Faith and Stereotypical Ideas of Host Countries: Representing Two Relevant Factors in Forming Migrant Identities (English)
Veronika Bernard
Faith and Stereotypical Ideas of Host Countries: Representing Two Relevant Factors in Forming Migrant Identities
6th MESEA Conference: Migration Matters: Immigration, Homelands, and Border Crossings in Europe and the Americas, June 25-28, Leiden University, The Netherlands
Abstract
The paper proposed will analyze texts written in German by authors of Turkish migrant background living in Germany according to the two ways of forming migrant identities mentioned in the above paper title.
As for the choice of turning to faith the paper will analyze Hülya Kandemir’s autobiographic book „Himmelstochter“ (heaven’s daughter) of 2005 which is indeed a rarity on the German book market as it tells the story of a young woman of Turkish migrant background living in Germany and having decided to turn to living a life as a strictly and publicly believing Muslim. The central issue with this part of the paper will be to find out more about a potential relation between diaspora, nostalgia, an urge felt to belong to a community, and the tendency to turn to religious faith. In particular, the paper will discuss the question in how far a life in cultural diaspora may have led the character in the book to a nostalgic image of her family history, and how those two aspects may have helped in leading her onto a way of religious faith.
As far as the choice of adapting stereotypical images, which are part of the host country’s perception in the migrant’s country of origin, is discussed as being a potential way of shaping a “new” migrant identity the paper will concentrate on the question which the limits are within which a migrant’s attempt at liberating herself/ himself from pressures and cultural standardisations of all kinds takes place, and in how far the every day experience of the host country’s culture is involved in this process. This issue will be discussed on themes like gender and sexuality.
Finally, the paper will compare the findings in terms of structural similarities and differences shown in the literary representation of the two ways of forming migrant identities discussed.
Dear ladies and gentlemen,
for the next 20 minutes I am going to analyze selected passages taken from texts written by writers of Turkish or partly Turkish origin and living in Germany. With the first part of my paper my analysis will focus on faith as a relevant factor in creating a migrant identity, with the second I will concentrate on the role of stereotypical images of the host country. The passages will be quoted in English so that all of us will have a chance to follow my talk on the quotations analyzed in more detail.
The first passage to be analyzed in terms of faith is taken from Hatice Akyün’s book “Einmal Hans mit scharfer Soße. Leben in zwei Welten” (I would like to order a Hans with hot sauce. A life in two worlds), the second one is a part of Hülya Kandemir’s text “Himmelstochter. Mein Weg vom Popstar zu Allah” (Heaven’s daughter. My way from being a popstar to devoting my life to Allah).
The passage taken from Akyün’s book introduces the reader to four members of a family, each of them having a very different approach to religion, faith and religious symbols: the father who came to Germany as a worker years ago, the mother who has followed her husband and having been a housewife all her married life, and their two daughters who have been born in Turkey but having spent their youth in Germany and having gone to school there.
It reads: “In Germany my father had turned to be very religious and he went to the mosque daily. Starting at age 10 my brothers and sisters and me joined him in order to study the Koran. My mother joined us only sporadically, she did so just on important religious holidays, for the rest of the time she prayed at home. Friday was the most important day in my father’s life because he went to the Friday prayer on that day. … I had sincerely decided to get some proper education. Apart from this I wanted to get rid of my headscarf. It simply did not suit me; it made me look short and ugly. I did not feel comfortable wearing it. As soon as I had left our house in the morning and had disappeared round the next corner on my way I pulled it off my head and stuffed it into my school bag. At school we did not have to wear headscarves, on the very contrary, the headmaster did not allow us to do so. We loved him for this. My mother still cannot understand this. In her life the headscarf was something very meaningful and important. It was an honour to be allowed to wear one, and you even had to reach a certain age for this … My elder sister also never took off her headscarf for good. Ablam wore scarves by Kenzo, Versace and Valentino, on which she was willing to spend between a hundred and four-hundred Euros. The headscarf for her is a sign of religiosity on the one hand and it is her most important accessory on the other hand. “It is not written down anywhere that Muslim women have to dress like scarecrows!”, she says. … When I was a child I did neither know anything about the tradition and the culture nor about the religious meaning which is linked to the headscarf. I simply felt wearing it was tiresome, and I wanted to free me from it.”
