Austrian national identity in the centre-periphery model

ABSTRACT

This article deals with the question of Austrian national identity, seen as a case study set within the theoretical frameworks of the centre-periphery model, and in particular, the theories of cultural emancipation of a periphery from the preponderance of a centre. The article examines , firstly, the unequal partnership between Germany and Austria, whose roots are to be found in the rivalry between the Habsburgs and Hohenzollerns, and, secondly, the way Austria invented its concept of a cultural centre after 1945. Finally, emphasis is put on selected political, cultural, and social phenomena, as well as processes that have happened since the 1960s, which question the traditional image of Austria. The salient element of this deconstruction process is by means of unearthing Austria’s memory of the Nazi past, which facilitates the emergence of a critical culture of remembrance and undermines the artificial post-war construct of Austrian national identity.

KEYWORDS:

• Austrian national identity
• centre and periphery
• cultural centre
• critical culture of remembrance
• Austrian–German relations
• self-valorization

Introduction

The questions of the Austrian national identity, the role of myths and stereotypes in its formation, as well as German-Austrian relations in this context, are not new in the literature of history and memory studies. In this article, I do not offer any new theories which put forward explanations for the past difficulties in judging whether Austrians form a separate nation or not. However, what I do seek is to locate these questions within the existing studies of transnational memory, particularly the theoretical framework that is derived from the socio-economic centre-periphery model and dependency theories.

Focusing on German-Austrian cultural and media relations, I argue that although Austria’s economy and media system are to be perceived as peripheral in juxtaposition with the German market, Austrian post-war culture of remembrance, based on traditional, loyal patriotism and the expression of a ‘will’ to form a separate nation, had reshaped for decades its image into one of a cultural centre. Only over the course of time, when a critical culture of remembrance developed, were the foundations of this image questioned and partially deconstructed.

The centre-periphery model

The centre-periphery differentiation is a model which serves as a basis for research in the fields of politics, geography, economics and sociology. The model, elaborated in the 1960s and 1970s, attempts to explain the differences between a state or society that is viewed as an advanced centre and an inferior periphery. It shows that the economic centres exert military, political, and economic influence in order to subordinate the peripheral countries. The key category in relations between the two is inequality, which serves as the basis for further reflection in world-system theoriesfor instance, in André Gunder Frank’s Dependent Accumulation and Underdevelopment (1978), Samir Amin’s Unequal Development (Amin 1976), or Johan Galtung’s essay ‘A Structural Theory of Imperialism’ where he states that his theory strives from two glaring facts about this world: ‘the tremendous inequality, within and between nations, in almost all aspects of human living conditions, including the power to decide over those living conditions; and the resistance of this inequality to change’ (Galtung 1971, 81). According to all of these models, the world economy consists of a network of centres which impose an unequal exchange upon the peripheries.

The centre-periphery concept has been utilized in a more global model – the model of a world system. Leading proponents of this model, such as Fernando Henrique Fernando Henrique and Faletto (1979) and Wallerstein (1970), emphasize that the world system model illustrates the dependency of the peripheries upon the centres and the economic exploitation of the former by the latter. The models of a world-system centre and peripheries can be a useful tool in comprehending world history and the core countries’ methods of becoming empires.

In many reflections on the model, a question of utmost importance is connected with the distance between the two subjects. Distance is named as one of the three determinants of the periphery, together with difference and dependence, with Stein Rokkan and Derek U. Urwin positing that ‘a periphery is located at some distance from the dominant centre or centres, and its transactions with the latter are fraught with costs’ (Stein and Urwin 1983, 3). Thus, this centre-periphery framework raises the association with the discourse of postcolonial studies, particularly when focusing on the question of the periphery’s exploitation.

It is not my intention to take a position in the dispute about the accuracy of the model in postcolonial studies, and I will not be focusing on the criterion of distance since Germany and Austria, the subjects of my reflection, are neighbouring countries. I support the argument raised by, among others, Sertan Batur, according to whom, ‘the centre and periphery model is useful not only on a global level but also from a more local standpoint, especially in understanding interdependency between the rich city and the poorer countryside’ (Batur 2014, 212). Therefore, I propose a sub-model, in which countries of rather average economic power, are to be juxtaposed with their stronger neighbours (located in close or direct proximity) with which they share common historical experiences and cultural elements but still appear to be overshadowed by them.

In demonstrating the notion of unequal partnership, I refer to the comparative analysis of German-Austrian and US–Canadian relations proposed by the authors of the anthology entitled Unequal Partners (Jacek 1993). One of the contributors, Harald von Riekhoff, points out that ‘unequal partnership denotes relations between countries that have a common or closely related language, relatively homogenous cultures, geographic proximity, a high level of transactions, and a significant inequality of power’ (Riekhoff 1993, 3). The authors analyse unequal partnerships through the examples of German-Austrian and US-American-Canadian relations, but as Riekhoff argues, ‘a number of other countries would fit the definition of unequal partnership in addition to the four selected for this study’ (Riekhoff 1993, 3).

