Journal articles on the topic 'Heimatlos'

Die Beispiele von Paul Celan und Rose Ausländer zeigen einige dramatische Aspekte des komplexen Verhältnisses zwischen Sprache und Identität, bzw. zwischen der deutschen Sprache im Dritten Reich und der literarischen Identität beider Dichter jüdischer Herkunft. Viktor Klemperer ist das Beispiel eines assimilierten Juden, der stets sein Deutschtum und seine tiefe Zugehörigkeit zu Deutschland und der deutschen Kultur unterstreicht. Ruth Klüger gehört zu einer späteren Generation, die sich eigentlich heimatlos fühlt, aber auch in der deutschen Sprache eine literarische Heimat findet. Canetti, Nobelpreisträger, ein sephardischer Jude, der in Bulgarien geboren ist, wählt für sich als Kosmopolit, als Mensch und Dichter eine Heimat, wo die deutsche Sprache und Kultur die Grenzen bilden.

Abstract After a lifelong career as a central figure in the London art scene, the American-Jewish artist R. B. Kitaj (1932–2007) left England in 1997 for Los Angeles to be “in exile,” as he named it, following a series of tragic events that he believed had caused the sudden death of his beloved wife and muse, artist Sandra Fisher (1947–1994). In Los Angeles, he continued the mission he had assigned himself long before: to create a meaningful, new Jewish art. For Kitaj, Jewish art was a “Diasporist” art—that is, a modernist, universal art whose core lies in the experience of the artist living and working in multiple societies simultaneously, and a response to being Heimatlos (“homeless”). He formulated his thoughts in two manifestos (1988/1989 and 2007), which were followed in 2017 by his posthumously published autobiography, Confessions of an Old Jewish Painter. Around 2003, Kitaj’s perception of Sandra Fisher attained a more mystical level: in addition to angelic qualities, he began to assign divine qualities to her as the personification of the Shekhina, the feminine aspect of God, to whom he could cleave as a mystic through his art while painting his Los Angeles series. In his final years, his personal devotion focused entirely on his reunion with Sandra. In this, mystical ideas about the Shekhina offered Kitaj a vehicle for his thought and art as well as a means of transition from earthly existence to death.

Der Aufsatz nimmt die literarisch-publizistischen Lebenswelten der österreichischen Exilanten Leopold von Andrian, Paul Frischauer und Otto Maria Carpeaux in den Blick. Sie hatten ähnliche politische Sozialisationen im Österreich der Zwischenkriegszeit, mussten aufgrund ihrer ethnischen Zugehörigkeit und ihres politischen Engagements Österreich verlassen und lebten in oder nahe Rio de Janeiro. Was Carpeaux, Frischauer und Andrian von Tausenden anderer Flüchtlinge unterschied, waren ihr Status und ihre politischen Kontakte. Sie waren materiell privilegierter, der harte Überlebenskampf vieler anderer blieb ihnen erspart; trotzdem waren sie Vertriebene und Heimatlose. Frischauer und Andrian kehrten nach dem Ende des Zweiten Weltkriegs über Umwege in ihre Heimatländer zurück, Carpeaux blieb, wurde zum Brasilianer und hinterließ ein starkes Vermächtnis. Dieser Aufsatz beleuchtet ihre Haltung, ihre Rollen und Arbeiten im brasilianischen Exil kritisch und analytisch. Er bietet und verknüpft drei biographische Erzählungen. Während der Monarchist Leopold von Andrian an der Restauration der Habsburgermonarchie festhielt, öffnete sich der jüngere, opportunistische Flüchtling Paul Frischauer als Biograph des Diktators Vargas Türen zur Macht. Otto Maria Carpeaux hingegen, der wie Andrian ein Theoretiker des autoritären österreichischen Ständestaats gewesen war, transformierte sich zum Brasilianer, zum heimischen Literaturpapst und transatlantischen Brückenbauer.

