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to The Journal of Modern History
and the sales of radio retailers and of the radio press were RM 120 million and
RM 30 million, respectively.4
Given these facts, astonishingly little attention has been focused on the wire-
less in generalized writings about German culture. If broadcasting is men-
tioned at all it is referred to in passing as part of a new “mass culture” that
allegedly bridged the social and cultural gaps between diverse strata and mi-
lieus of German society.5 In contrast, specialized studies on the history of Ger-
man broadcasting tend to be very narrowly focused (mostly on public regula-
tion of the wireless). They rarely attempt to tackle the broader question of how
the new medium fit into the development of Weimar cultural life and Weimar
society.6 Bringing these two separate strands of scholarly discussion together
will not only show the wireless in a new light; it will also enhance our knowl-
edge of the social history of Germany between the Kaiserreich and the Nazi
dictatorship and help us better to assess this crucial period of German history.
It is the aim of this essay to challenge assumptions—quite often treated as self-
evident truths—that the spread of the modern mass medium of broadcasting
fostered a new homogeneous and commercialized “mass culture” or “popular
culture” that leveled cultural distinctions and blurred class lines.7 In the follow-
ing I will examine political, economic, and technical as well as social aspects
of the history of Weimar broadcasting in order to bring the medium, the inten-
tions of its creators, and its impact on the German society of the 1920s into
clearer focus.
4
Führer, p. 50.
5
Lamb and Phelan, pp. 83–84; Peukert, p. 176; Lynn Abrams, “From Control to
Commercialization: The Triumph of Mass Entertainment in Germany, 1900–1925,”
German History 8 (1990): 278–93, esp. 286, 288, 292–93.
6
Compare, e.g., Sybille Grube, Rundfunkpolitik in Baden und Württemberg, 1924–
1933 (Berlin, 1976); Winfried B. Lerg, Rundfunkpolitik in der Weimarer Republik (Mu-
nich, 1980); Wolfgang Schütte, Regionalität und Föderalismus im Rundfunk: Die ge-
schichtliche Entwicklung in Deutschland, 1923–1945 (Frankfurt, 1973); Wolf Bierbach,
Rundfunk zwischen Kommerz und Politik: Der Westdeutsche Rundfunk in der Weimarer
Zeit (Frankfurt, 1986).
7
For a useful introduction to theories on mass culture, see Richard Butsch, “Intro-
duction: Leisure and Hegemony in America,” in For Fun and Profit: The Transformation
of Leisure into Consumption, ed. Richard Butsch (Philadelphia, 1990), pp. 3–27. For
the same discussion of German culture, see Norbert Krenzlin, ed., Zwischen Angstmeta-
pher und Terminus: Theorie der Massenkultur seit Nietzsche (Berlin, 1992); and Adel-
heid von Saldern, “Massenfreizeitkultur im Visier,” Archiv für Sozialgeschichte 33
(1993): 21–58.
8
Aktenvermerk Kurt Magnus, 20.11.26, Bundesarchiv (BA) Potsdam R 78/621, f.
137–42.
9
On efforts to fight against “trash and dirt,” see Klaus Petersen, “The Harmful Publi-
cations (Young Persons) Act 1926: Literacy, Censorship, and the Politics of Morality
in the Weimar Republic,” German Studies Review 15 (1992): 505–25; and Margaret
Stieg, “The 1926 German Law to Protect Youth against Trash and Dirt,” Central Euro-
pean History 23 (1990): 22–56.
Fig. 1.—The German broadcasting companies, their stations, and transmission areas in the 1920s. Source: Heinrich Giesecke,
Entwicklung und Aufbau des Deutschen Rundfunks (Berlin, 1930), p. 11.
726 Führer
10
See Führer, pp. 17–20.
11
Fünf Jahre Reichs-Rundfunk-Gesellschaft: Hrsg. von der Reichs-Rundfunk-Gesell-
schaft mbH. (n.p., n.d.), p. 8.
12
Lerg, pp. 182–89.
13
Führer (n. 2 above), pp. 29–34, 138–41.
14
Gabriele Rolfes, Die Deutsche Welle—ein politisches Neutrum im Weimarer Staat?
(Frankfurt/Bern, 1992).
15
Joachim-Felix Leonhard, ed., Programmgeschichte des Hörfunks in der Weimarer
Republik, 2 vols. (Munich, 1997), 1:26–38, offers short biographies of most of these
private investors. For the transactions of the subsidiary companies, see Führer, pp.
195–212.
16
Lerg (n. 6 above), pp. 438–524.
17
See Ansgar Diller, Rundfunkpolitik im Dritten Reich (Munich, 1980), pp. 84–96.
18
Lerg, p. 114.
19
Führer, p. 110.
All in all, broadcasting was more clearly dominated and more strictly con-
trolled by public authorities than any other mass media in Weimar Germany.
Since it was the Reichspost that reigned supreme in Weimar radio, the question
arises of why the postal ministry went to such lengths to subjugate the program
companies. The most important motive for conquering the new medium was a
trivial one: postal executives regarded broadcasting as a way to make as much
money as possible. This was not a matter of personal interest. The Reichs-
post—a highly complex group of public companies, some of them chronically
suffering from a deficit—tried in this way to balance its budget.20
Few ministry officials took more than a passing interest in the wireless as a
mass medium. The most influential of these was Hans Bredow, called
by contemporaries the “Führer” and “creator” of German broadcasting.21 Born
in 1879 and trained as an engineer, Bredow had enjoyed a long and success-
ful career as a manager in the German telegraphy industry when he became
a civil servant in 1919 (a rare change of sides in Germany), joining the newly
founded broadcasting division of the postal ministry. Promoted to the office of
Staatssekretär of the ministry in 1921, Bredow greatly influenced the forma-
tive years of German broadcasting, acting throughout as a strong advocate of
the mixed economy. In 1926 he became Reichs-Rundfunk-Kommissar of the
postal ministry, a new position especially designed for him, in which he con-
trolled and guided the RRG and acted as a mediator between the postal minis-
try and program companies.22
In Bredow’s view, the wireless was more than a new technical device en-
abling the Reichspost to minimize the financial deficit of its telegraphic ser-
vices. He regarded it as a means to promote culture and education and with
them social unity. German broadcasting should serve the interests of the nation
(Volkswohl ), not those of private investors, as radio companies did in the
United States. Radio should help Germany maintain its endangered status as a
Kulturnation: “Love of the arts, public spirit, and thirst for knowledge come
to life again and create the basis for intellectual sowing and ripening. . . . We
will and must preserve our intellectual level [geistige Höhe]. While foreign
nations strive for a wider range [of transmission stations], we strive for deepen-
ing [Vertiefung].” 23
Thus defined as a bringer of knowledge and taste, Weimar broadcasting was
20
Ibid., p. 105.
