Speech by Sabine Nielsen, Exhibition Coordinator, at the occasion of the opening of the exhbition at Osborne House on 4 September 2015.
At our our seventh exhibition, in Osborne House Geelong and we have invited Diversitat, Geelong’s cultural diversity organisation, and the German Karneval Association to be our partners.
Our focus at this exhibition venue are the experiences of German migrants of the past, the presence – represented very much by the Karneval Society and their ongoing experience and presence in Geelong’s cultural life – and for the first time: we are extending the exhibition to other migrant groups and the incredible diversity we meet here – with Diversitat, who represent fifty different ethnic and cultural communities, we can not only show the presence but also consider the future of migration and migration issues.
At our our seventh exhibition, in Osborne House Geelong and we have invited Diversitat, Geelong’s cultural diversity organisation, and the German Karneval Association to be our partners.
Our focus at this exhibition venue are the experiences of German migrants of the past, the presence – represented very much by the Karneval Society and their ongoing experience and presence in Geelong’s cultural life – and for the first time: we are extending the exhibition to other migrant groups and the incredible diversity we meet here – with Diversitat, who represent fifty different ethnic and cultural communities, we can not only show the presence but also consider the future of migration and migration issues.
So many different cultures and ethnic backgrounds have come together on this land on which we are living – and after the exhibition has been on the road for almost ten months, we realize, there many similarities in the migrant experience.
During the sourse of this travelling exhibition, we have heard speakers on a lot of different topic at various locations: the enrichment you get out of speaking more than one language, the impact of WWI on German migrants in Australia; the plight of forced labourers during WWII; the trials and tribulations of expat wives; the effects of migration on children; and lots of amazing personal stories – all of which brought the migrant experience closer and have moved me to consider my own memories of being a migrant.
When I wrote the book on which this exhibition is based, I had no trouble thinking of a title – Ein bisschen Heimat im Gepäck.
That means – well, and here I get into difficulty because in German we have this word Heimat which means much more than ‘home’ or ‘homeland’.
You can relocate your home and find a new homeland, but Heimat is what you carry inside: Your memories, your connections to a place and people, a feeling of belonging, your roots.
Literally translated the title of the book makes little sense: “A little bit of homeland in the luggage”? We adapted the German title to “Memories in my Luggage.
The difficulties, we have in translating certain terms into English are peculiar not just to the German language. I read recently that there is a trend to record new languages – languages which have grown out of a necessity to express oneself quickly and precisely. In German, we talk about Denglisch – to describe the phenomenon that English words are infiltrating the Deutsch, the German.
That’s not just because it is fashionable to use English words – it’s partly because the global economy spreads its language and its terms across countries and borders similar to its goods.
It is also a language that people like us, migrants, create: Sometimes, when
I communicate in German with other German-Australians, an English word or term pops into my mind quicker than the equivalent German word. Or I’m referring to something that is typically ‘Aussie’ which is best described in English – or the English word expresses the cultural context better than a German word would. Apparently, that has also happened to the Chinese language and probably most of you with a different language background know what I am talking about.
And rather than considering that as a loss to our native language, I think it is an enrichment – and it also means we are opening a door to and accept into our minds a little of the other. I love seeing the Volkswagen ad and hearing someone with a perfect German accent relishing the words: “Das Auto”!
That would not have happened in the 70’s or earlier, when the word “Kraut” was meant as an insult!
I am a German migrant. My native language is important to me and I love speaking it. Not only does it belong to a part of me that was created long before I came here, and is something that links me to my country of origin, my essence – it is also the link to my culture, that other culture, the one that was impressed upon me long before I came here – one that I cannot just put aside into a draw and forget about.
People from different nationalities visit our exhibition and our web site – and while I am attempting to outline the differences between Australian and German cultures that is not meant to put anyone off. I am familiar only with these two, I haven’t lived anywhere else and I don’t speak another language well enough, to explore its cultural intricacies. But I’m sure, you can think of similar examples and relate to what I am talking about. When I talk about “Australians” in general, I am thinking of those that have lived here for several generations and who no longer consciously experience any allegiance to another nationality.
The first time, I came across Aussies on bulk was at the Munich Bierfest in 1971.
Earlier that year, I had met my future husband, an Australian on his “European-Tour” and for him, a visit to the Bierfest was an absolute “must”. Not only, to catch up with mates he had met in the course of the past two years, working in London and tavelling across Europe, rather: the Munich Bierfest epitomized German culture for him.