The 1905 Kalender für das Erzgebirge und Vogtland described an apparently spontaneous shift in the relationship between the German state of Saxony's mountainous southern borderlands and its rapidly urbanizing lowlands. Yet from the 1870s to the 1930s, the Kalender, the Erzgebirgsverein that published it, and a host of similar Heimat (homeland) and tourist organizations pushed, prodded, and cajoled lowlanders into visiting the borderlands. In the process, they repeatedly reframed the ways in which they portrayed the landscapes they championed, rethought their reasons for enticing travelers to the southern regions, and redirected their efforts to new audiences. Saxon Heimatler and tourism promoters succeeded in defining southern Saxony's regions, and eventually Saxony as a whole, in terms of three important characteristics: the interplay of nature and industry in their landscapes; the diversity of those landscapes; and proximity to and interactions with Bohemia. So powerful were these themes that they continue to shape ideas about southern Saxony to the present.

Heimat is commonly theorized as an entity both co-extensive with the nation and easily describable in terms of its regional peculiarities (Eigenart). To challenge this view, this article turns to sociolinguistic discussions in the press of Sudeten German expellees in the early 1950s. Rather than speaking as experts on local dialects or folklore, these newcomers resorted to Sprachkritik, a widespread postwar public form of sociolinguistic criticism, to fashion Heimat into a prescriptive, normative authority over the High German standard that they found missing in the Federal Republic. Their attacks on the West German parlance focused on inability of its consumerist diminutives to produce a coherent narrative of the period. By suggesting that Heimat's parameters superseded those of the nation, their interventions countered the widespread cliché of inarticulate, rural expellees at the same time as they put Sprachkritik on the map of West Germany's “miracle years.“

AbstractDer amazonische Regenwald gilt traditionell als Heimat von Sinnestäuschungen. Als das radikal Fremde hält er die selten gewordene Erfahrung bereit, sich als Mensch angesichts einer Fülle von ‚Umwelt‘ in der Unterzahl zu fühlen. Der Beitrag untersucht vor diesem Hintergrund zwei Paradigmen amazonischer Wahrnehmungslehren. Dient er im 20. Jahrhundert als Erfahrungsort für einen letzten Rest „integraler Natürlichkeit“ (Pierre Restany) und bietet eine im Verschwinden begriffene Heimat für den „chronisch heimatlosen“ Europäer (Lévi-Strauss, Frans Krajcberg), scheint er dagegen im 21. Jahrhundert die dringend benötigten Wahrnehmungsmodi für die Verstrickungen zwischen Mensch, Umwelt, Tier, Pflanze und Technik im Anthropozän zu liefern (Eduardo Kohn, Eduardo Viveiros de Castro). Anhand des Romans Constelaciones oscuras (2015; dt. Kryptozän, 2016) der argentinischen Autorin Pola Oloixarac lassen sich die verschiedenen Funktionalisierungen und Imaginationen des Amazonaswaldes als Wahrnehmungsschule nachvollziehen. Zugleich ist der literarische Text mehr als nur fiktionale Verhandlung divergenter Amazonasreferenzen: Er greift indigene Perspektivverschiebungen auf, verkehrt Positiv- in Negativformen und denkt zu Ende, was aktuelle Amazonasethnographien mit Begriffen von Multinaturalismus, Schamanismus und Perspektivismus entwerfen. Da er nicht davor zurückschreckt, die letzte Konsequenz einer „anthropology beyond the human“ zu ziehen, den Menschen als fremdgesteuerten Wirt einer symbiotischen Verbindung zu betrachten, lässt sich an ihm eine Wahrnehmungslehre für die Verstrickungen des Anthropozäns ableiten.

