Destroy Them Gradually: Displacement as Atrocity 9781978831308, 1978831307

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Destroy Them Gradually

Genocide, P ­ olitical Vio­lence, ­Human Rights Series Edited by Alexander Laban Hinton, Nela Navarro, and Natasha Zaretsky For a list of titles in the series, see the last page of the book.

Destroy Them Gradually Displacement as Atrocity

ANDREW R. BASSO

Rutgers University Press New Brunswick, Camden, and Newark, New Jersey London and Oxford

​Rutgers University Press is a department of Rutgers, The State University of New Jersey, one of the leading public research universities in the nation. By publishing worldwide, it furthers the University’s mission of dedication to excellence in teaching, scholarship, research, and clinical care. 978-1-9788-3129-2 (cloth) 978-1-9788-3128-5 (paper) 978-1-9788-3130-8 (epub) Cataloging-in-publication data is available from the Library of Congress. LCCN 2023947397 A British Cataloging-­in-­Publication rec­ord for this book is available from the British Library. Copyright © 2024 by Andrew R. Basso All rights reserved No part of this book may be reproduced or utilized in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the publisher. Please contact Rutgers University Press, 106 Somerset Street, New Brunswick, NJ 08901. The only exception to this prohibition is “fair use” as defined by U.S. copyright law. References to internet websites (URLs) w ­ ere accurate at the time of writing. Neither the author nor Rutgers University Press is responsible for URLs that may have expired or changed since the manuscript was prepared. The paper used in this publication meets the requirements of the American National Standard for Information Sciences—­Permanence of Paper for Printed Library Materials, ANSI Z39.48-1992. rutgersuniversitypress​.­org

​For ­those who ­were forced to wander

Contents List of Illustrations

Introduction

ix 1

Part I  Displacement Atrocity Crimes 1

Extirpation: Understanding Annihilatory Forced Displacement

2

Exposure: A Theory of Displacement Atrocity Crimes

9 23

Part II  German South-­West Africa 3

Trepidation: Colonized Namibia and Violent Horizons (1652–1904)

41

4

Extermination: Germany’s Genocide of the Herero (1904–1908)

58

5

Inescapability: Germany’s Genocide of the Nama (1905–1908)

74

Part III  The Ottoman Empire and Turkey 6

Collapse: The Nadir of the Ottoman Empire (1839–1915)

89

7

Excision: The Ottoman Genocide of Christian Minorities (1914–1925)

104

8

Neurosis: The Hamidian Massacres (1894–1897)

120

vii

viii • Contents

Part IV  Central and Eastern ­Europe 9

Metamorphosis: A World Made New (Ninth C ­ entury–1945)

137

10

Catharsis: The Expulsion of Germans (1943–1950)

154

11

Desolation: The Holocaust (1933–1945)

172

Part V  Climate Vio­lence and Conclusions 12

Tragedy: Logics of Displacement Climate Vio­lence in the Twenty-­First C ­ entury

187

13

Farce: To Continue to Destroy Them Gradually?

201

14

Praxis: Seeking Justice and Disrupting Pathways

211

Acknowl­edgments 225 Notes 227 Bibliography 285 Index 319

Illustrations Figure 2.1 A Causal Pathway to Displacement Atrocity Crimes

24

­Tables 1.1 A Typology of Displacement Atrocity Crimes

11

3.1 Land Distribution among Africans in GSWA in 1903

48

4.1 Major Engagements and Estimated Losses during the Herero Revolts

63

4.2 Approximations of Herero Displaced into the Omaheke

70

5.1 Herero Genocide versus Nama Genocide Causal Pathways

77

5.2 Troop Distribution during the Nama Revolt

79

6.1 Anatolian Temperature Ranges

90

6.2 Displacement Distances during DA Crimes

91

7.1 Years of DA Crimes in the Ottoman Empire

105

7.2 Places of DA Crimes in the Ottoman Empire

105

8.1 Ottoman Genocide of Christian Minorities versus Hamidian Massacres Causal Pathways

122

8.2 Waves of Vio­lence against Armenians in Late 1895

129

9.1 Displacement Distances during DA Crimes

138 ix

x • List of Illustrations

10.1 Years of DA Crimes in Central and Eastern E ­ urope

155

11.1 Expulsion of Germans versus the Holocaust and Nazi Atrocities Causal Pathways

174

12.1 Low-­Elevation Coastal Zone Populations

189

12.2 Statistics on Displaced Persons Compiled by the UNHCR

192

Destroy Them Gradually

Introduction No man is an island, entire of itself; ­every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main; if a clod be washed away by the sea, E ­ urope is the less, as well as if a promontory w ­ ere, as well as if a manor of thy friend’s or of thine own ­were; any man’s death diminishes me, b­ ecause I am involved in mankind, and therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee. —­John Donne, Donne’s Devotions

All the most widely acknowledged twentieth-­century atrocities—­Indigenous genocide in North Amer­i­ca, the Herero genocide, the Ottoman genocide of Christian minorities, the Holodomor, Holocaust and Nazi atrocities, the Cambodian genocide, the Rwandan genocide, and atrocities in former Yugoslavia—­ incorporated displacement as a key ele­ment of the pro­cesses of destruction. Perpetrators of mass atrocities have used displacement to transfer victims to killing sites or extermination camps, transfer victims to sites of forced ­labor and attrition, ethnically homogenize regions by displacing victims out of their homes and lands, and destroy populations.1 Displacement has also been an outcome of atrocities, and in many instances the violation of the right to ­free movement has been a pillar of perpetrator hegemony over victim populations. However, in much atrocity scholarship and international criminal law, displacement has been treated as a corollary practice to crimes committed, not as a central aspect of their perpetration. This is especially true when considering the 1

2 • Destroy Them Gradually

general lack of focus on displacement as an annihilatory p­ rocess in se. The explicit focus on displacement as an annihilatory practice is largely theoretically and conceptually neglected. This book aims to fill this gap by asking and answering this question: Why do perpetrators use forced displacement to destroy targeted populations? Displacement atrocity (DA) crimes have been perpetrated on e­ very major inhabited continent across space and time. As a method, DA crimes refer to the unique fusion of forced displacement and systematic deprivation of vital daily needs (food, w ­ ater, clothing, shelter, and medical care) to create potent killing systems. This book features comparative historical analyses of individual cases of atrocity, which helped create a typology of, and causal pathway to, DA crimes. This theory of DA crimes helps to explain the dif­fer­ent manifestations of why displacement and systematic deprivation of vital daily needs are linked to the annihilation of populations. Perpetrators of DA crimes exploit one of the most sought-­after ideals: space. Beautiful countrysides, mountainous terrains, deserts, lush fields, shorelines, and ­great expanses are turned into killing fields by perpetrators who seek to destroy targeted populations. Perpetrators of DA crimes deliberately create annihilatory systems not only to homogenize regions of targeted populations but also to destroy t­ hese populations through the act of movement. Annihilatory displacement remains a primary strategy used to solve demographic “prob­lems,” which are typically socially constructed by perpetrators. How should the general prob­lem of displacement and the specific prob­lem of DA crimes be understood, then? It is first impor­tant to recall key terminologies for studying atrocities. U ­ ntil recently, atrocity scholarship has generally treated displacement and indirect killing methods with cursory or secondary interest. The history of the genocide studies field is rooted in studying the Holocaust, followed by comparison of the three major genocides of the twentieth ­century (Armenian, Jewish, and Rwandan).2 The field then moved into expanding the number of applicable cases to events such as the Cambodian genocide and the Herero genocide.3 Genocide studies currently incorporates critical approaches and understandings of the meanings and methods of atrocities, and has expanded into cases of colonial crimes against Indigenous p­ eoples.4 Clearly, theoretical advances and case explorations have been increasing over the last fifty years. While ­there have been past predispositions to view certain destructive pro­ cesses as “real” genocide compared to other campaigns of destruction, ­these social and academic dogmas are slowly retreating. The return to the work of Raphael Lemkin has aided in this shift, bringing conversations back to dynamic and intersectional understandings of biological destruction and cultural destruction (what Lemkin originally termed barbarism and vandalism, respectively) as equally annihilatory and deleterious p­ olitical pro­cesses.5 Lemkin recognized that

Introduction • 3

by losing the biological (barbarism) or cultural (vandalism) contributions of groups, humanity suffers and is weaker. Any attempt at erasure should be considered an attack not only on the targeted population but on the ­human collectivity itself. According to Lemkin, “In the acts of barbarity, as well as in ­those of vandalism, the asocial and destructive spirit of the author is made evident. This spirit, by definition, is the opposite of the culture and pro­gress of humanity. It throws the evolution of ideas back to the bleak period of the ­Middle Ages. Such acts shock the conscience of all humanity, while generating extreme anxiety about the f­ uture. For all t­ hese reasons, acts of vandalism and barbarity must be regarded as offenses against the law of nations.”6 Lemkin’s insights have markedly influenced recent atrocity scholarship, and while t­ here is usually a division in the target of atrocity campaigns, any campaign seeking the destruction of populations often includes both biologically and culturally destructive ele­ments. DA crimes are no dif­fer­ent. As further explored in chapters 1 and 2, DA crimes can best be understood as indirect killing methods—­that is, methods of annihilation that use deprivation to destroy. Indirect killing destroys populations gradually, denying them of vital daily needs in myriad ways. When fused with forced displacement, indirect killing can become extremely potent in a ­matter of days or weeks. Indirect methods are not lesser in severity than direct methods, like constructing gas chambers or mass execution sites. Rather, and recalling the teachings of Lemkin on the equality of suffering, both direct and indirect methods should be viewed simply as methods of atrocity deployed in dif­fer­ent spaces and times by dif­fer­ent perpetrators for a similar goal: annihilation. This book offers theoretical, conceptual, and empirical innovations on annihilatory forced displacement as a concept and a crime, as well as individual cases of atrocity. Broadly, I follow Alexander L. George and Andrew Bennett’s qualitative methodological guidelines to create the DA crime typology.7 George and Bennett broadly define a typology as the theoretical definition of a par­tic­u­lar phenomenon with multiple cases as examples.8 Typologies serve an impor­tant role in generating new and more detailed understandings of common phenomena with similar c­ auses, pro­cesses, and outcomes.9 The use of inductive typological methods allow for the creation of a grounded theory of DA crimes.10 George and Bennett specifically note that researchers should continually “assess, refine, or alter the theoretical framework in which explanation of individual cases are couched and to identify components of a useful typology.”11 The DA crime theory was created by establishing and continuing a symbiotic relationship between empirical work and concept refinement. Case work was completed by using p­ rocess tracing—­a power­f ul form of within-­case analy­sis that allows researchers to uncover variables and variable relationships when examining cases.12 DA crimes have manifested across space and time, and this book incorporates four crucial cases of this type of destructive

4 • Destroy Them Gradually

p­ rocess, each of which represents a subtype of DA crimes (as explored in ­later chapters).13 The following crucial cases w ­ ere selected in accordance with a most dif­fer­ent systems analy­sis and are discussed in parts 2 through 5, respectively:14 • Germany’s genocide of the Herero (1904–1908) in German South-­West Africa • The Ottoman genocide of Christian minorities (1914–1925) in the Ottoman Empire/Turkey • The expulsion of Germans (1943–1950) from Central and Eastern ­Europe • Potential Climate Vio­lence in the twenty-­first ­century The third chapter of parts 2 through 4 pre­sents a counter-­case of vio­lence,15 which used dif­fer­ent atrocity methods but took place at approximately the same time and space as the DA crime explored. It could reasonably be expected that perpetration patterns would be similar, yet they ­were not. By exploring which variables in the DA crime causal pathway ­were left unfulfilled, it is pos­si­ble to explain why dif­fer­ent crimes can occur in similar times and spaces. Th ­ ese counter-­cases provide power­ful tests for the DA crime theory and help demonstrate its validity. The three counter-­cases are as follows: • Germany’s genocide of the Nama (1905–1908) in German South-­West Africa • The Hamidian massacres (1894–1897) in the Ottoman Empire • The Holocaust (1933–1945) in E ­ urope ­ ere is no counter-­case for the section on climate vio­lence, as the opportuniTh ties for derailing climate-­related DA crime practices are explored throughout chapters 13 and 14. The theoretical implications of understanding differing criminal patterns in similar spaces and times has thus far been underdeveloped in ­human rights and atrocity scholarship and ­will help open new ave­nues for understanding diverse destructive pro­cesses and why perpetration methods vary. The book is divided into five distinct parts, each of which illuminates dif­fer­ ent pieces of the annihilatory forced displacement puzzle. In part 1, readers w ­ ill be introduced to the DA crime concept, the DA crime typology, how it fits with existing international laws and academic lit­er­a­tures on atrocity crimes, and the causal pathways and variable interactions required for DA crimes. As previously noted, part 2 examines Germany’s genocide of the Herero (1904–1908) and Germany’s genocide of the Nama (1905–1908). Part 3 offers a study of the Ottoman genocide of Christian Minorities (1914–1925) and the Hamidian massacres (1894–1897). Part 4 critically assesses the ­wartime and postwar expulsion of ­German minorities from Central and Eastern Europe (1943–1950) and the Holocaust (1933–1945). Parts 2 to 4 comprise three chapters that blend structural

Introduction • 5

narratives and individual perspectives from targeted populations, perpetrators, and bystanders. For each, the first (pathway) chapter provides impor­tant structural and agency-­based background information about the case and lays a foundation for understanding why vio­lence was pos­si­ble. The second (atrocity) chapter focuses on how the DA crime was perpetrated and what the aftermaths of vio­lence ­were and are. ­These two empirical chapters are ­organized using the causal pathways to DA crimes defined in the first two chapters of the book. The third (­counter) chapter focuses on a counter-­case to the DA crime and examines why dif­fer­ent methods of atrocity ­were used in approximately the same spaces and times. Fi­nally, part 5 offers forward-­looking analyses on the structural possibilities for climate change–­related vio­lence and offers final thoughts with a chapter reviewing the pursuits for justice in DA crime cases explored; DA crimes as a concept and crime in international law; and knowledge implications for the study of ­political vio­lence, h ­ uman rights, and transitional justice. In response to the revolt of the Herero, Germany sent its vaunted Schutztruppe, commanded by General Adrian Dietrich Lothar von Trotha, to quell the uprising of the colonized against the colonizers. When his plans to annihilate the Herero at Waterberg in August 1904 using machine guns and artillery went awry, von Trotha de­cided to use DA crime methods against the Herero in the Omaheke (Kalahari) Desert in German South-­West Africa. He summarized his annihilatory actions against the Herero in his now-­infamous 3 October 1904 Vernichtungsbefehl (extermination order), stating he wanted to “destroy them gradually.”16 Thus, the title of this book reflects the clear perpetrator intent of DA crimes: annihilation of populations through the fusion of forced displacement and systematic deprivation of vital daily needs. Annihilatory forced displacement has for too long remained a hidden destructive ­process. This book begins to illuminate ­these types of violent pro­cesses and brings some ­measure of justice for crimes of the past through discourse about what was done, why, and how to understand pathways to specific forms of ­political vio­lence. Thus, this study offers original and unique insights into the practices of annihilatory forced displacement and the possibilities for vio­lence inherent in e­ very p­ rocess of displacement—­a growing concern with the sustained crisis of displacement in the early twenty-­first ­century.

Part 1

Displacement Atrocity Crimes

1

Extirpation Understanding Annihilatory Forced Displacement Forced displacement has been, and continues to be, one of the most widely used tactics of monarchies, authoritarian and totalitarian regimes, colonial administrations, democracies, and state and non-­state actors alike to rid themselves of  “prob­lem populations.” Forced displacement has manifested in dif­fer­ent ways across space and time. Some examples include Le ­Grand Dérangement (1755–1764) of the Acadians; the French expulsion of the Huguenots (1308); the Inca’s use of displacement and forcible adoption of the Quechua language and culture (1438–1533); the American Cherokee Trail of Tears (1838–1839); deportations of Chechens, Crimean Tatars, and Ingush from the Caucasus to ­K irghizia and Kazakhstan (1944); and the millions of displaced in the Syrian civil war (2011–­pre­sent).1 Forced displacement has been used as a tool to annihilate, homogenize, and transfer targeted populations, who are often subjected to a plethora of privations and destructive patterns. Displacement is often weaponized during critical junctures when structures and institutions begin to falter, war and revolution occur, a new regime comes to power, or new ideas replace old ones. Societal structures do not necessarily dictate that forced displacement ­will occur, however, as the elite actors who reside within ­these structures have their own perceptions about their real­ity and take advantage of ­political opportunity structures to make vio­lence and displacement pos­si­ble. Make no ­mistake, though: forced displacement is a deliberate policy; 9

10 • Displacement Atrocity Crimes

it is not something that just happens. Th ­ ere are decisions made to displace targeted populations, with wide-­ranging ramifications. The type of forced displacement chosen—­and to what end—­though, constitutes a complex and twisted path to vio­lence.

Displacement Atrocity Crimes The displacement atrocity (DA) crimes concept helps us understand why perpetrators fuse forced displacement and systematic deprivation of vital daily needs (food, ­water, clothing, shelter, and medical care) to destroy populations. DA crimes are defined as: a type of killing p­ rocess employed against a targeted population which uniquely fuses forced population displacement with primarily indirect deaths resulting from dislocation and systematic deprivation of vital daily needs. The killing ­process exploits vari­ous geographies to annihilate populations in ­whole or in part.2

To understand ­these crimes, it is necessary to frame annihilatory practices as pro­ cesses, not events.3 By ­doing so, it is pos­si­ble to understand the violent act of displacement as unfolding violent persecutions across space and time. In the context of the DA crime concept, forced displacement is defined as forcible removal from one’s home against one’s ­will by a perpetrating group. Targeted populations are uprooted and intentionally kept moving to accelerate their deaths using indirect methods. In all cases analyzed in this book, groups w ­ ere intentionally placed outside “the circle of p­ eople with reciprocal obligations to protect each other.”4 Once outside this circle, killing became pos­si­ble. In t­ hese forgotten genocides, to borrow from René Lemarchand,5 indirect killing became just as destructive as direct killing schemes. The rapid and lethally potent combination of deprivation expedited through movement is im­mensely destructive. Indirect killing methods, based on systematic deprivation of vital daily needs (food, ­water, clothing, shelter, and medical care), are particularly brutal. The h ­ uman body is incredibly fragile and, u­ nder the best circumstances of hydration and rest, can potentially survive for thirty to sixty days without food.6 Without potable w ­ ater, the h ­ uman body w ­ ill deteriorate in a ­matter of a few short days.7 When vital daily needs are denied and targeted populations are made to march, the number of days the body can survive decreases dramatically due to continual physical exertion compounded with ­mental anguish. Exposure to extreme weather conditions can also significantly further the destructive potency of indirect killing methods. In effect, movement and exposure accelerate killing rates from pro­cesses like exhaustion, dehydration, and starvation, meaning that perpetrators of DA crimes can inflict enormous death rates upon targeted populations.

Extirpation • 11

Despite their destructive outcomes, indirect killing methods have been missing from public memory of atrocities. Scenes of thousands marching to their deaths are horrific but are usually treated as a footnote or corollary to jarring direct killing atrocities with their landscapes of extermination at notorious places like Auschwitz-­Birkenau.8 Helen Fein identified the use of indirect killing methods in the Warsaw ghetto, Cambodia, and Sudan in a theoretical breakthrough in genocide studies in response to the direct killing paradigm to shed light on overlooked cases and methods of atrocities.9 Fein conceptualizes atrocities perpetrated through “attrition” (indirect) methods as the clear precursors to the DA crime concept. Perpetrators do not use physical tools like gas, blade, or bullet to kill. Instead, perpetrators actively deprive targeted populations of their vital daily needs to destroy them gradually.10 Perpetrators use a variety of methods to indirectly kill populations, some of the most prominent being intentional starvation, dehydration, and infection with diseases.11 The straightforward overexposure to the natu­ral world’s ele­ments—­heat, cold, wind, precipitation, and the like—­can be enough to cause the ­human body to deteriorate rapidly. In DA crime pro­cesses, the use of forced displacement is often made pos­si­ble through the threat of direct killing, with perpetrators often compelling targeted populations to walk to their deaths with ­little hope of survival. Direct killing can be understood as mass executions using bullets; blunt force trauma or fatal cuts using handheld instruments; and infliction of fatal cruel and unusual punishments, such as electrocution, forced drowning, and vivisection.12 Direct killing methods are associated with a short time span of killing—­perpetrators using ­these methods kill their targets nearly instantaneously.13 Direct killing requires a clear physical action by perpetrators, which kills targets immediately. All ­these ele­ments are pre­sent in cases of DA crimes but constitute secondary or tertiary killing methods to the primary indirect method of displacement fused with deprivation.

A Typology of Displacement Atrocity Crimes ­There are four subtypes of the DA crimes concept, which are visually represented in t­ able 1.1. Perpetrators use land and o­ rganize forced displacement of targeted populations in one of two ways: area squared (kettling DA crimes) or linear ­Table 1.1

A Typology of Displacement Atrocity Crimes Genocidal intent

Non-­genocidal intent

Kettling displacement atrocity crimes

Germany’s genocide of the Herero (1904–1908)

Potential climate vio­lence in the 21st ­century

Escorting displacement atrocity crimes

The Ottoman genocide of Christian minorities (1914–1925)

The expulsion of Germans from Central and Eastern ­Europe (1943–1950)

12 • Displacement Atrocity Crimes

distance (escorting DA crimes). Additionally, DA crimes are perpetrated with ­either genocidal (crime of genocide) or non-­genocidal (crimes against humanity and war crimes) intent, as defined in international law.

Area Squared: Kettling Displacement Atrocity Crimes Kettling DA crimes classify perpetrators’ uses of a p­ olitical geography in terms of area squared (­measured in kilo­meters squared). Kettling crimes occur when perpetrators displace populations into large geographies and do not allow them to escape from the annihilation zone. This subtype takes its name from the riot police tactic of shepherding protesters into an area and denying their escape.14 In kettling DA crimes, perpetrators create a policy of continual displacement in a geographic zone coupled with systematic deprivation of vital daily needs to destroy populations. When perpetrators and targets come into contact, direct vio­lence is used to force the displaced back into the cordoned-­off annihilation zone and away from escape. Thus, perpetrators and targets infrequently come into contact with each other, typically only when perpetrators drive the displaced farther into the annihilation zone or the displaced attempt to escape or relent. Anyone who tries to escape the cordon is e­ ither killed using direct methods or arrested and transferred to annihilation facilities. Sporadic direct killing enforces the cordon around the annihilation zone and compels the displaced to continually exert themselves through movement. The displaced always search for escape routes from the annihilation zone but in many cases are unsuccessful. The hope for escape contributes to the destruction of the group, gradually creating an impossible catch-22: if the displaced remain stationary, they ­will have no chance of survival or escape; but if they continue to move and try to find an escape, the physical and m ­ ental exhaustion from the movement accelerates their destruction. In short, perpetrators of kettling DA crimes use direct force as a threat to continually displace populations. Once the displaced are in the death zone, they are kept ­there through kettling tactics. Kettling crimes are extremely flexible and can be perpetrated in numerous geo­g raph­i­cal areas, although they generally require a large land base, like a desert. Linear Distance: Escorting Displacement Atrocity Crimes Another subtype is called escorting DA crimes. Perpetrators of escorting DA crimes exploit long linear distances (­measured in kilo­meters) to destroy targeted populations using death marches. This linear distance does not necessarily have to be a straight line on a map but amounts to a meandering annihilation line. Perpetrators marry forced marches over long linear distances with systematic deprivation to create an extremely potent annihilatory practice. Typically, the displaced are escorted by armed perpetrators who use direct vio­lence (­actual or implied) to enforce compliance with the creation and sustainment of caravans of annihilation. Direct killing is used to compel the displaced to keep moving, and attempted escape from or falling ­behind ­these caravans is met with

Extirpation • 13

immediate force. This at once expedites the speed of the caravan and induces other members to keep moving in the hopes they might survive the death march—­though in real­ity most are marching to their doom. This type of ­k illing requires significantly more sustained perpetrator-­target contact, but the primary methods of destruction remain indirect killing. In a way, the escorting subtype is perhaps more mentally destabilizing for perpetrators and targeted populations due to their close contact over the course of the forced march. Bargaining and abuse, sexual exploitation and assault, and a brutal fusion of indirect and direct killing pro­cesses over the course of the displacement itself are common. Escorting crimes require vast distances, which can hypothetically be achieved even in smaller countries if the displaced are force-­marched in many dif­fer­ent directions. Cities and towns may offer refuge to targets of displacements or provide areas for ­resistance efforts. However, so long as a population is united against targeted populations, t­here ­will be no chances for or offers of third-­party assistance and r­ esistance.

Genocidal Displacement Atrocity Crimes The United Nations Convention on the Prevention and Punishment of the Crime of Genocide (UNCG, 9 December 1948) and the Rome Statute of the International Criminal Court (17 July 1998) define genocide in the following way: For the purpose of this Statute, “genocide” means any of the following acts committed with intent to destroy, in w ­ hole or in part, a national, ethnical, racial or religious group, as such: (a) Killing members of the group; (b) Causing serious bodily or m ­ ental harm to members of the group; (c) Deliberately inflicting on the group conditions of life calculated to bring about its physical destruction in w ­ hole or in part; (d) Imposing ­measures intended to prevent births within the group; (e) Forcibly transferring c­ hildren of the group to another group.15 The UNCG does not necessarily capture the complexities of the genocide crime and concept Lemkin originally hoped for and scholars have since expanded on.16 However, the existing definition has been the standard since 1948, and genocide case law particularly in the 1990s began to clarify some of the outstanding issues with this definition. Some issues of g­ reat importance are questions of what constitutes genocidal intent, what groups are protected ­under the genocide convention, and what methods of atrocity can be considered genocidal given the restrictions of the definition. One of the most impor­tant components of genocide that separates it from other crimes is the dolus specialis of génocidaires.17 The threshold of proving genocidal intent is identifying the intention to destroy individual members of the

14 • Displacement Atrocity Crimes

group (not atomized individuals) and to carry out this destruction of individuals for the purpose of further destroying the group in ­whole or in part.18 To destroy members of a group is a crime, but to destroy members of a group b­ ecause of their group membership is genocide. This is the line that separates genocide as the crime of crimes. Genocide is a crime perpetrated against groups by individuals, and a state or government cannot be found guilty of genocide.19 Thus, for DA crimes to be genocidal, t­ here needs to be proof of 1. 2. 3.

a targeted population to be defined as a national, ethnical, racial or religious group; a special intent (dolus specialis) to destroy that group in w ­ hole or in part; constitutive DA crime actions (actus reus) defined ­under Article II.

Another key ele­ment of the UNCG is the rigid classification of only four protected groups: national, ethnical, racial, and religious. While Lemkin originally offered broad social constructivist definitions of the groups that should be protected, the UNCG is extremely l­ imited, as it excludes social, p­ olitical, and economic groups. Part of the reason for this is that the UNCG was a minimal ­political agreement negotiated soon a­ fter the Holocaust and the Second World War, and the victorious powers did not want the convention to be turned on them for their own diverse genocidal pro­cesses against vari­ous groups. Despite its rigid definitions, ­there is an ongoing debate about the scope of what it means to be a member of a group. Larry May argues that individuals are members of many groups at the same time, that distinctions among groups are often not as clear-­cut as the UNCG insinuates, and that groups exist beyond the groups identified in the UNCG—­ultimately leading him to conclude that the convention should be definitionally revisited in the f­ uture.20 In contrast, William Schabas defends the exclusivity of the UNCG and argues that ­there must be a semblance of uniformity across time in the law.21 Schabas believes that making genocide a ­simple “group” crime, where any group could be targeted, could lead to situations in which groups that have no real objective existence may assert a victimhood of genocide despite their nonexistence in real­ity. Overall, Schabas prefers to incorporate tangible groups—­that is, ­those that can be clearly seen.22 While efforts to expand the UNCG should be lauded as tactics of genocide prevention, the current international l­egal definition protects only the four groups named in the convention, though room for the expansion of protected groups exists.23 Fi­nally, despite Lemkin’s best efforts to have an expansive list of crimes that constitute genocide, the UNCG lists only five constitutive ele­ments of the crime of genocide.24 Any one of the subsections of Article II of the convention is sufficient for an indictment on charges of genocide—­that is, not all need to be met in order to reach the threshold for a charge of genocide.25 The methods outlined in the convention are based in large part on biological destruction. However, the forcible transfer of ­children begins to focus on cultural destruction. While

Extirpation • 15

the UNCG is precise in what can be considered genocide, the list of killing methods is mostly ­limited to biological destruction. DA crimes fit within ­these understandings and could be best defined by international law as genocide ­under Article II(c), which specifies “deliberately inflicting on the group conditions of life calculated to bring about its physical destruction in w ­ hole or in part.” Additionally, DA crimes are also a related practice to “killing members of the group” (a), “causing serious bodily or ­mental harm to members of the group” (b), “imposing m ­ easures intended to prevent births within the group” (d), and “forcibly transferring c­ hildren of the group to another group” (e). Thus, DA crimes neatly fit within the framework of existing genocide law. While the UNCG is riddled with prob­lems, it is largely accepted by the scholarly community as at least a starting point for defining genocide.26

Non-­Genocidal Displacement Atrocity Crimes Non-­genocidal atrocity crimes are defined broadly as crimes against humanity and war crimes. Th ­ ese types of crimes do not reflect atrocities of less severity compared to genocide. Instead, all should be viewed as being equal in severity: an atrocity is simply an atrocity. Crimes against humanity and war crimes have long definitional histories, dating back to before the “genocide” term and well ­after the UNCG and DA crimes fit within con­temporary understandings of both, as defined in the Rome Statute. DA crimes can be considered crimes against humanity in times of peace or war, or war crimes during times of war in both international and non-­international settings. What is required to prove for both crimes against humanity and war crimes is an individual’s prior knowledge or directing of an attack against a civilian population and the ­actual criminal actions themselves. If this can be accomplished, then the constitutive acts of DA crimes can be found to be atrocities in international law. Crimes against Humanity. Conceptually, the label “crimes against humanity” was first used to describe Belgian exploitative vio­lence against enslaved and colonized Africans in the rubber trade in the Belgian Congo (approximately 1885–1908) by American George Washington Williams—­a soldier, politician, and scholar.27 The term appeared in the Turkish courts-­martial of 1919 to describe annihilatory practices of the Young Turk regime in the Ottoman Empire against Christian minorities.28 Crimes against humanity resurfaced in the Nuremberg and Tokyo charters to punish Nazi and ­Japanese criminal actions during the Second World War.29 In the 1990s, the International Criminal Tribunal for the former Yugo­slavia (ICTY) and the International Criminal Tribunal for Rwanda (ICTR) used crimes against humanity as an indictable offense in both areas.30 ­Today, the Rome Statute offers a universal definition of crimes against humanity based on all t­ hese previous uses of the term.31 Article 7(1) of the Rome Statute defines “crime against humanity” as “any of the following acts when committed as part of a widespread or systematic attack

16 • Displacement Atrocity Crimes

directed against any civilian population, with knowledge of the attack.”32 To prove individual criminal responsibility for a crime against humanity, a prosecutor must establish that an individual had prior knowledge of an attack against any civilian population or group and that they actively aided or participated in this widespread or systematic attack.33 This somewhat lower intent threshold makes crimes against humanity more straightforward to prosecute at the international level when compared to crimes of genocide.34 The constitutive actions denoting crimes against humanity that overlap with DA crime pro­cesses are found in Article 7(1): (a) murder, (b) extermination, (d) deportation or forcible transfer of population, (e) imprisonment or other severe deprivation of physical liberty in violation of fundamental rules of international law, (f) torture, (g) sexual vio­lence, (h) persecution of an identifiable group, (i) enforced disappearance of persons, and (k) other inhumane acts causing serious suffering and injury to body and mind.35 As with genocide, any one of ­these constitutive ele­ments is sufficient for an indictment on charges of crimes against humanity. However, conceptually, it is impor­tant to understand the interrelationships among annihilatory practices in DA crimes. Deportation is central to the perpetration of DA crimes, although this is always linked with what could be defined as murder and extermination (through deprivation of vital daily needs expedited through movement), as well as the persecution of an identifiable group. All ­these actions cause serious bodily and m ­ ental harm and typically involve the disappearance of persons, the infliction of torture and sexual vio­lence during imprisonment, and deprivation of liberty. DA crimes can easily be defined as crimes against humanity in existing international laws. War Crimes. Much like crimes against humanity, war crimes have been enshrined in international law and in the common vernacular. From the “just war” tradition and notions of “crimes of war,” what is and is not allowed in armed conflict has been in existence for hundreds of years.36 The four Geneva Conventions (1864, 1906, 1929, and 1949) and their additional protocols (1977 and 2005) provide clear definitions for who and what are protected ­people and places in armed conflicts of international and non-­international characters.37 The Hague Conventions of 1899 and 1907 define acceptable and illegitimate methods of warfare, while the 1954 Hague Convention states that cultural properties cannot be willfully destroy in warfare.38 Together, Geneva law, Hague law, customary international humanitarian law, and additional issue-­area treaties form the backbone of the laws of armed conflict. War crimes have been charges in vari­ous tribunals across space and time. One of the first modern efforts for justice was the trial of Henry Wirz, commander of a Confederate prisoner-­of-­war camp in Andersonville, Georgia, during the American Civil War.39 War crimes w ­ ere defined for the Nuremberg and Tokyo ­trials and the ad hoc tribunals of the 1990s (ICTY and ICTR),40 the most concise definition is found in the Rome Statute (Article 8). The following expansive

Extirpation • 17

list of crimes applies to armed conflicts of an international character.41 Subsection (a) lists (i) willful killing, (ii) torture or inhuman treatment, (iii) willfully causing ­great suffering, (iv) destruction of property, and (vii) unlawful deportation or transfer or unlawful confinement as grave breaches of the Geneva Conventions. Additionally, subsection (b) lists (i) intentionally attacking civilian populations, (ii) intentionally attacking civilian properties, (vi) killing or wounding a surrendered combatant, (viii) unlawfully transferring populations, (x) physically or mentally harming persons of power, (xi) killing or treacherously wounding individuals belonging to a hostile nation or army, (xii) instituting a policy of no quarter, (xiii) unnecessarily destroying or seizing property, (xiv) abolishing the rights of individuals of a hostile nation, (xvi) pillaging, (xvii) employing ­poison, (xxi and xxii) committing sexual vio­lence, and (xxv) intentionally inflicting starvation as a method of warfare against civilians as crimes.42 However, conflicts of a non-­international character (civil wars, for example) have a significantly reduced list of prohibited actions for parties to the armed conflict. Subsection (c) lists (i) vio­lence to life and person, particularly murder, mutilation, cruel treatment, and torture; (ii) sexual vio­lence; and (iv) extrajudicial executions and rights violations as crimes in non-­international conflicts.43 ­These types of conflicts do not include “internal disturbances and tensions, such as riots, isolated and sporadic acts of vio­lence or other acts of a similar nature,” according to Article 8(d).44 Additional crimes as outlined in subsection (e) can include (i and ii) intentionally directing attacks against civilian populations and their properties; attacking cultural, educational, scientific, historical, or medical buildings; (vi) sexual vio­lence; (viii) ordering the displacement of civilian populations for reasons related to the conflict; (x) declaring a policy of no ­quarter; (xi) torture and inhuman acts; (xii) destroying or seizing property; and (xiii and xiv) using poison. However, with conflicts of a non-­international character, the government may “maintain or re-­establish law and order in the State” or “defend the unity and territorial integrity of the State, by all legitimate means,” as detailed in subsection (f).45 All the crimes listed ­here ­either are directly related to DA crime pro­cesses, such as deportation, murder, deprivation of vital daily needs, and rights violations, or are corollary atrocity social practices, such as policy of no quarter, killing of elites, sexual vio­lence, and pillaging. As with genocide and crimes against humanity, a breach of any one of the subsection laws is sufficient to pursue an indictment of an individual on charges of war crimes.

Displacement Atrocity Crimes in International Law One of the major oversights in Lemkin’s work, the UNCG, and the Rome Statute is a lack of focus on displacement as an annihilatory practice in itself—­not just a corollary or enabling act of vio­lence. Lemkin loosely connected displacement and genocide in his discussions of the Greek genocide in the Ottoman Empire and the Mongol onslaught, but his discussions of displacement are absent

18 • Displacement Atrocity Crimes

a concrete link between it and genocide.46 Displacement is largely treated as a tangential outcome of atrocity pro­cesses, not part of atrocities themselves. The same could be said of the UNCG itself, in that it fails to explic­itly state that displacement designed to annihilate could be considered genocide, although this is implied u­ nder Article 2(c), though the relationship has not necessarily been explored previously. The Rome Statute’s definitions of crimes against humanity and war crimes do list deportation and forcible transfers of populations as constitutive actions of t­ hose crimes, although the discreet definition of displacement as an annihilatory practice is absent. That said, DA crimes fall within overlapping sections of atrocity crime laws.47 ­There is a consensus on the illegitimacy and illegality of constitutive actions of DA crimes (e.g., forcible displacement and indirect killing through systematic deprivation of vital daily needs). The constitutive ele­ments of DA crimes already reside within existing international laws, and the identification of this killing ­process does not require completely new l­egal developments. Rather, the DA crime concept can be used to identify patterns of flagrant rights violations that can be classified legally using existing laws. It is critical to locate DA crimes in existing international l­ egal and normative h ­ uman rights frameworks to prevent, halt, and punish this unique type of atrocity ­process. Th ­ ese ideas are discussed in more detail in chapter 14, where, following fuller conceptual and empirical explorations of annihilatory forced displacement throughout the book, we see how specific criminal aspects of DA pro­cesses are engrained within the Rome Statute.

A Forced Displacement and Atrocity Nexus The links between atrocity perpetration and forced displacement are complex and multilayered. Forced displacement has often been used as one of three distinct tactics in h ­ uman rights violations: as annihilation, homogenization, or transfer.48 DA crimes represent displacement as annihilation. However, the links between atrocity perpetration and displacement can also fall ­under the categories of homogenization and transfer, which require examination.

Displacement as Homogenization: Ethnic Cleansing Displacement can be used as a tool to homogenize ­political geographies. While ethnic cleansing and DA crimes share some similarities, they should be viewed as separate concepts. The goal of an ethnic cleansing campaign is to make multiethnic regions homogeneous through vio­lence, though not to necessarily annihilate populations. Benjamin Lieberman offers a concise definition of ethnic cleansing: [The] removal of a group from a par­tic­u­lar area. It is a means for forced remaking of h ­ uman landscape. Definitions of ethnic cleansing do not specify the type of area from which a targeted group is to be removed, but in practice ethnic cleansing often targets groups living in border areas with mixed

Extirpation • 19

populations.”49 He adds, “The term can refer to the forced removal not only of ethnic groups but also of similar related groups.”50 This interpretation of ethnic cleansing is largely recognized in a similar manner in much of the scholarship. While ­there are differences in definitions, ethnic cleansing refers to the removal of populations using force and atrocities to render areas ethnically homogeneous.51 Criminal acts include but are not ­limited to forced displacement/ deportation, murder, sexual vio­lence, and torture, which can be considered war crimes, crimes against humanity, and even genocide. A famous case of ethnic cleansing is Serbian crimes against Bosnian Muslims in Srebrenica in 1995, which ­were found to be genocidal by the ICTY. The ICTY found that Serbs deliberately targeted a part of the Bosnian Muslim population by concentrating their vio­lence on Srebrenica. In July 1995, Serbs killed approximately eight thousand Bosnian men and boys and committed sexual vio­lence and additional rights violations against ­women and girls particularly.52 ­These actions ­were designed to ethnically cleanse Srebrenica of its Bosnian population, the surviving members of which ­were forcibly transported (and some took flight on their own) to surrounding areas. During this episode, displacement was viewed as a policy goal of Serbian vio­lence, which was designed to uproot the Bosnian community and make space for Serbs. With this understanding of ethnic cleansing, it is pos­si­ble to delineate impor­ tant differences between it and DA crimes along three axes. First, perpetrators of both crimes use atrocities and vio­lence but for vastly dif­fer­ent ends. Perpetrators of ethnic cleansing use atrocities to compel or induce flight from a region with displacement as the end goal.53 Perpetrators of DA crimes, on the other hand, use atrocities to uproot populations and then displacement to destroy populations in ­whole or in part. Displacement is not an end goal of DA crimes—it is the main mechanism by which populations are destroyed. Second, the types of vio­lence used m ­ atter significantly for distinguishing between ethnic cleansing and DA crimes. Ethnic cleansing primarily uses direct vio­lence to compel displacement from an area.54 Direct vio­lence is used in a ferociously short period of time, while indirect vio­lence is not necessarily part of the plan, as the goal in ethnic cleansing is to move, not kill, populations. In contrast, DA crimes use indirect vio­lence as an essential ele­ment of extermination plans. Third, t­ here are differences in the timing of displacement. For ethnic cleansing operations, since perpetrators view displacement as the goal, displacement is seen as the culmination of vio­lence, which compels targeted groups to be removed from defined geo­graph­i­cal areas. Displacement, rather than being a sustained p­ rocess, is often executed quickly to homogenize regions as fast as pos­si­ble in order to achieve the goals of ethnic cleansing. DA crimes, on the other hand, use sustained displacement operations to keep targets moving and deprived of vital daily needs as long as is required to kill them via indirect methods. Displacement is not the end goal—it is a ­process and mechanism to achieve the end goal of population annihilation. Therefore, ethnic cleansing and DA crimes need to

20 • Displacement Atrocity Crimes

be considered as separate pro­cesses, with dif­fer­ent intentions ­behind the use of atrocities and vio­lence, dif­fer­ent types of vio­lence used, and differences in the timing of displacement.

Displacement as Transfer: Stationary Killing Centers Forced displacement has always been central to the perpetration of atrocities, ­whether they are intended to destroy groups biologically or culturally through direct or indirect methods. For perpetrators, the removal of populations from their homes is required for many mass killing programs. The home is in many ways a ­castle: it is central to the ­family, is the center of their identity, and provides security.55 When targeted populations are removed from their homes, the opportunities for ­resistance and humanitarian relief are significantly reduced. The removal from home allows “perpetrators to engage in direct and indirect killing programmes away from population centers, where they can have total hegemony over targeted populations and the machineries of annihilation can be constructed in concentrated sites.”56 For example, in campaigns of direct biological destruction, forced displacement is used to transfer targeted populations to stationary killing centers and to make targeted populations more susceptible to annihilatory practices. The most glaring example of this is the Holocaust. Millions of targeted populations w ­ ere transferred to stationary killing centers and w ­ ere annihilated by the Nazis’ machineries of destruction. Transfer is also particularly central to the perpetration of indirect biological killing programs. One such type of program is called genocide by attrition, a type of killing ­process first identified by Helen Fein.57 In her 1997 article, Fein argued for a deeper understanding of Article 2(c) of the UNCG: the clause referring to the creation of systematic conditions to destroy a group. Before Fein’s article, most atrocity scholarship was overly focused on direct killing, and Fein revolutionized the field by arguing for understanding indirect killing as well.58 In the Warsaw ghetto, Jews w ­ ere concentrated and deprived of vital daily needs; in Cambodia, the cities w ­ ere emptied and citizens ­were worked to death; and in Sudan, human-­caused famine caused mass death among civilian populations.59 For Sheri Rosenberg, “Genocide by attrition essentially describes a slow ­process of annihilation that reflects the unfolding phenomenon of the mass killing of a protected group rather than the immediate unleashing of violent death.”60 Fein did not draw distinctions between stationary attrition or attrition ­during displacement, but two l­ater scholars, Rosenberg and Everita Silina, did begin to examine this difference. Rosenberg and Silina argued that displacement is used to “create an insecure environment in which other eliminatory acts flourish.”61 This is problematic in relation to DA crimes ­because it relegates displacement to a secondary m ­ easure in attrition crimes, not the primary weapon used against populations to commit atrocities. Thus, while ele­ments of genocide by attrition—­such as systematic deprivation of daily needs—­occur during DA crimes, the act of displacement itself is of primary importance in the latter but

Extirpation • 21

not the former. In addition, authors using the attrition crime concept do not explic­itly explore the effects of displacement on targeted populations.62 The prob­ lems with previous approaches to attrition methods are clear in treatment of the Ottoman genocide of Armenians, Greeks, and Assyrians. The pro­cesses of displacement against Christian minorities w ­ ere not just movements of groups from one point (their homes) to another, inhospitable territory (Der Zor), during which massacres frequently occurred; rather, the displaced w ­ ere subjected to a potent mixture of constant exertion through movement, with deprivation of vital daily needs killing many thousands during movement, not only upon arrival.63 Thus, the genocide by attrition concept is more ­adept at explaining displacement to a concentration center where attrition crimes occur than it is explaining the displacement ­process as an integral ele­ment of atrocity perpetration. Overall, genocide by attrition occupies a space that focuses on attrition in stationary killing centers, which allows perpetrators to concentrate targeted populations and the tools of destruction for centralized annihilatory practices. In addition, forced displacement provides ­these perpetrators with a way to focus on sections of targeted populations and annihilate them one by one. DA crimes occupy a conceptual space that explic­itly focuses on the act of displacement as a primary method of atrocity perpetration. During DA crimes, targeted populations are deprived of their rights in direct concert with forced displacement and systematic deprivation. The indirect killing methods identified by early authors on genocide by attrition are significant influences on understandings of indirect killing during DA crimes, though the two concepts explain dif­fer­ent annihilatory phenomena. Lastly, cultural destruction is often predicated on the transfer of targeted populations to stationary killing centers. While ­these centers may not be designed to biologically destroy members of groups, they are designed to kill what it means to be a member of a group; for Andrew Woolford, this is “ontological destruction.”64 The best example of this is the Canadian Indian residential school (IRS) system. Indigenous ­children w ­ ere forcibly sent to IRS institutions as well as separate-­though-­similar day schools to disrupt the reproduction of Indigeneity from parent to child.65 C ­ hildren ­were controlled in an absolute manner by religious school leaders (Catholics and vari­ous Protestant denominations actively participated) and w ­ ere not allowed to speak their Indigenous languages or keep their Indigenous names; in fact, their names ­were even changed to Eurocentric names. Canada transferred c­ hildren from their parents and home communities to ­these IRS institutions where c­ hildren could be isolated, indoctrinated, and effectively transferred from one group to another—­perpetrating genocide. This was made pos­si­ble using forced displacement away from the very t­ hing that Canada attempted to kill: Indigenous ways of life, practices, knowledge, and identities.66 ­These uses of displacement to transfer targeted populations contrast starkly with DA crimes. The transfer of populations to stationary killing centers is an impor­tant intermediary step in the atrocity perpetration ­process. If perpetrators

22 • Displacement Atrocity Crimes

intend to kill their targets at stationary centers, they must transfer targeted populations t­ here in order to subject them to the machineries of vio­lence. By transferring targeted populations to designated killing zones, perpetrators can concentrate the resources of annihilation to inflict the maximum amount of death pos­si­ble on targets in as l­ittle time and space as pos­si­ble. This is a clear contrast to DA crimes, where the displacement p­ rocess itself is the primary mechanism through which death is inflicted, not a penultimate ­process.

A Forced Displacement and Atrocity Nexus DA crimes are conceptually necessary to explain why perpetrators use displacement and systematic deprivation to destroy populations, as the other concepts do not have the precise explanatory power that DA crimes possess. Ethnic cleansing and genocide by attrition explain dif­fer­ent killing methods—­the homogenization of specific ­political geographies and concentration and destruction via indirect methods, respectively. The addition of DA crimes to existing lit­er­a­tures rounds out a nexus of forced displacement that can be used to help identify past, pre­sent, and ­future patterns of atrocity and ­human rights violations during times of peace or war and across space and time.

Displacement Atrocity Crimes DA crimes are devastating forms of annihilatory practices that have gone understudied for too long. The goal of this type of criminality is to annihilate targeted populations through the unique fusion of forced displacement and systematic deprivation to create potent indirect killing systems. Perpetrators can engage in ­these ­political acts by exploiting large areas or long linear distances and can be genocidal or non-­genocidal in intent. ­These understandings of DA crimes allow for fuller conceptualizations of the interrelationship between forced displacement and atrocity perpetration patterns across space and time. Chapter 2 operationalizes this knowledge and offers a formal theory of DA crimes focused on the specific variable interactions required along uncovered causal pathways to create this type of annihilatory ­political phenomena.

2

Exposure A Theory of Displacement Atrocity Crimes The theory of DA (displacement atrocity) crimes presented h ­ ere is based on (1)  the typology and subtypes of the crime and (2) the causal pathways to DA crimes. Causal pathways are impor­tant and power­ful explanatory and predictive powers to help explain why p­ olitical phenomena have occurred in the past and pre­sent and to predict where they might manifest in the ­future. For DA crimes, this means understanding which variable interactions cause perpetrators to fuse forced displacement and systematic deprivation in order to destroy targeted populations in ­whole or in part. The uncovered causal pathways can also be used as a blueprint for holding perpetrators accountable by reconstructing their actions and viewing them through the DA crime lens. Central to the DA crime causal pathways are the interplays between material and ideational variables, as well as structure and agency. Too often in social scientific theories, like ­those that dominated the international relations theory field over the past ­century, ­there has been an unnecessary dichotomy between material and ideational variables. Material variables, favored by traditional and structuralist theorists, are ­those that are based in the objective material world, such as gross domestic product, military power of regular and irregular armed forces, and technological advances.1 Ideational variables, favored by constructivists and other critical theorists, are based in the socially constructed world and in interpretation, such as the influence of ideas, ­political clout, ideology, and hatred.2 While 23

24 • Displacement Atrocity Crimes

FIGURE 2.1  ​A Causal Pathway to Displacement Atrocity Crimes

established theories typically rely on one set of variables or the other, the DA crime theory is built on a harmonization of both, occupying space as a middle-­range theory in p­ olitical vio­lence that explains why a specific form of vio­lence (DA crimes) occur or do not occur.3 This type of harmonization more accurately reflects the dynamic interplays of structure, agency, and contingency in the real world. The causal pathway can be categorized into five stages: geography, structural opportunities for DA crimes, decision to commit DA crimes, making DA crimes pos­si­ble, and DA crimes. All variables in this pathway combine to create patterns of annihilatory forced displacement. No single variable or stage is sufficient for DA crimes to take place. DA crimes require the full constellation of variables to create annihilatory forced displacement pro­cesses. Thus, if all variables are fulfilled (represented by “Yes” in figure  2.1), then DA crimes can occur. ­These pathways do not deterministically bind actors to certain policies but do influence and constrain the policy choices actors can make in a path-­dependent sense. If any of the variables go unfulfilled (represented by “No” in figure 2.1), DA

Exposure • 25

crimes cannot occur. Perpetrator regimes may select a dif­fer­ent method of atrocity, or atrocities may not occur at all.

Pathways to Displacement Atrocity Crimes The variable constellations within the five stages of DA crimes combine to fulfill the “switches” necessary to make DA crimes pos­si­ble. In German South-­West Africa, the Ottoman Empire, and Central and Eastern ­Europe, the five stages of DA crime pro­cesses ­were all fulfilled and annihilatory practices took root. Following is an examination of the constellation of variables that lead to DA crimes. Within the list, material variables are marked with a single asterisk (*) and ideational variables are marked with two asterisks (**) to demonstrate the necessary interplay between the two types of variable sets.

Geography* Geography—­particularly ­political geography4—is the most impor­tant initial variable in the pathways to DA crimes. If perpetrators do not have ­political sovereignty and territorial integrity (control) over a geography large enough to be weaponized against displaced persons, then DA crimes are not pos­si­ble. Perpetrators must achieve p­ olitical hegemony of a geo­graph­i­cal area suitable for DA crimes, as this allows perpetrators to prevent or contain ­resistance and control the dispossessed during displacement. Targeted populations ­will typically be displaced away from cosmopolitan centers and t­ oward less inhabited or inhospitable regions in order to kill targeted populations. DA crimes can be perpetrated in diverse settings, which should be understood broadly. The most logical setting for DA crimes is a large, minimally inhabited area.5 Minimally inhabited lands have a small distribution of ­humans on a vast land base. Perpetrators exploit ­these huge land areas to commit egregious acts of evil. However, perpetrators never commit crimes fully away from populated areas. The Ottoman genocide of Christian minorities in what is now Turkey and the expulsion of Germans across East and Central E ­ urope perfectly demonstrate this, as perpetrators committed atrocities in front of many bystanders in towns and cities—­their acquiescence or agreement with crimes overrode reasons to displace targeted populations elsewhere. Therefore, the only main geo­graph­i­cal requirement for DA crimes is a land base that can be exploited for displacing populations and marching them to their deaths. Ascertaining specific distance or area values that are best for DA crimes is difficult due to the flexibility of this type of crime. DA crimes cannot be perpetrated on a football field, within the confines of a city, or in a small state. Of course, perpetrators could forcibly march targeted populations around a track relentlessly, but other genocide by attrition conditions would have to be in place for this to occur, specifically the concentration of targeted populations to a small, confined area where they could be controlled. Without a sizable land base, DA

26 • Displacement Atrocity Crimes

crimes are significantly less likely to be committed, as another form of annihilation ­will be selected. The climate and flora and fauna of the geography for DA crimes also m ­ atter, though less so than the size of the land base. Harsher climates are ­those that experience more extreme weather patterns, temperatures, aridness, and general inhospitableness. Th ­ ese climates are not conducive to h ­ uman survival. Harsher climates are particularly well-­suited for DA crimes b­ ecause targeted populations cannot easily forage for supplies during displacement pro­cesses, further denying the displaced any sort of sustenance for their degrading bodies. The distribution of towns and cities in geo­graph­i­cal areas also heavi­ly dictates deportation patterns. ­These settlements play multiple roles in DA crimes: they are places from where targeted populations need to be uprooted; places of potential r­ esistance that need to be avoided; and terminals for displacement caravans, slave laborers, and sex trafficking. The presence of cities does not necessarily negate the possibility of DA crimes, as populations who accept or encourage annihilatory practices ­will not resist against their implementation, but cities and towns that need to be pacified or are centers of ­resistance are always avoided during planning of displacement areas or routes. In short, the geographic condition can be satisfied if perpetrators control a territory that is large enough for DA crimes to be perpetrated. Other geo­graph­ i­cal ele­ments, such as a rough terrain or an extreme climate, are not necessary for DA crimes, though they do aid in perpetration by increasing the lethality of exposure. The displaced can be exposed to extreme climates and weather systems that can degrade their bodies faster, though the temporal aspect of prolonged exposure and movement over long distances are more impor­tant to DA crime perpetration.

Structural Opportunities for Displacement Atrocity Crimes DA crimes require certain sociopo­liti­cal conditions for annihilatory practices to take root. Th ­ ere must be clear demarcations made between perpetrators and the targeted. ­There are always two, if not more, groups involved in DA crimes: in-­ groups (perpetrators) and out-­groups (targeted populations).6 Members of the in-­ group include every­one from elite-­level perpetrators to the populations they claim to speak for and the populations who are not being targeted. Members of the out-­group are targeted for annihilatory practices based on some form of demographic distinctions (described in the following sections). However, ­these differences alone do not make DA crimes pos­si­ble. More specifically, the out-­ group must be weaker in power than the in-­group, and ­there must be intergroup sociopo­liti­cal grievances and immediate triggers or upheavals to allow for fomenting hatred and social exclusions to turn ­toward annihilatory practices. Like most atrocity pro­cesses, DA crimes require the division of society into in-­ groups—­individuals who ­will not be subjected to atrocities, as well as ­those who ­will actually perpetrate the atrocities—­and out-­groups—­those who ­will be subjected to atrocity.7

Exposure • 27

Group Difference Construction.** One of the most impor­tant variables of DA crimes is group difference construction. The socially constructed ­process of making in-­groups and out-­groups is vital to distinguishing targeted populations from the broader polity.8 Without the construction of group differences based on any number of tangible or intangible traits, perpetrators would simply have no one to target. Creating demographic distinctions can be rooted in a variety of constructed differences, including but not l­ imited to race, ethnicity, nationality, religion, Indigeneity, economic class, social group, ability, sexual orientation, gender identity, and ­political conviction—in other words, any identity that can be used to divide and classify p­ eople into unequal sectors of society. The social norm is peace among distinct groups; therefore, pre­sent group differences are insufficient in helping to incite vio­lence.9 However, it takes a special sort of vitriol and demonization of a certain group to aid in fostering atrocity. Differences must be articulated in private and public spaces and must have some normative meaning attached; while it is insufficient to say that a group is dif­fer­ent, it is sufficient to say that ­because a group is dif­fer­ent, the rights of individual members and the group are negated or should be ­violated. Through pro­cesses of “othering” and segregation, perpetrators isolate targeted populations. ­These pro­cesses place targeted populations outside normal spheres of reciprocal obligations and into zones where vio­lence against them is pos­si­ble and permissible.10 The construction of differences is insufficient, though necessary, for DA crimes to occur. Asymmetric Power Distribution.* Constructed targeted populations must have less hard and soft power than do perpetrator groups. Hard power includes but is not ­limited to military materiel, economic resources/influence, and ability to alter ­political trajectories through coercion. Soft power refers to the ability to alter ­political trajectories through co-­optation, which includes appeals to shared cultures, histories, or credibility. With ­these tools of power projection, perpetrators may impose their ­wills on socie­ties and remake them through vio­lence. DA crime perpetrators must possess a mono­poly on the use of vio­lence within the geography to impose their ­will on targeted populations without difficulty. Targeted populations are disempowered through ­political, economic, and social exclusion from impor­tant institutions of governance, state capacity, and equality. In their place, systems of discrimination and i­nequality drive more pronounced wedges between the in-­g roup and the out-­g roup.11 Power asymmetries mean that perpetrators can prevent or crush ­resistance efforts from targeted populations and can also ensure that no targeted populations can escape during displacement. Without power asymmetries, DA crimes are impossible to perpetrate due to the large flows of ­human beings that large-­scale displacements necessarily entail. Intergroup Grievances.** Intergroup grievances further cleavages between asymmetrically powered demographic groups. Grievances are typically based on some

28 • Displacement Atrocity Crimes

sort of shared historical experiences among perpetrators and targeted populations, though ­these experiences are vastly dif­fer­ent for each group. Cleavages exist within shared experiences, meaning in-­groups experienced a p­ rocess differently than the out-­group—as what they believe to be a disadvantage. As such, grievances offer in-­groups socially constructed reasons—­often not based in fact—to hate out-­groups (or decline to intervene and thus stand by while atrocities are committed). Th ­ ese hatreds often manifest as the ostracization and dehumanization of out-­groups. “Hate” is one of the most hotly debated essentially contested concepts, as it means dif­fer­ent t­ hings to dif­fer­ent p­ eople in dif­fer­ent times—­and ­there is no consensus.12 Modern conceptions of hate, however, are based on viewing this “affective phenomena” as involving a range of emotions with vari­ous manifestations throughout space and time, which can profoundly alter p­ olitical landscapes.13 Individuals define and internalize hate in vari­ous ways, though to hate generally means to harbor antipathies against something/someone for some reason(s)—­whether ­these reasons are grounded in true and legitimate grievances or are contrived for more sinister ends.14 For the DA crime theory, hatred is understood as an emotion and a structural set of data. Hate is at once both emotional (which can create but not sustain vio­ lence) and institutional, with its own internal logics that are individually rationalized, such as discrimination, humiliation, and fear. ­These logics can color emotion and sustain vio­lence.15 One could si­mul­ta­neously emotionally feel fear, and ­because of that fear rationally create plans to annihilate the “other”—­groups identified and singled out by perpetrators as scapegoats or ­causes of decline, humiliation, and potential loss. Hatred on its own is clearly not enough to cause atrocities, but hatred is a potent weapon to silence regime critics and build in-­ group solidarity against an out-­group. Complete dispassionate rationality should not be assigned to elite perpetrators, as their fears, perceptions, and biases inform their po­liti­cally violent programs. Elite perpetrators in all cases of this book exhibit both emotional hatred and rational calculations for the destruction of targeted out-­groups. Taken together, emotion and rationality can mutually reinforce each other as reciprocal systems of emotions and ideas that engrain discrimination against the out-­g roup, legitimizing and furthering pro­cesses of othering. Grievances are socially constructed understandings of contested histories and pre­sent eras, which can be obfuscated to create animosities between or among groups. Th ­ ese animosities can include pro­cesses like colonialism, economic ­inequality and disempowerment, societal dissatisfaction, identity competitions, hatred, and other “wedge” issues. The loss of land, the loss of economic livelihoods, and macro-­processes of imperial/societal decline can all create real or constructed grievances between groups. One of the most potent grievances perpetrator groups can construct involves issues of legitimacy and which groups deserve to live in a new i­ magined community—­that is, a socially constructed polity moving through space and time together.16 Grievances are impor­tant, as

Exposure • 29

they provide opportunities for perpetrators to dehumanize targets and are ­necessary for fomenting divisionism. Grievances offer tangible or intangible justifications to hate populations for specific reasons. Sociopo­liti­cal Upheavals.** Sociopo­liti­cal upheavals are necessary in the sense that they are more immediate triggers to vio­lence. Whereas grievances represent historical pro­cesses that have manifested into reasons to hate, sociopo­liti­cal upheavals put t­ hose reasons into con­temporary perspective. They are the final straws that form impor­tant structural opportunities for vio­lence. Sociopo­liti­cal upheavals include protracted events like coups and revolutions, economic downturns, changes in ­political power structures, rights violations, and other proposed policies that threaten to compound previous grievances into extremely negative outcomes for ­either targets or perpetrators. Sociopo­liti­cal upheavals cause actors to rethink their current institutional structures and imagine new ones, creating uncertainties in individual and group ­futures. Th ­ ese uncertainties can lead to the belief that if long-­standing prob­lems with targeted populations are not solved, then the in-­g roup may suffer (fears of destruction). Eras of uncertainty and upheaval become fertile soil in which the seeds of vio­lence can be grown.17 Actors can form new institutions, degrade old ones, or implement annihilatory practices. This is a key moment for perpetrators, as it offers them the opportunity to seize power and remake society in the way they want to. Sociopo­liti­cal upheavals provide elite actors with the keys to remake society; w ­ hether they choose to do so is entirely a ­matter of contingency. Structural Opportunities for Displacement Atrocity Crimes. The structural opportunities for vio­lence created by group differences and grievances mean that latent or new hatreds can arise and become primary social ordering princi­ples. It is difficult to get p­ eople to hate one another, but once p­ eople do express hatred, getting them to move from hatred to vio­lence is a small step. This is especially true when t­ here are power asymmetries between/among groups, which provide a structural opportunity for a majority in-­group to impose vio­lence on a minority out-­group—or a power­ful minority to impose vio­lence on a weak majority. What provides the ability to impose vio­lence are sociopo­liti­cal upheavals. ­These eras of change allow for violent solutions to uncertain prob­lems to take root.

The Decision to Commit Displacement Atrocity Crimes** Imagining communities is a p­ rocess not only of nation making but also of nation unmaking.18 Questions regarding who should rightfully belong in a territory are potent sentiments that create possibilities for violent solutions. Perpetrators can identify their targets and sell the legitimacy of vio­lence against targeted populations to the constructed in-­group through differences, grievances, and upheavals. Elite actors making the decision to commit atrocities is made ­pos­si­ble by structures, but it is the decisions of individual agents to commit

30 • Displacement Atrocity Crimes

vio­lence that is the immediate trigger for atrocities. Given their situations and subsequent responses, perpetrators often construct out-­groups as an existential threat to their in-­group and make the case that the subhuman targeted populations must not only be excluded but annihilated to make their p­ olitical geography safe.19 The most impor­tant group of perpetrators to examine is elite actors.20 They hold the p­ olitical decision-­making power in society and can instruct forces of annihilation to unleash themselves from the restraining shackles of dignity and ­human rights to attack targeted populations. Elite actors live within historically contingent pro­cesses, create and manipulate p­ olitical systems, develop and carry ideologies and hatreds, and have the power to impose their vision of society on a ­political geography. While it is impor­tant to understand general societal trends that make DA crimes structurally pos­si­ble, t­ hese are, analogously speaking, only the bullets loaded into the gun. It is the elite actors who choose to pull the trigger. In fact, it is the perpetrators who construct the firearm for the bullets in the first place. Elite actors are not merely bound within the institutions of their times and spaces. They are architects of annihilation in their own right, as they can hijack existing institutions and structures. They can also impose their own institutions and institutionalized discourses and beliefs on their socie­ties. One institutional weakness elite perpetrators can exploit is the marked lack of focus on punishing forced displacement in international law. Thus, as a less criticized mechanism of atrocity, elites may use the lack of conceptual and l­ egal clarity on annihilatory forced displacement to their advantage and obfuscate their intent and actions as they relate to targeted populations. Atrocities left unpunished pave roads for f­ uture atrocities. Maureen Hiebert argues that elite perpetrators initiate three “switches,” leading them to believe genocide as a rational and necessary action. Switch one deals with perpetrators viewing targeted populations as foreigners,21 but even more broadly this could be understood as perpetrators creating clear dividing lines between themselves and ­those they wish to target for annihilation. In switch two, perpetrators construct targeted populations as mortal threats to their perpetrator in-­group existence.22 Once perpetrators believe that the very existence of the targets threatens their own state of being, they begin to conceptualize themselves as being locked in an epic strug­gle for existence, as u­ nder pos­si­ble threat of foreign intervention, and view themselves as pure and the targets as somehow “diseased” and in need of being exorcised, like a cancerous tumor from the body.23 Switch three involves the dehumanization of targeted populations to make vio­ lence pos­si­ble and permissible. Perpetrators are not deterministically forced to view other social groups as enemies, but historically contingent events and pro­cesses can lead perpetrators to a path of vio­lence—it is a choice ­whether to trigger genocide, not a predetermined outcome. It is necessary for elite actors to decide to weaponize societal pro­cesses and destroy targeted populations in w ­ hole or in part, but this decision is only one

Exposure • 31

piece of the DA crime puzzle. Perpetrators must decide to exploit geography in par­tic­u­lar ways to annihilate targeted populations through movement and deprivation. This decision can ­either be premeditated or be a function of contingent pro­cesses. Premediated decisions to displace targeted populations and deprive them of vital daily needs is best exhibited in the Ottoman Empire, Central and Eastern ­Europe, and potential f­ uture climate-­degraded zones. Through contingent historical pro­cesses, perpetrators learn how to annihilate populations through DA crimes. Denying vital daily needs w ­ ill undoubtedly kill populations; this is an undeniable ­human truth. Perpetrators, as ­will be demonstrated in ­later chapters, exhibit a learning ­process in DA crime perpetration. Perpetrators are the ones who decide that the time is right for atrocities when the target group is weak, and they believe that atrocities can be accomplished in serious and impactful ways. They implement their schemes not through some ultra vires act but through the co-­optation of state mechanisms and societal powers to annihilate—­ including the law. Generally, ­political elites decide to use displacement as a tactic to remove populations from one area and kill many through deliberate action and negligence during displacement using indirect methods. This decision may be premeditated, as in the Ottoman case, or may be contingent, as in the ­Herero case. Conceptually, this means that DA crimes can be implemented from the beginning of atrocity pro­cesses and can also be a function of contingent events, used as cost-­effective killing methods against targeted populations. Thus, sometimes the incidence of perpetrators learning to use DA crimes is entirely contingent on geo­g raph­i­cal and historical circumstances, other methods of vio­lence failing, a desire to create layers of deniability, or the need for a last-­best resort method of atrocity. For some perpetrators, when many other atrocity methods are unviable for some reason or another, DA crimes may still exist as a potent tool to annihilation populations. All t­ hese ideas w ­ ill be developed throughout the cases in this book. What is clear, though, is that DA crimes are perpetrated largely due to contingency. For example, it was historically contingent that the Herero ­were able to escape the German lines t­oward the Omaheke Desert at the B ­ attle of ­Waterberg. It was also historically contingent that the ­Great War allowed the Committee of ­Union and Pro­g ress to construct Christian minorities as internal enemies. The end of the Second World War and the creation of new, homogeneous nation-­states in ­Europe made it pos­si­ble for anti-­Germanism and nationalism to take root and cause a victor’s vio­lence. Historically contingent pro­cesses are unpredictable, and actor decision-­making and manipulation create opportunities for DA crimes. By annihilating populations through displacement, perpetrators w ­ ere able to keep their in-­group “safe” from the out-­ groups’ supposed existential threat. Targeted populations became victims due to structural pro­cesses that led to their dehumanization, isolation, and disempowerment as well as historically contingent triggers for atrocity. ­These pro­cesses are explored in ­later chapters.

32 • Displacement Atrocity Crimes

Making Displacement Atrocity Crimes Pos­si­ble Sociopo­liti­cal Disruption.* An incredibly crucial step that must take place before DA crimes can be implemented is the sociopo­liti­cal disruption of targeted populations. If elite actors are central to the decision to commit atrocities, the establishment and maintenance of annihilatory practices, and the encouragement of populations to remake society, then elite actors from targeted populations are central to disrupting annihilatory practices. By killing or isolating the ­political, religious, economic, intellectual, social, or cultural leadership of a targeted population, perpetrators significantly negatively impact the cohesion of the targeted group. Elite actors may have connections to o­ rganizations, institutions, or other states that could aid them in their fight to stay alive, so the killing or isolation of t­ hese individuals—­decapitation strikes—­severs links with the outside world and domestic institutions that could have been co-­opted for relief. Relatedly, decapitation strikes cause a loss of group cohesion. Without the voices of impor­ tant leaders who can unite them, groups can be thrown into disor­ga­ni­za­tion and panic.24 ­Organization and unity are particularly impor­tant when facing extermination, and without t­ hese methods of group cohesion, a group may become atomized and easier to target across space and time. Sociopo­liti­cal disruption can also take the form of looting and pillaging properties as well as the upending of peaceful and normal social o­ rders. ­These disruptions are impositions of the perpetrators on the targets, who are thrown into disor­ga­ni­za­tion and flurried r­ esistance efforts. However, b­ ecause leaders are gone and ­resistance efforts are prevented or crushed (discussed in the next section), targeted groups are significantly weaker and cannot o­ rganize as they once could. Sociopo­liti­cal disruption is an impor­tant tactic perpetrators use to condition targeted populations for displacement and annihilation, meaning that it prepares ­these populations to accept their new realities of not being able to live in their homes or to even exist as they see fit. It imposes a system of obligations that is not reciprocal, in that it is a one-­way street in which targeted populations must do as the perpetrators say. This conditioning is central to ­later displacement, during which populations must be kept docile to accept their fates while perpetrators use overwhelming power to maintain systems of annihilation. Elimination of Re­sis­tance.* Eliminating r­ esistance among targeted populations is critical for DA crimes to be perpetrated. If targeted populations still possess the resources required for resisting atrocities, they could severely disrupt atrocity plans. Eliminating ­resistance is a threefold exercise: it requires the disarmament or defeat of targeted population forces, the exclusion or killing of men, and the movement of targeted populations into areas where r­ esistance is less likely. Disarming and defeating targeted populations is a crucial step in DA crime perpetration and applies to group members who are part of armed forces and the general population. Perpetrators can disarm targeted groups

Exposure • 33

through exclusionary/exclusive laws that require targets to forfeit their weapons or defeat r­ esistance on a battlefield.25 Eliminating men—­specifically fighting-­age men (ages fifteen to forty-­five)— is vital to the success of DA crimes. While any member of a group can offer ­violent r­esistance to annihilatory practices, this task has typically been an extremely gendered p­ rocess, as men have largely been responsible for the protection of their own in-­group. Perpetrators exclude or kill men through targeted executions, the defeat of victim forces on a battlefield, or imprisonment.26 Adam Jones convincingly makes the argument that men are almost always disproportionately targeted for extermination before the remainder of a group’s population.27 The logic ­behind this killing is twofold. First, in a heteronormative world, the male gender is typically that which offers r­ esistance to the implementation of annihilatory practices (physical vio­lence and intercommunal politics as patriarchs are impor­tant reference points for communities). Second, stemming from heteronormativity, select perpetrators believe they can biologically and culturally destroy groups by disrupting a group’s natu­ral reproductive cycle via the extermination of men, the rape of w ­ omen, and the destruction of social institutions.28 In short, before ­women are subjected to dif­fer­ent forms of persecution—­including disproportionately being targeted for sexual vio­lence—­ men are typically targeted for vio­lence in atrocity pro­cesses that are aimed at destroying groups, a universal truth of atrocities in general, too.29 Fi­nally, it is vital that perpetrators dislodge targeted populations from their homes—­places that targets know intimately and can defend easily due to their familiarity with the terrain. By extracting and displacing populations from places they know best, ­resistance efforts can be s­ topped before they can truly begin. In addition, displacement into foreign territories further places hegemonic power into the hands of perpetrators as they control the destinies of targeted group members. If one or all t­ hese goals are accomplished, then r­ esistance is eliminated. However, the more efforts that are undertaken to weaken or eliminate ­resistance, the easier it ­will be for perpetrators to establish annihilatory hegemonies of power over targets. ­Little to no r­ esistance means that the displaced group ­will not be able to resist displacement using coercive methods, nor w ­ ill they be able to escape cordons of annihilation or caravans of death. Elimination of Humanitarianism.* The elimination of humanitarianism is a dual-­ track mechanism. First, eliminating access to humanitarian supplies and vital daily needs allows DA crimes to become the potent killers they are designed to be. Perpetrators may outright deny vital daily needs or only allow the displaced to carry l­ imited materials with them on displacement columns, taking only what they can carry. Any possessions or vital daily needs could last only a few days at best, and considering that displacement is typically a prolonged experience, the elimination of humanitarianism is related to how DA crimes can become so

34 • Displacement Atrocity Crimes

potent. Without relief, populations ­will perish. The second elimination involves halting humanitarian relief efforts from the in-­group. For domestic populations, the pathways to DA crimes undermine the humanitarian impulse. ­There may in fact be isolated incidents of aid to out-­groups from in-­groups, but systematically ­there are widespread patterns of accepting vio­lence. Domestic populations are often some of the most vocal proponents of vio­lence due to regime propaganda—or propaganda from the populations themselves—­and anger over grievances and sociopo­liti­cal upheavals. Domestic populations stand to gain the most over atrocities, as they can engage in forms of slavery, ­human trafficking, looting, and appropriation of targets’ properties.30 In short, given the constructed hatreds and tangible gains, domestic populations have virtually no logical reason for halting crimes. When populations have no means of r­ esistance to forced displacement and no means to satisfy their vital daily needs, then it is pos­si­ble for perpetrators to commit DA crimes. If displacement is designed to expedite indirect killing pro­ cesses, then excluding targeted populations from humanitarian relief opportunities is central to establishing and maintaining destructive policies. Once humanitarianism is eliminated, ­there is nothing standing between targeted populations and atrocity. Making Displacement Atrocity Crimes Pos­si­ble. By eliminating r­esistance and humanitarianism, as well as socially disrupting targeted groups, perpetrators make the annihilatory displacement p­ rocess pos­si­ble. Without t­ hese steps, displacement could be much more difficult or impossible to implement. If groups can resist, they may be able to disrupt atrocity plans by denying perpetrators the bodies they intend to annihilate. If humanitarianism is available, the primarily indirect killing methods of DA crimes would be undermined, and while many would still perish, this number would be significantly lower and the difference would require more direct killing. If groups can ­organize themselves, ­resistance and humanitarianism may be easier to access and atrocity methods could be undermined through rallies and oppositional efforts. If ­these three powers of groups are stripped away by perpetrators, groups are significantly weaker and more susceptible to displacement operations.

Displacement Atrocity Crimes Direct Killing.* Despite indirect killing being the most impor­tant systematic method of atrocity perpetration in DA crimes, it is made pos­si­ble through direct killing and the threat of direct killing. Perpetrators only use direct killing as a secondary method of destruction, however. A ­ ctual and threatened direct killing compels targeted populations to move and keep moving during displacement operations. In this sense, direct killing is impor­tant for two reasons: as a form of vio­lence to initially uproot and displace, and as a form of vio­lence to sustain displacement.

Exposure • 35

In terms of uprooting populations from their homes and spaces of residence, direct vio­lence—­and the threat of direct vio­lence—is extremely potent in inducing displacement. This initial vio­lence of DA crimes is punctuated and only the required amounts of force are applied to forcibly uproot populations. Initial displacement operations require this vio­lence to dislodge targets from their homes or spaces they are familiar with in order to march them to their deaths. A small percentage of the target population is killed via direct methods, but this killing is enough of a threat to cause the remaining population to be bent to the ­will of the perpetrators. A second form of direct killing comes during sustained forced displacement and indirect killing operations. The selective and targeted use of direct killing imposes control over the displaced. Direct killing along displacement routes or areas creates a vicious choice for the displaced: be killed by trying to escape or continue forced marches to try to outlast displacement, famine, dehydration, exposure to harsh ele­ments, and exhaustion. This is an impossible choice but may help explain why so many displaced continue to march to their deaths. The best hope for survival, given power asymmetries, may be to continue the displacement. If the displaced stop, they are guaranteed annihilation. If they continue, they might be able to reach salvation. The ­limited use of direct killing as an example establishes the norm of perpetrator domination over targeted populations and is a central pillar from which indirect killing can be constructed. Forced Displacement.* Once targeted populations have been stripped of their power, often accomplished through abuses of the rule of law, perpetrators can displace them as they see fit, or as they pragmatically can through the movement of perpetrator forces and atrocity personnel. Forced displacement is one of the two most impor­tant variables in the DA crime theory (the other being indirect killing). Forced displacement can manifest in multiple ways. One classic form of displacement is escorted death marches. This is the most common way of thinking about deadly forced displacement, as perpetrators “escort” the displaced across long linear distances. The displaced are allowed ­little rest, and the threat of the use of direct force compels them to continue marching on the o­ rders of the perpetrators. The displaced are often marched hundreds of kilo­meters over the inhospitable terrains of the geography the ­political entity has hegemony over. ­These long linear distances are often designed to exhaust and expose the displaced to extreme geo­graph­i­cal, climatological, and meteorological variances, which aid in the destruction of the displaced population in ­whole or in part. Conversely, forced displacement can also exploit large geographies that are inhospitable to life. In this use of forced displacement and geography, perpetrators ­kettle targeted populations, who are then pursued by perpetrator forces. Perpetrators do not necessarily escort the displaced, but they do force them to flee throughout inhospitable territories and do not allow them to escape from the zones of annihilation.

36 • Displacement Atrocity Crimes

Forced displacement is a sustained p­ rocess, not an event. Prolonged exposure to the ele­ments and exhaustion deriving from constant movement help annihilate targeted populations across space and time. Displacement is a key ele­ment of the killing systems in DA crimes, as it degrades bodies and accelerates indirect killing in combination with systematic deprivation of vital daily needs. Displacement can last for days, weeks, or even months and years. In short: forced displacement is an absolutely necessary variable for DA crimes. However, it is also insufficient ­because targeted populations must be deprived of vital daily needs to concoct systems of indirect killing. Th ­ ese populations are not being moved for purposes of a transfer to a stationary killing fa­cil­i­ty or to only homogenize a region—­they are being displaced to annihilate them in ­whole or in part. Indirect Killing.* Coinciding with forced displacement is the use of indirect killing methods. Indirect killing requires the deprivation of vital daily needs from individuals in targeted groups. Vital daily needs provide the necessities of life, and without them the ­human body degrades rapidly. Without sustenance, the body is denied energy to burn and ­will eventually destroy itself. Without rest, the body cannot repair. Without protection, the body is exposed to harsh weather conditions. Without medicine, particularly for t­ hose who rely on it to survive, the body cannot continue to live. Perpetrators know this and exploit ­human fragilities to destroy populations. Forced displacement shortens this time frame considerably, as it increases the amount of exertion the body is forced to undertake. Perpetrators of DA crimes capitalize on this fragility and deprive the targeted population during displacement, drastically shortening survival time frames. A common method of expediting indirect killing is the contamination or denial of w ­ ater sources, to deprive the displaced of this vital resource for survival. This can include the poisoning of wells, forcing targeted populations to drink tainted w ­ ater, or simply refusing the displaced any liquids. The systematic denial of ­water to the displaced is an extremely potent killing tactic, as the deprivation of ­water ­will cause fatal shutdowns in key organs; consumption of tainted ­water has comparable results. Both destroy bodies rapidly, especially when combined with displacement, as movement requires increased consumption of ­water—­without it, ­people die quickly. Deprivation of food has similar effects and cause extreme degradation of bodies rapidly. Without food, the body begins to consume fat and muscle, and soon the body is forced to consume itself to gain some form of energy. Once starvation sets in, the displaced do not have long to live. The withholding of clothing and shelter are also central to many deprivation schemes. Without proper clothing and shelter, bodies are exposed to extreme variances in geography, climate, and weather patterns. Through this exposure, bodies are intentionally degraded further, making surviving displacement almost impossible for many to achieve. Clothing and shelter keep ­humans safe from harsh ele­ments, but perpetrators of DA crimes intentionally strip t­ hese ­things

Exposure • 37

away to reduce life to a baser, more violent level. Fi­nally, the intentional deprivation of medical care ensures that any prob­lems that may arise during displacement ­will cause further harm. Displaced populations seeking medical care or respite are often denied such luxuries (and are sometimes killed on the spot due to the request). The displaced are forced to succumb to any life-­threatening injuries or medical issues due to a lack of medical respite and supplies. The same could be said of medical personnel who are often inundated with the ­dying and weak and cannot offer respite or solutions to prob­lems due to a denial of proper medical care and supplies. The extent to which the ­human body can be pushed in extreme scenarios of dehydration, starvation, exhaustion, and other similar ailments may never be known. To conduct such experiments would be to violate strong medical ethical princi­ples that developed primarily ­a fter the Nazi regime was defeated in 1945.31 What is known, though, is that forced displacement exacerbates pro­cesses of bodily decline due to extreme exertion. This in turn accelerates bodily degradation, as the constant requirement for movement coupled with the lack of food means that victims’ bodies deteriorate in less time. Collectively, ­these deprivations cause mass killing of a group in ­whole or in part. Indirect killing forms the second backbone of DA crimes. Without indirect killing methods being employed, forced displacement would inflict a dif­fer­ent form of vio­lence on groups alone (devoid of mass killing operations). However, ­because systematic deprivation of vital daily needs are imposed against targeted populations, forced displacement becomes an accelerant to systems of indirect killing. Not only are bodies degraded to the point of death and malfunction using indirect killing methods, but the p­ rocess is accelerated b­ ecause of the constant movement DA crimes entail. Cultural Destruction.** Cultural destruction is the only variable in the DA crime typology that is not necessary for perpetration, yet it is necessarily an outcome of annihilatory practices. When populations are uprooted from their homes, they lose not only their h ­ ouse structures but also the meanings of space and community, which are geo­graph­i­cally rooted to an area.32 ­These central pillars of life (i.e., home and community) deeply affect understandings of culture. At the very least, the erasure or severing of connections individuals have with their communities ultimately divorces some cultural systems; at worst, it destroys cultural systems.33 Beyond the loss of space and place, the loss of members of a group erases h ­ uman communities and continuities among p­ eoples, forcing the existence of individuals and their culture into memory (and this memory is often at least attempted to be erased by perpetrators).34 Lemkin was correct in asserting the fact that losing one ­human community deprives all h ­ umans of part of our collective histories and identities. Culture is destroyed not only through the annihilation of sizable portions of a collectivity but also through the extermination of cultural and p­ olitical elites (who are identity knowledge-­keepers).35

38 • Displacement Atrocity Crimes

Killing enough members of a group destroys impor­tant segments of the group’s culture. Second, the early pro­cesses of DA crimes incorporate ele­ments of domicide and destruction of the home community (home structures and the broader home community) where targeted populations resided. Places of religious, social, economic, cultural, or p­ olitical gathering are always destroyed, as are homes that are destroyed, assimilated (for dif­fer­ent uses by perpetrators), or intentionally left vacant and in disrepair. Th ­ ese places of high culture and everyday culture are impor­tant to individuals and groups, and through the pro­cesses of displacement and annihilation they are forcefully detached from the targeted populations and destroyed, residing only in their memories of lost homes.36 While t­ hese outcomes may not be intended at the start of atrocities, they are certainly outcomes of DA crimes, which have profound effects on destroying what it means to be a member of a group—­ontological destruction.37

Part 2

German South-­West Africa

3

Trepidation Colonized Namibia and Violent Horizons (1652–1904) The Herero genocide (1904–1908) in Deutsch-­Südwestafrika (German South-­ West Africa—­GSWA) was a notorious crime of imperial Germany. The story of colonialism, complex power-­sharing agreements, negations of African power, a revolt, and the decision to commit genocide are discussed h ­ ere through the DA crime lens.1 The Herero genocide should be viewed as a contingent response to the Herero revolt by the highest echelons of German leadership. While General Adrian Dietrich Lothar von Trotha gave the order, German ­political and military cultures made genocide pos­si­ble, permissible, and, at the very least, tacitly approved.

Geography Namibia is a land of extreme diversity and scarce resources, residing in the subtropical high-­pressure b­ elt. It has a total area of 824,292 square kilo­meters—­much of which incorporates large swaths of the Namib and Kalahari Deserts.2 The Namib Desert is an elongated geo­graph­i­cal feature along the Atlantic coastline, spanning 1,900 kilo­meters on the north–­south axis and 160 kilo­meters on the east–­west axis (about 81,000 km2).3 The Kalahari Desert—­the place where the Herero ­were primarily annihilated—­measures 1,600 kilo­meters on the north–­south axis and 960 kilo­meters on the east–­west axis (about 930,000 km2) 41

42 • German South-­West Africa

further inland ­toward South Africa and Botswana, spanning from Grootfontein to Windhoek to Keetmanshoop to lands eastward.4 In Nama, Namib translates as “vast place”; and in Tswana, Kalahari is derived from Kgala, which translates as “the g­ reat thirst.”5 Both are generally featureless arid climates with extremely l­ittle rainfall.6 The Kalahari is noted for its red sand, which covers vast swaths of the African subcontinent. Both deserts have under­ground rivers and lakes that store ­water, which can be accessed through pump systems. In the Namib, ­these rivers drain into the Atlantic Ocean, while the Kalahari is home to some of the largest under­ground ­water reserves in the world.7 This lack of surface w ­ ater and prevalence of under­ground ­water would play central roles in German genocide perpetration. The Namib Desert is temperate, ranging between 7 and 33 degrees Celsius.8 Similarly, the Kalahari’s temperatures can reach over 40 degrees Celsius and drop to approximately 2.5 degrees Celsius.9 Namibia has a long history of ­human settlement, and elaborate cave art from two thousand years ago is stunningly preserved.10 ­Cattle ­were first introduced to Namibia through trade with Bantu-­speaking p­ eoples approximately two thousand years ago, and ­cattle owner­ship systematically spread throughout Namibia approximately one thousand years ago, even in the Namib Desert, where wealthy ­cattle ­owners established dispersed and thriving socie­ties.11 The DA crimes perpetrated against the Herero exploited the violent possibilities of this climate. The Herero took flight into the desert ­after a disaster at the B ­ attle of Waterberg (11 August 1904), and the pursuing Germans intentionally forced the Herero to wander the Kalahari.12 This indirect killing campaign was made pos­si­ble by the size and inhospitableness of the Kalahari, systematic deprivation of vital daily needs, and constant movement. German troops denied the Herero access to watering holes, food sources, medical supplies, clothing, shelter, and escape from the desert—­making the inhospitableness of the Kalahari more pronounced.13 To ensure that the Herero could not escape the vast distances of the waterless Kalahari, the Germans used kettling tactics, such as outmaneuvering fleeing Herero around the border regions, forcing them to remain in vast spaces of annihilation. ­These kettling tactics caused the Herero to undergo extreme exposure to the desert, resulting in mass death. Most of the Herero killed during the genocide ­were annihilated within the first weeks of the displacement into the Kalahari. The geography of Namibia, therefore, was perfectly conducive to perpetrating DA crimes.

Structural Opportunities for Displacement Atrocity Crimes The ­causes of DA crimes follow a twisted road of colonialism and contingency. Germany’s initial reluctance about overseas colonies gave way to an aggressive Weltpolitik foreign policy in which Africans ­were constructed as ­peoples who ­were “lesser than” white E ­ uropeans. Despite years of power sharing in GSWA

Trepidation • 43

between Germans and Herero Paramount Chief Samuel Maharero, the two groups came to blows over predictable colonial issues: land and resources.

Group Difference Construction: Africans and Settlers The Dutch initially landed in southern Africa in 1652, establishing the Cape Colony (­later South Africa). Boers with their Khoekhoe and San servants crossed into Namaqualand, initiating a long checkered history of intergroup trading and ­cattle raiding (Oorlam groups).14 Namibia was home to approximately 90,000–100,000 Ovambo, 70,000–85,000 Herero, 30,000 Damara, 15,000– 20,000 Nama, 3,000 San, 1,500 Basters, and 150 whites (excluding Boers).15 The Ovaherero (­people of yesterday) arrived in the north in the seventeenth ­century as part of a Bantu migration, practicing c­ attle farming and intergroup trading from the Cape Colony to Angola.16 The Herero lived in the Namibian highlands, nestled between the Kalahari and Namib Deserts.17 While intense conflicts (1820s–1840s) with the Oorlam initially eroded Herero power, Maharero Tjamuaha of Okahandja (ca. 1820–1890) broke with his former Oorlam ally, Jonker Afrikaner, and resisted raids against the Herero with the help of German influence and weapons.18 Afrikaner power was eroded and the Herero became the most power­ful group in Namibia, dominating trade routes.19 Africans and Settlers. However, at the heart of E ­ uropean colonialism in Africa was a virulent racism. Racism did not cause the DA crimes directly, but it did provide a cognitive canvas onto which the crises, cumulative sociopo­liti­cal prob­lems, and vari­ous forms of governance and identity w ­ ere painted. Racism manifested as a nexus of religious-­racial justifications for domination and constructed “scientific” differences. For Captain Maximilian Bayer, Germany’s role in GSWA was ordained: Our Lord has made the laws of nature so that only the strong have a right to continue to exist in the world, and so that the weak and purposeless w ­ ill perish in f­ avor of the strong. This ­process is played out in a variety of ways, like, for example, the end of the American Indians, ­because they w ­ ere without purpose in the continued development of a world that is striving t­ owards a higher level of civilization; in the same way the day w ­ ill come when the Hottentot [Nama] ­will perish, [it ­will] not [be] any loss for humanity ­because they are ­after all only born thieves and robbers, nothing more.20

The right to rule over “uncivilized” populations was inherent in the colonial proj­ ect.21 The stereotyping of Namibians also incorporated ele­ments of scientific racism. German phrenologists shifted attention away from criminals and ­toward Africans to study their skulls and determine that Africans w ­ ere of lesser intellect and capability (in the a priori sense of racist scientific discovery). Deputy

44 • German South-­West Africa

director of the Berlin Museum of Ethnography, Professor Felix von Luschan, a main proponent of phrenology, shifted phrenology from studying “criminality” to studying “race criminality.”22 When p­ eople of all dif­fer­ent races of the German Empire ­were brought to Berlin for the German Colonial Exhibition, von Luschan met the Herero and the Nama and was intellectually confused, if not agitated. He believed that the nicely dressed and well-­mannered members of ­these two ­peoples w ­ ere exceptions to the rule, stating, “I doubt that all Hereros make such a thoroughly distinguished impression and have such a gentleman-­ like appearance as ­those we have seen ­here in Treptow.”23 The Herero and the Nama refused to take part in experiments or cultural ­performances, and only begrudgingly agreed to have their pictures taken beside an “African village” exhibit.24 ­These experiences ­were emblematic of the widespread cartoonish depictions of Africans in German lit­er­a­ture, media, and speech: blackface and Blackness ­were constructed as existential threats to Germanness (particularly amid the backdrop of warfare and revolt) and “lesser than” Germanness.25 German settlers often referred to Africans as baboons and treated them worse than animals. When Matthias Erzberger (a centrist in the Reichstag) argued that Africans had the same souls as white E ­ uropeans, he was booed and laughed at.26 Matter-­of-­ fact judgments about intellect, capabilities, and social standing based on skin color and racial purity ­were valued among German colonial authorities.27 Some in the missionary socie­ties in GSWA and settlers in general despised mixed-­race relationships and viewed them as “immoral,” “a slap in the face for German pride,” “a sin against racial awareness,” and deemed the offspring of mixed-­race relationships “a disaster for our colony.”28 In operationalizing this racism, settlers ­were almost never subjected to African law, but Africans ­were always subjected to German law in GSWA.29 For Jürgen Zimmerer, “German convictions about the superiority of their own culture and administrative traditions gave them the feeling that, in setting up a modern state, they ­were working according to the laws of history. This led them to extend this administration over the indigenous population with no concern for the consequences entailed for the Africans. And in a society based on racist privilege, the social hierarchy that fixed the roles of master and servant in law was supposed to be established for the long term.”30 Racism provided reasons to harbor antipathies and hatred ­toward Africans, who w ­ ere constructed as unworthy of dignified life. Racism provided justifications to view Africans as subhumans to be dealt with brutally. ­Later, General Lothar von Trotha argued that “no war may be conducted humanely against nonhumans.”31 The combined effects of colonial racism and settler colonialism in GSWA created fertile soil for p­ olitical vio­lence to take root.

Asymmetric Power Distribution: Weltpolitik German colonialism in GSWA took three forms: initial reluctance, power consolidation, and genocide. German merchant Adolf Lüderitz purchased a small

Trepidation • 45

tract of land at Angra Pequena (what colonial Portuguese explorers called the “small cove”) in 1882 from Oorlam’s Captain Josef Fredericks II for one hundred pounds and two hundred ­rifles and purchased more land in August  1882 between the Orange River and Angra Pequena.32 However, it was only when the British secretary of state for the colonies, Lord Derby, ordered the Cape Colony to take possession of the South-­West African coastline did German chancellor Otto von Bismarck declare protection areas (Schutzgebiete). On 7  August  1884, the flag of imperial Germany was raised in Lüderitzbucht at Angra Pequena, officially making GSWA a colony.33 In 1885, Reichskommissar Heinrich Göring (­father of National Socialist Hermann Göring) and two colleagues arrived in GSWA to officially establish German administration of the new colony, centered around port cities.34 The first colonial government had neither the capability (with only twenty-­four total troops) nor the desire to proj­ect state power inland.35 Even in the late 1890s, when African power was at its lowest, the Germans remained hesitant to provoke conflict due to the vast distances, supply issues, and fears of imperial German forces being defeated.36 The shift in foreign policy marked a break with Bismarck’s defensive Realpolitik, which was skeptical of overseas colonies.37 Weltpolitik was an aggressive foreign policy that set ideational structures for genocide in GSWA and called for aggressive p­ olitical reactions and fervent nationalism in the German mission as a colonial power.38 Weltpolitik dictated Germany should compete for colonies in order to secure Lebensraum—­a term coined by geographer Friedrich Ratzel (1844–1904)—­which linked “racial conflict, agriculture, and territorial expansion” together.39 Proponents of Weltpolitik called for a dual-­purpose “new Germany” in GSWA. It was to provide “land for settlement, c­ attle for export, gold and diamonds for mining, and Africans to work for long hours for l­ ittle or no money.”40 It also provided a “safety valve for the state,” which could absorb excess products not sold in Germany, maintaining socioeconomic stability for imperial Germany.41 As a geography of settler colonialism, GSWA was advertised as an escape “from the anx­i­eties and dislocations resulting from industrialization and the dissatisfaction over the ‘incompleteness’ of German unification.”42 Through Weltpolitik and Lebensraum, Germany created “GSWA as an attractive place for settlement.”43 With this goal in mind, the German government invested comparatively heavi­ly in GSWA: 278 million marks to GSWA, 122 million marks to Deutsch-­Ostafrika (German East Africa), 3.5 million marks to Togo, 174 million marks to Kiaochow, and 1.5 million marks to Samoa.44 Even more striking: of the 6,641 German troops stationed in the colonies, 2,760 w ­ ere stationed in GSWA (1,954 German soldiers). GSWA was to be the crown jewel of all German colonial holdings and had to be held at all costs; the stage for conflict was forming.45 Vio­lence became a self-­fulfilling prophecy: if Africans challenged German rule, they had to be totally crushed due to the importance of national identity and the pride that was woven into colonialism.46

46 • German South-­West Africa

The arrival of Theodor Leutwein as provincial administrator (Landshauptmann) in 1893 was a watershed moment of German power consolidation. ­Leutwein employed a decentralized colonial model in GSWA, with power centers located in Windhoek, Otjimbingwe, and Keetmanshoop rather than a single port power center (likely Walvis Bay or Lüderitz). From ­these locations, Leutwein negotiated complex relationships with Namibians. For their part, the Africans ­were not “passive victims of colonial politics. . . . ​It was more a case of tactically forged alliances on all sides,” particularly by Samuel Maharero.47 Previous arrays of African politics created negotiation difficulties for the Germans to purchase land and ­cattle for settlers. In response, Leutwein selected the Herero as main governing partners, and the relationship between Maharero and Leutwein meant that the Germans gained colonial advantages using Herero power (­political and socioeconomic) to dominate Namibia.48 Past revolts or threats to balances of power in GSWA by the Hottentots, the Nama, Basters, and ­others ­were defeated using a Leutwein playbook: the combined forces of the Maharero Herero, the Witbooi Nama, and the Germans quickly defeated challengers, and peace treaties stabilized politics. Leutwein desired single power­ful representatives from dif­ fer­ent African groups and accomplished this by allowing representatives to keep their titles with full allegiance to the Germans.49 While the Herero did not initially recognize Samuel Maharero as paramount chief, German soldiers and the collaborating Herero secured his position.50 Leutwein was rewarded with African troops and more settlers to fight his wars with other African groups. Leutwein created complex power dynamics in which German authority was enforced using African power and politics to fight for Germany. Though all Africans w ­ ere subject to German colonial laws, they w ­ ere not always enforced on the Herero and the Nama so that Leutwein could curry ­favor with Maharero and Hendrik Witbooi.51 In less than a year of being in GSWA, ­Leutwein stabilized the p­ olitical situation through his judicious power arrangements.52 Leutwein was given a promotion in military rank and a change in title to governor.53 The power-­sharing system Leutwein created was unique and poorly received by some in Germany ­because of the perceived racial hierarchy involved with European-­African relations.54 Rather than work with African groups, some state officials wanted a final solution. The German commissioner for settlement, Dr. Paul Rohrbach, wrote in Der Deutsche Gedanke in der Welt: It is not right e­ ither among nations or among individuals that ­people who can create nothing should have a claim to preservation. No false philanthropy or race-­theory can prove to reasonable ­people that the preservation of any tribe of nomadic South African Kaffirs . . . ​is more impor­tant for the ­future of mankind than the expansion of the ­great ­European nations, or the white race as a ­whole. Should the German ­people renounce the chance of growing stronger and of securing elbow room for their sons and ­daughters, b­ ecause . . . ​some tribe of Negroes . . . ​has lived its useless existence on a strip of land where ten

Trepidation • 47

thousand German families may have a flourishing existence and thus strengthen the very sap of our p­ eople?55

What Rohrbach failed to see was that Leutwein’s power sharing was based on the co-­optation of African power and politics to divide and conquer, not equality. ­Later in 1903, the Maharero-­Leutwein connection soured at a time when African power was completely subsumed ­under German power, and German colonialism took a violent turn. The breakdown in normalized colonial politics between settlers and Africans saw the departure of Leutwein from power and the entrance (1904) of a military man well-­versed in suppressing revolts: General von Trotha, who instituted hard-­line politics in GSWA, scrapping the comparatively friendly version of colonialism that Leutwein had espoused. Sent by the kaiser himself to suppress the Herero revolt, the general and his Schutztruppe, with its artillery and machine guns, drastically changed the power dynamics in GSWA and enforced a hard-­line racism. At no time did von Trotha truly consider cooperation with African groups, instead opting for genocide as a final solution to Herero revolts.56 Weltpolitik imbued colonizers and their institutions with inflated senses of national and racial pride. Coupled with years of African power degeneration, t­ hese two pro­cesses had genocidal consequences.

