Racism in Germany | DW Documentary

We see “being German” as something defined by skin color. Being German means being white. And those who aren’t white are essentially newcomers and don’t have the same right to be part of society as white people.

I was born in Germany. I’m a German native-speaker. I’ve been to Africa once in my life — as part of a package tour.

It doesn’t get more German than that. People will of course ask me where I come from. And I say, “from Cottbus.

” “And your mother? ” I’ll say, “Also from Cottbus. ” Does that answer your question, or do you still need that little piece of the puzzle that explains why I look the way I do?

In Britain, they say: “We're here because you were there. ” We’re here because you were there. I think that’s a very important part of the answer.

Society here must take responsibility for what happened in its history. This is exactly the right moment to look at Black German history. And how it’s always been a part of German history — an important part.

Abenaa Adomako’s family is in its fifth generation in Germany. Ah, these lovely old photos. You see here a typical old German household — with wood paneling and fabric wallpaper.

You can’t get a better snapshot of German life than that! In 1896, her great-grandfather Mandenga Diek became the first African to acquire German citizenship in Hamburg. Amazing .

. . that pride.

He was known to be very loyal to the emperor, and very German. My family has a long history on its “back,” as it were . .

. which means having experienced — or having survived — a lot. And the survival part is especially important — as is the fact that even back then, they fought for their humanity to be recognized.

At what became known as the “Berlin West Africa Conference” in 1884, the European powers carved up the continent among themselves — without African participation. Germany then also became a colonial power, ruling over Togo, Cameroon, German East Africa and German South West Africa. Even before the 19th century, Germans had been profiting from the slave trade.

Now, colonists seized entire territories — culminating in a genocide in Namibia, in 1904. Meanwhile, growing numbers of Africans were arriving in Germany. Robbie Aitken is a British historian who researches the history of Black Europeans.

The colonial period is important for the emergence of a Black community because it was the first time that hundreds, if not thousands, of Black people were able to come to Germany. They came for many different reasons. Several hundred people, for instance, were brought over for the "human zoos” that toured Germany or across Europe.

From their first appearance in the 1870s, these "ethnological expositions" proved extremely popular with the European public. At the Hanover Zoo in 1913, Ethiopians were hired as contract workers. They were put on display, often with their families.

Visitors paid an entrance fee to see them. As colonists were committing genocide in Africa — back home in Germany, the middle class were being won over to the so-called “colonial adventure. ” This exoticization, romanticization.

. . this idea of “Let’s take the family to the zoo!

” Like we know today. But instead of looking at animals, we get to see “exotic people. ” Except these people weren’t representing their own culture or communities.

It was a staged spectacle and had nothing to do with who they actually were. The first state-organized colonial exhibition in Germany took place in 1896 in Berlin. 106 men, women, and children were brought in from German colonies.

Photographs show how people were racially degraded and forced to be “exhibited. ” The colonial authorities wanted to portray Africans as “less civilized,” as “primitive. ” They wanted to use this image to legitimize Germany’s colonial project — their "civilizing mission.

” The Germans bringing culture and civilization to Africans. Berlin was the capital of an overseas empire. The colonial administration needed craftsmen, translators, and other specialized personnel.

Young Africans were brought over to Germany for training — most of them men and drawn from the African elite. Some were still just schoolchildren. Their parents paid considerable sums for their education.

The new arrivals called one another “compatriots” — but they were not foreseen as a permanent part of German society. In 1891, Mandenga Diek traveled to Hamburg from Douala, Cameroon. He came from a wealthy family and could already speak German.

He then completed an apprenticeship as a shoemaker. He was expected to demonstrate his shoemaking skills in the big shop window. That made him feel like he too was on display, which made him feel very uncomfortable.

So in the end he changed his profession and became a merchant. While traveling on business, Diek met a woman called Emilie. Interracial marriages were banned in the colonies for reasons rooted in racist ideology.

But in Gdańsk — then "Danzig" in Prussia — the couple married and had two daughters: Erika and Doris. A highly respected Afro-German family, they ran a store selling tobacco and other colonial goods. The lives of Black people in Germany were of little interest to most historians until Katharina Oguntoye’s work appeared.