The passage taken from Kandemir’s text re-tells the night when the protagonist decides to wear a headscarf.
It reads: “In a way which I had not experienced before the prayer had a much stronger effect on me that night: I realized even with the first Arabic verses I recited how the tightened feeling I had had starting at the end of the concert dissolved and disappeared. I felt how a warm and soft feeling was flowing through me. … Within the deepest parts of my heart I asked Allah to show me what I could do to come closer to him. I concentrated on my love for Allah. I concentrated on His light, His strength, His grace. I felt His strength even physically, like a warm wave flowing through me. Suddenly I saw two different ways in front of me. On the one hand side I saw myself on my way to success and fame, on the way to my breakthrough as a singer. On the opposite side I saw myself walking down a street wearing a headscarf; I was on Allah’s way. I looked at the two sides. I watched myself standing on a stage, and people applauding me. And I saw how I was standing in front of my house wearing a headscarf; how I was entering a shop wearing a headscarf. I saw how I prayed. I looked at the two sides as if they were paintings which were hanging next to each other on a wall. When I looked at the side of fame and success I did not realize anything special. I felt as if this picture was not linked to me. I did not feel myself. I stayed cold inside when looking at it. Then my thoughts wandered to the opposite side. On this side I saw myself feeling happy, glad and free. At this moment I knew that this was the right side for me. I felt the devotion which is expressed in wearing the headscarf.”
So, what do the two passages tell us concerning our point of discussion: faith? Well, whereas the father in the first passage deliberately turns to religion after coming to Germany, we do not learn anything the like about the mother. We learn, however, that she has been wearing a headscarf all of her adult life and feels this to be an honour for a woman. Her elder daughter shows the same behaviour, just the younger one, the protagonist of the autobiographical migrant story, takes a different way. She rebels against wearing a headscarf when she is still a teenager, she wants to learn some serious profession, and she does not get married when she is older. All in all, you are introduced to a very diverse social structure within this family of Turkish origin as far as their ways of dealing with religion, faith, traditions and gender roles as parts of their lives are concerned; you find all the approaches and attitudes you may find in the total of society: the one who deals with religion as a part of his tradition (but does not think about it a lot), the one who decides to drop religious symbols but is not really outspoken and explicit on what he believes in, the one who turns to religion as a reaction to a change in his environment. The interesting point in comparing this passage to the second passage I have chosen and which is also part of an autobiographical story told by a young woman of Turkish migrant background, whose parents came to Germany to find a better life, is that you find exactly the same move towards faith and religion with that young woman which we have met with the father of the other story, and this although the young woman’s situation in life is quite different from that of the father in Akyün’s text. Their motivation, nevertheless, seems to be quite similar. And the question is: How can this be? How does the story explain this? Well, both characters somehow feel the urge to define their identities a-new. They feel to be in situations they consider to be volatile, instable and insecure resulting from some sort of change or loss in their lives: Their past identities in a way are not valid anymore; with the father in Akyün’s text it is the new place he lives in and which makes him feel to be a cultural minority. With the protagonist in Kandemir’s book the urge to re-define her identity results from the need to decide on her future profession and her future life as a 2nd generation female Turkish migrant to Germany who has already left some of her family’s traditions and rules behind. The two characters both feel urged to make a decision which, most probably, is meant to provide and re-establish that state of stability and safety in their lives again which they were once used to but feel to have lost. Still, there are differences. What parts Kandemir’s protagonist from the father in Akyün’s text, e.g., is her lack of a genuine cultural memory. The only ideas concerning her family roots she can rely on are holiday reminiscences. Those diffused cultural ideas cannot be called pieces of a cultural memory; they can only be considered a nostalgic cultural patchwork in their emotional qualities and in their lack of coherent substance. Nevertheless, in their diaspora situations both characters feel the urge to go “back to their roots”. And that’s the point where the relevance of faith in forming a migrant identity comes in. Both characters define their cultural identity by wishing to become part of a group again; a group which links them to what they consider their roots; and religion provides this sort of group-feeling, particularly, in a cultural diaspora situation which in those characters’ cases is also a diaspora situation in terms of religious denomination. Religion offers them the chance to belong again within a diaspora society. So actually the turn to faith is the result of a negative motivation of a felt loss to be compensated for.
