Among key authority figures, ties to [Fascist] colleagues in Germany had been natural to form and maintain. Soon after [Fascism’s] accession to power, in December 1933, the Finnish security police sent a young official to take stock of the newly established Geheimes Staatspolizeiamt, then led by Rudolf Diels. There were good reasons to do so. Finland had maintained relationships also with the Weimar security authorities mainly in an effort to strengthen its own ability to control the movement and operations of communist agents within the Baltic region.

The new [Fascist] authorities were ready to continue cooperating, and thus a basis for a mutual understanding between the Finnish security police and the emerging SS‐security apparatus quickly formed. It would be based on the shared view that the Finnish security police and the Gestapo were both fighting a common enemy, international communism, and that this made [the Third Reich] in the words of one Finnish official “in the political sense a closely aligned major power.”¹⁶

[…]

Immediately following the conclusion of hostilities between Finland and the Soviet Union, [Berlin] approached Finland to sign a trade agreement. Later that year in November, Soviet Foreign Minister Vyacheslav Molotov, while on a diplomatic visit to Berlin, demanded that [it] honor the German–Soviet non‐aggression pact and leave Finland in the hands of the Soviet Union. Hitler flatly refused, as Finland had become a factor in his plans.²¹

When [the Western Axis] launched its assault on the Soviet Union in June 1941, Finnish territory and military bases were at the disposal of the [Third Reich’s] armed forces. The Finnish army mobilized, deployed, and prepared for its own advance. By July, hostilities began along the roughly 1,300 kilometers of the Finnish–Soviet border, from the Gulf of Finland to the Barents Sea.²²

The operational plan was straightforward: [Axis] troops stationed in Norway and Finnish Lapland were to move on Murmansk, occupy the Kola peninsula, and then roll south along the Murmansk–Leningrad railway. Finnish troops were to advance from their deployment zone in the southern part of the country towards the east, sever the railway connection between Leningrad and Murmansk, and then push on to occupy preplanned positions in Soviet Karelia.

As the campaign unfolded, the [Axis] failed to take Leningrad in 1941. Finnish troops were part of the forces encircling the city, and amassed to its north. By late 1941, the Finnish army had nevertheless occupied considerable stretches of Soviet Karelia, reaching Lake Onega (Ääninen) and the town of Petrozavodsk. With their operational targets thus reached, Finnish soldiers in Soviet Karelia became occupiers, and the Finnish army created an occupation administration.²³

In the nineteenth century, Finnish nationalism had already created a vision of an ideal nation‐state of Greater Finland, encompassing the closest linguistic relatives of the Finns: Estonia, most of Soviet Karelia, the Kola peninsula, the Finnmark region of Norway and the Västerbotten region of Sweden.

As long as the war proceeded favorably for [the Axis], Finland could speculate widely as to its future borders; however, Finnish schemes for territorial expansion, annexation, and resettlement were inevitably tied to [an Axis] victory over the Soviet Union, and [Axis] plans to dismantle and divide up the former Soviet territories.²⁴

A case in point is the Kola Peninsula east of the Murmansk oblast. With its ample forests and potential for hydroelectric power, the area was sometimes included in schemes for Greater Finland, and the war seemed to offer the possibility of making this dream into a reality.

[Axis officials], perhaps deliberately, gave conflicting and vague statements about the future of Kola—in some cases the Reich was to directly annex the territory, in others it was to be gifted to Finland, in yet others it was promised to Vidkun Quisling’s Norway. Regardless, [the Axis] was cavalier in its grandiose plans for territorial expansion and demographic reorganization, despite the very real, and partially realized, consequences for the affected people.²⁵

In summer 1941, well before the end of the war, [the Axis] was already making plans to resettle inhabitants of its captured territories, and nowhere was this more apparent than Leningrad. The area around the city, the region of Ingria (Ingermanland), was mainly inhabited by Finnic peoples, including the native Ingrians, Votes, and the descendants of seventeenth‐century Finnish settlers known as Ingrian Finns.

[Moscow’s] purges in the 1930s had [affected] the minority nationalities in the Soviet Union, and Ingrian Finns were no exception. Nevertheless, by the [Axis] invasion there were still more than one hundred thousand Ingrian Finns living around Leningrad.²⁶

As the [Axis] approached the city, Einsatzgruppe A began to systematically collect and transfer Ingrian Finns from the area southwest of Leningrad into Estonia, to await further deportation and resettlement. These people were moved from Ingria, because the [Axis] planned to turn it into the province of Peipusland, an area reserved for Germanic settlement.

In November 1941, Finnish government circles proposed resettling the Ingrian Finns, who were languishing in SS‐run camps in Estonia, to territories that Finland planned to annex at the end of the war in order to ease the country’s acute agricultural labor shortage. Consequently, by the breakup of the Finnish–German alliance in 1944, [Axis officials] had transferred over sixty thousand Ingrian Finns to Finland.²⁷

The notion of “repopulating” a territory [raises] the question: What will become of the existing inhabitants? In the eyes of the Finnish planners, the Soviet authorities had largely resolved this question by evacuating the territories they relinquished as their forces retreated. Men of military age were conspicuously absent from Finnish‐occupied parts of Soviet Karelia.

The Finnish occupiers grouped the remaining civilian population by their “nationality” (e. g. people of Finnic origin and “non‐nationals”). All non‐Finnic Soviet nationalities comprised the latter group, and were considered a security risk.

Finnish forces rounded them up in concentration camps to await forcible deportation to either [Axis] or Soviet–controlled territory after the successful conclusion of the war. In other words, the Finnish authorities were preparing to ethnically cleanse the area.²⁸

[Classical] Fascism was interesting for a few reasons, some of them being its relationship to the labour movement:

• ᴉuᴉlossnW was a prominent socialist until their expulsion from the PSI for their nationalist views, and if we take them at their word in their last testament while captured by communists, they considered themself a socialist
• Fascism managed to bring other former Marxist communists into their ranks, notably Nicola Bombacci, a founding member of the Communist Party of Italy in 1921 until their expulsion for fascist views in 1927
• Fascism was economically a class-collaborationist ideology (specifically corporativism, from the Latin corpus, body)

Now, of course, we have the benefit of hindsight and can see what a disaster Italian fascism and its friends were and the name of 'fascism' is forever tainted. But theoretically a modern equivalent could similarly appeal to both nationalists and the socialist-leaning today in a similar way. Fascism doesn't logically imply racism, nor does it necessarily exclude certain types of progressivism: see BUF gaining large support from women by being pro-suffrage, see environmentalism of eco-fascists, and consider some modern neofash parties adopting social democrat policy points.

With all this in mind, what were the early warning signs that Fascism was not going to be pro-worker, despite its rhetoric? How well do you believe socialists will be able to spot them?

Quoting Arnold A. Offner’s American Appeasement: United States Foreign Policy and Germany, 1933–1938, pages 22–3, 30–4:

Taking as its starting point the Kellogg‐Briand Pact, the MacDonald plan in Part I allowed any signatory of it and the Kellogg Pact to call for a conference in event of a breach, or threatened breach, of the latter agreement.¹³ The consulting powers—in whose decisions the United States, the United Kingdom, France, [the Third Reich], [Fascist] Italy, [the Empire of] Japan, and the Soviet Union had to concur—were to try to prevent a breach, or determine responsibility if one occurred.

Part II defined troops, a critical point because the French insisted that the […] Schutzstaffel (S.S.) and Sturmabteilung (S.A.) forces be considered regular troops, and limited the number of effectives allowed each European country.

[The Third Reich], having no colonies [yet], could have 200,000 troops on its own soil; France could maintain 200,000 troops at home and 200,000 overseas. Continental soldiers could serve for eight months only, thus converting the Reichswehr into a short‐term army and allowing France the advantage of building a long‐term overseas force. Most important, troop reduction would take place over five years. Meanwhile France would be stronger than [the Third Reich], and the rest of the world would learn whether the Hitler government intended to behave.

Part III dealt with exchange of information; Part IV dealt with prohibitions on chemical, incendiary, and bacterial warfare; and Part V established a Permanent Disarmament Commission, which was to submit at least one report a year and investigate by request, or on its own, alleged treaty infractions. The League Council would review the commission’s reports.

[…]

There was […] surprise and apprehension when the May 11 Leipziger Illustrierte Zeitung carried an article by Neurath declaring that regardless of the Geneva talks [the German Reich] had to rearm on equal footing with other nations. Neurath’s statement, intended to force the British and French to yield to [Berlin’s] demands, had the opposite effect.⁴⁴

The British secretary for war, Lord Douglas Hailsham, threatened military sanctions if [the German Reich] rearmed in violation of the Treaty of Versailles, and the French foreign minister, Joseph Paul‐Boncour, supported the British stand.⁴⁵ Hitler used the opportunity to tell his ministers on May 12 that further disarmament negotiations could lead only to destruction of the [Reichswehr] or blame for Germany if the conference failed.

Both Neurath and General Werner von Blomberg, the minister of war, supported the contention that negotiations no longer would serve any purpose, and the cabinet thereupon announced that the chancellor would respond to recent statements and developments before a special session of the Reichstag on May 17.⁴⁶

In Geneva, Nadolny was so distressed anticipating a truculent address that he rushed to see Hitler and asked him to meet the British halfway by accepting the MacDonald plan as a basis for negotiation. But Hitler only banged his fists on the table, denounced the French, and ended the interview even while Nadolny persisted in his advice.⁴⁷

American diplomats believed the time to act had come. In response to Hull’s inquiry, the chargé in Berlin, George A. Gordon, surmised that Hitler was going to declare that the failure of the powers to grant [the Third Reich] military equality had vitiated the MacDonald plan.

At the same time Davis sent two frantic cables, one urging that Roosevelt speak out before Hitler, and the other proposing that Roosevelt summon Luther to the White House to ask him to urge his country to align itself with the United States, England, and [Fascist] Italy by supporting the MacDonald plan.⁴⁸

Roosevelt meanwhile summoned his advisers—Hull, Phillips, William C. Bullitt, special assistant to Hull, and Louis Howe, Roosevelt’s omnipresent secretary—and they drafted a message to the heads of the fifty‐four states represented in Geneva. Then they turned the draft over to Assistant Secretary Moley with instructions, as he recalled, to “pretty up the language,” and “put the old organ roll into it.”⁴⁹

The President's May 16 message emphasized the economic burden that heavy arms placed upon nations. The overwhelming majority of peoples, he said, retained excessive armaments because they feared aggression in an age when modern offensive weapons were vastly stronger than defensive ones.

To escape this tragic dilemma by eliminating offensive weapons Roosevelt proposed a four‐step program: acceptance of the MacDonald plan, agreement on time and procedure for steps following it, maintenance of armaments at present levels while carrying out the first and following steps, and a nonaggression pact. He warned that if any strong nation refused to cooperate in the efforts for political and economic peace the world would know whom to blame.⁵⁰

Major newspapers lauded the President’s words. Typically, the New York Times of May 17 praised them as even more bold than any proposal made by Woodrow Wilson and noted that the world eagerly awaited the [Third Reich’s] response. Neurath at once advised Hitler that he could not avoid a careful response to Roosevelt’s message in his scheduled address, but that it would be possible to concur with American principles yet skirt the demand that [the German Reich] not begin to rearm. He sent him a draft of such a reply on the morning of May 17.⁵¹

Hitler, in full [Fascist] uniform, as were the majority of the audience, addressed an excited overflow session of the Reichstag. He spoke softly and swiftly, opening with the usual attack on national passions that clouded judgment and wisdom in 1919 and explaining the [Fascist] revolution as a response to economic conditions and a bulwark against “threatened Communist revolution.”

The Treaty of Versailles, Hitler insisted, granted rights to the conquered as well as the conqueror; [the Third Reich’s] demand for equality was therefore one of “morality, right and reason.” What contribution was the Third Reich willing to make to the present disarmament tangle?

[The Third Reich] would disband its entire military establishment, destroy its few remaining weapons if neighboring countries did the same, and accept the MacDonald plan. [The Third Reich] would have to maintain defense forces as long as other nations did, and not include S.S. and S.A. men as part of the total effectives permitted.

Finally, Hitler in behalf of his country thanked Roosevelt for his message and, for the first and only time during the decade, welcomed the “magnanimous proposal of bringing the United States into European relations as a guarantor of peace.”⁵²

The German Consul in Chicago, Hugo Simon, reported that Hitler’s speech had made an extraordinary impression on everyone, and two days afterward Nadolny stated that his government accepted the MacDonald plan not only as a starting point for discussion but also as a basis for the future agreement, and he withdrew German amendments to the sections on standardization of Continental armies.⁵³

The French were suspicious and perturbed. According to Chargé Marriner in Paris, the brilliant secretary general of the French Foreign Office, Alexis Saint‐Léger Léger, thought Roosevelt's message an English‐inspired trick to make France’s position at Geneva difficult, and Marriner had to work hard allaying his fears.⁵⁴

The popular political journalist, Andre Géraud (Pertinax), writing in l’Echo de Paris on May 27, considered Roosevelt’s ideas naïve and argued that wars resulted from not defending treaties rather than from defending them. In England the “official mind,” in Chargé Ray Atherton’s words, would not accept Hitler’s speech as a declaration of policy unless [the Third Reich] without further delay standardized its army.

In Berlin Chargé Gordon, recognizing that Hitler had taken a statesmanlike and conciliatory position, suspected it might well be a ruse to gain time to secure control at home, and then the world might see what [Fascists] privately had described to Gordon as “the real Hitler—the advocate of the doctrine of force, as laid down in his book My Struggle.”⁵⁵

Davis did not share his colleagues’ skepticism or fear. He thought [the Third Reich] more conciliatory than ever and believed the “profound effect” of Roosevelt’s speech had induced [the Third Reich] to retreat “from an almost impossible position.”

It was now time, he said, for the United States to make “some move,” perhaps a meeting of the heads of state of Europe’s major powers. Roosevelt and Hull agreed, and instructed Davis to expand upon Roosevelt’s May 16 message by way of a public response to the proposals Henderson had been discussing with American diplomats in Geneva since March.⁵⁶

The […] finding that a considerable share of [Fascist] leaders had an upper class background is remarkable in itself because, as Mühlberger noted, “the social background of the higher party functionaries […] did not bear much resemblance to the social structure of the party’s ordinary membership.”²⁷

In an attempt to explain the strong representation of the élites and the upper classes among [Fascist] leaders, Kater has forwarded a rather functionalist argumentation based on the assumption that all political movements need skilled representatives in order to perform administrative tasks requiring higher degrees of education. According to Kater, “the NSDAP […] appears to have been ruled by the same laws of rationality that governed other institutions, corporations, and even other political parties in the Weimar Republic.”²⁸

In this sense, both Mühlberger and Kater simply assumed that the [NSDAP] did not substantially differ from other movements with respect to the social background of its leaders although comparative data did not exist at the time.

In contrast to these results, a true paradigm shift in the debate on [Fascist] leaders was triggered by Ulrich Herbert’s biography of Werner Best and Michael Wildt’s Generation of the Unbound, which opened new perspectives on leading officials within the SS and the Reichssicherheitshauptamt (RSHA) in particular.²⁹ Herbert has shown that of the 300 men of the RSHA, the “core group of the [Fascist] policy of persecution and genocide,” two thirds were academically educated and most of these even held doctoral titles in law or the humanities.³⁰

Similarly, quantitative sociological analyses by Jens Banach about the SD and the SIPO produced reliable statistics suggesting that SS‐officers were surprisingly well‐educated and recruited from the bourgeois middle and upper classes.³¹ Consistent evidence can also be found in Gunnar Boehnert’s and Herbert Ziegler’s studies about the SS leadership³² and in Yaacov Lozowick’s book Hitler’s Bureaucrats³³ as well as Mathilde Jamin’s study about SA leaders.³⁴ Furthermore, Christian Ingrao has dedicated a theoretical book to intellectuals in the SS and the SD.³⁵

Thus, a historiographical narrative has emerged presenting the organizers of the holocaust not as narrow‐minded civil servants — as Hannah Arendt had suggested — but rather as highly motivated, dynamic and ideologically committed young men with a high degree of education. Together, they were meant to form a “new aristocracy”³⁶ in Himmler’s “fighting bureaucracy” that was not to be constituted by civil servants, but by committed ideologues with an “unconditional will to act.”³⁷

The picture that has emerged is highly distressing both on a moral and an intellectual level, suggesting as it does that some of “Germany’s best and brightest” had organized and planned the Holocaust.³⁸

[…]

Contrary to the earlier findings on Reichstag deputies, the NDB sample shows that bourgeois and intellectual members of the upper classes were in no way under‐represented among the élites of the [Fascist] movement. Outside the parliament, the sample confirms the existence of large groups of well‐educated [Fascist] supporters in German media, universities, the industry, and banking sector.

While historians have already provided a plethora of qualitative studies on each of these groups, the data extracted from the NDB is the first to provide numbers in proportion to other political parties and movements.⁵⁹

Table 4 shows the shares of professional groups among political élites in the NDB sample. The professional categories used in this table were not mutually exclusive. For instance, a civil servant could also be a writer or a large landowner. The average shares of professional in the NDB sample as a whole are shown in the right column.

It is notable that the social composition of [Fascist] and democratic élites in the NDB sample often resembled one another. The finding that the [Fascists] were able to integrate the bourgeois upper middle and upper classes alters our understanding of [Fascist] leaders that were stereotypically described as members of the lower middleclass or the peasantry.

Instead, [Fascist] élites in the NDB sample were typically engaged in classically bourgeois professions. It has been found that a large number of [Fascists] in the sample had been civil servants, industrialists, professors, Protestant pastors, and writers.

In this context, however, it should be noted that civil servants and active members of the armed forces were not allowed to join the [NSDAP] in most states of the Weimar Republic. The NDB sample nonetheless includes a number of [Fascist] sympathizers in the German civil service, who did not formally join the party until 1933, but maintained close ties to the [Fascist] movement. In addition, the sample includes figures, such as the legal theorist Helmut Nicolai, who were forced to leave the civil service or the army due to their activities in the [NSDAP].

[…]

Furthermore, it has been found that industrialists as well as bankers were over‐represented among [Fascist] élites in the NDB sample. In addition to open [Fascists], many conservative business leaders were sympathizing with the rising fascist movement.

For example, associations such as the “Society for the Study of Fascism” (Gesellschaft zum Studium des Faschismus) included prominent members such as Fritz Thyssen, Waldemar Pabst (director of Rheinmetall and ex‐conspirer in the Kapp Putsch), Friedrich Reinhart (CEO Commerzbank), Hjalmar Schacht and Walther Funk (both became presidents of the Reichsbank).⁶¹

While the Gesellschaft zum Studium des Faschismus was an association of right‐wing business leaders and theorists in the widest sense of the word, the “Keppler‐Kreis” was a circle of industrialists and bankers formed in the early 1930s that was of a more pronounced [Fascist] character.

Later, it was renamed into “Freundeskreis Heinrich Himmler” (‘Heinrich Himmler’s Circle of Friends’) and included prominent members such as Emil Heinrich Meyer (CEO Dresdner Bank), Friedrich Flick (Mitteldeutsche Stahlwerke, later the richest man of Germany), the banker Kurt von Schröder, and Otto Ohlendorf, the infamous leader of Einsatzgruppe D and an organizer of the Holocaust.⁶²

(Emphasis added.)

Now, I should mention that this research does have some problems. For example, it notes a significant percentage of unemployed citizens in the NSDAP without taking into account the probability that these members likely had military or petty bourgeois backgrounds before succumbing to unemployment. There are also some classic anticommunist fallacies, such as these:

the anti‐democratic left includes communists, socialists and anarchists

the […] KPD exhibited a similar trend as the [NSDAP] (with about 80 per cent of the communists in the sample being KPD or KPÖ members). This is remarkable insofar as it shows that extremist parties were highly successful in integrating social élites and relied on a proportionally larger share of supporters among the political élites than democratic parties. Obviously, this finding very much contradicts both [Fascist] and communist propaganda, which always stressed their revolutionary character of a protest movements “from below” against the establishment.

