The exhibition “This Will Not End Well” by American artist Nan Goldin opened last night at the Neue Nationalgalerie in Berlin. And it was to be expected that it didn’t end well, as the title predicted. Goldin is not only an internationally celebrated photographer for her life’s work in photography, but also a political activist admired by many but also feared.
Their accomplishments include documenting 1970s subcultures, remembering AIDS victims of the 1980s, and fighting those responsible for the 2010 opioid crisis. As of October 7, 2023, Goldin has had only one topic, the conflict in the Middle East, in which she unequivocally – at least in the artistic scene that supports her – takes the side of the Palestinians and accuses Israel of genocide.
By 7pm, long queues had already formed in front of the Neue Nationalgalerie, Berlin’s modern art museum. Despite temperatures around zero, many want to go to Mies van der Rohe’s building at the Kulturforum to see the retrospective of the photo series, presented as slide projections in five pavilions as tall as a house, but also to hear what the artist has to say.
Not everyone can enter, the house quickly becomes too full. An hour later, after a brief introduction by the Swedish guest curator – the exhibition was opened by the Moderna Museet in Stockholm – Nan Goldin approaches the microphone: “Hello, Berlin. I will begin with a minute of silence in honor of the deceased. Please put your phones away and join me.”
Nan Goldin, red curls, hard voice, extends the devotion to four minutes in memory of the “44,757 people killed in Palestine by Israeli forces, half of them children,” and “the 3,516 people who died in Lebanon killed by Israeli forces.” Israeli soldiers” and for “the 815 Israeli civilians killed on 7 October”. It does not mention the remaining 400 non-civilian suspects. Nor is the fact that they were murdered in cold blood in a Hamas terrorist attack.
“Did you feel uncomfortable?” he asks. “I hope so.” Nan Goldin thanks the museum for allowing her to speak here. For Neue Nationalgalerie director Klaus Biesenbach it was probably the most delicate moment of his tenure, having to defend the freedom of art and freedom of expression in a polarized atmosphere, as well as maintaining his position as someone who sees himself as an enabler . In the morning press conference he expressed this attitude in blunt terms: “we agree to disagree”. Now he got to witness how he and his team proved themselves to be Goldin.
“You claim that my activism and my art are separate, even though that has never been the case,” Goldin addresses the museum. He says he struggles to breathe after October 7th. Even in Berlin, the “city we saw as a place of refuge”. Now here in Germany, people are “silenced and gagged by the government, the police and cultural repression,” says the photographer.
180 artists, authors and teachers have been deleted, sometimes just because they liked something on Instagram. He therefore decided to “use this exhibition as a platform to express my moral indignation at the genocide in Gaza and Lebanon”. way to express oneself without being censored.”
In the ten minutes following her speech it became clear that the constitutional state she questioned was definitely working. She is allowed to speak. It must be listened to. There is no censorship. Goldin can freely express his opinion: criticism of Israel is equated with anti-Semitism. Anti-Zionism has nothing to do with anti-Semitism. The word anti-Semitism has become a weapon. Islamophobia, however, is ignored, in his opinion. It can also freely advance cruder theories, such as that “weaponising anti-Semitism is directed against the Palestinian community in this country and those who defend it.”
“What have you learned, Germany?” asks Goldin
Now Nan Goldin no longer preaches to the community, which listens to her uncritically, but addresses her speech to the State. “Are you listening?
There is an ongoing war against children in Gaza. “Children are directly targeted. They get hit in the head. “They are intentionally destroying the next generation,” Goldin can claim unchallenged. In Germany. In a museum of the Prussian Cultural Heritage Foundation, the highest German cultural authority so to speak. Before the eyes and ears of some employees of the Ministry of Culture. There is no censorship.
“What have you learned, Germany?” asks Goldin. “Nothing, nothing, nothing,” chants the audience, where a group of young people wearing the insignia of the pro-Palestinian protest is slowly preparing.
“What I see in Gaza reminds me of the pogroms my grandparents fled. Never again means never again. For everyone.” Prolonged applause for the American Jew whose family comes from Russia. “Israel defines itself as the eternal victim, which is why it believes it can never be held responsible for victimizing others.” “Fuck Israel,” is the occasional chant from the audience.
“Why don’t you see it, Germany?” asks Goldin, even though the genocide has been broadcast live on TikTok for 14 months. It involves the “total annihilation of the living conditions of an entire population”, “ethnic cleansing”, “land theft” and multiple displacements. “Now waterfront properties on Palestinian land are being sold to synagogues in the United States.” There are “thousands of hours of videos of soldiers committing war crimes, destroying homes, dressing in women’s underwear, celebrating burning villages and boasting about killing children not providing a source for his claims. His fans rejoice.
“We agree to disagree,” Klaus Biesenbach said
“Why am I talking?” he asks. Why arms deliveries from America and Germany to Israel must be stopped, he answers. “Because Israel and Germany used the Holocaust and the culture of remembrance to create an innocence for themselves. And because defending human rights cannot be anti-Semitic.” “Our sadness and anger must be translated into action.” Goldin departure. Questions excluded.
