PUBLICATION

Naming, Honoring, Questioning

Street Names in Berlin-Mitte

Street names are more than just landmarks; they reflect political decisions, social values and historical power dynamics. Particularly in Berlin’s borough of Mitte, which has served as the seat of government for various political systems over the centuries, Germany’s eventful history can be traced through the multitude of current and historical street renamings.This publication examines nine street names named after individuals whose actions, from today’s perspective, can be perceived as either ableist or antisemitic, or who were figures of the German colonial era and should be critically scrutinised. The focus is on the extent to which their work, the zeitgeist or political conditions at the time of the respective naming played a role – and are still permitted to play a role today.Street names are an expression of social negotiation processes and part of a responsible memory culture. As a contribution to this process, the publication highlights ambiguities, makes historical contexts accessible and invites reflection on whom and what we honour in public spaces.

Design: Susanne Quehenberger.

Introduction 

Street names are more than just navigation tools in public spaces; they reflect the attitudes and planning of the era in which they were named. Street names honour prominent figures and commemorate, amongst other things, significant events and relationships between countries and cities. They tell stories of power, knowledge and the changing values within a society. As the seat of government for Prussia, the German Empire, the Weimar Republic, the so-called Third Reich, the GDR and now the Federal Republic, the history of the borough of Mitte is unparalleled. This is also evident in the multitude of historical and recent street naming and renaming initiatives. A critical examination of potentially controversial street names is therefore not a marginal issue, but part of a responsible memory culture.

This publication examines nine street names that are named after individuals whose actions, from today’s perspective, can be perceived as either ableist or antisemitic, or who honour figures from the German colonial era. The aim is not to provide comprehensive biographies of the historical figures considered here. Rather, the intention is to address the extent to which their work, the zeitgeist or political conditions at the time of the respective naming played a role – and are allowed to play a role today.

The chapter on ableism examines Magnus Hirschfeld, Karl Bonhoeffer and Martin Luther. Their contributions to medicine and theology are undeniably influential. At the same time, certain writings, medical concepts and social ideals raise questions about how to deal with positions on disability, illness and ‘deviation from the norm’ that are questionable from today’s perspective.

The chapter on antisemitism focuses on figures such as Christian Peter Beuth, Wilhelm von Bode and Max Josef Metzger. Among other things, it addresses the question of how structural and cultural antisemitism was embedded in institutions, what scope for action existed, and how we can deal with these ambivalences today.

Three renamings that have already taken place are the subject of the chapter on colonialism. These renamings are the result of decades of campaigning by local initiatives (including Berlin Postkolonial e.V., Each One Teach One (EOTO) e.V., Initiative Schwarze Menschen in Deutschland (ISD-Bund e.V.) and Decolonize Berlin e.V.). From today’s perspective, it is almost incomprehensible and shameful that decades passed before these voices were heard and understood. It is only since 2016 that the issue of questioning street names that honour colonial perpetrators or evoke potentially discriminatory associations has been effectively addressed at a political level.

This publication aims to shed light on historical contexts, highlight ambiguities and encourage reflection on who and what we honour in public spaces. Street names are not static symbols, but rather an expression of social negotiation processes. Like many other places, Berlin Mitte is right in the middle of this process.

 

Ableism

There is as yet no universally accepted definition of the term ‘ableism’. The term originated in the US disability rights movement of the 1980s and describes “the discrimination against people with disabilities, whereby people are judged by certain abilities – walking, seeing, socialising – and reduced to their impairment.” (1) Ableist thought patterns – consciously or unconsciously – fixate on functionality as the norm and, conversely, attribute everything people with disabilities do to their disability: people with disabilities thereby disappear as complex individuals behind these stereotypical assumptions (2). Ableism is not always linked to hostility, but manifests itself, for example, as “congratulations on one’s ‘courage to face life’, as overzealous, not always helpful assistance in everyday life, or in the form of well-meaning tips on how to easily get rid of chronic pain (…)”. (3)

According to Rebecca Maskos, a psychologist, journalist and scholar of disability studies, ableism complements the concept of disability discrimination, as it is broader in scope and, much like racism and sexism, “serves a function in the construction of normality: The marking of disabled people as ‘others’ against whom a standardised, autonomous and capable ideal subject can be upheld.” (4)

This construction of a non-disabled normality means that people with disabilities are not considered in many areas of life. This is evident, for example, in the lack of ramps or lifts in buildings, or in events without sign language interpretation. However, the status of a non-disabled person is fragile: no life ends without impairments, and illness or a serious accident can affect anyone (5). Whilst the term ‘ableism’ is still relatively new, the philosopher Dr Regina Schidel finds ableist patterns of thought–such as the contrast between ‘normal’ and ‘abnormal’ humanity–as early as in the works of the ancient scholar Aristotle (6).

The notion that life with a disability is nothing but a life of suffering and not worth living is also an expression of ableist thinking. It masks the prejudice that people with disabilities are, above all, a burden on society. In the 1920s and 1930s, the doctrine of so-called eugenics or racial hygiene became widespread; at the time, it was regarded by many as a legitimate field of scientific research. Eugenics found broad support among doctors of all political persuasions (7). Eugenics is understood as the “doctrine of improving the biological genetic makeup of humans; measures to prevent the reproduction of people whose genetic traits are deemed ‘undesirable’” or classified as negative are referred to as ‘negative eugenics’ (8). With the 1933 Law for the Prevention of Hereditarily Diseased Offspring, the so-called Hereditary Health Law, eugenic ideology underwent a radical reinterpretation in Germany (9) and formed the legal basis for the murder and forced sterilisation of hundreds of thousands of people with disabilities. Even in cases of killings of people with disabilities in the recent past, narratives of redemption play a role; alternatively, “sympathy for overburdened relatives or exploited care staff obscures the inhumanity of the act” (see, for example, the quadruple murder of residents of the Oberlin House in Potsdam in 2021) (10).

1. Diversity, Arts, Culture o.J.
2. Maskos 2020.
3. Maskos 2020.
4. Maskos 2023.
5. Maskos 2020.
6. Schidel 2026.
7. Herrn 2024. According to the medical historian, very few physicians of that era rejected eugenics on principle.
8. Wunder n.d.
9. Gerres 1996, 12.
10. Maskos 2023.