Intergroup Grievances: Land Seizures and ­Cattle Farming ­There ­were a series of linked developments that brought the German and Herero ­peoples closer to the possibility of vio­lence. Beyond belonging to asymmetrically powered ­political communities, ­there ­were two critical pro­cesses of colonialism that made Herero revolts and German genocidal practices pos­si­ble: land seizures and ­cattle farming. Land Seizures. ­There ­were four main tactics the Germans used for gaining land: purchases, protection treaties, theft, and bureaucratic/military style controls.57 ­A fter twenty years of colonization, land owner­ship by African groups in 1903 had suffered (see t­ able 3.1). Wolfgang Werner estimated only 38 ­percent of Namibia’s lands (31.4 of 83.5 million hectares) remained in African hands by 1902. He further noted: “white settlers had acquired 3.7 million hectares, concession companies 29.2 million hectares and the colonial administration 19.2 million hectares.”58 André Du Pisani estimated African land distribution and owner­ship by 1903 (­table 3.1). The two estimations are dif­fer­ent (Wener at 31.4 million hectares and Du Pisani at 33.6) and the real figures may never be known. What is particularly impor­tant is the overall picture that emerges: ­immense German colonial activity against the Hereros immediately before the revolt and ­later genocide. The Owambo ­were not immediate targets for German settlement due to the arid climate of the north and the lack of natu­ral resources. The Nama (pacified through power sharing) in the south lived on lands perceived as poor by the

48 • German South-­West Africa

­Table 3.1

Land Distribution among Africans in GSWA in 1903 Group

Herero Owambo Nama Rehoboth Basters

Hectares (in millions)

10 10 11.4a 2.2

SOURCE: André Du Pisani, SWA/Namibia: The Politics

of Continuity and Change (Johannesburg: Jonathan Ball, 1985), 26. a This figure combines the Bondelswartz, Bethanie, Witboois, Veldschoendragers, Berseba Hottentots, Simon Kooper, Red Nation, and Zwartboois’ land holdings.

Germans. The Herero, though, ­were situated on desirable lands for agriculture and ­cattle farming—­prime targets for colonial activities. German land purchase practices ­were dubious, as an episode from 1883 illustrates. The purchase was ­measured in miles—­the chief assumed the ­measurement was in ­English miles, but the Germans duplicitously calculated German miles (7.4 km vs. 1.5 km) without explaining the difference. The “legitimate” bill of sale overrode any post hoc protestations.59 The Germans also used alcohol to disorient negotiating partners so that they did not properly understand what they w ­ ere d­ oing.60 Additionally, by 1892 the Germans had constructed a complex land settlement cartel whereby they would offer protection for land purchased (the Herero believed they w ­ ere custodians of the land and chiefs w ­ ere not authorized to sell land in perpetuity, but the Germans viewed land sales as final) and then ultimately take control of seized lands.61 However, many Namibians did not understand that the land was actually being sold, an idea confirmed by Samuel Kutako (Herero): The next reason for our rebellion was the appropriation of Herero lands by the traders, who took the ground for their farms and claimed it as their private property. They used to shoot our dogs if they trespassed on ­these lands, and they confiscated any of our c­ attle which might stray t­ here. If holy c­ attle trespassed we ­were allowed to get them back, if we paid three to four ordinary ­cattle in exchange for one holy one. U ­ nder the Herero law the ground belonged to the tribe in common and not even the chief could sell or dispose of it. He could give p­ eople permission to live on the land, but no sales ­were valid and no chief ever attempted to sell his p­ eople’s land. Even the missionaries who settled amongst us, only got permission to live t­ here. . . . ​Land was never sold to Germans or anyone e­ lse. We did not have any idea of such a ­thing.62

Trepidation • 49

German colonial authorities conquered Namibia between 1894 and 1897 through the manipulation of Maharero. Once he had the Herero ­under his control, Leutwein attacked the Khauas (at Gobabis), Fransman (at Gochas), and other smaller groups, executing leaders and stealing land and c­ attle ­after the cessation of hostilities. The Nama took issue with this but w ­ ere defeated in a low-­casualty nine-­ day war (27 August to 5 September 1894).63 Leutwein effectively controlled Namibian politics by offering “protection” to Africans who signed treaties. This protection racket was nothing more than control and creeping colonialism. The number of German-­owned farms increased from 338 in 1904 to 1,331 in 1913.64 Despite this, Maharero continued to sell land. In 1895 and 1896, Maharero and Leutwein—­armed with Herero soldiers, German laws, guns, and money—­ throughout Hereroland delivering l­egal judgments, concluding land treaties, and creating new colonial borders in f­ avor of the Germans. Maharero enthusiastically collaborated with Leutwein to enforce treaties in order to keep his privileged power position among the Herero.65 By March  1896, Maharero and the Germans had extended their reach across Hereroland and had pacified the area through coercion, disarmament, and vio­lence. Leutwein’s efforts to expand colonial control by presiding over asymmetrically powered Africans ­were succeeding.66 Once African r­ esistance was dismantled and African power structures w ­ ere channeled through colonial governance, Leutwein’s path to seizing land was clear. The protection treaties often included provisions limiting African territories and provisions stating that if any African-­owned ­cattle crossed into settler lands, African lands and c­ attle could be confiscated as punishment.67 The Herero and the Germans ruled GSWA together from 1894 to 1904, and in ­those ten years, the Herero continually acquiesced to demands to shrink their territories and act as loyal enforcers of German colonial laws to the benefit of Maharero and Leutwein, who collaborated to defeat ­resistance to ­either’s power. C ­ attle Farming. Owning c­ attle was a sign of status and wealth in Namibia. C ­ attle not only provided milk products, beef, and clothing but ­were also used as a form of currency, commodity, and transport in Namibia’s extensive precolonial trade networks. Herero traditional headdresses ­were even designed to appear like ­cattle horns.68 However, the settler fixation on ­cattle farming disrupted t­ hese practices. Between 1896 and 1897, Germans seized approximately twelve thousand ­cattle from the Herero during l­ egal disputes and low-­intensity conflicts amid the backdrop of protection treaties.69 To expedite ­cattle seizures, the Germans redrew territorial bound­aries and placed w ­ ater holes on German properties, meaning that the Herero had to “trespass” to get ­water and in turn lost their ­cattle.70 In addition, c­ attle w ­ ere used as leverage for predatory loans the Herero used to purchase manufactured goods and supplies.71 Germans recalled ­these loans quickly to prevent the Herero from gathering the necessary funds, thereby defaulting and allowing the Germans to take owner­ship of the leveraged c­ attle. Purchase, ­legal

50 • German South-­West Africa

exploitation, and loan-­sharking played a key role in reducing the Herero ­cattle population from well over 100,000 in the 1890s to 46,000 in 1902.72 The conflict, then, revolved around which group had the right to farm c­ attle in Namibia. The Herero position was clear: they had been the dominant inhabitants of the land for approximately 450 years and had the right to raise ­cattle. The German position was equally as clear: GSWA was to be a lynchpin for Weltpolitik. The prospect of ­cattle farming for Germans meant expansion; for the Herero, it was a zero-­sum game where German expansion meant Herero decline. What was once a profitable economic activity with deep sociocultural meaning for the Herero became an industry designed to be a central pillar of German activity in GSWA. Setting the Stage for Vio­lence. Through the purchase, acquisition, and confiscation of land and c­ attle, German settlers w ­ ere able to gradually take control of the key industries and ways of life in Namibia. However, African ­resistance was blunted due to the close ruling relationships among Maharero, Witbooi, and Leutwein.73 ­These pro­cesses ­were structures for discontent and groundwork for revolt, but not the triggers. Th ­ ose came soon.

Sociopo­liti­cal Upheavals: Rinderpest and Railroads, Loans, and Reserves Ovambanderu Herero Chief Kahimemua Nguvauva was sentenced to death by the Germans for his role in o­ rganizing uprisings against colonial authorities. Before he was executed on 11 June 1896, he placed a curse on GSWA: “When my knee dislocates the men with whom I have eaten the blood of sheep are all ­going to die. When my hair comes off my head t­ here w ­ ill be a rinderpest epizootic (Omutjise uo Pesa) and ­those cows that I have milked are ­going to die. When my pancreas falls off and bursts I w ­ ill make friends fight.”74 His curse came true. The rinderpest outbreak drove an insurmountable wedge between the Herero and the Germans, who u­ ntil then had co-­governed GSWA. That wedge led to the revolt of the Herero against the Germans, fulfilling the second part of the curse. Rinderpest and Railroads. A rinderpest outbreak in 1895 and 1896 decimated Herero ­cattle stocks and forced the Herero to become completely dependent on the Germans, debilitating Herero society and intensifying colonial cleavages.75 With the ­cattle industry destroyed, the Herero had to work as subsistence laborers on German farms or attempt agriculture on scant remaining water-­accessible lands, which often flooded.76 Many w ­ omen worked in German homes, and many men worked to construct German forts.77 Herero leaders could no longer fulfill their promises of protection, as the Germans offered ­little relief. This si­mul­ta­neously weakened Herero positions and strengthened ­those of the Germans. The Germans capitalized on rinderpest and disaffected Herero in four impor­tant ways. First, the Germans sowed seeds of discontentment among the

Trepidation • 51

Herero by supporting Maharero’s ­cattle raids and use of soldiers/weapons against other Herero he considered disloyal to him, particularly Tjetjo Kandji. The intragroup raids created divisions just at the time when the Herero should have come together to stave off disaster. Second, Herero l­ abor for Germans was sanctioned through contracts, but ­these agreements led to widespread abuse in homes and in businesses.78 Third, as rinderpest decimated ­cattle stocks (between 66 and 95 ­percent losses within six months) and t­ here ­were few oxen to transport goods and ­people.79 In response, German colonial authorities began to construct rail lines. Between 1895 and 1908, approximately 1,561 kilo­meters of railroad track ­were laid in GSWA. Lines from Swakopmund to Windhoek (1897 and 1902) and from Swakopmund to Tsumeb, Otavi, and Gootfontein (1903 and 1908) w ­ ere constructed. On the Swakopmund–­Windhoek line, African laborers ­were paid less than German laborers, or not paid at all, and continually strug­gled with foremen on workers’ rights.80 The Otavi railroad cut directly through Hereroland, unlike the Swakopmund–­Windhoek line, which skirted Hereroland’s bound­aries and was sold in blocks of land (10 km x 20 km) that gave it extraordinary land holdings in Hereroland, including control over almost all w ­ ater resources.81 Herero power was in rapid decline at the exact moment German power was expanding. A ­ fter rinderpest and the construction of the rail lines, Germans had the perfect tool to proj­ect state power across vast distances: the railroad. This had devastating consequences during the genocide. The fourth and most destabilizing shift was predatory loan-­sharking. Predatory Loans. Many Herero turned to private loans from German settlers as a stopgap m ­ easure to meet their daily needs. However, loan-­sharking and impossible interest rates systematically destabilized the Herero beyond recovery. In a shortsighted attempt at a solution, Leutwein signed an ordinance (23 July 1903) that erased all loans to Africans with no compensation package.82 German lenders w ­ ere upset, as they would lose all loans by 1 November 1903.83 The results w ­ ere predictable. Lenders recuperated enlisted colonial authorities and soldiers to reclaim collateral (money, ­cattle, land, and private property) as fast as pos­si­ble. Often, settlers extracted more value than was loaned to “cover any f­uture claims.”84 Despite the dubious virtuosity of Leutwein, the violent reclamation of loans caused serious socioeconomic dismay for the Herero. Proposed Herero Reserves. By December 1903, the possibility of Herero revolt was widespread and created panic throughout the settler communities. The blatant disregard for Herero rights and imposition of the settler colonial state was disruptive enough, but proposed Herero reserves provided the spark for revolt. The Herero had lost 3.5 million hectares of land, and the proposed reserves sought to limit their lands even further.85 The unilateral proposal (communicated on 8 December 1903) to create reserves was met with hostility by the Herero, who ­were not consulted. The Herero accurately interpreted the new legislation as the

52 • German South-­West Africa

most debilitating encroachment on their Namibia.86 Settlers saw an opportunity for expansion of the colonial state at the expense of the weakened Herero, and the proposed reserves made conflict unavoidable.87 Leutwein even ­later recognized this point and believed the Herero should not be annihilated but thrown into slave l­abor conditions.88 He stated, “I do not concur with t­ hose fanatics who want to see the Herero destroyed altogether. Apart from the fact that a p­ eople of 60,000 or 70,000 is not so easy to annihilate, I would consider such a move a grave ­mistake from an economic point of view. We need the Herero as ­cattle breeders, though on a small scale, and especially as laborers. It w ­ ill be quite sufficient if they are po­liti­cally dead.”89 By 1903, the Germans had already stolen land and ­cattle from the Herero, and the reserves ­were a key ele­ment of finishing the p­ rocess of colonial procurement. The reserves would have created a segregated space for African ­peoples in poor geographies with ­little historical and cultural meaning, versus the prime lands given to settlers. It is then no surprise that in December 1903, the Herero revolted against the colonial power, with which they had governed GSWA for d­ ecades.

Pathways to Displacement Atrocity Crimes Jon M. Bridgman asks the most cutting question of all: Why did the Herero not revolt sooner?90 The immediate trigger for creating opportunities for genocide was the Herero revolt. Without this immediate threat to colonialism, the Germans may not have had obvious reasons to impose annihilatory systems. ­Leutwein’s power-­sharing system in GSWA effectively barred any vio­lence against the Herero and the Nama ­because they ­were key partners in complex ­political arrangements. However, when the Germans came for Herero lands and revolt occurred, ­there w ­ ere few restraining barriers in Germany’s response given the backdrops of racism, Weltpolitik, and power asymmetries in the colony. The longer-­term ­causes for genocidal opportunities lay in the German colonial system implemented in GSWA itself. The erosion of Herero systems and power made the Herero completely dependent on the Germans.91 At their weakest moments, a­ fter years of acquiescing to German demands to share power, the Germans stabbed the Herero in the back and turned on their former governing partner; this was a fait accompli. When Maharero recognized that the colonialism he had aided in constructing was to be the downfall of his ­people and their way of life, the Herero revolted for the last time.92

The Decision to Commit Displacement Atrocity Crimes: The Revolt of the Herero While dealing with a Bondelswart uprising in the south (1903), Leutwein received a letter from Maharero, who plainly stated that the Herero ­were revolting due to German repression of African identity and way of life.93 Leutwein was stunned.

Trepidation • 53

His typical strategy of fighting Africans to a stalemate followed by peace negotiations did not happen during the revolt of the Herero.94 The Herero could at most field an army of 7,000 to 8,000 men, of whom only 2,500 had ­rifles. The ­rifles varied from “muzzle-­loaders” to “ancient flintlocks.”95 Maharero needed allies and sent for the Witbooi Nama: To Witbooi Rather let us die together and not die as the result of ill-­treatment, prisons, or all the other ways. Furthermore let all the other chiefs down t­ here know so that they may rise and work. I close my letter with hearty greetings and the confidence that the chief w ­ ill comply with my wishes. Send me four of your men that we may discuss ­matters. Also obstruct the operations of the Governor so that he w ­ ill be unable to pass. And make haste that we may storm Windhuk [sic] then we ­shall have ammunition. Furthermore I am not fighting alone, we are all fighting together.96

Maharero closed his letter stating, “Let us die fighting.”97 The revolt was a hopeless endeavor from the beginning, but that does not mean it was an unworthy fight. Barmenias Zerua (son of Chief Zacharias Zerua of the Otjimbingwe) stated: “[The Chief] knew that if we r­ ose we would be crushed in b­ attle, as our ­people ­were nearly all unarmed and without ammunition. We ­were driven to desperation by the cruelty and injustice of the Germans, and our chiefs and ­people felt that death would be less terrible than the conditions u­ nder which we lived.”98 For Heinrich Tjaherani of the Omaruru, “When the Hereros ­rose I took the field with my p­ eople. We w ­ ere badly armed. Only about one man in ten had a r­ ifle and most of the r­ ifles ­were very old. Very few men had 15 to 20 cartridges. Some had ten, and I know of many who only had three or five.”99 The Germans had driven the Herero into a suicidal revolt. While it was customary to simply crush ­resistance, as had been done in other German colonies, the annihilation of Namibian ­resistance took a genocidal turn with the arrival of General von ­Trotha, fresh Schutztruppe, a violently discriminatory military culture, and ­orders from the kaiser himself.100 General von Trotha viewed Africans in the most racist of ways. He told Leutwein, “I know the tribes of Africa. . . . ​They are all alike. They only respond to force. It was and is my policy to use force with terrorism and even brutality (gruesomeness). I ­shall annihilate the African tribes with streams of blood and streams of gold.”101

The General’s Order General von Trotha’s extermination order (Vernichtungsbefehl) of 3 October 1904 is the most direct and damning evidence of genocidal intent in GSWA.102 It was issued ­after months of DA crime pro­cesses but summarizes the intent of ­those policies well. He wrote:

54 • German South-­West Africa

I, the ­great general of the German soldiers, send this letter to the Herero ­people. Herero are no longer German subjects. They have murdered, stolen, cut off the ears and noses and other body parts from wounded soldiers, and now out of cowardice refuse to fight. I say to the ­people; anyone delivering a captain to one of my stations as a prisoner w ­ ill receive one thousand marks; whoever brings in Samuel Maherero [sic] ­will receive five thousand marks. The Herero p­ eople must leave this land. If they do not, I w ­ ill force them to do so by using the ­great gun [artillery]. Within the German border ­every male Herero, armed or unarmed, with or without ­cattle, ­will be shot to death. I ­will no longer receive ­women or c­ hildren but drive them back to their ­people or have them shot at. ­These are my words to the Herero ­people.103

He further added: This proclamation is to be read to the troops at roll-­call, with the addition that the unit that catches a captain w ­ ill also receive the appropriate reward, and that shooting at w ­ omen and c­ hildren is to be understood as shooting above their heads, so as to force them to run. I assume absolutely that this proclamation w ­ ill result in taking no more male prisoners, but w ­ ill not degenerate into atrocities against w ­ omen and c­ hildren. The latter ­will run away if one shoots at them a c­ ouple of times. The troops ­will remain conscious of the good reputation of the German soldier.104

The order very clearly outlines the intent to kill e­very Herero the Germans encountered in their conquest.105 In one of von Trotha’s reports to Berlin, he wrote “that the making of terms with the Hereros was impossible, seeing that their chiefs had nearly all fled, or through their misdeeds during the rebellion had rendered themselves so liable that the German Government could not treat with them.”106 In addition to this, he regarded the ­acceptance of a more or less voluntary surrender as a pos­si­ble means of building up the old tribal ­organizations again, which he warned would be a g­ reat ­political m ­ istake, as it would again lead to bloodshed. ­These statements make clear that von Trotha had definitively de­cided that the Herero would not be allowed to surrender with dignity (or at all).107 He had de­cided to subdue any possibilities for ­future revolt by destroying the Herero. Further proof of intent is found in the lengths that von Trotha was willing to push his soldiers to in order to annihilate the Herero. By October 1904, General von Trotha’s troops ­were “suffering greatly from thirst, hunger, and illness” ­under the stifling conditions of the Omaheke.108 It was at this time at a spot few ­people knew of (Osombo zoWindimbe—­a ­water hole in the Omaheke at the Eiseb River) that von Trotha issued his extermination order. Immediately a­ fter, two of thirty-­five Herero prisoners ­were taken to makeshift gallows and executed by hanging in theatrical fashion.109 The majority of Herero had already been

Trepidation • 55

killed by then. The day ­after issuing his order, von Trotha cabled the German General Staff, stating, “My intimate knowledge of so many Central African tribes, Bantu and ­others, has made it abundantly clear to me that the Negroes ­will yield only to brute force, whereas negotiations are quite pointless. . . . ​They w ­ ill ­either meet their doom in the sandveld or try to cross into Bechuanaland.”110 In the same report, von Trotha reiterated his belief that the extermination of the Herero was merely a phase in a wider racial war in Africa, a conflict long predicted to be inevitable.111 Weltpolitik, Lebensraum, the Vernichtungsbefehl, and related ­orders and actions demonstrate a clear intent to commit genocidal DA crimes against the Herero. ­A fter the ­Battle of Waterberg, the Germans strategically retreated, formed a 250-­kilometer cordon around the desert (264,000 square kilo­meters), denied the Herero access to vital daily needs, and waited for mass death.112 Additional troops w ­ ere sent to Hereroland to conduct sweeps, kill, and incarcerate the Herero in concentration camps. The DA crime concept helps resolve a historical debate over the meaning of the Vernichtungsbefehl and von Trotha’s actions. General von Trotha transformed traditional German military practices of total destruction of an e­ nemy combatant force into absolute destruction of the entire ­enemy nation and took exclusive control of the revolt and colony (discussed in chapter 4).113 The same day the Vernichtungsbefehl was issued,114 Herero prisoners captured by von Trotha’s forces ­were given copies of the order and ­those convicted and sentenced to death via court-­martial w ­ ere hanged in front other ­others, who ­were subsequently driven into the veld.115 Reflecting on his decision-­making p­ rocess leading to the extermination order, von Trotha wrote in a letter: Now I have to ask myself how to end the war with the Hereros. The views of the Governor and also a few old Afrikaners (alte Afrikaner) on the one hand, and my views on the other, differ completely. The first wanted to negotiate for some time already and regard the Herero nation as necessary l­ abor material for the f­ uture development of the country. I believe that the nation as such should be annihilated, or, if this was not pos­si­ble by tactical ­measures, have to be expelled from the country by operative means and further detailed treatment. This ­will be pos­si­ble if the waterholes from Grootfontein to Gobabis are occupied. The constant movement of our troops w ­ ill enable us to find the small groups of the nation who have moved back westwards and destroy them gradually.116

General von Troth ­later opined: I find it most appropriate that the nation [Hereros] perishes instead of infecting our soldiers and diminishing their supplies of w ­ ater and food. Apart from that, mildness on my side would only be interpreted as weakness by the other side. They have to perish in the Sandveld or try to cross the Bechuanaland.117

56 • German South-­West Africa

The German policy of annihilation in GSWA did not rely solely on concentration camps or directly killing the Herero with bullets. Rather, ­these tools ­were used to drive the Herero further into the Omaheke Desert and destroy them gradually. The Germans successfully and alarmingly combined the annihilatory potentials of displacement and deprivation in 1904. The policy of shooting men and shooting over ­women was designed to force the Herero to escape somewhere. That “somewhere” was farther into the desert, where no resources could be found and where Herero bodies slowly degraded in the scorching sun and endless sands of an inhospitable climate.

Colonial Vio­lence and the Kaiser The genocidal DA crimes against the Herero mirror forms of vio­lence in other colonies. Floggings, lashings, and capital punishment w ­ ere common everywhere.118 Exceptionally, the Deutsch-­Ostafrika Maji Maji Rebellion (1905) incorporated genocidal starvation tactics. The G ­ reat Hunger (njaa) killed hundreds of thousands on the o­ rders of Gustav Adolf von Götzen who said, “Only hunger and want can bring about a final submission. Military actions alone ­will remain more or less a drop in the ocean.”119 German military culture regarding Africans was inherently racist and violent beyond legitimate military methods. Widespread vio­lence against combatants and noncombatants was common to suppress revolts. Relatedly, General von Trotha’s assertion that he could not rescind his o­ rders without express written permission from the kaiser begs the question: How much did Kaiser Wilhelm II know about the genocidal plans in GSWA, and did he order the plans in the first place? Writing to General Alfred von Schlieffen, von Trotha stated, “[The Herero] ­will try to regain possession of their old pastureland by force or by complete submission.”120 The German solution was to annihilate this possibility through the intentional destruction of the Herero group. Jeremy Sarkin provides a brilliant analy­sis of the kaiser’s role in genocide in GSWA, arguing that the kaiser’s penchant for violent outbursts; racist views of Africans; and advocation for murder, rape, and torture as weapons to suppress uprisings influenced his fixation on “revenge” against ­those he perceived as wronging Germany: the Herero.121 For example, in 1894 the kaiser ordered Leutwein to annihilate the Witbooi Nama if they did not surrender (Witbooi surrendered when Leutwein informed him of this order). The kaiser handpicked von Trotha to lead German troops in GSWA due to his famed brutality, which the kaiser ­wholeheartedly supported. It is reasonable to assume that the kaiser did have knowledge of the Vernichtungsbefehl and the genocidal policies, supported them, perhaps ordered them himself, and definitely approved of their implementation in GSWA. Messages from von Trotha to imperial chancellor Bernard von Bülow reveal a detailed information-­sharing regarding the genocide throughout German military, ­political, and bureaucratic circles. Additionally, personal communications between von Trotha and the kaiser demonstrate clear knowledge and ­acceptance

Trepidation • 57

of the vio­lence in GSWA.122 Knowledge of von Trotha’s order was not immediate, particularly for Leutwein, politicians in the Reichstag, and some in colonial leadership positions. Once the order was known, von Trotha attempted to downplay its significance and tried to cover his tracks in terms of genocide. However, even when the antiwar and rights-­espousing Social ­Democrats learned of the atrocities in the colonies, their initial fury in the Reichstag ultimately tapered into a ­silent condonation of it.123 In terms of command responsibility, the kaiser should have at least known of the genocide, and von Trotha acted as such.

Genocide as Extreme Colonial Policy in German South-­West Africa In a 1905 letter to Bülow, von Trotha noted, “Qui tacet, consentire videtur” (He who keeps s­ ilent seems to consent).124 German policies in GSWA should be understood as (1) genocidal and (2) approved of or at least known of by high ­German authorities. Genocide made institutional sense and aligned with German politics and thinking on race, land, national pride (arrogance), military culture, and victory. This made genocide in GSWA not only the personal policy of von Trotha but something that was culturally acceptable and official state policy. As a result, German soldiers carried out their ­orders dutifully and systematically drove the Herero farther into the Kalahari, with no possibility of escape. The genocidal kettling DA crimes in GSWA w ­ ere swift and ruthless.

4

Extermination Germany’s Genocide of the Herero (1904–1908) The DA crimes against the Herero ­were a p­ rocess of annihilation. The revolt of the Herero began in December 1903 and formalized in January 1904.1 The revolt climaxed on 11 August 1904 at Waterberg, and instead of peace talks, as was standard Leutwein practice, von Trotha ordered the annihilation of the Herero using direct methods.2 However, the Herero broke through the German encirclement and escaped into the Omaheke.3 Displacement quickly became a strategy of annihilation as the Herero w ­ ere forcibly contained in the Omaheke without vital daily needs.4 General von Trotha’s diary reads, “Feldherero, w ­ omen, and c­ hildren come in droves asking for ­water. I have given renewed o­ rders to drive them all back with force.”5 The Omaheke was cordoned off through a ring of German forces that confined the Herero to the desert and their deaths.6 Tens of thousands w ­ ere killed by deprivation in the Omaheke in just weeks among the sands.7 Once the extermination order was lifted on 12 December 1904, the Germans created concentration camps and slave ­labor systems, which finished the genocidal work the desert could not. From Waterberg, to farther into the Omaheke, to sites of attrition and massacre, the unfolding p­ rocess of annihilation against the Herero is a lethal example of a kettling DA crime.

58

Extermination • 59

Making Displacement Atrocity Crimes Pos­si­ble Elimination of Humanitarianism: Racism and Hysteria The Herero revolted to eliminate German influence in Namibia.8 The Germans, however, w ­ ere not g­ oing to let one of their most prized colonial possessions fall to (be liberated by) Africans.9 The fear of humiliation by Africans in a colonial setting was exacerbated by racism and hysteria in Germany.10 For David Olusoga and Casper W. Erichsen, “The racial contempt that both settlers and soldiers felt ­towards the Africans was compounded by their frustrations, impatience, and greed. The result was a wave of vio­lence and abuse. . . . ​Official reports of beatings, rapes, and murders committed in the years up to 1904 speak of a colony slipping out of control, in which isolated settlers and Schutztruppe officers w ­ ere able to act with almost complete impunity against ordinary Herero and Nama, and even members of the wealthy elite.”11 Sjambok (hippopotamus-­skin whips)—­ used in other German colonies—­were used with g­ reat frequency against Namibians. A ­simple leering gaze or a perceived slight was enough to warrant vicious punishment, and colonial racism infected all institutions.12 Reflective of general German attitudes, the Schutztruppe and district officers had reputations for using extreme ­measures ­toward Africans.13 For example, in mid-1903 Herero chief Zacharias Zeraua, his wife, their young baby, and their other ­children traveled by wagon from Omaruru to Karibib. Dietrich, a young German, asked to ­ride along with them, and Zeraua agreed, then fed him a fried sheep’s liver for dinner (a local delicacy). ­Later in the night, Zeraua was awakened by the sound of Dietrich’s revolver killing his wife. Dietrich was initially charged with manslaughter and found innocent; a ­later charge of murder led to a lenient sentence of three years’ confinement and early release so he could become a noncommissioned officer in GSWA.14 In instances of sexual vio­lence, it was not uncommon for an African female accuser to be charged with bearing false testimony against a German perpetrator and be sentenced to jail or whipping.15 The settler colonial apparatus denigrated the existence of Africans, so it is no surprise that settlers saw opportunity in the Herero revolt. Dr. Reinecke, writing in Deutsche Kolonialzeitung, believed that the captured Herero should be punitively sent to Samoa as slave laborers. A farmer named Eismann (in Deutsch-­ Ostafrika) wrote to imperial chancellor Prince Bülow to request between one thousand and two thousand Herero for ten years as slave laborers on his forty-­ thousand-­hectare plantation.16 Newspaper articles in both Germany and in GSWA propagandized Herero atrocities against settlers (which did not occur). This defamatory propaganda incited hysteria among Germans and justified vio­lence against the Herero. A missionary, J. Irle, attempted to dispel the propaganda, writing in Der Reichsbote: “Certain newspapers report that appalling atrocities have been perpetrated by the Herero, alleging that they have massacred the wives of settlers and also castrated a number of men. As far as the latter assertion is concerned, they have indeed done so in the case of whites who have

60 • German South-­West Africa

raped their womenfolk in the most brutal manner. . . . ​As for the reports about ­women who have allegedly been slaughtered and disemboweled, t­ hese have been shown to be fabrications.”17 His voice, however, was drowned out by a chorus of hate. Propaganda recast atrocities as necessary and legitimate. Some soldiers believed a hundred Herero should be executed for the death of a single German soldier and that the Herero should be encircled and “blown to bits by artillery fire.”18 The German Imperial Colonial Office actively participated in the violent misinformation campaign, as “words like ‘make a clean sweep, hang them, shoot them to the last man, give no quarter’ ” spread like wildfire.19 The polarizing statements, articles, directorates, and beliefs polarized Germans against the Herero. Settlers believed they had no reason to assist the ­Herero, not only due to racism and hysteria but ­because settlers ­were direct beneficiaries of crimes. Settlers could gain more and secure current land without the Herero. The pervasive dehumanization of African p­ eoples through racism and hysteria was the crucial background for DA crime perpetration, as it eliminated possibilities for humanitarian relief to the Herero during displacement.

Sociopo­liti­cal Disruption: Centralized Power and Silenced Critiques The complex power-­sharing agreements between Governor Leutwein and the Maharero ­family (­father and son) demolished p­ olitical opposition to colonial expansion. ­These agreements systematically weakened possibilities for Herero disruptions of colonialism and made revolt one of the last ave­nues for redress in GSWA. Short-­term and shortsighted agreements centralized temporary powers with the Mahareros for the long-­term benefit and empowerment of Leutwein and the Germans. From the 1870s to 1890s, t­ here w ­ ere at least four power centers among the Herero leaders: Maharero Tjamuaha of Okahandja (­later his son Samuel), Manasse Tjisiseta of Omaruru, Kambazembi of Otjozondjupa, and Kahimemua Nguvauva at Otjihaenena. Many called on ­these men for help in their own inter-­ and intragroup disputes.20 Maharero Tjamuaha recognized opportunity and used German influence to centralize power with him personally, with negotiations often incorporating binge-­drinking events so that Maharero would concede to outrageous German demands quickly and easily. The socioeconomic state of the Herero deteriorated, and t­ here ­were significant fault lines among the Herero.21 Maharero’s death on 7 October 1890 left a power vacuum, which further exacerbated ­these faults. Herero succession is based on patrilineal and matrilineal lines, clan politics, and c­ attle owner­ship.22 Four men laid claim to the paramount chieftaincy: Samuel Maharero, Riarua (Samuel’s stepbrother), Kaviseri (Samuel’s ­adopted ­brother), and Nicodemus Kavikunua (Samuel’s nephew from a male relative). Samuel—as a Herero and a Christian—­had access to German power the ­others did not, and his claims to leadership w ­ ere supported by the Rhenish Missionary Society and colonial authorities who had an active interest in maintaining a malleable Maharero as a leader and negotiating partner.23 During this dispute, Samuel “effectively became the paramount chief of a p­ eople who refused

Extermination • 61

to recognize him, and of territories which w ­ ere e­ ither beyond his control, or ­under constant threat of Witbooi attack.”24 Th ­ ose Witbooi attacks ­were eliminated by Samuel and the Germans. Through the defeat of the Nama, Samuel’s own position became weaker, as t­ here was no single e­ nemy for the Herero to be united against. The Herero turned their attentions inward.25 With German backing, Samuel swept aside all contenders for the paramount chieftaincy in 1893 and agreed to German concessions, most importantly establishing garrisons in and around Hereroland.26 His rule did not go unchallenged, as Manasse Tjisiseta declared his i­ ndependence. The Germans helped Samuel to suppress this disloyalty and Manasse recognized Maharero. Nicodemus Kavikunua, Tjetjo Kandji, Riarua, Kambazembi and other northern chiefs, Katarre, and Daniel Kariko ­were all brought ­under the central dictates of Samuel through heavy-­handed ­political treaties brokered with the Germans.27 The strong-­handed tactics used to secure Samuel’s paramount chieftaincy ­were central to the divide-­and-­rule strategy, which silenced critics and eliminated opportunities for additional Herero power centers to develop r­ esistance to colonial expansion. This sociopo­liti­cal disruption meant that ­every po­liti­cally expedient agreement Samuel made with the Germans that favored the colonizers empowered him personally and disempowered the Herero. While Maharero became temporarily stronger (and systematically weaker), the Herero as a group became weaker. Foreign colonial intervention into Herero politics meant that when revolt fi­nally occurred, Herero power had been almost completely chiseled away, as Samuel’s powers had been chiseled away. Any opportunities for the Herero to disrupt path-­dependent pro­cesses of dispossession, disenfranchisement, dissatisfaction, and the expansion of foreign control of Namibia ­were lost due to the power centralization of the Herero polity in a power-­hungry Samuel at the expense of other Herero leaders and the Herero polity more broadly. The blame for disempowerment cannot solely be placed on Samuel, though, as perhaps any actor in Namibia at that time who enjoyed the protection and power of German support would have acted in a similar way. This is the inherent venom of settler colonialism: it strains previous social relations, destroys ­political ­orders, and imposes new forms of the politics of repression. ­These systems elevate colonizers at the expense of the colonized, using the latter to the benefit of the former.

Elimination of ­Resistance: The Revolt of the Herero The elimination of Herero r­ esistance sealed the fates of the Herero and made DA crimes pos­si­ble. From the initial ­battles to the ­Battle of Waterberg, the German strategy changed considerably. Leutwein’s multiple-­front attrition warfare allowed the Herero to gain early military victories, but t­ hese ­were short-­lived. While von Trotha was unable to destroy the Herero at Waterberg, he was soon able to destroy them gradually in the Kalahari.28 Without the means to resist German atrocity perpetration, the Herero ­were annihilated.

62 • German South-­West Africa

Leutwein’s Tribulations: January to April. The Herero plan of attack was twofold: (1) attack German forts, transportation networks, and communication lines to disrupt German forces; and (2) liberate land and ­cattle.29 Maharero believed that if farms w ­ ere captured, the colonial government would fold and the Germans would lose interest in the colony. It was Herero policy to not target civilians, as Daniel Kariko, under-­chief of the Herero, noted: We de­cided that we should wage war in a humane manner and would kill only the German men who ­were soldiers, or who would become soldiers. We met at secret councils and ­there our chiefs de­cided that we should spare the lives of all German ­women and c­ hildren. The missionaries, too, ­were to be spared, and they, their wives and families and possessions w ­ ere to be protected by our ­people from all harm. We also de­cided to protect all British and Dutch farmers and settlers and their wives and ­children and property as they had always been good to us. Only German males w ­ ere regarded as our enemies, and then not young boys who could not fight ­these also we spared. We gave the Germans and all ­others notice that we had declared war.30

Even Governor Leutwein favorably agreed the firm line drawn between combatants and noncombatants by the Herero, though settlers and soldiers often did not reciprocate ­these ideals.31 Within days of Maharero’s 12 January 1904 order to capture German farms, 123 German settlers w ­ ere killed on the 267 farms and businesses targeted.32 In response, settlers published in newspapers inflated casualty lists of Germans killed, often accompanied by jingoistic cartoons of the Herero.33 At the outbreak of hostilities, colonial German forces numbered approximately one thousand men (reinforced by 1,576 officers and men, 10 artillery pieces, 6 machine guns, and 1,000 h ­ orses from Germany in February 1904) versus ten thousand lightly armed Herero soldiers. Leutwein’s strategy was threefold: 1. 2. 3.

Create unbreakable contact with all garrisons Force the Herero away from railroads to protect supply lines Divide and conquer the Herero in smaller groups using overwhelming German firepower in concentrated areas34

­ ese diverse and contradictory ­orders necessitated the division of the German Th forces into three sections, and the railroad system allowed for quick transport.35 The western section (Omaruru and Outjo)—­composed of seasoned colonial troops and fresh Schutztruppe—­made successive gains. The eastern section (Gobabis and Bechuanaland), however, was in complete disarray due to poor leadership, exhaustion from continual movement, and typhus. Amazingly, the main section (commanded by Leutwein in and around railroad lines) fared worse: it was handily defeated at the ­Battle of Okahandja (11 March 1904) and almost annihilated at Mount Onganjira (7 April 1904).36

Extermination • 63

­Table 4.1

Major Engagements and Estimated Losses during the Herero Revolts Date

Place

12–20 January 1904 2 February 1904 25 February 1904 4 March 1904 13 March 1904 9 April 1904 13 April 1904

Opening ­battles Omaruru Otjihinamaperero Klein Barmen Owikokorero Onganjira Owiumbo

TOTALS

Herero lossesa

German losses

25? 50 50 10? 10? 100 10?

100 15 12 6 30 20 25

250?

210

SOURCE: Bridgman, Revolt of the Hereros, 108; Military Section, German General Staff, Die Kämpfe der deutschen Truppen in Südwestafrika, 1:157.

a Numbers shown with question marks (?) are based on the most accurate figures available; precise numbers may never be known.

Despite initial gains, by March 1904 shortages plagued the Herero, and the number of armed soldiers favored the Germans (see ­table 4.1). However, “by April the German troops ­were despondent, discouraged, and demoralized and their leaders w ­ ere in despair. The greatest military machine in the world had ground to an inglorious halt, and it was unclear when and how it would be set in motion again.”37 Leutwein wrote, “In order to encircle [for peace talks] the 50,000 p­ eople we would have to bring together more men than this water-­poor and resourceless land could sustain.”38 German troops w ­ ere plagued by overstretched supply lines, lack of communications equipment, and a general unpreparedness for desert fighting. Leutwein’s combat effectiveness had been reduced by one-­third, and the Herero held vast swaths of land and c­ attle.39 General von Trotha’s Total Victory: April to August. National pride and “war fever” led the kaiser to initially appoint his highest military officer—­General von Schlieffen—to oversee the war effort.40 ­After the embarrassments of Herero victories, the kaiser overrode military command structures and appointed von Trotha as commander of all forces in GSWA. General von Trotha transferred all civilian authority to himself on 11 June 1904, imposed martial law, and undermined Leutwein, who eventually resigned in November 1904.41 Thus, instead of facing a demoralized Leutwein, the Herero came up against an imperious von Trotha.42 The constructed racial superiority complex of von Trotha and his Schutztruppe made retreat at the hands of Africans unthinkable, and the annihilation of the Herero was considered as early as February 1904.43 ­A fter the ­battle at Owiumbo (13 April 1904), the Herero fled farther away from the Germans and congregated at Waterberg due to the costs of their pyrrhic victories.44 This retreat effectively ceased hostilities as the Herero awaited a peace treaty.45 Waterberg is a high plateau covered in fig trees (which Herero

64 • German South-­West Africa

believed allowed their ancestors to climb down from heaven onto earth) and fed by an ­immense aquifer network.46 ­A fter weeks at Waterberg and despite declining w ­ ater conditions, dehydration, and typhus among c­ attle and p­ eople, the Herero declined escape to Ovamboland to the north.47 General von Trotha waited for two months to advance on Herero positions and destroy the Herero using guns and artillery.48 The German plans at Waterberg reflected a Wilhelminian total victory: a single, decisive b­ attle. General Berthold Karl Adolf von Deimling noted: “My soldier’s blood was agitated. For thirty years I had served in the peacetime army . . . ​and during that time I had thought through all the aspects of war. I knew very well, however, that the real test of my profession was to face the ­enemy in the field.”49 General von Trotha recalled to field marshal Karl von Bülow in January 1905: “I asked the General Staff chief several months ago [vor Monaten] w ­ hether His Majesty agreed with my harsh stance. I never received an answer. Qui tacet, consentire videtur. I had to assume that my position was approved at the highest level.”50 The kaiser’s s­ ilent, tacit approval of the annihilatory tactics emboldened von Trotha.51 On the morning of 11 August 1904, northern units began the engagement, which soon spread across all lines. The Herero and the Germans fought ferociously, and the materially depleted Herero soldiers ­were no match for the German strength of “25 companies of mounted troops, 36 artillery pieces, and 14 machine guns.”52 The Germans suffered only forty-­ five casualties (12 twelve killed, 33 thirty-­three wounded).53 Total destruction at Waterberg was planned for weeks and may have occurred had it not been for the incompetent actions of southeastern units along the Kalahari, the weakest in the German force and commanded by C ­ olonel von der Heyde.54 Their hasty advances to Hamakari and Waterberg station, suppression, and retreat led to a small gap in the lines. Late in the day, when the Herero recognized their impending annihilation, they poured through this gap into the Kalahari Desert to escape. General von Trotha was furious, g­ oing so far as to threaten Heyde with a court-­martial. Captain Heinrich von Welek, commanding a reserve force at Waterberg, wrote to his ­father: Headquarters was not prepared for the eventuality that a p­ eople of sixty thousand and perhaps as many ­cattle, could escape ­wholesale ­after so many months of careful preparation. The first order came five days ­after the breakthrough; u­ ntil then complete planlessness reigned, and an unbelievable lack of supplies. Medical facilities w ­ ere not remotely up to the large requirements. Wounded officers lay for weeks on the ground and lacked the barest necessities. ­Horses died like flies, b­ ecause the Herero had not left a blade of grass. And then came typhoid with its dreadful victims, the result of the concentration of men and animals, of bad ­water and ­little food.55

General von Trotha was unable to destroy the Herero, though he was able to destroy Herero soldiers. The German imperial history of the Herero revolt

Extermination • 65

succinctly captures the subsequent near-­complete annihilation of the Herero: “The hasty exit of the Herero to the southeast, into the waterless Omaheke would seal his fate; the environment of his own country was to bring about his extermination in a way that no German weapon, even in a most bloody or deadly ­battle, ever could. . . . ​[Their] death rattle and furious cry of insanity echoed in the exalted silence of eternity. The Herero indictment had come to an end and they had ceased to exist as an i­ ndependent p­ eople.”56

Displacement Atrocity Crimes Direct Killing: Area Denial ­A fter Waterberg, the Germans planned to annihilate the Herero through targeted and ferocious massacres to induce displacement in the Omaheke. As such, indirect killing methods ­were made pos­si­ble by direct methods.57 For the Germans, the war led to genocide ­under the terms “pursuit” and ­later “cordon.”58 An excerpt from a letter from the Imperial Colonial Office read: The reports about the second Negro rebellion in South West Africa have filled all Germans with dismay. Our troops are facing a new, power­f ul, and savage ­enemy. It w ­ ill be impossible for us to win victory by force u­ nless we resort to some new stratagem. In order to give that race an idea of the power we wield over them it is necessary that our soldiers, whenever they withdraw, thoroughly poison their w ­ ater supplies. ­A fter all, we are not fighting against an ­enemy respecting the rules of fairness, but against savages. Never must we allow the Negroes to prevail. The consequences of such a victory would be dire indeed since even now the Negroes believe that Africa belongs to them rather than to the Lord above.59

General von Trotha’s first order ­after Waterberg was to engage in Verfolgung ­(pursuit). German official history noted no less than twenty-­six “­battles,” “patrol engagements,” and “pursuit-­battles” a­ fter the ­Battle of Waterberg.60 However, ­Colonel Deimling noted that “­there ­were no real b­ attles during the pursuit—­the Herero’s r­ esistance was completely broken.”61 In Isabel V. Hull’s interpretation: “While August and September thus brought frustration to the Germans [as they could not force the Herero to do ­battle], they brought mass death to the Herero. A ­great number, especially the old, ill, and ­women and ­children, died of starvation and thirst as they ran for their lives through the desert. But a g­ reat many ­were also shot to death, for the conduct of the war changed with Waterberg. The brutal potential of colonial warfare, sporadically evident even u­ nder Governor Leutwein, now burgeoned into methodical regularity.62 Paul Rohrbach, a German writer in GSWA, described von Trotha’s goals as “the absolute destruction of the ­enemy.”63 From Waterberg to the Vernichtungsbefehl, German troops relentlessly pursued the Herero into the Omaheke using direct vio­lence to

66 • German South-­West Africa

compel displacement.64 The general himself appeared shocked at the resilience of the Herero and their unwillingness to turn themselves over to the Germans, favoring certain death in the desert instead.65 When a group of Herero was offered “assistance” from the Germans, Gerard Kamaheke (a survivor) stated: I sat ­there waiting, when suddenly the Germans opened fire on us. We ­were nearly surrounded, and my p­ eople tried to make their escape. I tried to fight my way through, but was shot in the right shoulder and fell to the ground, and I lay quite still and pretended to be dead. I was covered with blood. The German soldiers came along bayoneting the wounded; and as I did not move they thought I was dead already and left me. The chiefs Saul and Joel and all the other headmen w ­ ere killed. I got up in the night and fled back to our camp, where I found our w ­ omen and ­children still safe and also some survivors of my 70 men. We then fled away ­towards the Sandveld and scattered in all directions.66

Jan Kubas, a Griqua living at Grootfontein, noted: The Germans took no prisoners. They killed thousands and thousands of ­women and c­ hildren along the roadsides [who had collapsed or could not keep up with the main Herero groups]. They bayoneted them and hit them to death with the butt ends of their guns. Words cannot be found to relate what happened; it was too terrible. They ­were lying exhausted and harmless along the roads, and as the soldiers passed they simply slaughtered them in cold blood. M ­ others holding babies at their breasts, ­little boys and ­little girls; old ­people too old to fight and old grand­mothers, none received mercy; they ­were killed, all of them, and left to lie and rot on the veld for the vultures and animals to eat. They slaughtered ­until t­ here w ­ ere no more Hereros left to kill. I saw this e­ very day; I was with them. A few Hereros managed to escape in the bush and wandered about, living on roots and wild fruits.67

Jan Cloete, a Baster attached to Captain Richard in the Fourth Field Com­pany of Deimling’s unit at Waterberg, noted: “­A fter the ­battle, all men, ­women, and ­children, wounded and unwounded, who fell into the hands of the Germans ­were killed without mercy. The Germans then pursued the o­ thers, and all stragglers on the roadside and in the veld w ­ ere shot down and bayoneted. The g­ reat majority of the Herero men ­were unarmed and could make no fight.”68 In one particularly revealing episode, a Herero ­woman was found in the veld by von Troth and his personal staff. A German soldier named Konig dismounted his ­horse and approached the w ­ oman, who was frantically digging for roots and w ­ ater. He stated he was ­going to kill her, and she replied, “I thank you.” He shot her in the head.69 Hangings and lynchings of the Herero ­were common in the camps as punitive m ­ easures, particularly against men in leadership positions.70 Thousands of Herero w ­ omen ­were subjected to sexual vio­lence.

Extermination • 67

Direct vio­lence killed men, destroyed r­ esistance, and drove the Herero farther into the veld and to their deaths. While many direct kills of the Herero with guns and bayonets occurred, many w ­ ere lying on the ground already starved from their forced displacement in the Omaheke. ­These p­ eople had already been killed by DA crimes; direct methods only made their death immediate. Kettling DA crimes worked efficiently and rapidly and ­were based on direct vio­ lence to induce further displacement. Between August  1904 and November 1904—­the initial and deadliest period of DA crimes—­direct killing was used as a method to induce flight and displacement through water-­hole defense and massacres.

Forced Displacement and Indirect Killing ­There is scant lit­er­a­ture available on the whirlwind destruction of the Herero in the Omaheke. The deterioration and degradation of Herero bodies in the Kalahari Desert was swift. The Herers generally tried to escape in three directions: eastward into Bechuanaland (British Cape Colony), westward into Hereroland through German lines, and northward into Ovamboland, though many died in their attempts to flee.71 The DA crimes instituted against the Herero ­were perpetrated in three waves: (1) pursuit, (2) cordon, and (3) imprisonment. Pursuit: August to October 1904. The flight of the Herero from Waterberg was not supposed to happen. General von Trotha had wanted to annihilate them at Waterberg using direct killing methods. It is mere contingency that the Herero ­were able to escape from direct annihilation. However, this flight for salvation meant that the Herero inadvertently gave the Germans a drafting t­ able to create new architectures of annihilation. General von Trotha’s experiences in colonial warfare led him to believe that rebellion could only be s­ topped by genocide and that displacement into the desert could be weaponized against the Herero. He wrote to Leutwein: “Throughout my period of duty ­here the eastern border of the colony ­will remain sealed off and terrorism ­will be employed against any Herero showing up. That nation must vanish from the face of the earth. Having failed to destroy them with guns, I w ­ ill have to achieve my end in that way.”72 A power strug­gle between Leutwein and von Trotha broke out immediately a­ fter Leutwein received this message. Leutwein, already perturbed at his loss of power, wanted the Herero to be able to surrender and cabled Berlin, asking, “What, if any, p­ olitical power and responsibility still rests with the Governor?”73 General von Trotha also cabled Berlin, stating that he could no longer work with an obdurate Leutwein, especially b­ ecause he had been granted extraordinary powers by the kaiser and the German General Staff; he believed that he represented the true intentions of German colonial governance.74 Berlin sided with von Trotha and granted Leutwein home leave, and Leutwein’s efforts to bring a peaceable end to a brutal war ­were all but undermined. The Herero had to meet their fates on von Trotha’s genocidal terms.75

68 • German South-­West Africa

The Germans w ­ ere perplexed at their strategic situation a­ fter Waterberg for three reasons. First, they felt extreme panic due to their failures. Second, military apparatuses w ­ ere generally reluctant to assume responsibility for killing mass numbers of civilians despite rampant racism. Third, colonial troops believed that the fleeing Herero posed a serious threat to GSWA.76 In response to ­these prob­ lems, the Germans settled on the method of genocidal kettling by continually pursuing the Herero farther into the veld. Shooting ­toward civilians to kill them and to drive them farther into the desert became policy. An anonymous soldier noted the following interaction around 10 September 1904 when the patrol spotted “fleeing men and w ­ omen, who made signs of wanting to surrender. As I was proceeding to take them prisoner, my guide, NCO Kutschke, started shooting against my ­orders. That caused them to run. Now we all shot at them, but ­because we did so from our h ­ orses, the results w ­ ere naturally few, only two or three Herero fell.”77 With ­orders to shoot on sight and to drive the Herero farther into the desert, 1904 and 1905 ­were extremely costly years. According to the under-­chief of Omaruru, Daniel Kariko: The result of this war is known to every­one. Our ­people, men, w ­ omen, and ­children ­were shot like dogs and wild animals. Our ­people have dis­appeared now. I see only a few left; their c­ attle and sheep are gone too, and all our land is owned by the Germans. . . . ​­A fter the fight at Waterberg we asked for peace; but von Trotha said ­there would only be peace when we w ­ ere all dead, as he intended to exterminate us. I fled to the desert with a few remnants of my stock and managed more dead than alive to get away far north.78

Hosea Mungunda, headman of the Herero at Windhoek, stated: We w ­ ere crushed and well-­nigh exterminated by the Germans in the rising. With the exception of Samuel Maharero, Mutati, Trauati, Tjetjoo, Hosea and Kaijata (who fled to British territory) all our big chiefs and leaders died or ­were killed in the rising, and also the g­ reat majority of our ­people. All our ­cattle ­were lost and all other possessions such as wagons and sheep. At first the Germans took prisoners, but when General von Trotha took command no prisoners w ­ ere taken. General von Trotha said, “No one is to live; men, ­women and ­children must all die.” We c­ an’t say how many w ­ ere killed.79

German actions at Ombakaha w ­ ere some of the most brutal episodes of the campaign. Approximately three hundred Herero had made camp on the western edge of the Omaheke when they w ­ ere tracked down by the Germans, who ordered them to surrender. Joel Kavezeri, the kaptein of this group of Herero, traveled with eighty of his men to accept the German offer of a peace treaty. Once they arrived, they offered customary tobacco at noon, but they ­were ambushed and killed during the talks.80 German official history of the Herero revolt categorizes

Extermination • 69

German actions at Ombakaha as a “­battle.” Massacres designed to kill and compel displacement w ­ ere implemented throughout GSWA, as is documented in other imperial German documents. Cordon: October to December 1904. Just as the Herero suffered privations of vital daily needs, the Germans w ­ ere on the brink of a total collapse due to a lack of supplies and overextended lines.81 The Germans arrived at the last known location of the Herero, a major w ­ ater hole called the Osombo zoWindimbe in early October 1904 and ­stopped their pursuit.82 Pursuit was another pyrrhic victory in GSWA. In response, von Trotha drew plans to use the Herero’s own momentum of flight against them by forming a 250-­kilometer cordon around the Herero, covering an area of approximately 260,000 square kilo­meters.83 All w ­ ater holes along the Omaheke-­Waterberg boundary ­were occupied by the Germans, so the Herero had to flee farther into the desert seeking vital daily needs.84 The Schutztruppe also identified, occupied, and often poisoned the precious few ­water holes in the Omaheke to intentionally deprive the Herero of ­water.85 German soldiers often shot at or over the heads of the Herero who attempted escape or approached ­water holes, and the Herero ­were continually driven back into the desert by hailstorms of German bullets. If the ­water holes ­were poisoned, the Herero w ­ ere allowed to drink the ­water and become ill, further depleting their bodies on the long trek in the Omaheke.86 The tens of thousands of Herero still in Hereroland w ­ ere easy targets for the Germans to kill and enslave in sweeps.87 By November 1904, the Germans ­were faced with a painful dilemma: they could possibly annihilate the Herero but “with all horrors of typhus, malaria, and heart disease,” to quote von Schlieffen writing to Prince Bülow, that would grind their forces down.88 The Germans would have had to pursue the Herero even farther into the desert and perhaps even the British Cape Colony to totally annihilate them. General von Schlieffen noted, “While von Trotha’s intentions are commendable, he is powerless to carry them out”—­thus the cordon action was justified.89 It became apparent to the German high command that negotiated peace was the only way forward in GSWA. By the time the Vernichtungsbefehl was lifted, the majority of the Herero had already been annihilated. ­There are almost no reliable numbers from primary sources to accurately estimate how many Herero w ­ ere displaced into the Omaheke. Deductively, it can be estimated that 55,000–60,000 Herero ­were able to escape to the southeast of Waterberg, out of a total Herero population of 80,000. By summer 1905, t­ here ­were no more than 20,000 alive. Of the displaced, approximately 1,000 w ­ ere able to reach the British Cape Colony, less than 1,000 ­were able to hide in Ovamboland, and less than 1,000 ­were able to hide in Namaqualand. ­There w ­ ere also 14,769 (10,632 w ­ omen and ­children and 4,137 men) Herero in German camps in September 1905 (sweep operations killed 1,000 Herero). In addition, t­ here ­were 4,000–5,000 Herero in Bechuanaland, Namaqualand, and Ovamboland.90

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­Table 4.2

Approximations of Herero Displaced into the Omaheke Total Herero population (1904) Herero not at Waterberg Herero who survived genocide

~75,000−85,000 −­~5,000 −­~15,000 ~55,000−65,000

Herero at Waterberg Herero who escaped displacement Herero soldiers killed at Waterberga Herero killed in sweepsb Herero in camps Herero killed by DA crimes in the Omahekec

~55,000−65,000 −~3,000 −~3,000 −~1,000 −~15,000 ~30,000−45,000

SOURCE: Madley, “From Africa to Auschwitz,” 430–431; von Hammerstein, “The Herero,” 268–269;

Ben Kiernan, Blood and Soil: A World History of Genocide and Extermination from Sparta to Darfur (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2007), 383–385; Erichsen, “Forced ­Labour in the Concentration Camp on Shark Island”; Drechsler, “Let Us Die Fighting”; Bridgman, Revolt of the Hereros; Gewald, Herero Heroes, 185–188; Bridgman and Worley, “Genocide of the Hereros,” 32; Hull, “­Measure of Atrocity,” 42. a This figure is extremely controversial and ­will never be truly known. Based on estimations, this seems to be a logical inference, though the destruction of the imperial archives during WWII ensured that a standardized figure could never be reached. b This represents the number of Herero killed on sight during the flight from the displacement. c This figure cannot be trusted as wholly accurate, but the inferences made based on available evidence make logical sense. Historical rec­ords establish other solid figures for Herero who escaped, ­were killed during operations, and ­were imprisoned. This is a mere estimation of how many Herero w ­ ere likely displaced.

A ­great number of Herero soldiers (approximately 3,500–6,000 soldiers in total ­were pre­sent at Waterberg) ­were killed by German forces (see ­table 4.2). ­These approximations mean that between 30,000 and 45,000 Herero ­were killed using DA crime policies in the immediate weeks following the B ­ attle of Waterberg—​ 50 to 75 ­percent of the displaced Herero. The remaining Herero w ­ ere destroyed using forced ­labor, imprisonment in concentration camps, or executions over the next four years. DA crimes ­were fast and efficient killing mechanisms for the Germans. The DA crimes w ­ ere the most potent killing tool the Germans employed against the Herero. DA crimes ­were formalized as an official policy of extermination. Pursuit and cordon annihilated the majority of Herero in the first weeks of the genocide. In many re­spects, the straggler Herero who w ­ ere shot, stabbed, and clubbed by the Germans ­were already dead, as the episode involving von Trotha and his staff best demonstrates. The Herero w ­ ere the walking dead, and the direct killing the Germans inflicted was a swift end to their long suffering (not out of mercy, it should be noted). The DA crimes had depleted their bodies, which could no longer function due to the German weaponization of displacement and

Extermination • 71

deprivation of vital daily needs in their creation of po­liti­cally violent geographies in the Omaheke. Imprisonment: January 1905 to Late 1908. The German plan morphed into a policy of accepting group surrenders of the Herero. General von Trotha was openly hostile to humanitarian efforts for the Herero, but Prince Bülow made the policy easier to tolerate, as the Vernichtungsbefehl’s lifting was not a cancellation of genocide but rather a shift in tactics. The Germans then imposed a concentration camp system featuring forced ­labor and mass executions.91 General von ­Trotha placed bounties on the heads of the Herero kapteins, and the killing of ­these remaining leaders was seen as central to inducing surrender. Kaiser Wilhelm—­reluctant to depart from the policy of annihilation—­later agreed that the price on the kapteins’ heads should be raised.92 The goal of the continued surrender strategy was to bring the Herero to the Germans, not to have the Germans pursuing the Herero at ­great cost. While von Trotha was enraged and demanded the Vernichtungsbefehl be reinitiated, he ultimately deferred to the kaiser’s o­ rders by December 1904.93 Of the thousands of Herero in Hereroland, DA crime survivors and ­those sheltering in place w ­ ere forced to scrape out an existence on roots, berries, and precious ­little ­water. Most ­were taken to concentration camps and w ­ ere killed through attrition. The Herero who reached Ovamboland had a difficult time surviving as well.94 The Germans modeled the Herero concentration camps (Konzentrationslager) off the British-­run Boer concentration camps during the Second Boer War.95 The man responsible for suggesting the geschlossenen Niederlassungen (confined areas—­the camps) was Lieutenant Count von Stillfried, who had been in GSWA since 1900 and was trusted by the kaiser.96 In April  1904, t­ here w ­ ere 4,033 Herero prisoners being held by the Germans, first in local collection camps, then in GSWA-­wide concentration camps.97 By December 1905, t­ here ­were 13,216 Herero prisoners.98 By July  1906, ­there w ­ ere 17,018 Herero prisoners scattered throughout GSWA, a majority of whom (75  ­percent) w ­ ere ­women and ­children. Prisoners w ­ ere subjected to horrible conditions and w ­ ere forced to work, often carry­ing bags of grain as heavy as 100–160 pounds per person per trip.99 Shark Island was the most notorious concentration camp, just off the coast of Lüderitzbucht. ­Here, “the prisoners w ­ ere living, half starved, on the edge of the South Atlantic in huts made of rags and being forced to carry out manual ­labor in ice-­cold ­water. They w ­ ere d­ ying of malnutrition, exposure, and exhaustion.”100 Prisoners died at a rate of fifteen to fifty per week.101 ­There w ­ ere at least five thousand prisoners at Shark Island at any time, double the population of Lüderitz itself.102 A former prisoner at Shark Island testified: Men, ­women, and c­ hildren ­were all huddled together. We had no proper clothing, no blankets, and the night air on the sea was bitterly cold. The ­people died ­there like flies that had been poisoned. The ­great majority died t­ here. The

72 • German South-­West Africa

l­ ittle ­children and the old p­ eople died first, and then the w ­ omen and the weaker men. No day passed without many deaths. We begged and prayed and appealed for leave to go back to our own country, which is warmer, but the Germans refused. ­Those men who w ­ ere fit had to work during the day in the harbor and railway depots. The youn­ger w ­ omen w ­ ere selected by the soldiers and taken to their camps as concubines.103

Herero bodies ­were dumped into the sea, and corpses washed up on the beaches—­ ironically, the very German settlers who dehumanized and called for the Herero’s extermination w ­ ere horrified at the sight of the bodies to the point where they called the police in fear. The bodies ­were then buried in shallow graves to hide evidence of the genocide.104 Most of the Herero who w ­ ere sent to the camps arrived severely malnourished, and many thousands died in captivity.105 “Tuberculosis, dysentery, scurvy, typhoid and typhus” wreaked havoc on the captured Herero.106 The Konzentrationslager system enticed some of the Herero out of their desert retreat with false promises of a dignified surrender, only to be incarcerated in ­these places of death.107 The Herero ­were worked to death in public and private proj­ects.108 Settlers contracted Herero prisoners through colonial offices for ­labor, taking on the responsibility of their vital daily needs. However, the settlers ­were reminded that the Herero ­were prisoners and should be treated as such, leading to widespread abuse and continuation of genocidal attrition by private individuals and companies in addition to state apparatuses.109 The Herero ­were forced to build railway lines between Usakos and Otavi, Lüderitz and Keetmanshoop, and Lüderitz and Aus; o­ thers offloaded ships; and o­ thers worked in mines in German and British-­controlled regions.110 Herero ­women and girls ­were subjected to widespread rape and sexual vio­ lence and ­were beaten or killed if they refused.111 ­A fter 1905, medical experimentation in the camps took place, which ­later had ties to National Socialism.112 Of the approximately 17,000 prisoners in German hands, 6,000 had been killed by attrition policies by 1907; by 1911, the Herero population had been all but annihilated, with only 15,130 Herero overall still alive.113 The notorious anthropologist Eugen Fischer is the most recognizable of all the German scholars who spent time studying the ­peoples of Namibia without their consent. It should be noted that German scientists also took hundreds of dismembered African bodies to Germany for ­future research.114 Through his studies at Shark Island, Fischer called for the rejection of mixed-­ marriages between Nordic whites and Africans, the Mischlinge (“colored, Jewish, and Gypsy hybrids” in his own words), and other “inferior races.”115 Fischer became a prominent voice, and his conceptions of ­European superiority found g­ reat traction.116 He held prestigious academic positions, received grants from institutions like the ­Rockefeller Foundation (1918), joined the Nazi Party (1932), and served as director of the Kaiser Wilhelm Institute of Anthropology, ­Human Heredity, and Eugenics.117 Fischer and other leading Social Darwinist scholars

Extermination • 73

proliferated conceptions of race hygiene (Rassenhygiene) and eugenics (Eugenik) during the Weimar period in Germany, thus laying the foundations for ­later National Socialist ideologies.118 His institute was headed by his former student, Otmar Freiherr von Verschuer, who had become a prominent researcher on ge­ne­ tics and internal medicine with a focus on twins. Verschuer l­ater produced a student who became a notorious Nazi perpetrator: Josef Mengele.119 Thus, the twisted road to Auschwitz began in Lüderitzbucht.

Assimilation and Survival ­There ­were also ele­ments of assimilationism employed in Namibia. The war, genocide, and legislation (native ordinances) ensured that the Herero would be landless, leaderless, and without autonomy.120 The Herero could no longer resist colonialism. The missionary socie­ties that first arrived at Angra Pequena with the goal of converting Africans to Chris­tian­ity now had a captive population to proselytize. Rhenish, Lutheran, Catholic, Wesleyan, and other Christian denominations converted the Herero en masse during their incarcerations in the prison camps. The missionaries provided vital daily needs to the newly converted Herero in the camps and negotiated with the military for labor-­free Sundays.121 This material assistance certainly played at least some role in the conversions of the Herero. For Gewald, the Herero became Christians not “solely for personal cynical secular gain” but “for a variety of reasons, which ranged from identity and solace to o­ rganization, protection, and information. . . . ​Chris­tian­ity provided the Herero with o­ rganization, protection, meaning—in what appeared to be a meaningless world—­and allowed them to re-­establish a society.”122 While Chris­tian­ ity may have provided a communal connection for the Herero, it also worked to eliminate traditional beliefs and would not have been pos­si­ble if not for DA crimes. The conversions served an impor­tant purpose: the pacification of Herero r­ esistance. The conversion to Chris­tian­ity meant that traditional Herero ceremonies and cultural practices ­were replaced or modified with Christian motifs. Chris­tian­ity and its bonding institutions allowed the Herero to survive as a p­ eople, but their practices ­were forever disrupted due to genocide.123

Germany’s Genocide of the Herero The Herero Genocide was ruthless and unfolding, contingent p­ rocess. The forced displacement ele­ment of the Herero Genocide, during the first few weeks of pursuit in the Kalahari Desert, is understudied and requires further examination as most narratives focus on the actions at the Waterberg and the construction of a concentration camp system. The combination of physical exertion from movement, the dire lack of ­water, the inability to gather resources vital to life, and the per­sis­tent German denial of vital daily needs and forced displacement policies manifested in a near-­total annihilation of the Herero ­people.

5

Inescapability Germany’s Genocide of the Nama (1905–1908) Unlike the Herero, the Nama ­were subjected to genocide by attrition policies, not DA crimes. While both groups ­were victims of German vio­lence during the same times and spaces, this variance in outcomes can be explained by unfulfilled variables in the DA crime causal pathway (geography, asymmetric power distribution, and sociopo­liti­cal upheavals). This chapter features empirical and theoretical explorations of the Nama counter-­case. The Nama w ­ ere contributors to the genocide of the Herero ­until it came time for the Nama to launch their own ­resistance.1 However, the German colonial newspaper, Deutsch-­Südwestafrikan Zeitung, argued, “We must not bury the hatchet u­ ntil all tribes have been disarmed. We must also s­ettle accounts with Hendrick Witbooi who, while hypocritically feigning friendship, seems to have been instrumental in fomenting the rebellion.”2 Africans ­were typically referred to as “Kaffirs”—­a racial epithet used to refer to Black southern Africans.3 Such was the German view of the Nama: as disloyal subhumans who could not be trusted ­until they ­were disarmed. This belief persisted, and the roots of the Nama revolt reside in systematic appropriation of Nama lands, the destruction of traditional institutions and systems of life, and parallel stressors that the Germans faced. Two aspects make the Nama revolt unique. First, the Nama numbered one-­ quarter of the Herero population (80,000 Herero versus 20,000 Nama), which made the German constraining of the Nama into small colonial geographies less 74

Inescapability • 75

stressful on the Nama population. ­Because of this, the Nama did not feel the same imminent stresses the Herero did leading up to their revolt. Second, and most importantly, the most crucial ­factor in triggering the Nama revolt was the Herero genocide. The Germans wanted to “make it hot” for the Nama by disarming them, subjecting them to religious zealotry, and destroying what it meant to be Nama.4 Hendrik Witbooi, Jakob Marengo (incorrectly spelled “Morenga” in German documents), and other Nama kapteins de­cided to fight for their right to self-­determination in retaliation.5 The Nama abandoned their “wait-­and-­see attitude” in mid-­September 1904, when nineteen Nama from the one-­hundred-­strong contingent with the Germans escaped back to Witbooi and told him of the horrors the revolt had turned into (genocide of the Herero).6 Seeing the inevitability of being targeted by the Germans, Witbooi began to prepare for war. Simon Kooper’s Fransman community, the Manasse Noreseb Red Nation, Hans Hendrick’s Veldschoendragers, and Jakob Marengo’s Nama de­cided to fight (Marengo was already engaged in light ­battles with the Germans at the time).7 Christian Goliath’s Berseba tribe, Paul Frederiks’s Bethanie p­ eople, and the Keetmanshoop tribe refused to fight b­ ecause they w ­ ere heavi­ly influenced by colonial missionaries and did not want to fight fellow Christians.8 Governor Leutwein originally believed that individual Nama kapteins could be played off one another and isolated and defeated militarily in order to reestablish German hegemony.9 ­A fter Marengo’s early military successes, the Germans sent von Trotha and the Schutztruppe to Namaqualand in spring 1905 to deal with the Nama uprising.10 The revolt of the Nama—in which a ragtag and underequipped Nama force numbering no more than two thousand at any point outwitted a far superior force of fifteen thousand German Schutztruppe—­went surprisingly well for the Nama and lasted ­until 19 November  1905. ­Until that point, the Nama would harass the Germans and withdraw to the Omaheke to hide u­ ntil they struck again. However, on 19 November, the Witbooi Nama staged a raid on a German supply convoy near Fahlgras, and Witbooi was struck and killed by a  bullet.11 “Nothing could have been more uplifting than this message,” von Trotha was quoted as saying.12 Soon ­after, the Witbooi Nama capitulated, though other Nama held out for months and years ­later.13 General von Trotha’s actions against the Herero caused a ­political stir in Germany (not necessarily for the brutality but for the costs Germany incurred and the failure to fully annihilate the Herero threat), and he desperately needed a quick victory against the Nama. Once Hendrick Witbooi was killed, von Trotha wanted to make a swift face-­saving exit from GSWA, which he did on 19 November  1905.14 His departure left a strange p­ olitical situation in GSWA: ­Leutwein had been replaced as governor by Friedrich von Lindequist (who wanted military action), and von Trotha left the military m ­ atters in the hands of ­Colonel Dame (who wanted to end the Nama war).15 C ­ olonel Dame tele­grammed the General Staff in Germany and laid out his plans for the Nama: “Liberty is

76 • German South-­West Africa

not synonymous with freedom of movement. Enforced settlement at specified locations, permanent military supervision, and the obligation to perform ­labor in return for food rather than wages w ­ ill make this a highly restricted form of liberty. The only difference between their treatment and that of prisoners of war is in the field of accommodation, the purpose being to encourage o­ thers to follow suit.”16 For Horst Drechsler, “It was not humanitarian considerations that prompted the military to offer the Nama somewhat more liberal terms, but the awareness that ­there was no other way for them to terminate a war they ­were incapable of winning by military means. It should be noted that the Germans failed to live up to their part of the bargain. In contravention of the treaty concluded, the Witboois w ­ ere first taken to Windhoek and l­ater to Shark Island.”17 Once vari­ous Nama began to surrender, they w ­ ere sent to concentration camps and sites of forced ­labor and ­were denied vital daily needs; in all, approximately 50 ­percent of the Nama population died due to the combined effects of warfare and genocidal attrition policies.18 Despite this revolt starting ­later, the Herero and the Nama ­were killed together in ­these places. A ­ fter von Trotha and Dame, then ­colonel Berthold Karl Adolf von Deimling was sent to GSWA to oversee ­these policies ­after 1906.19 The Germans knew exactly how many Nama ­were ­dying in the camps as early as 1906, and though they ­were somewhat worried about the international and domestic reaction to their policies of attrition, they declined to change course and continued with their genocidal policies.20 While Nama who had not been captured ­were allowed to live in Namaqualand—­because the Germans did not want to “rekindle the rebellion”—by 1907 the Germans had reneged on their promises of noninterference by fully expropriating t­ hese lands.21 ­There are three key variables in the DA theory that went unfulfilled, leading not to DA crimes but to a dif­fer­ent form of vio­lence (genocide by attrition) against the Nama (see t­ able 5.1). First, the Nama exploited the Omaheke Desert as a space for guerilla warfare, which prevented the Germans from exploiting this space as a geography for genocide. Second, while German forces ­were numerically superior to ­those of the Nama, they ­were unable to quickly adapt to Nama guerilla warfare strategies and tactics, which meant that t­ here was initially a dif­fer­ ent kind of asymmetric power distribution in GSWA. Third, the timing of the Nama revolt meant that the sociopo­liti­cal upheavals that can lead to DA crimes led to other forms of atrocity. ­These three central variables in the causal pathways to DA crimes w ­ ere disrupted, and instead of DA crimes, the Germans used direct killing (desert warfare) and indirect killing (the established concentration camp system) to commit genocide against the Nama.

Geography: Other Uses for Space Namaqualand is located in the south of Namibia, filled with rolling hills, spring wild­flowers, and life—­just adjacent to the inhospitable Namib and Omaheke

Inescapability • 77

­Table 5.1

Herero Genocide versus Nama Genocide Causal Pathways Focused variables

Herero genocide

Nama genocide

DA crimes

Yes

No

Geography

Hereros destroyed in the Omaheke

Namas use Omaheke as a space for ­resistance and deny its use for genocide

Asymmetric power distribution

Hereros defeated militarily; Germans do not follow typical conflict resolution

Namas use guerilla warfare strategies and frustrate German colonial troops

Sociopo­liti­cal upheavals

Timing of the Herero revolt contributes to German strategy of DA crimes

Timing of the Nama revolt c­ auses Germans to use concentration camps instead of DA crimes

Methods of vio­lence

DA crimes Concentration camps Forced l­ abor Massacres Cultural destruction

Concentration camps Forced ­labor Warfare Cultural destruction

Deserts. Rich in natu­ral resources that are perfect for ­cattle farming, agriculture, capital movement, and mining, this region straddled the borders of GSWA and the Cape Colony.22 Windhoek—­the capital of Namibia—­was close to Namaqualand, and this geographic proximity forced the Germans to take Nama threats of revolt seriously. The most impor­tant reason the Omaheke was not weaponized against the Nama is b­ ecause the Nama had already weaponized the Omaheke against the Germans. Learning from the Herero revolt, the Nama wanted to avoid a concentric ­battle, which von Trotha so desired.23 If the badly outmatched Nama met the Germans in such a confrontation, they would have been handily dispatched.24 Instead of this strategy, the Nama exploited a major weakness of the Germans: by 1905, the Germans had exhausted themselves by pursuing a policy of DA crimes against the Herero in the Omaheke and had no appetite to give chase again in the Omaheke.25 The Nama successfully employed guerrilla warfare strategies and tactics against the Germans, hitting them where they ­were most vulnerable and then swiftly retreating into the Omaheke to move hundreds of kilo­meters to the next ambush site.26 This style of warfare completely denied the Germans the ability to find the Nama, let alone destroy them, in the Omaheke. Thus, the existence of a geography conducive to DA crimes is insufficient in explaining why DA crimes occur. More importantly, the Germans did not hold hegemony over the Omaheke Desert, which meant that this ­political geography was denied to them as a space of genocide perpetration.

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Asymmetric Power Distribution: Flipping the Script The most impor­tant reason the Germans did not pursue DA crime policies against the Nama was ­because of contested power that was not pre­sent during the Herero genocide. The Nama w ­ ere able to deny the Germans access to the Omaheke as a site of genocide by turning it into a space of ­resistance. Due to this strategy, and the incredibly difficult prob­lems of maintaining logistical and materiel support for their troops, the Germans w ­ ere unable to control Namaqualand during the revolt. The Germans instead favored annihilation via attrition in the established concentration camp system used against the Herero in the l­ ater stages of the Herero genocide. The Nama way of war differed from the Herero revolt in a number of ways. First and most impor­tant, the Nama learned from the downfall of the Herero.27 The Herero engaged in concentric b­ attles, which w ­ ere favored by von Trotha and his troops.28 In contrast, the Nama engaged in guerrilla warfare all throughout Namaqualand—­a territory they knew well but the Germans did not.29 This lack of spatial awareness stemmed from the German preoccupation with the Herero. ­Because of this focus on the Herero, the Germans viewed the Nama only as pawns in a game of colonial politics, neglecting to truly get to know ­these ­people. Second, the Germans’ colonial aspirations targeted Herero lands and did not initially include hegemony over Namaqualand.30 ­Because of this, the Germans did not have accurate knowledge of the geography. With this lack of knowledge on the part of the Germans and the extremely accurate knowledge on the part of the Nama, the latter chose to exploit this asymmetry of power in their ­favor. On 31 March 1907, the kaiser declared that the state of war in GSWA was lifted. Despite this, Simon Kooper’s Fransman continued to fight in the Omaheke rather than risk surrender or an open confrontation with German troops.31 Kooper proved to be such a nuisance for the Germans that they ended up paying him an annual pension to not fight them.32 Cornelius Fredericks, a Bethanie tribe leader (most Bethanie ­people remained loyal to the Germans ­under the command of their kaptein, Paul Frederiks), held out against the Germans u­ ntil March 1906, when he, his Nama, and the Herero who had escaped from the Germans and continued to fight them ­were cornered in and around the Karas and Tiras Mountains. They w ­ ere forced to surrender, and all ­were sent to the Shark Island concentration camp, where many died b­ ecause of the privations t­ here.33 Marengo’s Nama ­were the most successful of all in causing strategic prob­lems for the Germans. Marengo’s initial skirmishes with the Germans occurred as early as 1903, when he returned from a copper mine in the Cape Colony to take part in the Bondelzwarts uprising. Strangely, the Germans viewed Marengo as a man of magnanimity (grossmut), prudence (umsicht), and energy (tatkraft)—­ “three character traits which, in the E ­ uropean view, w ­ ere conspicuously lacking in most natives. Germans explained Morenga’s [sic] ‘whiteness’ by noting he had spent long years at the Cape and ‘had been accustomed to a certain degree of

Inescapability • 79

­Table 5.2

Troop Distribution during the Nama Revolt Germans

~15,000 soldiers in GSWA

Nama

~1,000–2,000 soldiers totala

Witbooi Nama Fransman community Veldschoendragers Red Nation

800 to 900 soldiers 120 soldiers 150–200 soldiers 190 soldiers

SOURCE: Drechsler, “Let Us Die Fighting,” 184; Bridgman, Revolt of the

Hereros, 154. Bridgman also notes that the Germans suffered a total of one thousand casualties. a This number ­later dropped to only a few hundred, though the Nama continually frustrated the Germans despite this disparity.

higher culture.’ ”34 Marengo raided German supply convoys and depots, orchestrated precise and deadly attacks on German troops, and evaded capture by using the Omaheke as a place where the fog of war concealed his movements. He continually attacked the Germans and slipped back into the desert—­a place that the Germans had l­ittle knowledge of and that he could exploit to his military advantage. Marengo took prisoners and treated them with benevolence, did not kill w ­ omen or ­children, and, even as the Germans reneged on peace treaties (twice), never took revenge on the negotiators who w ­ ere in his possession.35 However, his use of the Omaheke and exploitation of the generally undefended and un­regu­la­ ted Cape Colony–­GSWA border meant that the British became increasingly frustrated with his actions. In April 1906, he was forced to retreat into the Cape Colony ­a fter engaging with German troops, only to surrender to British Cape Police and be interned. When he was released, he refused to give up his fight against the Germans. The British, wary of the p­ olitical repercussions of Marengo’s actions, ordered a patrol to find him and kill him, something accomplished on 20 September 1907. The Germans awarded the British units medals for their actions.36 Marengo’s story is impor­tant for two reasons. First, for the Herero, the Omaheke was their place of annihilation. For the Nama, the Omaheke was a place of ­resistance to colonial rule. This necessarily denied the Germans the opportunity of exploiting the desert as a place of annihilation. Second, the Marengo story demonstrates the lengths to which the Germans ­were willing to go to catch or kill him and how dif­fer­ent colonial administrations could work together to repress Africans. The Nama uprising began in earnest on 3 October 1904—on the same day General Lothar von Trotha issued his Vernichtungsbefehl (extermination order) against the Herero. The power asymmetries of the Nama versus the Germans ­were clear to both sides of the conflict. At the outset of hostilities, the Nama soldiers numbered barely 10 to 13 ­percent of the German forces (see t­ able 5.2 for troop distribution).

80 • German South-­West Africa

The troop distribution alone was cause for major concern among the Nama. Most Nama fighters, it should be noted, w ­ ere completely underprepared in terms of weapons and materiel—­something that also influenced the choice of tactics and strategies employed.37 The Germans, on the other hand, ­were strategically preoccupied with the Herero genocide. That said, most German troops in the colony ­were not being used to commit genocide in October 1904 and so ­were waiting idly for their ­orders. Once the Nama revolt broke out, the troops ­were ­eager to fight. The reserve German troops ­were rested and fully prepared for war.38 ­These power asymmetries ­were even worse than ­those the Herero initially faced. However, the full weight of the colonial military was not brought to bear on the Nama due to structural barriers to power projection. German garrisons in Namaqualand bolstered only five hundred soldiers at the outbreak of the Nama revolt in fall 1904.39 While ­there ­were many German troops in GSWA, they ­were simply not located in the right place at the right time to corral the Nama into the Omaheke like the Herero. By January 1905, ­there ­were only 4,300 officers and men and 2,800 h ­ orses in Namaqualand.40 The prob­ lems in power projection stemmed from a general inability of the Germans to transport men and materiel into Namaqualand, as ­there was no railroad, severely hampering the already cumbersome German movements. With the rinderpest outbreak, t­ here ­were also few c­ attle to help haul supplies.41 Without the railroad—­ which was pre­sent in Hereroland—­the Germans had to haul their supplies from Lüderitz Bay to Keetmanshoop via the Baiweg trail in the Namib—­a distance of 150 miles, which typically took twenty-­five days to cross using sluggish horse-­drawn convoys.42 This structural barrier makes clear how atrocity pro­cesses are regional pro­cesses within state entities. Most of the direct killing against the Nama occurred during the revolt. When groups of Nama w ­ ere defeated militarily, they surrendered and w ­ ere subjugated at separate times during the years of revolt. The Witbooi Nama w ­ ere the first to be caught and subjected to a German peace treaty that included their transport to concentration camps, execution of their leaders, and their use as forced laborers throughout GSWA.43 The Marengo Nama ­were the final holdouts as they engaged in years of grueling and costly guerilla warfare. When the Nama ­were encountered and unarmed, they would often be enslaved, though sometimes they w ­ ere executed.44 The l­abor potential of Africans was recognized by the Germans in building a model colony for themselves—­a Germany away from Germany.45 However, why the Germans did not use direct killing to compel the Nama into displacement in the Omaheke requires further exploration. General von Trotha wanted to delay all operations against the Nama, though this extraordinary request was denied by the German General Staff. The general moved his troops cautiously due to logistical prob­lems and hoped that the Nama would ­organize in a single b­ attle, though this did not come to pass.46 He issued a proclamation on 22 April 1905 that echoed the wishes of the kaiser (that all

Inescapability • 81

o­ rganizers of the Nama revolt ­were to be killed, but that life would be guaranteed for t­ hose who surrendered). The general then de­cided to treat the Nama with the same brutality he was wielding on the Herero: ­ ose few who refuse to surrender ­will have happen to them what happened to Th the Herero p­ eople, who in their blindness also believed they could successfully make war on the mighty German kaiser and the g­ reat German ­people. . . . ​The ­whole Herero ­people have had this happen, part of them have died of hunger and thirst in the desert, part ­were killed by German troops, part ­were killed by the Ovambo. The same ­will happen to the Hottentot p­ eople, if they do not freely surrender themselves and their weapons. . . . ​­Those who believe that [­because they have murdered or are leaders] they w ­ ill receive no mercy, should leave the land, b­ ecause if they are seen on German territory, they ­will be shot at, ­until all are destroyed.47

The Germans did not necessarily want to pursue the Nama, but they ­were determined to crush the revolt by any means necessary. The common German staff officer view was, “He [our Nama e­ nemy] criss-­crossed the land in numerous small bands. Such bands would pop up anywhere, so that nowhere was safe for troops marching or resting, nor for columns, positions, or posts. Our motto in this situation had to be ‘­enemy everywhere.’ ”48 While the guerrilla warfare campaign weakened German spirits, it did not deter their resolve to fi­nally solve the “Indigenous prob­lems” in GSWA at any cost.49 The Germans built a railway line into Namaqualand to shut­tle supplies more quickly—­which directly led to the discovery of diamonds in 1908—­and General von Trotha set a price on the heads of Nama leaders.50 ­There is a two-­part answer as to why the Germans did not employ kettling tactics against the Nama, as they did with the Herero. First, the timing of the Nama revolt helps explain why DA crimes w ­ ere not pursued. At the time of the Nama uprising, ­there w ­ ere far more troops in Namibia than ­there w ­ ere when the Herero revolted a year e­ arlier. This meant that t­ here would necessarily have to be a shift in Nama tactics used against the Germans (to guerilla warfare). If the Nama had revolted a year e­ arlier, they would have faced a significantly smaller German force with the Herero, shifting tactics into favoring concentric ­battles. The guerilla warfare tactics allowed the Nama to engage in fighting retreats, prolong r­ esistance, and deny the Germans the opportunity of a concentric ­battle once outnumbered. The Nama learned from the Herero experience and understood how to avoid German DA crime tactics. Second, the cost of DA crimes to the Germans was too steep for them to conduct operations against the Nama. Pursuit into the Omaheke during the Herero genocide was costly for the Germans. It nearly broke supply lines, soldiers fell ill and received scant treatment, w ­ ater was scarce, and many soldiers ­were physically and mentally fatigued from pursuit. While most of the indirect killing in

82 • German South-­West Africa

the desert had been completed in a few short weeks, it had broken German morale. Like the Herero, the Nama took flight into the Omaheke for protection and distance from the Germans, only the Germans de­cided not to pursue the Nama due to the learned experiences of what ­these types of atrocity operations would require in men, materiel, and morale. Instead, the Germans chose to allow the Nama to retreat into the desert, did not create a cordon, and did not systematically poison w ­ ater holes as they did with the Herero. The costs of ­these sorts of operations when the Germans had time and numbers on their side did not make sense. This raises an impor­tant question: Would the Germans have used DA crimes against the Nama if they could have overcome Nama guerilla r­ esistance? Perhaps. However, the existing concentration camp system gave incentive to the Germans to exploit Nama ­labor potential, meaning that attrition methods, not DA crimes, would have been best suited for 1905.

Sociopo­liti­cal Upheavals: Timing of the Nama Revolt Fi­nally, the Germans did not perpetrate DA crimes against the Nama due to the established atrocity pro­cesses already underway in GSWA. At the time of the Nama revolt, the Germans had already annihilated tens of thousands of Herero in the desert and had created a concentration camp and forced ­labor system. A ­ fter they w ­ ere defeated militarily, the Nama w ­ ere put into this system.51 For Lemkin, this was “a life of virtual slavery.”52 The concentration camp system was expansive, with each place acting as a small geography of annihilation.53 The timing of the revolt meant that the Nama ­were likely to be sent to the camps for their ­labor potential, rather than annihilated in the desert. The camps allowed the Germans to commit genocide by attrition while improving GSWA and other colonies. The Germans still believed that the Nama could revolt once again and continued to incarcerate and kill them by attrition ­until at least 1915, when the Germans lost control of GSWA during the Great War.54 The timing of the Nama revolt is one of the strongest explanatory variables in understanding the dif­fer­ent atrocity tactics used against them by the Germans. Had the Nama revolted at the same time as the Herero, it is pos­si­ble that they would have been subjected to similar DA crime policies due to the strategic and tactical situation in the colony and to von Trotha’s par­tic­u ­lar and temporally unique responses to the Herero escaping the Waterberg area. If the Nama had participated in that engagement and had escaped with the Herero, they would have been annihilated in the desert alongside the Herero. Instead, ­because they revolted ­after the DA crimes against the Herero had concluded and the concentration camp system was entrenched, the Nama w ­ ere sent to ­these small sites of annihilation instead of the wide-­open Omaheke—­which would have been too costly for the Germans.

Inescapability • 83

The Nama Genocide On 3 October 1904, two Witbooi Nama informed the highest German official in Namaqualand, Bezirksamtmann von Burgsdorff, that the Nama ­were officially at war with the Germans.55 The Germans believed that von Burgsdorff could talk his old friend Hendrik down from war, but as von Burgsdorff rode into the Nama camp, he was shot and killed by Salomon Sahl (a Baster-­Nama).56 The following day, forty German soldiers and settlers (men) w ­ ere killed in a surprise attack by the Nama. Shortly a­ fter, almost half of the Nama ­rose to follow Hendrik.57 Witbooi rebuffed German demands to surrender, saying, “Peace would be equivalent to my death and the extinction of my nation, for I know that ­there would be no sanctuary for me u­ nder your government.”58 ­Colonel von Deimling was tasked with the military response, and initial operations went well. He surprised the Nama at Naris, but the Nama would avoid ­these pitched b­ attles in the ­f uture, instead taking advantage of the hilly and rough terrain to conduct successful guerilla warfare operations. A ­ fter a series of skirmishes, the Germans ­were able to force the Nama to retreat into the Kalahari, but they did not pursue them.59 On 21 April 1905, von Trotha arrived in Namaqualand and issued an order that placed bounties on the heads of Nama leaders and proclaimed that all Nama who surrendered would be given work and food.60 The proclamation failed to induce surrender, so von Trotha ­organized his troops for a standard concentric ­battle plan aimed at annihilation, similar to the B ­ attle of Waterberg; the Nama, however, would not agree to such a fight. During a failed peace negotiation with the Nama, Lothar von Trotha’s son was accidentally killed by friendly fire (an attacking German unit).61 ­A fter this, negotiations ­were broken off and General von Trotha de­cided to annihilate the Nama. On 19 May 1905, he issued the following order “to the war-­waging Namaqua tribes”: “The ­great and power­ful Emperor of Germany ­will be lenient with the Namaqua p­ eople and has ordered that the lives of ­those who give themselves up w ­ ill be spared . . . ​[but] . . . ​if anyone thinks that a­ fter this notice t­ here w ­ ill be any leniency shown him he had better quit the country, b­ ecause if he is again seen in German territories he w ­ ill be shot and thus all rebels w ­ ill be eliminated.”62 On 29 May, the final line was amended to read: “had better quit the country ­because wherever they are seen in German territory they ­will be shot at ­until all the outlaws have been exterminated.”63 Witbooi’s fears of extinction ­were proven correct. The fighting against Jakob Marengo in the Karras Hills (June/July 1905) is reported as a victory in the German official history of the conflict. In real­ity, Marengo lured the Germans into a trap and caused 50 casualties (19 killed, 31 wounded) out of a German force of 170. Marengo was ­later considered a “Black Napoleon” for his strategic and tactical prowess against the Germans.64 The Germans, fearing a costly conflict, let the Marengo Nama entrench themselves in

84 • German South-­West Africa

the Karras Hills and turned their attention to the Witboois, now encamped west of Gibeon in southern Namibia. General von Trotha attempted to annihilate the Witboois but failed to encircle them on 25 August 1905. On 19 September 1905, the Witbooi Nama appeared two hundred miles south of Gibeon; and on 12 October, the Marengo Nama attacked the Germans from the Karras Hills. On 24 October, the Germans suffered their worst day of the GSWA campaign: 43 men killed, wounded, or missing. On 29 October 1905, Hendrik Witbooi was mortally wounded during a raid on a German supply train; his final words ­were, “It is enough. With me it is all over. The ­children should now have rest.”65 His son, Issak, took command and sued for peace with the Germans. The Witbooi Nama—74 men, 44 w ­ omen, 21 ­children, ­horses, and military materiel—­ surrendered in November  1905. An additional 105 men and 172 ­women and ­children surrendered on 11 December, and another 50 men and 69 w ­ omen and ­children surrendered on 24 December. On 2 March 1906, 86 men and 36 w ­ omen and c­ hildren surrendered, fi­nally ending the Witbooi r­ esistance.66 Approximately 400 Nama men ­were killed, missing, or prisoners of war (on British soil), and it took the Germans 15,000 soldiers in total to crush 1,200–1,400 Witbooi Nama.67 Marengo and his four hundred men ­were totally forgotten by December 1905, but they w ­ ere about to wreak havoc.68 From December 1905 to February 1906, Marengo and his troops raided German outposts, caravans, and farms from the Karras Hills and the Orange River. By early March 1906, the Germans believed they had fi­nally cornered Marengo, but delaying tactics and a strategic fighting retreat allowed Marengo to withdraw beyond the Orange River. Marengo’s men struck German camps ten times, and all ten times they ­were successful in raiding and killing Germans. On 4 May 1906, Marengo was defeated for once, and by the end of May, ­after a series of skirmishes, the Germans ­were in a “fruitless pursuit” of the wounded Marengo. On 6 August  1906, despite evading the Germans all summer, the Nama attacked a German position but w ­ ere repulsed and pursued for days. ­A fter ­running out of supplies, on 25 October 1906 Johannes Christian (a Marengo lieutenant) sued for peace with the Germans. On 16 November, a German force surprised other Nama, killed many, and drove many into the bush at the Lower Fish River. On 21 December 1906, the Ukamas and Heirachabis sued for peace. On December 23, the Bondels sued for peace. The only remaining “­free” ­people ­were the Simon Kooper band who had retreated into the Omaheke and ­were scraping out survival ­there (the Germans did not pursue them, as they posed no threat to the colony). On 31 March 1907, the German government officially declared GSWA pacified, and the troop levels sunk to four thousand.69 Both the Herero and the Nama revolts in GSWA ­were crushed, costing the Germans 2,348 men (killed, missing, wounded, dead from disease).70 The first attrition methods against the Nama followed the disarming of the eighty-­strong contingent fighting alongside von Trotha against the Hereros.

