Observers of German current affairs and historians of contemporary Germany have long been cognizant of the shadow that the Nazi past and its crimes cast over postwar German history. Likewise, it has long been widely accepted as appropriate that the “old” Federal Republic would develop a political culture marked by reserve and modesty on the international stage and in its public representation—whatever seemed the opposite of the pomp, power, and ruthlessness of past German regimes. Whereas the prospect of unification in 1989-1990 still triggered concerns about the country's possible relapse into attitudes and behaviors worthy of a “fourth Reich,” two decades later, Germans were treated to the news that theirs was “the most positively viewed nation in the world.” A few years later still, German Chancellor Angela Merkel found herself widely hailed as the “leader of the free world,” a phrase soaked in Cold War connotations and hitherto reserved for the president of the United States. Merkel probably had little desire for such a click-bait label; it was the world around her that had changed on the coattails of the global ascendancy of right-wing populism and authoritarianism, resulting, for example, in the British vote to leave the European Union (“Brexit”), the presidency of Donald Trump, and the attempt of the Polish government to do away with the separation of powers. With the strong showing of the right-wing Alternative for Germany (AfD) party in the 2017 federal elections, this development had begun to affect domestic politics in Germany as well.

This article reassesses the reputation enjoyed by Charles IV of Luxemburg, emperor and king of Bohemia (r. 1346/1347–1378), as the author of a program aimed at projecting his monarchy via visual media. Current scholarship, which stresses the centrally directed character of this program, regards it as serving clear political goals, as “propaganda” to unify Charles's far-flung territories. This article challenges that view. It contends that a straightforward political purpose is often less detectable than usually claimed, and the political “success” of Caroline image-making easily overstated. Above all, it argues for the necessity of decentering Caroline visual culture by stepping away from the familiar focus on the Prague court, to explore instead provincial viewpoints. Focusing on northeastern Bavaria, it shows that local examples of Caroline imagery are often best understood not as impositions from the “center,” but rather as products of interactions between court and locality, through which local perspectives and interests also found expression.

This article puts forced migration at the center of the Federal Republic's history. Forced migration to Germany has often been understood as an unprecedented crisis, but, far from being an aberration, such migration has been a necessary component of the classic legitimating narratives of the Federal Republic and a crucial support for its postwar “economic miracle.” The official reception of forced migrants has been structured by a categorical distinction between genuine refugees and ersatz “economic refugees.” The former are lauded for their economic contributions to Germany, whereas those alleged to have migrated mainly for economic reasons are condemned as fraudulent opportunists. These categories have been continually transposed onto new groups of forced migrants, whose arrival is invariably grasped as a crisis. The unfolding of refugee “crises” and their resolutions have continually shown the artificiality of the distinction between genuine and economic refugees—while simultaneously redrawing it.

Ever since Donald Trump announced his candidacy for the US presidency in June 2015, journalists, scholars, and other commentators in the United States have attempted to explain his political success with the aid of historical analogies. In so doing, they have sparked a wider debate about whether the Nazi past helps to make sense of the US present. One group in the debate has contended that Trump's ascent bears a worrisome resemblance to interwar European fascism, especially the National Socialist movement of Adolf Hitler. By contrast, a second group has rejected this comparison and sought analogies for Trump in other historical figures from European and US history. This article surveys the course, and assesses the results, of the debate from its origins up to the present day. It shows that historians of Germany have played a prominent role in helping to make sense of Trump, but notes that their use of Nazi analogies may be distorting, rather than deepening, our understanding of contemporary political trends. By examining the merits and drawbacks of Nazi analogies in present-day popular discourse, the article recommends that scholars draw on both the German and American historical experience in order to best assess the United States's present political movement.