The author who significantly contributed to the notion of centre and peripheries is Enrique Dussel. In his analysis, Dussel summarizes the elements of the ‘myth of modernity’, which is largely predicated upon the history of subjugation considered as a means to impose upon ‘immature peoples, enslaved races, the “weaker”, sex, et cetera’ (Dussel 1993, 75). One of the key categories in this respect is ‘exclusion’, a process of disdaining and negating the significance of other cultures, without being tantamount to their annihilation (Dussel 2021, 42). The preservation of cultures and eventually attaining awareness of their values is essential in a decolonization-like process, dubbed by Dussel as ‘self-valorization’ (2012, 44). In this respect, the groups that were once subjugated and excluded must realize their inferior status or recognize their status as innocent victims. Although the periphery is not capable of disrupting inequality, it can undertake emancipatory endeavours to raise its own value. Dussel contends that this process usually unfolds in popular and vernacular culture, in: ‘folklore, music, food, dress, and festivals, the memory of their heroes, their emancipatory moments, their social and political organizations, etc.’ (2012, 36). In this respect, German–Austrian relations and the specifics of the Austrian post-war national identity can be treated as a case study, which may then inspire a re-evaluation of the centre-periphery concept.

Germany as the centre, Austria as the periphery

Regarding Austrian-German political relations, the centre-periphery model appears to be out of place. As Andrei S. Markovits notes, ‘Quite surprisingly, in politics there coexist two completely separate and independent entities with virtually no issues of conflict but also no presence of dependency as a consequence of unequal power’ (Markovits 1996, 104). The state of economic relations, though, is quite the opposite. In fact, the economic relations between the two shed more light on Austria’s overwhelming dependence on Germany, which can be seen in the export-import structure between the two countries. Germany accounts for 28.3% of Austrian exports and is by far Austria’s most important export market. When it comes to Austrian imports, a similar trend can be observed as 38.6% of Austria’s imports come from Germany (OEC n.d.). Thus, Austria’s balance of trade is largely contingent on relations with Germany. The German export structure is much more diversified: the country’s largest export markets are the United States (9.11%), France (7.97%), and China (7.48%), while Austria is down in eighth position (4.7%). This imbalance is even more noticeable with regard to German imports: Austria is ninth (4.16%) in comparison to the leading countries: the Netherlands (9.15%), France (6.56%), and Belgium (5.92%) (OEC, 2021). Unequal economic relations between Austria and Germany can also be seen in the investment sector (The The Federal Ministry for Digital and Economic Affairs, n.d.). These close, albeit unequal economic ties between Germany and Austria had already become evident in the early post-war period (Thaler 2001).

The hegemonic position of Germany can also be observed in the sphere of Austrian media dominated by German giants (Markovits 1996, 100; Thaler 2001, 38–39). While Austrian authors are widely published by German publishers, German authors are rarely done so by Austrian publishers. While the average Austrian can easily buy one of the leading German newspapers and magazines, such as Der Spiegel, Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung, and Die Welt at a newspaper stand or popular trafika, the mass-circulation Austrian newspapers and magazines, such as Kleine Zeitung, Der Standard or profil are unavailable for the average German. This disproportionate ‘state of affairs’ also extends to academic publications: ‘Thus, while there exist fine Austrian journals in most academic disciplines, Austrian scholars not only have to read the scholarly publications from Germany but also [be] publish[ed] in them’ (Markovits 1996, 101). The German influence is evident in Austria’s television sector as well. While the average Austrian has easy access to German television channels, Austrian television can only be seen in the German border areas (Burgard 2019). Furthermore, Austrian private televisions: ATV and plus4 have been owned by a German media group since they first began broadcasting.

The roots of political inequality can be traced back to the 18^th century. The struggle for dominance that took place within the Holy Roman Empire can be understood as a series of duels between the Habsburgs and the Hohenzollerns, as Ulrich Schlie puts it, or three thresholds of discontinuity (Diskontinuitätsschwellen) as argued by Gerhard Stourzh.¹ According to Schlie (2013), the first such clash occurred between Maria Theresia and Frederick the Great, while a second example refers to the unequal dualism in 1815 between Prussia and Austria, after the defeat of Napoleon and the restoration of pre-war traditions in Europe. A third clash involving the countries was the Austrian debacle at the battle of Königgrätz in 1866, while the last duel that Austria lost concerned the struggle between leading Austrian and German politicians. In February and March of 1938, Schuschnigg suffered defeat in the confrontation with Hitler and, as it would turn out later, also with most Austrians who endorsed the country’s annexation.

