It should come as no surprise that German medical science developed a keen interest in the diagnosis and treatment of cocaine addiction. In 1924 two German-Jewish medical doctors, Ernst Joël (1893–1929) and Fritz Fränkel (1892–1944), published Der Cocainismus, the first systematic treatment of cocaine addiction. Both men had served as medics in the First World War, where they learned firsthand about morphine addiction. Joël himself had become addicted to morphine during the war, and this is thought to help explain his suicide in 1929. After the armistice Joël and Fränkel founded an addiction clinic in Berlin. Based on their treatment of hundreds of Berlin addicts, the two together published Cocainismus, which described the urban culture of cocaine abuse, including cocaine’s addictive attributes, withdrawal symptoms, and the most effective methods of treatment. They also included case studies drawn from their practice.68
One of the findings of their analysis was an odd connection between cocaine addiction and homosexuality. This association had been emphasized in a 1923 article by Berlin physician Norbert Marx, who published case studies of three men who “acquired” homosexual tendencies under the influence of cocaine.69 Although such a claim sounds potentially “homophobic,” this was not the intention of Joël and Fränkel. Presumably heterosexual, the doctors were unambiguously on the political left, acquaintances if not friends of Hirschfeld, and sympathetic to the cause of homosexual emancipation. Fränkel was a founding member of the German Communist Party in 1919. Joël had been Walter Benjamin’s university classmate and, together with Benjamin, a sometime pacifist and antiwar activist. (Benjamin later served as both observer and research subject in the experiments that Fränkel and Joël conducted on the effects of hashish.)70
According to Joël and Fränkel, the incidence of homosexuals among cocaine addicts was greater than among alcoholics or morphine addicts, which raised the following questions: “Do male cocaine addicts who sleep with men have a fixed homosexual orientation, or did they acquire a homosexual orientation through their addiction, or, without a homosexual orientation, do they simply have homosexual relations when using cocaine?” The responses of these two scientists hinged on a simple observation about the effects of cocaine. In most men, they argued, significant cocaine abuse caused impotence but without diminishing libido. This had the curious result of influencing apparent heterosexuals—who were potentially bisexual or latently homosexual—to engage in homosexual acts. Of course, cocaine, like any intoxicant, lessened inhibitions, and this helped explain the overrepresentation of inborn homosexuals among the population of addicts, since most homosexuals experienced significant sexual repression. But it was also the divergence of sex drive and sexual capacity that explained the phenomenon.71 If this seemed dubious, it resonated with other students of addiction. The Zurich psychiatrist and university professor Dr. Hans Maier published a comprehensive textbook, Der Kokainismus, in 1926, in which he presented his own case studies of homosexual addicts and endorsed the findings of Joël and Fränkel.72
The obvious significance of this unconvincing science was the way it gave expression to a popular perception that cocaine abuse and homosexuality were somehow linked. Consider for example the recollections (and associations) of Berlin street life from the journalist and screenwriter Léo Lania (1896–1961): “Prostitutes, pimps, ‘flyin’ peddlers. From raincoats to cocaine, from jewels to love—everything on hand, immediate delivery. Boys with painted cheeks and mascara, wearing tight-fitting jackets and pointed shoes.”73 Berlin police superintendent Ernst Engelbrecht was also convinced that homosexual men and lesbians had an intrinsic love of cocaine.74 And no matter the precise explanation, medical (and government) authorities were certain that cocaine addiction was particularly pronounced among homosexuals. In their monographic study, Joël and Fränkel argued that within an urban environment cocaine abusers develop a kind of community, which supports its members in the struggle to locate dealers and procure the drug. Drawing parallels to homosexual subcultures, they also claimed that cocaine—unlike morphine—stimulates extroversion and sociability, explaining its specific appeal for shy or repressed homosexuals seeking community and contacts.75 Without really explaining the phenomenon of homosexual addicts, Joël and Fränkel, both “outsiders,” provided the pieces that helped to form a larger picture.
