When my mom told me she was filing the documents to become a German citizen, my first thought was “Finally!”. For a second, I felt the triumphant sensation that inevitably follows winning a long-running argument. But although I had been trying for years to convince my mom of assuming German citizenship, it soon occurred to me that it was in fact not my own but rather my mom’s victory. By claiming German citizenship, she is reclaiming not only her own voice but also the voice of all the millions of people sharing her story, or rather our story: descending from the so-called “guest-workers”.

Although the concept of “guest-workers” is not a historic novelty, the family histories shaped by the recruitments of workers to Western Germany in the 1950s and 1960s are in many ways unique ones that require reappraisal not only on an individual but also societal level. Growing up, I never really questioned my family’s history. I never questioned the fact that we only spoke Greek to my grandparents, that my mother’s passport looked different from my own, that every summer holiday was spent at the island of my grandparents’ birth. It was only when age made my grandparents increasingly nostalgic and open to talk about the past and growing xenophobia made my mother feel like not being accepted in the country she called home her whole life, the single pieces of my family’s past started to fall into place and align within the greater context of history.

At the time economic growth gained momentum in post-war Western Germany, the country was in desperate need of a workforce to keep up with the accelerating pace of production. As many other nations struggled rather with unemployment than a lack of workforce, the German government and leading businesses started to take the initiative to recruit foreign workers from abroad. Treaties between the Federal Republic of Germany and Italy, Spain, Greece, Türkiye, Marrocco, Portugal, South Korea, Tunisia, and Yugoslavia made the guest-worker program official. As the name of the program already implies, this arrangement was meant to be temporary. The people that came to Germany to work were meant to stay only for a set amount of time – just like guests. The guest-worker initiative was designed to benefit all the involved parties, the German businesses, the sending nations, and the people leaving for work. But as it is always the case, reality turns out to be much more difficult and complex than even the most well-intended theory.

Nobody, neither German society nor the people coming to the country to work as guest workers were prepared for the imminent impact they would have on each other and the transgenerational issues that would result. Leaving village life on an Aegean island behind to earn money in an industrial district of a German city, my grandparents experienced the immense culture shock emblematic of the experience of the so-called first generation of guest workers. In the 1960s until the early 1970s, 14 million came to Germany with the guest workers’ program – most of them without any prior knowledge of language, culture, or way of life. All those people were sure of was their goal to earn enough money to provide a better life back in their home country for the generations to come. Having this greater zeal and the dream of returning to the old home at heart, the people tried to cope with the everyday struggles of living and working in a foreign country. They either learned the necessary German skills on their own through everyday interactions or took part in rare German classes, tried their best to keep their profile low and work as hard as possible. They did not strive to integrate into German society, nor did any Germans make efforts to accept them into society – why should they, since they would eventually return to their old homeland. My grandparents had the very same thoughts. Only, they did not return. Delaying the return time after time – the house was still under construction, there were no job prospects, it was an inopportune point in their daughters’ schooling – they ended up staying in Germany. As part of the approximately 3 million guest workers who settled permanently in Germany, my grandparents belong to a group in German society whose story is generally known, but whose figurative voice remains mostly unheard. This is not due to the literal lack of language skills making self-expression difficult but rather due to the absence of integration, which leaves them caught between the dream of their old homeland and the reality of their new one. Never properly dealt with, the question of belonging was consequently passed on to the next generation, the so-called second generation of guest workers.

Growing up in a society that did not recognize them as a full part of itself, the second generation found themselves caught between two worlds, belonging to both the old and the new homeland of their parents in some way, but to neither completely. In the old homeland they were always the Germans, and in Germany they were always singled out as coming from their parents’ countries of origin. In order to be heard or seen, those growing up in a similar position, like my mother and her sisters, always seemed to have to walk an extra mile, always seemed to have to put in that extra effort to gain the respect and opportunities their peers enjoyed by right of birth. Coming of age in the 1990s, the time of naive but ignorant comments like “you are not that type of migrant, you are different”, mass petitions against dual citizenship, and racist far-right violence, my mother and many others sharing her history were left behind with a feeling of not belonging and not being recognized in the country they not only call home but which’s society they are active parts of.

With the question of belonging still not cleared, the third generation finds itself all over the spectrum of belonging and not belonging. When I think about my family’s history, sometimes I have struggled to relate. I grew up surrounded by my grandparent’s food and tales of village-life on an island and even started speaking Greek before German. But nowadays, I stumble over my words and struggle to read fluently in the language – just as I can empathize with the stories told and recognize myself as a part of family history but never can fully grasp it and make it my own. But in fact, I also do not have to. It is enough to listen, be aware about and recognize the patterns of my family’s past, learn the hidden lessons, and try to practice remembrance.

In the end, family history is not only something that can set apart but also root us in a community. Even stories of exclusion can ultimately provide inclusion when properly told and properly listened to. The stories we get told about our family’s past are unique stories shaped by unique experiences. At the same time, all of them share something deeply humane in the existential struggle of feeling alien and creating a sense of belonging. In this sense, family histories only stress the importance of remembrance and the healing power recalling, reappraisal and in-context setting can unfold. This is the only way we can provide the recognition and acknowledgement the people behind each story of history deserve.

Sophia Abegg

Sources:
Wo ist meine Heimat? 60 Jahre Türkei-Anwerbeabkommen | Doku | DokThema | BR
Geschichte der “Gastarbeiter” in der Bundesrepublik Deutschland
Migrationserfahrung aus der Sicht späterer Generationen – “Frag’ du nicht, und lass mich nicht sprechen”
60 Jahre Almanya | DOMiD | Dokumentationszentrum und Museum über die Migration in Deutschland