recherches sur les Civilisations, 1988); Wolfram Kaiser, ‘Transnational Mobilization and Cultural Representation. Political Transfer in an Age of Proto-Globalization, Democratization and Nationalism, 1848–1914,’ European Review of History 12, no. 2 (2005),

16

25. 26. 27. 28.

29. 30.

31.

32.

33. 34.

35. 36. 37.

Constructing a German Diaspora 403–424; Stefan Manz, Margrit Schulte Beerbühl, and John R. Davis, eds., Migration and Transfer from Germany to Britain, 1660–1914 (München: Saur, 2007); Conrad, Globalisierung, pp. 23–24, 71–73; Anthony D. Smith, Nationalism in the Twentieth Century (Oxford: Martin Robertson, 1979). E.g. Peter Marschalck, Deutsche Überseewanderung im 19. Jahrhundert. Ein Beitrag zur soziologischen Theorie der Bevölkerung (Stuttgart: Klett, 1973). Philip Q. Yang, Ethnic Studies. Issues and Approaches (Albany: State University of New York Press, 2000), pp. 77–94. Thomas Faist and Eyüp Özveren, Transnational Social Spaces. Agents, Networks, and Institutions (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2004). Dirk Hoerder, Cultures in Contact. World Migrations in the Second Millennium (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2002); Stefan Manz, ‘Constructing a Normative National Identity. The Leitkultur Debate in Germany, 2000/2001,’ Journal of Multilingual and Multicultural Development 25 (2004), 481–496. Robert C. Smith, ‘Diasporic Membership in Historical Perspective. Comparative Insights from the Mexican, Italian and Polish Cases,’ International Migration Review 37, no. 3 (2003), 724–759 (at 726). Joep Leerssen, ‘Nationalism and the Cultivation of Culture,’ Nations and Nationalism 12 (2006), 559–578 (at 559, 566); Maurizio Isabella, ‘Exile and Nationalism. The Case of the Risorgimento,’ European History Quarterly 36 (2006), 493–520 (at 493, 505); Isabella, ‘“Apostles of the Nation and Pilgrims of Freedom.” Religious Representations of Exile in NineteenthCentury Europe,’ in Susanne Lachenicht, Kirsten Heinsohn, eds., Diaspora Identities. Exile, Nationalism and Cosmopolitanism in Past and Present (Frankfurt: Campus, 2009), pp. 68–92; Benedict Anderson, Imagined Communities. Refl ections on the Origin and Spread of Nationalism (London: Verso, 2006, fi rst published 1983). Andreas Fahrmeir et al., eds., Migration Control in the North Atlantic World. The Evolution of State Practices in Europe and the United States from the French Revolution to the Inter-War Period (New York: Berghahn, 2003). Matthew Jefferies, Contesting The German Empire, 1871–1918 (Oxford: Blackwell, 2008), p. 172. Also see Barbara Lüthi et al., eds., Transnationalismus—eine Herausforderung für nationalstaatliche Perspektiven in den Kulturwissenschaften? Special Issue of Traverse 1 (2005). Conrad, Globalisierung, p. 24; Walkenhorst, Nation. E.g. Walkenhorst, Nation, 59–68; Michael Ermarth, ‘Hyphenation and Hyper-Americanization. Germans of the Wilhelmine Reich View GermanAmericans, 1890–1914,’ Journal of American Ethnic History 21, no. 2 (2002), 33–58; Conrad, Globalisierung, 229–279; Bradley D. Naranch, ‘Inventing the Auslandsdeutsche. Emigration, Colonial Fantasy, and German National Identity, 1848–1871,’ in Eric Ames et al., eds., Germany’s Colonial Pasts (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 2005), pp. 21–40. A good overview of current research and case studies is Mathias Schulze et al., eds., German Diasporic Experiences. Identity, Migration, and Loss (Waterloo: Wilfrid Laurier Press, 2008). Krista O’Donnell et al., eds., The Heimat Abroad. The Boundaries of Germanness (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 2005). Stefan Berger, ‘Germany. Ethnic Nationalism Par Excellence?’ in Timothy Bancroft and Mark Hewitson, eds., What is a Nation? Europe 1789–1914 (Oxford University Press, 2006), pp. 42–60 (at p. 58). Also see Berger, Inventing the Nation: Germany (Oxford: Arnold, 2004).

Introduction

17

38. Ibid.; Alan Confi no, The Nation as Local Metaphor. Württemberg, Imperial Germany and National Memory, 1871–1918 (Chapel Hill and London: University of North Carolina Press, 1997); Celia Applegate, A Nation of Provincials. The German Idea of Heimat (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1990). 39. E.g. E. Wilhelm Bussmann, Evangelische Diasporakunde. Handbuch für Pfarrer und Freunde deutscher Auslandsgemeinden (Marburg: Elwert, 1908); Gottfried Fittbogen, Das Deutschtum im Ausland in unseren Schulen (Leipzig: Teubner, 1913), p. 1. 40. E.g. Mathias Schulze and James M. Skidmore, ‘Diaspora Experiences. German Immigrants and their Descendants,’ in Schulze, German Diasporic Experiences, pp. xiii–xix (at pp. xiii–ix); Krista O’Donnell et al., ‘Introduction,’ in O’Donnell, Heimat Abroad, pp. 1–14 (at pp. 4–6); Dirk Hoerder, ‘The German-Language Diasporas. A Survey, Critique, and Interpretation,’ Diaspora 11, no. 1 (2002), 7–44; James Koranyi and Ruth Wittlinger, ‘From Diaspora to Diaspora. The Case of Transylvanian Saxons in Romania and Germany,’ Nationalism and Ethnic Politics 17 (2011), 96–115; Conrad, Globalisierung. 41. Ulrich Beck, Cosmopolitan Vision (Cambridge: Polity, 2006), p. 71; Rogers Brubaker, ‘The “diaspora” diaspora,’ Ethnic and Racial Studies 28, no. 1 (2005), 1–19; Gabriel Sheffer, ‘Transnationalism and Ethnonational Diasporism,’ Diaspora 15, no. 1 (2006), 121–145; Khachig Tölöyan, ‘Beyond the Homeland. From Exilic Nationalism to Diasporic Transnationalism,’ in Allon Gal et al., eds., The Call of the Homeland. Diaspora Nationalisms, Past and Present (Leiden: Brill, 2010), pp. 27–45 (at p. 29). 42. Gabriel Sheffer, Diaspora Politics. At Home Abroad (Cambridge University Press, 2003), pp. 8–9. 43. Robin Cohen, Global Diasporas. An Introduction (Abingdon: Routledge, 2001), p. 26. 44. Sheffer, Diaspora Politics, pp. 9–10. 45. Ibid., pp. 225–230. 46. But see special issue on ‘Diaspora and Citizenship,’ Nationalism and Ethnic Politics 17 (2011). 47. Donna R. Gabaccia, Italy’s Many Diasporas (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 2000); Hoerder, ‘German-Language Diasporas’; Hoerder, Geschichte der deutschen Migration. Vom Mittelalter bis heute (München: Beck, 2010), pp. 86–92. 48. Mark I. Choate, Emigrant Nation. The Making of Italy Abroad (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2008). 49. Ruth Wodak et al., eds., The Discursive Construction of National Identity (Edinburgh University Press, 1999). 50. Anderson, Imagined Communities. 51. Tölölyan, ‘Beyond the Homeland,’ p. 29. Also see Susanne Lachenicht and Kirsten Heinsohn, eds., Diaspora Identities. Exile, Nationalism and Cosmopolitanism in Past and Present (Frankfurt: Campus, 2009); Jana E. Braziel and Anita Mannur, eds., Theorizing Diaspora. A Reader (Malden and Oxford: Blackwell, 2003). 52. Rhacel S. Parreñas and Lock C. D. Siu, ‘Introduction. Asian Diasporas—New Conceptions, New Frameworks,’ in Parreñas and Siu, eds., Asian Diasporas. New Formations, New Conceptions (Stanford University Press, 2007), pp. 1–28. 53. E.g. Toake Endoch, Exporting Japan. Politics of Emigration toward Latin America (Urbana and Chicago: University of Illinois Press, 2009); Elpida Vogli, ‘The Making of Greece Abroad. Continuity and Change in the Modern

18 Constructing a German Diaspora

54.

55. 56.

57. 58. 59.

Diaspora Politics of a “Historical” Irredentist Homeland,’ Nationalism and Ethnic Politics 17, no. 1 (2011), 14–33; Smith, ‘Diasporic Memberships’; Bela Feldman-Bianco, ‘Multiple Layers of Time and Space. The Construction of Class, Race, Ethnicity and Nationalism among Portuguese Immigrants,’ in N. Glick Schiller et al., eds., Towards a Transnational Perspective on Migration, vol. 645 (New York: Annals of the New York Academy of Sciences, 1992), pp. 145–174. http://www.englishdiaspora.co.uk [accessed 21 October 2013]; Donald MacRaild and Tanja Bueltmann, ‘Globalizing St George: English Associations in the Anglo-world to the 1930s,’ Journal of Global History 7, no. 1 (2012), 79–105. Smith, ‘Diasporic Memberships,’ 727. Naranch, ‘Inventing,’ p. 26; Gerhard Weidenfeller, VDA. Verein für das Deutschtum im Ausland/Allgemeiner Deutscher Schulverein (1881–1918). Ein Beitrag zur Geschichte des deutschen Nationalismus und Imperialismus im Kaiserreich (Frankfurt: Lang, 1976), pp. 37–44. Conrad, ‘Globalisierung,’ p. 231. Oskar Cannstatt, Die deutsche Auswanderung, Auswandererfürsorge und Auswandererziele (Berlin: Hahn, 1904), pp. 39–41. Panikos Panayi, ed., Germans as Minorities During the First World War: A Global Comparative Perspective (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2014).

1

Patterns of Migration and Settlement

INTRODUCTION A contemporaneous observer around 1900 who wished to have a fi rst-hand experience of Germans’ global mobility would have been well served by visiting a church service of the German Protestant Congregation in Liverpool. He or she would not only have mingled with resident German sugarboilers from Northwest Germany, pork butchers from Württemberg, and merchants from Hamburg, but would also have witnessed groups from Russia en route to the United States. As pastor Rosenkranz remembers in his comprehensive congregation history, written in 1921: These emigrants were hardly German nationals (Reichsdeutsche) anymore, but were almost exclusively the descendants of those German, mostly Württembergian settlers who had emigrated [around 1800] from our fatherland to the Russian districts of Samara or Saratov, as well as the areas of Cherson or Bessarabia. There, they had faithfully preserved their forefathers’ folk-ways (Volksart) and religious belief in many German villages. [ . . . ] Now one often saw in our church the sturdy figures of men in Russian costume with fur-hats and high boots, the women with their head-scarves and the children with their round and fresh farmers’ faces. [ . . . ] In the buzzling atmosphere of the big English port town they were happy to have found a room where they heard their mother-tongue and where song and gospel reminded them of their old Heimat.1 The complexity of this snapshot is a challenge to any migration typology, 2 which is, however, indispensable to make sense of the movements described. The sugar-boilers had left their agricultural socio-economic environment in order to join an urban industrial labour-force, whilst the pork butchers had remained within their trade. When the British sugar industry was hit by recession in 1908, many labourers either returned to Germany or migrated on to the United States. For commercial clerks and merchants, a lengthy stint abroad was often part of career migration

20 Constructing a German Diaspora patterns between urban centres along global commercial networks. Others stayed for good in Liverpool as part of an ethnic community of around 2,000 individuals. The Russian Germans, on the other hand, moved from rural areas in Russia—where they gradually lost the privileges granted to their ancestors by the Russian state—to rural areas in the American Midwest, in particular the Dakotas, where they then formed a ‘double diaspora.’ For them, Liverpool was merely the most cost-eff ective port for transmigration, whilst for the sugar-boilers it was one stage within a cycle of step- or remigration. Some of them had fi rst moved to their nearest urban centre in Germany, Bremen, and had then arrived in Liverpool after a stint in the London factories. 3 All of these migrations oscillate between transregional and long-distance, and between shortterm and permanent migration. They connected regions, states and continents, and were, in turn, connected themselves through transnational ethnic networks and institutions. These connections could be ephemeral or long-lasting, with language in its various dialects being the smallest common denominator. These typological remarks form the backdrop of the following overview of German settlement abroad between 1871 and 1914. Rather than aiming to be comprehensive, the overview will attempt to identify a number of mobility patterns which will then be relevant for the subsequent chapters. The period has to be seen within a wider continuum of out- (and in-) migration spanning the medieval and modern periods. A differentiation into westward streams and eastward streams is useful for mapping these movements,4 but one should also be aware that these streams were often interconnected as in the case of Russian Germans in the United States. This will be followed by depictions of settlement in other world regions as a consequence of globalisation and formal imperialism. Later chapters of this book work with regional case studies in order to determine whether the diasporic discourse was refl ected abroad. This chapter therefore also serves the purpose of introducing German communities in specific locales in terms of their social make-up and migratory background. These areas include the Volga Basin (Russia), Wisconsin (USA), Blumenau (Brazil), Glasgow (Great Britain), Shanghai (China), and colonial possessions in Africa. The geographical meso- and micro-level approach has proven useful for approaching global migratory movements in a meaningful way. 5 Purely macro-level approaches concentrating on states as sole actors determining flows of movements miss out on the actual subjects of their enquiry, namely the migrants themselves and their communities and networks. These smaller entities can often be more revealing in terms of migration motives and mechanisms than Marxist-inspired push-pull models concentrating on income disparities between different states as the prime mover of people. They also allow us to approach questions of diasporic identity amongst ethnic leaders and their communities. For the purpose of this study, it is

Patterns of Migration and Settlement

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therefore necessary to complement the macro-level with lower geographical levels of analysis.

EUROPEAN EASTWARD Eastward migration of German-speaking people can be traced back to the Carolingian period in the ninth century. Slavic rulers in Pomerania, Poland, Silesia, Bohemia, and Moravia invited peasant families in order to increase their populace and make land arable. In the footsteps of these early colonists, more groups arrived from the twelfth century onwards. The Cistercian order pursued colonising and missionising aims by founding monasteries such as Oliva near Gdansk/Danzig (1170) or Chorin (1260), whilst the Teutonic Order was called in by the Duke of Masovia to subdue the Pruzzen-people on the Baltic seaboard. It subsequently set up a relatively independent territorial rule which was contested throughout its existence, especially by neighbouring Poles, until it was ultimately dissolved in 1809 under Napoleon. Further south, rural migrants from Saxony moved into the Romanian-speaking area of Transylvania, which stood under Hungarian rule. In this trilingual environment they occupied the higher rungs of the social ladder, based on relative economic success. Another area of destination was the Slovakian Carpathian Mountains. Miners and traders were also recruited from Saxony. It was only from the nineteenth century onwards that these ‘groups’ were given clear ascriptions and came into the radar of a wider German public: the Transylvanian settlers as ‘Siebenbürgener Sachsen’ and the Slovakian ones as ‘Zipser Sachsen.’ Germans also settled further south between the Danube and the Adriatic Sea, and formed ethnic islands with long-lasting language preservation. German-speaking settlers from East Tyrol and Upper Kärnten, for example, were solicited in the fourteenth century to make the Gottschee Plateau in Slovenia arable. This language island reached its peak at 26,000 German-speakers in the second half of the nineteenth century, but the population pressure led to diminishing land resources and secondary overseas migration, especially to the United States.6 Within an urban socio-economic environment, artisans, traders, administrators, and patricians also migrated eastward into existing or newly founded towns. These were free burghers—as opposed to the unfree peasants—and formed local elites who established long-distance trading routes and professional skills. Within this (Central) East European urban landscape, German in its many dialect forms developed into a lingua franca overarching the respective Slavic languages. As a consequence of antisemitic persecution, Jews were an integral part of this movement both linguistically and economically, if not in terms of religion. By the end of the Middle Ages, therefore, an arc of German-speaking settlements had formed between the Baltic seaboard and the Adriatic Sea. Many of them were still existent in

22

Constructing a German Diaspora

the late-nineteenth century and beyond. From the start, they entered into a symbiosis with the local economies and cultures and were part of the multiethnic character of these regions.7 These migrations are best described at the meso-level of ‘region to region’ or ‘trade to trade,’ and it was only the nationalist historiography of the nineteenth century which made them all into ‘Germans,’ separating them from their social environment. Jews were systematically cut out of the narrative, and for non-Jews clear social hierarchies and civilising effects were constantly reiterated. A comprehensive compilation on Germans abroad edited by the VDA, for example, explains in the chapter on Galicia and the Bukowina that in Cracow/Krakau “during the 14th century many German names appear amongst the burgomasters and council members of the town,” and that “the ‘wooden’ town of Lemberg, after being destroyed by fi re in 1381, was mainly rebuilt by German master builders (‘Baumagistri’).” Overall, the picture of an “export of learning” (Bildungsexport) through the German language as an “indispensable mediator for intellectual exchange” was established.8 Another author, the historian Robert Hoeniger, described the Transylvanian Saxons as a “brave flock who defended Hungary’s border with the sword against the wild hordes of the Southeast and who, through unflagging work, transformed Transylvania into a ‘land of plenty’ [ . . . ] They have settled there for 700 years. In the new Heimat they have achieved an exceptionally high reputation and have clung with fi rm conviction to the cultural communion with the totality of the German Volk.”9 Ethnocultural preservation was remoulded into nationalist intention even for a pre-national period. From the sixteenth century onwards, eastward movements increased in diversity, distance, and scope. They were channelled by monarchies in order to populate and expand territories, guided by mercantilist thinking along the lines of ‘ubi populus, ibi obulus’ (‘Where there are people, there are taxes’). The Habsburg Empire pushed back Turkish influence during the Habsburg-Ottoman war, 1683–1699, and invited members of its mercenary army to settle in acquired territories in Hungary and the Balkans. Amongst the settlers were families from southwestern and northeastern German principalities. One area of German cluster settlement was the Banat, an area north of Serbia across the Danube (‘Banat Suabians’). Straight after its conquest in 1718, Austrian Emperor Charles VI actively recruited settlers from western and southwestern German territories. The fi rst ones to arrive were artisans, soldiers, and civil servants. This was followed by systematic settlement of farmers, who were guaranteed personal freedom, three years tax-exemption, and state subsidies for building up an agricultural and municipal infrastructure. The Banat region was a template for a number of similar undertakings in the Habsburg Empire, emerging through the combination of power shift and mercantilism. The Bukowina region northeast of Transylvania was occupied in 1775 by Austria, and by 1800 counted approximately 47,000 German speakers. This number

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23

had increased to 73,000 by 1910. They were not alone, however. Ruthenians (Ukrainians) were the largest group, followed by Romanians, Jews, and Germans who made up nine per cent of the population. The recruitment efforts of the Habsburg administration also extended to Serbs, Croats, and Czechs, and even small numbers from Italy, Spain, Alsace, and Lorraine.10 These demographic factors indicate that the nineteenth-century metaphoric representation of areas such as the Bukowina as German ‘language islands’ (Sprachinseln) was, in fact, misleading. The term suggests a clearly demarcated area managing to preserve its ‘purity’ despite being constantly washed round by alien cultures and languages. In actual fact, Germans were one actor within an interwoven web of different cultures. Hybrid cultures consisting of a variety of confluences developed. This was also true for other main areas of German settlement between Hungary and the Black Sea: Sathmar northwest of Transylvania and, further east, Bessarabia (Russia) and the Dobrudscha (Romania, Bulgaria) on the shores of the Black Sea. Settlers in the Dobrudscha-region had not come straight from Germany but via Bessarabia, where they had settled in the first half of the nineteenth century.11 Frontiers moved across people when states changed their shape. Austria-Hungary became known as a Vielvölkerstaat (state of many peoples). Romania, Bulgaria and Serbia came into being in 1878, hosting established areas of German settlement such as the Banat (Romania) and the Dobrudscha. The Russian Empire expanded both westward and eastward, and when it incorporated the Baltic states in 1710 it became host to the German minority which had dominated urban life there since the Middle Ages. Urban elites in cities such as Riga or Reval (Talinn) remained culturally German, leading the merchant, artisan, and industrial sectors as well as urban self-administration. Rural elites also owned sixty per cent of arable land in Estonia. The Czar granted the right to practice the Protestant religion, and also founded Dorpat University in 1802 where most of the teaching was conducted in German. In an unusual scenario, upwardly mobile members of the majority culture—Estonians and Latvians—became linguistically and culturally Germanised. Boundaries also became blurred through frequent intermarriage. Ethnic relations were relatively harmonious before late nineteenth-century Pan-Slavic and Pan-German activities undermined an equilibrium which had grown over the centuries.12 Baltic Germans were a cosmopolitan elite with a specific historical and socio-economic background which made them distinct from other German groups in the Russian Empire, whether urban or rural. The generic label ‘Russian Germans’ disguises a more complex reality where separate groups in different regions had little contact and awareness of each other and in which ethnicity was upheld depending on the nature of specific regional contact zones. Chapter 4 of this volume, however, will point to changes that occurred around 1900 not just as metropolitan hetero-ascriptions but also as völkisch re-defi nitions by ethnic elites themselves. The fi rst Russian

24

Constructing a German Diaspora

census in 1897 gives an indication of numbers and areas of settlement. 1.8 million people gave German as their mother-tongue. The Baltic Germans made up just under 10 per cent of these. Two further established groups which found themselves under Czarist rule through Russian expansion were Germans in Finland (1809 to Russia) and those living in Russian Poland after the Congress of Vienna in 1815. The latter were substantial in numbers, making up 23 per cent of all Germans in the Russian Empire. From the Middle Ages onwards, there was also movement into the expanding Russian cities. This gained momentum through Russian modernisation in the second half of the nineteenth century, and in 1897 about 100,000 German-speakers lived in the 20 gouvernements of Central Russia. Four fifths of them lived in St Petersburg, Moscow, and other cities where they were represented above average as merchants, intellectuals, nobles, clergy, and trained artisans. Whilst most of them had come directly from Germany, others had arrived from the Baltic Provinces. The largest concentration was in St Petersburg at 50,000.13 The largest two areas of German settlement in the Russian Empire, however, were in the lower Volga region and north of the Black Sea. Despite their common raison d’être—the ‘Peuplierung’ of Romanov territory—and comparable agricultural character, there were very few connections between the two, and they are best discussed as two separate entities. The presence of the Volga Germans can be dated to the year 1763 when Czarina Catherine the Great, herself of German extraction, invited peasant colonists to cultivate the sparsely populated lower Volga basin. It was especially farmers from the war-torn German southwestern territories who were attracted by a number of privileges: Families who could not afford the fare were given subsidies. Colonists were granted free practice of their religion, which was attractive not only to Catholics and Protestants, but especially to Mennonites. Taxes were dispensed for a period of thirty years, and military service for an unlimited period. Colonists were allocated thirty desjatinas (eighty acres) and favourable loans to purchase live-stock and materials. Communities were given the right to self-administration and local jurisdiction. Not all colonists had been peasants at the time of departure, though. Many had been artisans or traders who, upon arrival in Russia, had hoped to settle in cities but were coerced by the authorities to move into the steppe and take up farming. By 1773, 26,000 new arrivals had established 104 socalled ‘colonies’ (Kolonien) in the area around Saratov on both sides of the Volga. By the end of the nineteenth century the number of Volga Germans had swollen to 400,000.14 Movement into the region north of the Black Sea (‘New Russia’) started a generation later beginning in the 1780s. In addition to the traditional stock of Lutheran and Catholic families, mostly hailing from Württemberg, Baden, and Alsace, this second stream was complemented with Mennonite groups from Western Prussia and Danzig. They migrated from a position of strength rather than weakness. Their policy of expanding landholdings

Patterns of Migration and Settlement

25

in order to avoid inheritance partition was tightly controlled by the Danzig authorities, and larger plots had to be sought. An important religious aspect was their refusal to complete any military service. The Czarist dispensation was therefore particularly attractive. Mennonites had an exceptionally good starting position in the Black Sea region as they had brought capital and agricultural know-how. At eighty desjatinas their land allocation was almost three times that of the Volga Germans, and they were regarded as model colonists by the Russian authorities. When privileges were revoked, many of them joined the westward stream to settle in the Americas. Other areas of German settlement in the Russian Empire were Wolhynia in western Ukraine at 200,000, and smaller groups totalling 50,000 in the northern Caucasus and Transcaucasia. The census of 1897 also counted 14,000 across the Ural in western Siberia and Kazakhstan. In the decade before 1914 these were joined by tens of thousands migrating on from the European parts of Russia.15 The situation for German settlers in Russia deteriorated from the 1870s onwards. Privileges were gradually revoked, most crucially exemption from military service and the right to self-administration. Russification policies specifically targeted the use of German as a language of instruction in ethnic schools. In the Volga region, a string of bad harvests led to impoverishment in the villages. The Catholic ethnic newspaper Klemens gave a depressing account which was hardly in line with projections of flourishing landscapes: “The economic system, the great scarcity of land, [ . . . ] and bad harvests brought along a state of general deprivation amongst our German brothers at the Volga.” The villages presented a “sad picture,” in winter clothes were scarce, not all children were sent to school, and crime was ripe.16 Pressure to leave did not induce these settlers to ‘return’ to German territory but made them look for a world region which appeared best suited to meet their economic needs. Via the European emigration ports, masses went on the transatlantic passage to the Americas, mostly to the United States but also to Canada and Latin America. Between 1870 and 1920 an estimated 120,000 Russian Germans entered the United States. By the 1920s, there were about 300,000 descendants of Russian Germans living in the United States, and the corresponding number was 100,000 for Argentina. The main destinations in the United States were the Dakotas, Montana, Wyoming, Nebraska, and Colorado, with Volga Germans and Black Sea Germans continuing to settle in separate communities. Religion also continued to be a dividing factor as newly founded villages were either predominantly Catholic or Protestant. The German nation played no role in the identity formation of these fluctuating migrant groups from Russia.17 The transatlantic movement of ‘Russian Germans’ therefore has to be seen in perspective as connecting the two main branches of Germanspeaking eastward and westward migrations. Within a wider historical context, the two branches can be juxtaposed as follows: from the 1680s and throughout the eighteenth century the majority of emigration at an

26

Constructing a German Diaspora

estimated 740,000 went towards East and Southeast Europe. In comparison, only 170,000 migrated to North America in the same period. These movements were mainly triggered by shrinking land resources and warrelated devastations, in particular after the Seven Years’ War (1756–1763). As these developments were particularly pronounced in the southwestern territories (Baden, Württemberg, Palatinate, Alsace, Lorraine), these were the main donor regions. Differentiations were not least due to transportation routes. People from Catholic Baden, for example, had easier access to the Rhine and therefore the North Sea ports which took them to North America, while the mostly Protestant Württembergers tended to follow the course of the Danube to end up in southeast and east Europe (‘Schwabenzüge’, or ‘Suabian Treks’).18 This overview of settlement patterns in East Central and Eastern Europe sets the scene for the situation as encountered by pre-1914 ideologues. The settlement of German-speaking people had started in the early Middle Ages, experiencing a peak in the decades around 1800. Enclaves developed in which ethnic culture and language were passed on from generation to generation. The roots of this settlement go back to a period in which no German nation existed. In a legal sense, people did not emigrate as Germans but as Württemberger, Badener, or Palatinates. Their lived environment consisted of ‘transplanted’ regional, familial, and social networks, interacting within multi-ethnic environments. They did not perceive their language and culture preservation as a national task but as a natural and pragmatic way of living in their new environment. Both in rural and Baltic urban contexts it could also serve to uphold ethnic hierarchies as German was a high-status minority language. German speakers were geographically extremely dispersed and divided by religion, class, and rural vs. urban environment. There was little interaction between the different communities and no common identity as, say, Russian Germans. It was only in the course of the nineteenth century that they were gradually ‘discovered’ by nation-builders who defied the relevance of physical borders for defi ning the scope of the German nation.

WESTWARD OVERSEAS From the 1830s onwards, the balance tipped towards transatlantic migration, with the expanding US economy and labour market being the main magnet. Between 1816 and 1914 about 5.5 million Germans migrated to the United States. These constituted 90 per cent of the total emigration figure. Other important destinations were Canada, Brazil, Argentina, and Australia. Emigration peaks occurred in the periods 1846 to 1857, 1864 to 1873 (each just over a million), and 1880 to 1893 (1.8 million). The key ‘push-factor’ now was the transition from predominantly agrarian to industrial societal structures, causing rifts in the labour market which could not

Patterns of Migration and Settlement

27

absorb a population which doubled in the course of the century. While the German southwest continued to be an important source, from midcentury onwards northwestern and northeastern regions started to send sizeable numbers. Proto-industrial production systems, especially in textile production, were threatened by modernised mass-production in Britain and, indeed, other German regions. In East Elbian Prussia, agricultural production became increasingly industrialised. Labourers were employed on a seasonal basis, triggering internal and transnational migrations. In numerical terms, religious and political emigration played a minor role. Those who left—in particular in the wake of the 1848 revolutions (FortyEighters) or Bismarck’s measures against socialism (‘Sozialistengesetze’)— often went on to become prominent figures abroad, either within the host society, or as ethnic leaders, or both. Declining figures from the 1890s were a consequence of deteriorating economic conditions in the United States (‘panic of 1893’) in combination with a maturing industrial landscape and expanding labour market within Germany.19 From 1901, the National German-American Alliance tried to bind German-Americans closer to their culture of origin and stressed their allegedly superior contributions to the American ‘success story.’ This has been interpreted as a defensive mechanism of an immigrant culture in decline. 20 Although this argument shall not be refuted, the global picture presented here adds an additional factor. Similar examples of ethnic nationalism appeared all around the world, and global communication opportunities generated comparable lines of argumentation at the discourse level. These external factors have to be added to internal ones when tracing the roots of the Alliance. This will be elaborated in Chapter 4 of this volume. The social composition of Germans in the United States was just as diversified as in Eastern Europe. More than half of the early immigrants had arrived as ‘redemptioners’ whose passage had been paid by others in exchange for labour for a set period of time, usually seven years. A crucial year in the German-American narrative is 1683, when the fi rst permanent ethnic settlement was established as Germantown just outside Philadelphia. Farmers started to settle in rural Pennsylvania and from there spread out their farming communities from upstate New York in the north to Georgia in the South. Many of these migrated and settled as close-knit religious communities who had left Germany out of religious dissent: Quakers, Mennonites, Pietists, Tunkers, Schwenkfelders, Herrnhuters, and others. Germans in colonial America were also represented as skilled artisans and craftsmen in the growing cities, whilst military officers such as John Peter Mühlenberg and Wilhelm von Steuben led American armies in the wars of independence. An estimated 225,000 German-speaking people lived in colonial North America in 1775, and most of these had arrived from southwest Germany. 21 The diversification of German America accelerated with mass migration from the 1850s onwards as people started to move more and more

28 Constructing a German Diaspora into the cities. 33 per cent (211,000) of the immigrant population in New York were German in 1890. As the frontier moved westwards, Germans followed suit. Corresponding numbers were 36 per cent for Chicago and 69 per cent for Milwaukee. These can be categorised into an ethnic elite, a broader middle-class, and a substantial working-class. In 1900, 68 per cent of heads of household in Chicago were skilled or unskilled labourers, working in industry, construction, transport, or the service sector. When traditional specialised occupations such as shoemaker, baker, butcher, or tailor gave way to industrial mass production, many moved into emerging sectors such as metal or electrical industries, but also into trade and small business where white-collar jobs were an attractive alternative. This development opened up possibilities for women to join the labour market. 12.4 per cent pursued remunerative occupations in 1900, and although within the ethnic spectrum only Italian women were represented less, German women still constituted the largest contingent of working female immigrants after the Irish. They worked as sales assistants, needleworkers or qualified tailors, or as domestic servants, but most gave up their paid work after getting married. 22 Despite a process of ‘ethnic urbanisation,’ Germans continued to be present in agriculture. Twenty-five per cent of those in employment worked on farms. Eleven per cent of American farms were owned by Germans who, in turn, constituted almost ten per cent of the country’s agricultural employment. Just as in Eastern Europe, the descendants of seventeenthand eighteenth-century immigrants have to be differentiated from those of the nineteenth century. The latter mostly settled in the Midwest from Minnesota down to Texas and can hardly be grouped together with the descendants of earlier immigrants. Wisconsin was the most important magnet. Germans had been immigrating into this Upper Midwestern state since the 1830s, numbering over 120,000 by the 1860s. After decades of sustained mass immigration, this number swelled to approximately 260,000 by 1890, and 551,000 if we include those of German parentage. The latter number increased further, to 710,000 in 1900, constituting 34.8 per cent of the state’s total population. In line with general emigration trends, numbers then declined after the turn of the century. 233,000 Germanborn immigrants and 396,000 of German parentage were counted in 1910, amounting to a total of 629,000. Milwaukee developed as the main urban centre, being dubbed ‘Deutsch-Athen’ due to its neoclassical appearance and its plethora of German institutions, associations, and cultural life. The city also hosted two ethnic institutions of a national range, the GermanAmerican Teachers’ Seminary and the Turner Gymnastic College. The Wisconsin hinterland was largely agriculture dominated, and Germans spread across the whole state. Divisions went through communities. Solidly German counties such as Dodge, Calumet, Ozaukee, or Jefferson usually had three different churches: one Lutheran, one Catholic, and at least one other Protestant congregation (Evangelical, Reformed, Methodist, Baptist).

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Some counties attracted mainly Catholics (e.g., Dane, Sauk), others mainly Protestants (e.g., Marquette, Shawano). Religious segregation was often linked to processes of chain migration and also led to strong dialect differences within and between communities. There was also no unified ethnic vote, with Protestants gravitating towards the Republicans, and Catholics towards the Democrats. Resistance against alcohol restrictions was a theme which occasionally united the Germans of Wisconsin and elsewhere. 23 German migration to the New World is mostly associated with North America. The United States’ self-understanding as an immigrant nation produced a substantial historiography on the topic which dwarfs that of any other nation. From the 1960s, though, American scholars have warned against the perception that the United States was the ‘default option’ of European migrants and asked for more research into other destinations. German-Canadian studies have, in fact, received a boost in recent years.24 As for Latin America, Walther Kampfhoefner has shown that the subcontinent was, in fact, the default option for specific German regions during specific periods of time, and that chain migration played an important role in the process. Wherever the fi rst migrants settled from a given village, others followed.25 All in all, ninety per cent of nineteenth-century German overseas migrants chose the United States, and of the half a million left, about 400,000 went to Latin America. A harsh winter in 1816–1817 triggered the fi rst movement to Brazil, and up to 1914 this was followed by shifting cycles, with the period from 1885 to 1894 representing the peak years. The main destination countries were Brazil and Argentina. Smaller numbers went to Chile and other Southern and Central American countries, as well as the Caribbean. In terms of socio-economic standing, Germans were roughly divided into, fi rstly, rural agricultural, secondly, urban trade and industry, and thirdly, urban labour. These spheres could be connected as in the case of Porto Alegre, where German export businesses were closely tied to the agricultural products of the German settlements in the area, e. g. potatoes, black beans, or leather.26 Germans were also represented in scholarship and teaching, not just within the immigrant institutions described in Chapter 6 of this volume. As has been shown for Argentina and Chile, this could lead to defensive reactions as host societies perceived the German presence as a threat to indigenous traditions of learning. 27 Within Brazil, the southern territory of Rio Grande do Sul was an area of concentration, with its German population rising from an estimated 60,000 in 1872 to 300,000 in 1917; also the province bordering north of Rio Grande do Sul, Santa Catarina, where the town of Blumenau will serve as a case study in the following chapters. The town was founded by a pharmacist from Braunschweig, Dr. Hermann Blumenau, in 1850. As colonisation director for the provincial government, he planned small farm holdings for settlers but also made sure that Blumenau developed as an urban administrative centre. Its population increased from 6,000 in 1870 to 17,000 in 1883. The local economy diversified as artisans, small industrialists,

30

Constructing a German Diaspora

merchants, and generally a bourgeois middle-class were attracted. This, in turn, led to a public infrastructure which was, to a large extent, ethnically defi ned: schools, associations, churches, newspapers, theatre groups and choirs, as well as a hospital and a library.28 As will be seen, Blumenau was not an isolated town within an impenetrable jungle environment but was implicated in a global exchange of information, replicating an ethnic life similar to that of other communities around the world.

WESTERN EUROPE Closer to home, Germans also moved and settled within other western European countries. These have long fallen under the radar of German migration research which used to be focused on the United States and, to a lesser extent, other transoceanic destinations for the nineteenth century.29 Research on the Netherlands as a country of destination, for example, has now unearthed a complex system of seasonal migration between the seventeenth and early twentieth centuries. This ‘North Sea System’ comprised the coastal regions from Northern France to Bremen which were relatively well developed in terms of agriculture and trade, and also attracted a specialised workforce such as pedlars, merchant mariners, and soldiers joining the Dutch colonial army.30 There was, however, also permanent settlement. Between 40,000 and 50,000 Germans lived in the Netherlands in the second half of the nineteenth century. This is roughly comparable to the numbers for Australia. As Marlou Schrover has shown for Utrecht, they developed a rich ethnic life with a number of institutions. The most important destination country was Britain with about 100,000 Germans around 1900. This figure is given by the Handbook for Germandom Abroad, which was edited by the General German School Association for the Preservation of Germandom Abroad (see Chapter 6, this volume). The figure is about 40 per cent higher than the census data, but ties in with a recent estimate based on microhistorical data. Similarly, Schrover’s figure for the mid-nineteenth-century Netherlands (40,000) is roughly comparable to that given by the Handbook (50,000 German nationals) after half a century of further immigration. Considering these correlations, it would be wrong to discredit a priori any contemporaneous estimates which had an agenda of ethnic promotion abroad. The figures were often collected in correspondence with local consulates or pastors. Where one has to be careful, however, is the way in which these data were interpreted. The paragraph on the Netherlands in the Handbook for Germandom Abroad, for example, contends that, in principle, all Dutch belong to the ‘German tribe’ as they were speakers of Low German.31 The German community in Britain was largely urban. Outside London, which hosted about half of the contingent, communities developed in northern cities such as Manchester, Bradford, and Glasgow. As one of our local case studies, the ethnic community in Glasgow deserves some attention.

Patterns of Migration and Settlement

31

During the nineteenth century, the port city developed into the ‘workshop of the Empire’ and Britain’s ‘Second City.’ The heavy and chemical industries, coal mining, ship building, as well as a booming port laid the foundations for urban growth and attracted migrants: Irish, Italians, Russian Jews, as well as Germans who constituted the largest continental group until the 1880s. They numbered around 1,000 in the pre-war years and were found in urban occupations. The most numerous and influential professional group were merchants and clerks, mainly trading with their native country, but also with other European and overseas areas. Other occupations included school and university teachers, waiters and hoteliers, hairdressers, bakers and confectioners, glass bottle makers, and miners. Brewers introduced the skill of lager-brewing as employees of the Tennents brewery, whose machinery was built and delivered by an engineering firm from Augsburg. Musicians laid the foundations of a professional music scene. Women pursued remunerative occupations as teachers and governesses, but were in most cases confined to household work. An analysis of membership lists and minute books reveals a high degree of participation in German ethnic activities. These consisted of two Protestant congregations and three German clubs and will be discussed in detail in subsequent chapters.32 There is a desideratum for research into Germans in other western European countries which goes beyond the existing regional or occupational case studies and comes to synthesising conclusions. An exception is Switzerland where Germans made up half of the foreign population in the 1880s, and 37% in 1910.33 For France, research has mostly concentrated on Paris, but even there the second half of the nineteenth century has rightly been dubbed a ‘terra incognita’ in terms of scholarship. There was an average of 60,000 Germans in the capital throughout the century, with two caesurae leading to temporary slumps: during the revolutionary years 1848–1849 many left voluntarily, but during the Franco-German war in 1870–1871 there was a large-scale forced extradition programme which reduced the German population of Paris from 80,000 to 5,000. Numbers picked up to around 30,000 in subsequent decades, but many withdrew from ethnic activity, did not cluster in particular arrondissements as before 1870, and often pretended to be Swiss or Austrian in order to avoid hostility from the host society. As the German Empire matured, there was also a shift from—often unskilled— labour migration towards skilled employment as commercial clerks, merchants, waiters, or master craftsmen in fur and leather production. Women made up over 60 per cent of the migrant group as they worked as domestic servants in large numbers. Ethnic life picked up again. Around 1900, an observer counted around sixty German clubs and associations. All this experienced an even more damaging setback through a renewed programme of forced extradition after the outbreak of war in August 1914.34 German merchant communities developed in many western European urban centres. Antwerp hosted 1,650 Germans in the middle of the nineteenth century, 30 to 40 per cent of whom were employed in trade, especially

32

Constructing a German Diaspora

fur and wool. The number rose to 8,660 in 1910. They were connected to Germany as well as other communities abroad through elaborate trading networks which often acted as ‘transmission belts’ for further migration. Young commercial clerks from Germany joined the businesses of family members and countrymen and later established their own merchant houses and networks. They were well integrated into local elites as leading members of the Antwerp Chamber of Commerce, or as benefactors of the arts and charity.35 Some of these entrepreneurial migrations have been well researched for Western Europe, whether for Milan, Naples, Bordeaux, Cadiz, or Glasgow,36 but research gaps remain for this sector, as well as for labour and artisan migrations. In Antwerp, for example, domestic servants, small shopkeepers, artisans, and hospitality employees dominated numerically, but these beg further exploration. Other groups were attracted by the specific cultural and political environment in the destination countries. England had few impediments to immigration and took in exiles such as Karl Marx and Gottfried Kinkel who had arrived in the wake of the failed 1848 revolution. Italy hosted large numbers of artists, scholars, and candidates for priesthood. The census for 1911 counts 10,715 Germans in Italy, but the Handbook of Germandom Abroad arrives at 50,000 as it included the ‘language islands’ in northern Italy.37 The number of Germans estimated on the Iberian Peninsula in 1904 was 3,000 for Spain, and 1,000 for Portugal. These were mainly merchants and engineers with their families, living in the coastal trading centres as well as Madrid. Just as in other west European cities, German protestant congregations were founded from the 1880s onwards: Barcelona, Madrid, and Malaga in Spain; and Lisbon, Oporto, Amora, and Horta (Azores) in Portugal. The Spanish mining town of Huelva hosted a number of German engineers who founded a local branch of the Pan-German League.38 A number of patterns can be identified for German transnational migration in Western Europe. First, it was relatively short distance and therefore prone to circular or remigration. The protestant pastor in Glasgow, Ernst Franke, found it a feature of his congregation “that it contains very many wandering elements. It often occurs that we work hard in identifying and winning over a new family, which then suddenly moves away.”39 In 1900, his congregation grew from 187 to 215 members. The net rise was composed of 76 new arrivals, but also 48 individuals who had left Glasgow. By 1902, only 55 of the 255 members had been resident in Glasgow five years earlier. The same is true for the merchant-dominated Deutscher Verein, where annual fluctuation rates were around 25 per cent. In Italy, about half of the German residents “will only consider a more or less temporary stay.”40 The ups and downs of the community in Paris have been mentioned above. The group of temporary sojourners was usually complemented with long-term residents who invested time and money in building up a local ethnic infrastructure. A report by the Association of German Protestant Congregations in Great Britain and Ireland observed the social composition of those attending services as follows:

Patterns of Migration and Settlement

33

Type A: Those who are only resident in Great Britain on a temporary basis (young merchants, waiters, temporarily employed workers, governesses, domestic servants) [ . . . ] Type B: Those in the audience who have become permanent residents in Great Britain. This type forms the basis of our congregations as having the character of foreign congregations [sic] [ . . . ] Type C: Those born in Great Britain.41 Although high fluctuation might have been particularly pronounced in Western Europe, it was also a global feature. Mass migration was facilitated by ever faster means of transportation and communication and led to structural transformations of the migration flow just before 1914. Migrants were now able react to market fluctuations and trading cycles in more immediate ways, generating an overall picture of global circulation rather than uni-directional and singular settlement. Already in 1912, Wilhelm Mönckmeier observed the changing nature of migration flows from the late nineteenth century onwards: These days, one can regard [German migration] as a movement of the international labour market, as a back-and-forth flooding of the workforce away from areas with sinking economic power and gravitating towards those with rising power; the unilateral emigration away from Germany has been complemented with immigration from neighbouring countries as well as significant re-migration.42 This increase in fluctuation meant that more communities were constantly replenished with new arrivals. These brought with them the latest thinking on diasporic belonging and the political course of Wilhelminian Germany. They interacted with host societies as well as with established members of the ethnic community. This is especially true for merchants who were to be found in increasing numbers and often occupied positions of ethnic leadership within communities. An observer in Canada remarked that young merchants there were the strongest and most ardent promoters of German language and culture,43 and this pattern will receive more detailed analysis below. The findings on fluctuation lead to an observation as regards the typologisation of migration flows. Categories such as short/medium/long distance, seasonal/circular/return/permanent migration, or urban/rural are certainly necessary to map and understand complex movements, but should be seen as overlapping and fluid rather than clearly differentiating. In the course of their lifetime, mobile groups or individuals were often represented in more than one of these categories. The hairdresser Walther Wiegand from Naunhof in Saxony, for example, first joined his brother’s salon in Glasgow for three years before moving on to Toronto in 1910. Groups of German glass bottle

34

Constructing a German Diaspora

makers moved around in Britain with their families as this was a sought after skill in Britain. They might then either settle or re-migrate. Clerks and merchants moved—or were moved—along family and company networks.44 The migration vita of a single individual might comprise seasonal, internal, transnational, step, long-distance, and remigration. The complexity has to be kept in mind when applying relevant typologies. This also implies that the relevant terminology has to be handled in a differentiated manner. ‘Immigration’ or ‘emigration’ suggests a process of uni-directional border-crossing and subsequent settlement. This, however, was just one out of a multitude of migratory possibilities. Walter Nugent, in his appropriately entitled Crossings: The Great Transatlantic Migrations rightly argues that the terms emigration and immigration are “cumbersome” as generic terms for the nineteenth century: “Historians find themselves better off with simple ‘migration.’”45 The back-and-forth fluctuation leads to a methodological observation in relation to the structure of the labour market. It is no coincidence that this sub-chapter on Western Europe had to include remarks about North America. Both world regions were equally implicated in German outward migration—in particular in terms of urban labour and merchant migration— and have to be seen as an integrated labour market with relatively few legal impediments towards free movement. A country-by-country presentation of findings is therefore merely a tool to structure the narrative and to do justice to the different regimes of migration control.46 It does not intend to suggest that a mere comparison of two national labour markets suffices to explain cross-border movement in a simple push-pull model. An occupation-based narrative is equally possible and highlights the multi-directionality and complexity of German outward migrations. A brief look at the service sector elucidates this. For female domestic servants, both Paris and New York offered comparable opportunities and challenges. They reacted to a shortage of labour in middle- and upper-class households and were well received due to their skills.47 Waiters were also a mobile group. They had often received some formal training, either within apprenticeships or at one of the German Hospitality Colleges (Fachschulen für Gastwirtschaftswesen), whose curriculum included subjects such as service, menu organisation, geography, English and French, and book-keeping. The British labour market was attractive for German waiters as it offered higher wages and fewer working hours. It also enabled them to improve their English, which was a professional asset in case of re-migration or movement to a third country.48 A lengthy article in the Glasgow Herald entitled The Kellner is written slightly tongue-in-cheek and tends towards stereotyping, but nevertheless highlights patterns as regards training, mobility, multi-lingualism, familiarity with long working hours, and the wage- and skills-gap: The German waiter is the best in the world. He says so himself, and it is the truth [ . . . ]. He is content with five hours sleep out of the twenty-four, and he always presents himself fresh and smiling [ . . . ]. It is needless to say

Patterns of Migration and Settlement

35

that in the majority of cases he is the superior in education and knowledge of the world of those whom he serves. [ . . . ] With the German’s natural aptitude for languages he has managed to make himself more or less proficient in the tongues of the various countries he has visited. This knowledge is invaluable to him, and he has little difficulty in getting a place in a hotel, restaurant, or café. [ . . . ] He moves from place to place and from country to country, following money as the swallow follows summer.49 On a global scale, as the article indicates, Britain was just one out of many destinations for a highly mobile professional group which established transnational support networks all over the world. The Kellner-Verein Columbia was founded in New York in 1872. The Geneva-based Verein der HotelAngestellten had branches in, amongst others, Montreux, Brussels, and Nizza and “soon spread throughout Europe, Africa and America, mainly through its German members.” In the same vein, the Union Ganymed specifically coordinated the foreign branches of the Deutsche Kellner-Bund (German Waiters’ Association), and it claimed that it was present “in all cultured countries” (Kulturstaaten).50 In Britain, the Ganymede Friendly Society for Hotel and Restaurant Employees had 2,000 members and 25 local chapters throughout the country in 1913. It was attached to the German Waiters’ Association and aimed to support new arrivals in their search for work, as well as to provide accommodation and a platform for conviviality on an ethnic basis.51 These occupation-specific movements into western (and other) economies exemplify two things. First, a state-centred account of transnational migration (‘state A to state B’) can only represent a small segment of far more complex fluctuations comprising several permeable labour markets. Second, ethnic organisation often occurred on an occupational basis, and these local associations were often attached to Germany-based national organisations as well their attached chapters abroad. These occupational connections are one mosaic piece of formalised diaspora construction and will be further detailed in subsequent chapters.

DIVERSIFYING GLOBAL DESTINATIONS Apart from the world regions discussed above, the only other country receiving sizeable numbers of Germans during the nineteenth century was Australia. The broad framework was similar to that in North America: new arrivals found a sparsely populated country with an expanding economy, the need for modernisation, and opportunities for both rural and urban migrants. The most important aspect in our context, however, is the similarity of contact zones. Both were English-speaking, had a history of British colonisation, as well as a majority population of various Protestant denominations. Due to these factors, the forces of assimilation and ethnic assertiveness were broadly comparable to those in the United States.

36

Constructing a German Diaspora

Germans had travelled to Australia from the early days of the colony of New South Wales in the eighteenth century, although ethnic settlements only emerged from the 1830s. The fi rst organised chain migration happened in 1835 when a pastor from Klemzig in Silesia took most of his flock to Vandiemensland (Tasmania) and founded a second Klemzig there. Four years later, 600 Old Lutherans from Prussia also settled in South Australia, engaged in sheep breeding, and founded rural towns such as Lobethal, Bethanien, and Longmeil. The Barossa Valley remained a popular destination. Settlement soon spread to the states of Victoria, New South Wales, Queensland, and ultimately throughout Australia. Numbers peaked in the 1850s and 1860s when the gold rush attracted adventurous young men not only to California and Alaska, but also to Australia. Again, these often migrated in organised groups and included a number of miners from the Harz Mountains. Some of the diggers later went into gold, silver, and copper mine management. In the 1860s, Queensland recruited 11,000 farmers and farm labourers from Pomerania, Silesia, the Uckermark (Prussia), Hessia, and Württemberg. This received support from the British government and was carried out by Johann Christian Heussler, a German merchant living in Brisbane who was appointed Emigration Agent for the Continent of Europe. The Hamburg shipping fi rm of Godeffroy organised the transport. By 1891, Germans numbered 45,000, which made them the second largest European group after those of British ancestry. Originating mostly from the central and eastern parts of Germany, they were predominantly Lutheran. The occupational composition was just as diversified as that in the Americas. Agriculture dominated in rural areas, with viticulture being an area which has been particularly influenced by the influx of German skills. In the cities, Germans worked as artisans, labourers, traders, businessmen, and industrialists. Noteworthy are the explorers and natural scientists who contributed to mapping the geographical, zoological, and botanical environment of the continent. These included Ludwig Leichhardt, who was the fi rst to lead an expedition through Australia’s northwest and subsequently vanished during an attempt to cross the continent from east to west; Wilhelm Blandowski, the Government Zoologist of Victoria; and Johann Kreff t, the curator of the Australian Museum in Sydney.52 Similar migration patterns applied to New Zealand. The peak number of 5,000 Germans lived on the islands in 1886. After the 1880s, immigration to Australia and New Zealand declined to a trickle. Reasons included diminishing resources of high-quality arable land, a succession of bad harvests, as well as immigration restrictions. A Commonwealth law in 1901 laid down that immigrants to Australia had to be in possession of £100, be able-bodied and healthy, and had to write a 50-word dictation in a European language to exclude analphabets. In the years before 1914, neither Australia nor New Zealand was deemed to be a suitable country for German settlement. 53 The German General Consul to Australia visited New Zealand in 1909, and commented about his visit to the erstwhile flourishing German-Lutheran

Patterns of Migration and Settlement

37

congregation in Christ Church: “In the church hang those bells that were cast from the metal of seized French cannons and which were donated by the then Reich-government; but the church has been in English possession for several years now. [It is] saddening to go past the visible gravestones of withering Germandom and have the feeling that one could have halted this withering process with relatively few means.”54 In differing degrees, ethnic decline was a global feature in the years before 1914. As for Asia, the gaps in research on nineteenth-century intra-European migrations mentioned above are dwarfed by those on movements between Asia and Europe during that period. Here, the small historiography can be attributed to relatively small migration figures between the two world regions. A transnational conceptual framework, however, helps us to look beyond mere figures. Even non-migration can present a worthwhile field of investigation, as Sebastian Conrad has shown in the case of contemporaneous considerations to ‘import’ Chinese labourers for the German agrarian sector. The perceived threat of Chinese ‘Kulis’ swamping the German labour market sparked a wave of public contestation about the nature of ‘German labour’ in an age where labour had developed into a globally moveable commodity.55 Likewise, the German merchants, scientists, missionaries, and colonial officials moving into, and within, Asia might have been small in numbers, but their significance for processes of globalisation and connectivity between Germany and Asia were considerable.56 They created hubs and networks which spanned continents and interacted with indigenous or other colonial networks. The ‘transnational turn’ has now reached the historiography of Germany’s relations with Asia, once again calling into question the validity of the nation as an impermeable analytical block.57 Kris Manjapra, however, aptly reminds us that the nation-state should not be pushed too far back as a reference point: “The impact of nationalism is far too important to be decentred in our histories of modern Germany, but it can be understood through a different lens. The history of German nationalism could exceed the bounds of the state, just as the German state often transgressed the bounds of a national group. [ . . . ] The aim is not to wish away the history of the nation-state.”58 In our search for globally operating but nation-oriented networks, Asia is therefore a worthwhile region to study. This approach has been applied to the western seaboard regions of the Ottoman Empire by Malte Fuhrmann. He shows that the German ethnic communities in Salonica (Macedonia) and Smyrna (Western Anatolia) were deeply implicated in German semi-colonial fantasies after a possible demise of the Ottoman Empire. Both cities only hosted several hundred Germans each. These were mostly merchants, but in Salonica were complemented with railway personnel of the Deutsche Bank-owned consortium which constructed and operated railways in the region. The railway gave direct subsidies to the German Protestant Congregation, the German Club, and the German secondary school. There were also some short-lived agrarian projects in the cities’ hinterland which fuelled considerable propaganda

38 Constructing a German Diaspora about possible territorial appropriation.59 Some colonisation settlement also occurred in Palestine, mostly by pietist circles. In the 1860s, the German Palestine Association had started to propagate emigration to Palestine, and in 1869 the fi rst group consisting of 100 Württembergers settled near Jaffa and Haifa. By 1900, the German colonists in Palestine numbered 1,340.60 Germans in the Far East and the Pacific were almost exclusively functional elites connected with trade or specific know-how. There was no large-scale settlement migration, and the social composition of ethnic communities was therefore relatively homogenous in comparison to other world regions. Merchants dominated numerically. Other professional groups included engineers, scholars and natural scientists, missionaries, and teachers. Virtually all of these migrants pursued a profession which connected, in a very concrete sense, Asia with Germany and Europe. This differentiated them from, say, farmer settlers in the Americas, whose connectedness with Germany was, to a large extent, constructed through discourse and not through concrete transnational activity. In the Far East, in contrast, Germans disseminated knowledge and created transnational networks of trade and scholarship. In India, the leading position of German philology and Sanskrit scholarship led to the appointment of a number of professors at British-Indian universities. These included Martin Haug in Poona, Georg Thibaut in Allahabad, and Rudolf Hoernle and Gottlieb Leitner who successively became vicechancellors of Lahore University. Some of these scholars stayed for decades, but almost all eventually returned to Germany. Of particular significance were forestry scientists who built up a system of forestry administration in order to counter the uncontrolled felling of teak and other timber woods. Dietrich Brandis, for example, was appointed Inspector General of Indian Forests in 1864 and held this position for twenty years. Engineers and businessmen came in the wake of German industrial investment. Krupp, Borsig, and Orenstein & Koppel delivered locomotives, wagons, and replacement parts for the East Indian Railway and other railway companies. Thyssen imported manganese ore from 1906, and a number of engineers and skilled workers were involved in building the Tata steelworks in Jamshedpur, for which Siemens delivered generators. In 1896, the Deutsch-Asiatische Bank was the first German bank to open a branch in Calcutta.61 In January 1902, the German consul in Shanghai, Dr. Knappe, returned a form to Berlin in which he had been asked by the Foreign Office to give information about actual and potential settlement of Germans in his consular area and China in general.62 He explained that differentiated immigration into China did not take place, due to restrictions and the structure of the labour market. Most foreigners were only allowed into designated cities and areas. A small number of foreigners stood in the service of the Chinese authorities or had special permission to live outside the settlements. These included customs officials, military instructors, and missionaries. The Chinese had also given some concessions to German fi rms for railway building and mining which required the presence of a number of project leaders and

Patterns of Migration and Settlement

39

supervisors.63 Agriculture, small trade, service, and labour were all in the hands of the Chinese, “and this will remain unchanged in the future, as the Chinese simple way of living and the low salaries for which they work would exclude the competition of European labour. [ . . . ] Foreigners in China can only occupy higher and leading positions which require special skills and education.”64 These few opportunities sufficed to generate some general interest in the German public. Under the headline “The Emigration Question,” the Berliner Lokal Anzeiger discussed an unusual destination. An article in 1901 explained that recent German military engagement in China had “broadened the geographical knowledge of our people in a positive way. Whereas in the past most people referred to America when talking about foreign countries, today it is East Asia—and China in particular—which forms the topic of many a conversation in our homes.” The author continued that, although China was unsuited for large-scale immigration, “Europeans can live and thrive there just as well as in their fatherland”—as long as they were well-off (“besser situirt”) and in leading positions.65 Foreign activity and settlement in China was very much dependent on international treaties and state concessions related to specific locales. The Treaty of Nanking (1842) opened a number of treaty ports for international trade, whilst the Treaty of Shimonoseki (1896) allowed some industrial activity of foreigners. These European communities resided in designated areas, the so called International Settlements, and were largely isolated from their Chinese environment. In 1898, there were 107 German companies in China. Only English (approx. 150) and Japanese companies were represented in greater numbers. The proportions, however, were different from port to port. Whilst in Shanghai British enterprises outnumbered their German counterparts by two, in the British Crown Colony of Hong Kong there was almost an equilibrium. Although this appears ironic at fi rst glance, it has to be seen in the wider context of German engagement within British Empire structures. Since the late seventeenth century, German traders had used the global infrastructures, often through naturalisation in Britain, in order to develop their international trading connections.66 By 1897, there were 21 German international merchant houses in Hong Kong, and also five ship-brokers and eight shops, altogether with about 180 German staff. Germans were also strongly represented on the board of the local Chamber of Commerce, the Hongkong and Shanghai Banking Corporation (HSBC), and other similar organisations. The German presence in Hong Kong therefore occurred on the back of what Bert Becker has called “participatory colonialism.”67 Engaging with formal colonialism, Kiautschou (Jiaozhou) was occupied by the Imperial German Marine in 1897. The official status of this coastal stretch of land in northeastern China was that of a concession area for 99 years. In contrast to the other German colonies, which were controlled by the foreign office, Kiautschou remained under the control of

40 Constructing a German Diaspora the Imperial Marine. The aim was to make it a showcase in the Far East for German achievements and exploit its natural resources. For Admiral Tirpitz himself, it also strengthened the symbolic link between the navy and Auslandsdeutschtum.68 Substantial funds went into infrastructure modernisation, hygiene improvements, and representative colonial buildings in the port city of Tsingtao (Quingdao). Just as with all other German colonial projects, the engagement never paid off. Virtually all Germans living in Tsingtao were connected with the colonial presence and the need to build and man the new structures of this ‘model colony.’ Other than the African possessions, Kiautschou was never conceived as a settlement colony. In fact, only specialists with relevant skills and their families were allowed into the territory, and their stay was often temporary. Apart from the troops, about 2,000 European civilians lived in in Kiautschou. Of these, 1,855 were German nationals, and 1,183 were male. Most women were the spouses of civil servants and stationed officers, but there were also around 50 mission nurses and teachers. Merchants mostly arrived without families. A fully fledged ethnic life developed with a number of clubs, primary schools for boys and girls, a secondary school, and both a Catholic and a Protestant church.69 Whereas the German population of Hong Kong and Kiautschou has received some attention in scholarship, Shanghai has so far remained a blank spot. Mostly based on primary sources, we can now take Shanghai as an example to provide a more in-depth perspective on a German community in China. As regards the representativeness of this local approach, it is, however, important to reiterate that contact zones could be different from city to city. Hong Kong was a British Crown Colony, and Germans there engaged with formal and informal imperialist structures of a foreign power. Socially, they interacted with migrants from other European countries and America and were hence part of a larger western elite. In Kiautschou, in contrast, Germans largely remained amongst themselves. As ‘sole masters,’ they dominated constructed power hierarchies between themselves and the Chinese indigenous population, and socially kept to themselves. Shanghai, on the other hand, had no formal colonial status but was within the sphere of European informal imperialism in China. Europeans lived in an International Settlement. By 1914, there were about 600 male Germans in Shanghai pursuing remunerative occupations. Of these, 100 moved “often and suddenly” as single migrants, whereas 500 had settled for longer periods (“festansässig”), often with family. The German school was attended by 51 boys and 49 girls. Of these 100 children, there were 64 German nationals, five Austrians, one Swiss, four Dutch, seven Americans, 17 English, and two Russians. Seventy children had German as their mother tongue, 24 had English, four had Dutch, and two Russian. The international environment they grew up in was just as international as that of their parents. In 1901, the German Protestant Congregation had 400 members. Catholic services

Patterns of Migration and Settlement

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were held by a German Jesuit priest in the French church. In the same year, the report by the German Consul characterised the occupational composition of Germans in the city as follows: Merchants and commercial clerks were the most numerous and wealthy group. Firms recruited their staff in Germany, and the consul warned young merchants not to come to China without having secured employment beforehand. He appended a list of the most important German import and export fi rms. Seventeen of these 30 fi rms had branches in Hong Kong and elsewhere in China. All of them had branches or agents in Europe: 22 in Hamburg, three in London, one in Hannover, three in Bremen, and one in Berlin. Around these merchants, a small ethnic economy developed. There were two solicitors, and when one of them moved away Das Echo published a reader’s comment that “here in Shanghai [another one] could make a great fortune [because] the German likes quarrelling.” Two general practitioners, a dentist, and a pharmacy were an indicator that Germans preferred their familiar health care rather than Chinese medicine. A Catholic and a Protestant clergyman served the spiritual needs (but also pursued missionary ends), a number of teachers were employed by the German school, and some female governesses were employed in households. Apart from this ethnic economy, some engineers worked for German shipping lines in the dockyards. Those in Chinese employment included former German officers as instructors of the Chinese army and navy, and some individuals working for the Chinese Imperial customs service.70 Just as with Kiautschou, none of the formal German colonies which were established from 1884 in Africa and the Pacific generated any substantial settlement. All colonies (or ‘protectorates,’ as they were called euphemistically) taken together, the number of Germans there amounted to under 20,000 by the eve of war. This included colonial administrative and military personnel and was distributed as follows: German East Africa 3,113, German Southwest Africa 11,140, Cameroon 1,311, Togo 327, New Guinea 897, and the Pacific Islands 294. Of these, only German Southwest Africa was designed, and to some extent suitable, to become a settlement colony. Although it was unsuitable for arable farming, it had some potential for stock-farming in a climate which was deemed to be the most conducive to European settlement. In order to work towards a balanced gender distribution, reduce racial intermingling, and lay the foundations for a ‘Neu-Deutschland’ overseas, the Women’s League of the Deutsche Kolonialgesellschaft (German Colonial Society) went to great lengths to recruit and send out women. By 1913, the Colonial Society had enabled 1,696 people to move to German Southwest Africa: 701 wives, brides, and sisters of settlers; 468 children; and 527 servant women. This had some impact on the gender distribution of white people in Southwest Africa (which also included 2,000 non-German Europeans). This was 57.5 per cent male, 20.6 per cent female, and 21.9 per cent children.71 The occupational composition was relatively diversified.

42

Constructing a German Diaspora

Table 1.1

Occupations of White Male Population in Southwest Africa, 1911

Artisans, workmen, miners

2,572

Planters, farmers, smallholders

1,390

Merchants, shopkeepers, innkeepers

1,035

Civil servants Missionaries, clergy Army, police Other Total

881 70 7,119 895 13,962

Source: Andrew R. Carlson, German Foreign Policy, 1890–1914, and Colonial Policy to 1914. A Handbook and an Annotated Bibliography (Metuchen, NJ: Scarecrow Press, 1970), p. 57.

Despite the small numbers involved, a substantial ethnic economy developed. The main town of Windhoek had a population of 2,186 in 1913 but boasted 98 businesses. These included two hardware shops, two barbers, a butcher, four bakeries and confectionery shop, a shoemaker, a watchmaker, a pharmacy, a shingles factory, two locksmiths, two banks, a bookstore, two ladies’ shops, two plumbers, two saddle makers, two lawyers, a notary, three breweries, eight bars and taverns, eight hotels, and several concession companies and farm corporations. Organised social, religious and educational life was equally differentiated. Throughout German South West Africa, there were a range of gymnastic, singing, veteran, bowling, shooting, and occupational clubs. Windhoek alone had 24 associations. There were seven Catholic and six Protestant congregations in Southwest Africa, as well as one DutchReformed. In 1906, a system of compulsory education was introduced and the number of government primary schools increased from five to 17 until 1914. There was also an imperial secondary school in Windhoek, as well as two municipal ones in Swakopmund and Lüderitz Bay respectively. They were attended by 775 pupils—622 of whom were Germans and 153 white non-Germans—and staffed by 18 male and 16 female teachers.72 In both colonial and non-colonial contexts, German-speaking minorities cannot be disengaged from their immediate social environment. Concentrating only on expressions of ethnic and national belonging leads to a misleading analysis which rightly begs the question: “Is there life outside the migrant network?”73 The answer has to be affirmative for all the different areas of destination introduced above. Germans always interacted with local populations as well as other groups of in-migrants. They were part of the social make-up in the respective societies and did not live in an ethnic bubble. These societies were usually of a plural character. In colonial contexts, they consisted of a small power-holding minority of Europeans and Americans and the colonised society. The latter could be either homogenous (as in Chinese Kiautschou), or it could be extremely heterogeneous as in Africa, where colonial possessions comprised African population groups with very different political, linguistic

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43

and cultural profiles. The vast majority of German migrants moved into, and within, non-colonial contexts, and these were just as diversified. In the Samara and Saratov districts of the Volga basin, for example, Germans lived in an ethnically mixed area which, apart from the Russian majority, comprised Ukrainians, the Finno-Ugric Mordvins, and the Turkic Tatar and Chuvash people. In Brazil, the social make-up included Luso-Brazilians, indigenous populations, as well as Italian and Spanish in-migrants. In the United States, Germans were just one element of an extremely diversified mix which has been described with powerful, but mostly misleading metaphors such as ‘melting pot’ or ‘mixing bowl.’ Urbanisation in Western Europe attracted large numbers of transnational migrants into the expanding cities, and Germans were represented on all rungs of the social ladder. What emerges from these examples is an extremely diverse range of contact zones which necessitated just as diverse a range of strategies to negotiate difference, similarity, hierarchy, and inter-ethnic social relationships. In addition, Germans themselves were far from being a homogeneous group. In the light of this complexity, contemporaneous representations of German settlement abroad as ‘language islands’ or ‘bulwarks of Germanness’ appear all the more questionable. They suggested the existence of an unalterable fi xation of national character which could be transferred in a uniform set across the borders of Imperial Germany. In this conception, language attrition or assimilation posed a threat not only to scattered communities, but also to the very heart of what it meant to be German. These connections will be elaborated in the following chapters. NOTES 1. “Bei diesen Auswanderern handelte es sich kaum mehr um Reichsdeutsche, sondern fast ausschließlich um Nachkommen jener deutschen, meist württembergischen Ansiedler, die etwa ein Jahrhundert früher aus unserm Vaterlande in die russischen Bezirke Samara oder Saratow, sowie in die Gegenden von Cherson oder Beßarabien ausgewandert waren und dort in zahlreichen deutschen Ortschaften die Volksart und den Glauben ihrer Väter treu gepflegt hatten. [Man sah] in unserer Kirche die kräftigen Gestalten der Männer in russischer Tracht mit Pelzmützen und hohen Stiefeln, die Frauen mit ihren Kopftüchern und die Kinder mit runden, frischen Bauerngesichtern. [Sie] freuten sich, in der verwirrenden Unrast der großen englischen Hafenstadt einen Raum gefunden zu haben, wo ihnen die liebe Muttersprache entgegenklang und Lied und Bibelwort sie an die alte Heimat erinnerte.” Albert E. Rosenkranz, Geschichte der Deutschen Evangelischen Gemeinde zu Liverpool (Stuttgart: Ausland und Heimat, 1921), pp. 164–166, also 63, 189–190. Also see Otto Zuckschwerdt, ‘Auswanderernöte,’ Der deutsche Auswanderer 11 (1913), 29–33. 2. For a recent typology see Dirk Hoerder et al., ‘Terminologien und Konzepte in der Migrationsforschung,’ in Klaus J. Bade et al., eds., Enzyklopädie Migration in Europa. Vom 17. Jahrhundert bis zur Gegenwart (Paderborn: Schöningh, 2007), pp. 28–53 (at pp. 36–39). 3. Robert Lee, ‘Divided loyalties? In-migration, ethnicity and identity: The integration of German merchants in nineteenth-century Liverpool,’ Business History 54, no. 2 (2012), 117–153; Margrit Schulte Beerbühl, ‘Migration, Transfer and Appropriation: German Pork Butchers in Britain,’ Transfers.

44

Constructing a German Diaspora

4.

5. 6. 7.

8.

9.

10.

11. 12.

Interdisciplinary Journal of Mobility Studies 2 (2012), 97–119; Horst Rössler, ‘Germans from Hannover in the British Sugar Industry,’ in Stefan Manz et al., eds., Migration and Transfer from Germany to Britain, 1660– 1914 (München: Saur, 2007), pp. 49–64; Renate Bridenthal, ‘Germans from Russia. The Political Network of a Double Diaspora,’ in O’Donnell et al., eds., The Heimat Abroad: The Boundaries of Germanness, pp. 187–218; Susanne Janssen, Vom Zarenreich in den amerikanischen Westen. Deutsche in Russland und Russlanddeutsche in den USA, 1871–1928. Die politische, sozio-ökonomische und kulturelle Adaption einer ethnischen Gruppe im Kontext zweier Staaten (Münster: Lit, 1997); Stefan Manz, ‘America in Global Context. German Entrepreneurs around the World, 1871–1918,’ Immigrant Entrepreneurship. German-American Business Biographies, 1720 to the Present, http://www.immigrantentrepreneurship.org/ (German Historical Institute Washington). For Britain see Panikos Panayi, German Immigrants in Britain during the Nineteenth Century, 1815–1914 (Oxford: Berg, 1995). Similarly Klaus J. Bade, ed., Deutsche im Ausland—Fremde in Deutschland. Migraton in Geschichte und Gegenwart (München: Beck, 1992); Thomas Sowell, Migrations and Cultures. A World View (New York: Basic Books, 1996), pp. 50–104. Hoerder, Cultures in Contact. Bade, Deutsche im Ausland, pp. 29–84; Hoerder, ‘German-Language Diasporas,’ 16–18. Sowell, Migrations, pp. 50–53; Ulrike von Hirschhausen, Die Grenzen der Gemeinsamkeit. Deutsche, Letten, Russen und Juden in Riga, 1860–1914 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2006); Joachim Rogall, ed., Deutsche Geschichte im Osten Europas. Land der großen Ströme. Von Polen nach Litauen (Berlin: Siedler, 1996); Bade, Deutsche im Ausland, pp. 29–84; Hoerder, Geschichte, pp. 45–54; Hans Rothe, ed., Deutsche im Nordosten Europas (Köln: Böhlau, 1991). “Im 14. Jahrhundert erscheinen unter den Bürgermeistern und Räten der Stadt zahlreiche deutschen Namens. [ . . . ] Nachdem das ‘hölzerne’ Lemberg 1381 durch eine Feuersbrunst zerstört worden war, bauten es hauptsächlich deutsche ‘Baumagistri’ wieder auf” (pp. 56–57), “[ . . . ] die unentbehrliche Vermittlerin für den geistigen Verkehr” (p. 3), in Allgemeiner Deutscher Schulverein zur Erhaltung des Deutschtums im Auslande, ed., Handbuch des Deutschtums im Auslande (Berlin: Reimer, 1904). “Eine tapfere Schar, die mit dem Schwerte die Grenze Ungarns gegen wilde Horden des Südostens verteidigte und die zugleich in unermüdlicher Arbeit aus Siebenbürgen das ‘Land des Segens’, das ‘Land der Fülle und der Kraft’ gemacht haben. [ . . . ] Seit mehr als 700 Jahren sitzen sie im Lande. Sie haben sich in der neuen Heimat eine besonders angesehene Stellung errungen und dabei mit festem Willen die Kulturgemeinschaft mit der Gesamtheit des deutschen Volkes festgehalten,” Hoeniger, Deutschtum, p. 37. For current scholarship on Transylvanian Saxons see Koranyi, ‘From Diaspora to Diaspora.’ Holm Sundhaussen, ‘Deutsche in Rumänien,’ in Bade, Deutsche im Ausland, pp. 36–53; Sundhaussen, ‘Die Deutschen in Jugoslawien,’ in Bade, 54–69; Arnold Suppan, ed., Deutsche Geschichte im Osten Europas. Zwischen Adria und Karawanken (Berlin: Siedler, 1998). Ibid.; and Pieter M. Judson, ‘Guardians of the Nation.’ Activists on the Language Frontiers of Imperial Austria (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2006). Von Hirschhausen, Grenzen; Rothe, Deutsche; Hoerder, ‘German-Language Diasporas,’ 18; Sowell, Migrations, pp. 56–58.

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13. Detlef Brandes, ‘Einwanderung und Entwicklung der Kolonien,’ in Gerd Stricker, ed., Deutsche Geschichte im Osten Europas. Rußland (Berlin: Siedler, 1997), pp. 35–111 (at pp. 36–47); Andreas Kappeler, ‘Die deutsche Minderheit im Rahmen des russischen Vielvölkerreiches,’ in Dittmar Dahlmann and Ralph Tuchtenhagen, eds., Zwischen Reform und Revolution. Die Deutschen an der Wolga, 1860–1917 (Essen: Klartext, 1994), pp. 14–28. 14. Victor Dönninghaus, Revolution, Reform und Krieg. Die Deutschen an der Wolga im ausgehenden Zarenreich (Essen: Klartext, 2002); Dahlmann, Zwischen Reform. 15. Detlef Brandes, ‘Wolga- und Schwarzmeerdeutsche im Vergleich,’ in Dahlmann, Zwischen Reform, pp. 29–47; Brandes, ‘Einwanderung,’ pp. 71–87; Dietmar Neutatz, Die ‘deutsche Frage’ im Schwarzmeergebiet und in Wolhynien (Stuttgart: Steiner, 1993); Kappeler, ‘Deutsche Minderheit.’ 16. “Das wirtschaftliche System, der große Landmangel [und Missernten] brachten den größten Teil unserer deutschen Brüder and der Wolga in einen Zustand allgemeiner Verarmung,” Klemens (Saratov), 6 May 1907. 17. Brandes, ‘Einwanderung,’ pp. 50–68; Bridenthal, ‘Germans from Russia’; Sowell, Migrations, pp. 59–70, 76–77; Kappeler, ‘Deutsche Minderheit.’ 18. Klaus J. Bade and Jochen Oltmer, ‘Deutschland,’ in Bade, Enzyklopädie, pp. 141–170 (at p. 146–149). 19. Jochen Oltmer, Migration im 19. und 20. Jahrhundert (München: Oldenbourg, 2010), pp. 9–15; Bade, ‘Deutschland’, 147–149; Toni Pierenkemper and Richard Tilly, The German Economy during the Nineteenth Century (New York: Berghahn: 2004), pp. 94–101; Marschalck, Überseeauswanderung. 20. Johnson, Culture. 21. Kathleen N. Conzen, ‘Germans,’ in Stephan Thernstrom, ed., Harvard Encyclopedia of American Ethnic Groups (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1980), pp. 405–425 (at 406–409); Sowell, Migrations, pp. 73–75; Bade, ‘Deutschland,’ p. 147. 22. Various contributions in Frank Trommler, Amerika und die Deutschen. Bestandsaufnahme einer 300jährigen Geschichte (Opladen: Westdeutscher Verlag, 1986); Horst Rössler, ‘Massenexodus. Die Neue Welt des 19. Jahrhunderts,’ in Bade, Deutsche im Ausland, pp. 148–156; Christiane Harzig, ‘Lebensformen im Einwanderungsprozeß,’ in ibid., pp. 157–169; Russell A. Kazal, Becoming Old Stock. The Paradox of German-American Identity (Princeton University Press, 2004); Stanley Nadel, Little Germany. Ethnicity, Religion, and Class in New York City, 1845–1880 (Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 1990). 23. Kathleen N. Conzen, Immigrant Milwaukee, 1836–1860. Accommodation and Community in a Frontier City (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1976); Lavern J. Rippley, The Immigrant Experience in Wisconsin (Boston: Twayne, 1985); Helmuth Schmahl, Verpfl anzt, aber nicht entwurzelt. Die Auswanderung aus Hessen-Darmstadt (Provinz Rheinhessen) nach Wisconsin im 19. Jahrhundert (Frankfurt: Lang, 2000); Richard H. Zeitlin, Germans in Wisconsin (Madison, WI: State Historical Society of Wisconsin, 1977); Anke Ortlepp, ‘Auf denn, Ihr Schwestern!’ Deutschamerikanische Frauenvereine in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, 1844–1914 (Stuttgart: Steiner, 2004). 24. E.g. Angelika Sauer and Matthias Zimmer, eds., A Chorus of Different Voices. German-Canadian Identities (New York: Lang, 1998); Barbara Lorenzowski, Sounds of Ethnicity. Listening to German North America, 1850–1914 (Winnipeg: University of Manitoba Press, 2010); Alexander Freund, ed., Beyond the Nation? Immigrants’ Local Lives in Transnational Cultures (University of Toronto Press, 2012); Jonathan F. Wagner, A History of Migration from Germany to Canada, 1850–1939 (Vancouver: University of British Columbia, 2006).

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25. Walter Kampfhoefner, ‘Südamerika als Alternative? Bestimmungsfaktoren der deutschen Überseewanderung im 19. Jahrhundert,’ Jahrbuch für Wirtschaftsgeschichte 2000, no. 1, 199–218. 26. Walther L. Bernecker and Thomas Fischer, ‘Deutsche in Lateinamerika,’ in Bade, Deutsche im Ausland, pp. 197–214; Sowell, Migrations, p. 88. Laudatory but useful: Hartmut Fröschle, ed., Die Deutschen in Lateinamerika. Schicksal und Leistung (Tübingen: Erdmann, 1976). 27. Carl Solberg, Immigration and Nationalism. Argentine and Chile, 1890– 1914 (Austin: University of Texas Press, 1970). 28. Karl H. Oberacker and Karl Ilg, ‘Die Deutschen in Brasilien,’ in Fröschle, Die Deutschen, pp. 169–301 (at pp. 198–203); Sowell, Migrations, p. 87; Méri Frotscher Kramer, ‘The Nationalization Campaign and the Rewriting of History. The Case of Blumenau,’ in Schulze, German Diasporic Experiences, pp. 419–430. 29. Oltmer, Migration, pp. 84–100. But see Stefan Wolff, ed., German Minorities in Europe. Ethnic Identity and Cultural Belonging (New York Oxford: Berghahn, 2000). 30. Jan Lucassen, ‘Nordwestdeutsche landwirtschaftliche Saisonarbeiter (“Hollandgänger”) in den Niederlanden vom 17. bis zum frühen 20. Jahrhundert,’ in Bade, Enzykopädie, pp. 812–818. 31. Marlou Schrover, ‘“Whenever a Dozen Germans Meet. . . .” German Organisations in the Netherlands in the Nineteenth Century,’ Journal of Ethnic and Migration Studies 32, no. 5 (2006), 847–864; Stefan Manz, Migranten und Internierte. Deutsche in Glasgow, 1864–1918 (Stuttgart: Steiner, 2003); Allgemeiner Deutscher Schulverein, Handbuch, pp. 89–90. 32. Manz, Migranten. Generally Panayi, German Immigrants. For Liverpool see Lee, ‘Divided loyalties?’ 33. Klaus Urner, Die Deutschen in der Schweiz. Von den Anfängen der Koloniebildung bis zum Ausbruch des Ersten Weltkrieges (Frauenfeld: Huber, 1976). 34. Mareike König, ‘Brüche als gestaltendes Element. Die Deutschen in Paris im 19. Jahrhundert,’ in König, ed., Deutsche Handwerker, Arbeiter und Dienstmädchen in Paris. Eine vergessene Migration im 19. Jahrhundert (München: Oldenbourg, 2003), pp. 9–26 (quote at p. 10). 35. Greta Davos and Hilde Greefs, ‘The German Presence in Antwerp in the Nineteenth Century,’ IMIS-Beiträge 14 (2000), 105–128. 36. Monika Poettinger, ‘German Entrepreneurial Networks and the Industrialisation of Milan,’ in Andreas Gestrich and Margrit Schulte Beerbühl, eds., Cosmopolitan Networks in Commerce and Society, 1600–1914 (German Historical Institute London Bulletin, Supplement No. 2, 2011), 249–292; Daniela L. Caglioti, ‘Trust, Business Groups and Social Capital. Building a Protestant Entrepreneurial Network in Nineteenth-Century Naples,’ Journal of Modern Italian Studies 13, no. 2 (2008), 219–236; Klaus Weber, Deutsche Kaufl eute im Atlantikhandel, 1680–1830. Unternehmen in Hamburg, Cadiz und Bordeaux (München: Beck, 2004); Manz, Migranten; Manz, ‘America in Global Context.’ 37. Rosemary Ashton, Little Germany. Exile and Asylum in Victorian Britain (Oxford University Press, 1986); Sabine Freitag, ed., Exiles from European Revolutions. Refugees in Mid-Victorian Britain (New York: Berghahn, 2003); Christine Lattek, Revolutionary Refugees. German Socialism in Britain, 1840–1860 (London and New York: Routledge, 2006); Daniela L. Caglioti, ‘Germanophobia and Economic Nationalism. German Communitites, Capital and Enterprises in Italy during the First World War,’ in Panayi, Germans as Minorities (forthcoming); Allgemeiner Deutscher Schulverein, Handbuch, pp. 84–87.

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38. Allgemeiner Deutscher Schulverein, Handbuch, pp. 87. 39. “[ . . . ] dass sie sehr viele wandernde Elemente in sich birgt. Nicht selten fi nden wir nur muehsam eine neue Familie heraus und gewinnen sie fuer uns, die dann ploetzlich wieder davonzieht,” German Protestant Congregation Glasgow, Annual Report 1904, THLLA TH 8662/393/1. 40. Allgemeiner Deutscher Schulverein, Handbuch, pp. 87; Manz, Migranten, pp. 20–27. 41. “Typus A: Die nur voruebergehend in Grossbritannien Ansaessigen (Junge Kaufleute, Kellner, voruebergehend beschaeftigte Arbeiter, Gouvernanten, Dienstboten) [ . . . ]. Typus B: Die dauernd in Grossbritannien ansaessig gewordenenen Zuhoerer. Dieser Typus bildet den Grundstock unserer Gemeinden in ihrer Eigenschaft als Auslandsgemeinden [sic] [ . . . ]. Typus C: Die in Grossbritannien geborenen,” THLLA TH 8662/300/23–30. 42. “Als eine Bewegung des internationalen Arbeitsmarktes kann man [die deutsche Auswanderung] zum größten Teil heute ansehen, als ein Hin- und Herfluten von Arbeitskräften aus Gebieten mit sinkender Wirtschaftskonjunktur in solche mit aufsteigender; dem einseitigen Abzug aus Deutschland ist ein Zuzug nach Deutschland, die Einwanderung aus den Nachbarländern sowie eine nicht unbeträchtliche Rückwanderung gegenübergetreten,” Wilhelm Mönckmeier, Die deutsche überseeische Auswanderung. Ein Beitrag zur deutschen Wanderungsgeschichte (Jena: Fischer, 1912), p. 3. 43. Dr. Hammann-Perleberg, ‘Vom Deutschtum in Kanada. Reisebeobachtungen und–erfahrungen,’ Das Deutschtum im Ausland, 1911, 501–508. 44. Manz, Migranten, pp. 48–60, 148–158. 45. Walter Nugent, Crossings. The Great Transatlantic Migrations, 1870–1914 (Bloomington: University of Indiana Press, 1995), p. 29. 46. Fahrmeir, Migration Control; Dirk Hoerder, ‘Losing National Identity or Gaining Transcultural Competence. Changing Approaches in Migration History,’ in Haupt, Comparative and Transnational History, pp. 247–271. 47. Silke Wehner-Franco, Deutsche Dienstmädchen in Amerika, 1850–1914 (Münster: Waxmann, 1994); Mareike König, ‘“Bonnes à tout faire.” Deutsche Dienstmädchen in Paris im 19. Jahrhundert,’ in König, ‘Deutsche Handwerker,’ pp. 69–92. 48. Panikos Panayi and Stefan Manz, ‘The Rise and Fall of Germans in the British Hospitality Industry, c1880–1912,’ Food and History (forthcoming). 49. Glasgow Herald, 11 June 1907. 50. Georg Eiben, Geschichte des Gastwirtschaftswesens vom Altertum bis zur neuesten Zeit und Geschichte des Deutschen Kellner-Bundes Ganymed, seiner Bezirks-Vereine und Sectionen (Leipzig: Verlag Deutscher KellnerBund Union Ganymed, 1907), pp. 58, 64, 66, 69. 51. Anglo-German Publishing Company, ed., Die Deutsche Kolonie in England (London: Anglo-German Publishing Company, 1913), p. 95. 52. Tampke, Germans in Australia; Johannes Voigt, ‘Deutsche in Australien und Neuseeland,’ in Bade, ‘Deutsche im Ausland,’ pp. 215–230; Sowell, Migrations, 94–95; Angus Nicholls, ‘“The Core of this Dark Continent.” Ludwig Leichhardt’s Australian Explorations,’ in John R. Davis, Stefan Manz, and Margrit Schulte Beerbühl, eds., Transnational Networks. German Migrants in the British Empire, 1670–1914 (Brill: Leiden, 2012), pp. 141–162. 53. Mönckmeier, Deutsche überseeische Auswanderung, 222–223. 54. “In der Kirche hängen die Glocken, zu deren Guß die Reichsregierung seiner Zeit das Metall aus eroberten französischen Geschützen geschenkt hat; aber seit mehreren Jahren ist sie bereits in englischen Besitz übergegangen. [Es ist] betrübend, so überall an den sichtbaren Leichensteinen des abgestorbenen

48 Constructing a German Diaspora

55. 56.

57. 58. 59. 60. 61.

62. 63.

64.

65.

66. 67.

68.

Deutschtums vorbeiziehen und dabei das wenig angenehme Gefühl haben zu müssen, daß man zu richtiger Zeit mit verhältnismäßig geringen Mitteln diesen Absterbeprozess hätte aufhalten können,” General Consul Irmer to Reich Chancellor Count Bülow, 17 April 1909, AA-PA DK-England 110, Sydney, vol. 10/198, quoted in Voigt, ‘Deutsche,’ p. 221. Conrad, Globalisierung, p. 168–228. E.g., Ulrike Kirchberger, Aspekte deutsch-britischer Expansion. Die Überseeinteressen der deutschen Migranten in Großbritannien in der Mitte des 19. Jahrhunderts (Stuttgart: Steiner, 1999); Markus Denzel, ed., Deutsche Eliten in Übersee. 16. bis frühes 20. Jahrhundert (St. Katharinen: Scripta Mercaturae, 2006); Hermann J. Hiery, ed., Die deutsche Südsee 1884–1914 (Paderborn: Schöningh, 2001). Forum, ‘Asia, Germany and the Transnational Turn,’ German History 28, no. 4 (2010), 515–536. Ibid., 529. Malte Fuhrmann, Der Traum vom deutschen Orient. Zwei deutsche Kolonien im Osmanischen Reich, 1851–1918 (Frankfurt: Campus, 2006). Mönckmeier, Deutsche überseeische Auswanderung, pp. 225–226. Joachim Oesterheld, ‘Zum Spektrum deutscher Eliten im kolonialen Indien. Ein erster Überblick,’ Denzel, Deutsche Eliten, pp. 377–396 (at 378–384); Ulrike Kirchberger, ‘German Scientists in the Indian Forest Service. A German Contribution to the Raj?’ Journal of Imperial and Commonwealth History 29, no. 2 (2001), 1–26. BAB R901/30508, 16 January 1902, Consulate Shanghai to AA. For scholarship on the groups mentioned by Knappe see e. g. Mechthild Leutner and Klaus Mühlhahn, eds., Deutsch-chinesische Beziehungen im 19. Jahrhundert. Mission und Wirtschaft in interkultureller Perspektive (Münster: Lit, 2001); Cord Eberspächer, Die deutsche Yangtse-Patrouille. Deutsche Kanonenbootpolitik in China im Zeitalter des Imperialismus, 1900–1914 (Bochum: Westdeutscher Verlag, 2004); Helmuth Stoecker, ‘Germany and China, 1861–1914,’ in John A. Moses and Paul M. Kennedy, eds., Germany in the Pacific and Far East, 1870–1914 (Brisbane: University of Queensland Press, 1977), pp. 27–39. “[ . . . ] wird sich nichts daran ändern, da die einfache Lebensweise der Chinesen und die geringen Löhne, für die sie arbeiten, die Konkurrenz europäischer Arbeit ausschließen würde. [ . . . ] Ausländer können in China nur höhere, leitende Stellungen, die Fachkenntnisse erfordern, einnehmen,” BAB R901/30508, 16 January 1902, Consulate Shanghai to AA. “Durch die Heerfahrt nach China sind die geogaphischen Kenntnisse unseres Volkes in recht erfreulicher Weise erweitert worden. Während viele früher unter dem Auslande in den meisten Fällen Amerika verstanden, bildet jetzt Ostasien—speciell China—oft den Unterhaltungsstoff im deutschen Familienkreis. [ . . . ] lebt und gedeiht dort der Europäer ebenso gut wie in seinem Vaterlande,” Berliner Lokal Anzeiger, 30 October 1901. Margrit Schulte Beerbühl, Deutsche Kaufl eute in London. Welthandel und Einbürgerung, 1660–1818 (München: Oldenbourg, 2007). Bert Becker, ‘Das deutsche Hongkong. Imperialismus und partizipierender Kolonialismus vor 1914,’ in Denzel, Deutsche Eliten, pp. 361–376. For Hankow see Peter Merker, ‘Zwischen Konfrontation und Kooperation. Das deutsch-chinesische Handelsgeschäft in Hankou. Interessenlagen, Interaktionen, Konfl iktfelder, Interventionsmuster,’ in Leutner, Deutsch-chinesische Beziehungen, pp. 43–86. Mechthild Leutner, ‘Die Geschichte des deutschen Pachtgebietes Kiautschou,’ in Leutner, “Musterkolonie Kiautschou.” Die Expansion des deutschen

Patterns of Migration and Settlement

69. 70.

71.

72.

73.