Austria as the centre, Germany as the periphery

Over the course of time, though, Austria strove to magnify its status by presenting itself as the true centre in cultural terms. However, before discussing this issue, a question referring to the naturalness of such an idea may arise. As Lamb-Faffelberger puts it: ‘For the past fifty years, modern Austria has been striving to overcome the stigma of being a physically small and politically unimportant country by claiming centrality or being the heart of Europe – symptom for [sic] its crippled national and cultural identity’ (Lamb-Faffelberger 2003, 293–294). Thus, if we comprehend national identity as a concept of ‘imagined community’, in accordance with Benedict Anderson’s often cited interpretation,² then the Austrian identity, based on the conviction of being the true cultural centre, appears artificial and wistful, and an Austrian nation as a community that was imagined. This would echo the notion of ‘invented traditions’ understood by Hobsbawm as ‘a set of practices, normally governed by overtly or tacitly accepted rules and of a ritual or symbolic nature, which seek to inculcate certain values and norms of behaviour by repetition, which automatically implies continuity with the past’ (Hobsbawm 2012, 1).

The author whom Anderson concisely mentions is Ernest Renan. Renan ruminates on several factors that render a community a nation, such as a common language, shared interests, geographical location, and race. He states, however, that without a will to form a separate nation, all these elements are not sufficient. Renan then puts forward Switzerland as an example (2018, 257). The will to form a nation becomes the key element in the nation-building process. This strong emphasis exposed Renan to criticism from historians, such as Eric Hobsbawm:

“Defining a nation by its members’ consciousness of belonging to it is tautological and provides only an a posteriori guide to what a nation is. Moreover, it can lead the incautious into extremes of voluntarism which suggests that all that is needed to be or to create or recreate a nation is the will to be one” (2012, 8).

Notwithstanding, one should notice that the expression of the will consists of two further elements essential in his concept of nation. Renan speaks of past and present times as a point of orientation for a nation:

‘A nation is a soul, a spiritual principle. Two things that, in truth, are but one constitute this soul, this spiritual principle. One is in the past, the other in the present. One is the possession in common of a rich legacy of memories; the other is present consent, the desire to live together, the will to perpetuate the value of the heritage that one has received in an undivided form’ (1882, 261).

For Renan, the memory of the past can be vivid only if it is remembered and respected in the future. It is the past, however, that the historian takes a closer look at. All vital human feelings, if experienced collectively, enlace a national idea. Finally, among all feelings it is suffering that Renan underscores most: ‘I spoke just now of “having suffered together”; indeed, suffering in common unites more than joy does. Where national memories are concerned, grief is of more value than triumphs, for it imposes duties, it requires a common effort’ (2018, 261).

In fact, the accentuation of suffering in Renan’s concept bears a resemblance to Dussel’s idea of a periphery becoming aware of its victimhood as a precondition interlacing its emancipation.

The ultimate element in the creation of nations emerging in Renan’s thought, albeit mentioned only briefly, pertains to the problem of forgetting:

‘The act of forgetting, I would even say, historical error, is an essential factor in the creation of a nation, which is why progress in historical studies often constitutes a danger for nationality. Indeed, historical enquiry brings back to light the deeds of violence that took place at the origin of all political formations, even of those whose consequences have been the most beneficial’.³

Let us now focus solely on the case of Austrian national identity and the belief of being the true cultural centre. A feeling of national identity that could develop after 1945 was lacking in the First Austrian Republic. Some signs of Austrian national consciousness often predicated on the belief of distinctiveness from Germany and having an affinity to its own culture had already emerged after the First World War. Nostalgia for the Habsburg monarchy surfaced almost as soon as the monarchy collapsed. Over the course of time, this longing for the past morphed into a significant effect that Claudio Magris would call the Habsburg myth (Magris 2000), seen in the works of Jewish Austrian writers, such as Josef Roth, Stefan Zweig, and Franz Werfel, and expressing the conviction ‘that the breaking up of the ancient, dynastic, but supranational, polyglot and pluralistic Habsburg monarchy in 1918, in favour of the principle of nationalism, was a tragedy for the region, for its cultural breadth, but also for its political and moral equilibrium’ (Beller 2017, 352). As Claudio Magris contends, the Habsburg myth survived the First Republic not only in literature – it was criticized and reshaped by other prominent Austrian authors, including post-war filmmakers shooting emperor dramas, such as Ernst Marischka’s Sissi trilogy in the 1950s.