This article discusses the problem of why there was a constant demand for ennoblement in seventeenth- and eighteenth-century Central Europe, even though those who aspired to it had little or no prospect of integration into the established feudal nobility. Nobility was first and foremost an ideological concept closely connected to power and rule. The Holy Roman emperors ennobled persons who exercised power precisely because, in the premodern social order, the exercise of power was a prerogative of the nobility. However, the newly ennobled had only their title in common with the old aristocratic families and rarely attained the other privileges enjoyed by these families. For this reason, the emperors’ practice of ennoblement gradually reshaped the nobility as a whole and simultaneously the ideological notion of nobility. Certainly, ennoblement still served a strategic purpose in the context of social advancement. Particularly for civil servants and military officers, it was the most effective means of preserving their newly acquired status for their descendants and possibly establishing their families in a new bureaucratic and military hereditary elite, which in some places coexisted with the old aristocracy. The central element of the new ideological concept was the notion of the nobility as a hereditary ruling class, both qualified for and entitled to the exercise of power on account of inherited superiority.

In interwar Germany, internationalism and nationalism coexisted in a public sphere that often transcended national borders. This seeming contradiction helps explain the mindset of an era, which simultaneously recognized interconnectedness while privileging national identity. Historians’ interest in internationalism has primarily focused on liberal and cooperative actors and on some selected examples demonstrating the dark sides of internationalism. Fewer historians, however, have analyzed the ambiguities and contradictions of liberal internationalism and the perseverance of the national as a frame of reference in internationalist discourses. Ernst Jäckh, best known as the founder of the Deutsche Hochschule für Politik, perhaps best represented this collision of values while simultaneously being one of the biggest proponents of such a view. Jäckh's internationalism permeated all his endeavors and served the goal of reintegrating Germany in the international community.

In the 1950s and 1960s, West German citizens found themselves living in a “radioactive age.” The public learned that radiation exposure pervaded postwar society, not only from atomic testing but also from medical treatment, workplace exposures, and radium consumer goods. By 1970, West Germans—ranging from farmers and housewives, to physicians, scientists, and bureaucrats—had recast nuclear radiation from a technological wonder or health aid into a public health hazard. This article illustrates that anxieties about uncontrollable technology, ineffective institutions, disingenuous political leaders, and volatile citizens persisted from the 1950s to the 1970s, coexisting with optimism and progress, without truly subsiding in the 1960s, as historians often suggest. Further, it advocates taking those fears seriously, showing that they played a critical—and lasting—role in shaping public policy and state-society relations in the early Federal Republic.

This article examines attempts to demonstrate the truth of physiocratic principles in eighteenth-century Baden. Emphasizing the importance of the so-called net yield (produit net), a surplus product understood to be created primarily in agriculture, the physiocrats advanced a new science of material prosperity and moral welfare. Despite its alleged “self-evidence,” physiocracy invited strong criticism from those who denied the force of its abstractions. Ultimately regarded as ill-fated and unconvincing, these trials were significant for their attempt to offer an experiential demonstration aimed at persuading doubters and silencing critics. The apparent failure notwithstanding, the episode illustrates how the idiom and practice of experiment served as a powerful resource for generating conviction in the eighteenth century, even in matters extending beyond the emerging natural sciences.

Historians have examined the Herero genocide in German South West Africa extensively. The role of the Prusso-German general staff has received only rudimentary treatment, however. The following study focuses on the actions of this institution and its chief. Evidence indicates that initially and with varying degrees of success the general staff was heavily involved in German military actions. After the Battle of Waterberg, however, the local military commander, Lieutenant General Lothar von Trotha, fought his own war. Meanwhile, the general staff gravitated toward a different role: shielding Trotha from criticism emanating from German civilian leaders and the public. The impulse to protect sprang not only from a harmony of views about the annihilation of the Herero, but also from an urge to preserve the prestige of the German military after unexpected losses at the hands of “African savages.” In fact, the Prusso-German general staff was complicit in, if not partly responsible for, the conduct of genocidal warfare in GSWA.

World War I reshaped the international economy. This was, in part, the consequence of British mobilization of resources for its own war effort, which aligned producer interests around the world with those of the United Kingdom. But it was also a consequence of Western policy aimed at excluding German businessmen from global markets. German planners noted during World War I that Great Britain, in particular, was expressing an interest in continuing such exclusion after the war, with potentially enormous economic consequences for Germany. Combatting or preventing such an economic “war after the war” prompted German businessmen and politicians to support a series of policies that would have profoundly changed the institutions and norms of the prewar international economy. These policies ranged from imposing one-sided trade agreements, expanding the mark zone, and establishing German control over Eastern European industries and infrastructure, to creating shipping cartels and imposing compulsory raw material delivery agreements on the Western powers. The result of German efforts to direct trade and investment in ways preferable to the German state would have been a deeply politicized postwar international economy. The article argues that economic questions were thus a central component of German war aims, but that these were not fixed: they evolved over the course of the war in response to changes in the international economy, and they focused not on short-term emergencies but rather on longer-term structural changes.