Inescapability • 85

­ ese Nama ­were sent to be forced laborers in Togo following the suggestion Th of Governor Leutwein and official o­ rders from the German Foreign Office.71 In late November, 119 Nama w ­ ere sent to Togo aboard a Woermann steamship—at a cost of 16,605 marks (a “princely sum” at the time, Drechsler noted).72 The death rate among them was so high—­fi fty-­four quickly, with scores of ­others ill—­that doctors advised they be sent back to GSWA, a request denied by von Trotha. Instead, the Nama w ­ ere transported to Cameroon. Of the original 119 Nama, 48 reached Cameroon (14 of whom w ­ ere in critical condition, while 34 o­ thers w ­ ere a “miserable spectacle”).73 In June  1906, the remaining forty-­two w ­ ere sent back to GSWA a­ fter some two-­thirds died from forced l­abor u­ nder horrendous conditions.74 Many Witbooi Nama w ­ ere killed through forced ­labor and attrition methods in the camp system and as slave laborers for private settlers and companies.75 They remained in German custody u­ ntil 1915, when the British from the Cape Colony attacked GSWA and conquered the colony.76 The most significant killing of the Nama occurred by indirect methods. The German concentration camp system was widespread and had profound negative impacts on Namibians, paving the way for the creation of a more power­ful German colonial state. It was only during the second part of the Herero genocide (DA crimes from 11 August 1904 to late December 1904) that the camp system was established. Surrendering Herero who survived DA crimes (approximately 15,000) w ­ ere subjected to summary executions, corporal punishment, extreme deprivations of liberty and vital daily needs, and forced ­labor in t­ hese camps. This treatment was fully extended to the Nama. In all, the German atrocities against Nama p­ eoples claimed the lives of approximately ten thousand—­half of the Nama population.77 As a result of the war and the concentration camps, the Nama ­were forced to submit to German rule. This primarily meant the expropriation of African lands for settlement and E ­ uropean economic development. “The imperial decree of 26th  December  1905 and the proclamations of 23rd  March  1906 and 8th May 1907 declared [Nama] lands to be state property. [The Nama] had no other means of survival except to seek work with the settlers.”78 Nama over the age of seven w ­ ere forbidden from owning h ­ orses and c­ attle, all but eliminating familial owner­ship of such valuable resources.79 In effect, this put all adult Nama at below-­child socioeconomic statuses. Once the British conquered GSWA in 1915, colonial imposition and governance changed ­little. E ­ uropeans still held hegemony over Africans. The Bondelzwarts resisted British rule though they ­were introduced to a new and deadly weapon of war: bombardment by airplane (by the British). The Nama have managed to continue their existence through the introduction of apartheid into Namibia in the 1950s, the wars of the twentieth ­century, and the reformulation of i­ndependent governance in the twenty-­first c­ entury.80

86 • German South-­West Africa

Genocide: Perpetration Variances in German South-­West Africa German p­ olitical vio­lence t­ oward the Nama and the Herero differed significantly, but both ­were genocidal. In both cases, the Germans ­were faced with two serious revolts against colonial rule and the exact same causal pathways to genocide. However, b­ ecause the Nama w ­ ere able to deny the Germans the use of the Omaheke as a space to perpetrate genocide, the Germans could not engage in DA crimes during the revolt. When the Nama surrendered, the Germans enslaved them as laborers in the established concentration camp system. It was in the Germans’ best interests to exploit the l­abor potential of the Nama and the Herero while depriving them of vital daily needs in concentration camps and other sites of forced ­labor (like the railways). ­These camps existed as a result of the Herero genocide, and by the time the Nama revolted, they ­were an established attrition killing system. Due to ­these reasons, the Nama w ­ ere victims of genocide by attrition in GSWA at the exact same time the Herero ­were victims of genocide by DA crime kettling methods.

Part 3

The Ottoman Empire and Turkey

6

Collapse The Nadir of the Ottoman Empire (1839–1915) The Ottoman genocide of Christian minorities (1914–1925) destroyed Armenians, Greeks, and Assyrians in the Ottoman Empire. Genocide took place in Anatolia (Asia Minor) due to awesome forces associated with imperial decline, war, revolution, rights, hubris, national pride, and crises of ­imagined communities. ­These crises gave leaders opportunities to choose genocide to homogenize Anatolia. The story of the fall of the Ottoman Empire, the rise of the Committee of ­Union and Pro­gress, path-­dependent institutions, and individual choices of elite actors help us understand why Christians ­were subjected to escorted DA crimes, which killed approximately 2.5 million p­ eople.

Geography The Ottoman Empire controlled massive swaths of territory through its history, at one time possessing lands in southern ­Europe, almost all of North Africa, and much of Mesopotamia. However, through wars, revolutions, and internal decline, rapid territorial losses shrunk the empire by 1913.1 This 623-­year land empire existed at the crossroads of the East and the West, with Constantinople (Istanbul) at the heart of the trade among p­ eoples, vital for both E ­ uropean and Asiatic powers.2 The empire often used its vital position as a potent foreign policy tool.3 89

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­Table 6.1

Anatolian Temperature Ranges Temperature

Konya

Sivas

Erzurum

Der Zor

Extreme high Extreme low Annual averages

40.6 (July) −28.2 (January) −0.2 to 23.5

40.0 (July) −34.6 (January) −3.5 to 20.1

36.5 (August) −36.0 (January) −9.2 to 19.3

47.8 (August) −8.2 (February) 2.5 to 39.9

SOURCE: Deutscher Wetterdienst, “Klimatafel von Dier Ezzor/Syrien,” accessed 6 August 2023,

https://­w ww​.­dwd​.­de​/­DWD​/­k lima​/­beratung​/a­ k​/a­ k​_­400450​_ ­kt​.­pdf; Turkish State Meteorological ­Service, “Konya,” accessed 6 August 2023, https://­mgm​.­gov​.t­ r​/e­ ng​/­forecast​-c­ ities​.­aspx​?­m​=­KONYA.

Despite territorial losses, the Ottoman Empire was a massive entity in 1914, when DA crimes began. The geography of Anatolia allowed Ottoman and Turkish perpetrators to forcibly displace targeted populations along linear displacement routes throughout the empire, typically ending in the Syrian Desert (Der Zor).4 Christian minorities ­were forced to walk shocking distances and ­were shot or left to die along roadsides if they fell b­ ehind. What made the displacement caravans particularly deadly w ­ ere the compounding effects of distance and prolonged exposure to Anatolia’s range of harsh climates (see ­table 6.1). Anatolia is known for its extreme variations, from the temperate Mediterranean climates to the arid deserts, from rich diversities of flora and fauna to jagged mountains.5 The atrocities against Christians ­were predominantly perpetrated in the heartland regions east of the Aegean and south of the Pontus coastlines. The Anatolian heartland is home to a cold, semi-­arid climate famous for high plains and mountainous terrains that extend t­ oward the flat and inhospitable Syrian Desert.6 Both locales featured ­limited vital daily needs during the atrocities.7 The Taurus, Anti-­Taurus, Pontic, and Sultan mountain ranges ­were also used as places to kill ­labor battalion members and as locations to force-­ march displacement caravans, exposing the targeted populations to extreme fluctuations in climates. The exposure to long distances, harsh climates, and grueling topographies killed thousands with brutal efficiency (see t­ able 6.2). A key perpetrator, Talât Paşa was quoted as saying to U.S. ambassador Henry Morgenthau, “[Christians] can live in the desert but nowhere ­else.”8 Any reasonable analy­sis can assume that being displaced and being forced to “live” in an inhospitable place means death. Even if deportees managed to survive the displacement columns in Anatolia, they faced further displacement in a flight to freedom across the Syrian Desert to Mesopotamia. That desert is noted for its desert pavement (gravel), extreme temperatures, occasional relief with few wadis, and overall inhospitableness.9 Escaping across ­these lands was part of the DA crime ­process itself. The forced marches and deprivations of Christians across Anatolia’s climatic zones was nothing short of genocidal.

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­Table 6.2

Displacement Distances during DA Crimes Route traveleda

Approximate distanceb

Constantinople to Sepastia to Der Zor Smyrna to Adana to Der Zor Samsun to Sepastia to Der Zor Trabzon to Sepastia to Der Zor Erzurum to Kharpert to Der Zor Sepastia to Der Zor Bitlis to Dyarbakir to Der Zor Adana to Der Zor

1,600 km 1,550 km 1,100 km 1,000 km 900 km 750 km 700 km 650 km

a Typical displacement routes b Google Maps was used to confirm approximate distances

Structural Opportunities for Displacement Atrocity Crimes Group Difference Construction: The Millet System and Turkish National Identity The Ottoman Empire was constructed on stable p­ olitical, ­legal, social, and economic repressions of Christian minorities called the millet system.10 The millets ­were Muslim (dominant), Orthodox (along Greek Aegean and Pontic coasts), Jewish (scattered), Armenian (heartland), and Catholic (­Europe).11 Muslims—­ primarily Turks—­were located at the highest rungs of ­political and socioeconomic power.12 Each millet recognized differences among ­people, and each group had ­limited control over its own tax collection, education, religious affairs, and justice. However, all millets had to obey the hegemonic powers and laws of the Muslim millet, leading to asymmetries in rights and enjoyment of state protections.13 As minority groups ­were treated as ­wholes, ­political and economic ostracization, collective punishments, and slavery/indentured servitude of non-­ Muslims w ­ ere common.14 ­There was a duality to the millet system, in that it entrenched differences to create a separate and unequal system in order to avoid conflict, allowing dif­fer­ent ­peoples to live ­under one Ottoman banner in relative stability, while also institutionalizing ethnoreligious apartheid, which helped create conditions for genocide.15 During atrocities, Christians ­were religiously taunted—­indicating that religious difference did in fact play a role in at least establishing discriminatory scripts for perpetrators.16 While the millet system provided reasons for Turks to marginalize non-­ Muslim populations, the single greatest trigger for the genocide of Christian minorities in the Ottoman Empire was a c­ entury of humiliations, which led to a violent Turkish national identity proj­ect.17 Questions of identity ­were complicated ideational prob­lems with material implications. As a religious title, “Muslim” did not reflect the diverse demographic composition of the empire.

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As a nationality, “Ottoman” was associated with imperial decline. As an ethnicity, “Turk” was inextricably linked with vio­lence due to Orientalist depictions in Western media and was incongruent with the multicultural complexion of the empire.18 Over time, “Turk” as an identity was eventually settled on by the majority in an era of increasing animosities ­toward Christian minorities. Turkish national identity was ­imagined and formulated at the intersection of the ­great forces of decline and internal strife, giving it a violent flair. It emerged amid fears of extinction fostered by the declining empire, enmity due to internal and external Christian influences, being caught between the humiliations of the pre­sent and the perceived glory of the past, a need to avenge territorial losses, and a need for spiritual unity and integrity against enemies.19 The Young Turk regime—­later internally overrun by the Committee of U ­ nion and Pro­gress (CUP), headed by the Three Paşas—­led the Ottoman Empire on a violent Turkification proj­ect. The Turkish national identity proj­ect was exterminationist in ideal and practice, as room was created only for Turks in a ­future Anatolia.20 Hypernationalism plunged the empire into a decade-­long killing spree, violating all the princi­ples of the second constitutional era following the 1908 revolution.21 Turkish national identity was a utopic and redemptive ideological pursuit. ­After years of decline, Turks would fi­nally be able to live up to their own perceived greatness, and non-­Turks w ­ ere viewed as traitors who had to be exterminated for the survival of “Turkishness.”22 As a concession to Arabs in the empire and as a response to the humiliation of the Balkan Wars of I­ ndependence, a violent reactionary Islam also took root and aided in anti-­Christian enmities.23 Social Darwinist ideas from ­Europe ­were imported, and the strug­gle for Anatolia became a m ­ atter of which group was biologically “fitter” to live t­ here. For the génocidaires, that was Turks only.24 The pro­cesses of imperial decline made Turkish society more receptive to extreme solutions to extreme prob­lems. As with many p­ olitical crises, a scapegoat was sought and found: Christian minorities.

Intergroup Grievances: The Fall of an Empire (1830s–1914) The Turkish national identity proj­ect came to life ­because of the empire’s death. During the nineteenth c­ entury, the Ottoman Empire experienced cataclysmic losses, which drove widespread ­acceptance of extreme ­political ideologies. The ­immense sense of loss at the perceived hands of internal and external Christians acting in concert, along with questions of identity, socioeconomic systems, ­political arrangements, foreign policy, and revolution, was at the forefront of the ­causes for genocide.25 Furthermore, ­political actors’ choices bound the empire into a smaller corner of pos­si­ble actions, and eventually genocide, as the violent national identity was made pos­si­ble through the very serious, real, and potent crises that the Ottoman Empire was facing.26 In response to imperial decline, Sultan Abdul Mejid initiated the Tanzimat Reforms (1839–1876). The empire faced ­immense crises: a lack of industrialism, a backward agrarian economy, Christian minorities who demanded equality, a

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repressive sultanate, wars and debts, and crises over identities. The Tanzimat Reforms ­were a series of imperial decrees designed to reor­ga­nize Ottoman society so that it could compete in ­Great Power politics.27 Westernizing bureaucrats recruited to lead reforms de facto ruled the Ottoman Empire with l­ ittle p­ olitical interference from the sultan and religious figures.28 Technical and institutional advisers ­were brought in from the United States, the United Kingdom, France, and Germany to aid in the transitions of the p­ olitical and socioeconomic spheres. ­These international advisers w ­ ere to westernize the empire to make it v­ iable, but this triggered unintended contests over identity and group meaning. The creation of a modern bureaucratic state, an expansion of railroads, telegraphs, the establishment of the first Ottoman central bank and universal bank notes, and the establishment of professional, engineering, and humanities/social science schools ­were central to the Tanzimat era.29 For many, ­these reforms felt like foreign (Christian) interventions into Ottoman politics.30 The bureaucracy and society pushed back against calls for reform as hasty ­measures that did not, in the minds of many, solve the root question: Why is the Ottoman Empire declining? Th ­ ese reforms quickly became costly half-­hearted attempts at change, leading to regression and ideological entrenchment. The Crimean War (1854–1856) exacerbated debt issues. The British and French intervened on behalf of the weak Ottomans against Rus­sia to balance power and to seek greater regional influence.31 This intervention had a price. The British and French demanded payments for their efforts, and the Public Debt Administration was established to extract payments from the Ottomans—­protection racketeering at its finest.32 The Ottomans found paying for security nothing short of outrageous. The war debts evaporated the cash required for Tanzimat and governance.33 A ­ fter the Ottomans failed to make payments, the French w ­ ere given control of approximately 80 ­percent of the Ottoman banking system, while the British received approximately 10–12 ­percent; a few banks w ­ ere given to the Germans; and only few banks remained in Ottoman hands.34 Po­liti­cally, Tanzimat led to constitutional reforms, including granting equal rights to all citizens of the empire, ­free parliamentary elections, and allowing for new p­ olitical parties. Elections on 23 November 1876 began the first constitutional period. However, while the sultanate was intended to be reduced to a rubber stamp institution, ­under Article 113 of the new constitution the Sultan could expel any elected representative. Sultan Abdul-­Hamid II took full advantage of this power to undermine reformers.35 Abdul-­Hamid II betrayed promises of change by disbanding parliament ­after the 1878 election and recentralized powers in his office.36 Though he cited fears over social unrest, this was a naked power seizure.37 His regime became increasingly dictatorial due to the instability he caused, and the sultan developed a sophisticated espionage system to repress ­political activism.38 Enmities grew and ­resistance to the sultan’s rule galvanized. The Young Ottoman ­organization, central in the drafting of the first Ottoman constitution (1876), began a campaign to return to constitutionalism.39

94 • The Ottoman Empire and Turkey

The combined pressures of decaying institutions, a repressive sultan, and war debts bankrupted the Ottoman state of monetary and ­political capital. Bankruptcy came at a time when citizens continually demanded more from their government, but the government could not deliver.40 Cycles of desperation stunted the empire’s ­future and questions over responsibility for decline aided revolutionaries who sought the dismantling of the office of the sultan. However, beyond ­these legitimate critiques was a burgeoning illegitimate critique of Christian minorities based in conspiracy and paranoia. When viewed through the lens of desperate decline, Christians ­were constructed as fifth columnists bent on the devastation of the empire. Through this lens, Tanzimat was a failure that only benefited Christians (internal and external); thus, Christians ­were constructed as a cause of imperial decline. The demands for minority rights amid this backdrop further reinforced the Christians-­as-­enemy narrative. Christian minorities (particularly Armenian revolutionary groups) began to ­organize and lobby for minority rights for self-­ determination. The goals of self-­determination ­were m ­ easured: ­limited autonomy while remaining loyal to the Ottoman flag.41 The sultanate initially attempted liberalizing minority reforms in the nineteenth ­century, but ­these reforms failed to have real impacts. Armenian rights ­were internationalized following the Russo-­Turkish War (1877–1878), resulting in Article 16 of the Treaty of San Stefano (3 March  1878), which dictated that ­Russians would enforce de facto Armenian rights in the Ottoman Empire by stationing troops along its eastern border. Accordingly, many Armenians cooperated with ­Russians in their strug­ gle for rights, leading to disastrous politicizations of the “internal/foreign e­ nemy” relationship by the l­ater CUP regime. Likewise, Article 61 of the Treaty of Berlin (13 July  1878) stated that the protection of Christian p­ eoples in the Ottoman Empire was the responsibility of all G ­ reat Powers.42 The internationalization of minority rights should be understood as inextricably linked to the pro­cesses of destruction initiated in 1914. Rooted in fantasy, paranoia over internal and external Christians collaborating to tear the empire apart became real­ ity in the minds of many. Curiously, though, the British promised the Ottomans military assistance if the ­Russians invaded to protect Christian rights. The British-­Ottoman Cyprus Convention (4 June 1878) taught the Ottomans a lesson: ­Great Powers would publicly support Christian rights but privately negate the protection of t­ hose rights.43 This hy­poc­risy was a key marker on the road to genocide, as it demonstrated to Ottoman elites that despite public proclamations of aid for fellow Christians, E ­ uropeans would ultimately not come to the aid of minorities in the empire.44 ­Later, the CUP justified the DA crimes by arguing that its genocidal vio­lence was a purely domestic affair. The false promises and hypocrisies of Tanzimat created a stage for vio­lence. Muslim Turks w ­ ere displeased with the rights granted to minorities, and the sultan had no intent to follow through on reforms.45 The emotions related to the

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loss of control and the scapegoating of populations undeserving of punishment laid the groundwork for destructive forces to take root in the Ottoman Empire. The pressures of decline weaponized latent anti-­Christian animosities, which made the targeting, scapegoating, and killing of Christians socioculturally pos­ si­ble and permissible. Christian minorities w ­ ere recast as the cause of imperial decline, and ideological interpretations of events led to beliefs that the empire could thrive as a homogeneous Turkish nation.

Asymmetric Power Distribution: Victimization in the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries The Hamidian massacres, wars of i­ ndependence, and r­ esistance efforts demonstrate that Christian minorities did not lack the resolve to fight back against persecution. However, the overwhelming power of the Ottoman state and Turkic citizens wielded by Abdul-­Hamid II and the l­ater CUP and Kemalist regimes was too g­ reat for minorities to overcome. This power asymmetry meant that Turks could hegemonically impose vio­lence on Christian communities. The Hamidian massacres (1894–1897) ­were directed primarily against Armenians and killed approximately 100,000–200,000 ­people. Countless homes and cultural sites across the empire w ­ ere also destroyed.46 The massacres occurred due to a confluence of state policy (Pan-­Islamism), which negated the rights of Christian minorities and metastasized anger at the failed Tanzimat era. Turkish national identity, which at the time was just beginning to emerge in a violent form, was stuck in a culture of grievance and loss that gave rise to extreme ­political ideas. The Hamidian massacres galvanized anti-­Christian vio­lence as a cathartic, short-­term policy solution to placate Turkish animosities.47 The massacres also galvanized Christian demands for rights in both Anatolia and E ­ urope. While Armenians generally sought greater rights and freedoms within the empire, Balkan Christians called for freedom from the empire.48 To the Ottoman governance system, t­ here was ­little difference between the two. Since the 1870s, ­European Christian citizens of the empire rallied ­toward autonomy, and a violent Ottoman repression of Balkan Christians in 1875 solidified G ­ reat Power opinion against the empire, laying the groundwork for the “Terrible Turk” imagery to take root during the Hamidian massacres.49 While the Treaty of San Stefano and the Treaty of Berlin provided articles for Armenian self-­determination, e­ very major G ­ reat Power used the Armenian question and calls for ­independence in the Balkans as bad faith ­political poker chips.50 As a response to failures of diplomacy, in 1912 citizens of Montenegro, Greece, Serbia, and Bulgaria, with material support from Rus­sia, launched a war of i­ ndependence.51 The nine-­month-­long war shocked the world: the Ottoman Empire had been humiliated by a loose conglomeration of Christian states—­the Balkan League—­and its E ­ uropean holdings vanished.52 The i­ ndependence movements on the fringes of the empire played a significant role in informing Turkish views on Christian demands for rights within the empire.

96 • The Ottoman Empire and Turkey

The Ottoman authorities (by now the genocidal CUP regime, discussed in the next section) constructed Christians within the empire as fifth columnists who wanted to dissolve the empire.53 According to this ideology, internal and external Christians would work together to violently destroy Turks. This solidified the previous lessons learned from minority demands for rights and territorial losses. The ­Great Powers ­were willing to support decline through capitalizing on the empire’s economic woes and the imposition of Westernization. The cultural b­ attle at the core of the empire’s decline was over identity. The self-­fulfilling prophecy of anti-­Christian sentiments was completed, and the stage was set for the shift ­toward expulsion policies—­ultimately resulting in DA crimes. However, Ottoman weakness in response to vio­lence at the fringes of the empire did not mean Ottoman weakness in Anatolia, where the Ottoman army dominated. During the genocide, ­resistance efforts demonstrated the resolve of Christian minorities to ­counter atrocity implementation, but they also demonstrated clear power asymmetries. Armenian r­ esistance at Musa Dagh and Van ­were valiant retreats to defendable positions on hilltops and in towns and required the use of strategic positioning to overcome the shortfalls of soldiers and materiel.54 However, without external assistance, ­these ­resistance efforts could only last for so long against what was then a modernized Ottoman military force. ­Resistance was almost always crushed. The clear power asymmetries in military power, as well as ­political and socioeconomic powers as dictated by the millet system, meant disempowered Christian populations ­were at the mercy of proponents of the violent Turkish national identity proj­ect. While targeted populations ­were disarmed and could only resist on small scales, the perpetrator groups wielded the powers of the Ottoman military structure, police forces, and special paramilitary groups who ­were armed and controlled by the Ottoman state led by the Three Paşas and l­ ater Kemal.55

Sociopo­liti­cal Upheavals: Revolution and War The stage was set for massive upheavals, as the empire simply could not withstand its disastrous institutional arrangements. The match that lit the bomb was revolution and war. The 1908 revolution by cosmopolitan groups initially made multiculturalism a possibility in the empire. The Young Ottoman revolutionaries who participated in the first constitutional period and actively campaigned against the Sultan incorporated revolutionaries from many social groups, including the two best-­known Armenian revolutionary groups: the Hnchakists and Dashnakists.56 Diverse revolutionaries cooperated with the exiled Young Ottomans to attempt to re-­implement Tanzimat constitutionalism and multiculturalism ­after the failures of the 1870s.57 The revolutionaries gathered support from key elite members of the bureaucracy, ­political structures, and military while also fostering p­ opular support from the western parts of the empire in Constantinople, Smyrna, and Ankara.58 Through the combined efforts of elites and the masses, the Young Ottoman revolutionaries w ­ ere able to overthrow the sultan

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in 1908 and implement a brief period of new constitutionalism in the liberal ideal of the failed Tanzimat era. For a brief period in 1908, the Ottoman Empire appeared to be heading t­ oward multicultural liberalism. However, the liberal faction of the Young Ottomans (Hurriyet ve Itihad—­ Freedom of Unity) and the Turkification faction (Ittihad ve Terakki—­ Committee of ­Union and Pro­gress, CUP) fought ferocious ­political b­ attles with each other.59 While the former viewed constitutionalism and ending minority persecution as goals, the latter became increasingly hostile and called for the violent Turkification of the empire. The CUP believed the empire’s prob­lems would be solved ­a fter finding ways to neutralize differing nationalities. The Young Ottoman movement shifted into the Young Turk movement, and cosmopolitan ideals ­were gradually overtaken by utopian desires for a racially and ethnically pure Ottoman Empire. While Christian minorities participated in the cosmopolitan Young Ottoman efforts, they ­were excluded from Turkification due to their continued calls for self-­determination and differences in identity. Compounding the failures of liberalism, an internal coup led by three members of the CUP—­Mehmed Talât (minister of the interior), Ismail Enver (minister of war), and Ahmed Djemal (minister of the navy)—­seized power from the legitimately elected parliament in a coup in 1913. The coupists rejected the liberalism espoused by Young Ottoman revolutionaries and ensured that “Turk” was to be the norm in the empire moving forward.60 The CUP forced the government to resign and quickly passed new laws that codified the CUP as the only legitimate ­political party. It also began to openly scapegoat Christian minorities.61 Propaganda dehumanized Christians and blamed them for the decline of the Ottoman Empire. Chief CUP propagandist Ziya Gökalp believed that Islam mandates domination of non-­Muslims and that Turks should form the dominant culture.62 He argued that Armenians ­were dangerous foreigners who should be destroyed so that the pure Turkish nation could thrive.63 He also wrote, “I am a soldier, it [the nation] is my commander / I obey without question all its ­orders. With closed eyes / I carry out my duty.”64 ­These prophetic visions for Turkey contorted history into neat conceptual spaces that made the elimination of Christians a permissible and ideologically preferable outcome. The CUP purged the military of officers considered disloyal, paving the way for ideologues and loyalists to be placed in positions of power, which would ­later be used against Christian populations.65 The violent Turkish national identity proj­ect was, beyond anything e­ lse, the single greatest cause of genocidal pro­cesses. It was made pos­si­ble through poor ­political planning, humiliations, and overall demise of the Ottoman Empire over the previous ­century. The new dictatorial triumvirate of the Three Paşas operationalized discrimination and ruled the Ottoman Empire for the entirety of the ­Great War and w ­ ere only deposed at its conclusion. During this time, they set in motion DA crime pro­cesses that killed millions. War provided a backdrop,

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an excuse, and a cover for the atrocities. The state of war increased the sense of the need to secure continued survival and the need for violent solutions to perceived and real prob­lems for a nation.66 The onset of the G ­ reat War added further spark to the ignited violent Turkish national identity proj­ect being implemented by the CUP.67

Genocidal Intent: Death in the Heartland The structural decline of the Ottoman Empire and the scapegoating of Christian minorities gave the CUP the opportunity to implement genocidal displacements. While ­there are no doubts about the distinctness of Armenians, Greeks, and Assyrians as ­independent communities, Turks conceptualized them to be a part of a hegemonic Christian e­ nemy, bent on the destruction of the empire. The narrative of Christians as fifth columnists had a long interwoven history with the pro­cesses of imperial decline, and perpetrators perceived intersections of chance as perverted plots to destroy the empire from within. The constructed siege mentality allowed perpetrators to commit DA crimes in the Ottoman Empire without mass ­resistance from the population. For Mark Levene, “The Ottoman fantasy was so out of kilter with real­ity as to produce nothing less than absolute trauma, absolute bitterness, hurt, and, above all, humiliation when the ­actual result [of the Balkan Wars] sank in. The very nadir of imperial fortunes, to add insult to injury, had not even come at the hands of a g­ reat nation, but, in Ottoman minds, at ­those of the most miserable and inferior of former subject ­peoples [Serbs]. Worse still, it actually brought ­those for whom the empire r­ eally mattered face to face with the possibility of its complete extinction.”68 The CUP propaganda machine created visions for bystanders and perpetrators alike to believe in a ­future healthy Anatolia where Christians could no longer stab Turkic Muslims in the back. The only way forward was removal, and removal meant extermination.

The Groundwork for Genocide In a 23 February 1914 Ministry of War meeting, Ismail Enver stated that the only way to achieve unity among the Turkish and Islamic worlds was to take strict ­measures against non-­Muslims. Immediately, the CUP moved to create the units of annihilation: the Special O ­ rganization (Teşkilât-­ı Mahsusa), brigands (Çetes), and loyal military units ready to commit atrocities. The Teşkilât-­ı Mahsusa and Çetes performed brutalities that “government and public forces could never hope to perform” and w ­ ere composed largely of “habitual criminals and degenerates.”69 CUP secretaries and provincial governors had enormous responsibilities placed on them to follow ­orders from the Three Paşas and direct t­ hese units to their killing grounds. A letter from the Special ­Organization to the CUP dated 13  September 1914 noted, “The Responsible Secretaries should secretly and within one week summon all the individuals willing to cooperate.”70 This means that as early as September 1914, the CUP was at least formulating how to kill

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Christians. (The ­later trial of the responsible secretaries at the Turkish courts-­ martial sentenced many to jail time for their roles in the atrocities.)71 A cable to the provincial governor of Aleppo (dated 29 September 1915) stated, “It had previously been communicated that the government, by order of the Cemiyet (the Committee of the Ittihad), had de­cided to completely annihilate all Armenians living in Turkey. Th ­ ose who oppose this command and decision cannot remain part of the official structure of the state. Without paying attention to w ­ oman, child, [and] incompetent, no m ­ atter how tragic the methods of annihilation might be, without listening to feelings of conscience, their existence must be ended.”72 A ­telegram dated 4 July 1915 from Special ­Organization leader Bahaddin Șakir to Sabit Bey (governor of Mamuretülazis) asked: “Have Armenians who ­were deported from ­there been eliminated? Have t­ hose harmful ele­ments who ­were distances [from t­ here] through deportation been liquidated or simply deported? Please be frank and open in your report, my ­brother.”73 The CUP’s governing apparatuses acted in concert to destroy Christians. This coincided with the outbreak of the G ­ reat War, as CUP ideology informed actors that b­ ecause Christians could collaborate with invaders, they should be deported and annihilated before they could have the chance. While 1914 saw the plans being drawn, 1915 was the year of the widespread implementation of DA crimes.

The Trigger for Genocide (Fall 1914) Enver’s doomed Caucasus campaign in late fall 1914 culminated at the ­Battle of Sarıkamıș, where the Ottomans w ­ ere routed by R ­ ussian forces.74 The failure of this early campaign was blamed on Armenian soldiers, not on Enver’s spectacular strategic blunder of invading Rus­sia during winter. By February 1915 t­ here ­were contrived reports of Armenian revolts, which justified the disarming of Armenian men in the Ottoman army and the extermination of t­ hose Armenians who refused to obey.75 ­These cables also instructed CUP functionaries to impose martial law in Anatolia.76 Armenians w ­ ere formally identified as internal threats who had to be eliminated. General Mahmud Kamil Paşa de­cided that “to preserve the life and existence of our [Turkish] nation it has become necessary—if distressing—to punish with full severity and deport ­those who have revolted.”77 For the general, the presence of Armenians along supply routes was a potential prob­lem for the Ottoman army and a justification for resettling Armenians into southern provinces.78 In another ideologically charged cable dated 22–23 April 1915, Sivas governor Muammer stated, “It has been confirmed from the mouths of captured suspects that the Armenians have trained and armed 30,000 persons from this province and that 15,000 of them have since joined the ­Russian Army,” while the remaining 15,000 ­were supposedly staying ­behind in Anatolia waiting for the downfall of the Ottoman Empire.79 In winter 1915, cables from Şakir, who had long advocated for deportation, confirm Ottoman intentions to exterminate Christians through deportation.80 Third Army commander Mahmut Kamil Paşa wrote a

100 • The Ottoman Empire and Turkey

cable (24 July 1915) stating that Muslims had been hiding Armenians from deportation and, as such, should be executed in fantastic public fashion as a lesson to other rescuers. Kamil went on to say that even Armenians who converted to Islam, ­were in the military, or ­were other­wise not a threat ­were to be deported.81 Walter Rössler, the German consul to Aleppo, reported on 10 May 1915: “The ­measures seem aimed at eliminating all Armenians in the region.82 The increasing vio­lence against Christians caused them to resist and thus satisfy the self-­fulfilling Young Turk ideology. However, a report to the command of the Ottoman Fourth Army sent on 14 March 1915 stated plainly that they do “not entertain the possibility of a general Armenian uprising. . . . ​A large portion of our Armenian compatriots are sorely grieved [by the deportations] . . . ​[and that] their sense of connection to the homeland is beyond all doubt and suspicion.”83 Clearly, the threat of revolt was contrived but ideologically widespread. The paranoid CUP regime feared nothing more than internal revolt by Christians and written testimony from the Turkish courts-­martial details that the CUP believed that “the safety of the country is tied to this.”84 For the CUP, evacuation and deportation meant annihilation.85 Perhaps most damning of all evidence was the 5 to 10 ­percent rule. Formed out of fears of an existential crisis with internal “enemies,” Ottoman demographic policy proscribed that Christians could not exceed 5 to 10  ­percent of the population in each district. This destructive policy was used to justify the annihilation of Armenian populations.

Decision to Commit Genocidal Displacement Atrocities (Winter–­Spring 1915) To implement genocidal DA crimes in the Ottoman Empire, a dual mechanism was used for disseminating ­orders: “First, an official deportation order was sent to the provincial regions by the Interior Ministry. Specifically, the Department of Public Security and Dispatches within the ministry was responsible for overseeing all the practical ­matters involved in the deportations. The ­orders ­were sent to the government’s local representatives (governors and prefects) in the provinces, who ­were expected to carry them out. Then ­there w ­ ere separate, unofficial ­orders for the annihilation of the deportees, issued by the CUP Central Committee and conveyed to the provinces through party channels.86 Leaders then dispatched local military and paramilitary o­ rganizations to execute both sets of ­orders. For example, Talât Paşa wrote a cable on 2 March 1915 stating, “It is confirmed that the Armenians should be transferred to the indicated region as communicated in the Feb. 13th ­telegram. As the situation has been evaluated by the state, the probability of rebellion and protest indicates the need to take action. The increasing possibility of Armenian uprisings requires that ­every effective means of suppression needs to be applied.”87 Şakir and other CUP functionaries also roamed from province to province giving oral and written ­orders to deport and massacre Christians.88 Governors who refused to comply ­were removed from office.89 Christians w ­ ere mustered to

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town centers and then sent on long deportation routes where systematic deprivation of vital daily needs, taunting, torture, and massacre ­were used to destroy them.90 The prosecutor’s 13 January 1920 concluding statement at the Turkish courts-­martial read as follows: “The extermination of the Armenians and confiscation of their property and land flowed from decisions made by the Central Committee of U ­ nion and Pro­g ress. Behaeddin Șakir o­ rganized battalions of butchers . . . ​and coordinated all the crimes committed in [Erzerum, Bitlis, Van, Dyarbekir, Harput, Trebizond, Sivas, and Canik]. The state was complicit in ­these crimes. No government official, no judge, no gendarme ever stepped in to protect the populations subjected to t­ hese atrocities.91 The deportation policy was created by the central CUP leadership. In a conversation with outraged American ambassador Henry Morgenthau, Talât claimed that Armenians “refused to disarm when we told them to. They opposed us at Van and at Zeitoun, and they helped the ­Russians. ­There is only one way in which we can defend ourselves against them in the ­future, and that is just to deport them” and that the suffering of the entire Armenian population was “inevitable.”92 Talât was clearly aware of the DA crimes. Talât provided further comment to the Beliner Tagelatt: “We have been reproached for making no distinction between the innocent Armenians and the guilty; but that was utterly impossible, in view of the fact that ­those who ­were innocent to-­day might be guilty to-­morrow!”93 Talât’s tautological reasoning confused history with charged and eliminatory nationalism. A t­elegram written by Naim Bey on 11 January 1916 noted the following prob­lem of bodies lying on the deportation caravan routes: Some seven or eight hundred Armenians died ­every day [at this point] from disaster, destitution, and disease. They w ­ ere buried in the mud, their remains scattered by the carrion fowl [that feasted on them]; it was a state of affairs that seared the h ­ uman conscience. The German and Austrian officers [serving with the Ottoman forces] would see t­ hese sights and send by written reports to their own countries. Talat Paşa heard reports of this and wished to hide his crimes ­under a shovelful of dirt, to bury them, but even by moving heaven and earth, ­these b­ itter calamities could not be hidden from memory or caused to be forgotten.94

CUP official cables confirm that the Three Paşas and party functionaries w ­ ere systematic in their desires to hide evidence of genocide.95 A cable from Talât reads, “Have the dead bodies on the roads buried, not by throwing the corpses into ravines or rivers and lakes, and the possessions that they left along the roads.”96 In another conversation with Morgenthau, Talât plainly stated, “They can live in the desert but nowhere ­else.”97 He l­ ater added, “No Armenian can be our friend ­after what we have done to them.”98 While Talât possessed a genocidal braggadocio about his actions, Enver was more subdued.99 In a conversation with Morgenthau, Enver stated:

102 • The Ottoman Empire and Turkey

The Armenians had a fair warning of what would happen to them in case they joined our enemies. . . . ​You know what happened at Van. . . . ​We knew that they w ­ ere planning uprisings in other places. You must understand that we are now fighting for our lives at the Dardanelles and that we are sacrificing thousands of men. While we are engaged in such a strug­gle as this, we cannot permit p­ eople in our own country to attack us in the back. We have got to prevent this no m ­ atter what means we have to resort to.100

Morgenthau asked, Why persecute an entire ­people for the pos­si­ble actions of a few? Enver replied, “Your point is all right during peace times. We can then use Platonic means to quiet Armenians and Greeks, but in time of war we cannot investigate and negotiate. We must act promptly and with determination.”101 Enver also argued, “How can we furnish bread to the Armenians when we c­ an’t get enough for our own p­ eople? I know that they are suffering and that it is quite likely that they cannot get bread at all this coming winter. But we have the utmost difficulty in getting flour and clothing right h ­ ere in Constantinople.”102 When Morgenthau offered money and missionaries ready to provide relief, Enver quickly declined and said, “That is one of the worst t­ hings that could happen.”103 For Morgenthau, “Enver’s logic was fairly maddening. . . . ​The more money which the Americans sent to feed the Armenians, the more Armenians Turkey intended to massacre!”104

Justifying Genocide (Spring–­Fall 1915) The Temporary Law of Deportation (27 May 1915) authorized the ­wholesale deportation of Armenian communities.105 The use of deportation was discussed as early as February 1915, as evidenced by a ­telegram from Tahsin Bey, “who reminded Talât that the former commander of the Third Army, Hafız İsmail Hakkı, had himself voiced his ‘fears’ of what might happen if the Armenians ­were deported from the vilayet of Erzerum.”106 The law gave extraordinary powers to the Three Paşas to oversee genocidal operations, circumventing the cabinet and normal p­ olitical pro­cesses. Article 4 of the law gave the minister of war (Enver) wide-­ranging powers to plan deportations and vari­ous national, provincial, security sector, and ­political personnel the power to execute ­these plans. To ensure this law was not debated, the CUP suspended Parliament (1 March 1915) and “railroaded” the law through the cabinet on 27 May 1915 (while deportation operations w ­ ere already underway).107 The object of the law was to gain at least a veneer—­albeit an extraordinarily thin one—of l­ egal legitimacy for the uprooting and displacement of Armenian communities.108 This allowed the CUP to justify its actions to domestic and international audiences by claiming that ­these actions w ­ ere done within the rule of law. For Peter Balakian, the critical word in the law was “sensing”: if the CUP sensed “espionage,” “treason,” or had a military necessity, it could deport Armenian populations.109 This gave the Ottomans a wide array of problematic/untrue justifications for their genocidal actions.

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The Temporary Law of Expropriation and Confiscation (13 September 1915) justified the “stealing, plundering, and appropriating” of Armenian wealth.110 The law authorized Ottoman authorities to document and seize Armenian properties, sell them at auctions, and hold the money in a trust u­ ntil the deportees returned. Armenian wealth was considered “abandoned goods,” which led to widespread pillaging.111 Christian properties ­were seized if they ­were not sold by their o­ wners and ­were redistributed to Turks, who took possession of said belongings. By the written law, Armenians w ­ ere to be compensated for their losses, but t­ hose payments never materialized.112 ­These two laws laid the foundations for DA crimes. They gave the CUP deniability mechanisms: to claim that ­these ­were only temporary ­measures and that ­there ­were clear mechanisms to allow for the return of p­ eople and property. Th ­ ese laws w ­ ere designed only as an attempt to hide the genocidal policies being implemented in Anatolia and gave extraordinary powers to the highest-­ranking CUP members to implement ­these violent policies.

The Road to Genocide in Anatolia While a written or recorded order may or may not exist for the Three Paşas, their attitudes ­toward Christians demonstrate beyond a reasonable doubt that they knew of the genocide, intended to commit genocide, had control over genocidal pro­cesses, and orchestrated genocide against a constructed “Christian ­enemy.” The choice to commit genocide was the result of individual agency occurring within a par­tic­u­lar Ottoman context. The final ­decades of the Ottoman Empire and its decline provided the structural opportunities for violent solutions to take root and flourish. An aggrieved society ­will always be more receptive to ­political vio­lence against scapegoated populations. In this context, the CUP was able to spread its discriminatory, dehumanizing views of Christians, which laid the foundations for support of genocide within the government and society. The CUP de­cided to commit genocide u­ nder the cover of war and recast Christian minorities as dangerous internal enemies. This identity construction meant that Christians had to be “defeated” for the preservation of the (Turkish) nation. The CUP unleashed DA crimes on all Christian populations by May 1915, and the genocide continued ­until at least 1923 on a systematic level.

7

Excision The Ottoman Genocide of Christian Minorities (1914–1925) The DA crimes against Christian minorities in the Ottoman Empire ­were perpetrated by both the CUP (1914–1918) and the Kemalist (1919–1925) regimes.1 The CUP was undoubtedly the first regime to implement ideas of a Turkish national identity, and while the Kemalists denounced the CUP’s crimes, Mustafa Kemal seized the opportunity at the beginning of the interwar period to homogenize Anatolia by continuing DA crimes. The 1918 atrocity pause can be explained by pro­cesses of creating peace and the need for stability in that one year of reprieve (see t­ able 7.1).2 The Ottoman genocide of Christian minorities was an unfolding ­process.3 Systematic DA crimes against Aegean Greeks began in 1914—­their homes w ­ ere destroyed, and they ­were sent t­ oward e­ ither Greece proper or the Anatolian heartland (first the Konia Desert and then Der Zor) between 1914 and 1916. Assyrians ­were killed between 1914 and 1925. Located primarily in the heartland, Assyrians w ­ ere displaced t­ oward Der Zor and w ­ ere also the disproportionate victims of many massacres. The Armenian genocide took place primarily between 1915 and 1923. Armenians w ­ ere mostly located in historical Armenia in the heartland regions of the empire, and they ­were almost exclusively displaced ­toward Der Zor. Pontic Greeks ­were subjected to DA crimes between 1916 and

104

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­Table 7.1

Years of DA Crimes in the Ottoman Empire Targeted community

Years of displacement atrocity crimes

Assyrians Aegean (Ionian and Thracian) Greeks Armenians Pontic Greeks

1914–1925 1914–1916; 1919–1923 1915–1923 1916–1918; 1919–1923

SOURCE: Tessa Hofmann, “Cumulative Genocide: The Massacres and Deportations of the Greek

Population of the Ottoman Empire (1912–1923),” in The Genocide of the Ottoman Greeks: Studies on the State-­Sponsored Campaign of Extermination of the Christians of Asia Minor (1912–1922) and Its Aftermath; History, Law, Memory, ed. Tessa Hofmann, Matthias Bjørnlund, and Vasileios Meichanetsidis (Athens: Melissa International, 2011); Akçam, The Young Turks’ Crime against Humanity, 63–96, 125–340; Joseph Yacoub, Year of the Sword: The Assyrian Christian Genocide; A History (New York: Oxford University Press, 2017), 15–120.

­Table 7.2

Places of DA Crimes in the Ottoman Empire Targeted community

Places of displacement atrocity crimes

Aegean (Ionian and Thracian) Greeks Assyrians Armenians Pontic Greeks

Aegean coastline to Der Zor and Konia Desert Heartland to Der Zor and Mesopotamia Heartland to Der Zor and Mesopotamia Black Sea coastline to Der Zor

1918, and from 1919 to 1923.4 Aegean Greeks w ­ ere targeted once more when Kemal’s troops pushed back the Hellenic Army during the Greco-Turkish War, burned Smyrna, and killed and displaced its Christian residents (see t­ able 7.2).

Making Displacement Atrocity Crimes Pos­si­ble Elimination of Humanitarianism: Turkification and ­Wartime Norms The elimination of humanitarianism in the Ottoman Empire and Turkey worked in a three-­part mechanism. First, Turkification as an official state policy created cognitive maps for vio­lence against Christian minorities. Both the CUP and the Kemalist regimes espoused a coherent vision for Anatolia—­pure and devoid of Christian minorities so that Turks could blossom.5 The Three Paşas led the switch t­ oward extremism.6 Th ­ ese beliefs ­were absorbed by many and manifested in three key ideas: (1) Turks ­were the rightful heirs to Anatolia; (2) Turks had been humiliated for centuries at the hands of Christian populations; and (3) Turks had to protect themselves via displacement from Christian populations before Christians tore the Turkish empire apart from within, aided by external allies.7 The best evidence of mainstream populace ­acceptance of CUP ideology was the rampant

106 • The Ottoman Empire and Turkey

ransacking and looting of Christian properties as Christians w ­ ere being deported, demonstrating a widespread lack of value assigned to Christian lives and properties. Additionally, the systematic assimilation policies targeted ­toward Christian ­children, with Turks attempting to fully assimilate ­children into being “Turkish”—­not Armenian or Greek or Assyrian—­demonstrates a strong dedication to erasure.8 While many Turks w ­ ere bystanders or beneficiaries of Ottoman crimes, ­there w ­ ere also resisters and rescuers as well (although their numbers pale in comparison).9 Second, the structural opportunities war pre­sents create conditions for the ­acceptance of vio­lence as a v­ iable ­political solution for a diversity of issues. Both the ­Great War and the Greco-­Turkish War provided violent scripts for the population to accept that Christians w ­ ere internal enemies who might collaborate with external enemies.10 The treason hysteria swept throughout Anatolia, and war provided a cover for ­these “necessary” crimes. If Christians w ­ ere e­ nemy populations waiting for a chance to revolt, the coming of war in 1914 and 1919 was a potential opportunity for their supposed rebellions. War normalized the mobilization of troops, irregular forces, and other formations. The ­wartime deportations of Christian populations appeared official, and according to the law, they ­were only “temporary” deportations.11 Third, the official state policy of the CUP and Kemalist regimes gave state-­ sanctioned legitimacy to the vio­lence (though this was only a facade).12 DA crimes ­were partially perpetrated far away from cities, but the residents of hundreds of cities and towns that ­were positioned along displacement routes would have absolutely seen, interacted with, and known about the displacement caravans and their deadly consequences. The three-­part mechanism of ethnoreligious homogenization of a Turkish ­imagined community, vio­lence as a standard for settling disputes, and the authority and license to execute destructive plans aided in plunging Anatolia t­ oward atrocity and silencing Turkish dissent regarding DA crime pro­cesses.

Sociopo­liti­cal Disruption: Decapitation Strikes The Ottoman genocide of Christians could be implemented quickly due to the disor­ga­ni­za­tion of targeted communities. Without community o­ rganizers, intellectuals, and religious figures, targeted communities had significantly more challenges ­organizing ­resistance to genocide. As early as 1909 and 1911, Greeks along the Aegean coastline began to be destabilized through murders and disappearances of intellectuals, religious leaders, and community ­organizers.13 In 1914, even before the declaration of war (whereby Christians ­were branded as existential threats to the empire), the killing and looting of Assyrians was begi­nning.14 Famously on 24 April 1915, three hundred Armenian intellectuals, religious leaders, and prominent individuals in society ­were arrested and executed.15 Pontic Greek community leaders began to be killed in 1915 and 1916.16 ­These targeted killings w ­ ere, according to Donald Bloxham, “decapitation” strikes

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aimed at destroying the high-­level social bonds that high-­profile figures aid in creating.17 ­These high-­profile roving strikes occurred just before DA crimes took place for each community. This social disruption occurred in dif­fer­ent time periods. The perpetrators devised a five-­pronged strategy of disrupting social bonds and annihilating ­resistance: 1. 2. 3. 4. 5.

Make mass arrests of men and notables. Send them away to an unknown destination. On the road to the destination, divide the convoy into groups of between fifty and one hundred. Where executions are to take place, force the victims to remove their clothes before massacring them and throwing their bodies into wells. As sworn on the Koran, nothing should be told to the Christians of the town about the acts committed by the executioners or the fate of ­those executed.18

­ ese pro­cesses of destroying social bonds and r­ esistance ­were incredibly impor­ Th tant to the creation of deportation caravans meant to annihilate Ottoman Christians, as ­f uture crimes could be carried out ­free of r­ esistance from local communities. Thus, the targeted communities would be fragmented at a time when they needed solidarity. The destruction of central Christian leaders set the stage for exploitations of a weakened community deprived of social cohesion.

Elimination of ­Resistance: The ­Labor Battalions and Sieges Already, the Ottoman regime eliminated the possibilities for humanitarianism and disrupted social continuities among targeted communities, which laid the groundwork for ­future crimes. The elimination of ­resistance took the form of conscripting men into amele tabuları (­labor battalions) and defeating external forces that could have prevented DA crimes. The ­Labor Battalions. The l­abor battalions ­were used from 1914 to 1922 and ­were first implemented against Greek men along the Aegean coastline. Many w ­ ere slaughtered, w ­ ere killed by indirect methods, or committed suicide (in significantly lesser numbers), effectively decimating the Christian male population.19 In late 1914, l­ abor battalions ­were expanded and incorporated hundreds of thousands of Armenian men. The forced enlistment began with men aged 20 to 45, then 15 to 20, and fi­nally 45 to 60.20 Minister Enver believed disastrous defeat in his Caucasus campaign could be blamed on Armenian soldiers not fighting hard enough against ­Russians.21 As a punitive ­measure, Enver ordered Armenian fighting units disarmed and transformed into l­abor battalions, where they would be worked to death for their perceived disloyalty to the Ottoman cause. As a m ­ atter of historical accuracy, Armenian soldiers fought valiantly for the Ottomans.22

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Men w ­ ere forced to construct military earthworks and trenches and to transport supplies through the sweltering summer heat and frigid mountainous terrain while systematically being deprived of food, ­water, proper clothing, medical care, and shelter.23 As a function of war, the ­labor battalions provided the empire with forced military logistics ­labor, thus allowing Turkish soldiers to predominantly be fighters. Many ­labor battalion conscripts ­were forced to carry daily loads of fifty-­five kilograms each and ­were sent to construct roads in brutal weather conditions with scant vital daily needs.24 Entire l­abor battalions w ­ ere sometimes massacred ­a fter they completed their tasks.25 Mutilations, bastinadoes, and beatings w ­ ere common, and massacres of men w ­ ere taking place by March  1915.26 Across nearly a ­decade of use, the ­labor battalion death rate exceeded 80 to 90 ­percent.27 The amele tabuları ­were orchestrated by the CUP and military leadership as a means of destroying Armenian (and Greek and Assyrian) men through attrition. Importantly, the l­ abor battalions destroyed fighting-­age men, depriving Christian communities of the demographic (men aged 15–60) most likely to offer military r­ esistance to genocidal practices.28 Siege Warfare. A major turning point to systematizing DA crimes was the ­resistance at Van. The siege of Van, located in the heartland of the empire, began on 17 April 1915 and saved thousands from death. DA crimes against Armenians had already begun in Zeitun. The siege, however, provided the propaganda the CUP needed to sell their account of treasonous Christian populations.29 Once news of the horrors of the Zeitun columns reached Van, Armenians ­organized ­resistance.30 On 20 April, the Ottoman military besieged Van, and the city’s thirty thousand population doubled with Armenian refugees seeking safety.31 The Ottomans brought an army of 5,000 well-­equipped soldiers to bear on Van, while the Armenian fighting force numbered no more than 1,500, with only three hundred r­ ifles. In the words of Ambassador Henry Morgenthau, “Yet the Armenians fought with the utmost heroism and skill; they had l­ ittle chance of holding off their enemies in­def­initely, but they knew that a ­Russian army was fighting its way to Van.”32 ­A fter five weeks of fighting, the ­Russians appeared and relieved the Armenians.33 However, thousands died during voluntary flights ­toward British Mesopotamia and Rus­sia due to a lack of supplies.34 The episode provided data that was misconstrued as Christian disloyalty, not a story of ­resistance to atrocity. Likewise, the Pontic Greeks ­were temporarily saved by the ­Russians once they invaded Pontus. The G ­ reat War, once again, played an integral role in justifying genocidal pro­cesses. The disastrous Caucasus campaign led to a ­Russian occupation of parts of the northeastern Ottoman Empire. This occupation reached as far as Van in the heartland and Trabzon along the Pontus coastline between 1915 and February 1917.35 During this time, a small number of Ottoman Christians collaborated with the invading ­Russian military, which all but cemented

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the self-­f ulfilling prophecy of the CUP: internal Christians would link with external Christians and tear the empire apart in an elaborate conspiracy. The evacuation of ­Russian troops ­after the 1917 revolution sealed the fates of Christians along the Pontus coastline, in eastern Anatolia, and elsewhere. The removal of ­Russian troops stripped Christians of their protectors.36 In the 1920s, the Greco-­Turkish War began a new wave of Turkish anti-­Greek atrocities—­and accelerated the rate of atrocities against Greeks (the presence of the Greek Army was used as a justification to kill Greeks who might collaborate).37 Greece had been promised influence in the Ottoman Empire, and in order to compel the entente powers to keep their promises, Greece invaded the empire in 1919 and rapidly expanded its military operations.38 Greeks landed and occupied the Aegean city of Smyrna. While Thrace and the Smyrna millet ­were promised to Greece, the resurgent Turks led by the Kemalists pushed the Greeks back into the Aegean Sea, leaving Anatolia largely ethnically homogeneous.39 Cusp of Atrocity. Displacement in the Ottoman case should be considered a logical resort of the CUP and Kemalist regimes. Despite their differences in governance, their similarities in perpetration of crimes reflected a single unified fear of internal Christian revolt. The “Christian prob­lem” could fi­nally be solved in its entirety. Any humanitarianism or pos­si­ble r­ esistance was crushed, and DA crimes took place far away from battlefields; no help could reach them.

Displacement Atrocity Crimes DA crimes ­were implemented in dif­fer­ent spaces and times in Anatolia. According to Taner Akçam, prior to the G ­ reat War, the CUP had “formulated a policy that they began to execute in the Aegean region against the Greeks and, during the war years, expanded to include the Assyrians, the Chaldeans, the Syrians, and especially the Armenians.”40 That policy was genocide, which was an unfolding p­ rocess—­a series of violent events tied together as a systematic attack on Christian populations.41 The initial Aegean population homogenization transformed into annihilation ­after difficulties with population transfers ­were encountered. Greeks ­were rerouted hundreds of kilo­meters inland and w ­ ere ­later joined by Armenians, Pontic Greeks, and Assyrians on displacement caravans that destroyed hundreds of thousands of lives.42 The CUP’s crimes began in the west and moved eastward in Anatolia. Once Aegean Greeks, Armenians, and Assyrians w ­ ere forced to move, the CUP shifted its focus to the Pontic Greeks in the north. Regime change and Greek invasion a­ fter the ­Great War was pushed back by Kemal’s forces. While Kemal denounced the crimes of the previous CUP regime, he hypocritically reinitiated the exact same DA crime pro­cesses that the CUP had implemented short years before.43 The reignited DA crimes against Pontic Greeks, Armenians, Assyrians, and Aegean Greeks moved from east

110 • The Ottoman Empire and Turkey

to west this time. DA crimes against Christian minorities in Anatolia ­were perpetrated by both the CUP (1914–1918) and the Kemalist (1919–1925) regimes, forming a cohesive era of annihilation from 1914 to 1925.

Direct Killing and Compulsory Displacement Systems of DA crimes ­were made pos­si­ble due to direct vio­lence, which was used to compel Christians into displacement and sustain displacement.44 While most direct vio­lence occurred away from the cities in fits of extraordinary vio­lence, such as massacres, the direct vio­lence used to initially compel displacement was impor­ tant for creating the opportunities for systems of indirect killing to take root. Christian inhabitants of large cities ­were subjected to terrible vio­lence, though smaller rural towns w ­ ere sites of more pronounced vio­lence. Th ­ ese systems worked in three ways. First, perpetrators—­whether they w ­ ere Ottoman army regulars, Kurdish tribesmen, or irregulars from the state or local level—­used direct vio­lence at the community level to compel Christians to leave their homes.45 The direct vio­ lence to compel displacement often involved executions, forceful physical attacks, sexual vio­lence, and a devastating severing of links with home. Massacres and displacement columns worked in concert to annihilate Christians.46 Displacement columns ­were formed ­after Ottoman authorities occupied towns and cities and informed their targets that they had only a few moments or days to prepare to leave, resulting in many leaving most if not all their worldly and personal possessions ­behind.47 For Vahakn N. Dadrian, “The disguise which proved most perilous for the victim population was the air of solicitousness with which the Turkish authorities officially pledged to ‘relocate’ that population whose deportation they had decreed ­under a plea of ­wartime military necessity. The outcome of t­ hese deportations and the a­ ctual fate of the targeted population are m ­ atters of historical rec­ord.”48 George Shirinian adds, “Sometimes the Armenians ­were given a few days’ notice to prepare for their deportation, sometimes only a few hours. They w ­ ere allowed to take what they could carry in wagons, on donkeys, or on their persons. Every­thing e­ lse was confiscated by the state with the false promise that a rec­ord would be kept and the Armenians would be compensated l­ ater. No compensation was ever made.”49 Second, direct vio­lence used against Christian populations occurred during displacement operations to compel Christians to continue their lethal exoduses. During displacement operations, perpetrators walked or rode alongside deportation caravans and force-­marched the displaced ­until they could no longer pro­gress, at which point they w ­ ere left to die or ­were killed on the spot.50 In a ­matter of a few short days, the targeted populations ­were reduced to a state of pauperism, and deportees w ­ ere “whipped, raped, tortured, and shot in ongoing pro­cession.”51 Caravans ­were miles in length, and horseback-­mounted perpetrators escorted the columns to annihilation. Relieving oneself could be punished by torture or death if one did not continually move.52 Consuming vital daily needs was met with severe punishment if disallowed by the perpetrators.53

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Third, massacres w ­ ere used as a method to quickly annihilate entire displacement columns instead of waiting for the Christians to succumb to indirect killing methods. All along roadsides bodies w ­ ere strewn about, victims of bodily degradation and massacre.54 For the Turks, the purpose of the deportations is made clear by the commander of the Ottoman Third Army, Vehip Paşa: “The massacre and annihilation of the Armenians and their looting and pillaging by the killers ­were the result of a decision made by the [C]entral [C]ommittee of the [Committee of] U ­ nion and Pro­gress. . . . ​­These specific acts of vio­lence, which [­were] carried out in accordance with a comprehensive program and with a clear intent, ­were performed upon the instruction and urging, and with the supervision and follow-up of government functionaries . . . ​which had discarded [all  considerations of] law and conscience.”55 Once weakened, the displaced ­were sometimes swiftly annihilated via massacre. Ottoman officer Raphael de Nogales recalled seeing the following in Seert: The ghastly slope was crowned by thousands of half-­nude and still bleeding corpses, lying in heaps, or interlaced in death’s final embrace. . . . ​I met vari­ous sub-­Governors of the province, assembled in council ­under the presidency of the chief of the local gendarmes . . . ​who had directed the massacre in person. From their talk I realized at once that the t­ hing had been arranged the day before by Jevdet Bey. Meanwhile I had taken up my lodging in a handsome ­house belonging to Nestorians, which had been sacked like all the rest. Th ­ ere was nothing left in the way of furniture except a few broken chairs. Walls and floors ­were stained with blood.56

Even upon arrival in Der Zor, massacres ­were common to cleanse the province of too many Christians.57 American accounts from Der Zor cite overcrowding, a systematic lack of supplies, overwhelming heat, disease, starvation, dehydration, exhaustion, and ­mental trauma among the displaced.58 American consul to Aleppo Jesse Jackson noted horrifying scenes of arriving Christians, with one group of w ­ omen who ­were “entirely naked, their hair flowing in the air like wild beasts” and their skin “the color of a green olive, the skin peeling off in ­great blotches, and many of them carry­ing gashes on the head and wounds on the body as a result of the terrible beatings.”59 Some of the displaced w ­ ere locked in train cars and w ­ ere deprived of their vital daily needs ­until reaching transportation hubs, then forcibly displaced again to Der Zor. Even deportees taken to Der Zor by train arrived in terrible condition due to a lack of vital daily needs.60 For Akçam, the l­ imited demographic spaces made available to the Armenians in Syria amounts to compelling evidence of exterminationist demographic policymaking.61 ­There w ­ ere also variances in perpetration methods against distinct groups. While the targeting of Armenians often included the use of deportation columns as a primary method of genocide, the destruction of the Assyrians often

112 • The Ottoman Empire and Turkey

emphasized the use of massacres rather than deportation—­though displacement was incredibly widespread.62 From January to November 1915, the policy of extermination was particularly deadly, as hundreds of thousands of Assyrians ­were deported and massacred.63 Mass drownings ­were also used as a killing ­process against Pontic Greeks, with indescribable horrors.64

Forced Displacement and Indirect Killing Displacement columns followed a clear plan of linear displacements along predetermined displacement routes. Typically, Christians ­were collected from towns and cities and then marched to transfer hubs. Main deportation hubs in Sivas, Muş, Erzurum, and Diyarbakir sent larger columns to their deaths in the heartland. ­These hubs then created larger groups of victims to be marched—­ “evacuated”—to their deaths in the Konia and Syrian Deserts. The Caravans. It is estimated that the death rates among t­ hose deported reached levels of 80 to 90 ­percent.65 Ambassador Morgenthau estimated that the total survivors of the displacements could not exceed 15 ­percent.66 During his exodus, Armenian Varteres Mikael Garougian asked perpetrators about the bodies he found along the roadside. The guards responded that the bodies ­were most likely Greeks, and “­because they w ­ ere unable to survive the travel and hunger, they became ill and died. Since the moving caravans did not have time to bury the dead bodies, they left them on the path and departed.”67 If victims of displacement atrocities ­were able to survive their arduous marches, then they had to navigate the Syrian Desert to reach some semblance of safety in British Mesopotamia, typically in and around Baghdad. American consul Jackson noted that of the original 300,000 Armenian inhabitants of Sivas, only 5,000 reached Aleppo on their way to Der Zor.68 Some deportation caravans ­were four thousand victims strong, sometimes chained together, starving, and forced to pay scarce money for a drink of w ­ ater or a piece of bread at wildly inflated prices.69 Ronald Grigor Suny adds, “Extermination went along with deportation. . . . ​The caravans of refugees faced torture, interminable forced marches, disease, hunger, and thirst. ­Women and girls ­were raped, and the sick ­were left ­behind to die.”70 Most victims succumbed to indirect killing pro­cesses in myriad ways: passing away at night, dropping from exhaustion, slow death via dehydration and malnourishment, and death by disease due to displacement and the extreme strains on the ­human body. Some caravans w ­ ere met with genocidal massacre a­ fter being weakened by deprivation policies, as this Armenian account states: I was twelve years old. I was with my m ­ other. They drove us with whips, and we had no w ­ ater. It was very hot and many of us died ­because ­there was no ­water. They drove us with whips, I do not know how many days and nights and weeks, ­until we came to the Arabian desert. My ­sisters and the ­little baby died on the

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way. We went through a town, I do not know its name. The streets w ­ ere full of dead—­a ll cut to pieces. . . . They drove us over them. I keep dreaming about that. We came to a place on the desert, a hollow place in the sand, with hills all around it. Th ­ ere ­were thousands of us t­ here, many, many thousands, all w ­ omen and girl-­children. They herded us like sheep into the hollow. Then it was dark, and we heard firing all around us. We said, “The killing has begun.” All night we waited for them—my ­mother and I—we waited for them to reach us. But they did not come, and in the morning when we looked around, no one was killed. No one was killed at all. They had not been killing us. They had been signaling to the wild tribes that we w ­ ere ­there. The Kurds came l­ ater in the morning, in the daylight; the Kurds and many other kinds of men from the desert. They came over the hills and rode down and began killing us. All day long they w ­ ere killing; you see ­there w ­ ere so many of us. All that they did not think they could sell, they killed. They kept on killing all night, and in the morning—in the morning they killed my ­mother.71

In Der Zor, horrifying conditions of arriving and concentrated displaced persons w ­ ere reported. Th ­ ere was no cessation to the arrival of deportation caravans, with Christians arriving in Der Zor by the thousands each day.72 Der Zor was an obvious choice, as the Aegean Greek transfers demonstrated to the Young Turks that displacing Christian populations to other countries could threaten the security of the Ottoman Empire. The Turks ­were petrified of the possibility of displacing Armenians t­ oward the R ­ ussian Empire, as they feared that the Armenians would merely join the ­Russian military and invade Anatolia.73 Thus, they chose displacement in the opposite direction. According to Suny, “What deportations did not achieve, starvation did.”74 The tens of thousands of Armenians who reached Der Zor ­were reduced to a state of pauperism and degraded bodies stemming from displacement. Some thousands managed to survive, but many other thousands ­were killed by starvation and disease, as well as massacres and “cleansings” of the Der Zor camps.75 One German teacher who observed the Armenians in Der Zor believed they had forgotten how to eat: “They lie ­there quietly and wait for death.”76 Der Zor provided a logical end point; ­there would be no relief for any Christian population ­there, humanitarian or military. Some of the first deportations ended in massacre, but the l­ ater deportations—­especially ­a fter spring–­summer 1915—­continually kept Armenians on the move to destroy them and to ensure that they did not comprise more than 10 ­percent of a province’s total demographic.77 To quote Hofmann, “­After vari­ous death marches since 1915, disguised as deportations[,] and ­after the previous conscriptions of 1914 and 1921[,] Turkish militaries and paramilitaries had achieved a rich experience in ways of physical destruction by indirect ways.”78

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A ­Process of Annihilation. The initial displacements in 1914 shifted from population transfer to Greece to DA crimes in the Anatolian heartlands.79 Initially, the Ottomans attempted economic boycotts of Greek businesses to compel them to leave Anatolia.80 When this failed, the CUP used direct vio­lence to compel flight.81 ­These methods included “vari­ous forms of psychological and physical intimidation, including obstruction of agricultural activities, raids, arsons, killings, forced evacuation of ­whole villages within a few hours, forced expatriation, massacres, deportations into the Asian heartland and obligatory conscription in ­labor battalions.”82 Arnold Toynbee elaborated: “Entire Greek communities w ­ ere driven from their homes by terrorism, their h ­ ouses and land and often their movable property w ­ ere seized, and individuals w ­ ere killed in the p­ rocess. . . . ​The procedure bore evidence of being systematic. . . . ​They carried out the designs of the ­Union and Pro­g ress Government against the Armenians.”83 Ambassador Morgenthau believed the population transfers of 100,000–200,000 Greeks from Thrace and Ionia paved the way for ­future deportations against the Armenians.84 In late 1915 and 1916, the persecution of Christians in the Aegean littoral zone reached Smyrna, where vio­lence and small-­scale deportations from the city took place, though less so compared to the rest of coastline. In November 1916, the vio­lence and deportations ceased, only to resume in 1917.85 The first deportations of Armenians preceded the p­ opular historical start date of 24 April 1915, starting instead in Erzurum in November 1914.86 ­Later, the governor of Adana erroneously believed that Armenians contacted British warships to plan an insurrection, and on 26 February 1915, the Armenians w ­ ere ordered from the coastline to the interior in Osmaniye, Ceyhan, and Adana.87 According to Dadrian, “Alleging treasonable acts, separatism, and other assorted acts by the Armenians as a national minority, the Ottoman authorities ordered, for national security reasons, the w ­ holesale deportation of the Armenian population of the empire’s eastern and southeastern provinces. This act resulted from a concerted drive by the military authorities, in collusion with the Central Committee of the Ittihad part, to divest Anatolia of its Armenian population ­under the cover of war.”88 On 31 March 1915, the first deportation caravans w ­ ere formed from Armenian populations in Zeitun and ­were forcibly displaced ­toward Der Zor (the most common destination). Similar initial deportations ­were formed from Dörtyol.89 ­There was l­imited opportunity for Armenians to offer ­resistance: [They] ­were driven u­ nder guard into the wilderness. Survivors reported ­later that the caravans w ­ ere looted, individuals murdered, o­ thers taken into Muslim families and forced to convert. Most c­ hildren ­under age five ­were to be spared for adoption by Muslims. Some w ­ omen leaped into the Euphrates rather than surrender to their captors. Kurdish w ­ omen attacked the Armenians with knives, calling for money and searching the corpses for valuables. ­People w ­ ere marched through the Kemah gorges along the Euphrates, a long passage with

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the turbulent river on one side and insurmountable cliffs on the o­ thers that soon became a sanguinary killing field. The irregulars of the Çetes bayonetted the men, threw bodies in the river, and raped ­women.90

On 30 June  1915, American consul Leslie  A. Davis wrote to Ambassador ­Morgenthau, noting that the Armenians ­were being deported in ­wholesale numbers and massacred in the most brutal and sadistic fashions.91 Davis also wrote of terrible horrors inflicted on Armenians at the initial deportations, where he likened Turkish and Kurdish perpetrators to “vultures swooping down on their prey.”92 Some of the first deportations ended in massacre, but the deportations a­ fter spring–­summer 1915 continually kept Armenians on the move to destroy them.93 Armenians from all over the empire ­were destroyed, taken to hubs and made into large displacement caravans to be exterminated.94 Bodies ­were feasted on by vultures, emaciated corpses rotted in the heat of Anatolia, and consuls from Rus­sia, Germany, and Amer­i­ca believed that what was taking place was a total annihilation of Armenians.95 Almost all caravans from the north and west made their way through the Mamuret ül-­A ziz vilayet, a place Davis labeled the “slaughter­house province,” as Armenians ­were subjected to rape, torture, slashing, whipping, mass executions, and burning and w ­ ere, on a larger scale, deprived of vital daily needs.96 DA crimes against the Pontic Greeks ­were initiated at the onset of winter in 1916. Deportation columns ­were ordered, provisions ­were not supplied, and the license to commit mass vio­lence on the Greeks meant that the intentions of deportation remained consistent: annihilation.97 Some Pontic Greeks w ­ ere sent to Turkish baths and then sent out into the extreme winter winds to die of pneumonia and exposure during death marches.98 In a 16 July 1916 telegraph, German consul M. Kuckhoff wrote that the pretext of preventing espionage was a prima facie justification for deportation: “In Turkish the terms deportation and destruction have the same meaning, for in most cases ­those who are not killed fall victim to diseases or starvation.”99 The deportations w ­ ere perpetrated ­under pretenses of temporary resettlement, which supposedly necessitated the presence of armed guards for “protecting” the Greek caravans.100 The genocidal pro­cesses inflicted on the Pontic Greeks have not been as researched as the victimization of Armenians, but the brutality inflicted on both communities was, in almost all instances, the same. Christians w ­ ere death-­ marched naked in the winter and forced to drink swamp ­water in order to bring about a faster destruction of the deportation group via typhus.101 The columns ­were formed ­after Ottoman authorities occupied towns and cities and informed Greeks they had only a few days to prepare for displacement, forcing many to leave most if not all of their worldly and personal possessions ­behind, which ­were bound to be stolen by their Turkish neighbors.102 Thea Halo’s grand­mother survived one of ­these death marches:

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In the beginning, each day was like the last. We still had food, even though it was meager, and we still had our health. The landscape was lush and green and the fruit and nut trees ­were in full bloom. . . . Almost without noticing, the landscape changed. The trees grew smaller, the rocks grew taller, and the colors changed from green to sand. L ­ ittle by ­little, jagged cliffs and parched, coarse earth stretched out before us as far as the eye could see. The sun beat down on us all day without the relief of a saving breeze coming from a tree-­lined hillside. At night we lay in our sweaty clothes pressed together to keep warm u­ nder our l­ ittle blanket tents. We had been on the road for about four months when my shoes wore out completely. Walking through this barren land with bare feet was like walking on pitted glass. The food we had brought was also gone. Each day brought another death, another body left to decompose on the side of the road. Some simply fell dead in their tracks. Their crumpled bodies littered the road like pieces of trash flung from a passing cart, left for buzzards and wolves. It was good fortune if victims died in the ­evening when we had s­ topped for the night. Then the victim’s kin could try to cover the body with a few grains of soil, using a spoon or stick to scratch the earth. But in the daytime the soldiers kept our death march moving, ready with their whips to prod us on with a swift, stinging lash. When our food was gone, ­Father bought something in the small towns we passed through when the soldiers allowed it or ­were not looking, but often ­there was nothing. The sound of crying was a constant companion for the first few months, but even that had diminished as our bodies grew weaker, our minds numbed, and our eyes focused only on the road ahead.103

Perpetrators force-­marched Greeks with the purpose of destroying them.104 The cold of the winter and the heat of the summer dehydrated and exhausted the displaced, and soldiers w ­ ere fond of marching Greeks near w ­ ater fountains only to deny them relief.105 The only bit of relief was that the soldiers prayed five times a day, which allowed the Greeks precious time to rest and gather scant resources.106 According to Enver, the deportations ­were for “strictly military reasons” and ­were intended to be only fifty kilo­meters in distance.107 However, many Pontic Greeks ­were forced to march over eight hundred kilo­meters on foot from the Black Sea coastline to the Syrian Desert—­exceeding the original estimate by 750 kilo­meters. Th ­ ese deportations constituted the primarily indirect means of death during the Pontic Greek genocide. Ambassador Morgenthau was able to succinctly decipher the DA crime pro­cesses against all Christian populations: The Turks ­adopted almost identically the same procedure against the Greeks as that which they had ­adopted against the Armenians. They began by incorporating the Greeks into the Ottoman army and then transforming them into

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l­ abor battalions, using them to build roads in the Caucasus and other scenes of action. Th ­ ese Greek soldiers, just like the Armenians, died by thousands from cold, hunger, and other privations. The same house-­to-­house searches for hidden weapons took place in the Greek villages, and Greek men and w ­ omen ­were beaten and tortured just as w ­ ere their fellow Armenians. The Greeks had to submit to the same forced requisitions, which amounted in their case, as in the case of the Armenians, merely to plundering on a w ­ holesale scale. The Turks attempted to force the Greek subjects to become Mohammedans; Greek girls, just like Armenian girls, w ­ ere stolen and taken to Turkish harems and Greek boys w ­ ere kidnapped and placed in Moslem h ­ ouse­holds. The Greeks, just like the Armenians, w ­ ere accused of disloyalty to the Ottoman Government; the Turks accused them of furnishing supplies to the ­English submarines in the Marmora and also of acting as spies. The Turks also declared that the Greeks ­were not loyal to the Ottoman Government, and that they also looked forward to the day when the Greeks inside of Turkey would become part of Greece. . . . ​The Turks, as in the case of the Armenians, seized upon this as an excuse for a violent onslaught on the w ­ hole race. Everywhere the Greeks ­were gathered in groups and, ­under the so-­called protection of Turkish gendarmes, they w ­ ere transported, the larger part on foot, into the interior. . . . ​Their sufferings . . . ​constitute another chapter in the long story of crimes for which civilization ­will hold the Turks responsible.108

Despite Mustafa Kemal denouncing Young Turk crimes against Christian populations, he gave new life to t­ hese policies from 1919 to 1925.109 In June 1921, Kemal’s forces perpetrated DA crimes against Pontic Greeks in Samsun, Trabzon, and the surrounding 394 villages with the same levels of ferocity and vio­lence as in the CUP era.110 Kemal’s forces w ­ ere also accused of burning three thousand Greeks alive and instituting policies of mass hangings, executions, and rampant sexual vio­lence.111 He would ­later turn his attention to destroying Kurdish populations, though ­those crimes are not within the purview of this chapter. His forces massed near Trabzon and drove ­toward the west, attacking Greek military formations and liberating occupied territories. The liberation of occupied territories coincided with genocidal death marches resuming at the hands of his military, paramilitary, and brigand personnel. The same DA pro­cesses of the Young Turk era ­were repeated in Kemalist Turkey.

Cultural Destruction In addition to direct and indirect killing, the Ottomans/Turks intended to destroy Christian cultures through the destruction of homes, assimilation and annihilation of c­ hildren, sexual vio­lence, and demographic disruption. Christian newborns ­were sometimes given to Turkish or Kurdish families to raise as their own. The Near East Relief Committee for the Armenians and Greeks ­after the

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genocide provided systematic assistance to survivors trying to locate and retrieve relatives who ­were exposed to sexual vio­lence and assimilation policies. Many w ­ omen and girls ­were saved, but many stayed where they w ­ ere b­ ecause they had experienced their own ontological destruction. They no longer associated their identity as Armenian ­because they had been “Turkified.”112 Some Christians sold their ­children before and during deportations to save them from genocidal displacements. For one survivor, “To be honest, t­ hese c­ hildren [taken by non-­Armenian ­house­holds] for the most part, w ­ ere better cared [for] and received better food and ­were happier than ­those who ­were with their poor parents [in exile].”113 Such ­were the impossible choices of genocide: surrender ­children so they may survive (though be ontologically destroyed) or be killed by displacement. The killing of newborns was common, using e­ ither mass drownings or immolation.114 C ­ hildren ­were sold on a mass scale, and their return was not guaranteed despite the exceptional work of Near East Relief.115 ­Children are incredibly impor­tant group members. They carry with them the possibilities of reproducing groups biologically and culturally. By exterminating ­children, the perpetrators not only killed members of the group but also halted the reproduction of the group in the f­ uture. Thus, the biological continuities of Christian groups ­were disrupted, and the cultural practices of ­these groups ­were in jeopardy of being lost. By targeting ­children, the perpetrators demonstrated their resolve to erase communities as they ­were and as they might have become. Additionally, some Armenian churches w ­ ere transformed into temporary brothels by Turks for the sexual slavery of w ­ omen (same-­sex rape of men was rampant as well).116 W ­ omen and girls ­were sold into sexual slavery and harems, and boys ­were subjected to assimilationist tactics. Sexual slavery typically included rape on a systematic scale, forced marriage and prostitution, gender-­based vio­ lence and sexual vio­lence, and genital mutilation.117 G ­ reat Armenian, Greek, and Assyrian cities that once stood as markers of thousands of years of history w ­ ere demolished, pillaged, and assimilated in an attempted erasure of Christian markers in Anatolia. Christian homes w ­ ere ransacked, looted, and assimilated by Turkish ­peoples. For Joseph Yacoub: “Death stalked hundreds of villages, leaving a huge number of orphans, captured c­ hildren, abandoned individuals, w ­ omen and girls kidnapped and sold, w ­ idows, refugees, t­ hose deported and t­ hose forcibly converted to Islam. . . . ​Historic monuments w ­ ere destroyed and left abandoned, churches desecrated and schools demolished. Libraries containing rare books and intricate manuscripts ­were pillaged and destroyed.”118 Cities all throughout the empire lost their Armenian, Greek, and Assyrian names and spellings in f­ avor of Turkish names and spellings, and churches ­were turned into mosques. Homes ­were stolen and given to new Turkish ­owners, and many o­ thers ­were ransacked and destroyed. Some places even ceased to exist. The genocide of Christian minorities was not only biological destruction of ­political communities but cultural destruction to complete a cycle of erasure as well.

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The Ottoman Genocide of Christian Minorities The displacement mechanisms put into practice by the Ottoman and Turkish authorities ­were designed to inflict mass suffering and mass death. The choice of displacement allowed Turks to save precious military equipment for the ­Great War and the ­later Greco-­Turkish War while simply escorting victims to their annihilation using l­ ittle direct force. Displacement was an efficient way of removing p­ eople from social structures that could hide them (i.e., their neighbors and home structures). Perpetrators tormented victims along hundreds of kilo­meters of displacement, often performing sadistic acts to further the indignities. In this immoral perpetrator universe, Christians ­were branded as internal enemies that threatened the existence of the empire, meaning they had to be annihilated. In the end, Christian influence in Anatolia was, in a sense, exorcised forever.

8

Neurosis The Hamidian Massacres (1894–1897) The Hamidian massacres w ­ ere in some ways a trial run for the l­ater Ottoman genocide of Christian minorities.1 ­These punctuated episodes of vio­lence occurred all over the Ottoman Empire. Between 1894 and 1897, approximately 200,000 Christians—­primarily Armenians—­were killed by state and non-­state forces in the empire. The question must be asked, though: Why did the empire punitively massacre Christians in the nineteenth ­century and annihilate Christians using genocidal DA crimes in the early twentieth c­ entury? Th ­ ere w ­ ere two impor­tant structural conditions that derailed DA crime policies from occurring in 1894: the violent Turkish national identity program had not yet been conceptualized, and as a result, the vio­lence directed against Christians was cathartic, not necessarily total. The Hamidian massacres could contemporarily be defined as a crime against humanity (i.e., extermination and murder). When Armenian ­resistance efforts erupted in Sasun, the stubborn local governor-­general incited Muslims to murder Armenians.2 The sultan, upon witnessing continued revolts throughout the Armenian parts of the empire, believed that “this business ­will end in blood.”3 The E ­ uropean G ­ reat Powers confronted the sultan and forced him to agree to a reform package. He l­ater watered this down, stating he would rather die than accept equalizing reforms. Massacres of Armenians continued.4 The sultan expressed the p­ opular view that Armenians w ­ ere “a degenerate community” who 120

Neurosis • 121

­ ere “always servile,” believing that the empire was faced “with the endless perw secutions and hostilities of the Christian world.”5 To combat the perceived amputation of imperial holdings (Greece, Romania, Bulgaria, and parts of the Balkans), the sultan believed that any remaining Christians must be punished into submission before they “tear out our very guts.”6 The Hamidian massacres w ­ ere centrally planned, and as per Pan-­Islamist ideology, “the goal was for Muslims to look upon attacks against Christians as the fulfillment of a religious duty.”7 When Armenians revolted due to repression, demands for equal rights, and a rejection of ­these rights, Ottoman authorities responded with vio­lence. In 1894, the Ottoman authorities implemented systems of punitive massacre to keep Armenians in the empire as unequal subjects. This vio­ lence typically took the form of massacres of Armenians by Muslim clerics and theology students working with Ottoman state forces to encourage and provoke participation in pogrom-­style murders. Turkish citizens and state forces participated in hunting down Armenians in gang-­style fashion, roving from one neighborhood to another and killing Armenians as they found them. In 1895 this system was formalized, and the Ottoman state aggressively participated in ­these pogrom-­style massacres. This system of atrocity continued to sweep through the empire u­ ntil 1897, when the final atrocities took place. The Hamidiye regiments (Kurdish tribesmen, o­ rganized and armed by the state), Ottoman military forces, and religious figures all participated in ­organized massacres of Armenians and Assyrians throughout the empire from 1894 to 1897. Th ­ ese units could not have directed themselves in such a coordinated way. The proof of central planning becomes more apparent when one considers that Hamidiye expenses w ­ ere paid directly from plundered Armenian possessions.8 The Hamidiye ­were often used at the direction of the sultan to “deal with the Armenians as he wished.”9 British vice-­consul H. S. Shipley (a member on the Sasun investigation committee) described the scenes he saw: “[The] Armenians ­were absolutely hunted like wild beasts, being killed wherever they ­were met, and if the slaughter was not greater, it was, I believe, solely owing to the vastness of the mountain ranges of that district which enabled the p­ eople to scatter, and so facilitated their escape. In fact, and speaking with a full sense of responsibility, I am compelled to say that . . . ​[the object was] extermination, pure and ­simple.”10 British Historian Lord Kinross believed the refusal of the Armenians to submit themselves to double taxation “served as a pretext in 1894 for an atrocious campaign of massacres launched by the Sultan’s o­ rders.”11 ­A fter a massacre, the sultan would decorate some officers, allow the Kurds to keep their plunder, and hope that the vio­lence would put an end the possibilities of Armenian revolts.12 Robert Melson noted that “massacre may . . . ​have been attractive to the regime ­because it was a subterfuge [allowing] local authorities and peasants to participate [to ensure] the desired results without clearly implicating the central government.”13 The culture of impunity, the a­ cceptance of massacre, the central ­organization, and the clear preference for vio­lence in dealing with minority

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­Table 8.1

Ottoman Genocide of Christian Minorities versus Hamidian Massacres Causal Pathways Focused variables

Ottoman genocide of Christians

Hamidian massacres

DA crimes

Yes

No

Demographic differences

Christians viewed through Turkish national identity lens; must be destroyed

Christians viewed as disloyal citizens; must be punished but not destroyed

Sociopo­liti­cal upheavals

Imperial decline and the scapegoating of Ottoman Christians lead to destruction in ­whole

Imperial decline and the timing of Armenian revolts open structural opportunities for massacres only

Intent

Clear intent to destroy Christians using DA crimes and other methods of destruction

Intent to cathartically punish Christians into submission using massacres

Methods of vio­lence

DA crimes Massacres Assimilation

Massacres Famine Targeted cultural destruction

demands for equality demonstrate at least some level of central government planning of the massacres. At the very least, they demonstrate that the central government and the sultan accepted the local use of massacre to deal with ­political demands for equality. This could best be categorized as intending to murder and exterminate populations as part of a systematic attack—­a crime against humanity. In the crumbling Ottoman Empire, Christians w ­ ere often the targets of scapegoating through verbal and physical attacks for supposedly being the leading reason the empire was falling apart. However, it was only in the twentieth ­century that the Ottomans/Turks de­cided to try to fully destroy their Christian populations. In the nineteenth ­century, t­ here w ­ ere still clear visions for keeping the empire together and, rather than destroying Christians, punishing them for potentially believing in revolution. ­There are three unsatisfied variables that explain why the Hamidian massacres (crimes against humanity) did not take the form of the l­ ater Ottoman genocide of Christian minorities (see t­ able 8.1). First, Christians in the nineteenth c­ entury ­were not conceptualized as a monolithic ­whole bent on destroying the empire ­because the Turkish national identity proj­ ect had not yet been conceived of. This meant that the thought of annihilating entire Christian populations did not seem to have been ideologically pre­sent. ­Second, the sociopo­liti­cal upheavals—­the ­Great War, particularly—­that made vio­lence widespread and pos­si­ble in the twentieth ­century w ­ ere not pre­sent in the nineteenth ­century. Armenian revolts ­were conceptualized as local uprisings that had to be extinguished locally. Fi­nally, the Ottomans did not seek to

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exterminate Christians at the end of the nineteenth ­century. Rather, Ottoman authorities believed that targeted and m ­ easured uses of vio­lence would repress revolutionary activities and keep the empire together as a single ­political unit.

Demographic Difference: Pan-­Islamism before Turkish Identity The demography of the Ottoman Empire was the same during the Hamidian massacres and the Ottoman genocide of Christian minorities. However, the ­political tensions between Christians and Turks w ­ ere dif­fer­ent in the nineteenth ­century. Before the Hamidian massacres, citizens and governing officials of the empire w ­ ere only beginning to realize the imminent collapse of a polity that had existed for five hundred years and ­were trying to save the empire. The Tanzimat reform era created a religious divide that spilled into vio­lence in the 1890s— Muslims did not want Christians to have equality in the caliphate.14 The perceived sleight of equality before the law was damaging for social relations and hierarchies and was reinforced by the sustained losses of the empire at the hands of Christian minorities. “The s­ tereotype of disproportionate Christian advancement as a result of reform was reinforced as Christian social visibility increased in certain areas that ­were particularly evident to visitors to western cities and also the Ottoman elite in Istanbul.”15 Armenians occupied some key positions in international trade, urban merchanting, and moneylending; served as business middlemen and rural traders; and also took advantage of imported Western technologies, which allowed for the rapid expansion of diasporic trade networks in general.16 Armenians w ­ ere engaged in normal economic pursuits to maximize their profits in a market system, but Turks believed the Armenians to be finalizing links in an international-­ domestic Christian conspiracy against the empire.17 With their new networks, Armenians ­were able to skillfully articulate their relative deprivations compared to Muslims in the empire to the international community.18 This occurred at a time when the G ­ reat Powers had increasing influence over the Ottoman banking and economic systems—in effect controlling capital in the empire.19 Reform was soon discursively equated with the rising tide of Christian influence. The Treaty of Berlin (1878) succeeded in internationalizing the Armenian question, but the G ­ reat Power politics that elevated it also blunted it. Armenian demands for equality and self-­determination ­were favored by Rus­sia but ­were opposed by the British, who feared another R ­ ussian client state in the Caucasus/Asia Minor. The British altered the final treaty to merely call for equality of p­ eoples within the Ottoman Empire, forever trapping Armenians in a state of discrimination and repression.20 Armenians had an international declaration for autonomy, but it was nonbinding and had no enforcement mechanisms—­ trophy law at best. The failure to secure Armenian minority rights entrenched identity crises in the empire, which ­were si­mul­ta­neously multiethnic and religiously heterogeneous with desires for homogeneity (favoring Turks and Islam).

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The ideological basis for the killings in the 1890s differed significantly from the early twentieth-­century DA crimes. The sultan became transfixed on the idea that Christians ­were solely responsible for the decline of the Ottoman Empire, stating: “By taking away Greece and Rumania [sic], ­Europe has cut off the feet of the Turkish state. The loss of Bulgaria, Serbia and Egypt has deprived us of our hands, and now by means of this Armenian agitation, they want to get at our most vital places and tear out our very guts. This would be the beginning of totally annihilating us, and we must fight against it with all the strength we possess.”21 In response to imperial decline in the 1890s, the Sultan and Ottoman state supported a Pan-­Islamist ideology designed to unite Ottoman citizens. According to Taner Akçam, “The social exclusion of a national-­religious group preponderantly on religious grounds (and the Armenians in par­tic­u­lar) began as conscious state policy during this period. The Armenians ­were made into scapegoats.”22 The sultan believed that Armenians ­were “a degenerate community . . . ​always servile,” but he also believed that they owned a disproportionate amount of wealth and occupied too many positions in the Ottoman bureaucracy.23 By arming Muslims, the sultan created a right of defense against a perceived Christian neo-­crusade, offering ­political and religious legitimacy to the idea of violently defending the empire against Christians (internal and external).24 Religious figures (mullahs and softas) played key roles in inciting massacres and legitimizing massacre in the name of country and religion (Pan-­Islamism conflated the two).25 Pan-­Islamism as a sociopo­liti­cal ordering princi­ple was designed to re-­entrench the failing millet system and ­inequality among p­ eoples, and contributed to the culture of punitive massacre for ­resistance. The lack of a Turkish national identity meant Pan-­Islamist identity projection was the only default position for the sultan. This identity construction was ultimately a failure but not before it aided in sowing discontent and creating vio­lence. The Ottomans had a strong, well-­ entrenched proclivity to solve non-­Muslim issues within the empire by resorting to acute episodic vio­lence.26 “­Resistance [to the regime] . . . ​could not be understood, much less allowed,” and if Armenian demands for equality manifested violently, they would be met with overwhelming vio­lence.27 Religious teachings ­were po­liti­cally manipulated to ensure that religion was the main sociopo­liti­cal ­organizer during the 1890s massacres. “Lesser” populations, like the Armenians, ­were to fall in line with ­whatever governance was forced on them. When they resisted, they upset a delicate p­ olitical and religious balance, which unleashed incredible vio­lence. ­Inequality was the t­ hing to be preserved. The ideologies subscribed to by the Turks provided the main reasons why t­ here ­were differences between the Hamidian massacres and l­ ater DA crimes against Armenians. The Hamidian belief in Pan-­Islamism necessarily viewed the empire in unequal terms, with Muslims at the upper echelons of society and Christians at the lowest rungs of society—­with each identity reinforced by the opposite. Pan-­Islamism accepted that t­ here w ­ ere demographic differences in the empire

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and that ­there was a clear order in the hierarchies of groups. Armenian calls for equality upset this delicate hierarchy, and for the ideologues, this had to be punished with vio­lence. This vio­lence did not take the form of total exclusion by annihilation but did take the form of punishment to maintain unequal systems. Religious persecution and punishment ­were part and parcel of the Hamidian massacres, not a nationalist purification proj­ect, as is l­ater seen in the genocide proper. The latter provided the impetus and justification for exterminationist DA crime policies against Christian minorities in the twentieth c­ entury, as Christians ­were conceptualized as having no place in an exclusively Turkish ­political community. Th ­ ese exclusionary sentiments ­were not yet developed in the late nineteenth c­ entury, however, as Christians w ­ ere still viewed as an ele­ment of Ottoman society, even if their p­ olitical role was to occupy its lowest rungs.

Sociopo­liti­cal Upheavals: Christian Revolts and Ottoman Paranoia Near the turn of the twentieth c­ entury, the Armenian question (and Eastern question, more generally) was a major obstacle in international politics. ­A fter the Treaty of Berlin, Rus­sia became the de facto guarantor of Christian rights in the Ottoman Empire. This elevated the status of discrimination against Christian minorities to the international level, which fundamentally elevated systems of discrimination and Christian responses to an issue of state survival and sovereignty. While Berdal Aral correctly notes “that intolerance of minority ­political activities was a common attitude of all the empires in the nineteenth c­ entury,” what separates the empire from other major ­Great Powers was the framing of  Christians as disloyal citizens deserving of punishment to keep them in line.28 Christians began to be seen as internal enemies to the empire, willing to rip it apart from the inside in order to achieve some level of self-­determination, and as fifth columnists—­puppets of external enemies (like Rus­sia). While Bulgarians and Christians from the Balkans did in fact desire full ­independence, Anatolian Christians sought only guarantees for rights. However, the state-­level propaganda machines and hysteria over the loss of territory, prestige, and control over a once proud empire did not allow space for dynamic framing of dif­fer­ent Christian minorities. Rather, Christians ­were treated as a hegemonic ­whole.29 Bulgarian ­independence in 1878, brewing prob­lems in the Balkans, and revolutionary activities of Armenians contributed to existential fears of decline, which manifested as ignitions for hatred against Christians. Bulgarian ­independence and nationalism ­were threatening for the sultan.30 The ideologues ­behind the Bulgarian i­ ndependence movement equated notions of nation, language, territory, and state. Thus, anyone living in the p­ olitical territory of Bulgaria should speak and be Bulgarian, leaving no conceptual space for minorities to coexist within this hegemonic identity. This was especially problematic, considering ­there ­were thousands of Turks still living in Bulgaria at the time.31 While

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ideologues claimed cultural and demographic purity, the Ottoman occupation necessarily created a heterogeneous state.32 Despite this, ideologues continued to espouse their ideas of Bulgarian purity, posing an existential threat for Turks in Bulgaria. This made Turks fear not only i­ ndependence movements but discrimination and exclusion against Turks. Bulgarian i­ndependence in 1878 created an existential prob­lem for the empire both internally and externally. Internally, Bulgarian ­independence demonstrated that Christian minorities desired self-­determination and could achieve this through a violent rejection of Ottomanism, reinforcing the notion of punishment for self-­determination. Externally, Turks w ­ ere cognizant of the international condemnations of their repressions and vio­lence against Balkan Christians and wanted to avoid similar interference in the 1890s with the Anatolian Armenians, though even one of the empire’s closest allies, Germany, refused to cover up Turkish vio­lence against Armenians.33 Bulgarian, Serbian, and Croatian i­ndependence strengthened the incorrect reasoning in Constantinople that Anatolian Christians ­were disloyal subjects who would tear the empire apart. One of the main contributors to this identity construction was the failed Tanzimat era of modernization, liberalization, and Westernization pushed by the Sultan, executed with the help of Western advisers, and rejected by Ottoman citizens. This era of change elevated trade, professional industries, and white-­collar jobs—­industries in which Christians had success—as the backbone of the modern liberal economy. The lagging empire rejected ­these changes. This was a perfect storm of ­independence movements, which ­were in fact carving the empire up; Christian advisers from Western nations aggressively pushing a liberalizing economy on the crumbling empire; and Christian minorities in Anatolia benefiting from ­these Tanzimat reform programs. To the ordinary Ottoman citizen, it was Christians who ­were causing the demise of the once ­great empire. What happened next was an integral part of the Sultan’s playbook: punitive massacres for revolts. For Ronald Grigor Suny, the massacres appeared to be a result of miscalculation on the part of the Ottomans: “What to the Ottomans appeared to be insurrection and to the Armenians self-­defense was an un­balanced, unequal, uncivil war that degenerated into indiscriminate and brutal massacres of largely unarmed, unprotected Armenians.”34 International condemnation of t­ hese crimes was swift, so much so that the 1896 U.S. Republican Party made the annexation of Hawaii, Armenian massacres, and Cuban ­independence the three hottest foreign policy issues.35 Part of the reason the international response was so widespread was due to the reignition of the Armenian question as a result of t­ hese massacres and ­because the ­Great Powers (including the United States) feared their citizens might be harmed in t­ hese violent outbursts.36 However, from the Ottoman perspective, this realpolitik pointed in only one direction: internal Christian minorities crying for help from external power­ f ul Christian nations in order to carve up the empire—­the Eastern question.37 The sultan

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was convinced of an international conspiracy against the empire, frankly expressing his views to the British ambassador at the time, Sir Philip Currie: “The Armenians, who for their own purposes invent t­ hese stories against the Government, and finding that they receive encouragement from British officials, are emboldened to proceed to open acts of rebellion, which the Government is perfectly justified in suppressing by ­every means in its power. . . . ​His Imperial Majesty treated the Armenians with justice and moderation, and as long as they behaved properly, all toleration would be shown to them, but he had given ­orders that when they took to revolt or to brigandage the authorities ­were to deal with them as they dealt with the authorities.”38 The sultan clearly felt pressured by forces he had conflated as existential threats: ­Great Power nations (Christians) and Christian minorities in the empire. However, while the ­later sociopo­liti­cal upheavals of DA crimes directly contributed to plans of genocide, the sociopo­liti­cal upheavals pre­sent in the 1890s in the empire contributed to l­imited vio­lence. ­There ­were reasons why the sultan did not target Armenians—­and Christian minorities more broadly—­for total annihilation. The main handcuffing of the empire’s actions came in the form of the threat of external intervention. The Christian minorities who won their ­independence deprived the empire of key ­European holdings. While ­these revolts aided self-­determination strug­gles of Christians on the margins of the empire, they made life more tenuous for Christians still trapped in the heart of Asia Minor. The sultan, his forces, and his loyal followers “intended to punish the Armenians for seeking ­European intervention, to set them back eco­nom­ ically, and to alter the demographic balance and advance the ­process of Islamization. Yet it is unlikely that the sultan thought he could simply eradicate all Armenians.”39 While the ­European G ­ reat Powers “limped” back into the Armenian question ­after the Russo-­Turkish War,40 the threat of external intervention to protect Armenian populations was very real. The vocal condemnations of previous Christian self-­determination revolts in Bulgaria and support for ­those brewing in the Balkans—in addition to the threats of the use of force before, during, and a­ fter the 1890s massacres—­created limitations on the actions the sultan could undertake. At the time of the massacres, the British and French owned most Ottoman banks and held a significant military threat over Anatolia. The sultan and his forces w ­ ere l­imited in the scope of their killing, and it could only occur at localized levels, lest they risk intervention. The ­actual threat of this intervention is questionable considering that the ­Great Powers ­were waiting for the Ottoman Empire to die so they could carve it up, but it was a threat nonetheless.