AbstractDer amazonische Regenwald gilt traditionell als Heimat von Sinnestäuschungen. Als das radikal Fremde hält er die selten gewordene Erfahrung bereit, sich als Mensch angesichts einer Fülle von ‚Umwelt‘ in der Unterzahl zu fühlen. Der Beitrag untersucht vor diesem Hintergrund zwei Paradigmen amazonischer Wahrnehmungslehren. Dient er im 20. Jahrhundert als Erfahrungsort für einen letzten Rest „integraler Natürlichkeit“ (Pierre Restany) und bietet eine im Verschwinden begriffene Heimat für den „chronisch heimatlosen“ Europäer (Lévi-Strauss, Frans Krajcberg), scheint er dagegen im 21. Jahrhundert die dringend benötigten Wahrnehmungsmodi für die Verstrickungen zwischen Mensch, Umwelt, Tier, Pflanze und Technik im Anthropozän zu liefern (Eduardo Kohn, Eduardo Viveiros de Castro). Anhand des Romans Constelaciones oscuras (2015; dt. Kryptozän, 2016) der argentinischen Autorin Pola Oloixarac lassen sich die verschiedenen Funktionalisierungen und Imaginationen des Amazonaswaldes als Wahrnehmungsschule nachvollziehen. Zugleich ist der literarische Text mehr als nur fiktionale Verhandlung divergenter Amazonasreferenzen: Er greift indigene Perspektivverschiebungen auf, verkehrt Positiv- in Negativformen und denkt zu Ende, was aktuelle Amazonasethnographien mit Begriffen von Multinaturalismus, Schamanismus und Perspektivismus entwerfen. Da er nicht davor zurückschreckt, die letzte Konsequenz einer „anthropology beyond the human“ zu ziehen, den Menschen als fremdgesteuerten Wirt einer symbiotischen Verbindung zu betrachten, lässt sich an ihm eine Wahrnehmungslehre für die Verstrickungen des Anthropozäns ableiten.

ZusammenfassungDieser Essay ist ein Nachruf auf den im März 2006 verstorbenen, international renommierten Wissenschaftstheoretiker und Sozialphilosophen Gerard Radnitzky. Im Mittelpunkt stehen zweierlei: zum einen Radnitzkys Wandlung vom klassisch liberalen Hayekianer zum strikten Libertären im Stile Anthony de Jasays und zum anderen die Gründe, die zu Radnitzkys Priorisierung der geordneten Anarchie gegenüber der spontanen Ordnung geführt haben dürften. In diesem Sinne ist der Nekrolog ein Versuch, Radnitzkys Entwicklung als Politischer Philosoph skizzenhaft nachzuzeichnen und als Wechselspiel darzustellen, das einerseits aus Radnitzkys stetem Bemühen um eine auf exakter Problemanalyse gründender Erkenntniserweiterung und andererseits aus den Kollisionen mit diversen Kollektivismen, denen der „gelernte Heimatlose“ ausgesetzt war, hervorging.

Home is the place where one knows oneself best; it is where one belongs, a space one longs to be. Indeed, the longing for home seems to be grounded in an anthropological need for anchorage. Although in English the German loanword ‘Heimat’ is often used synonymously with ‘home’, many would have claimed up till now that it has been a word particularly ill equipped for use outside the German speaking community, owing to its specific cultural baggage. However, I would like to argue that – not least due to the political dimension of home (such as in homeland security and homeland affairs) – the yearning for a home has experienced a semantic shift, which aligns it more closely with Heimat, a term imbued with the ambivalence of home and homeland intertwined (Morley 32). I will outline the German specificities below and invite an Australian analogy. A resoundingly positive understanding of the German term ‘Heimat’ likens it to “an intoxicant, a medium of transport; it makes people feel giddy and spirits them to pleasant places. To contemplate Heimat means to imagine an uncontaminated space, a realm of innocence and immediacy.“ (Rentschler 37) While this description of Heimat may raise expectations of an all-encompassing idyll, for most German speakers “…there is hardly a more ambivalent feeling, hardly a more painful mixture of happiness and bitterness than the experience vested in the word ‘Heimat’.” (Reitz 139) The emotional charge of the idiom is of quite recent origin. Traditionally, Heimat stimulates connotations of ‘origin’, ‘birth place, of oneself and one’s ancestors’ and even of ‘original area of settlement and homeland’. This corresponds most neatly with such English terms as ‘native land’, ‘land of my birth’, ‘land of my forefathers’ or ‘native shores’. Added to the German conception of Heimat are its sensitive associations relating, on the one hand, to Romanticism and its idolisation of the fatherland, and on the other, to the Nazi blood-and-soil propaganda, which brought Heimat into disrepute for many and added to the difficulties of translating the German word. A comparison with similar terms in Romance languages makes this clear. Speakers of those tongues have an understanding of home and homeland, which is strongly associated with the father-figure: the Greek “patra”, Latin and Italian “patria” and the French “patrie”, as well as patriarch, patrimony, patriot, and