World War II 80 Years After

Die beiden führenden Politiker, die in den 1940er Jahren den Begriff „Zweiter Dreißigjähriger Krieg“ prägten, waren Winston Churchill und Charles de Gaulle. In dieser Bezeichnung schwingen sowohl autobiografische als auch historische Elemente mit. Beide Männer betrachteten sich als Sieger beider Weltkriege: Sie standen für die siegreichen Armeen und Nationen von 1918 und 1945. Weder der eine noch der andere hatte diesen Erfolg allein errungen, aber beide verkörperten Nationalstolz und Wehrhaftigkeit überaus eindrucksvoll: Sie hatten Deutschland nicht nur einmal, sondern zweimal in die Knie gezwungen.

Unter mangelndem Selbstwertgefühl litten sie ohnehin nicht. So schrieb Churchill bereits 1906 in einem Brief an Violet Bonham Carter, die Tochter des britischen Premierministers Asquith, ihm sei klar, dass wir Menschen alle zerbrechliche Geschöpfe seien. „Wir sind alle Würmer“, bekräftigte er, „aber ich glaube, ich bin ein Glühwurm“. Charles de Gaulle war nüchterner als Churchill, doch dass er sein Land im Zweiten Weltkrieg aus der Niederlage zum Sieg geführt hatte, erfüllte ihn ebenso wie Churchill mit dem Gefühl einer schicksalhaften Bestimmung.

Ihr Stolz auf den Sieg ist gerechtfertigt. Beide waren imposante, gebieterische Gestalten, ein Traum für jeden Karikaturisten – der rundliche Mann mit seiner Zigarre nicht weniger als der hochgewachsene General mit der markanten Nase, die unter dem Képi hervorragte. Beide standen im Zweiten Weltkrieg allein da. Churchill nutzte die englische Sprache als Waffe, als im Mai und Juni 1940 eine deutsche Invasion und damit die britische Niederlage unausweichlich schienen – De Gaulle setzte kämpferisch auf den französischen Stolz, die französische Sprache und Ressourcen der Kolonialmacht als letztes Mittel, um die Hoffnung auf die Zukunft zu stärken.

Beide führten einen imperialen Krieg, um die glanzvolle Größe ihrer Nation wiederherzustellen. Letztlich war das Zerstören der imperialen Träume Deutschlands im Ersten Weltkrieg sowie Deutschlands, Italiens und Japans im Zweiten Weltkrieg jedoch so kostspielig, dass es für Frankreich und das Vereinigte Königreich zum doppelten Pyrrhussieg wurde. Sowohl Churchill als auch de Gaulle erkannten langsam, aber sicher, dass der Preis für den Sieg in Europa die Auflösung ihres geliebten Kolonialreichs war.

Daher dauerte es auch etwas, bis diese tragische Situation ins Bewusstsein gelangte. Als de Gaulle und Churchill Mitte der 1940er Jahre den Begriff „Zweiter Dreißigjähriger Krieg“ prägten, sonnten sie sich noch im Glanz ihres Triumphes. Durch den Sieg über Deutschland 1914-18 und 1939-45 gewannen das Vereinigte Königreich und Frankreich eine Vormachtstellung – nicht nur in Nordwesteuropa, sondern auch auf der Weltbühne. Das erwies sich jedoch als flüchtiger Moment, der davon abhing, wie lange die Vereinigten Staaten dafür bezahlten. Der Marshall-Plan stellte die wirtschaftliche Stabilität Europas wieder her und trug dazu bei, les trentes glorieuses, mit ihrem massiven Wachstums- und Entwicklungsschub, zu fördern. Diese Entwicklung verlieh dem Westen die nötige wirtschaftliche Stärke, die sowjetische Machtbestrebungen zurückzuweisen und schließlich niederzuringen. In dieser Zeit formierte sich Europa zu einem lockeren Staatenbund, weil es kein Imperium mehr hatte, das es als Waffenarsenal und Zufluchtsort nutzen konnte. Eine weitere Folge der beiden Weltkriege war eine Machtverschiebung zugunsten der USA, mit Europa in einer winzigen Nebenrolle.

In dieser Lage war die Darstellung der Geschehnisse als „Zweiter Dreißigjähriger Krieg“ Balsam für Churchill und de Gaulle wie auch für ihre Anhänger. Im Grunde projizierten die beiden Staatsmänner ihr eigenes Leben und ihre politische Karriere auf die Geschichte ihrer Nationen und Imperien. Ihre Erzählung hatte also durchaus einen wahren Kern, neigte insgesamt jedoch stark zu Verzerrungen, durch die globale Konflikte völlig andere Formen annahmen und völlig andere Folgen hatten. Derartige Ungereimtheiten erschwerten es Zeitgenossen wie Historikern, zwischen Fakt und Fiktion zu unterscheiden, wenn sie sich mit globalen Konflikten beschäftigten.

Der vorliegende Essay argumentiert, dass es zwischen den beiden Weltkriegen weitaus mehr Unterschiede gibt als Gemeinsamkeiten. Was Pierre Bourdieu die „biografische Illusion“ nannte – dass wir unser Leben als kontinuierliche Geschichte betrachten, die wir leicht selbst erzählen können – wird erst recht zu einem Zerrspiegel, wenn es in die selbstverfasste Autobiografie einfließt.¹ Für de Gaulle und Churchill wie auch für die jeweilige Gesellschaft, an deren Spitze sie standen, existierte nie ein langes, nahtloses Band, das die Geschichte beider Weltkriege zu einem einzigen dreißigjährigen Konflikt zusammenfasste.

Die Behauptung
Betrachten wir drei klassische Äußerungen der Vorstellung, dass es im zwanzigsten Jahrhundert einen zweiten Dreißigjährigen Krieg gab. Bei seiner Rückkehr aus Jalta im Januar 1945 erklärte Winston Churchill vor dem Unterhaus:

Ich habe die ganze Geschichte ab 1911 miterlebt. Damals erhielt ich einen Posten in der Admiralität, um die Flotte auf einen drohenden deutschen Krieg vorzubereiten. Im Wesentlichen scheint mir das die Geschichte eine einzige Geschichte eines Dreißigjährigen Krieges zu sein, oder eines mehr als Dreißigjährigen Krieges, in dem Briten, Russen, Amerikaner und Franzosen bis zum Äußersten gegangen sind, um der deutschen Aggression zu widerstehen. Sie alle zahlten dafür einen überaus schmerzlichen Preis, aber für niemanden waren die Folgen so entsetzlich wie für das russische Volk, dessen Land zwei Mal in weiten Teilen verwüstet wurde und dessen blutiger Kampf für die gemeinsame Sache Dutzende von Millionen russischer Menschenleben kostete – ein gemeinsames Anliegen, das nun zur endgültigen Vollendung kommt. Neben diesem Gefühl der Kontinuität, das ich persönlich empfinde, finde ich einen weiteren Grund bemerkenswert. Ohne die ungeheuren Anstrengungen und Opfer Russlands wäre Polen in den Händen der Deutschen dem Untergang geweiht gewesen. Nicht nur Polen als Staat und als Nation, sondern auch die Polen als Ethnie waren von Hitler dazu verdammt, vernichtet oder auf ein Dasein als unterwürfige Wesen reduziert zu werden. Dreieinhalb Millionen polnische Juden sollen bereits ermordet worden sein. Es ist sicher, dass eine enorme Anzahl von Menschen bei einem der schrecklichsten Akte der Grausamkeit, wahrscheinlich dem schrecklichsten Akt der Grausamkeit, der jemals den Weg des Menschen auf Erden verdunkelt hat, umgekommen ist. Als die Deutschen klar ihre Absicht bekundeten, die Polen zu einer unterworfenen und minderwertigen Ethnie unter dem „Herrenvolk“ zu machen, sind die russischen Truppen nun in einer plötzlichen Aktion vorgerückt. Dabei bieten sie beeindruckende militärische Kraft und Geschicklichkeit auf und sind inzwischen – übrigens kaum mehr als drei Wochen, nachdem wir diese Angelegenheiten hier erörtert hier haben –, schon von der Weichsel bis an die Oder gelangt. Dabei treiben sie die Deutschen vor sich her in den Untergang Ruin und befreien ganz Polen von der entsetzlichen Grausamkeit und Unterdrückung, unter der die Polen zugrunde gingen.²

Drei Jahre später, nachdem er 1945 den Krieg gewonnen und die Wiederwahl zum britischen Premierminister verloren hatte, verwendete Churchill den Begriff „Dreißigjähriger Krieg“ in einem friedlicheren Rahmen. Für kurze Zeit war er einer der stärksten Befürworter eines vereinten Europas, das als Bollwerk gegen die kommunistische Bedrohung im Osten Europas dienen sollte. Auf dem Europa-Kongress, der 1948 im niederländischen Den Haag –, genau einhundert Jahre nach dem „Völkerfrühling" von 1848 –, erklärte er vor den versammelten Delegierten:

Ich habe das Gefühl, dass die Menschheit nach diesem zweiten Dreißigjährigen Krieg –, denn darum handelt es sich bei dem, was wir gerade hinter uns haben –, eine Zeit der Ruhe braucht und sucht. Denn wie wenig verlangen die Millionen von Haushalten in Europa, die heute hier vertreten sind. Was ist es, was all diese Lohnempfänger, Handwerker, Soldaten und Ackerbauern brauchen, verdienen und, vielleicht auch durch äußere Einflüsse geleitet, verlangen? Steht ihnen nicht die Chance zu, sich ein Heim zu schaffen, die Früchte ihrer Arbeit zu ernten, ihren Frauen Liebe und Wertschätzung zu zeigen, ihre Kinder anständig zu erziehen und in Frieden und Sicherheit zu leben, ohne Angst oder Schikanen, monströsen Belastungen oder Ausbeutung in jedweder Form? Das ist ihr Herzenswunsch. Das ist es, was wir für sie erreichen wollen.³

Dies ist der Ursprung der Vorstellung, dass der zweite Dreißigjährige Krieg der Beginn dessen war, was Eric Hobsbawm als das „kurze“ zwanzigste Jahrhundert bezeichnete⁴: Churchill zufolge führten die beiden Weltkriege übergangslos zum Kalten Krieg, der 1989, 30 Jahre nach Churchills Tod, zu Ende ging. Charles de Gaulle teilte Churchills Gefallen an den vielen Aspekten, die im Begriff „Zweiter Dreißigjähriger Krieg“ mitklingen. Am 28. Juli 1946 bemerkte de Gaulle in Bar le Duc, unweit von Verdun, wo er 1916 in Kriegsgefangenschaft war:

Im Drama jenes Dreißigjährigen Krieges, den wir gerade gewonnen haben, gab es unzählige Wendungen, und jede Menge Akteure sind gekommen und gegangen. Wir Franzosen gehören zu denjenigen, die immer auf der Bühne geblieben sind und nie die Seite gewechselt haben. Die Umstände haben uns gezwungen, gelegentlich unsere Taktik zu ändern, manchmal am helllichten Tag auf dem Schlachtfeld, manchmal in der Nacht im Verborgenen. Aber letztlich haben wir nur eine einzige Art von Veteranen. Diejenigen von uns, die in der Vergangenheit an der Marne, an der Yser oder am Vardar angriffen, unterschieden sich nicht von denen, die gestern an der Somme festhielten, in Libyen bei Bir-Hakeim kämpften, Rom einnahmen, das Vercors verteidigten oder das Elsass befreiten. Die schmerzlichen Opfer der gemarterten Dörfer des Saulx-Tals fielen für die gleiche Sache wie die glorreichen Soldaten, die in Douaumont begraben sind. Was wären der Charakter und der Ausgang dieses Krieges gewesen, wenn er nicht vom ersten bis zum letzten Tag sowohl französisch als auch weltweit gewesen wäre? Was wäre der Friede von morgen, wenn er nicht ebenso der Friede Frankreichs wie der Friede der anderer wäre?⁵

Es ist bemerkenswert, dass de Gaulle die französische katholische Terminologie des „Märtyrertums“ verwendete, um die Opfer der beiden Weltkriege zu beschreiben, während Churchills protestantische englische Rhetorik üppig, aber weltlich war. Die politische und soziale Welt Großbritanniens hatte das Konzept des „Märtyrertums“ nach den Bürgerkriegen des 17. Jahrhunderts aufgegeben, während sowohl die revolutionären als auch die religiösen Traditionen im republikanischen Frankreich in der Märtyrer-Rhetorik weiterlebten.⁶

Eine alternative Auslegung
In diesen Reden liegen die Ursprünge einer Interpretation der Geschichte des zwanzigsten Jahrhunderts, die viele Anhänger gefunden hat. Dennoch gibt es meiner Ansicht nach viele Gründe, sie abzulehnen. Betrachten wir einige von ihnen:

Hitler und der Wandel des Krieges
Der wichtigste Grund ist, dass ein Verschmelzen der beiden Weltkriege in inakzeptablem Maße unterbetont, welche Rolle Adolf Hitler und sein Umfeld bei der Veränderung der militärischen Spielregeln gespielt haben, indem sie den Krieg von einem Instrument der Politik zu einem Instrument der Vernichtung machten.

Es besteht kaum ein Zweifel daran, dass die deutsche Armee im Jahr 1914 nicht nur Kriegsverbrechen beging, sondern dass solch ein solches verbrecherisches Verhalten als Teil der operativen Notwendigkeit, die französische Hauptstadt in genau 42 Tagen zu erreichen, gesehen und akzeptiert wurde. Vielleicht 6.000 belgische Zivilisten wurden erschossen, und die meisten von ihnen stellten nicht die geringste Gefahr für die deutschen Truppen dar. Viele Vorfälle ereigneten sich, weil Deutsche befürchteten, dass belgische Zivilisten sich verhalten würden wie vormals die Francs Tireurs (Partisanen), die im Krieg von 1870 auf preußische Soldaten geschossen hatten. Phantasie an die Stelle der Vernunft, in der überhitzten Atmosphäre des Einmarschs einer Million deutscher Soldaten in Belgien, nicht um das Land zu erobern, sondern um die französische Hauptstadt zu erreichen und Frankreich in genau sechs Wochen zu besiegen.⁷

Diese Vorfälle wurden von der deutschen Armee und der deutschen Presse damals geleugnet und als hysterische Propaganda der Alliierten verspottet. Zudem bemühte sich die Weimarer Republik – als Nachfolger des für diese Verbrechen verantwortlichen Kaiserreichs – systematisch darum, die Anschuldigungen, deutsche Soldaten seien Kriegsverbrecher, zu widerlegen. All dies geschah vor dem Hintergrund der erzwungenen Unterzeichnung des Pariser Friedensvertrags durch die neue deutsche Regierung, die den Kaiser abgelöst hatte, am 28. Juni 1919. In Artikel 231 dieses Vertrags wurde betont, dass Deutschland, und nur Deutschland, für alle durch den Krieg verursachten Todesfälle, Schäden und Leiden verantwortlich sei. Alle politischen Parteien in Deutschland nach 1918 wiesen diesen Vorwurf zurück, ebenso wie Historiker, die die Kriegsursachen ein Jahrhundert später untersuchten. Der Stachel der Anklage eines ganzen Volkes war noch lange nach dem Waffenstillstand spürbar, und in diesem Zusammenhang ergibt die Kampagne zur Entlastung der deutschen Armee für die 1914 begangenen Verbrechen durchaus Sinn.

