Bruce Springsteen Plays East Berlin in 1988: I’m Not Here For Any Government. I’ve Come to Play Rock

And you thought Ronald Rea­gan sin­gle-hand­ed­ly brought down the Berlin Wall and end­ed the Cold War with his “Tear Down This Wall Speech” in 1987…. Well, a few oth­er things hap­pened before the wall final­ly came down two years lat­er, includ­ing Mikhail Gorbechev’s reforms, the protests of the East Ger­man peo­ple, and that whole nuclear arms race thing. But if we’re look­ing for anoth­er famous Amer­i­can to cred­it for reuni­fi­ca­tion, we should look to Bruce Spring­steen, who in July of 1988—one year after the aged Gip­per issued his famous com­mand to the Sovi­et President—played an out­door con­cert to 300,000 East Ger­man fans, “while mil­lions more,” reports The Guardian, “watched the shaky and dis­tort­ed trans­mis­sion on state tele­vi­sion.”

Spring­steen played 32 songs in an epic four-hour per­for­mance. But which song was it that sent the Wall crum­bling one year lat­er? Was it, per­haps, “Born in the U.S.A.” (top)—the song about a bit­ter, dis­en­fran­chised Viet­nam vet that the G.O.P. mis­took for a patri­ot­ic anthem?

More like­ly it was his cov­er of Bob Dylan’s “Chimes of Free­dom” (above). Before that song, writes The Guardian, Spring­steen gives “a pas­sion­ate speech, deliv­ered in a creaky but under­stand­able Ger­man.” “I’m not here for any gov­ern­ment,” he says, “I’ve come to play rock ‘n’ roll for you in the hope that one day all the bar­ri­ers will be torn down.” It could just as well have been “Promised Land” (below) that tore down that wall, or maybe “Cadil­lac Ranch”….

Sure, I’m being face­tious, but the con­cert did have sig­nif­i­cant after­ef­fects. His­to­ri­an Gerd Diet­rich remarks that “Springsteen’s con­cert and speech cer­tain­ly con­tributed in a large sense to the events lead­ing up to the fall of the wall.” Thomas Wilke, an “expert on the impact of rock and pop music in East Ger­many,” com­ments, “there was clear­ly a dif­fer­ent feel­ing and a dif­fer­ent sen­ti­ment in East Ger­many after that con­cert.” The sen­ti­ment, says Diet­rich, was an even greater desire for change. The Spring­steen con­cert “showed peo­ple how locked up they real­ly were.”

In this respect, it had exact­ly the oppo­site effect that the East Ger­man lead­er­ship intend­ed. Evi­dence from the Stasi archives tells us it was sup­posed to “assuage the country’s youth,” who were “still reel­ing” from the beat­ings they’d received from police the pre­vi­ous year when they’d tried to lis­ten in on David Bowie and the Eury­th­mics play­ing just over the Wall in the West. The Spring­steen con­cert, by con­trast, was delib­er­ate­ly sit­u­at­ed “in the depths of East Berlin,” far from the bor­der, to pre­vent “an impromp­tu rev­o­lu­tion.” So much for appease­ment.

So, were Rea­gan and Spring­steen work­ing togeth­er? Unlike­ly. Reagan’s attempt to co-opt “Born in the U.S.A.” for his 1984 re-elec­tion cam­paign may have, in fact, acti­vat­ed Springsteen’s latent lefty consciousness—or at least that’s what Pro­fes­sor Marc Dolan argues in the short video above and in this Politi­co essay. But even if the Pres­i­dent and the Boss took dif­fer­ent routes polit­i­cal­ly, there were “unde­ni­able sim­i­lar­i­ties” between them.

Both men liked to talk a lot to their audi­ences about free­dom, and both tend­ed to define that free­dom in terms of the agency of the indi­vid­ual. Both men instinc­tive­ly dis­trust­ed struc­tures and insti­tu­tions, pre­cise­ly because they saw them as lim­it­ing indi­vid­ual free­dom.