patricide. The French come closest to sharing the concept to which Heimat’s Germanic root of “heima” refers. For the Teutons “heima” denoted the traditional space and place of a clan, society or individual. However, centuries of migration, often following expulsion, have imbued Heimat with ambivalent notions; feelings of belonging and feelings of loss find expression in the term. Despite its semantic opaqueness, Heimat expresses a “longing for a wholeness and unity” (Strzelczyk 109) which for many seems lost, especially following experiences of alienation, exile, diaspora or ‘simply’ migration. Yet, it is in those circumstances, when Heimat becomes a thing of the past, that it seems to manifest itself most clearly. In the German context, the need for Heimat arose particularly after World War Two, when experiences of loss and scenes of devastation, as well as displacement and expulsion found compensation of sorts in the popular media. Going to the cinema was the top pastime in Germany in the 1950s, and escapist Heimat films, which showed idyllic country scenery, instead of rubble-strewn cityscapes, were the most well-liked of all. The industry pumped out kitsch films in quick succession to service this demand and created sugar-coated, colour-rich Heimat experiences on celluloid that captured the audience’s imagination. Most recently, the genre experienced something of a renaissance in the wake of the fall of the Berlin Wall and the subsequent accession of the German Democratic Republic (GDR, also referred to as East Germany) to the Federal Republic of Germany (FRG or West Germany) in 1990. Described as one of the most seminal moments in modern history, the events led to large-scale change; in world politics, strategic alliances, but were most closely felt at the personal and societal level, reshaping community and belonging. Feelings of disbelief and euphoria occupied the hearts and minds of people all around the world in the days following the night of the 9 November 1989. However, the fall of the Wall created within weeks what the Soviet Union had been unable to manage in the previous 40 years; the sense of a distinctly Eastern identity (cf. Heneghan 148). Most of the initial positive perceptions slowly gave way to a hangover when the consequences of the drastic societal changes became apparent in their effects on populace. Feelings of disenchantment and disillusionment followed the jubilation and dominated the second phase of socio-cultural unification, when individuals were faced with economic and emotional hardship or were forced to relocate, as companies folded, politically tainted degrees and professions were abolished and entire industry sectors disappeared. This reassessment of almost every aspect of people’s lifestyles led many to feel that their familiar world had dissipated and their Heimat had been lost, resulting in a rhetoric of “us” versus “them”. This conceptual divide persisted and was cemented by the perceived difficulties in integration that had emerged, manifesting a consciousness of difference that expressed itself metaphorically in the references to the ‘Wall in the mind’. Partly as a reaction to these feelings and partly also as a concession to the new citizens from the East, Western backed and produced unification films utilised the soothing cosmos of the Heimat genre – so well rehearsed in the 1950s – as a framework for tales about unification. Peter Timm’s Go, Trabi, Go (1991) and Wolfgang Büld’s sequel Go, Trabi, Go 2. Das war der Wilde Osten [That Was the Wild East, 1992] are two such films which revive “Heimat as a central cultural construct through which aspects of life in the new Germany could be sketched and grasped.” (Naughton 125) The films’ references to Eastern and Western identity served as a powerful guarantor of feelings of belonging, re-assuring audiences on both sides of the mental divide of their idiosyncrasies, while also showing a way to overcome separation. These Heimat films thus united in spirit, emotion and consumer behaviour that which had otherwise not yet “grown together” (cf. Brandt). The renaissance of the Heimat genre in the 1990s gained further momentum in the media with new Heimat film releases as well as TV screenings of 1950s classics. Indeed Heimat films of old and new were generally well received, as they responded to a fragile psychological predisposition at a time of change and general uncertainty. Similar feelings were shared by many in the post-war society of the 1950s and the post-Wall Europe of the 1990s. After the Second World War and following the restructure after Nazism it was necessary to integrate large expellee groups into the young nation of the FRG. In the 1990s the integration of similarly displaced people was required, though this time they were having to cope less with territorial loss than with ideological