Nostalgia for this past empire was also addressed in the political agenda before 1938. It was embedded in the ideology of the Christian Social Party, which Stanley Suval terms as the ‘main political depository of Austrian nostalgia’ with Chancellor Ignaz Seipel, priest and theologist, dubbed as ‘the driving force’ of the party (Suval 1974, 195). An opposite stance, in contrast, took the Austrian Social Democrats who until the seizure of power by Hitler in Germany advocated the idea of a Great German state (Bauerkämper 2012, 58). A stronger emphasis on Austria’s leading role among German nations developed in the Austrofascist regime. Dollfuß and Schuschnigg were the leaders of the Fatherland Front, the only legal political group that was derived, to a large degree, from the Christian Social Party (Burgstaller 2015, 116). The construction of the Austrian national identity, based on the notion of cultural superiority and positive distinctiveness from Germany, supplanted the official narrative in the corporative state according to which Austrians were culturally better-developed Germans.

Although between 1938 and 1945, Austrians behaved no differently from the majority of other (‘Aryan’) people in the German Reich, there were some bones of contention between Austrians and the German Nazi rulers, which underpinned the distinctiveness of Austrians from Germans. This dissatisfaction which sometimes led to acts of civil disobedience specifically concerned Austrian farmers and practicing Catholics whose religious rites were disregarded and sometimes interrupted by Nazi officials (Bukey 2000, 117–118). The official Austrian Catholic Church, after initially supporting Austria’s annexation, soon became the subject of discrimination: the dissolution of numerous religious institutions, curtailment of religious teaching at schools, prohibition of the Catholic press, and confiscation of hundreds of the Church’s real estates by NSDAP (Hanisch 1988, 173). While on the one hand, some Catholic officials advocated a ‘crusade against bolshevism’, shared antisemitic prejudices,⁴ and as an institution did not actively participate in the resistance, the anticlerical policy of German Nazis stood in deep contrast with the beliefs cultivated by many Austrians. Moreover, after the communists, the Catholics formed the second largest group which resisted National Socialism and often suffered the most severe consequences (Neugebauer 2014, 126). Thus, according to numerous historians, a separate Austrian identity, whose roots were established in the nineteenth century, developed precisely at the time of the country’s occupation (Wodak et al. 2009, 50).

The differences between Germany and Austria became crucial in the formation of the Austrian post-war national identity. As Harry Ritter notes: “In this new context the ‘German identity’ became synonymous with ‘Nazism’. What had been for decades a struggle for German identity became a struggle to avoid it [emphasis by Ritter] (Ritter 1992, 113). Thus, the word ‘German’ became taboo, and ‘the interdependence of Austrian history and the Austrian past with German history and the German present was displaced’ (Ritter 1992, 114). Shaking off the symbols of Germanness became a state doctrine, which was expressed, for instance, through the country’s new school system, pursued by the conservative ÖVP. For example, in 1945 the official name of the subject ‘German language’ (Deutsch) was replaced by ‘instruction language’ (Unterrichtssprache) (Berger 2020, 55), and in 1950 the Austrian Dictionary (Das Österreichische Wörterbuch, ÖWB) was ordered by the Federal Minister of Education Felix Hurdes and placed in explicit opposition to the Duden reference works, the market leader at the time. The debate on Austrian German not only as a dialect has continued until today with some authors claiming that the Austrian variant of German with its own set of vocabulary and dialectical sound should be recognized as equally standard German (see de Cillia 2020; Dollinger 2021). By the same token, Austria restored and remodelled its self-image based on its bonds with its Catholic and Habsburg tradition, as well as an affinity to arts and affection for peace. As Margarete Lamb-Faffelberger points out, after the war ‘the notion of Austrians as non-Germans replaced the myth of Austrians as better Germans which was prevalent in the First Republic’ (Lamb-Faffelberger 2003, 292).

No single identity

It might be striking at first glance that the emancipation of the periphery finds its reflection in the psychoanalytic theory, in the concept of the inferiority complex coined by Alfred Adler (an Austrian, by the way), according to whom a child who always grows up surrounded by ‘bigger’ adults, realizes their inferiority, which in turn, becomes the driving force in their life. Adler outlines that a psychological defence response to an inferiority complex may result in the emergence of a superiority complex (2013, 78–97) with symptoms such as boastful claims that cannot be proven empirically and a self-image of supremacy. The application of the complexes of inferiority and superiority has surfaced in texts of numerous authors, for instance, Thomas Angerer who argues, in reference to the Austrofascist state, that ‘The small-state inferiority complex was compensated by an ideology of ethical, cultural, and political superiority, which basically meant that the new Austria stepped in the traditions of the old’ (2002, 272). On the other hand, Oliver Rathkolb, highlighting the changes occurring in Austria, points out that paradoxical tendencies in Austrian self-image may in fact coexist: ‘Österreich hat sich gewandelt, geblieben ist die Gleichzeitigkeit zwischen Größenwahn und Minderwertigkeitskomplex, zwischen Engagement und Isolation’ [Austria has changed. What remained is the simultaneity of megalomania and an inferiority complex, of engagement and isolation] (Posthof 2015). In this respect, both complexes function simultaneously one with the other, which shows the paradoxical countenance of the contemporary self-definition of the Austrian Republic.

