The New York based Armonk Institute, an American-Jewish organization, funds educational programs in order to provide an objective view on contemporary Germany.

 

Professor Dietrich Stoyan
Technical University Bergakademie Freiberg

MY EXPERIENCES AS A UNIVERSITY PROFESSOR IN THE GDR

 

I have often been asked by foreigners about my life as a university professor in the GDR. I was always happy to attempt such an explanation and I learned a good deal myself along the way about conditions in the GDR (because I came to see them through western eyes) and in the western countries. Today I know that much was the same as life in the western states, much was similar and much was so different that it is incomprehensible to Americans or western Europeans without an explanation. Of course, my discussion partners tried to view my descriptions in the context of their own experiences. By doing so, they tended to equate their own difficulties with the political developments in the GDR. How else could they understand life in a totalitarian system?

I was a "Dozent" (lecturer) in mathematical analysis at a small university in Germany. Two things are essential in this regard. First mathematics is a subject that is generally independent of politics and political systems, and second, everywhere in the world political issues are taken less seriously in the provinces than in the centers of politics and administration.

How did I become a Dozent (a kind of lower-level professor with tenure) although I was not a comrade, a member of the Communist Party (called the Party of Socialist Unity in the GDR)? It was for several reasons: because my specialty was both rare and urgently needed, because they couldn't find anyone else and because my boss, a powerful comrade, wanted to leave the university and couldn't do so without presenting a successor.

The GDR demanded similar qualifications of its university professors as West Germany and the U.S. One needed to show proof of teaching experience and scientific achievement. One external symbol for the latter was the second Ph.D., the so-called promotion B, which one could not gain without making compromises with the state, since both scientific work and proof of "scientific leadership" were required. Candidates who were good comrades but poor scientists thus had good chances of receiving the degree; candidates without party affiliation, of course, did not.

I taught my students probably the same material taught to western students of mathematical analysis in the 1970's and 1980's. Despite the GDR's isolation and poverty, we had all the important mathematics books and were well informed about scientific trends, although our methods of procuring information were sometimes rather unusual. I received review copies, for example, for the many, often American, books I reviewed for scientific journals in the GDR. Today I have a large private library. We read other books in Russian translation (we read Russian better than we spoke it). Important books were purchased by the university with a small fund of western currency. There was also another way to get our hands on western books. Every year, the big western publishing companies exhibited their scientific books at the Leipzig Spring Fair. Those books remained in the GDR after the fair and were then distributed among the university libraries. I represented my university at those meetings of the "Fachnetz Mathematik," which used to have quite the character of an eastern bazaar. It was here that Dr. W. Romberg learned how to trade and to negotiate, a skill from which he later benefitted as the Minister of Finance -- of the freely elected GDR government under de Maiziere, in 1990.

It was unpleasant to give lectures on March 1. That was the "Day of the National People's Army (NVA, founded on March 1, 1956)" and you had to congratulate the students who had already done military service (that was the majority). The professor had to say, in the lecture hall, how important it was that the students had served in the NVA and thus contributed to keeping peace. People like me hated the NVA, which was nothing more than an auxiliary to the Red Army.

Every once in a while we also had to hold lectures that proved that Marxism-Leninism (ML) contributed particularly to scientific success. That was often embarrassing -- because one didn't believe it and because the GDR's scientific successes were largely achieved despite, not because of, ML. Also, in the case of mathematics, it was almost impossible to prove, despite the success of Soviet mathematicians in theoretical mathematics. The students of the 1970's despised such speeches; the ones who followed them in the 1980's simply tuned out. I remember once that I had to speak to this topic. As I began, sighing heavily, one of the comrade students tittered and nudged her neighbor: "Here it comes." (The young woman probably had heard at the party meeting that I, like all university teachers, would have to speak to this topic, and so she was proud to be able to announce this event to her classmates.) Rejoicing inside, I abruptly broke off my remarks and began to talk about mathematics again. After the lecture, I complained to the party secretary that "Comrade M" had hampered my efforts to lecture on ML. This caused some trouble for her at the next party meeting (criticism by the party secretary followed by her self-criticism) and enabled me to "save my efforts" for this time. In general, however, we did our duty and obediently, if not convincingly, praised ML -- this praising was expected to come spontaneously and right from the heart, which in most cases was beyond our abilities.