49

Reiches in China. Deutsch-chinesische Beziehungen, 1897–1914. Eine Quellensammlung (Berlin: Akademie Verlag, 1997), pp. 35–51 (at p. 44). Klaus Mühlhahn, Herrschaft und Widerstand in der ‘Musterkolonie’ Kiautschou. Interaktionen zwischen China und Deutschland, 1897–1914 (München: Oldenbourg, 2000), p. 209; Leutner, Geschichte. Ostasiatischer Lloyd, as quoted in Schweinfurter Tageblatt, 8 July 1914; BAB R901/38909, German School Shanghai, Annual Report 1911–12; EZA 5/3143/201, German Protestant Congregation Shanghai, call for donations; Das Echo, 5 June 1902, quote: “Wenn noch einer käme, könnte der ein großes Vermögen machen [denn] der Deutsche zankt sich gern.” Also see 19 June 1902. For military advisors in China see Elisabeth Kaske, Bismarcks Missionäre. Deutsche Militärinstrukteure in China 1884–1890 (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2002). Sebastian Conrad, Deutsche Kolonialgeschichte (München: Beck, 2008), pp. 28–34; Daniel Joseph Walther, Creating Germans Abroad. Cultural Policies and National Identity in Namibia (Athens: Ohio University Press, 2002), p. 58–59; W. O. Henderson, Studies in German Colonial History (London: Cass, 1962), p. 132; L. H. Gann and Peter Duignan, The Rulers of German Africa, 1884–1914 (Stanford University Press, 1977), pp. 149–157; Philippa Söldenwagner, Spaces of Negotiation. European Settlement and Settlers in German East Africa, 1900–1914 (München: Meidenbauer, 2006). Walther, Creating Germans, pp. 64–108; Lora Wildenthal, German Women for Empire, 1884–1945 (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2001); Marianne Bechhaus-Gerst and Mechthild Leutner, eds., Frauen in den deutschen Kolonien (Berlin: Links, 2009). Clé Lesger, Leo Lucassen, and Marlou Schrover, ‘Is There Life Outside the Migrant Network? German Immigrants in 19th Century Netherlands and the Need for a More Balanced Migration Typology,’ Annales de Démographie Historique 2 (2002), 29–50.

2

Metropolitan Diaspora Constructions

INTRODUCTION The migration and settlement patterns described in the previous chapter do not constitute a diaspora. Taken per se, they describe scattered individuals or communities with no discernible connection to, or interest in, their country of origin. They also say nothing about the sending society’s relationship with those who left its territory. The task ahead is to explore thematic areas which point to the existence of diasporic connectedness, whether structural or imagined. The pertinent analysis has to be conducted at two levels. First, one has to explore the strategies employed by nineteenth-century discourse leaders, interest groups, and policy makers within Germany who aimed at incorporating those abroad into a cultural, economic, and legal body of co-nationals. This will be the aim of this chapter. The subsequent chapters will then ask how these strategies resonated within communities abroad. This two-tiered approach is necessary to gain a comprehensive picture and, at a purely methodological level, supports the view that no discussion of diasporic connectedness should leave sight of one or the other tier. Before delving into specifically German strategies of diaspora construction, a remark about the temporality of this phenomenon is necessary. The term should not be used as a catch-all phrase to denote any kind of human movement without critical reflexion of its historicity. A nation’s diaspora is never a perpetually stable entity. Ways in which diasporas are defined or constructed are always an expression of a specific historical moment in time. Used ahistorically, the term “fails to attend to the historical conditions that produce diasporic subjectivities.”1 The aim here is therefore not the reconstruction of a perpetually stable diaspora configuration, but rather its deconstruction through integration into shifting historical contexts. Heinrich von Treitschke’s contention is a case in point: “It is by no means a trifle that today the German lifts his head proudly and boldly in all parts of the world.”2 As one of the foremost ‘inventors of tradition’ of the newly founded Reich, the historian and Reichstag-member Treitschke spoke these words to the Reichstag shortly after unification in 1871. They are an immediate reaction to unification and express a transnational understanding of

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Germanness based on the existence of a strong nation-state. They develop pre-1871 cultural constructions, and only fifty years later required fundamental reformulation. A hundred years earlier, the absence of similar utterances makes it impossible, I would argue, to discuss German emigration in parameters of ‘diaspora’ at all, as there were no attempts outside religion, either in discourse or political agency, to create bonds between those leaving and the territory left behind. Mere transnational activity such as emigrants’ letters does not make a diaspora. The non-existence of a nation-state, however, would not be considered a counter-argument as the classic cases of Jewish, Armenian, and Greek diasporas demonstrate. These existed for long periods without a nation-state as reference point. The (modern) Greek case can also be taken to exemplify the historicity of diaspora construction: During the Struggle for Independence (1821–1830), irredentist Greek intellectuals and political thinkers instrumentalised their diaspora to claim ‘historical Hellenic lands’ as part of a greater Greece. Fed by romanticist notions of national belonging (as in Germany), these ideas were prevalent as Greek official ideology at least until 1922. When the defeat in Asia Minor put an end to this so-called ‘Great Idea,’ state policies shifted away from irredentism and towards long-distance diaspora mobilisation. In 1951, for example, the state made an organised attempt to get “in close touch with its sons in all parts of the world.” That year was declared the ‘Greek Home-Coming Year,’ inviting Greek-Americans in particular to visit their ‘home’—and think about financial remittances for post-war reconstruction.3

ARGUMENTS Above references to different periods in time and a different state—Greece— help to understand the ‘diasporisation’4 of Germans abroad between 1871 and 1914 as a specific historical constellation within a far wider temporal and spatial context. When they were ‘discovered’ by late eighteenth-century geographers, philologists, and historians, they were immediately made into a canvas of reflection on national issues. The professor at Göttingen University, August Ludwig Schlözer, for example, published his Critical Collection of the History of the Germans in Transsylvania in 1791, describing them as “a German colony (Colonie) [ . . . ] which is more illustrious and peculiar than any other known colony.” He was particularly interested in their largely autonomous regional administration based on a Constitution. His main interest was in representing this as an ideal liberal constitution close to the people and as a model which would guarantee freedom.5 When it came to the question of preserving emigrants’ ethnic traits, however, Schlözer argued with respect to Germans in North America that building schools in the German states was more important than in Pennsylvania: “They are not Germans anymore. They separated from us by their free will and are British subjects. Although they are body-members of Jesus,

52 Constructing a German Diaspora they are not members of the German state-body.”6 Religious parameters thus prevailed over national ones. Johann Gottfried Herder reflected on the question from a different angle. He compared life in a foreign environment to a desert (Wüstenei) as it alienated people from their ‘fatherlandish’ nature, one aspect of which was religiosity. Emigrants were thus lost to themselves as well as to the world around them. Herder’s apolitical and idealist Volk-concept was politicised during and after the Napoleonic Wars, when writers such as Ernst Moritz Arndt juxtaposed a linguistically and racially ‘pure’ German Volk with the ‘bastardised’ French people. The idea that a people’s spirit should remain as undiluted as possible could then be projected to communities abroad, and was constitutive throughout the nineteenth century as regards the question of what role Germany as the sending society should play in preserving this purity.7 In the absence of a nation-state, the idea of Germany as a Kulturnation which defi ned itself through a common culture rather than clearly demarcated territoriality was particularly attractive. The deterritorialisation of nationality then opened the gates to view Germans living abroad as integral parts of the nation. The discussion gained momentum during the Vormärzperiod, with Wilhelm Stricker’s publication about The Distribution of the German Volk across the Earth (1845) setting the tone towards the affi rmative. In the following year, 1846, the leading scholars of their day convened at the fi rst Germanistentag in Frankfurt am Main. Amongst them were Jakob and Wilhelm Grimm, Ernst Moritz Arndt, Christoph Dahlmann, Leopold von Ranke, and Ludwig Uhland. A central theme of the conference was the connection between Nation and Volk, and there was broad agreement that culture and language constituted the most important elements. Jakob Grimm stressed in his key-note lecture that “a Volk is the essence of people who speak the same language.”8 Another speaker, Georg Heinrich Pertz of the Monumenta Germaniae Historica, stressed that “we and the German Volk outside the borders of the German federal states constitute a single entity (‘ein Ganzes’). Pertz found it desirable to establish contact with Germans abroad “in order to gain some influence on their literature for the preservation of the German language, their German spirit, and their memory of the fatherland.” The Germanistentag established a commission to put these ideas into practice.9 Recent scholarship has shown that these discussions were not locked within academic circles but were communicated to a wider middle-class public. Two important journals were Die Gartenlaube and, from 1862, Globus. These helped to establish the term Auslandsdeutsche in mainstream publications and the press, complementing the traditional term Auswanderer. The latter was connoted with America and suggested indefi nite emigration, whilst the former had a more global scope and can roughly be translated as ‘Germans Abroad.’ It was of a temporary nature and suggested persisting bonds with the homeland despite residence abroad. Communities and individuals were represented with ethnographic interest and

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used to reflect upon national characteristics as a common bond. These characteristics included moral dexterity, pronounced work ethics, but also superior forms of organised conviviality. Migrants were often represented within their new and ‘underdeveloped’ environment in Eastern Europe and Asia, the American West, or the Latin American jungle in order to highlight the civilising effect German settlers had in these environments. For a bourgeois middle-class which was disappointed about the outcome of 1848, the activities of political émigrés could serve as a proof that the national-liberal spirit was preserved. Germans abroad were made into a model for a national community which stood above territorial fragmentation. For example, in one of its fi rst issues in 1862, Globus contended that in Australia “the German stands up for that which he is, as a German, and recognises only one legitimate flag, that of the schwarz-rot-gold.”10 Given these lines of thinking in the decades before 1871, or indeed Heinrich von Treitschke’s quote above, one could have expected that unification triggered concrete measures and policies to promote cohesion with ethnic communities abroad. Support at the very top, however, was limited. Bismarck’s dictum determined the policy line: “A German who discards his fatherland like an old cloak is for me no longer a German. I take no further interest in him from a national standpoint.”11 Bismarck saw no value in emigrants for the Empire. On the contrary, they could be a disrupting factor in foreign policy. When, for example, he received an enthusiastic report from a minister that the southern Brazilian provinces might secede, that the German Empire could assume control, and that emigrants living there might play a crucial process in this colonial undertaking, he jotted down on the margin: “Those people will be [ . . . ] no more friendly toward their fatherland than the Yankees are toward England.” In addition, Brazil fell within the United States’ sphere of influence, and Bismarck was not keen to have an emigrant community—mobilised either way—as an unknown additional entity in his foreign relations with the emerging world power.12 Unperturbed by this political disengagement, Die Gartenlaube and other publications continued to spread notions of transnational belonging to a middle-class mass readership. Two scholarly analyses concentrate on the representation of Auslandsdeutschtum in middle-class magazines. They only cover the pre-national13 and pre-imperialist14 periods and demonstrate the crucial role of these magazines for embedding ideas of (trans-)national unity and expansion in the wider public. Matthew Fitzpatrick shows that expansionism was not a ‘fall from grace,’ that is, from earlier liberal ideas, but was just another side of a liberal coin which already circulated around 1848. After the mid-1880s, when these ideas had in fact been put into practice, Germans abroad continued to be discursively instrumentalised to this end. Expansionist arguments in the Gartenlaube, wrapped into ‘family friendly’ depictions of colourful scenes abroad, did not come from nowhere with the advent of formal imperialism in the mid-1880s but had deeper historical roots.

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Constructing a German Diaspora

An article in the 1889 issue of Gartenlaube about ‘The Germans in Constantinople,’ for example, has all the ingredients to convince the reader that Germans were able to create a civilised mirror-image of the nation wherever they settled in the world. Reduplication derived its power from the close connection both metropolitan and diasporic Germans were ready to maintain across time and space. The article is a cleverly constructed narrative of nation-building abroad within a dialectic structure. It juxtaposes a naive pre-national past with a modern present where space is compressed, moving German dispersals closer together than ever: “There are no more distances in the present period of steam and electricity; forty years ago, in contrast, the German wanderer who returned from his journey to Constantinople back home evoked awe, he was a phenomenon. [ . . . ] Today it only takes a ticket on the Orient-Express train in order to reach the Bosporus as comfortably as possible.”15 The article evokes a pre-modern classlessness in the 1840s where “the merchant, the civil servant and the artisan gathered together in patriarchic cosiness [and] simple modest conviviality.” Germans founded the club Teutonia which soon grew to 200 members, but when the artisans “felt a distance between themselves and the majority of the other members” they established a separate artisans’ club. Class divisions are glossed over with a euphemistic nonchalance and are ultimately healed by the common national cause. “From then on, the club life was split into two camps without causing inner divisions of the colony. The fatherlandish interests embraced the two and still embrace them.” The power of the (not so) distant nation is felt both internally and externally. The middle-class Teutonia is “the centre of the colony. It is an anchor of Germanness at the Golden Horn and is inseparably tied to the fatherland; anything that happens in the Heimat is discussed by compatriots here with warm empathy.”16 If the Teutonia club is a chiffre for the middle-classes, putting it at the “centre of the colony” is an implicit claim that this should also be the case within Germany. The Germans in Constantinople17 serve as a projection canvas for the German middle-classes to self-assure them that they are the actual backbone of Imperial Germany. Only on the surface is the article about Constantinople. In fact, it is about Germany. Another recurring motif was to display a superior culture to the host society. The German-Swiss school was not just an institution to preserve the next generation for Germanness, it was also “capable of furthering the reputation of the fatherland in the Orient as a nursery of German education and customs.” The proof was seen in the fact that the school was also attended by the offspring of other nationalities. A similar pattern applied to the German Hospital—whose nursing staff consisted of Kaiserswerth Deaconesses—“which is famous throughout Constantinople through its superb facilities and management” and which also catered for a grateful local population.18 Deutschtum as a cultural construct was not only able to overcome divisions of class, but also of nationality. The article explains that, in addition

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to the 1,500 Germans (1,265 of whom were registered by the consulate), there were also 200 Swiss living in Constantinople who were an integral part of the community. They joined the Teutonia club and cooperated in running the German-Swiss school. The subtext of this innocent sounding information was wide-ranging. It implied that the diaspora situation had the potential to overcome a situation which was targeted by the emerging Pan-German ideas: The Germanic tribe was divided by political borders which had emerged through the centuries. To this natural polity belonged not only German-speakers in the bordering countries but also the Dutchspeakers (Low German) of the Netherlands and Belgium. In the diaspora, German-speakers of all nationalities lived in a pseudo-national symbiosis which could serve as a model for political unification in Central Europe. The diaspora was, again, constructed as a laboratory of the nation itself. Here one could study what an ideal ethnicity-based nation would look like. In a subtle way, Germans and Swiss are conflated into one community of compatriots, enjoying together political freedom and a common set of qualities. “Today the European, wherever he comes from, fi nds compatriots here who enjoy full freedom and independence under the protection of consulates and embassies. The colony of Germans and Swiss in Constantinople developed especially fast and successfully. It is a praiseworthy fruit of assiduity, endurance and the willingness to support each other.” Out of this unity came strength which set the group apart from other nations. “The solidarity and the genuine club life of the Germans and the Swiss in Constantinople is superior to that of other nations and cannot become effeminated or superficial.” Out of this strength and unique qualities, in turn, came economic success. “The success of the wealthy German and Swiss merchant is due to his extraordinary knowledge of business affairs and his skilful ingenuity.” Part of this wealth was then used to support the community at large. The quality of the school was due to “the unity and social conscience of the German and Swiss colony and is a pleasing result of the unification of their forces.”19 The article on Constaninople followed a clear template which could be interchangeably applied to other German communities around the world. These communities were seen as thriving no matter what the geographical, natural or societal circumstances, deriving their strength from a common Volkstum which endowed them with unique qualities and a sense of common cause. This enabled them to overcome a hostile nature such as the Brazilian jungle or the Russian steppes—which was ultimately tamed and civilised; or a hostile political environment such as Pan-Slavism in Eastern Europe or nativism in the United States. Their presence was ultimately benefi cial and helped raise cultural, moral, and economic standards of their respective host environment. They were keen to preserve their Germanness, and the Heimat had a duty to support them in this task. Where it was in retreat, especially through language attrition, this was seen as a deplorable weakening of national strength.

56

Constructing a German Diaspora

The diaspora situation helped them to realise that they were most and foremost Germans, rather than Pomeranians, Westphalians, or Bavarians, and that they were also connected to other ‘Germanic’ nations through a Pan-German tribal relatedness (Stammesverwandtschaft). Constructing an ostensibly close-knit German diaspora was an integral part of the Kaiserreich’s cultural imagination and created an ideal ersatz-community which stood above political constellations. These patterns can now be explored through references to other world regions in Die Gartenlaube and other publications. Up until the 1890s, there was little reference to German-speaking minorities in Russia in the German media. The general public became aware of the Volga Germans for the fi rst time around 1890 when famine struck the region. Protestant churches in Germany organised collections and support committees. In the following years, Volga Germans were not only present in Pan-German publications as figureheads of potential expansion, 20 but also in the ‘mainstream’ press as preservers of superior national traits. German communities in southern Russia were discussed in two articles in the 1913 issue of Die Gartenlaube. 21 The setting is now depicted as a rural tabula rasa which is colonised and civilised. Suabian and other south German settlers who were invited from 1803 by Catherine the Great’s grandson, Alexander I, facilitated the ‘Kolonisation’ and ‘Urbarmachung’ (making arable) of the Cherson-district around Odessa. After difficult beginnings, the twenty-three rural Kolonien with names such as Lustdorf, Alexanderhilf, and Groß Liebental flourished in the 1840s to 1860s. Then came a self-infl icted crisis when the settlers, in their greed, began intensive farming on excessive amounts of land. This was aggravated by political adversity when their privileges were removed in the 1870s. Through their own skills, hard work, solidarity, and rediscovered modesty they managed to pull themselves out of the crisis, and at the time of writing (1913) everything went “upward and forward.” The surrounding Russian farming villages are the local backdrop to present alterity and superiority. “What sets the German settlements apart from the Russian farming villages in a particularly advantageous way are the better cultivated fields, the wellbuilt villages and clean dwellings.”22 Russian civilisation and productivity also benefited from the German minority in their midst. German artisans who had settled in Odessa “were now a significant factor in the economic life of the city. [ . . . ] The carriages and farming tools manufactured by the German artisans are now in use throughout southern Russia. Without the German wagon and plough the Russian farmer would not be able to cope anymore.”23 All this went along with a sense of community (Gemeinschaftsgefühl) which led to the establishment of public and charitable institutions such as a school, hospital, nursing home and asylum, orphanage, a bank, fi re insurance, and co-operatives. The main pillar of this community spirit was the common German roots which were immune to assimilation. “So far, Russian customs and ways have made only little inroads amongst the

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colonists. The latter stick tenaciously and fi rm to their traditional ways.”24 In everyday conversation, however, the Russian language had started to “creep in” (“sich eingeschlichen”). As regards their citizenship, they “never denied their German descent and never forgot their old fatherland, but nevertheless have become faithful citizens of Russia.” Referring to the revolutionary upheavals in 1905 and 1906, even in political terms Germans represented a model of good citizenship. “In this chaotic year of anarchy the German settlements stood out for remaining true models of quiet and order-loving progress. With true German faithfulness they were loyal to the Crown which protects them.”25 The tension between German descent and political allegiance is a recurring theme which is discussed in different facets. For the author of an article on the Transcaucasian colonies in southern Russia, the Volksseele (folk soul) was the overriding factor which could not be touched by a foreign nationality: “The love of the old Heimat, the bond with the motherland which expresses itself in such moving ways—these are the imponderabilia of the Volksseele which are better not touched by any state government.”26 The author extols that almost all German rural settlers in Russia had “a strongly developed national feeling” through sticking fi rmly and “admirably” to their language and folkways. The author recreates an idyllic southern German village scene against the backdrop of an exotic foreign environment with cypresses, fig trees, and indigenous people (Eingeborene) with camels and buffaloes. He stresses that “everything here was German: the original Germanic and thoroughly German character of the people,” the dress, housing, and farming tools. In the evening, young girls sit on the verandas and with their “fresh and clear” voices sing the “centuries old folk songs” such as Ich weiß nicht, was soll es bedeuten or In einem kühlen Grunde, and also “German patriotic” songs such as Die Wacht am Rhein. For the author, the “wind of the German Heimat” blew in these colonies. When intruding Tatars tried to kill the Armenian local residents in these areas during 1905, Germans defended their territory in a “manly, real German” way and protected the Armenian population. 27 The construction of a diasporic, Germany-oriented connectedness was semantically merged with quasi-colonialist aspirations. Presenting the economic and cultural benefits of German settlement to underdeveloped regions of destination served the purpose of claiming these territories for Deutschtum. The fact that they might lay under a different state authority was no more than a political inconvenience which had only little effect on the enduring power of Deutschtum despite geographical relocation and change of nationality. The strategies of cultural remaking of foreign lands into German territory were strikingly similar to those employed for the colonies. Jens Jäger analyses photographic representations of German colonial possessions in Africa which circulated through postcards and books. These images did not focus on the spectacularly exotic but rather on the familiar. In the centre stood churches and other colonial buildings which could

58

Constructing a German Diaspora

equally be located in Germany itself. Palm trees or indigenous people were merely a backdrop to the otherwise familiar. The audience in Germany was made to see a normality in these photographs which suggested that overseas territories could be part of the German nation, just as the nation itself was composed of territorial states with different cultures and traditions. The concept of Heimat, which had served as a powerful bond within Germany to connect the local and the national, 28 was now extended to overseas territories. In the public imagination, the colonies were remoulded into just another German region.29 The ‘colonial gaze’ had deeper roots in the German cultural imagination, especially towards the East. Current scholarship convincingly suggests that strategies of cultural territorial appropriation can be analytically discussed under the umbrella of colonialism, although grey zones exist. The basic premises of the two articles above on southern Russia can be traced back to the Lockean idea of vacuum domicillem which was used to justify British colonialism in North America. Any space that was not cultivated was no one’s property and hence empty space. As soon as more ‘civilised’ human beings start moving in and working on the land, they can legitimately claim it as their property. 30 This idea was powerfully popularised in Germany through writings such as Gustav Freytag’s novel Soll und Haben, fi rst published in 1855 and remaining a bestseller for 100 years. Its protagonist, the appropriately named Anton Wohlfahrt, moves to Poland as a self-proclaimed colonist, successfully cultivates a barren piece of land, defends it against the attacks of primitive natives who have “bronze skin like the North American Indians,” and ultimately creates the conditions for future generations of Germans to flourish in this stronghold abroad. Freytag’s novel was one mosaic-piece in a wider re-invention of Poland and the East as a potential colonial space. Hitler’s campaigns into Poland and then Russia during World War II had widely disseminated intellectual roots which date back in a theoretical way to the early Enlightenment, and were applied to Germany from the early nineteenth century onwards.31 As much as it is necessary to separate different forms of colonialism analytically (imagined, adjacent, informal, marginal, formal), it is legitimate to point out congruent colonial practices. One area of congruence is the ideological instrumentalisation of German-speakers who lived in respective regions. This can be tested at a purely terminological level. The semantic field of ‘Kolonie’ was flexible enough in order to denote any kind of German settlement or community abroad. The Black Sea Germans had moved out as ‘Kolonisten’ in order to realise the ‘Kolonisation’ of the region. Here they lived in ‘Kolonien’ which carried German names.32 They were thus retrospectively imbued with a mission to spread superior German techniques and culture which, in turn, gave them the right to occupy this territory, claim it by name, and defend it against threats to Deutschtum such as assaulting Tatars or Russification policies. Whilst the use of this terminology before 1884 can at best be described as a proto-colonial activity, by 1913 it had

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certainly lost its semantic innocence. A clear defi nitory separation was never drawn between the two semantic facets of ‘overseas possessions’ on the one hand, and ‘expatriate ethnic communities’ on the other hand. Germany’s colonies and formal imperialism were widely discussed in public, not just at a middle-class discourse level but also within the working classes through penny dreadfuls, travelogues, or novels which could easily be obtained commercially or through lending libraries.33 Using the word ‘Kolonie’ during the period of High Imperialism—even when referring to an ethnic community—inevitably stirred connotations of formal territorial possession. The colonisation of foreign territories is therefore a wide-ranging activity which goes beyond the act of formal acquisition. It needs to be theoretically separated from imperialism which pursues a state-centred spectrum of expansionary measures and power structures. Colonisation, in contrast, comprises a whole set of transnationally oriented cultural practices whose aim it is to construct a hegemonic relationship. This is relational rather than unidirectional. The colonisers interact with something or someone (people, territories, economies, cultures) and aim to transform the colonised entity in the process. This usually contains an element of mission civilatrice.34 Migrants were thus far more than border-crossing individuals seeking opportunities abroad. They were rather moulded into agents of a national mission. The dissemination of German farming practices and tools in southern Russia by migrants was not just an example of technological dissemination; rather, it was an act of claiming hegemony. Describing a woman singing a German folk-song was not just an ethnographic observation. It was rather an assurance of the enduring power of Deutschtum which was able to undertake this mission civilatrice. As soon as the agents were themselves transformed by the host environment, however, danger loomed. Assimilation was seen as a weakness of Deutschtum and described in such derogatory terms as ‘Verbrasilianerung’, ‘Verkafferung’, or even ‘Verengländerung’.35 These imply a disdain for the host cultures and contempt for those who descend to ‘lower’ levels civilisation. Migration, alterity, and cultural transformation were squeezed into a paradigm of cultural hierarchy. Contemporaneous treatment of the western Anatolian coastal regions in the Ottoman Empire further elucidates this ideological gaze. A widely read book on the region was Aus dem Reiche des Tantalus und Croesus (From the Empire of Tantalus and Croesus) by the Professor of Antiquity, Bernhard Stark. The book was published in 1873 and set the tone for similar deliberations in subsequent decades. Stark fi rst evokes a glorious past under the leadership of legendary figures such as Tantalus and Croesus, then deplores the decline which was not least accelerated by the intrusion of Islam, and fi nally stresses that the region has the potential to return to its former glory. Germans were destined to follow in the footsteps of the ancient Greeks and take a leadership role in this process. This should occur at two levels. The fi rst level was that of territorial development. Farmers willing to emigrate should be encouraged to settle in compact agricultural

60

Constructing a German Diaspora

colonies in the western Anatolian hinterland. They would make the ‘empty’ soil arable and keep in close contact with the Heimat. Industrial projects would follow. German engineers would provide the necessary infrastructure by building roads and railways. The second level was “Germany’s great task in this glorious land particularly in the area of spiritual and moral-religious life.” Germany should try to influence those who held up irredentist territorial claims, namely the Greeks, and thereby foster a colonial mentality based on dependency. This process had already started through Germans living in Smyrna, and the authorities in the Reich were asked to put funds into further endeavours: With relatively small material input, a lot has already been accomplished with German religiosity, industriousness and farsightedness. Moral rectitude and freedom of mental horizon is applied in the education of the indigenous youth, especially the female one, and in linking up the German protestant congregation with Greek and Armenian Christianity without proselytism. What has been achieved through scientific or, e.g., musical stimulation by German teachers and merchants is more than anyone in the Heimat would be aware of.36 Similar colonising schemes for the Aegean coast had been widely circulated in previous years, but the timing of Stark’s publication points to an aspect of periodisation in diaspora construction. 1871 was indeed a watershed year for these conceptions as Germans abroad now had a unified state behind them for support and protection. A political, economic, and symbolic reference point was created which gave any forms of diasporisation a clearer focus. At the same time, that fatherland could be called up for its duty to provide support and develop a vested interest in the potential benefits of Germans abroad. In Stark’s book this reads as follows: The consular representation of the new German Empire understands and fosters these aspects as far as possible. But a lot can still be achieved in this most important place in the Levant: through an increased interest of the German motherland in the small Colonie there; and through sending young, hard-working individuals pursuing practical, pedagogical or scientific work. This would have to be under the protection of the state and would require only modest means.37 Thirty years later, the focus of suchlike ideas had moved towards the utilitarian, influenced by the experience of concrete imperialistic engagement. The historian Ernst von der Nahmer concentrated less on idealistic issues. He rather saw the strengthening of Deutschtum in the Levant as a viable alternative to unrealistic annexation plans (which also existed) in order to derive concrete benefits from “these fertile valleys for our Volk.” A German population of descendants should be raised in the Orient “which is aware

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of its German origin and, at the same time, familiar with the languages and working conditions of the country.”38 The world was mentally mapped through the fi lter of German migrants and their colonising potential. Where little hope of territorial annexation existed, it was the spiritual, intellectual, and moral ‘territory’ of the host society in which a clearly defi ned German space was constructed. This was particularly pronounced in relation to the United States. An article in Die Gartenlaube on the centenary of the union in 1889 can be taken as a starting point: If the American Volk-character is, to some extent, brewed together in a cauldron into which all nations throw their ingredients, Germany can truly claim that it has contributed the most welcome gifts! [The German can] proudly claim to have contributed to the most fortunate development of the republic with heart, hand, and head: in peacetime through busy and restless work in the prairie, the factory, the workshop or the counting-house [ . . . ] in times when it was necessary to step in for the adoptive fatherland with money and blood by shouldering the musket. 39 Not all commentators in Germany, though, were as positively disposed towards America and the fate of Deutschtum there. Publications reflected on the contributions of German-Americans to a culture which—despite admiration for its economic dynamism—was largely discussed in derogatory terms. Germans had helped to raise cultural standards but were themselves dangerously prone to ‘de-Germanisation’ (Entgermanisierung). They were sucked into a superficial yankeeism, losing the essence of their spiritual existence. Wilhelm von Polenz, for example, a popular conservative author, commented in his best-selling Das Land der Zukunft (The Land of the Future) that “Americanisation of culture means externalisation, mechanisation and de-spiritualisation.”40 Realistically, the upkeep of German ethnic culture in the USA was to be only of a temporary nature. In the long run, German-America would melt away “like an iceberg that has floated into warm southern waters.”41 There were two main interpretations of this process. The fi rst was embodied by the ultimate 48er German-American, Carl Schurz, and argued that by contributing their specific qualities, Germans were fulfi lling their duty towards their adopted fatherland. A flourishing American democracy would be for the greater good of mankind. German qualities would fulfi l their universal destiny if they merged with American ideals. Die Gartenlaube was one of the most ardent supporters of this argument. Over the years, it had reported favourably on the fate of 48ers in the United States and saw their success as proof that the ideals of 1848 were intact and alive and could flourish in a more liberal environment. Others such as the nationalistic journalist Fritz Bley in the intellectual trend-setting journal Die Zukunft, or the historian Hermann Oncken,

62 Constructing a German Diaspora however, saw this position as treason. Germans were too readily prepared to subdue themselves to overpowering Anglo-Americanism and abdicate their Germanness. They would only serve their foreign masters and flourish as Völkerdünger (‘fertiliser of other people’; a term initially coined by Heinrich von Treitschke) in their new environment, but were lost to Deutschtum. The end-product would be culturally amorphous hybrids without any spiritual grounding. This was not only deplorable from a cultural point of view but had concrete power-political implications. As Anglo-American dominance threatened to loom for the new century, a typical zero sum game was applied. In the same way German-Americans contributed to American ascendancy, they pushed back German power-political global aspirations. And as Germanophobia was increasingly engrained in a merging AngloAmerican culture, they were infected by disinclination towards their old fatherland. American (and also European) protection tariffs in the 1890s served as a proof that a global front against the German export industry was in the making. Should a war between the two nations erupt, no one should have any illusions that these ‘hyphenates’ would not turn against Germany. It was with regard to the United States that the armchair engineers of diaspora construction encountered their fi rmest limits. As radical nationalism took its hold in public discourse from the 1890s, clear national demarcations and proclamations of allegiance were asked for. Hyphenated emigrants being sucked in by an ascending global competitor did not fit into the idealised picture of a ‘Greater German Empire.’42 German-Americans were regarded as a lost cause and were, indeed, less implicated than other world regions in attempts by Reich-institutions and discourse leaders to reach out. Juxtaposing transnational projections towards the United States with those towards Russia shows that German minorities in both countries served as a canvas to negotiate different facets of modernity in the metropolis itself. Uneasiness about the social dislocations of rapid industrialisation was associated with characteristics ascribed to the United States: profiteering, superficiality, mindless progress. Anti-modernist reflexes were tied to a growing anti-Americanism from the turn of the century. German-Americans were represented as a group which was irreparably infected with these vices and therefore represented Germany’s looming future—if it did not arm itself through exclusion of alien elements from German core values. As for the shape of these values, one could conveniently turn to an idealised picture of Germans in rural Russia. They were moulded into a pre-modern community which was in tune with its century-old Volksgeist, trying to withstand the forces of Russification and Tatarisation. Whereas GermanAmericans represented a looming future, Germans in Russia represented an idealised past. Spatial travelling facilitated time travelling, and diaspora communities were a convenient looking glass. Dreams of a large-scale New Germany overseas were arguably most pronounced in relation to Brazil. Patterns of argumentation were similar

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to those applied to Russia. Instead of the ‘empty’ expansive steppe, it was now the untamed and chaotic jungle which formed the backdrop for Deutschtum to flourish and elevate its environment. Instead of the Russian dominant culture in combination with ethnic minorities such as Armenians or Tatars, it was now Luso-Brazil in combination with indigenous people, blacks, ‘mestizos,’ and European migrants which constituted the cultural forces against which Deutschtum had to stand its ground. Brazil was often favourably contrasted with the United States, extolling in particular the economic benefits of ethnic preservation and the need for redirecting the migration stream towards compact settlement areas in southern Brazil. The argument ran that Germans in the United States not only bought American products, but also exported products which competed with German ones on the world market. In Brazil, in contrast, they bought German products and also exported produce to Germany which was not grown there. They were thus more valuable to the fatherland as customers and suppliers than their assimilated equivalents in North America, and also acted as propagandists of German products to the host society. It was therefore not only a cultural, but also an economic necessity to bind them closely to the homeland and preserve their ethnicity. When the United States introduced the McKinley Tariff in 1890 to protect its own market, this was seen as another sign that alternative markets had to be sought for the Reich, and that migrants could play a major role in opening these up.43 The argument was not only brought forward by ultranationalist PanGermans (as the sources used in Nancy Mitchell’s pertinent study suggest44), but also by mainstream conservative political economists who backed the colonial idea. These had an immense influence on opinion-making in the general public. They picked up on the ideas of an earlier generation of economists such as Johann Wappäus and Friedrich List who had argued that the state had the duty to influence the direction of emigration streams in order to make them profitable for the national wealth.45 The issue had not lost its relevance after decades of further emigration and the beginning of formal colonisation. Wilhelm Roscher, in 1885, calculated an outward cash flow of 150 Talers for each emigrant plus 750 Talers the German state had invested in skills training. He also stated that those individuals who left were often the most able and active whose skills made a long-term contribution to the wealth of other nations.46 Robert Jannasch mused that if only 5,000 emigrants went to South Brazil annually this would amount to 100,000 settlers in twenty years who would buy German goods for at least 10 million Marks. These products would also spread within the host society, which would subsequently turn to German goods. Nowhere else in the world, according to Jannasch, could a comparable export market be created with such little means. Just as the United States had developed their Far West, Germany should regard South Brazil as its own Far West.47 Others established a direct correlation between the upkeep of transnational links and economic benefits. As Wilhelm Hübbe-Schleiden, a Hamburg lawyer and

64 Constructing a German Diaspora influential figure in the colonial movement explained: “The more emigrating elements remain national in terms of language and customs, the more the export and the wealth of the [German] nation is stimulated.”48 The southern Brazilian federal states of Santa Catarina and Rio Grande do Sul were identified as areas where this scenario had the best chances of realisation. It appeared to present all the necessary preconditions for agricultural Reich-oriented settlement colonisation: ample space which was sparsely populated by ‘inferior’ races; a relatively favourable climate; potential to secure the supply of raw materials and food for the twentieth century and beyond; and insignificant industrial development, which guaranteed long-term dependency on German products and trade. Existing settlement colonies would function as springboards for further spatial expansion. The only factors needed were sustained immigration and investment in transnational links.49 An influential spokesman for South America was the head of the Rhenish Missionary Society, Friedrich Fabri, who eloquently merged the two discussion strands of emigration and colonisation and actively worked towards the establishment of German settlement-Kolonien throughout the continent. His aim was to redirect the migration stream from North to South America. His programmatically entitled pamphlet Bedarf Deutschland der Colonien? (Does Germany need Colonies?), published in 1879, gave momentum to the colonial movement by inducing a good deal of migrationist argumentation. As Woodruff D. Smith shows, it was, in fact, the prospect of creating settlement territories for ‘overflowing’ Germans which communicated the idea of colonies to large sections of society. 50 With the advent of German Weltpolitik in the 1880s and 1890s, a political argument also worked in favour of Brazil. It was seen as a weak state held together loosely enough to justify hopes for a territorial break-up— and the opportunity for Germany to take its slice. The years 1889 to 1894 were a period of political crisis in Brazil. The monarchy fell in 1889, followed by a provisional republican government (1889–1891) and uprisings such as a naval mutiny in Rio de Janeiro (1893) and a revolt in southern Brazil. Hopes existed that the southern states would secede and turn to Germany for protection. The exact shape of this protection was unclear, but in any case Germany should make the best out of the fragile situation. Even Gustav Schmoller, one of the leading and most respected political economists, was swept away. He asked for southern Brazil to be turned into a Germanic country, no matter whether it remained part of Brazil, declared independence, or just entertained close association with Germany. The Pan-German League and its sympathisers were more outspoken and openly demanded Berlin’s political, and if necessary military, engagement in the area. Pertinent articles from the pro-imperialist Alldeutsche Blätter, the Grenzboten, but also the mainstream German press were often translated and published in Brazilian newspapers, sparking fierce anti-German reactions in the Brazilian public and creating suspicions towards the German

Metropolitan Diaspora Constructions

65

minority in its midst.51 Brazil is a telling example where the imperialist fantasies which were projected into Germans abroad worked to the exact detriment of their intentions. They did not strengthen the position of the minority within its host environment but rather made it more fragile. Not everyone agreed. Scepticism towards Brazil as a destination existed from the early nineteenth century and found its fi rst culmination in the Heydt’sche Reskript of 1859, named after the Prussian minister of trade, which made it illegal on Prussian territory to promote any emigration to Brazil. Its aim was to counter the misleading reports of emigration agents and shipping lines who presented Brazil in glowing colours as a paradise with golden opportunities. Opposition against the Reskript rose from the 1870s, but the Foreign Office stood by its principles. In fact, it supported the publication of information which described the difficult conditions for farmers, including subtropical climate, diseases, underdeveloped infrastructure, the unclear legal situation of land-holding, problems with the authorities, corruption, and political unrest. This position was abandoned after Bismarck’s dismissal in 1890 and Germany’s engagement with Weltpolitik. The Brazil-lobby was part of the powerful right-wing spectrum of pressure groups which by now had fully subscribed to the migrationist argument as an integral part of imperialist endeavours. The last drop was positive reports by the German ambassador to Rio, Richard Krauel, who had visited settlements in southern Brazil and presented their apparent economic potential for Germany. The Heydt’sche Reskript was fi nally lifted in 1896. 52 Realistic voices, however, continued to be sceptical and, with their reports and publications, proportionally outweighed the fantasists. News about emigrants whose plans had failed in Brazil or who had returned after losing all their savings regularly appeared in the press. A widely read information book for prospective emigrants, after mentioning corruption, revolutions, and questionable administration of justice, came to the conclusion that, although it was possible with some savings to achieve a decent living standard, one should carefully consider whether Brazil was the best destination. Liberal merchant circles expressed doubts about the market potential of cluster settlements abroad and rather thought that the quality and price of products were a more important factor than their provenance. And even the protagonists of large-scale settlement often found it unrealistic that these areas could come under the administration of the German Empire, while ardent colonialists such as Hübbe-Schleiden and the influential journalist Paul Rohrbach agreed that formal possession was not the best option. In the long run, southern Brazil should assume the same relationship with Germany as the United States had with England: deep historical, cultural, and linguistic roots, but complete political independence. 53 The following quote from the Handbook of Germandom Abroad applies a similar matrix to Brazil as earlier quotes had done in relation to Constantinople and southern Russia:

66 Constructing a German Diaspora Blumenau has the same character as a medium-sized German town in the countryside, the only difference being that the land is not as expensive as in the German Reich, and that everyone has much more space available for his house. Two thirds of the population are Protestant, the others are Catholic. The whole atmosphere is one of peaceful comfort; associational life blossoms. The colony has a stretched shape and has as its centre the town. To a visitor it made the impression of a spa town in central Germany which is inhabited by a wealthy population. The settlement stretches along the banks of the Itajahy like a big garden. According to the same informant, the most important buildings in their local order are: the town chamber (seat of the administration), villas and business premises of German merchants, a pharmacy, the editing offices of the “Blumenauer Zeitung,” the post office, the Catholic church, the Franciscan monastery, also some farm houses, [ . . . ] the German school, hotels and club houses, the Protestant church and next to it the vicarage, the hospital, the lunatic asylum, the freemasons’ chapter; [ . . . ] the prison, the villa of the German consul, the premises of the shooting association, and another hotel. 54 Again, the quote employs pictorial strategies which turn a clearly demarcated space in a distant land into unmistakable German territory. The reader recognises a familiar semi-urban topography which is literally located in the “middle” of a nation whose territory is not confi ned to Central Europe. Direct comparisons with comparable towns in the German Empire are drawn and contribute to the perceived normality of the scene. In the short quote, the lexeme “Mitte(l)” (central, middle) is used three times in order to relocate Blumenau into the centre of an imaginary German space free from physical borders. This, in turn, opens up the possibility for an idealised description. The diaspora situation has the potential to heal the societal wounds associated with the metropolis. Different social classes exist, but without strife. They create a povertyfree microcosm where everyone fulfi ls their function within an intact institutional framework. Catholic and Protestant institutions are situated in close vicinity. Diasporic Germandom does not only have the power to build a new, but also a better Germany in the middle of a previously ‘uncivilised’ environment. Adverse local challenges are overcome through the strength of Deutschtum which flourishes in any biological or political environment. The chapter in the Handbook also poses the question whether Brazil was more conducive to the preservation of Germanness as an Empire or a Republic. The answer is either way: “German industriousness has always forced others to respect it; the Rhinelander or the Pomeranian are used to respecting the law and paying their taxes in a timely fashion.” Where the state does not protect Deutschtum, it does so itself: “Faced with the Joinville shooting association and fi re brigade, which hardly numbered two hundred, a thousand rebellious gauchos and

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67

half-Indians went for the better part of braveness and toddled off into the jungle straight away.”55 Whether faced with ‘half-Indians’ in Brazil or Tatars in Russia, with ‘negroes’ in Africa or Aborigines in Australia, Germandom stands its ground through the sheer force of an allegedly superior civilisation. This force is, however, weakened where Deutschtum recedes or is not represented in large enough numbers. The Brazilian federal states of Minas Geraes, São Paulo, and Paraná were less important German destinations numerically. An article in Die Gartenlaube about “this complex of countries which is roughly the size of Germany and Austria-Hungary taken together” transports the ethnic confl ict of the German eastern and south-eastern borderlands into the Brazilian jungle. In Paraná, for example, Germans are outnumbered ten to one by Poles in settlement colonies with names such as Nova Galizia. “But the German colonists did not feel happy in the Slavic environment. They gave in to the chicanery and were expelled. Poles were settled in those vacated lotes, so much that the few Germans left behind are now entirely dispersed.” Juiz de Fora in Minas is described as a “modern city with flourishing industry. It is of German origin.” Not all of its 3,000 German inhabitants and their off spring speak German anymore. “Interbreeding with blacks only happens occasionally, but German girls are popular with Italians because of their reputation of being thrifty housewives, and their husbands sometimes learn German.” Intrusion of foreign elements can best be countered where Pan-German cooperation prevails. Germans in a “closed group” were to be found in the rural colony of Campo Salles in São Paulo, “three quarters of which are occupied by Germans and Swiss. They cultivate their Germanness in schools and clubs. Even some resident Danes and Swedes remember their Germanic tribal relatedness.” The article concludes that Deutschtum in the three states was endangered and should be supported since “Germany had already contributed too many resources and high values to the area in order to abandon it.” Support should especially be channelled to small jungle colonies as “outposts of Deutschtum.” 56 The projection canvas of southern Brazil thus sparked the full range of the diasporic discourse in Imperial Germany, from opportunities to problems, and from fantasy to realism as regards the potential of a closely-connected New Germany overseas. The intellectual roots of these projections lay in the eighteenth century, when Brazil started to be constructed as a surrogate national space in fictional literature. 57 This picture was then complemented with another layer during the nineteenth century when isolated settlements were presented as spaces where Deutschtum survived in a more intact form than in industrialising Germany itself. Just as in relation to Russia and other world regions, these expatriate spaces were instrumentalised as a mirror for the nation itself as to its potential if it only believed in the strength of Volkstum. They were also drawn into the colonialist discourse.

68

Constructing a German Diaspora

PRESSURE GROUPS The ascendancy of right-wing agitational pressure groups (Agitationsverbände) from the 1880s onwards was both a symptom of and a motor for the gradual radicalisation of nationalism in Imperial Germany. The very shape and content of nationalism moved away from its liberal, pre-1871 pretensions which represented progress and constitutional as well as social change. It was now remoulded into an illiberal and conservative ideology which took an affi rmative stance towards the existing political, constitutional, and social order. Conservative forces appropriated the national cause ideologically, and filled it with their own ideas. These turned increasingly aggressive towards internal and external elements which appeared to threaten the unity and greatness of the new Empire. Whoever disagreed with the Bismarckian path towards nation-founding and -building was labelled an ‘enemy of the Reich.’ Internally, national unity was deemed to be threatened by Catholics, social democrats, as well as religious and ethnic minorities such as Jews or Poles. These minorities might have lived within the borders of the Reich and even have German nationality, but were denied membership of the German nation. They did not fit into the desirable pattern of ethnic and cultural homogeneity which was based on the allegedly congruent triad of Volk, Nation, and Reich. Germans abroad, in contrast, did fit into this triad. A similarly threatening scenario was built up against an imaginary wall of external enemies. This was fi rst and foremost France, the ‘arch enemy’ seeking revenge for Sedan. The pattern of negative stereotyping could then easily be modified and applied to further enemies of the Reich from the 1880s: Slavophobia was fed by racist discourse, whilst from around 1900 Great Britain, the ‘perfidious Albion,’ had set its eye on denying Germany its ‘place in the sun’ on the imperialist stage.58 Agitational pressure groups were important crystallisation points for these ideas to be formulated and promulgated outside the established spectrum of political parties. Each of them pursued a specific programme which aimed to strengthen Germany and Deutschtum at home and/or abroad. Their aim was to convince the public and put pressure on policy makers that more needed to be done in their respective areas to realise global power-political aspirations. Their methods consisted of publications, public lectures, events, and lobby work. The German Colonial Society (Deutscher Kolonialverein) made a start in 1882. Its aim was to communicate the colonial idea to the general public and to support measures for acquiring colonies. Two years later it was complemented with the Society for German Colonisation (Gesellschaft für deutsche Kolonisation) which, under the leadership of Carl Peters and journalist Friedrich Lange, supported concrete colonisation projects and played an important role in the acquisition of German East Africa. Under growing public pressure, the imperial government under Bismarck did, indeed, give up its reservations towards colonisation and entered the imperialist stage in Africa

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69

and the South Pacific. A merger of the two groups in 1887 resulted in the German Colonial Association (Deutsche Kolonialgesellschaft), with membership numbers rising from 15,000 to more than 42,000 in 1914. It was dominated by entrepreneurs, bankers, and merchants whose business interests lay abroad and who were looking for close cooperation with the government. 59 The symbiosis of emigrationist and colonialist argumentation, which has been introduced above in connection with Friedrich Fabri, makes the colonial ‘movement’ an important tributary to the construction of Auslandsdeutschtum. Similarly, the Pan-German League 60 afforded Germans abroad their specific role in acquiring cultural and political hegemony on a global basis. This pressure group grew out of the protest against the Heligoland-Zanzibar Treaty of 1890 and developed into the spearhead of the radical right. Membership hovered around 20,000 between the turn of the century and 1914 and included mainly members of the educated middle-classes such as university professors, secondary school teachers, journalists, civil servants, and the self-employed. About two thirds were university graduates, and more than half worked in public service. Its chairman and leading figure was Ernst Hasse, the director of the statistical office in Leipzig, visiting professor at the university and also national liberal member of the Reichstag between 1893 and 1903. The core of their demands included, fi rst, a compact and enlarged area of settlement for Germandom in Central Europe, and second, a stringent ‘Germanisation’ of ‘non-German’ minorities living within the borders of the Reich. This was mainly directed against Slavic minorities whose treatment by successive governments was deemed to be too soft, but also included the Jewish population. Third, the Pan-Germans pushed for a stronger display of German power politics abroad in order make the Reich into a leading global and colonial power on a par with Britain and France. The PanGermans were not a marginalised splinter group but had close connections with the political establishment—which is not to say that they had a direct influence on government policies. As chancellor Bethmann Hollweg put it, referring to the group’s radical demands: “With these idiots nobody can conduct a sane policy.”61 On a more general level, however, ideas of the League penetrated the political discourse. Some mainstream newspapers were edited by members: the Rheinisch Westfälische Zeitung, for example, by Theodor Reismann-Grone, and the Frankfurter OderZeitung by Dr. Wilhelm Wintzer. Ernst Hasse regularly used his speeches in the Reichstag to propagate Pan-German ideas. These were formulated as a compact völkisch ideology with clear power-political aims, superseding a plethora of diff use utterances on the matter. Its platform was the weekly journal Alldeutsche Blätter which had a circulation of 7,000 in 1914 and went to members, but also to schools and libraries. Hasse and the Pan-German League thus formulated and disseminated völkisch ideas to other pressure groups, policy makers, and the general public to an

70 Constructing a German Diaspora extent which far exceeded mere membership numbers. As David Blackbourn puts it: These views were not confi ned to a lunatic fringe. They had support among academics and schoolteachers, and entered the language of the political parties, especially the Conservatives (in the case of anti-Semitism) and the National Liberals (in the case of radical nationalism). The same ideas found an echo at the top of the political system, from the Social Darwinism prevalent in the circles around Bethmann Hollweg to the violent anti-Semitic diatribes of the Kaiser.62 There were clear thematic congruities between different right-wing pressure groups. The Pan-Germans, though, stood out through their radicalism in the form of self-ascribed “steely, uncompromising, ruthless, and tough völkisch determination [ . . . ] in the systematic establishment of a PanGerman state.”63 Between 1897 and 1902, the Pan-German League edited a substantial twenty-volume publication series with Lehmann publishers in Munich. It was entitled Der Kampf um das Deutschtum (The Fight for Germandom) and elucidates the position towards Deutschtum abroad. Each of the volumes depicts an alleged battleground where Deutschtum was under siege. This included the Reich’s margin areas with mixed populations (‘Eastern Marches,’ Schleswig-Holstein, Alsace-Lorraine), regions in the Austro-Hungarian Empire (Bohemia, Moravia, Silesia, Tyrol, Steiermark, Kärnten, Krain, Istria, Hungary), and neighbouring countries (Switzerland, the Netherlands). The demand was that these Central and East Central European regions should be subsumed under one Pan-German roof. Regions further afield where ethnic settlement occurred should be either formally attached or otherwise closely connected (Russia, North and South America, South Africa, Asia, and Australia and Oceania).64 The volume on South Africa can be taken as a fi rst example to show that the malleable nature of ethnic belonging could easily be twisted in a Pan-German sense. Its author, the journalist Fritz Bley, argued with crude dialectics that the future of the German race depended upon the creation of new living space. “If we do not manage to create new ‘German soil’ for us, our Volk will be irretrievably crippled and eliminated.”65 The whole of Southern Africa would be a suitable region if Boers and Germans managed to build a united front against colonial encroachment by Great Britain. Bley fi rst redefi ned the Boers as being essentially German. Historically, at the time they left the Netherlands for South Africa in the seventeenth century they defi ned their language not as Dutch but as Low German (‘nederduitsch’). Bley presents their language as simply a low-German dialect. Just as a resident of Hamburg accepts a resident of Munich as a fellow German, he should accept speakers of Low German as being of the same race. This argumentation not only encompassed the Dutch, but also the Boers: “They are just as well Germans by blood and by language. Their dialect—the

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71

Afrikaanerplatt—is far closer to the plattdeutsch-dialect spoken in Lower Saxony than to the dialect of Upper Bavaria.”66 The fact that the Boers had led a relatively isolated existence for centuries did not shed any doubt on their unalterable Germanness. On the contrary, it is exactly the expatriate situation which enabled essential Germanic traits to be better preserved than in Europe: “The Boers have a skin as thick as a bear, and in this regard we encounter the most genuine trait of Germandom.”67 The latter argument contains the same anti-modernist reflex which has been described by Sebastian Conrad in relation to South Brazil. It was in the challenging and isolated environment of an initially hostile nature— which was eventually tamed and made arable—that the German found his true nature rooted in the nation. Emigrants represented a more genuine Germany which was not alienated from its essential core through the state, bureaucracy, or industrialisation, but existed as a pre-industrial agrarian utopia. Germans in Brazil were thus fictionalised representatives of antimodernist movements within Germany itself, as represented by the conservative agrarian Association of Farmers (Bund der Landwirte), or the various ‘reform of life’ (Lebensreform) movements that sprang up from the 1880s. The simple and ‘down to earth’ lifestyle of emigrants served as a mirror and model of a nation looking for its genuine self.68 If we bring together this observation with above remarks about southern Russia and, now, South Africa, a clear argumentative pattern emerges which could be applied to any rural emigrant community. Their isolation was not seen as proof that they had severed links with the mother country but, on the contrary, that they had preserved their Germanness exactly through this isolation. They could therefore legitimately be encompassed into any notions of a Greater German Empire. This mechanism was deemed to be less successful in English-speaking environments where Germans tended to be ‘sucked in’ by the Anglo-Saxon majority culture; it was deemed to be more successful in societies with higher alterity. South Africa represented a mixed society in transition where Germans abroad could play a crucial role in shifting the power-political balance. Notwithstanding the lack of realism in these Pan-German fantasies, the fact remains that even non-German diaspora groups could be instrumentalised to power-political ends. How would this work in practice with regard to Southern Africa? For Fritz Bley, the fact that the Boer did not actually see himself as German was a surmountable challenge. Local newspapers such as the Südafrikanische Zeitung had the duty to “incessantly remind the hard-working low German Volk-tribe of the voice of their blood, to point out to him daily and hourly his destined position within the entire Deutschtum which he has to occupy if he does not wish to be washed away by the high tide of the English world economy!”69 Similarly the Reich had the duty “to enlighten him about his völkisch situation, and show to him and the whole world that he is and stays a German.”70 This could best be realised if the Reich were to support any ethnic activities which would preserve the Boers’ cultural identity:

72 Constructing a German Diaspora the reformed church, the official language in all areas of public life, the press, and trade. It should engage in particular in the “fight for the low German language in South Africa”71 by supporting Boer schools. Ideally, in the north-western regions of the Cape Colony, Boers would not speak any English but only Low and High German. In combination with envisaged colonial settlement migration, this would ultimately lead to a large border-straddling Germanic population in German South West Africa and the Cape Colony. This area of settlement would act as a core stepping stone “to radiate German Geist to the entire Low German South Africa, which would be won over by a Pan-German spirit and conviction.”72 All this would eventually push back English influence in South Africa. In typical Pan-German fashion, pressure was put on the German authorities. If they did not act swiftly and decisively, Germany would yet again descend to the status of a servant nation. South Africa was stylised into a region where Germany’s destiny would be decided. “Because the fight for South Africa is not just another fight for Deutschtum, it is t h e fight for Deutschtum!”73 The notion was rehearsed over and over again in the main organ of the Pan-Germans, the Alldeutsche Blätter. For Max Robert Gerstenhauer, speaking of a “German-Boer Volk-community,” the Boers were “Germans by blood and descent, by language, by national character, as well as everything else that concerns their Volkstum.”74 It would be misleading, however, to represent the Pan-German position as being aloof from political practice and public opinion. Ideas about ethnic and cultural affi nity between Germany and the Boers were widespread in the German public. They were also picked up by Wilhelm II. It is only against the backdrop of a constructed diasporic affinity that the roots of his infamous Krüger Depesche can be understood. On 3 October 1896, he wrote a telegram to the president of Transvaal, Ohm Krüger, congratulating him on a military success in the Jameson Raid against British forces. The telegram was interpreted by Britain as an interference with internal British affairs, adding to diplomatic Anglo-German tensions. Within Germany, however, it was a reflection of widespread sympathy with the fate of the Boers in their struggle against English hegemony. The outbreak of the South African War in 1899 generated a flood of anti-British and pro-Boer proclamations. The Pan-Germans, of course, used this public sentiment to criticise the German government’s policy of neutrality. When the Boer States fi nally surrendered in May 1902, their incorporation into the British Empire was once more deplored in Germany. The manifold overlaps between Pan-German activists, the mainstream press, and public opinion can be exemplified through Theodor Reismann-Grone, a board member of the Pan-German League and at the same time editor of the newspaper Rheinisch-Westfälische Zeitung. Here, he criticised the German government in June 1902 for having failed to fulfil its “natural duty to protect a Germanic tribe which is so very much related to us.” Reismann-Grone then reflected on the global political implications and mingled these with the fate of diasporic presence: “Now

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73

Africa is also lost for Deutschtum. In Africa Deutschtum will also be nothing more than the fertiliser of other peoples.”75 It is with this comprehensive defi nition of Germandom that the world was remapped. Pan-German calculations about the German presence in the world glossed over questions of citizenship or state borders in order to construct the notion of a border-straddling and globally present German nation. An influential authority in this regard was the cartographer and geographer Paul Langhans (1867–1952) who worked for Perthes’ Geographisch-Kartographische Anstalt in Gotha and simultaneously held various positions on the board of the Pan-German League. In numerous publications, which included the Deutscher Kolonial-Atlas (Gotha, 1897) and the ‘Deutsche Erde’ series, he delivered statistical and geographical material to visualise global presence. His table (see below) claims to encompass the actual population size of the German Volk throughout the world. It is worth reproducing this table in full as the numbers it contains were reiterated not only in right-wing,76 but also academic and general77 publications.

Table 2.1

Paul Langhans (1906), Population Number of the German Volk. Distribution of Germans across the World (Die Volkszahl der Deutschen. Verteilung der Deutschen über die Erde 1906)

Country German Reich

Number

Of these German citizens (G) or born in Germany (B), by year

55,700,000

Austria

9,500,000

G 1900: 106,364

Hungary

2,200,000

G 1900: 8,020

Bosnia and Herzegovina Liechtenstein Switzerland Luxembourg Belgium Neutral-Moresnet Netherlands France Denmark Sweden Norway Great Britain and Ireland Russia Finland

30,000 9,500 2,350,000

G 1900: 168,238

225,000

G 1900: 14,931

3,600,000

G 1900: 53,408

3,400

G 1901: 1,500

5,150,000

G 1899: 31,654

500,000

G 1896: 90,764

50,000

B 1901: 35,061

5,000

G 1900: 2,421

2,000 100,000 1,700,000 1,900

G 1900: 1,766 B 1901: 53,402 G 1897: 151,102 G 1900: 581 (continued)

74 Constructing a German Diaspora Table 2.1

(continued)

Country

Number

Romania

50,000

Of these German citizens (G) or born in Germany (B), by year G 1899: 7,733

Serbia

7,000

G 1900: 379

Bulgaria

5,000

G 1904: 339

European Turkey

15,000

Greece

1,000

G 1904: 3,399 G 1905: 227

Italy

50,000

G 1901: 10,745

Spain

3,000

G 1900: 3,011

3,000

G 1900: 27

Portugal

Europe 81,261,000 United States

12,000,000

Canada and Newfoundland

B 1900: 1,669,164

360,000

G 1901: 6,486

Mexico

5,000

G 1900: 2,565

Central America

2,000

West Indies

5,000

Columbia

3,000

G 1905: 345

2,000

G 1904: 612

Venezuela Brazil

400,000

Uruguay

5,000

Argentina

60,000

Paraguay

3,000

Chile

20,000

Peru

2,000

America rest

2,000

G 1904: 252 G 1895: 17,143 G 1904: 916 G 1895: 7,049 G 1904: 535

America 13,069,000 Russian Asia

71,000

Turkish Asia

5,000

China

2,000

Kiautschou

2,800

Japan

900

South Asia

50,000 Asia

German Africa British South Africa Egypt

G 1903: 1,658 G 1903: 654 B 1900–1901: 3,531

132,000 5,000 565,000 12,000

G 1903: 4,894 B 1904: 111 G 1897: 1,281 (continued)

Metropolitan Diaspora Constructions Table 2.1

75

(continued)

Country

Number

Africa rest

Of these German citizens (G) or born in Germany (B), by year

10,000 Africa

Australia and New Zealand

592,000 110,000

German South Sea Islands

600

South Sea Islands rest

B 1901: 42,671 G 1903–1904: 551

2,600 Australia

113,000

Whole world 95,167,000 Of these Low German German Reich

18,000,000

Canada

34,000

Belgium

3,300,000

South Asia

Netherlands

4,950,000

British South Africa

530,000

Dispersed

241,000

France

300,000

United States

600,000

45,000

Total 27,000,000 Source: Alfred Geiser, Deutsches Reich und Volk. Ein nationales Handbuch (München: Lehmann, 1906), pp. 215–217. NB: Langhans’ totals do not always add up correctly.

Selected interpretive comments on this table are necessary. The mapping occurs from a German geopolitical perspective. Including German-speakers in the Austro-Hungarian Empire expresses clear dissatisfaction with the kleindeutsch solution of 1871. Although the Pan-Germans claimed to base their ideology on Treitschkean principles, they had now moved away from his prioritisation of the historically formed nation-state. Focusing on the entity of the Volk questioned the existing territorial status quo in Central Europe. As soon as Austrians were transformed into Germans, their place of living was also made into German territory. One of the radical proponents of this idea was the professor of orientalism and religion at Göttingen University, Paul de Lagarde, who envisaged a political reorganisation of Central and Eastern Europe under German hegemony. Posen and Western Prussia should be consistently ‘Germanised.’ The multi-ethnic Austro-Hungarian empire should be made into a ‘colonial state’ of Germany and the culturally inferior nationalities made into new Germanic creations (‘germanische Neubildungen’). With no regard to political realities, an empire would emerge stretching from Metz in eastern France to the Black Sea, and from the Memel River in Eastern Prussia down to Trieste

76 Constructing a German Diaspora by the Adriatic Sea. This, however, would only be the fi rst step towards further colonial conquest in Russia and Asia Minor, for which a war would be necessary. Colonising Central and Eastern Europe would, at the same time, be a solution to the question of emigration. The stream of emigrants should be systematically directed by the state into these regions where their Deutschtum could be preserved and their productivity made useful for the Volk. In anticipation of Chapter 5 in this volume, where the close relationship between nationalism and religion shall be discussed, it is also worthwhile pointing to de Lagarde’s religious underpinning of his ideology. The German nation had been formed through God’s will and was now imbued with the missionary task to expand and culturally elevate vast regions in Europe and beyond.78 De Lagarde’s conceptions were constitutive for the right-wing spectrum and forerunners to the Nazi ideology of Lebensraum. They were a radical version of Friedrich Fabri’s mingling of emigration and colonialism. The chairman of the Pan-German League, Ernst Hasse, demanded in 1894 a “unification of all those Germans living together in Central Europe within a federal Greater Germany” and the “elevation of the German Volk to a master-Volk above other Völker in Europe of a lower standard.”79 The Alldeutsche Blätter seconded that this was necessary “in order to secure those living conditions for the Germanic race which it needs for the full development of its powers—even if such inferior little peoples like Czechs, Slovenes and Slovaks are deprived of their existence, which is utterly useless for civilisation.”80 It is with these proponents of adjacent colonialism in mind that Langhans’ table has to be read. When it comes to the north-western corner of the Reich, he delivers statistical ‘evidence’ of Bley’s and Gerstenhauer’s conceptions. Low German speakers in the Reich are combined in one table together with those in Belgium, the Netherlands, and France. A single speech-community is constructed which then also stretches to overseas regions, most notably the United States, South Africa, and also ‘South Asia’ with its Dutch possessions. In a similar way, the German-speakers of Switzerland and Italy are included. With his all-encompassing approach, Langhans came to the conclusion that the unbound German nation had a population of 95,167,000. This was almost twice the amount of the Reich’s population. Two main problems with this number have been discussed above. First, the questionable criteria for inclusion. Second, the binary presentation of ethnicity which neglects any hybridity and suggests clear cultural and racial demarcation. A third issue can briefly be touched upon. Can these numbers be taken seriously at all, given their ideological pretensions? Are they not most likely to be inflated? Issue might particularly be taken with the juxtaposition of the numbers in the right column (Reich-citizens; born in the Reich) with the numbers in the left column, which are significantly higher throughout. They include second and further generation migrants where a degree of language-preservation and affiliation with ethnic life was apparent. Contemporaneous statistics

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and estimates from target countries, as well as recent studies with sophisticated methodology do, in fact, not stray too far away from these numbers. For Russia, they are even higher. The Russian census of 1897 counted 1.8 million Germans in the Czarist Empire, as opposed to 1.7 million in Langhans’ compilation.81 A more detailed look at the British data confirms the picture that Langhans’ figures should not be grosso modo discredited. This can fi rst be shown with regard to the census figures in the right column. They are in fact deflated rather than inflated as they neither include naturalised Germans nor those living in Scotland. In the 1911 census for England and Wales, the figure given for German nationals is 53,324 and 6,442 for naturalised Germans. The majority of the latter category were fi rst generation migrants, mostly working in business and trade, whose main motivation for taking out naturalisation was to avoid disadvantages in conducting business as foreign nationals. As the following chapters will show, it was exactly this cohort which took on positions of leadership in ethnic organisations, outspokenly supporting the political course of the Reich. They can therefore legitimately be added to the total number. Langhans also does not include the Scottish figures, which, in the 1911 census, were 2,362 for German nationals and 394 for naturalised Germans. This closer look at the census data of 1911 adds up to 62,522, which is almost 20 per cent higher than the figure given by Langhans. This, however, still has to be seen as a minimum figure. Research into population statistics has long pointed out that the British census data for internal or external migration are highly unreliable. As early as 1898 the Journal of the Royal Statistical Society criticised the practice of the evaluating civil servants to allocate all persons with an English-sounding surname to the category ‘British Subjects,’ even if the birthplace was abroad. Anglicising names was a widespread practice among migrants, and this group was not included in the category of foreigners.82 The national picture is reciprocated at the local level. For Glasgow, the census of 1911 lists 670 Germans (561 Reich-nationals and 109 naturalised British subjects). Based on a prosopographical database fed by membership in ethnic institutions and activities, an estimate of 1,000 to 1,500 is more realistic and ties in with a figure given by the Kölnische Zeitung in 1909. It also ties in with estimates for London produced independently by the German consulate and the pastor of the German protestant congregation, Rieger. Both arrive at 60,000 to 70,000, which is about twice the census figure.83 In the light of these fi ndings at various national and local levels it seems appropriate to read the Pan-German figures in a differentiated way. Although criteria for inclusion are obviously ideologically induced (most notably in relation to Low Germans), not all figures were necessarily inflated. Moving away from the Pan-German League, we can now discuss a number of further right-wing pressure groups with more specific remits but overlapping programmatic goals. Pushing for global presence in political

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terms was the aim of the German Navy League (Deutscher Flottenverein). At 330,000 members in 1914 it was the largest of the Verbände and shall be discussed in more detail in Chapter 3 of this volume. Internal colonisation through ‘Germanisation’ was the raison d’être of another pressure group, the Society for the Eastern Marches (Deutscher Ostmarkenverein). Its foundation was a reaction to Chancellor Caprivi’s conciliatory policy towards the Polish minority in the eastern provinces of Posen and West Prussia, which included some concessions as regards Polish language use in schools and cultural autonomy. Public opinion was split over the issue, and the Ostmarkenverein was the platform for those who wanted to return to the Bismarckian line of strict centralist nationalism, which included suppression of Polish ethnic activity. As a counterbalance against Polish activity, the Society aimed at economic betterment and a heightened national awareness of German ethnics in these areas. Unlike the confrontational Pan-German League, the Society for the Eastern Marches pursued a strictly governmental course, stressing its support for official policies after Caprivi. This affi rmative stance was the reason that, despite its narrow thematic remit, the Society managed to attract a relatively large membership, rising from roughly 20,000 in the mid-1890s to 54,000 by 1914. Again, this mainly consisted of members of the educated middle-classes, including large numbers of civil servants in the eastern districts.84 The basic premise of the Society for the Eastern Marches can be directly correlated to the equivalent discourse about Germans abroad: Germandom was embattled, whether in Brazil or in Posen. The external (semi-)colonisation through emigration was comparable to the inner colonisation of pushing back the Slavic element. Host societies abroad and ethno-religious minorities at home fulfilled a similar function: They presented the inimical ‘Other’ which was set to deny Germandom its rightful place in the world. This argument becomes clear when looking at ideological as well as personal overlaps with a pressure group whose focus was Germans living abroad: The General German School Association (Allgemeiner Deutscher Schulverein) was founded in Berlin in 1881 and renamed into Association for Germandom Abroad (Verein für das Deutschtum im Ausland) in 1908. Its foundation had a precedent in the Austro-Hungarian Empire: The Deutsche Schulverein had been founded in Vienna in 1880 and within seven years rose to become one of the biggest organisations in the monarchy at 120,000 members in 1,174 local chapters. It was a reaction to attempts by the Austrian government for better political integration of the empire’s Slavic minorities. German-speaking nationalists feared an erosion of their privileged position through intrusion of Slavic conservative and clerical powers. They founded the Deutscher Schulverein as a ‘protection association’ (Schutzverein) aimed at defending the interests of Germanspeakers in linguistically mixed regions.85 Support for German schools was a priority to this end. Pieter M. Judson shows that this support was ideologised to an extent which bore little resemblance with the lived reality of

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German-speakers in linguistically mixed regions. Publications and maps of the association postulated the existence of clear language frontiers, generating the impression of separated and homogenous German language islands. Schoolhouses were discursively represented as ‘fortresses’ to halt the intrusion of Slavic language use in these communities. Judson shows that the—mostly rural—population hardly saw themselves as a frontier people guarding a national treasure. Rather, they were integrated into multilingual communities where identities were fluid and multilingual language use was a pragmatic tool, not a symbol of ethnic self-assertion.86 The General German School Association of 1881 was founded one year after its Austrian equivalent and followed similar ideological pretensions. The geographical scope of its activities, however, was far more wide reaching. Whereas the Austrian association only looked after schools in the Austrian part of the monarchy, the German Schulverein had a global outlook—which also included Austria-Hungary. Its programmatic aim was “to preserve Germans outside the Reich for Germandom and support them as well as possible in their endeavour to remain, or become again, Germans.”87 Concrete activities included fi nancial support for schools, nurseries, and libraries, recruitment of teachers, dissemination of German literature, and mobilisation of the general public for the interests of Germans abroad. Members were mainly recruited from the educated middle classes, including a sizeable group of teachers and university professors. Membership quickly rose to 40,000 in 356 local chapters by the end of the decade, and to 57,000 by 1914. Its size is thus roughly comparable to that of the Colonial Society and the Society for the Eastern Marches. The more radical Pan-German League was about half its size, and the largest pressure group, the Navy League, was about nine times bigger.88 During the fi rst decade of its existence, the school association remained relatively aloof from politics. One of its main ideologues and spokespersons, Richard Böckh, followed the Herderian line that the German nation was one of many others bound by a common language, but did not claim any superiority. Activities were conducted without much publicity and still mainly concentrated on South East Europe.89 Around 1900, this position became difficult to defend as power political aspirations became both more global and more radical. The Pan-German League tried to ‘hijack’ the school association ideologically through close cooperation. Although the school association’s chairmen Ernst von Braunschweig (1903–1907) and Otto von Hentig (1907–1915) tried to keep blunt expansionary aims out of the official policy line, members such as general secretary Alfred Geiser (who had occupied the same position in the PanGerman League before 1908)90 and ideologue Dietrich Schäfer represented Pan-German positions. Also, the relative autonomy of the local chapters ensured that differentiation from the Pan-German League was not always clear. The Hamburg chapter was instrumental in keeping these forces at bay. It distanced itself from the Pan-German position that ethnic preservation

80 Constructing a German Diaspora should be a means towards territorial acquisition. Rather, it should “serve a planned organisation of the German economic development in foreign trade.” This would improve relations with the destination countries “in which Deutschtum has become a valuable and loyal element of the citizenry.” In line with its trading connections, the Hamburg chapter now concentrated more on areas overseas, in particular East Asia and South America.91 Under the energetic leadership of state minister von Hentig, the school association expanded significantly. His first measure was to rename it into the more comprehensive Association for Germandom Abroad (Verein für das Deutschtum im Ausland) in 1908. Good connections with the leading newspapers assured wide media coverage about Germans abroad and the association’s activities. A new publicity section organised the sale and distribution of badges, postcards, and letter seals with the association logo. Germandomtourism was offered in the form of group travel to areas of German settlement, and university and school groups were founded in order to make pertinent ideas known amongst the younger generation. This also included working with education authorities and teachers to integrate the topic of Auslandsdeutschtum into the curriculum. Its initial remit of finding and placing suitable teachers abroad was gradually reduced as the Foreign Office started to become active in this regard. Generally, Otto von Hentig was eager to adapt to the official government line of economic and cultural Weltpolitik as prevalent under the Reich’s chancellor, von Bethmann Hollweg. All this led to a rapid increase in membership, from 36,000 in 300 local chapters (1907) to 58,000 in 400 chapters (1914). Income rose from 23,000 Marks (1908) to 450,000 Marks (1914). This was mainly used for schools abroad, but also for new initiatives such as grants for young Auslandsdeutsche to study in Germany. The bulk of funds still went to Austro-Hungarian areas, others to Belgium, Italy, Romania, South America, and Turkey.92 A notable feature was the opportunity for women to become engaged. Organising social ‘outreach’ events was often undertaken by the associations’ women groups, and this was an important pillar of expansion. Their participation was institutionalised through ‘women conventions’ (Frauentagungen), the first of which was held in Frankfurt in September 1912. In this regard, the VDA was an example of female agitation within the nationalist camp. In many of the other groups they were excluded from any associational business, a situation which was deplored by frustrated would-be members: I would very much like to be a member of the Navy League, just like my spouse who has been a member for a long time. Yet, my suggestion was passed over with a smile! We women are simply pushed aside, and hence we desire even more to become members.93 The absence of women in the ‘classic’ right-wing mass organisations has long led to a blind spot in scholarship as regards their identification with nationalistic policies. Even modern syntheses, when writing about the

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pre-1914 German women’s movement, solely concentrate on suff ragette demands for political participation or, to a lesser extent, social democratic involvement.94 This leads to a distorted picture, as studies about the right-wing and völkisch spectrum have shown. The Fatherlandish Women’s Association (Vaterländischer Frauenverein) under the tutelage of the Prussian Queen made a start in 1866. From the 1890s, female equivalents to the mass organisations developed. The Bismarck-Frauen-Verein Kleeblattbund of 1894 sympathised and cooperated with the Pan-German League and the German Navy League. The German Women’s Navy League (Flottenbund Deutscher Frauen, 1905) had 14,000 members by 1914, and the German Colonial Women’s League (Deutsch-Kolonialer Frauenbund, 1907) 18,600. An example for a specifically völkisch association was the Kriemhilde Women’s and Girls’ Association (Frauen- und Mädchenverband Kriemhilde), founded in 1911, which was the women’s organisation of the League of Germans (Bund der Germanen). What these organisations had in common was their ‘anti-feminist’ 95 stance, to employ a term used at the time. Although they propagated a notion of female strength and participation in the national cause, this was confi ned to traditional gender roles such as organising social events or nursing. Innocent as this might sound, their ‘organised motherly-ness’ (organisierte Mütterlichkeit)96 was embedded into expansionary fantasies. They glorified women’s services to the nation as nurses in wartime, settlers in colonies, or agents of territorial appropriation and racial improvement (‘Aufnordung,’ ‘Aufartung’) in East Central Europe.97 A good example was the German Women’s Association for the Eastern Marches (Deutscher Frauenverein für die Ostmarken) which pursued the same aim as its male equivalent: suppressing the Polish minority in the German Empire’s eastern border areas and supplanting it with German settlers. Women were afforded crucial roles, nurturing familial structures and instilling in their children a sense of national duty in the ‘fight’ against Polishness. The women’s association was founded in 1896 and grew from 16 local chapters in 1900 to 30 in 1914 with 3,415 members. Whilst its main chapter was in Berlin, most existed in the province of Posen and others in Western Prussia, Eastern Prussia, and Silesia. Members were mostly the spouses of members of the male association and hence mainly originated from bourgeois households: civil servants, teachers, merchants, and the self-employed. There was also a good portion of unmarried women, mostly nurses and teachers. They supported German community life in ethnically mixed areas through family evenings, charity, or nurseries where children were taught in a German national sense. As a leading activist, Käthe Schirmacher, stressed: “We have to help erecting the national bulwark here.” Language preservation played a crucial role in this conception: “Through the mother tongue, the woman preserves the fatherland for the child. If the woman remains invincibly national, the nation also remains invincible in its fight for existence.”98 The women’s section of the VDA has to be seen

82 Constructing a German Diaspora in this wider context of female cultural imperialism as an integral part of Wilhelmine power and global politics.

THE LAW Formulating its citizenship law is a constitutive tool in the hands of the modern state to defi ne categories of inclusion and exclusion. When dealing with a nation-state aiming at territorial congruity between its two constituent parts, namely ‘nation’ and ‘state,’ any discussion about citizenship is more than a legal act. Rather, it is part of a far wider public negotiation as to the nature of national self-definition. By granting legal access to specific groups and individuals, a state which defi nes itself as a nation-state accepts inclusion of these groups into the wider conceptualisation of a community of co-nationals. Pertinent legal codifications, however, give rise to tensions and ambiguities. They sharpen the boundaries between in-groups and outgroups, leaving little room for the grey zones which inevitably exist when people and cultures mingle. They suggest an essentialist and fossilised version of national identity which, in actual fact, is a process of constant contestation and modification.99 Rogers Brubaker encapsulates these tensions in what he calls a ‘triadic nexus.’ Its fi rst corner is occupied by the nationalising state which aims to homogenise its population. The second corner is made up of national minorities living within that state and often resisting any pressure to assimilate. The third corner consists of co-nationals living abroad. The latter are, in turn, subdued to assimilatory pressure in their respective host states and force the state of origin to defi ne and codify its relationship with them. The way in which a state approaches the evershifting relationship between these three corners allows for insights into its own national self-understanding.100 The following discussion of the legal situation of Germans abroad has to be conducted within this triangular framework. It cannot be disconnected from aspects of immigration and normative internal homogenisation. An element of ius sanguinis—which determines citizenship by descent rather than by territoriality (ius soli)—experienced its fi rst legal codification in the Prussian citizenship law of 1842: Extended residence in Prussia now ceased to guarantee the right to naturalisation. It would be misleading, however, to suggest that the exclusionary nature was essentially based on ethno-cultural principles. It was rather an attempt to manage the economics of migration and restrict the pool of people making demands on the state. This also applied to emigrants. After ten years of residence abroad, their citizenship was revoked for fear that impoverished re-migrants would one day apply for poor relief in Prussia. Although the 1842 law was therefore state (rather than nation) led, it introduced the very tension between etatist and ethno-cultural citizenship which remained constitutive for the decades (and indeed 150 years) to come. Some basic principles of the law

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were also introduced by other German states. In 1870, it formed the blueprint for the citizenship law of the North German Federation, but introduced a modification as regards residence abroad. Although the ten year rule was kept in principle, emigrants could now prevent loss of their nationality by registering with a German consulate. If they failed to do so, this was seen as a sign that they wished to sever ties within their state of origin. The citizenship law of the North German Federation was then adopted by the Reich in 1871.101 The kleindeutsch-shape of the newly founded Empire contained all the ingredients for constant negotiation of inclusion and citizenship. Although it was constituted as a nation-state, it excluded significant portions of German-speaking populations, most notably in Austria. On the other hand it included some ethnic minorities in border regions: Polish-speakers in the eastern provinces, Danish-speakers in Schleswig-Holstein, and Frenchspeakers in Alsace-Lorraine. Germanisation measures were mostly directed against Poles, who constituted about one tenth of the population of Prussia. All teaching in schools and all court procedures now had to be conducted in German. These measures provoked opposition and were thus counterproductive. When the Polish population continued to expand despite this drive towards ‘inner colonisation,’ Bismarck expelled 32,000 Polish-speakers between 1884 and 1885 purely on the basis that they could not prove their German citizenship.102 When it emerged that the internal labour supply could not satisfy the demands of rapid industrialisation and agricultural production, immigration policies were liberalised. By 1890, about 433,000 seasonal workers from Poland were allowed into Germany in order to make up for the notorious ‘scarcity of people’ (Leutenot) in East Elbian agriculture. The emerging heavy industries in the Ruhr area also attracted Polish-speakers from Prussian provinces, as well as from Poland and Austria-Hungary. Of the two million Russian Jews who, on their way to the United States, transmigrated between 1880 and 1914, about 78,000 remained permanently in Germany despite tight controls. The total number of foreigners quadrupled between 1880 and 1914, from 276,057 to 1,259,873. In the 1907 census these included 340,000 German, Polish, and Ruthenian speakers from AustriaHungary, 201,000 Russians, Poles, Lithuanians, and Baltic Germans from the Tsarist Empire, 126,000 Italians working mostly in Southern Germany, 52,000 Dutch, 27,000 Swiss, 10,000 Danes, and 10,000 French. Foreign labour was tightly controlled and discriminated against. Interventions by the Austro-Hungarian and Russian authorities to improve the status of their citizens in Germany were rejected by the German government. The Reich was the largest magnet for labour migrants after the United States— but refused to accept that it had developed into a country of immigration. Permanent residence and naturalisation (especially of Poles and Jews) were tightly restricted.103 Germany was now a country of emigration and immigration, becoming both more dispersed and ethnically diverse.

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Immigration was met with inflammatory rhetoric. Eastern Europeans in particular were represented as a threat to the healthy ‘folk body’ (Volkskörper). Demands to stop the ‘invasion’ were brought forward in order to prevent ‘polonisation’ (Polonisierung), foreign infi ltration (Überfremdung), as well as cultural and racial degeneration. Foreigners were also associated with contagious diseases such as cholera and typhus, and metaphors from the fields of medicine, hygienology, and bacteriology found their way into the general discourse about immigration: Foreigners were ‘brought in’ (eingeschleppt), and Jews in particular then acted as ‘parasites’ within the German ‘folk body.’ The authorities did indeed contemplate active recruitment in countries which were considered culturally and racially superior to Poles and Jews. These included Flames from Belgium, Finns, Estonians, Lithuanians, Italians, but also Ruthenians from Austrian Galicia. Although these initiatives had very little impact on the actual migration streams, they show the extent to which categories of race were part of the discourse and policy towards immigration.104 Long-term continuities can be identified until after 1945. Despite large-scale immigration, successive Federal German governments until the mid-1990s insisted that Germany was not a country of immigration (“Deutschland ist kein Einwanderungsland”). The refusal to accept the realities of migration prevented comprehensive investment in integration measures. The term Überfremdung (foreign infiltration) was still used by conservative politicians in debates about a new immigration law in 1999.105 In synergy with the emigrationist discourse, the immigration discourse was a motor and prism for the changing relationship between the ideas of nation and state in Imperial Germany. Bismarck had successfully established the state as the foremost symbol of the nation. For him, the latter was a politically defined community, and he had never been convinced that preserving ties with Germans abroad would be of any benefit for the Reich. From the 1880s onwards, this notion started to tip over towards ethnic and cultural definitions, with right-wing pressure groups acting as important catalysts of ideas and key-words which came to dominate the general discourse. After Bismarck’s departure from office in 1890 and with Wilhelm II being the most ardent propagandist of a ‘Greater German Empire,’ these ideas had more chance to surface in policy making. Debates over immigration and emigration worked towards both exclusion and inclusion—the former with regard to minorities within the Reich, and the latter with regard to Germans living abroad. In the light of these changing parameters, reforming the legal framework for emigration and citizenship was ripe in the late Wilhelminian period. To what extent were ethno-cultural elements part of the Emigration Law of 1897 and the new Citizenship Law of 1913? Right-wing pressure groups—who had a number of representatives in the Reichstag—made every effort to influence the shape of both laws. Ironically, the Emigration Law was only passed a decade after the last wave of mass emigration had actually posed the problems the law was supposed

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to address. The sticking point between pressure groups and the government in negotiations about the Emigration Law was the extent to which the state should control emigration and protect emigrants. The pressure groups asked for a central imperial agency which would direct emigrants into areas where they could best preserve their Germanness and loyalty to the Reich. They also asked for widespread support and protection of emigrants in their areas of destination. Neither of the demands was codified by the government. Nevertheless, the law granted powers to the Reich-chancellor which would help the pressure groups realise their aims indirectly through administrative practice, and thus satisfied the right-wing spectrum to some extent.106 The making of the Citizenship Law of 1913 encapsulated many of the arguments discussed so far. An inter-party parliamentary group composed of national liberal and conservative members of the Reichstag started the campaign in 1895. It was headed by Ernst Hasse, the chairman of the Pan-German League and member of the national liberal party. The motion proposed to the Reichstag asked to modify the citizenship law of 1870 in a number of points. In a speech to the Reichstag, Hasse demanded that hardly any naturalisation of foreigners should take place as this would jeopardise the ‘homogeneous national development’ of the German Volk. When considered, naturalisation should not be granted on economic but on ethnic grounds. Therefore, those ‘folk comrades’ (Volksgenossen) whose ancestors had emigrated from one of the German states should be preferred. At the same time, retaining one’s German nationality after emigrating should be made easier. Hasse argued for double citizenship since Germans who became naturalised elsewhere would not cease to be members of the German nation. The latter point was especially attractive to business (and thus national liberal) circles, since German merchants and industrialists abroad often had to give up their German citizenship in order to avoid legal disadvantages.107 For now, the motion was rejected by the Reichstag, but negotiations stretched over the next eighteen years. The Pan-Germans, soon joined by the German Colonial Society, kept agitating through publications, further motions, and also by collecting signatures amongst Germans abroad. The heart of the matter was the question of whether the nation or the state should have prevalence in determining citizenship. As Howard Sargent argues, it was not the binary opposition between ius soli and ius sanguinis which provided the argumentative framework for the discussions. Rather, the opposition consisted in the rational demands of the state versus an ethno-cultural construction of nationhood.108 This argument is supported by the question of military service, over which ministries were deeply divided. Should Germans abroad lose their nationality if they had not completed, or were unwilling to complete, their national service? The Foreign Office and the Prussian interior and war ministries were in support of this model. It restricted the number of emigrants who could

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potentially make demands on the state, and it also established that citizenship was not an unalienable right but had to be deserved through service to the state. In line with the right-wing pressure groups, the counter-argument was advanced by the Naval Office under Admiral von Tirpitz and also supported by the Reich-chancellors Bernhard von Bülow and Theobald von Bethmann Hollweg. Making military service compulsory would contravene the very essence of the new law, which should be as comprehensive as possible for German ethnics. In the end, the supporters of military service—and the demands of the state—prevailed. When the law was fi nally passed in 1913, it certainly did not put into practice the more radical demands of the Pan-Germans, such as prohibition of mixed-race marriages (Mischehen) in the colonies. Nevertheless, it did adopt the basic premise of ius sanguinis in keeping and granting citizenship. Germans living abroad could now choose freely whether they wanted to keep their German citizenship (on condition that they had completed their military service);109 those who had been de-naturalised under the previous regulations should be allowed to regain their citizenship; and, against opposition from the Social Democrats, naturalisation in Germany should preferably be granted to ethnic Germans. The significance of this law cannot be overestimated, both at the time and in long-term perspective. It turned ius sanguinis into a codified and normative principle and thereby fostered a “nationalisation of the citizen.”110 Belonging to a community of co-citizens was based on pre-political, that is, ethno-cultural ideas about what constituted a nation. Those right-wing pressure groups agitating for legal reform, most notably the Pan-German League, the German Colonial Society, and the Association for Germandom Abroad, might have been relatively small in numbers. Through political representation and media dissemination, however, they were able to influence public opinion and the law-making process in ways which far exceed numerical calculations. The law enshrined in peoples’ minds that belonging to the German nation was a question of descent. Per se, it was not a racial law based on biological principles as the Nuremberg Laws would be in 1935. Without being hostage to determinism, however, it is safe to say that the 1913 law prepared the ground for later developments by elevating völkisch ideas about exclusion (non-Germans in Germany), inclusion (Germans abroad), and national homogeneity to a political principle.111 Ius sanguis was still in operation throughout the post-1945 decades and led to anomalies. Minorities in East Central and Eastern Europe, as well as in Central Asia, whose ancestors had emigrated from Germany up to 200 years earlier, had the right to ‘return.’ This was particularly poignant during the dissolution process of the Soviet Union. Between 1988 and 2000 about 2.7 million ‘re-settlers’ (Aussiedler) migrated into Germany, having instant access to citizenship, social support, work eligibility, housing, and training. Second generation Turks who had been born in Germany, on the other hand, did not have access to German citizenship in principle. It was

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only in 1999–2000 that the SPD-Green coalition pushed through legislative changes based on ius soli.112

THEORETICAL IMPLICATIONS The question of citizenship is often neglected in general theorisations of diaspora,113 and it is all the more relevant that this nexus has recently attracted some scholarly attention. Barabantseva and Sutherland remind us that the meaning of citizenship is the outcome of constant negotiation between sending states and their diasporas. The latter are either actively engaged, or are constructed as points of reference, in order to defi ne the essence of national inclusion and exclusion. “They demonstrate important ways in which diasporas affect the delineation of citizenship regimes and the politics of national identity in their homeland. They also trace the salience of ethnic and cultural markers in diaspora politics and their implications for the articulations and practices of citizenship.”114 Citizenship can be moulded into a tool in the hands of the state to communicate to those who left (or those whose ancestors had left) that bonds of belonging persist. Diaspora theorisations tend to concentrate on cultural, economic, and political issues, but often neglect the legal framework. This is, however, one aspect which allows closer inspection of diasporic connectedness. It frames people’s rights, but also their duties vis-à-vis the state.115 It is one out of a complex set of diasporic identity markers and signifies a form of (trans-) national solidarity, at least through its normative pretensions. Deterritorialisation of citizenship and other forms of metropolis-led ethnic mobilisation are usually borne out of a state’s self-interest. Tapping into diasporic resources can have a multitude of motives and shapes. After 22,000 Polish-Americans had fought in World War I and the Polish-Soviet War of 1920, the newly founded state created the World Union of Poles Living Abroad (Swiatpol)—and managed to mobilise the Polish diaspora (‘Polonia’) again during World War II. Gaining political and military support for independence was the guiding motive. When India introduced its Non-resident Indian (NRI) programme in the 1970s, the motive was mostly economic. The idea was to attract foreign investment from expatriates and reverse the brain drain back to India. Fascist Italy, following in the previous footsteps of Imperial Germany, pushed for the term ‘emigrant’ to be replaced with ‘citizen abroad.’ The General Commission on Emigration was renamed the General Bureau of Italians Abroad in 1927, not least to mobilise emigrants for expansionary power-political ends and undertake subversive activities in target countries. The same was true for Nazi Germany.116 Despite the disparity of these (and many other117) motives and patterns of diaspora mobilisation, all have one thing in common: they all arise from the state’s self-interest. Extending this observation to the German

88

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Citizenship Law of 1913 means to question the dichotomous framework set out in the pertinent literature. For Gosewinkel, for example, the struggle for legal reform was won by the right-wing groups proposing ‘ethnisch-völkisch’ notions. It was lost by the social democrats proposing a ‘politisch-utilitaristisch’ model.118 In this dichotomy, the radical right appears as being caught in a backward looking, pre-national cocoon, whilst the SPD, in contrast, stood for a modern interpretation of citizenship. I would rather argue that the right-wing agenda was inherently utilitarian, and that ethnoculturalism and utilitarianism were two sides of the same coin rather than opposing principles. This argumentation builds on previous passages in this chapter which show the pervasiveness of power-political and economic arguments in favour of diasporic links. The idea that Germans abroad were an infi nite resource gradually dominated public discourse. It was brought forward with persuasive arguments, scholarly endeavour, and a powerful language which included a whole set of neologisms and metaphors. The normative discourse leaders were often found in the radical right-wing spectrum, but their influence went far beyond this margin. In their ranks were members of the Reichstag and other policy makers at national and local levels, middleand high-ranking civil servants, journalists, and university professors, who, in Wilhelmine Germany, occupied public positions of authority.119 Gustav Schmoller and other leading economists ‘proved’ the feasibility and benefits of a close-knit diaspora. The arguments of the nationalists were based on biased, but ostensibly rational calculations with scholarly authority. All this points to an inherently modern aspect of the far-right. Modernity in Wilhelmine Germany had many faces, and to suggest a wholesale backwardness of the nationalist camp would be an undue generalisation. As Geoff Eley points out: “If by misrecognizing the Imperial polity’s ‘modernity’ historians have obscured the potentials for pluralism and even democracy in the new languages of nation and citizenship, however, those languages clearly allowed space for the radical right, too.”120 The nationalists did not fit into the neat framework of anti-democratic, anti-socialist, and authoritarian. They were, as Eley explains, the self-assured beneficiaries of industrialisation and proponents of a strong, secular, and modern nation-state which overcame particularism and now claimed its place in the world. Diasporisation, I argue, was another facet of right-wing modernity. Its proponents represented a power-political dynamism which aimed to propel Germany into the fi rst rank of global players. Bringing their co-nationals abroad into this project was to support Germany’s weltpolitisch aspirations. Ethno-cultural considerations only served as an ideological foundation for an agenda which was primarily utilitarian. Why was it during the period 1871 to 1914 that the idea of a ‘Greater German Empire’ of co-nationals was so ardently pushed in Germany; that key players in society and the general public engaged with every conceivable economic, political, and cultural facet of the topic? A good key to this

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question is a comparative model set out by Robert C. Smith. It is based on data from the Italian, Mexican, and Polish diasporas and their connectedness with the metropolis since the mid-nineteenth century. Smith identifies three factors which lead to diaspora mobilisation and reconfiguration. First, changes in domestic politics: Italy’s unification in the 1860s, and Polish prospects of independence from German-Russian domination before and during World War I would be examples of such changes. In Germany, the fundamental change was unification in 1871 and the subsequent process of nation-building. Second, a state’s reconfiguration of its relationship with the global system “under conditions within which emigrants are seen to have become potentially or actually of greater strategic importance.”121 An example would be Mexico’s repositioning vis-à-vis the United States from the early 1990s, which ultimately led to closer integration through the North American Free Trade Agreement (NAFTA). The Program for Mexican Communities Abroad was introduced in 1992, and Mexican-Americans were told that they were now part of the ‘Mexican global nation.’ Similarly, when Portugal lost its colonies and prepared for entry into the European Community in the 1970s, it created the Programme for Portuguese Abroad. In Imperial Germany we can identify the rise of global aspirations, particularly from the 1880s when the country started to engage in colonial acquisition. The third factor is the political practices and demands of migrants themselves. Polish expatriate mobilisation before World War I, for example, was largely under the roof of the Polish National Department. This was organised by Polish-Americans and Polish-Canadians and had an officer training school whose graduates helped organise a Polish army.122 Imperial Germany experienced a confluence of all three factors: internal and external reconfigurations, as well as emigrants’ activity to forge links with the fatherland. This confluence helps to explain the intense occupation in Imperial Germany with diasporic issues. The last factor—emigrants’ activity—will be at the centre of the following chapters. So far, diasporisation has been described as one aspect of a metropolitan discourse. Looking abroad will now identify transnational social spaces which migrants did not only experience as passive recipients but also as active participants. NOTES 1. Jana E. Braziel and Anita Mannur, ‘Nation, Migration, Globalization. Points of Contention in Diaspora Studies,’ in Braziel and Mannur, eds., Theorizing Diaspora, pp. 1–22 (at p. 7). 2. “Es ist doch kein Kleines, daß der Deutsche heut in allen Weltteilen sein Haupt stolz und kühn emporhebt.” Quoted in Weidenfeller, VDA, p. 96. 3. Vogli, ‘Making of Greece Abroad,’ 14–33 (quote at p. 25). For a fictional representation see Jeff rey Eugenides, Middlesex (New York: Macmillan, 2002). 4. This term is now widely used in theorisations. See e. g. Jonathan Friedman, ‘Diasporization, Globalization, and Cosmopolitan Discourse,’ in Andreh Levi and Alex Weingrod, eds., Homelands and Diasporas. Holy Lands and

90 Constructing a German Diaspora

5.

