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Charges
In recent years, the refugee problem has become impossible to ignore, as multiple crises in the Middle East and Africa have driven thousands of desperate people to attempt Mediterranean crossings in hopes of reaching Europe, and safety. Many have died en route, and those who make it face a far from certain future, as European governments have proved reluctant to fully acknowledge, let alone commit to ameliorating, their plight.
In Charges (The Supplicants) , Nobel Prize–winning writer Elfriede Jelinek offers a powerful analysis of the plight of refugees, from ancient times to the present. She responds to the immeasurable suffering among those fleeing death, destruction, and political suppression in their home countries and, drawing on sources as widely separated in time and intent as up-to-the-minute blog postings and Aeschylus’s “The Supplicants,” Jelinek asks what refugees want, how we as a society view them, and what political, moral, and personal obligations they impose on us. Looking at the global refugee crisis of our current moment, she analyzes challenges to the political, social, and psychological realities in safe, comfortable Western countries, exploring what everyday language and media coverage reveal about Western perceptions of refugees. In a world where insecurity seems to spread by the day, Charges (The Supplicants) is a timely, unflinching account of how we treat those who come to us in need.
In Charges (The Supplicants) , Nobel Prize–winning writer Elfriede Jelinek offers a powerful analysis of the plight of refugees, from ancient times to the present. She responds to the immeasurable suffering among those fleeing death, destruction, and political suppression in their home countries and, drawing on sources as widely separated in time and intent as up-to-the-minute blog postings and Aeschylus’s “The Supplicants,” Jelinek asks what refugees want, how we as a society view them, and what political, moral, and personal obligations they impose on us. Looking at the global refugee crisis of our current moment, she analyzes challenges to the political, social, and psychological realities in safe, comfortable Western countries, exploring what everyday language and media coverage reveal about Western perceptions of refugees. In a world where insecurity seems to spread by the day, Charges (The Supplicants) is a timely, unflinching account of how we treat those who come to us in need.
200 pages, Hardcover
First published January 1, 2013
3 people are currently reading
171 people want to read
About the author
Elfriede Jelinek
163 books1,106 followersElfriede Jelinek is an Austrian playwright and novelist, best known for her novel, The Piano Teacher.
She was awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature in 2004 for her "musical flow of voices and counter-voices in novels and plays that, with extraordinary linguistic zeal, reveal the absurdity of society's clichés and their subjugating power."
She was awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature in 2004 for her "musical flow of voices and counter-voices in novels and plays that, with extraordinary linguistic zeal, reveal the absurdity of society's clichés and their subjugating power."
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Displaying 1 - 14 of 14 reviews
June 21, 2017
Aeschylus’s tragedy The Suppliant Women is a unique piece of Ancient Greek theater because the poet uses the chorus, normally reserved for a secondary role, as the protagonist of his play. The Danaides, the fifty daughters of Danaus, are refugees from Egypt where they were going to be forced into marriage with their cousins. Having chosen flight from Egypt instead of mandatory betrothal, The Danaides arrive in Argos seeking asylum. As the chorus/protagonist of this tragedy, these women tell us, with one, strong, loud, simultaneous voice, about the hardships they’ve suffered and they beg, as suppliants at the altar of Zeus, for protection.
Elfriede Jelinek adopts the narrative structure, setting and themes of Aeschylus’s Suppliant Women for her drama entitled Charges which delivers a powerful, raw, emotional depiction of the refugee crisis playing out globally. The nobel prize winning author witnesses via television and other media—she is an agoraphobe—the plight of a group of refugees from Central Asia and the Middle East who arrive in Vienna in November of 2012 and set up a camp in front of a church. The local populace engages in an intense debate about what to do with these illegal immigrants, politicians and the media get involved, and some of the refugees take shelter inside the church where they go on a prolonged hunger strike.
