The stories East Germans told me about their former Nische-existence were all equally rosy. All the aspects that dominate westerners’ representations of East German life were ostensibly absent. Painful subjects, such as the threat and fear of the Stasi, mutual distrust, and people's collaboration with the regime, were almost never mentioned. Even when I finally came to understand my informants’ positive representation of their past, I still found it amazing that they appeared to succeed so well in cleansing their stories and recollections of negative experiences. The subject Stasi, for instance, was never mentioned. Except when talking to someone who had been kept under close surveillance by the secret service, this dark side of East Germany's past was only referred to in the form of a few standard remarks, some rumors and an incidental joke.

Only once did I hear an anecdote that gave me a solid clue to my assumption that people's one-sided positive view of the past was part of a selection process, hiding other elements from view. The anecdote came from Helmut – a middle-aged man who was active in local politics when I met him.

Long before 1989, Helmut and his wife Lotte were part of a circle of friends who were very close. They shared the same interests, frequently spent time together, and usually visited each other at weekends. They were so close that they even reprimanded each other's children when they did something wrong. Suddenly, however, the group fell apart – almost from one day to another. This happened when some of them applied for an exit visa. From that moment on, they seemed to feel superior to the others. They befriended other people who wanted to leave the country as well – people with whom they would normally never have mixed socially – and they began to avoid their old circle of friends.

Material and Social Trauma

The Second World War ended in the spring of 1945. With larger and larger areas of Germany being occupied by the Allies, the German army surrendered unconditionally at the beginning of May. Initially, Thuringia was occupied by the Americans, but on June 30, 1945, the American occupying powers exchanged it for an area of Berlin which up till then had been under Russian control. From that moment on, Thuringia became part of the Sovjetische Besatzungszone [Soviet Occupied Zone, further SBZ], just like Brandenburg, Saxony, Saxony-Anhalt and Mecklenburg-Vorpommern. Officially, these five federal entities only formed a separate state on October 7, 1949, but they were administered as a separate entity from the beginning of July 1945. Power was executed by the Sovjetische Militär Administration Deutschlands [Soviet Military Administration of Germany, further SMAD], working together with members of the German Communist Party and the Social-Democratic Party Germany.

In many ways the end of the war did not bring closure for the inhabitants of the eastern part of Germany, for there was more continuity between the final years of the war and the years thereafter than the word peace suggests. According to German ethnologist Ina Merkel, “chaos, collapse and misery” reigned, and “the end of war acts did not bring an end to violence and destruction.” The country's ruinous economic situation deteriorated even further after the war, causing tensions, mistrust and animosity to flare up amongst the population. Even without the macro-political separation, Germany would have been a deeply divided country in 1945.

The war begun by Germany had cost nearly fifty-six million lives, of which about six million on the German side. Bombs had flattened large parts of the country, and whatever faith still survived in the national socialist doctrine and national socialist world view was certainly shattered when all the details of Nazi war crimes were made public. Forty percent of the German population had lost everything. Some cities, like Dresden, were completely destroyed, and of the eighteen million dwellings in what would later be the GDR, about five million had been demolished. After the war, large parts of Germany were divided up between Czechoslovakia and Poland.

Initially started as a project on consumption, it is no coincidence that this book came to revolve around the role of fantasy in social life. Given the close relationship between consumption and identity, and corresponding to recent anthropological analyses of ‘identity’ as impossibility, I claim that consumption is one of the ways in which people try to substantiate their identity fantasies.

Fantasy

My use of the term fantasy is inspired by a number of recent works in which philosophers and social scientists show the benefits of applying the main tenets of Jacques Lacan's legacy to social scientific and historical theorizing. The most frequently raised objection with regard to the use of psychoanalytic theory in social sciences concerns using concepts and ideas that were developed for studying individual subjects and apply them to the social field. One way to circumvent this problem is by studying the social as the sum total of many individuals – assuming that, because the members of a certain community or society have shared the same experiences, their emotional reactions are also comparable. This line of reasoning not just runs the risk of wrongfully generalizing individual experiences and reactions, but fails to take into account the social aspect, in as much as this refers to the relationships between people. Inspired by the work of political scientist Yannis Stavrakakis on the political significance of Lacan, I have followed a different trajectory. My starting-point is the parallelism between Lacanian thinking on “the impossibility of identity” on the one hand, and recent anthropological insights on the intrinsic fallibility of the constructions anthropologists study as culture on the other.

According to Stavrakakis, there is no reason to maintain a strict dividing line between the individual psychological level – the traditional realm of psychology and psychiatry – and the collective level, to which social scientists and historians usually restrict themselves. In Stavrakakis's opinion (which is deeply inspired by Lacan's body of thought) the boundary between both is fictive. From the very moment an individual is introduced to the world of agreements and rules we term culture (described by Lacanians as the symbolic order), he feels amputated, or, as Stavrakakis put it, a “lacking subject.” Where culture requires classification, designation and valuation of experiences (this behaviour is male, that is female, this behaviour is correct, that is not), introduction to culture means to be subjected to arrangements and rules.