 

Karl Bonhoeffer

Bonhoefferweg is located on the grounds of Charité – Universitätsmedizin Berlin. In 2018, the student group AG Kritische Medizin Berlin (Critical Medicine Berlin) organised a symbolic renaming ceremony. In doing so, they called on Charité to come to terms with its Nazi-era health policies (11).

Karl Bonhoeffer (1868–1948) was an internationally renowned psychiatrist and neurologist. At the Charité, he was Director of the Clinic for Mental and Nervous Diseases; at the Friedrich-Wilhelms-Universität (now Humboldt University of Berlin), he taught psychiatry and neurology. The Bonhoeffer family was consistently critical of National Socialism; several family members were executed for resistance against the regime. 

Karl Bonhoeffer’s role in psychiatry is often the subject of medical-ethical investigations. Criticism is levelled at his stance on eugenics and the social Darwinist view of humanity, as well as his language and behaviour in connection with forced sterilisation. Bonhoeffer is regarded as one of the clinically and scientifically oriented representatives of his field. By virtue of his offices, he was involved in legislative processes and, from a scientific perspective, criticised overly aggressive moves towards eugenic abortions, sterilisation and bans on marriage (12). Legally, he argued on the basis of the right to personal integrity and urged caution in the use of coercive measures (13). Bonhoeffer did not comply with the obligation to report cases as stipulated in the Hereditary Health Law, at least in his own clinical practice, as he regarded this as a breach of medical confidentiality (14).

In his doctoral thesis on Karl Bonhoeffer’s medical ethos, Uwe Gerrens concludes that Bonhoeffer simply had little interest in eugenics (15). Michael Seidel, a senior consultant at the Charité, argues, however, that Bonhoeffer was influenced by eugenic and Social Darwinist thinking. He is said to have viewed forced sterilisation and the ‘extermination of life unworthy of life’ with hesitation and deliberation, but not with outright rejection in principle (16). Bonhoeffer is also criticised for having used terms such as ‘race’, ‘racial improvement’ or ‘life unworthy of life’. Gerrens views this merely as a usage of language conforming to contemporary norms (17).

Karl Bonhoeffer’s stance on forced sterilisation is assessed differently in medical history research: ranging from completely opposed to cautiously supportive. His work as a judge and expert witness in connection with forced sterilisation is viewed very critically. As director of the Clinic for Mental and Nervous Diseases at the Charité, and even after his retirement in 1938, he was involved in numerous expert reports on the forced sterilisation of ‘hereditarily diseased’ patients. Opinions on this vary: Gerrens argues that Bonhoeffer did his utmost to prevent forced sterilisations within the legal framework and in accordance with his conscientious medical ethics. Bonhoeffer’s successor, Klaus-Jürgen Neumärker, concludes that he at least managed to curb the initially arbitrary and hasty sterilisation practices of the years 1933 to 1936 (18). Psychologist Christina Härtel takes a more critical view: according to her, there is no indication in the expert reports that the law was circumvented; Bonhoeffer, she argues, “after careful diagnosis, very much did advocate for and facilitate the sterilisation of a large number of mentally disabled and mentally ill people” (19). Deficiencies in his language and worldview can also be criticized from an ableist perspective. However, Bonhoeffer was clearly opposed to the ‘euthanasia’ measures. He used his leading position at the psychiatric clinic to oppose them, appealing to his colleagues’ medical ethics and to scientific rigour (20).

With regard to a possible renaming of the street, the question arises as to whether Bonhoeffer still serves as a role model for young medical professionals today. Furthermore, should streets continue to be named after doctors, or instead after victims of injustice and representatives of other medical professions, as advocated, for example, by the AG Kritische Medizin Berlin.

11. Iwamoto 2018. Charité did not respond to the student group’s open letter (as of 2020). Cf. Memarnia 2020.Vgl. Meyer 2000, Deichmann 1996, Schwartz 1995.
12. Cf. Meyer 2000, Deichmann 1996, Schwartz 1995.
13. Gerrens 1996, 86.
14. Meyer 2000, 130.
15. Ibid, 78.
16. Seidel/Neumärker 1989, 199.
17. Gerrens 1996, 79.
18. Neumärker 1990, 155, 184, 211.
19. Cf. the lecture “Disputes–Bonhoeffer and the Consequences” on February 3, 2005, in: Neumärker 2006, 60.
20. Meyer 2000, 130.

 

Magnus Hirschfeld 

On the northern bank of the Spree, between the Lutherbrücke and the Moltkebrücke, lies the Magnus-Hirschfeld-Ufer, featuring the monument to the first homosexual emancipation movement.

Magnus Hirschfeld (1868–1935) was a Jewish doctor and is regarded as the founder of sexology. Throughout his life, he campaigned for sexual self-determination for all people and was one of the leading figures of the first German gay rights movement. His Institute for Sexual Science, founded in 1919 (21), was stormed and ransacked on 6 May 1933 by the SA (22) and students from the German College of Physical Education. Many of his books and writings fell victim to the book burning on 10 May 1933. Hirschfeld died in exile in France in 1935.

Hirschfeld’s views have also been criticised as ableist; he is particularly criticised for his interest in eugenics and a one-sided biologism. In his editorial published in 1908 in the Zeitschrift für Sexualwissenschaft, Hirschfeld describes the connection between sexology and eugenics as follows: “for only if we choose the healthiest, most well-proportioned and best-mannered as marriage partners do we contribute to the betterment of the race.” (23) Hirschfeld advocated a form of eugenics that distanced itself significantly from the racial biology prevalent in Germany at the time. He rejected the classification of human groups as races, as well as the associated notion of racial purity, and emphasised the advantages of ‘mixing’ (24). He regarded education provided by marriage and sex counselling centres, along with the use of contraceptives or consensual sterilisation, as the most appropriate means of putting eugenic principles into practice. In Hirschfeld’s view, coercive measures could only be justified in extreme situations (25). Hirschfeld’s institute housed such a marriage and sex counselling centre. Exactly how the ideology of eugenics was conveyed there can no longer be ascertained today.

Hirschfeld argued that homosexuality was an innate predisposition (26) and therefore advocated the repeal of Section 175, which criminalised homosexuality (27). To this end, he also employed eugenic arguments, advancing the idea that homosexuals possessed a eugenic utility, inasmuch as–acting like sponges within families–they would absorb all manner of “degeneration” without passing it on to offspring (28), much like the “asexual blossoms of plants.” (29).