At the same time that this humanitarian tragedy is unfolding, a world-renowned, Russian opera singer and the daughter of Boris Yeltsin, both very wealthy with powerful political allies, are given citizenship. While the refugees from the church are shuffled off to a monastery where they can be kept out of public site these two privileged women are bestowed with the freedom and honor of asylum and naturalization. Although she uses this scenario that takes place in her hometown as the backdrop for her drama, Jelinek chooses not to mention Vienna or other specific place names in her text; she makes her themes of displacement, fear and privilege universal, ones that can be applied to any of the current refugee crises we see playing out on a daily basis in various parts of the world.
By using the chorus, in the tradition of an Ancient Greek tragedy, Jelinek is able to employ several dramatic techniques to emphatically get her point across about the desparate and sad plight of the refugees. For instance, as is common in ancient tragedy, the chorus in Charges repeat themselves, in a rhythmic way, circling back often to the same themes and topics. In addition, punctuation and connectives are dispensed with in order to give their speech a vehemence that conveys the deplorable hardships that they have suffered and continue to suffer:
We lie on the cold stone floor, but this comes hot off the press, here it is irrefutably, irreconcilably, poured into this brochure like water that instantly runs down and out instantly, like water thrown from cliff to cliff, turned into water as well, sinking like statues, almost elegantly, with raised hands, no, no, from dam to dam, into the bottomless, into the micro power plant, down, down it goes for years, we vanish, we vanish as we become more and more, funny, we still vanish, though our numbers increase, our courage does not vanish, there are ever more, though also fewer and fewer of us, may don’t even arrive, the suffering people are falling like water off the cliff, down the butte, into the chute, over the mountains, through the sea, over the sea, into the sea, always thrown, always driven…
The most striking similarity between The Suppliants and Charges is the explanation that the refugee choruses give in both plays for choosing flight from their homelands and for seeking refuge from strangers. Aeschylus’s chorus begins the play with an justification for their sea voyage to Argos: “This exile is our own decision. We have fled a despicable situation.” The words spoken by Aeschylus’s chorus more than two thousand years ago, which evoke sympathy and compassion from the audience, is equally fitting for Jelinek’s refugee chorus who, by their own choosing, have also escaped dangerous conditions in their homeland and at sea. Escape into the unknown is a theme that Jelinek’s refugees return to repeatedly in the play; they speak of family members who have been murdered and their attempts to avoid the same fate for themselves. Some of the most heartrending parts of the chorus’s speech are when they recount their griefs and their woes and the endless indignity of their misfortunes:
…We look around, but how does prosperity work? If it is that common, should we have it too? At least be able to obtain it? After those monstrous killers back home, no, that isn’t your fault, we aren’t throwing that in your face, we are throwing ourselves in front of you, after they took everything from us, we should be able to get something, anything back, no? Something should be accessible to us, we should get something, instead you call us a cursed, raging brood, brood, brood! Like animals! Brood of foreigners!
Hearing the refugees speak, in the first person, about their escape, rejection and maltreatment from other citizens of the world increases the pathos of Jelinek’s narrative. There is a point in their speech during which the tone of the narrative becomes decidedly angry; these feelings of resentment come from the fact that two prominent Russian women are given citizenship while these refugees live in squalor like beggars. The opera singer, in particular, becomes the focus for Jelinek’s outrage as the author uses parallels between this privileged refugee’s circumstances and the mythic character of Ovid’s Io.
Io was loved by Zeus and in order to protect his lover from his wife’s wrath, Zeus disguises Io by turning her into a cow. In Jelinek’s narrative the opera singer becomes that cow, traveling around the world, not suffering any consequences for her transgressions. Once this prominent woman is issued citizenship, she chooses not to live in this country but instead travels the world. Io is usually a character worthy of sympathy because of her seduction by Zeus; but in Charges the opera singer becomes a derogatory cow, the name of which animal is uttered with biting sarcasm:
How did she become a citizen?, alright then, we guarantee you no one died there, in that dump, not the daughter either, the European cow, excuse me, she turned into one only now, an official main residence has been registered here, which we don’t have, she does, but she does not live there either, you are here to stay, you have a say, you have the voters, at least on your side, you the but sponsors but no trace of those—now I don’t know myself whom I mean.