6. 7. 8.

9.

10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15.

16.

17. 18.

19.

Other Places (Stanford University Press, 2005), pp. 140–165; Brubaker, ‘“Diaspora” Diaspora,’ 4. “[ . . . ] eine deutsche Colonie [ . . . ], die mehr Eigentümliches und Glorreiches als irgend eine andere bekannte Colonie hat.” August Ludwig Schlözer, Kritische Sammlung zur Geschichte der Deutschen in Siebenbürgen (Göttingen: Vandenhoek, 1795), p. XII, quoted in Weidenfeller, VDA, p. 38. “[Sie] sind keine Deutschen mehr, sie haben sich freiwillig von uns getrennt und sind brittische Untertanen. Sie sind zwar Glieder Jesu; aber keine Glieder des deutschen Staatskörpers,” Weidenfeller, VDA, p. 39. Weidenfeller, VDA, pp. 37–40. “Ein Volk ist der Inbegriff von Menschen, welche dieselbe Sprache reden,” quoted in Rainer Münz and Rainer Ohliger, ‘Auslandsdeutsche,’ in Etienne François and Hagen Schulze, eds., Deutsche Erinnerungsorte, vol. I (München: Beck, 2002), p. 371. “[ . . . ] daß das deutsche Volk auch außer den Grenzen der deutschen Bundesstaaten ein Ganzes mit uns bildet. [ . . . ] einen Einfluß auf ihre Literatur zur Erhaltung deutscher Sprache, deutschen Sinnes und des Andenkens an das Vaterland zu gewinnen,” ibid. Naranch, ‘Inventing,’ quote p. 31; Matthew P. Fitzpatrick, Liberal Imperialism in Germany. Expansionism and Nationalism, 1848–1884 (New York: Berghahn, 2008). Quoted in Ermarth, ‘Hyphenation,’ 47. Nancy Mitchell, The Danger of Dreams. German and American Imperialism in Latin America (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1999), p. 111 (quote ibid.). Naranch, ‘Inventing.’ Fitzpatrick, Liberal Imperialism. “Entfernungen giebt es in der Gegenwart, dem Zeitalter des Dampfes und der Elektricität, nicht mehr; vor vierzig Jahren aber hat der deutsche Wandersmann, der von einer Reise nach Konstantinopel zu Hause ankam, Erstaunen erregt, er war ein Phänomen. [ . . . ] Heute bedarf es nur einer Fahrkarte für den Orient Expreßzug, um so behaglich als möglich an den Bosporus zu gelangen,” Die Gartenlaube 4 (1889). “Der Kaufmann, der Beamte und der Handwerker lebten untereinander in patriarchalischer Gemüthlichkeit. [ . . . ] Das Vereinsleben der Kolonie spaltete sich von da an in zwei Lager. Doch eine innerliche Zerklüftung der Kolonie trat durch diese Trennung nicht ein. [ . . . ] Das vaterländische Interesse umschlang beide und umschlingt sie noch heute. [ . . . ] Mittelpunkt der Kolonie. Er ist ein Anker Deutschthums im Goldenen Horn und hängt mit unzerreißbaren Banden am Vaterlande; alles, was in der Heimath geschieht, wird hier von den Landsleuten mit warmer Theilnahme besprochen,” ibid. Christin Pschichholz, ‘Immigration of German-speaking People to the Territory of Modern-day Turkey (1850–1918),’ in Schulze, German Diasporic Experiences, pp. 231–241 (at 235). “[Die Schule] ist imstande, als Pflanzstätte deutscher Bildung und Sitte im Orient das Ansehen des Vaterlandes zu mehren. [ . . . ] In ganz Konstantinopel ist das deutsche Hospital berühmt geworden durch treffl iche Einrichtung und Leitung,” ibid. “Heute fi ndet der Europäer, woher er auch kommen möge, daselbst Landsleute, die unter dem Schutze von Konsulaten und Gesandtschaften vollster Freiheit und Unabhängigkeit genießen. Besonders rasch und erfolgreich entwickelte sich die Kolonie der Deutschen und Schweizer in Konstantinopel; sie ist eine rühmliche Frucht der Emsigkeit und Ausdauer und der Bereitwilligkeit zu gegenseitiger Unterstützung. [ . . . ] Das Zusammenhalten und

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20. 21. 22. 23.

24. 25. 26.

27. 28. 29. 30. 31.

32. 33.

34. 35. 36.

91

gediegene Vereinsleben der Deutschen und Schweizer in Konstantinopel steht demjenigen anderer Nationen voran und läßt sich nicht verweichlichen und verflachen. [ . . . ] so verdankt doch der wohlhabende deutsche und schweizer Kaufmann [ . . . ] seinen Erfolg mehr als auf irgend einem anderen Platz lediglich seiner außergewöhnlichen Geschäftskenntniß und fachmännischen Gewandtheit. [ . . . ] [Die Schule verdankt] ihren jetzigen Zustand ebenfalls der Einheit und dem Gemeinsinn der deutschen und schweizer Kolonie und ist ein erfreuliches Ergebniß der Vereinigung ihrer Kräfte,” ibid. Dietmar Neutatz, ‘Die Wolgadeutschen in der reichsdeutschen Publizistik und Politik bis zum Ende des Ersten Weltkriegs,’ in Dahlmann, Zwischen Reform, pp. 115–133. ‘Deutsche Siedelungen am Schwarzen Meer’ and ‘Die deutschen Kolonien in Transkaukasien,’ Die Gartenlaube 11 (1913). “Was die deutschen Ansiedelungen besonders vorteilhaft von den russischen Bauerndörfern unterscheidet, sind die besser bestellten Felder, die wohlgebauten Dörfer und sauberen Häuser,” ‘Deutsche Siedelungen,’ ibid. “[ . . . ] zu einem bedeutenden Faktor im Wirtschaftsleben der Stadt geworden. [ . . . ] Die von den deutschen Handwerkern angefertigten Wagen und Ackbaugeräte sind durch ganz Südrußland verbreitet. Ohne den deutschen Lastwagen und Pflug kann heute der russische Bauer nicht mehr auskommen,” ibid. “Russische Sitten und Gebräuche haben bisher unter den Kolonisten wenig Eingang gefunden. Sie halten zähe fest am Hergebrachten,” ibid. “In diesem tollen Jahr der Anarchie blieben gerade die deutschen Niederlassungen wahre Muster ruhigen, ordnungsliebenden Gedeihens und der Krone, die sie beschützt, in echt deutscher Treue zugetan,” ibid. “Die Liebe zur alten Heimat, das in so rührender Weise sich äußernde Band mit dem Mutterlande—das sind Imponderabilien der Volksseele, vor denen jede Staatsregierung am besten haltmacht,” ‘Die deutschen Kolonien in Transkaukasien,’ Die Gartenlaube 11 (1913). “[ . . . ] ein stark ausgeprägtes nationales Empfi nden. [ . . . ] das mannhafte, echt deutsche Auftreten,” ibid. Confi no, Nation as a Local Metaphor; Applegate, Nation of Provincials. Jens Jäger, ‘Colony as Heimat? The Formation of Colonial Identity in Germany around 1900,’ German History 27, no. 4 (2009), 467–489. Robert L. Nelson, ‘Colonialism in Europe? The Case against Salt Water,’ in Nelson, ed., Germans, Poland, and Colonial Expansion to the East: 1850 through the Present (New York: Palgrave, 2009), pp. 1–10 (at p. 5). Kristin Kopp, ‘Reinventing Poland as German Colonial Territory in the Nineteenth Century. Gustav Freytag’s Soll und Haben as Colonial Novel,’ in Nelson, pp. 11–38; Vejas Gabriel Liulevicius, The German Myth of the East: 1800 to the Present (Oxford University Press, 2009); Dirk van Laak, Über alles in der Welt. Deutscher Imperialismus im 19. und 20. Jahrhundert (München: Beck, 2005). Die Gartenlaube 11 (1911), p. 233–234. John P. Short, ‘Everyman’s Colonial Library. Imperialism and Working-Class Readers in Leipzig 1890–1914,’ German History, 21, no. 4 (2003), 445–475; Thomas Rohkrämer, Der Militarismus der ‘kleinen Leute’: Die Kriegervereine im Deutschen Kaiserreich, 1871–1914 (München: Oldenbourg, 1990). Fuhrmann, Traum, pp. 31–35; Conrad, Deutsche Kolonialgeschichte, pp. 71–75. Conrad, Deutsche Kolonialgeschichte, pp. 75–79; Manz, Migranten, p. 220. “[ . . . ] daß Deutschland eine große Aufgabe in diesem herrlichen Lande hat und ganz besonders im Gebiete des geistigen und sittlichen religiösen Lebens.

92

37.

38. 39.

40. 41. 42. 43. 44. 45. 46. 47.

48.

Constructing a German Diaspora Was bereits in Smyrna mit geringen materiellen Kräften, aber mit deutscher Religiosität, Tüchtigkeit, Umsicht, Sittenstrenge und Freiheit des Gesichtskreises geschieht in der Erziehung der einheimischen besonders weiblichen Jugend, in dem Anknüpfen der deutschen evangelischen Gemeinde an das griechische und armenische Christenthum ohne Proselytenmacherei, was dort von wissenschaftlicher und z. B. musikalischer Anregung durch deutsche Lehrer und Kaufleute geleistet wir, ist bedeutender, als man in der Heimath ahnte,” Bernhard Stark, Aus dem Reiche des Tantalus und Croesus. Eine Reisestudie (Berlin: Habel, 1872). Also see Fuhrmann, Traum, pp. 27–28. “Die consulare Vertretung des neuen deutschen Reiches begreift und fördert diese Gesichtspunkte nach Kräften. Aber es kann besonders durch ein größeres Interesse des deutschen Mutterlandes an der dortigen kleinen Colonie, durch ein staatlich geschütztes mit mäßigen Mitteln durchführbares Entsenden junger, tüchtiger praktischer wie lehrender und wissenschaftlicher Kräfte an den wichtigsten Punkt der Levante noch viel geschehen,” ibid. “[ . . . ] die der deutschen Abkunft eingedenk bleibt und zugleich vertraut ist mit den Sprachen und Erwerbsverhältnissen des Landes,” Alldeutsche Blätter, 6 April 1907. Also see Fuhrmann, Traum, p. 270. “Wenn der amerikanische Volkscharakter gewissermaßen in einem Kessel zusammengebraut wird, in den all Nationen ihre Zuthaten werfen, wahrlich, Deutschland hat Anspruch darauf, daß es die willkommensten Gaben gebracht! [Der Deutsche] darf sich rühmen, zu der glänzenden Entwickelung der Republik mit Herz und Hand und Kopf beigetragen zu haben, in Zeiten des Friedens durch emsiges, rastloses Arbeiten auf der Prairie, in der Fabrik, in der Werkstatt oder im Comptoir [ . . . ]; in Zeiten, wo es galt, für das Adoptivvaterland mit Gut und Blut einzutreten, indem er die Muskete schulterte,” Die Gartenlaube 5 (1889). Similar articles in issues 16 (1889) and 16 (1898). Quoted in Ermarth, ‘Hyphenation,’ 35. Ibid., 49. See the wide-ranging survey by Ermarth, ‘Hyphenation.’ Mitchell, Danger, pp. 113–114; Conrad, Globalisierung, pp. 241–245; Gerhard Brunn, Deutschland und Brasilien, 1889–1914 (Köln: Böhlau, 1971), pp. 117–164. Mitchell, Danger, pp. 113–114. Johann E. Wappäus, Deutsche Auswanderung und Kolonisation (Leipzig: Hinrich, 1846); Friedrich List, Das nationale System der politischen Ökonomie (Stuttgart: Cotta, 1841; new edition Tübingen: Mohr, 1959). Wilhelm Roscher and Robert Jannasch, Kolonien, Kolonialpolitik und Auswanderung (Leipzig: Winter, 1885), pp. 379–381; also Mönckmeier, Auswanderung, pp. 159–160, 180–181. Robert Jannasch, ‘Die praktischen Aufgaben der deutschen Auswanderungspolitik,’ in Verhandlungen des deutschen Kolonialkongresses 1902 (Berlin: Reimer, 1903), pp. 589–590. Also see Brunn, Deutschland und Brasilien, p. 124; Conrad, Globalisierung, pp. 241–245. “Je nationaler die auswandernden Elemente in Sprache und Sitte erhalten bleiben, desto mehr wird auch die Ausfuhr und somit der Wohlstand der Nation durch solche Auswanderung gefördert,” Wilhelm Hübbe-Schleiden, Überseeische Politik (Hamburg: Friederischen, 1881–1883); also Wilhelm Breitenbach, ‘Die deutsche Kolonisation in Südbrasilien,’ Jahrbuch für Gesetzgebung, Verwaltung und Volkswirtschaft des Deutschen Reiches 11, no. 1–2 (1887), 236–237. For Hübbe-Schleiden see Woodruff D. Smith, The Ideological Origins of Nazi Imperialism (New York and Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1986), pp. 35, 246.

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49. Brunn, Deutschland, pp. 118–121. 50. Smith, Ideological Origins, pp. 37–38; Friedrich Fabri, Bedarf Deutschland der Colonien? (Gotha: Berthes, 1879); Klaus J. Bade, Friedrich Fabri und der Imperialismus in der Bismarckzeit: Revolution—Depression—Expansion (Freiburg: Atlantis, 1975). 51. Mitchell, Danger, pp. 116–120; Erik Grimmer-Solem, ‘Imperialist Socialism of the Chair. Gustav Schmoller and German Weltpolitik 1897–1900,’ in Geoff Eley and James Retallack, eds., Wilhelminism and its Legacies. German Modernities, Imperialism, and the Meanings of Reform 1890–1930 (New York and Oxford: Berghahn, 2004), pp. 107–122. 52. Brunn, Deutschland und Brasilien, pp. 127–144; Mitchell, Danger, pp. 110–113. 53. Brunn, Deutschland und Brasilien, pp. 125–127. 54. “Blumenau trägt den Charakter einer ländlichen deutschen Mittelstadt, nur daß Grund und Boden nicht so kostbar sind, wie im Deutschen Reiche, und jeder für sein Haus vielmal mehr Raum in Gebrauch nehmen kann. Zwei Drittel der Einwohner sind evangelisch, die andern katholisch. Es herrscht im ganzen friedliche Gemütlichkeit; das Vereinswesen blüht. Der Mittelpunkt der lang sich hinstreckenden Kolonie, der Stadtplatz, machte auf einen Besucher den Eindruck eines mitteldeutschen Badeortes, der von einer wohlhabenden Bevölkerung bewohnt wird. Wie ein großer Garten zieht sich der Ort am Ufer des Itajahy entlang. Nach demselben Gewährsmann seien hier die hauptsächlichsten Gebäude in lokaler Reihenfolge aufgezählt: das Kammergebäude (Sitz der Verwaltung), Villen und Geschäftshäuser deutscher Kaufleute, eine Apotheke, die Redaktion der “Blumenauer Zeitung,” die Post, die katholische Kirche, das Franziskanerkloster, weiterhin bäuerliche Anwesen, Geschäftshäuser und Villen, die “Neue Deutsche Schule,” Hotels und Vereinskasinos, die evangelische Kirche nebst Pfarrhaus, das Krankenhaus, die Irrenanstalt, die Loge; [ . . . ] das Gefängnis, die Villa des deutschen Konsuls, das Schützenhaus, ein Hotel,” Handbuch des Deutschtums im Auslande, 141–142. 55. “Deutsche Tüchtigkeit hat sich immer Achtung erzwungen; der Rheinländer oder Pommer ist gewöhnt, die Gesetze zu achten und pünktlich die Steuern zu entrichten. [ . . . ] Vor der kaum zweihundert Mann starken Joinviller Schützengesellschaft und Feuerwehr trollen sich tausend aufsässige Gauchos und Halbindianer, indem sie sich für den besseren Teil der Tapferkeit entscheiden, bald wieder in den Urwald,” ibid., p. 140. 56. “Aber die deutschen Kolonisten fühlten sich nicht glücklich unter der slawischen Umgebung. Sie wichen der Schikane und wurden vertrieben. Auf den von ihnen verlassenen Lotes wurden Polen angesiedelt, so daß die wenigen zurückgebliebenen Deutschen jetzt ganz versprengt sind [ . . . ] Eine Vermischung mit Schwarzen fi ndet sich nur ganz vereinzelt, wohl aber sind deutsche Mädchen von Italienern wegen ihres Rufes als sparsame Hausfrauen gesucht, und ihre Männer lernen zum Teil Deutsch. [ . . . ] [Campo Salles] ist zu Dreivierteln von Deutschen und Schweizern besetzt. Diese pflegen ihr Deutschtum in Schulen und Vereinen, selbst einige dort lebende Dänen und Schweden erinnern sich ihrer germanischen Stammesverwandtschaft. [ . . . ] Aber Deutschland hat schon zu viele Kräfte dorthin abgegeben, zu hohe Werte in denselben angelegt, als daß man es aufgeben dürfte. [ . . . ] Vorposten des Deutschtums,” Die Gartenlaube 31 (1913), 654–658. 57. Susanne Zantop, Colonial Fantasies. Conquest, Family, and Nation in Precolonial Germany, 1770–1870 (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 1997). 58. Geoff Eley, Reshaping the German Right. Radical Nationalism and Political Change after Bismarck, 2nd ed. (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press,

94 Constructing a German Diaspora

59. 60.

61. 62. 63. 64. 65. 66. 67. 68. 69.

70. 71. 72. 73. 74. 75.

1991); David Blackbourn, History of Germany, 1780–1918. The Long Nineteenth Century, 2nd ed. (Malden and Oxford: Blackwell, 2003), pp. 321–333; Ullrich, ‘Nervöse Großmacht,’ pp. 376–383; Walkenhorst, Nation; Volker R. Berghahn, Imperial Germany, 1871–1918. Economy, Society, Culture and Politics (New York: Berghahn, 2005); Matthew S. Seligmann and Roderick R. McLean, Germany from Reich to Republic, 1871–1918 (Houndmills: Macmillan, 2000), pp. 81–91; Julia Schmid, Kampf um das Deutschtum. Radikaler Nationalismus in Österreich und dem Deutschen Reich, 1890–1914 (Frankfurt: Campus, 2009). Walkenhorst, Nation, pp. 61–63. Roger Chickering, We Men Who Feel Most German. A Cultural Study of the Pan-German League, 1886–1914 (Boston: Allen and Unwin, 1984); Rainer Hering, Konstruierte Nation. Der Alldeutsche Verband, 1890–1939 (Hamburg: Christians, 2003); Walkenhorst, Nation, pp. 71–73; Ulrich, Nervöse Großmacht, p. 381; Michael Peters, ‘Der Alldeutsche Verband,’ in Uwe Puschner et al., eds., Handbuch zur ‘Völkischen Bewegung,’ 1871–1918 (München: Saur, 1996), pp. 302–315. Quoted in Seligmann, Germany, p. 89. Blackbourn, History of Germany, p. 334. Fritz Bley, Die Weltstellung des Deutschtums (München: Lehmann, 1897), p. 48. Alldeutscher Verband, ed., Der Kampf um das Deutschtum, 20 vols. (München: Lehmann, 1897–1902). “Schaffen wir uns nicht eine neue ‘deutsche Erde,’ so wird unser Volk rettungslos verkrüppeln und untergehen,” Fritz Bley, Südafrika niederdeutsch! (München: Lehmann, 1898), p. 70. “Auch sie sind Deutsche im Blute, wie der Sprache nach. Ihre Mundart, das Afrikaanerplatt, steht dem niedersächsischen Platt weit näher als diesem die oberbayerische Mundart steht,” ibid., p. 68. “Im Gegenteil tritt uns in dieser burischen Bärenhäuterei der Grundzug echtesten Germanentums entgegen,” ibid., p. 69. Conrad, Globalisierung, pp. 270–276; Matthew Jefferies, ‘Lebensreform. A Middle-Class Antidote to Wilhelminism?’ in Eley, Wilhelminism, pp. 91–106. “Den tüchtigen niederdeutschen Volksstamm unermüdlich an die Stimme des Blutes zu mahnen, ihn täglich und stündlich auf die notwendige Stellung zu dem gesamten Deutschtume hinzuweisen, die er einnehmen muß, wenn er nicht fortgespült werden will von der Hochflut der englischen Weltwirtschaft,” ibid., p. 68. “Wenn gleichwohl der Bur sich nicht als Deutscher fühlt, so muß es unsere Aufgabe sein, ihn über seine völkische Stellung aufzuklären, ihm und der ganzen Welt zu zeigen, daß er [ . . . ] ein Deutscher ist und bleibt [ . . . ],” ibid., p. 69. “Kampf um die niederdeutsche Sprache in Südafrika,” ibid., p. 57, also p. 49–50. “[ . . . ] auch auf das ganze übrige niederdeutsche Afrika deutschen Geist ausstrahlt und es einer alldeutschen Gesittung und Gesinnung gewinnt!” ibid., p. 71. “Denn der Kampf um Südafrika ist nicht e i n Kampf um das Deutschtum, er ist d e r Kampf um das Deutschtum!” ibid., p. 72. “Deutsche im Blute (von Abstammung),” Max Robert Gerstenhauer, Der Kampf der Buren gegen England, ein Kampf ums Deutschtum, Alldeutsche Blätter 6 (1896), p. 151–152, 166. “[ . . . ] so hat auch das heutige Deutschland seine natürliche Aufgabe, einen uns so sehr nahe verwandten germanischen Stamm zu schützen, nicht erfüllt.

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76. 77. 78. 79.

80.

81. 82.

83. 84. 85. 86. 87. 88. 89. 90. 91.

95

[ . . . ] Auch Afrika ist dem Deutschtum verloren, auch in Afrika wird das Deutschtum nur Völkerdünger sein.” Quoted in Harald Rosenbach, Das Deutsche Reich, Großbritannien und der Transvaal (1896–1902). Anfänge deutsch-britischer Entfremdung (Göttingen: Vandenhoek & Ruprecht, 1993), p. 305. E.g. Handbuch des Deutschtums im Auslande; Karl Pröll, Sind die Reichsdeutschen berechtigt und verpflichtet, das Deutschthum im Auslande zu stützen? (Kiel: Lipsius & Tischer, 1891). Fritz Joseephy, Die deutsche überseeische Auswanderung seit 1871 unter besonderer Berücksichtigung der Auswanderung nach den Vereinigten Staaten von Nordamerika (Berlin: Welt, 1912). Paul de Lagarde, Deutsche Schriften, 5th ed. (Göttingen: Dieterich, 1920); Walkenhorst, Nation, pp. 56–57. “[ . . . ] Zusammenfassung aller in Mitteleuropa bei einander wohnenden Deutschen zu einem bundesstaatlichen Großdeutschland [ . . . ] Erhebung des deutschen Volkes zu einem Herrenvolke über niedriger stehende Völker in Europa,” Ernst Hasse, Großdeutschland und Mitteleuropa um das Jahr 1950. Von einem Alldeutschen, 2nd ed. (Berlin: Thannann, 1895), pp. 8, 10; Walkenhorst, Nation, p. 207. For Hasse see Smith, Ideological Origins, pp. 99–111. “[ . . . ] um der germanischen Rasse diejenigen Lebensbedingungen zu sichern, deren sie zur vollen Entfaltung ihrer Kräfte bedarf, selbst wenn darüber solch minderwertige Völklein wie Tschechen, Slowenen und Slowaken [ . . . ] ihr für die Zivilisation nutzloses Dasein einbüßen sollten,” Alldeutsche Blätter 4 (1894), 5–7; Walkenhorst, Nation, p. 208; Smith, Ideological Origins, pp. 83–111. Hoerder, Geschichte, p. 72; Also see Chapter 1. Edwin Cannan, ‘Demographic Statistics of the United Kingdom. Their Want of Correlation and other Defects,’ Journal of the Royal Statistical Society 61 (1898), 49–70; Dudley E. Baines, ‘The Use of Published Census Data in Migration Studies,’ in Edward A. Wrigley, ed., Nineteenth-Century Society. Essays in the Use of Quantitative Methods for the Study of Social Data (Cambridge University Press, 1972), pp. 311–335; Rosalind Mitchison, British Population Change since 1860 (London and Basingstoke: Macmillan, 1977), p. 16. Manz, Migranten, p. 30–41; BAB R 77166/E4128, German Consulate London; Julius Rieger, Die deutschen evangelischen Gemeinden in England nach dem Kriege (München, 1933), p. 3; Kölnische Zeitung, 25 June 1909. Eley, Reshaping, pp. 58–68; Walkenhorst, Nation, pp. 75–76; Ullrich, Nervöse Großmacht, p. 380. Weidenfeller, VDA; Chickering, We Men, pp. 32–33. Judson, Guardians. “[ . . . ] die Deutschen außerhalb des Reiches dem Deutschtum zu erhalten und sie nach Kräften in ihren Bestrebungen, Deutsche zu bleiben oder wieder zu werden zu unterstützen,” quote in Weidenfeller, VDA, p. 176. Eley, Reshaping, p. 366. Weidenfeller, VDA, pp. 252–254. See his edition Deutsches Reich und Volk. Ein nationales Handbuch (Munich: Lehmann, 1906). “[ . . . ] in denen das Deutschtum ein wertvoller und staatstreuer Bestandteil der Staatsbürgerschaft geworden ist; sie dient endlich einer planvollen Ausgestaltung der deutschen Wirtschaftsentwicklung im Außenhandel,” quoted in Jürgen Kloosterhuis, “Friedliche Imperialisten.” Deutsche Auslandsvereine und auswärtige Kulturpolitik, 1906–1918, vol. 1 (Frankfurt: Lang: 1994), pp. 309–318 (quote p. 312).

96 Constructing a German Diaspora 92. Kloosterhuis, Friedliche Imperialisten, p. 313–314. 93. “Auch ich möchte sehr gerne Mitglied des Flotten-Vereins sein, dem mein Gatte längst angehört, doch wurde mein Vorschlag mit Lächeln übergangen! Wir Frauen werden einfach beiseite geschoben, deshalb wollen wir nun erst recht Mitglied sein!” Bismarck-Frauen-Kalender für 1902, p. 97, quoted in Karin Bruns, ‘Völkische und deutschnationale Frauenvereine im “zweiten Reich,’’’ in Puschner, Handbuch, pp. 376–394 (at p. 379). 94. E.g. Ullrich, Nervöse Großmacht, pp. 335–339. 95. Hedwig Dohm, Die Antifeministen. Ein Buch der Verteidigung (Berlin: Dümmler, 1902). 96. See Irene Stoehr, Emanzipation zum Staat? Der Allgemeine Deutsche Frauenverein—Deutscher Staatsbürgerinnenverband, 1893–1933 (Pfaffenweiler: Centaurus, 1990). 97. Andrea Süchting-Hänger, ‘“Gleichgroße mut’ge Helferinnen” in der weiblichen Gegenwelt. Der Vaterländische Frauenverein und die Politisierung konservativer Frauen, 1890–1914,’ in Ute Planert, ed., Nation, Politik und Geschlecht. Frauenbewegungen und Nationalismus in der Moderne (Frankfurt and New York: Campus, 2000), pp. 131–146; Bruns, ‘Völkische und deutschnationale Frauenvereine’; Birthe Kundrus, ‘Weiblicher Kulturimperialismus. Die imperialistischen Frauenverbände des Kaiserreiches,’ in Conrad, Kaiserreich transnational, pp. 213–236; Wildenthal, German Women. 98. “Wir müssen das nationale Bollwerk hier bauen helfen. [ . . . ] Die Frau erhalte, mit der Muttersprache, dem Kinde das Vaterland. Bleibt die Frau unbesiegbar national, so bleibt auch die Nation im Daseinskampfe unbesiegt,” see Elizabeth A. Drummond, ‘“Durch Liebe stark, deutsch bis ins Mark.” Weiblicher Kulturimperialismus und der Deutsche Frauenverein für die Ostmarken,’ in Planert, Nation, pp. 147–154 (quote at p. 149). 99. Dieter Gosewinkel, Einbürgern und Ausschließen. Die Nationalisierung der Staatsangehörigkeit vom deutschen Bund bis zur Bundesrepublik (Göttingen: Vandenhoek & Ruprecht, 2001); Andreas Fahrmeir, Citizenship. The Rise and Fall of a Modern Concept (New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 2007). 100. Rogers Brubaker, Nationalism Reframed. Nationhood and the National Question in the New Europe (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1996), pp. 55–69. 101. Howard Sargent, ‘Diasporic Citizens. Germans Abroad in the Framing of German Citizenship Law,’ in O’Donnell, Heimat Abroad, pp. 17–39 (at pp. 21–23); Walkenhorst, Nation, pp. 149–151. 102. Klusmeyer, Immigration Policy, pp. 43–44. 103. Klaus J. Bade, Migration in European History (Malden: Blackwell, 2003), pp. 151–153; Hoerder, Geschichte, pp. 83–85; Klusmeyer, Immigration Policy, pp. 43–44; Ulrich Herbert, A History of Foreign Labor in Germany, 1880–1980. Seasonal Workers, Forced Laborers, Guestworkers (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1990). 104. Conrad, Globalisierung, pp. 153–166; Jack Wertheimer, Unwelcome Strangers. East European Jews in Imperial Germany (New York and Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1987). 105. Klaus J. Bade, Normalfall Migration. Deutschland im 20. und frühen 21. Jahrhundert (Bonn: Bundeszentrale für politische Bildung, 2004); Klusmeyer, Immigration Policy, pp. 229–237; Stefan Manz, ‘Constructing a Normative National Identity. The Leitkultur Debate in Germany, 2000/2001,’ Journal of Multilingual and Multicultural Development 25 (2004), 481–496. 106. Sargent, ‘Diasporic Citizens,’ p. 27.

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107. Walkenhorst, Nation, pp. 152–153; Hasse’s speech in Verhandlungen des Deutschen Reichstags 139 (1895), 1277–1280. 108. Sargent, ‘Diasporic Citizens,’ p. 28. 109. For Sargent, the question of military service undermines scholarly agreement that ius sanguinis prevailed in the law. Both sides agreed that this requirement would actually reduce the number of German citizens abroad, and the previous regulation of registering with a consulate was, according to Sargent, “replaced with a much more arduous sacrifice, military service, in return for retaining German citizenship.” Sargent, ‘Diasporic Citizens,’ p. 30. 110. Gosewinkel, Einbürgern, p. 325. 111. Ibid., p. 310–327; Walkenhorst, Nation, p. 164–165. 112. Münz, ‘Auslandsdeutsche,’ pp. 382–384; Klusmeyer, Immigration Policy, pp. 83–85, 197–206. 113. E.g. Shaffer, Diaspora Politics; Cohen, Global Diasporas; Braziel, Theorizing Diaspora. 114. Elena Barabantseva and Claire Sutherland, ‘Diaspora and Citizenship. Introduction,’ Nationalism and Ethnic Politics 17 (2011), 1–13 (at p. 1). 115. Ibid., 5–9. 116. Smith, ‘Diasporic Memberships’; Sheffer, Diaspora Politics, p. 159. 117. E.g. Sheffer, Diaspora Politics, pp. 148–179. 118. Gosewinkel, Einbürgern, p. 164. 119. Chickering, We Men; Schmid, Kampf, pp. 82–108; Thomas Nipperdey, Deutsche Geschichte 1866–1918, vol. 1 (München: Beck, 1990), p. 590. 120. Eley, ‘Making a Place in the Nation,’ p. 26. 121. Smith, ‘Diasporic Memberships,’ 727. 122. Ibid., 744.

3

Politics Navy and Auslandsdeutschtum

INTRODUCTION Chemist Walter Tiemann was one of about fifteen Germans living in Portuguese-Angola in 1912. When the gunboat SMS Eber visited its port city Loanda that year, he decided to make his contribution to support the German navy and founded the German Navy Club, Loanda. This was the only ethnic social club that existed for the small and scattered German minority in Angola.1 Its counterpart in Rome, meanwhile, was rather larger. It was founded in December 1899 following an appeal from local historian Dr. F. Noack, An die Reichsdeutschen in Rom. He explained that Germans abroad had recently started to found local navy clubs whose aim it was, to spread and consolidate knowledge and understanding of the overseas interests of the great German nation, to open people’s eyes to the manifold facets of the great task which Germany has to fulfi l across the oceans, be it scientific research, religious or cultural missions, improvement of economic well-being, opening up of new markets for the mighty German industry, or the fi rst and most pressing necessity: the protection of Germans abroad. [ . . . ] It is especially amongst the Germans living abroad that one can assume the highest degree of interest and understanding for Germany’s Weltpolitik, and the signatories are therefore confident that, in appealing for the formation of a German Navy Club in Rome, they will meet the pressing desire of all Germans living in Rome. 2 The club immediately drew 123 members “of all political colours and confessions, even Germans who, until now, have not especially made a point of displaying their nationality.” It held regular meetings in the Hotel Germania, whose owner, Herr Lehmann, provided space for a reading room as well as for patriotic celebrations.3 The clubs in Loanda and Rome were both part of a global network which, by 1913, consisted of 179 local Flottenvereine with 9,500 members across the globe. Its umbrella organisation was the Berlin-based Central

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League for German Navy Clubs Abroad (Hauptverband Deutscher Flottenvereine im Auslande) which was founded in 1898 as a focal point to coordinate these activities. So far, the Hauptverband has only received passing reference in the scholarly literature.4 However, within broader discussions of linkages between nationalism, emigration, and diaspora formation it certainly deserves closer analysis as a case study of global connectedness. It allows us to move away from the centre-led perspective of the previous chapter which tended to look at Germans abroad as passive objects of a discourse conducted within Germany, as a canvas onto which (semi-)colonial fantasies could be projected. This and the following chapters will argue that Germans abroad could also be active participants within a transnationally conducted and multi-directional discourse. They did not necessarily make “a mockery of nationalist assumptions”5 but could, in fact, be deeply embedded in the construction of these assumptions. To what extent did normative bourgeois ascriptions of how the diaspora should be configured actually have an impact on migrants’ notions of belonging? To what extent were the symbolic paraphernalia of an increasingly aggressive Reich-nationalism adopted by diaspora communities as elements of ethnic identity construction? And in which ways did ideas produced abroad feed back ‘home’? In this chapter, the Central League and its local branches can help us to approach questions of this kind. The perspectival shift also requires some theoretical specifi cation. By looking abroad, we now have to hold our empirical fi ndings against theorisations which aim to defi ne constitutive factors of diasporas from a peripheral standpoint. Robin Cohen’s criteria have been explained earlier, but the crucial ones are worth reiterating for this specific context. These include a collective commitment to the safety and prosperity of the homeland, including the self-perception of contributing actively to its trade or colonial ambitions; a strong consciousness of belonging to the same distinct ethnic group; and a sense of empathy and solidarity with co-ethnics living in other countries of settlement. 6 Although Cohen mentions that a troubled relationship with host societies might exist, he does not elaborate on the role these factors can have in aggravating the relationship. Gabriel Sheffer duly points out that the existence of diaspora networks and their communications “can also lead to tensions and contribute to confl icts involving diasporas, host states, homeland, and other interested parties. Some of those confl icts challenge the sovereignty of host countries, some exacerbate inter-state relationships, and some have even wider regional and global ramifications.”7 Especially when primordial (in contrast to instrumental-constructivist) principles of belonging are upheld, homeland societies and governments will stress that these have supremacy over links to host societies and will claim loyalty. For trans-state networks to emerge, intense transnational communication which fully exploits the technological opportunities of its

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age is necessary. This is conducted in a multidirectional way between, and with, peripheral locations and the homeland. Technological innovations have an impact on the shape of diasporas, as recent developments in electronic communication demonstrate.8 Although theorisations of this kind are useful to conceptualise diasporic groups, they should be read with the proviso that they never encapsulate the totality of a country’s expatriate population. Those Germans abroad who attached themselves to pertinent organisations such as the local navy clubs—but also foreign branches of the Pan-German League or the Association for Germandom Abroad—only constituted a certain fraction of local ethnic communities. Close inspection of selected communities in terms of social structure and numbers will be conducted to assess the signifi cance of these clubs on a local, national, and transnational basis. A second theoretical proviso argues against a binary juxtaposition of centre and periphery. Complex mobility patterns in an age of mass migration involved multidirectional movements, including on-migration and re-migration. Towards the end of the nineteenth century, diasporic cultures (including non-German ones) were not so much fossilised versions of the society left behind at the point of departure. Rather, they were constantly ‘updated’ by new arrivals and communication with each other and the homeland. Daily politics of the homeland could now be discussed around the world with relatively little temporal delay. Rather than taking the metropolitan discourse as the norm which radiated outward across Germany’s borders and was then adapted to local conditions, it is more appropriate to see the navy issue as one “diasporic public sphere” (Robert C. Smith) in which negotiation and adaptation went in all directions, not least towards the metropolis. Keeping the transnational dynamics of this discourse in mind leads to a third theoretical comment. Diasporas need a common set of ideas and descriptors in order to defi ne themselves, or be defi ned, within this sphere. The language employed arises from an interplay of transnational actors. It is not prescribed by the ‘centre’ but evolves through communication crossing borders, continents, and oceans. The analysis is guided by the ‘culturalist turn’ which has recently reached the historiography of the German navy. The focus will not be on military or strategic deliberations but rather on the symbolic quality of ships. Jan Rüger has described this quality for the Anglo-German context. Both countries instrumentalised their respective navies as focal points to demonstrate national strength and unity. The cult of the navy was constructed through carefully orchestrated public displays such as naval visits, ship launches, and fleet reviews. These were watched by hundreds of thousands of visitors and received ample attention in the local and national media. They were symbolic representations for both countries that their power extended across the oceans.9 Rüger’s analysis is mainly concerned with the relationship between nationhood and Empire.

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This chapter will use the same culturalist approach, but will apply this to the relationship between nation and diaspora. It will explore ways in which battleships were represented as agents spreading notions of national and transnational unity abroad.

THE CENTRAL LEAGUE FOR GERMAN NAVY CLUBS ABROAD IN BERLIN In the light of the above methodological considerations it is, naturally, neither possible nor desirable to strictly separate the two spheres of centre and periphery. This is already evident in the founding process of the Central League, which was stimulated from abroad. Enthusiasm for Germany’s naval programme during the 1890s was not confi ned to Germany but was also apparent amongst the “pioneers of Germanness abroad, and, from there, surged back with refreshing force.”10 Germans abroad contributed to a large degree to the flood of petitions in 1898 which swamped the Reichstag in favour of a Navy Law aimed at significant fleet expansion.11 One such cable came from Naples. During the annual general meeting of the ethnic community, held on the Kaiser’s birthday, the issue dominated discussions. The report stressed: We, the Germans in Naples, always take the greatest interest in all the national current affairs which occupy peoples’ minds ‘out in the Reich.’ As a proof, after the banquet a telegraphic announcement was sent to Herr Reich-Chancellor in favour of the Navy Law. Already on 31 January it was answered in a most friendly manner by Herr State Secretary of the Reich Navy Office.12 After the fi rst navy club had been founded in Valparaiso, Chile, in 1896, many more followed suit, and soon the need for central organisation arose. Thus, the year 1898 saw the founding not only of the Flottenverein, but also of the Central League for German Navy Clubs Abroad. While the former was initiated by industrialists, the latter was a project of the German Colonial Society and supported by the Foreign Office and the Reich-Chancellery. The relationship between the two Verbände was problematic from the beginning, in that the Flottenverein regarded its smaller sister organisation as unnecessary competition and aimed to incorporate it as one of its sections. Wilhelm II imposed a compromise solution: the two clubs should remain as separate entities but be united by one president, and each should have representative board members on the board of the other. The presidency fi rst went to Prince zu Hohenlohe-Schillingfürst, the eldest son of the Reich-Chancellor, later to Count Adolf Friedrich von Mecklenburg, a key figure in nationalist circles, and then, in 1909, to Admiral von Köster.

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Constructing a German Diaspora

The Flottenverein was soon to become the biggest and most important of Germany’s nationalist pressure groups, with a peak membership of 331,910 in 1913. Its sole aim was to agitate for a stronger navy.13 The stated aims of the Central League, on the other hand, were twofold: fi rst, the collection of emigrants’ money for concrete navy projects, and, second, the promotion of allegiance to the Reich and of ethnic cohesion amongst emigrants. We can discuss both aims in turn. Remittances were a tangible sign of support and political conviction. Members contributed different amounts of money, and each local navy club sent annual contributions to Berlin. As Table 3.1 shows, these experienced a peak in 1900 at 120,000 Marks. After the fi rst wave of enthusiasm had ebbed away, they fluctuated between 88,500 Marks and just over 30,000 Marks in subsequent years. Annual reports stressed that the economic downturn in many countries after 1900 was in part responsible for this

Table 3.1

Navy Clubs, Statistics Worldwide Number of Clubs

Members* (approx.)

Remittances to Berlin (in Marks)

1898

14

29,300

1899

44

3,700

103,000

1900

68

4,300

120,000

1901

73

1902

77

4,300

56,060

1903

103

3,900

50,000

1904

110

4,200

47,800

1905

124

5,120

1906

142

1907

152

1908

152

5,000

1909

156

5,000

31,603

1910

151

6,000

36,616

1911

150

7,000

30,456

1913

179

9,500

60,239

88,500

55,500 66,400 42,600

1914

41,264

1915

21,705

1918

7,607

*Three categories: 1. members of local clubs; 2. single members where local clubs did not exist (sample 1907: 962); 3. individual members living in Germany (sample 1907: 86). Sources: Annual Reports 1898–1913, all in BAMA RM3/9922 and 9923; Kriegsbericht, BAB R 8023/309/23-27, 9 October 1919.

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development.14 Contributions then picked up again during the two years of heightened international tension before the outbreak of war, doubling from 30,456 Marks to 60,239 Marks. Two projects were realised with members’ remittances within the Central League’s lifetime. One was the building of the gunboat Vaterland to protect German trade on the Yangtze River.15 The second one was a weather-station in Tsingtau/Quingdao. These projects were relatively modest in scope, but their symbolic value far outstripped their material worth. They embodied manifold demands that emigrants should not stand aside but should fulfi l their patriotic duty for the Reich’s global aspirations. This approach reminds us of the citizenship law reform in 1913, when military service was made a condition for keeping German nationality despite residence abroad. Membership of the nation not only included rights, but also duties. Germans abroad were said to be the beneficiaries of a strong German navy which protected their trade and rights abroad. They therefore had a duty to contribute to this protection through remittances.16 We turn now to the matter of allegiance and ethnic cohesion. The Central League used the parameters and language of the nationalist discourse surrounding emigration and adapted them to the navy issue. Its second stated aim was then, “by stressing our nation’s great common interest in the navy, to develop these clubs into solid bulwarks (Stützpunkte) of Germanness abroad.”17 These should be closely connected to the fatherland, with the idea of the navy acting as a social glue within communities and, transnationally, with Germany: [The movement] has taken on the idealistic task of using the common national bond of the navy clubs, which shall embrace Germans living abroad, to foster their national spirit and to tie them closely to the fatherland. Both aspects fi nd expression in the voluntary taxation for the maritime defensive power of the fatherland, to which the members of our navy clubs subscribe through their contributions. Through these contributions, they declare themselves part of their Volk in support of the preservation of its greatness and independence.18 It is important to reiterate that the impulse came from abroad, and that these parameters were produced and communicated around the world. Local clubs regularly sent in annual reports and contributed to publications. Members were informed about the development of the German navy as well as the activities of branches worldwide through the journal Die Flotte,19 of which 7,000 copies were sent abroad annually. In combination with extensive correspondence between the local branches and Berlin, such journals were the main facilitators of the global flow of knowledge and nationalist ideas. The First World War put an end to the Central League. Pro-German nationalistic clubs of this kind were particularly exposed to pressure

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Constructing a German Diaspora

from host societies in many countries. Most navy clubs ceased to exist and annual contributions declined from 41,264 Marks in 1914 to 7,607 Marks in 1918. These funds were now mainly used to support members who had been expelled from their respective countries. The Central League was fi nally dissolved in October 1919 and its functions incorporated into the Flottenverein. 20 Within the spectrum of nationalist pressure groups, the Central League pursued a unique strategy which was determined by its target clientele. Other than the Flottenverein, it recognised the ideological and fi nancial potential of navy enthusiasm outside Germany and managed to channel it into an organised associational structure. The other main pressure groups—the Pan-German League, the Association for Germandom Abroad, the Society for the Eastern Marches, and the Colonial Society—all branched outside Germany, 21 but it was only the Central League which had its main membership base abroad. Berlin was the administrative and symbolic focal point, but the decentred sources of activity lay abroad. What the Central League had in common with the other pressure groups, though, was its middle-class character, its exclusion of women from any associational business, 22 and its basic ideological pretensions.

THE GLOBAL NETWORK OF CLUBS: EUROPE Where, and to what extent, did the ideas of the Central League fall on fertile ground? Appendix I lists all branches worldwide. High levels of activity were apparent in Europe with 61 clubs in 1913, and in Central and South America with 30 and 41 respectively. Asia had 34 clubs and Africa had 13. In contrast, some geographical areas with high concentrations of German settlement are almost absent: North America, Russia, and Australia. The reasons for this geographical distribution will be discussed continent by continent in the course of the chapter. This geographical approach does not intend to reconfi rm nineteenth-century eurocentric mappings of the world. ‘Asia/the Orient,’ for example, was a European cultural and power-political construct rather than a clearly defi ned spatial entity. East Central and Eastern Europe, to name a second example, was a deeply contested cultural space within German nationalist discourse as a projection field for colonial expansion. 23 The geographical approach is merely used as a structural tool to introduce specific themes related to these areas. The regional examples have been chosen for the patterns they reveal on a global scale. The European case underlines both the fruitfulness and need for more research into intra-European migration movements. For the nineteenth century, migration scholars have long trained their main lens on transoceanic migrations. Notwithstanding a recent upsurge in sophisticated

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overviews of intra-European migration across borders, 24 more detailed studies on Germans in other, mainly Western European countries remain a desideratum, 25 especially when brought together with questions of transnationality. Spain, for example, is virtually absent from the radar of German emigration research. 26 Yet in terms of its German navy clubs, Spain had the most densely woven web at 23 and can serve usefully as a case study. Encouraged to do so by the Central League, the clubs formed a national association (Landesverband), of which the Reich’s ambassador to Madrid acted as protector. Annual reports to Berlin contained a country overview as well as reports from the local clubs. 27 Total membership stood at 263 in 1911, with the most lively clubs being in Barcelona and Malaga, each having between 60 and 70 members. At the other end of the scale, it is mentioned that the three Germans living in Palma de Mallorca had founded a local club. For the whole of Spain in the fi nancial year 1910–1911, income through members’ contributions stood at 3,991.45 Pesetas, with the biggest contributions coming from Barcelona (1,249 Ptas), Malaga (710 Ptas), and Bilbao (320 Ptas). Expenditure included a loan for a Kolonie-Haus in Malaga, German seamen’s welfare in Barcelona, and, most importantly, the remittance to the Central League in Berlin of 2,013.75 Ptas (1,500 Marks). 28 In Barcelona, the Kaiser’s birthday (27 January) was celebrated annually together with the Verein Germania. This event consisted of a church service, a reception at the General Consulate, and an official banquet which was attended by local military and civilian representatives as well as a delegation of the Numancia-Dragoner Regiment. Another highlight in the festive calendar was the occasion when SMS Hertha anchored in Barcelona for several days in September 1910. Commander and offi cers invited navy club members and their spouses for a guided tour of the ship. Generally, visiting German squadrons gave a boost to navy enthusiasm in German ethnic communities. They often led to the founding of, or increased participation in, local clubs. Indeed, the Spanish Landesverband circulated a questionnaire on the ‘Advantage of Visiting Warships,’ and all the local branches deplored that these were not more frequent. The reply from Bilbao stressed the advantages for the German export industry and expatriate merchant communities: Each German warship is a travelling exhibition of German industrial endeavour and success. Frequent visits cannot be recommended enough and are, in every respect, most beneficial for the German industry and Germans living abroad, whose existence, for the main part, depends on this industry.’29 The Barcelona branch emphasised that more visits would increase “feelings of patriotism and togetherness,” especially amongst those compatriots who otherwise “become alienated from the ideas and ideals of the fatherland,”

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Constructing a German Diaspora

and who could be “kept within the fold of Deutschtum.” Visits would enhance the reputation of German merchants abroad and would symbolise protection and a bond of togetherness (‘Band der Zusammengehörigkeit’) between fatherland and diaspora.30 Similar arguments were heard in Italy, where sixteen clubs existed in 1913. The club in Florence was incubated during the well-attended celebration of Kaiser’s birthday on 27 January 1900. Only weeks earlier, the British navy had seized several German steamers on suspicion of transporting contraband for the South African War. This act was used by the German government to stir public resentment against Britain and to put pressure on the Reichstag in favour of a second Navy Law aimed at further expansion of the fleet. 31 Transnational reverberations had immediate effects in Florence: The indignation which shook our Volk in the wake of the seizure of the German post steamers Bundesrath and Herzog by English cruisers found a strong echo in the festive party, and the necessity of a strong fleet to protect German trade was vividly discussed. 32 Local pharmacist Herr Münstermann then delivered a “patriotic speech” in which he asked those present to follow in the footsteps of Rome and Genoa and constitute a local navy branch. Thirty-four registered and spontaneously donated 475 Lire. The board consisted of a Freiherr von Sturm, Prof. A. de Beaux, Consul Oswald, A. H. Count (Graf) Harrach, Prof. Dr. H. H. Brockhaus, pharmacist F. Münstermann, and a F. Gehres. The bourgeois character with aristocratic patronage and academic participation (Flottenprofessoren) is a global feature which will be discussed in more detail below. The fi rst annual report uses exactly the same language, metaphors, and arguments produced in Berlin: German goods were not only abundantly found in Florence (iron products, glass, paper, textiles, luxury articles) but all across the world, and Germans abroad were the fi rst to know how important trade protection was. Those in Florence wanted to contribute their bit (“unser Scherfl ein beitragen”). The navy was a good way of demonstrating loyalty to the fatherland and creating bulwarks (Stützpunkte) of Germans abroad. It was a “common spiritual bond between all German colonies abroad.”33 How did these clubs fit into the wider context of ethnic community life and social structures? To what extent were they able to attract German migrants? Barcelona and Malaga claimed that the respective local navy clubs represented the German community as a whole, that virtually all new arrivals immediately sought contact with the club, and that the majority of members of other clubs such as the Verein Germania in Barcelona were also members of the navy club. 34 The middle-class character of the sources used has to prompt some caution regarding such statements. Social divisions in ethnic communities suggest that non-bourgeois segments of the

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community are blinded out in these sources. A closer look at the situation in Britain helps to dissect this problem. The largest navy club in Britain outside London existed in Glasgow. Of the approximately 500 German men living in Glasgow in 1908, 150 were members of the club. Average annual remittances to Berlin were 650 Marks. A prosopographical database, based on a wide range of different sources, sheds some light on various socio-structural features of the ethnic community. 35 Class divisions were clearly visible in that the Deutscher Verein catered for the bourgeois middle-classes (Wirtschaftsund Bildungsbürgertum) while the Deutscher Klub consisted of the lower middle-class (Kleinbürgertum), typically artisans and shopkeepers. On the surface, two institutions transcended class divisions. These were the German Protestant Congregation and the navy club. An external observer remarked that the navy club “comprised all Germans without looking at societal or other differences.”36 Members of both the Deutscher Verein and the Deutscher Klub attended the “annual patriotic celebration in honour of His Majesty the German Kaiser, which takes the form of a banquet followed by singing and beer drinking (Kommers).”37 It is obvious that attempts to construct the navy as a nationalistic rallying point had been successful in the diaspora just as had been the case within the Reich, where, as Deist explains, it acted as a symbol “which proved to be both comprehensive and flexible enough to be a magnet for very different political and societal traditions and expectations. It created a consensus of large parts of society outside the organised socialdemocratic working classes.”38 A closer look at the individuals involved, however, reveals that positions of power such as president or treasurer of the navy club in Glasgow were in the hands of bourgeois middle-class, mostly wealthy, migrants. 39 The same is true for the Protestant congregation. These two organisations certainly brought together migrants from different social backgrounds on an occasional basis. At the same time, however, they served to confi rm and stabilise the social stratification within the community.40 Although Protestant diasporic activity will be discussed in detail in the following chapter, it is useful at this stage to point to its symbiotic relationship with diasporic nationalism as expressed through navy and other clubs. Pastorennationalismus was a feature in the diaspora just as it was within Wilhelmine Germany. Pastor Reinhard Münchmeyer understood his position in Glasgow as a patriotic mission. He wanted “to carry out hard pioneering work for Germanness.”41 The link between Protestantism, throne, and navy is clearly illustrated by a well-attended festive evening in August 1903. On the occasion of the anchoring of the German battleship SMS Stein in Glasgow, the Glasgow Flottenverein extended an invitation to its crew. In a report to Wilhelm II, Commander Dombrowski described the evening as “a patriotic, thoroughly sound festivity of Germanness abroad.”42 Pastor Münchmeyer, who was also a board member

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of the Glasgow Flottenverein, gave a lengthy speech. By juxtaposing secular and religious terminology, he elevated the national symbols of Kaiser and Reich to the level of the sacred. Just like his colleagues in Germany, he provided divine legitimation for unification: The honest enthusiasm and the iron creative force of friends of the fatherland who are blessed by God and sent by God managed to achieve what even the bravest hardly dared to hope: a strong German Empire, a unified Volk of German brothers! There is no occasion better suited to remembering this blessing than our celebrations this evening, where representatives of Germany’s protection and shield at sea have entered a distant shore in order to extend faithful brotherly hands to their German compatriots abroad in a compassionate way. Tacitly and solemnly both sides renew their sacred vow to present to the altar of the common fatherland the gratefulness it deserves through dutiful and self-sacrificing work.43 The navy branch in Edinburgh was founded on Kaiser’s birthday in 1905 during a “merry evening with real Bavarian beer and herring salad.”44 Its proceedings show that the figure of the Flottenprofessor (‘navy professor’/‘pen behind the fleet’) which played a vital role in popularising navy enthusiasm within Germany also played a role in communities abroad. For the annual general meeting in 1906, Professor Julius Eggeling, the chairman of the branch and Professor of Sanskrit at Edinburgh University, had written a poem which was sung by everyone to a well-known German tune:45 Altdeutschlands Treubund

Old Germany’s Covenant of Fidelity

Melodie: Sei uns mit Jubelschalle

Tune: Sei uns mit Jubelschalle

In Deutschlands schönen Gauen Da wohnt ein stark Geschlecht Von Männern und von Frauen Grad, bieder, fromm und recht. Wohl gab’s in deutschen Landen Viel Hader einst und Streit, Bis sich die Herzen fanden In Treu’ und Einigkeit.

In Germany’s beautiful shires There lives a strong tribe Of men and women Upright, honest, devout and straightforward. Without doubt in German lands There used to be much strife and argument, Until hearts found each other In faithfulness and unity.

Nun klingt’s aus tausend Liedern Hellauf in Süd und Nord: Woll’n sein ein Volk von Brüdern, Ein starker Friedenshort: Wir woll’n in Ruhe leben, Doch weh! wer unser Recht Und unser friedlich Streben Zu fährden sich erfrecht.

Now a thousand songs Resound North and South: We want to be a Volk of brothers, A stronghold of peace: We want to live in peace, But be warned! whoever dares To imperil Our right and our peaceful endeavour.

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Aus welchem Gau wir stammen, Der Treubund macht uns gleich: Wir stehen fest zusammen Zu Kaiser und zu Reich! Hoch woll’n wir allzeit halten Die Fahne schwarz-weiß-rot, Die Jungen wie die Alten, Getreu bis in den Tod.

Whatever our home shire, The covenant of fidelity makes us the same: We stick together firmly, In our support for Kaiser and Reich! We always want to keep raised The black-white-red flag, Young and old, Faithful until death.

Auch wahren wir die Treue Dem heim’schen Fürstenhaus Und singen stets aufs neue Das Lob des Heimatgaus. Wo wir zuerst empfunden Des Lebens Lust und Schmerz, Wo Ruh’ manch Freund gefunden, Da weilt auch unser Herz.

We also remain faithful Towards our local princely dynasty And keep singing anew In praise of our home shire. Where we first felt Life’s joy and pain, Where many a friend has found peace, That is where our heart is.

So wolle Gott denn schirmen Den deutschen Männerbund, Und ob sich Wolken türmen, Wir steh’n auf festem Grund: Mag rings der Feind auch dräuen Und ziehen gar zu Feld— Wir fürchten Gott und scheuen Sonst niemand auf der Welt!

May God protect The German covenant of men, And although dark clouds may threaten, We stand on firm ground: If the enemy around us threatens Or even moves towards the battlefield— We fear God And nobody else in the world!

Professor Julius Eggeling had been living in Britain for over thirty years. His text reveals a one-sided loyalty towards his country of origin despite Anglo-German tensions. It echoes all those elements of Reichpanegyric that were reiterated within Germany itself: the glorification of 1871 and the corresponding symbols of Emperor and fl ag; paranoia towards a ‘world of enemies’ which had conspired to keep Germany away from its place in the sun; and the concept of Volk as a sacred and unanimous community. Within his ethnic community abroad, Eggeling performed the same function as those roughly 270 Flottenprofessoren within Germany who actively pressed for a stronger fleet. Professors in Wilhelmine Germany were, in the words of Thomas Nipperdey, “producers of orientation and sense” for society (Orientierungsweiser, Sinnproduzenten).46 The orientation Eggeling produced and reproduced for the Germans in Edinburgh was loyalty towards Kaiser and Reich. It is certainly ironic that German navy agitation took place in Britain, Germany’s greatest naval competitor. The London branch was founded in 1900 as “a völkisch club of men whose utmost priority is

110 Constructing a German Diaspora their Germanness, [ . . . ] and its members stand fi rmly by the Kaiser’s word: Germany’s future lies at sea.”47 Chairman Hugo Bartels admitted that his branch encountered reservations within the German ethnic community where it was often perceived as an association whose aims were directed against England. He brought forward that these reservations arose from ignorance about the true nature of the Verein, claiming, for example, that the club’s contributions to fi nancing a weather station in Tsingtau showed anything but “hostility to England, since English vessels benefited from the weather warnings in the Chinese Sea just as much as German ones; maybe even more, considering the larger numbers of English vessels.”48 Whether these efforts to appease bore any fruit cannot be ascertained. They do, however, testify to the fragile position of a nationalistic group in a situation where global tensions had immediate effects on relationships between host and minority populations. After the outbreak of war, measures against so-called ‘enemy aliens’ included the internment of key club members and the closing down of the local branches in Britain. The deputy chairman of the Glasgow branch, Arno Singewald, was interned on 11 September 1914. In 1913 he had been awarded a diploma of honour by the Central League; straight after the outbreak of hostilities, he cut it out of its frame and hid it in a secure place in his home. Soon after his internment his wife was summoned to the local police station and asked whether she knew the whereabouts of the monies her husband had collected for the Kaiser’s navy. After her return home she immediately burned the diploma for fear of further recriminatory measures against her husband.49 Similarly, the chairman of the London branch, Hugo Bartels, was interned in Stratford Camp near London. 50 The navy has now been established as an important focal point for Germans across Europe. It is, however, necessary to include a wider range of actors and themes into our picture of diasporic nationalism. For this purpose, the remainder of this section will move away from the sole focus on the navy and take Britain as a case study of further activities, but also caveats against generalisations. The case of Professor Eggeling serves as a springboard to shed more nuanced light on a professional group, namely German academics abroad. Professor Karl Wichmann, for example, who taught German at the Universities of Sheffield (1901–1907) and Birmingham (1907–1916), displayed a rather different outlook. According to the university management, he had “a great admiration of English political institutions and a great detestation of Prussian methods of government and of Prussian militarism. [ . . . ] He was poles asunder from the pan-German or militarist German type.”51 So was Professor C. Hermann Ethé, who held a combined chair of German and Oriental Languages at University College Aberystwyth from

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1875 until 1915. He was described as “a political exile who was too liberal to live easily in Bismarck’s new Germany.”52 Public pressure during the war, however, did not discriminate. Both Ethé and Wichmann were ousted from their chairs. 53 The case of Friedrich Max Müller (1823–1900), 54 the eminent indologist and linguist at Oxford, shows that one-dimensional classifi cations are rather problematic. As a liberal observer of German politics, he was disappointed at the outcome of 1848 and disdained Bismarck’s authoritarian approach in the 1860s. Nevertheless, he supported Bismarck’s power politics during the Franco-Prussian war and managed to influence British public opinion in favour of Germany in a series of letters to the Times. In a speech delivered to fellow Germans in Britain at the Peace Festival in London in 1871 he spoke of “patriotism which glows in our hearts to-day.”55 Although disdaining the growing nationalism in the newly founded Reich, Müller described Wilhelm II in positive terms as “a sovereign incessantly in the service of his Empire.”56 During the South African War, when German public opinion ran high against Britain, Müller published an article in the German newspaper Deutsche Revue explaining the British cause to the German public. This was in line with his continuous efforts to mediate between Germany and his adopted country. The letter caused an outcry in Germany and seriously damaged Müller’s reputation there. In his autobiography Müller succinctly describes his peculiar position between the parties: “Though I had spent nearly a whole life in the service of my adopted country, though my political allegiance was due and was gladly given to England, still I was, and have always remained, a German.”57 Two other cases, Kuno Meyer and Alexander Tille, lead us back to Julius Eggeling in terms of their political conviction. Professor Kuno Meyer was the foremost celtologist of his time, holding chairs in Liverpool from 1883 to 1911 and in Berlin from 1912 onwards. During his twenty-eight years in Britain, he went to Germany annually for military reservist training exercises. After the outbreak of war, he felt driven “to put his powers at the disposal of the fatherland.”58 He went on a lecture tour to the United States to gather support for the German cause among Irish immigrants. 59 Dr. Alexander Tille, meanwhile, held a lectureship in German at Glasgow University from 1890 to 1900. He published widely in both English and German on literary, cultural, and socio-economic topics. In 1896, he was the fi rst to translate and edit Nietzsche’s works in English, influencing (and narrowing) the Nietzsche reception in the English-speaking world through his social Darwinist interpretation. Tille’s role as mediator of German culture went hand in hand with his nationalistic outlook. In 1898 he became a member and office-bearer of the Pan-German League, expressing his expansionary fantasies in unequivocal language:

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Das Alldeutsche Lied60

The Pan-German Song

[. . .] Hei, wie dem Feind die Seele graust, Wenn niederdonnert schwer Die feste deutsche Panzerfaust Mit Wucht im fernen Meer!

[. . .] Aha! just look at the enemy quail, As bazookas rain down Their thunderous German fire, Blasting foreign waters apart!

Wer da von deutschen Eltern stammt Und unsre Sprache spricht, Wem Deutsch mit uns das Herz entflammt, Den lassen wir auch nicht, Ob Östreich, Schweiz, ob Friesland Strand Ihm Heimat, gilt uns gleich. Die Hand her, großdeutsch Nachbarland Am neuen Deutschen Reich! [. . .]

Whoever has German parents And speaks our language, Whoever’s German heart, like ours, is set on fire Shall not be deserted by us. Whether Austria, Switzerland or the Frisian Strand His homeland is ours. Give us your hand, neighbour in our Greater Germany, our new German Reich! [. . .]

Wenn alles, was da deutsch sich hält, Zu e i n e m Reich sich eint, Wenn ob der ganzen deutschen Welt Nur e i n e Krone scheint. Da fliegt der Kaiseraar vom Strand, Da rauscht sein Fittich schwer: ‘Alldeutschland’ brausts vom Meer zum Land, ‘Alldeutsch’ vom Land zum Meer!

When all who feel German, Unite in o n e Reich, When in the whole German world There is only o n e glittering crown. Then the Imperial Eagle flies up from the strand, And beats its mighty wings: ‘Pan-Germany’ rings out from sea to land, ‘Pan-German’ from land to sea!

In early 1900, Tille published an article in a German weekly in which he heavily criticised British action against the Boers in South Africa and ridiculed the state of the British army, speaking of “stiff legged bald-pates with graying moustachios and man-boys with milksop faces.”61 Translated excerpts of the article appeared in the local newspaper, the Glasgow Herald. The wave of public protest culminated in Tille being assaulted by students of the University and having to give up his lectureship. Upon his return to Germany he published an aggressive anti-British book under the title Aus Englands Flegeljahren (England’s Puberty Years). In a mixture of Pan-Germanism and social Darwinism he considered a “bloody battle” a necessity to decide “whether Germany or England had the right to take fi rst place amongst Europe’s Germanic States.”62 Julius Eggeling, Kuno Meyer, and Alexander Tille are examples of German academics whose extended stay abroad was not concomitant with political assimilation. They kept in close contact with their homeland,

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identifying with its political course even where it clashed with their adopted country. Both within Germany and in the diaspora, academics were at the forefront of constructing and disseminating the vision of a Greater Germany which included a compact land mass in Central Europe, colonial possessions, and a closely connected diaspora. As the examples of Karl Wichmann, Hermann Ethé, and Friedrich Max Müller have shown, however, generalisations are not useful. German academics abroad represented a full range of positions, only one of which was pro-German nationalism. As the century progressed, post-1848 liberal exiles or emigrants securing academic positions abroad63 were increasingly complemented with those who regarded ‘1871’ as their point of reference. Apart from the navy clubs, further nationalist organisations existed in Britain. From the 1880s onwards, German social and cultural associations such as the Deutscher Turnverein (est. 1861), the Schiller-Anstalt Manchester (est. 1860) and the Deutscher Verein Glasgow (est. 1861) were complemented by patriotic and military societies. The most comprehensive contemporary compilation of German ethnic life in Britain—itself a panegyric to Wilhelm II64 —lists these under the headings Fatherlandish Clubs (Vaterländische Vereine) and German Military Associations (Deutsche Militärvereinigungen). Examples include the German Officers’ Club (Deutscher Offizier-Klub) which was founded by reserve officers who were received by Wilhelm II in Buckingham Palace. Its membership rose from 30 in 1891 to 125 in 1913. It was closely linked to the Imperial German Embassy in London, with Ambassador Fürst von Lichnowsky taking on honorary membership. Another military association was the Verein Deutscher Veteranen. It was founded on 2 September 1895, the 25th anniversary of the Battle of Sedan. Its membership stood at 64 in 1913. Celebrations were held in the gymnasium of the German Gymnastics Association (Deutscher Turnverein) and glorified past battles and national remembrance days. Finally, the Deutscher Militärverein (est. 1900) pursued the following aim: The purpose of the club is to foster faithfulness towards Kaiser and Reich, to support those members of the German army and the Imperial Navy who are moving to England, and to preserve the German soldier spirit abroad. By joining the Kriegerkameradschaft Hassia, the club became formally affiliated with the Kyff häuser-Bund, the central association for soldiers in Germany. The flag was consecrated in one of the German churches in London.65 To what extent did the language and symbolism of diasporic connectedness permeate German ethnic life in Britain generally? The aforementioned compilation claimed that pro-German loyalty was not confined to fatherlandish organisations but was, “in fact, also the first and most important objective of the other German clubs.”66 Its contributions were written by representatives of the respective associations, giving some insight into self-definitions of the

114 Constructing a German Diaspora relationship towards the homeland. Under the heading Deutscher Sang und Klang, the compilation lists nine choral societies in London, concentrating on those cultivating the “folk-song, which is much indebted to its supreme protector, the Emperor, who supports it actively and lovingly.”67 The Liedertafel boasts of not having missed an opportunity to participate in patriotic events. The same is said by the Liederkranz, which regarded the cultivation of good relations with other choral societies in both Germany and London as a “fatherlandish duty” (vaterländische Pflicht). For the Kaiser’s birthdays, the German choral societies in London gave joint concerts. This event was celebrated annually by associations all over Britain, including the German Association for the Arts and Science (German Athenaeum) and the gymnastics society (Turnverein).68 A closer look at Glasgow confi rms the picture of homeland orientation for festive occasions. The Deutscher Verein in Glasgow had 106 members in 1899 and a middle-class membership: mainly merchants and clerks, but also academics, engineers, and scientists. Amongst the decorations in the clubhouse were engravings of Wilhelm II, Friedrich III, Bismarck and Count Moltke; a bust of Wilhelm II; and a photograph entitled ‘The Resurrection of the German Empire’ (Die Wiedererstehung des Deutschen Reichs). In front of the clubhouse close to the city centre stood a flagpole, “which, on patriotic festive days and special occasions proudly hoists the black-white-red flag.”69 In one of the gatherings of the Deutscher Verein in 1899, honorary consul and wealthy timber-merchant Johannes N. Kiep gave a speech to initiate the founding of a local navy club. Spontaneously, 58 members enrolled.70 Obviously, a high percentage of the Deutscher Verein members could identify with the aims of the Central League for German Navy Clubs Abroad. When Consul Kiep donated the sum of £1,000 to the Deutscher Verein on the occasion of the silver wedding of the Imperial couple, he hoped that the club would remain what it had always been: “A bulwark of Germanness in Glasgow, a German Club abroad whose foremost feature is its genuine fatherlandish spirit.”71 Sources for the lower middle-classes are rare but point in the same direction. Artisans and small shopkeepers constituted the membership of the second major social organisation in Glasgow, the Deutscher Klub. During the aforementioned visit of the German battleship SMS Stein to the Clyde, the Klub invited the rank and fi le crew to a gathering and suggested that its members and the crew march together in military fashion through the city centre, accompanied by military music.72 Although the application was refused by the commander it demonstrated that orientation towards, and identification with the political course of, the homeland was also apparent in sections of the lower middle-classes. While ethnic nationalism in various multi-ethnic environments of East Central Europe has been well researched,73 the same cannot be said about Western Europe. This section approached this gap on the basis of a number of case studies. Navy enthusiasm was apparent in virtually all Western European countries, with the highest number of clubs being in Italy and

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Spain. A more detailed analysis of Britain has shown that the navy was just one of nationalism’s outlets. Existing social (and, as will be shown, religious) associations were increasingly permeated by pro-German orientation, despite its confrontational course with the host country. Detailed studies of other Western European countries would be desirable to gain a more comprehensive picture.

ASIA AND AUSTRALIA For East and Southeast Asia we can follow the footsteps of Prof. Bernhard Harms, one of those 270 Flottenprofessoren 74 who actively engaged in pressing for a stronger navy. Harms held a chair in economics at the University of Kiel and, between April and December 1910, conducted a lengthy research trip to collect economic data.75 He visited Colombo, Madras, Bombay, Calcutta, Rangoon, Singapore, Penang, Sumatra, Java (Batavia, Soerabaja), Siam/Thailand, Saigon, Hong Kong, Canton, Tsingtau/Quingdao, Shanghai, Hankow, Tientsin, Japan, Moscow, and St. Petersburg. Harms used this opportunity to consolidate navy clubs in local German communities, or instigate their foundation, by campaigning and giving lectures. His lengthy reports to the Central League office in Berlin give some insight into scattered and otherwise neglected German ethnic communities. As is the case for other world regions, the sources on Asia have to be seen as expressions of a specific political disposition which does not necessarily represent German communities as a whole. Further regional studies would be desirable to integrate these expressions into a wider context. Those communities visited by Harms consisted predominantly of merchant colonies, in some places merely the staff of a few German-owned companies operating in a given location. In Colombo, for example, the company Freudenberg constitutes the centre of the German element. Its owner, together with his three sons, does pioneering work in a true sense. The German Club has about 35 members, the majority of which consists of employees of the Freudenberg fi rm.76 All members of the German Club were also members of the navy club.77 Harms gave a lecture about Germany’s global economic position and was convinced that the Club would “stick faithfully to the German flag.”78 His lectures were always fully attended. In Calcutta, nineteen members spontaneously enrolled for the navy club after his lecture. Where numbers were too small to justify the establishment of a local branch, Harms encouraged expatriates to join as single members. This was the case in Madras, where, after the decline of the indigo industry, only five Germans remained, “of whom two are hardly respectable.”79

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In most of Southeast Asia, the clubs had to be sensitive to political considerations arising from the European colonial presence. In Rangoon, for example, a Flottenverein could not be started on the evening of Harms’ talk “because several Englishmen were present. In this situation one has to be especially careful and operate tactfully. In India [sic] we are dealing with contested territory.” Similarly, in Singapore, it was “impossible to found an official navy club since this would render the position of the Germans there untenable. The English are extremely nervous in this exposed place.”80 A similar situation existed in Indonesia, where the position of Germans was dependent upon good relations with the Dutch colonisers. In Sumatra, Harms gave a well-attended lecture to the German Benefit Association (Deutscher Hilfsverein). The audience included planters who had travelled long distances to hear him. Harms moved on to Java, fi rst to Batavia where a lecture could not be held due to cholera, and then to Soerabaja, where he spoke to the German Club in front of a large and lively audience that included both the highest colonial civil servant and the military commander of East Java. He found the Germans in Dutch Indonesia to be “strapping Germans. Excellent people throughout with their hearts in the right place. [ . . . ] No hidden Germanness as I found in the English colonies for example—but open and straightforward.” It was, however, impossible to campaign openly for the establishment of a local Flottenverein, “because this would offend the Dutch as the masters of the country.” Moving on to Siam, however, no such pressure existed. A fully attended evening in the Deutscher Club was celebrated and, according to Harms, “the Deutschtum in Bangkok is in very good shape. [ . . . ] All true and good patriots: even though they might have the occasional pint too many.”81 After the outbreak of war, the navy clubs in Bangkok and Manila acted as a hub of activities to support countrymen in need throughout Asia. A collection in March 1915 in Manila generated 50,000 Marks which were distributed to Hong Kong, Japan, Tientsin, Singapore, and Colombo. Tientsin also received “two boxes with clothes, boots, braces etc.” Large sums went to Singapore and Colombo where the crew of the SMS Emden was held captive.82 Harms encountered some dissatisfaction amongst Germans towards the projects undertaken by the Central League. In their opinion, the League’s budget would be better spent by concentrating exclusively on creating a sense of Germanness among expatriates. In Madras, for example, Harms was told that, “building weather stations and delivering cannon tubes should not be the foremost task of the Verband. We want the gold to be used to support propaganda: We want to promote the understanding for the navy and its tasks.”83 In Bombay, the chairman of the local branch, Herr Glade, argued that it was “a testimony of weakness that the German Empire should not be able to build such an item [weather station] itself. In any case it was impossible to enthuse a single German with this.”84 Harms moved on to Saigon, China, where he also visited the German protectorate Kiautschou, and Japan. His description of the situation in Asia

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is supported by a range of other sources. In Shanghai, the SMS Jaguar had invited the local German school for the Emperor’s birthday celebration in 1905. The Ostasiatischer Lloyd commented that “events of this kind on German warships are best suited to invigorate the love towards the fatherland within German children living abroad.”85 Admiral von Prittwitz, who patrolled the Yangtze with two ships in June 1904, had regular social contact with German merchant colonies and spoke of “confident Germanness” along the river.86 The year 1904 was also when one of the two projects which were funded by the Central League for German Navy Clubs Abroad came to fruition: the mobilisation of the gunboat Vaterland on the Yangtze River to protect German trade against river pirates, but also to demonstrate German military presence in China.87 The mobilisation was celebrated in Wusung (Hankow) with members of the local navy club and their spouses, the German school, representatives from the German consulate, and officers of other German gunboats present at the time.88 These examples demonstrate that Harms’ description of ‘navy-nationalism’ throughout Asia followed a general pattern. The existence of navy clubs was a given entity within the spectrum of ethnic life. Pre-existing social clubs were now politicised through military symbolism. In Australia, the Pan-German League had been able to recruit a few hundred members in 1897. Most of them, however, quickly withdrew after the Australian press had been informed. The General Consul in Australia and New Zealand, Kempermann, reported that, although being keen to remain informed about events in the Heimat, most Germans lacked a “higher, idealistic patriotism” and tried to avoid everything that would offend the feelings of their Australian fellow citizens.89 For the Central League, Australia was indeed a low-key affair, with just two clubs in Brisbane and Sydney, both of which had disappeared by 1913. A lively Deutschtumspolitik in Australia which, for example, regularly attracted 3,000 visitors to the annual Nationalfest in Sydney,90 did not generate the navy enthusiasm which was apparent elsewhere.

CENTRAL AND SOUTH AMERICA In contrast to Asia, uninhibited campaigning took place in Central America. In Mexico, a wealthy merchant community was the backbone of a lively national association with a total membership of 250 in 1911. While other parts of the Americas attracted a range of traditional immigrants, the German community in Mexico was largely composed of merchants,91 highlighting the dominance of this social group for the Central League’s activities. Mexico can also serve to demonstrate that the global flow of information did not only occur between centre and periphery, but also across continents, between different peripheral locations. A report to Berlin, for example, mentions that “the Spanish annual report gave us the

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impetus to work towards the establishment of a national association.”92 The section on club news (‘Vereins-Nachrichten’) in the newspaper Die Flotte was another vehicle for this kind of information flow. Members were automatically subscribed, and in the March 1906 issue, for example, those in Mexico would have read news about the branches in Shanghai, Hankow, Prague, Barcelona, Odessa, Huelva, Asuncion, Milan, Malta, Florence, Jaffa, Haiti and Santo Domingo, Nicaragua, Rio de Janeiro, Tientsin, Antwerp, Bombay, and Colombo. South America is of interest in this investigation, as it was an important focal point for colonial fantasists. While Brazil in particular had been established as a colonial trope in fictional texts well before the colonial period,93 mass migration provided further arguments for the establishment of a New Germany overseas. As has been shown in Chapter 2 of this volume, preserving Germanness within isolated settlement colonies was seen as a proto-colonial task which appropriated South American territory in cultural, demographic, and economic terms. Did Germans in South America actually accept the ideological baggage cast onto them? Did they regard themselves as ‘pioneers of Germanness’ or did they remain largely immune to Reich-centred rhetoric, as Pieter Judson has argued for the Habsburg Empire?94 Merely concentrating on the activities of right-wing clubs would generate a distorted picture. We know from a number of sources that chauvinistic utterances and attempts to unite fellow Germans behind the banner of the Reich could actually be counterproductive and divisive within ethnic communities. Many Germans were more interested in pragmatic interaction with the respective host society. In these circles, ‘Pan-Germans’ (Alldeutsche) was a pejorative generic term denoting those “theologians, teachers and young merchants who have just arrived from Germany and immediately act as the saviours of Germanness, proclaiming pan-German ideas in their extreme form.”95 However, from the 1880s onwards the right-wing spectrum became an integral feature of German ethnic life in the areas of German settlement. This mirrored the heightened degree of nationalism within the Reich, where the impact of agitational pressure groups was much greater than the membership numbers alone might have suggested. These organisations popularised ideas about Volksgemeinschaft and imperialistic necessities in the wider political discourse.96 Scholars of working-class culture take the Bürgertum-centred approach one step further. Analysing mechanisms by which pertinent ideas were spread and ritualised within the working classes through Kriegervereine (ex-servicemen’s clubs), Schützenvereine (rifle clubs), or Gesangsvereine (singing clubs), they show that dissemination went beyond the confines of middleclass political culture.97 It also went beyond the confines of the nation-state. Clubs of this kind were part of the associational make-up in South American German communities.98 All South American countries had local German navy clubs, with a total of 41 in 1913. These complemented the numerous local branches of the Association for Germandom Abroad (Verein für das Deutschtum im

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Ausland), and, indeed, the Pan-German League.99 There were nine navy clubs in Brazil, and fifteen in Chile. The Santiago branch was particularly strong, with 200 members in 1912, spearheaded by the director of the local branch of the Banco Germanico de la America des Sur. Riberalta in Bolivia was praised for its ‘outstanding services’ to the Central League’s endeavours, and seventeen of its members were appointed honourable members. The Deutsche Verein von Paraguay in Asunción had an affiliated Deutscher Flottenverein section, and by 1914 this counted 70 members who displayed a “warm enthusiasm for the German navy.”100 This enthusiasm did not necessarily depend upon the existence of a formal local branch. In Brusque, for example, in one of the centres of German settlement in the Southern Brazilian province of Santa Catharina, teacher Otto Gruber was given copies of the journal Deutschlands Seemacht (Germany’s Seapower) by a local pastor, Herr Lange. He enquired whether the Central League could send propaganda of this kind on a regular basis, for which it would “gain the gratefulness of thousands of Auslandsdeutsche.” Together with Lange, he used “every spare minute to promote German thinking and feeling,” introducing annual celebrations for the Kaiser’s birthday, for which he prepared choral songs with his pupils. According to Gruber, the main reasons for the respect Germans experience abroad are the outstanding schools and our strapping army and navy. [ . . . ] If we are seriously concerned about strengthening and consolidating our reputation, it should be our fi rst task to expand our navy in even more substantial ways. Gruber deplored that Germany’s colonial policy in Morocco had been too passive, and that this had prompted the anti-German (‘deutschfeindlich’) Brazilian press to ridicule Germany and its minority in Brazil. More modern war ships should be sent in order that the minority might regain respect in the eyes of Brazilians.101 The Luso-Brazilian press picked up on such utterances and, in the years before 1914, developed a critical view of the German minority in its midst. This was then exacerbated during the period of neutrality up to 1917, when Brazil leaned towards the Allies whilst its German minority openly expressed its loyalty to the fatherland in increasingly chauvinistic style. Protestant congregations and other ethnic institutions became, in the words of Frederick C. Luebke, “powerful agents for the promotion of pro-Germanism.” Tensions were to erupt after Brazil broke off diplomatic relations in April 1917, and then declared war on the German Empire six months later. Destructive riots swept through the major cities and towns, damaging German-owned residences, business houses, and factories.102 The cases of Chile and Mexico also show that a war fought on the other side of the globe could have an invigorating effect on ethnic mobilisation

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and transnational bonds of loyalty. The fact of the war reinforced commitment to the ‘German cause.’ In 1916, the Deutsch-Chilenischer Bund was founded as a supra-regional organisation. Its aim was the “preservation, promotion and defence of German Volkstum, its culture and its interests.”103 The navy branch in Valparaiso assured Berlin: We have a strong desire to join in the fighting and helping in order to defend the fatherland, but we can only see and feel everything from a distance, and day in day out, we are exposed to the envy and hate of the country’s enemies. Love towards the fatherland is strong among us Auslandsdeutsche, and it grows with every piece of news about fighting and victory which reaches us from our Heimat. [ . . . ] All our endeavours are geared towards organising a single centralised collection for the whole of Chile with the aim to collect a large sum. This would be placed at the disposal of his Majesty the Kaiser [ . . . ] for the benefit of those who suffer as a consequence of the war [ . . . ].104 In Mexico City, nationalism had made inroads into a traditionally cosmopolitan elite after the turn of the century. The German school Colegio Alemán was taken over by a new principal in 1913, “a career administrator who knew nothing about Mexico until his arrival, saw the school as a mouthpiece for German propaganda and desired to keep it separate from Mexican society.” After 1914, he integrated the school into the war effort by appealing to transnational loyalty. The war now alienated different national groups in Mexico City from each other. Under the leadership of the German legation, the Association of German Citizens (Verband Deutscher Reichsangehöriger) was founded in 1915 to collect money for the German war effort and spread pro-German propaganda in the Mexican press. The offspring of many a family enlisted in the German army, and news from the front resonated with patriotic pride. At least to the outside world, the German community in Mexico City seemed unified in its support for the German cause.105

AFRICA The German presence in Africa is mostly discussed in the framework of colonial engagement. The only sizeable German population on African soil was found in German Southwest Africa at just over 11,000, and to some extent German East Africa at 3,000. A range of ethnic associations developed in both ‘protectorates,’106 but this was more differentiated in Southwest Africa. Typical themes were shooting, singing, reading, gymnastics, or merely socialisation. Vereine were an important symbolic instrument to claim and demonstrate the German character of the territory and its inhabitants. They offered orientation and a mental bridge towards the

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homeland. Any activity, whether shooting, gymnastics, or choral singing, was claimed to be a specifically ‘German’ activity, and this served to separate the members from the African population, but also from other white settlers. ‘National sentiment’ and ‘awareness of race’ were enshrined in the statutes of these Vereine. The military parades and festivities they organised in cooperation with the colonial authorities aimed to impress the colonised population. Although participation in patriotic celebrations was still not high enough for some observers,107 it is safe to say that “for the most part Südwester remained loyal to the fatherland, or at least to the greater notion of Deutschtum.”108 They developed a hybrid identity which was oriented towards the local environment on the one hand, fi nding its expression, for example, in the Südwester literature. It was, on the other hand, oriented towards the distant homeland, but the German navy was not as important a rallying point as elsewhere. No navy clubs existed in any of the German colonies in Africa. They did, however, exist elsewhere, and thus present the opportunity to go beyond a purely colonial context as regards German presence in Africa. As the example of Africa shows, visits of German warships in foreign ports had a global reach and significance. In almost desperate terms, Germans abroad constantly pleaded for more frequent visits. These, they argued, would symbolise the fatherland’s continued interest in its diaspora, and would revive the Germanness and loyalty of Auslandsdeutsche for their Heimat, and in particular its navy. These visits were usually accompanied by extensive celebrations and regarded as a highlight of the festive calendar of German communities. The Imperial Consul in Lourenço-Marques (Portuguese East Africa), for example, repeatedly expressed the wish that “after at least four years it would be about time that a German war ship showed its flag on the African east coast between Cape Town and Ibo.”109 The navy club in Casablanca, meanwhile, complained in 1910 that “the German war flag had not been seen for ten years.” When the city was fi nally visited by the SMS Eber for five days in March 1911, the consul and the German colony organised extensive celebrations for the crew, including a reception, dinner, and ballroom dance. These were also attended by representatives of the city and of other ethnic communities. The navy club also hosted a breakfast in Arab style. In return, the commander invited the Germans in Casablanca for a visit on board, for which cold drinks were served and the ship’s brass band accompanied “several happy hours.” The club reported: “Yes, these were truly the most wonderful festive days for us Germans in Casablanca, when the trim warship anchored here.”110 This choreography of festivities followed a global pattern. The ‘theatre of power and identity’111 which was constructed around the navy was not confi ned to Germany but extended to all continents. The London branch passed a resolution that “the unfolding of the German flag in foreign ports not only makes an impact on the foreigners in that it demonstrates to them the naval significance of the Reich, but also to a much greater extent on the

122 Constructing a German Diaspora Auslandsdeutsche themselves.”112 Battleship visits were indeed interpreted by diaspora communities as signals that they remained within the fold of the ‘Greater German Empire.’ The most important aspect of the visit in Casablanca was that it demonstrated to other nations that the fatherland has not forgotten its members (die Seinigen) in Casablanca. The membership of our local Flottenverein has risen to forty-five through the joining of new and re-joining of former members. It now encompasses almost all Germans who reside in Casablanca for longer or indefi nite periods.113 Just as had been the case within Britain and its Asian colonies, the political and colonial sensitivities of the host societies often made it difficult, or even impossible, to establish local clubs. The Imperial Ambassador in London, Paul Graf von Hatzfeld, asked Imperial Consuls who were based within the British Empire—and who were thus subordinate to him—to be careful in their activities. He was keen to avoid a press campaign against the German Empire which would increase Anglo-German tensions. These were apparent during the South African War, where the British military authorities ordered the club in Bloemfontein to close down in 1900. Other clubs had to suspend their activities temporarily. By 1905, however, all activities had been resumed and the Bloemfontein club was re-established.114 British colonial presence also figured during the visit of the SMS Vineta in Cape Town in November 1904. The navy club expressed its gratitude to the Kaiser, “that he had sent such a magnificent warship (‘prächtiges Kriegsfahrzeug’)” and organised a banquet for the ship’s officers. The speeches included one for the Kaiser, and one for the King of England.115

CONCLUSION After this global overview, it is now necessary to bring together the chapter’s fi ndings and put them into perspective. Rather than discussing material or military aspects, the chapter has been concerned with the symbolic significance of the German navy for spreading ideas of nationhood and belonging across the globe. Whilst the project of a German navy had played a crucial role in demands for national unity as early as 1848 and subsequent decades,116 the latter part of the Kaiserreich witnessed a further exploitation of its symbolic potential. The navy was now constructed discursively as a global focal point for an ‘imagined community’ of Germans which transcended the borders of the Reich. It differed from other symbols such as ‘Kaiser’ or ‘1871’ in that Germans living abroad could actively engage in, and fi nancially contribute to, the project of national and transnational community creation. The local Flottenvereine were focal points for staging public rituals which aimed at disseminating notions of national pride

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and unity within ethnic communities. Visits by German warships were a physical embodiment of these notions. As Jan Rüger explains within the British and German contexts, “naval celebrations combined some of the most potent sources of national identification, amongst them monarchy, geography and the past.”117 The chapter has shown that this identification also extended to Germans abroad. A resolution from the navy club in London encapsulates the link between the national and the transnational by arguing “that the German navy, just as it unifies all German tribes within the borders of the Reich, can make a significant contribution to strengthen the bond between Germans living abroad and the fatherland.”118 Nationalism abroad and concomitant ideas of German overseas expansion were, of course, not new phenomena. The mid-century Nationalverein in London had been actively promoting the idea of being a node in a global community of Germans and, influenced by its British environment, of a German overseas empire. An efficient navy to support a colonial infrastructure for German emigrants had been a cornerstone in the Nationalverein’s argumentation.119 It is only towards the end of the century, however, that these ideas went truly global. Germans now were to be found in more places in greater numbers, and improved means of transport and communication meant that the increasingly confrontational form of nationalism generated within Imperial Germany could travel freely across the world. Looking at public rituals and texts produced in all regions of the world, we encounter a striking convergence. Lines of argumentation and the semiotics of Reich-symbolism were almost identical, whether produced in Barcelona, Bangkok, or the Brazilian jungle. A densification of references (Referenzverdichtung)120 has been identified as an important marker of nineteenth-century globalisation, and the German navy clubs were one mosaic piece within this process. How do we best measure the scope and limitations of the Central League? First, in numerical terms its global presence does not necessarily mean global significance. After all, its worldwide membership of 9,500 is dwarfed by the sheer number of Germans in transit in an age of mass migration. In some countries, the Central League did not get a foothold at all. Second, the sources used and the activities described are predominantly those of the German bourgeois middle class. Where this segment of society dominated numerically, as for example in small German merchant communities in Asia, navy agitation was certainly a striking feature. Where the communities were socially more stratified and complex, a differentiated case-by-case study would have to be conducted. This would also have to include the nationalist agitation of other organisations such as the PanGerman League, or the Colonial Society. Third, the nationalist rhetoric did not resonate with all sections of German ethnic communities. Many migrants were more interested in entertaining a pragmatic relationship with their host environment rather than complying with the imperialist fantasies of Wilhelmine ideologists. Despite these limitations, however, it

124 Constructing a German Diaspora has been shown that organised nationalism became an integral part of ethnic life in many communities. Researching the global activities of the Central League can add valuable insights to the study of the German diaspora, the mechanics of transnational ethnic network creation, and the nature of potentially frictional contact zones between German migrants and respective host societies.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS Parts of this chapter were originally published as ‘Nationalism Gone Global. The “Hauptverein Deutscher Flottenvereine im Auslande” 1898–1918,’ in German History 30, no. 2 (2012), 199–221, reprinted by permission of Oxford University Press. NOTES 1. Imperial German Vice-consulate Loanda to Hauptverband Deutscher Flottenvereine im Auslande (henceforth HDFVA), 21 June 1912, BAMA RM 3/9923–4. 2. “[ . . . ] die Kenntnis und das Verständnis der gesamten überseeischen Interessen der grossen deutschen Nation immer weiter zu verbreiten und zu befestigen, die Augen zu öff nen für die vielfältigen Seiten der grossen Aufgabe, die Deutschland jenseits der Meere zu erfüllen hat, handele es sich um wissenschaftliche Forschungen, um Glaubens- oder Cultur-Missionen, oder um Mehrung des wirtschaftlichen Wohls, um Erschliessung neuer Märkte für die mächtige deutsche Industrie, um Gewinnung neuer Colonialgebiete, Stärkung und Sicherung unseres Handels, oder auch nur um das erste und dringendste Erfordernis: um den Schutz der Deutschen im Ausland. [ . . . ] Gerade unter den im Ausland lebenden Deutschen darf man das regste Interesse und Verständnis für die Weltpolitik Deutschlands voraussetzen, und die Unterzeichneten glauben daher, nur einem lebhaften Wunsche aller in Rom ansässigen Deutschen entgegenzukommen, wenn sie hiermit zur Bildung eines Deutschen Flottenvereins in Rom die Aufforderung ergehen lassen,’ ‘An die Reichsdeutschen in Rom,’ 25 November 1899, BAMA RM 3/9920–4. 3. “[ . . . ] aller politischen Richtungen und Konfessionen, selbst Deutsche, die ihre Nationalität bisher gerade nicht besonders hatten hervortreten lassen,” Marine-Attaché to Staatssekretär des Reichs-Marine-Amts, Rome, 5 December and 20 December 1899, BAMA RM 3/9920–4. 4. The most comprehensive passage so far is from a GDR-dissertation: Amandus Wulff, Die Rolle der Flottenbewegung bei der Durchsetzung einer imperialistischen Politik in Deutschland 1897 bis 1900. Eine Studie zur Gründung des Deutschen Flottenvereins und des Hauptverbandes Deutscher Flottenvereine im Ausland, 2 vols. (PhD diss., Rostock, 1966), vol. 1, pp. 94–119; also: Kloosterhuis, Friedliche Imperialisten, pp. 409–418; Wilhelm Deist, Flottenpolitik und Flottenpropaganda. Das Nachrichtenbüro des Reichsmarineamtes, 1897–1914 (Stuttgart: Deutsche Verlagsgesellschaft, 1976), pp. 149, 154, 166; Ekkehard Böhm, Überseehandel und Flottenbau. Hanseatische Kaufmannschaft und deutsche Seerüstung 1879–1902 (Düsseldorf: Bertelsmann, 1972), pp. 181–183; Konrad Schilling, Beiträge zu einer

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5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10. 11. 12.