Not to visit the Wiesen and drink authentic Oktoberberfest beer (and pinch a Stein on the way out), would have been like going Egypt but not visiting the pyramids. One had to do that!
And there they were, in a tribute to old allegiances, the Aussies and the New Zealanders shared a tent, sat at the long tables, drank a lot and sang songs that in volume and stamina matched the Germans’ drinking songs. “It’s a long way to Tiperary” and “Tie me kangaroo down, sport” featured frequently, I remember, and when the night wore on: “Auld lang syne”. I won’t describe my reaction to the experience – drinking from morning to night, as much as you possibly could, no conversation to mention, the inevitable punch-up at the end of the night … And of course, the Oktoberfest is typical really only for a small proportion of Germans, mainly those living in Bavaria!
Of course, it’s not just Aussies who stand out in a crowd on foreign soil! There are Germans holidaying on Mallorca, who insist on eating Sauerkraut and Weisswurst and drinking German beer, disdaining the wonderful Paella, tortillas or pisto and Spanish wine. Germans on Mallorca are not typical for all Germans, the same as the Australians at the Oktoberfest are not typical for all Aussies!
And yet, there are subtle but fundamental differences between our two cultures that can be extracted from this example. Songs like “It’s a long way …” build on the Anzac legend, and remember the diggers, which epitomize the Australian sense of nationhood and belonging.
And where the Germans in the tent next door might sing just as fervently, their Trinklieder have their origin partly in the March revolution of 1848, partly in the students’ movements of the same time. And these Trinklieder derive from a notion to separate yourself from the conservative values of your elders and leaders. To enjoy youth and freedom while you can; to go out into nature and appreciate its beauty – and yes, to cavort with pretty young girls and appreciate the newly harvested wine.
What I am trying to say, is: while we were all at the same event, our cultural differences were apparent – and there were few if any Germans in the beer tents frequented by my Australian and his mates.
Still, I followed him here happily – and arrived on Station Pier in Melbourne on 26 October 1972. After six weeks, I was very glad to leave the boat – cramped as it had been with many migrants, some from Germany, a lot from England and a lot of from what was then Yugoslavia.
I knew very little about the country that was to become my home – but what could possibly go wrong? I was getting married, my fiancé’s large family was expecting us, I spoke English well.
I did not expect the pitfalls of the Aussie slang – it took me two years to follow a conversation easily, to join in and take part properly. Nor did I know about the conventions: e.g. in the 1970’s young women were not supposed to utter political opinions or question the church or their father-in-law!
But before all that sank in, I was whisked off to Frankston. Frankston in the 70’s was a cultural stronghold – of ‘Aussiedom’. The pubs closed at ten, the butcher at five. At parties, the men gathered around the barbie and the beer, the women hung out in the kitchen. The “Truth” became the bible on Saturdays – to be studied seriously and at length among the menfolk – because of the racing supplement. Where other wives might have lost their husbands to the footie, I lost mine to the races – if I went along, I was not expected to take an interest or venture an opinion. I saw little of Australia in those days, when my husband wasn’t out making money, or meeting businessmen in the pub, he was bonding with his father at the races or his brothers fishing.
In Germany, Sundays were devoted to the family. The family went out for a walk or a hike– remember those songs, I mentioned? Walking and hiking is an important part of the German’s psyche. In the 70’s in Australia nobody walked – you hopped into one of the two family cars if you had the urge to go somewhere.
Nowadays, jogging is very popular in Australia but Australians don’t appear to stroll for leisure, with the aim to meet friends and to reach a café. Certainly not in the suburb where I live, which is predominantly Anglo-Saxon. How different it is in Carlton (Italian) or Oakleigh (Greek) or Glen Waverley or Brunswick (multi-cultural), where people are out on the foot paths till late at night, strolling, chatting, mingling …
In Germany, when you walk along the river, around the lake or through the forest, there are cafés, conveniently located along the way, where you can strengthen yourself with Kaffee und Kuchen, prior to the journey home. Another thing, I quickly noted here: the coffee shops and tea rooms closed at 4pm – just when things start to heat up back home as far as the coffee scene is concerned!
Frankston in the 70’s was a marvelous example for Aussie values and standards in another way. You see, everyone knew their place! The Italians owned the fruit shops and ran the market. The Greeks took care of the fish and chips, and the Chinese’s forte were the Chow Min and Sweet and Sour. Apart from that we did not mix. For many years, I knew of no other Germans in Frankston – and my Aussie family would have frowned upon that, too. They tried their hardest to break me out of those German habits – and of course, the official decree supported that. We migrants could not help to be seen, but please, don’t expect us to hear you talking in your own languages, and above all: assimilate, integrate!