‘Political élites’ in this context apparently refers to those employed as politicians: representatives, parliamentarians, and what have you. In which case, it seems that the author missed the point — perhaps deliberately — of party members participating in the status quo as a struggle to win over some concessions for their classes. I say ‘perhaps deliberately’ because forcing in a false equivalence in order to appease a capitalist publisher would be a plausible explanation for otherwise competent writers repeating this mistake. In any event, most of this paper is worth reading.

(Mirror. Mirror. Mirror.)

These two new data sets allow us to examine the reaction of investors to the [German Fascists’] “seizure of power.” If close ties with the new government—as perceived by German stock market investors in 1933—were valuable to the firms in question, their share prices should have outperformed the rest of the market. We thus try to offer a quantitative answer to the question, How much was it worth to have close, early connections with the [NSDAP]? The answer is—a great deal.

Affiliated firms outperformed the stock market by 5% to 8% and account for a large part of the market’s rise. Investors recognized value where they saw it and rewarded firms with preestablished ties handsomely. This demonstrates that the connections we document mattered—investors’ willingness to pay for connected firms was markedly higher by mid‐March 1933 than before the thirtieth of January.

Our results relate to an earlier literature that focused on the connections between big business and the NSDAP during the Great Depression. Following the conviction of influential industrialists such as Friedrich Karl Flick, Alfried Krupp, and I. G. Farben executives in the Nuremberg trials, much of the literature took it for granted that major German firms had financed the [NSDAP’s] rapid rise after 1930. Autobiographies of leading figures such as Fritz Thyssen’s I Paid Hitler (1941) reinforced this impression.²

From the late 1960s onward, this consensus was challenged by Henry A. Turner. His German Big Business and the Rise of Hitler argued that before 1933, contributions from large corporations were rare. Only a handful of prominent business leaders had made substantial donations. The party was largely self‐financing. Political contributions were a way to hedge bets, and many right‐wing parties received funding.³

There was no “smoking gun” linking big business with the rise of Hitler. Although some authors have questioned Turner’s reading of the evidence, the consensus now is that the links between big business and the [Fascists] were much more tenuous and ambiguous than previously assumed.⁴

[…]

Earlier examinations of the link between stock prices and the [Fascists’] rise to power focused on market averages. Immediately after the new government took office, stocks rallied. As the New York Times’s correspondent put it on January 31: “The Boerse recovered today from its weakness yesterday when it learned of Adolf Hitler’s appointment, an outright boom extending over the greater part of the stocks... The turnover was large, leading stocks advancing 3 to 5 percent.”⁹

Stock prices continued to rise after January 1933.¹⁰ Some observers argued that investor enthusiasm for [Fascist] economic policies and rearmament was responsible for this increase.

The consensus view has been that this evidence is not convincing, for two reasons. First, the rebound in stock prices began long before Hitler’s accession to office became a serious political possibility. Second, it is also virtually indistinguishable from the cyclical increase in broad market indices that started in most industrialized countries in the summer of 1932. Figure I plots stock indices in France, the United Kingdom, Germany, and the United States.

The German market fell by 40% between January 1930 and April 1932. By mid‐January 1933, it had risen by 43%. This was part of a general trend—the Standard and Poor’s 500 in the United States had gained 35% over the same period. Nor were the increases after the thirtieth of January 1933 unusually high. By June, the German index had risen by 12% since mid‐January. The S&P was up 63%, the U.K. FTSE 11%, and the French index 10%.

As Figure I shows, there is little to suggest that stock market investors as a whole cheered [Fascism’s] rise to power to a significant extent, at least during its initial phase. What has been neglected is the impact of Hitler’s accession to power on the cross section of stock returns.

[…]

We identify businessmen and firms as connected to the NSDAP if they meet either of two criteria. First, if business leaders or firms contributed financially to the party or to Hitler or Göring, they qualify as connected.¹⁴ Second, certain businessmen provided political support for the [Fascists] at crucial moments, serving on (or helping to finance) various groups that advised the party or Hitler on economic policy. We also count the latter as connected. Appendix I lists all relevant individuals and firms, along with notes on the main scholarly sources for each.¹⁵

Most of these connections are not controversial. Because some have been disputed, we explain our choices in detail. We also perform a number of sensitivity tests later to show that our key findings are robust to changes in the definition of what it takes to be connected.

The first group includes early contributors such as Thyssen and Kirdorf. Their support—financial and other—is not disputed.¹⁶ It also includes the financiers and industrialists who participated in a meeting on February 20, 1933, at Göring’s residence in Berlin. After giving a speech attacking Communism and declaring private enterprise to be incompatible with democracy, Hitler left the conclave.

Göring laid out plans for winning the upcoming national elections, observing that “the sacrifices asked for […] would be so much easier for industry to bear if it realized that the election of March 5th will surely be the last one for the next 10 years, probably even for the next 100 years.” Schacht then presided over the establishment of a campaign fund totaling three million Reichsmarks for the electoral campaign.¹⁷

In the second group are businessmen whose ties to the party also pre‐dated Feb. 20. It includes the signatories of a famous petition to President Hindenburg, urging him to appoint Hitler as Chancellor. The signatories were providing political support to [Fascism] at a critical juncture because the party’s vote had just declined.¹⁸ They qualify as connected according to our second criterion.¹⁹

We also include the members of the Keppler Kreis and the Arbeitsstelle Schacht in this group. The former was organized by Wilhelm Keppler, a former chemical company executive, with the explicit aim of creating stronger links between big business and the [NSDAP] and of influencing the latter’s economic policies. The Arbeitsstelle Schacht was organized by the former Reichsbank President, Hjalmar Schacht.

The businessmen who financed Schacht’s circle included some of the biggest names in German business, including Albert Vögler of Vereinigte Stahl, Krupp von Bohlen, Fritz Springorum, Emil Georg von Stauss (who first introduced Schacht to Göring), Rosterg of Winterhall, and Kurt von Schröder.²⁰ Because Turner raised questions about some of these figures, we again test the sensitivity of our results to alternative definitions.²¹

Traditional accounts of big business involvement with the [NSDAP] have focused on the relationship between managers (Vorstand) and party figures.²² We pursue a more comprehensive approach. The power of the supervisory board (Aufsichtsrat) in the organization of German industry is difficult to exaggerate. It appoints and fires executives, acting on behalf of the shareholder assembly (Passow 1906). Part of its remit is to check on the financial reporting of joint stock companies and to consult with managers before major decisions.

In contrast to Anglo‐Saxon boards, executives are ordinarily not members of the supervisory board. Far from being an ineffectual rubber‐stamping institution, supervisory boards offered central positions of power, and many of the leading businessmen in Germany did (and still do) accept multiple appointments. Universal banks exerted their influence habitually through seats on the board—Gerschenkron called the supervisory board in Germany the “most powerful organ […] within corporate organizations.”²³

[…]

Weighted by market capitalization, more than half of the firms listed on the Berlin stock market had [Fascist]‐connected members. This factor alone suggests that connections between the party and big business were closer than some of the recent literature has accepted. In terms of dividend yield, the two groups are relatively similar—connected firms paid a slightly higher rate of 3.4%, compared to 2.9% for unconnected firms. In both groups, a large number of firms were not making any payments to shareholders during the Great Depression.

Prior to Hitler’s rise to power, both groups showed almost identical log returns, driven by a cyclical recovery—a rise by 0.12 during the twomonth period from November 1932 to January 1933 for connected firms, and 0.10 for unconnected ones. During the two months after January 1933, however, the connected firms show markedly higher returns—a difference of 0.07 in mean returns. The next main section explores the extent to which we can document a systematic relationship between above‐average stock returns and affiliation with the [NSDAP].

[…]

After the summer of 1932, the rising tide of Germany’s recovering economy lifted all boats. Following the “seizure of power,” investors may have cheered the appearance of a more broadly based government (Figure I). In addition, those firms that supported the [Fascists] financially or had business leaders with strong links to the NSDAP on their boards experienced share‐price increases many times larger than the general rise in the market.³⁶

Figure II shows the distributions. The modal return on [Fascist]‐affiliated firms was about 8 log points higher than for unconnected firms. […] The lower panel of Table III documents significant outperformance over the period from mid‐January to mid‐March. [Fascist]‐affiliated firms saw their prices increase by almost 7% more than the rest. Controlling for additional characteristics strengthens the result.

Firms with large market capitalizations were more likely to be [Fascist]‐affiliated, but size alone did not aid in the recovery of stock prices. Regression (6) shows that firms with higher market capitalizations did somewhat better than the rest of the market. High dividend yields were rewarded during the period.

(Emphasis added.)

As described above, reactions to the Defense Act of 1925 were strong among conservatives and the king. But the most widespread discontent was within the military (Argenziano 1995, 212; Nilsson 2000, 48; Lewin 2010, 83). Indeed, some higher military officers made an explicit connection between the process of democratization that Sweden had just gone through and the disarmament outcome (Nilsson 2000, 49).

In response to the Defense Act of 1925, the Association for the Defense of Sweden (Riksforbundet för Sveriges försvar, RSF) was formed by military officers to propagate for rearmament, and the association also established local organizations at garrisons threatened by closure (Argenziano 1995, 212; Lewin 2010, 83).

At the time, and in view of recent rise of fascism in Italy, these organizations were viewed by the Social Democratic leaders and the Social Democratic press as a highly worrisome development, who feared that these organizations would be used to “ferment fascism” and become “hotbeds of fascism” (Argenziano 1995, 212–213).

As we shall see below, the 1925 Defense Act and the issue of disarmament appear to have been very important to the small Swedish fascist movement that mobilized, largely around military officers, during the second half of the 1920s.

In 1926, three military officers (one of which was a veteran of the WWI German army) formed the Swedish Fascist People’s Party; this is the first incarnation of what would become the fascist party that we focus most of our attention on in the quantitative analysis below. The party quickly changed its name to the Swedish Fascist Combat Organization (Sveriges Fascistiska Kamporganisation, SFKO).

The first fascist party, the Swedish National Socialist Freedom League (Svenska nationalsocialistiska frihetsförbundet), which a few years later changed names to the Swedish National Socialist Farmers’ and Workers’ Association (Svenska nationalsocialistiska bonde‐ och arbetarföreningen, SNBA), had been formed two years earlier.

However, while the main impetus behind the first fascist party had been anti‐semitism, an issue that had not attracted supporters to the party, the SFKO gravitated more towards Italian fascism, and focused on anti‐democratic and anti‐communist rhetoric, and the issue of national defense (Wärenstam 1972; Hagtvet 1980).

According to Wärenstam (1972, 70), SFKO’s journal constantly wrote about the issue of national defense, and especially the cutbacks and garrison closures that resulted from the Defense Act of 1925. This issue was also connected to the issue of democracy and parliamentarism, as is exemplified by the following ‘call to soldiers’ published in the journal:

You have sworn allegiance to the Crown. But the king has been disabled by the party leaders. He who wishes to remain loyal to his oath must overthrow the system of government […] Throw parliamentarism from the saddle! Long live Sweden! Long live the King!

Long live fascism! (Wärenstam 1972, 75).

Hagtvet (1980, 726) summarizes historical evidence concerning the recruitment to SFKO as follows: “If there is any pattern in the recruitment to this organization, it must be that of the declassé military”. The explanation for this, Hagtvet says, is the 1925 Defense Act.

This was probably due to the reform of the armed forces completed by the Social Democratic Minister of Defense Per Albin Hansson. The military regarded this reform with suspicion. Some officers lost their commission, in itself a rather grave problem in view of the unemployment at the time. Fears, particularly among the lower ranks, that there would be further lay‐offs made some susceptible to the nationalist propaganda in fascist weeklies (Hagtvet 1980, 726).

Wärenstam (1972, 89) concludes along the same lines, saying that the government had not considered the “social consequences of the Defense Act of 1925”, most notably unemployment among military personnel, and that numerous lower‐rank military personnel were drawn to SFKO for this reason.

According to Nilsson (2000, 68), Per Engdahl, an early member of SFKO who later went on to establish his own fascist organization and became highly influential in the post‐World War II (WWII) fascist sub‐culture, has also testified that the Defense Act of 1925 was an important impetus behind the formation of SFKO.

[…]

The performance of the fascist parties in the 1936 elections can perhaps be partly explained by the emergence of a new competitor. The Swedish National League (Sveriges Nationella Förbund, SNF) originated from the youth organization of the Conservative Party (Allmäna Valmansförbundet, AV). The youth organization had, however, gradually oriented itself towards fascism, and positioned itself strongly against disarmament.¹⁹

During the late 1920s, the organization had seen a remarkable influx of members, which historians have argued was a result of popular disapproval of the Defense Act of 1925. As one leader in the organization put it, referring to the 1925 Defense Act: “The parliamentary outcome concerning the issue of defense served as a wake‐up call” (Wärenstam, 1965, 22–23). In 1934, the youth organization broke away from the traditional conservatives.

The following year, three members of parliament broke with AV and sat as representatives for SNF for their remaining terms. In the 1936 elections, SNF ran in 22 of the 28 districts and received 26,750 votes, or 0.9% of the total votes cast (Statistics Sweden 1936).

After the SNP had disbanded, Lindholm’s NSAP was the main remaining explicitly [pro‐Reich] party. With the growing reports of the persecution of Jews in [the Third Reich] and Hitler’s aggressive foreign policy stance, Lindholm felt the need to distance his party from the […] NSDAP. In 1938, he therefore changed the name of the party to Swedish Socialist Unity (Svensk Socialistisk Samling, SSS; Wärenstam 1972, 127–128). However, as Hagtvet (1980, 730) writes, “this shift was cosmetic in nature”.

In the 1938 municipal elections, Lindholm’s SSS ran in 108 of the around 1500 municipalities where single parties could run independently. In the municipalities with city status, they received 12,321 votes, or 1.2% in the 51 municipalities of this type where they ran.

As earlier, the geographical variation in votes was large with the party winning close to or over 2% of the votes in e.g. the municipalities of Gothenburg and Stockholm (Statistics Sweden 1938). The slightly smaller SNF also ran in the elections, presenting lists in 53 municipalities and receiving 7936 votes in the municipalities with city status (Statistics Sweden 1938).

Following the outbreak of WWII, [fascist] parties, although still being active, largely shunned electoral participation. There is evidence that they calculated that the outbreak of the war had diminished their prospects of electoral success even further, especially after the [Fascist] invasion of Norway in 1940. And with the end of WWII, parties associated with [classical] fascism almost disappeared from the electoral scene.

(Emphasis added.)

Set within this malaise of some impending yet indiscernible maneuver, the fascist fighting across the border escalated to an international crisis. On 25 July 1934, [pro‐Reich Austrians] launched a Putsch and assassinated Austrofascist Chancellor Dollfuss. While the [pro‐Reich] coup collapsed, the [pro‐Reich fascists] succeeded in sowing uncertainty and chaos.

Indeed, the ÖL tried to invade Austria to buttress the Putsch from without—they boarded trucks in Bavaria and rode to the Austrian border. The Neues Wiener Journal reported on the mobile units of Bavarian‐trained, [pro‐Reich Austrians] hoping to initiate ‘a general revolution’.⁷⁷ Southern Bavarian inhabitants reported this mobilization to [Reich] officials.

Though Hitler’s agents had actively planned parts of the coup, his régime strove to save face by distancing itself from the failed putschists.⁷⁸ The official [Fascist] government in Bavaria closely monitored the [pro‐Reich Austrians’] Munich base of operations, and it eventually closed ‘all roads leading to Austria’. Furthermore, ‘five hundred S.S. men were moved to the frontier to prevent the legionaries in the Freilassing camp from marching to Salzburg’.⁷⁹

The Austrian and German [supports of the Third Reich] split themselves on this Putsch, as they were at odds over how to respond to the failure.

Pictured: The Federal Chancellery after police officers devastated it.

About ninety kilometers west, border mayhem ensued near the Austrian town of Kufstein. On the Bavarian side, the [Reichswehr] intercepted an ÖL convoy and forced the participants to surrender their arms. However, [Reich] officials did not always arrive on time.⁸⁰ Forty [pro‐Reich Austrians] actually crossed the border, but Austrian soldiers awaited and repelled them.⁸¹

Meanwhile, the Tiroler Anzeiger acquired and printed a Bavarian report clarifying what the [pro‐Reich fascists] had planned: ‘five hundred Legionnaires should stand by prepared for the invasion’.⁸² The Salzburger Chronik likewise reported that the ÖL planned ‘to break the resistance of the [Austrian] troops and Heimatschutz who remained loyal [to Austria]’.⁸³

Three days after the [pro‐Reich] attempt, the Neue Leipziger Zeitung reported a ‘shootout’ between Heimwehren men and Austrian ‘refugees’ near the border in Kollerschlag. Presumably, such ‘refugees’ consisted of [pro‐Reich fascists] seeking asylum in Bavaria.

Austrian and German border officials alike arrived to restore order and make arrests.⁸⁴ This scuffling even caused German [Fascists] to close the Bavarian border with Austria on four occasions in the weeks following the assassination.⁸⁵

To distance itself further from the Putsch, the [Third Reich] disavowed the [Fascist] agents responsible for Dollfuss’s 1934 assassination.⁸⁶ [Berlin] reversed its policy of opening Bavaria to [pro‐Reich fascists] escaping the Austrofascist régime.

An English‐language observer recorded: ‘Nazi refugees were being welcomed into Bavaria prior to the putsch, whereas those who tried to cross the frontier’ after the putsch ‘were promptly arrested’, while ‘an armed Austrian legion […] fed, housed and drilled in Bavaria […] was subsequently forbidden its uniform and demobilised’.⁸⁷

Reporting from Passau, just on the German‐side the border, Der Morgen reported an intra[fascist] gunfight. When Bavarian SS agents demanded the ÖL surrender their guns, [Fascist] squads supposedly exchanged gunfire that led to the deaths of legionnaires. The [pro‐Reich fascists]—under command of a former Captain of the Austrian army—simply refused to give up their armaments to their fellow Bavarian [Fascists].⁸⁸

The death of the Austrofascist Chancellor likewise sparked chaos in Austria. Supporters of the Austrofascist state had projected their hopes for a viable Austria onto this fascist dictator, so his assassination a year after his assumption of power did not bode well. Thus, we might also read the ensuing martyrdom of Dollfuss, which the literature has already discussed, as an indication of Austrian emotional insecurity.⁸⁹

Compounding the sense of political instability, uncertainty abounded over Dollfuss’s rightful successor as Austrofascist dictator. Leaders of various paramilitary organizations jockeyed for position. Presumably, leadership went to Vice‐Chancellor Ernst Rüdiger Starhemberg, Führer of the Heimwehren. But during the Putsch, he was galivanting in Venice, trying to secure support from Mussolini.⁹⁰

Upon learning of Dollfuss’s death, Starhemberg returned to Vienna, and he attained the leadership position. His Heimwehren also helped quell the [pro‐Reich] insurrection.⁹¹ But his tenure as Austrofascist leader lasted just days. In his stead, Dr. Kurt von Schuschnigg—less volatile, more palatable, and not beholden to the rambunctious Heimwehren—secured the Chancellorship.⁹² It was Schuschnigg who would then spend the next four years trying to navigate the fine, and ultimately untenable, line between appealing to German nationalism and Nazi browbeating.

Kurt Bauer’s Elementar‐Ereignis. Die österreichischen Nationalsozialisten und der Juliputsch 1934 estimates that possibly two hundred twenty‐three died during July 25–30 as a result of the failed coup, though only eleven to thirteen were civilians. The Austrofascists executed only thirteen suspects for the Putsch, four of whom were police officers after they apprehended two hundred sixty members of the police.