In his book The Greeks, H.D.F. Kitto argues that the Greek dramatists used myths infused with moral, religious and philosophical meaning to instruct their fellow Athenians on how to live a good life. Drama becomes “an explanation of human life and of the human soul.” Jelinek has brilliantly adopted the medium of these ancient poets in order to enlighten us about those who have been displaced from their homes and cannot return safely. The chorus of refugees in Charges, speaking in one loud, emphatic, emotional voice is distressing and tragic. We should treat them with dignity, kindness and generosity instead of with disgust and xenophobia and recognize that this has become a human rights crisis of epic proportions.
Elfriede Jelinek adopts the narrative structure, setting and themes of Aeschylus’s Suppliant Women for her drama entitled Charges which delivers a powerful, raw, emotional depiction of the refugee crisis playing out globally. The nobel prize winning author witnesses via television and other media—she is an agoraphobe—the plight of a group of refugees from Central Asia and the Middle East who arrive in Vienna in November of 2012 and set up a camp in front of a church. The local populace engages in an intense debate about what to do with these illegal immigrants, politicians and the media get involved, and some of the refugees take shelter inside the church where they go on a prolonged hunger strike.
At the same time that this humanitarian tragedy is unfolding, a world-renowned, Russian opera singer and the daughter of Boris Yeltsin, both very wealthy with powerful political allies, are given citizenship. While the refugees from the church are shuffled off to a monastery where they can be kept out of public site these two privileged women are bestowed with the freedom and honor of asylum and naturalization. Although she uses this scenario that takes place in her hometown as the backdrop for her drama, Jelinek chooses not to mention Vienna or other specific place names in her text; she makes her themes of displacement, fear and privilege universal, ones that can be applied to any of the current refugee crises we see playing out on a daily basis in various parts of the world.
By using the chorus, in the tradition of an Ancient Greek tragedy, Jelinek is able to employ several dramatic techniques to emphatically get her point across about the desparate and sad plight of the refugees. For instance, as is common in ancient tragedy, the chorus in Charges repeat themselves, in a rhythmic way, circling back often to the same themes and topics. In addition, punctuation and connectives are dispensed with in order to give their speech a vehemence that conveys the deplorable hardships that they have suffered and continue to suffer:
We lie on the cold stone floor, but this comes hot off the press, here it is irrefutably, irreconcilably, poured into this brochure like water that instantly runs down and out instantly, like water thrown from cliff to cliff, turned into water as well, sinking like statues, almost elegantly, with raised hands, no, no, from dam to dam, into the bottomless, into the micro power plant, down, down it goes for years, we vanish, we vanish as we become more and more, funny, we still vanish, though our numbers increase, our courage does not vanish, there are ever more, though also fewer and fewer of us, may don’t even arrive, the suffering people are falling like water off the cliff, down the butte, into the chute, over the mountains, through the sea, over the sea, into the sea, always thrown, always driven…
The most striking similarity between The Suppliants and Charges is the explanation that the refugee choruses give in both plays for choosing flight from their homelands and for seeking refuge from strangers. Aeschylus’s chorus begins the play with an justification for their sea voyage to Argos: “This exile is our own decision. We have fled a despicable situation.” The words spoken by Aeschylus’s chorus more than two thousand years ago, which evoke sympathy and compassion from the audience, is equally fitting for Jelinek’s refugee chorus who, by their own choosing, have also escaped dangerous conditions in their homeland and at sea. Escape into the unknown is a theme that Jelinek’s refugees return to repeatedly in the play; they speak of family members who have been murdered and their attempts to avoid the same fate for themselves. Some of the most heartrending parts of the chorus’s speech are when they recount their griefs and their woes and the endless indignity of their misfortunes:
…We look around, but how does prosperity work? If it is that common, should we have it too? At least be able to obtain it? After those monstrous killers back home, no, that isn’t your fault, we aren’t throwing that in your face, we are throwing ourselves in front of you, after they took everything from us, we should be able to get something, anything back, no? Something should be accessible to us, we should get something, instead you call us a cursed, raging brood, brood, brood! Like animals! Brood of foreigners!