21
“Hans Bredow 50 Jahre alt,” Berliner Morgenpost (November 24, 1929); “Hans
Bredow 50 Jahre alt,” Königsberger Allgemeine Zeitung (November 24, 1929).
22
For an extensive discussion of Bredow’s career, see Horst O. Halefeldt, Hans
Bredow und die Organisation des Rundfunks in der Demokratie (Frankfurt, 1979).
23
Hans Bredow, “Die Verwirklichung des Rundfunkgedankens,” in Aus dem Bredow-
Nachlass anlässlich des 100. Geburtstages von Hans Bredow am 26. November 1979:
Auswahl und Erläuterungen: Rainer Kabel (Berlin, 1979), pp. 8–14, at p. 13.
bringing his life back into equilibrium.” 27 Paradoxically, from this perspective
the most modern mass medium appeared as a “deliverance from the complete
mechanization” of everyday life. The basic concept of Weimar broadcasting
can therefore be characterized as a form of “defensive modernization,” a
scheme with a strong tradition in German history of promoting reform and
using every available modern political concept, institution, and medium to
strive for stabilization of the status quo.28 German broadcasting was designed
to have such effects in promoting both individual and social stability.
For this work of salvation the program companies were to rely strongly on
regional cultural traditions. Hans Bredow regarded the British broadcasting
system, with its one central program company, the BBC, as a “grave cultural
mistake.” 29 Decentralized German broadcasting, in contrast, was to strengthen
the regional identities of listeners, offering programs that appealed to the diver-
gent tastes of North Germans, Bavarians, or Rhinelanders.30 In this respect
too, Weimar radio was to serve as an antidote for the destructive forces of
modernization, especially those that promoted the leveling of regional cultural
differences, which seemed to threaten the traditional structures of German
society.
Stabilization was also needed in the rural parts of Germany, which suffered
from a steady flow of emigration to the cities. The fact that the wireless could
make urban culture and entertainment accessible to the rural population was,
surprisingly, regarded not as a cultural danger but as a remedy: radio programs
were expected to dispel the boredom of country life and to satisfy the “spiritual
need” and “hunger” of country folk, thereby persuading them to stay in the
country.31
Whether Weimar broadcasting attained these very ambitious aims is an alto-
27
Carl Hagemann, quoted in “Sitzung des Programmausschusses der deutschen
Rundfunkgesellschaften, 5./6.6.1928,” reprinted in Bredow, Aus meinem Archiv, pp.
228, 235. See also the citations of Ernst Hardt, director of the WERAG, the second
largest regional company, in Gerhard Hay, “Bertolt Brechts und Ernst Hardts gemein-
same Rundfunkarbeit,” Jahrbuch der Deutschen Schillergesellschaft 12 (1968): 112–
31, esp. 114–18.
28
Compare, e.g., Hans-Ulrich Wehler, Deutsche Gesellschaftsgeschichte, vol. 1, Vom
Feudalismus des Alten Reiches bis zur Defensiven Modernisierung der Reformära,
1800–1815 (Munich, 1987), pp. 531–46; Geoff Eley, “German History and the Contra-
dictions of Modernity: The Bourgeoisie, the State, and the Mastery of Reform,” in Soci-
ety, Culture, and the State in Germany, 1870–1930, ed. Geoff Eley (Ann Arbor, Mich.,
1996), pp. 67–103.
29
Bredow, “Sitzung des Programmausschusses,” p. 235.
30
Compare, e.g., the interview with leading members of the North German regional
company, NORAG, in Friedrich Dencker, “Braucht Nordwestdeutschland einen Grob-
sender?” Die Sendung 6 (1929): 776–77.
31
Citations from the contemporary advertising brochure “Der Gemeinde-Rundfunk,”
reprinted in Lerg (n. 6 above), pp. 172–74, esp. p. 172.
gether different question. Did it really serve as a unifying force bridging the
gaps between rural and urban Germany and between the working class and
those who were better off? How was the goal pursued of creating comprehen-
sively educated listeners who could be called “self-contained human beings,”
and how did listeners react to this scheme? To answer these questions, I will
first examine the social structure of German radio audiences and then make
some basic observations about the programs offered by the German radio com-
panies in the 1920s.
TABLE 1
Registered Radio Sets, 1923–32
Registered
Year Gain Sets
1923 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ... 1,580
1924 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 547,169 548,749
1925 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 473,550 1,022,299
1926 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 354,265 1,376,564
1927 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 633,278 2,009,842
1928 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 625,725 2,635,567
1929 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 431,115 3,066,682
1930 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 442,827 3,509,509
1931 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 471,343 3,980,852
1932 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 326,870 4,307,722
Source.—Calculated on the basis of Heinz Vollmann, Rechtlich-
wirtschaftlich-soziologische Grundlagen der deutschen Rundfunk-
entwicklung: Eine umfassende Darstellung aller die Rundfunkeinheit
betreffenden Probleme in Vergangenheit, Gegenwart und Zukunft
(Borna, Leipzig, 1936), p. 76.
Note.—The figure of all registered sets is for the qualifying date,
January 1, of each year.
For a survey of this neglected field of social history I would like to take the
photograph reproduced in figure 2 as a starting point. This picture was taken
by an unknown amateur in a German sitting room, probably in 1926–27. There
can be no doubt about the depicted situation: it is Christmas Eve, the presents
have been given (the room is no longer candlelit), all the presents have been
unwrapped, and now they are tried out. The most precious item—besides sev-
eral dolls given to the women—is on display on the table: a mains voltage
receiver with three valves (Drei-Röhrennetzempfänger), representing the state
of the art of radio technology in the mid-1920s. This apparatus, worth at least
RM 250 or RM 300 (the monthly salary of a skilled worker or an ordinary
office clerk), is clearly an alien element in the room, disturbing its rather stiff
Gemütlichkeit. Someone has spread a white sheet under the radio set to protect
he embroidered tablecloth; the family (maybe a young couple with relatives)
s virtually entangled by the electric cable, which provides a highly improvised
power supply. It is also obvious who is in charge of the set. Only the man can
reach its tuning knobs; the women are seated in such a way that they can see
ust the back of the radio. Everyone is listening, wearing uncomfortable look-
ng earphones. While the two women on the left seem to be more amused than
mpressed, the man and the two other women are dead serious. The stately
matron beside the man has closed her eyes, giving the impression of intense
concentration; the girl next to her and the man seem to be lost in reverie. Al-
though they share the same experience, they look amazingly isolated from
each other.