This becomes even more obvious if we compare those two characters to the other characters introduced in the passage from Akyün’s text. They define their cultural identities differently. They do not define them by the negative motivation of a felt loss but by the positive motivation of lived traditions: the mother in Akyün’s text keeps her traditions within the quite secluded and protected environment of a housewife; she knows where she belongs, and consequently does not feel the urge to define a new cultural position. She is rooted in an original cultural background which provides its limits and liberties and by this gives exactly that feeling of stability and belonging the searching characters are longing for. She owns what we may call an individual cultural memory. This may even be adapted to personal needs, like, for instance, the protagonist’s elder sister in Akyün’s text does by wearing very expensive designer scarves for headscarves. She is proud of her cultural roots, and consequently does not feel the need to act and change her behaviour either. On the other end of the scale there is the protagonist of Akyün’s text. She has her conviction and her devotion just like her mother and her sister have: she wants to be good at school, and to learn a profession. But unlike them she makes herself an outsider by these ambitions and by this takes another relevant way of actively creating an individual cultural migrant identity. It is an identity not of wishing to be part of a group which leads the searching characters to religion and faith but rather an identity of leaving a group.
Let’s turn to part two of my paper in which the focus is on how stereotypical images of the host countries are adapted in forming a migrant identity.
Let’s concentrate on two passages here too. The first passage is again taken from Hatice Akyün’s book “Einmal Hans mit scharfer Soße”, the second one from Emine Sevgi Özdamar’s book “Seltsame Sterne starren zur Erde”.
Passage no. 1 is the beginning of Akyün’s book and is titled “Neulich in der Parallelwelt” (Lately, in a parallel world). It reads: “My name is Hatice. I am Turkish and have a German passport. For politicians I am THE example of a working integration, for German men I am the forbidden, exotic fruit and for German women I am the reason to hate their hair. … I am a journalist. This means I work a lot, have got little money and even less time. I do not wear a headscarf and I have not been forced into marriage which is the reason why I do not have a husband yet. Now and again I go on holiday, mostly to Turkey, where my parents own a summer house and where my relatives welcome me by asking: “Well, have you finally succeeded in finding a Hans?” When my family is not in Turkey I regularly visit them in Duisburg where they also own a house and where they welcome me asking exactly the same question every time I come: “Well, have you finally found a Hans?” Hans and Helga are the names by which all Germans are known to us Turkish. And it’s natural that Hans is a good provider. He will ride his bike to the first date, wearing a colourful biking helmet and that special device to keep his trouser-legs from getting stuck in the spokes of his bike. With his egg-shaped helmet, his ducked head and his legs moving fast he looks a bit like a toad wandering. When you look at his lifted trouser-legs, his pale legs and the bruise which the helmet has left on his forehead, you lose all sexual appetite, and, indeed, you really automatically panic at the thought you might have to see Hans stripped of any trousers. If the waiter asks “one or separate bills?”, Hans will politely and correctly answer “separate ones!” – although he might shortly glimpse at Helga while saying so. As for Helga, she would never go to the hairdresser’s just to have her hair blow-dried. She would never wear heels higher than 4 centimetres, and she has no idea what the perfect curve of a styled eyebrow looks like. But she is highly interested in getting to know. And you can spend a whole evening sitting and wonderfully discussing with Hans and Helga. Hans, we also know this, will walk his dog and pick up all the tiny pieces of his excrements in a plastic bag. He will assemble his furniture all on his own using a do-it-yourself instructions manual, and he will do so carefully and only after thinking about it thoroughly. … By the way, I have not found the right Hans yet. A Hans who would be a passionate lover and gentlemanlike enough to open the car door for me on our first date – as is common in Turkey. I am looking for a Hans with hot sauce, so to speak, but have not found him yet. And Turkish men have become frightened of coming close to me.”
