Gün Tank comes by train from Berlin; she is on a reading tour to present her novel “The Optimists”. In it she tells the forgotten story of guest workers who came to the Federal Republic in the 1970s. Tank suggests meeting for the interview at the Nordhorn City Library, where she will later give her reading. The small town in Lower Saxony is heavily influenced by three formerly large textile factories and many migrant workers. What’s interesting, says Tank, is that the city even named a street after a Portuguese works council member.
SZ: Gün Tank, let’s talk about money. You wrote a book about women who came as guest workers and fought for fair wages. Why is so little said about these women?
Gün Tank: That always surprises me. When we look at pictures and documentaries about labor migration, we almost only see men. The question is who writes history, who is allowed to tell about it and who decides which images are conveyed to the outside world. And these were mostly men.
In 1973, more than 700,000 foreign women were already working in the Federal Republic.
A third of all so-called guest workers were women. German companies even specifically advertised for women abroad because they were cheaper workers and were happy to be used for detailed work. It was also assumed that they would be easier to steer.
What was a mistake?
Yes, many of the women came from Turkey, Spain, Greece and other countries alone. These were strong women, they worked here, looked after themselves and often also fed their families. That certainly contributed to their being so self-confident. The injustices they then experienced in German companies angered them so much that they banded together and fought back. And this at a time when men in the Federal Republic of Germany were still legally allowed to prohibit their wives from working – and not even a third of West German women were employed.
In your novel, female guest workers organize strikes and demand the same pay as men. Were they ultimately just a small minority?
No. The classic image we have of the so-called guest workers is that of an apolitical person who, in the best case, works here and leaves again. In 1973 there were more than 300 so-called wildcat strikes in the Federal Republic, i.e. not organized by the unions. Not only, but especially migrant women were active in these strikes and often had leading roles. You have achieved, at least in one company, the abolition of the low wage group.
Low wage group?
The tariff had been in effect since the 1950s for people who supposedly did lighter work. However, the low wage group was only used for women. As a result, they often received 30 to 40 percent less pay than men for the same work. In 1973, a strike at the automotive supplier Pierburg managed to shut down operations. The protest was led by migrant workers. With success. Pierburg was the first company to abolish the low wage group. It wasn’t completely abolished until the 1980s. But often only names change and content stays the same.
Do you mean the gender pay gap?
Yes. Even today, women earn less for the same work, or they work in areas that are paid less and are considered easy. Care work, for example, is still primarily done by women and is poorly paid. I have four-year-old twins, and anyone who says being a teacher is an easy job has probably never experienced day-to-day daycare.
“When people talk or write about our mothers, aunts and grandmothers in Germany, they are called ‘oppressed’, ‘weak’, ‘dependent’ or ‘dependent’,” says your book. How did you experience these women yourself?
This picture made me so angry that I started researching it and then wrote this book. I myself have had completely different experiences. I grew up in Berlin in a women’s circle that was diverse and combative, and got to know many strong migrant women. Then I had to realize again and again that these women, who helped build and change Germany, are not represented at all in the public eye.
Like the main character Nour, her mother also came from Istanbul and initially worked in a factory in the Upper Palatinate. Tell your story?
Of course my mother influenced the protagonist because she is close to me, but so did all the other women I met. Women who had worked or studied in Turkey, women who came from a Spanish village, women for whom the husband’s salary at home was not enough. Not all of them were politically active in the traditional sense, but I saw them all as strong and self-confident, and these courageous women made history.
How brave were they?
They moved to a country that they did not know and whose language they did not understand. Often completely alone. You have to have a lot of courage to take this step. They were often also the breadwinners of their families, which was not a given in their countries of origin at the time. Today, however, female migrants are almost only mentioned when it comes to family reunification, and not as individuals acting independently. They also risked a lot in the labor disputes; their residence permit was tied to their job. When they were released, they were immediately expelled from the country.
In your book, the Turkish woman Nour in the Upper Palatinate stands out because she wears a miniskirt, while many of the older German women wear long dresses and headscarves.
