If you follow the German dailies, you will read all kinds of stories about Arab people living in Germany. There is often a general impression that people from the Near East and North Africa only recently came to Germany: they may have arrived from Syria in 2015, from Lebanon in the 1980s, or from Morocco and Tunisia back in the 1960s as so-called Gastarbeiter (guest workers) in what was West Germany.

But that impression is far from the truth. A research project organized by Freie Universität Berlin’s Institute for Arabic Studies aims to put this right. Building on the research seminar “Arab Traces in Germany,” students are investigating stations and persons in a history that stretches back to the nineteenth century. It is a journey into Germany’s Arab past.

Ruben Schenzle leads the seminar and coordinates a blog, where participating students are publishing the findings of their historical investigations. He explains, “There was an active exchange in Germany much earlier than people generally think – Arab culture has been present here for a long time. We have evaluated sources dating back to the nineteenth century, for example, travelogues written by Arab students who visited Germany.” The Arabist continues, “In addition, there are people from Arab countries who have lived in Germany and left us their writings and other documents.”

Numerous Biographies Studied

The point of departure for the seminar was the works of Arabist Gerhard Höpp (1942–2003). In the GDR, Höpp worked at the Institute for General History that was part of the German Academy of Sciences at Berlin and then, following German Reunification, helped set up the Leibniz-Zentrum Moderner Orient (ZMO). Höpp had worked on the history of Arab nationalism, but, later in his career, he also scrutinized the personal stories of people with Arab backgrounds and Muslim beliefs across Europe (focusing on Germany) in the first half of the twentieth century. His papers are archived at ZMO.

The research seminar headed by Ruben Schenzle and the history blog borne from it deal above all with biographies – like those of well-known figures such as Mohammed Helmy or Emily Ruete, but also lesser-known ones, such as jazz musician Mustafa al-Sherbini and artist Jussuf Abbo. The topics covered also include historical sites like the first mosque in Germany or the first Arab record company: the Baidaphon music label that was founded in 1906 in Berlin and Beirut.

Mohammed Helmy is one name that has frequently appeared in the German media in recent years. An Egyptian doctor, he came to Germany in 1922 to study medicine. Having completed his training at the Robert Koch Hospital, he worked until 1937 when he was stripped of his medical license for being “non-Aryan.” He then opened a private practice and stayed in close contact with Jewish friends and patients. His efforts to protect and hide Jews during the National Socialist regime led to him posthumously receiving the “Righteous Among the Nations” honor at the Yad Vashem memorial in Jerusalem.

Emily Ruete is another well-known individual: born Salma bint Said in Zanzibar in 1844 as the daughter of a sultan, she died in Jena in 1924 as Emily Ruete. Ranaa Khalaf explains that Ruete wrote her own account of her life between those years in her Memoirs of an Arabian Princess from Zanzibar. The royalties from her autobiography enabled her to support herself and her children after her husband, the German merchant Rudolph Heinrich Ruete, died. The book, which became a commercial success in Germany, is the first known autobiography of an Arab woman.

By contrast, the artist Jussuf Abbo, whose story was researched by student Assia Kaddache, has mostly been forgotten. Originally from Palestine and born the son of Arab Jews, he came to Berlin in 1911 to study sculpture.

Abbo worked as a successful sculptor and graphic designer, and his friends included Else Lasker-Schüler, who also dedicated a poem to him. His life blended Judaism and Arab culture, as well as “Oriental” influences and modern art. Once the Nazis came to power, he was persecuted both for being Jewish and for his style of art – his works even featured in the Nazi propaganda exhibition “Degenerate Art” staged in 1937. Abbo had already fled to London two years beforehand and had shipped parts of his atelier there. Sadly, he lost a finger as the result of an injury sustained while working to remove rubble after a German airstrike during the Second World War, and then gave up art. He died in 1953.

While working on the research project, Ruben Schenzle valued gaining insight into a wide range of individual experiences. He says, “Over and over again, we saw that it is impossible to lump all of these individual lives together. As is the case today, any sweeping statement would be wrong. There are so many stories with different possibilities for action, and each involves different identities.”

Parallels with the Present Day

Seminar student Sina Al-Khatib described the Arab-German poet Asis Domet (1890–1943) as being a “failed link between the cultures.” The life of this writer was indeed plagued with almost tragic twists, missed encounters, and fateful misunderstandings. Domet was born in Cairo in 1890 as the son of a Protestant Palestinian. He came to Europe at the age of 20, immersed himself in the Munich and Budapest cultural scenes, and began writing literature. He then returned to Palestine during the First World War. After 1920, he relocated to Berlin again as a nondegree student at Friedrich-Wilhelms-Universität.

His declared mission, writes Al-Khatib, was to mediate between the “Oriental” and “European” spirit, build connections, and aid mutual understanding. Domet attempted something similar in the 1920s in the British Mandate of Palestine seeking to bring Arabs and Jews together “by means of words.” In 1928, he then went back to Germany again and discovered that neither his efforts as a peacemaker through cultural understanding nor his artistic experiments had been successful.

Becoming desperate for money in the 1930s, he sought help at the American embassy in Berlin and was promptly arrested by the Gestapo. That, however, led to him offering his services to the Nazis. He seemingly hoped he would find a sympathetic ear among them by voicing antisemitism and offering to work as a propagandist. But not even the National Socialists would help Domet achieve the success he hoped for, and he died in 1943.

For the students, the research has repeatedly brought parallels with the present day to light – parallels with the relationship between members of an Arab minority and a majority society, with the ongoing possibilities to create an Arab-German identity that does not have to choose one side or the other, and with the misapprehensions and attributions that Arab people have faced and continue to face.

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The original German version of this article appeared in campus.leben, the online magazine published by Freie Universität Berlin.