In that respect, they were the per­fect rep­re­sen­ta­tives of the U.S. East Ger­mans imag­ined, whether try­ing to hear Michael Jack­son through a wall of troops sta­tioned in front of the con­crete behe­moth that kept the West out, or wav­ing home­made Amer­i­can flags while Max Wein­berg pound­ed out the rous­ing drum­beat that announces “Born in the U.S.A.” Remem­ber­ing the con­cert years lat­er, Spring­steen said, “Once in a while […] you play a show that ends up stay­ing inside of you, liv­ing with you for the rest of your life. East Berlin in 1988 was cer­tain­ly one of them.”

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Bruce Spring­steen and Pink Floyd Get Their First Schol­ar­ly Jour­nals and Aca­d­e­m­ic Con­fer­ences

Heat Map­ping the Rise of Bruce Spring­steen: How the Boss Went Viral in a Pre-Inter­net Era

Bruce Spring­steen Stumps/Sings for Oba­ma: A Free Six-Song Set

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness.

Declassified CIA Document Reveals That Ben Franklin (and His Big Ego) Put U.S. National Security at Risk

ben franklin

Ben­jamin Franklin might have been a bril­liant author, pub­lish­er, sci­en­tist, inven­tor and states­man, but he was pret­ty lousy at keep­ing state secrets. That’s the find­ing from a recent­ly declas­si­fied CIA analy­sis of Franklin’s crit­i­cal­ly impor­tant diplo­mat­ic mis­sion to France dur­ing the Rev­o­lu­tion­ary War.

In Sep­tem­ber 1776, Franklin was dis­patched to Paris to enlist France’s sup­port for the Amer­i­can Rev­o­lu­tion. At the time, France was still smart­ing from los­ing the Sev­en Years’ War to Britain and was eager to do any­thing that could reduce its rival’s pow­er and pres­tige. Franklin’s Com­mis­sion ran all kinds of clan­des­tine oper­a­tions with tac­it French aid, includ­ing procur­ing weapons, sup­plies and mon­ey for the Amer­i­can Army; sab­o­tag­ing the Portsmouth Roy­al Navy Dock­yard; and nego­ti­at­ing a secret treaty between Amer­i­ca and France.

And accord­ing the CIA’s in-house pub­li­ca­tion, Stud­ies in Intel­li­gence, the British knew just about every­thing that was going on. “The British had a com­plete pic­ture of Amer­i­can-French activ­i­ties sup­port­ing the war in Amer­i­ca and of Amer­i­can inten­tions regard­ing an alliance with France. The British used this intel­li­gence effec­tive­ly against the Amer­i­can cause.”

Some of the prob­lems with the Com­mis­sion seem head-slap­ping­ly obvi­ous. “There was no real phys­i­cal secu­ri­ty at the Com­mis­sion itself. The pub­lic had access to the man­sion, doc­u­ments and papers were spread out all over the office, and pri­vate dis­cus­sions were held in pub­lic areas.”

One of Franklin’s fel­low com­mis­sion­ers, Arthur Lee, was out­raged over this lack of secu­ri­ty.

[Lee] wrote that a French offi­cial “had com­plained that every­thing we did was known to the Eng­lish ambas­sador, who was always plagu­ing him with the details. No one will be sur­prised at this who knows that we have no time or place appro­pri­ate to our con­sul­ta­tion, but that ser­vants, strangers, and every­one else was at lib­er­ty to enter and did con­stant­ly enter the room while we were talk­ing about pub­lic busi­ness and that the papers relat­ing to it lay open in rooms of com­mon and con­tin­u­al resort.

Not sur­pris­ing­ly, the Amer­i­can mis­sion was rid­dled with British spies; chief among them was Franklin’s long-time friend Edward Ban­croft, who, as the Commission’s sec­re­tary, had com­plete access to all of its papers. He was report­ed­ly paid a prince­ly sum of 1000 pounds a year by the British Empire to play the part of an Enlight­en­ment-era James Bond.

Lee sus­pect­ed Ban­croft of being a spy, but Franklin dis­missed his con­cerns large­ly because he great­ly dis­liked Lee. “[Franklin’s] atti­tude … is all too famil­iar among pol­i­cy­mak­ers and states­men,” writes the CIA. “His ego may have over­whelmed his com­mon sense.”

In the end, the ana­lyst lays the blame on these cat­a­stroph­ic laps­es in intel­li­gence on that inflat­ed ego.