She was the first to research the stories of Afro-Germans, including that of Mandenga Diek. I was astonished to discover that he was granted citizenship. I suppose it was so early on that there weren’t yet objections from the colonial administration.

Most of the people who applied later were rejected. After the First World War, German imperialist expansion was brought to an end — at least, for the time being. The Treaty of Versailles resulted in Germany ceding its colonies.

At the same time, French troops occupied the Rhineland. Among their ranks were African soldiers — which German nationalists saw as a humiliation. They launched a racist smear campaign, calling it the "Black Shame.

” That propaganda in turn fueled racism against all Black people across Germany — into a far more dangerous form. But from the very start, there was resistance. In 1919, Germany's first Black train driver, Martin Dibobe, and other people of African descent listed their demands in a historic petition.

He was part of the anti-colonial resistance, which had always been there. There was never a time when Black people didn’t fight back or stand up for their rights. Natasha A.

Kelly is a scholar and activist who has documented the lives of people who brought about change in Black German history. Although Martin Dibobe had sworn allegiance to the Weimar Republic, he wanted to achieve something new with the petition: equal rights for Black people. Eighteen Africans living in Germany signed the petition to the German Parliament.

They wanted young Africans to have the opportunity to attend university or college. They wanted — probably for personal reasons too — the recognition and legitimization of marriages between Black men and white women. And they also wanted a permanent representative in the parliament — Martin Dibobe to be precise.

The petition failed, but it marked the dawn of the first Black movement in Germany; Mandenga Diek was one of the men who signed his name. Today those events are remembered on a commemorative pillar in downtown Berlin. That's my great-grandad!

I think it’s fantastic, historical. It’s such a good feeling to know that my great-grandfather was also part of the fight. As the "Roaring Twenties" hit Germany, Black American dancer Josephine Baker became a celebrated figure on the stages of Berlin.

I always call it the grass-skirt era. A Black man had to walk around wearing a grass skirt, not a suit. Born in Berlin in 1925, Theodor Wonja Michael was one of the few surviving Black witnesses of the Nazi era — until his death in 2019.

As a child he was put to work in the circus and in the so-called “human zoos. ” He hated being gawked at, or when complete strangers would run their fingers through his hair. Things got even worse with the introduction of the notorious Nuremberg Race Laws in 1935.

Colonial migrants were stripped of their citizenship. Theodor Wonja Michael was issued an "alien's passport" and was rendered stateless. He lost his job at a hotel.

Finding work became nearly impossible. One of the few exceptions was a niche market: the movies. The most expensive film of the Nazi era, "Münchhausen,” required many Black extras to play servants in a Turkish palace.

The roles conformed to degrading stereotypes that furthered the Nazis' racist ideology. . .

The young Theodor Wonja Michael played the Sultan's “fanning-boy. ” Only later did he realize he'd been exploited. “Exploited” in the sense that I never played a positive role.

I was only ever decoration. They needed "exotic people. ” They needed us, and today we know we were exploited.

The notion of “white supremacy” was celebrated in many Nazi colonial films. The regime had plans to reconquer former overseas colonies. "Quax in Africa" was one of many films to degrade Black people and use overtly racist dialogue.

In this clip, the protagonist gestures to the people approaching and says he’s seen them before quote, “at the Berlin Zoo. ” Afro-German actors were routinely cast in such roles. The “medicine man” was played by Louis Brody, the grandfather of Abenaa Adomako.

My family and a large number of African people here only survived the Nazi era because they were needed for these German colonial films. From 1939 onwards, daily life became increasingly dangerous for Black people. The Dieks were among many families who lost their home and had their passports revoked.

Mandenga Diek's business went bankrupt. Interracial couples faced persecution. Around 400 children fathered by Black French occupying troops were forcibly sterilized.

Many Black people were forced to go into hiding. At least two thousand were killed in concentration camps. The Afro-German community was being eradicated by the Nazis.

The aim was to ensure that there wouldn’t be another generation of Black people in Germany. And more importantly: that there would be no Black Europeans. In the wake of the Second World War, the Allied occupation forces in Germany included a number of Black troops from the United States.