Halten wir nun einen Moment inne und wenden wir uns der deutschen Armee im Jahr 1941 zu. Nach dem Überfall auf die Sowjetunion machten sich die Einsatzgruppen (mobile Tötungskommandos) innerhalb von 24 Stunden ans Werk. Sie arbeiteten hinter den Linien der deutschen Infanterie und waren formell Teil der Sicherheitspolizei. Auf ihrem Vormarsch in die Sowjetunion deckte die deutsche Armee das Massaker an 1,5 bis 2 Millionen Menschen.

Die deutsche Armee im Zweiten Weltkrieg hatte nur noch wenig Ähnlichkeit mit der deutschen Armee des Ersten Weltkriegs. Die Einsatzgruppen waren der klare Beweis für die Umwälzung in der Militärkriminalität, für die Hitler und sein Umfeld die volle Verantwortung trugen. In Polen begannen sie 1939 hinter den Linien mit der Ermordung von Zivilisten und wiederholten diese Verbrechen, wo immer und wann immer die deutsche Armee in feindliches Gebiet einrückte und es besetzte.

Die 3.000 Mann der Einsatzgruppen waren in vier Abteilungen aufgeteilt. In jedem Fall wurden sie bei der Tötung von Zivilisten von Männern der Waffen-SS, der deutschen Armee, alliierten Truppen und lokalen Kollaborateuren unterstützt, die bei der Identifizierung der zu erschießenden Zivilisten halfen. In Babi Yar bei Kiew wurden im September 1941 innerhalb von zwei Tagen 33.000 Juden ermordet. Die Schätzungen schwanken, aber zwischen einer halben und einer Million Zivilisten wurden auf diese Weise und von diesen Einheiten getötet – von Verbrechern, die das verübten, was heute als „Holocaust durch Kugeln“ bekannt ist.⁸

Die meisten Historiker trennen die Geschichte der beiden Weltkriege wegen der verbrecherischen Degeneration der deutschen Armee ab dem Beginn des Zweiten Weltkriegs, zunächst in Polen und dann in der gesamten Sowjetunion. Ein Historiker, Daniel Goldhagen, war anderer Meinung und stellte seinen Fall in den Kontext eines zweiten Dreißigjährigen Krieges.⁹ Er vertrat die Ansicht, dass die Deutschen „willige Scharfrichter“ von Juden waren, die in großer Zahl, auf engem Raum, in Polen und der Sowjetunion lebten. Die Täter entstammten einer Kultur, die er als „eliminatorischen Antisemitismus“ bezeichnete. Seiner Meinung nach waren die zugrundeliegenden Vorurteile der Kitt, der die deutsche Nation zusammenhielt; sie hätten sich über Jahrhunderte aus antisemitischen Gedanken, Worten und Taten herausgebildet.

Im Ersten Weltkrieg hatte die deutsche Armee eine „Judenzählung“ durchgeführt, um zu zeigen, dass der Anteil der Juden an der Front, die bereit waren, für Deutschland zu bluten und zu sterben, viel geringer war als der Anteil der Juden in Deutschland insgesamt. Als die Volkszähler herausfanden, dass das Gegenteil der Fall war und dass der Anteil der Juden in der Armee höher war als im Volk, wurde die Volkszählung abrupt abgebrochen und die daraus zusammengestellte Dokumentation vernichtet.¹⁰

Der Weg von der Verbrennung von Dokumenten in einem Krieg zur Verbrennung von Leichen im folgenden Krieg war lang und gewunden. Die Weltwirtschaftskrise von 1929-32 ermöglichte es der NSDAP, sich zu einer Massenpartei zu entwickeln, die von vielen Wählern unterstützt wurde. Aus diesem Grund kam Hitler an die Macht – nicht wegen des Ersten Weltkriegs, sondern wegen des ganz andersartigen Krieges, den er und seine Partei in der Folge begannen. Die pure Radikalität des deutschen Antisemitismus unter den Nationalsozialisten ist das wichtigste Argument gegen die These, dass es zwischen 1914 und 1945 einen Dreißigjährigen Krieg gegeben hat.

Die bolschewistische Revolution und die Transformation von Krieg
Der zweite wichtige Fakt, der gegen die Behauptung spricht, es habe in der ersten Hälfte des 20. Jahrhunderts einen Dreißigjährigen Krieg gegeben, ist, dass nicht 1914, sondern 1917 die Krise ausgelöst wurde, aus der die späteren Umwälzungen des zwanzigsten Jahrhunderts hervorgingen. Als 1914 der Krieg ausbrach, war Lenin überzeugt, dass die Revolution um eine Generation verschoben werden müsse. In Frankreich gab es eine Liste mit militanten Sozialisten, die bei Kriegsausbruch verhaftet werden sollten, um zu verhindern, dass sie die Mobilisierung des Militärs behinderten. Keine einzige Person auf dieser Liste – dem berühmten Carnet B – wurde verhaftet, denn alle hatten sich freiwillig gemeldet. Sie hatten die Nation über die Revolution gestellt.¹¹

Drei Jahre später trat Russland unter den Bolschewiken aus dem Krieg aus. Diese Entscheidung gab Deutschland und seinen Verbündeten enormen Auftrieb, was 1918 im Friedensvertrag von Brest-Litowsk mündete. Widerwillig überließ die neue russische Führung Deutschland die informelle, aber klare Kontrolle über einen Großteil des europäischen Russlands. Das Ziel war eindeutig: Russland würde wie eine Kolonie ausgebeutet werden.

Was dann folgte, war jedoch alles andere als friedlich. Der Bürgerkrieg in Russland zwischen 1918 und 1921 sowie massive Gewalt nach 1918 in einem riesigen Gebiet, von Finnland bis zur Türkei, sind die eigentlichen Ursachen für die Transformation von Krieg in ein Massaker an der Zivilbevölkerung. Ich nenne dieses Phänomen die „Zivilistenisierung“ (im englischen Original: civilianization) von Krieg.

Die auf Zivilisten ausgeweitete Ausrichtung von Krieg
Es begann vor 1914 mit jedem einzelnen europäischen Kolonialprojekt. 1904 folgten Massaker auf einen Aufstand der Herero und Nama in Südwestafrika. Was 1914 in Belgien durch einmarschierende deutsche Truppen geschah, verblasst zu relativer Bedeutungslosigkeit im Vergleich zu den Gräueltaten von König Leopold im Kongo, der zunächst sein privater Machtbereich war und später belgische Kolonie wurde.

Der Unterschied zwischen dem Ersten Weltkrieg und der Folgezeit besteht darin, dass der Konflikt von 1914-18 ein dreiteiliger Kampf um die Vorherrschaft in Nordwesteuropa war. Churchill und de Gaulle machten aus dem anglo-französischen Widerstand gegen einen von Deutschland beherrschten Kontinent eine einzige enorme Kraftanstrengung – und gewannen. Diese Interpretation war nur teilweise zutreffend, da sowohl das Vereinigte Königreich als auch Frankreich von Anfang an ihre imperialen Besitzungen gegen ein deutsches Eindringen oder eine völlige Übernahme verteidigten. Im Zweiten Dreißigjährigen Krieg ging es immer um Europa, aber in den beiden Weltkriegen ging es gleichzeitig auch immer um das Imperium.

Westliche Intervention in der Russischen Revolution
Diese beiden Perspektiven – die westeuropäische und die imperiale – berücksichtigten Osteuropa nicht. Dieses Versäumnis wurde durch den Verlauf der Friedenskonferenz deutlich. An dem Tag, an dem Präsident Wilson Anfang 1919 seine Rückreise nach Washington antreten musste, um die Rede zur Lage der Nation zu halten, wurde er von Winston Churchill gefragt, ob die Delegierten kurz über Russland sprechen könnten. Wilson, der schon im Aufbruch war, hielt inne und schlug eine Vorbesprechung vor. Daraufhin entwickelte Churchill seine Idee einer militärischen Intervention in Russland, um das bolschewistische Regime zu stürzen. Wilson entgegnete, das sei nicht das, was er im Sinn gehabt habe. Die Konferenz stimmte weiteren Beratungen zu, und durch diesen Riss in der diplomatischen Mauer schmiedete Churchill eine Invasion von zehn Nationen in Russland.

Das Problem bei dieser halbherzigen Intervention in Russland war, dass sie immer zu klein war, um etwas zu bewirken. Die Alliierten setzten nicht genügend Kräfte ein, um Lenin und Trotzki zu stürzen. Der Grund dafür war, dass die Zivilbevölkerung der Alliierten kriegsmüde war. Eine beträchtliche Zahl von Anlegern hatte in Russland erhebliche Verluste erlitten; etwa ein Viertel des französischen Portfolios an Auslandsinvestitionen war in russischen Anleihen angelegt. Aber der Rest der Bevölkerung interessierte sich mehr für ein künftiges Leben in Friedenszeiten als dafür, für verlorene Investitionen in den Krieg zu ziehen. Das Eingreifen der Alliierten in Russland war – ebenso wie die alliierte Unterstützung für die griechische Armee in Anatolien – von Anfang an zum Scheitern verurteilt.

Man könnte auch sagen, dass Osteuropa und Russland für der Vereinigte Königreich und Frankreich von drittrangiger Bedeutung waren. An erster Stelle standen die Zerschlagung des deutschen Heers und das Versenken der deutschen Marine. Danach die Stärkung des britischen und das französischen Imperiums. Geschehnisse in Russland, waren auch von Bedeutung, aber erst nachdem die beiden anderen strategischen Ziele erreicht waren.

Churchill hat es entwaffnend gut ausgedrückt, als er die Zeit vor und nach 1918 mit folgendermaßen beschrieb: „Der Krieg der Giganten ist beendet, der Streit der Pygmäen hat begonnen“.¹² Mir sind keine verächtlichen und rassistischen Äußerungen dieser Art seitens de Gaulle bekannt, aber Frankreichs „Zivilisierungsmission“, die Mission civilisatrise, war von rassistischer und kultureller Herablassung gegenüber dunkelhäutigen Männern und Frauen durchdrungen. De Gaulle schien immun gegen die gängigen Vorurteile seiner Militärkohorte zu sein und kämpfte aus dem und für das französische Kaiserreich, als die Dritte Republik 1940 zusammenbrach.

Welche Vorurteile Churchill und de Gaulle auch gehabt haben mögen, jedenfalls verstanden sie einfach nicht, wie attraktiv der Kommunismus für die russischen Bauern nach dem Krieg war. Sie ahnten nicht, dass die militärische Intervention des Westens zum Sturz der Bolschewiki genau das Gegenteil von dem bewirken würde, was sie zu erreichen hofften. Churchill hasste den Kommunismus mit Leidenschaft. Er hatte Recht mit der blutrünstigen Rücksichtslosigkeit von Lenin und Trotzki, aber Unrecht damit, wie das russische Volk auf zehn westliche Armeen auf seinem Grund und Boden reagieren würde. Was die bäuerliche Bevölkerung sah, waren Männer, die die alte Ordnung wieder in Kraft setzen wollten. Und das bedeutete, dass sie, die Bauern, das Land, das sie gerade in ihren Besitz gebracht hatten, wieder verlieren würden. 1919 oder 1920 spielte es keine Rolle, dass eine kommunistische Regierung, die dem Volk Land gab, es eines Tages wieder übernehmen würde – was zählte, war, dass das Eingreifen des Westens in den russischen Bürgerkrieg ein Geschenk des Himmels für die Bolschewiki war.

Die französischen und britischen Militärführer, die den Krieg an der Westfront gewonnen hatten, konnten mit den verfügbaren Kräften und dem vorhandenen Material keinen Sieg herbeiführen. Foch und Frachte d'Esperey wollten 20 Divisionen, erhielten aber nur einen geringen Bruchteil davon. Dem britischen Kommandeur Sir Henry Rawlinson, Haigs Stellvertreter an der Somme, erging es nicht besser. Was ihnen noch verborgen war, ihre politischen Anführer aber nicht verhindern konnten: Nach dem Aderlass der letzten sechs Jahre forderte die Bevölkerung in jedem größeren Land Demobilisierung und Rückkehr zum Frieden.

Daher ist der zweite wichtige Grund für Zweifel an der These von einem Dreißigjährigen Krieg in der ersten Hälfte des 20. Jahrhunderts: Sie vermischt einen Krieg, der vor den Russischen Revolutionen von 1917 begann, mit Kriegen, die das Ergebnis konterrevolutionärer Bestrebungen waren – Kriegen, die in den 1920er Jahren begannen und im Einmarsch der Nazis in die Sowjetunion 1941 gipfelten. Der Erste Weltkrieg der großen Imperialmächte endete mit der Niederlage Deutschlands und der Mittelmächte, zunächst 1918, als Deutschland seine Niederlage akzeptierte, und dann 1923, als die postimperiale Türkei ihren Krieg gegen Griechenland und seine Verbündeten für gewonnen erklärte. Die Türkei hat die Bedingungen des Friedensvertrags, der dem letzten Sultan des Osmanischen Reiches aufgezwungen wurde, praktisch neu geschrieben. Als Hitler und seine Anhänger in der Nazipartei 1923 das von München aus verfolgten, kamen sie zu dem Schluss, dass auch der Frieden, der den Deutschen 1919 aufgezwungen worden war, umgeschrieben werden konnte – und zwar mit Gewalt.