13. 14. 15. 16. 17.

18.

19.

20. 21.

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Geschichte des radikalen Nationalismus in der Wilhelminischen Ära 1890– 1909 (Köln: Gouder, 1968), pp. 179–184; Eberspächer, Deutsche YangtsePatrouille, pp. 185–187. Jefferies, Contesting, p. 170. Cohen, Global Diasporas, p. 26. Sheffer, Diaspora Politics, p. 180. Ibid., pp. 180–201. Jan Rüger, The Great Naval Game. Britain and Germany in the Age of Empire (Cambridge University Press, 2007). “[ . . . ] erfasste die Pioniere des Deutschtums im Auslande und brandete von dort mit erfrischender Kraft wieder zurück,” Kriegsbericht, p. 1, BAB R 8023/309/23–27, 9 October 1919. Deist, Flottenpolitik, p. 149. BAMA RM 3/9920–3, Jahresbericht für die Jahre 1898/99 sowie Verhandlungen, betreffend den Verlauf der am 27. Dezember 1899 abgehaltenen GeneralVersammlung der Deutschen Kolonie in Neapel. Quote: “Zum Beweise, dass wir Deutsche in Neapel an den nationalen Tagesfragen, die ‘draussen im Reich’ alle Geister bewegen, allezeit regen Anteil nehmen, wurde nach beendetem Festmahle eine telegraphische Kundgebung zu Gunsten der Flottenvorlage an den Herrn Reichskanzler abgesandt und schon am 31. Januar vom Herrn Staatssekretär des Reichs-Marineamts in freundlichster Weise erwidert.” Eley, Reshaping, p. 366. HDFVA Annual Report 1902, BAMA RM 3/9921–5. HDFVA Annual Report 1903, BAMA RM 3/9922–1; Eberspächer, YangtsePatrouille. HDFVA Annual Report 1902, BAMA RM 3/9921–5. “[ . . . ] unter Betonung der großen gemeinsamen Interessen unserer Nation an der Flotte, dahin zu wirken, daß diese Vereine sich zu festen Stützpunkten des Deutschtums im Auslande gestalten,” Statutes HDFVA, BAMA RM 3/9920–12, 1902, p. 1. “[Die Bewegung] hat sich die ideale Aufgabe gestellt, durch das gemeinsame nationale Band der Flottenvereine, das die im Ausland lebenden Deutschen umfassen soll, ihren nationalen Sinn zu pflegen und sie fest mit dem Vaterland zu verknüpfen. Beides fi ndet seinen Ausdruck in der freiwilligen Besteuerung für die maritime Wehrkraft des Vaterlandes, der sich die Mitglieder unserer Flottenvereine mittelst ihrer Beiträge unterwerfen und durch die sie sich mit ihrem Volk eins erklären in der Erhaltung seiner Grösse und Unabhängigkeit,” HDFVA Annual Report 1900, BAMA RM 3/9921–1. Die Flotte. Monatsblatt des Deutschen Flotten-Vereins und des Hauptverbandes Deutscher Flotten-Vereine im Auslande. Two publications that ran for shorter periods were: Übersee. Nachrichten vom Hauptverband Deutscher Flottenvereine im Ausland (1900–1903), and Der Auslandsdeutsche. Illustrierte Vereinszeitschrift des Hauptverbandes Deutscher Flottenvereine im Auslande (1913–1914). Manz, Migranten, pp. 185–188. These branches would deserve further investigation. For brief references see Devos, ‘German Presence,’ 127; Anglo-German Publishing Co., Deutsche Kolonie, p. 74; Gisele I. Baller, Espaços de memória e construção de identidades. Estudo de dois casos na região de colonização alemã no RS (MA thesis, Universidade Federal do Rio Grande do Sul, 2008), pp. 38–39; Hering, Konstruierte Nation, p. 115; source references such as letter ‘Ortsgruppe Blumenau’ (Brazil) of the Pan-German League to Evangelischer Oberkirchenrat, 7 September 1907, EZA 5/2483/108.

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22. See, however, Drummond, ‘Durch Liebe stark,’ pp. 147–154; Wildenthal, German Women. 23. Forum, ‘Asia, Germany and the Transnational Turn,’ German History 28, no. 4 (2010), 515–536; Liulevicius, German Myth; Nelson, Germans. 24. Bade, Migration; Bade, Enzyklopädie; Leslie Page Moch, Moving Europeans. Migration in Western Europe since 1650 (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1992). 25. Oltmer, Migration, pp. 84–100; Wolff, German Minorities; Peter Marschalk, ed., Europa als Wanderungsziel. Ansiedlung und Integration von Deutschen im 19. Jahrhundert, Special Issue of IMIS-Beiträge 14 (2000). 26. The merchant community in Cadiz is covered for an earlier period in Weber, Deutsche Kaufl eute. 27. The information on Spain is taken from the Annual Report of the Spanish association: Verband Deutscher Flotten-Vereine in Spanien, 1910–1911, BAMA RM 3/9923–1. 28. Ibid., pp. 5–12 and appendix. 29. Ibid., p. 12. “[ . . . ] und da jedes deutsche Kriegsschiff eine wandelnde Ausstellung deutschen Industriefleisses sei, könnten häufige Besuche nicht genug empfohlen werden und kämen in jeder Hinsicht der deutschen Industrie und rückwirkend den, doch hauptsächlich von der deutschen Industrie im Ausland lebenden, Deutschen zugute.” 30. Ibid., p. 13. “[ . . . ] das patriotische Gefühl und die Zusammengehörigkeit besonders angeregt [ . . . ], so sollte mancher Landsmann, der sich sonst langsam den Ideen und Idealen des Vaterlandes entfremdet [ . . . ] dem Deutschtum mehr und mehr erhalten bleiben.” 31. Paul M. Kennedy, The Rise of the Anglo-German Antagonism, 1860–1914 (London: Allen & Unwin, 1980), pp. 240, 417. 32. “Die Entrüstung, die damals unser Volk durchzitterte, über die Beschlagnahme der deutschen Postdampfer Bundesrath und Herzog seitens englischer Kreuzer, fand auch in der Festversammlung ein vielfaches Echo, und die Notwendigkeit einer starken Flotte zum Schutze des deutschen Handels wurde lebhaft erörtert,” Deutscher Flottenverein zu Florenz, Annual Report 1900, BAMA RM 3/9920–4. 33. Ibid. 34. Verband Deutscher Flotten-Vereine in Spanien, Annual Report 1910–1911, BAMA RM 3/9923–1; Hering, Konstruierte Nation, p. 115, mentions a similar claim for Joinville (Brazil). 35. For details see Manz, Migranten. For a general account on Britain see Panayi, German Immigrants. 36. “[ . . . ] welcher alle Deutschen ohne Anschauung gesellschaftlicher und anderer Unterschiede zusammenfaßt,” Militärpolitischer Bericht über den Aufenthalt Eurer Majestät Schiff ‘Stein’ (S.M.S. Stein) in Greenock vom 19. August bis 3. September 1903, AA-PA, R 140772 (fi les Consulate Glasgow), 4 October 1903. 37. Anglo-German Publishing Company, Deutsche Kolonie, p. 75. 38. Deist, Flottenpolitik, p. 14. (My translation). 39. Manz, Migranten, pp. 69–73. 40. With the same conclusion for Vereine in Germany: Klaus Nathaus, ‘Vereinsgeselligkeit und soziale Integration von Arbeitern in Deutschland 1860– 1914,’ Geschichte und Gesellschaft 36 (2010), 37–65. 41. Tägliche Rundschau, 25 July 1903; also see Reinhard Münchmeyer, In der Fremde. Einige Zeugnisse aus der Auslandsarbeit (Marburg: Elwert, 1905), p. 63.

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42. Militärpolitischer Bericht über den Aufenthalt Eurer Majestät Schiff ‘Stein’ (S.M.S. Stein) in Greenock vom 19. August bis 3. September 1903, AA-PA, R 140772 (fi les Consulate Glasgow), 4 October 1903. 43. “Durch die lautere Begeisterung und die stählerne Schaffenskraft gottbegnadeter und gottgesandter Vaterlandsfreunde ist erreicht worden, was selbst die Kühnsten kaum zu hoffen wagten: ein starkes deutsches Reich, ein einig Volk von deutschen Brüdern! Welche Gelegenheit ist geeigneter, dieser Wohltat zu gedenken, als die Festlichkeit des heutigen Abends, wo Vertreter von Deutschlands Schutz und Schirm zur See das fremde Gestade betreten haben, um deutschen Landsleuten im Auslande verständnisinnig die treue Bruderhand zu reichen, wo stillschweigend und feierlich auf beiden Seiten das heilige Gelübde erneuert wird, den der Heimat schuldigen Dank in hingebender, pfl ichttreuer Arbeit auf den Altar des gemeinsamen Vaterlandes niederzulegen,” Münchmeyer, In der Fremde, pp. 110–115. 44. Scottish Record Office, Edinburgh, CHR 3/940, Minute Book Flottenverein Edinburgh-Leith, p. 2. 45. Ibid., p. 6. 46. Nipperdey, Deutsche Geschichte, p. 590. 47. Anglo-German Publishing Company, Deutsche Kolonie, p. 74. ‘Ein völkischer Verein von Männern, denen ihr Deutschtum obenan steht, das ist der Flottenverein London und er tritt ein für unseres Kaisers Wort: Deutschlands Zukunft liegt auf dem Wasser.’ In contrast, clubs in France were a short-lived affair. Germans feared that this would be seen as a political provocation and damage their businesses and position, see Wulff, Flottenbewegung, p. 108– 109 and Annual Report 1902, BAMA RM 3/9921–5, p. 4. 48. Anglo-German Publishing Company, Deutsche Kolonie, p. 75. Similarly communication from London in Die Flotte, April 1910: “Clubs which are surrounded by a foreign environment have to avoid offending any views and feelings within this environment.” 49. Arno Singewald to Reichskommissar zur Erörterung von Gewalttätigkeiten gegen deutsche Zivilpersonen in Feindeshand, 8 May 1916, BAMA PH 2/588, 25–27. 50. HDFVA to Reichsmarineamt, BAMA RM 3/9924, 28 February 1916. 51. Assessment by William Ashley, Vice-Principal of Birmingham University, October 1918, quoted in William Wallace, War and the Image of Germany. British Academics 1914–1918 (Edinburgh: John Donald, 1988), p. 163; also Christopher T. Husbands, ‘German Academics in British Universities during the First World War. The Case of Karl Wichmann,’ German Life and Letters 60 (2007), 493–517. 52. E. L. Ellis, The University College of Wales, Aberystwyth, 1872–1972 (Cardiff: University of Wales Press, 1972), p. 171, quoted in Wallace, War, p. 164. 53. Ibid., pp. 160–165. 54. For the following see Nirad C. Chaudhuri, Scholar Extraordinary. The Life of Professor the Rt. Hon. Friedrich Max Müller (London: Chatto and Windus, 1974); John R. Davis, ‘Friedrich Max Müller and the Migration of German Academics to Britain in the Nineteenth Century,’ in Manz, Migration and Transfer, pp. 93–106; Johannes H. Voigt, Max Mueller. The Man and his Ideas (Calcutta, 1981); Bermann Berger, ‘F. Max Müller—What can he teach us?’ in Max Müller Bhavan (ed.), Dialogue ‘72/’73. F. Max Mueller. 150 th Birth Anniversary (Bombay, 1972), pp. 18–22. Müller received his doctorate at Leipzig University in 1843 and came to Oxford three years later. Here Julius Eggeling had been an assistant of Müller’s before moving on to his chair in Edinburgh.

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55. Georgina Max Müller (ed.), The Life and Letters of the Right Honourable Friedrich Max Müller, II, (London: Longmans, 1902), p 450. 56. Friedrich Max Müller, Alte Zeiten, Alte Freunde. Lebenserinnerungen, trans. H. Groschke (Gotha: Perthes, 1901), pp. 66–67. 57. Max Mueller, My Autobiography. A Fragment (London: Longmans, 1901), p. 304. Quoted in Voigt, Max Mueller, pp. 66–67. 58. Obituary in Irische Korrespondenz 9/10 (1919), p. 4, in Liverpool University Archive, P159. 59. Seán O Lúing, Kuno Meyer, 1858–1919. A Biography (Dublin: Geography, 1991). 60. In Alldeutsches Liederbuch (Leipzig: Breitkopf & Härtel, 1901); also printed in Armin Tille, Ein Kämpferleben. Alexander Tille, 1866–1912 (Gotha: Perthes, 1916), pp. 50–52. 61. “Die Volksstimmung in England. [ . . . ] steifbeinige Kahlköpfe mit graugesprenkelten Schnurrbärten und halbe Jungen mit Milchgesichtern,” Die Woche, 3 February 1900. Similarly Kuno Meyer, who wrote a letter to the Vice-Chancellor of Liverpool University after the outbreak of war. In a disparaging way, he questioned Britain’s ability to withstand a German invasion, see Wallace, War, 40. 62. Alexander Tille, Aus Englands Flegeljahren (Dresden and Leipzig: Reißner, 1901), xi. Also see Stefan Manz, ‘Peacemaker and Warmonger. Alexander Tille and the Limits of Anglo-German Intercultural Transfer,’ in Fred Bridgham, ed., World War I as a Clash of Cultures (New York: Camden House, 2006), pp. 215–230. 63. Ashton, Little Germany. 64. Anglo-German Publishing Company, Deutsche Kolonie. The volume was edited by a German publishing house in London to celebrate Wilhelm II’s 25th anniversary on the throne. Two quotations give an impression of the work’s laudatory intention: “You lead the way strong and safely and well, Kaiser./ Lovingly we follow you, the German, fearless man.” (“Stark und sicher und gut führst Du uns, Kaiser, den Weg./Liebend folgen wir Dir, dem deutschen, furchtlosen Manne”), p. 4; “The achievements of Wilhelm II are the achievements of an Alexander, a Cesar, a Napoleon” (“Das Lebenswerk Wilhelms II ist das Werk eines Alexander, eines Cäsar, eines Napoleon”), p. 5. 65. Ibid., 77–78, quote p. 78: “Der Zweck des Vereins ist Pflege der Treue zu Kaiser und Reich, den nach England zureisenden Angehörigen der deutschen Armee und der Kaiserl. Marine in jeder Weise behilfl ich zu sein und den deutschen Soldatengeist im Auslande zu pflegen.” 66. Ibid., p. 74. “[ . . . ] vielmehr auch der erste und größte Zweck der übrigen deutschen Vereine.” 67. Ibid., p. 82. “[Das] Volkslied, das seinem hohen Beschützer, dem kaiserlichen Jubilar, so tatkräftige und liebevolle Förderung verdankt.” 68. Ibid., pp. 58, 63, 82. 69. GUA DC402, Minute Books Deutscher Verein Glasgow; Anglo-German Publishing Company, Deutsche Kolonie, p. 68 (quote). 70. GUA DC402/1/1, 28 April 1899, Minute Book Deutscher Verein Glasgow. 71. Ibid., DC 402/1/2, Annual Report 1905/6. “Ein Hort des Deutschthumes in Glasgow, ein Deutscher Verein im Auslande, der sich durch echte vaterländische Gesinnung auszeichnet.” 72. AA-PA R140772, 4 September 1903, report commander Dombrowski to Wilhelm II. 73. E.g. Judson, Guardians; Schmid, Kampf. 74. Nipperdey, Deutsche Geschichte, p. 599. In contrast, Grimmer-Solem counts “perhaps sixty active Flottenprofessoren,” see Erik Grimmer-Solem, ‘The

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75.

76.

77. 78. 79.

80.

81.

82. 83.

84. 85.

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Professors’ Africa: Economists, the Elections of 1907, and the Legitimation of German Imperialism,’ German History 25, no. 3 (2007), 313–347 (at 320). For Harms see Unizeit 31, 9 July 2005, 7 (Kiel University journal). For a characterisation of this cohort of national-liberal economists—spearheaded by Gustav Schmoller—who contributed to popularising imperialism and Weltpolitik see Grimmer-Solem, ‘The Professors’ Africa.’ “Im Mittelpunkt des dortigen Deutschtums steht die Firma Freudenberg, deren Inhaber mit seinen drei Söhnen im Sinne des Wortes Pionierarbeit leistet. Der deutsche Klub zählt insgesamt etwa 35 Mitglieder, deren grössere Hälfte aus Angestellten der Firma Freudenberg besteht,” Harms to HDFVA, 2 May 1910, BAMA RM 3/9922–6. For German business presence in East and Southeast Asia see contributions in John A. Moses and Paul M. Kennedy, eds., Germany in the Pacific and Far East 1870–1914 (St. Lucia: University of Queensland Press, 1977); Manz, ‘America in Global Context’; Denzel, Deutsche Eliten; Hiery, Deutsche Südsee. Deutscher Verein Colombo to HDFVA, 25 April 1910, BAMA RM 3/9922–5. Harms to HDFVA, 2 May 1910, BAMA RM 3/9922–6. “[ . . . ] dass der Verein treu zur Fahne halten wird.” Ibid.; Difficulties in Calcutta in bringing together the ethnic community are blamed on General Consul von Below “who does not care about the Germans, even offends them, as I was assured by trustworthy sources. His motivation is that he regards it to be his duty to primarily seek close contact with English circles. The strange thing, however, is that, as I could ascertain during my frequent conversation with Englishmen, he is almost a hate figure in these circles. The English only call him ‘von below and behind.’” In contrast Harms’ assessment of the General Consul in Singapore, Kiliani, who had “immense knowledge and does pioneering work. Has a high reputation amongst both Germans and English. Very politically minded,” Harms to HDFVA, 7 July 1910, BAMA RM 3/9922–6. Ibid., “[ . . . ] weil auch Engländer anwesend waren. Man muß dann eminent vorsichtig sein und mit viel Takt operieren. In Indien haben wir es mit sehr heißem Boden zu tun”; “In Singapore einen offenen Flottenverein zu gründen, ist unmöglich, denn die Stellung der Deutschen würde dadurch beinahe unhaltbar. Die Engländer sind an diesem exponierten Platz ungemein nervös.” Harms to HDFVA, 14 September 1910, BAMA RM 3/9922–6. “[ . . . ] stramme Deutsche. [ . . . ] durchweg ganz ausgezeichnete Menschen, die das Herz auf dem richtigen Fleck haben. [ . . . ] Auch kein verstecktes Deutschtum, wie ich es in den englischen Kolonien beispielsweise gefunden habe—sondern offen und gerade heraus. [ . . . ], das die Holländer als die Herren des Landes vor den Kopf stösst. [ . . . ] Das Deutschtum in Bangkok kann sich sehen lassen. [ . . . ] echte und gut Patrioten: auch wenn sie manchmal ein Glas über den Durst trinken.” Kriegsbericht, 9 October 1919, BAB R8023/39496 (fi lm); Navy Club Manila to HDFVA, 3 March 1915, BAMA RM3/9924–1. Harms to HDFVA, 2 May 1910, BAMA RM 3/9922–6. “Wetterwarten zu bauen und Kanonenrohre zu liefern ist nicht Aufgabe des Verbandes [ . . . ]. Wir wollen, dass mit dem Golde Propaganda getrieben wird: das Verständnis für die Flotte und ihre Aufgaben wollen wir fördern.” Harms to HDFVA, 26 May 1910, BAMA RM 3/9922–6. “Es sei ein Armutszeugnis, dass das Deutsche Reich solch ein Ding nicht selbst bauen könne. Jedenfalls sei es unmöglich, damit auch nur einen Deutschen zu begeistern.” Ostasiatischer Lloyd, 3 February 1905, quoted in Eberspächer, YangtsePatrouille, p. 173. “Nichts ist so sehr geeignet, die Vaterlandsliebe bei den

130 Constructing a German Diaspora

86. 87. 88. 89.

90. 91.

92. 93. 94. 95.

96. 97.

98.

99. 100.

101.

102.

deutschen Kindern im Auslande zu beleben, wie eine derartige Veranstaltung auf deutschen Kriegsschiffen.” Quoted in Eberspächer, Yangtse-Patrouille, pp. 189–190. Ibid., pp. 181–188. Central League Annual Report 1904, BAMA RM3/9922–1. Wulff, Rolle der Flottenbewegung, pp. 114–115. In the same vein a report from one Eugen Lischke, Brisbane, to the Central League. He mentions a Verein Übersee which had just (1910) been dissolved after ten years, BAMA RM 3/9922–8, 17 November 1910. Tampke, Germans in Australia, pp. 111–116. Silke Nagel, Ausländer in Mexiko. Die Kolonien der deutschen und USamerikanischen Einwanderer in der mexikanischen Hauptstadt 1890–1942 (Frankfurt: Vervuert, 2005); Jürgen Buchenau, ‘Blond and Blue-Eyed in Mexico City, 1821 to 1975,’ in O’Donnell, Heimat, pp. 85–110; Buchenau, Tools of Progress. A German Merchant Family in Mexico City, 1865–Present (Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press, 2004). Nagel gives a good overview of German associational life in Mexico City but mentions the Flottenverein only in passing (p. 212). Navy Club Mexico to HDFVA, 1911 or 1912 (undated), BAMA RM3/9923–2, “Der spanische Jahresbericht hat uns angeregt, die Herstellung eines Landesverbandes anzustreben”; also BAMA RM3/9923–5, RM3/9922–8. Zantop, Colonial Fantasies. Judson, Guardians. Travel report Generalsuperintendent D. Zöllner (Münster), Protestant congregations in Brazil, 1901, EZA 5/2174, chapter ‘Porto Alegre.’ Also see Martin N. Dreher, Kirche und Deutschtum in der Entwicklung der Evangelischen Kirche Lutherischen Bekenntnisses in Brasilien (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck and Ruprecht, 1978). Walkenhorst, Nation, p. 317. Rohkrämer, Militarismus; Dietmar Klenke, Der singende ‘deutsche Mann.’ Gesangvereine und deutsches Nationalbewusstsein von Napoleon bis Hitler (Münster: Waxmann, 1998); also Short, ‘Everyman’s Colonial Library.’ Katharina Tietze de Soto, Deutsche Einwanderung in die chilenische Provinz Concepción 1870–1930 (Frankfurt: Vervuert, 1999); Fröschle, Die Deutschen; Jean Roche, La Colonisation Allemande et le Rio Grande do Sul (Paris: Institut de Hautes Études de L’amérique Latine 1959). The number of VDA branches for South America was 350 in 1890, see Conrad, Globalisierung, p. 267. The Pan-German League is mentioned in Baller, Espaços, pp. 38–39. See respective correspondence to Berlin: from Santiago BAMA RM3/9923–5, 22 November 1912; from Riberalta RM3/9921–3 (undated); from Asunción RM3/9924–1, 3 July 1914; also see Wulff, Rolle der Flottenbewegung, pp. 116–118. Otto Gruber to unknown recipient (‘Herr Doktor’), in Central League fi les BAMA RM3/9923–2, 19 October 1911. ‘Der Hauptrespekt, den man vor uns Deutschen im Auslande hat, gipfelt in den vortreffl ichen Schulen und unserer strammen Armee und Marine [ . . . ]. Es ist für uns die erste Aufgabe, unsere Flotte in noch ganz anderem Maße auszubauen, wenn uns einer Stärkung und Befestigung unseres Ansehens gelegen ist.’ For similar ideas in Argentina see, e. g., Deutsche La Plata Zeitung (Buenos Aires), 16 July 1911. Frederick C. Luebke, ‘The German Ethnic Group in Brazil: The Ordeal of World War I,’ in Luebke, Germans in the New World. Essays in the History

Politics

103. 104.

105. 106. 107. 108. 109.

110.

111. 112.

113.

114. 115. 116.

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of Immigration (Urbana and Chicago: University of Illinois Press, 1999), pp. 123–137, quote p. 127; also Solberg, Immigration and Nationalism. Quoted in Tietze de Soto, Deutsche Einwanderung, pp. 106–107 (quote p. 107). The author introduces some ethnic associations, but not the local navy club. “Wie gerne würden wir mitkämpfen und mithelfen, das Vaterland zu verteidigen, aber nur von Weitem kann man all das sehen und fühlen, und tagtäglich muss man sich hier der Scheelsucht und dem Hass der Landesfeinde aussetzen. Aber die Liebe zum Vaterlande unter uns Auslandsdeutschen ist gross und wächst mit jeder Kampf- und Siegesnachricht, welche von der Heimat zu uns dringt [ . . . ]. In allen deutschen Kolonien Chiles wird gesammelt, um der Liebe und Anhänglichkeit an unser Vaterland und Stammland Ausdruck zu geben. [ . . . ] Wir haben daher alle Anstrengungen darauf gerichtet, eine einheitliche Sammlung für ganz Chile zu veranstalten mit dem Ziel, einen grösseren Betrag zusammenzubringen, welcher durch Vermittlung des Kaiserlichen Gesandten S. M. dem Kaiser zur Verfügung gestellt werden soll zur Verwendung für infolge des Krieges Notleidende,” Valparaiso to HDFVA, 29 November 1914, BAMA RM3/9924–1. For collections in Mexico see Nagel, Ausländer, ch. 4.3.1. Buchenau, ‘Blond and Blue-Eyed,’ quote p. 94. Walther, Creating Germans Abroad, pp. 86–108; Söldenwagner, Spaces of Negotiation, pp. 229–237; Kundrus, Moderne Imperialisten, pp. 176–183. Kundrus, Moderne Imperialisten, pp. 180–181. Walther, Creating Germans Abroad, p. 97. “[ . . . ] dass nach mindestens vierjähriger Zeit endlich einmal wieder ein deutsches Kriegsschiff auf der afrikanischen Ostküste zwischen Kapstadt und Ibo seine Flagge zeigen möchte,” Imperial German Consulate in Lourenço-Marques to HDFVA, 25 August 1904, BAMA RM3/9922–1. Quotes in correspondence from Casablanca, 25 March 1911 (“Ja, wahrlich, es waren für uns Deutsche in Casablanca schönste Festtage, als das schmucke Kriegsschiff hier vor Anker lag”), 30 March 1911, BAMA RM3/9922–8; also RM3/9923–2 and 7; Deutsche Marokko-Zeitung, 17 March 1911. Rüger, Great Naval Game, p. 1. See HDFVA to Staatssekretär des Reichsmarineamts, 25 April 1910, BAMA RM 3/9222. “Das Entfalten der deutschen Flagge in fremden Häfen wirkt nicht nur auf die Fremden, denen sie die Seegeltung des Reiches sichtbar vor Augen führt, sondern in viel höherem Masse auf die Auslandsdeutschen selbst.” Also see Kloosterhuis, Friedliche Imperialisten, ch. 6. “[ . . . ] dass das Vaterland die Seinigen in Casablanca nicht vergessen hat. Die Mitgliederzahl des hiesigen Flottenvereins ist durch Eintritt neuer und Wiedereintritt früherer Mitglieder auf 45 gestiegen und umfasst jetzt fast alle Deutschen, die sich zu längerem oder dauerndem Aufenthalt in Casablanca befi nden,” Navy Club Casablanca to HDFVA, 30 March 1911, BAMA RM3/9922–8, Annual Reports 1900, BAMA RM3/9921–1; 1902, RM3/9921–5; 1905, RM3/9922–3. “[ . . . ] sind unserem Kaiser von Herzen dankbar, dass er uns ein solch prächtiges Kriegsfahrzeug hierhersandte,” Navy Club Cape Town to HDFVA, 16 November 1904, BAMA RM3/9922–7. Matthew Fitzpatrick, ‘A Fall from Grace? National Unity and the Search for Naval Power and Colonial Possessions 1848–1884,’ German History 25, no. 2 (2007), 135–161; Frank Lorenz Müller, ‘Imperialist Ambitions in Vormärz and Revolutionary Germany. The Agitation for German Settlement Colonies

132

117. 118. 119. 120.

Constructing a German Diaspora Overseas 1840–1849,’ German History 17, no. 3 (1999), 346–368; Kirchberger, Aspekte. Rüger, Great Naval Game, p. 214. HDFVA to Staatssekretär des Reichsmarineamts, 25 April 1910, BAMA RM 3/9222. Kirchberger, Aspekte. Jürgen Osterhammel, Die Verwandlung der Welt. Eine Geschichte des 19. Jahrhunderts, 3rd ed. (München: Beck, 2009).

4

North America and Russia

INTRODUCTION This chapter argues that a comparative approach is useful for tackling the two main magnets of German migration, North America and Russia. How can this be realised in a meaningful way? Considering the fact that heterogeneity was a feature of German Russia just as much as it was of German America, do we not approach levels of abstraction which move even further away from the actual migrant experience? Reservations of this kind have to be met by some theoretical remarks on the explanatory potential of a comparative approach, as well as its relationship to transnational entanglement. Proponents of histoire croisée were initially suspicious of comparative history, claiming that it constructed demarcations where they did not exist. More recent scholarship convincingly argues that studies of transfer and entanglement can, in fact, gain from comparative elements, as these help to define the objects of enquiry, putting ‘beef on the bone’ of otherwise fuzzy entities. In the other direction, comparative history can benefit from recognising transfers between the units of comparison in the form of migration, trade, colonial dependence, and mutual perceptions.1 It is with this symbiotic middle ground in mind that a comparative framework is suggested for tackling Russia in combination with North America. The historiography on both world regions’ German minorities has, so far, only been brought together under the thematic umbrella of late nineteenth-century Russian Germans’ migration to North America.2 If tackled at all, the theme of diasporic nationalism has been discussed within those national confi nes which remain constitutive for the bulk of scholarship. A juxtaposition can help to take each of the two historiographies out of their isolation and benefit from the methodological benefits of comparison. Jürgen Kocka and Hans-Gerhard Haupt encapsulate these benefits as follows: In heuristic terms, comparison allows scholars to identify problems and questions that would otherwise be impossible or difficult to pose. [ . . . ] In descriptive terms, historical comparison, above all, helps to apply a clear profile to individual cases and often to a single, particularly interesting

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Constructing a German Diaspora case. [ . . . ] In analytical terms, comparison makes an important contribution to the explanation of historical phenomena. [ . . . ] In paradigmatic terms, comparison can help to de-familiarize the familiar. When examined in the light of observable alternatives, a specific development can lose the ‘matter of course’ appearance it may have possessed before. [Comparison] transforms one case into one among many possible cases. It leads to the de-provincializing of historical observation.3

North America and Russia can serve as mutual reference points in order to get a better grasp of each respective unit of enquiry. Accounts of the ‘German question’ in Russia, that is, inter-(re)actions between German national consciousness and the demands of the Russian state, have only been tackled in an isolated way.4 Read against the backdrop of North America, these processes lose their uniqueness. What emerges are two world regions with differences, most obviously in political terms between democracy and autocracy, but also similarities in terms of minority nationalisation through transnational flows of ideas. A methodological symbiosis is therefore useful. The guiding questions are the same for both world regions: How did ethnic leaders defi ne the relationship of ‘their’ minority with Germany? How did they instrumentalise Volkstum as a unifying marker for their own group, but also other German minority groups outside their region or country? Did their minority listen? And how did the host society react?

NORTH AMERICA Picking up on the previous chapter, let us begin with navy campaigning. This failed to gain a foothold in North America. Despite being the largest magnets for German migrants, neither Canada nor the United States had any sizeable navy clubs. In Cincinnati an attempt with seven members and a contribution of 20 Dollars in 1899 was soon aborted. Some consular reports stressed that campaigning would be futile. German-Americans would not engage in navy activities for fear of tensions with the host society in the light of emerging imperialist rivalries in Asia, and especially the Philippines.5 The global pattern revealed here is one in which consular representations, and indeed individual diplomats, played a crucial role in the establishment of clubs. The ambassador in Washington, von Holleben, encountered criticism from the German Foreign Office that he was not more proactive in his support for the Central League. He had joined the service in the Bismarck era and feared that the subsequent more aggressive ‘new course’ would create international tensions. His inactivity contravened a directive from von Bülow to consulates in which diplomatic representatives were asked to embrace and support the activities of the Central League.6 The second reason for low activity in the United States is the complex character of German ethnic life as it had evolved over two centuries. In

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1901, under the leadership of self-appointed guardians of Germanness such as Charles J. Hexamer, the National German-American Alliance was founded to create an organisational roof for the plethora of established Vereine.7 Within this context, the navy did not assume the same symbolic monopoly it occupied elsewhere. Based on Frederick C. Luebke’s contrastive model of ethnic assertiveness, a comparison with Brazil leads to a third explanation. Luebke shows that German-Americans generally identified with the Anglo-American success story and were therefore ready to assimilate. German-Brazilians, in contrast, generally looked down upon Luso-Brazilian culture and political achievements and constructed notions of superiority in order to distance themselves.8 It was therefore natural that they would embrace any activities that would link them to a global power, which their Heimat was set to become. The lack of navy clubs does not mean that German-Americans were generally disinterested in the issue. In San Francisco, for example, at least 600 celebrated Wilhelm’s 25th anniversary on the throne (1913) with a patriotic gathering in the local Deutsches Haus. The speakers stressed that the Kaiser’s navy policy lay at the heart of Germany’s Weltgeltung.9 A look at the Upper Midwest shows that, even in rural areas, readers of the German-American press were regularly kept abreast of German naval policies and developments.10 This also applied to the colonial question. The iconographic and argumentative strategies of territorial appropriation were strikingly similar to those pursued in the metropolis, namely highlighting the ‘normality’ and closeness of overseas landscapes.11 An illustrated front-page article in the Milwaukee-Sonntagspost, for example, is entitled “German Possessions at the Giant Mountain Kilimanjaro” (Deutsche Besitzungen am Bergriesen Kilimandscharo). It starts off by recounting that Wilhelm II used a rock the size of a fist, taken from the peak of Kilimanjaro and presented to him by a German explorer, as a paperweight on his desk. The subsequent description of landscape and people is illustrated with two photographs. The fi rst one depicts the German Hotel in Tanga, with Germans posing in white colonial suits. The second one is entitled “A Boys’ School in German East-Africa” and shows an indigenous class sitting at familiar school desks in orderly fashion, suggesting the civilising effect of colonial rule.12 The Germanising gaze at colonial possessions was not confi ned to the metropole but also extended to the diaspora. The complexity of German America begs for a wider discussion of political transnational activity which goes beyond the navy issue. This has to be held against our earlier discussion of metropolitan armchair projections which saw German-Americans being sucked into Anglo-American culture, losing their Germanness, and being lost to the Greater German Empire. It also has to be held against the theoretical diaspora criterion of commitment to the safety and prosperity of the homeland. With these two frames in mind it becomes clear that German America stood out in comparison with German minorities elsewhere only as regards its size and social differentiation. In

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other respects it followed similar pathways of diasporisation which we have seen in other world regions. The global view helps to put German America into perspective. Its diasporic nationalism was not unique,13 nor should it be marginalised as an illusionary exercise by ‘professional German-Americans’ who aimed to preserve ethnic structures for self-serving reasons: ethnic newspaper editors, traders, businessmen, or religious leaders whose existence was based on providing services to the German-American community.14 The hundreds of thousands of German-Americans who flocked to the streets in support of the German war cause in August 1914 are a telling indicator of transnational ‘bonds of loyalty.’15 These bonds had been building up over decades. The outbreak of the Franco-Prussian war in summer 1870 had an electrifying effect on GermanAmericans and German-Canadians. Each victory in France had transatlantic reverberations in the ethnic community. Liberal commentators who, after 1866, had been critical of the authoritarian vibes sent out by Bismarck and the Prussian government, now joined in the chorus of support. Mass rallies in cities and towns were organised, often spearheaded by 1848er refugees. In Baltimore’s central public square, Wilhelm Rapp addressed several thousand of his countrymen who, in his words, had “come together in these foreign parts as sons of the fatherland, imbued with faithful and burning love, in order to publicly proclaim their innermost participation and proactive love during these days of trial.” Rapp hoped that Germany would be “reborn and fi rmly unified as a great Empire, enlarged and enriched by those beautiful provinces which were once stolen by thievish France. [ . . . ] [We hope that the fatherland] will emerge victorious from the fl ames and streams of blood of this terrible war which was ignited by the malice and selfishness of the French Emperor.”16 After the rally in Belleville, Illinois, another 1848er refugee, Gustav Körner, sent a telegram to the Prussian envoy in Washington. He stressed that many of those present were south Germans or 1848ers, but nevertheless wholeheartedly supported the war effort. Even democratic newspapers found themselves supporting the institution of monarchy, arguing that different Völker required different systems of government, and that liberty and monarchy were in fact reconcilable. ‘Patriotic relief associations’ (Patriotische Hilfsvereine) were established in order to collect money for wounded soldiers. They were flooded by young men who asked to have their fares paid in order to return to Europe and join their German army. Patriotic calendars and leaflets were printed with allegories of Germania protecting the fatherland. Protestant, Catholic, and Jewish clerics prayed for the success of German arms and held special services of praise when victory was declared. Critical voices included some socialist organisations, radical democrats such as Karl Heinzen, or the left feminist journal Neue Zeit. They questioned whether the Prussian monarchy was best suited to lead a unified Germany, heavily criticised the planned annexation of Alsace-Lorraine, and argued that those who glorified the Kaiser were not true Americans. As Trefousse shows, however,

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these voices were a marginal phenomenon. The overwhelming majority of German-Americans took no notice of them and rather went with the mainstream ethnic proclivities.17 An analysis of the most widely read German-language newspaper in Canada, the Berliner Journal, has shown that similar patterns applied to Canada.18 An exemplary look at the Upper Midwest allows for a gendered perspective on transnational reactions towards the Franco-Prussian war and unification. In August 1870, the German Patriotic Support Association (Deutscher Patriotischer Hilfsverein) was founded in Chicago. Its general agency then moved to New York and, from there, organised branches in many American cities and towns. These often included women’s sections. In Milwaukee, for example, a women’s organisation, the Patriotic Women’s Support Association (Patriotischer Frauenhilfsverein), was founded alongside its male counterpart. Its main aim was to raise money by organising a bazaar and a large concert “in order to offer a sacrifice to the fatherlandish cause.” The concert offered a number of classical pieces, but also jointly sung patriotic tunes such as Die Wacht am Rhein and Das Deutsche Vaterland. The evening concluded with a performance of the Milwaukee Turnverein. The organising committee consisted exclusively of the spouses and daughters of middle- and upper-middle class German-Americans. As the presence of the Turnverein shows, however, the event appealed to a crosssection of the ethnic group. It raised the sum of $1,200 which was fi rst sent to the central support fund in New York, and from there was dispatched to Berlin. The organisation under a national umbrella mirrored the structure in Germany. In 1866, the Prussian Queen, Augusta, had founded the fi rst women’s organisation in the wake of the German-Danish war. Its aim was professional and efficient support for invalids, widows, and orphans. A plethora of local chapters developed not only in Prussia, but also in other German states. These came together in August 1871 as the Association of German Fatherlandish Women’s Clubs (Verband der deutschen vaterländischen Frauenvereine).19 Transnational mobilisation was thus not a male reserve. Women in Milwaukee and elsewhere in the United States replicated the organisational structures set out within Germany, and also reacted almost immediately to current events in spite of large geographical distance. Through the ethnic press, especially the local Banner und Volksfreund, they were kept informed on a daily basis about war events, and also the work of the central committee in Berlin and the money raised by local branches in Germany. In a circulated communiqué from New York they were addressed as German women who happened to reside in a different country. The communiqué continued that the distance to the fatherland did not exempt them from their moral duty to support their old Heimat in times of need. Just as in Germany, the Patriotic Women’s Association in Milwaukee gave women the opportunity to move beyond their narrowly defi ned social sphere and claim their stake in the project of the nation. The fact that they were then excluded from

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Constructing a German Diaspora

public representation is equally replicative: During the three day ‘Peace Festival’ which took place in May 1871, they were excluded from participating in the public procession through the streets of Milwaukee. 20 What role did Jews play in these activities? As Tobias Brinkmann has shown for Chicago, 21 German Jews experienced a double integration during the 1860s and 1870s—fi rst, into the established urban middle and upper classes, and secondly, into the German immigrant community at large. Here again, the unification wars functioned as a transatlantic catalyst. In August 1870, the politician Edward Salomon was elected by 3,000 enthused immigrants as president of the Chicago support committee for Prussian troops. The committee consisted of 58 individuals, six of whom were Jewish. Amongst these were the Rabbis Felsenthal and Chronik. In his speech, which was frequently interrupted by enthused cheers from the crowd, Salomon called for ethnic unity: “Our chest has to swell in pride even more if we consider that we are Germans. [ . . . ] Let us also be united. Let us forget all petty tribal differences (Stammesunterschiede) and just be Germans.”22 Planning the victory parade in 1871 was undertaken in large part by German Jews. The parade itself was headed by Henry Greenebaum, who, by 1871, had been accepted as ethnic leader of Chicago’s Germans across social classes. The Chicago Arbeiter Verein, for example, had made him an honourable member in 1869. This labourers’ association as well as almost all German immigrant associations from all strands of society came together in the victory parade. Although specifically Jewish Vereine were not part of the parade, Chronik marched within the small group of ‘German theologians.’ Participation in German associationalism was another indicator of Jewish integration. The United Hebrew Relief Association (UHRA) was listed by the ethnic press as one of the German Vereine. Many Jewish men and women were active in the German Aid Society (Deutsche Gesellschaft) of Chicago, some of them also in board positions. In 1871, Henry Greenebaum founded the Beethoven Society for German immigrants which organised concert performances and had many Jewish members. The same was true for the local Turner movement from the 1860s. Jews continued to be active in aid societies, but generally their engagement with German associationalism waned after the mid-1870s, being more concerned with integration into the American ‘mainstream.’ Studies on New York and other cities come to similar conclusions. Until the 1880s, as Avraham Barkai suggests, German Jews in the United States constituted a ‘branch’ of German Jewry. News about growing anti-Semitism in Germany then led to alienation from the old homeland.23 At the same time, the secular fraternal order of B’nai B’rith, founded in New York in 1843, spread across the United States to create some common ground for the increasingly diversifying Jewish immigrant community. To some extent, it functioned as a ‘substitute nation’ for the non-existing homeland and, through its secular and humanist approach, helped integration into American society.24 On the

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other hand, where ethnic contributionism was concerned, German Jewish leaders were happy to side with their gentile counterparts. The Buch der Deutschen in Amerika, edited by the German American National Bund in 1909, also contains a piece on German Jews in America by Felix N. Gerson from Philadelphia. Gerson maintains that America’s international power position was in large part due to the contributions of its German Jewish element which served its adopted country with unswerving patriotism. 25 All this helps us put ‘1871’ into a wider context for Jewish-German America. If Jews happened to be ethnic leaders at the time, they certainly chimed in, or led, celebrations. After all, unification promised a new dawn for Jews in Germany by affording equal civil rights for the entire populace. There was, however, no long-term, specifically Jewish diasporic engagement with German nation-building. Layers of ethno-religious identity and mechanisms of integration were just too complex in order to make Germany a major point of reference which went beyond the purely cultural. In the end, Jews in America (and elsewhere) also had a layer of selfunderstanding as being part of a Jewish diaspora. Non-engagement was, of course, reciprocal. Within Germany, the initial dawn of emancipation soon led to the realisation that Jews continued to be largely excluded from certain walks of life, for example in higher civil service. In discourse, they were marginalised as alien elements within the German Volk-body. AntiSemitism made inroads into German society, 26 not least within right-wing diaspora engineers. For the Pan-German activist Fr. Guntram Schultheiβ, anti-Semitism was a logical and self-defensive consequence of Jews’ unwillingness to adapt to German ways. It would only cease “when the Jews, who live in the midst of the German Volk, will have learned to renounce the accentuation of their special nature—or, if that seems impossible to them, will have evaded this demand through emigration.”27 An article on “The German-speaking Jewry Abroad” was almost apologetic for tackling the theme in the publication organ of the Association for Germandom Abroad. The author stressed, however, that in light of the significance of Jews for international trade it was worthwhile knowing about their existence in different countries. They, too, could be useful for German trade as “bulwarks of language.”’ The author did not go beyond the purely utilitarian, shying away from bringing Jews into any deeper fold of a German diaspora.28 When concerning Jews, German emigration had very different connotations. They were not made part of a constructed diaspora. On the contrary, their discursive ‘othering’ survived the act of emigration. Neither at home nor abroad were they deemed to be part of the German Volk-body. For the gentile majority of German America, ‘Peace Festivals’ took place in 1871 all across the United States, and also in Canada. At least 72 communities in the United States held jubilee celebrations lasting several days. Speakers stressed that the unity achieved in the fatherland also extended to the branches of Deutschtum abroad. Migrants were bound to the German nation by eternal ties of consanguinity, history, and culture, and they

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should practice within their communities the newly found spirit of unity which radiated from the German Empire. The rhetorical tools which were employed to evoke this unity were strikingly similar to those employed in Germany itself, most importantly the ‘othering’ of France, which was represented as revengeful, cowardly, and frivolous, whilst Germany had fought a righteous and noble war. Chauvinism had found its way into ethnic self-description. Barbara Lorenzowski convincingly argues that the peace jubilees of 1871, “with their joint celebration of nation and ethnicity, added a new layer of identity to both the self-image and the public image of German migrants in North America. This is not to argue that the language of nationalism became the central or even the sole idiom in which immigrants expressed their identity, their hope, and their anguish. [ . . . ] Rather, this is to suggest that immigrants became increasingly well versed in the language of nationalism and that the festive spark provided by the peace jubilees could ignite an ethnic tradition of remarkable longevity.”29 In the years after 1871, the older generation of 1848 liberals expressed particular disappointment at developments such as the socialist laws, protection tariffs, and growing anti-Semitism in the Reich.30 These voices were then gradually replaced with the more recent immigrants whose political socialisation had been ‘1871’ rather than ‘1848.’ Bergquist characterises this generational shift: “Whereas the newer immigrants might be more influenced by the nationalistic spirit of the Germany they had left behind, the older ones might still cherish the image of their generation as spokesmen for liberalism and idealism in politics.”31 Architecture was arguably the most visible area which allowed for public display of this new ethnic confidence. Monumentality was now de rigeur. The German population of many cities, especially in the Midwest, was large enough to put its imprint on skylines. In Buffalo, for example, the city’s highest points evoked the fatherland: a number of Protestant and Catholic churches which were modelled on German cathedrals such as Ulm and Freiburg, the city’s music hall with a frieze of a Germanic eagle, the massively ornamented high-rises of the Buffalo Freie Presse and a German Insurance Building, the latter maintaining eight truncated tent roofs in the shape of a crown, and a number of breweries evoking associations of medieval fortresses.32 In Milwaukee, the German-born population stood at 27 per cent in the 1890s. The Germania Building was the largest office building in the city, and possibly the largest newspaper building in the world when it was built in 1896. It was the seat of George Brumder’s publishing empire, the Germania Publishing Company, which issued a number of German-language newspapers throughout the United States. On top of the four corners sat (and still sit today) widely visible sheet copper domes resembling giant Prussian spiked helmets. These have ever since been nicknamed ‘Kaiser’s helmets.’ Surrounding the helmets were large spread eagles. Above the entrance stood a ten-foot-high, bronze statue of the Germania, the female allegorical representation of the Germanic tribes. It was a copy of the Niederwald Denkmal, the German national monument erected on the

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banks of the Rhine to commemorate victory in the Franco-Prussian war. This monument was a stopping point for German-American tourists visiting the old Heimat. Following anti-German pressure, the spread eagles and the statue were removed from the building in May 1918, and the name Germania was chiselled off the front of the building.33 Newspaper editors such as George Brumder, brewers, religious leaders, and ethnic insurers had a vested interest in keeping ethnicity alive and referred to the ‘invented traditions’ and symbols of the Heimat in order to replicate commonly understood points of reference. Any discussion of diasporic nationalism has to keep this instrumentalist aspect in mind. Ethnic assertiveness can be Janus-faced. While up to the 1880s it derived its strength from sheer numbers, from the 1890s it was put forward all the more forcefully as immigration numbers declined. It then took on a compensatory function. Although the German-language press was still the largest ethnic press in the United States around 1900, subscription numbers declined. So did the use of German in church services and the teaching of German in schools. In addition, German-American life was notoriously fragmented along social, regional, and religious fault lines. For ethnic leaders, Deutschtum was now a convenient formula to mask diversity and halt decline. Writers such as Heinrich A. Rattermann of Cincinnati became more aggressive as they extolled the superiority of Germanism and its contributions to American life. These tendencies led to the establishment of the National German-American Alliance in 1901 as an attempt to unify German America on a national rather than regional basis. It acted as an organisational roof for pre-existing ethnic associations and soon claimed to have 2.5 million members. Its goals included the preservation of German culture, the teaching of the German language in public schools, opposition to immigration restrictions and prohibition, and the fostering of better relations between the United States and Germany to counterbalance the Anglo-German antagonism. Its leadership consisted exclusively of male middle- and upper-class educated individuals, although a Women’s Auxiliary was incorporated later.34 As for the role of Deutschtum in American culture, the Alliance insisted that it would fill the hollowness and shallowness of purely materialistic prosperity with the solid happiness and real contentment of purely cultural achievements. [ . . . ] If we German Americans will remain true to the ideals of our forefathers, we shall succeed in transplanting them to the entire American people, and it will arise and call us blessed. [ . . . ] To read the history of German immigration is to be convinced how much it has contributed to the advancement of the spiritual and economic development of this country.35 This line of argumentation confi rms the above mentioned comparative model of ethnic assertiveness. In Brazil, but also in world regions such as

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China and the German colonies, superior ethnic qualities were instrumentalised in order to separate Germans from their host environment. In the United States, in contrast, these qualities were constantly reiterated in order to make the German element part of the successful national narrative. Examples include compilations by Albert B. Faust, a professor at Cornell University, Georg von Bosse, a Lutheran pastor in Philadelphia, and the painter of Native American life, Rudolf Cronau. 36 The National GermanAmerican Alliance, led by second-generation immigrant Charles Hexamer, indeed stressed that its primary loyalty was to the United States, whose cultural elevation it strived for. The anti-assimilationist stance was, of course, paradoxical: The more immigrants would be able to preserve their German traits, the better they could contribute to the United States’ cultural elevation. Although mainstream America hardly bothered to listen to ethnically produced contributionist aspects of its national narrative, 37 these were constitutive frameworks for ethnic self-definition. They were recently reconceptualised by Kathleen Neils Conzen under an interpretive framework of colonisation. German-Americans tended to construct the United States as an empty space which should be fi lled with a superior homeland culture. They reciprocated the nexus between emigration and colonisation which had been brought forward in Germany itself: Emigrants allegedly carried the essence of the fatherland with them and re-established it within a different geographical and political framework. 1848ers, despite their dissatisfaction with homeland politics, set the tone in their belief in Deutschtum. They were carried away by the unification enthusiasm of 1870–1871, and “later labor migrants, secure now in the possession of a powerful, culturally assertive fatherland, in this regard at least found little reason to dissent.”38 For Conzen, the interpretive framework of colonisation is better suited than that of ‘diasporic imagination’—as advanced by Matthew Frye Jacobson39 —to describe this migrant mind-set. I would rather suggest that the two frames should not be seen as alternatives, but rather as two motifs of the same picture. The colonisation argument was fi rmly embedded in, and indeed reinforced, the wider diaspora discourse. German-American intellectuals propounded these ideas. One example was “the most prominent, the most literate, and the most sophisticated of all of Germany’s defenders in the United States,” the poet George Sylvester Viereck. In August 1914, immediately after the outbreak of war, he introduced the militant pro-German newspaper The Fatherland, whose circulation stood at 100,000 by October.40 Viereck was in close contact with Hugo Münsterberg, the professor of psychology at Harvard University, who asked German-Americans in more moderate terms to stress the value of their heritage and resist assimilation in order to retain their identity as Germans in America and thus their higher cultural status.41 Other ethnic spokesmen sympathised with the Pan-German idea. Julius Goebel, for example, is merely described as a “famous Germanicist and German-American historian,”42 but has so far not been considered within a

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more global and transnational context. He received his PhD from Tübingen University in 1881 and then migrated to America to take up Chairs in German at Stanford, Harvard, and the University of Illinois. He was one of the prolific writers who extolled German contributions to American culture with book titles such as The Struggle for German Culture in America.43 Here he argued that a superior Kultur was fi rmly rooted in the German folk-nature (Volksnatur) and was destined to have a creative and elevating impact on the American national character as a counter-balance against “Anglo-Saxon” character traits: “The tendency towards hypocrisy, a lack of honour, especially as regards money-issues, the hasty superficiality, the cowardly acceptance of public opinion, and the boundless national vanity.”44 In 1904, he published a book for the Pan-German League in its publication series The Struggle for Germandom. He admitted that the English, French, Irish, and Scots had participated in the colonisation of America, “but it was undoubtedly the Germans who contributed the overwhelming bulk to the quiet colonisation which laid the foundations to America’s wealth.” These contributions included healthy ways of living, moral discipline, and a sense of duty as well as joyful conviviality. He welcomed the foundation of the National German-American Alliance as a way of voicing these achievements in a more outspoken manner and rallying Deutschtum in the States behind them.45 Goebel, alongside Hexamer and other intellectual ethnic leaders, was also a regular contributor to the Deutsche Kulturtraeger, a monthly journal introduced in 1913 to support the “cultural work of Germandom (Germanentum).” It was edited in Michigan by the fi rst generation immigrant Fred R. Minuth and aspired to address a global readership. It is another example where diasporic identity as part of a global presence of Deutschtum was formulated abroad. In its programmatic fi rst issue, Minuth explained that Germans in the fatherland were largely ignorant about the cultural achievements of their compatriots’ “pioneering work” abroad, and that the journal wanted to remedy this situation. Its aim was “to assemble the thinking elements of Deutschtum around the world” so Germanness could fulfi l its global Kulturmission.46 The vision was that of a closely connected intellectual diaspora which spanned the entire world. Mutually overlapping indicators of diasporisation also included the military sphere. Just as in Britain, Kriegervereine of ex-servicemen abounded in the United States, and just as their counterparts from academia, they constantly reiterated their political allegiance towards the United States. Many soldiers who had fought in the German unification wars between 1866 and 1871 later migrated to the United States. Expatriate veterans’ associations had fi rst been established throughout the 1870s and, in 1884, were brought together as a national association, the Deutscher Kriegerbund von NordAmerika (German Soldiers’ Federation of North-America). A commemorative history of the association was written by the Chicago branch which organised a tour to the 25th anniversary celebrations of the battle of Sedan

144 Constructing a German Diaspora in Germany in 1895.47 The foreword assured its gratefulness and loyalty towards the adoptive country, but at the same time stressed that belonging to Pan-Germany (All-Deutschland) was an eternal state of mind and body. The author describes a “feeling of solidarity caused by the fact that blood is thicker than water. This exists always and everywhere and cannot be broken through any circumstances.”48 One impetus was to show fellow veterans and soldiers in Germany “how strongly rooted the love towards the fatherland is among the soldiers’ associations here.”49 This is a recurring theme in source texts around the world, not just for military and patriotic associations. Migrants who defi ned themselves as Germans abroad were keen to show the metropolis that their Germanness was untouched by their residence abroad. The association had 52 branches, mainly in the midwestern areas of German settlement, in Pennsylvania, but also in other states. Membership numbers ranged from 350 in Chicago to smaller clubs such as Dubuque, Iowa (75), San Antonio, Texas (80), and Cleveland, Ohio (42). 50 These veterans’ associations experienced a boost in subsequent years, and were also more and more visible in public life. In addition to the national association, state associations were established as well. In Wisconsin this was the Deutscher Kriegerbund von Wisconsin, established in 1899 and comprising at least thirty clubs from all across the state by 1908. All clubs came together in different locations once a year for an extensive three-day programme of military display and parading. In 1908, the branch in Green Bay organised the convention. For three days in June, the town was virtually taken over by German veterans from all across the state. There were two delegations from Milwaukee. The remainder hailed from small rural towns such as Two Rivers, Oshkosh, Wausau, and Manitowoc. Festivities started with a military ceremony (the ‘Grand Zapfenstreich’) and then included several parades through the town, cannon blasting (Kanonendonner) early Sunday morning, and an open air fair in the central Hagemeister Park.51 The resurgence of veterans’ activities coincided with heightened national consciousness within Germany. They should not be understood as purely nostalgic displays of ethnic identity but as local manifestations of a mechanism which was, in effect, global. German America was too diverse and fragmented to produce the kind of unity envisaged by the National German-American Alliance. To regard this as a failure of diasporisation would, however, be misleading. The short test drills above into different geographical and societal environments, as well as different periods in time, show that a compartmentalised diasporisation was at work. Different strata from within the ethnic group were integrated into different transnational communication flows (although, of course, groups such as the Russian Germans or Mennonites in the United States were not), and they expressed their transnational links in very different forms. What did emerge after the initial spark of 1871, though, was a contributionist interpretation of German-American history, which, at least from the 1890s, was intertwined with ideas about the superiority

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of Deutschtum. And although immigration numbers declined, they still amounted to a critical mass which now had been socialised in the nationalist atmosphere of late-Wilhelmine Germany. Public representations of ethnicity were increasingly oriented towards the national symbolicism of Imperial Germany, including its militaristic expressions. It is only against this background that the next spark of August 1914 can be understood. During the period of American neutrality, enthused German Americans assembled in all parts of the country in order to show their support for the Reich. In August 1914, thousands met on Broadway, singing Die Wacht am Rhein and listening to a speech by the German General Consul about “the fight of the fatherland which is denied its rightful place in the sun, and of the togetherness of all Germans.”52 In front of a similar convention in Chicago, a speaker assured Wilhelm II of the loyalty “of two million Germans in Illinois” and their “unbroken love of the fatherland.” More than 4,000 participants donated large sums to a war relief fund and rose to their feet to sing Deutschland über Alles. Carrying German flags, they then embarked on a rally through the streets of Chicago in order to protest against the anglophile bias of the American press. Particularly chauvinistic utterances were heard from the German-American National Bund. In a speech in Milwaukee in November 1915, its president Charles Hexamer extolled once again the superiority of German culture, warned against assimilation, and was sure that “no one will fi nd us prepared to descend to a lower culture, just as it is not our aim to lift others to our higher level.”53 The American public interpreted these expressions as representative of the ethnic group as a whole, fuelling the perception of ‘hyphenated’ German-Americans as an internal threat. This mix of (mis-) perceptions turned out to be destructive after neutrality came to an end in 1917 and German-Americans experienced xenophobic outbursts. Despite this differentiation, the fact remains that the sound of distant guns in August 1914 mobilised large sections of German-America, even those who had previously been indifferent towards the political course of the old Heimat. 54

RUSSIA In the light of Germans’ heterogeneity in the Russian Empire, the valid question has been asked whether it is legitimate at all to talk about a single ethnic group.55 This pertains to the different regions, social strata, socio-economic environments, and religious denominations which were outlined in Chapter 1 of this volume. Very broadly speaking, three types can be identified amongst the 1.8 million people who gave German as their mother-tongue in the Russian census of 1897. The fi rst type was those who had settled in the Baltic regions during the eastward movement of the High Middle Ages and who had come under Romanov rule in 1710 and 1795. They constituted a

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minority elite with a high proportion of academically trained aristocrats, large landowners, merchants, and clergymen. The second type were those who moved into the modernising cities of Central Russia, most importantly St. Petersburg and Moscow, from the fi fteenth century onwards through to 1914. Both types were bourgeois or aristocratic in character, established ethnic enclaves, had an above-average percentage of academically and professionally trained specialists, and often kept their nationality. After 1871, about 250,000 Reichsdeutsche resided in the Russian Empire. The third type was those colonists (Kolonisten) who had moved into the Southern Russian agrarian regions, called in by the Czars from the 1760s to make newly acquired territories arable. They worked predominantly in agriculture and, despite having relatively high literacy levels compared to other groups in the multi-ethnic Russian Empire, produced relatively few academically trained elites and clergymen. Virtually all of them were Russian nationals. Non-agricultural occupations were more widespread amongst the Black Sea Germans than the Volga Germans.56 Notwithstanding the differences between these three types, a process of diasporisation set in after 1871. Groups and individuals would redefi ne their relationship with their real or imagined Heimat, and would also construct unifying bonds around all Germans in Russia under völkisch auspices. The year 1871 was not just crucial in terms of creating a metropolitan focal point through unification. It was also when previously granted privileges within Russia such as teaching and public self-administration in German, as well as exemption from military service, started to erode. Another specifically Russian watershed year was 1905. During the revolutionary upheavals, Baltic German landowners in particular did not feel adequately protected by the Czarist authorities against marauding Estonian and Latvian farmers and started to develop the idea of a German national movement in Russia. At the same time, the Czar’s Imperial October Manifesto of 1905 granted a better constitutional base for freedom of expression and conscience, right of assembly, and press freedom. The German Vereinswesen, which had developed in elaborate forms all across Russia during the pre-constitutional period, now experienced an upsurge in which notions of diasporic belonging came to the surface. This was more moderate amongst the southern Russian colonists, based on cultural and educational projects; it was more pronounced amongst the Baltic and urban Germans, with some leading Baltic Germans subscribing to Pan-German ideas and taking relevant action. Against the backdrop of rising germanophobic Pan-Slavism, the outbreak of war in 1914 was then not just a matter of foreign affairs, but also an internal clash of different nationalisms. Diasporisation should not, however, be restricted to those who subscribed to its premises. It also had concrete effects on those whose lower educational level or geographical remoteness prevented exposure to these ideas. This argument will be supported by looking at Volga German resettlement through the schemes of Baltikumsiedlung (instigated by Baltic Germans)

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and Rücksiedlung into eastern Prussian provinces (instigated by Reichauthorities and pressure groups). Let us fi rst discuss the Central Russian cities. Victor Dönninghaus, in his study of Germans in Moscow, shows that “through the process of unification, some members of the German-speaking colony started to see themselves as part of this newly emerging Reich in the West. What had previously been representatives from different German states and cities now formed into a community of people who were united by their common belonging to Germany.”57 Dönninghaus places this development against the backdrop of Pan-Slavism and Russian nationalism which contained aggressive undertones against Germany and its minority in the Russian Empire. It was evident in large parts of the political and military elites, as well as the Moscow press in particular. These two confluences, German unification and Russian nationalism, triggered the establishment of the Verein Deutscher Reichsangehöriger (Association for German Reich-Citizens) in 1879. It described itself as “a national Verein [ . . . ], a quintessentially and exclusively national one. Our motto is: ‘Everything through and for citizens of the German Reich.’”58 In contrast to the existing German clubs, its aim was to bring together all Germans in Moscow, whatever their political views, religious denomination, and regional origin, and keep them in close contact with the fatherland. The founding ceremony took place in February 1879 on the occasion of the golden wedding of the Imperial Couple, Wilhelm I and Augusta, and was attended by 180 people. 59 In the capital St. Petersburg, a range of German ethnic Vereine, theatres, musical ensembles, mutual aid societies, restaurants, and newspapers existed by the mid-nineteenth century. The main aim of these activities was to foster conviviality and provide mutual support. As the century progressed, so did the role of Deutschtum. Existing combinations started to stress the importance of belonging to a common Kulturgemeinschaft and a powerful Reich. New combinations with the aim of bringing together all local Germans were founded, and the rhetoric was strikingly similar to the one used within Germany as well as other diasporic locations. This can be studied through the changing remit of the Verein Palme. It was initiated in 1863 by Protestant clergy and middle-class representatives to provide material and spiritual support to apprentices in need. The Verein soon grew in size and programmatic scope, but in 1891 still stressed that it did not have a pronounced German-national (‘deutschnational’) character. Ten years later, this picture had changed. The moderate newspaper St. Petersburger Herold reported about a theatre production thematising Germans abroad: “It was a celebration of German freedom, German patriotism and German loyalty. Each time patriotism was addressed, the audience displayed a degree of enthusiasm, and yet everything remained ‘gemüthlich’—which is yet another German trait.”60 And in 1905, the St. Petersburger Zeitung described the club as a “source of the moral strength of the German nation.” In accord with the Protestant clergy, leading members of the Verein Palme

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criticised the rising number of intermarriages and the ‘Verrussung’ (derogative russification) of the St. Petersburg Germans and saw their events as a marriage market between co-nationals. They also invited representatives of the Reich such as the consul or the Bavarian envoy to their events.61 From the 1880s, new clubs were founded with the aim to provide mutual support, but ultimately and explicitly this function was used as a vehicle to unite fellow Germans under the banner of the nation. The Verein für die Angehörigen des Deutschen Reichs was specifically geared at reichsdeutsch German nationals and was a largely middle-class affair. Unification in 1871 had given the spark to establish this club, but it took the Russian authorities another fi fteen years to approve the statutes. This points to an important factor determining club life in Russia. Authorities were restrictive, especially when they feared potential undermining of state and Czarist authority. Any ethnic association, therefore, had to declare its unequivocal loyalty to the Russian state before attending to its actual business. The new club of 1886 successfully managed to gain Czarist patronage and constantly reiterated its gratefulness towards the Russian state for granting hospitality. Below this formal level, however, unequivocal expressions of belonging to a ‘Greater German Empire’ were produced. In 1881, preceding formal acknowledgement, club members could not agree on an Emperor-Alexander-Foundation, but in 1888 and 1890 did agree on both a Kaiser-Wilhelm-Stiftung (for the German Hospital in St. Petersburg) and a Bismarck-Foundation. At a festive banquet in 1909, the speaker fi rst stressed that the Germans were faring well in Russia due to family bonds between the two Imperial courts. However, he admonished them never to forget that they were and remained Germans, and that they should “serve the fatherland through unity, charity, repudiation of all attacks on Germans abroad, intimately following life in our Heimat from a distance, and preserving our unswerving faithfulness towards the German Imperial court.”62 Apart from charity and support work, the Verein organised events such as discussion evenings about German political affairs. It was an associational expression of the new breed of entrepreneurs, engineers, and other specialists who moved into the expanding St. Petersburg metropolis after 1871, carrying more ideological luggage about national belonging than previous generations of incomers.63 Some numbers are necessary to assess the extent to which these ideas resonated within the ethnic community. Just as in North America and elsewhere, immigration numbers were dwindling from the 1890s. The number of German-speakers in St. Petersburg decreased by almost 20 per cent from approximately 50,000 in 1881 to 41,000 in 1910; the number of German nationals decreased from 16,000 to 9,500 in the same period. It is especially the latter development which points to decreasing fluctuation and emigration from Germany in the years before 1914. The Verein für die Angehörigen des Deutschen Reichs attracted 451 members by 1886. This rose to 913 in 1905 and then fell in line with general numbers to 815 in 1913. In the decade before 1914, the association thus consistently attracted

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about 8.5 per cent of the reichsdeutsch population of St. Petersburg. Just as in America, the nationalistic rhetoric can be interpreted as a way of compensating for the decrease in membership figures. Margarete Busch, in her detailed analysis of the Germans in St. Petersburg, does not touch on this argument, but the comparison to North America suggests that similar forces were at work. Ethnic leaders had a vested interest in keeping German newspapers, churches, and associations alive, and the constructed bond of a common Heimat was a convenient vehicle to activate notions of belonging. The newspaper St. Petersburger Zeitung, for example, which was founded in 1727, had been a platform for the liberal Bürgertum for most of the nineteenth century. When the conservative Baltic German Paul von Kügelen senior took over the editorship in 1874, national issues started to become prominent. This was further exacerbated under the subsequent editorship of his son, Paul von Kügelen Junior, from 1904. Censorship in the capital was not as strict as in other cities or the provinces, which meant that ethnic nationalism could be expressed in more explicit forms than elsewhere. Von Kügelen was seconded by Pastor Bertholdy, another ethnic leader with a Baltic German background.64 An additional association, the St. Petersburger Deutscher Bildungsund Hilfsverein, was founded in 1906 and soon became the largest ethnic association with 2,000 members. Paul von Kügelen Junior and other Baltic Germans—who were prominently represented in St. Petersburg—took on a leading role. Its aim was to unify the different social strata and groups residing in St. Petersburg under the roof of a common Volkstum. It was open to German-speakers, including those holding Russian citizenship, and thus followed a cultural rather than legal definition of Germanness. Speakers at the founding ceremony, which included an engineer and a school director, stressed that preserving Germanness was beneficial for humanity generally as Germans excelled in many fields. Initiatives undertaken by the association were of an educational and cultural character and aimed to awaken or preserve an awareness of Germanness within the members of the ethnic minority. They included establishing two German primary schools, a nursery, a library, and several club sections fostering German art, science, sport, and literature. Workers and artisans were particularly targeted as they often did not have access to these resources and were prone to quick assimilation. The association soon realised that it would not reach its ambitious target of unifying and enthusing the entire ethnic community, and that extolling the strength and virtues of Deutschtum had, in fact, detrimental effects on some members of the ethnic community. The leadership of this association was in the hands of the educated middle-classes, German nationals, and the Protestant clergy.65Although their vision of Deutschtum had moved away from the realities of migrant life, reference to it generated the largest ethnic association in St. Petersburg. The fact that these visions did, indeed, catch on in widening circles of the community can be shown through the genesis of Kaiser’s birthday

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celebrations. In the years following 1871, these were relatively small-scale events with German nationals and representatives of the embassy. These came together for a banquet in the Hotel Demuth and sent a note of salutation and loyalty to the Kaiser. Over the years the event grew in size, and was also complemented with an additional celebration in the festive hall of the Verein Palme. This was attended by German-speakers from all walks of life, including Baltic Germans, clergy, and artisans. The German Protestant St. Petri Church put on special services in honour of the Kaiser. In the 1870s, the German ethnic press only published brief reports, but from the 1880s devoted long articles to these festivities on the front pages. For school director C. Felsmann, speaking at the 1885-celebrations, the birthday of Wilhelm I was the most important national holiday for all Germans abroad. In the 1900s, the tone became more self-assured and aggressive, with references to “patriotism” and “fatherlandish enthusiasm” being greeted with “thundering applause and hurrah.” Although the festivities, which were attended by several hundred people, always included the necessary toast to the Czar and singing the Russian national anthem, expressions of gratefulness towards the Russian state were left out after 1900. In his speech in 1910, ambassador Graf Pourtalès stated: “The 27th January is upon us, our national holiday for which all German patriots unite in their warmest wishes for their Kaiser and for the greatness and the glory of the common fatherland. [ . . . ] You, ladies and gentlemen, have come together, driven by the desire to identify as fatherland-loving Germans who are proud to belong to the powerful Reich.” The German army was praised as a “peace army,” and the speech in January 1914 stressed that the Germans in St. Petersburg would be prepared to step in for the national cause in a case of emergency.66 Affiliation with associations in Germany also existed. The 1906 edition of the Handbook of Germandom Abroad lists the St. Petersburger Deutscher Bildungs- und Hilfsverein and the Moskauer Deutsche Verein as branches of the Pan-German League,67 although it is not clear to what extent members agreed to this affiliation. The Pan-German League also had branches in Reval and Riga. By 1912 it had extended its scope. The Russian branches of the VDA as well as the German Associations in Livonia (Livland), Estonia (Estland), and Courland (Kurland) were now officially listed as Pan-German branches.68 Confl icting information exists about the activities of the Central League for German Navy Clubs Abroad. The German consuls in Rostow, Taganrog, Moscow, and Riga reported that their attempts to establish local clubs had been futile because Germans did not wish to get into confl ict with the Russian government and police. The annual reports of the Central League only mention two clubs: Abo (Finland), and Rostoff /Don.69 Fleischhauer, in contrast, maintains that by 1912 there were several clubs throughout Russia with a total of 550 members, including in Nikolajev (Black Sea), Riga, Moscow (104 members), Odessa (53), and St. Petersburg (49).70 The sources also suggest that a

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number of individuals joined as single members, remitting contributions to Berlin without being attached to a local club. They were imprisoned after the outbreak of war.71 Reichsdeutsche also moved into the three Russian Baltic provinces of Estonia, Livonia, and Courland after 1871. They have to be separated typologically in terms of outlook, socialisation, and ethnic tradition from the ‘Baltic Germans,’ whose self-perception was that of a long-standing ethnic elite with Russian citizenship72 and who shall be discussed in the following paragraphs. For the Baltic Germans, 1905 was an equally important year as for the other types of Germans in the Russian Empire. A number of confluences generated a new national tone in the existing Vereinswesen which traditionally had cultural, scientific, and charitable orientations without the word ‘German’ in their title. These confluences were the advent of Estonian and Latvian nationalism from the 1880s; Russification measures which, for example, prohibited teaching in German; the violence, in 1905, of impoverished Estonian and Latvian farmers against German landowners and of urban industrial workers against German enterprises; and fi nally the modest liberalisation in Russia in the wake of the revolution in 1905. Baltic Germans now instrumentalised the flexible concept of nationality as a defence mechanism to distance themselves from their—equally nationalised—host environment. In each of the three Baltic provinces, a centralised Deutscher Verein was established with a dense network of local branches. These Baltic initiatives were driving forces behind attempts to create not just an overarching ‘Baltic German,’ but also a ‘Russian German’ identity which encompassed the various types of Germans in the Russian Empire.73 We thus have a diasporic group which takes on national leadership in unifying scattered and disparate groups whose smallest common denominator was a constructed common Volkstum. Within a very different political context, the movement was driven by similar elite actors as its American counterpart, the National German-American Alliance, but also encountered the same limits in the form of social reality. The branch in Riga can be taken as an example to demonstrate the scope, but also the limits, of these endeavours. The ideological ground had been prepared from the mid-1890s when Ernst Seraphim, a graduate of Dorpat University, took over the editorship of the Düna Zeitung. He remoulded it into a widely read nationalist newspaper with völkisch ideas which made a clear distinction between Germans and Latvians. Under the watchful eyes of the Russian authorities, a number of nobles and literati founded low-key associations without any wider scope.74 Liberalisation of associational life after 1905 showed that nationalist ideas had been bottled up also within the wider ethnic minority. Once the Deutscher Verein was founded in Riga, membership numbers soared quickly, reaching 16,000 in 1908. The social composition reflected that of the minority generally: trade and industry were represented with 39 per cent, artisans with 31 per cent, educated Bildungsbürger with 24 per cent, the nobility with four and workers with two

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per cent. Leadership positions were occupied by the nobility and intelligence, which was particularly affected by the consequences of Russification and revolution. These associations were also important for women, who made up around 50 per cent of the membership. Nationalism was attractive to them as it gave them the opportunity for the first time to engage in the city’s associational life. They could now engage in social, pedagogical, and organisational activities which were officially sanctioned and acknowledged. The educational work of the Verein was successful to some extent. It managed to open four German schools in 1906 which reached ten per cent of the minority’s children. It also brought together ‘Germans’ from different classes, although social distinction remained prevalent through an invisible ‘glass wall’ between artisans and the upper echelons.75 In her otherwise differentiated micro-study of multi-ethnic Riga, Ulrike von Hirschhausen maintains that Pan-German or separatist proclivities were only marginal phenomena, but does not explain them in more detail.76 Within our global framework, however, these proclivities gain a new significance which links them to other diasporic activity elsewhere in Russia and the world. A closer look also questions whether von Hirschausen’s argument can be upheld. In fact, the fi rst of the new associations, the Deutscher Verein in Estland, was founded by Eduard Baron Stackelberg in Reval. Stackelberg was born in Narva, graduated in chemistry from Dorpat University, and owned an estate in Estonia. He saw himself at the forefront of a struggle for a ‘Pan-Baltic community’ which, in cooperation with the PanGerman movement, should lean towards the developing Reich. The sister associations in Courland and Livonia were modelled after that of Estonia and were also chaired by landowning nobles. They established a joint press office in Riga with the specific aim to stress the constitutional and Czarloyal character of the undertaking and to dissipate any rumours of nationalist separatism. The Russian and indigenous Baltic nationalists had to be appeased, but nevertheless noticed with indignation that personalities such as B. A. Geisler, the president of the VDA, attended constitutive meetings. The ultimate aim of the three organisations was to fi rst bring the three provincial organisations under one roof. This should serve as a stepping stone for unifying all Germans on Russian soil under Baltic leadership and focus on the associational structure there. A resolution passed at a general meeting of the Courland association sums this up as a “union of Russia’s German associations for common fostering of national objectives.”77 To prepare for a founding conference, representatives from seven regional organisations came together in Riga in spring 1907: the three Baltic associations, two from the Black Sea region, Moscow, and St. Petersburg (the Saratower Deutsche Verein was not founded until 1908). The planned central association of all Germans in Russia aimed to establish teachers’ seminars for primary and middle schools, re-establish Dorpat as a German-language university (it had lost this right in the 1880s), disseminate more information about each other’s ethnic environment, and promote

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economic cooperation. The German Association in Moscow was set to host the founding conference. Internal quarrelling, which was mainly about the Baltic quest for leadership, prevented the conference from going ahead. Eduard Baron Stackelberg then tried to convene an alternative conference in Reval. This was picked up by the Russian press as a nationalist provocation supported by the Pan-German League, fiercely attacked in the Duma, and ultimately prevented by the Russian authorities.78 Unperturbed, the nationalists carried on their attempts to forge links between the geographically distant communities. Economic cooperation between Black Sea and Baltic Germans was planned under the consciously misleading title Baltic Life-Insurance Company, but this did not develop any further due to disinterest from Odessa. The fraternity (Studentenverbindung) Teutonia was established at Dorpat University to attract colonists’ sons. A teachers’ seminary was established in Mitau (Courland) under the chairmanship of Baron Manteuffel-Katzdangen, who was also chairman of the Courland German Association. The idea behind these educational initiatives was to rear the next generation of nationally minded leaders for the settlement colonies. Numbers, however, remained low at under 30 for each of the two initiatives.79 More successful was the resettlement programme of Baltikumssiedlung. Baltic landowners did not feel adequately protected by the Russian state during the revolutionary looting of 1905. They fi rst recruited several hundred mercenaries from Germany, and then remembered their compatriots in Southern Russia. These would be suitable ‘human material’ to push out and replace the Estonian and Latvian agricultural workers and prevent any ethnically inspired insurrections in the long run. In 1906, Manteuffel himself travelled to Wolhynia to meet the main contact in support of resettlement, Pastor Ernst Althausen, who was instrumental in advertising and organising the programme in the region. The Pan-German League and the VDA also participated in working out the resettlement plans. Agents were sent to the Wolhynia and Volga regions, but had little success amongst the wealthier Black Sea Germans who were less inclined to move. The latter were sceptical as to the newly discovered ostensible bonds between dispersed co-ethnics. In the following years, around 13,000 farmers and farm workers resettled to Courland and 7,000 to Livonia. 60 per cent were from Wolhynia and forty per cent from the Volga region. The initiative was illegal and had to be conducted in a clandestine fashion, involving bank manipulation and bribery of Russian rail employees. When the Russian authorities got wind of it in 1913, it triggered controversial discussions about German landownership and economic dominance and had to be stopped.80 Baltikumsiedlung was not marginal but rather a tangible result of instrumentalised nationalism. Baltic leaders tapped into the resource of a unifying Volkstum, making use of the impoverished state of their coethnics further south. Other initiatives by Baltic German nationalists were less successful but they, too, have to be considered within the wider picture

154 Constructing a German Diaspora of diasporic nationalism. They were not as fully controlled by the Pan-German League and other organisations within Germany as some scholarship suggests,81 but certainly stood in contact with them. Counter-reactions are appropriately summed up by the Odessa newspaper Deutsche Rundschau, stating that “the Pan-Germans have done nothing but damage to us Germans abroad.”82 Moving to the Black Sea region, we encounter differentiated notions of belonging and pertinent initiatives, again taking off after 1905. Germans had been moving into the region since the 1780s and continued to do so for the following six decades. Although their memories of the Heimat were thus of a pre-national character, German nation-state formation reverberated in the region. During the Franco-German war in 1870–1871, collections in the settlement colonies generated money for the dependents of German soldiers killed in action. In the following decades, inspection reports by Russian civil servants found pictures of Bismarck and Wilhelm II on the walls of private homes and some magistrate’s offices. The reports specifically mention the influence of incoming reichsdeutsch labourers and artisans who had completed their military service in Germany. Many of the schools used German textbooks in geography and history lessons which only devoted a few pages to Russia and contained sentences such as: “In general, the Russians are found to be at a lower level of education. They are ignorant, superstitious, and prone to drunkenness.” At least 5,000 copies of the German newspaper Reichsbote circulated in the region. Pan-Slavists used these anecdotes as ‘proof’ that the colonists were paid agents of the German Empire and suggested that land should instead be sold to Bulgarians, Serbs, or Greeks who were closer in culture and did not have a military power behind them. Other inspectors, in contrast, stated that there was no hostility towards the Russian environment and no formal or informal links with Germany. Many colonists were defensive about the attacks of the PanSlavists and confi rmed their unbroken loyalty to the Russian state.83 The Südrussische Deutsche Bildungsverein (South Russian German Educational Association) allows us to identify different interest groups and approaches. It was founded during a three-day session in Odessa in October 1905 against the sounds of guns and revolutionary barricade fighting. The 90 representatives from Odessa and the various German rural Kolonien in the Black Sea region had different views about the rationale of a future association. They included ethnic leaders such as teachers, clergymen, publishers, journalists, and activists in the Semstwo local education initiatives. The fi rst programme of the association was drafted by Jakob Stach, the son of Protestant colonists, who had studied theology at the University of Basle and was now pastor of the Freudenthal parish near Odessa. He represented a group which wanted to halt assimilation and foster religious and spiritual renewal in order to counter increasing materialism amongst the colonists. This group warned against politicisation of the association. Another protestant theologian within the founding committee had a different approach.

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Daniel Steinwand from Worms (gouvernement Cherson) was a graduate of the University of Dorpat, the conservative German-speaking university in Estonia which educated most of the Russian-German elites. His orientation was more national, concentrating on the dissemination and preservation of German Bildung through language, spirit, and sentiment. Steinwand was supported by Karl Wilhelm, the editor of the newspaper Odessaer Deutsche Zeitung, which ran from 1901 to 1914. Wilhelm grew up in Sarata in Bessarabia, graduated from the Sankt-Pauli-School in Odessa and then studied at German universities. He stood in close contact with a group of younger Baltic German nationalists who saw him as a vehicle to exert influence on the southern Russian colonists and the orientation of the South Russian German Educational Association. A third approach was represented by a group of Catholics and Mennonites. Their focus was on improving training and professional conditions as engrained in the cultural make-up of the colonists. The three factions agreed on a number of points: material and organisational support for German schools in the area should be prioritised; school attendance in the Kolonien should be increased; and teachers’ training seminars and German libraries should be established. In the mid-term future, the aim was to establish German middle schools, a technical-agricultural college, as well as a university in order to train the next generation of colonists.84 What the factions did not agree upon, however, was the organisational structure. Pastor Steinwand’s group, supported by Baltic nationalists, aimed for a centralised organisation which would have secured them a key position in the leadership of the association. Catholics and Mennonites, in contrast, argued for decentralisation which would give each interest group and local branch enough space to realise their own priorities. The Catholic weekly Klemens, whose editor Hermann Schellhorn had been elected to the Duma as candidate for the Constitutional Democratic Party (‘Cadet Party’), launched a perceptive attack on the Steinwand circle. According to the author, the young völkisch movement aimed to dominate the association and drive Catholics into a confl ict with Rome. Their Protestant religion was only a pretext for disseminating national and völkisch ideas. Criticising the Baltic German influence, the author argued with irony that the group did not care about religion but positioned the German-national aspect “über alles.” The Catholics ultimately prevailed. Mennonites, Protestants, and urban Odessans withdrew from the association, which developed into a colonist educational association with moderate national views and a strong Catholic alignment. In the next three years, 69 local branches were founded with 1,246 members. These were mainly farmers and land-owners, teachers, entrepreneurs, clergymen, civil servants, and other middle-class members. When the association wanted to change its statutes in 1909, however, the Odessan local authorities had a second look and decided de facto to prohibit any further educational work. The reason given was that the Verein contributed to national differences and German

156 Constructing a German Diaspora isolation from other population groups, and would therefore be a danger to public safety.85 The breakaway Protestants, meanwhile, had founded a separate organisation, the Südrussischer Deutscher Verein (South Russian German Association). This was dominated by the circle around newspaper editor Karl Wilhelm: mostly university-educated, often Baltic Germans or graduates of Dorpat University, with Protestant-nationalistic inclinations and in frequent contact with the Baltic German nationalists. Two examples are representative of the breeding ground of this diasporic nationalism. Ernst Mittelsteiner was born in East Prussia, graduated from Dorpat and was director of the German St.-Pauli-Realschule in Odessa from 1909 to 1916. Theodor Willigerode was the offspring of a Protestant pastor’s family from Orjo (Livonia), also a graduate of Dorpat University, and now pastor of the St.-Pauli-Church in Odessa. The cultural initiatives of the South Russian German Association were always fed with political and völkisch undertones. It aimed to fight against assimilation towards Russentum (‘Russiandom’), against Entdeutschung (‘De-Germanisation’) and fragmentation of the German settlement colonies. Membership rose to 534 in 1909, and then decreased to 386 in 1912. The association did, indeed, establish a number of elementary schools, libraries, and holiday camps. It developed educational opportunities for women, including a trade school for girls and German language instruction for mothers.86 A comparison of the various initiatives in Russia with the National German-American Alliance reveals global implications. Despite differences in size, structure, and host environment, the ideological essence of the two associations was similar: Loyalty to the American and Russian states respectively, but at the same time an awareness of belonging to a global Germanic Kulturgemeinschaft. This was combined with an insistence on the positive influence of the German element which was not appreciated enough by the host societies. At a purely terminological level, the idea of Germans as Kulturdünger (‘fertilizer of other peoples’) was propounded in the Black Sea region just as it was within Germany, the United States, and elsewhere. An article in the Odessaer Zeitung, for example, accepts Russia as the ‘fatherland’ but nevertheless explains: We, as Germans, should fi nally leave behind our servants’ nature, which we often have been blamed for. Let us own up in a free and open manner to the fact that we are Germans who do not need to feel ashamed of their origin in a foreign country but, on the contrary, are proud to belong to a nation which is one of the fi rst in the world in science and the arts, in trade and industry. We have always had a fertilizing effect on those states which have welcomed us with open arms. I ask you, Russia’s Germans! Preserve your most sacred treasures: language and religion! Serve faithfully your common fatherland, even if it has sometimes treated you in rough ways; but do not allow yourselves

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to be treated as cultural fertilizer (Kulturdünger). Respect the rights and the different nature of those with a different religion and language, but proudly profess to be Germans and leave behind the despicable and wrong shame of not wanting to be German.87 Dietmar Neutatz, in his detailed study based on local sources, shows that ethnic confidence of this kind was expressed openly only after 1905. He convincingly argues that pertinent ideas existed even before 1905 but were not expressed due to censorship and fears of appearing disloyal towards the authorities (which were more restrictive in the provinces than in the cities). Only the post-revolutionary reforms after 1905 opened up a public space in which those sentiments could be expressed which had been building up in the period of Russification from the 1870s, when military service was introduced for colonists and German-language teaching was suppressed by the Russian authorities.88 Local ethnic leaders tapped into a pool of language and metaphorical imagery which was used on a global scale. It certainly did not reach the colonist population as a whole, but was nevertheless disseminated by ethnic leaders with a relevant disposition, making inroads into associational life. This was less pronounced, but nevertheless existed in similar ways in the German settlements of the lower Volga region. These settlements were more isolated from Baltic German and metropolitan information flows, not least because of the comparative migratory timeframe. The bulk of migration to the Volga basin had more or less happened by 1767, whereas the Black Sea region received incomers until the 1840s and beyond. The Volga Germans were largely cut off from most of the nineteenth-century intellectual developments leading up to 1871. During the nineteenth century, they had few intellectuals amongst them who would construct a specifically Volga German identity or construct links with Germany. The Volga region experienced none of the celebrations in 1871 which took place in the Black Sea region. It was only after the liberalisation in the wake of 1905 that the local ‘information vacuum’ (Dönninghaus) regarding national and international affairs was partially remedied through the emergence of a secular ethnic press.89 The Saratower Deutsche Zeitung now reported on issues such as a native revolt in the German colony Cameroon, political tensions between Russia and Germany, the Daily Telegraph Affair, news from countries around the world (including Germany) under the rubric ‘Ausland,’ and news from across Russia. In its own words, it endeavoured to “radiate light and enlightenment to the apathetic Volk which sighs under the chains of spiritual and religious serfdom.”90 The following closer look at the sources engages critically with two notions brought forward in scholarship. First, is it legitimate to depict the Volga Germans as altogether apolitical, disconnected from German affairs, and, within a self-referential framework, beyond the diasporic radar?91 Second, did the ethnic community life which was specifically based on völkisch ideas vanish after a short honeymoon period with these ideas?92

158 Constructing a German Diaspora Ethnic leadership in Saratov was taken on by Adolf Lane under the auspices of diasporisation along national lines. Lane was born in 1880 in a German settlement colony in Orenburg (Southern Ural) and studied in Berlin where he came into contact with nationalist circles and the Pan-German League. He then went to Saratov, the urban centre of the lower Volga region, as a teacher, and pursued his aim of national rallying from 1906. He founded a printing works, Energie, took over the editorship of the newspaper Saratower Deutsche Zeitung (later Deutsche Volkszeitung, later Volks-Zeitung) which had been founded earlier in the year, and also established the Saratower Deutscher Verein. In his newspaper, Lane could not afford any radical tones as he had to win over those educated and well-off circles who tended to read the Sankt Petersburger Zeitung or the Russian newspapers. Constructions of common ethnic bonds, however, were the same as elsewhere. Not only these constructions, but also their limits came to the fore in contributions to the Deutsche Volkszeitung. By 1908, the Deutscher Verein had 160 active members. The Volkszeitung deplored that only 50 of them attended the annual general meeting, but that these made the most of the evening: Food, drink and merry German singing created a thoroughly gemütlich atmosphere. Yet again, the wonderful ancient German folk song proved to be the unifying bond of togetherness, embracing the German comrades of the same tribe (deutsche Stammesgenossen) of different social standing and occupation. It fans the fire of national awareness and keeps it alive.93 A lecture and entertainment evening in 1910 was attended by 150 members and guests. The organisers had hoped for more and deplored that many ethnic Germans in the area were still indifferent to the Verein.94 This theme also presented the opportunity to compare their own experiences with those of other colonist communities in the Russian Empire. The Volkszeitung reprinted an article from the Kaukasische Post which complained about the low turnout for the autumn fest organised by the Deutscher Verein in Tiflis: “Has all sense of community and every tiny spark of national awareness completely died off in ourselves? Has the German Club really become more alien than any Tatar or Armenian club? Is there not enough interest in our German Volk-comrades (Volksgenossen) left in us which would make us go, at least once a year, where Germans have been congregating for the past 50 years?”95 Kiev, in contrast, was held up as a shining example with a flourishing German club in possession of real estate worth 20,000 Roubles and 185 members making 1,000 Roubles of annual contributions. In 1909–1910, the club organised twelve family evenings with lectures, concerts, and theatre productions. Other festivities included a Schillerfest and Christmas celebrations. The gymnastics (Turner) section had 2,436 members. Financial support was given to members in need.96 Adolf Lane had already left Saratov in 1908, but his circle of middleclass entrepreneurs, merchants, teachers, journalists, and men of similar occupations97 carried on his work. Although actual membership fell to 86

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in 1912, a club evening in November 1911 was attended by 160 members and guests.98 Activities were extended after 1910. A number of club sections were established to address a range of interests and social groups: an orchestra, a men’s choir, a sports group, a reading circle, a youth section, and a women’s group. The latter organised support for the poor and was another local example of female middle-class philanthropy on an ethnic basis. Under the leadership of “Frau Dr. Bucholtz” and “Frau Dr. Grasmück” the section undertook charitable activities such as procuring work for unemployed women and providing clothes for poor school children.99 The seeds of gymnastics, a powerful ethnic glue elsewhere in Russia, but especially in the United States, were also sewn in Saratov. The Turner section of the Deutscher Verein gave a performance of gymnastic exercises (Schauturnen) in April 1910 in front of a packed audience, which also included the gouverneur of Saratov, in the club’s sports hall. Accompanied by marching music and led by Turnwart Herr Bollmann, the 15 gentlemen “in black trousers, white shirts, blue belts and ties” marched in fi rst, followed by 15 ladies. They performed single or group exercises such as living pyramids and parallel bars. The activities of the different sections showed some class differentiation. Ball dances appealed to the middle-class ethnic leadership. For a ball in February 1911, “about 200 ladies and gentlemen, almost exclusively members of the German community, graced the beautiful and spacious halls of the Saratov Merchant Club.”100 One hundred Roubles were taken in, half of which were donated to local German schools. These sections and activities continued to exist up until August 1914. The club’s leadership stressed that these cultural activities were ‘fighting tools’ (Kampfesmittel) against the decline of Germanness and for the cultural elevation of the ethnic minority. It appealed to the cultured middleclass section to support the endeavours since “to be German means to serve a cause for its own sake. Make the club’s concern your own personal concern of honour. Make joining a national duty of honour.”101 Ethnic leaders now also attempted to construct a specifically Volga German identity which was based on a common Volkstum but loyal to the Czar. The chairman concluded a speech to a general gathering with a poem:102 Du Heimatland, das mit dem Wolgabande In Berg und Wiese sich zusammenschließt. O Heimatland, wir geben dir zum Pfande Das Blut, das deutsch in unsern Adern fließt Auf e i n e m Stamm gewachsen Aus Preußen oder Sachsen Vom Schwarzwald bis zum fernen Ostseestrand Ihr Brüder hörts! reicht euch die Bruderhand!