“By the time [Franklin] arrived in Paris in late 1776, he was elder­ly and had lit­tle inter­est in the admin­is­tra­tive aspects of the Com­mis­sion. Franklin was wide­ly rec­og­nized as a states­man, sci­en­tist, and intel­lec­tu­al. While high­ly respect­ed, he was also vain, obsti­nate, and jeal­ous of his pre­rog­a­tives and rep­u­ta­tion. … The Com­mis­sion was “under pro­tec­tion” of the French Gov­ern­ment, and Franklin may have under­es­ti­mat­ed British capa­bil­i­ties to oper­ate in a third coun­try. In any event, he did noth­ing to cre­ate a secu­ri­ty con­scious­ness at the Com­mis­sion.”

The por­trait that the CIA paints is indeed a grim one that in dif­fer­ent cir­cum­stances could have lost the war. Thank­ful­ly, Britain proved whol­ly unable to use this wealth of infor­ma­tion to turn the tide of the war. As the CIA wry­ly notes: “Per­haps the great­est irony in the whole sto­ry of the pen­e­tra­tion of the Amer­i­can Com­mis­sion is that, while British intel­li­gence activ­i­ties were high­ly suc­cess­ful, British pol­i­cy was a total fail­ure.”

Via io9

Relat­ed Con­tent:

FBI’s “Vault” Web Site Reveals Declas­si­fied Files on Hem­ing­way, Ein­stein, Mar­i­lyn & Oth­er Icons

Albert Camus Writes a Friend­ly Let­ter to Jean-Paul Sartre Before Their Per­son­al and Philo­soph­i­cal Rift

How the CIA Secret­ly Fund­ed Abstract Expres­sion­ism Dur­ing the Cold War

Jonathan Crow is a Los Ange­les-based writer and film­mak­er whose work has appeared in Yahoo!, The Hol­ly­wood Reporter, and oth­er pub­li­ca­tions. You can fol­low him at @jonccrow. And check out his blog Veep­to­pus, fea­tur­ing  vice pres­i­dents with octo­pus­es on their heads.  The Veep­to­pus store is here.

Hear the Nazi’s Bizzaro Propaganda Jazz Band, “Charlie and His Orchestra” (1940–1943)

As you might expect from a vicious polit­i­cal move­ment front­ed by a frus­trat­ed illus­tra­tor, the Nazi par­ty had a com­pli­cat­ed­ly dis­dain­ful yet aspi­ra­tional — and need­less to say, unceas­ing­ly fas­ci­nat­ing — rela­tion­ship with art. We pre­vi­ous­ly fea­tured their philis­tine grudge against mod­ernism that led to the “Degen­er­ate Art Exhi­bi­tion” of 1937, their mega-bud­get pro­pa­gan­da film on the Titan­ic dis­as­ter that turned into a dis­as­ter itself, and their con­trol-freak list of rules for dance orches­tras. The Nazis, as you might expect, did­n’t much care for jazz, or at least saw some polit­i­cal cap­i­tal in open­ly denounc­ing it. Yet it seems they also saw some in embrac­ing it, turn­ing the quin­tes­sen­tial­ly free art form toward, as always, their own pro­pa­gan­dis­tic pur­pos­es. What if they could come up with their own pop­u­lar jazz band and, using long-dis­tance short- and medi­um-wave broad­cast sig­nals, turn the Allies’ own music against them? Enter, in 1940, Char­lie and His Orches­tra. Anoth­er Joseph Goebbels cre­ation.

“The idea behind the Nazis’ Char­lie cam­paign,” writes the Wall Street Jour­nal’s Will Fried­wald, “was that they could under­mine Allied morale through musi­cal pro­pa­gan­da, with a spe­cial­ly devised orches­tra broad­cast­ing mes­sages in Eng­lish to British and Amer­i­can troops.” The groups’ fea­tured singer, “Char­lie” him­self (real name: Karl Schwedler), would sing not just “irre­sistible” jazz stan­dards but ver­sions with anti-British, ‑Amer­i­can, and ‑Semit­ic lyrics. You can hear much of their cat­a­log in the clips here, includ­ing what Fried­wald cites as their “weird­est record­ings”: “Irv­ing Berlin’s ‘Slum­ming on Park Avenue,’ in which Schwedler, por­tray­ing a British pilot with a mock-Eng­lish accent, sings ‘Let’s go bomb­ing!’ ” and “So You Left Me for the Leader of a Swing Band” refash­ioned as “So You Left Me for the Leader of the Sovi­ets.” Ulti­mate­ly, not only did the out­side world prove to have bet­ter taste than the Nazis, their own fight­ers did too: “Not only did the Char­lie project fail to con­vert any Allies to the oth­er side, but even Ger­many’s own troops could­n’t bring them­selves to take Nazi swing seri­ous­ly.” It don’t mean a thing if it ain’t got that swing, I sup­pose — and Char­lie and his Orches­tra def­i­nite­ly did­n’t have it. More audio sam­ples can be heard over at WFMU.