Besteht damit eine Verbindung zwischen den beiden Weltkriegen? Sicherlich nicht, denn der Konflikt von 1914-18 wurde bis zum bitteren Ende von imperialen Mächten ausgetragen, deren Weltanschauung nur wenig Ähnlichkeit mit der von Hitler oder Lenin hatte. Beide sahen Krieg und Revolution als symbiotisch miteinander verbunden an. Die nationalsozialistische „Revolution der Rasse“ war, wie die bolschewistische Revolution der Arbeiterklasse, eine Form der ständigen Kriegsführung, so wie der Krieg eine Form der ständigen Revolution war. Und angesichts der Virulenz der Nazi-Ideologie und ihres biologischen Determinismus wurden Krieg und Revolution zu einem Test der rassischen Überlegenheit. Entweder würde die deutsche Nation den Kommunismus (und seine vermeintlichen Verbündeten, die Juden) vernichten, oder die deutsche Nation würde untergehen, und das zu Recht, da sie nicht die Ausdauer hatte, den „Rassenfeind“ zu besiegen. Diese Form der selbstmörderischen Logik hat nichts mit dem Denken derjenigen gemein, die den Ersten Weltkrieg angezettelt haben. Mit Hitler und Lenin endete die Vision von Clausewitz, dass Krieg Politik mit anderen Mitteln sei. Stattdessen wurde der Krieg zur Ausrottung eines rassischen Feindes, von dem man glaubte, er hege völkermörderische Absichten gegen die germanische Rasse selbst.

Diese irrsinnige Vorstellung von konkurrierenden Völkermorden war weit entfernt von der Realität. Aber das machte die Idee, dass das deutsche Volk entweder töten oder getötet werden musste, nicht weniger attraktiv. Die Konsequenz daraus hieß, nicht nur alle Kommunisten zu töten, sondern auch Juden und Polen und andere laut ihrer Ideologie rassisch minderwertige Völker, die sich mit den vorgenannten verbündeten. Angesichts der verbrecherischen Logik des Krieges der Nazis in der Sowjetunion kann man also unmöglich an der Annahme festzuhalten, dass es zwischen 1914 und 1945 einen Dreißigjährigen Krieg gab.

Die Technologie der Kriegsführung
Das dritte Argument gegen die Annahme, dass es zwischen 1914 und 1945 einen Dreißigjährigen Krieg gab, ist die Tatsache, dass sich diese beiden weltweiten Konflikte durch technologische Entwicklungen in der Kriegsführung radikal voneinander unterscheiden.

Betrachten wir zunächst den Luftkrieg. Im Konflikt von 1914-18 setzten alle kämpfenden Mächte Flugzeuge als Augen der Artillerie ein. An der Westfront waren Abwehrbatterie-Operationen ein wesentlicher Bestandteil der offensiven Kriegsführung. Der Grund dafür war, dass die Infanterie nicht vorrücken konnte, solange die feindliche Artillerie die ins Niemandsland vorrückenden Einheiten zerstören konnte. Die genaue Bestimmung der Artilleriestellungen wurde zu einem wesentlichen Bestandteil der Planung von Infanteriebewegungen. Hier erfüllten die Luftstreitkräfte einen wesentlichen Zweck.

Nachdem sich die Technologie der Flugzeugproduktion in den 1920er und 1930er Jahren entwickelt hatte, löste sich die Luftwaffe von der Infanterie und wurde zu einer eigenständigen offensiven Kriegswaffe. Hätte Deutschland 1914 über die Art von Luftmacht verfügt, die es in den 1930er Jahren entwickelte, hätte es die Eisenbahnen zerstören können, die die Verteidigung von Paris sowohl 1914 als auch bei der letzten deutschen Großoffensive des Krieges 1918 ermöglichten. Die deutsche Luftmacht im Jahr 1940 demonstrierte den enormen Unterschied zwischen den beiden Weltkriegen.

Es stimmt, dass es im Ersten Weltkrieg auf beiden Seiten Versuche gab, Stadtzentren zu bombardieren. London und Köln wurden getroffen, und in Paris starben über 1.000 Menschen bei der Bombardierung der Hauptstadt durch deutsche Artillerie und Luftangriffe. Durch technologische Entwicklung wurde der Luftkrieg gegen Zentren der Zivilbevölkerung 25 Jahre später zu einer lebenswichtigen militärischen Operation. Der Blitzkrieg wurde durch den Konflikt von 1914-18 vorweggenommen.

Die Auswirkungen von Bombardements der Zivilbevölkerung wurden jedoch auf beiden Seiten des Krieges von 1939-45 falsch eingeschätzt. Sowohl die britischen als auch die deutschen Planer glaubten, sie könnten den zivilen Widerstand brechen, indem sie städtische Zentren bombardierten und Zivilisten töteten. Beide lagen falsch. Zum einen hatten beide Kombattanten komplexe Pläne zur Diversifizierung und zum Schutz wesentlicher Elemente des Munitionssektors, zum anderen könnte es sein, dass die Reaktion der Zivilbevölkerung auf die intensiven Bombardierungen ihren Willen, weiterzumachen noch verstärkt hat.

Der Grenzfall in dieser Frage trennt einmal mehr die beiden Weltkriege: Der Einsatz von Atomwaffen gegen Japan – von Waffen, die ursprünglich für den Einsatz in Deutschland entwickelt wurden – beendete den Zweiten Weltkrieg. Die Zerstörung von Hiroshima und Nagasaki hat in der Tat gezeigt, wozu Luftmacht imstande ist, aber eigentlich war ihr Hauptzweck, das Leben der alliierten Soldaten zu schonen, indem sie einen Infanterieangriff auf das japanische Festland unnötig machte. Im Ersten Weltkrieg wurde Deutschland besiegt, ohne dass es zu einer Invasion kam. Das Ende der beiden Weltkriege grenzt sie deutlich voneinander ab und damit von jedem Versuch, sie in einem Gesamtpaket, dem Dreißigjährigen Krieg des zwanzigsten Jahrhunderts, zu vereinen.

Auch eine andere technologische Entwicklung zeigt die radikalen Brüche zwischen den beiden Weltkriegen. Deutsche Chemiker ermöglichten es der Infanterie 1915 während der zweiten Schlacht von Ypern an der Westfront, Chlorgas freizusetzen. Später wurden große Mengen an Phosgengas und Senfgas eingesetzt. 1918 war etwa jede vierte an der Westfront abgefeuerte Artilleriegranate eine Gasgranate. Die Zivilbevölkerung bereitete sich auf die Freisetzung von Gas auf Zivilisten vor. Dazu kam es jedoch nie.

Im Gegensatz dazu wurde im Zweiten Weltkrieg auf den europäischen Schlachtfeldern kein Gas eingesetzt. Das lag wahrscheinlich daran, dass der Konflikt von 1914-18 kaum Beweise für operative Vorteile durch den Einsatz solcher Waffen lieferte. Denn bei ungünstigen Windverhältnissen, würden sich die Angreifer selbst vergiften. Im Gegensatz dazu wurde Gas in den von den Nazis errichteten Vernichtungslagern in großem Umfang zur Ermordung der jüdischen Bevölkerung Europas und anderer von ihnen so kategorisierter „Untermenschen“ eingesetzt.

Japanische Truppen setzten in China Gaswaffen in großen Mengen ein. Sie führten auch Experimente zum Einsatz biologischer Waffen an chinesischen und anderen Kriegsgefangenen durch. Shiro Ishii leitete die Einheit 731 der japanischen Armee, eine Einheit, die biologische Waffen vorbereitete, die in der Mandschurei und anderswo in China eingesetzt wurden.¹³

Auch hier liegen die historischen Vorgänge in den beiden Weltkriegen hinsichtlich der chemischen und biologischen Kriegsführung meilenweit auseinander. Am besten lässt sich das so ausdrücken, dass der Erste Weltkrieg das Vorzimmer zum Holocaust und zu anderen chemischen und biologischen Kriegsverbrechen war. Der Erste Weltkrieg machte Massenvernichtung denkbar und damit machbar. Doch erst mit der nationalsozialistischen Revolution wurde aus einer bloßen Möglichkeit das Verbrechen des Jahrhunderts. Hier zeigt sich einmal mehr, dass wir die radikalen Unterschiede zwischen den Ursachen, dem Verlauf und den Folgen der beiden Weltkriege unbedingt beachten müssen.

Fazit
Einige Forscher, die die beiden Konflikte zu einer Einheit namens „Der Dreißigjährige Krieg des zwanzigsten Jahrhunderts“ verflechten, haben dafür autobiografische Gründe. Churchill und de Gaulle haben ihr Leben auf diese Weise gestaltet.

Andere hatten ideologische Gründe für ihr Vorgehen. Der Historiker Ernst Nolte war ein Befürworter der Interpretation als Dreißigjähriger Krieg, denn sie ermöglichte ihm zu behaupten, dass die bolschewistische Revolution, ein Produkt des Ersten Weltkriegs, der Ursprung und die Inspiration der nationalsozialistischen Bewegung war. Damit meinte er, dass die mörderische Geschichte der ersten Hälfte des zwanzigsten Jahrhunderts eine europäische, oder besser gesagt, eine von Deutschland geführte Reaktion gegen die „asiatische Barbarei“ war. Die Verbrechen der Nazis waren reaktiv und defensiv, ausgelöst durch kommunistische Verbrechen, die ihnen vorausgingen. Dies ist der Kern seiner Auffassung, dass die beiden Weltkriege Teil eines europäischen Bürgerkriegs waren, der 1945 zu Ende ging.

Noltes revisionistische Veröffentlichungen entfachten in den 1980er Jahren den so genannten Historikerstreit. Für Nolte war der Holocaust kein Einzelfall, sondern Teil eines durch die bolschewistische Revolution ausgelösten Bürgerkriegs. Der Vernichtungskrieg von 1941-45 wurde von Hitler geführt, um einen kommunistischen Holocaust in Deutschland zu verhindern, falls der Krieg verloren werden sollte. Kommunistische Verbrechen und nationalsozialistische Verbrechen wurden als grausame Folgen des Bürgerkriegs miteinander verbunden.¹⁴

Andere Historiker lehnten die Theorie eines Dreißigjährigen Krieges ab, weil sie sie darin eine [unzulässige] Möglichkeit erkannten, Nazi-Verbrechen zu normalisieren.¹⁵ Die Kontroverse zog sich durch mehrere Jahrzehnte, geriet dann aber in Vergessenheit, vor allem, weil sich unterschiedlichste deutsche Politiker, von Willy Brandt bis Angela Merkel, weigerten, ihre Haltung zu ändern, dass Deutschland für den Holocaust verantwortlich sei und dass es ein Band zwischen der deutschen Nation und dem jüdischen Volk gebe, das nicht beschädigt werden dürfe und könne.

In anderen Teilen Europas tauchte die Vorstellung von einem zweiten Dreißigjährigen Krieg gelegentlich wieder auf. Das Entsetzen über die hemmungslose Brutalität Stalins und seiner Schergen veranlasste einige Beobachter, Kommunismus und Nationalsozialismus gleichzusetzen. Heute (2024) jedoch teilen die meisten europäischen Historiker zwar die moralische Abscheu, nicht aber das historische Urteil. Die vielleicht ausgewogenste Schlussfolgerung, auf die wir uns alle einigen können, lautet: Beide Weltkriege waren mit nichts vergleichbare Albträume, und jeder für sich verdient einen speziellen Platz in einer der Bolgias, der Höllengräben in Dantes Inferno.

---

¹ Pierre Bourdieu, ‘The Biographical Illusion’, in Wilhelm Hemecker and Edward Saunders, with the assistance of Gregor Schima (eds), Biography in theory (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2017), pp. 201–16.
² https://www.cvce.eu/content/publication/1999/1/1/68a6136f-a7cf-40cf-9765-af120da30526/publishable_en.pdf Accessed 26 November 2024.
³ https://www.cvce.eu/content/publication/1999/1/1/58118da1-af22-48c0-bc88-93cda974f42c/publishable_en.pdf Accessed 26 November 2024.
⁴ Eric Hobsbawm, The Age of Extremes: The Short Twentieth Century, 1914–1991 (London: Penguin Books, 1996).
⁵ https://mjp.univ-perp.fr/textes/degaulle28071946.htm Accessed 26 November 2024.
⁶ Jay Winter, War beyond Words (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2017), ch. 5.
⁷ John Horne and Alan Kramer, Germany Atrocities in 1914: A History of Denial (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2001).
⁸ Patrick Desbois, La Shoah par balles: la mort en plein jour (Paris: Plon, 2019); Ronald Headland, Messages of Murder: A Study of the Reports of the Einsatzgruppen of the Security Police and the Security Service, 1941–1943 (Rutherford, NJ: Fairleigh Dickinson University Press, 1992); Richard Rhodes, Masters of Death: The SS-Einsatzgruppen and the Invention of the Holocaust (New York, NY: Knopf, 2002); Jürgen Matthäus, Jochen Böhler and Klaus-Michael Mallmann, War, Pacification, and Mass Murder, 1939: The Einsatzgruppen in Poland (Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield, 2014), and Timothy Snyder, Bloodlands: Europe between Hitler and Stalin (New York, NY: Basic Books, 2010).
⁹ Daniel Goldhagen, Hitler's Willing Executioners (New York, NY: Alfred Knopf, 1996).
¹⁰ Jay Winter, ‘Antisemitism in the First World War’, in Steven Katz (ed.), The Cambridge History of Antisemitism in the Twentieth Century (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2025), vol. 1, ch. 1.
¹¹ Jean-Jacques Becker, Le Carnet B (Paris: PUF, 1964).
¹² As cited in Peter Gatrell, ‘War after the War: Conflicts, 1919–1923’, in John Horne (ed.), A Companion to World War I (Oxford: Blackwell, 2010), p. 558.
¹³ Yang Yan-Jun and Tam Yue-Him, Unit 731: Laboratory of the Devil, Auschwitz of the East: Japanese Biological Warfare in China 1933–45 (Stroud: Fonthill Media, 2018).
¹⁴ Ernst Nolte, Der europäische Bürgerkrieg 1917–1945: Nationalsozialismus und Bolschewismus (Berlin: Propyläen Verlag, 1987), and Nolte, ‘Die Vergangenheit, die nicht vergehen will. Eine Rede, die geschrieben, aber nicht gehalten werden konnte’, Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung, 6 June 1986.
¹⁵ Hans-Ulrich Wehler, Entsorgung der deutschen Vergangenheit? Ein polemischer Essay zum "Historikerstreit" (Munich: C.H. Beck, 1988).

