At the opening reception of her career retrospective This Will Not End Well at Berlin’s Neue Nationalgalerie on November 22, Nan Goldin delivered a speech that reverberated across the world. “Why can’t I speak, Germany?” she asked, denouncing the country’s silencing of criticism against Israel’s ongoing war on Gaza. Goldin began her speech with several minutes of silence in honor of the tens of thousands of civilians killed in Gaza and Lebanon and the 815 Israeli civilians killed on October 7, 2023. Standing next to museum Director Klaus Biesenbach, she emphasized that her art is inseparable from her activism.
Two days later, I sat down with Goldin for an interview, first published in German on November 28 in the Frankfurter Rundschau and reprinted in English for the first time below. In our conversation, Goldin discusses her tense experience with the Neue Nationalgalerie, alleging that the museum censored a slide that she asked to add to her acclaimed 1985 slideshow “The Ballad of Sexual Dependency.” The slide in question, according to Goldin, included a statement expressing solidarity with the people of Gaza, the Occupied West Bank, and Lebanon, as well as Israeli victims of the October 7 attack.
After the interview was published, the museum contested Goldin’s account of censorship, saying in a December 6 statement that the slide was inserted without prior consultation with the museum, did not originally name Israeli victims, and was later removed by Goldin’s own studio team.
However, an email correspondence between Goldin and Biesenbach tells a more nuanced and ultimately different story. “You may not have used the word censor, but you used coercion,” Goldin wrote to the museum director on December 3, claiming the Neue Nationalgalerie had warned her that including the original slide could jeopardize the institution’s funding. Goldin says that her repeated requests to include the slide were denied by a museum employee despite its mention of Israeli victims.
“In what world are these two incidents not coercion?” Goldin wrote in her email to Biesenbach, attaching a photo of the slide and requesting its reinsertion. In a later conversation I had with Goldin, she objected the notion that she should have pre-cleared “sensitive content” with the museum, calling it “outrageous.”
Leaked internal emails following Goldin’s heated back-and-forth with Biesenbach show the director consulting with senior staff at Germany’s Ministry of Culture and the Prussian Cultural Heritage Foundation, the federal body overseeing the museum. “Could/should/would the slide be inserted, as it now also names the Israeli victims?” he asked.
When I asked Biesenbach whether political pressure was leveled to avoid contentious stances on Israel or Palestine, he directed me to a statement by the Prussian Cultural Heritage Foundation. The statement reads: “We do not tolerate any anti-Semitic, racist, Islamophobic, or otherwise inhumane statements or symbols. We reject calls for boycotts, threats, insults, verbal violence, or violent acts.” On December 4, the Neue Nationalgalerie confirmed to Goldin that her proposed slide would be included by December 16.
Meanwhile, a debate erupted around a symposium organized by the Neue Nationalgalerie in conjunction with Goldin’s show, titled “Art and Activism in Times of Polarization: A Discussion Space on the Middle East Conflict” and held on November 24. Led by Israeli-German writer Meron Mendel and Pakistani-German political analyst Saba-Nur Cheema, the symposium was promoted as a nuanced dialogue around issues of antisemitism, racism, artistic freedom, and expressions of political solidarity within the German cultural sector. Speakers ranged from Austrian journalist Andreas Fanizadeh, notorious for going after pro-Palestine artists, to South African artist Candice Breitz, whose exhibition and conference were canceled in Germany last November over her views on Gaza. After calls by the group Strike Germany to boycott the event, accusing it of being “dominated by genocide-denying Zionists,” speakers including Breitz, Hito Steyerl, and Forensic Architecture’s Eyal Weizman withdrew their participation. Goldin says she never gave her approval for the symposium to be timed with her exhibition.
The debate underscores a growing crisis over artistic freedom in Germany, which has escalated sharply since October 7, 2023. State-funded cultural institutions have severed ties with multiple international artists deemed politically risky over their views on Israel and Palestine. When asked whether this could jeopardize future collaborations with artists, Biesenbach stated: “The museum stands by the principle of artistic freedom, as long as it aligns with our Code of Conduct.”