The Austrian case demonstrates the coexistence of at least two contradictive narratives. The first stemmed from the Moscow declaration signed in 1943 by the allies declaring Austria as the first victim of Hitler’s aggression. This interpretation was later eagerly acquired by leading Austrian politicians, who omitted the second part of the declaration, according to which Austria, too, had responsibility for participating in the war on the side of Germany. On the other hand, in the post-war period, there was space for memories of the war and National Socialism, if cultivated by both Austrian military veterans who served in the Reich and their supporters. Heidemarie Uhl, citing Anton Pelinka’s expression, ‘double speak’, explains this contradiction in relation to the intentions of the Austrian actors of the politics of memory: outside of Austria, it was viable to declare the country a victim in order to evade compensation claims from the victims of the Reich. On the other hand, the myth of being a war victim and the sacrifice of Austria during the war, as held by former soldiers, united Austrian society inside the country. In both cases, Austria could perceive herself as a victim – either of Nazi Germany or the Second World War. This makes the Austrian case applicable to the concept of an innocent victim as proposed by Dussel and Renan. By the same token, the deliberate forgetfulness connected with the second part of the Moscow Declaration means, submits Rathkolb, Austria’s eventual fencing off from Germany (Rathkolb 2017, 53). The coexistence of the contradictive narratives can be explained through the lens of Anderson’s, Gellner’s (1983) and Dussel’s theories – the victim myth was actually an artificial, invented narrative, serving Austria in a mere emancipatory way, while the recognition of sacrifice in the war was a natural and vividly cultivated memory.

These contradictions suggest that one indeed cannot speak of a single identity (Wodak 2015, VIII). Representatives of the revisionist, far-right Austrian Freedom Party (FPÖ) have often used revisionist rhetoric, honouring the Wehrmacht and the SS, with its leader Jörg Haider, even employing Nazi terminology in public speeches (Reisigl and Wodak 2000, 198). Together with Haider’s objection against the first victim myth (Utgaard 2003, 187), the FPÖ’s stance may be interpreted as an approach closer to a ‘Great-German’ nationalism rather than a perception of Austria as a country entirely aloof from Germany. In contrast to Germany, where leading political parties clearly distance themselves from right-wing populist, xenophobic and nationalist parties, in Austria, the FPÖ has enjoyed substantial popularity, being able to build a coalition with the conservative Austrian People’s Party ÖVP in 2000–2006 and in 2018–2019. A prominent example of substantial support for an FPÖ politician regardless of his extreme-nationalist stance is the case of Udo Landbauer who resigned from his political position in 2018 because of his connection to a right-extreme, antisemitic student organization, but later in federal state elections in Lower Austria in 2022 garnered second-most votes (24% of all votes). The contemporary successes of the FPÖ result stem, to a certain extent, from the ‘normalization’ of their discriminatory rhetoric in the mainstream discourse (Wodak 2015, 177–190; Wodak et al. 1990, 170–178).

The difficult past

The selective memory of the past corresponds with the problem of forgetting as underlined in the concept of Renan. The examples from French history addressed by Renan – above all the St. Bartholomew’s Day massacre in 1572 – were chapters of history whose remembrance would be detrimental to the idea of a united nation. In this respect, the crucial events from Austrian history between 1933/34 and 1945 had to be kept in the sphere of latency. This characterizes the memory of the past which I, thus dub difficult after Wagner-Pacifici and Schwartz (1991).

What I consider as the Austrian difficult past, encompasses, above all, the Austrian contribution to the emergence of racial antisemitism in the late nineteenth century, the activity of Austrian Nazis before and after 1938, as well as Austrian population’s support for the Anschluss and the ensuing persecution of Austrian Jews as well as other minorities. The roots of Austrian antisemitic, racial, and anti-democratic traditions lay actually in the demise of the multi-ethnic, pluralistic monarchy and its supplantation by an exclusive, racial political system. Although Vienna in the First Republic used to be called ‘red’ due to the leading position of social democracy in the town hall, one should bear in mind that only a few years earlier the co-founder of the conservative Christian Social Party (CSP) and the Mayor of Vienna was Karl Lueger, an overt anti-Semite, while a major exponent of German nationalism in Austria, Georg Ritter von Schönerer, adamantly called for the ‘eradication of parasite races’ (Hamann 2002, 48). Therefore, the reality depicted in Zweig’s The World of Yesterday, for instance, appears to be ‘gilded’ and ‘sanitized’ (Beller 1996, 39). Even in the times of the First Republic, where Zweig published most of his works, Jews were made the scapegoat for Austria’s precarious economic situation, while antisemitism itself was used as a tool in the political fight of almost all political groups (Königseder 2005, 54–55). After Hitler’s seizure of power in Germany in 1933, the significance of antisemitism as a political weapon diminished, whereas the Dollfuß-Schuschnigg regime demonstrated a more ambivalent approach to the Jewish question: although Jews enjoyed relative political tolerance, the government did not undertake any actions against the acts of antisemitism in society (Königseder 2005, 55–57; Pauley 1992, 261–273).