The two leaders who coined the term ‘the Second Thirty Years’ War’ in the 1940s were Winston Churchill and Charles de Gaulle. The term had autobiographical as well as historical resonance. In their own eyes, both men had won both world wars. They stood for the armies and nations victorious in 1918 and 1945. While neither had achieved victory alone, both were towering symbols of national pride and defiance. They had brought Germany to its knees not once but twice.

Neither man ever suffered from a paucity of self-esteem. As early as 1906, Churchill said in a letter to Violet Bonham Carter, daughter of British Prime Minister Herbert Asquith, that he recognized that we humans are frail creatures. ‘We are all worms’, he affirmed, ‘but I do believe that I am a glow worm.’ Charles de Gaulle was more austere than Churchill, but he was charged with the same sense of destiny as Churchill felt in having led his country from defeat to victory in the Second World War.

There is justice in their pride in victory. Both commanding and imperious figures, they were a caricaturist’s dream – the rotund man with the cigar no less than the tall general with a prominent nose projecting from his kepi. Both stood alone in the Second World War. Churchill mobilized the English language when a German invasion of England and British defeat looked inevitable in May and June 1940. De Gaulle mobilized French pride, the French language and France’s imperial resources when there was nothing else left to bolster hope in the future.

Both fought an imperial war to restore the grandeur of their nations. And yet destroying the imperial dreams of Germany in the Great War and of Germany, Italy and Japan in the Second World War was so costly as to constitute a double Pyrrhic victory for both France and Britain. Both Churchill and de Gaulle came to know, slowly but surely, that the price of victory in Europe was the liquidation of their beloved empires themselves.

Recognition of that tragic reality took time. In the mid-1940s, when de Gaulle and Churchill coined the term ‘the Second Thirty Years’ War’, they were still measuring and basking in the glow of victory. Defeating Germany in 1914–18 and 1939–45 gave Britain and France a commanding position in northwestern Europe and on the global stage. And yet that moment of mastery was evanescent, since it would last only as long as the United States paid for it. The Marshall Plan restored European economic stability and helped fuel les trentes glorieuses, the massive surge of growth and development that provided the West with the economic strength needed to deflect and then to defeat Soviet power. The reason Europe reconstructed itself as a loose federation of states was that it was no longer able to use their empires as an arsenal and a refuge. American power dwarfed European power in the aftermath of the two world wars.

That is why the story of a second Thirty Years’ War was so comforting to them and their supporters. In effect Churchill and de Gaulle projected their own lives and political careers onto the history of their nations and their empires. And while there was more than an element of truth in their doing so, there was also an even greater element of distortion, one that has made it difficult for contemporaries and historians to distinguish between global conflicts that took on entirely different forms and had entirely different consequences.

The argument of this essay is that the differences between the two world wars overwhelmingly outweigh their similarities. What Pierre Bourdieu, a French sociologist, called the biographical illusion – that we see our lives as one continuous narrative that we can narrate ourselves – becomes even more of a distorting mirror when it enters into the self-fashioning of autobiography.¹ For de Gaulle and Churchill, as much as for the societies they led, there never was a seamless web binding together the history of the two world wars into one thirty-year conflict.

The claim
Let us consider three classic statements of the notion that there was in the 20th century a second Thirty Years’ War. On his return from Yalta in January 1945, Winston Churchill told the House of Commons:

I have lived through the whole story since 1911 when I was sent to the Admiralty to prepare the Fleet for an impending German war. In its main essentials it seems to me to be one story of a 30 years’ war, or more than a 30 years’ war, in which British, Russians, Americans and French have struggled to their utmost to resist German aggression at a cost most grievous to all of them, but to none more frightful than to the Russian people, whose country has twice been ravaged over vast areas and whose blood has been poured out in tens of millions of lives in a common cause now reaching final accomplishment. There is a second reason which appeals to me apart from this sense of continuity which I personally feel. But for the prodigious exertions and sacrifices of Russia, Poland was doomed to utter destruction at the hands of the Germans. Not only Poland as a State and as a nation, but the Poles as a race were doomed by Hitler to be destroyed or reduced to a servile station. Three and a half million Polish Jews are said to have been actually slaughtered. It is certain that enormous numbers have perished in one of the most horrifying acts of cruelty, probably the most horrifying act of cruelty, which has ever darkened the passage of man on the earth. When the Germans had clearly avowed their intention of making the Poles a subject and lower grade race under the Herrenvolk, suddenly, by a superb effort of military force and skill, the Russian Armies, in little more than three weeks, since in fact we spoke on these matters here, have advanced from the Vistula to the Oder, driving the Germans in ruin before them and freeing the whole of Poland from the awful cruelty and oppression under which the Poles were writhing.²

Three years later, after having won the war and lost the election to remain Prime Minister of Britain in 1945, Churchill used the term the ‘Thiry Years’ War’ in a more peaceable setting. For a brief period he was one of the strongest advocates of a united Europe, to serve as a bulwark against the communist menace in the east of Europe. At the Congress of Europe convened in Brussels in 1948, 100 years after the ‘springtime of peoples’ of 1848, he told the assembled delegates:

I have the feeling that after the second Thirty Years' War, for that is what it is, through which we have just passed, mankind needs and seeks a period of rest. After all, how little it is that the millions of homes in Europe represented here today are asking. What is it that all these wage-earners, skilled artisans, soldiers and tillers of the soil require, deserve, and may be led to demand? Is it not a fair chance to make a home, to reap the fruits of their toil, to cherish their wives, to bring up their children in a decent manner and to dwell in peace and safety, without fear or bullying or monstrous burdens or exploitations, however this may be imposed upon them? That is their heart's desire. That is what we mean to win for them.³

Here is the germ of the idea that the second Thirty Years’ War was the beginning of what Eric Hobsbawm termed the ‘short twentieth century’.⁴ The two world wars, he claimed, seamlessly led to the Cold War, which came to an end in 1989, 30 years after Churchill’s death. Charles de Gaulle shared Churchill’s fondness for the resonance of the term the second Thirty Years’ War. On 28 July 1946 at Bar le Duc, not far from Verdun, where he was taken as a prisoner of war in 1916, de Gaulle observed:

The drama of the Thirty Years' War, which we have just won, has involved many twists and turns and seen many actors come and go. We French are among those who always remained on the stage and never changed sides. Circumstances have forced us to vary our tactics, sometimes in the broad daylight of the battlefields, sometimes in the night of secrecy. But we ultimately have only one kind of veterans. Those of ours who, in the past, attacked on the Marne, on the Yser or on the Vardar, were no different from those who, yesterday, clung to the Somme, fought hard at Bir-Hakeim, took Rome, defended the Vercors or liberated Alsace. The painful victims of the martyred villages of the Saulx valley fell for the same cause as the glorious soldiers buried at Douaumont. What would have been the character and outcome of this war if, from the first to the last day, it had not been French as well as world-wide? What would peace be tomorrow if it were not to be the peace of France as well as that of others?⁵

It is striking that de Gaulle used the French Catholic terminology of ‘martyrdom’ to describe the victims of the two world wars, while Churchill’s Protestant English rhetoric was rotund but secular. The British political and social world had given up the concept of ‘martyrdom’ after the civil wars of the 17th century, while both revolutionary and religious traditions in Republican France lived on in the rhetoric of the martyr.⁶

An alternative interpretation
In these speeches lie the origins of an interpretation of 20th-century history that has attracted many followers. And yet it is my belief that there are many reasons to reject it. Let us consider some of them.

Hitler and the transformation of war
The first reason is that fusing together the two world wars understates unacceptably the role that Adolph Hitler and his circle played in transforming the rules of engagement of military life in such a way as to turn war from being an instrument of policy into war as being an instrument of extermination.

There is little doubt that the German army in 1914 not only engaged in war crimes, but also that such criminal behavior was observed and accepted as part of the operational necessity of reaching the French capital in precisely 42 days. Perhaps 6,000 Belgian civilians were shot, and most of them presented not the slightest threat to German troops. Many incidents grew out of the fear that Belgian civilians would replicate the behavior of Francs Tireurs, or partisans, who had shot at Prussian soldiers in the war of 1870. Fantasy replaced reason in an overheated atmosphere of the invasion of Belgium by one million German troops, not to conquer the country but to reach the French capital and defeat France in precisely six weeks’ time.⁷

This set of incidents was denied by the German army and the German press at the time, derided as hysterical Allied propaganda. Furthermore, the Weimar Republic that replaced the Kaiserreich responsible for these crimes engaged in a systematic effort to disprove the accusations that German soldiers were war criminals. All this was in the context of the forced signature of the new German government that replaced the Kaiser on the peace treaty at Paris on 28 June 1919. Article 231 of that treaty insisted that Germany and only Germany was responsible for all the death, damage and suffering occasioned by the war. All political parties in post-1918 Germany rejected this accusation, as have historians investigating war origins a century later. The sting of the indictment of a whole nation was felt long after the Armistice, and the campaign to exculpate the German army for crimes committed in 1914 makes perfect sense in this context.

Now let us take a breath and turn to the German army in 1941. After the invasion of the Soviet Union, the work of the Einzatzgruppen, or mobile killing groups, began within 24 hours. They worked behind the lines of the German infantry, and were formally part of the security police. The German army while moving forward into the Soviet Union provided cover for the massacre of between 1.5 million and 2 million people.

The German army in the Second World War bore very little resemblance to the German army of the First World War. The Einzatzgruppen were positive proof of the revolution in military criminality, responsibility for which lay entirely in the hands of Hitler and his circle. They started killing civilians behind the lines in Poland in 1939 and repeated these crimes wherever and whenever the German army moved into and occupied enemy territory.

The 3,000 men who staffed the Einzatzgruppen were divided into four sections. In every case they were joined in killing civilians by men of the Waffen-SS, the German army, allied troops and local collaborators, who helped identify the civilians to be shot. Over two days in September 1941, 33,000 Jews were murdered at Babi Yar near Kyiv. Estimates vary, but between 0.5 million and 1 million civilians were killed in this way and by these units, perpetrators of what is now known as the ‘Holocaust by bullets’.⁸

Most historians separate the history of the two world wars because of the criminal degeneration of the German army from the very outset of the Second World War, first in Poland, and then throughout the Soviet Union. One historian, Daniel Goldhagen, dissented, and presented his case within the context of a second Thirty Years’ War.⁹ Goldhagen believed that the German people were ‘willing executioners’ of Jews, heavily concentrated in Poland and the Soviet Union. The perpetrators emerged from a culture of what he termed ‘eliminationist antisemitism’. This prejudice was the glue that held the German nation together, and had been distilled over centuries of antisemitic thoughts, words and deeds.

In the First World War, the German army had launched a ‘Jew Census’ to show that the proportion of Jews at the front, willing to bleed and die for Germany, was much less than the proportion of Jews in Germany as a whole. When the census takers found out that the opposite was the case, and that there was a higher proportion of Jews in the army than in the nation, the census was halted abruptly and the documentation it had put together was destroyed.¹⁰

The path from burning documents in one war to burning bodies in the following war was long and crooked. The world economic crisis of 1929–32 enabled the Nazi party to emerge as a mass party with mass electoral support. This is why Hitler came to power, not because of the First World War, but because of the very different war he and his party launched in its aftermath. The very radicalism of German antisemitism under the Nazis is the first reason to reject the argument that there was one Thirty Years’ War between 1914 and 1945.

The Bolshevik Revolution and the transformation of war
The second major reason to reject the claim that there was a Thirty Years’ War in the first half of the twentieth century is that it was not 1914 but 1917 that created the crisis out of which the later upheavals of the 20th century emerged. When war broke out in 1914, Lenin was convinced that the revolution had to be postponed for a generation. In France, there was a list of socialist militants who would be arrested on the outbreak of war, to prevent them from interfering with military mobilization. Not a single name on that list – the famous Carnet B – was arrested, since they had all joined up. They chose nation over revolution.¹¹

Three years later, the Bolsheviks took Russia out of the war. This decision was a massive boost to Germany and her allies, translated into an imperial peace at the Treaty of Brest-Litovsk in 1918. Reluctantly Russia’s new leaders gave Germany informal though clear control over much of European Russia. The aim was clear. Russia would be exploited like a colony.

What followed though was anything but peace. The civil war in Russia between 1918 and 1921, and massive violence after 1918 in a great swathe extending from Finland to Turkey, are the real sources of the transforming of war into the massacre of civilians. I call this phenomenon the ‘civilianization of war’.

The civilianization of war
It began before 1914 in every single European colonial project. Massacre followed a revolt of the Herero and the Nama people in southwest Africa in 1904. What happened in Belgium in 1914 at the hands of invading German troops pales into relative insignificance when compared to the atrocities perpetrated by King Leopold in the Congo, initially his private fiefdom, later a Belgian colony.

What separated the First World War from the period following is that the 1914–18 conflict was a three-part struggle for dominance over northwestern Europe. Churchill and de Gaulle combined into one massive effort Anglo-French resistance to a German-dominated continent, and they won it. That interpretation was only partially true, since from the start both Britain and France were defending their imperial holdings from German penetration or outright takeover. The second Thirty Years’ War was always about Europe, but the two world wars were at the same time always about empire.

Western intervention in the Russian Revolution
These two perspectives – the Western European and the imperial – left out Eastern Europe. That omission was obvious in the way the peace conference proceeded. On the day in early 1919 President Woodrow Wilson had to start his journey back to Washington to give the state of the union address, he was asked by Winston Churchill if the delegates might spend a bit of time talking about Russia. Wilson paused while preparing to leave, and said yes, they could have a preliminary discussion. Churchill then developed his idea for a military intervention in Russia to overthrow the Bolshevik regime. Wilson said that was not what he had in mind. The conference agreed to further deliberations, and through that crack in the diplomatic wall Churchill forged a ten-nation invasion of Russia.