I met Goldin at a friend’s apartment in Berlin on November 24. Our conversation, excerpts of which first appeared in Frankfurter Rundschau, began with the controversy surrounding her Berlin retrospective and continued into reflections about her lifetime of art and activism. The interview has been lightly edited and condensed for clarity.
Hanno Hauenstein: Your speech at the opening of your Berlin retrospective sparked chants in solidarity, but also lots of criticism in Germany. How are you feeling in light of all this?
Nan Goldin: I’m so relieved it worked out. I spent an entire year being nervous about this night. Since I got here, all I’ve done is write. The other night, I realized great speeches are like sermons. They have a call-and-response structure. I thought, that’s what I’ll do. Call and response, questions, answers.
HH: You started this speech with minutes of silence in commemoration of killed Palestinians, Lebanese, and Israelis …
NG: … entire four minutes of silence, yes. I was so amazed that close to 1,000 people were standing together in silence. One baby cried. I found all this very touching.
HH: Your art and your activism have been inseparable for decades — yet, in your speech you mentioned the museum, the Neue Nationalgalerie, wouldn’t accept this?
NG: We told them so many times. But they kept trying all kinds of control methods the entire year leading up to the show. I said, “Klaus, all you have to do is say: She has a right to speak, even if I disagree.” I had no idea they were setting up an entire symposium to prove that.
HH: You weren’t aware that this symposium would take place alongside the show?
NG: We knew about one panel. Not of a day-long symposium. And even on this one panel, I had told them explicitly it had to be distanced from me. They still used my show and my name for it. They used me, essentially. It was a setup so that they could prove they didn’t agree with my positions.
HH: Just to clarify this: You say you feel used by the museum?
NG: I felt disavowed by the museum. They knew who they were inviting. I constantly reminded them of my political stance. They worked hard to prove they didn’t support the artist they are showing. They also censored me, by the way.
HH: How so?
NG: There is a credit slide at the end of the slideshow for [“The Ballad of Sexual Dependency”] in memory of my 43 friends who are in the show and died, mostly from AIDS. I added one more slide there that reads: “In solidarity with the people of Gaza, the West Bank, and Lebanon. And the Israeli civilians killed on October 7.”
HH: What happened with that slide?
NG: Well, I was told I had to take it out. It is an analog show. I wanted to leave a trace that would touch people and would hopefully move them. Not just in the form of a speech. Apparently, the museum didn’t want any indication of my politics in the work — or to allow room for mourning inside the show.
HH: What were some of the key messages you wanted to get across in your opening speech?
NG: That advocating for human rights isn’t antisemitic. And that anti-Zionism and antisemitism aren’t the same thing.
HH: In your speech, you refer to what you call Israel’s genocide in Gaza and a climate of repression around that issue in Germany. What, do you think, lies at the heart of this repression?
NG: Memory culture is being used in Germany. The International Holocaust Remembrance Alliance is issuing guidelines that prevent critiques of the Israeli government. Just a few weeks ago, a new government resolution in Germany has reinforced those guidelines. Over 180 artists and cultural workers have been canceled. This climate of repression also goes for making comparisons to the Holocaust — as if there hadn’t been genocides elsewhere.
HH: Can you be more specific as to what you mean by that?
NG: What’s unique about the Holocaust was the way the killing was done — so planned, so orchestrated. The genocide in Gaza doesn’t have that degree of control. Yes, the Holocaust is unique. But haven’t there been other genocides? Isn’t there a genocide happening in Sudan? The fact that what happens in Gaza is being live-streamed takes it to another level. People can see it. They could still do something about it.
HH: As someone who isn’t Jewish and who grew up in Germany, I wonder: Can you understand why some of your positions may be difficult to digest for many Germans?
NG: Of course. But the idea that descendants of Nazis would tell me I’m antisemitic is just outrageous to me. That makes me question how ingrained memory culture really is in Germany. Don’t Germans see what is happening in Palestine? I understand feeling guilty about the Holocaust. It’s commendable that Germany has tried to be accountable. But does that give Israel impunity? Why does “Never Again” not count for everybody?