implosions. Then and now, Heimat films sought to aid integration and “transcend those differences” (Naughton 125) – whilst not disputing their existence – particularly in view of the fact that Germany had 16 million new citizens, who clearly had a different cultural background, many of whom were struggling with perceptions of otherness as popularly expressed in the stereotypical ethnographies of “Easterners” and “Westerners”. The rediscovery of the concept of Heimat in the years following unification therefore not only mirrored the status quo but further to that allowed “for the delineation of a common heritage, shared priorities, and values with which Germans in the old and new states could identify.” (Naughton 125) Closely copying the optimism of the 1950s which promised audiences prosperity and pride, as well as a sense of belonging and homecoming into a larger community, the films produced in the early 1990s anticipated prosperity for a mobile and flexible people. Like their 1950s counterparts, “unification films ‘made in West Germany’ imagined a German Heimat as a place of social cohesion, opportunity, and prosperity” (Naughton 126). Following the unification comedies of the early 1990s, which were set in the period following the fall of the Wall, another wave of German film production shifted the focus onto the past, sacrificing the future dimension of the unification films. Leander Haußmann’s Sonnenallee (1999) is set in the 1970s and subscribes to a re-invention of one’s childhood, while Wolfgang Becker’s Goodbye Lenin (2003) in which the GDR is preserved on 79 square metres in a private parallel world, advocates a revival of aspects of the socialist past. Referred to as “Ostalgia”; a nostalgia for the old East, “a ‘GDR revival’ or the ‘renaissance of a GDR Heimatgefühl’” (Berdahl 197), the films achieved popular success. Ostalgia films utilised the formula of ‘walking down memory lane’ in varying degrees; thematising pleasing aspects of an imagined collective past and tempting audiences to revel in a sense of unity and homogeneous identity (cf. Walsh 6). Ostalgia was soon transformed from emotional and imaginary reflection into an entire industry, manifesting itself in the “recuperation, (re)production, marketing, and merchandising of GDR products as well as the ‘museumification’ of GDR everyday life” (Berdahl 192). This trend found further expression in a culture of exhibitions, books, films and cabaret acts, in fashion and theme parties, as well as in Trabi-rallies which celebrated or sent up the German Democratic Republic in response to the perceived public humiliation at the hands of West German media outlets, historians and economists. The dismissal of anything associated with the communist East in mainstream Germany and the realisation that their consumer products – like their national history – were disappearing in the face of the ‘Helmut Kohl-onisation’ sparked this retro-Heimat cult. Indeed, the reaction to the disappearance of GDR culture and the ensuing nostalgia bear all the hallmarks of Heimat appreciation, a sense of bereavement that only manifests itself once the Heimat has been lost. Ironically, however, the revival of the past led to the emergence of a “new” GDR (Rutschky 851), an “imaginary country put together from the remnants of a country in ruins and from the hopes and anxieties of a new world” (Hell et al. 86), a fictional construct rather than a historical reality. In contrast to the fundamental social and psychological changes affecting former GDR citizens from the end of 1989, their Western counterparts were initially able to look on without a sense of deep personal involvement. Their perspective has been likened to that of an impartial observer following the events of a historical play (cf. Gaschke 22). Many saw German unification as an enlargement of the West; as soon as they had exported their currency, democracy, capitalism and freedom to the East, “blossoming landscapes” were sure to follow (Kohl). At first political events did not seem to cause a major disruption to the lives of most people in the old FRG, except perhaps the need to pay higher tax. This understanding proved a major underestimation of the transformation process that had gripped all of Germany, not just the Eastern part. Nevertheless, few predicted the impact that far-reaching changes would have on the West; immigration and new minorities alter the status quo of any society, and with Germany’s increase in size and population, its citizens in both East and West had to adapt and adjust to a new image and to new expectations placed on them from within and without. As a result a certain unease began to be felt by many an otherwise self-assured individual. Slower and less obvious than the transition phase experienced by most East Germans, the changes in West German society and consciousness