[D66] 'It’s the Kultur, Stupid'

[Jugg]

http://www.nybooks.com/articles/2017/12/07/germany-alt-right-kultur-stupid/

It’s the Kultur, Stupid

     By Timothy Garton Ash, www.nybooks.com
     View Original
     December 7th, 2017

It’s the Kultur, Stupid
December 7, 2017 Issue
by Melanie Amann
Munich: Droemer, 317 pp., €16.99 (paper)
Finis Germania [The End of Germany]
by Rolf Peter Sieferle
Steigra: Antaios, 104 pp., €8.50

“The reason we are inundated by culturally alien [kulturfremden] peoples 
such as Arabs, Sinti and Roma etc. is the systematic destruction of 
civil society as a possible counterweight to the 
enemies-of-the-constitution by whom we are ruled. These pigs are nothing 
other than puppets of the victor powers of the Second World War….” Thus 
begins a 2013 personal e-mail from Alice Weidel, who in this autumn’s 
pivotal German election was one of two designated “leading candidates” 
of the Alternative für Deutschland (hereafter AfD or the Alternative). 
The chief “pig” and “puppet” was, of course, Angela Merkel. Despite the 
publication of this leaked e-mail two weeks before election day, adding 
to other widely publicized evidence of AfD leaders’ xenophobic, 
right-wing nationalist views, one in eight German voters gave the 
Alternative their support. It is now the second-largest opposition party 
in the Bundestag, with ninety-two MPs.

Xenophobic right-wing nationalism—in Germany of all places? The very 
fact that observers express surprise indicates how much Germany has 
changed since 1945. These days, we expect more of Germany than of 
ourselves. For, seen from one point of view, this is just Germany 
partaking in the populist normality of our time, as manifested in the 
Brexit vote in Britain, Marine le Pen’s Front National in France, Geert 
Wilders’s blond beastliness in the Netherlands, the right-wing 
nationalist-populist government in Poland, and Trumpery in the US.

Like all contemporary populisms, the German version exhibits both 
generic and specific features. In common with other populisms, it 
denounces the current elites (Alteliten in AfD-speak) and established 
parties (Altparteien) while speaking in the name of the Volk, a word 
that, with its double meaning of people and ethno-culturally defined 
nation, actually best captures what Trump and Le Pen mean when they say 
“the people.” In Angst für Deutschland, her vividly reported book about 
the party, Melanie Amann, a journalist at the weekly news magazine Der 
Spiegel, notes how some of its activists have appropriated the slogan of 
the East German protests against Communist rule in 1989: Wir sind das 
Volk—We are the people. Like other populists, Germany’s attack the 
mainstream media (Lügenpresse, the “lying press”) while making effective 
use of social media. On the eve of the election, the Alternative had 
some 362,000 Facebook followers, compared with the Social Democrats’ 
169,000 and just 154,000 for Merkel’s Christian Democratic Union (CDU).

Its criticism of globalization is familiar, as is its angry and 
self-congratulatory denunciation of political correctness. Typical of 
all European populisms is a negative attitude toward the EU in general 
and the euro in particular. The Alternative started life in 2013 as an 
anti-euro party. Although overall German support for the EU is still 
very strong, a poll conducted for the Bertelsmann foundation in the 
summer of 2017 found that 50 percent of those respondents who identified 
themselves as on the “right” (carefully distinguished from the 
“center-right”) would vote for Germany to leave the EU, if Germans were 
offered a Brexit-style in-or-out referendum. This is a remarkable 
finding. Unlike Brexit, Germexit would be the end of the European Union.

Tiresomely familiar to any observer of Trump, Brexit, or Wilders is the 
demagogic appeal to emotions while playing fast and loose with facts. In 
Amann’s account, the predominant emotion here is Angst. Her book cover 
picks out the AfD’s initials in her title, Angst für Deutschland. She 
quotes the Angstindex of an insurance company reporting in mid-2016 that 
“never before have ‘fears grown so drastically within one year’”—the 
leading fears now being terrorist attacks, political extremism, and 
“tensions resulting from the arrival of foreigners.”

The dramatic influx of nearly 1.2 million refugees in 2015–2016 is the 
single most direct cause of the Alternative’s electoral success. Its 
leaders denounce Merkel for opening Germany’s frontiers in September 
2015 to the massed refugees then being made thoroughly unwelcome in 
Viktor Orbán’s xenophobic populist Hungary. Following last year’s 
Islamist terror attack on a Christmas market in Berlin, in which twelve 
were killed, one AfD leader tweeted: “these are Merkel’s dead.”