This unpretentious snapshot is a valuable document for the social history of
early broadcasting. As it vividly demonstrates, the radio sets of these years had
very little in common with modern radios, and listening to the wireless was a
completely different experience from tuning in nowadays. Up to 1926–27, the
quickly expanding radio industry offered only sets that looked exactly like
what they were: technical devices to receive and transform radio waves. No
effort was made to hide the technical character of the apparatus. Integrated
loudspeakers were unknown; most listeners contented themselves with ear-
phones.32
While turned on, the sets demanded almost constant readjustment. The
valves were extremely sensitive and could easily be destroyed by overheating
or bumps. The use of batteries (necessary when the house was not connected
with the power supply system) offered a whole set of new problems.33 A differ-
ent type of set called a Detektor, which worked without valves and needed no
electricity, was less touchy but quite difficult to operate: reception faded away
or was easily marred by interference and static.34 In terms of the gender codes
of the time, all these problems made broadcasting a very masculine medium
during the first years of its existence.35
Only after 1926–27 did the appearance of radio sets change. Responding to
the desires of customers, producers turned the set into a piece of furniture,
hiding its technical devices behind wood. Some of these new sets even offered
an integrated loudspeaker. This new prototype was quickly improved. The
loudspeaker disappeared, hidden behind a piece of cloth. The apparatus, which
had looked so disturbingly strange next to the grand sideboards and plushly
cushioned armchairs of a normal German sitting room of the 1920s, finally
lost its status as a fascinating but also rather frightening technical miracle.36
32
J. Boehmer, “Der Rundfunkteilnehmer und sein Empfänger,” Deutsche Allgemeine
Zeitung (December 4, 1924); “Die Lautsprecherfrage,” Schlesische Volkszeitung (De-
cember 19, 1924).
33
F. Ewald, “Rundfunk aus der Steckdose,” Radio 7 (1929): 76–78; Rohde, “Die
Radio-Industrie,” Der Radiohändler 1 (1924): 52.
34
A. Esau, “Die Verstärkung der Rundfunksender und ihre Rückwirkung auf den
Empfang und die Empfänger,” Mitteldeutsche Monatshefte 10 (1927): 411–12.
35
“Welches waren die Ursachen für die Schwierigkeiten auf dem Radio-Markt?” Der
Radiohändler 1 (1924): 103; Bredow, “Die Verwirklichung des Rundfunkgedankens”
(n. 23 above), p. 10.
36
“Das Ergebnis der 3. Groben Deutschen Funk-Ausstellung,” Radio 4 (1926):
565–66; Berthold Cohn, “Rückblick und Ausblick,” Der Radiohändler 6 (1929): 2–3;
W. H. Fitze, “Gedanken zum neuen Jahr,” Radio 8 (1930): 9–10. In making these
changes the German radio industry followed the example of the American radio pro-
I would argue that this development is not just an episode in design history
but is an important part of the social history of broadcasting. Since the new
sets were also much easier to operate than the earlier ones—the mains receiver,
supplied by the industry after 1928–29, was as easy to turn on as the electric
light—the wireless became for the first time a medium that was accessible
even to those who were uninformed or uninterested in technology. Thus the
highly gendered character of broadcasting faded away at the end of the decade.
Most likely the act of listening changed too. Wearing earphones, listeners in
the early years had found themselves chained to their radio sets. Listening to
the wireless could only be done sitting down, and chatting with someone else
at the same time was nearly impossible.37 It is also very difficult to pay less
than full attention to a radio program when listening through earphones. The
concentrated atmosphere of the family scene depicted in figure 2 is probably
typical of the way people behaved while the set was turned on during the early
years of broadcasting. The introduction of loudspeakers and sets that did not
require constant adjustment gave audiences at least a chance to turn the act of
listening into a more casual affair. A listener could now move around,
do homework, or chat with other persons in the same room about the ongoing
program.38
Paradoxically, these new possibilities did not divert German listeners from
the content of broadcasts. Quite the reverse: they seem to have made audiences
more attentive in this respect than ever before. There is quite a lot of contempo-
rary evidence that the technical development of sets profoundly changed the
attitude of listeners toward the new medium. During the first years of the his-
tory of broadcasting they were simply overwhelmed that they could hear any-
thing at all. The act of transmitting music and words over the air into sitting
rooms and parlors seemed to be such a “miracle”—this term was used over
and over again—that it was not so important what listeners heard or how well
they could hear it: “People were even enthusiastic when, listening hard, . . .
they believed they could hear something very faint from a great distance.” 39
They wanted “above all to hear, irrespective of content; they wanted to partici-
pate in the marvelous new achievement of technology.”40
This changed when the set became a piece of furniture and the act of lis-
tening to the wireless turned into a part of everyday life. Audiences lost their
“innocent impartiality” toward broadcasts of all kinds and became more criti-
cal than before.41 In general, broadcasting was taken very seriously by Weimar
audiences. Undiscriminating listeners were scarce. As a survey carried out in
1933–34 among one thousand families demonstrated, just a small minority had
the set turned on all day long. Even among proletarian households the vast
majority was highly discriminating when it came to tuning in: 54.8 percent of
unskilled and 70.2 percent of skilled workers carefully planned which broad-
casts they heard, screening the program announcements in newspapers and
magazines.42 Most likely this was also true for the preceding years of Weimar
Germany.
However, these new sets that were so fundamentally altered in design had
one thing in common with their predecessors: they were expensive. The family
seen in figure 2 is once again representative in that it bought the set as a Christ-
mas present. This was very common in Germany throughout the years of the
Weimar Republic.43 Radio retailers made most of their sales during the last
months of the year; spring and summer were dead seasons.44 Most German
families needed the bonuses paid by employers and consumer cooperatives at
the end of the year to buy a set—or, more accurately, to pay the first install-
ment: in 1930–31 no less than 80 percent of all radios were bought on rental-
purchase plans.45 No comparable figures exist for the years before the slump,
but retailers had already begun complaining about the increasing number of
sets purchased on credit earlier on.46
Particularly expensive were sets with several valves. These cost at least RM
300 in 1924, although by 1925–26 prices had dropped slightly to approxi-
mately RM 250.47 As noted above, this equaled the monthly salary of a skilled
41
Ibid., p. 461. See also Hans Bredow in “Vortragsabend der RRG,” 7.9.26, BA Pots-
dam RPM 14868; Hans Neuert and Max Arndt, Das ABC des Funkhändlers: Handbuch
für den Funkhandel (Berlin, 1928), p. 39; Schmitz, “Radio und Radiohören auf dem
Lande,” Landwirtschaftliche Zeitschrift für die Rheinprovinz 33 (1932): 450–51.
42
G. Thann, “Von der sozialen Bedeutung des Rundfunks,” Soziale Praxis 44 (1935),
cols. 377–82, see esp. col. 380.
43
Gerd E. Freericks, So sollte der Radio- und Schallplattenhändler werben! Ein Buch
aus der Praxis für die Praxis (Munich, 1933), p. 12.