You, our home country, which is bound together, By the Volga into hill and meadow. O, home country, we give you as a pledge The German blood which runs in our veins Grown on o n e trunk From Prussia or Saxonia From the Black Forest to the distant Baltic shores Brothers listen! Take each other’s brotherly hand.

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The poem evokes the landscape of the Volga Basin. German settlements spread on both shores of the Volga, with the western side consisting of rolling hills (Bergseite) and the eastern side of flatland steppe (Wiesenseite). Co-ethnics are asked to overcome their differences of regional origin and, in concomitance with German unification, defi ne themselves as one group based on common blood and culture. An article in the Volkszeitung on a stubborn conflict between Bergseite and Wiesenseite concluded with the upbeat comment that “amongst us, the colonists, the awareness grows that we are above all Germans—members of one family which cannot be divided by religious denomination or any geographical borders.”103 The local geography in combination with common heritage created a ‘third’ hybrid space of belonging. The ‘Südwesterliteratur’ of colonial South West Africa or German-American literature are other examples where similar processes of identity formation can be observed.104An important proponent of Volga German literature was Ferdinand von Wahlberg (1847–1920). He was born the son of a Swedish Lutheran pastor in Katharinenstadt (now Marx), where he spent his childhood. He then moved to Sweden, where he worked as a doctor and author, and only at the age of 60 returned to the place of his childhood. His works create a mystical world of fairies and ghosts around the beginnings of German settlement in the second half of the eighteenth century. Any ethnic historical narrative needs a referential starting point, with the Jews’ dispersal from the Holy Land providing the blueprint. Examples from the modern period include ‘Plymouth Rock’ (1620) for protestant Anglo America, ‘Potatoe Famine’ (1845–1852) for Irish America, the founding of Germantown (1683) for German America, and the arrival of the ‘Empire Windrush’ (1948) for West Indian immigration to Britain. These occurrences usually have a realistic core, but, over time, are re-created and modified into a myth of creation which blinds out longer-term continuities or aberrant facts. For the Volga Germans, the historical reference point was Czarina Catherine’s Manifesto of 1763–1764, inviting Germans to settle around Saratov. A case in point is Ferdinand von Wahlberg’s fairy tale story entitled The Birth of Love towards the Heimat amongst the People of the Volga Steppe. It recounts the tale of an artist painter, Justus Schaufler, who was “amongst those Germans who followed the call of Empress Katharina and moved to Russia 150 years ago.” Schaufler and his daughter Thimea are romantic souls who do not survive the harsh environment. After they die, however, he continues to paint idealised pictures of the Volga landscape and its inhabitants. His daughter implants these into the heart of every child which is born in the region. Heimat is the local context, not distant Germany. The ‘fatherland’ is Russia: “Thus was born the love towards the Heimat amongst the steppe people, and it became a great force with all Steppe people without any difference. From that moment on, the soil of the Heimat became dear and precious, working it became easy, and their own happiness was weaved into the happiness of the fatherland.”105 Wahlberg’s novel Christian Bode,

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which also appeared in serialised form in the Deutsche Volkszeitung, deals with the theme of homesickness. The protagonist is a pastor in an isolated settlement colony by the steppe river Irrsch. As an educated man, he finds colony life too narrow, tries to fi nd his happiness in the gouvernement capital, but returns remorsefully to his local flock.106 Wahlberg’s fairy tale Birth of Love towards the Heimat appeared in 1914 and was prefaced with a note in memory of the 150th anniversary of Volga German settlement. It was only one of a plethora of activities which were prepared or undertaken for the occasion. Festivities never took place due to the outbreak of war, but the run-up clearly points to the constructed nature of collective ethnic memory. In 1864, no centenary festivities had taken place. In contrast, 1914 was preceded by several years of Sammlungsarbeit under the theme of a unifying Volkstum and led by elites who had snapped up concomitant ideas in Germany, the Baltics, or through an increased flow of written publications. They promoted the preservation of ethnic heritage through local history initiatives, a museum, and a prize for the best publication for the occasion. As August Lonsinger (1881–1953), another important local author and journalist explained: If there was no historical awareness, one had to create it, and the anniversary was a tool to this end.107 Another work preparing for the occasion was a collection of Volga German folk and children’s songs which was co-edited by two local primary teachers, Johannes Erbes and Peter Sinner.108 The collection appeared in the printing-press, Energie, which had been founded by Adolf Lane several years previously. It was also sent to Freiburg in Germany to be incorporated into the newly established German folk song archive. The head of the archive, the Professor of Germanistik, John Meier, entered into a correspondence with the Volkszeitung about the collection’s value for upholding Deutschtum abroad.109 Unearthing the specific connections between local ethnic heritage and Germany was another diasporising tool. In 1911, the Deutscher Verein established a ‘Section for the History of the Volga Colonies’ to document the different dialects spoken in the settlement colonies and trace these back to specific regions in Germany. The second aim of the section was to collect written and material historical sources related to German settlement in the region and to establish a small museum (Kolonistenmuseum). The section was headed by a Dr. Bucholtz (most likely the husband of the above-mentioned ‘Frau Dr. Bucholtz’) and a Herr Lousinger, who travelled the dispersed settlement colonies to analyse dialects and language change.110All these endeavours aimed to construct a local ethnic narrative. They upheld the memory of a distant land of origin, but at the same time created a specifically local Heimat-identity—which could even survive the process of on-migration. A Johann Stärkel who now lived in Hillsboro, Kansas, wrote that he had access to a subscription copy of the “dear Volkszeitung” and was thus able to follow events on a weekly basis in the “old Heimat.” Vice versa, German-American newspaper subscriptions

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can be traced in the Black Sea gouvernements, including the Dakota Freie Presse, Iowa Herold, Eureka Post, and Lincoln Freie Presse.111 Localised or deterritorialised local identity was now complemented with a constructed diasporic one. The Volkszeitung published frequent articles about German affairs as well as German communities elsewhere in the world. These articles integrated localised perceptions of the minority experience into a larger framework which worked at the trans-local national level (as Russian Germans), at the transnational level (as connected with Germany), and indeed at the global level (as Auslandsdeutsche). Examples which illuminate each of these concentric circles include articles on “our Volk-brothers” in Wolhynia or the South Russian Education Association in Odessa, a “Letters from Germany” series which introduces important places or buildings in Germany, reports on famous German-Americans such as the wealthy ‘sugar king’ Klaus Spreckels, letters from Volga Germans in America, and reports on small settlements in Brazil or colonial East Africa.112 A global overview entitled ‘Das Deutschtum im Ausland’ (Germandom Abroad) is given in a reprinted article from the Berliner Lokalanzeiger. It explains that there were 92 million Germans around the world. In spite of the dangers faced by Deutschtum in many places, “we can be satisfied with the number of our national tribe-comrades (Stammesgenossen) all around the world in the last 100 years, and thus the dissemination of the German language.” Although England had reached an unattainable advantage, Germany should be proud to have overtaken many other Kulturnationen, especially France. The Volga Germans are singled out as a group which had managed to preserve its language throughout generations.113 Articles of this kind show that ethnic leaders propounded an idea of translocal and global connectedness which was strikingly similar to the one produced elsewhere. The question of dissemination, of course, persists. Are we only looking at the insignificant outpourings of a small elite, or did these ideas resonate within the wider community? The Deutsche Volkszeitung managed to build up a comprehensive network of correspondents in the settlement colonies and, according to Eisfeld, had a “large readership,” “significant influence on life in the colonies,” and also found readers in the Black Sea region, the Caucasus, and in Siberia. It also appealed to the farming community by publishing about agricultural issues and putting its finger on social and economic problems in the colonies. The print run and distribution could only be ascertained for the war years. The print run was 4,000 when the Volkszeitung was banned in 1915 and 11,000 when the newspaper was readmitted after the October revolution in 1917.114 Those Volga Germans who preferred reading the St. Petersburger Zeitung came into contact with similar ideas, but those who preferred Russian newspapers or did not read newspapers did not. Within a complex web of identity constructions, diasporic awareness has to be seen as a node which started to complement previous constructions from at least 1905 onwards. The Volga Germans were not as isolated from global flows of ideas about Germanness as scholarship suggests.

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Notions of cultural superiority towards the “low cultural level of our neighbour Volk”115 were also expressed. Articles about possible countries for on-migration were a regular feature. Persia, for example, was discussed in colonist circles as a cheaper option to reach than America. The Volkszeitung recommended that the Persian authorities should welcome Russian Germans with open arms. “Persia would attract fi rst-class cultural elements, peace-loving citizens who do not want to hear anything about politics and whose only ambition it is to bring culture to the country and turn the soil they occupy into a flourishing garden.”116 Under the title “Our Compatriots (Landsleute) in the Brazilian Jungle,” the newspaper published an article on the settlement of Neu Württemberg in Rio Grande do Sul. After giving a positive assessment of living standards and community life, the Hamburg-based writer found that the relatively differentiated associational life “particularly upholds the feeling of togetherness and Heimat, and thus contributes significantly to the preservation of Germanness.”117 The article was not so much an attempt to convince the newspaper’s readers to migrate to Brazil. Rather, it was to show the beneficial effects of sticking to Germanness abroad. Other contributions warned against Brazil or Argentina as destinations and rather recommended areas where the colonist could preserve his language and religion and pass it on to his children.118 Recommendations of this kind were covert advertisements for re-migration to Eastern Prussian provinces. Pan-German infi ltration of the ethnic press has been noted by scholarship for the Baltic and the Black Sea,119 but not for the Volga region. The reason may be that this happened in very subtle ways. Pan-German circles in Germany developed an interest in Russian Germans in the South only after 1900. The colonists were regarded as attractive ‘human material’ to be brought into the eastern Prussian provinces in order to push out Polish farmers. In addition, they could replace the one million foreign migrant workers, particularly Russian Poles, working in agriculture and industry. In this conception, the wealthier Black Sea Germans occupied the fi rst position, whilst the Volga Germans were regarded as inferior ‘material’ which would best be brought in as dependent day-labourers.120 In 1908, the Protestant Evangelische Hauptverein für deutsche Ansiedler und Auswanderer (Protestant Main Association for German Settlers and Emigrants) in Witzenhausen established a section for re-migrants. This section issued a confidential memorandum to sell the idea of re-migrating Russian Germans to agrarian employers in eastern Prussia: We find welcome material amongst those German farmers living abroad who are forced to look for new homes for whatever reasons. In this regard it is our task to compete with those overseas countries which welcome the German pioneer with open arms and alienate him from his motherland for good. [ . . . ] An organisation for re-migration which has no ambition whatsoever to weaken Germandom abroad works side by side with the supporters of the internal colonisation of our Heimat.121

164 Constructing a German Diaspora The section invited Russian German teachers for courses and visits to Germany and regarded letters of satisfied farmers as the best means to attract settlers. In 1908, the section was replaced with a proper organisation based in Berlin under the title Fürsorgeverein für deutsche Rückwanderer (Support Association for German Re-Migrants). This organisation cooperated closely with the Prussian government, local Chambers of Agriculture in Western Prussia and Posen, but also the Hamburg-Amerika-Linie and the right-wing Ostmarkenverein (Society for the Eastern Marches). In addition to over a hundred trusted individuals in Russia who acted as contact persons, the Fürsorgeverein placed positive articles in the ethnic press, not only in the Black Sea region122 but also in the Volga region. One of its leaders was Ernst Althausen, who had a Baltic German background and had been working as a pastor in Wolhynia for 20 years before moving to Berlin. With sensitivity for colonists’ attitudes, he placed articles in the Volga German ethnic press. Avoiding any Pan-German undertones, references to the Ostmarkenverein, or utilitarian arguments from Prussian landowners, he stressed that re-migration into Germany was a natural movement into the ‘motherland’ for Germans across the world, including the Americas. Ostensibly neither propaganda nor professional agents were necessary. Any decent and hardworking (‘ordentlich und fl eißig’) family would soon reach a level of modest wealth. In line with the above confidential memorandum which saw Volga Germans as inferior farmers, Althausen stressed in particular that dependent agricultural workers were able to make a decent living and even save money for their children. In contrast to the memorandum, of course, he avoided any reference to inferiority and instead stressed that the Fürsorgeverein and Germany would one day be “proud of these Germans from the Volga.”123 In a similarly subtle way, Althausen communicated the competition between Brazil and Prussia. A letter which was fi rst published in the newspaper Odessaer Zeitung was reprinted and introduced in the Saratov Deutsche Volkszeitung under the alarmist title “Warning against Emigration to Brazil.” The editors fi rst criticised the activities of the Brazilian government and agents as immoral and illegal. Then followed Althausen’s letter against the agents’ “dangerous machinations” and their rosy depictions of colony life in Brazil. The Fürsorgeverein regarded it as its “sacred duty to take on this fight against these enemies of our Volk, which has already suffered enough in the diaspora.”124Althausen added a letter from a certain Heinrich Müller, who had left the Volga during the fi rst emigration wave in 1890 in order to try his luck in Brazil. He now (1906) wrote to Althausen about his miserable life in “Babylonian captivity” and his desperation to leave for Prussia: “Ah! how I rejoiced when I read [ . . . ] that there is again a Heimat for us Protestant Christians in our German fatherland, namely in the Posen province. Many hundreds of families rejoice and are desperate to leave this—ape country—for the German fatherland.”125 He asked the Fürsorgeverein for support and information about life in

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eastern Prussia. The strategy of the Fürsorgeverein, but also the editors of the local Deutsche Volkszeitung was clear: Prussian provinces stood in direct competition with Brazil for German settlers. Pan-German arguments would have put off potential settlers. ‘Authentic’ information from colonists elsewhere was a more efficient means to the end. Occasionally, however, the newspaper editors lapsed into Pan-German jargon. A melancholic report about loss of homeland by Pastor Bruno Fischer, who had accompanied a cohort of farmers to their new destination in Posen, was introduced by the editors: “For the past 22 years, a cultural project of great national importance has been conducted in the Eastern Marches. [ . . . ] The Poles were ungrateful for the benefits they enjoyed under Prussian government and had developed more and more into enemies.”126All this agitation did, indeed, generate some success. Between 1908 and 1914, the Fürsorgeverein organised for more than 25,000 colonists, mostly from Wolhynia and the Volga basin, to settle and fi nd work in eastern Prussia. The vast majority were employed as agricultural and forest workers. One landowning employer, Freiherr von Wangenheim from East Prussia, found it “astonishing that even the Volga colonists develop into hard-working German human beings on German mother-soil.”127 Where do these details fit into the overall argument? The crucial point is that diasporisation had an effect even on those who were not taken in by its premises. Volga German farmers did not migrate north to support compatriots in need (Baltikumbesiedlung) or to push out Polish farmers from eastern Prussian provinces (Rücksiedlung). They migrated because the information supplied by elites suggested that they could make a better living in these areas. The concept of diaspora was instrumentalised and communicated in very different ways depending on the target groups and aims. Pan-German arguments were generally suppressed in order to convince a clientele which would not be convinced, or would instead be put off, by them. As far as local ethnic elites are concerned, a mixed picture emerges. Large parts read the Russian press, spoke mostly Russian, and had little contact with German circles. To deduce wholesale immunity or rejection of diasporic consciousness would, however, be misleading. The considerations above were mostly based on expressions from those groups or individuals who expressed a belief in Deutschtum as a suitable local and global ethnic glue. They should not be generalised for the ethnic elite, or indeed the Volga German population, at large, but should nevertheless be brought to the surface. After all, the only secular German ethnic newspaper in the region propounded concomitant ideas. At least from 1905, local identity was complemented with a transnational outlook. Diaspora construction did not come close to redeeming the all-encompassing fantasies of its builders. But it certainly was at work. After the outbreak of war in August 1914, Germans in Russia (with the exception of some Baltic Germans) hastily declared their unswerving loyalty to the Czar. German congregations across the country held special

166 Constructing a German Diaspora services to pray for the victory of the Russian troops, ethnic leaders published explanations to ensure the Russian public that they posed no danger, and collections for wounded Russian soldiers were held. These declarations were necessary to safeguard the social and economic standing within the multi-ethnic Russian society, but do not give conclusive evidence for the ‘loyalty question.’ This is, indeed, controversial, with some scholars arguing for a slow-moving erosion from 1905 via 1914, the October Revolution of 1917, and fi nally Stalinist terror as the nail in the coffi n.128 It is, indeed, difficult to look behind the facade of formulaic loyalty expressions within an autocratic state. Although they certainly expressed the general publicised mood of Russian Germans, private sources are better suited to reflect an in-between position.129Around 300,000 Russian Germans were drafted into the Czar’s army. All this was not able to prevent public Germanophobia, spy-fever, and repressive state measures. In the urban centres, German-owned shops and institutions were attacked by enraged crowds. In St. Petersburg, for example, a crowd of 1,000 stormed down Nevskij Prospect on the 22nd of July 1915, looting German shops and cafes on their way to the German embassy. They intruded the empty building, smashing furniture and windows. Embassy interpreter Dr. Kattner was found stabbed to death in the building the next morning. In Saratov, excesses occurred on the 27th of May 1915 when hundreds of shops and flats were looted and demolished. Many German-ethnics were injured and three were killed. These outbursts were flanked by government measures against the ‘internal enemy.’ Use of German in public was made illegal. Land and possessions of Germans in Wolhynia were liquidated in order to create a ‘safety belt’ against the invading German army. Forced selling of land was also planned for the Volga region but was not carried out due to the 1917 revolution. Ethnic leaders suspected of pro-Germanism, such as Pastor Johannes Schleuning, were banished to Siberia. Many Reichsdeutsche were interned or repatriated to Germany. Mass deportations included some 400,000 persons who were brought from Russian Poland into the Russian interior.130

CONCLUSION Summing up the juxtaposition of the North American and the Russian cases, a number of common themes arise. These played out in different forms in different societies but are nevertheless connected. Diasporic activity based on the idea of Volkstum as a transnationally unifying bond can be identified in both world regions. The two were not only connected through transatlantic on-migration of Volga and Black Sea Germans, but also through a transnational flow of ideas which had similar effects on different strata and strands of the German minority at large. It was disseminated through ethnic elites (who often had a vested interest in keeping ethnicity alive), through improved communication channels, and through

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mass emigration. Towards the end of the nineteenth century, Deutschtum was under threat in both countries through assimilation pressure from the respective host societies in combination with falling emigration numbers. The defence mechanism was similar. Associations were founded with a programme of preservation. Elites in the United States managed to get a national organisation off the ground in 1901, the National German-American Alliance. In Russia, similar attempts were made as soon as liberalisation set in after 1905. These remained geographically confi ned in the form of, for example, the St. Petersburger Deutscher Bildungs- und Hilfsverein, the Südrussischer Deutscher Bildungsverein, and the three Baltic provincial associations. Creating a national Russian-German association failed because of a combination of social divergence and state repression. In both world regions, ethnic nationalisation went hand in hand with assurances of loyalty towards the host society. Both host societies reacted negatively to Pan-German voices in their midst, erupting after the outbreak of war in the form of social exclusion, public violence, and official measures against ‘enemy aliens.’ This was more pronounced in Russia, with the Pan-Slavic movements acting as a xenophobic driving force and the state of war since August 1914 posing more acute threats. Geographical and social differentiation is crucial. In areas of mass immigration, it was a small segment of the ethnic elite (sometimes only a few individuals) stepping forward as noisy representatives of a diasporic nationalism which became more pronounced as the nineteenth century progressed. The idea of Germans as ‘fertiliser of other peoples,’ that is, as raising the cultural and economic strength of ostensibly underdeveloped host societies, was propounded in both countries. This was more outspoken within the more liberal framework of the United States where German ethnic leaders stressed the ‘contributions’ to the American success story in almost obsessive ways. It was more subdued (and at times repressed) within the authoritarian Czarist Empire but found its way into public ethnic discourse after the modest liberalisation of 1905. By no means did diasporisation attain the levels envisaged by ethnic leaders. The eight million Germans in the United States and the 1.8 million in Russia constituted a critical mass which was too diversified in political and social terms in order to be subsumed under the unilateral labels of Reich-supporting Germanness. The vast majority of migrants, both at social elite and non-elite levels, assimilated quietly or, alternatively, kept their language and religion without defi ning themselves as part of an all-encompassing German diaspora. In spite of this limitation, a wide range of sources and indicators have shown that the number of emigrant Germans coming in contact with diasporic ideas was increasing in both North America and Russia, contributing to a reformulation of diasporic identity under national (and no longer exclusively regional and religious) terms. Applying a methodological symbiosis of comparison and transfer, the chapter has widened the overall argument in descriptive, analytical, and paradigmatic terms.

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NOTES 1. Jürgen Kocka and Heinz-Gerhard Haupt, ‘Comparison and Beyond. Traditions, Scope, and Perspectives of Comparative History,’ in Jürgen Kocka and Heinz-Gerhard Haupt, Comparative and Transnational History, pp. 1–32; Johannes Paulmann, ‘Internationaler Vergleich und interkultureller Transfer. Zwei Forschungsansätze zur europäischen Geschichte des 18. bis 20. Jahrhunderts,’ Historische Zeitschrift 267 (1998), 649–685; Michael Werner and Bénédicte Zimmermann, ‘Vergleich, Transfer, Verflechtung. Der Ansatz der Histoire croisée und die Herausforderung des Transnationalen,’ Geschichte und Gesellschaft 28 (2002), 607–626. 2. E.g. Janssen, Vom Zarenreich; Fred C. Koch, The Volga Germans in Russia and the Americas from 1763 to the Present (University Park and London: Pennsylvania State University Press, 1977). 3. Kocka, ‘Comparison,’ pp. 3–4. 4. E.g. Neutatz, Die ‘deutsche Frage’; Ingeborg Fleischhauer, Die Deutschen im Zarenreich. Zwei Jahrhunderte deutsch-russische Kulturgemeinschaft (Berlin: Deutsche Verlags-Anstalt, 1986); Lydia Klötzel, Die Rußlanddeutschen zwischen Autonomie und Auswanderung. Die Geschicke einer nationalen Minderheit vor dem Hintergrund des wechselhaften deutsch-sowjetischen/ russischen Verhältnisses (Hamburg: Lit, 1999). 5. Wulff, Rolle der Flottenbewegung, pp. 110–116. 6. Ibid., p. 105–106. The ambassador in London, von Hatzfeld, had a similar background and received the same criticism. The London branch was mainly supported by the general consul, Freiherr von Lindenfels, see ibid. and Anglo-German Publishing Company, Deutsche Kolonie, p. 74. 7. Johnson, Culture at Twilight. 8. Frederick C. Luebke, ‘Patterns of German Settlement in the United States and Brazil, 1830–1930,’ in Luebke, Germans in the New World, pp. 93–109; Luebke, ‘Images of German Immigrants in the United States and Brazil, 1890–1918: Some Comparisons’, in Luebke, pp. 110–122. 9. Heike Bungert, ‘Deutschamerikanische Ethnizitätsbildungsprozesse in San Antonio und San Francisco 1848–1914,’ in Josef Raab and Jan Wirrer, eds., Die deutsche Präsenz in den USA (Münster: Lit, 2007), pp. 78–82. 10. For rural Wisconsin e.g. Das Montags-Blatt des Appleton Volksfreund, 22 June 1908; Manitowoc Post, 16 January 1908, 23 January 1908, 18 June 1908; Gegenwart (Appleton), 23 June 1908. 11. For the metropolitan perspective see Jaeger, ‘Colony as Heimat.’ 12. Milwaukee-Sonntagspost, 21 June 1908. 13. Andrew Yox, ‘The German-American Community as a Nationality, 1880–1941,’ Yearbook of German-American Studies 36 (2001), 181–191 (at 188–189). 14. James M. Bergquist, ‘German-America in the 1890s: Illusions and Realities,’ in E. Allen McCormick, ed., Germans in America. Aspects of German-American Relations in the Nineteenth Century (New York: Columbia University Press, 1983), pp. 1–14. 15. Luebke, ‘Bonds’; for the loyalty issue generally see Sheffer, Diaspora Politics, pp. 219–238. 16. “Die Deutschen Baltimore’s traten heute zu Tausenden und aber Tausenden in feierlicher Versammlung auf dem größten öffentlichen Platze hier zusammen, um dem auch von seinen Söhnen in der Fremde treu und heiß geliebten deutschen Vaterlande ihre innigste Theilnahme in diesen seinen ernsten Prüfungstagen und ihre werkthäthige Liebe kundzugeben. [ . . . ] [Wir hoffen,] daß Deutschland wiedergeboren, fest zu einem großen Reiche vereinigt, und vergrößert und bereichert durch die schönen Provinzen, welche ihm einst das

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17. 18.

19. 20. 21. 22. 23.

24. 25. 26.

27.

28. 29. 30.

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räuberische Frankreich genommen hat, aus den Flammen und Blutströmen dieses von der Tücke und Selbstsucht des französischen Kaisers angefachten furchtbaren Krieges hervorgehen wird.” Wilhelm Rapp, ‘Beim Ausbruch des deutsch-französischen Krieges. Die Deutschen Baltimore’s an das deutsche Volk, 22. Juli 1870,’ in ibid., ed., Erinnerungen eines Deutsch-Amerikaners an das alte Vaterland. In Reden und Briefen von Wilhelm Rapp (Chicago: Franz Gendele, 1890), pp. 7–8. Hans L. Trefousse, ‘Die deutschamerikanischen Einwanderer und das neugegründete Reich,’ in Trommler, Amerika und die Deutschen. Anne Löchte, ‘“We dont want Kiser to rool in Ontario.” Franco-Prussian War, German Unification, and World War I as Reflected in the Canadian Berliner Journal (1859–1918),’ in Schulze, German Diasporic Experiences, pp. 107–116. On heterogeneity in Canada see Sauer, Chorus, and Freund, Beyond the Nation. Anke Ortlepp, Auf denn, pp. 71–75; quote from Banner und Volksfreund, 28 September 1870, “[der] vaterländischen Sache Opfer zu bringen.” Ortlepp, Auf denn, pp. 76–77; communiqué in Banner und Volksfreund, 15 September 1870. Tobias Brinkmann, Von der Gemeinde zur ‘Community.’ Jüdische Einwanderer in Chicago, 1840–1900 (Osnabrück: Rasch, 2002), pp. 293–299. Illinois Staats-Zeitung, 20 August 1870, quoted in Brinkmann, Von der Gemeinde, p. 294. Brinkmann, Von der Gemeinde, pp. 293–299; Nadel, Little Germany, pp. 99–103; Avraham Barkai, Branching Out. German-Jewish Immigration to the United States, 1820–1914 (New York: Holmes & Meier, 1994), pp. 164– 190; Carolyn S. Blackwell, ‘German Jewish Identity and German Jewish Emigration to the Midwest in the Nineteenth Century,’ in Eberhard Reichmann et al., eds., Emigration and Settlement Patterns of German Communities in North America (Indianapolis: Indiana and Purdue University, 1995), pp. 310–324. For Britain see Todd E. Endelman, Radical Assimilation in English Jewish History, 1656–1945 (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1990); Manz, Migranten, pp. 179–180. Cornelia Wilhelm, Deutsche Juden in Amerika. Bürgerliches Selbsbewusstsein und jüdische Identität in den Orden B’nai B’rith und Treue Schwestern, 1843–1914 (Stuttgart: Steiner, 2007). Felix N. Gerson, ‘Die deutschen Juden in Amerika,’ in Deutsch-Amerikanischer National-Bund, ed., Das Buch der Deutschen in Amerika (Philadelphia: Walther, 1909), pp. 261–271. The literature on Jews in Imperial Germany is vast. A good recent introduction is Michael Wolfssohn and Thomas Brechenmacher, Deutschland jüdisch Heimatland. Die Geschichte der deutschen Juden vom Kaiserreich bis heute (Munich: Piper, 2008); also Walkenhorst, Nation. Fr. Guntram Schultheiβ, Deutschnationales Vereinsleben. Ein Beitrag zur Geschichte des deutschen Nationalgefühls (Munich: Lehmann, 1897), pp. 65–66, “[ . . . ] erst, wenn die Juden, die mitten unter dem deutschen Volke wohnen, auf jede Hervorkehrung ihrer Sonderart zu verzichten gelernt— oder soweit ihnen das unmöglich scheint, sich durch Auswanderung dieser Forderung entzogen haben werden.” Davis Trietsch, ‘Das deutschsprachige Judentum im Ausland,’ in Das Deutschtum im Ausland 6 (December 1910), 274–279. Barbara Lorenzowski, ‘Germania in Canada. Nation and Ethnicity at the German Peace Jubilees of 1871,’ in Freund, Beyond the Nation, pp. 107–136 (quote 128–129). Trefousse, ‘Die deutschamerikanischen Einwanderer.’

170 Constructing a German Diaspora 31. Bergquist, ‘German-America,’ p. 4. 32. Yox, ‘German-American Community,’ 181–182; Lavern J. Rippley, ‘Monumentality. How post-1871 Germans in the United States Expressed their Ethnicity,’ Yearbook of German-American Studies 38 (2003), 139–153; Wiebke Krämer, ‘Gothic Revival Churches of German Immigrants in the USA,’ Paper given at the 36th Annual Symposium of the Society for German-American Studies, April 2012, Lawrence, Kansas. 33. H. Russell Zimmermann, Germania Building. A Milwaukee Landmark Restored (Milwaukee, WI: Plankinton & Wells, 1982). 34. Johnson, Culture at Twilight; Joseph Salmons, ‘The Shift from German to English, World War I and the German-language Press in Wisconsin,’ in Walter G. Rödel and Helmut Schmahl, eds., Menschen zwischen zwei Welten. Auswanderung, Ansiedlung, Akkulturation (Trier: Wissenschaftlicher Verlag, 2002), pp. 179–193. 35. Albert Godsho, Chronological History of the National German American Alliance of the United States (Philadelphia: National German American Alliance, 1911), at MKI Madison, WI, P84–64. 36. E.g., Albert B. Faust, Das Deutschtum in den Vereinigten Staaten in seiner geschichtlichen Entwicklung, 2 vols. (Leipzig: Teubner, 1912); Georg von Bosse, Das deutsche Element in den Vereinigten Staaten unter besonderer Berücksichtigung seines politischen, ethischen, sozialien und erzieherischen Einfl usses (Stuttgart: Belser, 1908); Rudolf Cronau, Drei Jahrhunderte deutschen Lebens in Amerika. Eine Geschichte der Deutschen in den Vereinigten Staaten (Berlin: Reimer, 1909). 37. Orm Øverland, Immigrant Minds, American Identities. Making the United States Home, 1870–1913 (Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 2000). 38. Kathleen N. Conzen, ‘Phantom Landscapes of Colonization. Germans in the Making of a Pluralist America,’ in Frank Trommler and Elliott Shore, eds., The German-American Encounter. Conflict and Cooperation between Two Cultures, 1800–2000 (New York and Oxford: Berghahn, 2001), pp. 7–21 (at p. 12). 39. Ibid., referring to Matthew Frye Jacobson, Special Sorrows. The Diasporic Imagination of Irish, Polish, and Jewish Immigrants in the United States (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1995). 40. Phyllis Keller, States of Belonging. German-American Intellectuals and the First World War (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1979), pp. 120–190; quote in Niel M. Johnson, George Sylvester Viereck. GermanAmerican Propagandist (Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 1972), p. 4. 41. Keller, States of Belonging, pp. 116–119. 42. Robert E. Ward, A Bio-Bibliography of German-American Writers, 1670– 1970 (White Plains, NY: Kraus, 1970), p. 97. 43. Julius Goebel, Der Kampf um deutsche Kultur in Amerika. Aufsätze und Vorträge zur deutsch-amerikanischen Bewegung (Leipzig: Dürr, 1914). 44. “[ . . . ] der Hang zur Heuchelei, der Mangel an Ehrgefühl, vorzüglich in Geldsachen, die hastige Oberflächlichkeit, das feige Beugen vor der öffentlichen Meinung und die maßlose nationale Eitelkeit,” ibid., p. 5. 45. Julius Goebel, Das Deutschtum in den Vereinigten Staaten von NordAmerika (Munich: Lehmann, 1904), (publication series Der Kampf um das Deutschtum, ed. Pan-German League, vol. 16). Quote p. 2: “[ . . . ] der Löwenanteil an der stillen Kolonisierung, die die Grundlage zum Reichtum Amerikas legte, fällt doch wohl den Deutschen zu.” 46. “Das denkende Deutschtum der Erde geistig zu sammeln [ . . . ],” Der Deutsche Kulturtraeger. Monatsschrift für die Kulturarbeit des Germanentums deutscher Zunge, 1/1, 1913, p. 2.

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47. Erinnerungsblätter an die Excursion des Deutschen Krieger-Vereins von Chicago, Ill., zur 25jährigen Sedan-feier (Chicago: Klein, 1895). 48. Ibid., p. 3. “[ . . . ] das Solidaritäts-Gefühl, hervorgerufen dadurch, weil Blut stärker ist als Wasser, unentwegt und allerorts besteht und durch absolut gar keine Verhältnisse zu brechen ist.” 49. Ibid., p. 15. 50. Ibid., pp. 15–48. 51. Wisconsin State Historical Society, Pam 74–2454, Fest Programm für das Neunte Krieger-Bundesfest des Deutschen Krieger Bundes von Wisconsin am 20., 21. und 22. Juni 1908, Green Bay, Wisconsin; articles in Milwaukee Herold, 22 June 1908; Gegenwart, 23 June 1908; Manitowoc Post, 25 June 1908; Das Montagsblatt, Appleton, 22 June 1908. For a photo of the Oshkosh Deutscher Kriegerverein see Oshkosh Public Museum, P1948.1. 52. Quoted in Nagler, Nationale Minoritäten, p. 100. 53. Quoted ibid., p. 106. For Chicago see pp. 102–106. 54. Ibid., pp. 99–113; Luebke, Bonds, pp. 83–111; also KatjaWüstenbecker, Deutsch-Amerikaner im Ersten Weltkrieg. US-Politik und nationale Identitäten im Mittleren Westen (Stuttgart: Steiner, 2007). 55. Kappeler, ‘Deutsche Minderheit,’ p. 19. 56. Ibid., pp. 14–28. 57. Victor Dönninghaus, Die Deutschen in der Moskauer Gesellschaft. Symbiose und Konflikte 1494–1941 (Munich: Oldenbourg, 2002), p. 333 (my translation). 58. Zur Erinnerung an die Feier des 25-jährigen Jubiläums des Vereins zur Unterstützung hilfsbedürftiger Deutscher Reichsangehöriger in Moskau, Moskau 1905, 13, quoted in Dönninghaus, Die Deutschen, p. 331. 59. Dönninghaus, Die Deutschen, pp. 329–335. 60. “Es wurden die deutsche Freiheit, der deutsche Patriotismus und die deutsche Loyalität gefeiert. Jedes Mal, wenn der Patriotismus zur Sprache kam, zeigte sich eine gewisse Begeisterung in den Reihen der Gäste und doch—war und blieb Alles gemüthlich, wie auch das echt deutsch ist,” St. Petersburger Herold, 1 November 1900, 3, quoted in Busch, Deutsche in St. Petersburg, p. 105. 61. Busch, Deutsche in St. Petersburg, 105; quote St. Petersburger Zeitung, 30 April 1905. 62. “Wir dürfen aber nicht vergessen, daß wir Deutsche sind und bleiben und hierin muß uns der Gedanke an unser Vaterland bestärken. Dem Vaterland dienen durch Einigkeit, Wohltätigkeit, Zurückweisung aller Angriffe auf Deutsche im Ausland und wenn wir das Leben unserer Heimat unentwegt verfolgen und aus der Ferne miterleben, und wenn wir dem deutschen Kaiserhaus unverbrüchlich Treue bewahren,” St. Petersburger Zeitung, 8 November 1909, quoted in Busch, Deutsche in St. Petersburg, pp. 106–107. 63. Klötzel, Die Rußlanddeutschen, p. 59. 64. Fleischhauer, Die Deutschen im Zarenreich, pp. 382–383; Busch, Deutsche in St. Petersburg, pp. 28–29, 107–108. 65. Fleischhauer, Die Deutschen im Zarenreich, pp. 383–384; Busch, Deutsche in St. Petersburg, pp. 108–112. 66. Busch, Die Deutschen in St. Petersburg, pp. 216–220, quote in St. Petersburger Zeitung, 27 January 1910. 67. Allgmeiner Deutscher Schulverein, Handbuch, p. 192. 68. Fleischhauer, Die Deutschen im Zarenreich, p. 385. 69. BAMA RM 3/9921–3; Wulff, Rolle der Flottenbewegung, p. 108. 70. Fleischhauer, Die Deutschen im Zarenreich, pp. 385–386, based on Ortsgruppenverzeichnis des Hauptverbandes deutscher Flottenvereine im Ausland (Munich, 1912), pp. 52–56. This source could not be traced.

172 Constructing a German Diaspora 71. Memo President of the Central League to AA, 26 November 1914, BAMA RM 3/9924–1. 72. Patrik von zur Mühlen, ‘Die Zuwanderer aus den Ländern des 1871 gegründeten Reiches,’ in Wilfried Schlau, ed., Sozialgeschichte der baltischen Deutschen (Köln: Wissenschaft und Politik, 2000), pp. 245–258. 73. von Hirschhausen, Grenzen, p. 222; Fleischhauer, Die Deutschen im Zarenreich, p. 386. 74. Anders Henriksson, The Tsar’s Loyal Germans. The Riga German Community: Social Change and the National Question 1855–1905 (New York: Columbia University Press, 1983), pp. 56–63. 75. von Hirschhausen, Grenzen, pp. 222–226. 76. Ibid., p. 225. 77. Jahresbericht des Vereins der Deutschen in Kurland 1906/07, 28–30, quoted in Fleischhauer, Die Deutschen im Zarenreich, p. 386. 78. Erich Sommer, Die Einigungsbestrebungen der Deutschen im VorkriegsRußland, 1905–1914 (Leipzig: Hirzel, 1940), pp. 28–35. 79. Neutatz, Deutsche Frage, p. 237; Fleischhauer, Die Deutschen im Zarenreich, p. 390; Sommer, Einigungsbestrebungen, pp. 28–35. 80. Michael Schippan and Sonja Striegnitz, Wolgadeutsche. Geschichte und Gegenwart (Berlin: Dietz, 1992), pp. 139–140; Fleischhauer, Die Deutschen im Zarenreich, p. 390; Neutatz, Deutsche Frage, pp. 233–237. 81. E.g. Klötzel, Rußlanddeutsche, p. 65, or Fleischhauer, Die Deutschen im Zarenreich, pp. 386–390, who does not always give sources for Pan-German connections. For a similar criticism see Neutatz, Deutsche Frage, pp. 237, footnote 20. 82. Deutsche Rundschau, 25 November 1909, quoted in Neutatz, Deutsche Frage, pp. 308. 83. Detlef Brandes, Von den Zaren adoptiert. Die deutschen Kolonisten und die Balkansiedler in Neurußland und Bessarabien 1751–1914 (München: Oldenbourg, 1993), pp. 478–481 (quote 479). 84. Fleischhauer, Die Deutschen im Zarenreich, pp. 378–379; Klötzel, Rußlanddeutsche, pp. 61–62. 85. Fleischhauer, Die Deutschen im Zarenreich, pp. 380–382; Klötzel, Rußlanddeutsche, pp. 61–63. 86. Ibid.; Eisfeldt, Die Rußlanddeutschen, p. 66. 87. “Geben wir Deutschen endlich die uns so oft vorgeworfene Dienernatur auf und bekennen wir frei und offen das eine, daß wir Deutsche sind, die auch in fremdem Lande sich ihrer Abstammung nicht zu schämen brauchen, sondern stolz darauf sind, einer Nation anzugehören, welche in Wissenschaft und Kunst, Handel und Gewerbe eine der ersten in der Welt ist und stets befruchtend auf die Staaten gewirkt hat, welche sie in ihren Schoß aufgenommen haben. Ihr Deutschen Rußlands! Wahret eure heiligsten Güter Sprache und Glauben! Dienet treu dem gemeinsamen Vaterlande wenn es auch manchmal herbe mit euch verfahren ist; aber lasset euch nicht als bloßen Kulturdünger behandeln. Achtet die Rechte und die Eigenart der Andersgläubigen und Anderssprachigen, aber bekennet euch stolz als Deutsche und legt ab die verächtliche und falsche Scham, nicht deutsch sein zu wollen,” Odessaer Zeitung, 2 April 1906, 1–2, quoted in Neutatz, Deutsche Frage, pp. 350–351. 88. Neutatz, Deutsche Frage, p. 351. 89. Brandes, ‘Wolga- und Schwarzmeerdeutsche,’ pp. 29–48; Dönninghaus, Revolution, pp. 84–91; Klusmeyer, Immigration Policy, pp. 54–59; Dittmar Dahlmann, ‘Die Deutschen an der Wolga von der Ansiedlung 1764 bis zum Ausbruch des Ersten Weltkrieges,’ in Hans Rothe, ed., Deutsche in Rußland (Cologne: Böhlau, 1996), pp. 1–30 (at p. 18).

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90. Saratov University Library, Deutsche Volkszeitung, e.g. 2 November 1908, 15 July 1910, 1 August 1910, 23 May 1913, quote 2 October 1908: “Redlich hat es um sein Dasein gerungen, Licht und Aufklärung unter das in den Ketten der geistigen und geistlichen Knechtschaft seufzende und abgestumpfte Volk zu bringen.” 91. E.g. Long, From Privileged. 92. Fleischhauer, Die Deutschen im Zarenreich, pp. 384–385. 93. Deutsche Volkszeitung, 9 November 1908, “Man fühlte sich bei Speise und Trank und fröhlichem deutschen Gesang ganz gemütlich. Das alte herrliche deutsche Volkslied bewährte sich auch diesmal als das einigende Band, das die deutschen Stammesgenossen verschiedensten Standes und Berufes im Gefühl der Zusammengehörigkeit umschlingt und das Feuer des nationalen Bewußtseins anfacht und lebendig erhält.” 94. Deutsche Volkszeitung, 7 October 1910. 95. Deutsche Volkszeitung, 10 October 1910, “Ist denn wirklich aller Gemeinsinn, ist denn jedes Fünkchen nationalen Bewußtseins so ganz und gar in uns erstorben, daß uns der deutsche Verein vielfach fremder geworden ist als irgend ein tatarischer oder armenischer? Ist denn nicht mehr soviel Interesse für unsere deutschen Volksgenossen in uns vorhanden, daß es uns wenigstens einmal im Jahr dahin treiben könnte, wo die Deuutschen sich seit 50 Jahren versammeln?” 96. Deutsche Volkszeitung, 21 October 1910. 97. Galina Chotinskaja, ‘Saratow—Metropole der Wolgadeutschen,’ in Boris Meissner et al., eds., Die Russlanddeutschen. Gestern und Heute (Köln: Markus, 1992), pp. 143–158. 98. Deutsche Volkszeitung, 27 November 1911; 15 March 1912. 99. Deutsche Volkszeitung, 16 September 1910; also 23 October 1908, 20 February 2011 (choir and orchestra); 2 January 1911 (charity concert ball); 19 May 1911 (women’s section); 28 June 1912 (youth section). 100. Deutsche Volkszeitung, 27 February 1911. 101. Deutsche Volkszeitung, 20 November 1908, “D e u t s c h sein, heißt einer Sache um ihrer selbst willen dienen. Machen Sie die Vereinssache zu persönlicher Ehrensache und den Beitritt zu nationaler Ehrenpfl icht.” 102. Ibid. 103. Deutsche Volkszeitung, 14 June 1909, “Unter uns Kolonisten gewinnt die Erkenntnis immer mehr Boden, daß wir vor allem Deutsche sind, Glieder einer Familie, die weder Konfession noch irgendwelche geographische Grenzen zu trennen vermögen.” 104. E.g., Cora Lee Kluge, ed., Other Witnesses. An Anthology of Literature of the German Americans, 1850–1914 (Madison, WI: Max Kade Institute, 2007); Brent O. Peterson, ‘How (and Why) to Read German-American Literature,’ in Trommler, German-American Encounter, pp. 88–102; Werner Sollors, ‘German-Language Writing in the United States. A Serious Challenge to American Studies?’ in ibid., pp. 103–116; Thomas Keil, Die postkoloniale deutsche Literatur in Namibia, 1920–2000 (PhD diss., Stuttgart, 2003), pp. 218–236. 105. Ferdinand von Wahlberg, Die Geburt der Heimatliebe unter den Bewohnern der Wolgasteppe. Ein Märchen (Helsingfors: Sana, 1914), SHAVGE 1831/1/207. Quotes: “Unter jenen Deutschen, die dem Ruf der Kaiserin Katharina Folge leisteten und vor 150 Jahren nach Rußland zogen [ . . . ]” (p. 6); “So ward die Heimatliebe bei den Steppenmenschen geboren und sie wurde eine große Macht, dieselbe bei allen Steppenmenschen ohne jeglichen Unterschied. Den Steppenbewohnern ward nachher die Heimatscholle lieb und teuer, die Arbeit auf ihr leicht, und ihr eigenes Glück webte sich in das Glück

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106. 107. 108. 109. 110. 111. 112. 113. 114.

115. 116.

117.

118. 119. 120. 121. 122. 123. 124. 125.

126.

Constructing a German Diaspora des Vaterlandes ein.” (p. 21). Also see R. Korn, ‘Pflege des wolgadeutschen Kulturerbes in Deutschland. Stimmen aus dem Abgrund,’ Jahrbuch für Internationale Germanistik XLI/1, 2009, 101–20 (at p.104–108). Ferdinand von Wahlberg, Christian Bode. Erzählung aus den deutschen Kolonien an der Wolgasteppe 1795 (Wien Leipzig: Braunmüller, 1910). Annelore Engel-Braunschmidt, ‘Das wolgadeutsche Jubiläumsjahr 1914,’ in Alfred Eisfeld et al., eds., Deutsche in Rußland und in der Sowjetunion 1914–1941 (Berlin: Lit, 2007), pp. 307–316. Johannes Erbes and Peter Sinner, eds., Volkslieder und Kinderreime aus den Wolgakolonien. Gesammelt und mit einem Anhang von Rätseln zum 150jährigen Jubiläum der Wolgakolonien (Saratov: Energie, 1914). Deutsche Volkszeitung, 19 January 1914, 27 April 1914. Deutsche Volkszeitung, 3 July 1911. Deutsche Volkszeitung, 26 February 1909, also 8 February 1909, 21 May 1909; Brandes, Von den Zaren adoptiert, p. 481. E.g. Deutsche Volkszeitung, 11 December 1908, 28 December 1908, 1 January 1909, 15 March 1909, 2 April 1909, 9 April 1909, 18 June 1909, 28 September 1914, 10 April 1911. Ibid., 18 January 1909. Alfred Eisfeld, Deutsche Kolonien an der Wolga 1917–1919 und das Deutsche Reich (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 1985), pp. 28–30; Ingo-Rudolf Pauli, Lübeck—Kronstadt—Saratow. Schicksalsweg der ‘Wolgadeutschen’ 1763–1921 (Flensburg: Skania, 1985), p. 227. Deutsche Volkszeitung, 19 January 1914. Deutsche Volkszeitung, 16 December 1910, “Persien würde dadurch erstklassige Kulturelemente anziehen, friedliche Bürger, die von der Politik nichts hören wollen, deren einziger Ehrgeiz ist, Kultur ins Land zu bringen und die besetzte Scholle in einen blühenden Garten umzuwandeln.” Deutsche Volkszeitung, 10 April 1911, “[Die Vereinsmeierei] hält vor allen Dingen das Zusammengehörigkeits- und Heimatsgefühl hoch und trägt dadurch viel zur Erhaltung des Deutschtums bei.”; also ibid., 4 September 1911 for Turkestan. Deutsche Volkzeitung, 17 April 1911, 10 July 1911. Neutatz, Deutsche Frage; Fleischhauer, Deutsche im Zarenreich. Schippan, Wolgadeutsche, p. 140. Rückwanderstelle Berlin, ed., Deutsche Rückwanderer aus Rußland. Ein Leitfaden für ländliche Arbeitgeber (Berlin: Rückwanderstelle, 1908), pp. 5–6. Neutatz, Deutsche Frage, p. 230; Regina Römhild, Die Macht des Ethnischen: Grenzfall Rußlanddeutsche. Perspektiven einer politischen Anthropologie (Frankfurt: Lang, 1998), p. 80. Deutsche Volkszeitung, 21 October 1912. Deutsche Volkszeitung, 18 December1908, “Da sehen wir es denn als unsere heilige Pfl icht an, den Kampf mit diesen Feinden unseres Volks, das in der Diaspora wohl schon genug zu leiden hat, aufzunehmen.” Deutsche Volkszeitung, 18 December 1908, “O! wie freue ich mich, da ich Ihren Brief gelesen habe und hörte, daß für uns evangelische Christen wieder eine neue Heimat in unserm deutschen Vaterlande vorhanden ist, und das in der Provinz Posen. Viele Hunderte von Familien freuen sich mit und möchten so gerne aus diesem—Affenlande—in ihr deutsches Vaterland”; also ibid., 10 July 1911 (warning against Argentina). Deutsche Volkszeitung, 2 October 1908, “In der Ostmark vollzieht sich seit nunmehr 22 Jahren eine große nationale Kulturarbeit: die Besiedelung der Provinzen Westpreußen und Posen mit deutschen Bauern, Landarbeitern und

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127. 128. 129. 130.

175

Handwerkern. [ . . . ] Die Polen waren aber für die Wohltaten, die sie unter preußischer Herrschaft genossen, undankbar und entpuppten sich immer mehr als Feinde.” Neutatz, Deutsche Frage, p. 231; quote Schippan, Wolgadeutsche, pp. 140– 141, “[ . . . ] merkwürdig, daß auch die Wolga-Kolonisten hier im deutschen Mutterboden sich zu tüchtigen deutschen Menschen entwickeln.” E.g. Dahlmann, ‘Die Deutschen an der Wolga,’ pp. 20–21; Busch, Deutsche in St. Petersburg, pp. 220–229. Busch, Deutsche in St. Petersburg, p. 220. Against this argument: von Hirschhausen, Grenzen der Gemeinsamkeit, p. 222. Eric Lohr, Nationalizing the Russian Empire. The Campaign against Enemy Aliens during World War I (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2003); Dahlmann, ‘Die Deutschen an der Wolga,’ 20–21; Busch, Deutsche in St. Petersburg, pp. 20–29; with pictures from Saratov and Moscow: Robert Korn, Die Wolgadeutschen 2010, no pagination, Saratov Public Library, Goethe Institute Reading Room; Schippan, Wolgadeutsche, pp. 142–147; von zur Mühlen, ‘Zuwanderer,’ pp. 249–250; Fleischhauer, Die Deutschen im Zarenreich, pp. 449–461; Eisfeld, Deutsche Kolonien, pp. 38–39; Reinhard Nachtigal, ‘Beistand für Kriegsgefangene in Rußland 1914–1918. Die Moskauer Deutschen,’ in Eisfeld, Deutsche in Rußland, pp. 62–84; Sergej G. Nelipovič, ‘Die Politik der militärpolitischen Führung Rußlands gegenüber den Deutschen während des Ersten Weltkrieges, 1914–1918’, in ibid., pp. 106–126.

5

Religion Protestantism and Auslandsdeutschtum

INTRODUCTION In a presentation given to the General Assembly of the Protestant League (Evangelischer Bund) in 1902, Pastor F. Geest explained that “Germanness and Gospel in its innermost harmony [constitute] the rock upon which the greatness and the power of our fatherland rests firmly and safely,” and that it was not Catholics (‘Römlinge’) but Protestants who had always been the pioneers of German culture. Within the national-Protestant, anti-ultramontanist Protestant League this would have been a rather unexceptional utterance. What makes Geest’s presentation relevant within a global context, however, is its transnational outlook. It is entitled German-Protestant in the Diaspora Abroad and glorifies the achievements of his co-religionists abroad. Geest had been pastor in Valdivia, Chile, for four years and now mused that “across the ocean a new Germany has emerged and has brought honour and a high reputation upon the German name throughout the world, [pushing] the Englishman further and further back in a fierce competition.” German Catholics, of course, only played a marginal role abroad since ‘Romanismus’ was not a culture-promoting force and its priests were the “most eager grave-diggers of German nature and customs.” The Protestant gospel, on the other hand, was the best “dam to protect Germanness safely and fi rmly against the floods of alien Volkstum.”1 This source text can serve to outline the historiographical and theoretical context of the following chapter. Whilst the close relationship between Protestantism and nationalism in Imperial Germany has been authoritatively analysed, scholars have tended to remain within the borders of the Reich for their geographical and analytical framework. 2 Those scholars who, on the other hand, specifically work on questions of globalisation and constructions of ethno-national identity tend to either briefly acknowledge the significance of religion3 or gloss over this aspect altogether,4 mentioning instead secular associations such as the Pan-German League or the VDA.5 A third group are church historians, discussing the topic within either legal or theological parameters.6 Whilst contemporaneous reflections upon the relationship between Protestantism and diaspora ‘Germanness’ abounded,

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the only modern, yet dated, account is a monograph on Brazil.7 The following chapter will go beyond this body of literature by analysing the connection between nationalism and Protestantism in Imperial Germany within a transnational context. Although not omnipresent, Protestantism was arguably the most globally pervasive intellectual force within German ethnic communities. Pastors were increasingly sent out by the Reich’s churches and were thereby able to spread not only the gospel but also specific concepts of nationhood and national belonging. The chapter highlights the significance of German Protestantism for the global dissemination of German nationalist ideas and, at a complementary level of analysis, its impact on constructions of ethnic belonging within German communities abroad. Feedback processes from periphery to centre, in turn, had an impact on German national identity construction as that of a nation which was not confi ned to state borders. The chapter is thus another mosaic piece to highlight Germany’s transnational entanglements and argues that the connection between Protestantism and diaspora was an important, yet hitherto neglected, dimension of constructing a ‘Greater German Empire.’ Some theoretical remarks are necessary in order to highlight the significance of Pastor Geest’s triangulation of religion, nation, and diaspora. I would first like to discuss the connection between religion and nation. Enlightenment-inspired interpretations of the modern nation-state have long neglected the central role of religion for the formation of national sentiments. Adrian Hastings has argued persuasively that this nexus did exist in some form well before the eighteenth century, with the Bible providing the original model of the nation. Anthony D. Smith shows that modern nations and nationalism did not replace pre-existing religious systems but rather arose in close interaction with them. They incorporated traditional religious symbolism in order to provide ‘sacred foundations’ for their ostensibly secular creations. Purely secular categories such as language or ethnicity do not suffice to explain the deep-rootedness and longevity of emotional attachment towards the nation-state. Only religious elements provided a sacralised framework of binding commitments.8 Imperial Germany was a case in point. Negotiations of religious conflict and symbolism lay at the heart of national identity formation after German unification in 1871. Elites in the Prussia-led Reich polemicised fiercely against ‘fatherland-less’ Catholic ultramontanism and universalism, which allegedly stood against the essence of the ‘true’ German spirit. Heinrich von Treitschke and other historians represented Martin Luther as a national hero who had tried to liberate his fatherland from Roman domination. Whilst Catholicism was condemned for spiritualism and superstition, Protestantism stood for modernity and rationalism. During the 1870s, this ‘clash of cultures’ (Kulturkampf) led to the large-scale incarceration of Catholic priests and the expropriation of ecclesiastical property worth 16 million Marks.9 Religion was an arena which, in a Gellnerian sense, allowed elite cultures to produce and disseminate their specific vision of the nation. Breuilly develops Gellner’s approach to nationalism in order to

178 Constructing a German Diaspora differentiate nation-state formation from nationalism: German unification was not a natural expression of pre-existing ‘national’ developments. Rather, historiographical accounts which represented ‘1871’ as the teleological fulfilment of German national destiny were ex post facto constructions aimed at legitimising the newly founded state.10 This constructivist approach allows for a theoretical decoupling of nationalism and nation-state. It thereby opens up the possibility of taking the former out of the geographical strait-jacket of the latter and applying a transnational lens to Protestant expressions of German nationalism. This is where the diasporic element comes in. The previous chapters have demonstrated that “the process of constituting diaspora is closely linked to the never-ending process of nation-building, where the trajectories of national and diasporic politics complement and feed into each other.”11 A nation’s legal, cultural, and political treatment of its diaspora reveals a great deal about its own self-understanding. Citizenship can be delinked from state territoriality and is a powerful means for the state to impact on the process of diaspora formation and indicate transnational aspirations without formal territorial expansion. Equally important are feedback processes from abroad. Leerssen argues within the context of European Romanticism that the study of nationalism requires a cross-national comparative approach. Expatriate or exilic nationalist movements played an important role in nineteenth and early twentieth century European nationstate development, whether for Poland, Bulgaria, Serbia, Italy, or Finland. These movements stood in a triangular, fertilizing relationship with each other and with their emerging nation-states. Some of the most potent cultural expressions of nationalism have been produced abroad. Leerssen’s taxonomy of culture includes language, philology, material culture, and immaterial culture, but does not include religion.12 Isabella, however, shows that key texts by nineteenth-century diaspora intellectuals such as Adam Mickiewickz’s The Books and the Pilgrimage of the Polish Nation were laden with religious symbolism which, in turn, had a profound impact on Guiseppe Mazzini and the Italian exilic risorgimento movement.13 Diaspora and nation-building are inextricably linked, and I argue that religion has to be considered within any taxonomy which tries to explain trajectories between the two spheres.

TRANSNATIONALISING GERMAN PROTESTANTISM Ever since the sixteenth century, German-speaking Protestant congregations were to be found outside the territories of the German Empire. St. Gertrud’s in Stockholm made a start in 1556, followed by a number of congregations in Protestant (e.g. Copenhagen, 1575; London, 1669) and nonProtestant (e.g. Venice, 1650; Smyrna, 1759) states. Nineteenth-century mass emigration expanded these early beginnings into a global network.

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All major capital and trading cities on all continents, but also rural towns with a ‘critical mass’ of German speakers, hosted German Protestant congregations.14 Generally, this was in line with the comparatively high degree of ethnic self-organisation in the secular sphere. Increasing emigration inevitably triggered questions about the relationship between sending territories and congregations abroad, particularly the question of who should be responsible for spiritual and material well-being. Whilst European Protestant host societies in the early phase provided protection and support, this pattern changed during the eighteenth century when more and more German Protestants migrated overseas or congregated within a Catholic, Orthodox, or Muslim environment. Pietists such as August Hermann Francke were the fi rst to organise assistance for their co-religionists abroad and plant the idea that the mother-church should assume some responsibility for those who left its territory. During the nineteenth century, these purely religious ideas merged with notions of the German nation as a Kulturgemeinschaft whose spiritual borders transcended those of the German states to potentially include all those who spoke German, no matter where they resided. A plethora of support organisations developed, including the Evangelische Gesellschaft für die protestantischen Deutschen in Amerika (1837, ‘Barmer Verein’) and the Lutherische Gotteskasten (1853) specifically for Lutherans abroad. The most important of these was the Gustav Adolf Verein (1832, Leipzig), which was not confi ned to denominational or territorial borders but supported all German Protestants abroad who were in danger of losing their religiosity.15 In the same vein, territorial sovereigns—who were at the same time summi episcopi of their respective state churches—took on increasing responsibilities for the material and spiritual well-being of those who had left their territories. The Prussian Hohenzollern in particular supported existing congregations such as Warsaw and Jassy (Romania), and the establishment of new congregations such as Rome (1819) and Rio de Janeiro (1827). Under Friedrich Wilhelm IV (1840–1861), these isolated activities were channelled into a more comprehensively organised system of diaspora support. The fi rst congregations became now formally attached to the Prussian State Church, which sent out the pastors. Rio de Janeiro, Jassy, Buenos Aires, Jerusalem, Smyrna, and Beirut made a start. With the creation of the Protestant Supreme Council (Evangelischer Oberkirchenrat) in 1850, patronage and responsibility for most congregations abroad was transferred from king to church—although spheres of authority remained blurred as the sovereigns continued to be formal heads of their respective churches. The fact that separate territorial state churches (Landeskirchen) continued to exist after 1871 makes it impossible to speak of a single set of German Protestantism. The Gustav Adolf Verein and other support associations now started to work closely together with the church authorities.16 In 1882, the Diasporakonferenz was founded in Leipzig “to weave and to strengthen the communal bond

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with the German protestant congregations and co-religionists abroad. Also, to spread knowledge at home about the situation, the needs and the work of the German protestant church abroad and to foster active sympathetic participation.”17 The journal Diasporabote was introduced in 1898 as a transnational communicative link. The majority of foreign congregations chose to become attached to the Prussian rather than any other state church for a number of reasons. It was the biggest and most powerful amongst the state churches, and also had adopted a unified (uniert) structure, encompassing both Lutheran and Reformed denominations. This suited the heterogeneous character of most diaspora communities better than, say, the Hanoverian or the Saxonian churches which concentrated on support for Lutheran congregations abroad. Advantages were also obvious in a material sense as the Prussian Church was the only one which allowed pastors to have their years spent abroad counted for the state pension fund and other benefits, and to guarantee employment within Prussia after their stint abroad.18 The number of congregations becoming formally attached to the Prussian Church rose from 21 in 1861 to over 100 in 1904 and about 200 in 1914. Membership figures in 1908 ranged from just a few souls (e.g. 35 in Horta in the Azores) to larger congregations such as Cairo (2,200) or Blumenau in Brazil (7,500). The total number attached to all of the German state churches stood at 307 in 1914.19 They had their statutes approved by the respective state church, received some fi nancial help, and were sent pastors who had been ordained in Germany. The reason for the boost in the years before 1914 is to be seen in the improved structural and legal framework. In 1900, a comprehensive church law regulating and formalising the attachment of diaspora congregations came into operation. Whilst previously attachment had been negotiated on an individual case basis, this law codified existing practice such as entitlement to support or the position of pastors. 20 A second important step was taken in 1903 with the establishment of the German Protestant Church Committee (Deutscher Evangelischer Kirchen Aussschuß) as a “natural centre for the German Protestant congregations and pastors abroad.”21 It acted as a permanent mediating body between the church authorities in the different German states and also fostered further coordination with, and between, the different support associations such as the Gustav Adolf Verein. This was prompted not least by the new challenge of providing concerted support for building up religious life in the colonies. The Committee understood itself as not just having a religious, but also a strategic national interest. 22 Two important world regions where attachment did not take place were Russia and the United States. In Russia, Protestants were keen to retain their autonomy within the privileges and parameters set by the Russian state. Their clergy were mostly trained at the University of Dorpat in the Baltic. Protestants in the United States had established independent Lutheran synods at an early stage, most importantly

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the Missouri Synod of 1847, and trained their clergy in local seminaries. Both countries will be discussed in more detail below.

PASTORENNATIONALISMUS AT HOME AND ABROAD The role of the Protestant clergy for the development and dissemination of nationalist thinking within nineteenth-century Germany has been well researched. Pastors produced transcendental legitimation for the project of the emerging nation-state which was, after 1871, increasingly and successfully constructed as a Protestant project. National liberal clergy were at the forefront of creating a specifically religious dimension of nationalist ideology. Regional, political, and theological differences persisted, but generally the steady process of nationalisation within the clergy is not disputed.23 From the 1880s, the tone became more radical, and associations such as the Protestant League with its 550,000 members (1914) emerged as religious equivalents to secular right-wing pressure groups (Verbände). The opening quotation of this chapter is just one example of the way in which ideas of race and cultural supremacy permeated everyday discourse in the Evangelischer Bund. In 1887, when membership stood at 10,000, pastors made up about 30 per cent of this number and held almost all of the important leadership positions. They had a crucial position as bildungsbürgerlich (educated middle-class) opinion-makers. 24 This development was not least a reaction to modernisation, in which the church lost its monopolistic position as the sole mediator of religious thinking. As Kuhlemann explains, alternative ways of mediation were sought through theological attachment to newly emerging social and political forces such as ‘nation,’ ‘state,’ ‘Volk,’ ‘fatherland,’ ‘Bürgertum’ (bourgeoisie), ‘Verein,’ but also the arts and ‘Kultur.’25 I argue that the category of the Auslandsdeutschtum can be added to this list. It was not just defi ned in those secular terms analysed by scholars such as Münz/Ohliger, Hoerder, or Naranch, 26 but also, on a complementary level, in religious terms. Publications reflected upon this issue.27 In 1901, the journal Deutsch-Evangelisch was launched with the purpose of fostering “knowledge and support of the German Protestant diaspora abroad.” Contributions were mostly written by pastors working, or having worked, abroad, and tackled theological, practical, and regional issues. The journal editor, E. W. Bussmann, had fi rst been pastor in Buenos Aires and head of the German La Plata-synod before becoming provost (Probst) of the prestigious Jerusalem congregation. He is credited to be the founder of a German-Protestant Diasporawissenschaft as a discipline within practical theology.28 In the programmatic introduction to the fi rst issue Bussmann established: It lies in the nature of Protestantism that the German church is the most able to protect German Volkstum in foreign countries. Protestantism

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Constructing a German Diaspora demands and fosters community building, and it protects and strengthens specific Volkstum. [ . . . ] In Australia and in America, in South Africa as well as in the European diaspora the German church is, in fact, not only the centre of all German endeavours, but also the safest stronghold of Deutschtum itself. [ . . . ] The church remains the ultimate unifying element where, for example, Germans assemble for great patriotic festivities. [ . . . ] If we want to remain faithful towards our Volkstum and stand our ground in our particular nature within a foreign environment, we also have to be faithful towards the high values which we have received through our German religiosity. 29

Bussmann’s argumentation blurs religious and secular elements. Emigration is seen as a semi-colonial activity, and the nation as a border-straddling cultural community in concomitance with political expansionism: The German has always been a coloniser. [ . . . ] This sets him apart from the Roman, especially the Italian, who also moves away to work on foreign soil, but only to suck it out and then leave it. The German, in contrast, grows to love the soil as the place of his work soon sticks to his field even when he his abroad. [ . . . ] Kaiser’s word of the ‘wider Germany’ has received lively and grateful echoes in many German hearts abroad.30 For the pre-1871 decades, Germans abroad are retrospectively seen as a deterritorialised model nation preceding formal statehood: The many thousands of Germans who had emigrated before the unification of the Reich [ . . . ] had, without doubt, created a unified Germany abroad long before the emergence of the Reich. [ . . . ] His fatherland has to be greater—a Germany which was unified through common interests, education, language and customs.31 Bussmann also wrote a reference work on the topic, Evangelische Diasporakunde. He gave the idea of ‘fertilizer of other peoples’ a specifically Protestant slant: The preservation of Protestant Germanness would be beneficial for host societies around the world. Cosmopolitanism and interconfessionalism are seen to be the main threats, alienating migrants from their true nature. Only if Germans withstood the forces of assimilation could they have a positive impact as mediators of German cultural, spiritual, economic, and scientific achievements. Protestant congregations abroad would be the most important tool to this end:32 The German Volk has also been tasked with a mission in the world of Völker. Every German has to strive to fulfi l this mission if he does not want to descend to contemptible servility towards other

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nationalities. [ . . . ] Free from any chauvinism, Geibel’s saying is alive in many of our emigrants’ destinations: es soll am deutschen Wesen noch die Welt genesen. 33 Another reference work was Suin de Boutemard’s Die Auslands-Diaspora. The author was pastor at the Epiphanien church in Berlin, having returned from service abroad. His conception is more politicised, and his tone more confrontational. For him, Protestantism tied in with Germany’s powerpolitical aspirations. Emigration, colonisation, sea-power, and global trade were the main pillars of Germany’s future Weltgeltung. The preservation of Germanness abroad was therefore a ‘national duty.’ The German character was only able to fulfil its divine global destiny if it “protects itself against an unpatriotic and heimat-less mindset, against contempt of the mothertongue and against international superficiality.” Protestantism played a crucial role because it was a “manifestation of Christianity which promoted national character, and was not, like Catholic Christianity, of a predominantly international nature.” De Boutemard concedes that some Protestants might fi nd this “amalgamation of patriotism and religiosity, which is particularly pronounced in foreign countries,” off-putting or disagreeable, but asks them nonetheless to celebrate and support German Christianity abroad. Germanness had to fulfil its divine mission in the history of the world and its nations. 34 De Boutemard also taps into the established metaphorical reservoir of physiognomy and the military in order to support his argument that Germany had a duty to support Auslandsdeutsche: The dispersed body-members of our Volk shall know that protestant Germany is aware of them and looks after them. By affording this support we do our fatherland a service as every German pastor abroad is also a pillar of Deutschtum and of our Protestant church, for which we preserve endangered outer forts. Ecclesiastical and patriotic duties come together.35 Bussmann, de Boutemard, and Geest followed the typical career pattern of those pastors sent out by the state churches. They returned after their stint abroad and continued to be influenced by their experiences. These remigration patterns mean that a strict separation between metropolitan and diasporic nationalism cannot be upheld. It was not just at an ideological level but also at a personal level that the spheres were blurred. Having outlined something of the intellectual background of those clergy who were sent abroad, we can now cross borders and look at manifestations of national belonging abroad. Although some pastors were more moderate in their views (like Bussmann) and others more radical (like de Boutemard), there was broad agreement with the principles set out by these two authors: Their task was not just a religious one, but also a national one. Pastor Trautvetter in Cairo stressed that clergymen in the diaspora “fulfil

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not only a religious but also a national task,” and his colleague in Shanghai, Dr. Hackmann, expressed the wish that “our life out here be accompanied by our Christian co-religionists at home with warm and invigorating empathy, just as we always hold out our hands for our homeland in spirit!”36 The South African periodical for German congregations criticised Germans who anglicised their names as unmanly traitors to their national heritage, and admonished them never to forget that they were Germans. According to the author, the main pillars in the “fight for the preservation of national characteristics (Volkstum)” were faith and language. He created the picture of a beleaguered German minority in danger of cultural assimilation: “Church and school, religion and language: This is the battle-cry of a race whenever it goes to war for its Volkstum.”37 Similar arguments recur in sources worldwide from countries where pastors and congregations were formally attached to a German state church. In these locations, nationalism was fi rmly embedded in the everyday discourse of congregational life. Instrumentalisation was mutual. Nationalism and Volkstum were seen as an efficient unifying tool in order to boost fragile congregations abroad struggling with member loss through assimilation, disinterest in a secularising environment, and later falling migration numbers. Vice versa, those secular ethnic elites interested in spreading nationalism and ethnic cohesion abroad instrumentalised the congregations as ethnic platforms to spread these ideas.

CATHOLICISM An excursion into Catholicism is necessary. Within our context of diasporisation under national auspices, it was not as important a catalyst as the Protestant church. In line with its self-defi nition as a universal church with Rome at its centre, it was less vociferous (and successful) in claiming the national domain for itself. The battle for interpretive hegemony of ‘1871’ had clearly been decided in favour of Protestantism. Sedan was allegedly won with Protestant virtues and national character. When the waves of the Kulturkampf started to calm down from the mid-1880s, colonialism presented a new opportunity for Catholicism to shed itself of ‘fatherland-less’ reproaches and postulate congruity of its missionary activity with national-colonialist interests. In fact, the Catholic Church had no qualms about supporting colonialist penetration through its missionary work, and was aware that this generated a desired side-effect of national integration. There was no disagreement between the two denominations as to the ostensible benefits of mission and colonialism for the ‘natives’: education to work, discipline, obedience, getting used to state authority. 38 In terms of discursive hegemony, however, Catholics failed to produce their own imprint on grand visions of German Weltgeltung. Yet again, it was up to Protestants to postulate that God had chosen the German people to pursue their global

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destiny. The end of the Kulturkampf also meant that the Catholic masses opened up more and more to Reich-nationalism, but in that followed Protestant visions of the nation rather than producing their own. The lateWilhelminian Verbände were all dominated by Protestant elites, and the Volksverein für das katholische Deutschland, founded in 1890, was merely a response to these initiatives.39 As a consequence of its failure (or unwillingness) to produce an interpretive symbiosis between itself, the nation, and its transnational ambitions, German Catholicism also had a low-key approach to its national diaspora. There was little centre-led aspiration to preserve Germanness abroad throughout most of the nineteenth century. Although missionaries from religious orders often combined their work with looking after their Catholic countrymen, this was only part of their remit. There was no policy of transnational formal attachment and little institutionalised support. Self-organisation abroad did, of course, exist. Examples include the establishment of a bishopric in Saratov for the half million Catholics in the Volga and Black Sea regions; and the well-organised parochial school system in the United States to ‘save the faith’ through language preservation. On a global scale, however, this did not play as big a role as Protestant activity—and where it existed, it did not act as the same motor of diasporic nationalism. Catholics abroad were more prone to join the indigenous churches which, in any case, had a more universalist approach and its liturgy in Latin, making it easier to accommodate groups with differing linguistic backgrounds. A further factor was that northern German Protestant regions were the main source of nineteenth-century mass emigration. In the destination countries, therefore, Catholics often lacked the critical mass to establish self-standing congregations. In Western Europe, for example, hardly any German Catholic congregations existed outside the capitals. And even in an urban centre such as St. Petersburg with a critical mass of around 2,500 German Catholics in the 1880s, or in the rural Black Sea region with over 20,000 in the 1860s, congregational and social welfare developed far later and on a more modest level than in the respective Protestant migrant communities. In St. Petersburg, Catholics had long attended the Polish St. Catherine Church, but when inter-ethnic tensions arose in the 1880s, efforts were made to establish a purely German Catholic church. It took until 1902 for this to be granted and realised. The new St. Salvator congregation consisted mainly of German nationals and was complemented with a second church, St. Bonifazius, in 1910.40 The following initiatives to provide transnational support from within Germany were comparatively modest in scope: The Bonifatius-Verein was founded in Regensburg in 1849 to support any Catholics who found themselves in a non-Catholic environment. During the 1860s, further support organisations were established specifically for German Catholics abroad. The St. Josefs-Missionsverein in Aachen, for example, concentrated on France, England, and later also Belgium, Italy, and Russia. Concrete

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projects included the Bonifatius-Mission in London and three mission churches in Paris (St. Joseph, Liebfrauen, St. Elisabeth).41 The lay association St. Raphaels-Verein zum Schutz katholischer Auswanderer of 1871 concentrated on overseas migrants and targeted state and institutional comparative under-engagement. It was founded upon the private initiative of a Rhineland merchant, Peter Paul Cahensly (1838–1923), who was particularly concerned with the cultural autonomy of German-American Catholics. In a memorial sent to Rome in 1891, he requested support for national parishes, foreign-language ministries, and more immigrant representation in the hierarchies of immigrant-receiving nations. The latter point referred in particular to the Irish dominance within the hierarchy of the American Catholic church, most importantly as bishops. The Vatican did not take any action in response to this or to other, more moderate requests from German-American bishops. Although Cahensly had not argued for a fullyfledged church organisation on ethnic lines, his suggestion was distorted in this direction and therefore not in line with the non-national, universalist Catholic church organisation. Appointing bishops along the principles of affi rmative action in order to create an ethnic equilibrium in bishop positions would have infringed on the Pope’s prerogative in these matters.42 The example of Cahenslyism shows that national parameters were also negotiated within the Catholic emigration discourse, but did not lead to elaborate transnational support and encountered their limits in the concrete contact zone abroad. Most importantly, they were not carried forward with the authoritative backing of a state church as was the case with the Protestant Landeskirchen. The symbiosis between Catholicism and (trans) national thinking, and consequently ethno-religious diaspora construction, was less pronounced than in the Protestant counterpart. From the 1890s, changes occurred within the Catholic discourse. Catholics in Germany accommodated themselves within nationalist parameters,43 and this also had an impact on diasporic thinking. The Deutscher CaritasVerband played a crucial role in complementing the religious focus with völkisch and national elements. It was founded in 1897 by the theologian Dr. Lorenz Werthmann, who was also its fi rst president. The association acted (and still acts) as an organisational and representational centre for all areas of social welfare within the German Catholic church. In the immediate pre-war years, it also started to extend its horizon beyond the German borders. The annual national Katholikentage were the public platform to communicate this to a wider audience. At the 1910 convention in Bamberg, for example, Werthmann pointed to the Germans in Southern Russia and in Brazil. At the annual Caritas convention in 1911, a Caritas section for Auslandsdeutschtum was established under the title of Freie Vereinigung für das Katholische Deutschtum im Ausland (Free Association for Catholic Germandom Abroad).44 Werthmann himself gave the impetus to the section in a speech delivered to the convention. He fi rst gave an overview of what he calls “the German diaspora,” moving away from a purely

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religious defi nition of the term. His aim was “to arouse your compassion for the inhabitants of this wider Germany.” He then moved on to characterise the state of Catholics around the world, contrasting, for example, the well-organised structures in North America with those in Brazil and Chile where “in some places depressing circumstances exist in a faithless and licentious environment. For them, the German members of the Jesuit, Franciscan, and other orders have become true guardian angels in both religious and national respect (italics S. M.).”45 He appealed to German Catholics to build up a comprehensive global support network, taking the Protestant network as a model: the Prussian Oberkirchenrat as a centre, the Deutsch-Evangelischer Kirchenausschuß as a coordinating body between Landeskirchen, a whole range of flanking organisations such as the Barmen society and the La-Plata-Verein in Bremen, as well as the specialist journal Deutsch-Evangelisch im Auslande. Werthmann’s vision was to make the Caritas-Verband in Freiburg the natural centre for a similar structure of transnational support. His argumentation and metaphorical imagery were now heavily modelled on that which had been existent in Protestant discourse for decades. He brought forward that a national interest stood alongside the religious interest in preserving Germanness abroad and continued: We, the sons of the German fatherland, cannot be indifferent to the question of whether the sound of the German language [ . . . ] is more and more pushed back in the border areas and in the colonies. It has to be a matter of heart for us that the awareness of belonging to the same tribe is being preserved, whether this be amongst the descendants of German ancestors in North and South America or on the shores of the Volga and the Black Sea.46 Werthmann reproduced the well-established arguments that Germans had elevated the levels of industry, arts, and literature in the countries of destination, that they would constitute sales markets for German export products, and that, in the light of “Germany’s political position,” it would be in the national self-interest to preserve their Germanness: “Support for Germandom abroad generally is a national duty, just as support for German Catholics abroad is a religious duty.” In terms of imagery, Werthmann recycled tropes such as the Volk as a family, the “fight” (Kampf) for language preservation, the “tribal brothers abroad” (Stammesbrüder im Auslande), or “bulwarks abroad” (Stützpunkte im Auslande). From the “heart of our fatherland” he wants Germans to extend their “brotherly salute” (Brudergruß) and asks Germans abroad: But to you, as sons of German parents who were born far from the Heimat, I send the image of our great and powerful German fatherland, and I call upon you: Be proud to be Germans, never despise the German

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Constructing a German Diaspora language and German customs, honour and love the land which your parents gave you. All of you, whether old or young, whether millionaire or labourer, whether you live under palm trees or in Siberia: Bear in mind that you are responsible for the German reputation!47

The statutes of the Free Association for Catholic Germandom Abroad were written accordingly.48 This association represented the nucleus of what would develop into a more comprehensive support network during World War I and the Weimar Republic. The war situation sparked a wider interest in diasporic issues, not least through soldiers moving eastward and ‘discovering’ German settlements, and later expellees from separated regions moving into Germany. Together with Michael Buchberger, the Bishop of Regensburg, Werthmann himself founded the Reichsverband für die katholischen Auslandsdeutschen (Reich-Association for Catholic Germans Abroad), which stood at the heart of a plethora of associations and religious orders making support for Catholic Auslandsdeutschtum their partial or sole raison d’être. Transnational völkisch thinking was expressed at every national Katholikentag-convention. For the Jesuit Constantin Noppel, ‘German blood’ should not decay to become a ‘cultural fertilizer’ (Kulturdünger) for other peoples, and for prelate Benedikt Kreutz of the Caritas-Verband, church and Volksgemeinschaft were no contradiction. It was during the Weimar Republic that the universalism of the German Catholic church found its synergies with wider transnational conceptions of Volk.49 In this, however, it stood at odds with the central dogma from Rome. The Corpus Iuris Canonici (1917) pushed centralisation and uniformisation even further, in theory not allowing for the existence of ethnically-based Catholic congregations. Integration into the respective local churches was the desired norm. The competing forces of nationalism and universalism meant that even after 1918 Protestantism continued to be in the driving seat of diasporisation. 50 Within the chronological framework of Imperial Germany, the Catholic Church was a latecomer when it came to embracing national arguments for diaspora construction. It was only in the immediate pre-war years that some of its leaders started to emulate the merger of religion with transnational defi nitions of Volk which had been apparent in the Protestant church at least since the mid-nineteenth century. By doing this, they explicitly referred to Protestant practices as a model, and also did not shy away from quoting the right-wing, Protestant-dominated Verbände. Lorenz Werthmann, for example, quoted one of the propagandists of the Pan-German League, Fr. Guntram Schultheiß, and also referred to the work of the VDA as a model.51 Not only with regard to colonialism,52 but also with regard to the means of diaspora construction, the two confessions converged as the Imperial period drew to a close. For the global spread of nationalism, the late-coming position of the Catholic Church meant that neither the transnational institutional structures nor the disposition of dispatched clergy

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ensured that it was as important a motor of nationalist diasporisation as the Protestant church. Abroad, Catholics were less prone to assemble on the basis of clear ethnic lines. As a consequence, region-based scholarship outside the United States tends to relegate their existence to a few footnotes, not least due to a scarcity of sources.53 Deeper regional studies would be desirable to explore these connections further.

CASE STUDIES: GLASGOW, SHANGHAI, CAIRO Returning to Protestantism and following our suite of local case studies, Britain provides the starting point in elucidating the nation-religion connection abroad in more detail. By the early nineteenth century, Britain hosted six German Protestant congregations: five in London and one in Dublin. Growing immigration over the course of the century led to a significant expansion all across the country. The number of congregations in London doubled. In the provincial cities, Liverpool made a start in 1846, followed by Hull (1848) and Manchester (1853). By 1913, at least ten congregations existed in London, the largest being St. Georg with 2,500 members. Fifteen congregations existed in other urban centres. The largest of these were Liverpool with 1,000 members and Manchester with 900. Membership elsewhere stood between 175 (Middlesbrough), 300 (Bradford), and 400 (Edinburgh). Smaller congregations existed in Dundee, Aberdeen, and Perth. Out of the total of twenty-five, fourteen were formally attached to one of the German state churches. In a further four, only the pastor was attached.54 The majority of German congregations in Britain was thus part of the pastors’ fluctuation cycle described above. A correlation of membership and census figures shows that a large percentage of migrants were exposed to their ideas: The 1911 census for England and Wales lists 1,326 German nationals for Liverpool, 1,318 for Manchester, and 372 for Bradford. The Verband deutscher evangelischer Gemeinden in Großbritannien und Irland (Association of German Protestant Congregations in Great Britain and Ireland) was an organisational platform for representatives from all congregations to come together on a regular basis and discuss common issues of concern. A focus on Glasgow allows us to refi ne this picture. The local census gives an increase from 328 German nationals in 1871 to 1,053 in 1901, and then a decrease to 561 in the following decade. Although these figures give a reliable impression of the overall up-and-down development, they do not reflect absolute figures. A correlation of contemporaneous estimates with a prosopographical database based on local sources has shown that these figures have to be roughly doubled.55 About half of the local German population were members of the Protestant congregation, whose membership rose from 150 in 1898 to just under 500 in 1909, and then decreased to 350 in 1913. The situation in Glasgow and other urban centres shows

190 Constructing a German Diaspora that about half of the local German population—and thus more than just a marginal figure—were exposed to the musings and sermons of pastors like Reinhard Münchmeyer. Münchmeyer had briefly been seamen’s pastor in Edinburgh before becoming engaged in establishing, and then taking over, the congregation in Glasgow in 1898. As we have heard in the chapter on navy clubs, he understood his position as a ‘patriotic mission.’ After six years he returned to Germany to take up a position in the seamen’s mission in Stettin. During the founding phase in Glasgow, he and pastor Langenau in Edinburgh distributed an appeal amongst migrants: The Germans in Glasgow should have a centre in which real patriotic sentiment, compatriotic unity and a feeling of belonging together in good and bad times fi nds its most noble and pure expression. [ . . . ] From a Christian, a national, and a philanthropic standpoint the only rallying-point for the Germans in Glasgow can be a German Christian congregation. 56 In 1899, Wilhelm II as summus episcopus signed the document which officially attached the Glasgow congregation to the Prussian state church.57 Ethnic leadership was yet again in bourgeois hands. Although it was reiterated over and over again that the congregation tried, and managed to some extent, to attract all strata of society, leadership positions were occupied by middle-class members. During the sixteen years of its existence, artisans were only occasionally represented on the vestry board, and never in leading positions such as chairman, treasurer, or secretary. The same applies to funding. The existence of the congregation was dependent on a small group of wealthy members. In 1905, to pick out a random sample year, only four individuals supplied 40 per cent (£90) of membership subscriptions and contributions. More than 60 per cent were given by 14 individuals. All of them had an entrepreneurial professional background, mostly in leadership positions. At the other end of the scale, members such as the waiter H. Hennemann, the tailor Albert Bauer, and the hairdresser F. Behrens paid only 2 shillings or nothing at all.58 Apart from class, the congregation was also a tool for negotiating questions of gender. Since women were excluded as per statutes from all the secular clubs, the congregation was the only way for them to socialise on an institutionalised ethnic platform. As a rule, diaspora congregations had women’s clubs attached, 59 and Glasgow was no exception. Just as in the male sphere, the bourgeois dominance is obvious. It was Charlotte Kiep, the wife of timber merchant and Honorary German Consul Johannes Kiep, who was the driving force behind the women’s club. In 1898, she organised a consultative meeting in the Christian Institute and, in a “clear and captivating speech,” outlined the two main aims of the club: the cultivation of conviviality and the support of families and single women in need.

