“The Terror of Uncertain Signs”: Deutsch-Amerikanische Freundschaft

Below is the fourth and final part of my four-part undergraduate thesis, “Fade to Grey: Post-Punk and Lost Modernist Futures.”

Given the visual and sonic nature of this material, I have created an audiovisual piece to accompany the written thesis. It contains the music and music videos discussed in the text, as well as found footage that complements the atmosphere, aesthetics, or themes of the music it accompanies. 

Password: Caron



“The Terror of Uncertain Signs”: Deutsch-Amerikanische Freundschaft

“Die Lustigen Stiefel” - 1980

Most industrial music falls into one of two categories—experimental “noise” industrial or industrial dance music. German duo Deutsch-Amerikanische Freundschaft (commonly abbreviated as “DAF,” for obvious reasons) represents the more percussive, danceable strain of the genre, dubbed “electronic body music,” as opposed to “noise” industrial á la Berlin’s Einstürzende Neubauten or East Yorkshire’s Throbbing Gristle. DAF was formed in Düsseldorf, capital of the Nordrhein-Westfalen region of (then) West Germany, where some of the most influential Krautrock bands, Neu! (Düsseldorf), Can (Cologne), and Kraftwerk (Düsseldorf), had first experimented with electronic instrumentation in the late 1960s/early ‘70s. Nordrhein-Westfalen is historically the most industrialized German state, with its coal mining and steel industries, located mainly in the Rhine-Ruhr region, providing energy, materials, and economic stimulus to West Germany during the postwar era. In this respect, the region shares much in common with Northern England, whose heavily industrialized cities experienced a general economic downturn as the late-postwar-era shift from industrial to postindustrial economies dawned. Nordrhein-Westfalen experienced a similar economic transformation and displacement beginning in the late ‘60s, but in contrast with large, Northern English cities like Sheffield, Düsseldorf did not have a cultural or artistic deprivation, but an abundance of both culture and art. 

Rudi Esch’s Electri_City: The Düsseldorf School of Electronic Music provides an overview of Düsseldorf’s contributions to electronic music through interviews with musicians, producers, record label managers, and others within or inspired by Düsseldorf’s scenes. DAF’s tour manager, Jäki Eldorado, describes Düsseldorf as a sort of cultural inverse of Sheffield: “Düsseldorf always had this elitist artistic flair; it was all about being chic and elegant and even the local punk bands looked like high school students.…In Düsseldorf you had more of a chance to come across an art performance than an honestly felt ‘no future’ protest” (Esch 210). In a city characterized by its “elitist artistic flair,” one would expect a music scene comprised of bands with relatively bourgeois origins like Kraftwerk, which saw itself not only as a musical act, but as an art ensemble drawing from a variety of media. For Krautrock musicians in the late ‘60s and through the ‘70s, this was largely the case—analog synthesizers were large, expensive instruments and only became more affordable towards the late ‘70s. DAF, on the other hand, used self-aware, critical, provocative aesthetics and an experimental approach to the synthesizer that would become emblematic of West German post-punk by the early ‘80s.

As in the UK, punk in West Germany gave way to post-punk by the late ‘70s/early ‘80s, leaving behind its underlying critical, DIY spirit for post-punks to pick up on. These younger musicians, however, ditched traditional instruments in favor of synthesizers, sequencers, and drum machines. DAF represents this post-punk fusion of punk’s DIY attitude, socio-political critique, and provocation with an electronic sound. Although Kraftwerk were one of the first bands to record music using only electronic instruments, DAF did not view themselves as part of the Kraftwerk or Düsseldorf electronic tradition—they wanted to distinguish themselves by using synthesizers in a less calculated way. As Robert Görl of DAF commented in hindsight, ‘At that time in Europe there were only rich guys with their huge synthesizers, the guys like Kraftwerk or Tangerine Dream. They always used their equipment in a really accurate manner and…we really disliked this kind of approach. We wanted to use it in a completely different way, the free way.’ (Stubbs 419). While also hinting at a class and generational gap among Düsseldorf musical circles by the late ‘70s, Görl’s remarks demonstrate how DAF strove to place themselves sonically in  opposition to the electronic instrumentation of musicians born a decade earlier in the late 1940s. Simon Reynolds elaborates on their efforts: “DAF espoused techno-primitivism. ‘Most bands get a synthesizer and their first idea is to tune it!’ Görl told Melody Maker. ‘They want a clean normal sound. They don’t work with the POWER you get from a synthesizer…We want to bring together this high technique with body power so you have the past time mixed with the future’” (Rip It Up and Start Again 340). DAF presented a harsher, more “powerful” alternative to Kraftwerk’s precise, tame synthesizer melodies, and their visual iconography, filled with politically-charged signs and images conveying “body power” also contributed to their provocative, contrarian persona (Figure 16). 