National Socialist undercurrents could easily thrive in the First Republic. As a matter of fact, Nazism in Austria, citing Bruce F. Pauley, was in some respects more deeply rooted and extreme than in Germany and predated the founding of the German NSDAP by nearly 16 years. ‘Like the party in Germany, it attracted elements of every social class (…) and until at least 1924 it was larger on a per capita basis than the German party’ (Pauley 1988, 52). Although its significance diminished in the second half of the 1920s, the Austrian Nazi Party strengthened its antidemocratic endeavours at the beginning of the 1930s. Austrian Nazis were responsible for undermining the social order in the First Republic and in the Corporative State, which found its expressions in organizing riots, acts of vandalism, and assaults, including the assassination of Chancellor Engelbert Dollfuß in July 1934. Therefore, when his succeeder, Schuschnigg resigned on the evening of 11 March 1938, illegal Austrian Nazis had already prepared everything to smoothly take over the power.

The difficult past also refers to the population eagerly participating in anti-Jewish actions in 1938. The photographs documenting Viennese Jews scrubbing sidewalks and surrounded by cheering onlookers would later become iconic, together with photographs showing the crowds of Austrians enthusiastically welcoming Hitler. Historians confirm that, during the Night of Broken Glass, ‘aside from Middle Franconia, the level of violence and bloodshed in Vienna exceeded that of any other locality of Greater Germany’ (Bukey 2000, 144). Moreover, it is well documented that the pace of wild ‘Aryanization’ of Jewish property surprised even some German Nazi clerks (Botz 1992, 202–204) and that some Austrian initiatives in antisemitic policy were later adopted throughout the entire Reich (Pauley 1992, 281–282). During the course of the Second World War, the proportion of NSDAP members to the whole population in the ‘Ostmark’ was higher than in the German part of the Reich (Bauerkämper, 59), with some Austrians occupying key positions in the oppressive regime and the Holocaust policy.

The memory of these events had to remain latent after 1945 if one did seek to perceive Austria as the first victim of Nazi aggression and a state culturally different from Germany. The fact that memory becomes latent results from one narrative being dominant – or one set of memories – over another one. As Lorraine Ryan notes: ‘Having been subjugated to the present, dominant version, these suppressed memories remain latent until such a time as they do merge with the public focus on the past’ (Ryan 2010, 159). Reactivating a memory from a state of latency can happen only under the circumstances of a highly developed critical culture of remembrance. Aleida Assmann points out that ‘Erinnern bedarf der Darstellung’ [remembering requires a representation] (Assmann 2020, 235). This slightly banal remark offers a hint at the understanding of the pluralist culture of remembrance. Only when this process is critical are visualization and artistic reviewing of the difficult past, for instance, possible. Hence, the other end of the culture of remembrance was gradually shaped by the development of a critical patriotism, which encourages discussion on controversial policies of the state and challenges the status quo hitherto preserved by state institutions.

Howard Zinn, an American historian, once argued that the notion of patriotism should not preclude society from submitting the government to critical review. On the contrary:

‘In fact, if patriotism means being true to the principles for which your country is supposed to stand, then certainly the right to dissent is one of those principles. And if we’re exercising that right to dissent, it’s a patriotic act’ (Basco 2002).