44
Heinz Vollmann, Rechtlich-wirtschaftlich-soziologische Grundlagen der deut-
schen Rundfunkentwicklung: Eine umfassende Darstellung aller die Rundfunkeinheit
betreffenden Probleme in Vergangenheit, Gegenwart und Zukunft (Borna, Leipzig,
1936), p. 178.
45
Führer (n. 2 above), p. 58.
46
H. Buchholz, “Das Abzahlungsgeschäft im Radiohandel,” Der Radiohändler 5
(1928): 996; “Was der Funkhandel wünscht,” Radio 7 (1929): 764.
47
Führer, pp. 56–57.
48
“Mitteilungen der Reichs-Rundfunk-Gesellschaft Nr. 7, 24.7.1927,” in Mittei-
lungen (n. 3 above); Bericht des Rundfunk-Kommissars des Reichspostministers über
die Wirtschaftslage der deutschen Rundfunkgesellschaften am 31. Dezember 1927 (Ber-
lin, n.d.), pp. 14–15.
49
Max Arndt, “Die 3. Grobe Deutsche Funkausstellung in Berlin,” Der Radiohändler
3 (1926): 494; “Empfänger-Statistik auf der Messe,” Der Radiohändler 5 (1928): 797–
800, esp. 797.
50
Carl Gebhardt, “Rundfunk und Land,” Freie Volksbildung 3 (1928): 229–43, esp.
237.
51
Führer, p. 65. Compare figures for 1929, in Reichs-Rundfunk-Gesellschaft mbH.
zu Berlin, Geschäftsbericht über das fünfte Geschäftsjahr 1929 (n.p., n.d.), p. 31.
52
Lerg (n. 6 above), p. 370.
53
Bayerischer Rundfunk GmbH., Geschäftsbericht 1931 (n.p., n.d.), p. 93.
54
Rundfunk und Landwirt (Berlin, 1932), p. 1.
55
Schmitz (n. 41 above), p. 450; cf. Die wirtschaftliche und geistige Struktur eines
Siedlungsdorfes: Eine Untersuchung des Volkshochschulheimes Tempelhof unter Lei-
tung von Günther Krolzig (Berlin, 1932), pp. 49–50.
TABLE 2
Social Structure of Radio Subscribers (%)
Profession 1928 1930
Entrepreneur/free profession . . . . . . . . . . . 28.2 30.0
Civil servant . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 18.1 13.5
Employee . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 22.2 22.0
Worker . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 22.5 25.6
Without profession . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 9.0 8.9
Sources.—Bericht des Rundfunk-Kommissars des Reichspostministers über die
Wirtschaftslage der deutschen Rundfunkgesellschaften am 31. Dezember 1929 (Berlin,
n.d.), p. 14; Bericht des Rundfunk-Kommissars des Reichspostministers über die
Wirtschaftslage der deutschen Rundfunkgesellschaften am 31. Dezember 1930 (Berlin,
n.d.), p. 6. Heinz Vollmann, Rechtlich-wirtschaftlich-soziologische Grundlagen der
deutschen Rundfunkentwicklung: Eine umfassende Darstellung aller die Rundfunkein-
heit betreffenden Probleme in Vergangenheit, Gegenwart und Zukunft (Borna, Leipzig,
1936), p. 225, gives for the first column the date 1927 instead of 1928 and adds, fur-
thermore, that all figures do not include the Bavarian subscribers. The sources used
here do not mention this reservation. It is also missing in Gliederung der Gesamtbe-
völkerung und der Rundfunkteilnehmer, n.d. [1930], Staatsarchiv Hamburg Staatliche
Pressestelle I/Z II B b 13.
56
Die Lebenshaltung von 2000 Arbeiter- Angestellten- und Beamtenhaushaltungen:
Erhebungen von Wirtschaftsrechnungen im Deutschen Reich vom Jahre 1927/28, 2 vols.
(Berlin, 1932), 1:134–35 (hereafter cited as Die Lebenshaltung). For the prices of rec-
ords and cinema tickets, see J. Sachs, “Zur Frage der Schallplattenkonzerte,” Phono-
graphische Zeitschrift 32 (1932): 740–42, esp. 740.
57
See Eugen Nesper, Kompendium der Funktechnik: Ein Funklexikon (Berlin, 1931),
p. 150. Nesper calculated RM 2.60 operating costs per month for a three-valve receiver
that was turned on for four hours per day on average.
58
Die Lebenshaltung, pp. 134–35.
59
Thann (n. 42 above), col. 381.
60
Ibid., col. 379 (citation) and col. 381. To give another example, the majority of
the 17,000 members of the Workers Radio Association (Arbeiter-Radio-Bund) (55.4
percent) owned valuable sets with three or more valves in 1931; “Absatzmöglichkeiten,”
Radio 9 (1931): 402.
censes. In 1931 these figures were 209,680 new subscriptions and 172,575
cancellations.61 The figures from other companies were only slightly less
alarming: if not for the cancellations, the annual influx of new listeners would
have been almost 50 percent higher.62
Surveys carried out between 1927 and 1931 by the Bavarian regional com-
pany, the Deutsche Stunde in Bayern (renamed the Bayerische Rundfunk A.G.
in 1930), shed light on the reasons why so many families who had bought
a radio set later lost interest in the new medium. First, some listeners were
compelled to economize: they could no longer afford the monthly fees and/or
the installments due for the radio set. In 1927, 24.4 percent of Bavarian ex-
listeners named financial difficulties as the reason for the cancellation of their
radio licenses. In 1931, at the extreme point of the slump, this figure rose
sharply to 41.7 percent. Second, the quality of reception was quite often so
poor that listeners, annoyed by constant static and interference, got rid of their
sets. This was the case for roughly one-quarter to one-fifth of all cancellations
in Bavaria. The third reason—of foremost significance between 1927 and
1929, but considerably less important after the economic crisis began—was
“lack of time and interest.” This factor accounted for 30.8 percent of the can-
cellations in 1927, but for only 23.5 percent in 1930 and 11.5 percent in 1931.
Although only an extremely small minority—never greater than 2.6 percent of
those ex-listeners who filled in the questionnaire—declared a decidedly more
critical “discontent with programs” as the reason for canceling their licenses,
the figures given above clearly demonstrate that broadcasting was not necessar-
ily regarded as an essential part of everyday life during the 1920s even by those
who had taken an interest in the medium in the first place.63
This lack of interest may have had to do with the fact that variety was not
a strong point of Weimar broadcasting. Many listeners had little or no choice
of stations: costly radios with several valves were needed to receive the faint
airwaves, and listeners who used a Detektor or a Röhrenortsempfänger could
therefore tune in only to the nearest station. In 1931, 55.5 percent of the Ger-
man radio audience was still using these less expensive sets; 44.5 percent
owned sets with several valves, which secured comparatively interference-free
61
Westdeutscher Rundfunk AG, Bericht über das Geschäftsjahr vom 1. Januar bis
31. Dezember 1929 (n.p., n.d.), p. 16; Westdeutscher Rundfunk AG, Geschäftsbericht
1931 (n.p., n.d.), enclosure no. 4.