via WSJ

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Nazis’ 10 Con­trol-Freak Rules for Jazz Per­form­ers: A Strange List from World War II

The Nazi’s Philis­tine Grudge Against Abstract Art and The “Degen­er­ate Art Exhi­bi­tion” of 1937

Titan­ic: The Nazis Cre­ate a Mega-Bud­get Pro­pa­gan­da Film About the Ill-Fat­ed Ship … and Then Banned It (1943)

Col­in Mar­shall hosts and pro­duces Note­book on Cities and Cul­ture and writes essays on cities, lan­guage, Asia, and men’s style. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

Free Download of The History Manifesto: Historians New Call for Big-Picture Thinking

history manifesto

Briefly not­ed…

Cam­bridge Uni­ver­si­ty Press has just pub­lished a new book called The His­to­ry Man­i­festo by Jo Gul­di (Assis­tant Pro­fes­sor, Brown Uni­ver­si­ty) and David Armitage (Chair of Har­vard’s His­to­ry Depart­ment). In a nut­shell, the book argues that his­to­ri­ans have lost their pub­lic rel­e­vance by writ­ing his­to­ries of the “short term” — essen­tial­ly “micro-scale” his­to­ries — when they could be writ­ing big­ger, deep­er his­to­ries, cov­er­ing longer peri­ods of time, that help read­ers put our world into per­spec­tive. What Gul­di and Armitage are call­ing for is a return to long, mean­ing­ful nar­ra­tives and big-pic­ture think­ing — the kind of think­ing that could per­haps pull the his­tor­i­cal pro­fes­sion out of cri­sis. As some­one who got his PhD in His­to­ry dur­ing the “micro-scale” era, all I can say is — amen to that.

Print edi­tions of The His­to­ry Man­i­festo will come out in Novem­ber. But you can already read the entire work online in both html and PDF for­mats. The book has been released under a Cre­ative Com­mons license.

H/T @NathanVM

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Down­load 78 Free Online His­to­ry Cours­es: From Ancient Greece to The Mod­ern World

800 Free eBooks for iPad, Kin­dle & Oth­er Devices

“The Civ­il War and Recon­struc­tion,” a New MOOC by Pulitzer-Prize Win­ning His­to­ri­an Eric Fon­er

Down­load the “Great Amer­i­can Com­ic Sci Fi Nov­el,” Bud­dy Hol­ly is Alive and Well on Ganymede 

Har­vard’s David Dam­rosch Presents “Intro­duc­tion to World Lit­er­a­ture” (Free Course)

1797 Temperance Thermometer Measures the Moral & Physical Impact of Your Drinking Habits

temperance2

Ques­tion for the drinkers out there:

Does strong beer tak­en in mod­er­ate quan­ti­ties at meal­times make you cheer­ful?

Yeah, me too!

That gives us a tem­per­a­ture of 10 accord­ing to 18th-cen­tu­ry physi­cian John Coak­ley Lett­som’s “moral and phys­i­cal ther­mome­ter,” one of his Hints Designed to Pro­mote Benef­i­cence, Tem­per­ance, and Med­ical Sci­ence (1797).

It’s noth­ing to be ashamed of—anything above zero con­sti­tutes a pass­ing score. The founder of the Med­ical Soci­ety of Lon­don, Lett­som was a pro­po­nent of true tem­per­ance, not total absti­nence. Accord­ing to his rubric, a “small beer” has all the virtues of milk and water.

Dip below a zero, though, and you’re in for a bumpy night.