Hearing the refugees speak, in the first person, about their escape, rejection and maltreatment from other citizens of the world increases the pathos of Jelinek’s narrative. There is a point in their speech during which the tone of the narrative becomes decidedly angry; these feelings of resentment come from the fact that two prominent Russian women are given citizenship while these refugees live in squalor like beggars. The opera singer, in particular, becomes the focus for Jelinek’s outrage as the author uses parallels between this privileged refugee’s circumstances and the mythic character of Ovid’s Io.
Io was loved by Zeus and in order to protect his lover from his wife’s wrath, Zeus disguises Io by turning her into a cow. In Jelinek’s narrative the opera singer becomes that cow, traveling around the world, not suffering any consequences for her transgressions. Once this prominent woman is issued citizenship, she chooses not to live in this country but instead travels the world. Io is usually a character worthy of sympathy because of her seduction by Zeus; but in Charges the opera singer becomes a derogatory cow, the name of which animal is uttered with biting sarcasm:
How did she become a citizen?, alright then, we guarantee you no one died there, in that dump, not the daughter either, the European cow, excuse me, she turned into one only now, an official main residence has been registered here, which we don’t have, she does, but she does not live there either, you are here to stay, you have a say, you have the voters, at least on your side, you the but sponsors but no trace of those—now I don’t know myself whom I mean.
In his book The Greeks, H.D.F. Kitto argues that the Greek dramatists used myths infused with moral, religious and philosophical meaning to instruct their fellow Athenians on how to live a good life. Drama becomes “an explanation of human life and of the human soul.” Jelinek has brilliantly adopted the medium of these ancient poets in order to enlighten us about those who have been displaced from their homes and cannot return safely. The chorus of refugees in Charges, speaking in one loud, emphatic, emotional voice is distressing and tragic. We should treat them with dignity, kindness and generosity instead of with disgust and xenophobia and recognize that this has become a human rights crisis of epic proportions.
April 17, 2021
It was not an easy read - in fact, I stopped halfway through and resumed only many months later. It's a hard text for a non-native English speaker (the translation is not simply a translation but a literary work in itself, thus it results hardly accessible for non-native English speakers as the original must be hard for non-native Austrian-German speakers) because a big part of Jelinek's work (and consequently of her translator) consists of playing with language to "subversively transform" it - hence all the word games, puns, and linguistic associations which result hard to grasp for one who hasn't grown up speaking that language. That's why sometimes (quite often actually) I just abandoned myself to the flow of thought and of words. This worked out well - after all, Jelinek wrote Charges in a rush, "out of impatience", an urgency which is reflected in the flowing of the text.
Jelinek was an interesting discovery. Her work is probably a bit out of my reach in terms of my capacity to capture all what such a work can deliver, but I could anyway taste the greatness of her qualities as an author. Which makes me happy enough. The conversation between Jelinek and Honegger (the translator) included in the book was an extremely interesting read as well, full of concepts and ideas that I'll keep in mind when I'll give this book a second read, to explore another of the multiple layers the text consists of.
Last but not least. In Jelinek's writing I could sense and appreciate her value as a human being. I could feel her great empathy towards the tragedies of humanity, coupled with a humbleness that makes her admit her incapacity to fully understand and translate into words what refugees go through. Hence her vivid presence in the text, the switch between speakers, including her, to remind us that each of us has a position in the play of life, and that reaching out to each other must entail a consciousness of our role, of our place, and of the limits connected to them. Then we can start listening.
