The Hite Report on Shere Hite (27 page)

The idea of wanting to become a German citizen, giving up US citizenship, seems ludicrous to many Americans, even Germans. Germany is seen as ‘the land of dictators', the place where terrible things happened, Germany as more racist than others in Europe because of the murders of Jews, gypsies and others during World War II.

There is another Germany, a new Germany and a very old one. Germany is the most intellectual and profound country I know. Why? Precisely
because
of their history. Germans are more aware than most others of their thinking and behaviour when it comes to ‘how fascism and dictatorship develop', to issues of conscience. Germans have had to come to terms with their past, including the past in each person's family (‘Why didn't my grandmother do something?' ‘What was my family doing at that time?'); this means that the level of debate is remarkably profound and well informed, ingrained.

Interestingly, Germany seems to me to now have the most intellectually involved and ethically self-conscious population of any Western country – precisely because people are so determined not to repeat
history. I find the level of debate deeper than in other places, especially on topics of sexuality; many people in Germany are able to speak and think on a metaphysical and conceptual level in ways not done in other countries (where jokes and giggling about sex are more the order of the day).

I love German classical music, always have since I began to study and play it as a child.
Tristan
und
Isolde,
the famous opera by Richard Wagner, as well as
Der
Rosenkavalier
by Richard Strauss, are two of the few works ever to tackle the issue of love and the passion, in the profoundest sense, that I also have tried to address in my books, especially in
Women
and
Love.
German history and culture is a rich source of ideas, as well as beauty. German and Austrian films of the early 1930s were full of Jewish actors, directors and writers. Many Jews loved German culture, and with some reason could not believe other Germans would not accept them anymore during the 1930s. Today, the warmth of Jewish theatre and humour is more apparent in Hollywood and New York than in Germany, but someday I hope it will come back.

A newspaper article in the London
Observer
(24 March 1996) described my changing citizenship this way:

Virginia Woolf: ‘As a woman, I have no country. As a woman, I want no country. As a woman my country is the whole world.'

This is true and not true for me.

One of the most important steps I took is to change nationalities and become a German citizen.

In 1996, I decided, with pride, to become a German citizen, and gave up my US citizenship. With my husband's help, I applied and was honoured with a new nationality. This step has opened up my mind immensely, and given me a new perspective. It has made me much less afraid, I began to feel more confident, accepted and understood.

Yes, there are things I love about the US and will always love. First among them is the American dream. Not the ‘dream' of two cars in every garage, but the real dream: the idealistic belief that people of all races, classes and backgrounds can together make a society that is stronger because of its diversity and tolerance, one that shows that people can work together for the common good. This dream is the strength of America. I hate it when forces of anger and negativity take over.

I dislike it when parts of America go off the deep end and become conformity-mad, developing a mob-like hysteria or bullying atmosphere; when closed thinking takes over and begins to terrorize people. This happened in the early fifties, when Hollywood writers, actors and directors were put on trial and blacklisted for being ‘too liberal', or ‘Communist sympathizers'.

The situation in the US now is part of a new ‘fundamentalist' tendency all over the world. The same trend the Pope demonstrated when, in Cairo at the United Nations Population Conference, he sided with Islamic fundamentalists against the rights of women to control
their own bodies and health. (This Vatican petition was reaffirmed at the United Nations Briefing Conference on Women, where the Vatican voted against most of the points in the new Declaration of Women's Rights.) This trend in the Church will probably continue since the Pope has now picked the college of pontiffs who will elect his successor, having personally chosen 103 out of 120 who will vote for a new Pope when he dies.

What do I miss about America? I miss the shared optimism about human nature and democracy, so often found in people in America. What else do I miss? Walking in autumn in Central Park, especially with my dog. Or going to Zabar's to buy food for an Easter Sunday brunch with my friends. Hearing the telephone ring and knowing it is one of my friends calling to chat or get together. It's a wonderful life.

Still, I remember the last few times I was there, noticing that the expressions on the faces of New York taxi drivers – a polyglot mixture of recent immigrants, one more fascinating than the next, have changed from one of basic hope and anticipation, to glum disillusion and depression. They had come from Russia, Lithuania, Serbia, Iraq – America meant democracy and freedom. –If they came here, and found it did not exist, they might think there was nowhere for them to go. No hope anywhere.

