“Why can’t I speak, Germany?” Social media blew up after the American artist Nan Goldin opened her retrospective exhibition This Will Not End Well at the Neue Nationalgalerie in Berlin on 22 November with a powerful and insistent speech in which she repeated this question as a refrain.
Goldin, whose art practice and activism have always been tightly intertwined, is among the artists who have spoken out clearly about her beliefs regarding Israel’s genocidal behaviour in Palestine. For instance, she signed the open letter to art organisations that cost Artforum editor David Velasco his job in October last year, and she has also engaged in street activism. In October this year, she was arrested alongside two hundred other activists from Jewish Voice for Peace after participating in a sit-in for Palestine outside the New York Stock Exchange.
She also used the exhibition opening at the Neue Nationalgalerie as an opportunity to voice her thoughts on the situation in Germany, where criticising Israel and supporting Palestinian liberation or the Boycott, Divestment, and Sanctions movement (BDS) is considered anti-Semitism, and artists and cultural institutions that express such support can expect to lose jobs and funding. Goldin, who is Jewish, is far from the first in the art world to point out that the cultural climate in Germany is problematic at the moment, but she has made the greatest impact so far – partly because of her star status in the art world, and partly because her speech and its delivery were so powerful.
So far, the actual effect of Goldin’s speech seems limited in Germany. The museum’s Director Klaus Biesenbach immediately distanced himself from her statements in a separate speech. While Biesenbach’s poor treatment of Goldin may have damaged his international reputation, he is simultaneously under pressure in the German media for even allowing her to speak at the podium.
Germany is by no means the only place where artists and cultural workers’ engagement for Palestine attracts suppression and hostility, but the situation in Germany appears especially dire. And given that Germany has long been an artistic powerhouse, what happens there sends ripples through the entire international art world. The question, however, is how long Germany can maintain its status while acting so repressively. As Goldin touched upon in her speech, Berlin seems to be losing its position as a haven for artists.
Berlin has also been an important hub and workplace for many Nordic artists. But this appears to be changing, with several artists leaving or considering leaving the city. Kunstkritikk spoke with six Nordic artists and curators – Power Ekroth, Tinne Zenner, Jan Christensen, Juan-Pedro Fabra Guemberena, Mickael Marman, and Dina El Kaisy Friemuth – who have lived and worked extensively in Germany, to get their views on the situation.
Power Ekroth
Ekroth is a curator and has been based between Berlin, Stockholm, and Holmsbu, a village on the Oslofjord, since 2001. She is also the editor of the journal SITE Zones, where she has published an article on Nan Goldin’s speech.
What drew you to Berlin?
What attracted me was the amazing range of the international art world and the opportunity for an open and interesting dialogue. We called Berlin “the camp,” a place where you stayed for a few years, met other artists, theorists, and thinkers, and then returned home. It was also cheaper to live in Berlin, to rent a studio, or eat at restaurants. The music scene was also exciting. Most importantly, the art scene felt less characterised by insular groupings. It was simply easier to breathe here compared to, say, Stockholm.
How do you feel the atmosphere in Germany has changed?
It’s not news to anyone that the whole of Europe is moving in a more fascist direction, but Berlin has been a haven until recently. The first time I felt things had radically changed was on 8 November 2023, during the first legal demonstration against the genocide in Gaza. Signs like “Stop the genocide” were banned, and the police arrested people with the “wrong” message. There were 8,000 of us, which is few compared to the 9,500 who demonstrated in Oslo the same night. It was hard to breathe – a very depressing feeling.
The next day, newspapers described the protesters chanting “Free Palestine” as “Jew-haters” [Judenhasser]. This was confusing; Israel’s policy is not about religion or ethnicity. The violence of the police and the threat of violence is now ubiquitous. Every time I go on social media, I see peaceful protesters being beaten up. This gets under my skin.
After the debacle over ruangrupa and the resignation of the Finding Committee last year, it is still uncertain how Documenta will be able to navigate the massive credibility issues in 2027. It probably depends on how things go in Germany as whole, whether they continue to send weapons to Israel and thus continue to be complicit in a genocide under the banner of Staaträson [Reason of State, the understanding that Germany, for historical reasons, has a special responsibility to protect the state of Israel]. At the same time, I see small signs of change and hope, like the fact that lawyers were recently able to speak out openly without immediate accusations of anti-Semitism.
