Taking Over the
Universities
Even as the Gestapo was
organizing its program of terror and intimidation, one group after another was
pledging its support to National Socialism. That process could most clearly be
seen in the nation’s universities, which had always boasted of their autonomy.
Peter Drucker, an Austrian economist, was then a lecturer at Frankfurt
University. Fearful of Hitler’s plans for Germany, he was prepared to leave the
country but hoped that it would not be necessary to do so. An incident
convinced him otherwise.
What
made me decide to leave right away, several weeks after Hitler had come to
power, was the first Nazi-led faculty meeting at the university. Frankfurt was
the first university the Nazis tackled, precisely because it was the most
self-confidently liberal of major German universities, with a faculty that
prided itself on its allegiance to scholarship, freedom of conscience and
democracy. The Nazis therefore knew that control of Frankfurt University would
mean control of German academia. And so did everyone at the university.
Above
all, Frankfurt had a science faculty distinguished both by its scholarship and
by its liberal convictions; and outstanding among the Frankfurt scientists was
a biochemist-physiologist of Nobel-Prize caliber and impeccable liberal credentials.
When the appointment of a Nazi commissar for Frankfurt was announced
(around February 25 of that year) and every teacher and graduate assistant at
the university was summoned to a faculty meeting to hear this new master,
everybody knew that a trial of strength was at hand. I had never before
attended a faculty meeting, but I did attend this one.
The
new Nazi commissar wasted no time on the amenities. He immediately announced
that Jews would be forbidden to enter university premises and would be
dismissed without salary on March 15; this was something no one had thought
possible despite the Nazis’ loud anti-Semitism. Then he launched into a tirade
of abuse, filth, and four-letter words such as had been heard rarely even in
the barracks and never before in academia. He pointed his finger at one
department chairman after another and said, “You either do what I tell you or
we’ll put you into a concentration camp.” There was silence when he
finished; everybody waited for the distinguished biochemist-physiologist. The
great liberal got up, cleared his throat, and said, “Very interesting, Mr.
Commissar, and in some respects very illuminating: but one point I didn’t get
too clearly. Will there be more money for research in physiology?”
The
meeting broke up shortly thereafter with the commissar assuring the scholars
that indeed there would be plenty of money for “racially pure science.” A few
of the professors had the courage to walk out with their Jewish
colleagues, but most kept a safe distance from these men who only a few hours
earlier had been their close friends. I went out sick unto death – and I knew
that I was going to leave Germany within forty-eight hours.
Do You Take the Oath?
Soldiers were not the only
ones required to take the new oath. A German recalled the day he was asked
to pledge loyalty to the regime.
I
was employed in a defense plant (a war plant, of course, but they were always
called defense plants). That was the year of the National Defense Law, the
law of “total conscription.”
Under
the law I was required to take the oath of fidelity. I said I would
not; I opposed it in conscience. I was given twenty-four hours to “think
it over.” In those twenty-four hours I lost the world...
You
see, refusal would have meant the loss of my job, of course, not prison or
anything like that. (Later on, the penalty was worse, but this was only 1935.)
But losing my job would have meant that I could not get another. Wherever I
went I should be asked why I left the job I had, and when I said why, I should
certainly have been refused employment. Nobody would hire a “Bolshevik.” Of
course, I was not a Bolshevik, but you understand what I mean.
I
tried not to think of myself or my family. We might have got out of the
country, in any case, and I could have got a job in industry or education
somewhere else.
What
I tried to think of was the people to whom I might be of some help later on, if
things got worse (as I believed they would). I had a wide friendship in
scientific and academic circles, including many Jews, and “Aryans,” too, who
might be in trouble. If I took the oath and held my job, I might be of help,
somehow, as things went on. If I refused to take the oath, I would certainly be
useless to my friends, even if I remained in the country. I myself would be in
their situation.
The
next day, after “thinking it over,” I said I would take the oath with the
mental reservation, that, by the words with which the oath began, “Ich schwoere
bei Gott,” “I swear by God,” I understood that no human being and no government
had the right to override my conscience. My mental reservations did not
interest the official who administered the oath. He said, “Do you take the
oath?” and I took it. That day the world was lost, and it was I who lost
it.
First
of all, there is the problem of the lesser evil. Taking the oath was not so
evil as being unable to help my friends later on would have been. But the
evil of the oath was certain and immediate, and the helping of my friends was
in the future and therefore uncertain. I had to commit a positive evil there
and then, in the hope of a possible good later on. The good outweighed the
evil; but the good was only a hope, the evil a fact ... The hope
might not have been realized – either for reasons beyond my control or because
I became afraid later on or even because I was afraid all the time and was
simply fooling myself when I took the oath in the first place.