were nevertheless similar in their psychological effects; resulting in a subtle feeling of displacement. Indeed, it was soon noted that “the end of German division has given rise to a sense of crisis in the West, particularly within the sphere of West German culture, engendering a Western nostalgica for the old FRG” (Cooke 35), also referred to as Westalgia. Not too dissimilar to the historical rehabilitation of the East played out in Ostalgic fashion, films appeared which revisit moments worthy of celebration in West German history, such as the 1954 Soccer World Championship status which is at the centre of the narrative in Sönke Wortmann’s Das Wunder von Bern [Miracle of Bern, 2003]. Hommages to the 1968 generation (Hans Weingartner’s Die fetten Jahre sind vorbei [The Educators, 2004]) and requiems for West Berlin’s subculture (Leander Haußmann’s Herr Lehmann [Mr Lehmann, 2003]) were similar manifestations of this development. Ostalgic and Westalgic practices coexisted for several years after the turn of the millennium, and are a tribute to the highly complex interrelationship that exists between personal histories and public memories. Both narratives reveal “the politics, ambiguities, and paradoxes of memory, nostalgia, and resistance” (Berdahl 207). In their nostalgic contemplation of the good old days, Ostalgic and Westalgic films alike express a longing to return to familiar and trusted values. Both post-hoc constructions of a heimatesque cosmos demonstrate a very real reinvention of Heimat. Their deliberate reconstruction and reinterpretation of history, as well as the references to and glorification of personal memory and identity fulfil the task of imbuing history – in particular personal history – with dignity. As such these Heimat films work in a similar fashion to myths in the way they explain the world. The heimatesque element of Ostalgic and Westalgic films which allows for the potential to overcome crises reveals a great deal about the workings of myths in general. Irrespective of their content, whether they are cosmogonic (about the beginning of time), eschatological (about the end of time) or etiologic myths (about the origins of peoples and societal order), all serve as a means to cope with change. According to Hans Blumenberg, myth making may be seen as an attempt to counter the absolutism of reality (cf. Blumenberg 9), by providing a response to its seemingly overriding arbitrariness. Myths become a means of endowing life with meaning through art and thus aid positive self-assurance and the constructive usage of past experiences in the present and the future. Judging from the popular success of both Ostalgic and Westalgic films in unified Germany, one hopes that communication is taking place across the perceived ethnic divide of Eastern and Western identities. At the very least, people of quite different backgrounds have access to the constructions and fictions relating to one another pasts. By allowing each other insight into the most intimate recesses of their respective psychological make-up, understanding can be fostered. Through the re-activation of one’s own memory and the acknowledgment of differences these diverging narratives may constitute the foundation of a common Heimat. It is thus possible for Westalgic and Ostalgic films to fulfil individual and societal functions which can act as a core of cohesion and an aid for mutual understanding. At the same time these films revive the past, not as a liveable but rather as a readable alternative to the present. As such, the utilisation of myths should not be rejected as ideological misuse, as suggested by Barthes (7), nor should it allow for the cementing of pseudo-ethnic differences dating back to mythological times; instead myths can form the basis for a common narrative and a self-confident affirmation of history in order to prepare for a future in harmony. Just like myths in general, Heimat tales do not attempt to revise history, or to present the real facts. By foregrounding the evidence of their wilful construction and fictitious invention, it is possible to arrive at a spiritual, psychological and symbolic truth. Nevertheless, it is a truth that is essential for a positive experience of Heimat and an optimistic existence. What can the German situation reveal in an Australian or a wider context? Explorations of Heimat aid the socio-historical investigation of any society, as repositories of memory and history, escape and confrontation inscribed in Heimat can be read as signifiers of continuity and disruption, reorientation and return, and as such, ever-changing notions of Heimat mirror values and social change. Currently, a transition in meaning is underway which alters the concept of ‘home’ as an idyllic sphere of belonging and attachment to that of a threatened space; a space under siege from a range of perils in the