Have you been cancelled or censored?
No. I have no employers in Germany. My income comes from Norway, Sweden, and Finland. But I expect to be arrested if I continue to document police violence against peaceful protesters – or to be beaten up myself. Repression feels increasingly inevitable.
Are you considering moving from Germany?
I have certainly considered an exit plan. At the same time, I feel strongly that the values that are so deeply rooted in this city are worth staying and fighting for. I am privileged to not be dependent on income from Germany and to be a voice for those who are not allowed to speak out. It is important to document and defend the fundamental rights we have taken for granted for so long and which are enshrined in the German constitution. These rights are now not only in jeopardy, but have in fact already disappeared through new laws and resolutions. There is too much good in Berlin for us to give up without a real fight.
Tinne Zenner
Zenner is a visual artist, filmmaker, and curator. For the past four years she has been part of the programme team for the international art film festival EMAF – European Media Arts Festival in Osnabrück, Germany. While she does not reside in Germany, she has, through her work with the festival and her own artistic practice, established a strong connection to the German art scene, particularly within film art.
How do you feel the atmosphere in Germany has changed?
I find that the climate in Germany has changed radically – particularly since Documenta 15 – but I didn’t fully realise how bad things had become until last autumn. It is very complicated for artists in general to express themselves freely on questions about Palestine and Israel, but if you also have a precarious connection to Germany, your position is even more tenuous. Germany uses the International Holocaust Remembrance Alliance’s (IHRA) definition of anti-Semitism, which equates any criticism of Israel with anti-Semitism – in contrast to the Jerusalem Declaration, which defines anti-Semitism as hatred of Jews. Given that the IHRA definition finds implementation in both matters of citizenship and cultural funding, and as the grey areas between legal authority and power enforcement grow larger, the climate feels very unsafe and difficult to navigate, especially for those in precarious working conditions and with precarious affiliations, which is often the case for artists and cultural workers. They risk losing not only their job or entire workplace, but also their citizenship.
You were the target of cancellation last autumn. What happened, and how have things been for you since?
In November last year, I received an email cancelling an upcoming exhibition of my film works and my curated film programme at Makroscope in Mülheim an der Ruhr, Germany. It was a project that had been planned since the spring, and the cancellation came out of the blue, offering no scope for negotiation. The reasons given for the cancellation was the fact that I had signed a “Declaration of support from creatives, media- and cultural workers in Denmark” and shared a particular excerpt from an artist talk on Instagram.
I had been invited to give an artist talk on “Coloniality and Extractivism in the North” as part of a symposium in Kristiansand, Norway, and on that occasion I expressed my sympathy for Palestinian victims of seventy-five years of occupation, countless war crimes, and what was then a mass destruction of Gaza, now a genocide. I reflected on my own Jewish family history, the difference between anti-Zionism and anti-Semitism, as well as the colonial history of the Nordic countries and their current support for settler colonialism. I later shared the news of the cancellation and the circumstances surrounding it on Instagram, and the initiative Archive of Silence subsequently wrote about it as part of their crucial work documenting cancellations and censorship in Germany since 7 October.
Following this, my then workplace EMAF and local German media were contacted and questioned about me, my name, my position, and whether EMAF could have someone like me on staff. It was extremely unpleasant to be named by anonymous individuals and not know who they had called or what they had said about me. And then in a political climate that I still have difficulty understanding, and where I had responsibility not only for myself, but also for the artists I stood on stage with during the festival. Fortunately, I received nothing but support from my then workplace and from my colleagues at EMAF and in the art scene in general.
Overall, the situation in Germany now strikes me as one of great stress and pressure. Things have only grown worse since last autumn, and working conditions are, to put it mildly, very precarious. In the spring of 2024, we at EMAF were met with demands for background checks on artists as a precondition for continued funding, and we also faced personal harassment and threats. Meanwhile, cultural venues, exhibition venues, and associations in Germany are now being punished on a large scale, losing all their funding and basis for operating. It has been frustrating to observe how Danish institutions have passively stood by while developments across the border have undermined the fundamental rights of artists and cultural workers and pushed the country into a new state of affairs which can now reasonably be described as a massive Berufsverbot [occupational ban, prohibition of employment or commissions on political grounds].
Jan Christensen
Christensen is an artist and curator who has lived in Berlin for much of the past two decades. He has now left due to the climate for discussion in Germany.