The problem with this half-hearted intervention in Russia was that it was always too small to make a difference. The Allies did not commit the manpower needed to overthrow Vladimir Lenin and Leon Trotsky. The reason was that domestic opinion in the Allied camp had had enough of war. It was true that a very large population of investors had lost their shirts in Russia; roughly one-quarter of the French portfolio of overseas investments was in Russian bonds. But the rest of the population was more interested in restarting their peacetime lives than in going to war for lost investments. Allied intervention in Russia – like Allied backing for the Greek army in Anatolia – was doomed from the start.

One way to put it is to say that Eastern Europe and Russia were of tertiary importance to Britain and France. First came breaking the German army and scuttling the German navy. Then came shoring up the British and French empires. What happened in Russia mattered, but only after the other two strategic objectives were realized.

Churchill put it disarmingly well when he described the period before and after 1918 in these terms: ‘The war of the giants has ended; the quarrel of the pygmies has begun.’¹² I have no knowledge of contemptuous and racist sentiment of this kind by de Gaulle, but France’s mission civilisatrise was shot through with racial and cultural condescension towards men and women of color. De Gaulle seemed to be immune from the common prejudices of his military cohort, and fought from and for the French empire when the Third Republic collapsed in 1940.

Whatever their prejudices, Churchill and de Gaulle simply did not understand the appeal of communism to Russian peasants after the war. They had no idea that Western military intervention to overthrow the Bolsheviks was bound to produce just the opposite of what they hoped it would achieve. Churchill hated communism with a passion. He was right about the bloodthirsty ruthlessness of Lenin and Trotsky, but wrong about how the Russian people would react to the presence of ten Western armies on their soil. What peasants saw were men intending to return the old order of power, and that meant their losing the land the peasantry had just seized. In 1919 or 1920, it mattered not one iota that a communist government that gave land to the people would take it back some day; what mattered was that Western intervention in the Russian civil war was a godsend to the Bolsheviks.

The French and British military leaders who had won the war on the Western front could not conjure up a victory with the forces and materiel they had at their disposal. Ferdinand Foch and Louis Franchet d’Espèrey wanted 20 divisions; they got a small fraction of what they demanded. British commander Sir Henry Rawlinson, Field Marshal Douglas Haig’s second in command on the Somme, fared no better. What they could not see was that their political masters could not avoid what the public in every major country clamored for: demobilization and a return to peace after the bloodletting of the previous six years.

Thus, the second major reason for casting doubt on the argument that there was a Thirty Years’ War in the first half of the 20th century is that it conflates a war that began before the Russian Revolutions of 1917 with wars that were the product of counter-revolutionary efforts beginning in the 1920s and culminating in the Nazi invasion of the Soviet Union in 1941. The First World War of the great imperial powers ended with the defeat of Germany and the Central Powers first in 1918, when Germany accepted defeat, and then in 1923 when post-imperial Turkey declared victory in her war against Greece and her allied backers. Turkey in effect rewrote the terms of the peace treaty forced down the throat of the last Sultan of the Ottoman empire. Watching from Munich in 1923, Hitler and his followers in the Nazi party concluded that the peace that had been forced on the Germans in 1919 could be rewritten too, and by force.

Does that link the two world wars? Certainly not, since the conflict of 1914–18 was fought to a bitter end by imperial powers whose vision of the world bore precious little resemblance to the views of either Hitler or Lenin. Both saw war and revolution as symbiotically related. The National Socialist racial revolution, like the Bolshevik Revolution of the working class, was a form of continuous warfare, just as war was a form of continuous revolution. And given the virulence of Nazi ideology, and its biological determinism, war and revolution became a test of racial superiority. Either the German nation would destroy communism (and its putative allies the Jews), or the German nation would perish, and rightly so, since it did not have the stamina to defeat the racial enemy. This form of suicidal logic has nothing in common with the thinking of those who executed the First World War. With Hitler and Lenin, the vision of Carl von Clausewitz that war was politics by other means came to an end. Instead, war became the extermination of a racial enemy imagined as having genocidal intentions on the German race itself.

This mad vision of competing genocides bore no resemblance to reality. But that did not reduce the attractiveness of the idea that the German people had to kill or be killed, and that meant kill not only all communists, but Jews and Poles and other racially inferior peoples who allied with them. Once we see the criminal logic of the Nazi’s war in the Soviet Union, it becomes impossible to entertain the idea that there was a Thirty Years’ War between 1914 and 1945.

The technology of warfare
The third reason to dissent from the view that there was a Thirty Years’ War between 1914 and 1945 is that technological developments in the waging of war radically separate the two world conflicts.

Let us consider air war first. In the 1914–18 conflict, all combatant powers used airplanes as the eyes of the artillery. On the Western front, counter-battery operations were an essential part of offensive warfare. This was because the infantry could not move forward as long as enemy artillery could wreck units advancing into no man’s land. Pinpointing artillery dispositions became essential parts of planning infantry movements. Here is where the air forces served an essential purpose.

Once the technology of aircraft production had developed in the 1920s and 1930s, air power became separate from the infantry and an offensive weapon of war in its own right. Had Germany in 1914 had the kind of air power it developed in the 1930s, it could have destroyed the railways that made the defense of Paris possible both in 1914 and again in the last major German offensive of the war in 1918. German air power in 1940 showed the massive difference between the two world wars.

It is true that there were attempts launched by both sides to bombard urban centers in the First World War. Both London and Cologne here hit, and over 1,000 people died in Paris during the German artillery and aerial bombardment of the capital. Technological developments turned aerial warfare against civilian population centers into vital military operations 25 years later. The Blitz was indeed prefigured in the 1914–18 conflict.

However, the effect of bombing on civilians was misinterpreted on both sides of the 1939–45 conflict. Both British and German planners believed they could break the back of civilian resistance by bombing urban centers and killing civilians. Both were wrong. It was not only that both combatants had complex plans to diversify and protect essential elements in the munitions sector, but also that the reaction of civilians to intensive bombardment may have hardened their will to carry on.

The limit case of this argument once more separates the two world wars. The use of atomic weapons against Japan – weapons originally developed for use in Germany – brought the Second World War to an end. The destruction of Hiroshima and Nagasaki did indeed show what air power could do, but its primary purpose was to save Allied lives, by rendering unnecessary an infantry assault on the Japanese mainland. In the First World War, Germany was defeated without having been invaded. The end of the two world wars separates each of them from any attempt to bind them together in an envelope called the Thirty Years’ War of the 20th century.

Another technological development also shows the radical discontinuities between the two world wars. German chemists gave the infantry the possibility of releasing chlorine gas on the Western front during the second battle of Ypres in 1915. Later, phosgene gas and mustard gas were deployed heavily. In 1918 roughly one in every four artillery shell fired on the Western front was a gas shell. Civilians prepared for the release of gas on civilian populations, but that never took place.

In contrast, gas was not used on European battlefields during the Second World War. This was probably because there was little evidence drawn from the 1914–18 conflict that deploying such weapons had operational advantages. After all, if the wind started to blow the wrong way, the attacking forces would wind up poisoning themselves. In contrast, gas was used extensively both in the death camps built by the Nazis to murder Europe’s Jewish population and other ‘subhumans’.

Japanese troops used gas weapons extensively in China. They also conducted experiments in the use of biological weapons on Chinese and other prisoners of war. Surgeon General Shiro Ishii headed up Unit 731 of the Japanese army, a unit that prepared biological weapons deployed in Manchuria and elsewhere in China.¹³

Once again, there are yawning gaps separating the history of chemical and biological warfare in the two world wars. The best way to put it is to say that the First World War was the antechamber to the Holocaust and to other chemical and biological war crimes. The Great War made mass extermination thinkable, and therefore doable. But the Nazi revolution was necessary before a possibility turned into the crime of the century. Here too we see the need to respect the radical differences between the causes, conduct and consequences of the two world wars.

Conclusion
Some of those who braid together the two conflicts into a unity called the Thirty Years’ War of the 20th century have autobiographical reasons for doing so. Churchill and de Gaulle framed their lives in this way.

Others have had ideological reasons for doing so. Historian Ernst Nolte was a supporter of the Thirty Years’ War interpretation, since it enabled him to say that the Bolshevik Revolution, a product of the First World War was the origin and inspiration of the Nazi movement. By that he meant that the murderous history of the first half of the 20th century was a European, or rather German-led, reaction against ‘Asiatic barbarism’. Nazi crimes were reactive and defensive, triggered by the communist crimes that preceded them. This is the core of his view that the two world wars were part of a European civil war that came to an end in 1945.

Nolte’s revisionist publications set alight what was called the Historikerstreit or the quarrel among historians in the 1980s. To Nolte, the Holocaust was not unique, but part of a civil war triggered by the Bolshevik Revolution. The exterminatory war of 1941–5 was waged by Hitler to forestall a communist Holocaust in Germany should the war be lost. Communist crimes and Nazi crimes were bound together as the vicious consequences of civil war.¹⁴

Other historians refused to accept the theory of a Thirty Years’ War as a way of normalizing Nazi crimes.¹⁵ The controversy went on for decades, but it faded out primarily because successive German political leaders, from Willy Brandt to Angela Merkel, refused to change their view that Germany remained responsible for the Holocaust, and that there was a bond between the German nation and the Jewish people that must not and could not be broken.

In other parts of Europe, the notion of a second Thirty Years’ War has resurfaced from time to time. Horror at the depravity of Stalin and his henchmen led some observers to equate communism and Nazism. Most European historians today (2024) share the moral revulsion but not the historical judgment. Perhaps the most balanced conclusion on which we can all agree is that the two world wars were singular nightmares, each deserving its place in one of the bolgias of Dante’s Inferno.

---

¹ Pierre Bourdieu, ‘The Biographical Illusion’, in Wilhelm Hemecker and Edward Saunders, with the assistance of Gregor Schima (eds), Biography in theory (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2017), pp. 201–16.
² https://www.cvce.eu/content/publication/1999/1/1/68a6136f-a7cf-40cf-9765-af120da30526/publishable_en.pdf Accessed 26 November 2024.
³ https://www.cvce.eu/content/publication/1999/1/1/58118da1-af22-48c0-bc88-93cda974f42c/publishable_en.pdf Accessed 26 November 2024.
⁴ Eric Hobsbawm, The Age of Extremes: The Short Twentieth Century, 1914–1991 (London: Penguin Books, 1996).
⁵ https://mjp.univ-perp.fr/textes/degaulle28071946.htm Accessed 26 November 2024.
⁶ Jay Winter, War beyond Words (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2017), ch. 5.
⁷ John Horne and Alan Kramer, Germany Atrocities in 1914: A History of Denial (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2001).
⁸ Patrick Desbois, La Shoah par balles: la mort en plein jour (Paris: Plon, 2019); Ronald Headland, Messages of Murder: A Study of the Reports of the Einsatzgruppen of the Security Police and the Security Service, 1941–1943 (Rutherford, NJ: Fairleigh Dickinson University Press, 1992); Richard Rhodes, Masters of Death: The SS-Einsatzgruppen and the Invention of the Holocaust (New York, NY: Knopf, 2002); Jürgen Matthäus, Jochen Böhler and Klaus-Michael Mallmann, War, Pacification, and Mass Murder, 1939: The Einsatzgruppen in Poland (Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield, 2014), and Timothy Snyder, Bloodlands: Europe between Hitler and Stalin (New York, NY: Basic Books, 2010).
⁹ Daniel Goldhagen, Hitler's Willing Executioners (New York, NY: Alfred Knopf, 1996).
¹⁰ Jay Winter, ‘Antisemitism in the First World War’, in Steven Katz (ed.), The Cambridge History of Antisemitism in the Twentieth Century (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2025), vol. 1, ch. 1.
¹¹ Jean-Jacques Becker, Le Carnet B (Paris: PUF, 1964).
¹² As cited in Peter Gatrell, ‘War after the War: Conflicts, 1919–1923’, in John Horne (ed.), A Companion to World War I (Oxford: Blackwell, 2010), p. 558.
¹³ Yang Yan-Jun and Tam Yue-Him, Unit 731: Laboratory of the Devil, Auschwitz of the East: Japanese Biological Warfare in China 1933–45 (Stroud: Fonthill Media, 2018).
¹⁴ Ernst Nolte, Der europäische Bürgerkrieg 1917–1945: Nationalsozialismus und Bolschewismus (Berlin: Propyläen Verlag, 1987), and Nolte, ‘Die Vergangenheit, die nicht vergehen will. Eine Rede, die geschrieben, aber nicht gehalten werden konnte’, Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung, 6 June 1986.
¹⁵ Hans-Ulrich Wehler, Entsorgung der deutschen Vergangenheit? Ein polemischer Essay zum "Historikerstreit" (Munich: C.H. Beck, 1988).

The end of the Second World War was, and indeed still is, a prime caesura in the new and recent history of Europe and the world. There are many reasons to recall this turning point, especially as the 80th anniversary of its end approaches in 2025. One of the most pressing reasons is the current fragility of the world order, which took shape during three decades of violent and tragic upheavals – spanning the First and Second World Wars (1914–45) – and is now once again beginning to crumble before our eyes. Seeing this makes us anxiously wonder what the future world order will look like and what will happen before it emerges.

The war in Europe ended on 8 May 1945 with the surrender of Germany and the war in the Far East on 2 September 1945 with that of Japan. The significance of the end of the Second World War varies according to which perspective is taken, geographically, but also socially and politically.

From the point of view of ‘ordinary’ Europeans living at the time, the dominant feeling was one of relief. Mass deaths had ended, the Holocaust had ceased, the last concentration camps still in the hands of the SS had been liberated, the bombings had stopped and soldiers no longer died at the front. Although it should be mentioned that the last clashes with German troops still took place on 12 May 1945, and the last German unit capitulated on 4 September 1945 on Spitsbergen. For the liberated in Germany, the surviving prisoners, prisoners of war and forced labourers, a new phase of their lives was beginning. Citizens of the countries of the victorious coalition celebrated the end of the war nightmare and the victory on city streets, rejoicing in the hope of the return of loved ones who had been scattered by the war and an improvement in their living conditions. Though mostly overwhelmed by the sense of defeat and humiliation, the Germans were also relieved by the end of hostilities. Significantly, the behaviour of the Nazi authorities in the final days of the war, combining senseless cruelty with cowardice, meant that hardly anyone felt any regret at the fall of the ‘Thousand-Year Reich’.