areas of safety and security, whether due to natural disasters, terrorism or conventional warfare. The geographical understanding of home is increasingly taking second place to an emotional imaginary that is fed by an “exclusionary and contested distinction between the ‘domestic’ and the ‘foreign’ (Blunt and Dowling 168). As such home becomes ever more closely aligned with the semantics of Heimat, i.e. with an emotional experience, which is progressively less grounded in feelings of security and comfort, yet even more so in those of ambivalence and, in particular, insecurity and hysteria. This paranoia informs as much as it is informed by government policies and interventions and emerges from concerns for national security. In this context, home and homeland have become overused entities in discussions relating to the safeguarding of Australia, such as with the establishment of a homeland security unit in 2003 and annual conferences such as “The Homeland Security Summit” deemed necessary since 9/11, even in the Antipodes. However, these global connotations of home and Heimat overshadow the necessity of a reclaimation of the home/land debate at the national and local levels. In addressing the dispossession of indigenous peoples and the removal and dislocation of Aboriginal children from their homes and families, the political nature of a home-grown Heimat debate cannot be ignored. “Bringing them Home”, an oral history project initiated by the National Library of Australia in Canberra, is one of many attempts at listening to and preserving the memories of Aboriginals and Torres Strait Islanders who, as children, were forcibly taken away from their families and homelands. To ensure healing and rapprochement any reconciliation process necessitates coming to terms with one’s own past as much as respecting the polyphonic nature of historical discourse. By encouraging the inclusion of diverse homeland and dreamtime narratives and juxtaposing these with the perceptions and constructions of home of the subsequent immigrant generations of Australians, a rich text, full of contradictions, may help generate a shared, if ambivalent, sense of a common Heimat in Australia; one that is fed not by homeland insecurity but one resting in a heimatesque knowledge of self. References Barthes, Roland. Mythen des Alltags. Frankfurt a.M.: Suhrkamp, 1964 Berdahl, Daphne. “‘(N)ostalgie’ for the Present: Memory, Longing, and East German Things.” Ethnos 64.2 (1999): 192-207. Blumenberg, Hans. Arbeit am Mythos. Frankfurt a.M.: Suhrkamp Verlag, 1979. Blunt, Alison, and Robyn Dowling. Home. London: Routledge, 2006. Brandt, Willy. “Jetzt kann zusammenwachsen, was zusammengehört [Now that which belongs together, can now grow together].” From his speech on 10 Nov. 1989 in front of the Rathaus Schöneberg, transcript available from http://www.bwbs.de/Brandt/9.html>. Cooke, Paul. “Whatever Happened to Veronika Voss? Rehabilitating the ‘68ers’ and the Problem of Westalgie in Oskar Roehler’s Die Unberührbare (2000).” German Studies Review 27.1 (2004): 33-44. Gaschke, Susanne. “Neues Deutschland. Sind wir eine Wirtschaftsgesellschaft?” Aus Politik und Zeitgeschichte B1-2 (2000): 22-27. Hell, Julia, and Johannes von Moltke. “Unification Effects: Imaginary Landscapes of the Berlin Republic.” The Germanic Review 80.1 (Winter 2005): 74-95. Heneghan, Tom. Unchained Eagle: Germany after the Wall. London: Reuters, 2000. Kohl, Helmut. “Debatte im Bundestag um den Staatsvertrag.” 21 June 1990. Morley, David. Home Territories: Media, Mobility and Identity. London: Routledge, 2000. Naughton, Leonie. That Was the Wild East. Film Culture, Unification, and the “New” Germany. Ann Arbor: U of Michigan P, 2002. Rentschler, Eric. “There’s No Place Like Home: Luis Trenker’s The Prodigal Son (1934).” New German Critique 60 (Special Issue on German Film History, Autumn 1993): 33-56. Reitz, Edgar. “The Camera Is Not a Clock (1979).” In Eric Rentschler, ed. West German Filmmakers on Film: Visions and Voices. New York: Holmes and Meier, 1988. 137-141. Rutschky, Michael. “Wie erst jetzt die DDR entsteht.” Merkur 49.9-10 (Sep./Oct. 1995): 851-64. Strzelczyk, Florentine. “Far Away, So Close: Carl Froelich’s Heimat.” In Robert C. Reimer, ed., Cultural History through the National Socialist Lens. Essays on the Cinema of the Third Reich. Rochester, NY: Camden House, 2000. 109-132. Walsh, Michael. “National Cinema, National Imaginary.” Film History 8 (1996): 5-17. Citation reference for this article MLA Style Ludewig, Alexandra. "Home Meets Heimat." M/C Journal 10.4 (2007). echo date('d M. Y'); ?> <http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0708/12-ludewig.php>. APA Style Ludewig, A. (Aug. 2007) "Home Meets Heimat," M/C Journal, 10(4). Retrieved echo date('d M. Y'); ?> from <http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0708/12-ludewig.php>.