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Within a few weeks, the club had about 40 members, whose contributions constituted a source for support activities. Regular social evenings were organised where activities included knitting clothes for the poor, reading, or making music, “and the conversation becomes all the more lively when a little cup of coffee with German pastries has refreshed those present.” Other activities included hospital visits, helping young female migrants to obtain positions as domestic servants, and organising Christmas evenings for German seamen visiting Glasgow. Imperial patronage also extended to the female sector. Under Charlotte Kiep’s leadership, the women’s club asked ‘Her Majesty, the German Empress’ to assume patronage of a charity bazaar and thanked her for her donation of 300 Marks for the church building.60 Whilst these philanthropic activities were certainly representative for women in diaspora congregations, there was one aspect where women in Glasgow stood out, namely the question of voting rights at a congregational level. Within Germany, this was one of the demands of the German Protestant Women’s Federation, but it was not realised until after World War I. The same was apparent in the diaspora. In the United States, for example, women were crucial in building up German ethnic congregations, but did not have any voting or other participatory rights in congregational matters. In Liverpool, to quote one British example, voting rights were extended in spring 1914 to all men over 21—but no mention was made of women.61 When the Glasgow congregation applied for affi liation with the Prussian Protestant Church Council, frictions arose over this issue. The latter tried to change the congregation statutes in a way that would have prevented voting rights for women, but Glasgow stood fi rm. In a letter to Berlin it was deemed to be crucial to stick to the relevant paragraph, because there are many single female teachers and domestic servants here who have shown a keen interest in the founding of the congregation and pay an annual contribution. [ . . . ] The congregation has fi rm trust and greatest hopes that, despite this aberration, the affiliation with the Prussian State Church will be realised.62 The affiliation was ultimately granted. The unusual constellation was now that of a congregation with female voting rights under the organisational roof of the Prussian State Church. The diaspora situation afforded a degree of participation which would have been unthinkable within the German Empire at the time. Vestry board and assembly positions, of course, remained reserved for men. For a small wealthy elite, the congregations presented a platform to negotiate, express, and solidify their position within the ethnic hierarchy. Crucially, it also presented a platform to spread their own visions of diasporic belonging. In many cases, religion only played a secondary role. This was often deplored by church inspectors from Germany visiting congregations

192 Constructing a German Diaspora in Britain63 and can be confi rmed in Glasgow. The two largest donors of the congregation were the chemical merchant Paul Rottenburg, who was reportedly agnostic, and the timber merchant Johannes N. Kiep, whom we have already encountered as spiritus rector of the Glasgow navy club. Kiep’s motivations for funding the congregation are summed up by an inspection visitor, Oberkonsistorialrat Wevers, as being “probably more national rather than church-related, and perhaps not always purely un-selfish.”64 Paradoxically, the congregational infrastructure and also the pastor’s salary depended on individuals who usually did not attend worship. For this group, the role of the congregation as an instrument of Deutschtum-preservation was just as important. This can be exemplified through the circumstances of a large single donation by Kiep. For the fi rst years of its existence, services had to be held in rented communal rooms of the Glasgow Christian Institute. In 1906, Johannes Kiep donated the large sum of £2,600 to fi nance a proper church building. The timing is significant. He did not choose an ecclesiastical public holiday, but a secular one. On the occasion of the silver wedding of the German imperial couple on 27 February 1906, he invited 250 Germans for a festive evening in the upmarket Windsor Hotel (whose owner was the deputy chairman of the congregation, A. M. Thiem). After panegyric speeches and an “enthusiastic toast to the Imperial Court,” the donation was announced. In his speech, Kiep expressed his hope, that the Germans in Great Britain move closer and closer together, and that, more than in earlier times, the German church congregations are destined to play a larger role for the well-being, as well as for faithful adherence to the fatherland and German ways amongst compatriots.65 The church was fi nally consecrated in 1909 in the centre of Glasgow. Next to it stood the pastor’s home, a congregation hall, the reading room for seamen, and the premises of the Deutscher Verein. An ethnic centre had thus been established which was symbolically demarcated by a “fl agpole which proudly hoists the black-white-red flag on patriotic public holidays.”66 To give another example, Christmas celebrations were infused with nationalist sentiments. Pastor Münchmeyer, writing the fi rst annual report in 1898, vividly describes the “two radiantly decorated Christmas trees,” speeches, children’s Christmas carol singing, women offering refreshments, and ultimately: “After the sublime patriotic speech by Herr Kiep, the congregation offered an enthusiastic toast of our German Kaiser and sang the fi rst verse of ‘Heil dir im Siegerkranz’. [ . . . ] The wonderful celebration ended with the magnificent song of the fatherland: ‘Deutschland, Deutschland über alles.’67 Sermons during Sunday worship were more subtle, but nevertheless carried similar messages. Münchmeyer appealed to his flock that they should take their situation abroad as an opportunity to forget their regional differences and see themselves as a unified community. In

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moderate terms he asked church goers to “preserve, as Germans, the valuable heritage which the Heimat has bestowed upon you on your path,” and to see themselves as a node in a global community of fellow countrymen: “Even the borders of our Reich are too narrow to encapsulate today’s gathering, to which applies: ‘As far as the German language resounds and God sings in heaven.’”68 In different contexts, however, Münchmeyer was more outspoken. In the previous chapter, we heard him addressing a gathering of the local navy club, welcoming the navy as the best means to strengthen Germany’s global position. Many congregations worldwide had seamen’s missions attached to them. These were coordinated by the Deutsche Seemannsmission (Protestant German Mission to Seamen), founded in 1884–1885. As David Brandon Dennis has shown, its principles very much tied in with German Weltpolitik. Merchant mariners were represented as global outposts of German presence. As such, they had to attain levels of morality, had to be prevented from “seduction on the waterfront,” and tied closely to their homeland through missionary stations. These abounded with patriotic décor and acted as bridges to both the Heimat as well as Auslandsdeutsche themselves. For Kaiser’s birthday in 1908, for example, the mission in Buenos Aires took 115 sailors on a picnic excursion to Quilmes, a largely German town with a German brewery. Local Germans and sailors spent the afternoon with game playing, walks, and beer drinking.69 Dennis’ analysis is mainly based on the missions in New York and Buenos Aires, and Britain very much confi rms this picture. Under the leadership of the Edinburgh congregation, the Generalkomitee für deutsche Seemanns- und Auswanderermission in Schottland (General Committee for German Seamen’s- and Emigrants’ Mission in Scotland) was founded in 1884. Five years later it merged with the newly founded Generalkomitee für deutsche evangelische Seemannsmission in Großbritannien (General Committee for German Protestant Seamen’s Mission in Great Britain), which was largely fi nanced by local German businessmen. Thirty-seven mission stations existed throughout Britain before 1914.70 The station in Glasgow was founded together with the congregation in 1898. The respective pastor was in charge of the mission, visiting German seamen on ships or in lodging houses in the Broomielaw harbour area. The aim was to keep the seamen away from the “wide streets of sinful perdition,”71 because “the dangers lurking in Glasgow are by no means smaller than in other big port cities. The average seaman is too weak and too unstable to remain victorious without the support of faithful admonitory friends.”72 Pastor Münchmeyer reported that, during his visits in questionable lodging houses, he frequently “put an end to a disgusting, and often indecent scene, and made others ashamed of their drunkenness.”73 A reading room adjacent to the pastor’s flat was equipped with books and furniture by the German Protestant Seamen’s Mission in Berlin. Several resident merchants, once again including Johannes Kiep, also made

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contributions in the form of newspaper subscriptions, books, and patriotic pictures. Women provided tea, homemade cake, handicraft, and knitwear. For the seamen, the mission was an opportunity to deposit saved money or have it transferred to Germany. A seamen’s hostel in Broomielaw provided five beds and simple meals. Transient seamen were an integral feature of ethnic life in Glasgow. They were catered for by the congregation’s benevolent support network, and church services and celebrations were always attended by groups of sailors.74 The local seamen’s mission was one of a global network of over 200, including 52 main stations, 52 reading rooms with 240,000 yearly visits, and 31 sailors’ homes with over 17,000 annual guests.75 Imbued with the ideological baggage of constituting a “bridge to the Heimat,” this global network can legitimately be added to the actors of diaspora construction. A number of mostly un-researched local case studies shall put Britain and Glasgow in a wider context and also add a number of further aspects. It is important to reiterate that these only related to areas where congregations were formally attached to a German state church. The situation in areas where this was not the case, most notably North America and Russia, was different and will be discussed further below. We turn fi rst to Shanghai. Dr. Ernst Faber had been missionary in South Central China (Canton) for the Allgemeiner Evangelisch-Protestantischer Missionsverein (Berlin) before moving to Shanghai. Supported by the local German General Consul, he founded a German congregation there in 1892 which immediately started to transregionalise and transnationalise its activities. Faber’s successor, Hackmann, sent out a printed edition of his sermons to Germans all across Asia “in order to assemble the protestant Germans living dispersed in China into some sort of o n e congregation. [This will] entwine our compatriots in East Asia with an invisible tie.” The edition was also available in Germany. Sunday worship was well attended, especially for the festive service for Emperor’s birthday. Hackmann wished that “our life out here be accompanied with warm and enlivening compassion by Christendom at home, just as we always extend our hand to the Heimat in spirit. We hope that the German Protestant congregation in Shanghai will blossom and increasingly develop into a bulwark of genuine German, pious, Protestant life in East Asia.”76 There was a constant tension between, on the one hand, the ostensible ‘purity’ of Germanness communicated to Berlin and, on the other, the multi-ethnic reality on the ground. The fi rst services held by Dr. Faber were, in fact, also attended by some Austrians, Swiss, Danes, Swedes, Russians, British, and Americans. The number of long-term resident Protestant Germans, Swiss, and Austrians in Shanghai was estimated at 500 (5/7 of the total German-speaking population) plus a number of short-term migrants.77 Expansion in the following years was a product of transnational cooperation and highlights an awareness within Germany of diasporic issues.

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In order to avoid isolation, receive support, and have a close relationship with a German state church, the Shanghai congregation became formally attached to the Landeskirche of the Grand Duchy of Saxe-Weimar. “The choice for this particular attachment was made because the Grand Duke of Saxe-Weimar was at the same time the protector of the Missionsverein, whose active support helped the congregation come into existence. Also, the broad-minded outlook of this state church was most in tune with the character of the congregation.”78 The congregation soon aspired to have its own church building and started a funding campaign. The General Consul successfully appealed to local German companies and banks. In 1896, a memorandum was sent “To Protestant Germany!” The global pattern is that these petitions for fi nancial support instrumentalised national pride and confessional friction for their purposes: “At the moment we have to hold our services in an English church. These days it almost appears to be a commandment of national dignity that a German Protestant church is erected to complement the big English cathedral and the other churches and English sects, as well as the Catholic church in Shanghai.” As a result, several German state churches sent money.79 Grand Duke Karl Alexander himself contributed 3,000 Marks from his private funds, and also wrote to other Protestant territorial rulers and the senates of the Hansa-cities requesting them to participate. The state churches of Saxe-Weimar, Prussia, Schleswig-Holstein, Meiningen, and Baden allowed their congregations to hold collections for Shanghai during Sunday services. Wilhelm II himself became involved and contributed a donation of 6,000 Marks, topping up the substantial contributions from local German businessmen. After this truly transnational endeavour, the church was fi nally consecrated in October 1901. After the service, evening festivities were enlivened by the military band of the ship SMS Fürst Bismarck.80 Regrets soon arose over attachment to Saxe-Weimar. The state church did not pay into a pension and dependents’ fund for pastors, and could not afford more than 500 Marks as annual contributions. None of the pastors stayed for long periods. Pastor Ruhmer’s departure in 1909 after only two years was also expedited by internal intrigue and quarrelling. When squadron pastor Köhne visited Shanghai in 1913, he suggested the congregation should seek attachment to the more powerful Prussian state church. The vestry board agreed, but this was ultimately prevented by the war.81 In light of the untenable fi nancial situation of the congregation, the Kaiser Wilhelm School, and the seamen’s hostel, Germans pulled together to establish a central fund for all German institutions in Shanghai. This was also joined by representatives of the German navy club and the marine officers’ casino. Under the chairmanship of General Consul Knipping, a well-attended meeting was held in May 1914 in the big hall of the Concordia Klub. A circular was sent to the 500 permanent and 100 fluctuating German residents in Shanghai. About one hundred “young gentlemen who were here on their fi rst contract refused to pay their bit.” Frictions

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are mentioned but not explained any further. Reports about the meeting appeared in the Ostasiatischer Lloyd, the Tägliche Rundschau, as well as the Schweinfurter Tageblatt. The latter local newspaper praised the “meritorious work of a German compatriot in Shanghai, Herr Karl Blickle from Schweinfurt.” Blickle asked his countrymen in Shanghai: Let us prove, through voluntary participation, to the Heimat and to our co-citizens here that we are genuine Germans and aware of our national duty. Let us create something here which is of a model character not only for Shanghai and the whole of China, but also for other Germans who are dispersed across the whole world.82 Similar patterns apply to Japan. The congregation in Tokyo was founded in 1885 by Pastor Dr. Spinner who, after his return, rose to chief court chaplain (Oberhofprediger) at the court of Saxe-Weimar. The community of around 65 consisted mainly of specialists who had been brought in by the Meiji-modernisers: lawyers, academics, doctors, civil servants, and similar. The transnational funding campaign for a church building also included an appeal “To Protestant Germany” which tapped into notions of competition with Russia, France, Great Britain, and the United States, all of which had substantial churches. Donating contributed to the “honour of the German name” in Japan. Thus stylised as a symbol of global strength, the church was consecrated in 1897. The congregation in Yokohama was slightly bigger at just over one hundred, mostly engaged in trade. Both Tokyo and Yokohama were attached to the state church of Saxe-Weimar.83 The sources for Cairo enable us to have a closer look at internal frictions which are hardly in line with projections of diasporic unity. These frictions could arise from clashes of interest which were increasingly fought along national(ised) lines within multi-ethnic ‘German’ communities. The congregation was founded in 1873 and closely connected to the hospital of the local Kaiserswerth Deaconesses. The small real estate in the central Ismail quarter had been given to the General Consul of the North German Confederation in 1869 by Vice King Ismail Pascha for erecting a Protestant church and a school. By the turn of the century, it had about 2,000 members.84 Around the same time, bitter internal disputes arose, revealing patterns that go beyond the purely local. The bone of contention was the question of whether the congregation should keep its old church in the centre of Cairo or whether it should move to newly built modern premises in the outskirts. Pastor Kahle and the General Consul, Dr. Gumprecht, stood behind the latter idea, wanting to benefit from high real estate prices in central Cairo. The conflict was widely reported in the German press and generated substantial correspondence between the congregation, the Foreign Office, and the Protestant church council in Berlin. Resisting the move, a retired General von Ploetz felt “publicly insulted” in a congregation meeting by a consular representative, accused him of being a “man with a questionable

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sense of honour” and Pastor Kahle of “immoral official actions,” and was, in turn, officially sued for libel. Other congregation members sent libellous letters against Pastor Kahle to the Foreign Office.85 A general friction point was the question of whether non-German members should have a say in the move. The congregation was traditionally multi-ethnic, with Swiss, Dutch, and other Protestants being eligible to vote and admitted to vestry board positions. French-language Swiss Protestants were also allowed to use the church for their services. When it emerged that the non-German contingent tended to resist the move, some Germans closed ranks on national lines. Four congregation members protested to the Foreign Office about the foreign element participating and having a say in congregation matters: The German church and school are preservers of German ways, culture and influence, and it is a duty of honour to look after them. [ . . . ] Only if we do not become internationalised, only if we are a firmly enclosed structure which obtains its strong reserves from Volkstum itself will we be able to effectively keep up Protestant belief abroad through the German nature and to defend the German church and school in the Orient as a central fortress of German Protestant confession. This will then be a bulwark for dispersed co-religionists from other nationalities. [ . . . ] The vote for non-German members is an abuse. [ . . . ] We have legitimate fears that sooner or later the German Protestant church will be flooded with foreign elements.”86 A majority vote decided to restrict any vote on the planned move to Reichsdeutsche only. The German-speaking Swiss demanded compensation and wrote to Berne about it. A number of non-German members left the congregation in protest. The plot was ultimately sold for four million Marks. In a different part of the city, an ethnic centre developed which was described in terms of territorial demarcation by the Kölnische Zeitung (a newspaper close to the Foreign Office): “With admiration and pride we see new buildings [ . . . ] looking like a city quarter in its own right” consisting of school, church, vicarage, kindergarten, and consulate.87 In the same way, the newspaper had described the church in Glasgow as a “constant reminder for the 1,500 Germans in Glasgow to stick fi rmly and faithfully to their Deutschtum and to each other amongst the foreign people.”88 As for Cairo, the newspaper also indulged that the church and school would now be just as representative as those of the French, and that the French press criticised this as being too ostentatious.89Der Montag found that the protest of the French- and German-speaking Swiss members derived from an erroneous interpretation of the law that the Protestant church was not reichsdeutsch, but international.90 Whatever the agenda behind each of these players, it becomes clear that national fault-lines were now part of the fabric of ethnic communities, and that their negotiation was conducted

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within a transnational space which included Cairo, Germany, Switzerland, and France. Despite the heavy dose of self-induced and hetero-ascribed national demarcation, the community remained multi-ethnic. In a letter to the foreign office, the consul praised pastor Kahle’s patriotic spirit, coming to the fore during Emperor’s birthday celebration on 27 January 1906. Kahle was also head-master of the German school: During the celebration, children from most diverse national backgrounds recited German patriotic and other poems, and the performers were so obviously filled with zeal and interest in their task that it became more than clear that [Kahle] has the right spirit in carrying out his teaching work. Leadership in this vein is particularly desirable in a school abroad as it is the most effective means of preserving children’s joy of Deutschtum and to awaken the senses of foreign children for it.91 National parameters penetrated traditionally cosmopolitan communities. Germans abroad were increasingly drawn—and drew themselves—into the competing forces of nationalism, colonial interests, and cosmopolitanism, that ultimately erupted after August 1914.92 A snapshot from Blumenau in Southern Brazil illustrates the global negotiation of these tensions. One of the local ethnic newspapers, Der Urwaldsbote, published an article entitled Deutsche Kaufl eute im Auslande (German Merchants Abroad). The author identifies a “deplorable lack of national pride amongst some German merchants abroad” and mentions the case of an “incredible occurrence” in Tokyo. The manager of the Japanese branch of a large German fi rm had received a request, in German, from the Japanese war ministry which he answered in English. This lack of pride in the German language made the author “blush with national indignation” (‘nationale Schamröte’).93

KAISER’S BIRTHDAY For the process of national identity formation after 1871, the Kaiser was a symbolic focal point as both religious summus episcopus and secular head of state. Disparate regions and social groups had to be integrated into the Prussia-dominated new Reich and, more than the annual Sedan festivities commemorating victory over France, it was the Kaiser’s birthday which developed into the most important secular national public holiday. This was pushed under Wilhelm II in particular, who embraced his stylisation as a “symbol of the nation and the imperial monarchy by the Grace of God.” At the Hohenzollern court in Berlin, diplomatic and aristocratic representatives from other nations were invited for the Kaiser’s banquet every year on 27 January. This was staged with increasing pomp in order to demonstrate the Reich’s power-political aspirations to the international

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community. Birthday celebrations were organised as public fairs in cities and towns; festivities and banquets were held in clubs and public institutions such as schools and universities. Special services in Protestant congregations delivered religious underpinning.94 So far, no attempt has been made to unearth the global implications of this public holiday. The Kaiser’s birthday was, in fact, celebrated by many German ethnic communities worldwide as a platform to re-affi rm membership of the German nation. Embassies invited Germans living in their catchment area, as has been shown for St. Petersburg in Chapter 4 of this study.Apart from embassies, Protestant congregations and German schools were the other official–that is, Reich-sanctioned and–funded institutions in many communities, and these often collaborated in staging the public ritual and aligning it with those patterns of performativity which were prevalent within Germany. For Bussmann, in his Evangelische Diasporakunde of 1908, Kaiser’s birthday was the most important of all national memorial days which were celebrated in special services abroad.95 In Cairo, church organist Karl Plato described the festivities on 27 January 1914 as a “magnificent spectacle” in a private letter to his fiancée. Diplomatic representatives were brought to the German church in festively decorated carriages. Members of the ethnic community were dressed up for the occasion. In the church there was “a glorious hotchpotch of people from all different nations. [ . . . ] My improvisation was on the theme of Großer Gott wir loben Dich, and in the patriotic and enthused atmosphere my organ playing sounded all the more mighty.” After the service, the party moved on to a reception in the German Embassy, one of the guests being Lord Kitchener. In the evening, members of the ethnic community concluded the day with a celebration in the Deutscher Klub.96 Pastor Münchmeyer in Glasgow also fully exploited the potential of Kaiser’s birthday for congregational purposes. In a sermon before his flock he described: [the] flood of patriotic enthusiasm on the birthday of our beloved Kaiser, which had a particularly religious slant in our German congregations in Britain [ . . . ]. It was a telling testimony of the fact that the love towards the German empire and its monarch constitutes an ever stronger point of unity for our diversely composed congregations.97 In Tokyo, the consecration of the new church building was organised for the 27 January 1897 to coincide with the national holiday, “and yesterday’s celebration of the Kaiser’s birthday will always be remembered in the annals of the German colony in Tokyo.” The very fi rst service in the church was dedicated to the Kaiser. Diplomatic representatives from other Protestant powers and from Japan were also present. Apart from local Germans, many had also travelled from Yokohama.98Additional festivities were put on for Wilhelm’s 25th anniversary on the throne. In Tientsin, for example,

200 Constructing a German Diaspora during preparations for a festive service in June 1913, members of the ethnic community decided to establish a regular congregation.99 Beirut also celebrated annually but, in 1889, called a special service for the birthday “of the honoured protector of our congregation, Kaiser Wilhelm II.” A highlight for Beirut was Wilhelm’s visit during his orient trip in 1897. The service for New Year’s Day 1900 was held on board the visiting battle ship ‘Gneisenau.’100 In the Brazilian town of Blumenau, pastor and head teacher Faulhaber organised a children’s gymnastic performance in the local school on 27 January 1901. This was also performed at the social evening of the local branch of the Pan-German League.101 Pastor Faulhaber, and after him his colleague Pastor Rudolph from nearby Timbo, were chairmen of the Blumenau branch of the Pan-German League. Apart from the Kaiser’s birthday, other occasions for patriotic gatherings could include Sedan celebrations and the Battle of Teutoburg or Schiller anniversaries in 1909. Pastors were always involved as organisers and public speakers.102 Apart from their religious duties, they were ethnic leaders and opinion-makers within communities abroad. They were important actors in staging Kaiser’s birthday celebrations, which, in turn, was an important stage for nation-building within Imperial Germany.

RUPTURES: THE BRAZILIAN CASE The tendency of theorisations to homogenise diasporas in terms of their social make-up has recently, and rightly, been critically reviewed. Putting the lens on internal differences does not question the applicability of the concept to a given ethno-national group but rather generates a more comprehensive and differentiated picture. Parreñas and Siu, for example, ask for an appreciation of race, ethnicity, sexuality, and class as dividing markers within diasporic groups.103 In what follows I argue that religion should also be considered within this context. This was true not only for confessional (Catholic—Protestant) but also for denominational differences within Protestantism itself. These call into question Wilhelmine constructions of Germans abroad as a unified block—but do not preclude the application of the diaspora concept. They also help to reflect whether attempts by Reichinstitutions and organisations to link emigrants closer to Germany were actually successful. The Brazilian example shows that the answer has to be a qualified one. For 1908, Bussmann lists a total of 95 Protestant congregations, of which 33 were attached to the Prussian Church, nine to the Lutherische Gotteskasten, 12 to the Barmer Verein (seven of them jointly with the Prussian Church), and 13 to the North American Missouri Synod; 18 were not attached to any synod or organisation outside Brazil.104 Within the Protestant sector alone we therefore have a fivefold split caused by different denominations or desired levels of independence. Catholicism and Judaism would, of course, have been the sixth and seventh religious splits.

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The question of external attachment caused a split not just between but also within congregations. There was friction between those who had settled in Brazil over a lengthy period and were often naturalised (Deutsch-Brasilianer), and those who had arrived more recently (Reichsdeutsche). The former were concerned about their congregations’ autonomy, and also about their standing within the Luso-Brazilian host society which tended to associate German institutions with aggressive Reich-nationalism.105 Church official D. Zöllner (Münster), after a lengthy visitation trip to Brazilian congregations in 1910, found it to be “fatal when theologians, teachers or young merchants who have just arrived from Germany immediately act as the saviours of Germanness, proclaiming pan-German ideas in their extreme form.” Their view on community matters would be: “It is about time you came under proper Prussian command”; and on congregational matters: “Mind you, the Prussian Church Council should have a say here, and would interfere in a way that your senses would leave you.” Referring to Porto Alegre, Zöllner mentions the case of former pastor turned school director and prolific public speaker Meyer, “who is guided by the ideal of Pan-Germanism in its sharpest form” and who approaches church representatives with utterances such as: “I would rather march after the sounds of a Prussian regimental band than after those of your Pan’s pipe.” Deutsch-Brasilianer often felt repelled by this tone, regarded Reich-supported institutions with suspicion, and “feared the Prussian spiked helmet.” In very perceptive terms, Zöllner also mentions that not all reichsdeutsch newcomers were infused with this kind of nationalism, but that the Brazilian press picked out aggressive voices and applied concomitant attitudes to the whole German-Brazilian community.106 Another visiting church official, Pastor Braunschweig (Leipzig), observed the “scepticism of the ‘free Brazilian’ towards patronising treatment by a foreign state authority” and recommended that the Oberkirchenrat should keep a low profile in order to avoid putting off members of the congregation.107 The German consul in Porto Alegre, Walter, reported that it was often difficult to convince congregations of the benefits of attachment, and that this step was merely taken to improve the pastors’ situation. He recommended that Berlin should interfere as little as possible with congregational matters during the process of attachment.108 Brazil was contested territory when it came to religious authority, and this was always linked to questions of national attachment. The North American Lutheran Missouri Synod entertained active missionary activity and had 13 congregations attached in Brazil, mostly in the Rio Grande do Sul province. For visiting Prussian church officials such as Pastor Braunschweig, this posed a threat to the “spiritual cohesion between colony and Heimat.” If Berlin did not provide more support, he found “an acute Americanisation of most of the Riograndensian Deutschtum unavoidable.”109 For Konsul Walter, attachment to the Prussian Church was crucial to strengthen “the German-Protestant congregations against the intrusion of the Lutherans of the North American Missouri-Synod with its hostile propaganda directed against Germanness.”110 The threat to ethnicity was therefore perceived to be a twofold one: firstly of

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assimilation into the culturally ‘inferior’ Luso-Brazilian society (Verbrasilianerung), and secondly of Americanisation through the Missouri Synod. Apart from the Missouri Synod, the Lutheran Gotteskasten posed a further threat to desired Protestant and ethno-national unity. Its pastors had received missionary (rather than academic) training and were more concerned with the worldwide support of Lutheranism than with national issues. This approach, in combination with intrusion into what was perceived to be Prussian church territory, led to conflicts.111 Reports draw the picture of a battle-ground of denominations, especially the “fight” (Kampf) in Santa Catharina province. The Gotteskasten had “conquered” (erobert) Itoupava, “strengthened its position” (sich festgesetzt) in Indayal and “tried to seize” (hinübergegriffen) Hansa-Harmonia. The local pastor in Itoupava, Gabler, complained about the rival Gotteskasten-pastor, Rösler, who “incites his people [ . . . ], lies and slanders as he pleases.”112 As visiting M. Braunschweig observed, “in a national sense it cannot be deplored enough that the Protestant Germandom in this state has been split by the intrusion of the Lutherische Gotteskasten eleven years ago.”113 The Brazilian case study shows that attempts by the German Protestant churches to reach out to emigrants and bind them closer to the Reich could have counter-productive effects. The increased global grip did not necessarily lead to denominational, confessional, and ethno-national unity but, on the contrary, carried intra-German fault-lines and frictions into ethnic communities abroad. The diaspora resembled the situation in Germany, and the crux lay in the merging of Protestantism and nationalism. Walser Smith perceptively remarks that these two entities were not separable parts within a spectrum but rather complemented each other. Political Protestantism “harbored the potential for radical nationalism” and, as such, “it neither unified nor homogenized but rather divided and aggravated tensions within the nation.”114 This is not only true for Catholic-Protestant fault-lines—which are at the centre of Walser Smith’s analysis—but also for the degree of radicalism expressed by opinion-makers. Walser Smith’s analytical framework can legitimately be taken across the borders of Imperial Germany. Representatives of state churches and central organs (Evangelischer Oberkirchenrat; Kirchenausschuß) could fi nd themselves in the position of sorcerer’s apprentice. On the one hand, they propounded a symbiosis between nationalism and Protestantism, making the latter a container for the global spread of the former. On the other hand, they could not contain all the forces which were set free by this symbiosis. Pastors, or former pastors such as school director Meyer, could act as ethnic leaders with radical nationalist tones which split (rather than unified) communities, led to negative generalisations in the Luso-Brazilian public, and were criticised by moderate church officials such as D. Zöllner. Many pastors worldwide were aware of this confl ict, but nevertheless did not question the basic axioms of the symbiosis. Rather, they were concerned with striking the right balance between the two elements. Pastor R. Tietze in Haifa embodies this

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conflict. On the one hand he argued that “Christianity must penetrate the national character of a Volk in a sacralising way” and that “we regard our volklich character as something god-given.” On the other hand, he relativises national parameters and does not want the balance to tip towards the secular: “Of course we will occasionally, especially on national holidays, produce enthusiastic fatherlandish tones, but one should not hear more from us about the worldly Heimat than about the heavenly one.”115 Tietze fi rst willingly opens up the Pandora’s Box of nationalism, but then cannot contain the uncontrolled spread of its contents.

DIASPORA SUPPORT, COLONIAL MIND-SET, AND (TRANS)NATIONAL IDENTITY In recent years, both the German general public and historical scholarship have experienced an increased interest in Germany’s colonial past. This follows more than 50 years of ‘colonial amnesia’ which had relegated the shortlived (1884–1918) colonial empire to a historical footnote. Since Susanne Zantop’s path-breaking work, we know that a colonial mind-set had been embedded in discussions about German nationhood and its place in the world well before and after the existence of the formal empire. For the late imperial period proper, colonies were an important discursive platform to negotiate issues such as global leadership, cultural hierarchies, and the bourgeois valuesystem. Means of popularisation within the wider German public included travel literature, popular magazines, and extensive visual representation.116As we have seen, the discourse about ‘Germans Abroad’ followed similar patterns. Their places of residence were constructed as semi-colonial spaces, and these territorial claims were backed up by constructing superiority in terms of culture and work-ethics vis-à-vis respective host societies. The world was re-mapped not only in colonial but also in emigrationist terms. How was an awareness of, and empathy for, compatriots abroad generated and popularised within Germany? How did it spill over abroad? This section deals with two-way feedback processes between periphery and centre and argues that Protestant institutions were instrumental as communicative spaces to create transnational bonds of empathy, disseminate knowledge about diasporic activity, and widen the framework of national consciousness to encapsulate people and territories beyond the borders of Imperial Germany. This discourse was not confined to right-wing associations such as the Pan-German League but was located in the middle of society.117 The most pertinent event in the church year was one Sunday service which was specifically dedicated to Germans abroad. The collection went into projects or selected communities to support church buildings or pastors’ salaries. This was accompanied by a sermon which aimed to evoke empathy and togetherness. The model sermon given out to pastors in Prussia, for example, asked the congregation:

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Constructing a German Diaspora Remember your comrades in faith who are in danger abroad of losing the most precious belongings which were bestowed upon them when they left their paternal home and Heimat, namely Protestant faith, religious morals and German ways. [ . . . ] A lot remains to be done in many regions in order to counter the bitter feeling in many hearts of being deserted by compatriots and comrades in faith (Volks- und Glaubensgenossen) back home despite all supplication. In Brazil, Argentina and Chile, in the coastal countries of Asia and Africa, as well as Australia and foreign European countries, the children of our Volk and our church stand isolated in their religious life, imploring and beseeching: Come over and help us. [ . . . ] Open your hearts and hands to donate an unselfish and rich offering of brotherly love.118

The established metaphor of the German people as a family (‘children’; ‘brotherly love’) was extended to its members abroad to indicate closeness and was freely merged with concepts of Volk and faith. Another sermon specifically for Germans in the colonies elaborated on “our brothers and sisters who have the same faith as us.”119 Another popular metaphor ascribing anthropomorphous qualities was that of the diaspora as extremities of a body. Again, discursive congruity is clearly visible at a transnational level, as well as at the interface between the religious and the secular spheres. Berlin-based Suin de Boutemard wrote about “the dispersed body-members (Glieder) of our Volk,”120 whilst the German School Association in Victoria, Australia, was delighted that ideas about a “unified Volk of brothers [ . . . ] resonate more and more in the hearts of even the remotest elements and body-members (Glieder) of the German Volk-body (Volkskörper).”121 After the territorial losses of 1918–1919, Germans living in border areas allocated to neighbouring nations were consequently described as parts of the nation violently “torn out of the Volk-body,” and this now constituted a “bleeding wound.”122 Body metaphors were a powerful linguistic device to embed notions of global belonging. The federal structure of German Protestantism meant that diaspora support was organised in a fragmented way. The idea of special diaspora services was taken up by almost all the state churches and territories. The collection in 1909 can be taken as a sample. Schleswig-Holstein, for example, generated 3,167 Marks, and the small territory of Lübeck 233 Marks, which went specifically to congregations in the colonies. Fragmentation also figured in a denominational sense. Saxony adhered to Lutheranism, and the bulk of its collection of just under 22,000 Marks was designated for Lutheran congregations in Chile attached to the Saxonian church. The remainder was sent to the German Protestant Church Council in Berlin with instructions for distribution. These give a good overview of the areas and channels of diaspora support. Funds were to be awarded to: the Council for its diaspora work, the German Martini-School in Cape Town, the Lutheran Emigrants’ Mission in Hamburg, the Lutheran seamen’s mission,

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the Lutheran Gotteskasten, German Lutherans in Switzerland, salaries for pastors abroad, and printing costs of the journal Deutsch-Evangelisch. The beneficiaries of the Prussian collection, in contrast, included “five or six scantily remunerated pastors in South America who are attached to the Prussian State Church,” as well as the congregations in Paris and Lyon.123 Territorial states continued to play a role throughout the Imperial period, both at the levels of political agency and identity formation. An overarching national identity was forcefully pushed by elites but, in fact, never fully replaced territorial state, or indeed regional, attachments.124 Diaspora support was one arena in which these overlapping layers of identity were negotiated within Germany. This also came to the fore in attempts to re-map the world in familiar federal terms. According to Bussmann, it was necessary for the newly (1903) established Kirchenausschuß to centralise some functions of diaspora support, but to decentralise when it came to geographically targeted support. In a language reminiscent of the colonial discourse, he suggested that the Kirchenausschuß should go about “distributing the earth amongst the different state churches (Landeskirchen), and to allocate specific areas to the different state churches for special assistance.”125 In the long run, each German territory would assume patronage of one or more world regions. Bussmann’s suggestion for geographical distribution is outlined below.

Table 5.1

Suggested Geographical Distribution of Protestant Diaspora Support South American East Coast, Italy, Middle East (Orient), Romania, Serbia, Bulgaria, East Africa excluding colonies

Hanover, Schleswig-Holstein, Hessen-Nassau

South Africa including colonies

Kingdom of Saxony

South American West Coast, Central America

Weimar Bavaria Wurttemberg

responsible for:

Prussia

East Asia including colonies Australia Great Britain

Baden, Alsace, Hesse-Darmstadt

France, Luxembourg

Thuringia without Anhalt and Weimar

Iberian Peninsula

Mecklenburg, Hansa cities

Scandinavia

Oldenburg, Braunschweig, Anhalt, Waldeck

Netherlands, Belgium

Source: adapted from Ernst W. Bussmann, Evangelische Diasporakunde. Handbuch für Pfarrer und Freunde deutscher Auslandsgemeinden (Marburg: Elwert, 1908), p. 127.

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The distribution was based on existing transnational connections, but also developed these with a view towards comprehensive coverage. The South African engagement of the Hanoverian Lutheran state church has to be seen in the context of the personal union between Hanover and Britain, as well as British colonial engagement in South Africa. The Elector of Hanover was at the same time King of England and, as such, ruled the Cape colony. As early as 1800 the small German congregation in Cape Town was sent a pastor from Hanover.126 In Bussmann’s conception, the long-standing presence in the region should act as a stepping-stone to taking over responsibility for the German colonies in Africa from the Prussian church. Fragmentation was also apparent on a confessional level. During the phase of formal German imperialism after 1886, cultural penetration of newly acquired territories was seen as a foremost task for both Catholicism and Protestantism. After the turbulent Kulturkampf period of the 1870s, the colonies were a new playing field for confessional strife. This pertained not only to missionary work amongst indigenous populations127 but also to settler colonialists. Protestant officials spoke of a “fierce competition between the confessions” and complained that Catholic institutions had more funds at their disposal for charitable, medical, and pastoral work. They asked for more clergy to be sent to the colonies to counter the “religious degeneration” of Protestant settlers.128 The newspaper Die Reformation predicted that confessional frictions would rise in parallel to the increase in white population. It complained that the government school in Windhuk had to be un-denominational despite the fact that only two Catholic pupils stood against 73 protestant pupils, and that all textbooks had to be “cleansed for equilibrium” (paritätisch gesäubert), offering only scarce information about Martin Luther.129 Pastors in situ such as J. Hammer (Windhuk) or H. Hasenkamp (Swakopmund) also engaged in the frictions, complaining about the “big troops of available clergymen” who aim to spread “Catholic propaganda” to “deceive” (blenden) the people. Pastor Hasenkamp criticised that the Catholic Church had built two disproportionally large hospitals in Swakopmund and Windhuk, and recommended that his own church should now build one in Lüderitzbucht “so that Rome does not beat us there as well.”130 Protestant church presence in the colonies was as follows. Congregations in the southern African protectorates were attached to the Prussian church. In Southwest Africa, the largest congregations were Windhuk with 1,750 members and Swakopmund with 700 in 1909. This was complemented with a number of smaller communities and missionary stations throughout the territory which were only served erratically. The same pattern applied to German East Africa, where Dar es Salaam was the main centre with 325 members. No formal congregations existed for the Germans in Togo, Cameroon, and Apia (Samoa). Missionaries in the regions took over lowkey spiritual provision. In Lome (Togo), a small German missionary church was built by the North German Missionary Society (Bremen) in 1907 and

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also opened its gates for resident Germans. The congregation in Tsingtau was fi rst established (1897) under military marine organisation and then, as advised by the German Protestant Church Council, turned into a selfstanding civil congregation which was funded directly by the Reich and served by the marine pastor. The representative Christuskirche was built in 1907. The Kirchenausschuß and the Oberkirchenrat frequently appealed to the Reich-authorities that more funds had to be provided in order to guarantee comprehensive spiritual provision for all protectorates.131 The diaspora commissioner of the Protestant Supreme Council, Kapler, stressed in a presentation that the colonies were “German land,” and that the settlers, although small in numbers, were crucial as “bearers and crystallisation points of German and Christian life [ . . . ] on German land.” Kapler regarded the complicated legal situation of the colonies to be the main reason why Protestant transnational support had not been sufficiently forthcoming. The colonies were German territory in a legal sense and therefore did not constitute diasporic settlement areas as such. On the other hand they were not allowed to establish formal Landeskirchen comparable to, say, the Prussian or the Weimar state churches. It is this legal hole which the Heimat had to fi ll through increased support: If we want Protestantism to keep its faithful and strong bulwark and supporter in our German fatherland, in Protestant Germany, then our priority must be to make sure that our co-religionists are kept within the fold of the Protestant church on G e r m a n soil. And this is what our protectorates are: German soil, a Germany overseas. Amongst the various protectorates, the primary task of our church should extend to Southwest Africa, where the white man [ . . . ] shall become a great German Volk!”132 Kapler subscribes to a de-spatialised conception of Germany, with settlers in the colonies being fi rmly interweaved into notions of a ‘Greater German Empire.’ As diaspora commissioner, he also made extensive visits to congregations throughout Europe and Africa. In a typological sense, visits by church officials were just as welcome as those of battleships amongst German communities, as symbolic hints that the Heimat had not forgotten its diaspora. The church newspaper in Southwest Africa wrote that it had long wished for a Church Council representative to visit the region, and that it was grateful for Oberkirchenrat Kapler’s visit in June 1913. Similarly, Pastor Heyse of the small community in Karibib expressed his abundant gratefulness to the Church Council in Berlin for having sent Kapler to his congregation. Kapler, in turn, reported positively about the six pastors working in Southwest Africa at the time of his visit. The fact that they were all sent out by the Church Council in Berlin meant that they preached a ‘pure’ form of the gospel—in contrast to their South American counterparts, amongst whom were many ‘pseudo pastors’ and ‘crooks’

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Constructing a German Diaspora

(Halunken), leading to religious splits.133 During his trip, Kapler assured his audiences that they were, in fact, “German congregations on German soil,” and that the achievements of the Prussian church in the territory had to be seen as “part of the great cultural project which the fatherland accomplishes for its colony.”134 Financing the church building in Windhoek was a transnational endeavour with state and church money from Germany, as well as collections and donations from both German and local sources. During the consecration festivities in October 1910, the colony’s acting governor, Brückner, in his function as representative of the Kaiser, awarded orders to Pastor Hammer as well as the architect and the fi nance director of the church.135 The colonialist mind-set was also popularised amongst church-goers within Germany through special services and collections for religious life in the protectorates. These were announced from the pulpit, and then contained a model sermon for all services within a given state church. The sermon for Prussia in January 1914 asked for support for “our protestant brothers and sisters in the German protectorates.” It explained to the flock that there were now ten congregations and eight pastor positions in Southwest Africa, all of which were attached to the Prussian church. Apart from churches as ‘footholds’ of German life, they also had to provide child nurseries and schools, nursing facilities, and community premises. “It is about our Volk-compatriots who are often dispersed in a lonely desert. [ . . . ] It is about the future of the Gospel in our German protectorates.”136 Specific initiatives included charity concerts for deserving congregations abroad,137 and the Breslau-based Association for Fostering German-Protestant Life Abroad which, only two years after its foundation in 1908, renamed itself as the Association for GermanProtestant Life in the Protectorates and Abroad.138 Popularising the colonial mind-set also occurred at an intra-diasporic level, just as had been shown in connection with navy support. This did not necessarily fi lter through the metropolis but could occur via communication channels between two or more diasporic locations. An example is a three-week trip by Glasgow-based timber merchant and ethnic leader Johannes Kiep to Southwest Africa. Upon his return to Glasgow, he gave a presentation to the ethnic community during Kaiser’s birthday celebration which was printed in the church newspaper Gemeinde-Bote and thus read by congregation members all across Britain. Kiep painted a glowing picture of Southwest Africa as a German land. Reiterating the argument that German emigration should be channelled towards the protectorates, he praised the quality of land for settlers and mused: “In ten years time there could be 30 to 40,000 Germans in Southwest Africa, and then the land will belong to Deutschtum forever. [ . . . ] Southwest Africa can be the fi rst German land overseas, and this is certainly a goal which is worthy of our Volk.”139 Just like the navy, Protestantism was a conduit for colonial fantasies which were conveyed in multidirectional ways. Diaspora support clearly merged with colonial interests and was one strand within a larger

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discourse which transformed overseas territories into ostensibly German land. Rogers Brubaker’s suggestion to view diaspora as a “category of practice remaking rather than describing the world”140 certainly fits the case of Imperial Germany.

UNITED STATES AND RUSSIA There was no formal attachment to a German state church in either the United States or Russia. This was due to the specific circumstances of immigration, especially with regards to temporality. A self-standing immigrant church infrastructure had developed in each of the two countries before the nationalist-inspired diaspora discourse developed its global reach. The infrastructure was relatively independent in the United States, as opposed to in Russia where German-speaking consistories were part of the Russian State Church. Both forms prevented any close affiliation with the German state churches and hence the extensive exchange of information and personnel which could be ascertained for other world regions. Juxtaposing the two countries points to the importance of training structures and the nature of mediating institutions. Protestants in the United States had quickly founded local seminaries to educate their own clergy. In Russia, those pastors with an academic background had gone through the University of Dorpat in the Baltics, where they had some contact with nationalism. We therefore have two different dissemination structures. In the United States, any diasporic awareness which went beyond pure linguistic and cultural preservation was not primarily mediated through the church. The detachment of Protestantism from metropolitan developments reflects a wider detachment within the migrant ‘community’ at large. In Russia, some Pastorennationalismus existed, but this should not be exaggerated in terms of its spread. Many pastors were not academically trained, Dorpat was not able to put out sufficient numbers of candidates, and the Russian state closely monitored aberrant utterances. In both countries, diasporic awareness encountered its limits and could even be turned on its head, with conceptions of ‘centre’ and ‘periphery’ being swapped around. They shall be discussed in turn with regard to their respective German Protestant communities. Germans in the United States mirrored the religious divisions of their land of origin. About one third of them were Catholics, and about a quarter million were Jews. Within the Protestant sector, Lutherans by far outnumbered the smaller Reformed and Evangelical churches. In addition, there existed smaller numbers of Methodists, Unitarians, and Pietists. Despite secularist, rationalist, and anticlerical tendencies, religion continued to be an enduring force within communities. They all existed as self-standing entities which were not directed in any way by Germany-based parent organisations. As for Lutherans, in fact, a desire to break away from dominant church bodies and religious developments in Germany lay at the heart

210 Constructing a German Diaspora of mid-nineteenth-century religious community building. The Missouri Synod, whose members and activities were not confi ned to this midwestern state, developed into the strongest and most numerous synod, comprising over half of all German-American Lutherans by 1906. Its nucleus lay in five ships arriving from Bremen in 1839 carrying 600 Saxonian immigrants under the leadership of Pastor Martin Stephan. They had become frustrated with pietist and rationalist tendencies in their homeland, as well as uniert pressures spilling over from Prussia. These ‘Old Lutherans’ aimed to re-erect, within a foreign environment, a conservative and ‘pure’ Lutheranism based on the spirit of the Confessio Augustana. When they arrived in the United States, they found the established ethnic Evangelical-Lutheran bodies, especially the Pennsylvania Synod (Mühlenberg Synode) of 1750, too assimilated in terms of English-language use and religious practice. They were particularly appalled to see that these bodies did not even mention the Augsburg Confession in their statutes. Schism was unavoidable. In 1847, the Missouri Synod was founded and remained the most conservative of all the nineteenth-century synodical creations. By 1906, about two-thirds of German-speaking Protestants were Lutheran, and over half of those were affiliated with the national Synodical Conference which, in turn, was dominated by the Missourians.141 The break-away nature of the very church which attracted the bulk of nineteenth-century mass immigration thus ensured that separation from any German mother-church, rather than diasporic connectedness in any religious and national sense, lay at the heart of religious community building. Within a global context, the United States was an exception rather than the rule. The Missouri Synod quickly created an elaborate educational system which included two seminaries, elementary schools which were attached to individual congregations, as well as preparatory schools and junior colleges. Its own publishing company issued writings such as the widely-read magazine Der Lutheraner. This comprehensive educational system ensured sufficient supply of ‘home-grown,’ that is, not Germany-educated, clergy. Language preservation in schools had no national undertones. It was rather to preserve the rich liturgical and doctrinal traditions in Luther’s own language. The preservation of faith, not of nationality, was the paramount concern. German was deemed the ‘purest’ language for the true interpretation of the gospel.142 The same approach was true for the other nineteenth-century Lutheran synods. The Evangelisch-Lutherisches Gemeinde-Blatt was the main organ of the Wisconsin Synod, which mostly covered the Upper Midwest. It understood itself as a newspaper “which exclusively wants to serve the church [for] God’s Empire to be built amongst us.”143 This and other sources from synodical congregations hardly refer to Germany, and if they do, do so without any reference to national themes as was the case in Latin America and other world regions. The aim of the schools was “to make sure our youth remains under the influence of the gospel”144 and not, as for example in the Paraguayan Hohenau-settlement, to be “a breeding ground

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for patriotism, in which the virtues and ideals of real German disposition are nurtured for the honour and glory of our old fatherland.”145 With missionary zeal and a well-supported infrastructure, the Missouri Synod also went about proselytising. It entertained missionary work amongst German newcomers, especially in the newly settled territories in the Midwest, but also soon started to create its own diaspora abroad. As has been mentioned in relation to Brazil, Latin America was its main field of missionary work, with members donating large funds.146 Ironically, it now also entertained some activity in Germany, turning any notion of ‘centre’ and ‘periphery’ on its head. Under the rubric ‘Ausland,’ its magazine Der Lutheraner reported about its congregation at the central Spittelmarkt in Berlin which was wholly fi nanced by the Missouri Synod. Its clientele consisted of re-migrated former German-Americans, travellers from the United States, but also local Germans. Although it only counted 31 members by 1900, its mere existence points to a reversal of diasporic thinking in religious (not national) terms. The Missourians also concentrated on Saxony. They now tried to spread their confessionalist approach in their land of origin, which had allegedly become alienated from the essence of Lutheranism. Bussmann sums up the North American situation within the wider picture of diaspora construction: The whole of North America has to be entirely excluded from our observations because it is impossible to talk about a German-Protestant diaspora in our sense. There, more and more an American- German Protestant church develops which even makes its particular spirit felt in relation to the spirit of our home church (Missourians in Saxony, Australia and Brazil).147 In Russia, similarly diversified immigrant churches included Protestants, Catholics, and, mostly in urban centres, Jews. With regard to Protestantism, a plethora of denominations and splinter groups existed especially in southern Russian rural areas. This was due to the isolated nature of some settlement colonies, but also to practical reasons: Individual pastors had to look after large areas which usually comprised several towns. In the Volga region, one pastor had to look after an average flock of 13,000 in 1905. Congregations often had difficulties in fi nding trained pastors at all, and this contributed to denominational diversity. The dominant Lutheranism existed alongside Reformism, Baptism, Adventism, Pietism, Mennonism, and a number of smaller forms of southern German origin such as Stundism, Millenialism, and Separatism. The Czar was the head of church as summus episcopus of all Christian confessions or denominations. In 1832, he decreed the establishment of the Evangelical-Lutheran Church in Russia, which continued to be German-dominated (including language use) until its demise under Stalinist pressure in the 1930s. Its central seat (Generalkonsistorium) was in St. Petersburg and overlooked five territorial

212 Constructing a German Diaspora consistoria: one each for the three Baltic provinces; Moscow, which covered a vast area including the Black Sea region; and St. Petersburg, which included the Volga German region. Alongside integration into the Russian state church went the decree that all clergy had to be Russian subjects. Although administrative blundering by the Russian authorities sometimes allowed for circumvention, the decree basically limited the pool to those who were either born in Russia or were willing to take on citizenship. The University of Dorpat in Estonia was therefore the main training ground for German-language Lutheran pastors. Students would be either Kolonistensöhne (colonists’ sons) from Southern Russian settlements or, to a larger extent, Baltic Germans themselves, who dominated the profession throughout the Russian Empire.148 This structure ensured independence from German state churches, and also a degree of group consciousness amongst Lutheran clergy in Russia who regularly corresponded and met for synodal conferences. Cursory reading of a range of synodal and congregational sources shows that for most of the nineteenth century the German nation did not play a role as referential gravitation point. Discussions were about gospel interpretation and practical issues of congregation work. Social and religious problems within the Volga German communities figured highly such as “misery in a spiritual sense. In our protestant congregations, faithlessness and godlessness spread more and more. Immorality and licentiousness intrude more and more. In addition, many congregations are torn apart internally through splits caused by the sectarians.”149 Provost Karl Blum (1841–1906) was a typical representative of the clergy cohort. He was born in Baltic Courland, visited the grammar school in Mitau and then Dorpat University to study theology. After a brief spell in Morgenthau/Volga, “he was drawn again to his Heimat, to Kurland,” but left again after five years due to the mounting unrest of the Latvian national movement. In 1879, he arrived at the Volga again, spending the following 24 years in the Krasnojar congregation district (Kirchspiel). He had hoped to spend his retirement in Dorpat but passed away prematurely.150 Germany itself was not on Blum’s radar. His homeland was Courland. Scholarship tends to describe the different German groups in the Russian Empire (urban, Baltic, Southern Russian) as largely isolated entities without much awareness of co-ethnics elsewhere, let alone a group consciousness as ‘Russian Germans’ or global diaspora. This view has been challenged in Chapter 3, and will be further challenged in the following paragraphs. The sources reveal instances where trans-local awareness and self-organisation came to the surface. In 1859, the St. Petersburg consistory installed a countrywide support fund which was sourced from contributions from congregations across Russia. In 1903, this Unterstützungskasse took in 160,000 Roubles to support provision of clergy and bible material in poorer or remote communities, for example to fund a travelling pastor in Siberia.151 Other diasporic moments were donations in concrete situations. When a succession

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of bad harvests led to famine in the Volga region in 1880, Germans throughout Russia sent collections for relief. The head of the Volga synodal district, Probst Karl Kloßmann, received over 120 remittances, accompanied by letters of compassion. The pastor of Jekaterinburg included in his letter (“Dear Karl”) a collection of 38 Roubles. Similar letters came from congregations in, for example, Riga, Narva, Reval, Tiflis, Nemirow, Wolskaja, Novgorod, Warsaw, and Wyburg in Finland (Poland and Finland had separate synods). The district government in Livonia sent 1,000 Roubles “in the name of the Livonian knighthood.” A number of private individuals also participated, including the local government engineer from Stavropol (Caucasus), and a Herr Louis Lory from Moscow with 100 Roubles.152 In turn, the Volga Germans supported ethnic co-religionists beyond their horizon. Designated collections went, for example, to the central St. Petersburg Unterstützungskasse, the Basel and Leipzig missions, the Protestant hospitals in St. Petersburg and in Sarata, and congregations in Agram (Zagreb/Croatia).153 Transnational connections with the Americas have been described earlier and were also relevant at an inter-congregational level. Two examples: A Pastor John Müller from Altoona, Pennsylvania, hoped for reinvigoration of his flock when he wrote to a colleague on the Volga shore. He described the favourable conditions in the United States in terms of living standards and religious provision and asked his colleague to spread that message.154 Another letter came from Pastor Dettenborn from the La Plata Synod in Argentina, writing to the synodal convention of the Volga-Präpositur. Dettenborn pointed to the problem that his synod did not have the resources to satisfy the spiritual needs of the 8,000 Volga Germans living in its area. The Protestant Church Council in Berlin had sent a pastor, but this did not suffice. He asked whether the Volga-Präpositur could not send a pastor from its midst in order to remedy this situation.155 It is important to note, however, that Christian compassion on an ethnoconfessional basis rather than national considerations played a role in these instances of global transnational togetherness. From the end of the 1890s, however, national thinking made inroads into the Russian German clergy. It is through Dorpat that some were acquainted with völkisch ideas. The university had been re-opened by the Czar as a German-speaking institution in 1812 in order to ensure state-controlled academic education for the German-speaking elites of the Russian Empire. When the university lost its privilege of teaching in German in 1889, it turned into “an ideological battleground between emergent Russian and German nationalisms. A stronghold of orthodox Lutheranism and German national consciousness [ . . . ].”156 The fraternity Teutonia—the name itself being a provocation to Russian ears—was added to the established Curonia, Estonia, and so on, as a conscious stronghold of national disposition and was particularly meant to attract Kolonistensöhne. One graduate of this generational cohort was Pastor Daniel Steinwand, who has been described earlier as a spiritus rector of the Südrussischer Bildungsverein

214 Constructing a German Diaspora “with a strong national orientation.”157 Another example was Johannes Schleuning (1879–1962) who turned out to be one of the most outspoken representatives of this generational cohort. He was born a Kolonistensohn in Neu-Norka on the lower Volga. His theological studies at Dorpat were interrupted by the revolution in 1905. He was one of many students to flee ‘home’ to Germany, continuing his studies at Greifswald University. During a stay in Berlin he met leaders of Baltic refugees and was inspired by the idea of linking up Southern and Northern Germans in Russia. For him, the church was a crucial link to spread a consciousness of Volk amongst his coethnics. He returned to Russia to take up a pastor position in Tiflis/Georgia between 1910 and 1914. There, he hired religion teachers to counter youth assimilation, founded the secular Deutscher Verein to promote Volk-based German culture, and also edited the monthly newspaper Kaukasische Post, bringing in editors from Germany. He regularly read German newspapers and visited ‘home’ again in 1911.158 Schleuning was only 15 years younger than Karl Blum but represents a generational cohort for whom Germany had, in fact, become a point of reference. It would be misleading to generalise these leadership voices for the cohort as a whole. Others clearly refuted any national tendencies. Pastor Thomas Meyer, for example, serving the church district of Nikolajev on the Black Sea, was equally concerned with language preservation but was keen to stress: “The Protestant church does not pursue any national goals, it is not a German-national church.”159 Changing parameters can also be ascertained in the cities, not least through the presence of many Reichsdeutsche. By 1900, St. Petersburg had a number of Protestant churches. The largest and most prosperous were St. Annen and St. Petri, the latter on the central Nevskij Prospect with a capacity of 3,000. Most of the pastors in St. Petersburg were Baltic Germans or naturalised Germans. Throughout the Russian Empire, Protestant congregations prayed for the Czar and frequently expressed their loyalty and gratefulness to the Imperial household as supreme protector. In 1913, the Katharinen-church held a special service to celebrate 300 years of Romanov-rule. These loyalty statements were a condition for being able to operate at all within Russia, but pastors now started to combine them with völkisch ideas. Pastor Karl Walter of the Jesuskirche, for example, in his speech to celebrate the birthday of the German Kaiser in 1906, asked his flock to remain loyal to the Czar but, at the same time, not to forget their German roots. With a clear repudiation of the 1905 revolution, he argued: “In days when the international red flag aspires to become the banner of Sammlung, it is all the more important to abide by the historically documented regime of the monarchy and to remain conscious of the national.” This in-between position provoked accusations by Russian nationalists that Germans wanted to transform their church in Russia into a German national institution.160 Although these reproaches were exaggerated, it is certainly true that national thinking had found its way into German Protestantism throughout Russia before 1914, if only at a relatively modest level.

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This was in contrast to the United States, where no equivalent to the Baltic regions and Dorpat University existed as an intellectual breeding ground for a Protestant, Reich-oriented ethnic leadership.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS Parts of this chapter were originally published as ‘Protestantism, Nation and Diaspora in Imperial Germany’, in Nations & Nationalism 18, no. 4 (2012), 744–764. NOTES 1. “Deutschtum und Evangelium in ihrer inneren Harmonie: das ist der Fels, auf dem die Größe und die Kraft unseres Vaterlandes fest und sicher ruhen. [ . . . ] Jenseits des Ozeans ist ein neues Deutschland entstanden und hat den deutschen Namen zu Ehren und Ansehen in der Welt gebracht [ . . . ] und drängt in hartem Konkurrenzkampfe den Engländer Schritt um Schritt zurück. [ . . . ] Und schützt doch kein Damm das Deutschtum so sicher und fest gegen die Fluten fremden Volkstums als das Evangelium. Freilich Roms Kirche und Priester erfreuen sich von jeher im Auslande des Ruhmes, die eifrigsten Totengräber deutscher Art und Sitte zu sein,” Friedrich Geest, Deutsch-Evangelisch in der Auslandsdiaspora (Leipzig: Carl Braun, 1902), pp. 3–6. 2. Heinz-Gerhard Haupt and Dieter Langewiesche, eds., Nation und Religion in der deutschen Geschichte (Frankfurt New York: Campus, 2001); Armin Müller Dreier, Konfession in Politik, Gesellschaft und Kultur des Kaiserreichs. Der Evangelische Bund 1886–1914 (Gütersloh: Kaiser, 1998); Claudia Lepp, Protestantisch-liberaler Aufbruch in die Moderne. Der Deutsche Protestantenverein in der Zeit der Reichsgründung und des Kulturkampfes (Gütersloh: Kaiser, 1996); Helmut Walser Smith, German Nationalism and Religious Conflict. Culture, Ideology, Politics 1870–1914 (Princeton University Press, 1995). 3. Walter, Creating Germans, p. 99; Conrad, Globalisierung, p. 269; Conrad, Kaiserreich transnational. 4. Kundrus, Moderne Imperialisten, pp. 183–200; O’Donnell, Heimat Abroad; Schulze, German Diasporic Experiences. 5. Walkenhorst, Nation; Hering, Konstruierte Nation. 6. Britta Wellnitz, Deutsche evangelische Gemeinden im Ausland. Ihre Entstehungsgeschichte und die Entwicklung ihrer Rechtsbeziehungen zur Evangelischen Kirche in Deutschland (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2003); Hermann-Josef Röhrig, Diaspora—Kirche in der Minderheit. Eine Untersuchung zum Wandel des Diasporaproblems in der evangelischen Theologie unter besonderer Berücksichtigung der Zeitschrift ‘Die evangelische Diaspora’ (Leipzig: Benno, 1991). 7. Dreher, Kirche und Deutschtum. 8. Adrian Hastings, The Construction of Nationhood. Ethnicity, Religion and Nationalism (Cambridge University Press, 1997); Anthony D. Smith, Chosen Peoples: Sacred Sources of National Identity (Oxford University Press, 2003); Anthony D. Smith, The Cultural Foundations of Nations (Oxford: Blackwell, 2008); Jouni Tilli, ‘An Interpretation of Finnish Religious Nationalism. The

216 Constructing a German Diaspora

9.

10.

11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16.

17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22.

23.

24.

Four topoi of Theological Depoliticisation,’ Nations and Nationalism 15, no. 4 (2009), 597–615. Blackbourn, History of Germany, pp. 196–199, 213–227; Walser Smith, German Nationalism; Christopher Clark, ‘Religion and Confessional Confl ict,’ in James Retallack, ed., Imperial Germany, 1871–1918 (Oxford University Press, 2008). Ernest Gellner, Nations and Nationalism, 2nd ed. (Oxford: Blackwell, 2006); John Breuilly, ‘Theories of Nationalism and the Critical Approach to German History,’ in Sven O. Müller and Cornelius Torp, eds., Imperial Germany Revisited. Continuing Debates and New Perspectives (New York and Oxford: Berghahn, 2011), pp. 67–82. Barabantseva, ‘Diaspora,’ 5. Leerssen, ‘Nationalism.’ Isabella, ‘Exile.’ Wellnitz, Deutsche Evangelische Gemeinden, pp. 13–17; Röhrig, Diaspora, pp. 8–19; Bussmann, Evangelische Diasporakunde, pp. 29–36. Religion in Geschichte und Gegenwart (Tübingen: Mohr, 1999), entries ‘Diaspora,’ ‘Gustav Adolf Werk’; Wellnitz, Deutsche Evangelische Gemeinden, pp. 42–47; Röhrig, Diaspora, pp. 29–33. August Krieg, ‘Evangelische Kirche der Altpreussischen Union und Auslandsdiaspora,’ in Oskar Söhngen, ed., Hundert Jahre Evangelischer Oberkirchenrat der Altpreussischen Union, 1850–1950 (Berlin: Wichern, 1950), pp. 114–155; Gerhard Besier, ‘Die Auslandsarbeit des Evangelischen Oberkirchenrats,’ in Gerhard Goeters and Joachim Rogge, eds., Die Geschichte der Evangelischen Kirche der Union (Leipzig: Evangelische Verlagsanstalt, 1994), pp. 457–479; Röhrig, Diaspora, pp. 29–40; Wellnitz, Deutsche Evangelischen Gemeinden, pp. 49–56; Rainer Lächele, ‘Protestantismus und völkische Religion im deutschen Kaiserreich,’ in Uwe Puschner et al., eds., Handbuch zur ‘Völkischen Bewegung,’ 1871–1918 (Munich: Saur, 1996), p. 149–163. Monatsschrift für Innere Mission 19 (1899), 223; also Jahrbuch der Diaspora-Konferenz für das Jahr 1898 (Ballenstedt, 1898). Besier, ‘Auslandsarbeit’; Bussmann, Evangelische Diasporakunde, pp. 105–106 and Appendix I; Wellnitz, Deutsche Evangelische Gemeinden, pp. 59–62. Reinhard Münchmeyer, ‘Rückwirkungen der Auslandsgemeinden auf die heimatlichen Landeskirchen,’ Deutsch-Evangelisch 13 (1914), 279–292 (at 286); Wellnitz, Deutsche Evangelische Gemeinden, p. 61. Bussmann, Evangelische Diasporakunde, pp. 426–427; Wellnitz, Deutsche Evangelische Gemeinden, pp. 66–74. Boutemard, 1909, p. 236. Denkschrift des Deutschen Evangelischen Kirchenausschusses über die kirchliche Versorgung der Diaspora im Auslande (Berlin: Deutscher Evangelischer Kirchenausschuss, 1904); Hartmut Sander, ‘Der Deutsche Evangelische Kirchenausschuß (1903),’ in Goeters, Geschichte der Evangelischen Kirche, pp. 355–372; EZA 5/311, 6 April 1906, Internal report on fi nancial needs of Auslandsdiaspora. Frank-Michael Kuhlemann, ‘Pastorennationalismus in Deutschland im 19. Jahrhundert—Befunde und Perspektiven der Forschung,’ in Haupt, Nation, pp. 548–586 (at p. 563); Wolfgang Altgeld, ‘Religion, Denomination and Nationalism in Nineteenth-Century Germany,’ in Helmut Walser Smith, ed., Protestants, Catholics and Jews in Germany, 1800–1914 (Oxford and New York: Berg, 2002), pp. 49–66. Müller-Dreier, Konfession, pp. 502–516; Walser Smith, German Nationalism, pp. 51–61.

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217

25. Kuhlemann, ‘Pastorennationalismus,’ pp. 552. 26. Münz, ‘Auslandsdeutsche’; Hoerder, Geschichte, pp. 86–92; Naranch, ‘Inventing.’ 27. E.g., Denkschrift; M. Dedekind, 75 Jahre deutsch-evangelischer Diasporaarbeit in Nord- und Südamerika (Barmen: Wiemann, 1912); D. Mirbt, Die Frau in der deutschen evangelischen Auslandsdiaspora und der deutschen Kolonialmission (Marburg: Elwert, 1912). 28. Röhrig, Diaspora, p. 3; Wellnitz, Deutsche Evangelische Gemeinden, p. 25. 29. “Dass aber die deutsche Kirche am besten das deutsche Volkstum im fremden Lande schützt, das liegt im Wesen des Protestantismus selber. Er fordert und fördert die Gemeindebildung, und er schützt und lässt das besondere Volkstum erstarken. [ . . . ] In Australien wie in Amerika, in Südafrika wie in der europäischen Diaspora ist die deutsche Kirche in der That nicht nur der Mittelpunkt aller deutschen Bestrebungen, sondern auch der sicherste Hort des Deutschtums selber. [ . . . ] Als letztes Einigende bleibt dann oft nur die Kirche, in der sich z. B. bei grossen patriotischen Festfeiern alle Deutschen gern zusammenfi nden. [ . . . ] Wenn wir treu sein wollen gegen unser Volkstum und uns in unserer Eigenart unter fremdländischer Umgebung behaupten wollen, so müssen wir auch treu sein gegen die hohen Güter, die wir im deutschen Glauben empfangen haben,” Deutsch-Evangelisch (1901), 4–5. 30. “Der Deutsche ist von jeher Kolonisator gewesen. [ . . . ] Er unterscheidet sich hier wesentlich vom Romanen, besonders dem Italiener, der wohl auch hinauszieht um fremden Boden zu bearbeiten, aber doch nur um ihn auszusaugen und dann zu verlassen. Der Deutsche dagegen gewinnt den Boden, die Stätte seiner Arbeit lieb und klebt auch im fremden Lande bald an der Scholle,” ibid., 1. 31. “Die vielen Tausende Deutscher, die vor der Einigung des Reiches ausgewandert waren, [ . . . ] hatten ja schon lange vor der Entstehung des Reiches ein einiges Deutschland in der Fremde geschaffen. [ . . . ] Sein Vaterland muss größer sein—ein Deutschland nämlich, das innerlich durch gemeinsame Interessen, Erziehung, Sprache und Sitte sich einte,” ibid., 2. 32. Bussmann, Evangelische Diasporakunde, pp. 82–87, 153–157. 33. “Auch das deutsche Volk hat seine Aufgabe in der Völkerwelt erhalten, die jeder Deutsche zu erfüllen bestrebt sein muß, will er nicht in eine erbärmliche Kriecherei vor anderen Nationalitäten verfallen. [ . . . ] Frei von jedem Chauvinismus verstanden hat das Wort Geibels: es soll am deutschen Wesen noch die Welt genesen, in vielen Gebieten, wohin unsere Auswanderer ziehen, seine Berechtigung,” Bussman, Evangelische Diasporakunde, 79–80. 34. “Den n die deutsche A r t hat [ . . . ] doch e i n e b e s o n d e r e , v o n G o t t i h r g e g e b e n e A u f g a b e in der Welt- und Völkergeschichte. Sie kann sie nur lösen, wenn sie sich schützt gegen den vaterlands- und heimatlosen Geist, gegen Verachtung der Muttersprache und gegen internationale Verflachung. [ . . . ] Der Protestantismus ist eine Erscheinungsform des Christentums, welche die nationale Eigenart fördert und nicht, wie das katholische Christentum, vorwiegend international veranlagt ist. [ . . . ] Mag auch die nun einmal nicht zu leugnende Tatsache einer gewissen Verschmelzung von Patriotismus und R e l i g i o s i t ä t, die besonders im Auslande stärker hervortritt, manchen [ . . . ] störend, vielleicht unsympathisch sein,” A. Suin de Boutemard, Die AuslandsDiaspora. Ein neues Arbeitsfeld der Deutschen Evangelischen Kirche (Potsdam: Stiftungsverlag, 1909), pp. 193–195. 35. Ibid., p. VII, “Die versprengten Glieder unseres Volkes sollen erfahren, daß das evangelischen Deutschland ihrer gedenkt und sich um sie kümmert. Mit dieser Fürsorge leisten wir unserem Vaterland einen Dienst, denn jeder deutsche Auslandspfarrer ist zugleich eine Stütze des Deutschtums, und ebenso unserer

218 Constructing a German Diaspora

36. 37. 38.

39. 40. 41. 42.

43. 44. 45.

46.

47.

48. 49.

evangelischen Kirche, denn wir erhalten ihr bedrohte Außenposten. Kirchliche und patriotische Pflichten fallen hier zusammen.” EZA 5/309/276, Pastor Trautvetter, Cairo, to Evangelischer Oberkirchenrat, 12 January 1876; BAB R901/38905/31, Allgemeiner Evangelisch-Protestantischer Missionsverein, Annual Report 1894/95, Shanghai. Deutscher Evangelischer Volksbote für Südafrika, 6 January 1912. Horst Gründer, Christliche Mission und deutscher Imperialismus: eine politische Geschichte ihrer Beziehungen während der deutschen Kolonialzeit (1884–1914) unter besonderer Berücksichtigung Afrikas und Chinas (Paderborn: Schöningh, 1982), pp. 321–347; Conrad, Globalisierung, pp. 84–93; Blackbourn, History of Germany, pp. 196–199, 213–227. Frank Becker, ‘Konfessionelle Nationsbilder im Deutschen Kaiserreich,’ in Haupt, Nation, pp. 389–419. Busch, Deutsche in St. Petersburg, pp. 113–117; Brandes, Von den Zaren adoptiert, pp. 276, 289–291. Conzen, ‘Germans,’ p. 418; Wellnitz, Deutsche evangelische Gemeinden, p. 12. Kathleen N. Conzen, ‘Immigrant Religion and the Public Sphere. The German Catholic Milieu in America,’ in Wolfgang Helbich and Walter D. Kamphoefner, eds., German-American Immigration and Ethnicity in Comparative Perspective (Madison, WI: University of Wisconsin Press, 1997), pp. 69–114 (at pp. 102–108); Daniels, Coming to America, pp. 153–155. For a Pan-German and Protestant view of the St. Raphael-Verein see Schultheiß, Deutschnationales Vereinswesen, pp. 15–23. The association is not mentioned in the wide-ranging article in the compilation of the German-American National Bund: Josef Bernt, ‘Deutsche Katholiken in Amerika,’ in Deutsch-Amerikanischer National-Bund, ed., Buch der Deutschen, pp. 249–259. Blackbourne, History of Germany, p. 198f. Reinhard Richter, Nationales Denken im Katholizismus der Weimarer Republik (Münster: Lit, 2000), pp. 303–307. Lorenz Werthmann, Das katholische Deutschtum im Ausland (Freiburg i. Br.: Caritasverband, 1911), edited by Freie Vereinigung für das katholische Deutschtum im Ausland, p. 1: “Ihre Teilnahme für die Bewohner dieses weiteren Deutschlands zu erwecken, ist meine Aufgabe”; p. 3: [ . . . ] in glaubensund sittenloser Umgebung teilweise noch traurige Verhältnisse bestehen. Ihnen sind seit einem halben Jahrhundert die deutschen Ordensleute, insbesondere die Jesuiten und Franziskaner, wahre Schutzengel in religiöser und nationaler Hinsicht geworden.” Ibid., p. 5, “Es kann uns Söhnen des deutschen Vaterlandes nicht gleichgültig sein, ob der Klang der deutschen Sprache [ . . . ] auf den Grenzlinien und in den Kolonien immer mehr zurückgedrängt wird oder nicht. Es muß uns Herzenssache sein, daß das Bewußtsein der Stammeszugehörigkeit bei den Sprößlingen deutscher Vorfahren in Nord- und Südamerika ebenso erhalten bleibt, wie an den Ufern der Wolga und des Schwarzen Meeres.” Ibid., p. 7, “Euch aber, die Ihr als Söhne deutscher Eltern fern der Heimat geboren seid, Euch sende ich das Bild unseres großen mächtigen deutschen Vaterlandes, und rufe Euch zu: Seid stolz darauf, Deutsche zu sein, verachtet niemals deutsche Sprache und deutsche Sitte, ehret und liebet das Land, das Eure Eltern Euch gegeben haben; Ihr alle, ob groß ob klein, ob Millionär oder Arbeiter, ob Ihr wohnt unter Palmen oder in Sibirien, bedenket, daß Ihr verantwortlich seid für die Ehre des deutschen Namens!” Ibid, pp. 7–8. Richter, Nationales Denken, pp. 303–316. Also see EZA 5/313, appeal to establish a Verein der Deutschen Katholiken zum Schutze der katholischen

Religion

50.

51. 52. 53. 54.

55. 56.

57. 58. 59. 60. 61. 62.

63. 64. 65.

219

Auslandsdeutschen (Association of German Catholics for the Protection of Catholic Auslandsdeutsche), Munich, July 1918. Roland Löffler, ‘Protestantismus und Auslandsdeutschtum in der Weimarer Republik und dem Dritten Reich. Zur Entwicklung von Deutschtumspflege und Volkstumstheologie in Deutschland und den Deutsch-evangelischen Auslandsgemeinden unter besonderer Berücksichtigung des ‘Jahrbuchs für Auslandsdeutschtum und Evangelische Kirche’ (1932–1940),’ in Michael Geyer and Hartmut Lehmann, eds., Religion und Nation. Beiträge zu einer unbewältigten Geschichte (Göttingen: Wallstein, 2004), pp. 298–335 (at 299–300). Werthmann, Das katholische Deutschtum, pp. 2, 5; Fr. Guntram Schultheiß, Deutschtum und Magyarisierung (Munich: Lehmann, 1898); Fr. Guntram Schultheiß, Deutsch-Nationales Vereinswesen (Munich: Lehmann, 1897). Gründer, Christliche Mission, pp. 321–347; Conrad, Globalisierung, pp. 84–93. E.g., Fuhrmann, Traum; Busch, Deutsche in St. Petersburg; Brandes, Von den Zaren adoptiert; Manz, Migranten und Internierte. THLLA TH 8662/9, Minute Books St. Georges congregation London, 1913, ‘Zusammenstellung der deutschen evangelischen Kirchen usw. Grossbritanniens’; Steinmetz, German Churches, p. 55; Pfarrer Urban, ‘Statistik der deutschen evangelischen Gemeinden und Pastoren sowie der mit ihnen in Verbindung stehenden deutschen Schulen im Auslande,’ Deutsch- Evangelisch 2 (1903), 114–115. Manz, Migranten, pp. 30–41. EZA 5/1823/6, 6 December 1897, “Die Deutschen Glasgows sollten einen Mittelpunkt besitzen, in welchem echte, patriotische Gesinnung, rechte landsmännische Eintracht und das Gefühl der Zusammengehörigkeit in ‘Freud und Leid’ ihren edelsten und reinsten Ausdruck fi nden. [ . . . ] Vom rein christlichen sowie vom nationalen und menschenfreundlichen Standpunkt aus betrachtet, kann nur eine deutsche christliche Gemeinde den richtigen Sammelplatz der Deutschen Glasgows bilden.” EZA 5/1823, 13 March 1899. See Annual Reports German Protestant Congregation Glasgow in EZA 5/1823–1826, 1299. For the United States see Häderle, Deutsche Frauenvereine. EZA 5/1823–1826, 1299, Annual Report German Protestant Congregation Glasgow 1898; EZA 5/1823/59, Annual Report 1899; also Gemeindebote 1903, in EZA 5/1823/121. Nipperdey, Deutsche Geschichte, pp. 88–89; Häderle, Deutsche Frauenvereine, p. 87; Rosenkranz, Geschichte, p. 199. EZA 5/1823/38, Annual Report German Protestant Congregation Glasgow 1898; EZA 5/1823/26, Otto Froude to Oberkirchenrat, 23 June 1898 (quote): “[ . . . ] weil hier sehr viele alleinstehende Lehrerinnen und weibliche Dienstboten sich befi nden, die bei der Gründung der Gemeinde das größte Interesse bewiesen haben und einen jährlichen Beitrag zahlen. [ . . . ] Die Gemeinde hat das feste Vertrauen und die größte Hoff nung, daß trotz dieser Abweichung der Anschluß an die Landeskirche [ . . . ] wird vollzogen werden.” EZA 5/1262, p. 21, Inspection trip Oberkonsistorialrat Conrad, 7–21 May 1914; Münchmeyer, ‘Notwendigkeit,’ pp. 185–190. EZA 5/1823/71, report Wevers 1901, “[ . . . ] allerdings wohl mehr aus nationalen, als kirchlichen, vielleicht auch nicht immer durchaus selbstlosen Motiven.” For Rottenburg and Kiep see Manz, Migranten, 61–73. Explanation and quote in Gemeindebote. Monatsblatt der Deutschen Evangelischen Gemeinden Großbritanniens XII, no. 8 (April 1906), 59, 62.

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66. Anglo-German Publishing Company, Deutsche Kolonie, p. 68, “Flaggenmast, [ . . . ] von dem zu patriotischen Festtagen und besonderen Gelegenheiten stolz die schwarz-weiß-rote Fahne weht.” 67. EZA 5/1824/38, Annual Report German Protestant Congregation 1898, “Nach der erhabenen, patriotischen Ansprache des Herrn Kiep stimmte die Versammlung in ein begeistertes Hoch auf unseren deutschen Kaiser ein und sang den ersten Vers von ‘Heil dir im Siegerkranz’. [ . . . ] Das schöne Fest klang aus in das herrliche Vaterlandslied: ‘Deutschland, Deutschland über alles.’ 68. Münchmeyer, In der Fremde, pp. 18–19, “Du bist ein Deutscher, deine Heimat hat die eine kostbare Erbschaft mit auf den Weg gegeben. [ . . . ] Selbst unsere Reichsgrenzen sind für die Zusammenfassung der heutigen Vereinigung zu eng. Von ihr gilt: ‘So weit die deutsche Zunge klingt und Gott im Himmel Lieder singt.’” 69. David Brandon Dennis, ‘Seduction on the Waterfront. German Merchant Sailors, Masculinity and the ‘Brücke zur Heimat’ in New York and Buenos Aires 1884–1914,’ German History 29, no. 2 (2011), 175–201. 70. Reinhard Münchmeyer, ed., Handbuch der deutschen evangelischen Seemannsmission (Stettin: Hessenland, 1912), pp. 113–115, 129–133; THLLA TH 8662/361/185, Sitzungsprotokoll des Generalkomitees für deutsche Seemanss- und Auswanderer-Mission in Schottland, 16 October 1884. 71. THLLA TH 8662/305, Annual Report Seamen’s Mission Glasgow, 1900, “[ . . . ] die breiten Straßen des Verderbens.” 72. THLLA TH 8662/305, Annual Report Seamen’s Mission Glasgow, 1905, “Die Stadt Glasgow birgt keineswegs geringere Gefahren als andere grosse Häfen, der Durchschnittsseemann ist zu schwach und haltlos, als dass er ohne Beihülfe treu mahnender Freunde siegreich bleiben könnte.” 73. THLLA TH 8662/305, Annual Report Seamen’s Mission Glasgow, 1900, “[ . . . ] einer widerlichen, oft unsittlichen Scene ein Ende macht, dort einen anderen sich seiner Trunkenheit schämen lässt [ . . . ]. 74. Manz, Migranten, pp. 226–229; Manz, Negotiating, 13. 75. Dennis, ‘Seduction,’ 188–189. 76. BAB R901/38905, Annual Report Allgemeiner Evangelisch-Protestantischer Missionsverein, 1894/95, 29–31: “[ . . . ] um die zerstreut in China lebenden evangelischen Deutschen gewissermassen zu e i n e r Gemeinde zu sammeln. [ . . . ] geeignet, ein unsichtbares Band um unsere Landsleute in Ostasien zu schlingen. [ . . . ] Möchte unser Leben hier draußen von der Christenheit daheim doch immer mit warmer, belebender Teilnahme begleitet werden, wir auch wir immer im Geiste die Hand nach der Heimat hinüberstrecken! Möchte die evangelische Gemeinde in Shanghai immer weiter aufblühen und immer mehr ein Stützpunkt echt deutschen, frommen, evangelischen Lebens in Ostasien werden!”; also de Boutemard, Auslands-Diaspora, pp. 151–152. 77. Deutscher Evangelischer Kirchenausschuss, ed., Bilder aus dem deutschen evangelischen Leben im Ausland (Berlin: Warneck, 1908), 61–63; de Boutemard, Auslands-Diaspora, pp. 151–152. 78. EZA 5/3143, 1902, Memorandum ‘Die Entstehung der Deutschen Evangelischen Kirche in Shanghai,’ “Die Wahl gerade dieses Anschlusses lag einmal darin begründet, dass der Großherzog von Sachsen-Weimar auch zugleich der Protektor des Missionsvereins war, dessen thatkräftige Hülfe die Gemeine ihr Entstehen mit verdankte, dann auch in der weitherzigen theologischen Richtung jener Landeskirche, welche dem Charakter der Gemeinde in Shanghai am meisten entsprach.”; also EZA 5/3156/2, Statutes of the German Protestant congregation Shanghai, 9 November 1892 and 14 November 1895.

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79. EZA 5/3143/201, Memorandum ‘An das evangelische Deutschland!’: “Es erscheint heute auch geradezu als ein Gebot der nationalen Würde, dass neben der großen englischen Kathedrale und den übrigen Kirchen, englischen Sekten und der katholischen Kirche in Shanghai auch ein deutsch- evangelisches Gotteshaus errichtet wird.” 80. EZA 5/3143, 1902, Memorandum ‘Die Entstehung der Deutschen Evangelischen Kirche in Shanghai.’ 81. Vossische Zeitung, 28 September 1909, ‘Aus der deutschen Kolonie in Shanghai’; EZA 5/3143/33, Memorandum Geschwaderpfarrer Köhne to Evangelischer Marineprobst Berlin, 6 January 1913; EZA 5/3143/15, 19, 31, Großherzoglicher Sächsischer Kirchenrat to Deutscher Evangelischer Kirchenausschuss, Weimar, 20 May 1910, 12 December 1910, 15 March 1910. 82. Tägliche Rundschau, 23 May 1914; Schweinfurter Tageblatt, 8 July 1914 (quotes), “Lassen Sie uns unserer Heimat und unseren Mitbürgern hier durch freiwilligen Beitritt zu einer Gemeinde beweisen, daß wir echte Deutsche und uns unserer nationalen Pfl icht bewusst sind. Lassen Sie uns hier etwas schaffen, was vorbildlich, nicht nur für Shanghai und ganz China ist, sondern auch anderen über der ganzen Welt zerstreuten Deutschen als Vorbild dienen mag.” 83. National-Zeitung, 18 December 1887; EZA 5/3170, 17 February 1890, ‘An das evangelische Deutschland’; de Boutemard, Auslands-Diaspora, pp. 149– 151 (with wrong consecration date). 84. Deutscher Evangelischer Kirchenausschuss, Bilder, p. 27; de Boutemard, Auslands-Diaspora, pp. 72–73. 85. AA-PA R901/39638/129, 21 April 1906, Ploetz to Foreign Office and 1 June 1906, Consul to Foreign Office; R901/39639, several libellous letters and Consulate Cairo to Foreign Office, 4 April 1907; R901/39639/72, Consul Gumprecht to Evangelischer Oberkirchenrat, 3 July 1908. 86. AA-PA R901/39638/134–140, no date, “Deutsche Kirche und Schule sind Träger deutschen Wesens, deutscher Kultur und deutschen Einflusses. Es ist eine Ehrenpfl icht, sie zu pflegen. [ . . . ] Nur dann, wenn wir nicht internationalisiert sind, wenn wir ein fest geschlossenes Gefüge sind, das sich seine starken Reserven im deutschen Volkstum selbst holt, werden wir imstande sein, durch das deutsche Wesen den evangelischen Glauben wirksam im Auslande aufrecht zu halten und die deutsche Kirche und Schule im Orient als eine Hochburg deutschen evangelischen Glaubensbekenntnisses zu verteidigen, die dann einen Stützpunkt für die in der Zerstreuung lebenden Glaubensgenossen fremde Nationalitäten sein wird. [ . . . ] Das Stimmrecht nichtdeutscher Mitglieder der Kirchengemeinde ist ein Abusus, der gegen die Tendenz und den Inhalt der Statuten verößt. [ . . . ] läßt sich in dem internationalen Egypten die Befürchtung nicht zurückweisen, dass doch über kurz oder lang die deutsch-evangelische Kirche mit femdländischen Elementen überflutet wird.” 87. Kölnische Zeitung, 20 March 1908; also 25 April 1908. 88. Ibid., 25 June 1909, “Die künftige Kirche gilt den 1500 Deutschen in Glasgow als ein stetes Mahnzeichen, festzuhalten an ihrem Deutschtum [ . . . ] und treu zu einander zu stehen unter dem fremden Volke.” 89. Ibid., 26 January 1907. 90. Der Montag, 11 February 1907; similarly Frankfurter Zeitung, 27 January 1907. 91. AA-PA R901/39638/129, Consul to Foreign Office, 1 June 1906, “Bei dieser Gelegenheit wurden von Kindern der verschiedensten Nationalitäten deutsche patriotische Lieder und andere Gedichte vorgetragen, und die Vortragenden waren so sichtlich von Eifer und Interesse für ihre Aufgaben erfüllt, dass der

222

92.

93. 94.

95. 96.

97.

98.

99. 100. 101. 102.

103. 104.

Constructing a German Diaspora Rückschluss auf Vorhandensein des richtigen Geistes bei Ausübung der Lehrtätigkeit sich von selbst ergab. Gerade für eine Auslandsschule ist aber eine Leitung in diesem Sinne besonders wünschenswert, da sie das geeignetste Mittel ist, den deutschen Kindern die Freude am Deutschtum zu erhalten und bei fremdländischen Kindern den Sinn dafür zu wecken.” Charles A. Jones, International Business in the Nineteenth Century. The Rise and Fall of a Cosmopolitan Bourgeoisie (Brighton: Wheatsheaf, 1987); Bradley D. Naranch, ‘Between Cosmopolitanism and German Colonialism. Nineteenth-Century Hanseatic Networks in Emerging Tropical Markets,’ in Andreas Gestrich and Margrit Schulte Beerbühl, eds., Cosmopolitan Networks in Commerce and Society, 1660–1914 (London: German Historical Institute, 2011), Bulletin Supplement 2, pp. 99–132; Panayi, Germans as Minorities. Der Urwaldsbote. Deutsche Zeitung in Blumenau, 12 October 1910, “Ein bedauernswerter Mangel an Nationalgefühl zeichnet manche deutsche Kaufleute im Auslande aus.” Frank Bösch, ‘Das Zeremoniell der Kaisergeburtstage,’ in Andreas Biefang et al., eds., Das politische Zeremoniell im Deutschen Kaiserreich, 1871– 1918 (Düsseldorf: Droste, 2008), pp. 53–76; Fritz Schellack, ‘Sedan- und Kaisergeburtstagsfeste,’ in Dieter Düding et al., eds., Öffentliche Festkultur. Politische Feste in Deutschland von der Aufklärung bis zum Ersten Weltkrieg (Reinbek: Rowohlt, 1988), pp. 278–297. Bussmann, Evangelische Diasporakunde, p. 223, “[ . . . ] mit innerster Teilnahme.” EZA 98/31, 26.10.1913, “[ . . . ] ein herrliches Schauspiel. [ . . . ] In der Kirche wars ein herrliches Durcheinander von Menschen aller Nationen. [ . . . ] Ich improvisierte über ‘Großer Gott wir loben Dich.’ In der patriotischen Hochstimmung erklang mir die Orgel viel gewaltiger.” Münchmeyer, In der Fremde, p. 63, “[ . . . ] die Hochflut der patriotischen Begeisterung am Geburtstage unsers geliebten Kaisers, welche auch in hiesigen deutschen Gemeinden [ . . . ] eine besonders stark religiöse Färbung erhielt. Sie legte auch wieder beredtes Zeugnis davon ab, dass die Liebe zum deutschen Reich und seinem Herrscher für unsere gar bunt zusammengesetzten deutschen Gemeinden ein immer stärker werdendes Einheitsband bildet.” Also see a report in the Glasgow Herald, 17 March 1888, about a funeral service for Wilhelm I: “A large congregation assembled to take part in a requiem service conducted in the language of the Fatherland. [ . . . ] The congregation consisted of Germans of all classes.” Similarly for Bismarck’s death, Glasgow Herald, 4 August 1898, 5 August 1898. EZA 5/3170, 28 January 1897, letter Imperial German Embassy Tokyo to Reich chancellor zu Hohenlohe Schillingfürst, “Die gestrige Feier von Kaisers Geburtstag wird ein denkwürdiger Tag in den Annalen der deutschen Kolonie Tokios bleiben.” EZA 5/3141, 31 December 1913, Consul Wendschuh to Reich-chancellor. EZA 179/4, Annual Reports German Protestant Congregation Beirut. EZA 5/2482/124, ‘Neue Schule’ Blumenau Annual Report 1901. E.g. in Teutonia, Brazil: EZA 121/113, Deutsche Post, 15 August 1909, reporting on a special service introducing festivities for Teutoburg Battle anniversary; Deutsche Post, 14 November 1909, reporting on extensive Schillerfeier celebrations, including speech by pastor Sick with ‘prayer for the fatherland.’ For Schiller celebrations in Cairo see BAB R901/39638, Report German School Cairo 1904/1905. Parreñas, ‘Introduction,’ 7. Bussmann, Evangelische Diasporakunde, pp. 412–417.

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105. Luebke, Germans, pp. 110–122; Dreher, Kirche, p. 94. 106. EZA 5/2174, travel inspection report Generalsuperintendent D. Zöllner (Münster), Evangelische Gemeinden in Brasilien, 1910. “Für besonders fatal halte ich es, wenn eben von Deutschland gekommene Theologen oder Lehrer oder auch jüngere Kaufleute nun sofort in der Weise als Retter des Deutschtums auftreten wollen, dass sie alldeutsche Ideen in extremer Fassung proklamieren. [ . . . ] Wenn nun der Reichsdeutsche ihm bei jeder Gelegenheit sagt, ‘Ihr solltet einmal unter ein richtiges preussisches Kommando kommen, das thäte euch not, oder auf die kirchlichen Verhältnisse angewandt: Ja hier müsste einmal der preussische evangelische Oberkirchenrat zu sagen haben, der sollte wohl dazwischen fahren, dass euch Hören und Sehen verginge’ und dergleichen, dann kann man sich die Wirkung auf die Deutsch-Brasilianer vorstellen. [ . . . ] [Für Meyer] ist das Alldeutschtum in schärfster Prägung das Ideal geworden. [ . . . ] ‘Ich marschiere lieber nach den Klängen der preussischen Regimentsmusik als nach den Tönen Ihrer Hirtenflöte’. [ . . . ] fürchtet man sich vor der preussischen ‘Pickelhaube.’” 107. EZA 5/2173, travel report ‘Pastor M. Braunschweig (Leipzig) über seine Reise durch die deutschen evangelischen Gemeinden in Brasilien im Jahre 1907,’ part 3, p. 17 “Die Scheu des ‘freien Brasilianers’ vor der Bevormundung durch eine ‘ausländische Staatsbehörde.’” 108. EZA 5/311/213f., Consul Walter to Evangelischer Oberkirchenrat, 30 October 1905. 109. EZA 5/2173, travel report Braunschweig, “[ . . . ] des geistigen Zusammenhanges zwischen Kolonie und Heimat, der durch den Einbruch der Missourisynode ernstlich gefährdet ist. [ . . . ] ist eine akute Amerikanisierung des größten Teiles des Riograndenser Deuttums m. E. unvermeidlich.” 110. EZA 5/311/213f., Consul Walter to Evangelischer Oberkirchenrat, 30 October 1905, “[ . . . ] ist der Anschluss im Interesse der Stärkung der deutschevangelischen Gemeinden gegenüber dem Andringen der Lutheraner der nordamerikanischen Missouri-Synode mit ihrer dem Deutschtum feindseligen Propaganda befürwortet worden.” 111. Paul Fleisch, 100 Jahre Martin-Luther-Verein (Lutherischer Gotteskasten) (Hanover: Martin-Luther-Verein, 1953); Dreher, Kirche, pp. 161–166; Besier, ‘Auslandsarbeit,’ pp. 475–476. 112. EZA 5/2048/195, Pastor Gabler (Itoupava) to Evangelischer Oberkirchenrat, 19 March 1913, “[ . . . ] dass er seine Leute beständig verhetzt. [ . . . ] Er lügt und verleumdet munter darauf los.” 113. EZA 5/2173/52–54, travel report Braunschweig, “In nationaler Beziehung kann es nicht genug beklagt werden, dass das evangelische Deutschtum dieses Staates vor elf Jahren durch das Eindringen des lutherischen Gotteskastens gespalten worden ist.” 114. Walser Smith, German Nationalism, pp. 236–238. 115. EZA 5/289/1571–3, Pastor R. Tietze, Haifa, ‘Zur Frage der Predigt in der Auslandsdiaspora,’ Presentation given at conference of pastors in the Middle East (Konferenz der Orientpfarrer), 1907, “Das Christentum hat die nationale Eigenart eines Volkes heiligend zu durchdringen. [ . . . ] Als etwas Gottgegebenes betrachten auch wir unsere volkliche Eigenart. [ . . . ] Wohl werden wir bisweilen, so an nationalen Festtagen begeisterte vaterländische Töne erklingen lassen, aber man soll von uns nicht mehr über die irdische Heimat hören als über die himmlische.” 116. Zantop, Colonial Fantasies; Naranch, ‘Inventing’; Fitzpatrick, Liberal Imperialism; Perraudin, German Colonialism; Kundrus, Moderne Imperialisten. Recent fictional representations include Christian Kracht, Imperium (Köln: Kiepenheuer & Witsch, 2012); Alex Capus, Eine Frage der Zeit (München: Knaus, 2007).