62
Reichs-Rundfunk-Gesellschaft mbH. zu Berlin, Geschäftsbericht über das vierte
Geschäftsjahr 1928 (n.p., n.d.), p. 8.
63
Deutsche Stunde in Bayern GmbH., Jahresbericht über das Jahr 1927 (n.p., n.d.),
p. 6; Deutsche Stunde in Bayern GmbH., Bericht über das Geschäftsjahr vom 1. Januar
bis 31. Dezember 1929 (n.p., n.d.), p. 12; Bayerischer Rundfunk GmbH., Geschäfts-
bericht 1930 (n.p., n.d.), p. 7; Bayerischer Rundfunk GmbH., Geschäftsbericht 1931
(n. 53 above), p. 19.
64
Figures calculated on the basis of Gerd Braune, Der Einflub von Schallplatte und
Rundfunk auf die deutsche Musikinstrumenteindustrie (Berlin, 1934), pp. 34–35. These
figures derive from a Reichspost survey that encompassed 75 percent of all registered
subscribers.
65
Gütner Doberzinsky, “Rundfunk im Dollarland!” Die Sendung 4 (1927): 92–93.
66
Saldern (n. 7 above), p. 33.
67
Lerg (n. 6 above), pp. 305–10.
68
Otto Nairz, Das Grobsenderproblem (Berlin, 1931), pp. 6–7. Deutsche Welle’s sta-
tion was located near Berlin in Königs Wusterhausen and, after 1928, in Zeesen. On its
technical development, see Gerhart Goebel, “Der Deutsche Rundfunk bis zum Inkraft-
treten des Kopenhagener Wellenplans,” Archiv für Post- und Fernmeldewesen 2 (1950):
354–464, esp. 371.
69
See Wochenbericht des Instituts für Konjunkturforschung 3 (1930): 171–72;
N. Meyer, “Das wirtschaftliche Ergebnis der 8. Funkausstellung und seine Bedeutung
für den Radiohändler,” Der Radiohändler 8 (1931): 828–29.
greatly influenced the way listeners experienced the new medium. Beginning
its existence as a fascinating but also demanding technical miracle, broadcast-
ing gradually became less exciting but also more convenient to listen to. In the
rural parts of the Reich listeners remained rare; the middle strata of German
society clearly dominated radio audiences. To determine whether this peculiar
social structure was also a consequence of programming content, a closer look
at this aspect of the history of Weimar broadcasting is necessary.
70
Compare the program announcement reproduced in Jochen Wiesinger, Die Ge-
schichte der Unterhaltungselektronik: Daten, Bilder, Trends (Frankfurt, 1994), p. 51.
71
Rudolf Lothar, “Die Musik,” in Drei Jahre Berliner Rundfunkdarbietungen: Ein
Rückblick, 1923–1926 (Berlin, 1926), pp. 3–33, esp. p. 8 (hereafter cited as Drei Jahre);
Susanne Grobmann-Vendrey, “Musik-Programm in der Berliner Funk-Stunde: Mehr
als ein ‘Nebenbuhler des Konzertbetriebs’?” in Materialien zur Rundfunkgeschichte,
vol. 2, Zur Programmgeschichte des Weimarer Rundfunks, ed. Deutsches Rundfunkar-
chiv, Frankfurt/Main (Frankfurt, 1986), pp. 55–82, esp. p. 64.
72
Lerg, p. 339.
73
Eberhard Klumpp, Das erste Jahrzehnt: Der Südfunk und sein Programm, 1924–
1933/34 (Stuttgart, 1984), gives just an impressionistic picture; August Soppe, Rund-
funk in Frankfurt am Main, 1923–1926: Zur Organisations, Programm- und Rezeptions-
geschichte eines neues Mediums (Munich, 1993), is focused on the first three years
and—due to the premature death of the author, who left this study unfinished—does
TABLE 3
Programs of the Deutsche Stunde in Bayern, 1929
Percent of All Minutes per
Broadcasts Broadcasting Time Day on Average
Music . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 54.3 319
Lectures . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 16.1 95
News . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 13.8 81
Radio plays/literary broadcasts . . 7.8 46
Broadcasts for women . . . . . . . . . 2.3* 14*
Broadcasts for children . . . . . . . . 1.7† 10†
Reports . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .7 3.9
Sport reports . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .6 3.6
Miscellaneous . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2.7 15.5
Total . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 100.00 588.0
Source.—Calculated on the basis of Statistisches Jahrbuch für den Freistaat Bayern 19 (1930): 463.
*Without music; including music, the figures would read 2.6 percent, 15.7 minutes.
† Without music; including music, the figures would read 2.0 percent, 12 minutes.
tics can give us at least a rough outline. More than half of the broadcasting
time of the regional companies was taken up by music. In 1929 the Deutsche
Stunde in Bayern offered audiences some 1,943 hours of music—on average,
six and one-third hours per day. This amounted to 54.4 percent of its broadcast-
ing time (cf. table 3).
Comparable figures are to be found for other regional companies.74 But “mu-
sic” is still an overly general category when it comes to characterizing pro-
grams. What sort of music was on offer? Were musical broadcasts on Wei-
mar radio dominated by popular tunes or by highbrow music? Answering this
question is quite difficult, since labels commonly attached to music program-
not cover entertaining broadcasts; Leonhard (n. 15 above) contains nothing on lectures
and spoken broadcasts for entertainment. Smaller segments of the program (radio plays,
children’s and women’s programs, religious programs) are better researched. Compare
Christian Hörburger, Das Hörspiel der Weimarer Republik: Versuch einer kritischen
Analyse (Stuttgart, 1975); Hans-Jürgen Krug, Arbeitslosenhörspiele, 1930–1933
(Frankfurt, 1992); Brunhild Elfert, Die Entstehung und Entwicklung des Kinder- und
Jugendrundfunks in Deutschland von 1924 bis 1933 am Beispiel der Berliner Funk-
Stunde AG (Frankfurt, 1983); Kate Lacey, Feminine Frequencies: Gender, German Ra-
dio and the Public Sphere, 1923–1945 (Ann Arbor, Mich., 1996); Rolf Schieder, Reli-
gion im Radio: Protestantische Rundfunkarbeit in der Weimarer Republik und im Drit-
ten Reich (Stuttgart, 1997). Frank Biermann, Paul Laven: Rundfunkberichterstattung
zwischen Aktualität und Kunst (Münster, 1989), has useful information on the develop-
ment of the radio reportage.