Jelinek was an interesting discovery. Her work is probably a bit out of my reach in terms of my capacity to capture all what such a work can deliver, but I could anyway taste the greatness of her qualities as an author. Which makes me happy enough. The conversation between Jelinek and Honegger (the translator) included in the book was an extremely interesting read as well, full of concepts and ideas that I'll keep in mind when I'll give this book a second read, to explore another of the multiple layers the text consists of.
Last but not least. In Jelinek's writing I could sense and appreciate her value as a human being. I could feel her great empathy towards the tragedies of humanity, coupled with a humbleness that makes her admit her incapacity to fully understand and translate into words what refugees go through. Hence her vivid presence in the text, the switch between speakers, including her, to remind us that each of us has a position in the play of life, and that reaching out to each other must entail a consciousness of our role, of our place, and of the limits connected to them. Then we can start listening.
July 30, 2022
M'ha costat molt de llegir per l'estructura mateixa de l'obra: 27 paràgrafs sense punts i a part com ja s'indica en la introducció. M'ha resultat massa feixuga i em sap greu pel tema de què tracta, els refugiats, "hem arribat, però encara no hi som".
February 22, 2023
Während die antike Tragödie Aischylos' ein Verfahren imaginierte, an dessen Ende die Aufnahme
der Flüchtenden in die Polis stand, verzeichnet Jelineks Text sowohl auf bürokratischer wie auf
dramatischer Ebene einen Formverlust. Während die Schutzflehenden ihre Sache vor den Bürger:innen Athenens und ihren Repräsentant:innen verteidigen konnten, also eine geregelte, wenn auch spannungsreiche Aushandlung stattfinden konnte, wird den Schutzbefohlenen eingeregelter und zielgerichteter Verfahrensablauf verweigert. Auf dramatischer Ebene konstituiert sich der Formverlust folgendermaßen: Die Rede einzelner Personen ist nicht individualisierbar oder nicht auf ein Sprechersubjekt zurückzuführen. Wenn einer spricht, sprechen stets viele: jeder einzelne ist ein Chor. Diese Polyglossie führt zu einer Kollektivierung der theatralen Rede und zur Auflösung von der Sprecher:innenindividualität. Demzufolge wird die Schaffung von Einzelfiguren zum Problem und folglich der prekäre Status von Individualität reflektiert. Die Ablösung des Dialogs durch eine Sprachfläche und die Ununterscheidbarkeit zwischen Rede und Gegenrede führt zu einer Vielstimmigkeit, die Distinktionsverluste zwischen Protagonist und Antagonist hervorbringt.
Kurzum: Niemand wird als Individuum wahrgenommen, sondern muss als Masse/Chor sich erst eine Sprachrohr verschaffen, um gehört zu werden. Die Auflösung dramatischer Strukturen zeigt die Unordnung staatlicher Regelungen, wenn es um die Unterstützung Flüchtender geht. In 25 Abschnitten werden die Disparitäten und menschenverletzenden Diskriminierungen aufgezeigt, die sich in den deutschsprachigen Ländern gegenüber Asylsuchenden manifestieren. Jellineks dramatische Verwirklichung zentralisiert die Probleme dieser Thematik konturiert und fungiert als Medium für diejenigen, die kein Gehör finden.
der Flüchtenden in die Polis stand, verzeichnet Jelineks Text sowohl auf bürokratischer wie auf
dramatischer Ebene einen Formverlust. Während die Schutzflehenden ihre Sache vor den Bürger:innen Athenens und ihren Repräsentant:innen verteidigen konnten, also eine geregelte, wenn auch spannungsreiche Aushandlung stattfinden konnte, wird den Schutzbefohlenen eingeregelter und zielgerichteter Verfahrensablauf verweigert. Auf dramatischer Ebene konstituiert sich der Formverlust folgendermaßen: Die Rede einzelner Personen ist nicht individualisierbar oder nicht auf ein Sprechersubjekt zurückzuführen. Wenn einer spricht, sprechen stets viele: jeder einzelne ist ein Chor. Diese Polyglossie führt zu einer Kollektivierung der theatralen Rede und zur Auflösung von der Sprecher:innenindividualität. Demzufolge wird die Schaffung von Einzelfiguren zum Problem und folglich der prekäre Status von Individualität reflektiert. Die Ablösung des Dialogs durch eine Sprachfläche und die Ununterscheidbarkeit zwischen Rede und Gegenrede führt zu einer Vielstimmigkeit, die Distinktionsverluste zwischen Protagonist und Antagonist hervorbringt.