This shows that it says nothing about the woman whether she wears a headscarf or how she dresses. Even a woman with a headscarf can be stronger than a woman in a miniskirt. At the end of the 1970s, there was already an association of women from Turkey in West Berlin who were very political and were already demanding German lessons in companies. But when people talk about migrant women, and they usually mean Muslim women, it is still said to this day that they are uneducated, backward and cannot defend themselves.
Why is that?
I once went to Turkey with trade unionists and we visited a feminist organization there. Suddenly the German women started explaining feminism to the Turkish women. In Germany we often believe that we are emancipated and that all mechanisms of oppression are imported. Of course there is violence in marriage, just as there is violence in marriage in German families. But that doesn’t mean I assume that the entire German women’s society allows itself to be oppressed.
As a child in Berlin, were you confronted with the question of your origins?
Yes, it was an issue. When I was six years old, I asked my mother what I was because she was from Turkey and my father was from Germany. My mother answered me: “If you eat vanilla ice cream, what flavor is it? I said: Vanilla. And if you eat chocolate ice cream? Chocolate. And if you eat both together?” my mother asked. I was happy that I was a mixed ice cream.
How did you research your book?
The book is based on my own experiences and stories from women I have met over the years. And when I realized how many untold stories there are, I started looking and conducted targeted interviews. I also spoke to the Pierburg works council to get a better feel for what happened during the strikes back then.
Did the women come with the hope of making a lot of money?
They came to earn money for their families, others actually wanted to study or travel further. Many thought that they were going to a dreamland where everything was orderly, clean and beautiful. The vast majority were then accommodated in dormitories, which were very cramped. One woman said that there were four of them in a room where they could only change if two of them lay on the bed because it was so tight. The rent was deducted directly from the salary. There was also the language barrier. German lessons were not planned. No one thought about how people were doing. They should come, replace the missing workers and then leave.
How did the women react when you wanted to interview them?
Very positive. As soon as they realized that I was interested in them, they said a lot. And when I gave them the book before it was published, they also felt proud.
Why do we hardly hear anything about them?
When the waves of layoffs came at the end of the 1980s, migrant women were the first to be laid off. As soon as they were no longer active in the company, they were forgotten. Even those who came to Germany with a professional qualification had little prospects because their qualifications were not recognized.
Were the strikes not in the media at the time?
Yes, that’s it. But they were more inflammatory and even racist headlines. “The Turks are rehearsing an uprising,” it was said. They should behave and consider themselves lucky that they get to work here instead of making demands. A tabloid newspaper headlined in 1973: “Gastarbeiter, this word comes from guest. A guest who doesn’t behave like that should be thrown out the door!”
How have the unions positioned themselves on this?
The unions initially had an ambivalent relationship. Initially they were worried that the foreign workers would lead to wage dumping. But they quickly understood that they needed the migrants and wooed them. Most of them then joined the union. For them, this was the only opportunity for political participation in Germany.
Like the second main character in your novel, you grew up in Berlin and studied journalism in Istanbul. What kind of work did you do after that?
Because of love, I went back to Berlin, worked as a freelance journalist and as a research assistant in the Bundestag. Then I studied administrative sciences and was an integration officer for the Tempelhof-Schöneberg district for nine years. I then helped set up the New German Organizations, a post-migrant network, and took over its management. Today I work as a representative for people with disabilities.
Have you always wanted to write a book?
At first I had no intention of publishing the text. Then I was pregnant with twins and had to go to the hospital earlier than planned and stay there for a few weeks until the birth. During that time I finished writing the manuscript. That was initially in the drawer. Until a good friend encouraged me to look for an agency and a publisher.
Are you planning a next book?
I would really like to write one, I also have an idea, but I need space and time for that. This brings us back to the question of money. There are residency grants for writing, but authors with families are not considered. Even though my partner is very emancipated, it is not feasible to research and write in everyday life with two small children and a job.