Explore our collection of articles! The compilation has been created for all those wishing to learn more about the complex issues underpinning 20th-century European history and memory. It consists of both academic and popular pieces, all written and/or edited by experts in their field. The articles cover a wide range of topics, from historical summaries and social history to contemporary commemoration practices.

Photo of the publication WWII timeline
ENRS

WWII timeline

29 August 2024
Tags
  • World War II
  • 20th century history
  • Second World War

Before the war


30 January 1933 Adolf Hitler becomes the Chancellor of Germany.
25 November 1936 Nazi Germany and Japan sign the Anti-Comintern Pact, directed against communism and the USSR. Italy joins the pact in 1937.
7 July 1937 Japanese attack on China, beginning of the Japanese-Chinese War.
17 March 1938 Anschluss of Austria. Austria is incorporated into Germany.
30 September 1938 Munich Agreement – part of Czechoslovakia is incorporated by Germany. To keep the peace European powers agreed to Hitler’s demands.

1939


14 March 1939 Slovakia supported by Germany declares independence from Czechoslovakia. On 15 March Germany invades Czechoslovakia and establishes the Protectorate of Bohemia and Moravia.
3 May 1939 Stalin replaced Maxim Litvinov, Soviet Commissar for Foreign Affairs, who was identified with the anti-German position. This was a significant move to improve the relations between the Soviet Union and Germany.
23 August 1939 - The Molotov–Ribbentrop Pact was signed. Nazi Germany and the Soviet Union agreed not to attack each other and to remain neutral if attacked by a third power. Secret clauses in the pact divided up other countries into respective spheres of influence in Central and Eastern Europe, including a partitioning of Poland.
1 September 1939 German attack on Poland, triggering the Second World War.
3 September 1939 UK and France declare war on Germany.
17 September 1939 USSR attack on Poland and the incorporation of its eastern borderlands, more than one-half of Polish territory.
28 September 1939 Capitulation of Warsaw, German occupation of the western half of Poland.
8 October 1939 The Piotrków Trybunalski Ghetto (Yiddish: פּיִעטריקאָװ) was created in Piotrków Trybunalski. It was the first Nazi ghetto in occupied Europe.

1940


9 April – 10 June 1940 German attack on Denmark and Norway, beginning the German occupation of these countries
13 March 1940 After the Winter War with Finland (30.11.39-13.03.40) the USSR incorporates some important territories but fails to create a Finish SSR. To bym rozdzielił na datę ataku na Finlandię I datę zakończenia wojny. To lepiej odda dramaturgię wydarzeń.
10 May – 25 June 1940 Battle of France. German attack on France, Belgium, Netherlands and Luxembourg, which fall under German occupation.
June 1940 USSR incorporates the Baltic States.
22 June 1940 Germany defeated France. In the southern half of France, Germany created a puppet French State (État français) – so-called Vichy France.
28 June 1940 the Soviet Union started the occupation of Bessarabia and Northern Bukovina.
10 July – 31 October 1940 Battle of Britain. UK’s successful defence against German air force attacks.

1941


11 March 1941 Lend-Lease policy – USA’s financial and military aid for the countries fighting the Axis.
22 June 1941 Germany launches operation Barbarossa. USSR joins the Allies after German attack.
8 September 1941 The start of the German siege of Leningrad.
2 October 1941 – 7 January 1942 Battle of Moscow. Soviets fend off an attack by the German army. Start of the Soviet counteroffensive in the centre and northern front.
7 December 1941 Attack on Pearl Harbor by Japanese.
8 December 1941 The United States enter the war.
9 December 1941 China joins the Allies against the Axis.

1942


1 January 1942 Declaration of the United Nations signed by the Big Four (USA, UK, USSR and China). The document formalized the alliance against the Axis and was a basis for the United Nations.
14 – 24 January 1942 Casablanca Conference. Churchill, Roosevelt and de Gaulle decided to fight until an unconditional surrender (without any guarantees to the defeated party) of Germany.
20 January 1942 15 Wannsee Conference. 15 senior officials of Nazi Germany met to ensure all administrative leaders about implementing of the “Final Solution (die Endlösung) to the Jewish Question”. As a result a network of extermination camps was built in which millions of Jews were murdered.
4 – 8 May 1942 Pacific War: Battle of the Coral Sea. Naval battle between Japanese and American-Australian forces. Allied forces stop the Japanese advance into the Pacific.
4 – 7 June 1942 Battle of Midway. American victory against Japan in a naval and air battle. First and decisive American victory in the Pacific War.
7 August 1942 – 9 February 1943 Guadalcanal Campaign. Major Allied victory over Japan in a series of land battles. Start of the American offensive in the Pacific.
23 October – 11 November 1942 Second battle of El-Alamain. Important victory of the Allies against the Axis in North Africa.
8–16 November 1942 Operation Torch. Allied invasion of North Africa (Casablanca, Oran and Algiers) controlled by Vichy France. Results in Allied victory.
22–26 November 1942 First Cairo Conference. Chiang Kaishek, Churchill and Roosevelt discussed fighting Japan until its unconditional surrender and seized territories had been reclaimed.
28 November – 1 December 1942 Tehran Conference. First meeting of the Big Three – Churchill (UK), Roosevelt (USA) and Stalin (USSR).The leaders decided to open a new front in France.

1943


19 April – 16 May 1943 Warsaw Ghetto uprising. Casualties: up to 40,000 insurgents and civilians.
17 July 1942 – 2 February 1943 Battle of Stalingrad. Soviet victory over Germany – the turning point of the war on the eastern front.
5 July – 23 August 1943 Battle of Kursk. Soviet victory over Germany. Start of the Red Army offensive on the Eastern front.
10 July – 8 September 1943 Allied attack on Sicily. The southern part of Italy falls under Allied rule.

1944


17 January – 18 May 1944 Battle of Monte Cassino. Allied victory over Axis forces in Italy.
27 January 1944 End of the siege of Leningrad. Over two year-long (900 days) siege causes mass death from starvation of almost 1,000,000 civilians. Finally, the Soviets lift the siege of the city.
6 June – 31 August 1944 Operation Overlord. Landing in Normandy and Allied offensive in France.
1 August – 2 October 1944 Warsaw Uprising. Casualties: 150–180,000 insurgents and civilians. Insurgents were not helped by Soviet forces stationed on the right bank of the Vistula River.
15 August 1944 Operation Dragoon. Allied attack on southern France.
19–25 August 1944 Uprising in Paris, followed by liberation of the city by the Western Allies. Casualities: 1–1,300 insurgents and civilians.
29 August – 28 October 1944 Uprising in Slovakia. Casualties: 4,000 insurgents and civilians
17 October – 26 December 1944 Battle of Leyte. Allied victory, first step in freeing the Philippines from Japanese occupation.

1945


12 January – 4 February 1945 Red Army winter offensive. Soviets capture Poland west of the Vistula River and advance on Berlin.
4–11 February 1945 Yalta Conference where the Big Three decided on the division of Germany into four occupation zones and set the Polish eastern border on the Curzon line. The conference effectively allowed the USSR to expand its sphere of influence to Central Europe.
13–15 February 1945 Allied bombing of Dresden. It completely destroys the city and causes the death of thousands of civilians.
16 April – 2 May 1945 Battle of Berlin. Soviet victory and fall of Nazi Germany.
5–9 May 1945 Uprising in Prague. Casualties: 8–9,000 insurgents and civilians.
8 May 1945 Unconditional surrender of Germany. The end of war in Europe.
25 April – 26 June 1945 San Francisco Conference and foundation of the United Nations.
17 July – 2 August 1945 Potsdam Conference where the Big Three established rules by which the Allies would govern Germany, set the new borders of Germany and Poland, decided on the resettlement of Germans and called on Japan to surrender.
6 August 1945 First American nuclear attack on Hiroshima, Japan.
9 August 1945 Second and last American nuclear attack, on Nagasaki, Japan. Soviet attack on Manchukuo (Japanese puppet state) in Manchuria.
2 September 1945 Unconditional surrender of Japan. The end of war in the Pacific theatre.
20 November 1945 Nuremberg trials of The International Military Tribunal.

1946


5 March 1946 Iron Curtain Speech - Winston Churchill delivers his famous "Iron Curtain" speech in Fulton, Missouri, marking the beginning of the Cold War era and highlighting the division between Western democracies and Eastern communist states.
19 September 1946 Churchill’s speech in Zurich, stressing the role of a united Europe.

1947


12 March 1947 Truman Doctrine Announced - President Harry S. Truman articulates the Truman Doctrine, pledging to support Greece and Turkey against communist expansion, which signifies the start of the U.S. policy of containment.
5 June 1947 Marshall Plan Proposed - Secretary of State George Marshall outlines the European Recovery Program, known as the Marshall Plan, which provides economic assistance to rebuild Western European economies.
Photo of the publication Preserving Memory, Resisting Totalitarianism: The ENRSs Mission on August 23
ENRS

Preserving Memory, Resisting Totalitarianism: The ENRS's Mission on August 23

23 August 2024
Tags
  • Ribbentrop and Molotov pact
  • 23 August
  • totalitarianism
  • totalitarian regimes
  • 20th century history
  • XX century

Every year since 2013, the ENRS has marked the European Day of Remembrance for the Victims of Totalitarian Regimes on the anniversary of the signing of the Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact on August 23, 1939. What is the meaning of a commemorative pin and the media campaign “Remember. August 23”? What makes this date so significant? Agnieszka Mazur-Olczak explains its importance in European history and in our calendar.

The European Day of Remembrance for Victims of Totalitarian Regimes was first commemorated on 23 August 2011 in Warsaw, under the auspices of the Polish Presidency. During this event, the Warsaw Declaration was signed, in which the signatories emphasised the importance of maintaining the memory of the criminal consequences of totalitarian regimes in the consciousness of Europeans and called on the EU to support, research, and collect documentation related to the crimes committed by these regimes.

The Warsaw Declaration was signed a year after the ENRS was founded. In 2013, our organisation first conceived the idea of how to commemorate August 23. We decided to create a pin that would serve as a symbol of remembrance for the victims of totalitarianism.

Why is the ENRS so committed to spreading awareness about this date?

Our core mission is to foster a shared memory of the difficult history of the 20th century. These two regimes significantly marked that history, which is why, from the very beginning, the ENRS recognised that August 23 is an important day for us and that we should be strongly involved in its commemoration. We have always been aware that this date is not deeply rooted in the memory of Western Europeans, as they were not as severely affected by the communist regime. As a result, August 23 is not a date that the West associates with the outbreak of the Second World War. However, it is impossible to talk about the Second World War without mentioning August 23, because it was the Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact that paved the way for these totalitarian regimes. It allowed them to temporarily suspend military actions against each other while simultaneously enabling them to wreak destruction on the territories they divided between themselves.

What is the 'Remember. August 23' campaign about?

When the project was launched in 2013, our colleagues developed an idea of a pin and an informative note. The design of the pin refers to International Black Ribbon Day, which has been observed since 1986. The note explains what this date symbolises and why it is so significant in the history of Europe, and even the world. The note from 2013 featured a collage of images of selected victims from both totalitarian regimes, which we obtained from archives. Over the years, we have modified the design of the card. The next edition had an educational dimension, presenting a map that showed the spread of both totalitarian regimes across Europe, following the division line established by the Molotov–Ribbentrop Pact. This map became the main motif of our project for several years. Based on it, we created a short animation where red and black colours sweep across Europe. This simple graphic trick perfectly illustrated what happened at that time, which is why the animation is still frequently used by the media and shown at conferences commemorating August 23. This year, we diversified our notes by creating twelve versions featuring the heroes of our spots, along with QR codes that lead to our website where people can watch their related stories.

Because we wanted the campaign to become more media-friendly, in 2018, we came up with the idea of creating a series of short films. We collaborated with producer Piotr Kornobis, and this led to the first two scripts telling the stories of Mala and Edek – lovers from Auschwitz – and Peter Mansfeld, the youngest victim of the 1956 uprising in Hungary. These films were very well received by our social media audience. We also managed to air them on several European television programmes. Their success showed us that it was worth continuing the series. We also saw potential in the fact that the European Network is based on partnerships from different countries. We believed that by showcasing the profiles of dissidents from various nationalities, we could collectively commemorate this date, and our partners indeed became very engaged in promoting their stories.

For several years now, we have been sending our pins to various institutions across Europe so that on this day, the public visiting museums and memorial sites can wear the pin as a sign of solidarity with the victims and as a mark of respect for those individuals. Thanks to our media efforts, August 23 has become so recognisable that now institutions are writing to us asking for pins and inquiring whether we have produced a new spot.

What message do the characters featured in the spots want to convey to us?

I think all these films tell us that resistance makes sense. They all tell us that every totalitarian regime, regardless of when it arises, will eventually be overthrown. Each of our characters is different, each story is told differently, but they all share one common denominator: each character has become a symbol of resistance in their country.

The strength of this campaign lies in its diversity. Sometimes the hero speaks to us in the first person. Sometimes their story is told by their mother. Sometimes it’s a letter, as in the case of the film about Milada Horáková, where the narrator reads a letter she wrote to her then fifteen-year-old daughter the day before her execution. Her daughter was only able to read it forty years later.

If you watch these films and you’re a mother, you can identify with the spot about Mansfeld or Milada Horáková. If you are in love and want to focus only on the pleasant things in your life, then the stories of people who couldn’t experience their love in freedom and joy because they were surrounded by a dark world will resonate with you. If you enjoy literature and watch the spot about Jan Kroos, you’ll think about how, for centuries, every totalitarian regime has burned books that were dangerous to them. Everyone, regardless of their country, can find a character in these stories that will touch them and make them want to learn more about them, to understand how and why their fate unfolded the way it did.

The heroes of these films are often people who survived one totalitarian regime during the Second World War, only to be thrown into another by history because they ended up on the wrong side of the Iron Curtain. For instance, the story of Boris Romanchenko resonates most strongly with me. He survived the Second World War and was a prisoner in concentration camps, later living in Ukraine, which was dependent on the Soviet Union, and in 2022 he was killed by a bomb dropped on Putin’s orders. These heroes have qualities that deeply resonate with us.

This year, representatives of the Roma community from Germany and the Czech Republic were added to the gallery of characters. What determined this choice?

In 2015, the European Parliament designated August 2 as the Roma Holocaust Memorial Day. The Roma are a social group that also suffered greatly during the Second World War, and who still face exclusion and discrimination today. When we were searching for Roma heroes, we found that there are very few photographs of them and that their stories are poorly documented because people are not very interested in this topic. We decided it would be good to give them a voice too and to show that, in addition to typical national groups, there is also a community that lives in various countries. We all interact with them, but we are unaware of the tragedy they experienced during the Second World War. This year, we are working on two spots that will premiere in a few days. One of this year's featured figures is Johann Trollmann, a boxer. During the recent Olympics in Paris, we were captivated by the athletes' performances and admired the results of their hard work. Trollmann was also an athlete. What’s more, before the outbreak of the Second World War, he was a huge star in Germany, which ultimately led to his death. We believe it is worth telling this story. In the film, we present a picture of a wonderful young rebel who could have provided many people with the sporting excitement that we all enjoy, admire, and follow. However, Trollmann had to die simply because he was of the wrong race. This is something we should remind people of, because we cannot divide people into those of the right race and those who are not.

Why do we need this campaign? Why now? Why specifically on August 23?

I think that in recent years, there has been a lot of disinformation in the public sphere regarding historical facts. We have seen this recently in speeches at the UN or in Putin’s addresses. I believe that reminding people today of what August 23 represents is to show that this contemporary dictator is moving towards the division of Europe almost along the same line that was drawn in the 1939 pact. Today, it is extremely important to know these heroes and their stories, to remind people that there were individuals who opposed the regime. A short 30-second film cannot tell us the whole story, but it can inspire us to seek out more information and delve into historical facts.

Today, in an age of disinformation and at the same time information overload, we want to use our films to bring a story closer to people and provoke the viewer to read more about it. The biographies of these characters can be found on our website and under each film on our YouTube channel. The most important thing is to understand the historical context. These times are not so distant that they couldn’t return. The truth is, we never know when this Pandora's box might be opened again.

Photo of the publication The Genocide of the Sinti and Roma:  Why Should We Remember It Today?
Piotr Trojański

The Genocide of the Sinti and Roma: Why Should We Remember It Today?

01 August 2024
Tags
  • World War II
  • genocide
  • Sinti and Roma
In 2015 the European Parliament declared 2 August as the European Roma Holocaust Memorial Day. Since then, commemorations have been organised in many European countries to remember the victims of the brutal persecution and genocide suffered by the Roma and Sinti during the Second World War. Today, on the 80th anniversary of these events, more than ever, we should remember this tragic part of European history, understand its consequences and strive to ensure that its memory does not disappear from our consciousness.

Discrimination, classification and eugenics: a road to genocide
The genocide of the Roma and Sinti was one of the darkest chapters of the Second World War. Like the Jews, they were victims of the brutal persecution of the Nazi regime. Imprisoned in concentration camps and ghettos, murdered in gas chambers and subjected to other methods of extermination, they became victims of the German Nazi genocide whose mark is still felt in the Roma community today.

Nazi ideology based on racism and eugenics proclaimed the superiority of the Aryan race over others. Due to their cultural difference, the Roma and Sinti were perceived as an ‘inferior race’, ‘undesirable’ and incompatible with the ideal of German society. Because of their nomadic lifestyle, they were described as ‘antisocial’ and ‘criminal’, inherently inclined to commit crimes. They were considered a threat to the purity of the Aryan race and the social order. Already from the early 1930s, the Roma and Sinti in Germany were subjected to discrimination and persecution. Their rights were systematically restricted and racial segregation was introduced.

After Hitler came to power in 1933, the treatment towards them became harsher. Many Roma persons were subjected to forced sterilisation. In the acts implementing the Nuremberg Laws, the Romani were deprived of their civil rights just like Jews. They were subjected to preventive police control and sent to ‘re-education centres’. In 1938, Heinrich Himmler, head of the SS and Gestapo, issued a decree bearing the title ‘Combating the Gypsy Plague’, which stated that the Roma (Gypsies) were a racial and social threat to the German people. The decree ordered the intensification of police and administrative measures against the Sinti and Romani, including their registration, segregation and internment in special camps. This decree formed the basis for mass arrests and internment in existing concentration camps in Germany and Austria, such as Dachau, Bergen-Belsen, Buchenwald, Sachsenhausen, Mauthausen, Mittelbau-Dora, Natzweiler-Struthof, Gross-Rosen and Ravensbrück, for example. New internment and transit camps were also successively created for them. Initially, the Roma and Sinti were forced to wear black triangles, classifying them as ‘antisocial’, or green triangles, denoting ‘professional criminals’. Eventually, they were assigned a brown triangle with the letter Z (Zigeuner, German for ‘Gypsy’). Terrible conditions prevailed in these camps leading to the death of many inmates. Roma prisoners were subjected to pseudo-scientific medical experiments. Conditions in the Berlin-Marzahn, Lackenbach and Salzburg camps were among the worst.

The Romani Holocaust
The first mass persecution took place after the outbreak of the Second World War. On 21 September 1939, Reinhard Heydrich ordered the deportation of 30,000 Roma from Germany and Austria to occupied Poland. In May 1940, some 2,500 Roma were deported to the Lublin District in the General Government (occupied Poland), where they were placed in Jewish ghettos or sent to labour camps. Many of them died as a result of the harsh conditions of forced labour. The rest were most likely later murdered in the gas chambers of Bełżec, Sobibór and Treblinka.

In the autumn of 1941, the German police deported around 5,000 Roma persons from Austria to the Łódź ghetto, where hundreds died from a typhus epidemic and lack of basic necessities. Those who survived were transported to the camp at Kulmhof (Chełmno nad Nerem) in 1942 and were murdered in mobile gas chambers.
In December 1942, Himmler ordered the deportation to KL Auschwitz1 of all the Roma and Sinti of the Third Reich. They were sent to Auschwitz II–Birkenau and placed in a special section known as the ‘Gypsy camp’ (Zigeunerlager). The conditions there were conducive to the spread of infectious diseases such as typhus, smallpox and dysentery, which significantly reduced the camp population. In addition, pseudo-scientific medical experiments were carried out on them. At the end of March 1943, about 1,700 Roma brought from the Bialystok region were murdered in the gas chambers of Birkenau, and in May 1944 the camp management decided to liquidate the entire ‘Gypsy camp’. SS guards surrounded the camp, but the Roma incarcerated in there, having learned about the SS’s plans, armed themselves, resisted and refused to leave. The SS retreated and decided to first transfer about 3,000 Roma to Auschwitz I and other concentration camps. The final operation aimed at liquidating the ‘Gypsy camp’ took place two months later, on the night of 2–3 August. As a result, some 4,300 Sinti and Roma, mainly the sick, the elderly, women and children, perished in the gas chambers of Birkenau. This mass murder became a symbol of the suffering and heroism of the Roma community, and the date was chosen as International Roma Holocaust Memorial Day. The total number of Romani victims at Auschwitz is estimated to be around 21,000 out of the 23,000 Sinti and Roma deported there.

In German-occupied Europe, the fate of the Roma varied according to local conditions. They were interned, used as forced labourers or killed. Einsatzgruppen units and other mobile units killed the Romani in the Baltic States, occupied Poland and the USSR. In occupied Serbia, Roma men were executed en masse. In France, the Vichy authorities interned thousands of Roma, and in Romania some 26,000 were deported to Transnistria, where many died of disease and starvation. In Croatia, the Ustasha regime killed almost the entire Roma population, some 25,000 people.

The scale of the crime and the fight for genocide recognition
The exact number of the Sinti and Roma who died during the Second World War remains unknown due to the lack of accurate data on their number living in Europe before the war and the relatively late international recognition of this genocide. It is estimated that before the war the Romani population was between 1 and 1.5 million. Historians estimate that at least 250,000 European Sinti and Roma were killed by the Germans and their allies, although some scholars suggest that the number could be as high as 500,000.

The Nazi genocide destroyed numerous Roma communities, and the Romani suffered psychological and physical trauma, making it difficult to rebuild their cultural and social networks. After the war, however, discrimination against the Roma continued. Throughout Europe, they continued to experience various forms of discrimination, both institutional and of a social nature. These diverse forms of discrimination had a long-lasting impact on the Roma in Europe, perpetuating their marginalisation and social exclusion.

Unlike the genocide of Jews, that of the Roma was not recognised immediately after the war. The courts in West Germany, for example, ruled that actions taken against the Roma before 1943 were legal, which closed the way to compensation for the thousands of victims who were imprisoned, forcibly sterilised and deported. Police harassment and discrimination continued and the post-war authorities seized the Nazi regime’s files. It was not until 1965 that German law recognised that acts of persecution prior to 1943 were racially motivated, allowing Roma to claim compensation. However, many of those able to do so had already died. It was only in March 1982 that the German Chancellor Helmut Schmidt officially recognised the German Sinti and Roma as victims of genocide.

‘Porajmos’, Holocaust and ‘Samudaripen’
Today there are many terms used to describe the extermination of the Roma. Some of them are the subject of ongoing discussions and debates. This situation demonstrates the different perspectives and approaches to this tragedy not only by researchers and organisations working on the subject, but also by the Roma communities themselves.

The term ‘Porajmos’, meaning ‘devouring’ or ‘burning’, was introduced by the scholar Ian Hancock in the 1990s to describe the Romani genocide. However, its use is controversial, as in some dialects it denotes ‘rape’, which many Roma find offensive.