But
that is not the important point. The problem of the lesser evil we all know
about; in Germany we took Hindenburg as less evil than Hitler, and in the end,
we got them both. But that is not why I say that Americans cannot understand.
No, the important point is – how many innocent people were killed by the
Nazis, would you say?… Shall we say, just to be safe, that three million
innocent people were killed all together?… And how many innocent lives would
you like to say I saved?… Perhaps five, or ten, one doesn’t know. But shall we
say a hundred, or a thousand, just to be safe?… And it would be better to have
saved all three million, instead of only a hundred, or a thousand? There, then,
is my point. If I had refused to take the oath of fidelity, I would have saved
all three million...
There
I was, in 1935, a perfect example of the kind of person who, with all his
advantages in birth, in education, and in position, rules (or might easily
rule) in any country. If I had refused to take the oath in 1935, it would have
meant that thousands and thousands like me, all over Germany, were refusing to
take it. Their refusal would have heartened millions. Thus the regime would
have been overthrown, or, indeed, would never have come to power in the first
place. The fact that I was not prepared to resist, in 1935, meant that all the
thousands, hundreds of thousands, like me in Germany were also unprepared, and
each one of these hundreds of thousands was, like me, a man of great influence
or of great potential influence. Thus the world was lost...
These
hundred lives I saved – or a thousand or ten as you will – what do they
represent? A little something out of the whole terrible evil, when, if my
faith had been strong enough in 1935, I could have prevented the whole
evil... My faith, I did not believe that I could “remove mountains.” The
day I said, “No,” I had faith. In the process of “thinking it over,” in the
next twenty-four hours, my faith failed me. So, in the next ten years, I was
able to remove only anthills, not mountains.
Their
resistance was no greater than other men’s. My education did not help me,
and I had a broader and better education than most men have had or ever will
have. All it did, in the end, was to enable me to rationalize my failure of
faith more easily than I might have done if I had been ignorant. And so it was,
I think, among educated men generally, in that time in Germany.
Reserve Police Battalion
101
Who were the perpetrators?
What kind of person massacres civilians? Slaughters old people? Murders babies?
To find answers to such questions, historian Christopher Browning studied
interrogations made in the 1960s and early 1970s of 210 men in Reserve Police
Battalion 101. The battalion was originally formed from the German equivalent
of city policemen and county sheriffs. After 1939, it and other Order Police
battalions also served as occupation forces in conquered territory. Battalion
101 was assigned to the district of Lubin in Poland.
Like the National Guard in
the United States, battalions were organized regionally. Most of the soldiers
in Battalion 101 came from working and lower-middle-class neighborhoods in
Hamburg, Germany. They were older than the men who fought in the front lines.
The average age was thirty-nine with over half between thirty-seven and
forty-two. Most were not well-educated. The majority had left school by the age
of fifteen. Very few were Nazis and none was openly anti-semitic. Major Wilhelm
Trapp, a 53-year-old career police officer who rose through the ranks, headed
the battalion. Although he became a Nazi in 1932, he was not a member of the
SS, although his two captains were.
The unit’s first killing
mission took place on July 13, 1942. Browning used interrogations to piece
together the events of that day.
Just
as daylight was breaking, the men arrived at the village [of Jozefow] and
assembled in a half-circle around Major Trapp, who proceeded to give a short
speech. With choking voice and tears in his eyes, he visibly fought to control
himself as he informed his men that they had received orders to perform a very
unpleasant task. These orders were not to his liking, but they came from above.
It might perhaps make their task easier, he told the men, if they remembered
that in Germany bombs were falling on the women and children. Two witnesses
claimed that Trapp also mentioned that the Jews of this village had supported
the partisans. Another witness recalled Trapp’s mentioning that the Jews had
instigated the boycott against Germany. Trapp then explained to the men that
the Jews in Jozefow would have to be rounded up, whereupon the young males were
to be selected out for labor and the others shot.
Trapp
then made an extraordinary offer to his battalion: if any of the older men
among them did not feel up to the task that lay before him, he could step out.
Trapp paused, and after some moments, one man stepped forward. The captain of
3rd company, enraged that one of his men had broken ranks, began to berate
the man. The major told the captain to hold his tongue. Then ten or twelve
other men stepped forward as well. They turned in their rifles and were told to
await a further assignment from the major.
