“Heritage is the answer! But what was the question?” – Museums, monument preservation, and the right to heritage in a society of migrants
On June 14, 2025, Gülşah Stapel gave a lecture in front of the Soldier's Memorial at Neustädter Markt.
What does it mean to think of cultural heritage in a society defined by diversity, human rights, and the pursuit of social justice? Why is it important to understand the negotiation processes surrounding cultural heritage not only as a cultural policy issue, but also as a social issue?
Good evening,
Thank you very much for inviting me to the “2 Tonnen Kalkstein” forum. I am delighted to share my thoughts and research on monuments today—more specifically, to talk about what monuments do to us—and, more precisely, what we do with them.
Our focus is on a war memorial, erected in 1926 in memory of the soldiers who fell in World War I. It is a so-called established monument—a monument that was intended for remembrance, from the outset. This distinguishes it from so-called “becoming” monuments: places or objects such as kiosks, facades, or fountains that acquire additional cultural and historical significance over time—for example, through social practice, historical events, or their age.
After 1990, this monument was listed as a historical monument, due to its artistic and local historical significance; it was originally designed by Kurt Günther, whose story I am not familiar with. But today, this sculpture has become more than a historical site: it is a space of projection and negotiation.
The graffiti on the monument shows that the stone not only preserves the past, but also points to current conflicts. It has become a politically appropriated stage, used by right-wing groups. This monument has taken on different meanings throughout its history, and in this way has also become a memorial in its own right.
Why am I speaking here?
My research focuses on heritage and the construction of monuments in a society shaped by migration. At first glance, this seems far removed from a memorial to fallen soldiers of the First World War. But there is a common thread: My topic is not migration. My topic is identity. More specifically, I study the close interplay between public cultural heritage and social notions of “us.”
With this lecture, I would like to open up three spaces for reflection that extend beyond this specific monument:
Identity
Power
The Stage
These three themes for reflection help us understand what is at stake when we talk about cultural heritage, memory, and belonging.
Reflection 1: Identity
The phrase “Heritage is the answer, but what was the question?” comes from Jewish studies scholar James E. Young.
It sums up how overloaded cultural heritage is, as a concept. “Heritage” seems to be the answer to everything: questions of identity, cultural difference, globalization, and social uncertainty. But what was the actual question?
At the DFG-funded research network “Identity and Heritage” at the TU Berlin and the Bauhaus University Weimar, in which I am involved, it became clear that there is no value-free or objective cultural heritage. Every construction of heritage contains an idea of the self, and so fulfills a socio-political purpose.
This means that cultural heritage is always political.
It is never just about “the past” or something that needs to be protected per se, because each generation actively decides whether to preserve something, to pass it on, or not. It is a choice, a perspective. Above all, an expression of who belongs to society, and has the right to visibly shape that choice and perspective.
Cultural heritage does not simply arise, it is created—and it is created through concrete social negotiations.
Heritage and identity are interrelated:
Sometimes an idea of identity produces a certain heritage.
And sometimes a certain heritage repeatedly gives rise to an identity.
This also means that anyone who refers to “shared heritage” is making claims: To belonging. To space. To history. But anyone who rejects heritage is also making claims: To belonging. To space. To history.
Neither cultural heritage nor forms of cultural identity arise in a linear fashion; they are not stable entities, nor do they pre-exist. It is not the case that a heritage happens to exist and thus represents or proves a certain identity. Heritage exists when someone wants it to exist. It is socially constructed.
This means that when we pass on cultural heritage, or when societies refer to a common heritage, more than mere transmission takes place. These are complex, often contested processes in which groups reassure themselves of their own identity, and thereby come into social existence in the first place. That is why material heritage, for example stones, are always hot topics.
Think of the reconstruction projects for castles and churches, the demolition debates surrounding politically unwanted heritage, or the struggle to create places of remembrance and commemoration for marginalized groups, such as Sinti and Roma. Consider also initiatives aimed at decolonization.
An open society cannot function solely on the basis of “definable” ideas. An open society also needs space for the indefinable, for ambiguity, and for uncategorizable realities.