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117. In terms of religious feedback processes, Blackbourn mentions that both the Protestant Gustav-Adolf-Verein and the Catholic Raphaels-Verein contributed to re-confessionalisation within Germany, see David Blackbourn, ‘Das Kaiserreich transnational. Eine Skizze,’ in Conrad, Das Kaiserreich transnational, pp. 302–324 (at 311). 118. EZA 5/348, Evangelischer Oberkirchenrat to congregations in Prussia, 10 July 1911, “Gedenket Euerer Glaubensgenossen, die im Ausland in Gefahr sind, ihre teuersten Güter, die ihnen bei ihrem Auszug Vaterhaus und Heimatland mit auf den Weg gaben, evangelischer Glaube, kirchliche Sitte, deutsche Art zu verlieren. [ . . . ] Viel ist dort in manchen Gebieten noch zu tun, um dem bitteren Empfi nden in vielen Herzen zu wehren, trotz allen Bitten verlassen zu sein von den Volks- und Glaubensgenossen der Heimat. Und ähnlich wie in Brasilien, so stehen in Argentinien und Chile, in den Küstenländern Asiens und Afrikas bis nach Australien und auch in den fremden Ländern Europas Kinder unseres Volks und unserer Kirche, vereinsamt in ihrem Glaubensleben, bittend und flehend: kommt herüber und helft uns. [ . . . ] Öff net Herzen und Hände zu einer willigen und reichen Opfergabe der Bruderliebe [ . . . ].” 119. EZA 5/538, Evangelischer Oberkirchenrat, Recommendation on church collection for church provision of Protestants in the German protectorates, 7 January 1914, “[ . . . ] unsere Brüder und Schwestern, die mit uns denselben Glauben haben.” 120. de Boutemard, Auslands-Diaspora, p. VII. 121. BAB R 901/39006, Annual Report German School Association Victoria, 1905, “Das klingt heute wieder in den Herzen selbst der äußersten Teile und Glieder des deutschen Volkskörpers.” 122. Münz, ‘Auslandsdeutsche,’ p. 375, “[ . . . ] aus dem Volkskörper herausgerissen. [ . . . ] eine offene und blutende Wunde”; Lothar Kienzler, Auslandsdeutsche (fraternity thesis 1929), Wingolfsarchiv Marburg 101/1847–1935/10, p. 5: “[ . . . ] aus dem deutschen Leib gezerrt.” 123. EZA 5/347/1859–1860, compilation of collections, “Fünf bis sechs gering besoldete Geistliche von Gemeinden in Südamerika, die der preußischen Landeskirche angeschlossen sind.” 124. Confi no, Nation; Applegate, Nation. 125. Bussmann, Evangelische Diasporakunde, 126, “[ . . . ] die Teilung der Erde unter die einzelnen Landeskirchen vorzunehmen, den einzelnen Landeskirchen bestimmte Gebiete zu spezieller Fürsorge zuzuweisen.” 126. Wellnitz, Deutsche Evangelische Gemeinden, pp. 87–88; Rolf Annas, ‘Language and Identity. The German-speaking People of Paarl,’ in Schulze, German Diasporic Experiences, pp. 61–72. 127. Gründer, Christliche Mission. 128. EZA 5/2985/6–11, Missionsinspektor Spieker, ‘Welche Pfl ichten hat das evangelische Deutschland in Südwestafrika?’ 1913, “[ . . . ] ein ernster Konkurrenzkampf zwischen den beiden Konfessionen entbrannt. [ . . . ] kirchlich verwahrlost.” 129. Die Reformation 51, 20 December 1908. 130. EZA 5/2985, pastor J. Hammer, Windhuk, to Evangelischer Oberkirchenrat, 16 March 1909; pastor H. Hasenkamp, Swakopmund, to Evangelischer Oberkirchenrat, 2 January 1909, “[ . . . ] damit uns nicht auch dort Rom zuvorkommt.” 131. EZA 5/538, 1909, Mitteilung des Evangelischen Ober-Kirchenrates über die kirchliche Versorgung der deutschredenden Evangelischen in den deutschen Schutzgebieten. See also a global overview in EZA 5/311, 6 April 1906, Einige Notizen über die fi nanziellen Bedürfnisse der Auslandsdiaspora.

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132. EZA 5/2985, presentation Kapler, Leipzig 1913, ‘Die deutschen Schutzgebiete als Arbeitsfeld für den Gustav Adolf Verein,’ “Wenn wir wollen, daß der Protestantismus [ . . . ] auch in Zukunft seinen treuen und starken Hort und Helfer in unserem deutschen Vaterlande, beim evangelischen Deutschland fi nden soll, dann müssen wir an erster Stelle dafür sorgen, daß unsere Glaubensgenossen auf d e u t s c h e m Boden der evangelischen Kirche erhalten bleiben. Und deutscher Boden, ein überseeisches Deutschland sind unsere Schutzgebiete; an erster Stelle aber unter den Schutzgebieten steht für kirchliche Aufgaben Südwestafrika, wo der weiße Mann [ . . . ] ein großes deutsches Volk werden soll!” 133. Evangelisches Gemeindeblatt für Deutsch-Südwestafrika, 6 June 1913; EZA 5/2911, pastor Heyse, Karibib, to German Protestant Church Council, 17 November 1913; ibid., letter Kapler, 17 November 1913. 134. Evangelisches Gemeindeblatt für Deutsch-Südwestafrika, 8 August 1913, “[ . . . ] Teil des großen Kulturwerkes, [ . . . ] das das Vaterland für seine Kolonie vollbringe.” 135. Walther, Creating Germans, pp. 98–99. 136. EZA 5/538, Evangelischer Oberkirchenrat, 7 January 1914, Empfehlung der Kirchenkollekte für die kirchliche Versorgung der Evangelischen in den deutschen Schutzgebieten, “Es handelt sich um unsere Volksgenossen, die oft in einsamer Wüste zerstreut [sind]. Es handelt sich um die Zukunft des Evangeliums in unseren deutschen Schutzgebieten.” 137. Berliner Lokal-Anzeiger, 10 March 1908, announcement charity concert in Charlottenburg Kaisersäle. 138. EZA 5/413/1742, 1789, 1816, Verein zur Pflege des deutschen Evangelischen Lebens im Auslande, from 1910 Verein für deutsch-evangelisches Leben in den Schutzgebieten und im Ausland e. V. 139. Gemeinde-Bote, 7 March 1908, “In zehn Jahren können sich in Südwestafrika 30 bis 40 000 Deutsche befinden, und dann wird das Land für alle Zeit dem Deutschtum gehören. [ . . . ] Südwestafrika kann das erste deutsche Land in Übersee werden, und dieses ist doch wohl ein Ziel, unseres Volkes würdig.” 140. Brubaker, ‘“Diaspora” Diaspora,’ 10. 141. Carol K. Coburn, Life at Four Corners. Religion, Gender, and Education in a German-Lutheran Community, 1868–1945 (Lawrence: Kansas University Press, 1992), pp. 25–26; Conzen, ‘Germans,’ pp. 417, 419; Daniels, Coming to America, pp. 152–153. 142. Coburn, Life, p. 27; Conzen, ‘Germans,’ p. 419. 143. Evangelisch-Lutherisches Gemeinde-Blatt 43/1, January 1908, “ein Blatt, welches ausgesprochenermaßen der Kirche dienen will [ . . . ] dass Gottes Reich unter uns gebauet werde.” 144. Ibid., “Die Jugend unter dem Einflusse des Evangeliums erhalten [ . . . ].” 145. Minutes School Board Meeting, German School Hohenau, 17 July 1904, quoted in Jakob Warkentin, Die deutschsprachigen Siedlerschulen in Paraguay im Spannungsfeld staatlicher Kultur- und Entwicklungspolitik (Münster: Waxmann, 1998), p. 134, “Die Schule ist und soll eine Pflanzstätte des Patriotismus sein, in welcher die Tugenden und Ideale echt deutscher Gesinnung groß gezogen werden zur Ehre und zum Ruhme unseres alten Vaterlandes.” 146. Der Lutheraner 56/1, January 1900. 147. Bussmann, Evangelische Diasporakunde, p. 56, “[ . . . ] daß ganz Nordamerika für unsere Betrachtung vollständig ausscheidet, da hier von deutsch-evangelischer Diaspora in dem hier gebrauchten Sinne nicht mehr die Rede sein kann. Dort bildet sich mehr und mehr eine amerikanisch-deutsche evangelische Kirche heran, die sogar ihren besonderen Geist gegenüber dem Geist der heimischen Kirche wirksam werden läßt (Missourier in Sachsen, Australien und Brasilien).”

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148. Gerd Stricker, ‘Deutsche Lutheraner im Zarenreich, in der Sowjetunion und in deren Nachfolgestaaten,’ in Rothe, Deutsche in Rußland, pp. 171–194; Ralph Tuchtenhagen, ‘Die protestantischen Erneuerungsbewegungen unter den Deutschen an der Wolga, 1860–1914,’ in Dahlmann, Zwischen Reform und Revolution, pp. 267–281; Brandes, Von den Zaren adoptiert, pp. 275– 302; Dönninghaus, Revolution, pp. 78–84. 149. SHAVGE 1831/1/73/222, Protocoll der im Jahre 1882 in Ssaratow abgehaltenen 8. combinirten Synode der beiden Wolga-Präposituren, 2, “[ . . . ] Noth in geistlicher Hinsicht [ . . . ]. Auch in unseren evangelischen Gemeinden greifen Unglaube und Gottlosigkeit immer weiter Platz, Sitten und Zuchtlosigkeit fänden auch bei uns leider immer mehr Eingang. Zu dem seien viele Gemeinden im Innern zerfahren und zerrissen durch Spaltung der Sectirer.” The fi le contains minutes of synodal meetings in the synodal subdisctrict of the Volga region, 1848–1913. Further fi les investigated include, for example, GASO 1831/1/75, centenary church report St. Marien, Saratov: Die wichtigsten Begebenheiten der protestantischen Gemeinde und Kirche St. Marien in Ssaratow von ihrem Entstehen bis zur 100-jährigen Kirchweihe am 25. September 1893; and EZA 200/1/5.975, various fi les such as nr. 7: Das evangelisch-lutherische Kirchspiel Nikolajew im Jahre 1899, nr. 20: Protokoll der achtundsechzigsten Prediger-Synode des St. Petersburgischen Evangelisch-Lutherischen Konsistorialbezirkes, 15–17 February 1905. 150. SHAVGE 1831/1/73/305, Protokoll der im Jahre 1906 [ . . . ] in Saratow abgehaltenen 32. kombinierten Synode der beiden Wolga-Präposituren, 16–18, Curriculum vitae von Propst Blum, “Es zog ihn wieder in die Heimat, nach Kurland.” 151. EZA 200/1/5.975/11–12, Unterstützungskasse für evangelisch-lutherische Gemeinden in Russland; St. Petersburger Zeitung, 24 October 1909, article ‘Ein halbes Jahrhundert aus dem Leben der Unterstützungskasse.’ 152. GASO 852/1/81–83, collection of letters from individuals and organisations regarding famine relief for colonists, 1880. 153. SHAVGE 1831/1/73/222, Protocoll der im Jahre 1882 in Ssaratow abgehaltenen 8. combinirten Synode der beiden Wolga-Präposituren, 9–10. 154. SHAVGE 1831/1/293, letter pastor John Müller, Altoona, PA, to colleague in Volga region, 27 February 1894. 155. SHAVGE 1831/1/83, letter Pastor Dettenborn, Buenos Aires, to Volga German synodal district, 15 April 1914. 156. Bridenthal, ‘Germans from Russia,’ 190–191. 157. Fleischhauer, Die Deutschen im Zarenreich, p. 379 (quote), 389; also see Chapter 4. 158. Bridenthal, ‘Germans from Russia,’ pp. 190–192; Hartmut Fröschle, ‘Johannes Schleuning (1879–1962). Wolgadeutscher Seelsorger, Organisator und Journalist,’ Aula 12 (2002), 33; Johannes Schleuning et al., Und siehe, wir leben! Der Weg der evangelisch-lutherischen Kirche in vier Jahrhunderten (Erlangen: Martin Luther-Verlag, 1960), pp. 75–76. 159. EZA 200/1/5.975/7, Das evangelisch-lutherische Kirchspiel Nikolajew im Jahre 1899, report Thomas Meyer, “Die evangelische Kirche verfolgt keine nationalen Ziele, sie ist nicht eine deutsch-nationale Kirche.” 160. Busch, Deutsche in St. Petersburg, pp. 113–136, quote 135.

6

Language German Schools Abroad

INTRODUCTION Whereas the preceding case histories of diaspora negotiation were concerned with religion and politics, the following chapter deals with the question of language preservation and ways in which it was ideologically laden as a marker of transnational belonging and power-political aspiration. Melbourne will serve as a starting point. In 1899, resident Germans founded the Deutscher Schulverein von Viktoria (Victoria School Association), establishing a Saturday school attended by 80 children. These relatively modest levels of language preservation generated a whole arsenal of nationrelated rhetoric at both ends of the globe. The conservative National Zeitung applauded that “our countrymen in Victoria are leading a brave fight for the preservation of the German mother-tongue.” This, according to the newspaper, had generally led to an invigoration of German Geist on distant shores, as proven by the uplifting Schiller-celebration on the occasion of the poet’s birthday in 1902 which was held in the gymnasium of the local German athletic association (Turnverein).1 The Vossische Zeitung praised the “healthy national attitude” of the school association which came to the fore not just through “noisy hurrah-patriotism” but mainly through a serious display of Germany’s cultural achievements. 2 The association had 916 members in 1903 which, at the same time, joined the Germany-based VDA. Apart from the school, the Victoria association also organised readings of German literature and song recitals which drew audiences of up to 600. It also acted as a magnet for other ethnic associations, drawing in their respective board members. 3 The annual report for 1905 explains its ideological foundations: It is often deplored that no other Volk on earth is as susceptible to alien folkways, and that no nation commands as little assertiveness as the German one. [ . . . ] Thank god, since the power of the German Empire extends across the globe and its strong arm protects the German folk-comrade (Volksgenossen) against arbitrary injustice, this situation has been much improved. He is not the servant of other people

228

Constructing a German Diaspora (Völkerknecht) anymore. Germany’s favourite poet, Schiller, sang: ‘We want to be a united Volk of brothers, and never separate in the face of danger and distress.’ This resonates today in the hearts of even the remotest body-parts and members of the German Volk-body. The powerful stream of our invigorated Volkstum has reached them. There is, however, one menacing danger to Germandom abroad: the de-Germanisation (Entdeutschung) of our younger generation [ . . . ] which is lost to Germandom and devoured by alien folkways. That is what we want to prevent.4

These utterances also included appeals to the German authorities to increase the funding level of 7,000 Marks per annum to guarantee the upkeep of the school. The German General Consul in Sydney was also in favour of school support, but merely for material reasons. After a mocking remark that only linguists were bothered by the question of whether Germans in Australia read Luther’s Bible translation or Grimm’s fairy tales, he listed three pragmatic reasons why the Reich should support schools to keep up national bondage: First, migrants purchased German goods, which had the potential to spill into the host society and create a sizeable market; second, the hard-working attitude of the migrant group created a positive picture of Germany; and third, although Australia was British, political upheavals were always a possibility, and in case parts of Australia were to become German it could be beneficial to have a good number of reichsloyal Germans there. It was therefore worthwhile for the Reich to grant support for schools as main outposts (‘Hauptstützpunkte’) of Germandom in Australia.5 The Melbourne case history begs further exploration in a number of thematic areas: the ideological foundations of the connection between language and nation; the associational framework in Germany for school and language support abroad; the scope of government support in this regard; the instrumentalisation of nationalism for financial ends; and the implications for hostminority, as well as imperial contact zones. These themes will be discussed below in order to assess the role of language and schools in the diasporisation of Germans abroad. Structural and ideological parallels with the Protestant framework discussed above will become particularly obvious.

LANGUAGE, VOLK, NATION The idea of a common language as the prime marker of belonging to a Volk—rather than a geographically demarcated territory or legalistic nationality—was deeply rooted in German Romanticism. Most influential were the writings of Johann Gottfried Herder (1744–1803) who, in search of a nation’s soul, moved away from elite cultural expressions and asked instead to put the lens on traditions as expressed by the wider populace:

Language 229 religion, rituals, poetry and songs, myths, and, above all, language. In his Treatise on the Origin of Language, which was published in 1772 and awarded the prize of the Berlin Academy of Science, Herder put language at the centre of collective identity. It was through a common language that humans interpreted the world around them, and this created the strongest possible social bond for a Volk. For Herder, language was not created from above, that is, by God or intellectual elites, but rather was a natural expression of the Volksgeist as it had evolved over the centuries. As he put it: “Whoever was educated in the same language, whoever poured his heart in it and learned to express his soul in it, he belongs to the Volk of this language.” Language therefore fulfilled a dual function: it allowed expression of one’s innermost thoughts, and it allowed a group of people to develop a collective identity. A speech community might later be afforded political statehood, but was in principle a pre- national entity. Throughout his writings, Herder expressed a respect for the ‘diversity of cultures’ (Vielfalt der Kulturen), in which no specific culture stood above or below any other culture but rather contributed to the wholeness of humanity.6 Herder’s approach was non-political and non-hierarchical, but could easily be instrumentalised to such ends. Throughout the nineteenth century— and indeed until 1945—it underpinned demands that territories where German-speakers lived or settled were by defi nition German. Constructing superiority in relation to other cultures was a means to legitimise these demands as a service to the greater good of humanity. The Rhine as a border between France and Germany represented the fi rst arena where the potential for politicisation came to the fore. Johann Gottlieb Fichte’s dictum of 1807 appears innocent on the surface: “Whoever speaks the same language belongs together and is naturally one and an inseparable whole.”7 It was, however, expressed in the highly charged atmosphere of the Napoleonic Wars, the French occupation of Berlin, and the fact that Alsace and Lorraine were French départements. Fichte’s dictum was therefore linked to a demand for restitution of these territories (which had been incorporated by Louis XIV) as German territories. He further contended that the connection between language and place was more intimate in Germany than elsewhere, and that the German language was therefore purer and less prone to ‘bastardisation’ than other languages. The tone became sharper from 1813. Ernst Moritz Arndt spoke of “The Rhine, Germany’s Stream, not Germany’s Border,” and Turnvater Friedrich Ludwig Jahn argued that every Volk has the right to “long for a volk-based unification with all its language- and tribe-relatives, and to see them as Reich-comrades.” In the following decades, the national-liberal proponents of unification continued to use the linguistic argument, with young Friedrich Engels, for example, declaring that “the re-capturing of the German-speaking areas left of the Rhine was a national question of honour.”8 The linguistic de-territorialisation of national belonging could easily be projected onto Germans abroad. It constituted a framework which did not

230 Constructing a German Diaspora depend on fickle political constellations or nationality laws, but was of a perpetually stable nature. ‘Germanness’ meant an unalterable belonging to a cultural community which was above all defined by language. The preservation of the latter was therefore of crucial importance in order to perpetuate the (trans-)national community. Dr. Franz Schmidt, the head of the Auslandsschulen-department in the Foreign Office from 1906, exemplifies the official government line before 1914. In a straightforward Herderian sense, but with the category of race added, he contended that “it is in the language, in the way it has developed and in linguistic expressions, that the spirit of the Volk reveals itself, its racial nature and its historical character.”9 The tension between legal and linguistic parameters can be exemplified by returning to the report of the General Consul in Australia. He pondered that any attempts to preserve Deutschtum in Australia were doomed to failure if one applied purely legal categories. Those emigrating to Australia intended to settle and better their situation there, and this required naturalisation in order to purchase estate property, participate in elections, and stand for public office. It was therefore “not surprising that even those who had intended to remain good Germans become naturalised.” Hardly anyone made use of the possibility to register regularly with the consular authorities in order to keep German nationality. He estimated that a mere two to three thousand German nationals lived in Australia. After this sobering assessment of the situation he continued, however, that it would be beneficial for the Reich to put money into the preservation of that second (and more important) marker of Germanness, namely language and schooling.10 As a consequence of this conception, language attrition was not just a loss of bi-lingual communicative competence, but a threat to the stability of the transnational community of Germans.

TRANSNATIONALISING GERMAN SCHOOLING The ideological backdrop is necessary to understand the transnationalisation of German schooling and language instruction from the 1870s onwards. Institutionalised promotion and support for German schools abroad was introduced in the form of a designated state budget in 1878 (Reichsschulfonds), and an office for school affairs (Schulreferat) in 1906, which was located within the Foreign Office. Its tasks included the selection of appropriate teachers. Expatriate teachers organised themselves in the Verein Deutscher Lehrer im Ausland (Association of German Teachers Abroad), editing their own journal entitled Die Deutsche Schule im Ausland (The German School Abroad). Within the spectrum of agitational pressure-groups (Verbände), the issue was taken up by the Allgemeiner Schulverein für das Deutschtum im Ausland (General School Association for Germandom Abroad, 1881), which was later renamed the Verein für das Deutschtum im Ausland (VDA, Association for Germandom Abroad). To date, these activities have attracted scholars’ attention only as isolated

Language 231 examples of foreign school support. Taken together, however, they present an elaborate and structured global web aimed at bringing Auslandsdeutsche into the fold of the nation. In order to assess to what extent these attempts resonated within their target clientele, methodological transnationalism will be further pursued. The narrative follows global multidirectional pathways of people and ideas, which also included feedback processes. As will be seen, the transnationalisation of German schooling followed similar trajectories as the transnationalisation of nation-oriented Protestantism, including clear limits in the case of the United States and Russia. Any analysis of school development abroad before 1871 has to keep in mind that the term ‘German school’ is only applicable in terms of its linguistic, and to some extent religious, implications. These establishments followed the pathways of migration since the Middle Ages and exclusively served the preservation of language rather than ideological attachment to a former homeland. States of origin made no attempt to coordinate or influence the education of those who left its territory. Schools were often attached to churches, an early example being the Domschule (Cathedral School) in Reval which was founded in 1319. In the compact settlement areas of the Transylvanian Saxons around Hermannstadt and Kronstadt in today’s Romania, most villages had schools for reading and writing by 1500. When the Reformation took hold in these areas, a form of compulsory schooling was introduced which had long-lasting effects for language preservation. St. Gertrud’s in Stockholm, which has already been mentioned as the fi rst Protestant congregation abroad, established its school in 1569. Other early Protestant examples include the schools attached to St. Petri in Moscow (1626), St. Petri in Copenhagen (1643), St. Annen in St. Petersburg (1736), St. Marien in London (1769), and Warsaw (1780).11 A plethora of new schools were founded throughout the nineteenth century on the back of mass emigration. Scholarly estimates arrive at a total of 5,000 German schools abroad with 360,000 pupils on the eve of World War I.12 This number includes all schools which emanated from ethnic communities and where German was either the primary language of instruction or took up a good portion of the curriculum. Their organisation differed widely. Some of them offered full-time education, others only some Saturday morning instruction. Most were only primary schools, but from the 1890s secondary education became more widely available. There was usually a symbiosis with existing congregations, with pastors or priests taking a lead role in pedagogical and organisational management. Secular endeavours received some stimulation through exiled pedagogues after 1848. One example was the Auswandererschule in Valdivia, Chile, founded by Karl Anwandter in 1858. Anwandter had been a member of the German national assembly in 1848 before going into exile to Chile. He gained support from resident German bürgerlich circles for a school which was independent from state

232 Constructing a German Diaspora and church influence, but “the organisation of the institute was entirely along the German pattern.”13 Anwandter was not the only refugee pedagogue. Others went to the United States and built up secular schools there. Peter Engelmann was a graduate of the University of Berlin and was made redundant as a school teacher due to revolutionary activities. To avoid persecution, he left the German states and ended up in Milwaukee in 1851 where he directed the German-English Academy until his death in 1874. This institute was founded by a group of German professionals, artisans, and small businesspeople who shared the belief that public14 education had to be independent from Lutheran or Catholic dominance and had the potential to effect ethical and social change against American nativism, political corruption, racism, and slavery. The school aimed to provide a good bilingual education for the city’s German-American offspring, and also to serve as a liberal model for the public school system. By the mid-1860s, this and similar schools in Milwaukee reached 1,000 children, whereas German-American parochial schools were attended by over 3,000 children and the public schools by more than 9,000. As Engelmann put it in his autobiography, the school tried to provide its pupils “with the same sort of education which they would receive in a good German Realschule. The only difference is that in our school they are instructed free of all religious bias and are just as fluent in English as they are in German.”15 Other schools were founded in the same spirit throughout the United States. In order to ensure recruitment of suitable teachers, the National German-American Teachers’ Seminary (Nationales Deutsch-Amerikanisches Lehrerseminar) was attached to the German-English Academy in 1878. The driving force behind this seminary was the German-American Teachers’ Federation (Deutsch-Amerikanischer Lehrerbund). This was a relatively self-contained organisation which did not seek affiliation with the Association of German Teachers Abroad (Verein deutscher Lehrer im Auslande) or a German organisation.16 What becomes clear from these structures is the fact that German-Americans, although rooted in German pedagogical traditions, were keen to build up selfsufficient structures which did not depend on fi nancial or other support from Germany itself. They also saw their endeavours as a contribution to American societal development at large, rather than a service to the power political goals of their distant Heimat. The mission statement of the Teachers’ Seminary shows this intermediary position: It is German because it has been planned, erected, directed and supported by Germans, and because its task is to teach German language and the German approach towards education and teaching. But it is therefore not less American because it will train teachers for American schools and make them grasp the spirit of free American institutions. Its significance is therefore not just for the Germans, and not just for Americans, but for the whole nation. It is therefore

Language 233 fully justified that it carries the name ‘German-American’ alongside ‘National’ seminary.17 Conveying a sense of diasporic connectedness to pupils was not on the curriculum of these secular schools. The same is true for the parochial schools which were attended by a larger percentage of German-American children. As was shown in Chapter 5 of this volume, neither Lutheran nor Catholic congregations understood themselves as diaspora institutions. As a consequence, the schools which were attached to them followed the same line. In the United States, diasporic education encountered its limits both at a secular and a religious level. It is therefore not surprising that German education authorities, although keen to reach out abroad, specifically excluded immigrant schools in the United States from their remit. A memorandum by the school department of the German Foreign Office explained in April 1914 that there were hundreds, even thousands of German schools in the United States of America; but these [ . . . ] are to be seen as German-American schools and not as German schools abroad [Auslandsschulen]; they convey a certain knowledge of the German language and literature, but all in all pursue purely American educational goals.18 Generally, the department’s rather narrow definition of Auslandsschulen only included those schools “that exist in foreign countries and are not integrated into the school system of these foreign states.” This definition thus excluded a number of schools in Brazil, South Africa, and Australia. The latter “do not want to be regarded as German Auslandsschulen but schools of German Australians.” The definition excluded schools in the colonies as these were regarded as German territory administered by the Home Office and not ‘foreign countries.’ And it excluded schools in Austria-Hungary as well as in Russia as these were fully controlled by the respective education authorities. The only exception in Austria-Hungary was the school in Budapest, which was founded in 1908 for children of German nationality only, and hence remained relatively small.19 In Russia, the revocation of privileges for specific ethnic groups meant that autonomous school organisation went into the supervision of the state during the 1890s. This affected areas of German settlement in the Volga and Black Sea Regions, but also parochial schools in urban centres. The Russian authorities did allow for a handful of new foundations for reichsdeutsch children. These included schools in Riga, Odessa, and Helsingfors (Finland). Yet generally, state policies in both Russia and the United States aimed to reduce the amount of German minority schooling from the end of the nineteenth century.20 The same was true for Australia. After the federation of states into the Commonwealth of Australia in 1901, a linguistic laissez-faire attitude gave way to “a period of aggressive monolingualism, with assimilation the social policy of choice.”21

234

Constructing a German Diaspora

The definition of what constituted an Auslandsschule was inevitably blurred. Each country of destination presented a different legal framework, educational traditions, and organisational structures. What remains in the following charts and discussion is the ‘slimmed-down’ version of the Foreign Office and its school department. It contains those schools which were brought into the transnationally operating fold of the German school system: They received some financial and pedagogical support, their curricula were adapted as far as possible to those of German school authorities, some offered degrees which were recognised in Germany for further schooling or universities, and there was correspondence and a degree of accountability towards German authorities. After 1871, and especially from the 1890s, the literal and symbolic utterances they produced were imbued with notions of being a node in a ‘Greater German Empire.’ Within our broader discussion of diaspora structures, these features are comparable to those which were identified earlier in relation to Protestant congregations. Many of the latter, most notably those in North America and in Russia, did not aspire to become attached to the Prussian or another territorial church, but those who did were firmly embedded in a transnationally conducted discourse about diasporic connectedness. Since many of the schools arose out of the parochial context it is only logical that a similar pattern applied to schools. Those listed and discussed below were treated as diasporic actors in both organisational and discursive terms. The school department of the Foreign Office gave an estimate of 900 schools in 1914 which satisfied its narrow criteria. The relationship between primary and secondary schools was ten to one. The following graph gives the number of foundations in each decade.

250 200 150 100 50

Figure 6.1

3 1– 1

–1 19 01

19 1

91 0

90 0 –1

18 91

81 –

90

0 18

–8 18 71

70 18 61 –

–6 0 18 51

18 41 –5 0

18 31

–4 0

0

German schools abroad: Foundations by decade.

Source: BAB R901/38602, Geheime Denkschrift des Auswärtigen Amtes über das deutsche Auslandsschulwesen, April 1914, p. 6 (adapted).

Language 235 Between the 1830s and 1900 the number of new foundations roughly doubled in each decade. In absolute numbers, the rise was most significant from the 1890s onward with 179 new foundations between 1890 and 1900, 204 between 1901 and 1910, and 58 in the three years from 1911 to 1913. Appendix III is based on a table compiled by the German Foreign Office, which constitutes an act of diaspora construction in itself. Some interpretive comments are necessary. The table lists a total of 878 schools teaching 56,201 pupils in 1912. Based on a narrow defi nition, these figures only represent a fraction of the scholarly total estimate given above of 5,000 schools and 360,000 pupils. The geographical distribution highlights yet again that the existence of formal transnational networks with a German state authority was not necessarily in line with the actual size of German minorities in these countries. The number listed for British South Africa, for example, is 17, and nil for the United States. Rather, the table shows to what extent German minorities were prepared to become formally attached to a German state authority through the medium of ethnic institutions. Generous metropolitan support for German ‘language islands’ within British-ruled territory also points to power-political implications. Appendix III thus needs to be seen not as a comprehensive list of foreign schooling, but as a specific way of mapping the world in emigrationist terms within conceptions of a ‘Greater German Empire.’ The column ‘German Government Contributions’ (Reichsbeihilfe) is crucial in this context as it denotes active measures by the Reich to bring emigrants into its fold under the banner of language preservation. The geographical and political mapping in Appendix III is kept the way it appears in the original source. Numbers do not add up in all cases, and some columns are empty due to gaps in information about smaller schools, especially in remote world regions. Financial figures are for the school year 1911–1912. Most schools in rural Latin America (but also many elsewhere) were either Catholic or Protestant. The numerical and geographical expansion in the second half of the nineteenth century generated concomitant transnational structures. As earlier school foundations were attached to congregations, this went hand in hand with expanding church structures. When the Protestant Supreme Council (Evangelischer Oberkirchenrat) was established in 1850 to manage the Prussian State Church, congregations abroad and their schools were included in the administrative remit. Twenty years later, constitutional changes in the wake of unification required that any foreign matters were now dealt with by the Imperial Foreign Office. The crowned Head of State now had to communicate with foreign congregations not as Prussian King and summus episcopus of the Prussian Protestant church, but as German Emperor through the Foreign Office. A situation where Catholics were excluded was not tenable in the long run. The fi rst step towards a reorganisation was taken in the Kulturkampf-atmosphere in 1875 when an Imperial decree granted an annual allowance of 11,400 Marks to be distributed to German schools abroad, no matter whether Protestant or Catholic. Ultimately, however, Bismarck was keen to integrate responsibility for schools

236

Constructing a German Diaspora

abroad fi rmly into his own remit and was instrumental in introducing a designated Foreign Office school budget (Schulfonds) in 1878. He had come to the conclusion that “church and school were excellent levers to preserve and foster German ways and character in foreign parts. [They] keep alive an awareness of belonging to the same tribe and mother-country through the generations and generally raise German national feeling.”22 Nevertheless, he still regarded the instrumentalisation of Germans abroad as a relatively minor issue. The real term figures as presented in the chart below are telling. They lead to the conclusion that Bismarck’s primary aim was not to establish a well-endowed global support structure. It was rather to secularise school matters and also to bring even a minor instrument of foreign policy making into the remit of the Foreign Office. Both aims accrued from internal power-politics rather than the wish for external expansion. Although the number of schools supported rose from 15 in 1878 to 21 in 1880 and 31 in 1890, the school budget was first reduced from 75,000 Marks to 60,000 Marks and then kept stable at that lower figure throughout the 1880s. The average real term support for specific schools thus gradually 1200

1000

800

600

400

200

18 78 18 80 18 82 18 84 1 18 886 88 –9 0 18 91 18 93 18 95 18 97 18 99 19 01 19 03 19 05 19 07 19 09 19 11 19 13

0

School Budget in Thousand Marks

Number of Schools Supported

Figure 6.2 Support for German schools abroad.

Language 237 declined. In addition, the number of schools supported did not keep pace with the steep rise in actual foundations. During the 1880s, the Foreign Office included 89 new schools abroad in its statistics. Only ten of these received support from the school budget. Bismarck’s reservations towards a wholesale instrumentalisation of Auslandsdeutschtum for political ends were clearly reflected in his treatment of schools abroad. The situation then radically changed after Bismarck’s departure and the ‘new course’ in foreign policy from the 1890s. The school budget was almost doubled to 100,000 Marks in 1893 and from there gradually rose more than tenfold to reach 1.1 million Marks in 1913. For 1914, the Reichstag had approved 1.5 million Marks.23 The number of schools supported rose from 34 in 1892 to 511 in 1913. The rapid expansion necessitated more elaborate administrative structures within the Foreign Office. In 1906, a designated school department (Schulreferat) was established. Franz Schmidt, who had formerly been director of the German school in Bucharest, was appointed its head. Under his leadership, expansion and efficiency led to further and closer transnational attachment. Previously, the decision whether to allocate resources had been based on informal applications by schools and recommendations from local consuls. Schmidt introduced a formal process of gathering information through a globally applied template. Schools now had to give information on their structure, size, curriculum, number of lessons given in German in relation to local language, distribution of pupils’ nationality, confession, and mother tongue, number and educational background of teachers, as well as income and expenditure. 24 The question of whether a school was worthy of support was now based on formulated criteria. The memorandum used for the statistical data above was, in fact, authored by Franz Schmidt. He divided these criteria into national, cultural, economic, and political aspects: The national significance of the schools is primarily to educate young people of German nationality abroad in a German sense and spirit, and secondly to also preserve other children of German extraction as far as possible for Germandom. The cultural significance is to disseminate the German holistic concept of knowledge [Bildung] abroad. The economic significance is apparent when these schools promote Germany’s foreign relations in trade and economy. And politically they are significant when they disseminate an accurate picture of Germany in foreign countries, and when they turn nationals of foreign states into friends of German ways and German knowledge. 25 Other areas where the establishment of the school department led to more global standardisation and professionalisation were the recruitment, training, supervision, and contractual position of teachers. Finding pedagogically competent teachers had always been a problem for schools abroad. As a consequence, these teachers had suffered from a bad reputation. The

238

Constructing a German Diaspora

German states were now asked to provide annual lists of candidates who were willing to work abroad for some period. As pre-conditions, they had to have completed a teacher training course with a ‘good’ result, acquired pedagogical experience going beyond this training, be fit for the tropics where appropriate, and be unmarried and younger than 30 years. The Foreign Office then undertook negotiations with the respective federal states in order to grant leave of absence for teachers. These were initially sent out for three years in Europe, North Africa, and the Near East, and four years for other world regions. In many cases this was extended by another three or more years. After their stint abroad, they could return to their previous positions in Germany without losing any pension entitlements. 26 Some preparatory training was provided for the candidates. They had to spend one or two semesters at the Department of Oriental Studies at Berlin University where they were made familiar with the didactic, methodical, and linguistic challenges of teaching abroad. They also had to attend one or more language courses in French, English, Spanish, Portuguese, Chinese, Turkish, and/or the language of their target country. In return for their training and a stipend of 200 Marks, candidates committed themselves to at least three years abroad. Having thus been carefully screened and trained, more than 700 candidates of “an entirely impeccable character” were sent abroad between 1906 and 1914. The memorandum of the Foreign Office lists the destination countries of 643 teachers: Romania 90, Turkey 81, Chile 67, China 52, Spain 45, Brazil 42, Italy 42, Argentina 32, Belgium 32, Great Britain and its colonies 19, Persia 18, Portugal 12, Russia 12, Mexico 12, Denmark 9, Guatemala 8, Venezuela 7, Bulgaria 6, Peru 6, Ecuador 6, Greece 5, Japan 5, Panama 5, Holland 4, Morocco 4, Paraguay 4, Uruguay 4, German Southwest Africa 3, Hungary 2, Haiti 2, Costa Rica 2, Colombia 2, USA 2, and one as private tutor of the Crown Prince of Abyssinia. 27 In quasi-missionary terms they were asked: “Go forth into the world and preserve the Germanness of the German youth you will fi nd there, and make the indigenous youth which will approach you into friends of German Bildung and of the German Volk.”28 Women were sent out only occasionally, for example, “Gertrud Münchmeyer, teacher in Elze in Hannover, as teacher to the German school in Guatemala city.”29 All in all, around 2,600 teachers worked in schools abroad in 1914. Of these, 2,000 were German and 600 were foreign nationals. Franz Schmidt himself conducted several visitation tours in order to observe standards and identify the needs of those schools who received fi nancial support. These tours took him to Italy, Greece, Egypt, Holland, England, Spain, France, Romania, and Hungary. A planned visit to South America in 1914 had to be cancelled due to the outbreak of the war.30 All these measures helped to raise educational standards and create more solid foundations for a German school environment abroad. They also ensured efficient channels of communication to carry ideas about national belonging in all corners of the world. Those selected for service abroad

Language 239 had to subscribe to an affirmative attitude towards Reich and Kaiser. Looking at the occupational group of teachers within Germany generally, this came rather naturally, both at primary and secondary school levels. After 1871, teachers were seen as, and willingly acted as, crucial agents to embed a national, that is, supra-territorial consciousness in the younger generation. Those with social-democratic inclination faced dismissal, and reformist movements were marginal. Nation and emperor represented the face of modernity and were made into the main orientation points of the curriculum. This affected the teaching of history and geography, but also German, where an awareness and competence of High German was conveyed alongside the regional vernacular. Primary school teachers were not academically trained but attended training seminaries where they learned to integrate issues of German global power, the colonies, or the battle-fleet into their future teaching. Secondary teachers (Oberlehrer) were graduates of universities, where they were socialised in an atmosphere of Reich-affi rmation. Their ideological vantage point was not 1848 but 1871. They have rightly been termed a ‘conformist class’ (‘angepaßter Stand’)31 and one of the main proponents of Wilhelmian power politics, both internal and external. It is thus not surprising that academically trained teachers, together with university professors, were heavily represented in right-wing pressure groups. At the leadership level of the Pan-German League, for example, they were the largest single professional group at 38 per cent.32 Curricula, exam topics, and the symbolism of graduation and other festivities were adapted accordingly. Even Nipperdey, who is careful to differentiate in regional and political terms, comes to the conclusion that Gymnasien were turned into “main bulwarks of the new nationalism towards Kaiser and Reich.”33 These parameters determined the general ideological orientation of those teachers who were recruited for service abroad by the Foreign Office. The selection process did not only test pedagogical competence but also political conformism. Once abroad, these teachers were important disseminators of relevant ideas not just for the younger generation, but also, as ethnic leaders, in German communities generally. As educational standards rose, German authorities were more and more prepared to recognise degrees taken abroad as equivalent to those taken in Germany. The first seal of academic approval entitled degree holders to complete military service as a ‘one-year volunteer’ (einjährig Freiwilliger). This was a reduced form of service which stood open to young men with a background of higher secondary education. Degrees of the following schools came with this entitlement: Constantinople (from 1898), Brussels (1901), Antwerp and Bucharest (1903), Genoa, Milan, and Buenos Aires (1906), Madrid (1909), Davos (1910), Rome (1912), Barcelona and Mexico City (1913), and Belgrano near Buenos Aires (1914). Thirty further schools could confer this entitlement in individual cases, including Riga, Saloniki/Thessaloniki, Jerusalem, Cairo, Johannesburg, Shanghai, Rio de Janeiro, Joinville (Brazil), Porto Alegre, and Concepción. The highest seal of recognition

240

Constructing a German Diaspora

was the entitlement to attend German universities (Reifezeugnis). This was conferred to graduates of the schools in Antwerp, Brussels, Bucharest, and Constantinople.34 Between 1891 and 1913, the number of pupils attending these schools rose in line with rising academic standards and transnational connectedness. For example, the number of pupils rose in Antwerp from 270 to 843, in Constantinople from 380 to 742, and in Bucharest from 687 to 2,373. Other schools throughout the world were working towards similar entitlements. There was a clear upward movement in terms of standards and numbers in the years preceding 1914 which was then interrupted by the outbreak of war, never to reach comparable levels again. The roots of expansion as identified by the Foreign Office schools department were not so much mass emigration (which was, in fact, declining), but rather the forces of economic globalisation: The gratifying upward development of German schools abroad has been caused and carried by the ever expanding participation of the German Empire in global economic activity. In almost all world regions the trading and economic relations with Germany become closer by the year. As a consequence, the number of Germans going abroad as merchants or engineers for longer or shorter periods is ever increasing. And in particular, those members of the indigenous population who have a command of German fi nd rewarding employment in German merchant or industrial enterprises in many places abroad. 35 The last sentence of this quote points to a further function of schools abroad, which gained momentum after 1900. Opening them up for indigenous pupils was part of a larger programme of ‘peaceful imperialism.’36 The schools should act as models of education and should thus attract the elites of the respective countries. These would then be tied long-term to German culture and industry. The next logical step was to build so-called ‘propaganda schools’ (Propaganda-Schulen) just for local elites in order to increase Germany’s cultural influence in strategically important regions. China and the Ottoman Empire were identified as areas with immense economic potential but limited know-how for modernisation. Both countries experienced revolutionary movements in 1908 (Young Turks) and 1911– 1912 (Sun Yat Sen in China) which aimed at opening up their countries towards Western influences. Between 1907 and 1913, the German Foreign Office funded a German medical school and an engineering school in Shanghai, a university in Tsingtau/Quingdao, as well as secondary schools (Realschulen) in Hankow, Nanking, Tientsin, Ping-Shiang/Pingxiang, Kanton, Tschengtu/Chengdu, and Tsinganfu. In the Ottoman Empire schools were built in Tehran, Baghdad, Aleppo, and Adana.37 Although these ‘propaganda schools’ were not geared at local German populations, they demonstrate the extent to which utilitarian motives were prevalent in Foreign Office planning. Keeping up the diasporic connectedness of Germans

Language 241 worldwide and drawing local indigenous elites into German cultural, scientific, and economic achievements both served the same ends: instrumentalising educational institutions to create formal hubs of an Empire which defi ned itself in global terms. The idea that knowledge of auslandsdeutsch communities could have an “ennobling, fertilising, liberating” feedback effect on the metropole itself38 was also extended to the school sector. Germans abroad who, with great sacrifice, clung to their Germanness had the potential to develop into model “national educators of our youth.”39 Confi rming the role of women in nationalist associationalism, it was the Dresden women’s chapter of the VDA that took the lead. At the national convention of the VDA in 1909, the chapter demanded that themes around Germans abroad should be an integral part of the history and geography curricula of schools in Germany. This was followed by concerted agitation. The culture and education ministries of the German territorial states were approached and took concrete steps to introduce relevant themes. Leading members of the Association regularly spoke at teachers’ conventions. Board member Prof. Rein (Jena), for example, gave a talk at the national convention of German primary school teachers in Strasbourg in 1910 on the theme of “The German Teaching Profession and the Preservation of Deutschtum Abroad.” Former Oberlehrer Gottfried Fittbogen lectured to the 1912 annual general meeting of the Berlin-Brandenburg secondary teachers’ association, and also gave several training courses on diaspora themes in everyday teaching (naturally using the term ‘diaspora’). This agitation had the effect that more individual teachers as well as corporative units such as the Bavarian or the Berlin teachers’ associations now joined the VDA. The Hessian education authority asked its schools to use only wall maps of Central and Eastern Europe which had German place names such as Preßburg, Hermannstadt, or Kronstadt.40 Typologically, these educational activities had the same function as church services dedicated to collections for diaspora support (see Chapter 5, this volume). They were transmission belts to communicate an awareness of, and bond of togetherness with, Germans living outside the borders of the Reich.

PROFESSIONAL ORGANISATION ABROAD Having looked at the relationship between language and nation and ways in which this was instrumentalised for global politics, both at the governmental and the associational level within Germany, we now have to look at the situation abroad. How were these ideas communicated in the teaching profession and to ethnic communities and their offspring? Where did networks with and outside Germany emerge? And to what extent did a nation-centred orientation actually have an impact on the everyday working of schools? These questions shall be approached below.

242

Constructing a German Diaspora

Associations and publications by German pedagogues teaching abroad were not steered from the centre but were mostly periphery-led. They had a clear diasporic orientation, with Imperial Germany representing the cultural and economic gravitation point whose achievements were to be communicated to Germans and non-Germans abroad. They also testify to an occupation-related diasporic identity which was constructed from similar discursive elements across the globe—with the United States and Russia yet again being the main exceptions. Despite the difference in destination countries and cultures, common themes, aims, and challenges for service abroad were identified and discussed in almost identical terms. Let us first turn our attention to the Association of German Teachers Abroad (Verein deutscher Lehrer im Auslande) of 1901. Within Germany, regional and national teachers’ associations had been founded since 1871, most notably the national German Teachers’ Association (Deutscher Lehrerverein), to represent occupation-specific interests. From the mid-1880s, suggestions from teachers abroad to introduce an equivalent which could address their specific problems were put forward. The main aims of such an organisation would be a common pension fund, years spent abroad added to pensionable income after return to Germany, recruitment of better-quality pedagogues, better funding for schools, and closer contact amongst teachers both locally and across borders which would be facilitated by a journal. In the following years, local and national associations came into being in Chile, Argentina, Brazil, and Australia. In Europe, similar Vereine had existed in France (1890) and London (1877). The development gained some momentum towards global connectedness when German Teachers’ Associations were founded in Antwerp and Brussels in 1900. Under the leadership of the Belgian association, the Association of German Teachers Abroad was finally founded a year later. Questionnaires were sent to schools on all continents in order to gather information, and this triggered substantial correspondence. In the following years, Brussels remained the diasporic administrative centre for this globally operating organisation which was soon joined by regional and national associations around the world. In 1910, it also became affiliated with the German Teachers Association in Germany. All this led to more effective representation vis-à-vis the German authorities, and the improvements introduced by the Foreign Office schools department from 1906 (see above) were to a large extent the result of this representation. The head of the schools department, Franz Schmidt, had himself been instrumental in bringing together teachers in Romania during his time in Bucharest, and now implemented objectives accordingly. The legal status for teachers abroad which emerged between 1900 and 1914 was the result of intense cross-border consultation and communication between peripheral locations and Imperial Germany. The impetus came from abroad, and the desire to become more closely attached to the Heimat was clearly visible.41 The main communication tool for global exchange was the monthly periodical Die Deutsche Schule im Auslande (The German School Abroad),

Language 243 published from 1902. Its print run was only about one hundred in its first year, but it quickly grew in geographical distribution on all continents, although concrete numbers for later years are not available.42 The two editors were Hans Amrhein (Galatz, Romania) and Dr. Bernhard Gaster (Antwerp, Belgium). As mentioned in the programmatic subheading and foreword, the journal was the “voice of the Association of German Teachers Abroad” and argued for “an education in the German school and family on a national basis.” It aimed to weave a “glue” (“Bindemittel”) and “tape” (“Band”) around German teachers abroad by “strengthening professional awareness and pedagogical skills, improving the material situation of teachers abroad, and building a bridge between the motherland of pedagogics and the pedagogical new territory.”43 Families were also included in the target clientele. Regarding the wider societal impact, the foreword elaborated on the journal’s mission to be a guardian and curator of German discipline, customs, and language. It aims to strengthen and promote the tribal awareness of Germans abroad, without consideration of particularistic, political or religious trends. It shall disseminate knowledge about the Germans abroad and sing the praise of those who successfully endeavour to keep up their Germanness in the midst of foreign environments and pass it on as a valuable asset from one generation to the next. It shall raise its cautionary voice if Germanness anywhere abroad is steered onto wrong and damaging tracks due to short-sightedness or delusion. It shall be the mouth-piece of needy communities in their hard struggle for the preservation of Germanness. They shall find in the journal a voice through which they can ask for joint support from the motherland and the richer German ethnic colonies abroad.44 The main section of the journal consisted of longer articles as well as short notes sent in by teachers from all over the world. This gave teachers the opportunity to compare their own experience with that of colleagues in very different geographical locations and cultural contexts, and thereby contributed to a common group identity which was not bound by state borders. Some of the contributions for the 1913 issue, for example, included articles on the new school building in Rio de Janeiro, the German School Association in Johannesburg, “A School Day in Dar es Salaam,” an obituary on a deceased colleague in Milan, and the annual report of the school in Lima. Readers were also informed about general practical or pedagogical issues. These ranged from the relevance of Latin in German schools abroad to pension questions, and from the legal position of Auslandsschulen to examination issues. Shorter notes included the names and institutions of teachers who were sent abroad, relevant discussions in the Reichstag, and information about school associations around the world. Some of the contributions in the following section entitled “Articles of pedagogical or scholarly content” were on topics such as teaching essays in primary schools, the Italian language curriculum in

244 Constructing a German Diaspora German schools in Italy, German school policies in the “Orient,” German “Geistesarbeit” in Mexico, Germany under the leadership of Wilhelm II, and two speeches by teachers abroad on the 25th anniversary of the Kaiser’s accession to the throne. The concluding section entitled “Büchertisch” contained book reviews.45 Teachers abroad were well integrated into a global stream of communication which not only conveyed professional information but also a sense of global diasporic connectedness across borders and oceans, both with the Heimat and with each other.

CASE STUDIES: REALITIES, LIMITS, RUPTURES A number of selected national and regional case studies will, again, elucidate patterns in which these parameters played out abroad. Theoretical issues such as alterity, hybridity, and, in particular, diasporisation, have been explained in detail in previous chapters and should be taken as a background to the following. The focus will now shift towards the close connection between language and identity construction.46 Britain and China will make a start as two case studies at different poles of alterity. Britain allows us to exemplify the main problem faced by communities abroad, namely language attrition. Ethnic leaders were aware that the continuity of community life and institutions depended upon the German language proficiency of the second and third generation. Schools were always linked to congregations, with the pastor usually acting as head teacher. As early as the eighteenth century pastors complained that parents in German or intermarriage households hardly spoke German with their offspring.47 A century later, these complaints were imbued with nationalist language such as “Verengländerung,” a pejorative term for anglicisation. In the zero sum game of transnational nationalism, anyone who lost their alleged mother tongue was a loss to the ‘Greater German Empire.’ Pastor Goetz in Hull connected this with the issue of alterity when he explained that congregations in Britain were embedded into an environment whose character and standing is closely related in terms of tribe and religion. It is a deep-rooted malady of the Germans to abandon their traditional ways with incredible speed and assimilate into the foreign folk-ways (Volkstum). This old vice turns into a lethal enemy where no Volkstum which would be alien in nature resists this process of assimilation, as is the case, for example, in Romance countries.48 The first congregation schools were established in London in 1709 (St. Marien) and 1765 (St. Georg). With the exception of Brighton, all seventeen Protestant congregations which were founded in provincial cities during the second half of the nineteenth century had a school attached. These were Saturday schools only, some of which also offered one teaching day during the week. Four full-

Language 245 time primary schools existed in London, and one in Liverpool. The pastor there, C. Grüneisen, reported that many second-generation children spoke good German, and that even third-generation children visited the school. Nevertheless, he contended “that a most disgusting deference to foreign things (Ausländerei) is prevalent amongst our Germans living in England.”49 Glasgow was a typical Saturday school. It was established in 1898 “for the congregation to obtain a permanent and strong mainstay through the next generation.”50 The number of pupils grew continuously from 25 in 1898 to 67 in 1910, before declining to 48 in 1913. Four classes were taught by the pastor and three additional teachers who were either the wives of resident Germans or temporary female migrants. The school benefited from the school fund expansion of the Foreign Office. From 1908, it received an annual contribution of 100 Marks, which was increased to 300 in 1913—ironically when pupil numbers were in decline. The teachers would now be paid an annual salary of 160 Marks. The second income stream for the school derived from school fees at an annual total of 140 Marks. German parents paid 2.50 Marks, whilst British parents paid twice that amount per child. Approximately fifteen per cent of the children had British parents. Both pastor and consul repeatedly asked parents to speak German at home with their children, but mostly to no avail.51 In a letter to the Protestant Church Council in Berlin, Pastor Zuckschwerdt gave an assessment beyond ideological distortions of the school’s attainment: As a rule, the children only speak English when they join us. Even in cases where they understand German they are, understandably, hesitant to use a language which they only speak imperfectly. In most cases they stay for four to five years. [ . . . ] We manage to achieve almost faultless pronunciation and a good command of the German language, even for those children who rarely or hardly ever speak German at home because one parent is Scottish. This is all the more cumbersome as the children speak English amongst themselves and only use German during lesson times.52 Zuckschwerdt’s assessment might have been on the positive side in order to justify funding. Another observer was Alexander Tille, whose expectations were naturally high as lecturer in German at Glasgow University and an ardent nationalist (see Chapter 3, this volume). He maintained that amongst the German children growing up in Glasgow, only the children of the German consul spoke good German, “whose house was purely German in spirit and form.”53 Tille described the typical course of linguistic assimilation in middle-class families: “The children learn English from the servants and later in school. The mother then takes it over from them as the main language at home. Most of these German mothers only speak English with their children.”54 A source text from Liverpool shows that linguistic assimilation followed different pathways in working-class homes. Sugar factory workers constituted a sizeable portion of the congregation, and for their children it was important to at least understand some German: “Many of these parents

246 Constructing a German Diaspora would hardly be able to communicate with their children if they were not able to speak in the mother tongue [German]. The reason is that these parents, even after several years residence in this country, do not really penetrate the English language.”55 Whatever the different patterns and parents’ abilities, we can state that, across social classes, German proficiency as conveyed by parents was rudimentary at best. It was only through structured schooling that at least some knowledge of the ‘mother tongue’ could be acquired. Whether this knowledge and the identity it conveyed was enough to bring second-generation migrants into the diasporic fold is, of course, questionable. Sources have to be read critically within their context, especially where instrumental aspects were concerned. Pastor Zuckschwerdt, for example, reported that the children, after having attended the German school, “spiritually felt like Germans, despite the fact that they were mostly Scottish in a legal sense.” The context of this assessment is Zuckschwerdt’s application for increased funding from the Reich Foreign Office. In a confidential memorandum, the foreign liaison officer of the Protestant Church Council, Dr. Kapler, had previously recommended to Zuckschwerdt that he “should stress the national significance of the school in [his] report” in order to win over the Foreign Office.56 Alexander Tille described the “most sacred indignation” (heiligste Entrüstung) he encountered when he addressed second-generation migrants as Germans. These children and youths insisted on being Scottish.57 In their main school, however, they could easily be the target of anti-German attitudes and stereotypes. Charlotte Rottenburg, for example, was mobbed by her classmates as “the dirty German [ . . . ] who eats rotten cabbage.”58 Pastor Grüneisen in Liverpool described this hybrid position, which was not compatible with societal pressure for national demarcation: It would be grossly erroneous to assume that the English accept [these children] as English, just because we fi nd them to be anglicised. They are rather located in the middle of the two nations, and neither of them takes them seriously; not an enviable position. [ . . . ] It thus comes as a natural consequence that some tensions exist between the German community in England and the younger generation of the colony. The majority of those people who are neither altogether German nor English have obvious proclivities towards England. 59 Moving to China as a culture with high relative alterity, we have to differentiate between two kinds of schools. On the one hand, Germany established the above mentioned ‘propaganda schools’ (and a university) in order to attract Chinese elites; on the other hand, ethnic schools catered for the offspring of resident Germans. The latter included schools in Hankow, Tientsin, Shanghai, and Tsingtao/Quingdao. Their admissions policy operated on constructed alterity in relation to the host culture on the one hand, and other European and American elites on the other hand. There was a clear demarcation towards the Chinese environment, including any hybrid elements.

Language 247 Shanghai can be taken as an example. The school was founded in 1895 by Pastor Hackmann, the local missionary of the General Evangelical-Protestant Missionary Society (Allgemeiner Evangelisch-Protestantischer Missionsverein), and immediately interpreted by the metropolitan press as “a bulwark for the preservation and fostering of the German language and spirit in the Far East.”60 It was first named Bismarck Schule in order to honour the 80th birthday of the former Reich Chancellor, but renamed into Kaiser Wilhelm Schule when it moved into new premises in 1911. The institution comprised a pre-school Kindergarten, a primary school, and a secondary Realschule that taught students for five years to a lower high-school degree level. Annual support from the Reich rose from 3,000 Marks in the founding year to 7,500 Marks in 1913. Student numbers rose continuously from 22 to 112 during the same period. The gender balance was even. By then, the leadership of the school had gone from missionary into philological hands in the form of Oberlehrer and school director Dr. Matthäus. Other staff included three male and four female teachers. All of them had passed their teachers’ state examinations in Germany. A report by the German Consulate Shanghai from 1900 lists fathers’ occupation as ranging from merchant (6), customs official (5), missionary, newspaper editor (2 each), to doctor, road inspector, printer, music dealer, sea captain, dock inspector, pharmacist (1 each), and the Austro-Hungarian Consul. Later reports also mention occupations such as telegraph official, book-seller, engineer, and butcher. Thirty children were Protestant, three Catholic, and three Jewish.61 The nationality of children during 1913–1914 was as follows:

Table 6.1

German School Shanghai, Students’ Nationality 1913–1914 Kindergarten (1 year)

German Austrian (German first language)

Secondary Realschule (5 years total)

13

33

24

4

2

2

1

1

Dutch American

Primary School (3 years total)

2

4

British

17

11

Russian

1

4

Turkish

2

1

Swiss

1

Italian

1

Total

41

52

3

34

Source: Extracted from Annual Report Kaiser Wilhelm Schule, Shanghai, 1913–1914, courtesy German School Shanghai.

248

Constructing a German Diaspora

Of the 86 school children, 61 had German as fi rst language. Demarcation towards the non-German environment was clearly defi ned. Only a maximum of twenty per cent (twenty-five per cent from 1902) of children from other nationalities were admitted in order to preserve the German character of the school. Chinese children or those from German-Chinese mixed marriages were categorically excluded. Pastor Ruhmer, heading the school during 1906–1907, found it important that “only pure white children have access to our institute, whilst all mixed children (Mischlingskinder), including those of German men and Chinese women are rejected.” This would preserve the “good, real German spirit” of the school. 62 Pragmatic voices disagreed. The Schlesische Zeitung reported that the policy was under discussion because knowledge of the German language amongst the Chinese and mixed nationality children was benefi cial for German trade. 63 The Tägliche Rundschau suggested a third way. It wholeheartedly agreed that the school should remain ‘white’ as a “protection wall of our national cultural heritage.” It found the mixing (Vermischung) of German fathers and Chinese mothers displeasing, but nevertheless pondered that one should at least draw advantages from this reality and establish designated Mischlingsschulen. The fact that English schools had an open-door policy meant that these bi- or tri-lingual children were currently turned into pioneers of English, instead of German, trade. 64 Pragmatism, then, stood at the centre of a third strand of argumentation. In his book on ‘Germany and China,’ Hamburg merchant J. Kähler argued that dissemination of the German language had only limited benefits for German engagement in China. Rather, he asserted it would be far more benefi cial if Germans felt the need to learn Chinese in order to conduct direct business. According to Kähler, one German with Chinese profi ciency was worth more than 500 German-speaking Chinese. 65 The issue of language and schooling can thus be integrated into the far wider discourse on Germany’s engagement with China around 1900. The country’s vast resources and economic potential generated a flood of publications on how to exploit this potential. Racism was an integral part of this discourse, especially when interwoven with fears of the ‘Yellow Danger’ of a potentially re-emerging economy. These ideas spread throughout Europe during the 1890s. China was represented as the ‘Other’ which was incompatible with Western European culture. Through its dynamism, it could potentially threaten the cultural and economic balance of the Occident. Racial mixing between ‘white’ and ‘yellow’ was seen as particularly fatal. This fear was made concrete for the German public in the wake of discussions to ‘import’ Chinese workers (Kulis) as agricultural workers into Eastern Prussia. The nationalist writer Stefan von Kotze, for example, expressed fears of a “physically and morally degenerated mixed Volk. [The Chinese] is as alien to us as a Mars man, and if he mixes with us we will, as a race, inevitably draw the short straw.”66

Language 249 Perception patterns of this kind prevented German schools in China from exploiting their local advantage and producing graduates who could easily move and mediate between the two cultures. This also came to the fore in the curriculum, which was purely on the lines of a German Realschule. Foreign languages included English and French, but not Mandarin. The detailed subject contents and exam questions in the schools’ annual reports are more or less devoid of Asian themes, except for occasional references in geography lessons. The history curriculum worked its way from Western antiquity to “Prussian and German History from 1740–1871.”67 The second generation diaspora was to remain ‘pure,’ both in race and in spirit. Again, pragmatic voices realised that this was not in line with the requirements of an integrating world economy. The Ostasiatischer Lloyd, commenting on the school in Tsingtao, expressed dissatisfaction with the approach. The business newspaper found it “desirable that our youth should be made familiar with the country and its population in a more thorough way than has hitherto been the case. They should learn to overcome the prejudices against the native population which are widespread almost everywhere, and they should systematically be prepared for exchange with the population. This will be of utmost use later on once our pupils enter professional life.”68 The two opposing views were guided by the same question: How does the German Empire make best economic use of its second generation diaspora? Pedagogues in the Foreign Office found that the way ahead was to replicate as much ‘Germanness’ as possible abroad in order to create long-term spiritual and intellectual attachment to the metropole. The teachers selected for service abroad had to subscribe to this principle. Some merchant circles abroad, in contrast, expressed a more pragmatic approach which accepted hybridity not only as a fact of diasporic life, but also as an asset in conducting international business. Schools should adapt accordingly. Not only in its curriculum and the ethnic composition of its student body, but also in terms of its representation, the school in Shanghai endeavoured to replicate metropolitan imagery. When the school moved into new premises in 1911, it was renamed Kaiser Wilhelm Schule. The inauguration ceremony with patriotic speeches (“to implant in all children a proud awareness of belonging to a powerful fatherland”) and national symbolism has briefly been described in the opening passage of this book. It set the tone for the festive calendar and the daily workings of the school. Kaiser’s birthday was the most important day in the year with numerous guests from the ethnic community, including consular representatives and officers of German warships. Music was provided by the military bands of ships playing marches and accompanying general singing. The programme of the celebrations in January 1912, for example, included a mixture of patriotic songs and poems glorifying Kaiser, Heimat (both at national and local Plattdeutsch-level), Prussian history, and the German language:

250 Constructing a German Diaspora 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10. 11.

‘Gott sei des Kaisers Schutz’ (common singing) Kaiserlied (poem) Mein Vaterland (poem) ‘Stimmt an mit hellem, hohem Klang’ (school choir) Ziethen (poem) Min Modersprok Speech headmaster Dr. Matthäus Das Land ohne Märchen Der Jung auf der See (poem) Rat des Vaters an seinen Sohn (poem) ‘Deutschland über alles’ (common singing)69

A short aside gives a snapshot of globality: On the other side of the world in the settlement of Hohenau in Paraguay, the German school described itself as a “breeding ground for patriotism in which the virtues and ideals of real German disposition are nurtured for the honour and glory of our old fatherland.” At the same time, it aspired to make the children good citizens of their adopted country. Kaiser’s birthday on 27 January 1906 was celebrated as follows: 1. Music band: March 2. School choir: ‘Danket dem Herrn’ 3. Speech teacher C. Deutschmann 4. School choir: ‘Deutschland, Deutschland über alles’ [. . .] 7. School choir: ‘Paraguayan national anthem’ 8. Music band 9. Children telling stories from the lives of the German Imperial couple 10. School choir: ‘Heil Dir im Siegerkranz’70 In Shanghai, the German navy was omnipresent in school affairs. Classes regularly visited German warships anchoring in Shanghai harbour. A speech by one of the teachers during Kaiser’s birthday celebrations in 1908 was on ‘The Development of the German Naval Forces.’ Officers such as Commander Vice Admiral Bendemann of the cruiser squadron were a regular sight in the school.71 And although the school was per defi nition non-denominational as a precondition for Foreign Office funding, strong links persisted with the local Protestant congregation. Shanghai was a microcosm of diaspora construction, with the complementary triad of politics, religion, and language providing the framework for transmission and negotiation. The Second Admiral of the local cruiser squadron, Baudissin, remarked of local mobility patterns in 1903 that these had recently become less fluctuating and more settled with a “Deutschtum which was resident and more or less rooted in the location. In fact, a small German town with about 700 residents has developed.” Baudissin found the school to be a

Language 251 “glue, a propagator and a preserver of everything German, of both practical and high idealistic value, especially with regards to the future.”72 Shanghai was discursively linked to the metropole, with German newspapers regularly reporting on the school and other ethnic activities. These newspapers included, for example, the Norddeutsche Allgemeine Zeitung, Vossische Zeitung, National Zeitung, Nation und Welt, Tägliche Rundschau, Schlesische Zeitung, Berliner Tageblatt, and the Hamburger Nachrichten.73 Shanghai was also linked to other diasporic locations, both within China and elsewhere. These translocal contacts were not always harmonious, revealing cracks in the image of an allegedly unified diaspora. The scramble for metropolitan resources, especially between Shanghai and the larger protectorate school in Tsingtao, could be a trigger for frictions. The Berliner Tageblatt complained that Reich-contributions to the school building in Tsingtao amounted to 250,000 Marks, and annual contributions to 65,000. This was in contrast to Shanghai, where the school operated with considerably smaller sums. The Reichstag was asked to be more careful in its distribution of resources.74 Direct frictions between the two schools arose after Pastor Ruhmer (Shanghai) had visited Tsingtao and published his impressions in a missionary journal. With subtle criticism he described the millions which had gone into infrastructure and colonial buildings in the protectorate, including the school. His own school in Shanghai, in contrast, had to make do with fewer resources from Berlin and was mostly fi nanced by the local merchant community.75 The headmaster of the school in Tsingtao, Dr. Dönitz, wrote a confrontational reply which aimed to question the significance and quality of the Shanghai school, and Ruhmer’s expertise in particular. Publication of Dönitz’ text could only be prevented after Ruhmer’s official correction.76 Ruptures also arose across continents. Das Echo, a newspaper expressing the views of Auslandsdeutsche, published an article by one Maximilian Hopf from Buenos Aires. After reading about Shanghai, he questioned whether the German community there spent its money efficiently, and stated that the school in Buenos Aires received less money per child from Berlin.77 Taken together with earlier evidence on Cairo, Brazil, and other places, the sources on China confi rm that diasporic confl icts were played out not only within ethnic communities, but also at the trans-local and transnational levels. Easy ways of gathering information about other communities across the world in combination with relatively fast communication channels facilitated transnational diaspora negotiation. Identity formation was de-spatialised. The theme of host cultures exerting a degenerating influence on German communities was a global concern. As in the case of China, this was often mingled with notions of superiority, racism, and cultural purity. Blumenau in Brazil provides another snapshot. After a number of short-lived attempts in previous decades, sustained schooling in Blumenau started with the arrival of H. Faulhaber in 1889. He was sent by the Protestant Church Council in Berlin to take over the congregation and immediately went about building

252 Constructing a German Diaspora up a local school in parallel. This soon grew in size and quality. By 1899, it was attended by 131 pupils with an equal gender balance. Of these, three were Reichsdeutsche, four were Luso-Brazilian, and 124 were GermanBrazilian. In his reports, Faulhaber was critical of the colonists’ practice to have children work on their farms rather than send them to school. He also put his fi nger on pedagogical standards. Teachers in the area were often untrained and of questionable character.78 The consul in Florianopolis, von Zimmerer, after spending some time in Blumenau, found this development fatal. He was impressed with the insight of many local Germans “that the German school is the most important bulwark to protect them against the hostile ‘Brazil-dom’ (Brasilianertum). If German schools were to vanish, their offspring would undoubtedly sink into the muddy river which is the Roman bastard nation of the Brazilians.” In a case of linguistic hubris, von Zimmerer found it unnecessary for most colonists to learn Portuguese at all and suggested that German should become the lingua franca in isolated, ethnically mixed settlements. Although this was, in fact, practice in some areas, he asked the Hanseatische Kolonisationsgesellschaft to promote more concentrated settlement and thus language preservation.79 In 1904, the Deutsche Schulverein für Santa Catharina (German School Association for Santa Catarina) was founded to coordinate and promote educational standards in the province. Its executive director, Artur Köhler, put his fi nger on the problem that schools failed to produce enough ethnic elites. This led to the in-movement of “unwelcome, so-called Brazilian intelligentsia. [ . . . ] The danger this poses to our German Volkstum has to lead to defensive measures.” Sons from mixed marriages who went on to university were “too weak to fight against attempts of ‘Brazilianisation’ (Verbrasilianerungsversuche).”80 Despite defensive attitudes of this kind, settler schools in the Blumenau area and elsewhere in Brazil were pragmatic enough to teach both Portuguese and German, and to introduce Brazilian topics in subjects such as history or geography. The ideological overload of language and schooling led to tensions with many host societies. This is a pattern around the world where nation-state building went along with desired internal ethnic homogenisation. Minority schools did not have a place in this conception. In different forms and intensity, state authorities attempted to reduce the amount of minority language teaching, usually leading to defensive reactions by the German minorities themselves and leading to host-minority tensions. This pattern can be observed in Brazil, Russia, Austria-Hungary, the United States, and elsewhere.81 It was particularly poignant within a colonial context, as the concluding example of Cape Town shows. During the 1880s, the city hosted around 1,000 Germans, most of which had taken on British nationality. The St. Martini Schule was founded in 1883 on the back of the local German Protestant church (whose bell was adorned with a cast image of Kaiser Wilhelm I). When Germany started to establish its protectorate in neighbouring Southwest Africa, the school gained, in the eyes of the Foreign

Language 253 Office, a new strategic significance as German institutional presence in the region and possible schooling facility for expected colonial immigrants.82 For fi nancial reasons, the school board decided to become attached to the South African education authority. In the wake of the Boer War and AngloGerman frictions, it was asked to introduce English as the language of instruction—a decision which was interpreted by the Hamburger Nachrichten as an act of British “imperialist chauvinism.” Notwithstanding the sensitive situation, it then decided to become an independent school. The metropolitan press found this a potential “cultural act of highest significance” (“nationale Kulturtat ersten Ranges”) and asked the Foreign Office to increase funding on a par with Johannesburg. This was granted, and in 1902 the St. Martini Schule became independent. Attendance rose from 140 to 173, despite the fact that around 300 Germans had moved away during the Boer War and black children were now excluded.83 By 1905, attendance had risen to 244. These were composed of 220 Germans, 15 Boers, four English, three Scandinavians, and one Polish and Lithuanian each. Of the German children, 216 were Protestant, two Catholic, and two Jewish. When several of the non-German children left during 1905, school director Pastor Wagner found this “a great advantage because the alien elements are extremely hindering and obstructive.” Generally, Wagner’s tone and activities made him a typical representative of diasporic Pastorennationalismus. This included a confrontational attitude towards British authority. The school was decorated with pictures of the German Emperor and Empress.84 A row touching both colonial and intra-ethnic sensitivities was triggered by the German General Consul in Cape Town, von Humboldt-Dachröden. In a speech to the Deutscher Klub on Kaiser’s birthday he explained that German Southwest Africa was now “covered with German blood [through] heroic fighting against a wild enemy and nature, and thus has to occupy a special place in our German hearts.” He reminded his compatriots that they now had the duty to create a “centre of Germanism” in South Africa in the form of the St. Martini school. This would be very much in the interest of the Kaiser.85 Local reactions were understandably touchy, with the Cape Times stressing that this was a British and not a German colony. Subsequent explanatory remarks by the Consul, given orally to the newspapers’ correspondents, were then printed in faulty English the next day, aggravating the situation even further. In his report to the German Foreign Office, von Humboldt-Dachröden described his words as harmless and the hosts’ reaction as “exaggerated colonial sensitivity” (“übergroße koloniale Empfindlichkeit”). He criticised the hostile attitude of the ruling Progressive Party towards the school but, at the same time, found that this hostility had brought the German community together. The newspaper Windhuker Nachrichten condemned the Consul’s actions as damaging for the standing of the minority. This was sharply refuted by the German newspaper in South Africa, the Deutsche Nachrichten, as well as a mass gathering in

254 Constructing a German Diaspora the Deutsches Haus in Cape Town which expressed praise and full trust in Humboldt-Dachröden’s support for the school.86 Diasporic nationalism and the ideologisation of schooling had turned ethnic contact zones into colonial friction zones, in turn both dividing and unifying the ethnic community itself. The ground was prepared for the Germanophobic violence which was to break out after August 1914 not only in South Africa,87 but also in many other host societies around the world.88 NOTES 1. “Tapfer kämpfen unsere Landsleute in Victoria für die Erhaltung der deutschen Muttersprache,” National Zeitung, 16 July 1903. 2. “[ . . . ] gesunde nationale Gesinnung. [ . . . ] lauter Hurrapatriotismus,” Vossische Zeitung, 22 December 1905. 3. Das Echo, 14 May 1903; National Zeitung, 16 July 1903; Vossische Zeitung, 22 December 1905. 4. BAB R901/39006, Annual Report Deutscher Schulverein von Viktoria 1905. “Man hört so oft die Klage, dass kein Volk der Erde der Beeinflussung durch fremdes Volkstum so zugänglich sei, dass keine Nation so wenig nationales Selbstgefühl besitze wie die Deutsche. [ . . . ] Gottlob, es ist in diesem Stück auch im Auslande jetzt viel besser geworden, seit des deutschen Reiches Kraft überall hinreicht und sein starker Arm den deutschen Volksgenossen vor Willkür und Unrecht schützt, so daß er nicht mehr, wie ehedem, in der Fremde ein ‘Völkerknecht’ ist. Was Deutschlands Lieblingsdichter, Schiller, gesungen: ‘Wir wollen sein ein einig Volk von Brüdern, In keine Not uns trennen und Gefahr,’ das klingt heute wieder in den Herzen selbst der äußersten Teile und Glieder des deutschen Volkskörpers. Der mächtige Strom unseres wiedererstarkten Volkstums ist bis zu ihnen hinausgedrungen. Nur eine Gefahr droht dem Deutschtum im Auslande: das ist die Entdeutschung der nachwachsenden Jugend, die dem Deutschtum verloren, von fremdem Volkstum verschlungen. [ . . . ] Das wollen wir verhindern.” 5. BAB R901/39006, Imperial German General Consulate Sydney to AA, 18 June 1903; also 14 December 1905. 6. Hinrich C. Seeba, ‘“So weit die deutsche Zunge klingt.” The Role of Language in German Identity Formation,’ in Nicholas Vazsonyi, ed., Searching for Common Ground. Diskurse zur deutschen Identität, 1750–1871 (Köln: Böhlau, 2000), pp. 45–57; Claus Ahlzweig, Muttersprache—Vaterland. Die deutsche Nation und ihre Sprache (Opladen: Westdeutscher Verlag, 1994); Lorenzowski, Sounds of Ethnicity, pp. 26–29 (quote at p. 26). 7. “Was dieselbe Sprache redet gehört zusammen, und ist natürlich eins und ein unzertrennliches Ganzes,” Johann Gottlieb Fichte, Reden an die deutsche Nation, quoted in Weidenfeller, VDA, p. 42. 8. Weidenfeller, VDA, pp. 42–44. Quotes ibid.: “[ . . . ] sich nach einer volkstümlichen Vereinigung mit allen seinen Sprach- und Stammverwandten zu sehnen, in ihnen Reichsgenossen zu ahnen,” (Jahn); “[ . . . ] daß die Wiedereroberung der deutschsprechenden linken Rheinseite eine nationale Ehrensache ist.” (Engels). 9. “In der Sprache, in der Art ihrer Bildung sowohl wie in den sprachlichen Erzeugnissen, offenbart sich der Geist des Volkes, seine Rassenanlage und sein geschichtlicher Charakter,” Franz Schmidt, ‘Zur Aufgabe und Gestaltung des Deutschen Unterrichts in den Deutschen Schulen in Rumänien,’ Die Deutsche Schule im Auslande 11, no. 1 (January 1903), 14–25 (at 15).

Language 255 10. BAB R901/39006, Imperial German General Consulate Sydney to AA, 18 June 1903, “[ . . . ] nicht verwunderlich, daß sich fast alle, selbst diejenigen, die sich ernstlich vorgenommen haben, gute Deutsche zu bleiben, einbürgern lassen.” 11. Harry Werner, Deutsche Schulen im Ausland. Werdegang und Gegenwart, vol. 1 (Berlin: Westkreuz, 1988), pp. 18–19; Bernd Müller, Von den Auswandererschulen zum Auslandsschulwesen. Ein Beitrag zur Geschichte des deutschen Nationalismus vor dem Ersten Weltkrieg (PhD diss., Würzburg, 1995), pp. 24–28. 12. Harry Werner, Deutsche Schulen, p. 33. 13. “die Einrichtung der Anstalt [erfolgte] ganz und gar nach deutschem Muster,” Johannes Paul Müller, Die Deutschen Schulen im Auslande. Ihre Geschichte und Statistik (Breslau: Hirt, 1885), p. 155; Müller, Von den Auswandererschulen, p. 31. 14. This term is used here in the American literal sense and not in the British sense which denotes private education. 15. Quoted in Bettina Goldberg, ‘The German-English Academy, the National German-American Teachers’ Seminary, and the Public School System in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, 1851–1919,’ in Henry Geitz et al., eds., German Infl uences on Education in the United States to 1917 (Cambridge New York: German Historical Institute, 1995), pp. 177–192 (at p. 182). 16. Ibid.; and idem, ‘Cultural Change in Milwaukee’s German Evangelical Lutheran Congregations of the Missouri Synod, 1850–1930,’ in Eberhard Reichmann et al., eds., Emigration and Settlement Patterns of German Communities in North America (Indianapolis: Max Kade German-American Center, 1995), pp. 115–128. 17. “Deutsch ist es, weil es von Deutschen geplant, durch Deutsche errichtet, von Deutschen geleitet und unterstützt wird, und weil es deutsche Sprache und deutsche Erziehungs- und Unterrichtsweise lehren soll. Aber es ist nicht minder amerikanisch, weil es ferner für amerikanische Schulen Lehrer heranbilden und zur Erfassung des Geistes der freien amerikanischen Institutionen erziehen soll. Es hat seine Bedeutung also nicht für die Deutschen allein, nicht für Amerikaner allein, sondern für die gesammte Nation, weshalb es sich nicht nur ‘deutsch-amerikanisches,’ sondern mit vollem Recht ‘nationales’ Seminar nennt.” See W. H. Rosenstengel, ‘Kurzgefaßte Geschichte des Nationalen Deutsch-Amerikanischen Lehrerseminars nach amtlichen Quellen,’ in Festschrift zur Einweihungsfeier der neuen Heimstätte deutschamerikanischer Erziehung in Milwaukee, 1891, SHS Pam 70–769, 39–40; also ‘Some Facts of Interest about the German-English Academy, Founded 1851,’ SHS Pam 57–826; ‘National German American Teachers’ Seminary and German English Academy Milwaukee, Wis., Catalogue 1898–1899,’ SHS 75–823. 18. BAB R901/38602, Geheime Denkschrift des Auswärtigen Amtes über das deutsche Auslandsschulwesen, April 1914, p. 20. “In den Vereinigten Staaten von Amerika bestehen zwar Hunderte, ja wohl Tausende deutscher Schulen; doch sind sie [ . . . ] als deutsch-amerikanische Schulen, nicht aber als deutsche Auslandsschulen anzusehen; sie vermitteln eine gewisse Kenntnis der deutschen Sprache und des deutschen Schrifttums, verfolgen aber im ganzen rein amerikanische Bildungszwecke.” 19. Ibid., pp. 5–6, 12–13. 20. Ibid., pp. 12–13; Wilhelm Kahle, ‘Zum Verhältnis von Kirche und Schule in den deutschen Siedlungen an der Wolga bis zum Ausbruch des Ersten Weltkrieges,’ in Dahlmann, Zwischen Reform, pp. 224–244; Gerd Stricker, ‘Die Schulen der Wolgadeutschen in der zweiten Hälfte des 19. Jahrhunderts.

256 Constructing a German Diaspora

21. 22.

23. 24. 25.

26. 27. 28.

29. 30. 31.

32. 33. 34. 35.

36.

Ein Versuch: Unter besonderer Berücksichtigung katholischer Anstalten,’ in ibid., pp. 244–266; Dietmar Neutatz, ‘Zwischen Spracherhalt und Assimilierung. Rußlanddeutsche und Donauschwaben vor 1914 im Vergleich,’ in Rothe, Deutsche in Rußland, pp. 61–86. Sandra Kipp, ‘Migration, Language Use, and Identity. German in Melbourne, Australia, since World War II,’ in Schulze, German Diasporic Experiences, pp. 47–60 (at 47–48). “[Daß] Kirche und Schule die vorzüglichen Hebel zur Erhaltung und Förderung deutscher Sitte und deutschen Wesens in der Fremde sind, daß durch sie und durch deutsche Wohlthätigkeits-Anstalten das Bewußtsein der Stammesverwandtschaft und des Zusammenhanges mit dem Mutterlande Generationen hindurch wachgehalten und das deutsche Nationalgefühl überhaupt gesteigert wird,” letter Reich-Chancellery, 22 January 1874, EZA 5/431, also quoted in Müller, Auswandererschulen, 139. Müller, Auswandererschulen, p. 226; Kloosterhuis, Friedliche Imperialisten, pp. 187–219. Müller, Auswandererschulen, pp. 218–229. “Die nationale Bedeutung der Schulen ist in erster Linie darin zu erblicken, daß sie die reichsdeutsche Jugend im Ausland in deutschem Sinn und Geist erziehen, in zweiter Linie darin, daß sie auch andere Kinder deutscher Abstammung, soweit möglich, dem Deutschtum erhalten. Die kulturelle Bedeutung besteht darin, daß sie deutsche Bildung im Ausland verbreiten. Wirtschaftliche Wirkungen liegen vor, wenn sie Deutschlands Handels- und Wirtschaftsbeziehungen zum Ausland fördern. Von politischer Bedeutung endlich sind sie, wenn sie in fremden Ländern richtige Vorstellungen von Deutschland verbreiten und Angehörige fremder Staaten zu Freunden deutschen Wesens und deutscher Bildung machen,” Geheime Denkschrift, p. 36. Müller, Auswandererschulen, pp. 218–229; Geheime Denkschrift, p. 29. Geheime Denkschrift, Appendix 7. “Gehet hin in alle Welt und lehret die deutsche Jugend, die ihr dort fi ndet, sich deutsch zu erhalten, und die Landjugend, wenn sie sich zu Euch drängt, Freunde deutscher Bildung und des deutschen Volkes zu werden!” Franz Schmidt, Ein Schulmannsleben in der Zeitenwende. Lebenserinnerungen (Marburg: Kombächer, 1961), p. 67. Die Deutsche Schule im Auslande 12 (1913), 352. Schmidt, Schulmannsleben, pp. 67–75. Hartmut Titze, ‘Lehrerbildung und Professionalisierung,’ in Christa Berg, ed., Handbuch der deutschen Bildungsgeschichte, vol. IV, 1870–1918 (München: Beck, 1991), pp. 345–370 (at p. 356); Ullrich, Nervöse Großmacht, p. 346. Chickering, We Men, pp. 104, 311. “Der neue Nationalismus von Kaiser und Reich hatte in den Gymnasien eine Hauptbastion,” Nipperdey, Deusche Geschichte, pp. 539–561 (quote at 559). Geheime Denkschrift, pp. 32–33; Kloosterhuis, Friedliche Imperialisten, p. 192. “Verursacht und getragen wird diese erfreuliche Aufwärtsbewegung des deutschen Auslandsschulwesens durch die immer weitergreifende weltwirtschaftliche Betätigung des Deutschen Reichs. In fast allen Gebieten des Auslandes werden die Handels- und wirtschaftlichen Beziehungen zu Deutschland mit jedem Jahre enger, und immer größer wird die Zahl der Deutschen, die dank diesen Beziehungen als Kaufleute oder Techniker auf längere oder kürzere Zeit ins Ausland gehen. Auch Angehörige der einheimischen Bevölkerung finden in deutschen kaufmännischen oder industriellen Betrieben an vielen Orten des Auslandes lohnende Beschäftigung,” Geheime Denkschrift, p. 7. Kloosterhuis, Friedliche Imperialisten.

Language 257 37. See Appendix III; Kloosterhuis, Friedliche Imperialisten, pp. 196–197; Eberspächer, Deutsche Yangtse-Patrouille, pp. 319–322. 38. Karl Lamprecht, ‘Deutsche Kultur und deutsches Volkstum im Ausland,’ Das Deutschtum im Ausland (July 1909), 99. 39. “[ . . . ] zu nationalen Erziehern unserer Jugend werden,” Gottfried Fittbogen, Das Deutschtum im Ausland in unseren Schulen (Leipzig: Teubner, 1913), p. IV. 40. Fittbogen, Deutschtum, III, 3; Wilhelm Rein, ‘Deutsche Lehrerschaft und die Erhaltung des Deutschtums im Ausland,’ Vierteljahreshefte des Vereins für das Deutschtum im Auslande (June 1910), 156–165; Tägliche Rundschau, 28 October 1912. 41. K. Lohmeyer (Brussels), ‘Über die Organisation und die Aufgaben des Verbandes deutscher Lehrer und Lehrerinnen im Auslande,’ Die Deutsche Schule im Auslande VI (1907), 51–64; Müller (Antwerp), Deutsche Schulen, pp. 396–401; Müller, Auswandererschulen, pp. 206–208; Kloosterhuis, Friedliche Imperialisten, p. 191. 42. Müller, Auswandererschulen, pp. 209–217. 43. “Monatsschrift für nationale Erziehung in der deutschen Schule und Familie. [ . . . ] das Standesbewußtsein zu stärken, die pädagogischen Fähigkeiten zu kräftigen, die materielle Lage der Auslandslehrer bessern zu helfen, die Brücke zu bilden zwischen dem Heimatlande der Pädagogik und dem pädagogischen Neulande,” Die Deutsche Schule im Auslande II, no. 1 (January 1903), cover page and foreword ‘An die geehrten Leser!’ no page. 44. “[ . . . ] eine Hüterin und Pflegerin deutscher Zucht und Sitte, deutscher Art und deutscher Sprache [ . . . ]. Sie soll das Stammesbewußtsein der Deutschen im Auslande stärken und pflegen, ohne Rücksicht auf partikularistische, politische oder religiöse Strömungen; sie soll Kunde geben von den Deutschen im Auslande, welche mit rühmenswertem Eifer und Erfolge das Deutschtum inmitten fremdländischen Wesens hochhalten und als teures Gut von einem Geschlaecht zum andern vermachen; sie soll das Sprachrohr der bedürftigen Gemeinden sein, welche schwer um die Erhaltung des Deutschtums ringen müssen und hier ein Organ finden, durch welches sie sich an die gemeinsame Hülfe des Mutterlandes und der reicheren deutschen Kolonien wenden können.” Die Deutsche Schule im Auslande II, no. 1 (January 1903) editorial and foreword. 45. Die Deutsche Schule im Auslande XII (1913), I–VI. 46. E.g., Janet M. Fuller, ‘Language and Identity in the German Diaspora,’ in Schulze, German Diasporic Experiences, pp. 3–19. 47. Steinmetz, German Churches, pp. 58–59. 48. “[Die Gemeinden sind] eingebettet in eine stammes- und religionsverwandte, kulturell gleichstehende Umgebung. Es ist ein altes Erbübel der Deutschen, mit unglaublicher Schnelligkeit die heimische Art aufzugeben und dem fremden Volkstum sich zu assimilieren, und diese alte Untugend wird zum totbringenden Feind, wo kein fremdartiges Volkstum diesem Assimilierungsprozess erschwerenden Widerstand entgegensetzt, wie es z. B. in romanischen Ländern der Fall ist,” Pfarrer Goetz, ‘Das Sprachproblem deutscher Auslandsgemeinden und deren Existenzberechtigung,’ Deutsch-Evangelisch 3 (1904), 104. 49. “[ . . . ] dass eine ganz widerwärtige Ausländerei bei unseren in England lebenden Deutschen im Schwange geht,” C. Grüneisen, ‘Die Daseinsberechtigung der deutschen Gemeinden Grossbritanniens,’ Deutsch-Evangelisch 3 (1904), 101. For the school in Liverpool also see Rosenkranz, Geschichte, passim. For a national compilation see THLLA TH8662/9. 50. “[ . . . ] damit die Gemeinde in der heranwachsenden Jugend eine bleibende und kräftige Stütze gewinnt,” Annual Report German Congregation Glasgow, 1898, EZA 5/1823.

