by J. Smith
One week later, bombs went off in the court’s chambers in Karlsruhe. As a communiqué explained:
On March 4, 1975, the women of the Revolutionary Cells carried out an attack against the Federal Constitutional Court.
Not to “defend the constitution from the Federal Constitutional Court”… but to defend ourselves from the constitution. A constitution that provides the legal framework for the daily exploitation, grinding down, and psychological destruction of millions of women and men. A constitution that criminalizes women—many driven to their deaths—if they do not allow the doctors’ mafia and the judges’ mafia to control their sexuality, as well as decisions regarding their own bodies and the number of children they will have.7
From informal conversations, we gather that this was a well-received action, serving to galvanize militant feminism and strengthen the struggle for free and accessible abortion for all women.
This was one of three bombings carried out by the Women of the Revolutionary Cells in 1975; there were no similar attacks until Rote Zora’s appearance in 1977. Clearly there was room to experiment with feminist armed politics, and some militants were taking up this challenge. This was not the case with the RAF.
Later in the decade, a number of efforts would be made to define, or at least explore, the relationship between feminism and armed antiimperialism. This was as a result of developments on the ground, as certain women attempted to grapple with the meaning of the guerilla’s politics, and with the prominence of so many women in the RAF. The process received added impetus as activists from both milieux were brought together within the peace and antinuclear movements that emerged from the other trend the RAF was ignoring: the rise of the Citizens Initiatives.
BÜRGERINITIATIVEN: THE CITIZENS INITIATIVES
The Citizens Initiatives had developed from the least radical section of the APO in combination with segments of the SPD. The term itself covers what is described in North America as “civil society,” with the proviso that the groups involved tended to be based in one locality and focused on one single issue. This varied wildly from opposition to nuclear power, highway expansion, or deforestation, to promotion of the rights of guest workers, tenants, or the elderly, or work around some particular government policy or piece of legislation, for instance the Berufsverbot.1
It is difficult to draw a hard and objective line between the Citizens Initiatives and various left or feminist projects, and indeed there was always overlap. However, the explicitly non-ideological and reformist approach that characterized the Initiatives makes the term a meaningful one in examining the struggle in the 1970s. While individuals might work with a Citizens Initiative for their own ideological reasons (i.e., against the Berufsverbot because they were communists), the idea behind the Initiative itself was the issue being tackled, not how it fit into some greater political scheme. At least initially, the campaigns were ends in themselves, not aspects of some broader strategy.
As such, the Citizens Initiatives were always consciously reformist, even system-supportive, often firmly anchored in the SPD and hoping to win over politicians so that they could enact the changes deemed necessary.
From about a thousand such groups in 1972, the numbers grew several fold by 1975 to an estimated 60,000 to 160,000 people; by the end of the seventies, the total membership has been estimated as anywhere between 300,000 and a half million,2 all the way up to two or three million people.3
Initially, these citizens’ groups may have been based in the SPD, but as the Schmidt administration carried out a series of massive public investments in new highways, nuclear plants, and heavy industries, those involved became more susceptible to radical ideas, especially those which questioned the logic of capitalist development and environmental destruction.4
West Germany’s ecology movement grew directly out of these Initiatives, and opposition to nuclear power became the common denominator binding it together. Even people committed to strictly reformist goals began to find themselves standing against the state, and in certain circumstances were radicalized by the force of events. In this way, the Initiatives defied the skepticism of many on the revolutionary left, who had not thought them capable of overcoming their reformist origins and moving beyond their limited goals.
It was only a bit of a stretch to tie the German nuclear program to relations with the global south, given that atomic energy was proposed as a salve following the OPEC “oil shock” in 1973; some would even try to conceptualize the antinuclear movement as part of the resistance to imperialism.
This new antinuclear movement first showed its promise in February 1975, when news spread that police had attacked a small protest outside a nuclear power plant: within days, tens of thousands of people had descended on the Wyhl plant.5 Over the years to come, similar rallies outside nuclear power stations mobilized greater and greater numbers as protests evolved into occupations, and police attacks were met with increasingly sophisticated tactics and mass militancy. The BKA eventually responded by opening files on “all persons who take part in the preparation for and/or carrying out of violent demonstrations, especially against the building or operation of atomic energy plants.”6
Most of the left took note of the growing antinuclear movement, and of the more general spread of the Citizens Initiatives, and reacted with varying measures of interest and support. Many in the feminist movement discovered a synergy with the new concern with peace and environmentalism, easily framed as women’s issues. To the K-groups, such single-issue campaigns could serve as hunting grounds for new recruits, though by a twist of the dialectic, it was eventually they who were often recruited. Sections of the undogmatic left, more enthusiastic about movementism, found a hospitable home in these increasingly militant protests and the communities of resistance which developed around them. Previous misgivings notwithstanding, as the sponti scene entered its period of decline, the antinuclear movement provided a convenient home for many, including not a few erstwhile street fighters.