Passage no. 2 reads: „June 10, 1976. Early in the morning we went to the lake again and put our blankets in the same place. The sun was burning hot; next to us a mother and her daughter were sitting, and in front of me a boy was reading Danton’s Death by Büchner. On the grass naked men were sleeping like peaceful animals in the woods. Three homosexuals were petting each other, and the fascist of yesterday was there too. Later he was swimming in the lake together with a woman. On the public address system a Volkspolizist’s voice was warning people of acting responsible on not setting the wood on fire. My buttocks and my breasts had never been exposed to sunlight that much before and were immediately sunburnt. Equality and liberty for all parts of the body! When we returned to the city I forgot to put on my slip. … June 17, 1976. … In the night I was lying with many books next to my pillow and thought: “Why do I not sleep with any of the men here? Is this my fault? Am I too conservative?”
What becomes obvious in the first passage is that two stereotypical images are linked and cannot be analyzed isolated from each other: the German hetero-stereotypical image created from a Turkish perspective and the Turkish auto-stereotypical one created from the perspective of a Turkish female who has defined her cultural identity by leaving parts of her cultural traditions behind.
The second passage presents a female migrant character of Turkish background who also introduces readers to a stereotypical image of German society and a more indirect auto-stereotypical of her own cultural background but has not left her traditions behind yet.
In a way, both of them, however, mirror their stereotypical view of German life in their behaviour: The protagonist of Özdamar’s text does so by eagerly wishing to adapt to what she thinks is expected from her by Germans in order to be accepted as a member of German society. She defines this behaviour as a desirable asset for her, an asset she still feels to lack. The protagonist of Akyün’s text does so by trying to pick the “goodies” and apart from them stay away and different from what she has defined as a hetero-stereotypical image of Germans: she lives the life of a sexually active single but takes an effort to point out her difference to German women whom she considers ignorant to what is stylish and sexy and she emphasizes that she prefers the gentlemanlike behaviour of Turkish men when dating women to the quite sober one of German men in the same situation.
Both, however, indirectly define what they consider cultural conservatism concerning their cultural backgrounds by their attitude towards the German hetero-stereotype. By their image Europe becomes a place of unlimited liberty and freedom. At the same time the hetero-stereotypical image makes them receive European everyday life selectively as shows e.g. in the wish to find a Hans with hot sauce in Akyün’s case and in the reduction of European liberties to primarily sexual liberties in Özdamar’s case: the fact that Özdamar’s protagonist does not start an affair with a colleague although she is deeply sexually frustrated by her partner’s absence makes her wonder whether she is too conservative.
Summing up it can be said that although the two ways in forming migrant identities are different in detail and partly in outcome they share a central issue. With both this issue is that of defining one’s own migrant identity in relation to what is considered the striking features of one’s environment. As the environment consists of all sorts of groups the process of defining one’s identity, consequently, centres upon defining compatibility and non-compatibilty with those groups. The texts show very clearly that the most striking of those features are religious denomination and stereotypical images. But at the same time they show that there is no one single way how to deal with those two aspects in forming a migrant identity. They show that this strongly depends on the individual.
Thank you for listening.