How do we deal with public cultural heritage when the public is no longer recognized as an ethno-national group but as a plural and diverse community? I deliberately say recognized, because every national community has always been inherently plural and diverse. This is not a phenomenon of modern times.
In this context, I regard the term “migration society” as a counter-model to the ethno-national, homogeneous fantasy of a clearly definable, demarcated German society.
A Brief Historical Digression
2006 was a key year for the international heritage debate. That year saw the publication of Laurajane Smith's book “Uses of Heritage.” In it, she argues that it is not heritage itself, but rather the way heritage is dealt with, which tells us something. She describes an “authorized heritage discourse,” a discourse on heritage that is controlled by experts, institutions, and dominant groups, focused on the social significance of “heritage.”
The same year, my professor of historic preservation at the time, Gabi Dolff-Bonekämper, gave me a book by Dolores Hayden, “The Power of Place,” which had been published before Laurajane Smith's book. In it, Hayden described how the hidden stories of Latinas and working-class communities were made visible in Los Angeles. She described how unknown wisdom was brought to light, and how anchoring it in public space positively impacted both the communities and the immediate neighborhood.
Both books revolved around the same question: Whose history is being told? And whose is not?
At that time, a movement was developing that I refer to as the right-to-heritage paradigm: It was and is about the demand that all people living in a society should be part of its collective memory.
This paradigm refers to Article 27 of the Declaration of Human Rights, which states that everyone has the right to participate in cultural life. It is a paradigm because it represents a general way of thinking; a pattern, rather than a political program. This agenda is primarily about representation.
But what does that look like in practice? Who is visible and who remains invisible?
The interdependent concepts of identity and heritage not only represent us, they also determine our system of thought and the tools we use to explain and understand the world, and how it came to be. Put simply, we want a more just and diverse world, but we have neither the tools nor the experience to know what this might actually look like, and how it could be achieved. We also have no answer to the question of how we can make space for real differences and, most importantly, how a society can remain connected.
The stories and visible traces of a city's past are important parts of our cultural heritage. In democratic societies they are therefore also sources of conflict. Since urban heritage is existentially important for individuals, but even more so for communities, dealing with heritage requires a particular sensitivity to the interplay between constructions of identity and heritage, and an awareness of the long-term effects on orientation and social values.
Publicly Supported Cultural Heritage is Not Neutral
By “publicly supported cultural heritage” I mean:
Cultural heritage that is protected by law (e.g., through monument protection.)
Cultural heritage that is financed by public funds.
Cultural heritage that is present in museums, schools, curricula, and the media.
Cultural heritage that is made visible (memorial plaques, public art.)
None of these forms of cultural heritage are neutral. They are expressions of specific social ideals. They determine which stories, and thus which groups of people, are valuable, and who belongs.
Even the preservation of historical monuments is not a mere legal administrative act. It is a catalyst for social identities. What is protected is not solely for conservation purposes, but is always also culturally and politically motivated. All those responsible for cultural heritage, including institutions —
what Laurajane Smith calls “authorized authorities”— are therefore not neutral either. They are part of the power relations determining what is remembered, and how, and who becomes visible in the process. Those responsible for cultural heritage help decide what is important, who is represented and who is not, and they shape the rules of these negotiations. Do you think this is a conscious responsibility? That the people who “manage” these issues on a daily basis reflect on this? And do you think that they actively try to ensure that the diversity of society is also recorded in cultural heritage?
Uncertainty As A Driving Force
A central reason that heritage is so charged today is social uncertainty.
Many people no longer know the “rules of the game” in society: Who belongs. Who has a say. What connects us.
In such moments, the desire to hold on to something arises. Heritage becomes the answer to the question of belonging. But if that is the case, then we also need to clarify: What exactly was the question? In immediate and personal terms: Am I negotiating my own place in a changing world, or am I trying to take a place for myself and define it?
Are uncertainty and competitive pressure preventing us from negotiating new rules of the game?
Reflection 2: Power
The history of migration to Germany did not create a new situation; it merely made the relationship between identity and heritage more apparent, and challenged society towards greater self-reflection. This is not a burden, but an opportunity to develop in a meaningful way.