During the summer and fall of 1941, as they took part in Operation Barbarossa—the invasion of the Soviet Union—Wehrmacht personnel paused to reopen churches that had been shuttered by the communist regime. These events, which drew enormous crowds, brought together conquerors and conquered in a surprising display of shared faith before being halted by a directive from the Führer. This article addresses the question of why they took place at all, given the genocidal nature of the campaign in which they were embedded, as well as what they can tell us about the role of religion in the Wehrmacht, its relationship to Nazi ideology, and the nature of the military occupation. The reopening ceremonies, it is argued, were the spontaneous outcome of a number of interrelated factors, including Nazi rhetoric, the pent-up yearnings of Soviet Christians, and above all the vision of the invasion as a religious crusade against an atheist power adopted by many chaplains and soldiers. Although often overlooked, religion remained a powerful force in the Wehrmacht, one that could serve both to undermine and justify Nazi goals. Further, the reopenings demonstrate the army's capacity for flexibility in its dealings with the population, particularly during the war's opening months.

This article makes a case for rupturing the national framework used in traditional narratives of the Federal Republic, and it does so by revisiting the Italo-German relationship in particular. The state of Europe—and of Germans’ place in it—are in flux in the wake of the recent Eurozone crisis and “Brexit.” A study of German-Italian entanglements cannot offer definite answers about whether Germans or Italians feel “European,” but it does demonstrate, on the one hand, that perceptions of national difference do not preclude collaboration and closer relations, and, on the other, that the construction and deployment of difference can actually help create and maintain bonds between populations. Making a case for the importance of a history of German-Italian entanglements, the article offers evidence for how perceived national differences have brought Germans and Italians together, from the beginning of the Federal Republic to roughly the present, with a focus on Germans’ (and Italians’) recent turn to an apolitical or even anti-political lifestyle politics, and on the uncertain consequences that this has for the European project as a whole.

The relevant historiography has largely overlooked the role of Karl Haushofer as a cultural-political actor in National Socialist-Fascist relations. From 1924 to 1944, the German geopolitician dealt extensively with Italy, with an eye to both its geopolitical role in Europe and to the political system of Benito Mussolini's regime. On behalf of Rudolf Hess, he began visiting Italy during the 1930s, aiming to overcome ideological and political misunderstandings between Rome and Berlin. He established a network of contacts with Italian scholars and politicians, passed information back to the so-called deputy Führer, and attempted to influence official German policy toward Italy. He eventually promoted the development of an Italian geopolitics, and, in so doing, achieved one of the most significant cultural-political transfers from National Socialist Germany to fascist Italy. This article analyzes the contacts between Haushofer and Italy, both his political activities and his geopolitical theories. It is a case study of a history of contradictions: a man committed to Pan-Germanist culture and to the defense of German minorities abroad, Haushofer also attempted to improve relations between Berlin and Rome. Moreover, he considered the Axis from a geopolitical point of view—as a realization of the European imperial idea—and from a trilateral perspective, i.e., he viewed Japan not only as an ally, but also as a cultural and political model. The reconstruction of Haushofer's relations with Italy is, therefore, an opportunity to rethink the antinomies, as well as the global dimension, of the National Socialist-Fascist alliance.

To a large extent, master surveys of the Federal Republic's history have failed to weave into their narratives the rise of female emancipation or challenges to male domination. This article addresses the reasons for this failure, as well as the implications of its reversal. It analyzes the role of women activists during West Germany's “1968,” underlining the gender bias of common narratives of the West German Sixties. The addition of feminist agency to West German history necessarily changes the definition of “success” in the Westernization narrative of the Federal Republic, and also the way in which we define generations and engage in public forms of commemoration.