Intent: Punitive and Cathartic Vio­lence By the 1890s, the Ottoman Empire was crumbling, and the sultan believed that Christian influence was a key catalyst for the empire’s demise. The types of demographic differences and timing of Armenian ­resistance efforts significantly

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influenced the violent, albeit l­ imited, Ottoman state response. In many re­spects, the Ottoman vio­lence from 1894 to 1897 was predicated on punishing the Armenian minority population into submission, not to annihilate them outright.41 ­There was clear disaffection with the Armenian minority from the highest echelons of governance to the lowest rungs of Ottoman society.42 The sporadic episodes of vio­lence—­centrally sanctioned, for certain—in the empire w ­ ere direct responses to the vari­ous r­ esistance efforts of Armenians (who demanded equality). Th ­ ese institutional responses to the situation aid in understanding why perpetrators chose to commit massacres, not DA crimes. Once massacre as a response to Armenian demands was established, the institution of repressive, cathartic vio­lence took root in waves in the empire.

The Start of Atrocities: Sasun In 1894, the killing began in Sasun in response to Armenians who ­were frustrated with Kurds extracting taxes, Kurds winter quartering in their homes (often exacerbated by physical and sexual vio­lence), and paying taxes to the government (effectively double taxation). Armenians in Sasun protested for tax reform.43 The local Ottoman authority claimed that he was the victim of an armed rebellion—­a half truth considering that Armenian men did fi­nally beat him, but only ­after he failed to acquiesce to their demands of protection against Kurdish extraction of taxes and Ottoman officials abusing and mistreating the Armenian men. Kurds and Ottoman troops “attacked and burned villages,” wounding and killing any Armenian they could find.44 In Semal, the Armenian priest secured assurances of fair treatment if the Armenians laid down their arms. In turn, the Turks and Kurds gouged out his eyes and bayoneted him to death, raped Armenian ­women, and bayoneted men within hearing distance of the ­women.45 This episode is remarkable for two reasons. First, this was the first o­ rganized killing of Armenians in modern Ottoman history. Second, r­ esistance to the Ottoman state brought swift and brutal responses.46 While the sultan launched a Sublime Porte investigation into the incident (27 November 1894), the only real outcome was that a Turkish attempt to cover up the crime met with much international condemnation and outrage.47 The explicit duty of this investigation was to examine “the looting and murders which Armenian gangs had committed”—­ not investigate the systematic crimes of Ottoman forces.48

Continued Atrocities: Zeitun and Expanding Punitive Repression The killing continued and expanded throughout 1895, as most major Armenian settlements ­were subjected to vio­lence (see ­table 8.2). In all ­these cities, pogrom-­ style direct vio­lence was inflicted on Armenians. In some places, Armenians w ­ ere able to mount successful ­resistance campaigns, especially in Van and Zeitun.

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­Table 8.2

Waves of Vio­lence against Armenians in Late 1895 Date

City

8 October 1895 11 October 1895 13 October 1895 21 October 1895 25 October 1895 28 October 1895 30 October 1895 6 November 1895 8 November 1895 11 November 1895 12 November 1895 15 November 1895 26 November 1895 30 November 1895 28–29 December 1895 1 January 1896

Trebizond, Akhisar, Izmit Gümüshane Bayburt Erzinjan Diyarbekir Tomarza and Urfa Erzurum and Khnus Arabkir Tomzara Harput Sivas Moush and Aintab Zile Kayseri Urfa Birejik

SOURCE: Balakian, Burning Tigris, 58–61.

This sustained vio­lence was a response to Armenian revolutionaries protesting in Constantinople on 19 September and 1 October 1895. This was the first time that a minority challenged the seat of power in Constantinople, and the four-­thousand-­strong Armenian protesters demanded equal rights, an end to double taxation, and state protection.49 Police personnel denied the protesters access to the Sublime Porte to provide the list of their demands, and following an altercation and an exchange of brief gunshots, the massacre began.50 Massacres often involved the use of cudgels (sent to low-­level perpetrators by the Ottoman state) to bludgeon Armenians to death, knives to kill infants sadistically (a  police officer described placing ­children against his leather apron, cutting them, and enjoying their convulsions, which he related to “the twitching [of] chickens”), trampling, blunt force trauma, and similar direct killing methods.51 Paul Cambon, the French ambassador, wrote that “Asia Minor is truly ablaze. The massacres are occurring almost everywhere.”52 Ottoman state forces ­were regular o­ rganizers of and participants in ­these violent episodes, including in both Van and Zeitun. Heavi­ly outnumbered and outgunned, Armenians held up defenses as long as they could against state forces. At Van, Armenian resisters fi­nally agreed to leave Anatolia ­after several failed negotiations. They w ­ ere to be escorted by the Ottoman military to the I­ ranian border and sent into Armenia proper. However, they ­were instead taken to a massacre site and killed by Ottoman forces and Kurdish tribesmen. Throughout

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1895 and 1896, Ottoman forces consistently moved from province to province to exact punitive vio­lence against Armenians. Beautiful old cities w ­ ere razed, Armenians ­were massacred, homes ­were destroyed, livelihoods w ­ ere ruined, and ­children ­were rendered parentless. The Zeitun ­resistance (24 October 1895 to 2 February 1896) was another prolific Armenian defense effort, beginning with everyday Turks alerting Armenians to impending massacre, and the Armenians retreating to a mountaintop.53 The Armenian force of 1,500, armed with flintlock and four hundred Martin ­rifles, held off a force of “24 battalions, 12 cannons, reinforced by the 8,000 men of a Zeibek division from Smyrna (Izmir), and about 30–35,000 Kurdish, Turkish and Circassian irregulars.”54 Turkish forces sustained losses between five thousand and ten thousand, with troops ­dying from gunshots, exposure to the subzero temperatures, and attrition and depleted resources.55 The sultan acquiesced to the Armenians’ demands of equality in taxes and repre­sen­ta­tion and allowed many to sail to France in 1896.56 The Van r­ esistance in June 1896 is particularly insightful to the policies of the sultan and the Ottoman state. General Saadeddin, acting on the o­ rders of the sultan himself, was responsible for o­ rganizing the mass slaughter of Armenians. It was a frequent practice for the sultan to send Saadeddin into regions to oversee “reforms” (a clandestine cover for his real purpose of implementing massacres). He arrived in provinces and liaised with military and police forces, Kurds, local religious groups, and individuals to provide “the awaited pretext” for killing Armenians.57 At Van, the engagement from 3 to 11 June (or 15 to 23 June depending on the calendar used) was bloody, seeing some four battalions plus cavalry of the Ottoman army deploying to the city to deal with the Armenians. On the third day, Muslims gathered at mosques and launched assaults on Armenians in four exposed quarters of the city, creating roadblocks and massacring Armenians.58 The central Armenian quarters ­were relatively unscathed as Armenians created defensive perimeters and positioned between six hundred and seven hundred Armenian soldiers to defend them. ­Houses w ­ ere turned into fortresses. When Armenians rejected peace proposals (which did not address their demands for reform), the Ottomans bombarded Van with artillery. Eventually the Armenians ran out of ammunition and accepted a British proposal to leave the empire; however, the nine hundred disarmed Armenian men who ­were to leave w ­ ere massacred once outside Van, with only thirty-­five surviving. ­There ­were twenty thousand Armenians killed in the 350 villages/towns surrounding Van.59 Th ­ ese pro­cesses played out all over Asia Minor beginning in 1894, accelerating and expanding in scope in 1895, and continuing into 1897.

Near the End of Atrocities: The Bank Job At 1:00 p.m. on 26 August 1896, Dashnak Armenian revolutionaries stormed the Ottoman Bank in Constantinople—­the main fixture in the Ottoman banking

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system.60 The revolutionaries hoped to make a bold international p­ olitical statement. Prior to their assault, the revolutionaries issued manifestos to the Turkish ­people and E ­ uropean powers about the plight of Armenians, particularly noting that E ­ uropean inaction had fostered a culture of impunity for Ottoman perpetrators. This almost immediately triggered retributive pogroms against Armenians in Constantinople by theology students, state forces, and irregulars. The sultan planned to bomb the Ottoman Bank, killing revolutionaries and hostages alike, but Cambon derailed ­these plans by threatening to destroy the royal palace using ­European battleships anchored in the Dardanelles.61 Ultimately, the revolutionaries ­were escorted out of the bank at 3:30 a.m. the following morning and sent into exile in Marseille, having not touched a single cent in the bank or destroying it (contrary to Ottoman propaganda). E ­ uropean press agencies quickly glorified the revolutionaries, praising their restraint and dedication to justice.62 In Constantinople, pogroms continued for two days, with robust evidence of state involvement: First, when the sultan ordered the killings ­stopped, they s­ topped. Second, state mechanisms w ­ ere employed (police forces, weapons, and body carts). Both signal that the massacres w ­ ere state sanctioned and state controlled. The Ottoman state unleashed the forces of vio­lence against Armenians in Constantinople, just as it did against Armenians elsewhere in the empire between 1894 and 1897. The sultan quickly used the Ottoman Bank incident as justification for a final wave of punitive massacres, mobilizing the military in areas where t­ here was no Armenian revolutionary activity “­under the pretext that ­there might be latent revolutionary tendencies.”63 The massacres continued to the end of 1896, still using the Ottoman Bank incident as a pretext for the killing.64 The Hamidian massacre period was exemplary vio­lence. Ferocious, systematic, but not exterminationist in intent, the vio­lence of the 1890s was designed to make an example of and punish Christian populations deemed disloyal to remain subjugated by the Ottoman p­ olitical system and not seek revolution or ­independence.65 The killing was sanctioned from the highest offices in the empire. ­A fter Rus­sia, Britain, and France proposed a reform package to the sultan (11 May 1895) over the killings, the sultan replied, “This business w ­ ill end in blood.”66 He proceeded to send his loyal perpetrator officers to vari­ous provinces to oversee massacres to keep Armenians in line with the demands of the central government u­ nder the guise of overseeing reforms. The vio­lence was l­ imited in scope and only realistically intended to stop any Armenian revolutionaries from carving up the empire from within Anatolia. This truncated era of killing was seen as a quick remedy for potential revolutionary activities, not necessarily as a total annihilation of Christian minorities, as was the case in 1915.

The Hamidian Massacres The vio­lence between 1894 and 1897 resulted in levels of biological and cultural destruction that significantly weakened Christians in the empire: “Twenty-­five

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hundred towns and villages ­were left completely desolate; 645 churches and monasteries ­were destroyed. Survivors in 559 villages, plus hundreds in cities, ­were forcibly converted to Islam. This included fifteen thousand Armenians in the provinces of Erzurum and Harput who converted ­under the threat of death. In addition, 328 churches ­were recast into mosques, 508 churches and monasteries ­were plundered, and 21 Protestant and 170 Apostolic priests ­were killed; 546,000 ­people ­were reduced to destitution.”67 Beyond ­these numbers, approximately 200,000 to 250,000 Armenians had been killed. This estimate includes 100,000 killed by direct methods and 100,000 by famine.68 Muslim clerics, imams, and softas played critical roles in spreading hatred of Christians throughout the empire. They constantly referred to Armenians in derogatory terms and said that their murder in the name of Allah was justified.69 Gangs of perpetrators chanted religious teachings when they roamed the streets looking for targets.70 Massacres typically took place a­ fter Friday prayers, when signals for the killing to begin (and end a few days l­ater) ­were offered by religious authorities.71 Mosques w ­ ere turned into staging grounds for atrocities as religious authorities sought to sever the bonds Christians had with what they believed ­were Muslim lands.72 Thus, religious overtones provided justifications for the killings and made them cognitively permissible. Soldiers wrote home bragging about their exploits. In one case a Turk wrote to his b­ rother openly admitting to the Fourth Com­pany, Second Battalion, Twenty-­Fifth Regiment killing 1,200 Armenians, making them “food for the dogs. . . . ​Through God’s grace no harm befell us. Th ­ ere is a rumor afoot that our Battalion ­will be ordered to your part of the world—if so, we ­will kill all the Armenians ­there.”73 For American journalist William Sachtleben, pre­sent in Erzurum during the massacres: “To be killed in b­ attle by brave men is one t­ hing; to be butchered by cowardly armed soldiers in cold blood and utterly defenseless is another ­thing.”74 The massacre of Armenians was both state and religiously sanctioned. Massacre as punishment is a somewhat understandable (clearly not condonable) response to the extreme pressures of imperial decline, given the backdrop of reactionary Pan-­Islamism. The decline of pride required extraordinary ­political solutions, and the overarching institution of maintaining ­inequality—­Pan-­Islamism—­required that the empire stay together in unequal terms. One of the most pressing prob­lems with historical studies on the Hamidian massacres is that t­ here are simply too few of them to precisely calculate when and where the killing took place, establish what methods ­were used, and determine how many ­were killed.75 Ronald Grigor Suny notes that intentional famine was deployed against Armenians and Assyrians in the mid-1890s to punish the populations. He draws a distinction between exemplary vio­lence (to terrorize populations into submission) and exterminationist vio­lence (to eliminate ­peoples in ­whole or in part). The Armenian genocide proper is representative of exterminationist vio­ lence, as Turkish perpetrators sought to destroy entire

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Christian communities and ethnically homogenize Anatolia; the Hamidian massacres w ­ ere exemplary vio­lence. During the Hamidian massacres, forced conversions to Islam w ­ ere widespread. In the empire in 1839, t­ here w ­ ere governmental and religious controls placed on conversion to Islam in order to give conversions more ethos and to demonstrate their “voluntary” nature. A local Islamic judge (qadi) would issue a set of documents proving that the conversion was voluntary and witnessed by impartial onlookers.76 However, many conversions of Armenians to Islam during the Hamidian massacre period appear to be the result of attempted harm reduction. Since Pan-­Islamism was the ordering princi­ple of sociopo­liti­cal hierarchies in the empire, it was in the best interests of Armenians to convert to try to avoid religious victimization.77 The Sublime Porte was aware of the optics of ­these conversions, noting that they would not look “good to friend or foe”—­referring to the empire’s German allies and other ­Great Power adversaries.78 Throughout the massacre period, t­ here w ­ ere scores of Armenian towns and villages that applied to convert to Islam, and while the Sublime Porte issued ­orders to reject Armenian applications, the Ottoman bureaucrats often expedited them.79 Th ­ ere ­were approximately 3,021 Armenians from fifty-­four villages who applied to convert. While the official Ottoman response was that ­these ­people had found enlightenment of their own ­free ­will, this was not the case. Conversion to avoid harm is a tactic of survival, not of f­ ree choice. The most likely reason for conversion was due to the geographic proximity of ­these Armenians to harassing Kurdish tribes. In effect, conversion was designed by Armenians to be a shield against religious vio­lence.80 Not all conversions ­were part of a self-­protection scheme, though. Armenian w ­ omen and girls w ­ ere often stolen/abducted and subjected to institutionalized rape and marital rape, especially by Kurds. Threats of death ­were often used to guarantee compliance and ensure that Armenians would not try to return to their home communities. Compounding this prob­lem was that ­women and girls feared returning to their Christian/Armenian communities ­because they w ­ ere no longer virgins, which meant they would have been ostracized from that community as well.81

Ottoman Atrocities: Hamidian Massacres versus Displacement Atrocity Crimes The Hamidian massacres share similar causal pathways with the Ottoman genocide of Christian minorities, but the intent of the vio­lence varied significantly. One of the main reasons ­there was not the genocidal cleansing of Christians from Anatolia in the nineteenth ­century that took place in the early twentieth ­century was ideological differences. Comparatively, Pan-­Islamism was relatively tolerant of Christian minorities in the empire, whereas Turkish national identity in the twentieth c­ entury had no ­political or demographic space allowed for Christians ideologically. This latter ideology led to mass genocide, while the former led to

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a cathartic, punitive explosion of vio­lence against Christian minorities in certain areas of the empire. The timing of Armenian ­resistance to discrimination in the empire could not have occurred at a worse time, as other Christian ­independence movements threatened to tear the empire apart. The response to ­these minor r­ esistance efforts by the Ottoman state was wildly disproportionate and escalatory, leading to roving massacres of Armenians who w ­ ere demanding equality. Massacres ­were designed to crush Armenian ­resistance and punish them into submission as unequal partners in the Ottoman Empire. The Ottoman genocide of Christian minorities took this many steps further, as ­those perpetrating regimes sought to rid the empire of all Christian influence forever and homogenize the empire into a place for Turks only. That ideological switch had not yet been flipped at the end of the nineteenth ­century and largely helps explain why the Hamidian massacres w ­ ere deadly but truncated in intent versus the l­ ater genocidal ambitions of the CUP and Kemalists in Anatolia.

Part 4

Central and Eastern ­Europe

9

Metamorphosis A World Made New (Ninth ­Century–1945) By the end of the Second World War (1931–1945), approximately sixty million ­people had been killed during both w ­ artime and atrocity operations.1 Ideologies, homes, armies, nations, and ­peoples w ­ ere razed to ruins ­after more than a ­decade of sustained vio­lence. The cost of violent ideologies was ­immense and had serious repercussions necessitating punishment and reconstruction. Buried within ­these pro­cesses was the largest forced displacement of ­peoples in ­human history. Between 1943 and 1950, over fourteen million Germans ­were uprooted from their homes in Central and Eastern E ­ urope (CEE) and w ­ ere sent to Germany—­a foreign place to which many had no ties. This non-­genocidal escorted displacement atrocity against the Germans continues to shape our world ­today. It is a rights violation centered on the cumulative effects of intentional deprivation that requires Vergangenheitsbewältigung (facing up to the past).2

Geography The geography of CEE differs greatly from the previous two cases in this study of annihilatory forced displacement. On the surface, CEE—­with its thousands of small towns and large cities scattered throughout varied regions—­does not seem an ideal space for DA crimes. With so many ­peoples living close together

137

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­Table 9.1

Displacement Distances during DA Crimes Route traveleda

Approximate distanceb

Prague to Germany Katowice to Germany Budapest to Germany Belgrade to Germany Bucharest to Germany

170 km 450 km 530 km 900 km 1,350 km

a Typical displacement routes b Google Maps was used to confirm approximate distances

and with such rich soils to grow almost anything imaginable, ­there are plenty of resources available to fulfill vital daily needs. However, the E ­ urope of t­ oday was not the E ­ urope of 1945. The liberating armies had to provide not only for their soldiers but for the new populations in their spheres of influence. Scores of cities and towns lay in ruins, vital daily needs ­were scarce, and humanitarianism was an afterthought for the defeated Germans. Indeed, E ­ urope was a lacerated place—­one of destruction, depravity, and destitution. The realities of ­Europe in the liberation and postwar eras made it ripe for DA crime perpetration. Public infrastructures lay in tatters, though roads and railbeds w ­ ere transformed into sites of punitive expulsion against German minorities, who ­were forcibly marched or transported for long linear distances (see ­table 9.1). Ele­ments of the vast concentration camp network the Nazis had constructed for their horrific crimes of genocide against Jews, Slavs, Roma/Sinti, LGBTQ+ populations, p­ eople with disabilities, and other social and religious groups ­were transformed into holding camps for displaced Germans, in addition to the newly constructed transfer camps designed specifically for Germans.3 ­There are temporal overlaps in ­these phases due to the ongoing ­process of differing spaces of expulsion. The expulsion of the Germans manifested in three distinct phases: a voluntary retreat (1943–1945), followed by involuntary wild (1944–1946) and o­ rganized (1945–1950) displacements. During the retreat of the Wehrmacht, thousands of Germans chose to voluntarily take flight with assistance from German military and paramilitary apparatuses. Following liberation, local populations, new state and non-­state actors, and occupying authorities cooperated to expel Volksdeutsche populations in particularly brutal fashions.4 While the Potsdam Agreement included specific articles that provided for the “orderly and humane” expulsion of Germans from CEE in toto, ­these provisions ­were not followed in a systematic way, and violent displacement was the norm. The presence of humanitarian groups, overseers from the Western Allies, and objections from expelled Germans themselves did not result in the halting of removal pro­cesses or support for the humane treatment of ­these populations, who, at the time, had been constructed as Nazis deserving of collective punishment.5

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Structural Opportunities for Displacement Atrocity Crimes The variegated patterns of past German settlement in the CEE region, interwar Pan-­Germanism and Nazification, Volksdeutsche participation in the war, Nazi atrocities, and the general lawlessness of the postwar continent provided structures for vio­lence. Per­sis­tent stressors between national majorities and German minorities ­were only made worse by the Nazis. The war played a decisive role in actors conceptualizing a retaliatory once-­in-­a-­lifetime opportunity to demographically reengineer CEE in the war’s immediate aftermath.

Group Difference Construction: Competing Nationalisms and Feared Irredentism Most Germans expelled w ­ ere not forcibly settled in CEE by the Nazis ­under Generalplan Ost. Rather, Germans had coexisted and competed with many other populations in CEE for centuries. The eastward settlement of primarily Saxons and Bavarians began in the ninth ­century, expanding to the Elbe River in the north, the Alps in the south, and the Bohemian Forest. By the ­Middle Ages, North Germans, Saxons, Westphalians, and Thuringians densely populated areas as far north as Riga, Brest-­Litovsk, Kamenez-­Podolsk, the Sudetenland, Bohemia-­Moravia, and all along the Danube, Bug, and Dniester Rivers.6 German settlements retreated in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries due to war and strife, though they expanded shortly thereafter thanks to the patronage of the Hapsburg emperors. Germans then expanded further into Hungary, Slavonia (Osmanlis), Croatia, northern Bosnia and Walachia, west of Moldavia, East Prus­sia, Pomerania, and Silesia. Germans also extended their settlement patterns to near St. Petersburg, Volhynia, the steppes of the Volga, Ukraine, Crimea, and the Caucasus.7 Ethnic enclaves with dense populations of Germans and Slavs w ­ ere common. Interwar Heterogeneity. Much of this coexistence changed ­a fter the G ­ reat War (1914–1918). The new states created ­after the Treaty of Versailles (1919) ­were prima facie designed to solve the prob­lems of minorities by redrawing state borders for demographic homogeneity. However, ­little attention was given to German minorities, forcing many new states to accept German populations who did not want to be t­ here. Ironically, how ­these new states reacted to German minorities inadvertently caused a siege mentality among Volksdeutsche and opened the door for Nazism to spread. It was the interwar ­imagined communities competitions that drove Volksdeutsche radicalization and the l­ater construction of Volksdeutsche as foreign threats. Soon ­after the reconstitution of Poland, Poles began to construct themselves as a vanguard standing against an onslaught of German migration. Despite interethnic coexistence, Polish consciousness began to take root, and a series of b­ attles in the Silesian uprisings (1920–1921) began to solidify identities.8 Minorities on

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both sides (i.e., Germans in Polish zones and vice versa) w ­ ere actively discriminated against as both sides sought to homogenize their zones.9 ­A fter 1945, the Nazi invasion was linked with centuries of Germanic and Polish coexistence, quickly becoming a lynchpin justification for expelling Germans from the “recovered territories.”10 In ­Czechoslovakia, the deterioration of relations with Sudetendeutsche began in 1918, when the Sudetenland was promised to ­Czechoslovakia ­after the ­Great War. With it came 3.1 million Germans who did not want to be part of ­Czechoslovakia.11 Even in 1919, Allied leadership was worried about placing the Sudetenland within C ­ zechoslovakia and Germans comprising the second-­largest identity, with Slovaks a distant third, straining the capacities of the new state to form a national identity beyond reason.12 To the east, Hungarians generally viewed Germans favorably b­ ecause of their strong levels of cultural development and their ability to synergize Volksdeutsche and Magyar practices and views.13 However, Germans w ­ ere also viewed with suspicion, as part of an invading “massive Teutonic shock”—­loyal only to ideal type notions of Germandom.14 Some Hungarians resented Germans as “immigrants” who only came to Hungary a­ fter the Magyars had conquered it, undeservedly occupying space within an earned Magyar state.15 To the south, the im­mensely multiethnic Yugo­slavia saw Germans ­behind Serbs, Croats, and Slovenes as minorities, living predominantly in the Banat, Bačka, and Baranja regions, where they accounted for 23.8 ­percent of the population (as opposed to 4.3 nationally).16 As in almost all other places, Swabians had a higher standard of living than their demographic counter­parts, and aside from small disputes over ethnic or religious issues, they got along with their neighbors, for the most part, and formed a backbone of the urbanite and agrarian economies.17 Unlike Yugo­slavia, pre–­Great War Romania was “almost mono-­national,” though it became a multinational state during the interwar period, with Germans constituting the third-­largest population group, ­after Romanians and Magyars.18 As with Hungary, approximately 80 ­percent lived in rural areas with distinctive German architecture and designs.19 Generally, non-­Romanians w ­ ere excluded from the upper echelons of society, though Germans w ­ ere allowed greater degrees of autonomy within Romania and ­were viewed favorably as a minority population in counterbalance to the much discriminated against Magyars.20 Competing I­magined Communities. The new post-­Versailles states ­were marked by tense minority relationships. ­These relationships w ­ ere made worse by assimilation schemes focused on childhood education and nationality-­based discrimination. Th ­ ese schemes attempted to erase the Volksdeutsche, who ­were increasingly viewed as existential threats to the new states. In C ­ zechoslovakia, strict language laws w ­ ere imposed on Germans, German schools changed to Czech schools, Germans w ­ ere prohibited from holding more than 12.9 ­percent of the bureaucracy, and Volksdeutsche ­children w ­ ere taught state-­envisioned conceptions of Czechoslovak nationhood (excluding Germanness).21 Germans

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who identified as German nationals in the 1921 census ­were subjected to “interrogations, fines, and imprisonment for illegally declaring a ‘false’ nationality”—­ this included authorities changing “German” to “Czech” with the nationalist goal of keeping German repre­sen­ta­tion below 20 ­percent in all districts.22 Germans made up 23 ­percent of the population in the gerrymandered 1930 census but only 2 ­percent of all civil servants, 5 ­percent of the military officer corps, and 10 ­percent of railway employees.23 As official policy, the minister of foreign affairs, Edvard Beneš, did not employ a single German.24 Even worse, by 1936, 60 ­percent of Czech unemployment was concentrated in the Sudetenland, but governmental assistance was designed to benefit Czech and Slovak citizens exclusively.25 Germans immediately placed themselves on the defensive, making numerous appeals to the League of Nations’ minority protection apparatuses for help; nothing was done.26 Adolf Hitler’s rise in Germany was paralleled in the Sudetenland with the rise of Konrad Henlein’s Sudetendeutsche Heimatfront, renamed the Sudetendeutsche Partei (SdP), a “militant, populist, and openly hostile to Prague” p­ olitical ­organization.27 It began as a big tent for Germans to fight against assimilationism and discrimination but became a vehicle for National Socialism, especially ­after the Anschluss in 1938, when it became a Nazi puppet. While Beneš promised the international community a strong multiethnic ­Czechoslovakia, that goal was never honestly intended.28 Elsewhere, Volksdeutsche resisted assimilation and discrimination while managing complex relationships with majority ethnic groups in Hungary and Romania. “Schooling, language, and traditions” ­were both tools of modern states to impose their conceptions on ­imagined communities and also tools of ­resistance for minorities, who viewed their “birthright” as “inalienable and unabandonable.”29 ­Resistance to assimilation was generally mounted by rural German enclaves, not the urbanites who had been exposed to pluralistic socie­ties.30 The extent of the schooling prob­lem is reflected during the fascist period as the Hungarian ethnic German ­organization, the Volksbund der Deutschen in Ungarn, ordered that all German c­ hildren learn German only, belying the wishes of the parents, who wanted ­children to learn Hungarian as well. They also established a plethora of German language schools designed to drive a wedge between Germans and Hungarians.31 On 16 November  1943, Volksdeutsche deputy Eduard Keintzel from Transylvania delivered a speech in the Hungarian parliament, stating that Germans “decline assimilation first on purely ethical grounds as German National Socialists, secondly we decline it on the strength of the laws of our fatherland. . . . ​Fi­nally, we decline assimilation on the ground of our ­political ideology. . . . ​I w ­ ill limit myself to quoting only the words of Adolf Hitler. . . . ​They read as follows: ‘The doctrine of National Socialism declines dogmatically the idea of a national assimilation.’ I feel it necessary to announce this!”32 The self-­evident irony of this recitation cannot be lost. In Yugo­slavia, German language schools remained largely ­independent due to the dire need to balance interethnic tensions and identities, and Swabians

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maintained strong links with Germanness.33 The rise of Hitler and the notions of Pan-­Germanism w ­ ere appealing to ­Yugoslav Swabians, as “they became ­earlier and more thoroughly Nazified” than their Volksdeutsche counter­parts elsewhere. They viewed their attachment to the Y ­ ugoslav state as one of necessity, biding their time and demanding more rights and concessions to pave the way for Hitlerian domination.34 The common Volk consciousness grew so much that any call from Germany for Pan-­Germanism would have gone forcefully answered in the affirmative. Once the Nazis invaded Yugo­slavia, the Swabians wanted to be part of the Reich. Hitler was viewed as a “God-­sent liberator” to this most German-­of-­German Swabian population, and Nazi o­ rganizations played key roles in unification plans in the Balkans during the war, including maintaining German-­language schools.35 Difference, Discrimination, and Opportunity. The almost-­surreal arrogance of the new CEE states to believe they could impose new i­ magined identities on unwilling populations opened opportunities for disaffected Volksdeutsche to flock to National Socialism. German minorities in CEE viewed Hitler’s ideologies in existential terms, and Nazification ultimately associated all Volksdeutsche with Nazis. The majority populations in CEE l­ater justified their expulsions of Germans, citing similar existential fears and terms. Possibilities for reciprocal vio­ lence concretized.

Intergroup Grievances: Disloyalty, Destruction, and Foreignness Igniting the Powder Keg: Volksdeutsche Nazification. The Hitlerites saw their opportunity in the Volksdeutsche’s defensive ideologies and struck with decisive vigor.36 To unify the German worlds, the Nazis invited Volksdeutsche to embrace fused Germanic and Aryan visions through three mechanisms. First, Austria, the Sudetenland, Danzig, East Prus­sia, and lands to the east previously unaffiliated with Germany w ­ ere to be fused with Germany proper. Second, the Nazis preyed on Volksdeutsche insecurities by elevating them to positions of power in entities like the Protektorat Böhmen-­Mähren and the Generalgouvernement to administer racist hierarchies. Third, the Nazis sent additional German populations to CEE to broaden German settlement outside enclaves. Between 1938 and 1941, this included an expansion from ten million to twenty-­four million Volksdeutsche u­ nder Reich control.37 While Generalplan Ost called for mass migrations of Germans eastward, only 700,000 made the move for Lebensraum. Despite gathering t­hese millions of Germans, Hitler was unsure how to harness the power of t­ hese twenty-­four million.38 His functionaries, however, did. The coming of Nazism meant that a new “scientific frame” was placed on Volksdeutsche groups, critical to the new population policy (Bevölkerungspolitik) of uniting all Germans.39 The Nazis employed ideas like deutscher Kulturboden (German cultural ground), Hitler’s Großdeutschland (Greater Germany), and slogans like “Ein Volk, ein Reich, ein Führer” (one folk, one empire, one leader)

Metamorphosis • 143

to entice Volksdeutsche to Nazism.40 “The Germanness of the German folk groups abroad was not only to be revived, but constantly intensified.”41 Dizzying networks of social control ­were created to expedite Gleichschaltung. The Reichskommissar für die Festigung deutschen Volkstums (RKFDV, Reich Commission for the Strengthening of Germandom) espoused this nationalist crusade and was placed u­ nder Heinrich Himmler’s Schutzstaffel (SS) empire. The Volksdeutsche Mittelstelle (VOMI, Authority on Ways and Means for Ethnic Germans) was within the RKFDV and provided ave­nues for further Nazifying the Volksdeutsche.42 This included registering Volksdeutsche as Reich citizens, empowering Volksdeutsche councils, creating strong Reich bonds with local folk ­unions, and providing a steady stream of propaganda to the Volksdeutsche to ensure their radicalization and make their ideologies real.43 In addition to alluring national and cultural programs and institutions, many Volksdeutsche volunteered to fight for Germany in the Wehrmacht with foreign legionnaires from all over E ­ urope.44 Not all units w ­ ere composed solely of Germans, e­ ither, as many non-­German individuals and groups joined Nazi apparatuses. This is to say nothing of the enlistment of Volksdeutsche in the Waffen-­SS, additional military and paramilitary formations, Hitler-­Jugend, and military-­racist-­cultural o­ rganizations.45 Nazi foreign policy was designed to unite all German ­peoples ­under a single banner, exterminate opponents, and pave the way for a new one-­thousand-­year Reich. Accordingly, the Nazis created vast landscapes of control and destruction during the years of occupation in CEE. German occupation brought about swift systematic changes to CEE, and many Volksdeutsche ­were, perhaps unsurprisingly, elated to be granted extraordinary sociopo­liti­cal powers and positions in countries many ­were trapped within. Nazism captured and infatuated “only far too many Germans.”46 Military occupation and impositions of authoritarian state administration meant that non-­German citizens in CEE countries no longer held control over their lives and ­futures. Volksdeutsche as Foreign Threats and Revenge. Perhaps, as Hans W. Schoenberg remarked, “if military and p­ olitical actions in Eastern E ­ urope had been motivated more by reason than by aggressive and vengeful impulses, ­there would not have been any mass migrations and deportations”—­sentiments echoed by U.S. Army general Lucius D. Clay.47 However, aggressive Nazi expansionist and exterminationist policies ensured that the populations the Nazis planned to eliminate and subjugate would forever be scarred by occupation. In the immediate postwar world, “Polish communities unanimously supported the expulsion of Germans.”48 A ­ fter six years of brutal occupation, many entered 1945 “with profound resentment and perhaps a ­little embarrassment,” bent on collective punishment.49 Writing to his f­ amily from Potsdam on 28 July 1945, U.S. president Harry S. Truman wrote that Germany was a “god forsaken country.”50 While en route to meet Soviet general Georgy Zhukov, U.S. Army general Dwight D.

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Eisenhower flew over CEE and remarked, “All this devastation would have embittered any p­ eople; it would have been completely astonishing if the ­Russians had not had a more direct and personal vindictiveness ­towards the Germans. . . . ​ Proud of their victories, the R ­ ussians always remembered with bitterness the cost.”51 The f­ uture expelling countries and the victorious Allied powers argued that it was, indeed, necessary to expel Germans a­ fter the war to bring about peace.52 Germans ­were viewed as ill-­suited candidates to rebuild CEE.53 A Protestant priest in Görlitz proudly stated, “The German is not subject to the law anymore. His honor, his body, his life, and his property are at the merciless disposal of an insolent victor.”54 Aleksandr Zawadzki, ­f uture chair of the Council of State of the ­People’s Republic of Poland, stated, “We who have endured the horrors of Hitler’s terror in our country and the treachery of Auschwitz and Treblinka hereby state with absolute determination that we ­will not pursue any cooperation whatsoever with Germany, neither at the pre­sent time nor at any time in the ­future. An insurmountable abyss has arisen between the Polish and German nations and t­here ­will be no talk of cooperation or attempts to cohabit with ­Germans at the pre­sent nor in the ­future.”55 Germans ­were castigated as “settlers and colonists” who w ­ ere undeserving of the lands on which they resided.56 Even before the war, Czech president Tomáš Garrigue Masaryk, himself growing up speaking more German than Czech (his m ­ other was Czech German), stated that Sudeten Germans ­were “immigrants and colonists.”57 The “collectivist mindset” Nazi Germany imposed on the world came full circle and was used against the Volksdeutsche.58 ­A fter the war, the Czechoslovak government implemented a “national purification” (národní očista) designed to reform the country and nation.59 This program, as elsewhere in CEE, had two key components: retribution (selective punishment) and transfer (collective punishment). Edvard Beneš, a key architect of the postwar world, openly mused that Germans and Magyars ­were “traitors” who had to be expelled for CEE countries to survive as nation-­ states.60 Postwar p­ olitical elites believed that Germans should be expelled due to their status as potential existential (Nazified) threats. Famed Soviet writer Vasily Grossman captured the mood on 15 October 1943, writing, “­There are only two sacred words left to us. One of them is ‘love’; the other one is ‘revenge.’ ”61

Asymmetric Power Distribution: Liberation and Hegemony Rather than stunde nul (zero hour), in which the remnants of fascism and genocide could be washed away with a new beginning, the immediate postwar ­European continent was marked by disorder. The physical destruction of places and ­peoples was compounded by complete moral abjection.62 Hitler’s scorched-­ earth policies during the Wehrmacht’s retreat offered a final exclamation on the destruction brought about by Germans.63 Hitler and Himmler personally ordered that buildings, livestock and agricultural facilities, factories, and public works like w ­ ater systems and transportation networks be demolished to deny

Metamorphosis • 145

their availability to the Allies.64 The architecturally stunning Warsaw was reduced to rubble following the Warsaw Ghetto Uprising (19 April–16 May 1943) and the Warsaw Uprising (1 August–2 October 1944) a­ fter Hitler’s decision to completely raze the city a­ fter seventeen thousand German troops could not rout Polish ­resistance.65 On 10 January 1946, John Vachon—­a photographer attached to the UN relief effort ­after the war—­wrote to his wife that Warsaw “is 90 per cent all destroyed. . . . ​Wherever you walk h ­ ere it is hunks of buildings standing up without roofs or much sides, and p­ eople living in them. Except for the Ghetto, where it is just a ­great plain of bricks, with twisted bed and bath rubs and sofas, pictures in frames, trunks, millions of ­things sticking out among the bricks. I ­can’t understand how it could have been done. . . . ​It’s something that’s so vicious I ­can’t believe it.”66 Western Allied campaigns also ruined urban and rural places. Beautiful landscapes like ­those in Dresden vanished in ashes from furious Allied firebombing campaigns—­and the Allied bombing campaign over Germany destroyed up to 50–70 ­percent of all habitable residences.67 For Keith Lowe, “­Those ­people who witnessed the wreckage of ­Europe’s cities strug­gled to come to terms even with the local devastation they saw.”68 This destruction had dire h ­ uman consequences. Deputy director of a Bavarian displaced persons camp, Kathryn Hulme, wrote, “It is hard to believe that some shiny ­little tins of meat paste and sardines could almost start a riot in the camp, that bags of Lipton’s tea and tins of Varrington H ­ ouse coffee and bars of vitaminized choco­late could drive men almost insane with desire.”69 Not only had millions of p­ eople been annihilated by war and genocide, but the humanitarian recovery amid the rubble was startling and scarce. Homes, lives, and ­futures laid in waste, while many sought out food that simply was not ­there. Robert Donovan adds: When it came to the m ­ atter of putting E ­ urope back on its feet, however, the destruction that was not vis­i­ble was perhaps a more difficult prob­lem than the destruction that was. For the business structure of ­Europe was itself in shambles, morale shaken. . . . ​Mobilization diverted commerce, industry, and finance from their normal patterns. . . . ​Years, sometimes d­ ecades of commercial ties had vanished. Loss of capital or the war’s destruction had demolished shipping companies, banks, even insurance firms. A ­great deal of machinery had been destroyed or become obsolete. The values of currencies w ­ ere askew, barter often a necessity.70

Looting, thievery, black marketeering, and interpersonal vio­lence for survival ­were common. Moral decay in ­Europe reached barbarous levels, with horrific stories of w ­ artime and postwar sexual vio­lence.71 This backdrop of indignity meant that ­there ­were receptive audiences for violent visions of what to do with the Volksdeutsche—­the populations the Nazis glorified, reified, and left b­ ehind. The continent lay devastated.

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The Red Army liberated CEE of National Socialism, but the new postwar disorder meant that capable governments, laws, and social norms w ­ ere nonexistent. The Soviets filled the vacuum by imposing new patterns of violent state building, and the Germans w ­ ere a main (though not the only) population in the reticles of Stalinist policies.72 Joseph Stalin was once quoted as stating, “Whoever occupies a territory imposes his own social system as far as his army can reach,” and the Soviets stationed millions of troops across CEE in the postwar years.73 The centralized ­political institutions and the NKVD ordered that military commanders ­were responsible for maintaining order and providing for civilian populations.74 In ­Czechoslovakia alone, National Committees, Revolutionary Guards, Czechoslovak army formations, Red Army formations, and self-­proclaimed Czech partisans, adventurists, and even German communists participated in carving out subnational spheres of influence within the Soviet sphere of influence.75 O ­ rders w ­ ere often not carried out, and the vari­ous power centers performed ad hoc vio­lence, leading to general chaos.76 Competing authorities existed from the Baltic to the Balkans. The dizzying array of competing authorities meant violent visions of anti-­ Germanness could be fueled by vari­ous actors, fulfilling goals of Soviet propaganda that demonized Germans as inhuman and savage.77 ­Political schemes in CEE mimicked t­ hose in Stalin’s USSR. The Soviets redrew borders across CEE to create homogeneous nation-­states.78 The Volksdeutsche w ­ ere no longer to exist as potentially unstable minorities and ­were to be sent to Germany. The Volksdeutsche had no means of defending themselves against t­ hese violent plans, as the retreat of the Wehrmacht left them totally exposed to hegemonic and grassroots vio­lence. Locals and neighbors ­were disinclined to create humanitarian systems for the Volksdeutsche and refused to protect them from vio­lence given their ­wartime experiences. Instead, neighbors turned on neighbors and vio­lence became an encouraged real­ity u­ nder the banner of Soviet hegemony. The Soviets created an atmosphere in which vio­lence against Germans was pos­si­ble, permissible, and encouraged. Soviet hegemonies of vio­lence in CEE ­were augmented by complementary national and subnational o­ rganizations that concurrently implemented anti-­German systems. Germany laid in tatters and carved into pieces by the Allied Control Council, leaving the Volksdeutsche without a state to potentially represent their interests and survival. The asymmetries between disempowered Volksdeutsche and the Soviet liberators paved the path for i­ mmense vio­lence.

Sociopo­liti­cal Upheavals: “Reconstruction” in the East The established story of postwar E ­ urope is that of reconstruction. This story holds true in Western ­Europe, as the Western Allies rebuilt their sphere of influence and created advanced democracies. However, the Soviets argued that the Western Allies w ­ ere weak on Germans, harking back to the failures of Munich, and constructed themselves as the only p­ olitical entity capable of halting fascism.

Metamorphosis • 147

Hence, the Soviets ­were to provide material security in the form of property and vital daily needs and ideational security against this perceived weakness on the part of the Western Allies.79 Instead of reconstruction, the Soviets extracted punitive reparations from East Germany, oversaw an ­immense redrawing of state borders, forcibly displaced populations, and nationalized Volksdeutsche properties—­revenge, not rehabilitation. Coinciding with the transfer of ­people was the nationalization and transfer of their properties.80 Across CEE, lands and materials ­were confiscated as part of the expulsion of German populations—­and as legacies of the Holocaust—­and property was used to provide capital for communist social reforms. In Poland, as elsewhere, communists redistributed properties to build alliances among local populations. Citizens of CEE countries w ­ ere thus inoculated against r­ esistance to communist power centralization as individuals initially materially benefited from re­distribution policies.81 The postwar Czech National Committee held wide-­ranging power to confiscate and redistribute German properties and to hold German farmland in government funds awaiting broad land reform laws.82 Revolutionary Guards w ­ ere given priority in the re­distribution of German properties due to their war rec­ord.83 The f­ ounders of the new postwar state believed that settlement of Czechs in northern Bohemia was central to the ­political, ideational, and economic reconstitution of ­Czechoslovakia. The new communist central authorities wanted to instill a new patriotism through material gain for citizens who may have been reluctant to adopt communist systems.84 Similar patterns of land re­distribution w ­ ere enacted in Hungary, Yugo­slavia, and Romania.85 Th ­ ese material considerations played a leading role in making the expulsion of Germans a preferred policy by many. Another key condition that made expulsion a preferred policy was the fact that population transfers had become the standard international procedure for “solving” domestic minority issues, particularly in Stalin’s sphere of influence.86 The presence of perceived ­enemy German populations was a core issue with forming postwar nation-­states in CEE.87 During the interwar period, ethnic cleansing and population transfer became a favorable policy option, as it played on existing and simplistic “us-­versus-­them” narratives.88 Both the perceived success of the Greco-­Turkish population transfers of 1923 and Stalin’s penchant for demographic re­distribution through violent deportations made expulsion a p­ opular cognitive script in both Western and Eastern blocs. Realities of the vio­lence of deportation schemes ­were often disregarded, best evidenced by British prime minister Winston Churchill, who stated, “The disentanglement of populations which took place between Greece and Turkey a­ fter the last war . . . ​was in many ways a success, and has produced friendly relations between Greece and Turkey ever since.”89 More inaccurate musings have rarely been offered. ­These displacement schemes played key roles in crafting the background architectures for the expulsion of Germans ­after World War II. As CEE fell into the Soviet sphere of influence, Stalinist demographic policies could be w ­ holesale

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imposed on the Volksdeutsche. Just as the Soviets viewed Chechens as disloyal, they viewed all Germans as their absolute enemies. With the failures of the Versailles system and the recent possibilities of total population expulsions in mind, the expulsion of Germans became a real possibility. The opportunities for new systems and states to be constructed in CEE meant that the Soviet ­Union could impose Stalinist solutions on CEE. The demographic policies being formulated, explored l­ ater, ­were clearly designed to expel and punish all Germans for the aggression, ideology, and crimes of the Nazi state.

Non-­genocidal Intent: Institutionalizing Liberating Vio­lence Two competing explanations of the non-­genocidal expulsions of Germans have been offered. The first focuses on revenge as the primary motive of postwar actors in crafting anti-­German policy. Outraged by years of occupation, indiscriminate vio­lence, humiliation, and disempowerment, key elite actors in CEE—­like ­Czechoslovakia’s Beneš—­were able to capture xenophobic demands for vengeance against Germans in what should be viewed as eye-­for-­an-­eye vio­lence. This emotive explanation for the postwar expulsions can be contrasted with an institutional perspective: Relying on Soviet archival data and sources that reveal the ­immense planning involved with the expulsions, this position proposes a structuralist account that focuses on the imposition of Soviet demographic policies on CEE. Radical demographic disruptions so common in the Stalinist system w ­ ere implemented in CEE against German populations as a m ­ atter of the region being in the Soviet sphere of influence and for the deprivation and suffering of the Soviet ­Union during the war. A fuller explanation adopts ele­ments of both to understand how grassroots and institutional vio­lence meshed to create systems of anti-­German atrocity in the liberation and postwar years. The Soviet U ­ nion did, in fact, impose demographic reengineering schemes on the region from the top down that affected not only Germans but Poles, Slovaks, and other minority populations in the creation of homogeneous nation-­states to further the spread of communism. Conversely, local non-­German populations ­were unquestionably willing participants in retributive vio­lence schemes—­cathartic releases of suppressed desires for agency a­ fter lived experiences through Nazi atrocities. While on a visit to Greece in December 1944, U.S. assistant secretary of state Dean Acheson wrote President Franklin D. Roo­se­velt’s special assistant Harry Hopkins warning of vio­lence if E ­ urope was not reconstructed and stabilized, noting that ­Europeans “are the most combustible material in the world. They are fighting ­people. They are violent and restless. They have suffered unbearably.”90 If the Allies did not quickly provide new state formation strategies, t­ here would be serious “frustration,” “agitation and unrest,” and potentially “the overthrow of governments.”91 German minorities and the possibilities for agitation w ­ ere on the minds of many. By 1944, the postwar plan had been created and the fates of

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German minorities had been sealed. A path to expulsion began with the ideas of one well-­positioned politician in exile who convinced the British, Americans, and Soviets that transfer was necessary. Edvard Beneš had long been suspicious of German minorities. The appeasement fiasco at Munich (1936) taught him that moving t­ oward Western democracy did not mean Western democracy would protect C ­ zechoslovakia.92 As a masterful politician and part of the Czechoslovak government-­in-­exile, Beneš liaised with elite actors in the United Kingdom, the United States, and the USSR to formulate a plan of widespread postwar German expulsion.93 He also met with a constellation of other CEE states to gather consensus on a postwar order that was to be marked by homogeneous nation-­states.94 He and other elite policymakers often claimed that despite the harsh nature of displacement policies, CEE had to be “cleansed” of its German populations.95 Before he settled on ­wholesale expulsion, during the winter months of 1940–1941 Beneš “pondered the modalities of a solution of the Sudeten German prob­lem,” eventually sending a secret “Memorandum Pertaining to Our Peace Aims” (1 February 1941) to cabinet members for discussion. This memo included the restoration of traditional Czech borders, a reserved geography for Czechs within the state, the removal of Germans from this Czech area, and a small German area within the state.96 He liaised with British foreign secretary Anthony Eden and presented his initial expulsion plan (400,000 Germans remaining; 1.1 million expelled) to g­ reat fanfare.97 On 17 May  1941, Beneš lectured at the Alliances Française in Manchester, stating, “We hope that this war w ­ ill produce an opportunity for settling, once and for all, the question of the Sudeten Germans. . . . ​It ­will be necessary . . . ​[to transfer populations] to prevent Germany from misusing her national minorities for her Pan-­German aims.”98 The Atlantic Charter (14 August 1941) set out a new vision for the postwar world, though Beneš objected to the right to self-­determination of Sudeten Germans, as “such a concept of self-­determination is a priori a denial of the right of self-­ determination of ten million Czechoslovaks and precludes the very existence of an i­ ndependent Czechoslovak state.”99 By September 1941, Beneš fully endorsed the idea of transfer in a London Review article so long as it “can be made amicably ­under decent ­human conditions, u­ nder international control and with international support.”100 Only the second and third parts came true. A Foreign Affairs article in January 1942 authored by Beneš stated that it was necessary to first “define the rights of majorities” before the “obligations of minorities.”101 A meeting between Eden and Stalin in Moscow in December 1941 resulted in Stalin showing his willingness to deport German populations ­wholesale from Poland. Eden instructed the British Foreign Office to study the possibility of large-­scale forced transfers as a ­viable solution, five weeks ­later bringing the document to the war cabinet, stating: “It would prob­ably be impossible to avoid some m ­ easures of this kind in post-­war ­Europe. . . . ​If they are not carried out in an orderly and peaceful manner it is only too likely that the Czech

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and Polish populations w ­ ill forcibly expel the German minorities from their midst. The question is ­whether we should not commit ourselves to the princi­ple of such transfers.”102 In July 1942, Eden received approval for the plan.103 As Radomír Luža notes, “The idea of transfer was inseparably linked with the question of the punishment of the Nazis.”104 Alongside Beneš, Hubert Ripka (Czechoslovak minister of state) became a key architect of expulsion pro­cesses, as well as other high-­ranking postwar officials. Their primary goal became to gain general Allied agreement on transfer and work out the logistics l­ ater.105 In 1942, Beneš met with Eden (4 to 25 June and 7 July) and Soviet foreign minister Vyacheslav Molotov (9 June) to finalize agreements on transfer.106 British minister with the Czechoslovak government Philip B. Nichols put it best to Beneš: “The British government did not intend to oppose the princi­ple of transfer of the minority population from ­Czechoslovakia in an endeavour to make ­Czechoslovakia as homogeneous a country as pos­si­ble from the standpoint of nationality.”107 While previously shut out from postwar decision-­making and weary of Soviet influence, Beneš liaised with the Polish government-­in-­exile, which wanted “direct and wide access to the sea,” borders that could “guarantee its security,” and a proportional economic capacity to support its population.108 Like Beneš, Polish representatives worried about the influences of German minorities. By September 1944, the London Poles determined that Germans “who do not leave Polish territory a­ fter the war w ­ ill have to be removed from it. This applies equally to the area of the Polish state in 1939, and the territories whose incorporation into Poland ­will be demanded as a result of the pre­sent war.”109 As in ­Czechoslovakia, plans to confiscate properties and forcibly remove millions fermented. As the tides of war began to change, Beneš began to forcefully state that fifth columnists (the Volksdeutsche) should be expelled without question.110 Churchill met Beneš for lunch in March 1943 and offered his unequivocal support for transfer, stating that “many Germans w ­ ill be killed in your country as well—it cannot be helped and I agree with it. ­A fter a few months ­we’ll say ‘that’s enough,’ and we ­shall start on the work of peace: try the guilty men who stayed alive.”111 ­Whether the quote was hyperbolically recalled by Czechoslovak foreign minister Jan Masaryk or was indeed accurate is a ­matter of serious contention, though it does point to the high-­level p­ olitical vigor with which transfer was being discussed.112 A major turning point occurred when both the United States and the USSR ­adopted transfer as formal postwar policy guaranteed by treaty in the spring and summer of 1943.113 On 13 May, President Roo­se­velt agreed that German populations should be transferred from ­Czechoslovakia, following up on 7 June with an expansion to eastern Prus­sia and Transylvania.114 The United States did not initially f­ avor the expulsion of Germans but approved the transfer to Germany ­because it wanted to avoid “dangerous minority prob­lems.”115 Beneš’s visit to Moscow culminated on 16 December 1943 with agreements with Stalin and

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Molotov to remove German populations throughout CEE.116 Molotov was heard arrogantly stating, “That’s a trifle, that’s easy” in regard to the expulsion proposals.117 Stalin recognized the p­ olitical powers of expulsion, knowing that expulsions could sharply increase German antagonism t­ oward eastern neighbors and therefore make Poland and ­Czechoslovakia more dependent on Soviet protection.118 Stalin went so far as to inform President Truman at Potsdam of the need to take “revenge . . . ​for the injuries the Germans had caused . . . ​in the course of centuries.”119 Beneš was likely elated—he had secured the broad agreement of all Big Three countries on expulsion, and the Soviets even offered specific plans for removal as early as 1943.120 A year l­ ater, distinctions between Nazified and anti-­fascist Germans w ­ ere erased and plans for ­wholesale expulsions went ahead with Big Three support. Churchill best captured the mood in a speech on the ­f uture of Poland to the ­House of Commons on 15 December 1944: The transference of several millions of ­people would have to be effected . . . ​as well as the expulsion of the Germans—­because that is what is proposed: the total expulsion of the Germans—­from the area to be acquired by Poland in the West and the North. For expulsion is a method which, so far as we have been able to see, w ­ ill be the most satisfactory and lasting. Th ­ ere ­will be no mixture of populations to cause endless trou­ble as has been the case in Alsace-­Lorraine. A clean sweep w ­ ill be made. I am not alarmed by the prospect of the disentanglement of populations, nor even by ­these large transferences, which are more pos­si­ble in modern conditions than they ever w ­ ere before.121

The Big Three agreed to create international mechanisms to coordinate with governments on all postwar expulsions, notably the Germans.122 The expulsion of Germans became one of the highest postwar priorities.123 The cost of transfer, however, was to be fully borne by the expelled.124 Lofty de jure goals soon became violent de facto praxes.125 Roo­se­velt, Churchill, and Stalin agreed at Tehran, Malta, Yalta, and Potsdam that ­Europe should be reor­ga­nized to prevent f­ uture wars given what they perceived as the success of population transfers in the past.126 At Potsdam, it was agreed that Germany should lose its eastern territories, Axis-­aligned states ­were to revert to previous bound­aries, Poland was to be moved westward at the expense of Germany, and the Soviets would retain hegemony over CEE—­significant changes above and beyond ­those envisioned at Tehran.127 A critical ele­ment of ­these plans was the expulsion of German populations, though t­ here ­were competing understandings of what that would mean and how it would be executed. While Anglo-­American actors agreed with plans of population transfer a­ fter the war, they did not intend transfers to become extraordinarily violent.128 British and American leaders wanted “a more peaceful and restrained” deportation ­process to achieve postwar stability.129 The British and the Americans supported

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l­ imited expulsions of Germans at both Malta and Yalta, but no more than would be required to create peace and stability in CEE.130 U.S. secretary of state James F. Byrnes wrote, “We believed that certain transfers ­were unavoidable, but we did not intend at Potsdam to encourage or commit ourselves to transfers in cases where other means of adjustment ­were practicable.”131 Incongruous U.S. policy emerged in 1944 and continued through to Potsdam. The U.S. Committee on Post-­War Programs within the State Department wrote numerous memorandums stating that the United States should oppose ­wholesale transfer of Germanic populations but should agree to transferring the Germanic populations who w ­ ere considered “an especially difficult prob­lem.”132 Churchill’s H ­ ouse of Commons speech from 15 December 1944 (previously reproduced) was agitative and has been cited by postwar Soviet authorities to demonstrate the West’s acquiescence to total expulsion.133 However, the total expulsion Churchill supported was that from new Polish territories carved from Germany only.134 For one, Churchill ­later recanted his seemingly extreme position of 1944 during his infamous Iron Curtain speech at Westminster College in Fulton, Missouri, on 5 March 1946: “The Russian-­dominated Polish Government has been encouraged to make enormous and wrongful inroads upon Germany, and mass expulsions of millions of Germans on a scale grievous and undreamed-of are now taking place.”135 In a clear-­cut written exchange on 16 January 1945 between U.S. secretary of state Edward R. Stettinius and Czechoslovak minister of state Ripka, Stettinius argued that all transfers should wait for “international arrangements” and that “no unilateral action should be taken.”136 The British similarly wanted to wait for an all-­A llied solution in which humanitarian princi­ples could be applied before transfers took place; Allies in CEE saw no need for such delays.137 At the Yalta Conference, it was de­cided to wait u­ ntil a single Allied solution to German expulsions could be formulated before the transfers would begin.138 Between Yalta and Potsdam, agreements w ­ ere made to ensure that the Allied Control Council would be the supreme overseer of expulsion pro­cesses.139 Despite statements assuring postwar control and policy unity, wild expulsions ­were already taking place in CEE. The Soviets ­were making transfer pos­si­ble, permissible, and mandatory across CEE. By Potsdam, the hy­poc­risy of the situation was patently clear: the Anglo-­ Americans wanted to control the tide of German expellees being sent into their zones, while the Soviet ­Union wanted to rapidly drain CEE of its German population. Potsdam did not offer a new policy of expulsion but rather a codification of what was already happening in CEE.140 For the Soviets, collective punishment was a paramount postwar goal.141 Article XII of the Potsdam Agreement dealt exclusively with the expulsion of German populations from CEE. The Allies agreed that “any transfers that take place should be effected in an orderly and humane manner.”142 Operationalizing Potsdam was another venture in irony and hy­poc­risy. At the twelfth meeting on 20 November  1945, the Allied Control Council fi­nally

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approved a plan to transfer Germans from C ­ zechoslovakia, Austria, Hungary, and Poland into the four occupied zones in Germany.143 However, transfers w ­ ere not conducted in the spirit of being “orderly and humane.” Instead, the millions of Germans that ­were on the move by 1945 and the millions more ­after experienced incredible brutalities and atrocities. Importantly, t­ here was not a single decision to commit DA crimes. Rather, ­there w ­ ere structures that made a system of DA crimes pos­si­ble and permissible within the postwar context—­a tapestry of disaffection and vengeance. The expulsions cannot, and should not, be classified as genocide, as the special intent to destroy German minorities was not exhibited by any centrally positioned and powerful individuals in any country during the planning and execution stages of atrocities. The forced displacement of Volksdeutsche can, however, best be understood as war crimes (during the war) and crimes against humanity (during the war and in the immediate postwar world), as the attack on German populations violated established Laws of Armed Conflict and was systemic and widespread in nature, respectively. Actors knew better, but they chose to listen to their worse angels, disguising violence as postwar policy and rebuffing critiques of their plans and methods as unimportant.

The Precipice of Expulsion Expulsion systems w ­ ere already working by the time Potsdam took place. Grassroots and institutionalized systems of vio­lence sent Germans “back” to Germany, a place many had never been or desired to live. Perpetrators destroyed and expropriated German homes and livelihoods and committed extraordinary vio­lence on German populations who by then w ­ ere all viewed with suspicion and considered Nazified fifth columnists—­the perfect disempowered targets for cathartic vio­lence. Ultimately, the Potsdam Conference legitimized, codified, and systematized the ongoing displacement pro­cesses discussed in chapter 10. The Western Allies acquiesced to local CEE and Soviet demands and failed in their obligations to uphold the ­human rights of German minorities. Late statements of regret did not change deliberately crafted postwar policies that ­were in line with what ­people like Beneš desired: to seize this once-­in-­a-­ lifetime opportunity to demographically reengineer CEE. The confluence of Beneš’s politicking-­in-­exile and receptive Big Three authorities meant DA crimes soon became a fait accompli.

10

Catharsis The Expulsion of Germans (1943–1950) For citizens in Central and Eastern ­Europe (CEE), liberation meant freedom from genocide and oppression. The devastation of the war left indelible open wounds on many millions who survived Nazi vio­lence. Humiliated and destroyed, entire countries and ­peoples had to create a new world. The collective psychological need for rehabilitative cathartic vio­lence fermented across CEE. Once the Wehrmacht retreated, it left only one group of Germans remaining: the Volksdeutsche. ­These German civilians ­were conceptualized as Nazis and collaborators, as villains on which the sins of the Hitlerian regime could be thrown and who could thus be cathartically punished in ­grand displays of grotesque vio­lence. For pacifist and humanitarian Victor Gollancz, “If the conscience of men ever again becomes sensitive, ­these expulsions ­will be remembered to the undying shame of all who committed or connived at them. . . . ​The Germans ­were expelled, not just with an absence of over-­nice consideration, but with the very maximum of brutality.”1 What happened in ­Europe from 1943 to 1950 was, to quote Alfred Maurice de Zayas, “a terrible revenge” and an affront to the ­human rights system concurrently being constructed at the United Nations (see ­table 10.1).2 The result of the expulsion of the Germans was the birth of the con­temporary ­European system.

154

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­Table 10.1

Years of DA Crimes in Central and Eastern E­ urope Targeted region

Former Reich territories in the East (East Prus­sia, East Brandenburg, Pomerania, Silesia) Sudetenland Swabia (Hungary) Swabia (Romania) Swabia (Yugo­slavia) Baltic

Years of displacement atrocity crimes

1944–1950 1945–1947 1943–1950 1943–1950 1944–1950 1943–1947

Making Displacement Atrocity Crimes Pos­si­ble Elimination of Humanitarianism: Stabilizing a Continent Germans ­were “viewed as unabsorbable, dissident p­ eople, with a negative position ­toward the state in which they lived and loyal ­really to Germany, constantly upsetting efforts at national unity and solidarity.”3 In short: a dangerous fifth column. According to George Paikert, “Undoubtedly, all the powers and states which planned and/or carried out the collective removal of German populations—­ their perfectly understandable motives not withstanding—­preferred to disregard established moral and ethical standards and thus ­violated a number of universal norms. Most significant of the latter are three: the right to national self-­ determination, the right to the homeland, and h ­ uman rights in general.”4 ­A fter years of destruction in their name, the postwar shortages and ­political acquiescence of key p­ olitical actors ensured that Germans ­were left alone. Shortages. The Nazi regime used intentional starvation policies throughout World War II. The Netherlands was starved beginning in 1942, when foodstuffs in Germany began to run short. As a Nordic p­ eople in Nazi ideology, the Nazis ­were predisposed to help the Dutch—­but if this was how the occupiers treated ­peoples they considered similar, the malice of their policies t­oward dissimilar ­peoples was shocking.5 During the nine-­hundred-­day Siege of Leningrad (8 September 1941 to 27 January 1944), the availability of vital daily needs dipped far beyond what could be considered extreme emergency levels. The average caloric intake of the defenders and civilians in Leningrad dropped to approximately “300 calories, containing virtually no protein.”6 Approximately 641,000 Leningraders ­were killed due to deprivation policies.7 Nazi weaponization of food began even before Leningrad in 1940, when caloric intake in Poland’s major cities dropped to an average of six hundred per day.8 Intentional famine policies during the war w ­ ere common and morphed into a horrible state of widespread shortages in the postwar years. The

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opportunity for exacting a punishing revenge began with German mouths to feed. Shortages plagued the entire continent, and all ­peoples w ­ ere suffering in one way or another, though displaced Germans ­were not considered a priority to be given vital daily needs. Thus, revenge was exacted in slow-­moving, retributive systematic deprivation. To have plenty of food in the aftermath of conflict was the exception to the rule. ­Europe required an ­immense amount of humanitarian supplies, as the war had destroyed logistics and distribution networks and agricultural industries, and the costs of war made food scarce and unaffordable. The United Nations Relief and Rehabilitation Administration (UNRRA) was created on 9 November 1943 to assist the millions of ­European refugees crisscrossing the continent and provide for the wrecked socie­ties in the aftermath.9 UNRRA’s humanitarian work is truly one of the brightest spots in the UN’s history. However, it could not prevent deprivation for all. In Budapest, caloric intakes dropped to approximately five hundred per day in December 1945.10 In Berlin, ­children gathered grass cuttings to eat.11 Across virtually all the continent, diseases like malaria, tuberculosis, and pellagra swept through populations due to widespread malnutrition.12 British signals officer Ray Hunting, assigned to Italy in 1944, was appalled when he encountered starving p­ eople and threw spare rations into the crowd: “It is a cruel error to throw foodstuffs indiscriminately into the midst of hungry ­people. They turned instantly into a mass of struggling bodies fighting for falling gifts. Men, brutish in their determination, punched and kicked each other to gain possession of the tins; ­women tore food from each other’s mouths to push into the hands of ­children who ­were in peril of being trampled underfoot in the vio­lence.”13 Compounding this impossible situation was the movement of approximately fifty million displaced ­people, millions of whom w ­ ere seeking reprieve, as their homes had been destroyed in the war. Of the remaining fifty million, some had been targets of National Socialism, who had been liberated from the camps, and o­ thers ­were newly displaced populations, in accordance with postwar demographic policies across ­Europe’s destroyed road networks. Many found themselves in displaced persons camps—­some of which ­were former Nazi camps—­either voluntarily (as the camps ­were logistics hubs for humanitarian distribution) or involuntarily (as was the case for displaced Germans who ­were forcibly concentrated).14 For the German expellees arriving in Germany, camps w ­ ere supplied as well as pos­si­ble by the postwar powers and UNRRA, but vital daily needs could rarely be met, especially in the early liberation years. Outside Germany, vengeance was a key motivator for the camp guards. The camps in CEE w ­ ere sites of mass vio­lence, rape, black marketeering, and a litany of exploitations. As the expulsion of the Germans was a haphazard plan at best, ­these camps ­were created out of necessity and w ­ ere sites of mass suffering, in which the humanitarian spirit was replaced with a cathartic violent release against Germans by Soviet and local

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military personnel as well as everyday citizens who had survived the tyrannies of Nazism. Conflict Aversion and Acquiescence. By 1945, war weariness had set in. No country wanted further disagreements leading to conflict, and uses of diplomacy began dominating international relations centered on the creation of the UN system. Now was the time for making peace, rebuilding a destroyed world, and finding durable solutions. Acquiescence and diplomatic appeasement are risks in any peace-­building p­ rocess, and they w ­ ere clearly pre­sent in 1945. The savagery of the postwar world was in many re­spects made pos­si­ble ­because the victorious ­Great Powers abrogated their duties to humanitarianism. The crusading spirit of the Allies soon turned to pragmatic concessions due to the i­ mmense prob­lems of maintaining stability in E ­ urope and emerging global competition with the USSR.15 At a 1947 meeting of Allied foreign ministers, U.S. Army general turned secretary of state George C. Marshall remarked, “Our prob­lem is . . . ​to avoid unjustified economic upset and to minimize inescapable irredentist pressure in Germany” in response to the ongoing reconstruction of ­Europe and expulsion of Germans.16 Separately, U.S. Army general Lucius D. Clay expressed worries over the impact of expulsion on Germans, finding it nearly impossible to convince the expelled that they ­were “forever exiles” and that they would forever look “homeward.”17 A return to CEE was not considered a ­viable solution due to local and Soviet insistence on expulsion. However, thrusting millions of mouths to feed on a ruined Germany meant the situation was a p­ olitical powder keg.18 UK Parliament member S.  N. Evans worried that the seeds for new war could be sown through mass expulsion.19 Within a few years of the postwar order, West Germany absorbed at least ten million expellees.20 Despite ­these worries, ­little pressure was exerted on the Soviets to conduct the expulsions in an orderly and humane manner, as per the Potsdam Agreement. Similar lobbying gaps occurred domestically in Western power countries to stop the vio­lence of expulsion, but ­political calculations about the reconstruction of E ­ urope and the democ­ratization of Germany took p­ recedence. Former president of the United States Herbert Hoover opined: “The hardship of moving [­people out by force] is g­ reat, but it is less than the constant suffering of minorities and the constant recurrence of war.”21 German expellees w ­ ere constructed as disposable pawns in the postwar game, and the humanitarian spirit was crushed. Functionally, the vast shortages in ­Europe plagued all populations, and providing for millions who ­were not displaced was already difficult enough. Providing for populations constantly on the move proved to be too tall of a task. Intentionally, ­there was a callous disregard for the h ­ uman rights of individual Volksdeutsche members due to the recent experiences of Nazi-­perpetrated aggressive war, genocide, and myriad other atrocities. Resentment and a desire to ­settle scores ­were both highly pre­sent, setting up the possibilities for widespread deprivation during displacement.

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Elimination of R ­ esistance: Phase One—­Retreat (1943–1945) The retreat of the Wehrmacht left Volksdeutsche populations completely exposed to vio­lence from without and within. As the Red Army liberated territories, it found itself in control of millions of German minorities, from the Baltic to the Black and Adriatic Seas. It quickly moved to establish itself as an occupying force and vanguard of communism in CEE. The structural and demographic changes by Soviet and local planners ­were made pos­si­ble by the mere presence of the Red Army as an occupying force. The first phase of the expulsion of the Germans was a voluntary self-­removal to avoid what was perceived as conquest by the Red Army. During Operation Barbarossa in 1941, the Soviets took immediate steps to punish Volga German populations. The Soviets dissolved the autonomous Volga German Republic and deported 600,000 Germans from the Volga, Crimea, Caucasus, and Black Sea regions to Central Asia. While 350,000 remaining Volga Germans w ­ ere absorbed and protected by the retreating Wehrmacht in 1943, Soviet offensives meant that the Wehrmacht could not protect all retreating civilians; most ­were captured and deported to the east.22 Despite the real­ity of the dire military situation, the Nazis conceptualized ­these retreats as temporary ­measures. Some Volksdeutsche expected to return to their homes ­after hostilities had ended, and the Reichsstelle für Raumordnung (Reich Office for Regional Planning) ­organized strategic withdrawals of German civilians with the belief that they could return.23 The course of the war was an unfathomable apocalypse for the Volksdeutsche given the steady stream of Nazi indoctrination and propaganda over the past ­decade. Many only recognized the gravity of the situation when German troops retreated to their homes, as was the case in Hungary in March 1944. However, as summer 1944 approached, the number of Nazi fanatics dwindled. Military desertion became common, and German troops increased their ferocity of widespread sexual vio­lence, undue requisitions, and looting of homes, businesses, and places of culture.24 The evacuation of Volksdeutsche populations quickly became a central pillar of the Wehrmacht’s retreats. Even G ­ rand Admiral Karl Dönitz believed that retreating and saving German civilians was of primary import, ­going so far as to use the Kriegsmarine in northeastern ­European ­waters to o­ rganize one of the largest rescue operations ever attempted, evacuating hundreds of thousands of Eastern Germans and bringing them to Germany proper.25 According to Hans W. Schoenberg, “The refugees themselves consisted primarily of ­women, ­children, and older or disabled men. Disor­ga­nized and in panic, the vast majority of them trekked westward in the b­ itter winter of 1944–1945, most by h ­ orse and wagon or on foot, some by rail, a few by auto—­all exposed to the cruel vicissitudes of total war.”26 Even before the Wehrmacht had been defeated in successive b­ attles with the Red Army, by spring 1944 the Volksdeutsche Mittelstelle (VOMI) had begun to centrally plan the evacuation of Germans from e­ very Nazi-­controlled territory.27 It was commonplace for local

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Volk leaders and ­organizations—­the very ones who had acted as a vanguard of Nazism in CEE and made hateful ideologies understandable in local terms—to aid in retreat operations.28 By September 1944, Adolf Hitler ordered Hungary to be “fortified and held at all costs,” though convoys of large numbers of Germans ­were concurrently heading westward.29 Volksdeutsche ­were typically contacted by a trustee appointed by regional Volksbunds (German cultural o­ rganizations) to encourage evacuation. For some, real­ity only became clear when billeted soldiers explained the dire eastern front to civilians who promptly packed and left.30 The safety of evacuation columns was guaranteed by the Wehrmacht and allowed for a two-­horse wagon for each f­ amily plus the f­ amily of a soldier. This wagon would carry all worldly possessions as well as a “supply of two sacks of flour, at least fifteen gallons of lard, and as much smoked meat, mostly ham, sausage, and cold cuts, as it was pos­si­ble to pack.”31 Many wagons ­were covered with canvas, meaning that if inclement weather struck, a f­ amily had to protect e­ ither their belongings or themselves. In Paikert’s words, “Since practically e­ very able-­bodied man was away in the armed forces, the vehicles ­were driven by old men or ­women and ­children. Only the sick, the very old, or very young and tired ­were riding in the wagons; the rest ­were walking alongside to make it easier on the over-­strained beasts.”32 At first, the columns w ­ ere o­ rganized, though the encroachment of hostilities ensured the breakdown of order. The Wehrmacht dedicated such massive resources to the evacuation that not a single convoy from Hungary fell into Red Army control. Desires to flee w ­ ere driven by the Nazis, who feared anti-­German vio­lence against the populations they had radicalized against their neighbors.33 ­These wagon-­filled convoys stretched for kilo­meters along routes predetermined by VOMI. Ironically, the local Nazi ideologues and true believers fled Hungary first, followed by ­those who had ­limited relations with the party mechanisms and had been left transfixed by propaganda. Approximately sixty thousand left in the evacuation phase.34 In Poland, as elsewhere, many Volksdeutsche fled upon hearing news of the Red Army approaching. Th ­ ese “spontaneous” evacuations s­ topped at the cessation of hostilities. ­These voluntary evacuations—­a choice—­were made before peace deals w ­ ere made.35 Many Volksdeutsche de­cided to leave “in haste, even in a panic, and stampeding civilians mingled with retreating troops, creating general chaos” a­ fter the sight of Soviet troops.36 This was exacerbated by the poor weather conditions in 1944–1945.37 In Southeast E ­ urope, two million Germans ­were slated to be deported.38 Most Germans in Romania and Hungary remained, as well as one-­third of Y ­ ugoslav Germans, although 140,000–200,000 ­were deported by the Soviets to forced ­labor camps in Ukraine, northern Rus­sia, the Urals, the Caucasus, and Turkmenia.39 Hundreds of thousands of Germans ­were forced into ­labor all over ­Europe and the Soviet ­Union.40 Many more millions ­were soon to be driven from their homes, expropriated by the newly

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formed national governments.41 The cataclysmic arrival of the Soviets completely upended voluntary deportation operations as they ­were soon transformed into panoplies of vio­lence.42

Sociopo­liti­cal Disruption: Destroying Home A dual-­track mechanism took root as an idea during occupation and a possibility during liberation. ­Independent of one another, ­political elites of occupied peoples of CEE stripped Germans of their citizenships and used land ­ re­distribution schemes to ensure that Germans did not have rights in their homelands or homes to return to during peace pro­cesses. Through the imposition of de jure and de facto statelessness and the implementation of domicide as a systematic p­ rocess, Volksdeutsche w ­ ere denied the possibility of remaining or returning to their homes, justifying and concretizing removal as a system. Delegitimizing Minorities: Citizenship and Home. Citizenship is a fundamental ­human right. As states are charged with the national implementation of international h ­ uman rights laws and norms, citizenship is an essential ele­ment of one’s life not only as an issue of identity but also as one of functionality. Without citizenship, t­ here are few practical protections or remedies for h ­ uman rights violations.43 Though the modern h ­ uman rights system was being created at the time of the expulsion of the Germans, the same truths about rights in E ­ urope existed beforehand. Citizenship was a shield, and removing it left millions with no ave­ nues for rights remedies. ­A fter six years of brutal occupation, Czechs entered 1945 “with profound resentment and perhaps a ­little embarrassment,” and many in CEE eyed German minorities as scapegoats for the vio­lence that had just ended.44 Across CEE, minorities lost their citizenship as a result of new p­ olitical ­orders and t­ rials of Nazi sympathizers, collaborators, and ­others. Minorities who could not provide proof of their citizenship or anti-­Nazi activities ­were prosecuted for crimes “against the Republic . . . ​[and ­were] expelled from the Republic for ever.”45 Ad hoc tribunals composed of local officials administered summary justice on collaborators and, u­ nder the guise of due p­ rocess, forced other to languish in prison for months before trial.46 On 5 April 1945, speaking in Košice, the new Czechoslovak government declared it would “take as its highest responsibility and its moral duty before the Czech and Slovak nations to capture, prosecute, and punish all Nazi war criminals, all traitors, all conscious and active helpers of the German and Magyar oppressors.”47 Similarly, tribunals in Hungary placed four categories of p­ eople on trial: leaders of Hitlerian o­ rganizations (property expropriated, individuals interned), members of Hitlerian o­ rganizations (property expropriated, individual ­labor s­ ervice with f­ amily resettlement), supporters of Hitlerian ­organizations (property expropriated, f­ amily resettlement), and individuals found to be not associated with Hitlerian o­ rganizations (obliged to offer lodging to soldiers and civilians).48

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While ­these ad hoc tribunals w ­ ere designed to prosecute Nazis, the backlog of membership cases threatened to slow expulsion efforts. Eventually it became common to simply expel anyone accused of being a member of a fascist ­organization, essentially branding all Germans collectively as full-­blown Nazis.49 Ironically, many ­actual perpetrators escaped justice, as scores of Nazi criminals w ­ ere released and avoided trial due to the insistence on expulsion.50 Domicide: Land Re­distribution. The Czech National Committee in the immediate postwar era possessed sweeping powers to confiscate, redistribute, or hold German properties.51 German properties ­were seized and placed ­under a national administration.52 Revolutionary Guards w ­ ere given priority in the re­distribution of German property due to their war rec­ords.53 The ­founders of the new postwar state believed the settlement of Czechs in northern Bohemia was essential for the ideational consolidation of ­Czechoslovakia and for the economic aspects as well. This meant that the new patriotism could be instilled and the economic policies that constituted communist planning could be employed.54 As such, ­after ­political and judicial actions w ­ ere taken against Germans, 11,200 factories, 55,000 small businesses, 125,000 farms, 200,000-­plus single-­family homes, and nearly 3 million hectares of land ­were nationalized.55 In Hungary, the nationalization of land began on 15 March 1945, authorized by Articles 4 and 5 of land reform regulation 600/1945 ME. Land re­distribution programs ensured that the Volksdeutsche ­were not compensated for their losses.56 By 1945, it was difficult to ascertain how many Germans remained in Poland due to the wild expulsions underway.57 The war and the killing of millions of Poles deeply affected the ways in which Poles understood their German neighbors and fed their desires for revenge.58 Vast numbers of individual properties w ­ ere left destroyed and vacant from the millions of deaths resulting from war and atrocities like the Holocaust. Additional Volksdeutsche properties ­were then rendered “empty” through expulsion pro­cesses, and new communist authorities had four key motivations for land re­distribution: First, the properties of expellees could provide capital for widespread social reforms like collectivization. Second, properties could be redistributed to build alliances among majority populations in CEE, inoculating populations against ­resistance to power centralization as they all materially benefited. Third, the state could keep properties as a way to build communism directly. By ­doing so, the new communist states positioned themselves as the protectors of CEE against fascism, painting liberal democracies in the West as appeasers with no ability to stop the destruction and portraying eastern communism as the only way forward.59 Fi­nally, and most importantly, by destroying material and ideational links with “home,” the new communist authorities could ensure that German expellees had no home to return to and that the expulsion ­process was permanent, not temporary in nature. Through domicide—­the destruction of homes—by bureaucratic methods of appropriation, nationalization, and

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re­distribution of lands, the new authorities implemented their schemes of national demographic reengineering.60

Displacement Atrocity Crimes Direct Killing and Vio­lence Upon liberation, the Red Army immediately established new sociopo­liti­cal structures over CEE to gain control. Soviet legitimacy was born of ­political function: b­ ecause the Red Army was t­ here, it was able to create new realities on the ground, in turn creating opportunities to operationalize postwar plans for expulsion. Notoriously, by 1945 the Soviets had perfected the art of forcibly removing populations.61 Once the Red Army liberated territories in CEE, it began to implement ­these methods on the Volksdeutsche (and ­others). American diplomat George F. Kennan made CEE’s real­ity clear: “The disaster that befell this area with the entry of the Soviet forces has no parallel in modern ­European experience. Th ­ ere ­were considerable sections of it where, to judge by all existing evidence, scarcely a man, w ­ oman, or child of the indigenous population was left alive ­after the initial passage of Soviet forces; and one cannot believe that they all succeeded in fleeing to the West.”62 The Soviets, Red Army, postwar governments, militias, and other actors in power w ­ ere chaotic and arbitrary in their approaches to postwar order.63 Despite the rhe­toric, the Soviets rarely punished or even attempted to stop ­human rights violations, including “savage beatings, rape, mutilation, and torture.”64 Soviet and local troops and civilians often lynched and assailed expellees, resulting in a high number of casualties.65 During expulsions, property (personal belongings to land) was expropriated by state and non-­state actors and “unattended property was pilfered, and soldiers often stole property and even murdered the o­ wners.”66 Local military and paramilitary actors viewed Germans in existential terms—­that any remaining Germans would necessarily constitute a threat to the viability of the ­future homogeneous nation-­states of CEE. State-­based military structures that ­were being reconstituted and paramilitary groups like partisan and ­resistance forces found themselves as key actors in the immediate postwar years. Years of frustration turned into hegemony over the populations who had, in their eyes, humiliated them and inflicted mass destruction on their homelands. The most notorious episodes of direct vio­lence occurred in C ­ zechoslovakia. The Prague Uprising (4–9 May  1945) against Waffen-­SS holdouts included broadcasted messages encouraging widespread vio­lence against German civilians, including “starvation, rape, and other forms of torture.”67 The uprising culminated in the displacement of Germans for the purposes of forced ­labor and expulsion. The second occurred on 31 July 1945, a­ fter a munitions supply point in Ústí exploded. Local populations and soldiers blamed German “werewolves”—­that is, suspected German postwar fifth columnist activity. The ­actual cause of the explosion is a m ­ atter of debate, but the resulting collective

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branding of Germans as disloyal and potentially dangerous had widespread effects in ­Czechoslovakia and elsewhere. Immediately ­after the explosion in Ústí, a reported forty-­three (if not hundreds, depending on sources) Germans ­were killed in reprisal.68 The patchwork of competing and complementary postwar authorities throughout CEE led to g­ reat variation in controlling expulsion operations, particularly during the wild phase when the goal was displacement at all costs, before it could be reined in by postwar agreement. Many of the logistical prob­lems can be traced back to the marked lack of a solid plan with coherent command structures to execute one of the world’s largest forced displacements ever. Rather than coordination, t­ here was chaos in the distribution of vital daily needs, and in many cases, they ­were intentionally denied as part of punitive ­measures against Germans. Notoriously, rape became a common weapon, used especially against w ­ omen, as “soldiers saw rape as a means to revenge the nightmares of Nazi occupation. Despite strict m ­ easures, rape was never entirely stamped out.”69 It was the permissive attitudes of Red Army commanders and the marked lack of civilian ­political control over soldiers in CEE that created structural opportunities for frightening displays of sexual vio­lence to take root systematically. Civilians experienced i­mmense hardships during the war, and the Soviet occupation forces often ensured that rape and pillage w ­ ere tied together as policies.70 German ­women, from teen­agers to the el­derly, ­were targeted by Soviet and local policies of sexual vio­lence. ­These policies ­were ubiquitous across CEE against Germans. Sexual vio­lence is often used as a form of social domination and patriarchal domination, and in CEE, soldiers and civilians alike exacted their revenge on Germans, who by this point had been so dehumanized by Soviet propaganda that their rights and ­human dignity ­were quickly cast aside in ­favor of violent cathartic episodes of wild vio­lence. The social mores of postwar ­Europe ­were clear: as Germans had made millions suffer, so too w ­ ere the Germans to suffer now. It should be noted, though, that the targets of rape campaigns w ­ ere not only German civilians. From the Black Sea to Bialystok to Berlin, rape became a common form of vio­lence against German and non-­German civilians of all sorts. The Red Army liberators often turned into the new oppressors, with reckless abandon for h ­ uman rights.71 The fear of German insurrectionism—­rightly or wrongly, as it only ­matters that actors believed in it—­served as a key motivator in unequal postwar systems. A key cog in ­these systems was the use of direct vio­lence, or at least the fear of direct vio­lence, to compel displacement. Military and paramilitary soldiers arriving on doorsteps, threatening to use their weapons, would motivate anyone to leave their homes. Legitimacies on the use of vio­lence ­were replaced by realities on the use of vio­lence in CEE. It was all too common for the Red Army, and local troops and civilians, to lynch and assail German expellees, resulting in a high number of casualties and traumas. Any “unattended property was pilfered, and

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soldiers often stole property and even murdered the ­owners.”72 Moreover, events during the winter and spring months of 1945 ­were tragic for Germans. They ­were frequently the targets of retributive (arbitrary and unmerited) punishment for Nazi deeds, and “arson, looting, murder, and rape” w ­ ere common practices.73

Forced Displacement and Indirect Killing The expulsion of Germans was a unique p­ rocess in two ways. First, t­ here w ­ ere three unique periods of displacement—­one voluntary and two involuntary. Phase one (retreat) was a legitimate (non-­criminal) voluntary displacement of Volksdeutsche evacuated by the Wehrmacht. Phase two (wild) occurred in rolling fashion, from territories liberated by the Red Army all the way to Germany. Phase three (orderly) occurred ­after the Potsdam Conference, and while methods of displacement ­were de jure dif­fer­ent from the wild phase, they ­were de facto similar. Second, institutionalized deprivation of the postwar ­European continent combined with desires for revenge and poor displacement-­operation planning to create cumulative effects of violent upheaval—in other words, cumulative escorting DA crimes. Approximately 14 million Germans ­were sent to Germany, and at least 250,000 (perhaps as high as 2 million) ­were killed through movement, intentional and preventable deprivation, and direct killing.74 The architects of removal should have had the reasonable foresight to know that the chasm of postwar ­European shortages was not the time to remove millions, yet they chose to satisfy their worst impulses to punish the Volksdeutsche. Phase Two: Wild Expulsions (1943–1946). The postwar expulsions have often been euphemistically conceptualized as “ ‘repatriations,’ ‘resettlements,’ and ‘population exchanges’—­but the real­ity was invariably grim.”75 The expelled ­were deprived of vital daily needs in a myriad of ways, often sent to camps as temporary holding sites on their routes back to Germany. Th ­ ere was an “archipelago” of concentration, internment, and assembly camps for Germans that dotted the CEE landscape, marked by extreme vio­lence, starvation, and disease.76 Of the millions sent to Germany, many thousands w ­ ere killed through deprivation while locked away in railcars, corralled in camps, and moved along roadways, as well as upon arrival in Germany.77 DA crimes against expelled Germans ­were unique in CEE, often misconstrued solely as death marches. The Brno death march (beginning 30 May 1945) was an outlier to the systems of displacement. A ­ fter incendiary public demands by communist activists, the local Brno administration conceded and ordered hundreds of Germans to be collected into two displacement caravans and sent to Austria. Upon arrival, the first caravan was denied entry, and a camp near Pohořelice was established where vital daily needs w ­ ere systematically denied.78 The second caravan experienced the same vio­lence, as they, too, ­were detained at the Pohořelice camp, though they ­were eventually allowed into Austria. The total deaths from ­these marches exceeded 1,700 (not counting ­those who died

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before arrival to the Pohořelice camp).79 ­These two highlighted instances are straightforward DA crimes. However, a­fter this incident, military-­and paramilitary-­led caravans across CEE began to establish dif­fer­ent systems of displacement. Death became an outcome of cumulative privations for expelled Germans. DA crimes against Germans became destructive affairs due to the intentional neglect and deprivation of expellees across space and, more importantly, time. The intentional and forced long exposure to cumulative displacement conditions (like physical exertion and denial of vital daily needs) led to mass death and suffering. While initially created as ad hoc systems of expulsion, the wild pro­cesses of direct vio­lence to induce sustained and escorted flight became established regional policies ­under the Soviet sphere of influence. The spirit of cathartic release took ­precedence, and the dogged belief in getting the job of expulsion done no m ­ atter the cost caused widespread suffering. As R. M. Douglas noted, “Neither the Polish nor the Czechoslovak governments expected that the period of ‘wild’ expulsions would last for ever. Their aim had been, through the strategic use of terror, to cause the remaining German populations to flee by themselves, preferably before the Potsdam Conference and certainly before the eventual Peace Conference. ‘­Organized expulsions’ would come into play only if this attempt to create facts on the ground proved insufficient.”80 During the Prague revolt against Waffen-­SS holdouts in early May 1945, chants of “Death to Germans” ­were widespread in ­Czechoslovakia’s capital.81 Though some high-­ ranking CEE officials wanted to stamp out violent anti-­German sentiments before they got out of control, “beyond the oft-­repeated and universally ignored tut-­tuttings” ­there was ­little effort to reign in brutalities.82 While a plan of the scale of moving millions of ­people may logically require clear adjudicated systems to select who should be deported first, the wild expulsion era had few of ­these hallmarks. One clear differentiator among Germans was professional standing: skilled laborers and medical professionals ­were not deported initially, as they w ­ ere enlisted to help rebuild. Once they outlived their functions, they w ­ ere deported.83 Instead of order, many families w ­ ere chosen at random. Survivor Albin Vorndran from ­Czechoslovakia recalled: The ­Russians occupied Roemerstadt on May 4, 1945. A few days a­ fter their entry into town the Czech Svoboda Army came in and took over. All Czech soldiers ­were given three days’ right to loot at ­will. . . . ​In August 1945 the first Germans ­were driven out of their homeland like dogs. Individual ­family members ­were chosen at w ­ ill and driven off to the railway station, where ­cattle cars stood ready. The cars had no roofs, and they w ­ ere literally stuffed full of ­people. Old p­ eople as well as small ­children ­were forced into t­ hese cars, getting nothing to eat or drink. In t­ hese first days of expulsion the temperature averaged 30 degrees Centigrade. . . . ​A second wave of expulsions began in January 1946.84

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Margarette Marquardt from Preussisch Holland, East Prus­sia, remembers: “On February 9, 1945, we w ­ omen with ­children age 14 and older ­were set on the march eastward. Then we w ­ ere loaded into ­cattle cars. The cars remained closed for five days, nailed shut and totally black inside. During the ­whole trip, which lasted 29 days, we ­were let out at just one stop, where we ­were allowed to drink our fill of ­water at a lake. At that time, 32 ­people out of 100 ­were already dead.”85 Perpetrators descended on cities and towns, informing Germans they had only a few moments to gather their possessions in handheld luggage and prepare for expulsion.86 Th ­ ese pro­cesses of upheaval, domicide, and forcible removal ­were perfected quickly. The use or threat of use of force compelled many to leave. In Poland, as elsewhere, soldiers w ­ ere told to “treat the Germans like they have treated us.”87 Perpetrators in vari­ous CEE countries wasted no time arresting and detaining thousands, forcing them to live ­under strict controls in veritable ghettos or ­labor camps awaiting final expulsion.88 While the distances in E ­ urope are not vast by any means, Germans w ­ ere temporally deprived and displaced for weeks.89 The camps ­were places where Germans ­were confined before, during, and ­after transport or force-­marched from one point to another ­until they reached Germany. Some camps ­were merely repurposed Nazi concentration camps, and ­others ­were newly constructed areas, both of which w ­ ere inadequate for the sustainment of life. Some camps w ­ ere run by the Red Army, but more often the camps ­were run by state and local military and paramilitary groups. They w ­ ere horrifying places. Camp guards often raped, beat, and tortured confined Germans while denying vital daily needs, causing mass starvation and disease, exacerbated by displacement policies. Many thousands ­were killed through deprivation while locked away in railcars and camps, and many died along roadsides or at night due to exhaustion.90 For one Katherina Hoffman, who was confined at Keckemet camp in summer 1945: “All money, gold, and jewelry had been taken away. . . . ​A ll w ­ omen had their hair cut short, same with the ­children who had been segregated by sex. In the mornings we ­were given a soup made of flour and fat, sometimes made with petroleum jelly. Th ­ ere was no midday meal. In the ­evening a squash soup with a few noodles, a liter split among four ­people.”91 For Elisabeth Walter, the years 1945 to 1949 w ­ ere filled with privations and continued overexposure and deprivation in camps: “We lost our citizenship and all our property was confiscated. I, too, at the tender age of four, was considered a p­ olitical prisoner and a threat to the security of Yugo­slavia. . . . ​We suffered starvation, beatings, mass murders, and slave ­labor. . . . ​In all, some 4,000 ­human beings ­were packed into the two aircraft ­hangars. Hunger, fear, and sickness ­were our way of life.”92 The starvation rations become more egregious when the full picture of displacement is considered. Germans w ­ ere stripped of the means to afford vital daily needs, lost their homes, ­were forced to live in transit for weeks, ­were confined in ill-­suited camps, and ­were also forced to work. Physical exertion proved to be too much for many. Thousands w ­ ere killed through the combined effects of DA crimes and

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stationary attrition methods, and many millions more suffered ­immense ­human costs from the collective punishments sanctioned by the Soviets, administered by local actors, and ultimately codified at Potsdam. The most difficult—­and subsequently most violent—­part of the wild expulsions was the intense lack of logistics coordination and protection for expelled persons. The modes of forced displacement and arrival ­were varied, though all shared a common linearity. CEE’s infrastructures—­roads, railroad beds, trails, and ­others—­were used as routes for displacement columns.93 Expelled Germans ­were forcibly uprooted, with varied predetermined weights of handheld luggage and currencies allowed on their person, but they w ­ ere systematically robbed, beaten, and taken to deplorable camps and transfer sites. Polish officials noted that ­after only a few days of travel and deprivation conditions, Germans ­were completely depressed, and casualties began to mount.94 Similar stories played out all over the CEE region.95 Structures of deprivation weakened the displaced during movement, and many expellees suffered im­mensely as a result of their vital daily needs not being met in the camps and the additive effects of displacement and attrition over time. Many died en route and upon arrival.96 ­These ­were slow-­moving and cumulative atrocities due to systematic neglect that was entirely preventable. Upon their final arrival in Germany, death rates continued to climb “as homeless expellees succumbed to hypothermia, malnutrition, and other effects of their ordeal.”97 Despite the ­political agreements regarding the expulsion of the Germans, it seems as though no one considered the logistical magnitude of the undertaking.98 Phase Three: Orderly (1945-­onwards). The horrors and privations of the wild phase ­were known by many by the time Potsdam took place. Even though ­these indignities w ­ ere discussed, the cleansing of German minorities from CEE was pursued with violent abandon. The ­trials and tribulations of the wild phase ­were codified as law during the orderly phase as the Potsdam Conference merely legitimized the wild transfer system. Instead of operationalizing the princi­ples of the Potsdam Agreement, local CEE actors worked in concert with the Red Army to continue violent expulsion schemes that blatantly disregarded the h ­ uman rights of Volksdeutsche members. Empowered by Soviet indifference for demographic suffering, the wild expulsions formalized into an o­ rganized wild expulsion era. While the wild expulsions ­were perpetrated with reckless abandon in an attempt to quickly drain CEE countries of their German populations before a stable postwar order could prevent such transfers, the ­organized era ­were cold, calculated ­measures. ­These m ­ easures w ­ ere designed to methodically drain CEE of Germans by systematizing the methods established during the wild phase ­under the guidance of the Allied Control Council. The ­organized expulsions ­were blatantly callous in their disregard for h ­ uman life. Wanton vio­lence morphed into institutional vio­lence, and the systems of erasure and punitive displacement reigned strong in CEE.