Hirschfeld has also been criticised for his statement on a draft bill by Medical Councillor Gustav Boeters (1869–1942). The bill provided for the sterilisation of ‘the mentally ill, the mentally deficient, epileptics, those born blind, those born deaf and the morally depraved’ housed in institutions prior to their discharge or release on leave.

In his statement, Hirschfeld praised Boeters and welcomed his contribution to the debate – whether or not he shared his views (30). Hirschfeld’s support for eugenics–both after the transfer of power to the National Socialists and during his time in exile–is troubling. He adopted a wait-and-see attitude towards the 1933 Law for the Prevention of Hereditarily Diseased Offspring. He criticised the law’s feasibility and the fact that coercive measures were now falling into the hands of doctors driven by fanaticism. However, Hirschfeld did not voice any fundamental criticism of the law’s objectives (31).

Throughout his life, Magnus Hirschfeld adhered to the motto “Through science to justice” (32); he was an advocate and a pioneer of emancipation, yet his biologism reduced sexuality and gender identity to seemingly nature-determined grounds, overlooking social power relations: protection and pathologisation went hand in hand. (33) Hirschfeld saw eugenics as a means to the “creation of a better and happier humanity” (34), through which ‘undesirable’ impairments could be avoided. In doing so, he reproduced ableist patterns of thought. These ambivalences in Hirschfeld’s thinking and actions should be contextualised when naming streets and squares. 

21. The Institute for Sexual Science (1919–1933) was located opposite the present-day Magnus-Hirschfeld-Ufer, on the southern bank of the Spree.
22. Sturmabteilung (SA): Paramilitary combat organization of the NSDAP during the Weimar Republic.
23. Hirschfeld 1908, cited in: Herrn 2003, 111.
24. Vgl. Herrn 2024.
25. Stoff 2023, 310.
26. Gammerl 2023, 41.
27. Gammerl 2023, 74.
28. Marhoefer 2011, 543.
29. Hirschfeld 1914, cited in: Marhoefer 2011.
30. Benzenhöfer 2006, 22-23; Seeck 2004, 320f.
31. Herrn 2003, 117f.
32. Seeck 2004, 31.
33. Gammerl, 2023.
34. Hirschfeld 1933, cited in: Grumbach 2006

 

Martin Luther

The Lutherbrücke connects the districts of Moabit and Tiergarten. As early as 2020, the Prista-Frühbottin-Straßen-Team citizens’ initiative called for the renaming of Martin-Luther-Straße in Schöneberg. It criticised Martin Luther’s attitude towards socially disadvantaged people (35).

The theologian Martin Luther (1483–1546) gained widespread fame by nailing his 95 Theses against the sale of indulgences to the door of the Castle Church in Wittenberg. In doing so, he provided the key impetus for the subsequent Reformation of the Church. After being excommunicated by Pope Leo X, he translated the Bible into German. Thanks to the advent of modern printing, the so-called Luther Bible quickly came into circulation and had a decisive influence on the development of the New High German language. Luther remains a controversial figure, among other things because of his antisemitic and misogynistic statements and his role in the peasant uprisings.

The following section examines the aspect of ableism in Luther’s view of humanity and his work. During Luther’s lifetime, the umbrella term ‘disability’ did not yet exist, and people with various illnesses or impairments experienced varying treatment in the late Middle Ages, being labelled ‘fools’, ‘dwarfs’ and similar (external) attributions.

The historian H.C. Erik Midelfort speaks of a progressive “demonisation of the world”, including in Germany, from the mid-16th century onwards. The ups and downs of life were increasingly attributed to demonic influence (36). Luther was influenced by this way of thinking and contributed to its spread, for instance by defaming his opponents as agents of the devil or speculating on demonic explanations for illness and disability (37). Ableist criticism of Luther–and the accusation that he ideologically paved the way for the ‘euthanasia’ crimes of National Socialism–are by no means rare in the literature on special education, or beyond it (38).

This criticism is based almost exclusively on two of Martin Luther’s table talks: 4513 and 5207 (39). In both talks, he speaks of ‘changelings’. These are beings begotten by the devil, who are swapped with the actual infant in the cradle. In table talk 5207, Luther proposes the murder of a ‘changeling’ and points out “that such changelings are merely a piece of flesh, a massa carnis, since there is no soul within them [...].” (40). This is the central passage upon which the critique of ableism rests–and from which it is inferred that Luther denies all children with (severe) disabilities the right to life.

The following must be emphasised: most of the table talks were collected posthumously; consequently, they bear the mark of the individuals who transcribed and published them (41). In retrospect, it is scarcely possible to determine whether a table talk consisted of spontaneous thoughts or a calculated stance–or, indeed, whether one can deduce from it what Luther actually said. In the reception of both table talks, Luther’s ‘changelings’ are almost exclusively identified as children with (cognitive) impairments. The diaconal scholar and pastor Nils Petersen proposes a different interpretation: According to him, ‘changelings’ are a figure from pagan narrative tradition found throughout Europe (42).

To gain a complete picture of Luther’s ableism, a close study of the sources is essential, as his views on various topics evolved over the course of his life. Disability Studies scholar M. Miles argues that Luther’s statements are partly shaped by a superstitious belief in the demonic origin of various disabilities, but primarily by concern for people with disabilities (43). Religious studies scholar Courtney Wilder notes that, despite legitimate source criticism, it is primarily Luther’s ableist statements that have become entrenched in the public consciousness (44).

What does this mean, then, for the naming of streets, squares and bridges after Martin Luther? Regardless of what a nuanced critique of ableism looks like in historical scholarship, Luther can be said to have demonised disability. Should this interpretation carry more weight, or should Luther’s role as a role model play a greater part for many people?

35. Prößer 2020.
36. Midelfort 1999, 53.
37. Miles 2001, 15.
38. Petersen 2014, 17.
39. In the "Weimar Edition"–a critical complete edition of all of Martin Luther's writings–the table talk entries are numbered from 1 to 7075.
40. Luther [c. 1540], cited in Petersen 2014, 46.
41. Miles speaks of–in some cases–serious editorial interventions. Cf. Miles 2001, 19.
42. Petersen 2014, 53.
43. Miles 2001, 25.
44. Wilder 2018, 40.