In 1994, the former socialist part of Germany, the German Democratic Republic (GDR), was probably one of the most fascinating places for an anthropologist to conduct research. Five years earlier, the Fall of the Berlin Wall had initiated the collapse of the socialist regime in Eastern Germany and the start of German reunification. Although heartily welcomed, this prompted the complete breakdown of East German society and the fast disintegration of all existing material, social, and conceptual standards. The ensuing turmoil could be seen, heard, and felt throughout the country. The general atmosphere was tense, and conversations on the most mundane topics could suddenly derail – ostensibly for no reason. Whereas anthropologists have generally come to accept that a society's social and cultural structures are not fixed but rather constructed, it was a shock to witness the panic and pain this confrontation caused in everyday life. People were frantically searching for new safeguards.

Since then much has changed – not just the material, social, and psychological make-up of the former socialist society, but also the way it is remembered. Initially, the painful breakdown of everything trusted and secure caused people to experience any criticism of their history as extraordinarily hurtful, but as time passed, people's memories on the GDR have grown more differentiated. In 1994, longing and nostalgia for the past, anger and denial with regard to criticizing it were common reactions to the complete reshuffling and widespread critique of former East Germans’ existence. Barely twenty year later, these responses have made way for a more nuanced and critical perspective on the GDR. This shift is clearly illustrated in cinematic form by two films about the GDR that received wide acclaim also outside Germany: Goodbye Lenin (2003) and Das Leben der Anderen (The Lives of Others, 2007). Although not denying or ignoring the dictatorial aspects of the GDR, the former film excels in its endearing, somewhat nostalgic depiction of the socialist past, whereas the latter conveys a far darker mood. Goodbye Lenin's main message is roughly: “life under socialism may have been cramped, and we may not have had much, but what we had was comfy and cozy,” while The Lives of Others reveals the almost unperceivable corruption of human relationships under socialist dictatorship. From humoristic-nostalgic and tenderly ironic, to gloomy and (self)critical: the two films represent the sequence of collective memories of the GDR in a nutshell.

Western Prosperity as Consolation

In the late summer and autumn of 1989, television news broadcasts all over the world were dominated for weeks by the same images. They showed large groups of East Germans crossing the Berlin Wall and the border to West Germany. The images have become iconic, representing the fall of communism and the democratic will of the people. As the pictures also showed East Germans’ excitement at finally being able to enter West Germany's consumer paradise, the events are also carved in people's collective memory as iconic symbols of the worldwide triumph of capitalism and consumerism. To the dismay of critical reporters, many East Germans seemed to leave their country primarily to discover the unparalleled consumption potential on the other side of the Wall, and to a lesser extent because of the political liberties there.

East Germans’ expectations of the abundance of western consumer goods were obviously high. But what exactly had they expected to find on the other side of the Wall? What did they see when they looked at the western world? Why did they shed tears of joy when for the first time in their lives, they stepped inside West German shops? And why were they prepared to spend more than 10 percent of their average monthly wage for a pineapple and even more for a simple western portable radio? These questions aroused my curiosity and were the starting point for the investigations that formed the basis of this book.

Before presenting my analysis on the role of fantasy in the recent history of East Germany (GDR), I want to explain the relation between this book's argument and conclusion on the one hand, and the kind of material presented and used in it on the other. The reason to do so is that the book's main line of argument primarily derives from forms of knowledge that are essentially non-linguistic. Given the central role of fieldwork in anthropology, this is certainly not a revolutionary remark. But exactly because fieldwork, described as “deep hanging out” in order to generate “informed intuition,” occupies such a central place in our academic identity, I find it striking how little attention is paid in mainstream anthropological texts and case studies to the question of where and how we find the sources that inform our intuition.

Both times that I did extensive fieldwork, I was struck by how little information interviews and conversations produced. This was especially clear in the former GDR. Already after a few weeks it struck me that the stories I listened to all sounded rather alike. Whomever I spoke to, whatever I asked, no matter how hard I tried to steer the conversation in another direction, change the topic, or did my best to tempt people to give a more personal account, it was to no avail. I listened, endlessly and to the point of irritation, to what I soon began to call the standard story: about the fact that nothing was available in this country, and what happened when there were finally children's clothes for sale, how everyone enlisted each other's help to get hold of the highly desirable jumpers; and how since 1989, now that everything was there, things had not improved, because nowadays everyone just thought about themselves; a real division had arisen between the people who had a lot and those who could not afford anything, and it had never been like that in the past, for in the GDR there had been more equality and community spirit than now, and so on and so forth.