Certainly many “insiders” could corroborate their claims. Hans Siemsen confirmed that “cocaine consumption” was common in homosexual establishments.76 Although his drug of choice was heroin, Klaus Mann—whose introduction to Berlin included the offer of a bump from Anita Berber, after all—also liked to koks. In one diary entry from 1932, Mann weighed the relative merits of cocaine and morphine: “The c-effect is not different from the m-effect in principle. Both make one lighter and more industrious. M-effect is more psychological—and much faster—c-effect is more cerebral, less euphoric. An intense sense of levitation when it takes hold.” In another entry from later that year, Mann reported, “Big evening with Doris…. Seeking C…. With transvestites a taxi in the city…. To a bar. The right person not there…waited for a long time. The old man ‘I don’t have any of that.’…. Finally the stuff. To Doris’s. Taken.”77
Cocaine was also commonly used by male prostitutes, as Richard Linsert noted. Among his one hundred case studies, three volunteered information about their drug use. Among these, “Reinhold Sch.” was one of the most wretched subjects; Linsert described him as a very attractive young man, who at the age of twenty-four had already begun to appear haggard. He was first introduced to cocaine as an adolescent by an older, wealthy man, who for a time had been his boyfriend. When that relationship ended, “Reinhold Sch.” began soliciting johns in West End bars. His income was considerable, and he maintained his appearance and wardrobe. But his drug use increased, and he ultimately became addicted. Compelled to use ever-larger quantities, he sold his clothing, lost his apartment, and found himself homeless. After several arrests for drug possession, “Reinhold Sch.” received a two-year prison sentence. Upon his release, he returned to prostitution, but was now reduced to hustling in outdoor spaces, primarily the Tiergarten and in central Berlin.78 In his monographic study, Hans Maier presented a similar case study of a nineteen-year-old whose cocaine consumption was supported by an older, wealthier “friend.” When the relationship ended, the youth supported himself (and his habit) through prostitution. After multiple arrests for possession, however, the young man was sent to an asylum to recover from the effects of acute addiction.79 Another subject from Linsert’s study had a far happier outcome. Herr “B. Sche.” counted himself one of the elite and claimed to earn up to four hundred marks a month as a prostitute. He plied his trade in the West End bars, where he likewise developed a cocaine addiction, of which he subsequently cured himself.80
It was certainly the more prosperous and better-dressed rent boys—as the preceding case studies suggest—who had access to cocaine. The “fashionable fad,” as the New York Times described it, was centered in Berlin’s West End, home of the theater district and the trendiest bars and cafés. Not surprisingly, therefore, prostitutes with access to these venues were also those who most often encountered the drug and became addicts. All the same, cocaine circulated throughout Berlin. In Mackay’s Der Puppenjunge, the character “Leo,” described as the “tireless cocaine addict,” is a fixture at the Adonis-Diele, the proletarian locale in the eastern section of the city.81 For his study, Linsert also interviewed subjects with fewer resources who consumed or were addicted to cocaine. Identified only as “X.X.,” one twenty-year-old was essentially a homeless borstal boy who plied his trade in the Tiergarten and, despite meager earnings, indulged his taste for the drug.82
What is clear from these records, including Linsert’s unpublished study, is that there existed a large market for male prostitution, which provided young men and boys with a ready source of income. It is also clear that those who sold themselves for sex were primarily working- or lower-class and were compelled by poverty and difficult family backg
rounds. The responses that Linsert solicited depict prostitution as an opportunity, and for some, at least, male prostitution gave welcome access to Berlin’s homosexual world and temporary income before finding more permanent employment. This attitude is also conveyed in the reports of the guardianship court: city officials treated homosexuality and the Berlin bar scene with relative indifference and complacency. These officials showed greater concern about the availability of easy money, which they felt promoted indolence and the development of bad habits among their youthful charges. Ultimately, young men and boys suffered little of the stigma to which female prostitutes were traditionally subjected.
This was only one significant difference between male and female prostitution. Compared with female prostitution—proverbially the world’s oldest profession—male prostitution, at least in the Christian West, was less common, though documented in the largest European cities since the Renaissance. One condition that fostered male prostitution was the presence of some sort of community of same-sex-loving men, coupled with a degree of cultural toleration for—or at least indifference to—homosexuality. The few exceptions might include some of Europe’s largest cities, where geography and demography afforded cloak and cover despite legal proscription. One case in point would have been Victorian London, where there was little public awareness or representation of same-sex prostitution, and powerful popular moral censure of homosexuality. This context helps to explain the shock and outrage elicited by the revelations about boy brothels at the trial of Oscar Wilde in 1895.
A reputation for tolerance attracted foreign men, in turn, who helped to create a kind of sex tourism. In Renaissance Italy the cities of Florence, Rome, and Venice were all known destinations for same-sex encounters. After the advent of the Grand Tour in the seventeenth century—inaugurated by Inigo Jones and members of the Whitehall Group of King James I (which included many men who loved other men)—Italy became one of the most important destinations. This was that much more the case in the nineteenth century after the introduction of the Napoleonic Code, which eliminated most remaining anti-sodomy laws. As a result Italy, and specific resorts in particular—Taormina or Capri, for example—become playgrounds for wealthy elites who had been disgraced and forced into exile from England or Germany.