What business of ours is it if antisocialists massacre each other instead of us? Aside from the utility in comparing that violence with their much more intense type against us, we see that this infighting delayed (at least briefly) the Third Reich’s quest for empire, and it was good exercise for everybody involved:

What are we to make of this textured analysis of fascist infighting across a contested border? While ideological splintering and infighting is perhaps a stereotype of the left writ large, so too were right‐wingers unable to escape this siren call. We simply must keep in mind that such feuding also bedeviled far‐right, fascistizing formations in interwar Austria and Germany. Such internal division was often damning for the left, but it was formative and constitutive for fascists.

It generated the very masculine, militarized struggle they so idealized, both providing them with and validating their raison d’être. Such rivalries also provided resistance against which to radicalize. Overlayed atop the contested Austro‐Bavarian border, these rival security squads let their insecurities run wild into an outright paramilitary showdown in the borderlands.

As [Fascist] control over the German government waxed, Bavaria’s federalist privileges waned—with the Gleichschaltung, the [Fascist] Gaue eclipsed the traditional Bavarian governing structures. For all intents and purposes, Bavaria’s longstanding regional autonomy fell. Meanwhile, right‐wing Austrian patriots closed ranks around Dollfuss against [pro‐Reich] bullying.

Austrian loyalists in the Heimwehren relied more heavily on policies that solidified the physical and mental borders between these two German countries, while Austrian [pro‐Reich] Legionaries relied more heavily on practices that undermined that same border, often to the chagrin of the Germans [Fascists]. Ironically, both sets of paramilitary troopers never lost faith in their conviction that they were making Austria German again. They were just doing so in opposite ways.

All the while, the Heimwehren men wished to have their Sachertorte and eat it too: fight for Austrian autonomy from [the Third Reich] while adamantly pushing for Austrian pride in being German. These overlapping vectors eventually proved unsustainable, but Austrofascists fought to maintain them for the next four years. Only by centering the complicated histories of interwar Austria can we see that the path from Hitler’s 1933 rise to the [Third Reich’s] 1938 Anschluss was far from certain.

Although Fascist Italy had already established direct contact with several antirepublican movements, [the Third Reich] had some contact with fascist groups like the Juntas de Ofensiva Nacional‐Sindicalista and the Falange, and even financed the right‐wing newspaper Informaciones, but did not see Spain as a priority.⁹

The Spanish Civil War gave Fascist Italy and [the Third Reich] the opportunity to expand their influence in the peninsula. [The Third Reich’s] cultural reach in Spain followed on earlier cultural diplomacy networks, including scientific and cultural exchanges, many of them centred on the Ibero‐American Institute in Berlin, the German–Spanish Society in Barcelona and the German schools.

Between 1910 and 1934, Germany received 25% of all Spanish researchers who received funding from the Junta para la Ampliación de Estudios to study abroad, becoming their second favourite destination, surpassed only by France, whose strong imprint over the Spanish Second Republic was not without tensions. Moreover, soon after their rise to power, the [German Fascists] transformed many, if not all, of Germany’s cultural and scientific institutions abroad into instruments of propaganda.¹⁰

It is, therefore, unsurprising that cultural diplomacy was to become the springboard of [the Third Reich’s] propagandistic activities in Spain.

In early 1936, Wilhelm Faupel, director of the Ibero‐American Institute, became the head of the German–Spanish Society. This appointment was highly significant because the Society not only arranged academic exchanges but also directly supported the foreign section of the Falange — the Spanish fascist party — in Berlin.

Furthermore, Faupel’s appointment as special ambassador to Franco confirmed the temporary success of the Reich Propaganda Ministry’s (Promi) strategy in Spain, which prioritized contact with the Falange, over the German Foreign Ministry’s desire to focus on Franco and his cabinet. In fact, after subdued activity during the Second Republic, Faupel’s leadership and the society’s dependence on the Promi allowed it to increase its budget considerably.

Over the course of the civil war, the German–Spanish Society came to welcome the heads of Hisma‐Rowak — the industrial complex that monopolized German–Spanish trade — to its board, showcasing the connection between propagandistic, cultural and economic interests.¹¹

[…]

Up until Danzi’s replacement by Carlo Bossi, fascist propaganda had two key aims: fascistize Spain and win the war. But there was also a desire, very early on, to limit [Reich] influence in Spain, despite the fact that Mussolini and Hitler had already started to coordinate their support for Franco in August 1936.²⁵ As Cantalupo was told upon his appointment as ambassador, ‘You will work with the Germans against the Germans’.²⁶ For Fascist Italy, any sort of Nazification could take place only to their detriment.

Although Fascist Italy had good reason to be concerned by the [Reich’s] presence in Spain, [Berlin] — although careful not to allow Italian influence to surpass its own²⁷ — had, in principle and in propaganda terms, a more international objective in mind. In the words of Berhardt Taubert, they aimed to ‘“assume leadership of a powerful [gewaltig] global force” dedicated to the extirpation of international Bolshevism’²⁸ and the Spanish Civil War presented a golden opportunity to do so.

The Antikomintern was in charge of exploiting the conflict internationally, portraying it as proof of the Soviets’ global subversive activities. This organization had been created in 1933 to lead the propaganda fight against Bolshevism on the international scene. With this objective in mind, the Third Reich fostered the emergence, in as many countries as possible, of Antikomintern organizations, which, though they were closely related to [Berlin’s] foreign policy, appeared to be independent.

The Spanish branch published a fortnightly Spanish language newssheet, Informaciones Antibolcheviques, organized exhibitions and radio broadcasts, supported nationalist propaganda in republican‐held areas and advised Franco’s director of propaganda at the front.²⁹

The organization worked along two lines: to supply the rebel Army with anti‐communist materials and to gather materials on the fight against Bolshevism in Spain in order to strengthen the anti‐communist campaign abroad. In this sense, the Antikomintern was more interested in placing the Spanish Civil War at the centre of their anti‐Bolshevik campaign abroad than spreading the ideals of [German Fascism] as such.³⁰

[…]

What is clear, however, is that language learning was central to both [the Third Reich] and [Fascist] Italy, not only because it brought Spain culturally and ideologically closer to the Axis but because of its commercial value.⁸⁹ Here, once again, the dividing line between propaganda, cultural diplomacy and commercial interest seemed to evaporate.

In this sense, both nations were also aware that translations and continued exports of books to Spain served to make inroads into the Latin‐American market. Significantly, [the Third Reich] refused to grant Spain a monopoly over the translation of German books to Spanish.⁹⁰

Matters improved further for the Axis when the Francoist régime made German and Italian mandatory foreign languages in high school, which helped to erode French influence. This measure, and the willing collaboration of Pedro Sainz Rodríguez, head of the Instituto España, further facilitated the Axis strategy of increasing book imports, which now found a greater number of willing readers. It seems, however, that his actions tended to benefit [Rome] much more than [Berlin].⁹¹

In any case, the cultural and economic value of this strategy stoked fascist competitiveness. Italy increased imports of books — 117,565 in 1938 alone, extended invitations to political and professional elites to visit Italy, provided scholarships and published the journal Legiones y falanges in collaboration with FET.

[…]

As the war approached its end, the Axis sought to play a part in the reconstruction of Spain. Propaganda and cultural policy were soon mobilized in the interest of economic opportunism. [Rome] grew increasingly wary of [Berlin’s] activities in this area: ‘the few businesses that are there, they [the Germans] want to do it themselves and for that purpose they have invaded the country with an army of traveling salesmen’.¹⁰² In fact, many cultural exchanges were intended to ensure [Rome’s] participation in the reconstruction effort.¹⁰³

However, here the German [Fascist]s proved to be strong competitors, particularly thanks to the rapid expansion of the HISMA‐ROWAK industrial complex and, according to Stohrer, their superior advertising work.¹⁰⁴

To try and fight [Berlin] for a piece of the Spanish market, the MMIS proposed to organize an exhibition in order to showcase the military and media technical equipment they could provide to the Spaniards. Competition with the German [Fascist]s in terms of price and technology is probably one of the reasons why the Italian [Fascist]s donated so much equipment to Spain upon leaving the country at the end of the war. Donations that, incidentally, would harm their own performance in the Second World War.

In the coming years, looking to curtail the increasing [Reich] influence over the Spanish rebels, [Rome] designed a broad cultural program with a budget of 70,000 lire centralized in the new Istituto Italiano de Cultura established in Madrid. [Rome’s] investment, however, would be halted with the outbreak of the Second World War.¹⁰⁵ In [Berlin’s] case, though, Lazar’s continued presence in Spain between 1938 and 1945 increased the reach of [Reich] propaganda and cultural diplomacy to new heights…that is, until things started to go wrong for the Axis.¹⁰⁶

(Emphasis added.)

The [NSDAP] initially had little success, receiving only 2.8% of the vote in 1928. Thereafter, the [German Fascists] changed their tune. They no longer publicly advocated a violent revolution and instead emphasized legal means of gaining government control. This made the party more acceptable to middle‐ and upper‐class voters (Evans, 2004), and Hitler formed links with businessmen (Ferguson and Voth, 2008).

The party also played a prominent rôle in a referendum against the rescheduling of Germany’s reparations obligations (“Young Plan”, Hett (2018)). Shortly thereafter, the [German Fascists] scored their biggest success yet, winning 18.3% of the vote in the September 1930 election.

As aggregate GDP in Germany plunged by 40% and unemployment surged, the [Fascists] went from capturing 18.3% of the popular vote in 1930 to 43.9% in March 1933. The party’s biggest ballot box breakthrough came in July 1932 (the first national parliamentary elections held after the banking crisis). The [NSDAP] became the largest party in parliament, receiving 13.7 million votes (37.4%), more than the Social Democrats and Communists combined. Hitler demanded to be named chancellor — but was rebuffed by President Paul von Hindenburg.

By November 1932, in another round of federal parliamentary elections, electoral support for the party began to slip. However, barely a month later von Hindenburg appointed Hitler as chancellor. Within two months, the [Fascists] had staged elections and taken over effective power in the entire country (Turner, 2003). […]

In 1925, Hitler wrote a book about his political vision, entitled Mein Kampf (“My Struggle”). In it, Anti‐Semitism was combined with anti‐finance rhetoric. Germany losing World War I, the reparations settlement as part of the Versailles treaty, and the hyperinflation — all stemmed in Hitler’s mind from a vast Jewish conspiracy. His beliefs about Jewish finance are well‐summarized in his contention that “Jewish finance desires […] not only the economic smashing of Germany but also its complete political enslavement” (p. 905).¹²

[Fascist] propaganda exploited the 1931 banking crisis, which provided seemingly incontrovertible proof for their misguided theories of Jewish domination and destruction. The party blamed Jews for Germany’s slump.

Immediately after the banking crisis erupted, Josef Goebbels instructed party propagandists to exploit the financial crisis and emphasize that it demonstrated the structural flaws of [the] Weimar [Republic] and society. The substantial over‐representation of Jews in high finance (and top management in general) likely facilitated this message (Mosse, 1987; D’Acunto et al., 2019).

By mid‐1932, when the party was about to become the single largest party in German parliament, its central mouthpiece, the Völkischer Beobachter, argued that the banking crisis had lad to its breakthrough in terms of middle class support:

the banking crisis led, among the bourgeoisie, to “an ever‐increasing convergence towards national socialist language and national socialist thought. The turning point came approximately during the summer crisis of 1931 […] the conflict between Germany’s vital needs and those of the global economic and financial policy can no longer be obscured” (VB 31.5.1932).

In retrospect, the [Fascist] press was thus convinced that the financial crisis in the summer of 1931 had been a turning point for the “movement”.

A key target of [Fascist] propaganda was Danatbank’s prominent Jewish manager Jakob Goldschmidt, targeted as a scapegoat for Germany’s banking crisis. [Fascist] newspapers featured highly anti‐Semitic Der Stürmer cartoons, showing a gigantic, obese Jewish banker hanging a starving German businessman, or a rotten apple with a human‐faced worm inside, against a background of the names of Jews associated with scandals, including Goldschmidt’s.

While the [Fascist] press was banned for much of the crisis period, some regional newspapers affiliated with the [NSDAP] continued to publish.

Representative for much of their sentiment is the Bielefelder Beobachter, which lays the main blame for the “catastrophe” of the banking crisis at the feet of the “great banker” Jakob Goldschmidt; the Koblenzer Nationalblatt claims that Goldschmidt, through Danat’s bankruptcy, personally benefitted from Germany’s incredible economic suffering, turning in “another fat Jewish bankruptcy”. Goldschmidt is frequently insulted as a “bank Jew” or “financial Jew”, and as a reckless gambler (“Hassadeur”).

While the papers mention alleged victims of Danat — small private banks that quit the business — they did not single out another bank like Dresdner or Deutsche, nor any of their board members.¹³ Not only the [Fascist] press, but also mainstream newspapers focused on Goldschmidt during the crisis, and to a much greater extent than on managers of the other great banks (Figure 1, panel B).

[…]

Figure 2 summarizes our main finding. It plots the distributions of the change in vote shares for the [NSDAP] between September 1930 and July 1932 — the last election before the banking crisis, and the first one after it. The [NSDAP] gained votes everywhere, but the distribution is sharply shifted to the right for Danat‐exposed cities, where votes for the NSDAP increased by an additional 2.5 p.p. (equal to 15% of the mean vote change and 0.37 sd).

[…]

Column (1) in Table 4, panel A indicates that in municipalities with a Danat presence incomes fell by 6.5% more than in those that did not have one. When we control for province fixed effects, the effect remains significant at the 5% level and increases in magnitude to 7.8% (column 2). This is a dramatic difference: the Danat‐induced drop in incomes represents 54% of the mean income decline of 14.4% over the period 1928 to 1934, or 0.44 sd.²⁰

Income declines went hand‐in‐hand with greater electoral support for the [NSDAP]. Columns (3)–(6) suggest that, for every standard deviation drop in income, [Fascist] voting surged by an extra 0.7 p.p. from 1930–July 1932 (column 3), by 0.9 p.p. for 1930–November 1932 (column 4), and by 1 p.p. for 1930–March 1933 (column 5). Using the average change across all elections provides similar results in column (6).

The majority of papers on the rise of the [NSDAP] rely on unemployment data and has found little evidence of immiserization as a major driving force. Based on new data, we provide the first evidence that falling incomes increased support for [Fascism].

The banking crisis was not the only reason why incomes decreased during the Great Depression. Lower incomes in general could produce radical voting. In panel B we first show that income declines, predicted by exposure to Danat, are associated with markedly more [Fascist] voting in July 1932 (column 1).

Second, we include both predicted income and actual income changes in our voting regression in column (2). Predicted income has a much greater effect on voting, despite the fact that income and predicted income have a similar mean and dispersion. While income declines led to radical voting, those induced by financial collapse had a much more pronounced effect.

(Emphasis added.)

(Mirror. Mirror.)

Two significant findings support the [Fascist] presence (not necessarily German [Fascists]). A group of four coins placed under the foundation of Structure I: two [Fascist] coins minted in 1938 and 1940, a 1942 Argentine coin, and a 1944 Paraguayan coin. And within a metal box hidden inside a wall in Casa de Piedra Structure I (a nearby settlement similar to five others that surround the main area), a German can containing coins from [the Kingdom of] Yugoslavia (1938), two from [the Third Reich] (1939), and one each from Argentina (1939), Slovenia (1942), and Bohemia (1940–44). The coins were associated with a photograph of Hitler and Mussolini and other objects from that time. The most recent coin is from 1944 and the oldest from 1938 (Fig. 4).

[…]

During a new project season the excavation was continued to explain the pit. An unusual situation was encountered: what had seemed a simple vertical, square hole had an extension 30 cm deep by 1 m wide in one of its sides. In it had been placed a military leather belt, rolled up and tied, 1.2 m long with a Spanish Army buckle dating to the times of Dictator Francisco Franco. It was part of the official Spanish Army dress uniform of the Franco Fascist period but not a Fascist Phalanx belt; it was worn by the so called Civil Guard Army Legion.

The belt did not have that shape before Franco, and after 1970 the hitch was substituted for one made of baser metals. The design on the belt was that of a long cross with a welded red enamel inlay, which had been removed leaving behind remains of the withdrawal, so it can be dated indistinctly to the decades from 1940 to 1960 (Fig. 6).

[…]

The discovery is difficult to date since there were two different operations, as we can deduce, coincidental and sequential: a first excavation to bury something and a second one to retrieve it. During the second excavation, a small opening was made in which the belt and the two buttons were placed. The cut stone left buried at the bottom, together with other small stones, could belong to any period and could simply have fallen there as one more stone.

It is difficult to notice if it is an artefact, and if it was used as a stone it might explain the sequence of events: if the stone walls were placed after the second excavation and at the start of the last refilling process, one stone might well have fallen in during the activity.

We do not believe that this interment took place prior to the time of the construction of the site (ca. 1945) but rather later or, at least, contemporary to it. Of the two buttons found associated to the place, one is a common button with no assignable date other than twentieth century, and the other one dates to after the 1920s or 1930s.

Assuming that the interment of the belt as a memento was an event that took place after the original excavation and associated with the recovery of what had been left underground, it was probably associated with a Fascist or neo‐Fascist action at the site. The only other object found in Teyú Cuaré of Spanish origin is a silver coin with the image of Franco, which shows signs of having been part of a rastra (i.e., a belt decorated with coins, typically local, dated 1949).

The Roma resistance in occupied Poland assumed a variety of forms and types. The following sections will discuss the notable resistance efforts of Roma and Sinti in occupied Poland such as escape attempts from the ghettos and camps, Roma and Sinti uprising on May 16, 1944, in Auschwitz‐Birkenau, the Roma revolt in Karczew and the uprising in the Warsaw Ghetto. It should be emphasised that even though some of these resistance acts had a violent character, this analysis focuses only on Roma intentions and objectives of resistance.

Escape attempts from camps and ghettos

In discussing the topic of Roma resistance, one cannot ignore individual acts of resistance. Escape attempts of Roma and Sinti prisoners from camps and ghettos during the war can be defined as a particularly unusual revolt reaction against [Fascism]. Undoubtedly, escape attempts were motivated by extremely hard living conditions inside the ghettos and camps.

Prisoners made risky decisions to escape spaces of oppression to survive. In this paper, I mention only several cases of Roma who successfully escaped from the camps, ghettos, pogroms, massacres or transports to places of extermination.

The information about Roma — who escaped from the ghettos, camps and mass execution places — appears in archival documents and testimonies. The section about the escape attempts is also part of the Roma and Sinti exhibition in Auschwitz‐Birkenau State Museum mentioned previously. The exhibition also includes information about Polish Roma, Aleksy Kozłowski, who escaped from the concentration camp in Lublin, and Mieczysław Pawłowski, who escaped from the slave labour in Germany to England.

In the archives of Auschwitz‐Birkenau camp, there is evidence of 38 Roma and Sinti who managed to escape; 31 of them did not survive: 30 were re‐captured and put in the “bunker” in Block No. 11 in the main camp and then executed at the “death wall”; one man was shot during an attempted escape. There is no information about the other seven.

However, it should be emphasised that most of the attempts to escape ended tragically: “Captured prisoners were often executed at the Death Wall, and their bodies, ridden with bullet wounds and dog bites, were paraded through the camp in order to deter other prisoners” (Talewicz‐Kwiatkowska 2018, 115).

Roma and Sinti Uprising on May 16, 1944, in Auschwitz‐Birkenau

Undeniably, one of the most critical Romani resistance events from the period during the Second World War is the Roma Uprising in Auschwitz‐Birkenau […]. On May 16, 1944, the SS wanted to start the liquidation of the “[…] Camp”, sending the Sinti and Roma still living there to be murdered in the gas chambers.