Besides the refugee influx, there are other features peculiar to German 
populism. For eight of the last twelve years, Germany has been governed 
by a so-called Grand Coalition of Christian Democrats—Merkel’s CDU in a 
loveless parliamentary marriage with the more conservative Bavarian 
Christian Social Union (CSU)—and Social Democrats. This has impelled 
disgruntled voters toward the smaller parties and the extremes. The 
effect has been reinforced by Merkel’s woolly centrist version of 
Margaret Thatcher’s TINA (There Is No Alternative), perfectly captured 
in the German word alternativlos (without alternatives). It’s no 
accident that this protest party is called the Alternative.

The Alternative scores best in what we still loosely call East Germany, 
that is, the territory of the former German Democratic Republic. There 
is a striking inverse correlation between the number of immigrants (or 
people of migrant origin) in an area and the populist vote: East Germany 
has the fewest immigrants and the most AfD voters. As one participant in 
a demonstration organized by the far right, xenophobic movement Pegida 
(the initials stand for Patriotic Europeans Against the Islamization of 
the West) told a reporter: “In Saxony today there are hardly any 
immigrants, but there is a danger of the Islamization of Germany in 
fifty or a hundred years.” An urgent matter, then.

It would require a longer essay to explore the collective psychology of 
this East German vote, but its ingredients certainly include the 
poisonous legacy of a society behind the Berlin Wall that was anything 
but open and multicultural. There is also a resentful feeling among East 
Germans that they have been treated as second-class citizens in united 
Germany: not given enough attention, not paid due respect. When a street 
protest in a small town in Saxony was totally ignored by the visiting 
Chancellor Merkel, a protester complained, “She doesn’t look at us even 
with her ass!” One can imagine a Trump voter saying something similar 
about Hillary Clinton. In explaining the populist vote in many 
countries, the inequality of attention is at least as important as 
economic inequality.

And then, to add insult to injury, these bloody foreigners—Muslims to 
boot!—are welcomed in Germany with open arms and “get everything for 
nothing.” As in other European welfare states, the knowledge that 
“everything” includes generous welfare provisions only sharpens the 
resentment.

Unlike in Britain and America, economic factors play only a small part 
here. It’s not just that Germany as a whole is doing well economically. 
In a 2016 poll, four out of five AfD voters described their personal 
economic situation as “good” or “very good.” This is not a party of the 
economically “left behind.” It gathers the discontented from every walk 
of life, but those who predominate in its ranks are educated, 
middle-class men. A leading CDU politician told me that the angry 
protest letters he gets from defectors to the Alternative will typically 
be from a doctor, businessman, lawyer, or professor. This strong 
presence of the educated upper middle class distinguishes German 
populism from many other populisms.

Among the leaders of the party, they are visibly represented by its 
other designated “leading candidate,” Alexander Gauland, a 
seventy-six-year-old former CDU functionary who almost invariably wears 
a check-patterned tweedy jacket and dark green tie. He is one of those 
elderly conservative gents who look so English that you know they must 
be German. Then there is Beatrix von Storch, a shrill and tiresome minor 
aristocrat with neoliberal, Hayekian intellectual pretensions. (Her 
maternal grandfather was Hitler’s finance minister—but we are not 
responsible for our grandfathers.) As for Alice Weidel: this former 
Goldman Sachs and Allianz asset manager, white, blonde, always neatly 
turned out in business attire, lives just across the border in 
Switzerland, in a same-sex relationship with a Swiss filmmaker of 
Sinhalese heritage and two adopted sons. These are not the German 
equivalent of the American rust belt manual worker, or of what is known 
in England, with liberal condescension, as “white van man.” (The van is 
white as well as the man.)