Another term is ‘Samudaripen’, meaning ‘total destruction’. Introduced by the linguist and researcher Marcel Courthiade in the 1970s, it is preferred by some Roma communities for being more precise.

The term ‘Holocaust’ is also sometimes used to describe the extermination of the Roma and Sinti, but can be considered controversial as it is commonly associated with the extermination of Jews. The use of the same term for different groups of victims can lead to confusion and be seen as blurring the specificity of each group’s experience.

Other terms used by Roma communities include: ‘Kali Traš’ (Black Fear) and ‘Berša Bibahtale’ (Unhappy Years). The diversity of these terms shows the importance of recognising the unique experiences of different Roma groups. Besides, the terminology used by different Roma ethnic groups to describe their genocide is also important from a social and psychological perspective. This is because these names are loaded with emotional and cultural meaning, helping us understand the suffering and trauma of these communities. Hence, the inclusion of these terms in public discourse is important for the recognition and commemoration of this specific form of genocide.

The use of appropriate terms is also important for education and public awareness. It allows for a better understanding and appreciation of the history of the Romani, avoiding oversimplification and confusion between different experiences of genocide.

Why do we want to remember today?
The shadow of the extermination of the Roma, the horrific genocide perpetrated by the German Nazis during the Second World War still hangs over us. Today in Europe, the Romani are still victims of hate crime, violence, persecution, expulsion and racial discrimination. Therefore, the remembrance of this tragedy should not only be a moral obligation to the victims and their families, but also a key element in building a better future. The importance of this remembrance is multidimensional and involves both the Roma community and society as a whole.

The extermination of the Roma left lasting wounds in their community. However, today the memory of this event is becoming part of their identity and cultural heritage. Learning about their history can strengthen the sense of togetherness and belonging within the Romani community, which was cut off from its roots as a result of the genocide.

The Romani ‘Holocaust’ did not happen in a vacuum. It was the culmination of centuries of discrimination and prejudice deeply rooted in European history. Education on the subject can raise awareness of the mechanisms of exclusion and persecution that marked the fate of the Roma. Such analysis allows for a better understanding of the mechanisms leading to other genocides and crimes against humanity. This knowledge is invaluable in identifying threats and taking preventive action to protect future generations from similar tragedies, as well as counteracting negative phenomena such as racism and xenophobia.

Remembrance-related challenges
Commemorating the annihilation of the Roma and Sinti faces numerous difficulties owing to both historical neglect and current challenges. For many years, the tragedy has been ignored, leading to insufficient public awareness and the victims fading from memory.

One of the main challenges is the lack of sufficient resources and support from state and local authorities. In many countries where the Roma and Sinti were victims of mass atrocities during the war, their commemoration was marginalised. This has resulted in the absence of monuments, museums and educational programmes to help preserve the memory of this tragedy. In addition, Roma communities often face prejudice and a lack of understanding from the rest of society, which hinders their efforts to acknowledge and commemorate their own history.

The lack of access to sources on the extermination of the Roma and Sinti is another major problem. This history is far less well documented compared to the other genocides of the Second World War. There is a lack of source material, such as biographies, testimonies and documents. In addition, there is a poorly developed written tradition in the Roma community, which further hinders the preservation and transmission of history. The lack of their own media to promote and report on Roma history and the limited international representation of Roma to claim recognition of their suffering during the Second World War are additional barriers to the commemoration process.

Another important challenge is the need to integrate the story of the Romani tragedy into the broader narrative of the Second World War and the Holocaust. Often the history of the Roma and Sinti is treated as marginal, instead of being an integral part of the story of the Nazi genocide. As a result, many people are unaware of the scale and cruelty that affected these communities. To remedy this, museums, educational institutions and school curricula need to integrate the topic of the Romani genocide into their programmes. This will ensure a fuller understanding of the scale and diversity of the Holocaust, which is key to preserving the memory of all its victims.

Good practice and modern initiatives
A number of activities are currently underway to commemorate the Sinti and Roma extermination. These initiatives aim to preserve the memory of the victims, educate the public and combat prejudice.

Monuments, museums and cultural institutions dedicated to the commemoration of the Romani genocide are being established in some European countries. In 1997 the Documentation and Cultural Centre of the German Sinti and Roma2 opened in Heidelberg as the first institution of its kind in the world. In 2001 a permanent Roma exhibition presenting the theme of the Roma extermination was created at the Auschwitz Museum. In turn, the Memorial to the Sinti and Roma Victims of National Socialism (Nazism) was unveiled in Berlin in 2012.3

It is also important to take care of existing memorials in order to preserve their historical significance. An example of such efforts is the opening of the Memorial to the Holocaust of the Roma and Sinti in Bohemia in Lety u Písku in the Czech Republic in May 2024. This museum was established on the site on the grounds of a former concentration camp where more than 1,300 Roma were held between 1942 and 1943, of whom more than 300 died and the rest were deported to extermination camps, mainly Auschwitz. It should be noted that for many years the camp grounds were used by an industrial pig farm, which aroused much controversy and protests from the Roma community. The museum at Lety u Písku was established as a result of long-standing efforts and pressure from both the Roma community and international human rights organisations.

Various institutions and NGOs play a key role in the commemoration of the Romani genocide. International initiatives such as the European Holocaust Memorial Day for the Sinti and Roma4 have raised public awareness, creating a space for Romani voices to be heard and promoting values of equality and respect. The Central Council of the German Sinti and Roma founded in 19825 stages numerous educational events, exhibitions and conferences in Germany and other countries.

International youth initiatives such as the annual ‘Dikh he na bister’ (‘Look and don’t forget’ in Romani) play an important role in the commemoration process. This visit to Kraków and Auschwitz-Birkenau aims to commemorate day of liquidation of the ‘Gypsy camp’, where the remaining 4,300 Roma and Sinti were murdered.6 The organisation of festivals, concerts and exhibitions dedicated to the history of the Roma and Sinti supports awareness-building among the general public.

The international cooperation of various organisations, mainly the Council of Europe,7 Office for the Organization for Security and Co-operation in Europe/Democratic Institutions and Human Rights (OECD/ODIHR),8 UNESCO9 and Internation Holocaust Remembrance Alliance (IHRA)10 contributes to promoting the remembrance of the Romani and Sinti genocide in Europe. The funding of educational projects and research on Roma history, the development of guidelines and the publication of books and articles are crucial for education and memory preservation.

In the EU Roma strategic framework, adopted in 2020, and in the European Council Recommendation, the European Commission and EU Member States committed themselves to countering antigypsyism. This framework is based on equality, social and economic inclusion and participation. The European Commission has extended the global #ProtectTheFacts campaign11 to include the plight of the Romani. The Citizens, Equality, Rights and Values (CERV) programme has prioritised projects on remembrance of the Nazi genocide, education and research on the subject and the fight against denialism.

Contemporary good practice and international initiatives show that the activities aimed at preserving the memory of the extermination of the Roma and Sinti in Europe are on the rise. Through these activities, history can be preserved and a more informed and integrated society can be built. NGOs, Roma communities and international institutions are working together to ensure that the Roma tragedy is not forgotten. Despite the many challenges, these initiatives bring about positive change and raise public awareness of the Roma and Sinti extermination.

ENDNOTES
1 The KL (i.e. Concentration Camp) Auschwitz was a German Nazi concentration and death camp complex operating in occupied Poland, near Oświęcim, between 1940 and 1945. It consisted of three main parts: Auschwitz I (mother camp), Auschwitz II–Birkenau (death camp) and Auschwitz III–Monowitz (labour camp). Auschwitz has become a symbol of the Holocaust, where some 1.1 million people, mainly Jews but also Poles, Roma and prisoners of other nationalities, were murdered under brutal conditions.
2 https://dokuzentrum.sintiundroma.de/ (accessed 1 August 2024).
3 https://www.stiftung-denkmal.de/en/memorials/memorial-to-the-sinti-and-roma-of-europe-murdered-under-national-socialism/ (accessed 1 August 2024).
4 https://www.roma-sinti-holocaust-memorial-day.eu/ (accessed 1 August 2024).
5 https://zentralrat.sintiundroma.de/en/ (accessed 1 August 2024).
6 https://2august.eu/ (accessed 1 August 2024).
7 https://pjp-eu.coe.int/en/web/inclusive-education-for-roma-children/texts-2; https://rm.coe.int/168008b633; https://www.coe.int/en/web/roma-and-travellers/roma-history-factsheets (accessed 1 August 2024).
8 https://www.osce.org/files/f/documents/9/b/135396.pdf (accessed 1 August 2024).
9 https://www.unesco.org/en/articles/shedding-light-roma-genocide-take-part-protectthefacts-campaign (accessed 1 August 2024).
10 https://holocaustremembrance.com/what-we-do/our-work/ihra-project-recommendations-teaching-learning-genocide-roma (accessed 1 August 2024).
11 https://www.againstholocaustdistortion.org/ (accessed 1 August 2024).


Piotr Trojański, PhD, Professor at the University of the National Education Commission, Kraków (Poland)

Proofreading: Caroline Brooke Johnson


Photo of the publication Echoes of Courage: Exploring Humanity in Between Life and Death
ENRS

Echoes of Courage: Exploring Humanity in 'Between Life and Death'

31 July 2024
Tags
  • Between Life and Death

Agnieszka Mazur-Olczak, Deputy Head of the Projects Department at the ENRS, in an interview about our travelling exhibition ‘Between Life and Death. Stories of Rescue During the Holocaust’.

What is ‘Between Life and Death’?

‘Between Life and Death’ is an exhibition that is very contemporary, despite discussing historical events. It tells the story of the dark and light sides of humanity, presenting accounts from individuals in various countries who found themselves in extreme situations. This includes those who had to save their own lives and those who, for various reasons, chose to take the risk and help them. What is most important to me is that as we travel the world with this project, I consistently hear that despite the exhibition recounting difficult war stories, it always conveys a sense of hope.

How did it all start?

It began with the European Commission, which wanted to organise a significant event on January 27, Holocaust Remembrance Day, in 2018. At the ENRS, we conceived the idea of creating an exhibition and reached out to the Polin Museum and the Silent Heroes Memorial Centre in Berlin. While developing the concept, we realised that no exhibition had ever presented both perspectives —the rescuer and the rescued— and that we could combine them. We believed that, through the European Network's partnerships and the vital involvement of the Polin Museum, we could find suitable partners. We sought institutions with interesting, documented stories that they were willing to share to promote their collections. We had very little time to prepare this exhibition; it was an intensive three-month effort involving two curators who created the content and a team of academic consultants. Despite the time pressure, everything came together thanks to our contacts and determination.

How did you choose the characters featured in the exhibition?

The selection process varied by country. We always consulted with our national partners regarding the stories we wanted to showcase. The exhibition is structured to display stories from individual countries, and each country has a national partner involved in the work. The authors either searched for characters on the Yad Vashem lists, or our partners recommended them based on their materials or knowledge of compelling stories. We also aimed to highlight lesser-known cases. For instance, instead of featuring the well-known Ulma family for the Polish panel, we chose the Gawrychs. Similarly, for the Dutch section, we did not present Anne Frank, as her story is widely known. It was also crucial that our partners had contact with the witnesses to history, so we could invite them to the exhibition openings.

Did you manage to meet the witnesses to history personally?

Yes. The first significant meeting was in 2018, during the exhibition's inauguration at the European Commission headquarters. Ms Elżbieta Ficowska, Ms Elisabeth Drillich, and Mr Shochot, a Lithuanian survivor, attended the opening. It was a deeply moving experience for both them and the audience. Whenever we present the exhibition, we strive to invite a person featured in the exhibition to the opening. I remember Ms Zita Kurz's profound emotion when she realised someone was interested in her story during the exhibition's debut in Bratislava. These meetings are incredibly poignant, transforming the stories from mere panels with photos into encounters with living individuals. Often, these stories seem destined for tragic endings, yet many of these individuals went on to lead significant lives.

Who is this exhibition for? Who visits it, and who would you recommend it to?

The exhibition attracts a diverse audience, depending on its location, but we always aim to engage young people. ‘Between Life and Death’ is not just about the past; it is very much about the present. Each country's panel begins by depicting the situation of Jews before the German occupation and how it changed. It illustrates how significant and tragic events can stem from seemingly small, insignificant laws. The lack of societal response—whether due to inability or unwillingness—led to the exclusion, deportation, and murder of this group. This is highly relevant today. Young people often say, ‘I'm not going to vote because I'm not interested in politics’ and this exhibition shows that you may not be interested in politics, but politics is always very much interested in you, and demonstrates that it profoundly affects everyone. This exhibition serves as both a warning and a powerful narrative, showing that even small actions can be crucial for someone's survival. We never know when we might find ourselves in such a situation.

‘Between Life and Death’ has already visited many countries, including Japan. You often accompany it. What can you say about its reception in different countries? Have you encountered any surprising reactions from visitors?

Regardless of the location, I consistently hear two praises. Firstly, visitors often expect an exhibition about humanity's dark side, but they leave feeling hopeful. Secondly, compliments frequently go to the graphic design studio that collaborated with us. The exhibition's design is not a simple set of boards; it is compact and adaptable to various spaces, always attracting attention. Visitors are naturally curious about their national panels and often learn something new. Young people, in particular, are motivated to explore similar stories or delve into their country's history and its contemporary implications.

Where did the idea for a panel of diplomats included in the exhibition a few years later come from?

The idea for a panel dedicated to righteous diplomats originated from our Hungarian colleagues. Initially, the Hungarian contribution included a passage about a community of international diplomats who helped Jews in Budapest. However, our colleagues wanted their panel to mirror the others, showcasing both a rescuer and a survivor. I became interested in the Yad Vashem list, which is updated annually, and discovered Chiune Sugihara, a Japanese diplomat in Kaunas who helped Jews, including many from Poland. We decided to highlight diplomats as a special professional group with unique opportunities to help. This new panel, showing diplomats from different countries, emerged from this idea. Following its creation, the exhibition's trip to Japan was conceived. And just then, the pandemic broke out… Initially, it seemed a hindrance but allowed us to develop the project further. Although "Between Life and Death" couldn't travel around Europe, it went to Japan, where exhibitions were permitted. This break enabled us to create additional material, including a film about the diplomats and nine educational packages on the Holocaust available on our hi-story platform.

How did the exhibition's reception change, if at all, after Russia's attack on Ukraine? Do you see any differences?

Yes, there have been changes. This is especially evident at openings, where directors and political representatives frequently mention Ukraine's tragedy. Just before the full-scale invasion on 24 February 2022, we were preparing to take the exhibition to Dnipro, Lviv, and other locations in Ukraine. I recall a conversation with Professor Rydel just days before the war began; he emphasised the need to support Ukrainians by bringing the exhibition there. Although these plans are currently on hold, we hope they will be realised soon. We have an excellent Ukrainian panel and a committed Ukrainian partner who helped set it up and participated in the exhibition's 2018 opening in Brussels.

What is your favourite part of the exhibition?

My favourite part is the section on diplomats, as I was heavily involved in it. It is incredible that an interest in diplomacy and curiosity about a Japanese person who wanted to help some people led to a new narrative for the exhibition. Additionally, for the first time, the exhibition has been translated into the host country's language, because until then, there was only an English version. Nowadays we also have a Slovak version, which is travelling around Slovakia. I hope to see it translated into many more languages for broader tours. The Polish panel is also a favourite, particularly due to the enriching experiences with Mrs Elżbieta Ficowska, but I see the entire exhibition as a cohesive whole and I treat it a bit like my own child.

You must have had numerous adventures during the preparation and journey of the exhibition. Is there any event that particularly stands out?

I will always remember the first presentation at the European Commission headquarters, which included many high-ranking officials. Just before the event, Ms Marta Cygan brought us a poem by Mr Ficowski, "Both Your Mothers," written for Elżbieta Ficowska and translated into several languages. We distributed it to the interpreters at the event. At the end of the ceremony, after each survivor had shared their story, Ms Cygan read the poem. It was incredibly moving, with many leaving the room in tears, especially as the poem's subject, Elżbieta Ficowska, was present among us. At that moment, I realised the exhibition's profound importance and felt that all our efforts were worthwhile. Ever since then, the exhibition has continued to surprise and impact us in many ways.

What are your plans for the exhibition? Are you thinking about expanding it? What is the next country you plan to visit?

We are currently working on the Estonian panel. The Estonians expressed a desire to join the project and showcase their stories, so the exhibition will soon be displayed in Tallinn.

Photo of the publication 23 August 1939: The Day Europe Opened Pandora’s Box
Jan Rydel

23 August 1939: The Day Europe Opened Pandora’s Box

22 July 2024
Tags
  • Ribbentrop and Molotov pact
  • 23 August
  • totalitarianism
  • totalitarian regimes
  • World War II
  • Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact

The Wednesday of 23 August 1939 marks an extraordinarily important date in the history of Central Europe, indeed all of Europe.

On that day, Joachim von Ribbentrop, foreign minister under the German Reich, flew to Moscow and, after brief negotiations with Vyacheslav Molotov, Soviet foreign commissioner, signed – in the presence of Joseph Stalin himself – the non-aggression agreement between Germany and the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics, soon to be known as the Molotov–Ribbentrop (or the Hitler–Stalin) Pact.

The most important part of that document, with a direct impact on the developments in Europe in the following days and weeks, was the secret additional protocol, which divided Central and Eastern Europe into German and Soviet spheres of influence. The former was to include the western half of Poland and Lithuania (soon to be handed over to Moscow), while the latter the eastern half of Poland, Finland, Estonia and Latvia, as well as Romanian Bessarabia.

Hitler feared a war on two fronts, and at the same time insisted the arrangements be made quickly because of the imminent arrival of the autumn rains and fog, which could stop the Blitzkrieg (German: Lightning War), making it much easier for the Poles to defend themselves. In order to achieve his aims, he had to secure at least the neutrality – and preferably active cooperation – of the Soviets during the attack on Poland and the subsequent showdown with the West. This was the reason why the German side willingly and speedily agreed to such a vast expansion of the Soviet sphere of influence and in practice the borders of the USSR. Looking at the scene from a different perspective, one can see that without Stalin’s agreement and cooperation with Hitler, who ‘just a while ago’ was the number one enemy for the communists, the outbreak of the Second World War in 1939 would almost certainly not have occurred, and any additional months of peace might have changed the fate of the world.

Germany and the Soviet Union did not give Europe and the world that chance, however. On 1 September 1939, Germany attacked Poland, soon followed by the USSR, which did the same on 17 September. In the areas occupied by the Wehrmacht and the Soviet army, war crimes were committed from the very first days of the onslaught. Soon deportations of Poles to concentration and forced labour camps and the Soviet Gulag incarceration facilities began. The repressions were aimed at the broadly defined leadership and opinion-forming class. In the spring of 1940 during the Katyn Massacre, the Soviets murdered more than 20,000 Polish prisoners of war. On 30 November 1939 the Soviet Union invaded Finland, which – thanks to a fierce defence – managed to save its independence. In the autumn of 1939, Lithuania, Latvia and Estonia had to conclude friendship agreements with the USSR and allow the Soviet army into their territory. After less than a year, at the beginning of August 1940, all three were incorporated into the USSR. In June 1940 the Soviets, threatening to invade the country, forced Romania to hand over Bessarabia and the northern half of Bukovina. Cruel repressions took place in the Baltic states occupied by the USSR, especially the deportation of hundreds of thousands of men, women and children to Siberia. The Finns and Romanians had to take in hundreds of thousands of refugees fleeing the areas annexed by the Soviets, and those who remained were exposed to Soviet repression. At the same time, the Germans had already murdered a significant part of the Polish intelligentsia, established the Auschwitz concentration camp and set up ghettos for Jews.

The Molotov–Ribbentrop Pact concluded on 23 August Pandora’s box. On that day the worst plagues prepared by the totalitarian systems – Nazism and Stalinist communism – were inflicted on Europe. The choice of 23 August as the European Day of Remembrance for Victims of Totalitarian Regimes is therefore fully justified.
Photo of the publication In the Name of Both Her Mothers
Monika Haber

In the Name of Both Her Mothers

26 May 2023
Tags
  • Holocaust
  • ghetto
  • Mother

She was already 17 when she accidentally learned that everything she knew about herself was untrue. That the mother she was with, Stanisława Bussoldowa, did not give birth to her at all, but took care of a six-month-old baby, saved at the last moment from annihilation in a world that no longer existed. That Elżunia was not after all a diminutive of Elżbieta (Elizabeth), but a Jewish name, in Hebrew, Elishew. This name, as well as her likeness, was left by Henia Koppel, a Jewish woman, Elżbieta Ficowska’s ‘real’ mother, whose face Elżbieta never knew.

Born under an imprisoned star

Elżbieta Ficowska’s mother, Henia Koppel, gave birth to her in the Warsaw ghetto. To save the child, she decided to move her to the Aryan side. The six-month-old baby was given medicine to sleep, placed in a wooden box with holes in it so she could breathe, hidden among the bricks and taken away from the Warsaw ghetto. The box also contained a silver spoon on which was engraved her name and her date of birth: ‘Elżunia, 5 I 1942’, the only trace of a surviving identity.

Elżbieta has no idea what her parents looked like. She has no photographs. Years later she managed to track down two of her mother’s friends from grammar school, who described her mother as a beautiful blonde with blue eyes. Her father was much older, stocky, black-haired and black-eyed. This is the only image she has of them.

‘I have seen so many photographs of nameless Jews in old German film chronicles. I always stare at them searchingly, and sometimes I succumb to the illusion that I might somehow recognise my loved ones, even though I know it is impossible. I don’t know their faces, I only see them in my imagination’, she later said in an interview.

From that world to this world

The child was taken out of the ghetto by Stanisława Bussoldowa’s stepson, Paweł Bussold, who had a pass to the ghetto. Elżbieta was supposed to go to a woman, but the latter fell ill with tuberculosis. Although she had not planned to, Bussoldowa took good care of Elżunia. During the years of German occupation, she provided assistance to Jews from the Warsaw ghetto, collaborating with Irena Sendler. Stanisława Bussoldowa worked as a feldsher and midwife at a health centre on Działdowska Street in Warsaw. The facility organised money for Jews locked behind the walls of the Warsaw ghetto. She also delivered food ration cards to the ghetto, took people to the so-called Aryan side and delivered babies of Jewish women hiding in occupied Warsaw.

On a daily basis, the young girl was looked after by a nanny – Janina Peciak. She would receive phone calls from the child’s mother from the ghetto and put the receiver to the chattering little girl. The last time she called was in October 1942.

Henia perished on 3 November 1943, in the forced-labour camp in Poniatowa. Elżbieta’s father, Josel, perished during the major liquidation operation of the Warsaw ghetto (July–September 1942). He was shot at the Umschlagplatz when he refused to get into a wagon. They were disappeared like the world she had never managed to get to know and had no chance to know from the Aryan side.

Washed you of orphanhood and swaddled you in love

As Elżbieta Ficowska recalls, her foster mother offered her a happy childhood full of love. When Stanisława Bussoldowa took in Elżunia, she was already in her 60s; her children were grown up and she herself was a widow already. She gave her foster daughter a lot of wholesome and mature love. She was a well-looked after child, and everyone around her did their best to make her feel as comfortable and as safe as possible. This is why Stanisława Bussoldowa protected her from a premature clash with history. Out of concern for the child, Stanisława Bussoldowa did not allow Elżbieta to find out about her Jewish origins for a long time. During the war, she was hidden from the Germans. After the war, she was also hidden from the Jewish organisations seeking to recover the children who had been saved.

