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Germany's workshop : expellee craft and postwar national rebranding Cairns, Kelly Lynn 2016

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              GERMANY’S WORKSHOP:  EXPELLEE CRAFT AND POSTWAR NATIONAL REBRANDING   by   Kelly Lynn Cairns  A THESIS SUBMITTED IN PARTIAL FULFILLMENT OF  THE REQUIREMENTS FOR THE DEGREE OF   DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY  in  The Faculty of Graduate and Postdoctoral Studies  (History)   THE UNIVERSITY OF BRITISH COLUMBIA (Vancouver)   August 2016   © Kelly Lynn Cairns, 2016   	   ii	    Abstract  This work explores the use of culture to rebrand national identity in postwar West Germany from 1945-1955. It employs the story of Sudeten expellee craftspeople and their resettlement in the American Occupation Zone to demonstrate forced migrant agency, and to address national rebranding from a migrant perspective. It reveals how American and German governments employed the expellee story and their Selbsthilfe (self-help) initiative to bridge the recent Nazi past and sell German goods to global consumers. Rebranding emphasized tradition, Heimat and an idyllic handcraft lifestyle while also promising a future of innovation. Sudeten expellee communities proved exemplary for the task, as symbols of both “tradition” and innovation. In addition, their story of resilience from their lost Heimat to eventual economic prosperity proved useful in both advancing a German victimhood narrative and boasting a successful integration narrative. The American Military Government in occupation sought to manage, resettle and market expellees through export buyer tours, exchange visits and trade fair exhibitions, justifying the allocation of Marshall Plan funds and fostering a strong trade relationship. The expellee craft story became a powerful tool in making a tarnished “Made in Germany” label sellable once again. This study traces expellee musical instrument makers, toy makers and glass blowers, from the loss of their workshops to their conflict with local German communities, to the construction of new homes and the reconstruction of businesses. Taking small-scale craft industry and material culture as its focus, this work adds to and complicates an already rich literature on heavy industry and the German Wirtschaftswunder. As occupation governments dismantled heavy industries, they subsequently promoted skilled handcraft and small-scale manufacturing, granting expellees an opportunity to rebuild and advance their new workshops in enclave settlements. This study links scholarship in the fields of postwar German history, forced migration, and material culture to reveal the power of objects and forced migrant groups to alter the story and even identity of their new West German context.                    	   iii	  Preface  This dissertation is original, unpublished, independent work by the author, Kelly Cairns. All German sources were translated into English by the author. All images used are not under copyright restriction. The research for this dissertation was completed with the generous support of the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada (SSHRC).                                              	   iv	  Table of Contents  Abstract	  ....................................................................................................................................................	  ii	  Preface	  ....................................................................................................................................................	  iii	  Table	  of	  Contents.................................................................................................................................	  iv	  List	  of	  Images	  ........................................................................................................................................	  vi	  Acknowledgements	  ...........................................................................................................................	  vii	  Dedication	  ...........................................................................................................................................	  viii	  	  Introduction	  ...........................................................................................................................................	  1	  	  Chapter	  One.	  Becoming	  Expellees:	  The	  Prewar	  Heimat	  and	  the	  Postwar	  Expulsion	  .	  43	  	  	  	  	  	  	  	  	  	  	  1.1	  Background	  .........................................................................................................................	  45	  	  	  	  	  	  	  	  	  	  	  1.2	  Expulsions	  ...........................................................................................................................	  53	  	  	  	  	  	  	  	  	  	  	  1.3	  Case	  Study:	  Gablonz	  .........................................................................................................	  56	  	  	  	  	  	  	  	  	  	  	  1.4	  Early	  Arrival	  in	  Germany	  ................................................................................................	  59	  	  Chapter	  Two.	  Made	  in	  Germany:	  Defining	  Einheimische	  and	  Expellee	  Craft	  in	  Postwar	  Bavaria	  ..................................................................................................................................................	  68	  	  	  	  	  	  	  	  	  	  	  2.1	  The	  Instrument	  Makers	  of	  Schönbach	  .......................................................................	  74	  	  	  	  	  	  	  	  	  	  	  2.2	  Made	  in	  Germany	  ..............................................................................................................	  79	  	  	  	  	  	  	  	  	  	  	  2.3	  Two	  Paths	  Diverge	  ............................................................................................................	  86	  	  	  	  	  	  	  	  	  	  	  2.4	  Resettlement	  Solution	  ...................................................................................................	  112	  	  Chapter	  Three.	  Selbsthilfe:	  New	  Expellee	  Settlements,	  Buyer	  Tours	  and	  the	  Exportation	  of	  an	  Ideal	  ..................................................................................................................	  124	  	  	  	  	  	  	  	  	  	  	  3.1	  Waldkraiburg	  ...................................................................................................................	  141	  	  	  	  	  	  	  	  	  	  	  3.2	  Neugablonz	  ........................................................................................................................	  152	  	  	  	  	  	  	  	  	  	  	  3.3	  Buyer	  Tours	  ......................................................................................................................	  158	  	  	  	  	  	  	  	  	  	  	  3.4	  Expellee	  Perspective	  ......................................................................................................	  164	  	  Chapter	  Four.	  The	  Export	  Schau:	  Exhibiting	  and	  Selling	  Germany’s	  Workshop	  .........	  177	  	   v	  	  	  	  	  	  	  	  	  	  	  4.1	  Trade	  Fair	  as	  Tradition	  .................................................................................................	  183	  	  	  	  	  	  	  	  	  	  	  4.2	  Expellee	  Fairs	  ...................................................................................................................	  189	  	  	  	  	  	  	  	  	  	  	  4.3	  Kunst	  Haus	  Exhibition	  ...................................................................................................	  197	  	  	  	  	  	  	  	  	  	  	  4.4	  Export	  Sales	  .......................................................................................................................	  227	  	  Chapter	  Five.	  Enclaves	  and	  Innovation:	  Going	  Global	  to	  Sustain	  the	  Local	  .................	  235	  	  	  	  	  	  	  	  	  	  	  5.1	  Expellee	  Success	  ..............................................................................................................	  237	  	  	  	  	  	  	  	  	  	  	  5.2	  Modernizing	  Production	  ...............................................................................................	  259	  	  	  	  	  	  	  	  	  	  	  5.3	  Educating	  the	  Next	  Generation	  ...................................................................................	  279	  	  Conclusion	  ..........................................................................................................................................	  303	  Bibliography	  ......................................................................................................................................	  310	  	                           	   vi	   List of Images  1.	  A	  Mittenwald	  Geigenbauer	  (violin	  maker)	  in	  his	  workshop	  ..........................................	  68	  	  2.	  Photographs of the Bubenreuth settlement site under construction (left) and the ground-breaking ceremony (right)	  	  .....................................................................................................	  121	   3.	  A man digs through the rubble to salvage a machine.	  	  .........................................................	  124	   4. Waldkraiburg walking tour guidepost with photos of bunkers.	  .........................................	  141	   5. Expellee-built clay home in Waldkraiburg.	  .............................................................................	  144	   6. Craft wares on display at the Garmisch Expellee Fair	  	  	  .......................................................	  191	   7. Mittenwald Deutsche Musikinstrumenten Messe 1949, program cover.	  ..........................	  193	   8. OMGUS poster outside Kunst Haus Exhibition	  	  ....................................................................	  196	   9. Export Schau catalogue cover 	  ...................................................................................................	  201	   10.	  Export Schau visitors approach the Information Desk	  	  .....................................................	  217	   11. Ceramics on display at the Kunst Haus Exhibition	  	  ............................................................	  218	   12.	  Glass maker’s exhibit at the Haus der Kunst, 1948	  ..............................................................	  227	   13.	  Newspaper article on the Musical Instrument Making Fair in Mittenwald.	  	  	  ...............	  266	   14. Women working in an unidentified toy workshop	  	  ..............................................................	  267	   15.	  Framus Promotional Brochure	  	  ...............................................................................................	  268	   16. Female craftspeople at work making toys for export 	  .........................................................	  270	   17. A look inside an expellee workshop 	  .......................................................................................	  272	   18.	  Catalogue for A. R. Hüttl 	  .........................................................................................................	  286	   19.	  Framus Promotional Brochure describing Note men method	  	  .........................................	  293	       	   vii	   Acknowledgements  I want to thank Eagle Glassheim for encouraging me to pursue this history and for guiding me in my research and academic life. In his guidance I found genuine enthusiasm for the vocation and was inspired. I would also like to thank William French and Anne Gorsuch for opening my mind to new methods and approaches to history and for encouraging my creativity. In their presence I felt the need to push the boundaries of the discipline and was rewarded for doing so. I would also like to thank Joy Dixon and Henry Yu for pushing me to challenge widely accepted theories in cultural and migration history and strengthening my voice as a historian. Thank you to Michel Ducharme, Jessica Wang and Paul Krause for critiquing my writing. Thank you to the Department of History and the University of British Columbia in general for nurturing creative thought and providing ample opportunity to develop professionally.  The support I received from the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada in the form of a Joseph-Armand Bombardier Canada Graduate Scholarship (SSHRC Doctoral Fellowship) was invaluable to the completion and success of my project. I would also like to thank the Collegium Carolinum in Munich, the Bayerisches Staatsarchiv, the Stadtmuseum Waldkraiburg, the National Archives and Records Administration (NARA) Archives at College Park, Maryland and all the support I received from archivists along the way.  Finally, I would like to thank my colleagues and students at UBC for posing questions of my work, for critiquing my writing and for inspiring me. Thank you especially to Laura Madokoro, Patrick Slaney, Christine Peralta, Max Fassnacht, Fred Vermote, Tom Peotto, Brendan Wright, Birga Meyer, David Meola, David Luesink, Denzil Ford and Jamie Sedgwick for reading my work, offering sound words of encouragement and moral support. I am honoured to have shared classrooms, commutes and coffee shop tables with you.   Thank you to my parents Keith and Carol for everything they have taught me through their shining example and for encouraging me to be true to myself while following each and every path. Thank you to my brother and his wife and son for giving me strength and support. Thank you to Marilyn, Aimee and Robin for coaching me through over ten years of highs and lows. Thank you to my extended family and all of my friends for supporting my work and my well-being. It is through you that I have grown and come to know myself.     	   viii	     Dedication   to my late grandfather Walter Cairns and my grandmother Myrel Cairns for teaching me the joys of work and how to take pride in each task.                    	   1	   Introduction   Crumbling monuments, buildings reduced to rubble, children scavenging in the street for food. This was the view that greeted residents of Germany’s cities in 1945. After Allied bombings and the violent Red Army advance had subsided, this is what remained. Though images of bombed-out German cities occupy a dominant space in visual representations of the postwar period, these images are often aerial photographs taken high above the city.1 They are lifeless and quiet as if the horror of Nazi crimes could be pulverized from above, as if the stories of the Germans below needed to be forgotten, erased, buried beneath the rubble. Meanwhile far from the crumbling cityscapes, American troops advanced eastward across Europe. They came upon Nazi concentration camps, unprepared for the overwhelming scenes of disease, death and deprivation that awaited them. With photo-journalists in tow, the Americans captured images of the Nazis’ victims.2 These horrifying scenes solidified Germany’s image in the eyes of the world, branding the German state and nation with the stain of collective guilt. Like the buildings around them, Germany’s global reputation at war’s end lay in ruins.   But Germany’s streets were not lifeless and concentration camps contained the living as well as the dead. Those who survived the war had little choice but to struggle on, continue living amidst the ruins. Life kept moving, despite references to a Stunde Null (zero hour) marking the end of the Nazi era and total defeat. The remote rural regions of Germany like the mountainous and rural pockets of Bavaria, seemed untouched by war, and as such had already opened their doors to trainloads of urban bomb evacuees. The postwar landscape in Germany was not lifeless,                                                 1Tony Judt, Postwar: A History of Europe Since 1945 (London: Penguin Press, 2005), 13.  2 Barbie Zelizer, Remembering to Forget: Holocaust Memory through the Camera’s Eye (University of Chicago Press, 2000); Robert Abzug, Inside the Vicious Heart: Americans and the Liberation of Nazi Concentration Camps (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1987). 	   2	  but was growing increasingly dense as massive groups of Eastern European forced labourers, liberated concentration camp victims and evacuees converged on German towns.  In Eastern Europe, German speakers who had affiliated with the German Kulturnation in the 1930s still lived their lives with little beyond the occasional rumour to prepare them for the expulsion that was to come. Unbeknownst to German speakers living in Yugoslavia, Hungary, Poland and the Sudetenland (borderland regions of Czechoslovakia), they were about to be expelled from their homes and forced to join the homeless masses arriving in Germany.  The retributive “wild transfers” of radicalized Czech nationalists in 1945 soon reached the outer edges of the Sudetenland, followed quickly by the Allied-sanctioned “orderly and humane transfers” of 1946. The narrative of the Sudeten German expulsion often began with a sudden notification that they were to leave their homes, with many given just one hour to collect a small 50kg bag of their possessions. For some, this began a brutal journey of internment and even death. For others, it meant transportation in crowded trains to an uncertain future.3 Still clutching the key to their house or a hand tool from their workshops, they boarded the trains and arrived on the other side of the border in occupied Germany, to an overcrowded world of refugee camps and meagre food rations.  In one case, those who arrived in the spring of 1946 to the area around Waldkraiburg found accommodations in the wooden barracks of the Pürten camp. Postwar society’s reliance on plundering and the black market meant that “everything that was not nailed down” had been robbed or dismantled. With “neither a complete window nor a closing door,” no electric or water lines, the expellees settled in. With little fanfare or welcome reception from the locals, they                                                 3 Mathias Beer, Flucht und Vertreibung der Deutschen: Voraussetzungen, Verlauf, Folgen (Munich: C.H. Beck, 2011); R. M. Douglas, 'Orderly and Humane.' The Expulsion of the Germans after the Second World War (New Haven: Yale UP, 2012). 	   3	  relied solely on their own aptitude for innovation. Working with very few tools at their disposal and against the clock of winter’s arrival, they constructed homes and workshops from the surrounding rubble. The task was quite difficult considering that, as one expellee describes it, they were living in “a time of decline in which all economic and moral principles were dead…when hardly a nail, let alone a much-needed piece of furniture were available for purchase.”4 Even with a flourishing black market in the area, the displaced did not have the networks or the resources to access it. Moreover, their barracks were located far from main traffic routes and local commercial industries. Creative self-reliance became necessity as they carved out a life in shoddy camps, huddled close to their neighbours as they slept, washed, cooked and crafted makeshift wares. They made toys from tin cans and wood and jewelry from scrap metal, in an attempt to continue their prewar way of life. In the Sudetenland, community identity was often tied to handcraft, as these mountainous, forested regions of Czechoslovakia had little agricultural value. A past of mountain villages, domestic lifestyles and craft workshops that could be depicted as idyllic, combined with an entrepreneurial work ethic, made the expellees fine exemplars of a postwar German ideal. When the expellees arrived on German soil after their expulsion, local populations did not welcome them. Soon, however, the regional German governments and the American occupation authorities recognized the value that lay in the expellees’ skill and the power that lay in their story.   Upon their initial arrival, the expellees were considered forced migrants, but due to their status as ethnic Germans, they were not offered UNRRA (United Nations Relief and                                                  4 Walter Lindner, Waldkraiburg: vom Bunker zur Siedlung; die vierjährige Geschichte einer Industriesiedlung von Heimatvertriebenen in Oberbayern (München: Verl. "Christ Unterwegs", 1950), 33. 	   4	  Rehabilitation Administration) or IRO (International Refugee Organization) aid.5 Though initially labelled Umsiedler (re-settler) or Flüchtling (refugee), the more specific term Vertriebener (expellee) gradually came into use as expellee communities sought to distinguish their experience from that of their co-displaced, drawing attention to their specific victimhood narrative.6 Throughout the process of their resettlement, expellees used their story and other tools (an entrepreneurial mindset, global trade networks) to adapt to their new context, ultimately becoming successful contributors to the West German economy.  In the American Zone, military personnel were charged with the task of reconciling conflicts between local and expellee craftspeople as they developed settlement schemes. Moreover, they sought to utilize skilled entrepreneurs for their vision of a capitalist, democratic West Germany. In the span of seven months, the economic directives of the Office of the United States Military Government in Occupation (OMGUS) of the Zone encompassing Bavaria, Hesse and Baden Württemberg in western Germany changed dramatically. From monitoring and controlling black market activity to orchestrating a complex international export trade scheme, OMGUS marketed their Zone as “Germany’s Workshop” to serve their own ends of postwar reconstruction through peaceful means. Rather than one of the world’s largest armaments producers, the US Zone in Germany was groomed to become a productive “workshop,”7 a peaceful realm of agriculture and handcraft.                                                  5 W. Arnold-Forster, “U.N.R.R.A.’S Work for Displaced Persons in Germany,” International Affairs, Vol. 22, No. 1. (January, 1946): 1-13.. National Archives and Records Administration, Record Group 260, Box 50, File 1; NARA RG 260, 50, 1.  6 Helmut Schmitz, A Nation of Victims?: Representations of German Wartime Suffering from 1945 to the Present (Amsterdam: Rodopi, 2007), 99-112. 7 “Germany’s Workshop” With its processing and finishing facilities the US Zone will become, it is hoped, the workshop of Germany. OMGUS Weekly Information Bulletin, March 1947, No. 83, Vol., 4, 4.  	   5	  Scholars have fueled the narrative of a successful American occupation and subsequent Wirtschaftswunder (Economic Miracle).8 However, the fact that Germany partly accomplished this feat through local production, exchange, exhibition and foreign consumption of objects like dolls, mechanical toys, chinaware, glassware and musical instruments, is unrecognized in the larger narrative. The history of the revival of craft in the late 1940s is valuable as it reveals the fruitful linkages between German material culture in the postwar period and larger questions of constructed identity, community, and nation. Craft was styled as symbol of both an idyllic past and hope for a productive, innovative future. Moreover, the study of craft objects aptly demonstrates the power dynamics inherent in the occupier/occupied relationship, as OMGUS first dismantled German industry, then regulated it and finally packaged it for American consumption.  Though the expellee community did have the assurances and promises of their American occupiers and the Bavarian Ministry of the Economy to work towards reconstructing their industries, progress was too slow for many expellee entrepreneurs. Unsatisfied with their circumstances and unwilling to wait indefinitely for assistance, the expellees living in Waldkraiburg set to work creating workshop spaces from nearby concrete bunkers. Each nail required a half-hour to install and each window that was carved out required days of work. By October 1946, after the arrival of many more brass instrument makers from Graslitz, the craftspeople of the Pürten barracks had formed an association and opened a small repair shop to                                                 8  For more on Germany’s reconstruction see Detlef Junker, ed. The United States and Germany in the Era of the Cold War, 1945-1990 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004);  Robert Moeller, ed. West Germany Under Construction: Politics, Society, and Culture in the Adenauer Era (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1997); Jeffrey M. Diefendorf, Axel Frohn, and Hermann-Josef Rupieper, eds. American Policy and the Reconstruction of West Germany 1945-1955 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1993); Michael Ermarth, ed. America and the Shaping of German Society, 1945-1955 (Oxford: Berg, 1993); Greg Castillo, “Domesticating the Cold War: Household Consumption as Propaganda in Marshall Plan Germany,” Journal of Contemporary History Vol. 40, No. 2 (April, 2005): 261-288. 	   6	  earn enough money to purchase machines and enough time to build a proper workshop.9 It was the beginning of what would later become a manufacturing and export hub. The chaotic, demoralized world the expellees discovered upon arrival in 1945-1946 transformed over the course of the next ten years into a landscape dotted with small, efficient manufacturing plants. Though they continued to exist in and alongside dwindling refugee camps, expellee craft industries flourished at a rate that impressed outside observers. Through hard work and cooperation, the expellees had lent their hands to Bavaria’s newfound identity as “Germany’s Workshop,” exporter of fine handcrafted goods.  