The political prisoner, Tadeusz Joachimowski warned the prisoners about the planned action. Roma and Sinti prepared to fight by arming themselves with stones and tools. They barricaded themselves in the barracks and were ready to ward off the threat of extermination (Rose 2003, 287). The report on the Romani resistance action, written by KL Auschwitz‐Birkenau prisoner Tadeusz Joachimowski states:

The last camp leader (Lagerführer) and also Rapportführer of the […] camp was Bonigut. […] On May 15th, 1944, he came up to me and said it looked bad for the […] camp. There was an order out for the destruction of the […] camp. He had received a corresponding order from the political section by Dr. Mengele. The […] camp should be liquidated by gassing all the [Roma and Sinti] remaining in the camp. There were about 6,500 […] in the camp at that time.

Bonigut instructed me to tell those [Roma and Sinti], in whom I had full confidence, about this […] The next day at about 7:00 p.m., I heard a gong, which indicated the onset of the camp curfew. Vehicles drove up in front of the […] camp, and an escort of around 50 to 60 SS‐men equipped with machine guns got out. The SS men surrounded the barracks inhabited by the [Roma and Sinti]. A few SS‐men went into the housing barracks and shouted: “let’s go, let’s go.” There was complete silence in the barracks.

The [Roma and Sinti] gathered there were armed with knives, spades, crowbars, and stones and were awaiting further events. They didn’t leave the barracks. The SS men didn’t know what to do […] After a while, I heard a whistle. The SS men who had been surrounding the barracks climbed up onto their vehicles again and drove off. The camp was no longer sealed off.” (Rose 2003, 288–289)

During the spring and summer of 1944, the [Axis] deported an estimated 3,000 Roma and Sinti to other Third Reich concentration camps. The approximately 3,000 Roma left in KL Auschwitz‐Birkenau — mainly children and older adults — were murdered in the gas chambers on the night of August 2–3, 1944 (Rose 2003, 290). In remembrance of the victims of Roma and Sinti persecution and genocide, the European Parliament in 2015 declared August 2 Roma Genocide Remembrance Day (to be commemorated annually). Besides August 2, May 16 has become a significant date in the commemoration of Roma and Sinti Genocide.

In addition to Joachimowski’s testimony, there are three testimonies and statements of German Sinti survivors — Walter Winter, Otto Rosenberg and Hermann “Mano” Höllenreiner — who described the revolt in Zigeunerlager.

Joanna Talewicz‐Kwiatkowska states that despite the controversy of the Roma resistance event and lack of official documents and testimonies confirming the uprising at Auschwitz‐Birkenau State Museum, three new pieces of evidence “might provide partial support for the information included in his [Joachomiwski] testimony” (Talewicz‐Kwiatkowska 2018, 123). Despite this, the event of May 16, 1944, is increasingly promoted and commemorated by Roma and Sinti communities, activists, scholars, and governmental and non‐governmental organisations.

Roma revolt in Karczew

In addition to the Auschwitz‐Birkenau uprising, another significant revolt took place in Karczew, where Roma fought against the gendarmerie. Jerzy Ficowski, in the monograph Cyganie na polskich drogach (The [Roma or Sinti] on Polish roads), cited two interesting testimonies about the battle in Karczew.

The first came from a Roma man (unknown name) who survived the event. His family was subsequently caught by the [Axis] in Miłosna and taken to the ghetto in Jadowo. From there, they managed to escape and hid in Karczew. The Roma man was quoted with the following words:

But there [in Karczew], there was no peace either. Soon after, the [Axis] began murdering the [Roma and Sinti]. There were two houses of [them]. They are already killing [them] in one house and another. They throw small children onto the pavement from high windows, full of blood. I jumped out of the window, and when I fell, I shattered my knee. I hobbled to a restaurant where two brothers were drinking vodka, and they did not know anything about what [Fascists] were doing with our [Roma]. I told them, and we ran away. One brother had a revolver, and when the Gestapo started chasing us, he killed two. (Ficowski 2013, 154)

The second testimony about Roma resistance in Karczew quoted by Ficowski⁷ says:

“An armed robbery took place in the town of Karczew. [Axis] investigators, based on testimonies of witnesses, stated that the [Roma] carried out the robbery; it was also quoted that the traces in the snow lead to the Jewish camp. Gendarmerie arrived to murder the [Roma and Sinti]. Between the Gendarmerie and the [Roma] ensued a fight. Fifty Karczew [Roma] noticed the gendarmes and, knowing the situation, opened the fire. As it turned out, the [Roma and Sinti] were equipped with handguns and fought to the last bullet. However, the colony did not survive.” (quoted in Ficowski 2013, 154–155)

The quoted testimonies were the only ones found in research that mention the resistance of Karczew Roma. There are no other statements which could provide more information about this event. The two statements present different perspectives on the Roma revolt in Karczew. The first is the perspective of a Roma man and witness, who, together with his family was a target of oppression, who found himself in the middle of the combat. The second is the perspective of a [gadjo] witness.

Although historians are careful in reconstructing past events, it should be noted these two testimonies provide evidence of Roma participation in the combat against the oppressor. Despite discrepancies, both narratives seem to describe the same Roma revolt. According to both accounts, resistance was the reaction to the attack on Roma. Resistance in Karczew shows the Roma’s attitude against the [Axis]. Roma did not choose nonviolent and passive resistance. They fought to survive.

Roma Revolts in the Warsaw Ghetto

The Warsaw Ghetto (also known as Warschauer Ghetto, and getto warszawskie), established in October 1940 and demolished in the aftermath of the revolt, was the largest […] ghetto during the Second World War (an estimated 450,000 Jews were imprisoned inside⁸). The Warsaw Ghetto Uprising began on April 19, 1943 as the prisoners organised an armed revolt to prevent deportation to the camps.

By May 16, 1943, the [Axis] had crushed the uprising, and sent the remaining ghetto residents to the extermination camps in Treblinka and Majdanek. The Warsaw Ghetto Uprising was the largest Jewish revolt during the Second World War history.

Besides the Roma revolt in Karczew, Ficowski cited another Roma resistance story from the Warsaw Ghetto Diary of Adam Czerniakow. Roma prisoners from Warsaw ghetto were transported to Treblinka camp and murdered in the gas chambers (often together with Jews). Ficowski is quoting a fragment from a manuscript about Roma in Warsaw ghetto written by doctor Edward Reichter:

I stayed in the Jewish ghetto in Warsaw from its establishment until January 25th, 1943. At the end of 1941 or early 1942, the [Axis] placed a large group of [Roma and Sinti] in the Jewish prison on Gęsia Street. [They] were under the supervision of the Jewish correctional officer consisting of officers of the Jewish service (Jüdischer Ordnungsdienst). One day, the [Roma and Sinti] revolted, overpowered the prison service, and got free. (Ficowski 2013, 165)

He goes on:

In early October 1942, the [Axis] began to bring Roma from the Aryan side. In November 1942, the [Roma and Sinti] in several dozen tied a keyman, ripped out the keys, and got out of prison, trying to get to the Aryan side. The [Axis] noticed them near the walls and started shooting, killing many of them. The rest were sent back to prison and sent to Treblinka in January 1943. (Ficowski 2013, 166).

The above‐mentioned stories about the revolt in Warsaw Ghetto shed new light on Roma resistance. Despite the lack of official documents confirming these events, and issues related to the scarcity of sources, these two outstanding cases of resistance allow us to gain some understanding of Roma attitudes and reactions to [Axis] persecution. According to doctor Reichter’s writings, Roma took extraordinary attempts to escape from the Warsaw ghetto. Both fragments of Warsaw Ghetto Diary seem to describe a well‐planned and organised resistance action by Roma.

(Emphasis added in most cases.)

While most of this work is worth reading, the author mistakenly found it necessary to whitewash the Home Army by carefully omitting its atrocities, implying that the Soviets suppressed the Home Army for no good reason. Another very dubious claim:

Roma in the army were integrated with Polish society. They were treated as ordinary recruits in the army, so in the military records, they are not listed as members of the Roma minority.

Considering that antisemitism was popular in Poland, the implication that the gadje never bullied their Romani compatriots is incredible. After all, some U.S. marines bullied Jewish servicemen, so Polish gadje doing the same to Roma is not only plausible but likely.

The Roma resistance in occupied Poland assumed a variety of forms and types. The following sections will discuss the notable resistance efforts of Roma and Sinti in occupied Poland such as escape attempts from the ghettos and camps, Roma and Sinti uprising on May 16, 1944, in Auschwitz‐Birkenau, the Roma revolt in Karczew and the uprising in the Warsaw Ghetto. It should be emphasised that even though some of these resistance acts had a violent character, this analysis focuses only on Roma intentions and objectives of resistance.

Escape attempts from camps and ghettos

In discussing the topic of Roma resistance, one cannot ignore individual acts of resistance. Escape attempts of Roma and Sinti prisoners from camps and ghettos during the war can be defined as a particularly unusual revolt reaction against [Fascism]. Undoubtedly, escape attempts were motivated by extremely hard living conditions inside the ghettos and camps.

Prisoners made risky decisions to escape spaces of oppression to survive. In this paper, I mention only several cases of Roma who successfully escaped from the camps, ghettos, pogroms, massacres or transports to places of extermination.

The information about Roma — who escaped from the ghettos, camps and mass execution places — appears in archival documents and testimonies. The section about the escape attempts is also part of the Roma and Sinti exhibition in Auschwitz‐Birkenau State Museum mentioned previously. The exhibition also includes information about Polish Roma, Aleksy Kozłowski, who escaped from the concentration camp in Lublin, and Mieczysław Pawłowski, who escaped from the slave labour in Germany to England.

In the archives of Auschwitz‐Birkenau camp, there is evidence of 38 Roma and Sinti who managed to escape; 31 of them did not survive: 30 were re‐captured and put in the “bunker” in Block No. 11 in the main camp and then executed at the “death wall”; one man was shot during an attempted escape. There is no information about the other seven.

However, it should be emphasised that most of the attempts to escape ended tragically: “Captured prisoners were often executed at the Death Wall, and their bodies, ridden with bullet wounds and dog bites, were paraded through the camp in order to deter other prisoners” (Talewicz‐Kwiatkowska 2018, 115).

Roma and Sinti Uprising on May 16, 1944, in Auschwitz‐Birkenau

Undeniably, one of the most critical Romani resistance events from the period during the Second World War is the Roma Uprising in Auschwitz‐Birkenau […]. On May 16, 1944, the SS wanted to start the liquidation of the “[…] Camp”, sending the Sinti and Roma still living there to be murdered in the gas chambers.

The political prisoner, Tadeusz Joachimowski warned the prisoners about the planned action. Roma and Sinti prepared to fight by arming themselves with stones and tools. They barricaded themselves in the barracks and were ready to ward off the threat of extermination (Rose 2003, 287). The report on the Romani resistance action, written by KL Auschwitz‐Birkenau prisoner Tadeusz Joachimowski states:

The last camp leader (Lagerführer) and also Rapportführer of the […] camp was Bonigut. […] On May 15th, 1944, he came up to me and said it looked bad for the […] camp. There was an order out for the destruction of the […] camp. He had received a corresponding order from the political section by Dr. Mengele. The […] camp should be liquidated by gassing all the [Roma and Sinti] remaining in the camp. There were about 6,500 […] in the camp at that time.

Bonigut instructed me to tell those [Roma and Sinti], in whom I had full confidence, about this […] The next day at about 7:00 p.m., I heard a gong, which indicated the onset of the camp curfew. Vehicles drove up in front of the […] camp, and an escort of around 50 to 60 SS‐men equipped with machine guns got out. The SS men surrounded the barracks inhabited by the [Roma and Sinti]. A few SS‐men went into the housing barracks and shouted: “let’s go, let’s go.” There was complete silence in the barracks.

The [Roma and Sinti] gathered there were armed with knives, spades, crowbars, and stones and were awaiting further events. They didn’t leave the barracks. The SS men didn’t know what to do […] After a while, I heard a whistle. The SS men who had been surrounding the barracks climbed up onto their vehicles again and drove off. The camp was no longer sealed off.” (Rose 2003, 288–289)

During the spring and summer of 1944, the [Axis] deported an estimated 3,000 Roma and Sinti to other Third Reich concentration camps. The approximately 3,000 Roma left in KL Auschwitz‐Birkenau — mainly children and older adults — were murdered in the gas chambers on the night of August 2–3, 1944 (Rose 2003, 290). In remembrance of the victims of Roma and Sinti persecution and genocide, the European Parliament in 2015 declared August 2 Roma Genocide Remembrance Day (to be commemorated annually). Besides August 2, May 16 has become a significant date in the commemoration of Roma and Sinti Genocide.

In addition to Joachimowski’s testimony, there are three testimonies and statements of German Sinti survivors — Walter Winter, Otto Rosenberg and Hermann “Mano” Höllenreiner — who described the revolt in Zigeunerlager.

Joanna Talewicz‐Kwiatkowska states that despite the controversy of the Roma resistance event and lack of official documents and testimonies confirming the uprising at Auschwitz‐Birkenau State Museum, three new pieces of evidence “might provide partial support for the information included in his [Joachomiwski] testimony” (Talewicz‐Kwiatkowska 2018, 123). Despite this, the event of May 16, 1944, is increasingly promoted and commemorated by Roma and Sinti communities, activists, scholars, and governmental and non‐governmental organisations.

Roma revolt in Karczew

In addition to the Auschwitz‐Birkenau uprising, another significant revolt took place in Karczew, where Roma fought against the gendarmerie. Jerzy Ficowski, in the monograph Cyganie na polskich drogach (The [Roma or Sinti] on Polish roads), cited two interesting testimonies about the battle in Karczew.

The first came from a Roma man (unknown name) who survived the event. His family was subsequently caught by the [Axis] in Miłosna and taken to the ghetto in Jadowo. From there, they managed to escape and hid in Karczew. The Roma man was quoted with the following words:

But there [in Karczew], there was no peace either. Soon after, the [Axis] began murdering the [Roma and Sinti]. There were two houses of [them]. They are already killing [them] in one house and another. They throw small children onto the pavement from high windows, full of blood. I jumped out of the window, and when I fell, I shattered my knee. I hobbled to a restaurant where two brothers were drinking vodka, and they did not know anything about what [Fascists] were doing with our [Roma]. I told them, and we ran away. One brother had a revolver, and when the Gestapo started chasing us, he killed two. (Ficowski 2013, 154)

The second testimony about Roma resistance in Karczew quoted by Ficowski⁷ says:

“An armed robbery took place in the town of Karczew. [Axis] investigators, based on testimonies of witnesses, stated that the [Roma] carried out the robbery; it was also quoted that the traces in the snow lead to the Jewish camp. Gendarmerie arrived to murder the [Roma and Sinti]. Between the Gendarmerie and the [Roma] ensued a fight. Fifty Karczew [Roma] noticed the gendarmes and, knowing the situation, opened the fire. As it turned out, the [Roma and Sinti] were equipped with handguns and fought to the last bullet. However, the colony did not survive.” (quoted in Ficowski 2013, 154–155)

The quoted testimonies were the only ones found in research that mention the resistance of Karczew Roma. There are no other statements which could provide more information about this event. The two statements present different perspectives on the Roma revolt in Karczew. The first is the perspective of a Roma man and witness, who, together with his family was a target of oppression, who found himself in the middle of the combat. The second is the perspective of a [gadjo] witness.

Although historians are careful in reconstructing past events, it should be noted these two testimonies provide evidence of Roma participation in the combat against the oppressor. Despite discrepancies, both narratives seem to describe the same Roma revolt. According to both accounts, resistance was the reaction to the attack on Roma. Resistance in Karczew shows the Roma’s attitude against the [Axis]. Roma did not choose nonviolent and passive resistance. They fought to survive.

Roma Revolts in the Warsaw Ghetto

The Warsaw Ghetto (also known as Warschauer Ghetto, and getto warszawskie), established in October 1940 and demolished in the aftermath of the revolt, was the largest […] ghetto during the Second World War (an estimated 450,000 Jews were imprisoned inside⁸). The Warsaw Ghetto Uprising began on April 19, 1943 as the prisoners organised an armed revolt to prevent deportation to the camps.

By May 16, 1943, the [Axis] had crushed the uprising, and sent the remaining ghetto residents to the extermination camps in Treblinka and Majdanek. The Warsaw Ghetto Uprising was the largest Jewish revolt during the Second World War history.

Besides the Roma revolt in Karczew, Ficowski cited another Roma resistance story from the Warsaw Ghetto Diary of Adam Czerniakow. Roma prisoners from Warsaw ghetto were transported to Treblinka camp and murdered in the gas chambers (often together with Jews). Ficowski is quoting a fragment from a manuscript about Roma in Warsaw ghetto written by doctor Edward Reichter:

I stayed in the Jewish ghetto in Warsaw from its establishment until January 25th, 1943. At the end of 1941 or early 1942, the [Axis] placed a large group of [Roma and Sinti] in the Jewish prison on Gęsia Street. [They] were under the supervision of the Jewish correctional officer consisting of officers of the Jewish service (Jüdischer Ordnungsdienst). One day, the [Roma and Sinti] revolted, overpowered the prison service, and got free. (Ficowski 2013, 165)

He goes on:

In early October 1942, the [Axis] began to bring Roma from the Aryan side. In November 1942, the [Roma and Sinti] in several dozen tied a keyman, ripped out the keys, and got out of prison, trying to get to the Aryan side. The [Axis] noticed them near the walls and started shooting, killing many of them. The rest were sent back to prison and sent to Treblinka in January 1943. (Ficowski 2013, 166).

The above‐mentioned stories about the revolt in Warsaw Ghetto shed new light on Roma resistance. Despite the lack of official documents confirming these events, and issues related to the scarcity of sources, these two outstanding cases of resistance allow us to gain some understanding of Roma attitudes and reactions to [Axis] persecution. According to doctor Reichter’s writings, Roma took extraordinary attempts to escape from the Warsaw ghetto. Both fragments of Warsaw Ghetto Diary seem to describe a well‐planned and organised resistance action by Roma.

[…]

Besides Roma men, brave Romani women also took part in resistance efforts during the Second World War and were involved in the Polish resistance movement. Romani women were often considered as valuable to Polish resistance movements, particularly as lookouts, emissaries, messengers and couriers.

Partisans’ sent Romani fortune‐tellers to spy in enemy‐controlled areas and supply valuable information about the number of soldiers, and the equipment and weaponry in their possession. Romani women also risked their lives to save Jewish and Roma children being transported to extermination camps and pogroms. These are examples of outstanding and unique Romani heroism²⁰.

(Emphasis added in most cases.)

While most of this work is worth reading, the author mistakenly found it necessary to whitewash the Home Army by carefully omitting its atrocities, implying that the Soviets suppressed the Home Army for no good reason. Another very dubious claim:

Roma in the army were integrated with Polish society. They were treated as ordinary recruits in the army, so in the military records, they are not listed as members of the Roma minority.

Considering that antisemitism was popular in Poland, the implication that the gadje never bullied their Romani compatriots is incredible. After all, some U.S. marines bullied Jewish servicemen, so Polish gadje doing the same to the Roma in the Home Army is not only plausible but likely.

(Mirror.)