HH: Why is it important for you to speak out about these issues in Germany?
NG: I wanted to speak out on behalf of all the artists. This issue is so repressed in Germany. One of the most difficult things to me was knowing that many artists and writers have been canceled over Palestine. I saw my opening as a test case. A way to maybe pave a way for others to speak out.
HH: What do you expect from Germany?
NG: Germany needs to learn how to listen to the public. A large percentage of the German public wants an arms embargo. All this is just so tragic. There’s a genocide happening right now, as we speak.
HH: Claudia Roth, Germany’s federal minister of culture, called your speech “unbearably one-sided”; Berlin’s culture senator Joe Chialo described it as “oblivious to history.” What do you make of such comments?
NG: Aren’t these kinds of statements just so convenient? Like Klaus Biesenbach reciting his litany on stage, after my speech — to please the powers that be.
HH: Has the way in which some politicians and journalists in Germany talked about you and the show hurt you?
NG: I care if a friend hurts me. Not these people.
HH: What did you make of Strike Germany’s attempt to get the symposium canceled?
NG: I myself wanted it canceled, too. Like I said, I never agreed to it in the first place. I first heard about it from people who were invited to be on it. The last time we heard about it was when someone sent me a press release. Museums don’t usually file press releases without letting us see them.
HH: Didn’t you have a chance to communicate this to Klaus Biesenbach?
NG: All my conversations with him were like, “We’re going to have a beautiful show.” When I wrote to him [about] what happened, he was like, “We’ll talk when we meet.” Well, there was never a discussion. Eventually, Klaus took his name off the show’s announcement just weeks before the opening. We learned that from the invitation.
HH: How was your communication with the rest of the museum?
NG: One of Klaus’s people asked me on Zoom: “Why are you against Israel?” She tried to paint my positions as a sort of childhood trauma, as if something turned me the wrong way. She implied we were antisemitic. She even started crying! On Zoom, with me and my studio manager Alex, who’s also Jewish. I said, “Sorry, but we can’t work with this person.” Klaus said: “We’re a team.” Ever since, every communication has gone through my Swedish curator, Fredrik Liew. But we suspected the museum wanted me to cancel the show.
HH: Did you ever consider canceling it?
NG: Many times.
HH: What made you go through with it then?
NG: The speech. The show is beautiful, but it was secondary to me.
HH: Your grandparents fled antisemitic pogroms in Russia, you grew up with this trauma. In your speech, you said this is what you think of when you look at images from Gaza.
NG: Undeniably that’s what I think of. I was watching the daily dispatches from Motaz [Azaiza], the Gazan journalist, and Bisan [Owda], this powerful young woman, on Instagram. Now there are less and less images because so many journalists were killed. One hundred and sixty in one year. My algorithms are no longer bringing up these reels. Now it’s mostly just animals.
HH: Has being so outspoken affected your position as an artist?
NG: For sure. Before signing the Artforum letter [in October 2023], for the first time in my career, I had money. I could give my assistants raises. Since then, things have become more difficult. Many people tried canceling me. I was asked to take my name off that letter. I was asked to apologize. I refused to do any of that. So, this show was huge for me.
HH: After October 7, you also began boycotting the New York Times. Why?
NG: In the New York Times, people in Gaza just “die” — they’re never killed. They’ve been a propaganda mouthpiece for Israel for the longest time. Even intelligent people around me often don’t fully understand what’s going on in Gaza because to them the New York Times is the paper of record. The media is very responsible for manufacturing consent for the daily deaths we’re seeing on our phones. I worked for the paper for years. When the war on Gaza started, I canceled those gigs. Maybe naively, I thought we could actually stop this.
HH: Do you see any parallels to the media’s lack of responsibility during the ACT UP era?