Like the expellees, craft objects underwent adaptation in order to survive and meet the demands of the global marketplace.  As expellees produced ever more modern and innovative products in the 1950s, the meaning of these objects and their significance for the nation shifted as well. In the immediate postwar years, craftspeople and craft objects were marketed as exemplars of tradition, of expellee Selbsthilfe (self-help, a demonstration of individual initiative) and entrepreneurial potential. As time passed, craft objects came to represent economic prosperity, technological innovation, expellee autonomy and agency. In the larger reconstruction scheme, craft objects and their makers were beacons of hope for the German nation, agents of economic growth and national pride sold under a “Made in Germany” label. As expellees sought to hold onto the cultural practices of their past, so too did many local Germans. Postwar upheaval and displacement inspired simultaneous processes of identity reconstruction. The outside world had branded Germans as perpetrators of Nazi crimes. This collective guilt cast a shadow over all Germans, including those from the Sudetenland, making it difficult for Allied nations to acknowledge the experiences of postwar German victims. As the                                                 9 Lindner, Waldkraiburg, 33-42. 	   7	  complexities of individual and community identity eroded under the weight of imposed binaries of good and evil, both expellees and local Germans searched for ways to regain some semblance of their pre-Nazi selves. In rebranding themselves they also sought to revive their global reputation, choosing quality, “Made in Germany” handcrafts as their medium.  Like craft objects, the German nation underwent a necessary process of re-branding. The product (German identity) and its meaning had fallen out of international favour, and a new element had been added to the product (skilled expellee influx), enhancing its potential. Moreover, it had new backing (US occupation policies and Marshall Plan funds). In order to sell the idea of a new German identity, Germans and occupation authorities turned to a rebranding scheme that gathered pace over time, one that focused on Bavaria as “Germany’s workshop,” that lumped expellee and local craftspeople together into one super-entrepreneurial population, and that linked “Made in Germany” objects directly to pre-Nazi tradition and seemingly ageless Heimat10 landscapes. The danger in this rebranding was that of glossing over the Nazi past, passing off expellee integration as simple and successful, and creating a false and overly simplistic and nostalgic sense of German “tradition.” Moreover, such rebranding risked positioning capitalism as the white knight of the postwar era, a notion that was quite popular with the onset of the Cold War, but had the potential to occlude alternative systems (GDR socialism) and the fact that Nazi Germany was also a capitalist state. In the end, rebranding worked to build stronger German-American ties through trade, economic prosperity and support                                                 10 Celia Applegate, A Nation of Provincials: The German Idea of Heimat (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1990), x. “Heimat came to express a ‘feeling of belonging together’ (in German, the Zusammengehörigkeitsgefühl), whether across class, confessional, or gender lines, or across the lines that divided the province from the nation surrounding it…Rescued from archaic German in the late eighteenth century, the word gathered political and emotional resonance in scattered legal reforms and popular literary invention of the Biedermeier period. In the second half of the nineteenth century, Heimat identified the diverse and mostly local efforts to appreciate provincial cultures and, simultaneously, to celebrate German nationhood. During the war, it served the Germans in the same way that the term home front served the English. By the 1920s and 1930s, a profoundly incompatible group of republican activists, conservative nationalists, and German racialists competed for control of Heimat.” 	   8	  for expellee craftspeople and industries, to create a global appreciation for artisan craft and entrepreneurship and, from the American occupiers’ perspective, to accomplish nothing short of lasting peace and democracy.   The power of the expellee story was employed by different groups for different ends. For forced migrants it served as a message of resilience, of possibility and hope after war. For the expellees in particular it told of reliance on oneself and one’s community for sustenance, of working together to continue old practices and make them fit in a new context. For those expellees and local Germans who wished to exploit it for political ends, the story stood as an example of German victimhood after the war. It served not just the victims of expulsion but the German women who were raped by Red Army soldiers, those who had suffered under Allied bombing campaigns and the POWs (prisoners of war). And for German collective memory of the war and those historians who choose to study it, the story unearthed new questions. It forced historians of the postwar era to confront episodes of ethnic cleansing that took place after the war under the watchful eye of the Allies, and to approach the postwar era with an eye on its dark complexities.  For scholars of forced migration in particular, the story provides an opportunity to understand common obstacles that arise when integrating migrants into established communities and the difficulty of implementing policies that satisfy the needs of both locals and newcomers. Andreas Kossert and Rainer Schulze have both worked to complicate the postwar integration narrative, using the expellee story as a means to interrogate the supposed success of the resettlement process.11 This dissertation, in constrast to much of the scholarship on the expulsion,                                                  11 Andreas Kossert, Kalte Heimat: Die Geschichte der deutschen Vertriebenen nach 1945 (Munich: Siedler Verlag, 2008), 12.; Rainer Schulze, “Growing Discontent: Relations between Native and Refugee Populations in a Rural District in Western Germany after the Second World War,” Germany History Vol. 7 (1989): 3-13.  	   9	  shifts the view away from forced migrants as helpless victims, strengthening the argument that in fact expellees were agents of their own integraiton and any successes that followed. Host societies stood to benefit simply by acknowledging migrants’ unique skill sets and the strength that lay in their experience as expellees. They facilitated this by allowing migrants to work cooperatively within their own communities towards their own goals, and by seeing enclaves as an asset rather than a detriment to society or as sites one should fear. The expellee entrepreneur’s story tells us that when society invests in the proficiencies of its newcomers, rather than demonizing or demoting them to a lower rung of employment, economic successes can result.  Forced migration is an ever present and urgent issue in today’s world, one that will require a great deal of forethought and historical awareness.  The message of the expellees’ story is as powerful today as it was seventy years ago, and still has a very important lesson to convey. The question should not be why forced migrants and refugees are allowed entry but how governments can best employ them, investing in their futures to the benefit of all.12  As the Sudeten expellee craftspeople worked to rebuild their lives in postwar West Germany, their willingness to adapt to new circumstances while holding onto principles of entrepreneurship and cultural practices, served to lessen the blows of postwar loss. It also placed them in good stead with policy makers, who would oversee their resettlement and fund their new workshops through loans and export initiatives.13 By exploring expellee agency and cultural resilience, this dissertation opens a window into the larger German and American-led processes of reconstruction. My study reveals a link                                                 12 For more on forced migration and resettlement see Justin S Lee, Suzie S Weng and Sarah Ivory, “Changing how we measure success in resettlement,” Forced Migration Review, Vol. 50 (September 2015): 58-60.; Meryn McLaren, “‘Out of the Huts Emerged a Settled People’: Community-Building in West German Refugee Camps,” German History, Vol. 28, No. 1 (March, 2010): 21-43.; Cathrine Thorleifsson, “Coping Strategies Among Self-settled Syrians in Lebanon,” Forced Migration Review, Vol. 47 (Sept. 2014): 23.    13 See following chapters for more on ERP (European Recovery Plan/Marshall Plan) funds and expellee settlement schemes. 	   10	  between small-scale craft industries and German ideals of work, creative expression and entrepreneurship.  These ideals took on a much more powerful meaning in the postwar period, as policy makers faced the difficult task of overcoming Germany’s past of large-scale war industries and bio-chemical mass extermination. By placing emphasis on future exports and faith in Germany’s craftspeople to perpetuate principles of peaceful production through handcraft and a strong work ethic, policy makers worked to revive Germany's reputation as a workshop for quality goods.  By steering Germany’s reputation away from war industries, Germans and Americans alike stood to gain, rebuilding their economy and lessening their reliance on aid, while fostering a strong future trade partnership.    This dissertation follows the social lives of expellee handcraft objects, approaching them not solely as “things” to be studied on their own,14 but as objects that took on shifting meanings over time as they were produced, exchanged, exhibited and consumed. As Arjun Appadurai argues it is the “things-in-motion that illuminate their human and social context,” and as such it benefits the historian to look beyond the things themselves.15 In tracing the life of craft objects, one opens a window into the relationships between makers, those who market their wares and those who consume them. Moreover, the objects reflect back on the values and cultural underpinnings of the people who come into contact with them. As Daniel Miller suggests, “in material culture we are concerned at least as much with how things make people as the other way                                                 14 For more on “thingness” see Leora Auslander, et. al., “Conversation: Historians and the Study of Material Culture,” American Historical Review Vol. 114, No. 5 (Dec. 2009): 1355-1404. These works discuss the possibility of things having their own agency. Though an interesting line of inquiry, this dissertation focuses on the agency of the makers, buyers and sellers of things to reveal the power at play in the relationships between object and maker, maker and maker, object and seller, object and buyer. 15 Arjun Appadurai, Social Lives of Things: Commodities in Cultural Perspective (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988), 5; Karen Harvey, ed., History and Material Culture: A Student’s Guide to Approaching Alternative Sources (New York: Routledge, 2009). 	   11	  around.”16 As expellee-made goods began to fill the shelves of American department stores, the quality and innovation found in the objects bestowed a new reputation on the expellees. They were no longer viewed as part of a crisis or “refugee problem” but as contributors to a rebranded Germany.  Contemporary studies of German material culture have focused primarily on the years of mass consumption (1950s-1960s), on comparisons between East (GDR) and West (FRG) and on the rise of Ostalgie products after unification in 1990.17 Postwar expellee craft objects rarely appear in studies of  German material culture, even though they represent a moment of innovation, when violin makers started producing electric guitars and glass blowers mingled glass beads with plastic.  Even more interesting is the way in which expellee craft objects were constantly evolving and yet marketed and sold as traditional and domestic markers of stability.18 The production and consumption of craft objects could in many cases act as tangible links to prewar lives, as reminders of one’s home, workshop or trade partnerships. Judy Attfield studies the way consumers appropriate products to hold onto meanings that they wish to salvage.19 And Miller’s                                                 16 Daniel Miller, Stuff (Cambridge: Polity Press, 2010), 42. “Already we are withdrawing from a comfortable idea that we start with people who make things which represent them or others.” 17 Ostalgie refers to the post-unification nostalgia for all products associated with the former Ost (East) German Democratic Republic. Important work on German material culture and consumption after the 1950s includes: Eli Rubin, Synthetic Socialism: Plastics & Dictatorship in the German Democratic Republic (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2008); Paul Betts, “The Twilight of the Idols: East German Memory and Material Culture, “ Journal of Modern History Vol. 72, No. 3. (Sep. 2000): 731-765; David Crew, Consuming Germany in the Cold War (New York: Oxford, 2003);  Axel Schildt and Detlef Siegfried, eds., Between Marx and Coca-Cola: Youth Cultures in Changing European Societies, 1960-1980 (New York: Berghahn Books, 2006); Judd Stitziel, Fashioning Socialism: Clothing, Politics, and Consumer Culture in East Germany (New York: Berg, 2005). 18 Christian Hoyer, Framus-Built in the Heart of Bavaria: die Geschichte eines deutschen Musikinstrumentenherstellers 1946-1977 (Markneukirchen: Framus, 2007). In the final chapter of this dissertation we see the ways in which Schönbach violin makers transitioned to making guitars and yet kept design elements such as the neck scroll and f-holes in the body of their guitars. They innovated while making direct reference to their past. They deliberately held onto reminders of their past, in their company branding and their workshops.  19 Judy Attfield, Bringing Modernity Home: Writings on Popular Design and Material Culture (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2007). 	   12	  work on material culture was the first to break ground on the concept of people using the material world to construct their identities. He was careful to emphasize that neither the object nor the identity were fixed. Each defines the other, becoming something different over time.20 Though the concept of constant flux is a widely accepted theory, marketing schemes used the feeling of fixity that the objects and their makers could convey to sell more products.21 The objects seemed to promise “the same experience of wholeness which their materiality embodies.”22 When searching to come to terms with one’s place in a postwar or post-traumatic context, objects can often become something used to fix identity or to strive for something greater in one’s future.   Expellees may have in fact battled their past traumas in the workshop, in the continuous sanding of wood, shaping of blown glass, rather than in verbal or textual declarations that would have found their way into state or corporate archives. The workshops and the objects themselves may be the best or only archive of that process. As historians we cannot read grief or guilt or resentment into the object. But we can read the hours of labour, the conditions under which craftspeople laboured, the act of carrying tools during their expulsion, and the care with which they displayed their finished wares at trade fairs.23  Material objects are crafted from raw materials, shaped and re-shaped, manipulated and imbued with meaning. They are produced by one or many sets of hands, placed on display and sold. These qualities make craft objects excellent sources, and also metaphors, for the study of                                                 20 Miller, Stuff, 1987. 21 Gosewijn Van Beek as quoted in Veenis Milena. “Consumption in East Germany: The Seduction and Betrayal of Things,” Journal of Material Culture Vol. 4, No. 1. (March, 1999): 103. 22 Milena, “Consumption in East Germany,”104.  23 Oswald Wondrak and Rudolph Lang, Kaufbeuren, 25 Jahre Neugablonz (Kaufbeuren Vereinigte Kunstanst. 1971).  See later chapters for more on trade fair visual display and a discussion of the tools expellees brought with them to begin their new life. 	   13	  human malleability and human manipulation of historical circumstances. As Giorgio Riello in his study of material culture advises: Historians tend to present history as a well-woven tablecloth, covering all corners. Objects show how history is instead a rather loosely woven net that sometimes retains—but often is unable to ‘catch’—concepts, people, events and explanations. Material artifacts with their multifarious meanings, their innate opaqueness and their difficult heuristic nature remind us that history is always producing but has still a great deal  more to do before covering all the corners of human experience.24   While objects often raise more questions for historians than they answer, they do offer portals into discussions and histories not previously imagined. In the present study, objects reveal a divide between two regional communities and exposed sparks of innovation and nostalgia perhaps otherwise overlooked. They uncovered a process by which expellees and local Germans alike imagined themselves, their pasts and their futures. Craft objects told the story of cultures in crisis, of expellees on the brink of losing their heritage and a local German population at the end of a dark Nazi tunnel. Objects in many instances became a source of light for the nation to grasp onto. Postwar objects were not inherently political, but came to carry new, shifting meanings over time. Indeed, objects and their makers were bestowed with connotations of a brighter, lighter pre-war past and an enticing, prosperous future. They made the “un-saleable”25 German identity saleable once again.    This dissertation explores the ways in which many postwar Germans reached for material objects to calm the waves of postwar upheaval, posing questions about the role that material culture plays in identity construction.  The influx of expellees and other displaced persons only worked to magnify fears of cultural erosion, as local receiving communities began to grasp                                                 24 Giorgio Riello in Harvey, History and Material Culture, 43.  25 Nico Stehr, Moral Markets: How Knowledge and Affluence Change Consumers and Products (Paradigm Publishers: Boulder, 2008), 32.  	   14	  tighter to their long-held “traditions.”26 Germans and expellees alike demonstrated a tendency to retreat into their respective pre-war modes of life, finding comfort in their homes and few possessions. On the other hand, displacement and resettlement brought new work methods and innovations to the fore which had the potential to unsettle the status quo. Paul Betts argues that design became “a vital means of domestic recovery, cultural reform, and even moral regeneration,” as Germans looked to everyday objects for “redemption” or Wiedergutmachung (to make good again).27  The objects produced in Germany in the 1920s and the early 1950s became representative of very different political systems and cultural ethos. Betts describes how household designs used in the pre-Nazi and Nazi era later became signs of a de-Nazified, peaceful domesticity.28 Expellee objects were swept up in this signification, alongside those of their native German neighbours, both in time carrying the “Made in Germany” label. Sam Binkley finds similar trends in his work on kitsch, desired for its “embeddedness in routines, its faithfulness to conventions, and its rootedness in the modest cadence of daily life.”29 Like individual identity, interpretations of objects are in constant flux, and there is no better case for demonstrating this phenomenon than expellee craft objects produced and sold worldwide in the postwar period. Their wares were at first a source of fear for local Germans, then part of a larger German national rebranding on display at trade fairs.30 Finally, in the later 1950s expellee craft objects became lucrative export goods sold under a newly refurbished “Made in Germany” brand. The                                                 26 The relationship between local Germans and expellees plays out most directly in the conflicted relationship between Schönbach and Mittenwald’s respective communities of violin makers in the chapters that follow.  27 Paul Betts, The Authority of Everyday Objects: A Cultural History of West German Industrial Design (Berkeley, Los Angeles: University of California Press, 2004), 2.  28 Ibid. 29 Sam Binkley, “Kitsch as a Repetitive System: A Problem for the Theory of Taste Hierarchy,” Journal of Material Culture Vol. 5, No. 2. (July, 2000): 131-152. 30 The dissertation follows this path from the conflicts between locals and newcomers to the display of their goods at German and American-sponsored trade fairs and eventually to the global export program.  	   15	  expellee craft story presents an opportunity to explore what objects meant to their makers and their consumers, whether that be survival, legacy or comfort in times of scarcity.     Though craft objects had the ability to soothe and reassure, they were also the site of innovation and change. The struggle to reconcile the past with the future created rifts between local German producers who held tight to comfort and expellees who strove to innovate their methods in an effort to take advantage of modern trends. Kathy Pence interprets the 1950s as a time when material objects became symbols linking private households to the larger West German community. These symbols, she argues, became the foundation for a modernity based on consumption for the sake of familial and national well being.31 While local German and expellee producers quarreled over achieving the proper balance between traditionalism and modernism, consumers were demanding both.    Elizabeth Outka’s work on consumption in Britain brings the interrelationship between tradition and innovation into sharp focus, arguing that the early twentieth century saw rapid changes in production and consumption that caused consumers to reach out for something “real or authentic.” In fact, she argues that consumers often wanted to have the best of both worlds at the same time. Many shoppers wanted to have all of the comforts and conveniences that innovative new products had to offer without losing the aesthetics or functionality of the past. And while many consumers decried the loss of “authentic” handcrafted goods, many understood that mass production made cheaper models of these goods attainable, affordable and in that way “real” for every consumer.32  Possessing an object that was mass produced, yet innovative and akin to the “original” was pleasing enough to the average consumer. As Outka relays, soon early                                                 31 Kathy Pence, “Commentary: Modernity Begins at Home” (unpublished manuscript, given at the German Studies Annual Conference, San Diego, 2002): 1. 32 Elizabeth Outka, Consuming Traditions: Modernity, Modernism and the Commodified Authentic (Oxford University Press, 2009), 3-5. 	   16	  twentieth century retailers and marketers caught on to this desire to possess the best of both worlds, and began crafting a “commodified authentic” environment for consumers which could satisfy “modern imperatives and nostalgic longing.”33 These “nostalgic environments” whether in the department stores or at trade fairs, Outka argues, provided “a critical way to negotiate the difficult transition into modernity.”34  Like Outka’s post World War I British case study consumers, postwar West Germans faced the challenge of rebranding national identity within a vastly altered consumer landscape. They faced this challenge by reaching out to innovative new products that could make their lives easier, while still holding onto visions of Heimat, handcraft and “authentic” quality, thus bridging the temporal gap between pre and post war societies.  German consumers and producers incorporated idyllic visions of the past into an increasingly mass-produced version of familiar and new objects, an act of consumerism that was unthreatening. The expellee firms featured throughout this dissertation were some of the most innovative in their approach, adopting new techniques and inventing new products as the market demanded. They simply redefined the parameters of meaning around material objects through marketing and rebranding, holding onto specific features and designs from the past that would signify continuity, while constantly churning out innovative new products.     While being modern might seem to denote being on a linear path to social and economic progress, Jan L. Logemann argues that historians must complicate that notion as there were ever growing, multiple ideas about what it meant to be modern. After all, Germans were still                                                 33 Ibid., 7. 34 Ibid., 6. 	   