Not to be surprised at all when you say – I am

Elżbieta Ficowska found out about her Jewish origins at the age of 17 by accident. A friend, with whom she attended the Felician Sisters’ School in Wawer, asked her one day why she hadn’t told her she was Jewish. Elżbieta thought it was nonsense, completely untrue. However, this information planted a seed of anxiety in her, and her imagination increasingly suggested videos from the past and various, as well as strange stories. Such as the one from when she was in the cemetery and noticed that the date of her father’s death, Stanisława’s husband, died two years before she was born. She was then told that the stonemason had got the date on the gravestone wrong, and she did not pursue the story further.

In the same way that she didn’t make the connection, while she was with her nanny in a vegetable shop in Michalina, when someone asked her if the Jews coming from America had already been there. She had no idea that after the war there were Jews in Poland who wanted to find the Jewish children rescued from the Holocaust and take them to Jewish families in America or Israel.

Eventually Elżbieta Ficowska learned about her Jewish background from her Polish mother. After an argument, she ran away from home to a friend’s house. She hid in the basement and refused to come out. When she was found by her mother, they had their first and only conversation about how she became her daughter. ‘It was so difficult for her and for me that we never went back to it again,’ Elżbieta Ficowska confessed in an interview.

I keep both my mothers with me

Henia Koppel (1919?–1943) and Stanisława Bussoldowa (1886–1968) were both mothers to Elżbieta Ficowska. The first, who gave her life ‘under an imprisoned star’, gave up her daughter in order to save her life, and the second spared her of orphanhood and swaddled her in love. Both risked their own lives.

‘I keep both my mothers with me and will do that till the end. Their presence reminds me that there is nothing more destructive than hatred and nothing more precious than human kindness,’ says Elżbieta.

A tribute to both of them is a poem by Jerzy Ficowski, poet and husband of Elżbieta Ficowska. ‘Both Your Mothers’ is dedicated to Bieta, as Jerzy affectionately addressed his wife by this nickname, and commemorates the story of two mothers, two maternal loves, and is a monument to their sacrificial love.

***

Both Your Mothers

for Bieta

Under a futile Torah
under an imprisoned star
your mother gave birth to you

You have proof of her
beyond doubt and death
the scar of the navel
the sign of parting for ever
which had n time to hurt you

this you know

Later you slept in a bundle
carried out of the ghetto
someone said in a chest
knocked together somewhere in Nowolipie Street
with a hole to let air in
but not fear
hidden in a cartload of bricks

You slipped out in this little coffin
redeemed by stealth
from that world to this world
all the way to the Aryan side
and fire took over
the corner you left vacant

So you did not cry
crying could have meant death
luminal hummed you
its lullaby
And you nearly were not
so that you could be

But the mother
who was saved in you
could now step into crowded death
happily incomplete
could instead of memory give you
for a parting gift
her own likeness
and a date and a name

so much

And at once a chance
someone hastily
bustled about your sleep
and then stayed for a long always
and washed you of orphanhood
and swaddled you in love
and became the answer
to your first word

That was how
both your mothers taught you
not to be surprised at all
when you say
I am

[translated by Keith Bosley]

Photo of the publication The Wannsee Conference
Roman Żuchowicz

The Wannsee Conference

20 January 2022
Tags
  • Holocaust
  • World War II
  • genocide
  • Wannsee Conference
  • Adolf Eichmann
  • Final Solution of the Jewish Question’

On 20 January 1942, several high-ranking dignitaries of the Third Reich met in a villa on Lake Wannsee. During the preceding weeks, the political situation in which the Nazi state found itself had clearly changed. After the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor, Hitler declared war on the United States. At the same time, the lack of success in the Battle of Moscow meant that the vision of a quick defeat of the Soviet Union had been dispelled. However, they did not gather to hear about the situation on the fronts. The new reality opened up the opportunity for the ‘Final Solution of the Jewish Question’. The fate of European Jews, who were treated by Hitler as hostages, stopped being a potential bargaining pin preventing Americans to join war. Since it was obvious that the fighting in the East would not end soon, it was decided that the Final Solution should not be postponed until the defeat of Stalin. But what does the term exactly mean? Under this euphemistic term lay a crime unprecedented in the history of mankind: the will to bring about the systematic murder of the Jewish population in Europe.

Almost all copies of the minutes of the Vannsee Conference (the Wannsee Protocol) were destroyed by those in their possession. Consequently, our knowledge about the meeting would have been much poorer, had Robert Kempner not come across the only surviving copy in 1947. This German lawyer and fierce enemy of the Nazis was actively involved in the Nuremberg trials after the war. Kempner immediately noticed the extraordinary importance of the Protocol and thanks to his meticulous approach to the prosecution and a little luck, a shocking document related to a turning point in the history of the Holocaust is known today.

Despite the euphemisms used in the Wannsee Protocol, the picture of the meeting that emerges from the document is horrifying. The conference was opened by Reinhard Heydrich, head of the Reich Security Main Office. He informed the audience that the aim of the meeting was to establish a common line of action regarding the ‘Final Solution of the Jewish Question’. At the same time, he stressed his key role in the implementation of the plans. On 31 July 1941, Herman Göring had already authorised him to take all necessary steps to this end. Over the course of six months, ideas concerning the involvement of specific Third Reich administrations changed, as did the aforementioned political situation, which slightly delayed the convening of the conference. In the end, Heydrich spoke to representatives of several ministries, offices and security police. Among those present were Wilhelm Stuckart, Secretary of State in the Ministry of the Interior, and Roland Freisler representing the Reich Ministry of Justice. The Nazi authorities in the occupied countries were represented by Hans Frank’s deputy, Josef Bühler, Secretary of State in the Government of the General Government and SS-Sturmbannführer Rudolf Lange, Commandant of the Security Police and SD in Riga. Heydrich himself was, incidentally, at the same time Deputy Protector of Bohemia and Moravia. The assembled listened to a summary of the existing policy towards the Jews and its limitations. In place of the forced emigration applied before, the concept of ‘evacuation to the East’ appeared. To illustrate the scale of the issue for the participants, data on the Jewish population in Europe were presented. Adolf Eichmann, Heydrich’s right hand man in the Final Solution, was responsible for compiling the data. After a lengthy enumeration, issues such as the organisation of ghettos for aging Jews and the fate of Jewish veterans who fought on the German side in the First World War were addressed. Later in the conference, Heydrich reminded the audience of who was a Jew under German law and presented a solution to the question of Mischlings (mixed-race people i.e. those with Jewish and non-Jewish ancestors). After a brief discussion, the meeting was closed, and the Chief of the Reich Security Main Office requested that the members of the meeting provide him with appropriate assistance in solving this ‘problem’.

In a meeting lasting barely an hour and a half, the fate of millions of people was sealed. But was the Wannsee Conference such a breakthrough? The German crimes against the Jews did not begin on 20 January 1942. However, it could be said that it was only from this date that ‘command genocide’ on an unprecedented scale began. The previous policy of forced emigration (practiced since the 1930s against German Jews) proved to be insufficient. In the political situation at the time, emigration to neutral countries was already on hold. In view of the size of the Jewish population in the territories occupied by the Third Reich, this solution could hardly have been considered feasible. Also unrealistic ware the ideas such as sending Jews to Madagascar. The only areas where they could be ‘evacuated’ were those captured by the Nazis in the east. Also, the policy of confining and slowly starving Jews in ghettos did not seem optimal. Starvation and labour were time-consuming. The racially obsessed Nazis also feared that by eliminating weaker individuals they would select the most resilient who could potentially revive the Jewish nation. The Wehrmacht’s war machine was followed by Einsatzgruppen units (full name ‘Einsatzgruppen der Sicherheitspolizei und des SD’), which were to eliminate ideological and racial enemies in the rear of the army. However, the mass execution of civilians also had its drawbacks. It consumed time and valuable ammunition, and was a serious mental burden for most of the executioners. The Germans had been testing gas chambers for a long time. And it was this mean of mass executions that proved, with all other methods, to be the most desirable solution for the Nazis. They were faster, more efficient and allowed killing without direct contact between executioner and victims.

The Protocol of the Wannsee Conference contain a shocking sentence: ‘Europe is to be combed through from West to East in the course of the practical implementation of the Final Solution’. According to the list drawn up by Eichmann, and included on page six of the Protocol, the expected victims were to be more than eleven million. One cannot help but notice, however, that some of his calculations are rather peculiar. The list was divided into countries and territories A (basically under the direct control of the Reich) and B (allies, neutral countries, but also those with whom Germany was at war). Especially with regard to the latter, the somewhat naive approach and wishful thinking is glaring. It seems that Eichmann assumed that in the future it will be possible to ‘evacuate’ all of the European Jews, which would had been only possible with the final triumph of the Third Reich.

In compiling his list, Eichmann had at his disposal various data, not always reliable or up-to-date. For example, only two hundred people belonging to the Jewish community were attributed to Italian-occupied Albania, although the country had been a refuge for thousands of Jewish expats since the 1930s. These and other details somewhat contradict the notion of meticulous, bureaucratic precision of the Holocaust plans. Estonia stands out in particular on the list, being described as Judenfrei (i.e. free of Jews). The country’s pre-war Jewish population was not one of the most numerous, and the various repressions or displacements that befell this minority after the occupation of the country by the Soviet Union further depleted it. The intensified activities of the German occupying forces and their Estonian collaborators meant that as early as January 1942, the country could be proclaimed (although exaggeratedly) as the country in which the Jewish question had been finally resolved. Anyhow, only individual people survived the war.

The sixth page of the aforementioned Protocol has become one of the symbolic illustrations of the Holocaust because it shows like no other document the pan-European scale and the unprecedented nature of the Nazis’ murderous plan. In 2022, on the 80th anniversary of the infamous conference, the European Network Remembrance and Solidarity (enrs.eu) and the Wannsee Conference House (ghwk.de) with the support of an international group of historians, have created an interactive website with infographics describing the history and contents of the sixth page of the Protocol. The infographics is available here: www.ghwk.de/statisticsandcatastrophe.

The aim of the project, called ‘Statistics and Catastrophe. Questioning Eichmann’s Numbers’, is to critically analyse the list, the statistics presented by Eichmann, and to show what tragedy is hidden in this bureaucratic document. The biographies of the victims are also an important part of the infographic – it is the victims of the Holocaust that we first and foremost need to remember about on the 80th anniversary of the Conference. Only a week later, on 27 January, there is another symbolic anniversary: the liberation of the Auschwitz-Birkenau death camp, which is commemorated as the International Holocaust Remembrance Day.

transl. Mikołaj Sekrecki

Photo of the publication The Causes and Circumstances of the Outbreak of the Second World War
Jan Rydel

The Causes and Circumstances of the Outbreak of the Second World War

07 January 2020
Tags
  • Ribbentrop and Molotov pact
  • Stalin
  • Second World War
  • Hitler
  • Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact
  • Soviet Union

The order set by the Treaty of Versailles that shaped interwar Europe and sanctioned the appearance of myriad independent states in East-Central Europe had a number of weaknesses, the key one being the absence of two large continental powers Germany and Russia while it was being decided. As regards the former, the public in the countries of the Entente affected by population losses and destruction as well as exhausted by a war of several years was so much reluctant towards Germany that it was plain impossible to treat it as a partner during the Paris peace conference. At the time of the event, Russia was experiencing a hard-thought civil war between Bolsheviks and representatives of the ancien regime, whose resolution was nowhere to be seen, and as a result – despite attempts at mediation – it proved futile to determine which party to the conflict should represent the country. Given the terms of peace dictated to Germany and isolation to surround victorious Soviet Russia, both powers rejected the Versailles system and sought its revision. That general attitude brought them closer and in 1922 they concluded an accord in Rapallo that formed the basis for their friendly political relations, intensive economic and military cooperation in the area of technology and the arms industry, as well as training.

In 1925, Germany signed treaties in Locarno with France, Belgium, Great Britain and Italy that guaranteed its western border as laid down in the Treaty of Versailles. However, it refused to sign a similar treaty with Poland and Czechoslovakia, which caused much concern in those countries, both because of the unambiguous though indirect threat issued by Germany and the stance taken by France, which by accepting that and not some other arrangement put into question its own loyalty towards Poland and Czechoslovakia. After Locarno, thanks to support of France and Great Britain, Germany joined the League of Nations and even received the status of a permanent member of its Council, the equivalent of today’s UN Security Council. That meant that Germany’s isolation was over and the country had become a member of the international community in its own right. Symbolic of those changes was the Nobel Peace Prize received by the German Foreign Minister Gustav Stresemann. As the new German policy caused concern in Moscow as regards future cooperation, the partnership between Germany and the Soviet Union was reinforced by a friendship accord concluded in Berlin in 1926 and extended in 1931.

At the turn of the 1920s and the 1930s, the Soviet Union took steps in order to ensure the country’s full participation in international relations and was an active and constructive participant in negotiations on the international Kellog-Briand Pact assuming renunciation of war as a tool of international policy (Treaty for Renunciation of War). Before that pact entered into force in February 1929, the ‘Litvinov Protocol’ was signed in Moscow where the USSR and its western neighbours, including Poland, decided that the provisions of the Kellog-Briand Pact would come into force even before its formal ratification. The Protocol paved the way towards intensification of Polish-Soviet relations, which resulted in the signing of a non-aggression pact between Poland and the USSR on 25 July 1932. It was a highly precise document which foresaw that the parties to it were also to treat as aggression: any act of violence that affects the integrity and inviolability of the territory or political independence of the other Contracting Party, even if such actions are not accompanied by a declaration of war and its all possible manifestations.

At the time of the Polish-Soviet rapprochement, Europe was experiencing growing tensions related to the successes of Adolf Hitler’s party heading for power in the German Reich. It was particularly strong in Polish-German relations, which is why Polish diplomats discreetly probed the French ally on several occasions, trying to establish how strong France’s response would be in the case of an armed conflict with Germany. The last such probe took place after Germany’s leaving the League of Nations on 14 October 1933. As all the attempts rendered negative results, the value of the alliance with France seen from the Polish perspective was significantly reduced. In the circumstances, the Polish envoy in Berlin Józef Lipski asked Adolf Hitler whether Germany took into consideration compensating Poland for its decreased sense of security as the former had left the League of Nations. That opened the way for the signing, on 26 January 1933 after intensive and secret negotiations, of a Declaration between Poland and Germany on non-application of violence. The European public was much surprised by the document since the Polish-German antagonism was considered insurmountable. Consequently, it was suspected that apart from the publicly known text of the declaration some secret convent was made under which Poland was joining the German side, which was not true, and – what is more – the declaration did contain a statement that its signing did not have any impact whatsoever on the legality of previous treaties and commitments made by the parties to it. To appease the Soviets, who also had concerns as to the true meaning of the Polish-German declaration, Poland concluded an agreement with them already in 1934 concerning the extension of the non-aggression pact until as late as 1945.

At that time, Polish politicians became convinced that the alliance with France – given its passive and submissive stance – might not continue to be the only pillar of the Polish security policy. Also, Poland had never harboured any illusions as to the ability of the League of Nations to ensure peace in Europe. Similarly sceptical was Poland’s attitude to the French-promoted attempts to set up a collective security system in East-Central Europe with an instrumental participation of the USSR, their obvious and direct result being ceding hegemony in this part of the continent to the Soviets. For that reason Marshal Józef Piłsudski, Poland’s de facto political leader, championed the notion that Warsaw needed to keep an even distance between Berlin and Moscow, as exemplified by somewhat symmetrical agreements concluded in 1932 and 1934, respectively. Soon to pass away, Piłsudski was at the same time issuing the warning that such a balance around Poland would not last for more than four years.

Thanks to the signing of the declaration, the relations between Poland and Germany improved very soon. Germany ended a customs war with Poland dating back to the time of the Weimar Republic and both sides adopted a milder attitude as regards their respective national minorities as well as softened virulent press propaganda. Some contacts were also established in the field of culture and high-level visits became relatively frequent. The initiative concerning closer ties came mostly from Germany, hoping to win Poland as an ally against the USSR. Yet it was a wrong calculation. Germany did not recognise the border with Poland, which for the latter was a sine qua non condition for any possible further rapprochement. No open or secret Polish-German political or military alliance took place. Poland – despite incentives – did not join the Anti-Comintern Pact, a loose grouping of countries allied with the Third Reich. Poland did not plan making any territorial gains in cooperation with Germany. The circle of Piłsudski’s supporters in power in Poland (known as the Sanation) did not support national socialism, and there were hardly any supporters of that movement among members of the opposition. Last but not least, there were also no cooperation between Poland and Germany as regards discrimination of Jews.

At first, the course of events in Europe confirmed that Piłsudski’s predictions were correct. In March 1935, Germany announced that it would not respect the arms restrictions imposed by the Treaty of Versailles. That step did not meet with any de facto response from France while Great Britain concluded a naval pact with Germany that sanctioned a considerable extension of the German navy. A year later, on 7 March 1936, German troops entered the Rhineland in a blatant violation of the Treaties of Versailles and Locarno. In the circumstances, Poland ensured France yet again of its readiness to meet its obligations stemming from their alliance in case of a conflict with Germany. However, neither France nor any of western countries, or the League of Nations, did anything more than issue purely verbal protests. Still, after long negotiations, on 6 September 1936 France granted Poland a large loan for modernisation of its armed forces, a proof that, although weakened, the Polish-French Alliance continued to be in force.

In May 1935, France and the USSR as well as Czechoslovakia and the USSR entered into bilateral agreements on mutual assistance in case of a German invasion. The Soviet-Czechoslovak accord was to become operational only under the condition that France offer military support to Czechoslovakia first (casus foederis). Looking good on paper, the agreements in question were de facto dead politically, inter alia because no serious attempt was made to agree with Poland how the Soviet Union sharing no border with Germany or Czechoslovakia was supposed to render military assistance to its new partners.

Poland’s political standing began to change radically when in 1938 Germany triggered the implementation of its expansive agenda and annexed Austria (12–13 March 1938), took control of Klaipeda at the expense of Lithuania (23 March 1938) and, in particular, partitioned Czechoslovakia. During a conference in Munich (29–30 September 1938), Czechoslovakia, although the most loyal ally of France, was pressed by its allies and agreed to cede to Germany a vast borderland known as the Sudetenland important in economic and strategic terms. Although no party to the conflict or participant of the Munich conference, Poland nevertheless forced crisis-ridden Czechoslovakia to cede Zaolzie (lands beyond the Olza River) to it. The contentious area populated mostly by Poles had been stealthily attacked and seized by Czechoslovak troops in 1920 when the Bolshevik army was poised for attack near Warsaw. Even if the taking control of Zaolzie by Polish troops on 2 October 1938 was much justified and the entire operation did not result from any arrangements with Germany, the impression it made in Europe was that Poland collaborated with Hitler.

On 24 October 1938, the Polish envoy in Berlin Józef Lipski received a list of demands from the German Foreign Minister Joachim von Ribbentrop intended as the basis for a new general arrangement of mutual relations between both countries. The German demands included the incorporation of the Free City of Gdańsk to the German Reich, the construction of an extraterritorial motorway and a railway link between East Prussia and the rest of the Reich, Poland’s joining the Anti-Comintern Pact as well as permanent political consultations between Poland and Germany. The objective behind the demands, extraordinarily moderate according to the Germans, was to force Poland to decide whether it supported Germany or not. Polish diplomats were greatly surprised by the German demands. For its part, Germany was astonished by Poland’s veiled and then unambiguous refusal to accept them as its conclusion was that such a step would turn the country into a German fiefdom while the Polish Government treated Poland’s territorial integrity and sovereignty as inalienable. When interned in Romania in 1940, the Polish Foreign Minister Józef Beck did not mince words about the consequences of Poland’s hypothetical agreement: We would have conquered Russia together with Germany and then we would have been grazing cows for Hitler in the Ural.1 The resolution of that stage of the Polish-German dispute came as a result of the German seizure of territorially reduced Czechoslovakia on 15 March 1939, with the Protectorate of Bohemia and Moravia established in Czechia and Slovakia becoming an independent state ‘under the care of the German Reich’. That move meant a violation of the relatively fresh Munich agreement as well as a crude exposure of the British and French appeasement policy, which both powers could not stomach any more. Responding, Great Britain decided to give Poland assurances on 31 March 1939, the basis for the British-Polish alliance. Conditioning its own policy towards Germany on Great Britain at that time, France also renewed its alliance with Poland. In response, on 28 April Adolf Hitler renounced the non-aggression pact with Poland as well as the naval accord with Great Britain. On 5 May 1939, Józef Beck delivered his great speech at the Sejm rejecting the German demands. It was clear that Poland and Germany were on a collision course now.

The events in Europe were closely followed by Joseph Stalin and Soviet diplomats. They were aware of their comfortable position as they could choose which side of the escalating conflict to support and which one would assure them more benefits. Since April, talks had been going on in Moscow with representatives of Great Britain and France yet no progress was being made as both countries treated them mainly as a kind of demonstration targeting Germany. In actual fact, Stalin had already decided to change the paradigm of the Soviet foreign policy, i.e. initiate cooperation with Hitler. The obstacle was the Commissar of Foreign Affairs Maxim Litvinov, a son and brother of rabbis from Białystok born as Meir Wallach, distinguishing himself as a staunch enemy of Nazism and a passionate champion of bringing the USSR closer to western democracies. Already on 15 April 1939 during a sitting of the Politburo of the Bolshevik Party, Stalin rejected Litvinov arguments for an alliance with Great Britain and France. On 3 May 1939, Litvinov was formally dismissed and a purge took place among Soviet diplomats of Jewish origin. Litvinov was now replaced by Stalin’s blind follower, the cynical chair of the Council of People’s Commissars (equivalent of a Prime Minister) Vyacheslav Molotov. Talks went full steam ahead in the last days of July 1939. First, an extensive economic agreement was negotiated, providing for, inter alia, large supplies of Soviet raw materials to Germany. Following that success, the parties agreed to enter into political talks. Joachim von Ribbentrop flew to Moscow, and in the night from 23 to 24 August he negotiated a non-aggression pact with the Soviet partners. A more important and sensational part of the agreement was laid down in a secret protocol. It provided for a division of East-Central Europe between Germany and the Soviet Union, the sphere of influence of the latter including Finland, Estonia, Latvia and Bessarabia in Romania. As regards Poland, the Soviet Union additionally committed to invade it and occupy its eastern part up to the line marked by the rivers Narew, Vistula and San.

Thanks to the conscious action of an opposition-minded diplomat from the German embassy in Moscow, the content of the secret protocol was transmitted without delay to US, Italian and French diplomats. The British also had incomplete knowledge about it and it was they that passed on a veiled warning to the Polish ambassador Edward Raczyński who sent it to Warsaw. Unfortunately, Polish authorities at that time had an entirely false image of the Soviets and their politics. Polish intelligence in the USSR ‘got blind’ as a result of the ‘great purges’ of 1937–1938, and minister Beck was most probably surrounded by Soviet agents of influence. As a result, he was not aware of the Kremlin’s changed course towards Germany and he also thought that after Stalin’s great purges the Soviet Union and the Red Army were seriously weakened and de facto unable to launch any large-scale operations. Consequently, he failed to grasp how precarious Poland’s position had become. His optimism was reinforced by the signing of a military alliance with Great Britain on 25 August 1939.