Both the case of Austria and Germany prove that collective traumas ‘require a time of latency before they can be acted out, spoken about, and worked through’ (see Giesen et al. 2004, 116), it is therefore obvious that the early post-war reality was highly unfavourable for the development of a critical patriotism. Post-war Austria, just like Germany, responded to the disclosure of the horrors of war and genocide with a communicative silence (Lübbe 1983) which was further bolstered by the tangible effects of the ‘economic miracle’. This began to change in the late 1950s and early 1960s, although only in West Germany, with a series of trials against former Nazi perpetrators, parliament debates, and social protests which cannot be discussed in this short essay. The West German memory of the difficult past in the 1970s was anything but latent. However, in Austria, the politics of memory took a quite different turn. In 1955, the People’s Tribunals, established by the Allies to try perpetrators of Nazi crimes, were eventually dissolved. Although native juridical institutions took over the investigations regarding Nazi perpetrators, the general number of charges and trials steadily decreased. In the 1970s, when West Germany had already witnessed several significant trials against former Nazi functionaries and would investigate more perpetrators in the following years, Austria brought all investigations to a halt (Thünemann 2005, 66–78). As Winfried Garscha states, ‘Nazi criminals had been living in Austria with impunity since 1972 when the last defendant charged with Nazi crimes was convicted by a court’ (Garscha 2012, 321). At the same time, most survivors of the Holocaust were deprived of compensation for losses suffered in the Nazi regime (Brauneder 2016) and were not welcome, if they decided to seek compensation upon returning to Austria (see, e.g. Berger and Wodak 2018). Nazism, on the other hand, found its continuation in politics, starting with the re-conferring of active election rights for former members of NSDAP and competing for their votes in 1949 (see Rathkolb 2017, 17), in the education, legislation,⁵ and culture (see Rathkolb 1991). From a foreign perspective, Austrians were presented in line with the positive self-stereotypes ‘as a happy, comfortable, friendly people who enjoy life and place great value on enjoyment, especially eating and drinking’, and Austria as a small, but peaceful, neutral, federal and stable country (Wodak et al. 2009, 55).

Austrian ‘coming to terms’ with its Nazi past took place only gradually within a series of political controversies albeit with a limited impact on the collective memory. First, there was the scandal surrounding the Viennese professor, Taras Borodajkewycz, which concluded with the killing of a former communist resistant fighter, named Ernst Kirchweger, by a right-wing extremist during a street demonstration (Kropiunigg 2015, 27). The next political Nazi-related affair took place in 1975 and concerned Simon Wiesenthal, the Jewish Austrian Holocaust survivor who accused Friedrich Peter, the FPÖ-leader, former SS-Obersturmführer, of taking part in the executions of thousands of Jews in German-occupied Eastern Europe in 1941, and Chancellor Bruno Kreisky (SPÖ) of supporting Peter (see Wodak 2014, 282–322). Finally, in 1985, Austrian public opinion witnessed Friedrich Frischenschläger, the defence minister (FPÖ), shaking hands with Walter Reder, a former SS member responsible for the massacre of over 1,800 civilians in the Italian town of Marzabotto in 1944 (Art 2006, 178–181). However, all these affairs served as a prelude to Austria’s greatest political scandal. The Waldheim Affair in 1986 severely challenged the popular Austrian myth of thousands of men who were only fulfiling their military duties in the German Reich and who purported to have very limited knowledge about Nazi crimes.⁶

The culpability of Wehrmacht soldiers remained unquestioned (at least in the Austrian media) until the late 1980s when an article published in Arbeiter-Zeitung initiated a series of other critical press texts investigating the crimes of the German army (Pollak 2002, 165). Finally, the emergence of the exhibition picturing the crimes of Wehrmacht, which visited several German and Austrian cities between 1995 and 2002, made the image of a clean Wehrmacht and the credibility of the ‘fulfilment of soldierly duty’ narrative crumble (see Pollak et al. 2008).

The end of the 1980s and the beginning of the 1990s saw a milestone which Heidemarie Uhl called the transformation ‘from the victim myth towards the co-responsibility thesis’ (Uhl et al. 2005, 54). In turn, the narrative of Austrian victimhood and sacrifice was gradually replaced by pleas for forgiveness for Nazi crimes (Mitten 1999, 51–85).

The emergence of a new, critical culture of remembrance aimed at unearthing and discussing the memory of the difficult past was not a strictly Austrian phenomenon. The aforementioned scandals and debates somewhat prove that Austria was experiencing social processes, albeit with less impact, which were similar to those unfolding in other Western countries. The wave of pacifism, fighting colonialism, the emergence of a new left, demands for moral freedom, and ultimately an interest in their own, difficult past including the engagement in genocides and colonialist crimes swept across numerous societies. In all cases it was the end of latency that united post-war societies and shaped a positive self-image, be it the myth of ‘Italiani brava gente’, mirroring Italians distancing themselves from fascism and the collaboration with Hitler’s Germany until 1943, or the myth of ‘La Résistance’ in France, magnifying the significance of the French resistance against Nazis and overshadowing the scale of collaboration with the German occupiers. This phenomenon would correspond with the deconstruction of some tenets of national identities, understood as questioning ‘invented traditions’ (in accordance with Hobsbawm), the dissolution of a sense of belonging to an ‘imagined community’ (Anderson) or the end of state-imposed and controlled homogeneity of national culture (Gellner).