However, when one looks at the end of the war from the perspective of politicians of the time, it is clear that the situation in Europe at the end of the war was far from a simple black-and-white scenario. Winston Churchill was tormented at the time by the vision of an isolated Britain, which alone – in the event of an American withdrawal across the Atlantic – would have to face the threat of Stalin’s vast Soviet army, buoyed by its victories, ready to move from the Elbe to conquer Western Europe. It was because of these concerns that Churchill insisted on another summit conference to work out a modus vivendi of the powers in post-war Europe and the world. This took place at Potsdam in late July and early August 1945. Contrary to Churchill’s fears, Stalin was aware of the scale of the Soviet Union’s losses, destruction and exhaustion, so he did not plan a march of communism for the time being. At the same time, the Soviet dictator demanded the establishment of Moscow’s full control over the states that the Soviet army had occupied as a result of the war (and with the acquiescence of the Anglo-American powers expressed at Tehran and Yalta). This led to a brutal crackdown on democratic forces in Poland, Hungary, Romania and Bulgaria. Even in Czechoslovakia, whose democratic authorities had been demonstrating loyalty to Moscow for several years, there was a communist putsch. Thus, at the turn of 1947 and 1948, highly repressive Stalinist communist governments were installed in the countries of Central and Eastern Europe and the Balkans, as well as in the Soviet occupation zone of Germany. This created a compact political-military bloc with the Soviet Union at the head. Only Yugoslavia, under Marshal Josip Tito, broke away from Moscow’s hegemony, but retained its communist system, which over time was considerably liberalised.

In the first months after the end of the war, the United States succumbed to illusions of the possibility of allied cooperation with the Soviet Union. However, the growing difficulties in that regard and the rise in outbreaks of conflict, such as in Greece, Turkey, Iran, occupied Germany and China, led Washington to change its policy towards the Soviets. It was all the easier for the Americans to make this change as they had a sense of their own power, stemming from their possession, as the only country, of nuclear weapons (the so-called American nuclear monopoly lasted until 1949), which were used in the first days of August 1945 destroying the Japanese cities of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Moreover, as a result of the war, the US gained an incredible economic advantage over any potential competitor, consolidated as early as 1944 with the creation of the so-called Bretton Woods system, in which the US dollar was recognised as the world currency and guarantor of the stability and development of the capitalist economy. Although not intending to start a new war to destroy the power of the Soviets, President Harry Truman decided to put the brakes on the expansion of their influence. This concept, known as the containment doctrine or the Truman Doctrine (1947), contributed to the development of a comprehensive plan to support the post-war economic reconstruction of Western Europe, which was making very slow progress. This was the origin of the European Recovery Program, widely known as the Marshall Plan (1948). A year later, the North Atlantic Treaty Organisation (NATO) was established, a defence alliance of the countries of Western Europe, the USA and Canada, which owed its power above all to the American armed forces and their nuclear arsenal. Thus, just three to four years after the end of the Second World War, a second political-military bloc was created and the world political order took on a bipolar form. Although the two blocs were hostile to each other, they had comparable military potentials with nuclear arsenals at their core, resulting in mutual deterrence. Their relations were characterised by permanent tension and repeated attempts to weaken the opposing side, including through wars waged on the periphery of both spheres of influence, while avoiding direct confrontation between the superpowers, which could lead to the use of nuclear weapons with fatal consequences for each side. This state of affairs led to what is known as the ‘Cold War’. It began soon after the final shots of the Second World War had been fired and ended 40 years later with the collapse of communism in Central and Eastern Europe and the fall of the Soviet Union (1989–91). The United States became the sole superpower for a time, and the American political scientist Francis Fukuyama could hopefully spin a vision of the ‘end of history’ – the reign of liberal democracy throughout the world.

While during the Cold War relations between the blocs described here were generally balanced in terms of military power and deterrence, the paths of their internal development went in different directions. Western states became liberal democracies with market economies, building welfare states and consumer societies. The extinction of conflicts between the constituent states became characteristic for Western Europe, which initiated a process in which interests were in practice harmonised. These trends developed rather quickly into progressive integration, the key stages of which were the creation of the European Coal and Steel Community in 1951, the establishment of the European Economic Community in 1957, the introduction of the Common Agricultural Policy in 1962, the adoption of the Schengen Agreement in 1985 and finally the signing of the Maastricht Treaty in 1992, which brought the European Union into being.

Meanwhile, the development of the countries of the Soviet sphere of influence followed completely different vectors. Indivisible rule was exercised there by communist parties by means of the tight ideological supervision of societies thanks to their almost total control over the circulation of information. Questioning any element of this system of power was met with repression by an extensive and specialised political police apparatus. The economies of these countries were described as planned, or more accurately as command and control. In the absence of free market competition, a ‘deficit society’ developed, in which, for example, having a telephone (a landline, of course) was a rare privilege, and the quality of goods and the level of services, and also labour productivity, left much to be desired. In the 1970s and 1980s, the planned economies of the communist countries, by nature not very receptive to innovation, definitely lost touch with the advanced technologies of the third industrial revolution. They were unable to keep pace with the West even in the hitherto much-honoured field of arms production. Their failure to win this competition became an indirect cause of the collapse of communist rule and of the Soviet Union.

Another consequence of the Second World War was decolonisation, or, as it used to be called, the end of world domination by the white man. In 1947, the British, carrying out their wartime promises, left India and, shortly afterwards, their remaining colonies in Asia (with the exception of Hong Kong). The Japanese, who had pursued their conquests during the war under the slogan ‘Asia for Asians’, rekindled the unstoppable aspirations for independence of the Dutch and French possessions in Asia. At the same time, Arab countries gained real sovereignty and the State of Israel was established in the Middle East. In the late 1960s and early 1970s, almost all African colonies gained independence. The situation in China was peculiar, where in 1949, after eight years of ferocious war with Japan and three years of equally bloody civil war, the Communists took power under Mao Zedong. With them came the eradication of Western influence, and also Moscow’s influence proved relatively short-lived and superficial. However, as a result of the regime’s ideological follies and its adventurous foreign policy, leading to the isolation of the country, China’s enormous potential remained dormant until Mao’s death in 1976. Shortly thereafter, China experienced four decades of rapid economic growth and civilisational progress, with Beijing’s international clout expanding rapidly, thanks to opening up its economy to the world. These results were achieved without depleting Chinese Communist Party’s monopoly of power, using extreme methods to maintain it. Today, in terms of economic and military potential China competes with the United States and, together with Russia and India, and many African and Latin American countries, aspires to co-determine the new world order.

When considering the caesura that marked the end of the Second World War in the spring and summer of 1945, it is important to remember the events that preceded this historic turning point: both the massive struggles of the warring parties and the victims of war and genocide committed by the totalitarian regimes of the time, including the unprecedented crime of the Holocaust. The number of victims of the Second World War is estimated at around 60 million people. It is also worth remembering the short-, medium- and long-term consequences of this calamity, which to a large extent shaped the world in which we have lived up until now, and which is only just becoming a thing of the past and undergoing a fundamental transformation.

We are used to treating the trial at the International Military Tribunal at Nuremberg as an obvious aftermath of the war. And yet, at the time, immediately after the end of the war, the very idea of putting on trial people who had acted in accordance with the laws of their state, trying them for crimes that were not codified in written law (e.g. crimes against peace, or crimes against humanity) aroused quite widespread opposition and even indignation among some lawyers.

Even for that part of the legal world which did not doubt that the crimes of the Second World War should be accounted for in judicial terms, unanswered questions remained: how to judge mass, even industrial-scale murders, for what and on what basis to judge those who ‘merely’ gave orders and commands? In a world of sovereign states, do governments have the right to try the leaders of other states? Is this not a dangerous precedent?

The helplessness of the justice system in the face of mass, organised crimes was aptly expressed during the trial of the KL Lublin (Majdanek) staff by the Polish prosecutor Jerzy Sawicki, who, incidentally, was also the Polish delegate during the Nuremberg trial: ‘I am supposed to speak about the guilt of the defendants, i.e. I am supposed to put their guilt into words. Your Honour, words are the creation of people, and what happened there is inhuman. [I know that normally when a prosecutor stands before the court and asks for a death sentence, a shudder of horror goes through the court, the prosecutor and the audience. I feel all my powerlessness when the words “death penalty” are pronounced in this courtroom’.

It seems that most of the legal dilemmas faced by lawyers during the Nuremberg trials, whatever aspect they concerned, were ultimately located in the age-old tension/conflict between the Roman ‘judicial’ approach to law and the modern ‘legislative’ approach. The former concept was largely based on axiology, seeing legal norms in the perspective of morality derived from natural laws (St Thomas, Kant’s categorical imperative). Its proponents were charged with the accusation that interpreting legal rules on the basis of an ambiguous, unspecific and undefined morality had the effect of departing from legal rules and giving lawyers too wide a field of interpretation. The latter notion, over time referred to as legal positivism, prevailed in the early 20th century in continental Europe. It favoured a reasoned, rational approach to law, which was primarily reduced to the legal norm; moreover, the radical version of legal positivism emphasised that there was no necessary connection between law and morality (John Austin, Rudolf von Ihering). The discussion taking place among legal scholars still during and just after the war was in essence a debate between positivists and proponents of natural law. The former believed that the crimes of the Second World War could be judged with the help of existing laws and existing jurisprudence. The latter pointed out that the mass scale and specificity of the crimes required new legal solutions. It is important to note that the goal of both was to try and convict the criminals, but they wanted to achieve this by different methods.

Justice for the victors?
One of the main general criticisms of the Nuremberg trials was and still is that they were a manifestation of ‘victors’ justice’, which only prosecuted and punished crimes committed by the Axis states, while the Allies, most notably the Soviet Union, were not held accountable for their own war crimes. Critics argue that the selective application of justice undermined the credibility of the trials.

Indeed, Nuremberg was a ‘court of the victors over the vanquished’, but it was the only possible tribunal in the political situation of the time. Any trial, even the best-prepared one, is subject to the subjectivity of the judges, to human error, let alone a trial before an international tribunal in which the conflicting interests of four powers clashed and a defeated Germany tried desperately to defend itself.

Faced with a whole series of dilemmas and legal doubts, only the will of the politicians could push through the establishment of the International Military Tribunal. Pragmatism and political realism stood above procedural deficiencies, the subjectivity of the judges, and the impossibility of trying Soviet criminals. Awareness of these shortcomings accompanied both politicians and lawyers from the very beginning. The prosecutor on the British side, Sir Hartley Shawcross, wrote 20 years after the trial: ‘The wisest legal arguments pale into insignificance and even become irrelevant in the face of the facts which have been proved, including by the use of official Nazi documents. What happened [during the Third Reich period] touched the conscience of all civilised nations, including the German people, and even cried out for judgement and punishment.’

It is also worth remembering that even during the war the response to information about the mass murders carried out by the Germans was suggestions that extrajudicial punishment be administered to them. As early as 1941, Theodore N. Kaufman self-published his book Germany Must Perish, in which he proposed the sterilisation of the entire German nation. According to the author’s calculations, it would take four months to sterilise the male German population by some 25,000 surgeons, and about three years for women. The plan of the American finance minister Henry Morgenthau, who believed that Germany would be a security risk even after demilitarisation, was well known and considered after the war, so in his book Germany Is Our Problem (1945) he advocated making Germany an entirely agricultural country in order to deprive it of an economic base for war. Even Winston Churchill himself believed (W. Churchill’s dispatch to A. Eden of 17 September 1944) that most of the German leadership (50 to 100 people) should be executed without trial. In the perspective of the above ideas, any judicial solution was a victory for common sense and the principles of Western civilisation.

Today, it is not easy for us to understand the legal dilemmas of the time - the international trial of criminals from Rwanda, Yugoslavia or Sudan seems obvious to us, but it is worth remembering that after the atrocities of the war, innovative interpretations of the law raised fears of creating new chaos, the effect of which could be to undermine the legal foundations of Western civilisation. The most striking example is the comment by US Supreme Court Chief Justice Harlan Fiske Stone: ‘...I would like to inform you that the Supreme Court had nothing to do, either directly or indirectly, with the Nuremberg trials or the actions of the government that authorized them’. In a private letter, he wrote: ‘The Nuremberg trials are an attempt to justify the use of the power of the victor over the vanquished, since the vanquished caused the aggressive war’. He feared the lasting effects of the instrumental use of law in international politics.

Acting in accordance with the law of one’s own state
One of the fundamental dilemmas of the Nuremberg trials was the very fact of the establishment of an international tribunal. Western political thought was dominated by the Act of State principle, particularly firmly rooted in Anglo-Saxon law, derived directly from the concept of state sovereignty. This principle implies that, in an anarchic international system, the authorities of one state do not have the right to judge the authorities of another state, since the legal principles established by the sovereign are the law in its territory.¹.According to this interpretation, a person acting on behalf, or in the interest, of a state cannot be held personally responsible for their actions; he or she is, as it were, subject to immunity on the grounds that their acts are presumptively legal, since they comply with the law established by the sovereign. Lawyers, both European and American, realised that a complete abandonment of the Act of State principle could be a dangerous precedent and could provide a legal basis for future interference in the internal legal system of sovereign states. The Nazi period provided an argument for many positivists to move away from the overly principled dominance of formalism over axiology and the overly radical separation of law and morality. The International Military Tribunal at Nuremberg finally recognised the primacy of the prohibition on planning and waging aggressive war over the absolute sovereignty of the state. Moreover, among some of the lawyers involved in the work of the United Nations War Crimes Commission (UNWCC) there was a conviction which one of them, Hersh Lauterpacht, formulated clearly as follows: ‘... the community of nations has in the past claimed and successfully asserted the right to intercede on behalf of the violated rights of man trampled upon by the State in a manner calculated to shock the moral sense of mankind. The right of humanitarian intervention has for a long time been considered to form part of the law of nations’². With regard to German crimes, he was convinced that the ‘fate of the accused ... serves as irrefutable proof that the scope of exclusive domestic jurisdiction ends where crimes against humanity begin’³.