The band experimented with more blatantly-charged aesthetic content, taking Kraftwerk’s ambiguous, subtle nods to Nazi aesthetics and technological ambitions to a more confronting and controversial level. By invoking the Nazi history with decontextualized semiotic gestures and floating signifiers, DAF commented on the contemporary West German state and its failure to adequately address the Nazi past. Like Cabaret Voltaire, DAF were leftists who used provocation and semiotic gestures to raise political questions—specifically, questions about Nazi heritage, German identity, contemporary fascist tendencies and policies of the West German state, and the Cold War-era German division. DAF engaged with distinctly German postwar questions by using fascist signifiers and gestures that, once detached from their original, modernist-era ideological framework, may reassume their “pre-ideological states,” to use philosopher and cultural theorist Slavoj Žižek’s words (The Pervert’s Guide to Ideology). 

DAF’s name itself represents the ironic, critical tone consistent throughout their work—“Deutsch-Amerikanische Freundschaft” means “German-American Friendship,” which alludes to the actual postwar German-American “friendship” premised upon American economic influence over West Germany via the Marshall Plan (which helped to rebuild West Germany and, in part, provided supplies to West Berliners during the Berlin Airlift of 1948-49) and the mass-export of American consumer goods and entertainment (intended to “deprogram” the German people from fascism, share with them the American values of “freedom and liberty,” and band together with them to, yet again, “make the world safe for democracy”). Görl recalls that the band wrote possible names on pieces of paper and voted on them, ultimately deciding on Deutsch-Amerikanische Freundschaft because of its “provocative” and “political” overtones (Esch 208). DAF vocalist Gabi Delgado-López, a Spanish immigrant whose family fled Francisco Franco’s dictatorship in the ‘60s, remarks further on the political dimensions of the band’s name: 

Back in those days if you drove through East Germany you could read all those posters: ‘Long 

live the German-Soviet Friendship.’ In contrast, we had slogans such as ‘Drink Coca-Cola.’ 

That’s how it was in the East and West, we always saw the parallels. We wanted a hard and 

provocative name, and DAF was exactly that. It was abstract and served as political propaganda. 

(Esch 209) (Figure 17)

According to Delgado-López, the name refers not only to West German political dynamics, but to the international political climate at large—it comments on Cold War-era power relations from a critical distance, likening the “German-Soviet Friendship” to a  “German-American Friendship,” and by extension, likening the Soviets, with their massive, socialist Eastern Bloc, to the Americans, with their global military presence and postwar pop-cultural influence (at least in West Germany). Although put vaguely, Delgado-López seems to view the ubiquitous advertisements for American consumer goods in West Germany as perhaps an even more insidious form of propaganda than the self-evidently pro-Soviet posters in East Germany—an advertisement subliminally instructing passersby to “Drink Coca-Cola” induces them to also accept a degree of American cultural dominance, with attractively-packaged consumer goods and pop-cultural objects offered in exchange. In this sense, Deutsch-Amerikanische Freundschaft as a name operates as what Delgado-López calls “political propaganda” by revealing, in the format of Soviet- and GDR-style propaganda, the postwar political and economic dynamics between West Germany and the U.S.

The Anglo-American influence on postwar German culture was especially glaring in the sphere of music—German musicians often imitated popular Anglo-American music styles and sang in English. Even a number of early-‘70s Krautrock and kosmische Musik (cosmic music) bands experimenting with more avant-garde, synthesized sounds sang in English and used English track titles. It wasn’t until post-punk, termed “Neue Deutsche Welle” (“New German Wave”) in Germany, that German musicians would return to singing in their own language, thereby probing its fraught connotations and unique musical capacities. Görl describes the significance DAF’s German lyrics had on their image, as well as on the reception and perception of German music both within Germany and abroad: “It was important that we sung in German; that such progressive music was possible in the German language was a big thing for us. Up until then the Brits and Americans had the monopoly on modern music. We broke their domination” (Esch 218). DAF’s German vocals were experienced as a breakthrough, one step in reconstituting a wholesome, post-Nazi German identity. As Görl suggests, the sudden proliferation of the German language in music—used by both German and non-German post-punk musicians—in the late ‘70s/early ‘80s evidenced a burgeoning new German culture, led by a younger generation that engaged with the Nazi past through irony and decontextualization, instead of avoiding it entirely. Although British post-punks also flirted heavily with both Nazi signifiers (e.g., Joy Division, Siouxsie Sioux, Nitzer Ebb) and the German language (as discussed, Ultravox’s “Herr X” and “Alles Klar,” or the German interlude in the Sisters of Mercy song, “Marian”), any Nazi flirtations on the part of Germans had a far more provocative effect, given the verboten status of these charged signifiers and the country’s uncomfortable relative proximity to the National Socialist period (only thirty-five years stood between 1980 and 1945). Reynolds comments on DAF’s German-language vocals, which at times approximated a Hitler tone or cadence, despite being sung by Delgado-López, a non-native German speaker: 