But the RAF and its support base were focused on the prisoners and did not respond to these new developments. Guerilla anti-imperialism was by definition illegal, and the only supporters the RAF felt it needed were those who were already prepared to support its actions. In the mid-seventies, at least, it showed little interest in reaching out to people who would have to be struggled with on this point.
While there are plenty of good reasons to be wary of tailing popular mobilizations, such a strategy also comes with an inevitable cost when there is no large revolutionary movement from which to draw strength. The founding members of the RAF had almost all been politically active in the sixties APO, a youth rebellion against the stifling postwar culture, which drew strength and inspiration from the anticolonial revolutions sweeping the world at the time. While they looked to the Third World as the most important theater in the global revolution, the first RAF members were all firmly rooted in the German radical left.
Scene from Wyhl protests, February 1975. Note the police armored personnel carrier is graffitied “KKW Nein”: ”No Nuclear Plant”.
In the intervening years, though, the group and its support scene had acquired two paradoxes which made this connection difficult to maintain.
On the one hand, the guerilla continued to view imperialism as the defining problem of their time, and in theory this could have—and normally should have—meant supporting the struggles of the millions of people in the Third World. In practice, however, the RAF’s antiimperialism was solely expressed through struggles around prison conditions in the Federal Republic, and even then only with regards to political prisoners. Karl-Heinz Dellwo tells of how the Hamburg Committee Against Torture was approached by an Eritrean comrade who asked for help in an occupation of the Ethiopian Embassy: “We were so involved in supporting the prisoners that we declined, explaining that we had to deal with freeing our prisoners first,” he recalls.1
At the same time, the RAF prisoners continued to condemn campaigns based on humanitarian co
ncern, or mere solidarity against repression, even as almost all of their recruits since 1973 had joined for precisely these reasons. Emotional identification with the prisoners, and anguish at their torture were by far the most traveled road into the guerilla or its support scene. Yet the prisoners rejected this appeal as “bourgeois antifascism.”
Neither of these paradoxes constituted errors, or hypocrisy. The gap between theory and practice was not that wide. But they did not make it easy for activists from the broader radical left to get involved in the guerilla’s struggle. The intellectual and emotional leap required was such that the support scene began to assume an identity distinct from all the other tendencies of the radical left. It was becoming a tendency in its own right.
The comparison with the Revolutionary Cells is telling. The RZ pioneered a strategy of reaching out to activists where they were at, and in doing so managed to pull several movements—even those based on the Citizens Initiatives—to the left. They specialized in bombings in solidarity with these reformist campaigns, encouraging others to follow suit. With their slogan “Create one, two, many Revolutionary Cells!” they meant to show people that they themselves could step beyond the lines of legal protest established by the state.
This strategy had its drawbacks, but one of its undeniable strengths was its ability to make armed struggle seem accessible, all the while ensuring that the combatants—who did not go underground—would remain connected to the rest of the radical left.
The RAF’s single-minded focus on the prisoners in this period may be a testament to the stature and unflinching resistance of its founding members, who had established the first armed clandestine organization in postwar Germany, repeatedly risked their own lives struggling behind bars, and inspired new waves of guerillas. Yet in retrospect, this focus also appears to represent a setback; if not a temporary defeat, then, certainly, a retreat from the RAF’s initial impulse, as the guerilla became locked in on the prisoners to the exclusion of all other social contradictions.
The RAF would doggedly follow this trail as long as it could, and barely survive the consequences.
12
& Back to the RAF…
NINETEEN SEVENTY SIX WAS A difficult year for the radical left, and especially for the RAF. Losing Ulrike Meinhof was certainly the hardest blow, and it was accompanied by another wave of repressive legislation and renewed attacks on the prisoners’ legal team.
To top it off, several RAF members were captured that year, including two outside of Germany.
On July 21, 1976, Rolf Pohle—one of the prisoners exchanged for Peter Lorenz a year earlier—was arrested in Athens. German “super cop” Werner Mauss1 had learned that the fugitive was hiding in the Greek capital; he also knew that Pohle was a regular reader of the Süddeutsche Zeitung newspaper. Mauss “borrowed” two hundred Athens police officers for a few hours, arranging to have eighty different newspaper stands staked out: when Pohle went to buy the paper, he walked right into the trap.2
Pohle’s capture made headlines around the world, not because he was a particularly high profile target (he had even denied being a member of the RAF), but because on August 20, an Athens court turned down Bonn’s request for extradition on the grounds that the crimes in question had been politically motivated. Helmut Schmidt was not amused, and under intense diplomatic pressure, including threats that West Germany would block its entry into the European Economic Community, the Greek government quickly, and successfully, appealed this ruling.