Ultimately, the dilemma of ‘acting according to the law of the state’ was also resolved by the so-called Radbruch Formula. Its author proceeded from the premise that if the international community wanted to reckon with German crimes, which were committed according to criteria of legality but completely ignored elementary principles of morality, it could not resort to state law, as it did not provide for, or even prevent, such a reckoning. On the basis of a Roman jurisprudential maxim, Radbruch formulated the principle henceforth known in law as the Radbruch Formula: lex iniustissima non est lex, which can be translated as: a grossly unjust law is not a law. Thus, the law established by the legitimate government of the German Reich, by the fact of drastically violating natural law, became, according to Radbruch, a highly unjust law and therefore not valid. In the end, therefore, a sense of justice proved more important than dogmatic adherence to principles. It should also be stressed that this approach was also fostered by European public opinion, agitated by the evidence of war-time crimes being successively revealed.

For lawyers dealing with international law, this was one of the greatest dilemmas in history, concerning not only the application of principles, but above all the place of morals and values in international law. The legal interpretation that eventually prevailed at Nuremberg also makes it possible to try contemporary war criminals from the former Yugoslavia or Rwanda, among others. The undermining of the positivist conception of law by the premises contained in Radbruch formula made it possible to move beyond the dichotomy of the dispute: justice for the victors versus impunity for the perpetrators. Article 8 of the IMT Charter finally recognised that acting on the orders of a government or superior did not absolve criminal responsibility, although it may result in leniency. It was also emphasised that in the event of a conflict between national and international law the individual has a duty to comply with the latter, as in such a situation national law is not binding on the citizen.

Lex retro non agit!
The Nuremberg trials introduced new categories of crimes: ‘against humanity’ and “waging aggressive war” (against peace), which were not clearly defined in international law before the war. The so-called retroactivity of these provisions, i.e. the violation of two legal principles: nullum crimen sine lege (nulla poena sine lege) and lex retro non agit, was questionable. Since the legal terms themselves - crimes against humanity and crimes against peace - appeared after they had been committed by Nazi Germans, many legal scholars doubted whether the fundamental principles of law were being violated when trying war criminals. Disputes over the principle and interpretation of retroactivity also took place among the jurists of the IMT, including between the head of the American delegation, Robert H. Jackson, who believed that it was more important to try the criminals than to doubt the lex retro principle, and the advisor to the French delegation, Prof. André Gros, who had a lot of doubts on this issue.

In the end, Article 6 of the IMT Charter included the following provision: ‘The following acts, or any of them, are crimes coming within the jurisdiction of the Tribunal for which there shall be individual responsibility’. Article 6 was followed by a list of international crimes, including participation in a war of aggression and participation in a conspiracy (collusion) to commit one of the crimes against peace.

A witness at the Nuremberg trials, the Bavarian Social Democrat Wilhelm Hoegner, summarised these contentions as follows: ‘I remain of the opinion that the Nuremberg trials were contrary to the legal principle of nulla poena sine lege. After all, there were extraordinary circumstances, and this trial was the only chance to settle accounts with the criminal Nazi gang.’

Procedural objections and moral relativism
During the trials, the prosecutors were themselves a party to the conflict, so it was easy to formulate allegations of a lack of independence. The Tribunal was a military court with representatives of four powers, representing four different cultures and legal traditions (continental system, common law system, Soviet law). The jurists did not adopt any catalogue of procedural rules under which the proceedings were to take place, although it is clear that American law had the greatest influence on the final shape of the trial. The four powers did, however, reach a compromise on the application of substantive law, i.e. the legal norms applied before the tribunal.

The absence of a two-instance system, i.e. the possibility of an appeal against the verdict, was questionable. This was a political decision, motivated primarily by the Tribunal’s mode of work (ad hoc tribunal) ⁴. The political authorities wanted to try the defendants relatively quickly and definitively, hence the decision to make the verdicts final and indisputable. In view of the beginning of the Cold War, lengthy trials could be seen as a tool of the game between the Western Allies and the Soviets.

Some of the objections to the trials are of a more ethical nature, although to some extent they also relate to procedure, e.g. jury selection or unequal access to trial information. One can paraphrase the title of this text and write that the Themis at Nuremberg was one-eyed - she saw the German crimes but not the Soviet ones. Moreover, the Soviet lawyers at Nuremberg were themselves implicated in the crimes of the Soviet system. Morally, such a situation is of course unacceptable, but politically, under the circumstances, there was no alternative. The fact that there were Soviet lawyers, primarily judges, meant that much of the evidence of Soviet crimes, for example the Soviet aggression against Poland or the case of the Katyn massacre, was dismissed and the evidence was regarded as falsification.

German defenders often referred to the principle et tu quoque (Latin for ‘and you too’), an attempt to point out that the accusing Allies had themselves committed similar acts for which they accused German leaders. The defence counsels argued that German bombings of, for example, Coventry or London, were no different from Allied raids on Dresden or Leipzig. Similar allegations were made about the murder of German prisoners of war especially by the Soviets. These arguments sought to undermine the moral and legal legitimacy of the Tribunal.

The diversity of the verdicts, including the acquittal of some defendants, may be indicative of the fairness and insight of the Tribunal, which reflected on the individual guilt of each defendant. However, upon closer inspection of the judges’ behind-the-scenes deliberations, this picture is no longer so clear-cut. After the disclosure of Judge Biddle’s personal notes (thirty years after the Nuremberg trials), the bargaining over the sentences to be handed down came to light. This only confirms the primacy of politics over justice, perhaps better described as a ‘synergy of politics and justice’.

Criminals behind the desk and executors of orders
A phenomenon of the National Socialist system was the fact of the ‘total mobilisation’ of German society and the massive support given to Hitler. ⁵ That was support of the simple worker and the farmer, but also members of scientific and intellectual elites and by representatives of large industrial concerns. Ultimately, they created a system that organised a powerful machine of violence and extermination during the Second World War. The number of NSDAP membership cards issued reached 10.7 million, meaning that one in five adult Germans belonged to the Nazi party. As many as 17.3 million soldiers served in the Wehrmacht from 1939 to 1945 (of whom 15.6 million were Germans and Austrians). The most conservative estimate by German historians of the Wehrmacht’s involvement in the atrocities - particularly on the Eastern Front - is 5%; this would mean that more than 700,000 soldiers may have committed them. If we add to these figures members of SS formations, officials of the SS Race and Settlement Main Office, and representatives of large industrial concerns supporting Hitler, we get a picture of the entanglement and scale of support given to Hitler by the German people. In December 1963, 22 members of the Auschwitz staff stood trial in Frankfurt am Main. Already in the indictment, prosecutor Fritz Bauer pre-empted the defence arguments, writing: ‘It was not the case that there was only Nazi Hitler and only Nazi Himmler in Germany. There were hundreds of thousands, millions of others who carried it out not only because they were ordered to do so, but also because it corresponded to their own world view, which they adopted voluntarily.’ The Allies cannot be accused of trying only the most important representatives of the Third Reich at Nuremberg, because that was precisely the purpose of the trial. The selection of those who would sit on the dock was not only a matter of justice, but above all a matter of politics. The German Reich was to be tried at Nuremberg, represented by people from various institutions and spheres of life (from political activists, propagandists, military commanders to representatives of the business community). It is worth remembering that the main perpetrators escaped responsibility by committing suicide (Hitler, Goebbels, Himmler) or by fleeing abroad (Eichmann and Mengele, among others). The purpose of the trial was to develop the legal basis and jurisprudence that was later to be used by the courts before which lesser functionaries of the Nazi regime were to be tried. Of course, it should be remembered that the conflict between the Western powers and the Soviet Union dubbed the Cold War effectively rendered the planned denazification and trial of criminals impossible.

When it came to trying the guilty, a much more serious issue was that of ‘behind-the-scenes perpetrators’ who had not directly committed the crimes. This dilemma also applied to some commanders of concentration and death camps who themselves had not participated in the crimes directly. The resolution of this dilemma was all the more pressing because even before or during the Nuremberg trials, others were still taking place before American and British courts. ⁶

To resolve similar dilemmas, the concept of a multi-person crime, involving ‘taking part’ in a joint action, was used. This concept should not be confused with collective responsibility. The perpetrator of a multi-person international crime could have been an organisation, such as the SS, the Gestapo or even a specific ministry. In both Britain and the United States, there were legal constructs to try people who did not commit crimes directly. These were the concepts of collusion and conspiracy. Prior to the war, these were primarily used to try organised crime or economic crime, such as the Mafia. In this case, we are dealing with a plurality of perpetrators accused of jointly committing the crime, so the prosecution had to prove that the accused participated in a joint plan and had knowledge of its criminal objectives. The adoption of such premise in the trial of German criminals also made it possible to consider the very membership of certain organisations as participation in a conspiracy to wage a war of aggression. Such a concept was pushed by the American lawyer Murrey C. Bernays as early as 1944, as he submitted successive memoranda to the American government suggesting the use of the concept of conspiracy (collusion) to try not only individuals, but also organisations such as the Gestapo, SS, or SA. He suggested that a tribunal to try war criminals should link the criminal acts to the doctrine and policies of the Third Reich. Ultimately, the indictments and sentences in trials held even before the Nuremberg trials used the concept of a common plan/design, aiming at aggression or domination of other nations. The British used this concept in the trial of the Bergen-Belsen staff, and in November 1945, in the Almelo trial, a British military court explicitly stated that the ‘responsibility of the members of the group is equal to that of the man who fired the actual shot’.

This concept provoked fierce protests from lawyers outside the common law circle, including the French, who insisted on adherence to the continental principle of individual criminal responsibility. However, it was acknowledged that ‘aggression is by definition a multi-person crime, so the doctrine of conspiracy does not substantially increase the burden on defendants’. The prosecutors in the Nuremberg trials eventually formulated four charges, the first of which concerned participation in the creation and execution of a common plan, i.e. a conspiracy aimed at crimes against peace, war crimes and crimes against humanity. The prosecution team wanted to show that this conspiracy had been formed many years before the outbreak of war, namely its beginning in 1919, when the NSDAP was founded. The indictment emphasised a close connection between the charge of conspiracy and the commission of crimes against peace. Anyone who was to be convicted of participation in a conspiracy or a crime against peace had to be proven to have participated in a specific war of aggression.

The solution finally adopted allowed the leaders of the German Reich to be tried at Nuremberg and was reflected in the Charter of the IMT (Article 6): ‘The Tribunal ... shall have the power to try and punish persons who, acting in the interests of the European Axis countries, whether as individuals or as members of organizations, committed any of the following crimes: (...)planning, preparation, initiation or waging of a war of aggression, or a war in violation of international treaties, agreements or assurances, or participation in a common plan or conspiracy for the accomplishment of any of the foregoing’. At the same time, Article 7 emphasised that ‘The official position of defendants, whether as Heads of State or responsible officials in Government Departments, shall not be considered as freeing them from responsibility or mitigating punishment’. Finally, the Nuremberg principles recognised that the preparation of a(n) (war of) aggression was a conspiracy involving participation in preparatory activities leading to aggression or awareness of the existence of a plan of aggression.

Related to the above issue is also the problem of acting on orders, which primarily concerns members of military organisations, but also officers of paramilitary formations. This is a particularly difficult issue, as the security system of states is largely based on the subordination of the security apparatus and the army. It is difficult to imagine that states would tolerate any subjective assessment of an order by a subordinate. This was the line of defence adopted by many lawyers who defended the German perpetrators, especially military ones (including Alfred Jodl, Wilhelm Keitel, or Erich Raeder). The defendants’ invocation of a ‘no-win situation’ would have meant that any, even worst, acts could be justified. Moreover, as the prosecutor Robert H. Jackson emphasised, ‘Hitler’s decisions would have been of no effect unless they had been carried out by Keitel and Jodl and the other men under him’. The Nuremberg law was based on the primacy of international law over the norms of domestic law in this regard. From the point of view of the law, the mere fact of acting on orders did not absolve the accused from liability; more important in the course of the proceedings were ‘mitigating circumstances’. The average executor of an order was most often not in a position to assess whether the order given to him was in accordance with international law or not, and therefore whether he could refuse to obey it. On the other hand, he was certainly convinced that the order was in accordance with German law and therefore legal, because under the Nazi system, as underscored by the defence lawyer at the Nuremberg trial Hermann Jahrreiß: ‘Hitler’s order was already a law before the Second World War (...). The Führer’s order was binding, that is legally binding’. The trials assessed whether the executor was aware of the criminal nature of the order or of the consequences of carrying it out and whether he had a realistic possibility of refusing to carry out the order. While both of these aspects may have been possible mitigating circumstances, they did not release one from responsibility in accordance with Article 8 of the IMT Charter: ‘The fact that the Defendant acted pursuant to order of his Government or of a superior shall not free him from responsibility, but may be considered in mitigation of punishment if the Tribunal determines that justice so requires’. For the sake of completeness, it is worth adding that paragraph 47 of the 1872 Reich Code, which was in force during the First and Second World Wars, contained a regulation with regard to acting on orders. The provision of interest to us reads: ‘A subordinate who obeys an order shall be liable to punishment if it was known to him that his superior’s order concerned an action whose purpose was a common or military offence’. So the Nuremberg regulations on this issue were largely in line with the German law hitherto in force.

Impact on post-war reconstruction
The Nuremberg trials, but also other trials of German criminals, were not received with much enthusiasm by their fellow countrymen. From a psychological point of view, this should not be surprising. The reluctance to settle accounts with the past meant the unwillingness to admit guilt. The mechanisms of denial were similar to other such cases; above all, the past was not talked about. Blame was shifted to others, leaders who behaved cowardly and committed suicide were accused, leaving the nation at the mercy of the victors. Crimes were explained by following orders, acting in accordance with the German law of the time. It was repeated that the German people had no idea of the crimes.

The attitude of the Germans to the Nazi past, but also to reckoning with it, can be traced quite accurately thanks to opinion polls taken during these years. The Office of Military Government for Germany (U.S.) (OMGUS) set up a special department for surveys in the American occupation zone, later extending their reach to other western zones and sectors of Berlin. Between 1945 and 1949, more than 70 surveys were carried out on large groups of respondents. Replying to the question about the guilt of the defendants tried at Nuremberg, respondents in the American occupation zone answered as follows: in 1945, 70% answered that they were guilty, in 1946, guilt was acknowledged by 75% of the respondents, but in August 1946, only 52% believed that the defendants were guilty. After the verdict was pronounced, 55% of the respondents thought the sentence was fair and 21% thought it was too lenient. When asked in October 1946 about the collective guilt of the Germans for the war (Kriegsschuld), as many as 92% of Germans answered that they were not guilty and 51% were willing to consider that those Germans who supported Hitler’s regime were partly to blame (Teilschuld). As many as 83% of Germans believed that ‘both sides’ fighting in the war had committed crimes against peace and against humanity.