“We agree to disagree,” was how Klaus Biesenbach defined his attitude towards Nan Goldin. But last night there was no room for even the lowest common denominator of willingness to discuss things. After Goldin disappears backstage, the activists take the lead, take banners out of their bags, wave the Palestinian flag, shout their slogans: “Free Palestine, free” resounds in the National Gallery, but also “Yallah, yallah Intifada”.
The museum director approaches the microphone, does not even try to calm the crowd, but instead reads a statement without being moved. Nobody can hear it. The protest against a state that supposedly wants to silence all criticism of Israel is too strong. There is a police car in front of the museum stairs, not a hundred.
Klaus Biesenbach, who has known Nan Goldin since their days in Berlin, when she was a DAAD fellow and he managed the works of art, when they were both part of a “chosen family” that shared common values, celebrated diversity and to the Uckermärker lakes we went to swim together, I take the microphone back half an hour later. Most of the protesters had already left the museum.
“I don’t agree with your opinion,” he replies to Nan Goldin, who doesn’t listen. She cannot be seen among the remaining guests. “However, I defend your right to express yourself freely.” While pro-Palestinian demonstrators behind him place their banners against “German reason of state” on large panes of glass, Biesenbach says he sees his museum as a place. to be discussed, in which “fundamental values are non-negotiable”.
His team has developed behind Biesenbach and supports him demonstratively. “For us, Israel’s right to exist is beyond question. “The Hamas attack on the Jewish state on October 7, 2023 was a cruel act of terrorism that cannot be justified in any way,” he confesses. “When Jews are threatened or persecuted simply because they are Jews, we show our solidarity. At the same time, we stand in solidarity with the civilian population of the Gaza Strip and Lebanon, whose suffering cannot be overlooked.”
And after the experience of the last hour and a half, his final sentence just sounds like a tired one: “We are grateful that art and artistic spaces still allow for different perspectives to coexist in a complex and increasingly polarized world.” . art in particular seemed to have narrowed in the past, at least due to differing opinions. There is no discussion.
On Sunday the National Gallery prepared a symposium in which some leading figures of the current culture war wanted to discuss. But most of them – the artist Candice Breitz, present at the opening of the exhibition, Eyal Weizman of “Forensic Architecture”, the writer Masha Gessen, even Hito Steyerl – preferred to cancel themselves rather than enter into the exchange of opinions that they often requested . Nan Goldin had immediately declined the invitation.
In any case, the opening of “This Will Not End Well” escalated with an announcement. Biesenbach sought to weather the predicted storm and provide a platform for freedom of expression. However, he was only able to make his opinion heard belatedly. At least he remained faithful to the attitude that Nan Goldin accused him of, which was to separate their art from their activism.
Hermann Parzinger, outgoing president of the Prussian Cultural Heritage Foundation, finds Nan Goldin’s comments “unbearable and dangerously trivializing due to their one-sidedness.” But they have been since the day Goldin published his open letter on the subject in the magazine “Artforum” more than a year ago and 8,000 co-signatories supported his unilateral position. If the Prussian Cultural Heritage Foundation and the National Gallery had not offered her this stage, it certainly would not have been censorship, just a little less naive.
How do artists navigate the challenges of expressing controversial opinions in a polarized society?
Nd often contentious world.” The tension in the air is palpable, a reflection of the urgency of the discussions at hand and the profound emotions they elicit.
The evening at the Kulturforum exemplifies the intersecting realms of art, activism, and political discourse. As Goldin’s powerful speech resonated throughout the space, it drew clear lines between artistic expression and the weight of moral responsibility in the face of current global crises. The audience’s divided reactions - from applause to protests – underscore the polarization surrounding the issues discussed, revealing the complexities of artistic platforms in politically charged atmospheres.
Biesenbach’s position, attempting to strike a balance between supporting Goldin’s freedom of expression and affirming a commitment to Israel’s existence and the experiences of its citizens, is reflective of the broader debate over the role of culture in social advocacy. The willingness of artists to engage with contentious issues invites audience members to confront discomfort and challenge their perspectives, while simultaneously navigating the risks of backlash from various factions.
As the protests echoed in the background, punctuated by calls for Palestinian rights, it became clear that the conversation initiated by Goldin would not easily dissipate. Rather, it is a catalyst for ongoing discourse about identity, responsibility, and the ethical implications of art in a world grappling with violence and systemic oppression. While areas of agreement were sparse, the dialog itself became a form of advocacy, amplifying voices that might otherwise be suppressed.
the evening served as a reminder of art’s profound power to provoke thought and inspire action, showcasing the necessity for spaces where difficult conversations can unfold, despite the discomfort they may generate. The legacy of such moments remains significant, a testament to the enduring struggle for freedom of expression and the right to question prevailing narratives within a diverse and often divided society.