After 1945, about five thousand children were born to Black American soldiers and German women in West Germany. Into the 1950s, the children were still the subject of “anthropological research. ” It’s very important to understand that this idea of so-called "races" being unable to mix stemmed from earlier German colonial times.

It was an idea that prevailed well beyond the Second World War. Suddenly it was the children of the Allies that now posed this problem — again! In this archival sound from 1952, a West German parliamentarian uses a racist slur in reference to more than 3,000 biracial children.

She says they, quote “present a special type of human and racial problem. Even our country’s climatic conditions are unsuitable for them. ” End quote.

Hundreds of children were given up for adoption, mostly to families in the United States. This West German television report from 1957 featured a single mother. What kind of future do you imagine for your children as they get older?

Your child can't go to the circus. Or do you think the circus is a possibility? — No, definitely not.

I’d rather work more myself. Have you never thought about giving up your children for adoption? — No.

- Don't you want to give them away? — No. Why not?

— Because I carried them inside me, and I love my children. Erwin Kostedde was one of these children born after the war. He would go on to become the first Black man to play for a German national team.

His father was an American GI. I was born here. My mother is German, I feel German.

Honestly! For me, playing for the German national team was the greatest. Erwin Kostedde was born in Münster in 1946.

His six older siblings were all white. He never got to know his father. On his way to school, people would routinely give him the Nazi salute.

The countless racist remarks still haunt him today. It was hell. Absolute hell.

Even women — when I’d go into a shop and maybe misbehave a little, they’d say "Come on Black kid, go back to Africa. " That was how it was, day in day out. I was meant to be put in a home.

But my mother refused to send me away. And honestly: she had guts. Six white children, and then a Black one comes along.

. . And people point at you.

Football offered a chance to escape the humiliation. Because Erwin Kostedde was good . .

. extremely good. .

. He played center-forward in Germany's top division: the Bundesliga . .

. And scored the goal of the season in 1974, for Kickers Offenbach. Later that year, he played for West Germany’s national team in a European Championship qualifier in Malta.

But back home, fans of rival teams continued their racist chants unabated. There have always been nasty remarks, trust me. You need to be pretty tough in Germany sometimes.

There was a section who always shouted: "Ten gays and one n*****. " The media celebrated him — but always as an outsider. The "Brown Bomber.

” They could have written "The Bomber" and not the "Brown Bomber. ” There always had to be something. In 1990, Kostedde was wrongly accused of robbing an arcade.

A football fan claimed to have recognized him — from his skin color. There was no actual evidence to support the case. Kostedde was acquitted after spending six months in custody.

I think I was the first Black child to start school in Cottbus. And Cottbus had a population of probably 40,000 at the time. I don’t remember seeing a Black person before I was 10.

I didn't even know there was such a thing! Gabriela Willbold was born in communist East Germany in 1962. Her father, a student from Ghana, left the GDR.

She was raised by determined women: her mother and two grandmothers. She was a very good student, and was selected to be a school crossing guard. This is amateur footage of the proud family.

There was something different about me, but I learned that from others. It wasn't anything I felt myself. What I saw was: They all play like me.

I do math and gymnastics the same way they do. Yet something was different about me. It was not something that was discussed at home — it just wasn’t important.

And: you could see it! Angela Davis became the face of Black Power in East Germany. The American scholar, civil rights activist and communist was wrongfully imprisoned in the US until her acquittal in 1972.

Angela Davis had a huge impact on my life. When I look at the photos now — the afro look was all the rage back then. And of course I had an afro, and I wore glasses.

And wherever I went in the East, somehow I was always Angela Davis! It was a political struggle taken up by the GDR that was good for me. In the late 1970s, East Germany recruited a growing number of workers from Vietnam, Angola, Mozambique and other fellow-communist nations.

More than 200,000 people total by the time of German reunification. But they were obliged to go back home after a few years, and the authorities did not envision their broader social integration. Gabriela Willbold's world remained a largely white one.

They weren't supposed to assimilate. The foreign workers were housed separately from the rest of the population. So it wasn’t like you were suddenly seeing a Black person in the supermarket or the swimming pool.

Gabriela Willbold studied medicine and was already a qualified doctor when this footage was taken in the early 1990s. She always wanted to be a gynecologist, but the local authorities stipulated that she specialize in hygienic care — despite the country's shortage of gynecologists at the time. Willbold protested.