 

Antisemitism

Antisemitism is the denigration of and hostility towards Jewish people and Judaism. It manifests itself in discrimination, conspiracy theories, persecution and expulsion, murder and other forms of violence against Jewish people (45).

Religiously motivated hostility towards Jews is referred to as anti-Judaism and has its origins as far back as antiquity. Anti-Jewish narratives spread alongside Christianity. For centuries, Jews were subjected to stigmatisation and exclusion; the resulting stereotypes and patterns of thought continue to have an impact to this day. It is therefore important to examine the historical roots of contemporary antisemitism in Christianity, and particularly in the Middle Ages (46).

The term antisemitism was coined in the German Empire from 1879 onwards by the journalist Wilhelm Marr and like-minded ‘enemies of the Jews’ as a means of positive self-representation. It was intended to give “contemporary anti-Jewish movements in Central Europe a programmatic, ideological and ‘scientific’ veneer.” (47). According to Jean-Paul Sartre, antisemitism is a fundamental attitude towards the world through which everything in politics and society that seems inexplicable can be made comprehensible (48).

In the current debate, two definitions of antisemitism are primarily cited. In 2016, the plenary session of the International Holocaust Remembrance Alliance (IHRA) adopted a working definition of antisemitism, which has since become known as the IHRA definition. The text of the resolution reads: “Antisemitism is a certain perception of Jews, which may be expressed as hatred toward Jews. Rhetorical and physical manifestations of antisemitism are directed toward Jewish or non-Jewish individuals and/or their property, toward Jewish community institutions and religious facilities.” (49).

From an academic perspective, many researchers on antisemitism agree that there cannot be a universally valid definition of antisemitism, because it is always shaped within the society that practises it (50). However, the IHRA definition serves as the political framework for government efforts to combat antisemitism. It was adopted by the German government in 2017 and has since formed the basis for a common understanding of antisemitism at the national level (51).

In response to criticism of the IHRA definition, the ‘Jerusalem Declaration on Antisemitism’ (JDA) was published in 2021. It states: “Antisemitism is discrimination, prejudice, hostility or violence against Jews as Jews (or Jewish institutions as Jewish).” The JDA is not without its critics either; a particular point of contention is whether it “adequately captures antisemitism directed against Israel” (52).

Alongside antisemitism, there is also so-called philosemitism, an admiration and support for Jews. The term emerged at the end of the 19th century, initially as a political term used by antisemitic circles to brand left-wing liberals as ‘friends of the Jews’ (53). Some researchers view philosemitism as another form of antisemitism, as supposed compliments – such as the claim that Jews are particularly clever or the stereotype of the ‘beautiful Jewess’ – are generalisations and ‘attribute characteristics to Jews as a group that go beyond their actual Jewishness’. (54)

45. Amadeu Antonio Stiftung 2022, 6-7; Arps n.d.
46. Bundeszentrale für politische Bildung, Glossar Antisemitismus.
47. Bundesministerium des Inneren, n.d.
48. Sartre 1945, cited in: Salzborn 2020.
49. IHRA 2016.
50. Goldenbogen/Kleinmann 2021, 11.
51. Bundesministerium des Inneren n.d., IHRA 2016.
52. Holz 2024.
53. Rosbach 2016.
54. Bundesministerium des Inneren n.d.

 

Christian Peter Beuth

Beuthstraße in Berlin-Mitte is located near the Spittelmarkt underground station (U2). There is also a Beuthstraße in Berlin-Pankow.

Christian Peter Beuth (1781–1853) was a Prussian civil servant and politician. Most biographical accounts focus primarily on Beuth’s achievements in the Prussian civil service, such as his reforms of trade policy and the improvement of technical training (55). In 1821, Beuth opened a Technical Institute, which later became the Technical University of Berlin. His achievements as an inventor and engineer are also recognised and reflected in the names of technically oriented companies, universities and awards (56). His antisemitic views, however, were often left unmentioned or treated merely as a footnote.

In 2017, Achim Bühl, a former professor at what was then the Beuth University of Applied Sciences (BHT), published a statement in which he denounced Beuth’s antisemitism. Bühl thereby sparked an initial debate on Beuth’s antisemitism.

In 1811, Beuth became a member of the Deutsche Tischgesellschaft (57) – an early antisemitic, conservative Christian circle. The Deutsche Tischgesellschaft’s constitution categorically excluded Jews from membership. A speech Beuth delivered for the society serves as a clear example of his attitude, which degenerated into violent fantasies. Among other things, he addressed the potential consequences should Jewish citizens be permitted to acquire land. Beuth claimed that prospective Jewish landowners would then also have the right to appoint the local priest and have him perform religious rituals such as circumcisions, and concluded: “This decision is a comfort to a Christian, for since he [the priest] cannot be expected to understand circumcision, the probable and desirable consequence of this will be that many a Jewish boy will bleed to death or be mutilated.” (58)

At the beginning of the 19th century, Christian-motivated anti-Judaism began to merge with ‘racial-ideological’ antisemitism. In Beuth’s statements, one can recognise patterns of argumentation from both ideologies (59). Beuth’s antisemitism permeated various areas of his life and also influenced his political decisions: Due to his prejudices against Jews, as a civil servant in the Prussian civil service he repeatedly spoke out against legal equality between Jews and non-Jews. On the other hand, he occasionally allowed for more liberal proposals regarding Prussian ‘Jewish policy’ if this yielded a political advantage – for example, the use of capital from Jewish bankers for the Prussian treasury. He was convinced that Jews who renounced their supposed Jewish characteristics and converted to Christianity were welcome as members of Prussian society. However, this view clashed with his simultaneous belief that Jews were biologically incapable of carrying out ‘respectable’ work (60).

Several historians have concluded that Beuth’s attitude towards Judaism – even in the contemporary context – was characterised by strong antisemitism (61). Dr Bert Thissen emphasises that Beuth more or less consciously adopted this way of thinking in his later years (62). Following several years of debate, the BHT was therefore renamed the Berlin University of Applied Sciences in October 2021 (63).

In addition to the renaming of the BHT, there have already been several initiatives in Berlin-Pankow in recent years to rename or re-designate the local Beuthstraße. So far, the names Paula Wünsche (1905–1992, a Jewish resident of Pankow who was active in the communist resistance during the Nazi era) (64) and Elizabeth Shaw (1920–1992, graphic designer and children’s book author) have been discussed. In 2024, BÜNDNIS 90/DIE GRÜNEN tabled a proposal to re-designate the street and instead commemorate the Jewish writer Eddy Beuth (pen name of Marie Cohn, 1872–1938).