It is fundamentally misguided to consider the Nuremberg trials from an ex-post perspective as a factor in deepening the post-war divisions in Germany by focusing on retaliation rather than reconciliation. Historical experience shows that the absence of a form of response to evil must result in a large-scale undermining of pro-justice convictions. A sense of harm, a failure to punish perpetrators, a fundamental sense of injustice can cause concrete losses and deficits both politically and socially. The sense of injustice gives rise to the desire for revenge (e.g. the conflict in Rwanda in the 1990s, or today’s post-colonial movements). In the short term, the processes may have deepened internal divisions in Germany and internationally. The focus on punishing the guilty without creating space for dialogue made some Germans feel that they were victims of the victors rather than partners in the construction of the post-war order. However, the long-term effects were unequivocally positive. The process helped solidify universal principles of accountability for war crimes and became the foundation for modern international law. It also contributed to the democratisation of West Germany and its integration into the West.

The years following the Second World War were an example of the implementation of so-called transitional justice in the Western occupation zones. The ultimate goal of such a process is a reform of institutions, social reconciliation and the prevention of future human rights violations. However, the path to this goal first leads through the use of legal mechanisms (courts, tribunals, commissions for crime prosecution) to hold perpetrators accountable and redress the wrongs of the victims. The legacy of Nuremberg continues to influence contemporary discussions about how to reconcile justice with the need to ‘heal the wounds of conflict’.

Summary
To put it in the language of political realism - the Nuremberg trials were a tool adequate for its time. The IMT was hostage to the political situation, but there was no other alternative at the time.

A breakthrough achievement was the introduction of the principle that individuals, not states, could be held responsible for war crimes and crimes against humanity. This marked a major change in international criminal law.

Although today no-one questions the Nuremberg principles and, moreover, we are able to appreciate the achievements of the IMT with the benefit of hindsight and, unfortunately, subsequent crimes perpetrated elsewhere (Yugoslavia, Rwanda, Russia), it is worth remembering the enormous controversy that surrounded the very idea of an ‘international court’. Discussions among lawyers, which took place even before the decision to set up the Nuremberg Tribunal, could have led to a stalemate in which international justice would have judged only the direct executors of the crimes, but would have been powerless against the decision-makers who gave the orders that resulted in genocide. The very fact of the establishment of the IMT ended speculation on this aspect, and although doubts and controversy have remained, the decision itself regarding the establishment of the IMT is not challenged now.

NOTES
¹ When writing about the anarchic international system what I have in mind is Hobbes’ perception of the international system as a world ‘without Leviathan’, that is with no supreme power over sovereign nation states.
² A British lawyer of Polish-Jewish origin residing in England since 1923. He played a major part in forming a catalogue of crimes judged by the International Military Tribunal in Nuremberg. He co-created the term ‘crime against humanity’.
³ This view was presented in the closing statement of the British prosecutor in Nuremberg Hartley Shawcross, whose speeches were written by Lauterpacht; Quoted after: A. Bryl, Zbrodnie przeciwko ludzkości…, op. cit., pp. 50–61, here: 56–57.
⁴ An ad hoc tribunal, i.e. one set up temporarily to try and punish a specific crime and specific persons.
⁵ The term ‘total mobilisation’ was formulated by Ernst Jünger in his 1930 essay Die totale Mobilmachung.He notes that conflict has ceased to be a domain of professional armies and elites, to become a confrontation between entire societies, involving each social stratum and each aspect of life.
⁶ The biggest of them were trials of the staff of KL Bergen- Belsen (17 October–17 November 1945), KL Dachau (15 November–13 December 1945) and KL Mauthausen-Gusen (29 March–13 May 1946).

In a world overshadowed by terror and brutality, the story of Józef and Wiktoria Ulma and their six young children shines as a beacon of humanity and moral clarity. Living in the quiet village of Markowa in southeastern Poland during the dark years of the Holocaust, the Ulmas epitomized the extraordinary courage of ordinary people. Risking everything, they sheltered eight Jewish neighbours in their modest home, defying the oppressive machinery of Nazi Germany. Their ultimate sacrifice—losing their lives and those of their children—stands as a profound testament to the power of empathy and faith in the face of unimaginable danger.

Rooted in Humility, Elevated by Vision
In the serene village of Markowa in southeastern Poland, Józef and Wiktoria Ulma were a beacon of resilience, intellect, and humanity. Their lives, though marked by simplicity, were extraordinary in their depth and purpose. Józef, born in 1900, was a man of immense curiosity and practical genius. Despite having only four years of formal education and six months at an agricultural school, he transcended his humble beginnings. His interests were vast, ranging from horticulture to photography. Józef established Markowa’s first fruit tree nursery, constructed a home wind turbine for electricity, and captured village life with his camera, creating an invaluable visual archive. He exemplified a peasant intelligentsia—a man deeply tied to the land yet yearning for intellectual growth.
Wiktoria, born in 1912, was equally remarkable. Orphaned at a young age, she displayed resilience and a zest for life, attending courses at a local Folk High School and engaging in cultural activities like village theatre. Together, the Ulmas created a household filled with love, learning, and faith. Parents to six children and expecting a seventh, their lives revolved around nurturing not only their family but also their community.

A World Turned Dark: The German Occupation
Before the Second World War, Markowa was a quiet, close-knit community of about 4,500 residents, including around 120 Jews. While cultural and religious differences meant that Polish and Jewish residents lived somewhat parallel lives, relations were amicable. Jewish families in Markowa primarily engaged in trade and farming, their children attending schools alongside Polish peers. Religious gatherings often took place in nearby Łańcut, at a synagogue that likely welcomed the Goldman family—the very neighbors the Ulmas would later risk everything to protect.
The peaceful life of the Ulmas and their neighbours shattered with the German invasion of Poland in 1939. For the Jewish community of Markowa the occupation brought swift and devastating oppression. Early restrictions, such as wearing the Star of David, escalated into forced labour, deportations, and mass executions. By 1942, ‘Operation Reinhardt’ sought to exterminate the Jewish population in the General Government area, leaving Jewish families in Markowa desperate for refuge.
Markowa fell under the jurisdiction of brutal German and local collaborators, including the infamous Konstanty Kindler, a volksdeutsch known for his ruthlessness. Daily life became a litany of terror: curfews, forced labour, and deportations were commonplace. The Jewish residents, targeted with relentless persecution, were subjected to confiscations, ghettos, and ultimately, extermination.
The Ulmas, known for their kindness and connection to local Jewish families, did not hesitate. In December 1942, they opened their modest home to eight Jews: Saul Goldman, his four sons, two daughters, and a young child. For over a year, these individuals lived hidden within the Ulmas’ home, sharing the family’s meagre resources. Such an act of defiance carried the ultimate risk; under the German Nazi decrees, anyone aiding Jews faced immediate execution, a punishment that extended to entire households.

The Tragedy That Silenced Markowa
The Ulmas’ courageous choice to protect their Jewish neighbours did not remain a secret. Suspicion grew as the family purchased unusually large quantities of food, arousing local curiosity. In March 1944, the German authorities were tipped off—likely by Włodzimierz Leś, a collaborator who had previously extorted and betrayed Jews in the area.
In the early hours of March 24, German gendarmes and local collaborators arrived at the Ulma home. The brutality was swift and unrelenting. The eight Jewish individuals hiding in the house were executed immediately. Józef and Wiktoria were then dragged outside and shot. As Wiktoria fell, in the throes of childbirth, the executioners made a harrowing decision: they would kill the children too. Eight-year-old Stanisława, six-year-old Barbara, five-year-old Władysław, four-year-old Franciszek, three-year-old Antoni, and 1.5-year-old Maria were all executed. In an instant, 17 lives were extinguished, including Wiktoria’s unborn child.
The massacre did not end with death. The perpetrators looted the Ulma farm and held a macabre celebration at the site of the execution. The villagers of Markowa were forced to bury the dead, creating two graves—one for the Ulmas and another for the Jews they had sheltered. The tragedy left an indelible scar on the community.

The Aftermath: Injustice and Memory
The perpetrators of the Markowa massacre largely escaped justice. While Włodzimierz Leś was executed by the Polish Underground in 1944, the German commander, Eilert Dieken, lived out his post-war years as a respected citizen in Lower Saxony, untouched by accountability. Josef Kokott, another participant, was eventually tried and sentenced to death in Poland, though his sentence was later commuted to life imprisonment. He died in prison in 1980.
The Ulmas, however, were not forgotten. In 1995, Yad Vashem honored Józef and Wiktoria as Righteous Among the Nations. Their names joined a sacred list of those who risked everything to save Jews during the Holocaust. In 2016, a museum dedicated to Poles who rescued Jews during World War II was opened in Markowa, bearing the Ulma family’s name. Each year, March 24 is observed as the National Day of Remembrance of Poles Saving Jews Under German Occupation, a tribute to their sacrifice and the bravery of others like them.

Faith in Action: The Ulmas’ Moral Compass
The Ulmas were guided by an unshakable faith. Their well-worn Bible contained underlined passages from the parable of the Good Samaritan and the commandment to love one’s neighbour, reflecting the principles that shaped their actions. These were not mere ideals; they were convictions put into practice, even at the cost of their lives. Their choice to shelter Jews was an act of profound moral courage, rooted in love and a sense of shared humanity.
The family’s beatification by the Catholic Church in 2023 underscores their spiritual legacy. While their recognition as Righteous Among the Nations resonates deeply within Jewish memory, their elevation to sainthood amplifies their story on a global scale, reminding Catholics and non-Catholics alike of the universal values they represent: compassion, sacrifice, and unwavering moral clarity.

A Symbol of Universal Values
What makes the Ulmas’ story uniquely compelling is not just the magnitude of their sacrifice but the life they led before their tragic end. Józef and Wiktoria were not wealthy, educated elites, but rather a humble couple driven by intellectual curiosity, strong faith, and a sense of communal responsibility. They cultivated their farm, raised their children, and enriched their village through Józef’s photography, ingenuity, and activism. Their decision to protect others in a time of extreme peril was not born of wealth or privilege but of an extraordinary humanity that transcended fear.
The Ulma family’s story transcends national and religious boundaries. It is a testament to the enduring power of human dignity in the face of unspeakable evil. Like Jan Karski and Witold Pilecki, the Ulmas stand as symbols of resistance and humanity during one of history’s darkest chapters. Their legacy challenges us to reflect on our own capacity for courage and compassion.
Today, as their names appear in museums, textbooks, and prayers, the Ulmas remind the world that even in the bleakest times, ordinary people can achieve extraordinary heroism. Their story is not merely one of martyrdom but a beacon of hope and a call to action for future generations.

---

References:
"Wiktoria and Józef Ulma - Meet the Ulma Family The Ulma family from Markowa (Institute of National Remembrance)
"Historia rodziny Ulmów, dzień w którym ich zamordowano został ustanowiony Narodowym Dniem Pamięci Polaków Ratujących Żydów pod okupacją niemiecką. (Oddział Instytutu Pamięci Narodowej w Rzeszowie)
"Biografia - Błogosławiona Rodzina Ulmów, Józef i Wiktoria oraz siedmioro ich dzieci

The catalogue of the exhibition 'Between Life and Death. Stories of Rescue during the Holocaust' in Estonian.

The publication presents the 2024 catalogue of the exhibition 'Between Life and Death. Stories of Rescue during the Holocaust.'

In creating the first issue of Remembrance and Solidarity: Studies in 20th Century European History, we elected not to give it a theme any more precise than what the title seems to suggest. Nonetheless, the scholars we invited to contribute, no matter whether they were experienced or young, submitted texts in which two relatively clear tendencies are evident. The first is the theme of remembering the history of the 20th century in terms of political and societal issues. The authors describe debates and decision-making processes leading to the establishment of days commemorating certain events or situations in which new political rituals come into being that are meant to change our perception of the past. They compare the reigning principles in historical memory in Eastern and Western Europe, and consider the roles of the great historical caesurae in forming a sense of community within a generation. The subject of memory and its political function and potential has evidently lost none of its relevance, and continues to attract researchers, although it has been widely discussed and addressed in Europe for at least twenty years. Another aspect that unites the majority of texts is reference to communist history. This surely results from the history of the communist system and regimes having been ‘delved into’ to a much lesser degree than that of Hitlerism and its affiliated ideologies, and the sinister mark they have left on the history of 20th-century Europe. Although it is not the intention of the publishers of Studies to oppose this sort of compensatory work in the fields of history and memory, we hope that the coming issues of our annual magazine will be devoted to the memory of crises (2013), which were plentiful in 20th-century Europe, and the memory of World War One and its far-reaching effects (2014).

Since there are a number of relevant periodicals dealing with Holocaust research, the ‘Call for Articles’ for this current issue, published in February 2015, requested a focus on issues that are particularly relevant to the work of the ENRS. The objective was to obtain current research contributions from different European countries and to address authors with regional and methodologically different approaches. The response to this call has been overwhelming. The fifteen contributions ultimately selected for publication in this issue were written by an international group of authors either in English or in their native language and then translated into English. They deal with Germany, Italy, Lithuania, Poland, Russia, Romania, Ukraine, Slovakia and Hungary, or Central and Eastern Europe as a whole. The issue is divided into two main parts: I. Articles, which include academic research, and II. Miscellanea, which present both project reports and professional reflections. The Articles are subdivided into two further sections: ‘History – Studies on the Period’ focuses on the history of oppression and dispossession of Jews as well as the history and course of the murders in different local, regional and national contexts; and ‘Memory – Studies on Remembrance’ centres on post-1945 memory and remembrance, in which a variety of forms of public and private remembrance and memory preservation are considered, including literature, exhibitions, films and memorials. Special emphasis is placed here on the ways in which the subject was handled during the communist era and the question of comparability of the Holocaust / Shoah with the crimes of Stalinism.

The catalogue of the exhibition 'Between Life and Death. Stories of Rescue during the Holocaust' in German.