“It’s the economy, stupid” simply does not apply to Germany’s populist 
voters. Rather, it’s the Kultur. (I say Kultur, rather than simply 
culture, because the German word implies both culture and ethno-cultural 
identity, and has traditionally been counterposed to liberal, 
cosmopolitan Zivilisation.) In a poll shown on German television on 
election night, 95 percent of AfD voters said they were very worried 
that “we are experiencing a loss of German culture and language,” 94 
percent that “our life in Germany will change too much,” and 92 percent 
that “the influence of Islam in Germany will become too strong.” Feeding 
this politics of cultural despair—to recall a famous phrase of the 
historian Fritz Stern—is a milieu of writers, media, and books whose 
arguments and vocabulary connect back to themes of an earlier German 
right-wing culture in the first half of the twentieth century. This is a 
new German right with distinct echoes of the old.

Amann shows how a publisher and ideological activist of the new right, 
Götz Kubitschek, played a significant behind-the-scenes part in the 
development of the party. She quotes a blog post from the very first 
weeks of the then primarily anti-euro party’s existence, in which 
Kubitschek describes hostility to the euro as “the door-opener theme” 
after which “our themes (identity, resistance, gender-, party- and 
ideology-criticism) will come rumbling through, so long as we quickly 
and consistently put our foot in the door.” And so it came to 
pass—thanks to the refugee crisis. Kubitschek was instrumental in 
promoting the party career of an East German history teacher called 
Björn Höcke, whose plangent rhetoric of cultural pessimism and völkisch 
nationalism would have been entirely at home in the 1920s—except that 
now the scapegoats are Muslims rather than Jews. Höcke told a gathering 
of the Alternative’s youth wing that, because of Germany’s low birthrate 
and mass immigration, “for the first time in a thousand years the 
question is posed of Finis Germaniae [the end of Germany].”

Interestingly, Amann begins the party’s story not with the euro or the 
refugee crisis, but with a magazine interview given in 2009 by Thilo 
Sarrazin, then a director of the Bundesbank, and his subsequent book, 
Germany Abolishes Itself. As I noted in these pages at the time, bien 
pensant German opinion leaders first ignored and then deplored his 
sub-Spenglerian tract about the forthcoming Islamic swamping of 
Germany—but it sold 1.2 million copies in less than nine months.1 In his 
cellar, Sarrazin keeps folders stuffed with thousands of letters of 
support: “I would like to express my unconditional respect for your 
unvarnished remarks about the Turks.” “When shall we at last kick out 
those who neither speak German nor want to, but only hold out their 
hands?” And “it’s terrible that one can no longer tell the truth in 
Germany!”

Seven years later, in the run-up to this fall’s election, controversy 
erupted around another angry and angst-ridden book. Like the Sarrazin 
affair, this latest storm is interesting not just for the ideas 
expressed by the author, but also for how democratic Germany responds to 
hateful echoes of its pre-1945 past.

A strange thing happened on the afternoon of July 20, 2017, the 
seventy-third anniversary of the German resistance’s attempt to 
assassinate Adolf Hitler. If you looked up the Spiegel nonfiction 
best-seller list on Amazon there was a hole in sixth place, between 
Alexander von Humboldt and the Invention of Nature in fifth place and 
Penguin Bloom: The Little Bird That Saved Our Family at number seven. 
Subsequently, Penguin Bloom was silently lifted up to sixth place, 
number eight became number seven, and so on. The previous number-six 
best seller, a book called Finis Germania by Rolf Peter Sieferle, had 
simply disappeared.

What was going on? Had there been an embarrassing mistake in tabulating 
the bookshop sales that form the basis of the Spiegel best-seller list? 
Not at all. Finis Germania (a weirdly ungrammatical version of Finis 
Germaniae) was selling away. But the top editors of Der Spiegel had 
decided that such a nasty piece of work should not appear on their list. 
They were embarrassed that it had shot to prominence because one of 
their own journalists, Johannes Saltzwedel, had earlier placed it on a 
widely noticed list of recommended books carried by North German Radio 
and the Süddeutsche Zeitung, Germany’s leading liberal daily. The 
controversy around that list seemed to have led people to buy Finis 
Germania in larger numbers.

Sieferle’s book was, explained Spiegel deputy editor Susanne Beyer, 
“right-wing extremist, anti-Semitic, and historically revisionist,” and 
since the news magazine sees itself as a “medium of Enlightenment,” and 
the best-seller listing might be mistaken for a recommendation, they had 
removed it. So Finis Germania was consigned to an Orwellian memory hole, 
made an unbook. It was not a best seller. It had never been a best 
seller. Weil nicht sein kann, was nicht sein darf—for what may not be, 
cannot be—as the poet Christian Morgenstern once put it.