55. Rudolph/Schölzel 2019, 14.
56. Berliner Hochschule für Technik (n.d.): Christian Peter Wilhelm Beuth.
57. Rudolph/Schölzel 2019, 17.
58. Bühl 2017, 41.
59. Ibid, 13.
60. Rudolph/Schölzel 2019, 3.
61. Ibid, 5.
62. Thissen, 2018, 22.
63. Berliner Hochschule für Technik (n.d.): Neuer Name.
64. Lammel, 120-121.

 

Wilhelm von Bode

Bodestraße is located on Museum Island in Berlin-Mitte and runs behind Lustgarten, between Altes Museum and Kolonnadenhof. At the northern end of Museum Island, the Bode Museum is situated on Monbijoubrücke between the Spree and the Kupfergraben. It is named after the art historian Wilhelm von Bode (1845–1929).

Bode initially studied law, then embarked on art-historical travels and obtained his doctorate in art history in 1870. In 1872, he was appointed as an assistant in the sculpture collection of the Royal Museums in Berlin (65). In 1905, he became Director-General of the Royal Museums. Although he formally retired in 1920, he continued to oversee his departments on a provisional basis until shortly before his death (66). Bode maintained extensive contacts with private collectors and art dealers, who rewarded his expertise and advice with financial support and donations to the museums. He significantly expanded the collections and oversaw the construction of major new buildings on Museum Island, including the Kaiser-Friedrich-Museum (opened in 1904), which has borne his name since 1956. In recognition of his achievements, Bode was ennobled by Emperor Wilhelm II in 1914 (67).

However, other key figures, such as the Jewish art patron James Simon (1851–1932), also contributed to the museum’s success. The two worked closely together; internationally, they were seen as ‘the perfect partnership between a creative museum director and a generous, art-loving and understanding patron’. (68) In the Kaiser-Friedrich-Museums-Verein, founded by Bode in 1896, which supported the museum through generous donations and enabled the purchase of numerous paintings, by 1900 around half of the members were of Jewish descent (69).

Despite close business relationships with Jews, Wilhelm von Bode expressed antisemitic views. In a letter to an art collector, Bode wrote that he could not blame him “[…] if you do not wish to have your precious carpets trampled on by Jewish flat feet.” (70) In his personal notes from 1918, he lamented: “Worse still has been the effect of ‘Jewishification’ and the strong increase in the influence of Jewish elements in Germany, not only in all financial sectors and often also in industry, but above all in the control of almost the entire press […], the increase in hedonism, especially among wealthy Jews, and on the other hand, the most unscrupulous incitement of the lowest classes by that Jewish press proletariat.” (71) Bode drew on the antisemitic conspiracy narrative of alleged Jewish control over the financial and media worlds (72). 

He did not make public antisemitic remarks, but left these and other statements in his memoirs, which were intended for publication. In addition to antisemitic views, Bode repeatedly employed nationalist narratives such as the ‘stab-in-the-back myth’ (73) and the description of the Treaty of Versailles as a ‘peace of annihilation’ (74). Some publications claim that Bode became a member of the ultra-nationalist German National People’s Party in 1924 (75), but this could not be verified. According to the historian Bernd Sösemann, Bode’s outbursts can only to a limited extent be explained as a coping strategy for someone reacting to the lost First World War and the revolutionary upheaval of 1918–19 (76).

The impression arises that Bode, much like Christian Peter Beuth, tolerated Jewish colleagues and patrons as long as they provided an advantage to him or the Royal Museums. This ambivalence between mindset and actual behaviour requires a nuanced, source-based examination of Wilhelm von Bode (77).

A number of newspaper articles over the last ten years have raised the issue of a possible renaming of the Bode Museum and the street of the same name (78). Dr Felix Sassmannshausen also concludes in his dossier on street and square names with antisemitic connotations in Berlin that a renaming might be appropriate (79). However, this debate is still in its infancy.

65. Today: State Museums of Berlin, Prussian Cultural Heritage Foundation.
66. Justi 1955.
67. Winter 2020.
68. Sösemann 2016, 16-18.
69. Ibid, 16 f.
70. Gaehtgens/Paul, 306.
71. Ibid, 409.
72. Holler n.d.
73. Gaehtgens/Paul, 410.
74. Ibid, 414.
75. Sassmanshausen 2021, 88.
76. Sösemann 2016, 22.
77. Winter 2020.
78. Cf. Berliner Morgenpost 2016. Berliner Zeitung 2017, republished 2020.
79. Sassmanshausen 2021, 88.

 

Max Josef Metzger

Max-Josef-Metzger-Platz in Wedding is situated in the immediate vicinity of the Urnenfriedhof Gerichtstraße and the silent green Kulturquartier.

The Catholic priest Max Josef Metzger (1887–1944) was executed for his pacifist work and the associated criticism of the Nazi regime. Metzger’s experience as a Catholic military chaplain during the First World War had a profound influence on him. Throughout his life, he founded and supported various church initiatives dedicated to peace. In 1934, Metzger was imprisoned for the first time for his work “Die Kirche und das neue Deutschland” (The Church and the New Germany); a second imprisonment followed in November 1939, in connection with his involvement in the ecumenical Una Sancta movement (80).

In 1943, Metzger drafted a memorandum on the post-war reorganisation of Germany and its integration into a future world peace order. Metzger intended to hand this document over to the Archbishop of Uppsala (Sweden), who was in contact with resistance circles. However, the courier, a confidante of Metzger’s, turned out to be a Gestapo agent and betrayed the clergyman. Metzger was subsequently arrested and executed on 17 April 1944 at Brandenburg-Görden prison (81).