To ensure that we university lecturers knew enough to honor ML as it deserved, we attended Marxist-Leninist Evening School (MLA). It never took actually place in the evening, since in the GDR the "Feierabend" (the time after work) was "holy" and untouchable. It was impossible to schedule MLA classes in the evening. Instead, every three years, one had to attend three courses, each one week long, that covered, over and over again, the basic philosophy of ML, materialist philosophy, Marxist economy and Leninist political theory. We heard lectures and held short ones ourselves, and engaged in pseudo-discussions where we occasionally tested the limits of the party line. (Such cases usually concerned peripheral topics, for example, GDR cultural policies. The real problems, the incredible economic problems that threatened the existence of the GDR, were never discussed in my presence. In this regard, we non-comrades also had our heads buried in the sand.) We also were able to hear what were often very interesting lectures by outside experts on political, economic and cultural issues. These experts showed off their knowledge of things that we, as readers of Communist newspapers, did not have access to. Once, one of the guests spoke of Helmut Schmidt, then the chancellor of the hostile Federal Republic of Germany, as "our" chancellor. He had obviously read too many western newspapers. There was no visible reaction by the MLA participants, no laughter, no criticism.

 

Student Life at GDR Universities

Our students arrived at the university better prepared in those days than they do today, and probably also better than in many western countries. They had spent eight years in elementary school, followed by four in high schools that explicitly prepared them for university study. Students were required to name their preferred area of study in their eighth school year (the last year of elementary school). Since only between ten and fifteen percent of each birth year actually went to university, those who did take that path were generally talented and did well in secondary school. Unfortunately, this perhaps good system was politically deformed. Children of people who were out of favor in some way were not allowed to attend secondary school, while less talented children who said their career goal was to become an officer in the NVA were accepted and kept to the end. Children often lied about their desired career goals, naming areas of study they believed had good chances of being accepted.

During the 1980's, high school study was reduced to two years. In the new system, all the students remained together through the tenth grade, which of course led to a drop in the level of performance. Everybody complained about it but there was no public protest. Traditionally in Germany, schools fall under the jurisdiction of the states, but the strong parents' associations of western Germany did not exist in the GDR. People were accustomed to accepting everything. We only knew citizens' groups from western television and if somebody had organized one, he or she would have become acquainted with the state security police. And filing a lawsuit against the government, as western Germans so love to do, was absolutely unthinkable.

The choice of majors was not free. Anyone could study subjects like mathematics, because there was a strong demand for mathematicians and it was not overfull. For this reason, and because mathematics are independent of politics, many people in the GDR studied math who would have gone into law, history or philosophy if they had lived in western states. That's why so many mathematicians in the GDR became politicians after 1989. People who studied medicine, which was highly desirable and very sought after, were primarily the children of doctors, because the authorities didn't want to anger desperately needed doctors, as well as children who had "good lineage." Having good lineage didn't mean being an Aryan as with the Nazis, but rather being the child of a peasant or a worker.

At my university, geology was very popular. Generally, only the children of workers and peasants and the offspring of politically particularly reliable people were allowed to study geology. This had two reasons. One was to control the number of people who wanted to become geologists, and the other was because geologists worked with very exact maps, which were kept secret in the GDR. We later learned that such maps could be bought freely in the West.

In order to get into the more desirable subjects, male students were required to serve three years of voluntary military service (twice the obligatory period). They were pushed into this by special teachers in the secondary schools. There were mathematics students who did the three years as well and were gently mocked for it later.

The choice of university was free, however. Thus, our university too had the job each spring of going through a big pile of applications. No applicant for mathematics or engineering was denied entrance because of bad grades, partly because they desperately needed students and graduates and also because the GDR's secondary school certificate was a certain guarantee of quality.

The students were divided into seminars. These were groups of twenty to thirty students; like school classes, they had common courses and practical exercises. It's a shame that these seminar groups no longer exist: they were a way for the students to form long-lasting contact and they often led to competition for good grades and performance. On the other hand there were Stasi spies in the seminar groups and above the groups, the Party had the students under control. When dividing the students into groups, the university made sure that students who were out of favor, for example practicing Christians, were not concentrated in certain groups.  Nearly all the students – all of them in the last years of the GDR – received a grant from the government that was sufficient to cover their living expenses. Thus, it was rare that students worked and they were able to concentrate completely on their studies.

The state invested a lot of money in its students and it expected them to finish their degrees (I'm sure many parents in the West use similar methods to keep their kids at the university). It was hard to drop out unless you had failed the exams. The students really had to fight to do it. One of the students at my university, a young woman, passed all her exams and still wanted to quit after two years for personal reasons. Her requests were ignored, until she reported – whether it was true or not, I don't know – that she had suddenly found herself standing in a bus reflecting on a mathematical problem. She thought that was horrible, the first step to going crazy. The students' manager, who still believed in science, immediately released her.