All the migrants who arrived here in the 1950’s or even prior to WWII, lamented the fact that one could not get a decent cup of coffee. The Aussies poured a sort of brownish, sirupy liquid out of bottle – called chicoree. Or scooped Maxwell House or Nescafe out of an economy sized tin.
It was the Italians who in desperation imported espresso machines that delivered us from coffee-hell!
And like the boutique coffee roasters, the handpicked coffee beans, the single extractions and triple shots, so has there been a quiet revolution amongst our society.
I was lucky that I arrived in the 70’s when a guy called Al Grassby suddenly made it ok to be different - to come from a different cultural background, to speak another language and be proud of it. It’s been a slow change – for a long time, I felt, “multi-culturalism” simply meant many different cultures living alongside each other – like the Vietnamese in Springvale, the Italians in Carlton and all the many other nationalities, who found somewhere where there was strength in numbers. But I think slowly – and food is a fantastic tool to bring people together, just think of he many street festivals and markets - , we might actually be moving towards a society that embraces diversity.
I think, we have come a long way, I think, we still have ways to go towards fully accepting each other.
After talking to migrants at length, first, when I collected the stories for the book, then during this exhibition which we started in December last year, I have learned lots of things about people’s personal journeys and experiences.
One of the most important things for me is:
That it is alright for people of a similar background and nationality to seek each other out. Maybe to live closely to each other, to establish shops, businesses and restaurants that allow us to fulfill our cultural cravings. To speak our language or practice our religion.
Because that does not necessarily mean that we are not part of the Australian society. The privilege of being a migrant or of migrant background is that you have more than one of everything: two languages in which to express yourself; loads of different food; more choice of sports, you can jog or race your bike or go into competitive sports – or you can stroll leisurely along the coastline or hike in the bush. Here, you have to drive on the left hand side of the road; in Europe on the right – both sides of your brain are exercised.
Paul Anders, who arrived here in 1941 onboard the Dunera said:
“I live with two cultures and take the best of both. I often think of my homeland – in a sense I’m standing with one foot in Germany and with one in Australia.”
Taking the best from each world – that for me is the real migrant experience.
And that is what makes this country so special. Apart from the indigenous, we cannot claim to be a homogenous society of a common ancestry. We are Aussies in degrees: from those have been here the longest to those most recently arrived – and we are: diversity!
During the month of September, Osborne House in North Geelong proved to be a most hospitable host – we thank the volunteers of Osborne Park Association and especially Cheryl Scott and Susan Allsop for making us so welcome. Luisa LaFornara and Mary Kotev from Diversitat – and their marvelous team Jeff, Steve, Phil, Brian, Pete and Geoff -, were marvellous partners. Die Närrischen Insulaner – The German Karneval Society – with their president Ferdi Klaus and secretary, Erlo Pietsch, not only provided their own wonderful display, but provided fanatastic support at our events.
During the sourse of this travelling exhibition, we have heard speakers on a lot of different topic at various locations: the enrichment you get out of speaking more than one language, the impact of WWI on German migrants in Australia; the plight of forced labourers during WWII; the trials and tribulations of expat wives; the effects of migration on children; and lots of amazing personal stories – all of which brought the migrant experience closer and have moved me to consider my own memories of being a migrant.
When I wrote the book on which this exhibition is based, I had no trouble thinking of a title – Ein bisschen Heimat im Gepäck.
That means – well, and here I get into difficulty because in German we have this word Heimat which means much more than ‘home’ or ‘homeland’.
You can relocate your home and find a new homeland, but Heimat is what you carry inside: Your memories, your connections to a place and people, a feeling of belonging, your roots.
Literally translated the title of the book makes little sense: “A little bit of homeland in the luggage”? We adapted the German title to “Memories in my Luggage.
The difficulties, we have in translating certain terms into English are peculiar not just to the German language. I read recently that there is a trend to record new languages – languages which have grown out of a necessity to express oneself quickly and precisely. In German, we talk about Denglisch – to describe the phenomenon that English words are infiltrating the Deutsch, the German.
That’s not just because it is fashionable to use English words – it’s partly because the global economy spreads its language and its terms across countries and borders similar to its goods.
It is also a language that people like us, migrants, create: Sometimes, when
I communicate in German with other German-Australians, an English word or term pops into my mind quicker than the equivalent German word. Or I’m referring to something that is typically ‘Aussie’ which is best described in English – or the English word expresses the cultural context better than a German word would. Apparently, that has also happened to the Chinese language and probably most of you with a different language background know what I am talking about.