Punch is appar­ent­ly the gate­way to such demon influ­ences as flip, shrub, whiskey and rum. Gosh. You may as well just skip the punch and go straight for the hard stuff, if, as in Lettsom’s view, they all end in the same vices and dis­eases.

Puk­ing and Tremors of the Hands in the Morn­ing?

Yes, on occa­sion.

Peev­ish­ness, Idle­ness, and Obscen­i­ty?

Yep, that too.

Mur­der, Mad­ness, and Death?

Mer­ci­ful­ly, no. At least not yet.

While not entire­ly free of stig­ma, alco­holism is now some­thing many view through the lens of AA, a prob­lem best reme­died through a sys­tem of per­son­al account­abil­i­ty shored up by a net­work of non­judg­men­tal, sym­pa­thet­ic sup­port.

Back in Lettsom’s day, when an alco­holic hit rock bot­tom, it was assumed he or she would stay there, a task made eas­i­er when the wages of this par­tic­u­lar sin includ­ed the poor house, a one way tick­et to the Botany Bay penal colony, and the gal­lows.

Such loom­ing con­se­quences are eas­i­ly laughed off when you’ve had a snoot, which may be why Lett­som also pub­lished the illus­trat­ed ver­sion of his ther­mome­ter below. A pic­ture is worth a thou­sand words, par­tic­u­lar­ly when depict­ing the pre-Dick­en­sian mis­ery that awaits the drunk­ard and his fam­i­ly.

Termometro morall

via Rebec­ca Onion and Slate

Relat­ed Con­tent:

George Washington’s 110 Rules for Civil­i­ty and Decent Behav­ior

Thomas Jefferson’s Hand­writ­ten Vanil­la Ice Cream Recipe

“The Vertue of the COFFEE Drink”: An Ad for London’s First Cafe Print­ed Cir­ca 1652

Ayun Hal­l­i­day is an author, home­school­er, and Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist of the East Vil­lage Inky zine. Fol­low her @AyunHalliday

Rare Footage of the “Human Be-In,” the Landmark Counter-Culture Event Held in Golden Gate Park, 1967

Inves­tiga­tive reporter Steve Sil­ber­man awe­some­ly flagged this video for us today. He writes:

This seems to have just sur­faced: the most com­plete record­ing of the Human Be-In in Gold­en Gate Park in 1967 that I have ever seen, by far. It opens with Allen Gins­berg and Gary Sny­der chant­i­ng, Michael McClure fol­lows, and the Grate­ful Dead (with adorable footage of Allen danc­ing) pop up at about 14:00. At 18:00, Dizzy Gille­spie is smil­ing in the audi­ence. So much myth­i­cal noumenon has piled up around these events over the decades it’s almost inevitable that the real thing seems a lit­tle banal com­pared to one’s imag­i­na­tion, but it’s still cool.

If you’re not quite famil­iar with what the Human Be-In, held on Jan­u­ary 14, 1967, was all about, let me refer you to this suc­cinct descrip­tion by a web site called Mag­ic Bus San Fran­cis­co: “Announced on the cov­er of the first edi­tion of the counter-cul­ture zine San Fran­cis­co Ora­cle, the ‘Gath­er­ing of the Tribes’ or ‘Human Be-In’ as it came to be known, was the pro­to­type of all 1960s counter cul­ture cel­e­bra­tions. The Human Be-In pre­cip­i­tat­ed the leg­endary Sum­mer of Love, and made San Francisco’s Haight-Ash­bury the epi­cen­ter of the bur­geon­ing hip­pie move­ment.

The Be-In fea­tured all the lumi­nar­ies of psy­che­del­ic counter-cul­ture, includ­ing Tim­o­thy Leary, Allen Gins­berg, Gary Sny­der, Richard Alpert (Ram Dass), Dick Gre­go­ry, Lenore Kan­del, and Jer­ry Ruben.  Many of the Haight’s best musi­cal acts also per­formed, includ­ing the Grate­ful Dead and Quick­sil­ver Mes­sen­ger Ser­vice.” As a curi­ous side note, the Dead did­n’t get a men­tion in the poster pro­mot­ing the event. Is that because they were a late addi­tion? I’m not sure.