I suspected it was because of my skin color. Being a gynecologist means close physical contact with people, while as a hygiene specialist I’d be sitting in an office and basically out of sight. I said I could see absolutely no reason to not be working in my chosen field.

She took the issue to the next level, threatening to send a complaint to the East German head of state, Erich Honecker. The upshot was — two or three weeks later, I received a letter informing me that they were happy to comply with my request because the city really did need more gynecologists. So, I became one.

Abenaa Adomako grew up at the same time as Gabriela Willbold, but in the other Germany, in West Berlin. After jobs in Paris and London, she started working for an international NGO. As a young woman in the 1980s, she wanted to become an optician and asked a friend for help in finding an apprenticeship.

She was very embarrassed when I asked again whether she could find someone to take me on as an apprentice. She said, no. Unfortunately they told me, yeah, we know you, but people aren't ready for Black hands to be “poking around” in a white person’s face.

It was a big shock for me — and very awkward for her too. It was the first time I realized it wouldn’t be easy to do the job I wanted. Abenaa Adomako wanted to stop feeling like a stranger in her own country and went looking for people who felt the same way.

In 1985, she met a group of women connected to the American poet and queer civil rights activist, Audre Lorde. Lorde was a guest lecturer at the Free University in West Berlin who encouraged Black women to discover their community’s history and celebrate their heritage. It was like an epiphany, a relief!

We were all there with our shyness, our needs, our experiences, our desires, sadness. It was great. It enabled us to break out of that isolation.

And that sense of community carried us. It was like we’d been existing in a room with no air. But when we met Audre Lorde, the African-American poet, she was simply interested in our lives and suggested that we introduce ourselves to each other and to the world.

That was quite a big deal for May and me, as we were still very young. At the first meeting there would be 30 persons and we would be very excited because for everyone it would be the first time being in a group of other Afro-Germans, people who have the same experience, who without talking about it — would understand you. I know it makes you smile when I say it but it's true, it's the truth.

Together with activist May Ayim, Katharina Oguntoye wrote a book called "Showing our Colors. ” The project helped them to develop a positive self-image. At the same time, Audre Lorde urged them to self-identify as "Afro-Germans" or Black Germans.

It was important, because until then, we'd always been objectified in society. People talked about us. We were the subject of various political and academic debates.

And I think the "Showing our Colors" project was the first time we were leading the narrative, using such a political voice too. It was the start of the second Black movement in Germany — with the founding of the “Initiative of Black People in Germany” and, later, its sister organization "ADEFRA" for Black women in Germany. Down with the Wall!

1989 saw the fall of the Berlin Wall — and a time when many hoped for a freer and better life. Just over a year later — not long after German reunification — the eastern town of Eberswalde made headlines. A mob of more than 50 neo-Nazis attacked young African contract workers outside a local restaurant.

Amadeu Antonio from Angola was beaten into a coma — with one of the attackers stamping on his head. Antonio died two weeks later at the age of 28. Looking back, I just feel really heavy.

. . Seeing a colleague and brother who lived with us die .

. . just because he was Black.

Like his friend Amadeu Antonio, Jone Mununga stayed in the country after the collapse of the communist regime. They'd both come to East Germany from Angola as contract workers in 1987. Both had hoped to study.

Antonio wanted to be an aircraft engineer. Instead, he ended up working at a meatpacking factory. Antonio fell in love with a German woman and was looking forward to soon becoming a father and building a family.

Amadeu Antonio was the first murder victim of right-wing violence in reunified Germany. More attacks would follow, in both the East and the West. Jone Mununga remembers the atmosphere back then.

What about me? If I went out on the street, the same thing could happen to me. That was a really bad time for us.

It was like war. And in a war, you don't know when you're going to die — or when you’ll lose a leg or an arm. We were terrified back then.

It was around this uncertain time that Konrad Erben was born in the East German city of Jena. Today he researches radicalization and is a social worker. He grew up with the feeling that something bad could happen to him at any time.

That meant: no detours! Not going to the playground or somewhere else after school, but going straight home. If you met with friends, then at their homes if possible.