NG: Absolutely. The media was very responsible for the AIDS epidemic. They engaged in a campaign of silence and stigmatized people with AIDS. The disease was labeled “gay cancer.” Allegedly, only homosexual men got it. They also made it sound as if those who had it deserved it. This stigma was responsible for thousands of deaths.
HH: In Laura Poitras’s film about your life and work, All the Beauty and the Bloodshed, there’s a chapter about a show you curated in New York in the late 1980s titled Witnesses: Against Our Vanishing, for which you collaborated with David Wojnarowicz. That show faced a major backlash. Do you see similarities to what’s happened now in Berlin?
NG: I see it as a direct line. It was the first show about AIDS in New York. David Wojnarowicz wrote the catalog piece, in which he called the New York cardinal a “fat fucking cannibal in black skirts.” He also wrote that [former North Carolina Senator] Jesse Helms, who was censoring artists at the time, should be lit on fire. The director of the National Endowment for the Arts (NEA) decided to pull all the funding. Lots of artists spoke up, it was a huge scandal. In the end, Leonard Bernstein and the Mapplethorpe Foundation gave money. This show was about living with AIDS knowing that there was nothing you could do. There really was nothing at the time. I watched all my friends die.
HH: Are you channeling some of that anger today?
NG: I don’t need to channel anything, this anger is a big part of me. A couple of years later, when I got an NEA grant myself, I was asked to sign a statement that I wouldn’t photograph gay sex or promote homosexuality. I refused, of course, and didn’t get the money.
HH: You also initiated the now-infamous PAIN campaign against the Sackler family’s omnipresence in art collections around the world to highlight their complicity in the opioid crisis.
NG: Yes, and that was just 15 of us! Fifteen people bringing down a billionaire family and holding museums accountable. By the way, my battle was never against the drugs. My battle was against the profiteers of the crisis. “Memory Lost,” which is part of the Berlin show, deals with addiction. And how human it is.
HH: You’re internationally known as a photographer. This Will Not End Well ventures more into filmmaking …
NG: Well, actually, I’ve been doing slideshows since 1981. But yes, this is the first time I’m having a major show that’s exclusively made of slideshows. My curator Frederik and I had the same vision of this at the same time. Slideshows are what I love and care about.
HH: What do you think changes for the viewer?
NG: It’s about time and the inability to hold on to an image. It’s closer to life. Many people tell me they find their own story in “Ballad.”
HH: “The Ballad of Sexual Dependency” is likely the most famous work in the show. But there’s also the film “Sisters, Saints, Sibyls,” which tells the story of your older sister Barbara, who took her own life at the age of 18. What was your intention behind this work?
NG: I wanted people to feel trapped. I wanted to create a situation in which you cannot look away. It was a very deliberate decision. The work deals with the myth of the Christian martyr Saint Barbara. It was created for the chapel of the Salpêtrière Hospital in Paris in 2004, as an installation with wax figures on the ground. There are two minutes of me burning myself in this film. A lot of people fainted at the initial screening. Jean-Martin Charcot used to do all his famous work on women and hysteria at the Salpêtrière. It was the perfect place for this piece.
HH: When you watch “Sisters, Saints, Sibyls” today, what does that do to you?
NG: Sometimes it breaks me up. Sometimes I’m just looking at it almost technically. But most of the time it still hurts. Same goes for “Ballad.” The other pieces in the show don’t hurt that much.
HH: What draws you to film as a medium?
NG: I watch a film a day. My favorite experience of watching a movie is to become who I’m watching. To be fully transported inside.
HH: What was it like watching the architecture of the show come together in Berlin?
NG: So far, we’ve shown the pavilions only in dark rooms without windows or natural light. It’s exciting to have the city be part of the architecture of the show. I started coming to Berlin in 1984. I always loved that museum so much.
HH: Your work addresses topics often still considered taboo. Would it be right to say that your art is part of a struggle against shame?
NG: I let the work tell me what it wants to say. But yes, it is a struggle against what cannot be said. Like the stigma around drug use, mental illness and suicide, and around words. I made it my project to fight all that stigma. My work is also about paying homage to the people I’ve loved, and about preserving their memories.