17	  emphasizing Qualitätsarbeit (quality work) in the 1950s in response to American-style mass production and yet consuming American products as rapidly as they became available.35  Outka argues that these paradoxes and contradictions are what make modernity and modernism so difficult for theorists to define. For to be modern is not necessarily to climb a ladder ever upwards while shedding the skins of the past along the way. Rather, as Outka argues, to be modern can encompass both the desire for a simplified, pure, commercial-free past and the desire for a new future that is original and not directly derivative of that past.36 To be modern can mean discarding what was outmoded in the past, keeping what is viewed as “pure” or “authentic” and avoiding or denying the “dirty, industrial” aspects of mass production in the present.37 Expellee workshops were exemplars of this hybridization, taking the best aspects of their past designs and implanting them into mass-producing workshops that still maintained a sense of the small village and family life, a sense of a cooperative of workers rather than a robotic, polluting factory. The work environment and the brand that went with it were both marketed, in this way, as modern. The instrument makers of Schönbach were no longer tethered to violin making, but began producing electric guitars. And the glass blowers of Gablonz adopted new colour dying techniques and plastics. But neither group shed their past. Both groups, in fact employed their past to market their goods as objects with a link to a storied past of handcraft tradition and cooperatives based in Heimats with their own distinct craft cultures.38                                                 35 Jan L. Logemann, Trams or Tailfins? Public and Private Prosperity in Postwar West Germany and the United States (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 2013), 96. For amore in depth discussion of Americanization and American cultural influence see page 32.  36 Outka, Consuming Tradition, 13. 37 Ibid., 19. 38 Helga Lees, “The Fractured Lives of German Bohemian children, born 1933-40 in the area known as Sudetenland: A Memory Study, Gablonz-Neugablonz.” PhD diss. Reading University: Institute of Education, 2015; Günter Dullat, Der Musikinstrumentenbau und die Musikfachschule in Graslitz von den Anfängen bis 1945; Hoyer, Framus.  	   18	  There was a great deal of power in the entrepreneurial ideal of small enterprise. In this dissertation I argue that small, family-run firms or Mittelstand companies provided a perfect image balm to the wrongs committed by heavy industry during the war. In Jonathan Wiesen’s research, heavy industrialists soon adopted the language of small industry and entrepreneurialism to rebuild their reputations after the war. As both he and Patrick Joyce explain, mythical pasts were often created as a means to support present political ends.39  For postwar Germans it was not just about distancing themselves from the dirty, polluting image of industry but from its association with weapons production. As the meanings of work shifted, cultural representations of the ideal worker and the ideal business owner soon followed. Within that context, the expellee emerged as an exemplar of work ethic and tenacity, an image that would be required to rebrand the German nation.     Though Germans “hold no monopoly” on hard work, they upheld the ideal of Arbeitsfreude (joy in work) as a sign of their superiority and the superiority of their products. This ideal was also easily co-opted during the war as a sign of superiority over forced labourers and "others."40 According to Joy Campbell, to find joy in work, is to see work as “its own best reward…alone capable of giving meaning to human existence.”41 In this thesis, I argue that the centrality of artisanal work in German identity prior to the war made it an ideal touchstone for reconstructing Germanness after the war, despite the role it may have played during the war.                                                  39 Patrick Joyce, ed., The Historical Meanings of Work (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1987).  40 Alf Luedtke demonstrates how pride in "German work" was used to promoted National Socialism and demean foreign forced labourers. Alf Luedtke, "People Working: Everyday Life and German Fascism," History Workshop Journal, No. 50 (Autumn 2000): 75-92.  41 Joan Campbell, Joy in Work, German Work: The National Debate, 1800-1945 (Princeton, N.J., 1989), 8. “In its most extreme Puritan version, Protestantism produced an ethic of work characterized by asceticism and the notion of vocation (in German, Beruf), an ethic that could easily reconcile itself with, if it did not give rise to, capitalism.”   	   19	  Moreover, the expellees’ position as forced migrant craftspeople gave them the impetus to adapt and innovate. Michael Herzfeld presents an etymology of the English word craft, describing artisans as “crafty” in their ability to resist authority through ingenuity, indirection and guile. He argues that in this way the artisans' “collective reputation is a victim of their own necessary ingenuity.”42  Taking cues from Herzfeld’s work on artisans, I draw comparisons to forced migrants, who often participate in this same “necessary ingenuity,” surviving in new societies solely on their ability to navigate and often resist the boundaries and authority of public, political and social systems. In doing so, their collective reputation often suffers. For this reason, expellee craftspeople provide an ideal case study as they acted from this marginalized place. Expellees were both newcomers and craftspeople, and as such were circumstantially defined and categorized. They required ingenuity to survive and succeed in an often inhospitable environment, in an ever industrializing world. In a postwar atmosphere of scarcity, the process of necessary ingenuity was magnified, making this particular group of forced migrant craftspeople rich for inquiry.  My aim here is to take Herzfeld’s argument and broaden its reach to forced migration scholarship, to draw parallels between artisans and forced migrants by studying a community that carried both identifications. Ultimately the study demonstrates the agency of the expellee craft community through numerous acts of ingenuity, enacted throughout the process of their resettlement.    Forced migration scholars have worked to dispel the myth of the refugee as helpless victim.43 While media and humanitarian organizations rely on this imagery for aid, historians have a role to play in complicating forced migration stories, providing evidence of migrant                                                 42 Michael Herzfeld, The Body Impolitic: Artisans and Artifice in the Global Hierarchy of Value (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2004), 1.  43 Liisa H. Malkki, “Speechless Emissaries: Refugees, Humanitarianism, and Dehistoricization,” Cultural Anthropology Vol. 11, No.3. (Aug., 1996): 277-404; Tasoulla Hadjiyanni, The Making of a Refugee: Children Adopting Refugee Identity in Cyprus (Westport: Praeger Publishers, 2002). 	   20	  agency and ingenuity.44 A focus on expellee resilience and creativity provides a key to understanding identity reconstruction, a process most forced migrants face. Janet Dench, executive director of the Canadian Council for Refugees argues that with each new location or situation forced migrants encounter, the self is challenged, renegotiated and made receptive to new opportunities.45 In treating forced migrants as resilient, I demonstrate their potential in their host society’s economy. And while self-sufficiency is equated with resettlement success or integration, forced migrants themselves have in some cases linked economic self-sufficiency with their ability to give back to their community and retain their cultural practices.46 These “benchmarks of success” as Justin S Lee, et al. describe them, can benefit host societies. If host governments so choose, they can capitalize on the drive and dedication among resettled migrants to give back to their communities.47 Through my study of  postwar expellees, I am able to demonstrate forced migrant agency as well as the benefits that West Germany society gained from expellee resettlement.  As Sudeten expellees re-established their craft firms, the communities surrounding their settlements benefited from job creation, new schools and vocational training.48 Meryn McLaren’s work on West German refugee camps notes the merits of enclave settlements, isolated “pockets” or “micro-communities” of refugees. She finds that while many thought enclave settlements would be “potentially damaging” to society immediately after the war, their                                                 44 Malkki, “Speechless Emissaries,” 378.  Refugees stop being specific persons and become pure victims in general: universal man, universal woman, universal child, and, taken together, universal family. This dehistoricizing universalism creates a context in which it is difficult for people in the refugee category to be approached as historical actors rather than simply as mute victims. It can strip from them the authority to give credible narrative evidence or testimony about their own condition in politically and institutionally consequential forums.” 45 Daniel Coleman et al., Countering Displacements: The Creativity and Resilience of Indigenous and Refugee-ed Peoples (Edmonton: The University of Alberta Press, 2012). 46 Nahlah Ayed, “Welcome to Germany? Country at odds over refugee influx.” CBC News,  www.cbc.ca [Published online and accessed Nov. 2, 2015]. 47 Lee, et. al., “Changing how we Measure Success in Resettlement,” 58.  48 McLaren, “Out of the Huts,” 22. See chapter 5 for a discussion of education. 	   21	  existence “deprovincialized” rural villages, bringing greater prosperity.49 This process did challenge local mores and in some cases caused conflict between locals and expellees. However, it did not lead to the societal degradation, radicalism or violence that the German and occupation governments feared in 1945-46, when they enacted policies to disperse and de-politicize50 expellee community members. Rather, enclave settlements helped the expellees cope with their new predicament.51 In what follows it will become clear that the expellees’ entrepreneurial drive and desire to be among their former neighbours and co-workers far outweighed other considerations and comforts. In a few cases the expellees took the initiative to enclave themselves, skirting official policy, working against dispersal to relocate and reunite former community members. These initiatives soon contributed to a general West German recovery.   The expellees’ sense of community only strengthened with their expulsion. And when they encountered locals who fiercely defended their territory against outside influence and competition, it only fuelled their desire to build enclave communities. Anthony Cohen’s theory of community provides one model for understanding this tendency to enclave. He finds that in both settled and uprooted communities, the importance of symbolic boundaries around one’s community increases as members are dispersed or geo-social boundaries are undermined or weakened. In addition, he finds that people emphasize their cultural distinctions more when encountering “others.”52 This dissertation tests Cohen’s theory by studying local German communities and their reactions to the arrival of millions of expellees. These reactions were further magnified by the fact that Germany’s geo-social certainty was already undermined and                                                 49 Ibid. 50 OMGUS policy dictated that expellees were prohibited from forming political parties or political associations, in the early years of occupation.  51Cathrine Thorleifsson’s work on Syrian refugees acknowledges that many prefer living outside the camp system, where they have more freedom, and ‘opportunity to influence their situation.’ Cathrine Thorleifsson, “Coping Strategies.”    52 Anthony P. Cohen, The Symbolic Construction of Community (Ellis Horwood: Chichester. 1985). 	   22	  weakened by war’s end. In the postwar period there was a great deal at stake in what it meant to be a member of either community (expellee or Einheimische- local German). Cohen asserts that in unsettled environments, people “resort increasingly to symbolic behaviour to reconstitute the boundary” between their community and others. Cohen’s theory holds that boundaries therefore exist in the mind, in the meanings people attach to them and in the ways they choose to symbolically express community identity.53 In this dissertation I argue that expellee craftspeople bound their communities by reflecting on shared expulsion experiences and by building enclaves such as Waldkraiburg, Bubenreuth and Neugablonz where they could freely express and uphold cultural symbols. In addition, in order to meet the demands of postwar life and global market demand, expellee communities relied on both a mobilization and a modification of “tradition.”  The maintenance of one’s community was not only driven by market demands or competitive threats from other communities, upheavals or exclusions alone. Enclave settlement also served as a coping mechanism. Andreas Kossert’s work on Einheimische/expellee animosity and Rainer Schulze’s work on the psychological effects of the expulsion are invaluable, for they offer an alternate narrative to that of successful integration and prosperity.54 Schulze’s research found many expellees still coping with the loss of their homes and prewar identity, several decades later. And although most expellees had achieved economic success, he found that for many something was still missing, that new material possessions and homes had not replaced those that they had lost. Schulze writes that policy makers all too often assume that economic advancement will naturally lead to integration and wellbeing. He calls this “a fallacy borne out of                                                 53 Ibid. 54 Kossert, Kalte Heimat; Schulze, “Growing Discontent." 	   23	  a purely materialistic outlook on life.”55 Though new material objects may not have been able to replace those that were lost, they provided some balm to postwar upheaval and loss.   I argue that the difference between lost objects and those that were newly crafted was measured by the meaning placed upon them. For the expellees, lost objects were perhaps magnified in memory for the very reason that they no longer existed in day to day life. As expellees created or possessed new objects, those objects may have seemed commonplace or mundane, as they were mass produced and experienced repeatedly in daily life. On the other hand, there may have been some excitement among expellees upon creating innovative new products. Both the memory of past objects and the creation of new originals were perhaps required in order to maintain an identity distinct from that of their new German neighbours and their American occupiers. If one was to retain a unique identity in a sea of mass produced goods, innovation as well as links to the past were valuable for marking that distinction. When expellee company Framus made their guitars in the 1950s, they used a distinct design that reminded consumers of the company’s past while providing an innovative new electric product.56 As Amy Bently argues, craft practices “help make people feel unique and in control of their circumstances.”57 In that sense perhaps the expellees who practiced craft had a psychological advantage over those expellees and other forced migrants who did not.                                                  55 Rainer Schulze, “Struggle of Past and Present in Individual Identities: The Case of German Refugees and Expellees from the East,” In David Rock and Stefan Wolff, Coming Home to Germany? The Integration of Ethnic Germans from Central and Eastern Europe in the Federal Republic since 1945 (New York: Berghahn Books, 2002), 50. 56 Hoyer, Framus, 65, 119.  57 Auslander, et. al., “Historians and Material Culture,” 1396-1398. Christopher Witmore argues that mass produced or new objects when collected, will also, over time, take on magnified meaning. Both Auslander and Witmore refer to the “aura” of the object, or the added meaning of the object given to it by its producer, consumer or collector. They refer to Walter Benjamin and his work Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction when explaining “aura” or added value of a handcrafted or long-collected antique object.  	   24	   If scholars take the psychological and emotional burdens of forced migrants into account, as Schulze suggests, oral testimony becomes the archive and material things cannot stand alone but must be interpreted in relation to their human producers or consumers. It was not only the objects the expellee craftspeople produced that kept them tied to their past and to one another, but also their way of life as craftspeople and their cooperation in workshop settings as a community unit.  Though this study does not endeavour to replicate Schulze’s methodological approach, it does benefit from his findings. Material culture, whether lost, retained, or reproduced meant something to the expellees beyond the act of possession and consumption. It served as a tangible link to their past and evidence of what they were capable of producing, if given a chance to rebuild their firms. It distinguished them from other forced migrants in postwar Germany and set them apart from their new German neighbours. The objects carried psychological and emotional weight, as symbols of individual expression and pride. The way in which the objects were used to conflate individual expellee identity with that of the nation when sold under the “Made in Germany” label, had the potential to gloss over the complexities of integration. In this way, the work of Schulze and Kossert inform this project, highlighting the need to question the successful integration narrative and tell a more complex story of individual expellee agency.     Though their craft goods often carried the “Made in Germany” label, they also carried a company brand, and with that a Sudeten origin story. If expellees identified with any imagined regional entity, perhaps it would have been that of their former Heimat. The word Heimat often denotes home town or home region, but in many cases seems to stand in for nation or homeland.58 It was the first concept to undergo postwar revival as an idyllic nineteenth century                                                 58 Applegate, A Nation of Provincials, x. 	   25	  vision of community togetherness and belonging. Though co-opted as part of a Nazi campaign to promote German race, blood and soil, in the postwar period it was reborn as a symbol of an innocent German landscape, a home that beckoned in a dark world of devastating loss. Celia Applegate argues that Heimat was never a term that denoted real political situations, but rather a myth “about the possibility of a community in the face of fragmentation and alienation.”59  Alon Confino on the other hand emphasizes the political role that Heimat played as a symbol of “local roots and authentic German ways of life…[a]n antithesis to nationalism, Americanization and consumerism.”60 Heimat was a concept with roots in the pre-Nazi past and as such was a useful tool in building a bridge from the more distant past to the future. For the expellees it was a term used to refer to their lost homeland, often when lobbying for return.61 And Heimat went hand in hand with artisanal craft, as both were viewed as domestic, rural pillars of an earlier time.   Though the expellee story largely disappeared from academic scholarship between the 1960s and 1980s, community togetherness and Heimat histories were kept alive in Landsmannschaft gatherings (regional expellee clubs)62 and the Heimat books of expellee settlements. These books told the stories of the expellees’ former homes and notable citizens                                                 59 Ibid., 19. 60 Alon Confino, Germany as a Culture of Remembrance: Promises and Limits of Writing History (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2006), 64. 61 See also Süssner, “Yearning for Heimat.” Kati Tonkin “From ‘Sudetendeutsche’ to ‘Adlergebirgler’: Gudrun Pausewang’s Rosinkawiese Trilogy,” in Rock and Wolff, Coming Home to Germany, 203.  “From the beginning, the reunions had combined nostalgia with nationalistic fervour. They were social events which provided an opportunity to meet up with former neighbours and friends and to celebrate the cultural heritage of the various provinces through the wearing of Trachten (regional costumes), the singing of traditional songs, and taking part in traditional dances and eating the culinary specialties of the region. But from their inception, they had been dominated by the political rhetoric of the Sudeten leaders, who maintained that meetings were demonstrations of the desire of all Sudeten Germans to return to their Heimat. As the expellees successfully integrated into West German society, the political backdrop to the occasions lost importance for the majority of those attending, and socio-cultural aspects assumed greater significance.”  62 Pertti Ahonen, After the Expulsion: West Germany and Eastern Europe 1945-1990 (Oxford University Press, 2003), 29-34. In 1950, Sudeten expellees founded the Sudetendeutsche Landsmannschaft (Sudeten-German homeland society) with branches representing pre-expulsion villages. The organization came to represent both the political agency of expellees, and the continuation of a self-identification separate from the German national construct; Schulze, “The Struggle of Past and Present in Individual Identities.”  	   26	  while festivals upheld cultural practices such as costume, dance and music. In this way, the next generation learned the story of their parents and grandparents. Stefan Wolff argues that these selective versions of history based on memory often left out Sudeten history prior to the expulsion, namely wartime Nazi affiliation.63 Expellees and Einheimische alike employed Heimat as a symbol that had the power to gloss over unsettling memories, while romanticizing others.   There is much debate regarding the extent to which Germans dealt with the legacy of Nazi crimes. Some historical interpretations of the period have argued that Germans failed to overcome their past in the postwar period,64 living in a state of denial after the war, even claiming innocence, ignorance or active resistance to Nazi policies.65 Recently historians have argued against the notion that Germans failed to deal with Nazi crimes, adding complexity and nuance to the narrative. Jeffrey Olick notes that there was no silence regarding Nazi crimes but rather an enormous discourse in the 1950s as neighbours informed on one another, individuals answered Fragebogen (official de-Nazification questionnaires) and communities created policies to deal with former Nazis and their crimes.66 Robert Moeller argues that Germans rejected the notion of “collective guilt” immediately after the war by emphasizing stories of German victimhood. Expellee experiences along with POWs, bomb evacuees and rape victims were implicated in this attempt to overshadow German crimes with stories of German suffering.                                                  63Rock and Wolff, Coming Home to Germany, 9. 64 The term used in scholarly discourse is Vergangenheitsbewältigung (struggle to overcome the past) 65 See Michael L. Hughes, “‘Through No Fault of Our Own’: West Germans Remember Their War Losses” German History Vol. 18, No. 2. (2000): 193, 206; Bill Niven, ed. Germans as Victims: Remembering the Past in Contemporary Germany (Palgrave Macmillan: New York, 2006); Robert G. Moeller, War Stories: The Search for a Usable Past in the Federal Republic of Germany (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2001), 3-4. Mary Nolan, “Air Wars, Memory Wars,” Central European History Vol. 38, No. 1 (2005): 7-40. 66 Jeffrey K. Olick, In the House of the Hangman: The Agonies of German Defeat, 1943-1949 (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2005), 5-6; Moeller, War Stories, 16-22.  	   27	  Moeller asserts that trauma is one of the most “powerful forces capable of shaping ‘communities of memory.’”67 Indeed, the expulsion experience had the potential to draw Sudeten Germans together in their new settlements and give those localized memory enclaves power. In keeping the collective memory of loss alive, not only did the expellees separate themselves from Nazi crimes but also put themselves in a position to benefit from government aid. As Moeller argues, “the victims of National Socialism remained ghosts lacking faces…or a powerful political presence…German victims, in contrast, lived, breathed, organized, demanded recognition, and delivered speeches from the floor of parliament.”68 While Moeller refers to regional organizations such as the Landsmannschaften, “each with its own press organ and institutional structure,” expellee craft cooperatives, large firms and associations also played a role.69 Because expellee craftspeople were valuable economically as well as politically, their influence was strongly felt in Bavaria, and their collective memory widely shared as their wares resumed their former prominence on the global marketplace.  Expellees seemed acutely aware of the value that lay in their story.  