In the early 1920s, Metzger criticised capitalism and, in 1921, founded the ‘Christliche Wirtschaftsgemeinschaft’ (Christian Economic Community, shortened to Wige), which was open only to Christian members and was intended to offer its members favourable prices by cutting out the middleman (82). In the course of his promotional activities for Wige and his associated criticism of capitalism, Metzger resorted to antisemitic sentiments. An advertising leaflet for the community states: “Once Christians who wish to take their Christianity seriously in the economic sphere have emancipated themselves from capitalism and united in a community where the Jew has no place and therefore no opportunity to exploit or take advantage of others–a Jew-free Christian economic circle–then the Jewish question will be resolved for them and capitalism will be eliminated for Christians.” (83). Metzger used anti-Jewish motives to advance the economic interests of the Wige (84). His statement made during a Gestapo interrogation in 1943, in which he highlighted the founding of the Wige as a ‘Jewish-free economic circle’ as a positive achievement, should be treated with critical scrutiny of the source – and also in light of Metzger’s precarious situation (85). In 1925, Metzger published an ‘Open Letter to a Jew’. In it, he distinguished between “a Jewish threat emanating from a certain form of Judaism” (86) and Judaism, from which Jesus Christ–and thus also the foundation of his Christian faith–had emerged. This distinction between ‘good’ Jews and ‘bad’ Jews makes it clear that, at this point, Metzger still clung to anti-Jewish or antisemitic stereotypes. His argument was most likely also based on the already widespread antisemitism among the German population and within the Christian church. The historian Olaf Blaschke sums it up as follows: “Without the antisemitic disposition among Christian guides and bystanders, the Shoah would not have been possible.” (87).

In the late 1920s and 1930s, Metzger appears to have undergone a change of heart and rejected the antisemitism propagated by the national socialist state and Nazi racial ideology, as he believed these to be contrary to Christian principles (88). The Jewish philosopher Annie Kraus also testifies that Metzger and members of the Christkönigsgesellschaft (Society of Christ the King), which he had founded, provided some Jews in Berlin with accommodation, food and false papers, enabling them to reach safety (89). 

Although Metzger had founded the "Christian Economic Community" on antisemitic arguments–and continued to subscribe to anti-Jewish stereotypes even later on–he nevertheless advocated for others across confessional lines in situations of genuine mortal danger. With this stance, Metzger and other opponents of the regime found little support within the Catholic Church at that time (90). Metzger is an example of how, in the context of renaming, a nuanced examination of the life of the individual in question is necessary.

80. Konradsblatt 2024.
81.Gedenkstätte Deutscher Widerstand o. J.
82. Heß 2016, 187.
83. Ibid, 325.
84. Ibid, 328.
85. Ibid, 327.
86. Rendle 202, 287.
87. Benk 2024.
88. Rendle 2021, 288.
89. Heß 2016, 330.
90. Ibid, 262.

 

Colonialism

Between 1884 and 1918/19, the German Empire forcibly established colonial rule over territories in what is now Namibia, Cameroon, Togo, Burundi, Rwanda, Tanzania, a small part of Mozambique, as well as Papua New Guinea, China, Micronesia, Samoa and the Marshall Islands. 

Violence was a central means of enforcing colonial rule, but met with widespread resistance from the local populations, which was usually brutally suppressed. In what is now Namibia, the German colonial power waged a war of extermination against the OvaHerero and Nama peoples from 1904 to 1908. Around 100,000 people were killed by force, died of hunger and thirst, or perished in prison camps. Historians describe this war of extermination as the first genocide of the 20th century (91).

Following the end of the First World War, the German Empire was forced to relinquish its colonial territories under the terms of the Treaty of Versailles. However, as historian Caroline Authaler points out, “state colonial policy, colonial thinking and colonial economic relations between Germany and the territories it had claimed as colonies” persisted (92).  During the so-called Weimar Republic, a number of organisations and associations pursued what was termed ‘colonial revisionism’. These organisations, such as the Deutsche Kolonialgesellschaft (DKG) or the der Reichsverband der Kolonialdeutschen und Kolonialinteressierten, were generally led by former colonial officials and officers and regarded the possession of colonies as a matter of prestige. In memoirs, the “cultural mission of Europeans overseas” (93) was glorified, whilst violence and exploitation were downplayed. In the British mandate territories, former German land and property could be repurchased and operated as private enterprises (94). Reclaiming the colonies was never a priority for the National Socialists; however, Africa was intended to serve as a ‘supplementary space’ for the envisaged Eastern Empire (95). In many German cities, traces of colonial history can still be found in public spaces today, most notably in street names. Some streets were named during the formal colonial rule of the German Empire, others during the Nazi era. These streets particularly often bear the names of colonial figures such as Carl Peters (1856–1918), Adolf Lüderitz (1834–1886), Hermann von Wissmann (1853–1905) and Gustav Nachtigal (1834–1885) (96).

In recent years, several streets in Berlin-Mitte that honoured colonial perpetrators have been renamed. These renamings have repeatedly been the result of years of campaigning by local initiatives.

The renamings took place in various parts of the district, most notably in the African Quarter in Wedding. From 1900 onwards, the area was systematically planned on what was then the outskirts of Berlin and is bordered to the east and south by what is now Volkspark Rehberge. The background to the street names was the idea of Hamburg Zoo director Carl Hagenbeck (1844–1913) to build a complex in the area where animals and people from the then German colonial territories in Africa were to be exhibited in ‘human zoos’. The First World War thwarted Hagenbeck’s plans, but the street names remained (97). By 1959, 25 streets and squares in the African Quarter had been named after African countries, places and figures from German colonial history. Notably, Ghanastraße was named in 1958, to mark the state visit of Ghana’s head of state, Kwame Nkrumah. Rather than colonial revisionism, this naming reflected support for the state of Ghana, which had gained independence in 1957.

From 2016, the Mitte District Office worked with residents and civil society to discuss proposals to rename Lüderitzstraße, Nachtigalplatz and Petersallee. All three street names honour individuals who played a key role in violent colonial expansion and profited from it (98). The streets were renamed in 2022 and 2024 and now commemorate local resistance to colonial rule.

However, in other parts of the district too, there were streets and squares named after discriminatory terms for Black people or colonial perpetrators, which have recently been given new names, such as Martha Ndumbe Platz and Anton Wilhelm Amo Straße.

91. Presse- und Informationsamt der Bundesregierung 2025.
92. Authaler 2019, 4.
93. Bundesarchiv n.d.
94. Ibid.
95. Bajohr/O’Sullivan 2022, 196
96. Bechhaus-Gerst 2019, 42
97. berlin.de n.d.
98. Bezirksamt Mitte, Fachbereich Kunst, Kultur und Geschichte (n.d.): Koloniale Straßennamen.