Weimar Berlin might not appear to share any characteristics with Renaissance or modern Italy, especially since same-sex love remained criminalized in Germany. Yet, like Italy, Berlin enjoyed an environment of official indifference, as well as a relative penury, which made travel and extended visits practical for those bearing stronger currencies. It must be emphasized as well that any homosexual relationship remained potentially illicit, at least in Germany. For this reason the stigma of homosexual prostitution was perversely never as great, since any same-sex love was always potentially a crime. Additionally, without the legitimization of bourgeois marriage, homosexual relationships were crudely leavened, at least potentially, by mammon. This also explains why figures such as Auden and Isherwood not only described some of their boyfriends—including those they formally remunerated for sex—as love relationships, but also maintained extended partnerships with sometime male prostitutes. Though unsuccessful, Isherwood devised an elaborate scheme to secure his friend a visa for England after 1933. Ultimately, the boys of Berlin, whether avaricious or not, offered many of the (homo-) sexually repressed their first and perhaps only prospect of discovering the mysteries of love.
• CHAPTER EIGHT •
Weimar Politics and the Struggle for Legal Reform
We must especially point out that any punishment of homosexuality itself is an error in judgment. Those who made this law were scientific ignoramuses. One could say that it is highly probable that this law would never have been made if the fact that homosexuality is innate [i.e., natural] had been known to legislatures.
—Scientific Humanitarian Committee, Petition to the Reichstag
In October 1929 a Reichstag committee—commissioned to revise the criminal code—voted fifteen to thirteen to eliminate, once and for all, Paragraph 175, the German anti-sodomy statute. This was a momentous and unexpected decision. For the first time since unification, Germany appeared to be on the brink of decriminalizing homosexual relations. The outcome of the vote was that much more surprising, considering the ideological composition of the twenty-eight-member group. While there were fourteen supporters of gay emancipation (including two representatives of the left-liberal German Democratic Party, nine Social Democrats, and three Communists), the remaining fourteen were staunch conservatives, who strenuously opposed any liberalization whatsoever.
Truly remarkable was the position of the committee chairman, Dr. Wilhelm Kahl, a representative of the German People’s Party. Kahl and his party were anti-Semitic and suspicious of Weimar democracy, promoting arch-nationalist and socially conservative causes. Yet Kahl, a politician and law professor, was willing to break ranks and cast the deciding vote for reform. In explaining his decision, Kahl argued that the law was ineffective since it caught only a tiny number of its violators, while creating the conditions for the “tragedy of blackmail”; the result was many ruined lives and even suicides. Blackmail was even more common than believed, Kahl claimed, since most victims were afraid to press charges for fear of being arrested. Clearly Kahl remained a social conservative, expressing his disdain for the activists he now supported by arguing that eliminating the statute would “stop the unrestrained agitation and propaganda in favor of homosexuality.” Yet he accepted the arguments of Magnus Hirschfeld and other activists that the law was unenforceable, a cause of even greater criminality by spurring blackmail, and for these reasons ultimately unjust.1
The adoption of these arguments by a leading conservative politician and legal academic marked an unqualified victory for the homosexual rights movement. Since Hirschfeld had first organized the Scientific-Humanitarian Committee in 1897, he and his fellow activists had tirelessly propagated precisely these claims: while the law enabled the very real criminality of extortion and blackmail, homosexuality was an inborn condition and therefore no offense. During this period, Reichstag committees charged with revising the legal code had prepared drafts, first in 1908, then eight more times (in 1910, 1911, 1913, 1917, 1919, 1925, 1926, and 1927). But not one of these had included the elimination of the anti-sodomy statute. The decision in October 1929 signaled a legislative breakthrough and a long-sought victory.
The apparent success was not Hirschfeld’s alone, however. The Weimar Republic established after the First World War witnessed an astonishing increase in homosexual organizations, fueling the “agitation and propaganda” of which Kahl complained. In addition to Adolf Brand’s Community of the Special, a third major group, the Human Rights League, led by the businessman and publisher Friedrich Radszuweit, had emerged as an umbrella organization for a wide range of social, cultural, and political groups that constituted a genuine mass movement. Unlike the smaller and relatively elite organizations formed by Hirschfeld and Brand before 1914, the HRL came to preside over a veritable empire of publications and magazines, social and cultural clubs, and a membership that Radszuweit claimed to be in the tens of thousands.
This proliferation after 1918 created remarkable social and cultural resources for homosexual men and women, whose visibility in the Weimar Republic, particularly in Berlin, could escape few contemporary observers. These seemed to be the conditions conducive to legal reform. Yet the reform movement, such as it was, never achieved anything like a uniform program and was riven by faction, rivalry, and an astonishing spectrum of political views. The prewar conflicts between the SHC and the so-called masculinists—both Brand and his supporters and onetime SHC “Secessionists,” led by Benedict Friedlaender—were now magnified, expressing the larger, divisive features of Weimar political culture. The advent of a mass homosexual rights movement invited the participation of right-wing nationalists and anti-Semites—often devotees of the writings of Hans Blüher—as well as liberals, Social Democrats
, and Communists. And even when united behind the cause of legal reform, activists fought incessantly over specifics. Should a new law equalize the age of consent for heterosexuals and homosexuals? Should homosexual prostitution be criminalized, or more carefully monitored?
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