Germany attacked Poland on 1 September 1939. On 3 September, Great Britain and France declared war on Germany, which meant that one objective of the Polish foreign policy had been reached, that of not reducing the Polish-German war to a local conflict. Now, in compliance with the military agreements in force, the fighting Poles expected the allies to launch full-scale military operations within 15–16 days. Unfortunately, the allied commands concluded already on 4 September that they would not be able to effectively help Poland and that they would limit themselves to military demonstrations against Germany, focusing on preparations for future military action. That decision was finally confirmed by a conference of French and British Prime Ministers accompanied by highest-ranking commanders taking place in Abbeville on 12 September 1939. Those arrangements were not transmitted to Poland as that could have broken its spirit of resistance. It is known now, however, that the arrangements made in Abbeville were known to Soviet intelligence in no time at all. In that way, the Soviets were assured that the campaign mounted by Poland was doomed and they could safely hit the country from the east. In the morning of 17 September 1939, the Polish ambassador in Moscow Wacław Grzybowski was summoned to appear at the Foreign Affairs Commissariat where a note was read out to him saying that as the Polish state had ceased to exist, the non-aggression pact was not valid anymore and the Soviet army was entering Polish territory in order to protect the population of Western Ukraine and Western Belarus. The Soviet note was based on a blatant lie as at the time of the Soviet invasion still around a half of Poland’s territory, including important administrative centres, was not occupied by the Germans and the Polish Government and chief command were present in Poland preparing the defence of the south-eastern part of the country (known as the Romanian Bridgehead). Despite Soviet assurances that the USSR was not involved in a war with Poland, bloody fights were taking place along the entire border, in some locations lasting until the first days of October 1939. The ‘Polesie’ Operational Group led by Gen. Franciszek Kleeberg fighting with Germans and Soviets capitulated on 6 October 1939. The German-Soviet brotherhood in arms was symbolically sealed by a joint victory parade in Brest-Litovsk received by Generals Heinz Guderian and Semyon Krivoshein. It took place as early as 22 September 1939.

The Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact, also known as the Stalin-Hitler Pact, paved the way for the latter’s attack on Poland, as it gave him certainty that no real help from the outside would reach Polish territory in the decisive weeks of the campaign. Further, the pact guaranteed Hitler that, not threatened from the east, he would be able to de facto conquer or control the entire continental Europe, install his occupation regimes throughout it and execute the ‘final solution to the Jewish question’. Managed from Moscow, the Comintern ordered communist parties across the world to stop anti-fascist propaganda and change entirely the course towards Germany, now together with the Soviet Union making a ‘camp of global peace’. The Polish state authorities – both when still in the country and later when in accordance with the Polish constitution they began to operate in exile, still enjoying full international recognition – on numerous occasions confirmed a state of war with the Soviet Union. However, they did not make a formal proclamation of a state of war with that state as its allies France and Great Britain remained neutral towards the USSR. Finland’s case was different as on 30 November 1939 it – a part of the Soviet sphere of influence specified in the Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact – was attacked by the USSR and duly protested at the League of Nations, which after considering the complaint on 14 December 1939 stripped the USSR of its membership as an aggressor and called on its member states to aid Finland. In summary, it can be concluded that despite preliminary losses and obstacles, Germany and the Soviet Union in the interwar period became respected members of the international community in their own right yet as totalitarian regimes they betrayed that status by unleashing the most dreadful of wars inflicted on the human race to date.


JAN RYDEL is a historian and his research areas are Central and Eastern Europe and Polish-German relations in the 19th and 20th centuries. He is the author of ‘Politics of History in Federal Republic of Germany. Legacy – Ideas – Practice’ (2011) and ‘Polish Occupation of North Western Germany. 1945–1948. An Unknown Chapter in Polish- German Relations’ (2000, German edition 2003). Until 2010 he was a researcher and a professor at Jagiellonian University and is currently a professor at the Pedagogical University of Cracow.


LIST OF REFERENCES

1. Cited after Marek Kornat, ‘Idee i podstawy polityki zagranicznej II Rzeczypospolitej’, in: Marek Kornat, Wojciech Materski, Między pokojem a wojną. Szkice o dyplomacji polskiej, Warsaw 2015, p. 30

Photo of the publication Remediating violence: Second World War memory on Wikipedia
Mykola Makhortykh

Remediating violence: Second World War memory on Wikipedia

20 Feburary 2018
Tags
  • Second World War
  • commemoration
  • violence
  • Wikipedia
  • Battle of Kyiv 1943

ABSTRACT

The article examines how memory of past violence is remediated online and how its remediation interacts with contemporary collective traumas in post-socialist countries. For this purpose, it examines how a single episode of the Second World War – the Battle of Kyiv of 1943 – is represented and interacted with on Wikipedia. Using web content analysis, the article traces the evolution of narratives of past violence in different language versions of the encyclopedia and explores how the current conflict in Ukraine affects the refashioning of Second World War memory in digital media.

Remediating violence: Second World War memory on Wikipedia

The impact of remediation – that is, the process of refashioning existing media formats in new media (Bolter and Grusin 1999, 45) – on individual and collective remembrance is one of the trending subjects in the field of memory studies.1 Mass media play a key role in representation of the present and the past alike, as the German sociologist Niklas Luhmann noted (Luhmann 2000, 102). Instead of being ‘passive and transparent conveyors of information’ (Erll 2008, 3), they set the agenda for current and future acts of remembrance and determine how the past is represented and understood. Consequently, the transition of memories between different media has significant impact on the dynamics of remembrance, which, as memory scholars Astrid Erll and Ann Rigney note, is increasingly dependent on media technologies and circulation of media products (Erll and Rigney 2009, 3).

The growing interest towards remediation of memory has resulted in a number of academic works that examine interactions between digital media and traumatic memories in the post-socialist states.2 The importance of this particular area is related to the disproportionate politicization of culturalremembrance that leads to frequent ‘memory wars’ (Blacker, Etkind and Fedor 2013) among the regional actors as well as the significant impact of digital media on transformation of the local memory landscape (Rutten and Zvereva 2013). Remediation of the traumatic past – in particular, Second World War memory – has also became intertwined with media coverage of the Ukraine crisis, which started in 2013 with anti-government protests in Kyiv that led to the ousting of President Viktor Yanukovych in 2014, followed by the annexation of Crimea by Russia and the conflict between the Ukrainian government and pro-Russian insurgents in Eastern Ukraine, often known as the war in Donbass. A number of scholars (Gaufman 2015; Siddi 2017) note extensive use of Second World War memory for explaining and interpreting the crisis on mainstream and digital media. However, until now the impact of current collective traumas, such as the war in Donbass, on the remediation of past violence in the region remains remains a pressing but understudied subject.

The article addresses this shortcoming by examining how a single Second World War episode – the Battle of Kyiv of 1943 – is represented and interacted with on Wikipedia. Not only is this episode an important milestone in the Second World War, it is also a recurring source of historical controversy between Ukraine and Russia. By exploring how traumatic memories of this event are conveyed on Wikipedia, which is both the world’s largest online encyclopedia and one of the most popular websites in the post-socialist space,3 this article strives to trace the evolution of narratives of past violence online and to explore how the current conflict in Ukraine affects the remediation of Second World War memory in the post-socialist countries.

Wikipedia and cultural memory: literature review

Remediation of war memories is not a recent phenomenon and can be traced back at least to the middle of the 19th century, when the media coverage of wars and conflicts was increasingly adapted for mass consumption (Keller 2001, 251). The development of information and communication technologies led to the intensification of this process in 1960s and 1970s, when it brought a ‘memory boom’ (Winter 2011) that transformed Second World War memory, in particular Holocaust remembrance. A few decades later, as media scholars Andrew Hoskins and Ben O’Loughlin argue, the distribution of digital technologies resulted in a new memory boom that radically changed the remembrance of contemporary conflicts (Hoskins and O’Loughlin 2010, 131). Not only did they enable ‘a far greater intensive andextensive connectivity’ between the forms, agents and discourses of memory (Hoskins 2009, 40), but they also opened up new possibilities for memory production and circulation, distinguished by low costs and a potentially high impact (de Cesari and Rigney 2014, 12).

The digital memory boom affected not only recent traumatic memories, but also the ones that have already experienced the process of memorialization in the pre-digital time. A number of studies suggest that the distribution of digital commemorative practices has had a significant impact on the remembrance of conflicts, such as the Second World War.4 The consequences of the remediation of older memories of violence through digital media remain, however, a subject of scholarly debate. The existing works offer contrasting assessments that vary from the formation of more inclusive narratives of conflicts that challenge hegemonic interpretations of the past (Trubina 2010) to the propagation of mutually exclusive interpretations of traumatic historical episodes that ignite disagreements between their adherents (Nikiporets-Takigawa 2013).

Wikipedia is one of the digital platforms, the impact of which on collective remembrance is widely recognized both in post-socialist countries and worldwide. Christian Pentzold, a German communication scholar, argues that production of Wikipedia articles can be viewed as process of the ‘discursive construction of the past’, which involves a transition from communicative memory that is debated on the encyclopedia’s discussion pages to cultural memory that takes the form of encyclopedia’s articles (Pentzold 2009, 264). A number of studies argue that the platform can be viewed as a transnational space that facilitates the production of a fundamentally pluralistic historical knowledge (Hardy 2007), or as a digital forum that sustains consensus-building vis-à-vis contentious pasts (Dounaevsky 2013). Yet others theorize the site as an online platform that enforces hegemonic memory narratives (Luyt 2011) or a mnemonic battleground on which different views of the past clash (Rogers and Sendijarevic 2012).

The interactions between Wikipedia and Second World War memory in the post-socialist space has attracted significant scholarly attention in the recent years;5 however, the existing assessments of the encyclopedia’s impact on war remembrance in the area paint different pictures. Helene Dounaevsky, a communication scholar, argues that Wikipedia facilitates creation of ‘a special type of historical knowledge’ which is characterized by uncertaintyand polyphonism that challenge hegemonic interpretations of the Second World War (Dounaevsky 2013). By contrast, an interdisciplinary team of researchers demonstrates in their study of Stepan Bandera, a leader of the Ukrainian nationalist movement in 1940s and 1950s, that different versions of the encyclopedia tend to transmit local narratives of Second World War (Fredheim, Howanitz and Makhortykh 2014), thus promoting a ‘linguistic point of view’ of the past (Massa and Scrinzi 2013). The current study attempts to investigate further the platform’s impact on the complex memory landscape of the region and examine how its interaction with Second World War memory is affected by the ongoing Ukraine crisis.

Battle of Kyiv: historical background

In autumn 1943, Soviet troops approached Kyiv, the former capital of Soviet Ukraine, which was seized by the Germans two years earlier. At the end of September, Soviet units managed to capture a number of bridgeheads on the German-controlled right bank of the River Dnieper; the largest of those were the Lyutezh and Bukrin bridgeheads. In the weeks that followed, the Red Army made several attempts to seize the city; however, none of them were successful, due to the heavy losses sustained while crossing the River Dnieper and the difficult terrain on the right bank. Soviet losses were particularly high at the Bukrin bridgehead, originally envisioned as a primary bridgehead for capturing Kyiv.

The unsuccessful October operations led the Soviet High Command to relocate Soviet forces to the Lyutezh bridgehead, from where a massive offensive was staged on 3 November. This operation was preceded by another attack from the Bukrin bridgehead on 1–2 November; according to the Ukrainian historian Victor Korol, this distracting manoeuvre resulted in huge losses among Soviet ranks (Korol 2003). The rapid advancement of the Soviet troops from the Lyutezh bridgehead, however, proved to be unexpected for the German command and on the morning of 6 November – the anniversary of the October Revolution and the most important state holiday in the Soviet Union – Soviet forces recaptured the Ukrainian capital.

The successful actions of the Red Army during the Battle of Kyiv had a profound impact on the course of the war. The capture of Kyiv led to the destabilization of the German front and a rapid Soviet advance in 1944; furthermore, it had great ideological significance, and was used to the fullest by Soviet propaganda (Shulzhenko and Tykhonenko 2013). The propaganda, however, omitted the high losses suffered by the Red Army, estimations of which vary from 133,000 (Gorelov and Grutsyk 2013) to 270,000 (Levitas 2012) dead and wounded. Today, however, a number of Ukrainian scholars argue that the high death toll was a consequence of the Soviet High Command’s intent to liberate Kyiv for the anniversary date of the October Revolution (Korol 2005, 22), which spurred the massive mobilization of Ukrainian men who were often sent to battle unprepared and – according to a few testimonies – insufficiently armed (Koval 1999, 95–96).

After the end of the war, the Battle of Kyiv quickly became an integral part of the Great Patriotic War myth, which would later be instrumental in the creation of a common public identity in the Soviet Union. During the Khrushchev period, 6 November became an official holiday – the Day of the Liberation of Kyiv – and the actions of the Red Army were unequivocally praised in Soviet historiography (Hrynevych 2005). A number of monuments commemorating the battle appeared in Kyiv in the post-war period; however, the majority of them were dedicated to the Soviet High Command, whereas the sacrifices of rank-and-file soldiers remained largely ignored. While in the late 1970s a few monuments dedicated to ordinary soldiers appeared in the Ukrainian capital, these monuments usually commemorated soldiers who were fighting at the Lyutezh bridgehead; in contrast, the Bukrin bridgehead, where the bloodiest clashes took place, remained forgotten (Makhortykh 2014).

While in Ukraine the annual Soviet-style celebration of the liberation of Kyiv continued after the dissolution of the Soviet Union, a number of Ukrainian scholars (Ginda 2010; Korol 2003; Koval 1999) started questioning existing interpretations of the event. The revision of the Soviet narrative made it possible to integrate those traumatic memories that had been left out of the glorious story of the liberation into the public discourse of the Second World War; yet, a number of scholars note that the rewriting of history in Ukraine led to the formation of new myths, which emphasized the martyrdom of the Ukrainian people (Jilge 2008; Portnov and Portnova 2010). In the case of the Battle of Kyiv, this shift toward ‘competing victimhood’ (Jilge 2008) resulted in the deglorification of the event and the propagation of a view of the battle as a Soviet crime against the Ukrainian people (Korol 2005) or even an instance of genocide (Ginda 2010).

These radical revisions of the existing narrative of the glorious liberation turned the Battle of Kyiv into one of the problematic issues inUkrainian–Russian memory relations. Despite significant challenges to the Great Patriotic War narrative in early 1990s, the cultural memory of Second World War in Russia experienced significantly fewer changes than in Ukraine. The revival of the Soviet war narrative in Russia in the beginning of the 2000s further contributed to the rise of memory wars between the two countries, especially concerning the question of Soviet war crimes. This memory warfare was not limited to academic historiographies and, instead, became increasingly present in political debates in Ukraine and Russia; these debates became more intense during the Ukraine crisis, when the Battle of Kyiv was referenced as a predecessor of the Russian aggression against Ukraine (Fed’ko 2017; Lebid’ 2017).

Sections, edits, and posts: methodology

In order to investigate how Wikipedia is used for remediating past violence, I examined articles that deal with the capture of Kyiv in Ukrainian (‘Bytva za Kyiv (1943)’), Russian (‘Kievskaia Nastupatelnaia Operatsiia’), Polish (‘Bitwa o Kijów (1943)’) and English (‘Battle of Kiev (1943)’) versions of Wikipedia. The former three versions are the largest Eastern European versions of the encyclopedia (‘List of Wikipedias’) and are of particular relevance for the process of remediation of the past in the region (Fredheim, Howanitz and Makhortykh 2014; Makhortykh 2017). The reason the English version is included is that it relates to its unique position as a global memory platform that hosts the most diverse community of editors (Rogers and Sendijarevic 2012).

For the implementation of my analysis, I used versions of all the articles as retrieved on 1 December 2017: I started by comparing the ways both historical episodes are framed in different language versions of Wikipedia. Similarly to earlier studies (Rogers and Sendijarevic 2012; Božović, Bošković and Trifunović 2014; Fredheim, Howanitz and Makhortykh 2014), I conducted a web content analysis of selected components of the Wikipedia articles: titles, tables of content, images and categories. These components are not only concise enough to be easily compared, but they also provide a brief summary of the article’s content (titles and images), clarify the structure of the article’s narrative (table of contents) and reveal the article’s position in the larger Wikipedia structure (categories).

Having compared how the Battle of Kyiv is represented in Wikipedia, I then explored how the encyclopedia’s users interact with those patterns. While many of earlier studies (Ferron and Massa, 2011; Keegan, Gergle and Contractor 2011) rely mostly on passive forms of user interaction (that is, viewings), I focused on active forms of interaction, such as edits and comments on the articles’ ‘Talk’ pages, that have higher interpretative value (Rogers and Sendijarevic 2012; Luyt 2015). Based on these data, I compared the dynamics of interactions with the articles in different language versions in order to examine how contemporary collective traumas – such as the conflict in Eastern Ukraine – influence interactions with Second World War memory in post-socialist countries.

Battle of Kyiv on Wikipedia: findings

Representation

Titles. All Wikipedia articles have a title that describes the main subject of that article and distinguishes one article from another (‘Wikipedia: Article Titles’). It would seem reasonable to assume that different language versions of Wikipedia would use the same name for articles on the same subject: however, as also in an earlier studies of the memory of the Srebrenica massacre in Wikipedia (Rogers and Sendijarevic 2012) and the Second World War in Ukraine (Makhortykh 2017), a comparison of the respective titles for the Battle of Kyiv articles – translated into English – pointed to the existence of certain variations, as shown in Table 1.

Table 1. The titles of articles in different language versions of Wikipedia

Version English Polish Russian Ukrainian
Title Battle of Kiev (1943) Battle for Kyiv (1943) Kyiv offensive operation Battle for Kyiv (1943)

Three out of four articles used the title ‘Battle of/for Kyiv’, the informal name for the Kyiv offensive operation that took place between 3 and 13 November 1943. The official name – ‘Kyiv offensive operation’ – was used for the Russian version of the article, whereas in the other three languages the informal name was preferred, with the additional indicator of ‘1943’ used to distinguish it from the article about the Battle of Kyiv of 1941. While these distinctions were not as significant as in other cases – such as, the capture of Lviv by Germans in 1941 (Makhortykh 2017) – the presence of disagreements on such a basic level can be the first indicator of the differences in the representation of the Battle of Kyiv between the various language versions.

Table of contents. The tables of contents in Wikipedia consist of article headings that clarify and organize that article’s content better (‘Wikipedia: Writing Better Articles’). Each heading points to a particular topic that is discussed in the article: therefore, the table of contents can be used as a source of semantic information, which, as media scholars Richard Rogers and Emina Sendijarevic note, can be particularly useful for investigating differences in representation of the same event across different versions of the encyclopedia (Rogers and Sendijarevic 2012).

A comparison of the tables of contents from the Battle of Kyiv articles showed that the Ukrainian and Russian versions had a similar structure, consisting of three parts: an introduction/background to the battle, how it played out and the battle’s aftermath. The English and Polish articles, instead, elaborated on the course of the battle by dividing it into several stages – for example, the preparatory stage, the capture of Kyiv and the Rauss counterattacks – and assigned independent sections for each of these stages. Unlike the former two articles, the structure of the English/Polish articles implied that the seizure of Kyiv consisted of several stages, and that Soviet troops encountered heavy resistance from the Germans. These differences can be explained both by the variations in the articles’ scope (with the Russian/Ukrainian articles being focused exclusively on the Kyiv offensive operation) and the focus on successful Soviet operations in the Russian/Ukrainian versions that ignored the subsequent Soviet defeats in the course of the German counterattacks.

However, despite similarities in structuring the narrative, the Russian/Ukrainian and English/Polish versions often allotted different meanings to the same sections. For instance, the section about the battle’s course in the Ukrainian article mentioned several unsuccessful Soviet attacks from the Bukrin bridgehead, whereas the Russian Wikipedia ignored them by focusing on the successful actions at the Lutezh bridgehead. The focus on the glorious aspects of the battle in the Russian article was supplemented with a detailed discussion of the losses incurred by the German side. Such a discussion was absent from the Ukrainian article; in contrast, it alone noted that German forces burned down parts of Kyiv before their retreat, describing how Soviet troops captured the ‘almost empty and burning city’ (‘Bytva za Kyiv (1943)’).

The discrepancy between the narratives of military victory and human suffering was also traced in the case of the English and Polish articles. The ‘Soviet preparations’ section in the English article briefly mentioned ‘serious trouble’ (‘Battle of Kiev (1943)’) encountered by the Red Army at the Bukrin bridgehead before switching to the successful operations at the Lutezh bridgehead. Similarly, despite mentioning the successful German counterattacks, the English article emphasized the glorious achievements of the Soviet side in the Battle of Kyiv. In contrast, the Polish article dedicated significant attention to the failed operations of the Red Army at the Bukrin bridgehead and mentioned the high death toll among the Soviet soldiers. This feature connects the Polish article with the Ukrainian one: both dedicated significant attention to the price of the Soviet victory in the Battle of Kyiv.

Images. In her work on visual images and 9/11, Kari Anden-Papadopoulus, a communication scholar from Sweden, notes that the pictorial turn in today’s culture increasingly affects the way traumatic memories are represented (Anden-Papadopoulus 2003, 101). The articles on the Battle of Kyiv were also accompanied by a selection of images, even while these images were not numerous and presented little variety. The largest number of images – eight – was found in the Polish article, whereas the Ukrainian and English articles included three images each and the Russian article included only two images. Some of these images were recurrent across several articles: for instance, the photo of victorious Soviet soldiers marching across ruined Khreschatyk was used in all versions except the Ukrainian one. Other common images included an image of Soviet troops before the battle (the Ukrainian and Polish articles) and German tanks preparing for the counterattack (the English and Polish articles).

The use of individual images followed the patterns of representation mentioned in the earlier section on the articles’ table of contents. In addition to the image of victorious Soviet soldiers, the Russian article showed an image of the Soviet military reward that was introduced to mark the capture of the Ukrainian capital; the central position of this image promoted the interpretation of the event as a Soviet triumph and put the main emphasis on the glorious aspects of the battle. A similar stance was observed in the English article, which used the image of Soviet military plans for the article’s opening; together with the images of Soviet soldiers in postbattle Kyiv and German tanks in Zhytomyr, it emphasized the military aspects of the Battle of Kyiv and promoted its interpretation in line with the Soviet narrative.

By contrast, the Ukrainian and Polish articles featured the image of Soviet troops preparing for the Battle of Kyiv. The black-and-white photo showed Soviet soldiers building rafts to cross the River Dnieper; a wooden sign displaying the words ‘Daesh’ Kiev!’ [For Kyiv!] in the background provided the context for the image. Unlike the visuals used in the other two versions, this image showed exhausted-looking men, photographed in the midst of combat preparations, thus instilling a sense of uncertainty in the reader and directing attention to the less glorious aspects of the Battle of Kyiv. This purpose was further advanced with images of a post-war memorial and a mass Soviet grave at the Bukrin bridgehead that promoted the interpretation of the battle as a episode of collective suffering. The Polish article did not include images of Soviet graves; instead, in addition to the above mentioned image of combat preparations, it showed a selection of images made during the battle, including the ones of Soviet soldiers crossing the Dnieper. Such a broad selection of images not only made the Polish article more informative, but also expanded its focus beyond the Soviet victory-centred narrative of the Russian and English articles.