Nothing but good things about the past, except for material provision. Capitalism was responsible for the total corruption of morality, social ties and economic security.

One of the most interesting themes which emerged from my conversations with people was the way the power of the state featured in their past. On the one hand, people wholeheartedly admitted that the state had exerted a far-reaching influence on their existence. In their stories, the state was generally portrayed as a distant entity, responsible for everything that had gone wrong in the GDR: “Them at the top, they were always thinking up such strange things…” At the same time, the influence of the state was perceived in a highly relative way, with phrases such as: “It wasn't that bad, we didn't take it seriously.” Furthermore, as will be shown in this chapter, it was precisely thanks to the bond between state and citizenry that the majority of the people I met had not seen the state as a threat, but on the contrary as a force that had actually played a rather positive role in daily life. It was partly due to the state's omnipresence that the general atmosphere in the GDR had been so warm and friendly.

Initially, I found this inconceivable. Why did people's stories about the past sound so mild, sometimes even entirely positive, and nearly always defensive – as for instance in the frequently heard sentence “es war nicht alles schlecht damals [it wasn't all that bad].” Two of the most frequently mentioned positive aspects people recalled were the warmth and mutual equality that had supposedly characterized their former lives. Yet another comment that many people repeated about their past was: “We were all in the same boat then.” Spoken in a somewhat defensive manner, like an excuse, the same boat apparently represented the security brought about by mutual equality.

Although I did occasionally hear critical comments about the past, they were negligible compared to the amount of protective and positive accounts. The main criticism was limited to material consumption.

In late 1989, the unimaginable happened: GDR residents could freely enter West Germany, and one year later, the two Germanys were united. In that year, the country was in a state of jubilation. The euphoria was immense, especially in the GDR. Yet these joyous feelings quickly disappeared, and five years later they had given way to a general mood of dissatisfaction, disappointment, frustration and despair. Many felt like the man in the street, cheated by the western world. Many missed the GDR, sighing nostalgically: “Then the world was still friendly, warm and convenient.” Interestingly, this mood was apparent in every social circle and layer of society. Even people who had prospered since the Wende often declared their frustration and disappointment. All in all, I hardly met anyone who was entirely satisfied with the changes that had taken place. The question is how this mood change should be interpreted?

There appeared to be various reasons for the widespread discontent. In the first place, many East Germans were disappointed by what the economic upheaval had engendered. In a market economy, only the fittest survive according to East German common opinion. This was seen as one of the causes not only of the high unemployment in the GDR, but of the painful fact that, in order to better themselves, people cheated on each other. The second reason why the capitalist world met with such strong disapproval in the former GDR was that since the Wende, social differentiation between people had increased considerably. This was said to have largely put an end to people's involvement with each other. The third reason was that the relationship between East and West Germans did not work out as people had expected. On the contrary, because West Germans supposedly looked down on East Germans and their past society, East Germans collectively felt as if they had become second-class citizens in their own country. The changes in the consumer market that had occurred since the Wende were cited as a cause, a result or an illustration of the three different sources of discontent.

It appeared from the stories in the previous chapter that East Germans had learned to be selective about which negative aspects of their lives they preferred to keep to themselves. The only thing that was more or less in the open were people's complaints about the previous material situation. The power of attraction of the western world mainly derived from its material conditions. In East Germans’ eyes, the plentiful West German consumer world was so special that people visited the Intershop despite the fact that this was precisely the place where they knew they were being closely watched by the Stasi. In the GDR, western goods were regarded as little relics, the value of which could not be measured by any objective standard – they were a western fetish. Why did western goods have such value in the GDR? What did they appear to promise?

According to Dutch anthropologist Patricia Spyer, the “extraordinary power” that is often attributed to certain categories of material objects, specifically in socially unstable situations, is linked to the promise that material objects seem to evoke – a promise that proves to be irresistible especially in uncertain times: “[The] promise of fulfillment and ultimate arrival.” Thus, completely out of context, these words may come across as too vague and general an indication, but in my opinion they capture the essence of what the West German consumer world previously seemed to promise in so many East Germans’ eyes.

On the subject of his friends rising above him, Helmut remarked that “one only really became someone in the GDR when leaving the country.” This statement suggests that apparently only beyond the borders of the GDR was it possible to really make something of life. Thus, the ultimate realization of East Germans’ existence was to be found beyond the borders of their own country. In many East Germans’ experience, the fulfillment of their desires was found in the material wealth of the west.