What is your relationship with Berlin?
I’ve had three periods living in the city. In 2000–2001, I spent a year in Berlin as a newly graduated artist after studying in Oslo. I worked at Atle Gerhardsen’s gallery there and met many of the key figures of the art scene at that time. Later, I lived in Berlin from 2003 to 2013. With Berlin as my base, I was able to meet many art professionals passing through this centre of the European art scene, and I could travel easily within Europe. During that period, rent and living costs in Berlin were still among the most affordable in Europe. Between 2014 and 2024, I re-established myself in Oslo, but kept the lease on my last flat in Berlin. I moved permanently from Germany in May 2024 as a direct result of the German authorities’ uncritical stance toward Israel’s harsh response to Hamas’s attack on Israel on 7 October 2023, and the subsequent climate for discussion in Germany.
How do you feel the atmosphere in Germany has changed?
Germany used to be a country where freedom of speech and human dignity were held to be of central importance, a place where you still felt the brutality of history and could see the present, open and free society as a deliberate response to the Second World War and the Holocaust. While Germany has also had far-right factions in modern times, strict regulations have been in place against such modes of expression and propaganda, and Berlin has been a bustling artistic centre characterised by great diversity, artistic freedom of expression, and a progressive environment in terms of identity issues. Individual rights were protected under German law, or so was my impression.
After Israel’s total war in Gaza from October 2023, which also highlighted the conditions in the West Bank, the German public reacted in a surprisingly passive manner. To my mind, the coverage of the conflict found in German media did not align with that of other Western news outlets. It immediately became clear that certain concepts and definitions were different in Germany compared to the rest of the world. In Germany, the Holocaust and Jewish identity and history are uncritically linked to movements for Israel as a nation and its colonisation and apartheid-like policies toward Palestinians, known to us as Zionism. Zionism is a nationalist and racist ideology. The many documented events following Hamas’s terrorist attack on Israel on 7 October underscore the dangerous aspects of Zionism, reminiscent of the Nazis’ twisted ideas about race and ethnicity and their brutality toward populations and individuals.
In a German context, Zionist propaganda is legitimised by pointing to the Holocaust. Public discussion on this subject appears to fall very readily within German definitions of offensive behaviour and illegal far-right rhetoric. Jewish identity is misused by what are far-right forces in the Israeli context, but German society fails to grasp this. Additionally, critical voices coming from a Jewish background are labelled as non-Jews or Jew-haters, which is just historically ignorant and absurd.
My impression of Germany is that the boundaries for freedom of expression changed overnight. Quite simply, Germans had a fundamentally different understanding of reality. The fact that leftist punks fought Palestinian activists in the streets of Berlin – the way they would normally be fighting neo-Nazis – while right-wing politicians introduced restrictions on freedom of expression shows how the political landscape in Germany is now completely distorted and chaotic, with dangerous consequences on a larger scale.
Have you been cancelled or censored?
I haven’t been subjected to outright cancellation myself, but my views are at odds with German guidelines, and I wouldn’t be allowed to express them in Germany. In that sense, I wouldn’t be able to exhibit in Germany, as I understand the situation today. It’s well known that authorities now monitor artists’ views and associations, and that these aspects are actively considered when applying for funding or exhibition spaces. There are also many examples of intellectuals being denied entry to Germany.
I had first-hand experience of this overall atmosphere at a pro-Palestine demonstration in Berlin, where police recorded and documented the protesters and took surprisingly harsh action against peaceful activists. Additionally, I noticed that close German friends of mine would express surprising support for the Israeli military’s response against Palestinians as a group. I found that Germans didn’t believe in the footage and other news coverage of what is now defined as a potential genocide of Palestinians. The climate of discussion is downright toxic: concepts like anti-Semitism and hatred of Jews are linked to criticism of Israel, making any conversation impossible.
Juan-Pedro Fabra Guemberena
Fabra Guemberena is an artist. He came to Berlin in 2010 and has divided his time between Stockholm and Berlin, and partly also Montevideo in Uruguay.
What drew you to Berlin?
I grew up between cultures and felt a need to expand and challenge my work after many years in Stockholm. Berlin was the most accessible place in Europe at the time.
How do you feel the atmosphere in Germany has changed?