Categories. According to Wikipedia’s own definition, ‘[t]he central goal of the category system is to provide navigational links to all Wikipedia pages in a hierarchy of categories which readers ... can browse and quickly find sets of pages on topics that are defined by those characteristics’ (‘Wikipedia: Categorization’). Wikipedia categories allow for the grouping of existing articles into thematic sets, on the basis of the essential characteristics of their subjects; consequently, categories constitute an important source of lexical and semantic information in Wikipedia (Zesch, Gurevych and Mühlhäuser 2007) that can provide a perspective on the differences pertaining to a particular event across various language versions.

I have grouped the existing categories into two sets, based on their semantics, as shown in Table 2. The first set – temporal indicators – includes categories related to the chronological attribution of the event, whereas the second set – thematic indicators – includes categories related to the actual description of the event. This division allows us to differentiate between categories that are of lesser importance for subject exploration (based on the assumption that the use of time categories only marginally affects representations of the Second World War) and more semantically relevant, thematic categories, that are of particular interest for the current analysis.

Table 2. Categories in Wikipedia articles

  English Polish Russian Ukrainian
Temporal indicators Conflicts in 1943, 1943 in the Soviet Union, 1943 in Ukraine, 20th century in Kiev, November 1943 events, December 1943 events Battles in 1943 Year 1943 in USSR, November 1943, Conflicts of 1943 Conflicts of 1943, October 1943, November 1943, 3 November, 6 November, 13 November
Thematic indicators Battles and operations of the Soviet-German War, Battles of the Second World War involving Germany, Battles involving the Soviet Union, Battles and operations of the Second World War involving Czechoslovakia, Czechoslovakia-Soviet Union relations, Military history of Kiev, Ludvík Svoboda Eastern Front (Second World War), Operations of the Red Army during the Second World War, History of Kyiv, Battles of the Second World War Kyiv operation (1943), Great Patriotic War operations, Battles in Ukraine, Kyiv in the years of the Great Patriotic War Eastern European theatre of the Second World War, Battle for the river Dnieper, Operations and battles of Soviet-German war, Battles for Kyiv, Battles in Ukraine, Battles in USSR, German battles, Soviet battles

The examination of thematic categories points to certain differences between language versions. The Russian article was the only one to use the ‘Great Patriotic War’ category in classifying the article: this subjective definition, which is steeped in Soviet war mythology, was much less neutral than the ‘Soviet–German War’ or ‘Second World War’ categories used in other articles. By contrast, the other articles used less biased and more informative categories. The English version was particularly extensive in its selection of categories and attempted to give due recognition to all the parties involved in the battle: besides the Red Army and the Germans, which were mentioned in the other articles, it added Czechoslovakia, by referring to Ludvík Svoboda’s brigade, which participated in the battle on the Soviet side.

Together with the analysis of other elements of Wikipedia articles, the study of categories indicated a number of differences between the variouslanguage versions. The differences were particularly pronounced in the case of the Russian and Ukrainian articles: the former presented the Battle of Kyiv in line with the glorious Soviet narrative, whereas the latter put greater emphasis on the suffering of Soviet soldiers during the battle. The English and Polish articles with their more pronounced encyclopedic stance were located in-between these two poles with the English version aligning itself with the Soviet victory narrative and the Polish one being closer to the revisionist Ukrainian version. While the existence of such divergent views of the past is well recognized in public memories of post-socialist states, their transfer to digital space questions the validity of claims about the positive transformation of conflicted memories into more inclusive discourses of the past through digital media (Trubina 2010; Dounaevsky 2013).

Interaction

General dynamics.

As mentioned earlier, edits and discussion posts are the major indicators of user activity in Wikipedia. Editing is the most basic feature of Wikipedia, and, arguably, the most important one. The term covers a wide range of user activities: from correcting mistakes to making useful additions and improving articles in numerous other ways (‘Wikipedia: Tutorial/Editing’). Similarly to edits, discussion posts are usually produced by editors, who communicate with each other through ‘Talk’ pages. The ‘Talk’ pages are intended to facilitate communication among editors who want to discuss certain changes to an article. Large amounts of posts can serve as an indicator of controversies related to the article in question – in particular, disagreement among editors on references or on the neutrality of other editors (‘Wikipedia: A Researcher’s Guide to Discussion Pages’).

As Table 3 demonstrates, different versions of Wikipedia showed different dynamics relating to user interaction. In contrast to the Wikipedia articles about recent traumatic events such as mass protests (Ferron and Massa 2011) or terrorist attacks (Pentzold 2009), the articles about the Battle of Kyiv indicated a limited amount of active participation on the part of users. The English article included the largest number of edits and discussion posts, followed by the Russian one. The Ukrainian and Polish articles were the least edited and had the fewest comments; a discussion page was actually absent for the Ukrainian article.

Table 3. Numerical summaries of user interactions with Wikipedia articles

  English Polish Russian Ukrainian
Edits 311 73 108 78
Posts 33 1 7 0

One possible explanation for these distinctions between representation of more recent (for example, the Arab Spring) and less recent (for example, the Second World War) traumatic memories on Wikipedia is the lack of realtime memorialization in the latter cases. Unlike memories of recent events, which are converted into Wikipedia articles ‘within minutes’ (‘Wikipedia: About’) of their occurrence, Second World War memories do not appear spontaneously, but are documented according to existing sources. In the case of the Battle of Kyiv, the transition between communicative and cultural memory has already taken place; this, however, does not mean that various online communities will interpret it in the same way. The lack of discussion and minimal amount of edits in the Ukrainian Wikipedia may be taken as an indicator of a consensus on this particular episode of the past, originating from a greater familiarity with the history of the Second World War in Ukraine. The opposite situation can be found in the English Wikipedia, where users are less familiar – and less burdened – with that particular past and, therefore, feel freer to explore and discuss it.

Figure 1.Temporal dynamics of edits of Wikipedia articles – see picture on the right

The examination of temporal dynamics of editing activity points out a number of similarities between the Wikipedia articles on the battle. As Figure 1 demonstrates, the process of editing for all versions was the most intensive in the period of two to three years following the creation of the respective article. After this time, the user activity tends to drop; the occasional peaks of activity were usually related to the event’s anniversaries. Examples of such peaks include 2013, when the seventieth anniversary of the Battle of Kyiv was celebrated in Ukraine and Russia, and 2015, when the seventieth anniversary of the end of the Second World War was commemorated. Both events attracted significant attention of mainstream media in post-socialist countries, in particular Russia; by contrast, the lesser attention towards these events in Anglophone mainstream media can explain the lack of significant changes in user interaction patterns in the English article.

The dynamics of editing also shows the impact of the contemporary traumas on the remediation of Second World War memory on Wikipedia. The beginning of the conflict in Eastern Ukraine in 2014 marked the decrease in editing activity in all versions; such an effect can be explained by the switch of user attention towards the ongoing conflict that overshadowed earlier traumatic memories (in particular, its ‘hot’ phase in summer 2014). In the following years, the scope of editing activity approached the pre-2014 level; however, the majority of edits made in this period were the minor ones. The only exception was observed in the Ukrainian article, when in 2016 an attempt was made to add a detailed description of the battle’s background, including additional information about the Soviet losses at the Bukrin bridgehead. These observations indicate that the Wikipedia narratives of Second World War largely remained stable throughout the Ukraine crisis and that the influx of contemporary collective traumas could have a conserving effect on them.

Verbal interactions. The ‘Talk’ pages in Wikipedia offer ‘the ability to discuss articles and other issues with other Wikipedians’ (‘Wikipedia: Tutorial/Talk Pages’); consequently, the use of these pages often facilitates communication among editors who want to discuss changes to specific articles. As already noted in the earlier section, the amount of verbal interactions in relation to the Battle of Kyiv was not found to be significant. Furthermore, it is worth noting that the majority of verbal interactions occurred before the beginning of the Ukraine crisis in 2013: the Russian article on Kyiv was mostactively discussed in November 2013, but a few weeks before the outbreak of the crisis, in relation to the seventieth anniversary of the seizure of city by the Red Army.

The analysis of the ‘Talk’ pages indicated a number of differences in the narrative strategies employed in the different Wikipedia versions in dealing with historical controversies. In the case of the Russian and English articles, these controversies mostly relate to counting the fatalities on both the Soviet and German sides. In the Russian article, a number of editors expressed dissatisfaction with the article’s tally of fallen Soviet soldiers, which they considered too high. For instance, an anonymous editor who called himself Andrey left the following comment on 3 December 2012: ‘So, that means the Germans lost 389 soldiers in the Battle for Kyiv? It is just nonsense, sorry. As always, we heighten our losses and decrease theirs ... How did they lose then?’ (‘Obsuzhdenie: Kievskaia Nastupatelnaia Operatsiia’). Similarly, another user, D2306, criticized in a post from 3 July 2013, the use of German sources for estimating casualties on the German side: ‘There are some smartasses who found a website with ten-day casualty reports for Wermachts and now think that is it, so they cite those reports everywhere as an ironclad fact. They do not care to compare their theories with actual facts’ (‘Obsuzhdenie: Kievskaia Nastupatelnaia Operatsiia’).

This kind of emotional response to the Russian article was contrasted with the more reserved reactions in the English article. While there, too, the question of fatalities, as well as of the decisiveness of the battle, ignited discussions, these were approached differently. For instance, the user Counterstrike69 initiated a discussion on the matter by posting the following question on 8 March 2007: ‘Any ideas on the casualties on both side?’ (‘Talk: Battle of Kiev [1943]’). Such a formulation contrasted with more subjective statements by editors of the Russian version, who were less interested in the number of casualties per se than why the encyclopedia presented Soviet fatalities as greater than those from the German side. Similarly, the discussion of the decisiveness of the battle initiated by the user Kurt opened with a call for ‘civilized discussion’ able to clarify whether or not the Battle of Kyiv should be referenced as a decisive combat operation (‘Talk: Battle of Kiev [1943]’).

These differences in the way the same episode was approached in various Wikipedia versions had immediate consequences for the interactions betweeneditors. In the Russian article, the majority of comments left on the ‘Talk’ page were strong statements leaving little space for discussion; consequently, instead of dialogue, the Russian ‘Talk’ page mostly hosted a collection of isolated monologues. Under these circumstances, the idea of a collaborative production of the past seems dubious; instead, the content of the article itself seemed to be more dependent on the decisions of a few editors who were not particularly interested in debating their views on the event with others. By contrast, the English ‘Talk’ page actually hosted some discussions that included attempts to accommodate different points of view and reach a degree of consensus in relation to the traumatic past.

Conclusions

My observations suggest that the evolution of narratives of past violence in different language versions of Wikipedia are largely driven by existing cultural constructs – first and foremost, by the specific national memories of wars and conflicts. The presence of profound differences in the ways the Second World War is remembered in post-socialist states, in particular Ukraine and Russia, translates into rather divergent representations of the Battle of Kyiv. The Russian Wikipedia, for instance, promotes an interpretation that is steeped in the narrative of the Great Patriotic War; by contrast, the Ukrainian and, to a certain extent the Polish versions, rely on more revisionist trends in war historiography. These differences permeate Wikipedia narratives on different levels, varying from visual images deployed in the articles to descriptive categories that bring different parts of the encyclopedia into an interconnected whole; together, these elements promote images of the past that indicate significant differences in the ways the Second World War is remembered.

The patterns of interaction with the Wikipedia articles point to the complex interplay between public remembrance and digital media in post-socialist countries. The rise of interest in Second World War narratives on Wikipedia, coinciding with the anniversaries of the respective historical episodes, can be viewed as evidence that today the line between offline and online developments is increasingly blurred. Similarly, the post-2014 changes in the interaction with Second World War memory on Wikipedia can be explained by the impact of the ongoing Ukraine crisis as Wikipedia users’ attention turned from memories of past violence to the ongoing collective traumas. Under these conditions, the Wikipedia narratives of the Battle of Kyiv demonstrated a degree of stability that contrasted withrecurrent instrumentalization of Second World War memories in mainstream media in the course of the Ukraine crisis; the latter observation suggests that online memory cultures can be less volatile and susceptible to change than might have been expected from ever-changing digital environments.

 


MYKOLA MAKHORTYK

Mykola Makhortykh is a researcher at the Department of Slavic Languages and Cultures at the University of Amsterdam, Netherlands. His work is focused on Second World War memory in Ukraine and how it is affected by the processes of de-Sovietization, nationalization and digitization that the country is currently undergoing. In his recent research, he has also explored the use of social media in the context of the crisis in Ukraine and the role of cultural memory in representing and interpreting the conflict in Eastern Ukraine.


 

ENDNOTES

1 See, for instance, works by Erll and Rigney 2009a; Erll 2011; Garde-Hansen, Hoskins and Reading 2009; Garde-Hansen 2011; and Neiger, Meyers and Zandberg 2011.

2 See, for example, works by Rutten, Fedor and Zvereva 2013, Trubina 2010, Bernstein 2016, Makhortykh 2017.

3 According to the Alexa data, Wikipedia is the sixth most popular website in Ukraine (‘Top Sites in Ukraine’), eighth most popular website in Poland (‘Top Sites in Poland’), and tenth most popular website in Russia (‘Top Sites in Russia’).

4 Examples include works by Trubina 2010, Nikiporets-Takigawa 2013, Bernstein 2016 and Makhortykh 2017a. 5 See, for instance, works by Dounaevsky 2013, Fredheim, Howanitz and Makhortykh 2014 and Makhortykh 2017.

LIST OF REFERENCES

Alexa. ‘Top Sites in Poland.’ Accessed 1 December 2017: www.alexa.com

Alexa. ‘Top Sites in Russia.’ Accessed 1 December 2017: www.alexa.com

Alexa. ‘Top Sites in Ukraine.’ Accessed 1 December 2017: www.alexa.com

Anden-Papadopoulus, Kari (2003) ‘The Trauma of Representation. Visual Culture, Photojournalism and the September 11 Terrorist Attack.’ Nordicom Review, vol. 2, 89–104.

Bernstein, Seth (2016) ‘Remembering War, Remaining Soviet: Digital Commemoration of World War II in Putin’s Russia’, Memory Studies, vol. 9, no. 4, 422–36.

Blacker, Uilleam, Alexander Etkind and Julie Fedor (2013) Memory and Theory in Eastern Europe. London: Palgrave Macmillan.

Bolter, Jay and Richard Grusin (1999) Remediation: Understanding New Media. Cambridge: MIT Press.

Božović, Marijeta, Aleksandar Bošković, and Bogdan Trifunović (2014) ‘The Arrest of Ratko Mladić Online: Tracing Memory Models Across Digital Genres’, Digital Icons, vol. 12, 77–104.

Cesari, Chiara de, and Ann Rigney (2014) ‘Introduction’, in Transnational Memory: Circulation, Articulation, Scales, ed. Chiara de Cesari and Ann Rigney, 1–29. Berlin: De Gruyter.

Dounaevsky, Helena (2013) ‘Building Wiki-history: Between Consensus and Edit Warring’, in Memory, Conflict and New Media: Web Wars in Post-Socialist States, ed. Ellen Rutten, Julie Fedor and Vera Zvereva, 130–43. London and New York: Routledge.

Erll, Astrid (2008) ‘Cultural Memory Studies: An Introduction’, in Media and Cultural Memory, ed. Astrid Erll and Ansgar Nünning, 1–19. Berlin: de Gruyter.
— (2011) Memory in Culture. London: Palgrave Macmillan.

Erll, Astrid and Ann Rigney (2009) ‘Introduction: Cultural Memory and its Dynamics’, in Mediation, Remediation, and the Dynamics of Cultural Memory, ed. Astrid Erll and Ann Rigney, 1–15. Berlin: de Gruyter.
— (2009a) Mediation, Remediation, and the Dynamics of Cultural Memory. Berlin: de Gruyter.

Fed’ko, Roman (2017) ‘Za Shcho Nenavydymo Generala Vatutina’ [Why we hate General Vatutin], Ukrains’kyi Reporter, 7 June. Accessed on 23 March 2018: ukrreporter.com.ua

Ferron, Michela and Paolo Massa (2011) ‘Studying Collective Memories in Wikipedia’, Journal of Social Theory, vol. 3, no. 4, 449–66.

Fredheim, Rolf, Gernot Howanitz and Mykola Makhortykh (2014) ‘Scraping the Monumental: Stepan Bandera Through the Lens of Quantitative Memory Studies’, Digital Icons, 12, 25–53.

Fed’ko, Roman. ‘Za Shcho Nenavydymo Generala Vatutina’ [Why we hate General Vatutin]. Ukrains’kyi Reporter, 7 June, 2017. Accessed on 23 March 2018: ukrreporter.com.ua

Garde-Hansen, Joanne (2011) Media and Memory. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press.

Garde-Hansen, Joanne, Andrew Hoskins and Anna Reading, eds (2009) Save as ... Digital Memories. London: Palgrave Macmillan.

Gaufman, Elizaveta (2015) ‘Memory, Media, and Securitization: Russian Media Framing of the Ukrainian Crisis’, Journal of Soviet and Post-Soviet Politics and Society, vol. 1, no. 1, 141–75.

Ginda, Vladimir (2010) ‘Osvobozhdenie Kieva: Sotni Tysiach Zhiznei–k Prazdniku Oktiabr’skoi Revoliutsii [The Liberation of Kyiv: Hundreds Thousands of Lives–for the Anniversary of October Revolution]’, UNIAN, 11 November. Accessed 8 March 2018: www.unian.net

Gorelov, Volodymyr and Valerii Grutsiuk (2013) ‘Kyiivs’ka Strategichna Nastupalna Operatsiia Voronez’kogo (1-ogo Ukraiins’kogo) Frontu’ [The Kyiv strategic offense operation of the Voronezh (1st Ukrainian) Front], in Bytva za Dnipro [The Battle for the River Dnieper], ed. Pyliavets’, Rostislav, 20–34. Kyiv: NVTS Prioritety.

Hardy, Mat (2007) ‘Wiki Goes to War’, Australian Quarterly, vol. 79, no. 4, 17–22.

Hoskins, Andrew (2009) ‘The Mediatisation of Memory’, in Save as ... Digital Memories, ed. Joanne Garde-Hansen, Andrew Hoskins and Anna Reading, 27–44. London: Palgrave Macmillan.

Hoskins, Andrew and Ben O’Loughlin (2010) War and Media: The Emergence of Diffused War. Cambridge: Polity Press.

Hrynevych, Vitaly (2005) ‘Mit pro Viinu i Viina Mitiv’ [Myth of war and war of myths], Krytyka, vol. 5, 2–8.

Jilge, Wilfred (2008) ‘Competing Victimhoods – Post-Soviet Ukrainian Narratives on World War II’, in Shared History, Divided Memory: Jews and Others in Soviet-Occupied Poland, 1939–1941, ed. Elazar Barkan, Elizabeth Cole and Kai Struve, 103–31. Leipzig: Leipziger Beiträge zur jüdischen Geschichte und Kultur.

Keegan, Brian, Darren Gergle and Noshir Contractor (2011) ‘Hot off the Wiki: Dynamics, Practices, and Structures in Wikipedia’s Coverage of the Tohoku Catastrophes’ [conference paper]. 7th International Symposium on Wikis and Open Collaboration, 3–5 October. Mountain View, US.

Keller, Ulrich (2001) The Ultimate Spectacle: A Visual History of the Crimean War. London and New York: Routledge.

Korol, Victor (2003) ‘Bytva za Dnipro ta Kyiv: Heroism i Tragediya’ [Battle for the River Dniener and Kyiv: heroism and tragedy], Voenna Istoriia, 5–6. Accessed 8 March 2018: warhistory.ukrlife.org
— (2005) ‘Vyzvolni Boi Chervonoi armii na Territorii Ukrainy (1943–1944)’ [Red Army’s battles of liberation in Ukraine (1943–1944)], Ukrains’kii Istorychnyi Zhurnal, vol. 1, no. 460, 16–34.

Koval, Mykhailo (1999) Ukraina w Drugii Svitovii i Velykii Vitchuznianii Viini (1939–1945) [Ukraine in the Second World War and Great Patriotic War (1939–1945)]. Kyiv: Nauka.

Lebid’, Nataliia (2017) ‘Svii General – Zamist’ Kryvavoho’ [Our General – instead of the bloody one], Ukraina Moloda, 4 August. Accessed 8 March 2018: www.umoloda.kiev.ua

Levitas, Felix (2012) ‘Bytva za Kyiv: Podvyh i Trahediia’ [Battle for Kyiv: heroism and tragedy], in Druha Svitova Viina: Ukrainskyi Vymir [Second World War: the Ukrainian dimension], ed. Felix Levitas, 189–215. Kyiv: Nash chas.

Luhmann, Niklas (2000) The Reality of the Mass Media. Cambridge: Polity Press.

Luyt, Brendan (2011) ‘The Nature of Historical Representation on Wikipedia: Dominant or Alterative Historiography?’, Journal of the American Society for Information Science and Technology, vol. 62, no. 6, 1058–65.
— (2015) ‘Wikipedia, Collective Memory and the Vietnam War’, Journal of the Association for Information Science and Technology, 67, no. 8, 1956–1961.

Makhortykh, Mykola (2014) ‘Memorializatsiia Pam’iati pro Zvilinennia Kyiva vid Nimetskoi Okupatsii za Radians’koi Doby (1943–1991)’ [Memorialization of memory about the liberation of Kyiv from the German occupation during the Soviet Period (1943–1991)]. Hileia, vol. 87, 108–12.
— (2017) ‘War Memories and Online Encyclopedias: Framing 30 June 1941 in Wikipedia’, Journal of Educational Media, Memory, and Society, vol. 9, no. 2, 40–68.
— (2017a) ‘Remediating the Past: YouTube and Second World War Memory in Ukraine and Russia’, Memory Studies (online first).

Massa, Paolo and Federico Scrinzi (2013) ‘Manypedia: Comparing Language Points of View of Wikipedia Communities’ First Monday, vol. 18, no. 1. Accessed 8 March 2018:firstmonday.org

Neiger, Motti, Oren Meyers and Eyal Zandberg (2011) On Media Memory. London: Palgrave Macmillan.

Nikiporets-Takigawa, Galina (2013) ‘Memory Events and Memory Wars: Victory Day in L’viv, 2011 through the Prism of Quantitative Analysis’, in Memory, Conflict and New Media: Web Wars in Post-Socialist States, ed. Ellen Rutten, Julie Fedor and Vera Zvereva, 48–63. London and New York: Routledge.

Pentzold, Christian (2009) ‘Fixing the Floating Gap: The Online Encyclopaedia Wikipedia as a Global Memory Place’, Memory Studies, vol. 2, no. 2, 255–72.

Portnov, Andrij and Tetjana Portnova (2010) ‘Der Preis des Sieges: Der Krieg und die Konkurrenz der Veteranen in der Ukraine’ [The price of victory: the war and the competition of veterans in Ukraine], Osteuropa, vol. 60, no. 5, 27–43.

Rogers, Richard and Emina Sendijarevic (2012) ‘Neutral or National Point of View? A Comparison of Srebrenica Articles across Wikipedia’s Language Versions’ [conference paper]. Wikipedia Academy, June 29–1 July. Berlin, Germany.

Rutten, Ellen and Vera Zvereva (2013) ‘Introduction’, in Memory, Conflict and New Media: Web Wars in Post-Socialist States, ed. Ellen Rutten, Julie Fedor and Vera Zvereva, 1–19. London and New York: Routledge.

Rutten, Ellen, Julie Fedor and Vera Zvereva (2013) Memory, Conflict and New Media: Web Wars in Post-Socialist States. London and New York: Routledge.