And rather than considering that as a loss to our native language, I think it is an enrichment – and it also means we are opening a door to and accept into our minds a little of the other. I love seeing the Volkswagen ad and hearing someone with a perfect German accent relishing the words: “Das Auto”!
That would not have happened in the 70’s or earlier, when the word “Kraut” was meant as an insult!
I am a German migrant. My native language is important to me and I love speaking it. Not only does it belong to a part of me that was created long before I came here, and is something that links me to my country of origin, my essence – it is also the link to my culture, that other culture, the one that was impressed upon me long before I came here – one that I cannot just put aside into a draw and forget about.
People from different nationalities visit our exhibition and our web site – and while I am attempting to outline the differences between Australian and German cultures that is not meant to put anyone off. I am familiar only with these two, I haven’t lived anywhere else and I don’t speak another language well enough, to explore its cultural intricacies. But I’m sure, you can think of similar examples and relate to what I am talking about. When I talk about “Australians” in general, I am thinking of those that have lived here for several generations and who no longer consciously experience any allegiance to another nationality.
The first time, I came across Aussies on bulk was at the Munich Bierfest in 1971.
Earlier that year, I had met my future husband, an Australian on his “European-Tour” and for him, a visit to the Bierfest was an absolute “must”. Not only, to catch up with mates he had met in the course of the past two years, working in London and tavelling across Europe, rather: the Munich Bierfest epitomized German culture for him.
Not to visit the Wiesen and drink authentic Oktoberberfest beer (and pinch a Stein on the way out), would have been like going Egypt but not visiting the pyramids. One had to do that!
And there they were, in a tribute to old allegiances, the Aussies and the New Zealanders shared a tent, sat at the long tables, drank a lot and sang songs that in volume and stamina matched the Germans’ drinking songs. “It’s a long way to Tiperary” and “Tie me kangaroo down, sport” featured frequently, I remember, and when the night wore on: “Auld lang syne”. I won’t describe my reaction to the experience – drinking from morning to night, as much as you possibly could, no conversation to mention, the inevitable punch-up at the end of the night … And of course, the Oktoberfest is typical really only for a small proportion of Germans, mainly those living in Bavaria!
Of course, it’s not just Aussies who stand out in a crowd on foreign soil! There are Germans holidaying on Mallorca, who insist on eating Sauerkraut and Weisswurst and drinking German beer, disdaining the wonderful Paella, tortillas or pisto and Spanish wine. Germans on Mallorca are not typical for all Germans, the same as the Australians at the Oktoberfest are not typical for all Aussies!
And yet, there are subtle but fundamental differences between our two cultures that can be extracted from this example. Songs like “It’s a long way …” build on the Anzac legend, and remember the diggers, which epitomize the Australian sense of nationhood and belonging.
And where the Germans in the tent next door might sing just as fervently, their Trinklieder have their origin partly in the March revolution of 1848, partly in the students’ movements of the same time. And these Trinklieder derive from a notion to separate yourself from the conservative values of your elders and leaders. To enjoy youth and freedom while you can; to go out into nature and appreciate its beauty – and yes, to cavort with pretty young girls and appreciate the newly harvested wine.
What I am trying to say, is: while we were all at the same event, our cultural differences were apparent – and there were few if any Germans in the beer tents frequented by my Australian and his mates.
Still, I followed him here happily – and arrived on Station Pier in Melbourne on 26 October 1972. After six weeks, I was very glad to leave the boat – cramped as it had been with many migrants, some from Germany, a lot from England and a lot of from what was then Yugoslavia.
I knew very little about the country that was to become my home – but what could possibly go wrong? I was getting married, my fiancé’s large family was expecting us, I spoke English well.
I did not expect the pitfalls of the Aussie slang – it took me two years to follow a conversation easily, to join in and take part properly. Nor did I know about the conventions: e.g. in the 1970’s young women were not supposed to utter political opinions or question the church or their father-in-law!
But before all that sank in, I was whisked off to Frankston. Frankston in the 70’s was a cultural stronghold – of ‘Aussiedom’. The pubs closed at ten, the butcher at five. At parties, the men gathered around the barbie and the beer, the women hung out in the kitchen. The “Truth” became the bible on Saturdays – to be studied seriously and at length among the menfolk – because of the racing supplement. Where other wives might have lost their husbands to the footie, I lost mine to the races – if I went along, I was not expected to take an interest or venture an opinion. I saw little of Australia in those days, when my husband wasn’t out making money, or meeting businessmen in the pub, he was bonding with his father at the races or his brothers fishing.