The most obvious change I have noticed is the increase in police violence on the streets. It is no longer a matter of isolated cases, but is systematic; there are clear directives for a confrontational policy. In my head, I have to go back to the post-dictatorship of the 1980s in Montevideo where the repressive police structure from the dictatorship was intact and they acted on the same principle where the already vulnerable groups in society were the target. I have been present at many demonstrations over the past year, especially in solidarity with Palestine, and this has resulted in a comprehensive work, Die Schlacht um Berlin [The Battle of Berlin], which consists of both film and photos.
Have you been cancelled or censored?
I haven’t experienced it myself, but I know many who have. Above all, everyone is aware of their actions on social media. In Germany today the wrong “like” can mean losing your job and assignments. An ongoing archive of these cases is being collected through The Archive of Silence.
Are you considering moving from Germany?
I divide my time between Stockholm and Berlin, where I still have my studio, and that won’t change any time soon.
Mickael Marman
Marman is an artist and a graduate from Städelschule Frankfurt and HFBK Hamburg. He recently moved from Berlin back to his native Oslo.
Why did you leave Berlin?
I lived in Germany for almost fourteen years, many of them in Berlin ever since graduating from Städelschule Frankfurt in 2017, so I’ve been through many political changes there. Things have gone completely the wrong way, so to speak. Back then, everything was cheap and accessible – you could have a flat and a studio – but now things have changed completely. It’s expensive, you can’t get a studio, and it’s not easy to find a flat either, so a lot has changed.
I was very privileged to be offered the opportunity to move into a townhouse in the Vålerenga district of Oslo, so I thought, “okay, I’ll go home now.” I’d actually wanted to move back home for a long time, but wasn’t sure how it could be done. Then the entire situation with Palestine happened, and I just couldn’t face being there anymore. Berlin has become much edgier and more open to racist sentiments. I felt that, especially the strong Islamophobia, as I could easily be mistaken for being Arab, and there was just much more xenophobia in the air in general. That was the final straw. I thought, “I need to go home. We’re done here.” It hit me hard. The atmosphere there is so polarising, and I’m not one to hold back and not say what I think. There are some friends and acquaintances I no longer have, and that’s perfectly fine. I don’t want to be friends with people who support a genocide.
So, on a personal level, you feel the climate has changed?
Yes, but I know very few Germans who openly discuss what they think about it. The most active people, both on social media and at protest rallies, are artists from other countries. Those from Germany mostly stay silent – they are very conservative. Germans generally do what they are told; that’s still how it is. It’s a sign they can’t see the connection from then to now, though it’s quite clear.
Have you been cancelled or censored?
Yes, but in a specific, somewhat special situation where I can actually see why it happened. Still, I’m not bothering to apply for any German grants; it would be pointless and a complete waste of time because I’ve been very open about what I think, and I know people are watching. I’ve heard from an acquaintance working in the grants system that they have lists they follow. That might sound like a conspiracy theory, but it’s true. I have a friend who just lost a major grant because they signed the Strike Germany declaration.
I loved living in Germany right up until the past few years when it became clear which way things were heading. All the reasons to live there disappeared one by one. I think Berlin right now is one of the toughest housing markets in the world. And it’s actually related to war, certainly the war in Ukraine. The job market also grew very difficult and materials became expensive. Many factors have led to things becoming so right-wing. It’s perfect for the right wing when there are few jobs, high costs, and difficulty finding housing – that’s when they have their moment. It was also nice to come home to my family. I was tired of just thinking about myself and art. It’s great to hang out with old friends and not just focus on art, art, art. Having said that, I still have many good friends in Berlin – just to set the record straight!
So the cultural climate was not the only reason you moved back to Oslo?
No, but it was sort of the last straw. It became hard to be friends with people who stay silent. If they’re okay with people being killed, what do they think about me? Is it okay if I get killed on the street, or what? I had some very strange thoughts about myself and my identity during my last time in Berlin. What are we worth to anyone there? There’s so much Islamophobia in Germany. Arabs are the new Jews.
Dina El Kaisy Friemuth
Friemuth is an artist trained in Copenhagen and Berlin and has lived in Berlin in recent years. They were previously part of the feminist collective FCNN (Feminist Collective With No Name).
What drew you to Germany?