Kurzum: Niemand wird als Individuum wahrgenommen, sondern muss als Masse/Chor sich erst eine Sprachrohr verschaffen, um gehört zu werden. Die Auflösung dramatischer Strukturen zeigt die Unordnung staatlicher Regelungen, wenn es um die Unterstützung Flüchtender geht. In 25 Abschnitten werden die Disparitäten und menschenverletzenden Diskriminierungen aufgezeigt, die sich in den deutschsprachigen Ländern gegenüber Asylsuchenden manifestieren. Jellineks dramatische Verwirklichung zentralisiert die Probleme dieser Thematik konturiert und fungiert als Medium für diejenigen, die kein Gehör finden.
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August 18, 2024I’ve loved everything I’ve read by Elfriede Jelinek—she’s a challenging read with an original voice and this one’s no different. But its stream of consciousness format might work to its detriment even if it does capture the chaotic nature of displacement as a refugee; it’s a play with unclear dialogue, a block of warranted madness. It starts off so clearly and intentionally, addressing right away the silliness of “legal” status and how you have nothing of your own as a refugee. As it progresses, though, I almost get the feeling Jelinek is killing time to fill the page, which the format here makes very possible. In fairness, I don’t know how to give the play a star rating because she also used certain tools and references I didn’t have, and I’ll almost certainly need to revisit after reading up on all that she researched.
That said, I loved the interview between Jelinek and her translator. She confirms that she is agoraphobic and has written entirely using what she’s read online, which makes her an awful lot like the rest of us! And she insists that writing must include comedy, which makes her older novels make so much more sense and the laughs less uncomfortable.
That said, I loved the interview between Jelinek and her translator. She confirms that she is agoraphobic and has written entirely using what she’s read online, which makes her an awful lot like the rest of us! And she insists that writing must include comedy, which makes her older novels make so much more sense and the laughs less uncomfortable.
December 25, 2023
“In Charges, Elfriede Jelinek offers a powerful analysis of the plight of refugees, from ancient times to present” — this is by far the most misleading cover text to have ever been written. There was nothing analytical about this book: it’s a literary psychotic episode that would have sufficed being a quarter of its length. The use of words’ double meanings was good, but I’m not made for the level of abstraction in this play.
January 4, 2018
Sequences reminded me of Beckett. Sad, funny, playful, silent through words. The author interview at the end is wonderful and wild, as one discovers more about Jelinek's process and interests. I learned mucho.
July 2, 2025
Unglaublich interessant. Interessant geschrieben, aber auch schwierig zu lesen. An die Sprachflächen muss man sich auf jeden Fall gewöhnen, aber genau das finde ich so reizend. Auf jeden Fall empfehlenswert, wenn nicht wegen der Thematik, dann wegen der Machart!
November 21, 2019
Jelinek has a striking style that truly serves to bring the exhausting tragedy of mass migration in Europe, as well as the terrifying situation of being a refugee without a home, home.
November 19, 2025
like having someones grumpy austrian aunt read the news to you (in a good way)
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March 24, 2021no me entero de mucho de momento
nais aunque se me escapan cosas, veremos después de la exposición
nais aunque se me escapan cosas, veremos después de la exposición
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August 31, 2017"Jelinek has brilliantly adopted the medium of the ancient Greek poets in order to enlighten us about those who have been exiled from their homes and cannot return safely." - Melissa Beck
This book was reviewed in the Sept/Oct 2017 issue of World Literature Today magazine. Read the full review by visiting our website:
https://www.worldliteraturetoday.org/...