What is remembered, who is remembered, and in what forms—these factors determine who belongs. If this is negotiated well, it will lay a solid foundation for a society which works together to build a future full of potential, despite all its differences.
If migrant stories hardly appear in the cityscape, if postcolonial perspectives are missing, if anti-racist movements remain invisible, then opportunities for development are slipping away. This harms everyone.
Even if the right to participate – that is, to memory, representation, and have a voice – is formally the same for everyone. The reality shows that there are cultural barriers, social power relations, and traditional hierarchies which determine how cultural heritage is or is not articulated.
Who has the knowledge, the language, the networks, to contribute to these debates? Who is heard? This question is not only in the interest of the unrepresented, but in the interest of a wise and strong society.
Memory As A Zero-sum Game?
Michael Rothberg has shown a way out with his concept of “multidirectional memory”:
Memories are not in competition, but in relationship.
Memories of the Holocaust, of colonialism, of migration – they can complement, expand, and enrich each other.
But in practice, we often experience the opposite: a zero-sum game. Those who are remembered seem to take away space from others. When someone gets a memorial, it immediately raises the question: Who doesn't?
This leads to new exclusions. And it prevents open, solidarity-oriented, or if not solidarity-oriented then at least tolerant remembrance.”
When groups such as migrants, or post-colonial communities, are not visibly inscribed in the cultural memory of a city, it is no coincidence. Their stories often have to struggle to assert themselves against established notions of “German culture” and “national memory,” assuming they even have the capacity and self-consciousness to contribute. Even though they have long been part of this society, they remain invisible or marginalized in many forms of remembrance. This impacts our ability to understand Germanness in a more relaxed and open way, and reinforces the belief in a definable and unambiguous German identity, preventing social innovation and further development.
The city is not an empty stage, but a theater of memory where institutional actors like monument authorities, museums, city administrations, as well as civil society groups and individuals compete for attention, recognition, and the authority to interpret. In dealing with memory, these inclusions and exclusions are often not legal, so much as symbolic and social.
All of this leads us to a central question:
What do we need, in order to develop a more just and inclusive approach to public memory in this complex situation? We need criteria, procedures, and spaces to openly negotiate questions about publicly supported cultural heritage—with discussion, not with power.
The fear of critique of power, or even abuse (in the sense of structural racism or other forms of authoritarianism) drives up a protective wall of bureaucracy which hides the actual, uncomfortable motives from itself and everyone else. Power prefers to move in the shadows. Negotiations based on reason and arguments, especially in connection with such a sensitive issue as social belonging, are not conducted at the political level. So the gap between outdated principles of order, and a constantly changing society which needs to establish new rules, grows ever wider. In my observation, this does not preserve social order, but rather misses the opportunity for society to learn tolerance of ambiguity, cooperation, and a composed sense of belonging across differences.
In 1919, Tucholsky wrote: “Files are pored over, notes are collected, protocols are studied – and in the end, it was nobody.”
This sentence is a bitterly ironic criticism of the way in which responsibility is systematically discussed and managed, until no one can be held accountable – particularly apt in the context of bureaucracy, power, and collective amnesia.
If we truly believe that people are free individuals, that national societies are diverse and pluralistic, that human rights are universal, and that a strong civilization cares for all its members, then this must be reflected in our approach to cultural heritage in public spaces.
Reflection 3: STAGE – The City as a Theater of Memory
And that brings us to the third space of reflection: cultural heritage and the city as a stage. If we understand the city as a space of memory, the central question arises:
How are stories told here?
A model from my work helps here: I distinguish between an Aristotelian and an epic theater of memory.
Aristotelian Memory
Aristotelian Theater follows the idea of unity, catharsis, and emotional identification. The audience should empathize with the characters, identify with their fates, and emerge from the play purified. Applied to places of remembrance, this means:
Clear messages
Emotional involvement
Coherent narratives
Memorial sites are often staged as self-contained units. They convey a clear message, usually without contradiction or ambiguity. They aim for emotional involvement, often through pathos, gestures of sacrifice, or heroization.