258 Constructing a German Diaspora 51. Annual Reports German Congregation Glasgow, 1898–1913, EZA 5/1823 and THLLA TH8662/393. 52. “In der Regel sprechen die Kinder, wenn sie zu uns kommen, nur englisch. Auch wenn sie deutsch verstehen, so scheuen sie sich doch begreifl icherweise, eine Sprache zu gebrauchen, die sie nur fehlerhaft sprechen können. Der Schulbesuch dauert in den meisten Fällen 4–5 Jahre [ . . . ]. Es gelingt so, selbst Kindern, die zu Hause selten oder niemals deutsch sprechen, da einer der Eltern schottisch ist, zu fast fehlerfreier Aussprache und guter Beherrschung der deutschen Sprache zu erziehen. Es ist umso mühevoller, als die Kinder auch im persönlichen Verkehr untereinander das Englische gebrauchen und das Deutsche oft nur in den Schulstunden sprechen,” Pastor Zuckschwerdt to Evangelischer Oberkirchenrat, EZA 5/1824, 30 June 1914. 53. “[ . . . ] dessen Haus in Geist und Form rein deutsch war,” Tille, Die Deutschen Englands, p. 143. 54. “Von den Dienstboten und nachher in der Schule lernen die Kinder englisch. Von ihnen übernimmt es die Mutter als Haussprache. Die meisten dieser deutschen Mütter sprechen nur englisch mit ihren Kindern,” ibid. 55. “Viele der Eltern könnten sich mit ihren Kindern kaum verständigen, wenn sie nicht die Muttersprache zu ihnen reden könnten, da sie auch bei langjährigem Aufenthalte hier doch nicht recht in die englische Sprache eindringen,” Rosenkranz, Geschichte, p. 100. 56. “[ . . . ] innerlich als Deutsche fühlen, trotzdem sie staatsrechtlich meist Schotten sind,” Pastor Zuckschwerdt to Evangelischer Oberkirchenrat EZA 5/1824, 30 June 1914; “[ . . . ] die nationale Bedeutung der Schule in Ihrem Bericht eingehend zu würdigen,” Dr. Kapler to Pastor Zuckschwerdt, EZA 5/1824, 10 June 1914. 57. Tille, Die Deutschen Englands, p. 143. 58. Charlotte Kiep, Erinnerungen aus Kindheit und Jugend bis zu meiner Heirat (Pullach: private print, 1996), p. 31. 59. “Es ist ein grosser Irrtum, zu meinen, wenn wir [die Kinder] anglisiert fi nden, die Engländer erkennten sie schon für Engländer an. Sie stehen vielmehr in der Mitte zwischen beiden Nationen und keine nimmt sie für voll; eine wenig beneidenswerte Lage. [ . . . ] So ist es also Folge einer Naturnotwendigkeit, wenn eine Spannung zwischen der deutschen Auslandsgemeinde in England und der jüngeren Generation der Kolonie besteht. Die Leute, die nicht ganz deutsch aber ebensowenig ganz englisch sind, [neigen] offenbar in ihrer Mehrheit nach England hin,” Grüneisen, ‘Daseinsberechtigung,’ 102–103. 60. “Ein Bollwerk zur Erhaltung und Förderung deutscher Sprache und Gesinnung im Fernen Osten,” Vossische Zeitung, 23 January 1896; also National Zeitung, 21 May 1895. 61. Imperial German General Consulate for China, Shanghai, to Foreign Office, BAB 901/38906, 10 May 1900, 30 April 1905, Annual Report Kaiser Wilhelm Schule 1913/14, courtesy German School Shanghai; Ostasiatischer Lloyd, 5 May 1905. 62. “Nur rein weisse Kinder haben Zutritt zu unserem Institut, während alle Mischlingskinder, auch solche von Deutschen und Chinesinnen zurückgewiesen werden. [ . . . ] der gute, echtdeutsche Geist,” Annual Report German School Shanghai 1906/07, BAB 901/38908; Imperial German General Consulate for China, Shanghai, to Foreign Office, BAB 901/38906, 10 May 1900; National Zeitung, 25 December 1903. 63. Schlesische Zeitung, 20 March 1907. 64. Tägliche Rundschau, 9 February 1906. 65. J. Kähler, Deutschland und China (München: Callwey, 1914), pp. 93–94; see Eberspächer, Deutsche Yangtse-Patrouille, p. 322.

Language 259 66. Conrad, Globalisierung, pp. 168–228 (quote p. 192: “[ . . . ] ein physisch und moralisch verkommenes Mischvolk [ . . . ]. [Der Chinese ist] uns fremd wie ein Marsbewohner, und [ . . . ] wenn er sich mit uns mischt, ziehen wir als Rasse den kürzeren”). For Chinese racism, however, see Osterhammel, Verwandlung, pp. 1226–1228. 67. Annual Reports German School Shanghai 1911/12 and 1913/14, courtesy German School Shanghai. 68. “[ . . . ] erwünscht, dass die Jugend mit dem Lande und seiner Bevölkerung in gründlicherer Weise, als bisher, bekanntgemacht wird und die heute fast überall bestehenden Vorurteile gegen die einheimische Bevölkerung überwinden lernt und sich systematisch auf einen Verkehr mit ihr vorbereitet, der beim Eintritt der Schüler in das Erwerbsleben diesen später nur vom allergrößten Nutzen sein kann,” Ostasiatischer Lloyd, 5 May 1905. 69. Annual Report German School Shanghai 1911/12, BAB R901/38909. 70. German School Hohenau, Minutes of the school board meetings, 24 January 1906 (programme), 17 July 1904 (quote: “Die Schule soll eine Pflanzstätte des Patriotismus sein, in welcher die Tugenden und Ideale echt deutscher Gesinnung groß gezogen werden zur Ehre und zum Ruhme unseres alten Vaterlandes”); see Warkentin, Die deutschsprachigen Siedlerschulen, pp. 134–135. For the Protestant congregation in Asunción see Claus Bussmann, Treu Deutsch und Evangelisch. Die Geschichte der Deutschen Evangelischen Gemeinde zu Asunción/Paraguay von 1893–1963 (Stuttgart: Steiner, 1989). 71. Report Pastor Boie to Foreign Office, 1901/02, BAB 901/38906; Annual Report German School Shanghai 1907/08, BAB R901/38909; Eberspächer, Yangtse-Patrouille, 173; The North-China Daily News, 30 March 1911. 72. “Aus der früheren, schnell gewinnenden und wechselnden Bevölkerung ist ein seßhaftes, an den Ort mehr oder minder gebundenes Deutschtum und damit recht eigentlich erst die kleine deutsche Stadt mit rund 700 Einwohnern entstanden. [ . . . ] ein Bindemittel, ein Werber und Erhalter des Deutschen, von praktischem und hohem idealem Wert, ganz besonders auch für die Zukunft,” Admiral Baudissin to Foreign Office, 30 September 1903, BAB R901/38905. 73. E.g. Norddeutsche Allgemeine Zeitung, 1 November 1899; Vossische Zeitung, 23 January 1896; National Zeitung, 25 December 1903; Nation und Welt, 23 August 1905; Tägliche Rundschau, 9 February 1906, 12 December 1909; Schlesische Zeitung, 20 March 1907; Berliner Tageblatt, 25 November 1907; Hamburger Nachrichten, 27 May 1911. 74. Berliner Tageblatt, 25 November 1907. 75. Wilhelm Ruhmer, ‘Unsere jüngste deutsche Kolonie Tsingtau. Eine kritische Würdigung der Reiseeindrücke,’ Zeitschrift für Missionskunde und Religionswissenschaft 12 (1907), 362–368. 76. Consulate Shanghai to Foreign Office, 25 March 1908, BAB R901/38908; Correction R901/38909, 7 July 1908. 77. Das Echo, 11 September 1902. 78. Müller, Deutsche Schulen, pp. 281–287; BAB R901/38780, Pastor Faulhaber to Foreign Office, 22 September 1891, 9. 10. 1895; ibid., 27 February 1892, Consulate Petropolis to Foreign Office; Brunn, Deutschland und Brasilien, pp. 178–184. 79. BAB R901/38780, 21 March 1899, Consulate Florianopolis to Foreign Office, “[ . . . ] daß die deutsche Schule das wichtigste Bollwerk ist, welches sie gegen das feindselige Brasilianertum zu schützen im Stande ist, und daß mit dem Wegfall deutscher Schulen ihre Nachkommen unfehlbar in dem trüben Strom versinken würden, welche die romanische Bastardnation der Brasilianer darstellt.”

260 Constructing a German Diaspora 80. “[ . . . ] Zuzug unwillkommener, sogenannter brasilianischer Intelligenz,” BAB R901/38762, Report Artur Köhler, 1913. 81. E.g., Judson, Guardians; Brunn, Deutschland und Brasilien, pp. 178–184; Luebke, ‘Images’; Neutatz, ‘Deutsche Frage.’ 82. Foreign Office to Kaiser, 21 February 1889, BAB R901/39023; also German Consulate Cape Town to Foreign Office, 19 November 1888, ibid. 83. Hamburger Nachrichten, 24 February 1905; Leipziger Tageblatt, 5 October 1903; Tägliche Rundschau, 3 October 1903. For Johannesburg see ‘Von der deutschen Schule in Johannesburg,’ Die Deutsche Schule im Auslande 2 (1903), 45–47. 84. Report Pastor Wagner, 27 March 1906, BAB R901/39024; Hamburger Nachrichten, 24 February 1905, including characterisation of Wagner as an “exemplary pioneer of the Cape Town Deutschtum” (“verdienter Vorkämpfer des Kapstädter Deutschtums”). Also see Hamburger Nachrichten, 28 June 1908, about a lecture given by Wagner in Hamburg which was published in the Pan-German Alldeutsche Blätter. 85. [ . . . ] einen heldenhaften Kampf gegen einen wilden Feind und gegen die Natur gekämpft [ . . . ]. Darum muss dieser Boden, mit deutschem Blute bedeckt, besonders in unsere deutschen Herzen eingeschlossen sein,” Berliner Neueste Nachrichten, 11 March 1907. 86. Consulate Cape Town to Foreign Office, 5 February 1907, BAB R901/39023; Cape Times, 30 January 1907, 31 January 1907; Windhuker Nachrichten, 10 January 1907; Schlesische Zeitung, 19 March 1907 (also referring to article in Deutsche Nachrichten). 87. Tilman Dedering, ‘“Avenge the Lusitania”: The Anti-German Riots in South Africa in 1915,’ in Panayi, Germans as Minorities (forthcoming). 88. Panayi, Germans as Minorities.

Outlook and Conclusion

In an overview article on the changing nature of German diasporas during the modern period, Dirk Hoerder remarks: “The stylization of Auslandsdeutsche in Wilhelmine Germany, in the Weimar Republic, and in Nazi Germany, proved destructive to both diasporic and enclave communities.”1 Hoerder alludes to a process which had started in the fi rst half of the nineteenth century and gained momentum in the nationalistic atmosphere of late Imperial Germany. In public discourse, Germans living outside the borders of the Reich were increasingly ascribed persisting bonds with their country of origin, unifying cultural markers, and superior qualities in relation to respective host societies. The notion of a multitude of Reich-oriented Little Germanies scattered across the globe tied in with Wilhelmine ideas of global expansion. Hoerder’s quote draws a causal link between the nationalisation of the German diaspora and the treatment of German minorities worldwide during World War I. It correctly implies that attempts to strengthen Deutschtum abroad had, in fact, a detrimental effect. The louder pro-German utterances were to be heard, the more host societies felt compelled to suppress any ethnic activities which potentially jeopardised their own national unity and safety. The present study presented ample material to support this view within a long-term perspective. It moves away from the interpretation that German ethnics were in all cases passive objects of xenophobic outbursts. This interpretation was fi rst advanced by contemporaneous German observers who, with nationalistic indignation, highlighted migrants’ economic and cultural contributions to respective host countries in order to then expose the ‘ungratefulness’ of these countries during the war. 2 It was, ironically, reiterated more recently by critical historians of these countries in order to underline continuities of xenophobia and question national master-narratives of unbroken tolerance. 3 Addressing diaspora nationalism before and during World War I does not intend to re-start a blame game of guilt and revision. Rather, it helps to establish that migrants could be politically active subjects whose real or imagined links with their country of origin had a specific impact on their interaction with host societies. They were convenient instruments in the hands of

262

Constructing a German Diaspora

nationalist discourse leaders, both within Germany as well as within their own ranks. Throughout the period of the Second Reich, globally operating channels of communication facilitated the dissemination of nationalist ideas. The process intensified from the 1890s. Three chapters tackled thematic areas as case studies to outline the structures and depth of dissemination: the navy issue within politics; Protestantism within religion; and schools abroad with reference to language preservation. Ethnic leaders, most importantly consuls (who often came from the midst of the communities), pastors, and teachers preached the (trans-)nationalist gospel from the podium, the pulpit, and ex cathedra. Some merchants—ironically often naturalised in their host countries—were the backbone of nationalist ethnic associations. As ethnic leaders, they all disseminated specific visions of belonging to a powerful nation. Diasporic belonging was not just a metropolitan armchair fantasy but played out in many ethnic communities worldwide. The limits, ruptures, and frictions that went along with this dissemination have been described in depth in this study, most importantly in relation to the United States and Russia. Some communities—or sections within these communities—not only accepted, but also pushed and developed these ideas. Others rejected them; and yet others stood aloof. Whatever the reactions, the dense material presented shows that discursive negotiation of de-spatialised membership of the German nation became an integral part of ethnic hetero- and auto-definition. This even applied to allegedly isolated regions such as the Russian Volga basin or the American Upper Midwest. These were more integratedinto global discourse flows than hitherto recognised by scholarship. Diaspora construction did not redeem the all-encompassing phantasies of its engineers. But it certainly was at work. Public rituals were one platform to negotiate membership to the ‘Greater German Empire.’ Scholarship has shown that national celebrations and bank holidays were important catalysts for post-1871 nation-building within Germany. The present study has expanded this view spatially by highlighting the global reverberations of national public rituals. These were held in communities across the world and included ‘Peace Festivals’ in 1871 to celebrate unification, the annual Sedan Day, Schillerfeste in 1909, and indeed the outbreak of war in August 1914. As disseminators, ethnic leaders reached very different sections of migrant communities. They often cooperated in staging rituals in schools, churches, and other representative premises. The single most important national holiday in this regard was Kaiser’s birthday. Briefly listing all the places mentioned in the course of this study where celebrations took place sheds a spotlight on the globality of this public ritual: Florence, Naples, Barcelona, London, Glasgow, Edinburgh, Beirut, St. Petersburg, Shanghai, Tientsin, Tokyo, German Southwest Africa, Cairo, Cape Town, Port au Prince, Brusque and Blumenau (both Brazil), Hohenau in Paraguay, and Buenos Aires. More comprehensive research would generate many more locations. Deeper test-drills into

Outlook and Conclusion

263

specific locales have shown that class and gender were segregating factors within communities, but that the idea of the nation increasingly permeated and integrated different sections of society—just as it did within Germany as the century progressed. Interpretive hegemony over the ‘Greater German Empire’ and its implications for diasporic Germans, however, continued to lie in the hands of the male, educated middle-classes. Also, although participation in these rituals can be interpreted as public reaffi rmation of membership to the German nation, their significance should not be exaggerated. Ethnic life and identity consist of a multitude of layers, and concentrating only on noisy nationalism and ethnic activity would present a distorted picture. There was, indeed, “life outside the migrant network.”4 Although nationalistic utterances were mainly produced at the level of the ethnic elite and leadership, it is safe to say that the concomitant discourse was increasingly embedded in many communities abroad as one facet of ethnic identity construction. After August 1914, this discourse did not come to a sudden halt. Germans who found themselves minorities in wartime did not necessarily take on a defensive default position but could, on the contrary, openly express their nationality in ways which were not always conducive to amicable host-minority relationships. This has been touched upon throughout the study for a number of countries, for example Brazil, the United States, and South Africa. Britain can serve as another example to elucidate the pattern, but also highlights that a differentiated view is necessary. Generally, Germans in Britain displayed a range of reactions towards the war situation. Many tried to keep a low profi le and hide their nationality in order to escape the Germanophobic waves that swept through British society. Keeping away from ethnic associations, anglicising one’s name or avoiding speaking German in public were possible ways of doing so. This conduct, however, did not mean that nationalist attitudes had vanished. Germans from all walks of life publicly expressed pro-German attitudes within a society which was at war with their country of origin. When the Austrian ambassador, for example, left the country from Paddington Station, those present sang Deutschland über Alles. The Londoner Generalanzeiger, a German language newspaper fostering conciliation, commented: Not all Germans in Great Britain seem to have understood that, at the moment, they are at best tolerated in the United Kingdom and that they should behave accordingly [ . . . ]. It is likely that the patience of the British public will one day be exhausted through the constant provocation by certain Germans.5 In the London suburb of Poplar, a link was drawn between anti-German riots and provocative utterances. On 6 August 1914, a German baker had displayed the German imperial flag from his window. Three weeks later, “two German bakers in Upper North Street invited trouble by making

264

Constructing a German Diaspora

insulting remarks regarding the British people and troops with the result that the windows of their shops were smashed.”6 In the northern town of Berwick a hairdresser had explained shortly before his internment “that the Kaiser would soon be in London, where he would be crowned with glory.”7 In Manchester, a member of the Protestant congregation observed that there were “a few rebels [ . . . ] who incessantly reiterated, loudly and quietly, despite police and church ban: God bless and protect Germany!”8 The German Consul in Glasgow, van der Briele—“a very thoroughgoing German”—audibly made disparaging remarks about the British army while on a train. He was nearly thrown off by enraged passengers.9 Some German businessmen in the Royal Exchange did not hesitate “to express their feelings of glory at any setback the Allies may have had during the past month. [ . . . ] Amongst the naturalised ones, there are to be found quite a representative number of Kaiserites.”10 A few months into the war, however, these provocative voices from all strands of the ethnic minority seem to have vanished. Many German nationals in Britain were fi rst interned and then repatriated. Arno Singewald, the former deputy chairman of the German navy club in Glasgow, is a case in point. After his repatriation in mid-1915, he found employment with the Berlin Rütgerswerke, which produced war material. Thereby, he thought, he could serve his fatherland best in “this fight against envy and malice.” To the German authorities he recommended the strongest possible use of Zeppelin and submarine. [ . . . ] The earlier and the stronger the Englishman feels the damage himself, the earlier there is prospect of the war being terminated. [ . . . ] I urgently recommend an efficient Zeppelin-raid on Glasgow as the centre of British ship-building and many other industries, especially machines and munitions.11 Diaspora construction carried on after 1918, building on the parameters defi ned before and during the Second Reich. The peace treaties of Versailles, Saint-Germain, and Trianon led to territorial losses. Borders moved across people, creating German minorities in Poland, the Baltics, Czechoslovakia, Yugoslavia, Romania, Belgium, Denmark, France, and Italy. The new geopolitical situation led to another terminological shift towards Grenz- und Auslandsdeutsche (‘Borderland Germans and Germans Abroad’), indicating closeness and implying claims for territorial restitution. 1.3 million refugees from these territories made sure that public consciousness remained aware of Germans living elsewhere. During the Third Reich, these conceptions were ideologically charged with racial categories, and another term was established, Volksdeutsche. Minorities in Central and Eastern Europe in particular were now deeply implicated into expansionary measures by the Nazi regime. The new term indicated a further—völkisch—dimension of belonging which went beyond that of Auslandsdeutsche. After 1945,

Outlook and Conclusion

265

fi nally, new political and territorial realities lead to a de-transnationalisation of national identity. Despite being a contested issue during the ‘Bonn Republic,’ border changes were not on the agenda in either of the two Germanies. Minorities abroad experienced a gradual de-ideologisation, and those leaving today for longer periods or for good are, again, inconspicuously called Auswanderer. Terminologically, this completes the full circle back to the pre-1840s period. Media representations are focussing on practical issues of life abroad rather than evoking any national bondage.12 Following Rainer Münz’ and Rainer Ohliger’s periodisation, the history of Auslandsdeutsche, with all its ideological connotations, was thus mostly located between the years 1871 and 1945. From the Weimar Republic onwards, its public and political focus shifted more towards Central and Eastern Europe. After 1945, Vertriebene (expellees) were instrumental in upholding the memory of former territories in public consciousness. During the 1990s, Aussiedler (re-settlers) from Eastern Europe and the former Soviet Union tapped into simmering notions of belonging to a Volk. Today, the place of Auslandsdeutsche is mostly relegated to national memorialisation and, as such, has rightly found its way into the constitutive compilation of national lieux de mémoire.13 It is only within a clearly defi ned chronological and analytical framework that the application of the diaspora concept makes sense. The study adhered to the theoretical parameters outlined in the Introduction and passim in order to avoid adding yet another example to what Rogers Brubaker critically calls a “‘diaspora’ diaspora”: “If everyone is diasporic, then no one is distinctively so.”14 Diaspora construction between 1871 and 1914 was distinctive, and it went global. As a country of immigration, Germany is today a host rather than a donor of diaspora groups. At 1.6 million, Turks are by far the largest minority. Do they constitute a diaspora? This is a contested issue, as shown by Prime Minister Tayyip Erdoğan’s controversial visit in July 2011. His speech in Düsseldorf was attended by 10,000 people with a Turkish background. He promised that Turkey constituted a “protective power” for Turkish emigrants, no matter where they lived. He asked them not to assimilate too quickly and to make their children learn Turkish rather than German as a fi rst language. Common chants included “The Country [Turkey] Belongs to Us All,” and “Turkey is Great.” Erdogan assured his enthused audience: “They call you guest-workers, foreigners, or German-Turks. But no matter what everyone calls you: You are my co-citizens, you are my people, you are my friends, you are my siblings!” The speech generated critical—and at times hostile—comments from German politicians, from the general public, but also from within the Turkish-German community.15 What are the patterns and strategies of diaspora construction? Where and why do tensions between hosts and minorities arise as a consequence? As globalisation progresses, so does the diasporisation of ethno-national groups. The theoretical ramifications analysed in the present study are as poignant today as they were for the nineteenth century.

266 Constructing a German Diaspora NOTES 1. Hoerder, ‘German-Language Diasporas,’ 31. 2. E.g., Albert Faust, Das Deutschtum in den Vereinigten Staaten in seiner geschichtlichen Entwicklung, 2 vols. (Leipzig: Teubner, 1912); C. R. Hennings, Deutsche in England (Stuttgart: Ausland und Heimat, 1923). 3. E.g., John Higham, Strangers in the Land. Patterns of American Nativism 1860–1925 (New Brunswick: Rutgers University Press, 1955); Colin Holmes, John Bull’s Island. Immigration and British Society 1871–1971 (London and Basingstoke: Macmillan, 1988); Panikos Panayi, The Enemy in Our Midst. Germans in Britain during the First World War (New York and Oxford: Berg, 1991). 4. Lesger, ‘Is there life outside the migrant network?’ 5. “Die Deutschen in Großbritannien scheinen noch nicht alle eingesehen zu haben, daß sie zurzeit im Vereinigten Königreich nur geduldet sind, und sich dementsprechend zu benehmen haben. [ . . . ] Die ständige Herausforderung seitens gewisser Deutscher würde auch einmal die Geduld des britischen Publikums erschöpfen,” Londoner Generalanzeiger, 26 August 1914. 6. Panayi, Enemy, p. 224–225, quote ibid. 7. Glasgow Herald, 23 October 1914. 8. ‘Stimmungsbilder aus dem Ausland,’ Deutsch-Evangelisch im Auslande 14 (1916), 4. 9. William W. Raeburn to Secretary of State for Scotland, 11 May 1915, SRO, WRH HH31/10/25478–3748. 10. Glasgow Herald, 12 September 1914. 11. “[ . . . ] Kampfe gegen Neid und Niedertracht. [ . . . ] die stärkstmögliche Zeppelin-Politik, nebst einer scharfen Untersee-Politik. [ . . . ] Je eher und je mehr der Engländer den Schaden am eigenen Leib spürt umso eher ist Aussicht auf eine Beendigung des Krieges. [ . . . ] Ich empfehle dringend [ . . . ] einen wirksamen Zeppelin-Angriff auf Glasgow als Hauptplatz des englischen Schiff baues und vieler anderer Industrien, besonders Maschinen und Munition,” BAMA PH 2/588, Arno Singewald to Reichskommissar zur Erörterung von Gewalttätigkeiten gegen deutsche Zivilpersonen in Feindeshand, 8 May 1916, pp. 25–27. 12. Jan P. Sternberg, Auswanderungsland Bundesrepublik. Denkmuster und Debatten in Politik und Medien, 1945–2010 (Paderborn: Schöningh, 2012); Nikolaus E. Barbian, ‘Auslandsdeutsche’ und auswärtige Kulturpolitik. Die Bundesrepublik und die ‘Deutschen’ in Lateinamerika 1949 bis 1973 (PhD diss., Osnabrück, 2013); Kerstin E. Finkelstein, Ausgewandert. Wie Deutsche in aller Welt leben (Berlin: Links, 2005). For TV-representations see, e.g., ‘Ausgewandert—Augesorgt. Wie Deutsche im Ausland Karriere machen’ (RTLII); ‘Goodbye Deutschland’ (VOX). 13. Rainer Münz and Rainer Ohliger, ‘Auslandsdeutsche,’ in Etienne François and Hagen Schulze, eds., Deutsche Erinnerungsorte, vol. I (München: Beck, 2002). 14. Brubaker, “‘Diaspora’ diaspora,’” 3. 15. Die Welt, 28 February 2011; Spiegel Online, 27 February 2011; Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung, 28 February 2011; The Guardian, 28 February 2011.

Appendix I Local Navy Clubs in Sample Years

EUROPE Austria-Hungary

1904

1909

1913

37

51

61

3

5

6

Asch

x

x

Prague

x

x

x

Trautenau

x

x

x

Triest

x

x

x

x

x

Innsbruck Aussig Bulgaria

x 0

1

Rustschuk

2 x

Sofia

x

x

0

0

2

2

x

x

x

x

x

x

0

0

France

2

Paris

x

Cognac

x

Great Britain

4

Edinburgh-Leith

x

Glasgow London Newcastle

x

Greece

6

Athens

x

Sciphos

x

Limnae

x

Laurium

x

Patras

x

Corfu

x (continued)

268

Appendix I 1904

1909

1913

Italy

3

14

16

Milan

x

x

x

Prato Florence

x x

x

Livorno

x

x

Camaiore

x

x

Carrara

x

x

Lucca

x

Massa-Marittima

x x

Parma

x

x

Pietrasanta

x

x

Pisa

x

x

San Piero

x

Spezia

x

x

Viareggio

x

x

Volterra Rome

x x

Venice

x

x

x

x

Palermo Luxembourg

x 0

Differdingen

1

2

x

x

5

3

Esch Netherlands

x 2

Amsterdam

x

x

Rotterdam

x

x

x

s’Gravenhage

x

x

x

Wyk-Maastricht

x

Vento

x

Portugal

3

2

3

Lissabon

x

x

x

Oporto

x

x

Horta (Azores)

x

x

x

Malta

1

1

1

La Valetta

x

x

x

Romania

0

0

1

Bacau

x (continued)

Appendix I

Russia

1904

1909

1913

1

2

1

x

x

Abo (Finland) Rostoff/Don Spain

x

x

12

16

23

Barcelona

x

x

x

San Felix de Guixols

x

x

x

Valencia Malaga

x x

Antequera

x

x

x

x

Cadiz

x

x

x

Palamos

x

x

x

Puerto de Sta. Maria

x

x

x

Algeciras

x

Jerez la Frontera

x

Sevilla

x

x

x

Bilbao

x

x

x

x

x

Gijon Oviedo

x

San Sebastian

x

x

x

Santander

x

x

x

x

x

Vigo La Coruna

x

x

x

Huelva

x

x

x

Alicante

x

Palma de Mallorca

x

Molinar

x

Bivero

x

Bagur Switzerland

x 0

1

0

1

1

x

x

22

26

34

Ottoman Empire

9

11

12

Beirut

x

x

x

Zurich Turkey

0

x

Constantinople ASIA

269

(continued)

270 Appendix I 1904

1909

1913

x

x

x

x

x

Aleppo

x

x

x

Damaskus

x

x

x

Marasch

x

x

x

Ursa

x

x

x

x

x x

Alexandrette Antiochia

Adana Jaffa

x

x

Jerusalem

x

x

x

x

x

China

7

9

12

Chinkiang

x

x

x

x

x

Haifa Mersina

x

Wilhelma near Jaffa

x

Yangtze-Huangshan Tschangtsen Hankow

x x

x

x

Hankang

x

x

Wuchang

x

x

Wongshikong

x

Pinghsiang

x

x

Tientsin

x

x

x

Shanghai

x

x

x

x

x

Tschisu Canton

x

x

Amoy

x

Ischang

x

Japan

1

Yokohama

x

Philippines

1

1

1

Manila

x

x

x

India

1

1

2

0

1 x

Rangoon

x

Calcutta

x

x

x

Ceylon

1

1

1

Colombo

x

x

x (continued)

Appendix I

Persia

1904

1909

1913

0

0

1

0

1

1

x

x

1

1

1

Tehran Siam

x

Bangkok Straits Settlements Penang

x

x

x

Sumatra

0

0

1

(Hawaii)

1

1

1

Honolulu

x

x

x

AFRICA

8

13

13

Egypt

1

2

2

Alexandria

x

x

x

x

x

Medan

x

Port Said Morocco

2

6

5

Casablanca

x

x

x

x

x

x

x

Saffi

x

x

Tanger

x

x

Marrakesch Mogador

x

Rabat Portuguese East Africa

x 1

1

1

Lourenzo-Marques

x

x

x

Portuguese West Africa

1

1

1

South Africa

2

2

3

Capetown

x

x

x

x

x

Loanda

x

Worcester Johannesburg

x

Pretoria

x

West Africa

1

1

Warri, Southern Nigeria

1 x

Coko Lagos

271

x x (continued)

272

Appendix I

CENTRAL AMERICA, CARIBBEAN Costa Rica

1904

1909

1913

21

23

30

0

0

1

San José de Costa Rica

x

Guatemala

2

2

2

Coban

x

x

x

x

x

Guatemala Honduras

1

1

4

Amapala

x

x

x

San Pedro Sula

x

Sta. Rosa de Copan

x

Tegucigalpa Mexico

x 1

1

4

x

x

Guadalajara

x

Mazatlan Mexico City

x

x

Monterrey Nicaragua

x 3

Bluefields

6

7

x

x

Managua

x

x

x

Granada

x

x

x

Jinotega

x

x

Leon

x

x

x

x

x

Matagalpa San José de Costa Rica Haiti

11

9

8

Port au Prince

x

x

x

Aux Cayes

x

x

x

Bonaires

x

x

Aquin

x

Conaives

x

Jérémie

x

x

x

Cap Haitien

x

x

x

Jacmel

x

x

Miragoane

x

x

x

Saint Marc

x

x

x (continued)

Appendix I 1904

1909

Petit Goâve

x

x

Port de Paix

x

Sanchez

x

Santo Domingo

3

4

4

Santo Domingo

x

x

x

La Romana

1913

x

Monte Christi

x

x x

San Pedro de Macoris

x

x

Puerto Plato

x

x

21

30

41

1

1

2

SOUTH AMERICA Argentina Buenos Aires

x

Puerto San Julian Patagonia

x

Bolivia

0

x

x

1

2

Cochabamba

x

La Paz

x

x

Brazil

6

8

9

Bahia

x

x

x

Curitiba

x

x

x

Desterro

x

x

Joinville Pernambuco

x x

x

Porto do Cachoeiro

x

x

x

x

Rio de Janeiro

x

x

x

Sao Feliz

x

x

x

0

4

Victoria Chile Antosagasta

x x

14 x

Calama

x

Caleta-Coloso

x

Mejiones

x

Concepcion Osorno Punta Arenas

273

x x

x x (continued)

274

Appendix I 1904

1909

1913

Santiago de Chile

x

Tacna

x

Taltal

x

x

Talca

x

Temuco

x

Valparaiso

x

Valdivia

x

Rio Bueno Columbia

x 1

3

Bogota Cali

2 x

x

Palmira

x

x

x

San José de Cuenta

x

Ecuador

1

1

3

Guayaquil

x

x

x

Bahia de Caraquez

x

Manta Paraguay

x 1

1

1

Asuncion

x

x

x

Peru

5

6

2

Arequipa

x

x

x

Lima

x

x

x

Piura

x

x

Cuzco

x

x

Callac

x

x

Trujillo

x

Uruguay

1

1

1

Montevideo

x

x

x

Venezuela

5

4

5

Ciudad Bolivar

x

x

x

Caracas

x

x

Barrancas

x

El Calles (?)

x

San Fernando

x

Puerto Cabello

x

x

Valencia

x

x

Maracaibo

x

x

(continued)

Appendix I 1904

1909

1913

AUSTRALIA

2

1

0

Brisbane

x

Sydney

x

x

112

154

TOTAL

275

179

Sources: Central League for German Navy Clubs Abroad, Annual Reports 1898–1913, all in BAMA RM3/9922 and 9923; Kriegsbericht, BAB R 8023/309/23–27, 9 October 1919.

This page intentionally left blank

Appendix II German Protestant Congregations Abroad, 1904

ABBREVIATIONS: Associations GC = German Club (Deutscher Verein); SC = Singing Club or church choir (Gesangsverein); SA = Support Association (Hilfsverein); YA = Youth Association (Jünglingsverein); YLA = Young Ladies’ Association (Jungfrauenverein); KC = Knitting Club (Nähverein); WA = Women’s’ Association Attachment P = Prussian State Church; S = Royal Saxonian State Church; H = Hannover State Church; W = Weimar State Church; GAV = Gustav Adolf Verein; PHV = Protestantisch Kirchlicher Hilfsverein; GK = Gotteskasten; BV = Barmer Verein; LPV = La Plata Verein; D = ‘Diaspora’ in Hamburg; HM = Hermannsburger Mission; BM = Berliner Mission; NM = Neuendettelsauer Mission; AM = Allgemeiner Protestantischer Evangelischer Missionsverein Notes

C = Church building; F-GAV = Funding from GAV; F-GPCB = Funding from German Protestant Church Board (Deutscher Evangelischer Kirchenausschuß)

Münster-Dachsfelden

Delsberg

St. Immertal

Laufen

Pruntut

3

4

5

6

La Chaux-de Fonds

Le Locle

Cernier

Fleurier

Vignobles

Montagnes

8

9

10

11

12

13

Bulle

Stäffis

14

15

Canton Freiburg

Neuchâtel

7

Canton Neuenburg

Neuenstadt

2

Canton Bern

Congregation with branches

1

Nr.

1862

1873

1861

1856

1861

1844

1836

1770

1901

1827

1850

1831

1839

Est.

1,100

1,000

1,500

1,000

1,200

2,000

6,000

4,000

7,600

3,000

750

700

Members Switzerland

School

Teachers/ Pupils

SC

YA, KC

SC, KC

SC, KC, YLA

SC, YA, KC, YLA, city mission

library, KC

YA, library

Associations attached to congregation

PHV

PHV

Attachment to Germany

C

C

C

C

C

C

C

C

C

Notes

278 Appendix II

Lausanne—freie deutsche Gemeinde

Vevey

Payerne

Morges

Aigle

Yverdon

Montreux

17

18

19

20

21

22

23

Geneva—German Lutheran Church

Geneva—freie deutsche reformierte Kirche

25

26

Bellinzona

Lugano

27

28

Canton Tessin

Geneva—deutsche Staatskirche

24

Canton Genf

Lausanne—deutsche Staatskirche

16

Canton Waadt

1901

1868

1707

before 1700

1879

1868

1864

1857

1855

1833

1885

before 1700

100

400

1,000

1,300

8,000

2,000

1,200

600

2,000

4,000

2,000

1,000

5,000

x

x -/45

8/200

YA, YLA, mission association

KC, city mission, deaconesses, hostel for housemaids

KC, SC, discussion group, newspaper

YA, YLA, KC, SC, Assoc. for Hotel Employees

YLA

library

KC

YA, KC, SC

WA, SC, library

PHV

PHV

P

PHV

PHV

PHV

PHV

(continued)

C

C

C

?

C

C

C

C

C

C

C

C

Appendix II 279

Rotterdam

Amsterdam

Zeist

Nijmwegen

3

4

5

Antwerp—Prot. congregation

Antwerp—Christuskirche

Brussels—French/German Congregation

6

7

8

Belgium

den Haag

2

Netherlands

Congregation with branches

1

Nr.

1804

1879

1519

1746

1862

1857

Est.

School

Associations attached to congregation

1,300

1,460

2,000

300

900

450

x

x

x

x

x

25/424

30/600

7/200

7/150

3/118

pensioners’ hostel, young ladies’ hostel, boarding house for pupils and female teachers

KC, housemaids’ association, deaconesses’ association, seamen’s mission, YMCA

WA, hostel, YLA, KC, Single Women’s Association

Reformed and Lutheran congregation, both part of Dutch church, but with German pastor

KC, YA, YLA, SC, seamen’s hostel, Diakonie

KC, YA, YLA

Netherlands, Belgium, Luxemburg

Members

Teachers/ Pupils

all Belgian National Church

Herrnhut

P

P

Attachment to Germany

C together with French section

C

C

C

C

Notes

280 Appendix II

Esch

12

Copenhagen—reformed

Fredericia—reformed

2

3

6

Gothenburg

5

Christiana

Norway

Stockholm—St. Gertrud

4

Sweden

Copenhagen—Lutherische Petrikirche

1

Denmark

Luxemburg

11

1,200

2,500 ‘substantial’

1570 17th cent.

1821

1821

c. 1600 4,000

1868

78 25

Hasselt

750

Romsu

1816

800 320

Lüttich—with

10

1862

Verviers

Seraing

x

x

x

x

-/30

16/450

Scandinavia

Luxemburg

3/65

1/25

SC, deaconesses, destitutes’ support association

nursing home; convent

men’s’ club, WA, YA, SC

YMCA

W?

W?

all Danish State Church all Swedish State Church

9

(continued)

C

C

C

C

C

Appendix II 281

Congregation with branches

St. Marien

St. Paul

St. Georg

Camberwell

Islington

Sydenham

Christuskirche

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

Middlesbrough

Newcastle on Tyne

Bradford

Hull

Sunderland

South Shields

Liverpool

Cardiff—seamen’s mission

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

Other cities

Hamburger Lutherkirche

1

London

Great Britain

Nr.

1887

1847

1879

1863

1848

1877

1890

1897

1904

1875

1857

1854

1762

1697

1694

1669

Est.

1,100

200

300

350

400

350

95

350

650

500

112

3,000

1,100

2,000

600

Members

x

x

x

x

x

x

x

x

x

x

x

x

x

School

1/90

1/28

3/31

-/30

-/22

-/20

-/22

4/60

2/70

6/230

2/65

3/60

-/100

Teachers/ Pupils

KC, SC, YLA

SC, WA

KC, YLA

YLA, KC, SC

KC, YA, YLA, SC

SC, KC, lectures

KC, YA, YLA, SC, Turnverein, deaconesses, handicraft assoc.

SC, KC, Turnverein

YA, WA, SC, KC

KC, SC, YA

Associations attached to congregation

H

pastor P

P

P

P

P

P

pastor P

pastor P

pastor P

Attachment to Germany

C, school

C

C

C

C

C

C

C, school

C

C

C

Notes

282 Appendix II

Glasgow

Dundee

Aberdeen (with Dundee)

19

20

21

Paris Christusgemeinde

Paris Billettes

Paris La Vallette

Bordeaux

Marseille

Lyon

Cannes

Mentone

Nice

Monaco

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

France

Edinburgh

1899

1856

1872

1869

1851

1846

1838

1860

1809

1872

1904

1903

1897

1863

1853

1899

Manchester

North Manchester

18

17

600

600

1,200

2,000

600

600

1,000

2,000

35

45

300

400

240

600

x

x

x

x

4/130

2/20

1/25

-/32

nursing home

YA, YLA, SC

KC, YA, YLA, SC, young ladies’ hostel

KC, YLA, SC, young ladies’ hostel, seamen’s mission

young ladies’ hostel; YLA

KC, SC, Samaritans’ Association; Elisabeth Association

KC, SC, men’s association, YLA

women’s hostel; waiters’ hostel; KC, YA, YLA, SC

men’s and women’s evenings

KC, YA

SC

KC, SC, evenings for waiters, men’s evenings

P

P

P

P

pastor P

(continued)

C; F-GAV

C

C

C; F-GAV

C; F-GAV

C; F-GAV

C; F-GAV

C; F-GAV

C; F-GAV

C

C, seamen’s hostel

C

Appendix II 283

Algier

Saida

11

12

Barcelona

Valencia (with Barcelona)

2

3

Lisbon, Embassy congregation

Amora (with Lisbon)

Oporto

Horta/Azores

Bergamo

Gardone Fasano

4

5

6

7

1

2

Portugal

Madrid

1

Spain

Congregation with branches

Nr.

1888

1807

1900

1901

1893

before 1755

1885

1885

1903

Est.

500

35

120

500

171

500

200

Members

x

x

x

x

x

x

Italy

-/10

1/43

8/69

15/195

Iberian Peninsula

School

Teachers/ Pupils

German club for spa community

YLA

SA, SC

SC

reading room for foreign legionaries

Associations attached to congregation

P

P

P

P

P

P

P

Attachment to Germany

C

F-GAV

C

C

75 out of 195 pupils German

winter spa

Notes

284 Appendix II

Bari

Messina

Palermo (with Messina)

Naples with

5

6

7

8

Rome, Embassy congregation

Florence

Livorno

Genua

Bologna

San Remo

Pallanza

Bellagio

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

Piedimonte d’Alife

Fratte di Salerno

Scafati

Venice

and Saronno

Milan

4

3

1874

1869

1773

1898

1819

1826

1844

1650

1850

130

650

146

6

200

50

650

100

70

100

1,200

x

x

x

x

x

x

x

x

7/100

14/120

3/-

2/25

11/185

3/75

German club

German club

young ladies’ hostel, hospital, asylum

hospital, WA, seamen’s mission

WA; hospital

hospital, Emma-hostel, seamen’s mission

hospital

hospital, women’s hostel, station mission; SA; KC, SC, YA, YLA, mission association

pastor P

P

P

P

P

pastor P

P

P

P

(continued)

winter spa

winter spa

C

winter spa

C

C

C

winter spa

C

C

Appendix II 285

Congregation with branches

Bucharest

Câmpina (with Bucarest)

Craîova

Rimnic-Vâlcea

Turn-Severin

Fârgu-Jin (with Turn-Severin)

Pitesti

Braila

Islaz (with Braila)

Jakobsontal (with Braila)

Bŭzeŭ (with Braila)

Galatz, with Sulina and Macaresti

Constanza, with Cogeali, Cobadin, Fachrie, Sarighiol, Mamuslie

Nr.

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

8,000

Members

1883

1845

1897

1844

1865

1864

1864

1893

1,400

425

70

128

146

500

170

70

95

200

1857 5–6000

c.1730

Est.

x

x

x

x

x

x

x

x

6

10/370

6/122

1/18

6/102

4/92

4/84

4/44

6/133

46/1,124

Romania

School

Teachers/ Pupils

YLA, SC

WA

WA

SC

WA, YLA

WA, Gustav Adolf Verein

orphanage, hostels, SC, asylum,

Associations attached to congregation

P

?

P

P

P

P

Attachment to Germany

C

C; F-GAV

C

C; F-GAV; funds Reich

C; F-GAV; F-GPCB; funds Reich

C; F-GAV

C, school buildings

Notes

286 Appendix II

Athens, Royal Court Chapel

Sofia

Belgrade

Constantinople, Embassy congregation

Saloniki, with Palekura, Ueskueb

1

1

2

1

2

1850

Cataloi

Octachivi

Cogealac

18

19

Tariverde

17

20

1877

Cincurova

16

1895

1843

1854

1886

1837

20

1879

1858

1848

Atmagea with:

15

1803

Jassy, with Bacau, Buhusi, Piatia, Dorohoi, Botosani

14

188

700

162

200

300

54

760

645

294

355

350

Greece 6/70

1/17

1/139

1/131

1/53

1/82

3/52

-/152

6/125

x

x

-/584

Turkey, European

x

x

Bulgaria, Serbia

x

x

x

x

x

x

x

SC

SA, KC, SC, hostel

P

P

discontinued P, GAV

P

P

(continued)

F-GAV; F-GPCB; PHV; fund Kaiser

C, funded by King of Greece

C; F-GAV

C

Appendix II 287

Congregation with branches

Smyrna

Eskischehir, with Diledjit Angora, Kutahija, Afionkara-hissar, Aschai, Akschehir, Konia, Evegli

Beirut

Haifa

Jaffa

Jerusalem

Bethlehem, mission station

Nr.

1

2

1

2

3

4

5

1852

1897

1893

1856

1904

1759

Est.

500

124

145

150

235

Members

3/120

14/151

x

x

x

x

3/65

3/19

3/-

Syria, Palestine

x

x

Asia minor

School

Teachers/ Pupils

orphanage

orphanage, hospital, asylum, hospice, KC, SC, SA

KC, SC

orphanage, Johanniter-hospital

orphanage, SC

Associations attached to congregation

P

P

P

P

P

P

Attachment to Germany

Jerusalemverein

C, Jerusalemfoundation

Jerusalemverein

F-GAV; Jerusalemverein

F-GAV; Jerusalemverein

‘railway school’

F-GAV; fund Kaiser

Notes

288 Appendix II

Jerusalem Jaffa Sarona Haifa, with Bethlehem Wilhelma

Alexandria

Cairo, with Heluan, Assuan, Port Said, Ismailia

Dar es Salâm, with: Tanga Bagamoyo Kilwa Lindi

Shanghai Hong kong Tientsin Kiautschou

1 2 3 4 5

1

2

1

1 2 3 4

Templar-congregations

57 150 1,800

1897

120 80 20–25 20–25 20–25

2,200

1,000

252 320 243 517 123

1890 1900

1898

1873

1856

1873 1869 1871 1869 1902

12/160

6/101

Egypt

5/40 2/37 2/31 2/63 2/31

x

x x

x

China 4/55 1/11

1/-

German East Africa

x

x

x x x x x

girls’ school -/58

boys’ school 9/81

seamen’s mission, SC

SC, WA, SA, deaconesses’ hospital deaconesses’ hospital, SA

YA, YLA, WA, SC hospital

marine pastor

W

P

P

P

(continued)

funds Reich

C

C, F-GPCB

C; F-GAV; fund Kaiser C, F-GPCB

Appendix II 289

Congregation with branches

Tokyo

Yokohama

Kobe

Apia (Samoa)

Hawaii—Honolulu

Hawaii—Lihue

Queensland—Charters Towers

Queensland—Bundaberg

Cape Town

Bellville

Eerste River

Wijnberg

Neu-Eisleben

Nr.

1

2

3

1

2

3

4

5

1

2

3

4

5

1871

1886

1861

1886

1880

1900

1898

1888

1885

Est. Japan

2/16

x

x

x

x

-/37

1/90

1/30

Polynesia, Queensland

x

School

KC

Associations attached to congregation

70

550

29

61

1,800

x

x

x

x

-/19

-/137

-/7

-/474

SC

KC, men’s association, SA, seamen’s mission

Protestant Lutheran Synod of South Africa

500

400

53

67

Members

Teachers/ Pupils

H

H

H

H

H

P

P

W, AM

W, AM

Attachment to Germany

C

C

C

C

C

C pastor AM

Notes

290 Appendix II

Wijnberg-Vlakte

Paarl

Worcester

Port Elizabeth

East London

Kwelegha

Bell

Bodiam

Berlin

Potsdam

Macleantown

King Williamstown

Queenstown

Keiskamahoek

Emnquesha

Braunschweig

(Stutterheim)

Kroondal

Beaconsfield

Bloemfontein

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

17

18

19

20

21

22

1

2

3

1876

1885

1890

1865

1880

1893

1883

1864

1864

1871

1871

1871

1858

1858

1871

1871

1899

1877

1883

1901

x

x

x

x

x

x

x

x

x

x

x

x

x

x

-/16

-/65

-/25

-/86

-/82

-/17

-/50

-/47

-/39

-/213

-/66

-/210

-/139

SC

SC

SC

SC

SC, SA

KC, SC, SA

SC

180

150

79 x

x

x

-/30

Oranje River Colony and Transvaal

600

390

126

189

40

533

140

239

103

50

20

240

1,000

300

421

252

430

BM

BM

HM

BM

H

H

H

H

H

H

H

H

H

H

H

H

H

H

H

H

(continued)

C

C

C

C

C

C

C

Appendix II 291

Congregation with branches

Kimberley

Pretoria

Johannesburg

Windhuk with mission stations Brakwater, Waldau, Seeis, Hohewarte, Haris, Otjisewa

Swakopmund

Hermannsburg

Neu-Hannover

Lüneburg

Bethanien

Biggarsberg

Ekuhlengeni

Wartburg

Müden

Nr.

4

5

6

1

2

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

1890

1890

1890

1888

1887

1870

1862

1854

1905

1896

1888

1891

1875

Est.

92

292

57

99

137

184

303

114

300

2,000

500 families

200

Members

11/240

3/60

-/35

x

x

x

x

x

x

x

x

government school

government school

Natal

-/11

-/54

-/5

-/21

-/21

-/34

-/74

-/29

3/-

German Southwest Africa

x

x

x

School

Teachers/ Pupils

SC, children’s nursery

Associations attached to congregation

C 1912

P

H

H

H

H

H

H

H

H

C 1910

Notes

P

P

Attachment to Germany

292 Appendix II

Lilienthal

New Germany

10

11

Luiz da Forá with

Mar de Herpanha

Mariano Procopio

2

3

4

Californien

S. Leopoldina I

S. Leopoldina II

2

3

4

Petropolis

2

São Paulo

Rio Claro

1

2

São Paulo

Rio de Janeiro

1

Rio de Janeiro

Campinho de S. Izabel

1

Espirito Santo

Theophilo Ottoni

1

Mina Geraes

Neuenkirchen

9

1869

1845

1827

1882

1864

1873

1847

1886

1886

1862

1848

1898

1891 x

x

x -/40

-/18

-/29

2,500

600

5,150

1,400

1,300

1,800

200

500

900

x

x

x

x

x

x

x

x

x

x

x

3/86

9/178

3/107

13/312

4/47

1/15

2/40

-/30

SA

WA, SC

Brazil (without Rio Grande do Sul)

400

125

148

P

P

P

P

P

P

P

P

P

P

P

BM

H

H

(continued)

C

F-GPCB

C

Appendix II 293

Campinas

Limeira

3

4

Curityba luth. congr.

Ponta Grossa

Cupim luth. congr.

Castro luth congr.

Lapa ev. congr.

Rio Negro ev congr.

2

3

4

5

6

7

São Bento ev. congr.

Pedreira ev. congr.

Pedreira luth. congr.

Brüdertal luth. congr.

Joinville luth. congr.

Inselstraße luth. congr.

Blumenau ev. congr.

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

Santa Catharina

Curityba ev. congr.

1

Paraná

Congregation with branches

Nr.

1857

1862

1851

1884

1901

1905

1899

1889

1901

1895

1878

1900

1872

1874

1893

Est.

2,000

1,500

Members 3/76 -/17

School x x

7,500

x

-/3,000

-/55

x

BV, P

GK

GK

GK

GK

BV, P

BV, P

4/96

x

1050

1/40

x

BV

GK

1/41

x

GK

GK

P

Attachment to Germany

GK

3/100

x

Associations attached to congregation

x

5/115

x

x

Teachers/ Pupils

x

1,200 10,000 (with 13 Indayal)

C

F-GAV

Notes

294 Appendix II

Brusque ev. congr.

Timbó ev. congr.

Hansa ev. congr.

Itoupava ev. congr.

Indayal luth. congr.

S. Izabella ev. congr.

Desterro ev. congr.

Orleans do Sul ev. congr.

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

1902

1903

1870

1890

1902

1902

1898

1886

1883

1,000

1,000 families

Montenegro

Porto Alegre

Barão do Triumpho

S. Leopoldo

Lomba Grande

Hamburger Berg

Sapyranga

Mundo Novo

Taquara

Tres Forquilhas

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

Synod East

1828

1894

1860

1876

1830

1835

1835

1895

1865

1864

220

450

320

350

318

351

176

560

190

Families

Rio Grande do Sul Synod (in connection with BV)

Badenfurt ev. congr.

8

x

x

x

3/60

x

x

x

x

x

x

x

x

x

x

x

-/135

-/52

-/50

1/-

15/500

2/72

2/60

3/38

1/79

1/42

3/55

25/-

P

P

P

BV

BV, P

BV

GK

BV

BV

BV, P

BV, P

BV, P

(continued)

C

C

F-GAV

F-GAV

F-GAV

C

Appendix II 295

Baumschneiz

Pikade 48

Neuschneiz

Nova Petropolis

Feliz

Forromeco

Alfredo Chavez

S. Sebastião

Neu-Frankreich (Linha Brochier)

Teutonia I (North)

Teutonia II (South)

Estrella

Pella-Taquary

Orleans

11

12

13

14

15

16

17

18

19

20

21

22

23

24

Pelotas

Rio Grande

S. Domingos with

S. Helena

Arroio do Padre

1

2

3

4

5

Synod South

Congregation with branches

Nr.

1902

1905

1901

1899

1889

1892

1906

1906

1873

1869

1868

1895

1871

1870

1860

1856

1845

1829

Est.

80

50

98

30

Families

30

120

234

250

225

100

104

144

415

297

366

240

Members

x

x

x

x

x

x

x

x

x

x

x

School

1/42

4/95

4/61

1/62

-/40

1/-

-/50

110

Teachers/ Pupils

seamen’s mission

Associations attached to congregation

P

P

P

P

P

P

P

Attachment to Germany

C

C

F-GAV

C

C

Notes

296 Appendix II

Augustastraße

Quevedos

V. Sao Lourenço

7

8

9

Rio Pardinho

Lageado

Conventos

Venancio Aires

Boa Vista-Montalverne

S. Cruz

V. Thereza

Ferraz

Trombudo

V. Germania

Agudo

Paraiso

S. Maria

Ijuhy

Neu-Württemberg

II. Diasporabezirk

Rincão Sã Pedro

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

17

Synod West

Alliança

6

1904

1902

1895

1882

1865

1862

1904

1906

1866

1874

1862

1874

1884

1887

1900

1866

1903

1903

1905

1905

50

150

113

150

85

380

350

95

90

159

120

390

100

166

190

120

435

Families

26

50

120

x

x

x

x

x

x

x

2/63

1/40

1/70

4/122

1/9

1/48

1/70

SC

P

P

P

P

P

(continued)

C, F-GAV

Appendix II 297

São Leopoldo with

4

1906

1905

983

425

115

Maratá with

8

1906

1903

Holland

Rolante

7

530

550

240

30

30?

263

180

392

50

164

356

Dois Irmãos

6

1902

1903

1902

School

Associations attached to congregation

x

x

x

x

x

2

x

x

x

x

x

x

x

x

1/28

1/38

1/58

-/60

-/45

95

3/103

1/10

1/42

-/33

1/28

2/33

1/14

-/33

Missouri Synod Congregations in South America

Members

Campestre

Estancia Velha

5

Canoar

Morro Pelado

Porto Alegre

1906

1906

Triumpho e Costa Arroio Grande

1901

Santa Colletta

Harmonia-Cont.

1901

Santa Eulalia

1901

1902

Morro Redondo

Bom Jesus with

1900

Est.

Sao Pedro with

Brazil

Congregation with branches

3

2

1

Nr.

Teachers/ Pupils

Attachment to Germany Notes

298 Appendix II

Rincão dos Valles with General Osorio

Alto Jacuhy

Ijuhy with Serro Cadeado

16

17

18

19

Serro Branco with Serro Alegre

15

San Juan near Urdinarrain with San Antonio, Angel Sturla

Argentina

Rincão São Pedro with Nova Santa Cruz

14

1902

Sertão de São Vicente

Toropy with Villa Clara

Jaguary with

12

13

1902

Picada Sitio

11

1905

1905

1903

1902

1903

1903

1903

1905

1906

Alfredo Chaves with Tiradentes

10

1904

Roca Salles with Palma, Arroio do Meio, Arroio Augusto, Anta Gorda, Baretão, Lageado bonito, Burro Feio, Figueira, Linha boa vista

9

850

560

306

81

120 70

316

113

139

500

319

300

719

x

x

x

x x

x

x

x

x

x

x

-/80

-/55

-/41

1/27

-/26

1/20

-/31

-/25

1/71

3/52

(continued)

Appendix II 299

S. Gerónimo

Carcaraná

General Alvear with

Lucas Gouzalez

V. Urquiza

Montevideo

Nueva Helvecia

Asuncion

Travel Pastor

11

13

14

15

16

17

18

19

Roldan

12

Rosario with

Felicia

6

10

Progreso

5

9

Esperanza with

4

San Carlos

Baradero

3

Humboldt

Quilmes

2

8

Buenos Aires with

1

7

Congregation with branches

Nr.

1903

1893

1897

1857

1894

1898

1896

1895

1895

1895

1894

1888

1864

1895

1887

1871

1866

1898

1843

Est.

Family visits

250

800

400

250

100

3,500

300

300

300

1,000

600

100

100

162

800

270

70

5,500

Members

x

x

x

x

x

x

x

x

x

x

x

x

x

x

x

x

1-/

1/-

1/-

1/-

2/-

1/-

1/-

1/-

1/-

19/320

La Plata Countries

School

Teachers/ Pupils

SC

Associations attached to congregation

P

P

P

P

P

P

P

P

P

P

P

P

P

P

P

P

P

P

P

Attachment to Germany

F-GAV, LPV, PHV

C, F-GAV

C

F-GPCB, LPV

C

F-GPCB

C

C

C

C

Notes

300 Appendix II

Santiago

Valparaiso

Concepcion with

Los Angeles

Traiguen-Providencia

Victoria with Ercilla, Pua, Quillem, Lautaro, Temuco, Neu Imperial, Carahue, Tolten-Freire

Valdivia with

La Union

Rio Bueno

Osorno

Frutillar with Volcan, Puerto Octay, P. de los bajos, Totoral, Neu Braunau, Fábrica, Puerto Varas

Puerto Montt with Ancud

Peru: Callao-Lima

Venezuela: Carácas with Valencia, P. Cabello, Bolivar, Barquisimeto, Maracaibo, La Guaira

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

1

2

500 300

1894

1,200

1899

1865

1,000 1,000

1865

200

300

3,000

1895

1900

1900

1887

2,000 2,140

1889

1,000

2,000

2,000

1902

1905

1867

1885

7/196

3/100

7/260

3/50

4/100

18/400

8/200

2/100

2/81

9/120

12/222

x

x

7/100

4/45

Peru, Venezuela, Mexico

x

x

x

x

x

x

x

x

x

x

x

x

Chile Synod

SA

KC

YA, YLA, WA

SC

KC, orphanage

KC, SA, seamen’s mission

P

P

P

P

P

S

S

S

S

PHV

P

P

P

P

(continued)

F-GPCB

F-GPCB

C, F-GAV

F-GPCB, F-GAV

C, F-GAV

F-GAV

C, F-GAV

C, F-GAV

F-GAV

F-GAV

F-GAV

C

C, F-GAV

Appendix II 301

Mexico: Mexico

3

1903

Est. x

School 12/200

Australia I: General Synod (Protestant general)

Members

Associations attached to congregation P

Attachment to Germany Notes

b. Victoria and New South Wales Hochkirch, Hopetown, Murtoa, Natimuck, Germantown, Kornheim, Ni Well Worak, Indera, Gerogery, Headington Hill (Queensland), Perth (West Australia)

a. South Australia Mannum, Dutton, Hahndorf, Rosenthal (1858), Australian Plain, Bright, Blumberg (1858), Bethanien-Tanunda, Bethanien (1842), Karlsruhe-Waterloo, Waterloo, Yorketown (1877), Balaklava, Adelaide (1838), Lobethal (1842) (all with small parochial schools)

Australia III: Missouri Synod in Australia

Highfields, South Brisbane, Ipswich, Toowoomba, Nunday, Pittsworth, Laidley, Philadelphia, Mackay, Douglas, Teviotville, Pimpana Island, Bethanien Waterford (all with parochial school)

Australia II: Queensland German-Scandinavian Synod

a. Victoria Synod Dimboola (1866), Green Lake-Friedheim (1872), Melbourne (1834; Saturday school, 100 pupils), Germantown (1855), Murtoa (1874), Sandhurst Bendigo (1856), Doncaster (1858), Pleasant Hills (N.S.W.), Sydney (1884, school, 90 pupils), Walla Walla b. South Australian Synod Hahndorf, Adelaide, Endunda, Tanunda, Lightpaß, Nuriootpa, Mt. Gambier, Pointpaß c. Queensland Synod Maryborough, Nunday, Kirchheim, Engelsburg, Goornbumgee, Douglas, Beenleigh (1837), Toowoomba (1855), Brisbane (1857), Hutton Wale, Dugandan

Congregation with branches

Nr.

Teachers/ Pupils

302 Appendix II

Source: adapted from Ernst W. Bussmann, Evangelische Diasporakunde. Handbuch für Pfarrer und Freunde deutscher Auslandsgemeinden (Marburg: Elwert, 1908), pp. 397–422. Most data refer to 1904.

b. New Zealand Maxwelltown, Marton, Upper Mouters, Nelson Upp. M.

a. South Australia Rosenthal, Dutton, Tanunda, Reintal

Australia V: Other Congregations

Langmeil, Pointpaß, Lightspaß, Mt. Gambier, Calllington, Mannum, Natimuck, Yorketown, Steinfeld, Nain, Appila Yarrowie, Petersburg, Kotgil

Australia IV: Immanuel Synod in South Australia (Lutheran), all NM-attached

Appendix II 303

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Appendix III German Schools Abroad, 1912

Abbreviations: K=Kindergarten/pre-school; P=Primary and/or middle school; S=Secondary school I. GLOBAL Number of Pupils Number

Founded

Body

Form

878

1646– 1913

1 German government; 164 local Church Congregation; 658 local School Association; 3 School Board; 18 Religious Order; 9 Mission; 2 Foundation; 5 Deaconesses’ Organisation; 1 Orphanage; 9 Society; 3 Association; 5 Private

797 P 80 S 1 University

Male 31,269

Background of Pupils German German mother nationality tongue 30,183

8,943

Female

Total

24,932 56,201

Teachers

Host nationality

of Other these nation- ProtesOther ality tant Catholic Jewish Religion Total German

39,965

7,293

28,355 19,104

3,649

5,093

2,526

1,997

306

Appendix III

Teachers of German Nationality: Training

Revenue in Marks

Ratio weekly hours taught in German: Academic Seminary host language 136

582

40,646:10,664

Members’ contributions

School fees

Other

German Government

Expenses

662,716 3,276,124 1,134,772 955,360 7,578,197

II. CONTINENTS

Number Europe

100

Asia

65 P; 34 S; 1 Nursery

36

Africa Latin America and Hawaii

19 P; 17 S; 1 University

21

16 P; 6 S

714

Australia

Form

691 P; 24 S

4

3 P; 1 S

Number of Pupils

German Government Contributions in Marks

15,979

334,450

3,643

223,935

2,405

71,300

33,958

324,375

216

1,300

III. COUNTRIES AND LOCATIONS

1. Europe German Government Contributions in Marks p. a. Notes

Est.

Form

No. of Pupils/ Teachers

Antwerp

1840

S; K

794/39

17,500

Antwerp

1890

P

211/6

5,000

Brussels

1892

K; P; S

505/34

20,000

Brussels

1912

P

40/6

Location Belgium

Allgemeine Deutsche Schule Volksschule Volksschule (continued)

Appendix III

307

1. Europe (continued) German Government Contributions in Marks p. a. Notes

Location

Est.

Form

No. of Pupils/ Teachers

Gent

1910

P

25/4

Hoboken

1889

K

29/2

Lüttich

1907

K

72/9

Reerpelt

1909

P

20/1

Verviers

1866

P

309/9

1,000

Philippopel

1901

P; K

154/11

5,000

Rustschuk

1897

P; K

67/3

4,000

Sofia

1887

P

247/9

8,500

Copenhagen 1646

P

132/8

1,000

Copenhagen 1804

S

182/8

600

St. Petri-Mädchenschule (girls)

Copenhagen 1818

S

215/17

400

St. Petri-Realschule

2,500 2 factory schools 6,000 2 factory schools

Bulgaria

Denmark

St. Petri-Knabenschule (boys)

France Bordeaux

1907

P

10/1

Paris

1858

P; K

131/6

5,000

1897

P; K

129/7

5,000

Greece Athens Great Britain Glasgow

1901

P

48/4

300

Hull

1881

P

26/2

100

Liverpool

1865

P

102/2

London

1912

middle school

7/5

10,000

500

London

1805

P

224/6

1,000

St. Georgs-Schule

London

1708

P

116/4

1,000

St. Marien-Schule

London

1876

P

392/11

500

LondonIslington

1872

P

79/4

planned Realgymnasium

St. BonifatiusFortbildungsschule (also further education)

1,500 (continued)

308 Appendix III

1. Europe (continued) German Government Contributions in Marks p. a. Notes

Location

Est.

Form

No. of Pupils/ Teachers

London

1879

P

41/3

1,000

Orphanage; Kaiser-WilhelmFoundation

London

1890– 1903

P

247/5

1,000

5 charity schools

Newcastle o. T.

1895

P

49/2

100

P

14/2

1873

P

32/3

Dalmine/ Bergamo

1911

K

10/3

Florence

1882

K

73/9

4,750

middle school planned

Gardone

1902

K

15/5

1,500

middle school planned

Genoa

1869

K; P; S

107/11

7,500

Milan

1869

P; S

222/12

Milan

1886

K; P

84/4

Naples

1866

K; S

167/16

South Shields Sunderland

300

Italy Mannesmann tube works factory school

International School 3,000

Palermo

1890

P

33/4

2,000

Rome

1904

K; P; S

159/12

11,000

San Remo

1906

P

33/1

Saronno

1912

P

12/2

Venice

1892

K; P

58/7

3,500

Amsterdam

1899

P; S planned

183/10

12,000

Den Haag

1863

P

124/4

2,000

Rotterdam

1890

P; S planned

208/12

10,000

Rotterdam

1912

P

41/3

Venlo

1912

P

101/4

Deutsche Schule

300 middle school planned

Netherlands

Höhere Schule Volksschule

1,500 (continued)

Appendix III

309

1. Europe (continued)

Location

Est.

Form

No. of Pupils/ Teachers

German Government Contributions in Marks p. a. Notes

Austria-Hungary Budapest

1908

K; S planned

86/7

4,000

Amora

1894

P

8/1

1,800

Horta (Azores)

1901

P

5/1

Lissabon

1895

P; S planned

90/8

7,000

Porto

1901

K; S planned

52/6

3,500

Azuga

1907

K; P

62/3

500

Braila

1865

P

155/9

5,000

Portugal

Deutsche Atlantische TelegraphenGesellschaft company school

Romania

Bucharest: 1844– K; P; S 11 schools 1906

total total 23,600 4,739/211

Câmpina

1903

Constanza

1901

Craiova

1857

P

46/2

Curtea de 1911 Ardschesch

P

factory school

284/11

2,000

P

196/9

4,000

K; P; S

246/17

7,000 factory school

Galatz

1878

P; S

347/14

6,000

Jassy

1839

P

61/4

3,000

Letea

1902

P

17/3

300

Pitescht

1864

P

60/4

2,000

Plojescht

1903

P; S

245/18

Plojescht

1908

P

35/3

2,000

Rimnic Wultscha

1893

P

62/3

3,400

Sinaia

1895

P

19/3

100

Turn Severin 1863

P

54/5

2,500

Bucharest Deaconesses

(continued)

310 Appendix III

1. Europe (continued) German Government Contributions in Marks p. a. Notes

Est.

Form

No. of Pupils/ Teachers

1881 1892

P P

111/10 40/1

1,600 200

P P; S planned 1899– P; S 1906

195/13 80/4

500 3,000

total 360/43

total 17,500

1894 1896 1898 1908

K; P; S K; P; S P P

299/15 292/19 67/8 11/1

7,000 11,000 4,000

1875

P

74/4

2,500

1883

P

159/8

5,500

1867

K; P; S

742/36

40,000

1888

K; P; S

392/18

5,600

Location

Russia Helsingfors Keidany/ Kowno Moscow Odessa Riga: 4 schools

1838 1912

Spain Barcelona Madrid Malaga Puerto Orotava/ Teneriffa Turkey Jedikule/ Constantinople Karaagatsch/ Adrianople Constantinople Saloniki

railway company school

2. Asia

Location

Est.

Form

German Government No. of Pupils/ Contributions in Marks Teachers

Notes

Ottoman Asia a. Asia Minor Eskischehir 1895 Haidarpascha 1903

P P

171/7 153/7

railway company school 7,500 (continued)

Appendix III

311

2. Asia (continued)

Location

German Government No. of Pupils/ Contributions in Marks Teachers

Est.

Form

Notes

Smyrna

1893

S

70/9

4,000

Smyrna

1853

K; P

165/19

4,000

Aleppo

1911

K; E; S

84/10

6,000

Beirut

1862

S

170/15

1,500

Deaconesses

Beirut

1860

P

117/8

1,000

Deaconesses; Orphanage, only local children

Haifa

1882

P

32/4

1,500

Protestant

Haifa

1896

P

136/9

1,500

Catholic

Haifa

1869

P

109/5

2,500

Templars

Jaffa

1890

P

22/3

Jaffa

1871

P

77/4

4,000

Templars

Jerusalem: 5 schools

1851– 1906

K; P; S

total 701/42

10,700

Sarona

1873

K; P

54/3

2,000

Templars

Wilhelma

1903

P

47/5

2,000

Templars

1909

P

54/7

5,000

Deaconesses

b. Syria

c. Palestine

Protestant, Catholic, Templars, Deaconesses

d. Mesopotamia Bagdad China a. German Schools Hankow

1913

P

10/1

Shanghai

1895

K; P; S

101/9

8,500

Tientsin

1909 S planned

35/4

1,500 Only local children

b. GermanChinese Schools Hankow

1907 S planned

54/5

17,565

Canton Shanghai

1909 S planned

70/3

25,190

1907 University and 1912

213/23

30,000

Tientsin

1907 S planned

83/8

30,169

Tschöngtu

1909 S planned

57/4

11,311

Tsinanfu

1910 S planned

96/6

Medical School and Engineering Technical University

(continued)

312

Appendix III

2. Asia (continued) German Government No. of Pupils/ Contributions in Marks Teachers

Location

Est.

Form

Kajintschu/ Swatau

1910

P, S

62/3

Basle Missionary Society

Kutschuk/ Swatau

1906

S; teachers’ seminary

81/4

Basle Missionary Society

Lukhang/Canton 1905

Notes

P; S

130/9

Berlin Missionary Society

Tsiningtschu/ Tsinanfu

1909

S

160/8

Steyl Mission

Tunkgkun/ Canton

1909

S

33/5

Rhenisch Missionary Society

Japan Kobe

1909 S planned

20/2

2,500

Yokohama

1904

P

41/5

3,000

1907

P; S

235/10

41,000

Est.

Form

Nr. of Pupils/ Teachers

Alexandria

1884

K; P; S

138/14

3,500

Alexandria

1883

K; P; S

387/22

1,000

Cairo

1873

K; P; S

262/16

2,500

Cairo

1904

P; S

197/13

500

Persia Tehran

3. Africa

Location

German Government Contributions in Marks Notes

Egypt

Borromäerinnen Order Borromäerinnen Order

British South-Africa a. Cape East London

1900

P

131/6

10,000

Cape Town

1883

K; P

181/12

15,000

Kimberley

1880 afternoon

King Williams 1908 Town

K; P

19/3

300

56/3

3,000 (continued)

Appendix III

313

3. Africa (continued)

Form

Nr. of Pupils/ Teachers

German Government Contributions in Marks

Neu-Eisleben 1897

P

28/2

1,500

Paarl

1883

P

41/3

300

Port Elizabeth

1897

S planned

25/4

5,500

Location

Est.

Worcester

1889

P

74/4

1,500

Wynberg

1895

P

158/5

1,000

Wynberg Vlakte

1906

P

116/5

7,500

Bethania

1891

P

34/2

600

Kirchdorf

1882

P

25/2

600

K; P

69/3

1,500

Notes

b. Natal

c. Oranje River Colony Bloemfontein 1897 d. Transvaal Johannesburg 1897

P; S

302/11

2,000

Kroondal

1893

P

41/2

3,000

Pretoria

1899

P

53/4

5,000

Rickertsdam

1912

P

11/1

1909

K; P

57/6

Morocco Tangier

5,000

4. America

Location Argentina* Aldea Protestante Bahia Blanca Baradero Bariloche Barracas al Norte Belgrano

German Government Contributions in Marks

Est.

Form

No. of Pupils/ Teachers

1880

P

50/1

1,000

1904 1883 1907 1893 1897

P P P P P; S

35/3 32/2 10/1 150/8 154/13

1,000 300 500 6,000 5,000

Notes

(continued)

314

Appendix III

4. America (continued) German Government Contributions in Marks

Location

Est.

Form

No. of Pupils/ Teachers

Belgrano Buenos Aires (Germania Schule) Buenos Aires (Schulvereins Schule) Cañada de Gomez Cordoba Esperanza Town Esperanza Northwest Esperanza Southwest Felicia Klein-Humboldt La Esperanza Marcos Juarez Progreso Quilmes Ramirez Rosario I Rosario II Santa Fé

1910 1843

P K; P; S

161/6 394/24

1,000 15,000

1898

K; P; S

478/21

15,000

1906 1899 1901 1889

P P P P

37/2 100/5 44/3 46/2

300 6,000 2,000 500

1889 1904 1884 1912 1897 1891 1898 1910 1892 1900 1905

P P P P P P P P P P P

25/1 61/2 25/1 35/1 27/1 30/1 60/3 44/1 120/9 106/3 40/3

400 400 300 200 1,000 200 500 10,000 3,000 2,000

a. Rio de Janeiro State Rio de Janeiro

1862

P; S

210/10

7,500

Petropolis 3 schools

1874– 1897

P

total 593/17

total 5,000

Notes

Brazil†

b. Espirito Santo State Cachoeiro

1884

P

38/1

California, Tijuca Preto, Nolasco, Tres Pontões

1873– 1910

P

72/4

200

Santa Izabel 6 schools

1859– 1909

P

110/5

250

Sta. Leopoldina 12 schools

1864– 1911

P

267/15

800 (continued)

Appendix III

315

4. America (continued) German Government Contributions in Marks

Est.

Form

No. of Pupils/ Teachers

1892

P

89/3

800

Juiz de Fora 2 schools

1888/ 1900

P

total 96/4

total 1,500

Mar de Hespanha

1905

P

20/1

300

Theophilo Ottoni

1880

P

38/2

300

Campinas 2 schools

1863/ 1893

P

total 289/8

Campos Salles

1898

P

51/2

Pires de Limeira

1874

P

65/2

300

Rio Claro

1883

P

109/5

1,000

São Paulo

1878

P

214/11

3,000

São Paulo Mooca Braz

1911

P

35/2

500

Villa Marianna

1901

P

83/3

1,000

Location Sta. Maria 8 schools

Notes

c. Minas Geraes State

São Paulo State total 1,100 300

d. Paraná State Castro

1896

P

37/1

Curitiba 3 schools

1871– 1896

P; S

total 908/24

400

Imbituva 2 schools

1895/ 1911

P

total 93/3

Iraty

1911

P

40/1

Johannesdorf

1904

P

34/1

300

Lapa

1893

P

34/4

400

Mariental

1904

P

35/1

300

Papagaios Novos

1886

P

30/1

300

Passatres

1895

P

36/1

300

Ponta Grossa

1907

P

87/4

1,800

Prudentopolis

1908

P

43/1

Quero Quero

1882

P

27/1

Rio Negro 2 schools

1889/ 1903

P

total 123/6

total 10,500

400 total 2,000 (continued)

316

Appendix III

4. America (continued) German Government Contributions in Marks

Est.

Form

No. of Pupils/ Teachers

São Matheus

1906

P

25/2

800

União da Victoria

1899

P

56/1

500

Villa Nova

1899

P

42/1

300

Villinha dos Papagaios Novos

1912

P

30/2

Blumenau 3 schools

1888– 1902

P

total 413/17

Blumenau

1907

teachers’ seminary

5

Hammonia

1902

P

43/2

Hansa 8 schools

1904–1912

P

Taquaras

1905

P

12/1

200

Aquidabán

1909

P

28/1

200

Badenfurt

1866

P

39/1

250

Belchior

1900

P

26/1

Benjamin Constant

1903

P

20/1

Encano do Norte

1876

P

41/1

Oberer Encano

1909

P

22/1

Unterer Encano

1904

P

19/1

Gaspar 2 schools

1900/ 1904

P

total 102/4

Gaspar Alto

1901

P

20/1

Ilse Neiße

1886

P

34/1

Indayal

1897

P

32/1

Jordan Gaspar Alto

1909

P

25/1

Itoupava Central

1905

P

46/1

Itoupava Norte

1864

P

47/1

Itoupava Rega

1888

P

54/1

Location

Notes

e. Santa Catharina State Blumenau Consular District total 8,600 2,000

350

total 173/8 total 1,600

total 250

400

200 (continued)

Appendix III

317

4. America (continued) German Government Contributions in Marks

Est.

Form

No. of Pupils/ Teachers

Itoupava Secca

1906

P

49/1

150

Itoupavazinha

1872

P

47/1

200

Lontra

1908

P

19/1

100

Massaranduba

1895

P

53/1

200

Obere Massaranduba

1894

P

24/1

Matador

1908

P

17/1

Untere Mulde

1896

P

23/1

Alto Rio do Testo

1871

P

54/1

200

Rio do Testo Salto

1895

P

30/1

200

Unteres Selketal

1884

P

54/1

Südarm/Bella Allianca

1907

P

32/1

Tatutyba

1870

P

33/1

Weißbach 2 schools

1897

P

total 71/2

Location

Notes

200

200 200 total 250

Plus 44 further primary schools in the Blumenau consular district. Categories: ‘German mother-tongue,’ ‘Brazilian nationality,’ no German government support. Joinville Consular District Bananal

1912

P

22/1

Obere Banhadostraße

1887

P

24/1

250

Untere Banhadostraße

1911

P

42/1

100

Bechelbronn

1880

P

24/1

300

Bonpland

1904

P

25/1

200

Brüdertal

1900

P

28/1

100

Campo Alegre

1912

P

13/1

200

Humboldt

1899

P

74/2

3,600

Inselstraße

1864

P

79/1

100

Oberer Izabel

1906

P

19/1

200

Unterer Izabel

1900

P

31/1

200

Itapocusinho

1893

P

32/1

200

Jaraguá Central

1907

P

83/1

100

Jaraguá Nr. 19

1895

P

32/1

100 (continued)

318

Appendix III

4. America (continued) German Government Contributions in Marks

Est.

Form

No. of Pupils/ Teachers

Jaraguá Nr. 84

1901

P

38/1

Jaraguá Nr. 102

1908

P

26/1

Oberer Jaraguá

1906

P

27/1

Joinville 3 schools

1867– 1908

P; S

total 690/20

total 9,900

Lençol

1880

P

84/2

1,500

Oxford 2 schools

1889/ 1909

P

total 80/4

total 2,000

Paulstraße

1903

P

20/1

200

Pedreira

1865

P

86/1

200

Rio da Luz 3 schools

1896– 1904

P

total 135/3

total 250

Rio do Serro 2 schools

1901/ 1908

P

total 66/2

total 350

Rio Novo-Hansa

1907

P

27/1

200

São Bento 2 schools

1887/ 1907

P

total 158/10

Schröderstraße

1909

P

34/1

Serrastraße 3 schools

1869– 1904

P

total 202/3

Südstraße

1885

P

19/1

Weststraße

1883

P

26/1

Wunderwaldstraße

1904

P

26/1

Location

Notes

200

total 2,800 total 650

250

Itajahy Consular District Aguas Claras

1903

P

16/1

Brusque 2 schools

1870/ 1903

P

total 165/6

100

Großer Ceder

1876

P

28/1

100

Großer Fluß

1903

P

30/1

150

Hochebene

1903

P

28/1

Itajahy 2 schools

1903/ 1909

P

total 117/4

Lange Straße

1903

P

34/1

150

Maria Hilf

1903

P

54/1

150

Peterstraße

1903

P

80/1

250

Serafim

1909

P

36/1

150

Weimarstraße

1903

P

71/1

250

total 2,500

150 total 1,450

(continued)

Appendix III

319

4. America (continued) German Government Contributions in Marks

Form

No. of Pupils/ Teachers

1861

P

65/1

200

Annitapolis

1911

P

51/1

2,150

Braco do Norte 2 schools

1875/ 1894

P

total 191/6

total 1,200

Capivary 5 schools

1890– 1908

P

total 254/5

total 900

Cresciuma

1904

P

27/1

200

Cubatão

1909

P

16/1

200

Florianopolis

1888

P

83/4

2,000

Gabiroba

1907

P

29/1

300

Grummelbach

1900

P

15/1

200

Löffelscheid

1911

P

26/1

100

Michelsbach

1909

P

28/1

100

Location

Est.

Notes

Florianopolis Consular District Annaburg

Neu-Spandau

1904

P

27/1

300

Orléans do Sul

1905

P

22/1

150

Palhoça

1897

P

29/1

500

Ponte Imaruhy

1909

P

15/1

200

Rancho Queimado

1881

P

22/1

200

Rio Baixo

1909

P

30/1

Rio Bonito

1901

P

30/1

200

Rio Bravo

1911

P

24/1

100

Rio Cachorrinhas

1904

P

36/1

200

Rio Café

1911

P

21/1

100

Rio de Scharf

1903

P

25/1

200

Rio de Cedro

1909

P

15/1

200

Rio de Meio

1912

P

57/1

175

Rio de Poncho

1902

P

22/1

200

Rio de Perdidos

1905

P

18/1

150

Rio dos Pinheiros

1911

P

24/1

100

Rio Engano 2 schools

1899/ 1912

P

total 35/2

total 400

Rio Fortuna

1901

P

10/1

150 (continued)

320 Appendix III

4. America (continued) German Government Contributions in Marks

Est.

Form

No. of Pupils/ Teachers

Rio Fortuna e Rio Branco

1895

P

16/1

150

Rio Novo bei Orléans do Sul

1907

P

24/1

250

Rio Novo bei Theresopolis

1892

P

18/1

200

Rio Pequeno

1896

P

10/1

200

Rio São João

1895

P

30/1

100

Rio Sete

1885

P

18/1

250

Santa Isabel

1865

P

25/1

300

Santo Amaro

1910

P

32/1

150

São Pedro de Alcantara district 3 schools

1893– 1903

P

total 88/3

total 500

Serra Negra/Passo Trahyra

1911

P

23/1

Theresopolis

1908

P

37/1

200

Vargem do Cedro

1890

P

39/1

200

Vargem Grande

1910

P

30/1

200

Location

Notes

f. Rio Grande do Sul State Porto Alegre Consular District Adelha 2 schools

1897/ 1910

P

total 32/2

Alt- und NeuHamburg

1908

P

98/4

Arroio Grande

1904

P

500

35/1

Badenserberg

1871

P

55/1

Badensertal

1872

P

37/1

Burity

1912

P

23/1

Conventos

1863

P

44/1

Erechim

1911

P

24/1

Estrella

1889

P

32/1

Frankental

1874

P

27/1

General Osorio

1911

P

31/1

Hamburgerberg

1895

S

31/7

500

Ijuhy 7 schools

1902– 1912

P

total 220/7

total 450

200

(continued)

Appendix III

321

4. America (continued)

Location

No. of Pupils/ Teachers

German Government Contributions in Marks

Est.

Form

Linha Brazil 2 schools

1875/ 1896

P

total 43/2

Linha Grüner Jäger

1888

P

22/1

Montalverne

1872

P

30/1

Navegantes

1898

P

78/3

1,000

Neu-Württemberg 5 schools

1903– 1912

P

total 232/6

total 1,000

Paraiso

1912

P

26/1

Parecy Novo

1903

P

34/1

Passo Fundo

1906

P

13/1

Passo Selbach

1865

P

32/1

Piedade

1864

P

46/1

Porto Alegre 3 schools

1883– 1904

K; P; S

total 714/27

Rincão São Pedro

1911

P

27/1

Santa Catharina da Feliz

1846

P

42/1

Santa Clara

1908

P

45/1

Santa Cruz

1897

P; S

231/8

Santa Cruz

1910

teachers’ seminary

10/1

Santa Maria da Bocca do Monte

1912

P

126/6

São Ignacio da Feliz

1908

P

38/1

São João de Santa Cruz

1911

P

25/1

São José de Herval

1901

P

40/1

São Leopoldo

1849

P

67/4

São Raphael

1892

P

41/1

Serra Cadeado

1907

P

20/1

Taquary

1893

P

52/2

Trombudo

1901

P

13/1

Villa Thereza

1898

P

42/2

Wallachei

1858

P

40/1

Notes

100

total 8,000

3,000

300

1,000 100

(continued)

322

Appendix III

4. America (continued)

Location

Est.

Form

No. of Pupils/ Teachers

German Government Contributions in Marks

Notes

Rio Grande do Sul Consular District Arroio do Padre II

1894

P

35/1

150

Bom Jesus

1863

P

52/1

150

Cachoeira

1908

P

22/1

300

Campos dos Quevedos

1898

P

48/1

Chicuta de Oliveira

1890

P

25/1

Continuacão Bom Jesus

1872

P

52/1

Dona Julia

1906

P

50/1

Gonçalves

1908

P

15/1

200

GustavAdolf-Straße

1907

P

19/1

100

Pelotas

1898

P

97/6

2,000

Quevedos

1871

P

63/1

Rio Grande do Sul 2 schools

1898/ 1899

K; P; S

total 192/8

Santa Augusta

1882

P

27/1

150

Santa Aurea

1898

P

30/1

150

Santa Eulalia

1897

P

48/1

200

Santa Helena

1900

P

15/1

300

Santo Antonio

1885

P

45/1

100

São Domingos

1893

P

61/1

300

São João da Reserva

1865

P

35/1

São Lourenço

1896

P

28/1

100

100 total 6,400

Plus a further 248 primary schools in Rio Grande do Sul State which did not receive any German government funds. Particularly noteworthy are a total of 22 schools in settlements (‘Pikaden’) in the Teutonia area, some carrying German place names such as Pikade Bismarck, Pikade Glückauf, Pikade Hermann, and Pikade Krupp. As in other rural areas, all schools had either Catholic or Protestant children. Chile An der Chamiza

1898

P

15/1

Concepcion

1888

K; P; S

216/12

7,000

500

Contulmo

1893

P

56/3

1,000

Ercilla

1900

P

30/2

600

Frutillar

1906

P

79/3

1,600 (continued)

Appendix III

323

4. America (continued) German Government Contributions in Marks

Location

Est.

Form

No. of Pupils/ Teachers

Gorbea

1906

P

23/1

500

Huefel

1911

P

19/1

300

Lastarria

1909

P

17/1

300

La Union

1860

P

103/4

1,000

Lautaro

1899

P

18/1

800

Lebu

1910

P

14/1

500

Loncoche

1911

P

47/2

350

Los Anjeles

1881

P

56/4

1,500

Nochaco

1911

P

17/1

300

Nueva Imperial

1891

P

36/3

500

Osorno

1854

P

249/9

4,000

Puerto Montt

1869

P

88/5

2,200

Puerto Octay

1910

P

24/1

500

Puerto Varas

1906

P

49/2

600

Puerto Arenas

1907

P

115/6

5,000

Purén

1895

P

32/1

300

Quilaco

1908

P

17/2

750

Quillem

1904

P

27/1

1,000

Rio Bueno

1871

P

59/3

1,000

Rio Negro

1913

P

Salto

1894

P

14/1

Santiago

1891

K; P; S

377/21

12,500

Temuco

1887

P

109/6

2,300

Totoral

1898

P

21/1

500

Traiguén

1895

P

30/2

1,000

Valdivia

1858

P; S

437/25

6,000

Valparaiso

1858

P; S

308/14

4,000

Victoria

1898

P

20/1

1,200

Vinha del Mar

1906

P

56/5

2,000

1912

P

21/2

1900

S planned

113/9

Notes

800

Costa Rica San José Guatemala Guatemala

5,000 (continued)

324

Appendix III

4. America (continued) German Government Contributions in Marks

Est.

Form

No. of Pupils/ Teachers

1912

P

21/3

2,500

Chihuahua

1901

P

64/5

3,000

Mexico City

1894

K; P; S

265/18

16,000

Puebla

1911

P

16/2

Toluca

1909

P

36/2

3,500

Altos

1887

P

12/2

500

Asuncion

1893

P

45/4

3,200

Encarnacion

1913

P

Hohenau 2 schools

1902/ 1907

P

total 77/2

total 1,700

Nueva Germania

1907

P

11/1

300

Nueva Italia

1912

P

7/1

100

San Bernardino

1892

P

28/2

1,600

Villarrica

1906

P

46/4

2,000

Yegros

1904

P

20/1

400

Location Haiti Port au Prince Mexico

Paraguay

Peru Callao

1869

P

50/6

2,000

Lima

1910

K; P; S planned

93/8

4,000

Montevideo

1878

P; S

127/9

5,000

Nueva Helvecia

1883

P

47/1

800

1894

P

115/9

9,500

Honolulu

1903

K; P

51/2

Lihue/Hawaii

1882

P

64/2

Uruguay

Venezuela Caracas United States

Notes

Appendix III

325

5. Australia

Location

Est.

Form

No. of Pupils/ Teachers

Pimpama Island

1907

P

46/1

Point Paß

1895

teachers’ seminary

27/4

German Government Contributions in Marks

Notes

1,000

Sydney

1884

Saturday

55/3

Toowoomba

1870

P

88/2

300

* Schools in Argentina were mixed in terms of nationality. The compilation lists a further 42 primary schools under the categories ‘German mother-tongue’ and ‘Argentinian nationality.’ Their size ranges from 20 to 220 pupils. There were also three teachers’ seminaries (Crespo, Esperanza, Buenos Aires). None of these institutions received any German government funds. Information based on Germania Schule Buenos Aires Annual Reports 1906 and 1907. † Most of the schools in Brazil were small settlement schools which are subsumed under the name of the district or its main town. Source: Extracted and adapted from Geheime Denkschrift des Auswärtigen Amtes über das deutsche Auslandsschulwesen, April 1914, BAB R901/38602, Appendix I, pp. 41–149, Statistik der deutschen Auslandsschulen nach ihrem Stande vom November 1912.

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Bibliography

ARCHIVE COLLECTIONS

a. Germany Auswärtiges Amt—Politisches Archiv, Berlin (Political Archive of the German Foreign Office, Berlin) Consular fi les by location: R15316 and R1536, Ägypten R141742, Blumenau R141748, Dona Francisca and Joinville R140772, Glasgow R140964, Hanoi R140808, Melbourne R141294, Nikolajew R141756 and R141759, Rio Grande do Sul R140952–3, Saigon R141171, San Paulo de Loanda R141099, Soerebaya

Bundesarchiv, Berlin (Federal Archive Berlin) R901, Auswärtiges Amt, Auswanderung (various files) R8023 and 8048, various fi les on Deutsche Kolonialgesellschaft, Alldeutscher Verband, Allgemeiner Deutscher Schulverein, Hauptverband Deutscher Flottenvereine im Auslande

Bundesarchiv Militärchiv, Freiburg (Military Federal Archive, Freiburg) RM3/9920 to 9924, Hauptverband Deutscher Flottenvereine im Auslande PH 2/588, Militär-Untersuchungsstelle für Verletzungen des Kriegsrechts, 1914–1919

Evangelisches Zentralarchiv Berlin (Protestant Central Archive Berlin) EZA 5, Kirchliches Außenamt (various fi les on local congregations) EZA 200/1, Gustav Adolf Werk EZA 179/4, Beirut EZA 98/31, Kairo

328

Bibliography

b. Britain Glasgow University Archive DC 402, German Club (Deutscher Verein), 1864–1927

Scottish Record Office, Edinburgh CHR 3/940/7, Minute Book Flottenverein (navy club) Edinburgh-Leith

Tower Hamlets Local Library and Archive, London TH 8662, various fi les on Protestant congregations throughout Britain

c. United States Max Kade Institute Madison, Wisconsin P 84–64: Albert Godsho, Chronological History of the National German American Alliance of the United States, 1911 P 84–191: Constitution and By-Laws of the German-American Alliance of the State of New York, 1908 Various printed sources

State Historical Society, Madison/Wisconsin Pam 70–769, 39–40; Pam 57–826; Pam 75–823: various fi les on German-English Academy Pam 74–2454, Fest Programm für das Neunte Krieger-Bundesfest des Deutschen Krieger Bundes von Wisconsin, 20–22 June 1908

Newberry Library, Chicago Erinnerungs-Blätter an die Excursion des Deutschen Krieger-Vereins von Chicago, Ill., zur 25jährigen Sedan-Feier, 2 September 1895

d. Russia State Historical Archive of the Volga Germans, Engels GASO 1831/1, Synod fi les and various local church records

State Archive of Saratov District GASO 852/1/81–83, Letters from individuals and organisations regarding famine relief for colonists, 1880

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