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Potsdam codified the need for transport for millions of Germans remaining in CEE, such as rail transport via boxcar (30 individuals per), as well as food and medical attention en route.99 Potsdam universalized what Germans w ­ ere able to bring: 500 reichsmarks and “­whatever they could carry in their hands.”100 However, General Clay, military governor of the American zone, spoke about trainloads of “hungry and destitute” Germans who w ­ ere forced to live in “inhumane conditions.”101 While conceptualized as a quick transfer at Potsdam, t­ here w ­ ere no pos­si­ble logistical ways the expulsion could take place by the end of 1946, as less than half of all Germans had been displaced by then. Many more thousands of Germans ­either left on their own due to sociopo­liti­cal and economic pressures in the new communist states or left via formal transfer policies between 1947 and 1950.102 A common theme among all t­ hese transports was the failure of the ACC and the postwar authorities in general to live up to the idea of an “orderly and humane” transfer.103 The Americans tried to improve humanitarian conditions for the transports coming from C ­ zechoslovakia and Hungary ­until they w ­ ere halted in the winter of 1946, when Clay believed it became impossible to expel more Germans without preventing mass death. The American zone then became closed to further transfer caravans and open only to individual German nationals who qualified ­under the auspices of f­ amily reunions.104 The living conditions in the assembly points/camps varied wildly but ­were horrendous for the “exhausted and weakened” expellees.105 For the deporting authorities, expulsions w ­ ere considered orderly ­because they ­were systematized in bureaucratic pro­cesses of violent upheaval, transfer from point to point, and arrival in Germany. In real­ity, coal and warmth ­were scarce, food was rarely properly provisioned, and health prob­ lems ­were rampant. Sewage systems at points did not function, and contamination was so bad that once the frost melted ­there w ­ ere massive epidemics. Sexually transmitted diseases became endemic due to the systems of sexual vio­lence against Germans as well. For propagandistic purposes, assembly points w ­ ere given advance warning of inspections so man­ag­ers could tidy up before international representatives examined ­these places and gave them passing grades.106 The winter of 1946–47 was especially severe, and Polish authorities continued to displace Germans for fear that the British or Soviets might stop the transfers. Despite horrendous winter weather, many convoys proceeded with increasing casualties. Germans “­were not sufficiently protected against the cold,” and the “weakest and the sick died in railcars.”107 One German had such severe frostbite he was deemed medically unsavable by a doctor and was left b­ ehind at a control point even though the point had inadequate medical facilities to help him. When provided with rail transport, ­there w ­ ere sad gatherings of inhumanity at the rail stations. General Clay observed that trainloads of expellees w ­ ere not provided with the “full allowance of food and personal baggage,” arriving “hungry and destitute.”108

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Arrival and Loss. The conditions across Germany w ­ ere terrible, but t­ hose in the Soviet zone ­were particularly poor, and ­there was an unequal distribution of expellees upon arrival in Germany. Few expellees went to the French zone (Rhineland Palatinate, Baden, and Württemberg), though millions arrived in the British (Schleswig-­Holstein and Lower Saxony) and American (Bavaria and Hesse) zones.109 As the Soviets orchestrated the expulsions, they transferred as many millions of Volksdeutsche to Western Allied zones as they could, leaving only as many in their own zone as ­were necessary to save face. Across CEE, German names of cities, towns, streets, and landmarks w ­ ere changed. German cultural and language markers w ­ ere erased, creating opportunities for new identities to be constructed without consideration for German minorities across CEE.110 While the “wanton destruction and cruelty inflicted on millions of ” displaced in the mid-1940s may have contributed to long-­term stability in CEE, the ends do not, in any way, justify the means.111 Soviet officials permitted and helped facilitate the mass expulsion of Germans from their home countries and failed to provide for the expellees. Three of the five Soviet zone provinces bordered on countries that ­were expelling the fastest. As the Soviets helped drive Germans from their homes, the Soviet zone bore the brunt of the expellee populations.112 However, the Soviet zone was placed at a considerable disadvantage due to the USSR’s insistence on extracting exorbitant reparations and resources. This included transporting entire factories and other industrial equipment to the USSR. The rapid communization of the zone and the destruction from the war meant that the zone was completely unprepared for the arrival of millions of ethnic Germans.113 On the individual ­human level, when the displaced arrived at their new homes, “they often had to fend for themselves, without adequate food, clothing, or shelter, and without a supporting infrastructure that would help them start new lives.”114 While the situation in Western E ­ urope began to asymmetrically stabilize ­after the war ended, “chaos and suffering lasted longest in” CEE where “starvation and disease” plagued almost all countries due to the strained resources of the Soviet ­Union.115 ­These conditions became much more dire for the forcibly expelled who “found themselves in a chaotic, cheerless world.”116 Millions of demobilized troops and homeless civilians sought places to live and work, though ­these places bore the scars of total war and i­ mmense shortages of food, shelter, and jobs.117 German public opinion was divided on accepting the expellees and assimilating Germans who ­were not German became a tall task.118 Adding millions of German expellees and victorious Allied armies claiming quarters and supplies to the mix created a volatile situation. Upon arrival in postwar Germany, the expelled “found anything but intact socie­ties. . . . ​The vaunted solidarity of National Socialism dissolved quickly in the face of hunger, shortages, and the severe repercussions of military defeat. This was especially true in the provinces and municipalities that w ­ ere heavi­ly

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damaged and bursting with evacuees. . . . ​[The local populations] ­were not prepared for a new wave of mi­grants and in many areas refused to accommodate them.”119 The mood in Germany could be understood as a “moral vacuum” with “yesterday’s idols fallen and new ideals not yet risen.”120 The integration of expellees became the largest socioeconomic task of West Germany, and at the core ­there was a tension between integration (making expulsion permanent) and irredentism (with the hope expulsion was temporary).121 For perspective: approximately 25  ­percent of the 1945 German population ­were considered expelled populations from elsewhere.122 That number r­ ose in subsequent years. ­There ­were four key princi­ples of immigration and resettlement of Germans from CEE. First, the admission of expellees was to continue u­ nder the auspices of occupation forces, but integration of the expellees was the responsibility of postwar German authorities.123 Second, all expellees who w ­ ere deemed “German” ­were to be given immediate and full German citizenship, along with re­spect for their rights.124 Third, the military government was to assist German authorities in resettlement only if assistance was “deemed essential.”125 Fi­nally, the ­political ­organization of expellees was prohibited in order to prevent ­popular discontent.126 The cost of integration was borne purely by the West German economy, and unlike German-­born Germans, Germans from the east could “not profit from United Nations assistance.”127 While many of the expellees desired stronger voices in politics and economics, they w ­ ere largely excluded and w ­ ere forced to live as docile accepters of the new postwar rule. Th ­ ese sorts of ­political calculations w ­ ere supported at the highest levels of Western Allied governments. The gaps between ­political dreams and harsh realities ­were vast. From the interwar to the postwar years, millions of ­people w ­ ere forcibly transferred from one ­political entity to another. In all cases, lives ­were completely disrupted and the ­human right to self-­determine a group’s way of life was ­violated. The expulsion of the Germans stands as a unique case in which the objectives ­were not only to displace Volksdeutsche minority populations but to brutally punish them for the crimes of the Hitlerian Nazi regime, in large part motivated to unite all German-­speaking p­ eoples of ­Europe into a single thousand-­year Reich.128

The Expulsion of Germans Historical and con­temporary discontent among “remaining” populations continue, and the influx of displaced persons from all over the world in the twenty-­ first ­century has ignited racist, nativist politics in many “sending” countries from the 1940s. Thus, the under­lying structures that made vio­lence pos­si­ble and permissible in the 1940s against displaced persons remain. While leaders like Churchill began to express misgivings with the expulsion ­process, and Anglo-­ American officials broadcast similar messages, stating it was with “reluctance” that ­these expulsions ­were carried out in such a manner, ­these triumphantly empty statements do not change the fact that ­these elite actors created the

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canvas for vio­lence to be painted on.129 The ­painters of the violent canvas ­were undoubtedly elites in the Soviet ­Union who made vio­lence pos­si­ble and permissible, and local actors (including Red Army troops) who enacted violent visions of retribution and justice. While expulsion was cast as being good for CEE, ­little consideration was given to the millions of Germans who should have been protected by preexisting minorities treaties dating to the League of Nations, the laws of armed conflict during the war, and the burgeoning modern ­human rights regime that was being crafted during the very years of mass expulsion of German populations. While regrets have been expressed at the vio­lence, the atrocities themselves w ­ ere born of destructive reciprocal visions and desires t­ oward vanquished civilian populations and of hegemonic impositions of violent systems.

11

Desolation The Holocaust (1933–1945) The Holocaust was the seminal destructive ­process of the violent twentieth ­century. The National Socialist regime wove anti-­Semitism and violent discrimination into its ideological fiber and imposed a “racial” war upon the world. The seemingly unbelievable lengths the Nazis went to in order to carry out their final solution to the Jewish question remain a stain on ­human history nearly a ­century ­after the Nazi regime. Atrocities began swiftly ­after the Nazis seized control of German politics in 1933. A crescendo of vio­lence ensued, designed to eliminate Untermensch populations—­those the Nazis deemed undeserving of life. The Nazis saw Jews, Slavs, Roma/Sinti, LGBTQ+ populations, p­ eople with disabilities, and scores of other minorities as groups that should be annihilated.1 The euthanasia and Aktion T4 programs first targeted persons with disabilities beginning in 1939 and lasting to 1945. Approximately 300,000 persons ­were killed. The first concentration camp also opened in 1933 in Dachau.2 The 1935 Nuremberg Race Laws outlined interpretations of “race” and “inferiority,” which ­were then universally applied to millions.3 The 1936 Berlin Olympics ­were a propagandist dream for the Nazis, who beforehand had displaced Roma populations to Rastplatz Marzahn, a concentration camp on the outskirts of Berlin.4 The steady and dramatic rise in anti-­Semitic attacks, particularly Kristallnacht (“night of broken glass”) on 9–10 November 1938,5 and the outbreak of war in ­Europe in 1939 forged new relationships between armed conflict and the perpetration of genocide.6 The dramatic invasion of Poland and then the Soviet U ­ nion led to millions of targeted populations falling into the hands of the Nazis, who 172

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promptly committed mass murder through massacres, expanded use of concentration camps, and the invention of factory-­style extermination camps. Starvation was also used as a tool of annihilation, best exemplified during the Siege of Leningrad and in the complex Jewish ghetto system.7 The collapse of the Wehrmacht u­ nder the combined pressures of the Soviet Red Army and the Western Allies meant the liberation of the camps. Genocidal policies ­were s­ topped, though in some cases genocide continued up ­until the hours before capitulation of German units. The madness of such destructive policies to the b­ itter end is unfathomable in ideological determination. In all, the Nazis ­were responsible for atrocities (genocide, crimes against humanity, and war crimes in t­ oday’s ­legal parlance) that killed approximately twelve million ­people. It should be noted, however, that vio­lence did not stop fully in 1945. Th ­ ere was of course vio­lence against German and majority populations in Central and Eastern ­Europe (CEE), but ­there w ­ ere also anti-­Semitic pogroms that took place in scores of locations ­after the war, killing hundreds of Jews. The most notorious act was the Kielce pogrom (4 July 1946), in which forty-­three Jews w ­ ere killed and another forty w ­ ere wounded.8 Efforts for justice began with vari­ous postwar t­ rials of Nazi leaders and perpetrators and continue to this day. Before his death on 13 April 2023 at the age of 102, Josef Schütz was found guilty and sentenced to five years in prison for aiding and abetting the murders of 3,518 and is the oldest Nazi perpetrator to be held responsible for their crimes. He remained ­free while appealing the decision of the Neuruppin Regional Court at the Federal Court of Justice.9 The long march t­ oward justice and accountability w ­ ill never cease. It is within the context of the Holocaust that a comparison can be made about perpetrators’ use of space in the CEE region—­the “bloodlands” that w ­ ere caught between Hitler and Stalin.10 For an analy­sis of DA crimes, t­ hese lands have been used in extraordinarily separate ways to perpetrate dif­fer­ent atrocities against distinct groups for varied reasons. The vio­lence in CEE during the period 1933–1945 was direct and indirect in nature. Rather than attempt a holistic account of Nazi atrocities—an impossible task in a few short pages—­this chapter is designed to show why the same areas of CEE w ­ ere used for drastically dif­fer­ent killing methods across two successive atrocities. One, the Holocaust, was genocidal in nature and biologically exterminationist in intent. The other, the expulsion of the Germans, could initially be understood as war crimes and ­later as crimes against humanity, and was designed as a brutal postwar demographic reengineering proj­ect. It is impor­tant to note, however, that perpetrators of both atrocities incorporated DA crimes. In the former, DA crimes ­were used as a last-­ resort killing mechanism, while in the latter they ­were part and parcel of postwar punitive relocations (see t­ able 11.1). This chapter is compelling and challenging both historically and theoretically. Historically, Holocaust deniers have often pointed to the expulsion of the Germans as a signal of a double genocide that took place. Some deniers even claim

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­Table 11.1

Expulsion of Germans versus the Holocaust and Nazi Atrocities Causal Pathways Focused variables

Expulsion of Germans from CEE

The Holocaust

DA crimes

Yes

Contingent method of atrocity

Group difference construction

Germans viewed as a p­ olitical prob­lem to be removed back to Germany

Targeted populations constructed as racial threats who had to be annihilated quickly

Intent

Vio­lence used in conjunction with expulsion to punish Volksdeutsche for Nazi-­era atrocities

Nazi ideological desire to hunt down Untermensch and kill millions leads to extraordinary bureaucracies of stationary annihilation

Methods of vio­lence

DA crimes central to atrocities

DA crimes a last-­resort contingent method of atrocity perpetration

that the Holocaust and the expulsion ­were merely offsetting “war crimes.”11 This is clearly not the case. Both are separate atrocity pro­cesses with dif­fer­ent motivations, intents, and magnitudes. Such reductionist and blatant denialism is not historically, intellectually, or morally compelling. It is, however, historically compelling to examine why DA crime pro­cesses ­were not selected by the Nazis at the outset of atrocity pro­cesses but w ­ ere for the expulsion of the Germans. Accordingly, this counter-­case poses a potential prob­lem for the DA crime theory. If DA crimes ­were not selected as a primary method of annihilation by the Nazis from the start but ­were eventually utilized, does this mean that the causal pathway to DA crimes is devoid of explanatory and predictive potential? Not necessarily. If the Nazis eventually employed DA crimes (death marches), why did they not simply use them from 1933 onward? Initially, it made genocidal sense for the Nazis to use what they perceived as more efficient methods of atrocity (i.e., massacres and ­later extermination camps) so that they could brutally annihilate millions covertly in sites just far enough away to create thinly veiled layers of deniability. Additionally, in the Nazi worldview, they had to exterminate as many targeted ­peoples as pos­si­ble as fast as pos­si­ble. By exploiting established mass transportation networks, the Nazis w ­ ere able to create vast bureaucracies of annihilation, learning and refining their killing practices across space and time. The Nazis used what they had (transportation networks and hegemonies) and what they knew (direct vio­lence and brutality) to commit many of their atrocities. However, the defeat of the Wehrmacht created a structural need for contingent responses. When defeat in the war became a fait accompli, the Nazis de­cided to fanatically use ­whatever killing pro­cesses they could. This included a contingent shift in killing pro­cesses to incorporate death marches as a primary method of annihilation in the waning hours of the Third Reich. DA crimes ­were a

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last-­resort method of atrocity at the precipice of the Nazi regime’s collapse. When extensive use of extermination camps, concentration camps, massacre sites, and ghettos became untenable, due to their liberation by the Red Army from the east and Anglo-­A merican-­led forces from the west and south, the Nazis began to abandon ­these places and learned to use DA crime methods in the final phase of the Holocaust. This history offers a lesson on DA crimes: they require patience and vast spaces. When perpetrators have neither, they ­will use dif­fer­ent methods of annihilation (i.e., direct killing mechanisms). As such, this chapter explores not only the ideological need for the Nazis to exterminate millions of targeted populations in an expeditious manner but the ideological satisfaction of contingent killing pro­cesses at the end of genocidal practices. The changing methods of perpetrators shifted from using stationary killing centers to killing thousands through the twin mechanism of DA crimes and massacres—­right up to the moment of capitulation.

Group Difference Construction: Ideological Exterminationism The architects of the Holocaust cast Jews and other p­ eoples in ideological ways that had profound effects in the social construction of e­ nemy populations. This in turn helped in the construction and imposition of annihilatory systems on millions of ­people. Ultimately, ­these ideological suppositions w ­ ere able to prey on latent anti-­Semitism and discriminatory views of the targeted populations in Germany, E ­ urope, and the world and convert many to the cause of Social Darwinism and the notion that some groups ­were “unworthy of life” and had to be eliminated immediately.12 This violent ideological conclusion meant that the Nazis became fixated on the expeditious murder of millions. The best methods to do so, the Nazis surmised, involved the transfer of millions to stationary sites of annihilation, where they could be controlled and exterminated in industrial fashion. The Nazi utopian delusions of race and nation ­were made logically consistent with demographic tropes of the 1920s and 1930s.13 Anti-­Semitism has always been a plague that ­Europe and the world have not been able to cure, and the cultural tropes of the early twentieth c­ entury provided fertile soil for the Nazis’ destructive vision.14 ­These fields ­were fertilized for hatred with Hitler’s constructed stab-­in-­the-­back paranoia, the 1929 global economic collapse, violent reactions against socialist ideals and communist systems, the Hitlerian belief in obdurate obfuscation, and the proposal of radical theories that scapegoated populations—­ especially Jews—­for the decline of Germany.15 Maureen S. Hiebert understands how this construction, alongside p­ olitical and economic crises of the early twentieth ­century, played a major role in creating a “permissive socio-­political environment” for genocide.16 Timothy Snyder describes Hitler’s world as one where “the highest races ­were still evolving from the lower, which meant that interbreeding was pos­si­ble but

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sinful.”17 For Hitler, racial strug­g le “was as certain as the law of gravity.”18 As such, the Aryan race needed Lebensraum (living space) and a Weltanschauung (worldview) that permitted it to dominate, dispossess, and displace o­ thers.19 Doris Bergen articulates that Nazism incorporated mutually reinforcing lies and discriminatory systems to uphold a specific worldview. That worldview is impor­ tant, as all targeted populations ­were often conceptualized as playing key roles in the downfall of Germany, thus playing on the many anx­i­eties of Germans at the time.20 Ideology, and its logically leaping reductionist escapism, provided a template for viewing and conceptualizing the p­ eoples of the world. The Nazi worldview was inherently violent and competitive. Untermensch populations, in the minds of the Nazis, ­were “lesser than” and w ­ ere constructed as barriers to excessive nationalistic pride. The ideological fixation on millions of p­ eople as hindrances to pro­g ress was rooted in scientific racism and social Darwinism, allowing for a broad-­based implementation of violent ideas with a veneer of modernism and new “truths” that ­were created to fill the need for direction.21 To contrast against the supposed Untermensch barbarism, the superiority of Aryan ­peoples was exalted. The Nazi worldview took as a starting position that some ­peoples dominate o­ thers in a natu­ral order of triumphant races. Targeted populations ­were conceptualized first as foreigners, then as mortal threats, and fi­nally as subhumans.22 All three of ­these “ ‘switches’ of identity construction” combined to offer t­ hose considered Aryans the possibility—­and the permission—to dominate all ­others, especially t­ hose considered to exist on the lowest spectra of p­ eoples.23 This construction of ­enemy ­peoples was si­mul­ta­neously rigid and flexible, allowing for i­mmense variances in the targeting and infliction of vio­lence on targeted populations across spatial and temporal limitations. As the Nazis conquered new territories, they imposed violent demographic plans on populations. Some populations w ­ ere receptive to t­ hese ideas, perhaps best represented by Poles, who occupied many categories. Some became perpetrators and killed Jews in the now-­infamous example of Jedwabne.24 Many became victims, and many resisted and helped scores of targeted populations escape annihilation.25 The resisters, however, could not overcome the w ­ ill of the perpetrators and the bystanders who helped enable vio­lence through inaction.26 Nazi ideology preyed on existing social fissures. Populations that fell into the Nazi hegemony had engrained anti-­Semitic views, allowing for extraordinary exterminationist vio­ lence to take place. In addition to scientifically racist constructions of millions, many ­were cast as the vanguard of Bolshevism. This linkage made the very existence of ­these populations antithetical to the worldview of extreme right-­ wing National Socialism. Making racial enemies real in everyday politics reinforced the need for annihilatory systems. Thus, for the Nazis, when new spaces ­were conquered, time was of the essence to liquidate their “racial enemies.” A result of the Nazis’ ideological constructions ­were sites where targeted populations w ­ ere to be segregated and quickly annihilated. In the war of

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annihilation on the eastern front, massacres w ­ ere often used as tools to annihilate thousands of targeted ­peoples quickly, perhaps most notoriously evidenced by the Babi Yar massacre outside Kiev, where approximately thirty-­three thousand Jews ­were killed in two days (29 and 30 September 1941).27 From the Hartheim euthanasia center used during the Aktion T4 program to the gas chambers created at the six extermination camps (Auschwitz, Majdanek, Chełmno, Bełżec, Sobibór, and Treblinka), targeted populations ­were brought to places of annihilation, where they w ­ ere quickly killed and cremated to erase all traces of their existence.28 In places like the Warsaw ghetto or the network of thousands of concentration camps, targeted populations ­were starved and worked to death in appalling conditions designed to bring about the destruction of groups in ­whole or in part.29 ­These sites of annihilation ­were places where targeted populations ­were brought to—­the ­process of movement was extraordinarily violent in and of itself, though movement was not designed to be the killer of millions. Rather, movement was an intermediary step required by the bureaucracies of annihilation. Displacement as a p­ rocess could be best understood as transfer of millions to concentrated, well-­ guarded places where hegemonies of destruction could bear their forces over disempowered p­ eoples.30 The Nazis desired a social reengineering proj­ect and sought to complete their ideological goals in quick and efficient ways. During much of the Holocaust, this manifested as stationary sites of annihilation. This contrasts strongly with the group difference construction against Germans in the CEE. While Germans ­were viewed as potentially dangerous fifth columnists and foreigners, they ­were never constructed as subhuman, as the Nazis did with so many millions. The targets of Nazi atrocities ­were constructed as racially inferior populations, dregs of society, and vanguards of foreignness and foreign ­political movements that must be eliminated. Germans, on the other hand, ­were constructed as p­ olitical, not racial, threats. The former must be exterminated quickly, but the latter could be expelled, and postwar opportunities for retribution could release a relentless wave of cathartic vio­lence against them. Despite the planning (or lack thereof) and execution of the German expulsions, the constructed need to rid countries of German minorities was designed to punish German populations for the Second World War, not destroy them in ­whole or in part. This was certainly not, as has been asserted by Holocaust deniers, a tit-­for-­tat scheme of reciprocal vio­lence. The victims of Nazi atrocities and Volksdeutsche populations ­were targeted for vastly distinct reasons and on vastly dif­fer­ent scales of criminality.

Intent: Cumulative Learning and Extermination The architects of the Holocaust clearly desired a “final solution” to the demographic crises they created. The rigid ideological construction of ­enemy ­peoples meant that the prophecy of annihilation had to be seen through. This annihilation could have manifested as a scheme like the Madagascar Plan,31 which

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would have sent millions of Jews from ­Europe to Madagascar, or a scheme like Generalplan Ost, the revolutionary plan to demographically and po­liti­cally “cleanse” the CEE region through the expulsion and destruction of targeted populations.32 ­Whether the Holocaust was a top-­down or bottom-up ­process has been the subject of much historical quarrel among prolific scholars of Nazi atrocities. Intentionalist scholars argue that Nazi plans ­were clear from the beginning of Hitler’s rise: seize power undemo­cratically, make exclusive and violent ideological utopias of race and nation real, and exterminate targeted populations in predetermined ways (e.g., massacres and the concentration and extermination camps).33 Intentionalists believe that Hitler played a decisive role in being not only the person who gave the order to kill but also the key architect of the Holocaust. Conversely, functionalist scholars argue that while violent utopias existed in the minds of many Nazis, perpetrator policy took the form of a learning ­process: perpetrators learned which killing methods worked, which did not, and adapted their plans in contingent ways.34 As such, the Holocaust was not necessarily a top-­down phenomenon but also a bottom-up p­ rocess, whereby vio­lence was the preferred policy but members of the Nazi bureaucracy did not know how to achieve their violent utopias in 1933. Functionaries like Reinhard Heydrich created policies of extermination that became institutionalized through socio-­ bureaucratic practices.35 Of the two positions, functionalists have presented significantly more compelling (available) historical evidence thus far. The international military tribunal at Nuremberg, as well as subsequent zonal and individual ­trials, have preferred to prosecute Nazi criminals based on what they have done as individuals. This places focus on the idea that the Holocaust was only made pos­si­ble through the major and minor material and ideational contributions of thousands of perpetrators from 1933 to 1945.36 For Raul Hilberg and Götz Aly, the bureaucracies of annihilation became increasingly extreme ­toward the Jewish question as time wore on and further territories ­were captured by the Wehrmacht.37 Rather than a well-­functioning killing machine, the Nazi bureaucracies w ­ ere run using centralized yet disor­ga­nized and idiosyncratic methods. Contradictory policies and approaches to singular prob­lems led to competition among bureaucrats who sought to forward their own solutions, thereby expanding their personal powers within institutions. Far from a monomaniacally focused institution, infighting, frustration, and lack of coordinated policies and actions w ­ ere hallmarks of the Nazi bureaucracy.38 As such, the roads to annihilation w ­ ere marked by individual choices, and t­ hose choices w ­ ere informed by collective learning on how to implement atrocity pro­cesses. Hans Mommsen argued that the Nazis w ­ ere radicalized cumulatively.39 While initially concerned with removing populations, the Nazis gradually though dramatically marched t­ oward annihilatory policies as years of their reign of terror wore on.

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For scholars like Saul Friedländer, Nazi policy can be divided into the years of persecution (1933–1939) and the years of extermination (1939–1945), with par­ tic­u­lar focus placed on anti-­Jewish policy.40 However, for scholars like Henry Friedlander, Nazi policy can be understood as an unfolding p­ rocess of increasingly extreme m ­ easures t­ oward vari­ous targeted populations.41 The Nazis experimented with arrays of killing pro­cesses and eventually created a vast network of sites of annihilation using a plethora of diverse killing methods. The lack of ­resistance to ­these policies at least in part allowed for a cumulative radicalization of exterminationist policies, which became less opaque. For Ian Kershaw, “The road to Auschwitz was built by hate but paved with indifference.”42 The Aktion T4 euthanasia program received marginal international and religious condemnation, but ­resistance efforts made almost no ­political difference. According to Franz Stangl, commandant of Sobibór and Treblinka extermination camps, many personnel like himself who l­ater held key positions in Nazi bureaucracies of annihilation began their ­careers as killers in ­these prewar programs.43 ­A fter years of perfecting the crafts of population relocation and segregation, conducting secretive and overt extermination efforts, and manufacturing open hostilities ­toward ­others, when the war of annihilation in the east began with Operation Barbarossa in 1941, the Nazis had a suite of learned perpetration methods at their disposal and génocidaires ready to kill. Massacres, ghettos, concentration camps, extermination camps, and incredible brutalities w ­ ere the hallmarks of Nazi annihilation practices from 1941 to 1945. ­These years of annihilation w ­ ere the climax of Nazi policy and the nadir of millions. In 1941 and 1942, millions of Soviet prisoners of war ­were subjected to concentration and extermination by hunger, forced l­abor, and medical experimentation.44 The Holocaust by bullets began in 1941 and lasted ­until 1942.45 The Einsatzgruppen that trailed the Wehrmacht in fall 1941 and other formations, like Reserve Police Battalion 101, committed massacres from the Baltic Sea to the Black Sea.46 However, the slow pace and m ­ ental toll on perpetrators associated with t­ hese massacres likely caused a shift in policies.47 Stationary killing centers, like the mobile gas vans used at Chełmno extermination camp before the construction of formal gas chambers, became preferrable, and the Wannsee Conference in January 1942 harmonized exterminationist efforts across critical Nazi bureaucracies.48 The resulting Operation Reinhard, the increased ghettoization of Jews, and the beginning of the use of stationary extermination camps initiated the most destructive period of the Holocaust ­until late 1944.49 Millions of targeted populations ­were concentrated in camps, ghettos, and other places and ­were then transferred to extermination camps using ­Europe’s vast networks of roads and railroads.50 With total hegemony over almost all aspects of life in ­Europe, the Nazis could impose extreme exterminationist strategies on any targeted population. By 1942, the Nazis had become efficient killers via the extermination camps and used them to brutal effect. Even when the Red Army began closing

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in during early 1944, the Nazis continued their extermination operations, killing as many targeted populations as they could before they ­were forced to capitulate. In this context, the choices the Nazi regime made to implement DA crime systems w ­ ere contingent on the p­ olitical realities of the end of 1944 and early 1945. From the Nazi worldview, allowing targeted populations to escape meant the desolation of the Nazi quest. The regime intentionally chose to continue down the path of annihilation despite the costs of ­these decisions. At the time decisions w ­ ere made to use death marches and massacres, the Wehrmacht was in full retreat, carry­ing with it not only soldiers and military materiel but the first wave of Volksdeutsche expellees.51 ­These millions of ­people overcrowded roads, railways, and rivers. Moreover, the Red Army was liberating territories at astonishing rates, meaning that thousands of soldiers in retreat and evacuees had to be rerouted during their movements. Heinrich Himmler’s final order on concentration camp prisoners from 15 April 1945 stated: Surrender is out of the question. The camp must be evacuated immediately. Not a single prisoner must fall alive into e­ nemy hands. The prisoners at Buchenwald have taken action against the civilian population. (-) Himmler.52

The desire for total annihilation by any method necessary (or pos­si­ble) in the twilight of the Third Reich was clear. The use of DA crimes in the Holocaust was due to multifactorial contingent pro­cesses. One of the most quizzical ele­ments of the death marches concluding the Holocaust is this: Why would the Nazis devote extraordinary resources to killing targeted populations when they could have used t­ hose resources to defend against the impending onslaught of the Red Army? Ideologically, the approach of the Red Army and the possibility of liberation of the camps was unacceptable to Nazi leadership, who by this time had retreated further into their delusions of Pan-­Germanic dominance. For them, the real­ity of the situation called for realistic and implementable killing pro­cesses amid the backdrop of paranoid exterminationist utopias. When the fascist world was falling apart, the Nazis de­cided to take as many targeted ­people as pos­si­ble with them to the end of their delusions. This extreme dedication to mass murder against any sense of rational choice cannot be overstated.

Escorting Crimes: Contingent Displacement Atrocity Pro­cesses Impor­tant for the comparative study of DA crimes is the fact that the Nazis used Todesmarsches (death marches) to destroy populations early in atrocity pro­cesses (1939), though the use of death marches was a localized rather than a systematic policy. Once starvation and massacres proved quick and efficient, and more

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psychologically detached killing pro­cesses had been in­ven­ted (extermination camps), the Nazis leaned on t­ hese tactics to annihilate millions of p­ eople. It was only in the twilight of the war in 1944 when death marches ­were reimplemented. This time, prisoners from the camps w ­ ere marched to their deaths before they could be liberated by the Allied armies, signaling the inherent absurdity of the Nazi program: devote precious resources to kill as many Untermensch as pos­si­ble even though military defeat was all but guaranteed. Nazi perpetrators did not use DA crime methods to destroy targeted populations on a systematic level. However, the Todesmarsches used by the Nazis at the end of the Second World War are exceptional examples of genocidal escorting DA crimes. As early as spring 1944, the bureaucracies of annihilation ­were planning on the total clearance of concentration and extermination camps. A common goal of all t­ hese “discharges” was that incarcerated p­ eoples w ­ ere not to be liberated and saved—­they had to be killed in one way or another.53 The evacuation of Majdanek on 1 April 1944 was the first in a long chain of camp expulsions. Many thousands w ­ ere transported to camps t­ oward and within Germany.54 However, one of the transports that held approximately 1,200 prisoners reached Auschwitz with only 608 p­ eople—­the remaining had died due to exhaustion, deprivation, or massacre by guards on a death march.55 This type of Todesmarsch soon became institutionalized. At Kochendorf camp (established near a salt mine to manufacture jet engines), more than 1,800 ­people ­were incarcerated. On 20 March 1945, two-­thirds of the camp was evacuated and within a day reached the village of Hütten, where the prisoners w ­ ere provided with food from local townspeople and Volkssturm (­People’s Militia) and provided with proper transport so they would not have to march.56 This minor humanitarianism, however, was an exception to the rule. Partially why t­ hese marches became so deadly w ­ ere the initial conditions of the displaced, many of whom had been physically and emotionally broken a­ fter incarceration in the Nazi camp system. At the end of World War II, when rations became even scarcer, rations at Gęsiówka l­abor camp dropped to 250 grams of bread, less than 20 grams of sausage, 500 milliliters of soup, and several potatoes per person per day.57 Similar starvation rations across the camp system ensured that expelled prisoners ­were starting off ­these death marches in a state of extreme deprivation, meaning that any physical exertion would cause further morbidities. Additionally, if prisoners fell out of step, they w ­ ere often summarily executed by guards, who kept the columns moving at breakneck speed.58 The twin deportation mechanism of indirect killing via DA crimes and direct killing via massacres of the displaced became entrenched policy a­ fter the Zöbingen death march in spring 1945.59 The Nazis learned from ­these early deportations and w ­ ere able to implement massive schemes to kill thousands even while the Wehrmacht “was disintegrating. Units w ­ ere falling apart, while hungry soldiers w ­ ere resorting to looting the property of the local population. Th ­ ere ­were reports of retreating soldiers who

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forcibly dragged w ­ omen and c­ hildren off the trains evacuating them from Eastern Prus­sia westward and took their place.”60 All modes of transport w ­ ere being pushed to their logistical limits with the evacuating Volksdeutsche and Wehrmacht. Against this backdrop, the Nazis wanted to accelerate their killing pro­cesses before the regime collapsed. This meant that civilians and soldiers evacuating from the east ­were on the same roads as targeted Holocaust populations who ­were now being subjected to death marches.61 On 5 April 1945, a subcamp near Wilhelmshaven was starting to be emptied and a group of targeted persons ­were to be transported 200 kilo­meters ­toward Hamburg via rail. The overcrowded prisoners in boxcars w ­ ere “so sick with tuberculosis, syphilis and open sores . . . ​that they w ­ ere scarcely capable of walking.”62 During this caravan and ­others, many died on the first days of displacement and many o­ thers died in Allied bombing raids, which w ­ ere wreaking havoc on rail networks used by the Nazis.63 Some displaced escaped, but many could not. Anyone unable to move was shot.64 Larger camp clearances became all too common. At the Flossenbürg complex, 1,700 Jews ­were selected and sent aboard a train (60–75 per car) while tens of thousands of ­others ­were dispersed to other camps—­ primarily Dachau, as it was the last remaining camp available for transport. U.S. troops liberated Flossenbürg on 23 April 1945.65 Notoriously, near Gardelegen the Nazis ended a death march by forcing all prisoners into a barn and burning them to death. O ­ thers w ­ ere executed and buried—­some alive—in a ditch around the barn. The Nazis had no time to cover up their crimes before they surrendered to the Americans hours a­ fter this last-­minute massacre, leaving a disfigured mass of interlaced corpses with the burnt materials of the barn.66 A m ­ atter of hours ­earlier and nearly 1,500 ­people would have been saved.67 Before this massacre, prisoners ­were force-­marched and fed six raw potatoes each for three weeks, completely deteriorating their bodies.68 ­There is a grim lesson in the waning stages of the Holocaust. Given the convincing evidence of desire for, and actions ­toward, total annihilation of targeted populations, it is perhaps uncontroversial to assert that if the Third Reich ­were given enough space and time, it would have annihilated all targeted populations. This type of annihilation would have likely continued in extermination, forced ­labor, and concentration camps. Th ­ ese patterns of factory-­style annihilation w ­ ere strongly favored by the Nazis once they had perfected their genocidal craft. Even the mere thought of having sites of annihilation was tantalizing for p­ eople like Reinhard Heydrich and other key functionaries at the Wannsee Conference, all the way through to individual camp commanders, like Franz Stangl, and the killers who populated the systems and bureaucracies of extermination.69 As such, it is equally uncontroversial to state that DA crimes would have not been used at all if contingent conditions that enabled genocide perpetration (the war) had remained at 1942 conditions—­the zenith of Nazi power. DA crimes ­were not supposed to be a systematized ele­ment of the final solution. Rather, they

Desolation • 183

­ ere incorporated as the final efforts of a genocidal regime. When this perspecw tive is applied, t­ here is l­ ittle doubt that the death marches of the Holocaust could be fully understood on the DA crime causal pathway. The application of midrange theories like DA crimes to micro-­level pro­cesses within macrolevel programs of annihilation requires further research and exploration by scholars in vari­ous events and pro­cesses of genocide, crimes against humanity, and war crimes to better understand frontiers of annihilation and why some killing methods are implemented in specific spaces and times but not ­others.

Not a “Double Genocide”: Holocaust and Expulsion Genocidal escorting DA crimes in the Holocaust w ­ ere a final solution to the final solution. The Nazi empire was bent on using w ­ hatever methods it had at its disposal to kill as many targeted populations as pos­si­ble. They ­were one of the only methods of annihilation left to the Nazis, as the territories they had conquered ­were being liberated daily. Before the end, DA crimes made ­little sense to perpetrate as the Nazis could—­and did—­construct networks of annihilation across ­Europe to quickly exterminate their constructed racial enemies. However, when all of that was lost, DA crimes at the end of the Holocaust ­were, and are, agonizing exclamation marks to twelve years of destructive Nazi policies. At the denouement of the Third Reich, the Nazis resorted to DA crimes as a next-­(or last-) best killing mechanism seemingly minutes before capitulation. Such is the violent potential of ­these criminal pro­cesses of forced displacement. They can be implemented anywhere at any time, though they may not be the most efficient killing programs when compared to the Nazis’ industrial-­style extermination for much of the Holocaust. Ultimately, DA crimes did take place during both the Holocaust and the expulsion of Germans. However, the goals and intents of violent displacement ­were dif­fer­ent, and similar methods of DA crimes occurring in similar spaces in temporal historical sequence can have profoundly dif­fer­ent effects. ­There is an impor­tant lesson in ­these uses of DA crimes in CEE: the use of DA crimes in the Holocaust was based on genocidal contingency, but the use of DA crimes in the German expulsions was based on a disor­ga­nized p­ olitical plan to expel—­though not necessarily destroy—­Volksdeutsche populations. Rather than annihilate the Volksdeutsche, the postwar authorities in CEE chose to punitively expel Germans to forever rid the new countries of the influence of this minority. That said, just ­because extermination was not a goal does not mean that systematic deprivation and horrific vio­lence did not occur. Holocaust deniers have sometimes attempted to manipulate the vio­lence of the postwar era in an attempt to demonstrate that it was simply a time of ­vio­lence that affected e­ very population, and that t­ here is an unjust focus on the Jewish Holocaust. Often ­there are engrained anti-­Semitic tropes b­ ehind t­ hese inaccurate generalizations. While it may be difficult to conceptualize Germans

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as both perpetrators of genocide and victims of illegitimate mass deportation schemes, it is central to do so for the sake of historical accuracy. For R. M. Douglas, if the expulsion of the Germans is not brought into mainstream scholarship and is instead relegated to the fringes, deniers ­will continue to “pervert the historical rec­ord for their own ends” by asserting that the Holocaust and the German expulsion “counterbalance each other.”70 Instead of a pure reversal of victims and perpetrators, the expulsion of the Germans was not designed to fight genocide with atrocities.71 Instead, it was a violent retributive form of collective punishment for the imposition of Nazism—­a lex talionis reciprocity of vio­lence—­lest it be forgotten that residents of CEE both saved and doomed many to the machineries of the Holocaust.72 Postwar E ­ urope was indeed a site of va­ri­e­ties of vio­lence. Pogroms against Jews took place, violent forced displacement was normalized, and systematic discrimination was common following the war. A reaction against the Holocaust, however, does not appear to be a key motivating ­factor for the expulsion of the Germans; the reaction was definitively against Nazi occupation. That occupation embraced myriad forms of atrocity perpetration, with DA crimes as a last-­best resort for the fledgling Nazi empire. The Nazi’s empire of annihilation is a stark reminder of how violent utopic ideals can unlock potential for the uncorking of hate and destruction.

Part 5

Climate Vio­lence and Conclusions

12

Tragedy Logics of Displacement Climate Vio­lence in the Twenty-­First ­Century Anthropogenic climate change—­massive shifts in climate due to ­human activities—­will change our world in uncertain ways. While ­there are arrays of climate denialism, including asserting that the climate has always changed and that current changes are nothing more than “natu­ral,” ­human activities have clearly imposed far more pronounced forms of accelerating changes on the climate, with wide-­ranging effects.1 One of the most striking features of climate change is the resilience of the cumulative damage done and the critical mass of environmental degradation that now appears catastrophically unstoppable. During the ­process of researching and writing ­these chapters on climate change, the COVID-19 pandemic swept the globe, and lockdowns ­were ordered in many countries, including the United States, Canada, and across the ­European ­Union—­the places with the highest per capita production of green­house gas emissions. Th ­ ese lockdowns took millions of vehicles off the roads and showcased some of the potentials of decreasing transportation-­related emissions. However, global emissions only dropped approximately 6 ­percent. A ­ fter pandemic restrictions w ­ ere lifted, vehicle emissions remained lower than pre-­ pandemic levels. The decline in green­house gas emissions was “temporary, and . . . ​ global emissions in the power, industry and residential sectors w ­ ere already at the same level or higher than in the same period in 2019.”2 It is delusional to 187

188 • Climate Vio­lence and Conclusions

believe individual actions can stem the tide of institutionalized green­house gas emissions, and ­there appears to be a total lack of ­will and leadership for serious, sustained, and profound institutional changes. Anthropogenic climate change appears to be a fait accompli. Accordingly, the need to begin using social scientific theories to attempt to predict violent f­ utures is clear. We must try to understand structural opportunities for climate vio­lence in order to prevent it.3

Geographies of Vio­lence Almost all world regions ­will likely be directly and indirectly affected by climate change. Direct effects include rising sea levels and coastal erosion; desertification; increased frequency of cataclysmic weather events, like hurricanes and damaging storms; sweltering heat waves; unpredictable cold spells; changed growing seasons; expanded zones for diseases; and scarcity of vital daily needs. ­These direct effects may have myriad indirect effects on h ­ uman life. Patterns of life for many could change, and the effects w ­ ill challenge vari­ous institutions and structures locally, nationally, regionally, and globally. ­There are many reasons to believe that changing geographic structural conditions may necessitate the removal of millions of persons. With some estimates predicting hundreds of millions of potential climate refugees (­those forced to leave their homes due to climate change), and given the knowledge of past mass displacements, it is logical to assume that some of ­these movements hold structural potentials for vio­lence.4

Direct Effects: Climate-­Degraded Areas If—­though more likely, when—­the world experiences 2 to 4 degrees Celsius in warming, t­ here ­will be a corresponding sea level rise of at least 2 meters. This rise ­will likely occur even if many of the Paris Agreement targets are met.5 Millions of island dwellers may have to be moved onshore, billions in property could be lost, and entire sociopo­liti­cal systems could be destroyed.6 Infamously, the Republic of Kiribati prepared for a warmer world by purchasing land in Fiji for approximately seventy thousand p­ eople to resettle on when Kiribati became inundated with ­water (though ­whether that ­will happen is subject to much controversy).7 That land is now being developed to produce foodstuffs for Kiribati with “technical assistance” from China.8 Such is the scale of prob­lems that entire nations feel—­rightly or wrongly—­that they must prepare to move entire populations. Residents of low-­elevation coastal zone (LECZ) are particularly at risk for displacement. LECZs are coastal areas that are less than 10 meters above sea level.9 ­These areas are often highly sought a­ fter as places to live, and the migration to ­these areas increased in the twentieth and early twenty-­first centuries, with no end in sight (see ­table 12.1). However, climate change threatens ­these areas due to their low-­lying geo­graph­i­cal positions. This creates a paradox: LECZs are more susceptible to the impacts of climate change and sea level rise though

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­Table 12.1

Low-­Elevation Coastal Zone Populations Year

World population

LECZ population

2000 2030 (scenario 1) 2030 (scenario 2) 2060

6,100,000,000 7,800,000,000 8,700,000,000 11,300,000,000

625,000,000 879,000,000 949,000,000 1,400,000,000

SOURCE: Barbara Neumann et al., “­Future Coastal Population Growth and

Exposure to Sea-­Level Rise and Coastal Flooding—­a Global Assessment.” PLoS ONE 10, no. 3 (2015): 10.

p­ eople flock to them. To make ­these figures more problematic, approximately 83 ­percent of populations in LECZs are from developing/exploited countries. In ­these places, the state’s capacity to deliver fundamental s­ ervices and ability to pursue climate mitigation strategies in the near ­future are markedly lacking. Beyond coastal areas, t­ here is cause for concern in continental nations vis-­à-­ vis climatic degradation. Desertification, climate degradation, and increased climate volatility w ­ ill likely cause areas to become more hostile to predictable ­human life. Th ­ ese changes ­will significantly and negatively impact flora and fauna, making ­these regions even more inhospitable. Consider areas surrounding the Aral Sea, made infamous by the Soviet U ­ nion’s 1953 Virgin Lands campaign, which sought to turn desertified central Asian areas into arable land.10 By diverting w ­ ater from the Aral Sea’s two tributary rivers—­the Amu Darya and the Syr Darya—­the Aral Sea itself shrunk.11 The w ­ ater retreated with such ferocity that some ships w ­ ere unable to be pushed back into the w ­ ater and are now rusting in the ­middle of an extremely salinized desert (the former seabed).12 The catastrophic environmental degradation disrupted almost ­every conceivable aspect of life—­including raising the temperature of the area im­mensely due to a lack of regulation by ­water—­and the damage appears to be irreversible given pre­sent regional politics.13 Areas like ­these are extreme cases but provide insight into the folly of what was preventable climate change. ­These degraded areas necessitated ­great flight and structural p­ olitical changes, and could become hostile areas for lethal displacement.

Indirect Effects: Ramifications of Change Rapid degradation poses even more prob­lems, as it could threaten the livelihoods and lives of affected populations. Presently, the world’s freshwater supply cannot keep pace with overpopulation.14 Climate degradation is underway, and it is reasonable to assume that droughts w ­ ill become more frequent, prevalent, per­ sis­tent, and pervasive. Climate change may cause new inequalities, but it may also exacerbate current inequalities and make possibilities for vio­lence real. One con­temporary example of social inequalities worsened by resource scarcity is

190 • Climate Vio­lence and Conclusions

Cape Town’s ­water supply prob­lems. Day Zero was the name given for the date when Cape Town’s ­water supply was to run dry, as the city’s ­water reservoirs sat at a paltry 13.5 ­percent in early 2018. It was initially projected that Cape Town would run out of ­water on 12 April 2018, but it was pushed to July 2018, then to 2019, before the prob­lem was considered resolved ­after serious ­water restrictions ­were imposed on all residents of Cape Town.15 In 2020, the w ­ ater ­table sat at 100 ­percent.16 ­Water use is a socially constructed institution impacted by vari­ous inputs. ­These constructions are noticeably class-­based and racialized in effect and enforcement.17 White, typically more affluent Cape Town residents could afford to install w ­ ater storage tanks on their properties (already b­ ehind gated communities), while typically poorer Black residents of Cape Town could not afford (monetarily or socially) such banned ­measures.18 ­Water deliveries to stockpiling residents began in November 2017, and the price for a liter of ­water ­rose to forty cents and then to seventy cents.19 For contrast: ­water in Canada costs tenths of a cent per liter.20 The residents who could afford to stockpile did so, while the residents who could not afford this luxury w ­ ere forced to play by the collective rules of gathering ­water at the approximately two hundred w ­ ater distribution sites around the city guarded by the military and the police. The sites offered only the bare minimum (25 liters) of w ­ ater requirements per person per day.21 The typical Canadian citizen in 2019 used 411 liters per day, though ­water rights for Indigenous ­peoples in Canada continue to be extensively ­violated.22 In summer 2022, E ­ urope experienced i­ mmense drought conditions, and some had access to ­water for only four hours per day, a potential win­dow into the ­future of strained resources.23 What ­these types of episodes demonstrate is that legacies and long-­term effects from institutions like colonial vio­lence and apartheid may have wide-­ranging impacts on geographies of climate survival in the ­future. The backdrop of existing inequalities w ­ ill likely be made worse by the structural geographic stressors of climate change and can provide flashpoints for vio­lence. Resource-­rich areas could be of par­tic­u­lar importance to ­future DA crimes, as they could become sought-­a fter regions and thus ripe for conflict. As areas become degraded or inhospitable, p­ eople w ­ ill move to areas with resources. This can create ­immense demographic tensions (explored ­later).

Geographies of Annihilation If geo­graph­i­cal spaces are available, perpetrators possess a key structural requirement for DA crimes. Currently t­ hese could be viewed as deserts, mountainous terrains, and generally inhospitable terrains. However, f­ uture geo­graph­i­cal sites for mass murder may not yet be known. Climate change may significantly alter the geographies of many areas around the world and make places that are currently lush and easily able to sustain life into harsh and inhospitable climates. The areas where DA crimes may be committed may not yet be known. If t­ hese

Tragedy • 191

places emerge, then they threaten not only the local populations but also populations who may arrive from other areas. Areas that are fatal to ­those who do not know how to survive in them—or simply cannot survive in them due to degradation—­could become large zones of annihilation. Displacement from ­these zones could be humanitarian operations, but intentional displacement into ­these zones could be pro­cesses of making ­political geographies violent. Climate change can make vast swaths of geographic areas ripe for DA crimes.

Structural Opportunities for Climate Vio­lence Asymmetric Power Distribution: ­Human Rights of Displaced Persons As of mid-2023, the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR) estimates that ­there are 108.4 million displaced persons worldwide.24 This number dwarfs the previous worldwide rec­ord of 65.3 million set in 2015—­significantly higher than the number displaced a­ fter the Second World War. This means approximately 1.4 ­percent of the entire world’s population are considered “displaced” as asylum seekers, refugees, returnees, internally displaced persons (IDPs), or stateless persons. We are living through a catastrophe of forced displacement. A rise in ethnic conflict, the global war on terror in the twenty-­ first ­century, internal ­human rights repressions and atrocity crimes, and an international community shrugging its shoulders to h ­ uman prob­lems have all contributed to this dramatic rise in displaced persons whose rights are consistently in peril (see ­table 12.2). The phenomenon of forced displacement is on the rise, and ­there appear to be no signs to an end of a world forcibly on the move.25 Worse yet, approximately 42 ­percent of all forcibly displaced persons in the world are ­children ­under the age of ­eighteen.26 International h ­ uman rights regimes for displaced persons have been in disarray for years.27 At current trajectories, ­there is ­little reason for optimism for an expansion of rights-­based protections for displaced persons in the ­future. The inadequacy of ­today must be changed for a better ­future; other­wise, ­there are ­immense structural opportunities for state and non-­state actors to deny and actively violate h ­ uman rights in vari­ous contexts. The 1951 Refugee Convention (and 1967 Additional Protocol) was designed to protect only ­those individuals who had become or ­were in the p­ rocess of becoming refugees (i.e., by successfully crossing an international border and applying for refugee status based on a well-­founded belief/proof of persecution in their home country).28 All refugees have four foundational rights. First, refugees have the right to not be arbitrarily stripped of their nationality, meaning that they always retain state-­based rights and rights remedies in their home country.29 Second, all individuals have the right to flee their country if they have well-­founded fears of ­political persecution.30 Third, refugees are afforded the right of return.31 Fi­nally, the princi­ple of non-­refoulement broadly applies, stating that refugees ­will not be returned to their home country against their ­will

192 • Climate Vio­lence and Conclusions

­Table 12.2

Statistics on Displaced Persons Compiled by the UNHCR Era

Year

Number of displaced persons

Postwar decline

1945–1950

1945: 50.00 million 1950: 2.00 million

Decolonization and Cold War conflicts

1951–1984

1951: 2.12 million 1977: 4.52 million 1984: 11.11 million

Ethnic conflict spike

1985–1994

1985: 12.26 million 1994: 24.11 million

Unipolarity, the global war on terror, and the rising specter of displacement

1995–2012

2005: 21.05 million 2006: 32.86 million 2012: 35.85 million

Catastrophe

2013–­pre­sent (2022)

2013: 42.87 million 2014: 54.95 million 2015: 63.91 million 2016: 67.75 million 2017: 71.44 million 2020: 79.50 million 2023: 108.4

SOURCE: United Nations High Commission for Refugees, “Refugee Data Finder.”

or if the well-­founded fears of persecution remain.32 The Refugee Convention and broad sets of international law apply to the protection of asylum seekers (­those who have crossed an international boundary seeking to become a refugee) and refugees themselves (­those who have been recognized as such). Th ­ ere are vast bureaucracies of h ­ uman rights and aid agencies, including the UNHCR, that exclusively deal with the rights of refugees. This category of displaced persons, without doubt, is the most protected in the world. Returnees, the most easily defined category of displaced persons, encompasses many hundreds of thousands of individuals. ­These ­people crossed international bound­aries, ­were ­either accepted or denied as refugee claimants, and have chosen to return to their home countries. However, while the rights of refugees and asylum seekers are codified in international law, the rights of IDPs are, for the most part, not. IDPs are ­people who have not crossed an international boundary but are forcibly displaced for a variety of reasons. The 1998 Guiding Princi­ples on Internal Displacement, developed by the Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs (OCHA), outlines the ­limited rights of IDPs, asserting a broad spectrum of civil and p­ olitical as well as economic, social, and cultural rights.33 However, t­ hese are not legally binding princi­ples, and the vast majority of displaced persons are IDPs with essentially no guarantor for their rights, as it is often home states that cause the

Tragedy • 193

vio­lence and instability inducing flight. This, in effect, invites the fox into the hen­house, politely asking states to take care of populations they are displacing in a macabre-­like irony. Stateless persons are at even more risk than refugees and IDPs ­because their home state has denied them their citizenship, meaning they have no rights whatsoever, as they are not recognized before the law of a country as a ­legal entity. Citizenship is one of the most impor­tant possessions an individual can have. Holding citizenship opens ave­nues for rights protection and vindication when rights are ­violated. The opposite is true when one does not hold citizenship in the state-­ based ­human rights system. Thus, stateless persons are truly some of the most persecuted in the world, as their ave­nues for recourse are actively disallowed through the denial of citizenship.34 Clearly, ­there are i­ mmense gaps between the rights and protections fully recognized refugees and other types of displaced persons receive. With the current pace of approximately six to seven million additional displaced persons annually and given that climate change ­will likely enhance this number by magnitudes, the crisis of displacement is truly upon us. Within this crisis is a marked lack of w ­ ill and ability to offer humanitarian supports for o­ thers. If current rates of humanitarianism hold, then the f­ uture for displaced persons is indeed bleak, as systems simply cannot adequately provide the vital daily needs for displaced persons. If and when that number balloons to upwards of 100 million, extraordinarily difficult decisions about which populations get what resources and when ­will have to be made. If perpetrators choose to deny populations access to humanitarian support, they can create conditions of annihilation. Worse yet, ­there are no international standards to define, categorize, and delineate what types of rights climate refugees may or may not receive. This gap in h ­ uman rights protection regimes is massive and requires immediate filling. ­There does not appear to be any sort of cavalry coming over the hill to save displaced persons in the ­future given the state of humanitarianism.35 Existing frameworks simply cannot keep up with current numbers and new displaced persons—­whether created by climate-­related vio­lence or by pro­cesses of removing populations from climate degraded areas—as they do not have the protection regimes necessary to save all of them from vio­lence and deprivation. Thus, the possibilities for extreme vio­lence are real. Bluntly, if or when populations become displaced, ­there are few international actors ready to assist them.

Group Difference Construction: Othering Which populations could be targeted for climate-­related DA crimes is impor­ tant to ponder. Th ­ ere could be three main types of populations subjected to climate-­related vio­lence. First, while t­ here is no conceptual agreement on what a climate refugee is, Frank Biermann and Ingrid Boas define t­ hese as “­people who have to leave their habitats, immediately or in the near ­future, b­ ecause of sudden or gradual alterations in their natu­ral environment related to at least one of

194 • Climate Vio­lence and Conclusions

three impacts of climate change: sea-­level rise, extreme weather events, and drought and w ­ ater scarcity.”36 This category of displaced persons is especially vulnerable to the effects of deprivation from displacement and vio­lence that capitalizes on such deprivation due to the lack of a rights regime for climate refugees. Second, existing marginalized populations could be criminally targeted for DA crimes, with perpetrators taking advantage of a disorderly and warmer world to pursue their violent ends. Climate change for ­these groups of ­people ­will act as an accelerant to the intersectional marginalization and discrimination they already feel. Fi­nally, climate change w ­ ill likely open opportunity structures to marginalize and discriminate against populations who may be considered part of in-­groups or on the fringes of in-­groups at pre­sent. All three populations could be subjected to DA crime vio­lence in the ­future. Lessons from the past three cases of DA crimes in this book indicate that annihilatory forced displacements can take place virtually anywhere—­from deserts to rural areas to urban areas linked by transportation networks. Targeted populations have been “othered” and constructed as dif­fer­ent for a variety of contrived and misconstrued reasons. ­There is no evidence to suggest this could not occur in the ­future. The dramatic rise and sustained ­political support for nativist populist parties worldwide is perfectly illustrative of the types of discriminatory backlash that can occur against displaced persons—­including f­uture climate refugees.37 ­These current parties prey on p­ eople’s worst insecurities a­ fter the 2008 financial crash and the growing discontent with a globalized world that few ­political systems are capable of adjusting to.38 ­These existential fears over a lack of attainability for individual f­ utures w ­ ere coupled with old tropes against other populations to produce ­simple ­political platforms with robust hateful ideologies.39 ­There is no reason to assume that t­ hese pro­cesses of othering ­will not take place with climate refugees and other marginalized populations. Social divisionism may in fact become prevalent and common if the worst-­case climate projections come true and state and non-­state resources are strained around the world. The increased presence of groups from other regions may create a corresponding rise of nativist beliefs—­even if expressed only by a minority. Groups are constructed as being legitimate or illegitimate citizens of a ­political entity, and the presence of newcomers may exacerbate latent social discriminatory patterns even in the most liberal of democracies. In the current era, easy and vis­i­ble scapegoats have been found by certain politicians in displaced persons stemming from conflicts in the ­Middle East and North Africa (MENA) region and elsewhere (certainly the long-­term legacies of colonialism are at the core of many structural prob­lems helping to cause ­these conflicts). Burgeoning nativist-­populist constructions of displaced persons as threats resonated with many in ­Europe, and ­these types of parties appear to be established fixtures of contested electoral democracies for the next number of years at least.40 Th ­ ese constructions occurred rapidly and concurrently,

Tragedy • 195

particularly with the degeneration of the Syrian Civil War into a flagrant ­human rights violation. Once millions of Syrians began to—­rightly, legally, and justly—­seek refuge in other countries, far-­right nativist ideologies ­rose in popularity with vis­i­ble “­others,” who ­were constructed as invaders or, more disgustingly, as ele­ments of a Muslim “hoard” invading ­Europe.41 In contrast, as of 2023, the conflict in Ukraine has produced over six million refugees and seven million IDPs. Calls for action to assist Ukrainians have been widespread in the wake of ­Russian aggression.42 Syrians have been constructed as security threats; Ukrainians have been constructed as ­people who deserve saving. Institutionalized differential and inequitable valuations of ­human lives engrained in international politics do not seem to be diminishing. Even Canada, long celebrated for its official policy of multiculturalism, has experienced ­these nativist constructions. During his 2015 reelection campaign, former prime minister Stephen Harper vowed to create a “barbaric cultural practices” hotline for neighbors to denounce neighbors—­a thinly veiled p­ olitical dog whistle to limit the number of Syrian refugees allowed into Canada—­a policy championed by former Parliament member Kellie Leitch.43 One of Harper’s successors and current leader of the Conservative Party, Pierre Poilievre, openly backed the hotline idea, though he now strongly supports immigration from other countries—­ most notably Ukraine a­ fter Rus­sia’s illegitimate invasion of it in 2022.44 It should be noted that P ­ eople’s Party of Canada leader Maxime Bernier openly garners support from extremist ele­ments as well.45 Worse yet, new generations of far-­right activists view the upheavals associated with climate change as the perfect time to spread hate, as ­there has been a sharp rise in ecofascism.46 For Alistair Walsh, “White-­supremacist killers are invoking environmental concerns to justify murder.”47 According to the ­European Commission and Swedish Defense Research Agency, “­There is no cohesive eco-­ fascist movement or ideology; largely the ecofascist scene consists of a scattering of individuals and groups that combine a more or less extreme nationalism with an environmentalist rhe­toric, while not necessarily describing themselves as ecofascists.”48 Consider recent mass shootings in Buffalo, New York; El Paso, Texas; Christchurch, New Zealand; and Quebec City, Québec.49 Ideologically, the perpetrators of ­these crimes have enmeshed virulent racism with the need for ethnoreligious apartheid and the desire to destroy nonwhite populations (and often to avert a climate apocalypse where resources are seen in zero-­sum terms). This overpopulation discourse clearly values some lives over ­others and mainstreams fascism through Malthusianesque climatic calculations.50 Coupled with other crises, climate anx­i­eties can be used as a vehicle to mainstream hatred of populations that have been othered. In an era when ­there are existential threats—or at least consistently socially constructed existential threats—­ecofascism is a trend that is only beginning and preys on p­ eople’s worst fears and insecurities. Every­one has the right to survive, but the hateful messages engrained in ecofascism provide a gateway into much larger and more

196 • Climate Vio­lence and Conclusions

destructive/annihilatory ­political programs. By constructing some as in-­groups deserving of rights and protections and o­ thers as out-­groups who could be seen as drags on social systems, undeserving of rights and protections, nativist tendencies ­toward othered populations are certainly in the realm of possibility and pre­sent an unnerving structural opportunity to justify existing and f­uture violent patterns.

Intergroup Grievances: Exacerbating Old and Creating New Cleavages ­There are strong possibilities for intergroup grievances related to climate change in the f­ uture. Traditional group identity differences (race, nationality, ethnicity, religion, class, sexual orientation, Indigenous membership) may be exploited due to, or as a prelude to, vio­lence. Historical grievances may continue to be prominent social-­ordering princi­ples, and questions regarding who should and who should not receive membership benefits can lead to violent ends. The conditions for perpetrators to exploit con­temporary upheavals and times of change in order to institute killing programs as a way to s­ ettle established interethnic tensions, rid a country of minority populations, or destroy competition for resources are all predicated on ­whether pro­cesses of othering are pre­sent. Climate change may offer perpetrators new opportunities for violent justifications to other, exclude, and possibly destroy populations in w ­ hole or in part based on intergroup difference construction. Consider multiethnic areas with contentious demographic histories, like the Balkans. Clearly, the mere presence of “dif­fer­ent” p­ eople is not enough to cause p­ olitical vio­lence.51 However, at the dissolution of the former Yugo­slavia, specific elites in vari­ous groups—­notoriously Slobodan Milošević—­offered new politicized understandings of history to take advantage of the moment for ­independence and ethnic cleansing.52 Historical grievances ­were framed to violent ends during a time of seismic ­political upheaval. This sort of grievance emergence could become common given the possibilities for disruptions of ­political systems associated with climatic shifts. ­These existing internal cleavages could rise to the level of becoming bellicose and extremely competitive in a warmer world. Externally, the uses and misuses of displaced persons as ­political pawns have been, and w ­ ill likely continue to be, profound for ­political systems globally.53 The  crisis of displacement has already produced ­immense challenges. The 108.4 million displaced persons in the world figure has overwhelmed humanitarian systems and has created intense ­political fissures in receiving countries. As part of hybrid warfare schemes against NATO-­aligned countries, Belarus and Rus­sia have collaborated to send thousands of displaced persons from the MENA region into EU countries.54 The choice of Poland was deliberate, as it is experiencing a strong surge of far-­right nativist p­ opulism with virulently racist anti-­immigrant ideological programming. The goal of this sort of sending

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operation is to use displaced persons as “weapons of mass migration”—­a concept put forth by Kelly M. Greenhill in her 2011 book of the same name—to disrupt the internal politics of an adversary nation or bloc.55 By displacing populations who have been marked as external threats into unreceptive countries of ­those who appear dif­fer­ent from majority populations, t­ here are serious potentials for creating and exacerbating social cleavages. Consider climate refugees in a similar scenario: grievances can arise between majority groups and newcomers (climate refugees) who are othered. Majority groups or power­ful minority groups—­acting u­ nder conditions of strained resources—­may decide that groups they have always considered dif­fer­ent from themselves do not deserve t­ hese l­ imited resources. In times of sparse resources, when the survival of a majority/powerful group is threatened, that group may decide to take advantage of the situation to s­ ettle old interethnic scores. Times of sparse resources in the ­future could also mean the consideration of displacement to destroy competition for resources and ensure in-­group survival at the expense of the out-­group. Grievances are a key variable for understanding why DA crimes occur, as they serve to justify why groups should be denied the right to live based on perceived or real slights. ­These are reasons why targeted groups should be victimized through exposure to DA crimes. Climate change has the potential to make traditional perpetrator-­constructed grievances against other groups real.

Sociopo­liti­cal Upheavals: State Survival Alex Alvarez is a prominent voice in hypothesizing about the links between climate change and p­ olitical vio­lence in the ­future. He believes t­ here may be serious and sustained prob­ lems associated with climate-­ induced displacement, resource scarcity and wars, and state collapse.56 ­These prob­lems could aid in creating structural opportunities for vio­lence to take place. State collapse is a serious threat in that the main institution that guarantees order and stability may lose the mono­poly on the use of vio­lence in a given ­political geography. If this occurs, ­there could be a rise in competing sovereignties—­likely bringing vio­lence with them. However, t­ here is a relatively unexplored option for climate change: that the state ­will do every­thing it can to survive. This second scenario is much more frightening than the first—­and more likely. The modern state as a reproducing and bureaucratic institution has triumphed over competing social claims for centuries.57 Climate-­related state collapse ­will likely pose a threat to ­human rights, as the state is the “principal violator and essential protector” of individual rights.58 However, rather than outright state collapse, the more likely scenario is climate-­related state challenge. If the state is viewed as a potentially predatory institution, when state survival is challenged, the state may respond violently to maintain order and control.59 If states view their populations as expendable, this could have particularly deadly outcomes for populations already weakened by exclusion

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from a national identity. This fear is not without foundation, as regimes like Cambodia’s Khmer Rouge believed “to keep you is no profit, to destroy you is no loss.”60 The possibility of the state preventing collapse through vio­lence is twofold. First, state mechanisms could be weaponized against existing domestic groups. A resource competition could cause international or non-­international resource conflicts.61 It is common that perpetrators of genocide believe in a scarcity of resources—­a belief that helps fuel the fires of ideology, dogmatism, existential threat, and animosity, ultimately aiding perpetrators in their violent delights.62 Historically speaking, this scarcity of resources was socially constructed. However, with climate change, the possibility of real resource scarcity could make the perpetration of vio­lence a desirable goal for t­ hose who seek to actually protect or hoard resources. Said in another way, traditional ideological discrimination (i.e., constructing a sociopo­liti­cal belief that out-­groups pose existential threats to the survival of in-­groups) could become more tangible (i.e., a minority group is taking valuable resources away from a majority group, and therefore to ensure the majority’s survival, the minority group has to be annihilated).63 The most power­ful groups in society, likely the ones who can co-­opt state mechanisms best, could impose violent ends on minority or disempowered populations who already exist domestically. Scarcity in vital daily needs could lead to the elevation of some groups at the expense and exclusion of ­others. Climate change could help actors embrace hard-­line survival ideologies that intentionally view vio­lence (and elimination) as the proper course of action.64 If the state is challenged in a situation of resource scarcity, it w ­ ill most likely try to survive at all costs; this includes uprooting or annihilating populations to ­settle new or old scores.65 Intergroup tensions could be exacerbated as climate change gives a justification for perpetrators to fi­nally destroy or displace populations. Second, state mechanisms could be weaponized against newly arrived domestic groups (­those displaced due to climate). One pos­si­ble scenario is that upon arriving, climate displaced persons are concentrated into small well-­g uarded camps. This p­ rocess of concentration already occurs for displaced persons who cross international borders and become asylum seekers and refugees.66 In a worst-­ case scenario, in which large swaths of the earth become unable to provide for life, ­there could be hundreds of millions of displaced persons.67 The state would have to adapt and create ­these climate-­displaced-­persons camps/pro­cessing centers, and if acting u­ nder the premise of ­limited resources, the state could choose to deny vital daily needs to the displaced persons in ­these camps—­methods of attrition. Conversely, the state could choose to not h ­ ouse t­ hese new arrivals and instead displace them back into inhospitable territories, thereby killing the ­populations posing resource prob­lems for the state. Arriving climate-­displaced persons would be especially vulnerable to atrocities b­ ecause they do not know ­these new territories, nor do they have the p­ olitical or ­legal standings that

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domestic populations possess. Climate-­displaced persons may face vio­lence in the countries they arrive in, and without a serious international undertaking for a climate refugee convention, they ­will remain without rights and protections.

Decision to Commit: Displacement as Violent Solution DA crimes are not guaranteed by climate change. In fact, the likely scenario is peace and institution building at the global, regional, state, and substate governance levels. ­There is certainly cause for optimism in that climate change w ­ ill not create the next h ­ uman rights disaster but the next h ­ uman rights revolution. With ­great challenges to ­human dignity come ­great opportunities for rights advancement. A ­ fter all, wars, genocides, revolutions, and ­human catastrophes have been catalysts for advancements in international ­human rights regimes.68 That said, realistically attempting to understand motivations of potential ­future perpetrators is not without reason. Climate change w ­ ill likely pose extreme prob­lems to current institutions and cause us to reassess what it means to be ­human once again. Questions regarding who is and who is not ­human can open other questions about who is legitimately and illegitimately ­human—­and who deserves what treatment. If perpetrators have large geo­graph­i­cal spaces available, they could always consider DA crimes. Issues of space become particularly impor­ tant for understanding potential links between climate change and atrocities (explored in the next section). If perpetrators do not have a large enough land base, then DA crimes are impossible to implement. For DA crimes to be perpetrated in a warming world, one necessary ideological shift perpetrators would have to make is to paint the world as a competition for resources, and ­because ­there is a competition, certain groups ­will have to perish or be intentionally excluded if the in-­group is to survive. Ideas like this would underpin and justify annihilation programs. DA crimes could be particularly enticing for perpetrators, as the killing ­process is completed away from cities and towns—in effect, hidden in plain sight. Perpetrators can learn from unforeseen climate change outcomes to institute vari­ous killing programs. The cost-­effectiveness of DA crimes certainly makes forced displacement an attractive option for a f­ uture perpetrator regime. While direct killing programs like the Holocaust required extraordinary resources, DA crimes require only the withholding of vital daily needs and forced displacement. The first DA crime ele­ment degrades the body, and the second expedites the ­process. Thousands of victims in displacement caravans can be controlled by only a few perpetrators. This stands in stark contrast to the vast bureaucracies of annihilation the Nazi regime constructed. In times of resource scarcity, perpetrators may learn from the past and select a cost-­effective killing program like DA crimes to annihilate resource competitors. Why perpetrators choose to commit atrocities is a fraught question in genocide studies. Th ­ ere have been many pos­si­ble

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deterministic accounts of why perpetrators use genocide as a p­ olitical tool, but perhaps flexible and probabilistic accounts are more accurate for understanding why DA crimes can be implemented. While geography and ideology are impor­tant to understanding potential ­future DA crimes, the roles of contingency and perpetrator learning must be at the forefront of prevention strategies. The decision to commit DA crimes rests largely on contingency—­the idea that perpetrators select DA crimes based on the conditions that surround them and within which they act—­but the choice is not deterministic. While perfectly fulfilled structural variables and causal pathways may exist to the point of deciding to commit genocide, some regimes may and o­ thers may not commit atrocities. To make this argument more complex: perfect causal pathways to atrocities and the decision to commit atrocities may be fulfilled, but some regimes may institute direct killing programs, like the Rwandan genocide, while o­ thers may choose to use DA crimes even in places large enough to commit the latter.

Climate, Displacement, and Vio­lence Though the prospects of tropical weather in places like Canada may seem appealing on the surface, the change of climatic zones offers new physical, socioeconomic, and ­political realities for DA crimes to take place. While any analyses on the f­ uture effects of climate change on possibilities for p­ olitical vio­lence to take root are speculations, they are based on what we know about the nature of vio­lence and how individuals and socie­ties respond in times of crisis. Therefore, ­these f­ uture structural opportunities for vio­lence in a changed world should be studied in case they do materialize into crimes so that atrocities may be prevented, ­stopped, and punished. Given recent experiences with the poor h ­ andling of truncated climate stressors, it appears that the world is not prepared for seismic, paradigmatic shifts in climate and what ­these shifts could mean for developing resilience strategies. Old animosities may be made worse; new hatreds may bloom in the ruins of an overexploited earth. Th ­ ere could be opportunities to disrupt climate vio­lence through collective action and cooperation on multifactorial and international prob­lems. If anything is true of h ­ uman rights and international institutions, it is that they leapfrog in eras of change and in the face of challenges to ­human dignity. That said, understanding pathologies of potential ­future criminality is critical to preparing for a warmer world and undermining the possibilities of such vio­lence in the first place.

13

Farce To Continue to Destroy Them Gradually? Climate change first appeared po­liti­cally as a tragedy: an international system of interconnected states and economics, chock-­full of exploitation of p­ eople and resources, has caused ­immense destruction of the planet. Concerns over a changing climate have been marginalized for ­decades. Thus, if all ­great world-­historical facts appear twice, climate change first presented itself as a global calamity, a tragedy that could be avoided. Only now that it is too late are t­ here structural shifts too small in scope being proposed across the world. Efforts to stem climate change now, while not unwelcome and certainly worthwhile to attempt, are a farce.1 ­These efforts should have been attempted sooner and more profoundly. A chapter dealing with the potential of climate vio­lence would have been unnecessary if climate change as a structural prob­lem had been dealt with properly in the first place. Now that the world has chosen the path of locking itself into at least some degree of certainty of climate change, t­ here are possibilities for f­ uture DA crimes. While traditionally treated as violent patterns caused by climate change, it may be more likely that climate change exacerbates current tensions and gives structural reasons for violent pro­cesses. Most likely is a scenario in which the prob­lems of ­today are made significantly worse by the structural stressors of climate change, and current prob­lems boil over into larger conflicts. Targeted populations could be climate refugees or other marginalized populations who could be subjected to ­immense disruptions in their biopsychosocial systems. 201

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Making Atrocities Pos­si­ble: Structures of Inequity and Criminality Sociopo­liti­cal Disruption: Crimes and Carelessness in Plain View ­There are well-­founded reasons to be concerned that ­f uture DA crimes could occur in plain sight and be hidden away in a world full of complex pro­cesses. The Mediterranean Sea has been used by thousands of mi­grants to flee from institutionalized poverty, discrimination, and vio­lence in their home countries.2 They often embark on perilous overland journeys to reach North Africa, where they can take boats to ­European shores. This perilous maritime crossing is entirely un­regu­la­ted and informal, meaning ­human trafficking, deprivation, and drowning remain constant threats.3 While the ­Europeans have accepted some mi­grants, they have si­mul­ta­neously rejected ­others. The E ­ uropean U ­ nion (EU) worked tirelessly and at g­ reat expense to stem the flow of mi­grants to its shores in order to prevent mi­grants from claiming asylum in a E ­ uropean nation.4 From 2014 to 2017, Algeria alone accepted €111.3 million from the EU to stop the flow of mi­grants to ­Europe and instead provide for them domestically.5 In effect, this policy was to keep African mi­grants in Africa and away from ­Europe—­out of sight, out of mind. However, in early 2017, Algeria ­stopped accepting funds and engaged in its own form of combating mass migration: displacement and annihilation of mi­g rants in the Sahara Desert. Algeria appears to be committing DA crimes. This shift t­oward vio­lence was rapid and took place as a hidden p­ rocess despite the age of rapid information sharing. In late 2016, Algeria drove mi­grants in trucks to displaced-­persons camps in Niger and gave them food and ­water for the journey.6 ­These policies continued well into 2017, though in that year ­there was a “surge” in deportations of mi­g rants compared to previous years.7 Soon thereafter, Algeria radicalized deportation operations by forcing mi­grants to walk ­these distances instead of being driven. Detained mi­grants are transported to within thirty kilo­meters of the Algeria-­Niger border, stripped of their belongings (including communication devices) and money, provided no vital daily needs, and kettled t­oward the border. Algerian security forces do not force-­march mi­grants in columns; rather, they show mi­grants where Niger is generally located and threaten them with death if they try to return to Algeria.8 In effect, this creates a cordon of death that mi­grants cannot escape and forces them to walk aimlessly in the Sahara Desert. As a result, thousands of mi­grants have been forced to walk for days in the Sahara, and scores have succumbed to the inhospitable climate, where temperatures currently reach 45 degrees Celsius.9 According to journalist Lori Hinnant, “The Sahara is a swift killer that leaves ­little evidence ­behind. The arid heat shrivels bodies, and blowing sand envelops the remains.”10 Even if mi­grants ­were able to reach the nearest settlement in Niger, Assamaka, ­there are only two ­water wells ­there, and they provide insufficient w ­ ater.11 The

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nearest major settlement is Arlit, located over two hundred kilo­meters to the southeast of Assamaka. International ­organizations are attempting to assist ­these mi­grants, but the act of displacement has two results: escape or death. Though Algeria momentarily s­ topped deporting mi­grants into the Sahara due to international condemnation in 2018, it restarted its mass deportation program mere days ­later, as the condemnation was empty and carried no real international interest or threat.12 Policies of overcrowded mass detention centers of mi­grants and infrastructures of displacement remain functioning in Algeria.13 This deportation policy has resulted in the deaths of many mi­grants in the sands of the Sahara, who have succumbed to exhaustion, dehydration, and malnourishment.14 This flagrant violation of h ­ uman rights by Algeria is a unique and violent response to the Mediterranean migration crisis. While the crisis itself garners much international media attention, t­ here has been ­little to no focus on the atrocities taking place inland in the Sahara Desert. This recent iteration of DA crimes provides multiple lessons. First, DA crimes continue to be selected by perpetrators to rid themselves of populations they deem unworthy of living in their territories. Second, and perhaps most impor­ tant, perpetrators can often create and hide violent systems of displacement within violent systems of displacement. In Algeria’s case, the larger narrative of the Mediterranean mi­g rant crisis took center stage, while DA crimes against mi­grants in the desert ­were not seriously condemned, nor was action taken on behalf of ­these extremely vulnerable populations. This type of vio­lence inflicted ­under the cover of mass migrations creates the need for us to pause and consider a concerning truth: if climate projections are accurate, and tens of millions more individuals may become displaced due to climate change, ­there are built-in structural opportunities to commit and cover up DA crimes in the open. If t­ here are further structural stressors on resources—be they material or ideational—­there is good reason to believe that perpetrators may be able to inflict mass vio­lence to the “deafening” sound of shrugging shoulders. Spaces continue to be weaponized against persons who are forced to become displaced, and their temporal exposure in spaces without vital daily needs continues to be a swift killer.

Elimination of ­Resistance: Lawfare to Delegitimize While most of the explorations of disempowerment in this book have focused on physical tools of ­resistance (weaponry) and the ­people who can wield such weaponry, t­ here is another facet to undermining r­ esistance. Lawfare is the practice of using the law as a weapon against power­ful or disempowered individuals or groups for a variety of ends.15 As the rule of law—­not the rule of individuals—is a hallmark of demo­cratic governance and at least a façade authoritarian leaders create to veil themselves from criticism, the hijacking of the law to marginalize and disempower cannot be overstated as an existential threat to many. Consider one of the most recent iterations of lawfare in the perpetration of genocide in Myanmar against Rohingya Muslims. First a bit of history: Burma

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gained i­ ndependence from Britain in 1948, and in 1989 the military junta changed the name to Myanmar to cast off the last vestiges of colonialism. In the 1990s, Aung San Suu Kyi was demo­cratically elected but deposed by the military and placed u­ nder ­house arrest u­ ntil she became the de facto leader of Myanmar in 2015 (­later deposed by the military again). While she is a reformer and had turned Myanmar into a darling of democ­ratization internationally, she also—at the very least—­actively worked to cover up genocide against Rohingyas, including defending Myanmar against charges of genocide in the International Court of Justice.16 One of the most impor­tant steps t­oward genocide in Myanmar was stripping individual Rohingyas of their ­human right to citizenship.17 Dating as far back as October 1982 and the Burmese Citizenship Law, all citizens ­were required to prove that their ancestors settled in Burma before 1823, something Rohingyas could simply not prove, as ­there was a lack of documentation from the period. As such, Rohingyas ­were labeled as “illegal foreigners.”18 In the 1990s, the military junta enacted violent clearance policies, causing hundreds of thousands of Rohingyas to flee.19 In 2008, Myanmar’s constitution was overhauled via a national referendum, but the changes did not benefit Rohingyas. On the contrary, they further entrenched the delegitimization of Rohingya h ­ uman rights to citizenship.20 Vio­lence began to flare in May  2012 a­ fter reciprocal vio­lence between Rohingya and Buddhist communities. A state of emergency was declared, and the military was deployed to establish peace. Instead of creating peace, the military, police, and local Buddhist extremists and paramilitary formations ransacked and destroyed Rohingya homes and inflicted i­mmense interpersonal vio­lence. Tens of thousands ­were forcibly displaced, and an eruption of vio­lence again in 2013 and a full-on genocidal ethnic cleansing campaign against Rohingyas beginning in 2017 continue to cause prolonged displacement and mass violations of ­human rights, and demonstrate the potency of what can happen when populations are disallowed to have standing before the law. The United Nations ­considers the Rohingya as one of the most discriminated against populations in the world.21 As stateless p­ eoples, Rohingyas have no ave­nue for justice or recourse for the injustices they have been subjected to by perpetrators. Alongside the stripping of citizenship came the intersectional loss of key civil and p­ olitical rights (e.g., freedom of expression, the right to ­organize, and the right to own property) that are the foundations of healthy state-­individual (or state-­group) relations. The law is used as a weapon in Myanmar against the Rohingya to pave the way for atrocities and undermine any ­resistance to state and non-­state vio­lence. Without the ­human right to citizenship—­considered fundamental to the enjoyment of the modern state-­based ­human rights regime—­there are few aspects of life considered protected or legitimate. If one’s very claims to ­human rights are not only denied but actively eroded, t­ here are few potentials for r­ esistance. This is the nexus of lawfare and r­ esistance: if t­ here are no ave­nues for recourse, populations have few means to resist atrocity pro­cesses implemented against them.

Farce • 205

Lawfare can disempower and dispose targeted populations of their last l­egal remedies, clearing the path for vio­lence. With the lessons from Myanmar’s genocidal vio­lence in mind, it is reasonable to assume that even u­ nder normal sociopo­liti­cal circumstances, some perpetrator group could strip the citizenship of a targeted population in the ­future. Coupled with the knowledge that the rights of displaced persons (explored in chapter 12) are in consistent perilous danger, the stage is set for mass disempowerment in the f­ uture. When ­there are millions more displaced persons (due to ­either routinized pro­cesses of current ­political vio­lence or, more likely, exacerbated pro­cesses of climate vio­lence), then the displaced may find themselves truly without standing in front of the law. It is an all too real possibility that climate refugees (who have no protections or even definition in international law) could be subjected to wanton treatments before the law. Displaced persons created due to climate change—at current l­ egal rates, anyway—­have no ave­nue for recourse other than the goodwill of o­ thers, certainly not something to be counted on. The stripping of ­legal rights for marginalized populations could spell disaster for any sort of attempt to seek remedial justice for vio­lence inflicted and illustrates a violent potential for the uses and abuses of the law to further delegitimize and disempower already at-­risk and disempowered populations.

Elimination of Humanitarianism: L­ imited Humanitarian Resources In a situation in which hundreds of millions of displaced persons are pre­sent, ­there ­will have to be i­ mmense humanitarian efforts made—­and such efforts do not simply just appear in the realm of p­ olitical w ­ ill or possibility with current levels of spending and institutional support. Instead, this climatic degradation situation could create a compounding crisis of displacement on top of the current crisis of displacement. Climate refugees could be created for a variety of push and pull f­ actors. ­There are several push f­ actors climate change may create, especially revolving around degraded areas. Th ­ ese changes could transform social perceptions of places and homes and cause reassessment of living conditions, especially in relation to prob­lems like the h ­ uman right to an adequate standard of living, poverty, hollowed-­out economies, ­political instability and ethnic conflict, and health impacts on individuals and communities.22 As regions change and become hostile to predictable and secure life, p­ eople w ­ ill have to migrate or adapt.23 The issue then becomes ­whether environmental degradation ­will be slow or rapid. Slow degradation w ­ ill allow for some prevention mechanisms to be put in place for climate mitigation and resettlement of populations.24 But even with slow pro­ cesses of change, ­there w ­ ill always be prob­lems with resettlement schemes and the costs of hardening cities and towns against climate change. Th ­ ere w ­ ill necessarily be displacement from degraded areas, as p­ eople are moved for prevention proj­ects and away from rising sea levels. Realistically, with changes to climatic systems and ways of life, millions may be pushed from their homes.25

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Rapid degradation poses dif­fer­ent sets of prob­lems altogether. In places where mitigation strategies are impossible or unaffordable (as climate change ­will affect the lowest-­income countries most profoundly), rapid events like tsunamis and wildfires can create scores of climate refugees in short order.26 ­These rapid events mean that bureaucracies of humanitarian relief must be well-­functioning, well-­ funded, and ready to be deployed at a moment’s notice. Even in the United States, one of the most highly developed countries in the world, the Federal Emergency Management Agency took far too long to get supplies to the ­people of New Orleans ­after 2005’s Hurricane Katrina—­due to a lack of e­ ither ability or w ­ ill.27 Countries lacking the state capacity of the United States can, and have, experienced similar or worse humanitarian outcomes due to poorly coordinated responses to disasters.28 As climate change could increase the rapidity of ­these disasters and overwhelm humanitarian systems, ­there is the potential for the denial of relief to targeted populations u­ nder the guise of l­ imited humanitarian resources and the notion that some populations deserve saving while ­others do not.29 On the other side, populations could socially construct pull f­ actors that drive them to migrate to dif­fer­ent areas, perhaps due to resource availability. The perception of other countries or areas as being better than a home country or area could create a climate-­induced pull ­toward somewhere ­else as a way to leave the prob­lems of one’s home b­ ehind. This of course can overlap and intersect with socioeconomic inequalities and ­political instabilities as push ­factors, but the point being made is that “have” countries could experience an influx of millions of ­people from “have-­not” countries. Such realities are not uncommon and can be po­liti­cally operationalized to discriminatory ends. Consider the racist constructions of mi­grant caravans from Latin Amer­i­ca into the United States by the ­Donald J. Trump administration, the members of the H ­ ouse of Representatives, and vari­ous media sources. Mi­grants who wanted to pursue better lives chose Amer­i­ca as their destination for such work but w ­ ere constructed as threats to Amer­i­ca and potential drags on the country.30 In a climate displacement scenario, it is well within reason to assume that such constructions could be imposed on ­those who want to pursue better lives elsewhere due to resource and opportunity availabilities compared to their home areas, which may be experiencing intersectional negative pressures from climate change. Where us-­versus-­them narratives can take hold, vio­lence through deprivation is always a possibility. While ­these state-­based responses to climate displacement bode poorly for ­human rights, they are not the only ways to respond to the climate crisis. Three key international o­ rganizations generally govern all types of international humanitarian responses to migration: the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees, the International O ­ rganization for Migration, and the United Nations Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs. All have waxed and waned in their size and scope as po­liti­cally necessary (and pos­si­ble), and all are charged with assisting the dispossessed. However, ­these ­organizations have

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not been able to keep pace in expanding their operations to meet the needs of the millions of displaced persons, largely constrained by ­budgets being reliant on donations and by international laws on displaced persons being reliant on ­political gamesmanship to narrow the scope of humanitarian responsibility among states.31 The crisis of displacement has severely challenged the capacities of humanitarian agencies to provide for the displaced. The creation of millions of new displaced persons due to climate change, coupled with the knowledge that nativist ­populism is rising, means that perpetrators could argue that only some populations deserve scarce humanitarian resources. If the world now ­faces humanitarian shortages, the world of d­ ecades down the road w ­ ill face ­immense disruptions to supply chains and potential shortages. Perpetrators can weaponize structural shifts and shortages to further their violent ends. If they can convince nontargeted (in-­group) populations of the undesirability of out-­groups and their lack of “real” claim over humanitarian support, deadly systems can be created through deprivation and pave the way for DA crimes.

Making Displacement Atrocity Crimes Pos­si­ble It is all too real a possibility that pre­sent and f­ uture perpetrators of mass vio­ lence w ­ ill use displacement as a key ele­ment of their programs of annihilation. Climate refugees and other marginalized ­peoples could be subjected to dif­fer­ent forms of atrocity, but this is clearly not a guaranteed situation (and hopefully never w ­ ill be). However, t­ here are a plethora of reasons to be concerned about the current disor­ga­nized and unprepared state of humanitarianism and ­human rights. Without paradigmatic changes, current patterns provide terrible potentials for ­future perpetrators to take advantage of in their violent quests.

Escorting Displacement Atrocity Crimes Contingency and the role of actor learning in the perpetration of DA crimes ­warrant critical reflections for our changing world. In all cases of DA crimes reviewed in this book, DA crimes ­were not necessarily the first choice of perpetrators. As contingency clearly plays such a strong role in DA crimes—­often learned pro­cesses of destruction for perpetrators—it is difficult to even attempt to predict what ­future patterns of criminality may emerge. For the Schutztruppe in German South-­West Africa, von Trotha was forced to use DA crime methods once his plans of annihilating the Herero at Waterberg w ­ ere foiled by the Herero escape into the desert. The Ottoman Three Paşas relied on DA crime methods once the ­Great War broke out and they ­were able to justify deportation as a “temporary” m ­ easure to add a veil of deniability. Local and Big Three postwar authorities in ­Europe created what they thought ­were conditions for perpetual peace by removing German minorities from Central and Eastern ­Europe, only for Soviet demographic policy and local desires for vengeance to manifest as DA crimes. DA crimes are not necessarily the singular annihilatory

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plan from the start of atrocities; they are often next-­best final solutions for perpetrators to implement. In that vein, projecting knowledge onto a realm of possibility in the ­f uture can be feasible if one remains realistic. ­There are three (though ­there are likely more) critical unexplored types of linear displacement that could be used as methods of DA crimes in the ­future. The first pos­si­ble scenario is that arriving climate refugees could be concentrated into small well-­g uarded camps. This ­process of concentration already occurs for displaced persons who cross international borders and become asylum seekers and refugees.32 In a worst-­case scenario, where millions more individuals become displaced persons due to climate change, ­there ­will have to be improvised infrastructures of displacement (i.e., camps or internment centers), as the world is wholly unprepared for the potential coming tidal wave of displaced persons.33 States or non-­state actors may simply choose to deny vital daily needs to the displaced persons in t­ hese camps—­methods of attrition—or may choose to continually move displaced persons from location to location. This movement along predetermined linear routes, combined with deprivation of vital daily needs, would certainly constitute a DA crime. Climate-­degraded areas could offer new zones for deadly displacement. Arriving populations are especially vulnerable to atrocities ­because they do not know the new territories, nor do they have the ­political standing that domestic populations have. Without serious international undertakings to protect existing and new displaced persons, climate refugees could exist without rights and protections. Another possibility for DA crimes involves annihilatory forced displacement being hidden within larger pro­cesses of displacement. In this second scenario, displacement is si­mul­ta­neously capitalized on and weaponized. As the three main cases in this book as well as the Algeria situation demonstrate, DA crimes can be hidden within other pro­cesses of vio­lence or migration. Since the current number of displaced persons at approximately 108.4 million is overwhelming humanitarian systems, and stories of vio­lence are already being lost in this cataclysm of movement, ­there is no reason to assume that ­future annihilatory forced displacement could not be hidden within a world on the move of potentially 500 million ­people. Amid the current institutional framework of humanitarian affairs, a perpetrator group could easily hide an annihilatory forced displacement among the mass migrations. Using a migrating world to perpetrate atrocities based on movement and deprivation not only provides plausible deniability but also overloads possibilities for humanitarian relief. ­There is a third, more sinister and brazen possibility for climate-­related DA crimes: displacement into newly degraded areas. Th ­ ese areas of the world could provide the ultimate grounds for perpetrators to displace populations into or through, as they ­will be devoid of vital daily needs and their inhospitableness ­will be evident—­desertified areas, inundated coastal locales, places with acidified or salinized ­water sources, regions destroyed by fire and natu­ral disasters, and

Farce • 209

other sites that could become generally unsupportive of sustained life without costly investments in survival infrastructures. If perpetrators hold hegemonies over the use of vio­lence in climate-­degraded areas, they could easily force displaced targeted populations through them, deny vital daily needs, and annihilate scores quickly. The Germans in South-­West Africa demonstrated that perpetrating genocide in inhospitable places is pos­si­ble. The Ottomans demonstrated that small numbers of perpetrators can march thousands to their ends. The ­Europeans demonstrated that marching “­enemy” populations through city streets can be met with fanfare and l­ ittle ­resistance. Given t­ hese teachings, it is entirely reasonable to assume that some perpetrator group could view climate-­ degraded areas as opportunity zones for annihilatory practices. In the mind of a perpetrator, degraded areas are perfect for both escorting and kettling subtypes of DA crimes, though patterns of perpetration would have to shift depending on the annihilation plan.

Cultural Destruction Cultural destruction w ­ ill likely occur as a direct effect of climate change and as ­either an intentional act or a by-­product of any f­ uture climate-­related DA crimes. As sea levels rise, areas desertify, natu­ral disasters become more frequent, and climatic conditions shift considerably, traditional patterns of life ­will be affected. Cultural sites that reside in areas that become degraded or destroyed by climate change ­will have to be saved or moved at ­great cost. For many sites with deep meaning, t­ here may be no possibility to save or move them, and they ­will simply degrade and dis­appear in rising tides, flames, or erosions. This is, unfortunately, an unavoidable eventuality. Climate-­related DA crimes could inherently annihilate the cultural aspects of vari­ous groups, and campaigns of biological destruction—­like DA crimes—­ inherently destroy culture. In all cases examined in this book, targeted populations ­were forcibly removed from their homes, severing their link with conceptions of home (not just home structures but discursive and communal constructions of “home”),34 and mostly all possessions impor­tant to displaced populations w ­ ere taken from them. Only a few key possessions could be retained, and the reconstruction or reconstitution of shattered identities amid the backdrop of vio­lence intended to annihilate was incredibly difficult. The same could be said for climate refugees, who ­will likely have to leave many of their possessions ­behind, notwithstanding the potential violent campaigns against t­hese disempowered ­peoples, which could further erase their cultural possessions, practices, and beliefs. Cultural possessions could also be targeted in campaigns designed to erase, which justify vio­lence over resource scarcity with ideological constructions of which populations can and cannot live on certain lands. Additionally, ­under the guise of necessity (to create room for or remove populations outright), culture can be erased. However, we are most ­human when we uphold

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not only our biological lives but what it means to live such lives—­our belief systems and cultures. Unfortunately, given explorations of DA crimes, such ontological destructions may become part and parcel of violent campaigns.35

Climate Change as Accelerant Climate change may create structural conditions for new inequalities and asymmetries to develop. W ­ hether t­ hese new inequalities come to fruition is a ­matter subject to much debate. Realistically, ­there is a very good chance that climate change exacerbates existing inequalities and asymmetries and makes them much more profound. Social cleavages, economic inequalities, and so on may be made much worse by climate change, leading to not always new but worsened sociopo­liti­cal tensions. In this way, climate change is the proverbial full gas can thrown on the already-­burning bonfire. Ultimately, it is at least helpful to know how and why displacement has been used to commit atrocities in the past in order to prevent ­these crimes in an era of increasing levels of forced displacement, hypernationalism and nativism, and extreme politics. The possibilities for atrocities are pre­sent in ­every society in the world, and states that have espoused themselves as h ­ uman rights leaders have been shown to be responsible for heinous crimes. If ­these states have not fully dedicated themselves to ­human rights, can it reasonably be stated that other states have? Annihilatory forced displacement is a fast and deadly solution to sociopo­ liti­cal prob­lems and can be implemented in many spaces around the world. ­Climate change in effect throws gasoline on the burning fires and opens new ave­ nues for vio­lence. The specter of displacement casts a dark shadow over the world at a moment when serious p­ olitical crises are dividing individuals, groups, and ­peoples. Recognizing that DA crimes have occurred and that they can be s­ topped is central to stopping rights catastrophes in the twenty-­first ­century and beyond.