In Austria, the transformation from having confidence in myths towards awareness of involvement in National Socialism has never been fully accomplished. Even though numerous initiatives have been undertaken since the 1990s to compensate for and to remember the victims of Nazism as well as to educate the population about the difficult past, Austria on many occasions still evinces a peculiar state of belatedness, vacillation, and inconsistency in coming to terms with its Nazi past (see Axer 2011; Utgaard 2003, 161–197; Bauerkämper 2012, 214–219 and 322–325). A remarkable example of such reluctance is the question of the exhibition in Haus der Geschichte in Vienna, as analysed by Claudia Leeb (2018) or the ongoing debate on Karl Lueger. Although the street ‘Dr.-Karl-Lueger-Ring’ in Vienna was renamed ‘Universitätsring in 2012 because of Lueger’s overt antisemitism, a square and a monument commemorating him (albeit the latter was doused with paint in 2022 and 2023), have remained in the space of the Vienna’s centre.

Closing remarks

What then, is the contemporary Austrian culture of remembrance? And does the centre-periphery model still apply in this particular case? Today, Austria is unquestionably not an economic or a media centre in terms of the centre-periphery theories. On the contrary, numerous statistical facts rather substantiate the thesis that the country appears as a periphery towards Germany, while the impairment of the Austrian position in comparison to Germany has been a long, continuous process. Simultaneously, three factors bolstering the creation of national identity named by Renan could unfold in post-war Austria: the will to form a separate nation, the uniting force of memory of a nation’s own suffering, and a tendency to forget several chapters of its own history. The proclivity for keeping the difficult past latent was particularly crucial in the construction of the Austrian national identity and self-creation as a genuine cultural centre. However, over the course of time, Austria gradually became ready to reconsider the aptness of its hitherto unquestioned self-image. Establishing a sociopolitical ambient favourable for the critical culture of remembrance reminded Austrians about the second part of the Moscow declaration which had been blocked out. In turn, the post-war official, emancipatory construct of national identity, which would highlight only the positive aspects of Austria’s history and embroider the country’s distinctiveness from Germany, can no longer be taken for granted.

Nevertheless, leading Austrian politicians have recently avowed their belief in the Austrian Second Republic as a ‘new-born’ state, as innocent as a newborn child, and therefore not responsible for the Nazi crimes, as Chancellor Wolfgang Schüssel and President Heinz Fischer stated in their speeches in 2005 and 2015, respectively (de Cillia et al. 2020, 154–158). On the other hand, Chancellor Werner Faymann still perceived Austria as one of the leading countries, saying in his New Year’s Eve speech in 2009: ‘Setzen wir … wieder auf Zusammenarbeit, die unsere Heimat zu einer der führenden Nationen hat werden lassen’.? (Shall we rely again on cooperation, which let our homeland become one of the leading nations?) (Godeysen 2010, 256). Obviously, there is no single coherent interpretation of the past nor an unambiguous notion of national identity in today’s Austria. The renewed popularity of the right-populist party lets us surmise that the debates on the Austrian national identity will now revolve around such questions as the integration of immigrants. Such debates, however, will be held in a quite different political and media environment than in the first four decades of the Second Republic. The critical culture of remembrance has considerably re-interpreted, albeit not entirely, Austria’s self-image as a cultural centre. Indeed, this increased awareness of the difficult past may give politicians food for thought as they make decisions regarding today’s social issues.

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Additional information

Funding

This research was funded in whole by the National Science Center, Poland [grant no. 2021/43/D/HS2/01344]. For the purpose of Open Access, the author has applied a CC-BY public copyright license to any Author Accepted Manuscript (AAM) version arising from this submission.

Notes

1. Such thresholds were, according to Stourzh 1867, 1918, and 1938. In contrast to Schlie, Stourzh in his study does not put any stronger emphasis on the Hohenzollern-Habsburg dualism in the times of Frederick the Great and Maria Theresia. See Schlie: 2003; Stourzh 1990, 29.

2. Anderson argued that a nation is an imagined community due to the fact that ‘the members of even the smallest nation will never know most of their fellow-members, meet them, or even hear of them, yet in the minds of each lives the image of their communion’. See Anderson 2006, 5.

3. Ibid, p. 251.

4. These were, however, facts that were taboo in the Church’s narrative after 1945. See Hanisch 1989: 160.

5. See e.g. the seminal study of Robert Knight (2000) who examines the protocols of the Austrian government sessions, indicating that the question of compensation for the victims of Nazism was deliberately postponed in the agenda.

6. Literature about the Waldheim affair is immense and has been continuously expanding, thus its precise enumeration appears little possible. For some recent publications that put the affair in a wide, sociopolitical context see Lehnguth 2014.