Analyzing the period of occupation in Denmark through the lens of sport reveals just how complex the politics of the situation truly were. At the time of occupation, sport collaboration between Germany and Denmark had already enjoyed a rich tradition. In fact, Germany had been using sport as a way to forge a bond between the two nations based on the ideological linkage of a “Nordic brotherhood”.¹¹

Danish sports historian Hans Bonde argues that for much of the 1930s, the Germans fostered a fascination of [Fascist] ideology in Denmark through the strategic use of sport and the celebration of the “superior” Aryan athletic body.¹² Germany used its top athletes as political harbingers of sorts, tasked with spreading a positive image of [Fascist] doctrine through good conduct abroad.¹³

As Bonde argues, one of the clearest examples of how German sport was used propagandistically is found in the amount of resources that were channeled directly into the performance of the sport, rather than the activity itself. Large amounts of money and energy were funnelled into ensuring that sporting events became grandiose political displays, often attended by key political figures in [the Third Reich].¹⁴

For the Reichssportführer, Hans von Tschammer und Osten, the importance of sport as a political tool was made clear when he argued, “The leadership of Reich sports, the foreign ministry and the propaganda administration regard international sporting events as a medium for drawing regions and states that were politically, militarily or geo‐strategically interesting more deeply into the sphere of German influence.”¹⁵

As the Reichssportführer alludes to, the political goals of sport in Germany reflected the [Fascist] desire to establish a mutual respect between the Danes and the Germans, and to a large extent, this did in fact occur. For example, Danish and German cyclists had established a particularly close relationship in the early 1930s when a number of races on both German and Danish soil helped build a positive competitive spirit between the two nations.¹⁶

According to Bonde, German–Danish sport collaboration prior to the occupation had, for the most part, sparked in the Danish public a positive view of the Third Reich.¹⁷

This attitude is most of ten reflected in the athletes who took part in German–Danish sporting events. Danish rower Axel Lundquist expressed this view in his comment of the 1936 Olympic rowing venue, saying, “It is incredible what the Germans had done last year out on the Lange See Lake; but this year, the scenery is even more impressive. In particular, the huge tribune out in the water — with room for more than 6000 spectators — makes a colossal impact.”¹⁸

But athletes did not represent the only voice of Danish praise for the Germans; in a statement released by the Danish Olympic Committee (DOC) it was said that, “a solid and friendly collaboration exists between Danish and German sports, about which Danish sportsmen and women are pleased” and that, “we obtain only dividends and delight from this collaboration with Germany.”¹⁹

For many Danes, Germans were regarded not with fear or disdain, but rather, with respect and friendly admiration — an attitude which had been influenced by the intense collaboration between the two countries in the world of sport.

Of all the Danish sport figures during this period, Neils Bukh might best embody the Danish public's fascination for [Fascism].²⁰ Bukh rose to fame in the 1930s when his form of rhythmic gymnastics became recognized globally for its powerful portrayal of the male body; as his reputation for producing world‐class gymnasts grew, so too did the Danish public’s love for him.²¹ Throughout the 1930s and into the occupation years, Bukh was highly active in Danish politics, bringing with him a deep interest for [Fascism].²²

Bukh’s first experience with the [German Fascists] occurred in 1933 when he took the opportunity to visit Berlin while on a gymnastics tour of Hungary and Austria. As Bonde argues, the [Fascists] seemed to have an awareness of Bukh’s political leanings as he was greeted upon entering the Berlin gymnastics compound with the cacophonous roar of approximately 3000 uniformed spectators.²³

Bukh’s preference for recruiting gymnasts with primarily blonde hair and blue eyes would have made him a prime target for [Fascist] propagandists to try to exploit as a political shill — the warm welcome which he and his team received in Berlin is a testament to this.²⁴ Bukh had become enamoured by the [Fascist] spectacle, convinced that the order and unity of the Hitler Youth was something which Denmark should model its own youth organizations after.²⁵

During the occupation years, Bukh would become highly vocal in local newspapers and would often cite his own convictions that the system of [Fascism] was ultimately a positive one. In one such newspaper interview, Bukh was recorded saying that his visits to Berlin had only fortified his belief in the inner strength of the German view of the world.²⁶

To illustrate just how convinced Bukh had become of the [Axis’s] plan, his statement made in October 1940 on the persecution of Jews at the hands of the [Fascists] is revealing. In a press release sent to approximately 12 to 14 Danish newspapers, Bukh argued that, “If the new Germany requires all its damaging, foreign blood removed, then Germany must pay and bleed for it, but — trust in this — the operation is necessary and the pain worth it.”²⁷

Given Bukh’s immense popularity within Denmark, his unabashed vocal support of the [Fascist] system during the early days of the occupation could be potentially dangerous, especially given Bukh's influence over hundreds of young Danish boys and girls in his gymnastics programs.

As the case of Neils Bukh reveals, the idea that all Danes were anti‐German is simply untrue. The nature of Danish attitudes toward Germans during the occupation years is much more complex than this. In the world of sport, there were a number of other high profile Danish athletes who sided with [Fascism]. The world‐renowned Danish boxer Hans Holdt was one such athlete who routinely vocalized his belief in the [Fascist] doctrine.

In 1942, two years into the [Fascist] occupation of Denmark, Holdt solidified his political designation by joining the Danish Nazi Party.²⁸ Of course, there are numerous examples of Danish athletes whose political affinity rested on the side of the [Fascists], but perhaps none were more prolific than Ragnhild Hvegar and Jenny Kammersgaard, both internationally recognized swimming stars.

Hvegar was a world‐record holding Olympian and renowned for her technique and speed in the water, whereas Kammersgaard became idolized by the Germans for her heart and sheer will in long distance swims.

In 1937, after Kammersgaard swam the Kattegat fjord, she received a personal letter of admiration from Hitler himself.²⁹ Bonde argues that for the Germans this, “almost supernatural achievement in the water by a North Germanic woman could be seen as a sign of the perfection of the Aryan race.”³⁰ [Fascist] propagandists looked to capitalize on Kammersgaard's popularity by linking her to [Fascist] sports.

In the late 1930s, Kammersgaard was flown to Berlin where she was greeted by the Reichssportführer himself and subsequently taken on a lavish tour of the city. As Kammersgaard attests, she felt more than welcomed by the Germans who, upon recognizing her, would scream out, “Kattegat Jenny!”³¹ As Bonde argues, experiences like this helped Kammersgaard to form a favourable disposition toward the [Fascists] — something which would prove to take deep root in the girl's personality.³²

Even during the occupation years, Kammersgaard would often defend the [Fascists], citing her experiences in the late 1930s as proof of their civility and hospitality.³³ From the outset of occupation, Hvegar was vocal about her positive view of the Germans in Denmark. She was active in her involvement with members of the Danish and German press and had pictures and interviews of her in several newspapers during the occupation years.

(Emphasis added.)

Priests and theology students in the Mission and in the Romanian Army contributed as perpetrators in the murders of Jews, or by enabling bystanders to take part in those murders, in Bessarabia and Transnistria. Following in the footsteps of Diana Dumitru, I argue that the genocidal disposition among some Romanian Orthodox clergy reflected interwar antisemitic indoctrination by fascist and antisemitic parties and movements such as the Iron Guard and the National‐Christian Defense League.⁸⁹

Many members of the clergy fell under the spell of far‐right mobilization as antisemitism became an idiom for nearly all social and political discontent.⁹⁰

During the Second World War fascist priests collaborated with the military to foster violence against “Bolshevik” Jews. The policies and practices of the Romanian administration suggested to these priests state endorsement of violence, thievery, and rape—and an opportunity for Legionnaires to prove their allegiance after their recent repression.⁹¹ Violent pogroms occurred once the Romanian troops arrived in Bessarabia and Northern Bucovina early in the war.⁹²

At the settlement of Stânca Rosnovanu the conscripted Legionary theology student Second Lieutenant Mihăilescu, together with his commanding officer Captain Stihi and the Legionary mayor of nearby Sculeni, forced forty Jews from that village to dig their own graves, made them hand over their valuables, and killed them.⁹³ The next day Mihăilescu, acting with Sergeant Vasile Mihailov, had another 311 Jews from Sculeni, freshly deported across the river Prut, machine‐gunned, and their corpses afterwards searched for valuables.⁹⁴

An active killer of Jews in the Berezovca concentration camp was a lieutenant in the field gendarmerie, Dumitru Pandrea. A graduate of Sibiu Theological Academy and a secondary school teacher, Pandrea had been recruited under an order from General Antonescu’s government conditioning ascension to the priesthood upon one year’s military service.⁹⁵

While deployed in the Mostovoi sector, Pandrea took an active part in robbing Jews in ghettos along the Bug.⁹⁶ He also ordered the execution of many, and later, as camp commander, the execution of many Soviet prisoners of war.⁹⁷

Another clerical perpetrator and bystander was Fr. Captain Petre Roșu, chaplain of the 24th Battalion, 1st Mountain Division.⁹⁸ A former priest in Hăpria (Alba County) and then Alun and Ghelari (Hunedoara County), chaplain of the Sebeș garrison (also Alba County), and interwar sympathizer of the National Liberal Party, after deployment Roșu witnessed first‐hand [Axis] soldiers’ abuses of the Jewish population.⁹⁹

Roșu himself played an active part in killing Jews and in the subsequent pillage of their property.¹⁰⁰ These details came out during his 1958 trial for anti‐Communist “agitation” (committed while drunk).¹⁰¹

Upon the arrival in Transnistria of Jews deported from Northern Bucovina, Bessarabia, and some parts of Old Kingdom Romania, the Missionaries continued to paint these former neighbors as “offspring of Satan” and likely “Bolsheviks.”¹⁰² Missionary newspapers continued to feature front pages about the recent persecution of the Orthodox Church in Bessarabia under the Soviets.¹⁰³

Scapegoating both the local Jews and the recently arrived deportees as “the enemies of our faith and the friends of Bolsheviks” went hand in hand with the “Nationalization” of Transnistria, presenting its benefits to the ethnic Romanian population in an almost colonialist tone.¹⁰⁴ Following the genocidal policies of the new administration, [Axis] clergymen dressed up ethnic cleansing of the Jewish population and suppression of neo‐Protestant sects like the Baptists, Inochentists, and Adventists as God‐ordained mandates.¹⁰⁵

Metropolitan Puiu of the Transnistrian Exarchate reported confidentially to the Synod in Bucharest his vision of their common mission: “The conquest of a nation begins with weapons, continues with its assignment of administrators, to be completed later on with its complete conversion. The second important point of the mandate given to me in Transnistria was the systematization of social life, a necessary action requiring two immediate steps: an urgent, sometimes surgical one falling in the hands of the civil administration and the Army; and the other of constant spiritual renewal through the Orthodox Church and school.”¹⁰⁶

Puiu was aware that the “surgical” policies of the “civil administration and the Army” would have to precede this “spiritual renewal.”

Nevertheless, by ascribing—albeit implicitly—the killing of the Jews solely to state authorities Puiu’s official correspondence veiled the participation of any of his clergy in murder and robbery. His silence protected not just friends such as Antim Nica, but others irrespective of any personal relationship. To this day official Church historiography leaves out the brutal behavior even of the Army, let alone the clergy, in Transnistria.

Competing with the indigenous ethnic German population to rob the Jews, the Romanian Army and civil administration easily prevailed.¹⁰⁷ Following in their footsteps, Orthodox clergy embarked on large‐scale blackmail, demanding bribes from deported and local Jews under the threat that they might be deported further east, across the Bug into German hands.¹⁰⁸

They offered food and other necessities in return for jewelry, clothing, money, antiques, and other valuables. Some promised exemption from forced labor if Jewish communities turned over money and other valuables to the missionaries, parish priests, and their families.¹⁰⁹

Behaving as feudal lords exploiting their Jewish and Ukrainian serfs, Metropolitan Puiu and the priests around Archimandrite Antim Nica developed into a virtual First Estate, intent on expanding their wealth and influence over Transnistria.¹¹⁰

The priest Fr. Andrei Nicov, who became with Nica’s support dean of Odessa, worked with a clique that included his brother Antim Nica and their friends hieromonk Varlaam Chiriță (abbot of Berșad Monastery) and hieromonk Antim Tabacu (abbot of Osipovca Monastery and spiritual superior of all Romanian Orthodox monasteries in Transnistria).

Archimandrite Nica accumulated considerable wealth by trafficking gold watches and other readily fenced valuables stolen from the Jews; precious icons lifted from Ukrainian Orthodox churches (Romanian carpetbaggers “presumed” that the priests of any Ukrainian or Russian Orthodox churches still standing must have been collaborators with the “Bolsheviks”); and from the large mass of the majority‐Ukrainian population.

Members of all these groups “voluntarily” handed property to the ecclesiastical and other authorities as “gifts” in return for favors and dispensations.¹¹¹ Some of the Orthodox clerics’ occasional female counterparts engaged in the same extortion, as the nun Pahomia Marinescu, serving as a nurse in the Queen Mary military hospital, trafficked in icons, tapestries, and other precious objects received from the local population.¹¹²

Many local Moldavians felt that the Mission overcharged for religious objects like crosses, prayer books, and calendars, or for performing various services and rites: “With the [insert slur here] gone, their place was taken by the priests.”¹¹³

In other cases (for instance, that of the hieromonk Varlaam Chiriță) foodstuffs coerced from the Jews and Ukrainians did in fact make their way via the administration in Odessa to poor, orphaned, and sick Moldavians.¹¹⁴ Under an order of the Romanian Gendarmerie, Metropolitan Visarion Puiu and his subordinate Father Ioan Vască received clothing and other goods confiscated from the Jewish population in Transnistria for distribution by twenty missionary priests to needy parishioners.¹¹⁵

Newly elected Bishop of Ismail (January 14, 1944), Antim Nica left Transnistria with three train‐wagons of booty.¹¹⁶ Eager to evade the civil authorities—especially after King Michael’s August 23, 1944 coup overthrowing Marshal (since August 22, 1941) Antonescu brought Romania onto the side of the Allies against [the Axis]—Nica appealed to friends for help.

Varlaam Chiriță, Antim Tabacu, Archimandrite Flavian Alexe (abbot of Cocoșu Monastery), and Salomea Iordache (former abbess of the Ferapont convent in the Bessarabian village of Satu‐Nou, destroyed by the Soviets after the war), transferred the loot to the Cocoșu and Celic‐Dere Monasteries, all to be sold off piece by piece on the black market.¹¹⁷

A similar case was that of Fr. David Postase‐Prut, assistant dean of Slobozia department of Râbnița County (September/October 1941–January 1943) and right‐hand man of Antim Nica.¹¹⁸ A rabble‐rouser for the ultranationalist press in Bessarabia before its cession to the USSR in 1940, Fr. David was one of the first to cross the Prut in August 1941.¹¹⁹

On the recommendation of Archimandrite Antim Nica, Metropolitan Puiu appointed Portase‐Prut to the central administration of the Exarchate as an inspector to oversee the work of missionary priests among their parishioners, and to oversee their support of the “Romanianization” of the region.¹²⁰

Profiting from Nica’s extensive “expertise” on stripping local Jews and Ukrainians of their property, Postase‐Prut mobilized large numbers of cattle and sheep for the Romanian war effort.¹²¹ Cleverly bribing policemen and civil officials, however, this mastermind got most of the livestock back across the Dniester, sold it on the cheap, and pocketed most of the proceeds for himself.¹²²

Under the Communist‐led cabinet of Petru Groza (est. March 1945), the police found approximately one hundred Astrakhans (Karakul hides) in Portase‐Prut’s new home in Galați¹²³ despite the new government’s law requiring that all goods pillaged in Transnistria be handed back to the Soviets [as reparations]. (It remains unclear whether any reached their actual original owners.)

On Portase’s tail for some time, the Securitate eventually determined that the crooks had long been converting valuables confiscated from the Jews and others into German or Romanian currency, subsequently invested in livestock, furs, art, and real estate.¹²⁴ This laundering had enabled clergymen to accumulate small fortunes under the very noses of the police.¹²⁵

[…]

Looting local Jewish communities included conscription of Jewish men for labor on behalf of the Transnistrian Exarchate, service rendered possible by the Conducător’s November 11, 1941 Directive no. 23 to the Government of Transnistria permitting the employment of the Jews at public or agricultural works.¹³²

Archival records reveal that Archimandrite Nica, hieromonks Antim Tabacu and Varlaam Chiriță, and many other monks and priests in Transnistria used Jewish forced labor to re‐build or refurbish churches and monasteries destroyed or damaged by the Communists or the war.¹³³

(Emphasis added. Omitted from this excerpt is what the anticommunists did with women and girls, the details of which you can read in the full document.)

In some cases, I highlighted parts so as to help you avoid falling into the antitheist trap of presuming that the causes for these atrocities can all be boiled down to ‘Christianity’, an explanation that is almost as dissatisfying as proposing that the perpetrators simply weren’t truly Christian.

These anticommunists did not merely read scripture and go straight to committing war crimes, similarly to how some have argued that playing violent video games makes us violent. Rather, economics played a crucial rôle, and Christianity was nothing more than a convenient, culturally specific justification. Considering that many Fascists already oppressed certain minorities (e.g. Roma) without regularly appealing to Christianity, it is absurd to suggest that an irreligious justification would have been impossible.

Reuters (6/27/24) reported:

A reporter from online newspaper Fanpage [6/14/24] infiltrated Gioventu Nazionale, Meloni’s rightist Brothers of Italy youth movement, and recorded videos in which members declared themselves fascists and shouted the Nazi slogan “Sieg Heil.”… The investigation also showed a Gioventu Nazionale member mocking Brothers of Italy senator Ester Mieli for her Jewish origin, and revealed chats on messaging platforms where militants took aim at ethnic minorities.

Meloni’s political opponents used this footage against her (Guardian, 6/27/24). She eventually condemned the antisemites (Euronews, 6/29/24). Haaretz (6/30/24) said:

This 12-minute video showed National Youth activists, including two senior figures, singing a celebratory song in honor of the disgraced dictator Benito Mussolini, chanting “Sieg Heil!” and glorifying the Nuclei Armati Rivoluzionari (Armed Revolutionary Nuclei)—a neofascist terrorist group that was active in Italy in the late 1970s and early ’80s, committing over 100 murders.

Neofascist roots

This shouldn’t be a big surprise to anyone who has been paying attention to Italian politics. The nation’s small but vibrant Jewish population has been skeptical of Meloni’s ascendence and that of her party, Brothers of Italy. The Jewish Telegraphic Agency (9/30/22) explained two years ago:

Meloni’s first stop in politics was in the youth movement of the Italian Social Movement, known as MSI, a neofascist party founded in 1946 by people who had worked with Hitler and Benito Mussolini, Italy’s fascist leader from 1922 to 1943. Brothers of Italy is closely tied to the group, even housing its office in the same building where MSI operated and using an identical logo, a tricolor flame.

With Meloni at the helm of one of Europe’s biggest economies, she is not a minor player; in fact, at the last G7 conference, she stood out as a confident leader (AP, 10/18/23; Wall Street Journal, 6/13/24) over a flock of feeble, vulnerable centrists and conservatives.

One of those was Rishi Sunak, who has since lost his job as British prime minister and Conservative Party leader (Guardian, 7/5/24). Another is President Joe Biden, who is being pressured to drop out of the U.S. presidential race due to concerns regarding his cognitive health (New York Times, 6/28/24). And French President Emmanuel Macron has been weakened by the poor performance of his party in snap parliamentary elections (Reuters, 7/7/24).

The summit took place after Meloni’s party increased its share of the popular vote in the European Union election, and she is now “poised to play a critical role shaping the future direction of EU policy in Brussels” (Politico, 6/13/24).

Late to the story—or absent

The New York Times (6/11/24) has positively portrayed Meloni as a “critical player” as the host of the G7 conference, and has been upbeat about her rising stature generally. (Her anti-Russian politicking “sealed her credibility as someone who could play an influential role in the top tier of European leaders”—2/7/24.) The Times (7/2/24) came late to the Brother of Italy story , leading with the news of her public relations drive to denounce the racist content. The Washington Post, which also had previously normalized her as a European politician (6/6/24), covered the story in a similar fashion with AP copy (7/3/24).

NPR missed the story. So did CNN. The Wall Street Journal, whose editorial board had said she was “governing with some success” (6/13/24), and whose news coverage has portrayed her as a pragmatist (6/13/24), wasn’t interested in the scandal either.

This lackluster coverage, which at best focused on Meloni’s self-interested damage control rather than the dark ideology at the center of her movement, is confounding. Western media have been rightfully fretting about the far right’s impressive showing in recent EU parliamentary elections (New York Times, 6/9/24). Meloni’s reputation as a strong leader among ailing centrist European leaders is bolstered by other far-right parties making impressive gains.

