60 Years On

A Holocaust exhibition opens in Berlin. Quietly. Also: Philosopher Peter Sloterdijk gets a TV show.

Arguments among German historians, politicians and commentators over what the Holocaust was and how to deal with it have periodically flamed up over the past several decades and they have, of course, been the most violently emotional arguments Germans have ever had among themselves. 60 years after Nazi leaders gathered in Berlin for what was to be called the Wannsee Conference in order to establish a "final solution of the Jewish problem in Europe," the German Historical Museum has unveiled an exhibition simply entitled "Holocaust." Perhaps the most remarkable aspect of the opening is how very quietly it's been received.

Granted, the exhibition has been reviewed in the papers. Of course. But these reviews have been so sober, so calm, that one of them even addresses the lack of controversy. In the Süddeutsche Zeitung, Franziska Augstein writes, "There will be no arguments about this exhibition precisely because the victims of the policy of extermination remain in the foreground, because empathy, not accusation, dominates here, and because the entire arrangement is strikingly objective."

Which isn't to say the exhibition is being overwhelmingly praised, either. In the Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung, Henning Ritter declares himself disappointed but can't seem to figure out why, exactly. TAZ reviewer Christian Semler knows why he's disappointed. In the section on how Germany's has dealt with its past since 1945, he'd like to have seen more material addressing radical right-wing violence. But fellow TAZ reviewer Philipp Gessler commends the Museum for even trying to pull of the impossible.

This is about as vivid as it gets. Pretty amazing when you consider that, as Rüdiger Suchsland notes in the Frankfurter Rundschau, this is actually the first full-blown exhibition in Germany devoted exclusively to the Holocaust. Yes, the Holocaust has been an aspect of other exhibitions, such as the far more controversial exhibition documenting crimes committed by the German army during WWII; and specific facets of the Holocaust have been addressed before, but this is the first time an attempt has been made to "present the genocide in its full context."

Therein may lie the key to its reception. You can argue about the extent to which ordinary Germans were "Hitler's willing executioners" or whether or not it's time Germany and the world consign the Holocaust to history and move on, as Ignatz Bubis, then President of the Central Council of Jews in Germany, and novelist Martin Walzer did so vehemently in 1998. Or, more recently, whether or not this or that memorial is appropriate or who should compensate slave laborers and how much.

But in the face of the whole of the horror, expressed as simply as the title of the exhibition, perhaps quibbling seems not just inappropriate but a disrespectful affront to memory.

In Telepolis

"Like Boris Becker, he's everywhere and has something to say about everything," remarks Kai Michel of Peter Sloterdijk as a way of explaining why he's currently one of the world's most widely known philosophers, "even if the wildly gesturing Slavoj Zizek is hot on his heels." It isn't so much that Sloterdijk's writings are at the cutting edge of contemporary philosophy, writes Michel; it's more that he's "media-compatible in the best way."

By the way, if the name looks familiar but you're not quite sure where to place it, an online Sloterdijk discussion group provides a fine 15-second introduction. If you do know Sloterdijk and vaguely remember that he set off a brouhaha in 1999 that dominated German papers and magazines for months, you can brush up on that incident with the help of Mary Rorty's brisk and not-at-all-academic paper, For Love of the Game: Peter Sloterdijk and Public Controversies in Bioethics."

But the occasion of Michel's piece is a new television show that premiered on Sunday night, "starring" Sloterdijk, a co-host and two guests: "Im Glashaus - Das Philosophische Quartett." The "quartet" is an unmistakable echo of "The Literary Quartet," a show that ran on German TV for years and has recently been put to rest. The "glass house" is Volkswagen's new "transparent factory" in Dresden. Along with the opera house and porcelain collections, the impressive glass and steel building has become one of the city's major tourist attractions.

Michel has great fun (which, if the readers' comments posted so far are anything to go on, unfortunately goes unappreciated) with the image of the philosopher housed in VW's sleek stab at polishing up its brand. Diogenes, he reminds us, once lived in a pithos, a tub; philosophers have come a long way.

But Michel also notes how his mere presence in there will help polish the VW even further. It's in this factory that VW will manufacture its 100,000 euro luxury limo, the "Phaeton" -- perhaps not the best of names, since Phaeton was the son of the sun god Helios who took his dad's horse-drawn cart out for a joy ride and wound up crashing in flames.

Even so, VW's coup is wrapped up in the title of Michel's piece: "Out of the tub, into the factory -- Future Phaeton drivers are to feel like philosophers."

In English

Ah, the Internet. The fun may be over, but John Horvath reminds us why we used to care.

Elsewhere

The Reader, a powerfully understated novel of the Holocaust, was an international bestseller. Steven Erlanger profiles its author, Bernhard Schlink, in The New York Times.

Why some of the best Web sites out there come from musicians might be a nice topic for a whole 'nother article, but for now, let's just say: It is so. And the site for The Notwist is certainly no exception. Writing for Kindamuzik, Alex Tobin calls the latest album, Neon Golden, from the band that hails from the little idyllic town of Weilheim "a pure pop masterpiece with rough, experimental edges." Tobin talks to the band member who always seems to do the talking, Markus (Micha) Acher.

How do you explain German politicians to British readers? In a piece for The Spectator, Guardian correspondent John Hooper helpfully explains that CDU leader Angela Merkel "is about as near as you could get to Ken Clarke in a skirt." But Hooper actually aims to write a portrait of chancellor candidate Edmund Stoiber whose "British counterpart among recent Tory leaders ... would not be Lord Carrington, but Norman Tebbit." Another Guardian reporter (Jeevan Vasagar), another British weekly (The New Statesman), another comparison, albeit on the opposite end of the political spectrum: newly sworn in deputy mayor Gregor Gysi "is the Ken Livingstone of Berlin."

Steve Crawshaw has no need for analogies in his sweeping portrait for Prospect of the "emblematic figure" of postwar German politics, foreign minister Joschka Fischer.