74
Compare the figures for the Berlin Funk-Stunde, ORAG, Deutsche Stunde in Bay-
ern and Schlesische Funk-Stunde for 1925, 1929, and 1931, in Leonhard (n. 15
above), 1:360–66.
75
Compare the program announcement reproduced in Peter Dahl, Arbeitersender
und Volksempfänger: Proletarische Radio-Bewegung und bürgerlicher Rundfunk bis
1945 (Frankfurt, 1978), p. 35. Another example is an Unterhaltungskonzert produced
by the MIRAG in December 1927: it offered music from Wagner’s Walküre and Lohen-
grin, but also popular operetta tunes like “Ich bin die Christel von der Post” (Der Rund-
funk 4 [1927]: 3357). Of course, music by Wagner was not highbrow culture per se.
Probably more melodic excerpts from his earlier works, such as the “Song of the Eve-
ning Star” from Tannhäuser and the bridal chorus from Lohengrin, were as popular in
Germany as in the United States. However, it is highly unlikely that the same was true
of Tristan, the epitome of sacralization of a work of art. The boundaries between high-
brow and lowbrow culture in German cultural life are still unexplored. For a discussion
of these issues in the United States, see Lawrence W. Levine, Highbrow/Lowbrow: The
Emergence of Cultural Hierarchy in America (Cambridge and London, 1988).
up much more broadcasting time: almost 1,195 hours during the year, or about
three and one-quarter hours per day.76 Once again these findings can be re-
garded as representative for the other regional companies.77 These figures indi-
cate that Weimar broadcasting favored “entertainment” over “culture,” but it
may be questioned whether such an assessment—even if statistically correct—
corresponds to the actual experience of listeners. The executives of the regional
companies were well aware that the “value” of broadcasting time differed enor-
mously during the course of the day. The hours between 8:00 and 10:00 p.m.,
when most listeners were at home and eager to tune in, were—to borrow a
more recent term—“prime time,” while broadcasts that went on the air just
before or after lunchtime were most likely to pass by without attracting much
attention. As a leading manager of the Berlin Funk-Stunde put it in 1929, in
the perception of listeners and the press the “artistic physiognomy” of broad-
casting was shaped largely by those programs transmitted during the early
evening.78
Prestigious broadcasts were usually featured during these prime hours,
while “light” programs were most likely to be transmitted in the early morning
(Frühkonzert) or at noon (Mittagskonzert). Broadcasts with dance music were
most often restricted to the late hours of the evening (after 10:00 p.m.), even
though Germany was swept by a “dance craze” during the 1920s.79 Only Satur-
day night, which marked the beginning of the weekend for all who were gain-
fully employed, was generally reserved for light programs that offered fun and
relaxation.80 Of course such planning embodied an implicit judgment concern-
ing the different values of culture and entertainment, putting into practice a
pedagogical concept of broadcasting developed by German radio executives
under the protective cover of the public regulation of the wireless. In 1928,
Carl Hagemann, then director of the Berlin Funk-Stunde, roughly rebuffed all
those who asked for light entertainment during “prime time.” In his view such
76
Calculated on the basis of Fritz Kaphahn, ed., Zum fünfjährigen Bestehen des Mit-
teldeutschen Rundfunks: Beiträge aus dem Kreise des kulturellen Beirats (Leipzig,
1929), tables 1 and 2 (unpaginated).
77
Compare the figures in Leonhard, ed., 1:363–66.
78
Edmund Nick in “Aussprache über Rundfunk und Musik, 22./23.5.29,” in Bredow,
Aus meinem Archiv (n. 25 above), pp. 274–311, esp. p. 305. For the most popular times
of tuning in (after dinner between 8:00 and 10:00 p.m., and around lunchtime), see
Ergebnis der in den Oberpostdirektionsbezirken Berlin, Düsseldorf, Hamburg und
Leipzig bei den Teilnehmern abgehaltenen Umfrage (Oktober 1930), StA Hamburg
Staatliche Pressestelle I, Z II B b 8.
79
Compare, e.g., Fred Ritzel, “‘Hätte der Kaiser Jazz getanzt . . .’ : US-Tanzmusik
in Deutschland vor und nach dem Ersten Weltkrieg,” in Ich will aber gerade vom Leben
singen . . . Über populäre Musik vom ausgehenden 19. Jahrhundert bis zum Ende der
Weimarer Republik, ed. Sabine Schütte (Reinbeck, 1987), pp. 265–93, esp. pp. 279–81.
80
Leonhard, ed., 2:364.
81
Carl Hagemann in Bredow, Aus meinem Archiv, p. 235.
82
Cited in Hay (n. 27 above), p. 114. For Hardt’s career and opinions, see also Karl
H. Karst, “Ernst Hardt,” Geschichte im Westen 7 (1992): 99–116.
83
Westdeutscher Rundfunk AG, Bericht über das Geschäftsjahr vom 1. Januar bis
31. Dezember 1927 (n.p., n.d.), p. 8. See also Die Programmgestaltung der Funkstunde
AG. in der Zeit vom 1. Januar bis 31. Dezember 1931: Auszug aus dem Bericht des
Vorstandes an den Aufsichtsrat (n.p., n.d), p. 3.
84
Lothar (n. 71 above), p. 4.
85
Rudolf Lothar, “Die Musik,” in Das Sechste Berliner Rundfunkjahr: Ein Rückblick
(Berlin, 1929), pp. 5–78, esp. pp. 49, 76. Lothar’s list of the classical music transmitted
by the Funk-Stunde filled seventy-five pages.
86
In the early years of Weimar broadcasting these “record concerts” were often an-
nounced as being “not part of the program” of the company that transmitted them.
See Regiesitzung in Anwesenheit des Kulturbeirats, August 20, 1928, Nachlab Bredow
Deutsches Rundfunkarchiv Frankfurt; Georg Roeber, “Schallplattenkonzerte im Rund-
funk,” Archiv für Funkrecht 5 (1932): 42–64; Herbert Connor, “Die Schlagerindustrie
missions of performances given by dance bands in local hotels and dance halls
also made up a great part of entertaining musical programs. If Weimar radio
was at all in touch with the latest trends in popular music it was due to broad-
casts like these, which originated outside the program companies.87 In contrast,
the radio companies took great care to lead audiences to the joys of great art.