Trapp
then summoned the company commanders and gave them their respective
assignments. Two platoons of 3rd company were to surround the village; the men
were explicitly ordered to shoot anyone trying to escape. The remaining men
were to round up the Jews and take them to the market place. Those too sick or
frail to walk to the market place, as well as infants and anyone offering
resistance or attempting to hide, were to be shot on the spot. Thereafter, a
few men of 1st company were to accompany the work Jews selected at the market
place, while the rest were to proceed to the forest to form the firing squads.
The Jews were to be loaded onto battalion trucks by 2nd company and shuttled
from the market place to the forest.
Having
given the company commanders their respective assignments, Trapp spent the rest
of the day in town, mostly in a schoolroom converted into his headquarters but
also at the homes of the Polish mayor and the local priest. Witnesses who saw
him at various times during the day described him as bitterly complaining about
the orders he had been given and “weeping like a child.” He nevertheless
affirmed that “orders were orders” and had to be carried out. Not a single
witness recalled seeing him at the shooting site, a fact that was not lost on
the men, who felt some anger about it. Trapp’s driver remembers him saying
later, “If this Jewish business is ever avenged on earth, then have mercy on us
Germans.”
What Did People Know?
Holocaust
survivor Primo Levi was often asked, “Did the Germans know what was happening?”
He replied with a question of his own. “How is it possible that the
extermination of millions of human beings could have been carried out in the
heart of Europe without anyone’s knowledge?” He concluded:
In
spite of the varied possibilities for information, most Germans didn’t know
because they didn’t want to know. Because, indeed, they wanted not to know. It
is certainly true that State terrorism is a very strong weapon, very difficult
to resist. But it is also true that the German people, as a whole, did not even
try to resist. In Hitler’s Germany a particular code was widespread: those who
knew did not talk; those who did not know did not ask questions; those who did
ask questions received no answers. In this way the typical German citizen won
and defended his ignorance, which seemed to him sufficient justification of his
adherence to Nazism. Shutting his mouth, his eyes and his ears, he built for
himself the illusion of not knowing, hence not being an accomplice to the
things taking place in front of his very door.
In The Destruction of
European Jews, Raul Hilberg proved
that many had the opportunity to know about the killings: Organizing the
transportation of victims from all over Europe to the concentration camps
involved a countless number of railroad employees and clerical workers who had
to work the trains and maintain the records. National Railroad tickets were
marked for a one-way trip. Currency exchange at the borders had to be handled.
Finance ministers of Germany moved to seize the pensions of victims from banks,
yet the banks requested proof of death. Many building contracts and patents for
ovens and gas chambers were required...
The
railroads were an independent corporation which was fully aware of the
consequences of its decisions. The civilian railroad workers involved in
operating rails to Auschwitz were simply performing their daily tasks. These
were individual people making individual decisions. They were not ordered or
even assigned. Orders from the SS to the railroads were not even stamped
“secret” because that would admit guilt of something abnormal in the
bureaucracy. The many clerical workers who handled these orders were fully
aware of the purpose of Auschwitz.
For
the film Shoah, Claude Lanzmann interviewed Walter Stier, the person
responsible for “special trains.”
Q: What’s the difference between a special and a regular
train?
A regular train may be used by anyone who purchases a
ticket. Say from Krakow to Warsaw. Or from Krakow to Lemberg. A special train
has to be ordered. The train is specially put together and people pay group
fares...
Q: ...but why were there more special trains during the war
than before or after?
I see what
you’re getting at. You’re referring to the so-called resettlement trains.
Q: “Resettlement.” That’s it.
That’s what they were called. Those trains were ordered by the Ministry
of Transport of the Reich. You needed an order from the Ministry...
Q: But mostly, at that time, who was being “resettled”?
No. We didn’t know that. Only when we were fleeing
from Warsaw ourselves,
did we learn that they could have been Jews, or
criminals, or similar people.
Q: Jews, criminals?
Criminals. All kinds.
Q: Special trains for criminals?
No, that was just an expression. You couldn’t talk about that. Unless
you were tired of life, it was best not to mention that.
Q: But you knew that the trains to Treblinka or Auschwitz were –
Of course we knew. I was the last district; without me these trains
couldn’t reach their destination. For instance, a train that started in Essen
had to go through the districts of Wuppertal, Hannover, Magdeburg, Berlin,
Frankfurt/Oder, Posen, Warsaw, etcetera. So I had to...
Q: Did you know that Treblinka meant extermination?
Of course not!
Q: You didn’t know?
Good God, no! How could we know? I never went to Treblinka.
I stayed in Krakow, in Warsaw, glued to my desk.
Q: You were a…
I was strictly
a bureaucrat!