Even Delgado’s sinister vocal style seemed too evocative of Germany’s recent past, as he himself 

acknowledged: ‘The singing…isn’t like rock ’n’ roll or pop singing. It’s sometimes like in a 

Hitler speech, not a Nazi thing, but it’s in the German character, that CRACK! CRACK! 

CRACK! way of speaking.’ For DAF, the German language’s precise rhythms fitted better with 

their strict rhythmic regime of sequenced synth-pulses. (Rip It Up and Start Again 340)

DAF probed the extent to which the German language itself still had residual Nazi connotations, regardless of the lyrics’ varied linguistic content and meanings. Delgado-López acknowledges this quality in his singing, as though it were intentional—for him, the “Hitler speech” element is simply “in the German character,” meaning the language’s general, perceived “harsh” sound (to those who don’t speak German or who learn it as a foreign language) almost cannot be distinguished from Hitler’s raging speech voice. While Delgado-López stops short of admitting that his vocals sound vaguely Hitler-esque (instead, he insists they sound characteristically German), he invokes the preeminent German postwar question: To what extent did Hitler and Nazism permanently imbue the German language with sinister undertones? Perhaps this Hitler-voice sonic signifier throughout DAF’s music can actually be understood as an attempt to redeem the German language, to drain its Nazi associations by decoupling fascist ideology from fascist signifiers. It is possible that Delgado-López’s vocal style actually presents a radically pre-Nazi iteration of the German language, all by revealing, in a pop-cultural context, the reflexive connotations the language itself is capable of evoking. As an example, Delgado-López’s Hitler voice imitation reaches a peak on the track, “Die Lustigen Stiefel,” from DAF’s second album, Die Kleinen und die Bösen (“The Small Ones and the Evil Ones”), released in 1980. The track's content is also quite provocative—the only lyric throughout is “die lustigen Stiefel marschieren über Polen” (“the merry jackboots march all over Poland”) (“Die Lustigen Stiefel”). DAF attempts an obvious provocation here, but what is most interesting about this track are the brief moments when Delgado-López bursts into a frenzied, enraged, and unintelligible Hitler voice, an imitation of his orating voice, but exaggerated to a near-comical extent. This sonic signifier is immediately recognizable because it is made so extreme—it critically exposes Hitler’s voice as absurd and allows the listener a minimal delight in being able to identify this signifier. When signifiers are politically charged, what does this do to the music? Can the logic of the floating signifier explain how DAF’s use of a loaded, ideological signifier in a pop-cultural context actually voids its fascist dimensions? 

the floating fascist signifier: “Der Mussolini” - 1981

Over the years, there has been widespread academic debate over how fascist signifiers used in art and cultural objects should be interpreted, whether they should be used at all, and whether they risk inspiring actual fascism. Some theorists have argued the latter—for example, Susan Sontag wrote that any use of a fascist signifier, regardless of its detached context or ironic intention, only results in widespread public desensitization to fascism (Reed 196). In short, for Sontag, what looks like fascism is fascism, or at least, its signifiers keep its taboo “allure” alive—by extension, an enjoyment of fascist aesthetics indicates an enjoyment of fascist ideology. This theory seems to presume, at least partly, that the public cannot distinguish ironic invocations of fascism from real-existing-fascism, so such politically-charged signs should be left in the past altogether. In complete contrast, Slavoj Žižek posits that fascist signs, when used ironically in decontextualized, pop-cultural or artistic objects, become voided floating signifiers, their aesthetic capacities separated from their prior ideological meanings. Žižek has discussed these themes frequently over the years, using as examples the ‘80s Slovenian industrial/metal band Laibach and ‘90s German metal band Rammstein, the former of which set a tactical blueprint for the latter. In a 1997 essay entitled, “Plečnik avec Laibach,” scholar Andrew Herscher considers Žižek’s various comments and writings on Laibach, compiling them into an explanation of Žižek’s complex claim that Laibach actually subverts fascist signifiers and dismantles fascist ideology with their music. The method of analysis Žižek presents (and Herscher explains) can also help us understand DAF’s use of ideologically-charged signs and gestures—in fact, DAF formed two years before Laibach and, in many ways, first tested the boundaries and capacities of fascist signifiers in a musical context. 