All of these parties, known for their anti-immigration and anti-multicultural positions, also have tinges of right-wing antisemitism, including Britain’s Reform Party (Haaretz, 6/23/24), Germany’s Alternative for Deutschland (Deutsche Welle, 8/5/23) and France’s National Rally (AP, 7/3/24). In the U.S., Donald Trump has been careful not to criticize the overt antisemites in the MAGA movement, including the “very fine people” who chanted “Jews will not replace us” at Charlottesville (Politico, 12/7/22). The Washington Post (10/17/22) noted that Trump has long employed antisemitic tropes in his rhetoric.

A danger signal ignored

And so the Fanpage revelations should have been a blaring danger signal, as they were for the European press. The New York Times has been raising alarms (10/31/23, 12/16/23) about a rise of antisemitism since the October 7 attacks [on Zionism’s neocolony], painting the problem as one that plagues the left and the right. But as FAIR (12/12/23, 12/15/23) has talked about, corporate media are quick to cast legitimate criticism of [Zionism’s régime] as antisemitism to discredit pro-Palestine points of view, wrongfully equating opposition to genocide with the racist antisemitism of the right.

Regardless of the reason for U.S. corporate media’s oversight, the impact is clear. The press can talk about antisemitism more openly when they can attach it to human rights protesters, but are less eager to describe antisemitism as it actually is: a bigotry that is interwoven with the anti-Islamic and xenophobic platforms of the powerful far right.

(Emphasis original.)

"The ratlines were not a thoroughly structured system, but consisted of many individual components," said Daniel Stahl, a historian at the Department of Modern and Contemporary History at Jena's Friedrich Schiller University. "It was more of a spontaneous cooperation of different institutions that gradually established itself after World War II."

Some 90% of [Axis] perpetrators who escaped Europe are thought to have fled across the Alps to Italy — that was the first loophole.

Their first stop was in the South Tyrol region of northern Italy: the monastery of the Teutonic Order in Merano, the Capuchin monastery near Bressanone or the Franciscan monastery near Bolzano. The war criminals would often hide out in monasteries — these ratlines are also known as the "monastery route" — for years, collecting money to continue their escape overseas. Sometimes, the [Fascists] were accommodated right next to their former victims, Jews headed to [Palestine].

Rome was the next stop. The [Fascists] who had a letter from the Catholic Church confirming their identity were handed a passport by the International Committee of the Red Cross (ICRC), which issued about 120,000 papers until 1951 — a mere formality.

"The story goes that even before the end of the war, there was a clearly thought-out and elaborate plan for [Axis] escapees," Stahl said. "That is wrong, even the likes of Franz Stangl first wandered around Rome without knowing what to do next." Information was passed on word of mouth.

A name that regularly crops up is Alois Hudal. The Austrian bishop had clearly positioned himself as a [Fascist] sympathizer during [Fascism], and later he said many of those persecuted were "completely blameless" and that he "snatched them from their tormentors with false identity papers."

The spectacle of modernity was as much a display of power as an edifying tale for Ethiopians:

In the eyes of the natives that follow the tractor in the furrow drawn on the plain, the traditional individualism of the hand that plowed the land gives way to the harmony of the engine that encompasses all forces. All around, it’s silence. (Fossa 1938, 494, 492)

Reality, though, was not rosy as fascist propaganda claimed it to be. The total acres sown in Chercher went down from 1,700 in 1938 to 1,200 in 1939 to 640 in 1940. Settlers managed to grow only two ‘minor’ cereals such as durra and maize (2,500 and 700 quintals), complemented by smaller quantities of wheat, barley, teff, and potatoes. There was barely a trace of the production that high‐yield wheat varieties, chemical fertilizers, and mechanization had promised.

Forty‐two of the original settlers were repatriated in the first two years for various misdemeanors or their ‘ineptitude’. In a letter to Italy that censorship intercepted, one of the farmers lamented:

I have moved my family to Bari of Ethiopia for fifteen months now and still not a single agricultural tool nor the cattle, mules, cows they promised they would give to us have been provided. To give some milk to our children we have to buy canned condensed milk at the local store. On a farm, this is the ultimate shame. The colonial houses are a disaster; it rains inside, and everyone suffer from rheumatic diseases. We are treated like slaves in the very place where our beloved Duce ended slavery [Ethiopia]. (Ertola 2014, 75–76)

Raw numbers testify to the failure of mass colonization in Bari of Ethiopia: by 1940, as few as ninety‐two Italians lived in the settlement (Sbacchi 1985).

Why, notwithstanding the massive deployment of applied scientific research and state investments, did the fascist plans for settler colonialism fall short not only of providing any relevant food exports to the motherland but even to feed Italian settlers in Ethiopia?

The first reason was that the fascist biopolitical plan was too ambitious to fulfill. For all the propaganda to the contrary, environmental conditions were difficult for European farmers in a diverse tropical country like Ethiopia.

The transfer of rural technologies was considerable — in 1941, nineteen agricultural experimentation offices, twenty nurseries, two zootechnical stations, and twenty‐two livestock insemination stations had been established across Italian East Africa — but they were not up to the challenge of transforming Ethiopian soil into farmlands for Italians’ favourite crops. Italian farmers’ last wheat harvest in Ethiopia in 1940 was the most disastrous: an invasion of grasshoppers and the infection of cereal rusts caused by the fungus puccinia graminis destroyed much of it.

The transplantation of the hybrid wheats that were the pride of Italian applied genetics, Mentana and Quaderna, produced a disappointing output. Mechanization, also, was implemented in too limited a manner for the magnitude of the task. By 1940 there were less than 400 tractors in all of Ethiopia (Del Boca 2014, 210).

The second factor was poor colonization policy. [Fascists] were ill‐informed about Ethiopia’s societal organization and unprepared to enter in a cooperative relationship with rural Ethiopians. They found securing available land and native labour difficult.

Abyssinian farmers lacked any incentive to provide their labour to the realization of the imperialists’ crop economy, as they equated working the land for others to slavery. Many of them had little use for wage money, especially when that came in Italian lire, a paper currency they did not trust (Pankhurst 1972). Overall, [Fascist] colonization policy was fragmentary and contradictory, with different plans and models supported by different state agencies.

Thirdly, the imperialist war of aggression and the racist, exploitative, and repressive approach to native relations fostered Ethiopian armed resistance, which made life in remote settlements uninviting.

[Fascists] generally managed to control towns and the main roads by patrolling settlements and convoys, but just a few miles from these relatively safe havens they were under threat from Ethiopian guerrillas. Farmhouses had to be ‘built close together in military strategic positions, with surrounding walls and defensive works’ (Sbacchi 1985, 97). Fear and uncertainty dominated the experience of everyday life for [Fascist] settlers.

Most depressing for Italian peasants settling in Ethiopia were the hardships required to upgrade to landownership. As an old colonial officer explained:

These people come from Italy prepared to work hard, but they also look forward to making some money quickly, and with the system we are adopting there is no quick money to make here. The settler gets fifty or sixty acres of land to plough and the essential tools. In exchange, he [sic] enters into an obligation to grow certain crops like wheat, corn, and teff, and pay an annual fee in kind to the Ente or the concession‐holder.

After twenty‐five years, if all installments are paid, the small farmhouse and the land will become the settler’s property. The latter, who came to Africa because he was starving, who was disoriented in a foreign environment, lacking the skills to cultivate the land profitably and deal with natives, realizes that he faces years and years of scarcity; the land is hard to plow, perhaps it has never been plowed. Meanwhile, he sees other Italians getting rich with a small business of any kind, with little effort. He is unhappy, demoralized, and at the first opportunity he leaves. (Pierotti 1959, 36)

Prospects were also gloomy for younger settlers who wanted to start a family on their colonial farm because at any time during the occupation of Ethiopia Italian women were never more than ten per cent of the Italian population.²

Finally, the most serious mistake colonial planners made was to start mass settlement before the completion of an effective infrastructure of food logistics. The latter was the prerequisite of the former; yet, because of critical bad timing inspired by fascist political ideology and propaganda, road and public works construction ended up killing [Fascist] rural colonization in the cradle even before World War II terminated Mussolini’s ‘place in the sun’.

The fascist plan for demographic colonization all over Ethiopia required a mobility system transporting migrants to their settlements and crops to the ports on the Red Sea and the Gulf of Aden. Paving the way to Italian cars and trucks was strategic to circumvent the critical problem that the only viable railroad that gave Ethiopian exports access to the sea, the Addis Ababa‐Djibouti railroad, ended in French territory, and goods were subjected to French customs: ‘tariffs so high’, Poggiali lamented:

… that the transport of a load of wheat or coffee from Addis Ababa to the sea cost between twenty and thirty times more than what the same transport cost from the American places of production to the seaports of Santos, Buenos Aires, and New Orleans. (1938, 162, 173)

But the construction of roads, bridges, and overpasses across Ethiopia involved hundreds of building and logistics firms, dozens of civil engineers, and thousands of workers. While [Fascist] highways did realize an unprecedented unification of Ethiopia, they diverted a large share of financial and labour resources from agriculture.

The impressive program of road infrastructure stimulated truck transport micro‐business (at the expense of off‐road vehicles that were vital in rural development) as well as thriving workers’ salaries (Guardia di Finanza 2005). Migrant construction workers in Ethiopia typically measured their satisfaction with the job opportunity that imperial mobility had landed to them in terms of food security:

The first time I went to Africa, they sent us to work on the Massawa‐Asmara road. It was so hot that we just couldn’t stand it. Yet we ate so well; rice, cheese, pasta, and fruits of many kinds that they brought us down from the highland. At noon, we would cook eggs by placing them on the sand under the sun. (Taddia 1988, 124–125)

The truck drivers carrying food to [Fascist] settlements were also paid wages that were many times higher than they would have received in Italy. A source for the fascist secret police worried about truck drivers’ changing lifestyle as potentially revolutionary: ‘We have seen truckers that in the Fatherland would drink a glass of wine costing forty cents, drinking champagne for a hundred lire a bottle here’ (Ertola 2014, 205).

The most attractive occupation [Fascists] had to offer Ethiopian men was to enlist in the colonial troops, which fit their social ideals of masculinity, but the high need for labour in construction gave native working an edge in obtaining lucrative contracts in the trade (Podestà 2002,142).

In short, the better wages and labour conditions that the building of the road infrastructure provided Italian and Ethiopian workers crippled exactly what it was supposed to serve — white colonist settlement, the formation of a native wage labour force, rural development, and international export crop trade.

Mussolini’s highways, however, proved to be indispensable for moving food imported from Italy to feed the [Fascist] occupation army and settler market, entering Ethiopia from Port Said, the Suez Canal, the Red Sea, Massawa, and Eritrea.

The [Fascist] colonial government intervened at the level of East African bakeries and flour types.⁴¹ In 1938 from January to June, the [Fascist] ministers of the East African colonies introduced ‘La disciplina della panificazione’, a set of laws that used the colour of consumers’ skin to determine the colour of the bread they were permitted to eat.⁴²

Article one dictated the standard bread recipe for [Fascist] military personnel. Loaves for the [Regio Esercito] and road construction crews should be made from at least 80 per cent local wheat flour, mixed with no more than 10 per cent of local teff, dura, barley, and corn flours, or with imported soft wheat flours.⁴³

Article two standardised bread recipes available to Italian colonists: ‘Il pane per la popolazione civile di razza bianca deve essere confezionato con farina di grano, abburattate ali 80% miscelata fino al 20% di farine di cereali locali od importati’ (‘Bread for the white civilian population must be packaged with 80% wheat flour, blended with up to 20% of local or imported cereal flours).’

The legislation included some exceptions. Bakers’ recipes could offer as low as 70–72% wheat if their product was prepared for consumers with special dietary needs, like hospital patients. Italian bread products, such as grissini, were also exempt.⁴⁴

Any baker in possession of pure wheat flour was commanded to immediately sell their stocks to the Azienda Annonaria Governatoriale at the price dictated by the Comitato Vigilanza Prezzi della Federazione Fascista.⁴⁵ On 26 July 1938, governor of Addis Ababa Canero Medici established the bread recipes for East African labourers.⁴⁶

Article two stated: ‘Per l’alimentazione della mano d’opera di colore dovranno essere usate dalle imprese soltanto farine di cereali locali diversi dal grano (dura, taft, orzo, ecc.)’ (‘For the feeding of labourers of colour, only local cereal flours other than wheat (durum, teff, barley, etc.) must be used by companies’.)

Put telegraphically, Italians were to eat white bread made from wheat, and East Africans were to eat brown bread made from local grains, like barley. Culinary legislation in the colonies centered on questions of racial identification and division. It allotted different foods to different people, based on skin colour.

To enforce the rules, a new Commission for Control of Breadmaking (Commissione di controllo sulla panificazione) was established, consisting of a representative from the Partito Nazionale Fascista, a health inspector, and a baker.⁴⁷ This group would, from time to time, be called from East Africa to make their reports in Rome. Twice a month, this group would inspect the bread ovens from Gondar to Azozò, making sure that their owners obeyed the law. Violators were subject to jail time of up to one month plus a 500 lire fine.⁴⁸

As Germany sought to rebuild itself [after 1918], establishing the rôles disabled people would hold in society became a means for German citizens to evaluate the success of the new democracy.¹⁰⁶ The 1919 Weimar Constitution, the governing document for the newly created [pseudo]democratic régime, promoted, amongst other things, equality, free speech and freedom to participate in one’s community; however, in practice, the disabled were not granted equal access to this right.¹⁰⁷

While “many remained objects of charity or social outcasts” and “appeared in freak shows,” others were “hidden away by their ashamed families,” perceived to be “crippled beggars” on the streets, or became the focal point for malicious jokes.¹⁰⁸ Of course, non‐disabled Germans undervaluing or preferring to avoid disabled communities does not equate to supporting “euthanasia” practices; however, it does highlight a preference for their removal and exclusion.

[…]

In West Germany, the history of [Fascism] was first treated with a “collective amnesia” during the 1940s and 1950s, where “postwar Germans suffered from an incapacity to ‘work through’ the traumas of the era [the Third Reich].”¹⁵³ It was during this period that [Fascist] perpetrators of “euthanasia” were tried at the Nuremberg Medical Trials from 1946 to 1947 (NMT) and at smaller West German courts.¹⁵⁴

Although Germans supported the larger trials, which convicted a handful of major war criminals, the successor trials, which included the NMT and proceedings in West German courts, involved moving beyond top [Fascist] officials and confronting the complicity to [Fascist] crimes, which permeated multiple levels of German society, and made it difficult for civilians to separate ‘Nazis’ from ‘Germans’.¹⁵⁵ Because of this, Hepburn argues that “the German public was simply not interested in the trial[s]” and Bryant claims they “were highly critical” of them.¹⁵⁶

Thus, the court proceedings failed to convey the seriousness of the atrocities committed against disabled Germans, an act that had ramifications on their postwar memorialization. The majority of the perpetrators of “euthanasia” crimes were never convicted, or served minimal sentences, and prejudiced perceptions of disabled victims were evident during German court proceedings.¹⁵⁷

During the 1951 to 1953 proceedings for Dr. Alfred Leu, who was called to trial for murdering disabled children, he was acquitted of his charges because the court agreed that Dr. Leu had “not acted maliciously ‘because the children or the mentally ill were guideless or defenseless in the first place”’ and that those he had killed were “low forms of existence with no perceptible emotional life”.¹⁵⁸

Even after medical professionals were brought to trial, and the horror of the “euthanasia” program was uncovered, many [Fascist] perpetrators of “euthanasia” did not believe they had committed crimes against disabled Germans.¹⁵⁹ This resulted in an extensive portion of the medical community from [the Third Reich] continuing to practice in postwar Germany and perpetuate their perceptions of disabled Germans.¹⁶⁰

Therefore, the cumulative treatment of “euthanasia” crimes in postwar Germany contributed to the delayed memorialization of disabled Germans because it established a precedent that they were not victims of [Fascism].

However, there were members of the German medical community that spoke out against [Fascist] “euthanasia”. Two early reports, written by Germans about the “euthanasia” program, include Alice Platen‐Hallermund’s The Killing of the Mentally Ill in Germany: From the German Medical Commission at the American Military Court, 1948 (Die Tötung Geisteskranker in Deutschland: Aus der deutschen Ärztekommission beim amerikanischen Militärgerricht) and Alexander Mitscherlich and Fred Mielke’s The Dictate of Contempt for Humanity (Das Diktat der Menschenverachtung), which was originally printed in 1947 and later reprinted in 1960 as Medicine without Humanity: Documents of the Nuremberg Medical Trial (Medizin ohne Menschlichkeit: Dokumente der Nürnberger Ärzteprozessess).¹⁶¹

However, neither work was reviewed in German medical journals because no German publisher was willing to distribute works discussing [Fascist] “euthanasia” until the 1960s.¹⁶²

The early works of Platen‐Hallermund, Mitscherlich and Mielke indicate that the crimes committed against disabled victims were not entirely disregarded, but the resistance they faced from the German medical community suggests their viewpoint was a minority. This enforced silence about [Fascist] “euthanasia” contributed to the delay in memorialization because it inhibited Germans from engaging with this area of the [Fascist era].

[…]

The 1980s also witnessed the beginning of disability studies and the use of disability as an analytical lens with which to examine the [Fascist era].¹⁶⁷ During this time disability also became equated with “gender and race as an analytical construct used to define what it means to be human”.¹⁶⁸

These changes re‐established people with disabilities as individuals worthy of scholarly exploration and aided in the recognition of disabled Germans as victims of [Fascist] policies. This assisted in their eventual memorialization within Germany, but this process was delayed due to continued discrimination towards disabled Germans.

The end of World War II did not bring about an immediate shift in societal perceptions of disabilities, even though West German society included a variety of disabled individuals: veterans, coercive sterilization survivors, those who had managed to evade death at a “euthanasia” centre, and those who developed a disability due to malnourishment or disease immediately following 1945.¹⁶⁹

Within West Germany, medical professionals deliberated how best to care for and integrate disabled veterans and those who had a disability due to illness into society; however, “in all these discussions there was almost never any reflection on the fate of disabled people under [Fascism] or the involvement of professionals and special education teachers in carrying out the policies of racial hygiene.”¹⁷⁰ These debates also defined who was labeled as disabled, which further excluded disabled survivors.

In the Federal Ministry for Labor and Social Affair’s commissioned work The Disabled and Physically Handicapped in the Struggle for Existence in Former Times and Today, 1956, the term disabled was reserved for “war or workplace victims whose health had been harmed in the service of society,” and those who failed to meet these requirements were deemed “physically handicapped.”¹⁷¹

Although some survivors of [Fascist] sterilization and “euthanasia” may have rejected both terms, disabled and physically handicapped, their segregation from the German government’s definition of disabled impacted their ability to receive financial support and government services.

Those who matched the Labor Ministry’s definition of disabled were eligible for pensions and the protection of welfare laws. Those whom the Labor Ministry deemed “physically handicapped” were also labeled as “non‐genuine disabled” and were expected to be cared for by their family, the church or a charity.¹⁷²

Therefore, the German government aided in the segregation of disabled victims of [Fascist] crimes from Germany’s disabled community; an act that contributed to their delayed memorialization because segregation and discrimination does not foster an environment for memorialization.

Furthermore, the notion that sterilization and “euthanasia” were medically sound actions permeated beyond Germany’s [Fascist] medical community, and influenced government legislation in both West Germany and reunified Germany.

