On good guys, Nazis and searching for the truth

My great-grandfather Oskar Szameitat was a member of the Nazi party. Number 7,136,738, to be precise. I can remember when, on perusing the documents as a teenager, I first discovered this, and recall the swooping sense of disappointment I felt in my stomach. I don’t know what I was expecting: had I hoped to find in my family a member of the resistance? Someone who sheltered Jews? Or at least someone who just tolerated the regime rather than someone who seemed to actively endorse it?

Over the years I’ve repeatedly come back to these questions. What did Oskar’s membership of the party mean to him, to Johanne, to my grandmother Irene, and what does it mean to me as his descendent? Was he a convinced comrade or a quiet collaborator? Did his attitude towards National Socialism change during the war? It led me to think more broadly about what I am ultimately hoping to achieve by delving into my family’s past and bringing to light some potentially uncomfortable truths: as I researched further, I discovered for instance several contradictory statements made by my great-grandmother, letters from her to her daughter Irene seemingly telling her what to say under oath in court and, perhaps most depressingly, letters from and declarations under oath given by a number of Gestapo officers who I later discovered had been convicted of facilitating the mass murder of Jews over the border in Lithuania as part of an Einsatzkommando in 1941a series of events that are considered by historians to have marked the start of the Holocaust.


Throngs of people turn out to welcome Hitler to Memel following the ultimatum to Lithuania in March 1939 Source

On the one hand, it’s easy to be defensive of Oskar’s party membership, and this seems to be the line that many Germans took in the post-war era. Party membership offered you better career prospects and relative safety from the autocratic regime, but, as many Germans later believed, it didn’t necessarily make you a Jew-hater or guilty of the atrocities carried out in the name of the German people. It was, so the justifying goes, often a pragmatic choice. After all, hadn’t Oskar Schindler of Schindler’s List fame been a member of the party? Even the previous Pope had belonged to the Hitler Youth.

This certainly seems to have been the way my great-grandmother Johanne saw it. In fact, she didn’t see herself or Oskar as collaborators at all. In her view, they had been persecuted by the party. This is clear from the fact that, in 1957, she applied to various funds for compensation under the Bundesgesetz zur Entschädigung für Opfer der nationalsozialistischen Verfolgung (Federal Act on Compensation for Victims of Persecution under the National Socialist Regime), or BEG (Bundesentschädigungsgesetz) for short. In 1958 she was notified of the outcome: rejected. The reason? Lack of evidence that Oskar’s imprisonment and subsequent dismissal from office had been due to political reasons, in part because he himself had been a party member. How could someone who seemingly signed up to the hateful ideology via his party membership claim to have been persecuted by the very organization he belonged to?


Extract from the Berlin Document Center file on Oskar Szameitat

I must give credit to Johanne, because she stopped at nothing to achieve her goal. The compensation claims and appeals rumbled on into the 1970s, so determined was she to have her husband’s name cleared.

After the initial rejection, things got really bad for her: not only was she denied the compensation she believed she deserved, she was also taken to court for having withheld information in 1947 when claiming her widow’s pension, which she was technically not entitled to given her husband’s dismissal from office. This came about as a result of the research conducted into her husband’s past by the local authorities as part of her compensation claim. To cut a long story short, she was suddenly ordered to pay back nearly 25,000 DM that she had received in the years since the end of the war. She then had to prove that her husband had been unfairly dismissed from office back in 1943 for political reasons, which required a monumental task of finding and interviewing witnesses at huge cost to herself financially and emotionally. Mum remembers being taken on trips to various places as a girl as part of the Prozess, as Johanne referred to it, and tells me that no lawyer wanted to touch the case, as it was so fraught with legal complications.

But I digress. Johanne seems to have been outraged by the notion that her husband couldn’t possibly have been persecuted just because he was a party member, and set about dismantling that claim as soon as possible. She secured a signed affidavit from Emil Liedtke, another Kriminalsekretär who was a member of the Gestapo in Tilsit (modern day Sovetsk), who said that Oskar had, like many, been a member of something called the Memelländischer Kulturbund (something like the Cultural Alliance of the Memel Territory), and all members of this organization were taken over into the Nazi party on annexation with Germany in 1939. Oskar had had, according to Liedtke, a passive attitude towards the NSDAP, and this did not do him any favours after 1939. The claim has a ring of truth: the date of the start of Oskar’s party membership was 1st April 1939. Lithuania surrendered to the German ultimatum on 23rd March, the contract between the two nations being signed a few days later on 30th (Pölking, 2013:304).