Check out our full list of Summer Reads at http://www.worldliteraturetoday.org/2...
This book was reviewed in the Sept/Oct 2017 issue of World Literature Today magazine. Read the full review by visiting our website:
https://www.worldliteraturetoday.org/...
Check out our full list of Summer Reads at http://www.worldliteraturetoday.org/2...
March 25, 2017
La gran escriptora austríaca Elfriede jelinek (premi Nobel del 2004) ens forneix un drama que interpel·la la consciència d'una Europa i una Àustria hipòcrites on aconseguir la nacionalitat és bufar i fer ampolles per a fills de rics que venen de l'Est mentre no s'escolta el crit de socors de milers i milers de persones refugiades que fugen de les guerres i les malvestats climàtiques i socials. Escrit en un estil torrencial (a la Bernhard m'atreviria a dir), està creat a partit dels pensaments i sentiments dels qui ja no són ningú i toquen a la nostra porta, desemparats com mai. Extraordinari.
July 1, 2018
„Keiner schaut gnädig herab auf unseren Zug, aber auf uns herabschauen tun sie schon.“
Befasst man sich mit der Dramenlandschaft Deutschlands nach 1945, so stößt man dabei fast unumgänglich auf die Literaturnobelpreisträgerin Elfriede Jelinek, die in ihren Werken gesellschaftliche Missstände aller Art thematisiert und anprangert. Ihr politisch hochaktuelles Stück Die Schutzbefohlenen (2013) ist ein Beitrag zur Flüchtlingspolitik und eine aufrüttelnde Auseinandersetzung mit deren Folgen, denn Jelinek nimmt hier nicht die Sicht der Politik ein, wie es nur allzu oft getan wird, sondern lässt die Flüchtlinge selbst zu Wort kommen und verschafft ihnen Gehör in einer Gesellschaft, die Leid sonst nur im Fernsehen sieht.
Das Stück hat zunächst wenig mit einem klassischen Theaterstück gemeinsam. Man sucht hier vergeblich nach Akten, einer Handlung oder unterschiedlichen Personen. Es handelt sich um ein postdramatisches Sprechstück, dessen Fokus auf der Rhythmik der Sprache und der Umsetzung auf der Bühne liegt. Gegliedert ist es in 27 kürzere Abschnitte, in denen die Flüchtlinge ihre hoffnungslose und verzweifelte Situation in all ihren Facetten schildern. Da sind zum einen die Trauer um die im Heimatland ermordeten Familien, die Angst um das eigene Überleben und das Gefühl der Fremde, dem im Aufnahmeland andererseits nichts als Hass, Ignoranz und Gleichgültigkeit entgegengebracht wird. Die eigene Kultur und der Glaube wird dem Überleben im fremden Land geopfert. Die neue Religion ist die Bürokratie, der neue Gott der Präsident des Aufnahmelandes. Er wird angebetet, zu ihm wird gefleht, doch barmherzig oder gütig scheint er nicht zu sein, dieser neue Gott.
Der fortwährende Fragemodus und die raffinierten Wortspiele, die zunächst ganz unscheinbar und teils fast humoristisch daherkommen, zeugen doch von einer ungeheuren Sprachgewalt und verweisen auf die Undurchsichtigkeit und Verworrenheit des Bürokratie- und besonders auch des Sozial-Gesellschaftssystems. Das Stück wird auf diese Weise schwer lesbar und es ist daher auch unbedingt zu empfehlen, es sich gesprochen bzw. direkt auf der Bühne aufgeführt anzusehen. Doch schwer lesbar wird es nicht nur aufgrund seiner Sprache. Was es schwer ertragbar macht, ist die schiere Verzweiflung und Hoffnungslosigkeit der Flüchtlinge sowie die absolute Ignoranz all jener, die helfen könnten. Mit Sicherheit war genau das Jelineks Absicht: Es ist ein Stück, das uns wachrütteln soll und uns aus der Passivität und Abwehrhaltung, die sich nur die wenigsten einzugestehen wagen, herausholen soll. Es ist nicht nur ein Plädoyer für Toleranz, die immer nur eine vorübergehende Lösung sein kann, sondern vor allem auch für Anerkennung und die Gleichwertigkeit aller Menschen.