Schicksal or fate had befallen the expellees at war’s end and yet they did not conduct themselves as if they were at its mercy. Michael Hughes notes that when “they sought to claim victimhood, they spoke of accident and fate…Yet when they demanded a Lastenausgleich (equalization of burdens law), they acted as modern Europeans who value autonomy and self-reliance.”70 If anything the expellees were savvy, understanding the power inherent in a story of helpless victimhood as well                                                 67 Moeller, War Stories, 3-6.  68 Ibid., 34.  69 Ibid., 35, 45. “[organizations] proliferated at a startlingly rapid rate, unifying in national coalitions and claiming between one and two million members by the early 1950s. Expellees even won recognition at the level of Adenauer’s cabinet in the form on a ministry assigned responsibility to look after their interests…lobbying directly with the government in Bonn to make sure their ‘right to a home’ (Recht auf Heimat) in eastern Europe remained on the Federal Republic’s foreign policy agenda.” 70 Hughes, “Through No Fault of Our Own,” 205. 	   28	  as in demonstrations of self-reliance. In employing both sides of their story, they realized their needs would not go unnoticed or unmet.  Though the expellees could be described as cunning for their ability to work the system, one might also interpret their agency as future-driven, an attempt to secure their lives and legacy. As Greg Dening theorizes, historical inquiry tends to focus on understanding how and why the past happened in a particular way in time and space. But in order to attempt to know how people actually experienced their lives the historian has to consider that “those actors in the past…like us, experience a present as if all the possibilities are still there.”71 One must consider that although the expellees were tied to visions of their past and even longing for return to their Heimat, they also devoted immense effort to their present and focused attention on their future.  This focus on the future served many expellee entrepreneurs well, as time passed. Expellee achievements were notable, and yet for decades Germans failed to fully embrace the expellee story or culture as part of their own.72 The Two Plus Four Treaty agreement in September 1990 reunited the two Germanies, relinquished the occupying powers’ (United States, USSR, France and Britain) rights, and confirmed that the postwar border line between Poland and Germany would remain. There would be no reclamation of former German-inhabited lands. After this decision was made, it lowered the stakes on and opened the door to discourse on the expulsion. Without the divisive politics between East and West Germany on the table, Germans could engage more freely in discussions of the Holocaust and the expulsion, further complicating narratives that lay dormant or just under the surface for decades.73  The 1990s saw a general                                                 71 Greg Dening, Performances (The Universtiy of Chicago Press: Chicago, 1996), x-xvi. 72 Rock and Wolff, Coming Home to Germany, 9.  73 Niven, Germans as Victims, 3-4. 	   29	  resurgence of German victimhood histories, as postwar memory became an increasingly popular topic and scholars began to question the Allies’ role in the war’s end and its aftermath.  Expellee research has received even greater attention in recent years with debates surrounding the construction of museums dedicated to the expulsion, the most controversial of which is the Zentrum gegen Vertreibungen, ZgV (Centre Against Expulsions) in Berlin.74 The question of representing expellee victimhood stirs up old wounds between the Czech Republic, Poland and Germany to this day. The issue of human rights abuses arose during the Czech Republic’s inclusion into the European Union. Though the expulsion has been gaining more attention recently, there are still many who see historical representations of postwar German victims as offensive to the Jewish, disabled, homosexual, Roma and Sinti victims of Nazi crimes. Bill Niven argues that the Centre Against Expulsions and its planned layout suggested that German victimhood was on par or has even overshadowed that of Jews. What the planned exhibit does, in his estimation, is rewrite the history of the Second World War without any contextualization. By placing the expulsion in line with the Holocaust, Niven warns, audiences of this history might forget that the expulsion was an act carried out in response or reaction to the brutal war crimes the Nazis had perpetrated on Poland and Czechoslovakia during the war. In this dissertation I tell the stories of individuals and groups who both instrumentalized their victimhood status for personal advancement and who downplayed it in order to emphasize their value as agents of prosperity in a new economy.                                                  74 Stefan Troebst, "The Discourse on Forced Migration and European Culture of Remembrance," The Hungarian Historical Review, Vol. 1, No. 3/4 (2012): 397-414; Timothy Ryback, “Dateline Sudetenland: Hostages to History” Foreign Policy, No. 105 (Winter, 1996-1997): 162-178. Some examples include: “Center against Expulsions” (2000), “European Network Remembrance and Solidarity” (2004), “European Remembrance Centre of Vicitms of Forced Population Movements and Ethnic Cleansing” (2005), “Museum of the Second World War” In Gdansk, Poland. (2007). German federal Foundation “Flight, Expulsion, Reconciliation” in Berlin (2008).  	   30	  Sudeten expellees could at times be lumped into both “victim collectives” and “perpetrator collectives,” and as I demonstrate in this dissertation, many worked hard to rebrand themselves through craft and entrepreneurship after the war so as not to be painted as one or the other. Hitler’s aim in annexing the Sudetenland was to bring Sudetenlanders into the German fold and bolster his own preparations for war. While some Sudeten Germans became ardent Nazi supporters and soldiers in the Wehrmacht, many others simply went about their lives, living among Czech speakers in small rural communities. Multiple identities overlapped and remained in flux before and throughout the war, despite Nazi and Czech government attempts to define and categorize.75  The Czech-German case demonstrates a multiplicity within national identity that the historiographical giants of nationalism do not address. Benedict Anderson’s Imagined Communities, Ernest Gellner’s Nations and Nationlism, Partha Chatterjee’s The Nation and its Fragments, Eugen Weber’s Peasants into Frenchmen, all fail to provide a model for nationalism that fits the multiplicity of identities within spaces (borderlands), within nation-states, villages and even within each individual “card-carrying member.” Though we can point to borders, maps and censuses when defining the territory of the nation, in the end we find that the margins are perspectival and relative. As Rogers Brubaker asserts, we need to see ations as “perspectives on the world rather than things in the world.76 Throughout the twentieth century, Sudeten Germans have shifted their identification to meet the demands of the various nation-states under which they lived, in an effort to retain their way of life. At times, this approach revealed a perspective on the world in line with pan-                                                75 Tara Zahra, Kidnapped Souls: National Indifference and the Battle for Children in the Bohemian Lands 1900-1948 (Cornell University Press, 2008), 8.  76 Rogers Brubaker, Nationalism Reframed: Nationhood and the National Question in the New Europe (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996), 13-22.  	   31	  Germanism and later collectively lumped in with Nazi war crimes, and at others a peaceful coexistence with German, Czech, and Jewish neighbours. What Pieter Judson, Tara Zahra, Jeremy King and others found was a trend of “national indifference” or apathy in the former Habsburg Monarchy.77 There were those individuals who were bilingual, who had intermarried and who had used one or the other identity to their advantage over the course of several decades. They purposefully existed in a liminal space in which their loyalties were only occasionally made legible through school enrollment or business transactions. This allowed for many local variations and loyalties to emerge and surpass national loyalties as political boundaries and constructed “language frontiers” ebbed and flowed.78  Kate Brown’s work on borderland regions is invaluable in that it reveals that populations were often “normalized” by projects of nationalization, that the nation often worked in a “colonial pattern” to “replace localized identities and cultural complexities.” However, she argues, local people also had power to resist normalization, a power that lay in their cultural practices.79 And in the end, borderland identities, no matter how multiple or how peaceful the co-existence, are often vulnerable to radical nation-states on either side of their borders. After the war, the Allies aided Czechoslovakia in normalizing their Sudeten borderlands through ethnic cleansing, as Brown puts it “exil[ing] difference to margins of social consciousness and public memory.”80  After the war, the Sudeten Germans sought to resist national normalization by retaining their way of life in West Germany. However, even in that context, occupation governments and the West German nation-state worked to normalize them under a successful                                                 77 Tara Zahra, "Imagined Noncommunities: National Indifference as a Category of Analysis," Slavic Review Vol. 69, No. 1 (Spring, 2010): 93-119; Judson and Rozenblit, Constructing Nationalities. King describes a population that was “triadic”- Czech, German and Czech-German/or sometimes Habsburg-loyal.  78 Lees, “Fractured Lives”; Judson and Rozenblit, Constructing Nationalities. 79 Kate Brown, A Biography of No Place: From Ethnic Borderland to Soviet Heartland (Harvard University Press, 2005), 4. 80 Ibid., 14.  	   32	  integration narrative, a Wirtschaftswunder (economic miracle) narrative or a “Made in Germany” label.81 Historians must resist these normalizing simplifications; we need to tell the expellee story in a more complex way, to recover expellee agency and to understand the ways in which the expellees themselves negotiated a place for themselves within larger structures.   In the postwar era, the performance of national identity changed considerably. It came to include consumption as a marker of national revival. This “Deutschmark nationalism”82 meant Germans could focus on future prosperity rather than past loss. Jonathan Wiesen, David Crew and Erica Carter have all theorized this shift, noting the ways in which “quality” German goods came to represent a source of national pride and vitality. Wiesen argues that the Economic Miracle was itself a consumer product, marketed and promoted through visual display.83 Germans were exposed to a brighter future in the shop window, then encouraged to buy into it not just for their own benefit but the greater good of the country. Erica Carter shows that women were model consumers of the new peaceful, domestic ideal. As German quality products re-emerged on store shelves, it was important to educate consumers as to “good taste” and “quality,” how to buy “Made in Germany” products and resist those coming from America.84 Expellee craft goods played perfectly into a system of domestically produced products for both domestic and export markets. In that sense, if women were model consumers, expellees were the                                                 81 Ermath, America, 11. McLAren, “Out of the Huts,” 36; Daniel E. Rogers, Politics after Hitler: The Western Allies and the German Party System (London: Macmillan Press Ltd., 1995). P.J. Bouman et al., The Refugee Problem in Western Germany.Translated by H.A. Marx, L.L. M. (The Hague: Martinus Nijhoff, 1950). 82 Konrad H. Jarausch, After Hitler: Recivilizing Germans, 1945-1955. Trans. Brandon Hunziker (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2006). 83 S. Jonathan Wiesen, “Miracles for Sale: Consumer Displays and Advertising in Postwar West Germany.” In Crew, Consuming Germany in the Cold War, 2003; Mark Spicka, Selling the Economic Miracle: Economic Reconstruction and Politics in West Germany, 1949-1957 (New York: Berghahn Books, 2007).  84 Erica Carter, How German Is She? Postwar West German Reconstruction and the Consuming Woman (Ann Arbor: The University of Michigan Press, 1997). For more on the German-American cultural relationship see Mary Nolan, Visions of Modernity: American Business and the Modernization of Germany (New York: Oxford University Press, 1994). 	   33	  model producer-entrepreneurs and the two could work in tandem to achieve an Economic Miracle for Germany.  In competition with “Made in Germany” products were those arriving from the United States with military personnel and in C.A.R.E. packages.85 Though many Germans embraced these new products, there was also a historical resistance to American culture and goods,86 stemming not just from their postwar occupation, but from early twentieth-century debates about the cultural perils of Americanization. The relationship between America and Germany had long been ambivalent; curiosity and even admiration developed along with a competitive antagonism. In the 1920s, Germans looked with interest to the Fordist and Taylorist methods that drove stunning productivity gains in the United States. Though they adopted aspects of these methods they also maintained a distinctly German approach.87 Alan and Josephine Smart describe these German systems as a “progressive vertical disintegration of production with numerous producers…caught up in tightly knit network structures” living and working in close proximity.88 While expellee craft firms embraced efficient piecework systems wholeheartedly, many local German producers found innovative methods distasteful, a view that sparked conflict between the two groups. Though many craft firms did not adopt an assembly line system, they did at least see American efficiency as something to be admired. What Germans feared, however was that mass production and consumption would create a demand for uniformity that would dull creativity and German Kultur (culture, often denoting a superior, “civilized” culture). Mary                                                 85 C.A.R.E. packages were sent over from the United States, filled with food, chocolate, etc.  86 Victoria de Grazia, Irresistible Empire: America’s Advance through 20th-Century Europe (Harvard University Press, 2005), 229. 87 Volker R. Berghahn, “Fordism and West German Industrial Culture, 1945-1989,” In Frank Trommler and Elliott Shore, eds., The German-American Encounter: Conflict and Cooperation between Two Cultures 1800-2000 (New York: Berghahn Books, 2001), 146-155. 88 Alan Smart and Josephine Smart, eds., Petty Capitalists and Globalization: Flexibility, Entrepreneurship, and Economic Development (Albany: State University of New York Press, 2005), 8. 	   34	  Nolan demonstrates that critiques of American versions of modernity were often “couched in terms of culture versus civilization, Gemeinschaft versus Gesellschaft, and also from a Europe-wide discourse on America’s mediocrity, superficiality, and inadequacy.”89 For this reason, Christopher Hendrik Müller argues that German anti-Americanism grew out of a general fear of modernization and globalization, not a fear of America’s political or cultural influence.90 It was perhaps not America’s brand of modernity, but the loss of a distinctly German brand of civilization that was at stake.   But of course the German brand continued to shift regardless of anyone’s efforts to hold it in place. For Uta Poiger and Richard Pells, the very idea of a singular American or German way of life was absurd, for heterogeneity existed in both populations. In Poiger’s view there was no uniform, democratic American value system that could be transported wholesale from one population to the next in an imperialistic fashion. Also, there was no unified German reaction to American occupation and trade. Rather, each interaction between Germans and Americans was context-dependent.91 Pells calls the Americanization of Europe a “powerful and enduring myth, often cherished by the Europeans themselves.” In claiming all undesirable post-1945 developments as the after-effects of an American occupation, West Germans could deny their own imitations of American culture and their own role in mass production and consumption. Pells acknowledges that the biggest struggle that Americans and Europeans share is in learning how to live “in two different worlds—one global, the other local or regional—while reaping the                                                 89 Nolan, Visions of Modernity, 112. 90 Christopher Hendrik Müller, West Germans Against the West: Anti-Americanism in Media and Public Opinion in the Federal Republic of Germany 1949-68 (London: Palgrave Macmillan. 2010), 5. 91 Uta G. Poiger, “Commentary: Beyond ‘Modernization’ and ‘Colonization’” Diplomatic History Vol. 23, No. 1 (1999): 46.  	   35	  benefits of both.”92 As I argue in this dissertation, the expellees proved quite adept at this feat. They marketed their goods with an accompanying story of continuity from their Sudeten village to their postwar enclave, selling local culture on a global stage.   Global trade networks often acted as positive sites of interaction between nations or at least between those who sold under national labels. Though some intellectuals feared the “soullessness” of a consumer-driven society, Germans found solace in greater leisure time and the enjoyment of it. 93 As Alexander Stephan finds, although this leisure time was not a product of Americanization, it definitely encouraged the purchase of American products such as radios, cigarettes and records.94  Rudy Koshar also lends a positive view of German-American relations to the discourse, arguing that they shared many similarities in habit, order and cleanliness, industriousness, and a respect for craft. Similar to Poiger and Pells, Koshar chooses to emphasize the heterogeneity of the two cultures and deems their relationship “intercultural” rather than international. Cultural influences were shared back and forth in such a complex way as to resemble a melting pot.95 As citizens from both nations increasingly embarked on exchange trips across the Atlantic in the 1950s, and as tourism revived, it became more difficult to splice out and nationalize the differences between cultural practices. Both nations, and all nations for that matter, remain in a constant state of rebranding. Studying the German-American interaction between 1945-1955 presents an opportunity to bear witness to one of the more prominent moments of flux, in all its complexity.                                                   92 Richard Pells, Not Like Us: How Europeans Have Loved, Hated, and Transformed American Culture Since World War II (New York: Basic Books, 1997), xvi. 93 Betts, The Authority of Everyday Objects, 132. 94 Alexander Stephan, Americanization and Anti-Americanism: The German Encounter with American Culture after 1945 (New York: Berghahn Books, 2008). 95 Rudy Koshar, “Germany has been a Melting Pot’: American and German Intercultures, 1945-1955” In Trommler and Shore, German-American Encounter. For more on the exchange of ideas see Ermath, America. 	   36	  In this dissertation I include the expellee craftspeople’s story in a larger discussion of German-American relations because they served as an example of the shared values of industriousness, entrepreneurship and innovation. In addition, through a study of the American contribution to expellee integration, I offer a more complex understanding of the postwar occupation years, policies and relationships between military personnel and civilians. Sudeten German expellees were particularly valuable to both the American occupiers and the German government, as skilled workers with the capacity to rebuild their communities and their global trade networks. In bringing together scholarship on German national identity, American-German relations, forced migration and craft I have created a synthesis that ultimately works to highlight the flexibility of all those categories. I argue that national identity shifted, was made, remade, marketed and sold. I argue that forced migrant identity shifted, from perpetrator to victim to agent of change, to exemplar of national success. An interrogation of these shifting identities and meanings has the ability to throw into question notions of certainty, fixity, tradition and the binaries of insider and outsider, perpetrator and victim, local and global.    The study highlights the agency expellees exhibited throughout the process of their resettlement. Emphasizing expellee handcraft redresses the larger narratives of German collective guilt, of Americanization and the dismantling of heavy industry, to demonstrate the ways in which people adapted to war devastation and change, exhibiting great resilience. Despite finding themselves vulnerable to the policies of German and American governments, they managed to lobby the government for enclave settlements, to relocate and reunite with former coworkers and neighbours, and win back global buyers. They rebuilt much of their manufacturing reputation while maintaining distinct cultural practices and rebranding their own identity under a “Made in Germany” label. Each act of resilience was powerful, from carrying a 	   37	  single hand tool in one’s 50kg allotment during the expulsion, to drilling through thick concrete bunkers to fashion a new workspace, to creating lavish trade show displays filled with innovative new products for global markets. What is also remarkable is that these forced migrants were given a chance to achieve something new, as governments made a conscious choice to nurture their talents and promote their value. Together expellees and government agencies were able to mobilize “tradition” in a way that projected economic success, social integration and political stability to the outside world, effectively working to rebrand Germany’s national identity. In order to tell the expellee story in the context of postwar Germany, I have relied on a variety of perspectives. After all, the atmosphere was one in which large masses of people were forcibly transferred through official channels and resettled in a foreign land by a foreign military government. That process was fraught with subjective interpretations of guilt and innocence, rights and responsibilities and territorial claims. Sudeten German expellees were susceptible to their own views of themselves, and the views of the outsiders who influenced their future on a daily basis through resettlement policy and local exclusion or inclusion, and aid. With this complexity in mind, I consulted German as well as English sources, American military as well as Bavarian and regional German archives, and the Collegium Carolinum library which houses documents on Czech-German relations. I visited former expellee villages in the Czech Republic, and resettlement enclaves in Germany, visiting museums and seeking to understand the development of these sites.  I consulted government memoranda and correspondence between expellees and governments, as well as among expellee firms, and between firms and their consumers. I explored export catalogues and pamphlets advertising export shows, as well as company profiles and blueprints for developing new workshops. I consulted Heimatbücher that told the story of 	   38	  individual enclaves and looked for traces of those stories in the contemporary town sites. Though I did view many craft objects from the 1950s in museum settings, I did not embark on a full analysis of the objects themselves, but was in fact more interested in the story being told through their display. I also consulted many visual representations of the objects, their manufacture and their marketing display. I read questionnaires and the loan applications that many craft firms filled out, detailing the business transactions of their companies and their plans for future development.  Though the story of the Schönbach violin makers and their conflict with the Mittenwald makers provided ample source materials for a lengthy discussion and thus stood out as a topic ripe for exploration, I must acknowledge that there were many stories I necessarily left out of what follows in an effort to create a readable narrative. When studying expellee craft firms, I realized the possible breadth of the topic and was overwhelmed, as there are many avenues one could take in telling this history. Finally, I was impressed by the sheer number of firms that were able to rebuild in the postwar era and the wide array of source materials available to explore.  I worked extensively with the U.S. Military Government’s Weekly Information Bulletin, a newsletter written by U.S. military personnel in occupation for U.S. military personnel on the ground in Germany. While it tells the expellee story from a very specific perspective, its reporting is aimed to sell the actions and policies of the occupation and thus spoke directly to questions of rebranding Germany. In addition, it provides an outsider’s view on the conflicts between expellees and local Germans and the difficulties of the integration process, as it was implemented on the ground.   