German radio listeners were not only offered “good music” at the best broad-
casting time of the day; they could also tune in to quite a lot of lectures which
accompanied those musical programs. The MIRAG expressly used such lec-
tures to give its programs a “deliberate single-mindedness guided by cultural
central ideas.” In 1927, the Beethoven centenary commemorating the compos-
er’s death one hundred years earlier, the company broadcast twelve lectures on
“The Age of Beethoven in the Mirror of Culture” as well as a series entitled
“A History of Opera in Sound” (twelve installments) and two series of more
basic lectures: “General Theory of Music” and “The Fundamental Principles
of Harmony.” In the following year there were ten lectures on the poets of
Schubert’s lieder texts and fourteen lectures on the history of the piano con-
certo.88 Normally such broadcasts were transmitted during the early evening
between 6:00 and 8:00 p.m. The potential audience was therefore consid-
erable.89
This preponderance of highbrow culture during the evening met with sur-
prisingly little outspoken criticism. Audiences remained virtually silent. Of
course the broadcasting companies received complaints as well as praise from
listeners, but given the total number of subscribers the number of those writing
was insignificant. When almost a thousand letters were addressed to the SWR
in Frankfurt after it broadcast a controversial radio play on youth unemploy-
ment in September 1930, this was considered unusually intense feedback.90 At
this time the company had more than 220,000 registered subscribers and an
audience of approximately 600,000. Normally, mail from listeners trickled in
slowly. The Bavarian regional company, with as many listeners as the SWR,
received on average seven letters per day in 1930.91 As a rule, those who both-
ered to write liked the available programming. The MIRAG summarized
im Rundfunk,” Die Weltbühne 27, no. 2 (1931): 67–69. On advertising in Weimar radio
in general, see Führer (n. 2 above), pp. 119–36.
87
See “Der Händler und die Programmgestaltung,” Radio 9 (1931): 336–38, esp.
337. In 1928–29 the Berlin Funk-Stunde offered 119 of such transmissions from local
hotels (Lothar, Drei Jahre, p. 78). After 1929 the program companies took more care
to produce “modern dance music” and even “jazz music” also in broadcasts planned by
themselves. See Leonhard, ed. (n. 15 above), 2:948–95.
88
Kaphahn, ed. (n. 76 above), pp. 78, 85, 87–89.
89
Leonhard, ed., 2:643–50.
90
Krug (n. 73 above), p. 82.
91
Bayerischer Rundfunk GmbH., Geschäftsbericht 1930 (n. 63 above), p. 38.
listeners’ responses in this way: “Audiences reject all music that is too light,
especially modern dance music. . . . More serious programs get the most en-
thusiastic reception.” 92 Complaints, which were rare, were often mailed anony-
mously, a fact that rendered them completely ineffective.93
Nearly all political parties welcomed the educational efforts of Weimar
broadcasting. This is especially true of the Social Democrats, who enthusiasti-
cally believed that a common knowledge of works by Beethoven or Schiller
would promote general enlightenment. In artistic terms, they regarded the Ger-
man broadcasting system as the best thing imaginable.94 The press also ap-
preciated the artistic inclinations of Weimar radio executives. Criticism arose
only when the program companies overdid things: the Berlin Funk-Stunde got
some annoyed reviews in March 1927, for example, when it decided to broad-
cast music by Beethoven every single evening for a week to mark the pinnacle
of the Beethovenjahr.95
Only radio retailers, it seemed, wished for radically different programs.
They argued that the number of German listeners—and of their own custom-
ers—would rise far more rapidly if the program companies would eliminate or
at least present fewer “études and opuses.” 96 Above all they demanded “enter-
tainment, light music, the hit songs of the day” to which listeners could “hum
and sing along,” as well as dance music and humorous sketches.97 This cam-
paign was redoubled when the slump came to its greatest intensity in 1932.
Invoking the alleged needs of crisis-striken Germans, radio retailers asked still
more urgently for “light, melodic, appealing music,” since they believed listen-
92
Bericht des Rundfunk-Kommissars über die Vorgänge im Rundfunk während der
Monate Januar bis März 1928, BA Potsdam R 48/4783, p. 11.
93
Bayerischer Rundfunk GmbH., Geschäftsbericht 1930, p. 38.
94
Horst O. Halefeldt, “Das erste Medium für alle? Erwartungen an den Hörfunk bei
seiner Einführung in Deutschland Anfang der 20er Jahre,” Rundfunk und Fernsehen 34
(1986): 23–43, 157–76, esp. 35–42; for the Social Democrats, see Thomas Alexander,
Carl Severing: Ein Demokrat und Sozialist in Weimar (Frankfurt, 1996), p. 826; Dieter
Langewiesche, “Politik-Gesellschaft-Kultur: Zur Problematik von Arbeiterkultur und
kulturellen Arbeiterorganisationen in Deutschland nach dem Ersten Weltkrieg,” Archiv
für Sozialgeschichte 22 (1982): 359–402, esp. 393–99. Only the Communist Party
(KPD), which feared the “ideological contamination” of proletarian minds, criticized
the programs and advised workers to tune in to broadcasts from the Soviet Union. See
“Um den proletarischen Rundfunk,” Rote Fahne (March 7, 1929); “Hörerstreik gegen
Rundfunk-Reaktion,” Rote Fahne (April 7, 1929); Paul Jansen, Wie kann ich Moskau
empfangen? (Berlin, 1931).
95
E. Scheiffler, “Programmwahl und Hörerschaft,” Die Sendung 4 (1927): 175–76.
96
Regiesitzung in Anwesenheit des Kulturbeirats (n. 86 above).
97
E. Rellsegg, “Zur Programmfrage,” Radio 8 (1930): 582–84. See also Heinz Engel,
“So geht das nicht,” Radio 7 (1930): 1162–63; “Gespräche mit Händlern,” Radio 6
(1928): 808–12.
103
Niederschrift der Besprechung über die Umgestaltung und den weiteren Ausbau
des deutschen Rundfunksendernetzes im Reichspostministerium, July 5, 1929, BA
Potsdam R 48/4354.
104
Bericht des Vorstandes der Funk-Stunde AG. über das Geschäftsjahr 1929 (n.p.,
n.d.), p. 24.
105
Lerg (n. 6 above), p. 308.
106
Grobmann-Vendrey (n. 71 above), p. 80.
deficiencies than were members of other social strata.107 All in all, expectations
of radio programming could not have been more diverse. While the best-off
listeners expressly wished for as much “good (i.e., classical) music” as pos-
sible, those on the other end of the social scale were put off by such programs.
“For heaven’s sake, no demanding music with an opus”—this opinion was
voiced by many manual workers. The latter demanded music for entertainment
as well as dance music and they wanted to hear it at the best broadcast time,
not late at night.108
The criticisms voiced by the associations of radio retailers were therefore
justified. In treating light music and entertainment in general as marginal to
radio programs, Weimar radio executives placed the wishes of a small educated
minority above those of the greater part of the population. That Weimar broad-
casting attracted relatively few listeners among proletarian families cannot
therefore be ascribed exclusively to economic factors. Many workers were dis-
appointed by the offered programs and turned their backs on the new medium
for that reason.