In Germany, Sundays were devoted to the family. The family went out for a walk or a hike– remember those songs, I mentioned? Walking and hiking is an important part of the German’s psyche. In the 70’s in Australia nobody walked – you hopped into one of the two family cars if you had the urge to go somewhere.
Nowadays, jogging is very popular in Australia but Australians don’t appear to stroll for leisure, with the aim to meet friends and to reach a café. Certainly not in the suburb where I live, which is predominantly Anglo-Saxon. How different it is in Carlton (Italian) or Oakleigh (Greek) or Glen Waverley or Brunswick (multi-cultural), where people are out on the foot paths till late at night, strolling, chatting, mingling …
In Germany, when you walk along the river, around the lake or through the forest, there are cafés, conveniently located along the way, where you can strengthen yourself with Kaffee und Kuchen, prior to the journey home. Another thing, I quickly noted here: the coffee shops and tea rooms closed at 4pm – just when things start to heat up back home as far as the coffee scene is concerned!
Frankston in the 70’s was a marvelous example for Aussie values and standards in another way. You see, everyone knew their place! The Italians owned the fruit shops and ran the market. The Greeks took care of the fish and chips, and the Chinese’s forte were the Chow Min and Sweet and Sour. Apart from that we did not mix. For many years, I knew of no other Germans in Frankston – and my Aussie family would have frowned upon that, too. They tried their hardest to break me out of those German habits – and of course, the official decree supported that. We migrants could not help to be seen, but please, don’t expect us to hear you talking in your own languages, and above all: assimilate, integrate!
All the migrants who arrived here in the 1950’s or even prior to WWII, lamented the fact that one could not get a decent cup of coffee. The Aussies poured a sort of brownish, sirupy liquid out of bottle – called chicoree. Or scooped Maxwell House or Nescafe out of an economy sized tin.
It was the Italians who in desperation imported espresso machines that delivered us from coffee-hell!
And like the boutique coffee roasters, the handpicked coffee beans, the single extractions and triple shots, so has there been a quiet revolution amongst our society.
I was lucky that I arrived in the 70’s when a guy called Al Grassby suddenly made it ok to be different - to come from a different cultural background, to speak another language and be proud of it. It’s been a slow change – for a long time, I felt, “multi-culturalism” simply meant many different cultures living alongside each other – like the Vietnamese in Springvale, the Italians in Carlton and all the many other nationalities, who found somewhere where there was strength in numbers. But I think slowly – and food is a fantastic tool to bring people together, just think of he many street festivals and markets - , we might actually be moving towards a society that embraces diversity.
I think, we have come a long way, I think, we still have ways to go towards fully accepting each other.
After talking to migrants at length, first, when I collected the stories for the book, then during this exhibition which we started in December last year, I have learned lots of things about people’s personal journeys and experiences.
One of the most important things for me is:
That it is alright for people of a similar background and nationality to seek each other out. Maybe to live closely to each other, to establish shops, businesses and restaurants that allow us to fulfill our cultural cravings. To speak our language or practice our religion.
Because that does not necessarily mean that we are not part of the Australian society. The privilege of being a migrant or of migrant background is that you have more than one of everything: two languages in which to express yourself; loads of different food; more choice of sports, you can jog or race your bike or go into competitive sports – or you can stroll leisurely along the coastline or hike in the bush. Here, you have to drive on the left hand side of the road; in Europe on the right – both sides of your brain are exercised.
Paul Anders, who arrived here in 1941 onboard the Dunera said:
“I live with two cultures and take the best of both. I often think of my homeland – in a sense I’m standing with one foot in Germany and with one in Australia.”
Taking the best from each world – that for me is the real migrant experience.
And that is what makes this country so special. Apart from the indigenous, we cannot claim to be a homogenous society of a common ancestry. We are Aussies in degrees: from those have been here the longest to those most recently arrived – and we are: diversity!
During the month of September, Osborne House in North Geelong proved to be a most hospitable host – we thank the volunteers of Osborne Park Association and especially Cheryl Scott and Susan Allsop for making us so welcome. Luisa LaFornara and Mary Kotev from Diversitat – and their marvelous team Jeff, Steve, Phil, Brian, Pete and Geoff -, were marvellous partners. Die Närrischen Insulaner – The German Karneval Society – with their president Ferdi Klaus and secretary, Erlo Pietsch, not only provided their own wonderful display, but provided fanatastic support at our events.