14

Praxis Seeking Justice and Disrupting Pathways Clearly, what was done cannot be undone. When perpetrators destroy populations gradually through DA crimes, they destroy the biological and cultural life forces of individuals and groups. Vio­lence is designed to erase, and DA crimes shift that erasure away from homes and past lives into foreign spaces where many are forcibly marched to their ends for a variety of socially constructed and contingent reasons explored in this book. Th ­ ere are, however, unexplored prob­lems associated with DA crimes. Three critical questions remain: 1. 2. 3.

What happened to targeted populations in the aftermaths of their exoduses? How can justice be sought for DA crimes? What do the understandings of DA crimes mean for scholarship?

Ultimately, ­these questions begin to chip away at the prob­lem of what can be done about the scourge of annihilatory forced displacement.

Legacies of Injustice The atrocities explored in this book happened. Populations w ­ ere targeted for a myriad of socially constructed reasons, disempowered, and subjected to 211

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extraordinary vio­lence. Real ­people w ­ ere killed, lives ­were destroyed, autonomies and h ­ uman rights w ­ ere rejected, and pathologies of vio­lence ­were imposed. The violent delights of perpetrators had profound effects for targeted populations when and where atrocities took place, and have had lasting, intersectional, and variegated impacts on survivors and their descendants. Long marches of annihilation have been followed by even longer marches to seek justice for what has been done.

Namibia German hegemony over German South-­West Africa (GSWA) ended on 28 June 1919 with the advent of the Treaty of Versailles. During the G ­ reat War (1914–1918), British troops from the Cape Colony fought German troops from GSWA regularly in high-­pitched skirmishes. Interestingly, the current 50–280 Namib Desert ­horses—­the only feral ­horses in Africa—­are descendants of ­either (1) a German bombing raid on a ­Union of South Africa camp during the ­Great War whereby h ­ orses ran off into the desert, or (2) escapees from a destitute h ­ orse breeder.1 Beyond the current asymmetric land distributions in Namibia (where German Namibians own approximately 70 ­percent of all farmland),2 the Namib ­horses, towns like Kolmanskop, statues like t­ hose of Lothar von Trotha in Windhoek, and settler populations who still live in Namibia are stark reminders that while German colonial rule ended in 1919, the impacts of German colonialism are still readily vis­i­ble (and lived). Namibia’s post-­German colonial rule u­ nder British and ­later South African administration from 1915 to 1960 was marked by continual tensions between the colonizers and the colonized.3 Bantustans ­were established, racial segregation was enforced, and the strug­gle for ­independence continued. The Herero have fought recognition and justice across generations. On 5 January 2017, Vekuii Rukoro—­ the paramount chief of the Herero ­people—­sued Germany for reparations for the genocide in the Southern District Court of New York ­under the Alien Tort Statute.4 Rukoro v. Federal Republic of Germany held promise for multigenerational justice. However, the suit was dismissed on 11 March 2019 for a lack of “subject m ­ atter jurisdiction u­ nder the Foreign Sovereign Immunities Act.”5 While the dismissal was appealed, on 24 September 2020 the U.S. Court of Appeals for the Second Cir­cuit upheld the dismissal.6 In short, the case was dismissed due to the international ­legal princi­ple of state immunity.7 The long march for justice continues for the Herero and the Nama. This justice is not only ­legal in nature, regarding reparations for the genocidal policies enacted against both groups, but historical as well. Both the Herero and the Nama should be recognized as victims and survivors of genocide, but the widespread acknowl­ edgment of Germany’s colonial crimes is completely and utterly lacking. In 2021, however, Germany officially recognized its genocide against the ­Herero and Nama and offered $1.2 billion (USD) in development aid over thirty

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years.8 While promising, this aid package barely begins to account for the damage done. Worse yet, ­those aid funds are not necessarily earmarked for the betterment of the Herero and Nama p­ eoples. Rather, the money is to be provided to the Government of Namibia as a blanket attempt at restitution. In January  2023, Herero paramount chief Mutjinde Katjiua, Namibian opposition politician Bernadus Swartbooi, and ten additional representatives of the Herero sued the Government of Namibia, as the reparations agreement explic­itly blocks the possibility for individual reparations to the Herero in ­favor of reparations to the Namibian state. Thus, according to the Herero, the aid package is in fundamental violation of a 2006 Namibian resolution that opened possibilities for individual reparations.9 As of 30 March 2023, the court had yet to render its decision. Yet again, the Herero are excluded from attempts at justice. What the Herero and the Nama ­were subjected to requires substantive, thoughtful, and meaningful justice. At pre­sent, ­those horrific acts of vio­lence remain forgotten colonial crimes and are not often incorporated into the standard academic canon in studies of ­political vio­lence, ­human rights, and transitional justice. The plan to annihilate and erase the Herero in the sands of the desert in 1904 continues to be carried out due to the lack of scholarly, p­ olitical, and social interest in ­these genocidal crimes. The crimes against ­these ­peoples have been overshadowed by other cases of atrocity, and this must come to an end. Th ­ ere must be fundamental ­ legal and historical justice pursued for underexplored and underrepresented cases and p­ eoples. Discourse about t­ hese crimes, and their use in developing theoretical and conceptual scholarship, is but one step to be taken.

Turkey, Armenia, Greece, and Syria Modern Turkey is built on a foundation of ethnoreligious apartheid that contributed to the annihilation of Christian populations. T ­ oday’s homogeneous Turkey would not exist without the genocide from 1914 to 1925. Anatolia still boasts some Christian populations, but nowhere near levels of the past. Millions of Christian minorities w ­ ere killed during the genocide, and many hundreds of thousands ­were able to escape to neighboring countries like Armenia, Greece, and Syria. With nearly eighty-­five million citizens, most of whom are Turkish, the total demographic homogenization of Anatolia was completed as a result of genocidal displacement pro­cesses. The Armenians have been fighting for over a hundred years for recognition from Turkey for the crimes that w ­ ere committed in the early twentieth c­ entury. The Greeks and Assyrians have only recently joined this fight in a systematic manner, and the government of Turkey has consistently—­and passionately—­ denied any allegations of genocide. ­These denials are well-­documented and have been per­sis­tent fixtures of Turkey’s domestic and foreign policies.10 Domestically, truth-­tellers like Hrant Dink have been killed for their eloquent demands that Turkey recognize its past.11 O ­ thers, like Turkish parliament member Garo

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Paylan, who is Armenian, continue the fight for domestic repre­sen­ta­tion and recognition of wrongs.12 Turkey often uses genocide diplomacy to keep a tight lid on recognition. Most recently and infamously, then senator Barack Obama openly spoke of the Armenian genocide, only to completely fall ­silent once he became president of the United States for fear of upsetting Turkey, an impor­tant North Atlantic Treaty O ­ rganization member on the alliance’s eastern flank.13 Turkey also shamelessly uses modern propaganda to veil its past genocidal DA crimes against Christian minorities. In 2016 and 2017, respectively, dueling films w ­ ere released: The Promise and The Ottoman Lieutenant.14 The former accurately depicts the rising anti-­Christian sentiment in the empire before the ­Great War, the uses and horrors of the l­abor battalions, and the vio­lence of the displacement caravans. The film does an exceptional job of depicting genocide in Anatolia, establishing who was responsible, and commenting on the intergenerational impacts of such genocidal policies. As a theatrical retort, Turkish investors funded the latter film, a smear piece of historical revisionism. In the latter film, Turks are depicted as the victims of ruthless Christian vio­lence, Christians are portrayed as dangerous fifth columnists seeking the dissolution of a peaceful and tolerant empire, and any vio­lence against Christian minorities is dismissed as the work of power-­drunk brigands, not a ­matter of state policy. The films represent accuracy and distortion, respectively. This type of profound denialism has no end in sight. For scholars examining the Ottoman genocide case, analyzing cohesive systems of atrocity implemented against Armenians, Greeks, and Assyrians together may yield impor­tant conclusions about multigroup targeting during genocidal pro­cesses.15 Within t­ hese analyses, we can better understand the times and spaces of vio­lence, rendering impor­tant conclusions about perpetration patterns and varied perpetrator uses of vio­lence. Such publications are beginning to appear, though more work in identifying the similarities and dissimilarities in violent patterns occurring at the same time must be conducted on the genocidal annihilation of Christians from Anatolia and other cases that involve multiple ­distinct victim groups.

Central and Eastern ­Europe Much like Anatolia, the map of modern ­Europe would not have been made ­pos­si­ble without the removal of minorities from across Central and Eastern ­Europe (CEE). The crimes against humanity and war crimes inflicted on German minorities from the Baltic to the Balkans to the Volga ­were born from the shadows of fascist domination, genocide, dismissive and deleterious local and Soviet demographic policies, systems of postwar deprivation, and desires for vengeance. Th ­ ese awesome forces combined to create institutionalized callous disregard for h ­ uman lives amid the rubble of E ­ urope. A ­ fter years of hegemony by Germans over the ­European continent, ­there was l­ittle patience for constructing complex postwar p­ olitical systems. This was not, however, simply a

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population transfer but rather a punitive forced displacement of millions of ­people who suffered greatly. It was an expulsion p­ rocess designed to fulfill local desires for vengeance u­ nder the hegemony of Soviet indifference to h ­ uman suffering. The return of t­ hese expelled millions to CEE was not considered a v­ iable option for the postwar planners, who had gone to g­ reat lengths to legitimize their fundamental violation of h ­ uman rights. Ironically, expulsion pro­cesses occurred concurrently with the drafting of the Universal Declaration of ­Human Rights. It was to be a tall order convincing the expelled that they w ­ ere “forever exiled,” ­because they would forever look “homeward,” and some worried that expulsion could feed desires for new wars.16 However, in a 1947 meeting of Allied foreign ministers in Moscow, Secretary Marshall plainly stated, “Our prob­lem is . . . ​to avoid unjustified economic upset and to minimize inescapable irredentist pressure in Germany.”17 Within a few years of the postwar order, West Germany absorbed ten million expellees, approximately 25 ­percent of its total population.18 It was agreed that the admission of expelled ­peoples would be the responsibility of German authorities, that all expellees “of German extraction” ­were to be granted ­“German nationality with full civil and ­political rights,” that the occupying powers would only provide assistance to Germany if it was “deemed essential,” and that ­political ­organization of the expellees would be prohibited.19 In effect, the Allies created the prob­lem of expulsion and then attempted to deny any responsibility for creating and allowing horrific systems of deprivation, sexual vio­lence, and murder—­crimes against humanity—to take place. Moreover, they wanted to sweep what was for some clear criminal intent and for ­others criminal neglect away from the official histories of postwar reconstruction. Anytime an atrocity is not remedied, the possibilities for its politicization are legion. Such was the case with the expulsion of the Germans, Holocaust denial, and latent Nazism. Expellee ­organizations, while impor­tant s­ ociological tools for the reconstitution and preservation of lost identities attached to homeland, have sometimes been noted for their extreme far-­right p­ olitical programs.20 Expulsion was designed to erase Nazism, but all it did was drive it under­ground. It is therefore of paramount concern to address and study all atrocities and speak openly of harms done and lessons learned, so that ­those atrocities ­will not be repeated. Population transfers violate h ­ uman rights and sow the seeds of disaffection; they are almost never successful endeavors.

Anthropocene Considering how DA crimes have occurred in the past, the seemingly imperceptible daily changes to our climate mean that t­ here are possibilities for f­uture DA crimes. Although climate change is no longer avoidable, DA crimes can be preventable. If history has informed us of anything, it is that not only gaps in

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responsibilities to protect, lack of ­political ­will to intervene, and barriers to empathy but the outright rejection of action on behalf of another dominate the state of atrocity crime prevention and the pursuit of fundamental justice. It does not need to be this way. Climate change ­will likely provide systematic exogenous shocks to an already unstable world. Lacking any real protections for all displaced persons currently, the ­future influx of potentially millions could lead to ­immense structural opportunities for extreme vio­lence to take place. Born of criminal intent to destroy groups in ­whole or in part, to deport and deprive vital daily needs to populations, or out of systematic neglect, such vio­lence could include methods like DA crimes. To seek ­future justice means to critically reflect on the opportunity structures that made DA crimes pos­si­ble and permissible in the past. Climate change on its own ­will likely not contribute directly to DA crimes but ­will likely be a structural stressor that exacerbates existing sociopo­liti­cal cleavages, identity crises, and patterns that undermine the crusading humanitarian spirit. Said in another way, if we believe that t­ here are prob­lems in the world t­ oday, they ­will likely become much worse due to the stressors of climate change. Humanitarian systems already have grave difficulties in providing for the approximately 108.4 million displaced persons in the world. What ­will happen in the ­future if and when that number swells? It is ­here in international law that protections for all displaced persons must be bolstered to such a degree that DA crimes become an impossibility. Regimes may forcibly displace millions, but they should be saved by the humanitarian work of o­ thers, and the perpetrators should be held to account.

Displacement Atrocity Crimes and Transitional Justice The powers and possibilities of international criminal law as a deterrent to crimes are wholly questionable. Laws against mass murder and exploitation have existed for ­decades—­some even across three centuries—­but vio­lence continues to occur. International law may not be a deterrent, but it does, in fact, exist as a power­ful remedy to vio­lence. The only way to remedy injustice is through justice. The prosecution of perpetrators is of paramount importance. Prosecution—­ successful or unsuccessful—­generally helps create accountability regimes for ­violent decisions made and actions undertaken.21 Aside from discussions on deterrence, simply signaling to perpetrators that they could be held accountable is an act of fundamental justice. As explored in chapter 1, pro­cesses of DA crimes do not require an entirely new set of international criminal law. Rather, DA crimes fit within existing frameworks on genocide, crimes against humanity, and war crimes and can be viewed as a complementary concept to describe pro­cesses of violent annihilatory forced displacement. The constitutive ­mental (mens rea) and physical acts (actus reus) of DA crimes are already engrained in international criminal law as illegitimate and illegal.22 The understanding of violent forced displacement proposed in this book augments existing laws with specific

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understandings of how ­these constitutive acts can be used in vari­ous spaces and times. As such, ­there need not be a specific DA crime clause in the Rome Statute but a rereading of what ratified criminal acts can be used to prosecute perpetrators of DA crimes.23 Perpetrators of genocidal DA crimes can be prosecuted ­under multiple aspects of Article 6 of the Rome Statute. First, perpetrators of DA crimes clearly use direct killing to inflict damage on a group in order to bring about its destruction using indirect methods. Thus, paragraph (a), “killing members of the group,” matches well with this first step t­ oward large-­scale displacement operations.24 More systematic to encompass the bulk of DA crime pro­cesses, however, are paragraphs (b) and (c): “causing serious bodily or ­mental harm to members of the group” and “deliberately inflicting on the group conditions of life calculated to bring about its physical destruction in w ­ hole or in part.” 25 Both of t­hese ­paragraphs, particularly (c), capture the destructive pro­cesses associated with systematic deprivations designed to destroy populations accelerated by forced displacement operations—­DA crimes—­and are of critical importance to punishing DA crimes. Perpetrators create and impose conditions of life designed to annihilate, thus causing serious bodily and m ­ ental harm to targeted populations. In cases reviewed in this book, t­ here was l­ ittle evidence that perpetrators specifically intended to use DA crimes to prevent births within a group—­paragraph (d)—­ though certainly the physical annihilation and bodily stressors DA crimes place on groups would prevent the biological reproduction of groups. At least in the Ottoman case, ­there ­were corollary plans to assimilate ­children from Christian to Turkish groups, thus fulfilling paragraph (e), though this criminal ele­ment is not ubiquitous to DA crimes overall. Thus, for genocidal DA crimes, perpetrators can be prosecuted using existing paragraphs (c), (b), and (a).26 Perpetrators of non-­genocidal DA crimes can be prosecuted u­ nder Article 7 (crimes against humanity) and Article 8 (war crimes) of the Rome Statute. U ­ nder Article 7, t­ here are numerous paragraphs of existing international laws that can capture the common plans of annihilation across dif­fer­ent types of DA crimes. Most impor­tant for DA crimes is paragraph 1(b) on extermination, which “includes the intentional infliction of conditions of life, inter alia the deprivation of access to food and medicine, calculated to bring about the destruction of part of a population.”27 As demonstrated across space and time in this book, perpetrators of DA crimes deprive and displace to destroy. Th ­ ese perpetrators also fulfill paragraph 1(d), “deportation or forcible transfer of population,” defined as “forced displacement of the persons concerned by expulsion or other coercive acts from the area in which they are lawfully pre­sent, without grounds permitted u­ nder international law.”28 Both extermination and deportation are tied together logically and legally, as perpetrators of DA crimes create mutually reinforcing systems of extermination using deportation. Thus, perpetrators of annihilatory forced displacements should be punished using a fusion of both 1(b) and 1(d). Working in concert with extermination and deportation, perpetrators

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could also be indicted on charges with 1(g) persecution, defined as “the intentional and severe deprivation of fundamental rights contrary to international law by reason of the identity of the group of collectivity.”29 Taken together, t­ hese three form the backbone of how to integrate DA crimes into understandings of crimes against humanity, as persecution defines which groups w ­ ere targeted and why, deportation is the ­process of annihilatory forced displacement, and extermination fully encapsulates the killing ­process from start to finish. Fi­nally, if DA crimes are perpetrated during times of recognized armed conflict (defined in common Articles 2 and 3 of the Geneva Convention on Civilians),30 then perpetrators may be indicted for war crimes ­under Article 8 of the Rome Statute. Importantly, the full suite of laws of armed conflict (LOAC) are applicable to conflicts of an international character (common Article 2) but not to conflicts of a non-­international character (common Article 3). However, of eight grave breaches of the Geneva Conventions, defined in Article 8(2)(a) of the Rome Statute, three paragraphs apply. First, perpetrators of DA crimes engage in “wilful killing,” defined in Article 8(2)(a)(i), by creating systems of annihilation designed to kill populations outside a combat and military necessity.31 Directly tied to willful killing is Article 8(2)(a)(iii): “wilfully causing ­great suffering, or serious injury to body and health.”32 Both of t­ hese articles encapsulate the annihilatory outcomes of DA crimes but are bolstered by Article 8(2)(a)(vii): “unlawful deportation or transfer or unlawful confinement.”33 When legally prosecuted together ­under a common plan of annihilation, ­these three practices perfectly criminalize DA crime pro­cesses. Perpetrators can be shown to intend to willfully kill through serious injury to body and health via forcible and unlawful deportation. Thus, DA crimes do not require new international laws to criminalize the mens rea and actus reus of annihilatory forced displacement. Rather, DA crimes as a concept can be integrated into existing international laws on genocide, crimes against humanity, and war crimes. DA crimes, then, provide a lens for understanding how to tie together vari­ous individual criminal acts into a prosecutable common plan of annihilation against targeted populations. W ­ hether actors in international politics accept ­these understandings is another ­matter entirely, as de facto immunity of perpetrators hiding ­behind state sovereignty poses serious threats to prevention, halting, and punishing regimes for atrocity crimes.34 The pursuit of justice should always be as local as pos­si­ble, with prosecutions ideally taking place in the same jurisdiction as the crimes themselves. This is clearly not always pos­si­ble considering the state of sovereignty and politics among the nations in which we currently reside. The international criminal court (ICC) was never designed to be the sole site of justice for atrocity crimes in the world. While an impor­tant standard-­setter, the ICC was designed to be a complementary institution to augment other ­legal apparatuses (e.g., domestic and regional courts).35 If and when t­ hese institutions fail to indict or prosecute individuals responsible for atrocity crimes, the ICC has a duty—­though not always the

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p­ olitical w ­ ill among states—to seek justice for targeted populations. Thus, instead of viewing the ICC as the first site of justice, national and regional court apparatuses should be viewed as the primary sources of post-­atrocity justice. The Rome Statute has been ratified by 123 countries, and most of ­these countries have ratified the definitions of genocide, crimes against humanity, and war crimes in w ­ hole or in part in their domestic l­ egal systems.36 Some, like Canada, have ratified only certain definitions of crimes to avoid ­legal responsibility for their own systems of atrocity.37 Many states have sections in their criminal l­ egal systems to define atrocity crimes at least partially, and ­these systems do not require complete redefinition to incorporate DA crimes. Since DA crimes legally and conceptually fit within the Rome Statute, and since the ICC is an impor­ tant standard-­setter for state actors, DA crimes can be prosecuted as genocide, crimes against humanity, or war crimes in existing ­legal systems. If normal domestic courts cannot, for one reason or another, prosecute perpetrators of DA crimes, it is not without pre­ce­dent for special court mechanisms to be established in domestic jurisdictions to deal with atrocity crimes.38 Ad hoc tribunals, special court mechanisms, and regional courts can similarly prosecute DA crimes using established l­ egal frameworks on existing atrocity crimes.39 The arguments presented in this study, then, can be summarized neatly for the international l­ egal professional: t­ here is a clear, pressing need to focus on the ­actual pro­cesses of displacement, not only the ­causes of displacement and the conditions at the end of displacement. The ­process of displacement can be used as an annihilatory tool against targeted populations, and t­ hese violent programs can be defined within existing international laws on genocide, crimes against humanity, and war crimes. Demonstrating that perpetrators conspired to commit crimes and deprived populations of vital daily needs during intentional forced displacement operations is as ­simple and complex enough to create accountability mechanisms for DA crimes. Sometimes, however, l­ egal justice may not be pos­si­ble. Perhaps members of a perpetrator regime still hold power, or l­ egal justice is simply not feasible for a variety of ­political or institutional reasons. Moreover, perhaps what is most impor­ tant to post-­violence regimes is not the prosecution of perpetrators but the creation of undeniable truths about violent pro­cesses of the past. Truth commissions may not achieve ­legal justice, but they do achieve a fundamental justice of knowing the past. Sometimes the ­simple act of knowing what happened to whom, when, where, how, and why is enough justice to spur further acts of justice.40 The cases in this book have been generally underresearched, and the lack of scholarship devoted to the study of forced displacement pro­cesses made research on annihilatory displacement much more difficult to piece together. Ensuring the achievement of truths about the violent pro­cesses themselves is unsettling but impor­tant work to create holistic narratives about past persecution. Lastly, ­there is a critical importance for the recognition of past atrocities, attempts to make amends, and clear guarantees that DA crimes ­will not be

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repeated. Without a clear guarantee that the crimes ­will not be repeated, the possibilities of the crimes manifesting again are evermore pre­sent. In addition, without this guarantee, regimes may intentionally or inadvertently signal that what was done was legitimate or does not m ­ atter in some sort of g­ rand schema.41 At the bare minimum, apologizing for past atrocities offers a discursive sense of justice, which could lead to more substantive and tangible forms of justice in the f­ uture.42 In quick summary: achieving fundamental justice for targeted populations begins with understanding their pasts and supporting their own pursuits of justice as they define them. The modern h ­ uman rights movement is built on the foundation of protecting ­human dignity.43 At its core, dignity means the individual attainment of a “minimally good life,” to quote Brian Orend. Such a life is marked by “(1) personal security, (2) material subsistence, (3) elemental equality, (4) personal freedom, and (5) recognition as a member of the h ­ uman community.”44 For staunch universal ­human rights defenders like Rhoda E. Howard-­Hassmann and Jack Donnelly, universal and equal ­human rights ­were created as ever-­expanding mechanisms to defend ­every person’s rightful claim on a life of dignity based on our common ­human needs as individuals.45 Th ­ ese fundamental truths about lives worth living—­lives of dignity—­are v­ iolated by perpetrators of DA crimes. Morally and legally, for ­every rights violation t­ here must be a rights remedy. Thus, we have to seek justice ­because it must be done. It is as ­simple and as complicated as that.

Displacement Atrocity Crimes: Prob­lems and Questions for Scholarship ­ ere are six key insights this book offers atrocity scholarship, including (1) impliTh cations for displacement scholarship paradigms, (2) why annihilatory displacement is used, (3) the role of contingency in DA crime perpetration, (4) why dif­fer­ent types of geographies can create boundary conditions on atrocity perpetration, (5) types of perpetrator o­ rganization for DA crimes, and (6) expanding understandings of DA crimes to vio­lence inflicted against Indigenous ­peoples. First, while con­temporary studies of displacement exhibit a strong paradigm focused on destinations of displaced persons, and security studies lit­er­a­ture focuses on h ­ uman security and state security implications of a world on the move, ­there are significant gaps in knowledge.46 In large part, what t­ hese lit­er­a­tures focus on represents what could be called a Point A and Point B paradigm. This paradigm focuses scholarship on the security implications of displaced persons, particularly emphasized in scholarship on foreign fighters sneaking into receiving countries with refugees. From the state perspective, displaced persons can be si­mul­ta­neously viewed as a security threat and a humanitarian cause célèbre. The roots of why populations leave their home countries is often accentuated in scholarship on the mass migrations of populations from the MENA region to ­Europe via the Anatolian landmass and the Mediterranean Sea. What ­these

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studies undervalue, however, is that displacement is not only an event but a ­process. The act of movement needs further study, and this act has the possibility to become extraordinarily deadly in a f­ uture of climate-­related changes. Second, the DA concept and crime begin to fill a critical gap in understanding annihilatory displacement processes—­why displacement is used to destroy populations in w ­ hole or in part. The p­ rocess of displacement has been overlooked for too long as the primary subject m ­ atter of theoretical and empirical scholarship. Displacement should no longer be necessarily viewed as an isolated event before killing; rather, it should be viewed as a potential p­ rocess of killing. Displacement can mean the transfer of targeted populations to annihilation centers, the flight from atrocity, and a p­ rocess to homogenize regions demographically. Displacement can also be an atrocity p­ rocess in itself. Displacement is a potent weapon used against targeted populations, as the act of movement itself takes extraordinary effort from the displaced populations. Perpetrators deliberately deprive populations of rest and vital daily needs to annihilate them quickly. Third, the role of contingency in DA crimes cannot be overstated. While structural opportunities for perpetrators to commit DA crimes have been explored, this does not mean that perpetrators are deterministically forced into making the decision to commit DA crimes over other atrocity methods. The use of displacement is contingent on the decisions of the perpetrators, who may simply select dif­fer­ent forms of displacement based on strategic realities (e.g., the presence of warfare) or learned pro­cesses of annihilation. This raises impor­tant questions about atrocity studies as a field. While t­ here has been much empirical/historical work on diverse cases of atrocity and theorizing on genocide as a phenomenon, and individual subtypes of atrocity at the conceptual level (including this book), t­here has been ­little work undertaken that attempts to draw clear causal lines to dif­fer­ent types of atrocity. Despite genocide studies as a field existing since the 1970s, and Holocaust studies existing briefly before then, ­there still exists an impor­tant question: Why do perpetrators select one type of atrocity method over ­others? This could partly be blamed on the young age of genocide studies and the continued identification of subtypes of atrocity, but perhaps we are beginning to reach a critical mass of diverse concepts that w ­ ill allow us to fi­nally tackle this question. The creation of new concepts w ­ ill challenge t­ hese understandings of causal pathways and contingent decisions, but it is impor­tant to engage in concept creation and refinement so that atrocities can be better predicted in the f­ uture. DA crimes help this p­ rocess by filling a conceptual need for a theoretical understanding of forced displacement as atrocity. Fourth, why perpetrators use linear distance or area squared is an impor­tant distinction that requires further empirical study. More to the point, the key question now is why some geographies are made violent while ­others are not. ­There are some conclusions that can be reached ­after the examinations of DA crimes in this book. The most impor­tant finding is that the type of forced displacement is largely determined by the type of geography perpetrators control. A s­ imple and

222 • Climate Vio­lence and Conclusions

logical explanation of the use of land is based on ­whether a given ­political geography is long from one point to another (use of linear distance) or ­whether it is squat/thick and more suited to kettling crimes (area squared). The presence of towns and cities can be barriers to DA crime implementation, as ­these places may offer refuge or sites of r­ esistance. Therefore, a main initial tactic of DA crimes is to displace populations away from t­ hese centers. B ­ ecause of this, the presence of towns or cities can also determine where the displaced are marched. If ­there is a large territory (area squared) but ­there are several cities or towns, linear displacement routes avoiding the settlements may be the best sort of perpetration tactic. On the other hand, if t­ here is a linear country with larger territories with few residents, then kettling crimes may be preferential to perpetrators. Fifth, DA crimes can take place almost anywhere across ­great variances. Across all cases in this book, t­ here ­were dif­fer­ent spatial, temporal, momentary structural, o­ rganizational, social, and leadership ­factors that aided in the perpetration of DA crimes. Th ­ ere is an inherent flexibility in how DA crimes can be perpetrated, and this study may carry potentially wide-­ranging implications for understanding how perpetrators choose to ­organize themselves to implement atrocity pro­cesses. Without question, perpetrators can choose to create vast bureaucracies of annihilation for the coordination of DA crimes, like in the ­Ottoman case, but t­ hese are not necessary. In other DA crime cases, particularly the Herero genocide and the death march period of the Holocaust, DA crimes ­were implemented with very l­ ittle o­ rganizational involvement as last-­best or last-­resort atrocity practices. Using fits and spurts of annihilatory displacement practices, perpetrators can succeed in inflicting incredibly destructive pro­ cesses against vast swaths of social collectivities even if they cannot eliminate entire groups. ­These perpetration methods can be state governed or non-­state governed, as the expulsion of the Germans perfectly illustrates. Considering the relatively low ­organizational costs of DA crimes, it is entirely conceivable that atrocity perpetration on a microscale (i.e., small groups of perpetrators acting on their own and outside a broader structure) could potentially march members of a community to their demise.47 Significantly more theorizing needs to be placed on this microscale implementation of DA crime methods to understand how contextual uses of DA crimes can occur at specific moments. This could be an ave­nue for much f­ uture research.48 Sixth, t­ here needs to be a critical reexamination of displacement and atrocity pro­cesses inflicted on Indigenous nations in colonial contexts. Diverse pro­cesses of vio­lence demand further attention in light of the findings of this study. In the United States, Canada, and Mexico alone, Indigenous nations have had displacement, deportation, and removal perpetrated against them across space and time. Many pro­cesses ­were tied together by unified plans, including “Indian Removal” perpetrated against scores of Indigenous nations in the United States, “clearing the plains,” or using disease and starvation to forcibly reserve Indigenous nations in Canada; and forced conversion at the mission system in Mexico

Praxis • 223

(now the State of California), followed by genocide associated with the California Gold Rush.49 Other pro­cesses appear idiosyncratic to specific Indigenous nations but are unified by the inherent logic of elimination tied to settler colonialism.50 Such pro­cesses include the forced removal of hundreds of members of the Seneca Nation for the construction of the Kinzua Dam near Warren, Pennsylvania, in 1965; the cumulative genocidal pro­cesses of removal in the name of civilization against the Ahiarmiut in Canada’s Arctic region from the late 1940s to the late 1950s; and the enslavement of Indigenous ­peoples as seen in early and sustained colonial systems like the encomienda in Mexico by the Spanish colonists.51 Displacement was also used to transfer Indigenous ­children to genocidal boarding schools in both the United States and Canada.52 ­Whether t­ hese pro­cesses of atrocity w ­ ere ethnic cleansing, domicide, or DA crimes needs significantly more scholarly attention.53 This attention should yield not only i­ mmense theoretical innovations in the fields of Indigenous studies, atrocity studies, and h ­ uman rights but transitional justice as well. The DA crime theory is readily applicable to diverse arrays of atrocity pro­cesses inflicted against Indigenous nations and colonized ­peoples all over the world. Moreover, precise understandings of violent pro­cesses can lead to better understandings of what types of justice mechanisms should be deployed to end cycles of vio­lence and implement patterns of respecting rights in colonial settings.54 Pro­cesses of dispossession and forced displacement of Indigenous nations need to be understood so that justice can be made pos­si­ble through a foundational recognition of wrongs and harms done. Once again, significantly more scholarship needs to conceptualize and categorize the vari­ous forms of displacement inflicted against Indigenous nations to provide a semblance of justice to victims and survivors and assist in the recognition of wrongs for better ­futures.

Concluding Remarks So why, then, do perpetrators use forced displacement to destroy targeted populations? Perpetrators view the unique fusion of forced displacement and systematic deprivation of vital daily needs as expedient solutions to their constructed demographic prob­lems. They use DA crimes out of necessity or to hide their crimes away from prying eyes and to establish strong hegemonies of vio­lence over targeted populations who are destroyed gradually yet swiftly. The guise of displacement offers perpetrators a thin veil of deniability as they attempt to obfuscate their actions. Perpetrators of DA crimes exploit environmental ­factors and geographies to implement systems of annihilatory forced displacement. In this way, displacement is the primary aspect of atrocity pro­cesses, which has for too long been overlooked by scholars, ­legal specialists, and activists who have typically framed displacement as a secondary or tertiary ele­ment to atrocities. Thus, DA crimes have been hidden by past paradigms of understanding mass vio­lence. The flexibility of this atrocity method is startling, as DA crimes can be

224 • Climate Vio­lence and Conclusions

perpetrated in deserts, along rural roads, or through densely populated areas. The DA crime method is truly one of the most potent killing systems ever devised, and ­these crimes have taken place on ­every major inhabited continent, have been perpetrated across vast differences in space and time, and can absolutely recur in the ­future. DA crimes are always illegitimate and criminal, are always pos­si­ble, and should always be prevented, s­ topped, and punished. Thus, ­there are three key knowledge mobilization takeaways from this book: 1. 2. 3.

Displacement can be used as a primary method of annihilation and requires further study. Annihilatory forced displacement can occur across vast differences in space and time. Understandings of DA crimes are congruent with and augment existing conceptual and ­legal atrocity frameworks.

During writing, the stories of annihilation and survival caused me to critically reflect on our world, where old and new hatreds seem to rise to the surface ­every day, and the number of displaced persons never seems to decrease. It is imperative to know what p­ olitical actions are legitimate and illegitimate, which populations require protection, and how we can stop the awful scourge of atrocities. Th ­ ere is no reason to assume that DA crimes w ­ ill not occur in the ­future. Though the world appears to be getting smaller, with social media and the instantaneous spreading of news, knowing about prob­lems is demonstrably wholly insufficient to stop them. In fact, even recognizing wrongs and sympathizing and empathizing with ­others may not be enough to cause change.55 As always, ­there are many reasons to be pessimistic about the state of humanitarian efforts, the creation and sustaining of accountability and justice regimes, and the ­human rights of displaced persons. Despite this, t­ here is a power in knowing about the methods of annihilatory forced displacement, not only for the historical justice of shining a spotlight on the overlooked vio­lence of the past but to learn from it in order to create a better world in the f­ uture. At a fundamental level, knowing the warning signs of specific forms of atrocity positions us to make the choice to stop flagrant ­human rights violations. ­Whether we decide to help ­those targeted for vio­lence, to see beyond ourselves and value ­others, is a question all of us must reflect on in a world on the move. To that end, I hope this study has offered some useful insights into the phenomenon of annihilatory forced displacement that can help to chip away at one of the world’s prob­lems.

Acknowl­edgments This study would not have been pos­si­ble without the support of many scholars. I specifically want to thank my master’s supervisor, Rhoda E. Howard-­Hassmann, for encouraging me to initially explore the prob­lem of annihilatory forced displacement years ago at Wilfrid Laurier University a­ fter sending me to the Genocide and ­Human Rights Program run by the Zoryan Institute where I first began to think about the links between atrocities and displacement. My PhD supervisor, Maureen S. Hiebert, offered incredible support throughout our time together at the University of Calgary and deserves much credit for continually challenging me to refine my approaches, methods, and understandings of atrocities. Her unwavering dedication to providing a healthy learning environment is something I w ­ ill always be thankful for and utilize as a blueprint in the f­ uture. Joanna R. Quinn, my postdoctoral supervisor at Western University offered critical support during the early days of the COVID-19 pandemic to continue my research programs on annihilatory forced displacement and other h ­ uman rights and transitional justice topics while the world shut down for a brief time. She helped foster my productivity when every­thing e­ lse seemed to stop. To all three: I ­will forever be in your debts and your insights appear throughout the book. Your encouragement, keen insights, critiques, and readings of draft upon draft of vari­ous forms of the ideas in this book helped make this book pos­si­ble. I w ­ ill always value our wide-­ranging impromptu ­political (and culinary) discussions. Other professional colleagues deserve recognition for their significant impacts on my research. Robert Hubert, Terry Terriff, Brenda O’Neill, Mark Baron, Antonio Franceschet, Susan Franceschet, Joshua Goldstein, Anthony Sayers, James Keeley, Barry Cooper, Daniel Voth, Donald Ray, Jorge Heine, Alistair Edgar, Andre Perrella, Dejan Guzina, Brian Orend, Gary Bruce, Geoffrey Hayes, Alexander Statiev, Bree Akesson, Alex Alvarez, George Shirinian, and Joyce Apsel and deserve recognition for all they have taught me and done on my behalf. 225

226 • Acknowl­edgments

My broader network deserves much credit for keeping me engaged in the dynamic research atmosphere that is associated with progressing h ­ uman rights locally and globally. I also want to recognize the institutional support I have been given. The Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council (SSHRC), Wilfrid Laurier University, the University of Calgary, and Western University have helped fund this study over the past d­ ecade. The Jacob Rader Marcus Center of the American Jewish Archives generously allowed me access to the Raphael Lemkin papers; touching the pages he wrote was uplifting and helped construct my work. ­These institutional supports made researching and writing a truly special experience. Any piece of writing requires a team and I have a ­great one. To my parents, Robert and Janice: You have always been integral to my life and education. Your unwavering love, encouragement, and eagerness to hear what I am researching has been motivational and inspirational. Without you two, I certainly could not have done this. As for my friends, the Cottage ­family must be recognized: Jimmy, Catherine, and Kristine—­I’ll keep the bonfire burning. Ryan: I could not have done this without you—­thank you for every­thing you have done for me. Bruna: we have relied on each other for years now, and I would not have it any other way. A special thank you to my partner, Meg Bradley, for her unwavering support on the home front which helps makes this all pos­si­ble—­especially understanding the early morning writing sessions and my total inability to disengage from my work. No m ­ atter their profession, location, or relationship with me, every­one in my life has positively contributed to my understanding of the prob­ lem of displacement.

Notes Introduction 1 Andrew R. Basso, “A Forced Displacement and Atrocity Crime Nexus: Displacement as Transfer, Annihilation, and Homogenization,” in The Handbook of Displacement, ed. Peter Adey et al. (London: Palgrave Macmillan, 2020). 2 Alexander Laban Hinton, “Critical Genocide Studies,” in Genocide ­Matters: Ongoing Issues and Emerging Perspectives, ed. Joyce Apsel and Ernesto Verdeja (New York: Routledge, 2013). 3 Hinton, “Critical Genocide Studies.” 4 Hinton, “Critical Genocide Studies.” 5 John Cooper, Raphael Lemkin and the Strug­gle for the Genocide Convention (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2008); Raphael Lemkin, Totally Unofficial: The Autobiography of Raphael Lemkin, ed. Donna-­Lee Frieze (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2013), xi–­xix, 110–117; Lemkin, Totally Unofficial, 22; Raphael Lemkin, “Acts Constituting a General (Transnational) Danger Considered as Offences against the Law of Nations,” trans. Jim Fussell, Prevent Genocide International, http://­w ww​.­preventgenocide​.­org​/­lemkin​/­madrid1933​-e­ nglish​.­htm. Lemkin originally presented ­these definitions in 1933 at a conference in Madrid, then published them in French as “Les actes constituent un danger (interétatique) consideres comme delites des droit des gens” and l­ ater in German as “Akte der Barbarei und des Vandalismus als delicta juris gentium.” 6 Lemkin, “Acts Constituting a General (Transnational) Danger.” 7 Alexander L. George and Andrew Bennett, Case Studies and Theory Development in the Social Sciences (Cambridge: MIT Press, 2005), 233–237. 8 George and Bennett, Case Studies and Theory Development. 9 George and Bennett, Case Studies and Theory Development, 233–244. 10 George and Bennett, Case Studies and Theory Development, 240–248; Barney Glaser and Anselm Strauss, The Discovery of Grounded Theory (Chicago: Aldine, 1967). 11 George and Bennett, Case Studies and Theory Development, 240. 12 George and Bennett, Case Studies and Theory Development, 247; Goldstone, “Comparative Historical Analy­sis and Knowledge Accumulation in the Study of 227

228 • Notes to Pages 4–11

Revolutions,” in Comparative Historical Analy­sis in the Social Sciences, ed. James Mahoney and Dietrich Rueschemeyer (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2003), 47, 84; James Mahoney, “Strategies of Causal Assessment in Comparative Historical Analy­sis,” in Mahoney and Rueschemeyer, Comparative Historical Analy­sis in the Social Sciences, 363. 13 Harry Eckstein, Regarding Politics: Essays on P ­ olitical Theory, Stability, and Change (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1991), 152–163; Gerardo Munck, “Tools for Qualitative Research,” in Rethinking Social Inquiry: Diverse Tools, Shared Standards, ed. Henry E. Brady and David Collier (Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield, 2004). 14 Munck, “Tools for Qualitative Research,” 107–112. 15 Eckstein, Regarding Politics, 152–163. 16 Gerhard Pool, Samuel Maharero (Windhoek: Gamsberg MacMillan, 1991), 272–273.

Chapter 1 Extirpation 1 Andrew R. Basso, “­Towards a Theory of Displacement Atrocities: The Cherokee Trail of Tears, the Herero Genocide, and the Pontic Greek Genocide,” Genocide Studies and Prevention 10, no. 1 (2016), 15–24; Carl A. Brasseaux, “Scattered to the Wind”: Dispersal and Wandering of the Acadians, 1755–1809 (Lafayette: Center for Louisiana Studies, University of Louisiana at Lafayette, 1991); Raphael Lemkin, “The Huguenots,” 1944–1959, box 6, folder 13, Raphael Lemkin Papers, the Jacob Rader Marcus Center of the American Jewish Archives, Cincinnati; Alexander Statiev, “Motivations and Goals of Soviet Deportations in the Western Borderlands,” Journal of Strategic Studies 28, no. 6 (2005); Raphael Lemkin, Genocide radio broadcast, October 1955, box 4, folder 2, Raphael Lemkin Papers; Raphael Lemkin, “The Inca Genocidists,” 1944–1959, box 7, folder 1, Raphael Lemkin Papers; Kenneth Roth, “Syria: Events of 2016,” World Report 2017 (New York: ­Human Rights Watch), https://­w ww​.­hrw​.­org​ /­world​-r­ eport​/­2017​/­country​-­chapters​/­syria. 2 Andrew R. Basso, “ ‘All Four Seasons and I ­Will Die’: A Typology of Displacement Atrocities.” PhD diss., University of Calgary, 2019. 3 Sheri P. Rosenberg, “Genocide Is a ­Process, Not an Event,” Genocide Studies and Prevention 7, no. 1 (2012): 16–23. 4 Helen Fein, Accounting for Genocide: National Response and Jewish Victimization during the Holocaust (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1984), 4. 5 René Lemarchand, Forgotten Genocides: Oblivion, Denial, and Memory (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2013). 6 Michael Peel, “Hunger Strikes,” British Medical Journal 315, no. 7112 (1997), 829–830. 7 Barry M. Popkin, Kristen E. D’Anci, and Irvin H. Rosenberg, “­Water, Hydration, and Health,” Nutrition Reviews 68, no. 8 (2010): 439–445. 8 Saul Friedländer, Nazi Germany and the Jews: The Years of Extermination, 1939–1945 (New York: Harper Perennial, 2007). 9 Helen Fein, “Genocide by Attrition, 1939–1993: The Warsaw Ghetto, Cambodia, and Sudan: Links between ­Human Rights, Health, and Mass Death,” Health and ­Human Rights 2, no. 2 (1997), 10–13. 10 Eric Reeves, “Genocide by Attrition: Agony in Darfur,” Dissent 52, no. 1 (2005); Samuel Totten, Genocide by Attrition: The Nuba Mountains of Sudan (New Brunswick: Transaction, 2012); Sheri P. Rosenberg and Everita Silina, “Genocide by

Notes to Pages 11–14 • 229

Attrition: S­ ilent and Efficient,” in Genocide ­Matters: Ongoing Issues and Emerging Perspectives, ed. Joyce Apsel and Ernesto Verdeja (New York: Routledge, 2013). 11 Basso, “­Towards a Theory of Displacement Atrocities,” 10. 12 Friedländer, The Years of Extermination; Jean Hatzfeld, Machete Season: The Killers in Rwanda Speak (New York: Farrar, Straus, and Giroux, 2005). 13 Basso, “­Towards a Theory of Displacement Atrocities,” 10. 14 Judgment in the case of Austin and ­Others v. The United Kingdom, nos. 39692/09, 40713/09, and 41008/09, ­European Court of H ­ uman Rights, 15 March 2021, https://­hudoc​.­echr​.­coe​.­int​/­eng#{%22dmdocnumber%22:[%22903940%22],%22ite mid%22:[%22001​-­109581%22]}; Julian Joyce, “Police ‘­Kettle’ Tactic Feels the Heat,” BBC News, 16 April 2009. 15 United Nations General Assembly, Convention on the Prevention and Punishment of the Crime of Genocide, 9 December 1948, 78 U.N.T.S. 1021; United Nations General Assembly, Rome Statute of the International Criminal Court, 17 July 1998, 2187 U.N.T.S. 38544, at 93, https://­treaties​.­un​.­org​/­doc​/P ­ ublication​/­U NTS​ /­Volume%202187​/­v2187​.­pdf. 16 A. Dirk Moses, The Prob­lems of Genocide: Permanent Security and the Language of Transgression (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2021), 136–242, 441–511; Benjamin Meiches, The Politics of Annihilation: A Genealogy of Genocide (Minneapo­ eople: Genocide lis: University of Minnesota Press, 2019), 39–78; John Cox, To Kill a P in the Twentieth ­Century (New York: Oxford University Press, 2017), 30–45; Maureen S. Hiebert, Constructing Genocide and Mass Vio­lence: Society, Crisis, Identity (New York: Routledge, 2017), 5–8; Douglas Irvin-­Erickson, Raphaël Lemkin and the Concept of Genocide (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2016); David B. MacDonald, Identity Politics in the Age of Genocide: The Holocaust and Historical Repre­sen­ta­tion (New York: Routledge, 2008); Mahmood Mamdani, When Victims Become Killers: Colonialism, Nativism, and the Genocide in Rwanda (Prince­ton: Prince­ton University Press, 2001), 21–101; Leo Kuper, Genocide: Its P ­ olitical Use in the Twentieth C ­ entury (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1983), 19–39; Raphael Lemkin, Totally Unofficial: The Autobiography of Raphael Lemkin, ed. Donna-­Lee Frieze (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2013), 22; Raphael Lemkin, “Acts Constituting a General (Transnational) Danger Considered as Offences against the Law of Nations,” trans. Jim Fussell, Prevent Genocide International, 9 December 2000, http://­w ww​.­preventgenocide​ .­org​/­lemkin​/­madrid1933​-­english​.­htm. Lemkin originally presented definitions of barbarism (physical destruction) and vandalism (cultural destruction) at a conference in Madrid in 1933 detailing offenses against the laws of nations. He published the definitions of barbarism and vandalism in French as “Les actes constituent un danger general (interétatique) consideres comme delites des droit des gens” and l­ ater in German as “Akte der Barbarei und des Vandalismus als delicta juris gentium.” 17 Larry May, Genocide: A Normative Account (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2010), 97–156. 18 May, Genocide. 19 Edorardo Greppi, “The Evolution of Individual Criminal Responsibility ­under International Law,” International Review of the Red Cross 835 (September 1999), https://­w ww​.­icrc​.o­ rg​/­eng​/­resources​/d­ ocuments​/­article​/­other​/­57jq2x​.­htm; William A. Schabas, Genocide in International Law: The Crime of Crimes, 2nd ed. (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2009). 20 May, Genocide, 44–56. 21 Schabas, Genocide in International Law, 130–135.

230 • Notes to Pages 14–16

22 William A. Schabas, “Groups Protected by the Genocide Convention: Conflicting Interpretations from the International Criminal Tribunal for Rwanda.” ILSA Journal of International and Comparative Law 6, no. 375 (1999–2000); May, Genocide, 51. 23 Agnieszka Szpak, “National, Ethnic, Racial, and Religious Groups Protected against Genocide in the Jurisprudence of the ad hoc International Criminal Tribunals,” ­European Journal of International Law 23, no. 1 (2012); David Shea Bettwy, “The Genocide Convention and Unprotected Groups: Is the Scope of Protection Expanding u­ nder Customary International Law?” Notre Dame Journal of International and Comparative Law 2, no. 1 (2011); David L. Nersessian, “The Razor’s Edge: Defining and Protecting ­Human Groups u­ nder the Genocide Convention,” Cornell International Law Journal 36, no. 2 (2003). 24 John Cooper, Raphael Lemkin and the Strug­gle for the Genocide Convention (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2008). 25 Katherine Goldsmith, “The Issue of Intent in the Genocide Convention and Its Effect on the Prevention and Punishment of the Crime of Genocide: T ­ owards a Knowledge-­Based Approach,” Genocide Studies and Prevention 5, no. 3 (2010): 240–245. 26 Henry R. Huttenbach, “From the Editor: ­Towards a Conceptual Definition of Genocide,” Journal of Genocide Research 4, no. 2 (2002); Dominik J. Schaller, “From Lemkin to Clooney: The Development and State of Genocide Studies,” Genocide Studies and Prevention 6, no. 3 (2011); Hannibal Travis, “On the Original Understanding of the Crime of Genocide,” Genocide Studies and Prevention 7, no. 1 (2012); Ernesto Verdeja, “On Situating the Study of Genocide within ­Political Vio­lence,” Genocide Studies and Prevention 7, no. 1 (2012); Martin Mennecke, “What’s in a Name? Reflections on Using, Not Using, and Overusing the ‘G-­Word,’ ” Genocide Studies and Prevention 2, no. 1 (2007). 27 Nora Nunn, “The Unbribable Witness: Image, Word, and Testimony of Crimes against Humanity in Mark Twain’s King Leopold’s Soliloquy (1905),” Genocide Studies and Prevention 12, no. 2 (2018): 86; Adam Hochschild, King Leopold’s Ghost: A Story of Greed, Terror, and Heroism in Colonial Africa (Boston: Mari­ner Books, 1998), 111–112; John Hope Franklin, George Washington Williams: A Biography (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 1998), 241. 28 Greppi, “Evolution of Individual Criminal Responsibility.” 29 United Nations, Charter of the International Military Tribunal—­A nnex to the Agreement for the Prosecution and Punishment of the major War Criminals of the ­European Axis (“London Agreement”), August 8, 1945, https://­w ww​.­refworld​.­org​ /­docid​/­3ae6b39614​.­html; United Nations, Charter of the International Military Tribunal for the Far East, 19 January 1946, http://­w ww​.­un​.­org​/­en​/g­ enocideprevention​ /­documents​/­atrocity​-­crimes​/­Doc​.­3​_­1946%20Tokyo%20Charter​.­pdf. 30 United Nations Security Council, Statute of the International Criminal Tribunal for the Former Yugo­slavia (as amended on 17 May 2002), 25 May 1993, https://­w ww​ .­refworld​.­org​/d­ ocid​/­3dda28414​.­html; United Nations Security Council, Statute of the International Criminal Tribunal for Rwanda (as last amended on 13 October 2006), 8 November 1994, https://­w ww​.r­ efworld​.o­ rg​/­docid​/­3ae6b3952c​.h ­ tml. 31 United Nations General Assembly, Rome Statute of the International Criminal Court. 32 United Nations General Assembly, Rome Statute, 93. 33 Larry May, Crimes against Humanity: A Normative Account (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2004), 115–156.

Notes to Pages 16–19 • 231

34 Schabas, Genocide in International Law. 35 United Nations General Assembly, Rome Statute, 93. 36 Michael Walzer, Just and Unjust Wars: A Moral Argument with Historical Illustrations (New York: Basic Books, 2015); Brian Orend, The Morality of War, 2nd ed. (Peterborough: Broadview Press, 2013). 37 International Committee of the Red Cross, Geneva Convention Relative to the Protection of Civilian Persons in Time of War (Fourth Geneva Convention), 12 August 1949, 75 U.N.T.S. 287. 38 International Conferences (The Hague), Hague Convention (II) Laws and Customs of War on Land, 29 July 1899, http://­avalon​.­law​.­yale​.­edu​/­19th​_­century​/­hague02​ .­asp; International Conferences (The Hague), Hague Convention (IV) Respecting the Laws and Customs of War on Land and Its Annex: Regulations concerning the Laws and Customs of War on Land, 18 October 1907, http://­avalon​.­law​.­yale​.­edu​ /­20th​_­century​/­hague04​.a­ sp; United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organisation (UNESCO), Convention for the Protection of Cultural Property in the Event of Armed Conflict, 14 May 1954, http://­w ww​.­unesco​.­org​/­new​/­en​/­culture​ /­themes​/­armed​-­conflict​-­and​-h ­ eritage​/­convention​-­and​-­protocols​/­1954​-­hague​ -­convention​/­. 39 U.S. H ­ ouse of Representatives, Trial of Henry Wirz, 40th Cong., 2nd sess., no. 23 (2 December 1867–10 November 1868), https://­tile​.l­ oc​.­gov​/­storage​-­services​/­service​/­l l​ /­l lmlp​/ ­Wirz​-­trial​/ ­Wirz​-­trial​.­pdf. 40 United Nations, Charter of the International Military Tribunal; United Nations, Charter of the International Military Tribunal for the Far East; UN Security Council, Statute of the International Criminal Tribunal for the Former Yugo­slavia; UN Security Council, Statute of the International Criminal Tribunal for Rwanda. 41 United Nations General Assembly, Rome Statute, 94. 42 United Nations General Assembly, Rome Statute, 94–96. 43 United Nations General Assembly, Rome Statute, 97. 44 United Nations General Assembly, Rome Statute, 97. 45 United Nations General Assembly, Rome Statute, 97–98. 46 Raphael Lemkin, “The Mongols,” 1944–1959, box 7, folder 6, Raphael Lemkin Papers, the Jacob Rader Marcus Center of the American Jewish Archives, Cincinnati; Raphael Lemkin, “The Greeks in Asia Minor,” 1944–1959, box 6, folder 10, Raphael Lemkin Papers. 47 David Scheffer, “The Merits of Unifying Terms: ‘Atrocity Crimes’ and ‘Atrocity Law,’ ” Genocide Studies and Prevention 2, no. 1 (2007); David Scheffer, “Genocide and Atrocity Crimes,” Genocide Studies and Prevention 1, no. 3 (2006). 48 Andrew R. Basso, “A Forced Displacement and Atrocity Crime Nexus: Displacement as Transfer, Annihilation, and Homogenization,” in The Handbook of Displacement, ed. Peter Adey et al. (London: Palgrave Macmillan, 2020). 49 Benjamin Lieberman, “ ‘Ethnic Cleansing’ versus Genocide?,” in The Oxford Handbook of Genocide Studies, ed. Donald Bloxham and A. Dirk Moses (New York: Oxford University Press, 2013), 44. 50 Lieberman, “ ‘Ethnic Cleansing’ versus Genocide?” 51 Tadeusz Mazowiecki, Sixth Periodic Report on the Situation of H ­ uman Rights in the Territory of the Former Yugo­slavia, United Nations, 21 February 1994, E/ CN.4/1994/110, 44; Norman M. Naimark, Fires of Hatred: Ethnic Cleansing in Twentieth-­Century ­Europe (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2002); R. M. Douglas, Orderly and Humane: The Expulsion of the Germans ­after the Second World War (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2012), 1–5; Nicholas Werth,

232 • Notes to Pages 19–23

“Mass Deportations, Ethnic Cleansing, and Genocidal Politics in the L ­ ater R ­ ussian Empire and the USSR,” in The Oxford Handbook of Genocide Studies, ed. Donald Bloxham and A. Dirk Moses (New York: Oxford University Press, 2013), 386–389, 398–400; Cathie Carmichael, “Genocide and Population Displacement in Post-­Communist Eastern ­Europe,” in The Oxford Handbook of Genocide Studies, eds. Donald Bloxham and A. Dirk Moses (New York: Oxford University Press, 2013), 525–527; United Nations Security Council, Statute of the International Criminal Tribunal for the Former Yugo­slavia; United Nations Security Council, Statute of the International Criminal Tribunal for Rwanda. 52 Naimark, Fires of Hatred, 163–170. 53 Carmichael, “Genocide and Population Displacement,” 525–527; Werth, “Mass Deportations, Ethnic Cleansing, and Genocidal Politics,” 398–400. 54 Naimark, Fires of Hatred, 1–16. 55 Bree Akesson and Andrew R. Basso, From Bureaucracy to Bullets: Extreme Domicide and the Right to Home (New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press, 2022), 3–35. 56 Basso, “Forced Displacement and Atrocity Crime Nexus.” 57 Fein, “Genocide by Attrition, 1939–1993.” 58 Fein, “Genocide by Attrition, 1939–1993”; United Nations General Assembly, Rome Statute. 59 Fein, “Genocide by Attrition, 1939–1993.” 60 Rosenberg, “Genocide Is a P ­ rocess, Not an Event,” 19. 61 Rosenberg and Silina, “Genocide by Attrition,” 113. 62 Rosenberg and Silina, “Genocide by Attrition,” 113–115. 63 This is explored in-­depth in subsequent chapters. Rosenberg and Silina, “Genocide by Attrition,” 113–115; Taner Akçam, The Young Turks’ Crime against Humanity: The Armenian Genocide and Ethnic Cleansing in the Ottoman Empire (Prince­ton, NJ: Prince­ton University Press, 2012), 29–62. 64 Andrew Woolford, “Ontological Destruction: Genocide and Canadian Aboriginal ­Peoples,” Genocide Studies and Prevention 4, no. 1 (2009); Andrew Woolford, This Benevolent Experiment: Indigenous Boarding Schools, Genocide, and Redress in Canada and the United States (Winnipeg: University of Manitoba Press, 2015). 65 Woolford, This Benevolent Experiment; Truth and Reconciliation Commission of ­ uture: Summary of the Final Canada, Honouring the Truth, Reconciling for the F Report of the Truth and Reconciliation Commission of Canada, 2015, https://­ publications​.­gc​.­ca​/­collections​/­collection​_­2015​/­trc​/­IR4​-­7​-­2015​-­eng​.­pdf. 66 Truth and Reconciliation Commission of Canada, Honouring the Truth, Reconciling for the F ­ uture.

Chapter 2 Exposure 1 Robert O. Keohane and Joseph S. Nye Jr., Power and Interdependence, 4th ed. (London: Pearson, 2011); David Allen Baldwin, Neorealism and Neoliberalism: The Con­temporary Debate (New York: Columbia University Press, 1993); Kenneth Waltz, Theory of International Politics (Reading, MA: Addison-­Wesley, 1979). 2 Stephen Hobden and John M. Hobson, eds., Historical Sociology of International Relations (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2002); Alexander Wendt, Social Theory of International Politics (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1999); Emanuel Adler, The Power of Ideology: The Quest for Technological Autonomy in Argentina and Brazil (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1988).

Notes to Pages 24–27 • 233

3 Ru­dra Sil and Peter J. Katzenstein, “Analytic Eclecticism in the Study of World Politics: Reconfiguring Prob­lems and Mechanisms across Research Traditions,” Perspectives on Politics 8, no. 2 (2010); David A. Lake, “Theory Is Dead, Long Live Theory: The End of the G ­ reat Debates and the Rise of Eclecticism in International Relations,” ­European Journal of International Relations 19, no. 3 (2013); Christoph O. Meyer and Eva Strickmann, “Solidifying Constructivism: How Material and Ideational F ­ actors Interact in ­European Defence,” Journal of Common Market Studies 49, no. 1 (2010); Georg Sørensen, “The Case for Combining Material Forces and Ideas in the Study of IR,” ­European Journal of International Relations 14, no. 1 (2008). 4 ­Political geography refers to what territory(ies) a state or non-­state perpetrator regime may control. 5 It is somewhat of a misnomer to use the term “uninhabited,”* as no areas of the globe are or have been truly uninhabited. 6 Philip Zimbardo, The Lucifer Effect: Understanding How Good ­People Turn Evil (New York: Random H ­ ouse, 2007). 7 Steven K. Baum, The Psy­chol­ogy of Genocide: Perpetrators, Bystanders, and Rescuers (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2008), 71–180; James Waller, Becoming Evil: How Ordinary ­People Commit Genocide and Mass Killing, 2nd ed. (New York: Oxford University Press, 2007), 3–58, 137–229; Anthonie Holslag, “The P ­ rocess of Othering from the ‘Social Imaginaire’ to Physical Acts: An Anthropological Approach,” Genocide Studies and Prevention 9, no. 1 (2015). 8 Rhiannon S. Neilson, “ ‘Toxification’ as a More Precise Early Warning Sign for Genocide Than Dehumanization? An Emerging Research Agenda,” Genocide Studies and Prevention 9, no. 1 (2015); Timothy Williams and Dominik Pfeiffer, “Unpacking the Mind of Evil: A ­Sociological Perspective on the Role of Intent and Motivations in Genocide,” Genocide Studies and Prevention 11, no. 2 (2007); Nick Haslam and Steve Loughnan, “Dehumanization and Infrahumanization,” Annual Review of Psy­chol­ogy 65 (2014); Holslag, “­Process of Othering.” For more information on groups considered protected u­ nder the UNCG, please refer to Raphael Lemkin, “Genocide as a Crime u­ nder International Law,” American Journal of International Law 41, no. 1 (January 1947); William A. Schabas, Genocide in International Law: The Crime of Crimes, 2nd ed. (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2009); Larry May, Genocide: A Normative Account (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2010); William Schabas, “Groups Protected by the Genocide Convention: Conflicting Interpretations from the International Criminal Tribunal for Rwanda,” ILSA Journal of International and Comparative Law 6, no. 375 (1999–2000); Natan Lerner, Group Rights and Discrimination in International Law, 2nd ed. (Leiden: Martinus Nijhoff, 2003); David L. Nersessian, “The Razor’s Edge: Defining and Protecting ­Human Groups u­ nder the Genocide Convention,” Cornell International Law Journal 36, no. 2 (2003); Christopher Powell, Barbaric Civilization: A Critical Sociology of Genocide (Montreal: McGill-­Queen’s University Press, 2011); Wolfgang Wagner, Peter Holtz, and Yoshihisa Kashima, “Construction and Deconstruction of Essence in Representating Social Groups: Identity Proj­ects, Stereotyping, and Racism,” Journal for the Theory of Social Behaviour 39, no. 3 (2009). 9 Clearly, if it ­were other­wise, a multicultural society like Canada would be plagued by intergroup vio­lence on a daily basis. This, thankfully, is not the dystopian real­ity. 10 Helen Fein, Accounting for Genocide: National Response and Jewish Victimization during the Holocaust (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1984), 4; Jason

234 • Notes to Pages 27–30

Chal­mers, “A Genocide That Precedes Genocide: Reconciling ‘Genocide’ and ‘Indigeneity’ with a Paradox of Otherness,” AlterNative: An International Journal of Indigenous ­Peoples 12, no. 2 (2016); Kjell Anderson, Perpetrating Genocide: A Criminological Account (New York: Routledge, 2017); Waller, Becoming Evil. 11 Irving Louis Horo­witz, Genocide: State Power and Mass Murder (New Brunswick, NJ: Transaction, 1976); Scott Straus, The Order of Genocide: Race, Power, and War in Rwanda (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 2008); Ben Kiernan, The Pol Pot Regime: Race, Power, and Genocide in Cambodia u­ nder the Khmer Rouge, 1975–1979 (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2002); Clark McCauley, “Extremes of Asymmetric Conflict: Terrorism and Genocide,” in Encyclopedia of Peace Psy­chol­ogy, ed. Daniel J. Christie (Hoboken: Wiley-­Blackwell, 2012); Rudolph J. Rummel, “Power, Genocide and Mass Murder,” Journal of Peace Research 31, no. 1 (1994). 12 Edward B. Royzman, Clark McCauley, and Paul Rozin, “From Plato to Putnam: Four Ways to Think about Hate,” in The Psy­chol­ogy of Hate, ed. R. J. Sternberg (Washington: American Psychological Association, 2004), 3–6. 13 Royzman, McCauley, and Rozin, “From Plato to Putnam,” 4–6, 24–30. 14 Daniel Chirot and Clark McCauley, Why Not Kill Them All? The Logic and Prevention of Mass ­Political Murder (Prince­ton, NJ: Prince­ton University Press, 2010); Alison Des Forges, “The Ideology of Genocide,” Issue: A Journal of Opinion 23, no. 2 (1995); Edward Weisband, The Macabresque: ­Human Violation and Hate in Genocide, Mass Atrocity and Enemy-­Making (New York: Oxford University Press, 2017); Christopher Browning, Ordinary Men: Reserve Police Battalion 101 and the Final Solution (New York: Harper Perennial, 1998); Zimbardo, Lucifer Effect. 15 The distinctiveness of the two research programs can particularly be seen when juxtaposing Zimbardo’s (Lucifer Effect, 2007) and Chirot and McCauley’s (Why Not Kill Them All?, 2010) works on social psy­chol­ogy versus structural/institutional perspectives offered by Hiebert (Constructing Genocide, 2017) and Straus (Order of Genocide, 2008). 16 Benedict Anderson, ­Imagined Communities: Reflections on the Origins and Spread of Nationalism (London: Verso, 1991). 17 Ervin Staub, The Roots of Evil: The Origins of Genocide and Other Group Vio­lence (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1989); Ervin Staub, “The Origins and Prevention of Genocide, Mass Killing, and Other Collective Vio­lence,” Peace and Conflict: Journal of Peace Psy­chol­ogy 5, no. 4 (1999); Timothy Williams, “More Lessons Learned from the Holocaust—­Towards a Complexity-­Embracing Approach to Why Genocide Occurs,” Genocide Studies and Prevention 9, no. 3 (2016); Scott Straus, “­Political Science and Genocide,” in The Oxford Handbook of Genocide Studies, ed. Donald Bloxham and A. Dirk Moses (New York: Oxford University Press, 2013); Frances Stewart, “Economic and P ­ olitical ­Causes of Genocidal Vio­lence: A Comparison with Findings on the C ­ auses of Civil War” (Microcon Research Working Paper 46, March 2011), https://­pdfs​.­semanticscholar​ .­org​/­0704​/­01e1bf09ea397fe96239851cfa2c00367f71​.­pdf. 18 B. Anderson, ­Imagined Communities. 19 Maureen S. Hiebert, “The Three ‘Switches’ of Identity Construction in Genocide: The Nazi Final Solution and the Cambodian Killing Fields,” Genocide Studies and Prevention 3 (2008); Maureen S. Hiebert, Constructing Genocide and Mass Vio­lence: Society, Crisis, Identity (New York: Routledge, 2017), 141. 20 Benjamin A. Valentino, Final Solutions: Mass Killing and Genocide in the 20th ­Century (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 2005). 21 Hiebert, Constructing Genocide, 141.

Notes to Pages 30–37 • 235

22 Hiebert, Constructing Genocide, 141. 23 Hiebert, Constructing Genocide, 141–142. 24 Roméo Dallaire, Shake Hands with the ­Devil: The Failure of Humanity in Rwanda (New York: Carroll & Graf, 2005), 221–327; Donald Bloxham, “The Armenian Genocide of 1915–1916: Cumulative Radicalization and the Development of a Destructive Policy,” Past and Pre­sent 181 (November 2003): 155–157; Anna M. Wittmann, Talking Conflict: The Loaded Language of Genocide, ­Political Vio­lence, Terrorism, and Warfare (Santa Barbara: ABC-­CLIO, 2017), 91–93. 25 Don B. Kates Jr., and Daniel D. Polsby, “Review: Of Genocide and Disarmament,” Journal of Criminal Law and Criminology 86, no. 1 (1995); Ben Kiernan, Genocide and R ­ esistance in Southeast Asia: Documentation, Denial, and Justice in Cambodia and East Timor (New York: Routledge, 2017); David Scheffer, “Whose Lawfare Is It Anyway?” Case Western Reserve Journal of International Law 43, no. 215 (2010); Winston P. Nagan and Vivile F. Rodin, “Racism, Genocide, and Mass Murder: ­Toward a L ­ egal Theory about Group Deprivations,” National Black Law Journal 17, no. 133 (2002). 26 Adam Jones, “Straight as a Rule: Heteronormativity, Gendercide, and the Noncombatant Male,” Men and Masculinities (2006); Adam Jones, Gendercide and Genocide (Nashville: Vanderbilt University Press, 2004); Evelin Gerda Lindner, “Gendercide and Humiliation in Honor and H ­ uman Rights Socie­ties,” Journal of Genocide Research 4, no. 1 (2002); Terrell Carver, Molly Cochran, and Judith Squires, “Gendering Jones: Feminisms, IRs, Masculinities,” Review of International Studies 24, no. 2 (1998). Mary Anne Warren, Gendercide: The Implications of Sex Se­lection (Totowa: Rowman & Allanheld, 1985). 27 Jones, “Straight as a Rule”; Jones, Gendercide and Genocide. 28 Please note: Clearly ­women are not passive recipients of vio­lence and, as the Armenian genocide especially illustrates, are often fighting alongside men against génocidaires. 29 Allison Ruby-­Reid Cunningham, “Rape as a Weapon of Genocide,” Genocide Studies and Prevention 3, no. 3 (2008). 30 Rebecca Kunth, Burning Books and Leveling Libraries: Extremist Vio­lence and Cultural Destruction (Westport, CT: Praeger, 2006); Jean Hatzfeld, Machete Season: The Killers in Rwanda Speak (New York: Farrar, Straus, and Giroux, 2005); Elizabeth Neuffer, The Key to My Neighbor’s ­House: Seeking Justice in Bosnia and Rwanda (London: Picador, 2015). 31 Horst H. Freyhofer, The Nuremberg Medical Trial: The Holocaust and the Origin of the Nuremberg Medical Code (New York: Peter Land, 2005), 9–170; World Medical Association, World Medical Association Declaration of Helsinki: Ethical Princi­ples for Medical Research Involving H ­ uman Subjects, 59th WMA General Assembly, Fortaleza, Brazil, October 2013; Canadian Medical Association, Code of Ethics of the Canadian Medical Association, 8 December 2018, https://­policybase​.­cma​.­ca​ /­viewer​?­fi le​= ­%2Fmedia%2FPolicyPDF%2FPD19​-­03​.­pdf#page​=1­ ; Ronald L. Numbers, “William Beaumont and the Ethics of H ­ uman Experimentation,” Journal of the History of Biology 12, no. 1 (1979). 32 John Douglas Porteous and Sandra E. Smith, Domicide: The Global Destruction of Home (Montreal: McGill-­Queen’s University Press, 2001); Mel Nowicki, “Rethinking Domicide: T ­ owards an Expanded Critical Geography of Home,” Geography Compass 8, no. 11 (2014); Bree Akesson, Andrew R. Basso, and Myriam Denov, “The Right to Home: Domicide as a Violation of Child and F ­ amily Rights in the Context of P ­ olitical Vio­lence,” ­Children and Society 30, no. 5 (2016): 369–383.

236 • Notes to Pages 37–42

33 Bree Akesson and Andrew R. Basso, From Bureaucracy to Bullets: Extreme Domicide and the Right to Home (New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press, 2022), 3–19; Andrew R. Basso, Patrick Ciaschi, and Bree Akesson, “Cumulative Domicide: The Sayisi Dene and Destruction of Home in Mid-20th ­Century Canada,” Current Sociology 68, no. 5 (2020): 651–668. 34 Damien Short, “Cultural Genocide and Indigenous P ­ eoples: A ­Sociological Approach,” International Journal of H ­ uman Rights 14, no. 6 (2010); Peter Balakian, “Raphael Lemkin, Cultural Destruction, and the Armenian Genocide,” Holocaust and Genocide Studies 27, no. 1 (2013); Johannes Morsink, “Cultural Genocide, the Universal Declaration, and Minority Rights,” ­Human Rights Quarterly 21, no. 4 (1999). 35 Leslie Rado, “Cultural Elites and the Institutionalization of Ideas,” ­Sociological Forum 2, no. 1 (1987); Tomislav Dulić, “Perpetuating Fear: Insecurity, Costly Signalling and the War in Central Bosnia, 1993,” Journal of Genocide Research 18, no. 4 (2016); Carlos Figueroa Ibarra, “The Culture of Terror and Cold War in Guatemala,” Journal of Genocide Research 8, no. 2 (2006); Shmuel Lederman, “A Nation Destroyed: An Existential Approach to the Distinctive Harm of Genocide,” Journal of Genocide Research 19, no. 1 (2017). 36 Akesson and Basso, From Bureaucracy to Bullets. 37 Andrew Woolford, This Benevolent Experiment: Indigenous Boarding Schools, Genocide, and Redress in Canada and the United States (Winnipeg: University of Manitoba Press, 2015).

Chapter 3 Trepidation 1 Horst Drechsler, “Let Us Die Fighting”: The Strug­gle of the Herero and Nama against German Imperialism (1884–1915) (London: Zed Books, 1980). 2 Central Intelligence Agency, “The World Factbook: Explore All Countries—­ Namibia,” updated 11 July 2023, https://­w ww​.c­ ia​.­gov​/­the​-­world​-­factbook​/­countries​ /­namibia​/­. 3 Encyclopaedia Britannica Online, s.v. “Namib,” accessed 12 July 2023, https://­w ww​ .­britannica​.­com​/­place​/­Namib. 4 Encyclopaedia Britannica Online, s.v. “Kalahari Desert,” accessed 12 July 2023, https://​ ­w ww​.­britannica​.­com​/­place​/­Kalahari​-­Desert. 5 Bradford Keeney, The Bushman Way of Tracking God: The Original Spirituality of the Kalahari P ­ eople (New York: Simon & Schuster, 2010), xxi; Ralph D. Lorenz and James R. Zimbelman, Dune Worlds: How Windblown Sand Shapes Planetary Landscapes (Heidelberg, Germany: Springer Science+Business Media, 2014), 125. 6 Central Intelligence Agency, “World Factbook.” 7 P. J. Jacobson and K. M. Jacobson, “Hydrologic Controls of Physical and Ecological Pro­cesses in Namib Desert Ephemeral Rivers: Implications for Conservation and Management,” Journal of Arid Environments 93 (2013): 81; J. J. De Vries, “Holocene Depletion and Active Recharge of the Kalahari Groundwaters—­a Review and an Indicative Model,” Journal of Hydrology 70, nos. 1–4 (1984). 8 Michael A. Mares, ed., Encyclopedia of Deserts (Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 2017), 383. 9 Mares, Encyclopedia of Deserts, 317. 10 Marion Wallace, A History of Namibia: From the Beginning to 1990 (New York: Oxford University Press, 2010), 21, 30.

Notes to Pages 42–44 • 237

11 M. Wallace, History of Namibia, 33–34; Jan-­Bart Gewald, Herero Heroes: A Socio-­ Political History of the Herero of Namibia, 1890–1923 (Athens: Ohio University Press, 1999), 12. 12 Andrew R. Basso, “­Towards a Theory of Displacement Atrocities: The Cherokee Trail of Tears, the Herero Genocide, and the Pontic Greek Genocide,” Genocide Studies and Prevention 10, no. 1 (2016), 20. 13 Basso, “­Towards a Theory of Displacement Atrocities,” 20. 14 M. Wallace, History of Namibia, 45–52; John Wallis, Fortune My Foe (London: Jonathan Cape, 1936), 123; Randolph Vigne, “The Hard Road to Colonization: The Topnaar Aonin of Namibia, 1670–1878,” Journal of Colonialism and Colonial History 1, no. 1 (2000); Tilman Dedering, Hate the Old and Follow the New: Khoekhoe and Missionaries in Early Nineteenth-­Century Namibia (Stuttgart: Franz Steiner Verlag, 1997); Alvin Kienetz, “The Key Role of the Otlam Migrations in the Early Eu­ro­pe­anization of South-­West Africa (Namibia),” International Journal of African Historical Studies 10, no. 4 (1977). 15 Jürgen Zimmerer, “The Model Colony? Racial Segregation, Forced L ­ abour and Total Control,” in Genocide in German South-­West Africa: The Colonial War of 1904–1908 and Its Aftermath, ed. Jürgen Zimmerer and Joachim Zeller, trans. Edward Neather (Pontypool: Merlin Press, 2010), 25; M. Wallace, History of Namibia, 104. 16 Charles Mwalimu, The Golden Book: Philosophy of Law for Africa Creating the National State of Africa u­ nder God; The Key Is the Number Seven, vol. 1, Dynamic Jurisprudential Thought (New York: Peter Lang, 2010), 988; Gewald, Herero Heroes, 1–28; M. Wallace, History of Namibia, 45–130; Heinrich Vedder, South West Africa in Early Times: Being the Story of South West Africa Up to the Date of Maharero’s Death in 1890 (New York: Barnes & Noble, 1966), 153. 17 Gewald, Herero Heroes, 11; A. B. Smith, Pastoralism in Africa: Origins and Development Ecol­ogy (Johannesburg, South Africa: Witwatersrand University Press, 1992), 187. 18 David Olusoga and Casper W. Erichsen, The Kaiser’s Holocaust: Germany’s Forgotten Genocide (London: Faber and Faber, 2010), 22–24; M. Wallace, History of Namibia, 38–52; Reinhart Kössler, “Communal Memory Events and the Heritage of the Victims: The Per­sis­tence of the Theme of Genocide in Namibia,” in German Colonialism and National Identity, ed. Michael Perraudin and Jürgen Zimmerer, with Katy Heady (New York: Routledge, 2011), 244; Jeremy Sarkin and Carly Fowler, “Reparations for Historical H ­ uman Rights Violations: The International and Historical Dimensions of the Alien Torts Claims Act Genocide Case of the Herero of Namibia,” ­Human Rights Review 9, no. 3 (2008): 337–338; Gewald, Herero Heroes, 67–70, 87; A. B. Smith, Pastoralism in Africa, 51–61; Jeremy Silvester and Jan-­Bart Gewald, Words Cannot Be Found: German Colonial Rule in Namibia; An Annotated Reprint of the 1918 Blue Book (Leiden: Brill, 2003), 21–26. 19 Gewald, Herero Heroes, 16–28, 65–85. 20 Olusoga and Erichsen, Kaiser’s Holocaust, 133; Maximilian Bayer, Der Krieg in Südwestafrika und seine Bedeutung für die Entwicklung der Kolonie (Leipzig: Verlag von Friedrich Engelmann, 1906), 9. 21 Jon M. Bridgman, The Revolt of the Hereros (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1981), 56–57. 22 Olusoga and Erichsen, Kaiser’s Holocaust, 96. 23 Olusoga and Erichsen, Kaiser’s Holocaust, 97. 24 Olusoga and Erichsen, Kaiser’s Holocaust, 97–98.

238 • Notes to Pages 44–45

25 Isabel V. Hull, Absolute Destruction: Military Culture and the Practices of War in Imperial Germany (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 2006); David Ciarlo, “Picturing German in German Consumer Culture, 1904–10,” in German Colonialism and National Identity, ed. Michael Perraudin and Jürgen Zimmerer, with Katy Heady (New York: Routledge, 2011), 69–89. 26 Bridgman, Revolt of the Hereros, 62–63. 27 Zimmerer, “Model Colony,” 22–23. 28 Zimmerer, “Model Colony,” 24. 29 Zimmerer, “Model Colony,” 26. 30 Zimmerer, “Model Colony,” 34–35. 31 Ben Kiernan, Blood and Soil: A World History of Genocide and Extermination from Sparta to Darfur (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2007), 382. 32 Victor L. Tonchi, Lindeke, and Grotpeter, Historical Dictionary of Namibia, 2nd ed. (Toronto: Scarecrow Press, 2012), 454–456; Robert Gaudi, African Kaiser: Paul Von Lettow-­Vorbeck and the G ­ reat War in Africa (London: Hurst, 2017), 71–94; Jeremy Sarkin, Germany’s Genocide of the Herero: Kaiser Wilhelm II, His General, His Settler, His Soldiers (Cape Town: UCT Press, 2011); Gewald, Herero Heroes. 33 Germany wanted overseas protectorates, not colonies (governance zones without development). M. Wallace, History of Namibia, 116–118; John Iliffe, A Modern History of Tanganyika (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1979), 89. 34 Kiernan, Blood and Soil, 381; Bridgman, Revolt of the Hereros, 39. 35 Zimmerer, “Model Colony,” 25; Bridgman, Revolt of the Hereros, 42. 36 M. Wallace, History of Namibia, 97 37 Kiernan, Blood and Soil, 378–381; Friedrich Ratzel, “The Laws of the Spatial Growth of States,” in The Structure of ­Political Geography, ed. Roger E. Kasperson and Julian V. Minghi, trans. Ronald L. Bolin (Chicago: Aldine, 1969). 38 Hull, Absolute Destruction, 174–192; Xu Qiyu, Fragile Rise: ­Grand Strategy and the Fate of Imperial Germany, 1871–1914, trans. Joshua Hill (Cambridge: MIT Press, 2017), 155–189; M. Wallace, History of Namibia, 62–117; Volker R. Berghahn, Imperial Germany, 1871–1918: Economy, Society, Culture and Politics (New York: Berghahn Books, 2005), 254–263. 39 Kiernan, Blood and Soil, 378–379. 40 Thomas Pakenham, The Scramble for Africa: White Man’s Conquest of the Dark Continent from 1876 to 1912 (New York: HarperCollins, 1992), 606. 41 Sarkin, Germany’s Genocide of the Herero, 52; Helmut Stoecker, ed., German Imperialism in Africa: From the Beginnings ­until the Second World War (London: C. Hurst, 1986), 22. 42 Daniel Joseph Walther, Creating Germans Abroad: Cultural Policies and National Identity in Namibia (Athens: Ohio University Press, 2002), 10. 43 Sarkin, Germany’s Genocide of the Herero, 53; Kiernan, Blood and Soil, 379. 44 Stoecker, German Imperialism in Africa, 191. 45 Gewald, Herero Heroes, 10–140; Bundesarchiv Potsdam (BAP), Reichskolonialamt (RKA) 2100, Leutwein at Grootfontein, 24 August 1895, trans. by Gewald in Herero Heroes, 90; Drechsler, “Let Us Die Fighting.” BAP, RKA 2100, Leutwein in Windhoek, 13 December 1894, trans. by Gewald in Herero Heroes, 83, 88, and 100–101. 46 Roger Chickering, We Men Who Feel Most German: A Cultural Study of the Pan-­ German League, 1886–1914 (Boston: George Allen & Unwin, 1984), 121–130; Hull, Absolute Destruction, 105–106; Qiyu, Fragile Rise, 155.

Notes to Pages 46–50 • 239

47 Zimmerer, “Model Colony,” 26. 48 Bridgman, Revolt of the Hereros, 59–68; Drechsler, “Let Us Die Fighting,” 84–88; Gewald, Herero Heroes, 102–9. 49 Bridgman, Revolt of the Hereros, 59–68; Drechsler, “Let Us Die Fighting,” 84–88; Gewald, Herero Heroes, 102–109. 50 Jan-­Bart Gewald, “Colonisation, Genocide and Resurgence: The Herero of Namibia,” in Zimmerer and Zeller, Genocide in German South-­West Africa, 124. 51 This changes with late nineteenth-­century conflicts in which “native” laws ­were violently applied. Zimmerer, “Model Colony,” 28. 52 Bridgman, Revolt of the Hereros, 46. 53 Zimmerer, “Model Colony,” 47. 54 Olusoga and Erichsen, Kaiser’s Holocaust, 83–117, 242–243; Jon M. Bridgman and Leslie J. Worley, “Genocide of the Hereros,” in ­Century of Genocide: Critical Essays and Eyewitness Accounts, ed. Samuel Totten and William S. Parsons (New York: Routledge, 2009), 22–24. 55 Olusoga and Erichsen, Kaiser’s Holocaust, 112; Paul Rohrbach, Der Deutsche Gedanke in der Welt (Düsseldorf: Langewiesch, 1912), 141–142. 56 Bridgman, Revolt of the Hereros, 124; Drechsler, “Let Us Die Fighting,” 155–156. 57 Sarkin, Germany’s Genocide of the Herero, 67, 74–77. 58 Wolfgang Werner, “A Brief History of Land Dispossession in Namibia,” Journal of Southern African Studies 19, no. 1 (1993); Drechsler, “Let Us Die Fighting,” 113. 59 Sarkin, Germany’s Genocide of the Herero, 67; Drechsler, “Let Us Die Fighting,” 23–25. 60 This is especially true for Samuel Maharero, who negotiated land deals for lands he did not own. Sylvester and Gewald, Words Cannot Be Found, 79–92. 61 Silvester and Gewald, Words Cannot Be Found, 77. African control of resources was typically centered “on rights to wells, pastures and other resources such as ants’ nests and beehives,” not necessarily owner­ship of specific tracts of land. M. Wallace, History of Namibia, 47. 62 Silvester and Gewald, Words Cannot Be Found, 91. 63 M. Wallace, History of Namibia, 128–143. 64 James Suzman, Minorities in ­Independent Namibia (London: Minority Rights Group International, 2002), 7–8. 65 Gewald, Herero Heroes, 81–109; Bundesarchiv Potsdam (BAP), Reichskolonialamt (RKA) 2101, Leutwein in Windhoek, 29 January 1896, trans. by Gewald in Herero Heroes, 107. 66 BAP, RKA 2100, Leutwein in Windhoek, 17 June 1894, 13 December 1894, 26 February 1895, 3 July 1895, 29 August 8 1895, trans. by Gewald in Herero Heroes, 57 and 100–101; BAP, RKA 2100 von Lindequist in Windhoek, 11 July 1894, trans. by Gewald in Herero Heroes, 100. 67 Peter Fraenkel and Roger Murray, The Namibians (London: Minority Rights Group International, 1985), 6. 68 Anene Ejikeme, Culture and Customs of Namibia (Santa Barbara: Greenwood, 2011), 126–127; M. Wallace, History of Namibia, 45; Gewald, Herero Heroes, 21, 27, 61. 69 Sarkin, Germany’s Genocide of the Herero, 72–75; Fraenkel and Murray, The Namibians, 6. 70 Silvester and Gewald, Words Cannot Be Found, 79–81. 71 Sarkin, Germany’s Genocide of the Herero, 72; Fraenkel and Murray, The Namibians, 6. 72 Benjamin Madley, “Patterns of Frontier Genocide, 1803–1910: The Aboriginal Tasmanians, the Yuki of California, and the Herero of Namibia,” Journal of Genocide Research 6, no. 2 (June 2004), 167–192; Wolfgang Werner, No One ­Will

240 • Notes to Pages 50–53

Become Rich: Economy and Society in the Herero Reserves in Namibia, 1915–1946 (Basel: P. Schlettwein, 1998), 43. 73 Olusoga and Erichsen, Kaiser’s Holocaust, 79–88, 114–118, 240–245. 74 Gewald, Herero Heroes, 110. 75 The outbreak took place south of the Zambezi River and killed 5.2 million ­cattle. Peter Van den Bossche et al., “A Changing Environment and the Epidemiology of Tsetse-­Transmitted Livestock Trypanosomiasis,” Trends in Parasitology 26, no. 5 (2010); Sarkin, Germany’s Genocide of the Herero, 69–74; Gewald, “Colonisation, Genocide and Resurgence,” 130; Olusoga and Erichsen, Kaiser’s Holocaust, 100–101. 76 Gewald, Herero Heroes, 116–122. 77 Olusoga and Erichsen, Kaiser’s Holocaust, 100–101; M. Wallace, History of Namibia, 97. 78 Gewald, Herero Heroes, 128–129. 79 Gewald, “Colonisation, Genocide and Resurgence,” 126–127. 80 Gewald, Herero Heroes, 128–130. 81 Bridgman, Revolt of the Hereros, 57–60. 82 Drechsler, “Let Us Die Fighting,” 118–119; Bridgman and Worley, “Genocide of the Hereros,” 21. 83 Drechsler, “Let Us Die Fighting,” 118–119; Bridgman and Worley, “Genocide of the Hereros,” 21. 84 Bridgman, Revolt of the Hereros, 59. 85 Sarkin, Germany’s Genocide of the Herero, 78. 86 Sarkin, Germany’s Genocide of the Herero, 79. 87 Gewald, “Colonisation, Genocide and Resurgence,” 131. 88 Theodor Leutwein, Elf Jahre Governeur in Deutsch-­Südwestafrika (Berlin: Mittler, 1906), 276. 89 Imperial Colonial Office, file no. 2113, pp. 89–90, Leutwein to the Colonial Department, 23 February 1904, trans. by Drechsler in “Let Us Die Fighting,” 147–148. 90 Bridgman, Revolt of the Hereros, 57. 91 Helmut Bley, South-­West Africa ­under German Rule, 1894–1914, trans. Hugh Ridley (London: Heinemann, 1971), 143; Neville Alexander, “The Namibian War of Anti-­ Colonial R ­ esistance, 1904–1907,” Namibian Review Publications 1 (June 1983): 26. 92 Bridgman, Revolt of the Hereros, 57. 93 Silvester and Gewald, Words Cannot Be Found, 99–100; Gewald, “Colonisation, Genocide and Resurgence,” 124–125. 94 Olusoga and Erichsen, 130–148; Silvester and Gewald, Words Cannot Be Found, 99–104; Sarkin, Germany’s Genocide of the Herero, 99–136. 95 Silvester and Gewald, Words Cannot Be Found, 102–3. 96 Silvester and Gewald, Words Cannot Be Found, 102. 97 Drechsler, “Let Us Die Fighting,” i. 98 Silvester and Gewald, Words Cannot Be Found, 103. 99 Silvester and Gewald, Words Cannot Be Found, 103. 100 Raphael Lemkin, “The Germans in Africa,” 1944–1959, box 6, folder 9, Raphael Lemkin Papers, the Jacob Rader Marcus Center of the American Jewish Archives, Cincinnati. 101 Bridgman, Revolt of the Hereros, 111–112. 102 Olusoga and Erichsen, Kaiser’s Holocaust, 149. Note that most historians incorrectly ascribe 2 October 1904 as the day the order was issued when in fact it was the morning ­a fter.

Notes to Pages 54–58 • 241

103 Lothar von Trotha, Proclamation of 2 October 1904, copy, J. no. 3737, Bundesarchiv Berlin, R 1001, no. 2089, p. 7, trans. by Hull in Absolute Destruction, 56. 104 Trotha, Proclamation of 2 October 1904. 105 Destruction was a gendered and age-­related ­process, as is explored in chapter 4. 106 Gewald and Silvester, Words Cannot Be Found, 108. 107 Gewald and Silvester, Words Cannot Be Found, 108. 108 Hull, Absolute Destruction, 58; Olusoga and Erichsen, Kaiser’s Holocaust, 149. 109 Olusoga and Erichsen, Kaiser’s Holocaust, 149–150. 110 Imperial Colonial Office, file no. 2089, pp. 5–6. 111 Imperial Colonial Office, file no. 2089, pp. 5–6; Olusoga and Erichsen, Kaiser’s Holocaust, 151. 112 Olusoga and Erichsen, Kaiser’s Holocaust, 151–156; Drechsler, “Let Us Die Fighting,” 156. 113 Hull, Absolute Destruction, 58; Jan-­Bart Gewald, ­Towards Redemption: A Socio-­ Political History of the Herero of Namibia between 1890 and 1923 (Leiden: Research School CNWS, 1996), 216; Drechsler, “Let Us Die Fighting,” 156–158; Bley, South-­West Africa u­ nder German Rule, 163–164; Hull, Absolute Destruction, 59. 114 General von Trotha wrote the order on 2 October 1904 and issued it at roll call the next morning, 3 October 1904. 115 Jan-­Bart Gewald, “The ­Great General of the Kaiser,” Bostwana Notes and Rec­ords 26 (1994): 67–69. 116 Gerhard Pool, Samuel Maharero (Windhoek: Gamsberg Macmillan, 1991), 272–273. 117 Pool, Samuel Maharero, 274. 118 Lemkin, “The Germans in Africa,” 1944–1959, box 6, folder 9, Raphael Lemkin Papers. 119 Pakenham, Scramble for Africa, 622. 120 Sarkin, Germany’s Genocide of the Herero, 77; Hull, Absolute Destruction, 59. 121 Sarkin, Germany’s Genocide of the Herero, 162–163; John C. G. Röhl, The Kaiser and His Court: Wilhelm II and the Government of Germany (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994), 15, 176; Bridgman and Worley, “Genocide of the Hereros,” 23. 122 Sarkin, Germany’s Genocide of the Herero, 160–177. 123 Hull, Absolute Destruction, 60–70. 124 Sarkin, Germany’s Genocide of the Herero, 159.