Zu diesem Stück ließe sich trotz seiner Kürze sicher noch einiges sagen, müsste sicher auch noch einiges gesagt werden, doch das ist nicht die Intention des Stückes: Wir müssen etwas tun!
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Befasst man sich mit der Dramenlandschaft Deutschlands nach 1945, so stößt man dabei fast unumgänglich auf die Literaturnobelpreisträgerin Elfriede Jelinek, die in ihren Werken gesellschaftliche Missstände aller Art thematisiert und anprangert. Ihr politisch hochaktuelles Stück Die Schutzbefohlenen (2013) ist ein Beitrag zur Flüchtlingspolitik und eine aufrüttelnde Auseinandersetzung mit deren Folgen, denn Jelinek nimmt hier nicht die Sicht der Politik ein, wie es nur allzu oft getan wird, sondern lässt die Flüchtlinge selbst zu Wort kommen und verschafft ihnen Gehör in einer Gesellschaft, die Leid sonst nur im Fernsehen sieht.
Das Stück hat zunächst wenig mit einem klassischen Theaterstück gemeinsam. Man sucht hier vergeblich nach Akten, einer Handlung oder unterschiedlichen Personen. Es handelt sich um ein postdramatisches Sprechstück, dessen Fokus auf der Rhythmik der Sprache und der Umsetzung auf der Bühne liegt. Gegliedert ist es in 27 kürzere Abschnitte, in denen die Flüchtlinge ihre hoffnungslose und verzweifelte Situation in all ihren Facetten schildern. Da sind zum einen die Trauer um die im Heimatland ermordeten Familien, die Angst um das eigene Überleben und das Gefühl der Fremde, dem im Aufnahmeland andererseits nichts als Hass, Ignoranz und Gleichgültigkeit entgegengebracht wird. Die eigene Kultur und der Glaube wird dem Überleben im fremden Land geopfert. Die neue Religion ist die Bürokratie, der neue Gott der Präsident des Aufnahmelandes. Er wird angebetet, zu ihm wird gefleht, doch barmherzig oder gütig scheint er nicht zu sein, dieser neue Gott.
Der fortwährende Fragemodus und die raffinierten Wortspiele, die zunächst ganz unscheinbar und teils fast humoristisch daherkommen, zeugen doch von einer ungeheuren Sprachgewalt und verweisen auf die Undurchsichtigkeit und Verworrenheit des Bürokratie- und besonders auch des Sozial-Gesellschaftssystems. Das Stück wird auf diese Weise schwer lesbar und es ist daher auch unbedingt zu empfehlen, es sich gesprochen bzw. direkt auf der Bühne aufgeführt anzusehen. Doch schwer lesbar wird es nicht nur aufgrund seiner Sprache. Was es schwer ertragbar macht, ist die schiere Verzweiflung und Hoffnungslosigkeit der Flüchtlinge sowie die absolute Ignoranz all jener, die helfen könnten. Mit Sicherheit war genau das Jelineks Absicht: Es ist ein Stück, das uns wachrütteln soll und uns aus der Passivität und Abwehrhaltung, die sich nur die wenigsten einzugestehen wagen, herausholen soll. Es ist nicht nur ein Plädoyer für Toleranz, die immer nur eine vorübergehende Lösung sein kann, sondern vor allem auch für Anerkennung und die Gleichwertigkeit aller Menschen.
Zu diesem Stück ließe sich trotz seiner Kürze sicher noch einiges sagen, müsste sicher auch noch einiges gesagt werden, doch das ist nicht die Intention des Stückes: Wir müssen etwas tun!
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