Textbelege:
Akyün (1):
In Deutschland war mein Vater sehr religiös geworden und ging täglich in die Moschee. Ab unserem zehnten Lebensjahr begleiteten meine Geschwister und ich ihn, um den Koran zu lernen. Meine Mutter kam nur selten mit, lediglich an den großen Feiertagen, ansonsten betete sie im Haus. Der Freitag war der wichtigste Tag im Leben meines Vaters, denn dann ging er zum Freitagsgebet. … Ich war fest entschlossen, eine richtige Ausbildung zu machen. Außerdem wollte ich mein Kopftuch loswerden. Es stand mir einfach nicht, es machte mich klein und hässlich, ich fühlte mich nicht wohl damit. Sobald ich nur raus aus unserem Haus und um die Ecke war, zog ich es mir vom Kopf und stopfte es in meinen Schulranzen. In der Schule mussten wir es nicht tragen, im Gegenteil, der Direktor hatte es sogar verboten. Wir liebten ihn dafür. Meine Mutter kann das bis heute nicht verstehen. In ihrem Leben hatte das Kopftuch immer etwas sehr Bedeutsames. Es war eine Ehre, und man musste ein bestimmtes Alter erreicht haben, bevor man es überhaupt anziehen durfte. … Auch meine große Schwester hat ihr Kopftuch nie abgelegt. Ablam trägt wunderschöne Tücher von Kenzo, Versace und Valentino, für die sie bereit ist, zwischen hundert und vierhundert Euro auf den Tisch zu legen. Das Kopftuch ist für sie einerseits ein Zeichen von Religiosität und andererseits ihr wichtigstes Accessoire. „Nirgendwo steht geschrieben, dass sich Musliminnen kleiden müssen wie Vogelscheuchen!“, sagt sie. …. Als ich ein Kind war, wusste ich nicht, was für eine Tradition und Kultur, welche religiöse Bedeutung sich hinter dem Kopftuch verbarg. Ich empfand es lediglich als lästig und wollte mich davon befreien.
Kandemir:
Auf eine mir bis dahin unbekannte Art wirkte das Gebet an diesem Abend noch stärker: Ich merkte schon bei den ersten arabischen Versen, die ich sprach, wie sich die Verkrampfung, die mich seit dem Ende des Konzertes gefangen gehalten hatte, löste. Wie mich ein warmes, weiches Gefühl durchströmte. […] Ich bat Allah aus tiefstem Herzen, er möge mir zeigen, was ich noch tun könne, um ihm näher zu kommen. Ich konzentrierte mich auf meine Liebe zu Allah. Auf Sein Licht, Seine Kraft, Seine Güte. Ich spürte Seine Stärke körperlich, wie eine warme Welle, die mich durchflutete. Plötzlich stand mir das Bild zweier Wege vor Augen. Auf der einen Seite sah ich mich auf dem Weg zum Ruhm. Zum Durchbruch als Sängerin. Auf der anderen Seite sah ich mich mit einem Kopftuch über die Straße gehen, auf dem Weg Allahs. Ich betrachtete die beiden Seiten. Ich sah mir selbst zu, wie ich auf der Bühne stand, wie mir Leute zujubelten. Und ich sah, wie ich mit dem Kopftuch vor meinem Haus stand. Wie ich bedeckt in ein Geschäft hineinging. Ich sah mich beten. Ich betrachtete die beiden Seiten wie zwei Gemälde, die nebeneinander an der Wand hingen. Als ich mir die Seite des Ruhmes ansah, fiel mir nichts Besonderes auf. Es war so, als hätte dieses Bild nichts mit mir zu tun. Ich spürte mich nicht. Es ließ mich kalt. Dann wanderten meine Gedanken zur anderen Seite. Auf dieser Seite sah ich mich glücklich und frei. Ich wusste in dem Moment, dass das für mich die richtige Seite war. Ich spürte die Hingabe, die im Tragen des Tuches zum Ausdruck kommt.