In 1953, the West German government issued the Federal Law for the Compensation of the Victims of National Socialist Persecution (Entschädigungegesetz), which further segregated the more than 370,000 victims of sterilization and 300,000 “euthanasia” victims by denying them financial compensation for their suffering and official recognition as a victim group.¹⁷³ They were excluded because they were not viewed as victims of racial, religious, or political persecution.¹⁷⁴

Although [Fascist] crimes of sterilization and “euthanasia” were considered crimes against humanity, Germans who were sterilized under the 1933 sterilization law were viewed as having received genuine medical treatment.¹⁷⁵ It was not until 2007 that the 1933 […] sterilization law was officially declared unconstitutional.¹⁷⁶

However, victims of coercive sterilization still did not receive compensation under Entschädigungsgesetz, because their persecution was still not considered to have been racially or politically motivated.¹⁷⁷ This finally changed in 2011 when “euthanasia” victims were officially granted “equal status to those of other [Fascist] crimes” (eg. the Jews) by the German government.¹⁷⁸

However, it was not until 2017 that “euthanasia” victims were included in the German Parliament’s annual remembrance of victims of [Fascism], which takes place on January 27th.¹⁷⁹ Although disabled victims are now officially recognized as victims of [Fascist] crimes, it is evident that it took time for that to be socially accepted and expressed, which impacted and delayed the memorialization process.

It is arguable that one of the most significant factors in the marginalization of disabled victims from postwar memorialization in Germany is the lack of survivors and those who can lobby to promote the interests of the victims of [Fascist] euthanasia and coercive sterilization.¹⁸⁰ There were very few disabled survivors of the “euthanasia” program, and victims of sterilization have continued to face discrimination and ostracism, as this chapter has discussed and will explore further in Chapter Three within the context of deaf survivors.¹⁸¹

Overall, disabled Germans may not have been able to share their experiences because of their marginalized positions. “Marginalized groups can only contribute to the national memory ‘if they command the means to express their visions and if their vision [is] compatible [with] social or political objectives and inclinations.’”¹⁸²

Furthermore, arbitrary categories such as “feebleminded” and “deaf and dumb”, which developed credibility during the Weimar Republic and Third Reich, continued into the postwar years and perpetuated prejudiced categorization and discrimination of disabled Germans. Therefore, disabled Germans were hindered in their ability to advocate for themselves because there were a limited number of survivors and their voices were suppressed by a society that was unwilling to include the plight of disabled Germans in the narrative of [Fascist] crimes.¹⁸³

This directly impacts the memorialization process, because, once again, disabled Germans were recognized as victims of [Fascism].

The Empire of Japan was probably the least antisemitic of the Axis powers, and some Imperialists found antisemitism incomprehensible. For example, the Imperial governor of Shanghai once baffledly asked Rabbi Kalish ‘Why do the Germans hate you so much?’ There simply wasn’t a diuturnal tradition of either anti‐Judaism or antisemitism in the Far East as there was in Europe.

Nevertheless, a number of Imperialists attracted to Germanic Fascism or Russian anticommunism did adopt this prejudice, and in any case the Eastern Axis implemented a few antisemitic policies in some of the spots that it occupied:

As with the Jewish combatant detainees earlier, non‐combatant Jews of the colony were not treated initially as a distinct ethnic or religious group. Those born in the Netherlands and those who held other Allied citizenship were arrested indistinguishably from non‐Jews with similar conditions.

By contrast, the [Eastern Axis] left unharmed the Iraqi Jews, like other ‘Foreign Orientals’; Jews coming from [Western] Axis nations (Germany, Italy, and Romania) like their non‐Jewish compatriots; Jews of non‐belligerent nations and neutral nations (e.g., Switzerland); and, even, a number of Dutch Jews who were fortunate to be born in Indonesia or demonstrated sufficient Asian roots.

On the whole, during the first year and a half of the [Axis] occupation in Indonesia more than half of the Jewish members of the local community were detained, either as soldiers or as non‐combatant Dutch. Their Jewishness, however, was by no means the reason for their tribulation.

This unbiased treatment, so to speak, did not last long. In the latter half of 1943 the [Eastern Axis’s] policy vis‐à‐vis the local Jews changed dramatically. The most salient aspect of it was the arrest of the Jews who remained outside the camps, regardless of their origin and nationality, solely for being Jews. This measure was without a parallel action against non‐Jews and it was accompanied by gradual segregation of many of the Jews already detained. Critically, it occurred only in Indonesia.

Those arrested now belonged to ethnic and national categories that were left unharmed elsewhere in the Japanese empire, notably in Shanghai and Harbin, the two largest single urban communities in East Asia. Despite its uniqueness, this new discriminatory policy vis‐à‐vis Jews, for being Jews, did not emerge without a warning. It was preceded by a minor anti‐Semitic campaign, which the [Axis] authorities had promoted in Java.

Its harbinger was Major (and, later, Lieutenant Colonel) Murase Mitsuo (1908–1949), the deputy head of the Sixteenth Army Kempeitai (military police of the Imperial Japanese Army) and the chief of its Tokkō (acronym for Tokubetsu Kōtō Keisatsu, Special Higher Police) unit. His anti‐Semitic speech in front of propaganda officials in Batavia on 4 April 1943 was echoed, during the same month, by pronouncements of similar content in the local Indonesian press (Benda 1958: 255, 272; Kwartanada 2009).

[…]

The question of relative deprivation is in much lesser doubt when one considers the fate of other Jewish communities in East Asia during the war. It seems patent here that the Jews in wartime Indonesia were meted out harsher treatment than any other substantial Jewish community in the territories occupied by Japan. Nowhere else, was an entire community interned, the majority for more than three years in sub‐human conditions.

Even in Japan itself, Jews were treated better. After all, Jews who were allowed to land in Kobe shortly before the war and the few who remained there throughout the war were treated according to their nationality and not on account of their Jewishness (Shatzkes 1991; Kaneko 2003).

In Harbin, where a community of similar size (about 2,500 in 1939) lived since the early 20th century, Jews were not interned, whereas in Shanghai the majority — ‘stateless’ Jews from Germany, Austria, and various other [Axis]‐occupied nations in Central and Eastern Europe — was kept in an open ghetto under much more humane conditions than in any Indonesian camp. Other Jews in this Chinese city, mainly Russian Jews and Iraqi Jews, remained free throughout the war, while a small number of Allied Jewish citizens were interned (Kranzler 1976: 501).

In accounting for the particularly harsh treatment of the Jews of Indonesia, several moderating factors emerge. First, most of them were associated closely with the Dutch colonial regime and thus were meted out the same treatment as other Europeans. Nowhere else in East Asia was such a large civilian population interned and nowhere else did the Japanese face such logistical difficulties to maintain them.

In Harbin and even in Shanghai, the Jews were neither associated with the anti‐Japanese Chinese majority, nor with the Anglo‐Saxon enemies, and therefore were treated better. And second, the Jews in Indonesia were relatively marginal in size and economic importance — despite being a sizable community, and far from the sight of Western media or Jewish organisations.

On the whole, the circumstances of internment in the Dutch East Indies were unfavorable to all internees, but once separated from the gentile majority and within a growing Anti‐Semitic undercurrent, the Jewish internees seem to have faced particularly harsh conditions.

The keyword being ‘seem’; Rosen Jacobson, E.W. had difficulty corroborating Rotem Kowner’s observations:

Despite the certainty expressed in the speech, [Eastern Axis officials] were not at all sure that the [Fascists] were right about the ‘Jewish danger’. According to the eyewitness report of dentist M. Knap, the [Imperialists] began investigating themselves. In Knap’s prisoner of war camp, ten Jews were told out of the blue to line up.

Since the other prisoners thought this order was meant to be followed by some sort of punishment, they selected the ten youngest and strongest Jewish men, but then something unexpectedly happened: ‘The Japanese sergeant walked in front of and behind the row a couple of times, looked at the heads and legs and walked away while shaking his head. He had a newspaper clipping from de ‘Stürmer’ ([Fascist] propaganda paper) with a Jewish caricature in his hand, and none of the ten had the prescribed crooked legs, crooked back, or crooked nose.’^68^

This is a clear indication that [Berlin’s] influence on [Imperial] policy was not decisive. According to A.G. Vromans, the internment of Jews ‘for being of Jewish ancestry’, must be regarded as an extreme concession that Tokyo granted their allies. There were no other measures taken against the Jews.^69^

[…]

However, these are the only pieces of evidence I have found for Jews being treated differently from other internees, so a deliberate [Imperial] policy does not seem plausible. Elisabeth de Jong‐Keesing, another internee, recalled that the Japanese did not take any special measures against the Jews, but still intended to separate them from the non‐Jews by taking them first to Tangerang (the jodenhan) and then to Adek.

She also refers to non‐Jewish women such as Hetty Wertheim who registered as Jewish for the sake of their children, and because they were unaware of what was happening in Germany: ‘our move must have been at the request of a Japanese ally. […] Our Jewish group was very colourful. All Dutch women with a Jewish husband had also come forward and Jewish women with a non‐Jewish husband. Nobody denied it and nobody knew anything about the extermination camps in Germany.’^73^

(Emphasis added in all cases.)

According to the authors, the Estonian Legionnaires fought a patriotic war distinct from the [Axis]–Soviet conflict. Their stated goal was to defend Estonian territory from the Soviets, after which the Allies would guarantee Estonia’s independence, as they had after World War I (Rent 1997, 136; Gailit 1995; 9–11; Kõverjalg 1994, 86). The struggle of the Estonian Legion against the Soviet Union is presented as a national humanitarian effort, supported by the Estonian people (Gailit 1995; 27, 84; Kõverjalg 1994, 90–1, 129, 143).

This argument that the Estonian Legionnaires fought a separate war mirrors that of Finnish Waffen‐SS veterans (Holmila 2013, 218). It is also similar to that of Waffen‐SS volunteers from [the Third Reich] and other countries, who claim they fought only to defend Europe from Bolshevism (Mackenzie 1997; 137–8; Smith, Poulsen, and Christensen 1999, 95; Carrard 2010; chapter 7; Wilke 2011, 126, 379, 405). Clearly, the ‘separate war thesis,’ or a version of it, has been universally employed by veterans of the [Axis’s] armed forces to distance themselves from the Holocaust and emphasize their patriotism.

In the Estonian memoirs, the depiction of the [Axis] authorities and individual Germans ranges from critical to positive. The behavior of the [Axis] authorities is often attributed to sinister motivations, such as bellicosity, racism, narcissism, and a conqueror’s mentality. Observations about this are made after contact with [Wehrmacht] soldiers and Polish civilians in Latvia and Poland, and after hearing rumors of the brutal mistreatment of Soviet prisoners of war and Jews (Rent 1997; 10, 30, 135, 137, 150; Kõverjalg 1994, 58, 70, 101). Gailit displays only general disappointment with [Axis] policy in Estonia, which he attributes to the selfish pursuit of German national interests (1995, 75, 113).

Kõverjalg, however, presents a more mixed image of individual Germans. Initial encounters with [Wehrmacht] soldiers gave him a brave and courteous first impression (Kõverjalg 1994, 54–5). He also writes that the Estonian Legionnaires admired one senior Waffen‐SS officer who died trying to save wounded Estonians (74).

Thus, the Germans appear to be motivated by bravery and honor. This praise, which contradicts previous criticism about German arrogance and brutality, reflects a paradox evident in many accounts by non‐German Waffen‐SS soldiers. That is, that men valued the opportunity to learn from and fight in the [Axis’s] armed forces, while simultaneously being disdainful of the [Third Reich’s] superciliousness and brutality in the occupation of their countries (Carrard 2010; chapter 6; Böhler and Gerwarth 2017; Westerlund 2019, 20–1).

The three authors attribute the actions of the Soviet Union to a desire to destroy and dominate its neighbors. The authors accuse it of war crimes against civilians, such as the bombing of defenseless Estonian cities and the subsequent colonization and Russification of Estonia (Gailit 1995, 112; Rent 1997; 14, 151, 216–17, 219; Kõverjalg 1994, 35; 90, 134–5).

The former narrative derives from the [Axis] propaganda of the time, which constantly railed against ‘terror attacks’ by Allied air forces on [Axis]‐occupied cities (Carrard 2010, chapter 5). The latter narrative reflects the post‐Soviet Baltic view that Soviet occupation represented a targeted genocide against the titular ethnicities, worse than [Axis] occupation (Kaprāns 2016; Radonić 2018, 483; Subotić 2019; chapter 4; Kõresaar 2019, 172).

[…]

The three authors paint a rosy picture of actively and positively motivated Estonians fighting a separate war against Soviet aggressors, unrelated to the crimes of the [Axis]. This narrative is evident in many of the postwar accounts of Waffen‐SS veterans from Germany and elsewhere.

The Estonian Legionnaires attribute the behavior of the [Axis] authorities and some German individuals to various sinister motivations, though the image presented is not entirely negative. This reflects the conflicting attitudes held by non‐German Waffen‐SS soldiers about simultaneously being occupied by a brutal regime, while also being able to train and fight in its prestigious army against the hated Soviets. The behavior of the Soviet regime is attributed to one sinister motivation — the desire to destroy and dominate its neighbors.

This is done so in a way that parrots [Axis] propaganda and reflects the post‐[Soviet] Baltic conception of the Soviet Union as a genocidal régime. The behavior of Soviet individuals is interpreted differently by the authors, yet still in a way that presents the war as an existential struggle between the evil Soviet Union and the good Estonian nation.

[…]

Gailit and Kõverjalg provide several examples of how the patriotism of the Estonian Legionnaires was openly demonstrated through spontaneous singing of the national anthem, refusal to leave Estonian territory, and fighting beneath the national flag (Gailit 1995; 82, 85, 87; Kõverjalg 1994, 69). The idea of the separate war is evident here: the inconvenient fact that the legionnaires fought in Hitler’s army is discarded to create a tale of Estonians battling the Soviets alone.

The memoirs also stress that Estonians shared an affinity with other nationalities who were victims of the Soviet and [Axis] régimes, such as Poles, Jews, and Central Asians (Rent 1997; 12, 143; Kõverjalg 1994, 72, 86). Such self‐victimization and appropriation of the suffering of groups who were targeted for annihilation by the [Axis], with the assistance of non‐German collaborators, is a common feature of Waffen‐SS apologists (Wilke 2011, 126) and the national narratives of post‐[Soviet] states (Radonić 2018; Subotić 2019).

To distance them from the European Estonians and Germans, Soviet NKVD soldiers are portrayed as Asian brutes (Kõverjalg 1994, 35) who contrast starkly with polite, Aryan […] soldiers (54–5). Rent, in a racist manner, believes that “the [Germans’] pattern of behavior reflects the European way of thinking, where trust is natural, versus an Asiatic [Soviet] mind‐set where […] everyone is suspected” (1997, 56).

Comical anecdotes about contact between the Estonians and Soviets during the first Soviet occupation depict the Soviet people as uncultured and backward (Rent 1997, 13; Kõverjalg 1994, 32). Again, the impact of [Axis] propaganda, which demonized the Soviet people as a subhuman, rampaging horde, is evident (Bartov 1991, 152; Carrard 2010; ch. 5; Böhler and Gerwarth 2017).

[…]

The memoir of Visvaldis Lācis […] serves as part of the introduction to his book, The Latvian Legion in the Light of Truth (2006). This attempts to prove the innocence of the Latvian Legion against accusations that it consisted of [Axis] sympathizers and participated in genocide. Instead, Lācis emphasizes that the Latvian Legion was made up of patriots, who fought exclusively against the Red Army for Latvian independence.

The book is written with the contemporary political situation of Latvia in mind: the suffering of Latvians at the hands of the Soviet authorities during World War II is used to trivialize accusations of maltreatment against the contemporary Latvian state by Russian‐speaking politicians (8).

[…]

Of all the [Latvian] authors, only Bankovičs makes one small reference to the Holocaust in the chapter about his surrender to the Soviets. When NKVD officers made him and other legionnaires dig what appeared to be their own graves, he was reminded of rumors he had heard from his neighbors back home — Latvian Jews had been made to dig their own graves before they were murdered by the [Axis] (Bankovičs 2014, 199). This passage is important for three reasons.

Firstly, Bankovičs only mentions the Holocaust in order to compare it to his own situation. He thus appropriates its symbolism for his own victimization as a Latvian Legionnaire, in a manner characteristic of post‐[Soviet] national narratives (Radonić 2018; Subotić 2019). Secondly, by omitting the collaboration of ethnic Latvians in the murder of Latvian Jews, ethnic Latvians are depicted solely as victims of the [Axis] as well.

Thirdly, it demonstrates how the argument that [the Third Reich] was a preferable ally depends on the omission of the consequences of [Axis] occupation for Latvian Jews. The nodal point of Latvia’s Europeanness, which led it to side temporarily with [the Axis] to fight against Soviet ‘barbarism,’ thus depends on the omission of numerically greater [Axis] crimes (Ezergailis 1996a, 229).

Analysis of the three memoirs suggests that the family backgrounds of the authors influenced their perception of the Soviet Union. The memoirs tend to contrast the Latvian and Soviet people. Conversely, they allude to the cultural affinity of Latvians with Germans. [The Third Reich] is presented as the better ally for Latvia at the time through the emphasis of Soviet atrocities, omission of ethnic Latvian involvement in the murder of Latvian Jews, and expression of the hope that the Western Allies would intervene to ensure Latvian independence postwar.

These narrative techniques present Latvia as a rightfully independent nation that shared more with civilized, European [Fascist] Germany than the uncivilized Soviet Union, yet was still a victim of both régimes.

(Emphasis added.)

…wow.

Quoting Grzegorz Motyka’s From the Volhynian Massacre to Operation Vistula: The Polish–Ukrainian Conflict 1943–1947, pages 89–92:

The OUN‐B and UPA’s operation in the western districts of Volhynia was to cover — to surprise Poles and thwart any possible attempts at defence — many more localities than in the eastern part of the region as was previously the case.

Over the last months, UPA units in this area became stronger and attained greater fighting capabilities than those Dubovyi’s units had possessed in March–May. The UPA was also able to take advantage of the experience gained through police deserters. The date of the onslaught was set for Sunday, July 11 to attack Poles gathering in large numbers for mass.

According to the plan, after killing the population of a given village, UPA sotnias were to move quickly to the next village to carry out the next massacre. The intention was to achieve the greatest possible surprise and minimize chances of escape. Only Ukrainian self‐defence groups were to stay on spot and “clean” the area. Poles escaping the conflagration were not favoured by the time of year. Summer temperatures made spending nighttime outside feasible, but the short July night did not give the Poles, who literally became game, much time to escape and hide under the cover of darkness.

UPA units struck, as planned, on July 11, 1943. According to Władysław and Ewa Siemaszek’s findings, they simultaneously attacked ninety‐six villages in Horokhiv and Volodymyr counties and three in Kovel county. The next day, July 12, the same fate befell another fifty villages in Horokhiv and Volodymyr counties².

One of the first villages attacked was Dominopol, where the aforementioned Polish unit maintaining contacts with the UPA was stationed. It was probably liquidated on the night of July 11 by partisans from Porfyryi “Sich” Antoniuk’s zahon (regiment) supported by the OUN Security Service militia.

This is how one member of the OUN Security Service (SB) purportedly described the action to Danyl Shumuk: “We knocked on the door. The lieutenant […] opened it for us. We shot him on the doorstep. We shot the captain in bed as the typist jumped out the window and our boys shot her there. Then […] the SB boys went roaming around the village. Not a single Lakh remained alive by morning”³. About two hundred and twenty Poles were killed. The village was not burned down as the Polish farmsteads were taken over by Ukrainian [anticommunist]s.

The Gurów colony was attacked on the night of July 10–11 at about 2.30 AM. The inhabitants were dispatched inside individual houses with slashing weapons and firearms. About two hundred Poles were murdered there. At 3 AM, UPA men attacked the Wygranka colony. Inhabitants were awakened by the sounds coming from Gurów, with some seeking out hiding places or fleeing, some trying to defend themselves.

Nonetheless, about one hundred and fifty Poles fell victim to the UPA. At around 5 AM tragedy struck the Zamlicze folwark — one hundred and eighteen people were murdered. Approximately another eighty Poles were killed in the Nowiny colony at 8 AM.