 

Anna-Mungunda-Allee and Maji-Maji-Allee (formerly: Petersallee)

Both streets are located in the African Quarter in the district of Wedding.

Carl Peters (1856–1918) was a German politician, publicist and colonialist. He is regarded as the founder of the colony of ‘German East Africa’ (now Burundi, and parts of Mozambique, Rwanda and Tanzania), a territory he appropriated through illegitimately concluded treaties with local rulers (99). In 1897, he was removed from his post as Imperial Commissioner for the Kilimanjaro region due to his extremely brutal treatment of the local African population; however, following a subsequent pardon by Emperor Wilhelm II, he was granted a state pension (100). During the Nazi era, Peters was revered as a ‘colonial hero’; in 1939, a street in the African Quarter was named after him (101). 

In 1986, at the request of local residents, Petersallee was renamed in honour of Hans Peters (1896–1966), a resistance fighter against the Nazi regime. However, the name Peters and the associated memory of the brutal colonist persisted within the colonial historical context of the African Quarter, and activists campaigned for decades for a complete renaming (102). The street was renamed in August 2024: one section was given the name Anna-Mungunda-Allee, another the name Maji-Maji-Allee.

Anna “Kakurukaze” Mungunda (1932–1959) was an OvaHerero. The daughter of a migrant worker, she worked as a domestic servant. Little is known about Mungunda’s life or the exact circumstances of her death, yet her fate represents a pivotal event in recent Namibian history. 

In the late 1950s, Namibia was administered as a mandate territory by South Africa, which established its apartheid system there (103). As part of this, the predominantly Black residents of the Old Location neighbourhood in Windhoek were to be resettled to the segregated residential area of Katutara in the north of the city. Many residents resisted their forced relocation, leading to demonstrations and boycotts. This resistance was brutally suppressed on 10 December 1959: Eleven people were shot dead, including Anna Mungunda (104). Mungunda allegedly attempted to set fire to the car of a local politician (105). The massacre led to a further radicalization of the population and intensified resistance against South African mandate rule (106). The anniversary of Mungunda’s death is observed in Namibia as National Women’s Day.

Since 2002, Anna Mungunda has been honoured at Heroes’ Acre near Windhoek as one of Namibia’s nine national heroes. Mungunda’s story stands as a symbol of colonial arbitrariness, repression and violence – but also the resistance against them and the attempt to live with dignity in the face of oppression (107). 

The second section of the street commemorates the Maji Maji Uprising (1905–1907), a war of resistance against German colonial rule in what is now Tanzania. Around 20 ethnic groups fought together against foreign rule. The causes of the Maji Maji uprising lie in the inhumane German colonial policy, characterised by exploitation and violence. Kinjikitile Ngwale (d. 1905), an influential healer from southern Tanzania, is said to have proclaimed that he had received a medicine that made one invulnerable to German bullets: Maji (Swahili for water). In this way, he sought to motivate the people to fight. ‘Maji-Maji’ became the battle cry and a symbol of their shared struggle (108). 

After initial successes, the resistance fighters failed in August and September 1905 to capture the German military post at Mahenge. Subsequently, the German troops employed a ‘scorched earth’ tactic, destroying villages and fields to deprive the resistance fighters of their means of subsistence. Famine ensued, and the uprising was crushed. It is estimated that 250,000–300,000 people lost their lives as a result of the war and its immediate consequences (109).

99. Eckelmann/Wichmann 2020.
100. Ibid.
101. Kauperts n.d.
102. Decolonize Berlin 2025: Unsere Arbeit.
103. Bundeszentrale für politische Bildung 2020.
104. Melber 2016, 1 f.
105. Ibid, 5.
106. Bezirksamt Mitte, Fachbereich Kunst, Kultur und Geschichte (n.d.): Hintergrundinformationen.
107. Ibid.
108. Ibid. See also Decolonize Berlin 2025: Unsere Arbeit.
109. Bezirksamt Mitte, Fachbereich Kunst, Kultur und Geschichte (n.d.): Hintergrundinformationen.

 

Martha-Ndumbe-Platz (formerly: Nettelbeckplatz)

In October 2025, Nettelbeckplatz was renamed Martha-Ndumbe-Platz. It is located next to Wedding S-Bahn station (Ringbahn).

Joachim Nettelbeck (1738–1824) was a seafarer and town councillor in Kolberg (West Pomerania; now Poland). As chief mate on Dutch ships, he was involved in the slave trade, including the transport of enslaved people across the Atlantic from Africa to the Americas. As a colonial lobbyist, he repeatedly attempted to persuade the King of Prussia to purchase colonies (110). Due to his role in the defence of Kolberg against Napoleonic troops in 1807, he was romanticised as a national hero.

Martha N’dumbe was born in Berlin on 27 July 1902. Her father, Jacob Njo N’dumbe (1878–1919), came to Germany from Cameroon in 1896. He was one of over 100 people brought to Berlin from German colonial territories for the Berlin Colonial Exhibition in Treptower Park. Against a backdrop of reconstructed African villages, Jacob N’dumbe was contractually obliged to demonstrate his craftsmanship, wearing clothing “deemed traditional by the organisers” (111). For this, he received a monthly wage of 16–20 Reichsmarks, which corresponds to a purchasing power of less than 200 euros today (112). After the exhibition ended, Jacob Njo N’dumbe decided to stay in Berlin. Martha N’dumbe’s mother, Dorothea Grunwaldt, was from Hamburg.

Martha N’dumbe’s life was marked by poverty and exclusion. The family’s financial situation was precarious, as Jacob Njo N’dumbe was unable to find permanent employment despite his training as a blacksmith. His application for naturalisation was rejected in 1903. In 1910, Martha N’dumbe’s parents separated, and her mother returned to Hamburg. Martha N’dumbe stayed temporarily with friends of the family. Over the course of the following years, her father suffered increasingly from health problems and died in 1919 at the Dalldorf psychiatric hospital (113). 

Due to increasing racial discrimination and poor economic conditions, Black people in Germany faced growing difficulties accessing employment in the 1920s, and in some cases, were completely denied it. Martha N’dumbe struggled to find stable work. She occasionally worked as a seamstress, but from the mid-1920s onward, prostitution and petty crime became her primary means of income (114). The police took notice of her, and she was arrested and convicted for a series of minor offences. In 1932, she married the labourer Kurt Borck. The couple’s relationship was unhappy and marked by abuse, over time, Borck became N’dumbe’s pimp. In 1937, Martha N’dumbe reported her husband to the police and spoke of the violence in their relationship; the marriage was dissolved in 1938 (115). 