Shulzhenko, Svitlana and Olena Tykhonenko (2013) ‘Dokumentaljna Pam’jatj pro Vyzvolennja Kyjeva vid Ghitlerivciv u Fondakh Knyzhkovoji Palaty Ukrajiny’ [Documental memory about the Liberation of Kyiv from Gitlerites in the Funds of the Book Chamber of Ukraine]. Visnyk Knyzhkovoji Palaty, vol. 12, 1–4.

Siddi, Marco (2017) ‘The Ukraine crisis and European memory politics of the Second World War European Politics and Society’, European Politics and Society, vol. 18, no 4, 465–479.

Trubina, Elena (2010) ‘Past Wars in the Russian Blogosphere: On the Emergence of Cosmopolitan Memory.’ Digital Icons, 4, 63–85.

Wikimedia. ‘List of Wikipedias.’ Accessed 1 December 2017: meta.wikimedia.org

Wikipedia. ‘Wikipedia: A Researcher’s Guide to Discussion Pages.’ Accessed 1 December 2017: en.wikipedia.org

Wikipedia. ‘Wikipedia: About.’ Accessed 1 December 2017: en.wikipedia.org

Wikipedia. ‘Wikipedia: Article Titles.’ Accessed 1 December 2017: en.wikipedia.org

Wikipedia. ‘Battle of Kiev (1943).’ Accessed 1 December 2017: en.wikipedia.org

Wikipedia. ‘Bitwa o Kijów (1943).’ Accessed 1 December 2017: pl.wikipedia.org

Wikipedia. ‘Bytva za Kyiv (1943).’ Accessed 1 December 2017: uk.wikipedia.org

Wikipedia. ‘Wikipedia: Categorization.’ Accessed 1 December 2017: en.wikipedia.org

Wikipedia. ‘Kievskaia Nastupatelnaia Operatsiia.’ Accessed 1 December 2017: ru.wikipedia.org

Wikipedia. ‘Obsuzhdenie: Kievskaia Nastupatelnaia Operatsiia.’ Accessed 1 December 2017:ru.wikipedia.org

Wikipedia. ‘Talk: Battle of Kiev (1943).’ Accessed 1 December 2017: en.wikipedia.org

Wikipedia. ‘Wikipedia: Tutorial/Editing.’ Accessed 1 December 2017: en.wikipedia.org

Wikipedia. ‘Wikipedia: Tutorial/Talk Pages.’ Accessed 1 December 2017: en.wikipedia.org

Wikipedia. ‘Wikipedia: Writing Better Articles.’ Accessed 1 December 2017: en.wikipedia.org

Winter, Jay (2000) ‘The Generation of Memory: Reflections on the “Memory Boom” in Contemporary Historical Studies’, Bulletin of the German Historical Institute, vol. 27, no. 3, 69–92.

Zesch, Torsten, Iryna Gurevych and Max Muhlhauser (2007) ‘Analyzing and Accessing Wikipedia as a Lexical Semantic Resource’, in Datenstrukturen fur linguistische Ressourcen und ihre Anwendungen [Data structures for Linguistic Resources and Applications], ed. Georg Rehm, Lothar Lemnitzer and Andreas Witt, 197–205. Tübingen: Gunter Narr.

 


This article has been published in the sixth issue of Remembrance and Solidarity Studies dedicated to the memory of Violence in 20th-century European History.

>> Click here to see the R&S Studies site

Photo of the publication Not a Laughing Matter: Different Cultures of the Second World War Remembrance Across Europe
Keith Lowe

Not a Laughing Matter: Different Cultures of the Second World War Remembrance Across Europe

14 Feburary 2017
Tags
  • Holocaust
  • Nazism
  • communism
  • European Network Remembrance and Solidarity
  • Second World War
  • fascism
  • remembrance

Remembrance should never be something cosy. Instead, it should be something uncomfortable, even painful. We need to remember not only the things that were done to us, but also the things that we did to others. We also need to remember how things look from other peoples’ points of view. Remembrance should be the bearer of truth, not of French truth, German truth, or Polish truth, but a complicated mixture of all our truths simultaneously. This is the kind of remembrance that is healthy. This is the kind of Europe that is healthy.

The following speech was delivered during the European Remembrance Symposium, Berlin 2013

Hello. Thank you. It is very nice to be here. Before I say anything else, I should, like everyone else, thank the European Network Remembrance and Solidarity. Thank you for inviting me. Some of you may know that this is not the first conference at which I have spoken about remembrance. A few months ago I addressed the Euro Clio Conference in Erfurt where I spoke about the need for open hearts and minds when dealing with a history that involves other people as well as ourselves. Unfortunately, I was only at the Euro Clio Conference for a very short time, but was there long enough to notice one rather strange thing. The conference was quite busy, with delegates from all over Europe, and everyone was speaking in English as so often happens at these things. But, there was a distinct lack of English people there. I asked one of the organisers why this should be, ‘Where are all my countrymen?’ She simply shrugged and told me that it was always difficult to get British people along to these events.

I have to say that this does not really surprise me: Britain is not really very good at remembrance, particularly when it comes to events of the 20th century. And when I say the word ‘remembrance’ it has quite a specific meaning, especially for British people. It implies something sombre, something sad; remembrance is something you do during a minute of silence. But, British people do not like to remember things like the Second World War in silence. We like to shout about them! We like to celebrate them! Give us any excuse to sweep the dust off our Spitfires and fly them around and we’ll take it. Our novels and histories about the war regularly top the bestseller lists. We make TV dramas about the war, which often get the highest viewing figures. We sing songs about it, we create exhibitions and even make jokes about it. In fact, our jokes about the war, I think, are particularly revealing because we British take our humour very seriously, if that makes sense. It’s in our jokes that we often reveal our collective subconscious.

I heard a joke about the Second World War the other day that will give you an idea of what I mean. I have to warn you this is not a particularly funny joke, but it does demonstrate the point. It goes like this: ‘How many armies does it take to change a light bulb?’ The answer: ‘It’s at least six. The Germans to start it, the French to give up without really trying, the Italians to start, get nowhere and start from the other side, the Russians to do most of the work, but then smash everything up in the process, the Americans to finish the job off, but then claim credit for the whole thing, and the Swiss to pretend that nothing ever happened in the first place’.

I am quite surprised you laughed! Because actually, I think it is in many ways quite an offensive joke. You can tell immediately that this is a British joke because it criticises everybody except Britain. Everybody else has a reason to be ashamed of themselves because of the way they behaved during the war. But not us. We’re the heroes. The implication is that all of you Europeans are violent, treacherous or cowards, somehow. But, we British are superior in every way, not only because we are honourable, but because we won the war and you didn’t.

This is the way many British people, unfortunately, remember the war. Perhaps not intellectually, but it’s what we feel in our hearts. We have carefully constructed this mythology that allows us to think that we are better than everyone else. I think the equivalent joke about the British might go something like this: ‘How many British people does it take to change a light bulb?’ The answer: ‘Sixty million.’ Actually, the Russians and the Americans change the light bulb, but sixty million British people sit around and congratulate themselves on a job well done.

Now, I want to tell you a story about remembrance in Britain today. Last year, in 2012, the year that the Olympics came to London, we unveiled a brand-new memorial in the centre of the city. It was a memorial to the men of a bomber command, who flew airplanes over Germany, dropped bombs and so on in the Second World War. Now, there has never been a memorial for these men before in Britain because it has always proved too controversial.

Veterans of the bombing war were understandably a bit angry about this. Why should there be memorials to our sailors, soldiers, and fighter pilots, but nothing to remember the sacrifice of the men who flew the bombers? So anyway, nearly seventy years after the war they finally built this monument. This could have been an opportunity for greater reconciliation and understanding between Britain and Germany. It could have been a memorial to the 55,000 bomber crew who died, but also to the 500,000 Germans who also died under the bombs.

It could have been an opportunity to demonstrate to today’s generation how terrible war is, particularly that war. But, there was no mention of the bombing victims at all. In the end, it was just a monument to the British airmen, as if they were the only ones who had suffered. And I have to say that this is not a small monument, it’s huge: far bigger and grander than any of the other monuments that stand close by. I was expecting, when they unveiled this monument, that there would be some kind of controversy over it, especially since this was happening while the whole world was arriving in London to celebrate the Olympics.

At such a time it seemed like a very insular way of looking at our history. Besides, in the past there has always been controversy about whether Britain’s bombing war was justified. But, to my surprise this time around there was no controversy at all. The newspapers and radio covered the story, but there was almost no mention of the German victims at all. I myself wanted to write a piece for a newspaper asking why this should be the case, but my editor advised me against it. She said: ‘You won’t win any friends, but you will make lots of enemies.’ Nobody in Britain nowadays wants to hear about the victims of the war bombing. They only want to hear about the heroes, our heroes, British heroes.

So, this is the way that we tend to remember the war in Britain today. Where once we remembered the war as a shared catastrophe, a European catastrophe, we now refuse to acknowledge anyone but ourselves. We will remember our dead, but not yours. We will celebrate our dead as heroes and will not spare a thought for the people that we ourselves killed.

Now, don’t get me wrong: I have nothing against a memorial to the men of bomber command. They were brave men and deserve to be remembered. What I object to, however, is that their sacrifice has been taken out of context. This, I do not think, is remembrance – at least not the proper, soul-searching remembrance that I would like to see. This is more mythology and it makes me profoundly uncomfortable.

That is the way much of Britain, unfortunately, is beginning to remember itself. But, how do we remember others? Let me tell you another joke. It’s a British joke, but you can probably tell it anywhere in Europe, certainly Western Europe, and it will be understood. ‘How many Germans does it take to change a light bulb?’ The answer: ‘Silence, Schweinhund. We are asking the questions here.’

Again, I am surprised; there is a slight titter there. I mean, that again is not a particularly funny joke. It’s quite offensive. I look at my wife over there and she looks horrified that I should come to Berlin and make a joke like that. It basically says that all German people are members of the Gestapo: this is a really offensive thing to say.

The thing about Germans is that they have had to put up with jokes like this for decades. And they have put up with them. It’s quite astonishing really. But the reason why Germans have put up with jokes like this is because, actually, they have no choice. The crimes that were committed in the name of Germany were probably the worst crimes in history. Since it is impossible to deny these historical crimes (although, as we know, there are some strange people who do actually deny them), there is really nothing that Germans can do but hold their hands up and to admit to them.

To their credit, this is something that Germans and Germany has been doing for almost seventy years now, mostly without complaint. In Germany, you call it Vergangenheitsbewältigung. In Britain, we can call it ‘taking it on the chin’. There is really something quite heroic about it. I think this quality – this willingness of Germans not to fight the subject, but to take our punches on the chin – has won Germany countless friends throughout Europe. No one in the rest of Europe can really imagine what it must have been like to live with this legacy.

I am reminded of the words of a Czech Jew interviewed by the Imperial War Museum in London. He was called Alfred Hübermann, who was liberated from Theresienstadt in 1945, and who said, I quote: ‘When I was first liberated, I thought that Germany should be wiped off the face of the map completely. There was a feeling that one would like to exterminate the whole German nation so this sort of thing could not happen again. But, as time went on, one realised that this was impossible. Whenever I met a German I thought: “What can I say to him?” I could only feel sorry to have to live with that on his conscience.’

It is no coincidence that this symposium is taking place in Germany. The last conference I went to about remembrance also took place in Germany. There are, of course, many reasons for this, but one of them is this German attitude towards remembrance. It is exactly the opposite of the British attitude. For the British, Vergangenheitsbewältigung is an irrelevance; we don’t even have an English word for it. But, for the Germans it is of supreme importance. Unlike any other country in Europe, all Germans are taught from a young age to appreciate their nation’s past sins. We are so accustomed to this that it is sometimes easy to take for granted. But, things are changing in Germany and there are now other forms of remembrance, other memories that are also emerging now.

Germans were not only perpetrators of the war; they were also victims. I was speaking a few moments ago about the British attitude towards bombings and this has begun to change. Well, the Germans’ attitude towards bombing has also begun to change. A few years ago there was quite a famous book by Jörg Friedrich called Der Brand: A History of the Bombing War, which in horrific detail described what it was like for German civilians to be bombed. It sold hundreds of thousands of copies here in Germany. It was actually on sale in Britain as well, but as you can imagine it only sold 3,000 copies. Surprise, surprise.

This is just one example. There are all kinds of other examples of the way that Germans are beginning to remember themselves as victims of the war. They remember the expulsions from other parts of Europe, they remember the rapes that took place here in Berlin when the Soviets arrived. And so on and so on. Now, this makes some people rather nervous; they don’t like the idea of Germans thinking of themselves as victims. Myself, I am not so worried. Of course, Germans suffered as a result of the war and should be allowed to remember that suffering as long as they also do not forget that they were the perpetrators. On the whole, I think that Germany generally gets the balance about right. What worries me more is the thought that some of the traditional German sincerity may be slowly draining away. Germans are tired of apologising for the war and their patience wears a little bit thinner every time outsiders like me make stupid jokes about the Germans being members of the Gestapo.

So let’s leave the Germans alone for just a moment and tell some jokes about other people. ‘How many Frenchmen does it take to change a light bulb?’ The answer: ‘Two. One to run away and the other one to telephone the Americans and ask them to do it instead.’ Actually, I have a lot of offensive jokes about the French. British people love this sort of thing: ‘Why did the French plant trees along the Champs-Élysées? So that the Germans could march in the shade.’ ‘Why don’t they have fireworks at Euro Disney? Because every time they fire them off, the French try to surrender.’ And did you hear about the new French flag? It’s a white cross on a white background. I could tell you dozens more. If you’re French, please do not be too offended, because when I was a child I used to spend my holidays in Italy and heard exactly the same jokes being told about Italians then. I daresay that we British tend to say the same jokes about the Dutch, Danes or Belgians if we are ignorant of those countries.

But, the French are a particularly good target. They were one of the world’s great powers before the war, so their embarrassment by Germany was all the greater. If there is one thing that we British enjoy, it is Schadenfreude; it may be a German word but, unfortunately, we British embrace it. Remembrance in France and indeed in much of Western Europe is much more complicated, I think, than in Britain and Germany. Once again, it is not made easier by outsiders coming and making stupid jokes about them. Almost every aspect of French remembrance is controversial, so I want to look at some of these aspects, in turn.

Firstly, when the French look back at the Second World War they remember themselves as victims. Half a million French people were killed in the war. Two million French men were taken to Germany as forced labour. The Nazis humiliated and abused French people and performed countless atrocities on French soil. The most famous symbol of French victimhood is the village of Oradour-sur-Glane.

If you remember, this was the village where one of the greatest atrocities took place: a German division came through and rounded up all the men and shot them. They then herded up all the women and children into a church and set fire to it. Nowadays the village of Oradour-sur-Glane is a national monument. It has been preserved exactly as it was on the day of the massacre as a memorial to French victimhood.

Even in this archetypal symbol, things are not quite straightforward. When the French investigated this atrocity in the 1950s they discovered that some of the SS soldiers who carried it out were not quite as German as they had thought. Some of them were actually from Alsace, which is a region of France. In other words, when you look at it more closely, the massacre at Oradour-sur-Glane is not only a symbol of victimhood, but also of collaboration.

Collaboration is the dark shadow that lies behind every act of French remembrance. The French collaborated with the Nazis at every level of society – sometimes involuntarily, sometimes enthusiastically. Unsurprisingly, this is something that they do not often wish to commemorate.

I want to give you an example of this reluctance, this desire to forget. As is the custom in many countries, there is a tradition in France of naming streets and squares and boulevards after famous French heroes. In 1945, there were hundreds of streets named after the war-time leader, Marshal Philippe Pétain. This is not the equivalent of the German habit during the war of renaming every town square ‘Adolf Hitler Platz’. Philippe Pétain actually was a true French hero: he was the man who saved the nation during the First World War by repelling the Germans at Verdun. But, after the Second World War he was no longer a hero; he was a collaborator. So the French no longer wanted streets named after him and began renaming all of them. Today, there isn’t a single street in France bearing his name. I think the last ‘Rue Maréchal Pétain’ was in a village called Vinrin in northern France and it was renamed just this April.

All of this is quite understandable. To have a street named after you is a great honour and if you have acted shamefully you should have this honour withdrawn. But, there is also something else going on here. The French want to remember themselves as heroes, not as collaborators. When they drive down the Boulevard Général Leclerc in Paris or study at the Lycée Jean Moulin they remember their past as the past of heroes and martyrs. The collaborators, on the other hand, have been erased from public memory. Isn’t that just a little bit convenient? By erasing their names from streets and boulevards the French are removing the things that make them feel uncomfortable. It is much easier to pretend that collaboration did not really happen if you are not reminded of it everyday when walking down a street.

So you see, commemoration of the war in France is a much more complicated matter than it is in Germany or Britain. In Britain, we are all very happy to remember ourselves as heroes, regardless of what really happened in the past. In Germany, you are more resigned to remember yourselves as the villains, but in France they are somewhere in between – and it is difficult to define exactly where. On one hand, they are indeed victims and martyrs; on the other hand, they are heroes and resisters, but also obliged to remember some of the more uncomfortable things – the crimes they themselves committed and the way that many of them collaborated.

These are the shadows that lie behind every act of remembrance, not just in France, but in all of Western Europe. Incidentally, the French as we have heard collaborated not only with the Nazis. There was enormous sympathy with communists as well, which is another subject.

Let us get back to my terrible light bulb jokes (these are all real jokes by the way; I did not make any of them up and would have tried to make them funnier if I had!). The next one is this: ‘How many Polish people does it take to change a light bulb?’ The answer: ‘One. But it takes an entire Soviet division to make sure that he doesn’t go on strike.’

As you can tell, this is probably a joke from the 1980s and the first thing you notice is that it is not derogatory. The Pole in the joke is not a sadist or coward, or anything else bad. In fact, he is a hero: one Polish man holding down an entire Soviet division.

I would forgive you for thinking that this is slightly unfair. I have been rude about the French and Germans, so why can’t I also be rude about the Poles? Well, the answer is that I am not allowed to be rude about the Poles. Firstly, we British still feel guilty about what we did to Poland during the Second World War – or rather what we did not do.

When Stalin demanded the eastern part of Poland to become part of the Soviet Union, we did not stand up to him; we just rolled over and gave it to him. In compensation, of course, we then gave Poland a part of Germany and that caused all kinds of other controversies that are still raging today.

The second reason why we British cannot be rude about the Poles is that, frankly, we felt sorry for them. Not only had their country been invaded by the Nazis, but also by the Soviets. At the time when I first heard that joke in the 1980s, Poland still had to dance to the Soviet tune. Don’t worry, by the way, we no longer feel sorry for Poland and have all kinds of offensive jokes about them. But that is a different story.

My point is that if remembrance of the Second World War and its aftermath is complicated in Western Europe, it is much more complicated in Eastern and Central Europe. To begin with: what should be remembered? The problem of remembrance in Poland is not that of quality, but quantity: there is simply too much to remember. To start with, the Poles were the archetypal victims; invaded from both directions and brutally suppressed by two enemies. The entire country could be made into a memorial if we wanted to. Every street in Warsaw was the sight of some atrocity or other. All the main extermination camps for the Jews were in Poland and some of them also became infamous communist punishment centres after 1945.

But, the Poles were not only these archetypal victims. They were also archetypal heroes. Resistance to Nazi rule in Poland was massive and universal. Unlike in Western Europe, everyone really was in the resistance in Poland; there was a secret army there, a secret government, secret schools and universities. A whole network of resistance that encompassed not just thousands, but millions of people.

The Poles do not feel the need to be careful about the resistance myth like the French do. The Poles feel confident enough to shout about the resistance as proudly as they like. Of course, there was also a huge amount of resistance to Soviet rule. Not so much as against the Nazis, perhaps, but, as any Polish patriot will tell you, the last member of Armia Krajowa was not flushed out of the forest until the mid-1960s. That gives you a sense of the strength of feeling of these people.

So this is the way that Poles like to remember themselves. A bit like the British: they think they are all heroes and victims. If you go to Warsaw today, you will see a huge, brand-new museum dedicated to the Warsaw Uprising. And you’ll see the symbols of Polish war-time resistance – symbols from nearly seventy years ago – not only in the museum, but as graffiti on the walls and even stickers on the backs of people’s cars.

If the story stopped there, remembrance in Poland would be very easy. But, unfortunately, the story does not end there; of course it doesn’t. Poles were not only victims and heroes during the war, but were also perpetrators. Their treatment of Jews was nothing to be proud of and there are many places in Poland where Poles joined in with the Holocaust, sometimes enthusiastically.

Even more shamefully, this anti-Semitism continued after the war ended. In places like Kielce, for example, Jews continued to be attacked well into the late 1940s. As you can imagine, remembering this part of their history makes many Polish people very uncomfortable. Some people react to this discomfort simply by pushing it away, by trying to pretend to themselves that it did not happen or that it did not matter.

I can tell you a story that demonstrates this quite clearly. I was in Poland recently to publicise the Polish edition of my book. I must have been interviewed at least fifteen or twenty times and, as always happens with those interviews, a certain pattern began to emerge as to the sort of questions I was asked. Firstly, I was repeatedly asked by interviewers why Western historians always ignore the fate of Poland in their books. I did not really know how to answer these questions because – as far as I am aware – Western historians do not ignore Poland.

They talk about Poland all the time. In Britain alone, there are books about the invasion of Poland in 1939, books about the Warsaw Uprising, books about the Katyń massacre, the Soviet takeover, and about almost every act of the war in Poland. There are even books about individual PoIish airforce squadrons in Britain or about individual Polish army units. Some of these books are bestsellers in Britain. So, as far as I can see, in my country at least the West does not ignore Poland at all. But, for some reason this seems to be the way that Poles see things. Perhaps this is a hangover from the Cold War when Eastern Europe felt itself to be forgotten by the West. I honestly do not know. Perhaps Poles are so used to putting themselves at the centre of the story that they cannot quite under- stand why they are not at the centre of it in Britain and France and so on, too.

I think that in some ways some people feel that the West’s view of Poles is just not quite heroic enough and that our sympathy for the Poles is just not quite sympathetic enough for a nation of heroes and martyrs. The second question that I was repeatedly asked in Poland was why the West always insists on calling the Poles anti-Semitic. Again, I am not aware of any great Western belief that modern-day Poles are anti-Semitic. We do have a perception that many Poles during the war were anti-Semitic. But, even the most patriotic of Poles must acknowledge that anti-Semitism was widespread during the war and that evidence of it is overwhelming. This may not be a comfortable subject for Poles to acknowledge, but it is not an invention by Western historians.

One interview I had was particularly eye-opening in this respect. It was an interview with a national newspaper and for 45 minutes I was asked about why I talked about Polish anti-Semitism in the aftermath of the war. Didn’t I know that the Poles had helped the Jews, too? Didn’t I know that the Kielce pogrom was instigated by the communists? And so on and so on for 45 minutes.

I should explain to you that my book is not about Poles and not about Jews. It is about the whole of Europe in the aftermath of the war. It is full of atrocities, revenge killings, and stories of local civil wars that took place everywhere, from Norway in the north to Greece in the south, from France all the way through to Ukraine. The section about Polish anti-Semitism was about four pages long. Not only that, I was not particularly picking on the Poles. I actually spent far longer talking about anti-Semitism in Hungary and Slovakia, in Holland and France and so on. But this was the only thing he questioned me about for 45 minutes. That was the strangest interview I ever had.