Sometimes posing a question is the same as answering it. At first glance, this certainly applies to the question of how well the East German state succeeded in delivering its materialist promises. We all know what transpired. We have seen the images of grimy streets, long queues in front of shops, and people so happy to finally get their hands on a few oranges. We have heard them grumbling about the country's material and consumer situation. It was primarily these complaints that drove so many people to the streets in the autumn of 1989. And one year later, these complaints motivated them yet again when it came to deciding their country's future. By voting for German unity, most people were opting for well-equipped shops and the ability to buy fresh fruit all year around. They wanted to end the continual shortages and lack of materials.

Since the East German state was apparently not able to provide acceptable material conditions, it seems obvious to assume that the pact between government and populace did not hold out. Although hard to believe, the contrary was true. This chapter will show that the GDR's difficult material situation actually functioned as one of the main pillars sustaining the alliance between state and citizenry.

Severe, Rational, and Centrally Planned

In the autumn of 1992, when I was in search of an appropriate fieldwork location, I made a short trip to the former GDR during which I visited various towns and cities. Apart from the appointments I had made in advance, my first impressions of the country were mainly visual. Wherever I came, I curiously viewed the streets, the public spaces, the tall apartment blocks in the suburbs, the interiors of the libraries and town halls, the decoration in the few shops not yet renovated, and the little East German neon signs that were still there. I happened to visit Weimar on the day when the municipal rubbish collectors picked up large items, thus allowing me a glimpse of the remnants of people's interiors that were now piled up on the side of the street.

When the Americans left Thuringia to be replaced by Russian troops in the spring of 1945, most of the region's residents feared the situation would deteriorate further. As the national socialist regime had always portrayed the Soviet Union as the empire of evil, most East Germans had strong anti-Russian feelings. The population's general attitude towards the various occupational forces was aptly summed up by a female resident of Berlin, who stated: “When we saw Russians coming, we would run down the basement steps. If we saw Americans, we would run up the steps to meet them.” East Germans’ worst fears about the Russian occupiers were painfully confirmed with the massive violation of East German women by members of the Red Army, and with the brutal ways the Soviet occupying power claimed its war reparations. This all resulted in widespread anti-Soviet attitudes and strong opposition to Soviet “early socialization policies.” The new East German leaders who wanted to win the population round to the socialist project were thus setting themselves an almost impossible task.

In spite of the general hostility, people seemed to gradually come to terms with their country's socialist project. This was mainly thanks to the appeal of what can be termed the GDR's ideological fundament: its presumed antifascist nature. Claiming this label as an apt description of the new state's raison-d’être was accomplished by thoroughly rewriting recent history. As will be suggested in this chapter, the new, socialist-proof version of the recent past perfectly accommodated widespread popular yearnings – to quietly build a new life (materially and socially) in order to cover up the lack of mutual trust and restore faith in the future. Despite East Germans’ widespread reluctance to conform to the Russian occupation, the state's promises for the future and popular strivings eventually established a form of alliance between the new socialist state and the East German population after 1945.

The Past Rewritten

When the Soviet Union occupied the eastern part of Germany, it had no well-designed plans for its future. This began to change amidst mounting antagonism between the western allied powers and the Soviet Union, and when it gradually became clear that the western part of Germany was going to be integrated in the capitalist bloc. In 1949 the GDR was founded as a separate German state under direct Soviet control.

Introduction: Cold War Modernism in the West and the East

The stylistic dichotomy between modernism on the one hand and socialist realism on the other is a standard theme in narratives of the cultural Cold War. This narrative, encompassing the whole range of cultural productions from literature, dance and music to art, design and architecture, is itself not free from Cold War rhetorical elements. To interpret modernist culture as a free and individualist form of artistic expression in opposition to socialist realism as an essentially traditional and even national approach to culture, suggests the clear-cut logic of two opposing political systems being reflected in the propaganda uses of culture in both camps.

In 1983, Serge Guilbaut published his influential study about how Abstract Expressionism came to represent American culture and in turn was used by the state and the CIA to demonstrate two things: firstly, that the United States contributed substantially to Western (formerly European) high culture; secondly, that American Art, in contrast to the Soviet Union, represented above all the freedom of the individual. More recently, this interpretation has been taken up in different historical studies on the cultural Cold War, producing new perspectives on a debate previously focused on art-historical issues. Thus, it has become clear that the political appropriation of modernism reached far beyond the practice of exhibiting paintings. Especially in the field of architecture and industrial design modernist aesthetics acquired strong symbolic and representational significance in the context of Cold War cultural diplomacy. During the 1950s, new American embassies around the world were built by modernist architects, thereby reflecting, as Jane Loeffler puts it, ‘the extent to which architectural modernism became identified with democracy,’ a democracy linked by American architects to characteristics such as ‘newness, openness, abstraction, ambiguity, and technological innovation.’ At the same time, modern design and architecture were also associated with a new spirit of Western international cooperation, since the international origin and pervasiveness of this style lent itself to underline the common Western project of economic and cultural progress, above all in American or international exhibitions.