Die Emanzipation der Frauen und die Infragestellung männlicher Dominanz spielen in den Überblickswerken zur Geschichte der Bundesrepublik nur eine untergeordnete Rolle. Warum dies so ist, und welche Folgen eine Umkehr dieser Tendenz hätte, ist Thema dieses Aufsatzes. Am Beispiel feministischer Aktivistinnen des westdeutschen “1968” wird aufgezeigt, wie geschlechtsspezifisch verzerrt die gängigen Narrative der Protestbewegung und des Wertewandels in den 1960er Jahren sind. Sobald wir die Narrative der westdeutschen Geschichte mit feministischer “agency” zusammendenken, verändert sich notwendigerweise die Definition von “Erfolg” in der “Erfolgsgeschichte” der Bundesrepublik. Zudem werden die Kategorien des “Westens” und der “Verwestlichung”, der “politischen Generation” und des “Generationskonflikts” als geschlechtsspezifische Konstrukte erkennbar, die bislang eine männliche Perspektive in der Geschichtsschreibung wie in der öffentlichen Erinnerungskultur privilegiert haben.

This article redresses the interpretative lacunae of historians’ conceptions of Nazi racism by overcoming their attempts to comprehend it from either a secular/scientific or a religious/theological perspective. Drawing on a variety of anthropological, philosophical, and political-theoretical works, the article illustrates how Nazi racial ideas were formulated not only in accordance with the latest discoveries in the field of human heredity, but also in correspondence to contemporary debates over secularization, value-free science, and biological determinism. It argues that the Nazi conception of race constituted a new form of religiosity, which did not draw on supernatural beliefs or theological narratives, but rather on vitalist-oriented metaphysics, shifting the object of faith from the transcendent realm of God to the immanent sphere of racial inwardness. Redefining faith in vitalist-existentialist terms corresponded with the Nazi aspiration to overcome the fragmentation of modernity, overturn the nihilistic threat posed by materialist society, and carry out a spiritual renaissance built upon immanent-biological foundations.

Power in the workplace is almost always conceptualized in terms of the line-management hierarchy. Managers are said to sit at the “top” of the pyramid, whilst shop-floor workers are located at the “bottom.” The language that we use to describe the social organization of the workplace is saturated with words that assign people to ranks within hierarchies. Scholarly analysis of the sociology of the workplace takes the pyramidality of power as a given. This article, by contrast, argues that it is more useful to see power in the workplace as a dynamic but horizontal matrix within which the distribution of power is continually in flux. If we are to understand the workplace experiences of any specific social group, it is necessary to reconstruct the position of that group relative to the overall system of power relations within the matrix, and not just to individual kinds of power relationship. To demonstrate the point, this article explores the case study of female workers in the Soviet zone of occupied Germany. Between 1945 and 1948, the experiences of women on the shop floor in East Germany were shaped by wider trends in the distribution of power. These included the transfer of power from German nationals to Soviet occupiers, the devolution of power from the center to the periphery and from the manager's office to workers on the shop floor, and the shift of relative power from wage earners to black marketeers. To make sense of the contradictory experiences of female workers, we must situate them in the context of wider shifts in, and conflicts over, the distribution of power within a matrix.

Following the passing of the “Law for the Prevention of Offspring with Genetic Diseases” in July 1933, sterilization became a means to tighten the borders of the German ethnic community against outsiders, including Sinti and Roma. For a while, Sinti soldiers were spared sterilization. After Himmler's Auschwitz decree of December 1942, they were deported to Auschwitz-Birkenau. They escaped the extermination of other Sinti and Roma in the Zigeunerlager on the night of August 2, 1944, only because they represented a human shield deployable against advancing Russian troops. Still, the Reich insisted on sterilizing them and their families before placing them in front of enemy guns because they were still considered “internal enemies.” As a result, some forty Sinti men and boys were sterilized by Dr. Franz Lucas in the men's camp in Ravensbrück in January 1945. Focusing on their story challenges Lucas's portrayal as the victim of SS practices, a narrative that long benefitted from the testimony of non-Sinti prisoners. In addition, compensation agencies in Germany underestimated the ongoing effects of psychological trauma resulting from sterilization. Sinti victims who were subjected to an “expert assessment” of their blood purity before war's end underwent a renewed assessment of their productivity for German society after the war.