Human_be-in_poster

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The His­toric LSD Debate at MIT: Tim­o­thy Leary v. Pro­fes­sor Jerome Lettvin (1967)

The Night When Miles Davis Opened for the Grate­ful Dead in 1970: Hear the Com­plete Record­ings

8,976 Free Grate­ful Dead Con­cert Record­ings in the Inter­net Archive

The Acid Test Reels: Ken Kesey & The Grate­ful Dead’s Sound­track for the 1960s Famous LSD Par­ties

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Winston Churchill’s Paintings: Great Statesman, Surprisingly Good Artist

Marlborough Tapestries at Blenheim

Win­ston Churchill is one of those colos­sal fig­ures who read­i­ly qual­i­fies for that unfash­ion­able moniker of The Great Man of His­to­ry. This was a guy who warned of Hitler’s threat long before it seemed polite to do so. Through his polit­i­cal acu­men and bril­liant ora­to­ry skills, the two-time prime min­is­ter ral­lied his demor­al­ized coun­try to face down the mas­sive, seem­ing­ly unstop­pable Ger­man army. Beyond that, he won the 1953 Nobel Prize for Lit­er­a­ture, for, among oth­er works, his six vol­ume series on the Sec­ond World War. And, on top of all that, Churchill was also a pas­sion­ate painter. And unlike George W. Bush’s touch­ing­ly awk­ward attempts, Churchill’s paint­ings were actu­al­ly pret­ty good. You can see a few above and below and even more here. (Click on the images to view them in a larg­er for­mat.)

pont au gard

For Churchill, paint­ing was the best way to men­tal­ly step away from what had to be a titan­i­cal­ly stress­ful job. “Paint­ing is com­plete as a dis­trac­tion,” he wrote in 1948. “I know of noth­ing which, with­out exhaust­ing the body, more entire­ly absorbs the mind. What­ev­er the wor­ries of the hour or the threats of the future, once the pic­ture has begun to flow along, there is no room for them in the men­tal screen.”

Churchill turned to paint­ing at a low point in his life. After an inva­sion of Gal­lipoli, which he in part orches­trat­ed, went spec­tac­u­lar­ly wrong in 1915, he resigned from his gov­ern­ment posi­tion (First Lord of the Admi­ral­ty) in dis­grace. “I had great anx­i­ety and no means of reliev­ing it,” he wrote. Then he dis­cov­ered the joys of putting paint to can­vas. Over the next 48 years, he cranked out some 500 paint­ings, most­ly land­scapes. Oil was his pre­ferred medi­um and, judg­ing from his oeu­vre, Claude Mon­et, Vin­cent Van Gogh and William Turn­er were big influ­ences. “When I get to heav­en I mean to spend a con­sid­er­able por­tion of my first mil­lion years in paint­ing,” he wrote. “And so get to the bot­tom of the sub­ject.”

The Harbour at St. Jean Cap Ferrat

So how good was he? Not­ed Eng­lish artist and roy­al por­traitist Sir Oswald Bir­ley was quite impressed by the Prime Minister’s abil­i­ties. “If Churchill had giv­en the time to art that he has giv­en to pol­i­tics, he would have been by all odds the world’s great­est painter.” Of course, Bir­ley was also reg­u­lar­ly employed by Churchill, so you might want to take that state­ment with a grain of salt. David Coombs, who co-authored the book Sir Win­ston Churchill: His Life and His Paint­ings, offered a more even-hand­ed assess­ment. “When he’s very good, he’s very, very good, but some­times, he’s hor­rid.”

Top: Marl­bor­ough Tapes­tries at Blenheim

Mid­dle: Pont du Gard

Bot­tom: The Har­bour at St. Jean Cap Fer­rat

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Col­or Footage of Win­ston Churchill’s Funer­al in 1965

Ani­mat­ed: Win­ston Churchill’s Top 10 Say­ings About Fail­ure, Courage, Set­backs, Haters & Suc­cess

Jonathan Crow is a Los Ange­les-based writer and film­mak­er whose work has appeared in Yahoo!, The Hol­ly­wood Reporter, and oth­er pub­li­ca­tions. You can fol­low him at @jonccrow. And check out his blog Veep­to­pus, fea­tur­ing one new draw­ing of a vice pres­i­dent with an octo­pus on his head dai­ly.  The Veep­to­pus store is here.