America should hold tight to its dreams, and make them come true. The world needs these dreams (will the Clinton trial make people cynical?). The Renaissance came and went, with its liberal ideas, followed by
a church-dominated period of several centuries. It shouldn't happen again – though extremist fundamentalists would like it to. I may be just a brainwashed nationalist, but I think America's dreams are important for the whole world: to prove that tolerance and diversity
can
work, that women
can
be integrated into and
be
the Body Politic, and that racism and other forms of hatred are not ‘human nature'.

But, in many ways, I love even more now being a European. I like being surrounded by different cultures, being able to travel in and out of them easily. I love speaking and hearing different languages, with their various rhythms, histories and atmospheres – and finding new parts of myself. I believe I grow with the nourishment of so much cultural beauty around me. I am very grateful for this elegant environment.

Today, I have become not only a researcher and writer (‘alone in her tower') but also a journalist and political columnist writing on sexual politics, gender and current sexual issues. In this way, I have met many fascinating people, and am fully engaged with current debates.

One of the most important steps I took to integrate mysef here, and make sense of my life – reach this level of happiness and serenity – was to become a citizen. How did I do this? It was not easy!

It was a stressful day when I gave up my American citizenship. As Germany does not allow for dual citizenship, I had to choose between my new country and my land of birth.

To become German, I had to fulfill many requirements
over a period of five years. This was simple, compared to what I had to go through to ‘renounce' my US citizenship. It was very dramatic, including two or three days during which I did not have the passport of any country. I was, as the US Embassy rudely told me, ‘stateless'. Not being sure how soon, or even if, the German papers would come through, these few days were harrowing. Even though Friedrich was born in Germany, this did not ensure my acceptance by the German government; I had to fulfill the requirements of any refugee.

Friedrich was with me, at all times. We had to go to Bonn, to the US Embassy. We took the train. Only when I had papers from the US saying I had ended my citizenship there, could the German government give me the new papers saying I had become a German citizen. So it was necessary to get these papers from the US Embassy. But they didn't make it easy or comfortable. Of course we had called the Embassy weeks before to enquire about the procedure.

When I called, I was told by a woman – when I asked the procedure – ‘Why would you want to do that?!' Then, when I reiterated my request, she told me, ‘Hold on.' Obviously conferring with someone. Then she told me I must come to the Embassy, sign a statement that would be forwarded to Washington, and then wait. Two months later, an answer would come. I made an appointment to go to the Embassy to receive the formal statement, etc.

Going to the Embassy on the train with Friedrich,
I did not feel good, nor did he. We stared nervously out the window and at each other, saying hardly a word.

Outside the Embassy stood a Marine in uniform with his rifle at the ready. Also guarding the entrance was a large iron mechanical gate (the kind you see at railroad crossings). The entrance was tiny, because here was the security-body check (your personal belongings were also put through a scanner like at an airport). A chilly feeling. Beyond this tiny room, we entered a large deserted hall. I remember walking until somehow we found the Kafka-esque room where passport and visa business were being conducted. This was a medium-sized waiting-room, light beige with light beige chairs and people in various states of what appeared to be depression sitting on them. On one side of the room (the narrow side of a rectangle), were barred windows like the tellers' desks in old-fashioned banks. Some of the ‘windows' had their blinds drawn, but two or three had people behind them. These windows had queues of people in front of them.

We stood in line to state our business, then sat down. Eventually, my name was called. Instead of giving me a form, a young blond man, stepping out of a side-door, asked me to come with him. They wanted to talk to me. He said I had to come alone, Friedrich could not come. I followed. Behind the ‘windows', we walked down an impersonal corridor with doors on either side. He stopped at one on the left, and opened it, ushering me in. ‘Sit down', he
ordered and motioned to a chair, stationing himself in front of me – leaning on the desk but not sitting down. I just remember that there was no sign that this was his office, nothing personal was anywhere, it did not look like work was in progress, there were no family photos (or even any pictures), and I don't think there was a telephone. The walls were bare. Was this an inquisition room?

‘We want to ask you why you want to give up something so valuable as your US citizenship. Is someone pressuring you into doing this?'