Though many expellees and their descendants are easy to locate in Bavaria today and are quite happy and willing to talk about the postwar experience, my conversations with them 	   39	  merely colour my interpretations and are not footnoted in this dissertation, as I did not obtain ethics approval prior to embarking on this project. In the future, oral testimonies would have much to offer the discussion. Without oral testimony I am not able to include the emotional or psychological details of the expellee experience, beyond what can be found in company files, publications and interviews. German newspaper articles were also helpful, though it is important to remember when consulting them that the Military Government Information Bureau was in control of the German media outlets in the immediate postwar period and carefully vetted journalists.96 I found the letters and dialogue between government and occupation officials, expellees and local Germans most useful for my work as it told of the relationships, struggles and triumphs of the various groups as they negotiated their roles in a new West Germany.   The chapters follow a loose chronology (1945-1955) that tells the story of expellee resettlement from their early history in the Sudetenland to their arrival in Germany in the 1940s, and eventual return to global export markets in the 1950s. The story details the process involved in selling the idea of “Made in Germany” quality, and German reconstruction along capitalist and democratic lines. Relationships between expellees, Einheimische, regional German governments and OMGUS personnel are explored throughout. These relationships are revealed to be contextual and subjective. Success was not achieved overnight, but was a negotiated process, in which the interactions between groups affected the brand’s narrative construction. The chapters discuss the different methods and representational motifs that emerged in the process of re-branding “Made in Germany” wares and their makers. Each chapter highlights another step in the process of expellee workshop reconstruction from production, to settlement, to exhibitions and marketing and finally, export sales.                                                  96 Jarausch, After Hitler, 56-57.  	   40	   Chapter one provides a detailed background of Czech-German relations prior to and leading up to the expulsion. It sets the historical stage for what follows in subsequent chapters, providing a sense of what the expellees had achieved in craft prior to the war, their role in the war and what they had lost immediately after the war. It discusses the expellees’ transfer and arrival in the American occupation zone in Germany and initial government policies towards them as a group. Building on the research of leading scholars in the field of Czech-German relations, the chapter interrogates notions of the expulsion as an “orderly and humane transfer” and demonstrates expellee agency throughout the process of their resettlement. In addition, the chapter provides background on the specific groups of expellee craftspeople featured in the study and contextualizes their experience amidst those of their fellow-expellees.  Chapter two introduces the violin makers of Schönbach and the story of their resettlement. Because they encountered a very unwelcoming group of Einheimische violin makers upon their initial resettlement, their story provides a strong example that counteracts and complicates the “successful integration” narrative.  Moreover, it reveals the initial difficulties that OMGUS and regional governments faced when implementing and carrying out resettlement policy. The chapter highlights each community’s take on “tradition” and follows the ways in which each sought to tell that story for their own ends. In turn, the chapter reveals the resilience and adaptability of craft and craftspeople.  Chapter three follows the expellees as they developed their new settlements, using the communities of Neugablonz and Waldkraiburg as case studies. The process of building workshops and enclave communities with few resources proved the determination and initiative of individual expellees and the cohesiveness of their communities. In official correspondence and editorial publications, these acts came to be known as a Selbsthilfe (self-help) ethos in which 	   41	  the expellees were said to have demonstrated an entrepreneurial spirit and industriousness worthy of designating them exemplars of the postwar reconstruction project. American occupation and local German governments alike saw the economic potential in these expellee communities. Expellees were effectively put on display as exemplars. In order to market and export the handmade culture to American buyers, in the late 1940s OMGUS and German officials orchestrated buyer tours of expellee workshops. They sought to exploit their example to inspire American taxpayer and German civilian support for policies such as export-only production, the allocation of Marshall funds for raw materials for export firms and funds for the new-build construction of expellee-exclusive enclaves. For the expellees, exposure to an outside audience made their plight legible, their story more significant and their firms worth investing in.  Chapter four continues the theme of display, arguing that the way in which expellee wares were exhibited demonstrated their significance for Germany’s reconstruction. As well it follows the expellees as they began to adapt to global market demand. The revival of export shows and trade fairs marked the point at which the power of the objects reflected back on the producers through firsthand consumer reactions and market demand. The chapter combines the previous chapters’ discussions regarding tradition and Selbshilfe, proving that both were effective marketing tools for selling expellee products. Ultimately, trade shows provided a forum in which expellee and German identity could be reconstructed, marketed and sold.  Chapter five brings the story full circle, back to string instruments and the Schönbach community of expellees. Using the success story of violinmaker Fred Wilfer and his—by the 1970s—world famous guitar factory Framus International as case study, it charts the switch to electric instrument making and the 1950s modernization of craft industries. In addition, I use the chapter to explore gender in the workplace, and its association with modernized workshop 	   42	  practices. Finally, I discuss the push to train a new generation of makers and the development of vocational schools in Bavaria. In conclusion I argue that in order to survive and thrive in the 1950s, local communities had to embrace global trends and innovations. In engaging with larger processes, expellee craftspeople helped build a bridge over the Nazi past and leave a legacy by which their own pre-war, craft-based past could be remembered. In the process of focusing on rebuilding their lives locally, expellee firms once again became players in the global marketplace for craft goods.                 	   43	  Chapter One Becoming Expellees: The Prewar Heimat and the Postwar Expulsion  To identify as a German or Czech speaker living in Czechoslovakia in the twentieth century required a constant assessment of and adaptation to political upheaval. Sudeten German identity could be defined in relation to geography (the borderland regions of former Czechoslovakia), by language as a minority population in a predominantly Czech-speaking nation-state (after the country’s foundation in 1918), or by skill as an entrepreneurial class with links to global trade networks (in the case of the expellees featured here). One could emphasize or de-emphasize any one of these identifiers in order to fit in with their Czech neighbours or disassociate from them. There were many linguistic “amphibians” among both populations, namely individuals who could claim either identity, depending on which group held greatest economic or political power at the time. Though the “Sudetenland” term (or mapping) was merely a construct of the early twentieth century, it gave German-speakers a tangible designation that would drive a deeper wedge between Germans and Czechs in the years leading up to the Second World War. At this time Sudeten identity became increasingly linked to Heimat, to “tradition” and at its darkest hour, to pan-Germanism and Nazism. Though many German-speakers held diverse views and political affiliations and were even married to Czech-speakers or resisted Nazi affiliation, when it came time for the expulsion, all Germans were marked as enemies of the Czech nation.97                                                  97 Chad Bryant, Prague in Black: Nazi Rule and Czech Nationalism (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2009), 4-6; Arnold Suppan, “Austrians, Czechs, and Sudeten Germans as a Community of Conflict in the Twentieth Century” (Minnesota: Center for Austrian Studies, 2003). 	   44	  By 1945, many Czechs viewed their Sudeten German co-nationals as traitors, as Nazi collaborators or at the very least bystanders to Nazi crimes.98 Though for many the lines between good and evil seemed clearly drawn, recent scholarship has argued that the victim-perpetrator dichotomy was in actuality quite complex. In what Arnold Suppan deems a “community of conflict,” Czech and German, neither Czech or German speakers were to blame for a full-scale descent into violence. Rather, communities that once coexisted in relative peace found their issues with one another conflated when confronted with Czech nationalization in 1918, economic depression in the 1930s, the Munich Agreement, six years of Nazi oppression and Germany’s military defeat in 1945.99 During the occupation rumours circulated among Czechs that Heydrich and his henchmen planned to expel all Czechs from the Protectorate to the East, a fear that fuelled later Czech calls for German expulsions.100  Moreover, in 1940 after Czechoslovakia became a Nazi Protectorate, 1000 Reich Germans moved into Prague monthly to help manage and control industry, policing and the civil service. These Germans from outside further confused German identification, as Sudeten Germans often shared the resentment toward Reich Germans with their Czech neighbors.101 Though Czech-German history was not without conflict, the Second World War escalated animosities as outside forces (Reich Germans who administered the Nazi Protectorate, Allied governments and Edvard Beneš’s Czech government-in-exile) sought to control and manipulate the hearts and minds of Czech and German speaking neighbours for their own gain. While radicals supported expulsion plans as early as the 1939 annexation, the majority of Czechs were                                                 98 Bryant, Prague, 220 “Hating the Germans became the only clear, unambiguous aspect of Czech national identity that survived the occupation. It was the last remnant of a world of nationality politics undone by Nazi repression, contradictions, and compromises.”  99 Suppan, “Austrians, Czechs, and Sudeten Germans,” 2, 8-15.  100 Bryant, Prague, 221. 101 Ibid., 75, 204. 	   45	  not yet convinced. However, six years as a Nazi Protectorate was enough incentive for many. And for both Czechs and Germans the end of the war brought equal fears of Red Army occupation and violent retaliation at the hands of their neighbours. It was the uncertainty of what was to come that perhaps cut the deepest in 1945.102      The Sudeten Germans became victims of Czech retribution at war’s end, but were by no means helpless. Rather, many instrumentalized their victim status in order to appeal to the Allied governments in occupation for recognition, assistance and in some cases special treatment. Emphasizing their experiences as victims of wartime suffering boosted their power and gave expellees a narrative to counter that of German collective guilt.103   In this chapter I follow the Sudeten Germans’ path from co-existence with Czech neighbours, to war, occupation and their eventual status as enemy nationals in Czechoslovakia and expellees in West Germany. I discuss the history of Czech-German relations and the pivotal moments at which that relationship hardened with mistrust and violence. I use the chapter to explain the journey from expulsion to coordinated resettlement, building a foundation for later discussions of expellee agency.  1.1 Background  In the mid-nineteenth century, all Czechs who wished to do business in the manufacturing sector or take on a profession or a bureaucratic government position required German, and as such more native Czech speakers were bilingual than German speakers. As J.W. Bruegel explains, Prague’s German-speakers felt attached to the monarch and to place. In the nineteenth century when nobility held a great deal of power, he asserts, Bohemians focused                                                 102 Ibid., 102; 206. He found that “By summer 1940 members of the domestic resistance were united in calling for the complete expulsion of the Germans from any future Czechoslovakia.” And “Justifiably afraid, many Czechs, as well as Germans, simply wanted to avoid the uncompromising horizontal and vertical forces that invaded their daily lives.”  103 For more on victimhood and a complex discussion of collective guilt see Moeller, War Stories.  	   46	  primarily on status and class divisions.104 Also at this time, German associations sprang up, promoting common bonds of language, education and recreational interests. It was as Gary Cohen explains, “a sense of community in the form of an organized collective life.”105 As Czech and Slovak-speakers began to demand better treatment, German groups mirrored their efforts, fuelling one another’s competitive drive to achieve political and economic advantage.106 By the beginning of the twentieth century, the lines between the two groups had blurred considerably as individuals often jumped back and forth from one loyalty to another to improve their family’s status.   National loyalty was up for grabs, and nationalists used many tactics to win over indifferent populations. The early twentieth century could be described much like an election campaign in which both sides pay an inordinate amount of attention to undecided regions or pockets of voters.  In Zahra’s research, lower class children who would have been overlooked suddenly became valuable in the battle for hearts and minds, as rural people were inundated with German Heimat education, physical education and “pedagogical uplift.”107 Czech tactics were slightly more direct, most famously exhibited when Czech nationalists in Prague’s municipal government replaced bilingual street signs.108 As tensions in the city grew, politicians in the borderlands often took note, though action was more subdued in those regions. From the 1880s on, animosities emerged over economic and social disparities between the two groups. Czech-speaking workers and craftspeople started to migrate, angling for jobs once monopolized by                                                 104 J.W. Bruegel, “German Diplomacy and the Sudeten Question before 1938” Royal Institute of International Affairs 1944-, Vol. 37, No. 3 (Jul., 1961): 323-331 . 105 Cohen, The Politics of Ethnic Survival: Germans in Prague, 1861-1914 (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1981), 42. 106 Ibid. 107 Ibid. 108 Referring to the period of the 1880s. Later, in the 1890s when Count Kasimir Badeni was in office and conflict over the use of both Czech and German in official government correspondence arose in the Bohemian Diet, Czechs demanded all civil servants should learn Czech and many Bohemian Germans feared the loss of their jobs.  	   47	  Germans in borderland regions. And as Cohen asserts, often the new tensions had little to do with real change and more to do with the rise in “nationalist politics itself.”109 In other words, political rhetoric was beginning to dictate identification and action.   Leading up to and after 1918, Czech and German nationalists worked to normalize (or claim populations as members of legible national categorizations) pockets of bilingualism or national indifference and bring them into the fold, to bolster their respective causes. Areas in which one group predominated (such as the Sudeten borderlands) soon became pawns in a targeted campaign to vilify and then normalize their populations. This gave radical nationalists the impetus to emphasize and categorize frontiers or borderlands. Moreover, drawing lines of division inflamed animosities, which the nationalists hoped would lead to upheaval. When the dust settled, they hoped, one nation would stand atop the heap. The problem, as Zahra shows, was that the distinction between populations was not clear due to decades of bilingualism.110 It was not until systems of power and legislation forced Czechoslovakia’s population to claim one identity (after political shifts in 1918 and 1938), that the tangled web of bi- or tri-cultural identification was revealed.   The collapse of the Habsburg Empire in 1918, and its fracture into new nation-states after the Paris Peace Conference, marked the birth of Czechoslovakia. On the other hand, it marked the end of an era for German-speakers throughout the former Empire. As the boundaries of the new nation-states of Austria, Hungary, Yugoslavia and Czechoslovakia, were drawn, many population groups became minorities in the new states. In Czechoslovakia, German speakers                                                 109 Cohen, The Politics of Ethnic Survival, 172. 110 Zahra, Kidnapped Souls, 6. 	   48	  formed the largest minority group, with three million living in the new border regions or the newly named “Sudetenland.”111  On October 28, 1918, crowds gathered in Prague to celebrate the birth of Czechoslovakia. Thomas Masaryk, one of the fathers of Czech nationalism, gave his first speech to Parliament, calling German-speakers “colonists” and declaring that the new state would “determine the political status of our Germans.”112  Czechs now had impetus to settle in German majority areas, open Czech language schools and gain influence in industry.113 In this new atmosphere of economic unrest, Sudeten hearts and minds were vulnerable to pan-Germanism and Nazi expansionist aims. In attaching to a region and giving power to the Sudeten identity, German speakers sought to cultivate respect for their economic contributions, at a time when their political demands for equality were not being met.114  As the Depression worsened and unemployment rose in the 1930s, Sudeten German manufacturers could no longer rely on export sales to Germany to bring prosperity and grant them social status.115 When the Czech government began bringing Czechs in to work in the industrial borderland regions,116 Germans began to take note of Hitler’s employment policies and Germany’s economic recovery and found them more appealing.117 Without the economic upheaval of the Great Depression, the question remains as to whether or not German-speakers would have become susceptible to pan-Germanism to the extent that they had in 1938.                                                 111 Bryant, Prague, 14-22; See also Cohen, The Politics of Ethnic Survival; Nancy Wingfield, Flag Wars and Stone Saints: How the Bohemian Lands Became Czech (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2007), 233. 112 Lees, “Fractured Lives,” 59.  113 Bryant, Prague, 18. 114 Wingfield, Flag Wars, 233. 115 Bryant, Prague, 22. In the late 1930s, the Depression left over one million workers unemployed, the majority of whom were Sudeten Germans.   116 The Nostrification Law of December 1919 stipulated that Czechs should represent at least half of all ownership and management of firms operating in the country.  117 Bryant, Prague, 23.  	   49	  Shifts also occurred in the interwar period regarding cultural practice and symbolism. While German speakers had built their identity around political power, wealth, industrial prowess and business acumen at the turn of the century, by the interwar period they were increasingly shifting their focus to Heimat. Much as in Hitler’s Germany a dichotomous identity arose in which German-speakers were achieving great things in modernized industry but were representing themselves as provincial Volk. German identity in the Sudetenland became synonymous with home, song, dance, costumes and handcrafts. As boundaries dissolved and the nation was redefined again and again, the certainty of one’s place in society was consistently undermined and German speakers sought a durable constant. They found it in the Heimat concept. Yet, as communities wrapped themselves up in the security of Heimat, they risked creating an ominous utopia, in which a mythical bond could be created between community members to the exclusion of all others. Therefore Heimat was at once comforting, life affirming and fundamentalist, denoting a purity or authenticity that excluded the “other.”118 In taking on the Heimat concept in the 1930s and 1940s, Sudeten Germans found their place amidst wartime upheaval while often “othering” their Jewish, Czech and even their new Reich German neighbours.  Symbols of Volk and Heimat and other nationalist affiliations paved the way as Konrad Henlein transformed his party from the Sudetendeutsche Heimat-Front (SHF) to the Sudeten German Party (SdP) in 1935, winning two-thirds of the German vote in the Czech parliamentary election. His early policies called for cooperation and equality among Czech and German speakers, and claimed non-fascist leanings. However, his more radical supporters soon took the opportunity to browbeat other Germans into supporting the cause. This took the form of bullying,                                                 118 David Morley and Kevin Robins, “No Place Like Heimat: Images of Home(land) in European Culture,” New Formations Vol. 12 (Winter 1990): 459.   	   50	  vandalism and business boycotts,119 which gave the SdP a reputation akin to that of the National Socialists in Germany. As Nancy Wingfield argues, the rise of the SdP soon popularized the term “Sudeten” and gave people an overarching identity they could turn to. The party soon linked material symbols to national identity, encouraging Tracht (a specific style of clothing) and Strumpfe (men’s knee-high stockings).120 These tactics had the effect of making nationalism legible as people could no longer fly under the radar, shifting among multiple identities.  By the time of the 1938 Munich Agreement, Konrad Henlein’s policies had become increasingly radical and in line with Hitler and his henchman, Karl Hermann Frank (a leader among Sudeten Nazi sympathizers). Just prior to the annexation, there was disagreement among Sudeten Germans between those who supported Henlein, and those who identified as Communists and anti-Fascists.121 In April of 1938, Henlein demanded political autonomy for the Sudeten Germans and openly aligned himself with Hitler.122 However, there were still many who felt greater loyalty to a Bohemian identity than a pan-Germanism, creating tension between so-called Protectorate Germans (Sudetenlanders) and Reich Germans (new arrivals).123  The famous video footage of Hitler’s motorcade parading through the streets of the Sudetenland to great fanfare have simplified a complex time. Of the million people who registered as members of Henlein’s SdP, only half opted to become members of the NSDAP (Nazi Party) after annexation. Moreover, the parades were only one short moment in what became a six year occupation, that resulted in the deportation and murder of the Sudetenland’s Jewish population as well as the loss of 160,000 young men who died serving in the Wehrmacht                                                 119 Lees, “Fractured Lives,” 80.  120 Wingfield, Flag Wars, 233, 240. 121 Mark Cornwall, “Stirring Resistance from Moscow: The German Communists of Czechoslovakia and Wireless Propaganda in the Sudetenland, 1941-1945” German History 24, No. 2 (April, 2006): 224-232. 122 Bryant, Prague, 23-24. 123 Ibid., 30. 	   51	  army. Though Sudeten Germans had made financial and political gains during the war, they also experienced the loss of many of their own family, friends and co-workers.124 For the Nazis, the Sudetenland was a means to an end, a pawn in a larger scheme. They commandeered Sudeten industries and labourers to meet their war aims, and restructured Sudeten community organizations.125 Some Sudetens saw this Gleichschaltung (alignment) of their community with Nazi institutions such as the SA (Sturmabteilung) and HJ (Hitler Jugend) as unsettling.126 The heady early days of annexation gave way to the realities of occupation, as some Sudetens began to suspect their role as mere labourers or foot soldiers in Hitler’s war.  Things quickly worsened for Czech and Jewish citizens after Hitler’s occupation of the rest of the Bohemian lands in March 1939, and the creation of the “Protectorate of Bohemia and Moravia” under a Czech puppet government. As with the Sudetenland, Hitler soon exploited the Protectorate for labour in his war machine. While Czechs who resisted Nazi occupation were sent to concentration camps or executed, those who worked in war industries (heavy industry, steel foundries, arms factories) received better treatment. When compared to Poland or the Baltic States, Czechs had a relatively sheltered wartime experience.127 The Jews of Czechoslovakia were the exception, as thousands were deported first to the transfer camp at Theresienstadt (Terezin), then further east to death and labour camps like Auschwitz.128  Mark Cornwall’s work on resistance and propaganda in Czechoslovakia shows how Czech Communist groups reached out to Sudeten Germans as the war neared its end, appealing                                                 124 Bryant, Prague, 203-204. 