Chapter 4 Extermination 1 Jon M. Bridgman, The Revolt of the Hereros (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1981), 56–110. 2 Isabel V. Hull, Absolute Destruction: Military Culture and the Practices of War in Imperial Germany (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 2006), 27–42; Jeremy Sarkin, Germany’s Genocide of the Herero: Kaiser Wilhelm II, His General, His Settlers, His Soldiers (Cape Town: University of Cape Town Press, 2011), 121–129. 3 Bridgman, Revolt of the Hereros, 121–125; Horst Drechsler, “Let Us Die Fighting”: The Strug­gle of the Herero and Nama against German Imperialism (1884–1915) (Berlin: Akademie-­Verlag Berlin, 1986), 154–156; Hull, Absolute Destruction, 35–69. 4 Hull, Absolute Destruction, 44–69; Military Section, German General Staff, Die Kämpfe der deutschen Truppen in Südwestafrika, 1:338–339; Bundesarchiv Freiburg (BAF), Nl. Deimling, No. 7, Kommando der Schutztruppe to all commanders, Owikokorero, 26 August 1904, trans. by Hull in Absolute Destruction, 46;

242 • Notes to Pages 58–62

Bundesarchiv Berlin (BAB), R1001, no. 2116, von Trotha to Bülow, tel. Okahandja, 25 September 1904, trans. by Hull in Absolute Destruction, 46. 5 Lothar von Trotha, diary entry of 13 September 1904, Trotha Papers, no. 315, p. 40, trans. by Hull in Absolute Destruction, 53. 6 Hull, Absolute Destruction, 54. 7 Hull, Absolute Destruction, 35–69; Bridgman, Revolt of the Hereros, 121–125; Drechsler, “Let Us Die Fighting,” 154–156. 8 Drechsler, “Let Us Die Fighting,” 132–150. 9 Joachim Zeller, “Symbolic Politics: Notes on the German colonial culture of remembrance,” in Genocide in German South-­West Africa: The Colonial War of 1904–1908 and Its Aftermath, ed. Jürgen Zimmerer and Joachim Zeller, trans. Edward Neather (Pontypool: Merlin Press, 2010); Andreas Eckert, “Namibia—­a German ‘Sonderweg’ in Africa? Remarks on the International Discussion,” in Zimmerer and Zeller, Genocide in German South-­West Africa. 10 Helmut Bley, South-­West Africa ­under German Rule 1894–1914, trans. Hugh Ridley (London: Heinemann, 1971), 43–70, 104–169, 218–225. 11 David Olusoga and Casper W. Erichsen, The Kaiser’s Holocaust: Germany’s Forgotten Genocide (London: Faber and Faber, 2010), 117. 12 Olusoga and Erichsen, Kaiser’s Holocaust, 117; Raphael Lemkin, “The Germans in Africa,” 1944–1959, box 6, folder 9, Raphael Lemkin Papers, the Jacob Rader Marcus Center of the American Jewish Archives, Cincinnati. 13 Olusoga and Erichsen, Kaiser’s Holocaust, 119–120; Lemkin, “The Germans in Africa,” Raphael Lemkin Papers. 14 Olusoga and Erichsen, Kaiser’s Holocaust, 118. 15 Olusoga and Erichsen, Kaiser’s Holocaust, 119. 16 Drechsler, “Let Us Die Fighting,” 146. 17 J. Irle, Der Reichsbote, no. 69, 22 March 1904, trans. by Drechsler in “Let Us Die Fighting,” 146. 18 Drechsler, “Let Us Die Fighting,” 146. 19 Imperial Colonial Office, file no. 2114, pp. 80–82, Missionary Elger to the Rhenish Missionary Society, 10 February 1904, trans. by Drechsler in “Let Us Die Fighting,” 145; Imperial Colonial Office, file no. 2117, p. 90, from a secret report of Count Georg von Stillfried und Rattonitz to Wilhelm II, no date, trans. by Drechsler in “Let Us Die Fighting,” 145. 20 Jan-­Bart Gewald, Herero Heroes: A Socio-­Political History of the Herero of Namibia, 1890–1923 (Athens: Ohio University Press, 1999), 33. 21 Gewald, Herero Heroes, 39–47. 22 Gewald, Herero Heroes, 41; Bley, South-­West Africa ­under German Rule, 15–26. 23 Bley, South-­West Africa ­under German Rule, 18. 24 Gewald, Herero Heroes, 46; Marion Wallace, A History of Namibia: From the Beginning to 1990 (New York: Oxford University Press, 2013), 132–134. 25 Gewald, Herero Heroes, 45–59; M. Wallace, History of Namibia, 103–130. 26 Gewald, Herero Heroes, 58–60. 27 Gewald, Herero Heroes, 81–101. 28 Sarkin, Germany’s Genocide of the Herero, 99–120; Hull, Absolute Destruction, 10–49. 29 Bridgman, Revolt of the Hereros, 69. 30 Jeremy Silvester and Jan-­Bart Gewald, Words Cannot Be Found: German Colonial Rule in Namibia; An Annotated Reprint of the 1918 Blue Book (Leiden: Brill, 2003), 100. 31 Silvester and Gewald, Words Cannot Be Found, 102; Bley, South-­West Africa u­ nder German Rule, 149–162; Katharina von Hammerstein, “The Herero: Witnessing

Notes to Pages 62–64 • 243

Germany’s ‘Other Genocide,’ ” Con­temporary French and Francophone Studies 20, no. 2 (2016): 272–273; Bridgman, Revolt of the Hereros, 69–71; M. Wallace, History of Namibia, 155–157; Hull, Absolute Destruction, 19–20; Paul Rohrbach, Aus Südwestafrikas Schweren Tagen (Berlin: Wilhelm Weicher, 1909), 79, 113, 127, 132; Bundesarchiv Koblenz (BAK), Nl. Franke, no. 3, p. 20, 27 February 1904, trans. by Hull in Absolute Destruction, 17 and 20; J. Lukas De Vries, Mission and Colonialism in Namibia (Johannesburg: Ravan Press, 1978), 282. 32 Benjamin Madley, “From Africa to Auschwitz: How German South West Africa Incubated Ideas and Methods ­Adopted and Developed by the Nazis in Eastern ­Europe,” ­European History Quarterly 35, no. 3 (2005): 440. 33 Olusoga and Erichsen, Kaiser’s Holocaust, 130–133. 34 Bridgman, Revolt of the Hereros, 92–94; Military Section, German General Staff, Die Kämpfe der deutschen Truppen in Südwestafrika, 1:62. 35 Bridgman, Revolt of the Hereros, 87–95. 36 Bley, South-­West Africa ­under German Rule, 104; Hull, Absolute Destruction, 16. 37 Bridgman, Revolt of the Hereros, 104. 38 Military Section, German General Staff, Die Kämpfe der deutschen Truppen in Südwestafrika, 1:110–111. 39 Military Section, German General Staff, Die Kämpfe, 1:68; Hull, Absolute Destruction, 22. 40 Hull, Absolute Destruction, 13–18; Madley, “From Africa to Auschwitz,” 444; Olusoga and Erichsen, Kaiser’s Holocaust, 130–133; Bley, South-­West Africa ­under German Rule, 73–98, 155–162; Maximilian Bayer, Der Krieg in Südwestafrika und seine Bedeutung für die Entwicklung der Kolonie (Leipzig: Verlag von Friedrich Engelmann, 1906), 9. 41 Hull, Absolute Destruction, 22–25; Lothar von Trotha, “Kriegszustands-­ Bestimmungen,” in Bestimmungen für das Militärgerichts-­Vergahren ­etc., 11 June 1904, ed. Kaiserliche Schutztruppe für Südwestafrika (Swakopmund, 1904), reprinted in Conrad Rust, Krieg und Frieden im Hereroland; Allerhöchste Kabinetts-­Ordre (AKO), Order of 19 May 1904, trans. by Hull in Absolute Destruction; Lothar von Trotha, diary entry of 22 July 1904, Trotha Papers, no. 315, pp. 12, 22, 70, trans. by Hull in Absolute Destruction, 25. Von Trotha disagreed with traditional German command structures and ­orders, preferring to centralize power with himself personally. 42 Rohrbach, Aus Südwestafrikas Schweren Tagen, 165–168; Jan-­Bart Gewald, ­Towards Redemption: A Socio-­Political History of the Herero of Namibia between 1890 and 1923 (Leiden: Research School CNWS, 1996), 205. 43 Hull, Absolute Destruction, 22–27; Olusoga and Erichsen, Kaiser’s Holocaust, 130–135. 44 Hull, Absolute Destruction, 27–42. 45 Gerhard Pool, Samuel Maharero (Windhoek: Gamsberg Macmillan, 1991), 240. 46 Olusoga and Erichsen, Kaiser’s Holocaust, 140. 47 Olusoga and Erichsen, Kaiser’s Holocaust, 140. 48 Hull, Absolute Destruction, 33–34. 49 Berthold Karl Adolf von Deimling, Aus alten Zeiten in die neue Zeit: Lebenserinnerungen (Berlin, 1930), 27, quoted in Bridgman, Revolt of the Hereros, 95. 50 Imperial Colonial Office, file no. 2089, pp. 138–139, Trotha to Bülow, 6 January 1905, trans. by Drechsler in “Let Us Die Fighting,” 153; Hull, Absolute Destruction, 29. 51 Olusoga and Erichsen, Kaiser’s Holocaust, 130–135. 52 Bridgman, Revolt of the Hereros, 121.

244 • Notes to Pages 64–66

53 Bridgman, Revolt of the Hereros, 124–125; Drechsler, “Let Us Die Fighting,” 155–156; Jon M. Bridgman and Leslie J. Worley, “Genocide of the Hereros,” in ­Century of Genocide: Critical Essays and Eyewitness Accounts, 3rd ed., ed. Samuel Totten and William S. Parsons (New York: Routledge, 2009), 27. 54 Hull, Absolute Destruction, 33–43; Bundesarchiv Berlin (BAB), R1001, no. 2115, p.124, von Trotha to General Staff, tel. Berlin, 20 July 1904, trans. by Hull in Absolute Destruction, 43; Bundesarchiv Berlin (BAB), R1001, no. 2115, p. 124, Trotha to General Staff, tel. Okahandja, 21 July 1904, trans. by Hull in Absolute Destruction, 34–36; Bundesarchiv Berlin (BAB), R1001, no. 2114, Leutwein to Bülow, 18 May 1904, trans. by Hull in Absolute Destruction, 34; Bundesarchiv Koblenz (BAK), Nl. Franke, no. 3, pp. 85–87, 6 August 1904, trans. by Hull in Absolute Destruction, 35; Bundesarchiv Freiburg (BAF), RM 121 I, no. 431, p. 55, Capt. Schering to Headquarters, Otjisondusu, 23 June 1904, trans. by Hull in Absolute Destruction, 35. 55 Bundesarchiv Freiburg (BAF), msg. 2, no. 3039, Heinrich von Welck letter to his ­father, 16 December 1904, trans. by Hull in Absolute Destruction, 41. 56 Military Section, German General Staff, Die Kämpfe der deutschen Truppen in Südwestafrika (Berlin: Ernst Siegfried Mitter und Sohn, 1907), 193, 218, quoted in Olusoga and Erichsen, Kaiser’s Holocaust, 148. 57 Isabel V. Hull, “The M ­ easure of Atrocity: The German War against the Hereros: The Military Campaign in German Southwest Africa, 1904–1907,” GHI Bulletin 37 (2005): 42. 58 “Total domination” is used not in the way Hannah Arendt meant (i.e., the total domination of individuals and depriving them of agency) but in a separate institutional sense—­that the Germans could inflict their ­will upon the Hereros at any time and place they desired, though the Hereros could respond to this power projection with their own, albeit curtailed, agency. However, Herero decisions ­were institutionally constrained, as the Germans held a power hegemony in GSWA. 59 Imperial Colonial Office, file no. 2133, pp. 107–108, Otto Seifer to Wilhelm II, 17 October 1904, trans. by Drechsler in “Let Us Die Fighting,” 147. 60 Hull, Absolute Destruction, 45. 61 Berthold Karl Adolf von Deimling, Südwestafrika: Land und Leute: Unsere Kämpfe Wert der Kolonie Hierzu eine Übersischtskizze des Schutzgebiets (Berlin: R. Eisenschmidt, 1906), 30. 62 Hull, Absolute Destruction, 46. 63 Rohrbach, Aus Südwestafrikas schweren Tagen, 165, 168. 64 Olusoga and Erichsen, Kaiser’s Holocaust, 148–165. 65 Olusoga and Erichsen, Kaiser’s Holocaust, 148–165. 66 Silvester and Gewald, Words Cannot Be Found, 106–107. 67 Silvester and Gewald, Words Cannot Be Found, 117. 68 ­Union of South Africa, Report on the Natives of South-­West Africa and Their Treatment by Germany (London: H.M. Stationery Office, 1918), http://­ufdc​.­ufl​.­edu​ /­U F00072665​/­00001​/­1x, 64. 69 Silvester and Gewald, Words Cannot Be Found, 116. 70 Casper Wulff Erichsen, “Forced ­Labour in the Concentration Camp on Shark Island,” in Zimmerer and Zeller, Genocide in German South-­West Africa; Casper Wulff Erichsen, The Angel of Death Has Descended Violently Among Them: Concentration Camps and Prisoners-­Of-­War in Namibia, 1904–1908 (Leiden: African Studies Centre, 2005), https://­openaccess​.­leidenuniv​.­nl​/­handle​/­1887​/­4646.

Notes to Pages 67–71 • 245

71 “­Horses of hunger,” Wallace notes, are ­those ridden out in the morning without being fed. Used ­here, Maharero is alluding to the “desperation of the refugees.” M. Wallace, History of Namibia, 164; Kirsten Alnaes, “Living with the Past: The Song of the Herero in Botswana,” Africa 59 (1989): 276–277. 72 Imperial Colonial Office, file no. 2089, p. 29. Trotha to Leutwein, 27 October 1904, trans. by Drechsler in “Let Us Die Fighting,” 161. 73 Imperial Colonial Office, file no. 2089, p. 103, Trotha to the General Staff, 28 October 1904, trans. by Drechsler in “Let Us Die Fighting,”161–162. Leutwein is quoted in von Trotha’s cable. 74 Imperial Colonial Office, file no. 2089, pp. 100–102, Trotha to Leutwein, 5 November 1904, trans. by Drechsler in “Let Us Die Fighting,” 162; Imperial Colonial Office, file no. 2089, pp. 98–99, Leutwein to the Colonial Department, 12 November 1904, trans. by Drechsler in “Let Us Die Fighting,” 162. 75 Drechsler, “Let Us Die Fighting,” 161–162. 76 Hull, Absolute Destruction, 55. 77 “Patrouillenritte in Südwestafrika,” Vierteljahrshefte für Truppenführung und Heereskunde 2, no. 3 (1905): 452, quoted in Hull, Absolute Destruction, 51. 78 Silvester and Gewald, Words Cannot Be Found, 113–114. 79 Silvester and Gewald, Words Cannot Be Found, 114. 80 Silvester and Gewald, Words Cannot Be Found, 106–7. Please refer to Gerald Kamaheke’s testimony on page 178. 81 Hull, Absolute Destruction, 55. 82 Silvester and Gewald, Words Cannot Be Found, 149. 83 Silvester and Gewald, Words Cannot Be Found, 153. 84 Hull, Absolute Destruction, 54; Olusoga and Erichsen, Kaiser’s Holocaust, 149–155. 85 M. Wallace, History of Namibia, 173. This perspective was offered by Chief Kaveriua Hoveka, a descendant of Nikanor Hoveka, quoted in Casper Wulff Erichsen, What the Elders Used to Say: Namibian Perspectives on the Last ­Decade of German Colonial Rule (Windhoek: John Meinert Printing, 2008), 49. 86 Sarkin, Germany’s Genocide of the Herero, 115–117; Hull, Absolute Destruction, 53–55. 87 Olusoga and Erichsen, The Kaiser’s Holocaust, 152. 88 Hull, Absolute Destruction, 64. 89 Olusoga and Erichsen, Kaiser’s Holocaust, 156. 90 Bridgman, Revolt of the Hereros, 131. 91 Hull, Absolute Destruction, 60–70; Drechsler, “Let Us Die Fighting,” 165. 92 Drechsler, “Let Us Die Fighting,” 164. By raising the amount on the bounties, the kaiser hoped to move away from a policy of annihilation—­which he personally supported—to a policy of concentration and forced l­ abor, which was the consensus among decision-­makers in GSWA and Germany. 93 Imperial Colonial Office, file no. 2089, p. 13, Minister Schoen to the German Foreign Office, 29 November 1904, trans. by Drechsler in “Let Us Die Fighting,” 163; Imperial Colonial Office, file no. 2089, p. 83, General Staff to Trotha, 10 December 1904, trans. by Drechsler in “Let Us Die Fighting,” 164; Imperial Colonial Office, file no. 2089, pp. 138–139, Trotha to Bülow, 6 January 1905, trans. By Horst Drechsler in “Let Us Die Fighting,” 165; Imperial Colonial Office, file no. 2089, p. 54, Bülow to Trotha, 11 December 1904, trans. by Drechsler in “Let Us Die Fighting” 165. 94 Drechsler, “Let Us Die Fighting,” 165–167. 95 Erichsen, “Forced ­Labour in the Concentration Camp on Shark Island,” 85. 96 Olusoga and Erichsen, Kaiser’s Holocaust, 158–159.

246 • Notes to Pages 71–73

97 Hull, Absolute Destruction, 73–74; Bundesarchiv Berlin (BAB), R1001, no. 2118, Trotha to General Staff, no. 104, Khub, 10 April 1905. 98 Hull, Absolute Destruction, 73–74; Bundesarchiv Berlin (BAB), R1001, no. 2118, Trotha to General Staff, no. 104, Khub, 10 April 1905. 99 Erichsen, “Forced ­Labour in the Concentration Camp on Shark Island,” 85; Hull, Absolute Destruction, 74. 100 Olusoga and Erichsen, Kaiser’s Holocaust, 226. 101 Erichsen, “Forced ­Labour in the Concentration Camp on Shark Island,” 94. 102 M. Wallace, History of Namibia, 174–175. 103 Silvester and Gewald, Words Cannot Be Found, 177. 104 Drechsler, “Let Us Die Fighting,” 223–224. 105 Ben Kiernan, Blood and Soil: A World History of Genocide and Extermination from Sparta to Darfur (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2007), 385. 106 M. Wallace, History of Namibia, 174. 107 Kiernan, Blood and Soil, 385; Hull, Absolute Destruction, 75. 108 Gewald, Herero Heroes, 185–186; Bridgman and Worley, “Genocide of the Hereros,” 32; Kiernan, Blood and Soil, 385; Drechsler, “Let Us Die Fighting,” 234; Lemkin, “The Germans in Africa,” Raphael Lemkin Papers. 109 Hull, Absolute Destruction, 74. 110 Gewald, Herero Heroes, 189–190. 111 Erichsen, “Forced ­Labour in the Concentration Camp on Shark Island,” 86–89; Gewald, Herero Heroes, 202; Hull, Absolute Destruction, 75; Archiv der Vereinigten Evangelischen Mission (Wuppertal), Vedder to Mission Inspector, Swakopmund, 3 March 1905, B/c II 87, pp. 50–57, trans. by Hull in Absolute Destruction, 75–78; Jürgen Zimmerer, “War, Concentration Camps and Genocide in South-­West Africa: The First German Genocide,” in Zimmerer and Zeller, Genocide in German South-­West Africa; Gewald, Herero Heroes, 188; Gesine Krúger, “Beast and Victims: ­Women in the Colonial War,” in Zimmerer and Zeller, Genocide in German South-­West Africa. 112 M. Wallace, History of Namibia, 173–177. 113 Kiernan, Blood and Soil, 385–387, Bridgman, Revolt of the Hereros, 164. 114 Vilho Amukwaya Shigwedha, “The Return of Herero and Nama Bones from Germany: The Victims’ Strug­g le for Recognition and Recurring Genocide Memories in Namibia,” in ­Human Remains in Society: Curation and Exhibition in the Aftermath of Genocide and Mass-­Violence, ed. Jean-­Marc Dreyfus and Élisabeth Anstett (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2016), 199. 115 Henry Friedlander, The Origins of Nazi Genocide: From Euthanasia to the Final Solution (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1997), 11–12. 116 Friedlander, Origins of Nazi Genocide), 11–12. 117 Friedlander, Origins of Nazi Genocide, 12–13. 118 Friedlander, Origins of Nazi Genocide, 31. 119 Friedlander, Origins of Nazi Genocide, 12, 134–135; Madley, “From Africa to Auschwitz,” 456. A copy of Erwin Baur, Eugen Fischer, and Fritz Lenz’s two-­volume set Grundriß der menschlichen Erblehre und Rassenhygiene (Outline of ­human ge­ne­tics and racial hygiene) was given to Hitler by Julius Friedrich Lehmann in 1923 (the 2nd ed.), and Hitler used the ideas in this two-­volume set as a basis for his Mein Kampf ideas and l­ ater Nazi laws on racial hygiene. 120 Gewald, Herero Heroes, 192. 121 Gewald, Herero Heroes, 200–201. 122 Gewald, Herero Heroes, 197.

Notes to Pages 73–77 • 247

123 For a more detailed discussion on the cultural continuities and disruptions due to genocide, please refer to Gewald, Herero Heroes, 192–230.

Chapter 5 Inescapability 1 Horst Drechsler, “Let Us Die Fighting”: The Strug­gle of the Herero and Nama against German Imperialism (1884–1915) (London: Zed Press, 1980), 153. 2 Drechsler, “Let Us Die Fighting,” 176; Imperial Colonial Office, Leutwein to the Colonial Department, 26 August 1904, file no. 2133, p. 4, trans. by Drechsler in “Let Us Die Fighting,” 176. 3 Jon M. Bridgman, The Revolt of the Hereros (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1981), 135. 4 Helmut Bley, South-­West Africa ­under German Rule 1894–1914, trans. Hugh Ridley (London: Hienemann, 1971), 150. 5 Werner Hillebrecht, “The Nama and the War in the South,” in Genocide in German South-­West Africa: The Colonial War of 1904–1908 and Its Aftermath, ed. Jürgen Zimmerer and Joachim Zeller, trans. Edward Neather (Pontypool: Merlin Press, 2010), 153. 6 Theodor Leutwein, Elf Jahre Governeur in Deutsch-­Südwestafrika (Berlin: Mittler, 1906), 456. 7 Drechsler, “Let Us Die Fighting,” 182–183; Bridgman, Revolt of the Hereros, 138–139. 8 Drechsler, “Let Us Die Fighting,” 183–184. 9 Drechsler, “Let Us Die Fighting,” 176–181. 10 Drechsler, “Let Us Die Fighting,” 187. 11 Hillebrecht, “Nama and the War in the South,” 152–154. 12 Drechsler, “Let Us Die Fighting,” 190. 13 Drechsler, “Let Us Die Fighting,” 190; Imperial Colonial Office, Lindequist to the German Foreign office, 1 December 1905, file no. 2137, p. 90, trans. by Drechsler in “Let Us Die Fighting,” 191; Imperial Colonial Office, Lindequist to the German Foreign Office, 5 December 1905, file no. 2137, p. 93, trans. by Drechsler in “Let Us Die Fighting,” 191. 14 Drechsler, “Let Us Die Fighting,” 181–190. 15 Drechsler, “Let Us Die Fighting,” 190. 16 Drechsler, “Let Us Die Fighting,” 191. 17 Drechsler, “Let Us Die Fighting,” 191. 18 Of the estimated 15,000 to 20,000 Nama in 1892 (the most reliable estimate before the revolt), approximately 9,800 ­were still alive by 1911. See Bley, South-­West Africa ­under German Rule, 150–152, for more information. 19 Drechsler, “Let Us Die Fighting,” 195. 20 Drechsler, “Let Us Die Fighting,” 210–212. 21 Drechsler, “Let Us Die Fighting,” 211–219. 22 Lynn Berat, “Genocide: The Namibian Case against Germany,” Pace International Law Review 5 (1993): 169–177. 23 Hillebrecht, “Nama and the War in the South,” 149–154; Isabel V. Hull, Absolute Destruction: Military Culture and the Practices of War in Imperial Germany (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 2006), 67. 24 Logically, this type of engagement would likely have resembled the ­Battle of Waterberg. 25 Drechsler, “Let Us Die Fighting,” 187–190. 26 Bridgman, Revolt of the Hereros, 144–152.

248 • Notes to Pages 78–83

27 Bridgman, Revolt of the Hereros, 182–184. 28 Drechsler, “Let Us Die Fighting,” 179–203. 29 David Olusoga and Casper Wulff Erichsen, The Kaiser’s Holocaust: Germany’s Forgotten Genocide (London: Faber and Faber, 2010), 45–98; Hull, Absolute Destruction, 7–90. 30 The Nama had been previously forced ­under the German-­Herero GSWA hegemony in the late 1890s. 31 Hillebrecht, “Nama and the War in the South,” 153–154. 32 Hillebrecht, “Nama and the War in the South,” 154; Bley, South-­West Africa ­under German Rule, 150. 33 Hillebrecht, “Nama and the War in the South,” 153; Hull, Absolute Destruction, 86–90; Casper Wulff Erichsen, “Forced ­Labour in the Concentration Camp on Shark Island,” in Zimmerer and Zeller, Genocide in German South-­West Africa. This group of fighters was captured and interned on Shark Island, where Fredericks l­ ater died (26 February 1907) due to the indirect killing systems in the concentration camps. 34 Bridgman, Revolt of the Hereros, 137. 35 Bridgman, Revolt of the Hereros, 138. 36 Hillebrecht, “Nama and the War in the South,” 153. 37 Hull, Absolute Destruction, 66–70. 38 Hull, Absolute Destruction, 66–70. 39 Bridgman, Revolt of the Hereros, 140. 40 Bridgman, Revolt of the Hereros, 141. 41 Hull, Absolute Destruction, 67. 42 Bridgman, Revolt of the Hereros, 140. 43 Jan-­Bart Gewald, Herero Heroes: A Socio-­Political History of the Herero of Namibia, 1890–1923 (Athens: Ohio University Press, 1999), 192–227. 44 Gewald, Herero Heroes, 192–227. 45 Jürgen Zimmerer, “The Model Colony? Racial Segregation, Forced ­Labour and Total Control in German South-­West Africa,” in Zimmerer and Zeller, Genocide in German South-­West Africa; Jürgen Zimmerer, “War, Concentration Camps and Genocide in South-­West Africa: The First German Genocide,” in Zimmerer and Zeller, Genocide in German South-­West Africa. 46 Hull, Absolute Destruction, 67–69. 47 General von Trotha’s proclamation of 22 April 1905 is reprinted in Military Section, German General Staff, Die Kämpfe der deutschen Truppen (Berlin: Ernst Siegfried Mitter und Sohn, 1907), 2:186; Bridgman, Revolt of the Hereros, 45; Hull, Absolute Destruction, 68. 48 Hillebrecht, “Nama and the War in the South,” 151; Military Section, German General Staff, Die Kämpfe der Deutschen Truppen in Südwestafrika, 2:229–230. 49 Hillebrecht, “Nama and the War in the South,” 151–152. 50 Hillebrecht, “Nama and the War in the South,” 152. 51 Hull, Absolute Destruction, 64–85; Olusoga and Erichsen, Kaiser’s Holocaust, 201–234. 52 Raphael Lemkin, “The Germans in Africa,” 1944–1959, box 6, folder 9, p. 25, Raphael Lemkin Papers, the Jacob Rader Marcus Center of the American Jewish Archives, Cincinnati; Leutwein, Elf Jahre Governeur in Deutsch-­Südwestafrika, 270. 53 Gewald, Herero Heroes, 185–230. 54 Hillebrecht, “Nama and the War in the South,” 155. 55 Bridgman, Revolt of the Hereros, 139; Military Section, German General Staff, Die Kämpfe der deutschen Truppen in Südwestafrika, 2:13. 56 Bridgman, Revolt of the Hereros, 139.

Notes to Pages 83–90 • 249

57 Bridgman, Revolt of the Hereros, 139. 58 Horst Drechsler, Südwestafrikaunter Deutscher Kolonialherrschaft: Der Kampf der Herero und Nama Gegen den Deutschen Imperialismus (Berlin: Akademie-­Verlag, 1966), 219. 59 Bridgman, Revolt of the Hereros, 140–143. 60 Bridgman, Revolt of the Hereros, 145. 61 Bridgman, Revolt of the Hereros, 145–147. 62 Jeremy Silvester and Jan-­Bart Gewald, Words Cannot Be Found: German Colonial Rule in Namibia; An Annotated Reprint of the 1918 Blue Book (Leiden: Brill, 2003), 169. 63 Walter Hely-­Hutchinson, Governor Sir Hely-­Hutchinson to Mr. Lyttelton, t­ elegram, 19 May 1905, as quoted in Silvester and Gewald, Words Cannot Be Found, 169. 64 Bridgman, Revolt of the Hereros, 148–149. 65 Bridgman, Revolt of the Hereros, 153. 66 Bridgman, Revolt of the Hereros, 153–154. 67 Bridgman, Revolt of the Hereros, 154. 68 Bridgman, Revolt of the Hereros, 155. 69 Bridgman, Revolt of the Hereros, 156–163. 70 Bridgman, Revolt of the Hereros, 164. 71 Bundesarchiv Berlin (BAB), Leutwein, tel. no. 210, Windhoek, 21 October 1904, R1001, no. 2090, p. 5, trans. by Hull in Absolute Destruction, 79. 72 Drechsler, “Let Us Die Fighting,” 184–186. 73 Drechsler, “Let Us Die Fighting,” 184–186. 74 Drechsler, “Let Us Die Fighting,” 184–186; Hull, Absolute Destruction, 78–80; Imperial Colonial Office, Colonial Department to the administration in Windhoek, 20 January 1905, file no. 2090, p. 13, trans. by Drechsler in “Let Us Die Fighting,” 185. 75 Hillebrecht, “Nama and the War in the South,” 154. 76 Hillebrecht, “Nama and the War in the South,” 155. 77 Harry Schwirck, “Law’s Vio­lence and the Boundary between Corporal Discipline and Physical Abuse in German South West Africa,” Akron Law Review 81 (2002): 89; Arnold Valentin Wallenkampf, “The Herero Rebellion in South West Africa: A Study in German Colonialism” (PhD diss., UCLA, 1969), 367. 78 Hillebrecht, “Nama and the War in the South,” 154. 79 Hillebrecht, “Nama and the War in the South,” 154. 80 Hillebrecht, “Nama and the War in the South,” 156.

Chapter 6 Collapse 1 Alan Palmer, The Decline and Fall of the Ottoman Empire (London: Faber & Faber, 2011). 2 Susan A. Skilliter, William Harborne and the Trade with Turkey, 1578–1582: A Documentary Study of the First Anglo-­Ottoman Relations (London: Oxford University Press, 1977); Christos Papoutsy, Ships of Mercy: The True Story of the Rescue of the Greeks: Smyrna, September 1922 (Portsmouth: Peter E. Randall, 2008), x–xi. 3 Paul W. Schroeder, Austria, ­Great Britain, and the Crimean War: The Destruction of the ­European Concert (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1972); Duygu Bazoğlu Sezer, “From Hegemony to Pluralism: The Changing Politics of the Black Sea,” SAIS Review 17, no. 1 (1997). 4 Vasileios Th. Meichanetsidis, “The Genocide of the Greeks of the Ottoman Empire, 1913–1923: A Comprehensive Review,” Genocide Studies International 9, no. 1 (2015).

250 • Notes to Pages 90–92

5 Yurdanur Unal, Tayfun Kindap, and Mehmet Karaca, “Redefining the Climate Zones of Turkey Using Cluster Analy­sis,” International Journal of Climatology 23, no. 9 (2003). 6 Magnus Widell, “Historical Evidence for Climate Instability and Environmental Catastrophes in North Syria and the Jazira: The Chronicle of Michael the Syrian,” Environment and History 13, no. 1 (2007); Caitlin E. Werrell, Francesco Femia, and Troy Sternberg, “Did We See It Coming? State Fragility, Climate Vulnerability, and the Uprisings in Syria and Egypt,” SAIS Review of International Affairs 35, no. 1 (2015). 7 Unal, Kindap, and Karaca, “Redefining the Climate Zones of Turkey Using Cluster Analy­sis.” 8 Henry Morgenthau, Ambassador Morgenthau’s Story (Garden City: Doubleday, 1918), 338. 9 Christina Phelps Grant, The Syrian Desert (London: A&C Black, 1937). 10 Taner Akçam, A Shameful Act: The Armenian Genocide and the Question of Turkish Responsibility (New York: Henry Holt, 2006), 23–24. 11 Akçam, Shameful Act, 23; Kamel S. Abu Jaber, “The Millet System in the Nineteenth-­ Century Ottoman Empire,” Muslim World 57, no. 3 (1967); Vahakn N. Dadrian, “The Armenian Genocide: An Interpretation,” in Amer­i­ca and the Armenian Genocide of 1915, ed. Jay Winter (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2004), 97. 12 Akçam, Shameful Act, 19–81; Peter Balakian, The Burning Tigris: The Armenian Genocide and Amer­i­ca’s Response (New York: HarperCollins, 2003), 35–62, 103–196; A. H. Hourani, Syria and Lebanon (London: Oxford University Press, 1940), 61. 13 Simon Payaslian, “The Destruction of the Armenian Church During the Genocide,” Genocide Studies and Prevention 1, no. 2 (2006), 150; Vahakn N. Dadrian, The History of the Armenian Genocide: Ethnic Conflict from the Balkans to Anatolia to the Caucasus (Providence: Berghahn Books, 1995), 4–6; Ussama Makdisi, The Culture of Sectarianism: Community, History, and Vio­lence in Nineteenth-­Century Ottoman Lebanon (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2000), 46; Donald ­ reat Game of Genocide: Imperialism, Nationalism, and the DestrucBloxham, The G tion of the Ottoman Armenians (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2005), 71; Rouben Paul Adalian, “The Armenian Genocide,” in ­Century of Genocide: Critical Essays and Eyewitness Accounts, ed. Samuel Totten and William S. Parsons (New York: Routledge, 2009), 68; Bruce Masters, Christians and Jews in the Ottoman Arab World: The Roots of Sectarianism (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2004), 18, 176. 14 Akçam, Shameful Act, 24–33; Madeline Zilfi, ­Women and Slavery in the Late Ottoman Empire: The Design of Difference (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2010), 13–250. 15 Roderic H. Davison, “Turkish Attitudes Concerning Christian-­Muslim Equality in the Nineteenth-­Century,” American Historical Review 59, no. 4 (1954). 16 Taner Akçam, The Young Turks’ Crimes against Humanity: The Armenian Genocide and Ethnic Cleansing in the Ottoman Empire (Prince­ton, NJ: Prince­ton University Press, 2012), 287–310. 17 Taner Akçam, From Empire to Republic: Turkish Nationalism and the Armenian Genocide (London: Zed Books, 2004), 39–114. 18 Akçam, From Empire to Republic, 39–114. 19 Akçam, From Empire to Republic, 39–114. 20 Eugene Rogan, The Fall of the Ottomans: The ­Great War in the ­Middle East (New York: Basic Books, 2016), 7–18, 180–182; Benedict Anderson, ­Imagined Communities: Reflections on the Origin and Spread of Nationalism (London: Verso, 1983).

Notes to Pages 92–94 • 251

21 Sean McMeekin, The Ottoman Endgame: War, Revolution, and the Making of the Modern M ­ iddle East, 1908–1923 (New York: Penguin Press, 2015), 9–82. 22 Akçam, Shameful Act, 59. 23 Akçam, Shameful Act, 83–85. 24 Akçam, Shameful Act, 83–85. 25 Palmer, Decline and Fall of the Ottoman Empire. 26 Taner Akçam, “To Study the Armenian Genocide in Turkey: Caught between a Conspiracy of Silence and Murderous Hatred,” in Advancing Genocide Studies: Personal Accounts and Insights from Scholars in the Field, ed. Samuel Totten (New Brunswick: Transaction, 2015), 3–34. 27 Roderic H. Davison, Reform in the Ottoman Empire, 1856–1876 (Prince­ton, NJ: Prince­ton University Press, 2015), 3–51. 28 The Hatti-­Sherif of Gulhane (Noble Rescript, 1839) and the Hatti Humayun (Imperial Rescript, 1856) formed the backbone of Tanzimat, introduced by Sultan Abdul Mejid. Davison, Reform in the Ottoman Empire, 3–51; M. Şükrü Hanioğlu, A Brief History of the Late Ottoman Empire (Prince­ton, NJ: Prince­ton University Press, 2008), 71–75. 29 Zafer Toprak, “Modernization and Commercialization in the Tanzimat Period: 1838–1875,” New Perspectives on Turkey 7 (1992). 30 Candan Badem, The Ottoman Crimean War (1853–1856) (Leiden: Brill, 2010), 329–402. 31 Badem, Ottoman Crimean War. 32 Marian Kent, The G ­ reat Powers and the End of the Ottoman Empire (New York: Routledge, 2005), 2–143. 33 Olive Anderson, “­Great Britain and the Beginnings of the Ottoman Public Debt, 1854–55,” Historical Journal 7, no. 1 (1964), 47–63. 34 Balakian, Burning Tigris, 35–36; Akçam, Shameful Act, 19–27, 100. 35 Balakian, Burning Tigris, 136–137. 36 Davison, Reform in the Ottoman Empire, 368–391; Hasan Kayali, “Elections and the Electoral P ­ rocess in the Ottoman Empire, 1876–1919,” International Journal of ­Middle East Studies 27, no. 3 (1995), 267. 37 Wendy Shaw, Possessors and Possessed: Museums, Archaeology, and the Visualization of History in the Late Ottoman Empire (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2003), 25. 38 Balakian, Burning Tigris, 137–144. 39 Robert Melson, “ ‘Genocide in the 20th ­Century’: Revolutionary Genocide; On the ­Causes of the Armenian Genocide of 1915 and the Holocaust,” Holocaust and Genocide Studies 4, no. 2 (1989): 162–169. 40 Adalian, “Armenian Genocide,” 69. 41 Charlie Laderman, “Sharing the Burden? The American Solution to the Armenian Question, 1918–1920,” Diplomatic History 40, no. 4 (2016). 42 Christian rights w ­ ere viewed as a bargaining chip in G ­ reat Power politics. To ensure that Rus­sia did not gain increased influence, all G ­ reat Powers assumed some responsibility for rights protections. Edward Hertslet, “Treaty between G ­ reat Britain, Austria-­Hungary, France, Germany, Italy, Rus­sia, and Turkey, for the Settlement of the Affairs of the East, signed at Berlin, 13th July 1878,” in The Map of ­Europe by Treaty; which have taken place since the general peace of 1814. With numerous maps and notes, vol. 4, 1875–1891 (London: Her Majesty’s Stationery Office, 1891), 2759–2798. 43 Arman Dzhonovich Kirakosian, British Diplomacy and the Armenian Question: From the 1830s to 1914 (London: Gomidas Institute, 2003); Ara Sarafian, British

252 • Notes to Pages 94–96

Parliamentary Debates on the Armenian Genocide, 1915–1918 (London: Gomidas Institute, 2003). 44 Dadrian, History of the Armenian Genocide, 55–109. 45 Akçam, Shameful Act, 33–43; Walter F. Weiker, “The Ottoman Bureaucracy: Modernization and Reform,” Administrative Science Quarterly 13, no. 3 (1968): 452, 469–470. 46 Dadrian, History of the Armenian Genocide, 155; George N. Shirinian, “The Armenian Massacres of 1894–1897: A Bibliography,” Armenian Review 47, no. 1–2 (2001): 113–164; Azmi Özcan, Pan-­Islamism: Indian Muslims, the Ottomans, and Britain, 1877–1924 (Leiden: Brill, 1997), 40–63; Adalian, “Armenian Genocide,” 69–72; Dadrian, History of the Armenian Genocide, 151–157; Balakian, Burning ­ uropean Tigris, 59–61; Mark Levene, The Crisis of Genocide, vol. 1, Devastation: The E Rimlands, 1912–1938 (New York: Oxford University Press, 2013), 49; Johannes ­ urope: An Indictment (London: Hodder and Stoughton, Lepsius, Armenia and E 1897), 330–331; Robert Melson, “A Theoretical Inquiry into the Armenian Massacres of 1894–1896,” Comparative Studies in Society and History 24, no. 3 (1982), 489; Roderic H. Davison, “Nationalism as an Ottoman Prob­lem and the Ottoman Response,” in Nationalism in a Non-­national State: The Dissolution of the Ottoman Empire, ed. William W. Haddad and William Ochsenwald (Columbus: Ohio State University Press, 1977), 25–56; Deborah Mayersen, On the Path to Genocide: Armenia and Rwanda Revisited (New York: Berghahn Books, 2014), 49; Nor­ urope man M. Naimark, Fires of Hatred: Ethnic Cleansing in Twentieth-­Century E (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2002), 23. 47 Bloxham, ­Great Game of Genocide. This is discussed further in chapter 8. 48 Richard C. Hall, Balkan Wars: 1912–1913 (New York: Routledge, 2000), 1–21. 49 Paul Kubicek, “Turkey’s Inclusion in the Atlantic Community: Looking Back, Looking Forward,” Turkish Studies 9, no. 1 (March 2008), 5; Paul Kubicek, “Turkish Accession to the E ­ uropean U ­ nion: Challenges and Opportunities,” World Affairs 168, no. 2 (Fall 2005), 67–78; Roger Trask, The United States Response to Turkish Nationalism and Reform, 1914–1939 (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1971). 50 Ioannis K. Hassiotis, “Greek Foreign Policy ­towards the Armenian Question: A Historical Survey,” Byzantine and Modern Greek Studies 36, no. 2 (2012). 51 Katrin Boeckh and Sabine Rutar, The Balkan Wars from Con­temporary Perception to Historic Memory (New York: Berghahn Books, 2016), 13–55, 319–340. 52 John Mourelos, “The Persecutions in Thrace and Ionia in 1914 and the First Attempt at an Exchange of Minorities between Greece and Turkey,” in The Genocide of the Ottoman Greeks: Studies on the State-­Sponsored Campaign of Extermination of the Christians of Asia Minor (1912–1922) and Its Aftermath: History, Law, Memory, ed. Tessa Hofmann, Matthias Bjørnlund, and Vasileios Meichanetsidis (Athens: Melissa International, 2011), 114; Hannibal Travis, “ ‘Native Christians Massacred’: The Ottoman Genocide of the Assyrians during World War I,” Genocide Studies and Prevention 1, no. 3 (2006): 327–328. 53 Bruce Masters, The Arabs of the Ottoman Empire, 1516–1918: A Social and Cultural History (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2013), 134. 54 Franz Werfel, The Forty Days of Musa Dagh (New York: Caroll & Graf, 2002); Sir Martin Gilbert, “Twentieth-­Century Genocides,” in Amer­i­ca and the Armenian Genocide of 1915, ed. Jay Winter (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2004), 15; Raymond Kévorkian, The Armenian Genocide: A Complete History (London: I.B. Tauris, 2011), 326–335.

Notes to Pages 96–99 • 253

55 The Three Paşas ­were Mehmed Talât (minister of the interior), Ismail Enver (minister of war), and Ahmed Djemal (minister of the navy). They ruled the Ottoman Empire during the G ­ reat War and the most brutal periods of the Ottoman genocide of Christian minorities. The three men w ­ ere responsible for the initiation of genocidal DA crimes in Anatolia. 56 Rogan, Fall of the Ottomans, 6–28. 57 Rogan, Fall of the Ottomans, 6–28. 58 Rogan, Fall of the Ottomans, 6–28. 59 Akçam, Shameful Act, 51–68; Renée Worringer, Ottomans Imagining Japan: East, ­Middle East, and Non-­Western Modernity at the Turn of the Twentieth C ­ entury (London: Palgrave, 2014), 20–24. 60 Erick J. Zürcher, Turkey: A Modern History, rev. ed. (New York: I.B. Tauris, 2004), 100–120; Uğur Ümit Üngör, “Geographies of Nationalism and Vio­lence: Rethinking Young Turk ‘Social Engineering,’ ” ­European Journal of Turkish Studies 7 (2008). 61 Anthonie Holslag, “The ­Process of Othering from the ‘Social Imaginaire’ to Physical Acts: An Anthropological Approach,” Genocide Studies and Prevention 9, no. 1 (2015), 99–103; Balakian, Burning Tigris, 163. 62 Dadrian, History of the Armenian Genocide, 180. 63 Akçam, Shameful Act, 51–59. 64 David Norman Smith, “Ziya Gökalp and Emile Durkheim: Sociology as an Apology for Chauvinism?” Durkheimian Studies 1 (1995): 47. 65 Handan Nzir Akmeşe, The Birth of Modern Turkey: The Ottoman Military and the March to World War I (London: I.B. Tauris, 2005), 117–184. 66 Chrissie Steenkamp, “The Legacy of War: Conceptualizing a ‘Culture of Vio­lence’ to Explain Vio­lence a­ fter Peace Accords,” Round ­Table 94, no. 379 (2005): 253–266. 67 Mustafa Aksakal, “ ‘Holy War Made in Germany’? Ottoman Origins of the 1914 Jihad,” War in History 18, no. 2 (2011). 68 Levene, Crisis of Genocide, 112. 69 Cemal Kutay, Birinci Dünya Harbinde Teșkilat-­ı Mahsusa ve Hayber’ de Türk Cengi (Istanbul: Tarih Yayınları, 1964), 10–18; Akçam, Shameful Act, 102; Takvîm-­i Vekâyn, verdict in the Trabzon series trial, 6 August 1919, no. 3616, 6 Ağustos 1919trans. by Akçam in Shameful Act, 158; Takvîm-­I Vekâyn, verdict in the Yozgat series trial, 7 August 1919, no. 3617, trans. by Akçam in Shameful Act, 159. 70 Akçam, Shameful Act, 176. 71 Takvîm-­i Vekâyn, verdict in the responsible secretaries trial, 8 January 1920, no. 3554, 8 Ocak 1336, trans. by Akçam in Shameful Act, 163. 72 Aram Andonian, Medz Vojirĕ (Boston: Bahag Printing ­House, 1921), 208, 210, 217. 73 Takvîm-­i Vekâyn, pages from 1919–1921 military tribunal main indictment, 5 May 1919, no. 3540, trans. by Akçam in Killing ­Orders, 17–18. 74 Akçam, Young Turks’ Crime against Humanity, 157–158. 75 Askeri Tarih Belgeleri Dergisi 34, no. 85 (October 1985): 23, document no. 1999, trans. by Akçam in Young Turks’ Crime against Humanity, 159. 76 Askeri Tarih Belgeleri Dergisi 34, no. 85 (October 1985): 23, document no. 1999. 77 Askeri Tarih Belgeleri Dergisi 34, no. 85 (October 1985): 45–46, document no. 2004, trans. by Akçam in Young Turks’ Crime against Humanity, 160. 78 Genelkurmay Bașkanlığı, Arșiv Belgeleriyle Ermeni Faaliyetleri, vol. 1, 100, trans. by Akçam in Young Turks’ Crime against Humanity, 161. 79 Askeri Tarih Belgeleri Dergisi 32, no. 83 (March 1983): 91, document no. 1907, trans. by Akçam in Young Turks’ Crime against Humanity, 165. 80 Akçam, Young Turks’ Crimes against Humanity, 174–186.

254 • Notes to Pages 100–102

81 Takvîm-­i Vekâyn, pages from military tribunal main indictment, 5 May 1919 as translated by Vahakn N. Dadrian and Taner Akçam in Judgment at Istanbul, 179–190. 82 Akçam, Shameful Act, 161. 83 Genelkurmay Bașkanlığı, Arșiv Belgeleriyle Ermeni Faaliyetleri, 71–72, 355–361, trans. by Akçam in Young Turks’ Crime against Humanity, 178. 84 Akçam, Young Turks’ Crime against Humanity, 198. 85 Akçam, Young Turks’ Crime against Humanity, 198. 86 Akçam, Shameful Act, 159. 87 Priministerial Archive, Office of the Cipher in the Ottoman Interior Ministry (Başbakanlık Osmanh Arşivi Dahiliye Nezareti Šifre Kalemi), ­telegram from the Interior Minister Talât to the Adana Region, 2 March 1915, 50-141-1333R/15, 17 Nissan 1331, trans. by Akçam in Shameful Act, 159. 88 Akçam, Shameful Act, 164; Takvîm-­i Vekâyn, verdict in the Mamüretülaziz trial, 9 February 1920, no. 3771, trans. by Akçam in Shameful Act, 165. 89 Archive of the Armenian Patriarchate of Jerusalem, box 21, dossier M, no. 492, trans. by Akçam in Shameful Act, 164; Meclis-­i Ayan Zabut Ceridesi, period 3, assembly period 5, vol. 1, p. 123, trans. by Akçam in Shameful Act, 162 Akçam, Shameful Act, 162–164. 90 Akçam, Shameful Act, 159–168. 91 Takvîm-­i Vekâyn, verdict in the Mamüretülaziz trial, 9 February 1920. 92 Morgenthau, Ambassador Morgenthau’s Story, 333–336. 93 Morgenthau, Ambassador Morgenthau’s Story, 336. 94 Aram Andonian, Documents officiels concernant les massacres Arméniens (Paris: Imprimerie H. Turabian, 1920), 24. 95 Andonian, Medz Vojirĕ, 97–98; Başbakanlık Osmanh Arşivi Dahiliye Nezareti Šifre Kalemi, cipher cable from Deyr-­i Zor District Governor [Ali] Suat to the Interior Ministry, 24 January 1916, 510/95, trans. by Akçam in Killing ­Orders, 158; Başbakanlık Osmanh Arşivi Dahiliye Nezareti Emniyet-­i Umumiya İkinci Șube, report to the Interior Ministry, 30 October 1916, 74/30-01, trans. by Akçam in Killing ­Orders, 158. 96 Takvîm-­i Vekâyn, pages from 1919–1921 military tribunal main indictment, 5 May 1919. 97 Morgenthau, Ambassador Morgenthau’s Story, 337–338. 98 Morgenthau, Ambassador Morgenthau’s Story, 339. 99 Morgenthau, Ambassador Morgenthau’s Story, 343. 100 Morgenthau, Ambassador Morgenthau’s Story, 344–345. 101 Morgenthau, Ambassador Morgenthau’s Story, 346. 102 Morgenthau, Ambassador Morgenthau’s Story, 349. 103 Morgenthau, Ambassador Morgenthau’s Story, 349. 104 Morgenthau, Ambassador Morgenthau’s Story, 350. 105 Kévorkian, Armenian Genocide, 243–262. 106 Kévorkian, Armenian Genocide, 245–246; Takvîm-­i Vekâyn, first session of the trial of the cabinet members, 3 June 1919, no. 3571, 3 Haziran 1335, trans. by Kévorkian in Armenian Genocide, 862, 870, 947, and 996. 107 Dadrian, Armenian Genocide, 235. 108 Ronald Grigor Suny, “They Can Live in the Desert but Nowhere ­Else”: A History of the Armenian Genocide (Prince­ton, NJ: Prince­ton University Press, 2015), 336; Balakian, Burning Tigris, 187. 109 Balakian, Burning Tigris, 187.

Notes to Pages 103–106 • 255

110 Balakian, Burning Tigris, 187. 111 Balakian, Burning Tigris, 187–188. 112 Balakian, Burning Tigris, 235.

Chapter 7 Excision 1 Andrew R. Basso, “Remembering Them All: Including and Excluding Atrocity Crime Victims,” in Understanding Atrocities: Remembering, Representing, and Teaching Genocide, ed. Scott W. Murray (Calgary: University of Calgary Press, 2017). 2 For understandings of asymmetric atrocity implementation, see Marjorie House­ pian Dobkin, Smyrna 1922: Destruction of a City (New York: Newmark Press, 1998). 3 Shelley J. Burleson and Alberto Giordano, “Spatiality of the Stages of Genocide: The Armenian Case,” Genocide Studies and Prevention 10, no. 3 (2016). 4 Joseph Yacoub, Year of the Sword: The Assyrian Christian Genocide; A History (New York: Oxford University Press, 2017), 15–120; Matthias Bjørnlund, “The 1914 Cleansing of Aegean Greeks as a Case of Violent Turkification,” Journal of Genocide Research 10, no. 1 (2008): 41–52; Taner Akçam, A Shameful Act: The Armenian Genocide and the Question of Turkish Responsibility (New York: Henry Holt, 2006), 350–381; Tessa Hofmann, “Cumulative Genocide: The Massacres and Deportations of the Greek Population of the Ottoman Empire (1912–1923),” in The Genocide of the Ottoman Greeks: Studies on the State-­Sponsored Campaign of Extermination of the Christians of Asia Minor (1912–1922) and Its Aftermath; History, Law, Memory, ed. Tessa Hofmann, Matthias Bjørnlund, and Vasileios Meichanetsidis (Athens: Melissa International, 2011). 5 Ioannis K. Hassiotis, “The Armenian Genocide and the Greeks: Response and Rec­ords (1915–1923),” in The Armenian Genocide: History, Politics, Ethics, ed. Richard G. Hovannisian (New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1992), 129–138; Raymond Kévorkian, The Armenian Genocide: A Complete History (London: I.B. Tauris, 2011), 141–144; AMAE, Turquie, Politique intérieure, n.s., vol. 9, f. 199, Letter from the French Consul in Salonika Josselin to Poincaré, February 1913, trans. by Kévorkian in Armenian Genocide, 142. 6 AMAE, letter from the French ambassador in Constantinople, Bompard to Quai d’Orsay, 3 March 1913, Turquie, Politique intérieure, n.s., vol. 9, ff. 202–204, Letter from the French Ambassador in Constantinople, Bompard to Quai d’Orsay, 3 March 1913, trans. by Kévorkian in Armenian Genocide, 141–142; Frank G. Weber, ­Eagles on the Crescent: Germany, Austria and the Diplomacy of the Turkish Alliance, 1914–1918 (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1970), 27–28. 7 Taner Akçam, From Empire to Republic: Turkish Nationalism and the Armenian Genocide (London: Zed Books, 2004), 39–114. 8 Taner Akçam, The Young Turks’ Crime against Humanity: The Armenian Genocide and Ethnic Cleansing in the Ottoman Empire (Prince­ton, NJ: Prince­ton University Press, 2012), 227–376; Uğur Ümit Üngör, “Lost in Commemoration: The Armenian Genocide in Memory and Identity,” Patterns of Prejudice 48, no. 2 (2014): 150–154. 9 David Gaunt, “Enforcing a Bystander Regime during Genocide: The Case of the Ottoman Empire,” in Looking at the Onlooks and Bystanders: Interdisciplinary Approaches to the C ­ auses and Consequences of Passivity, ed. Henrik Edgren (Stockholm: Living History Forum, 2012), 143–165; Ştefan Ionescu, “Perpetrators, Bystanders, and Rescuers: ­Popular Attitudes ­towards Ottoman Christians during the Armenian Genocide,” Romanian P ­ olitical Science Review 11, no. 2 (2011): 334–337.

256 • Notes to Pages 106–108

10 Eugene Rogan, The Fall of the Ottomans: The ­Great War in the ­Middle East (New York: Basic Books, 2016), 7–18, 180–182. 11 Vahakn N. Dadrian, The History of the Armenian Genocide: Ethnic Conflict from the Balkans to Anatolia to the Caucasus (New York: Berghahn Books, 2003), 224; Taner Akçam, “Deportation and Massacres in the Cipher T ­ elegrams of the Interior Ministry in the Prime Ministerial Archive (Başbakanlık Arşivi),” Genocide Studies and Prevention 1, no. 3 (2006). 12 Akçam, Young Turks’ Crime against Humanity, 199. 13 Hofmann, “Cumulative Genocide,” 74. 14 Yacoub, Year of the Sword, 122. 15 Donald Bloxham, The G ­ reat Game of Genocide: Imperialism, Nationalism, and the Destruction of the Ottoman Armenians (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2005), 70. 16 Thea Halo, Not Even My Name (New York: Picador, 2001). 17 Bloxham, ­Great Game of Genocide, 70. 18 Yacoub, Year of the Sword, 154–155. 19 Hofmann, “Cumulative Genocide,” 64. 20 Dadrian, History of the Armenian Genocide, 221; Edward J. Erickson, Ordered to Die: A History of the Ottoman Army in the First World War (Westport, CT: Greenwood, 2001), 103–106; Henry Morgenthau, Ambassador Morgenthau’s Story (Garden City: Doubleday, 1918), 302; National Archives and Rec­ords Administration, dispatch from Ambassador Morgenthau to Washington, DC, 10 August 1915, RG 59 867.4016/74. 21 Erickson, Ordered to Die, 51–118. 22 Uğur Ümit Üngör, “When Persecution Bleeds into Mass Murder: The Progressive Nature of Genocide,” Genocide Studies and Prevention 1, no. 2 (2006): 180. 23 Üngör, “When Persecution Bleeds into Mass Murder,” 180. 24 Dadrian, History of the Armenian Genocide, 221. 25 Hofmann, “Cumulative Genocide,” 64. 26 Üngör, “When Persecution Bleeds into Mass Murder,” 180. 27 Stavros T. Stavridis, “International Red Cross: A Mission to Nowhere,” in Hofmann, Bjørnlund, and Meichanetsidis, Genocide of the Ottoman Greeks, 278; Hofmann, “Cumulative Genocide,” 64, 74; Akçam, Young Turks’ Crime against Humanity, 95–96; Simon Payaslian, The History of Armenia (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2007), 138–142; Kévorkian, Armenian Genocide, 626. 28 Dadrian, History of the Armenian Genocide, 221; Peter Balakian, The Burning Tigris: The Armenian Genocide and Amer­i­ca’s Response (New York: HarperCollins, 2003), 211–212; David Gaunt, Massacres, ­Resistance, Protectors: Muslim-­Christian Relation in Eastern Anatolia during World War I (Piscataway: Gorgias Press, 2006). 29 Aram Arkun, “Zeytun and the Commencement of the Armenian Genocide,” in A Question of Genocide: Armenians and Turks at the End of the Ottoman Empire, ed. Ronald Grigor Suny, Fatma Müge Göçek, and Norman M. Naimark (New York: Oxford University Press, 2011), 221–243. 30 Erickson, Ordered to Die, 99–100. 31 Morgenthau, Ambassador Morgenthau’s Story, 293. 32 Morgenthau, Ambassador Morgenthau’s Story, 299. 33 Morgenthau, Ambassador Morgenthau’s Story, 298–300. 34 George N. Shirinian, “The Background to the Late Ottoman Genocide,” in Genocide in the Ottoman Empire: Armenians, Assyrians, and Greeks, 1913–1923, ed. George N. Shirinian (New York: Berghahn, 2017), 50–64; Ronald Grigor Suny,

Notes to Pages 108–110 • 257

“They Can Live in the Desert but Nowhere ­Else”: A History of the Armenian Genocide (Prince­ton, NJ: Prince­ton University Press, 2015), 258–262. 35 Peter Holquist, “The Politics and Practice of the R ­ ussian Occupation of Armenia, 1915–­February 1917,” in Suny, Göçek, and Naimark, Question of Genocide. 36 Holquist, “Politics and Practice of the ­Russian Occupation of Armenia.” 37 Vasileios Th. Meichantsidis, “The Genocide of the Greeks of the Ottoman Empire, 1913–1923: A Comprehensive Overview,” Genocide Studies International 9, no. 1 (2015): 128–149; Tehmine Martoyan, “The Destruction of Smyrna in 1922: An Armenian and Greek Shared Tragedy,” in Shirinian, Genocide in the Ottoman Empire, 235–237. 38 David Fromkin, A Peace to End All Peace: The Fall of the Ottoman Empire and the Creation of the Modern ­Middle East (New York: Henry Holt, 2009). 39 Seth McMeekin, The Ottoman Endgame: War, Revolution, and the Making of the Modern M ­ iddle East 1908–1923 (New York: Penguin Press, 2015), 363–496. 40 Taner Akçam, “The Ottoman Documents and the Genocidal Policies of the Committee for U ­ nion and Pro­gress (Ittihat ve Terakki) ­toward the Armenians in 1915,” Genocide Studies and Prevention 1, no. 2 (2006): 133–134. 41 Shelley J. Burleson and Alberto Giordano, “Spatiality of the Stages of Genocide: The Armenian Case,” Genocide Studies and Prevention 10, no. 3 (2016); Basso, “Remembering Them All.” 42 Yacoub, Year of the Sword, 15–120; Bjørnlund, “1914 Cleansing of Aegean Greeks,” 41–52; Akçam, Shameful Act, 350–381; Hofmann, “Cumulative Genocide.” 43 Akçam, The Young Turks’ Crime Against Humanity, 63–96 and 125–340; Hofmann, “Cumulative Genocide,” 91; Yacoub, Year of the Sword, 15–120. 44 Hannibal Travis, Genocide in the M ­ iddle East: The Ottoman Empire, Iraq, and Sudan (Durham: Carolina Academic Press, 2010), 191–221, 245–269, and 284–292. 45 Anahit Khosroeva, “Assyrians in the Ottoman Empire and the Official Turkish Policy of Their Extermination, 1890s–1918,” in Shirinian, Genocide in the Ottoman Empire, 115. 46 Halo, Not Even My Name, 105–135. 47 Halo, Not Even My Name, 105–135; Dikran M. Kaligian, “Convulsions at the End of Empire: Thrace, Asia Minor, and the Aegean,” in Shirinian, Genocide in the Ottoman Empire, 94–99; Arnold J. Toynbee, The Western Question in Greece and Turkey: A Study in the Contact of Civilisations (London: Constable, 1922), 139, 280; Matthias Bjørnlund, “The Persecution of Greeks and Armenians in Smyrna,” in The Asia Minor Catastrophe and the Ottoman Greek Genocide, ed. George N. Shirinian (Chicago: Asia Minor and Pontos Hellenic Research Center, 2012); Kaligian, “Convulsions at the End of Empire,” 95–99; Lewis Einstein, Inside Constantinople: A Diplomat’s Diary during the Dardanelles Expedition, April–­September 1915 (Boston: E.P. Dutton, 1918), 202–203, 232–233; Khosroeva, “Assyrians in the Ottoman Empire,” 122; David Gaunt, “The Ottoman Treatment of the Assyrians,” in Suny, Göçek, and Naimark, Question of Genocide, 246–254; George N. Shirinian, “Starvation and Its ­Political Use in the Armenian Genocide,” Genocide Studies International 11, no. 1 (2017): 13; Dadrian, History of the Armenian Genocide, 242. 48 Dadrian, History of the Armenian Genocide, 240. 49 Shirinian, “Starvation and Its ­Political Use in the Armenian Genocide,” 13. 50 Leslie A. Davis, The Slaughter­house Province: An American Diplomat’s Report on the Armenian Genocide, 1915–1917, ed. Susan K. Blair (New Rochelle, NY: Aristide D. Caratzas, 1989), 144. 51 Balakian, Burning Tigris, 237.

258 • Notes to Pages 110–114

52 Balakian, Burning Tigris, 237. 53 Shirinian, “Starvation and Its ­Political Use in the Armenian Genocide,” 9–30; Mae M. Derdarian, Vergeen: A Survivor of the Armenian Genocide (Los Angeles: ATMUS Press, 1996), 46–47; Morgenthau, Ambassador Morgenthau’s Story, 316–317; Shahen Derderian, Death March: An Armenian Survivor’s Memoir of the Genocide of 1915, trans. Ishkhan Jinbashian (Studio City: H. and K. Manjikian, 2008), 50. 54 Balakian, Burning Tigris, 243–249. 55 Akçam, Young Turks’ Crime against Humanity, 199. 56 Rafael de Nogales, Four Years beneath the Crescent, trans. Muna Lee (Glendale, CA: Taderon Press, 2003), 122–125. 57 Suny, “They Can Live in the Desert but Nowhere ­Else,” 259–286, 314–328. 58 Suny, “They Can Live in the Desert but Nowhere E ­ lse,” 215; Balakian, Burning Tigris, 255. 59 National Archives and Rec­ords Administration, report from Jesse B. Jackson, now in Washington, to Secretary of State, “Armenian Atrocities,” 4 March 1918, RG 59, 867.4016/373. 60 National Archives and Rec­ords Administration, Jesse B. Jackson to Henry Morgenthau, Aleppo, Syria, 10 August 1915, RG 59, 867.4016/148. 61 Akçam, Young Turks’ Crime against Humanity, 264. 62 Gaunt, “Ottoman Treatment of the Assyrians,” 246. 63 Yacoub, Year of the Sword, 15. 64 Vahakn N. Dadrian, “­Children as Victims of Genocide: The Armenian Case,” Journal of Genocide Research 5, no. 3 (2003): 422–425. 65 Hofmann, “Cumulative Genocide,” 102; George Horton, The Blight of Asia: An Account of the Systematic Extermination of Christian Populations by Mohammedans and of the Culpability of Certain G ­ reat Powers, with the True Story of the Burning of Smyrna (Indianapolis: Bobbs-­Merrill, 1926). 66 Payaslian, History of Armenia, 138–142. 67 Varteres Mikael Garougian, Destiny of the Dzidzernag (Prince­ton, NJ: Gomidas Institute, 2005), 134–135. 68 National Archives and Rec­ords Administration, report from Jesse B. Jackson, now in Washington, to Secretary of State, “Armenian Atrocities,” 4 March 1918, RG 59, 867.4016/373. 69 Hofmann, “Cumulative Genocide,” 78. 70 Suny, “They Can Live in the Desert but Nowhere ­Else,” 314–315. 71 Mabel Evelyn Elliott, Beginning Again at Ararat (New York: Fleming H. Revell, 1924), 22–23. 72 Horton, Blight of Asia, 22. 73 Fuat Dündar, “Pouring a P ­ eople into the Desert: The ‘Definitive Solution’ of the Unionists to the Armenian Question,” in Suny, Göçek, and Naimark, Question of Genocide, 282. 74 Suny, “They Can Live in the Desert but Nowhere ­Else,” 326. 75 Suny, “They Can Live in the Desert but Nowhere ­Else,” 314–328. 76 Suny, “They Can Live in the Desert but Nowhere ­Else,” 316. 77 Shirinian, “Starvation and Its ­Political Use in the Armenian Genocide,” 13–14. 78 Hofmann, “Cumulative Genocide,” 91. 79 Kaligian, “Convulsions at the End of Empire,” 94–99; John Mourelos, “The Persecutions in Thrace and Ionia in 1914 and the First Attempt at an Exchange of Minorities between Greece and Turkey,” in Hofmann, Bjørnlund, and Meichanetsidis, Genocide of the Ottoman Greeks, 113.

Notes to Pages 114–118 • 259

80 Bjørnlund, “Danish Sources on the Destruction of the Ottoman Greeks,” 147–148, Bloxham, ­Great Game of Genocide, 64. 81 Kaligian, “Convulsions at the End of Empire,” 94–99. 82 Mourelos, “Persecutions in Thrace and Ionia in 1914,” 116. 83 Toynbee, Western Question in Greece and Turkey, 139, 280. 84 Morgenthau, Ambassador Morgenthau’s Story, 323; Bjørnlund, “Persecution of Greeks and Armenians in Smyrna,” 96–116; Kaligian, “Convulsions at the End of Empire,” 94–99; Taner Akçam, “The Greek Deportations and Massacres of 1913–1914: A Trial Run for the Armenian Genocide,” in Shirinian, Asia Minor Catastrophe and the Ottoman Greek Genocide, 85. 85 Bjørnlund, “Persecution of Greeks and Armenians in Smyrna,” 131; Martoyan, “Destruction of Smyrna in 1922,” 232–233. 86 Kévorkian, Armenian Genocide, 289–318. 87 Akçam, Young Turks’ Crime against Humanity, 176. 88 Dadrian, History of the Armenian Genocide, 219. 89 Akçam, Shameful Act, 159. 90 Suny, “They Can Live in the Desert but Nowhere ­Else,” 279. 91 L. A. Davis, Slaughter­house Province, 144. 92 Balakian, Burning Tigris, 234; see also Davis, Slaughter­house Province. 93 Shirinian, “Starvation and Its ­Political Use in the Armenian Genocide,” 13–14. 94 Balakian, Burning Tigris, 269 95 Suny, “They Can Live in the Desert but Nowhere ­Else,” 286–309. 96 Suny, “They Can Live in the Desert but Nowhere ­Else,” 308–315. 97 Hofmann, “Cumulative Genocide,” 59–60. 98 Thea Halo, “The Genocide of the Ottoman Greeks, 1913–1923,” in Shirinian, Genocide in the Ottoman Empire, 309. 99 Hofmann, “Cumulative Genocide,” 57. 100 Horton, Blight of Asia; Morgenthau, Ambassador Morgenthau’s Story, 120–121. 101 Hofmann, “Cumulative Genocide,” 91. 102 Halo, Not Even My Name, 105–113. 103 Halo, Not Even My Name, 135–136. 104 Hofmann, “Cumulative Genocide,” 57. 105 Hofmann, “Cumulative Genocide,” 57; Halo, Not Even My Name, 138. 106 Halo, Not Even My Name, 140. 107 Hofmann, “Cumulative Genocide,” 59–60. 108 Morgenthau, Ambassador Morgenthau’s Story, 324–325. 109 Halo, “Genocide of the Ottoman Greeks,” 310–311. 110 Hofmann, “Cumulative Genocide,” 72–75. 111 Hofmann, “Cumulative Genocide,” 72–75. 112 Balakian, Burning Tigris, 280–359; Antonis Klapsis, “Research Note: American Initiatives for the Relief of Greek Refugees, 1922–1923,” Genocide Studies and Prevention 6, no. 1 (2011). 113 Yervant Odian, Accursed Years: My Exile and Return from Der Zor, 1914–1919, trans. Ara Stephan Melkonian (London: Gomidas Press, 2009), 120. 114 Dadrian, “­Children as Victims of Genocide,” 425–430. 115 Keith David Watenpaugh, “ ‘Are ­There Any ­Children for Sale?’ Genocide and the Transfer of Armenian C ­ hildren (1915–1922),” Journal of H ­ uman Rights 12 (2013). 116 Dadrian, “­Children as Victims of Genocide,” 428–430. 117 Katharine Derderian, “Common Fate, Dif­fer­ent Experience: Gender-­Specific Aspects of the Armenian Genocide, 1915–1917,” Holocaust and Genocide Studies 19,

260 • Notes to Pages 118–124

no. 1 (2005); Donald Earl Miller and Lorna Touryan Miller, Survivors: An Oral History of the Armenian Genocide (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1999), 20–28; Balakian, Burning Tigris, 37–44; Anahit Khosroeva, “The Assyrian Genocide in the Ottoman Empire and Adjacent Territories,” in The Armenian Genocide: Cultural and Ethical Legacies, ed. Richard G. Hovannisian (New Brunswick: Transaction, 2007), 280; Akçam, Young Turks’ Crime against Humanity, 312–315. 118 Yacoub, Year of the Sword, 18.

Chapter 8 Neurosis 1 Peter Balakian, The Burning Tigris: The Armenian Genocide and Amer­i­ca’s Response (New York: HarperCollins, 2003), 53–62; Vahakn N. Dadrian, The History of the Armenian Genocide: Ethnic Conflict from the Balkans to Anatolia to the Caucuses (New York: Berghahn Books, 2003), 113–176. 2 Taner Akçam, A Shameful Act: The Armenian Genocide and the Question of Turkish Responsibility (New York: Henry Holt, 2006), 41. 3 Akçam, Shameful Act, 41. 4 Akçam, Shameful Act, 41–43. 5 Akçam, Shameful Act, 43. 6 Akçam, Shameful Act, 44. 7 Akçam, Shameful Act, 45. 8 Akçam, Shameful Act, 46. 9 Balakian, Burning Tigris, 44. 10 Balakian, Burning Tigris, 56. 11 Dadrian, History of the Armenian Genocide, 114. 12 Dadrian, History of the Armenian Genocide, 115–123. 13 Robert Melson, “A Theoretical Inquiry into the Armenian Massacres 1894–1896,” Comparative Studies in Society and History 24, no. 3 (1982): 506–507; Robert Melson, Revolution and Genocide: On the Origins of the Armenian Genocide and the Holocaust (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1992), 49–53. 14 Donald Bloxham, The G ­ reat Game of Genocide: Imperialism, Nationalism, and the Destruction of the Ottoman Armenians (New York: Oxford University Press, 2005), 38–39. 15 Bloxham, ­Great Game of Genocide, 41. 16 Stefan Astourian, “Genocidal Pro­cesses: Reflections on Armeno-­Turkish Polarization,” in The Armenian Genocide: History, Politics, Ethics, ed. Richard G. Hovannisian (London: Palgrave Macmillan, 1992), 61–64; Feroz Ahmad, “Vanguard of a Nascent Bourgeoisie: The Social and Economic Policy of the Young Turks, 1908–1918,” in Social and Economic History of Turkey (1071–1920), ed. Osman Okyar and Halil Inalcik (Ankara: Meteksan, 1980), 329; Reşat Kasaba, The Ottoman Empire and the World Economy: The Nineteenth C ­ entury (Albany: State University of New York, 1988), 114. 17 Bloxham, ­Great Game of Genocide, 41. 18 Bloxham, ­Great Game of Genocide, 43. 19 Bloxham, ­Great Game of Genocide, 39–44. 20 Bloxham, ­Great Game of Genocide, 45. 21 Akçam, Shameful Act, 44. 22 Akçam, Shameful Act, 43. 23 Akçam, Shameful Act, 43. 24 Akçam, Shameful Act, 45.

Notes to Pages 124–131 • 261

25 Dadrian, History of the Armenian Genocide, 135–150; Ronald Grigor Suny, “The Hamidian Massacres, 1894–1897: Disinterring a Buried History,” Études Arméniennes Contemporaines 11 (2018), https://­journals​.­openedition​.­org​/­eac​/­1847. 26 Dadrian, History of the Armenian Genocide, 121. 27 Dadrian, History of the Armenian Genocide, 122. 28 Berdal Aral, “The Idea of ­Human Rights as Perceived in the Ottoman Empire,” ­Human Rights Quarterly 26, no. 2 (2004): 480. 29 Henry C. Theriault, “Rethinking Dehumanization in Genocide,” in The Armenian Genocide: Cultural and Ethical Legacies, ed. Richard G. Hovannisian (New Brunswick: Transaction, 2007). 30 Ali Eminov, Turkish and Other Muslim Minorities of Bulgaria (New York: Routledge, 1997). 31 Eminov, Turkish and Other Muslim Minorities, 5. 32 Eminov, Turkish and Other Muslim Minorities, 10–11. 33 Dadrian, History of the Armenian Genocide, 124–125. 34 Ronald Grigor Suny, “They Can Live in the Desert but Nowhere ­Else”: A History of the Armenian Genocide (Prince­ton, NJ: Prince­ton University Press, 2015), 123. 35 It should be noted that t­ here was bipartisan agreement on the illegitimacy of the Armenian massacres. Balakian, Burning Tigris, 64–69. 36 Suny, “They Can Live in the Desert but Nowhere ­Else,” 113. 37 Suny, “They Can Live in the Desert but Nowhere ­Else,” 119–122. 38 Suny, “They Can Live in the Desert but Nowhere ­Else,” 127. 39 Richard G. Hovannisian, “The Armenian Genocide: ­Wartime Radicalization or Premeditated Continuum?” in Hovannisian, Cultural and Ethical Legacies, 6. 40 Hovannisian, “Armenian Genocide,” 7. 41 Suny, “Hamidian Massacres.” 42 Akçam, Shameful Act. 43 Dadrian, History of the Armenian Genocide, 114–124; Akçam, Shameful Act, 41–43. 44 Dadrian, History of the Armenian Genocide, 114–124; Akçam, Shameful Act, 41–43. 45 Balakian, Burning Tigris, 55. 46 Balakian, Burning Tigris, 56. 47 Akçam, Shameful Act, 41. 48 Akçam, Shameful Act, 41. 49 Dadrian, History of the Armenian Genocide, 119–120. 50 Bloxham, ­Great Game of Genocide, 120. 51 Dadrian, History of the Armenian Genocide, 120–121. 52 Dadrian, History of the Armenian Genocide, 121. 53 Dadrian, History of the Armenian Genocide, 127. 54 Dadrian, History of the Armenian Genocide, 128. 55 Dadrian, History of the Armenian Genocide, 128–129. 56 Dadrian, History of the Armenian Genocide, 128–129. 57 Dadrian, History of the Armenian Genocide, 135. 58 Dadrian, History of the Armenian Genocide., 135–136. 59 Dadrian, History of the Armenian Genocide, 136–137. 60 Dadrian, History of the Armenian Genocide, 138. 61 Dadrian, History of the Armenian Genocide, 138–142. 62 Dadrian, History of the Armenian Genocide, 138–142. 63 Balakian, Burning Tigris, 110. 64 Balakian, Burning Tigris, 110; Dadrian, History of the Armenian Genocide, 142–146. 65 Suny, “Hamidian Massacres.”

262 • Notes to Pages 131–140

66 Akçam, Shameful Act, 41. 67 Balakian, Burning Tigris, 111. 68 This cautious estimate was offered by Johannes Lepsius, a German pastor working in Anatolia, though the numbers could have been higher. 69 Balakian, Burning Tigris, 112. 70 Balakian, Burning Tigris, 112. 71 Akçam, Shameful Act, 46. 72 Suny, “They Can Live in the Desert but Nowhere ­Else,” 117–123. 73 Balakian, Burning Tigris, 113. 74 Quoted in Gia Aivazian, “The W. L. Sachtleben Papers on Erzerum in the 1890s,” in Armenian Karin/Erzerum, ed. Richard G. Hovannisian (Costa Mesa: Mazda, 2003), 246–247. 75 Boris Adjemian and Mikaël Nichanian, “Rethinking the ‘Hamidian Massacres’: The Issue of the Pre­ce­dent,” Études Arméniennes Contemporaines 10 (2018), https://­journals​.­openedition​.­org​/­eac​/­1335#bodyftn12. 76 Selim Deringil, “ ‘The Armenian Question Is Fi­nally Closed’: Mass Conversions of Armenians in Anatolia during the Hamidian Massacres of 1895–1897,” Comparative Studies in Society and History 51, no. 2 (2009), 346–347. 77 Deringil, “ ‘Armenian Question Is Fi­nally Closed,’ ” 352–353. 78 Deringil, “ ‘Armenian Question,’ ” 353. 79 Deringil, “ ‘Armenian Question,’ ” 352–358. 80 Deringil, “ ‘Armenian Question,’ ” 359. 81 Deringil, “ ‘Armenian Question,’ ” 361–363.

Chapter 9 Metamorphosis 1 While World War II took place between 1939 and 1945 in ­Europe, a less Eurocentric and more inclusive history of the conflict sets the start date as 18 September 1931, marking the J­ apanese occupation of Manchuria, and the end date as 2 September 1945, marking the final J­ apanese surrender. 2 Mark Kramer, introduction to Redrawing Nations: Ethnic Cleansing in East-­Central ­Europe, 1944–1948, ed. Philipp Ther and Ana Siljak (Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield, 2001), 26. 3 Doris L. Bergen, War and Genocide: A Concise History of the Holocaust, 2nd ed. (Toronto: Rowman & Littlefield, 2009), 1–28; Saul Friedländer, Nazi Germany and the Jews: The Years of Extermination, 1939–1945 (New York: Harper Perennial, 2007); Alfred Maurice de Zayas, A Terrible Revenge: The Ethnic Cleansing of the East ­European Germans, 2nd ed. (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2006). 4 Protocol of the Proceedings of the Potsdam Conference, 1 August 1945, https://­w ww​ .­nato​.­int​/­ebookshop​/­video​/­declassified​/­doc​_­fi les​/­Potsdam%20Agreement​.­pdf. 5 Stanislaw Janhowiak, “ ‘Cleansing’ Poland of Germans: The Province of Pomerania, 1945–1949,” in Ther and Siljak, Redrawing Nations, 102. 6 Hans W. Schoenberg, Germans from the East: A Study of Their Migration, Resettlement, and Subsequent Group History since 1945 (The Hague: Martinus Nuhoff, 1970), 11. 7 Schoenberg, Germans from the East, 12. 8 Bernard Linek, “ ‘De-­Germanization’ and ‘Re-­Polonization’ in Upper Silesia, 1945–1950,” in Ther and Siljak, Redrawing Nations, 121–123. 9 Linek, “ ‘De-­Germanization’ and ‘Re-­Polonization’ in Upper Silesia,” 11–123. 10 Linek, “ ‘De-­Germanization’ and ‘Re-­Polonization’ in Upper Silesia,” 121–122.

Notes to Pages 140–143 • 263

11 ­Eagle Glassheim, “The Mechanics of Ethnic Cleansing: The Expulsion of Germans from C ­ zechoslovakia, 1945–1947,” in Ther and Siljak, Redrawing Nations, 198. 12 R. M. Douglas, Orderly and Humane: The Expulsion of the Germans ­after the Second World War (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2012), 8. 13 G. C. Paikert, The Danube Swabians: German Populations in Hungary, Rumania and Yugo­slavia and Hitler’s Impact on Their Patterns (The Hague: Martinus Nijhoff, 1967), 65–66. 14 Paikert, Danube Swabians, 66–68. 15 Paikert, Danube Swabians, 66–68. 16 Paikert, Danube Swabians, 263. 17 Paikert, Danube Swabians, 264. 18 Paikert, Danube Swabians, 245–246. 19 Paikert, Danube Swabians, 246. 20 Paikert, Danube Swabians, 247. 21 Glassheim, “Mechanics of Ethnic Cleansing,” 198. 22 Tara Zahara, Kidnapped Souls: National Indifference and the B ­ attle for C ­ hildren in the Bohemian Lands, 1900–1948 (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 2011), 107. 23 A German Bohemian Deputy, “National Minorities in E ­ urope: The German Minority in ­Czechoslovakia,” Slavonic and East E ­ uropean Review 41 (1936): 297–298. 24 Mary Hiemann, ­Czechoslovakia: The State That Failed (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2011), 73. 25 Douglas, Orderly and Humane, 10–12. 26 Glassheim, “Mechanics of Ethnic Cleansing,” 214. 27 Douglas, Orderly and Humane, 12–13. 28 Douglas, Orderly and Humane, 9. 29 Paikert, Danube Swabians, 62–63. 30 Paikert, Danube Swabians, 64. 31 Paikert, Danube Swabians, 126. 32 Paikert, Danube Swabians, 177. 33 Paikert, Danube Swabians, 266–271. 34 Paikert, Danube Swabians, 172. 35 Paikert, Danube Swabians, 172–174, 272–274. 36 Paikert, Danube Swabians, 72–75; Schoenberg, Germans from the East, 14. 37 Schoenberg, Germans from the East, 14–16. 38 Paikert, Danube Swabians, 141. 39 Paikert, Danube Swabians, 134–135. 40 Paikert, Danube Swabians, 136–137. 41 Paikert, Danube Swabians, 137. 42 Valdis O. Lumans, Himmler’s Auxiliaries: The Volksdeutsche Mittselstelle and the German National Minorities of E ­ urope, 1933–1945 (Durham: University of North Carolina Press, 2010), 40–45. 43 Paikert, Danube Swabians, 108–111, 137–140. 44 David Littlejohn, Foreign Legions of the Third Reich, vol. 1, Norway, Denmark, France (San Jose: R. James Bender, 1979); David Littlejohn, Foreign Legions of the Third Reich, vol. 2, Belgium, ­Great Britain, Holland, Italy, and Spain (San Jose: R. James Bender, 1981); David Littlejohn, Foreign Legions of the Third Reich, vol. 3, Albania, ­Czechoslovakia, Greece, Hungary, and Yugo­slavia (San Jose: R. James Bender, 1985); David Littlejohn, Foreign Legions of the Third Reich, vol. 4, Poland, the Ukraine, Bulgaria, Rumania, F ­ ree India, Estonia, Latvia, Lithuania, Finland, and Rus­sia (San Jose: R. James Bender, 1987).

264 • Notes to Pages 143–147

45 Paikert, Danube Swabians, 144–150. 46 Paikert, Danube Swabians, 251. 47 Schoenberg, Germans from the East, 42; Lucius D. Clay, Decision in Germany (New York: Doubleday, 1950), 100. 48 Janhowiak, “ ‘Cleansing’ Poland of Germans,” 100. 49 Glassheim, “Mechanics of Ethnic Cleansing,” 214. 50 Harry S. Truman, Memoirs, vol. 1, Year of Decisions (New York: Doubleday, 1955), 394. From a letter to his ­family sent from Potsdam, 28 July 1945. 51 Dwight David Eisenhower, Crusade in ­Europe (New York: Permabooks, 1952), 516. 52 Douglas, Orderly and Humane, 5; Claudia Kraft, “Who Is a Pole, and Who Is a German? The Province of Olsztyn in 1945,” trans. Sean Ward, in Ther and Siljak, Redrawing Nations, 111–115. 53 Douglas, Orderly and Humane, 5; Kraft, “Who Is a Pole,” 111–115. 54 Philipp Ther, “A C ­ entury of Forced Migration: The Origins and Consequences of ‘Ethnic Cleansing,’ ” in Ther and Siljak, Redrawing Nations, 55n67. 55 Linek, “ ‘De-­Germanization’ and ‘Re-­Polonization’ in Upper Silesia,” 126. 56 Glassheim, “Mechanics of Ethnic Cleansing,” 214. 57 Roman Jakobson, “Prob­lems of Language in Masaryk’s Writings,” in On Masaryk: Texts in E ­ nglish and German, ed. Josef Novák (Amsterdam: Rodipi, 1988), 72–73. 58 Glassheim, “Mechanics of Ethnic Cleansing,” 213. 59 Benjamin Frommer, “To Prosecute or to Expel? Czechoslovak Retribution and the ‘Transfer’ of Sudeten Germans,” in Ther and Siljak, Redrawing Nations, 221–222. 60 Ther, “­Century of Forced Migration,” 58. 61 Keith Lowe, Savage Continent: E ­ urope in the Aftermath of World War II (New York: St. Martin’s Press, 2013), 73. 62 Lowe, Savage Continent, xiv–74. 63 Lowe, Savage Continent, 9. 64 Lowe, Savage Continent, 10. 65 Norman Davies, Rising ’44: The B ­ attle for Warsaw (London: Pan, 2004), 439. 66 John Vachon, Poland 1946: The Photo­g raphs and Letters of John Vachon, ed. Ann Vachon (Washington, DC: Smithsonian Institution Press, 1995), 5. 67 Richard Overy, The Bombers and the Bombed: Allied Air War over ­Europe, 1940–1945 (New York: Viking Press, 2014); Hans Rumpf, The Bombing of Germany, trans. Edward Fitzgerald (London: White Lion, 1975), 127–130; Lowe, Savage Continent, 7. 68 Lowe, Savage Continent, 5. 69 Lowe, Savage Continent, 40. 70 Robert Donovan, The Second Victory: The Marshall Plan and the Postwar Revival of ­Europe (New York: Madison Books, 1987), 11. 71 Lowe, Savage Continent, 41–59. 72 Timothy Snyder, The Reconstruction of Nations: Poland, Ukraine, Lithuania, Belarus, 1569–1999 (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2003). 73 Robert Crampton, Eastern ­Europe in the Twentieth ­Century—­and ­After, 2nd ed. (New York: Routledge, 1997), 213. 74 Kraft, “Who Is a Pole, and Who Is a German?,” 109. 75 Glassheim, “Mechanics of Ethnic Cleansing,” 201. 76 Glassheim, “Mechanics of Ethnic Cleansing,” 215. 77 Glassheim, “Mechanics of Ethnic Cleansing,” 201–203. 78 Kramer, introduction, 7. 79 Ther, “­Century of Forced Migration,” 59–62.

Notes to Pages 147–150 • 265

80 Ther, “­Century of Forced Migration,” 58. 81 Ther, “­Century of Forced Migration,” 59–62; Kraft, “Who Is a Pole, and Who Is a German?,” 107–115; Janhowiak, “ ‘Cleansing’ Poland of Germans,” 102; Frommer, “To Prosecute or to Expel?,” 222. 82 Glassheim, “Mechanics of Ethnic Cleansing,” 203. 83 Glassheim, “Mechanics of Ethnic Cleansing,” 204. 84 Zdeněc Radvanovský, “The Social and Economic Consequences of Resettling Czechs into Northwestern Bohemia, 1945–1947,” in Ther and Siljak, Redrawing Nations, 248. 85 Ther, “­Century of Forced Migration,” 59; Herbert Otterstädt, Gottschee: Verlorene Heimat duetscher Waldbauern (Frilassing: Pannonia-­Verlag, 1962); Lowe, Savage Continent. 86 Ther, “­Century of Forced Migration,” 44; Norman M. Naimark, Stalin’s Genocides (Prince­ton, NJ: Prince­ton University Press, 2010). 87 Ther, “­Century of Forced Migration,” 46–48. 88 Ther, “­Century of Forced Migration,” 46–48. 89 406 Parl. Deb. H.C. (5th ser.) (1944) cols. 1483–1484. 90 Dean Acheson to Harry Hopkins, memorandum, 26 December 1944, in N. O. Sappington et al., eds., Foreign Relations of the United States: Diplomatic Papers, 1945, General: ­Political and Economic ­Matters, vol. 2 (Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 1967), 1059–1061. 91 Dean Acheson to Harry Hopkins, memorandum, 26 December 1944. 92 Douglas, Orderly and Humane, 17. 93 Glassheim, “Mechanics of Ethnic Cleansing,” 200. 94 Radomír Luža, The Transfer of the Sudeten Germans: A Study of Czech-­German Relations, 1933–1962 (New York: New York University Press, 1964), 225; Ther, “­Century of Forced Migration,” 58. 95 Glassheim, “Mechanics of Ethnic Cleansing,” 215; Luža, Transfer of the Sudeten Germans, 226. 96 Matthew Frank, Making Minorities History: Population Transfer in Twentieth-­ Century ­Europe (New York: Oxford University Press, 2017), 196. 97 Glassheim, “Mechanics of Ethnic Cleansing,” 200. 98 Luža, Transfer of the Sudeten Germans, 230; Edvard Beneš (lecture, Alliances Française, Manchester, 17 May 1941); Czechoslovak Ministry of Foreign Affairs, ­Czechoslovakia in Post-­War E ­ urope: Prob­lems of Reconstruction (London: New E ­ urope, 1942), 61; MacAlister Brown, “The Diplomacy of Bitterness: Genesis of the Potsdam Decision to Expel Germans from C ­ zechoslovakia,” Western P ­ olitical Quarterly 11, no. 3 (1958). 99 Edvard Beneš, Memoirs of Dr. Eduard Beneš: From Munich to New War and New Victory, trans. Godfrey Lias (London: Allen & Unwin, 1954), 315–316. 100 Edvard Beneš, “The New Order in ­Europe,” The Nineteenth C ­ entury and ­After 130 (September 1941): 150–155. 101 Edvard Beneš, “The Organisation of Postwar E ­ urope,” Foreign Affairs 20, no. 2 (1942): 237–238. 102 Douglas, Orderly and Humane, 49. 103 Douglas, Orderly and Humane, 24. 104 Luža, Transfer of the Sudeten Germans, 234. 105 Luža, Transfer of the Sudeten Germans, 234–235. 106 Luža, Transfer of the Sudeten Germans, 235. 107 Beneš, Memoirs, 206.

266 • Notes to Pages 150–152

108 Schoenberg, Germans from the East, 23. 109 Douglas, Orderly and Humane, 25. 110 Louise W. Holborn, ed., War and Peace Aims of the United Nations, vols. 1–2 (Boston: World Peace Foundation, 1943–1948), 434, 438–446, 997–998, 1021–1039. 111 Zbynk Zeman and Antonin Klimek, The Life of Edvard Beneš, 1884–1948: ­Czechoslovakia in Peace and War (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1997), 185. 112 Douglas, Orderly and Humane, 27. 113 Luža, Transfer of the Sudeten Germans, 239–240. 114 Beneš, Memoirs, 193, 195, 293. 115 Schoenberg, Germans from the East 27; U.S. Department of State, Occupation of Germany: Policy and Pro­g ress, 1945–1946 (Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 1947), 24–26. 116 Eduard Táborský, “Benes and Stalin—­Moscow, 1943 and 1945,” Journal of Central ­European Affairs 13, no. 4 (1953): 159–167. 117 Táborský, “Benes and Stalin—­Moscow,” 167; Beneš, Memoirs, 261. 118 Ther, “­Century of Forced Migration,” 53. 119 Truman, Memoirs, 388. 120 Luža, Transfer of the Sudeten Germans, 244–245. 121 406 Parl. Deb. H.C. (5th ser.) (1944) cols. 1483–1484. 122 Douglas, Orderly and Humane, 77. 123 Frommer, “To Prosecute or to Expel?,” 234. 124 Frommer, “To Prosecute or to Expel?,” 77–78. 125 Frommer, “To Prosecute or to Expel?,” 90. 126 Ther, “­Century of Forced Migration,” 53. 127 Ther, “­Century of Forced Migration,” 53. 128 This incredible paradox is not missed by the author. 129 Kramer, introduction, 5; Alfred Maurice de Zayas, Nemesis at Potsdam: The Anglo-­ Americans and the Expulsion of the Germans: Background, Execution, Consequences, 3rd ed. (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 1989), 63–67; Special Subcommittee of Committee on Judiciary, “Expellees and Refugees of German Ethnic Origin,” H.R. Rep. No. 81-1841, at 5–7, (1950). 130 Bryton Barron, ed., Foreign Relations of the United States: Diplomatic Papers, Conferences at Malta and Yalta, 1945 (Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 1955), 505–509, 717. 131 James F. Byrnes, 19 October 1945, in Sappington et al., Foreign Relations of the United States, 1294. 132 Office of the Historian, Foreign Relations of the United States: Diplomatic Papers, 1944, General, Volume I, 302–303; Barron, Foreign Relations of the United States, 179; Inis Lothair Claude Jr., National Minorities: An International Prob­lem (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1955), 98, 230. 133 De Zayas, Nemesis at Potsdam, 83. 134 De Zayas, Nemesis at Potsdam, 83. 135 Winston Churchill, “The Sinews of Peace (‘Iron Curtain Speech’),” 5 March 1946, Westminster College, Fulton, Missouri, International Churchill Society, https://­ winstonchurchill​.­org​/­resources​/­speeches​/­1946​-1­ 963​-e­ lder​-­statesman​/­the​-­sinews​-­of​ -­peace​/­. 136 Sappington et al., Foreign Relations of the United States, 1247. 137 Sappington et al., Foreign Relations of the United States, 1248–1249. 138 De Zayas, Nemesis at Potsdam, 92. 1 39 Sappington et al., Foreign Relations of the United States, 1256–1263; “Potsdam Agreement.”

Notes to Pages 152–157 • 267

140 Schoenberg, Germans from the East, 22; Timothy Snyder, “ ‘To Resolve the Ukrainian Prob­lem Once and for All’: The Ethnic Cleansing of Ukrainians in Poland, 1943–1947,” Journal of Cold War Studies 1, no. 2 (1999): 86–120. 141 Kramer, introduction, 4. 142 “Potsdam Agreement.” 143 Schoenberg, Germans from the East, 25; Janhowiak, “ ‘Cleansing’ Poland of Germans,” 87.

Chapter 10 Catharsis 1 Victor Gollancz, Our Threatened Values (Washington, DC: H. Regnery, 1947), 96. 2 Alfred Maurice de Zayas, A Terrible Revenge: The Ethnic Cleansing of the East ­European Germans, 2nd ed. (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2006). 3 G. C. Paikert, The Danube Swabians: German Populations in Hungary, Rumania and Yugo­slavia and Hitler’s Impact on Their Patterns (The Hague: Martinus Nijhoff, 1967), 219–220. 4 Paikert, Danube Swabians, 222. 5 Keith Lowe, Savage Continent: E ­ urope in the Aftermath of World War II (New York: St. Martin’s Press, 2013), 36. 6 Pär Sparén et al., “Long Term Mortality ­A fter Severe Starvation During the Siege of Leningrad: Prospective Cohort Study,” BMJ 328, no. 7430 (2004), 11. See also Sara A. Stanner et al., “Does Malnutrition in Utero Determine Diabetes and Coronary Heart Disease in Adulthood? Results from the Leningrad Siege Study, a Cross Sectional Study,” BMJ 315, no. 7119 (1997). 7 David Glantz, Leningrad: City ­under Siege, 1941–1944 (Rochester: Grange Books, 2005), 220. 8 Adam Tooze, The Wages of Destruction (London: Penguin, 2007), 336. 9 United Nations Archives and Rec­ords Section, “Summary of AG-018 United Nations Relief and Rehabilitation Administration (UNRRA) (1943–1946),” https://­search​.a­ rchives​.­un​.­org​/d­ ownloads​/­united​-­nations​-­relief​-­and​-­rehabilitation​ -­administration​-­unrra​-­1943​-­1946​.­pdf. 10 Dorothy Macardle, ­Children of E ­ urope: A Study of the C ­ hildren of Liberated Countries, Their ­Wartime Experiences, Their Reactions, and Their Needs, with a Note on Germany (London: Victor Gollancz, 1949), 206. 11 Norman Lewis, Naples ’44 (London: Collins, 1978), 61; Douglas Botting, In the Ruins of the Reich (London: Methuen, 2005), 168. 12 Macardle, ­Children of ­Europe, 201. 13 Lowe, Savage Continent, 30. 14 De Zayas, Terrible Revenge. 15 Hans W. Schoenberg, Germans from the East: A Study of Their Migration, Resettlement, and Subsequent Group History since 1945 (The Hague: Martinus Nuhoff, 1970), 41. 16 “Consideration in the Council of Foreign Ministers,” statements by Secretary Marshall, Moscow Session, 9 April 1947, in Germany 1947–49: The Story in Documents (Washington, DC, 1950), 146. 17 Lucius D. Clay, Decision in Germany (New York: Doubleday, 1950), 312. 18 Schoenberg, Germans from the East, 42–43. 19 413 Parl. Deb. H.C. (5th ser.) (1945) col. 743. 20 Schoenberg, Germans from the East, 44. 21 Herbert Hoover and Hugh Gibson, The Prob­lems of Lasting Peace (Garden City, NJ: Doubleday, 1942), 233.

268 • Notes to Pages 158–161

22 Schoenberg, Germans from the East, 18. 23 Schoenberg, Germans from the East, 21; Bundesministerium für Vertriebene, Flüchtlinge und Kriesgageschädigta, ed., Dokumente deutscher Kriegsschäden: Evakuierte, Kriegssacheschädigte, Währungsgeschädigte, vol. II/1, Soziale und rechtliche Hilfsmassnahmen für die luftkriegsbetroffene Bevölkerung bis zur Währungsreform (Bonn: Federal Ministry for Expellees, Refugees, and War Victims, 1960), p. 715, trans. in Schoenberg, Germans from the East. 24 Paikert, Danube Swabians, 179–180. 25 Schoenberg, Germans from the East, 21; Karl Dönitz, Ten Years and Twenty Days (London: Weidenfeld and Nicolson, 1959), 465. 26 Schoenberg, Germans from the East, 22. 27 Paikert, Danube Swabians, 185. 28 Paikert, Danube Swabians, 186. 29 Paikert, Danube Swabians, 186. 30 Theodor Schieder, ed., Documents on the Expulsion of the Germans from Eastern-­ Central E ­ urope, 4 vols. (Bonn: Federal Ministry for Expellees, Refugees, and War Victims, 1958). 31 Paikert, Danube Swabians, 187. 32 Paikert, Danube Swabians, 187. 33 Paikert, Danube Swabians, 187–192. 34 Paikert, Danube Swabians, 191. 35 Stanislaw Janhowiak, “ ‘Cleansing’ Poland of Germans: The Province of Pomerania, 1945–1949,” in Redrawing Nations: Ethnic Cleansing in East-­Central E ­ urope, 1944–1948, ed. Philipp Ther and Ana Siljak (Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield, 2001), 87–89; Schieder, Documents on the Expulsion, 1: 1–47, 2: 34–42, 3: 44–76, 4: 99–107. 36 Janhowiak, “ ‘Cleansing’ Poland of Germans,” 87–89. 37 Janhowiak, “ ‘Cleansing’ Poland of Germans,” 87–89. 38 Schoenberg, Germans from the East, 18–19. 39 Schoenberg, Germans from the East, 18–19. 40 Schieder, Documents on the Expulsion, 1: 62–103, 2: 132–135, 3: 277–282 and 319–323, 4: 447–452. 41 Schoenberg, Germans from the East, 19. 42 Schieder, Documents on the Expulsion, 1: 48–103 and 127–154, 2: 43–59 and 109–126, 3: 63–82 and 185–239, 4: 36–98 and 345–364. 43 Rhoda E. Howard-­Hassmann and Margaret Walton-­Roberts, eds., The ­Human Right to Citizenship: A Slippery Concept (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2015). 44 ­Eagle Glassheim, “The Mechanics of Ethnic Cleansing: The Expulsion of Germans from C ­ zechoslovakia, 1945–1947,” in Ther and Siljak, Redrawing Nations, 214; Paikert, Danube Swabians, 200. 45 Glassheim, “Mechanics of Ethnic Cleansing,” 203. 46 Glassheim, “Mechanics of Ethnic Cleansing,” 203–215. 47 Benjamin Frommer, “To Prosecute or to Expel? Czechoslovak Retribution and the ‘Transfer’ of Sudeten Germans,” in Ther and Siljak, Redrawing Nations, 221. 48 Paikert, Danube Swabians, 197. The first governmental decree for this was on 30 June 1945 (3820/1945 ME). 49 Frommer, “To Prosecute or to Expel?,” 203. 50 Frommer, “To Prosecute or to Expel?,” 231. 51 Glassheim, “Mechanics of Ethnic Cleansing,” 203.