Akyün (2):
Mein name ist Hatice. Ich bin Türkin mit deutschem Pass, für Politiker ein Paradebeispiel einer gelungenen Integration, für deutsche Männer die verbotenen, exotische Frucht und für deutsche Frauen der Grund, ihre Haare zu hassen. …. Ich bin Journalistin, das heißt, ich arbeite viel, habe wenig Geld und noch weniger Zeit. Ich trage kein Kopftuch und bin nicht zwangsverheiratet, weswegen ich noch immer keinen Ehemann habe. Ab und zu fahre ich in den Urlaub, meistens in die Türkei, wo meine Eltern ein Ferienhaus besitzen und meine Verwandtschaft mich mit den Worten zu begrüßen pflegt:“ Hast du jetzt endlich einen Hans gefunden?“ Wenn meine Familie gerade nicht in der Türkei ist, besuche ich sie regelmäßig in Duisburg, wo sie auch ein haus besitzt und mich alle jedes Mal mit genau denselben Worten empfangen: „Hast du endlich einen Hans gefunden?“
Hans und Helga heißen alle Deutschen bei uns Türken. Und es ist klar, dass Hans ein braver “Brötchenholer” ist. Zu seinem ersten Date kommt er gerne auf dem Fahrrad, mit buntem Fahrradhelm und Hosenschutz. Mit seinem eierförmigen Helm, dem eingezogenen Kopf und den strampelnden Beinen sieht er in wenig aus wie eine Kröte auf Wanderung. Die hochgebundene Hose, die käsigen Beine und die Druckstelle, die der Helm auf seiner Stirn hinterlassen hat, zerstören jegliche Lust auf ihn, und man bekommt unweigerlich panische Angst davor, Hans ganz ohne Hosen sehen zu müssen. Wenn der Kellner beim Zahlen fragt, zusammen oder getrennt, dann antwortet Hans höflich und korrekt – allenfalls mit einem verschämten Seitenblick auf Helga – getrennt.
Helga wiederum würde niemals zum Friseur gehen, einfach nur um sich die Haare föhnen zu lassen. Sie trägt keine Absätze, die höher sind als vier Zentimeter, und was der perfekte Bogen einer gezupften Augenbraue ist weiß sie auch nicht. Sie ist aber sehr interessiert daran, es zu erfahren. Und man kann den ganzen Abend beieinander sitzen und herrlich mit Hans und Helga diskutieren.
Hans, das wissen wir auch, führt seinen Hund Gassi und sammelt dessen Kothäufchen in einer Tüte zusammen. Seine Möbel baut er nach Aufbauanleitung zusammen und arbeitet dabei überlegt und aufmerksam. … Den richtigen Hans habe ich übrigens noch nicht gefunden. Ein Hans, der leidenschaftlich wäre und galant genug, mir beim ersten Date – wie in der Türkei üblich – die Autotür aufzuhalten, ein Hans mit scharfer Soße sozusagen, ist mir noch nicht begegnet. Und türkische Männer trauen sich nicht mehr in meine Nähe.
Özdamar:
10. Juni 1976. Früh am Morgen fuhren wir wieder zu dem Seee und legten unsere Decke an denselben Platz. Die Sonne brannte, neben uns saßen eine Mutter und ihre Tochter, vor mir las ein Junge Dantons Tod von Büchner. Auf der Wiese schliefen nackte Männer wie friedliche Tiere im Wald. Drei Homosexuelle streichelten sich, auch der Faschist von gestern war wieder da, später schwamm er mit einer Frau im See. Im Lautsprecher sagte die Stimme des Volkspolizisten: „Seien Sie verantwortungsbewußt gegen Waldbrand.“
Mein Hintern und meine Brüste hatten noch nie soviel Sonne abbekommen und waren sofort verbrannt. Gleichheit und Freiheit für alle Körperteile! Als wir in die Stadt zurückkehrten, habe ich vergessen, meine Unterhose anzuziehen. … In der Nacht lag ich mit vielen Büchern neben meinem Kopfkissen und dachte: „Warum schlafe ich hier mit keinem Mann? Habe ich Schuld? Bin ich zu konservativ?“