And when you met outside, then only very close to home or in groups. You knew that every time you left your home it was potentially dangerous. As a young boy, he had no idea of the neo-Nazi "N-S-U" group forming in his neighborhood, where future members Beate Zschäpe and Uwe Mundlos attended the youth club on the corner.

Somehow Erben sensed that he was seldom truly safe. The routine violence of the 1990s may have subsided — but not the racism. In 2016, Konrad Erben was racially harassed by a group of drunk people while on his way to the supermarket.

He called the police for assistance, asking they be removed from the square. When the officer refused to come and remove them, I tried to explain again why I thought it was necessary. That they were racially abusive and might racially abuse other people that day.

Then the police officer said something like: "Seems you’re just making a big deal about the color of your skin. ” Unlike young Black people of his generation in the former West Germany, Erben lacked a community and felt his was a lone struggle in the former East. But he changed that.

In 2018, he founded a local branch of Germany's oldest civil rights group for Black people, with only four people in the beginning. Today he’s a member of the executive. The ISD have had annual meetings for the last several decades.

Konrad Erben first attended one in 2019. It was unreal: just going there and seeing so many Black people. Experiencing a completely different atmosphere.

It was just incredible and unbelievably enriching. The Black people I know now, who had already been to these national meetings as children, say it was crucial for their own development. To have this space for retreat and empowerment; to know you have these awful experiences all year long, but then there’s this one period in the year where you can recharge your batteries and immerse yourself in another world.

The human right to a life free of racism — that’s a key political issue that’s motivated the community. I remember my childhood as being full of life. I never experienced the time in refugee housing as anything bad, like that image people like to create.

For me, who was born there, it was completely normal. I was at home. There were lots of kids.

It was only over time that I realized it wasn't a normal upbringing. In 2019 Aminata Touré became the first Afro-German deputy speaker of a regional parliament. Three years later,she became the first Black state minister.

From an early age, you’re reminded of the fact that you don’t look like everyone around you. Adults especially make you feel that. They’re itching to know where you’re from.

You're six or seven years old and think: “I live here,” and you don’t ask yourself all these questions about identity or ancestry. Aminata Touré was born in refugee housing after her parents fled Mali in 1992. At the age of 12, she became a German citizen.

As a student leader, she showed an early commitment to combating discrimination. Today, as a politician in the Schleswig-Holstein state parliament, she tackles structural racism in public institutions and society. “Tell us about your racist experiences,” I’m often asked — and usually I have absolutely no desire to do so, for two reasons.

Firstly, because many believe that these experiences are individual. They start to excuse it and tell me they’re “coincidences” — coincidences that have been piling up for 26 years. I've heard it so often: Ms.

Touré, you’re always talking about racism, but you yourself have made it to deputy speaker! And I think: what does that have to do with the fact that at this very moment someone somewhere is probably having problems with immigration authorities or being racially abused on the street? This pretending that these issues are all fixed just because you have some individual figurehead is very problematic.

Today, one fifth of all Germans have migration backgrounds. Aminata Touré encourages minorities to become politically active. At the heart of the issue is the question of who's “allowed” to be part of society.

And what does it actually mean to be German? In the words of Afro-German poet May Ayim, who instead of asking questions, simply states: "I will still be African, even if you want me to be German. And I will be German, even if my Blackness does not suit you.

I will go yet another step further, to the very edge, where my sisters and brothers stand, where our freedom begins. I will go yet another step further, and another — and will return when I want, how I want, borderless and brazen. " Thank you.

The third and fourth generations of an Afro-German family. . .

Abenaa Adomako's mother Beryl was born in Gdańsk in what is now Poland — where the family's European chapter began. Even now at 82 years old, she's still sometimes confronted with questions about her roots. “Where are you from?

Do you speak German? What are you doing here anyway? ” What do you then say?

"I’m German! " is what I say. Black and German.

The descendants of Mandenga Diek show that this was never a contradiction in terms. Abenaa Adomako's daughter, currently in London, is now the fifth generation of the Diek family. It’s their history .

. . and it’s German history.

I have the feeling that we’ll be seeing more progress going forward than we did in the past. We’re not going to let this rest. We’re here and there’s no changing that.