125 Zahra, Kidnapped Souls, 206. 126 Lees, “Fractured Lives”; Zimmermann, Die Sudetendeutschen; Zahra, Kidnapped Souls; Cornwall, “Stirring Resistance.” 127 Bryant, Prague; Lees, “Fractured Lives.” 128 For more on events inside the Protectorate, see Benjamin Frommer, National Cleansing: Retribution against Nazi Collaborators in Postwar Czechoslovakia (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2005). Bryant, Prague. It is estimated that 75,000 Bohemian and Moravian Jews died in the Holocaust. Lees, "Fractured Lives,"; Douglas, Orderly and Humane; Hugh Agnew, The Czechs and the Lands of the Bohemian Crown (Hoover Institution Press, 2004).  	   52	  to them to resist the Nazis and embrace anti-fascism. What he found, was that though there were some anti-fascists among them, most Sudeten Germans remained “fellow travelers” throughout the war, still pinning their hopes on a German victory until the end. Though privately some opposed Nazi rule, publicly, they went along with it. They were not convinced that an Allied victory and a return to Czech rule would serve them either. In fact, much of the later Czech propaganda suggested that the war’s end would bring suffering to the Sudeten Germans, and that anti-fascists would be spared retribution. In the end, while anti-fascists may have received preferential treatment they were still subject to expulsion.129 In this sense, Zahra argues that the biggest victors of all were the nationalists who wished to wipe out national indifference,130 to cleanse Czechoslovakia of its borderland-minority and their threat to legible control.    Complexities only seemed to increase with time, as loyalties shifted and actual political intent was often difficult to discern. This was true of many wartime policies as well, as politicians worked behind the scenes on policies that citizens were not privy to. Most citizens during wartime were kept in the dark, receiving information through propaganda or limited radio broadcasts.131  Because of the Nazi Protectorate, Czech President Beneš spent the war in London exile, where he laid plans for the expulsion of the Sudeten German population, biding his time for five years before he could act on them.132 Though rumours ran rampant in the closing days of the war, neither Czechs nor Sudeten Germans could be quite sure of their fate. The Allied governments were the final link required to push these policies forward, agreeing to an official “humane and orderly” expulsion in 1945. The Potsdam Agreement demonstrated one early                                                 129 Cornwall, “Stirring Resistance,” 232.   130 Zahra, Kidnapped Souls, 258. 131 Bryant, Prague, 208-219.  132 Ibid., 67. Beneš began considering the expulsion as early as the summer of 1940.  	   53	  twentieth century view on population transfer as a necessary means to an end. If nation states were to be neatly contained, bounded entities, it followed that it would be easier if they were also homogeneous. The morality of these transfers was not clear cut for political leaders in the early twentieth century, having witnessed the Greco-Turkish transfers after World War I.133 What would be condemned today as ethnic cleansing or genocide, was at this time still a viable option for controlling minority “problems” within nation-state boundaries. When the time came to end the violence between Czechs and Germans in 1945, to make a choice for heterogeneous  coexistence or homogeneous divisions, Allied leaders supported Beneš’s expulsion plans.  In the 1990s, historians took notice of this tendency to mold one’s identity, as scholars across disciplines began to address the nation as construct and question the effect it had on individual identity.134  1.2 Expulsions  The history of Woodrow Wilson and his push to make Czechoslovakia a new nation-state after the First World War is often recognized as a positive historical development. In Prague’s main train station, once named after Wilson, his words were inscribed on the wall, “the world must be made safe for democracy.”135 Unfortunately, mere decades later in 1945 at the Potsdam Conference, the same United States government, in alliance with Stalin’s Russia and Churchill’s Britain took it upon themselves to include mass expulsion on the list of actions that were required to make the world safe. They justified the expulsion as a means to an end, to stop ethnic conflicts taking place between Czechs and Germans during the “wild transfers” after the war and                                                 133 Ibid., 97-98.  Bryant cites the Lausanne Treaty in which Greek and Turkish populations were forcibly displaced as well as the Armenian genocide and ideas surrounding the transfer of Jewish and Palestinian populations, as examples of this phenomenon.  134 For more on this movement to rethink national identity construction see Benedict Anderson, Imagined Communities (London, New York: Verso, 1983).  135 Plaque located on the wall of the Main train station in Prague 	   54	  create a system of “humane and orderly transfers” that would facilitate the removal of the German minority. The Allies sold the decision as a practical solution to a messy, long standing ethnic conflict, glossing over the complexities of identity and the detrimental effect the expulsion would have on the expellees and the Eastern European cultural landscape.    Throughout the war the Sudetengau or annexed Sudetenland region was separated from the Czech Protectorate by a state border that was erected in March 1939. With this segregation in place, both sides relied on radio broadcasts and print to understand what was occurring on either side of the border, creating two communities highly susceptible to propaganda. Stories of the Red Army’s approach at war’s end, rumours of violence and rape, and stories of vengeful Czech threats reached Sudeten ears at the same time as tales of Hitler’s miracle super weapon, giving them reason to both hope and fear.136 While Sudeten Germans served in the Wehrmacht and learned of Nazi excesses firsthand, those at home claimed to have little knowledge of Czech suffering under the Protectorate.137 Sudetens did witness the effects of the Nuremberg Laws of 1935 and their implementation in 1938, including Kristallnacht and mass deportations, however. After all, many Sudeten Germans were granted access to former Jewish homes and possessions.138 Whether or not the state border did in fact shield Sudetenlanders from knowledge of Nazi crimes against Czechs, it served as a convenient excuse for turning a blind eye, and rejecting notions of German collective guilt after the war.    On the Czech side of the border, radio broadcasts promoted the notion of German collective guilt as the war neared its end. Messages calling for revenge against all Germans reached young Czech radicals and resistance groups. They found the official support they needed from Beneš who relayed messages from London in 1944 calling for a civilian revolt against                                                 136 Frommer, National Cleansing;.Cornwall, “Stirring Resistance”; Lees, “Fractured Lives.” 137 Lees, “Fractured Lives,” 97, 107. 138 Bryant, Prague, 83-84. 	   55	  German “Nazis” and a transfer of the entire German population. Some scholars argue that Beneš wanted Czechs to orchestrate and manage the transfer and retribution themselves in the early days after the war, to accomplish their cleansing aims before Allied occupiers had a chance to quell their efforts.139 Vigilante groups, police, and paramilitary took it upon themselves to arrest and jail, attack and execute German civilians or alleged Czech collaborators. Officially, the Beneš’ decrees once passed into law, sanctioned the confiscation of German property and retribution against any Czechs who defended Germans, collaborated or claimed German national affiliation in any way.140 There were no legal parameters to rein in vigilante groups and there was no justice for their crimes against German civilians. Violent, retributive acts were deemed retroactively legal and not prosecuted.141  The first wave of violent retribution was followed by three months of “wild transfers” in the spring and summer of 1945. As Eagle Glassheim notes, the term “transfer” suggested a link with the official phrase of “orderly and humane” transfers that followed after the Potsdam Conference in 1945. In grouping the two periods together, Glassheim suggests, historians have lent credence to the notion that the expulsions were justified. Though early scholarship acknowledged the “unpleasant” nature of the cleansing and subsequent creation of a homogeneous state, it seemed to suggest that the ends justified the means. Glassheim argues that a macro-political or Cold War focus leans too heavily on the culpability of leaders rather than ordinary Czechs who actually committed these violent acts. To the Allied leaders, Beneš sold a story of Czech hatred so visceral and violent that only a full scale transfer of German civilians                                                 139 Ibid. 140 Benjamin Frommer, "Getting the Small Decree," in Judson and Rozenblit, Constructing Nationalities, 267-270. The small decree led to the investigation of 180,000 Czechs for “offenses against national honor.” Some Czechs had applied for German citizenship during Nazi occupation, and were rejected as unfit for Germanization by the Nazis. They were targeted in the small decree. 141 Norman Naimark, Fires of Hatred: Ethnic Cleansing in Twentieth Century Europe (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2002), 118-121. 	   56	  would ensure their safety.142 In addition Beneš used the example of the 1923 exchange of Greek and Turkish populations to persuade Allied leaders that transfer was the best option for sustained peace.143 The Western Allies were invested in putting an end to the retributive violence, and in stabilizing Eastern Europe in general. Once again, a macro, geo-political view dominated in which people became mere pieces in a larger nation-state puzzle. There was little attention paid to those Czechs or Germans who remained loyal to one another or who disagreed with the transfer, to the innocence of those not involved in Nazi crimes or violent retribution, or to the German Jews who had survived the war and were then expelled alongside their Christian neighbours. Though the arrival of American troops in the summer of 1945 in western Czechoslovakia restrained much of the violence, they allowed Czechs to help administer the transfers. Czech militia guards inspected each expellee’s bag before they boarded the trains and in the process confiscated valuable items, abusing their power up until the very moment of the expellees’ departure.144 The supposed “orderly and humane” transfer sanctioned at Potsdam was often anything but. In the end, between 19,000 and 30,000 Sudetens are said to have perished during both the “wild” and “orderly” transfers, many from massacres or disease in holding camps. The number is vague as many Sudeten Germans were unaccounted for after the war and the cause of their deaths remains unknown.145                                                   142 Eagle Glassheim, “National Mythologies and Ethnic Cleansing: The Expulsion of the Czechoslovak Germans in 1945,” Central European History, Vol. 33. (2000): 10. 143 Naimark, Fires of Hatred, 108. 144 Glassheim, “National Mythologies.” 145 Frommer, National Cleansing; Lees, “Fractured Lives,” 129. The “Heimatortskartei” (HOK) in Regensburg, the official Caritas Church Family-Reunion Search Service has a card index of names and addresses of 225,133 Sudeten Germans whose fate has never been clarified 	   57	  1.3 Case Study: Gablonz  An alternate method for understanding the micro-level experiences of major shifts in Sudeten history, is to study individual communities. Helga Lees has achieved this in her work on Gablonz (Jablonec), supporting much of what the historiography of the past twenty years has claimed. In her dissertation, she reveals cooperation among Gablonz’ German and Czech-speakers and Jews, even after annexation in 1938. Similar patterns to that of the Gablonz story emerge when studying the brass instrument makers of Graslitz or the violin makers of Schönbach. These villages saw the slow development of craft industries beginning with their founders in the seventeenth century. They then experienced over 200 years of trade and skill development through their own technical schools and global export networks. By the turn of the twentieth century these craft companies employed almost half the population of their respective towns and boasted high sales figures due to booming luxury goods markets. Production was later slowed by the Great Depression and the onset of war.146     Gablonz rose to international acclaim in export markets for glass jewelry and fixtures, supporting 2,000 small glass firms. The town’s prosperity attracted Czechs looking for work in the industry and supported Jewish-run export firms with global trade contacts ranging from the United States to Africa. Because most of the Czech workers had moved to Gablonz prior to 1914, Lees argues, they were integrated into the community long before the Second World War. Those who feared Hitler’s annexation fled of their own accord, including Jews, anti-fascists, and recent Czech migrants to the borderlands. They did not flee out of fear of their German neighbours or under violence or threats, but out of fear of Nazi party ideology and what would follow annexation. Lees maintains that while Gablonz did experience what she calls “politically                                                 146 Dullat, Der Musikinstrumentenbau, 9-20.  	   58	  manipulated incidences of nationalist outbursts” in the early days of  Czechoslovakia’s birth in 1918, a general “inter-ethnic cooperation and civic peace was clear to all.”147 She attributes this to the craft economy, an industry that relied on the cooperation of pieceworkers and that promised prosperity for all those who bought into the atmosphere of togetherness. The Great Depression of the 1930s ushered in a time of economic difficulty for export firms, affecting Gablonz’ prosperity. This in turn made German-speakers more susceptible to Nazi influence. Lees argues that their Nazi leanings were economically motivated, as many Gablonzers still acted sympathetically to their Jewish neighbours and spoke out against vandalism of the local synagogue. However, they did not and perhaps could not save the 75 Gablonz Jews who were deported to death camps in 1941.148 Those Jews who did survive by emigrating to America, did so through their contacts in the export network.149 Gablonz’ craft industry provided a safety net for the Jewish merchants, even in times of economic downturn. Once they had fled, however, they tended to avoid buying or selling Sudeten goods. This was a great blow to the industry, as many Gablonz firms closed after annexation, and received little help from the Nazis who wished to repurpose all industrial labour, materials, machines and space for the war effort.150 Like other towns in the Sudetenland and the Protectorate, Gablonz was to serve the Reich’s war efforts first and foremost. The German-speakers of Gablonz had not experienced hostility at the hands of their Czech neighbours during the war, and did not have access to the foreign broadcasts calling for their expulsion near war’s end. Rather, in Gablonz, violence came from outside the community, people whom Lees’ respondents described as “Russians and Czech gangs,” most likely the                                                 147 Lees, “Fractured Lives,” 31. 148 Ibid., 149. Much of Gablonz’ Jewish population did flee to safety in America prior to the German troops’ arrival in 1938.  149 Agnew, The Czechs, 210-215. 150 Lees, “Fractured Lives,” 149-151. 	   59	  Czechoslovak military.  These so-called “wild expulsions” were far more pre-meditated than the term “wild” connotes. The Czech leaders had planned and motivated these violent gangs, even equipping them with the same steel-rod whips and truncheons” countrywide,151 endorsing their actions and giving them free rein to commit crimes without legal consequence. On June 15, 1945 the wild transfers descended on Gablonz, as gangs pulled 1000 people from their homes and “transferred” them to the Polish border where they were held without shelter for a week, then marched back to a camp near Gablonz.152 Though they had escaped much of the hostility of the war, they could not escape expulsion. Citizens of Gablonz were subject to the same policies as other towns and cities, including having to wear white armbands, obey curfews, and observe boycotts from schools, public transit and hospitals. Most Gablonz expellees were gathered in a holding camp at Reinowitz near their town, to await their trains. Many later recalled looking back at their town through the camp’s barbed wire.153 Some factory owners and entrepreneurs were forced to work as labourers in their own firms, under the watchful eye of new Czech administrators, in essence training Czechs to steal their livelihoods. Once the Czechs had logged sufficient time in the business, German entrepreneurs were expelled, following not long after the first wave of orderly transfers.154 Though their craft enterprises had not survived Nazi annexation, and their skilled status had only granted them temporary reprieve from the expulsions, their entrepreneurial experience and skill would soon become their greatest asset.  1.4 Early Arrival in Germany                                                  151 Ibid.  152 Ibid. 153 Ibid. 154 Ibid. 	   60	   In the early days of their arrival in Germany, expellees were shuffled from one reception camp to another, on and off trains, through medical exams and DDT delousing. At the height of the expulsion, 142,000 expellees arrived on 132 trains in the month of June, 1946 alone.155 In total some twelve million people were expelled under the Potsdam Agreement, with a disproportionate three million arriving in Bavaria. While the intent was to distribute the expellees evenly throughout the four occupation zones, in the end Bavaria was the most willing and able to accept the greatest numbers.156 Its proximity to Czechoslovakia made it convenient and its rural landscape meant that Bavaria had fared much better in the bombing raids than more populous centres. Also, in general the Americans were far more receptive to displaced persons than the other occupation zones, setting up an elaborate system of camps divided by nationality. In general, Washington paid a great deal of attention to the region, as Thomas A. Schwartz puts it, using it as a "laboratory of political experiments, a vindication of the American political eceonomy, and a 'border of freedom' defended by 300,000 American soldiers."157 For the first four years, the American occupiers prohibited the formation of a central German government,158 but did allow first municipal government and then a system of regional Land (county) governments. The Regierungsbezirk (disctict) were German sub-divisions set up to administer local regions within the Land governments. In addition, OMGUS chose German civilian directors to head up RGCOs (Regional Government Coordinating Offices) to report directly to General Clay on “controversial issues.”159 It was the task of these administrators to                                                               155 McLaren, “Out of the Huts,” 25-26. 156 Chauncy Harris and Gabriele Wülker “The Refugee Problem of Germany,” Economic Geography Vol. 29, No. 1. (Jan., 1953): 16.   157 Thomas A. Schwartz, "'No Harder Enterprise': Politics and Policies in the German-American Relationship, 1945-1968." in Junker, The United States and Germany, 29. 158 Ibid. 159  Heinz Guradze, “The Länderrat: Landmark of German Reconstruction” The Western Political Quarterly Vol. 3, No. 2. (June 1950): 197; For details on the function of these bodies see:"Military Government Regulations: General Provisions," OMGUS Weekly Information Bulletin, No. 102, July 1947, 9: The executive 	   61	  coordinate the reception and distribution of expellees, to allocate labour, monitor health and welfare and distribute material goods and relief packages alongside American non-profit agencies and German church charities.160  As ex-enemy nationals, expellees were excluded from UNRRA and IRO aid and were thus dependent on German hospitality. While OMGUS relied on the IRO and later UNRRA to help resettle and whenever possible repatriate non-German displaced persons, expellees were considered citizens of Germany. They were to be absorbed into German communities, given “full civil and political rights,” and freedom of movement between zones. When it came time to house the expellees, however, it was the Einheimische who were required to open their homes and communities. German officials in each municipality reported the amount of living space available to expellees according to the laws of each Land (Bavaria, Hesse, and Wuerttemberg-Baden). The reluctance of homeowners to divulge the truth combined with the shortage of personnel trained in collecting statistical data slowed the process. Elisabeth Pfeil, a sociologist doing field work in the 1940s, found that in combing through villages one could find space for several thousand. She found what she called a “double standard” in which those in power lived in spatial comfort while hundreds of expellees awaited housing nearby.161 Expellee camps were                                                                                                                                                        power is exercised under the direction of each minister-president chosen by the Landtag to which he is responsible, and his Cabinet. Supervision of the German administration is exercised through the Regional Offices of Military Government situated at the capitals of Bavaria, Wuerttemberg-Baden, Hesse, and Bremen. Except as otherwise provided in MG Regulation, the Director has full MG responsibility for command and administration including administration of MG personnel within the Land. The RGCO is authorized to communicate direct to the Deputy Military Governor. The RGCO maintains liaison between the Laenderrat and the functional divisions of OMGUS, and between the Laenderrat and Land OMG’s. 160 Guradze, “The Landerrat,” 206; Rebecca L. Boehling, A Question of Priorities: Democratic Reforms and Economic Recovery (New York: Berghahn Books, 1996), 41; "Occupational Activities," OMGUS WIB, No. 130, March 1948, 2.  Other non-governmental organizations sprang up as well to act on behalf of the expellees. The Hilfstelle worked to keep expellee communities together, and to find housing and employment for expellees. See K.L. Gatz, East Prussian and Sudeten German Expellees in West Germany, 1945-1960: A Comparison of their Social and Cultural Integration (PhD diss., Indiana University, 1989). 161 Elisabeth Pfeil, “The Fluchtling: Shape of a New Era” as quoted in Kossert, Kalte Heimat, 44. 	   62	  often makeshift barracks, bunkers, farm stables, lofts, or cellars.162 Because they were designated German citizens, they depended on the generosity of strangers in a time when scarcity was the norm. By the summer of 1946, in the height of expellee arrivals minister-presidents of each Land resorted to appointing committees to oversee the housing crisis at all governing levels. The Bürgermeister (Mayor) of each town was expected to assign accommodations for expellees when necessary.163 After one year, OMGUS drafted a law guaranteeing uniformity in the treatment of expellees: “special allowances may be made...to meet ‘other vital requirements’...That with regard to clothing, household utensils, and furnishings, the expellees shall be placed ‘on an equal status with that part of the indigenous population who receive preferential treatment.’”164 Although expellee resettlement was within the jurisdiction of local German governments, OMGUS felt the need to intervene at this point to ensure policies were carried out on the local level. American liaisons often carried out additional occupancy inspections when suspicious of German-collected data. These inspections revealed that some expellees were still living in refugee camps as late as 1956, despite available housing for thousands in neighbouring towns and villages.165    Refugee representatives were charged with the difficult task of procuring and distributing shelter, garden plots, and household wares, while sometimes facing anonymous death threats from obstinate Einheimische.166 Rainer Schulze explains that unlike local Germans, expellees had no possessions to barter on the black market, and thus could not procure their own                                                 162 Lees, “Fractured Lives.” 57, 157.  163 "Refugees and Expellees," OMGUS WIB, No. 94, 26 May 1947, 3.  164 "Law for Expellees Drafted," OMGUS WIB, No. 81, February 1947, 20.  165 Kossert, Kalte Heimat, 55.  166 Ibid.; "Historical Report for Military Government for Land Bavaria," 1 April 1946- 30 April 1946, RG 260, NARA, Box 260, File 6.  	   