To begin, Herscher describes how the floating signifier (the original, “pre-ideological” form of the signifier) is absorbed into an “ideological field” that imbues it with connotations and meanings: 

…Žižek refines Louis Althusser’s non-super-structural model of ideology by drawing upon 

Ernesto Laclau and Chantal Mouffe’s notion of preideological or protoideological ‘floating 

signifiers.’ These floating signifiers become solidified into a field through discursive articulation; 

as they are affiliated into a discourse, their meaning becomes fixed and the ideological field is 

constituted. For Žižek, this field is a Lacanian ‘quilt,’ structured through the intervention of a 

‘nodal point’ that confers a precise and fixed signification to the field’s other elements. It is this 

nodal point, or ‘pure signifier,” that guarantees the consistency of the ideological field, rather than 

any referent, any ‘real object.’ (Herscher 66) 

Accordingly, for every set of floating signifiers, there is one “pure signifier,” a signifier without ambiguity, whose meaning remains fixed and “guarantees the consistency of the ideological field”— it confers certain meanings onto the formerly “preideological” floating signifiers contained within the field. Let us take as an example DAF’s most well-known song, “Der Mussolini,” from their 1981 album, Alles ist gut (Figure 18). The title already contains a fascist sign (Benito Mussolini’s name), but its overall structure, in contrast, follows disco conventions, with Delgado-López instructing listeners, with the conviction of a totalitarian leader, to “clap your hands,” “shake your ass,” and “dance the Mussolini, Adolf Hitler, Jesus Christ, and communism” (“Der Mussolini”). In a 2007 interview on German public television, Delgado-López comments on what these ideological gestures mean for him: “It’s even a demystifying song, and it goes, ‘Mussolini, Adolf Hitler, Jesus Christ, communism.’ It also demonstrates the interchangeability of totalitarian ideologies. Even negative [ideological] monuments are monuments, and I know this from my family, who really suffered under Franco” (“DAF - Der Mussolini (1981)”). For him, fascist references belong to a wider network of totalitarian signs, all of which are negatively charged with traumatic histories. To relate back to Žižek’s analysis, each of these signs in “Der Mussolini”—Mussolini, Hitler, Jesus, communism—belongs to a different “ideological field” (excepting Mussolini and Hitler, perhaps), but they are treated with equal amounts of irony in the song, which, according to Delgado-López, “demonstrates the interchangeability of totalitarian ideologies.” Despite this intention, DAF were criticized by German media outlets, which accused them of being fascists. Along Žižek’s reasoning, however, the song contains no “nodal point,” no overarching ideological structure that can define or give true fascist ideological signification to these individual signifiers, which are entirely detached from their original, varied contexts and then adapted to mimic disco conventions. 

On one level, we have these names-as-signifiers (Mussolini, Hitler, Jesus, communism), and on another level, the German language, Delgado-López’s vocal style, and the strong, hard, almost militaristic musical quality also act as sonic signifiers. For Žižek, particular signifiers (in the context of Laibach, which incorporates elements from Slovenian Christian socialism, Soviet socialist realism, and Nazi Germany) connote fascism only insofar as they are contained within an actually fascist “ideological field.” Žižek argues that an “alienation of the ideological field” allows Laibach to successfully uncouple fascist ideology and fascist aesthetics. Herscher elaborates,

In Žižek’s account of Laibach performances, this alienation occurs through an extraction of 

signifiers from the discursive matrix that originally endowed them with meaning. Laibach 

accomplishes this extraction by juxtaposing signifiers from different, and incompatible, 

discourses within a single, unprecedented nondiscursive space….For this effect of alienation to be 

sustained, the new context of these ‘pieces’ must remain prediscursive, a ‘senseless network;’ the 

context of the Laibach performance cannot restructure the pieces into another discursive 

formation. In Žižek’s account, then, Laibach Kunst is purely appropriative, purely reflective, 

because there is no new ‘nodal point’ around which the pieces of the different discourses can 

recoalesce. These pieces become ‘floating signifiers,’ dispersed in a space that is logically, if not 

temporally, prior to their endowment with meaning. (Herscher 67) 