And they follow a linear story that suggests a specific interpretation—often a national, heroic, morally superior narrative. The impact of these forms of commemoration should not be underestimated. They emotionalize, they create identity, they generate community—but often at the price of excluding other perspectives. Contradictions and ambiguity are excluded.
Epic Memory
In contrast to this is Epic Theater – which was primarily developed by Bertolt Brecht. It works quite differently:
It breaks with illusions, interrupts the action, makes the stage visible. It forces the audience to think, not to empathize. It does not seek to confirm, but to question – structures, power relations, contradictions.
Epic theater does not seek to reassure, but to provoke.
An Epic place of remembrance:
shows multiple perspectives
invites discussion
makes memory negotiable
Such a place could, for example, juxtapose the stories of the fallen, deserters, forced laborers, and marginalized groups. It would not attempt to romanticize the past, but rather to open it up for discussion. And it would not calm viewers emotionally, but rather unsettle them—in order to encourage them to think further.
Why is This Comparison Important
So why this theatrical comparison?
Because it helps us understand how memory is staged—and why some forms of remembrance can be exclusionary, while others are more pluralistic and democratic.
The comparison also aims to identify and clarify these two modes: there can be no either/or. Groups that assert themselves in the mode of Aristotelian theater exist and always will exist. But when it comes to public mediation between groups in a society, one should also consider an Epic mode.
The Aristotelian model of memory is widespread, especially in the context of national memory cultures. It creates order, offers orientation, and stabilizes belonging as we have been trained to understand it. But therein lies the danger: it creates an apparent clarity where ambivalence is actually needed. It seeks to make heroism, nation, and history absolute. But we humans are not categorical. We all have nuances.
Recognizing ambivalence and the ability to navigate it does not have to be unsettling; it can also create a new kind of security.
The Epic model recognizes that memory is a process of confrontation and is never complete, and that history is not fixed but is reshaped in every act of remembrance; and that we—as a society—are not just spectators, but players on this stage.
Memory as an Open Practice
What does this mean for the future?
If we understand heritage not as property, but as a relationship, this means:
It must always be possible to renegotiate heritage.
Heritage must be open to conflict, dissent, and changes in perspective.
It should not only reassure, but also stimulate thought.
The monument at Neustädter Markt is an ideal place for precisely such questions. It shows how memory was made—and how it changes. It shows how public space becomes a stage.
Closing Thoughts
Finally, this comparison also helps us to better grasp the introductory paradox:
“Heritage is the answer—but what was the question?”
If cultural heritage is understood as the answer – but no one asks what the question actually is – then we end up in Aristotelian mode: an emotionally charged act of remembrance which reassures but does not question.
So if we no longer think of cultural heritage as property, but as a relationship, then we must also be prepared to engage with different practices of remembrance.
Seeing the two modes of memory-theater and thinking about them in relation to each other requires the ability to deal with conflict, openness, and also confidence in debate.
It can help us recognize that identity is not prescribed from above but negotiated; that heritage is not static but fluid; and that remembering does not mean telling the same story over and over again, but questioning it—again and again—together in conversation.
Thank you very much.
The lecture and subsequent discussion with Anike Joyce Sadiq were one of three events organized in cooperation with the IDEAL art space and as part of the exhibition “2 Tons of Limestone – A New Look at the Monument on the Market Square.”
Dr. Gülşah Stapel is co-founder and co-director of the TAM Museum, which focuses on 500 years of German-Turkish transcultural history. She is also a part-time curator for outreach processes at the Berlin Wall Foundation and a member of the board of ICOM Germany. The Hanseatic-Bosporus-German is an expert on urban cultural heritage and memory politics. She holds a degree in urban and regional planning and wrote her dissertation on identity and heritage as part of the DFG Research Training Group at the Technical University of Berlin. Her publication “Recht auf Erbe in der Migrationsgesellschaft: Eine Studie an Erinnerungsorten türkeistämmiger Berliner*innen” (Right to Heritage in the Migration Society: A Study of Places of Remembrance for Berliners of Turkish Origin) was published by Urbanophil Verlag in 2023.