The organization Liedtke mentions was (my research tells me) technically an apolitical group that stood for and promoted the German interest in the region. In practice, however, it was run by the same people who championed the local German political parties. It was banned in 1934, and in 1938 it was restyled as the Memeldeutscher Kulturverband, and actively campaigned for the political unification of the Memel Territory with Germany. This organization must be the one Liedtke meant: it counted some two thirds of the population of the Memel Territory as its members in 1938, probably because it incorporated sporting and recreational groups by rote. I found some external evidence that corroborated Liedtke’s general claim: Broszat (1957) tells us that, contrary to what Liedtke writes in his affidavit, at 60,000 members, not all of the Kulturverband were automatically taken over into the party, but ‘bewährte Mitglieder’ or ‘reliable members’ were given Nazi party membership. Oskar was clearly considered ‘reliable’. But what did that mean, and why? Was it because he was a long standing member of the police force? Was it because he knew the ‘right’ people? Was it because he had a good track record of military involvement in the First World War and subsequently in the Freikorps? Or was it because he actually believed in what the movement stood for?

Whatever the reason, it didn’t cut the mustard with Lower Saxony’s Interior Minister who oversaw the activities of the BEG in 1958. The rejection letter cited a reference from the Berlin Document Center, which centralized the collection of documents from the Nazi era, in which Oskar is said to have been thrown out of the Nazi party on account of suspected treason in 1941. But Oskar, according to the document, appealed that decision several times, first at the level of the Kreis (local administrative region) then the Gau (larger administrative region). Among the many undated and miscellaneous documents in my great-grandmother’s collection is one whose first page is missing, but seems to be a post-war copy of several collated Nazi party documents concerning Oskar and his imprisonment, dismissal from office, and ejection from the party. In it, there is a statement attributed to him as part of his appeal and given the date of 15th July 1941. It is a strange statement, because in it he appears to admit to having passed information to the Lithuanians for a fee, something which Johanne always strongly denied (saying any admission was made under duress), and something which I, having waded my way through all the documents many times now, don’t believe to be correct either. That aside, the statement attributed to him also includes the following words:

Ich bin nicht schematisch seinerzeit in die NSDAP aufgenommen worden. Auch bin ich nicht korporativ Parteimitglied geworden. Aus eigenem freien Entschluß bin ich in die NSDAP eingetreten.

(‘I wasn’t affiliated with the Nazi party schematically at that time. I also didn’t become a member of the party corporately. I joined the Nazi party as a result of my own free will.’)

This obviously directly contradicts Liedtke’s affidavit, what Johanne always maintained and what people close to the family at the time also believed (which is evident from letters that we have). Which is right?

This isn’t the only apparent contradiction in the story. Despite multiple accounts of Oskar’s death defending Memel as part of the Home Guard, Johanne appears to have told a number of people and organizations at various points that he (along with their son Odo) was murdered by the Nazis. Why did she do that, when she had good evidence to the contrary? Given that she contradicted herself with her claims regarding to her husband’s death, is she really to be trusted on her other claims?

And then there are the multiple claims (including a declaration under oath by a friend of theirs from their Memel days) that Oskar had had a good relationship with local Jews and protected them even after 1939, which had had negative consequences for him politically and possibly resulted in his imprisonment. Really? Really? Isn’t proximity to Jews what everyone claimed after the war to make it look like they weren’t complicit in or at least responsible because of their silence about the war’s atrocities? I genuinely didn’t know what to believe. I knew that, at least after the war, my great-grandmother had had nothing against Jews. But she did go in for general stereotyping, saying that she didn’t like Poles or Catholics. How can we understand her and others’ claims that Oskar helped Jews to escape when he seems to have been a committed member of the NSDAP? Is it possible to make sense of the contradictions?