Notes to Pages 161–165 • 269

52 Frommer, “To Prosecute or to Expel?,” 222. 53 Glassheim, “Mechanics of Ethnic Cleansing,” 204. 54 Zdeněc Radvanovský, “The Social and Economic Consequences of Resettling Czechs into Northwestern Bohemia, 1945–1947,” in Ther and Siljak, Redrawing Nations, 248. 55 Philipp Ther, “A C ­ entury of Forced Migration: The Origins and Consequences of ‘Ethnic Cleansing,’ ” in Ther and Siljak, Redrawing Nations, 58. 56 Paikert, Danube Swabians, 198. 57 Janhowiak, “ ‘Cleansing’ Poland of Germans,” 88. 58 Janhowiak, “ ‘Cleansing’ Poland of Germans,” 102; Schieder, Documents on the Expulsion, 1: 218–220. 59 Ther, “­Century of Forced Migration,” 59–62. 60 Claudia Kraft, “Who Is a Pole, and Who Is a German? The Province of Olsztyn in 1945,” trans. Sean Ward, in Ther and Siljak, Redrawing Nations, 110–117; Schoenberg, Germans from the East, 19; Schieder, Documents on the Expulsion, 1:26–135, 4:17–107, 4:172–176. 61 Norman M. Naimark, Stalin’s Genocides (Prince­ton, NJ: Prince­ton University Press, 2010). 62 George Frost Kennan, Memoirs, vol. 1, 1925 to 1950 (New York: L ­ ittle Brown, 1967), 265. 63 Schieder, Documents on the Expulsion, 1: 155–334, 2: 127–182, 3: 275–355, 4: 365–579. 64 Glassheim, “Mechanics of Ethnic Cleansing,” 204; Kramer, introduction, 2. 65 Janhowiak, “ ‘Cleansing’ Poland of Germans,” 88; Schieder, Documents on the Expulsion, 1: 155–341, 2: 129–214, 3: 185–274 and 341–355, 4: 351–579. 66 Janhowiak, “ ‘Cleansing’ Poland of Germans,” 89; Schieder, Documents on the Expulsion, 1:60–96 and 218–220, 2: 77–83 and 143–167, 3: 88–92 and 109–115 and 299–316, 4: 78–90 and 415–420. 67 Glassheim, “Mechanics of Ethnic Cleansing, 206. 68 Glassheim, “Mechanics of Ethnic Cleansing,” 206–215. 69 Janhowiak, “ ‘Cleansing’ Poland of Germans,” 89. 70 Paikert, Danube Swabians, 193–4. 71 Lowe, Savage Continent. 72 Janhowiak, “ ‘Cleansing’ Poland of Germans,” 88–89. 73 Schoenberg, Germans from the East, 20; Schieder, Documents on the Expulsion, 1:60–96. 74 De Zayas, Terrible Revenge. 75 Kramer, introduction, 2. 76 R. M. Douglas, Orderly and Humane: The Expulsion of the Germans ­after the Second World War (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2012), 1–5. 77 Douglas, Orderly and Humane, 1; Schieder, Documents on the Expulsion, 1: 155–341, 2: 43–71 and 129–214, 3: 83–118 and 185–274 and 341–355, 4: 351–579. 78 Douglas, Orderly and Humane, 99. 79 Douglas, Orderly and Humane, 100; ­Eagle Glassheim, “National Mythologies and Ethnic Cleansing: The Expulsion of Czechoslovak Germans in 1945,” Central ­European History 33, no. 4 (2000): 478. 80 Douglas, Orderly and Humane, 116. 81 Douglas, Orderly and Humane, 116. 82 Douglas, Orderly and Humane, 97. 83 De Zayas, Terrible Revenge, 91–96. 84 De Zayas, Terrible Revenge, 94–95.

270 • Notes to Pages 166–169

85 De Zayas, Terrible Revenge, 123. 86 Douglas, Orderly and Humane, 100. 87 Ther, “­Century of Forced Migration,” 55; de Zayas, Terrible Revenge, 89; Douglas, Orderly and Humane, 95. 88 Schoenberg, Germans from the East, 19; Schieder, Documents on the Expulsion, 1: 155–341, 2: 43–71 and 129–214, 3: 83–118 and 185–274 and 341–355, 4: 351–579. 89 De Zayas, Terrible Revenge, 97. 90 Douglas, Orderly and Humane, 1. 91 De Zayas, Terrible Revenge, 99. 92 De Zayas, Terrible Revenge, 105. 93 Schoenberg, Germans from the East, 36. 94 Janhowiak, “ ‘Cleansing’ Poland of Germans,” 88–92. 95 Schieder, Documents on the Expulsion, 1: 155–341, 2: 43–71 and 129–214, 3: 83–118 and 185–274 and 341–355, 4: 351–579. 96 De Zayas, Terrible Revenge. 97 Douglas, Orderly and Humane, 1. 98 Manfred Wille, “Compelling the Assimilation of Expellees in the Soviet Zone of Occupation and the GDR,” trans. Sean Ward, in Ther and Siljak, Redrawing Nations, 264. 99 Schoenberg, Germans from the East, 26. 100 Schoenberg, Germans from the East, 25. 101 Clay, Decision in Germany, 312; Schieder, Documents on the Expulsion, 4:119n3. 102 Schoenberg, Germans from the East, 26. 103 Ther, “­Century of Forced Migration,” 55. 104 Clay, Decision in Germany, 313–316; Schoenberg, Germans from the East, 26. 105 Janhowiak, “ ‘Cleansing’ Poland of Germans,” 95; Schieder, Documents on the Expulsion, 1: 155–282, 2: 143–170, 3: 205–296, 4: 432–452 and 501–509. 106 Janhowiak, “ ‘Cleansing’ Poland of Germans,” 95–97. 107 Janhowiak, “ ‘Cleansing’ Poland of Germans,” 96. 108 Clay, Decision in Germany, 313–314; see also Michael Robert Marrus, The Unwanted: Eurppean Refugees in the Twentieth C ­ entury (New York: Oxford University Press, 1985), 298–345; Adam R. Seipp, Strangers in the Wild Place: Refugees, Americans, and a German Town, 1945–1952 (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2013); Mark Wyman, DPs: ­Europe’s Displaced Persons, 1945–1951 (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1998). 109 Schoenberg, Germans from the East, 44–46. 110 Bernard Linek, “ ‘De-­Germanization’ and ‘Re-­Polonization’ in Upper Silesia, 1945–1950,” in Ther and Siljak, Redrawing Nations, 128. 111 Kramer, introduction, 18. 112 Wille, “Compelling the Assimilation of Expellees,” 263–265. 113 Wille, “Compelling the Assimilation of Expellees,” 264. 114 Kramer, introduction, 2. 115 Marrus, Unwanted, 300–301. 116 Kramer, introduction, 38. 117 Kramer, introduction, 36–38. 118 Anna J. Merrit and Richard L. Merrit (eds.), Public Opinion in Occupied Germany: The OMGUS Surveys, 1945–1949 (Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 1970); Bertram Gresh Lattimore, Jr., The Assimilation of the German Expellees into the West German Polity and Society Since 1945: A Case Study of Eutin, Schleswig-­ Holstein (The Hague: Martinus Nijoff, 1974).

Notes to Pages 170–174 • 271

119 Wille, “Compelling the Assimilation of Expellees,” 263. 120 Paikert, Danube Swabians, 230. 121 Schoenberg, Germans from the East, viii–ix. 122 Marrus, Unwanted, 305. 123 Supreme Headquarters, Allied Expeditionary Force, Handbook Governing Policy and Procedure for the Military Occupation of Germany, rev. ed. April 1945, pt. 2, sec. 376(b). 124 Joint Chiefs of Staff (JSC) Directive 1779, 15 July 1947, sec. 13(F), in Germany 1947–49, 36. 125 Schoenberg, Germans from the East, 44. 126 Essentially no Nazi or Pan-­German policies ­were to be pursued. Schoenberg, Germans from the East, 44. 127 Schoenberg, Germans from the East, 45. 128 Ther, “­Century of Forced Migration,” 63. 129 Ther, “­Century of Forced Migration,” 28.

Chapter 11 Desolation 1 Saul Friedländer, Nazi Germany and the Jews: The Years of Extermination, 1939–1945 (New York: Harper Perennial, 2007); Anton Weiss-­Wendt, ed., The Nazi Genocide of the Roma: Reassessment and Commemoration (New York: Berghahn Books, 2013); Richard Plant, The Pink Triangle: The Nazi War against Homosexuals (New York: Henry Holt, 1988); Henry Friedlander, The Origins of Nazi Genocide: From Euthanasia to the Final Solution (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1997). 2 Maike Rotzoll et al., “The First National Socialist Extermination Crime: The T4 Program and Its Victims,” International Journal of M ­ ental Health 35, no. 3 (2006). 3 Oleksandr Kobrynskyy, “Defining the Jew: The Origins of the Nuremberg Laws,” in Nazi Law: From Nuremberg to Nuremberg, ed. John J. Michalczyk (London: Bloomsburg Academic, 2019). 4 Weiss-­Wendt, Nazi Genocide of the Roma; U.S. Holocaust Memorial Museum, “Berlikn-­Marzahn (Camp for Roma),” https://­encyclopedia​.­ushmm​.­org​/­content​/­en​ /­article​/­marzahn. 5 Alan E. Steinweis, Kristallnacht 1938 (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2009). 6 Geoffrey P. Megargee, War of Annihilation: Combat and Genocide on the Eastern Front (New York: Rowman & Littlefield, 2006). 7 Raul Hilberg, The Destruction of the E ­ uropean Jews, 3rd ed. (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2003); Lisa A. Kirschenbaum, The Legacy of the Siege of Leningrad, 1941–45: Myth, Memories, and Monuments (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2006); Helen Fein, “Genocide by Attrition, 1939–1993: The Warsaw Ghetto, Cambodia, and Sudan: Links between ­Human Rights, Health, and Mass Death,” Health and H ­ uman Rights 2, no. 2 (1997); Gesine Gerhard, Nazi Hunger Politics: A History of Food in the Third Reich (Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield, 2015). 8 Anita J. Prażmowska, “The Kielce Pogrom 1946 and the Emergence of Communist Power in Poland,” Cold War History 2, no. 2 (2002): 101. 9 Sarah Fowler, “Nazi Camp Guard Josef Schütz Dies at 102,” BBC News, 26 April 2023, https://­w ww​.­bbc​.­com​/­news​/­world​-­europe​-­65402024. 10 Timothy Snyder, Bloodlands: E ­ urope between Hitler and Stalin (New York: Basic Books, 2010). 11 R. M. Douglas, Orderly and Humane: The Expulsion of the Germans ­after the Second World War (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2012), 3.

272 • Notes to Pages 175–178

12 Timothy Snyder, Bloodlands, 256. 13 Eric D. Weitz, A ­Century of Genocide: Utopias of Race and Nation (Prince­ton, NJ: Prince­ton University Press, 2003), 102–143. 14 Gavin Langmuir, History Religion, and Anti-­Semitism (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1993). 15 Adolf Hitler, Mein Kampf, trans. Ralph Manheim (New York: Houghton Mifflin, 1999), 393. 16 Maureen S. Hiebert, Constructing Genocide and Mass Vio­lence: Society, Crisis, Identity (New York: Routledge, 2017), 31–55, 91–107. 17 Timothy Snyder, Black Earth: The Holocaust as History and Warning (New York: Tim Duggan Books, 2015), 1. 18 Snyder, Black Earth, 1. 19 Hilberg, Destruction of the ­European Jews; Emil L. Fackenheim, “Holocaust and Weltanschauung: Philosophical Reflections on Why They Did It,” Holocaust and Genocide Studies 3, no. 2 (1988). 20 Doris L. Bergen, War and Genocide: A Concise History of the Holocaust, 2nd ed. (Toronto: Rowman & Littlefield, 2009), 39. 21 Eric Ehrenreich, “Otmar von Verschuer and the “Scientific” Legitimization of Nazi Anti-­Jewish Policy,” Holocaust and Genocide Studies 21, no. 1 (2007); Alan E. Steinweis and Robert D. Rachlin, eds., The Law in Nazi Germany: Ideology, Opportunism, and the Perversion of Justice (New York: Berghahn Books, 2013). 22 Hiebert, Constructing Genocide, 149–171. 23 Maureen S. Hiebert, “The Three ‘Switches’ of Identity Construction in Genocide: The Nazi Final Solution and the Cambodian Killing Fields,” Genocide Studies and Prevention 3 (2008). 24 Jan T. Gross, Neighbors: The Destruction of the Jewish Community in Jedwabne (New York: Penguin, 2002). 25 Poles, it should be noted, constitute an overwhelming number of t­ hose considered “­R ighteous among the Nations” by Israel’s Yad Vashem. Yad Vashem, “The ­R ighteous among the Nations,” https://­w ww​.y­ advashem​.­org​/­righteous​.­html. 26 Raul Hilberg, Perpetrators, Victims, and Bystanders: The Jewish Catastrophe, 1933–1945 (New York: HarperCollins, 1993). 27 Megargee, War of Annihilation, 95–98; Christopher Browning, Ordinary Men: Reserve Police Battalion 101 and the Final Solution in Poland (New York: HarperPerennial, 1998). 28 Friedlander, Origins of Nazi Genocide. 29 Fein, “Genocide by Attrition, 1939–1993.” 30 Andrew R. Basso, “A Forced Displacement and Atrocity Crime Nexus: Displacement as Transfer, Annihilation, and Homogenization,” in The Handbook of Displacement, ed. Peter Adey et al. (London: Palgrave Macmillan, 2020), 524–527. 31 Michael Robert Marrus, ed., The Nazi Holocaust, vol. 3, The “Final Solution”: The Implementation of Mass Murder (Westport: Meckler, 1989). 32 Megargee, War of Annihilation. 33 Michael Robert Marrus, The Holocaust in History (Hanover, NH: University Press of New E ­ ngland, 1987). 34 Marrus, Holocaust in History. 35 Götz Aly, “Final Solution”: Nazi Population Policy and the Murder of the E ­ uropean Jews, trans. Belinda Cooper and Allison Brown (London: Arnold, 1999). 36 Marrus, Holocaust in History. 37 Hilberg, Destruction of the ­European Jews; Aly, “Final Solution.”

Notes to Pages 178–182 • 273

38 Fred E. Katz, “Implementation of the Holocaust: The Be­hav­ior of Nazi Officials,” in The Nazi Holocaust, vol. 3, pt. 2, The “Final Solution”: The Implementation of Mass Murder; Functionaries and Institutions of the Final Solution, ed. Michael Robert Marrus (Westport: Meckler, 1989), 353–372; Uwe Dietrich Adam, “Persecution of the Jews, Bureaucracy and Authority in the Totalitarian State,” in The Nazi Holocaust, vol. 3, pt. 2, The “Final Solution”: The Implementation of Mass Murder; Functionaries and Institutions of the Final Solution, ed. Michael Robert Marrus (Westport: Meckler, 1989), 373–386. 39 Hans Mommsen, “Cumulative Radicalization and Progressive Self-­Destruction as Structural Determinants of the Nazi Dictatorship,” in Stalinism and Nazism: Dictatorships in Comparison, ed. Ian Kershaw and Mosche Lewin (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1997). 40 Friedländer, Nazi Germany and the Jews: The Years of Persecution, 1933–1939 (New York: HarperCollins, 1997); Friedländer, Years of Extermination. 41 Friedlander, Origins of Nazi Genocide, 284–302. 42 Ian Kershaw, ­Popular Opinion and P ­ olitical Dissent in the Third Reich: Bavarian 1933–1945 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1983), 277. 43 Gitta Sereny, Into That Darkness: An Examination of Conscience (New York: Vintage Press, 1983). 44 Adam Jones, Genocide: A Comprehensive Introduction, 3rd ed. (New York: Routledge, 2017), 325. 45 Jones, Genocide, 325. 46 Snyder, Bloodlands, 227; Browning, Ordinary Men. 47 Jacques Sémelin, Purify and Destroy: The P ­ olitical Uses of Massacre and Genocide (New York: Columbia University Press, 2007), 276. 48 “Protocol of the Wannsee Conference,” 20 January 1942, in Documents on the Holocaust, ed. Yitzhak Arad, Israel Gutman, and Abraham Margaliot (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 1999), 249–261. 49 Yitzhak Arad, Belzec, Sobibór, Treblinka: The Operation Reinhard Death Camps, rev. ed. (Jerusalem: Yad Vashem, 2018); Jones, Genocide, 322–343. 50 Ludivine Broch, “Professionalism in the Final Solution: French Railway Workers and the Jewish Deportations, 1942–4,” Con­temporary ­European History 23, no. 3 (2014): 359–380. 51 Douglas, Orderly and Humane, 39–92. 52 Daniel Blatman, The Death Marches: The Final Phase of Nazi Genocide (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2011), 154. 53 Walter Bierkamp to Thiel, July 21, 1944, International Military Tribunal, O-053, in Trial of the Major War Criminals before the International Military Tribunal, Nuremberg, 14 November 1945–1 October 1946 (New York: William S. Hein, 1997). 54 Blatman, Death Marches, 57–58. 55 Blatman, Death Marches, 57–58. 56 Blatman, Death Marches, 69; Archives Nationales, Paris, déposition de deux civils allemands enregistré par le S­ ervice américain des tombes militaires à Schwabisch Hall, February 24, 1946, 72 AJ 377, trans. in Blatman, Death Marches. 57 Blatman, Death Marches, 63. 58 Blatman, Death Marches, 64–89. 59 Claude Thomarat, Rapport d’activité (semaines du 19–24 janvier et du 25 janvier au 1er février 1947), February 3, 1947, AN, 72 AJ 325–326, pp. 2–4, trans. in Blatman, Death Marches. 60 Blatman, Death Marches, 74

274 • Notes to Pages 182–188

61 Blatman, Death Marches, 100. 62 Blatman, Death Marches, 157. 63 Blatman, Death Marches, 158. 64 Military Courts for the Trial of War Criminals, Proceedings of a War Crimes Trial held at Luneburg, Germany upon the Trial of Gusav Alfred Jepsen, Joachim Frederick Freitag, and Otto Müller, 77; Archives Nationales, Paris, testimony of Rene Bauemer, October 13, 1951, 72 AJ 331–332, trans. in Blatman, Death Marches; Archiv KZ-­Gedenkstätte Neuengamme, testimony of Harold le Drullenec, AGN, 13–7–5–5, as presented in Blatman, Death Marches. 65 Blatman, Death Marches, 171–174. 66 Blatman, Death Marches, 273–279. 67 Blatman, Death Marches, 278. 68 Blatman, Death Marches, 278; National Archives and Rec­ords Administration, first testimony of Edward Antoniak, undated (should be April 15, 1945), RG-407, box 14494, file 3102-­Inf (405)-0-3, quoted in Blatman, Death Marches, 277. 69 Sereny, Into That Darkness. 70 Douglas, Orderly and Humane, 3–4. 71 This type of reversal was noted by Mamdani regarding the Rwandan genocide (1994). Mahmood Mamdani, When Victims Become Killers: Colonialism, Nativism, and the Genocide in Rwanda (Prince­ton, NJ: Prince­ton University Press, 2001). 72 Gross, Neighbors.

Chapter 12 Tragedy 1 Catia Faria and Eze Paez, “Why Environmentalism Cannot Beat Denialism: An Antispeciesist Approach to the Ethics of Climate Change,” in Climate Change Denial and Public Relations: Strategic Communication and Interest Groups in Climate Inaction, ed. Núria Almiron and Jordi Xifra (New York: Routledge, 2020), 60; Almiron and Xifra, eds., Climate Change Denial and Public Relations. 2 United Nations Environment Programme, “COVID-19 Caused Only Temporary Reduction in Carbon Emissions,” 16 September 2021, https://­w ww​.­unep​.­org​/­news​ -­and​-­stories​/p­ ress​-­release​/­covid​-1­ 9​-­caused​-o­ nly​-­temporary​-­reduction​-­carbon​ -­emissions​-­un​-­report. See also Ram L. Ray et al., “What Is the Impact of COVID-19 Pandemic on Global Carbon Emissions?” Science of the Total Environment 816 (2022); National Aeronautics and Space Administration Jet Propulsion Laboratory, “Emission Reductions from Pandemic Had Unexpected Effects on Atmosphere,” 9 November 2021, https://­w ww​.j­ pl​.­nasa​.­gov​/­news​/­emission​-­reductions​-­from​ -­pandemic​-­had​-­unexpected​-­effects​-­on​-­atmosphere. 3 Alex Alvarez, Unstable Ground: Climate Change, Conflict, and Genocide (New York: Rowman and Littlefield, 2017), 192; Harald Welzer, Climate Wars: Why ­People ­Will Be Killed in the Twenty-­First ­Century, trans. Patrick Camiller (Cambridge: Polity, 2012); Jem Bendell and Rupert Read, eds., Deep Adaptation: Navigating the Realities of Climate Chaos (Cambridge: Polity, 2021). 4 Alvarez, Unstable Ground, 192. 5 United Nations, Framework Convention on Climate Change, Conference of the Parties, Twenty-­First Session. 12 December 2015, https://­unfccc​.­int​/­resource​/­docs​ /­2015​/­cop21​/­eng​/l­ 09r01​.­pdf; Sam Adelman, “­Human Rights in the Paris Agreement: Too ­Little, Too Late?” Transnational Environmental Law 7, no. 1 (2018); Patrícia Galvão Ferreira, “Did the Paris Agreement Fail to Incorporate H ­ uman Rights in Operative Provisions? Not If You Consider the 2016 SDGs.” CIGI Papers,

Notes to Pages 188–190 • 275

no. 113, https://­w ww​.­cigionline​.­org ​/­sites​/­default​/­fi les​/­documents​/­Paper%20no​ .­113​.­pdf. 6 Nikita Perumal, “ ‘The Place Where I Live Is Where I Belong’: Community Perspectives on Climate Change and Climate-­Related Migration in the Pacific Island Nation of Vanuatu,” Island Studies Journal 13, no.1 (2018). 7 Christopher Pala, “The Island Nation That Bought a Back-­Up Property,” Atlantic, 21 August 2014, https://­w ww​.­theatlantic​.­com​/­technology​/­archive​/­2014​/­08​/­The​ -­Island​-N ­ ation​-­That​-­Bought​-­a​-­Back​-­Up​-P ­ roperty​/­378617​/­; Alister Doyle, “As Seas Rise, Pacific Island President ­Favors Buying Land Abroad,” Scientific American, 22 September 2014, https://­w ww​.s­ cientificamerican​.­com​/­article​/­as​-­seas​-­rise​-­pacific​ -­island​-­president​-­favors​-­buying​-­land​-a­ broad​/.­ 8 Christopher Pala, “Kiribati and China to Develop Former Climate-­Refuge Land in Fiji,” Guardian, 23 February 2021, https://­w ww​.­theguardian​.­com​/­world​/­2021​/­feb​ /­24​/­k iribati​-a­ nd​-­china​-­to​-­develop​-­former​-c­ limate​-­refuge​-­land​-­in​-­fiji. 9 Barbara Neumann et al., “­Future Coastal Population Growth and Exposure to Sea-­Level Rise and Coastal Flooding—­a Global Assessment.” PLoS ONE 10, no. 3 (2015). 10 Martin McCauley, Khrushchev and the Development of Soviet Agriculture: Virgin Land Program, 1953–64 (New York: Springer, 2016). 11 Idamaria Fusco and Desiree A. L. Quagliarotti, “A Transdisciplinary History of the Disappearance of the Aral Sea,” Global Environment 9, no. 2 (2016). 12 Fusco and Quagliarotti, “Transdisciplinary History.” 13 Oral A. Ataniyazova, “Health and Ecological Consequences of the Aral Sea Crisis” (paper prepared for the 3rd World W ­ ater Forum, 2003), https://­w ww​.­caee​.­utexas​ .­edu​/­prof​/­mckinney​/­ce385d​/­papers​/­atanizaova​_­w wf3​.­pdf. 14 United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organisation (UNESCO), World W ­ ater Development Report 2022, 21 March 2022, https://­unesdoc​.­unesco​.­org​ /­ark:​/­48223​/­pf0000380721; Don Hinrichsen and Henrylito Tacio, “The Coming Freshwater Crisis Is Already H ­ ere,” Wilson Center, https://­w ww​.­wilsoncenter​.­org​ /­sites​/­default​/­fi les​/­media​/­documents​/­publication​/­popwawa2​.­pdf. 15 Jason Burke, “Cape Town Told to Cut W ­ ater Use or Face Losing Supply by 12 April,” Guardian, 24 January 2018, https://­w ww​.­theguardian​.­com​/­world​/­2018​/­jan​ /­24​/­cape​-t­ own​-­to​-­run​-­out​-o­ f​-w ­ ater​-b­ y​-­12​-­april​-­amid​-­worst​-­drought​-­in​-­a​-­century; David Mc­Ken­zie and Lauren Said-­Moorhouse, “Cape Town’s ‘Day Zero’ Forecast Pushed to July,” CNN, 20 February 2018, https://­w ww​.­cnn​.­com​/­2018​/­02​/­20​/­africa​ /­cape​-­town​-­day​-­zero​-­delayed​-i­ ntl​/­index​.h ­ tml; Ed Stoddard, “Cape Town ‘Day Zero’ Pushed Back to 2019 as Dams Fill Up in South Africa,” R ­ euters, 3 April 2018, https://­w ww​.r­ euters​.­com​/­article​/u­ s​-­safrica​-­drought​-i­ dUSKCN1HA1LN; Charlotte Edmond, “Cape Town Almost Ran Out of ­Water. ­Here’s How It Averted the Crisis,” World Economic Forum, 23 August 2019, https://­w ww​.­weforum​.­org​ /­agenda​/­2019​/­08​/­cape​-­town​-­was​-­90​-­days​-­away​-­from​-­running​-­out​-­of​-­water​-h ­ eres​ -­how​-­it​-­averted​-­the​-­crisis​/­. 16 City of Cape Town, “City Celebrates Full Dams for First Time since 2014,” 1 October 2020, https://­w ww​.­capetown​.­gov​.­za​/­Media​-­and​-­news​/­City%20celebrates%20full%20dams%20for%20first%20time%20since%202014. 17 Aryn Baker, “What It’s Like to Live through Cape Town’s Massive ­Water Crisis,” Time, February 2018, https://­time​.c­ om​/­cape​-t­ own​-­south​-­africa​-­water​-c­ risis​/.­ 18 Richard Poplak, “What’s Actually ­behind Cape Town’s ­Water Crisis,” Atlantic, 15 February 2018, https://­w ww​.­theatlantic​.­com​/­international​/­archive​/­2018​/­02​/­cape​ -­town​-­water​-­crisis​/5­ 53076​/­.

276 • Notes to Pages 190–194

19 Data was compiled in 2018 based on private estimates on the South African version of Gumtree​.c­ om. 20 Kazi Stastna, “­Bottle vs. Tap: 7 ­Things to Know about Drinking W ­ ater,” CBC ­ ews​/­health​/b­ ottle​-­vs​-t­ ap​-7­ ​-­things​ News, 26 September 2014, https://­w ww​.c­ bc​.c­ a​/n -­to​-­know​-­about​-­drinking​-­water​-­1​.­2774182. 21 Derek Van Dam, “Living 24 Hours with ‘Day Zero’ ­Water Rations,” CNN, 22 February 2018, https://­w ww​.­cnn​.c­ om​/­2018​/­02​/­22​/w ­ orld​/­weather​-­cape​-­town​-­day​ -­zero​-­25​-­liters​/­index​.­html. 22 Statistics Canada, “Survey of Drinking ­Water Plants, 2019,” 17 August 2021, https://­w ww150​.­statcan​.­gc​.­ca​/­n1​/­daily​-­quotidien​/­210817​/d­ q210817c​-­eng​.­htm. 23 Rosie Frost, Laura Llach, and Samuele Damilano, “ ‘We ­Don’t Have ­Water’: ­Here’s What It’s Like Living through ­Europe’s Driest Summer in Memory,” Euronews, 4 August 2022, https://­w ww​.e­ uronews​.c­ om​/­green​/­2022​/­08​/­04​/­heres​-­what​-­its​-­like​ -­living​-­through​-­europes​-­driest​-­summer​-­in​-m ­ emory. 24 United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees, “Refugee Statistics,” available from: https://­w ww​.­unhcr​.­org ​/­refugee​-­statistics​/­. 25 Christopher McDowell and Gareh McDowell, Displacement beyond Conflict: Challenges for the 21st ­Century (New York: Berghahn Books, 2010). 26 McDowell and McDowell, Displacement beyond Conflict. 27 Jennifer Hyndman, Managing Displacement: Refugees and the Politics of Humanitarianism (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2000); Mark F. N. Franke, “The Displacement of the Rights of Displaced Persons: An Irreconciliation of ­Human Rights between Place and Movement,” Journal of H ­ uman Rights 7, no. 3 (2008). 28 United Nations General Assembly, Convention Relating to the Status of Refugees, 28 July 1951, 189 U.N.T.S. 2545, at 137. 29 United Nations General Assembly, Convention Relating to the Status of Refugees. 30 United Nations General Assembly, Convention Relating to the Status of Refugees. 31 United Nations General Assembly, Convention Relating to the Status of Refugees. 32 United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees, “UNHCR Note on the Princi­ple of Non-­refoulement,” November 1997, http://­w ww​.r­ efworld​.­org​/­docid​ /­438c6d972​.­html. 33 United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees, “UNHCR Note on the Princi­ple of Non-­refoulement”; Roberta Cohen and Francis M. Deng, Masses in Flight: The Global Crisis of Internal Displacement (New York: Brookings Institution Press, 1998). 34 Rhoda E. Howard-­Hassmann and Margaret Walton-­Roberts, eds., The ­Human Right to Citizenship: A Slippery Concept (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2015). 35 Andrea C. Simonelli, Governing Climate Induced Migration and Displacement: IGO Expansion and Global Policy Implication (New York: Routledge, 2016). 36 Frank Biermann and Ingrid Boas, “Preparing for a Warmer World: T ­ owards a Global Governance System to Protect Climate Refugees,” Global Environmental Politics 10, no. 1 (2010): 67. 37 Takis S. Pappas, “The Specter Haunting ­Europe: Distinguishing Liberal Democracy’s Challengers,” Journal of Democracy 27, no. 4 (2016). 38 Eirikur Bergmann, Neo-­nationalism: The Rise of Nativist ­Populism (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2020). 39 Josip Kešić and Jan Willem Duyvendak, “The Nation u­ nder Threat: Secularist, Racial and Populist Nativism in the Netherlands,” Patterns of Prejudice 53, no. 5 (2019).

Notes to Pages 194–195 • 277

40 Takis S. Pappas, ­Populism and Liberal Democracy: A Comparative and Theoretical Analy­sis (New York: Oxford University Press, 2019). 41 Gregory Perrault and Newly Paul, “Narrative Framing of the Syrian Refugee Crisis in British Religious News,” Journal of Religion, Media, and Digital Culture 8 (2019): 290. 42 James Traub, “The Moral Realism of ­Europe’s Refugee Hy­poc­risy,” Foreign Policy, 21 March 2022, https://­foreignpolicy​.c­ om​/­2022​/­03​/­21​/­ukraine​-r­ efugees​-­europe​ -­hyporcrisy​-­syria​/­. 43 Lucas Powers, “Conservatives Pledge Funds, Tip Line to Combat ‘Barbaric Cultural Practices,’ ” CBC News, 2 October 2015, https://­w ww​.c­ bc​.c­ a​/n ­ ews​/­politics​ /­canada​-­election​-­2015​-­barbaric​-­cultural​-­practices​-­law​-­1​.­3254118; Edward Keenan, “When Stephen Harper Refers to ‘Barbaric Culture,’ He Means Islam—an Anti-­Muslim Alarm That’s Ugly and Effective ­Because It Gets Votes,” Toronto Star, 5 October 2015, https://­w ww​.­thestar​.­com​/­news​/­canada​/­2015​/­10​/­05​/­when​-­stephen​ -­harper​-­refers​-­to​-b­ arbaric​-­culture​-­he​-m ­ eans​-­islam​-­an​-­anti​-­muslim​-­a larm​-­thats​-­ugly​ -­and​-­effective​-­because​-­it​-­gets​-­votes​-­edward​-­keenan​.­html. 44 Catherine Lévesque, “Patrick Brown Attacks Pierre Poilievre for Backing ‘Barbaric Cultural Practices’ Policy,” National Post, 14 March 2022, https://­nationalpost​.­com​ /­news​/­politics​/­poilievre​-­promises​-­to​-­speed​-­up​-­wait​-­times​-­for​-­approving​-­foreign​ -­credentials; Pierre Poilievre, “I am calling for Canada to do the following,” 24 February 2022, 3:15 p.m., https://­t witter​.­com​/­pierrepoilievre​/­status​ /­1496941898996453407​/­. 45 Alex Boutilier, “Far-­R ight and White Nationalist Groups Urge Followers to Support Maxime Bernier’s P ­ eople’s Party of Canada,” Toronto Star, 14 September 2021, https://­w ww​.­thestar​.­com​/­politics​/­federal​-­election​/­2021​/­09​/­14​/­far​-­right​ -­and​-­white​-­nationalist​-g­ roups​-­urge​-­followers​-­to​-s­ upport​-­maxime​-­berniers​-­peoples​ -­party​-­of​-­canada​.­html. 46 Sam Moore and Alex Roberts, The Rise of Ecofascism: Climate Change and the Far Right (New York: Polity, 2022). 47 Alistair Walsh, “Eco-­Fascism: The Greenwashing of the Far Right,” Deutsche Welle, 19 May 2022, https://­w ww​.­dw​.c­ om​/­en​/­what​-­is​-­eco​-­fascism​-­the​-­greenwashing​-­of​ -­the​-­far​-­right​-t­ errorism​-­climate​-­change​-­buffalo​-­shooter​/a­ ​-­61867605. 48 Lisa Kaati, Katie Cohen, and Björn Pelzer, Heroes and Scapegoats: Right-­Wing Extremism in Digital Environments (Luxembourg: Publications Office of the ­European U ­ nion, 2021), https://­w ww​.­foi​.s­ e​/­download​/­18​.­3e84653f17d703503b913f​ /­1639502982598​/­Heroes​-­and​-­scapegoats​_ ­FOI​-­S​-­​-­6371​-­​-­SE ​.­pdf, 13. 49 Victoria Albert, “10 Killed in ‘Racially Motivated’ Mass Shooting at Buffalo Supermarket, FBI Says,” CBS News, 16 May 2022, https://­w ww​.­cbsnews​.c­ om​/n ­ ews​ /­mass​-­shooting​-­tops​-­buffalo​-­supermarket​/­; Simon Romero, Manny Fernandez, and Mariel Padilla, “Day at a Shopping Center in Texas Turns Deadly,” New York ­ almart​ Times, 3 August 2019, https://­w ww​.­nytimes​.­com​/­2019​/­08​/­03​/­us​/e­ l​-­paso​-w -­shooting​.­html; Kristen Gelineau and Jon Gambrell, “New Zealand Mosque Shooter Is a White Nationalist Who Hates Immigrants, Documents and Video Reveal,” Chicago Tribune, 15 March 2019, https://­w ww​.­chicagotribune​.­com​/­nation​ -­world​/c­ t​-m ­ osque​-­k iller​-­white​-s­ upremacy​-­20190315​-­story​.­html; Les Perreaux, “Quebec Mosque Shooter Told Police He Was Motivated by Canada’s Immigration Policies,” Globe and Mail, 13 April 2018, https://­w ww​.­theglobeandmail​.­com​/­canada​ /­article​-­mosque​-­shooter​-­told​-­police​-­he​-­was​-­motivated​-­by​-­canadas​-­immigration​/­. 50 Jordan Dyett and Cassidy Thomas, “Overpopulation Discourse: Patriarchy, Racism, and the Specter of Ecofascism,” Perspectives on Global Development and Technology 18,

278 • Notes to Pages 196–201

no. 1–2 (2019); Cassidy Thomas and Elhom Gosink, “At the Intersection of Eco-­crises, Eco-­anxiety, and P ­ olitical Turbulence: A Primer on Twenty-­First ­Century Ecofascism,” Perspectives on Global Development and Technology 20, no. 1–2 (2021). 51 James D. Fearon and David D. Laitin, “Explaining Interethnic Cooperation.” American P ­ olitical Science Review 90, no. 4 (1996); James D. Fearon and David D. ­ olitical Science Review Laitin, “Ethnicity, Insurgency, and Civil War,” American P 97, no. 1 (2003). 52 Susan L. Woodward, Balkan Tragedy: Chaos and Dissolution ­after the Cold War (Brookings Institution Press, 1995). 53 Kelly M. Greenhill, Weapons of Mass Migration: Forced Displacement, Coercion, and Foreign Policy (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 2010). 54 “Belarus Mi­grants: Poland PM Blames Rus­sia’s Putin for Mi­grant Crisis,” BBC ­ ews​/­world​-­europe​-­59226226. News, 9 November 2021, https://­w ww​.b­ bc​.c­ om​/n 55 Greenhill, Weapons of Mass Migration. 56 Alvarez, Unstable Ground. 57 Stephen D. Krasner, “Review: Approaches to the State: Alternative Conceptions and Historical Dynamics,” Comparative Politics 16, no. 2 (1984). 58 Jack Donnelly, Universal ­Human Rights in Theory and Practice, 3rd ed. (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 2013), 33. 59 James C. Scott, Seeing Like a State: How Certain Schemes to Improve the H ­ uman Condition Have Failed (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1999). 60 Alexander Laban Hinton, Why Did They Kill? Cambodia in the Shadow of Genocide (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2005), 19. 61 Alvarez, Unstable Ground. 62 Maureen S. Hiebert, “The Three ‘Switches’ of Identity Construction in Genocide: The Nazi Final Solution and the Cambodian Killing Fields,” Genocide Studies and Prevention 3 (2008): 12. 63 Uriel Tal, Religion, Politics, and Ideology in the Third Reich: Selected Essays (New York: Routledge, 2004). 64 Alvarez, Unstable Ground, 139–158. 65 Jane McAdam, Climate Change, Forced Migration, and International Law (New York: Oxford University Press, 2012); Elizabeth Marino and Heather Lazrus, “Migration or Forced Displacement? The Complex Choices of Climate Change and Disaster Mi­grants in Shishmaref, Alaska and Nanumea, Tuvalu,” ­Human ­Organization 74, no. 4 (2015): 341–350. 66 Carl Levy, “Refugees, E ­ urope, Camps/State of Exception: ‘Into the Zone,’ the ­European ­Union and Extraterritorial Pro­cessing of Mi­grants, Refugees, and Asylum-­Seekers (Theories and Practice),” Refugee Survey Quarterly 29, no. 1 (2010). 67 Some estimates place this figure upwards of 200 million p­ eople. Biermann and Boas, “Preparing for a Warmer World,” 69. 68 Paul Gordon Lauren, The Evolution of International ­Human Rights: Visions Seen (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2011).

Chapter 13 Farce 1 Or to quote Karl Marx fully in his analy­sis of Napoleon I versus Napoleon III: “Hegel remarks somewhere that all g­ reat world-­historic facts and personages appear, so to speak, twice. He forgot to add: the first time as tragedy, the second time as farce.” Karl Marx, The Eigh­teenth Brumaire of Louis Bonaparte, trans. Saul K. Padover (CreateSpace I­ ndependent Publishing Platform, 2015), 5.

Notes to Pages 202–204 • 279

2 Timothy G. Hammond, “The Mediterranean Migration Crisis,” Foreign Policy Journal, 19 May 2015, https://­w ww​.f­ oreignpolicyjournal​.­com​/­wp​-­content​/u­ ploads​ /­2015​/­05​/­150519​-­Mediterranean​-­Migration​-­Crisis​-T ­ imothy​-­G​-­Hammond​.p­ df; Annalisa Lendaro, “A ‘­European Mi­grant Crisis’? Some Thoughts on Mediterranean Borders,” Studies in Ethnicity and Nationalism 16, no. 1 (2016); Melani Darlai ­ uropean Perspectives and National Discourses et al., eds., The Mi­g rant Crisis: E (Zürich: LIT Verlag GmbH, 2017). 3 Francesca Mussi, “Countering Mi­grant Smuggling in the Mediterranean Sea u­ nder the Mandate of the UN Security Council: What Protection for the Fundamental Rights of Mi­grants,” International Journal of H ­ uman Rights 22, no. 4 (2018). 4 “Deported by Algeria, Mi­grants Abandoned in the Sahara Desert,” Al Jazeera, 25 June 2018, https://­w ww​.­youtube​.­com​/­watch​? ­v ​=5­ 3g​_ ­x D7stoQ&vl​= e­ n. 5 Lori Hinnant, “Walk or Die: Algeria Strands 13,000 Mi­grants in the Sahara,” Associated Press, 25 June 2018, https://­apnews​.­com​/­9ca5592217aa4acd836b9ee091eb fc20. 6 Edward McAllister, “Algeria Deports Hundreds of West African Mi­grants to Niger,” ­Reuters, 9 December 2016, available from: https://­w ww​.­reuters​.­com​/­article​ /­us​-­niger​-­migrants​-­idUSKBN13Y1QH. 7 “Algeria: Surge in Deportations of Mi­grants; Apparent Racial Profiling, Summary Expulsion of Sub-­Saharan Africans,” ­Human Rights Watch, 30 October 2017, https://­w ww​.h ­ rw​.­org​/­news​/­2017​/­10​/3­ 0​/­a lgeria​-­surge​-­deportations​-­migrants. 8 “Algeria: Inhumane Treatment of Mi­grants; Pregnant ­Women, ­Children, Asylum Seekers among Thousand Expelled to Desert,” ­Human Rights Watch, 28 June 2018, https://­w ww​.h ­ rw​.­org​/­news​/­2018​/­06​/­28​/­a lgeria​-­inhumane​-­treatment​-­migrants. 9 Giuseppi Loprete, “What I Have Seen at the Algeria-­Niger Border,” Medium, 9 May 2018, https://­medium​.­com​/­@UNmigration​/­what​-­i​-­have​-­seen​-­at​-­the​-­algeria​ -­niger​-­border​-­6d7b36f55ed3; Tom Miles and Lamine Chikhi, “U.N. Criticizes Algeria for Mass Deportations of Mi­grants,” ­Reuters, 22 May 2018, https://­w ww​.­reuters​.­com​ /­article​/­us​-­algeria​-­un​-­migrants​/­un​-­criticizes​-­algeria​-­for​-­mass​-d­ eportations​-­of​ -­migrants​-­idUSKCN1IN2FZ; “Algeria: Inhumane Treatment of Mi­grants.” 10 Hinnant, “Walk or Die.” 11 Hinnant, “Walk or Die.” 12 Lori Hinnant, “Algeria Stops Forcing Mi­grants into Sahara ­after Outrage,” Associated Press, 13 July 2018, https://­w ww​.­apnews​.­com​/9­ 55cdfde570e45f094f64d5b6fe68569​ /­A lgeria​-s­ tops​-f­ orcing​-­migrants​-­into​-­Sahara​-­after​-­outrage; Lori Hinnant, “Deadly Algerian Mi­grant Expulsions Resume in Desert, UN Says,” Associated Press, 14 July 2018, https://­w ww​.­apnews​.­com​/­382c33e689974e4bb6a6756f9a1c1b0e. 13 “Algeria: Mi­grants, Asylum Seekers Forced Out; Thousands, Including C ­ hildren, Expelled to Niger without Due ­Process,” ­Human Rights Watch, 9 October 2020, https://­w ww​.­hrw​.­org​/­news​/­2020​/1­ 0​/­09​/­algeria​-m ­ igrants​-­asylum​-­seekers​-­forced​-­out. 14 Miles and Chikhi, “U.N. Criticizes Algeria for Mass Deportations of Mi­grants”; “Algeria: Inhumane Treatment of Mi­grants.” 15 Nasir Uddin, The Rohingya: An Ethnography of “Subhuman” Life (New York: Oxford University Press, 2022); Julia Wallace, “Bribes and Bureaucracy: Myanmar’s Chaotic Citizenship System,” New Humanitarian, 31 October 2016, https://­w ww​ .­thenewhumanitarian​.­org​/­feature​/­2016​/­10​/­31​/­bribes​-­and​-­bureaucracy​-­myanmar​-­s​ -­chaotic​-­citizenship​-­system. 16 Ian Holliday, “Ethnicity and Democ­ratization in Myanmar,” Asian Journal of ­Political Science 18, no. 2 (2010): 111–128; Marlise Simons and Hannah Beech, “Aung San Suu Kyi Defends Myanmar against Rohingya Genocide Accusations,” New

280 • Notes to Pages 204–208

York Times, 11 December 2019, https://­w ww​.n ­ ytimes​.­com​/­2019​/­12​/­11​/­world​/­asia​ /­aung​-­san​-s­ uu​-­kyi​-­rohingya​-­myanmar​-­genocide​-­hague​.­html; International Court of Justice, Application of the Convention on the Prevention and Punishment of the Crime of Genocide (The Gambia v. Myanmar), 22 July 2022, https://­w ww​.­icj​-­cij​.­org​ /­public​/­fi les​/­case​-­related​/­178​/­178​-­20220722​-­JUD​-­01​-­00​-­EN​.­pdf. 17 Uddin, Rohingya, 110–134. 18 Aye Chan, “The Development of a Muslim Enclave in Arakan (Rakhine) State of Burma (Myanmar),” SOAS Bulletin of Burma Research 3, no. 2 (2005): 396–420. 19 Martin Smith, Burma: Insurgency and the Politics of Ethnicity (London: Zed Books, 1991). 20 Sakhawat Sajjat Sejan, “Strategic Denial of Rohingya Identity and Their Right to Internal Self-­Determination,” International Studies 59, no. 3 (2022): 1–18. 21 United Nations ­Human Rights Council, “Detailed Findings of the I­ ndependent International Fact-­Finding Mission on Myanmar,” A/HRC/42/CRP.5 (2019), https://­w ww​.­ohchr​.­org​/­sites​/­default​/­fi les​/­Documents​/­HRBodies​/­HRCouncil​ /­FFM​-­Myanmar​/­20190916​/­A ​_ ­HRC ​_­42​_­CRP​.­5​.­pdf. 22 Oli Brown, “Migration and Climate Change,” International ­Organization for Migration, 2008, https://­w ww​.­ipcc​.­ch › apps › srex › njlite_download. 23 John Podesta, “The Climate Crisis, Migration, and Refugees,” Brookings Institution, 25 July 2019, https://­w ww​.­brookings​.­edu​/­research​/­the​-­climate​-­crisis​ -­migration​-a­ nd​-­refugees​/­. 24 Sumudu Atapattu, ­Human Rights Approaches to Climate Change: Challenges and Opportunities (New York: Routledge, 2015). 25 Andrea C. Simonelli, Governing Climate Induced Migration and Displacement: IGO Expansion and Global Policy Implication (New York: Routledge, 2016). 26 Guy S. Goodwin-­Gil and Jane McAdam, “UNHCR and Climate Change, Disasters, and Displacement,” United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees, 2017, https://­w ww​.­refworld​.o­ rg​/p­ dfid​/­59413c7115​.p­ df. 27 Select Bipartisan Committee to Investigate the Preparation for and Response to Hurricane Katrina, “A Failure of Initiative,” H.R. Rep. No. 109-377 (2006). 28 Samuel Fankhauser and Thomas K. J. McDermott, “Understanding the Adaptation Deficit: Why Are Poor Countries More Vulnerable to Climate Events Than Rich Countries?” Global Environmental Change 27 (2014): 9–18; Sheona Shackleton et al., “Why Is Socially-­Just Climate Change Adaptation in Sub-­Saharan Africa So Challenging? A Review of Barriers Identified from Empirical Cases,” WIREs Climate Change 6, no. 3 (2015): 321–344. 29 Colloquially, even the now-­infamous statement from rapper Kanye West, “George Bush ­doesn’t care about Black p­ eople,” in response to the government’s poor response to Katrina alludes to this fact. Josh Terry, “10 Years Ago T ­ oday, Kanye West said ‘George Bush D ­ oesn’t Care about Black ­People,’ ” Chicago Tribune, 2 September 2015, https://­w ww​.­chicagotribune​.­com​/­redeye​/­redeye​-­kanye​-­west​ -­katrina​-­telethon​-­george​-­bush​-­black​-­people​-­20150902​-­htmlstory​.­html. 30 Amarela Varela Huerta and Liz Mason-­Deese, “Notes for an Anti-­racist Feminism in the Wake of the Mi­grant Caravans,” South Atlantic Quarterly 119, no. 3 (2020): 655–663. 31 Simonelli, Governing Climate Induced Migration and Displacement. 32 Carl Levy, “Refugees, E ­ urope, Camps/State of Exception: ‘Into the Zone,’ the ­European ­Union and Extraterritorial Pro­cessing of Mi­grants, Refugees, and Asylum-­Seekers (Theories and Practice),” Refugee Survey Quarterly 29, no. 1 (2010).

Notes to Pages 208–215 • 281

33 Frank Biermann and Ingrid Boas, “Preparing for a Warmer World: T ­ owards a Global Governance System to Protect Climate Refugees,” Global Environmental Politics 10, no. 1 (2010). 34 Bree Akesson and Andrew R. Basso, From Bureaucracy to Bullets: Extreme Domicide and the Right to Home (New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press, 2022). 35 To borrow from Andrew Woolford, “Ontological Destruction: Genocide and Canadian Aboriginal ­Peoples,” Genocide Studies and Prevention 4, no. 1 (2009).

Chapter 14 Praxis 1 Namibia Wild ­Horses Foundation, “Adaptation,” http://­w ww​.­wild​-­horses​-­namibia​ .­com​/­adaptation​/­; Namibia Wild ­Horses Foundation, “Origins,” https://­w ww​.­wild​ -­horses​-n ­ amibia​.c­ om​/­origins. 2 Tim Whewell, “Germany and Namibia: What’s the Right Price to Pay for Genocide?” BBC News, 1 April 2021, https://­w ww​.b­ bc​.­com​/­news​/­stories​-­56583994. 3 Marion Wallace, A History of Namibia: From the Beginning to 1990 (New York: Oxford University Press, 2010), 205–272. 4 Alien’s Action for Tort, 28 U.S.C. § 1350 (1948). 5 As Germany is a foreign sovereign, the suit was deemed inadmissible. Rukoro v. Federal Republic of Germany, 976 F.3d 218 (2nd Cir. 2020), https://­w ww​.­govinfo​ .­gov​/­app​/­details​/­USCOURTS​-­ca2​-­19​-­00609​/­USCOURTS​-­ca2​-­19​-­00609​-­0. 6 Rukoro, 976 F.3d 218. 7 Foreign Sovereign Immunities Act, Pub. L. No. 94-583, 90 Stat. 2891 (1976), https://­ www​.­govinfo​.­gov​/­content​/­pkg​/­STATUTE​-9­ 0​/­pdf​/­STATUTE​-­90​-­Pg2891​.­pdf. 8 Marina Adami, “Germany Recognizes Herero and Nama Genocide,” Politico, 28 May 2021, https://­w ww​.­politico​.­eu​/a­ rticle​/­germany​-­recognizes​-­colonial​-­herero​ -­nama​-g­ enocide​/­. 9 Daniel Pelz, “Herero and Nama File Suit against Genocide Agreement,” Deutsche Welle, 22 January 2023, https://­w ww​.­dw​.­com​/­en​/­herero​-­and​-­nama​-­dispute​ -­genocide​-­agreement​-­with​-g­ ermany​/­a-​ ­64476907. 10 Richard G. Hovannisian, Remembrance and Denial: The Case of the Armenian Genocide (Detroit: Wayne State University Press, 1998); Ali Kazancigil, “Turkey and the Armenian Genocide: From Denial to Recognition?” Politique étrangère, no. 3 (2015). 11 Tuba Tarcan Çandar, Hrant Dink: An Armenian Voice of the Voiceless in Turkey, trans. Maureen Freely (New Brunswick: Transaction, 2016). 12 “Erdogan Accuses Payan of Treason for Genocide Recognition Resolution,” Asbarez, 26 April 2022, https://­asbarez​.­com​/­erdogan​-­accuses​-­paylan​-­of​-­treason​-­for​ -­genocide​-­recognition​-­resolution​/­. 13 Julian Zarifian, “Why Did President Obama Not Recognize the Armenian Genocide? Hints from the Obama Administration Memoirs—­and Other Sources,” Ad Americam 22 (2021). 14 Cara Buckley, “­Battle over 2 Films Reflects Turkey’s Quest to Control a B ­ itter History,” New York Times, 20 April 2017, https://­w ww​.n ­ ytimes​.c­ om​/2­ 017​/­04​/2­ 0​ /­movies​/t­ he​-­promise​-t­ he​-­ottoman​-­lieutenant​-t­ urkey​-­armenian​-­genocide​.­html. 15 George N. Shirinian, “The Background to the Late Ottoman Genocide,” in Genocide in the Ottoman Empire: Armenians, Assyrians, and Greeks, 1913–1923, ed. George N. Shirinian (New York: Berghahn, 2017). 16 Lucius D. Clay, Decision in Germany (New York: Doubleday, 1950), 312; 413 Parl. Deb. H.C. (5th ser.) (1945) col. 743.

282 • Notes to Pages 215–219

17 “Consideration in the Council of Foreign Ministers,” Statements by Secretary Marshall, Moscow Session, 9 April 1947, in Germany 1947–49: The Story in Documents (Washington, DC, 1950), 146. 18 Hans W. Schoenberg, Germans from the East: A Study of Their Migration, Resettlement, and Subsequent Group History since 1945 (The Hague: Martinus Nuhoff, 1970), 44. 19 Supreme Headquarters, Allied Expeditionary Force, Handbook Governing Policy and Procedure for the Military Occupation of Germany, rev. ed., April 1945, pt. 2, sec. 376(b); Joint Chiefs of Staff, Directive 1779 of 15 July 1947, sec. 13(f), in Germany 1947–49: The Story in Documents (Washington, DC, 1950), 36; Office of Military Government U.S. Zone (OMGUS), Regulations ­under Title 3–210, based on JCS Directive 1067 (17 October 1945). 20 R. M. Douglas, Orderly and Humane: The Expulsion of the Germans ­after the Second World War (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2012), 347–362. 21 Carsten Stahn, A Critical Introduction to International Criminal Law (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2019), 117–158. 22 William A. Schabas, Genocide in International Law: The Crime of Crimes, 2nd ed. (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2009), 172–306. 23 United Nations General Assembly, Rome Statute of the International Criminal Court, 17 July 1998, 2187 U.N.T.S. 38544, at 90, https://­treaties​.­un​.­org​/­doc​ /­Publication​/­U NTS​/ ­Volume%202187​/v­ 2187​.­pdf 24 UN General Assembly, Rome Statute, 17 July 1998, 2187 U.N.T.S. 38544. 25 UN General Assembly, Rome Statute, 17 July 1998, 2187 U.N.T.S. 38544. 26 ­These are listed in descending order of relatability to the common plans of DA crime annihilation explored in this study. 27 UN General Assembly, Rome Statute, 17 July 1998, 2187 U.N.T.S. 38544. 28 UN General Assembly, Rome Statute, 17 July 1998, 2187 U.N.T.S. 38544. 29 UN General Assembly, Rome Statute, 17 July 1998, 2187 U.N.T.S. 38544. 30 International Committee of the Red Cross (ICRC), Geneva Convention Relative to the Protection of Civilian Persons in Time of War (Fourth Geneva Convention), 12 August 1949, 75 U.N.T.S. 287. 31 UN General Assembly, Rome Statute, 17 July 1998, 2187 U.N.T.S. 38544. 32 UN General Assembly, Rome Statute, 17 July 1998, 2187 U.N.T.S. 38544. 33 UN General Assembly, Rome Statute, 17 July 1998, 2187 U.N.T.S. 38544. 34 Jeffrey S. Bachman, The Politics of Genocide: From the Genocide Convention to the Responsibility to Protect (New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press, 2022); David M. Crowe, War Crimes, Genocide, and Justice: A Global History (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2014). 35 Stahn, Critical Introduction to International Criminal Law, 159–268; Nidal Nabil Jurdi, “The Complementarity Regime of the International Criminal Court in Practice: Is It Truly Serving the Purpose? Some Lessons from Libya,” Leiden Journal of International Law 30, no. 1 (2017). 36 International Criminal Court. Joining the International Criminal Court: Why Does It ­Matter? The Hague, https://­w ww​.­icc​-­cpi​.i­ nt​/­sites​/­default​/­fi les​/­Joining​-­Rome​ -­Statute​-­Matters​.­pdf. 37 David MacDonald discusses Canada’s perplexing history of forwarding h ­ uman rights internationally while only ratifying specific ele­ments of the genocide convention into Canadian law to avoid pos­si­ble ­legal prob­lems with Canada’s genocidal treatment of Indigenous ­peoples, especially in the Indian Residential School system, which ran from the 1830s to 1997. David B. MacDonald, The Sleeping

Notes to Pages 219–223 • 283

­Giant Awakens: Genocide, Indian Residential Schools, and the Challenge of Conciliation (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2019). 38 Matiangai Sirleaf, “Regional Approach to Transitional Justice? Examining the Special Court for Sierra Leone and the Truth and Reconciliation Commission for Liberia.” Florida Journal of International Law 21, no. 2 (2009). 39 Jessica Almqvist and Carlos Espósito, eds., The Role of Courts in Transitional Justice: Voices from Latin Amer­i­ca and Spain (New York: Routledge, 2012); Nanci Adler, ed., Understanding the Age of Transitional Justice: Crimes, Courts, Commissions, and Chronicling (New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press, 2018). 40 Priscilla B. Hayner, Unspeakable Truths: Transitional Justice and the Challenge of Truth Commissions (New York: Routledge, 2011). 41 Isaac Baylor, “How Can Local Transitional Justice Mechanisms Work t­ owards ­Measures of Non-­recurrence?” (PhD diss., Western University, 2021). 42 Mark Gibney et al., eds., The Age of Apology: Facing Up to the Past (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2009). 43 It should be recognized that dignity is a hotly debated concept. 44 Brian Orend, ­Human Rights: Concept and Context (Peterborough: Broadview Press, 2002), 64, 101–128. 45 Rhoda E. Howard-­Hassmann, In Defense of Universal ­Human Rights (Cambridge: Polity Press, 2018); Jack Donnelly, Universal ­Human Rights in Theory and Practice, 3rd ed. (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 2013). 46 Kelly M. Greenhill, Weapons of Mass Migration: Forced Displacement, Coercion, and Foreign Policy (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 2010); Rhoda E. Howard-­ Hassmann and Margaret Walton-­Roberts, eds., The H ­ uman Right to Citizenship: A Slippery Concept (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2015); Sarah Kenyon Lischer, “Conflict and Crisis Induced Displacement,” in The Oxford Handbook of Refugee and Migration Studies, ed. Elena Fiddian-­Qasmiyeh et al. (New York: Oxford University Press, 2016). 47 The ­organizational costs are relatively low save for the Herero genocide, in which the German policy of pursuit morphed into a policy of cordon due to Schutztruppe exhaustion at chasing the Herero farther into the Kalahari Desert. 48 My thanks to the reviewer of this manuscript who offered incredibly helpful comments throughout and new perspectives (like t­ hose in this paragraph) that strengthened the manuscript im­mensely. I am in your debt. 49 Gary Clayton Anderson, Ethnic Cleansing and the Indian: The Crime That Should Haunt Amer­i­ca (Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 2014); James Daschuk, Clearing the Plains: Disease, Politics of Starvation, and the Loss of Indigenous Life (Regina: University of Regina Press, 2013); Robert H. Jackson and Edward Castillo, Indians, Franciscans, and Spanish Colonization: The Impact of the Mission System on California Indians (Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press, 1995); Benjamin Madley, An American Genocide: The United States and the California Indian Catastrophe, 1846–1873 (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2016). 50 Patrick Wolfe, “Settler Colonialism and the Elimination of the Native,” Journal of Genocide Research 8, no. 4 (2006): 387–409. 51 Joy Ann Bilharz, The Allegany Senecas and Kinzua Dam: Forced Relocation through Two Generations (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 1998); Frédéric Laugrand, Jarich Oosten, and David Serkoak, “ ‘ The Saddest Time of My Life’: Relocating the Ahiarmiut from Ennadai Lake (1950–1958),” Polar Rec­ord 46, no. 2 (2010); H. Henrietta Stockel, Salvation through Slavery: Chiricahua Apaches and Priests on the Spanish Colonial Frontier (Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press,

284 • Notes to Pages 223–224

2008); Ana Sabau, “The Paths of Unfreedom: Indentured L ­ abor from Yucatán to Cuba,” Revista de Estudios Hispánicos 53, no. 2 (2019). 52 Andrew Woolford, This Benevolent Experiment: Indigenous Boarding Schools, Genocide, and Redress in Canada and the United States (Winnipeg: University of Manitoba Press, 2015). 53 Anderson, Ethnic Cleansing and the Indian; Andrew R. Basso, Patrick Ciaschi, and Bree Akesson, “Cumulative Domicide: The Sayisi Dene and Destruction of Home in Mid-20th ­Century Canada,” Current Sociology 68, no. 5 (2020); Bree Akesson and Andrew R. Basso, From Bureaucracy to Bullets: Extreme Domicide and the Right to Home (New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press, 2022), 90–106; Andrew R. Basso, “­Towards a Theory of Displacement Atrocities: The Cherokee Trail of Tears, the Herero Genocide, and the Pontic Greek Genocide,” Genocide Studies and Prevention 10, no. 1 (2016). 54 This knowledge can be used in a comparative context, particularly with the Herero and Nama genocides in colonial Africa. 55 Andrew R. Basso and Andrea M. L. Perrella, “Reconciliation without Sympathy? Settler Public Opinion Six Years ­a fter the Truth and Reconciliation Commission of Canada” (paper, American ­Political Science Association Conference, Montréal, Canada, 2022).

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Index Abdul Hamid II, 93–94; overthrow in 1908 revolution, 96; recentralization of ­political powers, 93; role in Christian massacres, 95, 120–121, 124–127, 130 Abdul Mejid, 92 Acheson, Dean, 148 Afrikaner, Jonker, 43 Akçam, Taner, 109, 111, 124 Aktion T4, 172, 179 Algeria, 202–203 Allied Control Council, 146, 152, 167 Alvarez, Alex, 197 Aly, Götz, 178 Anatolia (Asia Minor), geography of, 89–91. See also Ottoman Empire; Turkey Aral Sea, degradation due to Virgin Land Proj­ect, 189 Armenians: assimilation of ­children, 106, 118; constructed as foreigners, 97; deportations of, 109–117; Hamidian massacres of, 128–130, 132–133; leaders and intellectuals killed, 106; location in Anatolia, 91; men sent to ­labor battalions, 99–100, 107–108; minority rights within Empire, 94–95, 124, 126; Ottoman demographic policy t­ owards, 100; plans to annihilate, 100–103; ­resistance to atrocities, 96–97, 108–109, 120, 130; revolutionary groups, 94, 96, 130–131; sexual slavery inflicted on, 118; status in Ottoman Empire, 123; times and spaces of atrocity, 105

Assyrians: direct killing against, 111–112; famine policies against, 132; Hamidian massacres of, 121; men sent to ­labor battalions, 108; times and spaces of atrocity, 105 asylum seekers: ­European rejection of, 202; in international law, 191–192; vio­lence against, 198, 208 Asymmetric power distribution: defeat of Nazism, 144–146; German Weltpolitik foreign policy, 44–47; Hamidian massacres and anti–­Christian discrimination, 95–96; ­human rights gaps for displaced persons, 191–193; Nama guerilla warfare, 78–82; as required for DA crimes, 27 Balkans: Balkan League, 95; contentious histories, 196; as Ottoman holding, 121; wars of ­independence from Ottoman Empire, 92, 95, 98, 126–127. See also Yugo­slavia Bayer, Maximilian, 43 Belgian Congo, atrocities in, 15 Beneš, Edvard: construction of Germans as internal enemies, 144, 148–149; demands for vengeance, 148; lobbying Allied powers for expulsion, 149–151; refusal to employ Germans, 141 Bennett, Andrew, 3 Bergen, Doris, 176 Berlin, Treaty of, 94–95, 123, 125 319

320 • Index

Berlin Museum of Ethnography, 44 Berlin Olympics, 172 Bernier, Maxime, 195 Biermann, Frank, 193–194 Bloxham, Donald, 106 Boas, Ingrid, 193–194 Bosnian genocide, 19. See also ethnic cleansing Bridgman, Jon M., 52, 63, 70, 79 British–­Ottoman Cyprus Convention, 94 Bulgaria, i­ ndependence from Ottoman Empire, 125–126; as Ottoman holding, 121 Cambodian genocide, 2, 11, 20, 198 Cambon, Paul, 129 Canada: as a desired destination for displaced persons, 200; genocide of Indigenous ­peoples, 21; multiculturalism and backlash, 195; narrow ratifications and definitions of atrocity crimes, 219; rights of Indigenous ­peoples in, 222–223 Cape Colony: arrest of Marengo, 79; borders with GSWA, 77–79; as a British colony, 67–69, 82, 85, 212; Dutch colonialism, 43–45, 77–79 Cape Town, Day Zero in, 190 ­cattle industry in GSWA, 42–43; German plans for settlers, 46; Herero practices, 48–50; rinderpest outbreak, 50–51 Central and Eastern ­Europe (CEE): discrimination against disaffected German minorities (Volksdeutsche), 140–142; displaced persons in, 156; long-­term effects of expulsions, 169; Nazi occupation of, 142–145; postwar authorities, 145–146; reconstruction of, 146–147; violent structures in, 163; Volksdeutsche settlement in, 139. See also ­Czechoslovakia; Germany; Hungary; Poland; Romania; Yugo­slavia Christian minorities: construction as internal enemies, 31, 94–95; in millet system, 91–92; Pan-­Islamism, 123; participation in Young Ottoman ­organization, 97; Turkification of Antolia, 105. See also Armenians; Assyrians; Greeks Churchill, Winston, 150–151, 170; belief in population transfers, 147; ­House of Commons speech on f­ uture of Poland,

151; iron curtain speech, 152; meeting with Beneš, 150 citizenship: German loss of, 160, 166, 170; ­human rights importance, 193; Rohingya loss of, 204; as a sign of vio­lence, 204–205. See also stateless persons Clay, Lucius D., 143, 157, 168 climate change: as accelerant for atrocities, 210; as cover for atrocities, 208; direct effects, 188–189; environmental degradation, 206; indirect effects, 189–190; institutionalized emissions, 187–188; mitigation strategies, 205; strained resources, 205–207. See also fascism, eco Cloete, Jan, 66 coastal zone, low-­elevation, 188–189 Committee of ­Union and Pro­g ress (CUP), 97–100; decision to commit atrocities, 99, 101; ideology, 105–106; justifying atrocities, 102–103, 108–109; waves of vio­lence, 109–110. See also Young Turk concentration camps: during Boer War, 71; Dachau, 172; in ­Europe, 138; Flossenbürg, 182; Gęsiówka, 181; in GSWA, 71–73; Kochendorf, 181; pos­si­ble vio­lence against climate displaced, 198, 208; Rastplatz Marzahn, 172. See also extermination camps Constantinople (Istanbul), 89, 96; Armenian protests in, 129; Ottoman bank incident, 130–131; pogroms in, 131 contingency, role in atrocity perpetration, 24, 29–31, 67, 84, 174, 180, 200, 207 Convention on the Prevention and Punishment of the Crime of Genocide (UNCG), 13–15, 17–19 Convention Relating to the Status of Refugees (Refugee Convention), 191–192, 199. See also refugees COVID–19, lockdowns, 187 crimes against humanity: DA crime intent, 15–16; definition of, 15–18; against ethnic Germans, 148–153, 214–215; Hamidian massacres as, 122; Nazi atrocities, 173; relating to ethnic cleansing, 19; relating to transitional justice, 217–220 cultural destruction: abduction of Ottoman Christian ­children, 117–118; as ele­ment of DA crimes, 37–38; German loss of home and identity, 169–171; Herero assimilation,

Index • 321

73; l­ imited codification in international law, 14, 33, 37–38; as potential effect of climate vio­lence, 209–210; as understood by Lemkin, 2–3 Currie, Phillip, 127 ­Czechoslovakia: anti–­German interwar education policies, 140–141; deterioration of relations with German minorities, 140; expulsion of Germans, 165, 168; foreign policy consensus building against Germans, 149–151; government–­in–­exile, 149–150, 153; land re­d istribution, 161; paramilitary and military ­organizations, 146; Prague Uprising, 162–163; purification of Germans, 144, 160; Ústí explosion incident, 163 Dadrian, Vahakn N., 110, 114 Davis, Leslie A., 115 Deportation, Temporary Law of, 102 Der Zor: camps in, 113; climate of, 90; destination for displacement caravans, 104, 111–112; length of displacement routes to, 91 de Zayas, Alfred Maurice, 154 Dink, Hrant, 213 direct killing, 11–13, 20; against Christian minorities, 110–112, 129; climate vio­lence potentials, 199–200; against Germans, 162–164; against Hereros, 65–67, 70; during Holocaust, 175–181; against Namas, 76, 80; punishment of, 217; to induce displacement, 34–35; to sustain displacement, 35 displaced persons: climate displaced, 198; disproportionate repre­sen­ta­tion of ­children, 191; statistics on, 192. See also asylum seekers; internally displaced persons (IDP); refugees; returnees; stateless persons displacement atrocity (DA): causal pathway to, 24; critical ele­ments of, 10–11, 34–38; definition of, 10; escorting, 11–13; escorting against German minorities (Volksdeutsche), 164–170; escorting against Ottoman Christians, 112–117; forced displacement and atrocity nexus, 18–22; genocidal, 13–15; geography required for, 25–26; integration in international law, 17–18, 216–220; intent

to commit, 29–31; kettling, 11–12; kettling against Hereros, 67–73; making pos­si­ble, 32–34; non-­genocidal, 15–17; potentials for climate vio­lence, 207–209; structures leading to, 26–29; typology of, 11–17 disruption, sociopo­liti­cal: burning of Smyrna, 105; colonial power structures in GSWA, 60–61; domicide against Volksdeutsche, 160–162; killing of Ottoman Christian leaders, 108–109; lack of care for displaced persons, 202–203; as required for DA crimes, 32 Djemal, Ahmed, 97 domicide, 38, 166, 223; against Christian minorities, 118; against Volksdeutsche, 160–161 Dönitz, Karl, 158 Donne, John, 1 Donnelly, Jack, 220 Douglas, R. M., 165, 184 Drechsler, Horst, 70, 76, 79, 85 Eden, Anthony, 149; approval for removal plans, 150 Einsatzgruppen, 179 Eisenhower, Dwight D., 144 Enver, Ismail, 97–98; Caucasus campaign failures, 99, 107; intent to commit genocide, 101–102, 116 Erichsen, Casper W., 59, 70 Erzberger, Matthias, 44 ethnic cleansing, 18–20, 147, 196, 223; in Bosnia, 19; in Myanmar, 204 eugenics, 72–73 euthanasia program, 177 Expropriation and Confiscation, Temporary Law of, 103 expulsions of populations historically and ­today, 9 extermination camps: Auschwitz–­Birkenau, 11, 73, 144, 177, 179; Bełżec, 177; Chełmno, 177, 179; Majdanek, 177, 181; Shark Island, 71–72, 76, 78; Sobibór, 177, 179; Treblinka, 144, 177, 179. See also concentration camps fascism, eco, 194–196. See also National Socialism Fein, Helen, 11, 20

322 • Index

Fischer, Eugen, 72 forced displacement, 2–5, 10–11, 23–24, 35–36; to annihilate, 10–18; to homogenize, 9, 18–20; as ­process, 36; to transfer, 20–22 France: advisors to Ottomans, 93; Crimean War and Ottoman war debts, 93, 127; expulsion of Huguenots, 9; proposed reforms over Hamidian massacres, 131 Fredericks II, Josef, 45 Friedlander, Henry, 179 Friedländer, Saul, 179 Garougian, Varteres Mikael, 112 Generalplan Ost, 139, 178 Geneva Conventions, 16–17, 218 genocide, 1; DA crime intent, 13–15; definition of, 13–15, 17–19; dolus specialis, 13–14; historical cases of, 1; perpetrator intent, 30–31; relating to transitional justice, 217–220. See also Convention on the Prevention and Punishment of the Crime of Genocide (UNCG) genocide by attrition, 20–22, 25; Fein’s conceptualization of, 11; against Namas, 74–75, 82 genocide studies, 2, 11, 199 geography: climate vio­lence potentials, 188–191, 197, 200; German expulsion, 137–138; Herero genocide, 25–26, 41–42; Nama genocide, 76–78; Ottoman atrocities, 89–91; as required for DA crimes, 12–13, 22, 31, 35–36 George, Alexander L., 3 German colonialism: list of colonies, 45; practice of, 45–47; racial conquest, 56, 59, 63; troop distribution, 45. See also German South-­West Africa German South-­West Africa (GSWA): colonial land seizures, 47–49; as colony, 46; concentration camp system, 71–72, 84–85; German railroads, 50–51, 62, 80; importance in German colonial world, 45; land distribution in, 48; missionary socie­ties in, 44, 59–60, 73; proposed Herero reserves, 51–52; as protection area, 45 Germany: colonial expansion, 48–52; as destination for expelled Volksdeutsche, 138, 164–165; dire postwar supply issues, 167, 169–170; genocide against colonized ­peoples, 4; governance over GSWA, 45–47; Imperial Colonial Office, 60, 65;

initial reluctance to engage in colonialism, 44–45; Nazi rule, 143–144, 175; racism ­towards colonized p­ eoples, 43–44, 59–60; Pan-­Germanism, 139, 142, 149, 180; plans to annihilate Hereros, 53–57; plans to suppress Herero revolt, 62–64; Reichstag reaction to colonial atrocities, 44, 57 Gewald, Jan–­Bart, 70, 73 Gökalp, Ziya, 97 Göring, Heinrich, 45 Göring, Hermann, 45 ­Great War (World War I, WWI), 139–140, 207, 212; as cover and justification for Ottoman atrocities, 31, 98–99, 106, 207; ­labor battalion use during, 107–108 Greco-­Turkish War, 105–106, 109, 119 Greece: as destination for displaced Greeks, 104, 114; war of i­ ndependence, 95, 121, 124 Greeks: Aegean Greek deportations, 104–105, 109, 114; assimilation of ­children, 106; Enver’s views of, 102; Greco-­Turkish War as justification for atrocities against, 109; leaders and intellectuals killed, 106; men sent to ­labor battalions, 107–108; Pontic Greek deportations, 104–105, 109–110, 115–117; population transfers, 147 Greenhill, Kelly M., 197 Grossman, Vasily, 144 group difference construction: climate–­ induced othering, 193–196; German settlers and colonized Africans, 43–44; Germans as threats, 139–142; Nazi ideology, 175–177; Ottoman millet system, 91–92; as required for DA crimes, 27 Guiding Princi­ples on Internal Displacement, 192 Hague Conventions, 16 Halo, Thea, 115–116 Hamidian massacres, 4, 95, 131–133; differences from ­later DA crime policies, 122; as punitive vio­lence, 127–130; religious under­pinnings, 123–125 Harper, Stephen, 195 Henlein, Konrad, 141 Hereros: conceptions of land, 48; conversion to Chris­tian­ity, 73; cordon in desert,

Index • 323

69–71; disruption of structures, 50–53; escape into desert, 58; genocide of, 65–75; as governing partners with Germans, 46, 49, 60–61; importance of ­cattle, 49–50; imprisonment in camps, 71–73; migration to Namibia, 43; plans to annihilate, 54–56, 60; predatory loans to, 49–51; pursuit into desert, 67–69; revolt of, 52–53, 59, 61–65 Heydrich, Reinhard, 178, 182; Operation Reinhard, 179 Hiebert, Maureen, 30, 175 Hilberg, Raul, 178 Himmler, Heinrich, 143–144; order to kill concentration camp prisoners, 180 Hitler, Adolf: ideological exterminationism, 175–176; military failures, 159; rise to power, 141, 178; scorched earth policies, 144–145; Volksdeutche perspectives on, 142. See also National Socialism Holocaust, 137; DA crimes at end of, 180–183; denial of, 183–184; intentionalist and functionalist debate, 178; Nazi ideologies b­ ehind, 175–177 Holodomor, 1 Hoover, Herbert, 157 Hopkins, Harry, 148 Howard-­Hassmann, Rhoda E., 220, 225 Hull, Isabel V., 65, 70; understanding of absolute destruction, 55, 65 humanitarianism, elimination of: colonial racism against Hereros, 59–60; postwar shortages and conflict aversion, 155–157; as required for DA crimes, 33–34; strained humanitarian resources, 193, 205–207; Turkification and ­wartime politics, 105–106 Hungary: German expulsion, 158, 168; historical relations with Germans, 140; land re­distribution, 147; plans to expel Germans, 153; Red Army liberation of, 159; tribunals for Nazis, 160–161; Volksdeutsche identity, 141 Hunting, Ray, 156 hybrid warfare, 196

indirect killing, 2–3, 10–13, 20–22, 34–35, 36–37; against Christian minorities, 112–117; against Germans, 164–170; against Hereros, 67–73; as pos­si­ble climate vio­lence, 181–182. See also vital daily needs, deprivation of intent: to commit crimes against humanity and war crimes against Germans, 148–153; to commit DA crimes, 29–31; to commit genocide against Christians, 98–103, 127–128; to commit genocide against Hereros, 52–57; to commit genocide during Holocaust, 177–180; to potentially commit climate vio­lence, 199–200 intergroup grievances: climate change exacerbating existing, 196–197; collapse of the Ottoman Empire, 92–95; German land seizures, 47–50; as required for DA crimes, 27–29; Volksdeutsche as foreign threats, 142–144 internally displaced persons (IDP), 191; as a continued rights prob­lem, 195; laws governing, 192–193 International Criminal Court, 13, 218–219. See also Rome Statute international criminal law, 1; locating DA crimes within, 216–217. See also crimes against humanity; genocide; war crimes International Criminal Tribunal for Rwanda (ICTR), 15–16, 19 International Criminal Tribunal for the former Yugo­slavia (ICTY), 15–16, 19 international law, 4, 15–18; governing displaced persons, 192–193. See also Convention on the Prevention and Punishment of the Crime of Genocide (UNCG); crimes against humanity; genocide; Rome Statute; war crimes International O ­ rganization for Migration, 204

Indian Residential Schools (IRS), 21 Indigenous p­ eoples, 1–2, 220–223; Ahiarmiut, 223; in Canada, 21, 190; Cherokee, 9; ­children, 21, 223; genocide of, 1–2, 21; identity, 196; Inca, 9; Seneca, 223

Kaiser Wilhelm Institute of Anthropology, ­Human Heredity, and Eugenics, 72 Kalahari (Omaheke) desert, 41–43, 58, 64–70, 77–80, 83 Kamaheke, Gerard, 66

Jackson, Jesse, 111–112 Jedwabne pogrom, 176 Jones, Adam, 33

324 • Index

Kamil, Mahmut, 99–100 Kariko, Daniel, 68 Kavezeri, Joel, 68 Keintzel, Eduard, 141 Kemal, Mustafa: denouncement of Young Turk crimes, 117; Greco-­Turkish War, 105; nationalist vision for Anatolia, 105; re-­initiation of DA crimes, 104, 106, 109, 117 Kennan, George F., 162 Kershaw, Ian, 179 Khmer Rouge, 198 Kielce pogrom, 173 Kinross, Lord (Patrick Balfour), 121 Kristallnacht, 172 Kubas, Jan, 66 Kurds: participation in DA crimes against Christian minorities, 110, 113–117; participation in Hamidian massacres, 121, 128–130, 133 Kutako, Samuel, 48 Kyi, Aung San Suu, 204 ­labor battalions, conscription into and death rates in, 107–108, 114, 117 lawfare: against Rohingyas, 203–204; role in climate vio­lence, 203–205 Lebensraum: as colonial theory, 45, 55; as Nazi ideology, 142, 176 Leitch, Kellie, 195 Lemarchand, René, 10 Lemkin, Raphael, 2; conceptions of barbarism and vandalism, 2–3; original conceptions of genocide, 13–14; understanding of groups, 37 Leutwein, Theodor, 46–47, 49, 53, 56; failure to contain Herero revolt, 62–63; governance with Maharero, 48–50, 60–61; plans for Nama, 75, 85; power strug­g le with von Trotha, 67 Lieberman, Benjamin, 18–19 Lowe, Keith, 145 Lüderitz, Adolf, 44–45 Lüderitzbucht, 45–46, 71–73, 81 Madagascar Plan, 177–178 Maharero, Samuel, 43, 46, 49; collaboration with Leutwein, 48–50, 52, 60; intent to revolt, 52–53, 62; request for Witbooi support in revolt, 53; suppression of Herero politic, 60–61

Maharero, Tjamuaha, 43; p­ olitical relationship with colonizers, 60–61 Maji Maji Rebellion, 56 Marengo, Jakob, 75, 78–80, 83–84 Marshall, George C., 157 Masaryk, Tomáš Garrigue, 144, 150 May, Larry, 14 Mehmed, Talât, 90, 97; intent to commit genocide, 100–102 Melson, Robert, 121 Mengele, Josef, 73 methods, research, 4–5 mi­g rants: E ­ uropean construction of, 202; push and pull f­ actors, 206–207. See also displaced persons Milošević, Slobodan, 196 Molotov, Vyacheslav, 150–151 Mommsen, Hans, 178 Morgenthau, Henry: conversations with Enver, 101–102; conversations with Talât, 90, 101–102; note from Consul Davis, 115; observations of displacement caravans, 112, 116; views of Armenian ­resistance, 108; views of population transfers, 114 Mungunda, Hosea, 68 Munich, appeasement policy, 149 Namas, 74–76; atrocity differences compared to Herero genocide, 77; experiences with German colonialism, 43–46, 49, 52; genocide of, 74, 83–86; guerilla warfare used by, 78–82; main groups, 75; participation in Herero genocide, 74; revolt of, 82; use as forced laborers in Togo, 85 Namib desert, 41–43 Namibia, geography of, 41–42; Hereroland, 49, 51, 55, 61, 67, 69, 71, 80; Namaqualand, 43, 69, 75–78, 80–83; ­people of, 43. See also German South-­West Africa National Socialism (Nazi), 45, 72 nativism: against Germans, 170; regarding climate displaced, 207, 210; rise of, 194–196 Near East Relief Committee, 117–118 Nguvauva, Kahimemua, 50 Nichols, Philip B., 150 Niger, 202–203 Nuremberg ­Trials, 16 Obama, Barak, 214 Olusoga, David, 59

Index • 325

ontological destruction, 21, 38, 118, 210 Operation Barbarossa, 158, 179 Orend, Brian, 220 Ottoman Empire: debt crisis, 93; imperial collapse, 92–95; loss of land, 95–96; millet system, 91–92; revolution of 1908, 92, 96–97; Tanzimat reform era, 92–95 Pan–­Islamism, 95, 123–125 Paylan, Garo, 213–214 phrenology, 44 Poilievre, Pierre, 195 Poland: expulsion of Germans from, 159, 161, 166; Holocaust, 172; identity formation in interwar period, 139–140; Nazi occupation crimes in, 155; postwar Allied plans for expulsion, 149–151; re­d istribution of German properties, 147; resentment ­towards Germans due to WWII, 144; Stalinist ­dependency, 151; target of ­Russian hybrid warfare, 196 population transfers: Greco–­Turkish, 114, 147; as postwar policy, 147–153, 215 Potsdam Agreement, 138, 143; orderly and humane transfer of Germans, 138, 152; postwar vengeance and demographic alteration, 151–152 racism, against Hereros, 43–44, 59–60 Ratzel, Friedrich, 45. See also Lebensraum Realpolitik, German foreign policy of, 45; as a ­political practice, 126 Red Army, 146; creation of permissive environs for anti–­German vio­lence, 165; defeat of Wehrmacht, 158, 173, 180; vio­lence against German civilians, 159, 162–164, 166–167 refugees: Christian minorities in Ottoman Empire, 108, 112, 118; climate, 188; definition of, 191; laws governing, 191–192; in postwar E ­ urope, 156, 158 Reichsstelle für Raumordnung, 158 ­resistance, elimination of: Christian ­labor battalions and Ottoman siege warfare, 107–109; lawfare and citizenship, 203–205; as required for DA crimes, 32–33; revolt of the Hereros, 61–65; Wehrmacht retreat, 158–160 returnees, 191; definition of, 191–192 Ripka, Hubert, 150

­ ockefeller Foundation, 72 R Rohingya genocide, 203–205; Burmese Citizenship Law, 204 Rohrbach, Paul, 46–47 Romania: anti–­German interwar education policies, 141; expelled and remaining Germans, 159; land re­distribution, 147; national identity, 140; as Ottoman holding, 121 Rome Statute, 13, 217–219; definition of crimes against humanity, 15–16; definition of genocide, 13–15; definition of war crimes, 16–17; ­limited jurisdiction and oversight of displacement, 17–18; transitional justice and DA crimes, 216–220 Roo­se­velt, Franklin D., 148, 150–151 Rosenberg, Sheri, 20–21 Rukoro v. Federal Republic of Germany, 212 Rus­sia: battlefield victories against Ottomans, 99, 108; as deportation location for Germans, 159; as G ­ reat Power, 93; as guarantor of Christian rights in Ottoman Empire, 94, 109, 123, 125; as pos­si­ble outlet for Christians, 113; vindictive attitudes ­towards Germans in ­Europe, 144; waging aggressive war against Ukraine, 195; waging hybrid warfare globally, 196 Rwandan genocide, 1–2, 15, 200 Șakir, Bahaddin, 99–101 San Stefano, Treaty of, 94–95 Sarıkamıș, B ­ attle of, 99 Sarkin, Jeremy, 56 Schabas, William, 14 Schoenberg, Hans W., 143, 158 Schütz, Josef, war crimes trial in Neuruppin Regional Court, 173 Schutztruppe, 5; arrival in GSWA, 47, 53, 62; major engagements with Hereros, 62–63; major engagements with Namas, 79–81; o­ rders to suppress Nama revolt, 75; policies of pursuit and cordon, 67–71; racism of, 59 Second World War (World War II, WWII), 14–15, 31, 137; displaced persons at end of, 147, 191 Shark Island camp, 71–72, 76, 78 Shipley, Hammond Smith, 121 Shirinian, George, 110

326 • Index

Silina, Everita, 20–21 Smyrna: burning of, 105; Greek occupation, 109; initial deportations from, 114 Snyder, Timothy, 175 Social Darwinism, 72, 92, 175 Special ­Organization (Teşkilât–­I Mahsusa), 98–99 Srebrenica genocide, 19 Stalin, Joseph, 146–147; Big Three meetings, 151; demographic policies, 147–148; Moscow meeting with Beneš, 150; Moscow meeting with Eden, 149; Potsdam meeting with Truman, 151 Stangl, Franz, 179, 182 stateless persons, 191; definition of, 193; Germans as, 160; Rohingyas as, 204 Sudan, 11 Sudetendeutsche: constructed as enemies, 144; deterioration of relations with Czech and Slovaks, 140; discrimination against, 141; Nazification, 141; plans to depot, 149; strong links with German identity and Nazification, 141–142. See also Volksdeutsche Sudetendeutsche Heimatfront (Sudetendeutsche Partei), 141 Suny, Ronald Grigor, 112–113, 126, 132 Swabian Germans: links with German identity and eventual Nazification, 141–142; standard of living, 140. See also Volksdeutsche Syrian Civil War, 9, 195 Tanzimat reforms: failures of, 93–97, 123, 126; first constitutional period, 93; repressive sultan, 94 Tjaherani, Heinrich, 53 Todesmarsches: from Auschwitz, 181; to Dachau, 182; ending in massacre at Gardelegen, 182; from Flossenbürg, 182; near Hütten, 181; from Majdanek, 181; near Wilhelmshaven, 182 Tokyo T ­ rials, 16 Toynbee, Arnold, 114 Truman, Harry S., 143, 151 Trump, Donald, 206 Turkey: genocide denial, 213–214; nationalism and national identity, 92–95, 123; terrible Turk identity, 95 Turkish Courts-­Martial, 15, 99–101

United Kingdom (Britain): advisors to Ottomans, 93; Boer War concentration camps, 71; Christian rights hy­poc­risy, 94; Crimean War and Ottoman war debts, 93, 127; ­Great Power politics, 123; Mesopotamia, 108, 112; Myanmar ­independence from, 203; Ottoman bank incident, 130; participation in Herero genocide, 79; plans to deport Germans, 149–150; post-­World War II demographic policy, 147, 149–152; proposed reforms over Hamidian massacres, 131; scramble for African colonies, 45; seizure of GSWA, 85, 212 United Nations, 204; h ­ uman rights system, 154 United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR): data on displaced persons, 191–192; response to humanitarian crises, 206 United Nations Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs, 204 United Nations Relief and Rehabilitation Administration (UNRRA), 156; expelled Germans unable to access assistance in Germany, 170 United States: advisors to Ottomans, 93; California Gold Rush, 223; Hurricane Katrina response, 206; Indian Removal, 222; Kinzua Dam, 223; lack of genocide recognition in Turkey, 214; plans to deport Germans, 149–150, 152; Republican Party 1896 platform interest in protecting Ottoman Christians, 126; ­resistance to mi­g rants, 206 Untermensch, Nazi racist conceptions of, 172, 176, 181 upheavals, sociopo­liti­cal: Christian revolts, 125–127; disease and colonial expansion in GSWA, 50–52; postwar ­European reconstruction plans, 146–148; as required for DA crimes, 29; revolution and war in the Ottoman Empire, 96–98; state survival and climate change, 197–199; timing of the Nama revolt, 82 Vehip, Mehmed, 111 Vergangenheitsbewältigung, 137 Vernichtungsbefehl, 53, 55–56, 65–66; lifting of, 69

Index • 327

Versailles, Treaty of, 139, 140, 148, 212 vio­lence, sexual: against Christians, 110, 117–118, 128; against Germans, 145, 158, 163, 168; against Hereros, 59, 66, 72; associated with climate vio­lence, 215; in DA crimes, 13, 33; in international law, 16–19 vital daily needs, deprivation of, 2, 10–12, 16–21, 31–33, 36–37, 223; central to genocide by attrition, 20–21; against Christians on death marches, 90, 101, 111–112; fused with forced displacement, 10–12; against Germans, 156–157, 164–167; against Hereros in the Kalahari, 36–37, 42, 70–71; during Holocaust, 181; in law, 13–18, 219; against Namas in the camps, 85; potential climate deprivations, 193–194, 202–204, 208, 214; during siege of Leningrad, 155 Volksdeutsche: construction as enemies, 143–144; locations of, 139; minorities in CEE, 140–141; Nazification of, 142–143; Pan–­Germanism, 139, 180; phases of expulsion, 138, 142; voluntary retreats, 159–160 Volksdeutsche Mittelstelle (VOMI), 143; evacuation planning, 158–159 von Bismarck, Otto, 45 von Bülow, Bernard, 59, 64, 69–71; knowledge of ­orders to annihilate the Hereros, 56–57 von Deimling, Karl Adolf, 64–66, 76, 83 von Götzen, Gustav Adolf, 56 von Lindequist, Friedrich, 75 von Luschan, Felix, 44 von Schlieffen, Alfred, 56, 63, 69 von Trotha, Lothar, 5; arrival in GSWA, 53; belief in annihilation, 47; intent to destroy Hereros, 53–56; letter to Leutwein informing him of atrocity plans, 67; policy of cordon, 69–71; policy of imprisonment, 71–73; policy of pursuit, 67–69; relationship with the kaiser, 56–57; total victory, 63; views of Africans, 44. See also Vernichtungsbefehl von Verschuer, Otmar Freiherr, 73 Walsh, Alistair, 195 Wannsee Conference, 179, 182

war crimes: DA crime intent, 16–17; against ethnic Germans, 148–153, 214; in international law, 16–18, 216–219; as obfuscated by Holocaust deniers, 174; punishment of Nazis, 173, 183; relating to transitional justice, 217–220 Warsaw, destruction of, 145; ghetto, 11, 20, 177. See also Holocaust Washington Williams, George, 15 Waterberg, ­battle of, 58, 63–64; German failure to annihilate Hereros at, 65 Wehrmacht, 164, 178, 182 Weltpolitik, 44–45, 50, 55 White supremacy, twenty-­first c­ entury shootings related to, 195 Wilhelm II, Kaiser, 47; o­ rders to annihilate Hereros, 56–57, 63–64; ­orders to shift from DA crimes to concentration camps, 71 Windhoek, 42; as colonial power center, 46, 212; railroads to, 51; space in atrocities, 76 Wirz, Henry, 16 Witbooi, Hendrik: attacks on Germans, 56, 61; death, 75; Maharero’s request for assistance, 53; Nama revolt, 74–76; ­political relationship with Germans, 46; rebuke of German surrender offer, 83–84 Woolford, Andrew, 21 Yacoub, Joseph, 118 Young Ottoman, 93, 96–97 Young Turk, 15, 92; genocidal learning ­process, 113; ideology, 100; shift from Young Ottoman to Young Turk, 97. See also Committee of ­Union and Pro­g ress Yugo­slavia: dissolution of, 196; education policy, 141–142; expulsion of Germans, 166; land re­distribution, 147; as multiethnic interwar state, 140; Nazi expansion into, 142; postwar disorder, 146. See also Balkans Zawadzki, Aleksandr, 144 Zerua, Barmenias, 53 Zerua, Zacharias, 53 Zimmerer, Jürgen, 44

About the Author is an adjunct faculty member with the Laurier Institute for the Study of Public Opinion and Policy at Wilfrid Laurier University. He researches transitional justice, ­human rights, and ­political vio­lence in local and global contexts. He is the coauthor of From Bureaucracy to Bullets: Extreme Domicide and the Right to Home (Rutgers University Press, 2022). ANDREW  R. BASSO

Available titles in the Genocide, ­ Political Vio­lence, H ­ uman Rights series: Nanci Adler, ed., Understanding the Age of Transitional Justice: Crimes, Courts, Commissions, and Chronicling Bree Akesson and Andrew R. Basso, From Bureaucracy to Bullets: Extreme Domicide and the Right to Home Jeffrey S. Bachman, The Politics of Genocide: From the Genocide Convention to the Responsibility to Protect Andrew R. Basso, Destroy Them Gradually: Displacement as Atrocity Alan W. Clarke, Rendition to Torture Alison Crosby and M. Brinton Lykes, Beyond Repair? Mayan W ­ omen’s Protagonism in the Aftermath of Genocidal Harm Lawrence Davidson, Cultural Genocide Myriam Denov, Claudia Mitchell, and Marjorie Rabiau, eds., Global Child: ­Children and Families Affected by War, Displacement, and Migration Daniel Feierstein, Genocide as Social Practice: Reor­ga­niz­ing Society u­ nder the Nazis and Argentina’s Military Juntas Joseph P. Feldman, Memories before the State: Postwar Peru and the Place of Memory, Tolerance, and Social Inclusion Alexander Laban Hinton, ed., Transitional Justice: Global Mechanisms and Local Realities ­after Genocide and Mass Vio­lence Alexander Laban Hinton, Thomas La Pointe, and Douglas Irvin-­Erickson, eds., Hidden Genocides: Power, Knowledge, Memory Douglas A. Kammen, Three Centuries of Conflict in East Timor Eyal Mayroz, Reluctant Interveners: Amer­i­ca’s Failed Responses to Genocide from Bosnia to Darfur Pyong Gap Min, Korean “Comfort ­Women”: Military Brothels, Brutality, and the Redress Movement Fazil Moradi, Being H ­ uman: ­Political Modernity and Hospitality in Kurdistan-­Iraq Walter Richmond, The Circassian Genocide S. Garnett Russell, Becoming Rwandan: Education, Reconciliation, and the Making of a Post-­Genocide Citizen Victoria Sanford, Katerina Stefatos, and Cecilia M. Salvi, eds., Gender Vio­lence in Peace and War: States of Complicity Irina Silber, Everyday Revolutionaries: Gender, Vio­lence, and Disillusionment in Postwar El Salvador Samuel Totten and Rafiki Ubaldo, eds., We Cannot Forget: Interviews with Survivors of the 1994 Genocide in Rwanda Eva van Roekel, Phenomenal Justice: Vio­lence and Morality in Argentina Anton Weiss-­Wendt, A Rhetorical Crime: Genocide in the Geopo­liti­cal Discourse of the Cold War

Kerry Whigham, Resonant Vio­lence: Affect, Memory, and Activism in Post-­ Genocide Socie­ties Timothy Williams, The Complexity of Evil: Perpetration and Genocide Ronnie Yimsut, Facing the Khmer Rouge: A Cambodian Journey Natasha Zaretsky, Acts of Repair: Justice, Truth, and the Politics of Memory in Argentina