63	  housewares. Some of Lees’ respondents remember feeling ashamed and even inferior because they did not have the essentials to care for themselves and their families. And in some cases, the stresses of camp life led to alcoholism and depression.167 Local Germans offered little psychological solace to the expellees, often rejecting their presence rather than welcoming them into their social circles.168  Though local Germans failed to embrace expellees, research also shows that many Sudeten Germans rejected the melting-pot model of integration. K.L. Gatz found in his study of social and cultural integration that many expellees desired integration in terms of economic and social rights, but resisted assimilation in terms of cultural practices and heritage. He argues that what is most striking about the expellee community was its ability to achieve this aim, to build enclave settlements that contributed to the economic prosperity of West Germany, without fully assimilating into German communities.169 Through Landsmannschaften (regional community organizations), memories of the Bohemian Heimat were kept alive.170 I argue in chapter two that craft firms and cooperatives played a similar role, preserving practices and network connections among workers.  Early on, Allied occupation governments upheld policies of redistribution that dispersed expellee communities, to safeguard against political unrest.171 It was difficult for expellees to reunite with former networks, a process that often required asking the government to authorize population exchanges between districts. Many families and co-workers were divided between the American and Soviet occupation zones, a situation that was remedied in time, by the expellees’                                                 167 Lees, “Fractured Lives,” 207.  168 Kossert, Kalte Heimat; Schulze, “Growing Discontent.” 169 Gatz, East Prussian and Sudeten German Expellees, 292-295. 170 Daniel Levy, “Integrating Ethnic Germans in West Germany: The Early Postwar Period,” In Rock and Wolff, Coming Home to Germany, 22.  171 Schulze, “Growing Discontent,” 2-3.  	   64	  own initiatives to relocate and reunite. Lees argues that protective social networks offered the greatest social capital for expellees, minimizing physical and emotional damage during the resettlement process.172 And while enclave communities like Neugablonz and Waldkraiburg promised cultural survival, they were the exception to the rule.  For those who remained detached from their former communities, the path to integration was considerably more difficult. Many educated and skilled expellees found themselves working as labourers in industrial or agricultural settings. Many more found themselves unemployed. After the war, rural areas were overpopulated with bomb evacuees from the cities as well as a disproportionate number of displaced persons. And even if the industrial areas in major cities had survived the bombings, there was little adjoining housing available for new arrivals. Regional Bavarian governments faced a choice between allowing skilled expellees to build their own industrial heartlands in rural areas, or build new housing complexes in urban industrial areas.173 Though both options required capital the government did not have, they soon realized that if given permission, the expellees would invest their own ingenuity, labour and any resources they could into building their own manufacturing firms, thus taking on most of the responsibility and risk. Investing in expellees by allowing them to develop enclave settlements complete with adjoining workshops, seemed like a safe bet for a government stretched beyond its limits.  By April 1, 1951, expellees had already established 2391 small manufacturing firms or workshops in Bavaria.174 Once expellees proved that they would move forward with production regardless of government support, aid agencies responded. In fact, the Marshall Plan/Economic Cooperation Administration (ECA) commission recommended 7.9 billion DM for expellee                                                 172 Lees, “Fractured Lives,” 223-224.  173 Harris and Wülker, “The Refugee Problem,” 16-22.  174 Ibid., 16-22. 	   65	  housing over six years.175 These funds would aid expellees in building homes near their new manufacturing sites, and allow them to establish fully functioning communities.  The days of makeshift barracks had passed for those expellees “willing and able to contribute to the peaceful reconstruction of Germany.”176 German and occupation governments had made these skilled, entrepreneurial expellees a priority, over and above unskilled expellees or Polish and Ukrainian displaced persons, who in many cases faced forced repatriation. Even after they had developed new settlements, 94% of Lees’ respondents in Neugablonz still felt Bohemian. Only one of her respondents felt fully integrated in German society, after 70 years. And only two believed their lives would have been better had they stayed in Czechoslovakia. As she states, Heimat has no plural, you only have it once.177     Those who did return to the Heimat on trips later in life, proved the old adage “you can never go home again.” Although Czechs had moved in after the expulsion, they were unable to maintain or recreate the cultural vibrancy of Sudeten towns. The skill and experience required to run and repair machinery, the networks needed to sell export products and the methods of taking a pattern from start to finish were lost on those who had commandeered Sudeten workshops. Experience could not be quickly replicated. The “gold diggers” who arrived in the early days during and after the expulsion did not always recognize the value of what they were trashing, re-selling or stripping for parts. In addition, the post-war socialist government emphasized heavy industry at the expense of small craft industries, reducing complex machines back to metal and replacing complex networks of skilled labourers with unskilled labourers from central                                                 175 Ibid., 24.  176 OMGUS WIB, No. 102, July 1947, 3. “US Policy in Germany: Movement of Persons,” OMGUS WIB, No. 102, July 1947, 3. "You will implement the decision taken 23 April 1947 by the Council of Foreign Ministers with regard to United Nations Displaced Persons and population transfers. You will hold the German authorities responsible for the care and disposition of nationals of former enemy countries...You will likewise permit the re-entry of German and former German nationals who desire to return permanently but in view of restricted facilities you will give priority to those who are willing and able to contribute to the peaceful reconstruction of Germany." 177 Lees, “Fractured Lives,” 219. 	   66	  Czechoslovakia. Moreover, postwar coal mines reshaped the local landscape, effecting the health of nearby woodlands.178 The new Czech inhabitants were unable to sustain the former craft industries that the Sudeten Germans had built over generations.   Cultural erasures occurred with ease, as buildings were demolished, German signs and town names vanished and any markers or monuments to the past were removed. The long-time resident Czechs who were left after the expulsion felt little connection with their new neighbours and looked down on them as undisciplined “gold diggers.”179 Many of these longer term residents understood the generations of work that had built these towns and some took great care to preserve their former neighbours’ possessions in safe keeping. These acts of kindness laid the foundations for reconciliation and even friendships between the past and present owners. While the older generation of Lees’ respondents described feeling great heart-ache upon seeing the neglect of their former Heimat, young expellee descendants were often curious about their family’s past and reached out to residents of their parents’ former towns to form lasting friendships.180 While the prosperity the expellees found in West Germany seemed to give the younger generation pride and confidence in their heritage, the older generation would never replace the pride they felt for their original Heimat and the prosperous, peaceful society they had built there.   Family histories shared between generations and kept in town or company archives for decades told the expellees’ story. After Communism’s fall in 1989 and the Czech Republic’s bid to join the EU, public discourse turned to the expulsion, digging up evidence of human rights                                                 178 Eagle Glassheim, “Ethnic Cleansing, Communism and Environmental Devastation in Czechoslovakia’s Borderlands, 1945-1989” The Journal of Modern History, Vol. 78 (2006): 66, 112; See also Eagle Glassheim, “Most, The Town that Moved: Coal, Communists and the ‘Gypsy Question’ in Post-War Czechoslovakia” Environment and History 13 (2007); Lees, "Fractured Lives," 130-135. 179 Lees, “Fractured Lives,” 131. 180 Ibid., 154. 	   67	  abuses against the Sudeten Germans. After discourse came political speeches and pressure to acknowledge the past and make amends for it. This came in the form of government funded museum projects and proposals for centres of remembrance, and in new dialogue between Czech, German, Hungarian and Polish politicians and historians on the issue. Politicians from the Czech Republic have been the least cooperative to date, possibly fearing the sensitivity of its citizens to any mention of their historic role in ethnic cleansing, and bowing out of proposed projects. Local Czech municipalities however, have taken it upon themselves to create museums that tell the expulsion story.181  It is important to do as Lees has done and as I will do here, to not just look at the events and policies that originated in Prague, Berlin or Munich. Rather, the goal is to tell local expellee stories in order to understand the complexities of Czech-German relations, and later American-German relations. For it is quite evident that one group was not solely to blame for the crimes of war, the expulsion or the difficulties of resettlement. There were no definitive victims or perpetrators, just individuals and communities surviving, coexisting, coming into and out of conflict and working to rebuild their lives. It is that active agency among individuals and communities in the face of war that drives my curiosity.  In the next chapter I will dig deeper into the meanings assigned to expellee and German identity after the war, focusing specifically on the role of tradition and craft. With these signifiers in hand, expellees were able to exercise agency in their new settlement contexts and in turn contribute to a rebranded German identity.                                                  181 Timothy Ryback, “Dateline Sudetenland: Hostages to History” Foreign Policy, No. 105 (Winter, 1996-1997): 163-165. Also see Stefan Troebst, “The Discourse on Forced Migration and European Culture of Remembrance,” Hungarian Historical Review, 2015.  Some examples include: “Center against Expulsions” (2000), “European Network Remembrance and Solidarity” (2004), “European Remembrance Centre of Vicitms of Forced Population Movements and Ethnic Cleansing” (2005), “Museum of the Second World War” In Gdansk, Poland. (2007). German federal Foundation “Flight, Expulsion, Reconciliation” in Berlin (2008).  	   68	   Chapter Two Made in Germany: Defining Einheimische and Expellee Craft in Postwar Bavaria   “craftspeople know, however, that their engagement with tradition is a double-edged sword. It exalts them, to be sure; but it also serves to marginalize them from some of the most desirable fruits of modernity”182    1. A Mittenwald Geigenbauer (violin maker) in his workshop183                                                  182 Herzfeld, Body Impolitic, 5.  183 This photograph was published in the July 15, 1950 edition of the Kurzeitung, a newspaper serving Mittenwald and neighbouring towns. This particular photograph appeared in an article on the International Geigenaustellung (Violin Exhibition) taking place in the village in the summer of 1950. Bayerisches Hauptstaatsarchiv, Munich, (MK) Bayerisches Staatsministerium für Unterricht, Kultus, Wissenschaft und Kunst, Box 63273, File 650.   	   69	  The photograph above evokes a romantic tale, one of independent solitude, working with one’s hands, shaping earthly materials into an object that produces something both solid and ethereal: music.184 The craft survives through the inheritance of skill, of knowledge passed across geographical space and generational time, the very aspects that are said to transform a craft into a “tradition.” The history of the craft gives the handmade object its meaning, its place in time and space, and its cultural value. A journalist describes the work of an expellee violinmaker, and demonstrates how “tradition” becomes romanticized through discourse:   The old violin maker [K. H.] is 84 years old. He still sits day after day in his workshop and makes violins. He is a master. Under his hands the profane wood is ennobled. His violins end up somewhere in the wide world under the hands of virtuosi who make people weep and laugh.185   The author of this passage subjectively ascribes delight and an “ennobling” effect to the work of the violinmaker. However, in stepping away from this narrative we can see the objective ways in which these subjective meanings make the object trade-worthy, sought after, monetarily valuable, and thereby crucial to the sustenance of the craftsperson, his family and their community. There is a way in which the romantic narrative constructs reality. In referring to hands that “ennoble” the wood underneath, the report gives the object and its maker power, adding cultural value to an otherwise technical practice. The practice then becomes dependent on the story created around it. As industrialization and modernization threatened to change the conditions for craft production in the early twentieth century, craftspeople learned to emphasize or instrumentalize their story in an attempt to prevent further loss of status and income or to recover from losses                                                 184 In using the term “romantic” I aim not to refer to the Romantic period of literature and art, but to myths and constructions grounded in the ethereal rather than the real. Emotionally and spiritually-driven notions of music and handcraft in this case lend themselves to the propogation of myths and grant the object cultural value.    185 W. Hönekopp, Denkschrift zum Wiederaufbau der Schönbacher Musikinstrumentenindustrie: kurzgefaßter Überblick im Anhang (Erlangen, Februar 1949), 1. 	   70	  previously endured. Therefore, craftspeople may or may not have bought into this narrative when reflecting on their own role in craft production, yet became quite adept at employing it to sell their wares. James Farr argues that Adam Smith, Karl Marx and others “naturalized” and “essentialized” manual labour by assuming that the act of making an object defined an artisan’s identity. Pushing the concept further, Farr argues, “social and self-definition were rooted in cultural experiences which included, but also transcended, production,” through what he calls “symbolic exchanges, where labor was a sign of social place as well as a means to survival.”186 Here Farr is making an argument for the artisan’s agency within larger political and economic structures, arguing that the artisan’s identity was a negotiated process that shifted over time. Histories of emerging nationalism and nation-states have highlighted this tendency to frame one’s identity for particular political and economic purposes.187 In what follows, it is evident that the Schönbach violinmaker identity in particular and the Sudeten-German identification in general shifted in and out of narratives of national defeat and victimhood, on the one hand, and individual and national triumph over adversity, on the other. Moreover, the expellees could adopt or reject these narratives to their advantage as they negotiated with German and American authorities for housing, loans and enclave resettlement projects.  In contrast to the craftsman photographed in his workshop, the violinmaker featured in the editorial was an expellee from Schönbach awaiting the construction of a new settlement site for himself and his community:                                                 186 James R. Farr, Artisans in Europe 1300-1914 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000), 3-6. Artisans “were defined and defined themselves not primarily as producers, but rather as members of an etat, a rank or ‘degree,’ a Stand...Artisans did not make themselves in isolation, nor were they hapless victims simply molded by forces beyond their control. They were products of their own ceaseless struggle, not just to earn a living, but to maintain rank and a sense of social place.”  187 Anderson, Imagined Communities; Brown, Biography of No Place; Jeremy King, Budweisers into Czechs and Germans: A Local History of Bohemian Politics, 1848-1948 (Princeton University Press. 2002). 	   71	  I visited him in his current adoptive country in Möhrendorf near Erlangen [a site of resettlement]…Like a big child he smiled to himself. The work for him was his work, but a delightful experience. He told me that he has 5 children, comes from Schönbach and waits now for his own small house. In it, he says, “my life will be fulfilled.”188   The stories of the two violinmakers diverge in a very specific way. Unlike the Schönbach maker from the passage, the man in the photograph had not been expelled from his home and had likely occupied the same workshop for decades. He was from Mittenwald, a small town nestled in the Bavarian Alps, virtually untouched by the war. In the 1940s, it was also a town that boasted a practice for making Kunstgeigen (art violins) wholly with hand tools from start to finish. The Mittenwald makers had rejected the industrialization of their workshops in the late nineteenth century and as such had over time become dependent on the story associated with their craft to sell their wares. Thus, they had little choice but to emphasize the “traditional” aspects of their production method in order to attract tourist buyers and compete in a global market place.  For the expellee craftspeople of Schönbach on the other hand, the path from expulsion to the transit camps of Möhrendorf was long and difficult, despite the simple narrative presented in the editorial above.  The experience of expulsion, as well as their nineteenth century decision to adopt piecework methods and industrial machines, set them apart from their Mittenwald counterparts. This, however, did not dissuade American Military (OMGUS) authorities from attempting to settle the expellee makers in Mittenwald initially. The Schönbach makers were temporarily settled among the violinmakers of Mittenwald and the scheme quickly proved unsatisfactory for both parties who ultimately failed to integrate.  The failure of the Mittenwald-Schönbach violin maker resettlement as case study reveals the attempts made on the part of expellees, local Germans, and United States occupation                                                 188 Hönekopp, Denkschrift zum Wiederaufbau, 1. 	   72	  authorities to reconcile the narrative of craft “tradition” with the realities of forced migration and rapid modernization in the 1950s.  Over time, the expellee narrative developed from one of victimhood to one of Selbsthilfe (self-help) and entrepreneurial success. In the process expellee craftspeople became integral and even prototypical agents in West Germany’s construction of its own postwar image, while the Mittenwalders continued to rely on tourism to drive trade. After 1945, the ideal of skilled handcraft as national “tradition” was upheld and maintained by the Handwerkskammer, a crafts corporation with mandatory membership that was responsible for training apprentices and protecting the rights associated with the Meister (master) title. Though a policy was in place to protect artisanal “traditions” from change, in the postwar context craft served a different master in West Germany, namely democracy, capitalism, and the reconstruction of Germany under U.S. occupation.    The United States recognized the importance of craft to the German national identity and the role of its products in the global marketplace. In turn, they granted loans and aid to rebuild German industries in the 1950s.189 However, in order to sell German products for the reconstruction effort, the US importers and German exporters alike had to repurpose ideas like Volk “tradition,” Heimat, and Kultur for new ends.190  In a place like Mittenwald, bridging the Nazi past meant falling back on tried and true methods used before the war, namely marketing the Bavarian Heimat and the romantic ideal of                                                 189 ECA programs and Marshall Aid funding, as well as Military Government’s transition away from the notoriously harsh Morgenthau Plan. See Junker, The United States and Germany, 255-370; Guradze, “The Landerrat,” 190. “The philosophy of the Morgenthau Plan, opposed by many—including the present American High Commissioner- was expressed in a directive of April 26, 1945, in which the Joint Chiefs of Staff instructed the military governor to ‘take no steps looking toward the economic rehabilitation of Germany or designed to maintain or strengthen the German economy.’ Although this particular passage was soon superseded by the Potsdam Agreement concluded August 2, 1945, its spirit permeated most of the personnel of the Office of Military Government for Germany (United States) who implemented military government policy during the early period of occupation.”  190Jeffrey Herf, Reactionary Modernism: Technology, Culture, and Politics in Weimar and the Third Reich (Cambridge University Press, 1984), 1-10; 25-31. 	   73	  the handcraft workshop to tourists. Though the industry had been irrevocably altered by the war and OMGUS had set up refugee camps and a large military base nearby, the village relied on an image of continuity rather than change (made easier by the postcard-ready, “timeless” mountain landscape surrounding half-timber guest houses).191 As Joshua Hagen explains, the image of “small town life set in a landscape of natural beauty” was a dominant motif in 1950s West German travel. Tourists looked to places where they could “reconnect to German history and express pride in that history while providing some distance from the recent past.”192 Germans desired “safe” spaces in which they could openly enjoy their Germanness without the dark cloud of the Nazi years, spaces like the Heimat or the craft workshop. In this context, it was perhaps more important than ever for the Mittenwald violin makers to keep up appearances, to stick by “tradition” and their initial decision to craft each individual violin from start to finish, by hand.   The case of the resettlement of Schönbach violinmakers’ explores the role of “tradition” in postwar economics, collective memory construction, individual and group identification. The word “tradition” itself was wielded like a tool in the power struggle between expellees and the Mittenwald Einheimische (local inhabitants). Moreover, re-constructed “traditions” became instrumental in combating collective guilt and rebuilding a palatable German identity. By emphasizing the practices and cultural motifs that both predated and endured Nazism, Germans and the U.S. occupation government worked to sweep the recent past under the rug of a postwar reconstruction discourse. From the American perspective, the “German tradition” of quality craft                                                 191 Calvin Jones, “Past Idyll or Future Utopia: Heimat in German Lyric Poetry of the 1930s and 1940s” German Studies Review Vol. 8, No. 2 (May, 1985): 282-287; 292-294.  He discusses Heimat as general concept and Heimat poetry in particular. He notes that nature was often thought of as continuous, immune to the dramatic changes wrought by time. In this case one might also argue that nature was viewed as adaptive as well as continuous. He also argues that Heimat literature in the postwar period demonstrated a hope for the future as well as a longing for the past. See also Adam Rosenbaum, Bavarian Tourism and the Modern World, 1800-1950 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2016). 192 Joshua Hagen, Preservation, Tourism and Nationalism: The Jewel of the German Past (England: Ashgate Publishing, 2006), 250-257. 	   74	  production became a bargaining chip, something with which to repay American taxpayers for aid, a selling point to convince those at home that their continued involvement in Germany was worthwhile.       2.1 The Instrument Makers of Schönbach  In the journalist’s descriptive passage above there is little hint of the history that led to the 84-year-old's resettlement, namely his identity as a Sudeten German or the circumstances of his expulsion. In order to understand his and his community’s eventual arrival in Möhrendorf, one must go back to the first German colonization in the northwestern Bohemian lands. The Schönbach settlement in the Egerland region (present day Luby in north western Czech Republic), was facilitated by the founding of the Cistercian monastery Waldsassen in 1130.193 The monastery and its surrounding lands, which encompassed Schönbach and other villages, were eventually sold off in 1356 and became a fief, separate from the Egerland and part of the Kingdom of Bohemia. The first mention of Sconenbach was in a document from 1319 in which, at the request of King Ludwig IV of Bavaria, the abbot of the Monastery (Johanm III) granted the village rights and privileges as an official town.194 Schönbach thus entered a long period of relative stability that encouraged settlement and trade. It was within that context that the instrument makers developed their craft.     