In the exchange of letters that we have between Oskar and Johanne, it is clear that Johanne is the worrier, and Oskar the calm voice of hope. He comes across as a wise, gentle and deeply caring husband and father, whose interests range from cellular biology to the wellbeing of the family chickens: hardly the type of person one might stereotypically associate with committed Nazism. But here’s the thing: the world isn’t separated into good people and Nazis. It’s perfectly possible to be a lovely and intelligent person and still be a racist.

When Hitler arrived by ship in Memel on 23rd March 1939 claiming victory, was my family among the throngs that lined the streets yelling heil? I don’t think we’ll ever know for sure. You could argue that the Memelländers’ desire to return to the fatherland and therefore their support of being annexed heim ins Reich did not necessarily mean they supported Nazism, and this was the view of many Memelländers after the war, but I don’t think that’s entirely true. The two issues were totally blurred, and besides, they didn’t have the excuse of not knowing how minorities would be treated, having been able to witness the hateful policies towards Jews in 1930s Germany (as a result, pretty much the entire Jewish population fled the Memel Territory when it became clear that it would return to Germany, making the claim that Oskar supported some of them after 1939 seem perhaps more questionable).

If the Szameitats were ever ardent Nazi supporters, they certainly ceased being so after Oskar’s imprisonment, and there is good evidence that he made derogatory statements about the regime which contributed to the decision to dismiss him from office. From Johanne’s private post-war documents, the contempt she felt for the numerous Parteibonzen (‘party bigwigs’) who were employed in prestigious and well paid jobs following the war is clear. But how can we interpret some of the contradictions pointed out above? Here’s my take on it.

From the available evidence, I don’t believe the Szameitats were particularly convinced by Nazism, though I do think they broadly supported a return of the Memel Territory to Germany. I think Oskar was co-opted into the party as Liedtke suggested, and I think the family probably viewed this as a pragmatically smart option. If Oskar had truly been ideologically opposed, he could have refused membership (it was certainly possible to do so). This would, of course, have had implications for his career, but there’s something else: in his role as a detective, Oskar had worked alongside the Lithuanian authorities in the 1930s on a murder case that formed part of the international trial in Kaunas that I alluded to in my previous blog post. I just wonder whether he viewed party membership in part as a safety net to show how committed he was (at least outwardly) to the Territory’s German roots.

How can we understand the fact that he appealed the decision to chuck him out of the party on numerous occasions? And what of his statement that he chose to join the party himself? To be honest, I think that was a pragmatic move too. I think he thought he was more likely to get out of prison (where he was sitting without charge) if he claimed to be a good Nazi than if he didn’t. I suspect he was given advice to that effect by friends in the party who were sympathetic to his cause.

And his connection to convicted murderers? It is complicated, because those who were found guilty in the Ulm trial I linked to above were made up both of colleagues of Oskar (his boss was the police director Bernhard Fischer-Schweder, not a nice man, and one of his colleagues was Franz Behrendt, also found guilty of aiding mass murder) as well as those who were investigating his case of suspected treason (Hans-Joachim Böhme, head of the Gestapo Tilsit, and one of his subordinates Harm Willms Harms). And it was good fortune that Oskar worked for the Kriminalpolizei branch of the police force (plain clothes detective squad), because it was the uniformed police that were invited to go and partake in the mass shootings of Jews in the summer of 1941. Franz Behrendt had also worked for the Kripo but then switched to the Gestapo. It is a relief that Oskar didn’t, and therefore didn’t have to choose whether to commit mass murder or risk losing face (because, genuinely, that seems to be all that would have happened for refusing to shoot innocent people). In any case, he was in prison from February 1941 to December 1942, so he would have missed it all anyway. But it has rather made me aware of how close even ‘normal’ Germans were to the atrocities carried out in their name. And it makes me question whether their declarations under oath that my great-grandmother obtained were really truthful. Can you really trust people who oversee mass murder, go underground after the war by changing their names and then make out that you were just ‘following orders’ in your trial?