In 1943, Martha N’dumbe was sentenced to one and a half years’ imprisonment for theft and possession of stolen goods. Shortly after her official release, she was re-imprisoned in May 1944 at Ravensbrück concentration camp as an ‘asocial element’. The decisive factor in this categorisation was her engagement in prostitution (116). According to historian Robbie Aitken, Martha N’dumbe was one of at least five Black women imprisoned at Ravensbrück (117). After just one month, she was admitted to the camp hospital, where she died on 5 February 1945 at the age of 42. Tuberculosis was given as the official cause of death. 

In the mid-1950s, Dorothea Grunwaldt submitted a claim for compensation for the loss of her daughter under the first uniform Federal Compensation Act. In it, she testified to the suffering Martha had endured as a result of racial discrimination. However, due to her status as an ‘anti-social element’, her suffering was not recognised by the authorities at the time (118). People persecuted as ‘asocial elements’ usually received no compensation whatsoever and were only officially recognised as a victim group in 2020.

As a Black German woman, Martha N’dumbe was subjected to multiple forms of discrimination. She faced racial discrimination; additionally, her precarious living conditions and her involvement in prostitution made her a target of National Socialist persecution. She thus represents a group of victims that has received little attention to date.

In August 2021, a Stolperstein was laid for Martha N’dumbe on Max-Beer-Straße in Berlin-Mitte – the first Stolperstein in Germany dedicated to a Black woman.

110. Lindner/Stehrenberger/Wagner 2020, 12.
111. Aitken 2021.
112. Deutsche Bundesbank 2025.
113. Aitken 2021.
114. Ibid.
115. Aitken 2021.
116. Cf. Name Indexes of Incoming and Outgoing Documents at the Berlin Criminal Police Headquarters, Vol. 4, Entry No. 4297, Arolsen Archives.
117. Aitken 2021.
118. Aitken n.d.

 

Anton-Wilhelm-Amo-Straße (formerly M*straße) 

Note: In light of the renaming that has already taken place and in the interests of non-discriminatory language, the abbreviation M* is used in this text.  

The former M*straße in Berlin-Mitte intersects with Glinkastraße, Friedrichstraße and Charlottenstraße. The Afro-German poet and activist May Ayim (1960–1996) protested against the name of the M*straße underground station as early as the 1990s. In 2004, a formal request to rename the street was first made at the Mitte District Assembly (119).  Following over 30 years of campaigning by activists, the street and the underground station were renamed Anton-Wilhelm-Amo-Straße in August 2025 (120). 

Etymologically, the term ‘M*’ can be traced back to antiquity. The Latin word ‘maurus’ was used to refer to the inhabitants of Mauritania and those of the North African coast (121).  From the 16th century onwards, the term became established in the German-speaking world as “a term used to refer to people of dark skin colour originating from African or other non-European countries.” (122). According to a publication by the Institute for European Ethnology, there is broad consensus that the term acquired a racist connotation in the context of the ‘race’ theories of the Enlightenment (123). 

M*straße probably received its name in the early 18th century. Why the name was chosen has not yet been conclusively established. Some historians suspect a link to the Black servants at the Prussian court (124). 

Although the renaming of M*straße had already been approved by the Mitte District Assembly in August 2020, the actual implementation was delayed by several years due to legal action taken by local residents. The plaintiffs criticised a lack of public participation, an allegedly flawed justification and a breach of state regulations on street naming. In the summer of 2025, the Higher Administrative Court of Berlin-Brandenburg ruled that the term "M*" is–at least in part–"perceived as offensive by Black people nowadays," and that a renaming is therefore justified (125).

Anton Wilhelm Amo is regarded as the first academic of African origin in Germany and taught at the Leucorea in Wittenberg and the Friedrichs-Universität in Halle (126), as well as at what is now the Friedrich Schiller University in Jena.

Amo’s biography cannot be fully reconstructed due to a lack of sources. Amo was born around 1700 on the West African coast (present day Ghana) and brought to Europe by the Dutch West India Company at around the age of seven – in the context of colonial trade and power structures. There he entered the court of Duke Anton Ulrich of Brunswick-Wolfenbüttel; likely as part of a practice whereby African children were assigned as servants to European noble houses – a system based on exoticisation, status representation and racialised hierarchisation (127). In 1708, he was baptised into the Protestant faith and given the name ‘Anton Wilhelm’, named after the Duke of Brunswick-Wolfenbüttel and his son.

Enabled by financial support from the dukes, Amo studied philosophy and law at the Friedrichs University of Halle starting in 1727. Two years later, he defended a thesis on the subject “On the Legal Status of Moors (128) in Europe”. The text has not survived, but its content was summarised in a contemporary newspaper report (129).  According to this report, the work addressed questions regarding the “freedom or servitude” of Black people enslaved in Europe. In 1730, Amo was awarded a Master’s degree in Philosophy and Liberal Arts at the University of Wittenberg and obtained his doctorate in 1734 with the thesis “De humanae mentis apatheia” (On the Imperturbability of the Human Mind). In 1747, Amo is said to have returned to Ghana and lived there in Axim. The exact year of his death is not known for certain, but there is a gravestone for Amo in the coastal town of Shama bearing the date 1784 (130). The renaming preserves the street’s historical connection to 18th-century Prussian history. However, instead of a discriminatory term used to refer to Black people, the street now bears the name of a Black philosopher of the Enlightenment.

119. 1507/II – Antrag „Umbenennung der Mohrenstraße“, Fraktion Die Linke, 21.10.2004.
120. Decolonize Berlin 2025: Wir feiern trotzdem!
121. GRA Stiftung gegen Rassismus und Antisemitismus 2015.
122. Institut für Europäische Ethnologie 2020.
123. Ibid.
124. Ibid.
125. beck-aktuell 2025; beck-aktuell 2023.
126. Since 1994: Martin-Luther-Universität Halle-Wittenberg.
127. Institut für Europäische Ethnologie 2020.
128. Not shortened, as a historical title.
129. [Author] unknown, 1729.
130. Institut für Europäische Ethnologie 2020.

 

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Colonialism

 

Mungunda und Maji-Maji

 

Ndumbe

 

Amo