The students had extensive lessons in ML, about three hours a week for three years. They first studied Marxist philosophy, which supposedly offered a scientific world view without God. This was followed by political economy, the treatment of ideas formulated by Karl Marx in the 19th century and augmented by the theories of certain Soviet and Eastern German economists. Finally, they encountered scientific Communism, which consisted of a lot of confused talk about the future Communist society. From the 1950's through the 1970's there were frequent discussions with the ML teachers about particularly absurd claims. During the 1980's there were signs of general fatigue. The ML teachers became more "liberal" and the students seemed to lose interest and simply say what was expected of them. ("You just had to say it.")

Apparently some people were annoyed that only men were required to do military service. Because of this, a course in Civil Defense was introduced for female students and males who were considered unfit for military service. The women had to live like soldiers in a camp for four weeks, where they marched and exercised and learned first aid and lifesaving techniques. They learned that you can survive an atomic bomb very well if you lie down in a ditch fast enough and brush yourself off thoroughly afterwards. (I understand that soldiers all over the world were told that – but young women?)

Pregnant women did not need to go to the Civil Defense camp and it was obvious that some students, who intended to have a baby anyway during the course of study, became pregnant at just the right time. These students were instructed at the university, where they were excused from marching but still had to learn how to survive an atom bomb. I also had to participate in this instruction, for five weeks and one week for preparation, for five years. Among other things, I had to teach the women how to knot ropes. It may be that some of them still use the knots to hang up washing, to climb mountains or to sail; I've forgotten them.

In general, we tried to persuade talented students to go on for a doctoral degree. It was typical for us to persuade them, rather than for them to apply on their own. There were problems if they were politically out of favor, for example, if they were active members of a church. I had to look on while highly talented people were not allowed into a research program for political reasons.

Today students often have difficulties finding a job after they finish their degrees, although this is not true of mathematics students. In the GDR, the students were assigned to jobs where they had to stay for two years. The way this happened was that lists of jobs were sent to the seminar groups and the students chose positions from these lists. There were often twice as many positions as students, so that the students were generally satisfied with the offerings. In fall 1997, I met a former student again who proudly told me that the company she was assigned to in 1989 had successfully mastered all the turbulences of the reunification and the time thereafter and still was employing her. When there were only a few positions on offer, it sometimes created tragic situations where people were forced into completely inappropriate jobs against their will.

 

The Life of a GDR Researcher

University professors in the GDR, as today in united Germany and the USA, carried out scientific research. The professors published their research to satisfy their ambitions, to enter into dialogue with colleagues and to further scientific development. This led to correspondence with colleagues, which in the GDR took place exclusively through the mail. Since I was very active in research, I received a good deal of mail from abroad, mostly from western countries and above all from the United States. As a lecturer at a prominent and economically important university, I was allowed to answer my mail, but many professors at other universities, particularly the newer ones, were not allowed to do so. However, I was criticized for it, especially by my head of department (the same one mentioned at the beginning, who had not yet left.)

This head of department was then a "Reisekader," a privileged comrade who had the right to travel to western countries. He spent two long periods in the USA, with quite successful results. His lectures were based in part on my research results, which I had to explain to him. (He had access to my research because all manuscripts had to be approved before publication, by him and also – if the text was to be sent abroad -- by a gentleman in the university administration.)

A story that strikes me as funny in retrospect was this: I had had the feeling for several weeks that I was not receiving my foreign mail. (As a "matter of course," all foreign mail was opened and read and outgoing letters were examined critically. Sometimes I had to revise them. But I knew pretty well what was possible and what was not and only rarely ran into trouble. I used postcards for really important information, because the Stasi did not seem to check them.) At any rate, the department head called me into his office on March 30, 198X and criticized me for receiving so much mail from western countries. Then, with a twisted smile, he shoved an airmail letter from Spain across the table. I took it, and the rest of my missing foreign mail, and prepared to go. "No, stay, please read the letter," he said. It was an invitation from a Spanish conference organizer to hold an important talk at a large international scientific meeting, with some 500 participants, in Leipzig, a city in the former GDR. The conference organizer asked me to let him know by March 31. I told my boss that I would like to do it and he told me that I could. After 1989, I learned that the Spanish conference organizer had become uneasy because I did not respond to his letter and had dangled a bait before my boss. They knew of his interest in architecture and invited him to spend a week in Spain, making clear that the invitation was dependent on my participation in the Leipzig conference. Since he loved to travel, he took the bait, went to the Alhambra and let me give my lecture. The alternative would have been for him to tell the university administration that my lecture in Leipzig would pose a threat to the GDR and forbid me to attend.