It is also probable that they shunned the lectures that featured so promi-
nently in Weimar radio programs. The MIRAG transmitted on average eighty-
one lectures per month in 1927—that is, almost three per day (besides lan-
guage courses). Since a lecture usually lasted thirty minutes, the daily program
time taken up by these spoken broadcasts equaled that of programs offering
“demanding” music. Virtually every field of knowledge was covered, but the
arts (Geisteswissenschaften) were especially dear to the company executives.
They regarded radio lectures as a means “to influence the Zeitgeist” and felt
compelled to use them to promote “traditional humanist ideals.” Thus 41 per-
cent of all lectures broadcast by the MIRAG in 1927 tackled themes of the
humanities.109
According to the survey of 1933–34—our only source concerning listeners’
preferences—these programs appealed to a minority. Once again, the interest
in such broadcasts was clearly class-related, although the differences between
107
Thann (n. 42 above), col. 380. On the technical development of microphones,
which were mainly responsible for the difficulties in broadcasting singing female
voices, in the 1920s, see Heinz Rundfleisch, Technik im Rundfunk: Ein Stück deutscher
Rundfunkgeschichte von den Anfängen bis zum Beginn der achtziger Jahre (Norder-
stadt, 1985), pp. 58–60.
108
Thann, cols. 380–82. There is a strong continuity in expectations of radio pro-
gramming. On the dislike of most listeners for “music with an opus” in the 1960s, see
Fritz Eberhard, Der Rundfunkhörer und sein Programm: Ein Beitrag zur empirischen
Sozialforschung (Berlin, 1962), pp. 108, 132.
109
Calculated on the basis of Kaphahn, ed. (n. 76 above), p. 10 and the unpaginated
table between pp. 28 and 29.
the various social strata were less extreme than in the case of classical music.
Only 1.6 percent of all workers liked to tune in to scientific lectures on the air;
the same figure amounted to 7.0 percent among employees and lower civil
servants but it rose to 23.6 percent among higher civil servants.110
Given these figures, the efforts of the Weimar broadcasting companies to
turn the radio into college on the air were in vain. Even among the educated
middle classes, which cherished the musical programs, only a few wanted to
listen to radio lectures, and members of the lower social strata were almost
unanimously bored by such programs. A naive educational optimism (Bildungs-
optimismus) reigned in Weimar radio programming. The notion that the cul-
tural level of the people could be fostered just by offering as much “valuable”
information to as many listeners as possible regardless of their needs and edu-
cational backgrounds met with some criticism during the 1920s.111 But such
voices went unheard, and in practice most broadcasting lectures remained tar-
geted at that figment of the program planner’s imagination, the generally inter-
ested and generally educated listener. Listeners reacted in their own ways:
some got rid of their radio sets, but most silently paid the radio fee and tuned
in only to those programs they wanted to hear. This meant, for many, avoiding
the highbrow programs that dominated the airwaves not, as already mentioned,
in purely quantitative terms but in terms of prime-time scheduling. This sched-
uling, based on a desire to educate the masses, misjudged the stubbornness of
the uneducated, who were in the end unwilling to be led to the realm of “higher
things.” Obviously the hope for a unified Kulturnation with a common love for
the great works of art, which guided the management of Weimar broadcasting,
had nothing to do with social reality, since listeners were not the passive and
helpless consumers the program executives took them to be.112 The wireless,
intended to be a bringer of knowledge and a “unifying band,” therefore could
not bridge the cultural gaps that divided German society of the 1920s and
early 1930s.
If they had taken notice this would have come as a great disappointment not
only to the radio executives but also to all middle-class politicians, as well as to
the Social Democrats, who tried—as already mentioned—to raise the German
working class on a cultural diet of Beethoven and Schiller. However, no one
did take notice and—which is perhaps even more characteristic—no one even
raised the question of whether audiences appreciated the available programs.
This disregard for the real interests of real people confirms the failure of Wei-
110
Thann, col. 381.
111
See the critical remarks in Fritz Kaphahn, “Die Geisteswissenschaften im Vortrags-
wesen der MIRAG,” in Kaphahn, ed., pp. 24–36, esp. pp. 31–32.
112
On this point, see Lawrence W. Levine, “The Folklore of Industrial Society: Popu-
lar Culture and Its Audience,” American Historical Review 97 (1992): 1369–99, esp.
1373–75.
mar radio executives and radio pundits to conceive of the audience in other
than authoritarian terms. As should be noted again, the peculiar public regula-
tion of the wireless created by the Republic facilitated this basic characteristic
of Weimar radio programming.
It is therefore inappropriate to see radio per se as part of a modern unstra-
tified “mass culture.” Using this term with regard to German broadcasting in
the 1920s misrepresents the educational hopes that were placed in the new
medium by its founders and leading executives. On the contrary, Weimar
broadcasting can be justly regarded as a determined attempt to prevent the
development of such a commercialized and standardized culture in Germany.
The wireless was introduced to Germany at the height and end of inflation.
This happened, of course, by chance, but it is a historical coincidence full of
symbolic meaning. The inflation had not only eroded the foundations of vir-
tually all German cultural institutions—theaters, opera houses, universities,
publishing companies—but it had also shattered the assets and status as well
as the self-esteem and self-image of the German middle classes, especially
of their educated members, the so-called Bildungsbürgertum. Proletarized in
economic terms, they faced a complete “economization of life” and the emer-
gence of a new ruling class of ruthless money grubbers who thought little of
the values of education and culture.113 Weimar radio can be seen as a reaction
to these results of the inflationary process: it reestablished the endangered he-
gemony of traditional bourgeois culture and thereby reinforced the self-esteem
of the battered and embattled German bourgeoisie. Weimar radio programs
confirmed that Germany still existed as a Kulturnation and that the educated
middle class—albeit economically damaged and politically squeezed—was
still its main pillar. In this respect Weimar broadcasting achieved what it set
out to do. But the concept of defensive modernization, which was behind the
public regulation of the German wireless, came up against limiting forces:
broadcasting failed in the greater task of turning the bourgeois cultural heritage
into the universal culture of German society since nothing much came of aspi-
rations to recreate the “wholeness” of the nation with the help of radio pro-
gramming. However, the fact that the attempt was made and that it met with
little more than passive resistance confirms the strength of conservative forces
in German cultural as well as political life in the 1920s. It also supports the
characterization of Weimar Germany as a society that was unprepared to expe-
rience and accept the transformations of modernity.
113
Gerald D. Feldman, The Great Disorder: Politics, Economics, and Society in the
German Inflation, 1914–1924 (New York and Oxford, 1993), pp. 857 (quotation),
533–55.