Chapter 24 Strength Through Joy #2
“There was that other plot, though,” Ben said. “The one your father was involved in.”
“Yes,” I said, “and see how that ended. By the time we’re speaking of, in the spring of 1945, most people were just putting one foot in front of the other, focused on surviving, aware that the end must be coming and that Germany would lose, but afraid to say so for fear of execution as a defeatist. No, the time to resist had passed long before the war began. ”
“So why didn’t they speak up then?” Ashleigh asked.
“For the same reasons,” I said. “Not fear of death so much at that point, but loss of one’s position or one’s property, even possible imprisonment, is a strong motivator.
And it didn’t seem so bad at the beginning, in the early 1930s.
Hitler put people back to work in the depths of the Great Depression, when a quarter of German men were unemployed.
They had food and work again, and were even sent on little holidays paid for by the state.
Cruises, ski trips … ‘Strength Through Joy,’ it was called.
It’s easier to abolish trade unions when workers think they don’t need them.
Oh, Hitler and Goebbels were very clever.
Life was getting better; what did it matter that some old Jewish professor wasn’t allowed to teach anymore?
All the newspapers, the radio said that life was grand, that Germany was strong and becoming stronger, that it was the best time in history to be German, here at the start of the thousand-year Reich. ”
“Still,” Alix said. “They should have seen where it was going.”
“Perhaps,” I said. “But they didn’t. You’ve probably heard the name of Martin Niemoller, or at least heard of his poem.”
“Oh, boy,” Ben said. “More poetry.” He sighed.
I smiled, but continued. If Ashleigh was bent on recording me, I was going to say what I wanted to say.
“Niemoller was a Lutheran minister, a conservative and originally a supporter of Hitler, and an anti-Semite as well, though he protected the Christians of Jewish descent within his own church. As I’ve said, people are complicated.
He’d even served in the Imperial Navy during the First World War, but for all that, he spoke out when Hitler Nazified the Protestant church. ”
“Nazified,” Ben said. “What’s that even mean? Like, you had to say ‘Heil Hitler’ in church and do the salute instead of kneeling, or what? Not that I know very much about church.”
“For one thing,” I said, “the regime restricted membership in any German church to people of the Aryan race only.”
“Did a whole lot of Jews want to go to a Lutheran church, then?” Alix asked.
“Some did, yes,” I said. “Many German Jews considered themselves more German than Jewish, not going to the synagogue or following the dietary laws. Dr. Becker was one of those—he ate bacon, as we all did. Of course, if he hadn’t, he’d have starved.
That’s part of the tragedy, though—they couldn’t believe the new rules would apply to them, with their former military service and lack of Jewish practice.
And it wasn’t just Jews. It was those of Polish, Serbian, Russian descent too—anyone who could be called a Slav. ”
“Wait,” Ben said. “Russian people weren’t white? Huh?”
“Hitler had a very narrow definition,” I said. “Do you know which nation lost the greatest portion of its people in the war?"
“No,” Ben said. “But I’d guess Germany.”
“Not even close. Germany lost eleven percent, most of them military. The Soviet Union was second, with fifteen percent. The United States, for comparison—less than one percent. No, it was Poland. Nearly twenty percent of Poles were killed, almost all of them civilians. Shot outright, sent to concentration camps, worked to death as slave labor … there were many Polish slave laborers right here in Dresden. No, Hitler believed the Slavs, like the Jews, were subhuman.”
“OK,” Ben said, “but what does that have to do with this guy? The minister guy, or whatever?”
“I’m telling you,” I said, “about how he broke with Hitler. He was vocal in his criticism and was arrested and imprisoned, then sent to a concentration camp. Eight years in all. A long time.”
“Well, that’s a happier ending than most of them, I guess,” Alix said, “if he survived.”
“OK,” said Ben, “but why are you telling us about him?”
“Oh!” I said. “I’d nearly forgotten. Soon after his liberation, he wrote a poem that more or less sums things up. Here you are.” I recited the thing from memory. It’s a simple enough poem.
First they came for the Communists
And I did not speak out
Because I was not a Communist
Then they came for the Socialists
And I did not speak out
Because I was not a Socialist
Then they came for the trade unions
And I did not speak out
Because I was not a trade unionist
Then they came for the Jews
And I did not speak out
Because I was not a Jew
Then they came for me
And there was no one left
To speak out for me
“Easy to say what people should have done,” I finished, “from where we sit now. It’s the old story of the frog in the pot of water.
When the fire is turned on beneath him, he gets a bit warm, but still thinks, ‘This is all right.’ The water grows hotter, but so gradually that the frog gets used to it.
By the time the water boils, it’s far too late for the poor frog to hop out of the pot.
We were all near-dead frogs by then, having grown slowly accustomed to seeing more and more of our movements, our plans, our very morality dictated by the state.
Although I should note that frogs are actually quite sensitive to changes in temperature, and will jump out of the pot straight away when the water warms.”
“They’re smarter than people, then,” Sebastian said.
“Yes,” I said. “The German people—us—we sleepwalked our way to destruction. It’s not admirable, but it is, perhaps, understandable.
Humans are fallible creatures, and easily misled.
” I set my napkin on the table and got to my feet.
“It’s time for me to do some telephoning of attorneys and so forth.
Alix, you’ll help? After that, I have a journey I’d like to make. Call it a pilgrimage.”