In Poryck, UPA units struck when the Poles had gathered in the local church for mass, which started at 11 AM. They shot and threw grenades through the church doors and windows. This is how Jadwiga Krajewska recalled the attack:

The first shots were fired at Father Bolesław Szawłowski and the faithful during the Gloria […]. I was at church with my sister […]. When I heard the murderers walking around the church and saying “oh, this one’s still alive” I quickly grabbed some hat soaked in warm, sticky blood and used it to rub my and my sister’s faces. We pretended to be dead. The smoke was very suffocating, so people tried to flee the church, but machine gun fire ended their suffering at the church entrance. […] The Ukrainians shouted, “come out, whoever’s alive” and killed those exiting at the door […] attempts were made to blow the church up, but we only felt a terrible shock and then everything fell silent⁴.

While the slaughter in the church was taking place, other groups of partisans killed Poles remaining inside their homes. Attack participant Ivan Hrin later testified that the bodies of “up to 200” dead “were buried next to the Polish church. Residents were assembled to do this, [who — G.M.] dug a large hole at the west side of the building and carried the corpses from inside there. The corpses were buried just 25–30 meters from the church”⁵.

Poles gathered at church were also attacked by UPA men in Chrynów. The church was cordoned off and those leaving the 9 o’clock mass were stopped, while those entering for the 11 o’clock mass were let through. Around this time, machine gun fire opened up on the crowd. Once all those who were shot lay on the ground, the UPA men retreated without killing the wounded, thanks to which some of the fallen survived.

Meanwhile, UPA patrols killed Poles inside their homes. About one hundred and fifty people died. Poles were attacked at church in Zabłoćce as well. Seventy‐six people were murdered there.

Adela Preis (née Ziółkowska) recalls the events that took place in Kisielin:

After Mass, around 1 PM, bandits burst into the church […] murdering those inside. They smashed small children against the walls. Some of the congregation hid in the presbytery, including myself, my father, and my brother Stanisław. We went up to the second floor. The first floor was set on fire. The attackers used ladders to get to us. We struck them with bricks we’d attained from dismantling stoves and the walls. My brother […] was killed by a bullet that hit him directly in the heart. It was fired by a UPA man sitting on the roof of a nearby barn⁶.

Around 10 PM the UPA men left Kisielin — the effect of their operation was the murder of about ninety Poles. Most of those holed up in the presbytery survived.

Tragedy also befell Huta Majdańska in Zdolbuniv county. In the spring of 1943, the inhabitants of this village declared their loyalty to the Ukrainian underground and in exchange for a guarantee of safety provided the UPA with food (eggs, milk, grain, meat).

Despite this, on July 12 Ukrainian [anticommunists] murdered most of the inhabitants. 184 people died (including one Ukrainian woman). Eleven Poles survived. In the village of Zagaje, UPA men murdered about 260 Poles, in the village of Linów about 70, at Pustomyty about 90. Over those days Poles were also killed in the colonies of Stasin, Milatyń, Michałówka, Pelagin, Romanówka, Samowola, Smołowa, Rykowicze, Szczeniutyn Mały, Szczeniutyn Duży, Wolica, Topieliszcze, Zaszkiewicze Stare, and Zaszkiewicze Nowe, as well as in many other localities.

The night of July 15 and the day of July 16 saw the second wave of attacks. One hundred and one Poles were killed in the village of Pułhany and about fifty in the Szeroka colony (most of them went voluntarily to a clearing by the forest to hide from an alleged [Axis] pacification of which the Ukrainians had warned them and were shot there).

At noon the UPA attacked the village of Kupowalce, which had good relations with local Ukrainians and even supplied the UPA with food. The UPA men entered the village on carts from several directions at once. Poles were killed in their houses and gardens; the cornfields were also “combed” for escapees. A total of about one hundred and fifty people were murdered at that time. That same day at least 87 Poles were killed in the Lulówka Węgierszczyzna colony.

At the turn of July and August, UPA units in this area only rarely attacked Polish villages. One can suspect the intention was to lull the Poles into a false sense of security, which would allow them to launch another concentrated attack. This was also the purpose of a proclamation made by the staff of Sich‐Antoniuk’s zahon, which declared that the massacres that had just taken place were justified by the need to punish the Poles “with all the severity of wartime‐revolutionary demands” for collaboration with the Germans.

At the same time, “full security” was guaranteed to that part of the Polish population that did not collaborate with the Germans. Poles were urged “not to succumb to hostile agitation and not to leave their settlements”⁷.

Jared McBride sums it up thus in Peasants into Perpetrators: The OUN–UPA and the Ethnic Cleansing of Volhynia, 1943–1944:

The OUN–UPA‐planned ethnic cleansing continued unabated throughout summer 1943. The crescendo came on the night of July 11–12, 1943 when the UPA planned a highly coordinated attack (known among Poles as the “Peter and Paul action” for the holiday on which it occurred) against Polish villages in three raions: Kovel΄, Khorokhiv, and Volodymyr‐Volyns΄kyi.⁴⁶ Over one hundred localities were targeted in this action, and some 4,000 Poles were murdered.

Finally, the last wave of attacks came in December 1943 before Shukhevych decided to move the cleansing operations to Galicia where tens of thousands more Galician Poles were murdered. Following the killings in Volhynia, the UPA‐North group gave the order to “destroy all traces of the Poles” by “destroying all Polish churches and all other Polish places of worship. Destroy all farm homes, so there is no evidence that anyone ever lived there.”⁴⁷

These killings were no secret in Volhynia in 1943. Many historical sources on the occupation, from diaries to official Soviet and German reports, provide details about the cleansing. Likewise, contemporaneous Soviet partisan reports from the area are littered with references to the violence.

One late May report noted, “throughout villages in Stepan’, Derazhanaia, Rafalovka, Sarny, Vysotsk, Vladimirets, Klevan’, and other raions, the nationalists are carrying out mass terror against the Polish population […] the nationalists are not shooting the Poles but are using knives and axes to murder Poles irrespective of age and gender.”⁴⁸

Another report from April 1943 remarked, “The Ukrainian nationalists are carrying out bestial reprisals against the Polish population with the goal of completely destroying the Polish population of Ukraine. In Tsuman’ raion, a sotnia (company) of nationalists was given the order on April 15, 1943 to destroy all of the Poles and burn down their villages.”⁴⁹

Similarly, German reports from this time also noted the killings, as did reports from Polish military units.⁵⁰ Eyewitness testimonies from post‐Soviet investigations and Holocaust survivor collections in the west routinely reference these cleansing actions as well.⁵¹

Not all Volhynian Ukrainians supported the murder of their Polish neighbors. Some Ukrainians warned their Polish peers of impending OUN–UPA attacks, hid Poles, and helped them escape from Volhynia.⁵² Even in the Liuboml’ area (the focus of the next section), Poles acknowledged how Ukrainian neighbors helped them survive.

In Ostrivky, Czesław Kuwałek explained, “There were also incidents in which the Ukrainians behaved decently toward the Poles […] two Ukrainian families […] sheltered my uncle’s family for about three days after the attack and then took them to Wilczy Przewόz, where they could cross the Bug river.”⁵³

Moreover, a few Ukrainian leaders, including religious authorities and organizations, protested against the killings, though their declarations accomplished little.⁵⁴ Calls for restraint did not stem the tide of violence.

(Emphasis added in all cases.)

:::spoiler Click here for other events that happened today (July 11). 1892: Gustav‐Adolf von Zangen, Axis colonel and aristocrat, came to be.
1921: Adolf Schicklgruber temporarily resigned from the NSDAP due to disagreements with the party executive committee.
1936: Berlin and Vienna signed the Austro‐German Agreement or Juliabkommen.
1937: Tōkyō recalled units of the Imperial Chosen Army and Kwantung Army, previously ordered to march into China on the first day of the Second Sino‐Japanese War, due to political reasons. The Imperial Japanese Army and IJN agreed on a boundary in China. The Army was placed in charge of conducting the war in northern China, while the Navy would take on central and southern China. The IJN’s air power in China at this time consisted of eighty aircraft aboard carriers Kaga, Ryujo, and Hosho. Lastly, Tōkyō assigned Masafumi Arima to Cruiser Division 10.
1938: The IJN issued Order № 261 to raise sunken Chinese light cruisers Ninghai and Pinghai at Jiangyin, Jiangsu Province, China.
1939: Twenty‐seven Imperial bombers attacked Chongqing, China.
1940: After Fascist submarine U‐34 sank Norwegian ship Janna southwest of Ireland at 0700 hours, Pierre Laval became the 120th Prime Minister of France with the title of the Vice President of the Council, and Marshal Philippe Pétain declared hisself head of state of the French Republic. On radio later on the same day, he spoke of the expected rôles of the young people, the parents, and the government. ‘Let us give ourselves to France. She has always led her people to greatness.’ (Privately, the younger generation responded poorly to Pétain's new vision, criticising it as discriminatory toward young women, enslaving them as homemakers.) As well, one meeting between Admiral Erich Raeder and his Chancellor took place at the Obersalzberg, Berchtesgaden, where matters of how things were in Norway and Berlin’s plans for that area were made clear. They talked about how to continue the war against Britain and again the Chancellor made it clear of his aims and that no invasion was to take place until all efforts had been made to bring London to sue for peace. (Nevertheless, within the next few days the Chancellor would change his mind.) Joachim von Ribbentrop also requested Spain to assist in the detaining of the Duke of Windsor, the former King Edward VIII of the United Kingdom. The Luftwaffe attacked the British Royal Navy Base at Portland in southern England, then Capitano Tarantini attacked Panamanian tanker Beme in the Mediterranean Sea south of Cyprus at 2300 hours as the tanker was in ballast on a voyage from Haifa, Palestine to Istanbul. The first torpedo fired missed, but gunfire disabled the tanker. After removing the tanker’s crew, the next torpedo sunk the ship.
1941: The 1.Panzergruppe marched near Kiev as Maggiore Baracca searched for a reported Allied convoy in the Atlantic Ocean. Alessandro Malaspina took orders to move to a new patrol area in the Atlantic Ocean. At 1130 hours, she sighted Portuguese freighter Quanza and submerged to approach; after positive identification, she abandoned the pursuit. Leonardo da Vinci sighted a freighter in the Atlantic Ocean at 1100 hours. At 1218 hours, they identified the target as the Spanish Navy tanker Pluton.
1942: As the Eastern Axis leadership abandoned the plans to capture New Caledonia, Fiji, and Samoa, the Western Axis captured Soviet 2nd Shock Army commanding office Andrei Vlasov. Axis submarine U‐203 sank Panamanian tanker Stanvac Palembang northeast of Trinidad at 0352 hours; five died but foty‐five lived. Axis U‐166 also sank Dominican sailing vessel Carmen with the deck gun eight miles off the northern coast of the Dominican Republic at 1900 hours; somebody died but seven did not.
1943: Axis forces in Operation Citadel ran out of momentum, even though there had been some objectives reached. Berlin refused to call off the operation, which could have saved many of the units. In Sicily, General Paul Conrath’s Hermann Göring Panzer Division overran the Yankee outposts at Ponte Dirillo and were only prevented from breaking through the Allied lines by an attack by James Gavin’s paratroopers from the rear. Elsewhere, Conrath personally led a column which assaulted the weakly held Piano Lupo, to get within two thousand yards of the beach before being stopped by the defenders. In Greece, a partisan threw a grenade into an Axis officer’s vehicle, killing the officer.
1944: Berlin summoned Claus von Stauffenberg to see his Chancellor in Berchtesgaden regarding the situation of the Home Army, and coincidentally the last 35,000 men of 4.Armee surrendered to the Soviets at Minsk, Byelorussia. London, England received many V‐1 bombs and somebody reported over thirty‐eight fatalities. The worst incident, slaughtering fourteen, was at Annerley Road in Crystal Palace, southeast London. At Public House, the Axis hit The Paxon’s Arms close by in Clapham, slaughtering eleven in the pub. At Deptford, southeast London, Axis firepower massacred eleven dock workers and destroyed some cranes and workshops. Lastly, the Eastern Axis’s 18th Army under Lieutenant General Hatazo Adachi launched a counterattack in the Aitape area in New Guinea, placing pressure on Yankee troops yet sustaining heavy casualties.
1945: The last remaining Axis ambassador to the Soviet Union, Naotake Sato, failed to convince Vyacheslav Molotov to engage their two nations in a formal peace treaty.

I am unhappy to cite this anticommunist, but… quoting Jan T. Gross’s Neighbors: The Destruction of the Jewish Community in Jedwabne, pages 18–20:

Even though the [Axis] gave the order, it was Polish hooligans who took it up and carried it out, using the most horrible methods. After various tortures and humiliations, they burned all the Jews in a barn.

During the first pogrom and the later bloodbath the following outcasts distinguished themselves by their brutality: Szleziński, Karolak, Borowiuk (Borowski?) Mietek, Borowiuk (Borowski?) Wacław, Jermałowski, Ramutowski Bolek, Rogalski Bolek, Szelawa Stanisław, Szelawa Franciszek, Kozłowski Geniek, Trzaska, Tarnoczek Jerzyk, Ludański Jurek, Laciecz Czesław.

On the morning of July 10, 1941, eight gestapo men came to town and had a meeting with representatives of the town authorities. When the gestapo asked what their plans were with respect to the Jews, they said, unanimously, that all Jews must be killed.

When the [Axis] proposed to leave one Jewish family from each profession, local carpenter Bronisław Szleziński, who was present, answered: We have enough of our own craftsmen, we have to destroy all the Jews, none should stay alive. Mayor Karolak and everybody else agreed with his words. For this purpose Szleziński gave his own barn, which stood nearby. After this meeting the bloodbath began.

Local hooligans armed themselves with axes, special clubs studded with nails, and other instruments of torture and destruction and chased all the Jews into the street. As the first victims of their devilish instincts they selected seventy‐five of the youngest and healthiest Jews, whom they ordered to pick up a huge monument of Lenin that the Russians had erected in the center of town.

It was impossibly heavy, but under a rain of horrible blows the Jews had to do it. While carrying the monument, they also had to sing until they brought it to the designated place. There, they were ordered to dig a hole and throw the monument in. Then these Jews were butchered to death and thrown into the same hole.

The other brutality was when the murderers ordered every Jew to dig a hole and bury all previously murdered Jews, and then those were killed and in turn buried by others. It is impossible to represent all the brutalities of the hooligans, and it is difficult to find in our history of suffering something similar.

Beards of old Jews were burned, newborn babies were killed at their mothers’ breasts, people were beaten murderously and forced to sing and dance. In the end they proceeded to the main action—the burning. The entire town was surrounded by guards so that nobody could escape; then Jews were ordered to line up in a column, four in a row, and the ninety‐year‐old rabbi and the shochet [Kosher butcher] were put in front, they were given a red banner, and all were ordered to sing and were chased into the barn. Hooligans bestially beat them up on the way.

Near the gate a few hooligans were standing, playing various instruments in order to drown the screams of horrified victims. Some tried to defend themselves, but they were defenseless. Bloodied and wounded, they were pushed into the barn. Then the barn was doused with kerosene and lit, and the bandits went around to search Jewish homes, to look for the remaining sick and children.

The sick people they found they carried to the barn themselves, and as for the little children, they roped a few together by their legs and carried them on their backs, then put them on pitchforks and threw them onto smoldering coals.

After the fire they used axes to knock golden teeth from still not entirely decomposed bodies and in other ways violated the corpses of holy martyrs.⁶

(Emphasis added.)

The anticommunists massacred at least four hundred of Jedwabne’s Jews, but the actual total could have been as high as one thousand six hundred.

Unfortunately, a great deal of the materials on this subject matter prefer to focus on its presumed legal importance rather than the victims or even the oppressors in the situation. For us socialists, the claim that the SCOTUS’s ruling in favor of the Illinois neofascists set a valuable precedent and prevented a slippery slope into government tyranny is laughworthy. These were the same judges who a few months before outlawed the miners’ right to strike on the grounds of the Taft‐Hartley Act, and a pile of FBI documents obtained under the Freedom of Information Act revealed that from 1953 to 1959 ACLU officials had been secretly cooperating with the FBI’s witchhunt of ‘Communists and subversives’ within the organization.

(Mirror.)

“Fear of annihilation” appeared in clinical (Bako & Zana, 2018) and community samples (Hogman, 1998; Hirsch & Chaitin, 2010; Lazar et al., 2008; Rosenthal, 2002). However, the expression of such fears varied across the geographic settings. In studies conducted [under Zionism], participants’ fears of annihilation were embedded in the perceived impact of the Holocaust on [a neocolonial] society (Lazar et al., 2008; Hirsch & Chaitin, 2010; Hirsch & Lazar, 2011). Based on a survey data, Lazar et al. (2008), suggested that, “The strongest impact is the fear of annihilation, with almost any incident and event interpreted as a threat” (p. 96).

Grandchildren living in Europe, U.S.A and Australia (Cohn & Morrison, 2018; Rosenthal, 2002), related their fears to being persecuted due to anti‐Semitism and fears of extermination. One grandchild (aged 25) said: “there’s this sensitivity or heightened threat alert when anti‐Semitism happens, which I think is directly related to the Holocaust” (Cohn & Morrison, 2018, p. 203) and “I always have that sense of feeling. Like when’s the next, methodical murder spree gonna happen?” (Cohn & Morrison, 2018, p. 202).

Fears and anxieties manifested as hypervigilant behaviors, such as the constant need to be on guard and being ready for threat. Sometimes these behaviors were modeled by parents to their children. “If you were to visit my parent home, you would see many bags and suitcases […] this is not because we travel a lot” (a 23‐year‐old [grandchild of a Holocaust survivor]; Hirsch & Lazar, 2011, p. 392). The link between these behaviors and their family Holocaust background was made, “I believe it is the Holocaust that makes us feel haunted and that we feel we need to be on guard all the time” (Hirsch & Lazar, 2011, p. 391).

Anxiety‐related to separation
Anxiety related to being separated from family was recorded in community samples (Hogman, 1998; Scharf & Mayseless 2011) and clinical cases (Bako & Zana, 2018; Fossion et al., 2003; Quadrio, 2016). Interpreting their therapeutic work with descendants of HSs Bako and Zana (2018), argued that HSs experiences of separation from family permeated the experiences of descendants.

One female grandchild described her feelings when sending her son off to school: “I would feel again and again that this is the last time I would see him. I often feel that any day spent together may be the last one”. (Bako & Zana, 2018, p. 275). Some grandchildren described how separating from a loved one was perceived as a probable threat for their survival that could lead to loss and death (Scharf & Mayseless, 2011).

A grandchild described the feelings and thoughts he experienced whenever his father left for army reserve duty; “it was quite a difficult separation. I don’t remember why, but I was really afraid that my father would be killed” (p. 1547). Similarly, grandchildren reported a sense of impending danger that was readily activated in the form of misinterpretation of everyday events such as common illness (Scharf & Mayseless, 2011).

[…]

Even though not directly exposed to the trauma, both children and grandchildren described fears about the Holocaust. In this review, grandchildren described “fears of annihilation” concerning anti‐Semitism and the occurrence of another Holocaust (Lazar et al., 2008; Hirsch & Chaitin, 2010).

Similarly, studies that explored experiences of [children of Holocaust survivors] reported of a family environment characterized by anxiety and fear of another Holocaust (Rowland‐Klein & Dunlop, 1998) and parents’ terrifying views of the world as unsafe and unpredictable. In turn, the children reported their constant readiness to respond to potential threats to their survival (Braga et al., 2012).

(Emphasis original.)

Similarly, other researchers found that Shoah survivors’ children behaved more anxiously:

Another main finding of this paper is that a higher level of [the Subjective Holocaust Influence Level] is related to higher average levels of worry, suspicion of others, anxiety about the future, need to survive, risk aversion and unwillingness to discard food.⁶ It seems that the level of SHIL is reflected in the [Holocaust survivors’ offspring’s] daily life, habits and emotions.