Predictably, the effect was the opposite of that intended. There was 
another storm of controversy around this bizarre decision, and even more 
people bought the book. The publisher was laughing all the way to the 
bank—and to this autumn’s Frankfurt book fair, where he invited the AfD 
pocket-Spengler Björn Höcke to speak at the Antaios publishing house 
stand, thus generating another round of indignation, protest, and even 
more publicity. The publisher was none other than that new-right 
string-puller Götz Kubitschek, who, from his base in a village in the 
East German state of Saxony-Anhalt, had played a significant part in the 
party’s völkisch turn. To cap it all, the book has a postscript by a 
friend of Sieferle’s that describes the refugee crisis of 2015 as 
“internationally long since planned, and…triggered by the German 
Chancellor in the manner of a putsch.”

So the whole new-right packaging of Sieferle’s text stinks to high 
heaven. But why is the postscript written by a friend rather than the 
author? Because in the autumn of 2016 Sieferle committed suicide, 
hanging himself in the attic of his Heidelberg villa. He never sent 
Finis Germania to a publisher. That was done by his wife and friends, 
who found it on his computer, along with another book-length text, now 
published as Das Migrationsproblem: Über die Unvereinbarkeit von 
Sozialstaat und Masseneinwanderung (The Migration Problem: On the 
Incompatibility of the Welfare State and Mass Immigration). They 
interpreted the fact that Sieferle had carefully tidied up the 
electronic files as meaning he intended these texts for publication. But 
who knows? Perhaps he did not know himself.

The story of Rolf Peter Sieferle is a sad one. Generationally a ’68er, 
and briefly part of the 1968 student protest movement, he was a highly 
cultured loner and academic oddball, with a fine, provocative turn of 
phrase. He made a modest reputation with a book called Der unterirdische 
Wald (The Underground Forest), published in 1982, which described the 
modern world’s plundering of millennia of carbon deposits to make coal 
and oil. Its title rather brilliantly blended the then-new West German 
Green concerns and the age-old German cultural fascination with the 
forest, the Wald. In 1994 he produced Epochenwechsel: Die Deutschen an 
der Schwelle zum 21. Jahrhundert (Turn of the Epochs: The Germans on the 
Eve of the Twenty-First Century). This already anticipated some of the 
themes of Finis Germania, including a provocative critique of the way in 
which Germany’s treatment of its Nazi past supposedly puts the subject 
beyond rational debate.

A year later came Die Konservative Revolution (The Conservative 
Revolution), an argument built around biographical sketches of five 
right-wing German thinkers of the first half of the twentieth century, 
including Oswald Spengler and Ernst Jünger. While Sieferle’s work at 
this time was still written in an academic style (and contemporary 
German academic style is no laughing matter), one senses his aesthetic 
fascination with his subjects’ stormy, sweeping, no-holds-barred manner 
of writing—one he would make his own in Finis Germania twenty years later.

All these books were published by respectable publishers, to mixed 
reviews. It is said that Sieferle was deeply hurt because Epochenwechsel 
was not received as the major work he believed it to be. Rather late in 
life he became a full professor, but he was rarely seen at conferences 
and never part of the academic mainstream. By 2015, his cultural 
pessimism seems to have deepened into a kind of existential despair, 
exacerbated by serious health problems—reportedly he was suffering from 
cancer and losing his sight.

After the controversy erupted this year, some of his friends 
retrospectively told a writer for the Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung 
(FAZ) that in the last years of his life Sieferle had become isolated 
and embittered. But his widow wrote an angry letter to the FAZ , 
rejecting this tendentially apologetic (“he was a sick man”) explanation 
and insisting that already in the 1990s, in Epochenwechsel, he had taken 
a “national conservative position.” It seems plausible that both 
biographical strands, the ideological and the personal, combined to give 
Finis Germania its bitter and biting tone.

This is the background against which we must read Sieferle’s book, a 
mere one hundred small-format pages of loosely connected short essays. 
In sound, they echo Friedrich Nietzsche, and in fury, Ernst Jünger, who 
is the ostensible subject of one section. Several passages are beyond 
parody, like a Monty Python version of an early-twentieth-century 
cultural pessimist walking the streets of twenty-first-century Germany. 
There are “tragic” nations, he informs us, such as the Russians, Jews, 
and Germans, and “untragic” ones, above all the Anglo-Saxons. I must 
confess to laughing out loud at his lament about “the sensually 
perceptible presence of nihilistic relativity in every pedestrian zone.” 
Nietzsche prowls amid the weekend shoppers of Heidelberg.