Similarly to Laibach, DAF juxtaposes signifiers from various “discourses” or “ideological fields” into an equally “nondiscursive space,” a pop-cultural object or oeuvre that is more provocative than ideologically motivated in nature. Incompatible ideological fields are combined within the band’s imagery—fascist aesthetics (the German language, Nazi-tinged words, such as “Volk” or “Stiefel,” mentions of Hitler and Mussolini) inhabit the same “nondiscursive space” as  communist aesthetics (Die Kleinen und die Bösen album cover, the band’s name having been inspired by a GDR propaganda poster, the “tanz den Kommunismus” lyric), resulting in an imagined space, where mutually exclusive political tendencies harmoniously overlap and merge (Figure 19). “Der Mussolini” in particular, and DAF as a project more broadly, creates “a senseless network” of signifiers that lacks any fixed ideological framework for these charged fascist or communist signifiers to inhabit—they are effectively reverted to their pre-ideological states.

Another element of Žižek’s Laibach analysis has to do with his understanding of how the Lacanian concept of enjoyment, a sort of perverse pleasure found in pain, functions under fascist rule—the individual must sacrifice pleasure, freedom, the self, out of sheer obedience to the leader, while deriving enjoyment from this act of sacrifice (Herscher 67). As Herscher writes, 

The fantasy of fascism is, for Žižek, the renunciation of enjoyment in the face of the fascist 

demand for total obedience. The fascist subject is to obey authority not out of desire, but rather, 

out of obligation….Thus, in fascism, enjoyment comes from groundless obedience, which is to 

say, from the renunciation of enjoyment. (Herscher 67)

Under fascism, enjoyment becomes paradoxical—the individual has no choice but to obey and sacrifice the self, which results in a lack of true enjoyment and an authority-mandated enjoyment in this very lack, according to Žižek. In the context of music that co-opts fascist signifiers, then, this mandate to obey is lifted—music is, at its core, about finding pleasure in sound and vision. Since Laibach does not express an imperative to obey or sacrifice, music cannot establish Žižek’s conception of the fascist fantasy, but instead, results in enjoyment alone: 

In the Laibach spectacle, however, there are fascist signifiers with no fascist fantasy; or, in other 

words, fascist signifiers are identified with only on the level of pleasure, without the fantasy 

project that typically enables such identification. Laibach thus transforms fascism’s renunciation 

of enjoyment in favor of action into nothing but enjoyment, using the thematic and material 

apparata of fascism itself. (Herscher 68)

For Žižek, Laibach replaces the fascist demand for obedience, and for the subject’s perverse enjoyment in obedience (the “renunciation of enjoyment”), into pure enjoyment. In the context of DAF, this operation occurs throughout “Der Mussolini”—Delgado-López’s symbolic voice of authority (specifically, fascist authority, based on the German-language vocals and Hitler-speech cadence) in the song demands audiences to obey, to enjoy the drilling beat, clap their hands, “tanz den Mussolini,” out of desire, all conveyed using the lyrical conventions of a disco song. DAF challenges our expectations—Delgado-López’s spoken orders, set against this sharp, militaristic synth beat, appear at first reminiscent of Nazi commands (“schnell, schnell!”), but shed their Nazi tone when what is being commanded is for us to enjoy the beat, to take pleasure in these decontextualized, pre-ideological floating signifiers (Mussolini, Hitler, Jesus, communism), renamed as though they were dance moves. We are commanded to do what we would already do if we heard a song as bold and catchy as “Der Mussolini”—dance, sing, enjoy. DAF’s fascist mandate is not a renunciation of enjoyment in the name of the leader, but an all-consuming enjoyment in this new vanguard of German pop music. 