It only dawned on me afterwards as to what really was going on here. This man was desperately trying to protect an idea. As far as he was concerned, Poles were victims and heroes during and after the Second World War; they were not the perpetrators. If some Poles were anti-Semitic during the war, it was not their fault; it was the fault of the Nazis. And if some Poles had been anti-Semitic after the war, that was not their fault either; it was the fault of the communists. I also asked this journalist at the time, who was it who beat those Jews to death in Kielce? It wasn’t the Nazis or communists, but ordinary Poles. And who were these communists who supposedly started the violence in Kielce? These communists were also Polish. This opens up a whole new problem for remembrance in Poland and indeed for the whole of Eastern Europe because Poles were not only victims and heroes, but occasionally the perpetrators of crimes. They were also collaborators.

Perhaps not collaborators with the Nazis – not so much in Poland, but certainly collaborators with the Soviets. In 1945, people in Poland joined the communist party in the hundreds of thousands. They helped the Soviets win control over the country. They even denounced resistance fighters to the authorities. This is not something that Poland particularly likes to remember now. Just like the memory of French collaboration during the Second World War, it remains a guilty shadow that simply will not go away.

Which reminds me of another joke: ‘How many communists does it take to change a light bulb?’ The answer: ‘None. Because the light bulb contains the seeds of its own revolution.’ I love this joke because, of course, the word ‘revolution’ in English also means ‘to revolve, to turn’, like when you’re screwing in a light bulb. But my point is that it was not only the Soviets who changed this light bulb in Europe, in Eastern Europe. The light bulb did a small part of the job, of the work, by itself.

Every nation in Europe has a different experience of the past. Some of us were never occupied by an enemy at all. Some of us were occupied by the Nazis, the communists, or by both. Some of us experienced fascism or communism as an outside force and some of us had our own home-grown versions of it. The idea that we can all see history in the same way is really just an impossible dream. All of us are simply too different from one another.

As I hope I have shown, in some respects problems in both East and West are exactly the same. We all want to remember ourselves as heroes and martyrs, but all have to face the inconvenient truth that we were also perpetrators in one respect or another. All of us are reluctant to face this because it hurts. Our problem is that we want our history to make us feel good about ourselves. So, we create nice cosy myths like pretty bubbles floating in the air. When outsiders come and pop these bubbles with their sharp and spiteful jokes, we do whatever we can to defend them.

In other respects, however, there are some very real differences between us. Not just between East and West, but between every single country. I have used France as an example of Western Europe, but the French situation is nothing like the situation in, say, Italy, Denmark, or Belgium. I have also used Poland as an example of Eastern Europe, but in many ways, actually, Poland was exceptional. The experience of both fascism and communism was very different in Romania or Hungary.

Every nation in Europe has a different experience of the past. Some of us were never occupied by an enemy at all. Some of us were occupied by the Nazis, the communists, or by both. Some of us experienced fascism or communism as an outside force and some of us had our own home-grown versions of it. The idea that we can all see history in the same way is really just an impossible dream.

All of us are simply too different from one another. So, is there anything at all that unites us? Well, yes, I believe there is and I can demonstrate this with another joke. Please, bear with me! ‘How many Jews does it take to change a light bulb?’ The answer: ‘It takes six million before the rest of the world finally sees the light.’ For the past sixty or seventy years, ironically, the Jews have been the unifying symbol in Europe. The Jews were unquestionably the greatest victims of the Second World War. Not only that, but we all acknowledge that we should feel guilty for what happened to them.

While the Nazis bear the ultimate responsibility for the Holocaust, we were all complicit: the French and Dutch administrators who gave out their addresses, the Italians and Belgian police who helped round them up, the Romanian and Hungarian railway officials who transported them, and so on. Even the countries that were not occupied by the Nazis during the war cannot escape the guilt because when the Jews came to Britain or Sweden or Switzerland for sanctuary, we turned them away.

The one act of remembrance that unites us all today is Holocaust Memorial Day. Indeed, this is probably the only time when my own countrymen shut up about how brilliant we are and join everyone else in respectful silence. Even that Polish journalist who questioned me so closely about anti-Semitism must feel sombre on Holocaust Memorial Day. It is a sacred day in our calendar. For non-Jews it is unique because, unlike virtually every other remembrance day, it is not a day to remember the things that happened to us. It is a day when we remember something that happened to others. I say ‘others’ here because there are very few Jews left in Europe today; less than one percent of the population.

But, actually in some way that is the wrong word to use because Holocaust Memorial Day also invites us to put ourselves in their shoes, to imagine what it would have been for us if we too had been Jewish. It is, therefore, simultaneously an act of contrition, sympathy and empathy.

There are hundreds of memorials to the Holocaust all over Europe and I would argue that these are the most important memorials we have. Not only do they remind us that this great war was not glorious, a terrible thing, but also of the horrors of extreme nationalism. They are a warning to all of us. More importantly they are also a warning that we all listen to.

So what is this warning? What is it trying to tell us? This is where I can finally put my finger on what I feel is one of the main differences between East and West. In Eastern and Central Europe, there is sometimes a perception that fascism and communism were somehow equivalent to one another. They were both totalitarian systems. They both committed terrible crimes. The wounds of fascism are old, but the wounds of communism are still fresh. So there is a temptation sometimes to remember the crimes of communism first and foremost. In fact, some people are tempted to remember the fascists fondly: since the fascists fought against the communists, they were the good guys, right?

But fascism and communism were not the same. For all their crimes, there was no communist equivalent of Auschwitz. There was no communist equivalent of the Holocaust. Sure, we should repudiate communism and what it did to Eastern Europe. But we should always remember to repudiate fascism more. I make this point only because I think that communism is all but dead now in Europe. However, fascism, in the form of radical nationalism, is still very much alive. This is a far bigger threat today than is communism. Extreme nationalism is an ideology that blames all our problems on outsiders. It promotes stereotypes that are not helpful: the sort of stereotypes I have been demonstrating in my stupid light bulb jokes. It poisons our memories with stories and false statistics that exaggerate our own victimhood and belittle the suffering of others.

This is why I think that remembrance, real remembrance, is so important. It should never be something cosy. Instead, it should be something uncomfortable, even painful. We need to remember not only the things that were done to us, but also the things that we did to others. We also need to remember how things look from other peoples’ points of view. Remembrance should be the bearer of truth, not of French truth, German truth, or Polish truth, but a complicated mixture of all our truths simultaneously. This is the kind of remembrance that is healthy. This is the kind of Europe that is healthy. It’s a hard, messy, and painful thing to do, but it is infinitely better than the pretty myths and fairytales that we would rather tell ourselves I am afraid that this is something that is potentially being lost today. Every nation in Europe is becoming more cynical of the European Union, more dismissive of neighbours more defensive about itself. We are all retreating to our own nationalist perspectives and own nationalist myths without ever bothering to look back on what it is we are throwing away.

Which leads me to one final joke: ‘How many ultra-nationalists does it take to change a light bulb?’ The answer: ‘None. Because they’d much rather sit in the dark.’

Thank you.

 

Keith Lowe is a British author and historian, who studied English Literature at the University of Manchester. For several years he worked as a history editor and in 2010 become a full-time writer. His first novel Tunnel Vision (2001) was shortlisted for the Author’s Club First Novel Award. Lowe has published two critically acclaimed history books about the Second World War and its aftermath. Inferno (2007) describes the firebombing of Hamburg by the British and American air forces in 1943. Savage Continent (2012), a history of Europe in the aftermath of the Second World War, covers the lawlessness, chaos, and unconstrained violence that gripped the continent from 1944 to 1949. It covers a variety of controversial issues such as postwar vengeance, ethnic cleansing and the many civil wars that took place across Europe. It won Britain’s Hessell-Tiltman Prize for history in 2013 and Italy’s Cherasco History Prize the following year. His books have been translated into 20 languages.

 


This article has been published as a part of the publication featuring the most significant texts from the annual European Remembrance Symposium, for the period 2012-16

>> Click here to learn more about the Symposium site

Photo of the publication Holocaust and Diaspora Survival: The Next Generations. Past, Present, Future
Carol Elias

Holocaust and Diaspora Survival: The Next Generations. Past, Present, Future

21 August 2016
Tags
  • Holocaust
  • Shoah
  • Jews
  • Memory
  • Second World War
  • remembrance
  • Diaspora

“The guardianship of the Holocaust is being passed on to us. The second generation is the hinge generation in which received, transferred knowledge of events is transmuted; into history, or into myth.” (Hoffman 2004, xv)

INTRODUCTION

I am the child and grandchild of Holocaust, and what I call Diaspora, survivors. The effect of these traumatic events on my life is becoming more apparent as I get older until it became clear that I would have to trace their origins from the time of my parent's childhood up until now and begin to expose these hidden life-long feelings. The impetus for this journey began as an answer or explanation as to why I almost never say the words, 'I love you'. During my grandparent's war-torn generation the ability to express affection almost disappeared. It was as if expressing words of love after the horrors they had faced would somehow demean the enormity of the tragedy. If you could love again, then how bad could it have really been?

Innumerable stories have been written, and continue to be written even at this late stage, about the Holocaust and dramatic survival. As the population of original survivors is gradually disappearing, it becomes even more important for the next generations to gather as much of the factual information before it is too late. I have come to realize that not only had my mother’s family survived the Holocaust; but that my father's family had also 'survived' in pre-WWII Poland, living through anti-Semitic pogroms, emigrating to Palestine where they suffered enormously, eventually leaving for the United States, arriving in 1929 the year of the Great Depression.

All of them had experienced forced abandonment of the known to enter the unknown; changes in homeland, languages and names due to the historical, wartime events that were not in their control. These affected my parents and grandparents, and ultimately my generation as well. It is my purpose here to discuss the trans-generational traumatic effects that these experiences had had on a specific population, family being just one example. Eventually, we, the children and grandchildren will be required to come to terms with our ancestor's pasts as best as we can, incorporating them into our own lives; present and future.

It is my hope to begin this process as an intergenerational and international discussion. Many of us alive today have been affected by the Holocaust in some way; Jewish or not, survivors and their families or not, and yet we continue to relate to the Holocaust as if it had begun only recently. Unbelievably, we are a mere seventeen years from the centennial anniversary of the Nazi party's initial rise to political power in 1932. Any attempt to break the near-pervasive silence that has been the norm in war-torn, twentieth-century America, Europe and the world may hopefully yield positive results in unifying the global village of today.

Original Holocaust survivors hold a unique responsibility to continue to tell their own stories for as long as they can. One example of this is the autobiography, "Once We Were Eight" published when the author was 85 years old. In it he expresses his motivation for telling his own tragic story of survival including the loss of six out of eight members of his own family:

"'Zachor' – Remember. This has become my mission. I grab every opportunity that comes my way to share my history so that the Holocaust is not forgotten. One day, in the not too distant future, there will be no survivors to tell their stories, so it is imperative that I, and others like me, share their Holocaust experiences so that no one can ever doubt that the Holocaust happened. My goal is to educate students, and all who I encounter, so that they in turn will educate others. The history of the Holocaust must not die when survivors are not here to tell first-hand what happened during that terrible chapter in history. To me, it is still unbelievable and inconceivable that these horrific crimes were committed by civilized nations in the 20th century". (Fishler 2014, 156)

The Unter-Stanestie/ Vivos (Vivis) Pogrom: July 5-6, 1941

My mother and grandparents survived a pogrom which took place on July 5th and 6th, 1941 in the small village of Unter-Stanestie and in its tiny, neighboring, almost unknown, unmentioned village of Vivis (Vivos) in Romania (now Ukraine). A summary of the events are detailed below as part of a concise and accurate article:

“In Stanestii de Jos, a village east of Czernovitz…the locals organized a Ukrainian national committee to take control of the village ‘arresting’ the Jews and holding them in the mayor’s office or the saw mill. The Ukrainian nationalists soon began to murder their prisoners, and when the Russian army reached Stanestii de Jos, the pogrom was intensified. Upon his arrival, the Romanian gendarmerie’s commander put a stop to the blood bath, but by that time between eighty and one hundred and thirty Jews had already been killed. The fact that a local gendarmerie commander could stop a massacre underscores the fact that the impetus for pogroms often came from below... The Jews barricaded themselves in their homes, and the Ukrainians ‘patrolled’ usually armed with agricultural tools, for firearms were not widely available. The Ukrainians then decided to ‘fetch’ the Jews from their homes and concentrate them in one place. A list was compiled from which the names of the Jewish men were read out one by one, after which these were led away… Most of the Jewish men were beaten to death- only a few were shot….Chana Weisenfeld, who was …from Stanestii de Jos, related how Ukrainian neighbors rampaged through the village armed with hammers and sickles. According to Weisenfeld, more than eighty Jews were killed in the pogrom. Close to the village, local perpetrators killed a pregnant woman and beheaded her… The massacres of Jews by the local population sometimes seem especially puzzling because the perpetrators are civilians and the victims are their neighbors…. Later when it became clear that it was possible to murder with impunity, people murdered so that no one would be there to remember the stolen property.” (Geissbuhler 2014, 434-439)

The pogrom, like many others that occurred that summer of 1941, represented the Romanian's attempt to “cleanse the terrain” of its’ Jewish population. (Solonari 2010, 160) No Jews remained in Stanestie. My family’s survival was close to miraculous after my grandfather was captured and escaped. ChanaWeisenfeld, mentioned above, is my mother’s first cousin, aged 82 today. The pregnant woman, beheaded in the forest of Vivis, was my grandmother’s sister and my mother's aunt. Her name was Chaika. I am her namesake in Hebrew; Chaya, and in English; Carol.

Transnistria

After the pogroms, survivors travelled for several months, from July until October 1941, on foot or by wagon, surviving typhoid and horrid conditions, under constant Romanian guard until they reached the Transnistria concentration camps. My mother’s family survived. My great-grandfather did not. There, life under the harsh hands of the Ukrainian/Romanian/Nazi guards was exceedingly difficult.

Aharon Appelfeld, the prolific Israeli author, was born in Stanestie in 1932 like my mother. He survived the pogrom in which his mother perished and was sent to Transnistria. He describes life in the camp and the unendurable silence there. “During the war, one did not talk… Whoever was in the Ghetto, the camp and the forests, knows silence from within…The war is a hothouse of listening and of silences. Extreme hunger, quenching thirst, the fear of death makes words redundant. As a matter of fact, they are unnecessary. In the Ghetto and the camp only those who lost their sanity talked, explained and tried to convince. The sane did not talk.” (Appelfeld 1999, 95)

The history of the Holocaust in Romania is not well-known and even less well understood. This lack of clarity was due to the historical "unfolding of events…The fate of its Jews varied depending on the geographic areas where they lived …[and] the fact that Transnistria was not a part of the territory of Romania, but only under its administration, changing political circumstances and erratic government policies.”(Nizkor Project 1991, 1) This confusing geopolitical status ultimately led the survivors of Transnistria not to “talk about their tragedy because they were too traumatized…Their experiences were trivialized because Transnistria had not been publicly acknowledged for the tragedy it really was." (Bernhardt 1997, 1) As of 2004, a total of “between 45,000 and 60,000 Jews …were killed in Bessarabia and Bukovina by Romanian and German troops in 1941. Between 105,000 and 120,000 deported Romanian Jews died as a result of expulsions to Transnistria." There, "between 115,000 and 180,000 … Jews were killed.” (ICHR 2004, 306)

Politanki, Ukraine

Sometime soon after their arrival in Transnistria my mother's family received a reprieve of sorts that more than likely saved their lives. The Russian owner of a melon farm bribed guards to release 40-50 laborers from one of the camps. They were taken to a barn, each family to a room, and there they lived for close to three years near the tiny Ukrainian village of Politanki. They lived a mini-Schindler existence; hard labor in exchange for life, food, and advance notice if the Nazi or Romanian army approached. If they did, they were sent deep into the forest; food sent out to them and then brought back after the danger had passed. The farmer had been offered the highest award for saving Jews by the Israeli government; but he refused to accept it. Perhaps he had worried about future repercussions in his own country it became known that he had helped Jews and gone against his own government during WWII.

After the Holocaust

After the war ended, my grandparents returned briefly to Stanestie. There, killers roaming the forests were searching for and murdering any potential witnesses to the pogroms that had been carried out by local, non-Jewish villagers. Warned by a kindly neighbor, after spending a few hours at her home, they left before dawn, never to return. No wonder my grandparents left Romania as quickly as they could and ran to Germany, empty-handed. Nobody there was going to take responsibility for Jews who had survived anyway. The rapidly changing borders had made it convenient for many countries to say, ‘They aren't ours’. The lack of facts may be useful for those who say the Holocaust never happened on a large scale. As the last original survivors pass away, the voices of those who perished without gravestones will be extinguished forever. No, this concept is not new; but because of it I continue thework, to pay homage to members of my close family who I know had existed in Romania and Poland until July 1941.


PRESENT

 

Post-memory

Three-quarters of a century have passed since the beginning of WWII and we may ponder the continuing widespread interest in the Holocaust and its outcomes. Many of us are looking for connections to our pasts by trying to fill in the empty holes of what we have never known; the truth about the histories of our own families. It could be that I, like many of the group called second and third generation survivors of the Holocaust are cursed to go on a personal quest for answers, and were so cursed the moment we were born. Discussed by Eva Hoffman in her autobiography, she describes being the child of Holocaust survivors and what this may mean to her and others like her. She proposes that, “If I wanted to understand the significance for those who come after, then I needed to reflect on my own and my peers’ link to that legacy, to excavate our generational story from under its weight and shadow-to retrieve it from that ‘secondariness’ which many of us have felt in relation to a formidable and forbidding past.”(Hoffman 2004, xi)

I can use myself as an example of one who has experienced this search for knowledge and answers; the Holocaust as a 'rumor' or word that has no meaning, turned into a black hole of silence, sadness, depression, of those around me with no explanation. How could I be completely happy? I never felt like I truly fit in; now at least I know why. I may have been born in America, but my parents and grandparents were all of Eastern European, Austro-Hungarian background, mentality and culture; most having accents. I had always been proud to be American, but my 'Jewish-ness', 'child-of-Holocaust-survivor'-ness had always held a subconscious grip off-stage.
In order to explain what had motivated me to understand my mother's experiences during the Holocaust, we can examine the groundbreaking article, “The Generation of Post-Memory", where Hirsch purports the concept that memory of the Holocaust may be transmitted almost directly into the minds of the children of survivors:

"Post-memory describes the relationship that the generation after those who witnessed cultural or collective trauma bears to the experiences of those who came before, experiences that they ‘remember’ only by means of stories, images, and behaviors. But these experiences were transmitted to them so deeply and effectively as to ‘seem’ to constitute memories in their own right…To grow up with such overwhelming inherited memories, to be dominated by narratives that preceded one’s birth or one’s consciousness, is to risk having one’s own stories and experiences displaced, even evacuated, by those of a previous generation. …These events happened in the past, but their effects continue into the present. This is, I believe, the experience of post-memory.”(Hirsch 2010, 106)

We must continue to examine the impact that the Holocaust is having on the ‘next’ generations; how a child’s identity can become almost secondary to the heroic fact that their parent has survived the Holocaust. What achievement can rate next to that? It may come as no surprise that we, second generation Holocaust survivors, describe ourselves as such, as if wearing our own badge of courage. Self-esteem and identity have somehow been created out of their heroism. Hirsch and Miller describe the creation of the second generation’s self-identity through over-identification with the survivor parent and grandparent and reveal that “along with many other American Jews of our generation [we] have … devoted the last several years to the recovery of our own family stories and the search for lost Jewish worlds in Eastern Europe.” In addition, they suggest, “the legacies of the past transmitted powerfully from parent to child within the family…shape identity and …’post-memory’ can account for the lure of second generation’s …over-identification.”(2011, 4)
I can say that the Holocaust has had an incredible impact upon me even though I had never been part of it. I was born in a totally different country, environment and culture than my mother and my grandparents who had survived. As Hirsch explains, "post-memory describes the relationship of the second generation to powerful, often traumatic, experiences that preceded their births but that were nevertheless transmitted to them so deeply as to seem to constitute memories in their own right."(2010, 103) Yet there have been several instances in my life when I mistakenly used the first person to describe things that had happened to my mother during the Holocaust, and instead said they had happened to me. Hirsch wonders if as children of survivors we may "adopt the traumatic experiences of others as experiences that we might ourselves have lived through, inscribe them into our own life story… [and have a] frustrated need to know about a traumatic past." (2010, 114)

Silence

It could be that the ‘Second Generation Survivor Syndrome’ begins in infancy. Halasz describes how the “second generation offspring witnessed that silence… those exiled moments when he, the infant was hungering for relatedness. Instead he met the survivor parent's ‘fated exile’, a wall of silence.” He adds, "there may be unexamined danger in being named after deceased relatives, in that parents may only see the dead relatives in their children and therefore not ever really see or know their own child…For the second generation survivor, this may mean that the child in turn may grow up having a blurred or undefined identity.”(2002, 217) I began to be interested in learning about the Holocaust at an early age. I now believe that having been named after an aunt killed during the Holocaust may have been the basis for this early onset.

Post-memory may have also played a role in my early life with much of the transmission conducted in silence. There were no discussions of the events that had taken place; not at the dinner table, not in the living room, not as I grew older. It was my own personal curiosity that led me to start searching; in college, on the Internet and later, on trips to every major city in Europe which had had a Jewish history beginning after the Inquisition. For example, Lily Brett, a second generation author, describes her relationship to her mother, a Holocaust survivor, in an interview entitled "Walking Among Ghosts". She explains, "I wanted to be one of them …I didn't want to be separated from [her] by this enormous gulf." (Giles 2000, 56)

I had grown up with the loud silence of knowing that there was something out there, but what? A loud, earth shattering scream of nothingness, that reverberated in my ears from the time I was born. I knew nothing, and continued to know nothing for years. I never got the message or information from the original source itself. This now is very frustrating, because I would like to have heard my grandfather tell me the story at least once in his own words, to hear his fear and feelings. I would have liked to hear my grandmother speak, even once, about anything at all, or about the day they left their hometown without my grandfather. What this must have felt like I can only imagine. My mother has written her story, and although now she will answer questions if I ask, it is still a bit like prying open a can of sardines. Is this why I keep so much inside?

In a contribution to "Second Generation Voices: Reflections by Children of Holocaust Survivors and Perpetrators" the second-generation writer Lisa Reitman-Dobi relates her feelings, which are eerily similar to mine:

"all my life I've felt a tremendous weight on me, something that I could not understand, although I knew it had something to do with the Holocaust….I knew that the war, the Holocaust specifically, was a topic that had been relegated to the topmost shelf, something that wouldn't be addressed. By the time I was in the fifth or sixth grade, I was aching to know details… I craved more information…. I was not completely ignorant. On the contrary, it was because I knew a fair bit about the war that my curiosity was piqued. I had always known about the Holocaust. I had always known about the concentration camps. I can't say how. It's as if I were born with a degree of information that had been genetically installed, like my brown hair and brown eyes. I knew that an isolated, distant horror, something that could never happen again, mind you, had severed the past from the present without a trace. I knew that my mother's family had been shattered by the war but….I had never seen her mourn or cry or show any anger at the injustice during her childhood. I sensed that I was required to appreciate the rich childhood that had been denied my mother. But instead of happy, I felt sad. I felt sad for my mother, sad for everyone, and then guilty for feeling sad…. The reality was that I was in a perpetual state of mourning for that which I had never known, as much as there was to know." (A. Berger and N. Berger, eds. 2001,16-19)

We, the second generation, have been relegated to remember the Holocaust as if in a virtual time-machine; almost as if we had been there ourselves. This may not happen to every survivor’s child, but similar to a gene, like alcoholism or diabetes; some of us have the predisposition to be the carrier of the message. This might be set off by incidents in our own lives or perhaps this is learned behavior, gleaned from the sad, introspective, smile-less face; slow movements or hunched-over shoulders of our grandparents; physical exhibitions of their own never-released inner traumas. As our own middle age encroaches, we may be able to reveal the truth.

