This important book further sophisticates the debate about Austrian contemporary history. In the discussion concerning Austrian responsibility for the crimes of the Nazi regime, one aspect has been largely neglected: the question of Austrian identity. Of course, it has been widely acknowledged that before 1938 most citizens of the Austrian republic perceived themselves as Germans—a consequence of the terminology of the Habsburg Empire, which identified nationality (and ethnicity) with language. But what about the significant modification of this self-perception after 1945? What does it mean that most Austrians considered themselves Germans in 1938—and that most Austrians of today have a different self-perception?
In its Pan-German ideological thinking, the Pan-German camp after 1918 did not differ significantly from socialists or Catholic conservatives. But when in the 1930s the electorate of the two small Pan-German parties (Großdeutsche Volkspartei and Landbund) were taken by the Austrian NSDAP, the ethnic-linguistic definition of identity played into the hands of the aggressive Anschluss propaganda of Nazi Germany and Austrian Nazis. Most Austrians welcomed the Anschluss—even when many (the majority?) did not welcome Nazism. The experience of occupation and annexation by a German empire that politically and culturally represented not Weimar but a totalitarian, warmongering, self-destroying regime was the beginning of rethinking and redefining Austrian identity.
After 1945, more and more Austrians began to see themselves as Austrians—part of an Austrian national identity, politically expressed by the democratic Republic of Austria. The German language was not a convincing enough reason to see Austria as a second (or third?) German state. Austrians began to perceive themselves more and more as a second Switzerland. Austrian identity, as defined by Austrians, became postethnic, leaving the Romantic understanding of “Germanhood” as developed in the nineteenth century for a state-based, political understanding of national identity.
These significant changes can be demonstrated by the meaning of the term “nation.” When Austrians today proclaim to be part of the “German nation,” they seem to represent a rather peculiar, old-fashioned, right-wing, potentially extremist minority. Mainstream Austrians define themselves as belonging to an “Austrian nation”—a nation almost nobody believed to exist before 1938, and despite being German-speaking, a nation that tends to stress the differences between Germany and Austria.
Karner follows the concept of nation and nationalism as developed by Benedict Anderson, Ernest Gellner, and Rogers Brubaker: nation not as the product of “nature” but of “culture,” of perception and imagination, fulfilling directly or indirectly political functions. National identity is historically fluid and must coexist with other identities, such as religion, gender, or class.
That Austria was and is not Austria has been mostly overlooked in the debate concerning the “victim theory” as defined by the Allied powers in Moscow 1943. Of course, the “victim theory” was instrumental for Austrian governments after 1945, helping to justify the request to be treated differently from Germany. But the public debate, especially since the Waldheim Affair, sometimes followed too simplistic a path by defining this “theory” only as a product of Austrian opportunism.
Christian Karner's book, based on a deep analysis of the academic discourse, helps to make the picture more complex. The post-Waldheim discussions about the aspect of Austrian responsibility tend to neglect the changes of national identity. Austrians in 1938 saw themselves as Germans (including most Jewish Austrians), and between 1938 and 1945 the general behavior of Austrians was very much like that of (other) Germans: an opportunistic adaption to the regime, directed by a survival instinct but also based on the Romantic understanding of being “German.” On the fringes of this mainstream, two contradicting patterns of significant minority behavior existed: Nazi fanaticism and active anti-Nazi resistance.
Karner's study helps to explain how decisively the Austrian identity has changed. The kind of “Germany” Austrians experienced between 1938 and 1945 was responsible for the beginning of the end of the Romantic perception of “Germany” among Austrians. The generations born after 1945 do not have much of an understanding of the difference between their own feeling of national identity and that of the older generations who lived through the decades before 1945. This is one of the reasons why the Waldheim Affair was seen as an extraordinary case and not the product of average Austrian behavior, deeply rooted in Austrian history.
Politically, this dissonance between the generations could be seen as a positive development: any adaption to a totalitarian system—especially an adaption that includes active participation—has become ethically less acceptable. But it is necessary to understand intellectually that Waldheim (and much of his generation) represented a society raised by Romantic ethnic nationalism. This cultural and social background explains why Hitler was welcomed by so many Austrians.
Karner's book exemplifies the importance of multidisciplinary approaches. His analysis employs sociolinguistics explanations, like those of Ruth Wodak. More references to quantitative sociology, like Max Haller's Identität und Nationalstolz der Österreicher (Vienna, 1996), could have strengthened Karner's convincing line of argument. But all in all, Karner's study demonstrates that contemporary history must be (and already is) linked to the social sciences. Indeed, contemporary history as a discipline—as understood by Karner (and many others)—is among the social sciences.