Then there are the sections about contemporary Germany’s attitude toward 
its Nazi past, which account for most of the controversy. Here Sieferle 
takes to an extreme his argument in Epochenwechsel that Germany has 
frozen its Nazi past, and Auschwitz, into a kind of absolute negative 
myth, marked by ritualized, increasingly empty expressions of 
Betroffenheit (only weakly translatable as a sense of intense personal 
dismay), and thereby separated from everything else in contemporary 
German life. “National Socialism, more precisely Auschwitz, has become 
the last myth of a thoroughly rationalized world,” he writes, in one of 
many deliberately provocative formulations. “A myth is a truth that is 
beyond discussion.” This puts the Jews beyond criticism, and turns the 
German, or at least the “eternal Nazi,” into “the secularized devil of 
an enlightened present.” (AfD ideologues more crudely call this the 
Schuldkult, the guilt cult.)

Sieferle writes with a kind of wild determination to say exactly what he 
thinks, however publicly unacceptable (and remember, we don’t definitely 
know that he intended this for publication). He argues that 
Vergangenheitsbewältigung—the familiar West German term for “overcoming” 
a difficult past—has become a kind of state religion, in which the 
Germans are forever the negative chosen people and the Jews the positive 
chosen people. “The first commandment reads: thou shalt have no other 
holocaust besides me.” And again: “Adam Hitler is not transcended by any 
Jesus; and such a Jesus”—one involuntarily wonders: Does he mean 
himself?—“would surely be rapidly crucified. The guilt remains total, is 
compensated by no divine mercy.” This is hysterical stuff.

Sieferle reaches far too often for Nietzsche-like profundity and usually 
misses the mark, tripping over his own rhetorical shoelaces into a 
puddle of absurdity. But occasionally, when he pulls together his life’s 
work on modernity, ecology, and German history, a genuinely 
thought-provoking formulation emerges. Referring to the “project of the 
modern,” he writes that “the history of the projects of the eighteenth 
and nineteenth century is, then, one of a total failure, which became 
apparent in the twentieth century: morally, from World War to Auschwitz, 
technologically and economically, in the environmental crisis of the end 
of the century.” (Not, I think, the remark of an Auschwitz denier or 
routine anti-Semite.) And again: “The twentieth century can be seen as a 
period of vast profligacy…profligate with everything: with natural 
resources, but also with people, with ideas, with cultural reserves.”

Finis Germania raises in helpfully sharp form the question of how one 
should respond to such ideas, in a country where one in eight voters 
just chose a right-wing populist party, motivated mainly by concerns 
about culture and identity.

Der Spiegel’s extraordinary vaporizing of Sieferle’s book from its 
best-seller list is an extreme example of an approach characteristic of 
contemporary Germany. If you go beyond a certain point in expressing 
what may be seen as right-wing extremist or anti-Semitic views, you are 
banished from all respectable society, branded with a scarlet, or rather 
a brown, letter. Nazi insignia, Holocaust denial, and hate speech are 
banned by law (as Facebook is finding to its cost), but there is also 
this broader social, cultural, and political enforcement of the taboo.

Now many would argue that this has contributed significantly to the 
civilized, centrist quality of German politics and public debate—and 
they have a point. I find that many young Germans support this approach 
wholeheartedly. And would the rest of the world have been happier if 
Germany did not have this taboo on any hint of a revival of the worst 
that modern humanity has produced?

Yet this whole approach comes with a price, and the electoral success of 
the AfD shows that the price is going up. Sieferle’s Finis Germania is a 
late, slight product of a sad, disordered, but undoubtedly fine mind. 
Simply to say “right-wing extremist, anti-Semitic, historically 
revisionist—therefore get thee behind me Satan and off the best-seller 
list you come” is a woefully inadequate response. Indeed, subjecting 
Sieferle to the taboo treatment actually supports his contention that 
this really is a taboo—that is, something put beyond the realm of 
rational debate.

For right-wing ideologues, such bans are wonderful free publicity, 
enabling them to pose as martyrs for free speech. Kubitschek, the 
publisher, gloated that the row at the Frankfurt book fair was “heathen 
fun.”