The First Color Photos From World War I: The German Front

Hildebrand 1

On June 28, 1914, Gavri­lo Prin­cip assas­si­nat­ed Arch­duke Franz Fer­di­nand of Aus­tria. Most of us know this — or at least if we don’t know the exact date, we know it hap­pened in 1914, 100 years ago. We also know that the spark of the killing ignit­ed the inter­na­tion­al geopo­lit­i­cal tin­der­box just wait­ing to flame into the First World War. Yet as mil­i­tary his­to­ri­ans often remind us, no one event can real­ly start a con­flict of that unprece­dent­ed scale any more than one event can stop it. The sec­ond half of the year 1914 saw a series of inter­re­lat­ed crises, respons­es, counter-crises, and counter respons­es that, these hun­dred years on, few of us could cite off the top of our heads.

ww i color photos 3

We can com­pen­sate for the cen­tu­ry between us and the Great War by read­ing up on it, of course. Of the count­less vol­umes avail­able, I per­son­al­ly rec­om­mend Geoff Dyer’s The Miss­ing of the Somme. But noth­ing brings home the detailed real­i­ty of this ever-more-dis­tant “huge mur­der­ous pub­lic fol­ly,” in the words of J.B. Priest­ly, like look­ing at col­or pho­tos from the front.

Hildebrand 2

That col­or pho­tog­ra­phy exists of any­thing in mid-1910s Europe, much less as momen­tous and dis­as­trous a peri­od as World War I, still sur­pris­es some peo­ple. We owe these shots to the efforts of Ger­man pho­tog­ra­ph­er Hans Hilde­brand, as well as to his coun­try’s already-estab­lished appre­ci­a­tion for the art and adept­ness in engi­neer­ing its tools. “In 1914, Ger­many was the world tech­ni­cal leader in pho­tog­ra­phy and had the best grasp of its pro­pa­gan­da val­ue,” writes R.G. Grant in World War I: The Defin­i­tive Visu­al His­to­ry. “Some 50 pho­tog­ra­phers were embed­ded with its forces, com­pared with 35 for the French. The British mil­i­tary author­i­ties lagged behind. It was not until 1916 that a British pho­tog­ra­ph­er was allowed on the West­ern Front.” But among his coun­try­men, only Hilde­brand took pic­tures in col­or.

S. 237: Schützengraben im Oberelsass. (Foto: Hans Hildenbrand)

“The over­whelm­ing major­i­ty of pho­tos tak­en dur­ing World War I were black and white,” writes Spiegel Online, where you can browse a gallery of eigh­teen of his pho­tos, “lend­ing the con­flict a stark aes­thet­ic which dom­i­nates our visu­al mem­o­ry of the war.” Hilde­brand’s images thus stand out with their almost unre­al-look­ing vivid­ness, a result achieved not sim­ply by his use of col­or film, but by his rel­a­tive­ly long expe­ri­ence with a still fair­ly new medi­um. He’d already found­ed a col­or film soci­ety in his native Stuttgart three years before the Arch­duke’s assas­si­na­tion, and had tried his hand at autochrome print­ing as ear­ly as 1909.

S. 241: Schützengraben im Oberelsass.(Foto: Hans Hildenbrand)

Though not him­self a dyed-in-the-wool pro­pa­gan­dist, he did need to pose the sol­diers for these pho­tos, due to the lack of a film sen­si­tive enough to cap­ture actu­al action. Still, they give us a clear­er idea of the sit­u­a­tion than do most con­tem­po­rary images. Hard­ly a glo­ri­fi­ca­tion, Hilde­brand’s work seems to speak to what those of us now, one hun­dred years in the future, would come to see in World War I: its mis­ery, its oppres­sive sense of futil­i­ty, and the haunt­ing destruc­tion it left behind.

Hildebrand 3

via Dan­ger­ous Minds

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Watch World War I Unfold in a 6 Minute Time-Lapse Film: Every Day From 1914 to 1918

British Actors Read Poignant Poet­ry from World War I

Frank W. Buck­les, The Last U.S. Vet­er­an of World War I

World War I Remem­bered in Sec­ond Life

Col­in Mar­shall hosts and pro­duces Note­book on Cities and Cul­ture and writes essays on cities, lan­guage, Asia, and men’s style. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

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