I was very much concerned about our falling behind in computer technology during the last years of the GDR. Of course, we had computers as well, mainly made by the GDR company Robotron, a "Volkseigener Betrieb," that is a company owned by the state. Robotron accomplished quite a deal in software technology by modifying existing western software. It soon became clear, however, that we were less and less able to keep up with international standards. I could foresee -- it didn't take much to predict this -- that in the near future, publishing houses and journals would require manuscripts to be submitted on floppy disks (as I do today without any problems) and to be written in text processing systems not known in the former GDR. Also in this regard, the collapse of the GDR came at just the right time.

At this point, I'd like to speculate. What would have happened in case the internet and e-mail had existed already in the former GDR? There probably would have been two trends. Tough Eastgerman computer specialists would have tried, copying western ideas and adding their own ones, to create something similar for the GDR and the entire Eastern Block. We regular scientists would have used this for our correspondence within the GDR and the Eastern Block.

There would have been basically no access to the western internet. Private access -- widely common today -- would have been completely inconceivable, except of course for a very small number of highly powerful comrades granted with all kinds of privileges. Our university would probably have had access to the western internet, to save money, time, and scientific journals. If I were going to write e-mails to my colleagues in the west, I would have had to write them on paper. My message would then be checked twice and eventually be typed into the computer by a secretary not able to understand English. In the Office for International Affairs (we called it the "Office for Preventing International Affairs") there would be an employee with a university degree whose job would be to search the internet upon inquiry by the scientists. People like me would have called him the "Surfer."

Under these circumstances (exploitation by my boss, lack of political freedom), why didn't I just look for another position at another university or outside academia? There are several reasons. Political conditions were the same everywhere in the GDR. My brother, who wanted to go to the West, was charged with the crime of not reporting an acquaintance's planned flight to West Germany and spend half a year as a prisoner of the State Security Service of the GDR. After his release he emigrated to the West. I found this price too high. There were only a few other places in the GDR where I would have found suitable work, for example in East Berlin, where I didn't want to go. I had invested a great deal of work in my scientific career. Additionally, there was a great shortage of apartments in the GDR. Once people had an apartment (with cheap rent, as they all were), they generally stayed where they were, because they would have to wait years for a new apartment in a new town, separated from their families all the while. Finally, the Party was everywhere. In the familiar place, one at least knew the comrades….

And why didn't I simply become a comrade? Twice in the 1960's and 1970's I was asked by superiors if I wanted to join the Party. Today I believe they were routine questions (the Communist Party had a kind of marketing plan), because nobody thought I would agree. Other, more important people were pressured to join the Party. Of course we discussed the issue of Party membership at home and we finally decided against it. My three siblings were not in the party either and my wife was very much against it. We obviously accepted our classification as second-class citizens, but in exchange we did not have to act against the dictates of our conscience (although we did sometimes have to lie and make hypocritical statements), nor did we have to support the dubious teachings of ML and their application in politics. (There were, however, also honest comrades who believed the Party's teachings. A saying going around was that of the following three characteristics one could have only two at a time: honesty, intelligence, and party membership.)

 

What is different today?

I open all my letters myself, still a large number despite e-mail. The former ML teachers now have well-paid jobs and drive around in fancy cars. Many of the really unpleasant characters of earlier GDR times, including my boss, are now comfortably retired with high pensions.

One can surely say that I am one of the winners of the great changes in eastern Germany. I am now a real professor, can attend all the meetings I want (as long as funding is available), and am free to enjoy my academic successes. I am in charge of a postgraduate seminar at my university, where doctoral candidates primarily from the western states do research.

The intellectual niveau of the students has sunk since the GDR era, but they are freer and more independent. As then, some are very talented. We are beginning to forget the ridiculous problems we had in the GDR and complain instead about the new problems in united Germany.

 

Translated by Susan Steiner and Jörg Rothe

[Some names and terms have been changed to protect people who are still living.]

Professor Dieterich Stoyan
Technische Universität Bergakademie Freiberg
Gustav-Zeuner-Straße 12
09599 Freiberg
GERMANY
e-mail: stoyan@orion.hrz.tu-freiberg.de