For the rank-and-file, it is yet more evidence that the liberal elites 
have so little time and respect for them that they “won’t look at us 
even with their asses.” Worse still: they won’t even let ordinary people 
say what they think. In a poll conducted in spring 2016 for the Freedom 
Index of the John Stuart Mill Institute in Heidelberg, only 57 percent 
of respondents said they felt that “one can freely express one’s 
political opinion in Germany today.”2

It’s therefore encouraging to see a growing number of German 
intellectuals advocating John Stuart Mill’s own response. Take on these 
arguments in free and open debate. Subject them to vigorous and rigorous 
scrutiny. Separate the wheat from the chaff. For as Mill famously 
argued, even a false argument can contain a sliver of truth, and the 
good sword of truth can only be kept sharp if constantly tested in open 
combat with falsehood. Otherwise the received opinion, even if it is 
correct, will only be held “in the manner of a prejudice.”

Sieferle’s two posthumously published texts, taken in the context of his 
life’s work, are eminently susceptible to the Mill treatment. While 
dismissing the hysterical, crypto-Nietzschean hyperbole of his last 
treatment of the “state religion” of Vergangenheitsbewältigung, we may 
yet take from it a useful challenge. More than seventy years after the 
end of World War II, how does one prevent German leaders’ statements 
about the Nazi past from being reduced to empty ritual? How does one 
truly bring home those horrors to a generation of Germans who have known 
nothing of the kind? If the first commandment is not Sieferle’s bitterly 
sarcastic “thou shalt have no other holocaust besides me,” then what is 
it? If the answer is, as I believe it should be, “thou shalt do 
everything thou canst to prevent any new crimes against humanity,” then 
what follows from that? It was on precisely these grounds that the then 
foreign minister Joschka Fischer eloquently made the case for German 
military participation in the 1999 NATO intervention in Kosovo, when 
faced with a possible Serbian genocide. And if you can’t prevent the 
crime against humanity, then don’t you at least have a special 
responsibility to take in some of its victims? Refugees from Syria in 
2015, for example.

Engaging in the battle of ideas is, of course, only one part of the 
indispensable fight against the new right and xenophobic nationalist 
populism. A lot will depend on the overall performance of the expected 
new “Jamaica” coalition government—so-called for the colors of the four 
disparate parties (black for CDU and CSU, yellow for Free Democrats, and 
green for Green) that will each make one leg of this improbable 
pantomime horse. Any more terrorist attacks perpetrated by violent 
Islamists will stoke the angst about immigration and Islam. Showing that 
immigration is now actually under control will be crucial. As important 
will be the success or failure of Germany’s attempts to integrate into 
schools, civic life, and the workplace the more than one million 
immigrants who have arrived in the last couple of years. Can they become 
what the scholars Herfried and Marina Münkler call “The New Germans”?3

The politics are such that the CSU certainly, and the CDU sooner or 
later, will move to the right on issues of immigration and identity, to 
try to win back the populist vote—as center-right leaders have done in 
neighboring Austria and the Netherlands. Even the centrist Merkel’s 
interior minister, Thomas de Maizière, wrote earlier this year in the 
mass circulation Bild-Zeitung that “we are not Burqa”—a ludicrous 
sentence that may be translated as “give us your votes rather than 
defecting to the Alternative.” But precisely if you are moving to the 
right, while at the same time trying to integrate all those mainly 
Muslim immigrants, it becomes all the more important to fight the battle 
of ideas and draw a bright line between positive civic patriotism and 
xenophobic, new-right nationalism.

Here is the cultural struggle for Germany’s future.

     1

     See my “Germans, More or Less,” The New York Review, February 24, 
2011. ↩
     2

     This figure comes from an opinion poll by the highly respected 
Allensbach Institute. It should be noted that the alternative offered 
was “Is it better to be cautious?”—to which 28 percent agreed, the rest 
answering “with reservations” or “undecided.” Quoted in Freiheitsindex 
Deutschland 2016 des John Stuart Mill Instituts für Freiheitsforschung, 
edited by Ulrike Ackermann (Frankfurt: Humanities Online, 2016). ↩
     3

     Herfried and Marina Münkler, Die neuen Deutschen: Ein Land vor 
seiner Zukunft (Berlin: Rowohlt, 2016). ↩

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