And what of Johanne’s claims that he and Odo were murdered by the Nazis? I have scratched my head a lot over this one. She often mentioned this when writing letters to people such as the Chancellor’s wife or Nazi hunters, so was she trying to get their attention by making her lot seem worse than it was? After much reflection, I don’t think this is right. In her heart of hearts, I think she always knew Oskar had been killed in battle and Odo had gone missing. But we must be mindful of the age she had just lived through: where the ‘official’ line was usually little more than propaganda and no one knew who to trust. She was also wary of the fact that most of those in positions of authority in post-war West Germany had been Nazi supporters themselves, and there is a general sense of distrust of West German government officials in her correspondence because of it. As far as she was concerned, her compensation rejection might well have come about because those in the office of Lower Saxony’s Interior Minister had all been Parteibonzen themselves. She had grown up in a world when conspiracy theories were thought as likely to be true as the ‘official version’ of history (believing for instance till her death that West Germany’s Chancellor Willy Brandt was the illegitimate son of Kaiser Bill). I think she probably therefore felt she had reason to doubt the ‘official’ version of events surrounding the deaths of her husband and son.

And what of the claims about supporting Jews? Well, on the face of it, there is no reason to doubt them just because lots of Germans claimed this in the years following the war. Someone called Irene Brock declared under oath that Jews had lodged with the Szameitats before the war. There is no evidence to the contrary, so perhaps I shouldn’t be so skeptical. It just always seemed to me that it didn’t sit easily with the fact that Oskar joined the party. But it is certainly possible under the interpretation I have suggested above, and why would someone who doesn’t stand to gain anything like Irene Brock lie under oath?

Am I making excuses for them in this blog post? How should I interpret their actions? Were they the right thing to do? It’s hard to escape the feeling that they were quiet collaborators focused on saving their own necks rather than standing up for what is right. But then, would I have been any different? When Oskar was imprisoned and sacked from his job, the family lost its financial stability and suddenly had no income. Johanne’s brother, Karl Pätzel, refused to support them (we were given the impression that he was a convinced Nazi supporter) and that saddened Johanne so much that she (and her three sisters) broke off all contact with him for the rest of their lives. The whole affair had considerable emotional and mental health consequences for the entire family, and there’s evidence that Odo especially suffered at school probably because of it. No wonder Oskar wanted to get out of prison as soon as possible – to say nothing of the fact he was in solitary confinement for nearly two years and was apparently beaten frequently.

And yet, I can’t help thinking that there were so many who suffered much worse fates because they refused to be associated with a regime that promoted and carried out hatred: people like Erdmonas Simonaitis, for instance. He was a prominent politician in the Memel Territory who stood for the Lithuanian interest between the wars. He was sent to a concentration camp. One of the reasons I am comfortable in saying I believe the vast majority of Johanne’s claims is that she has post-war letters and declarations under oath from Simonaitis, meaning that Oskar must have been known to him and probably worked alongside him. Oskar and Johanne could certainly have shunned the party openly and done so much more to speak up against the hatred. But again, can I really judge them? What would I have done?

It’s easy to think we would stand up for our principles at cost to ourselves and our families, but until we are actually in that position, I don’t really think we know how we’d act. And yet how much do we, in the knowledge that we aren’t about to be locked up for voicing dissenting views, actually use our privilege and our freedom to stand up for justice in our world? It’s easy to view the events I’ve outlined in this post as an interesting relic of the past and nothing more. But the truth is, there are striking parallels with our own day: in many places around the world people do not have the freedom to speak up for the marginalized. What are we doing about that?

There is a little known and much underrated twentieth century author from the region called Johannes Bobrowski, who among other things, wrote beautiful poetry that, unlike most of the Heimwehliteratur (nostalgia literature specifically concerning the lost former German eastern territories), addressed the difficult topic of collective guilt as well as loss. I’ll leave you with some of his words.

Ich mein’,

man muß eben von der Vergangenheit leben,

und mit der Zukunft muß man ganz behutsam umgehen,

ganz sensibel. Denn da wissen wir nichts.

(‘I think you have to live in light of the past, and you have to tread very carefully with regards to the future, very sensitively indeed. Because we know nothing about the future.’ Quoted in Pölking, 2013:2)


Pölking, Hermann. 2013. Das Memelland: wo Deutschland einst zu Ende war. Ein historischer Reisebegleiter. Berlin: be.bra verlag.