Yes, indeed, without a doubt, our own identities were formed by their connection to that horrible, historical anomaly; duly transcribed and reported in every tiny, minute detail by the Nazis; the Holocaust. This is what we had to compete with. Is it any wonder that we have been spoiled almost to death? We, call us what you will, the second, third, next, future generations are bearing the brunt of the anger, sadness, unknowable, untellable loss that our parents and grandparents had suffered. We, connected to them by blood and sorrow, must build on this and move forward with the same type of strength and courage as it took for them to be able to survive. Whatever has happened to them is done. They will not tell us any more than we already know. It is this silence that the second generation has endured that has made it so important to get the facts straight now before it is too late.

Alan Berger and Naomi Berger ask two simple questions; "What is the second generation's connection to the Holocaust? Their parents suffered, but what have been the effects on the offspring?" (2001, 1) The painful answers that have been shut away for decades have been seeping out slowly in books and films during the past ten or twenty years. Whatever has been locked away by the power of silence and fear of exposure is making its way to the surface. And exposing what exactly are we talking about here? My grandparent's fear of being discovered to have survived the Holocaust while millions of others had not? Hey, you guys, you were the victims here. Remember? The fact is perhaps they had not wanted to talk about being victims of the most heinous crime against humankind known to man; keeping silent for most of their lifetimes. It could be that the survivors themselves were trying to maintain their pride as well as protect us from the knowledge of what they had gone through. Hirsch adds that in their creation of a "protective shield particular to the post-generation, one could say that, paradoxically they reinforce the living connection between past and present, between the generation of witnesses and survivors and the generation after." (2010, 125)

Possibly my grandfather had felt that if he maintained his silence, it would be as if what had transpired during those terrible years during the war had never happened at all. In her extraordinary analysis of Lily Brett's autobiographical story, "Things Could Be Worse”, Catalina Botez examines the function that silence fills for Holocaust survivors. She claims "that silence can equally 'voice and hush traumatic experience', that it is never empty, but invested with individual and collective meaning. Essentially, I contend that beside the (self) damaging effects of silence, there are also beneficial consequences of it, in that it plays a crucial role in emplacing the displaced, rebuilding their shattered self, and contributing to their reintegration, survival and even partial healing." (2012, 15)

I can apply her theory to my grandfather, who never spoke about his own personal trauma to me as a child or young adult. Did Silence help him create a new life in America, raise two children, and build a successful business? I suppose that the key word is ‘partial’ when describing the amount of healing a person can go through after incredible trauma, losing half of his siblings and his parents while he, himself, survived. My grandfather was a lovely man, generous, caring and always wanted the best for his family. His children and grandchildren were proof of his strength throughout the untold horrors he had faced during WWII. But the scars were deep, and in all the years that I knew him, except perhaps toward the end of his life, his expressions of warmth were minimal. I knew that he loved me very much. He never said so.

I cannot explain even to this day what caused this withholding of information; to keep one of the major catastrophes in the history of mankind inside; not shared with members of your own family. Botez suggests that "silence is never empty or devoid of meaning, but 'inhabited' by poignant content pointing to trauma, loss and an inability to understand or cope with … loss".(Botez 2012, 17)20 Would they have been able to tell their stories without breaking?
It was that exactly; that inhabited silence; the practically void, brief, uncompleted lives of my grandparent's sisters and brothers; and the Unmentionables, the Unborn; the brothers and sisters of my mother and my uncle, who cry silently without tears. THIS is the epicenter of our sad melodrama, those almost forgotten souls. Overdramatized? I don’t think so. This is the Truth as I know it. It is what we do with the knowledge now that is essential, not only for me and individuals like me, but as a jumping off point for universal discussion and repair. As in a court case where thousands are represented; so shall it be here.

Stanestie/Vivos 2007

Something changed in me after I visited Stanestie in 2007. It is clear to me that not much has changed there; only the universal shame, guilt and pain in the local citizens has remained. The residents who were born after the war feel somehow responsible for the actions of their parents and grandparents even though they had nothing to do with them. As the book title suggests, the “sins of the fathers” have stayed with them; with tears in their eyes. (Woods 2013) One man around my age leads us through the Christian cemetery to the collective gravesite for the Jewish victims of the pogrom, shaped like a Star of David with a small commemorative plaque written in English, Romanian, Russian and Hebrew; we comfort him.

Politanki 2015

Recently, I made a personal and very difficult journey to the Ukraine, whose goal had been to reach the tiny village of Politanki where my mother had been in hiding from October 1941 until the end of WWII. I was finally able to begin to understand what Transnistria had been at that time. In the words of a middle-aged Ukrainian woman who we had met there; she described to my barely-Russian-speaking cousin what had been told to her by her grandmother many years before. “Eleven kilometers from here there were ghettoes that were run by very bad Romanian Fascists." She added, “Here, there were Romanians too, but they were not so bad”. Trying to figure out if there had once been a melon farm in the area seemed a bit too much for our language barrier to cross.

This trip made by one child of one Holocaust survivor, travelling nearly a quarter of the way across the globe, on roads that were not roads, at border crossings that could not be imagined; an impossible, impulsive drive to find the truth and see it with my own eyes. Not because I did not believe that it had happened; but because it had never been truly explained to me in words; only in shadows and sketchy outlines that left no room for imagination. Reality, in all its glory, sadness, emptiness, colors of pale green endless wheat fields, nothingness, had been registered and claimed! I had come to the most complete understanding of what my mother had gone through that any survivor’s child could; only after an incredibly hard and unusual trip, involving chance coincidences, other people, several countries, diplomatic assistance and Russian translation of information that probably couldn't even be found on the English language World Wide Web. This, I was able to do, with thanks to those know who they are. Now that I have seen first-hand where it all took place, can I say that post-memory has become my memory, too? I am not sure. But, the fact is, I was able to put in the last piece of the puzzle; and the puzzle has been solved!

FUTURE

Today, nearing 80 years since the beginning of the Holocaust; the largest organized mass murder in history, we continue to ponder the source of its inception; the root of the wasted intelligence on an evil plan developed only to try to eradicate one of the most ancient peoples known to mankind, and there is no end in sight to our conversations.

However well-adjusted my mother was in her adopted country of America, the shadowy phantom of Eastern Europe still lingered above her, as it did all survivors. She may have tried to escape the vestiges of the Holocaust by losing her accent; feeling at home in the United States; working; getting married and raising a family. But, "their children, whom they have proudly raised in a free country carry their parent's burden of traumatic memories, not always sure of the extent of their harmful grasp." (Botez 2012, 24) There is no question that my mother was unaware of the potential influence that her own Holocaust experiences might have had on her children. It is this late knowledge and recent understanding that we are dealing with here, and must find the correct path on which to send the message out to the world. It has taken me fifty-eight years to get to this point of self-analysis and self-understanding. It is not for the lack of trying, many times, and many ways. Is it better late than never? You bet, especially for my children's sake and perhaps others as well. Perhaps writing it all down will lead the revelations in the right direction.

One of the main reasons that I don’t say ‘I love you’ often is because it wasn’t said to me by my mother as I was growing up. It could be said that wartime isn’t exactly the proper atmosphere for giving affection. ‘Normal’ emotional involvement of a parent to a child in expressions of endearment are reduced to a minimum or eliminated completely when the threat of death hangs over you daily like a tiny dew drop dangling from the edge of a blade of grass at sunrise. You know it will fall; it’s just a matter of time.

My mother told me that what she remembers of her early childhood before the war was happy go-lucky. She didn't have any young friends, but she remembers playing with workers in the lumber mill and enjoying herself. This must have come to such an abrupt, unexplained and unexplainable stop that whatever happiness she had enjoyed as a child had been buried forever, never to be retrieved even later on in life. How can a person who has suffered trauma like this be expected to raise a child herself in a traditionally 'normal' way, and so on in the following generations? This is the question being raised here.

At a recent book-signing event for my book,“I love you, they didn’t say", (Elias 2015) in which I deal in part with the lack of verbal affection from my mother toward me as a child; my mother, for the first time, began to understand what had had happened to her during the Holocaust.She described to visitors at the U.S. Holocaust Memorial Museum in Washington D.C. how she had experienced an almost complete emotional black-out for approximately three years, from her parents towards her, and from herself towards the outside world. It was quite a cathartic, heart-wrenching and heart-warming experience for me to hear her speak, when at first she could not understand why I had entitled my book this way.

I don’t need results from studies on psychological responses in children of Holocaust survivors; I just have to look at myself and my brother as a two-case sample study. We are two specimens of a unique twentieth-century phenomenon and whichever way we have turned out will continue on and on until we stop it or at least try to. I know where this detached demeanor comes from and even though I do, I cannot change it. Maybe this work, which started out as a way of organizing the stories of my mother’s survival, has now turned into something much, much more. Those who had lived through hell and come out on the other side could not have possibly comprehended the effect it had had at the time and would have on them later on. They could not have imagined the effect it would have on their offspring, and on the children of their offspring.

This article may open the doors for discussions, NOT necessarily for the survivors themselves, but for those who have come after them. We have to start to breathe. I am not guilty, nor is my mother, father, grandparents, nor are any of them. The world is a dangerous place and becoming more so every day. God says we are supposed to stay alive under any circumstances. Life is sacred in its most natural form; it is what matters. Without humanity we cannot continue to report the progress of mankind to each generation that follows. This is our mission; our purpose: to learn, grow, teach; to educate those that are here with us today and will pass on the memories to those who will come next; our own future generations.

 

REFERENCES
1. Appelfeld, Aharon, “The Story of a Life”, Keter, Jerusalem, 1999.
2. Berger, Alan and Naomi Berger, eds. "Second Generation Voices: Reflections by Children of the Holocaust Survivors and Perpetrators", Syracuse University Press , New York, 2001,
3. Bernhardt, Zvi, 'Introduction', "Transnistria: Lists of Jews Receiving and Sending Support", Jewish Gen, 1997-2015
4. Botez, Catalina, ""The Dialectic of Silence and Remembrance in Lily Brett's "Things Could be Worse"', Babilonia Numero Especial, 2012, pp. 15-29
5. Elias, Carol, "’I Love You, They Didn't Say’- Holocaust and Diaspora Survival : the Next Generations”, Orion Books, Israel, 2015.
6. Fishler, Raymond, "Once We Were Eight", http://www.thebookpatch.com. 2014
7. Geissbuhler, Simon, "'He Spoke Yiddish Like A Jew' - Neighbors Contribution to the Mass Killings of Jews in Northern Bukovina and Bessarabia in July, 1941". "Holocaust and Genocide Studies", 28, no.3, Winter, 2014, pp. 434-449.
8. Giles, Fiona, "Walking Among Ghosts: An Interview with Lily Brett", Meanjin, Volume 59, no.1, 2000, pp. 54-69
9. Halasz, George, "Can Trauma be Transmitted Across the Generations?" in "The Legacy of the Holocaust: Children and the Holocaust", eds, Zygmunt Mazur, Fritz Konig, Arnold Krammer, Harry Brod, Wladylaw Witalisz, Jagellonian University Press, 2002, pp. 209-223.
10. Hirsch, Marianne, "The Generation of Post-Memory", Poetics Today- International Journal for Theory and Analysis of Literature and Communication, Spring 2008, Vol. 29 (1), pp. 103-128
11. Hirsch, Marianne and Nancy K. Miller, "'Introduction'- Rites of Return: Diaspora Poetics and the Politics of Memory", New York Columbia University Press, 2011
12. Hoffman, Eva, Introduction, "After Such Knowledge: Memory: History and the Legacy of the Holocaust", Public Affairs: Persus Books Group, 2004, pp. xv
13. ICHR, “Final Report of the International Commission on the Holocaust in Romania”, http://miris.eurac.edu/mugs2/do/blob.pdf?type=pdf&serial=1117716572750
14. The Nizkor Project, "Shattered! 50 Years of Silence: History and Voices of the Tragedy in Romania and Transnistria: The Unknown Killing Fields of Transnistria."
15. Reitman-Dobi, Lisa, "Family Ties: The Search for Roots: Once Removed", in A. Berger and N. Berger, eds. “Second Generation Voices: Reflections by Children of the Holocaust Survivors and Perpetrators", Syracuse University Press, New York, 2001
16. Woods, James, "The Sins of the Fathers", www.newyorker.com/magazine/2013/07/22/sins-of-the-father

The author about herself:
I am a fifty-eight year old woman who has been living in Israel for the past twenty-three years. I have two children, both who have served in the Israel Defense Forces. My son finished his service last year and is now studying Graphic Design. My daughter, who is an officer in her third elective year, is a liaison between injured soldiers and the Army, and regularly visits families who have lost loved ones while. I hold a Masters and Bachelor’s degree in Psychology from major universities in New York State. I worked as a Guidance counselor in New York City before moving to Israel and raising a family. I attained a permanent Teacher’s license in Israel, where I have been an educator and supervisor for over twenty years.

 

Photo of the publication Soviet invasion of Poland 1939
Andrzej Włusek

Soviet invasion of Poland 1939

21 August 2015
Tags
  • Stalin
  • Second World War
  • 1939
  • Hitler
  • Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact

On 17 September 1939, about 1 million troops of the Belarusian and Ukrainian Fronts of the Red Army crossed the eastern borders of Poland, thus violating the non-aggression pact of 1939. The Soviet invasion of Poland began.

On 25 July 1932, Poland and the USSR concluded a non-aggression pact in Moscow, which was meant to last until 1945. Since then, Polish foreign strategy was to lead a policy of balance, therefore not to make alliances with any of the two big powers: neither Germany, nor the USSR. The Polish foreign minister, Józef Beck, did not believe that Joseph Stalin would get politically closer to Adolf Hitler. One of his closest associates said that Beck believed that the dispute between Germany and the Soviet Union would last forever. In that situation, the Hitler-Stalin agreement of 1939 was almost completely unexpected, with the Soviet aggression of 17 September 1939 taking the Polish authorities, military and members of society by surprise. This was of such a scale that many people and soldiers were under the illusion that the Red Army was coming to their aid.

Soviet propaganda played a significant role in creating such an illusion, and it was even the more effective because the Soviet aggression occurred during a period of already significant fatigue and despair resulting from the German offensive.

The invaders continued to repeat that they came to help, and cries "Beat the Germans" were heard everywhere. The propaganda fulfilled its purpose to such an extent that in some places the Soviets were greeted with flowers and cries of joy. During the same period, Molotov summoned the Polish ambassador in Moscow and told him that "as the Republic of Poland had ceased to exist" measures had been taken to protect the residents of western Belarus and Ukraine.

In this situation, the general staff decided not to fight and instead to negotiate with the Soviets in order to reach Hungary and Romania. However, some units such as the troops of the Border Protection Corps, continued to fight. The directive was intended to minimise the number of soldiers being taken as prisoners and thus to create the possibility of remobilizing them outside the country.

Unfortunately, these attempts were largely unsuccessful. General Władyslaw Anders, commanding the Nowogrodzka Cavalry Brigade as they fought Soviet troops near the village of Władypol, on 27 September began a march towards the Hungarian border. A group of Border Protection Corp troops from the Polesie area, commanded by General Wilhelm Orlik-Rückemann, fought dozens of skirmishes and two major battles. At Szack it crushed the 52nd Rifle Division of the Red Army, and then disbanded following the battle of Wytyczno on 1 October.

Following the Soviet aggression, according to various sources between 200,000 and 250,000 Polish soldiers were taken prisoner; however, the number that had been killed is unknown. The Red Army suffered about 10 thousand soldiers killed, wounded or missing. This was the beginning of one of the darkest scenarios in Polish history. In September 1939, Polish prisoners began to be murdered in an action that intensified later and culminated in that most terrible of crimes in Katyn forest. The extent of the war crimes committed by the Soviets on Polish officers is estimated at over 8,000 people. There were also mass deportations of Poles, and in the years 1940-1941 about one million people were deported to Russia as part of the genocidal deportations of the Polish population.

In Brest on 22 September, Kombrig Semyon Kriwoszein and the German General Heinz Guderian watched a joint parade of German and Soviet armoured units. On 28 September, following the capture of Warsaw, Hitler and Stalin believed the campaign in Poland to be over. Both countries reached a common border, although this had to be revised due to the fact that Germany took more Polish territories than defined in the secret agreement. For this purpose, a special treaty on borders and friendship was signed, known as the second Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact, in which the Soviet Union agreed to give Germany the eastern part of Mazovia and the Lublin province in exchange for Germany agreeing that Lithuania would be in the Soviet sphere of influence. Thus the partition of Poland was sealed as a division of spheres of influence in the Baltic countries.

By Andrzej Włusek

 

Bibliography:

Jerzy Łojek: Agresja 17 września 1939 [Aggression of 17 September 1939]. Warsaw 1990

Karol Liszewski: Wojna Polsko-Sowiecka 1939 [Polish-Soviet War 1939]. London 1988

Norman Davies: God's Playground. A history of Poland. Kraków 1993

 

This article was prepared in cooperation with Historykon.pl

Photo of the publication Outbreak of Second World War - 1 September 1939
Anita Świątkowska

Outbreak of Second World War - 1 September 1939

21 August 2015
Tags
  • Second World War
  • 1939

1 September 1939 is one of the most tragic dates in all of our history. That date is recorded in history books as the beginning of a hell on earth that men created for their fellow men. Mass executions, concentration camps, exterminations of people – a vast ocean of blood, pain, and tears.

“Destroying Poland is our priority. Our goal is not to reach any specific point, we need to destroy the vital force behind the country. Even if there is to be a war in the West, the destruction of Poland is to be the first objective we set for ourselves. This decision needs to be taken at once in view of the season of the year. I will state some cause underlying the outbreak of the war for propaganda purposes. Whether it is credible or not is of no concern to us. The winner is never asked if what he said was the truth or a lie. As far as starting and fighting a war is concerned, there is no law – victory is the decisive factor. Be brutal and be without mercy.” These were the words of Adolf Hitler at a council of commanders on the day preceding the conclusion of the Molotov-Ribbentrop pact, under which Poland was to be divided between the Third Reich and the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics. Then, without declaring war, the army of the Third Reich entered the territory of Poland.

On the first day of September, on that fateful morning / German enemies attacked Poland without any warning (…) [Dnia pierwszego września roku pamiętnego/ wróg napadł na Polskę z kraju niemieckiego (…)]. These are the words of a song dating back to the period of the German occupation. It was a favourite of street performers and it describes what happened on that day of September 1939 perfectly well.
Military activities started at dawn on 1 September 1939, the decisive assault of the German army commencing at 4:45 a.m. However, the surviving memoirs, diaries, and military reports indicate that the invasion of Poland was preceded by numerous German airstrikes targeting Polish cities. This was described by, among others, Władysław Pobóg-Malinowski, Stefan Rowecki, and Felicjan Sławoj-Składkowski, the then Prime Minister, the latter mentioning an aerial attack on Ostrów Wielkopolski and Poznań at 4:15 a.m. Then, around 4:40 a.m., pilots from the 1st division of the 76th Immelman dive bomber regiment attacked Wieluń. This attack continued, with short interruptions, until 1 p.m. Civilian facilities were the main targets, and this attack was unreasonable in military terms as there were no army units in Wieluń and the strategic significance of the city was scant. This was an attack against helpless civilians and it was meant to spread panic among them. This act was made even more atrocious by the fact that a hospital was also bombed, in spite of the Red Cross symbol plainly visible on its roof.

After that, at 4:45 a.m., the Schleswig-Holstein battleship opened fire at Westerplatte. The commander of Westerplatte, a Polish Military Transit Depot, was Major Henryk Sucharski, with Captain Franciszek Dąbrowski serving as his deputy. The defenders of Westerplatte bravely fought against the German forces for seven days (they were expected to resist for no more a dozen or so hours) and the "Westerplatte still fights" message, broadcast on Polish radio, helped to boost the morale of Polish troops.

The defence of the Polish Post Office in Gdańsk is another example of a heroic struggle against the invaders directly related to 1 September 1939. On that morning, the German forces attacked the postal building using artillery and machine guns, expecting to take it quickly by surprise. However, their assault was driven back by the employees with the use of machine guns and grenades, forcing the attackers to bring artillery and armoured vehicles to the building. The assailants then tried to enter the post office through a hole in the wall of an adjacent building. When this assault also failed, the building housing the post office was set on fire. Having successfully defended themselves for 14 hours, the brave defenders were eventually forced to give up.

At the beginning of the war with Poland, the Germans had 1 850 000 soldiers, 11 000 artillery pieces, 2 800 tanks, and 2 000 aircraft. Poland had half of that number of soldiers (950 000), less than half that number of artillery (4 800), a quarter the number of tanks (700), and a fifth the number of aircraft (400). The advantage the Germans had along the main lines of attack was even greater than that.

Adolf Hitler, the Chancellor of the Reich, delivered a speech to the German parliament at 10:00 a.m. on 1 September 1939. He justified the attack on Poland with alleged provocations on the part of Poles. He presented the assault as a punitive expedition, aiming to punish the wilful extravagancies of Poles against the German minority in Poland and the Reich itself, undertaken by a grand nation which would not stand being spat in the face. Hitler presented limited objectives only, striving to convince countries of the West that they should remain calm and refrain from intervening. Meanwhile, the Poles continued their forlorn defence, hoping that their allies would aid them soon, while the Polish government asked countries allied with Poland to fulfil their obligations and begin armed opposition against the invader.

The Germans planned to make their invasion of Poland a “lightning war” – they wanted to rapidly break through Polish defences, then to surround and destroy all major Polish armed forces. German troops were to carry out a concentric attack from Silesia, Eastern Prussia, and Western Pomerania, heading towards Warsaw. In their plans, the Germans assumed that their troops should reach the Narew, the Vistula, and the San rivers within a week, and that the Polish army would have been destroyed by then. Poland's military situation was made even worse by the length of the border with Germany – measuring around 1 600 kilometres after the Third Reich took over Moravia and entered Slovakia. This allowed Germany to attack Poland from the west, north, and south.

Marshal Edward Śmigły-Rydz was very much taken aback by the outbreak of the war. He, like the Polish authorities, was convinced that it would be possible to avoid an armed conflict with the Third Reich thanks to a military decision aimed at clearly demonstrating Polish intentions.

On 1 September 1939, Ignacy Mościcki, the President of Poland, made an address to the people of Poland in which he urged them to defend the freedom and independence of their country, to stand united, and to concentrate around the commander-in-chief and the army. In addition, Mościcki decreed that Śmigły-Rydz was to succeed him in the event that the country had no president before peace was made.

In his address to Polish soldiers, Marshal Śmigły-Rydz wrote that it was time to carry out their soldierly duties and that the existence and future of Poland were at stake. He added that, regardless of the duration of the conflict in which Poland was forced to take part, and regardless of the losses, Poland and its allies, Great Britain and France, would emerge victorious in the end. The latter two countries, as it turned out, failed to provide Poland with their support.

By Anita Świątkowska

 

This article was prepared in cooperation with Historykon.pl