Pohle was extradited to the Federal Republic on October 1: on top of his original conviction dating from 1973, he was also sentenced to three years and three months for extortion, as police claimed that during the Lorenz exchange he had threatened that the captive would be killed if the authorities did not hand over all the money that had been demanded.1
The kerfuffle around the initial Greek refusal to extradite Pohle provided a convenient backdrop to a meeting of eighteen European heads of state in Strasbourg, France, in late September. The summit was called specifically to pass a draft treaty that would close any “loopholes” that might allow guerillas to seek refuge in any of the countries concerned.2 This laid the basis for what would become the European Convention on the Suppression of Terrorism in 1977.
Pohle’s extradition and the new antiterrorist convention underscored the increasing amount of time West German guerillas were spending in neighboring countries. Unlike South Yemen or the Palestinian camps in Lebanon, these were not safe havens, but still they afforded a measure of anonymity and breathing room to those in the underground.
Almost two months after Pohle was returned to the FRG, Siegfried Haag was arrested along with Karlsruhe activist Roland Mayer, driving on the autobahn between Frankfurt and Kassel. The former lawyer had received guerilla training in South Yemen earlier that year, and since his return had been busy recruiting new members for future actions. In hindsight it seems that papers he was carrying when arrested were in fact coded notes, listing many of the next year’s targets. He was charged with a variety of offenses related to the Stockholm action, and in 1978 he was sentenced to fifteen years in prison. Mayer received twelve years.
The next arrest did not occur in the Federal Republic, but in neighboring Austria. On December 14, 1976, Waltraud Boock was caught following a bank robbery in Vienna, while two of her comrades managed to get away with 100,000 shillings. In solidarity with Boock, a bomb exploded in a Vienna police building a few days later, another being disarmed just before it went off in the police headquarters.3 Boock would be sentenced to fifteen years, to be served in Austrian prisons. The unusually heavy prison sentence for a crime in which no one was hurt was probably meant as a message to West German guerillas, especially after the 1975 OPEC raid, letting them know that crimes committed in this country would be dealt with harshly.
While these arrests did constitute setbacks, none of them was decisive. As would become clear in due time, the guerilla had managed to regroup, to attract new members, and had plans for the future.
At the same time, the prisoners also had plans. A new hunger strike was in the works, and a new strategy had been discussed, one which represented a further refinement of the RAF’s demand for association, and which would have serious implications for some of its supporters.
The captured guerillas were going to demand prisoner of war status, as outlined by the Geneva Convention. This was based on a strategy Meinhof had developed in the year before she was murdered, with help from attorney Axel Azzola, a professor of Public Law at Darmstadt Technical University. The RAF was going to argue that because it had carried out its attacks in solidarity with the anticolonial movements, especially in the context of the Vietnam War, its prisoners were themselves POWs.
When Azzola had filed a motion to this effect in January 1976, it had publicly signaled an important shift in the RAF’s trial strategy, one which seems to have enjoyed the support of the entire defense team.
Andreas Baader would later admit that the prisoners had little hope of seeing the government agree to their new line:
We don’t believe that this demand on the part of the prisoners will be achieved. We’ve never said that we did. What will be achieved is that the demand will raise awareness and resistance against the international counterinsurgency line in West Europe, which has now become government policy: the criminalization of the urban guerilla …
Baader was arguing that regardless of its success, the very process of struggling for POW status would provide supporters with an opportunity to promote the RAF’s politics, all the while exposing the inhumane conditions to which the prisoners were subjected. However, it was also clear that the very process of claiming a special status also alienated some supporters, especially (but not only) those from the sponti scene, which was already splitting over the question of militancy.1
These left-wing critics considered the RAF’s new line to be a stretch, muddying the waters of legitimate resistance to the FRG’s “fascist drift” by confusing it
with the national liberation struggles in the Third World. Not only that, but by claiming a special status for themselves, it was felt the RAF was engaging in an arrogant form of vanguardism, elevating itself above other prisoners, including some other political prisoners.
In the winter of 1976-77, this criticism would provide the basis for an unprecedented exchange of letters in the pages of Info-BUG, the undogmatic left’s magazine in West Berlin. The Revolutionary Cells sent in an open letter to the RAF, in which it took them to task not only for their new POW strategy, but also for their growing distance from the radical left. They were voicing a number of concerns and complaints probably shared by many others, activists who were trying to avoid the flight from militancy exemplified by Pflasterstrand, but who also continued to disagree with key elements of the RAF’s politics.
It was a dramatic move, and the only time the RZ would engage in such public criticism. Perhaps not surprisingly, it provoked an angry and defensive reply from RAF prisoner Monika Berberich. In turn, this led to a series of letters as readers took positions for or against the RAF’s practice to date.
Some activists remember this debate as having been acrimonious, and weakening the prisoners’ support scene. While this may be so, events over the next year showed that the prisoners, whether because of or despite their new strategy, remained capable of rallying impressive levels of support from both the legal left and the guerillas in the field.
RZ Letter to the RAF Comrades
This letter is addressed to all RAF comrades.
It is an open letter.
We are a section of the Revolutionary Cells (RZ). However, many arguments from the undogmatic movement are integrated into this letter, both because we consider these arguments to be correct and because we feel ourselves to be a part of this movement.