After graduating from the Royal Danish Academy of Fine Arts in Copenhagen, I set out for Lebanon to reconnect and work with my Arab background. From there, I went to Berlin, where my family lives, and I also knew that the art discourse I wanted to be part of was very active there – topics such as decoloniality, activism, and intersectional feminism. The year was 2017, and at that time I had just come from being involved in a debate at the Royal Danish Academy of Fine Arts about whether it was acceptable for a white male teacher to paint himself entirely black during an exhibition called Becoming Human at Odense Zoo. The opposition that FCNN, the artist collective I was part of, faced for pointing out this situation and calling it blackface was enormous and went so far as to see the rector of the academy, Sanne Kofod Olsen, compare us to Holocaust deniers in her response in [the newspaper] Weekendavisen. This kind of ignorance and suppression was why I no longer wanted to live and work in Denmark, and I longed for an environment that was more multicultural.
How do you feel the atmosphere in Germany has changed?
Showing support for Palestine has always been problematic. BDS has been taboo here for many years. A few years ago, a political resolution was drafted that censors support for that movement. In Germany, most cultural workers, even the most progressive, must always declare that they do not support BDS if they want to show support for Palestine. If you do support BDS, you lose access to German grants, positions, and awards. Since 7 October, things have become so extreme that as a cultural worker, you cannot even say the words “genocide” or “apartheid.” When the figure of 40,000 deaths emerged, supporting a fundraiser for hungry children began to be acceptable, but under no circumstances could you criticise Israel for the situation! That is still the case. “Free Gaza from Hamas”: that’s the only narrative under which you may show solidarity with Palestinians.
The pressure from the state authorities is so extreme that even large institutions like HKW [Haus der Kulturen der Welt], which would otherwise be the first to show solidarity regarding the situation, have neither spoken out nor shown support for Palestine. Other institutions like the Neue Nationalgalerie, Hamburger Bahnhof, or KW/Berlin Biennale should, of course, be criticised most of all. But it somehow seems so unlikely and impossible that they would say anything that we have forgotten to criticise them the way we have HKW.
All sorts of other dynamics and conflicts related to racism and white supremacy also come into play, leading to an absurd level of whataboutism mixed with German Erinnerungskultur [Culture of Remembrance, in Germany specifically tied to the Holocaust]. I am very pleased that the Neue Nationalgalerie and Klaus Biesenbach have been criticised, and glad to see that the foreign press is also criticising the reaction to Nan Goldin’s speech, but not much has changed in the German discourse. Every opposition is interpreted as aggressive and anti-Semitic. Many Germans, like Biesenbach, are truly convinced of the unique position of German Erinnerungskultur, which is fundamentally a noble position, but today ultimately leads to the concept of “anti-Semitism imported from Arabs and Muslims.”
Have you been cancelled, censored, or had other unpleasant experiences?
Since 7 October, I have been at odds with many institutions and individuals on the cultural scene. I find it difficult to gauge when I am complicit in working with institutions that actively suppress solidarity with Palestine. I have not received a single work grant or funding from Germany in 2024, or been invited to teach or sit on committees the way I was before 7 October. I have had invitations for exhibitions received before 7 October where the senders suddenly stopped responding to me or had to rearrange their programmes. I cannot prove that this is due to my solidarity with Palestine or whether it has just been one of those years where there hasn’t been much work for me. But many have experienced this form of censorship; few have directly faced cancellation explicitly citing Palestine as the reason. Rather, they [German institutions] simply aim to avoid giving us a platform in the first place. I signed the Strike Germany petition, and I know that many art committees have that list printed out and use it as a list of people they will not support.
Are you considering moving from Germany?
Yes, I consider it every day! But, as I mentioned at the outset about my reasons for leaving Denmark, I fear that in any country there will be a conflict that suppresses my position. The censorship of Palestine in Germany is primarily tied to anti-Arab and anti-Muslim racism. Other countries have other problems. Right now, I am in Egypt, and I am seriously considering whether I want to stay and work here, but that would present me with an entirely new set of problems. One thing that has encouraged me over the past year is the extensive resistance and solidarity found among cultural workers who support Palestine and all that I have learned from that solidarity. Things are difficult right now, but just as the Academy of Fine Arts in Copenhagen, after calling me ignorant, invited me back years later to teach about racism in art, I expect that Germany cannot maintain its position and that this discussion is only the beginning of a very long, hard, but educational process that I want to be part of.