Violin making in Schönbach was also precipitated by the rise and fall of the local mining industry. Already in the thirteenth century prospectors began to mine for copper, tin, lead, silver and mercury. However, from the beginning of the 17th century the ore industry rapidly declined,                                                 193 "Bei den Geigenbauern in Bubenreuth," 20 October 1949, BayHStA, Munich, MK, Box 63234, File 690-695. Book on the violin making industry in Bubenreuth. Through several donations made throughout the 1150s, the lands surrounding the monastery were gradually cleared, opening the region to further German settlement. On March 3, 1185 Pope Lucius III took possession of the monastery and due to the work of the “grey monks”, cultivation and settlement persisted well into the thirteenth century.  194 Ibid. 	   75	  as the technology was no longer up to standard, and with the onset of the Counter-Reformation in the years 1624-27 many Lutheran miners emigrated, sealing the fate of the mining industry. Yet the landscape surrounding the town was heavily forested, encouraging those former miners who remained in Schönbach to take up woodworking in larger numbers and violin making in particular.195  There is no known record dating the first Schönbach violin, as early town archives were lost in 1739 when both the church and town hall were destroyed.  However, as German records show, twelve makers fled Schönbach and Graslitz (a neighbouring settlement) during the Counter-Reformation and formed a guild just across the border in Saxon Markneukirchen in 1677. Together the villages of Schönbach and Graslitz on the Bohemian side, and Klingenthal and Markneukirchen on the Saxon side of the border formed the Musikwinkel (music corner). While Schönbach garnered an international reputation for plucked instruments, neighbouring Graslitz specialized in woodwinds and brass; Klingenthal and Markneukirchen in harmonicas and plucked instruments respectively.196  This concentration of musical instrument makers could be attributed to the wooded landscape of the region, to the sixteenth and seventeenth century rise of a European aristocratic class with a penchant for luxury hand-crafted goods, or the migration of skill knowledge from Italy.197 The formation of the guild in 1677 dates the violin making craft                                                 195 Ibid. 196 William Sandys, History of the Violin (Mineola, New York: Dover Publications, Inc., 2006), 245. “Francois Plack at Schoenback, in Bohemia, about 1738, made good violins.” Though a concentration of instrument-producing villages in the region drew the attention of international consumers, it also sparked competition between the villages. It was due to this competition in part, that craftsmen made the decision to develop local cooperatives. In 1904, local producers formed the Schönbach musical instrument maker’s Genossenschaft (cooperative), attaining independence from the Saxon industries and greater control over the purchase of raw materials, sales and pricing. Adolf Fuchs, Die Standortverlagerung der Sudetendeutschen Klein-Musikinstrumenten-Industrie von Graslitz und Schönbach (Marburg: N.G. Elwert Verlag: 1953). For more on the history of cooperatives in Central Europe see Torsten Lorenz, ed., Cooperatives in Ethnic Conflicts: Eastern Europe in the 19th and early 20th Century (BWV- Berliner Wissenschafts-Verlag, 2006), 18. Although Lorenz argues that cooperatives were political and nationalist in nature, the Schönbach masters seemed to be more concerned with developing the local industry and staying competitive in a regional (Saxony and the north-western Sudetenland) market.    197 Farr, Artisans, 62-64. 	   76	  contemporaneously with that of classical Italian makers Amati, Stradivarius and Guarnerius. However, the exact origin of the Schönbach craft is still inconclusive. It is possible that Italian migrants had come to the area in connection with Waldsassen monastery as early as the crusades or simply as miners.198 The ability to date the first Schönbach violin becomes relevant when speaking about the construction of tradition, more specifically national or regional claims to a distinct tradition.  Violin making “traditions” were actually built on the intermingling of sedentary masters with transient merchants and travelling apprentices. Migration was crucial to the development of craft production and trade in Central European society. Unmarried journeymen were required by their guilds to spend two years (Wanderjahre) travelling after achieving apprenticeship status, and another two years before establishing themselves in one locale to become a master artisan. The majority of these migrants clustered around the Danube, periodically broadening their path to regions further afield and often reaching the Czech Lands. Masters of the craft viewed this obligatory nomadism as essential to maintaining the relevance of their craft, to staying abreast of changes and adaptations and to controlling the chain of supply and demand.199 Of course there were practices particular to each master’s workshop and locale, often dependent on the surrounding landscape. For example, the type of pine trees used in the process of violin making determined the final sound quality of the instrument, and the best trees were those that grew at high altitudes in a soil that allowed the tree to grow at a slower rate, resulting in denser wood. In fact, the best sound was garnered from a tree aged around 200 years. Thus                                                 198 Dr. K. Mädler, Zur Geschichte der Schönbacher Geigenbaukunst; Egerer Zeitung, Jahrgang 4, Folge 7, S. 21 in BayHStA, Munich, MK, Box 63234, File 690 to 695. Fuchs, Die Standortverlagerung der Sudetendeutschen Klein-Musikinstrumenten-Industrie von Graslitz und Schönbach. Fuchs dates the origins of violin making in the region to prior to the 1580s.  199 Geoffrey Crossick, ed. The Artisan and the European Town, 1500-1900 (Leicester: Scolar Press, 1997), 173.  	   77	  having used the same woodlands for generations, violin makers made an argument for local specificity though their techniques may have migrated from elsewhere.200 This argument was strengthened when considering the local plants used in the making of stains, a telltale mark of the violin maker and their locale.201 But one also had to consider the design of the instrument, the shape of the body and the f-holes, the curve of the neck and the finishing flourish carved into the scroll. The maker would first draw the design, then make a pattern and create a unique mold or form.202 The resulting features of the instrument may have been influenced by the local landscape or culture but more likely were influenced by skill knowledge within the craft itself, and ideas migrating among artisans throughout Europe at this time. Also, wood and stain could be traded, exported and imported, creating a network of makers in which the boundaries of one’s authenticity were blurred, as processes were shared. Craft practices were often more fluid and malleable than claims to local tradition suggest.  Even though violin making as “tradition” can be traced back to Füssen, masters from Italy are far better known (Antonio Stradivari in particular). By the 17th century the main production centres were in Italy, perhaps the most famous being Cremona. Though Schönbach was later called the Bohemian Cremona, the Italian masters not their German counterparts were attributed with giving the violin its enduring form.203 What may have set the Sudeten makers apart from others was their process. Schönbach farmers and miners often engaged in piecework during the winter months to supplement their incomes, and delivered their finished work by hand cart to the masters in town every Saturday. This ended with a customary stopover at the local                                                 200 Dominic Gill, ed. The Book of the Violin (Oxford: Phaidon, 1984), 25. Consult for more details on the violin making process. 201 Ibid. 202 Ibid., 26. 203 "Bei den Geigenbauern in Bubenreuth," 20 October 1949, BayHStA, Munich, MK, Box 63234, File 690-695.  	   78	  Gasthaus (pub).204 It was in these practices that a community identity was most likely forged among Schönbach violin makers. In this context, meaning and a distinct identity grew not from the global status of the objects produced in the village so much as from local practice and process.  Michael Sonenscher argues that the unique ritual practices surrounding each craft did not indicate the uniqueness of the finished product itself. Rather, the point “was to make it appear to be different.”205 The rites of passage for young apprentices and the air of mystery conferred on the craft process imbued the object and its maker with power over their competitors and neighbours. This power was easily translated into sales through marketing and the slow, steady development of an international reputation. Identity and “tradition” were thus both constantly invented and reinvented through labelling, exhibitions and trade.206        Artisans themselves were caught up in a cycle of dependency in which, as Herzfeld argues, “their bodies become the site of an extremely comprehensive commodification of stereotypical selves,” a cycle sustained by the small workshop system and projected onto the national “imagination.”207 The term “artisan” had become known in  nineteenth century Europe to refer to masters who through apprenticeship had entered a restricted group of persons possessing a particular skill. They outwardly displayed their membership among masters or their “property of skill”208 (as coined by John Rule) by wearing distinct tool belts or aprons and                                                 204 Ibid.  205 Michael Sonenscher, “Mythical Work: Workshop Production and the compagnonnages of eighteenth-century France,” in Joyce, Historic Meaning of Work, 32.   206 Eric Hobsbawm, "Inventing Traditions" in Eric Hobsbawm and Terence Ranger eds., The Invention of Tradition (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1992), 1-14. 207 Herzfeld, Body Impolitic, 27-28. 208 John Rule, “The Property of Skill in the Period of Manufacture,” In Joyce, Historic Meaning of Work, 104. Property of skill: “A skilled man could often recognize his own work and describe it still as ‘his’ work even when it had been alienated from him by sale…The sense of a property of skill was then deeply embedded in the culture and consciousness of the artisan, as was the assumption of the respect of others for it.”  	   79	  carrying special tools.209 This was just one way artisans could embody the “tradition.” Other ways included the performance of rituals whether marking the statutes of the guild or simply the weekly meeting and display of masculinity at the pub.  According to Rule, these performances practiced over time, gave the craft the “legitimation of ‘time immemorial.’”210  2.2 Made in Germany  In Germany, expectations were often placed on artisans as representatives of community morality, returning to the idea of craft itself as a virtuous pursuit, pure of corruption and greed.  Handwerk was the term used to refer to the small-scale industries or crafts, and Beruf referred to one’s occupation. However, both terms signify something more. To have a Beruf in Handwerk was to have an occupation requiring not only manual skills but moral character and an ethic of commitment to the larger society. It could even denote a level of Dienst (service) to the nation itself.211  Artisans were trapped in this expectation of morality. They needed that image to sell their product, and yet they were limited by the “traditional” strictures associated with the production of that craft and the “traditional” system set up by that community to maintain it, to survive change and upheaval. Herzfeld analyzes body language as evidence of this artisanal conundrum: Fine artisanship requires fine character; fine character inspires trust in the quality of the work...the truly adroit artisan must know how to be  ostentatiously modest. Paradoxically, the limp slouch of the apprentice may thus be the harbinger of real competence, because it demonstrates an ability                                                 209 Ibid., 104. “English skilled workers from the beginning of the eighteenth century...By others and by themselves they were commonly referred to as ‘artisans’. It is a label fraught with difficulty and ambiguity. In some usages it suggests independent master craftsmen trading in a product made up from materials which they themselves owned: perhaps being themselves the employers of one or two journeymen. In England especially, such independent masters were by the middle years of the eighteenth century a small part of those designated artisans. Skilled workers in general were so considered." 210 Ibid., 104. 211 Nolan, Visions of Modernity, 99-100. 	   80	  to absorb information and then use it without appearing to make any effort at all.212    We need only refer back to the photograph above to understand the overall effect of the image of the artisan slumped diligently over their work. The “tradition” trap dictated that the artisan build their success through modesty.213 Over time, how craftspeople produced and marketed their wares came to define their place in the global context. As Crossick notes, by the late nineteenth century business skill often outweighed craft pride, making it an “embattled identity.”214 As neighbouring countries and workshops industrialized in the late nineteenth century, artisans faced the dilemma of whether to align with the forces of modernity or remain true to the slumped over modesty of the past. For the violin makers of Schönbach and Mittenwald the question of whether or not to modernize their process ultimately led the communities down two distinct paths in the twentieth century, which led to animosity and an integration failure.  In what follows, the artisans of Schönbach and Mittenwald negotiated changes wrought by global industrialization in their respective local contexts. Neither group could be characterized as static or backwards, but rather dynamic in their approaches to the survival of their respective violin making industries. Both made adaptations in the face of industrialization that complicate the teleological view of modernization. They held to aspects of the past, while utilizing new methods of communication, export, and marketing, and in the case of Schönbach, new technologies.  Schönbach and Mittenwald makers took very different paths, ultimately leading to the clash of their two distinct “traditions” and cultures after the 1945 expulsion.                                                  212 Herzfeld, Body Impolitic, 124.  213 For further exploration of the gendered nature of these photographs and the image of male versus female artisans see chapter five.  214 Crossick, The Artisan, 11.  	   81	  These “traditions” became rhetorical devices in a competition for global market share and survival. Eric Hobsbawm’s introduction to The Invention of Tradition entitled "Inventing Traditions," explores the ways societies have employed narrative to latch onto the past in times of change, or to promote that past as a means to political or economic ends. Herzfeld argues that the weakness of Hobsbawm’s theory is its privileging of elites, while its strength lies in his notion that tradition was a modernist invention and that people living in what we might deem pre-modern times, did not “announce that they were living traditional lives.”215 Rather historians run the risk of retroactively defining historical actors as “traditional” or “pre-modern” and viewing those who carry on these same norms of the past as “anti-modern.” But as Herzfeld reflects, in doing so are we not also stereotyping notions of modernity? The way in which the violin makers of both Schönbach and Mittenwald re-invented the “traditions” of their respective communities arose out of modern circumstance, out of a need wrought by modernization and therefore, they were decidedly modern. Moreover, as Outka would argue, marketers had been using tradition to sell “authenticity” since the turn of the twentieth century, commercializing the original, sought-after ideal to make it attainable for the masses.216 In order to survive, small craft firms in the 1950s were required to follow what their forbears had done fifty years earlier, using innovative methods to sell a comforting ideal. As the two violin making groups came into contact after the Second World War, the need to re-invent those “traditional” ideals was magnified once again by the urgency of market demand, and as they criticized one another’s                                                 215 Herzfeld, Body Impolitic, 18- 20. See also Eric Hobsbawm, "Inventing Traditions" in Hobsbawm and Ranger, The Invention of Tradition, 1-14.; R.E. Sackett, “Antimodernism in the Popular Entertainment of Modern Munich: Attitude, Institution, Language,” New German Critique, No. 57, Autumn, 1992: 126. “The truth is that invented traditions are new traditions; they may refer back to, but never simply perpetuate, old ones. Antimodernism rests only in the assertion that the past should be upheld against the present, not in the preservation of ‘authentic’ premodern forms...And antimodernism always has this sense of falsehood about it, this concealment of its own modernity, this pretense concerning the relationship of new and old.”  216 Outka, Consuming Tradition, 4.  	   82	  craft methods under the watchful eye of the ever-producing poster-child of modern methods, the United States.   Tradition was not just an idea bandied about in national discourse, but something that governments attempted to pin down, own, stamp and verify through the “Made in Germany” label. As of August 23, 1887, all German-made products carried this stamp of recognition, a measure resulting from British protectionist legislation (the Merchandise Marks Act). At the time, Britain felt threatened by the newly industrialized and unified nation, and more specifically by German imitations of British trademarked consumer goods. Though the British aim was to label these “Made in Germany” products as cheap knock-offs, these goods were soon known and desired for their quality. This consumer coup d’etat is an enduring source of pride among German manufacturers and craft firms who continue to feature the phrase “Made in Germany” prominently in their advertisements.217 Harold James argues that the national culture soon came to revolve around these products and their production giving the label a “dual significance.”218 I argue that the label took on a third role after the war for Germany, as mark of resilience, symbol of a so-called “miraculous” economic recovery.  The globally recognized label was perhaps the most efficient method of linking pre-war traditions with postwar reconstruction and delivering that message to the storefronts of former enemy nations. The global consumer was reminded of some of the more admirable qualities of German culture, the innocence of finely produced goods rather than large-scale war machinery. Especially innocent were goods crafted by hand in a more “wholesome” domestic fashion.                                                      217 David Head, 'Made in Germany': The Corporate Identity of a Nation (London: Hodder & Stoughton, 1992); Harold James, A German Identity: 1770 to the Present Day (New Haven: Phoenix Press, 2000). One might also See “Made in the U.S. Military Zone” prior to the Federal Republic’s founding or “Made in West Germany” or “Made in Western Germany” after the split between East and West Germany. These labels mark specific times of transition which are also very interesting and worth exploring, but not central to the argument here as all immediate postwar labels worked to accomplish the same goal, a German national recovery. Even if the “Made in the U.S. Military Zone” worked to promote German goods under an Americanized label, the result was the same.  218 Harold James as quoted in Head, Made in Germany, 4.   	   83	   In the early twentieth century, there was growing interest among German manufacturers in the technologies and methods used in the United States at the time. In many nations, artisans gradually became shopkeepers or wageworkers. Meanwhile in Germany many resisted the early shifts of industrialization in the late nineteenth century,219 fearing a loss of skill knowledge and status for individual artisans and for Germany on the global stage.220 Industrialization brought different methods of mass production and standardization, which “further fragmented artisanal knowledge and recast relations of authority.”221 And yet, there was little artisans could do to stem the tide, as access to raw materials and markets was increasingly modernized. As communication and transportation networks improved, industries were capable of specialization on an unprecedented level. In the face of this reality, the efficient and capital-driven, assembly- line methods of the United States became more attractive.  When large-scale industries turned to the scientific management principles of “Taylorism” and “Fordism,” the small-scale artisan-run industries of Germany and Central Europe were forced to adapt.222    The Paris World Exhibition of 1900 marked the point at which German manufacturers recognized the industrial innovations of the United States as the wave of the future. The                                                 219 Farr, Artsians, 276. 220 Nolan, Visions of Modernity, 74-75.  221 Farr, Artisans, 286-287. 222 Ibid., 295; Charles S. Maier, “Between Taylorism and Technocracy: European Ideologies and the Vision of Industrial Productivity in the 1920s” Journal of Contemporary History, Vol.  5, No. 2 (1970), 32-55. Frederick W. Taylor’s method promoted workshop efficiency based on “scientific” studies of human labour. Each task was planned, timed and detailed on instruction cards handed down from upper management.  On the one hand Taylor’s system was viewed as inhumane and on the other, as an escape from rigid class hierarchies as workers as well as factory managers and owners would share in the fruits of their labour. What was good for the factory was good for the people as a whole. As Maier argues: “It therefore implied a revolution in the nature of authority: the heralded utopian change from power over men to the administration of things.” One can assume that for hands-on, small-scale artisan industries, the “administration” of things as opposed to the “crafting” or “creation” of things was an unappealing proposition. By the late 1920s Henry Ford’s methods had overshadowed those of Taylor and came across as more benevolent, particularly his emphasis on producing goods cheaply so as to reduce costs for the average consumer (who was also the average factory worker). Less utopian and more practical in theory, this method gave the public reason to believe that a levelling of class hierarchy could actually work. This aim would be achieved through assembly line technology, standardization, and a burgeoning mass market created by raising wages and lowering prices on consumer goods. 	   84	  American pavilion sparked German trips to tour steel factories in Pennsylvania and rationalized factories in Michigan. Yet while German companies like Robert Bosch began experimenting with the rationalized methods they encountered, others like Daimler-Benz resisted due to fears of “Americanization.”223 The very use of the term “Americanization” denotes the ways in which the adoption of these “scientific management principles” touched a cultural nerve in the 1920s. As Mary Nolan argues, German fascinations with America went beyond the factory reaching the home and public forums.224 As intellectuals such as Max Weber, Theodor Adorno and Max Horkheimer continued to view rationalized modernity as repressive, many German entrepreneurs saw the shift as inevitable and adapted the model to their own liking. Their aim was to reap the benefits of higher productivity and the improved consumption that rationalization promised, without risking a complete American overhaul. As Nolan reflects, this balancing act between German austerity and American modernization ultimately failed as domestic markets in Germany did not provide high enough levels of consumption to sustain increased factory output. In short, German ideals of constraint rather than consumption won out in the 1920s, and the “Made in Germany” label retained much of its reputation for handcraft quality. However, these same questions arose again in the 1940s and 50s, as Germans faced American cultural influence and pressure to conform to globalization and mass consumption. The choice between traditional and modern methods of production, marketing and exchange came down to each individual craft firm and often involved an individualized mix of both.  In a sense, America became the straw man in Germany’s struggle to come to terms with modernization and national self-definition after the war. Germans foregrounded aspects of American culture to which they were opposed in an attempt to set themselves apart, noting the                                                 223 Berghahn in Trommler and Shore, German-American Encounter, 148. 224 Nolan, Visions of Modernity, 4-7.   	   85	  mass uniformity of factory work and the cheap, temporary nature of mass consumer goods. Moreover, Einheimische used similar tactics when dealing with expellee newco