DAF were revolutionary musically, aesthetically, and conceptually—they were provocateurs, and they certainly had critics. As semiotician Roland Barthes writes, “…in every society various techniques are developed intended to fix the floating chain of signifieds in such a way as to counter the terror of uncertain signs” (Barthes 39). DAF, as well as most music within the industrial oeuvre, does not attempt to “fix” the floating signifier, but to leave it floating, in all its ambiguity and potential “terror.” As a result of bands like DAF and Laibach, all kinds of charged, political signifiers have become subsumed in the post-punk and industrial symbolic realms, and now take on associations beyond, and detached from, their historical meanings. Following Žižek’s analysis to its logical conclusion, these signifiers have found new expression in pop-cultural objects, which, by nature, prioritize enjoyment in aesthetics—and by enjoying these aesthetics, we resist the fascist demand to give up enjoyment in obedience (The Pervert’s Guide to Ideology). DAF’s brand of historical reflection differs from that of the New Romantics, for example, in that it does not idealize the past, nor does it have an ounce of nostalgia for Third Reich-era Germany or the Soviet Union under Stalin. Rather, at this thirty-five-year temporal remove from such fraught and traumatic historical periods, DAF and other German post-punk musicians reflected on the Nazi heritage and continued, in their own, provocative way, the incomplete postwar project of Vergangenheitsbewältigung (“coming to terms with the past”). German post-punks did not live through the Nazi period, but they responded to the silence of their parents’ generation and to the contemporary West German political establishment, one filled with ex-Nazis who had fought in World War II. They strove to construct a new German identity that challenged West German discourse on Nazism, and they did so using the very signs and aesthetics that Nazism created or turned taboo. In a sense, German post-punks like DAF, akin to British post-punks, also responded to perceived “lost futures”—in the case of Germany, these futures were cultural or ideological futures, lost (in lives) during the war, lost (in possible modernist-era cultural objects) under Hitler and National Socialism, lost after the mass-bombings of German cities, and lost again with the walling-off of East Germany and the ever-heightened Cold War tensions between the two German states. There was a cultural loss in the immediate postwar period, referred to as the “Stunde Null,” (“zero hour”), in which the German identity formed under National Socialism had to be scrapped, and in which the search for a wholesome, pre-Nazi and post-Nazi German heritage and identity began. These losses, although not experienced firsthand by our German post-punk subjects, remained largely unresolved in the German collective memory, and as such, remained “specters of lost futures”—perhaps especially lost modernist futures—of a sort, felt even by postwar generations. 

Works Cited

Barthes, Roland. Image, Music, Text. Translated by Stephen Heath, Hill and Wang, 1977.

“DAF - Der Mussolini (1981).” Popsplits: Ein Song und seine Geschichte, RBB Fernsehen, Rundfunk 

Berlin-Brandenburg, 30 November 2007, YouTube, youtu.be/M0HuLRkyaDk. 

Deutsch-Amerikanische Freundschaft. “Der Mussolini.” 1981. Das Beste von DAF, Mute, 2009, CD. 

Deutsch-Amerikanische Freundschaft. “Die Lustigen Stiefel.” 1980. Die Kleinen und die Bösen, 

Groenland Records, 2016. Spotify, open.spotify.com/track/0vk5NdrTuoBBD8r3HmLTM6?

si=KLQTD1KoTZu9KUeTYXtjLQ.

Esch, Rudie. Electri_City: The Düsseldorf School of Electronic Music. E-book, Omnibus Press, 2016.

Herscher, Andrew and Slavoj Žižek. “Everything Provokes Fascism/Plečnik avec Laibach.” Assemblage, 

No. 33, MIT Press, August 1997, pp. 58-75. JSTOR, www.jstor.org/stable/3171381.

Reynolds, Simon. Rip It Up and Start Again: Postpunk 1978-1984. Faber & Faber, 2005.

Stubbs, David. Future Days: Krautrock and the Birth of a Revolutionary New Music. Melville House, 

2015.

The Pervert’s Guide to Ideology. Directed by Sophie Fiennes, performed by Slavoj Žižek, Zeitgeist Films, 

2013. Kanopy, nyu.kanopy.com/video/perverts-guide-ideology.

Figures

Figure 16: Photo of Gabi Delgado-López and Robert Görl. “DAF (Deutsch-Amerikanische 

Freundschaft),” Antiwar Songs, www.antiwarsongs.org/do_search.php?

idartista=13600&lang=en&stesso=1.

Figure 17: Image of GDR poster, “Wir erzwingen den Frieden Monat der Deutsch-Sowjetischen 

Freundschaft 1950.” Europeana, www.europeana.eu/en/item/08547/sgml_eu_php_obj_p0004942

Figure 18: Image of DAF’s Alles ist gut album cover. Amazon, www.amazon.com/Alles-Ist-Gut-DAF/dp/

B07782N95L.

Figure 19: Image of DAF’s Die Kleinen und die Bösen album cover. jpc, www.jpc.de/jpcng/poprock/

detail/-/art/d-a-f-die-kleinen-und-die-boesen/hnum/7961271.